CHAPTER I.

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TALES

FROM

"BLACKWOOD"

Contents of this Volume

_Rosaura: A Tale of Madrid_

_Adventure in the North-West Territory_

_Harry Bolton's Curacy_

_The Florida Pirate_

_The Pandour and his Princess_

_The Beauty Draught_

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS

EDINBURGH AND LONDON

TALES FROM "BLACKWOOD."

ROSAURA: A TALE OF MADRID,

_MAGA._ MAY 1847.

In the year 1833 there dwelt in Madrid a certain student, who went by

the name of El Rubio, or the Red. Not by his acquaintances and intimates

alone was he thus designated, but by all the various classes of idlers

with whom the Spanish capital abounds; by the listless loiterers at the

coffeehouse doors, by the lounging gossips of the Puerta del Sol, and by

the cloaked saunterers who, when the siesta is over, pace the alleys of

the Retiro, puffing their beloved havanas, retailing the latest news,

discussing the chances of a change of ministry, or the most recent and

interesting scandalous anecdote current in that gallant metropolis. It

would be wrong to infer, from his somewhat ambiguous appellation, that

the student's skin had the copper hue of a Pawnee or an Osage, or his

hair the ruddy tint usually deemed detrimental and unbecoming. The name

implied no sneer--it was given and taken as a compliment; and Federico

was at least as proud of it as of the abundant golden curls to which he

owed it, and that flowed in waving luxuriance down his graceful neck,

and even to his well-formed shoulders.

In southern climes, where the ardent sun embrowns the children of the

soil, fair locks and eyes of azure are prized in proportion to their

rarity. No wonder, then, that Federico found favour in the sight of the

dark-browed and inflammable Madrilenas. Many were the tender glances

darted at him from beneath veil and mantilla, as he took his evening

stroll upon the Prado; oftentimes, when he passed along the street,

white and slender fingers, protruded through half-closed _jalousies_,

dropped upon his handsome head a shower of fragrant jasmin blossoms.

Amongst the dames and damsels who thus signified their favour and

partiality, not a few--so it is certified by the veracious authority

whence we derive this history--dwelt in stately mansions, and went

abroad in brave equipage, drawn by prancing steeds and comely mules, all

glittering with trappings of silk and gold. These, it may be thought,

condescended over-much thus to notice an humble student. But the

love-breathing daughters of Castile reck little of rank and station; and

Federico, by all personal endowments, well deserved the distinction he

obtained. Poor hidalgo though he was, no count or duke, or blue-blooded

grandee, from Cadiz to Corunna, bore himself better, or had more the

mien of a well-born and thoroughbred _caballero_. None more gallantly

wore the broad-leafed sombrero, none more gracefully draped the ample

cloak; and all Spain might have been searched in vain to match the

bright and joyous glance of the student's dark-blue eye. Excepting on

the coast, and in certain districts where Mohammedan forefathers have

bequeathed their oriental physiognomy and tall slender frame to their

Christian descendants, Spaniards are rarely of very lofty stature.

Federico was from the flat and arid province of La Mancha, where, as in

compensation for the unproductiveness of the parched soil, handsome men

and beauteous women abound. Of the middle height, his figure was

symmetrical, elastic, and muscular, formed for feats of agility and

strength; his step was light, but firm; his countenance manly,--the

expression of his regular and agreeable features denoted a passionate

nature and lofty character. Like most of his countrymen, he was quickly

roused, but easy to appease. Generosity and forbearance were prominent

amongst his good qualities; and he had nobly displayed them in more than

one encounter with antagonists whose feebleness placed them at his mercy

and rendered them unworthy of his wrath. For in the use of arms, as in

all manly exercises, Federico was an adept; and there were few men in

Spain who would not have found in him a formidable and dangerous

adversary.

Strange to tell of so young a man, and of a Spaniard, in one respect our

student appeared passionless. He met the advances of his female admirers

with the utmost coldness--seemed, indeed, to avoid the society of the

fair sex, threw love-letters into the fire, unread and unanswered,

neglected invitations, went to no rendezvous. Favours which other

men would gladly have purchased with years of life, he disdainfully

rejected. The wrinkled duennas, who under various pretexts brought him

tender messages and tempting assignations, met, instead of the golden

guerdon with which such Mercuries are usually rewarded, harsh rebuffs

and cutting sarcasm at the hands of the stoic of two-and-twenty. And

with so much scorn did this Manchegan Joseph repel on one occasion the

amorous attentions of a lady of birth and station, that her indiscreet

love was changed into bitter hate, and Federico narrowly escaped

a dagger-stab and a premature death. From that day he was more

inaccessible than ever, not only to women, but to men. Gradually he

withdrew from intercourse with his former associates, and was seldom

seen in the streets or public places, but sat at home, buried amongst

books, and diligently studying, with the intention, he was heard to

declare, of going to Ciudad Real, and passing his examination as

advocate in the royal courts. And thus, little by little, it happened

with Federico as it does with most persons who neglect and forget the

world. The world forgot him. His old intimates--joyous, light-hearted

lads, revelling in the enjoyments and dissipation of the capital--voted

him a spoil-sport and a pedant, and thought of him no more: friends,

in the true sense of the word, he had none; and so, after a very short

time, the list of visitors to the gloomy old apartment in which the

eccentric youth mused and studied was reduced to one man, and that a

very odd one, but whom Federico loved, because he in some sort owed him

his life.

This second hero of our tale was one of those strange characters to be

met with in Spain only. Don Geronimo Regato was a little wizened old

creature, blind of an eye, and with a very ugly face, whose life had

been a series of extraordinary adventures and bustling incidents. He had

served his country in the most opposite capacities. In 1808, he fought

the French in the streets of Madrid; two years later, he headed a

guerilla band in the wild passes of the Sierra Morena; another two

years, and he took the oath to the constitution of Cadiz, and was seen

at Wellington's headquarters as colonel of the Spanish line, and

delegate from the Cortes. In 1814, he changed his colours, and was

noted, after the return of Ferdinand VII., as a stanch Royalist. But

variety was his motto; and the revolution of 1820 saw him in the ranks

of the Liberals, to whom he continued faithful until their cause was

ruined and hopeless. That was the signal, with this Talleyrand on a

small scale, for another _vuelta casaca_: once more he turned his coat;

and as an earnest of penitence for past offences, opened to the Royalist

troops the gates of a small Estremaduran fortress. Notwithstanding this

act of tardy allegiance, he was thrown into prison at Madrid, and

owed it entirely to the intercession and good offices of an old

school-fellow, the influential Father Cyrillo, that his neck was not

brought into unpleasant contact with the iron hoop of the _garrote_.

Either warned by this narrow escape, or because the comparatively

tranquil state of Spain afforded no scope for his restless activity,

since 1823 this political Proteus had lived in retirement, apparently

eschewing plots and intrigues; although he was frequently seen in the

very highest circles of the capital, where his great experience, his

conversational powers and social qualities sufficiently accounted for

the welcome he at all times met.

Returning late one night from a tertulia at the house of Ferdinand's

prime minister, Don Geronimo heard the clash of steel and sound of a

scuffle, and, hurrying to the spot, saw a young man defending himself

against the attack of two bravos. Forthwith Regato set himself to shout

out words of command, as if he had a whole regiment at his back, and

the ruffians, thinking the patrol was upon them, instantly took to

flight. Federico was the person assailed; and although he boldly

asserted, and doubtless fully believed, that, left to himself, he would

speedily have defeated his cowardly opponents, he was still not

altogether sorry to be relieved from such odds by the old gentleman's

timely arrival and ingenious stratagem. This was the origin of his

acquaintance with Regato. From that night forward they visited each

other, and soon Geronimo took particular pleasure in the society of the

handsome youth, whose earnestness and vigour of mind, he was heard

cynically to remark, were refreshing to contemplate in a century when

the actions of most men made them resemble beasts and apes, rather than

beings formed in the image of their Creator. The young student, for his

part, found much to interest him in his new friend, the only person who

now varied the monotony of his solitude. He listened eagerly to Regato's

discourse, as he alternately poured out his stores of knowledge and

experience, and broke into a vein of keen and bitter sarcasm on the men,

parties, and circumstances of distracted and unhappy Spain. Federico

enthusiastically loved his country, and his proud eyes often filled with

tears when the old man placed its former greatness in striking contrast

with its present degradation. In spite of all the veerings and

weathercock variations of his political life, Regato was at heart a

Liberal. He set forth in glowing colours the evils and tyranny of

Ferdinand's government, expatiated on the barbarous executions of Riego,

Torrijos, and other martyrs to freedom's cause, and exposed the

corruption and villany of the men who retained their country in the

bonds of slavery and fanaticism; until Federico's cheeks glowed, and his

heart beat quick with patriotic indignation, and he felt that he too,

when the battle-hour should strike, would joyfully draw his sword and

lose his life for the liberation of the land he loved so well. At times

the student would take down his guitar, and sing, with closed doors

and windows--for Ferdinand's spies were a quick-eared legion--the

spirit-stirring Hymn of the Constitution, or the wild Tragala--that

Spanish Marseillaise, to whose exciting notes rivers of blood have

flowed. And then old Regato beat time with his hand, and his solitary

eye gleamed like a ball of fire, whilst he mingled his hoarse and

suppressed bass with Federico's mellow tenor.

Notwithstanding their vast difference of age and character, and although

the one was but commencing, whilst the other had nearly run, the up-hill

race of life, the more these two men saw of each other the stronger grew

their sympathy and friendship. Don Geronimo's visits to the student

became more and more frequent; and often, forgetful or careless of the

time, they would sit talking till far into the night. It seemed a

relief to Regato to disburden his heart and mind of their innermost

secrets; and he rejoiced to have found a man to whose honour, truth,

and secresy he felt he could safely intrust them. Federico repaid his

confidence with one equally unlimited. He not only told his friend the

history of his short life from infancy upwards, but he made him his

father confessor, informed him of the progress of his studies, confided

to him his doubts and hopes, his religious creed and political

aspirations, and even his connection with some of the secret orders and

societies, of which, at that period, notwithstanding the vigilance of

the police, a multitude existed in Spain.

"And can it be, my young friend," said Geronimo one evening, when a

brief pause succeeded to some of the fiery Federico's vehement political

diatribes--"can it be," he said, fixing his penetrating eye upon the

flushed and impassioned countenance of the student, "that you have

reached your present age and never loved woman?"

"Pshaw!" replied the student, "you have asked the question before, and I

have answered it."

"But 'tis incomprehensible and out of nature," cried the old Don. "Why

have you a heart in your bosom, blood in your veins, strong limbs, and

bright eyes?"

"Was all that given me that I might love woman?" retorted Federico, with

a merry laugh.

"Certainly: what is life worth, without love to sweeten it? Nothing,

worse than nothing. It is that gentle sympathy of hearts, that strange

fever of the soul, those sweet hopes and joyous transports, and tremors

scarce less pleasing, that render life endurable, and reconcile man to

the vileness of mortality. The nearest approach to paradise on earth is

found in bright eyes that beam for us alone--in gentle lips that murmur

to our ears words of pure tenderness and unselfish affection."

"By the Virgin!" cried Federico, "I am neither of wood nor stone. Yes,

there are creatures of heavenly beauty whom I _could_ love. But I am

like the Moorish Prince of Granada, who was too proud to eat common

food, and fed on gold. The metal was over-hard for his royal stomach,

and so he starved."

"Which means that what you could have, you don't like, and what you

would like, you can't get."

"Possible," replied Federico, smiling. "I strike high."

"And why not? To dare is often to succeed. For the bold and the prudent

no aim is too lofty. But tell me more."

"Nonsense!" cried the student. "I did but jest. It occurred to me that

this very day I saw a lady whose fair face I shall not easily forget.

She was richly dressed, and sat in an open carriage, drawn by

magnificent horses."

"What colour was the carriage?"

"Brown, lined with purple velvet. The arms on the panels were supported

by coroneted griffins; and on the luxurious cushions my goddess

reclined, in a robe of rose-coloured satin. A black lace mantilla

floated over her alabaster shoulders, further veiled by a cloud

of glossy ebon hair; and her eyes, friend Geronimo, her beauteous

eyes--they were soft and heavenly as a spring day in the almond groves

of Valencia."

"You are poetical," said Regato. "A good sign. Federico, you are in

love; but, by our Lady, you are audacious in your choice."

"Do you know her?" eagerly exclaimed Federico.

"Did she appear to notice you?" inquired Geronimo, leaving the question

unanswered.

"Paralysed by her exceeding beauty," replied the student, "I stood dumb

and motionless in the carriage-way, and was nearly run over. I sprang

aside, but just in time. She observed me and smiled: I almost think she

blushed. One thing I am sure of--she could not help seeing that her

wondrous beauty had turned my head."

"And that is all?" said Regato, slyly.

"What more could there be?" cried the young lawyer, indignantly. "Would

you have such an angel throw flowers at me, or appoint a rendezvous?

When the carriage turned out of the street towards the Prado, she

looked back. Holy Mother of Sorrows! even at that distance, the sunshine

of those eyes scorched my very heart!--But this is folly, sheer folly!

Next week I go to Ciudad Real, and amongst dusty deeds and dry folios I

shall soon forget the eyes and their owner."

Senor Regato assumed a thoughtful countenance, look a large pinch of

snuff, and lit a fresh cigar. After three or four puffs, emitted through

his nostrils with the delectation of a veteran smoker, he broke silence.

"You will not go to Ciudad Real."

"And why not?" cried Federico.

"Because, if I am not greatly mistaken, you will remain here."

"Strange if I do!" laughed the student.

"Less so, perhaps, than you imagine. Would you go if the rose-coloured

lady bid you stay? What if she sent a tender billet to the young

woman-hater, and said, 'Come and love me, if you have the heart and

courage of a man.' I think I see you then, though ten thousand devils

barred the way. Ciudad Real and the royal courts would soon be

forgotten."

"Perhaps," replied Federico. "But you tantalise me with

impossibilities."

Don Geronimo put on his hat, took his young friend's hand, and said,

with great gravity, "Nothing is impossible. And as regards love, nought

in this world can withstand it--no bolt, or lock, or bar, or rank, or

power. Bear that in mind, and be of good courage, if you again fall in

with her of the rose-coloured robe. I should not wonder if you saw her

this very night. Be happy whilst you may, whilst youth and beauty last.

They quickly pass, and never return; and in love be adventurous and

bold, like a true Spaniard and gallant gentleman. Daring wins the day."

He departed. Federico remained alone. With a smile at his friend's

advice, the young man sat down to study. But he soon started up, and

gazed like one in a dream at the massive volumes encumbering his table.

He knew not how it happened, but the well-known letters of the alphabet

seemed changed into inexplicable hieroglyphics. The simplest passages

were wholly unintelligible; the paragraphs were all rose-coloured;

black locks and brilliant eyes twined and sparkled through the quaint

arabesques and angular capitals that commenced each chapter of the

code, confusing and dazzling his brain. At last he angrily slammed the

parchment-bound volume, muttered a curse on his own folly, then laughed

aloud at the recollection of that comical old fellow, Geronimo Regato,

and went to bed. There he found little rest. When he closed his eyes,

the slender form of the incognita glided before them. Her white hand,

extended from beneath her mantilla, beckoned him to follow; nay, he

felt the pressure of the tiny fingers, her warm breath upon his cheek,

her velvet lips gently laid to his. And when he started from his sleep,

it was to fancy the rustle of a dress, and a sweet low voice that

timidly uttered his name. So passed the night, and only towards daybreak

did he sink into a sounder and more refreshing slumber. But when he

arose, he found, to his consternation, that she who had haunted his

dreams was equally present to his waking imagination. The fascinating

image of the beautiful stranger had established itself in his heart, and

Federico felt that all efforts to dislodge it would be as fruitless as

painful.

"If I believed in sorcery," he soliloquised, "I should think that old

rogue Geronimo had cast a charm over me. He predicted that she would

visit me this night, and truly she has done so, and here remains.

Whether it be for the best, I greatly doubt."

Musing on the fair apparition that thus pertinaciously intruded upon

him, the student dressed himself. It was late, and to atone for lost

time, he resolved to remain at home, and study hard the whole day. But

somehow or other, exactly at the same hour as on the previous one, he

found himself in the Calle Alcala; and scarcely was he there, when the

brown carriage and the splendid horses came rattling by. And there, upon

the purple cushions, sat, more beautiful than ever, the divinity who

for the last twenty-four hours had monopolised so large a share of his

thoughts. He gazed at her with rapture, and involuntarily bowed his

head, as to a being not of the earth. She smiled: her look had something

inquiring and mysterious; then, as if by accident, she placed her hand

upon the edge of the carriage, and let a flower fall. Almost before it

reached the ground, Federico caught and concealed it in his bosom, as

though it had been some precious jewel which all would seek to tear

from him. It was an almond blossom, a symbol of love and hope. Like a

criminal, he hurried away, lest his prize should be reclaimed, when he

suddenly found himself face to face with Geronimo, who gravely took off

his hat and greeted his friend.

"How goes it?" said the old Don, his widowed eye twinkling significantly

as he spoke. "How have you slept? Did the lady visit you or not?"

"You saw her!" cried Federico, imploringly. "For heaven's sake, her

name?"

"Bah!" replied Geronimo; "I saw nothing. But if it be she who sits in

yonder carriage, beware, young man! 'Tis dangerous jesting with giants,

who can crush us like straws beneath their finger. Your life is in

danger," he continued in a whisper; "forget this folly. There are plenty

of handsome faces in the world. Throw away the silly flower that peeps

from your vest, and be off to Ciudad Real, where scores of pretty girls

await you."

He turned to depart; Federico detained him.

"Let me go," said Geronimo: "I am in haste. I will call upon you

presently, and you shall hear more."

But, notwithstanding his promise, and although Federico remained all day

at home, impatiently expecting him, Geronimo came not. Never had the

student been so out of temper. He bitterly reproached himself as a

dreamer, a fool, an idiot: and yet there he remained, his thoughts fixed

upon one object, his eyes riveted on the almond blossom, which he had

placed in water, and whose graceful cup, now fully open, emitted a

delicate perfume. And as he gazed, fancy played her wildest pranks

with the enamoured youth. Small fairy-like creatures glided and danced

between the dusty stamina of the flower. At times, its leaves seemed

partly to close, and from out the contracted aperture, the lady of his

thoughts smiled sweetly upon him. Then the welcome vision vanished, and

was succeeded by stern frowning faces of men, armed from head to heel,

who levelled daggers at his heart.

"By St Jago!" the bewildered student at last exclaimed, "this is too

much. When will it end? What ails me? Have I so long withstood the

fascinations of the black-eyed traitresses, to be thus at last entrapped

and unmanned? Geronimo was right; at daybreak I start for Ciudad Real.

I will think no more of that perilous syren." He plucked the almond

blossom from its vase. "And this flower," he pensively murmured, "has

touched her hand, perhaps her lips! Oh! were it possible that she loves

me!" As he spoke, he pressed the flower so impetuously to his mouth that

its tender leaves were crushed and tarnished. He laughed scornfully.

"Thus is it," he exclaimed, "with woman's love; as fair and as fragile

as this poor blossom. Begone, then! Wither, and become dust, thou

perishable emblem of frailty!" Approaching the open window, he was about

to throw away the flower, when something flew into the room, struck his

breast, and rolled upon the ground. Federico started back, and his eye

fell upon the clock that regulated his studies. The hands were on the

stroke of midnight, and for a moment, in his then excited state, a

feeling of superstitious fear stole over him. The next instant he was

again at the window, straining his eyes through the gloom. He could see

nothing. The night was dark: a few large stars twinkled in the sable

canopy, the jasmin bushes in his balcony rustled in the breeze, and

brushed their cool leaves against his heated temples. "Who is there?" he

cried. His question was unanswered. Closing the _jalousies_, he took a

light and sought about the room till he perceived something white under

a table. It was a paper wrapped round a small roll of wood, and secured

by a silken thread. Trembling with eagerness, he detached the scroll.

Upon it were traced a few lines in a woman's delicate handwriting. "If

you are willing," so ran the missive, "to encounter some risk for an

interview with her who writes this, you will repair, to-morrow evening

at nine o'clock, to the western door of the church of St James. One will

meet you there in whom you may confide, if he asks you what flower you

love best."

"And though death were in the path," exclaimed Federico with vehement

passion--"though a thousand swords opposed me, and King Ferdinand

himself--" He paused at that name, with the habitual caution of a

Manchegan. "I will go," he resumed, in a calmer but equally decided

tone. "I will go; and though certain to be stabbed at her feet, I still

would go."

Lazily, to the impetuous student's thinking, did the long hours loiter

till that of his rendezvous arrived. Tormented by a thousand doubts and

anxieties, not the least of these sprang from the probability that the

assignation came not whence he hoped, and was, perhaps, the work of some

mischievous jester, to send him on a fool's errand to the distant church

of St James. Above all things, he wished to see his friend Geronimo; but

although he passed the day in invoking his presence and heaping curses

on his head, that personage did not appear. Evening came; the sun went

down behind the gardens of Buen Retiro; at last it was quite dark.

Federico wrapped himself in his cloak, pressed his hat over his brows,

concealed in the breast of his coat one of those knives whose strong

keen-pointed blade is so terrible a weapon in a Spaniard's hand, and,

crossing the Plaza Mayor, glided swiftly through streets and lanes,

until, exactly as the clock of St James's church struck nine, he stood

beneath the massive arches of the western portico. All was still as the

grave. The dark enclosure of a convent arose at a short distance, and

from a small high window a solitary ray of light fell upon the painted

figure of the Virgin that stood in its grated niche on the church wall.

His back against the stone parapet, in the darkest corner of the

portico, Federico posted himself, silent and motionless. He had not long

waited, when he heard the sound of footsteps upon the rough pavement.

They came nearer: a shadow crossed the front of the arched gateway

and was merged in the gloom, as its owner, muttering indistinctly to

himself, entered the portico. It was a man, closely muffled in a dark

cloak. To judge from his high and pointed hat, he belonged to the lower

class of the people; a wild black beard, a moment visible in the light

from the convent window, was all of his physiognomy discernible by the

student. He might be anything--a Gallego, a muleteer, or a robber.

After a moment, Federico made a slight noise, and advanced a step from

his corner. "Who is there?" cried the stranger.--"Who is there?" he

repeated. "Answer, in God's name. What do you here at this hour of the

night?"

"Who questions me?" boldly demanded the young man; and at the same time

he approached the speaker.

For a moment the two men gazed suspiciously at each other; then the

stranger again spoke. "Night and solitude enjoin prudence, senor,"

said he; "and so, keep your distance. What brings you to this gloomy

church-door? At this hour such gay cavaliers are oftener found in the

Prado or the Delicias, plucking flowers for their mistresses."

"I love flowers," replied Federico, "but I also love solitude."

"And what flower, my gallant young gentleman, do you best love?"

"Enough! enough!" joyfully exclaimed the student. "'Tis you I seek: I

am ready to follow."

Without reply, the stranger produced a long black cloth.

"What is that?" said Federico, who vigilantly observed his movements.

"To blindfold you."

"Why?"

"Senor, that you may not see whither I conduct you."

"Not so!" cried the student, suspiciously. "I will follow, but with open

eyes."

The Gallego threw the skirt of his large cloak over his left shoulder,

touched his pointed hat by way of salutation, and said courteously,

"_Buenas noches, senor_. May you sleep well, and live a thousand years."

"Stop!" cried Federico; "you are mad. Whither away?"

"Home."

"Without me?"

"Without you, senor. The truth is, you are wanted blind, or not at all."

The result of the colloquy that ensued was, that the Gallego twisted

his cloth thrice round the student's eyes, ears, and nose, and led him

carefully down a street and round sundry corners and turnings, till at

last he deposited him in a carriage, which instantly set off at a rapid

pace. After a tolerably long drive, by no means a pleasant one for our

adventurer, whose guide held his hands firmly in his--probably to

prevent his removing the bandage--the coach stopped, the two men got

out, and Federico was again conducted for some distance on foot. He knew

that he was still in Madrid, for he walked over pavement, and, in spite

of the thick cloth that impeded his hearing, he could distinguish the

distant sound of carriages and hum of life. Presently a door creaked,

and he apparently entered a garden, for there was a smell of flowers

and a rustling of leaves; then he ascended a staircase, and was

conducted through cool lofty apartments, and through doors which seemed

to open and shut of themselves. Suddenly his companion let go his hand.

Federico stood for a minute in silent expectation, then, groping around

him with extended arms, he said in a low voice, "Am I at my journey's

end? Answer!" But nobody replied.

By one decided pull, the student removed the bandage from his eyes, and

gazed around him in wonder and bewilderment. He was alone in a spacious

and magnificent apartment, whose walls were tapestried with striped blue

and white satin, and whose carved ceiling was richly gilt and decorated.

The tall Venetian mirrors, the costly furniture, the beautifully fine

Indian matting, everything in the room, in short, convinced him that

he was in the favoured abode of wealth, and rank, and luxury. A lamp,

suspended by silver chains, shed a soft light over the apartment.

Federico's position was a doubtful, probably a dangerous one; but love

emboldened him, and he felt the truth of a saying of Geronimo's, that

courage grows with peril. Happen what might, there he was, and he knew

no fear. The only perceptible exit from the room was by the large

folding-doors through which he had entered. He tried them--they were

fastened. His mother-wit suggested to him that his retreat had perhaps

been thus cut off that he might seek another outlet. He did so, and

presently perceived hinges under the tapestry. A silver handle protruded

from the wall; he grasped it, a door opened, and a cry of astonishment

and delight burst from the student. Beaming with loveliness, a blush

upon her cheek, a soft smile upon her rosy lips, the lady of his

thoughts stood before him.

For a moment the pair gazed at each other in silence, their looks

telling more eloquently than any words the love that filled their

hearts. But soon Federico started from his brief trance, threw himself

at the feet of the incognita, and, seizing her hand, pressed it ardently

to his lips, murmuring the while, in low and passionate accents, such

broken and rapturous sentences as only lovers speak and love alone can

comprehend. The lady stood over him, her graceful form slightly bowed,

her large lustrous eyes alternately fixed upon the kneeling youth and

roving anxiously round the apartment.

"Don Federico," she said, in tones whose sweetness thrilled his blood,

"may the Holy Virgin forgive my unmaidenly boldness. I have yielded to

an impulse stronger than my reason--to the desire of seeing you, of

hearing----"

"That I love you," interrupted Federico--"that I adore you from the

first hour I beheld you,--that I will die at your feet if you refuse

me hope!"

She bent forward, and laid her small rosy hand upon his throbbing

forehead. The touch was electric, the fiery glow of passion flashed in

her glance. "Light of my eyes!" she whispered, "it were vain to deny

that my heart is thine. But our love is a flower on the precipice's

brink."

"I fear not the fall," Federico impetuously exclaimed.

"Dare you risk everything?"

"For your love, everything!" was the enthusiastic reply.

"Listen, then, to the difficulties that beset us, and say if they are

surmountable."

The maiden paused, started, grew pale.

"Hark!" she exclaimed--"what is that? He comes! Be still! be silent!"

With wild and terrified haste she seized Federico's hand, dragged him

across the room, and opened a door. The student felt a burning kiss upon

his lips, and, before he knew where he was, the door was shut, and he

was in total darkness. All that had happened since he entered the house

had occurred so rapidly, was so mysterious and startling, that he was

utterly bewildered. For a moment he thought himself betrayed, groped

round his prison, which was a narrow closet, found the door, and,

grasping his stiletto, was about to force his way through all

opposition, when he suddenly heard heavy steps on the other side

of the tapestried screen. Motionless, he listened.

"Bring lights!" said a deep commanding voice; "the lamp burns dim as in

a bridal chamber."

"It anticipates its office," replied another male voice, with a laugh.

"Is not your wedding-day fixed?"

"Not yet; in the course of next week, perhaps," answered the first

speaker, striding up and down the apartment.

"You are in small haste," returned his companion, "to enjoy what all

envy you. Never did I behold beauty more divine and captivating."

"Beautiful she certainly is," was the reply; "but what is woman's

beauty! The vision of a day; snow, sullied and dispelled in a night."

"You are in exceeding good humour," said the friend of this morose and

moralising bridegroom.

A pause ensued, during which Federico's heart beat so strongly that he

thought its throbbings must surely be audible through the slight barrier

separating him from the speakers. A servant brought lights, and a

slender bright ray shot through a small opening in the tapestry,

previously unobserved by the student. Applying his eye to the crevice,

he obtained a view of the apartment, and of the persons whose

conversation he had overheard. One of these wore a uniform glittering

with embroidery; the other was dressed in black, with several stars and

orders on his breast. Both were in the middle period of life: the one in

uniform was the youngest and most agreeable looking; the dark features

of the other were of a sombre and unpleasing cast.

The servant left the room, and the man in black suspended his walk and

paused opposite his friend.

"You had something to communicate?" he said, in a suppressed voice.

"Are we secure from listeners?" asked the officer, in French.

"Entirely; and doubly so if we speak French. Rosaura herself, did she

overhear us, would be none the wiser."

"Count," said the soldier, "I sincerely wish you joy of this marriage."

"A thousand thanks! But with equal sincerity I tell you that I am

heartily weary of such congratulations. In marrying, one gives and

takes. I give Rosaura my name and rank, titles and dignities, honours

and privileges."

"And you take your lovely ward and a rich estate. A fair exchange,

Excellency. I can only say that the world wonders at the delay of so

suitable a union, and even inclines to the belief that a certain

disinclination----"

"The world is greatly mistaken," interrupted the Count. "I ardently love

Rosaura, and I have his Majesty's consent to the marriage. But what a

fool men take me for, if they suppose----" he stopped short, and tossed

his head with a scornful smile.

"Well?" said the officer.

"Solve the riddle yourself."

"I understand! Your position is uneasy, the future dark, the decisive

moment at hand. With one's feet on a volcano, one is little disposed to

enjoy a honeymoon."

"But when the mine explodes, and one is tossed into the air, it is

pleasant to fall in the soft lap of love, there to forget one's wounds."

"Bravo! But what if the lap refuse to receive the luckless engineer?"

"_Amigo!_" replied the Count--"I thought you knew me better. Under all

circumstances, Rosaura remains mine. For myself have I trained and

nurtured this fair and delicate plant, and to me, as the gardener, it

belongs."

"She loves you, then?"

"Loves me? What a question! Of course she does. She has grown up with

the idea that she is to be my wife. Her heart is pure and unblemished as

a diamond: it shall be my care to keep it so."

"You fear rivals?"

"Fear!" repeated the Count, a smile flitting over his dark countenance.

"But we trifle precious time. What have you to tell me?"

"Something important to our cause," replied the officer, drawing nearer

to his companion. "But first, how goes it yonder?"

He pointed with his finger in the direction of the closet. Federico

instinctively started back, but again applied his eye to the loophole on

hearing the Count's answer. "I have just come thence," he said, "and

must soon return. The hand of death is upon him--in vain would he parry

the blow. Still the struggle is a hard one; he persists in discrediting

his danger, and will abandon none of his habits. But the remorseless

tyrant is there, soon to claim him for his own."

"Then we must take our measures without delay," said the officer.

"They are already taken," was his companion's quiet answer.

"Your colleagues are agreed?"

"Fully agreed."

"And now?"

"Read that," said the Count, taking a large folded paper from a

portfolio, and spreading it before his friend, who devoured its contents

with every demonstration of extreme surprise.

"His handwriting! his signature!" he cried. "A revocation, annihilating

the shameless intrigues and machinations of years! Now, Heaven be

praised, our country and religion--the faith, honour, and dignity of

Spain are rescued! How was it obtained? How possible? My noble friend,

you are indeed a great statesman!"

"Take this priceless document," calmly replied the Count; "convey it to

your master. Only in his hands is it entirely safe. The future welfare

of Spain, the salvation of us all, is suspended to its seal. That I

obtained it," he continued, his voice sinking to a whisper, "is the work

of Providence. During the last two days he has had spasms and fainting

fits that have weakened his mind and energies. The secret is well kept,

and without the palace gates nought is known of these dangerous

symptoms. In such moments of agony and depression, the weary soul

recalls the past, and trembles for the future. Then, in vivid colours, I

placed before him the confusion and unhappiness, and infernal mischief,

to which his deplorable decision must give rise; I urged the injustice

he had committed, the sin that would lie at his door; and showed how,

almost before his eyes had closed, the work he had achieved at peril to

his soul would sink and crumble in an ocean of blood and tears. Alcudia

supported me; the others chimed in; this document was ready, and----he

signed."

"And now we have got it," cried the officer, triumphantly, "we will hold

it fast with hands and teeth. How long, think you, may he still live?"

"Castillo says not more than two days, and that he will hardly regain

the full use of his intellects." The eyes of the conspirators met; for a

moment they gazed at each other, and then broke into a smile.

"Well," said the officer, "I came commissioned to assure you special

favour and high reward, but, by my honour as a soldier, no gain or

recompense can worthily requite such service as yours."

"For me little can be done," replied the Count. "My desires tend to a

peaceful existence in the arms of my young wife, far removed from cares

of state. Such is the reward I promise myself. Let your acts be speedy

and decided, for it might well happen that----" his brow contracted into

deeper folds, and his voice assumed a discordant harshness--"I have

decimated the ranks of the scoundrels, but enough yet remain to give

much trouble. Take sure measures, and muster your resources. You will

need them all."

"Fear not," replied the confident soldier. "We, too, have been active,

and have good and steady friends. At a word, the Realista volunteers and

the trusty Agraviados fly to their arms. Romagosa, Caraval, Erro,

Gonzalez, and the venerable Cyrillo, still live. The Guards are for us;

so are the civil authorities and captains-general of eleven provinces.

Let the moment come, and you will see that, with this document in our

hand, all is done. Confidence for confidence," he continued. "Read this

list of names. It contains those of our most approved friends, and will

reassure you as to the chances of the future."

He handed a paper to the Count, who, barely looking at it, said

thoughtfully--

"Leave it with me till to-morrow. At the critical moment it will be of

immense weight with many waverers. 'Tis late; in a few minutes I must go

out. Place me at the feet of your gracious master, and tell him he will

have no more faithful subject than his humble slave."

"Will you see him?" said the officer, gently. His companion shook his

head.

"'Twere not wise," he replied. "The time is not yet come. When it

arrives, I shall be the first to bend knee before him. Be watchful,

prudent, and prompt. Yet one word. You have confided somewhat in that

fellow Regato. Trust him not too far. I deem him a traitor. Let him be

proved such, and he shall not escape the rope he has long deserved. And

now, farewell!"

The two men parted, and, as the Count returned from the door, Federico

heard a rustling of silks that materially increased the rapidity of his

heart's pulsations.

"My fair bride!" gallantly exclaimed his Excellency, "I am enchanted to

see you. How lovely you look, Rosaura! and how deeply I regret that

important affairs leave me but a few moments to devote to you."

"It would seem," said the lady, with cold severity, "that your

Excellency has converted my poor apartment into an audience-chamber."

"A thousand pardons, dear Rosaura," was the reply. "A particular friend

craved a short interview."

"It is late," said the lady, pointedly. "I wish your Excellency a

good-night."

"What!" cried the Count, impatiently. "You dismiss me thus?"

"I am indisposed to-night."

"You are a cruel tyrant, Rosaura."

"I, Excellency? They say worse things of you."

"Who, and what?"

"No matter. May your Excellency live a thousand years."

"With you, Rosaura," replied the Count, assuming an air of tenderness

which, as Federico thought, sat supremely ill upon him, and endeavouring

to take her hand. She drew it quickly back.

"_Veremos, Excelencia._ We shall see."

"The devil take the Excellency!" cried the Count, losing all

self-command, and stamping angrily with his foot. Rosaura curtsied low.

"You forget my rights over you, Rosaura. I came to tell you that in a

few days, as I hope, my dearest wishes will be accomplished."

"We shall see, Excellency," repeated the provoking beauty.

The Count stepped up to her, and said, with his sullen smile, "You

rejoice not at it, Rosaura?"

"No," was her laconic reply.

"You love me not?"

"Love _you_, Excellency? a great statesman like you! Certainly not,

Excellency."

"I grieve to hear it, my beautiful bride; but, fortunately, love often

comes with marriage. You shall learn to love me, Rosaura. Our existence

shall be a happy and envied one. You detest state affairs: I will leave

them and devote myself solely to you. Far from the capital, we will lead

a pastoral life, amidst myrtles and meadows, flocks and shepherds, in

all the sweet tranquillity of a terrestrial paradise."

Whether sketched in jest or in earnest, this picture of rustic felicity

had evidently few charms for Rosaura, at least in the companionship

proposed. Suddenly she stepped up to the Count, took his hand, looked

full into his dark serious countenance, and laughed aloud and most

musically.

"What do I hear, Excellency," she exclaimed; "_you_ in myrtle groves and

smiling meadows--_you_ leading a shepherd's tranquil life! Oh, ye

Saints! _he_ a shepherd in the Alpuxarras. Ah! the flocks would fly and

scatter themselves when they beheld the gloomy lines upon your brow.

