By public prints of weight and information, it has been estimated,

that during Don Enrique's brief stay at Paris, he indignantly

rejected certain friendly overtures made to him by the King of

the French. The nature of these overtures can, of course, only be

conjectured. Perhaps, indeed, they were but a stratagem, employed

by the wily monarch to detain his young cousin at Paris, that the

apparent good understanding between them might damp the courage

of the national party in Spain, and win the wavering to look with

favour upon the French marriage. There can be little question

that in the eyes of Louis Philippe, as well as of Christina, Don

Francisco is a far more eligible husband for the Queen than his

brother would have been, even had the latter given his adhesion to

the project of the Montpensier alliance. Rumour--often, it is true,

a lying jade--maintained that at Paris he firmly refused to do so.

She now whispers that at Brussels he has been found more pliant,

and that, within a brief delay, the happy family at Madrid will be

gratified by the return of that truant and mutinous mariner, Don

Enrique de Borbon, who, after he has been duly scolded and kissed,

will doubtless be made Lord High Admiral, or rewarded in some

equally appropriate way for his tardy docility. We vouch not for

the truth of this report; but shall be noway surprised if events

speedily prove it well founded. Men there are with whom the love

of country is so intense, that they would rather live despised in

their own land than respected in a foreign one. And when, to such

flimsy Will-o'-the-wisp considerations as the esteem and love of

a nation, are opposed rank, money, and decorations, a palace to

live in, sumptuous fare, and a well-filled purse, and perhaps,

ere long, a wealthy bride, who would hesitate? If any would, seek

them not amongst the Bourbons. Loath indeed should we be to pledge

ourselves for the consistency and patriotism of a man whose uncle

and grandfather betrayed their country to a foreign usurper. The

fruit of a corrupt and rotten stem must ever be looked upon with

suspicion. It is the more prized when perchance it proves sound and

wholesome.

Of the Duke of Montpensier, previously to his marriage, little

was heard, and still, little is generally known of him, except

that his exterior is agreeable, and that he had been rapidly

pushed through the various military grades to that of general of

artillery. That any natural talents he may be endowed with, have

been improved to the utmost by careful education, is sufficiently

guaranteed by the fact of his being a son of Louis Philippe. We

are able to supply a few further details. The Infanta's husband

is a youth of good capacity, possessing a liberal share of that

mixture of sense, judgment, and wit, defined in his native tongue

by the one expressive word _esprit_. His manners are pleasant and

affable; he is a man with whom his inferiors in rank can converse,

argue, even dispute--not a stilted Spanish Bourbon, puffed up with

imaginary merit, inflated with etiquette, and looking down, from

the height of his splendid insignificance and inane pride, upon

better men then himself. He is one, in short, who rapidly makes

friends and partisans. Doubtless, during his late brief visit to

Spain, he secured some; hereafter he will have opportunities of

increasing their number; and the probabilities are, that in course

of time he will acquire a dangerous influence in the Peninsula. The

lukewarm and the vacillating, even of the Progresista party, will

be not unlikely, if he shows or affects liberalism in his political

opinions, to take him into favour, and give him the weight of their

adherence; forgetting that by so doing they cherish an anti-national

influence, and twine more securely the toils of France round the

recumbent Spanish lion. On the other hand, there will always be a

powerful Spanish party, comprising a vast majority of the nation,

and by far the largest share of its energy and talent, distinguished

by its inveterate dislike of French interlopers, repulsing the

duke and his advances by every means in their power, and branding

his favourers with the odious name of AFRANCESADOS. To go into this

subject, and enlarge upon the probable and possible results of the

marriage, would lead us too far. Our object in the present article

has rather been to supply FACTS than indulge in speculations. For

the present, therefore, we shall merely remind our readers, that

jealousy of foreign interference is a distinguishing political

characteristic of Spaniards; and that, independently of this, the

flame of hatred to France and Frenchmen still burns brightly in many

a Spanish bosom. Spain has not yet forgiven, far less forgotten,

the countless injuries inflicted on her by her northern neighbours:

she still bears in mind the insolent aggressions of Napoleon--the

barbarous cruelties of his French and Polish legions--the officious

interference in '23. These and other wrongs still rankle in her

memory. And if the effacing finger of Time had begun to obliterate

their traces, the last bitter insult of the forced marriage has

renewed these in all their pristine freshness.

We remember to have encountered, in a neglected foreign gallery,

an ancient picture of a criminal in the hands of torturers.

The subject was a painful one, and yet the painting provoked a

smile. Some wandering brother of the brush, some mischievous and

idly-industrious TINTO, had beguiled his leisure by transmogrifying

the costumes both of victim and executioners, converting the ancient

Spanish garb into the stiff and unpicturesque apparel of the present

day. The vault in which the cruel scene was enacted, remains in

all its gloomy severity of massive pillars, rusty shackles, and

cobwebbed walls; the grim unshapely instruments of torture were

there; the uncouth visages of the executioners, the agonised

countenance of the sufferer, were unaltered. But, contrasting with

the antique aspect and time-darkened tints of these details, were

the vivid colouring and modern fashions of Parisian _paletots_, trim

pantaloons, and ball-room waistcoats. We have been irresistibly

reminded of this defaced picture by the recent events in Spain.

They appear to us like a page from the history of the middle ages

transported into our own times. The daring and unprincipled intrigue

whose _dénoûment_ has just been witnessed, is surely out of place

in the nineteenth century, and belongs more properly to the days of

the Medicis and the Guise. A review of its circumstances affords

the elements of some romantic history of three hundred years ago.

At night, in a palace, we see a dissolute Italian dowager and a

crafty French ambassador coercing a sovereign of sixteen into a

detested alliance. The day breaks on the child's tearful consent;

the ambassador, the paleness of his vigil chased from his cheek by

the flush of triumph, emerges from the royal dwelling. Quick! to

horse!--and a courier starts to tell the diplomat's master that the

glorious victory is won. A few days--a very few--of astonishment to

Europe and consternation to Spain, and a French prince, with gay and

gallant retinue, stands on the Bidassoa's bank and gazes wistfully

south-wards. Why does he tarry; whence this delay? He waits an

escort. Strange rumours are abroad of ambuscade and assassination;

of vows made by fierce guerillas that the Infanta's destined husband

shall never see Madrid. At last the escort comes. Enclosed in

serried lines of bayonets and lances, dragoons in van, artillery

in rear, the happy bridegroom prosecutes his journey. What is his

welcome? Do the bright-eyed Basque maidens scatter flowers in his

path and Biscay's brave sons strain their stout arms to ring peals

in his honour? Do the poor and hardy peasantry of Castile line the

highway and shout _vivas_ as he passes? Not so. If bells are rung

and flowers strewn, it is by salaried ringers and by women hired,

not to wail at a funeral, but to celebrate a marriage scarcely more

auspicious. If hurrahs, few and faint, are heard, those who utter

are paid for them. Sullen looks and lowering glances greet the

Frenchman, as, guarded by two thousand men-at-arms, he hurries to

the capital where his bride awaits him. In all haste, amidst the

murmurs of a deeply offended people, the knot is tied. Not a moment

must be lost, lest something should yet occur to mar the marriage

feast. And now for the rewards, shamefully showered upon the venal

abettors of this unpopular union. A dukedom and grandeeship of Spain

for the ambassador's infant son; titles to mercenary ministers;

high and time-honoured decorations, once reserved as the premium

for exalted valour and chivalrous deeds--to corrupt deputies;

diamond snuff-boxes, jewels and gold, to the infamous writers of

prostituted journals; Christina rejoices; her _Camarilla_ are in

ecstasies; Bresson rubs his hands in irrepressible exultation; in

his distant capital the French monarch heaves a sigh of relief and

satisfaction as his telegraph informs him of the _fait accompli_.

Then come splendid bullfights and monster _pucheros_, to dazzle the

eyes and stop the mouths of the multitude. _Pan y toros--panisac

circenses_--to the many-headed beast. And in all haste the prince

hurries back to Paris with his bride, to receive the paternal

benediction, the fraternal embrace, and the congratulations of the

few score individuals, who alone, in all France, feel real pleasure

and profit in his marriage. And thus, by foreign intrigue and

domestic treachery, has the independence of Spain been virtually

bought and sold.

ST MAGNUS', KIRKWALL.

See yonder, on Pomona's isle--

Where winter storms delight to roam;

But beaming now with summer's smile--

The Sainted Martyr's sacred dome!

Conspicuous o'er the deep afar

It sheds a soft and saving ray,

A landmark sure, a leading star,

To guide the wanderer on his way.

It tells the seaman how to steer

Through swelling seas his labouring bark

It helps the mourner's heart to cheer,

And speeds him to his heavenly mark.

With joy of old this northern sky

Saw holy men the fabric found,

To lift the Christian Cross on high,

And spread the Healer's influence round.

By beauty's power they sought to raise

Rude eyes and ruder hearts to Heaven:

They sought to speak their Maker's praise

With all the skill His grace had given.

And now, where passions dark and wild

Were foster'd once at Odin's shrine,

A people peaceful, just, and mild,

Live happy in that light divine.

Preserved through many a stormy age,

Let pious zeal the relic guard:

Nor Time with slow insidious rage

Destroy what fiercer foes have spared.

THE GAME LAWS.

From our youth upwards we have entertained a deep feeling of

affection for the respectable fraternity of the Quakers. Our love,

probably, had its date and origin from very early contemplation

of a print, which represented an elderly pot-bellied individual,

with a broad-brimmed hat and drab terminations, in the act of

concluding a treaty with several squatting Indians, only redeemed

from a state of nature by a slight garniture of scalps and wampum.

Underneath was engraved a legend which our grand-aunt besought

us to treasure in our memory as a sublime moral lesson. It ran

thus:--THE BLOODLESS TRIUMPH, OR PENN'S TREATY WITH THE CHIEFS; and

we were told that the fact thereby commemorated was one of the most

honourable achievements to be found in the pages of general history.

With infantine facility we believed in the words of the matron. No

blood or rapine--no human carcasses or smoking wigwams, deformed

the march of the Quaker conqueror. Beneath a mighty tree, in the

great Indian wilderness, was the patriarchal council held; and

the fee-simple of a territory, a good deal larger than an average

kingdom, surrendered, with all its pendicles of lake, prairie, and

hunting-ground, to the knowing philanthropist, in exchange for some

bales of broad-cloth, a little cutlery, a liberal allowance of

beads, and a very great quantity, indeed, of adulterated rum and

tobacco. Never, we believe, since Esau sold his birth-right, was a

tract of country acquired upon terms so cheap and easy. Some faint

idea of this kind appears to have struck us at the time; for, in

answer to some question touching the nature of the goods supposed

to be contained in several bales and casks which were prominently

represented in the picture, our relative hastily remarked, that she

did not care for the nature of the bargain--the principle was the

great consideration. And so it is. William Penn unquestionably acted

both wisely and well: he brought his merchandise to a first-rate

market, and left a valuable legacy of acuteness to his children

and faithful followers. Our grand-aunt--rest her soul!--died in

the full belief of ultimate Pennsylvanian solvency. She could not

persuade herself, that the representatives of the man who had

acquired a principality at the expense of a ship-load of rubbish,

would prove in any way untrue to their bonds; and by her last will

and testament, whereof we are the sole executor, she promoted us to

the agreeable rank of a creditor on the Pennsylvanian government. If

any gentleman is desirous to be placed in a similar position, with

a right to the new stock which has been recently issued in lieu of

a monetary dividend, he may hear of an excellent investment by an

early application to our brokers. We also are most firm believers in

the fact of American credit, and we shall not change our opinion--at

least until we effect the sale.

