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-                     My Unknown Chum "_Aguecheek_"
-
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
-no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
-eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-Title: My Unknown Chum
-
-Author: Charles Bullard Fairbanks
-
-Release Date: February 27, 2011 [EBook #35412]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***
-
-
-
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35412 ***
 
 Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the Online
 Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
@@ -9360,376 +9339,4 @@ man more closely to the divine Exemplar of perfect manhood.
 
                                *THE END.*
 
-
-
-
-
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***
-
-
-
-
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+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35412 ***
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@@ -1,9750 +0,0 @@
-                     My Unknown Chum "_Aguecheek_"
-
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
-no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
-eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-Title: My Unknown Chum
-
-Author: Charles Bullard Fairbanks
-
-Release Date: February 27, 2011 [EBook #35412]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
-
-
-
-                                   MY
-                              UNKNOWN CHUM
-                              "AGUECHEEK"
-
-
-
-
-                            WITH A FOREWORD
-                            BY HENRY GARRITY
-
-
-
-
-                                NEW YORK
-                        THE DEVIN-ADAIR COMPANY
-                                  1930
-
-
-              _THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIFTH THOUSAND_
-
-
-                          Copyright, 1912, by
-                       _The Devin-Adair Company_
-
-              _All rights reserved by The Devin-Adair Co._
-
-                         _Printed in U. S. A._
-
-
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
-
-  - FOREWORD
-  - SKETCHES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
-    - A PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC
-    - LONDON
-    - ANTWERP AND BRUSSELS
-    - GENOA AND FLORENCE
-    - ANCIENT ROME
-    - MODERN ROME
-    - ROME TO MARSEILLES
-    - MARSEILLES, LYONS, AND AIX IN SAVOY
-    - AIX TO PARIS
-    - PARIS
-    - PARIS--THE LOUVRE AND ART
-    - NAPOLEON THE THIRD
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
-    - PARIS TO BOULOGNE
-    - LONDON
-  - ESSAYS
-    - STREET LIFE
-    - HARD UP IN PARIS
-    - THE OLD CORNER
-    - SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THEATRE ALLEY
-    - THE OLD CATHEDRAL
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF SUFFERING
-    - BOYHOOD AND BOYS
-    - JOSEPHINE--GIRLHOOD AND GIRLS
-    - SHAKESPEARE AND HIS COMMENTATORS
-    - MEMORIALS OF MRS. GRUNDY
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
-    - BEHIND THE SCENES
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF CANT
-
-
-
-
-FOREWORD
-
-
-    _Life is too short for reading inferior books._
-
-      _Bryce._
-
-
-In 1878 a letter of introduction to Mr. S---- of Detroit was
-instrumental in securing for me the close friendship of a man some
-twenty years my senior--a man of unusual poise of mind and of such
-superb character that I have ever looked upon him as a perfect type of
-Newman's ideal gentleman.
-
-My new friend was fond of all that is best in art and literature. His
-pet possession, however, was an old book long out of print--"Aguecheek."
-He spoke to me of its classic charm and of the recurring pleasure he
-found in reading and rereading the delightful pages of its unknown
-author, who saw in travel, in art, in literature, in life and humanity,
-much that other travellers and other writers and scholars had failed to
-observe--seeing all with a purity of vision, a clearness of intellect,
-and recording it with a grace and ease of phrase that suggest that he
-himself had perhaps been taught by the Angelic Doctor referred to in the
-closing lines of his last essay.
-
-A proffered loan of the book was eagerly accepted. Though still in my
-teens, I soon became a convert to all that my cultured friend had said
-in its praise.
-
-With the aid of a Murray Street dealer in old books, I was fortunate
-enough to get a copy for myself. I read it again and again. Obliged to
-travel much, I was rarely without its companionship; for I knew that if
-other reading-matter proved uninteresting, I could always find some new
-conversational charm in the views and words of the World-Conversant
-Author.
-
-Fearing that I weighed the merits of the work with a mental scale
-wanting in balance, I asked others what they thought of it. Much to my
-surprise, they had never even heard of it. In fact, in these thirty-four
-years I have found but three persons who knew the book at all. Recently
-at The Players I asked Mr. Evert Jansen Wendell if he knew "Aguecheek."
-"Why," said he, "it was in my hands only yesterday. It is in my
-library--my dramatic library." The late John E. Grote Higgens, President
-of the St. George Society, knew its interesting pages well; and it is, I
-am assured, a "prized unit" in the library of His Eminence Cardinal
-Farley.
-
-I lent my copy to young and old, to men and women of various professions
-and to friends in the world of commerce. The opinion of all might be
-summed up in the appreciation of a well-known Monsignor--himself an
-observant traveller and an ardent lover of "real" literature. Returning
-the book, he said, "I have read it with the greatest of pleasure, and
-have turned to it often. I could read it a hundred times. It is a great
-book. Its fine humor, its depth, its simplicity and high ideals, commend
-it to all, especially the highly educated--the scholar."
-
-Charles B. Fairbanks is the reputed author, but the records show that he
-died in 1859, when but thirty-two years old--an age that the text
-repeatedly discredits. Whether written by Mr. Fairbanks or not, the
-modest author hid his identity in an obscure pen-name that he might thus
-be free to make his book "his heart in other men's hands."
-
-Some necessary changes have been made in the text. In offering the book
-to the public and in reluctantly changing the title, I am but following
-the insistent advice of friends--critics and scholars--whose judgment is
-superior to my own. No one seemed to know the meaning of "Aguecheek"
-(taken, no doubt, from a character in "Twelfth Night"), and few could
-even spell or pronounce the word; moreover, there is not the remotest
-connection between title and text. The old book has been the best of
-comrades, "the joy of my youth, the consolation of my riper years." If
-the new name lacks dignity as well as euphony, the reader will, I am
-sure, understand and appreciate the spirit of affection that inspired
-"My Unknown Chum."
-
-    _Henry Garrity._
-
-
-
-
-SKETCHES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL.
-
-
-
-A PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC
-
-
-"To an American visiting Europe for the first time," saith Geoffrey
-Crayon, "the long voyage which he has to make is an excellent
-preparative." To the greater proportion of those who revisit the old
-world, the voyage is only an interval of ennui and impatience. Not such
-is it to the writer of this sentence. For him the sea has charms which
-age cannot wither, nor head winds abate. For him the voyage is a retreat
-from the cares of business, a rest from the pursuit of wealth, and a
-prolonged reminiscence of his youthful days, when he first trod the same
-restless pathway, and the glories of England and the Continent rose up
-resplendent before him, very much as the gorgeous city in the clouds
-looms up before the young gentleman in one of the late lamented Mr.
-Cole's pictures. For it is a satisfaction to him to remember that such
-things were,--even though the performances of life have not by any means
-equalled the promises of the programme of youth,--though age and the
-cares of an increasing family have stifled poetry, and the genius of
-Romance has long since taken his hat.
-
-The recollections of youthful Mediterranean voyages are a mine of wealth
-to an old man. They have transformed ancient history into a majestic
-reality for him, and the pages of his dog's-eared Lempri�re become
-instinct with life as he recalls those halcyon days when he reclined on
-deck beneath an awning, and gazed on Crete and Lesbos, and the mountains
-that look on Marathon. Neither age nor misfortune can ever rob him of
-the joy he feels when he looks back to the cloudless afternoon when he
-passed from the stormy Atlantic to that blue inland sea,--when he saw
-where Africa has so long striven to shake hands with Europe,--and
-thrilled at the thought that the sea then glowing with the hues of
-sunset was once ploughed by the invincible galleys of the C�sars, and
-dashed its angry surges over the shipwrecked Apostle of the Gentiles.
-
-It is rather a pleasant thing to report one's self on board a fine
-packet ship on a bright morning in May--the old portmanteau packed
-again, and thoughts turned seaward. There is a kind of inspiration in
-the song of the sailors at the windlass, (that is, as many of them as
-are able to maintain a perpendicular position at that early period of
-the voyage;) the very clanking of the anchor chains seems to speak of
-speedy liberation, and the ship sways about as if yearning for the
-freedom of the open sea. At last the anchor is up, and the ship swings
-around, and soon is gliding down the channel; and slowly the new
-gasometer, and Bunker Hill Monument, and the old gasometer (with the
-dome) on Beacon Hill, begin to diminish in size. (I might introduce a
-fine misquotation here about growing "small by degrees, and beautifully
-less," but that I don't like novelties in a correspondence like this.)
-The embankments of Fort Warren seem brighter and more verdurous than
-ever, and the dew-drops glitter in the sunbeams, as dear Nellie's tears
-did, when she said good-by, that very morning. Then, as we get into the
-bay, the tocsin calls to lunch--and the appetite for lobsters, sardines,
-ale, and olives makes us all forget how much we fear lest business of
-immediate importance may prevent an early return to the festive
-mahogany. And shortly after, the pilot takes his leave, and with him the
-small knot of friends, who have gone as far as friendship,
-circumstances, and the tide will allow. And so the voyage commences--the
-captain takes command--and all feel that the jib-boom points towards
-Motherland, and begin to calculate the distance, and anticipate the time
-when the ship shall be boarded by a blue-coated beef-eater, who will
-take her safely "round 'Oly'ead, and dock 'er." The day wears away, and
-the sunset finds the passengers well acquainted, and a healthy family
-feeling growing up among them. The next morning we greet the sea and
-skies, but not our mother earth. The breeze is light--the weather is
-fine--so that the breakfast is discussed before a full bench. Every body
-feels well, but sleepy, and the day is spent in conversation and
-enjoyment of the novelty of life at sea. The gentle heaving of the ocean
-is rather agreeable than otherwise, and the young ladies promenade the
-deck, and flatter themselves that they have (if I might use such an
-expression) their sea legs on. But the next day the gentle heaving has
-become a heavy swell,--locomotion is attended with great
-difficulties,--the process of dressing is a severe practical joke,--and
-the timorous approach to the breakfast table and precipitous retreat
-from it, are very interesting studies to a disinterested spectator. The
-dining-saloon is thinly populated when the bell rings--the gentlemen
-preferring to lounge about on deck--they have slight headaches--not
-seasick--of course not--the gentleman who had taken eight sherry
-cobblers was not intoxicated at all--it was a glass of lemonade, that he
-took afterwards, that disagreed with him and made his footing rather
-unsteady. But Neptune is inexorable, and exacts his tribute, and the
-payers show their receipts in pale faces and dull eyes, whether they
-acknowledge it or no; and many a poor victim curses the pernicious hour
-that ever saw him shipped, and comes to the Irishman's conclusion that
-the pleasantest part of going away from home is the getting back again.
-
-But a few days suffice to set all minds and stomachs at rest, and we
-settle down into the ordinary routine of life at sea. The days glide by
-rapidly, as Shakspeare says, "with books, and work, and healthful play,"
-and as we take a retrospective view of the passage, it seems to be a
-maze of books, backgammon, bad jokes, cigars, _crochet_, cribbage, and
-conversation. Contentment obtains absolute sway, which even ten days of
-head winds and calms cannot shake off. Perhaps this is owing in a great
-measure to the good temper and gentlemanly bearing of the captain, who
-never yielded to the temptation, before which so many intrepid mariners
-have fallen, to speak in disrespectful and condemnatory terms of the
-weather. How varied must be the qualities which make a good commander of
-a packet ship; what a model of patience he must be--patience not only
-with the winds, but also with variable elements of humanity which
-surround him. He must have a good word for every body and a smiling
-face, although he knows that the ship will not head her course by four
-points of the compass on either tack; and must put aside with a jest the
-unconscious professional gentleman whose hat intervenes between his
-sextant and the horizon. In short, he must possess in an eminent degree
-what Virgil calls the _suaviter in_ what's-his-name with the _fortiter
-in_ what-d'ye-call-it. I am much disposed to think that had Job been a
-sea captain with a protracted head wind, the land of Uz would not have
-attained celebrity as the abode of the most patient of men.
-
-An eminent Boston divine, not long since deceased, who was noted alike
-for his Johnsonian style and his very un-Johnsonian meekness of manner,
-once said to a sea captain, "I have, sir, in the course of my
-professional career, encountered many gentlemen of your calling; but I
-really must say that I have never been powerfully impressed in a moral
-way by them, for their conversation abounded in expressions savouring
-more of strength than of righteousness; indeed, but few of them seemed
-capable of enunciating the simplest sentence without prefacing it with a
-profane allusion to the possible ultimate fate of their visual organs,
-which I will not shock your fastidiousness by repeating." The profanity
-of seafaring men has always been remarked; it has been a staple article
-for the lamentations of the moralist and the jests of the immoralist;
-but I must say that I am not greatly surprised at its prevalence, for
-when I have seen a thunder squall strike a ship at sea, and every effort
-was making to save the rent canvas, it has seemed to me as if those
-whose dealings were with the elements actually needed a stronger
-vocabulary than is required for less sublime transactions. To speak in
-ordinary terms on such occasions would be as absurd as the Cockney's
-application of the epithets "clever" and "neat" to Niagara. I am not
-attempting to palliate every-day profanity, for I was brought up in the
-abhorrence of it, having been taken at an early age from the care of the
-lady "who ran to catch me when I fell, and kissed the place to make it
-well," and placed in the country under the superintendence of a maiden
-aunt, who was very moral indeed, and who instilled her principles into
-my young heart with wonderful eloquence and power. "Andrew," she used to
-say to me, "you mustn't laugh in meetin'; I've no doubt that the man who
-was hung last week (for this was in those unenlightened days when the
-punishment of crime was deemed a duty, and not a sin) began his wicked
-course by laughing in meetin'; and just think, if you were to commit a
-murder--for those who murder will steal--and those who steal will swear
-and lie--and those who swear and lie will drink rum--and then if they
-don't stop in their sinful ways, they get so bad that they will smoke
-cigars and break the Sabbath; and you know what becomes of 'em then."
-
-The ordinary routine of life at sea, which is so irksome to most people,
-has a wonderful charm for me. There is something about a well-manned
-ship that commands my deepest enthusiasm. Each day is filled with a
-quiet and satisfactory kind of enjoyment. From that early hour of the
-morning when the captain turns out to see what is the prospect of the
-day, and to drink a mug of boiling coffee as strong as aquafortis, and
-as black as the newly-opened fluid Day & Martin, from No. 97, High
-Holborn, to that quiet time in the evening when that responsible
-functionary goes below and turns in, with a sententious instruction to
-the officer of the watch to "wake him at twelve, if there's any change
-in the weather," there is no moment that hangs heavy on my hands. I love
-the regular striking of the bells, reminding me every half hour how
-rapidly time and I are getting on. The regularity with which every thing
-goes on, from the early washing of the decks to the sweeping of the same
-at four bells in the evening, makes me think of those ancient
-monasteries in the south of Europe, where the unvarying round of duties
-creates a paradise which those who are subject to the unexpected
-fluctuations of common life might be pardoned for coveting. If the rude
-voices that swell the boisterous chorus which hoists the tugging
-studding-sail up by three-feet pulls, only imperfectly remind one of the
-sounds he hears when the full choir of the monastery makes the grim
-arches of the chapel vibrate with the solemn tones of the Gregorian
-chant, certainly the unbroken calmness of the morning watch may well be
-allowed to symbolize the rapt meditation and unspoken devotion which
-finds its home within the "studious cloister's pale"; and I may be
-pardoned for comparing the close attention of the captain and his mates
-in getting the sun's altitude and working out the ship's position to the
-"examination of conscience" among the devout dwellers in the convent,
-and the working out of the spiritual reckoning which shows them how much
-they have varied from the course laid down on the divine chart, and how
-far they are from the wished-for port of perfection.
-
-I have a profound respect for the sea as a moral teacher. No man can be
-tossed about upon it without feeling his impotence and insignificance,
-and having his heart opened to the companions of his danger as it has
-never been opened before. The sea brings out the real character of every
-man; and those who journey over its "deep invisible paths" find
-themselves intrusting their most sacred confidences to the keeping of
-comparative strangers. The conventionalities of society cannot thrive in
-a salt atmosphere; and you shall be delighted to see how frank and
-agreeable the "world's people" can be when they are caught where the
-laws of fashion are silent, and what a wholesome neglect of personal
-appearances prevails among them when that sternest of democrats,
-Neptune, has placed them where they feel that it would be folly to try
-to produce an impression. The gentleman of the prize ring, whom Dickens
-introduces looking with admiration at the stately Mr. Dombey, gave it as
-his opinion that there was a way within the resources of science of
-"doubling-up" that incarnation of dignity; but, for the accomplishment
-of such an end, one good, pitching, head-sea would be far more effectual
-than all the resources of the "manly art." The most unbending assumption
-could not survive that dreadful sinking of the stomach, that convulsive
-clutch at the nearest object for support, and the faint, gurgling cry of
-"_stew'rd_" which announces that the victim has found his natural level.
-
-A thorough novitiate of seasickness is as indispensable, in my opinion,
-to the formation of true manly character, as the measles to a
-well-regulated childhood. Mentally as well as corporeally, seasickness
-is a wonderful renovator. We are such victims of habit, so prone to run
-in a groove, (most of us in a groove that may well be called a "vicious
-circle,") that we need to be thoroughly shaken up, and made to take a
-new view of the _rationale_ of our way of life. I do not believe that
-any man ever celebrated his recovery from that marine malady by eating
-the pickles and biscuit which always taste so good on such an occasion,
-without having acquired a new set of ideas, and being made generally
-wiser and better by his severe experience. I meet many unamiable persons
-"whene'er I take my walks abroad," who only need two days of seasickness
-to convert them into positive ornaments to society.
-
-But, pardon me; all this has little to do with the voyage to Liverpool.
-The days follow each other rapidly, and it begins to seem as if the
-voyage would stretch out to the crack of doom, for the head wind stands
-by us with the constancy of a sheriff, and when that lacks power to
-retard us we have a calm. But the weather is beautiful, and all the time
-is spent in the open air. Nut brown maids work worsted and crochet on
-the cooler side of the deck, and gentlemen in rusty suits, with
-untrimmed beards, wearing the "shadowy livery of the burning sun," talk
-of the prospects of a fair wind or read innumerous novels. The evenings
-are spent in gazing at a cloudless sky, and promenading in the
-moonshine. Music lends its aid and banishes impatience; my young
-co-voyagers seem not to have forgotten "Sweet Home," and the "Old Folks
-at Home" would be very much gratified to know how green their memory is
-kept.
-
-At length we all begin to grow tired of fair weather. The cloudless sky,
-the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, and the bright blue sea, with its
-lazily spouting whales and its lively porpoises playing around our
-bows,--grow positively distasteful to us; and we begin to think that any
-change would be an agreeable one. We do not have to wait many days
-before we are awaked very early in the morning, by the throwing down of
-heavy cordage on deck, and the shouts of the sailors, and are soon aware
-that we are subject to an unusual motion--as if the ship were being
-propelled by a strong force over a corduroy road constructed on an
-enormous scale. Garments, which yesterday were content to hang in an
-orderly manner against the partitions of one's state-room, now
-obstinately persist in hanging at all sorts of peculiar and disgraceful
-angles. Hat boxes, trunks, and the other movables of the voyager
-manifest great hilarity at the change in the weather, and dance about
-the floor in a manner that must satisfy the most fastidious beholder.
-Every timber in the ship groans as if in pain. The omnipresent steward
-rushes about, closing up sky-lights and dead lights, and "chocking" his
-rattling crockery and glassware. On deck the change from the even keel
-and the clear sunlight of the day before is still more wonderful. The
-colour of the sky reminds you of the leaden lining of a tea-chest; that
-of the sea, of the dingy green paper which covers the same. The sails,
-which so many days of sunshine have bleached to a dazzling whiteness,
-are now all furled, except those which are necessary to keep some little
-headway on the ship. The captain has adorned his manly frame with a suit
-of India rubber, which certainly could not have been selected for its
-gracefulness, and has overshadowed his honest face with a sou'wester of
-stupendous proportions. With the exception of occasional visits to the
-sinking barometer, he spends his weary day on the wet deck, and tries to
-read the future in the blackening waves and stormy sky. The wheel, which
-heretofore has required but one man, now taxes the strength of two of
-the stoutest of our crew;--so hard is it to keep our bashful ship
-heading up to that rude sea, and to "ease her when she pitches." The
-breakfast suffers sadly from neglect, for every one is engrossed with
-the care of the weather. At noon there is a lull for half an hour or so,
-and, in spite of the threats of the remorseless barometer, some of our
-company try to look for an amelioration in the meteorological line. But
-their hopes are crushed when they find that the wind has shifted one or
-two points, and has set in to blow more violently than before. The sea,
-too, begins to behave in a most capricious and disagreeable style. When
-the ship has, with a great deal of straining and cracking, ridden safely
-over two mighty ridges of water, and seems to be easily settling down
-into a black valley between two foam-capped hills, there comes a sudden
-shock, as if she had met the Palisades of the Hudson in her path--a
-crackling, grating sound, like that of a huge nutmeg-grater operating on
-a coral reef, a crash like the combined force of all the battering-rams
-of Titus Flavius Vespasianus on one of the gates of Jerusalem,--and a
-hundred tons of angry water roll aft against the cabin doors, in a
-manner not at all agreeable to weak nerves. For a moment the ship seems
-to stand perfectly still, as if deliberating whether to go on or turn
-back; then, realizing that the ship that deliberates in such a time is
-lost, she rises gracefully over a huge pile of water which was
-threatening to submerge her.
-
-The afternoon wears away slowly with the passengers. They say but little
-to one another, but look about them from the security of the wheel-house
-as if they were oppressed with a sense of the inestimable value of
-strong cordage. As twilight approaches, and all hands are just engaged
-in taking supper, after having "mended the reefs," the ship meets a
-staggering sea, which seems to start every timber in her firm-set frame,
-and our main-top-gallant-mast breaks off like a stick of candy. Such
-things generally happen just at night, the sailors say, when the
-difficulties of clearing away the broken rigging are increased by the
-darkness. Straightway the captain's big, manly voice is heard above the
-war-whoop of the gale, ringing out as Signor Badiali's was wont to in
-the third act of Ernani. The wind seems to pin the men to the ratlines
-as they clamber up; but all the difficulties are overcome at length; the
-broken mast is lowered down, and snugly stowed away; and before nine
-o'clock all is quiet, except the howling wind, which seems to have
-determined to make a night of it. And such a night! It is one of those
-times that make one want one's mother. There is little sleeping done
-except among the "watch below" in the forecastle, who snore away their
-four hours as if they appreciated the reasoning of Mr. Dibdin when he
-extols the safety of the open sea as compared with the town with its
-falling chimneys and flying tiles, and commiserates the condition of the
-unhappy shore-folks in such a tempestuous time. The thumping of the sea
-against our wooden walls, the swash of water on deck as the ship rolls
-and pitches as you would think it impossible for any thing addicted to
-the cold water movement to roll or pitch, and over all the wild,
-changeless, shrieking of the gale, will not suffer sleep to visit those
-who are not inured to such things. Tired of bracing up with knee, and
-hand, and heel, to keep in their berths, they lie and wonder how many
-such blows as that our good ship could endure, and think that if June
-gets up such gales on the North Atlantic, they have no wish to try the
-quality of those of January.
-
-Morning comes at last, and every heart is cheered by the captain's
-announcement, as he passes through the cabin, that the barometer is
-rising, and the weather has begun to improve. Some of the more hopeful
-and energetic of our company turn out and repair to the deck. The leaden
-clouds are broken up, and the sun trying to struggle through them; but
-to the inexperienced the gale appears to be as severe as it was
-yesterday. All the discomfort and danger of the time are forgotten,
-however, in the fearful magnificence of the spectacle that surrounds us.
-As far as the eye can reach it seems like a confused field of battle,
-where snowy plumes and white flowing manes show where the shock of war
-is felt most severely. To watch the gathering of one of those mighty
-seas that so often work destruction with the noblest ships,--to see it
-gradually piling up until it seems to be impelled by a fury almost
-intelligent,--to be dazzled by its emerald flash when it erects its
-stormy head the highest, and breaks into a field of boiling foam, as if
-enraged at being unable to reach us;--these are things which are worth
-all the anxiety and peril that they cost.
-
-The captain's prognostications prove correct. Our appetites at dinner
-bear witness to them; and before sunset we find our ship (curtailed of
-its fair proportion, it is true, by the loss of its
-main-top-gallant-mast) is under full sail once more. The next day we
-have a few hours' calm, and when a light breeze does spring up, it comes
-from the old easterly quarter. It begins to seem as if we were fated to
-sail forever, and never get any where. But patience wears out even a
-head wind, and at last the long-looked-for change takes place. The wind
-slowly hauls to the south, and many are the looks taken at the compass
-to see how nearly the ship can come up to her course. Then our
-impatience is somewhat allayed by speaking a ship which has been out
-twelve days longer than our own--for, if it be true, as Rochefoucauld
-says, that "there is something not unpleasing to us in the misfortunes
-of our best friends,"--how keen must be the satisfaction of finding a
-stranger-companion in adversity. The wind, though steady, is not very
-strong, and many fears are expressed lest it should die away and give
-Eurus another three weeks' chance. But our forebodings are not realized,
-and a sunshiny day comes when we are all called up from dinner to see a
-long cloud-like affair, (very like a whale,) which, we are told, is the
-Old Head of Kinsale. Straightway all begin to talk of getting on shore
-the next day; but when that comes, we find that we are drawing towards
-Holyhead very rapidly, as our favourable wind has increased to a
-gale--so that when we have got round Holyhead, and have taken our pilot,
-(that burly visitor whose coming every one welcomes, and whose departure
-every one would speed,) the aforesaid pilot heaves the ship to, and,
-having a bed made up on the cabin floor, composes himself to sleep. The
-next morning finds the gale abated, and early in the forenoon we are
-running up to the mouth of the river. The smoke (that first premonitory
-symptom of an English town) hangs over Liverpool, and forms a strong
-contrast with the bright green fields and verdant hedges which deck the
-banks of the Mersey. The ship, after an immense amount of vocal power
-has been expended in that forcible diction which may be termed the
-marine vernacular, is got into dock, and in the afternoon a passage of
-thirty-three days is concluded by our stepping once more upon the
-"inviolate island of the sage and free," and following our luggage up
-the pier, with a swing in our gait which any stage sailor would have
-viewed with envy. The examination at the Custom House is conducted with
-a politeness and despatch worthy of imitation among the officials of our
-Uncle Samuel. The party of passengers disperses itself about in various
-hotels, without any circumstance to hinder their progress except falling
-in with an exhibition of Punch and Judy, which makes the company
-prolific in quotations from the sayings of Messrs. Codlin and Short, and
-at last the family which never had its harmonious unity disturbed by any
-thing, is broken up forever.
-
-Liverpool wears its old thriving commercial look--perhaps it is a few
-shades darker with smoke. The posters are on a more magnificent scale,
-both as regards size and colour, than ever before, and tell not only of
-the night's amusements, but promise the acquisition of wealth outrunning
-the dreams of avarice in lands beyond the farthest Thule. Melbourne and
-Port Philip vie in the most gorgeous colours with San Francisco; and the
-United States seem to have spread wide their capacious arms to welcome
-the down-trodden Irishman. Liverpool seems to be the gate to all the
-rest of the world. I almost fear to walk about lest I should find myself
-starting off, in a moment of temporary insanity, for Greenland's icy
-mountains, or India's coral strand.
-
-
-
-LONDON
-
-
-Dull must he be of soul who could make the journey from Liverpool to the
-metropolis in the month of June, and not be lifted above himself by the
-surpassing loveliness of dear mother Nature. Even if he were chained to
-a ledger and cash book--if he never had a thought or wish beyond the
-broker's board, and his entire reading were the prices current--he must
-forget them all, and feel for the time what a miserable sham his life
-is--or he does not deserve the gift of sight. It is Thackeray, I think,
-who speaks somewhere of the "charming friendly English landscape that
-seems to shake hands with you as you pass along"--and any body who has
-seen it in June will say that this is hardly a figurative expression. I
-used to think that it was my enthusiastic love for the land of the great
-Alfred which made it seem so beautiful to me when I was younger; but I
-find that it wears too well to be a mere fancy of my own brain. People
-may complain of the humid climate of England, and curse the umbrella
-which must accompany them whenever they walk out; but when the sun does
-shine, it shines upon a scene of beautiful fertility unequalled
-elsewhere in the world, and which the moist climate produces and
-preserves. And then, too, it seems doubly grateful to the eyes of one
-just come from sea. The bright freshness of the whole landscape, the
-varied tints of green, the trim hedges, the luxuriant foliage which
-springs from the very trunks of the trees, and the high state of
-cultivation which makes the whole country look as if it had been swept
-and dusted that morning,--all these things strike an American, for he
-cannot help contrasting them with the parched fields of his own land in
-summer, surrounded by their rough fences and hastily piled-up stone
-walls. The solidity of the houses and cottages, which look as if they
-were built, not for an age, but for all time, makes him think of the
-country houses of America, which seem to have grown up in a night, like
-our friend Aladdin's, and whose frailty is so apparent that you cannot
-sneeze in one of them without apprehending a serious calamity. Then the
-embankments of the railways present not only a pleasant sight to the eye
-of the traveller, but a pretty little hay crop to the corporation; and
-at every station, and bridge, and crossing, wherever there is a switch
-to be tended, you see the neat cottages of the keepers, and the gardens
-thereof--the railway companies having learned that the expenditure of a
-few hundred pounds in this way saves an expenditure of many thousands in
-surgeons' bills and damages, and is far more satisfactory to all
-concerned.
-
-What a charming sight is a cow--what a look of contentment she
-has--ambitious of nothing beyond the field of daily duty, and never
-looking happier than when she comes at night to yield a plenteousness of
-that fluid without which custards were an impossibility! Wordsworth says
-that "heaven lies about us in our infancy"--surely he must mean that
-portion of the heavens called by astronomers the Milky Way. It is
-pleasant to see a cow by the side of a railway--provided she is fenced
-from danger--to see her lift her head slowly as the train goes whizzing
-by, and gaze with those mild, tranquil eyes upon the noisy,
-smoke-puffing monster,--just as the saintly hermits of olden times might
-have looked from their serene heights of contemplation upon the dusty,
-bustling world. The taste of the English farmers for fine cattle is
-attested by a glance at any of their pastures. On every side you see the
-representatives of Alderney's bovine aristocracy; and scores of cattle
-crop the juicy grass, rivalling in their snowy whiteness any that ever
-reclined upon Clitumno's "mild declivity of hill," or admired their
-graceful horns in its clear waters. Until I saw them, I never
-comprehended what farmers meant when they spoke of "neat cattle."
-
-What an eloquent preacher is an old church-tower! Moss-crowned and
-ivy-robed, it lifts its head, unshaken by the tempests of centuries, as
-it did in the days when King John granted the Great Charter or the holy
-Edward ruled the realm, and tells of the ages when England was one in
-faith, and not a poor-house existed throughout the land. Like a faithful
-sentinel, it stands guard over the humbler edifices around it, and warns
-their inhabitants alike of their dangers and their duties by the music
-of its bells. Erect in silent dignity, it receives the first beams of
-the morning, and when twilight has begun to shroud every thing in its
-neighbourhood, the flash of sunset lingers on its gray summit. It looks
-down with sublime indifference upon the changing scene below, as if it
-would reproach the actors there with their forgetfulness of the
-transitoriness of human pursuits, and remind them, by its
-unchangeableness, of the eternal years.
-
-At last we draw near London. A gentleman, whose age I would not attempt
-to guess,--for he was very carefully made up, and boasted a deportment
-which would have excited the envy of Mr. Turveydrop, senior,--so far
-forgot his dignity as to lean forward and inform me that the place we
-were passing was "'Arrow on the 'Ill," which made me forget for the
-moment both his appearance and his uncalled-for "exasperation of the
-haitches." Not long after, I found myself issuing from the magnificent
-terminus of the North Western Railway, in Euston Square, in a cab marked
-V. R. 10,276. The cab and omnibus drivers of London are a distinct race
-of beings. Who can write their natural history? Who is competent to such
-a task? The researches of a Pritchard, a Pickering, a Smyth, would seem
-to cover the whole subject of the history of the human species from the
-anthropophagi and bosjesmen to the drinkers of train oil in the polar
-regions; but the cabmen are not included. They would require a master
-mind. The subject would demand the patient investigation of a Humboldt,
-the eloquence of a Macaulay, and the humour of a Dickens--and even then
-would fall short, I fear, of giving an adequate idea of them. Your
-London cab driver has no idea of distance; as, for instance, I ask one
-the simple question,--
-
-"How far is it to the Angel in Islington?"
-
-"Wot, sir?"
-
-I repeat my interrogatory.
-
-"Oh, the Hangel, sir! Four shillings."
-
-"No, no. I mean what distance."
-
-"Well, say three, then, sir."
-
-"But I mean--what distance? How many miles?"
-
-"O, come, sir, jump in--don't be 'ard on a fellow--I 'aven't 'ad a fare
-to-day. Call it 'arf a crown, sir."
-
-Leigh Hunt says somewhere that if there were such a thing as
-metamorphosis, Dr. Johnson would desire to be transformed into an
-omnibus, that he might go rolling along the streets whose very pavements
-were the objects of his ardent affection. And he was about right. What
-better place is there in this world to study human nature than an
-omnibus? All classes meet there; in the same coach you may see them
-all--from the poor workwoman to the genteelly dressed lady, who looks as
-if she disapproved of such conveyances, but must ride nevertheless--from
-the young sprig, who is constantly anxious lest some profane foot should
-dim the polish of his boots, to the urbane old gentleman, who regrets
-his corpulence, and would take less room if he could. And then the top
-of the omnibus, which usually carries four or more passengers, what a
-place is that to see the tide of life which flows unceasingly through
-the streets of London! I know of nothing which can furnish more food for
-thought than a ride on an omnibus from Brompton to the Bank on a fine
-day. It is a pageant, in which all the wealth, pomp, power, and
-prosperity of this world pass before you; and for a moral to the
-whirling scene, you must go to the nearest churchyard.
-
-London is ever the same. The omnibuses follow each other as rapidly as
-ever up and down the Strand, the white-gloved, respectable-looking
-policemen walk about as deliberately, and the tail of the lion over the
-gate of Northumberland House sticks out as straight as ever. The only
-great change visible here is in the newspapers. The tone of society is
-so different from what it was formerly, in all that concerns France,
-that the editors must experience considerable trouble in accustoming
-themselves to the new state of things. Once, France and Louis Napoleon
-furnished Punch with his chief materials for satire and amusement, and
-if any of the larger and more dignified journals wished to let off a
-little ill humour, or to say any thing particularly bitter, they only
-had to dip their pens in _Gaul_; but times are changed, and now nothing
-can be said too strong in favour of "our chivalric allies, the French."
-The memory of St. Helena seems to have given place to what they call
-here the _entente cordiale_, which those who are acquainted with the
-French language assure me means an agreement by which one party
-contracts to "play second fiddle" to another, through fear that if he
-does not he will not be permitted to play at all.
-
-To the man who thoroughly appreciates the Essays of Elia, and Boswell's
-Life of Johnson, London can never grow tiresome. He can never turn a
-corner without finding "something new, something to please, and
-something to instruct." Its very pavements are classical. And there is
-nothing to abate, nor detract from, such a man's enthusiasm. The
-traveller who visits the Roman Forum, or the Palace of the C�sars,
-experiences a sad check when he finds his progress impeded by unpoetical
-obstacles. But in London, all is harmonious; he sees on every side, not
-only that which tells of present life and prosperity, but the perennial
-glories of England's former days. Would he study history, he goes to the
-Tower, "rich with the spoils of time"; or to Whitehall, where mad
-fanaticism consummated its treasonable work with the murder of a
-sovereign; or to the towering minster, to gaze upon the chair in which
-the monarchs of a thousand years have sat; or to view the monuments, and
-read the epitaphs, of that host of
-
-    "Bards, heroes, sages, side by side,
-    Who darkened nations when they died."
-
-Is he a lover of English literature? Here are scenes eloquent of that
-goodly company of wits and worthies, whose glowing pages have been the
-delight of his youth and the consolation of his riper years; here are
-the streets in which they walked, the taverns in which they feasted, the
-churches where they prayed, the tombs where they repose.
-
-And London wears well. To revisit it when age has sobered down the
-enthusiasm of youth, is not like seeing a theatre by daylight; but you
-think almost that you have under-estimated your privileges. How well I
-remember the night when I first arrived in the metropolis! It was after
-ten o'clock, and I was much fatigued; but before I booked myself in my
-hotel, or looked at my room, I rushed out into the Strand, "with
-breathless speed, like a soul in chase." I pushed along, now turning to
-look at Temple Bar, now pausing to take breath as I went up Ludgate
-Hill. I saw St. Paul's and its dome before me, and I was satisfied. No,
-I was not satisfied; for when I returned up Fleet Street, I looked out
-dear old Bolt Court, and entered its Johnsonian precincts with an awe
-and veneration which a devout Mussulman, taking the early train for
-Mecca, would gladly imitate. And then I posted down Inner Temple Lane,
-and looked at the house in which Charles Lamb and his companions held
-their "Wednesday nights"; and, going still farther, I saw the river--I
-stood on the bank of the Thames, and I was satisfied. I looked, and all
-the associations of English history and literature which are connected
-with it filled my mind--but just as I was getting into a fine frenzy
-about it, a watchman hove in sight, and the old clock chimed out eleven.
-So I started on, and soon reached my hotel. I was accosted on my way
-thither by a young and gayly dressed lady, whom I did not remember ever
-to have seen before, but who expressed her satisfaction at meeting me,
-in the most cordial terms. I told her that I thought that it must be a
-mistake, and she responded with a laugh which very much shocked an
-elderly gentleman who was passing, who looked as if he might have been
-got up for the part of the uncle of the unhappy G. Barnwell. I have
-since learned that such mistakes and personal misapprehensions very
-frequently occur in London in the evening.
-
-Speaking of Temple Bar, it gratifies me to see that this venerable
-gateway still stands, "unshaken, unseduced, unterrified," by any of the
-recent attempts to effect its removal. The old battered and splashed
-doors are perhaps more unsightly than before; but the statues look down
-with the same benignity upon the crowd of cabs and omnibuses, and the
-never-ending tide of humanity which flows beneath them, as they did upon
-the Rake's Progress, so many years ago. The sacrilegious commissioners
-of streets long to get at it with their crows and picks, but the shade
-of Dr. Johnson watches over the barrier of his earthly home. It is not
-an ornamental affair, to be sure, and it would be difficult for Mr.
-Choate, even, to defend it against the charge of being an obstruction;
-but its associations with the literature and history of the last two or
-three centuries ought to entitle its dingy arches to a certain degree of
-reverence, even in our progressive and irreverent age. The world would
-be a loser by the demolition of this ancient landmark, and London, if it
-should lose this, though it might still be the metropolis of the British
-empire, would cease to be the London of Johnson and Goldsmith, of
-Addison and Pope, of Swift and Hogarth.
-
-Perhaps some may think, from what I have said in the commencement of
-this letter, that my enthusiasm has blinded me to those great moral and
-social evils which are apparent in English civilization; but it is not
-so. I love England rather for what she has been than for what she is; I
-love the England of Alfred and St. Edward; and when I contrast the
-present state with what it might have been under a succession of such
-rulers, I cannot but grieve. Truly the court of St. James under Victoria
-is not what it was under Charles II., nor even under Mr. Thackeray's
-favourite hero, "the great George IV.,"--but are not St. James and St.
-Giles farther apart than ever before? Is not Lazarus looked upon as a
-nuisance, which legislation ought, for decency's sake, to put out of the
-way? What does England do for the poor? Nothing; absolutely nothing, if
-you except a system of workhouses, compared with which prisons are
-delightful residences, and which seems to have been intended more for
-the punishment of poverty than as a work of charity. No; on the
-contrary, she discountenances works of charity; when a few earnest men
-among the clergy of her divided church make an effort in that direction,
-there is an outcry, and they must be put down; and their bishops, whose
-annual incomes are larger than the whole treasury of Alfred, admonish
-them to beware how they thus imitate the superstitions of the middle
-ages. No; your Englishman of the present day has something better to do
-than to look after the beggar at his doorstep; he is too respectable a
-man for that; he pays his "poor rates," and the police must order the
-thing of shreds and patches to "move on"; his progress must not be
-impeded, for his presence is required at a meeting of the friends of
-Poland, or of Italy, or of a society for the abolition of American
-slavery, and he has no time to waste on such common, every-day matters
-as the improvement of the miserable wretches who work his coal mines, or
-of those quarters of the town where vice parades its deformity with
-exulting pride, and the air is heavy with pestilence. There is
-proportionably more beggary in London at this hour than in any
-continental city. And such beggary! Not the comfortable, jolly-looking
-beggars you may see in Rome or Naples, who know that charity is enjoined
-upon the people as a religious duty, but the thin, pallid, high-cheeked
-supplicants, whose look is a petition which tells a more effective story
-than words can frame of destitution and starvation.