Where are sheep to be found who would be tended by that ensanguined

hand? Where could _you_ find repose? Is there a place free from the

echoes of the curses that martyred Liberals have heaped upon you? Where

is the domestic hearth around which would not range themselves the

spectres of the wretches who, at your command, have been blotted from

the book of life. Count, I shudder at the thought! Holy Mother of God!

is that the happy future you would compel me to share? No, no,

never!--though the garrote were to encircle my neck, as it did that of

the unhappy lady at Granada, who refused to betray her husband, and whom

you sent to the scaffold in his stead! Has she never appeared to your

Excellency, cold and pale, and with sightless eyes? For Quito's

treasures would I not behold her--her and the whole ghastly train;

hundreds, ay hundreds of them, in the long, black-bordered shrouds, and

the bare-footed friars with their fearful _misericordia_! Mercy, mercy,

Excellency! with me would come the evil spirits, and a thousand----but,

good-night, good-night, Excellency."

With a graceful movement of hand and head she glided from the room. The

Count attempted not to detain her. He stood motionless, his hand thrust

into his breast, and followed her with his eyes in mute astonishment.

"The silly child!" he at last murmured. "But how lovely she is! I, whom

all fear--even HE," he emphatically added--"I almost quail before her

mad petulance. Well, well!" he continued after a pause, "the priest

first, and discipline afterwards. A man who has bowed and broken so many

stubborn spirits, will hardly be vanquished by the humours of a wilful

girl. Good-night, my lovely bride. 'We shall see,' you said; and

assuredly we _will_ see."

He took his hat, and was about to leave the room, when, by an

inadvertent movement, Federico let fall his poniard. The Count was quick

of hearing, and the noise, slight as it was, drew his attention. He

turned sharply towards the spot where the student was concealed.

"What was that?" he cried. "Something fell in the closet. Have we

listeners here?"

For an instant he hesitated; then, taking one of the massive silver

candlesticks, he stepped briskly to the closet, and was almost knocked

down by the door, which Federico pushed violently open. The waxlights

fell to the ground; like a winged shadow, the student sprang past the

astonished Count, reached the door before the latter recovered from his

alarm, and would doubtless have got clear off, had he not, in hurry and

ignorance, turned the wrong handle. The Count grasped his coat-skirt,

and pulled him back.

"Scoundrel!" he cried. "What do you here?"

For sole reply, Federico seized his assailant by the throat, and a

struggle began, which, although speedily decided in favour of the

active student, was destined to have most important results. The Count

was vigorous, and defended himself well. He had little opportunity of

calling out, closely grappled as he was, but he dealt his antagonist

more than one heavy blow. At last Federico dashed him to the ground, and

disappeared from the room, leaving behind him one of his coat-skirts,

torn off in the contest. In falling, the Count's head struck against a

table, and he lay for a few seconds stunned by the shock. Recovering

himself, he sprang to his feet, foaming with rage, his dark visage black

with shame and anger. "Seize him!" he cried, hurrying down the corridor.

Twenty servants flew to obey the order. But it was too late. The student

passed like a fire-flash before the porter, and made good his escape

from the house. "Follow him!" shouted the Count--"a hundred ounces for

his capture!" And, stimulated by this princely reward, the eager

domestics ran, like hounds after a deer, on the track of the student,

who soon heard the shouts of his enemies, and the shrill whistle of the

_serenos_, around and on all sides of him.

Although panting from his brief but violent struggle with the Count,

Federico traversed with extreme swiftness several streets and squares,

until want of breath at last compelled him to a moment's pause. He

looked around, and observed the locality. Before him lay the massive

buildings of the royal palace, favoured by whose shadow he continued his

flight, now up-hill. But the numbers of his pursuers gave them a great

advantage; and, to his dismay, he found himself so closely and

accurately followed, that capture appeared inevitable.

"Had I but my knife," he exclaimed aloud, pausing in despair, "I would

keep them off or die! Fool that I have been! Sentries on all sides! They

have taken alarm! What can I do?"

"Go to Ciudad Real, if not too late," said a man, wrapped in a cloak,

and wearing a small three-cornered hat, who suddenly stepped from behind

a massive stone column, close to where the student stood.

Federico at once recognised the speaker.

"For God's sake, Geronimo!" he cried, "assist me in this strait. If they

catch me, I am lost. And hark! yonder they come! I hear the baying of

the menial pack. On all sides the way is barred!"

Geronimo seized Federico's hand, and hurried him behind the pillar.

"There is only one chance," he said; "muffle yourself in my cloak, take

my hat, assume a stoop, and walk slowly, like an old man."

"What is your plan?" cried the student.

"Ask no questions. Do as I bid you. Do you see yonder door?"

"Of the palace?"

"Go in there."

"Into the palace?"

"Of course. Look neither right nor left; cross the first court to the

great portal. There await me. Quick, quick--they come!" And he pushed

him away.

Not without doubt and disquietude did Federico obey the orders of the

old man, who displayed, in this conjuncture, a promptitude and decision

rare at his age. But the student had no alternative. Wrapped in Regato's

cloak, and feigning a feeble gait, he passed slowly and unquestioned

before the soldiers of the royal guard. This impunity in a palace where

the strictest watch and ward were usually kept, was an enigma to

Federico; and he was still more puzzled, when, whilst waiting at the

portal, several persons, shrouded like himself in dark cloaks, passed

before him, greeting him as they went with a muttered "_buenas noches_"

and disappeared in the corridors of the palace. At last came Geronimo.

He had provided himself in the interval with another cloak. His

appearance was an immense relief to the student.

"Are they gone?" said Federico. "May I venture out?"

"Thank the saints that you are here!" replied Geronimo. "And now, tell

me what has happened."

Federico told his adventures; and old Regato listened to the narrative

with marks of the strongest interest. When he heard what the Count had

said of him and of his probable fate, he laughed heartily. "Bah!" said

he; "threatened men live long. I have had hotter broth cooked for me,

and cooled it with my breath. I hope to die in my bed like a good

Christian; and as for my chance of a rope, I would not change with his

Excellency. The infernal schemer! I'll pay him off now. _Madre de todas

gracias!_ had we but the list of the conspirators, what a blow might be

struck!"

"The list!" repeated Federico. "Stay, let me remember!" and, plunging

his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a torn paper. "When I threw the

man down, this remained sticking between my waistcoat and neckcloth,

where he had grappled me. I noticed it when I got outside, and thrust it

into my pocket."

Without listening to this explanation, Geronimo seized the paper, and,

by the light of a lamp under the portal, examined it with eager

curiosity. At sight of its contents, a savage joy sparkled in his eye.

"Ah, _maldito_!" he exclaimed with a laugh of triumph; "we have you now.

Federico, the rose-coloured lady is ten times more surely yours than if

you had remained in the closet and his Excellency had not discovered

you. Follow, and be silent. Whatever happens, not a word till I bid you;

then speak boldly, and tell what you know."

Through winding corridors, up and down stairs, along galleries where

sentries stood like statues, Geronimo led the way, until he reached a

room whose door was opened by a gigantic lackey in the gaudy royal

livery. Federico, who followed close upon his heels, suddenly found

himself in the presence of a number of men, for the most part elderly

and of grave respectable aspect, who stood in small knots about the

apartment, or sat at tables on which were wine and refreshments,

conversing in a low tone. Amongst these a hum of interest arose on

Regato's entrance; and under cover of the attention he attracted, his

companion passed unnoticed.

It at once flashed upon Federico, that he had penetrated into that

notorious camarilla or secret council of King Ferdinand VII., so much

spoken of, so often cursed and scoffed at, so greatly feared and justly

hated. This was the cringing and pernicious conclave of whose vile

proceedings so many tales were told; these were the men, of all ranks

and classes, who poured into the jealous despot's ear the venom of

calumny and falsehood; these the spies and traitors who, by secret and

insidious denunciations, brought sudden arrest and unmerited punishment

upon their innocent fellow-citizens, and who kept the King advised of

all that passed in Madrid, from the amorous intrigues of a grocer's

wife, to the political ones concerted in the cabinet of the Infante Don

Carlos.

The student's first uneasiness at finding himself upon such new and

perilous ground, vanished when he saw that he was wholly unheeded. He

remembered to have heard that persons once admitted to the camarilla,

and honoured by the King's confidence, were at liberty to return when

they thought fit, at short or long intervals; and thus it might well

happen that some of the members were unknown to each other. And on that

night, those illicit counsellors of majesty were evidently pre-occupied

with some pressing and important matter. They crowded round Regato, took

his arm, seized him by the button, whispered so eagerly, and questioned

him so fast, that the little man lost all patience.

"Hands off, gentlemen!" he cried. "Which of you will buy me a new coat

when you have torn mine? 'Tis true that this morning our gracious lord

the King was very ill: but I hear that he is now better; and by the

grace of our blessed Lady, he will rejoice his humble and loving slaves,

and dispel their deep anxiety, by the sunshine of his presence."

The words had scarce left Geronimo's lips, when the opening of a

side-door proved the signal for a respectful silence in the apartment.

The whole assembly bowed profoundly, and preserved that posture,

although no cause was yet apparent for such extraordinary greeting. At

last one showed itself, in the person of a man who tottered slowly and

feebly into the room, supported on the arms of two attendants, his livid

and bloated countenance distorted by a smile as painful to behold as if

compelled by thumbscrews. The face of the new comer, who nodded in reply

to the humble salutation of all present, might once have been handsome,

but it could never have been intellectual or prepossessing, and now it

was hideously cadaverous and ghastly. The features were those

characterising a well-known family, world-renowned for the high places

it has filled, rather than for the virtues or abilities of its members.

The eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, the straight, scanty black

hair shaded a brow blue and transparent from disease; the tall person

and once well-formed limbs were swollen and unwieldy. The sick man's

dress would have suited some plain burgher taking his ease in his

summer-house: it consisted of a light nankeen jacket, a white neckcloth

knotted loosely round the throat, linen trousers, and large shoes. He

seemed scarcely able to set foot to ground, and the agony each step

occasioned him betrayed itself in spasmodic twitchings of the nerves and

muscles. Still there was a violent effort of the will to conceal the

pangs that racked the enfeebled frame; a fruitless attempt to hide, by

the assumption of smiling ease and gracious condescension, the approach

of that equalising hour when human greatness and human misery sink to

one level.

The sick man propped himself against a table, beside which stood an

easy-chair, and with an affable wave of his hand, addressed the company.

"Good evening, senores!" he said: "we have felt ourselves somewhat

unwell, and our careful physician Castillo, as also our trusty Grijalva,

was solicitous on our account. But we would not put off this meeting. We

love to meet our good friends, and are not to be kept from them by

slight bodily inconvenience. Men fancy us more ailing than we are. You

can refute such reports. What say you, Mexas--and you, Salcedo? Is our

aspect so very sickly? We know that many build hopes upon our death; but

they are mistaken, and by Our Lady, they shall be disappointed."

"God preserve our gracious lord a thousand years!" exclaimed several

voices.

"An example should be made," said the man appealed to as Salcedo, "of

the traitors who dare spread lying reports concerning the royal health."

"'Tis too true," observed another, "that such rumours are used to the

most criminal ends."

"We will sit down," said the sick monarch. And with the assistance of

his attendants, he deposited his exhausted person in the elbow-chair.

"Drink, my friends, and tell me the news. Give me a cigar, good

Castillo. Senor Regato, how goes it? what is new in our fair city of

Madrid?"

"Little is heard," replied Geronimo, "save lamentations for the

indisposition of our beloved master."

"The good people!" exclaimed Ferdinand. "We will have care of their

happiness."

"And yet," said a little old man with a countenance of repulsive

ugliness, "there be reprobates who laugh whilst all true and faithful

subjects weep. There is my neighbour, the merchant Alvaro. Yesterday he

married his daughter to a young nobleman, Don Francisco Palavar, who

claims relationship with the Marquis of Santa Cruz. The wedding-guests

were numerous; they sang and danced, and rejoiced beyond measure. Senor

Alvaro, said I, are you not ashamed to be so joyous at such a time?

'Friend,' was his answer, 'let the times wag--they are certainly bad

enough, but must soon change. All things have an end. We rejoice in

hopes of a better future.'"

"The wretch!" exclaimed another of the camarilla. "I know him well; he

was always a negro."

"A knave grown grey in the sins of the Exaltados," cried a third.

"He must be looked to," said the sick King. "Salcedo, what have you to

tell?"

"I have gathered intelligence," replied Salcedo, "from an equerry of a

certain illustrious personage." He paused and looked meaningly at the

King, whose brow contracted, and whose lips muttered a well-known name.

"The equerry," Salcedo said, "tattled of great bustle and many visits at

his master's palace. For days past its courtyard had been filled with

carriages, bringing generals, ministers, dignitaries of the church, and

many officers, chiefly of the Royal Guard." On hearing this, a feverish

and uneasy flush reddened Ferdinand's pale countenance, and his dim eyes

glared angrily.

"I know them," he said, "the old conspirators, the Catalan volunteers,

the Agraviados. Why have I not heard this sooner? But I will take order

with them. Ha, Tadeo!--you there? Why has this been kept from me?"

Uttering these last words, the King looked directly at the spot where

Federico stood. So, at least, it seemed to the student, who, much

confused, and apprehensive of discovery, averted his eyes from the royal

gaze. But his embarrassment was exchanged for consternation, when he

beheld, in the person addressed by Ferdinand as Tadeo his recent

antagonist, the affianced of Rosaura. The Count, who stood at his elbow,

gave him but one look, but that one comprised everything--astonishment,

anger, hatred, confidence of power, and a fixed determination of

revenge. A chill came over the poor student, and he debated in his mind

whether to rush from the room, or to fall at the King's feet and reveal

all he knew. His first surprise over, and seeing that Don Tadeo took no

further notice of him, he thought it wisest to follow Geronimo's

directions and remain quiet.

"My gracious liege," said Tadeo to the King, with his usual gloomy

decision of manner, "it was unnecessary to importune your majesty by

such reports, seeing that they are merely lying devices of the

evil-disposed. And even were it true that many visits are paid to that

palace, its master has right and reason to receive them, without----"

By an impatient gesture, the King interrupted the speaker.

"It needs but to name the visitors," said Regato, with a quick sharp

glance at Tadeo. "Eguia is one of them; San Juan, O'Donnel, Moreno,

Caraval, are others."

"Has it not been remarked," said Mexas, with a sarcastic smile, "that in

the apartments of a certain illustrious lady, meetings are also held, to

which repair the Dukes of San Lorenzo and Fernando, Martinez de la Rosa,

Cambronero, and many others? What can be said against that?"

A dead silence followed this bold remark: all knew well who the

illustrious lady was who thus assembled round her the leaders of the

Liberals. Suddenly the ominous pause was broken by the voice of

Federico, to whom Regato had made a sign, significant although barely

perceptible.

"Don Tadeo," cried the audacious student, his mellow manly tones ringing

through the apartment, "is a traitor to his King. This very night he

delivered an all-important document to an agent of the Infante Don

Carlos."

The words were an electric shock to the camarilla. The King started, and

showed symptoms of extraordinary agitation. "What is that? Who says

that?" he cried, rising from his chair with the vigour of sudden

excitement. "Who knows of the document? where is it? Seize him--he shall

explain--confess!"

"Seize the scoundrel," cried Tadeo, "who has dared intrude himself

hither."

"My guards! my guards!" cried the King, his eyes rolling wildly, his

features frightfully convulsed. "Where is the paper? Tadeo, I _will_

have it back! Ha! what is this! mercy! blessed Virgin, mer----!" The

word was unfinished; and Ferdinand, doubly tortured by bodily pain and

mental anguish, fell back into the arms of his physician.

"The King is dead!" exclaimed Tadeo. "Help here!"

The camarilla crowded round Ferdinand, who lay without sense or motion.

"What is it, Senor Castillo?" said Tadeo. The physician let fall his

patient's wrist.

"A sudden paroxysm, your Excellency," he replied in a low voice. "It was

to be apprehended--all is over!"

The Count turned away, and his eye fell upon Federico, who, seeing

resistance useless, stood passive in the custody of several of the

camarilla. With a vindictive frown, Tadeo pulled open the student's

cloak, and pointed to his skirtless coat.

"You cannot deny it," he said. "The proof of your guilt is in my

possession. Who is the fellow?"

Geronimo Regato stepped forward and stared in the student's face.

"What!" cried he, "is not that Don Federico, the young advocate,

well-known in the coffee-houses as a virulent Exaltado, a determined

scoffer, a propagator of atrocious doctrines?"

"I thought as much," said the Count. "None but such an unprincipled

scoundrel would dare to act the spy in the very palace. Call the guard,

and away with him to prison. Let this man be securely ironed," he added,

to the soldiers who now entered; "and let none have speech of him."

The order was promptly obeyed. A very brief space elapsed before

Federico found himself in a narrow dungeon, stretched on damp straw,

with manacles on hands and feet. In total darkness, and seated

despondingly upon his comfortless couch, the events of the evening

appeared to him like some frightful nightmare. But in vain did he rub

his eyes and try to awake from his imaginary sleep; the terrible reality

forced itself upon him. He thought of Rosaura, the original cause of his

misfortunes, and almost doubted whether she were indeed a woman, or

some demon in angel's form, sent to lure him to destruction. Of

Geronimo, too, he thought with feelings of inexpressible bitterness. He,

the friend in whom he had placed such implicit reliance, to betray him

thus; for his own advantage, doubtless, and to draw his own head out of

the noose! There were none, then, to whom he could now look for succour.

The King was dead; his successor, the apostolical ruler, the partisan

and defender of the Inquisition, whose name, for years past, had been

the rallying-cry of the disaffected, owed his crown to the powerful

Tadeo whom the student had offended and ill-treated, whose love he had

dared to cross, whose revenge he must now encounter. Federico felt that

his fate was sealed. Already he heard, in imagination, the clank of

ponderous fetters in the dismal halls of the Inquisition; already he saw

the terrible machines--the screws and weights, the ladder and iron

couch, and felt the burning sulphur, as it was dropped hissing upon

his naked flesh by the masked and pitiless executioner. He thought

of Arguelles, the Divine, whom he had seen an animated corpse, his

limbs crushed and distorted by similar tortures; and in spite of his

natural courage, a shudder came over him as he heard the bars of his

dungeon-door withdrawn, and the heavy bolts shot back into their

sockets. The next instant he closed his eyes, dazzled by a glare of

light.

When he reopened them, the Count or Tadeo--whichever was his most

fitting appellation--stood before him. With the courage of pride and

despair, Federico boldly met his searching gaze. For some moments they

looked at each other in silence, broken at last by Tadeo.

"I come to question you," he said: "answer truly, and your captivity

may be very brief. Deceive me, and your life shall be yet shorter.

Your crimes shall meet their just reward."

"I am guilty of no crime," retorted Federico. "I am the victim of

circumstances."

"And what are they?" eagerly inquired the Count.

Federico was silent.

"Do you know me, senor?" said the Count.

"No," was the reply.

"Beware, then, lest you learn to know me too well. What did you,

concealed in yonder closet? Where is the paper you robbed me of? Who

admitted you into the house? Do you belong to a secret society? Were you

sent as a spy? A dagger was found in the closet: did you come to

assassinate me?"

He paused after each question, but Federico answered none of them,

save the last, to which he replied by a stern negative. "You had best

confess," resumed Tadeo. "If you are no political offender, if no

criminal project led you where I found you, I pledge my word, senor--and

I pledge it only to what I can and will perform--you shall at once be

released."

"I can say but this," replied the prisoner--"it was not my object to

overhear you. An accident conducted me where you discovered me, and

I heartily regret that a casual noise betrayed my presence."

"Is that all you will say?"

"All."

"You know not with whom you deal," cried the Count. Then, lowering his

voice, and with a smile that he strove to render amiable, "It was,

perhaps, a love-affair," he said. "Young man, which of Dona Rosaura's

handmaidens did you seek? Who introduced you into that apartment? Tell

me this--satisfy me on a point that concerns myself personally--and not

only will I forget all, but remain your debtor."

Whilst thus he spoke, the Count's features expressed very different

sentiments from those announced by his smooth and placable speech. In

their convulsive workings, and in the savage fire of his eyes, jealousy

and hatred were plainly to be read; he looked like a tiger about to

spring upon its prey.

"Senor," said Federico, contemptuously, "you waste time. If a lady did

introduce me into your house, rest assured I am not base enough to

reveal her name. From me you get no further answer. Do with me as you

will. In this unhappy land, might is above right."

"Wretch!" exclaimed the Count, fiercely advancing upon his undaunted

captive, "you have betrayed yourself. I will destroy you, knave, like

an insect. A lady conceal you! What audacious slander is this?" He

struggled with his rage, and, mastering himself, resumed: "It has been

proved that you are the spy of a dangerous and treasonable association.

Where is the paper you stole?"

"I have no paper," replied Federico, "and will answer no more questions.

I am in your power; do your worst."

The Count stepped to the dungeon door. Two men entered. Whilst one of

them searched Federico, closely examining each pocket and fold of his

dress, but without discovering the much-coveted document, the other

listened respectfully to the Count, who gave him instructions in a low

voice. His last words, which reached the ear of the student, were not

calculated to reassure him as to the future. "Be it so," said Don Tadeo.

"The necessary warrant shall at once be made out, and then--despatch."

And with a vindictive glance at his prisoner, he left the prison.

It was some consolation to the unfortunate Federico, when again in

dismal solitude, and with the prospect of a cruel death before his eyes,

to reflect on the firmness he had shown, and on the agony of jealous

doubt he had inflicted on his rival. In his defenceless and desperate

circumstances, such revenge was doubly sweet; and for a while he dwelt

on it with pleasure. Then his thoughts took other direction, and an

active and excited imagination transported him from that gloomy cell to

the chamber of the beautiful cause of his misfortunes. She knelt before

a crucifix, and wept and prayed for him. He heard her breathe his name,

and invoke the saints to his assistance; and in a transport of love and

gratitude he extended his arms to clasp her to his heart. They were

rudely checked by the chain that linked them to the wall. And now pale

spectres flitted through the gloom, and grinned at him with their

skeleton mouths, and murmured in his ear that he must die, and never

again see her whose kiss was yet hot upon his lips. And the last ominous

words and deadly look of his foe recurred to him, chasing all hope. Who

would miss him, the humble and friendless student? who inquire where or

how he had met his fate? Far greater than he, the wealthy, the titled,

the powerful, had met the fate he anticipated, at hangman's hands, in

the dark and silent recesses of Spanish dungeons. To the long list

of illustrious victims, he, an insignificant one, would be added

unnoticed. And the remembrance of those who had preceded him, ennobling

an ignominious death, gave Federico courage. "Yes!" he exclaimed aloud,

"I will die as so many great and good men have died before me! Would

that I had done service to my poor oppressed country, something to

deserve the tyrant's hate! But for thee, Rosaura, will I gladly perish,

and to thee only shall my last sigh be given."

His words yet echoed in the dungeon, when he heard steps at the door,

and its fastenings again withdrawn. This time he doubted not it was his

death-warrant and the executioner. Nerving himself to endure the worst,

he gazed sternly and steadily at his visitors.

"That is he," said the turnkey, to a tall, sullen-looking man.

"Take off his chains," was the answer; "and you, senor, follow me."

"Quick with your work," cried Federico. "Call your aids. I am prepared."

"Silence and follow!" harshly replied the stranger. "Lucky for you if

you are prepared for all."

Without the dungeon stood a third man, muffled in a short mantle.

Federico shuddered. "Another of the hangman brood!" he murmured. "Lead

on, I fear thee not!" The man followed without a word. After traversing

several corridors, they ascended a lofty staircase. Behind each door

Federico fancied a torture chamber or a garrote, but none of them

revealed what he expected. At last his conductor paused.

"Are you ready," he said, "to appear before your Supreme Judge?"

"I am ready," Federico solemnly replied.

"Then enter here."

A door opened, the student set foot across the threshold, and hardly

restrained a cry of surprise. Instead of the garrote, instead of racks

and torturers, he beheld a gorgeous saloon, brilliantly lighted up with

a profusion of wax tapers. Five or six men of distinguished mien and

elegant appearance, with stars and orders upon their breasts, were

grouped round a large carved chair, and looked curiously and expectantly

at Federico. But he scarcely observed them. Even on a lady of great

beauty and majestic aspect, who sat in the chair, wrapped in a costly

mantle of embroidered velvet, his attention was fixed but for an

instant, for behind her stood another lady, somewhat pale and

anxious-looking, but who yet bore so strong a resemblance to the cause

of his sufferings, to her of the rose-coloured robe, to Rosaura herself,

that all the blood in his veins rushed to his heart. Her name hovered on

his lips, and, forgetting everything but love and newly-revived hope, he

was about to spring forward and throw himself at her feet, when the

lady in the chair addressed him:

"Remain there, senor," she said, with a smile and gracious movement of

her head, as if she divined the impulse to which the impetuous student

so nearly yielded. "You have had strange adventures, I am told, within

the last few hours. They will terminate happily for you, if you tell the

whole truth, and relate without reserve all that has occurred. Where

have you passed this night? What took you to the house in which you were

found hidden? What heard you there?"

"Senora," replied Federico, respectfully but firmly, "I have already

preferred death to the revelation of a secret that is not mine. My

resolution is unchanged. I can answer no questions."

The lady cast a friendly and approving glance at the steadfast youth.

"Now, by Our Lady!" she said, turning to the gentlemen around her, "this

is a chivalrous fidelity, right pleasant to behold in these unchivalrous

days. I doubt not, young sir, that the lady of your affections will know

how to repay it. But here are great interests at stake, and your excuse

may not avail. You must relate all, truly and without reserve. And to

remove your scruples, know that the secret you have so bravely kept is

no longer one for any here present. Proceed!"

A look from Rosaura confirmed this assurance, and without further

hesitation Federico told his adventures, and repeated the dialogue he

had heard from the closet. At times the listeners seemed surprised; at

times they smiled, or looked significantly at each other, and spoke

together in brief whispers. Twice had the student to tell his tale, and

his words were taken down by one of the gentlemen present. That done,

the lady rose quickly from her chair, laid a hand upon his shoulder,

and, fixing her keen bright eyes searchingly upon his face, pointed to

the deposition.

"Can you swear to that?" she cried. "Is it all true? Before God and his

saints, did all pass as you have said? No word too much or too little?

Saw you the document with your own eyes? _Santa Madre!_ Is it possible?

Surely it cannot be; and yet--my friends, what say you? What think you,

Duke of San Fernando, and you, Marquis of Santa Cruz? What says his

Grace of San Lorenzo, and our discreet friend, Martinez de la Rosa? No,

I need not fear, whilst thus surrounded by the best and wisest in the

land. Cambronero, advise us. How may we defeat the machinations of our

crafty foes?"

The gentleman who had written down the deposition, raised his head, and

Federico recognised the features of one renowned throughout Spain as a

wise counsellor and learned lawyer. With surprise and respect the

student gazed at the distinguished and illustrious persons he had just

heard named.

"Much depends," said Cambronero, "on his Majesty's health. If unhappily

he departs this life without regaining consciousness, we must recover

the surreptitiously obtained document at point of sword. No other course

will then be open to us. But if, by God's gracious mercy, the King's

senses return, not a moment must be lost in obtaining from his hand a

revocation of the act. He must be told everything; he must be shown how

his confidence has been abused, and what base advantage has been taken

of a momentary weakness. He must hear the witnesses whom Heaven has

raised up for your Majesty."

"Ha!" cried the lady, with an impatient and energetic gesture, "you are

right, Cambronero; we must act! All that can be done, Christina will do.

They shall not triumph by weakness of hers! Don Fernando still lives,

can yet retract. He shall hear how they have laboured to bring shame

upon his name; shall learn the perfidy of those who have environed him

with their snares! I go to tell him."

The Queen left the room. "To me it seems, senores," said Cambronero, a

quiet smile playing on his shrewd features, "that things have happened

for the best, and that the result of all this is not doubtful, provided

only the king be not already dead. The Apostolicals have been active.

Their creatures have worked their way into the cabinet and the

camarilla. The guards, the captains-general, and many officers of state

are long since gained over. In all cases, on King Ferdinand's death, a

war is inevitable. The succession to the throne is a Gordian knot, to be

cut only by the sword. The Infante will never yield his claim, or admit

as valid the abrogation of the ancient Salic law.[A] And doubtless the

crown would be his, were not the people and the spirit of the times

opposed to him. He is retrograde; the Spain of to-day is and must be

progressive. The nation is uneasy; it hates despotic government; it

ferments from north to south, from Portugal to the Mediterranean; but

that fermentation would lack a rallying point without the decree which

commands all to cling to Christina and her children, and repel the

Infante. The partisans of Carlos have striven to obtain by craft what

they could not hope to conquer by the strong hand, and they have

succeeded in making a dying monarch revoke in a moment of delirium or

imbecility that all-important act. The revocation is in the hands of the

Infante; the Salic law is once more the law of the land, and Christina's

children are in their turn disinherited. And if it be impossible to

restore the King to consciousness, I fear----"

[Footnote A: By the Pragmatic Sanction, promulgated during the first

pregnancy of Christina, in May 1830.]

"What?" cried the Marquis of Santa Cruz.

"That we are on the eve of a great revolution."

"Hush!" said the Duke of San Lorenzo, looking anxiously around him.

"These are dangerous words, my friend." And his eye fell upon the

handsome countenance of Martinez de la Rosa, who smiled thoughtfully.

"Call it reform, Cambronero," he said; "wise progress of the times,

moderate, cautious, adapted to the circumstances; not rash, reckless,

sweeping revolution."

The lawyer cast a keen glance at the former minister of the Cortes.

"Reform!" he cried. "Ay, certainly; but what reform? Does Senor de la

Rosa mean such reform as he helped to bring about? I bid him beware:

these are no times for trifling. Here we stand, but a few paces from the

deathbed of a powerful prince. He fettered this revolution or reform;

but, senores, it was only for a while and in appearance. Like the mole,

it has laboured and advanced, surely and unseen. Happy for our king if

he expire before the vanity of his efforts, and the inutility of the

bloodshed and misery they have occasioned, are demonstrated; before he

learns that a principle never dies, though all the artillery of the

world be brought to bear upon it. History judges the dead; nations judge

the living. Let us so act that we may stand with honour before both

tribunals."

"The subject leads us too far," said the poet and minister, rising from

his chair and glancing at Federico, who, struck and delighted by

Cambronero's words, gazed at him with expanded brow and flashing eyes.

"Let us beware of kindling fanaticism: coolness and prudence are

becoming to men, and, God knows, we need both."

He took Cambronero's arm, and led him to the other end of the spacious

apartment. The noblemen followed, and the conversation was resumed in a

lower tone. So enthralling had been the interest with which Federico had

listened to the words of these influential Liberals, that for an instant

he had neglected Rosaura, who stood nearly concealed behind the swelling

cushions and high gilt back of the throne-like chair. Her beautiful face

wore an anxious, inquiring expression, which seemed to reproach him with

forgetting her; but as he drew near, she smiled, and rays of love and

hope broke from beneath her long dark lashes. And under the magic

influence of those beaming eyes, Federico's doubts and fears vanished

like frost before the mid-day sun, and were replaced by a transport of

blissful emotion.

"Rosaura!" he exclaimed, "what unspeakable joy is this! Strange, indeed,

have been the events of the night! The wonders of Arabian tales are

realised. A moment ago I awaited death in a dungeon; and behold, I am in

a king's chamber, and at your feet, Rosaura. Explain these things,

adored mistress of my heart! How do we thus meet? How came you hither?"

"With our friend, Geronimo Regato," replied the lady.

"The traitor!" indignantly exclaimed Federico. "No thanks to him if I

escape with life."

"Judge not so hastily," cried Rosaura: "you know not all you owe Regato.

From him I first heard your name. He was my confidant; he knew my

aversion to the detested man, who considered me already his own. My

father, of an old family, although not of the highest nobility, was

President of the Burgos Tribunal, and by commercial transactions, in the

time of the Constitution, he acquired great wealth. My hated suitor is

also sprung from the people. My father was his friend, and at one time

had to thank his influence for escape from persecution. Out of gratitude

he promised him my hand, and, dying a year ago, left him my guardian. In

that capacity he administered my estates, and had me in his power. But,

thanks to the Virgin, I am at last free from his odious control."

She gazed tenderly at Federico, and held out her hand, which he covered

with kisses. But she hastily withdrew it, on becoming aware that their

proceedings were observed by the group of politicians.

"Is this the time and place?" she said, with a smile of sweet confusion

and arch reproach. "And yet, Federico, best beloved, why should I feign

indifference, or conceal that my heart is wholly yours?"

"Angel!" cried the enraptured student, trembling with ecstasy.

"Hush!" whispered Rosaura. "Cambronero looks and laughs at us. Hear me,

Federico. The decisive moment approaches; but I fear it not--I love and

hope. It was Geronimo, disguised as a Gallego, who brought you to my

abode; Geronimo hates him whom we hate; he knew me as a child, was my

father's friend, and loves us both. He spoke to me of you long before I

saw you; he told me the hour of your walks in the Prado. At the first

glance I recognised you."

"And where is that singular man?" Federico inquired.

"I know not, but doubtless at no great distance. This night, a few hours

ago, I lay sleepless on my pillow, anxious for your fate, when a

carriage stopped at the door. It was surrounded with guards and

torch-bearers, and I was told that my presence was instantly required at

the palace. My alarm at so untimely a summons was dissipated by the

arrival of Geronimo. 'Fear nothing,' he said: 'the hour of happiness is

at hand. He whom you hate is vanquished. Federico is his conqueror.'"

"I his conqueror!" cried the student. And then, recalling all that had

occurred, "Strange destiny!" he continued. "Yes, I now see that the

secret intrigues of a dangerous and powerful man have been revealed by

my means. But who is he? I in vain conjecture."

"You do not know him?" cried Rosaura, greatly astonished--"not

know----?" She suddenly paused, for at that moment the door burst open,

and the Queen entered the room, in extreme haste and violent agitation.

"His Majesty is recovered," she exclaimed, her voice shrill and

quivering with contending emotions; "his swoon is over, God's grace be

thanked. I have spoken, my noble friends, and not in vain. The King will

himself hear the witnesses. These young people must come with me. Call

Geronimo Regato. Remain here, Cambronero, and all of you: I must see you

again, I need your counsel--desert me not!"

"When your Majesty next honours us with your presence," said Cambronero,

bowing low, and raising his voice, "it will be as Queen-Regent of

Spain."

Regato entered the room, and Federico rubbed his eyes in fresh

astonishment. It was the same man in the dark mantle who had followed

him from his dungeon to the Queen's audience chamber, and whom he had

taken for an executioner. Gradually the mysteries of the night

unravelled themselves. He understood that if Regato had accused him, it

had been to avert suspicion from himself, and that he might work more

effectually for both, by revealing to the Queen or to Cambronero what he

had learned from Federico, and by placing before them the list of the

conspirators. Musing upon this, and each moment more convinced of

Geronimo's wisdom and good faith, he followed the Queen, who, with rapid

step, led him and Rosaura through a suite of splendid apartments.

Stopping before a door, she turned to the student.

"Speak fearlessly," she said: "suppress no word of truth, and reckon on

my favour and protection."

Federico bowed. The door turned noiselessly on its hinges, and the Queen

paused a moment as in anger and surprise, whilst a dark glow flushed her

excited and passionate countenance. From the door a view was commanded

of the whole apartment, which was dimly lighted, and occupied by several

persons, standing in a half-circle, round a bed placed near a marble

chimney-piece. Upon this bed, propped by cushions into a half-sitting

posture, lay Ferdinand VII., his suffering features and livid complexion

looking ghastly and spectral in the faint light, and contrasted with the

snow-white linen of his pillow. A black-robed priest knelt at his feet,

and mumbled the prayer for the dying; Castillo the physician held his

arm, and reckoned the slow throbs of the feeble pulse. At the bedside

sat a lady, her hands folded on the velvet counterpane, her large dark

eyes glancing uneasily, almost fiercely, around the room--her

countenance by no means that of a sorrowing and resigned mourner.

"The document!" groaned the sick man, with painful effort; "the

document, where is it? To your hands I intrusted it; from you I claim it

back. Produce it instantly."

"My gracious sovereign," replied the person addressed--and at the sound

of that sinister voice, Federico felt Rosaura's hand tremble in his--"my

gracious sovereign, that paper, that weighty and important document,

signed after wise and long deliberation, cannot thus lightly be revoked

by a momentary impulse."

"Where is it?" interrupted the King, angrily.

"In the safest keeping."

"In the hands of the Infante," cried the Queen, entering the room, and

approaching the bed.

"Traitor!" exclaimed Ferdinand, making a violent but fruitless effort to

raise himself. "Is it thus you repay my confidence?"

"Hear me, gracious sir," cried Tadeo; but his tongue faltered, and he

turned deadly pale, for just then he perceived Rosaura, Federico, and

Regato standing at the door.

"Hear these," said the Queen, placing her arm affectionately round her

suffering husband, and bowing her head over him, whilst tears, real or

feigned, of sympathy or passion, fell fast from her eyes. "They have

betrayed you, Sire; they have abused your confidence; they have

conspired against me, against you, against your innocent children.

Approach, Don Federico; speak freely and fearlessly. You are under the

safeguard of your King, who demands of you the entire truth."

"Enough!" said Ferdinand; "I have read the young man's deposition. Look

at it, sir," he added, to Tadeo, pointing to the paper, "and deny it if

you can."

Tadeo obeyed; as he read, his hand visibly shook, and at last he dropped

the paper, and sank upon his knees.

"I cannot deny it," he said, in a troubled voice, "but let your majesty

hear my justification. I implore permission to explain my conduct."

The little lady who sat beside the King's bed sprang to her feet, her

countenance flaming with wrath, and rushed upon the kneeling man.

Unbridled rage flashed from her eyes, and distorted each feature of her

face.