All this, however, is a deviation from our primary purpose, which

was to laud and magnify the Brotherhood. We repeat that we loved

them early, and also that we loved them long. It is true that

some years ago a slight estrangement--the shadow of a summer

cloud--disturbed the harmony which had previously existed between

Maga and the Society of Friends. A gentleman of that persuasion had

been lost somewhere upon the skirts of Helvellyn, and our guide and

father, Christopher, in one of those sublime prose-poeans which have

entranced and electrified the world, commemorated that apotheosis

so touchingly, that the whole of Christendom was in tears.

Unfortunately, some passing allusion to the garments of the defunct

Obadiah, grated uncomfortably on the jealous ear of Darlington. An

affecting picture of some ravens, digging their way through the

folds of the double-milled kerseymere, was supposed to convey an

occult imputation upon the cloth, and never, since then, have we

stood quite clear in the eyes of the offended Conventicle. Still,

that unhappy misunderstanding has by no means cooled our attachment.

We honour and revere the Friends; and it was with sincere pleasure

that we saw the excellent Joseph Pease take his seat and lift up

his voice within the walls of Parliament. Had Pease stood alone, we

should not now, in all human probability, have been writing on the

subject of the game laws.

We are, however, much afraid that a great change has taken place

in the temper and disposition of the Society. Formerly a Quaker

was considered most essentially a man of peace. He was reputed to

abhor all strife and vain disputation--to be laconic and sparing

in his speech--and to be absolutely crapulous with humanity.

We would as soon have believed in the wrath of doves as in the

existence of a cruel Quaker; nor would we, during the earlier

portion of our life, have entrusted one of that denomination with

the drowning of a superfluous kitten. Barring a little absurd

punctilio in the matter of payment of their taxes--at all times, we

allow, a remarkably unpleasant ceremony--the public conduct of our

Friends was blameless. They seldom made their voices heard except

in the honourable cause of the suffering or the oppressed; and

with external politics they meddled not at all, seeing that their

fundamental ideas of a social system differed radically from those

entertained by the founders of the British constitution. Such, and

so harmless, were the lives of our venerated Friends, until the

demon of discord tempted them by a vision of the baleful hustings.

Since then we have remarked, with pain, a striking alteration in

their manner. They are bold, turbulent, and disputatious to an

almost incredible extent. If there is any row going on in the

parish, you are sure to find that a Quaker is at the bottom of it.

Is there to be a reform in the Police board--some broad-brimmed

apostle takes the chair. Are tithes obnoxious to a Chamber of

Commerce--the spokesman of the agitators is Obadiah. Indeed, we

are beginning to feel as shy of a quarrel with men of drab as we

formerly were with the militant individuals in scarlet. We are not

quite so confident as we used to be in their reliance upon moral

force, and sometimes fear the latent power which lurks in the

physical arm.

Of these champions, by far the most remarkable is Mr John Bright,

who, in the British House of Commons, represents the town of Durham.

The tenets of his peaceful and affirmative creed, are, to say the

least of it, in total antagonism to his character. Ever since he

made his first appearance in public, he has kept himself, and

every one around him, in perpetual hot-water. In the capacity of

Mr Cobden's bottle-holder, he has displayed considerable pluck,

for which we honour him; and he is not altogether unworthy to have

been included in that famous eulogy which was passed by the late

Premier--no doubt to the cordial satisfaction of his friends--upon

the Apostle of cotton and free-trade. The name of John is nearly as

conspicuous as that of Richard in the loyal annals of the League;

and we are pleased to observe, that, like his great generalissimo,

Mr Bright has preferred his claim for popular payment, and has,

in fact, managed to secure a few thousands in return for the

vast quantity of eloquence which he has poured into the pages of

Hansard. We are not of that old-fashioned school who object to

the remuneration of our reformers. On the contrary, we think that

patriotism, like every other trade, should be paid for; and with

such notable examples, as O'Connell in Ireland, and the Gamaliel of

Sir Robert in the south, we doubt not that the principle hereafter

will be acted upon in every case. The man who shall be fortunate

enough to lead a successful crusade against the established

churches, and to sweep away from these kingdoms all vestiges both

of the mitre and the Geneva gown, will doubtless, after sufficient

laudation by the then premier, of the talent and perseverance which

he has exhibited throughout the contest, receive from his liberated

country something of an adequate douceur. What precise pension is

due to him who shall deliver us from the thraldom of the hereditary

peerage, is a question which must be left to future political

arithmetic. In the mean time, there are several minor abuses which

may be swept away on more moderate scavenger wages; and one of

these which we fully expect to hear discussed in the ensuing session

of Parliament, is the existence of the Game laws.

Mr Bright, warned by former experience, has selected a grievance

for himself, and started early in his expedition against it. The

part of jackal may be played once, but it is not a profitable one;

and we can understand the disappointed feelings of the smaller

animal, when he is forced to stand by an-hungered, and behold the

gluttonous lion gorging himself with the choicest morsels of the

chase. It must be a sore thing for a patriot to see his brother

agitator pouching his tens and hundreds of thousands; whilst he, who

likewise has shouted in the cause, and bestowed as much of his sweet

breath as would have served to supply a furnace, must perforce be

contented with some stray pittances, doled hesitatingly out, and not

altogether given without grudging. No independent and thoroughgoing

citizen will consent, for a second time, to play so very subsidiary

a part; therefore he is right in breaking fresh ground, and becoming

the leader of a new movement. It may be that his old monopolising

ally shall become too plethoric for a second contest. Like the

desperate soldier who took a castle and was rewarded for it, he may

be inclined to rest beneath his laurels, count his pay, and leave

the future capture of fortalices to others who have less to lose. A

hundred thousand pounds carry along with them a sensation of ease

as well as dignity. After such a surfeit of Mammon, most men are

unwilling to work. They unbutton their waistcoats, eschew agitation,

eat, drink, are merry, and become fat.

Your lean Cassius, on the contrary, has all the pugnacity of a

terrier. He yelps at every body and every thing, is at perpetual

warfare with the whole of animated nature, and will not be

quieted even by dint of much kicking. The only chance you have of

relieving yourself from his everlasting yammering and impertinence,

is to throw him an unpicked bone, wherewith he will retreat in

double-quick time to the kennel. And of a truth the number of

excellent bones which are sacrificed to the terriers of this world,

is absolutely amazing. Society in general will do a great deal

for peace; and much money is doled out, far less for the sake of

charity, than as the price of a stipulated repose.

It remains, however, to be seen whether Mr Bright, under any

circumstances, will be quiet. We almost doubt it. In the course of

his stentorial and senatorial career, he has more than once, to

borrow a phrase from _Boxiana_, had his head put into chancery; and

some of his opponents, Mr Ferrand for example, have fists that smite

like sledge-hammers. But Friend John is a glutton in punishment; and

though with blackened eyes and battered lips, is nevertheless at his

post in time. The best pugilists in England do not know what to make

of him. He never will admit that he is beaten, nor does he seem to

know when he has enough. It is true that at every round he goes down

before some tremendous facer or cross-buttock, or haply performs the

part of Antæus in consequence of the Cornish hug. No matter--up he

starts, and though rather unsteady on his pins, and generally groggy

in his demeanour, he squares away at his antagonist, until night

terminates the battle, and the drab flag, still flaunting defiance,

is visible beneath the glimpses of the maiden moon.

At present, Mr Bright's senatorial exertions appear to be directed

towards the abolition of the Game laws. Early in 1845, and before

the remarkable era of conversion which must ever render that year

a notorious one in the history of political consistency, he moved

for and obtained a select committee of the House to inquire into

the operation of these laws. Mr Bright's speech upon that occasion

was, in some respects, a sensible one. We have no wish to withhold

from him his proper meed of praise; and we shall add, that the

subject which he thus virtually undertook to expiscate, was one in

every way deserving of the attention of the legislature. Of all the

rights of property which are recognised by the English law, that of

the proprietor or occupier of the land to the _feræ naturæ_ or game

upon it, is the least generally understood, and the worst defined.

It is fenced by, and founded upon, statutes which, in the course

of time, have undergone considerable modification and revision;

and the penalties attached to the infringement of it are, in our

candid opinion, unnecessarily harsh and severe. Further, there can

be no doubt, that in England the vice of poaching, next to that of

habitual drinking, has contributed most largely to fill the country

prisons. Instances are constantly occurring of ferocious assault,

and even murder, arising from the affrays between gamekeepers and

poachers; nor does it appear that the statutory penalties have had

the effect of deterring many of the lower orders from their violent

and predatory practices. On these points, we think an inquiry,

with a view to the settlement of the law on a humane and equitable

footing, was highly proper and commendable; nor should we have said

a single word in depreciation of the labours of Mr Bright, had he

confined himself within proper limits. Such, however, is not the

case.

An abridgement of, or rather extracts from, the voluminous evidence

which was taken before that select committee, has been published

by a certain Richard Griffiths Welford, Esq., barrister at law,

and member of the Royal Agricultural Society of England. With this

gentleman hitherto, it is our misfortune or our fault that we have

had no practical acquaintance; and judging from the tone, humour,

and temper of the text remarks which are scattered throughout the

volume, and the taste of the foot-notes appended, we do not see any

reason to covet exuberant intimacy for the future. The volume is

prefaced by a letter from Mr John Bright to the Tenant Farmers of

Great Britain, which is of so remarkable a nature that it justly

challenges some comment. The following extract is the commencement

of that address:-- "I am invited by my friend Mr Welford, the

compiler of the abstract of the evidence given before the committee

on the Game laws, to write a short address to you on the important

question which is treated of in this volume. I feel that an

apology is scarcely necessary for the liberty I am taking; the

deep interest I have long felt in the subject of the Game laws, my

strong conviction of its great importance to you as a class, and the

extensive correspondence in reference to it which I have maintained

with many of your respected body in almost every county of England

and Scotland, seem to entitle me to say a few words to you on this

occasion.

"From the perusal of this evidence--and it is but a small portion

of that which was offered to the committee--you will perceive

that, as capitalists and employers of labour, _you are neither

asserting your just rights, nor occupying your proper position_. By

long-continued custom, which has now obtained almost the force of

law, when you became tenants of a farm, you were not permitted to

enjoy the advantages which pertain to it so fully as is the case

with the occupiers of almost every other description of property.

A farmer becomes the tenant of certain lands, which are to be the

basis of his future operations, and the foundation of that degree

of prosperity to which he may attain. To secure success, it is

needful that capital should be invested, and industry and skill

exercised; and in proportion as these are largely employed, in order

to develop to the utmost extent the resources of the soil, will be

the amount of prosperity that will be secured. The capital, skill,

and industry, will depend upon the capacity of the farmer; but the

reward for their employment will depend in no small degree upon the

free and unfettered possession of the land--of its capabilities, of

all that it produces, and of all that is sustained upon its surface.