-
-But there is another phase of this part of London life, sadder by far
-than that of mere poverty. It is an evil which no attempt is made to
-prevent, and so great an evil that its very mention is forbidden by the
-spirit of this age of "superficial morality and skin-deep propriety." I
-pity the man who can walk through Regent Street or the Strand in the
-evening, unsaddened by what he shall see on every side. How ridiculous
-do our boasts of this Christian nineteenth century seem there! Here is
-this mighty Anglo-Saxon race, which can build steam engines, and
-telegraphs, and clipper ships, which tunnels mountains, and exerts an
-almost incredible mastery over the forces of nature,--and yet, when
-Magdalene looks up to it for a merciful hand to lift her from
-degradation and sin, she finds it either deaf or powerless. There is a
-work yet to be done in London which would stagger a philanthropist, if
-he were gifted with thrice the heroism, and patience, and
-self-forgetfulness of a St. Vincent of Paul.
-
-I cannot resist the inclination to give in this connection a passage
-from the personal experience of a friend in London, which, had I read it
-in any book or newspaper, I should have hesitated to believe. One
-evening, as he was passing along Pall Mall, he was addressed by a young
-woman, who, when she saw that he was going to pass on and take no notice
-of her, ran before him, and said in a tone of the most pathetic
-earnestness,--
-
-"Well, if you'll not go with me, for God's sake, sir, give me a trifle
-to buy bread!"
-
-Thus appealed to, and somewhat shaken by the voice and manner, he
-stopped under a gaslight, and looked at the speaker. Vice had not
-impressed its distinctive seal so strongly upon her as upon most of the
-unfortunate creatures one meets in London's streets; indeed, there was a
-shade of melancholy on her face which harmonized well with her voice and
-manner. So my friend resolved to have a few words more with her, and
-buttoning up his coat, to protect his watch and purse, he told her that
-he feared she wanted money to buy gin rather than bread. She assured him
-that it was not so, but that she wished to buy food for her little
-child, a girl of two or three years. Then he asked how she could lead
-such a life, if she had a child growing up, upon whom her example would
-have such an influence; and she said that she would gladly take up with
-an honest occupation, if she could find one,--indeed, she did try to
-earn enough for the daily wants of herself and child with her needle,
-but it was impossible,--and her only choice was between starvation and
-the street. At that time she said that she was learning the trade of a
-dressmaker, and she hoped that before long she should be able to keep
-herself above absolute necessity. Encouraged by a kind word from my
-friend, she went on in a simple, womanly manner, and told him of her
-whole career. It was the old story of plighted troth, betrayed
-affection, and flight from her village home, to escape the shame and
-reproach she would there be visited with. She arrived in London without
-money, without friends, without employment,--without any thing save that
-natural womanly self-respect which had received such a severe
-blow:--necessity stared her in the face, and she sank before it. My
-friend was impressed by the recital of her misfortunes, and thinking
-that she must be sincere, he took a sovereign from his purse and gave it
-to her. She looked from the gift to the giver, and thanked him again and
-again. He continued his walk, but had not gone more than three or four
-rods, when she came running after him, and reiterated her expressions of
-thankfulness with a trembling voice. He then walked on, and crossed over
-to the front of the Church of St. Martin, (that glorious soldier who
-with his sword divided his cloak with the beggar,) when she came after
-him yet again, and seizing hold of his hand, she looked up at him with
-streaming eyes, and said, holding the sovereign in her hand,--
-
-"God bless you, sir, again and again for your kindness to me! Pray
-pardon me, sir, for troubling you so much--but--but--perhaps you meant
-to give me a shilling, sir,--perhaps you don't know that you gave me a
-sovereign."
-
-How many models of propriety and respectability in every rank of
-life,--how many persons who have the technical language of religion
-constantly on their lips,--how many of those who, nurtured amid the
-influences of a good home, have never really known what temptation
-is,--how many such persons are there who might learn a startling lesson
-from this fallen woman, whom they seem to consider themselves
-religiously bound to despise and neglect! I have a great dread of these
-severely virtuous people, who are so superior to all human frailty that
-they cannot afford a kind word to those who have not the good fortune to
-be impeccable. But we all of us, I fear, need to be reminded of Burns's
-lines--
-
-    "What's done we partly may compute,
-    But know not what's resisted."
-
-If we thought of this, keeping our own weaknesses in view, which of us
-would not shrink from judging uncharitably, or casting the first stone
-at an erring fellow-creature? Which of us would dare to condemn the poor
-girl who preserved so much of the spirit of honesty in her degradation,
-and to commend the negative virtues which make up so many of what the
-world calls good lives?
-
-
-
-ANTWERP AND BRUSSELS
-
-
-It is a very pleasant thing to get one's passport _vis�d_ (even though a
-pretty good fee is demanded for it,) and to make preparations for
-leaving London, at almost any time; but it is particularly so when the
-weather has been doing its worst for a fortnight, and the atmosphere is
-so "thick and slab" that to compare it to pea-soup would be doing that
-excellent compound a great injustice. It is very pleasant to think of
-getting out from under that blanket of smoke and fog, and escaping to a
-land where the sun shines occasionally, and where the manners of the
-people make a perpetual sunshine which renders you independent of the
-weather. If there ever was a day to which that expressive old Saxon
-epithet _nasty_ might be justly applied, it was the one on which I left
-the greasy pavements of London, and (after a contest with a cabman,
-which ended, as such things generally do, in a compromise) found myself
-on board one of the fast-sailing packets of the General Steam Navigation
-Company, at St. Catharine's Wharf, just below the esplanade of the
-Tower. The beautiful banks of the river below the city, the fine pile of
-buildings, and the rich foliage of the park at Greenwich, seemed to have
-laid aside their charms, and shrouded themselves in mourning for the
-death of sunshine. The steamer was larger than most of those which ply
-in the Channel; but the crowded cabins and diminutive state-rooms made
-me think with envy of the passengers from New York to Fall River that
-afternoon. And there was a want of attention to those details which
-would have improved the appearance of the boat greatly--which made me
-wish that her commander might have served his apprenticeship on Long
-Island Sound or on the Hudson.
-
-The company was composed of about the usual admixture of English and
-foreign beauty and manliness; and the English, French, Dutch, and German
-languages were confounded in such a manner as to bring to mind the
-doings of the committee on the construction of public works recorded in
-Genesis. Among the crowd of young Cockneys in jockeyish-looking caps,
-with travelling pouches strapped to their sides, there was a rather tall
-gentleman in a clerical suit, with his throat covered with the usual
-white bandages. His highly respectable look, and the eminently
-"evangelical" expression of the corners of his mouth, made me feel quite
-sure that I had found a character. He had three little boys with him;
-and as far as appearance went, he might have been Dickens's model for
-Dr. Blimber, (the principal of that celebrated academy where they had
-mental green peas and intellectual asparagus all the year round,) for he
-had the eye of a pedagogue "to threaten and command," and his fixed look
-was the one which my old schoolmaster's face wore when he turned up his
-wristbands, and, taking his ruler, said, "I am very sorry, Andrew; but
-you know that it is for your good." His conversation savoured so
-strongly of the dictionary, that, even if I had been blind, I should
-have said that the speaker had spent years in correcting the
-compositions of ingenuous youth. I shall not forget his look of wonder
-when he asked one of the engineers what was the matter with a dog that
-was yelping about the deck, and received for a reply that he tumbled off
-the quarter deck, and was _strained in the garret_. However, I enjoyed
-two or three hours' conversation with him very much--if it could be
-called conversation when he did all the talking.
-
-Towards evening, when we found ourselves in the open sea, the
-south-westerly swell rolled up finely from the Goodwin Sands, and
-produced a scene to remind a disinterested spectator of Punch's touching
-pictorial representation of the commencement of the continental tour of
-Messrs. Brown, Jones, and Robinson. I soon perceived that a conspicuous
-collection of white bowls, which adorned the main saloon, was not a mere
-matter of ornament. The amount of medicine for the prevention or cure of
-seasickness, which was taken by my fellow-voyagers from flat bottles
-covered with wicker-work, would have astonished the most ardent upholder
-of the old allopathic practice. But all the pitching and rolling of the
-steamer, and the varied occupations of the passengers, did not interfere
-with my repose. I slept as soundly in my narrow accommodations as if I
-had been within hearing of the rattling of the omnibuses of my native
-city.
-
-The next morning I was out in good season; and though I do not consider
-myself either "remote," "unfriended," "melancholy," or "slow," I found
-myself upon the "lazy Scheldt," with Antwerp's heaven-kissing spire
-climbing up the hazy perspective. The banks of the Scheldt are not very
-picturesque; indeed, a person of the strongest poetical susceptibilities
-might approach Flanders without the slightest apprehension of an attack
-of his weakness. I could not help congratulating myself, though, on
-having been spared to see the country which was immortalized by the
-profanity of a great military force.
-
-We Americans usually consider ourselves up to the times, and are prone
-to sneer at Russia for being eleven days behind the age; but we do not
-yet "beat the Dutch" in progress, for they are half an hour in advance,
-as I found, very soon after landing, that all the church clocks, with a
-great deal of formality and precision, struck nine, when the hands only
-pointed to half past eight; and I noted a similar phenomenon while I was
-taking breakfast an hour after. Antwerp is a beautiful old city, and its
-quiet streets are very pleasant, after the tumult and roar of London;
-but--there is one drawback--it is too scrupulously clean. I almost
-feared to walk about, lest I should unknowingly do some damage; and
-every door-handle and bell-pull had a most unhospitable polish, which
-seemed to say with the placards in the Crystal Palace, "Please not to
-handle." Cleanliness is a great virtue; but when it is carried to such
-an extent that you cannot find your books and papers which you left
-carefully arranged yesterday on your table,--when it gets to be a
-monomania with man or woman,--it becomes a bore. How strangely the first
-two or three hours in a Dutch town strike a stranger!--the odd,
-high-gabled houses, the queer head-dresses, (graceful because of their
-very ungracefulness,) the wooden shoes, and the language, which sounds
-like English spoken by a toothless person. But one very soon gets
-accustomed to it. It is like being in an Oriental city, where the great
-variety of costumes and languages, and the different manners of the
-people, make up an _ensemble_ which a stranger thinks will be a lasting
-novelty; but on his second day he finds himself taking about as much
-notice of a Persian caravan as he would of a Canton Street or Sixth
-Avenue omnibus.
-
-I might here indulge in a little harmless enthusiasm about this grand
-old cathedral of Antwerp. I might talk about the "long-drawn aisle and
-fretted vault," and give an elaborate description of it,--its enormous
-dimensions and artistic glories,--if I did not know that any reader who
-desires such things can find them set down with greater exactness than
-becomes me, in any of the guide books for Belgium. I spent the greater
-proportion of my waking hours in Antwerp under the solemn arches of that
-majestic old church. I wonder, shall we ever see any thing in America to
-remind us even faintly of the glories of Antwerp, Cologne, Rouen,
-Amiens, York, or Milan? I fear not. The ages that built those glorious
-piles thought less of fat dividends than this boastful nineteenth
-century of ours, and their religion was not the mere
-one-day-out-of-seven affair that the improved Christianity of to-day is.
-The architects who conceived and executed those marvels of sublimity
-never troubled themselves with our popular query, "Will it pay?" any
-more than Dante interrupted the inspiration of his _Paradiso_, or
-Beethoven the linked harmony of his matchless symphonies, with their
-solicitude about the amount of their copyright. No; their work inspired
-them, and while it reflected their genius, it imparted to them something
-of its own divine dignity. Their art became religion, and its laborious
-processes acts of the most fervent devotion. But we have reformed all
-that, and now inspiration has to give way to considerations of the
-greatest number of "sittings," that can possibly be provided, and if the
-expenses of the sacred enterprise can be lessened by contriving
-accommodation for shops or storage in the basement, who does not
-rejoice? There are too many churches nowadays built upon the foundation
-of the _profits_, leaving the apostles entirely out of the question.
-
-But while I lament our want of those wonderful constructions whose very
-stones seem to have grown consciously into forms of beauty, I must
-record my satisfaction at the improvement in architectural taste which
-is visible in most of our cities at home. If we must have banks, and
-railway stations, and shops, it is some compensation to have them made
-pleasant to our sight. Buildings are the books that every body
-unconsciously reads; and if they are a libel on the laws of
-architecture, they will surely vitiate in time the taste of those who
-become familiarized to their deformity. Dr. Johnson said, that "if a
-man's hands were dirty, his thoughts would be dirty"; and it may be
-declared, with much more reason, that those who are obliged to look, day
-after day, at ungraceful, mean, and unsubstantial objects, lose, by
-degrees, their sense of the beautiful and the harmonious, and set forth,
-in the poverty of their minds, the meanness of their surroundings.
-
-On one account I have again and again blessed the star that guided me to
-Antwerp,--that is, for the pleasure afforded me by its treasures of art.
-I have, in times past, fed fat my appetite for the beautiful in the
-galleries of Italy, and therefore counted but little on the contents of
-the museum and churches of this ancient city. Do not be frightened,
-beloved reader; I am not going to launch out into the muddy stream of
-artistic criticism. I despise most of that which passes current under
-that dignified name, as heartily as you do. Even the laurels of Mr.
-Ruskin cannot rob me of a moment's repose. I cannot if I would, nor
-would I if I could, talk learnedly about pictures. So I can safely
-promise not to bore you with any "breadth of colouring," and to keep
-very "shady" about _chiaro 'scuro_. I only wish to say that he who has
-never been in Antwerp does not know who Rubens was. He may know that an
-industrious painter of that name once lived, and painted (as I used to
-think, judging from most of his works that I had seen elsewhere) a
-variety of fat, flaxen-haired women; but of Rubens, the great master,
-the painter of the Crucifixion, and the Descent from the Cross, he is as
-ignorant as a fourth-form boy in the public schools of Patagonia. It is
-worth a month of seasick voyaging to see the works of Rubens and Vandyck
-which Antwerp possesses; and the only regret connected with my visit
-there has been, that I could not give more days to the study of them
-than I could hours.
-
-It is but fifteen miles from Antwerp to Mechlin, or Malines, (as the
-people here, in the depths of their ignorance, insist upon calling it,)
-and as a representative of a nation whose sole criterion is success, and
-whose list of the cardinal virtues is headed by Prosperity, I felt that
-it would be a grievous sin of omission for me not to stop and visit that
-thriving old town. It did not require much time to walk through its
-nice, quiet streets, and look at the pictures and wood carvings in its
-venerable churches. The white-capped and bright-eyed lace-makers sat in
-windows and doorways, their busy fingers forming fabrics, the sight of
-which would kindle the fire of covetousness in any female heart. Three
-hours in Mechlin sufficed to make me about as well acquainted with it as
-if I had daily waked up its echoes with the creaking of my shoes, until
-their thick soles were worn out past all hope of tapping. Selecting one
-of the numerous railways that branch out from Mechlin, like the reins
-from the hand of a popular circus rider in his favourite
-"six-horse-act," the "Courier of St. Petersburg," I took a ticket for
-Brussels, and soon found myself spinning along over these fertile
-plains, whose joyous verdure I had not sufficient time to appreciate
-before I found myself in the capital of Belgium.
-
-And what a charming place this city of lace and carpets is! Clean as a
-parlour, not a speck nor a stain to be seen any where, with less of
-Dutch stiffness and more of French ease, so that you do not feel so much
-like an intruder as in most other strange cities. Brussels is a kind of
-vestibule to Paris; its streets, its shops, its public edifices are all
-reflections in miniature of those of the French metropolis. It has long
-seemed to me so natural a preparation for the meridian splendours of
-Paris, that to go thither in any other way than through Brussels, is as
-if you should enter a saloon by a back window, rather than through the
-legitimate front door. In one respect I prefer Brussels to Paris; it is
-smaller, and your mind takes it all in at once. In the French capital,
-its very vastness bewilders you. You are in the condition of the
-gentleman whose wife was so fat that when he wished to embrace her, he
-was obliged to make two actions of the feat, and use a bit of chalk to
-insure the proper distribution of his caress. But in Brussels every
-thing is so harmoniously and compactly combined, that you can enjoy it
-all at once. How does one's mind treasure up his rambles through these
-fair streets and gay arcades, his leisurely walks on these spacious
-boulevards, or under the dense shade of this lovely park, his musings in
-this fine old church of Ste. Gudule, whose gorgeous windows symbolize
-the heavenly bow, and whose air of devotion is eloquent of the undying
-hope which abides within its consecrated precincts! How one looks back
-years after leaving Brussels, and conjures up, in his memory, its public
-monuments, from that exceedingly diminutive and peculiar statue near the
-H�tel de Ville, which has pursued its useful and ornamental career for
-so many centuries, to the heroic equestrian figure of Godfrey of
-Bouillon, in the Place Royale! How vividly does one remember the old
-Gothic hall, which has remained unchanged during the many years that
-have passed since the Emperor Charles V. there laid down the burden of
-his power, and exchanged the throne for the cloister.
-
-One of the most delightful recollections of my term of residence in
-Brussels, is of a bright summer day, when I made an excursion to the
-field of Waterloo. Some Englishmen have established a line of coaches
-for the purpose--real old fashioned coaches, with a driver and a guard,
-which latter functionary performed Yankee Doodle most admirably on his
-melodious horn as we rattled out of town. The roadside views cannot have
-changed much since the night when the pavement shook beneath the heavy
-artillery and thundering tramp of Wellington's army. The forest of
-Soignies (or, to use its poetical name, Arden) looked as it might have
-looked before it was immortalized by a Tacitus and a Shakspeare; and its
-fresh foliage was "dewy with Nature's tear-drops," over our two coach
-loads of pleasure-seekers, just as Byron describes it to have been over
-the "unreturning brave," who passed beneath it forty years ago. Our
-party was shown over the memorable field by an old English sergeant who
-was in the battle; a fine bluff old fellow, and a gentleman withal, who,
-though his head was white, had all the enthusiasm of a young soldier. It
-was the most interesting trip of the kind that I ever made, far
-surpassing my expectations, for the ground remains literally _in statu
-quo ante bellum_. No commissioners of highways have interfered with its
-historical boundaries. It remains, for the most part, under cultivation,
-as it was before it became famous, and the grain grows, perhaps, more
-luxuriantly for the chivalric blood once shed there. There they are,
-unchanged, those localities which seem to so many mere inventions of the
-historian, Mont St. Jean, the farm of La Haye Sainte, the ch�teau of
-Hougoumont, the orchard with its low brick wall, over which the chosen
-troops of France and England fought hand to hand, and the spot where the
-last great charge was made, and the spell which held Europe in awe of
-the name of Napoleon, and made that name his country's watchword, and
-the synonyme of victory, was broken forever. Perhaps I err in saying
-forever, for France is certainly not unmindful of that name even now.
-That showery afternoon, when the great conqueror saw his veterans,
-against whom scores of battle fields, and all the terrors of a Russian
-campaign, proved powerless, cut to pieces and dispersed by a superior
-force, to which the news of coming re�nforcements gave new strength and
-courage,--that very afternoon a boy, without a thought of battles or
-their consequences, was playing in the quiet grounds of the ch�teau of
-Malmaison. If Napoleon could have looked forward forty years, if he
-could have foreseen the romantic career of that child, and followed him
-through thirty years of exile, imprisonment, and discouragement, until
-he saw him re�stablish the empire which was then overthrown, and place
-France on a higher pinnacle of power than she ever knew before, how
-comparatively insignificant would have seemed to him the consequences of
-that last desperate charge! If he could have seen that it was reserved
-to his nephew, the grandchild of his divorced but faithful Josephine, to
-avenge Waterloo by an alliance more fatal to England's prestige than any
-invasion could be, and that the armies which had that day borne such
-bloody witness to their unconquerable daring, would forty years later be
-united to resist the encroachments of the power which first checked him
-in his career of victory, he would have had something to think of during
-that gloomy night besides the sad events that had wrought such a fearful
-change in his condition.
-
-I returned to Brussels in the afternoon, meditating on the scenes I had
-visited, and repeating the five stanzas of Childe Harold in which Byron
-has commemorated the battle of Waterloo. In the evening I read, with new
-pleasure, Thackeray's graphic Waterloo chapter in Vanity Fair, and
-dreamed all night of falling empires and "garments rolled in blood." And
-now I turn my face towards Italy.
-
-
-
-GENOA AND FLORENCE
-
-
-It is a happy day in every one's life when he commences his journey into
-Italy. That glorious land, "rich with the spoils of time" above all
-others, endeared to every heart possessing any sense of the beautiful in
-poetry and art, or of the heroic in history, rises up before him as it
-was wont to do in the days of his youth, when Childe Harold's glowing
-numbers gave a tone of enthusiasm to his every thought, and filled him
-with longings, for the realization of which he hardly dared to hope. For
-the time, the commonest actions of the traveller seem to catch something
-of the indescribable charm of the land to which he is journeying. The
-ticketing of luggage and the securing of a berth on board a
-steamer--occupations which are not ordinarily considered particularly
-agreeable--become invested with an attractiveness that makes him wonder
-how he could ever have found them irksome. If he approaches Italy by
-land from France or Switzerland, with what curiosity does he study the
-varied features of the Piedmontese landscape! He recognizes the fertile
-fields which he read about in Tacitus years ago, and endeavours to find
-in the strange dialect which he hears spoken in the brief stops of the
-diligence to change horses, something to remind him even faintly of the
-melodious tongue with whose accents Grisi and Bosio had long since made
-him familiar. Meanwhile his imagination is not idle, and his mind is
-filled with historical pictures drawn from the classical pages which he
-once found any thing but entertaining. Though he may be fresh from the
-cloudless atmosphere of fair Provence, he fancies that the sky is bluer
-and the air more pure than he ever saw before.
-
-It is a great advantage to enter Italy from the sea. In this way you
-perceive more clearly the national characteristics, and enter at once
-into the Italian way of life. You avoid in this way that gradual change
-from one pure nationality to another, which is eminently unsatisfactory.
-You do not weary yourself with the mixed population and customs of those
-border towns which bear about the same relation to Italy that Boulogne,
-with its multitude of English residents, bears to France. It was my good
-fortune when I first visited Italy, years ago, to make the voyage from
-America direct to the proud city of Genoa. Fifty-five weary days passed
-away before the end of the voyage was reached. Twenty-six of those days
-were spent in battling with a terrible north-easter, before whose might
-many a better craft than the one I was in went down into the insatiable
-depths. My Italian anticipations kept me up through all the
-cheerlessness of that time. The stormy sky, the wet, the cold, and all
-the discomfort could not keep from my mind's eye the vineyards, palaces,
-churches, and majestic ruins which made up the Italy I had looked
-forward to from childhood. My first sight of that romantic land did
-somewhat shock, I must acknowledge, my preconceived notions. I was
-called on deck early one December morning to see the land which is
-associated in most minds with perpetual sunshine. Facing a biting,
-northerly blast, I saw the maritime range of the Alps covered with snow
-and looking as relentless as arctic icebergs. My disappointment was
-forgotten, however, two mornings after, when Genoa, wearing "the beauty
-of the morning," lay before our weather-beaten bark. It was something to
-remember to my dying day--that approach to the city of palaces.
-Surrounded by its amphitheatre of hills crested on every side with heavy
-fortifications, its palaces, and towers, and domes, and terraced gardens
-rising apparently from the very edge of that tideless sea, there sat
-Genoa, surpassing in its splendour the wildest imaginings of my youth. I
-shall never forget the thrill that ran through every fibre of my frame,
-when the sun rose above those embattled ridges, and poured his flood of
-saffron glory over the whole wonderful scene, and the bells from a
-hundred churches and convents rang out as cheerily as if the sunbeams
-made them musical, like the statue in the ancient fable, and there was
-no further need of bell ropes. The astonishment of Aladdin when he
-rubbed the lamp and saw the effects of that operation could not have
-equalled mine, when I saw Genoa put on the light and life of day like a
-garment. It was like a scene in a theatrical pageant, or one of the
-brilliant changes in a great firework, so instantaneous was the
-transition from the subdued light and calmness of early morning to the
-activity and golden light of day. All the discomfort of the eight
-preceding weeks was forgotten in the exultation of that moment. I had
-found the Italy of my young dreams, and my happiness was complete.
-
-This time, however, I entered Italy from the north. I pass by clean,
-prosperous-looking Milan, with its elegant churches, and its
-white-coated Austrian soldiers standing guard in every public place. I
-have not a word of lament to utter at seeing a stranger force sustaining
-social order there. It is better that it should be sustained by a
-despotism far more cruel than that of Austria, than to become the prey
-of that sanguinary anarchy which is dignified in Europe with the name of
-republicanism. The most absolute of all absolute monarchies is to be
-preferred to the best government that could possibly be built upon such
-a foundation as Mazzini's stiletto. Far better is the severest military
-despotism than the irresponsible tyranny of those who deny the first
-principles of government and common morality, and who seem to consider
-assassination the chief of virtues and the most heroic of actions. I
-pass by that magnificent cathedral, with its thousands of pinnacles and
-shining statues piercing the clear atmosphere like the peaks of a
-stupendous iceberg, and its subterranean chapel, glittering with
-precious metals and jewels, where, in a crystal shrine, repose the
-relics of the great St. Charles, and the lamps of gold and silver burn
-unceasingly, and symbolize the shining virtues of the self-forgetful
-successor of St. Ambrose, and the glowing gratitude of the faithful
-Milanese for his devotion to the welfare of their forefathers.
-
-I lingered among the attractions of Genoa for a few days. I enjoy not
-only those magnificent palaces with their spacious quadrangles, broad
-staircases, and sculptured fa�ades, but those narrow, winding streets of
-which three quarters of the city are composed--so narrow indeed that a
-carriage never is seen in them, and a donkey, pannier-laden, after the
-manner of Ali Baba's faithful animal, compels you to keep very close to
-the buildings. Genoa is the very reverse of Philadelphia. Its streets
-are as narrow and crooked as those of Philadelphia are broad and
-straight. The Quaker City was always a wearisome place to me. Its
-rectangular avenues--so wide that they afford no protection from the
-wintry blast nor shelter from the canicular sunshine, and as
-interminable as a tale in a weekly newspaper--tire me out. They make me
-long for something more social and natural than their straight lines.
-Man is a gregarious animal. It is his nature to snuggify himself. But
-the Quaker affects a contempt for snugness, and includes Hogarth's line
-of beauty among the worldly vanities which his religion obliges him to
-shun. Every time I think of Philadelphia my disrespect for the science
-of geometry is increased, and I find myself more and more inclined to
-believe the most unkind things that Lord Macaulay can say about Mr.
-Penn, its founder. Cherishing such sentiments as these, is it wonderful
-that I find Genoa a pleasant city? I enjoy its gay port, its thronged
-market place, its sumptuous churches, with gilded vaults and panels, and
-checkered exteriors, its well-dressed people, from the bluff coachman,
-who laughed at my attempts to understand the Genoese dialect, to the
-devout feminines in their graceful white veils, which give the whole
-city a peculiarly festive and nuptial appearance: but it must be
-acknowledged, that the up-and-down-stairsy feature of the town is not
-grateful to my gouty feet.
-
-I must not weary you, dear reader, with any attempts to describe the
-delightful four days' journey from Genoa to Florence, in a _vettura_.
-The Cornice road, with its steep cliffs or trim villas on one side, and
-the clear blue Mediterranean on the other,--those pleasant old towns,
-pervaded with an air of respectable antiquity, Chiavari, Sestri,
-Sarzana, Spezzia, with its beautiful gulf, whose waters looked so pure
-and calm that it was difficult to think that they could ever have
-swallowed poor Percy Shelley, and robbed English literature of one of
-its brightest ornaments,--Pietra Santa, Carrara, with its queer old
-church, its quarries, its doorsteps and window-sills of milk-white
-marble, and its throng of artists,--the little marble city of Massa
-Ducale, nestling among the mountains,--the vast groves of olives, whose
-ash-coloured leaves made noontide seem like twilight,--all these things
-would require a great expenditure of time and rhetoric, and therefore I
-will not even allude to them.
-
-Neither will I tire you with any reference to my brief sojourn in Pisa.
-I will not tell how delightful it was to perambulate the clean streets
-of that peaceful city,--how I enjoyed the view from the bridges, the
-ancient towers and domes, and the lofty palaces, whose fair fronts are
-mirrored in the soft-flowing Arno. I will not attempt to describe the
-enchantment produced by that noble architectural group,--the Cathedral,
-the Baptistery, the Campanile, and the Campo Santo,--nor the joy I felt
-on making a closer acquaintance with that graceful tower, whose
-inexplicable dereliction from the perfect uprightness which is
-inculcated as a primary duty in all similar structures, was made
-familiar to me at an early age, through the medium of a remarkable
-wood-cut in my school Geography. I will not tell how I fatigued my sense
-with the forms of beauty with which that glorious church is filled,--how
-refreshing its holy quiet and subdued light were to my travel-worn
-spirit,--nor how the majestic cloisters of the Campo Santo, with their
-delicate traceries, antique frescoes, and constantly varying light and
-shade, elevated and purified my heart of the sordid spirit of this mean,
-practical age, until I felt that to live amid such scenes, and to be
-buried at last in the earth of Palestine, under the shade of those
-solemn arches, was the only worthy object of human ambition.
-
-I entered Florence late in the afternoon, under cover of a fog that
-would have done credit to London in the depths of its November
-nebulosity. It was rather an unbecoming dress for the style of beauty of
-the Tuscan capital,--that mantle of chill vapour,--but it was worn but a
-few hours, and the sun rose the next morning in all his legitimate
-splendour, and darted his rays through as clear and frosty an atmosphere
-as ever fell to the lot of even that favoured country. I have once or
-twice heard the epithet "beautiful" applied to this city; indeed, I will
-not be sure that I have not met with it in some book or other. It is, in
-fact, the only word that can be used with any propriety concerning this
-charming place. It is not vast like Rome, nor is the soul of its
-beholder saddened by the sight of mighty ruins, or burdened with the
-weight of thousands of years of heroic history. It does not possess the
-broad Bay of Naples, nor is it watched over by a stupendous volcano,
-smoking leisurely for want of some better occupation. But it lies in the
-valley of the Arno, one of the most harmonious and impressive works of
-art that the world has ever seen, surrounded by natural beauties that
-realize the most ecstatic dreams of poesy.
-
-_Firenze la bella!_ Who can look at her from any of the terraced hills
-that enclose her from the rude world, and deny her that title? That
-fertile plain which stretches from her very walls to the edge of the
-horizon--those picturesque hills, dotted with lovely villas--those
-orchards and vineyards, in their glory of gold and purple--that river,
-stealing noiselessly to the sea--and far away the hoary peaks of the
-Apennines, changing their hue with every hour of sunlight, and
-displaying their most gorgeous robes, in honour of the departing day,--I
-pity the man who can look upon them without a momentary feeling of
-inspiration. The view from Fiesole is consolation enough for a life of
-disappointment, and ought to make all future earthly trials seem as
-nothing to him who is permitted to enjoy it.
-
-And then, those domes and towers, so eloquent of the genius of Giotto
-and Brunelleschi and of the public spirit and earnest devotion of ages
-which modern ignorance stigmatizes as "dark,"--who can behold them
-without a thrill? The battlemented tower of the Palazzo Vecchio--which
-seems as if it had been hewn out of solid rock, rather than built up by
-the patient labour of the mason--looks down upon the peaceful city with
-a composure that seems almost intelligent, and makes you wonder whether
-it appeared the same when the signiory of Florence held their councils
-under its massive walls, and in those dark days when the tyrannous
-factions of Guelph and Ghibelline celebrated their bloody carnival. The
-graceful Campanile of the cathedral, with its coloured marbles, seems
-too much like a mantel ornament to be exposed to the changes of the
-weather. Amid the other domes and towers of the city rises the vast dome
-of the cathedral, the forerunner of that of St. Peter's, and almost its
-equal. It appears to be conscious of its superiority to the neighbouring
-architectural monuments, and merits Hallam's description--"an emblem of
-the Catholic hierarchy under its supreme head; like Rome itself,
-imposing, unbroken, unchangeable, radiating in equal expansion to every
-part of the earth, and directing its convergent curves to heaven."
-
-There is no city in the world so full of memories of the middle ages as
-Florence. Its very palaces, with their heavily barred basement windows,
-look as if they were built to stand a siege. Their sombre walls are in
-strong contrast with the bloom and sunshine which we naturally associate
-with the valley of the Arno. Their magnificent proportions and the
-massiveness of their construction oppress you with recollections of the
-warlike days in which they were erected. You wonder, as you stand in
-their courtyards, or perambulate the streets darkened by their
-overhanging cornices, what has become of all the cavaliers; and if a
-gentleman in "complete steel" should lift his visor to accost you, it
-would not startle you so much as to hear two English tourists with the
-inevitable red guide-books under their arms, conversing about the "Grand
-Juke." Wherever one may turn his steps in Florence, he meets with some
-object of beauty or historical interest; yet among all these charms and
-wonders there is one building upon which my eyes and mind are never
-tired of feeding. The Palazzo Riccardi, the cradle of the great Medici
-family, is not less impressive in its architecture than in its historic
-associations. Its black walls have a greater charm for me than the
-variegated marbles of the Duomo. It was built by the great Cosmo de'
-Medici, and was the home of that family of merchant princes in the most
-glorious period of its history, when a grateful people delighted to
-render to its members that homage which is equally honourable to "him
-that gives and him that takes." The genius of Michel Angelo and
-Donatello is impressed upon it. It was within those lofty halls that
-Cosmo and his grandson, Lorenzo the Magnificent, welcomed pontiffs and
-princes, and the illustrious but untitled nobility of literature and
-art, which was the boast of their age. The ancient glories of the
-majestic pile are kept in mind by an inscription which greets him who
-enters it with an exhortation to "reverence with gratitude the ancient
-mansion of the Medici, in which not merely so many illustrious men, but
-Wisdom herself abode--a house which was the nurse of revived learning."
-
-I wonder whether any one ever was tired of strolling about these old
-streets and squares. At my time of life, walking is not particularly
-agreeable, even if it be not interfered with by either of those foes to
-active exercise and grace of movement--rheumatism or gout; but I must
-acknowledge that I have found such pleasure in rambling through the
-familiar streets of this delightful city, that I have taken no note of
-bodily fatigue, and have forgotten the crutch or cane which is my
-inseparable companion. It is all the same to me whether I walk about the
-streets, or loiter in the Boboli Gardens, or listen to the delicious
-music of the full military band that plays daily for an hour before
-sunset under the shade of the Cascine. They all afford me a kind of
-vague pleasure--very much that sort of satisfaction which springs from
-hearing a cat purr, or from watching the fitful blaze of a wood fire. I
-have no fondness for jewelry, and the great Kohinoor diamond and all the
-crown jewels of Russia could not invest respectable uselessness or
-aristocratic vice with any beauty for me, nor add any charm to a bright,
-intelligent face, such as lights up many a home in this selfish world;
-yet I have spent hours in looking at the stalls on the Jeweller's
-Bridge, and enjoying the covetous looks bestowed by so many passers-by
-upon their glittering contents.
-
-There are some excellent bookstalls here, and I have renewed the joys of
-past years and the memory of Paternoster Row, Fleet Street, Holborn, the
-Strand, and of the quays of Paris, in the inspection of their stock. I
-have a strong affection for bookstalls, and had much rather buy a book
-at one than in a shop. In the first place it would be cheaper; in the
-second place it would be a little worn, and I should become the
-possessor, not only of the volume, but of its associations with other
-lovers of books who turned over its leaves, reading here and there,
-envying the future purchaser. For books, so long as they are well used,
-increase in value as they grow in age. Sir William Jones's assertion,
-that "the best monument that can be erected to a man of literary talents
-is a good edition of his works," is not to be denied; but who would
-think of reading, for the enjoyment of the thing, a modern edition of
-Sir Thomas Browne, or Izaak Walton? Who would wish to read Hamlet in a
-volume redolent of printers' ink and binders' glue? Who would read a
-clean new copy of Robinson Crusoe when he might have one that had seen
-service in a circulating library, or had been well thumbed by several
-generations of adventure-loving boys? A book is to me like a hat or
-coat--a very uncomfortable thing until the newness has been worn off.
-
-It is in the churches of Florence that my enthusiasm reaches its
-meridian. This solemn cathedral, with its richly dight windows,--whose
-warm hues must have been stolen from the palette of Titian or
-Tintoretto,--makes me forget all earthly hopes and sorrows; and the
-majestic Santa Maria Novella and San Lorenzo, with their peaceful
-cloisters and treasures of literature and art, appeal strongly to my
-religious sensibilities, while they completely satisfy my taste. And
-then Santa Croce, solemn, not merely as a place of worship, but as the
-repository of the dust of many of those illustrious men whose genius
-illumined the world during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries! I
-have enjoyed Santa Croce particularly, because I have seen more of the
-religious life of the Florentine people there. For more than a week I
-have been there every evening, just after sunset, when the only light
-that illuminated those ancient arches came from the high altar, which
-appeared like a vision of heaven in the midst of the thickest darkness
-of earth. The nave and aisles of that vast edifice were thronged: men,
-women, and children were kneeling upon that pavement which contains the
-records of so much goodness and greatness. I have heard great choirs; I
-have been thrilled by the wondrous power of voices that seemed too much
-like those of angels for poor humanity to listen to; but I have never
-before been so overwhelmed as by the hearty music of that vast
-multitude.
-
-The galleries of art need another volume and an abler pen than mine.
-Free to the people as the sunlight and the shade of the public gardens,
-they make an American blush to think of the niggardly spirit that
-prevails in the country which he would fain persuade himself is the most
-favoured of all earthly abodes. The Academy, the Pitti, the Uffizi, make
-you think that life is too short, and that art is indeed long. You wish
-that you had more months to devote to them than you have days. Great as
-is the pleasure that I have found in them, I have found myself lingering
-more fondly in the cloisters and corridors of San Marco than amid the
-wonderful works that deck the walls of the palaces. The pencil of Beato
-Angelico has consecrated that dead plastering, and given to it a divine
-life. The rapt devotion and holy tranquillity of those faces reflect the
-glory of the eternal world. I ask no more convincing proof of the
-immortality of the soul, than the fact that those forms of beauty and
-holiness were conceived and executed by a mortal.
-
-It is enough to excite the indignation of any reflective Englishman or
-American to visit Florence, and compare--or perhaps I ought rather to
-say contrast--the facts which force themselves upon his attention, with
-the prejudices implanted in his mind by early education. Surely, he has
-a right to be astonished, and may be excused if he indulges in a little
-honest anger, when he looks for the first time at the masterpieces of
-art which had their origin in those ages which he has been taught to
-consider a period of ignorance and barbarism. He certainly obtains a new
-idea of the "barbarism" of the middle ages, when he visits the
-benevolent institutions which they have bequeathed to our times, and
-when he sees the admirable working of the _Compagnia della
-Misericordia_, which unites all classes of society, from the grand duke
-to his humblest subject, in the bonds of religion and philanthropy. He
-may be pardoned, too, if he comes to the conclusion that the liberal
-arts were not entirely neglected in the age that produced a Dante and a
-Petrarch, a Cimabue and a Giotto,--not to mention a host of other names,
-which may not shine so brightly as these, but are alike superior to
-temporal accidents,--and he cannot be considered unreasonable if he
-refuses to believe that the ages which witnessed the establishment of
-universities like those of Paris, Oxford, Cambridge, Prague, Bologna,
-Salamanca, Vienna, Ferrara, Ingolstadt, Louvain, Leipsic, &c., were
-quite so deeply sunk in darkness, or were held in an intellectual
-bondage so utterly hopeless, as the eulogists of the nineteenth century
-would persuade him. The monuments of learning, art, and benevolence,
-with which Florence is filled, will convince any thinking man that those
-who speak of the times I have alluded to as the "dark ages," mean
-thereby the ages concerning which they are in the dark; and admirably
-exemplify in their own shallow self-sufficiency the ignorance they would
-impute to the ages when learning and all good arts were the handmaids of
-religion.
-
-
-
-ANCIENT ROME
-
-
-The moment in which one takes his first look at Rome is an epoch in his
-life. Even if his education should have been a most illiberal one, and
-he himself should be as strenuous an opponent of pontifical prerogatives
-as John of Leyden or Dr. Dowling, he is sure to be, for the time, imbued
-in some measure with the feelings of a pilgrim. The sight of that city
-which has exercised such a mighty influence on the world, almost from
-its very foundation, fills his mind with "troublings of strange joy."
-His vague notions of ancient history assume a more distinct form. The
-twelve C�sars pass before his mind's eye like the spectral kings before
-the Scotch usurper. The classics which he used to neglect so shamefully
-at school, the historical lessons which he thought so dull, have been
-endowed with life and interest by that one glance of his astonished eye.