"Traitor!" she cried, "where is the document? what have you done with

it? You stole it, to deliver to men as vile and base as yourself!

Traitor, produce it!"

"Madam!" exclaimed the astonished object of this furious apostrophe.

His remonstrance was cut short, for, quick as lightning, the

ungovernable Infanta raised her hand, and let it fall upon his face with

such vigour and good-will that the minister, unprepared for so unwomanly

an assault, staggered backwards, and narrowly avoided a fall.

"Carlotta!" cried the Queen, seizing her sister's arm, and restraining

her from further violence.

"The villain! the traitor!" shrieked the Infanta, in tones that

resounded through the palace.

"Away with him from my sight!" cried Ferdinand, his voice growing

fainter as he spoke. "The Queen, whom I appoint Regent during my

illness, will decide upon his fate. I myself strip him of all offices

and honours. Away with him, and for ever! You are no longer my minister,

TADEO CALOMARDE. Oh, God! what a bitter deception! He too! He too! By

all the saints, he shall rue it. His treachery is my death-stroke!"

The King sank back like a corpse upon his cushions, but presently

recovered himself, and with all speed, before the assembled ministers,

the extorted decree was annulled, the Pragmatic Sanction again declared

in full force, and the Queen nominated Regent. Whilst this took place,

Federico, unheeded in the bustle of such important business, remained

like one entranced. It was Calomarde, then, the man whose ruthless hand

had been so pitilessly stretched forth over the suffering land--it was

the all-powerful minister, the curse of Spain, the butcher of the noble

Torrijos and his unhappy companions, whom he, the insignificant student,

had cast down from his high state! The giant had succumbed before the

pigmy; the virtual ruler of the kingdom had fallen by the agency of one

whom, a day previously, he might with impunity have annihilated. Events

so extraordinary and of such rapid occurrence were hard to comprehend;

and Federico had scarcely convinced himself of their reality, when he

received, a few hours afterwards, a summons to the Queen's presence.

The morning sun shone into the royal apartment, revealing the traces of

a sleepless night and recent agitation upon the handsome features of the

newly-made Regent. She received the student with a smile, and placed

Rosaura's hand in his.

"Fear nothing from Calomarde," she said. "He has fled his well-merited

punishment. Those sent for his arrest sought him in vain. You are under

my protection, Rosaura--and you also, Don Federico. You have established

a lasting claim upon my gratitude, and my friendship shall never fail

you."

It does not appear how long these fair promises were borne in mind by a

queen whose word, since that time, has been far oftener pledged than

redeemed. Perhaps she thought she had acquitted herself of all

obligations when, three months later, she honoured with her presence the

nuptials of Federico and Rosaura, and with her own hand twined a costly

wreath of brilliants through the sable ringlets of the beautiful bride.

And perhaps the young couple neither needed nor desired further marks of

her favour, for they withdrew from Madrid to reside in happy retirement

upon Rosaura's estates. Geronimo Regato went with them; and for a while

was their welcome guest. But his old habits were too confirmed to be

eradicated, even by the influence of those he loved best. The atmosphere

of a court, the excitement of political intrigue, were essential to his

existence, and he soon returned to the capital. There, under a very

different name from that by which he has here been designated, he played

an important part in the stirring epoch that succeeded the death of

Ferdinand the Well-beloved.

ADVENTURE IN THE NORTH-WEST

TERRITORY.

[_MAGA._ SEPTEMBER 1821.]

After residing nearly a year in one of the most distant posts of the

North-west Company, and conducting the fur trade there, I began to look

forward to my return to Montreal. I waited with the greatest impatience

for the arrival of the period which was to terminate my banishment, and

restore me to society. I was nearly three thousand miles distant from

any settlements, and my only companions were two young men, clerks of

the establishment, whose characters, and limited acquirements, rendered

them very uninteresting associates. My situation was one of considerable

responsibility. A great number of Canadians, in the service of the

Company, resided at the post, and were under my control; but I found it

a very difficult matter to keep them in a state of due subordination,

and to prevent them from quarrelling and fighting with the detached

parties of Indians that occasionally visited us for the purpose of

trading. Interest and personal safety alike required that we should be

on friendly terms with the natives; and I spent many anxious hours in

endeavouring to promote mutual peace and good-humour.

Our post was situated upon the banks of a small lake, about sixteen

miles broad. This lake discharged itself by means of a river into

another of much greater dimensions, and thick forests covered every part

of the neighbouring country.

One afternoon I took my gun, and strolled out in search of game. Though

it was now the beginning of spring, the lake was still frozen completely

across, the cold of the preceding winter having been very intense. I

soon fell in with a flock of wild ducks, but before I could get a shot

at them, they began to fly towards the middle of the lake; however, I

followed them fearlessly over the ice, in the expectation that they

would soon alight. The weather was mild, though rather blowy. Detached

black clouds moved rapidly along the face of Heaven in immense masses,

and the sun blazed forth in unobscured splendour at one moment, and was

completely shrouded from the eye the next. I was so intent on the

pursuit of my game that I hastened forwards almost unconsciously, my

progress being much facilitated by a thin layer of snow which covered

the ice, and rendered the footing tolerably secure. At last I fired at

the ducks, and killed one and wounded another. I immediately picked up

the first, but its companion, having only been winged, began to leap

away before I caught hold of it. I followed, but had not advanced more

than twenty yards, when, to my astonishment, I found that the ice was in

many places covered with water to the depth of several inches. I stopped

short full of alarm, and irresolute what to do. It was evident that a

thaw had already commenced, and as I well knew with what rapidity the

ice broke up when once affected by a change of temperature, I became

alive to all the dangers of my situation, and almost shuddered at the

thought of moving from the spot on which I stood.

The weather had grown calm and hazy, and the sky was very black and

lowering. Large flakes of snow soon began to fall languidly and

perpendicularly through the air; and after a little time, these were

accompanied by a thick shower of sleety rain, which gradually became so

dense that I could not discern the shore. I strained my eyes to catch a

glance of some living object, but a dreary and motionless expanse

stretched around me on every side, and the appalling silence that

prevailed was sometimes interrupted by the receding cries of the wounded

bird. All nature seemed to be awaiting some terrible event. I listened

in fearful suspense, though I knew not what I expected to hear. I soon

distinguished a distant thundering noise, which gradually became

stronger, and appeared to approach the place where I stood. Repeated

explosions, and hollow murmurings of irregular loudness, were succeeded

by a tremendous sound, like that of rocks bursting asunder. The ice

trembled beneath my feet, and the next moment it was disunited by a vast

chasm, which opened itself within a few yards of me. The water of the

lake rushed upwards through the gap with foaming fury, and began to

flood the surface all around.

I started backwards, and ran, as I conceived, towards the shore; but my

progress was soon stopped by one of those weak parts of the ice called

_air-holes_. While walking cautiously round it, my mind grew somewhat

composed, and I resolved not to advance any farther until I had fixed

upon some way of regulating my course; but I found this to be

impossible. I vainly endeavoured to discern land, and the moaning of the

wind among the distant forests alone indicated that there was any at all

near me. Strong and irregular blasts, loaded with snow and sleet, swept

wildly along, involving everything in obscurity, and bewildering my

steps with malignant influence. I sometimes fancied I saw the spot where

our post was situated, and even the trees and houses upon it; but the

next moment a gust of wind would whirl away the fantastic-shaped fogs

that had produced the agreeable illusion, and reduce me to actionless

despair. I fired my gun repeatedly, in the hope that the report

would bring some one to my assistance; however, the shores alone

acknowledged, by feeble echoes, that the sound had reached them.

The storm increased in violence, and at intervals the sound of the ice

breaking up rolled upon my ear like distant thunder, and seemed to

mutter appalling threats. Alarm and fatigue made me dizzy, and I threw

down my gun and rushed forwards in the face of the drifting showers,

which were now so thick as to affect my respiration. I soon lost all

sense of fear, and began to feel a sort of frantic delight in struggling

against the careering blasts. I hurried on, sometimes running along the

brink of a circular opening in the ice, and sometimes leaping across

frightful chasms--all the while unconscious of having any object in

view. The ice everywhere creaked under my feet, and I knew that death

awaited me, whether I fled away or remained on the same spot. I felt

as one would do, if forced by some persecuting fiend to range over the

surface of a black and shoreless ocean; and aware, that whenever his

tormentor withdrew his sustaining power, he would sink down and be

suffocated among the billows that struggled beneath him.

At last night came on, and, exhausted by fatigue and mental excitement,

I wrapped myself in my cloak, and lay down upon the ice. It was so dark

that I could not have moved one step without running the risk of falling

into the lake. I almost wished that the drowsiness produced by intense

cold would begin to affect me; but I did not feel in the slightest

degree chilled, and the temperature of the air was in reality above

freezing. I had lain only a few minutes when I heard the howl of a wolf.

The sound was indescribably delightful to my ear, and I started up with

the intention of hastening to the spot from whence it seemed to proceed;

but, hopeless as my situation then was, my heart shrunk within me when I

contemplated the dangers I would encounter in making such an attempt. My

courage failed, and I resumed my former position, and listened to the

undulations of the water as they undermined and beat against the lower

part of the ice on which I lay.

About midnight the storm ceased, and most of the clouds gradually

forsook the sky, while the rising moon dispelled the darkness that had

previously prevailed. However, a thick haze covered the heavens, and

rendered her light dim and ghastly, and similar to that shed during an

eclipse. A succession of noises had continued with little interruption

for several hours, and at last the ice beneath me began to move. I

started up, and, on looking around, saw that the whole surface of the

lake was in a state of agitation. My eyes became dim, and I stretched

out my arms to catch hold of some object, and felt as if all created

things were passing away. The hissing, grinding, and crashing, produced

by the different masses of ice coming into collision, were tremendous.

Large fragments sometimes got wedged together, and impeded the progress

of those behind them, which being pushed forward by others still farther

back, were forced upon the top of the first, and fantastic-shaped

pyramids and towers could be indistinctly seen rising among the mists of

night, and momentarily changing their forms, and finally disorganising

themselves with magical rapidity and fearful tumult. At other times, an

immense mass of ice would start up into a perpendicular position, and

continue gleaming in the moonshine for a little period, and then vanish

like a spectre among the abyss of waters beneath it. The piece of ice on

which I had first taken my position happened to be very large and thick,

but other fragments were soon forced above it, and formed a mound six or

seven feet high, on the top of which I stood, contemplating the awful

scene around me, and feeling as if I no longer had the least connection

with the world, or retained anything human or earthly in my composition.

The wind, which was pretty strong, drove the ice down the lake very

fast. My alarms and anxieties had gradually become less intense, and I

was several times overcome by a sort of stupor, during the continuance

of which, imagination and reality combined their distracting influence.

At one time I fancied that the snow still drifted as violently as ever,

and that I distinguished, through its hazy medium, a band of Indian

chiefs walking past me upon the surface of the lake. Their steps were

noiseless, and they went along with wan and dejected looks and downcast

eyes, and paid no attention to my exclamations and entreaties for

relief. At another, I thought I was floating in the middle of the ocean,

and that a blazing sun flamed in the cloudless sky, and made the ice

which supported me melt so fast that I heard streams of water pouring

from its sides, and felt myself every moment descending towards the

surface of the billows. I was usually wakened from such dreams by some

noise or violent concussion, but always relapsed into them whenever the

cause of disturbance ceased to operate.

The longest and last of these slumbers was broken by a terrible shock

which my ice island received, and which threw me from my seat, and

nearly precipitated me into the lake. On regaining my former position,

and looking round, I perceived, to my joy and astonishment, that I was

in a river. The water between me and the shore was still frozen over,

and was about thirty yards wide, consequently the fragment of ice on

which I stood could not approach any nearer than this. After a moment of

irresolution, I leaped upon the frozen surface, and began to run towards

the bank of the river. My feet seemed scarcely to touch the ice, so

great was my terror lest it should give way beneath me; but I reached

the shore in safety, and dropped down completely exhausted by fatigue

and agitation.

It was now broad daylight, but I neither saw animals nor human beings,

nor any vestiges of them. Thick forests covered the banks of the river,

and extended back as far as my eye could reach. I feared to penetrate

them, lest I should get bewildered in their recesses, and accordingly

walked along the edge of the stream. It was not long before I discovered

a column of smoke rising among the trees. I immediately directed my

steps towards the spot, and, on reaching it, found a party seated round

a fire.

They received me with an air of indifference and unconcern, not very

agreeable or encouraging to one in my destitute condition. However, I

placed myself in their circle, and tried to discover to what tribe they

belonged, by addressing them in the different Indian languages with

which I was acquainted. I soon made myself intelligible, and related the

circumstances that had brought me so unexpectedly among them. At the

conclusion of my narrative, the men pulled their tomahawk pipes from

their mouths, and looked at each other with incredulous smiles. I did

not make any attempt to convince them of the truth of what I said,

knowing it would be vain to do so, but asked for something to eat. After

some deliberation, they gave me a small quantity of pemican, but with

an unwillingness that did not evince such a spirit of hospitality as I

had usually met with among Indians.

The party consisted of three men, two women, and a couple of children,

all of whom sat or lay near the fire in absolute idleness; and their

minds seemed to be as unoccupied as their bodies, for nothing resembling

conversation ever passed between them. The weather was dreary and

comfortless. A thick small rain, such as usually falls in North America

during a thaw, filled the air, and the wigwam under which we sat

afforded but an imperfect shelter from it. I passed the time in the most

gloomy and desponding reflections. I saw no means by which I could

return to the trading-post, and the behaviour of the Indians made me

doubt if they would be inclined to grant me that support and protection

without which I could not long exist. One man gazed upon me so

constantly and steadily that his scrutiny annoyed me, and attracted my

particular attention. He appeared to be the youngest of the party, and

was very reserved and unprepossessing in his aspect, and seemed to know

me, but I could not recollect of ever having seen him before.

In the afternoon the rain ceased, and the Indians began to prepare for

travelling. When they had accoutred themselves, they all rose from the

ground without speaking a word, and walked away, one man taking the

lead. I perceived that they did not intend that I should be of the

party, but I followed them immediately, and, addressing myself to the

person who preceded the others, told him that I must accompany them, as

I neither could live in the woods alone nor knew in what part of the

country I was. He stopped and surveyed me from head to foot, saying,

"Where is your gun? where is your knife? where is your tomahawk?" I

replied, that I had lost them among the ice. "My friend," returned he,

"don't make the Great Spirit angry by saying what is not. That man knows

who you are," pointing to the Indian who had observed me so closely. "We

all know who you are. You have come to trade with us, and I suppose your

companions have concealed themselves at a distance, lest the appearance

of a number of white men should intimidate us. They are right.

Experience has taught us to fear white men; but their art, not their

strength, makes us tremble. Go away; we do not wish to have any

transactions with you. We are not to be betrayed or overpowered by

liquid fire,[B] or anything else you can offer us. None of us shall harm

you. I have spoken the truth, for I have not two mouths."

[Footnote B: Spirituous liquors.]

When he had finished this oration, he remained silent, and I felt at a

loss what to reply. At last I repeated my story, and endeavoured to

convince him that I neither had any companions nor was at all in a

situation to trade with his people, or do them the slightest injury. He

listened calmly to my arguments, and seemed to think there was some

weight in them; and the young man already mentioned stepped forward and

said, "Let the stranger go with us: the bones of my father cry out

against our leaving him behind. I am young, but I dare to advise. Listen

for once to the counsels of Thakakawerente." The first speaker then

waved his hand, as a signal that I should follow them, and the whole

party proceeded in the same order as before.

Our leader pushed forward, apparently without the least hesitation,

though, accustomed as I was to the woods, I could not discover the

slightest trace of a footpath. He sometimes slackened his pace for a few

moments, and looked thoughtfully at the trees, and then advanced as fast

as before. None of the party spoke a word, and the rustling of the dry

leaves under their feet was the only sound that disturbed the silence of

the forest. Though freed from the fear of perishing for want, I could

not reflect upon my situation without uneasiness and alarm; and my

chance of being able to return to the post seemed to diminish every step

I took. I felt excessively fatigued, not having enjoyed any natural or

composed sleep the preceding night, and the roughness of the ground over

which we passed added to my weariness in an intolerable degree; but I

could not venture to rest by the way, lest I should lose sight of the

Indians for ever.

Soon after sunset we stopped for the night, and the men set about

erecting a wigwam, while the women kindled a fire. One of our party had

killed a small deer in the course of our journey, and he immediately

proceeded to skin the animal, that a portion of it might be dressed for

supper. When the venison was ready, they all sat down and partook of it,

and a liberal allowance was handed to me; but the same silence prevailed

that had hitherto been observed among them, and the comforts of a

plentiful repast after a long journey did not appear in the least degree

to promote social communication. The meal being finished, the men filled

their pipes with odoriferous herbs, and began to smoke in the most

sedate manner, and the women prepared beds by spreading skins upon the

ground. The composed demeanour of the party harmonised well with the

silence and gloominess of the night; and it seemed that the awful

solitude of the forests in which they lived, and the sublime and

enduring forms under which nature continually presented herself to their

eyes, had impressed them with a sense of their own insignificance, and

of the transitoriness of their daily occupations and enjoyments, and

rendered them thoughtful, taciturn, and unsusceptible. I seated myself

at the root of a large tree near the wigwam, and continued observing

its inmates, till, overcome by fatigue, I sank into a deep sleep.

About midnight I was awakened by some one pulling my hand, and, on

looking up, I perceived the Indian who had opposed my accompanying them,

and whose name was Outalisso, standing beside me. He put his finger on

his lips, by way of enjoining silence, and motioned that I should rise

and follow him. I obeyed, and he led me behind a large tree which grew

at a little distance from the wigwam, and said, in a low voice, "Listen

to me, my friend.--I told you that you would receive no harm from us;

and shall I belie my words? Thakakawerente, who requested that you might

be allowed to follow our steps, says that his father was murdered by a

party of people under your command, about nine moons ago. This may be

true, and you at the same time may be guiltless; for we cannot always

control those who are placed under our authority. He tells me that the

spirit of the old man has twice appeared to him in his dreams to-night,

desiring him to put you to death. He has gone to repose himself again,

and if his father visits him a third time during sleep, he will

certainly kill you whenever he awakes. You must therefore hasten away,

if you wish to live any longer." "What can I do?" cried I; "death awaits

me whether I remain here or fly from Thakakawerente. It is impossible

for me to reach home alone." "Be patient," returned Outalisso, "and I

will try to save you. Not far from hence, the roots of a large oak,

which has been blown down by the wind, stretch high into the air, and

may be seen at a great distance. You must go there, and wait till I come

to you. Keep the mossy side of the trees on your left hand, and you will

find the place without any difficulty."

Outalisso motioned me to hurry away, and I departed with a palpitating

heart, and plunged into the recesses of the forest, and regulated my

course in the manner he directed. The moon was rising, and I could see

to a considerable distance around. The rustling of the dry leaves among

my feet often made me think that some one walked close behind me, and I

scarcely dared to look back, lest I should see an uplifted tomahawk

descending upon my head. I sometimes fancied I observed Thakakawerente

lurking among the brushwood, and stopped short till imagination conjured

up his form in a different part of the forest, and rendered me

irresolute which phantom I should endeavour to avoid.

I reached the tree sooner than I expected: it lay along the ground, and

its immense roots projected from the trunk, at right angles, to the

height of twelve or fourteen feet, their interstices being so filled

with earth that it was impossible to see through them.

I sat down, and found the agitation of my spirits gradually subside

under the tranquillising influence of the scene. Not a breath of wind

shook the trees, the leafless and delicately-fibred boughs of which,

when viewed against the cloudless sky, seemed like a sable network

spread overhead. The nests which the birds had made the preceding summer

still remained among the branches, silent, deserted, and unsheltered,

making the loneliness of the forest, as it were, visible to the mind;

while a withered leaf sometimes dropped slowly down--a sad memorial of

the departed glories of the vegetable world. A small rivulet ran within

a little distance of me, but its course was so concealed by long grass

that I would have been aware of its existence by the murmuring of its

waters only, had it not glittered dazzlingly in the moonshine at one

spot, while flowing over a large smooth stone. When I looked into the

recesses of the forest, I saw the trees ranged before each other like

colossal pillars, and gradually blending their stems together, until

they formed a dark and undefined mass. In some places, a scathed trunk,

whitened with the moss of successive centuries, stood erect in spectral

grandeur, like a being whom immense age and associations, riveted to

long-past times, had isolated from the sympathies of his fellow-mortals.

As the moon gradually rose on the arch of heaven, her light fell at

different angles, and the aspect of the woods was continually changing.

New and grander groups of trees came into view, and mighty oaks and

chestnuts seemed to stalk forward, with majestic slowness, from the

surrounding obscurity, and, after a time, to give place to a succession

of others, by retiring amidst the darkness from which they had at first

emerged. Tremors of awe began to pervade my frame, and I almost expected

that the tones of some superhuman voice would break the appalling

silence that prevailed in the wilderness around me.

My mind, by degrees, became so calm that I dropped into a half-slumber,

during which I had a distinct perception where I was, but totally

forgot the circumstances connected with my situation. A slight noise at

length startled me, and I awaked full of terror, but could not conceive

why I should feel such alarm, until recollection made the form of

Thakakawerente flash upon my mind. I saw a number of indistinct forms

moving backwards and forwards a little way from me, and heard something

beating gently upon the ground. A small cloud floated before the moon,

and I waited with breathless impatience till it passed away, and allowed

her full radiance to reach the earth. I then discovered that five deer

had come to drink at the rivulet, and that the noise of them striking

their fore-feet against its banks had aroused me. They stood gazing at

me with an aspect so meek and beautiful that they almost seemed to

incorporate with the moonlight, but, after a little time, they started

away, and disappeared among the mazes of the forest.

When I surveyed the heavens, I perceived, by the alteration which had

taken place in their appearance, that I had slept a considerable time.

The moon had begun to descend towards the horizon; a new succession of

stars glittered upon the sky; the respective positions of the different

constellations were changed; and one of the planets which had been

conspicuous from its dazzling lustre a few hours before, had set, and

was no longer distinguishable. It was overpowering to think that all

these changes had been effected without noise, tumult, or confusion,

and that worlds performed their revolutions, and travelled through the

boundlessness of space, with a silence too profound to awaken an echo in

the noiseless depths of the forest, or disturb the slumbers of a feeble

human being.

I waited impatiently for the appearance of Outalisso, who had not

informed me at what hour I might expect to see him. The stars now

twinkled feebly amidst the faint glow of dawn that began to light the

eastern horizon, and the setting moon appeared behind some pines, and

threw a rich yellow radiance upon their dark-green boughs. Gentle

rustlings among the trees, and low chirpings, announced that the birds

began to feel the influence of approaching day; and I sometimes observed

a solitary wolf stealing cautiously along in the distance. While

engaged in contemplating the scene, I suddenly thought I saw an Indian

a little way off. I could not ascertain whether or not it was Outalisso,

but, fearing it might be Thakakawerente, whom I dreaded to encounter in

my unarmed state, I retired from the roots of the tree, and concealed

myself among some brushwood.

I remained there for some time, but did not perceive any one near me;

and thinking that I had been deceived by fancy, I resolved to return to

my former station, and accordingly set out towards the great tree, but

shortly became alarmed at neither reaching it nor seeing it so soon as I

expected. I turned back in much agitation, and endeavoured to retrace my

steps to the brushwood, but all in vain. I examined the most remarkable

trees around me, without being able to recollect of having seen one of

them before. I perceived that I had lost myself. The moment I became

aware of this, my faculties and perceptions seemed to desert me one

after another, and at last I was conscious of being in existence only by

the feeling of chaotic and insupportable hopelessness which remained;

but after a little time, all my intellectual powers returned with

increased vigour and acuteness, and appeared to vie with each other in

giving me a vivid sense of the horrors of my situation. My soul seemed

incapable of affording play to the tumultuous crowd of feelings that

struggled to manifest themselves. I hurried wildly from one place to

another, calling on Outalisso and Thakakawerente by turns. The horrible

silence that prevailed was more distracting than a thousand deafening

noises would have been. I staggered about in a state of dizzy

perturbation. My ears began to ring with unearthly sounds, and every

object became distorted and terrific. The trees seemed to start from

their places, and rush past each other, intermingling their branches

with furious violence and horrible crashings, while the moon careered

along the sky, and the stars hurried backwards and forwards with eddying

and impetuous motions.

I tried in vain for a long time to compose myself, and to bring my

feelings under due subordination. The remembrance of the past was

obliterated and renewed by fits and starts; but at best, my recollection

of anything that had occurred to me previous to the breaking-up of the

ice upon the lake, was shadowy, dim, and unsatisfactory, and I felt as

if the former part of my life had been spent in another world. I lay

down among the withered leaves, and covered my face with my hands, that

I might avoid the mental distraction occasioned by the sight of external

objects. I began to reflect that I could not possibly have as yet

wandered far from the great tree, and that if I called upon Outalisso at

intervals, he might perhaps hear me and come to my relief. Consoled by

the idea, I gradually became quiet and resigned.

I soon began to make the woods resound with the name of Outalisso; but

in the course of the day a tempest of wind arose, and raged with so much

noise that I could hardly hear my own voice. A dense mist filled the

air, and involved everything in such obscurity that the sphere of my

vision did not extend beyond five or six yards. The fog was in continual

agitation, rolling along in volumes, ascending and descending, bursting

open and closing again, and assuming strange and transitory forms. Every

time the blast received an accession of force, I heard a confused

roaring and crashing at a distance, which gradually increased in

strength and distinctness, till it reached that part of the forest

that stretched around me. Then the trees began to creak and groan

incessantly, their boughs were shattered against each other, fibres of

wood whirled through the air in every direction, and showers of withered

leaves, caught up and swept along by the wind, met and mingled with

them, and rendered the confusion still more distracting. I stood still

in one spot, looking fearfully from side to side, in the prospect of

being crushed to death by some immense mass of falling timber, for the

trees around me, when viewed through the distorting medium of the fog,

often appeared to have lost their perpendicularity, and to be bending

towards the earth, although they only waved in the wind. At last I crept

under the trunk of an oak that lay along the ground, resolving to remain

there until the tempest should abate.

A short time before sunset the wind had ceased, the mists were

dissipated, and a portion of the blue sky appeared directly above me.

Encouraged by these favourable appearances, I ventured from my place of

refuge, and began to think of making another attempt to regain the great

tree, when I heard the report of a rifle. I was so petrified with joy

and surprise that I had no power to call out till the firing was

repeated. I then shouted "Outalisso!" several times, and soon saw him

advancing towards me.

"Why are you not at the place I appointed?" cried he; "I feared you had

lost yourself, and discharged my gun as a signal. But all danger is

past. Thakakawerente is dead--I killed him." There was some blood on

Outalisso's dress, but he looked so calm and careless that I hesitated

to believe what he told me.

"I do not deceive you," said he, "and I will tell you how Thakakawerente

came by his death. He awaked soon after midnight, and not finding you in

the camp, suspected that I had told you that he intended to kill you. He

taxed me with having done so, and I scorned to deny it. His anger made

him forget the truth, and he said I had betrayed my trust, and at the

same time struck me on the face. Now, you know, an Indian never forgives

a blow, or an accusation such as he uttered. I buried my tomahawk in his

head. His friends lay asleep in the wigwam, and I dragged away his body

to some distance, and covered it with leaves, and then concealed myself

till I saw them set out on their journey, which they soon did, doubtless

supposing that Thakakawerente and I had gone on before. I have been at

the great tree since morning, but the mist and the tempest prevented me

from seeking you till now. Be satisfied, you shall see the corpse of

Thakakawerente. Follow me!"

Outalisso now began to proceed rapidly through the forest, and I walked

behind him without uttering a word. We soon reached the spot where the

Indians had slept the preceding night, and found the wigwam remaining,

and likewise several embers of fire. My companion immediately fanned

them into a state of brightness, and then collected some pieces of dry

wood that lay around, and piled them upon the charcoal. The whole soon

burst into a blaze, and we both sat down within its influence, Outalisso

at the same time presenting me with a quantity of pemican, which proved

very acceptable, as I had eaten nothing for more than twenty hours.

After we had reposed ourselves a little, Outalisso rose up and motioned

that I should accompany him. He conducted me to a small pile of

brushwood and dry leaves, part of which he immediately removed, and

I saw the corpse of Thakakawerente stretched beneath. I shrank back,

shuddering with horror, but he pulled me forwards, and said I must

assist him in conveying the body to the fire. Seeing me still unwilling,

he took it up in his arms, and, hurrying away, deposited it in the

wigwam. I followed him, and asked what he meant by doing so. "Are you

ignorant of our customs?" said he. "When an Indian dies, all his

property must be buried with him. He who takes anything that belonged to

a dead person, will receive a curse from the Great Spirit in addition.

After I had killed Thakakawerente, I took up his tomahawk by mistake,

and carried it away with me. I must now restore it, and also cover him

with earth lest his bones should whiten in the sun."

Outalisso now proceeded to arrange the dress of the dead man, and

likewise stuck the tomahawk in his girdle. He next went a little way

into the forest for the purpose of collecting some bark to put in the

bottom of the grave, and I was left alone.

The night was dark, dim, and dreary, and the fire blazed feebly and

irregularly. A superstitious awe stole over me, and I dared hardly look

around, though I sometimes cast an almost involuntary glance at the

corpse, which had a wild and fearful appearance. Thakakawerente lay upon

his back, and his long, lank, black hair was spread confusedly upon his

breast and neck. His half-open eyes still retained a glassy lustre, and

his teeth were firmly set against each other. Large dashes of blood

stained his vest, and his clenched hands and contracted limbs showed

what struggles had preceded death. When the flickering light of the fire

happened to fall upon him, I almost fancied that he began to move, and

would have started away had not a depressing dread chained me to the

spot; but the sound of Outalisso's axe in some degree dissipated the

fears that chilled my heart, and I spent the time in listening to the

regular recurrence of its strokes, until he came back with an armful of

bark.

I assisted him in burying Thakakawerente under the shade of a tall

walnut-tree; and when we had accomplished this, we returned to the fire,

and waited till moonlight would enable us to pursue our journey.

Outalisso had willingly agreed to conduct me home, for he wished to

change his abode for a season, lest Thakakawerente's relations should

discover his guilt, and execute vengeance upon him.

We set out about an hour after midnight, and travelled through the woods

till dawn, when we came in sight of the river, on the banks of which I

had first fallen in with the Indians. In the course of the day Outalisso

procured a canoe, and we paddled up the stream, and next morning reached

the trading-post on the side of the lake.

HARRY BOLTON'S CURACY.

[_MAGA._ FEBRUARY 1851.]

One of the greatest enjoyments which are likely to fall to the lot

of a man in middle life, is to spend a week or so with the old

school-and-college companion whom he has not seen since the graver

page of life has been turned over for both parties. It is as unlike

any ordinary visit-making as possible. It is one of the very few

instances in which the complimentary dialogue between the guest and his

entertainer comes to have a real force and meaning. One has to unlearn,

for this special occasion, the art so necessary in ordinary society, of

interpreting terms by their contraries. And in fact it is difficult, at

first, for one who has been used for some years to a social atmosphere

whose warmth is mainly artificial, to breathe freely in the natural

sunshine of an old friend's company; just as a native Londoner is said

sometimes to pine away, when removed into the fresh air of the country.

We are so used to consider the shake of the hand, and the "Very glad to

see you," of the hundred and one people who ask us to dinner, as merely

a polite and poetical form of expressing, "You certainly are a bore;

but as you are here, I must make the best of you"--that it costs us an

effort to comprehend that "How are you, old fellow?" does, in the

present case, imply a _bona fide_ hope that we are as sound in health

and heart, if not as young, as formerly. And especially when a man's

pursuits have led him a good deal into the world, and many of his warmer

feelings have been, insensibly perhaps, chilled by the contact, the

heartiness of his reception by some old college friend who has led a

simple life, the squire of his paternal acres, or the occupant of a

country parsonage, and has gained and lost less by the polishing process

of society, will come upon him with a strangeness almost reproachful.

But once fairly fixed within the hospitable walls, the natural tone is

recognised, and proves contagious; the formal encrustations of years

melt in the first hour of after-dinner chat, and the heart is opened to

feelings and language which it had persuaded itself were long forgotten.

And when the end of your three weeks' holiday arrives at last, which you

cannot persuade yourself has been more than three days (though you seem

to have lived over again the best half of your life in the time), you

have so far forgotten the conventional rules of good-breeding, that when

your friend says to you on the last evening, "Must you really go? Can't

you stay till Monday?" you actually take him at his word, and begin to

cast about in your mind for some possible excuse for stealing another

couple of days or so, though you have heard the same expression from the

master of every house where you have happened to visit, and never

dreamt of understanding it in any other than its civilised (_i. e.,

non-natural_) sense--as a hint to fix a day for going, and stick to it,

that your entertainer may "know the worst."

I was heartily glad, therefore, when at last I found that there was

nothing to prevent me from paying a visit (long promised, and long

looked forward to, but against which, I began to think, gods and men

had conspired) to my old and true friend Lumley. I dare say he has

a Christian name; indeed, I have no reason to doubt it, and, on the

strength of an initial not very decipherable, prefixed to the L in his

signature, I have never hesitated to address him, "J. Lumley, Esq.;"

but I know him as Long Lumley, and so does every man who, like myself,

remembers him at Oxford; and as Long Lumley do all his cotemporaries

know him best, and esteem him accordingly; and he must excuse me if I

immortalise him to the public, in spite of godfathers and godmothers,

by that more familiar appellation. A cousin was with him at college, a

miserable sneaking fellow, who was known as "Little Lumley;" and if, as

I suspect, they were both Johns or Jameses, it is quite desirable to

distinguish them unmistakably; for though the other _has_ the best

shooting in the country, I would not be suspected of spending even the

first week of September inside such a fellow's gates.

But Long Lumley was and is of a very different stamp; six feet three,

and every inch a gentleman. I wish he was not, of late years, quite so

fond of farming: a man who can shoot, ride, and translate an ode of

Horace as he can, ought to have a soul above turnips. It is almost the

only point on which we are diametrically opposed in tastes and habits.

We nearly fell out about it the very first morning after my arrival.

Breakfast was over--a somewhat late one in honour of the supposed

fatigues of yesterday's journey, and it became necessary to arrange

proceedings for the day. What a false politeness it is, which makes

a host responsible for his guests' amusement! and how often, in

consequence, are they compelled to do, with grimaces of forced

satisfaction, the very thing they would not! However, Lumley and myself

were too old friends to have any scruples of delicacy on that point. I

had been eyeing him for some minutes while he was fastening on a pair of

formidable high-lows, and was not taken by surprise when the proposal

came out, "Now, old fellow, will you come and have a look at my farm?"

"Can't I see it from the window?"

"Stuff! come, I must show you my sheep: I assure you they are considered

about the best in this neighbourhood."

"Well, then, I'll taste the mutton any day you like, and give you my

honest opinion."

"Don't be an ass now, but get your hat and come along; it's going to be

a lovely day; and we'll just take a turn over the farm--there's a new

thrashing-machine I want to show you, too, and then back here to lunch."

"Seriously, then, Lumley, I won't do anything of the kind. I do you the

justice to believe, that you asked me here to enjoy myself; and that I

am quite ready to do in any fairly rational manner; and I flatter myself

I am in nowise particular; but as to going bogging myself among turnips,

or staring into the faces and poking the ribs of shorthorns and

south-downs--why, as an old friend, you'll excuse me."

"Hem! there's no accounting for tastes," said Lumley, in a

half-disappointed tone.

"No," said I, "there certainly is not."

"Well, then," said he--he never lost his good-humour--"what shall we do?

I'll tell you--you remember Harry Bolton? rather your junior, but you

must have known him well, because he was quite in our set from the

first--to be sure, didn't you spill him out of a tandem at Abingdon

corner? Well, he is living now about nine miles from here, and we'll

drive over and see him. I meant to write to ask him to dine here, and

this will save the trouble."

"With all my heart," said I; "I never saw him since I left Oxford. I

fancied I heard of his getting into some mess--involved in some way,

was he not?"

"Not involved exactly; but he certainly did make himself scarce from a

very nice house and curacy which he had when he first left Oxford, and

buried himself alive for I don't know how long, and all for the very

queerest reason, or rather without any reason at all. Did you never

hear of it?"

"No; only some vague rumour, as I said just now."

"You never heard, then, how he came into this neighbourhood? Have the

dog-cart round in ten minutes, Sam, and we dine at seven. Now, get

yourself in marching order, and I'll tell you the whole story as we go

along."

He did so, but it was so interrupted by continual expostulations with

his horse, and remarks upon the country through which we were driving,

that it will be at least as intelligible if I tell it in my own words;

especially as I had many of the most graphic passages from Bolton's own

lips afterwards.

It was before he left Oxford, I think, that Bolton lost his father, and

was thrown pretty much upon his own resources. A physician with a large

family, however good his practice, seldom leaves much behind him; and

poor Harry found himself, after spending a handsome allowance and

something more, left to begin life on his own account, with a degree,

a good many bills, and a few hundreds, quite insufficient to pay them.