There is a mixture of feudalism and of commercial principles in your

mode of taking and occupying land, which is in almost all cases

obstructive, and in not a few utterly subversive, of improvement.

You take a farm on a yearly tenantry, or on a lease, with an

understanding, or a specific agreement, that the game shall be

reserved to the owner; that is, you grant to the landlord the right

to stock the farm--for which you are to pay him rent for permission

to cultivate, and for the full possession of its produce--with

pheasants, partridges, hares, and rabbits, to any extent that may

suit his caprice. There may be little game when you enter upon the

farm; but in general you reserve to yourselves no power to prevent

its increase, and it may and often does increase so, as to destroy

the possibility of profit in the cultivation of the farm. You

plough, and sow, and watch the growing crops with anxiety and hope;

you rise early, and eat the bread of carefulness; rent-day comes

twice a-year with its inexorable demand; and yet you are doomed

too frequently to see the fertility which Providence bestows and

your industry would secure, blighted and destroyed _by creatures

which would be deemed vermin_, but for the sanction which the law

and your customs give to their preservation, and which exist for

no advantage to you, and for no good to the public, but solely to

afford a few day's amusement in the year to the proprietors of the

soil. The seed you sow is eaten by the pheasants; your young growing

grain is bitten down by the hares and rabbits; and your ripening

crops are trampled and injured by a live stock which yields you

no return, and which you cannot kill and take to market. No other

class of capitalists are subjected to these disadvantages--no other

intelligent and independent class of your countrymen are burdened

with such impositions."

We pity the intelligence of the reader who does not behold in these

introductory paragraphs the symbol of the cloven foot. The sole

object of the volume, for which Mr Bright has the assurance to stand

as sponsor, is to sow the seeds of discord between the landowners

and the tenants of England, by representing the former to the

latter in the light of selfish monopolists, who, for the sake of

some little sport or yearly battue, or, it may be, from absolute

caprice, make havoc throughout the year, by proxy, of the farmers'

property, and increase their stock of game whenever they have an

opportunity, at his expense, and sometimes to his actual ruin.

Such is the tendency of this book, which is compiled for general

circulation; and which, we think, in many respects is calculated

to do a deal of harm. As a real treatise or commentary upon the

Game laws, it is worthless; as an attack upon the landed gentry, it

will doubtless be read in many quarters with extreme complacency.

Already, we observe, a portion of the press have made it a text-book

for strong political diatribes; and the influence of it will no

doubt be brought to bear upon the next general election. As we

ourselves happen to entertain what are called very liberal opinions

upon this subject of the Game laws, and as we maintain the principle

that in this, as in every other matter, the great interests and

rights of the community must be consulted, without reference to

class distinctions--as we wish to see the property of the rich and

the liberties of the poor respected--as we consider the union and

cordial co-operation between landlord and tenant the chief guarantee

which this country yet possesses against revolution, and the triumph

of insolent demagogues--our remarks upon the present subject may

not be ill-timed, or unworthy of the regard of those who think with

us, that, in spite of recent events, there yet may be something to

preserve.

But, first, let us consider who this gentleman is that comes

forward, unsolicited, to tender his advice, and to preach agitation

to the tenantry of Great Britain. He is one of those persons who

rose with the League--one of those unscrupulous and ubiquitous

orators who founded and reared their reputation upon an avowed

hostility to the agricultural interests of the country. Upon this

point there can be no mistake. John Bright, member for Durham, is

a child of the corn, or rather the potato revolution, as surely as

Anacharsis Clootz was the _enfant trouvé_ of the Reign of Terror.

With the abstract merits of that question we have nothing to do at

present. It is quite sufficient for us to note the fact, that he,

in so far as his opportunities and his talents went, was amongst

the most clamorous of the opponents to the protection of British

agriculture; and that fact is a fair and legitimate ground for

suspicion of his motives, when we find him appearing in the new

part of an agricultural champion and agitator. It is not without

considerable mistrust that we behold this slippery personage in

the garb and character of Triptolemus. He does not act it well.

The effects of the billy-roller are still conspicuous upon his

gait--he walks ill on hobnails--and is clearly more conversant

with devil's-dust and remnants than with tares. Some faint

suspicion of this appears at times to haunt even his own complacent

imagination. He is not quite sure that the farmers--or, in the

elegant phraseology of the League, the hawbucks and chawbacons--whom

he used to denounce as a race of beings immeasurably inferior in

intellectual capacity to the ricketty victims of the factories,

will believe all at once in the cordiality and disinterestedness of

their adviser; and therefore he throws out for their edification

a specious bit of pleading, which, no doubt, will be read with

conflicting feelings by some of those who participated in the

late conversion. "You have been taught to consider me, and those

with whom I have acted, as your enemies. You will admit that we

have never deceived you--that we have never TAMELY SURRENDERED

that which we have taught you to rely upon as the basis of your

prosperity--that we have not pledged ourselves to a policy

you approved, and then abandoned it; and as you have found me

persevering in the promotion of measures, which many of you deemed

almost fatal to your interests, but which I thought essential to the

public good, so you will find me as resolute in the defence of those

rights, which your own or your country's interests alike require

that you should possess."

All this profession, however, we hope, will fail to persuade the

farmers that their late enemy has become their sudden friend; and

they will doubtless look with some suspicion upon the apocryphal

catalogue of grievances which Mr Bright has raked together, and,

with the aid of his associate, promulgated in the present volume. It

is not our intention at present to extract or go over the evidence

at large. We have read it minutely, and weighed it well. A great

part of it is utterly irrelevant, as bearing upon questions of

property and contract with which the legislature of no country could

interfere, and which even Mr Bright, though not over scrupulous in

his ideas of parliamentary appropriation, has disregarded in framing

the conclusions of the rejected report which he proposed for the

adoption of the committee. That portion, however, we shall not pass

over in silence. It is but right that the country at large should

see that this volume has been issued, not so much for the purpose

of obtaining a revision of the law, as of sowing discord amongst

the agriculturists themselves; and it is very remarkable that Mr

Bright, throughout the whole of his inflammatory address, _takes

no notice whatever of the Game laws_, or their prejudicial effect,

or their possible remedy by legislative enactment, but confines

himself to denunciation of the landlords as a class antagonistic

to the tenantry, and advice to the latter to combine against the

game-preserving habits of the gentry.

Now this question between landlord and tenant has nothing to do

with the Game laws. The man who purchases an estate, purchases it

with every thing upon it. He has, strictly speaking, as much right

to every wild animal which is bred or even lodges there--if he can

only catch or kill them--as he has to the trees, or the turf, or any

other natural produce. The law protects him in this right, in so

far, that by complying with certain statutory regulations--one of

which relates to revenue, and requires from him a qualification to

sport, and another prescribes a period or rotation for shooting--he

may, within his own boundaries, take every animal which he meets

with, and may also prevent any stranger from interfering with or

encroaching upon that privilege. We do not now speak of penalties

for which the intruder may be liable. That is a separate question;

at present we confine ourselves to the abstract question of right.

But neither game nor natural produce constitute that thing called

RENT, without which, since the days of forays have gone by, a

landowner cannot live. Accordingly, he proposes to let a certain

portion of his domains to a farmer, whose business is to cultivate

the soil, and to make it profitable. He does so; and unless a

distinct reservation is made to the contrary, the right to take

the game upon the farm so let, passes to the tenant, and can be

exercised by him irrespective of the wish of the landlord. If, on

the contrary, the landlord refuses to part with that right which is

primarily vested in his person, and which, of course, he is at full

liberty either to reserve or surrender, the proposing tenant must

take that circumstance into consideration in his offer of rent for

the farm. The game then becomes as much a matter of calculation as

the nature of the soil, the necessity of drainage, or the peculiar

climate of the farm. The tenant must be guided by the principles

of ordinary prudence, and make such a deduction from his offer as

he considers will compensate him for the loss which his crop may

sustain through the agency of the game. If he neglects to do this,

he has no reasonable ground for murmuring--if he does it, he is

perfectly safe. Such is the plain simple nature of the case, from

which one would think it difficult to extract any clamant grievance,

at least between the landlord and the tenant. No doubt the tenantry

of the country individually and generally may, if they please,

insist in all cases on a complete surrender of the game; and if

they do, it is far more than possible that their desire will be

universally complied with. But, then, they will have to pay higher

rents. The landlord is no gainer in respect of game, nay, he is a

direct loser; for the fact of his preservation and reserval of it

reduces the amount of rent which he otherwise would receive, and,

besides this, he is at much expense in preserving. Game is his hobby

which he insists upon retaining: he does so, and he actually pays

for it. Therefore, when a tenant states that he has lost so much in

a particular year in consequence of the game upon his farm, that

statement must be understood with a qualification. His crop may

indeed have suffered to a certain extent; but then he has been paid

for that deterioration already, the payment being the difference

of rent, fixed between him and the landlord for the occupation of

a game farm, less than what he would have offered for it had there

been no game there, or had the right to kill it been conceded.

"O but," says Mr Bright, or some other of the _soi-disant_ friends

of the farmer, "there is an immense competition for land, and

the farmers will not make bargains!" And whose fault is that? We

recollect certain apothegms rather popular a short while ago, about

buying in the cheapest and selling in the dearest market, and so

forth, and we have always understood that the real price of an

article is determined by the demand for it. If any farm is put up

to auction under certain conditions, there is no hardship whatever

in exacting the rent from the highest successful competitor.

The reservation of the right to kill game is as competent to

the proprietor as the fixing the rotation of the crops, or the

conditions against scourging the soil. The landlord, when he lets a

farm, does not by any means, as Mr Bright and his legal coadjutor

appear to suppose, abandon it altogether to the free use of the

tenant. He must of necessity make conditions, because he still

retains his primary interest in the soil; and if these were not

made, the land would in all probability be returned to him after

the expiry of the lease, utterly unprofitable and exhausted, it

being the clear interest of the tenant to take as much out of it

as possible during the currency of his occupation. Now all these

conditions are perfectly well known to the competing farmer, and if

he is not inclined to assent to them, he need not make an offer for

the land. Does Mr Bright mean to assert that the competition for

land is so great, that the tenant-farmers are absolutely offering

more than the subjects which they lease are worth? If so, the most

gullible person on the face of this very gullible earth would not

believe him. To aver that any body of men in this country, are

wilfully and avowedly carrying on a trade or profession at a certain

loss, is to utter an absurdity so gross as to be utterly unworth a

refutation. And if Mr Bright does not mean this, we shall thank him

to explain how the competition for land is a practical grievance to

the farmer.

Nevertheless, we are far from maintaining that the system of strict

game preservation is either wise or creditable, and we shall state

our arguments to the contrary hereafter. At present let us proceed

with Mr Welford.

About one-half, or even more, of this volume, is occupied with

evidence to prove that the preservation of game upon an estate is

more or less detrimental to the crops. Who denies it? Pheasants,

though they may feed a great deal upon wild seeds and insects,

are unquestionably fond of corn--so are partridges; and hares

and rabbits have too good taste to avoid a field of clover or of

turnips. And shall this--says Mr Bright, having recourse to a late

rhetoric--shall this be permitted in a Christian or a civilised

country? Are there not thousands of poor to whom that grain, wasted

upon mere vermin, would be precious? Are our aristocracy so selfish

as to prefer the encouragement of brute animals to the lives of

their fellow men? &c. &c; to all of which eloquent bursts the pious

Mr Welford subjoins his ditto and Amen. For our own part, we can

see no reason why hares, and pheasants, and partridges, should not

be fed as well as Quakers. While living they are undoubtedly more

graceful creatures, when dead they are infinitely more valuable.