-But if he loved the classics in his youth,--if the wanderings of �neas
-and the woes of Dido charmed instead of tiring him,--if "Livy's pictured
-page," the polished periods of Sallust and Tacitus, and the mighty
-eloquence of Cicero, were to him a mine of delight rather than a
-task,--how does his eye glisten with renewed youth, and his heart swell
-as his old boyish enthusiasm is once more kindled within it! He feels
-that he has reached the goal to which his heart and mind were turned
-during his purest and most unselfish years; and if he were as unswayed
-by human respect as he was then, he would kneel down with the
-travel-worn pilgrims by the wayside to give utterance to his gratitude,
-and to greet the queen city of the world: _Salve, magna parens!_
-
-I shall not easily forget the cloudless afternoon when I first took that
-long, wearisome ride from Civita Vecchia to Rome. There was no railway
-in those days, as there is now, and the diligence was of so rude and
-uncomfortable a make that I half suspected it to be the one upon the top
-of which Hannibal is said to have crossed the Alps, (_summ�
-diligenti�_.) I shared the _coup�_ with two other sufferers, and was,
-like them, so fatigued that it seemed as if a celestial vision would be
-powerless to make me forgetful of my aching joints, when (after a
-laborious pull up a hill which might be included among the "everlasting
-hills" spoken of in holy writ) our long-booted postilion turned his
-expressive face towards us, and banished all our weariness by
-exclaiming, as he pointed into the blue distance with his short
-whip-handle, "_Ecco! Roma! San Pietro!_"
-
-A single glance of the eye served to overcome all our fatigue. There lay
-the world's capital, crowned by the mighty dome of the Vatican basilica,
-and we were every moment drawing nearer to it. It was evening before we
-found ourselves staring at those dark walls which have withstood so many
-sieges, and heard the welcome demand for passports, which informed us
-that we had reached the gate of the city.
-
-I was really in Rome,--I was in that city hallowed by so many classical,
-historical, and sacred associations,--and it all seemed to me like a
-confused dream. Twice, before the diligence had gone a hundred yards
-inside the gate, I had pinched myself to ascertain whether I was really
-awake; and even after I passed through the lofty colonnade of St.
-Peter's, and had gazed at the front of the church and the vast square
-which art has made familiar to every one, and had seen the fountains
-with the moonbeams flashing in their silvery spray, I feared lest
-something should interrupt my dream, and I should wake to find myself in
-my snug bedroom at home, wondering at the weakness which allowed me to
-be seduced into the eating of a bit of cheese the evening before. It was
-not so, however; no disorganizing cheese had interfered with my
-digestion; it was no dream; and I was really in Rome. I slept soundly
-when I reached my hotel, for I felt sure that no hostile Brennus lay in
-wait to disturb the city's peace, and the grateful hardness of my bed
-convinced me that all the geese of the capital had not been killed, if
-the enemy should effect an entrance.
-
-There are few people who love Rome at first sight. The ruins, that bear
-witness to her grandeur in the days of her worldly supremacy, oppress
-you at first with an inexpressible sadness. The absence of any thing
-like the business enterprise and energy of this commercial age makes
-English and American people long at first for a little of the bustle and
-roar of Broadway and the Strand. The small paving stones, which make the
-feet of those who are unaccustomed to them ache severely, the brick and
-stone floors of the houses, and the lack of the little comforts of
-modern civilization, render Rome a wearisome place, until one has caught
-its spirit. Little does he think who for the first time gazes on those
-gray, mouldering walls, on which "dull time feeds like slow fire upon a
-hoary brand," or walks those streets in which the past and present are
-so strangely commingled,--little does he realize how dear those scenes
-will one day be to him. He cannot foresee the regret with which he will
-leave those things that seem too common and familiar to deserve
-attention, nor the glowing enthusiasm which their mention will inspire
-in after years; and he would smile incredulously if any one were to
-predict to him that his heart, in after times, will swell with homesick
-longings as he recalls the memory of that ancient city, and that he will
-one day salute it from afar as his second home.
-
-I make no claims to antiquarian knowledge; for I do not love antiquity
-for itself alone. It is only by force of association that antiquity has
-any charms for me. The pyramids of Egypt would awaken my respect, not so
-much by their age or size, as by the remembrance of the momentous scenes
-which have been enacted in their useless and ungraceful presence. Show
-me a scroll so ancient that human science can obtain no key to the
-mysteries locked up in the strange figures inscribed upon it, and you
-would move me but little. But place before me one of those manuscripts
-(filled with scholastic lore, instinct with classic eloquence, or
-luminous with the word of eternal life) which have come down to us from
-those nurseries of learning and piety, the monasteries of the middle
-ages, and you fill me with the intensest enthusiasm. There is food for
-the imagination hidden under those worm-eaten covers and brazen clasps.
-I see in those fair pages something more than the results of the patient
-toil which perpetuated those precious truths. From those carefully
-penned lines, and brilliant initial letters, the pale, thoughtful face
-of the transcriber looks upon me--his contempt of worldly ambition and
-sacrifice of human consolations are reflected there--and from the quiet
-of his austere cell, he seems to dart from his serene eyes a glance of
-patient reproach at the worldlier and more modern age which reaps the
-fruit of his labour, and repays him by slandering his character. Show me
-a building whose stupendous masonry seems the work of Titan hands, but
-whose history is lost in the twilight of the ages, so that no record
-remains of a time when it was any thing but an antique enigma, and its
-massive columns and Cyclopean proportions will not touch me so nearly as
-the stone in Florence where Dante used to stand and gaze upon that dome
-which Michel Angelo said he would not imitate, and could not excel.
-
-Feeling thus about antiquities, I need not say that those of Rome, so
-crowned with the most thrilling historical and personal associations,
-are not wanting in charms for me. Yet I do not claim to be an
-antiquarian. It is all one to me whether the column of Phocas be forty
-feet high or sixty,--whether a ruin on the Palatine that fascinates me
-by its richness and grandeur, was once a Temple of Minerva or of Jupiter
-Stator; or whether its foundations are of travertine or tufa. I abhor
-details. My enjoyment of a landscape would be at an end if I were called
-upon to count the mild-eyed cattle that contribute so much to its
-picturesqueness; and I have no wish to disturb my appreciation of the
-spirit of a place consecrated by ages of heroic history, by entertaining
-any of the learned conjectures of professional antiquarians. It is
-enough for me to know that I am standing on the spot where Romulus built
-his straw-thatched palace, and his irreverent brother leaped over the
-walls of the future mistress of the nations. Standing in the midst of
-the relics of the grandeur of imperial Rome, the whole of her wonderful
-history is constantly acting over again in my mind. The stern simplicity
-of those who laid the foundations of her greatness, the patriotic daring
-of those who extended her power, the wisdom of those who terminated
-civil strife by compelling the divided citizens to unite against a
-foreign foe, are all present to me. In that august place where Cicero
-pleaded, gazing upon that mount where captive kings did homage to the
-masters of the world, your mere antiquarian, with his pestilent theories
-and measurements, seems to me little better than a profaner. When I see
-such a one scratching about the base of some majestic column in the
-Forum (although I cannot but be grateful to those whose researches have
-developed the greatness of the imperial city,) I do long to interrupt
-him, and remind him that his "tread is on an empire's dust." I wish to
-recall him from the petty details in which he delights, and have him
-enjoy with me the grandeur and dignity of the whole scene.
-
-The triumphal arches,--the monuments of the cultivation of those remote
-ages, no less than of the power of the state which erected them,--the
-memorials of the luxury that paved the way to the decline of that
-power--all these things impress me with the thought of the long years
-that intervened between that splendour and the times when the seat of
-universal empire was inhabited only by shepherds and their flocks. It
-wearies me to think of the long centuries of human effort that were
-required to bring Rome to its culminating point of glory; and it affords
-me a melancholy kind of amusement to contrast the spirit of those who
-laid the deep and strong foundations of that prosperity and power, with
-that of some modern sages, to whom a hundred years are a respectable
-antiquity, and who seem to think that commercial enterprise and the will
-of a fickle populace form as secure a basis for a state as private
-virtue, and the principle of obedience to law. I know a country, yet in
-the first century of its national existence, full of hope and ambition,
-and possessing advantages such as never before fell to the lot of a
-young empire, but lacking in those powers which made Rome what she was.
-If that country, "the newest born of nations, the latest hope of
-mankind," which has so rapidly risen to a power surpassing in extent
-that of ancient Rome, and bears within itself the elements of the decay
-that ruined the old empire,--wealth, vice, corruption,--if she could
-overcome the vain notion that hers is an exceptional case, and that she
-is not subject to that great law of nature which makes personal virtue
-the corner-stone of national stability and the lack of that its bane,
-and could look calmly upon the remains of old Rome's grandeur, she might
-learn a great lesson. Contemplating the patient formation of that
-far-reaching dominion until it found its perfect consummation in the age
-of Augustus, (_Tant� molis erat Romanam condere gentem_,) she would see
-that true national greatness is not "the hasty product of a day"; that
-demagogues and adventurers, who have made politics their trade, are not
-the architects of that greatness; and that the parchment on which the
-constitution and laws of a country are written, might as well be used
-for drum-heads when reverence and obedience have departed from the
-hearts of its people.
-
-A gifted representative of a name which is classical in the history of
-the drama, some years ago gave to the world a journal of her residence
-in Rome. She called her volume "A Year of Consolation"--a title as true
-as it is poetical. Indeed I know of nothing more soothing to the spirit
-than a walk through these ancient streets, or an hour of meditation amid
-these remains of fallen majesty. To stand in the arena of the Coliseum
-in the noonday glare, or when those ponderous arches cast their
-lengthened shadows on the spot where the first Roman Christians were
-sacrificed to make a holiday for a brutalized populace,--to muse in the
-Pantheon, that changeless temple of a living, and monument of a dead,
-worship, and reflect on the many generations that have passed beneath
-its majestic portico from the days of Agrippa to our own,--to listen to
-the birds that sing amid the shrubbery which decks the stupendous arches
-of the Baths of Caracalla,--to be overwhelmed by the stillness of the
-Campagna while the eye is filled with that rolling verdure which seems
-in the hazy distance like the waves of the unquiet sea--what are all
-these things but consolations in the truest sense of the word? What is
-the bitterest grief that ever pierced a human heart through a long life
-of sorrows, compared to the dumb woe of that mighty desolation? What are
-our brief sufferings, when they are brought into the august presence of
-a mourner who has seen her hopes one by one taken from her, through
-centuries of war and rapine, neglect and silent decay?
-
-Among all of Rome's monuments of antiquity, there are few that impress
-me so strangely as those old Egyptian obelisks, the trophies of the
-victorious emperors, which the pontiffs have made to contribute so
-greatly to the adornment of their capital. It is almost impossible to
-turn a corner of one of the principal streets of the city without seeing
-one of these peculiar shafts that give a fine finish to the perspective.
-If their cold granite forms could speak, what a strange history they
-would reveal! They were witnesses of the achievements of a power which
-reached its noonday splendour centuries before the shepherd Faustulus
-took the foundling brothers into his cottage on the banks of the Tiber.
-The civilization of which they are the relics had declined before the
-Roman kings inaugurated that which afterwards reclaimed all Europe from
-the barbarians. Yet there they stand as grim and silent as if they had
-but yesterday been rescued from the captivity of the native quarry, and
-had never seen a nobler form than those of the dusty artisans who
-wrought them--as dull and unimpressible as some of the stupid tourists
-whom I see daily gazing upon these glorious monuments, and seeing only
-so much brick and stone.
-
-
-
-MODERN ROME
-
-
-Acknowledging as I do the charms which the Rome of antiquity possesses
-for me, it must still be confessed that the Rome of the present time
-enchants me with attractions scarcely less potent. Religion has
-consecrated many of the spots which history had made venerable, and thus
-added a new lustre to their associations. I turn from the broken columns
-and gray mouldering walls of old Rome to those fanes, "so ancient, yet
-so new," in which the piety of centuries has found its enduring
-expression. Beneath their sounding arches, by the mild light of the
-lamps that burn unceasingly around their shrines, who would vex his
-brain with antiquarian lore? We may notice that the pavement is worn
-away by the multitudes which have been drawn thither by curiosity or
-devotion; but we feel that Heaven's chronology is not an affair of
-months and years, and that Peter and Paul, Gregory and Leo, are not mere
-personages in a drama upon the first acts of which the curtain long
-since descended. Who thinks of antiquity while he inhabits that world of
-art which Rome encloses within her walls? Those are not the triumphs of
-a past age alone; they are the triumphs of to-day. The Apollo's bearing
-is not less manly, its step not less elastic, than it was in that remote
-age when its unknown sculptor threw aside his chisel and gazed upon his
-finished work. To-day's sunshine is not more clear and golden than that
-which glows in the landscapes of Claude Lorraine, though he who thus
-made the sunbeams his servants has been sleeping for nearly two
-centuries in the dusty vaults of _Trinita de' Monti_. Were Raphael's
-deathless faces more real while he was living than they are now? Were
-Guido's and Domenichino's triumphs more worthy of admiration while the
-paint was wet upon them? or were the achievements of that giant of art,
-Michel Angelo, ever more wonderful than now? No; these great works take
-no note of time, and confer upon the city which contains them something
-of their own immortality.
-
-I have heard people regret that so many of our artists should expatriate
-themselves, and spend their lives in Rome or Florence. To me, however,
-nothing seems more natural; and if I were a painter, or a sculptor, I
-feel certain that I should share the common weakness of the profession
-for a place of residence in harmony with my art. What sympathy can a
-true artist feel with a state of society in which he is regarded by nine
-people out of ten as a useless member, because he does not directly aid
-in the production of a given quantity of grain or of cloth? Every stroke
-of his brush, every movement of his hands in moulding the obedient clay,
-is a protest against the low, mean, materialistic views of life which
-prevail among us; and it is too much to ask of any man that he shall
-spend his days in trying to live peaceably in an enemy's camp. When figs
-and dates become common articles of food in Lapland, and the bleak sides
-of the hills of New Hampshire are adorned with the graceful palm tree
-and the luxuriant foliage of the tropics, you may expect art to flourish
-in a community whose god is commerce, and whose chief religious duty is
-money-getting.
-
-Truly the life of an artist in Rome is about as near the perfection of
-earthly happiness as is commonly vouchsafed to mortal man. The tone of
-society, and all the surroundings of the artist, are so congenial that
-no poverty nor privation can seriously interfere with them. The streets,
-with their architectural marvels, the trim gardens and picturesque
-cloisters of the old religious establishments, the magnificent villas of
-the neighbourhood of the city, and the vast, mysterious Campagna, with
-its gigantic aqueducts and its purple atmosphere, and those glorious
-galleries which at the same time gratify the taste of the artist and
-feed his ambition,--these are things which are as free to him as the
-blessed sunlight or the water that sparkles in the countless fountains
-of the Holy City. I do not wonder that artists who have lived any
-considerable time in Rome are discontented with the feverish
-restlessness of our American way of life, and that, after "stifling the
-mighty hunger of the heart" through two or three wearisome years in our
-western world, they turn to Rome as to a fond mother, upon whose breast
-they may find that peace which they had elsewhere sought in vain.
-
-The churches of Rome impress me in a way which I have never heard
-described by any other person. I do not speak of St. Peter's, (that
-"noblest temple that human skill ever raised to the honour of the
-Creator,") nor do I refer to those other magnificent basilicas in which
-the Christian glories of eighteen centuries sit enthroned. These have a
-dignity and majesty peculiarly their own, and the most thoughtless
-cannot tread their ancient pavement without being for the time subdued
-into awe and veneration. But the parish churches of Rome, the churches
-of the various religious orders and congregations, and those numerous
-little temples which are so thickly scattered through the city, attract
-me in manner especially fascinating. There is an air of cosiness and
-at-home-ativeness about them which cannot be found in the grander fanes.
-Some of them seem by their architectural finish to have been built in
-some fine street or square, and to have wandered off in search of quiet
-to their present secluded positions. It is beneath their arches that the
-Roman people may be seen. Before those altars you may see men, women,
-and children kneeling, their lips scarcely moving with the petitions
-which are heard only in another world. No intruding tourists,
-eye-glassed and Murrayed, interfere with their devotions, and the
-silence of the sacred place is unbroken, save by the rattling of a
-rosary, or at stated times by the swell of voices from the choir chapel.
-These are the places where the real power of the Catholic religion makes
-itself felt more unmistakably than in the grandest cathedrals, where
-every form and sound is eloquent of worship. I remember with pleasure
-that once in London, as I was passing through that miserable quarter
-which lies between Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace, I was
-attracted by the appearance of a number of people who were entering a
-narrow doorway. One or two stylish carriages, with crests upon their
-panels, and drivers in livery, stood before the dingy building which
-seemed to wear a mysterious air of semi-cleanliness in the midst of the
-general squalour. I followed the strange collection of the
-representatives of opulence and the extremest poverty through a long
-passage-way, and found myself in a large room which was tastefully
-fitted up for a Catholic chapel. The simplicity of the place, joined
-with its strictly ecclesiastical look, the excellent music, the crowded
-and devout congregation, and the almost breathless attention which was
-paid to the simple and persuasive eloquence of the preacher, who was
-formerly one of the chief ornaments of the established church, whose
-highest honours he had cast aside that he might minister more
-effectually to the poor and despised,--all these things astonished and
-delighted me. To see that church preserving, even in its hiddenness and
-poverty, its regard for the comeliness of God's worship, and adorning
-that humble chapel in a manner which showed that the spirit which
-erected the shrines of Westminster, Salisbury and York, had not died
-out, carried me back in spirit to the catacombs of Rome, where the early
-Christians left the abiding evidences of their zeal for the beauty of
-the house of God. I was at that time fresh from the continent, and my
-mind was occupied with the remembrance of the gorgeous churches of
-Italy. Yet, despite my recollection of those "forests of porphyry and
-marble," those altars of _lapis lazuli_, those tabernacles glittering
-with gold, and silver, and precious stones, and those mosaics and
-frescoes whose beauty and variety almost fatigue the sense of the
-beholder,--I must say that it gave me a new sense of the dignity and
-grandeur of the ancient Church, to see her in the midst of the poverty
-and obscurity to which she is now condemned in the land which once
-professed her faith, and was once thickly planted with those
-institutions of learning and charity which are the proudest monuments of
-her progress. A large ship, under full sail, running off before a
-pleasant breeze, is a beautiful sight; but it is by no means so grandly
-impressive as that of the same ship, under close canvas, gallantly
-riding out the merciless gale that carried destruction to every
-unseaworthy craft which came within its reach.
-
-I am not one of those who lament over the millions which have been
-expended upon the churches of Rome. I am _not_ inclined to follow the
-sordid principle of that apostle who is generally held up rather as a
-warning than an example, and say that it had been better if the sums
-which have been devoted to architectural ornament had been withheld and
-given to the poor. Religion has no need, it is true, of these visible
-splendours, any more than of set forms and modes of speech. For it is
-the heart that believes, and loves, and prays. But we, poor mortals, so
-enslaved by our senses, so susceptible to external appearances, need
-every thing that can inspire in us a respect for something higher than
-ourselves, or remind us of the glories of the invisible, eternal world.
-And can we doubt that He who praised the action of that pious woman who
-poured the precious ointment upon His sacred head, looks with
-complacency upon the sacrifices which are made for the adornment of the
-temples devoted to His worship? Is it a right principle that people who
-are clad in expensive garments, who are not content unless they are
-surrounded by carved or enamelled furniture, and whose feet tread daily
-on costly tapestries, should find fault with the generous piety which
-has made the churches of Italy what they are, and should talk so
-impressively about the beauty of spiritual worship? I have no patience
-with these advocates for simplicity in every thing that does not relate
-to themselves and their own comforts.
-
-    "Shall we serve Heaven with less respect
-    Than we do minister to our gross selves?"
-
-I care not how simple our private houses may be, but I advocate
-liberality and splendour in our public buildings of all kinds, for the
-sake of preserving a due respect for the institutions they enshrine. I
-remember, in reading one of the old classical writers,--Sallust, I
-think,--in my young days, being greatly impressed by his declaration
-that private luxury is a sure forerunner of a nation's downfall, and
-that it is a fatal sign for the dwellings of the citizens to be spacious
-and magnificent, while the public edifices are mean and unworthy. Purely
-intellectual as we may think ourselves, we are, nevertheless, somewhat
-deferential to the external proprieties of life, and I very much doubt
-whether the most reverential of us could long maintain his respect for
-the Supreme Court if its sessions were held in a tap-room, or for
-religion, if its ministers prayed and preached in pea-jackets and
-top-boots.
-
-Displeasing as is the presence of most of the English-speaking tourists
-one meets in Rome, there are two places where they delight to
-congregate, which yet have charms for me that not even Cockney vulgarity
-or Yankee irreverence can destroy. The church of the convent of _Trinit�
-de' Monti_ wins me, in spite of the throng that fills its nave at the
-hour of evening every Sunday and festival day. Some years since, when I
-first visited Rome, the music which was heard there was of the highest
-order of merit. At present the nuns of the Sacred Heart have no such
-great artistes in their community as they had then, but the music of
-their choir is still one of those things which he who has once heard can
-never forget. It is the only church in Rome in which I have heard female
-voices; and, though I much prefer the great male choirs of the
-basilicas, there is a soothing simplicity in the music at _Trinit� de'
-Monti_ which goes home to almost every heart. I have seen giddy and
-unthinking girls, who laughed at the ceremonial they did not understand,
-subdued to reverence by those strains, and supercilious Englishmen
-reduced to the humiliating necessity of wiping their eyes. Indeed, the
-whole scene is so harmoniously impressive that its enchantment cannot be
-resisted. The solemn church, lighted only by the twilight rays, and the
-tapers upon the high altar,--the veiled forms of the pious sisterhood
-and their young pupils in the grated sanctuary,--the clouding of the
-fragrant incense,--the tinkling of that silvery bell and of the chains
-of the swinging censer,--those ancient and dignified rites,--and over
-all, those clear, angelic voices praying and praising, in litany and
-hymn--all combine to make up a worship, one moment of which would seem
-enough to wipe away the memory of a lifetime of folly, and
-disappointment, and sorrow.
-
-The Sistine Chapel is another place to which I am bound by an almost
-supernatural fascination. My imperfect eyesight will not permit me to
-enjoy fully the frescoes that adorn its lofty walls; but I feel that I
-am in the presence of the great master and some of his mightiest
-conceptions. I do not know whether the chapel is most impressive in its
-empty state, or when thronged for some great religious function. In the
-former condition, its fine proportions and its simplicity satisfy me so
-completely, that I hardly wish for the pomp and splendour which belong
-to it on great occasions. I know of nothing more grand than the sight of
-that simple throne of the Sovereign Pontiff, when it is occupied by that
-benignant old man, to whom more than two hundred millions of people look
-with veneration as to a father and a teacher,--and surrounded by those
-illustrious prelates and princes who compose a senate of moral and
-intellectual worth, such as all the world beside cannot parallel. Those
-venerable figures--those gray hairs--those massive foreheads, and those
-resplendent robes of office, seem to be a part of some great historical
-picture, rather than a reality before my eyes. There is nothing more
-severe in actual experience, or more satisfactory in the recollection,
-than Holy Week in the Sistine Chapel. The crowd, the fatigue, and the
-presence of so many sight-seers, who have come with the same feeling
-that they would attend an opera or a play, are not calculated to
-increase one's bodily comfort, or to awaken the sentiments proper to so
-sacred a season as that which is then commemorated. But after these have
-passed away, there remains the recollection, which time does not
-diminish, but makes more precious, of that darkening chapel and the
-bowed-down heads of the Pope and cardinals, of the music, "yearning like
-a god in pain," of the melodious woe of the _Miserere_, the plaintive
-majesty of the Lamentations and the Reproaches, and the shrill
-dissonance of the shouts of the populace in the gospel narrative of the
-crucifixion. These are things which would outweigh a year of fatigue and
-pain. I know of no greater or more sincere tribute to the perfections of
-the Sistine choir, and the genius of Allegri and Palestrina, than the
-patience with which so many people submit to be packed, like herring in
-a box, into that small chapel. But old and gouty as I am, I would gladly
-undergo all the discomforts of that time to hear those sounds once more.
-
-I hear some people complain of the beggars, and wonder why Rome, with
-her splendid system of charities for the relief of every form of
-suffering, permits mendicancy. For myself, I am not inclined to complain
-either of the beggars or of the merciful government, which refuses to
-look upon them as offenders against its laws. On the contrary, it
-appears to me rather creditable than otherwise to Rome, that she is so
-far behind the age, as not to class poverty with crime among social
-evils. I have a sincere respect for this feature of the Catholic Church;
-this regard for the poor as her most precious inheritance, and this
-unwillingness that her children should think that, because she has
-organized a vast system of benevolence, they are absolved of the duty of
-private charity. In this wisdom, which thus provides for the exercise of
-kindly feelings in alms-giving, may be found one of the most attractive
-characteristics of the Roman Church. This, no less than the austere
-religious orders which she has founded, shows in what sense she receives
-the beatitude, "Blessed are the poor in spirit." And the same kind
-spirit of equality may be seen in her churches and cathedrals, where
-rich and poor kneel upon the same pavement, before their common God and
-Saviour, and in her cloisters, and universities, and schools, where
-social distinctions cannot enter.
-
-When I walk through the cloisters of these venerable institutions of
-learning, or gaze upon the ancient city from _Monte Mario_, or the
-Janiculum, it seems to me that never until now did I appreciate the
-world's indebtedness to Rome. Dislike it as we may, we cannot disguise
-the fact, that to her every Christian nation owes, in a great measure,
-its civilization, its literature, and its religion. The endless empire
-which Virgil's muse foretold, is still hers; and, as one of her ancient
-Christian poets said, those lands which were not conquered by her
-victorious arms are held in willing obedience by her religion. When I
-think how all our modern civilization, our art, letters, and
-jurisprudence, sprang originally from Rome, it appears to me that a
-narrow religious prejudice has prevented our forming a due estimate of
-her services to humanity. To some, the glories of the ancient empire,
-the memory of the days when her sovereignty extended from Britain to the
-Ganges, and her capital counted its inhabitants by millions, seem to
-render all her later history insignificant and dull; but to my mind the
-moral dignity and power of Christian Rome is as superior to her old
-military omnipotence as it is possible for the human intellect to
-conceive. The ancient emperors, with all their power, could not carry
-the Roman name much beyond the limits of Europe; the rulers who have
-succeeded them have made the majestic language of Rome familiar to two
-hemispheres, and have built up, by spiritual arms, the mightiest empire
-that the world has ever seen. For me, Rome's most enduring glories are
-the memories of the times when her great missionary orders civilized and
-evangelized the countries which her arms had won, when her martyrs sowed
-the seed of Christianity with their blood, and her confessors illumined
-the world with their virtues; when her pontiffs, single-handed, turned
-back barbarian invasions, or mitigated the severities of the feudal age,
-or protected the people by laying their ban upon the tyrants who
-oppressed them, or defended the sanctity of marriage, and the rights of
-helpless women against divorce-seeking monarchs and conquerors. These
-things are the true fulfilment of the glowing prophecy of Rome's
-greatness, which Virgil puts into the mouth of Anchises, when �neas
-visits the Elysian Fields, and hears from his old father that the
-mission of the government he is about to found is to rule the world by
-moral power, to make peace between opposing nations, to spare the
-subject, and to subdue the proud:
-
-    "Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento;
-    H� tibi erunt artes, pacisque imponere morem,
-    Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos."
-
-
-
-ROME TO MARSEILLES
-
-
-The weather was fearfully hot the day of my departure from Rome. The sun
-was staring down, without winking, upon that wonderful old city, as if
-he loved the sight. The yellow current of old Father Tiber seemed
-yellower than ever in the glare. Except from sheer necessity, no person
-moved abroad; for the atmosphere, which early in the morning had seemed
-like airs from heaven, before noon had become most uncomfortably like a
-blast from the opposite direction. The Piazza di Spagna was like Tadmor
-in the wilderness. Not a single English tourist, with his well-read
-Murray under his arm, was to be seen there; not a carriage driver broke
-the stillness of the place with his polyglot solicitations to ride. The
-great staircase of _Trinit� de' Monti_ seemed an impossibility; to have
-climbed up its weary ascent under that broiling sun would have been poor
-entertainment for man or beast. The squares of the city were like
-furnaces, and made one mentally curse architecture, and bless the
-narrow, shady streets. The soldiers on guard at the gates and in the
-public places looked as if they couldn't help it. Now and then a
-Capuchin monk, in his heavy, brown habit, girded with the knotted cord,
-toiled along on some errand of benevolence, and made one marvel at his
-endurance. Occasionally a cardinal rolled by in scarlet state, looking
-as if he gladly would have exchanged the bondage of his dignity and
-power for a single day of virtuous liberty in linen pantaloons.
-
-Traffic seemed to have departed this life; there were no buyers, and the
-shopkeepers slumbered at their counters. The _caf�s_ were shrouded in
-their long, striped awnings, and seemed to invite company by their
-well-wet pavement. A few old Romans found energy enough to call for an
-occasional ice or lemonade, and talked in the intervals about
-_Pammerstone_, and his agent, Mazzini. How the sun blazed down into the
-Coliseum! Not a breath of air stirred the foliage that clothes that
-mighty ruin. Even the birds were mute. To have crossed that broad arena
-would have perilled life as surely as in those old days when the first
-Roman Christians there confessed their faith. On such a day, one's
-parting visits must necessarily be brief; so I left the amphitheatre,
-and walked along the dusty _Via Sacra_, pausing a moment to ponder on
-the scene of Cicero's triumphs, and of so many centuries of thrilling
-history, and coming to the conclusion that, if it were such a day as
-that when Virginius in that place slew his dear little daughter, the
-blow was merciful indeed. The market-place in front of the Pantheon,
-usually so thronged and lively, was almost deserted. The fresh, bright
-vegetables had either all been sold, or had refused to grow in such a
-heat. But the Pantheon itself was unchanged. There it stood, in all its
-severe grandeur, majestic as in the days of the C�sars, the embodiment
-of heathenism, the exponent of the worship of the old, inexorable
-gods,--of justice without mercy, and power without love. Its interior
-seemed cool and refreshing, for no heat can penetrate that stupendous
-pile of masonry,--and I gathered new strength from my short visit. It
-was a fine thought in the old Romans to adapt the temples of heathenism
-to the uses of Christianity. The contrasts suggested to our minds by
-this practice are very striking. When we see that the images of the old
-revengeful and impure divinities have given place to those of the humble
-and self-denying heroes of Christianity, that the Saviour of the world
-stretches out His arms upon the cross, in the place from which the
-haughty Jupiter once hurled his thunderbolts, we are borne at once to a
-conclusion more irresistible than any that the mere force of language
-could produce. One of our own poets felt this in Rome, and expressed
-this same idea in graceful verse:--
-
-    "The goddess of the woods and fields,
-      The healthful huntress undefiled,
-    Now with her fabled brother yields
-      To sinless Mary and her Child."
-
-But I must hurry on towards St. Peter's. There are three places in Rome
-which every one visits as soon as possible after he arrives, and as
-short a time as may be before his departure--the Coliseum, the Pantheon,
-and St. Peter's. The narrow streets between the Pantheon and the Bridge
-of St. Angelo were endurable, because they were shady. It was necessary
-to be careful, however, and not trip over any of the numerous Roman legs
-whose proprietors were stretched out upon the pavement in various
-picturesque postures, sleeping away the long hours of that scorching
-day. At last the bridge is reached Bernini's frightful statues, which
-deform its balustrades, seem to be writhing under the influence of the
-sun. I am quite confident that St. Veronica's napkin was curling with
-the heat. The bronze archangel stood as usual upon the summit of the
-Castle of St. Angelo. I stopped a few moments, thinking that he might
-see the expediency of sheathing his sword and retreating, before he
-should be compelled, in the _confusion_ of such a blaze as that, to
-_run_ away; but it was useless. I moved on towards St. Peter's, and he
-still kept guard there as brazen-faced as ever. The great square in
-front of the basilica seemed to have scooped up its fill of heat, and
-every body knows that it is capable of containing a great deal. The few
-persons whom devotion or love of art had tempted out in such a day,
-approached it under the shade of its beautiful colonnades. I was obliged
-to content myself with the music of one of those superb fountains only,
-for the workmen were making a new basin for the other. St. Peter's never
-seemed to me so wonderful, never filled me up so completely, as it did
-then. The contrast of the heat I had been in with that atmosphere of
-unchangeable coolness, the quiet of the vast area, the fewness of people
-moving about, all conspired to impress me with a new sense of the
-majesty and holiness of the place. The quiet, unflickering blaze of the
-numerous lamps that burn unceasingly around the tomb of the Prince of
-the Apostles seemed a beacon of immortality. To one who could at that
-hour recall the bustle and turmoil of the Boulevards of Paris, or of the
-Strand, or of Broadway, the vast basilica itself seemed to be an island
-of peace in the tempestuous ocean of the world. I am not so blind a
-lover of Gothic architecture that I can find no beauty nor religious
-feeling in the Italian churches. I prefer, it is true, the "long-drawn
-aisle and fretted vault," and the "storied windows richly dight"; but I
-cannot for that reason sneer at the gracefully turned arches, the mosaic
-walls and domes rich in frescoes and precious marbles, that delight
-one's eyes in Italy. Both styles are good in their proper places. The
-Gothic and Norman, with their high-pitched roofs, are the natural growth
-of the snowy north, and to attempt to transplant them to a land where
-heat is to be guarded against, were as absurd as to expect the pine and
-fir to take the place of the fig tree and the palm. Talk as eloquently
-as we may about being superior to external impressions, I defy any man
-to breathe the quiet atmosphere of any of these old continental churches
-for a few moments, without feeling that he has gathered new strength
-therefrom to tread the thorns of life. Lamartine has spoken eloquently
-on this theme: "Ye columns who veil the sacred asylums where my eyes
-dare not penetrate, at the foot of your immovable trunks I come to sigh!
-Cast over me your deep shades, render the darkness more obscure, and the
-silence more profound! Forests of porphyry and marble! the air which the
-soul breathes under your arches is full of mystery and of peace! Let
-love and anxious cares seek shade and solitude under the green shelter
-of groves, to soothe their secret wounds. O darkness of the sanctuary!
-the eye of religion prefers thee to the wood which the breeze disturbs!
-Nothing changes thy foliage; thy still shade is the image of motionless
-eternity!"
-
-There was not time to linger long. The pressure of worldly engagements
-was felt even at the shrine of the apostles. I walked about, and tried
-to recall the many splendid religious pageants I had there witnessed,
-and wondered sorrowfully whether I should ever again listen to that
-matchless choir, or have my heart stirred to its depths by the silver
-trumpets that re�cho under that sonorous vault in the most solemn moment
-of religion's holiest rite. Once more out in the clear hot atmosphere
-which seemed hotter than before. The Supreme Pontiff was absent from his
-capital, and the Vatican was comparatively empty. The Swiss guards, in
-their fantastic but picturesque uniform, were loitering about the foot
-of the grand staircase, and sighing for a breath of the cool air of
-their Alpine home. I took a last long gaze at that grand old pile of
-buildings,--the home of all that is most wonderful in art, the abode of
-that power which overthrew the old Roman empire, inaugurated the
-civilization of Europe, and planted Christianity in every quarter of the
-globe,--and then turned my unwilling feet homewards. In my course I
-passed the foot of the Janiculum Hill: it was too hot, however, to think
-of climbing up to the convent of Sant' Onofrio--though I would gladly
-have paid a final visit to that lovely spot where the munificence of
-Pius IX. has just completed a superb sepulchre for the repose of Tasso.
-So I crossed the Tiber in one of those little ferry boats which are
-attached to a cable stretched over the river, and thus are swung across
-by the movement of the current,--a labour-saving arrangement
-pre�minently Roman in its character,--and soon found myself in my
-lodgings However warm the weather may be in Rome, one can keep tolerably
-comfortable so long as he does not move about,--thanks to the thick
-walls and heavy wooden window shutters of the houses,--so I found my
-room a cool asylum after my morning of laborious pleasure.
-
-At last, the good byes having all been said, behold me, with my old
-portmanteau, (covered with its many-coloured coat of baggage labels,
-those trophies of many a hard campaign of travel,) at the office of the
-diligence for Civita Vecchia. The luggage and the passengers having been
-successfully stowed away, the lumbering vehicle rolled down the narrow
-streets, and we were soon outside the gate that opens upon the old
-Aurelian Way. Here the passports were examined, the postilions cracked
-their whips, and I felt indeed that I was "banished from Rome." It is a
-sad thing to leave Rome. I have seen people who have made but a brief
-stay there shed more tears on going away than they ever did on a
-departure from home; but for one who has lived there long enough to feel
-like a Roman citizen--to feel that the broken columns of the Forum have
-become a part of his being--to feel as familiar with St. Peter's and the
-Vatican as with the King's Chapel and the Tremont House--it is doubly
-hard to go away. The old city, so "rich with the spoils of time," seems
-invested with a personality that appeals most powerfully to every man,
-and would fain hold him back from returning to the world. The lover of
-art there finds its choicest treasures ever open to him; the artist
-there finds an abundance of employment for his chisel or his brush; the
-man of business there finds an asylum from the vexing cares of a
-commercial career; the student of antiquity or of history can there take
-his fill amid the "wrecks of a world whose ashes still are warm," and
-listen to the centuries receding into the unalterable past with their
-burdens of glory or of crime; the lover of practical benevolence will
-there be delighted by the inspection of establishments for the relief of
-every possible form of want and suffering; the enthusiast for education
-finds there two universities and hundreds of public schools of every
-grade, and all as free as the bright water that sparkles in Rome's
-countless fountains; the devout can there rekindle their devotion at the
-shrines of apostles and martyrs, and breathe the holy air of cloisters
-in which saints have lived and died, or join their voices with those
-that resound in old churches, whose pavements are furrowed by the knees
-of pious generations; the admirer of pomp, and power, and historic
-associations can there witness the more than regal magnificence of a
-power, compared to which the houses of Bourbon or of Hapsburg are but of
-yesterday; the lover of republican simplicity can there find subject for
-admiration in the facility of access to the highest authorities, and in
-the perfection of his favourite elective system by which the supreme
-power is perpetuated. There is, in short, no class of men to whom Rome
-does not attach itself. People may complain during their first week that
-it is dull, or melancholy, or dirty; but you generally find them sorry
-enough to go away, and looking back to their residence there as the
-happiest period of their existence. Somebody has said,--and I wish that
-I could recall the exact words, they are so true,--that when we leave
-Paris, or Naples, or Florence, we feel a natural sorrow, as if we were
-parting from a cherished friend; but on our departure from Rome we feel
-a pang like that of separation from a woman whom we love!
-
-At last Rome disappeared from sight in the dusk of evening, and the
-discomforts of the journey began to make themselves obtrusive. The night
-air in Italy is not considered healthy, and we therefore had the windows
-of the diligence closed. Like Charles Lamb after the oyster pie, we were
-"all full inside," and a pretty time we had of it. As to respiration,
-you might as well have expected the performance of that function from a
-mackerel occupying the centre of a well-packed barrel of his finny
-comrades, as of any person inside that diligence. Of course there was a
-baby in the company, and of course the baby cried. I could not blame it,
-for even a fat old gentleman who sat opposite to me would have cried if
-he had not known how to swear. But it is useless to recall the anguish
-of that night: suffice it to say that for several hours the only air we
-got was an occasional vocal performance from the above-mentioned infant.
-At midnight we reached Palo, on the sea coast, where I heard "the wild
-water lapping on the crag," and felt more keenly than before that I had
-indeed left Rome behind me. The remainder of the journey being along the
-coast, we had the window open, though it was not much better on that
-account, as we were choking with dust. It was small comfort to see the
-cuttings and fillings-in for the railway which is destined soon to
-destroy those beastly diligences, and place Rome within two or three
-hours of its seaport.
-
-At five o'clock in the morning, after ten toilsome hours, I found
-myself, tired, dusty, and hungry, in Civita Vecchia, a city which has
-probably been the cause of more profanity than any other part of the
-world, including Flanders. I was determined not to be fleeced by any of
-the hotel keepers; so I staggered about the streets until I found a
-barber's shop open. Having repaired the damage of the preceding night, I
-hove to in a neighbouring _caf�_ long enough to take in a little ballast
-in the way of breakfast. Afterwards I fell in with an Englishman, of
-considerable literary reputation, whom I had several times met in Rome.