However, he was not the sort of man to look upon the dark side of

things; and no heir, long expectant, and just stepping into his

thousands per annum, carried away from the university a lighter heart

and a merrier face than Harry Bolton. He got ordained in due course;

and though not exactly the material out of which one would prefer to

cut a country curate, still he threw off, with his sporting coats and

many-coloured waist-coats, most of the habits thereto belonging, and

less suited to his profession. To live upon a curate's stipend he found

more difficult; and being a fair scholar, and having plenty of friends

and connections, he announced his intention of "driving," as he called

it, a pair of pupils, whom he might train up in so much Latin and

Greek, and other elements of general knowledge (including, perhaps,

a little shooting and gig-driving), as they might require for their

matriculations. The desired youths were soon found; and Harry entered

upon this new employment with considerable ardour, and a very honest

intention of doing his best. How the Latin and Greek prospered is a

point in some degree obscure to present historians; but all the pupils

were unanimous in declaring the wine to be unexceptionable, and their

preceptor's dogs and shooting first-rate; in fact, he sustained, with

them as with the public generally, the reputation of being one of the

heartiest and best fellows in the world. From the poorest among his

parishioners, to whom he was charitable above his means, but who felt

almost more than his gifts the manner of his giving, to the squire ten

miles off, who met his pleasant face and smile once a-year at a dinner

party, all spoke well of Harry Bolton. No wonder that his pupils looked

upon him as the very paragon of tutors, and found their path of learning

strewed with unexpected flowers. How many scholars he made is still

unknown; but he made many friends: with the uncalculating gratitude

of youth, all remembered the pleasant companion when they might have

forgotten the hard-working instructor: and frequent were the tokens of

such remembrance, varying with the tastes of the senders, which reached

the little parsonage by the Oxford coach, from those who successively

assumed the _toga virilis_, and became (university) _men_. Collars of

brawn and cases of claret were indeed but perishable memorials; but

there came also whips extravagantly mounted, and tomes of orthodox

divinity in the soberest bindings, all bearing inscriptions more or

less classical, from his "_quondam alumni_." The first-named delicacies

were duly passed on, with Harry's compliments, to grace more fittingly

the tables of some of his hospitable entertainers; and, in an equally

unselfish spirit, he seldom sat down alone to any of his literary

dainties, but kept them in honourable state on his most conspicuous

book-shelf, for the use and behoof of any friend who might wish to enjoy

them.

But here I am anticipating. For some time the pupilising went on pretty

smoothly. Two or three couple of youths were fairly launched upon the

university, and nothing particularly untoward had occurred to ruffle the

curate's good-humour or injure his reputation. There had been no attempt

at elopement with the cook or housemaid (Bolton's precaution had secured

ugly ones); no poaching on Sir Thomas's favourite preserve, though

close at hand, and sportsmen of eighteen are not over nice in their

distinctions: a tall Irishman had been with him, summer vacations and

all, for nearly two years, and had _not_ made love to either of the

squire's undeniably pretty daughters. In short, the pupils were less of

a bore than Harry had supposed it possible, and, in some cases, very

agreeable companions to enliven the occasional dulness of a country

parish.

But somehow or other, in one chief point which he had aimed at, he found

himself disappointed. In counting so many additional hundreds to his

scanty income, Harry Bolton had fancied he was going to make himself

a rich man. He was not avaricious, or even selfish--far from it; but

he wanted to be independent; there were visions, perhaps, flitting

indistinctly before him, of a time when he might tire of a solitary

home, and resign into some fair and gentle hand the reins of the liberty

he was so fond of boasting as a bachelor. He did not grudge his time or

labour; he had cast off much of his old habit of idleness, and took a

real interest in his pupils; still he had expected some of the results

to himself would take the tangible shape of pounds shillings and pence.

But though the cheques came duly in at Midsummer and Christmas, the

balance at his banker's increased but very slowly; in short, he found

that the additional expenses, necessary and unnecessary, entailed upon

him by the change in his establishment, nearly counterbalanced the

additional income. Not to speak of such ordinary matters as butchers'

and bakers' and wine-merchants' bills--for his table was always most

liberal, now that he had to entertain others, as it had been simple and

economical while alone--indeed the hospitality of the neighbourhood had

then made his housekeeping almost a sinecure; but, independently of

this, Harry had been led to extend his expenses--he said unavoidably--in

other directions. A rough pony had hitherto contented him to gallop into

the neighbouring town for letters, and to carry him and his valise to

the dinner-parties even of his most aristocratic entertainers. But now,

inasmuch as sometimes an hospitable invitation extended itself to

"the young men," he had felt in duty bound, for his and their joint

accommodation, to replace the pony by a showy-looking mare, and to

invest the legal sum of nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence

in the purchase of a dog-cart. As an almost necessary consequence, the

boy "Jim" gave way to a grown-up groom, who did rather less work for

considerably more wages, hissing and whistling over the said mare and

dog-cart in the most knowing manner, and condescending, though with some

scruples of conscience, to clean boots and knives. Harry's reminiscences

of his more sporting days were yet fresh enough for him to make a point

of seeing his turn-out "look as it ought to do." Jim and the pony, and

all their accoutrements, were rough, and useful, and cheap, and made no

pretensions to be otherwise. Now, things were changed, and saddlery and

harness of the best (there was no economy, as Harry observed, in buying

a poor article) found their place among the bills at Christmas. In

short, he was led into a maze of new wants, individually trifling, but

collectively sufficient to tell upon his yearly expenditure; and he was

beginning gravely to attempt to solve that universal problem--the asses'

bridge, which the wisest domestic economists stick fast at year after

year--"where the deuce all the money goes to?"--when circumstances

occurred which put all such useless inquiries out of his head, and

indeed put his debtor and creditor transactions on a much more primitive

footing.

In the final settlement of the accounts of one of his pupils, who was

leaving him for the university, some misunderstanding arose between

himself and the father. The sum in question was but a few pounds; but

the objection was put forward in a manner which Bolton considered as

reflecting upon his own straightforward and liberal dealing; and it so

happened that the young man had, from circumstances, been indebted

in an unusual degree to his kindness. He therefore, I have no doubt,

took the matter up warmly; for those who remember him as I do, can well

imagine how his blood would boil at anything he considered mean or

unhandsome. It ended in his insisting on the whole amount--a hundred or

so--respecting which the difference had arisen, being paid in to the

treasurer of the county hospital instead of to himself; and he vowed

silently, but determinedly, to renounce pupilising thenceforth for

ever. In vain did some of his best friends persuade him to change his

resolution; he kept two who were with him at the time for a few months,

when they also were to enter college; but he steadily refused any other

offers: he sold off at once all his superfluous luxuries, and, as soon

as practicable, gave up his curacy, and quitted the neighbourhood, to

the general regret of all who knew him, and to the astonishment of all

but the very few who were in the secret.

When Bolton's friends next heard of him, he was living in a remote

district of H----shire, on an income necessarily very small; for it

could have been scarcely more than the proceeds of his curacy; and

curacies in that part of the country were then but a wretched provision

for any man--especially for one accustomed as he had been to good living

and good society. However, he was not much troubled with the latter

in his present position; not to speak of the fact that his nearest

conversible neighbour lived seven miles off. Wherever parsons are mostly

poor, and many of them ill-educated, they are not thought much of,

either by farmers or gentlemen. And as it did not suit Harry's tastes to

enjoy his pipe and pot in the society of the first, as his predecessor

had done with much contentment, nor yet to wait for the arrival of the

one landed proprietor in the parish before he commenced the morning

service, he was voted by the overseers and churchwardens to be "mighty

set up," and by the squire to be "a d--d unmannerly fellow." Both,

indeed, soon found out that they were wrong; and the farmers had the

grace to confess it, and came, in course of time, to believe it possible

for a curate to be a gentleman without being proud, and that it was at

least as well for him to be visiting the sick and poor, and overlooking

the parish school, and able to give a little good advice to themselves

in matters of difficulty, as to be boosing in their company at the Crown

and Thistle. And, in course of time, those rough but honest people

came to respect him almost as much perhaps, in their way, as his more

enlightened neighbours had done in his former position. It must have

been a great change, however, to a man like Bolton, used to good

society, fond of it, and readily welcomed in it, as he had always been.

No doubt he felt it; yet he declared that, after the first few weeks, he

never was happier in his life. His gun was given up, as an indulgence

too expensive, but there was excellent trout-fishing for miles on both

sides of his cottage; and, though a sport to which he had no great

liking in his earlier days, he now took to it vigorously as the only

amusement at hand, and became no unworthy disciple of honest Isaac. The

worst effect of this new life of isolation was, that he became somewhat

negligent in his habits; took to smoking a great deal, and made his

tobacconist's account a good deal longer than his tailor's. He had still

many old friends and connections at a distance, with whom he might have

spent half the year if he had pleased; but, in his first pique with the

world in general, he had fixed himself purposely as far out of their

reach as possible; travelling was expensive (railways as yet were not);

assistance in his clerical duties was not easily obtained; and so,

partly from choice, and partly from necessity, his new life became one

of almost utter isolation.

Of course there were occasions when he found it necessary to visit the

neighbouring market-town--if it could be called neighbouring when it was

twelve miles off. The main road lay about a mile from Harry's little

cottage, and a coach, passing daily, would usually deposit him safely in

the High Street in the course of the forenoon--allowing an hour for

waiting for it at the crossing (it was always after its time), and about

two more, if the roads were not unusually heavy, for getting over the

distance. It was not a very luxurious style of travelling; and Harry

often preferred to walk in one day, and return the next. It was on

one of these rare visits that a soaking rain discouraged him from

setting out for home on foot, and give the Regulator the unusually full

complement of one inside and one outside passenger. On the box was our

friend Harry, inside a rather precise-looking personage, whose costume,

as far as a large cloak allowed it to be seen, looked somewhat more

clerical than the Curate's, the latter being clad in a smart upper

benjamin of the landlord's of the Swan, finished round the throat with a

very gay shawl of his daughter's, both forced upon him in consideration

of the weather; for Harry, though by no means a frequent, was a highly

favoured guest, and they would sooner have kept him in No. 1 for a week

gratis, than have allowed him to turn out in the rain without due

protection.

Slower than usual that day was the Regulator's progress through the mud

and against the wind, and briefer than usual its driver's replies to

Harry's good-humoured attempts at conversation.

"Whom have we inside, do you know, Haines?"

"Well, I reckon it's what you'd call a hopposition coach like," grunted

out Joe Haines.

"Eh? I don't exactly understand."

"Why, I mean a Methodist bishop, or summat o' that sort. You see there

was a great opening of the Independent College here o' Tuesday, and

there was a lot o' them gentry about the town, looking too good to live.

I druv' five on 'em down yesterday, and they gev' me a shilling and a

fourpenny amongst the whole lot. Oh! I loves them sort, don't I just?"

and Joe gave his near wheeler a cut, illustrative of his affection. It

was a longer speech than he had made all the way, and he relapsed into a

gloomy silence.

The wind was driving right into their teeth, and the evening closing

fast, and they were passing the last milestone to the turning without

any farther attempt at conversation, when there came first an ominous

crack from under their feet, then a jolt, an unsteady wavering motion

for a few seconds, when, with scarcely time for an exclamation, the

coach toppled over on one side, and Bolton found himself reclining on

the portly person of Mr Joseph Haines, who, in his turn, was saved from

contusions by a friendly heap of mud by the roadside. Beyond a broken

axle, however, no damage was done. The horses were glad of any

opportunity to stand still. Bolton got up, shook himself, and laughed.

Joe Haines was proceeding to philosophise rather strongly on the

accident, not exactly after the manner of Job or Seneca, when the inside

passenger, putting his head out of the only practicable window, begged

him to spare his oaths, and help him out of his prison.

The stranger was soon extricated, and the horses taken out; and the

driver, requesting his passengers to await his return, set off to seek

assistance at the nearest cottage. As to the coach itself proceeding

farther until partially repaired, that was evidently out of the

question; and so Harry observed to his companion, who did not appear

very knowing in such matters.

"And how far may we be from S----, sir?" inquired he, upon receiving

this not very agreeable intelligence.

"Fifteen miles at least," replied Bolton.

"Indeed! so far, and is there no place near where I could procure a

conveyance of any kind? I have an engagement there I particularly wished

to keep to-morrow."

"Really, I fear not; this is quite an out-of-the-way place: the driver

can tell you better than I can, but I know the neighbourhood pretty

well, and think you would have to send back to the Swan at B---- for

horses."

"It is very unfortunate, and it is past nine already; what is the

nearest place, sir, where I could get decent accommodation for the

night?"

"Why, the nearest place," said Harry, hesitatingly, "is the 'Crown and

Thistle,' about three miles off, but I can't say much for the

accommodation. Wo-ho,"--one of the horses, tired at last of standing in

the drizzling rain, was showing symptoms of an immediate return to his

stable. The stranger merely gave vent to a dissatisfied "Humph!" and

they stood silently awaiting the approach of a light along the road,

which betokened Joe's return with assistance. The coach was soon

righted, and set up against the side of a bank; and Mr Haines, having

given charge to one of his aids-extraordinary to keep watch by it till

dawn with a light, both to prevent accidents and abstraction of the

luggage, announced his intention of returning with the horses to B----,

offering to his inside passenger the choice of a ride back, or taking a

nap in the coach till morning. "_You_ won't be long getting home, Mr

Bolton, anyhow,"--and the pronoun was emphasised, to show that even this

sympathy was little extended to his fellow-traveller.

"No, Joe, I must say you have been pretty considerate: as you _were_ to

break down, you could hardly have arranged it more handily for me. Just

look me out my little carpet-bag, and I suppose you'll expect an extra

shilling for your performance to-night, eh?"

Joe gave a hoarse laugh, and proceeded to rummage the boot; and Harry

took advantage of the opportunity to whisper a few inquiries about his

fellow-passenger.

"Well, I be pretty sure, sir, it's a Dr Bates, as preached at the

opening on Tuesday. There was two or three black-coats came with him to

the yard afore we started; he's quite a top-sawyer among 'em, and can

hold on for two hours good, best pace, they tell me. He's gev' out to

preach over at S---- to-morrow morning. I see'd the printed bills stuck

all over town to-day."

To-morrow was Sunday; and Bolton thought of a certain manuscript, not

quite finished, lying on his desk at home. He glanced again at the

stranger, and possibly, in the orthodoxy of his heart, did not feel

particularly grieved at the disappointment probably in store for the

itching ears of the S---- non-conformists.

"Well, good-night, Haines," said he. But seeing his late companion still

standing in the road, looking rather helpless, and hesitating to leave

him altogether to the tender mercies of the coachman, "I am walking in

the direction of the village inn," he continued, "and if I can show you

the way, I shall be very glad to do so. I dare say I can also find some

one to fetch your luggage."

"Thank you, sir," said the other. "I cannot do better than follow your

example;" and he at once selected and shouldered, with some activity for

a man obviously on the wrong side of forty, a carpet-bag of more

cumbersome dimensions than Bolton's; and they strode down the road

together, nearly in darkness, and with the rain still falling.

They had nearly reached the curate's humble cottage, without much

further conversation, when the stranger repeated his inquiries as to the

distance to the inn, and the probability of his obtaining there any

tolerable accommodation. "A _clean_ bed," he said, "would content him;

was he likely to find one?"

A struggle had been going on, from the time they left the coach, between

Harry Bolton's good-nature, and what he thought his due dignity. Every

word his fellow-passenger had uttered had convinced him, more and more,

that he was a man of education and good sense, to say the least; a

totally different being from the class of whom Jabez Green, who

expounded at Mount Pisgah in his own parish on Sundays, and did a little

shoemaking and poaching on week-days, formed a specimen ever before his

eyes; and if it had not seemed a ludicrous misapplication of hospitality

to have entertained the great gun of schism within the lares of the

"_persona ecclesia_" he would long ago have offered the very respectable

and mild-mannered gentleman, dropped by an unlucky accident almost at

his door, at least a good fire and a pair of clean sheets for the night.

Sleep at the Crown and Thistle!--why, on consideration, it was scarcely

creditable to himself to send him there. The landlord was one of the

most disreputable fellows in the parish, and, by ten o'clock on a

Saturday night, was usually so drunk as to be more likely to refuse a

guest any accommodation at all, than to take any extra pains for him.

And the dirt, and the noise, and the etceteras! No, Dr Bates had better

have stuck to the inside of the coach than have tried the Crown and

Thistle. But where else was he to go? There was a good spare bedroom, no

doubt, at Barby farm, within half a mile; but it had not been occupied

since Harry had slept in it himself on his first arrival in the parish,

and then it took a week's notice to move the piles of wool and cheese,

and have it duly aired. The stranger coughed, Harry grew desperate, and

spoke out.

"We are close to my little place now, sir. I think I can offer you what

you will hardly find at the inn--a clean room and a well-aired bed; and

it seems a mere act of common civility to beg you to accept it."

With many thanks, but with the natural politeness and ease with which a

gentleman receives from another the courtesy which he is always ready to

offer himself, the hospitable invitation was at once freely accepted:

and in five minutes they had passed the little gate, and were awaiting

the opening of the door.

This service was performed by the whole available force of Harry's

establishment. One active little elderly woman, who was there on

resident and permanent duty, in all capacities, assisted on this

occasion by Samuel Shears, parish clerk, sexton, barber, bird-fancier,

fishing-tackle maker, &c. &c. &c.; and acting gardener, valet, butler,

and footman, when required, to the reverend the curate. Loud was the

welcome he received from both. "Had he walked through all the rain,

sure_ly_! The coach was very late then; they'd 'most given him up: no,

Sam hadn't, 'cause of service to-morrow;" when their volubility was

somewhat checked by the sight of his companion; and the old lady's face

underwent no very favourable change when informed she must prepare a

second bed.

"Walk in, pray, and warm yourself--that room--Sam, take these bags;" and

Harry stepped aside into the kitchen, to negotiate with his housekeeper

for the stranger's accommodation; a matter not to be effected but by

some little tact; for Molly, like servants of higher pretensions, did

not like being put out of her way, by people "coming tramping in," as

she said, at all hours of the night; and if Bolton had replied to her

close inquiries, as to who and whence the new guest was, with the

statement that he was a stray Methodist preacher, it is probable that

Molly, who had lived with clergymen since she was a child, and would

sooner have missed her dinner than "her church," would have resigned her

keys of office at once in high disgust.

"The gentleman will sleep in my room, of course, Molly, and I shall have

my things put into the other;--anything will do for supper--bread and

cheese, Molly, quite well--toast a little, will you? Poor man, he seems

to have a cough."

"Toasted cheese an't good for a cough."

"No; to be sure not. Well, you can fry a little bacon, and a few eggs,

you know."

"There an't no eggs. I don't know what's come to the 'ens: they behaves

'orrid, they does."

"Well, anything, anything, Molly. I'm very tired, and I don't care what

it is: we shall both be very glad to get to bed."

"Lor, I dare say you be tired, sir," said Molly, somewhat pacified.

"You've had a very wet ride, to be sure; lawk-a-me, why this coat might

be a-wringed out." And she hastened to relieve her master of some of his

outer wrappings, and supply him with a warm dressing-gown and slippers,

in which he soon joined his guest in the little parlour; and having

introduced him to the room he was to occupy for the night, left him

also to make himself comfortable.

If Harry Bolton did not repent of his hospitality, which would have been

very unlike him, yet, upon consideration, he certainly felt he was

acting the good Samaritan somewhat more literally than he had ever

expected to do.

"What on earth shall I do with him to-morrow, I should like to know?"

was the first question that suggested itself--much more readily than did

the answer. He could not be expected to go to church, perhaps; but would

he stay quietly at home? or walk off to assist the very reverend Jabez

at Mount Pisgah? As to his keeping his appointment at S----, that, at

least, was out of the question; and, after all, there seemed so much

good sense and feeling of propriety about the traveller, that it was

most probable--at least Harry thought so--that he would not in any way

offend against the rules of the household which he had entered under

such circumstances.

So the curate brushed the clinging rain from his hair, and the cloud

from his brow, with one and the same motion, and relapsed into his usual

state of good-humour. Supper came in, and he and his guest sat down

opposite to each other, and prepared to discuss old Molly's simple

cookery. Really, now that one could look at him well, the man was very

presentable in person as well as in manner. Harry said grace in a very

few words, and the other's "Amen" was audible and unexceptionable;

reverent, and not nasal. He had a capital appetite; it was said to be

characteristic of his calling, but in that point Harry fully kept pace

with him; and the conversation was not, for the present, a very lively

one. Sam came in at last to take away.

"Sam," said the curate, in a half-aside, "_is_ there a bottle of

port?--here's the key."

"La! sir, you bid me take it down to old Nan, you know; and it wor the

last bottle, I tell'd you then."

"Ha! so I did, so I did. Did she like it, Sam?"

"Like it?" said Sam, opening his eyes, "I warrant her!"

"Well, Sam, I hope it did her good;--never mind. You must fare as I do,

I am afraid," said he to the other. "Bring out the whisky-jar, Sam."

Bolton mixed himself a glass without further preface or apology; and his

neighbour, with the remark that it could not be much amiss after a

wetting, very moderately followed his example.

"And now," said Bolton, rummaging in a little cupboard behind him, "I

hope you don't dislike the smell of tobacco. I'm rather too fond of it

myself. My weakness is a pipe: I could find you a cigar, perhaps, if you

are ever--"

"Thank you, I never do smoke; but pray do not mind me: I was at a German

university for a year and a half, and that is a pretty fair

apprenticeship to cloud-raising."

Took a doctor's degree there, no doubt, thought Harry; but it served

excellently as an opening for general conversation; and two pipes had

been consumed, and Molly had twice informed the gentlemen that the beds

were all ready, and that Sam was waiting to know if there were any

orders for to-morrow, before Harry remembered that he had a sermon still

to finish, and that it was verging upon Sunday morning--so intelligent

and agreeable had been the discourse of the stranger.

"If you please, sir," said the clerk, putting his head in at the door,

"the rain is a-coming down like nothing, and that great hole over the

pulpit ben't mended yet. Master Brooks promised me it should be done

afore to-night; but he's never seen to it."

"That Brooks is the very--but, there, it can't be helped to-night, Sam,

at all events," said Bolton, rather ashamed that the defects of his

parochial administration should be exposed, as it were, to the enemy. "I

must speak to him about it myself."

"I clapped a couple of sods over it as well as I could, sir," said the

persevering Sam; "and I don't think much wet can come in to hurt, like.

Will this gentleman 'ficiate to-morrow?" (this was in a loud

confidential whisper) "'cause the t'other surplice an't--"

"Don't bother now--there's a good fellow," said Harry, considerably

annoyed, as he shut the door in the face of his astonished subordinate,

who was generally privileged to gossip as much as he pleased. He covered

his embarrassment by showing his visitor at once to his room, and then

sat down to complete his own preparations for the next day's duties.

The rain was as busily falling in the morning as if it had only

just begun, instead of having been at it all night. Harry had been

more than usually scrupulous in his dress; but when they met at the

breakfast-table, his guest's clerical _tout ensemble_ beat him hollow.

After a rather silent meal, in which both, as if by tacit consent,

avoided all allusion to subjects connected with the day and its duties,

Bolton mustered his courage, as they rose from table, to say--"My

service is at eleven, and I shall have rather a wet walk; you, perhaps,

are not disposed to accompany me?"

"By all means," said the stranger, bowing; "I am quite ready;--is it

time to set out?" And in a few minutes they were picking their way, side

by side, down the little miry lane.

The church, it must be confessed, was not a comely edifice. Its

architectural pretensions must originally have been of the humblest

order; and now, damp and dilapidated, it was one of the many which, in

those days, were a disgrace to any Christian community. There was the

hole in the roof, immediately over the curate's head, imperfectly

stopped by Sam's extempore repairs; and very wretched and comfortless

did the few who composed the congregation look, as they came dripping

in, and dispersed themselves among the crumbling pews. The service

proceeded, and none showed such reverent attention as the stranger; and

being placed in the rectorial pew, immediately opposite the clerk, the

distinct though subdued tone of his responses was so audible, and so

disturbed that functionary (who had that part of the service usually

pretty much to himself, and had come to consider it as in some sort his

exclusive privilege), that he made some terrible blunders in the hard

verses in the Psalms, and occasionally looked round upon his rival, on

these latter occasions especially, with unmistakable indignation.

The service concluded, Bolton found his guest awaiting him in the porch;

and some ten minutes' sharp walking, with few remarks, except in

admiration of the pertinacity of the rain, brought them home again to

the cottage. A plain early dinner was discussed: there was no afternoon

service; and the curate had just stepped into his kitchen to listen to

some petition from a parishioner, when the stranger took the opportunity

of retiring to his own apartment, and did not reappear until summoned to

tea.

Bolton's visit to the kitchen had interrupted a most animated debate.

In that lower house of his little commonwealth the new arrival had been

a fruitful topic of discussion. The speakers were three: Molly, Sam,

and Binns the wheelwright, who had looked in, as he said, on a little

business with the parson. Molly, as has been said, was a rigid

churchwoman. Her notions of her duty in that capacity might not have

been unexceptionable, but they were, so far as the Sunday went, as

follows: Church in the morning and afternoon, if practicable; as much

reading as her eyes--not quite what they used to be--could comfortably

manage; pudding for dinner, and tea and gossip in the evening. If fine,

a walk would have come among the day's arrangements; but with the rain

coming down as it did, and after having rather puzzled herself with a

sermon upon the origin of evil, the sudden, and in a degree mysterious,

visit of a strange gentleman--where visitors of any kind were so

rare--became invaluable as a topic of interesting--for aught we know,

of profitable--discourse. Sam Shears dined with her always on this

day, and was allowed, not without scruples, to have his pipe in the

chimney-corner; in consideration of which indulgence, he felt it his

duty to make himself as agreeable as possible; and inasmuch as his

stock-stories respecting enormous perch caught, or gifted starlings

educated by him, Samuel Shears, had long ceased to interest--indeed had

never much interested--his fair listener here, though they still went

down, with variations, at the Crown and Thistle, he was reduced very

often, in the absence of anything of modern interest stirring in the

neighbouring town of S----, to keep up his credit as a "rare good

companion," by entering into politics--for which study, next to

divinity, Molly had a decided taste--talking about reforms and

revolutions in a manner that Molly declared made her "creep," and

varying this pleasurable excitement by gloomy forebodings with regard

to"Rooshia and Prooshia."

On this particular evening, however, the subject of debate was of a

domestic nature, and Molly and the clerk had taken opposite sides: Binns

arriving opportunely to be appealed to by both, and being a man of few

words, who shook his head with great gravity, and usually gave a nod of

encouragement to the last speaker. Molly, after her first indignation

at the intrusion of a wet stranger, without notice, at ten o'clock of

a Saturday night, had been so softened by the courteous address and

bearing of the enemy, that she had gradually admitted him at least to a

neutrality; and when Sam Shears had in confidence hinted that he "hadn't

quite made up his mind about un," her woman's kindness of heart, or her

spirit of contradiction, rushed forth as to the rescue of a friend.

"I wonder at you, Sam," said she; "you've had heddication enough to know

a gentleman when you sees him; and you'd ought to have more respect for

the cloth."

"Cloth! There now," replied Sam, "that's just it; I an't so sure about

his cloth, as you call it."

"Why, what ever do you mean, Sam Shears?"

"I mean," rejoined Sam, boldly, though he felt that Molly's fiercest

glance was upon him, and almost choked himself in the endeavour to hide

himself in a cloud of his own creating--"I mean, I don't think as he's

a regular parson. If he had been, you see, he'd have took some of the

duty. Besides," continued the official, reassured by Binns' respectful

attention, "we had a little talk while we was a-waiting for master

after church--I offered him a humbereller, you see--and I just asked

whereabouts his church was, and he looked queerish at me, and said he

hadn't no church, not exactly; and then I begged his pardon, and said

I thought he was a clergyman; and he said, so he was, but somehow he

seemed to put me off, as it might be." Binns nodded.

"To be sure," said Molly; "and 'twas like your manners, Sam, to go

questioning of him in that way."

"Bless you, I was as civil as could be; however, I say again, I 'as my

doubts: he'd a quakerish-looking coat too, such as I never see'd on a

regular college parson. He's the very moral of a new Irvingite

preacher."

"And what's their doctrines, Sam?" asked Molly, whose theological

curiosity was irresistibly excited.

"Why," said the clerk, after a puff or two to collect his thoughts,

"they believes in transmigration."

Binns made a gesture of awe and abjuration.

"Stuff!" said Molly, "that's popery: nor you don't suppose, Sam, that

master would have anybody of that sort in his house--eh, Mr Binns?"

The benefit of that gentleman's opinion was lost to both parties, for it

was at that juncture "master" himself entered, and having discussed his

communication, which related to a sick wife, bid him call again in the

morning, and the wheelwright took his leave.

"And now, Shears," said the curate, "(don't put your pipe behind you,

man; do you suppose I have not smelt it this half-hour--I wish you would

buy better tobacco)--you must be off to S---- to-morrow at daylight, and

order a chaise to be here, for this gentleman, by nine o'clock at the

latest. Do you understand, now?"

"Yes, sir, yes. I'll be sure to go. And what name shall I say, sir?"

"Name, eh! oh, it doesn't matter. Say for me, of course. And look here:

there will be five shillings for you if the chaise is here in time. Ay,

you may well make a bow; I told the gentleman it was too much for you."

"I'm very much obliged to you both," said Sam, slily, "I'm sure, sir;

I'll be off at cock-crow."

"There, Sam Shears," said Molly, as soon as they had the kitchen

to themselves again, "did you ever hear of one of your new

what-d'ye-call-ums ordering a chaise to go ranting about in, I

should like to know? What have you got to say now?"

"I say," said Sam, "as he's a gentleman, and no mistake."

The evening passed away very quietly in the little parlour. The

favourable impression made upon Bolton by his guest's manners and

conversation was certainly deepened by their further intercourse: but

the position seemed felt by both parties to be an awkward one; and when

his departure early on the following morning was proposed, Bolton of

course made no effort to detain him. Both employed most of the evening

in reading; and one or two remarks made by the stranger, as he made his

selection from the curate's library, proved at least his acquaintance

with the works which it contained, though nothing escaped him, as he

wiped the dust from some of Harry's presentation volumes, which could

indicate either his agreement or disagreement with the sound divines

he was handling, and his clever criticisms were rather those of the

bibliographer than the theologian. At last he seemed to bury himself in

a volume of old South, and carried it off with him early to his chamber.

The morning came, and eight o'clock brought breakfast, and half-past

eight the chaise, with Sam Shears fast asleep inside of it. The curate

and his guest parted with mutual good-will, and with a short but warm

acknowledgment, on the part of the latter, of the hospitality he had

received. Sam was not forgotten; he received the promised gratuity with

many bows, and did not put his hat on again until the chaise had fairly

turned the corner.

"Uncommon nice gentleman that, sir, to be sure," said he to his master,

with whom he seldom missed the chance of a little conversation, if he

could help it--and Bolton was generally good-natured enough to indulge

him--"uncommon nice gentleman; what a thousand pities it is he should be

a Methody!"

"A _what_!" inquired the curate, turning round upon him in ludicrous

dismay.

"A Methody preacher, sir," said Sam, boldly; for Harry's countenance

quite confirmed his suspicions. "Oh! I know all about it, sir; but it

ain't of no account with me, sir, you know, not none whatever,"--and he

redoubled his negatives with a confidential mysteriousness which made

Harry inclined to kick him. "I met Joe Haines, as drives the Regulator,

this morning, and he asked me very particular about you, you see, sir,

and how you got home o' Saturday night; and then I told him as how this

gentleman came with you; and when he heard as he'd been staying here

all day yesterday, how he did laugh, to be sure; and then he told

me----"

"I'll tell you something, Sam, too. You had much better mind your own

business, and not trouble yourself to talk to Joe Haines, or anybody

else, about what goes on in my house."

There was no mistaking the fact that his master was angry; and as such a

thing had very seldom happened within Sam's experience, it was a result

of which he stood considerably in awe; and he hastened, with some

confusion, to apologise, and to resume his praises of the "very nice

gentleman, whatever he was,"--"And as you say, sir, that's no business

of mine: I'm sure I should be most happy to wait upon him at any time,

sir----"

But Bolton had retired, and shut the door of his little sitting-room in

an unmistakable manner. So Sam was obliged to soliloquise the rest of

his apologies, which began to be very sincere, as he consoled himself by

gazing at the two half-crowns which had come into his possession so

easily. "Of course; if so be as he's a gentleman, what matters? That's

what I say: that's what I said to master: that's what I said to

Molly:--hallo! hey?--if this here half-crown ain't a smasher!"

'Twas too true: it rung upon the flag-stone like an unadulterated piece

of lead.

"What's the matter now, Sam?" said Mrs Molly who heard the sound, and

met his blank face in the passage.

"I told you what he was," said Sam--"look here!" Molly examined the

unfortunate coin with every wish to give it the benefit of a doubt,

but was obliged finally to pronounce against it. She had to listen,

also, to the story which Sam had heard from Joe Haines; and though

she clung pertinaciously to her previously-formed conclusions in the

stranger's favour, Sam had now decidedly the best of the argument,

which he clinched at last with what he considered an unanswerable

proposition--"If you says as he's a parson and a gentleman, will you

give me two-and-sixpence for this here half-crown?"

Weeks passed on, and other events wore out the interest of the

stranger's visit, even in those dull localities. Binns' wife had

a baby; and another piece of the church roof fell in, and nearly

carried Brooks the churchwarden with it, as he was mounted on a ladder

estimating its repairs--for there was an archdeacon's visitation coming

on, and not even the vulcanised conscience of a parish functionary could

be brought to pronounce, on oath, its present state of repair to be good

and sufficient. And Harry received an invitation to dine with the said

archdeacon, who was a good kind of man on the whole--that is, his good

qualities would not very well bear taking to pieces--but he rather

patronised the younger clergy in his neighbourhood, provided that they

were young men of tolerable family, and good address, and not, as he

expressed it, _ultra_ in any way. It so happened, that he was almost

the only acquaintance that Harry had made in the neighbourhood. He had

written to request his interference in enforcing the repair of the

church; and as that was a compliment seldom paid to his official

dignity, the archdeacon had actually driven over thirteen miles to

inspect the place personally; and, arriving quite unexpectedly, had

caught the curate just sallying forth equipped for fishing--an art to

which he himself occasionally condescended--for even archdeacons do

unbend. And very soon ascertaining that there was no tendency to an

objectionable _ultra_, of any kind, in our hero, and that he was in fact

rather an eligible rear-rank man for a dinner-table, he had made a

mental memorandum of the fact, and, in consequence, had twice favoured

him with an invitation, which Harry, according to his present humour,

had declined. On this occasion, however--as a third refusal would have

seemed ungracious--he had determined to go; and, with some compunction

at the expense (he had thought nothing at Oxford of a hunter, and a

"team" to cover, at about five guineas for the day), he found himself in

a hired gig at the archdeacon's door, a little before the dinner hour on

the day appointed. None of the guests were as yet assembled. His host,

however, met him in the drawing-room, and presented him, with

considerable cordiality, to his lady and her daughters.

"It was very good indeed of Mr Bolton to come so far to see us," said

the archdeacon. "Indeed, I am particularly glad you came to-day,"

continued he, with a sort of pompous kindness, "for I have the bishop

staying here, and I wished you to meet him."

Harry was interrupted in his acknowledgments by the entrance of two men

of the expected party: the Honourable and Reverend Mr Luttridge, a young

man, who eyed his brother curate, on his introduction, with what he

intended for a critical and interrogative glance, but which had by

no means the effect upon that party which he intended; and another

archdeacon, or dean, or some such dignitary, who made Bolton a very low

bow indeed; and, turning his back upon him forthwith, began to discourse

with the other two upon the business of the last Petit Sessions. A

discussion upon some point of magisterial law was interrupted by a

burst of shrill and hearty laughter from the younger of the Misses

Archdeacons--a fat merry girl, with whom Harry had struck up an

acquaintance instantly--_that_ was a point he never failed in; and

although the other two gentlemen looked rather astonished, and turned

round again to resume their argument, the father--she was his favourite

daughter, and ludicrously like him--was delighted to see her amused,

and insisted upon knowing what the fun was between them. Some absurd

remark of Harry's was repeated, as well as her continued merriment would

allow her; and the archdeacon, after a preparatory shaking of his sides,

had just burst into a stentorian "ha-ha," when the drawing-room door

again opened, and the Bishop of F---- was most audibly announced.

Every one tried to look deferential, of course; and the two gentlemen in

front of Harry separated, and took open order to receive his lordship.

Everybody recovered their propriety, in fact, in an instant, except Miss

Harriet, to whom a bishop was no treat at all--not to be compared with

an amusing young curate. She kept her eyes fixed upon Harry Bolton--she

thought he was going to faint. Could it be possible?--oh! there was no

doubt about it. Schismatic Doctor Bates, or Bishop of F----, there he

was!--there was the man he had walked home in the rain with!

Harry's quondam guest walked forward with an easy grace, which

contrasted strikingly with the stiff dignity of his subordinates. He

shook hands politely with Mr Luttridge, and returned the greeting of

his companion somewhat more warmly. The archdeacon was preparing to

introduce Bolton, without noticing his embarrassment, when the bishop

anticipated the introductory speech by saying, as he held out his hand,

"Mr Bolton and I are old friends--may I not say so?"

A man of less self-possession than our friend the curate might have been

put quite at his ease by the kind tone and manner, and warm grasp of the

hand. "Certainly," was his reply, "your lordship and myself _have_ met

under rather different circumstances."

The archdeacon's respectable face expressed considerable astonishment,

as well it might; and the other two gentlemen began to eye his

lordship's "old friend" with interested and inquisitive glances.