When removed from this scene of transitory trouble, Mr Bright,

except in an Owhyhean market, would fetch a less price than an

ordinary rabbit. Our taste may be peculiar, but we would far rather

see half-a-dozen pretty leverets at play in a pasture field of an

evening, than as many hulking members of the Anti-Corn-Law League

performing a ponderous saraband. Vermin indeed! Did Mr Bright ever

see a Red-deer? We shrewdly suspect not; and if, peradventure, he

were to fall in with the monarch of the wilderness in the rutting

season, somewhere about the back of Schehallion or the skirts of

the moor of Rannoch, there would be a yell loud enough to startle

the cattle on a thousand hills, and a rapid disparition of the

drab-coloured integuments into the bosom of a treacherous peat-bog.

But a Red-deer, too, will eat corn, and often of a moonlight night

his antlers may be seen waving in the crofts of the upland tenant;

therefore, according to Mr Bright, he too is vermin, and must be

exterminated accordingly.

And this brings us to Mr Welford's grand remedy, which is abundantly

apparent from the notes and commentaries interspersed throughout the

volume. This gentleman, in the plenitude of his consideration for

the well-being of his country, is deliberately of opinion that game

should be exterminated altogether! Here is a bloody-minded fellow

for you with a vengeance!

"What! all my pretty chickens and their dam!

Did you say all?"

What! shall not a single hare, or pheasant, or partridge, or

plover, or even a solitary grouse, be spared from the swoop of

this destroying kite? Not one. Richard Griffiths Welford, Esquire,

Barrister-at-law, has undertaken to rouse the nation from its

deadly trance. Yet a few years, and no more shall the crow of the

gorcock be heard on the purple heath, or the belling of the deer

in the forest, or the call of the landrail in the field. No longer

shall we watch at evening the roe gliding from the thicket, or the

hare dancing across the lawn. They have committed a crime in a

free-tradeland--battened incontinently upon corn and turnips--and,

therefore, they must all die! Grain, although our ports are to be

opened, has now become a sacred thing, and is henceforward to be

dedicated to the use of man alone. Therefore we are not without

apprehension that the sparrows must die too, and the thrushes and

blackbirds--for they make sad havoc in our dear utilitarian's

garden--and the larks, and the rooks, and the pigeons. Voiceless now

must be our groves in the green livery of spring. There shall be no

more chirping, or twittering, or philandering among the branches--no

cooing or amorous dalliance, or pairing on the once happy eve of

St Valentine. All the _fauna_ of Britain--all the melodists of the

woods--must die! In one vast pie must they be baked, covered in

with a monumental crust of triumphant flour, through which their

little claws may appear supplicantly peering upwards, as if to

implore some mercy for the surviving stragglers of their race.

But stragglers there cannot be many. Timber, according to our

patriotic Welford, is, "next to game, the farmer's chief enemy!"

What miserable idiots our infatuated ancestors must have been! They

thought that by planting they were conferring a boon upon their

country; and in Scotland in particular they strove most anxiously to

redeem the national reproach. But they were utterly wrong: Welford

has said it. Timber is a nuisance--a sort of vegetable vermin, we

suppose--so down must go Dodona and her oaks; and the pride of the

forests be laid for ever low. Nothing in all broad England--and

we fear also with us--must hereafter overtop the fields of wheat

except the hedgerows! Timber is inimical to the farmer; therefore,

free be the winds to blow from the German ocean to the Atlantic,

without encountering the resistance of a single forest--no more

tossing of the branches or swaying of the stems--or any thing save

the steeples, fast falling in an age of reason into decay, the bulk

of some monstrous workhouse, as dingy and cheerless as a prison, and

the pert myriads of chimney-stalks of the League belching forth, in

the face of heaven, their columns of smoke and of pollution! Happy

England, when these things shall come to pass, and not a tree or a

bush be left as a shelter for the universal vermin! No--not quite

universal, for a respite will doubtless be given to the persecuted

races of the badger, the hedgehog, the polecat, the weasel, and the

stoat. All these are egg-eaters or game-consumers, and so long as

they keep to the hedgerows and assist in the work of extermination,

they will not only be spared but encouraged. Let them, however,

beware. So soon as the last egg of the last English partridge is

sucked, and the last of the rabbits turned over in convulsive

throes, with the teeth of a fierce little devil inextricably

fastened in its jugular--so soon as the rage of hunger drives the

present Pariahs of the preserve to the hen-roost--human forbearance

is at an end, and their fate also is sealed. The hen-harrier and

the sparrowhawk, so long as they quarter the fields, pounce upon

the imprudent robin, or strike down the lark while caroling upon

the verge of the cloud, will be considered in our new state of

society, as sacred animals as the Ibis. But let them, after having

fulfilled their mission, deviate from the integrity of their ways,

and come down upon a single ginger-pile, peeping his dirty way over

the shards of a midden, towards his scrauching and be-draggled

mother--and the race will be instantly proscribed. A few years more,

and, according to the system of Messrs Bright and Welford, not a

single wild animal--could we not also get rid of the insects?--will

be found within the confines of Great Britain, except the gulls who

live principally upon fish; and possibly, should there be a scarcity

of herring, it may be advisable to exterminate them also.

Here is a pretty state of matters! First, there is to be no more

sporting. That, of course, in the eyes of Messrs Bright and Welford,

who know as much about shooting as they do of trigonometry, is a

very minor consideration; but even there we take leave to dissent.

Gouty and frail as we are, we have yet a strong natural appetite for

the moors, and we shall wrestle to the last for our privilege with

the sturdiest broadbrim in Quakerdom. Our boys shall be bred as we

were, with their foot upon the heather, in the manliest and most

exhilarating of all pastimes; and that because we wish to see them

brought up as Christians and gentlemen, not as puzzle-pated sceptics

or narrow-minded utilitarian theorists. We desire to see them

attain their full development, both of mind and body--to acquire a

kindly and a keen relish for nature--to love their sovereign and

their country--to despise all chicanery and deceit--and to know

and respect the high-minded peasantry and poor of their native

land. We have no idea that they shall be confined in their exercise

or their sports to the public highway. We do not look upon this

earth or island as made solely to produce corn for the supply of

Mr Bright and his forced population. We wish that the youth of our

country should be taught that God has created other beings besides

the master and the mechanic--that the beasts of the field and the

fowls of the air have a value in their Maker's eye, and that man

has a commisson to use them, but not to exterminate and destroy.

"My opinion is," says Mr Bright, speaking with a slight disregard

to grammar, of the sporting propensities of the landed gentry--"my

opinion is, that there are other pursuits which it will better

become them to follow, and which it will be a thousand times better

for the country if they turn their attention to them." For Mr

Bright's opinion, we have not the smallest shadow of respect. We can

well believe that, personally, he has not the slightest inclination

to participate in the sports of the field. We cannot for a moment

imagine him in connexion with a hunting-field, or toiling over

moor or mountain in pursuit of his game, or up to his waist in a

roaring river with a twenty-pound salmon on his line, making its

direct way for the cataract. In all and each of these situations we

are convinced that he would be utterly misplaced. We can conceive

him, and no doubt he is, much at home in the superintendence of the

gloomy factory--in the centre of a hecatomb of pale human beings,

who toil on day and night in that close and stifling atmosphere, as

ceaselessly and almost as mechanically as the wheels which drone and

whistle and clank above and around them--in the midst of his stores

of calico, and cotton, and corduroy--in the midnight councils of the

grasping League, or the front of a degraded hustings. But from none

of these situations whatever, has he any right to dictate to the

gentlemen of Britain what they should do, or what they should leave

undone. He has neither an eye for nature, nor a heart to participate

in rural amusements. And a very nice place an English manor-house

would be under his peculiar superintendence and the operation of the

new regime! In the morning we should meet, ladies and gentlemen, in

the breakfast-room, all devoutly intent upon the active demolition

of the muffins. Tea and coffee there are in abundance--but not good,

for the first has the flavour of the hedges, and the second reminds

us villanously of Hunt's roasted corn. There are eggs, however, and

on the sideboard rest a large round of beef, with a thick margin

of rancid yellow fat, and a ham which is literal hog's-lard. There

are no fish. The trouting stream has been turned from its natural

course to move machinery, and now rolls to the shrinking sea, not

in native silver, but in alternate currents of indigo, ochre, or

cochineal, according to the hue most in request for the moment at

the neighbouring dye-work. In vain you look about for grouse-pie,

cold partridge, snipe, or pheasant. You might as well ask for a

limb of the ichthyosaurus as for a wing of these perished animals.

Deuce a creature is there in the room except bipeds, and they are

all of the manufacturing breed. You recollect the days of old,

when your entry into the breakfast-room used to be affectionately

welcomed by terrier, setter, and spaniel, and you wonder what has

become of these ancient inmates of the family. On inquiry you are

informed, that--being non-productive animals, and mere consumers of

food which ought to be reserved for the use of man alone--they have

one and all of them been put to death: and your host points rather

complacently to the effigy of old Ponto, who has been stuffed by

way of a specimen of an extinct species, and who now glares at you

with glassy eyes from beneath the shelter of the mahogany sideboard.

Tired of the conversation, which is principally directed towards

the working of the new tariff, the last improvement in printed

calicoes, and the prices of some kind of stock which appears to

fluctuate as unaccountably as the barometer, you rise from table

and move towards the window in hopes of a pleasant prospect. You

have it. The old park, which used to contain some of the finest

trees in Britain--oaks of the Boscobel order, and elms that were

the boast of the country--is now as bare as the palm of your hand,

and broken up into potato allotments. The shrubbery and flower

parterres, with their elegant terrace vases and light wire fences,

have disappeared. There is not a bush beyond a few barberries,

evidently intended for detestable jam, nor a flower, except some

chamomiles, which may be infused into a medicinal beverage, and a

dozen great stringy coarse-looking rhubarbs, enough to give you the

dyspepsia, if you merely imagine them in a tart. At the bottom

of the slope lies the stream whereof we have spoken already, not

sinuous or fringed with alders as of yore; but straight as an arrow,

and fashioned into the semblance of a canal. It is spanned on the

part which is directly in front of the windows, by a bridge on the

skew principle, the property of a railway company; and at the moment

you are gazing on the landscape in a sort of admiring trance, an

enormous train of coal and coke waggons comes rushing by, and a

great blast of smoke and steam rolling past the house, obscures for

a moment the utilitarian beauty of the scene. That dissipated, you

observe on the other side of the canal several staring red brick

buildings, with huge chimney-stalks stinking in the fresh, frosty

morning air. These are the factories of your host, the source of

his enviable wealth; and yonder dirty village which you see about

half a mile to the right, with its squab Unitarian lecture room,

is the abode of his honest artisans. Nevertheless, you see nobody

stirring about. How should you? The whole population is comfortably

housed, for the next twelve hours at least, within brick, and

assisting the machinery to do its work. No idleness now in England.