-He was one of those men who seem to possess all sorts of sense except
-common sense. He was full of details, and could tell exactly the height
-of the dome of St. Peter's, or of the great pyramid,--could explain the
-process of the manufacture of the Mini� rifle or the boring of an
-artesian well, and could calculate an eclipse with Bond or Secchi,--but
-he could not pack a carpet-bag to save his life. That he should have
-been able to travel so far from home alone is a fine commentary on the
-honesty and good nature of the people of the continent. I could not help
-thinking what a time he would have were he to attempt to travel in
-America. He would think he had discovered a new nomadic tribe in the
-cabmen of New York. He had come down to Civita Vecchia in a most
-promiscuous style, and when I discovered him he was trying to bring
-about a union between some six or eight irreconcilable pieces of
-luggage. I aided him successfully in the work, and his look of
-perplexity and despair gave way to one of gratitude and admiration for
-his deliverer. Delighted at this escape from the realities of his
-situation, he launched out into a profound dissertation on the
-philosophy of language and the formation of provincial dialects, and it
-was some time before I could bring him down to the common and practical
-business of securing his passage in the steamer for Marseilles. Ten
-o'clock, however, found us on board one of the steamers of the
-_Messageries Imperiales_, and we were very shortly after under way. We
-were so unfortunate as to run aground on a little spit of land in
-getting out of port, as we ran a little too near an English steamer that
-was lying there. But a Russian frigate sent off a cable to us, and thus
-established an alliance between their flag and the French, which drew
-the latter out of the difficulty in which it had got by too close a
-proximity to its English neighbour.
-
-It was a beautiful, cloudless day, and reminded me of many halcyon days
-I had spent on that blue Mediterranean in other times. It reminded me of
-some of my childhood's days in the country in New England,--days
-described by Emerson where he says that we "bask in the shining hours of
-Florida and Cuba,"--when "the day, immeasurably long, sleeps over the
-broad hills and warm, wide fields,"--when "the cattle, as they lie on
-the ground, seem to have great and tranquil thoughts." It was on such a
-day that I used to delight to pore over my Shakspeare, undisturbed by
-any sound save the hum of the insect world, or the impatient switch of
-the tail, or movement of the feet, of a horse who had sought the same
-shade I was enjoying. To a man who has been rudely used by fortune, or
-who has drunk deep of sorrow or disappointment, I can conceive of
-nothing more grateful or consoling than a summer cruise in the
-Mediterranean. "The sick heart often needs a warm climate as much as the
-sick body."
-
-My English friend, immediately on leaving port, took some five or six
-prescriptions for the prevention of seasickness, and then went to bed,
-so that I had some opportunity to look about among our ship's company.
-There were two men, apparently companions, though they hardly spoke to
-each other, who amused me very much One was a person of about four feet
-and a half in height, who walked about on deck with that manner which so
-many diminutive persons have, of wishing to be thought as tall as Mr.
-George Barrett. He boasted a deportment that would have made the elder
-Turveydrop envious, while it was evident that under that serene and
-dignified exterior lay hidden all the warm-heartedness and geniality of
-that eminent philanthropist who was obliged to play a concerto on the
-violin to calm his grief at seeing the conflagration of his native city.
-The other looked as if "he had not loved the world, nor the world him";
-he was a thin, bilious-looking person, and seemed like a whole serious
-family rolled into one individuality. I felt a great deal of curiosity
-to know whether he was reduced to that pitiable condition by piety or
-indigestion. I felt sure that he was meditating suicide as he gazed upon
-the sea, and I stood by him for some time to prevent his accomplishing
-any such purpose, until I became convinced that to let him take the
-jump, if he pleased, would be far the more philanthropic course of
-action. There was a French bishop, and a colonel of the French staff at
-Rome, among the passengers, and by their genial urbanity they fairly
-divided between them the affections of the whole company. Either of them
-would have made a fog in the English Channel seem like the sunshine of
-the Gulf of Egina. I picked up a pleasant companion in an Englishman who
-had travelled much and read more, and spent the greater part of the day
-with him. When he found that I was an American, he at once asked me if I
-had ever been to Niagara, and had ever seen Longfellow and Emerson. I am
-astonished to find so many cultivated English people who know little or
-nothing about Tennyson; I am inclined to think he has ten readers in
-America to one in England, while the English can repeat Longfellow by
-pages.
-
-After thirty hours of pleasant sailing along by Corsica and Elba, and
-along the coast of France, until it seemed as if our cruise (like that
-of the widow of whom we have all read) would never have an end, we came
-to anchor in the midst of a vast fleet of steamers in the new port of
-Marseilles. The bustle of commercial activity seemed any thing but
-pleasant after the classical repose of Rome; but the landlady of the
-hotel was most gracious, and when I opened the window of my room looking
-out on the Place Royale, one of those peripatetic dispensers of melody,
-whose life (like the late M. Mantalini's after he was reduced in
-circumstances) must be "one demnition horrid grind," executed "Sweet
-Home" in a manner that went entirely home to the heart of at least one
-of his accidental audience.
-
-
-
-MARSEILLES, LYONS, AND AIX IN SAVOY
-
-
-If the people of Marseilles do not love the Emperor of the French, they
-ought to be ashamed of themselves. He has so completely changed the
-aspect of that city by his improvements, that the man who knows it as it
-existed in the reign of Louis Philippe, would be lost if he were to
-revisit it now. The completion of the railway from Paris to Marseilles
-is an inestimable advantage to the latter city, while the new port, in
-magnitude and style of execution, is worthy of comparison with the
-splendid docks of London and Liverpool. The flags of every civilized
-nation may be seen there; and the variety of costumes and languages,
-which bewilder one's eyes and ears, assure him that he is in the
-commercial metropolis of the Mediterranean. The frequency of steam
-communication between Marseilles and the various ports of Spain, Italy,
-Africa, and the Levant, draws to it a large proportion of the travellers
-in those directions. I believe that Marseilles is only celebrated for
-having been colonized by the Phoc�ans, or some such people, for having
-several times been devastated by the plague, and for having been very
-perfectly described by Dickens in his Little Dorrit. The day on which I
-arrived there was very like the one described by Dickens; so if any one
-would like further particulars, he had better overhaul his Little
-Dorrit, and, "when found, make note of it."
-
-The day after my arrival I saw a grand religious procession in the
-streets of the city. The landlady of my hotel had told me of it, but my
-expectations were not raised very high, for I thought that after the
-grandeur of Rome, all other things in that way would be comparatively
-tame. But I was mistaken; the procession fairly rivalled those of Rome.
-There were the same gorgeous vestments, the same picturesque groupings
-of black robes and snowy surplices, of mitres and crosiers and shaven
-crowns, of scarlet and purple and cloth of gold, the same swinging
-censers and clouds of fragrant incense, the same swelling flood of
-almost supernatural music. The municipal authorities of the city, with
-the staff of the garrison, joined in the procession, and the military
-display was such as can hardly be seen out of France. I have often been
-struck with the facility with which the Catholic religion adapts itself
-to the character of every nation. I have had some opportunity of
-observation; I have seen the Catholic Church on three out of the four
-continents, and have every where noticed the same phenomenon.
-Mahometanism could never be transplanted to the snowy regions of Russia
-or Norway; it needs the soft, enervating atmosphere of Asia to keep it
-alive; the veranda, the bubbling fountain, the noontide repose, are all
-parts of it. Puritanism is the natural growth of a country where the sun
-seldom shines, and which is shut out by a barrier of water and fog from
-kindly intercourse with its neighbours. It could never thrive in the
-bright south. The merry vine-dressers of Italy could never draw down
-their faces to the proper length, and would be very unwilling to
-exchange their blithesome _canzonetti_ for Sternhold and Hopkins's
-version. But the Catholic Church, while it unites its professors in the
-belief of the same inflexible creed, leaves them entirely free in all
-mere externals and national peculiarities. When I see the light-hearted
-Frenchman, the fiery Italian, the serious Spaniard, the cunning Greek,
-the dignified Armenian, the energetic Russian, the hard-headed Dutchman,
-the philosophical German, the formal and "respectable" Englishman, the
-thrifty Scotchman, the careless and warm-hearted Irishman, and the
-calculating, go-ahead American, all bound together by the profession of
-the same faith, and yet retaining their national characteristics,--I can
-compare it to nothing but to a similar phenomenon that we may notice in
-the prism, which, while it is a pure and perfect crystal, is found on
-examination to contain, in their perfection, all the various colours of
-the rainbow.
-
-The terminus of the Lyons and Mediterranean Railway is one of the best
-things of its kind in the world. I wish that some of our American
-railway directors could take a few lessons from the French. The
-attention paid to securing the comfort and safety of the passengers and
-the regularity of the trains would quite bewilder him. Instead of
-finding the station a long, unfinished kind of shed, with two small,
-beastly waiting rooms at one side, and a stand for a vender of apples,
-root beer, and newspapers, he would see a fine stone structure, several
-hundred feet in length, with a roof of iron and glass. He would enter a
-hall which would remind him of the Doric hall of the State House in
-Boston, only that it is several times larger, and is paved with marble.
-He would choose out of the three ticket offices of the three classes,
-where he would ride, and he would be served with a promptness and
-politeness that would remind him of Mr. Child in the palmy days of the
-old Tremont Theatre, while he would notice that an officer stood by each
-ticket office to see that every purchaser got his ticket and the proper
-change, and to give all necessary information. Having booked his
-luggage, he would be ushered into one of the three waiting rooms, all of
-them furnished in a style of neatness and elegance that would greatly
-astonish him. He might employ the interval in the study of geography,
-assisted by a map painted on one side of the room, giving the entire
-south of France and Piedmont, with the railways, &c., and executed in
-such a style that the names of the towns are legible at a distance of
-fifteen or twenty feet. Two or three minutes before the hour fixed for
-the starting of the train, the door would be opened, and he would take
-his seat in the train with the other passengers. The whole affair would
-go on so systematically, with such an absence of noise and excitement,
-that he would doubt whether he had been in a railway station at all,
-until he found himself spinning along at a rapid rate, through long
-tunnels, and past the beautiful panorama of Proven�al landscape.
-
-The sun was as bright as it always is in fair Provence, the sky as blue.
-The white dusty roads wound around over the green landscape, like great
-serpents seeking to hide their folds amid those hills. The almond, the
-lemon, and the fig attracted the attention of the traveller from the
-north, before all other trees,--not to forget however, the pale foliage
-of that tree which used to furnish wreaths for Minerva's brow, but now
-supplies us with oil for our salads. Arles, with its old amphitheatre (a
-broken shadow of the Coliseum) looming up above it, lay stifled with
-dust and broiling in the sun, as we hurried on towards Avignon. It does
-not take much time to see that old city, which, from being so long the
-abode of the exiled popes, seems to have caught and retained something
-of the quiet dignity and repose of Rome itself. That gloomy old palace
-of the popes, with its lofty turrets, seems to brood over the town, and
-weigh it down as with sorrow for its departed greatness. Centuries have
-passed, America has been discovered, the whole face of Europe has
-changed, since a pontiff occupied those halls; and yet there it stands,
-a monument commemorating a mere episode in the history of the see of St.
-Peter.
-
-Arriving at Lyons, I found another palatial station, on even a grander
-scale than that of Marseilles. The architect has worked the coats of
-arms of the different cities of France into the stone work of the
-exterior in a very effective manner. Lyons bears witness, no less than
-Marseilles, to the genius of the wonderful man who now governs France.
-It is a popular notion in England and America, that the enterprise of
-Napoleon III. has been confined to the improvement of Paris. If persons
-who labour under this error would extend their journeyings a little
-beyond the ordinary track of a summer excursion, they would find that
-there is scarcely a town in the empire that has not felt the influence
-of his skill as a statesman and political economist. The _Rue Imperiale_
-of Lyons is a monument of which any sovereign might be justly proud. The
-activity of Lyons, the new buildings rising on every side, and its look
-of prosperity, would lead one to suppose that it was some place that had
-just been settled, instead of a city with twenty centuries of history.
-The Sunday, I was glad to see, was well observed; perhaps not exactly in
-the style which Aminadab Sleek would commend, but in a very rational,
-Christian, un-Jewish manner. The shops were, for the most part, closed,
-the churches were crowded with people, and in the afternoon and evening
-the entire population was abroad enjoying itself--and a cleaner,
-better-behaved, happier-looking set of people I never saw. The excessive
-heat still continues. It is now more than two months since I opened my
-umbrella; the prospects of the harvest are good, but they are praying
-hard in the churches for a little rain. During my stay at Lyons, I lived
-almost entirely on fresh figs, and plums and ices. How full the _caf�s_
-were those sultry evenings! How busy must the freezers have been in the
-cellars below! I read through all the newspapers I could lay my hands
-on, and then amused myself with watching the gay, chattering throng
-around me. How my mind flew across the ocean that evening to a quiet
-back parlour at the South End! I could see the venerable Baron receiving
-a guest on such a night as that, and making the weather seem cool by
-contrast with the warmth of his hospitality. I could see him offering to
-his perspiring visitor a release from the slavery of broadcloth, in the
-loan of a nankeen jacket, and then busying himself in the preparation of
-a compound of old Cochituate, (I had almost said old Jamaica,) of ice,
-of sugar, yea, of lemons, and commending the grateful chalice to the
-parched lips of his guest. Such an evening in the Baron's back parlour
-is the very ecstasy of hospitality. It is many months since that old
-nankeen jacket folded me in its all-embracing arms, but the very thought
-of it awakes a thrill of pleasure in my heart. When I last saw it,
-"decay's effacing fingers" had meddled with the buttons thereof, and it
-was growing a trifle consumptive in the vicinity of the elbows; but I
-hope that it is good for many a year of usefulness yet, before the
-epitaph writer shall commence the recital of its merits with those
-melancholy words, _Hic jacet!_ Pardon me, dear reader, for this
-digression from the recital of my wanderings; but this jacket, the
-remembrance of which is so dear to me, is not the trifle it may seem to
-you. It is, I believe, the only institution in the world of the same age
-and importance, which has not been apostrophized in verse by that gifted
-bard, Mr. Martin Farquhar Tupper. If this be not celebrity, what is it?
-
-In one of the narrow streets of Lyons I found a barber named Melnotte.
-He was a man somewhat advanced in life, and I feel sure that he
-addressed a good-looking woman in a snowy white cap, who looked in from
-a back room while I was having my hair cut, as Pauline. Be that as it
-may, when he had finished his work, and I walked up to the mirror to
-inspect it, he addressed to me the language of Bulwer's hero, "Do you
-like the picture?" or words to that effect. I cannot help mistrusting
-that Sir Edward may have misled us concerning the ultimate history of
-the Lady of Lyons and her husband. But the heat was too intolerable for
-human endurance; so I packed up, and leaving that fair city, with its
-numerous graceful bridges, and busy looms whose fabrics brighten the
-eyes of the beauties of Europe and America, and lighten the purses of
-their chivalry,--leaving Our Lady of Fourvi�res looking down with
-outstretched hands from the dome of her lofty shrine, and watching over
-her faithful Lyonnese,--I turned my face towards the Alpine regions.
-
-The Alps have always been to me what Australia was to the late Mr.
-Micawber--"the bright dream of my youth, and the fallacious aspiration
-of my riper years." I remember when I was young, long before the days of
-railways and steamers, in the times when a man who had travelled in
-Europe was invested with a sort of awful dignity--I remember hearing a
-travelled uncle of mine tell about the Alps, and I resolved, with all
-the enthusiasm of boyhood, thenceforward to "save up" all my Fourth of
-July and Artillery Election money, until I should be able to go and see
-one. When the Rev. James Sheridan Knowles (he was a wicked playactor in
-those days) produced his drama of William Tell, how it fed the flame of
-my ambition! How I longed to stand with the hero once again among his
-native hills! How I loved the glaciers! How I doted on the avalanches!
-But age has cooled the longings of my heart for mountain excursions, and
-robbed my legs of all their climbing powers, so that if it depends upon
-my own bodily exertions, the Vale of Chamouni will be entirely
-unavailable for me, and every mount will be to me a blank. The scenery
-along the line of railway from Amb�rieu to Culoz on the Rhone is very
-grand. The ride reminded me of the ride over the Atlantic and St.
-Lawrence road through the White Mountains, only it is finer. The
-boldness of the cliffs and precipices was something to make one's heart
-beat quick, and cause him to wonder how the peasants could work so
-industriously, and the cattle feed so constantly, without stopping to
-look up at the magnificence that hemmed them in.
-
-At Culoz I went on board one of those peculiar steamers of the
-Rhone--about one hundred and fifty feet in length by ten or twelve in
-width. Our way lay through a narrow and circuitous branch of the river
-for several miles. The windings of the river were such that men were
-obliged to turn the boat about by means of cables, which they made fast
-to posts fixed in the banks on either side for that purpose. The scenery
-along the banks was like a dream of Paradise. To say that the country
-was smiling with flowers and verdure does not express it--it was
-bursting into a broad grin of fertility. Such vineyards! Not like the
-grape vine in your back yard, dear reader, nailed up against a brick
-wall, but large, luxuriant vines, seeming at a loss what to do with
-themselves, and festooned from tree to tree, just as you see them in the
-scenery of Fra Diavolo. And then there were groups of people in costumes
-of picturesque negligence, and women in large straw hats, and dresses of
-brilliant colours, just like the chorus of an opera. The deep, rich hue
-of the foliage particularly attracted my notice. It was as different
-from the foliage of New England as Winship's Gardens are from an invoice
-of palm-leaf hats. Beyond the immediate vicinity of the river rose up
-beautiful hills and cliffs like the Palisades of the Hudson. Let those
-who will, prefer the wild grandeur of our American mountain scenery;
-there is a great charm for me in the union of nature and art. The
-careful cultivation of the fields seems to set off and render more grand
-and austere the gray, jagged cliffs that overlook them. As the elder
-Pliny most justly remarks, (lib. iv. cap. xi. 24,) "It requires the
-lemon as well as the sugar to make the punch."
-
-After about an hour's sail upon the river, we came out upon the
-beautiful Lake of Bourget. It was stirred by a gentle breeze, but it
-seemed as if its bright blue surface had never reflected a cloud. All
-around its borders the trees and vines seemed bending down to drink of
-its pure waters. Far off in the distance rose up the mighty peaks of the
-Alps--their snow-white tops contrasting with the verdure of their sides.
-They seemed to be watching with pleasure over the glad scenes beneath
-them, like old men whose gray hairs have been powerless to disturb the
-youthful freshness and geniality of their hearts.
-
-At St. Innocent I landed, and underwent the custom house formalities
-attendant upon entrance into a new territory. The officials were very
-expeditious, and equally polite. I at first supposed that the letters V.
-E., which each of them bore conspicuously on his cap, meant "_very
-empty_,"--but it afterwards occurred to me that they were the initials
-of his majesty, the King of Sardinia. A few minutes' ride over the
-"Victor Emmanuel Railway" brought me to the beautiful village of Aix. It
-is situated, as my friend the Lyonnese barber would say, in "a deep vale
-shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world." It possesses about 2500
-inhabitants; but that number is considerably augmented at present, for
-the mineral springs of Aix are very celebrated, and this is the height
-of "the season." There is a great deal of what is called "society" here,
-and during the morning the baths are crowded. It is as dull as all
-watering places necessarily are, and twice as hot. I think that the
-French manage these things better than we do in America. There is less
-humbug, less display of jewelry and dress, and a vast deal more of
-common sense and solid comfort than with us. The _caf�s_ are like
-similar establishments in all such places--an abundance of ices and
-ordinary coffee, and a plentiful lack of newspapers. I have found a
-companion, however, who more than makes good the latter deficiency. He
-is an Englishman of some seventy years, who is here bathing for his
-gout. His light hair and fresh complexion disguise his age so completely
-that most people, when they see us together, judge me, from my gray
-locks, to be the elder. He is one of the most entertaining persons I
-have ever met--he knows the classics by heart,--is familiar with
-English, French, Italian, German, and Spanish literature,--speaks nine
-languages,--and has travelled all over the world. He is as familiar with
-the Steppes of Tartary as with Wapping Old Stairs,--has imbibed sherbet
-in Damascus and sherry cobblers in New York, and seen a lion hunt in
-South Africa. But his heart is the heart of a boy--"age cannot wither
-nor custom stale" its infinite geniality. He cannot pass by a beggar
-without making an investment for eternity, and all the babies look over
-the shoulders of their nurses to smile at him as he walks the streets. I
-mention him here for the sake of recording one of his opinions, which
-struck me by its truth and originality. We were sitting in a _caf�_ last
-evening, and, after a long conversation, I asked him what he should give
-as the result of all his reading and observation of men and things, and
-all his experience, if he were to sum it up in one sentence. "Sir," said
-he, removing his meerschaum from his mouth, and turning towards me as if
-to give additional force to his reply, "it may all be comprised in this:
-the world is composed of two classes of men--natural fools and d--d
-fools; the first class are those who have never made any pretensions, or
-have reached a just appreciation of the nothingness of all human
-acquirements and hopes; the second are those whose belief in their own
-infallibility has never been disturbed; and this class includes a vast
-number of every rank, from the profound German philosopher, who thinks
-that he has fathomed infinity, down to that young fop twirling his
-moustache at the opposite table, and flattering himself that he is
-making a great impression."
-
-Savoy, as every body knows, was once a part of France, and it still
-retains all of its original characteristics. I have not heard ten words
-of Italian since I arrived here, and, judging from what I do hear and
-from the tone of the newspapers, it would like to become a part of
-France again. The Savoyards are a religious, steady-going people, and
-they have little love either for the weak and dissolute monarch who
-governs them, or for the powerful, infidel prime minister who governs
-their monarch. The high-pitched roofs of the houses here are suggestive
-of the snows of winter; but the heat reminds me of the coast of Africa
-during a sirocco. How true is Sydney Smith's remark, "Man only lives to
-shiver or perspire"! The thermometer ranges any where from 80� to 90�.
-Can this be the legitimate temperature of these mountainous regions? I
-am "ill at these numbers," and nothing would be so invigorating to my
-infirm and shaky frame as a sniff of the salt breezes of Long Branch or
-Nantasket.
-
-
-
-AIX TO PARIS
-
-
-There is no need of telling how disgusted I became with Aix-les-Bains
-and all that in it is, after a short residence there. How I hated those
-straw-hatted people who beset the baths from the earliest flush of the
-aurora! How I detested those fellows who were constantly pestering me
-with offers (highly advantageous, without doubt) of donkeys whereon to
-ride, when they knew that I didn't want one! How I abominated the sight
-of a man (who seemed to haunt me) in a high velvet-collared coat and a
-bell-crowned hat just overtopping an oily-looking head of hair and bushy
-whiskers--who looked, for all the world, as if he were made up for Sir
-Harcourt Courtly! How maliciously he held on to the newspapers in the
-_caf�_! How constantly he sat there and devoured all the news out of
-them through the medium of a double tortoise-shell eye-glass, which
-always seemed to be just falling off his nose! How I abhorred the sight
-of those waiters, who looked as if the season were a short one, and time
-(as B. Franklin said) was money! How stifling was the atmosphere of that
-"seven-by-nine" room for which I had to pay so dearly! How hot, how
-dusty, how dull it was, I need not weary you by telling; suffice it to
-say, that I never packed my trunk more willingly than when I left that
-village. I am very glad to have been there, however, for the
-satisfaction I felt at leaving the place is worth almost any effort to
-obtain. The joy of departure made even the exorbitant bills seem
-reasonable; and when I thought of the stupidity and discomfort I was
-escaping from, I felt as if, come what might, my future could only be
-one of sunshine and content. Aix-les-Bains is one of the pleasantest
-places to leave that I have ever seen. I can never forget the
-measureless happiness of seeing my luggage ticketed for Paris, and then
-taking my seat with the consciousness that I was leaving Aix (not
-_aches_, alas!) behind me.
-
-The Lake of Bourget was as beautiful and smiling as before--only it did
-seem as if the sun might have held in a little. He scorched and
-blistered the passengers on that steamboat in the most absurd manner. He
-seemed never to have heard of Horace, and was consequently entirely
-ignorant of the propriety of maintaining a _modus_ in his _rebuses_. The
-scenery along the banks of the Rhone had not changed in the least, but
-was as romantic and theatrical as ever. At Culoz I was glad to get on
-shore, for like Hamlet, I had been "too much i' the sun"; so I left the
-"blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone," (which the late Lord Byron, with his
-usual disregard of truth, talks about, and which is as muddy as a
-Medford brick-yard,) and took refuge in the hospitality of a custom
-house. Here I fell into a meditation upon custom house officers. I
-wonder whether the custom house officers of France are in their leisure
-hours given to any of the vanities which delight their American
-brethren. There was one lean, thoughtful-looking man among those at
-Culoz who attracted my attention. I tried ineffectually to make out his
-bent from his physiognomy. I could not imagine him occupying his leisure
-by putting any twice-told tales on paper--or cultivating Shanghai
-poultry--or riding on to the tented field amid the roar of artillery at
-the head of a brigade of militia,--and I was obliged, in the hurry of
-the examination of luggage, to give him up.
-
-I had several times, during the journey from Aix, noticed a tall,
-eagle-eyed man, in a suit of gray, and wearing a moustache of the same
-colour, and while we were waiting for the train at Culoz, I observed
-that he attracted a great deal of attention: his bearing was so
-commanding, that I had set him down as being connected with the military
-interest, before I noticed that he did not bear arms, for the left
-sleeve of his coat hung empty and useless by his side; so I ventured to
-inquire concerning him, and learned that I was a fellow-traveller of
-Marshal Baraguay d'Hilliers. I must do him the justice to say that he
-did not look like a man who would leave his arms on the field.
-
-We were soon whirling, and puffing, and whistling along through the tame
-but pleasing landscape of France. Those carefully-tilled fields, those
-vineyards almost overflowing with the raw material of conviviality,
-those interminable rows of tall trees which seem to give no shade, those
-farm-houses, whose walls we should in America consider strong enough for
-fortifications, those contented-looking cattle, those towns that seem to
-consist of a single street and an old gray tower, with a dark-coloured
-conical top, like a candle extinguisher,--all had a good, familiar look
-to me; and the numerous fields of Indian corn almost made me think that
-I was on my way to Worcester or Fitchburg. I stopped for a while at
-Macon, (a town which I respect for its contributions to the good cheer
-of the world,) and hugely enjoyed a walk through its clean, quiet
-streets. While I was waiting at the station, the express train from
-Paris came along; and many of the passengers left their places (like Mr.
-Squeers) to stretch their legs. Among them was a man whose acquisitive
-eye, black satin waistcoat, fashionable hat, (such as no man but an
-American would think of travelling in,) and coat with the waist around
-his hips, and six or eight inches of skirt, immediately fixed my
-attention. Before I thought, he had asked me if I could speak English. I
-set him at his ease by answering that I took lessons in it once when I
-was young, and he immediately launched out as follows: "Well, this is
-the cussedest language I ever did hear. I don't see how in _the_ devil
-these blasted fools can have lived so long right alongside of England
-without trying to learn the English language." The whistle of the engine
-cut short the declaration of his sentiments, and he was whizzing on
-towards Lyons a moment after. Whoever that man may have been, he owes it
-to himself and his country to write a book. His work would be as worthy
-of consideration as the writings of two thirds of our English and
-American travellers, who think they are qualified to write about the
-government and social condition of a country because they have travelled
-through it. Fancy a Frenchman, entirely ignorant of the English tongue,
-landing at Boston, and stopping at the Tremont House or Parker's; he
-visits the State House, the Athen�um, Bunker Hill, the wharves, &c. Then
-on Sunday he wishes to know something about the religion of these
-strange people; so he goes across the street to the King's Chapel, and
-finds that it is closed; so he walks down the street in the burning sun
-to Brattle Street, where he hears a comfortable, drony kind of sermon,
-which seems to have as composing an effect upon the fifty or a hundred
-persons who are present as upon himself. In the afternoon he finds his
-way to Trinity Church, (somebody having charitably told him that that is
-the most genteel place,) and there he hears "our admirable liturgy"
-sonorously read out to twenty or thirty people, all of whom are so
-engrossed in their devotions that the responses are entirely neglected.
-Having had enough of what the Irishman called the English lethargy, he
-returns to his lodgings, and writes in his note-book that the Americans
-seldom go to church, and when they do, go there to sleep in comfortable
-pews. Then he makes a little tour of a fortnight to New Haven,
-Providence, Springfield, &c., and returns to France to write a book of
-travels in New England. And what are all his observations worth? I'll
-tell you. They are worth just as much, and give exactly as faithful a
-representation of the state of society in New England, as four fifths of
-the books written by English and American travellers in France, Spain,
-and Italy, do of the condition of those countries.
-
-I have encountered many interesting studies of humanity here on the
-continent in my day. I have met many people who have come abroad with a
-vague conviction that travel improves one, and who do not see that to
-visit Europe without some preparation is like going a-fishing without
-line or bait. They appear to think that some great benefit is to be
-obtained by passing over a certain space of land and water, and being
-imposed upon to an unlimited extent by a horde of _commissionnaires_,
-_ciceroni_, couriers, and others, who find in their ignorance and lack
-of common sense a source of wealth. I met, the other day, a gentleman
-from one of the Western States, who said that he was "putting up" at
-Meurice's Hotel, but didn't think much of it; if it had not been for
-some English people whom he fell in with on the way from Calais, he
-should have gone to the H�tel de Ville, which he supposed, from the
-pictures he had seen, must be a "fust class house"! I have within a few
-hours seen an American, who could not ask the simplest question in
-French, but thinks that he shall stop three or four weeks, and learn the
-language! I have repeatedly met people who told me that they had come
-out to Europe "jest to see the place." But it is not alone such
-ignoramuses as these who merit the pity or contempt of the judicious and
-sensible. Their folly injures no one but themselves. The same cannot be
-said, however, of the authors of the numerous duodecimos of foreign
-travel which burden the booksellers' counters. They have supposed that
-they can sketch a nation's character by looking at its towns from the
-windows of an express train. They presume to write about the social life
-of France or Italy, while they are ignorant of any language but their
-own, and do not know a single French or Italian family. Victims of a
-bitter prejudice against those countries and their institutions, they
-are prepared beforehand to be shocked and disgusted at all they see.
-Like Sterne's Smelfungus, they "set out with the spleen and jaundice,
-and every object they pass by is discoloured or distorted." Kenelm Digby
-wisely remarks that one of the great advantages of journeying beyond
-sea, to a man of sense and feeling, is the spectacle of general
-travellers: "it will prevent his being ever again imposed upon by these
-birds of passage, when they record their adventures and experience on
-returning to the north."
-
-Dijon is a fine old city. Every body knows that it used to be the
-capital of Burgundy, but to the general reader it is more particularly
-interesting as being the place to which Mrs. Dombey and Mr. Carker fled
-after the elopement. There is a fine cathedral and public library, and
-the whole place has an eminently Burgundian flavour which makes one
-regret that he got tired so soon when he tried to read Froissart's
-Chronicles. There is a church there which was desecrated during the old
-revolution, and is now used as a market-house. It bears an inscription
-which presents a satirical commentary on its recent history: "_Domine,
-dilexi decorem domus tu�!_" The Dijon gingerbread (which the people, in
-their ignorance and lack of our common school advantages, call _pain
-d'�pice_) would really merit a diploma from that academy of
-connoisseurs, the Massachusetts House of Representatives. But Dombey and
-Dijon are all forgotten in our first glimpse of the "gay capital of
-bewildering France." There lay Paris, sparkling under the noonday sun.
-The sight of its domes and monuments awoke all my fellow-travellers:
-shabby caps and handkerchiefs were exchanged for hats and bonnets, which
-gave their wearers an air of respectability perfectly uncalled for. We
-were soon inside the fortifications, which have been so outgrown by the
-city that one hardly notices them; and, after the usual luggage
-examination, I found myself in an omnibus, and once more on the
-Boulevards.
-
-And what a good, comfortable home-feeling it was! There were the old,
-familiar streets, the well-known advertisements, painted conspicuously,
-in blue, and green, and gold, on what would else have been a blank,
-unsightly wall, and inviting me to purchase cloths and cashmeres; there
-were the same ceaseless tides of life ebbing and flowing through those
-vast thoroughfares, the same glossy beavers, the same snowy caps and
-aprons, the same blouses, the same polite, _s'il vous-pla�t, pardon,
-m'sieur_, take-it-easy air, that Paris, as seen from an omnibus window,
-always presents. We rolled through the Rue St. Antoine, and it was hard
-to realize that it had ever been the theatre of so much appalling
-history. I tried to imagine the barricades, the street ploughed up by
-artillery, and that heroic martyr, Archbishop Affre, falling there, and
-praying that his blood might be the last shed in that fratricidal
-strife; but it was useless; the lively present made the past seem but
-the mere invention of the historian. All traces of the frightful scenes
-of 1848 have been effaced, and the facilities for barricades have been
-disposed of in a way that must make red republicanism very disrespectful
-to the memory of MacAdam. As we passed a church in that bloody locality,
-a wedding party came out; the bridegroom looked as if he had taken
-chloroform to enable him to get through his difficulties, and the effect
-of it had not entirely passed off. The bride (for women, you know, have
-greater power of endurance than men) seemed to take it more easily, and,
-beaming in the midst of a sort of wilderness of lace, and gauze, and
-muslin, like a lighthouse in a fog, she tripped briskly into the
-carriage, with a bouquet in her hand, and happiness in her heart. Before
-the bridal party got fairly out of sight, a funeral came along. The
-white pall showed that it was a child who slept upon the bier; for the
-Catholic church does not mourn over those who are removed from the
-temptations of life before they have known them. The vehicles all gave
-way to let the little procession pass, the hum seemed to cease for a
-moment, every head was uncovered, even the porter held his burden on his
-shoulder with one hand that he might pay his respects to that sovereign
-to whom even republicans are obliged to bow, and the many-coloured hats
-of the omnibus drivers were doffed. I had often before noticed those
-striking contrasts that one sees in a capital like Paris; but to meet
-such a one at my very entrance impressed me deeply. Such is Paris. You
-think it the liveliest place in the world, (and so it is;) but suddenly
-you come upon something that makes you thoughtful, if it does not sadden
-you. Life and death elbow and jostle each other along these gay streets,
-until it seems as if they were rivals striving to drive each other out.
-I entered a church a day or two since. There was a funeral at the high
-altar. The black vestments and hangings, the lighted tapers, the solemn
-chant of the _De profundis_ were eloquent of death and what must follow
-it. I was startled by hearing a child's cry, and looking round into the
-chapel which served as a baptistery, there stood two young mothers who
-had just received their infants from that purifying laver which made
-them members of the great Christian family. I never before had that
-beautiful thought of Chateaubriand's so forced upon me--"Religion has
-rocked us in the cradle of life, and her maternal hand shall close our
-eyes, while her holiest melodies soothe us to rest in the cradle of
-death."
-
-There are, without doubt, many persons, who can say that in their
-pilgrimage of life they have truly "found their warmest welcome at an
-inn." My experience outstrips that, for I have received one of my most
-cordial greetings in a _caf�_. The establishment in question is so
-eminently American, that I should feel as if I had neglected a sacred
-duty, if I did not describe it, for the benefit of future sojourners in
-the French capital, who are hereby requested to overhaul their
-memorandum books and make a note of it. It does not boast the
-magnificence and luxury of the _Caf� de Paris_, V�ry's, the _Trois
-Fr�res Proven�aux_, nor of Taylor's; nor does it thrust itself forward
-into the publicity of the gay Boulevards, or of the thronged arcades of
-the _Palais Royal_. It does not appeal to those who love the noise and
-dust of fashion's highway; for them it has no welcome. But to those who
-love "the cool, sequestered path of life," it offers a degree of quiet
-comfort, to which the "slaves of passion, avarice, and pride," who view
-themselves in the mirrors of the _Maison Dor�e_, are strangers. You turn
-from the _Boulevard des Italiens_ into the _Rue de la Michodi�re_, which
-you perambulate until you come to number six, where you will stop and
-take an observation. Perhaps wonder will predominate over admiration.
-The front of the establishment does not exceed twelve feet in width, and
-the sign over the door shows that it is a _Cr�merie_. The fact is also
-adumbrated symbolically by a large brass can, which is set over the
-portal. In one of the windows may be observed a neatly-executed placard,
-to this effect:--
-
-    _Aux Am�ricains_
-        Sp�cialit�.
-
-      Pumpkin Pie.
-
-"Enter--its vastness overwhelms thee not!" On the contrary, having
-passed through the little front shop, you stand in a room ten or twelve
-feet square--just the size of Washington Irving's "empire," in the Red
-Horse Inn, at Stratford. This little room is furnished with two round
-tables, a sideboard, and several chairs, and is decorated with numerous
-crayon sketches of the knights of the aforesaid round tables. You make
-the acquaintance of the excellent Madame Busque, and order your dinner,
-which is served promptly and with a motherly care, which will at first
-remind you of the time when your bib was carefully tied on, and you were
-lifted to a seat on the family Bible, which had been placed on a chair,
-to bring the juvenile mouth into proper relations with the table.
-
-Nothing can surpass the home feeling that took possession of me when I
-found myself once more in Madame Busque's little back room at No. 6,
-_Rue de la Michodi�re_. How cordial was that estimable lady's welcome!
-She made herself as busy as a cat with one chicken, and prepared for me
-a "tired nature's sweet restorer" in the shape of one of her famous
-omelets. The old den had not changed in the least. Madame Busque used to
-threaten occasionally to paint it, and otherwise improve and embellish
-it; but we always told her that if she did any thing of that kind, or
-tried to render it less dingy, or snug, or unpretending, we would never
-eat another of her pumpkin pies. Not all the mirrors and magnificence of
-the resorts of fashion can equal the quiet cosiness of Madame Busque's
-back room. You meet all kinds of company there. The blouse is at home
-there, as well as its ambitious cousin, the broadcloth coat. Law and
-medicine, literature and art, pleasure and honest toil, meet there upon
-equal terms. Our own aristocratic Washington never dreamed of such a
-democracy as his calm portrait looks down upon in that room. Then we
-have such a delightful neighbourhood there. I feel as if the charcoal
-woman of the next door but one below was some relation to me--at least
-an aunt; she always has a pleasant word and a smile for the frequenters
-of No. 6; and then it is so disinterested on her part, for we can none
-of us need any of her charcoal. I hope that no person who reads this
-will be misled by it, and go to Madame Busque's _cr�merie_ expecting to
-find there the variety which the restaurants boast, for he will be
-disappointed. But he will find every thing there of the best
-description. My taste in food (as in most other matters) is a very
-catholic one: I can eat beef with the English, garlic and onions with
-the French, sauerkraut with the Germans, macaroni with the Italians,
-pilaf with the Turks, baked beans with the Yankees, hominy with the
-southerners, and oysters with any body. But as I feel age getting the
-better of me day by day, I think I grow to be more and more of a
-pre-Raphaelite in these things. So I crave nothing more luxurious than a
-good steak or chop, with the appropriate vegetables; and these are to be
-had in their perfection at Madame Busque's. My benison upon her!
-
-The canicular weather I suffered from in the south followed me even
-here. I found every body talking about the extraordinary _chaleur_.
-Shade of John Rogers! how the sun has glared down upon Paris, day after
-day, without winking, until air-tight stoves are refrigerators compared
-to it, and even old-fashioned preaching is outdone! How the asphalte
-sidewalks of the Boulevards have melted under his rays, and perfumed the
-air with any thing but a Sab�an odour! The fragrance of the linden trees
-was entirely overpowered. The thought of the helmets of the cavalry was
-utterly intolerable. Tortoni's and the _caf�s_ were crowded. Great was
-the clamour for ices. Greater still was the rush to the cool shades of
-the public gardens, or the environs of Bougival and Marly. At last, the
-welcome rain came hissing down upon these heated roofs; and _malheur_ to
-the man who ventures out during these days without his umbrella. It has
-been a rain of terror. It almost spoilt the great national _f�te_ of the
-15th; but the people made the best of it, and, between the free
-theatrical performances at sixteen theatres, the superb illuminations,
-and the fireworks, seemed to have a very merry time. I went in the
-morning to that fine lofty old church, (whose Lady Chapel is a splendid
-monument of Couture's artistic genius,) St. Eustache, where I heard a
-new mass, by one M. L'H�te. It was well executed, and the orchestral
-parts were particularly effective. After the mass, the annual _Te Deum_
-for the Emperor was sung. The effect of the latter was very grand;
-indeed, when it was finished, I was just thinking that it was impossible
-for music to surpass it, when the full orchestra and two organs united
-in a burst of harmony that almost lifted me off my feet. I recognized
-the old Gregorian anthem that is sung every Sunday in all the churches,
-and when it had been played through, the trumpets took up the air of the
-chant, above the rest of the accompaniment, and the clear, alto voice of
-one of those scarlet-capped choir-boys rang out the words, _Domine,
-salvum fac imperatorem nostrum, Napoleonem_, in a way that seemed to
-make those old arches vibrate, and wonderfully quickened the circulation
-in the veins of every listener. It was like the gradual mounting and
-heaving up of a high sea in a storm on the Atlantic, which, when it has
-reached a pitch you thought impossible, curls majestically over, and,
-breaking into a creamy foam, loses itself in a transitory vision of
-emerald brilliancy, that for the moment realizes the most gorgeous and
-improbable fables of Eastern luxury. It made even me, notwithstanding my
-prejudices in favour of republicanism, forget the spread eagle, and my
-free (and easy) native land, and for several hours I found myself
-singing that solemn anthem over in a most impressive manner. _Vive
-l'Empereur!_
-
-
-
-PARIS
-
-
-This is a wonderful city. It seems to me, as I ride up and down the gay
-Boulevards on the roof of an omnibus, or gaze into the brilliant
-shop-windows of the Palais Royal, or watch the happy children in the
-garden of the Tuileries, or stand upon the bridges and take in as much
-as I can at once of gardens, palaces, and church towers--it seems to me
-like a great theatre, filled with gay company, to whom the same grand
-spectacle is always being shown, and whose faces always reflect
-something of that brilliancy which lights up the gorgeous, never-ending,
-last scene of the drama. I know that the play has its underplot of
-vicious poverty and crime, but they shrink from the glare of the
-footlights and the radiance of the red fire that lights up the scene.