"My dear archdeacon," said the bishop, laughing, "pardon my

mystification; this is the friend with whom I spent a day or two on my

last visit to this neighbourhood, when you really thought you had lost

me altogether; though, if you had told me I was to have the pleasure of

meeting him at your table to-day, I might, perhaps, have let you into

the secret."

"But, my dear Bolton," said the host--he had dropped the Mr at once, and

for ever--"why did you not tell me that you knew his lordship?--eh?"

Harry laughed, and got a little confused again; but the bishop answered

the question for him, before he had time to frame an intelligible reply.

"Oh, that's a long story; but it was no mystery of Mr Bolton's, be

assured. I am afraid, indeed, it will tell rather better for him than

for me; but I promise you the explanation, some day," continued the

bishop, good-humouredly, "when we have nothing better to talk about."

The archdeacon took the hint, and turned the conversation. Another guest

or two joined the party; dinner succeeded, and passed off much as such

affairs usually do. The bishop, although he did not address much of his

conversation directly to Bolton, took care to make him feel at his ease;

and Mr Luttridge, who sat next to him, became remarkably friendly--was

quite surprised that he had not heard of him before, being, in fact,

quite a near neighbour--only nine miles--nothing at all in that part of

the country--should ride over to call on him one of the first days he

could spare--and, in fact, said what became him to the bishop's friend

and _protege_.

Whatever curiosity might have been felt on the subject by the rest of

the company, it was not until they had taken their departure that the

bishop thought proper to explain to Bolton and the archdeacon the

circumstances which had led to his paying an incognito visit to the

former. He had only lately been appointed to the diocese, and was

therefore personally known to but few of his clergy. The archdeacon and

himself, however, were old college acquaintances, and he had accepted

an invitation to spend a few days with him, at the time of his casual

meeting with Harry Bolton. Being averse at all times to any kind of

ceremony or etiquette, which he could reasonably dispense with, it had

been arranged that the archdeacon's carriage should meet him at B----,

to which place his own had conveyed him. Upon his arrival in the town

somewhat before the hour appointed, he had, according to his custom,

walked out quietly to make himself acquainted with the localities, and

had unconsciously passed some hours in exploring some ruins at a little

distance. Meanwhile, the archdeacon, not so punctual as his diocesan,

drove up to the hotel door in hot haste, considerably too late for his

appointment, and was saluted with the unpleasant information that his

lordship had been there, and was gone on these two hours,--for his

previous orders had been duly obeyed, and the episcopal equipage, with a

portly gentleman inside, who sustained the dignity of his position as

chaplain very carefully, had really rolled away on its road homeward.

The archdeacon doubted, but mine host was positive; and strengthened his

position by the assertion that his lordship had said he was going to

Bircham rectory, a piece of intelligence picked up from the servants,

with exactly enough truth in it to do mischief. Off went the archdeacon

again, annoyed at his own dilatoriness; and great was his consternation

on reaching home to find no bishop; and great was the bishop's surprise,

on returning at last to the hotel, to find no archdeacon; and great the

confusion throughout the King's Arms; the landlord throwing the blame

upon the waiters, and the waiters upon each other. Post-horses to S----,

which was within a short three miles of the archdeacon's rectory, were

ordered at once. But, alas! after many delays and apologies, none were

to be had; almost every quadruped in the town was engaged in taking

parties home from the opening of the Independent College. The bishop was

not a man to make difficulties; so, leaving his only remaining servant

to await any remedial measures which the archdeacon might take when he

discovered his error, and to give an intelligible account of his

movements, he himself, without mentioning his intention to any other

person, walked down to the coach-office at the Swan, paid his fare, and

became an inside passenger by the Regulator.

Of course, when the archdeacon discovered his mistake, no time was lost

in procuring fresh horses, and sending back the carriage to B----, in

the hope that his lordship might still be forthcoming; but it brought

back to the anxious expectants at the rectory only a servant and a

portmanteau; and as they did not pass the spot where the accident

occurred, and all inquiries made at S---- only resulted in the

intelligence that "there had been an upset, that no one was hurt, and

that the passengers had walked home," they made up their minds to await

some accurate information as to his lordship's whereabouts from himself,

when he relieved his friends from their uncomfortable suspense by

making his appearance personally at breakfast on the Monday morning;

though, to punish, as he jokingly said, the archdeacon, for leaving him

in such a predicament, he would tell them nothing more than that he had

spent the Sunday very pleasantly with a friend.

Much amusement ensued at the bishop's details of his visit, though he

good-naturedly avoided any allusions that could possibly be embarrassing

to his late host. Bolton had accepted the offer of a bed, and it was

late before they separated for the night. Before he took his leave on

the following morning, the bishop, to his surprise, announced his

intention of paying him a second visit. "I think, Mr Bolton," said he,

"that, having intruded upon you once in disguise, as I may say, I am

bound to come and preach for you some Sunday, if it be only to clear my

own character in the eyes of your parishioners" (for Harry had

confessed, to the exceeding amusement of all parties, his own and his

clerk's suspicions). "So, if you please, and if my good friend here will

accompany me, we will drive over to you next Sunday morning; and I'll

try," continued the bishop slily, "if I cannot get Mr Churchwarden

Brooks to put your church a little to rights for you."

The morning arrived, and the archdeacon and the bishop. A proud woman

had Molly been from the moment the announcement was made to her of the

intended honour; and the luncheon which she had prepared was,

considering her limited resources, something extraordinary. But when his

lordship alighted, and, catching a sight of her eager face in the

passage, called to her by name, and addressed her kindly--and she

recognised the features of the unknown guest, whom Sam had so

irreverently slandered--the good old woman, between shame and

gratification, was quite overcome, and was wholly unable to recover her

self-possession throughout the day. During the whole of the service, she

looked at the bishop instead of the prayer-book, made responses at

random, and was only saved by the good-natured interference of his

lordship's own man from totally ruining the luncheon. Of course, the

church was crowded; the sermon was plain and impressive: and when, after

service, the whole of the rustic congregation, collected in the

church-yard to see as much as they could of a personage few of them had

ever seen before, formed a lane respectfully, with their hats off, for

him to pass to the gate, the bishop, taking off his hat and claiming

their attention for a few moments, spoke a few words, homely and

audible, approving their behaviour during the service, and representing

to them the advantages they might derive from the residence among them

of an exemplary minister, such as he believed they had at present, and

such as he would endeavour to provide them with in the possible event

of his removal. And when afterwards he begged to be introduced to the

churchwarden, and, taking him familiarly by the arm, walked with him

round the building, pointed out indispensable repairs, and, without any

word of reproof, explained to him the harm done by injudicious patching,

and put into his hands a liberal contribution towards the expenses--it

might have seemed quite wonderful to those who either overrate or

underrate poor human nature, how much more popular a notion, and how

much better understood a bishop was in that remote village from that

time forth. The landlord of the Crown and Thistle was quite surprised at

the change that had come over Mr Brooks. He used to be rather a popular

orator on club nights and other convivial occasions, taking that

economical view of church dignitaries and their salaries which, by an

amusing euphemism, is called "liberal" in politics; but subsequently to

this occasion he seldom joined in these discussions, was seen less

frequently by degrees in the taproom of the Crown and Thistle, and more

regularly at church; and once, when hard pressed for an opinion by some

of his former supporters, was asserted to have told them that the Crown

and Thistle took more money out of people's pockets than ever the

bishops did.

Harry had anticipated much amusement from Sam Shears' confusion, when he

should encounter, in his full canonicals, the bishop of the diocese in

the person of the apocryphal Dr Bates; but whatever that worthy's secret

discomfiture might have been, he carried it off wonderfully well, and

met his lordship in the vestry with a lurking smile in his humble

obeisance, as if he had all along penetrated the mystery of his

incognito. With Molly in the kitchen, indeed, he had for some evenings a

hard time of it; but a threat of absenting himself altogether, which he

ventured in some fear of being taken at his word, had the effect of

moderating her tone of triumph. Before the Bishop left, he called Sam

aside, and presented him with a substantial token of remembrance; when

Sam took the opportunity of producing, with many prefaces of apology,

the condemned half-crown, which had fretted in his pocket ever since.

"Please your lordship's worship and reverence," said Sam, "this here

ain't a _very_ good half-crown; at least, I can't pass it noways down

here. I dare say as your lordship's worship might pass it away easy

enough among your friends, but--"

"Here, here," said the bishop, laughing heartily, "here's another for

you, by all means, my man; but pray excuse my having anything more to do

with the bad one."

Again the bishop parted from his entertainer with many expressions of

regard, and an invitation to spend some time with him at his palace,

which Bolton did much to his satisfaction; and received from him so

much valuable advice and paternal kindness, that he always considered

the snug living with which, some months afterwards, he was presented,

one of the least of his obligations.

* * * * *

"And that's how Harry Bolton came to be a neighbour of mine," concluded

Long Lumley; "and a nice place he has here, and a capital neighbour he

is."

We discussed the whole story over Lumley's wine after dinner the next

day, when the Hon. and Rev. Mr Luttridge, who had since married the

bishop's niece, and was said to have been a disappointed expectant of

the living given to Bolton, made one of our party.

"A very odd man, certainly, the bishop is," was that gentleman's remark;

"very strange, you know, to go poking about the country in that kind of

way. Scarcely the thing, in fact, I must say."

"Upon my honour," said Lumley, "you parsons ought to be better judges of

what is or is not 'the thing' for a bishop, than I can be; but if the

Bishop of F---- is an odd man, I know, if I had the making of bishops,

I'd look out for a match for him."

THE FLORIDA PIRATE.

[_MAGA._ AUGUST 1821.]

A series of misfortunes had unexpectedly thrown me upon a foreign land,

and entirely deprived me of the means of subsistence. I knew not where

to apply for relief, or how to avoid the alarming evils that threatened

me on every side. I was on one of the Bahama islands. I could not enjoy

the temporary asylum I then possessed longer than two days, without

involving myself in debts which I was unable to pay, and consequently

bringing my person under the power of individuals, who, I was inclined

to suspect, had nothing humane or generous in their characters. I

wandered along the seashore, sometimes shuddering at the dreariness of

my prospects, and sometimes trembling lest the horrors of want should

urge me to obtain the necessaries of life by concealing from others that

I was in absolute poverty.

When about a mile distant from the small town where I lodged, my

attention was attracted by a schooner lying at anchor behind a

projecting point of land. I knew that vessels did not usually moor in

such a situation, and inquired at a fisherman, whom I met on the beach,

if he could tell me what the schooner did there? "I am not quite sure,"

returned he, "but I rather suspect she's a pirate. Those on board of her

are mostly blacks, and they seem very anxious to keep out of sight. Had

she been a fair trader, she would have come into the harbour at once."

This information startled me a good deal. I became excessively agitated

without knowing the reason; and felt an anxious desire to repress some

idea that had, as it were, arisen in my mind, without my being conscious

of its existence.

I left my informant, and seated myself under a cliff. Half of the sun

had disappeared below the horizon. I watched his descending orb, and

wished I could retard the flight of time, when I reflected, that, after

the lapse of two days, I should perhaps be destitute of an asylum, and

perishing from want. "Something must be done," I exclaimed, starting up:

"If these are pirates, I will join them. My profession will enable me to

render them valuable services. I shall be guilty of no crime in doing

so;--the law of nature compels me to violate the laws of man." I looked

anxiously towards the schooner, which lay within half a mile of the

shore, in hopes that I should see her boat approaching, and thus find

means of speaking with the person who commanded her.

I waited upwards of an hour, but could not discover that those on board

made any preparations for coming ashore. It was now dark, and the beach

was silent and deserted. I found a small boat lying upon the sand; and,

having pushed her off, I cautiously embarked, and began to row towards

the schooner--but, after a few strokes of the oars, my resolution almost

failed. I shuddered at the idea of forming a league with the outcasts of

society, and rendering myself amenable to the laws of every civilised

nation. The gloom of the night, the calmness of the ocean, and the

brightness of the sky, seemed to urge me to reflect upon what I was

doing. I did reflect--I looked towards the town--a sense of the

wretchedness of my condition struck irresistibly upon my mind, and I

pushed furiously forward.

When I had got within a short distance of the schooner, one of her crew

called out, "Avast, avast! whom have we here?" On reaching the side of

the vessel, I said I wished to see the captain. "What do you want with

him?" demanded the same voice. "I must speak with him alone," answered

I. The questioner retired to the stern, and I heard the sound of people

talking, as if in consultation, for a little time. I was then desired to

come on board; and, the moment I stepped upon deck, a negro led me

towards a man who stood near the helm.

He was very tall and athletic, and of a jet black, and wore only a shirt

and white trousers. His face had a bold and contemplative expression,

and he wanted his right hand. "I presume you are the commander of this

vessel," said I. He nodded impatiently. "I understand you are going upon

an expedition."--"I don't care what you understand--to your business,

master," returned he, haughtily. "I know you are pirates," continued I,

"and it is my wish to accompany you in the capacity of a medical

attendant." He surveyed me with a look of astonishment, that seemed to

demand an avowal of the motives that had prompted me to make such a

proposal. "You surely will not decline my offer," said I, "for you must

be aware that I am able to render you very essential services. I have

been unfortunate every way, and----" "O, you be unfortunate! and seek

relief from a black man--from a negro!" interrupted he, with a scornful

laugh. "Well, stay on board; you cannot leave this vessel again.

Remember, we are not to be betrayed." "But I have something on shore

that I wish to carry along with me." "I will send one of my men for it,"

replied he, "to-morrow morning at dawn."

He walked coolly away to the bows of the vessel, and began to give some

orders to the seamen, who formed a very numerous body. Most of them were

loitering together on the forecastle, and smoking cigars, and they all

seemed to be blacks. French and English were spoken indiscriminately

among them; and their conversation was incessant and vociferous, and

intermingled with disgusting execrations. Several disputes took place,

in the course of which the parties struck each other, and wrestled

together; but their companions neither endeavoured to separate them, nor

paid any attention to the affrays. They appeared to have a set of jests,

the spirit of which was intelligible to themselves alone; for they

frequently gave way to violent laughter, when their conversation, taken

in a literal sense, expressed nothing that could excite mirth.

When it was near midnight, the captain, whose name was Manuel, conducted

me to the cabin, and made many inquiries, which evidently had for their

object to discover if I really was what I professed to be. His doubts

being removed, he pointed to a berth, and told me I might occupy it

whenever I chose, and went upon deck again. I extinguished the light,

and lay down in bed. The enthusiasm of desperation, and the pride of

deciding with boldness and alacrity, had now subsided, and I could

calmly reflect upon what I had done. My anticipations respecting the

life I was now to lead were gloomy and revolting. I scarcely dared to

look forward to the termination of the enterprise in which I had

embarked; but, when I considered what would have been my fate had I

remained on shore, I could not condemn my choice. Contempt, abject

poverty, and the horrors of want, were the evils I fled from--tyranny,

danger, and an ignominious death, formed those towards which I was

perhaps hastening.

Next morning, Captain Manuel desired me to write an order for my

portmanteau, that he might send one of his men to bring it on board. I

obeyed him, and also enclosed the sum I owed the persons with whom I had

resided. Shortly after the messenger returned the crew began to heave up

the anchor; and we soon put to sea with a light wind, and gradually

receded from the shores of the island.

I breakfasted in the cabin with Manuel. His manner was chilly and

supercilious; and he had more dignity about him than any negro I had

ever before seen. The want of his right hand made his person very

striking; and he seemed aware of this: for when he observed me gazing on

the mutilated arm, he frowned, and enveloped it in the folds of the

table-cloth.

We lost sight of land in a few hours, but I knew not where we were

bound, and Manuel's reserved behaviour prevented me from making any

inquiry. He walked upon deck all day with folded arms, and scarcely ever

raised his eyes, except to look at the compass, or give directions to

the helmsman.

The schooner, which was named the Esperanza, was about one hundred and

twenty tons burden, carried six guns, and had forty-three men on board

of her, and several boys. There appeared to be very little discipline

among the crew; all of whom amused themselves in any way, and in any

place, they chose, except when the working of the vessel required their

attention. The presence of the captain did not impose any restraint upon

them; and one who was called the mate snatched a chart unceremoniously

from his hand, and told him he did not know what he was about, without

receiving any reproof for his insolence. A number of the negroes lay

round the fire, roasting ears of Indian corn, which were eagerly

snatched off the embers the moment they were ready. An expression of

disgusting sensuality characterised this part of the crew; and they

looked as if they were strangers to retrospection and anticipation, and

felt existence only in so far as the passing moment was concerned. One

man, of a mild aspect, sat at a distance from the others, and played

upon an old guitar. Many were half naked, and I could distinguish the

marks of the whip on the shoulders of some of them. The limbs of others

had been distorted by the weight and galling of fetters, as was evident

from the indentations exhibited by their flesh.

On awaking the second morning of the voyage, I found that Manuel was

still asleep. The difficulty of the navigation had obliged him to keep

on deck all night, that he might direct the course of the vessel, and he

was now reposing himself after the fatigues of his long watch. The crew

were preparing breakfast, and conversing together.

Some dispute took place about the distribution of the provisions, and

one of them called the other a rascally runaway. "You lie," cried the

accused person, "I guess you're something worse yourself, Philip."--"You

had as well be quiet, Antony. Has any body anything to say against

me?"--"Why, that you're a Yankey slave, that's all," returned Philip.

"Damn you," cried he, "I'm a free man--yes, free and independent." Here

they all laughed loudly, and he demanded with fury who would venture to

contradict him, or to assert that he had a master. "Why, we know well

enough you ha'n't a master _now_, you pricked him under the ribs,"

replied one of the crew. This excited another laugh, and Antony cried,

"Curse you for a _niger_--belike I'll do the same to you."--"Don't be

calling me a niger," said Philip, "I was born in the States."--"I

wouldn't believe it," said Antony, "for you know no more than if you was

fresh off the coast--You can't roast corn."

"Come, let us to breakfast," interrupted another, "and leave these

two black sheep to fight together, as soon as they can pick up

courage."--"I'm sure you've nothing to say, Mandingo," cried Antony;

"you can't tell where you came from."--"To be sure I can," answered

Mandingo, "I was very ill used by my master, and made my escape."--"Yes,

from the gallows," cried one of the crew, to the great amusement of the

others.

"I guess there's ne'er a man on board this schooner whose life can be

better looked into than mine," said a negro, who had not before

spoken--"I was born in a Christian country, and when I was twenty years

old, a great army captain made me his servant. I had the care of all his

money and clothes, and could do what I pleased. I went to plays and

_consorts_, and was so like a gentleman that a white mistress fell in

love with me, and we were married. What a grand sight the marriage

was! My master gave me a gold ring to put on my wife's finger."--"And

did you put it on her finger?" demanded Antony.--"Why do you ask

that?"--"Because I guess from the look of your shins, that you put it

on your own leg." The whole crew joined in a loud laugh, and looked at

the limb of the first speaker, which was strongly galled by fetters.

"It must have been a pretty heavy ring," said Antony; "and yet, for

all the gold that was in it, I daresay you was glad to get quit of

t."--"I've done," returned the object of their ridicule; "I'll say no

more. I thought I was speaking to gentlemen."--"Never mind him. We are

all liable to flesh-marks," observed Philip. "There now, what say you

of our captain's wanting a----" "Hush, hush," interrupted Mandingo,

"that is a sore subject."

In the course of three days, we came in sight of the north shore of

Cuba; but to my great satisfaction had not met with a single vessel of

any description. Manuel hourly became less reserved, and we often had

long conversations together; and one evening he promised to relate the

history of his life to me, the first favourable opportunity.

After cruising about for a week, we cast anchor at the mouth of the

Xibara harbour, which lies near the eastern extremity of Cuba. Our

object in doing so was to obtain a supply of firewood from the banks of

a small river that disembogues into the harbour. Manuel requested me to

accompany the party destined for this purpose, as he was to command it;

and at a late hour one night we set out in a boat, along with seven of

the crew.

The weather was clear, calm, and delightful; and we soon entered the

river, and rowed slowly up its windings. The banks were for the most

part thickly covered with trees, which over-arched us completely, and

rendered it so dark that Manuel could scarcely see to steer the boat.

We sometimes could discern far before us a portion of the sky vividly

reflected in the bosom of the stream--bright and dazzling, amidst

the surrounding gloom, as the contrast of divine purity with mortal

corruption. Not a sound could be heard, except the regular dashing of

the oars, and the rustling of fields of Indian corn, shaken by the wind.

The most delicious perfumes filled the air, and fruits of different

kinds, that had apparently just dropt from the tree, floated past us,

silently proclaiming the luxuriance of the region that bordered both

sides of the river.

I sat in the stern of the boat beside Manuel, but neither of us

spoke a word. The emotions produced by the surrounding objects

were so delightful, that the mind contentedly remained in a state of

passiveness, receiving, without resistance, every idea that presented

itself. Within the space of an hour I had exchanged the confinement and

pitching of a vessel, the monotony of a sea prospect, and the noise and

brutality of a set of criminals, for the harmony of wood and water--the

richness of vegetable perfumes, and the quiet enjoyment of an inspiring

summer's night.

When we had got about two miles above the mouth of the river, the men

disembarked, and began to cut wood at a little distance from us. "I

believe my people are out of hearing," said Manuel, after a long pause,

"and while we wait for their return, I shall tell you something about my

past life.

"I need not give you a minute account of my early years, as they were

not distinguished by anything remarkable. My mother came from the coast

of Africa, but I was born in South Carolina, where my master had a large

estate, in the cultivation of which more than one hundred negroes were

employed. My mother being a house-servant, was exempted from many of

the hardships and privations to which the other slaves were exposed,

but she owed the comparative comfort of her situation entirely to her

capability of ministering to the voluptuousness of Mr Sexton, who was

much addicted to the pleasures of the table. He gave orders that I

should be brought up within doors, as he intended me for a waiting man.

"After I had attained the age of sixteen years, I was obliged to be

in continual attendance upon my master, and to submit quietly to all

his caprices. The treatment I received from him, and the knowledge I

acquired of his character, made me feel what a degrading thing slavery

was. Had I been forced to work in the fields, like the other negroes, I

might not perhaps have repined at my condition, because I would have

known nothing better, and at the same time believed that my condition

was irremediable, and consistent with the laws of nature. But being

continually in the presence of Mr Sexton, and of other white people,

and daily hearing their conversation, I soon discovered that they were

superior to us in nothing but knowledge; that they were mean, wicked,

cruel, and unjust; and that they sometimes feared we would assert our

rights, and overpower them by numbers.

"They seemed to consider negroes as creatures who were destitute of

souls and understandings. Though I felt indignant when I heard these

opinions uttered, I was aware that I derived some advantage from their

being acted upon; for my master and his friends, not believing that I

could comprehend a sentence of their conversation, felt no restraint

when I was present, and thus afforded me an opportunity of hearing their

sentiments upon every subject, and becoming acquainted with their

principles and characters.

"Often, while waiting at table, and listening to their disgusting

opinions, I have been called forward by one of them, and struck severely

on the face, for some trivial mistake I had committed in serving him

with food or wine. In South Carolina, the guests do not hesitate to

chastise their entertainer's servants, whenever they feel inclined; and

a party of white people there often make the cursing and beating of the

slaves in attendance their chief employment during dinner. On such

occasions, the burning tears of resentment would rush into my eyes,

I would tremble with ill-dissembled rage, and implore the God of my

fathers to let loose his rage upon my tormentors, although I should

become its victim along with them.

"There was an old free negro upon the plantation, who had travelled

through the Northern States of America. He could read and write

tolerably well, and knew a good deal about the countries he had visited.

I happened to become a favourite of his, and he often gave me minute

accounts of the condition of the Africans who lived in New York, and

contrasted their independence with the abject state of our race

everywhere else. I listened to these details with the deepest attention,

which pleased him so much, that he offered to teach me to read. I gladly

availed myself of his instructions, and profited so much by them, that

in the course of five or six months, I was able to peruse the newspapers

which my master received from different parts of the Union; many of them

contained paragraphs upon the subject of slavery, and I was delighted to

find that some men exclaimed against it, and denied that white people

had the least right to tyrannise over negroes.

"I used often to steal into my master's room, when he slept, and read

the New York Journals. One afternoon he caught me with one in my hand,

and demanded angrily what I was doing. I told him I was reading. He

struck me a violent blow on the head with his cane, and said he would

order me forty lashes if I ever again looked at a book or newspaper. He

soon discovered that the old negro had been my teacher, and immediately

sent him off the estate, not being able to inflict any other punishment,

in consequence of his having purchased his freedom.

"Next day, a neighbouring planter called upon Mr Sexton, and the latter,

in the course of conversation, said, 'What do you think I caught that

young hell-dog doing the other night? He was reading a newspaper.' The

other broke into a loud laugh, and cried, 'Why didn't you kill him? Were

any of my negroes able to read, I would soon flog the scholarship out of

them. Why, the little devil will begin to direct you now to manage your

estate by-and-by.'--'Oh, I'll bring him to his senses,' returned my

master; 'Hark ye, fellow,' continued he, addressing himself to me, 'if

you ever look at a printed paper again, I'll put out your eyes with a

red-hot poker. The whole of your duty is to clean the knives, and wait

at table. Damn me, if I don't make it pretty bad for any fellow of mine

who does either more or less than I want him to do.'

"I easily perceived that my master and his friend were aware that their

strength lay in our ignorance, and feared lest the slightest acquisition

of knowledge should enable us to discover that they had not a shadow of

right to enslave and tyrannise over our race. What excuse is there for

the oppressor, when he is conscious of being guilty of oppression!

"As my ideas expanded, my situation gradually became more intolerable.

I had no one to whom I could communicate my thoughts. My fellow-slaves

were so ignorant and degraded, that I could hardly look at them without

pity and disgust. I used to watch them when they assembled to receive

their weekly allowance of provisions. Worn out by fatigue, clad in rags,

and branded with lashes, they would wait for their respective portions

with eager greediness, and then hurry away in a state of tumultuous

delight, which was scarcely repressed by the clanking of the overseer's

whip behind them. They had sunk so low that they seemed willing to

accept life upon any terms.

"In the midst of my misery I became attached to a young girl named

Sabrina. She was a slave upon the adjoining estate, and therefore we

seldom had an opportunity of seeing each other except by stealth. I used

to leave my master's house at midnight, when every one was in bed, and

go across the plantation to the huts in which Sabrina and her mother

lived. But Mr Sexton once awoke during my absence on one of these

nocturnal visits, and the whole affair was soon discovered. He flogged

me severely, and ordered me to remain at home in future; and the

proprietor of the adjoining estate, to whom he made a complaint, caused

Sabrina's hut to be burned to the ground, that it might no longer afford

us a place of meeting. I became half-maddened with rage and misery.

However, my feelings were unnoticed or disregarded by Mr Sexton, who,

like other American planters, did not believe that negroes were

susceptible of love or sorrow.

"Mr Sexton had a daughter, who resided in the house with him, and

took charge of his domestic affairs. The proprietor of the adjoining

estate, whose name was Lusher, loved her, and wished to marry her,

but Mr Sexton would not consent to their union, and prohibited all

correspondence between them. However, notwithstanding this, they

sometimes met in secret, and often wrote to each other. Miss Sexton

privately employed me to carry her letters to Mr Lusher, promising that

she would satisfy her father respecting my absence should he discover

it, and likewise secure me from any risk of suffering punishment on her

account. I willingly became a channel of communication between the two

lovers, for I hoped by doing so to be able to forward my own views.

"One day I ventured to hint to Miss Sexton that I expected some little

reward for my services, and begged her to entreat her father to purchase

Sabrina, and bring her upon his estate, that we might get married. She

engaged to propose the thing to him, and really did so; but he refused

to agree to it, and, at the same time, told her that he suspected she

had some private reasons for interceding so strongly in my behalf, and

was resolved to discover what they were.

"Shortly after this Miss Sexton desired me to carry a letter to the next

estate, and bid me be extremely cautious lest her father should see me

going there, but said that if he did, she would find means to shield me

from all blame. I took a by-path which led across our plantation, and

reached Mr Lusher's house without interruption; however, he was not at

home, and the servants pointed to a small building a little way off, and

told me I would find him there.

"On entering it the first object that struck my eyes was poor Sabrina,

whom I had not seen for many weeks. She lay upon some planks which were

covered with the dry husks of Indian corn, and seemed to be dying.

The place had no window in it, and an old negro woman sat beside her,

holding a candle, while Mr Lusher and a medical man stood at the foot of

the bed. The doctor muttered, 'She's been a fine slave--confounded pity

to lose her--can't help it though;' and then began to whistle and play

with his cane. 'What an unfortunate devil I am!' exclaimed Mr Lusher,

angrily. 'Hang her for falling sick--what right has a niger to fall

sick?--Ods, I believe she was not sound when I bought her--I'll trounce

somebody for that. So you think there's no chance of her hoeing any more

corn?'--'No, no,' returned the doctor, laughing; 'I wouldn't like to

have as little chance of eating my dinner to-day as she has of living

two hours.'

"I stood in agony, not daring to express my feelings. I advanced towards

Sabrina, and took hold of her arm. She raised her eyes, but it was only

that I might see their lustre extinguished, for in a moment or two she

fell dead upon her pillow. 'Ah, she's given you the slip,' said the

doctor. Mr Lusher cried, 'Damn her soul to hell--there's four hundred

dollars lost,' and hurried away, banging the door furiously behind him.

"However, he soon returned; and seeing me gazing on Sabrina, asked what

I did there. I said I had a letter for him, and delivered it. 'Oh,'

cries he, 'you're the fellow that wanted that girl for a wife. I wish Mr

Sexton had bought her, and then the loss would have fallen on his

shoulders. Well, you may take her now, and bury her, or marry

her--whichever you like. Begone, I don't want you.'

"I hurried home, equally afflicted at the death of Sabrina, and enraged

by the inhuman insults I had received from her master. When I had come

within a little distance of the house, I observed Mr Sexton and his

daughter walking towards me. 'How do you do, Manuel?' cried he, in that

style of derision which he always assumed when infuriated with passion;

'I hope your walk has been a pleasant one. Be so good as suggest what

improvements ought to be made on this estate. Do the crops look well?

Slave! baboon! imp of the devil! where have you been?'

"I made no reply, but looked to Miss Sexton. She coloured, and cried,

'What does the wretch mean by looking at me? You surely do not say that

I sent you anywhere.'--'Answer me,' vociferated her father, raising his

cane. 'Miss Sexton will inform you,' returned I. 'This is beyond my

patience!' exclaimed she. 'I'll tell you how it is, father--he has been

paying a visit to Sabrina, notwithstanding your orders to the contrary,

and wishes to make you believe that I sent him somewhere. Manuel, say

instantly if you saw Sabrina this morning.'--'Yes,' answered I, 'I did,

but----' 'None of your buts, you equivocating villain!' interrupted my

master. Stung with indignation at Miss Sexton's ingratitude, I cried

out, 'Your daughter sent me with a letter to Mr Lusher.' 'What! you give

us the lie then?' replied Mr Sexton, striking me over the head. I

returned the blow with my fist, and he fell flat upon the ground.

"Miss Sexton shrieked loudly, and the overseer, followed by several

slaves, hastened towards me with a drawn cutlass in his hand. I made no

resistance, and was immediately seized and bound. My master received

very little injury from the blow, but his lips quivered with rage; and

having given orders that I should be put in confinement, he walked

toward the house crying out, 'Struck by a slave! struck by a slave!--It

is impossible! Am I dreaming?--Does God Almighty really permit this?--A

slave! a black! a negro!--Strike me--a noble Carolinian! Is there a law

to punish this? Law--nonsense--tortures, death, eternal curses!'

"I was immediately thrown into a dark apartment in a large store-house,

and remained there all night without being visited by any one. In the

morning the overseer took me out and made one of the negroes flog me

severely, in presence of Mr Sexton and his daughter. My sufferings were

dreadful. In short, I was indicted for striking my master, and tried,

and found guilty. You know the punishment which the law awards in such

cases; it was inflicted upon me. They cut off my right hand!--they

cut off my right hand!" Here Manuel stretched out the mutilated arm,

and sobbed convulsively. "But thank God I've another," continued he,

vehemently; "and may it never be better employed than in resenting the

tyranny of slave-masters. Oh! that every negro in the Southern States

would risk the loss of his right hand by doing what I have done! then

would we prove that our race was not made to be trampled upon. But let

me proceed.

"I was confined in jail for three months, and then sent back to my

master. I anticipated a life of wretchedness, and was not mistaken.

Scarcely a day passed, in the course of which Mr Sexton did not find an

excuse for punishing me. As the want of my hand rendered me unable to

do the duties of a house-servant, I was employed in tending the cattle,

and thus had many opportunities of conversing with my fellow-slaves who

worked out of doors. I confided my thoughts to three of them, who seemed

willing to attempt the execution of any project, however daring. In

short, we determined to burn our master's house, and spent much time in

planning how we could best effect this without the risk of being

discovered.

"At last we fixed upon a time for our revenge. It was a holiday among

the negroes, who were all amusing themselves in various ways on

different parts of the estate. My master was dining with a planter in

the neighbourhood; and as part of his road lay through a retired forest,

we resolved to intercept him on his way home, lest his presence there

should prove any hindrance to the success of our scheme.

"We had, at different times, placed combustibles in those parts of his

house and offices that were least exposed to observation. About eight in

the evening we set fire to them, and then hastened to the wood, and

stationed ourselves among the trees which bordered the road. We had

scarcely waited half-an-hour when we saw smoke beginning to ascend from

the house, which was nearly a mile distant, and heard a tumultuous noise

of voices. I gazed and listened with silent satisfaction till my master

made his appearance. He was in a gig, and a negro rode on horseback

behind him. Two of my companions seized the reins of the horses, and,

assisted by a third, I dragged Mr Sexton out of his carriage. He was

almost speechless with indignation and terror, and doubtless supposed

that I intended murdering him. He soon began to entreat for mercy in

the most abject manner, solemnly promising that he would grant me my

freedom if I allowed him to go home unmolested. 'You may well desire to

be at home,' said I--'Look to the south.'--'Ha,' cried he, 'what do you

mean? Desperate wretch, have you taken your revenge already?--My house

is on fire!--But if I cannot punish you, others will suffer for this!'

"We now bound him to a tree, with his face towards the conflagration,

which had evidently increased very much. A bright glare of light

extended far over the sky, and tinged the tops of the trees like the

setting sun; volumes of smoke rose from two different spots; we heard

the negroes shouting confusedly; and the crackling, crashing, and

thundering of timbers falling to the ground, announced that the work

of destruction made furious progress.

"Having secured the negro-man in the same way as Mr Sexton, and tied the

horses lest they should go to the house and be the means of inducing the

people there to set out in quest of my master, we left them, and plunged

into the recesses of the forest. We travelled all night towards the

seashore, but did not venture to pass through any inhabited place. The

want of my hand rendered my appearance too remarkable to allow me to

hope that I would escape notice. I need not describe the hardships we

encountered during our journey. In two days we reached the coast, where

we stole a boat and put out to sea, intending, if possible, to elude

any search that might be made for us. We soon fell in with a pirate, who

immediately took us on board, and I gradually acquired some knowledge of

seamanship. We cruised about for a considerable time, and got a great

many prizes, but our vessel at last became so generally known, that the

captain could not continue to sail her without running much risk of

being captured. He therefore went into a port in one of the West India

islands, and managed to get her sold. He paid his crew very generously,

and by means of his bounty, and a series of fortunate accidents, I was

enabled to purchase this schooner and to commence pirate myself. My mode

of life is far from being an agreeable one, and I have as yet made but

little of it. However, I have a more exalted object in view than mere

gain. You must not judge of my character by that of the persons with

whom you see me surrounded. I am well aware that my crew is composed of

the lowest and most debased part of society, and often feel ashamed of

the concessions I am obliged to make them. They consider themselves on

an equality with me, and will not submit to any kind of discipline,

beyond what mutual security and self-preservation render necessary.

But I value and endure them only in so far as they are the means of

forwarding my views. I would consider it an insult to be classed with

such desperadoes."

Here Manuel ceased speaking. I did not venture to make any comments upon

his story, and we sat in silence till the men came to the side of the

river with a large quantity of firewood. We immediately took it on board

the boat, and rowed down the stream, and reached the schooner a short

time before dawn. At sunrise we weighed anchor, and put to sea again.

Next day, while walking the deck, I heard one negro say to another,

"Mark, what was that you was telling me about Caesar having been

hanged at Baltimore?"--"Why, only that he was hanged," replied Mark.

"When I was last ashore, I heard so from one who had read it in a

newspaper."--"What did they make him swing for?" inquired the first,

whose name was Mendez. "Did he look sulky at his master, break a

wine-glass, or bring him a knife when he wanted a fork?"--"No, no, he

did nothing so bad as that," replied Mark, laughing. "He was a cruiser,

like our Captain, and meeting with a vessel, he went on board and helped

himself to some biscuit and rum, and a little hard cash. Her crew wished

to put him on short allowance, but he took what he wanted in spite of

them all. He was afterwards caught by a Yankee ship-of-war, and carried

to Baltimore. The folks there found him guilty of piracy, as they called

it, and hanged him and some of his crew besides."

"Why, I think," said Mendez, "he had a right to taste the rum, if he

had helped to make as much of it as you and I have done. We nigers have

a pretty time of it. They won't let us live by land or by water. I

wonder if we could please our masters by flying in the air? Why, now,

wasn't Caesar hanged for what we've been doing?"--"To be sure he was,"

returned Mark; "we must keep a sharp look-out. I guess our best plan

will be to hinder any one from ever becoming a witness against us."