Had you, indeed, risen about five or six in the morning, when the

clatter of a sullen bell roused you from your dreams of Jemima, you

might have seen some scores of lanterns meandering like glow-worms

along the miry road which leads from the village to the factories,

until absorbed within their early jaws. That is the appointed time

for the daily emigration, and until all the taskwork is done, no

straggling whatever is permitted. The furthest object in view is a

parallelogram Bastile on the summit of a hill, once wooded to the

top, and well known to the rustics as the place where the fullest

nuts and the richest May-flowers might be gathered, but now in

turnips, and you are told that the edifice is the Union Workhouse.

Breakfast over, you begin to consider how you shall fill up the

dreary vacuum which still yawns between you and dinner. Of course

you cannot shoot, unless you are inclined to take a day at the ducks

and geese, which would be rather an expensive amusement. You covet

a ride, and propose a scamper across the country. Our dear sir, it

is as much as your life is worth! What with canals and viaducts,

and railways and hedgerows, you could not get over a mile without

either being plunged into water, or knocked down by tow ropes, or

run into by locomotives, or pitched from embankments, or impaled

alive, or slain by a stroke of electricity from some telegraphic

conductor! Recollect that we are not now living in the days of

steeple-chasing. Then as to horses, are you not aware that our

host keeps only two--and fine sleek, sturdy Flanders brutes they

are--for the purpose of conveying Mrs Bobbins and her progeny to the

meeting-house? There is no earthly occasion for any more expensive

stud. The railway station is just a quarter of a mile from the door,

and Eclipse himself could never match our new locomotives for speed.

But you may have a drive if you please, and welcome. Where shall we

go to? There used to be a fine waterfall at an easy distance, with

rocks, and turf, and wildflowers, and all that sort of thing; and

though the season is a little advanced, we might still make shift

under the hazels and the hollies; could we not invite the ladies

to accompany us, and extemporise a pic-nic? Our excellent friend!

that waterfall exists no longer. It was a mere useless waste; has

been blown up with gun-cotton; and the glen below it turned into a

reservoir for the supply of a manufacturing town. The hazels are

all down, and the hollies pounded into birdlime. And that fine old

baronial residence, where there were such exquisite Claudes and

Ruysdaels? Oh! that estate was bought by Mr Smalt the eminent dyer,

from the trustees of the late Lord--the old mansion has been pulled

down, a cottage _ornée_ built in its place, and the pictures were

long ago transferred to the National Gallery. And is there nothing

at all worth seeing in the county? Oh yes! There is Tweel's new

process for making silk out of sow's ears, and Bottomson's clothing

mills, where you see raw wool put into one end of the machinery,

and issue from the other in the shape of ready-made breeches. Then

a Socialist lecture on the sin and consequences of matrimony will

be delivered in the market-town at two o'clock precisely, by Miss

Lewdlaw--quite a lady, I assure you--whom you will afterwards meet

at dinner. Or you may, if you please, attend the meeting of the

Society for the Propagation of a Natural Religion, at which the

Rev. Mr Scampson will preside; or you may go down to the factories,

or any where else you please, except the village, for there is a

great deal of typhus fever in it, and we are a little apprehensive

for the children! You decline these tempting offers, and resolve to

spend the morning in the house. Is there a billiard room? How can

you possibly suppose it? Time, sir, is money; and money is not to

be made by knocking about ivory balls. But there is the library if

you should like to study, and plenty material within it. Delighted

at the prospect of passing some congenial though solitary hours, you

enter the apartment, and, disregarding the models upon the table,

which are intended to elucidate the silk and sow's-ear process,

you ransack the book-shelves for some of your ancient favourites.

But in vain you will search either for Shakspeare or Scott, Milton

or Fielding, Jeremy Taylor or Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine: all

these are proscribed antiquities. Instead of these you will find

Essays by Hampden, junior, and Ethics by Thistlewood, senior,

Paine's Age of Reason, Jeremy Bentham's Treatises, Infanticide

Vindicated, by Herod Virginius Cackell, Esq., Member of the Literary

Institute of Owenstown, Cobden's Speeches, Wheal's Exposition of

the Billy-roller, Grubb's Practical Deist, Welford's Influences of

the Game Laws, and much more such profitable reading. What would

you not give for a volume by Willison Glass! Disgusted with this

literary miscellany, you chuck the Practical Deist into the fire,

and walk up-stairs to rejoin the ladies. You find them in the

drawing-room hard at work upon cross-stitch and pincushions for

the great Bazar which is shortly to be opened under the auspices

of the Anti-Christian League, and you feel for a moment like an

intruder. But Emily Bobbins, a nice girl, who will have thirty

thousand pounds when her venerated sire is conveyed to the Mausoleum

of the Bobbinses, and who has at this present moment a very pretty

face, trips up and asks you for a contribution to her yearly album.

Yearly?--the phrase is an odd one, and you crave explanation.

The blooming virgin informs you that she edits an annual volume,

popular in certain circles, for the Society for the Abolition of

all Criminal Punishment, she being a corresponding Member; and she

presents you with last year's compilation. You open the work, and

find some literary _bijouterie_ by the disciples of the earnest

school, poems on the go-a-head principle, and tales under such

captivating titles as the Virtuous Poacher, Theresa, or the Heroine

of the Workhouse, and Walter Truck, an Easy Way with the Mechanic.

There are also sundry political fragments by the deep-thinkers of

the age, from which you discover that Regicide is the simplest cure

for "Flunkeyism, Baseness, and Unveracity," and that the soundest

philosophers of the world are two gentlemen, rejoicing in the

exotic names of Sauerteig and Teufelsdröckh. You, being a believer

in the Book of Common Prayer, decline to add your contribution

to the Miscellany, and make the best of your way from the house

for a stroll upon the public highway. For some hours you meander

through the mud, between rows of stiff hedges; not a stage-coach,

nor even a buggy is to be seen. You sigh for the old green lanes

and shady places which have now disappeared for ever, and you begin

to doubt whether, after all, regenerated England is the happiest

country of the universe. It appears an absolute desert. At a turn

of a road you come in sight of a solitary venerable crow--the sole

surviving specimen of his race still extant in the county--whose

life is rendered bitter by a system of unceasing persecution. He

mistakes you for Mr Richard Griffiths Welford, and, with a caw of

terror, takes flight across a Zahara of Swedish turnips. On your

way home you meet with three miserable children who are picking the

few unwithered leaves from the hedges. You cross-question them,

and ascertain that they receive a salary of twopence a-day from

the owner of the truck-shop at the factory, in return for their

botanical collections. You think of China, with a strong conviction

of the propriety of becoming a Mandarin.

At dinner you are seated betwixt Miss Lewdlaw and the Rev. Mr

Scampson. The appearance of the lady convinces you that she has

excellent reasons for her deep-rooted hatred of matrimony--for

what serpent (in his senses) would have tempted that dropsical

Eve? The gentleman is a bold, sensual-lipped, pimply individual,

attired in a rusty suit of black, the very picture of a brutal

Boanerges. He snorts during his repast, clutches with his huge red

fingers, whereof the nails are absolute ebony, at every dish within

his reach, and is constantly shouting for a dram. The dinner is a

plentiful one, but ill-cooked and worse served; and the wines are

simply execrable. Very drearily lags the time until the ladies

rise to retire, a movement which is greeted by Mr Scampson with

a coarse joke and a vulgar chuckle. Then begin the sweets of the

evening. Old Bobbins draws your especial attention to his curious

old free-trade port, at eighteen shillings the dozen; and very

curious, upon practical examination, you will find it. After three

glasses, you begin to suspect that you have swallowed a live crab

unawares, and you gladly second Mr Scampson in his motion for

something hot. The conversation then becomes political, and, to a

certain extent, religious. Bobbins, who has a brother in Parliament,

is vehement in his support of the Twenty Hours' Labour Bill, and

insists upon the necessity of a measure for effectually coercing

apprentices. Bugsley, his opposite neighbour, can talk of nothing

but stock and yarn. But Scampson, in right of his calling, takes

the lion's share of the conversation. He denounces the Church,

not yet dis-established--hopes to see the day when every Bishop

upon the Bench shall be brought to the block--and stigmatises the

Universities as the nests of bigotry and intolerance. With many

oaths, he declares his conviction that Robespierre was a sensible

fellow--and as he waxes more furious over each successive tumbler,

you wisely think that there may be some danger in contradicting so

virulent a champion, and steal from the room at the first convenient

opportunity. In the drawing-room you find Miss Lewdlaw descanting

upon her favourite theories. She is expounding to Emily Bobbins her

rights as a socialist and a woman, and illustrating her lecture by

some quotations from the works of Aurora Dudevant. The sweet girl,

evidently under the magnetic influence of her preceptress, regards

you with a humid eye and flushed cheek as you enter; but having no

fancy to approach the charmed circle of the Lewdlaw, you keep at

the other end of the room, and amuse yourself with an illustrated

copy of Jack Sheppard. In a short time, Bobbins, Bugsley, and

Scampson, the last partially inebriated, make their appearance; and

an animated erotic dialogue ensues between the gentleman in dubious

orders, and the disciple of Mary Wolstonecraft. You begin to feel

uncomfortable, and as Bugsley is now snoring, and Bobbins attempting

to convince his helpmate of the propriety of more brandy and water,

you desert the drawing-room, bolt up-stairs, pack your portmanteau,

and go to bed with a firm resolution to start next morning by the

earliest train; and as soon as possible to ascertain whether Jemima

will consent to accompany you to Canada or Australia, or some other

uncivilised part of the world where trees grow, waters run, and

animals exist as nature has decreed, and where the creed of the

socialist and jargon of the factory are fortunately detested or

unknown.

Such, gentle reader, is the England which the patriots of the Bright

school are desirous to behold; and such it may become if we meekly

and basely yield to revolutionary innovations, and conciliate every

demagogue by adopting his favourite nostrum. We have certainly been

digressing a good deal further than is our wont; but we trust you

will not altogether disapprove of our expedition to the new Utopia.

We hope that your present, and a great many future Christmasses may

be spent more pleasantly; and that, in your day at least, peace may

never be effected at the expense of a virtual solitude. Let us now

consider what alterations may properly and humanely be made upon the

present existing Game laws.