-Taken in the abstract--taken as it appears from the outside--Paris is
-the most perfect whole the world can show. It was a witty remark of a
-well-known citizen of Boston, touching the materialistic views of many
-of his friends, that "when good Boston people die, they go to Paris." I
-know many whose highest idea of heaven would find its embodiment in the
-sunshine of the Place de la Concorde or the gas light of the Rue de
-Rivoli. Paris captivates you at once. In this it differs from Rome. You
-do not grow to love it; you feel its charms before you have recovered
-from the fatigue of your journey--before you have even reached your
-hotel, as you ride along and recognize the buildings and monuments which
-books and pictures have made familiar. In Rome all is different. Michel
-Angelo's mighty dome, to be sure, does impress you, as you come to the
-city; but when you enter, the narrow streets are such a contrast to the
-broad, free campagna you have just left, that you feel oppressed and
-cramped as you ride through them. You find one of the old temples kept
-in repair and serving as a custom house; this is a damper at the outset,
-and you sigh for something to revive the ancient customs of the world's
-capital. You walk into the Forum the next day, musing upon the line of
-the twelve C�sars, and your progress is arrested, and your sense of the
-dramatic unities of your position deeply wounded, by an unamusing and
-prosaic clothes-line. You keep on and try to recall Cicero, and
-Catiline, and Jugurtha, and Servius Tullius, and Brutus, and
-Virginius,--but it is useless, for you find a cow feeding there as
-quietly as if she were on the hills of Berkshire. The whole city seems
-sad and mouldy, and out of date, and you think you will "do the sights"
-as rapidly as possible, and then be off. But before many days you find
-that all is changed. The moss that clothes those broken walls becomes as
-venerable in your sight as the gray hairs upon your mother's brow; the
-ivy that enwreathes those old towers and columns seems to have wound
-itself around your heart and bound it forever to that spot.
-Clothes-lines, dirt, and all the inconveniences inseparable from the
-older civilization of Rome, fade away. The Forum, the Palace of the
-C�sars, the Appian Way, all become instinct with a new--or rather with
-their old life; and you feel that you are in the Rome of Livy and
-Sallust,--you have found the Rome of which you dreamed in boyhood, and
-you are happy. With Paris, as I have said, you are not obliged to serve
-such an apprenticeship. You have read of Paris in history, in novels, in
-guide-books, in the lucubrations of the whole tribe of
-correspondents--you recognize it at once on seeing it, and accept it for
-all that it pretends to be. And you are not deceived. And this, I
-apprehend, is the reason why we never feel that deep, clinging affection
-for Paris that we do for that "goddess of all the nations, to whom
-nothing is equal and nothing second"--that city which (as one of her
-prophet-poets said) shall ever be "the capital of the world, for
-whatever her arms have not conquered shall be hers by religion." You
-feel that Paris is the capital of Europe, and you bow before it as you
-would before a sovereign whose word was law.
-
-I wonder whether every body judges of all new things by the criterion of
-childhood, as I find myself constantly doing. Whatever it may be, I
-apply to it the test of my youthful recollections of something similar,
-and it almost always suffers by the process. Those beautiful
-architectural wonders that pierce the sky at Strasburg and Antwerp will
-bear no comparison, in point of height, with the steeple of the Old
-South as it exists in the memory of my childhood. I have never seen a
-picture gallery in Europe which awakened any thing like my old feelings
-on visiting one of the first Athen�um exhibitions many years ago. Those
-wonderful productions of Horace Vernet, in which one may read the
-warlike history of France, are nothing compared to my recollections of
-Trumbull's "Sortie of Gibraltar," as seen through an antediluvian tin
-trumpet which considerably interfered with my vision, but which I
-thought it was necessary to use. I have visited libraries which
-antedated by centuries the discovery of America,--I have rambled over
-castles which seemed to re�cho with the clank of armour and the clarion
-calls of the old days of chivalry,--I have walked through the long
-corridors and halls of the Vatican with cardinals and kings,--I have
-mused in church-crypts and cloisters, in whose silent shade the dead of
-a thousand years reposed,--but I have never yet been impressed with any
-thing like the awe which the old Athen�um in Pearl Street used to
-inspire into my boyish heart. Pearl Street in those days was as innocent
-of traffic and its turmoil as the quiet roads around Jamaica Pond are
-now. A pasture, in which the Hon. Jonathan Phillips kept a cow, extended
-through to Oliver Street, and handsome old-fashioned private houses with
-gardens around them occupied the place of the present rows of granite
-warehouses. The Athen�um, surrounded by horse-chestnut trees, stood
-there in aristocratic dignity and repose, which it seemed almost
-sacrilegious to disturb with the noise of our childish sports. There
-were a few old gentlemen who used to frequent its reading-room, whose
-white hair, (and some of them even wore knee breeches and queues and
-powder,) always stilled our boyish clamour as we played on the
-grass-plots in the yard. To some of these old men our heads were often
-uncovered,--for children were politer in those days than now,--and to
-our young imagination it seemed as if they were sages, who carried about
-with them an atmosphere of learning and the fragrance of academic
-groves. They seemed as much a part of the mysterious old establishment
-as the books in the library, the dusty busts in the entries, or the old
-librarian himself. Sometimes I used to venture into those still
-passages, and steal a look into that reading-room whose quiet was never
-broken, save by the wealthy creak of some old citizen's boots, or by the
-long breathing of some venerable frequenter of the place, enjoying his
-afternoon nap. In later years I came to know the Athen�um more
-familiarly; the old gentlemen lost the character of sages and became
-estimable individuals of quiet tastes, who were fatiguing the
-Massachusetts Hospital Life Insurance Company by their long-continued
-perusal of the Daily Advertiser and the Gentleman's Magazine; but my old
-impression of the awful mystery of the building remains to this day. I
-mourned over the removal to the present fine position, and I seek in
-vain amid the stucco-work and white paint of the new edifice for the
-charm which enthralled me in the old home of the institution. Some
-people, carried away by the utilitarian spirit of the age, may think
-that it is a great improvement; but to me it seems nothing but an
-unwarrantable innovation on the established order of things, and a
-change for the worse. Where is the quiet of the old place? Younger and
-less reverential men have risen up in the places of the old, and have
-destroyed all that rendered the old library respectable. The good old
-times when Dr. Bass, the librarian, sat on one side of the fireplace,
-and the late John Bromfield (with his silk handkerchief spread over his
-knees) on the other, and read undisturbed for hours, have passed away. A
-hundred persons use the library now for one who did then; and I am left
-to feed upon the memory of better times, when learning was a quiet,
-comfortable, select sort of thing, and mutter secret maledictions on the
-revolutionary spirits who have made it otherwise.
-
-But pardon me, dear reader,--all this has little to do with Paris,
-except by way of illustration of my remark that the youthful standard of
-intellectual weights and measures is the only infallible one we ever
-know. But Paris is something by itself: it overrides all standards of
-greatness or beauty, and all preconceived notions of itself, and
-addresses itself with confidence to every taste. Ladies love Paris as a
-vast warehouse of jewelry and all the rich stuffs that hide the
-crinoline from eyes profane. Physicians revel in its hospitals, and talk
-of "splendid operations," such as make the unscientific change colour.
-
-Paris is a world in itself. Here may the Yankee find his pumpkin-pie and
-sherry-cobblers, the Englishman his _rosbif_, the German his sauerkraut,
-the Italian his macaroni. Here may the lover of dramatic art choose his
-performance among thirty theatres, and he who, with Mr. Swiveller, loves
-"the mazy," will find at the Jardin Mabille a bower shaded for him. Here
-the bookworm can mouse about, in more than twenty large public
-libraries, and spend weeks in the delightful exploration of countless
-book-stalls. Here the student of art can read the history of France on
-the walls of Versailles, or, revelling in the opulence of the Louvre,
-forget his studies, his technicalities, his criticisms, in contemplation
-of the majestic loveliness of Murillo's "sinless Mother of the sinless
-Child." Here may "fireside philanthropists, great at the pen," compare
-their magnificent theories with the works of delicate ladies who have
-left the wealth they possessed and the society they adorned, for the
-humble garb of the Sister of Charity and a laborious ministry to the
-poor, the diseased, and the infirm, and meditate in the cool quadrangles
-of hospitals and benevolent institutions, founded by saints, and
-preserved in their integrity by the piety of their disciples. Here may
-the man who wishes to look beyond this brilliant world, find churches
-ever open, inviting to prayer and meditation, where he may be carried
-beyond himself by the choicest strains of Haydn and the solemn grandeur
-of the Gregorian Chant,--or may be thrilled by the eloquent periods of
-Ravignan or Lacordaire, until the unseen eternal fills his whole soul,
-and the visible temporal glories of the gay capital seem to him the
-transient vanities they really are.
-
-How few people really know Paris! To most minds it presents itself only
-as a place of general pleasure-seeking and dissipation. I have seen many
-men whose only recollections of Paris were such as will give them no
-pleasure in old age, who flattered themselves that they knew Paris. They
-thought that the whole city was given up to the folly that captivated
-them, and so they represent Paris as one vast reckless masquerade. I
-have seen others who, walking through the thronged _caf�s_ and
-restaurants, have felt themselves justified in declaring that the French
-had no domestic life, and were as ignorant of family joys as their
-language is destitute of a single Word to express our good old Saxon
-word "home"; not knowing that there are in Paris thousands of families
-as closely knit together as any that dwell in the smoky cities of Old
-England, or amid the bustle and activity of our new world. Good people
-may turn up their eyes, and talk and write as many jeremiads as they
-will about the vanity and wickedness of Paris; but the truth is, that
-this great Babel has even for them its cheering side, if they would but
-keep their eyes open to discover it. Let them visit the churches on the
-vigils of great feasts, and every Saturday, and see the crowds that
-throng the confessionals: let them rise an hour or two earlier than
-usual, and go into any of the churches, and they will find more
-worshippers there on any common weekday morning than half of the
-churches in New England collect on Sundays. Let them visit that
-magnificent temple, the Madeleine, and see the freedom from social
-distinctions which prevails there: the soldier, the civilian, the rich
-and the poor, the high-bred lady, the servant in livery, and the negress
-with her bright yellow and red kerchief wound around her head, are there
-met, on an equality that free America knows not of.
-
-The observance of the Sunday is a sign of the times which ought not to
-be overlooked. Only a few years ago, and suspension of business on
-Sunday was so uncommon that notice was given by a sign to that effect on
-the front of the few shops whose proprietors indulged in that strange
-caprice. The signs (like certain similar ones on apothecary shops in
-Boston, to the effect that prescriptions are the only business attended
-to on the first day of the week) used to seem to me like a bait to catch
-the custom of the godly. But the signs have passed away before this
-movement, inaugurated by the Emperor, who forbade labour on the public
-works on Sunday, and preached up by the late Archbishop of Paris and the
-parish clergy. There are few shops in Paris that do not close on Sunday
-now--at least in the afternoon. And this is done by the free will of the
-trades-people: it is not the result of a legislative enactment. The law
-here leaves all people free in regard to their religious duties. The
-shops of the Jews, of course, are open on Sunday, for they are obliged
-to close on Saturday, and of course ought not to be expected to observe
-two days. Of course, too, the public galleries, and gardens, and places
-of amusement are all open; God forbid that the hard-faring children of
-toil should be cheated out of any innocent recreation on the only free
-day they have by any attempts to judaize the Christian Sunday into a
-sabbath. It is a great mistake to suppose that people can be made better
-by diminishing the sources of innocent pleasure. No; if the Sunday be
-made a hard, uninteresting day, when smiling is a grave impropriety, and
-a hearty laugh a mortal sin, children will begin by disliking the day,
-and end by despising the religion that made it gloomy. But provide the
-people with music in the public parks on Sunday afternoon and
-evening,--make the day a cheerful, happy time to those who are ingulfed
-in the carking cares of life all the rest of the week,--make it a day
-which children shall look forward to with longing, and you will find
-that the people are better, and happier, and thriftier for the change.
-You will find that the mechanic or labourer, instead of lounging away
-his Sunday in a grog-shop, (for the business goes on even though the
-front door may be barred and the shutters closed,) will be ambitious to
-take his wife and children to hear the music, and will after a time
-become as well behaved as the common run of people. It is better to use
-the merest worldly motives to keep men in the path of decency, than to
-let them slide away to perdition because they refuse to listen to the
-more dignified teachings of religion.
-
-I have been much impressed by a visit to a large, but
-unpretentious-looking house in the Rue du Bac--the "mother-house" of
-that admirable organization, the Sisters of Charity. It was not much of
-a visit, to be sure--for not even my gray hairs and respectable
-appearance could gain for me an admission beyond the strangers' parlour,
-the courtyard, and the cool, quiet chapel. But that was enough to
-increase my respect and admiration for those devoted women. The
-community there consists of _six hundred_ Sisters of Charity, whose
-whole time is occupied in taking care of the sick, and needy, and
-neglected in the hospitals and asylums, and in every quarter of the
-city. You see them at every turn, going quietly about their work of
-benevolence, and presenting a fine contrast to some of our noisy
-theorists at home. I may be in error, but it strikes me that that
-community is doing more in its present mode of action to advance the
-true dignity and "rights" of the sex, than if it were to resolve itself
-into a convention, after the American fashion. I was somewhat anxious to
-inquire whether any of the sisters of the community had ever taken to
-lecturing or preaching in public; but the modest and unassuming manner
-of all those whom I saw, rendered such a question unnecessary. I fear
-that oratory is sadly neglected among them; with this exception, and
-perhaps the absence of a certain strong-mindedness in their characters,
-I think that they will compare very favourably with any of our
-distinguished female philanthropists. They wear the same gray habit and
-odd-shaped white bonnet that the Sisters of Charity wear in Boston.
-While we praise the self-forgetful heroism of Florence Nightingale as it
-deserves, let us not forget that France sent out her Florence
-Nightingales to the Crimea by fifties and hundreds--young and delicate
-women, hiding their personality under the common dress of a religious
-order, casting aside the names that would recall their rank in the
-world, unencouraged in their beneficence by any newspaper paragraphs,
-and unrewarded save by the sweet consciousness of duty done. The Emperor
-Alexander, struck by the part played in the Crimean campaign by the
-Sisters of Charity, has recently asked the superior of the order to
-detail five hundred of the sisters, for duty in the hospitals of Russia.
-It is understood that the request will be complied with so far as the
-number of the community will permit.
-
-If I were asked to sum up in one sentence the practical result of my
-observations of men and manners here on the continent, I should say that
-it was this: We have a great deal to learn in America concerning the
-philosophy of life. I do not mean that philosophy which teaches us that
-"it is not all of life to live," but the philosophy of making
-ninety-three cents furnish the same amount of comfort in America that
-five francs do in Paris. The spirit of centralization is stronger here
-than in any American city: (it is too true, as Heine said, that to speak
-of the departments of France having a political opinion as distinguished
-from Paris, "is to talk of a man's legs thinking;") and there is no
-reason why people of moderate means should not be able to live as
-respectably, comfortably, and economically in our cities as here, if
-they will only use a little common sense. The model-lodging-house
-enterprise was a most praiseworthy one, but it seems to have been
-confined only to the wants of the most necessitous class in the
-community. There is, however, a large class of salesmen, and
-book-keepers, and mechanics, on salaries of six hundred to twelve or
-fourteen hundred dollars, whose position is no less deserving of
-commiseration. When the prices of beefsteak and potatoes went up so
-amazingly a few years ago, there were few salaries that experienced a
-similar augmentation. The position of the men on small salaries
-therefore became peculiar, not to say unpleasant, as rents rose in the
-same proportion as every thing else. Any person, familiar with the rents
-of brick houses for small families in most of the Atlantic cities, will
-see how difficult it is for such people as these to live within their
-means. Now, the remedy for this evil is a simple one, but it requires
-some public-spirited men to initiate it. Suppose that a few large,
-handsome houses, on the European plan, (that is, having a suite of
-rooms, comprising a parlour, dining-room, two or three bedrooms, and a
-kitchen, on each floor,) were built in any of our great
-thoroughfares,--the ground floors might be used for shops,--for there is
-no reason why respectable people should any more object to living over
-shops there, than on the Boulevards. Such houses, it is easy to see,
-would be good paying property to their owners, as soon as people got
-into that way of living; and when salaried men saw that they could get
-the equivalent, in comfort and available room, to an ordinary five
-hundred dollar house for half that rent, in a central situation, depend
-upon it, they would not be long in learning how to live in that style.
-The advantages of this plan of domestic life are numerous and striking.
-Housekeeping would be disarmed of half its difficulties; the little
-kitchen would furnish the coffee and eggs in the morning and the tea and
-toast at night--the dinner might be ordered from a neighbouring
-restaurant for any hour--for such establishments would increase with the
-increase of apartments. The dangers of burglary would be diminished, for
-the housekeeper would have only the door leading to the staircase to
-lock up at night. The washing would be done out of the house, and the
-steam of boiling suds, and all anxiety about clothes-lines, and sooty
-chimneys, and windy weather would thereby be avoided. Thousands of
-people would be liberated from the caprice and petty tyranny of the
-railroad directors, whose action has so often filled our newspapers with
-resolutions and protests, and, so far as Boston is concerned, its
-peninsula might be made the home of a population of three hundred
-thousand instead of a hundred and eighty thousand persons. The most
-rigidly careless person can hardly fail to become a successful
-housekeeper, when the matter is made so easy as it is by the European
-plan. The plan, too, not only simplifies the mysteries of domestic
-economy, but it snuggifies one's establishment wonderfully, and gives it
-a home feeling, such as what are called genteel houses nowadays wot not
-of. The change has got to come--and the sooner it does, the better it
-will be for our cities, and many of their people, who have been driven
-into remote and unpleasant suburbs by high rents, or who are held back
-from marriage by the expenses of housekeeping conducted on the present
-method.
-
-
-
-PARIS--THE LOUVRE AND ART
-
-
-It is an inestimable advantage to an idle man to have such a place as
-the Louvre ever open to him. The book-stalls and print-shops of the
-quays, those never-failing sources of pleasure and of extravagance in a
-small way, cannot be visited with any satisfaction under the meridian
-sun; the shop windows, a perpetual industrial exhibition, grow tiresome
-at times; the streets are too crowded, the gardens too empty; the
-reading rooms are close; the newspapers are stupid; and what remains?
-Why, the Louvre opens its hospitable doors, and, blessing the memory of
-Francis I., the tired wanderer enters, and drinks in the refreshing
-coolness of those quiet and spacious halls. If he is an antiquarian, he
-plunges deep into the arcana of ancient Egypt, and emulates the great
-Champollion; if he is a student of history, he muses on the sceptre of
-Charlemagne, or the old gray coat and coronation robes of the first
-Napoleon; if he is devoted to art, he travels through that wilderness of
-paintings and statuary, and thinks and talks about _chiaro 'scuro_,
-"breadth of colour," or "bits of foreshortening." But if he be a man of
-simple tastes, who detests technicalities, and enjoys all such things in
-a quiet, general sort of way, without knowing exactly what it is that
-pleases him,--he goes through room after room, now stopping for an
-instant before a set of antique china, now speculating on the figure he
-should cut in one of those old suits of armour, and finally settling
-down in a chair before some landscape by Cuyp or Claude, in which the
-artist seems to have imprisoned the sunbeams and the warm, fragrant
-atmosphere of early June; or else he seats himself on that comfortable
-sofa before Murillo's masterpiece, and contemplates the supernal beauty
-and holy exaltation of the face of her whom Dante calls the "Virgin
-Mother, daughter of her Son." He is surrounded by artists, engaged in a
-work that seems to verify the old maxim, _Laborare est orare_,--each one
-striving to reproduce on his canvas the effects of the angel-guided
-pencil of Murillo.
-
-I find it useless for me to attempt to visit the Louvre systematically,
-as most people do. I have frequently tried to do it, but it has ended by
-my walking through one or two rooms, and then taking up my position
-before Murillo's Conception, and holding it until the hour came for
-closing the gallery. When I was young, I used to think what a glorious
-thing it would have been to have felt the thrill of joy that filled the
-heart of the discoverer of America, or the satisfaction of Shakspeare
-when he had finished Hamlet or Macbeth, or of Beethoven when he had
-completed his seventh symphony; but all that covetousness of the
-impossible is blotted out by my envy of the great Spanish painter. What
-must have been the deep transport of his heart, when he gazed upon the
-heavenly vision his own genius had created! He must have felt
-
-        "----like some watcher of the skies,
-      When a new planet sails into his ken,
-    Or like stout Cortez, when, with eagle eyes,
-      He stared at the Pacific.----"
-
-In spite of all my natural New England prejudice, I cannot help admiring
-and loving that old Catholic devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Its
-humanizing effects can be seen in the history of the middle ages, and
-they are felt amid all the bustle and roar of this irreverent nineteenth
-century. Woman cannot again be thought the soulless being heathen
-philosophy considered her; she cannot again become a slave, for she is
-recognized as the sister of her who was chosen to make reparation for
-the misdeeds of Mother Eve. I am strongly tempted to transcribe here
-some lines written in pencil on the fly-leaf of an old catalogue of the
-museum of the Louvre, and found on the sofa before Murillo's picture.
-The writer seems to have had in mind the beautiful conclusion of the
-life of Agricola by Tacitus, where the great historian says that he
-would not forbid the making of likenesses in marble or bronze, but would
-only remind us that such images, like the forms of their originals, are
-frail and unenduring, while the beauty of the mind is eternal, and can
-be perpetuated in the manners of succeeding generations better than by
-ignoble materials and the art of the sculptor. The lines appear to be a
-paraphrase of this idea.
-
-    O blest Murillo! what a task was thine,
-      That Mother to portray whose beauty mild
-    Combined earth's comeliness with grace divine,--
-      To whom our God and Saviour as a child
-      Was subject--upon whom so oft He smiled!
-    Yet not less happy also in my part,--
-      For I, though in a world by sin defiled,
-    Though lacking genius and unskilled in art,
-    May paint that blessed likeness in a contrite heart.
-
-Art is the surest and safest civilizer. Popular education may be so
-perverted as only to minister to new forms of corruption, but art
-purifies itself; it has no Voltaires, and Rousseaus, and Eugene
-Sues,--for painting and sculpture, like poetry, refuse to be made the
-handmaids of vice or unbelief. Open your galleries of art to the people,
-and you confer on them a greater benefit than mere book education; you
-give them a refinement to which they would otherwise be strangers. The
-boor, turned loose into civilized society, soon catches something of its
-tone of politeness; and those who are accustomed to the contemplation of
-forms of ideal beauty will not easily be won by the grossness and
-deformity of vice. A fine picture daily looked at becomes by degrees a
-part of our own souls, and exerts an influence over us of which we are
-little aware. Some English writer--Hazlitt, I think--has said, that if a
-man were thinking of committing some wicked or disgraceful action, and
-were to stop short and look for a moment at some fine picture with which
-he had been familiar, he would inevitably be turned thereby from his
-purpose. It is to be hoped that the time is not far distant when each of
-our great American cities shall possess its gallery of art, which (on
-certain days of the week, at least) shall be as free to all well-behaved
-persons as the public parks themselves. We may not boast the artistic
-wealth of Rome, Florence, Paris, Dresden, or any of the old capitals of
-Europe; but the sooner we make a beginning, the better it will be for
-our galleries and our mob. We need some more effectual humanizer than
-our educational system. Reading, writing, and ciphering are great
-things, but they are powerless to overcome the rudeness and irreverence
-of our people. Our populace seems to lack entirely the sense of the
-beautiful or the sublime. As Charles Lamb said, "They have, alas! no
-passion for antiquities--for the tomb of king or prelate, sage or poet.
-If they had, they would no longer be the rabble." It is too true that
-the attempts which have been made to open private gardens to the
-enjoyment of the public have resulted in the most shameful abuses of
-privilege, and that flowers are stolen from the graves in our
-cemeteries; but there is no reason for giving our people up as past
-praying for, on the score of politeness and common decency. They must be
-educated up to it: some abuses may occur at first, but a few salutary
-lessons on the necessity of submission to authority will rectify it all,
-and our people will, in the course of time, become as well-behaved as
-the people of France or Italy.
-
-I am no antiquarian. I do not love the antique for antiquity's sake. It
-must appeal to me through the medium of history, or not at all. Etruscan
-relics have no other charm for me than their beauty of form. I care but
-little for Egyptian sarcophagi or their devices and hieroglyphics, and I
-would not go half a mile to see a wilderness of mummies. Whenever I feel
-a longing for any thing in the Egyptian or heathen line, I can resort to
-Mount Auburn, with its gateway--and this thought satisfies me; so that I
-pass by all such things without feeling that I am a loser. With such
-feelings, there are many of the halls of the Louvre which I only walk
-through with an admiring glance at their elegance of arrangement. A few
-days since, in wandering about there, I found a room which I had never
-seen before, and which touched me more nearly than any thing there,
-except the paintings. It has been opened recently. I had been looking
-through the relics of royalty with a considerable degree of
-pleasure,--meditating on the armour of Henry the Great, the breviary of
-St. Louis, and the worn satin shoe which once covered the little foot of
-Marie Antoinette,--and was about to leave, when I noticed that a door
-was open which in past years I had seen closed. I pushed in, and found
-myself in a vast and magnificent apartment, on the gorgeously frescoed
-ceiling of which was emblazoned the name--which is a tower of strength
-to every Frenchman--_Napoleon_. Around the room, in elegant glass cases,
-were disposed the relics of the saint whom Mr. Abbott's bull of
-canonization has placed in red letters in the calendar of Young America.
-Leaving aside all joking upon the attempts to prove that much-slandered
-monarch a saint, there was his history, written as Sartor Resartus would
-have written it, in his clothes. There was a crayon sketch of him at the
-age of sixteen; there was a mathematical book which he had studied, the
-case of mathematical instruments he had used; there was the coat in
-which he rode up and down the lines of Marengo, inspiring every heart
-with heroism, and every arm with vigour; the sword and coat he wore as
-First Consul; the glittering robes which decked him when he sat in the
-chair of Clovis and Charlemagne, the idol of his nation, and the terror
-of all the world besides; the stirrups in which he stood at Waterloo,
-and saw his brave legions cut up and dispersed; and, though last, not
-least, there was the old gray coat and hat in which he walked about at
-St. Helena, and the very handkerchief which in his dying hour wiped the
-chill dew of eternity from his brow. There were many things
-besides--there were his table and chair; his camp bed on which he rested
-during those long campaigns; his gloves, his razor strap, his comb, the
-clothes of his little son, the "King of Rome," and the bow he played
-with; the saddles and other presents which he received during his
-expedition to the East, and his various court dresses--but the old gray
-coat was the most attractive of all. It was a consolation to notice that
-it had lost a button, for it showed that though its wearer was an
-anointed emperor, he was not exempt from the vicissitudes of common
-humanity. I sat down and observed the people who visited the room, and I
-noticed that they all lingered around the old coat. It made no
-difference whether they spoke English, French, German, or any other
-tongue; there was something which appealed to them all; there was a
-common ground, where the student and the enthusiastic lover of high art
-could join in harmonious feeling, even with the practical man, who would
-not have cared a three-cent piece if Praxiteles and Canova had never
-sculptured, or Raphael and Murillo had never seen a brush. It required
-but a slight effort to fill the room up of the absent hero, and to
-"stuff out his vacant garments with his form," and perhaps this very
-thing tended to make the entire exhibition a sad one. It was the most
-melancholy commentary on human glory that can be imagined. It ought to
-be placed in the vestibule of a church, or in some more public place,
-and it would purge a community of ambition. What a sermon might
-Lacordaire preach on the temporal and the eternal, with the sword and
-the coronation robes of Napoleon I. before him!
-
-The interest which I have seen manifested by so many people in the
-relics of Napoleon I. has afforded me considerable amusement. I have
-lately seen so much ridicule cast upon the relics of the saints
-preserved in many of the churches of Italy, by people of the same class
-as those who lingered so reverentially before the glass cases of the
-Napoleon room in the Louvre, that I cannot help thinking how rare a
-virtue consistency is.
-
-Perhaps it may be owing to some weakness in my mental organization, but
-I cannot acknowledge the propriety of honouring the burial-places of
-successful generals, and, at the same time, think the shrines of the
-saints worthy of nothing but ridicule and desecration. I found myself, a
-few years ago, looking with grave interest at an old coat of General
-Jackson's, which is preserved in the Patent Office at Washington; and I
-cannot wonder at the reverence which some people pay to the garments of
-a martyr in the cause of religion. I cannot understand how it may be
-right and proper to celebrate the birthdays of worldly heroes, and "rank
-idolatry" to commemorate the self-denying heroes of Christianity. I
-cannot join in the setting-up of statues of generals and statesmen, and
-condemn a similar homage to the saints by any allusions to the enormity
-of making a "graven image." In fine, if it is right to adorn and
-reverence the tomb of the Father of his Country, (and what American
-heart does not acknowledge its propriety?) it certainly cannot be wrong
-to beautify and venerate the tomb of the chief apostle, and the shrines
-of saints and martyrs who achieved for themselves and their fellow-men
-an independence from a tyranny infinitely worse than that from which
-Washington liberated America.
-
-I have recently been visiting the three great monuments of the reign of
-Napoleon III.--the completed Louvre, the Bois de Boulogne, and the
-Halles Centrales. As to the first, those who remember those narrow,
-nasty streets, which within six years were the approaches to the Louvre
-and the Palais Royal, and those rickety old buildings reminding one too
-strongly of cheese in an advanced stage of mouldiness, that used to
-intrude their unsightly forms into the very middle of the Place du
-Carrousel,--those who recollect the junk shops that seemed more fitting
-to the neighbourhood of the docks than to the entrance to a palace and a
-gallery of art,--feel in a manner lost, when they walk about the
-courtyards of the noble edifice which has taken the place of so much
-deformity. If the new wings of the Louvre had been built in one range
-instead of quadrangles, they would extend more than half a mile! Half a
-mile of palace, and a palace, too, which in building has occupied one
-hundred and fifty sculptors for the past five years! Those who have not
-visited Paris within five years will recollect the Bois de Boulogne only
-as a vast neglected tract of woodland, which seemed a great waste of the
-raw material in a place where firewood is so expensive as it is here. It
-is now laid out in beautiful avenues and walks, the extent of which is
-said to be nearly two hundred miles. You are refreshed by the sound of
-waterfalls and the coolness of grottos, the rocks for the formation of
-which were brought from Fontainebleau, more than forty miles distant
-from Paris. You walk on, and find yourself on the shores of a lake, a
-mile or two in length, with two or three lovely islands in it, and in
-whose bright blue waters thousands of trout are sporting. That wild
-waste, the old Bois de Boulogne, which few persons but duellists ever
-visited, has passed away, and in its place you find the most magnificent
-park in the world. It is indeed a perfect triumph of landscape
-gardening. It is nature itself, not in miniature, but on such a scale as
-to deceive you entirely, and fill you with the same feeling of
-admiration that is awakened by any striking natural beauty. The old
-French notions of landscape gardening seem to have been entirely cast
-aside. The carriage roads and paths go winding about so that the view is
-constantly changing, and the trees are allowed to grow as they please,
-without being tortured into fantastic shapes by the pruning knife. The
-banks of the lake have been made irregular, now steep, now sloping
-gently to the water's edge, and in some places huge jagged rocks have
-been most naturally worked in, while ivy has been planted around them,
-and in their crevices those weeds and shrubs which commonly grow in such
-places. You would about as readily take Jamaica Pond to be artificial as
-this lovely sheet of water and its surroundings. The Avenue de
-l'Imp�ratrice is the road from the Arc de Triomphe to the Bois de
-Boulogne. It is half or three quarters of a mile in length, and is
-destined to be one of the most striking features of Paris. It is laid
-out with spacious grass plots, with carriage ways and ways for
-equestrians and foot passengers, with regular double rows of trees on
-either side. Many elegant ch�teau-like private residences already adorn
-it, and others are rapidly rising. An idea of its majestic appearance
-may be had from the fact that its entire width from house to house is
-about four hundred feet. The large space around the Arc de Triomphe is
-already laid out in a square, to be called the Place de l'Europe, and
-the work has already been commenced of reducing the buildings around it
-to symmetry. The Halles Centrales, the great central market-house of
-Paris, has just been opened to the public. It is built mainly of iron
-and glass. As nearly as I could judge of its size, I should think it
-would leave but little spare room if it were placed in Union Park, New
-York. It is about a hundred feet in height, and so well ventilated that
-it is hard to realize when there that one is under cover. A wide street
-for vehicles runs through its whole length, crossed by others at equal
-intervals. I have called these three public improvements the great
-monuments of the reign of Napoleon III.; not that I would limit his good
-works to these, but because these may be taken as conspicuous
-illustrations of his care, no less for the amusements than for the
-bodily wants of his people, and of his zeal for the promotion of art and
-the adornment of his capital. But these noble characteristics of the
-Emperor deserve something more than a mere passing notice, and may well
-form the subject of my next letter.
-
-
-
-NAPOLEON THE THIRD[1]
-
-
-There is a period in the life of almost every man which may justly be
-termed the romantic period. I do not mean the time when a youth, whose
-heart is as yet unwarped by the selfishness of the world, and his brow
-unclouded by its trials and its sorrows, thinks that the performance of
-his life will fully come up to the glowing programme he then composes
-for it; neither do I refer to the period when, in hungry expectation, we
-clutched eagerly at the booksellers' announcements of the last
-productions of the eloquent Bulwer, or of the inexhaustible James. But I
-refer to the time when childhood forgets its new buttons in reading how
-poor Ali Baba relieved his wants at the expense of the wicked thieves;
-how Whittington heard Bow Bells ring out the prophecy of his greatness;
-how fierce Blue Beard punished his wife's curiosity; and how good King
-Alfred merited reproof by his forgetfulness of the herdsman's supper.
-This is the true period of romance in the lives of all of us; for then
-all the romance that we read is clothed with the dignity of history, and
-all our history is invested with the charm of romance. This happy period
-does not lose its attractions, even when we outgrow the credulity of
-childhood; for the romance of history captivates us when we no longer
-are subject to the sway of the novelist; and we leave Mr. Thackeray's
-last uncut, until we can finish a newspaper chapter in the history of
-these momentous times.
-
- [1] The author must plead guilty to a little hesitation (induced by the
-     present aspect of European affairs) about incorporating this paper
-     on the French Emperor, written some three years since, in his work.
-     He feels, however, that, whatever may be the issue of the present
-     contest in Europe, the services of Napoleon III. to France and to
-     civilization are a part of history; and he has no wish to disguise
-     his satisfaction at having been one of the first Americans who
-     confronted the vulgar prejudices of his countrymen against that
-     remarkable man, and publicly recognized the wonderful talents which
-     have placed France at the head of all civilized nations.
-
-We know how eagerly we pursue the vicissitudes of fortune which have
-marked the career of so many of the world's heroes; and this will teach
-us how future generations will read the history of the present century.
-Surely the whole range of romance presents no parallel to the simple
-history of the wonderful man who now governs France. It is easy to see
-that his varied fortunes will one day perform a conspicuous part in that
-juvenile classical literature of which I have spoken; and perhaps it may
-not be unprofitable, dear reader, for us to endeavour to raise ourselves
-above the excitement of partisanship and the influences of old
-prejudices, and look upon his career as may the writers of the
-twenty-fifth century.
-
-It is a popular error in America to regard Louis Napoleon as a singular
-combination of knavery and half-wittedness. Even Mr. Emerson, in his
-_English Traits_, so far forgets the kindliness of his nature as to call
-him a "successful thief." The English journalists once delighted to
-ridicule him as the "nephew of his uncle," and the shadow of a great
-name, and Punch used to represent him as a pygmy standing upon the brim
-of his uncle's hat, and wondering how he could ever fill it; but he has
-lived down ridicule, and they have long since learned that there is such
-a thing as the possibility of a mistake in judgment, even among
-journalists and politicians. It is time that we Americans got over a
-notion which has long since been exploded on this side of the Atlantic.
-I know that I am flying in the face of those who believe in the plenary
-inspiration of the New York Tribune, when I claim for the Emperor any
-thing like patriotism or capacity as a statesman. I know that the
-Greeleian, "philanthropic" code exacts that we should _not_ "give the
-prisoner the benefit of the doubt," and that when any one whom we
-dislike does any good, we should attribute it to nothing but a selfish
-or ambitious motive. I know that this new-fangled love of all mankind
-requires us to hate those who differ from us politically, and never to
-lose an opportunity to blacken their characters and diminish their
-reputation; and therefore I make all due allowances for the refusal of
-the Tribune, and journals of the same amiable family, to see the truth.
-In April, 1856, I was waiting for a train in a way station on the
-Worcester Railroad. A sun-burned, hard-working man was reading the news
-of the proclamation of peace at Paris from a penny paper, and he
-commented upon it to two or three others who were present, as follows:
-"Well, I don't know how 'tis, but it seems to _me_ that we've been most
-almightily mistaken about this 'ere _Lewis_ Napoleon. We used to think
-he was a shaller kind o' feller any how, but it really looks now,
-judging from the _position_ of France in _European_ affairs, as if he
-was turning out to be altogether the _biggest dog in that tanyard_!" The
-old fellow's conclusion was a true one, though his rhetoric would not
-have been commended at Cambridge; and it is to prevent this conclusion
-forcing itself upon the public sense, that the sympathizers with
-socialism have been labouring ever since. We are told that it is our
-duty as Americans and republicans to wish for the overthrow of Napoleon
-and his empire, and the establishment of the _r�publique d�mocratique et
-sociale_. Now, having received my political principles from another
-source than the Tribune, I may be pardoned for having a prejudice in
-favour of allowing the people of France to govern France; and, as they
-elected Louis Napoleon President in 1848 by more than five millions of
-votes, and in 1851 chose him dictator (in their fear of the very party
-which the Tribune wishes to see in power) by more than _seven_ millions
-of votes, and finally, in 1852, made him their Emperor by a vote of more
-than seven millions against a little more than three hundred thousand,
-we may suppose France to have expressed a pretty decided opinion on this
-matter. The French empire rests upon the very principle that forms the
-basis of true republicanism--universal suffrage. Louis Napoleon restored
-that principle after it had been suppressed or restricted, and proved
-himself a truer republican than his opponents. For nine years, Napoleon
-has been sustained by the people of France with a unanimity such as the
-United States never knew, except in the election of Washington as first
-President, and his majority has increased every time that he has
-appealed to the people. It is idle to say that there are parties here
-that are opposed to him; it would be a remarkable phenomenon if there
-were not. But there is a more united support here for the Emperor than
-there is in our own country for the constitution of the United States,
-and any right-minded man would regret a revolutionary movement in one
-country as much as in the other.
-
-If there was ever a position calculated to test the capabilities of its
-occupant, it was that in which Louis Napoleon found himself when he
-obeyed the voice of the French people, and accepted the presidency of
-the French republic. Surrounded by men holding all kinds of political
-opinions, from the agrarian Proudhon to the impracticable Louis Blanc,
-and men of no political opinions whatever,--he found himself obliged to
-use all the power reposed in him by the constitution, to keep the
-government from falling asunder. History bears witness to the fact that
-republican governments deteriorate more rapidly than those which are
-based upon a less changeable foundation than the popular will. But there
-was little danger of the French republic deteriorating, for it was about
-as weak and unprincipled as it could be in its very inception. There
-were a few men of high and patriotic character in the Assembly, but (as
-is generally the case) their voices were drowned amid the clamourings of
-a crowd of radical journalists and ambitious _litt�rateurs_, whose only
-bond of union was a fierce hatred of law and religion, and a desire for
-the spoils of office. These were the men with whom Napoleon had to deal.