"How can we manage that?" demanded Mendez.--"Why, by _pinking_ a hole

in the bottom of our prizes, and making those on board of them drink our

healths in salt-water," said Mark. "Dead men tell no tales, you know."

"Well, I conclude it our only way," replied Mendez, "though I should

feel a little strange about sending a crew of white men to hell in a

moment."--"Why, they must all go there at last, you fool," returned

Mark; "think of the floggings you've got."--"Ha, your words sound in my

ear like the crack of a whip," cried Mendez. "But I wonder the Yankees

don't know better than to hang us for being pirates. They can't suppose

that we'll be so soft _now_ as to let away the people who fall into our

hands, and so give them a chance of informing against us. I'll bet you

we'll kill five whites for every negro that is hanged."--"Ay, and more

too, if we choose," said Mark. "Oh, we've a weary time of it, for most

people think that we blacks do not deserve to live, unless we are

slaves and beasts of burden. Faith, I'm getting tired of a sea-life.

If I could but scrape together four hundred dollars, I would give up

cruising, and go to St Domingo."--"Why, you could have made that

sum when you was last in Charleston," returned Mendez.--"How so?"

inquired his companion.--"Wasn't you advertised as an outlaw?" said

Mendez--"Wasn't there a price set upon your life? you should have cut

off your head and carried it to the magistrates, and demanded the sum

that they offered for it."--"Damn it now, Mendez, don't begin to run

me," cried Mark, laughing. "I would have been a pretty figure without a

head upon my shoulders."--"Ah," returned the other, "if you ever had

had one upon them, you would not have let slip such a good opportunity

of making money."

We had now been cruising about for nearly three weeks without ever

seeing a vessel. The mental and bodily inaction which had characterised

the course of my life during that period were very depressing, and I

began to wish for the appearance of a ship almost as ardently as the

crew, though from totally different motives. Manuel neither seemed to

feel much weariness nor impatience. He spent most of his time upon deck,

and when the navigation of the schooner did not require his attention,

he lay along the companion, basking in the sun, and smoking a cigar. He

sometimes entered into familiar conversation with the seamen, though,

in doing so, his object evidently was to keep them in good humour,

rather than to amuse or gratify himself.

One morning, Manuel, after having looked through his glass at intervals

during nearly two hours, announced that he saw a vessel off our lee-bow,

and gave orders that the deck should be cleared, and the guns got ready

for action. In a moment everything was bustle and confusion. On the word

of command being given, the negroes threw off a large part of their

clothes, and dispersed over different parts of the schooner, shouting to

each other, and hurrying through their respective duties with a violence

and eagerness which showed how congenial the prospect of bloodshed,

oppression, and plunder, was to their feelings. They soon began to

converse gaily and unconcernedly. One talked of the resistance we

should probably meet with from the vessel we were in chase of; another

jestingly said "he wished to write his will," and mentioned what

articles he intended bequeathing to his companions, should he perish

in the conflict; a third complained of the defective state of his

wardrobe, and enumerated the additions he hoped to make to it, when the

anticipated prize fell into our hands. Manuel walked anxiously about

the deck, sometimes looking through his glass, and sometimes giving

directions to the helmsman.

I alone remained unoccupied and unattended to amidst the general

activity. The quiescent and monotonous life I had led since I came

on board the schooner, had lulled me into a forgetfulness of my real

situation, all the horrors of which now burst upon my mind with

appalling force. I had outlawed myself from society. I was surrounded

with wretches, with whom I could have no community of feeling. I was

soon to become, as it were, an accomplice in the work of rapine and

bloodshed. We might, perhaps, be overpowered by those whom we proposed

to attack, and I should be seized and classed with pirates. There was no

one to testify my innocence, to prove that I had no connection with the

guilty, or to save me from an ignominious death.

We soon discovered that the object of our pursuit was a brig of about

two hundred tons burden. She seemed to suspect what we were, for she

made all sail, and began to go large, although she had kept very close

hauled before perceiving us; but our schooner, being very fast, and to

the windward of her, gained upon her every moment.

About mid-day, we came within shot of the brig, and Manuel ordered a gun

to be fired, as a signal for her to heave to. She paid no attention to

it, and her crew seemed to be preparing for defence. He then pointed a

cannon himself, and sent a ball through the lower part of her main-sail;

but this not being what he wanted, he aimed again, and disabled her

rudder.

She was now completely in our power, and we came within thirty yards

of her. The boat being lowered down, Manuel, and fifteen of his crew,

under arms, embarked, and rowed alongside of the brig, and ascended her

gangway without meeting with any resistance. The Captain immediately

advanced towards them, and said, "What right have you to stop me in the

high seas?"--"Right! right!" returned Manuel; "none that I know of--only

I'm stronger than you--but show me your manifest."--"That I cannot do,"

cried the Captain, "unless you promise----" "I'll promise nothing,"

interrupted Manuel; "yes, yes, one thing; none of you shall be

maltreated, unless you offer to oppose my orders."--"Fine conditions,

indeed!" exclaimed the Captain; "Be pleased to tell me what you want

here?"--"Bring me your manifest," replied Manuel, "and then I'll inform

you. I mean to take whatever part of your cargo I choose, and likewise

all the specie that is on board. Come down to the cabin, I must not be

detained."

They now both went below, and the negroes having received a signal

from Manuel, ranged themselves on each side of the companion. They

had scarcely done this, when a voice requested them to make way, and

a gentleman, with a young lady leaning on his arm, and followed by

a mulatto woman, came upon deck. They looked around them with an

expression of terror and astonishment. The young lady on seeing the

blacks turned pale, and clung tremblingly to her protector's arm, and

said something to him, but in such a low tone of voice that nothing but

the word father was distinguishable. The gentleman once or twice seemed

to be on the point of addressing the negroes, but he suddenly stopped

as if aware that interference was useless.

A dead silence prevailed upon deck for some time, but the countenances

of the different parties who occupied it, expressed more than words

could have done. The females betrayed marks of deadening fear; the crew

of the brig evidently struggled to resist the impulses of indignation,

and the negroes seemed full of hope and impatience.

The young lady wore a beautiful Indian shawl, and one of the blacks,

smiling to his companions, stepped forward and pulled it off her

shoulders. Her father, furious at this insult, seized a block that

lay near him, and struck the daring wretch upon the face with so much

violence that he staggered back, and nearly fell into the hold. However,

he quickly recovered himself, and rushing forwards, plunged his cutlass

into the side of his antagonist, who dropped, apparently lifeless,

upon deck. The seamen belonging to the brig could no longer restrain

themselves; a loud cry burst from them, and they hastily seized the

murderer, and threw him overboard; but being an expert swimmer, he

soon gained the surface of the water, and made furiously towards the

vessel's side, with flashing eyes and loud curses. The noise of the

affray brought the Captain and Manuel from the cabin, and the first

object that struck the eyes of the latter was the wounded man weltering

in blood, and supported in the arms of his daughter. "Who did this?"

cried Manuel, with a voice half suffocated with emotion. The assassin

was standing upon the chains, and endeavouring to climb over the

bulwarks, when some one pointed him out. Manuel drew a pistol from his

bosom, and fired at the negro's head; the ball took effect. Its victim

lost hold of the rigging, sprang convulsively upwards, and fell headlong

among the waves. A murmur of applause proceeded from the crew; but the

blacks shrank away with baleful frowns from Manuel, who, turning to the

Captain, said haughtily, "This is my discipline!" and then took a paper

out of his pocket and began to read.

The young lady's father, whose name was Mr R----, was now conveyed

to the cabin, and accompanied by his daughter and her attendant, the

mulatto woman. Manuel then ordered his men to lift the hatches, and

descended through one of them into the hold. After a little time he

returned, and pointed out what articles he wished to have brought upon

deck. The negroes set to work, and presently every part of the vessel

was covered with bales, casks, and packages, while Manuel walked coolly

among them, and selected such as he conceived to be most useful and

valuable. His men would evidently have begun to plunder privately, had

they not been restrained by fear; but the instance of their leader's

severity which they had just witnessed, seemed to dwell upon their

minds, for while occupied in getting out the cargo, they muttered

threats, and viewed him with scowling and wrathful looks.

Manuel having collected together all the articles he wanted, ordered

them to be handed into the boat, which he sent off with part of his men

to the schooner. He retained in his hand a bag of specie, and several

other things. The boat being unloaded, they returned to take him on

board his own vessel, and as he was descending the gangway of the brig,

he bowed to her Captain, and said, "I wish you a good voyage, sir."

On reaching the schooner, Manuel ordered the crew to hoist up the boat

and to bear away; however, the wind was light and baffling, and we made

but little progress. I fixed my eyes upon the brig as we gradually

receded from her, and reflected upon the unhappy situation of Mr R----

and his daughter, in both of whom I felt powerfully interested. I had

several times been on the point of entreating Manuel to allow me to

assist the wounded man; but he had always turned away, as if aware

of what I intended, and unwilling to render himself chargeable with

inhumanity by refusing to grant my request. I now ventured to address

him on the subject. "We cannot part with you," said he; "if we did, it

might ruin us all. He who becomes a pirate, must die a pirate. There is

no middle course. I fervently hope Mr R---- may recover. I have at least

executed justice upon his murderer. Perhaps you may think me a murderer

myself, but I did no more than was necessary. My crew are not to be

restrained except by very terrible means. And yet," continued he,

starting, "in my anxiety to save others, I have perhaps brought

destruction upon myself. I am guilty of murder; there are plenty of

witnesses to prove it.--Oh that both my hands had been cut off, then I

could not have committed this rash act, which at once puts me on a level

with my crew. Good-night, good-night. Go to sleep."

About two hours after sunset I retired to my berth; but the events

of the day had made such a strong impression that I could not sleep,

and I rose at midnight and went upon deck. It was clear moonlight,

and perfectly calm. On looking for the brig, I perceived, to my

astonishment, that she lay within a mile of us, and had heeled over so

much, that she seemed almost on her beam-ends. I immediately informed

Manuel of this, and he looked at her through his night glass, and said

she was aground upon a sand-bank. "What is to be done?" cried I; "you

surely will not allow those on board to perish?" "To-morrow's dawn shall

determine that," returned he.

At daybreak we found that the brig was still in the situation already

described, and Manuel, accompanied by me and several of the crew, went

towards her in the boat. The Captain seemed at a loss how to receive us,

being doubtful whether our intentions were hostile or friendly; but

when we had satisfied him on this point, he informed us that his vessel,

having become quite unmanageable in consequence of the loss of her

rudder, had drifted away towards a sand-bank, and run hard aground the

preceding night. We soon ascertained that her bottom was a good deal

damaged, and that she could not be got off. "This brig will go to pieces

the first time there is a heavy sea," said Manuel to the Captain; "and

those who remain in her must perish. I will take you all on board my

schooner, and put you ashore about forty miles above Matanzas, seeking

no compensation but part of the cargo, which you of course have no means

of preserving." After some deliberation this proposal was acceded to by

all parties, and Manuel's crew again began to unload the brig.

While they were thus engaged I went down to the cabin, and found Mr

R---- and his daughter there. The former had a look of ghastliness which

gave me an unfavourable idea of the nature of his wound; and the latter

sat beside his bed, and seemed at once hopeless and resigned. On seeing

me they both started, but said nothing. I told them that, although I

came along with the pirates, I had no connection with such persons,

and that my object in intruding upon them was to offer my professional

services to Mr R----. The young lady sprung from her chair, and

expressed her gratitude in the warmest manner, while her father's

flushed countenance and beaming eyes evinced that hopes of life began to

revive in his heart.

When Manuel had carried away as much of the cargo as his vessel could

conveniently contain, he informed us that the boat was ready to take us

all on board the schooner; we accordingly embarked, placing Mr R----

upon a mattress, and rowed away from the brig, towards which the Captain

and his crew directed many anxious and regretful looks.

On getting on board the schooner, our first object was to contrive

accommodations for so many new passengers. I resigned my berth to Mr

R----, and Manuel allowed the young lady and her attendant to occupy his

state-room. The Captain and his crew reposed upon deck, but the latter

were so indignant at the familiarity with which the negroes treated

them, that they would have resented it by force, had not the fear of

being overcome by superior numbers restrained their fury. However, the

two parties poured forth torrents of abuse against each other; and the

clamour of their tongues, the groans of Mr R----, the agonies of his

daughter, and the confinement of a crowded vessel, all combined to

render the day and succeeding night insupportably tedious and

distressing to me.

In about forty hours we made the Pan of Matanzas, and Manuel told the

Captain and the white crew to hold themselves in readiness, as he soon

intended to put them ashore. At sunset we were scarcely two leagues

from the coast of Cuba. The negroes lowered a small boat, and stowed a

quantity of water and provisions in her; and Manuel came down to the

cabin, and informed Mr R---- and his daughter that it was time for them

to embark. "Where?--What do you mean?" cried the young lady.--"Why,

madam," returned Manuel, "didn't I say that all the people belonging to

the brig were to put ashore here?"--"Oh, thanked be Heaven," exclaimed

she; "then we are near a harbour and a town?--My dear father!"--"No,

no," interrupted Manuel, "the coast opposite is uninhabited."--"What

do you tell me?" cried she, bursting into tears; "you surely cannot be

so barbarous--my father is dying;--have a little pity. It is indeed

dreadful to be here, to be among such people;--but what will become of

my parent if you send us away? I have no more money to give you, but

perhaps----" Here she covered her face with her hands, and sobbed so

violently that her whole frame trembled.

Manuel began to pace about the cabin; I saw that he was affected, and

therefore did not venture to speak. "Well, lady," said he, after a

pause, "you may remain here. I will protect you and your father--yes,

even though I should bring myself into difficulty by doing so." He then

went upon deck and ordered the Captain and his crew, who had already

seated themselves in the boat, to row away. The dashing of their oars,

which at first broke upon the stillness of the night, gradually became

fainter, and soon subsided into almost undistinguishable murmurs.

In the course of the evening Manuel asked me if I thought Mr R---- would

recover from his wound. I told him that I feared he would soon be

relieved from the inconvenience of having such a passenger on board. "So

I suspect," returned he; "but what is to become of his daughter and the

mulatto woman? I wish I had sent them off in the boat to-night."--"It

would have been unmerciful," said I; "perhaps the seamen themselves may

perish."--"Don't fear; don't fear," cried he; "I treated them very

generously. Most pirates would have left the whole party to drown in the

brig, and been glad of such an opportunity of getting them out of the

way. I gave them a good boat and plenty of provisions; they will easily

reach Matanzas. My crew are enraged at my conduct in this affair. I must

be on my guard; and, listen to me, be you also on yours!"

A short time before midnight Mr R---- complained of the oppressive

closeness of the cabin, and begged to be lifted upon deck. We

immediately complied with his wishes, and spread a mattress for him near

the stern of the vessel. Elizabeth, his daughter, seated herself beside

his couch, and the mulatto woman waited behind. I threw myself upon a

_ceroon_ at a little distance, and felt so fatigued that I gradually

began to slumber, although within hearing of the sick man's feeble

groans and hurried inspirations.

I was suddenly awakened by the sound of light footsteps. I opened my

eyes, and saw Elizabeth. "My father is----" She could say no more. I

rose and followed her. Mr R---- lay upon his back with half-closed eyes,

and seemed scarcely sensible of our approach; but in a little time he

turned his face towards me, and tried to smile. He then took hold of his

daughter's hand, and attempted to greet her in the same way, but it was

impossible; his lips trembled, and some tears rushed down his cheeks.

None of us uttered a word, or even ventured to sigh.

It was the finest moonlight, and the whole heavens were covered with

one continuous expanse of dappled white clouds. The celestial network,

extending from horizon to horizon, floated in motionless repose, and the

stars could be seen twinkling faintly through its apertures. The calm

was such that our sails scarcely even flapped upon the masts, and our

vessel lay as still as if she had been imbedded in a field of crystal.

The balmy murmurings of the little surges upon the distant beach swelled

upon the ear, and died away again, with a caprice that seemed in unison

with the irregular motions of a tall cocoa-nut tree, which stood alone

upon a projecting rock, and was waved in a melancholy manner by a

land-breeze too feeble and unsteady to reach or affect us.

Elizabeth knelt silently beside her father, with clasped hands, and had

that frozen look of condensed despair, which is almost too terrible for

an inhabitant of this world. Her face and lips were colourless, and she

seemed like a spirit waiting for a departing soul. None of us knew the

exact moment at which Mr R---- died. I soon after took his daughter by

the hand, and conducted her to the cabin. She neither spoke a word nor

made the least resistance, and I began to fear that grief had bewildered

her perceptions. Her attendant followed us, and I left them together.

I did not attempt to sleep any that night. I was occupied in thinking of

Elizabeth, who had soon awakened to a full sense of her misery, and

whose sobs haunted my ears wherever I went. In the morning she sank into

a gentle slumber, which, after continuing two hours, left her in a state

of comparative rationality and composure. I requested to see her, and

we had an interview. I offered myself as a protector, and promised to

do everything in my power to extricate her from her present unhappy

situation, and said I would escort her to a place of safety whenever I

had the good fortune to effect this. I then told who I was, and related

the circumstances that had induced me to seek an asylum among the

pirates. In return, she thanked me for my unremitting attentions to her

father, and declared that she fully believed me to be what I professed.

The calm continued during the whole of that day, and Manuel exhibited

many signs of impatience at its long duration; and the more so, as the

current was gradually carrying us towards Matanzas, a place which he

wished anxiously to avoid. Next morning a gentle breeze sprung up, and

we had scarcely begun to profit by it, when we discovered a small brig

of war, with American colours, bearing towards us under full sail.

Manuel ordered his men to crowd all canvass, and tried various nautical

manoeuvres in the hope of escaping her; but she gained upon us every

moment.

The negroes, when they perceived that we could not get out of her reach,

were thrown into a state of consternation, and totally neglected their

duty. They assembled together in groups, and conversed with outrageous

looks and violent gesticulations, occasionally throwing baleful glances

at Manuel. He saw that a storm was gathering, and immediately went

below, and secured the door of the apartment which contained the arms.

He then appeared upon deck, with a brace of pistols in his girdle, a

dagger by his side, and a naked scimitar in his hand, and took his

station beside the companion door.

The boldness of his deportment seemed to increase the fury of the

blacks; some of whom called out, "Down with him! down with him! he has

betrayed us." Manuel paid no attention to their cries, but ordered them,

in a voice of thunder, to load the guns, and rushed forward, waving his

sword in the air. They became intimidated, and hastened to obey him; and

while they were engaged in doing so, I ran down to the cabin, and armed

myself as well as possible, at the same time comforting Elizabeth, and

bidding her remain in her state-room.

When I went upon deck again I found that the negroes had openly

mutinied. They were ranged round the foremast, and stood glaring at

Manuel, and at each other, like a set of demons. "Hell curse you,

captain!" cried one of them, "what right had you to bring us here? Were

we all to be sent to the devil, that you might put ashore them damned

whites that you picked out of the brig?"--"Ay, ay, it was mercy that

made him do so," said another; "but see if we'll get any mercy from the

tyrants that are in chase of us. Ha, Mr Manuel! I would almost be

hanged myself to have the satisfaction of seeing you swing by the

throat!"--"They couldn't get him hanged," vociferated a third, "for he

would always untie the rope with his right hand. Oh, captain, may the

devil scorch your soul for bringing us here!"--"He thinks us a set of

_niger_ slaves," cried the first speaker, "who haven't spirit to do

anything but what he bids us--but we'll show him another story. Come on;

let us have revenge! Down with him and his companion!"

Several of the crew now rushed towards us with threatening gestures.

Manuel fired a pistol among them, and wounded one with his scimitar, and

I struck down another with the butt-end of a blunderbuss, and then acted

upon the defensive. They were repelled; but would apparently have made a

second attack, had not a shot from the brig raked us fore and aft, and

carried away the binnacle. "Now, now!" shouted Manuel, "if you are worth

anything, fight for your lives! The enemy is close upon us; we shall be

blown out of the water! Here is the key of the armoury--go and equip

yourselves, and show some real spirit."

The negroes were almost instantaneously animated by a new feeling. Some

provided themselves with muskets and cutlasses, and others took their

station at the guns. They all had a look of savage and determined

resistance; which showed that they would rather perish in battle, than

run the risk of terminating their lives upon a scaffold.

The brig had now come nearly alongside of us, and her captain commanded

us to heave-to, if we desired any quarter. He was answered by the

discharge of four cannon, and by a shower of musket-balls. They gave a

broadside in return, which carried away our mainmast, and then bore down

upon the schooner, with the intention of boarding her. The smoke

prevented the helmsman of the brig from steering justly, and he suddenly

brought her so close to us that she swept away our chains, and stove

in our bulwarks, and dragged us through the water for a considerable

distance. The fight now became very desperate. The bayonet and cutlass

had usurped the place of firearms, and the negroes, who were not

provided with weapons of any kind, attacked the American seamen with

their fists, beating them down, attempting to choke them, and pushing

them overboard. They all the while animated each other with shouts,

execrations, and blasphemous cries, and rushed furiously to the combat,

half-naked, and covered with dust, and sweat, and blood.

I kept as near Manuel as possible. He sometimes fought vigorously for a

few moments, and then stood idle, apparently irresolute what to do. At

last he cried out, "It is easy to see how this day will end, but I

must hasten its termination," and then hurried down to the cabin. I

instinctively followed him, and found Elizabeth and her maid nearly

speechless with terror. Manuel tore open the hatch in the floor, and

pulled up a small cask, the head of which he knocked in with his hand.

It was full of gunpowder. He placed it upon the table. I grew

breathless. He put a steel between his teeth, and then seizing a flint,

began to strike the one against the other. The pulsations of my heart

ceased, and my eyes became dim. Manuel seemed suddenly to dilate into

fearful and gigantic size, and to pour torrents of fire upon the

gunpowder. My senses were suddenly recalled by a loud crash, and by the

appearance of water rushing down upon us through the skylight. I thought

we were going to the bottom, and started up and pulled the fainting

Elizabeth towards the gangway. There we encountered an American officer;

he gave us a look of astonishment, and hastening towards Manuel, seized

his arm, and said, "Surrender yourself--you are my prisoner."

Manuel did not attempt any resistance, but followed the officer upon

deck. Having left Elizabeth, whose recollection was now pretty well

restored, with her maid, I went there also. Everything had become quiet.

The American seamen were in possession of the schooner, and the negroes

had been removed on board the brig of war. Her captain ordered Manuel to

be put in irons, and directed that Elizabeth and I should have

accommodations in his own vessel.

I was a good deal astonished to meet with several of the crew that had

belonged to the brig we had plundered, and to hear them say that they

were the means of capturing the schooner. Having been fortunate enough

to reach Matanzas the day after Manuel had set them adrift in the boat,

they found an American brig of war there, which had run into the harbour

that she might repair some damage she had sustained while on her voyage

from Jamaica to Charleston. They immediately gave her captain

information respecting the pirate, and he set out in pursuit of them,

making the seamen warp his brig along, till a breeze sprang up which

enabled him to come in sight of the schooner. During the battle, a young

officer who boarded her along with the American crew, happened to

observe Manuel's attempts to blow them up, and with great presence of

mind, dashed his foot through the skylight, and averted the danger, by

pouring down a large quantity of water upon the gunpowder.

A few hours after the capture of the schooner, we set sail for

Charleston, where the brig was bound. We reached that port in ten days.

The pirate crew were immediately lodged in jail. I underwent an

examination, and was then taken into custody, it being evident, from my

own confession, that I had not been forced on board the schooner.

Elizabeth, to whom I had hourly become more devoted during the voyage,

found an asylum in the house of a distant relation, who resided in

Charleston, and was summoned as a witness against the negroes. In three

weeks their trial came on, and Manuel and seven others were condemned to

death. No evidence having appeared against me, I was liberated from

confinement at an early period, by the intercession of several persons

who appeared to take an interest in my fate. I supplied myself with

means of support, by disposing of some valuables I had in my possession.

I was filled with sorrow when I heard that Manuel was condemned to

death, aware that he deserved a better fate. I visited him in jail, the

day after he had received his sentence. He was loaded with fetters, and

occupied a small cell by himself, through which he paced as quickly as

the weight of his irons would permit; though he had a subdued look, the

expression of his countenance was neither abject nor sorrowful.

"Ah, is it you, sir?" cried he, advancing towards me, as I entered; "you

are the person I most wished to see. How kind it is in you to visit a

poor negro! For I am no more now. I am glad to be treated as a rational

creature by at least one white man. I wonder they have let you escape.

In this country it is a crime for a man to have anything to do with

blacks, except in the way of flogging them."--"You do not deserve to

die," said I, after a pause.--"Oh, perhaps not," returned he; "but

law--law--law, you know--however, 'tis better I should. I had a weary

life of it. I was chased from the land, and took refuge upon the sea;

but, notwithstanding that, I could not escape the blood-hounds of the

Southern States of America. But here I have written out something for

you. Take this letter to Gustavus H----, and accept what he gives you in

return, as a remembrance of me. But don't tell him that I'm sentenced to

death." He then presented me with a paper, and having given directions

where I should find the person to whom it was addressed, bid me

farewell.

I immediately proceeded in search of Manuel's acquaintance, and after

some time reached his house, which was situated in the most obscure part

of a narrow and dirty alley. The door was opened by an old negro, and I

inquired if Gustavus H---- lived there. "I am the man," returned he;

"walk in, master." I entered, and gave him the letter, and at his

request seated myself upon an old stool in one corner of the apartment

until he read it. "Strange, very strange," muttered he, gazing on me

intently. "How is Mr Manuel?"--"Well enough at present," returned I;

"but----." He stood still a moment, as if waiting the conclusion of my

reply, and then went out of the room, but soon came back, carrying a

bag, which he immediately put into my hands. Its weight was immense.

"That's all," said he, "I guess Manuel don't intend that I should be his

_bankeer_ long. Good morning, sir."

When I returned to my lodgings, I opened the bag, and, to my

astonishment, found it full of doubloons. I could not believe that

Manuel intended leaving me such a legacy, and went to the prison in the

afternoon, that I might see him, and converse with him upon the subject;

but I arrived there too late; he had anticipated the law by putting a

period to his existence.

Fortune had now bestowed upon me the means of returning to my native

country. I communicated this to Elizabeth, and entreated that we might

make the journey of life together. She consented, and our mutual

happiness was soon as great as our individual misery had been, when fate

first brought us together.

THE PANDOUR AND HIS PRINCESS.

A HUNGARIAN SKETCH.

[_MAGA._ JULY 1832.]

"What is the day's news? Tell me something, my dear Colonel, for I am

dying of _ennui_," said the showy Prince Charles of Buntzlau, one of the

handsomest men about the court, and incomparably the greatest coxcomb.

"Not much more than yesterday," was the answer of Colonel the Baron von

Herbert. "The world goes on pretty much the same as ever. We have an

Emperor, five Electors, and fifty sovereign princes, in Presburg; men

eat, drink, and sleep notwithstanding; and, until there is some change

in these points, one day will not differ much from another to the end of

the world."

"My dear Colonel," said the Prince, smoothing down the blackest and

longest pair of mustaches in the imperial cuirassiers, "you seem to

think little of us, the blood, the _couronnes_, the salt of the earth,

who preserve Germany from being as vulgar as Holland. But I forget; you

have a partiality for the _gens du peuple_."

"Pardon me, Prince," said Herbert, with a smile, "I pity them

infinitely, and wish that they might exchange with the Landgraves and

Margraves, with all my heart. I have no doubt that the change would

often be advantageous to both, for I have seen many a prince of the

empire who would make a capital ploughman, while he made but a very

clumsy prince; and I have, at this moment, three prodigiously high

personages commanding three troops in my regiment, whom nature palpably

intended to clean their own horses' heels, and who, I charitably

believe, might, by dint of drilling and half-a-dozen years' practice,

make three decent dragoons."

"Just as you please, Colonel," said the Prince, "but beware of letting

your private opinion go forth. Leopold is one of the new light, I allow,

and loves a philosopher; but he is an Emperor still, and expects all his

philosophers to be of his own opinion.--But here comes Collini."

Collini was his Italian valet, who came to inform his Highness, that it

was time for him to pay his respects to the Princess of Marosin. This

Italian's principal office was, to serve his master in place of a

memory--to recognise his acquaintance for him as he drove through the

streets--and to tell him when to see and when to be blind. The Prince

looked at his diamond watch, started from the sofa, gave himself a

congratulatory glance in a mirror, and, turning to Collini, asked, "When

am I to be married to the Princess?"

"Poh, Prince," interrupted the Colonel, with something of disdain, "this

is too absurd. Send this grimacing fellow about his business, and make

love on your own account, if you will; or if not, choose some woman

whose beauty and virtue, or whose want of them both, will not be

dishonoured by such trifling."

"You then actually think _her_ worth the attentions of a Prince of the

Empire?" said the handsome coxcomb, as, with one finger curling his

mustaches, he again, and more deliberately, surveyed himself in the

mirror.

"I think the Princess of Marosin worthy of the attentions of any King on

earth," said the Baron, emphatically; "she is worthy of a throne, if

beauty, intelligence, and dignity of mind, can make her worthy of one."

The Prince stared. "My dear Colonel!" he exclaimed, "may I half presume

you have been speculating on the lady yourself? But I can assure you it

is in vain. The Princess is a woman; and allowing, as I do,"--and this

he said with a Parisian bow, that bow which is the very language of

superiority,--"the infinite pre-eminence of the Baron von Herbert in

everything, the circumstance of her being a woman, and my being a

Prince, is prodigiously in my favour."

The Baron had involuntarily laid his hand upon his sword at the

commencement of this speech, but the conclusion disarmed him. He had no

right to quarrel with any man for his own good opinion, and he amused

himself by contemplating the Prince, who continued arranging his

mustaches. The sound of a trumpet put an end to the conference.

"Well, Prince, the trumpet sounds for parade," said the Baron, "and I

have not time to discuss so extensive a subject as your perfections. But

take my parting information with you. I am not in love with the lady,

nor the lady with me; her one-and-twenty, and my one-and-fifty, are

sufficient reasons on both sides. You are not in love with the lady

either, and--I beg of you to hear the news like a hero--the lady is

_not_ in love with you; for the plain reason, that so showy a figure

cannot possibly be in love with anything but itself; and the Princess

is, I will venture to say, too proud to share a heart with a bottle

of lavender water, a looking-glass, and a poodle."

The Prince raised his eyebrows, but Von Herbert proceeded. "Buntzlau

will be without a female sovereign, and its very accomplished Prince

will remain, to the last, the best dressed _bachelor_ in Vienna. _Au

revoir_, I see my Pandours on parade."

Von Herbert and the Prince parted with mutual smiles. But the Prince's

were of the sardonic order; and after another contemplation of his

features, which seemed, unaccountably, to be determined to disappoint

him for the day, he rang for Collini, examined a new packet of uniforms,

bijouterie, and otto of roses, from Paris, and was closeted with him for

two profound hours.

* * * * *

A forest untouched since the flood overhung the road, and a half-ruined

huge dwelling.

"Have the patrol passed?"

"Within the last five minutes."

"I wish them at the bottom of the river; they cost me a Turkish

carabine, a brace of diamond watches, as I'll be sworn, from the showy

fellow that I levelled at, with the valise behind his courier, scented

enough to perfume a forest of brown bears."

"Hang those Hulans," was the answer. "Ever since the Emperor's arrival,

they have done nothing but gallop about, putting honester men than

themselves in fear of their lives, and cutting up our employment so

woefully, that it is impossible to make money enough on the road to give

a decent education to one's children. But here comes the captain. We

shall now have some news. Speranski never makes his appearance unless

something is in the wind."

This dialogue passed between two Transylvanian pedlars, if a judgment

were to be formed from their blue caps, brown cloaks, and the packs

strapped to their shoulders. A narrower inspection might have

discovered within those cloaks the little heads of a pair of short

scimitars; their trousers would have displayed to the curious the

profile of two horse-pistols, and their boots developed a pair of those

large-bladed knives which the Hungarian robber uses, alike to slice away

the trunks of the britchska, to cut the harness of the horse, the throat

of the rider, and carve his own sheep's-milk cheese.

The captain came in, a tall, bold figure, in the dress of an innkeeper.

He flung a purse upon the table, and ordered supper. The pedlars

disburdened themselves of their boxes, kindled a fire on a hearth which

seemed guiltless of having administered to the wants of mankind for many

a wild year; produced from an unsuspected store-house under the floor

some dried venison, and the paws of a bear, preserved in the most

luxurious style of Hungarian cookery; decorated their table even with

some pieces of plate, which, though evidently of different fashions,

gave proof of their having been under noble roofs, by their armorial

bearings and workmanship, though the rest of their history did not lie

altogether so much in high life; and in a few minutes the captain,

throwing off his innkeeper hat and drab-coloured coat, half sat, half

lay down, to a supper worthy of an Emperor, or of a man who generally

sups much better--an imperial commissary.

The whole party were forest robbers; the thing must be confessed. But

the spirit of the country prevailed even under the rotting roof of "the

Ghost's house,"--the ominous name which this old and ruinous, though

still stately mansion, had earned among the peasantry. The name did not

exactly express the fact; for, when tenanted at all, it was tenanted by

anything rather than ghosts; by some dozens of rough, raw-boned, bold,

and hard-living fellows--as solid specimens of flesh and blood as had

ever sent a shot right in front of the four horses of a courier's

cabriolet, or had brought to a full stop, scimitar in hand, the heyducs

and chasseurs, the shivering valets and frightened postilions of a court

chamberlain, whirling along the Vienna road with six to his britchska.

Etiquette was preserved at this supper. The inferior plunderers waited

on the superior. Captain Speranski ate his meal alone, and in solemn

silence. The pedlars watched his nod; filled out the successive goblets

at a glance, and having performed their office, watched, at a respectful

distance, the will of the man of authority. A silver chime announced the

hour of ten. One of the pedlars drew aside a fragment of a ragged shawl,

which covered one of the most superb _pendules_ of the Palais Royal.

If the Apollo who sat harping in gold upon its stytolate, could have

given words to his melodies, he might have told a curious narrative; for

he had already seen a good deal of the various world of adventure.

Since his first transit from the magnificent Horlogerie of M. Sismonde,

of all earthly watchmakers the most renowned, this Apollo had first sung

to the world and his sister muses in the chamber of the unlucky Prince

de Soubise. The fates of France had next transferred him, with the

Prince's camp-plate, despatches, secret orders, and military chest, into

the hands of a regiment of Prussian hussars, at the memorable battle of

Rosbach, that modern "battle of the Spurs." But the Prussian colonel was

either too much or too little a lover of the arts, to keep Apollo and

the Nine all to himself; and the _pendule_ next rang its silver notes

over the roulette-table of the most brilliant of Parisian opera-dancers,

transferred from the _salle_ of the _Academie_ to the Grand Comedie at

Berlin. But roulette, wheel of Plutus as it is, is sometimes the wheel

of fortune; and the fair La Pirouette, in spite of the patronage of the

court and the nation, found that she must, like generals and monarchs,

submit to fate, and part with her brilliant superfluities. The pendule

fled from her Parisian mantel-piece, and its chimes were thenceforth to

awake the eyelids of the handsomest woman in Hungary, the Countess

Lublin nee Joblonsky, memorable for her beauty, her skill at _loto_, and

the greatest profusion of rouge since the days of Philip Augustus. Its

history now drew to a close. It had scarcely excited the envy of all

the countesses of her circle, and, of course, became invaluable to the

fair Joblonsky, when it disappeared. A reward of ten times its value was

instantly offered. The Princess of Marosin, the arbiter of all elegance,

who had once expressed her admiration of its taste, was heard to regret

its loss as a specimen of foreign art. The undone proprietor was only

still more undone; for of all beauties living or dead, she most hated

the Princess, blooming, youthful, and worshipped as she was, to the

infinite detriment of all the fading Joblonskys of the creation. But no

reward could bring it back. This one source of triumph was irrecoverably

gone; and from Presburg to Vienna, all was conjecture, conversation, and

consternation. So ended the court history of the _pendule_.

When the repast was fully over, Speranski, pouring out a glass of Tokay

from a bottle which bore the impress of the Black Eagle of the House of

Hapsburg, and which had evidently been arrested on its road to the

Emperor's table, ordered one of the pedlars to give him the papers,

"which," said he, with a smile, "that Turkish courier _mislaid_ where he

slept last night." A small packet was handed to him;--he perused it over

and over with a vigilant eye, but it was obvious, without any of the

results which he expected; for, after a few minutes' pause, during which

he examined every part of the case in which they were enclosed, he

threw the letters aside. "What," said he, in a disappointed tone, "was

to be expected from those opium-eaters? Yet they are shrewd in their

generation, and the scandals of the harem, the propitious day for

shaving the Sultan's head, the lucky star for combing his illustrious

beard, or the price of a dagger-hilt, are as good topics as any that

pass in our own diplomacy. Here, Sturnwold, put back this circumcised

nonsense into its case, and send it, do you hear, by one of our _own_

couriers, to the Turkish secretary at Vienna; let it be thrown on his

pillow, or tied to his turban, just as you please; but, at all events,

we must not do the business like a clumsy cabinet messenger. Now,

begone; and you, Heinrich, hand me the Turk's meerschaum."