On the whole, we are inclined to agree with the resolutions adopted

by the committee. These appear to recognise the principle of a

qualified right of property in game, and that this property is now

vested in the _occupier_ of the soil. By this rule which may if

necessary be declared by enactment, the tenant has at all times

the power to secure the game to himself, unless he chooses to part

with that right by special bargain. It is of course inconsistent

with this qualified right of property, that any person should

kill game upon lands which he is not privileged to enter; and the

committee are therefore of opinion, that the violation of that

right should still continue to be visited with legal penalties. But

they think--and in this we most cordially agree with them--that

considerable alteration should be made in the present penal code,

and that, in particular, cumulative penalties for poaching should

be abolished. It is monstrous that such penalties, to which the

poorer classes in this country are most peculiarly liable, should

be any longer allowed to exist, while the offence which these are

intended to punish is in every proper sense a single one. We are

inclined to get rid of every difficulty on this head by an immediate

discontinuance of the certificates. The amount of revenue drawn from

these is really insignificant, and in many cases it must stand in

the way of a fair exercise of his privilege by the humbler occupant

of the soil. If a poor upland crofter, who rents an acre or two from

a humane landlord, and who has laid out part of it in a garden,

should chance to see, of a clear frosty night, a hare insinuate

herself through the fence, and demolish his winter greens--it is

absolute tyranny to maintain, that he may not reach down the old

rusty fowling-piece from the chimney, take a steady vizzy at puss,

and tumble her over in the very act of her delinquency, without

having previously paid over for the use of her gracious Majesty

some four pounds odds; or otherwise to be liable in a penalty

of twenty pounds, with the pleasant alternative of six months'

imprisonment! In such a case as this the man is not sporting; he

is merely protecting his own, is fairly entitled to convert his

enemy into wholesome soup, and should be allowed to do so with a

conscience void of offence towards God or man. We must have no state

restrictions or qualifications to a right of property which may be

enjoyed by the smallest cotter, and no protective laws to debar him

from the exercise of his principle. And therefore it is that we

advocate the immediate abolition of the certificate.

What the remaining penalty should be is matter for serious

consideration. It appears evident that the common law of redress

is not sufficient. Game is at best but a qualified property; for

your interest in it ceases the moment that it leaves your land;

but still you _have_ an interest, may be a considerable pecuniary

loser by its infringement, and therefore you are entitled to demand

an adequate protection. But then it is hardly possible, when we

consider what human nature with all its powerful instincts is, to

look upon poaching in precisely the same light with theft. By no

process of mental ratiocination can you make a sheep out of a hare.

You did not buy the creature, it is doubtful whether you bred it,

and in five minutes more it may be your neighbour's property, and

that of its own accord. You cannot even reclaim it, though born in

your private hutch. Now this is obviously a very slippery kind of

property; and the poor man--who knows these facts quite as well

as the rich, and who is moreover cursed with a craving stomach, a

large family, and a strong appetite for roast--is by no means to be

considered, morally or equitably, in the same light with the ruffian

who commits a burglary for the sake of your money, or carries away

your sheep from the fold. It ought to be, if it is not, a principle

in British law, that the temptation should be considered before

adjudging upon the particular offence. The schoolboy--whose natural

propensity for fruit has been roused by the sight of some far too

tempting pippins, and who, in consequence, has undertaken the

hazard of a midnight foray--is, if detected in the act, subjected to

no further penalty than a pecuniary mulct or a thrashing, especially

if his parents belong to the more respectable classes of society.

And yet this is a theft as decided and more inexcusable, than if the

nameless progeny of a vagrant should, hunger-urged, filch a turnip

or two from a field, and be pounced upon by some heartless farmer,

who considers that he is discharging every heavenly and earthly duty

if he pays his rent and taxes with unscrupulous punctuality. It is

a crying injustice that any trifling piccadillo on the part of the

poor or their children, should be treated with greater severity than

is used in the case of the rich. This is neither an equitable nor a

Christian rule. We have no right to subject the lowest of the human

family to a contamination from which we would shrink to expose the

highest; and the true sense of justice and of charity, which, after

all, we believe to be deeply implanted in the British heart, will,

we trust, before long, spare us the continual repetition of class

Pariahs of infant years brought forward in small courts of justice

for no other apparent reason than to prove, that our laws care more

leniently for the rich than they do for the offspring of the poor.

While, therefore, we consider it just that game should be protected

otherwise than by the law of trespass, we would not have the

penalty made, in isolated cases, a harsh one. A trespass in pursuit

of game should, we think, be punished in the first instance by a

fine, not so high as to leave the labourer no other alternative

than the jail, or so low as to make the payment of it a matter of

no importance. Let Giles, who has intromitted with a pheasant, be

mulcted in a week's wages, and let him, at the same time, distinctly

understand the nature and the end of the career in which he has

made the incipient step. Show him that an offence, however venial,

becomes materially aggravated by repetition; for it then assumes

the character of a daring and wilful defiance of the laws of the

realm. For the second of offence mulct him still, but higher, and

let the warning be more solemnly repeated. These penalties might be

inflicted by a single justice of the peace. But if Giles offends

a third time, his case becomes far more serious, and he should be

remitted to a higher tribunal. It is now almost clear that he has

become a confirmed poacher, and determined breaker of the laws--it

is more than likely that money is his object. Leniency has been

tried without success, and it is now necessary to show him that the

law will not be braved with impunity. Three months' imprisonment,

with hard labour, should be inflicted for the purpose of reclaiming

him; and if, after emerging from prison, he should again offend, let

him forthwith be removed from the country.

Some squeamish people may object to our last proposal as severe.

We do not think it so. The original nature of the offence has

become entirely changed; for it must be allowed on all hands,

that habitual breach of the laws is a very different thing from

a casual effraction. It would be cruelty to transport an urchin

for the first handkerchief he has stolen; but after his fourth

offence, that punishment becomes an actual mercy. Nor should the

moral effect produced by the residence of a determined poacher in

any neighbourhood be overlooked. A poacher can rarely carry on

his illicit trade without assistance: he entices boys by offering

them a share in his gains, introduces them to the beer and the gin

shop, and thus they are corrupted for life. It is sheer nonsense to

say that poaching does not lead to other crimes. It leads in the

first instance to idleness, which we know to be the parent of all

crime; and it rapidly wears away all finer sense of the distinction

between _meum_ and _tuum_. From poacher the transition to smuggler

is rapid and easy, and your smuggler is usually a desperado. With

all deference to Mr Welford, his conclusion, that poaching should be

prevented by the entire extermination of game, is a most pitiable

instance of calm imperturbable imbecility. He might just as well say

that the only means of preventing theft is the total destruction of

property, and the true remedy for murder the annihilation of the

human race.

We agree also with the committee, that some distinction must

be made between cases of simple poaching, and those which are

perpetrated by armed and daring gangs. To these banditti almost

every instance of assault and murder connected with poaching is

traceable, and the sooner such fellows are shipped off to hunt

kangaroos in Australia the better. But we think that such penalties

as we have indicated above, would in most cases act as a practical

detention from this offence, and would certainly remove all ground

for complaint against the unnecessary severity of the law.

With regard to the destruction of crops by game, especially when

caused by the preserves of a neighbouring proprietor, the committee

seems to have been rather at a loss to deal. And there is certainly

a good deal of difficulty in the matter. For on the one hand, the

game, while committing the depredation, is clearly not the property

of the preserver, and may of course be killed by the party to whose

ground it passes: on the other hand, it usually returns to the

preserve after all the damage has been done. This seems to be one

of the few instances in which the law can afford no remedy. The

neighbouring farmer may indeed either shoot in person, or let the

right of shooting to another; and in most cases he has the power to

do so--for if his own landlord is also a preserver, it is not likely

that the damage will be aggravated--and he has taken his farm in the

full knowledge of the consequences of game preservation. Still there

must always remain an evil, however partial, and this leads us to

address a few words to the general body of the game-preservers.

Gentlemen, some of you are not altogether without fault in this

matter. You have given a handle to accusations, which your

enemies--and they are the enemies also of the true interests of the

country--have been eager and zealous in using. You have pushed your

privileges too far, and, if you do not take care, you will raise a

storm which it may be very difficult to allay. What, in the name of

common sense, is the use of this excessive preserving? You are not

blamed, nor are you blamable, for reserving the right of sporting

in your own properties to yourselves; but why make your game such

utterly sacred animals? Why encourage their over-increase to such a

degree as must naturally injure yourselves by curtailing your rent;

and which, undoubtedly, whatever be his bargain, must irritate the

farmer, and lessen that harmony and good-will which ought to exist

betwixt you both? Is it for sport you do these things? If so, your

definition of sport must be naturally different from ours. The

natural instinct of the hunter, which is implanted in the heart

of man, is in some respects a noble one. He does not, even in a

savage state, pursue his game, like a wild beast of prey, merely

for the sake of his appetite--he has a joy in the strong excitement

and varied incidents of the chase. The wild Indian and the Norman

disciple of St Hubert, alike considered it a science; and so it

is even now to us who follow our pastime upon the mountains, and

who must learn to be as wary and alert as the creatures which we

seek to kill. The mere skill of the marksman has little to do with

the real enjoyment of sport. That may be as well exhibited upon a

target as upon a living object, and surely there is no pleasure

at all in the mere wanton destruction of life. The true sportsman

takes delight in the sagacity and steadiness of his dogs--in seeking

for the different wild animals each in its peculiar haunt--and his

relish is all the keener for the difficulty and uncertainty of his

pursuit. Such at least is our idea of sport, and we should know

something about it, having carried a gun almost as long as we can

remember. But it is possible we may be getting antiquated in our

notions. Two months ago we took occasion to make some remarks upon

the modern murders on the moors, and we are glad to observe that our

humane doctrine has been received with almost general acquiescence.

We must now look to the doings at the Manor House, at which, Heaven

be praised, we never have assisted; but the bruit thereof has gone

abroad, and we believe the tidings to be true.

We have heard of game preserved over many thousands of acres, not

waste, but yellow corn-land, with many an intervening belt of

noble wood and copse, until the ground seems actually alive with

the number of its animal occupants. The large, squat, sleek hares

lie couched in every furrow; each thistle-tuft has its lurking

rabbit; and ceaseless at evening is the crow of the purple-necked

pheasant from the gorse. The crops ripen, and are gathered in,

not so plentifully as the richness of the land would warrant, but

still strong and heavy. The partridges are now seen running in the

stubble-fields, or sunning themselves on some pleasant bank, so

secure that they hardly will take the trouble to fly away as you

approach, but generally slip through a hedge, and lie down upon the

other side. And no wonder; for not only has no gun been fired over

the whole extensive domain, though the autumn is now well advanced;

but a cordon of gamekeepers extends along the whole skirts of the

estate, and neither lurcher nor poacher can manage to effect an

entrance. Within ten minutes after they had set foot within the

guarded territory, the first would be sprawling upon his back in the

agonies of death, and the second on his way to the nearest justice

of peace, with two pairs of knuckles uncomfortably lodged within

the innermost folds of his neckcloth. The proprietor, a middle-aged

gentleman of sedentary habits, does not, in all probability, care

much about sporting. If he does, he rents a moor in Scotland,

where he amuses himself until well on in October, and then feels

less disposed for a tamer and a heavier sport. But in November he

expects, after his ancient hospitable fashion, to have a select

party at the manor-house, and he is desirous of affording them

amusement. They arrive, to the number, perhaps, of a dozen males,

some of then persons of an elevated rank, or of high political

connexion. There is considerable commotion on the estate. The staff

of upper and under keepers assemble with a large train of beaters

before the baronial gateway. They bring with them neither pointers

nor setters--these old companions of the sportsman are useless in

a battue; but there are some retrievers in the leash, and a few

well-broken spaniels. It is quite a scene for Landseer--that antique

portico, with the group before it, and the gay and sloping uplands

illuminated by a clear winter's sun. The guests sally forth, all

mirth and spirits, and the whole party proceed to an appointed

cover. Then begins the massacre. There is a shouting and rustling of

beaters: at every step the gorgeous pheasant whirs from the bush, or

the partridge glances slopingly through the trees, or the woodcock

wings his way on scared and noiseless pinion. Rabbits by the hundred

are scudding distractedly from one pile of brushwood to another.