-They had favoured his election to the presidency, for, in their
-misapprehension of his character, they thought him the mere shadow of a
-name, and expected under his government to have all things their own
-way. But they were not long in discovering their mistake.
-
-His conduct soon showed that he was the proper man for the crisis. That
-unflinching republican, General Cavaignac, had before pointed out the
-dangers to all European governments, and to civilization itself, that
-would spring from the continuance of the sanguinary and sacrilegious
-Roman Republic; and Napoleon, accepting his suggestions, took immediate
-measures to put an end to the atrocities which marked the sway of
-Mazzini and his assassins in the Roman States.[2] The success which
-attended these measures is now a part of history. There is a kind of
-historical justice in this part of Napoleon's career which must force
-itself upon every reflecting mind. From the day when St. Remy told his
-royal convert, Clovis, to "burn what he had adored, and adore what he
-had burned," the monarch of France had always been considered the
-"eldest son of the Church." The Roman Pontiff was indebted to Pepin and
-Charlemagne for those possessions which rendered him independent of the
-secular power. In the hour of need it was always to the Kings of France
-that he looked for aid; and whether he sought aid against the oppressors
-of the Holy See or the infidel possessors of the Holy Sepulchre, he
-seldom appealed to them in vain. It was meet, therefore, that Napoleon
-should inaugurate his power by thus reviving the ancient traditionary
-spirit of the French monarchy; for he could not better prove his
-worthiness to sit on the throne which had been occupied by so many
-generous and heroic spirits, than by fighting the battles of the Church
-they loved so well.
-
- [2] Lest I should be thought guilty of speaking rashly with regard to
-     the anarchy which Napoleon destroyed in 1849 at Rome, I take the
-     liberty to transcribe a few extracts from the constitution of the
-     Society of "Young Italy," which will give some idea of the
-     principles upon which the Roman Republic rested. I translate from
-     the edition published at Naples, by Benedetto Cantalupo.
-
-     "_Article I._ The Society is established for the entire destruction
-     of all the governments of the peninsula, and for the forming of
-     Italy into a single state, under a republican government.
-
-     "_Art. II._ In consequence of the evils attendant upon absolute
-     government, and the still greater evils of constitutional monarchy,
-     we ought to join all our efforts to establish a single and
-     indivisible republic.
-
-     "_Art. XXX._ Those members who shall disobey the commands of the
-     Society, or who shall reveal its mysteries, shall be poniarded
-     without remission.
-
-     "_Art. XXXI._ The secret tribunal shall pronounce sentence in such
-     cases as the preceding, and shall designate one or more of the
-     brethren to carry it into instant execution.
-
-     "_Art. XXXII._ The brother who shall refuse to execute a sentence
-     thus pronounced shall be considered as a perjurer, and as such
-     shall be immediately put to death.
-
-     "_Art. XXXIII._ If the victim condemned to punishment should
-     succeed in escaping, he shall be pursued unremittingly into
-     anyplace whatever, and shall be struck as by an invisible hand,
-     even if he shall have taken refuge on the bosom of his mother, or
-     in the tabernacle of Christ.
-
-     "_Art. XXXIV._ Each secret tribunal shall be competent not only to
-     condemn the guilty to death, but also to put to death all persons
-     so sentenced."
-
-The foreign and domestic policy which the Prince-President pursued
-excited at the same time the anger of the ultra republican faction, and
-the hopes of the religious and conservative portion of society. Order
-was restored, and an impetus was given to commercial enterprise and to
-the arts of peace such as France had not known since the outbreak of
-1848. Still the discordant elements of which the Assembly was composed,
-were a just cause of alarm to all friends of good order, and all
-parties, conservative and radical, regarded the existing state of
-affairs as a temporary one. Napoleon saw that the only obstacle in the
-path of the nation to peace and prosperity was the Assembly--the
-radicals of the Assembly that the Prince-President was the only obstacle
-to their plans of disorganization and anarchy; and they also saw that,
-if the question were allowed to go to the people at the expiration of
-Napoleon's term of office, he would surely be re�lected, and that his
-policy would be triumphantly confirmed. So, as the time drew near for
-the new election, the struggle between the President and the
-Assembly--between order and anarchy--grew more and more severe. Plots
-were formed against Napoleon, and were just ripening for execution,
-when, on the second of December, 1851, he terminated the suspense of the
-nation by seizing and throwing into prison all the chief conspirators
-against the public peace, and then appealed to the people to sustain him
-in his efforts to preserve his country from the state of anarchy towards
-which it seemed to be hastening. The people answered promptly and with
-good will to the call, and Napoleon gained an almost bloodless victory.
-
-But we are told that by the _coup d'�tat_, "Napoleon violated his oath
-to sustain the constitution of the republic--that he is a perjurer, and
-all his success cannot diminish his crime." So might one of the old
-loyalists have said about our own Washington. "He was a British
-subject--by accepting a commission under Braddock, he formally
-acknowledged his allegiance to the crown--by drawing his sword in the
-revolution, he violated not only his fidelity as a subject, but his
-honour as a soldier." And what would any American reply to this? He
-would say that Washington never bound himself to violate his conscience,
-and that conscientiously he felt bound to defend the old English
-principles of free government even against the encroachments of his own
-rightful sovereign. And so, with equal reason, it may be said of Louis
-Napoleon, when the term of his presidency was approaching, and the
-radical members of the Assembly were forming conspiracies to dispose of
-him so as to prevent his re�lection, he was bound in conscience, as the
-chief ruler of his country, to prevent the anarchy that must result from
-such a movement. And how could he do this save by dissolving the
-Assembly and appealing to the people as he did? The constitution was
-nullified by the plots of the Assembly, and France in 1851 was really
-without a government, until the _coup d'�tat_ inaugurated the present
-reign of public prosperity and peace. The _coup d'�tat_ was not only
-justifiable--it was praiseworthy. When the prejudices and party spirit
-of the present time shall have passed away, the historian will grow
-eloquent in speaking of that fearless and far-sighted statesman, who,
-when his country was threatened with a repetition of the civil strife
-which had too often shaken her to her centre, threw himself boldly upon
-the patriotism of the people with those noble words, "The Assembly,
-instead of being what it ought to be, the support of public order, has
-become a nest of conspiracies. It compromises the peace of France. I
-have dissolved it; and I call upon the whole people to judge between it
-and myself."--The _coup d'�tat_ excited the anger only of the socialists
-and of those partisans of the houses of Bourbon and Orl�ans who loved
-those families more than they loved their country's welfare; for they
-saw, by the revival of business, that confidence in the stability of the
-government was established, and that Napoleon had obtained a place in
-the affections of the French people from which he could not easily be
-dislodged.
-
-From this dictatorship, which the dangers of the time had rendered
-necessary, it was an easy transition to the empire, and Louis Napoleon
-found his succession to the throne of his uncle confirmed by almost the
-unanimous vote of the French people. It was a tribute to the man, and to
-his public policy, such as no ruler in modern times has ever received,
-and for unanimity is unparalleled in the history of popular elections.
-His marriage followed quickly upon the proclamation of the empire; and
-in this, as in all his acts, we can discern his manly and independent
-spirit. He sought not to ally himself with any of the royal families of
-Europe, for he felt himself to be so sure of his position, that he could
-without risk consult his affections rather than policy or ambition.
-
-The skilful diplomacy which led to the alliance with England, the
-campaign in the Crimea, and the repulse of Russia, are too fresh in
-every body's recollection to bear any repetition. So far as they concern
-Napoleon III., the world is a witness to his matchless coolness and
-determination. What could be grander than the heroic inflexibility he
-displayed in the face of the accumulated disasters of that campaign, and
-the murmurs of his allies! Misfortune only seemed to nerve him to more
-vigorous effort. During that terrible winter of 1854-5, he appeared more
-like a fixed, unvarying law of nature than a man,--so immovable was he
-in his opposition to those who, pressed by the unlooked-for difficulties
-of the time, counselled a change of policy. The successful termination
-of the siege of Sebastopol, however, proved the justice of his
-calculations, and, while conquering monarchs in other times have been
-content to see the negotiations for peace made in some provincial town,
-or in a city of some neutral state, the proud satisfaction was conceded
-to him by Russia of having the peace conferences held in his own
-capital.
-
-But while commemorating the success of his efforts to raise his country
-to a commanding position among the nations, we must not forget the great
-enterprises of internal improvement which he has set on foot within his
-empire. Who can recall what Paris was under Louis Philippe, or the time
-of the republic, and compare it with the Paris of to-day, without
-admiring the genius of Napoleon III.? Who does not recognize a wonderful
-capacity for the administration of government in the Emperor, when he
-sees that nearly all of these great improvements (unlike those of Louis
-XIV., which impoverished the nation) will gradually but surely pay for
-themselves by increasing the amount of taxable property? Indeed, the
-improvements in the city of Paris alone are on so vast a scale as to be
-incomprehensible to any one unacquainted with that capital. If Napoleon
-were to-day to fall a victim to that organization of republican
-assassins which is known to exist in France, as well as in the other
-states of Europe, he would leave, in the Louvre, in the Bois de
-Boulogne, in the new Boulevards, and the extension of the Rue de Rivoli,
-together with the countless other public works which now adorn Paris,
-testimonials to the splendour of his brief reign, such as no monarch
-ever left before: of him, as of Sir Christopher Wren, it might be truly
-said, "_Si qu�ris monumentum, circumspice_."
-
-But we must not think that Napoleon has confined his exertions to the
-improvement of Paris alone. Not a single province of his empire has been
-neglected by him, and there is scarcely a town that has not felt the
-influence of his policy. The foreign commerce of France has been
-wonderfully increased by him, and his favourite project for a ship canal
-through the Isthmus of Suez is now numbered among the probabilities of
-the age. When it is considered what a narrow strip of land separates the
-Red Sea from the Mediterranean, and what an immense advantage such a
-canal would be to all the countries bordering on the latter, it is not
-wonderful that Napoleon should find so many friends among the sovereigns
-of Europe. He has not built the magnificent new port of Marseilles
-merely for the accommodation of the Mediterranean coasting trade of his
-empire. His far-seeing eye looks upon those massive quays covered with
-merchandise from every quarter of the Orient, brought, not around the
-stormy Cape, nor by the toilsome caravan over the parching desert, but
-by the swift steamers of the _Messageries Imp�riales_ from every port of
-India, through the waters which, centuries ago, rolled back and opened a
-path of safety to the chosen people of God.
-
-If the old proverb be true, that a man is known by the company he keeps,
-it is equally true, on the other hand, that a statesman may be rightly
-known by examining the character of his opponents. And who are the
-opponents of Napoleon III.? With the exception of a few partisans of the
-Bourbons, (whose opposition to the Napoleon dynasty is an hereditary
-complaint,) they are radical demagogues, who delight to mislead the
-fickle multitude with the words, "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity," on
-their lips, but the designs of anarchy and bloodshed in their hearts.
-Their ranks are swelled by a number of visionary "philanthropists," and
-a large number of newspaper scribblers deprived of their occupation by
-Napoleon's salutary laws against abuse of the liberty of the press, and
-lacking ambition to earn an honest livelihood. Among them may be found a
-few literary men of high reputation, who have espoused some
-impracticable theory of government, and would blindly throw away their
-well-earned fame, and shed the last drop of their ink in forcing it upon
-an unwilling nation.
-
-Slander, like Death, loves a shining mark. The fact cannot be doubted,
-if we look at the lives of the greatest and best men the world has ever
-seen. In truth, a large part of the heroism of the noblest patriots, and
-the purest philanthropists, has been created by the necessity they have
-been under to bear up against the obloquy with which enmity or envy has
-assailed them. The Emperor Napoleon is, beyond a doubt, the best abused
-man in Christendom. There probably never existed a man whose every act
-and every motive have been more studiously misrepresented and
-systematically lied about than his. It cannot be wondered at, either;
-for he exercises too much power in the state councils of Europe, and
-fills too large a space in the public eye, not to be assailed by those
-whose evil prophecies have been falsified by his brilliant reign, and
-whose lawless schemes have been frustrated by his unexampled prudence
-and firmness.
-
-And what right has he to complain? If St. Gregory VII. were obliged to
-submit for centuries to being represented as an ambitious self-seeker
-and unscrupulous politician, instead of a wise and far-seeing pontiff, a
-vanquisher of tyrants, and a self-denying saint; if St. Thomas of
-Canterbury be held up, in hundreds of volumes, as a monster of
-ingratitude towards a beneficent sovereign, and a haughty and
-overbearing supporter of prelatical tyranny, instead of a martyr, in
-defence of religious liberty against the encroachments of the civil
-authority; if Cardinal Wolsey be held up to public scorn as a proud and
-selfish prince of the Church, a glutton, and a wine-bibber, instead of a
-skilful administrator of government, a liberal patron of learning, and
-all good arts, and the sole restrainer of the evil passions of the most
-shameless tyrant who ever sat upon the English throne; if Cardinal
-Richelieu be handed down from generation to generation, painted in the
-blackest colours, as a scheming politician, in whose heart, wile and
-cruelty were mixed up in equal parts, instead of a sagacious and
-inflexible statesman, and a patriot who made every thing (even his
-religion) bend to his devotion to the glory of his beloved France; if
-these great men have been thus misrepresented in that history which De
-Maistre aptly calls "a conspiracy against truth," I do not think that
-Napoleon III. can reasonably complain of finding himself denounced as a
-tyrant, a perjurer, and a victim of all the bad passions that vex the
-human heart, instead of a liberator of his country from that many-headed
-monstrosity, miscalled the _R�publique Fran�aise_, an unswerving
-supporter of the cause of law and religion, and the architect of the
-present glory and prosperity of France. It must be a great consolation
-to the Emperor, under the slanders which have been heaped upon him, to
-reflect that their authors and the enemies who hate him worst, are, for
-the most part, infidels and assassins, and enemies of social order.
-Whatever errors a man may commit, he cannot be far from the course of
-right so long as he is hated and feared by people of that desperate
-stamp. The ancient adage tells us that "a cat may look at a king"; and
-it is, perhaps, a merciful provision of the law of compensation that the
-base reptiles which fatten on the offal of slander are permitted to
-trail their slime over a name which is the synonyme of the power and
-glory of France.
-
-When the prejudices of the present day shall have died out, the
-historian will relate how devoted Napoleon III. was to every thing that
-concerned his country's welfare. He will tell of his ceaseless care for
-the most common wants of his people, and of his vigilance in enforcing
-laws against those who wronged the poor by their dishonest dealings in
-the necessaries of life. He will relate how promptly he turned his back
-upon nobles and ambassadors to visit some of his people who had been
-overwhelmed by a terrible calamity, and will describe the kind, fatherly
-manner in which he went among them, carrying succour and consolation to
-all. He will not compare the Emperor to his great warrior-uncle; he will
-_contrast_ the two. He will show how the uncle made all Europe fear and
-hate him, and how the nephew converted his enemies into allies; how the
-uncle manured the soil of Europe with the bones of his soldiers, and the
-nephew, having given splendid proofs of his ability to make war, won for
-himself the title of "the Pacificator of Europe"; how the uncle, through
-his hot-headed ambition, finally made France the prey of a hostile
-alliance, and the nephew brought the representatives of all the European
-powers around him in his capital to make peace under his supervision.
-
-The man who, after thirty years of exile and six years of close
-imprisonment, can take a country in the chaotic condition in which
-France found itself after the revolution of 1848, and reorganize its
-government, place its financial affairs on a better footing than they
-have been before within the memory of man, double its commerce, and
-raise it to the highest place among the states of Europe, cannot be an
-ordinary man. In 1852, the Emperor said, "France, in crowning me, crowns
-herself;" and he has proved the literal truth of his words. He has given
-France peace, prosperity, and a stable government. He has imitated
-Napoleon I. in every one of his great and praiseworthy actions in his
-civil capacity, while he has not made a single one of his mistakes. And
-if "he that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a
-city," this remarkable man, whose self-control is undisturbed by his
-most unparalleled success, is destined to be known in history as
-Napoleon the Great.
-
-The character of Napoleon III. is marked by a unity and a consistency
-such as invariably have distinguished the greatest men. We can see this
-consistency in his fidelity to the cause of law and order, whether it be
-manifested in his services as a special constable against the Chartists
-of England, or as the chief magistrate of his nation against the
-Chartists of France. And to this conspicuous virtue of steadfastness he
-adds a wonderful universality of acquirements and natural genius. We see
-him contracting favourable loans and averting impending dangers in the
-monetary affairs of France, and it would seem as if his early life had
-been spent amid the clamours of the Bourse; we see him concentrating
-troops in his capital against the threats of the revolutionists, or
-designing campaigns against the greatest military powers of Europe; we
-see him maintaining a perfect composure in the midst of deadly missiles
-which were expected to terminate his reign and dynasty, and it would
-seem as if the camp had always been his home, and the dangers of the
-battle-field his familiar associations; we see him buying up grain to
-prevent speculators from oppressing his people during a season of
-scarcity, or imprisoning bakers for a deficiency in the weight of their
-loaves, or regulating the sales of meats and vegetables,--and it would
-seem as if he always had been a prudent housekeeper and a profound
-student of domestic economy; we see him laying out parks, projecting new
-streets and public buildings, and we question whether he has paid most
-attention to architecture, engineering, or landscape-gardening; we see
-him visiting his subjects when they have been overwhelmed by a great
-calamity, and he would seem to have been a disciple of St. Thomas of
-Villanueva, or of St. Vincent of Paul; we see him taking the lead amid
-the chief statesmen and diplomatists of the world, we read his powerful
-state papers and speeches, and we wonder where he acquired his
-experience; we see him, in short, under all circumstances, and it
-appears that there is nothing that concerns his country's welfare or
-glory too difficult for him to grapple with, nor any thing affecting the
-happiness of his poorest subject trivial enough for him to overlook. By
-his advocacy of the cause of the Church, he has won a place in history
-by the side of Constantine and Charlemagne; by his internal policy and
-care for the needs of his subjects, his name deserves to be inscribed
-with those of St. Louis and Alfred. The language which Bulwer has put
-into the mouth of Cardinal Richelieu might be used by Napoleon III., and
-would from him be only the language of historical truth:--
-
-      "I found France rent asunder,
-    Sloth in the mart and schism within the temple,
-    Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws
-    Rotting away with rust-- * * * *
-    _I have re-created France_, and from the ashes
-    Civilization on her luminous wings
-    Soars phoenix-like to Jove!"
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
-
-
-Foreign travel is one of the most useful branches of our education, but,
-like a great many other useful branches, it appears to be "gone through
-with" by many persons merely as a matter of course. It is astonishing
-how few people out of the great number constantly making the tour of
-Europe really carry home any thing to show for it except photographs and
-laces. Foreign travel ought to rub the corners off a man's character,
-and give him a polish such as "home-keeping youth" can never acquire;
-yet how many we see who seem to have increased their natural rudeness
-and inconsiderateness by a continental trip! Foreign travel ought to
-soften prejudices, religious or political, and liberalize a man's mind;
-but how many there are who seem to have travelled for the purpose of
-getting up their rancour against all that is opposed to their notions,
-making themselves illustrations of Tom Hood's remark, that "some minds
-resemble copper wire or brass, and get the narrower by going farther."
-Foreign travel, while it shows a man more clearly the faults of his own
-country, ought to make him love his country more dearly than before; yet
-how often does it have the effect of making a man undervalue his home
-and his old friends! There must be some general reason why foreign
-travel produces its legitimate fruits in so few instances; and I have,
-during several European tours, endeavoured to ascertain it. I am
-inclined to think that it is a general lack of preparation for travel,
-and a mistaken notion that "sight-seeing" is the chief end of
-travelling. The expenses of the passage across the Atlantic are
-diminishing every year, and when the motive power in electricity is
-discovered and applied, the expense of the trip will be a mere trifle;
-and in view of these considerations, I feel that, though I might find a
-more entertaining subject for a letter, I cannot find a more instructive
-one than the philosophy of European travel.
-
-Concerning the expense of foreign travel, there are many erroneous
-notions afloat. There are hundreds of persons in America--artists, and
-students, and persons of small means--who are held back from what is to
-them a land of promise, by the mistaken idea that it is expensive to
-travel in Europe. They know that Bayard Taylor made a tour on an
-incredibly small sum, and they think that they have not his tact in
-management, nor his self-denial in regard to the common wants of life;
-but if they will put aside a few of their false American prejudices,
-they will find that they can travel in Europe almost as cheaply as they
-can live at home. In America, we have an aristocracy of the pocket,
-which is far more tyrannical, and much less respectable, than any
-aristocracy of blood on this side of the water; for every man feels an
-instinctive respect for another who can trace his lineage back to some
-brave soldier whose deeds have shone in his country's history for
-centuries; but it requires a peculiarly constituted mind to bow down to
-a man whose chief claim to respect is founded in the fact of his having
-made a large fortune in the pork or dry goods line. Jinkins is a rich
-man; he lives in style, and fares sumptuously every day. Jones is one of
-Jinkins's neighbours; he is not so rich as Jinkins, but he feels a
-natural ambition to keep up with him in his establishment, and he does
-so; the rivalry becomes contagious, and the consequence is, that a score
-of well-meaning people find, to their dismay, at the end of the year,
-that they have been living beyond their means. Now, if people wish to
-travel reasonably in Europe, the first thing that they must do is to get
-rid of the Jones and Jinkins standard of respectability. I have seen
-many people who were content to live at home in a very moderate sort of
-way, who, when they came to travel, seemed to require all the style and
-luxury of a foreign prince. Such people may go all over Europe, and see
-very little of it except the merest outside crust. They might just as
-well live in a fashionable hotel in America, and visit Mr. Sattler's
-cosmoramas. They resemble those unfortunate persons who have studied the
-classics from Anthon's text-books--they have got a general notion, but
-of the mental discipline of the study they are entirely ignorant. But
-let me go into particulars concerning the expenses of travelling. I know
-that a person can go by a sailing vessel from Boston to Genoa, spend a
-week or more in Genoa and on the road to Florence, pass two or three
-weeks in that delightful city, and two months in Rome, then come to
-Paris, and stay here two or three weeks, then go to London for a month
-or more, and home by way of Liverpool in a steamer, for less than four
-hundred dollars; for I did it myself several years ago. During this
-trip, I lived and travelled respectably all the time--that is, what is
-called respectably in Europe. I went in the second class cars, and in
-the forward cabins of the steamers. Jones and Jinkins went in the first
-class cars and in the after cabins, and paid a good deal more money for
-the same pleasure that cost me so little. I know, too, that a person can
-sail from Boston to Liverpool, make a summer trip of two months and a
-half to Paris, _via_ London and the cities of Belgium, and back to
-Boston _via_ London and Liverpool, for a trifle over two hundred and
-fifty dollars. A good room in London can be got for two dollars and a
-half a week, in Paris for eight dollars a month, in Rome and Florence
-for four dollars a month, and in the cities of Germany for very
-considerably less. And a good dinner costs about thirty cents in London,
-thirty-five in Paris, fifteen to twenty-five in Florence or Rome, and
-even less in Germany. Breakfast, which is made very little of on the
-continent, generally damages one's exchequer to the extent of five to
-ten cents. It will be seen from this scale of prices that one can live
-very cheaply if he will; and, as the inhabitants of a country may be
-supposed to know the requirements of its climate better than strangers,
-common sense would dictate the adoption of their style of living.
-
-I need not say that some knowledge of the French language is absolutely
-indispensable to one who would travel with any satisfaction in Europe.
-This is the most important general preparation that can be made for
-going abroad. Next after it, I should place a review of the history of
-the countries about to be visited. The outlines of the history of the
-different countries of Europe, published by the English _Society for the
-Diffusion of Useful Knowledge_, are admirably adapted to this purpose.
-This gives a reality to the scenes you are about to visit that they
-would not otherwise possess; it peoples the very roadside for you with
-heroes. And not only does it impart a reality to your travels, but
-history itself becomes a reality to you, instead of being a mere barren
-record of events, hard to be remembered. At this time, when the neglect
-of classical studies is apparent in almost every book, newspaper, and
-magazine, I am afraid that I shall be thought somewhat old-fashioned and
-out of date, if I say that some acquaintance with the Latin classics is
-necessary before a man can really enjoy Italy. Yet it is so; and it will
-be a great satisfaction to any man to find that Horace and Virgil, and
-Cicero and Livy, are something more than the hard tasks of childhood.
-Should a man's classical studies, however, be weak, the deficiency can
-be made up in some measure by the judicious use of translations, and by
-Eustace's Classical Tour. Murray's admirable hand-books of course will
-supply a vast amount of information; but it will not do to trust to
-reading them upon the spot. Some preparation must be made
-beforehand,--some capital is necessary to start in business. "If you
-would bring home the wealth of the Indies, you must carry out the wealth
-of the Indies." It would be well, too, for a person about to visit
-Europe to prepare himself for a quieter life than he has been leading at
-home. I mean, to tone himself down so as to be able to enjoy the freedom
-from excitement which awaits him here. It is now more than a year since
-I left America, and likewise more than a year since I have seen any
-disorderly conduct, or a quarrel, or even have heard high words between
-two parties in the street, or have known of an alarm of fire. In the
-course of the year, too, I have not seen half a dozen intoxicated
-persons. When we reflect what a fruitful source of excitement all these
-things are in America, it will be easy to see that a man may have,
-comparatively, a very quiet life where they are not to be found. It will
-not do any harm, either, to prepare one's self by assuming a little more
-consideration for the feelings of others than is generally seen among
-us, and by learning to address servants with a little less of the
-imperious manner which is so common in America. Strange as it may seem,
-there is much less distinction of classes on the continent, than in
-republican America. You are astonished to find the broadcloth coat and
-the blouse interchanging the civilities of a "light" in the streets, and
-the easy, familiar way of servants towards their masters is a source of
-great surprise. You seldom see a Frenchman or an Italian receive any
-thing from a servant without thanking him for it. Yet there appears to
-be a perfectly good understanding between all parties as to their
-relative position, and with all their familiarity, I have never seen a
-servant presume upon the good nature of his employer, as they often do
-with us. We receive our social habits in a great measure from England,
-and therefore we have got that hard old English way of treating
-servants, as if our object was to make them feel that they are
-inferiors. So the sooner a man who is going to travel on the continent,
-can get that notion out of his head, and replace it with the continental
-one, which seems to be, that a servant, so long as he is faithful in the
-discharge of his duties, is quite as respectable a member of society as
-his employer, the better it will be for him, and the pleasanter will be
-his sojourn in Europe.
-
-One of the first mistakes Americans generally make in leaving for Europe
-is, to take too much luggage. Presupposing a sufficiency of
-under-clothing, all that any person really needs is a good, substantial
-travelling suit, and a suit of black, including a black dress coat,
-which is indispensable for all occasions of ceremony. The Sistine Chapel
-is closed to frock coats, and so is the Opera--and as for evening
-parties, a man might as well go in a roundabout as in any thing but a
-dress coat. Clothing is at least one third cheaper in Europe than it is
-with us, and any deficiency can be supplied with ease, without carrying
-a large wardrobe around with one, and paying the charges for extra
-luggage exacted by the continental railways.
-
-Let us now suppose a person to have got fairly off, having read up his
-classics and his history, and got his luggage into a single good-sized
-valise,--let us suppose him to have got over the few days of
-seasickness, which made him wish that Europe had been submerged by the
-broad ocean (as Mr. Choate would say) or ever he had left his native
-land,--and to have passed those few pleasant days, which every one
-remembers in his Atlantic passage, when the ship was literally getting
-along "by degrees" on her course,--and to have arrived safely in some
-European port. The custom house officers commence the examination of the
-luggage, looking especially for tobacco; and if our friend is a wise
-man, he will not attempt to bribe the officers, as in nine cases out of
-ten he will increase his difficulties by so doing, and cause his effects
-to be examined with double care; but he will open his trunk, and, if he
-have any cigars, will show them to the examiner, and if he have not, he
-will undoubtedly be told to close it again, and will soon be on his way
-to his hotel. I suppose him to have selected a hotel before arriving in
-port--which would be done by carefully avoiding those houses which make
-a great show, or are highly commended in Murray's guide-books. He will
-find a neat, quiet European hotel a delightful place, after the gilding
-and red velvet of the great caravanseries of his native country. If he
-is going to stop more than a single night, he will ask the price of the
-room to which he is shown, and if it seems too expensive, will look
-until he finds one that suits him. When he has selected a room, and his
-valise has been brought up, he will probably observe that the servant
-(if it is evening) has lighted both of the candles on the mantel-piece.
-He will immediately blow one of them out and hand it to the waiter, with
-a look that will show him that he is dealing with an experienced
-traveller, who knows that he has to pay for candles as he burns them.
-When he leaves the hotel, he will make it a principle always to carry
-the unconsumed candle or candles with him, for use as occasion may
-require; for it is the custom of the country, and will secure him
-against the little impositions which are always considered fair play
-upon outsiders. It is possible that he will find, when he goes to wash
-his hands, that there is no soap in the wash stand, and will thank me
-for having reminded him to carry a cake with him rolled up in a bit of
-oiled silk. When he wishes to take lodgings in any city, he will be
-particular to avoid that part of the town where English people mostly do
-inhabit, and will be very shy of houses where apartments to let are
-advertised on a placard in phrases which the originator probably
-intended for English. He will look thoroughly before he decides, and so
-will save himself a great deal of dissatisfaction which he might feel on
-finding afterwards that others had done much better than he. Besides,
-"room-hunting" is not the least profitable, nor least amusing part of a
-traveller's experience. He will, when settled in his rooms, attend in
-person to the purchase of his candles and his fuel, and to the delivery
-of the same in his apartments; for by so doing he will save money, and
-will see more of the common people of the place.
-
-Of course he will see all the "sights" that every stranger is under a
-sort of moral obligation to see, however much it may fatigue him; but he
-must not stop there. He must not think, as so many appear to, that, when
-he has seen the palaces, and picture galleries, and gardens, and public
-monuments of a country, he knows that country. He must try to see and
-know as much as he can of the people of the country, for they (Louis
-Quatorze to the contrary, notwithstanding) are the state. Let him
-cultivate the habit of early rising, and frequent market places and old
-parish churches in the twilight of the morning, and he will learn more
-of the people in one month than a year of reading or ordinary
-sight-seeing could teach him. Let him choose back alleys, instead of
-crowded and fashionable thoroughfares for his walks; when he falls in
-with a wandering musician and juggler, exhibiting in public, let him
-stop, not to see the exhibition, but the spectators; when he goes to the
-theatre, let him not shut himself up in the privacy of a box, but go
-into the pit, where all he will see and hear around him will be full as
-amusing as the performance itself; and when he uses an omnibus, let him
-always choose a seat by the driver, in preference to one inside. I have
-learnt more of the religious character of the poorer class in Paris, by
-a visit to a little out-of-the-way church at sunrise, than could be
-acquired by hours of conversation with the people themselves. And I have
-learned equally as much of the brutality and degradation of the same
-class in England, by going into a gin-shop late at night, calling for a
-glass of ale, and drinking it slowly, while I was inspecting the
-company. There is many a man who travels through Europe, communicating
-only with hotel keepers, couriers, and ciceroni, and learning less of
-the people than he could by walking into a market-place alone, and
-buying a sixpence worth of fruit. Yet such men presume to write books,
-and treat not merely of the governments of these countries, but of the
-social condition of the people! I once met a man in Italy, who could not
-order his breakfast correctly in Italian, who knew only one Italian, and
-he was the waiter who served him in a restaurant; and yet this man was a
-correspondent of a respectable paper in Boston, and had the effrontery
-to write column after column upon Italian social life, and to speak of
-political affairs as if he were Cardinal Antonelli's sole confidant.
-There are such people here in Paris now, who send over to America,
-weekly, batches of falsehood about the household of the Tuileries, which
-the intelligent public of America accepts as being true; for it seems to
-be a part of some people's republicanism to believe nothing but evil of
-a ruler who wears a crown. I need not say in this connection, that the
-traveller who wishes to enjoy Europe must put away the habit (if he be
-so unfortunate as to have it) of looking upon every thing through the
-green spectacles of republicanism, and regarding that form of government
-as the only one calculated to benefit mankind. He must remember that the
-government of his own country is a mere experiment, compared with the
-old monarchies of Europe, and he must try to judge impartially between
-them. He must judge each system by its results, and if on comparison he
-finds that there is really less slavery in his own country than in
-Europe; that the government is administered more impartially; that the
-judiciary is purer; that there is less of mob law and violence, and less
-of political bargaining and trickery, and that life and property are
-more secure in his own country than they are here,--why, he will return
-to America a better republican than before, from the very fact of having
-done justice to the governments of Europe.
-
-As I have before said, it is better for a traveller to endeavour to live
-as nearly as possible in the manner of the inhabitants of the country in
-which he is sojourning. I do not mean that he should feel bound to make
-as general a use of garlic as some of the people of Europe do, for in
-some places I verily believe that a custard or a blanc mange would be
-thought imperfect if they were not seasoned with that savory vegetable;
-but, _ceteris_ being _paribus_, if the general manner of living were
-followed, the traveller would find it conducive to health and to
-economy. The habits of life among every people are not founded on a mere
-caprice; and experience proves that under the warm sun of Italy, a light
-vegetable diet is healthier and more really invigorating than all the
-roast beef of Old England would be.
-
-In Europe, no man is ever ashamed of economy. Few Englishmen even shrink
-from acknowledging that they cannot afford to do this or that, and on
-the continent profuseness in the use of money is considered the sure
-mark of a _parvenu_. Every man is free to do as he pleases; he can
-travel in the first, second, or third class on the railways, and not
-excite the surprise of any body; and whatever class he may be in, he
-will be treated with equal respect by all. It is well to bear this in
-mind, for, taken in connection with the principle of paying for one's
-room and meals separately according to what one has, it puts it within
-one's power to travel all over Europe for a ridiculously small sum. You
-can live in Paris, by going over into the Latin quarter, on thirty cents
-a day, and be treated by every body, except your own countrymen, with as
-much consideration as if you abode among the mirrors and gilding of the
-H�tel de Louvre. Not that I would advise any one to go over there for
-the sake of saving money, and live on salads and meats in which it is
-difficult to have confidence, when he can afford to do better. I only
-wish to encourage those who are kept from visiting Europe by the idea
-that it requires a great outlay of money. You can live in Europe for
-just what you choose to spend, and in a style of independence to which
-America is a total stranger. Every body does not know here what every
-body else has for dinner. You may live on the same floor with a man for
-months and years, and not know any more of him than can be learned from
-a semi-occasional meeting on the staircase, and an interchange of hat
-civilities. This seems so common to a Frenchman, that it would be
-considered by him hardly worth notice; but to any one who knows what a
-sharp look-out neighbours keep over each other in America, it is a most
-pleasing phenomenon. It is indeed a delightful thing to live among
-people who have formed a habit of minding their own business, and at the
-same time have a spirit of consideration for the rights and feelings of
-their neighbours.
-
-If, in the above hints concerning the way to travel pleasantly and
-cheaply in Europe, I have succeeded in removing any of the bugbear
-obstacles which hold back so many from the great advantages they might
-here enjoy, I shall feel that I have not tasked my poor eyes and brain
-for nothing. We are a long way behind Europe in many things, and it is
-only by frequent communication that we can make up our deficiencies. It
-cannot be done by boasting, nor by claiming for America all the
-enterprise and enlightenment of the nineteenth century. Neither can it
-be done by setting up the United States as superior to every historical
-precedent, and an exception to every rule. Most men (as the old French
-writer says) are mortal; and we Americans shall find that our country,
-with all its prosperity and unequalled progress, is subject to the same
-vicissitudes as the countries we now think we can afford to despise; and
-that our history is
-
-      "----but the same rehearsal of the past--
-    First Freedom, and then Glory; when that fails,
-    Wealth, vice, corruption,--barbarism at last."
-
-No, we cannot safely scorn the lesson which Europe teaches us; for if we
-do, we shall have to learn it at the expense of much adversity and
-wounding of our pride. Every American who comes abroad, if he knows how
-to travel, ought to carry home with him a new idea of the amenities of
-life, and of moderation in the pursuit and the use of wealth, such as
-will make itself felt in the course of time, and make the fast living
-and recklessness of authority and tendency to bankruptcy of the present
-day, give way to a spirit of moderation and obedience to law such as
-always produces private prosperity and public stability.
-
-
-
-PARIS TO BOULOGNE
-
-
-It was a delicious morning when I packed my trunk to leave Paris. Indeed
-it was so bright and cloudless that it seemed wrong to go away and leave
-so fine a combination of perfections. It was more than the "bridal of
-the earth and sky"; it was the bridal of all the created beings around
-one and their works with the sky. The deep blue of the heavens, the
-glittering sunbeams, the clean streets, the fair house fronts, the gay
-shop windows, the white caps, and shining morning faces of the _bonnes_
-and market women, the busy, prosperous look of the passers by, were all
-blended together in one harmonious whole, more touching and poetical
-than any scene of mere natural beauty that the dewy morn, "with breath
-all incense and with cheek all bloom," ever looked upon. "Earth hath not
-any thing to show more fair." Others may delight in communing with
-solitary nature, and may rave in rhyme about the glories of woods,
-lakes, mountains, and Ausonian skies; but what is all that compared to
-the awakening of a great city to the life of day? What are the floods of
-golden light that every morning bathe the mountain tops, and are poured
-down into the valleys and fields below, compared to the playing of the
-sunbeams in the smoke from ten thousand chimneys, and the din of toil
-displacing the silence of night? I have seen the sunsets of the
-Archipelago--I have seen Lesbos and Egina clad in those robes of purple
-and gold, which till then I had thought were a mere figment of the
-painter's brain--I have enjoyed that "hush of world's expectation as day
-died"--I have often drunk in the glory of a cloudless sunrise on the
-Atlantic, and even now my heart leaps up at the remembrance of it; but
-after all, commend me to the deeper and more sympathetic feelings
-inspired by the dingy walls and ungraceful chimney-pots of a metropolis.
-Thousands of human hearts are there, throbbing with hope, or joy, or
-sorrow,--weighed down perchance by guilt; and humanity with all its
-imperfections is a noble thing. A single human heart, though erring, is
-a grander creation than the Alps or the Andes, for it shall outlive
-them. It is moved by aspirations that outrun the universe, and possesses
-a destiny that shall outlive the stars. It is the better side of human
-nature that we see in the early morning in large cities. Vice flourishes
-best under the glare of gas-lights, and does not salute the rising sun.
-The bloated form, the sunken eye, the painted cheek, shrink from that
-which would make their deformity more hideous, and hide themselves in
-places which their presence makes almost pestilential. Honest, healthful
-labour meets us at every step, and imparts to us something of its own
-hopefulness and activity. We miss the dew-drops glittering like jewels
-in the grass, but the loss is more than made up to us by the bright eyes
-of happy children, helping their parents in their work, or sporting
-together on their way to school.
-
-There was a time when I thought it very poetical to roam the broad
-fields in that still hour when the golden light seems to clasp every
-object that it meets, as if it loved it; but of late years a comfortable
-sidewalk has been more suggestive of poetry and less productive of wet
-feet. Give me a level pavement before all your groves and fields. The
-only _rus_ that wears well in the long run is _Russ in urbe_. Nine
-tenths of all the fine things in our literature concerning the charms of
-country life, have been written, not beneath the shade of overarching
-boughs, but within the crowded city's smoke-stained walls. Depend upon
-it, Shakespeare could never have written about the moonlight sleeping on
-the bank any where but in the city; had the realities of country life
-been present to him, he would have rejected any such metaphor, for he
-loved the moonlight too dearly to subject it to the rheumatic attack
-that would inevitably have followed such a nap as that. It is with
-country life very much as it is with life at sea. Mr. Choate, who pours
-out his noblest eloquence on the glories and romance of the sea, seldom
-sees the outside of his state-room while he is out of sight of land, and
-all his glowing periods are forgotten in the realities of his position.
-So, too, the man who wishes to destroy the poetry and romance of country
-life, has only to walk about in the wet grass or the scorching heat, or
-to be obliged to pick the pebbles out of his shoes, or a caterpillar off
-his neck, or to be mocked at by unruly cattle, or pestered by any of the
-myriads of insect and reptiles which abound in every well-regulated
-country.
-
-The excellent Madame Busque (_la dame aux pumpkin pies_) had prepared
-for me a viaticum in the shape of a small loaf of as good gingerbread as
-was ever made west of Cape Cod--a motherly attention quite in keeping
-with her ordinary way of taking care of her customers. All who frequent
-the _cr�merie_ are her _enfans_, and if she does not show them every
-little maternal attention, and tie a bib upon every one's neck, it is
-only that we may know better how to behave when we are beyond the reach
-of her kindly hand. Fortified with the gingerbread, I found myself
-whirling out of the terminus of the Northern Railway, and Paris, with
-its far-stretching fortifications, its domes and towers, and its
-windmill-crowned Montmartre, was soon out of sight.