The bandit brought him a very handsome pipe, which he said would

probably be more suited to the Turk's tobacco, of which he had deposited

a box upon the table. Speranski took the pipe, but, at his first

experiment, he found the neck obstructed. His quick conception

ascertained the point at once. Cutting the wood across, he found a long

roll of paper within. He glanced over its contents, instantly sprang up,

ordered the attendance of half a dozen of "his friends" on horseback,

looked to the priming of his pistols, and galloped off through the

forest.

* * * * *

On the evening of one of the most sultry days of July, and in one of

the most delicious yet most lonely spots of the Carpathian hills, a

trampling of hoofs, and a jingling of horse-furniture, and a confusion

of loud and dissonant voices, announced that strangers were at hand. The

sounds told true, for, gradually emerging from the glade covered with

terebinth trees, wild vines that hung their rich and impenetrable folds

over elms, hazels, and cypress, like draperies of green and brown silk

over the pillars of some Oriental palace, came a long train of sumpter

mules, led horses, and Albanian grooms; next came a more formidable

group of horsemen, the body-guards of the Hospodar of Moldavia, sent to

escort Mohammed Ali Hunkiar, the Moslem ambassador, through the Bannat;

and then came, seated on the Persian charger given to him from the

stables of the Padishah, the brother of the Sun and father of the Moon,

Sultan Selim, the most mighty--a little bitter-visaged old Turk, with

the crafty countenance of the hereditary hunchbacks of the great city of

the faithful. Nothing could be more luxurious than the hour, the golden

sunset; nothing lovelier than its light streaming in a thousand rays,

shifts and shapes of inimitable lustre through the blooms and foliage of

the huge ravine; and nothing less lovely or more luxurious than the

little old ambassador, who had earned his elevation from a cobbler's

stall to the Divan, by his skill in cutting off heads, and had now

earned his appointment to the imperial embassy, by his dexterity in

applying a purse of ten thousand sequins to the conscience of the

slipper-bearer to the slipper-bearer of his highness the Vizier.

Nothing could seem less inclined to look at the dark side of things at

this moment, or to throw away the enjoyments of this world for the good

of Moslem diplomacy, than Mohammed Ali Hunkiar, as he sat and smoked,

and stroked his long beard, and inhaled the mingled fumes of his Smyrna

pipe, and the air aromatic with a host of flowers. But the Turkish

proverb, "The smoker is often blinded by his own smoke," was to find its

verification even in the diplomatic hunchback. As he had just reached

the highest stone of the pass, and was looking with the triumph of

avarice--or ambition, if it be the nobler name--down the valley

checkered with the troop that meandered through paths as devious and as

many-coloured as an Indian snake, a shot struck his charger in the

forehead; the animal sprang high in the air, fell, and flung the

ambassador at once from his seat, his luxury, and a certain dream of

clearing ten times the ten thousand sequins which he had disbursed for

his place, by a genuine Turkish business of the dagger, before he left

the portcullis of Presburg.

All was instant confusion. The shots began to fall thick, though the

enemy might have been the beasts of the earth or the fowls of the air,

for any evidence that sight could give to the contrary. The whole troop

were of one opinion, that they must have fallen into the power of the

fiend himself; for the shots poured on them from every quarter at once.

Wherever they turned, they were met by a volley. The cavalry of the

Hospodar, though brave as panthers on parade, yet were not used to waste

their valour or their time on struggles of this irregular nature. They

had bought their own places, and paid the due purchase of a well-fed

sinecure; they had bought their own clothes, and felt answerable to

themselves for keeping them in preservation worthy of a court; they had

bought their own horses, and, like true Greeks, considered that the best

return their horses could make was to carry them as safe out of the

field as into it. The consequence was, that in the next five minutes the

whole escort was seen riding at will in whatever direction the destiny

that watches over the guards of sovereign princes might point the safest

way. The ravine, the hill, the forest, the river, were all speckled with

turbans, like flowers, in full gallop; the muleteers, being of slower

movement, took the simpler precaution of turning their mules, baggage

and all, up the retired corners of the forest, from which they emerged

only to turn them with their lading to their several homes. All was the

most picturesque melee for the first half-dozen rounds, all was the most

picturesque flight for the next. All was silence thenceforth; broken

only by the shot that came dropping through the thickets wherever a

lurking turban suddenly seemed to recover its energies, and fly off at

full speed. At length even the shots ceased, and all was still and lone.

The forest looked as if it had been unshaken since the deluge; the

ravine--calm, rich, and tufted with thicket, shrub, and tree--looked as

if it had never heard the hoof of cavalry. The wood-dove came out again,

rubbed down its plumage, and cooed in peace to the setting sun; the

setting-sun threw a long radiance, that looked like a pyramid of amber,

up the pass. Turban, Turk, skirmish, and clamour, all were gone. One

remnant of the time alone remained.

Under a huge cypress, that covered the ground with its draperies, like a

funeral pall, lay a charger, and under it a green and scarlet bale. The

bale had once been a man, and that man the Turkish ambassador. But his

embassy was over. He had made his last salaam, he had gained his last

sequin, he had played his last trick, he had told his last lie. "Dust to

dust" was now the history of Mohammed Ali Hunkiar.

* * * * *

The Hall of the Diet at Presburg is one of the wonders of the capital.

The heroes and magnates of Upper Hungary frown in immeasurable

magnitude of mustache and majestic longitude of beard on its walls.

The conquerors of the Bannat, the ravagers of Transylvania, the

_potentissimi_ of Sclavonia, there gleam in solidity of armour, that at

once gives a prodigious idea of both their strength and their terrors.

The famous rivers, figured by all the variety of barbarian genius, pour

their pictured torrents over the ceiling. The Draave embraces the Saave,

the Grau rushes in fluid glory through the Keisse; and floods that

disdain a bridge, and flow a hundred leagues asunder, there interlace

each other in streams as smiling and affectionate as if they slept in

the same fountain. Entering that hall, every true Hungarian lifts up his

hands, and rejoices that he is born in the country of the arts, and,

leaving it, compassionates the fallen honours of Florence and Rome.

Yet in that hall the Emperor Leopold, monarch of fifty provinces, and

even sovereign of Hungary, was pacing backwards and forwards without

casting a glance on the wonders of the Hungarian hand. Colonel the Baron

von Herbert was at the end of the saloon, waiting the Imperial pleasure.

The dialogue, which was renewed and broken off as the Emperor approached

or left him, was, of course, one of fragments. The Emperor was in

obvious agitation. "It is the most unaccountable thing that I ever heard

of," said Leopold. "He had, I understand, a strong escort; his own train

were numerous; the roads regularly patroled; every precaution taken;

and yet the thing is done in full sunshine. A man is murdered almost

under my own eyes, travelling with my passport; an ambassador, and above

all ambassadors, a Turk."

"But your Majesty," said Von Herbert, "is not now in Vienna. Your

Hungarian subjects have peculiar ideas on the subject of human justice;

and they would as soon shoot an ambassador, if the idea struck them, as

a squirrel."

"But a Turk," said the Emperor, "against whom there could not have

existed a shadow of personal pique; who could have roused no jealousy at

court; who could have been known, in fact, by nobody here; to be killed

almost within sight of the city gates, and every paper that he had upon

him, every present, every jewel, everything carried off, without the

slightest clue to discovery! Baron, I shall begin to doubt the activity

of your Pandours."

The Baron's grave countenance flushed at the remark, and he answered

with more than even his usual gravity. "Your Majesty must decide. But,

whoever has been in fault, allow me to vindicate my regiment. The

Pandour patrol were on the spot on the first alarm; but the whole affair

was so quickly over, that all their activity was utterly useless. It

actually seemed supernatural."

"Has the ground been examined?" asked Leopold.

"Every thicket," answered Von Herbert. "I would stake my troopers, for

sagacity and perseverance, against so many blood-hounds; and yet, I must

acknowledge to your Majesty that, except for the marks of the horse's

hoofs on the ground, the bullets sticking in the trees, and the body of

the Turk himself, which had been stripped of every valuable, we might

have thought that we had mistaken the place altogether."

"The whole business," said Leopold, "is a mystery; and it must be

unravelled." He then broke off, resumed his walk to the end of the hall;

then returning, said abruptly--"Look to the affair, Colonel. The Turks

have no good opinion of us as it is, and they will now have a fresh

pretext, in charging us with the assassination of their ambassador. Go,

send out your Pandours, offer a hundred ducats for the first man who

brings any information of the murder; offer a thousand, if you please,

for the murderer himself. Even the crown would not be safe if these

things were to be done with impunity. Look to your Pandours more

carefully in future."

The Baron, with a vexation which he could not suppress, hastily

replied--"Your Majesty does not attribute this outrage to any of my

corps?"

"Certainly not to the Baron von Herbert," said the Emperor, with a

reconciling smile. "But, my dear Baron, your heroes of the Bannat have

no love for a Turk, while they have a very considerable love for his

plunder. For an embroidered saddle or a diamond-hilted dagger, they

would go as far as most men. In short, you must give those bold

barbarians of yours employment, and let their first be to find out the

assassin."

* * * * *

It was afternoon, and the Wiener Straat was crowded with equipages

of the great and fair. The place of this brilliant reunion was the

drawing-room of the Princess of Marosin, and the occasion was the

celebration of her birthday. Princesses have so many advantages over

humbler beauties that they must submit to one calamity, which, in the

estimation of many a beauty, is more than a balance for all the gifts of

fortune. They must acknowledge their age. The art of printing, combined

with the scrutiny of etiquette, prohibits all power of making the years

of a princess a secret confided to the bosoms of the privy council. As

the hour of her first unclosing the brilliancy of her eyes, in a world

which all the court poets profess must be left in darkness without them,

so the regular periods by which the bud advances to the bloom, and the

bloom matures into ripened loveliness, are registered with an annual

activity of verse, prose, and prostration, that precludes all

chronological error. Even at the period when the autumnal touch begins

to tinge the cheek, and the fair possessor of so much homage would

willingly forget the exact number of the years during which she has

borne the sceptre, the calculation is continued with fatal accuracy.

Not an hour can be silently subducted from the long arrear of Time; and

while, with all the female world beneath her, he suddenly seems to stand

still, or even to retrograde, with the unhappy object of regal reckoning

he moves mercilessly onward, with full expanded wing carries her from

climacteric to climacteric, unrestrained and irrestrainable by all the

skill of female oblivion, defies the antagonist dexterity of the toilet,

makes coiffeur and cosmetics null and void, and fixes the reluctant and

lovely victim of the calendar in the awful elevation of "the world gone

by." She is a calendar saint, and, like most of that high sisterhood,

has purchased her dignity by martyrdom.

But the Princess of Marosin had no reason to dread the keenest reckoning

of rivalry. She was on that day eighteen. Eighteen years before that

morning the guns from the grey and war-worn towers of Marosin had

announced, through a circuit of one of the loveliest principalities of

Upper Hungary, that one of the loveliest beings that even Hungary had

ever seen was come from its original skies, or from whatever part of

creation handsome princesses visit this sublunar world. As the only

descendant of her illustrious house, she was the ward of the Emperor,

but having the still nearer claims of blood, her marriage now occupied

the Imperial care. A crowd of Marshals and Margraves felt that they

would make excellent guardians of the Principality, and offered their

generous protection. The lady seemed indifferent to the choice; but

Prince Charles of Buntzlau, by all acknowledgment the best dressed

Prince in the Empire, at the head of the hussar guard of the Emperor,

incalculably rich, and incomparably self-satisfied, had already made up

his own mind on the subject, and decided that the Principality, and the

lady annexed, were to be his. The Emperor, too, had given his sanction.

Prince Charles was not the man whom Leopold would have chosen for the

President of the Aulic Council, though his claims as a master of the

ceremonies were beyond all discussion. But the Imperial policy was not

reconcilable with the idea of suffering this important inheritance to

fall into the hands of a Hungarian noble. Hungary, always turbulent,

requires coercives, not stimulants; and two hundred thousand ducats

a-year, in the hands of one of her dashing captains, would have been

sufficient to make another Tekeli. The handsome Prince was evidently not

shaped for raising the banner of revolt, or heading the cavaliers of the

Ukraine. He was an Austrian in all points, and a new pelisse would have

won him from the car of Alexander on the day of his entry into Babylon.

Among the faithful of the empire the Sovereign's nod is politics,

religion, and law. The Marshals and Margraves instinctively bowed

before the supremacy of the superhuman thing that wore the crown of

Charlemagne, and Prince Charles's claim was worshipped by the whole

embroidered circle as one of the decisions which it would be court

impiety to question, as it was court destiny to fulfil.

Hungary was once the land of kings, and it was still the land of nobles.

Half oriental, half western, the Hungarian is next in magnificence to

the Moslem. He gives his last ducat for a shawl, a jewel-hilted sabre,

or a gilded cap, which nothing but his fear of being mistaken for a Turk

prevents him from turning into a turban. The Princess Juliana of Marosin

sat in the centre of a chamber that might have made the cabinet of the

favourite Sultana of the Lord of the Infidels. She sat on a low sofa

covered with tapestry from Smyrna; her caftan, girdled with the largest

emeralds, was made by the fair fingers of the Greek maidens of Saloniki;

her hair, long, black, and drooping round her person, in rich sable

wreaths, like the branches of a cypress, was surmounted by a crescent

which had won many an eye in the jewel mart of Constantinople; and in

her hand she waved a fan of peacocks' plumes, made by the principal

artist to the serail of Teheran. Thus Oriental in her drapery, colours,

and costume, she sat in the centre of a chamber, which, for its gloomy

carvings, yet singular stateliness of decoration, might have reminded

the spectator of some Indian shrine, or subterranean dungeon of the

dark spirits enclosing a spirit of light; or, to abandon poetry, and

tell the truth in plain speech, the chamber reminded the spectator

of the formal, yet lavish splendour of the old kingly times of the

land, while its possessor compelled him to feel the fact, that all

magnificence is forgotten in the presence of a beautiful woman.

The Princess received the homage of the glittering circle with the

complacency of conscious rank, and repaid every bow with one of those

sweet smiles, which to a courtier are irresistible evidences of his

personal merit; to a lover, are spells that raise him from the lowest

depths to the most rapturous altitudes; and to a woman, cost nothing

whatever. But, to an eye which none of these smiles had deprived of all

its powers of reading the human countenance, there was in even this

creature of birth, beauty, and admiration, some secret anxiety, which,

in despite of all conjecture, proved that she was no more than mortal.

There was a wavering of her colour, that bespoke inward perturbation;

a paleness followed by a flush that threw the crimson of her gorgeous

shawl into the shade; a restless movement of the fingers loaded with

gems; a quick turn of the head towards the door, though the most

potential flattery was at the moment pouring into the ear at the

opposite side. There were times, when a slight expression of scorn upon

her fine features escaped her politeness, and gave sign that she agreed

with mankind of all ages, in the infinite monotony, dulness, and

commonplace of the _elite_ of the earth, the starred and ribboned

society of the high places of mankind. But all was peace to the emotion

of her features, when the door slowly opened; and after a note of

preparation worthy of the arrival of the Great Mogul, the chamberlain

announced, "Prince Charles of Buntzlau." Pride and resentment flashed

across her physiognomy, like lightning across the serenity of a summer

sky. Her cheek grew crimson, as the gallant lover, the affianced

husband, came bowing up to her; her brow contracted, and the man would

have been wise who had augured from that brow the hazard of taking her

hand without first securing her heart. But all was soon over; the lovely

lady soon restrained her emotion, with a power which showed her presence

of mind. But her cheek would not obey even her determination, it

continued alternately glowing and pale; wild thoughts were colouring and

blanching that cheek; and the fever of the soul was burning in her

restless and dazzling eye. On the birthdays of the great in Hungary, it

is the custom that none shall come empty-handed. A brilliant variety of

presents already filled the tables and sofas of the apartment. But the

Prince's present eclipsed them all; it was a watch from the Horlogerie

of the most famous artist of Paris, and a _chef-d'oeuvre_ in point of

setting. The Princess looked at it with a disdain which it cost her an

effort to conceal. "Prince," said she, "I regret the want of patriotism

which sends our nobles to purchase the works of strangers, instead of

encouraging the talents of our own country."--"Yes, but your Highness

may condescend to reflect," said the lover, "on the utter impossibility

of finding anything of this kind tolerable except in Paris." The

Princess turned to one of the Bohemians who formed her band of

minstrels, and said, "Vladimir, desire the jewel-keeper to bring my

Hungarian watch." The Bohemian went on his mission--the jewel-keeper

appeared with the watch, and it was instantly declared, by the unanimous

admiration of the circle, to be altogether unrivalled in the art. The

Prince, chagrined at this discomfiture, asked, with more than the

authority of a lover, if the Princess "would do him the honour to

mention the artist so deserving of her patronage." She handed the watch

over to him. He opened it, and a paper dropped out. On it was written

the name of Mohammed Ali Hunkiar.

"The murdered ambassador!" instinctively exclaimed fifty voices.--The

Princess rose from her seat, overwhelmed with surprise and alarm. "The

Turkish ambassador!" said she; "then this must have been a part of

his plunder." The jewel-keeper was summoned to give account of the

circumstances connected with the purchase. His answer was, that "it was

no purchase whatever." But he produced a note which he had received

along with it. The note was "a request that her Highness would accept so

trivial a present on her birthday, from one of her faithful subjects;"

and that, unable to discover the name of the donor, he had accepted it

accordingly. Her circle soon after broke up. In a court all things are

known; in a province all things known or unknown are an invaluable topic

as long as they are new. The story of the Hungarian watch was turned

into shapes innumerable. But the result of the investigation which

immediately took place, by order of the Princess, was, that it had

actually been made by an artist of Buda for the Sultan, by whom it was

sent among the presents designed for the Emperor. On the fall of the

Turk it had disappeared, like all the rest of his plunder, and had been

unheard of until it started into light in the household of the Princess

of Marosin.

The little perturbation excited by this incident lasted but till the

high and mighty of the circle had withdrawn, to communicate the fact

to a dozen other circles, and talk of it until the world was weary

alike of the tale and the tellers. But there was a perturbation in the

mind of this young and lovely being, which came from a deeper source,

and lasted longer than even the delight of her dear five hundred

friends, in surmising all the possible modes in which the stately

relative of Emperors had contrived to charm into her fair hands the

most superb _montre_ under the roofs of the city of Presburg.

Sunset began to shed its quiet gold on the hill-tops round the city--the

sounds of day were fading fast--the glittering crowd had left her halls

to silence--and as she walked through the suite of magnificent chambers

in her gala dress, tissued with emeralds and rubies, and her regal

loveliness contrasting with her eye fixed upon the ground, and her slow

and meditative step, she might have been taken for the guardian genius

of those halls of ancestry, or a new avatar of the tragic muse. Arrived

at the balcony, she almost fell into the flowery seat, below which

spread a vast and various view of the most fertile plain of Hungary. But

the vision on her eye was not of the harvest heavily swelling before her

at every wave of the breeze. Her thoughts were of valleys, where the sun

never reached their green depths; of forests, where the roebuck fed and

sported in scorn of the hunter; of mountains, whose marble spines were

covered only with clouds, and whose only echoes were those of the

thunder or the eagle. All before her eye was beauty cultured, and calm

pleasure. The peasantry were driving their wains homeward loaded with

the luxuriance of the Hungarian fields, proverbially rich where they are

cultivated at all. Large droves of quiet cattle were speckling the

distant pasture, and enjoying the heat and light of evening. The

citizens were issuing from the city gates to taste the freshness of

the hour, and troops of the nobles attendant on the imperial ceremony,

relieved from the labours of etiquette and antechambers, were driving

their glittering equipages through the avenues, or caracolling their

Ukraine chargers through the meadows. Yet for the living landscape the

young gazer had no eyes. The scene on which her spirit dwelt was one of

savage majesty and lonely power. A vast pile of rocks, through which a

way seemed to have been cloven by the thunderbolt, opened on a glen as

desolate as if it had never been trodden by the foot of man. Yet, under

the shelter of one of its overhanging cliffs, peeping out from a drapery

of heath, lichens, and wild flowers, as rich as a Persian carpet, was

seen the outline of a rude building, half cottage, half tower, and

resting on the slope beside it, a hunter with his boar-spear fixed

upright in the turf--a greyhound beside him, and his whole soul employed

in listening to the roar of the Mediterranean, whose waters chafed and

swelled at the entrance of the ravine, and spread to the horizon like a

gigantic sheet of sanguined steel.

The murmur of the church bells for the evening service at length

scattered the vision. The mountain forests vanished, the glen of eternal

marble was a garden embroidered with all the cultivation of art, and

nothing was left of the whole proud picture but the star that now came,

like a bride from her chamber, and stood showering radiance upon her

head. That star, too, had gleamed upon the sky of the Croatian ravine,

and in her enthusiasm she could almost have addressed it like a friend,

or put up a prayer to its shrine as that of a beneficent divinity.

In the strong sensibility of the moment she uttered a few broken

aspirations to its brightness, and a wish that she might escape the

infinite weariness of life, and, like that star, be a gazer on

existence, from a height above the cares and clouds of this world. A

sudden movement among the shrubs below caught her ear; she glanced

down, and saw, with his countenance turned full on her, as if she were

something more than human, the hunter whom her fancy had pictured in

the glen!

* * * * *

It was midnight, when twenty individuals, evidently of high rank, had

assembled in an obscure house in one of the suburbs. But it was evident,

from the plainness of their dress, that they had some object in

concealing their rank; and from the weapons under their cloaks it was

equally evident that they had come upon some business, in which either

danger was to be guarded against, or violence intended.

For some time there was silence, the only words exchanged were in

whispers. At intervals, a low knock at the door, a watchword, and a sign

exchanged between the keeper of the entrance and the applicant without,

announced a new comer. Still nothing was done; and as the cathedral

bells tolled midnight, the anxiety for the arrival of some distinguished

stranger, who had unaccountably delayed his coming, grew excessive. It

gradually escaped, too, that the Cardinal di Lecco, the Papal

Internuncio, was the expected individual.

The signal was given at last; the door opened, and a pale, decrepit

Roman ecclesiastic entered. "Are all our friends here?" was his first

question. But the answer was by no means a hospitable one. "By what

means, Monsignore," said a tall dark-featured personage, advancing to

him, "have we the honour of seeing _you_ here? We are upon private

business."--"I come by your own invitation," said the ecclesiastic

mildly, producing at the same time a letter, which was handed round the

circle. "But this letter is to the nuncio of his Holiness; and it was

only from him that we desired an answer in person." Then, in a higher

tone, and half drawing his sword, an action which was imitated by all,

"We must know, reverend signor, who you are, and by what authority you

have intruded yourself into this room, or you must prepare to receive

the reward due to all spies and traitors." The venerable priest's

countenance betrayed the most obvious alarm; surrounded by this conflux

of indignant visages, and with twenty swords already flashing round his

head, it required more than usual firmness to contemplate his situation

without awe. The single glance which he cast to the door seemed to

say how gladly he would have escaped from this specimen of Hungarian

deliberation. His perturbation evidently deprived him of defence; he

tried to explain the cause of his coming; he searched his dress for some

paper, which, by his signs rather than his words, he intimated, would

answer for his character. He searched his bosom, all was in vain; his

hands became entangled; he made a sudden step to the door, but suspicion

was now thoroughly roused. Every sword was flashing there against his

bosom. He tottered back, uttered some indistinct sounds of terror, and

fell fainting into a chair.

The question was now how to dispose of him, for that he was not the

Cardinal was a matter of personal knowledge to Count Colvellino, the

personage who had first addressed him.

The Count, a man of habitual ferocity, proposed that he should be

stabbed on the spot--an opinion which met with universal assent; but the

difficulty was, how to dispose of the body. To bury it where they were

was impossible for men with no other instruments than their swords; to

fling it into the river would inevitably betray the murder by daylight;

and even to convey it through the streets, to the river side, might be

perilous, from the number of guards and loiterers brought together by

the Imperial residence. During the deliberation the old ecclesiastic

returned to his senses. By some accident his hand had fallen upon the

secret packet which contained his credentials; the discovery acted on

him as a cure for all his feebleness; and in his delivery of his mission

he even wore an air of dignity. "The length and haste of my journey from

Rome," said the venerable man, "may apologise, most noble lords, for my

weakness; but this paper will, I presume, be satisfactory. It is, as

you see, the rescript of his Holiness to the Cardinal di Lecco, whose

servant and secretary stands before you. The Cardinal, suddenly occupied

by the high concerns of the Secreta Concilia, of which he has just been

appointed president, has sent me with his signet, his sign-manual, and

his instructions, as contained in this cipher, to attend the high

deliberations of my most honoured Lords, the Barons of Upper Hungary."

The credentials were delivered. All were authentic. Colvellino sullenly

acknowledged that he had been premature in condemning the Papal envoy,

who now announced himself as the Father Jiacomo di Estrella, of the

Friars Minors of the Capital; and the point at issue was directly

entered upon. It was of a nature which justified all their caution. The

Emperor Leopold was supposed to have brought with him to the throne

some ideas, hostile alike to the ancient feudalism of Hungary, and the

supremacy of the Roman See. Revolution was threatening in Europe; and

the Barons felt violent suspicions of a revolutionary inroad on their

privileges, headed by the possessor of the Imperial Crown. The simple

plan of the conspirators on this occasion, was the extinction of the

hazard by the extinction of the instrument. Leopold was to be put to

death in the moment of his coronation, and the heir of the former royal

race of Hungary, a monk in the convent of St Isidore, was to be placed

on the vacant throne. The debate lasted long, and assumed various

shapes, in which the Papal Envoy exhibited the complete recovery of his

faculties, and showed singular vividness and subtlety in obviating the

impediments started to the project of getting rid of Leopold. Still, to

overthrow an imperial dynasty, in the very day when its head was in the

fulness of power, surrounded by troops, and still more protected by the

etiquette that kept all strangers at a distance from the royal person,

had difficulties which profoundly perplexed the Barons. But the deed

must be done; Colvellino, already obnoxious to suspicion, from his

habitual love of blood and violence of life, led the general opinion.

After long deliberation, it was decided that, as poison was slow, and

might fail--as the pistol was too public, might miss the mark, and but

wound after all--the secure way was the dagger. But how was this to find

the Emperor, through a host of attendants, who surrounded him like a

Persian monarch, and through ten thousand men-at-arms, covered with iron

up to the teeth, and as watchful as wolves? Fra Jiacomo then made his

proposal. "To attack the Emperor in his chamber," said he, "would be

impossible; and, besides, would be an unmanliness disgraceful to the

warlike spirit of the nobles of Hungary." All voices joined in the

sentiment. "To attack him in his passage through the streets, on the day

of the coronation, would be equally impossible, from the number of his

guards, and equally dishonourable to the high character of the Hungarian

nobles for fidelity to all who trust them." A second plaudit, almost

an acclamation, followed the sentiment. Fra Jiacomo now paused, as

evidently waiting to collect his thoughts, and asked in the humblest

voice, whether it was absolutely necessary that Leopold should die?

"He or we," cried Colvellino, indignant at the delay of the timid old

priest. "He or we," echoed all the voices. "I obey," said the Friar,

with a sigh, and clasping his trembling hands upon his bosom. "It is not

for an old monk, a feeble and simple man like me, my noble lords, to

resist the will of so many destined to lead the land of their fathers.

But let us, if we must be just, also be merciful. Let the victim

die at the high altar of the cathedral." A murmur rose at the seeming

profanation. The Friar's sallow cheek coloured at this mark of

disapproval. He was silent; but Colvellino's impatience spoke. "Let us,"

said he, "have no womanish qualms now; what matters it where or when a

tyrant falls? Church or chamber, street or council, all are alike. The

only question is, who shall first or surest send the dagger to his

heart? Who among us shall be the liberator of his country?" The question

remained without an answer. The service was obviously a difficult one at

best, and the Brutus was sure of being sacrificed by the swords of the

guards. "Cowards!" exclaimed Colvellino, "is this your spirit? 'Tis but

a moment since you were all ready to shed your blood for the death of

this German puppet, and now you shrink like children." "If it were not

in the cathedral," muttered some of the conspirators. "Fools," retorted

the haughty Count, "to such scruples all places are cathedrals. But the

cause shall not be disgraced by hands like yours. Colvellino himself

shall do it; aye, and this good friar shall give me his benediction too

on the enterprise." The ruffian burst out into a loud laugh. "Peace, my

son," said the priest, with hand meekly waving, and his eyes fixed on

the ground. "Let us not disturb our souls, bent as they are on the pious

services of the Church and his Holiness the father of the faithful, by

unseemly mirth. But let us, in all humility and sincere soberness, do

our duty. The Count Colvellino has nobly offered, with a heroism worthy

of his high name, to consummate the freedom of the Hungarian church and

state. But this must not be, his life is too precious. If Prince Octar,

the last hope of the ancient line of Ladislaus, should die, Count

Colvellino is the rightful heir. The hopes of Hungary must not be

sacrificed."

The Count's dark eye flashed, and his cheek burned up with the flame of

an ambition which he had long cherished, and which had stimulated him to

this sudden and suspicious zeal for his country. "The Emperor must not

put the crown of Hungary on his head and live," said he, in a tone of

expressed scorn and hope. "To-morrow," said the Friar, rising as

if he could throw off the infirmities of age in the strength of his

resolution--"To-morrow, at the moment of the mass, Leopold dies, and

dies by my hand." All stared. "Noble lords," said the Friar, almost

abashed into his former humility by the sight of so many bold and proud

countenances gazing on him, in every expression of surprise, doubt,

wonder, and applause--"Noble lords," he pursued, "what is my life that

I should value it, except as the means of serving his Holiness and this

illustrious country, which has for so many centuries been the most

faithful daughter of the Church? To me life and death are the same. But

I shall not die. My sacred function to-morrow will bring me close to the

Emperor unsuspected. I shall be among the prelates who lead him up to

the altar. At the moment when he takes the crown into his hand, and

before he has profaned it by its resting on his brow, Hungary shall be

free."

A loud outcry of admiration burst from the whole assembly. Colvellino

alone seemed to resent the loss of the honour. His countenance lowered,

and grasping the self-devoted Friar's sleeve, he said, in a tone of

wrath but ill stifled, "Friar, remember your promise. No parleying now.

No scruples. Beware of treachery to the cause. But to make all secure, I

tell you that you shall be watched. As Grand Chamberlain, I myself shall

be on the steps of the altar, and the slightest attempt at evasion shall

be punished by a dagger at least as sharp as ever was carried by a

priest in either church or chamber." Fra Jiacomo bowed his head to his

girdle, and only asked, in a tone of the deepest meekness, "Count, have

I deserved this? Noble lords of Hungary, have I deserved this? Is

treason laid rightly to my charge? If you doubt me, let me go." He

turned to the door as he spoke, but even Colvellino's disdain felt the

folly of losing so willing an accomplice, and one who, besides, was now

so much master of the conspiracy. "Well, then, so be it," murmured the

Count; "the cause will be disgraced by the instrument. But this Emperor

at least will molest Hungary no more." Fra Jiacomo bowed but the

deeper. All was now concerted for the deed. The conspirators were

appointed to wait in the church of Saint Veronica, behind the cathedral,

for the signal of Leopold's death, and thence to proceed to the convent

where the heir of Ladislaus was kept, and proclaim him King. Colvellino

listened to the latter part of the arrangement with a smile of scorn.

They were separated by the sound of the cannon announcing the dawn of

the great ceremonial.

* * * * *

The morning of the coronation found all Presburg awake. The streets were

thronged before day with citizens; nobles hastening to the palace;

troops moving to their various posts in the ceremony; peasants pouring

in from all the provinces, in all the wild festivity and uncouth

dialects of the land of the Huns. Then came the magnates, riding on

their richly-caparisoned horses, and followed by their long train of

armed attendants, a most brilliant and picturesque display. The

equipages contained all that the kingdom could boast of female beauty

and high birth, and the whole formed a singular and vivid contrast of

the strange, the lovely, the bold, and the graceful, the rude and the

magnificent, the Oriental and the Western--all that a feudal,

half-barbarian people could exhibit of wild exultation--and all that an

empire as old as Charlemagne could combine of antique dignity and

civilised splendour.

The sun, which so seldom condescends to shine on regal processions,

threw his most auspicious beams on the city of Presburg on this

memorable day. But it was in the cathedral that all the opulence of the

imperial and national pomp was displayed. The aisles were hung with

tapestry and banners of the great feudal families, and crowded with the

body-guards of the Emperor, and the richly-costumed heyducs and

chasseurs of the Hungarian lords. The centre aisle was one canopy of

scarlet tissue, covering, like an immense tent, the royal train, the

great officers of the court, and the Emperor as he waited for the

consecration. Farther on, surrounding the high altar, stood a circle of

the Hungarian prelacy in their embroidered robes, surrounding the

Archbishop of Presburg, and in their unmoving splendour looking like a

vast circle of images of silver and gold. Above them all, glittering in

jewels, looked down from clouds of every brilliant dye, and luminous

with the full radiance of the morning, the Virgin Mother, in celestial

beauty, the patroness of Presburg, a wonder-working Madonna, "whom Jews

might kiss, and infidels adore."

At length, to the sound of unnumbered voices, and amid the flourish of

trumpets, and the roar of cannon from all the bastions, Leopold entered

the golden rails of the altar, ascended the steps, followed by the

great officers of the kingdom, and laid his hand upon the crown. At that

moment the Grand Chamberlain, Count Colvellino, had knelt before him to

present the book of the oath by which he bound himself to maintain the

rights and privileges of Hungary. In the act of pronouncing the oath the

Emperor was seen to start back suddenly, and the book fell from his

hand. At the same moment a wild scream of agony rang through the

cathedral; there was a manifest confusion among the prelacy; the circle

was broken, some rushed down the steps; some retreated to the pillars of

the high altar; and some seemed stooping, as if round one who had

fallen. Vases, flowers, censers, images--all the pompous ornaments which

attend the Romish ritual on its great days--were trampled under foot in

the tumult; and prelate, priest, and acolyte were flung together in the

terror of the time. The first impression of all was, that the Emperor

had been assassinated, and the startled flying nobles, and the populace

at the gates, spread the report through the city, with the hundred

additions of popular alarm. But the imperial body-guard instantly

drawing their swords, and pressing their way through the nobles and

multitude up to the altar, soon proved that the chief terror was

unfounded, by bringing forward the Emperor in their midst, and showing

him to the whole assemblage unhurt. He was received with an acclamation

that shook the dome.

But blood had been spilled--the Grand Chamberlain was found pierced to

the heart. He had died at the instant from the blow. But by whom he was

thus foully murdered, or for what cause, baffled all conjecture. The

general idea, from the position in which he fell, was, that he had

offered his life for the Emperor's; had thrown himself forward between

his royal master and the assassin, and had been slain by accident or

revenge. Leopold recollected, too, that, in the act of taking the book

of the Oath, he had felt some hand pluck his robe; but, on looking

round, had seen only the Grand Chamberlain kneeling before him. Inquiry

was urged in all quarters, but in vain. Colvellino was a corpse; he

remained bathed in his loyal blood, the heroic defender of his liege

lord, the declared victim of his loyalty; and a reward of a thousand

ducats was declared on the spot by his indignant sovereign, for the

discovery of the murderer. The gates of the cathedral were instantly

closed; strict search was made, but totally in vain. Order was slowly

restored. But the ceremony was too important to be delayed. The crown

was placed upon the Imperial brow, and a shout like thunder hailed

Leopold "King of Hungary." In courts all things are forgotten.

As the stately procession returned down the aisle all was smiles and

salutation, answered by the noble ladies of the court and provinces, who

sat ranged down the sides according to their precedency, under pavilions

tissued with the arms of the great Hungarian families. In this review of

the young, the lovely, and the high-born, all eyes gave the prize of

beauty, that prize which is awarded by spontaneous admiration, and the

long and lingering gaze of silent delight, to the Princess of Marosin.

Her dress was, of course, suitable to her rank and relationship to the

imperial line, all that magnificence could add to the natural grace, or

dignity of the form; but there was in her countenance a remarkable

contrast to the general animation of the youthful and noble faces round

her--a melancholy that was not grief, and a depth of thought that was

not reverie, which gave an irresistible superiority to features, which,

under their most careless aspect, must have been pronounced formed in

the finest mould of nature. Her eyes were cast down, and even the slight

bending of her head had a degree of mental beauty. It was clearly the

unconscious attitude of one whose thoughts were busied upon other things

than the pomps of the hour. It might have been the transient regret of

a lofty spirit for the transitory being of all those splendours which

so few years must extinguish in the grave; it might have been the

reluctance of a generous and free spirit at the approach of that hour

which would see her hand given by Imperial policy where her heart

disowned the gift; it might be patriot sorrow for the fallen glories of

Hungary; it might be romance; it might be love. But whatever might be

the cause, all remarked the melancholy, and all felt that it gave a

deep and touching effect to her beauty, which fixed the eye on her

as if spell-bound. Even when the Emperor passed, and honoured the

distinguished loveliness of his fair cousin by an especial wave of his

sceptred hand, she answered it by scarcely more than a lower bend of the

head, and the slight customary pressure of the hand upon the heart. With

her glittering robe, worth the purchase of a principality, drawn round

her as closely as if it were the common drapery of a statue, she sat not

unlike the statue in classic gracefulness, but cold and unmoving as the

marble.

But all this was suddenly changed. As the procession continued to pass

along, some object arrested her glance which penetrated to her heart.