Loud cries of "Mark!" are heard on every side, and at each shout

there is the explosion of a fowling-piece. No time now to stop and

load. The keeper behind you is always ready with a spare gun. How

he manages to cram in the powder and shot so quickly is an absolute

matter of marvel; for you let fly at every thing, and have lost all

regard to the ordinary calculations of distance. You had better take

care of yourself, however, for you are getting into a thicket, and

neither Sir Robert, who is on your right, nor the Marquis, who is

your left-hand neighbour, are remarkable for extra caution, and the

Baronet, in particular, is short-sighted. We don't quite like the

appearance of that hare which is doubling back. You had better try

to stop her before she reaches that vista in the wood. Bang!--you

miss, and, at the same moment, a charge of number five, from the

weapon of the Vavasour, takes effect upon the corduroys of your

thigh, and, though the wound is but skin-deep, makes you dance an

extempore fandango.

And so you go on from cover to cover, for five successive hours,

through this rural poultry-yard, slaying, and, what is worse,

wounding without slaying, beyond all ordinary calculation. You

have had a good day's amusement, have you? Our dear sir, in the

estimation of any sensible man or thorough sportsman, you might as

well have been amusing yourself with a ride in the heart of Falkirk

Tryst, or assisting at one of those German Jagds, where the deer

are driven into inclosures, and shot down to the music of lute,

harp, cymbal, dulcimer, sackbut, and psaltery. In fact, between

ourselves, it is not a thing to boast of, and the amusement is, to

say the least of it, an expensive one. For the sake of giving you,

and the Marquis, and Sir Robert, and a few more, two or three days'

sport, your host has sacrificed a great part of the legitimate

rental of his estate--has maintained, from one end of the year to

the other, all those personages in fustian and moleskin--and has,

moreover, made his tenantry sulky. Do you think the price paid is in

any way compensated by the value received? Of course not. You are a

man of sense, and therefore, for the future, we trust that you will

set your face decidedly against the battue system: shoot yourself,

as a gentleman ought to do--or, if you do not care about it, give

permission to your own tenantry to do so. Rely upon it, they will

not abuse the privilege.

The fact is, there never should be more than two coveys in one

field, or half-a-dozen hares in each moderate slip of plantation.

That, believe us, with the accession you will derive from your

neighbours, is quite sufficient to keep you in exercise during the

season, and to supply your table with game. No tenant whatever will

object to find food for such a stock. If you want more exciting

sport, come north next August, and we shall take you to a moor which

is preserved by a single shepherd's herd, where you may kill your

twenty brace a-day for a month, and have a chance of a red-deer

into the bargain. But, if you will not leave the south, do not, we

beseech you, turn yourself into a hen-wife, and become ridiculous

as a hatcher of pheasants' eggs. The thing, we are told, has been

done by gentlemen of small property, for the purpose of getting up

an appearance of game: it would be quite as sane a proceeding to

improve the beauty of a prospect by erecting cast-iron trees. Above

all things, whatever you do, remember that you are the denizen of a

free country, where individual rights, however sacred in themselves,

must not be extended to the injury of those around you.

To say the truth, we have observed with great pain, that a far too

exclusive spirit has of late manifested itself in certain high

places, and among persons whom we regard too much to be wholly

indifferent to their conduct. This very summer the public press

has been indignant in its denunciation of the Dukes of Atholl and

Leeds--the one having, as it is alleged, attempted to shut up a

servitude road through Glen Tilt, and the other established a

cordon for many miles around the skirts of Ben-na-Mac-Dhui, our

highest Scottish mountain. We are not fully acquainted with the

particulars; but from what we have heard, it would appear that this

wholesale exclusion from a vast tract of territory is intended to

secure the solitude of two deer-forests. Now, we are not going to

argue the matter upon legal grounds--although, knowing something of

law, we have a shrewd suspicion that both noble lords are in utter

misconception of their rights, and are usurping a sovereignty which

is not to be found in their charters, and which was never claimed or

exercised even by the Scottish Kings. But the churlishness of the

step is undeniable, and we cannot but hope that it has proceeded far

more on thoughtlessness than from intention. The day has been, when

any clansman, or even any stranger, might have taken a deer from

the forest, tree from the hill, or a salmon from the river, without

leave asked or obtained: and though that state of society has long

since passed away, we never till now have heard that the free air

of the mountains, and their heather ranges, are not open to him

who seeks them. Is it indeed come to this, that in bonny Scotland,

the tourist, the botanist, or the painter, are to be debarred from

visiting the loveliest spots which nature ever planted in the heart

of a wilderness, on pretence that they disturb the deer! In a few

years we suppose Ben Lomond will be preserved, and the summit of Ben

Nevis remain as unvisited by the foot of the traveller as the icy

peak of the Jungfrau. Not so, assuredly, would have acted the race

of Tullibardine of yore. Royal were their hunting gatherings, and

magnificent the driving of the Tinchel; but over all their large

territory of Atholl, the stranger might have wandered unquestioned,

except to know if he required hospitality. It is not now the gate

which is shut, but the moor; and that not against the depredator,

but against the peaceful wayfaring man. Nor can we as sportsmen

admit even the relevancy of the reasons which have been assigned for

this wholesale exclusion. We are convinced, that in each season not

above thirty or forty tourists essay the ascent of Ben-na-Mac-Dhui,

and of that number, in all probability, not one has either met

or startled a red deer. Very few men would venture to strike out

a devious path for themselves over the mountains near Loch Aven,

which, in fact, constitute the wildest district of the island.

The Quaker tragedy of Helvellyn might easily be re-enacted amidst

the dreary solitudes of Cairn Gorm, and months elapse before your

friends are put in possession of some questionable bones. Nothing

but enthusiasm will carry a man through the intricacies of Glen

Lui, the property of Lord Fife, to whom it was granted at no very

distant period of time out of the forfeited Mar estates, and which

is presently rented by the Duke of Leeds; and nothing more absurd

can be supposed, than that the entry of a single wanderer into that

immense domain, can have the effect of scaring the deer from the

limits of so large a range. This is an absurd and an empty excuse,

as every deer-stalker must know. A stag is not so easily frightened,

nor will he fly the country from terror at the apparition of the

Cockney. Depend upon it, the latter will be a good deal the more

startled of the two. With open mouth and large gooseberry eyes,

he will stand gazing upon the vision of the Antlered Monarch; the

sketch-book and pencil-case drop from his tremulous hands, and

he stands aghast in apprehension of a charge of horning, against

which he has no defence save a cane camp-stool, folded up into the

semblance of a yellow walking-stick. Not so the Red-deer. For a few

moments he will regard the Doudney-clad wanderer of the wilds, not

in fear but in surprise; and then, snuffing the air which conveys

to his nostrils an unaccustomed flavour of bergamot and lavender,

he will trot away over the shoulder of the hill, move further up

the nearest corrie, and in a quarter of an hour will be lying down

amidst his hinds in the thick brackens that border the course of the

lonely burn.

We could say a great deal more upon this subject; but we hope that

expansion is unnecessary. Throughout all Europe the right of passage

over waste and uncultivated land, where there never were and never

can be inclosures, appears to be universally conceded. What would

his Grace of Leeds say, if he were told that the Bernese Alps were

shut up, and the liberty of crossing them denied, because some Swiss

seigneur had taken it into his head to establish a chamois preserve?

The idea of preserving deer in the way now attempted is completely

modern, and we hope will be immediately abandoned. It must not,

for the sake of our country, be said, that in Scotland, not only

the inclosures, but the wilds and the mountains are shut out from

the foot of man; and that, where no highway exists, he is debarred

from the privilege of the heather. Whatever may be the abstract

legal rights of the aristocracy, we protest against the policy and

propriety of a system which would leave Ben Cruachan to the eagles,

and render Loch Ericht and Loch Aven as inaccessible as those mighty

lakes which are said to exist in Central Africa, somewhere about the

sources of the Niger.

INDEX TO VOL. LX.

Abd-el-Kader, sketches of, 348.

Adelaide, Queen, anecdote of, 584.

Advice to an intending Serialist, 590.

Affghanistan, sketch of the recent history of, 540.

Agave Americana, the, 266.

Agriculture in Mexico, 266.

Aird, Thomas, a summer day by, 277.

Aire, siege of, 529.

Algeria, 534.

America, effects of the discovery of, 261.

Americans and Aborigines, the, a tale of the short war--Part

Last, 45.

Anhalt, Prince of, 529.

Annals and antiquities of London, 673.

Anti-corn-law league, the, 250.

Arabs, sketches of the, 341.

Army, the, 129

--present defects in, and their improvement, 131

--punishments, 133

--rewards, 136

--sale of commissions, 137

--education, 138

--dress, 142.

Arras, siege of, 527.

Ascherson, Herr, 101.

Badger, habits of the, 497.

Barrados, General, defeat of, 274.

Barrett, Miss, poems by, 488.

Bautzen, battle of, 579.

Ben Douda, an Arab chief, 341.

Bethune, capture of, 528.

Blanco, General, 2.

Blidah, town of, 339.

Bocca di Cattaro, the, 431.

Bona, town of, 344.

Boston, town of, 474.

Bouchain, siege of, 537.

Bright, Mr, on the game laws, 757.

British Association, remarks on the, 640.

Burnes, Sir Alexander, murder of, 553.

Bustamente, president of Mexico, 274.

Cabanero, General, 302.

Cabellos' life of Cabrera, 295.

Cabrera, sketch of the career of, 293.

Callao, fort of, 3.

Canada, sketches of, 464.

Carbunculo of Peru, the, 193.

Carlist war, sketches of the, 293.

Carnicer, Colonel, 293, 294.

Carnival in Peru, the, 9.

Castel Fuerte, viceroy of Peru, 7.

Cathedral of Mexico, the, 269.

Cattaro, town of, 431.

Cerro de Parco, silver mines of, 182.

Change on Change, 492.

Charles Russell, the gentleman commoner, Chap. I., 145

--Chap. II., 309.

Chili, war of, with Peru, 2.

Christina of Spain, notices of, 741.

Coco-tree of Peru, the, 189.

Columbus, from Schiller, 333.

Commissions, sale of, in the army, 137.

Condé, Prince of, 704.

Conde's Daughter, the, 496.

Condor, the, 3.

Cookery and Civilisation, 238.

Cordilleras of Peru, the, 181.

Corn-law repeal, on the, 249.

Cortes, armour of, 270

--conquest of Mexico by, 272.

Coursing, passion for, in Peru, 15.

Creoles of Peru, the, 8.

Criminal law, on the, 721.

Dance, the, from Schiller, 480.

Dead Rose, a, by E. B. Barrett, 491.

Death of Zumalacarregui, the, 56.

Dedomenicis, Signor, 103.

Dejazet the actress, 413.

Denmark, sketches of, 645.

Diseases of Peru, the, 179, 181.

Ditmarschers, the, 646.

Dost Mohammed, sketch of the life of, 540.

Douay, siege of, 525.

Drama, the romantic, 161.

Dramatic mysteries in Peru, 187.