-
-The train was very full, and the weather very warm. Two of my
-car-companions afforded me a good deal of amusement. They were a fat
-German and his wife. He was one of the jolliest old gentlemen I ever had
-the good fortune to travel with. His silvery hair was cropped close to
-his head, and he rode along with his cuffs turned up and his waistcoat
-open. He seemed to feel that he was occupying a good deal of room; but
-he was the only one there who felt it. No one of us would have had his
-circumference reduced an inch, but we should all of us have delighted to
-put a thin man who was there out by the roadside. His wife--a
-bright-eyed little woman, whose hair was just getting a little
-silvery--had a small box-cage in which she carried a large,
-intelligent-looking parrot. Before we had gone very far, the bird began
-to carry on an animated conversation with its mistress, but finally
-disgusted her and surprised us all by swearing in French and German at
-the whole company, with all the vehemence of a regiment of troopers. The
-lady tried hard to stop him, but it was useless. The old gentleman (like
-a great many good people who would not swear themselves, but rather like
-to hear a good round oath occasionally) seemed to enjoy it intensely,
-and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. At noon the worthy
-pair made solemn preparations for a dinner. A basket, a carpet-bag, and
-sundry paper parcels were brought out. The lady spread a large checked
-handkerchief over their laps for a table cloth, and then produced a
-staff of life about two feet in length, and cut off a good thick slice
-for each of them. Cheese was added to it, and also a species of sausage
-about a foot in length, and three inches in diameter. From these they
-made a comfortable meal--not eating by stealth, as we Americans should
-have done--but diving in heartily, and chatting together all the while
-as cosily as if they had been at home. A bottle of wine was then brought
-out from the magic carpet-bag, and a glass, also a nice dessert of
-peaches and grapes. There was a charming at-home-ativeness about the
-whole proceeding that contrasted strongly with our American way of doing
-such things, and all the other passengers apparently took no notice of
-it.
-
-We arrived at Boulogne in the midst of a storm as severe as the morning
-had been serene. So fair and foul a day I have not seen. An omnibus
-whisked me to a hotel in what my venerable grandmother used to call a
-_jiffy_, and I was at once independent of the weather's caprices. A
-comfortable dinner at the _table d'h�te_ repaired the damages of the
-journey, and I spent the evening with some good friends, whose company
-was made the more delightful by the months that had separated us. The
-storm raged without, and we chatted within. The old hotel creaked and
-sighed as the blast assailed it, and I dreamed all night of close-reefed
-topsails.
-
-    "'Tis a wild night out of doors;
-    The wind is mad upon the moors.
-    And comes into the rocking town,
-    Stabbing all things up and down:
-    And then there is a weeping rain
-    Huddling 'gainst the window pane;
-    And good men bless themselves in bed;
-    The mother brings her infant's head
-    Closer with a joy like tears,
-    And thinks of angels in her prayers,
-    Then sleeps with his small hand in hers."
-
-Having in former years merely passed through Boulogne, I had never known
-before what a pleasant old city it is. Its clean streets and well-built
-houses, and the air of respectable antiquity which pervades it, make a
-very pleasant impression upon the mind. As you stand on the quay, and
-look across at the white cliffs on the other side of the Channel, which
-are distinctly visible on a clear day, the differences in the character
-of the two nations so slightly separated from one another, strike you
-more forcibly than ever. The very fish taken on the French side of the
-channel are different from any that you see in England; and as to the
-fishwomen, whose sunburnt legs, bare to the knee, are the astonishment
-of all new-comers,--go over all Europe, and you will find nothing like
-them. That superb cathedral, the shrine of our Lady of Boulogne, upon
-which the storm of the first French revolution beat with such fury, is
-now beginning to wear a look of completion. Its dome, one of the
-loftiest and most graceful in the world, is a striking and beautiful
-feature in the view of the city. For more than twelve centuries this has
-been a famous shrine. Kings and princes have visited it, not with the
-pomp and circumstance of royalty, but in the humble garb of the pilgrim.
-Henry VIII. made a pilgrimage hither in his unenlightened days, before
-the pious Cranmer had taught him how wicked it was to honour the Mother
-whom his Saviour honoured, and how godly and just it was to divorce and
-put to death the mothers of his children. Here it was that the heroic
-crusader, Godfrey, kindled the flame of that devotion which nerved his
-arm against the foes of Christianity, and added a new lustre to his
-knightly fame. It is a fashion of the present day to sneer at the age of
-chivalry and the crusades, and some of our best writers have been
-enticed into the following of it. While we have so many subjects
-deserving the treatment of the satirist, at our very doors,--while we
-have the fashionable world to draw upon,--while we can look around on
-political parsons, professional philanthropists and patriots,
-politicians who talk of principle, and followers who are weak enough to
-believe in them--it would really seem as if we might allow the crusaders
-and troubadours to rest. Supposing, for the sake of argument,
-Christianity to be a true religion,--supposing it to be a fact that
-eighteen hundred years ago the plains of Palestine were trodden by the
-blessed feet that were "nailed for our advantage on the bitter
-cross"--the redemption of the land which had been the scene of the
-sacred history, from the sacrilegious hands of the Saracens, was
-certainly an enterprise creditable to St. Louis, and Richard the
-lion-hearted, and Godfrey, and the other gentlemen who sacrificed so
-much in it. It was certainly as respectable an undertaking as any of the
-crusades of modern times,--as that of the Spaniards in America, the
-English in India, or the United States in Mexico,--with this exception,
-that it was not so profitable. I am afraid that some of our modern
-satirists are lacking in the spirit of their profession, and allow
-themselves to be made the mouthpieces of that worldly wisdom which it is
-their office to rebuke. I can see nothing to sneer at in the crusader
-exiling himself from his native land, and forfeiting his life in the
-defence of the Holy Sepulchre; indeed, I am inclined to respect a man
-who makes such a sacrifice to a conscientious conviction: it is a noble
-conquest of the visible temporal by the unseen eternal. I can well
-understand how such efforts for the protection of a mere empty tomb
-would seem worthy of laughter and ridicule to those who can find no food
-for satire in the _auri sacra fames_ which has been the motive of modern
-foreign expeditions. It would be well for the world could we bring back
-something of that age of chivalry which Edmund Burke regretted so
-eloquently. We need it sorely; for we are every day sliding farther down
-from its high standard of honour and of unselfish devotion to principle.
-
-There is a little fishing village about a mile and a half from Boulogne,
-on the sea coast towards Calais, which is celebrated in history as
-having been the scene of the landing of Prince Louis Napoleon and his
-companions in their unsuccessful attempt to overthrow the government of
-Louis Philippe. Napoleon III. has not distinguished the spot by any
-memorial; but he has erected a colossal statue of Napoleon I. on the
-spot where that insatiable conqueror, with his mighty army around him,
-looked longingly at the coast of England. There is something of a
-contrast between the day thus commemorated and that on which the "nephew
-of his uncle" received Queen Victoria at Boulogne, when she visited
-France. It must have been a great satisfaction to Louis Napoleon, after
-his life of exile, and particularly after the studied neglect which he
-experienced from the English nobility, to have welcomed the British
-Queen to his realm with that kiss which is the token of equality among
-sovereigns. Waterloo must have been blotted out when he saw the
-Queen--in whose realm he had served the cause of good order in the rank
-of special constable--bending down at his knee to confer upon him the
-order of the garter.
-
-In spite of its geographical situation, Boulogne can hardly be
-considered a French town. The police department and the custom house are
-in the hands of the French, to be sure; but in the course of a walk
-through its streets, you hear much more of the English than of the
-French language. You meet those brown shooting jackets, and checked
-trousers, and thick shoes and gaiters that are at home every where in
-the "inviolate island of the sage and free." You cannot turn a corner
-without coming upon some of those beefy and beery countenances which
-symbolize so perfectly the genius of British civilization, and hearing
-the letter H exasperated to a wonderful degree. Every where you see
-bevies of young ladies wearing those peculiar brown straw hats, edged
-with black lace, with a brown feather put in horizontally on one side of
-the crown, a style of head dress to which the French and Italians have
-given the name of "_Ingleesh spoken here_." There is a large class among
-the English population of Boulogne upon which the disinterested
-spectator will look with interest and with pity. I mean those
-unfortunate persons who have been obliged by "force of circumstances"
-and the importunity of creditors to exile themselves for a time from
-their native land. You see them on every side; and all ranks in society
-are represented among them, from the distinguished-looking man, with the
-tortoise-shell spectacles, who ran through his wife's property at the
-club, to the pale, unhappy-looking fellow in the loose thread gloves and
-sleepless coat. You can distinguish them at a glance from their
-fellow-countrymen who have gone over for purposes of recreation, the
-poor devils walk about with such an evident wish to appear to be doing
-something or going somewhere. The condition of the prisoners, or rather
-the "collegians," in the old Marshalsea prison, must have been an
-enviable one, compared to these unfortunates, condemned to gaze at the
-cliffs of Old England from a distance, and wait vainly for something to
-turn up.
-
-The arrival and departure of the English steamers is the only source of
-excitement that the quiet city of Boulogne possesses. I was astonished
-to find, after being there a day or two, what an interest I took in
-those occurrences. I found myself on the quay with the rest of the
-foreign population of the town, an hour before the departure of the
-boat, to make sure, like every body else there, that not a traveller for
-England should escape my notice. Besides the pleasure of inspecting the
-motley crowd of spectators, I was gratified one day to see the big,
-manly form and good-natured ugly face of Thackeray, following a leathern
-portmanteau on its path from the omnibus to the boat. The great satirist
-took an observation of the crowd through his spectacles as if he were
-making a mental note, to be overhauled in due season, and then hurried
-on board, as if he longed to get back to London among his books. He had
-been spending the warm season at the baths of Hombourg. But the great
-excitement of the day is the arrival of the afternoon boat from
-Folkestone. It is better as an amusement than many plays that I have
-seen, and it has this advantage, (an indispensable one to a large part
-of the English population of Boulogne,) that it costs nothing. During
-the days when I was there, the equinoctial gale was in full blow, and,
-of course, there was a greater rush than usual to the quay. It was
-necessary to go very early to secure a good place. From the steamer to
-the passport office, a distance of two or three hundred feet, ropes were
-stretched to keep back the spectators, forming an avenue some thirty
-feet wide. Through this the wretched victims of the "chop sea" of the
-Channel were obliged to pass, and listen to the remarks or laughter
-which their pitiable condition excited among the crowd of their
-disinterested countrymen. Any person who has ever been seasick can
-imagine what it would be to go on shore from a boat that has just been
-pitching and rolling about in the most absurd manner, and try to walk
-like a Christian, with the eyes of several hundred amusement-seeking
-people fixed upon him. Sympathy is entirely out of the question. The
-pallid countenance and uncertain step, as if the walker were waiting for
-the pavement to rise to meet his foot, excite nothing but mirth in the
-spectators. The whole scene, including the lookers-on, was one of the
-funniest things I ever saw. The observations of the crowd, too, were
-well calculated to heighten the effect. "Ease her when she pitches,"
-cried out a youngster at my side, as an old lady, who was supported by a
-gentleman and a maid servant, seemed to be trying to accommodate herself
-to the motion of the street, and testify her love for _terra firma_ by
-lying down. "Hard a' starboard," shouted another, as a gentleman, with a
-felt hat close reefed to his head with a white handkerchief, sidled
-along up the leeward side of the passage way. "That 'ere must 'a been a
-sewere case of sickness," said a little old man, in an advanced state of
-seediness, as a tall man, looking defiance at the crowd, walked ashore
-with a carpet-bag in his hand, and an expression on his face very like
-that of Mr. Warren, in the farce, when he says, "Shall I slay him at
-once, or shall I wait till the cool of the evening?" "Don't go yet,
-Mary," said a young gentleman in a jacket and precocious hat, to his
-sister, who seemed to fear that it was about to begin to rain
-again,--"don't go yet; the best of all is to come; there's a fat lady on
-board who has been _so_ sick--we must wait to see her!" And so they went
-on, carrying out in the most exemplary manner that golden rule which,
-applied to the period of seasickness, enjoins upon us that we shall do
-unto others just as others would do to us.
-
-It is no joke to most people to cross the Channel at any time, but to
-cross it on the tail-end of the equinoctial storm is far from being a
-humorous matter. I had crossed from almost all the ports between Havre
-and Rotterdam in former years; so I resolved to try a new route in spite
-of the weather, and booked myself for a passage in the boat from
-Boulogne to London, direct. The steamer was called the Seine; and when
-we had once got into the open sea, a large part of the passengers seemed
-to think that they were _insane_ to have come in her. She was a very
-good sea-boat, but I could not help contrasting her with our Sound and
-Hudson River steamers at home. If the "General Steam Navigation Company"
-were to import a steamer from America like the Metropolis or the Isaac
-Newton, there would be a revolution in the travelling world of England.
-The people here would no longer put up with steamers without an awning
-or any shelter from sun or rain. After they had enjoyed the
-accommodations of one of our great floating hotels, they would not think
-of shutting themselves up in the miserable cabins which people pay so
-dearly for here. But to proceed: when we got fairly out upon the _nasty_
-deep, I ventured to gratify my curiosity, as a connoisseur in
-seasickness, by a visit to the cabin. If I were in the habit of writing
-for the newspapers, I suppose I should say that the scene "baffled
-description." It certainly was one that I shall not soon forget. The
-most rabid republican would have been satisfied with the equality that
-prevailed there. The squalls that assailed us on deck were nothing
-compared to the demonstrations of a whole regiment of infantry below,
-who were illustrating, in a manner worthy of Retsch, one of the first
-lines in Shakespeare's Seven Ages. Ladies of all ages were keeled up on
-every side in various postures of picturesque negligence, and with a
-forgetfulness of the conventionalities of society quite charming to look
-upon. The floor, where it was unoccupied by prostrate humanity, was
-nearly covered with hatboxes, and bonnets, and bowls, and anonymous
-articles of crockery ware, which were performing a lively quadrille,
-being assisted therein by the motion of the ship. But a little of such
-sights, and sounds, and smells as these goes a great way with me, and I
-was glad to return to the wet deck. They had managed to rig a tarpaulin
-between the paddle-boxes, and there I took refuge until the rain ceased.
-It was comparatively pleasant weather when we sailed past Walmer Castle,
-where that old hero died on whom all the world has conferred the title
-of "The Duke"; and of course there was no rough sea as soon as we got
-into the Downs. Black-eyed Susan might have gone on board of any of the
-fleet of vessels that were lying there without discolouring her ribbons
-by a single dash of spray. Ramsgate and Margate (the Newport and Cape
-May of England) looked full of company as we sailed by them, and crowds
-of bathers were battling with the surf. The heavy black yards of the
-ships of war loomed up at Sheerness in the distance, and suggested
-thoughts of Nelson, and Dibdin, and Ben Bowlin. Now and then we passed
-by some splendid American clipper ship towing up or down the river, and
-I felt proud of my nationality as I contrasted her graceful lines and
-majestic proportions with the tub-like models of British origin that
-every where met my eye. The dock-yards of Woolwich seemed like a vast
-ant-hill for numbers and busy life. Greenwich, with its fine
-architecture and fresh foliage in the distance, was most grateful to my
-eyes; and it was pleasing to reflect, as I passed the observatory, that
-I could begin to reckon my longitude to the westward, for it made me
-feel nearer home.
-
-
-
-LONDON
-
-
-No man can really appreciate the grandeur of London until he has
-approached it from the sea. The sail up the river from Gravesend to
-London Bridge is a succession of wonders, each one more overwhelming
-than that which preceded it. There is no display of fortifications; but
-here and there you see some storm-tossed old hulk, which, having
-finished its active career, has been safely anchored in that repose
-which powder magazines always enjoy. As the river grows narrower, the
-number of ships, steamers, coal barges, wherries, and boats of every
-description, seems to increase; and as you sail on, the grand panorama
-of the world-wide commerce of this great metropolis unfolds before you,
-and you are lost, not so much in admiration as in astonishment.
-Woolwich, Greenwich, Rotherhithe, Bermondsey, Blackwall, Millwall,
-Wapping, &c., follow rapidly in the vision, like the phantom kings
-before the eyes of the unfortunate Scotch usurper, until one is temped
-to inquire with him, whether the "line will stretch out to the crack of
-doom." The buildings grow thicker and more unsightly as you advance; the
-black sides of the enormous warehouses seem to be bulging out over the
-edge of the wharves on which they stand; far off, beyond the reach of
-the tides, you see the forests of masts that indicate the site of the
-docks. The bright green water of the Channel has been exchanged for the
-filthy, drain-like current of the Thames. Hundreds of monstrous chimneys
-belch forth the smoke that constitutes the legitimate atmosphere of
-London. Every thing seems to be dressed in the deepest mourning for the
-cruel fate of nature, and you look at the distant hills and bright
-lawns, over in the direction of Sydenham, with very much of the feeling
-that Dives must have had, when he gazed on the happiness of Lazarus from
-his place of torment. Every thing presents a most striking contrast to
-the clean, fair cities of the continent. Paris, with its cream-coloured
-palaces adorning the banks of the Seine, seems more beautiful than ever
-as you recall it while surrounded by such sights, and sounds, and
-smells, as offend your senses here. The winding Arno, and the towers,
-and domes, and bridges, of Florence and Pisa, seem to belong to a
-celestial vision rather than to an earthly reality, as you contrast them
-with the monuments of England's commercial greatness. At last, you come
-in sight of London Bridge, with its never-ceasing current of vehicles
-and human beings crossing it; and your amazement is crowned by realizing
-that, notwithstanding the wonders you have seen, you have just reached
-the edge of the city, and that you can ride for miles and miles through
-a closely-built labyrinth of bricks and mortar, hidden under the veil of
-smoke before you.
-
-And what a change it is--from Paris to London! To a Frenchman it must be
-productive of a suicidal feeling. The scene has shifted from the sunny
-Boulevards to the blackened bricks and mortar, which neither great
-Neptune's ocean, nor Lord Palmerston's anti-smoke enactment can wash
-clean. In the place of the smiling, good-humoured Frenchman, you have
-the serious, stately Englishman. One misses the wining courtesy of which
-a Frenchman's hat is the instrument, and the ready _pardon_ or _merci_
-is heard no more. The beggary, the drunkenness, and the depravity, so
-apparent on every side, appall one. Paris _may_ be the most immoral city
-in the world; but there, vice must be sought for in its own haunts. Here
-in London, it prowls up and down in the streets, seeking for its
-victims. Put all the other European capitals together, and I do not
-believe that you could meet with so much to pain and disgust you as you
-would in one hour in the streets of London. And yet, with all this
-staring people in the face here, how do they go to work to remedy it?
-They pass laws enforcing the suspension of business on Sundays, and when
-they succeed in keeping all the shutters closed, by fear of the law,
-they fold their arms, and say, "See what a godly nation is this!" If
-this is not "making clean the outside of the cup and platter," what is
-it? For my part, I much prefer that perfect religious liberty which
-allows each man to keep Sunday as he pleases; and the recent improvement
-in the observance of the day in France is all the more gratifying,
-because it does not spring from any compulsory motive. Let the Jews keep
-the _Sabbath_ as they are commanded to in the Old Testament; but
-_Sunday_ is the Christian's day, and Sunday is a day of festivity and
-rejoicing, and not of fasting and penitential sadness.
-
-Despite the smoke, and the lack of continental courtesy which is felt on
-arriving from France, despite the din and hurry, I cannot help loving
-London. The very names of the streets have been mad classical by writers
-whose works are a part of our own intellectual being. The illustrious
-and venerable names of Barclay and Perkins, of Truman, Hanbury, and
-Buxton, that meet our eyes at every corner, are the synonymes of English
-hospitality and cheer. It is a pleasure, too, to hear one's native
-language spoken on all sides, after so many months of French twang. The
-hissing and sputtering English seems under such circumstances to be more
-musical than the most elegant phrases of the Tuscan in the mouth of a
-dignified Roman. Even the omnibus conductors' talk about the "Habbey,"
-the "Benk," 'Igh 'Olborn, &c., does not offend the ear, so delightful
-does it seem to be able to say beefsteak instead of _biftek_. The odour
-of brown stout that prevails every where is as fragrant as the first
-sniff of the land breeze after a long voyage. Temple Bar is eloquent of
-the genius of Hogarth, whose deathless drawings first made its ugly form
-familiar to your youthful eyes in other lands. The very stones of Fleet
-Street prate of Dr. Johnson and Goldsmith. You walk into Bolt Court, and
-if you feel as I do the associations of the place, you eat a chop in the
-tavern that stands where stood the house of Dr. Johnson. Then you cross
-over the way to Inner Temple Lane, and mourn over the march of
-improvement when you see that its sacrilegious hand is sweeping away a
-row of four brick houses, which, dilapidated and unsightly as they may
-appear, are dear to every lover of English literature. In No. 1,
-formerly dwelt Dr. Johnson; in No. 4, Charles Lamb. You walk into the
-Temple Church, and muse over the effigies of the knights who repose
-there in marble or bronze, or go into the quiet Temple Gardens, and
-meditate on the wars of the red and white roses that were plucked there
-centuries ago, before the iron fences were built. It would be as
-difficult to pluck any roses there now as the most zealous member of the
-Peace Society could wish. You climb up Ludgate Hill, getting finely
-spattered by the cabs and omnibuses, and find yourself at St. Paul's.
-You smile when you think that that black pile of architecture, with its
-twopenny fee of admission, was intended to rival St. Peter's, and your
-smile becomes audible when you enter it, and see that while the images
-of the Saviour and the Saints may not be "had and retained," the statues
-of admirals and generals are considered perfectly in place there. You
-walk out with the conviction that consistency is a jewel, and tread a
-pavement that is classical to every lover of books. Paternoster Row
-receives you, and you slowly saunter through it. Nobody walks rapidly
-through Paternoster Row. Situated midway between the bustle and turmoil
-of Ludgate Hill and Cheapside, it is a kind of resting-place for
-pedestrians. They breathe the more quiet air of bookland there, and the
-windows are a temptation which few loiterers can withstand.
-
-The old church of St. Mary le Bow reminds you that you are at the very
-centre of Cockneydom, as you walk on towards the Bank and the Exchange.
-Crossing the street at the risk of your life through a maze of snorting
-horses and rattling wheels, you get into Cornhill. Here the faces that
-you see are a proof that the anxious, money-getting look is not confined
-to the worshippers of the almighty dollar. You push on until you reach
-Eastcheap. How great is your disappointment! The very name has called up
-all your recollections of the wild young prince and his fat friend--but
-nothing that you see there serves to heighten your Shakespearean
-enthusiasm. Coal-heavers and draymen make the air vocal with their oaths
-and slang, which once resounded with the laughter of Jack Falstaff and
-his jolly companions. No Mistress Quickly stands in the doorway of any
-of the numerous taverns. The whole scene is a great falling-off from
-what you had imagined of Eastcheap. The sanded floors, the snowy window
-curtains, the bright pewter pots, have given way to dirt and general
-frowsiness. You read on a card in a window that within you can obtain "a
-go of brandy for sixpence, and a go of gin for fourpence," and that
-settles all your Falstaffian associations. You stop to look at an old
-brick house which is being pulled down, for you think that perhaps its
-heavy timbered ceilings, and low windows, and Guy Fawkesy entries date
-back to Shakespeare's times; but you are too much incommoded by the dust
-from its crumbling walls to stop long, and you leave the place carrying
-with you the only reminder of Falstaff you have seen there--you leave
-with _lime in your sack_!
-
-I know of nothing better calculated to take down a man's self-esteem
-than a walk through the streets of London. To a man who has always lived
-in a small town, where every second person he meets is an acquaintance,
-a walk from Hyde Park corner to London Bridge must be a crusher. If that
-does not convince him that he is really of very little importance in the
-world, he is past cure. The whirl of vehicles, the throngs upon the
-sidewalks, seem to overwhelm and blot out our own individuality. Xerxes
-cried when he gazed upon his assembled forces, and reflected that out of
-all that vast multitude not one person would be alive in a hundred
-years. Xerxes ought to have ridden through Oxford Street or the Strand
-on the top of an omnibus. Spitalfields and Bandanna (two places
-concerning the geography of which I am rather in the dark) could not
-have furnished him with handkerchiefs to dry his eyes.
-
-I was never so struck with the lack of architectural beauty in London as
-I have been during this visit. There are, it is true, a few fine
-buildings--Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's, Somerset House, &c.; but they
-are all as black as my hat, with this soot in which all London is
-clothed; so there is really very little beauty about them. The new
-Houses of Parliament are a fine pile of buildings, certainly, and the
-lately finished towers are a pleasing feature in the view from the
-bridges; but they are altogether too gingerbready to wear well. They
-lack boldness of light and shade; and this lack is making itself more
-apparent every day as the smoke of the city is enveloping them in its
-everlasting shade. Buckingham Palace looks like a second rate American
-hotel, and as to St. James, the barracks at West Point are far more
-palatial than that. It is not architecture, however, that we look for in
-London. It has a charm in spite of all its deformities,--in spite of its
-climate, which is such an encouragement to the umbrella makers--in spite
-of its smoky atmosphere, through which the sun looks like a great copper
-ball--in spite of the mud, which the water-carts insure when the dark
-skies fail in the discharge of their daily dues to the metropolis.
-London, with all thy fogs, I love thee still! It is this great
-agglomeration of towns which we call London--this great human family of
-more than two millions and a half of beings that awakens our sympathy.
-It is the fact that through England we Americans trace our relationship
-to the ages that are past. It is the fact that we are here surrounded by
-the honoured tombs of heroes and wise men, whose very names have become,
-as it were, a part of our own being. These are the things that bind us
-to London, and which make the aureola of light that hangs over it at
-night time seem a crown of glory.
-
-But we must not forget that there is a dark side to the picture. There
-is a serious drawback to all our enthusiasm. Poverty and vice beset us
-at every step. Beggary more abject than all the world besides can show
-appeals to us at every crossing. The pale hollow cheek and sunken eye
-tell such a story of want as no language can express. The mother,
-standing in a doorway with her two hungry-looking children, and
-imploring the passers-by to purchase some of the netting work her hands
-have executed, is a sight that touches your heart. But walk into some of
-those lanes and alleys which abound almost under the shadow of the
-Houses of Parliament and the royal residence,--slums "whose atmosphere
-is typhus, and whose ventilation is cholera,"--and the sentiment of pity
-is lost in one of fear. There you see on every side that despair and
-recklessness which spring from want and neglect. Walk through Regent
-Street, and the Haymarket, and the Strand in the evening, and you shall
-be astonished at the gay dresses and painted cheeks that surround you.
-The rummy atmosphere re�choes with profanity from female lips. From time
-to time you are obliged to shake off the vice and crinoline that seek to
-be companions of your walk.
-
-There is a distinguished prize-fighter here--one Benjamin Caunt. He
-keeps a gin shop in St. Martin's Lane, and rejoices in a profitable
-business and the title of the "Champion of England." He transacted a
-little business in the prize-fighting line over on the Surrey side of
-the river a few days ago, and is to sustain the honour of England
-against another antagonist to-morrow. During the entire week his gin
-shop has been surrounded by admiring crowds, anxious to catch a glimpse
-of the hero. And such crowds! It would be wronging the lowest of the
-race of quadrupeds to call those people beastly and brutal wretches.
-Most Americans think that the Bowery and Five Points can rival almost
-any thing in the world for displays of all that is disgusting in
-society; but London leaves us far behind. I stopped several times to
-note the character of Mr. Caunt's constituents. There were men there
-with flashy cravats around necks that reminded me of Mr. Buckminster's
-Devon cattle--their hair cropped close for obvious reasons--moving about
-among the crowd, filling the air with damns and brandy fumes. There were
-others in a more advanced stage of "fancy" existence--men with all the
-humanity blotted out of them, not a spark of intellect left in their
-beery countenances. There were women drabbled with dirt, soggy with
-liquor, with eyes artificially black. There were children pale and
-stunted from the use of gin, or bloated with beer, assuming the swagger
-of the blackguards around them, and looking as old and depraved as any
-of them. It seemed as if hell were empty and all the devils were there.
-The police--those guardians of the public weal, who are so efficient
-when a poor woman is trying to earn her bread by selling a few
-apples--so prompt to make the well-intentioned "move on"--did not appear
-to interfere. They evidently considered the street to be blockaded for a
-just cause, and looked as if, in aiding people to get a look at the
-Champion of England, they were sustaining the honour of England herself.
-
-And this is the same England that assumes to teach other nations the
-science of benevolence. This is the same England that laments over the
-tyranny of continental governments, and boasts of how many millions of
-Bibles it has sent to people who could not read them if they would, and
-would not if they could. This is the same England that turns up the
-whites of its eyes at American slavery, and wishes to teach the King of
-Naples how to govern. Why, you can spend months in going about the worst
-quarters of the continental cities, and not see so much of vice and
-poverty as you can in the great thoroughfares of London in a single day.
-There is vice enough in every large city, as we all know; but in most of
-them it has to be sought for by its votaries--in London it goes about
-seeking whom it may devour. The press of England may try to advance the
-interests of a prime minister anxious to get possession of Sicily by
-slandering Ferdinand of Naples; but every body knows, who has visited
-that fair kingdom, that there are few monarchs more public spirited and
-popular with all classes of their subjects than he. Every body knows
-that there is no class in that community corresponding to the
-prize-fighting class in London--that the horrors of the mining districts
-are unknown there, and that an English workhouse would make even an
-Englishman blush when compared with those magnificent institutions that
-relieve the poor of Italy. I had rather be sold at auction in Alabama
-any day than to take my chance as a denizen of the slums of London, or
-as a worker in the coal mines. I have no patience with this telescopic
-philanthropy of the English, while there are abuses all around them so
-much greater than those that disgrace any other civilized country. What
-can be more disgusting than this pharisaical cant--this thanking God
-that they are not as others are--extortioners and slaveholders--when you
-look at the real condition of things? Englishmen always boast that their
-country has escaped the revolutionary storm which has so many times
-swept over Europe during this century, and would try to persuade people
-that there is little or no discontent here. The fact is, the lower
-classes in this country have been so ground down by the money power and
-the force of the government, and are so ignorant and vicious, that they
-cannot be organized into a revolutionary force. Walk through
-Whitechapel, and observe the people there--contrast them with the
-_blouses_ in the Faubourg St. Antoine--and you will acknowledge the
-truth of this. The people in the manufacturing districts in France are,
-indeed, far from being models of morality or of intellectual culture;
-but they have retained enough of the powers of humanity to make them
-very dangerous, when collected under the leadership of demagogues of the
-school of Ledru Rollin. But the farming districts of France have
-remained comparatively free from the infection of socialism and
-infidelity. The late Henry Colman, in his agricultural tour, found
-villages where almost the entire population went to mass every morning,
-before commencing the labour of the day. But the degradation of the
-labouring classes of England is not confined to the manufacturing towns;
-the peasantry is in a most demoralized condition: the Chartist leaders
-found nearly as great a proportion of adherents among the farm labourers
-as among the distressed operatives of Birmingham and Sheffield; and
-Mormonism counts its victims among both of those neglected classes by
-thousands. It is, perhaps, all very well for ambitious orators to make
-the House of Commons or Exeter Hall resound with their denunciations of
-French usurpations, Austrian tyranny, Neapolitan dungeons, Russian
-serfdom, and American slavery; but thinking men, when they note these
-enthusiastic demonstrations of philanthropy, cannot help thinking of
-England's workhouses, the brutalized workers in her coal mines and
-factories, and her oppressive and cruel rule in Ireland and in India;
-and it strikes them as strange that a country, whose eyesight is
-obstructed by a beam of such extraordinary magnitude, should be so
-exceedingly solicitous about the motes that dance in the vision of its
-neighbours.
-
-
-
-
-ESSAYS.
-
-
-
-STREET LIFE
-
-
-Thomas Carlyle introduces his philosophical friend, Herr Teufelsdr�ckh,
-to his readers, seated in his watch-tower, which overlooks the city in
-which he dwells; and from which he can look down into that bee-hive of
-human kind, and see every thing "from the palace esplanade where music
-plays, while His Serene Highness is pleased to eat his victuals, down to
-the low lane where in her doorsill the aged widow, knitting for a thin
-livelihood, sits to feel the afternoon sun." He draws an animated
-picture of that busy panorama which is ever unrolling before
-Teufelsdr�ckh's eyes, and moralizes upon the scene in the spirit of a
-true poet who has struck upon a theme worthy of his lyre. And, most
-assuredly, Thomas is right. The daisies and buttercups are all very well
-in their way; but, as raw material for poetry, what are they to the
-deep-furrowed pavement and the blackened chimney-pots of a city! In
-spite of all our pantheistic rhapsodies, man is the noblest of natural
-productions, and the worthiest subject for the highest and holiest of
-poetic raptures. My old friend, the late Mr. Wordsworth, delighted to
-anathematize the railway companies, and raved finely about Nature never
-betraying the heart that loves her; he said that
-
-      "----the sounding cataract
-    Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,
-    The mountain and the deep and gloomy wood,
-    Their colours and their forms, were then to him
-    An appetite;--"
-
-and confessed that to him
-
-      "----the meanest flower that blows could give
-    Thoughts that too often lie too deep for tears."
-
-Yet notwithstanding all this, he was constrained to acknowledge when he
-stood upon Westminster Bridge, and saw the vast, dingy metropolis of
-Britain wearing like a garment the beauty of the morning, that
-
-    "Earth has not anything to show more fair,--
-    Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
-    A sight so touching in its majesty."
-
-When I was a young man, it was my delight to brush with early steps the
-dew away, and meet the sun upon the upland lawn. There was a romantic
-feeling about it that I liked, and I did not object to wet feet. But I
-have long since put away that depraved taste, although the recent
-application of India rubber to shoeing purposes has obviated the
-inconvenience of its gratification. Now, I am contented if I can find a
-level pavement and a clean crossing, and will gladly give up the woods
-and verdant fields to less prosaic and more youthful people. Your gout
-is a sad interferer with early poetical prejudices--but in my own case
-it has shown me that all such things, like most of our youthful notions,
-are mere fallacies. It has convinced me that the poetical abounds rather
-in the smoky, narrow streets of cities, than in the green lanes, the
-breezy hills, and the broad fields of the country. Like the toad, ugly
-and venomous, that fell disease is not without its jewel. It has
-reconciled me to life in town, and has shown me all its advantages and
-beauties.
-
-If it be true that "the proper study of mankind is man," then are the
-crowded streets of the city more improving and elevating to us (if
-rightly meditated upon) than the academic groves. If you desire
-society,--in a city you may find it to your taste, however fastidious
-you may be. If you are a lover of solitude, where can you be more
-solitary than in the very whirl of a multitude of people intent upon
-their own pursuits, and all unknown to you! That honey-tongued doctor,
-St. Bernard, said that he was never less alone than when alone--a
-sentiment which, in its reversed form, might be uttered by any denizen
-of a metropolis. I always loved solitude: the old monastic inscription
-was always a favourite motto of mine:--
-
-    "O beata solitudo!
-    O sola beatitudo!"
-
-But I have never found any solitude like the streets of a large city. I
-have walked in the cool, quiet cloister of _Santa Maria degli Angeli_,
-built amid the ruins of the baths of Diocletian, and--though my footfall
-was the only sound save the rustling of the foliage, and the song of the
-birds, and the bubbling of a fountain which seemed tired with its
-centuries of service, and which seemed to make the stillness and repose
-of that spacious quadrangle more profound--I could not feel so perfectly
-alone there as I have often felt in the thronged Boulevards or the busy
-Strand. Place a mere worldling in those holy precincts, and he would
-summon mentally around him the companions of his past pleasures, and his
-worldliness would be increased by his thus being driven to his only
-resources for overcoming the ungrateful quiet of the place. Introduce a
-religious man to those consecrated shades, and his devotion would be
-quickened; he would soon forget the world which he had not loved and
-which had not loved him, and his face would soon be as unwrinkled, his
-eye as serene, as those of the monks who dwell there. But place either
-of them in the most crowded thoroughfare of the city, and the worldling
-would be made for a time as meditative as the other. When I was a child,
-I delighted to watch the busy inhabitants of an ant-hill, pursuing their
-various enterprises with an intentness almost human; and I should be
-tempted to continue my observations of them, were it not that the
-streets of my native city offer me a similar, but a more interesting
-study. Xerxes, we are told, shed tears when he saw his army drawn up
-before him, and reflected that not one of all that mighty host would be
-alive a century after. Who could ride from Paddington to London Bridge,
-through the current of human life that flows ceaselessly through the
-streets of that great city, without sharing somewhat in the feelings of
-that tender-hearted monarch?
-
-What are all the sermons that ever were preached from a pulpit, compared
-to those which may be found in the stones of a city? When we visit
-Pompeii and Herculaneum, we are thrilled to notice the ruts made by the
-wheels of chariots centuries ago. The original pavement of the Appian
-Way, now for some distance visible, carries us back more than almost any
-of the other antiquities of Rome, to the time when it was trodden by
-captive kings, and re-echoed with the triumphal march of returning
-conquerors. I pity him in whom these things awaken no new train of
-thought. The works of man have outlived their builders by centuries, and
-still remain a solemn testimony to the power and the nothingness which
-originated them. Nineveh, Thebes, Troy, Carthage, Tyre, Athens, Rome,
-London, Paris, have won the crown in their turn, and have passed or will
-pass away. The dilapidated sculptures of the former have been taken to
-adorn the museums of the latter, and crowds have gazed and are gazing on
-them with curious eyes, unmindful of their great lesson of the
-transitoriness of the glory of the world. These are, indeed, "sermons in
-stones"; but, like most other sermons, we look rather at their style of
-finish, than at the deep meaning with which they are so pregnant.
-
-But I did not take up my pen to write about dead cities; I have somewhat
-to say about the life that now renders the streets of our own towns so
-pleasant, and makes us so forgetful of their inevitable fate. I am not
-going to claim for the street life of our new world the charms which
-abound in the ancient cities of Europe. We are too much troubled about
-many things, and too utilitarian to give thought to those lesser graces
-which delight us abroad, and which we hardly remember until we come home
-and miss them. Our street architecture, improved though it may have been
-within a few years, is yet far behind the grace and massive symmetry of
-European towns. Our builders and real estate owners need to be reminded
-that it costs no more to build in good taste than in bad; that brick
-work can be made as architectural as stone; and that architecture is a
-great public instructor, whose works are constantly open to the public
-eye, and from which we are learning lessons, good or bad, whether we
-will or not. I think it is Goethe who calls architecture frozen music. I
-am glad to see these tall piles rearing their ornamented fronts on every
-side of us, even though they are intended for purposes of trade; for
-every one of them is a reproach to the untasteful structures around it,
-and an example which future builders must copy, if they do not surpass.
-The quaint beauty which charms us in Rouen, and in the old towns of
-Belgium,--the high pitched gables leaning over, as if yearning to get
-across the narrow street,--these all belong to another age, and we may
-not possess them; but the architecture which, in its simplicity or its
-magnificence, speaks its adaptedness to our climate and our social
-wants, is within our reach, and is capable of making our cities equal to
-any in the world.
-
-I have a great liking for streets. In the freshness of morning, the
-glare of noonday, and the coolness of evening, they have an equal charm
-for me. I like that market-carty period of the day, before Labour has
-taken up his shovel and his hoe, before the sun has tipped the chimneys
-with gold, and reinspired the dolorous symphony of human toil, just as
-his earliest beams were wont to draw supernal melodies from old Memnon's
-statue. There is a holy quiet in that hour, which, could we preserve it
-in our minds, would keep us clear from many a wrong and meanness, into
-which the bustle and the heat of passion betray us, and would sanctify
-our day. In that time, the city seems wrapped in a silent ecstasy of
-adoration. The incense of its worship curls up from innumerous chimneys,
-and hangs over it like the fragrant cloud which hovers over the altars
-where saints have prayed, and religion's most august rites have been
-celebrated for centuries. In the continental cities, large numbers of
-people may be seen at that early hour repairing to the churches. They
-are drawn together by no spasmodic, spiritual stimulation; they do not
-assemble to hear their fellow-sinners tell with nasal twang how bad they
-were once, and how good they are now, nor to implore the curse of Heaven
-upon those who differ from them in their belief or disbelief. They kneel
-beneath those consecrated arches, joining in a worship in which scarce
-an audible word is uttered, and drawing from it new strength to tread
-the thorns of life. In our own cities, too, people--generally of the
-poorer classes--may be seen wending their way in the early morning to
-churches and chapels, humbler than the marble and mosaic sanctuaries of
-Europe, but one with them in that faith and worship which radiates from
-the majestic Lateran basilica, (_omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater
-et caput_,) and encircles the world with its anthems and supplications.