Her cheek absolutely burned with crimson; her eye flashed; her whole

frame seemed to be instinct with a new principle of existence; with one

hand she threw back the tresses, heavy with jewels, that hung over her

forehead, as if they obstructed her power of following the vision; with

the other she strongly attempted to still the beatings of her heart;

and thus she remained for a few moments, as if unconscious of the place,

of the time, and of the innumerable eyes of wonder and admiration

that were fixed upon her. There she sat--her lips apart, her breath

suspended, her whole frame fevered with emotion, the statue turned to

life--all beauty, feeling, amaze, passion. But a new discharge of

cannon, a new flourish of trumpet and cymbal, as the Emperor reached the

gates of the cathedral, and appeared before the assembled and shouting

thousands without, urged on the procession. The magic was gone. The

countenance, this moment like a summer heaven, with every hue of

loveliness flying across it in rich succession, was the next colourless.

The eye was again veiled in its long lashes; the head was again

dejected; the marble had again become classic and cold; the beauty

remained, but the joy, the enchantment, was no more.

* * * * *

The Baron von Herbert was sitting at a desk in the armoury of the

palace. Javelins rude enough to have been grasped by the hands of the

primordial Huns; bone-headed arrows that had pierced the gilded corslets

of the Greeks of Constantinople; stone axes that had dashed their rough

way through the iron headpieces of many a son of Saxon chivalry;

and the later devices of war--mail, gold-enamelled, silver-twisted,

purple-grained--and Austrian, Italian, and Oriental escutcheons gleamed,

frowned, gloomed, and rusted, in the huge effigies of a line of

warriors, who, if weight of limb, and sullenness of visage, are the

elements of glory, must have fairly trampled out all Greek and all Roman

fame.

A key turned in the door, and the Emperor entered hastily, and in

evident perturbation. He turned the key again as he entered. The Baron

stopped his pen, and awaited the commands of his sovereign. But Leopold

was scarcely prepared to give counsel or command. He threw a letter on

the table.

"Read this, Von Herbert," said he, "and tell me what you think of it. Is

it an impudent falsehood, or a truth, concerning the public safety? Read

it again to me."

The Baron read:--

"Emperor, you think yourself surrounded by honest men. You are

mistaken. You are surrounded by conspirators. You think that,

in offering a reward for Colvellino's murderer, you are

repaying a debt of gratitude. You are mistaken. You are

honouring the memory of a murderer. You think that, in giving

the hand of the Princess of Marosin to Prince Charles of

Buntzlau, you are uniting two persons of rank in an honourable

marriage. You are mistaken. You are pampering a coxcomb's

vanity, and breaking a noble heart. You think that, in sending

your Pandours to scour the country, you can protect your court,

your palace, or yourself.

"You are mistaken. The whole three are in _my_ power.

"SPERANSKI."

The Baron laid down the paper, and gravely paused for the Emperor's

commands. But the Emperor had none to give. He put the simple query--"Is

this a burlesque or a reality? Is the writer a charlatan or a

conspirator?"

"Evidently something of both, in my conception," said the Colonel; "the

paper is not courtly, but it may be true, nevertheless. The writer is

apparently not one of your Majesty's chamberlains, and yet he is clearly

master of some points that mark him for either a very dangerous inmate

of the court, or a very useful one."

Leopold's anxious gesture bade the Baron proceed. He looked again over

the letter, and commented on it as he passed along.

"'Surrounded by conspirators!' Possible enough. The Hungarian nobles

never knew how to obey. They must be free as the winds, or in fetters.

The mild government of Austria is at once too much felt and too little.

No government or all tyranny, is the only maxim for the magnates. If not

slaves, they will be conspirators."

"Then this rascal, this Speranski, tells the truth after all?" said the

Emperor.

"For the fact of conspiracy I cannot answer yet," said Von Herbert;

"but for the inclination I can, at any hour of the twenty-four." He

proceeded with the letter--"You are honouring the memory of a murderer."

"An atrocious and palpable calumny!" exclaimed the Emperor. "What! the

man who died at my feet? If blood is not to answer for honour and

loyalty, where can the proof be given? He had got, besides, everything

that he could desire. I had just made him Grand Chamberlain."

Von Herbert's grave countenance showed that he was not so perfectly

convinced.

"I knew Colvellino," said he, "and if appearances were not so much

in his favour by the manner of his death, I should have thought him

one of the last men in your Majesty's dominions to die for loyalty."

"You are notoriously a philosopher, Von Herbert," said Leopold,

impatiently. "Your creed is mistrust."

"I knew the Grand Chamberlain from our school-days," said the Baron,

calmly. "At school he was haughty and headstrong. We entered the royal

Hungarian guard together; there he was selfish and profligate. We then

separated for years. On my return as your Majesty's aide-de-camp, I

found him the successor to an estate which he had ruined, the husband of

a wife whom he had banished from his palace, the Colonel of a regiment

of Hulans which he had turned into a school of tyranny, and Grand

Chamberlain to your Majesty, an office which I have strong reason to

think he used but as a step to objects of a more daring ambition."

"But his death--his courageous devotion of himself--the dagger in his

heart!" exclaimed the Emperor.

"They perplex, without convincing me," said the Baron.

He looked again at the letter, and came to the words, "Breaking a noble

heart."

"What can be the meaning of this?" asked Leopold, angrily. "Am I not to

arrange the alliances of my family as I please? Am I to forfeit my word

to my relative, the Prince of Buntzlau, when he makes the most suitable

match in the empire for my relative the Princess of Marosin? This is

mere insolence, read no more."

The Baron laid down the letter, and stood in silence.

"Apropos of the Princess," said Leopold, willing to turn the

conversation from topics which vexed him, "has there been any further

intelligence of her mysterious purchase--that far-famed plunder of the

Turk, her Hungarian _chef d'oeuvre_?"

"If your Majesty alludes to the Princess's very splendid watch," said

the Baron, "I understand that all possible inquiry has been made, but

without the effect of tracing any connection between its sale and the

unfortunate assassination of the Turkish envoy."

"So, my cousin," said the Emperor, with a half smile, "is to be set

down by the scandalous Chronicle of Presburg as an accomplice in rifling

the pockets of Mohammed? But the whole place seems full of gipsyism,

gossiping, and juggling. I should not wonder if that superannuated

belle, the Countess Joblonsky, lays the loss of her _pendule_ to my

charge, and that the Emperor shall quit Hungary with the character of

a receiver of stolen goods."

"Your Majesty may be the depredator to a much more serious extent, if

you will condescend but to take the Countess's heart along with you,"

said the Colonel, with a grave smile. "It is, I have no doubt, too loyal

not to be quite at your Majesty's mercy."

"Hah!" said Leopold; "I must be expeditious then, or she will be

_devote_, or in the other world--incapable of any love but for a lapdog,

or turned into a canonised saint. But in the mean time look to these

nobles. If conspiracy there be, let us be ready for it. I have

confidence in your Pandours. They have no love for the Hungarians. Place

a couple of your captains in my antechamber. Let the rest be on the

alert. You will be in the palace, and within call, for the next

forty-eight hours."

The Emperor then left the room. Von Herbert wrote an order to the Major

of the Pandours for a detachment to take the duty of the imperial

apartments. The evening was spent at the opera, followed by a court

ball; and the Emperor retired, more than satisfied with the dancing

loyalty of the Hungarian beaux and belles.

* * * * *

The night was lovely, and the moon shone with full-orbed radiance upon

the cloth of gold, embroidered velvet curtains, and high enchased silver

sculptures of the imperial bed. The Emperor was deep in a midsummer

night's dream of waltzing with a dozen winged visions, a ballet in the

Grand Opera given before their Majesties of Fairyland, on the occasion

of his arrival in their realm. He found his feet buoyant with all the

delightful levity of his new region; wings could not have made him spurn

the ground with more rapturous elasticity. The partner round whom he

whirled was Oberon's youngest daughter, just come from a finishing

school in the Evening Star, and _brought out_ for the first time. But a

sudden sound of evil smote his ear; every fairy drooped at the instant;

he felt his winged heels heavy as if they were booted for a German

parade; his blooming partner grew dizzy in the very moment of a whirl,

and dropped fainting in his arms; Titania, with a scream, expanded her

pinions, and darted into the tops of the tallest trees. Oberon, with a

frown, descended from his throne, and stalked away in indignant majesty.

The sound was soon renewed; it was a French quadrille, played by a

Golden Apollo on the harp--a sound, however pleasing to earthly ears,

too coarse for the exquisite sensibilities of more ethereal tempers.

The God of Song was sitting on a beautiful pendule, with the name of

_Sismonde_ conspicuous on its dial above, and the name of the Countess

Joblonsky engraved on its marble pedestal below. The Emperor gazed first

with utter astonishment, then with a burst of laughter; his words had

been verified. He was in a new position. He was to be the "receiver of

stolen goods" after all. But in the moonlight lay at his feet a paper;

it contained these words:--

"Emperor--You have friends about you, on whom you set no value;

you have enemies, too, about you, of whom you are not aware.

Keep the _pendule_; it will serve to remind you of the hours

that may pass between the throne and the dagger. It will serve,

also, to remind you how few hours it may take to bring a noble

heart to the altar and to the grave. The toy is yours. The

Countess Joblonsky has already received more than its value.

"SPERANSKI."

* * * * *

The Countess Joblonsky _had been_ the handsomest woman in Paris twenty

years before. But in Paris, the reign of beauty never lasts supreme

longer than a new Opera--possibly, among other reasons, for the one that

both are exhibited without mercy for the eyes or ears of mankind. The

Opera displays its charms incessantly, until all that remain to witness

the triumph are the fiddlers and the scene-shifters. The Belle

electrifies the world with such persevering attacks on their nervous

system, that it becomes absolutely benumbed. A second season of triumph

is as rare for the Belle as the Opera, and no man living ever has seen,

or will see, a third season for either. The Countess retired at the end

of her second season, like Diocletian, but not, like Diocletian, to the

cultivation of cabbages. She drew off her forces to Vienna, which she

entered with the air of a conqueror, and the rights of one; for the

fashion that has fallen into the "sere and yellow leaf" in Paris, is

entitled to consider itself in full bloom at Vienna. At the Austrian

capital she carried all before her, for the time. She had all the first

of the very first circle in her chains. All the Archdukes were at her

bidding; were fed at her _petits soupers_ of five hundred hungry

noblesse, _en comite_; were pilfered at her loto-tables; were

spell-bound by her smiles, laughed at in her boudoir, and successively

wooed to make the fairest of Countesses the haughtiest of Princesses.

Still the last point was incomplete,--she was still in widowed

loveliness.

The coronation suddenly broke up the Vienna circle. She who had hitherto

led or driven the world, now condescended to follow it; and the Countess

instantly removed her whole establishment, her French Abbe, her Italian

Chevaliers, ordinaires and extraordinaires, her Flemish lapdogs, her

Ceylonese monkeys, and her six beautiful Polish horses, to Presburg,

with the determination to die _devote_, or make an impress on the

imperial soul, which Leopold should carry back, and the impression along

with it, to Vienna. But cares of state had till now interposed a shield

between the Emperor's bosom and the lady's diamond eyes. She had at last

begun actually to despair; and on this morning she had summoned her Abbe

to teach her the most becoming way for a beauty to renounce the world.

She was enthroned on a couch of rose-coloured silk, worthy of Cytherea

herself, half-sitting, half-reposing, with her highly rouged cheek

resting on her snowy hand, that hand supported on a richly bound volume

of the Life of La Valliere, delicious model of the wasted dexterity,

cheated ambition, and profitless passion of a court beauty, and her eyes

gazing on the letter which this pretty charlatan wrote on her knees, in

the incredible hope of making a Frenchman feel. The Countess decided

upon trying the La Valliere experiment upon the spot, writing a letter

to the Emperor, declaring the "secret flame which had so long consumed

her," "confessing" her resolution to fly into a convent, and compelling

his obdurate spirit to meditate upon the means of rescuing so brilliant

an ornament of his court from four bare walls, the fearful sight of

monks and nuns, and the performance of matins and vespers as duly as

the day.

At this critical moment, one of the imperial carriages entered the

_porte cochere_. A gentleman of the court, stiff with embroidery, and

stiffer with Austrian etiquette, descended from it, was introduced by

the pages in attendance, and with his knee almost touching the ground,

as to the future possessor of the diadem, presented to the Countess a

morocco case. It contained a letter. The perusal of the missive brought

into the fair reader's face a colour that fairly outburned all the

labours of her three hours' toilette. It requested the Countess

Joblonsky's acceptance of the trifle accompanying the note, and was

signed Leopold. The case was eagerly opened. A burst of brilliancy

flashed into the gazers eyes. It was the superb watch, the long-talked

of--the watch of the Princess Marosin, and now given as an

acknowledgment of the personal superiority of her handsome competitor.

She saw a crown glittering in strong imagination above her head. The

Life of La Valliere was spurned from her. The Abbe was instantly

countermanded. The Countess had given up the nunnery; she ordered her

six Polish steeds, and drove off to make her acknowledgments to the

Emperor in person.

But what is the world? The Countess had come at an inauspicious time.

She found the streets crowded with people talking of some extraordinary

event, though whether of the general conflagration, or the flight of one

of the Archduchesses, it was impossible to discover from the popular

ideas on the subject. Further on, she found her progress impeded by the

troops. The palace was double-guarded. There had evidently been some

formidable occurrence. A scaffold was standing in the court, with two

dead bodies in the Pandour uniform lying upon it. Cannon, with lighted

matches, were pointed down the principal streets. The regiment of

Pandours passed her, with Von Herbert at their head, looking so deeply

intent upon something or other, that she in vain tried to obtain a

glance towards her equipage. The Pandours, a gallant-looking but wild

set, rushed out of the gates, and galloped forward to scour the forest

like wolf-dogs in full cry. The regiment of Imperial Guards, with Prince

Charles of Buntzlau witching the world with the best-perfumed pair of

mustaches, and the most gallantly embroidered mantle in any hussar

corps in existence, rode past, with no more than a bow. All was

confusion, consternation, and the clank of sabre-sheaths, trumpets, and

kettle-drums. The Countess gave up the day and the diadem, returned to

her palace, and began the study of La Valliere again.

The story at length transpired. The Emperor's life had been attempted.

His own detail to his Privy Council was--That before daylight he had

found himself suddenly attacked in his bed by ruffians. His arms had

been pinioned during his sleep. He called out for the Pandour officers

who had been placed in his antechamber; but to his astonishment, the

flash of a lamp, borne by one of the assailants, showed him those

Pandours the most active in his seizure. Whether their purpose was to

carry him off, or to kill him on the spot; to convey him to some cavern

or forest, where they might force him to any conditions they pleased, or

to extinguish the imperial authority in his person at once, was beyond

his knowledge; but the vigour of his resistance had made them furious,

and the dagger of one of the conspirators was already at his throat,

when he saw the hand that held it lopped off by the sudden blow of a

sabre from behind. Another hand now grasped his hair, and he felt the

edge of a sabre, which slightly wounded him in the neck, but before the

blow could be repeated, the assailant fell forward, with a curse and a

groan, and died at his feet, exclaiming that they were betrayed. This

produced palpable consternation among them; and on hearing a sound

outside, like the trampling of the guards on their rounds, they had

silently vanished, leaving him bleeding and bound. He had now made some

effort to reach the casement and cry out for help, but a handkerchief

had been tied across his face, his arms and feet were fastened by a

scarf, and he lay utterly helpless. In a few moments after, he heard

steps stealing along the chamber. It was perfectly dark; he could see no

one; but he gave himself up for lost. The voice, however, told him that

there was no enemy now in the chamber, and offered to loose the bandage

from his face, on condition that he would answer certain questions. The

voice was that of an old man, said he, but there was a tone of honesty

about it that made me promise at once.

"I have saved your life," said the stranger; "what will you give me for

this service?"

"If this be true, ask what you will."

"I demand a free pardon for the robbery of the Turkish courier, for

shooting the Turkish envoy, and for stabbing the Grand Chamberlain in

your presence."

"Are you a fool or a madman who ask this?"

"To you neither. I demand, further, your pardon for stripping Prince

Charles of Buntzlau of his wife and his whiskers together--for marrying

the Princess of Marosin--and for turning your Majesty into an

acknowledged lover of the Countess Joblonsky."

"Who and what are you? Villain, untie my hands."

The cord was snapped asunder.

"Tell me your name, or I shall call the guards, and have you hanged on

the spot."

"My name!" the fellow exclaimed, with a laugh,--"Oh, it is well enough

known everywhere,--at court, in the cottages, in the city, and on the

high-road--by your Majesty's guards, and by your Majesty's subjects. I

am the Pandour of Pandours--your correspondent, and now your cabinet

counsellor. Farewell, Emperor, and remember--Speranski!"

"The cords were at the instant cut from my feet. I sprang after him;

but I might as well have sprung after my own shadow. He was gone--but

whether into the air or the earth, or whether the whole dialogue was

not actually the work of my own imagination, favoured by the struggle

with the conspirators, I cannot tell to this moment. One thing, however,

was unquestionable, that I had been in the hands of murderers, for I

stumbled over the two bodies of the assassins who were cut down in the

melee. The first lamp that was brought in showed me also, that the two

Pandour captains had been turned into the two Palatines of Sidlitz and

Frankerin, but by what magic I cannot yet conjecture."

* * * * *

A more puzzling affair never had bewildered the high and mighty

functionaries of the imperial court. They pondered upon it for the

day, and they might have added the year to their deliberations without

being nearer the truth. The roll of the Pandours had been called over.

None were missing except the two captains; and certainly the two

conspirators, though in the Pandour uniform, were not of the number.

More perplexity still. The imperial horse-guards returned in the evening

terribly offended by a day's gallop through the vulgarity of the

Hungarian thickets, but suffering no other loss than of a few plumes

and tassels, if we except one, of pretty nearly the same kind, Prince

Charles of Buntzlau. The Prince had been tempted to spur his charger

through a thicket. He led the way in pursuit of the invisible enemy;

he never came back. His whole regiment galloped after him in all

directions. They might as well have hunted a mole; he must have gone

under ground--but where, was beyond the brains of his brilliantly

dressed troopers. He was _un prince perdu_.

Leopold was indignant at this frolic, for as such he must conceive it;

and ordered one of his aides-de-camp to wait at the quarters of the

corps, until the future bridegroom grew weary of his wild-goose chase,

and acquaint him that the next morning was appointed for his marriage.

But he returned not.

Next morning there was another fund of indignation prepared for the

astonished Emperor. The bride was as undiscoverable as the bridegroom.

The palace of the Princess de Marosin had been entered in the night; but

her attendants could tell no more than that they found her chamber doors

open, and their incomparable tenant flown, like a bird from its gilded

cage. All search was made, and made in vain. The Prince returned after

a week's detention by robbers in a cave. He was ill received. Leopold,

astonished and embarrassed, conscious that he was treading on a soil

of rebellion, and vexed by his personal disappointments, broke up his

court, and rapidly set out for the hereditary dominions.

He had subsequently serious affairs to think of. The French interest

in Turkey roused the Ottoman to a war. Orders were given for a general

levy through the provinces, and the Emperor himself commenced a tour of

inspection of the frontier lying towards Roumelia. In the Croatian levy,

he was struck peculiarly with the Count Corneglio Bancaleone, Colonel of

a corps of Pandours, eminent for beauty of countenance and dignity of

form; for activity in the manoeuvres of his active regiment, and one

of the most popular of the nobles of Croatia. The Emperor expressed

himself so highly gratified with the Count's conduct, that, as a mark

of honour, he proposed to take up his quarters in the palace. The Count

bowed; reluctance was out of the question. The Emperor came, and was

received with becoming hospitality; but where was the lady of the

mansion? She was unfortunately indisposed. The Emperor expressed his

regret, and the apology was accepted; but in the evening, while, after

a day of reviews and riding through the Croatian hills, he was enjoying

the lovely view of the sun going down over the Adriatic, and sat at a

window covered with fruits and flowers, impearled with the dew of a

southern twilight, a Hungarian song struck his ear, that had been a

peculiar favourite of his two years before, during his stay in Presburg.

He inquired of the Count who was the singer. Bancaleone's confusion was

visible. In a few moments the door suddenly opened, and two beautiful

infants, who had strayed away from their attendants, rambled into the

room. The Count in vain attempted to lead them out. His imperial guest

was delighted with them, and begged that they might be allowed to stay.

The eldest child, to pay his tribute to the successful advocate on

the occasion, repeated the Hungarian song. "Who had taught him?" "His

mother, who was a Hungarian." Bancaleone rose in evident embarrassment,

left the room, and shortly returned leading that mother. She fell at the

Emperor's feet. She was the Princess of Marosin, lovelier than ever;

with the glow of the mountain air on her cheek, and her countenance

lighted up with health, animation, and expressive beauty. Leopold threw

his arms round his lovely relative, and exhibited the highest

gratification in finding her again, and finding her so happy.

But sudden reflections covered the imperial brow with gloom. The

mysterious deaths, the conspiracies, the sanguinary violences of

Presburg, rose in his mind, and he felt the painful necessity of

explanation.

Bancaleone had left the room; but an attendant opened the door, saying

that a Pandour had brought a despatch for his Majesty. The Pandour

entered, carrying a portefeuille in his hand. The Emperor immediately

recognised him, as having often attracted his notice on parade, by his

activity on horseback and his handsome figure. After a few _tours

d'addresse_, which showed his skill in disguise, the Count threw off

the Pandour, and explained the mystifications of Presburg.

"I had been long attached," said he, "to the Princess of Marosin, before

your Majesty had expressed your wishes in favour of the alliance of

Prince Charles of Buntzlau. I immediately formed the presumptuous

determination of thwarting the Prince's objects. I entered, by the

favour of my old friend, Colonel von Herbert, as a private in his

Pandours, and was thus on the spot to attend to my rival's movements.

The Pandours are, as your Majesty knows, great wanderers through the

woods, and one of them, by some means or other, had found, or perhaps

robbed, a part of the Turkish courier's despatches. These despatches he

showed to a comrade, who showed them to me; they were of importance,

for they developed a plot which the Turks were concerting with some

profligate nobles of Presburg, to carry off your Majesty into the

Turkish dominions, a plot which waited only for the arrival of the

Turkish envoy. I got leave of absence, joined some of the rabble of

gipsies who tell fortunes, and rob when they have no fortunes to tell.

We met the Turk, a melee ensued, he was unfortunately killed; but I

secured the despatches. The Turk deserved his fate as a conspirator. His

papers contained the names of twenty Magnates, all purchased by Turkish

gold. The Magnates were perplexed by his death. They now waited for the

arrival of a Romish priest, who was to manage the ecclesiastical part of

your Majesty's murder. I went into the woods again, caught the Cardinal

alive on his march, put him into the hands of the gypsies, who, feeling

no homage for his vocation, put him on a sanative and antipolitical

regimen of bread and water for a fortnight, and then dismissed him over

the frontier. On the day of the coronation, your Majesty was to have

died by the hands of Colvellino. I volunteered the office. Colvellino

followed me, to keep me to my duty. I plucked your robe to put you on

your guard; saw the Grand Chamberlain's dagger drawn to repay me for my

officiousness, and in self-defence was forced to use my own. He was a

traitor, and he died only too honourable a death."

"But the magic that changed the Pandour captains into Palatines? That

Speranski too, who had the impudence to lecture me in my bonds?" asked

the Emperor, with a smile.

"All was perfectly simple," said the Count; "the two captains were

invited to a supper in the palace, which soon disqualified them for

taking your Majesty's guard. Their uniforms were then given to two of

the Palatines, who undertook to carry off your Majesty, or kill you in

case of resistance. But no man can work without instruments. One of the

gypsies, who was to have acted as postilion on the occasion, sold his

employment for that night to another, who sold his secret to me. I

remained in the next chamber to your Majesty's during the night. I had

posted a dozen of the Pandours within call, in case of your being in

actual danger. But my first purpose was to baffle the conspiracy without

noise; however, the ruffians were more savage than I had thought them,

and I was nearly too late. But two strokes of the sabre were enough, and

the two Palatines finished their career as expeditiously at least as if

they had died upon the scaffold. In this portefeuille are the Turk's

despatches, the Cardinal's prayers, Colvellino's plot, and the Magnate's

oaths."

Leopold rose and took him by the hand. "Count, you shall be my

aide-de-camp, and a general. You deserve every praise that can be given

to skill and courage. But the watch, the pendule, the trap for that

prince of parroquets, Buntzlau?" said Leopold, bursting out into a laugh

fatal to all etiquette.

"Your Majesty will excuse me," said the Count; "these are a lady's

secrets, or the next to a lady's, a man of fashion's. Mystification all.

Magic everywhere; and it is not over yet. The Vienna paper this morning

met my astonished eye with a full account of the marriage of his Serene

Highness of Buntzlau with the illustrious widow of the Count Lublin nee

Joblonsky. Capitally matched. He brings her his ringlets, she brings him

her rouge. He enraptures her with the history of his loves; she can give

him love for love at least. He will portion her with his debts, and she

is as equal as any Countess in Christendom to return the politeness in

kind. _Vive le beau marriage!_ A coxcomb is the true _cupidon_ for a

coquette all over the world."

THE BEAUTY DRAUGHT.

[_MAGA._ DECEMBER 1840.]

CHAPTER I.

Jaqueline Triquet was the daughter of a _proprietaire_, or owner, of a

very small farm, near a village in the Bourbonnois, the real name of

which it might be dangerous to state, for reasons that will be apparent

to such of our fair readers as may condescend patiently to toil through

what is to follow. Let it therefore be called, after the patron saint of

France, St Denis.

Jaqueline, our heroine, was about the middle height of her sex, but had

the appearance of being somewhat shorter, in consequence of the rather

masculine breadth of her frame and vigorous "development" of muscle.

These were, however, great advantages to one compelled to live a life of

labour, and to associate with persons of a class not particularly

celebrated for delicacy of manners or feeling; and of these advantages

Jaqueline evinced that she was perfectly aware, by frequently asserting

that she was "not afraid of any man."

Her other personal qualifications were a compact, round,

good-humoured-looking countenance, with two very bright black useful

eyes, which had an odd way of trying to look at each other--a propensity

that, if not over-violent, has been pronounced exceedingly attractive

by many connoisseurs of beauty. But, alas! Jaqueline was no beauty,

whatever she might have been in early youth; for that dreadful enemy of

fair faces, the small-pox, had attacked her in his angry mood, and sadly

disfigured every charm save that over which even he hath no power, the

all-pleasing expression of good-humour. So that remained for Jaqueline;

and not that alone. Not merely was the cheerful outward sign upon her

homely sunburnt countenance, but the blessed reality was within; and

there was not a merrier, more industrious, nor lighter-hearted lass in

the whole _commune_. Artless, simple, and kind to all, she was a general

favourite; and with general favour she remained apparently quite

content, till certain of her younger companions got married, and then

she felt occasionally dull--she knew not why.

"It is not that I envy them, I am sure," said she to herself in one of

her musing fits; "no--I rejoice in their happiness. If Franchette had

not married Jean Clement, I am sure I never should, even if he had asked

me, which he never did. And then Jaques Roget, and Pierre Dupin, and

Philippe Chamel--bless them all, and their wives too, I say! I wish

them happy; I'm sure I do. I don't envy them; I'm sure I don't. And

yet--yet--I can't think what's the matter with me!"

Poor Jaqueline's was no very uncommon case. She was not in love with

any particular person. Her heart was her own, and a good warm heart it

was, and she felt conscious that it was well worth somebody's winning;

therefore it is no marvel that at last she breathed a secret wish that

somebody would set about the task in earnest.

Such was the state of her feelings when her father, who was a widower,

resolved to intrust her with the management of certain affairs in the

way of business at Moulins, which he had hitherto always attended to

personally.

"The change will do you good, my child," said he; "and Madame Margot

will be delighted to see you, if it were only for your poor dear

mother's sake, rest her soul! She always asks after you, and has invited

me to bring you with me a thousand times. So you may be sure of a

welcome from her. And Nicolas is a good lad too, and has managed the

business admirably since his father's death, though he is such a lively

fellow that one could hardly expect it. He'll _chaperon_ you, and do the

_aimable_, no doubt. So, _vale_! never fear. And if you find yourself

happy with them, and Madame presses you to stay--why, it's only August

now, and I sha'n't want you home till the vintage--so do as you like,

my good child; I can trust you."

The journey to Moulins was little more than ten leagues; but travelling

in the cross-roads of the Bourbonnois is a very rough and tedious

affair. To Jaqueline it appeared the most important event in her life;

and as she rode, in the cool of a Monday morning, upon her father's nag,

to a neighbouring farmer's, about two leagues on her way, she felt half

inclined to turn back, and request to be left at home in quiet, rather

than go on to be mingled in scenes of gaiety, wherein something

whispered to her that she was not likely to be very happy. But the

congratulations of the said farmer's daughters, who all declared how

much they envied her, and how delighted they should be to be in her

place, to which, perhaps, may be added the invigorating effects of a

most unromantic, substantial breakfast, caused a marvellous change in

her feelings, insomuch that she appeared the merriest of the party, as

they walked afterward to the summit of a rising ground, from which her

further progress on foot into the high-road might be clearly indicated.

There, after receiving minute instructions, by attending to which she

was assured that it was impossible she could mistake her way, she took

leave of her friends, with the feeling that she was about to be launched

into a new sort of world.

The sun shone brightly, the birds sang merrily, and ever and anon a

passing breeze rustled cheerfully the foliage above and all around, as

Jaqueline stepped lightly on, scarcely encumbered by her not very

elegant nor ponderous bundle, containing much less than the fair sex

usually require when going on a visit. But this lightness of wardrobe

caused the not least agreeable of her anticipations, as her father had

given her a _carte blanche_ to supply its defects from the _magasins_

of Moulins, stipulating only that in her headgear there should be no

deviation from the established costume of their ancestresses, who, from

generation to generation, had worn, or rather carried, perched forward

upon their caps, the small, boat-like, diminutive-crowned hat called _La

Fougere_.

Now, whether she had been thinking too much about how her new _fougere_

should be trimmed, or that the plain directions of her friends were

too perplexingly minute to be borne clearly in memory, cannot be

ascertained; but at a spot where a single footpath became double, she

hesitated and looked round, and endeavoured to recollect. There was no

one near to bias her choice; so she decided for herself, and took the

left path, uttering the self-comforting ejaculation--"I am sure that

this is the right." Therefore she walked briskly on, till visited by

unpleasant misgivings that her steps had deviated too far to the left;

and then followed doubt upon doubt, fast walking, stopping, hesitation,

and looking about, as usual in such cases, till it became too evident

that she had contrived to do that which her kind friends pronounced to

be impossible. She had lost her way.

Now, losing one's way is far from agreeable, even to common, everyday

people; but when such a misfortune occurs to heroines, it is a much more

serious piece of business, inasmuch as their blundering always exercises

an evil influence over the weather. No matter how fine and cloudless the

day may have previously been, no sooner is a heroine bewildered, and,

amid unknown tracks, compelled to "give it up" as a too-puzzling riddle,

than all the elements combine to increase her perplexity. The thunders

incontinently commence growling over her head, the vivid lightning

flashes all around, the winds blow a hurricane, and down comes the rain

like a cataract. The moral intended to be drawn from such often-repeated

disasters probably is, that young ladies should be careful of their

footsteps; for certainly the elements of society are not less pitiless

to an erring female than are those of nature toward a lost heroine.

Jaqueline's predicament was no exception to the general rule, which

is not surprising, as the sudden and violent summer storms of the

Bourbonnois are proverbial. However, before she was quite "wet through,"

she had the heroine's usual good-luck of finding shelter in the ruins of

an old castle, to which she was guided by the welcome sight of a small

wreath of smoke, ascending from a corner of the dilapidated building.

After peeping cautiously from behind the open folding-shutter of an

unglazed window, and ascertaining the sex of the lonely tenant, she

ventured to enter, and was most kindly welcomed by an aged woman, whose

bodily infirmities had in no degree affected the organs of speech. So

Jaqueline soon had the consolation of learning how and where she had

missed her way, and also of hearing many particulars of her hostess's

life, which need not be repeated here. The best of the affair, however,

was, that the old body had both the means and the inclination to make

her guest comfortable. There was plenty of dry wood piled up in the

corner of the room, and it was not spared. The fire crackled and blazed

cheerfully; and then she placed certain culinary earthen vessels upon

and around it, and at the end of a string in the front suspended a fowl,

over the roasting of which she sate down to watch and talk.

The rain still continued, and Jaqueline felt grateful; therefore, after

some little necessary attention to her dress, she thought she could not

do better than, as the phrase is, "make herself generally useful." So

she bustled about, and evinced a knowledge of the _menage_ and the

_cuisine_ that raised her greatly in the estimation of her entertainer.

The wing of a fowl, and _une petite goutte_ of wine, in a tumbler of

water, is the usual allowance for French heroines. How far Jaqueline

surpassed them need not be told; but, by the time their dinner was

ended, she and the ancient dame seemed quite upon the footing of old

acquaintance.

"Ah!" continued the old woman (for she had talked continuously)--"Ah!

I like you, my good girl. I've taken a fancy to you; and when I take

a fancy to anybody, I can do something--hem!"

"You have been very kind to me," said Jaqueline--"very kind; and you may

depend upon it I shall not be ungrateful. You must come and pay me a

visit in October, at the vintage, and then----"

"You'll be very glad to see me," continued the old woman. "That's what

you mean to say, I know. Well, well, there's time enough for that;

but--now, now--tell me! Isn't there anything that I can do for you now?

Haven't you some wish?"

"Only that you would be so good as to show me the way to the Cock and

Bottle, in the high-road," replied Jaqueline, to the apparent great

amusement of the old crone, who cackled immoderately till a fit of

coughing compelled her to take a few more sips of wine, of which

Jaqueline began to suspect she had already taken quite enough.

"Excuse my laughing, my child," said she at length--"but really your

mistake was so diverting. I meant to talk of more serious things--of

your prospects in life--of your wishes particularly. Young people

always have wishes. Ay! I see by that smile that you have. There--that's

understood--and now tell me what it is."

Here followed a long confabulation, in which Jaqueline revealed all the

particulars of her birth, parentage, and education; and eventually the

old body wormed out of her the secret that she did really wish the other

sex would pay her somewhat more marked attention.

"But can't you name any particular one whom you should prefer?" was the

next question; "if you can, don't be afraid to tell me. No one else

shall know it, and I'm sure I could manage it. What's his name?"

Jaqueline replied that she felt no decided preference for any one, and

added merrily, "Let them come and offer themselves--that's all I wish.

No matter how many of them. It will be time enough then for me to make

_my_ choice."

"Perhaps you might find that difficult if they were very numerous,"

observed her hostess. "I remember, when I was about your age, there

was--heigho! never mind! That's all gone by, and so it's of no use

talking about it. Come, let us go out and look at the weather. Something

tells me that you will not be able to go farther to-night. There's

another storm brewing, or I am much mistaken." Jaqueline's arm on the

left, and a crutch-headed stick on the right, supported the old lady as

they walked round and about the ruins of the castle, every part of which

she explained the former uses of, with an accuracy that might have

satisfied the most curious inquirer, but which quite bewildered our

heroine. What people could have wanted with so many different _salons_,

galleries, and apartments, was to her quite a mystery, and she gazed

upon the massive thickness of the walls with feelings approaching to

reverence. Consequently, when they were driven in by the promised storm,

she was precisely in the right state of mind to be strongly impressed by

the awful long stories that her hostess had to relate of and concerning

the former owners of the place. She told how the castle had been

ransacked and set on fire at the Revolution, and how Monsieur le Comte

de Montjeu and his family made their escape into foreign parts, and were

not heard of till after the Restoration, when the young Comte Henri,

whom she had nursed when an infant, suddenly made his appearance. Of him

she spake in raptures. He had purchased the site of the ruins, and some

land adjacent, and would doubtless some day restore all to its former

splendour, as he held some very lucrative appointment at Paris.

Moreover, she described him as a very handsome young man, though she

feared that he was somewhat too much addicted to gallantry and gaiety.

But then, she added, that was a family failing, and put her in mind of

some passage in the life of his grandfather, which she immediately

proceeded to relate; and so on, and on, and on continuously, as though

reading from a book, went the old lady with her long tales; and

Jaqueline listened, first with curiosity, then from complaisance (as it

was evident that the narrator took pleasure in her own performance), and

at length with a rather dim apprehension of what she heard. This may be

accounted for, either by her not being able to sleep on the previous

night, for thinking of her intended journey, or from the fatigue and

exposure to sunshine and storm during the day, or by her hostess's

hospitable entertainment at dinner and supper (the latter meal forming

an interlude between two of the long stories), or by the whole combined.

But be the cause what it may, she nodded, as most folks would under

similar circumstances, and then was suddenly aroused by missing the

monotonous tones of her entertainer, to whom she apologised, and shook

herself into an attentive attitude. The apology was graciously received,

and Jaqueline's drowsiness dispelled for a while by a legend about a

spring, just at the bottom of the hill, the water of which was reported

to have the power of causing young maidens, who drank thereof, to become

wonderfully fascinating, and to attract lovers of every degree.

"You shall take a draught of it in the morning, _ma bonne_," she said.

"Don't be afraid; you will have your wish before you come back from

Moulins, I'm pretty sure. If not, however, call upon me on your way

back. However, take the water in the morning. Perhaps it mayn't operate

immediately, but perhaps it may; for I remember hearing of two young

ladies who"--and off went the old lady into another long story about

romantic lovers of high degree; and the result of all was, that

Jaqueline went late to bed, with her head full of strange and

multitudinous fancies.