Dress of the army, the, 143.

Dudevant, Madame, 423.

Dumas, Alexander, notices of, 417.

Earthquakes in Lima, 13.

Education of the soldier, on the, 138.

Elinor Travis, a tale, Chap. II., 83.

--Chapter the Last, 444.

England in the new world, 464.

English Hexameters, letters on,

--Letter I., 19

--Letter II., 327

--Letter III., 477.

English Poor laws, operation of the, 555.

Epic poem, on the, 163.

Espartero, General, 301.

Espinoza, Major, anecdote of, 303.

Esteller, death of, 303.

Eugene, Prince, 34, 698.

Fergusson's notes of a professional life, review of, 129.

Fishes of Peru, the, 18.

Flogging in the army, on, 133.

France, state of criminal procedure in, 721.

Free trade, on, 249.

Frieslanders, the, 651.

From Schiller, 333.

Game laws, on the, 754.

Gaming, prevalence of, in Mexico, 267.

Germany, state of criminal law in, 721.

Ghent, capture of, by Marlborough, 23.

Girardin, M., 420.

Gomez, General, 299.

Guano deposits in Peru, the, 17.

Gutzkow's Paris, review of, 411.

Hanging bridges of Peru, the, 182.

Hector in the garden, by Elizabeth B. Barrett, 493.

Heron, habits of the, 397.

Hexameters, English, letters on

--Letter I., 19.

--Letter II., 327.

--Letter III., 477.

Hidalgos, insurrection of, in Mexico, 272.

Highland wild sports, 389.

Historical romance, on the, 162.

Hochelaga, or England in the New World, review of, 464.

Holsche, Lieutenant, anecdotes of, 587, 588.

Holstein, sketches of, 645.

Honour to the Plough, 613.

Horses of Algeria, the, 345

--of Peru, 11.

How I became a Yeoman--Chap. I., 358

--Chap. II., 362

--Chap. III., 366

--Chap. IV., 371.

--Chap. V., 374.

How to build a house and live in it--No. II., 349.

Howden, Lord, death of Zumalacarregui by, 56.

Hydropathy, on, 376.

Ignazio, 102.

Imprisonment as a punishment, on, 722.

Indians of Peru, the, 183, 185.

Inns of Peru, the, 181.

Inquisition in Peru, the, 7.

Isabella of Spain, marriage of, 740.

Iturbide, rise and fall of, 273.

Jalapa, city of, 265.

Jamaica, Metcalfe's government of, 662.

Janin, Jules, 421.

Jesuits, expulsion of the, from Peru, 6.

Jews in Algiers, the, 344.

Juan Fernandez, island of, 3.

Juan Santos, insurrection of, 190.

Kabyles, the, 345.

Kennedy's Algeria, review of, 334.

Kingston, town of, 470.

Kleist, General, 579.

Kohl in Denmark and the Marshes, review of, 645.

Kulm, battle of, 581.

Lal, Mohan, Life of Dost Mahommed by, 539.

Last recollections of Napoleon, 110.

Late and present Ministry, the, 249.

Lays and legends of the Thames, 729.

Law, the, and its punishments, 721.

Letters and impressions from Paris, 411.

Letters on English Hexameters

--Letter I., 19.

--Letter II., 327.

--Letter III., 477.

Life at the water cure, review of, 376.

Lille, siege and citadel of, 22.

Lima, town of, 5.

Lodge, A., the Minstrel's Curse, by, 177.

London, annals and antiquities of, 673.

London Bridge, 730.

Louis XIV., character of, 517

--contrasted with William III., 522.

Louis Philippe and the Spanish marriages, 742.

Lowe, Sir Hudson, 122, 126.

Luigia de Medici, 614.

Lutzen, battle of, 578.

Maconochie, Captain, on punishment, 725.

Malplaquet, battle of, 33.

Man's requirements, by Elizabeth B. Barrett, 489.

Marey, General, 340.

Market of Lima, the, 12.

Marlborough's Dispatches, 1708, 1709, 22

--1710, 1711, 517

--1711, 1712, 690

--his death and character, 702.

Marshall's Military Miscellany, review of, 129.

Maude's Spinning, by E. B. Barrett, 490.

Medeah, town of, 340.

Mesmeric mountebanks, 223.

Metcalfe, Lord, government of Jamaica by, 662.

Mexico, its history and people, 261

--valley and city of, 269.

Mildred, a tale--Part I., chapter I., 709

--chapter II., 713

--chapter III., 718.

Military Education in Prussia, 573.

Mine, forest, and cordillera, the, 172.

Minstrel's Curse the, from Uhland, 177.

Mohan Lal in Affghanistan, 539.

Monasteries of Spain, state of, when suppressed, 295.

Mons, siege of, 31.

Montalban, siege of, 305.

Montenegro, visit to the Vladika of, 428.

Montesquieu, Marshal, 525.

Montholon's Napoleon, review of, 110.

Montpensier, Duke of, 751.

Montreal, town of, 470.

More Rogues in Outline--the sick antiquary, 101

--Signor Dedomenicis, 103

--Scaling a coin, 107.

Moreau, death of, 580.

Morella, capture of, by Cabrera, 301.

Morellos, insurrection of, 272.

Moriamur pro Rege Nostro--Chap. I., 194

--Chap. II., 201

--Chap. III., 210

--Chap. IV., 216

--Conclusion, 221.

Morning and other poems, review of, 62.

Mules of Peru, the, 12.

Museum of Mexico, the, 270.

My College Friends--No. IV., Charles Russell, the gentleman commoner

--Chap. I., 145

--Chap. II., 309.

Napoleon and Louis XIV., parallel between, 520

--last recollections of, 110.

Negro carnival in Peru, the, 17.

Negroes of Peru, the, 9.

Niagara, Falls of, 471.

Nogueras, General, 297.

North America, features of, 262.

New Scottish Plays and Poems, 62.

New Sentimental Journey, a--At Moulins, 481

--Clermont, 484

--on a stone, 606

--the Philosopher, 608

--a Shandrydan, 611.

Newspapers, on, 629.

Odysseus, from Schiller, 333.

Ogilvy's Highland Minstrelsy, review of, 62.

Old Ignazio, 102.

Opera in Paris, state of the, 415.

Operation of the English Poor-laws, 555.

Orizaba, mountain of, 265.

Palace of Mexico, the, 269.

Pardinas, General, defeat and death of, 303.

Paredes, General, 275.

Paris, letters and impressions from, 411.

Peel, Sir Robert, policy of, 249

--his financial system, 252.

Pellicer, Colonel, cruelties of, 306.

Perote, town of, 265.

Peru, 1

--the mine, forest, and cordillera, 179.

Poaching in the Highlands, 403.

Poems by Elizabeth Barrett Barrett

--a woman's shortcomings, 488

--a man's requirements, 489

--Maude's spinning, 490

--a dead rose, 491

--change on change, 492

--a reed, ib.

--Hector in the garden, 493.

Poetry--The minstrel's curse, 177

--a summer day, by Thomas Aird, 277

--Columbus, &c., from Schiller, 333

--the Dance, from Schiller, 480

--poems by Miss Barrett, 488

--honour to the plough, 613

--London Bridge, 730

--Song for the million, 733

--Thames Tunnel, 736

--St Magnus', Kirkwall, 753.

Poor-Law, operation of the, 555.

Prussian military memoirs, 572.

Puebla, city of, 268.

Pulque, manufacture of, 266.

Puna of Peru, the, 186.

Punishment, state of, under the English law, 722

--objects of, 724.

Punishments in the army, 134

--of the law, 721.

Quebec, city of, 465.

Quesnoy, capture of, 694.

Quinté, bay of, 470.

Rachel the actress, 413.

Rahden's wanderings of a soldier, review of, 572.

Raven, anecdotes of the, 402.

Recent royal marriages, on 740.

Red deer, habits of the, 408.

Reed, a, by Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, 492.

Reichenbach, count, anecdote of, 577, 584.

Requiera, Padre, 15.

Rewards for the army, on, 136.

Roads of Peru, the, 80.

Robbers of Mexico, the, 267

--of Peru, 14.

Romantic drama, the, 161.

Russell minstry, the, 257.

St John's wild sports of the Highlands, review of, 389.

St John's, town of, 464.

St Juan D'Ulloa, fort of, 265.

St Magnus', Kirkwall, 753.

St Marie's Algeria, review of, 334.

St Venant, capture of, 529.

Salcedo silver mine, the, 184.

San Jose silver mine, 185.

Sand, George, 423.

Santa Anna, rise of, 273.

Santa Cruz, protector of Peru, 2.

Santos, Juan, 190.

Scaling a coin, 107.

Schiller, translations from, 333, 480.

Scorpion eaters among the Arabs, 342.

Scottish plays and poems, 62.

Seal, habits of the, 401.

Segura, destruction of the town of, 304.

Serialist, advice to an intending, 590.

Shark, combat with a, 3.

Short enlistments, advantages of, 132.

Shujah, Shah, sketches of, 541.

Sick antiquary, the, 101.

Signor Dedomenicis, 103.

Silver mines of Mexico, the, 271

--of Peru, 182.

Smith, Hannibal, letter to, 590.

Smith's antiquarian ramble in the streets of London, review of, 673.

Solitary confinement, on, 725.

Song for the million, 733.

South America, features of, 262.

Soyer's cookery, review of, 238.

Spanish marriage, on the, 631-740.

Steffens, Professor, anecdote of, 577.

Storms of Peru, the, 182.

Summer day, a, by Thomas Aird, 277.

Superstitions of Mexico, the, 275.

Surville, defence of Tournay by, 29.

Swan, wild, habits of the, 398.

Thames, Lays and Legends of the, 729

--tunnel, 735.

Things in general, 625.

Tournay, siege of, 28.

Tower of London, the, 732.

Tschudi's Peru, review of, 1, 179.

Tupac Amaru, 191.

Turenne, Marshal, 704.

Uhland, the minstrel's curse by, 177.

United States, sketches of the, 471.

Utrecht, peace of, 693.

Valparaiso, town of, 3.

Vampire bat of Peru, the, 192.

Vandamme, General, 581.

Vera Cruz, town of, 263.

Vigo, General, death of, 304.

Villars, Marshal, 33, 526.

Visit to the Vladika of Montenegro, a, 428.

Von Rahden's wanderings of a soldier, review of, 575.

Water cure, the, 376.

Waterloo, Napoleon on, 123.

Welford's evidence on the game laws, 757.

West Indies, recent history of the, 662.

White's Earl of Gowrie, &c., review of, 62.

Wild Sports and Natural History of the Highlands, 389.

Wild swan, habits of the, 398.

William III., parallel between, and Louis XIV., 522.

Woman's shortcomings, by E. B. Barrett, 488.

Woods of Peru, the, 192.

Yanez, colonel, death of, 268.

Yca, province of, 17.

Yussuf, an Arab leader, 347

Zettinié, city of, 439

Zumalacarregui, death of, 56.

_Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work, Canongate._

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.

Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as

printed.

Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where

the missing quote should be placed.

The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the

transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Page 727: "that a ower should reside somewhere" ... the transcriber

has added the missing "p" in "power".

Page 734: "All the sevants' hall combined," ... the transcriber has

added "r" to read "servants'".