-
-A little later in the morning, and the silence is broken by the
-clattering carts of the dispensers of that fluid without which custards
-would be impossible. The washing of doorsteps and sidewalks, too, begins
-to interfere with your perambulations, and to dim the lustre which No.
-97, High Holborn, has imparted to your shoes. Bridget leans upon her wet
-broom, and talks with Anne, who leaves her water-pail for a little
-conference, in which the affairs of the two neighbouring families of
-Smith and Jenkins receive, you may be sure, due attention. Men smoking
-short and odorous pipes, and carrying small, mysterious-looking tin
-pails, begin to awaken the echoes with their brogans, and to prove him a
-slanderer who should say they have no music in their soles. Newspaper
-carriers, bearing the damp chronicles of the world's latest history
-bestrapped to their sides, hurry along, dispensing their favours into
-areas and doorways, seasoning my friend Thompson's breakfast with the
-reports of the councils of kings, or with the readable inventions of
-"our own correspondent," and delighting the gentle Mrs. Thompson with a
-full list of deaths and marriages, or another fatal railway accident.
-Then the omnibuses begin to rattle and jolt along the streets, carrying
-such masculine loads that they deserve for the time to be called mail
-coaches. Later, an odour as of broiled mackerel salutes the sense;
-school children, with their shining morning faces, begin to obstruct
-your way, and the penny postman, with his burden of joy and sorrow,
-hastens along and rings peremptorily at door after door. Then the
-streets assume by degrees a new character. Toil is engaged in its
-workshops and in by-places, and staid respectability, in its broadcloth
-and its glossy beaver, wends its deliberate way to its office or its
-counting-house, unhindered by aught that can disturb its equanimity,
-unless, perchance, it meets with a gang of street-sweepers in the full
-exercise of their dusty avocation.
-
-Who can adequately describe that most inalienable of woman's
-rights--that favourite employment of the sex--which is generally termed
-_shopping_? Who can describe the curiosity which overhauls a wilderness
-of dress patterns, and the uncomplaining patience of the shopman who
-endeavours to suit the lady so hard to be suited,--his well-disguised
-disappointment when she does not purchase, and her husband's
-exasperation when she does? Not I, most certainly, for I detest shops,
-have little respect for fashions, lament the necessity of buying
-clothes, and wish most heartily that we could return to the primeval
-fig-leaves.
-
-I love the by-streets of a city--the streets whose echoes are never
-disturbed by the heavy-laden wagons which bespeak the greatness of our
-manufacturing interests. Formerly the houses in such streets wore an air
-of sobriety and respectability, and the good housewifery which reigned
-within was symbolized by the bright polish of the brass door-plate, or
-bell-pull, or knocker. Now they are grown more pretentious, and the
-brass has given place to an outward and visible sign of silver. But the
-streets retain their old characteristics, and are strangers to any sound
-more inharmonious than the shouts of sportive children, or the tones of
-a hand-organ. I do not profess to be a musical critic, but I have been
-gifted by nature with a tolerable idea of time and tune; yet I am not
-ashamed to say that I do not despise hand-organs. They have given me
-"Sweet Home" in the cities of Italy, Yankee Doodle in the Faubourg St.
-Germain; and the best melodies of Europe's composers are daily ground
-out under my windows. I have no patience with these canting people who
-talk about productive labour, and who see in the organ-grinder who limps
-around, looking up expectantly for the remunerating copper, only a
-vagabond whom it is expedient for the police to counsel to "move on."
-These peripatetic dispensers of harmony are full as useful members of
-society as the majority of our legislators, and have a far more
-practical talent for organization. Douglas Jerrold once said that he
-never saw an Italian image merchant, with his Graces, and Venuses, and
-Apollos at sixpence a head, that he did not spiritually touch his hat to
-him: "It is he who has carried refinement into the poor man's house; it
-is he who has accustomed the eyes of the multitude to the harmonious
-forms of beauty." Let me apply these kindly expressions of the dead
-dramatist and wit to the organ-grinders. They have carried music into
-lanes and slums, which, without them, would never have known any thing
-more melodious than a watchman's rattle, and have made the poorest of
-our people familiar with harmonies that might "create a soul under the
-ribs of death." Occasionally their music may be instrumental in
-producing a feeling of impatience, so that I wish that their "Mary Ann"
-were married off, and that Norma would "hear," and make an end of it;
-but my better feelings triumph in the end, and I would not interfere
-with the poor man's and the children's concert to hear a strain from St.
-Cecilia's viol. Let the grinders be encouraged! May the evil days
-foretold in ancient prophecy never come among us, when the grinders
-shall cease because they are few!
-
-It is at evening that the poetic element is found most abundant in the
-streets of cities. There is to me something of the sublime in the long
-lines of glittering shop-windows that skirt Regent Street and the
-Boulevards. Dr. Johnson exhorted the people who attended the sale of his
-friend Thrale's brewery, to remember that it was not the mere collection
-of boilers, and tubs, and vats which they saw around them, for which
-they were about to bargain, but "the potentiality of growing rich beyond
-the dreams of avarice"; and, in a similar spirit, I see in the shop
-windows not merely the silks and laces, and the other countless luxuries
-and wonders which delight the eye of taste and form the source of wealth
-to multitudes, but a vast exposition of the results of that industry,
-which, next to religion and obedience to law, is the surest foundation
-of national greatness, and which shows us, behind the frowning
-Providence that laid on man the curse of labour, the smiling face of
-divine beneficence. There, in one great collection, may be seen the
-fruits of the toil of millions. To produce that gorgeous display,
-artists have cudgelled their weary brains; operatives have suffered;
-ship-masters have strained their eyes over their charts and daily
-observations, and borne patiently with the provoking vagaries of the
-"lee main brace"; sailors have climbed the icy rigging and furled the
-tattered topsails with hands cracked and bleeding; for that, long trains
-of camels freighted with the rich products of the golden East, "from
-silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon," have toiled with their
-white-turbaned drivers across the parching desert; thousands of busy
-hands have plied the swift shuttle in the looms of Brussels, and
-Tournai, and Lyons; and thousands in deep and almost unfathomable mines
-have suffered a living death. Manchester and Birmingham have been
-content to wear their suit of mourning that those windows may be radiant
-and gay. The tears, and sweat, and blood of myriads have been poured out
-behind those shining panes transmuted into shapes that fill the beholder
-with wonder and delight. "In our admiration of the plumage we forget the
-dying bird." Nevertheless, above the roar and bustle of those whirling
-thoroughfares, above the endless groan and "infinite fierce chorus" of
-manhood ground down, and starving in bondage more cruel because it does
-not bear the name of slavery, I hear the carol of virtuous and
-well-rewarded labour, and the cheerful song of the white-capped
-lace-makers of Belgium and the vine-dressers of Italy reminds me that
-powerful wrong does not have every thing its own way even in this world.
-
-I did intend to have gone farther in my evening walk; but time and space
-alike forbid it. I wished to leave the loud roaring avenues for those
-more quiet streets, where every sight and sound speak of domestic
-comfort, or humble fidelity, or patient effort; where the brilliancy of
-splendid mansions is but imperfectly veiled by rich and heavy draperies;
-where high up gleams the lamp of the patient student, happy in his
-present obscurity because he dreams of coming fame; and where the tan on
-the pavement and the mitigated light from the windows are eloquent of
-suffering and the sleepless affection that ministers to its unspoken
-wants. But I must stop. If, however, I have shown one of my readers, who
-regrets that he is obliged to dwell in a city, that there is much that
-is beautiful in paved streets and smoke-stained walls, and that, if we
-only open our eyes to see them, even though the fresh fields and waving
-woods may be miles away, the beauties of nature daily fold us in their
-bosom,--I shall feel that I have not tasked my tired brain and gouty
-right hand entirely in vain.
-
-
-
-HARD UP IN PARIS
-
-
-Money, whatever those who affect misanthropy or a sublime superiority to
-all temporal things may say to the contrary, is a very desirable thing.
-We all enjoy the visit of the great Alexander to the contented
-inhabitant of the imperishable tub, who was alike independent of the
-good will and displeasure of that mighty monarch; we sympathize with all
-the bitter things that Timon says when he is reduced from wealth to
-beggary; and we are never tired of lamenting, with Virgil, that the
-human heart should be such an abject prey to this accursed hunger for
-gold. I am not sure that Horace would not be dearer to us, if he had
-lived in a "three-pair-back" in some obscure street, and his deathless
-odes had been inspired by fear of a shrewish landlady or an inexorable
-sheriff, instead of being an honoured guest at the imperial court, and a
-recipient of the splendid patronage of a M�cenas and an Augustus.
-Poetical justice seems to require a setting of the most cheerless
-poverty for the full development of the lustre of genius. At least, we
-think so, at times;--though, under it all, admire as we may the
-successful struggles of the want-stricken bard,--we do not envy him his
-penury. We should shrink from his gifts and his fame, if they were
-offered to us with his sufferings. For underneath our abstract
-magnanimity lurks the conviction that money is by no means a bad thing,
-after all. Our enthusiasm is awakened by contemplating the
-self-forgetful career of Francis of Assisi, who chose Poverty for his
-bride, and whose name is in benediction among men, even six centuries
-after he entered into possession of that kingdom which was promised to
-the poor in spirit; and, if we should chance to see a more modern bearer
-of that Christian name, who worshipped the wealth which the ancient
-saint despised; who trampled down honest poverty in his unswerving march
-towards opulence; who looked unmoved upon the tears of the widow and the
-orphan; who exercised his sordid apostolate even to the last gasp of his
-miserable life; and whose name (unblessed by the poor, and unhonoured by
-canonization) became, in the brief period that it outlived him, a byword
-and a synonyme of avarice,--we should not fail to visit his memory with
-a cordial malediction. But, in spite of all our veneration for Francis,
-the apostle of holy poverty, and of loathing for his namesake, the
-apostle of unholy wealth, we cannot help wishing that we had a little
-more of that which the Saint cast away, and the miser took in exchange
-for his soul.
-
-A little more--that is the phrase--and there is no human being, rich or
-poor, who does not think that "a little more" is all that is needed to
-fill up the measure of his earthly happiness. It is for this that the
-gambler risks his winnings, and the merchant perils the gains of many
-toilsome years. For this, some men labour until they lose the faculty of
-enjoying the fruit of their exertions; and this is the _ignis fatuus_
-that goes dancing on before others, leading them at last into that bog
-of bankruptcy from which they never wholly extricate themselves. Enough
-is a word unknown in the lexicon of those who have once tasted the joy
-of having money at interest, and there are very few men who practically
-appreciate the wisdom of the ancient dramatist who tells us that
-
-    "He is most rich who stops at competence,--
-    Not labours on till the worn heart grows sere,--
-    Who, wealth attained, upon some loftier aim
-    Fixes his gaze, and never turns it backward."
-
-"Give me neither poverty nor riches," has been my prayer through life,
-as it was that of the ancient sage; and it has always been my opinion
-that a man who owns even a single acre of land within a convenient
-distance of State Street or of the Astor House, is just as well off as
-if he were rich. My petition has been answered: but it must be confessed
-that when I mouse in the book shops, or turn over the rich portfolios of
-the print dealers, I feel that I am poor indeed. I do not envy him who
-can adorn the walls of his dwelling with the masterpieces of ancient or
-modern art on their original canvas; but I do crave those faithful
-reproductions which we owe to the engraver's skill, and which come so
-near my grasp as to aggravate my covetousness, and make me speak most
-disrespectfully of my unelastic purse.
-
-Few people have spent any considerable time abroad without being for a
-season in straitened circumstances. A mistake may have been made in
-reckoning up one's cash, or a bill may be longer than was expected, or
-one's banker may temporarily suspend payment; and suddenly he who never
-knew a moment's anxiety about his pecuniary affairs finds himself
-wondering how he can pay for his lodgings, and where his next day's
-beefsteak is coming from. It was my good fortune once to undergo such a
-trial in Paris. I say good fortune--for, unpleasant as it was at the
-time, it was one of the most precious experiences of my life. I do not
-think that a true, manly character can be formed without placing the
-subject in the position of a ship's helm, when she is in danger of
-getting aback; to speak less technically, he must (once in his life, at
-least) be _hard up_.
-
-I was younger in those days than I am now, and was living for a time in
-the gay capital of France. My lodgings were in one of those quiet
-streets that lead to the _Place Ventadour_, in which the Italian Opera
-House stands. My room was about twelve feet square, was handsomely
-furnished, and decorated with a large mirror, and a polished oaken floor
-that rivalled the mirror in brilliancy. Its window commanded an
-unobstructed view of a court-yard about the size of the room itself;
-but, as I was pretty high up (on the second floor coming down) my light
-was good, and I could not complain. As I write, it seems as if I could
-hear the old _concierge_ blacking boots and shoes away down at the
-bottom of that well of a court-yard, enlivening his toil with an
-occasional snatch from some old song, and now and then calling out to
-his young wife within the house, with a clear voice, "Marie!"--the
-accent of the final syllable being prolonged in a preternatural manner.
-And then out of the same depths came a melodious response from Marie's
-blithesome voice, that made me stop shaving to enjoy it--a voice that
-seemed in perfect harmony with the cool breath and bright sky of that
-sunny spring morning. Marie was a representative woman of her class. I
-do not believe that she could have been placed in any honest position,
-however high, that she would not have adorned. Her simplicity and good
-nature conciliated the good will of every one who addressed her, and I
-have known her quiet, lady-like dignity to inspire even some loud and
-boastful Americans, who called on me, with a momentary sentiment of
-respect. They appeared almost like gentlemen for two or three minutes
-after speaking with her. Upon my honour, sir, it was worth considerably
-more than I paid for my room to have the privilege of living under the
-same roof with such a cheery sunbeam--to see her seated daily at the
-window of the _conciergerie_ with a snow-white cap on her head and a
-pleasant smile on her face; to interrupt her sewing, with an inquiry
-whether any letters had come for me, and be charmed with her alacrity in
-handing me the expected note, and the key of _numero dix-huit_. Her
-nightly _Bon soir, M'sieur_, was like a benediction from a guardian
-angel; her vivacious _Bon jour_ was an augury of an untroubled day; it
-would have made the darkest, foggiest November afternoon seem as bright,
-and fresh, and exhilarating as a morning in June. These are trifles, I
-know, but it is of trifles such as these that the true happiness of life
-is made up. Great joys, like great griefs, do not possess the soul so
-completely as we think, as Wellington victorious, or Napoleon defeated,
-at Waterloo, would have discovered, if, in that great hour, they had
-been visited with a twinge of neuralgia in the head, or a gnawing
-dyspepsia.
-
-The influenza, or _grippe_, as the French call it, is not a pleasant
-thing under any circumstances; but I think of a four days' attack,
-during which Marie attended to my wants, as a period of unmixed
-pleasure. She seemed to hover about my sick bed, she moved so gently,
-and her voice (to use the words of my former cherished friend, S. T.
-Coleridge,) was like
-
-        "----a hidden brook
-      In the leafy month of June,
-    That to the sleeping woods all night
-      Singeth a quiet tune."
-
-"Was it that Monsieur would be able to drink a little tea, or would it
-please him to taste some cool lemonade?" _H�las!_ Monsieur was too
-_malade_ for that; but the kind attentions of that estimable little
-woman were more refreshing than a Baltic Sea of the beverage that cheers
-but does not inebriate, or all the aid that the lemon groves of Italy
-could afford. Marie's politeness was the genuine article, and came right
-from her pure, kind heart. It was as far removed from that despicable
-obsequiousness which passes current with so many for politeness, as
-old-fashioned Christian charity is from modern philanthropy.
-
-But--pardon my garrulity--I am forgetting my story. In a moment of
-kindly forgetfulness I lent a considerable portion of my available funds
-to a friend who was short, and who was obliged to return to America,
-_via_ England. I was in weekly expectation of a draft from home that
-would place me once more upon my financial legs. One, two, three weeks
-passed away, and the letters from America were distributed every Tuesday
-morning, but there was none for me. It gave me a kind of faint sensation
-when the clerk at the banker's gave me the disappointing answer, and I
-went into the reading-room of the establishment to read the new American
-papers, and to speculate upon the cause of the unremitting neglect of my
-friends at home. I shall never forget my feelings when, in the third
-week of my impecuniosity, I found my exchequer reduced to the small sum
-of eight francs. I saw the truth of Shakespeare's words describing the
-"consumption of the purse" as an incurable disease. I had many
-acquaintances and a few friends in Paris, but I determined not to borrow
-if it could possibly be avoided. Five days would elapse before another
-American mail arrived, and I resolved that my remaining eight francs
-should carry me through to the eventful Tuesday, which I felt sure would
-bring the longed-for succor. I found a little dingy shop, in a narrow
-street behind the Church of St. Roch, where I could get a breakfast,
-consisting of a bowl of very good coffee and piece of bread (I asked for
-the end of the loaf) for six sous. My dinners I managed to bring down to
-the sum of twelve sous, by choosing obscure localities for the obtaining
-of that repast, and confining myself to those simple and nutritious
-viands which possessed the merit attributed to the veal pie by Samuel
-Weller, being "werry fillin' at the price." Sometimes I went to bed
-early, to avoid the inconveniences of a light dinner. One day I dined
-with a friend at his lodgings, but I did not enjoy his hospitality; I
-felt guilty, as if I had sacrificed friendship to save my dwindling
-purse. The coarsest bread and the most suspicious beef of the Latin
-Quarter would have been more delicious to me under such circumstances
-than the best ragout of the Boulevards or the Palais Royal.
-
-Of course, this state of things weighed heavily upon my spirits. I heard
-Marie tell her husband that Monsieur l'Anglais was _bien triste_. I
-avoided the friends with whom I had been used to meet, and (remembering
-what a sublime thing it is to suffer and be strong) sternly resolved not
-to borrow till I found myself completely gravelled. It grieved me to be
-obliged to pass the old blind man who played the flageolet on the _Pont
-des Arts_ without dropping a copper into his tin box; but the severest
-blow was the being compelled to put off my obliging washerwoman and her
-reasonable bill. The time passed away quickly, however. The _Louvre_,
-with its treasures of art, was a blessed asylum for me. It cost me
-nothing, and I was there free from the importunities of distress which I
-could not relieve. In the halls of the great public library--now the
-_Biblioth�que Imp�riale_--I found myself at home. Among the studious
-throng that occupied its vast reading rooms, I was as independent as if
-my name had been Rothschild, or the treasures of the Bank of France had
-been at my command. The master spirits with whom I there communed do not
-ask what their votaries carry in their pockets. There is no
-property-test for admission to the privileges of their companionship. I
-felt the equality which prevails in the republic of letters. I knew that
-my left hand neighbour was not, in that quiet place, superior to me on
-account of his glossy coat and golden-headed cane, and that I was no
-better than the reader at my right hand because he wore a blouse. I
-jingled my two or three remaining francs in my pocket, and thought how
-useless money was, when the lack of it was no bar to entrance into the
-hallowed presence of
-
-    "Those dead but sceptred sovereigns who still rule
-    Our spirits from their urns."
-
-I shall not soon forget the intense satisfaction with which I read in
-the regulations of the library a strict prohibition against offering any
-fees or gratuities whatever to its blue-coated officials.
-
-At last the expected Tuesday morning came. My funds had received an
-unlooked-for diminution by receiving a letter from my friend whose wants
-had led me into difficulty. He was just embarking at Liverpool--hoped
-that my remittance had arrived in due season--promised to send me a
-draft as soon as he reached New York--envied my happiness at remaining
-in Paris--and left me to pay the postage on his valediction. It would be
-difficult for any disinterested person to conceive how dear the
-thoughtless writer of that letter was to me in that unfortunate hour.
-Then, too, I was obliged to lay out six of those cherished copper coins
-for a ride in an omnibus, as I was caught in a shower over in the
-vicinity of St. Sulpice, and could not afford to take the risk of a
-rheumatic attack by getting wet. I well remember the cool, business-like
-air with which that relentless _conducteur_ pocketed those specimens of
-the French currency that were so precious in my sight. Yet, in spite of
-these serious and unexpected drains upon my finances, I had four sous
-left after paying for my breakfast on that memorable morning. I felt
-uncommonly cheerful at the prospect of being relieved from my troubles,
-and stopped several minutes after finishing my coffee, and conversed
-with the tidy shopwoman with a fluency that astonished both of us. I
-really regretted for the moment that I was so soon to be placed in
-funds, and should no longer enjoy her kindly services. I chuckled
-audibly to myself as I pursued my way to the banker's, to think what an
-immense joke it would be for some skilful Charley Bates or Artful Dodger
-to try to pick my pocket just then. An ancient heathen expecting an
-answer from the oracle of Delphos, a modern candidate for office
-awaiting the count of the vote, never felt more oppressed with the
-importance of the result than I did when I entered the banking-house. My
-delight at having a letter from America put into my hands could only be
-equalled by my dismay when I opened it, and found, instead of the draft,
-a request from a casual acquaintance who had heard that I might possibly
-return home through England, and who, if I did, would be under great
-obligations if I would take the trouble to procure and carry home for
-him an English magpie and a genuine King Charles spaniel!
-
-I did not stop to read the papers that morning. As I was leaving the
-establishment, I met its chief partner, to whom I could not help
-expressing my disappointment. He was one of your hard-faced,
-high-cheek-boned Yankees, with a great deal of speculation in his eyes.
-I should as soon have thought of attempting the cultivation of figs and
-dates at Franconia as of trying to get a small loan from _him_. So I
-pushed on into those busy streets whose liveliness seemed to mock my
-pitiable condition. I had come to it at last. I had got to borrow. A
-physician, who now stands high among the faculty in Boston, was then
-residing in Paris, and, as I had been on familiar terms with him, I
-determined to have recourse to him. He occupied two rooms in the fifth
-story of a house in the Rue St. Honor�. His apartments were more
-remarkable for their snugness than for the extent of accommodation they
-afforded. A snuff-taking friend once offered to present the doctor with
-one of his silk handkerchiefs to carpet that parlour with. But the
-doctor's heart was not to be measured by the size of his rooms, and I
-knew that he would be a friend in need. The _concierge_ told me that the
-doctor had not gone out, and, in obedience to the instructions of that
-functionary, I mounted the long staircase and _frapped_ at the door of
-that estimable disciple of Galen. It was not my usual thrice-repeated
-stroke upon the door; it was a timid and uncertain knock--the knock of a
-borrower. The doctor said that he had been rather short himself for a
-week or two, but that he should undoubtedly find a letter in the General
-Post that morning that would place him in a condition to give me a lift.
-This was said in a manner that put me entirely at my ease, and made me
-feel that by accepting his loan I should be conferring an inestimable
-favour upon him. As we walked towards the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, I
-amused him with the story of the preceding week's adventures. He laughed
-heartily, and after a few minutes I joined with him, though I must say
-that the events, as they occurred, did not particularly impress me as
-subjects for very hilarious mirth. The doctor inquired at the _poste
-restante_ in vain. His friends had been as remiss as mine, and we had
-both got to wait another week. The doctor was not an habitually profane
-man, but as we came through the court-yard of the post office, he
-expressed his anxiety as to what the devil we should do. He examined his
-purse, and found that his available assets amounted to a trifle more
-than nineteen francs. He looked as troubled as he had before looked gay.
-I generously offered him my four remaining coppers, and told him that I
-would stand by him as long as he had a centime in his pocket. Such an
-exhibition of magnanimity could not be made in vain. We stopped in front
-of the church of Our Lady of Victories, and took the heroic resolve to
-club our funds and go through the week of expectation together. And we
-did it. I wish that space would allow of my describing the achievements
-of that week. Medical books were cast aside for the study of domestic
-economy. I do not believe that a similar sum of money ever went so far
-before, even in Paris. We found a place in a narrow street, near the
-Odeon, where fried potatoes were sold very cheap; we bought our bread by
-the loaf, as it was cheaper--the loaves being so long that the doctor
-said that he understood, when he first saw them, why bread was called
-the staff of life. We resorted to all sorts of expedients to make a
-franc buy as much as possible of the necessaries of life. We frequented
-with great assiduity all places of public amusement where there was no
-fee for admission. The public galleries, the libraries, the puppet shows
-in the Champs Elys�es, were often honoured with our presence. We made a
-joke of our necessities, and carried it through to the end. The next
-Tuesday morning found us, after breakfasting, on our way to the post
-office, with a franc left in our united treasury. I had begun to give up
-all hopes of our ever getting a letter from home, and insisted upon the
-doctor's trying his luck first. He was successful, but the severest part
-of the joke came when he found that his letter (contrary to all
-precedent) was not postpaid. The polite official at the window must have
-thirty-two sous for it, and we had but twenty. Our laughter showed him
-the whole state of the case, and we left him greatly amused at our
-promises to return soon, and get the desirable prize. My application at
-the banker's was successful, too, and before noon we were both prepared
-to laugh a siege to scorn. I paid the rosy-cheeked washerwoman, bought
-Marie a neat crucifix to hang up in the place of a very rude one in her
-_conciergerie_, out of sheer good humour; and that evening the doctor
-and I laughed over the recollections of the week and a good dinner in a
-quiet restaurant in the Palais Royal.
-
-
-
-THE OLD CORNER
-
-
-The human heart loves corners. The very word "corner" is suggestive of
-snugness and cosy comfort, and he who has no liking for them is
-something more or less than mortal. I have seen people whose ideas of
-comfort were singularly crude and imperfect; who thought that it
-consisted in keeping a habitation painfully clean, and in having every
-book or paper that might give token of the place being the dwelling of a
-human being, carefully out of sight. We have great cause for
-thankfulness that such people are not common, (for a little wholesome
-negligence is by no means an unpleasant thing,) so that we can say that
-mankind generally likes to snuggify itself, and is therefore fond of a
-corner. This natural fondness is manifested by the child with his
-playthings and infantile sports, in one of which, at least, the
-attractions of corners for the feline race are brought strongly before
-his inquisitive mind. And how is this liking strengthened and built up
-as the child increases in secular knowledge, and learns in the course of
-his poetical and historical researches all about the personal history of
-Master John Horner, whose sedentary habits and manducation of festive
-pastry are famous wherever the language of Shakespeare and Milton is
-spoken!
-
-This love of nooks and corners is especially observable in those who are
-obliged to live in style and splendour. Many a noble English family has
-been glad to escape from the bondage of its rank, and has found more
-real comfort in the confinement of a Parisian _entresol_ than amid the
-gloomy grandeur of its London home. Those who are condemned to dwell in
-palaces bear witness to this natural love of snugness, by choosing some
-quiet sunny corner in their marble halls, and making it as comfortable
-as if it were a cosy cottage. Napoleon and Eugenie delight to escape
-from the magnificence of the Tuileries to that quiet and homelike refuge
-for people who are burdened with imperial dignity, amid the thick
-foliage and green alleys of St. Cloud. Even in that mighty maze, the
-Vatican, the rooms inhabited by the Sovereign Pontiff are remarkably
-comfortable and unpalatial, and prove the advantages of smallness and
-simplicity over gilding and grandeur, for the ordinary purposes of life.
-An American gentleman once called on the great and good Cardinal
-Cheverus, and while talking with him of his old friends in America, said
-that the contrast between the Cardinal's position in the episcopal
-palace of Bordeaux and in his former humble residence when he was Bishop
-of Boston, was a very striking one. The humble and pious prelate smiled,
-and taking his visitor by the arm, led him from the stately hall in
-which they were conversing, into a narrow room furnished in a style of
-austere simplicity: "The palace," said he, "which you have seen and
-admired is the residence of the Cardinal Archbishop of Bordeaux; but
-this little chamber is where John Cheverus _lives_."
-
-Literary men and statesmen have always coveted the repose of a corner
-where they might be undisturbed by the wranglings of the world.
-Twickenham, and Lausanne, and Ferney, and Rydal Mount have become as
-shrines to which the lover of books would fain make pilgrimages. Have we
-not a Sunnyside and an Idlewild even in this new land of ours! Cicero,
-in spite of his high opinion of Marcus Tullius, and his thirst for
-popular applause, often grew tired of urban life, and was glad to
-forsake the _Senatus populusque Romanus_ for the quiet of his snug villa
-in a corner of the hill country overlooking Frascati. And did not our
-own Tully love to fling aside the burden of his power, and find his
-Tusculum on the old South Shore? In the Senate Chamber or the Department
-of State you might see the Defender of the Constitution, but it was at
-Marshfield that Webster really lived. Horace loved good company and the
-entertainment of his wealthy patrons and friends, but he loved snugness
-and quiet even more. In one of his odes he apostrophizes his friend
-Septimius, and describes to him the delight he takes in the repose of
-his Tiburtine retreat from the bustle of the metropolis, saying that of
-all places in the world that corner is the most smiling and grateful to
-him:--
-
-    Ille terrarum mihi pr�ter omnes
-    Angulus ridet.
-
-If we look into our hearts, I think we shall most of us find that we
-have a clinging attachment to some favourite corner, as well as Mr.
-Horatius Flaccus. There is at least one corner in the city of Boston,
-which has many pleasant associations for the lover of literature.
-Allusion was made a few days since, in an evening paper, to the
-well-known fact that the old building at the corner of Washington and
-School Streets was built in 1713, and is therefore older by seventeen
-years than the Old South Church. That little paragraph reminded me of
-some passages in the history of that ancient edifice related to me by an
-ancestor of mine, for whom the place had an almost romantic charm.
-
-The old building (my grandfather used to tell me) was originally a
-dwelling-house. It had the high wainscots, the broad staircases, the
-carved cornices, and all the other blessed old peculiarities of the age
-in which it was built, which we irreverently have improved away. One
-hundred years ago the old corner was considered rather an aristocratic
-place of residence. It was slightly suburban in its position, for the
-town of Boston had an affection for Copp's Hill, and the inhabitants
-clustered about that sacred eminence as if the southern parts of their
-territory were a quicksand. Trees were not uncommon in the vicinity of
-the foot of School Street in those days, and no innovating Hathorne had
-disturbed the quiet of the place with countless omnibuses. The old
-corner was then occupied by an English gentleman named Barmesyde, who
-gave good dinners, and was on intimate terms with the colonial governor.
-My venerated relative, to whom I have already alluded, enjoyed his
-friendship, and in his latter days delighted to talk of him, and tell
-his story to those who had heard it so often, that Hugh Greville
-Barmesyde, Esquire, seemed like a companion of their own young days.
-
-Old Barmesyde sprang from an ancient Somersetshire family, from which he
-inherited a considerable property, and a remarkable energy of character.
-He increased his wealth during a residence of many years in Antigua, at
-the close of which he relinquished his business, and returned to England
-to marry a beautiful English lady to whom he had engaged himself in the
-West Indies. He arrived in England the day after the funeral of his
-betrothed, who had fallen a victim to intermittent fever. Many of his
-relations had died in his absence, and he found himself like a stranger
-in the very place where he had hoped to taste again the joys of home.
-The death of the lady he loved so dearly, and the changes in his circle
-of friends, were so depressing to him, that he resolved to return to the
-West Indies. He thought it would be easier for him to continue in the
-associations he had formed there than to recover from the shock his
-visit to England had given him. So he took passage in a brig from
-Bristol to Antigua, and said farewell forever, as he supposed, to his
-native land. Before half the voyage was accomplished, the vessel was
-disabled: as Mr. Choate would express it, a north-west gale inflicted
-upon her a serious, an immedicable injury; and she floated a wreck upon
-the foamy and uneven surface of the Atlantic. She was fallen in with by
-another British vessel, bound for Boston, which took off her company,
-and with the renewal of the storm she foundered before the eyes of those
-who had so lately risked their lives upon her seaworthiness. When Mr.
-Barmesyde arrived in Boston, he found an old friend in the governor of
-the Province of Massachusetts Bay. Governor Pownall had but lately
-received his appointment from the Crown, and being a comparative
-stranger in Boston, he was as glad to see Mr. Barmesyde as the latter
-was to see him. It was several months before an opportunity to reach the
-West Indies offered itself, and when one did occur, Mr. Barmesyde only
-used it to communicate with his agent at Antigua. He had given up all
-ideas of returning thither, and had settled down, with his negro servant
-Cato, to housekeeping at the corner of School Street, within a few doors
-of his gubernatorial friend.
-
-Governor Pownall's term of office was not a long one, but even when he
-was removed, Mr. Barmesyde stuck faithfully to the old corner. He had
-found many warm friends here, and could no longer consider himself alone
-in the world. He was a man of good natural powers, and of thorough
-education. He was one of those who seem never to lose any thing that
-they have once acquired. In person he was tall and comely, and my
-grandfather said that he somewhat resembled General Washington as he
-appeared twenty-five years later, excepting that Mr. Barmesyde's
-countenance was more jolly and port-winy. From all I can learn, his
-face, surmounted by that carefully-powdered head of hair, must have
-resembled a red brick house after a heavy fall of snow. If Hugh
-Barmesyde had a fault, I am afraid it was a fondness for good living. He
-attended to his marketing in person, assisted by his faithful Cato, who
-was as good a judge in such matters as his master, and who used to
-vindicate the excellence of his master's fare by eating until he was
-black in the face. For years there were few vessels arrived from England
-without bringing choice wines to moisten the alimentary canal of Mr.
-Barmesyde. The Windward Isles contributed bountifully to keep alight the
-festive flame that blazed in his cheery countenance, and to make his
-flip and punch the very best that the province could produce. Every
-Sunday morning Mr. Barmesyde's best buckles sparkled in the sunbeams as
-he walked up School Street to the King's Chapel. Not that he was an
-eminently religious man, but he regarded religion as an institution that
-deserved encouragement for the sake of maintaining a proper balance in
-society. The quiet order and dignity of public worship pleased him, the
-liturgy gratified his taste, and so Sunday after Sunday his big manly
-voice headed the responses, and told that its possessor had done many
-things that he ought not to have done, and had left undone a great many
-that he ought to have done.
-
-Mr. Barmesyde was not a mere feeder on good things, however; he had a
-cultivated taste for literature, and his invoices of wine were
-frequently accompanied by parcels of new books. The old gentleman took a
-great delight in the English literature of that day. Fielding and
-Smollett were writing then, and no one took a keener pleasure in their
-novels than he. He imported, as he used to boast, the first copy of Dr.
-Johnson's Dictionary that ever came to America, and was never tired of
-reading that stately and pathetic preface, or of searching for the
-touches of satire and individual prejudice that abound in that
-entertaining work. His well-worn copy of the Spectator, in eight
-duodecimo volumes, presented by him to my grandfather, now graces one of
-my book shelves. His books were always at the service of his friends,
-who availed themselves of the old gentleman's kindness to such an extent
-that his collection might have been called a circulating library. But it
-was not merely for the frequent "feast of reason and flow of soul" that
-his friends were indebted to him. He was the very incarnation of
-hospitality. I am afraid that my excellent grandparent had an uncommon
-admiration for this trait in the old fellow's character, for a frequent
-burning twinge in one of the toes of my right foot, and occasionally in
-the knuckles of my left hand, reminds me of his fondness for keeping his
-legs under Mr. Barmesyde's festive mahogany. A few years ago, when a new
-floor was laid in the cellar at the old corner, a large number of empty
-bottles was discovered, whose appearance bore witness to the previous
-good character of the place as a cellar. Some labels were also found
-bearing dates like 1697, 1708, 1721, &c. To this day the occupants of
-the premises take pleasure in showing the dark wine stains on the old
-stairs leading to the cellar.
-
-But Mr. Barmesyde's happiness, like the _gioia de profani_, which we
-have all heard the chorus in the last scene of Lucrezia Borgia
-discordantly allude to, was but transient. The dispute which had been
-brewing for years between the colonies and the mother country, began to
-grow unpleasantly warm. Mr. B. was a stanch loyalist. He allowed that
-injustice had been done to the colonies, but still he could not throw
-off his allegiance to his most religious and gracious king, George III.,
-Defender of the Faith. He was ready to do and to suffer as much for his
-principles as the most ardent of the revolutionists. And he was not
-alone in his loyalty. There were many old-fashioned conservative people
-in this revolutionary and ismatic city in those days as well as now. The
-publication in this city of a translation of De Maistre's great defence
-of the monarchical principle of government, (the Essay on the Generative
-Principle of Political Constitutions,) and of the late Mr. Oliver's
-"Puritan Commonwealth," proves that the surrender of Cornwallis and the
-formation of the Federal Constitution did not destroy the confidence of
-a good many persons in the truth of the principles on which the
-loyalists took their stand. The unfortunate occurrence in State Street,
-March 5, 1770, gave Mr. B. great pain. He regretted the bloodshed, but
-he regretted more deeply to see many persons so blinded by their hatred
-of the king's most excellent majesty, as to defend and praise the action
-of a lawless mob just punished for their riotous conduct. The throwing
-overboard of the tea excited his indignation. He stigmatized it (and not
-without some reason on his side) as a wanton and cowardly act,--a
-destruction of the property of parties against whom the town of Boston
-had no cause of complaint,--a deed which proved how little real regard
-for justice and honour there might be among those who were the loudest
-in their shrieks for freedom. Of course he could not give utterance to
-these sentiments without exciting the ire of many people; and feeling
-that he could no longer safely remain in this country, he concluded to
-return to England. In the spring of 1774, Hugh Greville Barmesyde gave
-his last dinner to a few of the faithful at the old corner, and sailed
-the next day with a sorrowing heart and his trusty Cato for the land of
-his birth. He spent the remainder of his days in London, where he died
-in 1795. He was interred in the vault belonging to his family, in the
-north transept of the Parish Church of Shepton Mallet, in Somersetshire,
-where there is still a handsome tablet commemorating his many virtues
-and the inconsolable grief of the nephews and nieces whom his decease
-enriched.
-
-Some of the less orderly "liberty boys" bore witness to the imperfect
-sympathy that existed between them and the late occupant of the old
-corner, by breaking sundry panes of glass in the parlour windows the
-night after his departure. The old house, during the revolutionary
-struggle, followed the common prosaic course of ordinary occupancy.
-There was "marrying and giving in marriage" under that steep and ancient
-roof in those days, and troops of clamorous children used to play upon
-the broad stone steps, and tarnish the brasses that Cato was wont to
-keep so clean and bright. In the latter part of the last century the old
-house underwent a painful transformation. An enterprising apothecary
-perverted it to the uses of trade, and decorated its new windows with
-the legitimate jars of various coloured fluids. It is now nearly half a
-century since it became a bookstore. Far be it from me to offer any
-disturbance to the modesty of my excellent friends, Messrs. Ticknor and
-Fields, by enlarging upon the old corner in its present estate. It were
-useless to write about any thing so familiar. They are young men yet,
-and must pardon me if I have used the prerogative of age and spoken too
-freely about their old establishment and its reminiscences. I love the
-old corner, and should not hesitate to apply to it the words of Horace
-which I have quoted above. I love its freedom from pretence and
-ostentation. New books seem more grateful to me there than elsewhere;
-for the dinginess of Paternoster Row harmonizes better with literature
-than the plate glass and gairish glitter of Piccadilly or Regent Street.
-
-The large looking-glass which stands near the Washington Street entrance
-to the old corner used to adorn the dining-room where Mr. Barmesyde gave
-so many feasts. It is the only relic of that worthy gentleman now
-remaining under that roof. If that glass could only publish its
-reflexions during the past century, what an entertaining work on the
-curiosities of literature and of life it might make! It is no ordinary
-place that may boast of having been the familiar resort of people like
-Judge Story, Mr. Otis, Channing, Kirkland, Webster, Choate, Everett,
-Charles Kemble and the elder Vandenhoff with their gifted daughters,
-Ellen Tree, the Woods, Finn, Dickens, Thackeray, James, Bancroft,
-Prescott, Emerson, Brownson, Dana, Halleck, Bryant, Hawthorne,
-Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell, Willis, Bayard Taylor, Whipple, Parkman,
-Hilliard, Sumner, Parsons, Sprague, and so many others whose names will
-live in literature and history. It is a very pleasant thing to see
-literary men at their ease, as they always are around those old
-counters. It is a relief to find that they can throw off at times the
-dignity and restraint of authorship. It is pleasant to see the lecturer
-and the divine put away their tiresome earnestness and severe morality,
-and come down to the jest of the day. It refreshes one to know that Mr.
-Emerson is not always orphic, and that the severely scholastic Everett
-can forget his elegant and harmonious sentences, and descend to common
-prose. For we can no more bear to think of an orator living unceasingly
-in oratory than we could of Signorina Zanfretta being obliged to remain
-constantly poised on the _corde tendue_.
-
-The bust of Sir Walter Scott has filled the space above the mirror I
-have spoken of, for many years. It is a fine work of Chantrey's, and a
-good likeness of that head of Sir Walter's, so many _stories_ high that
-one can never wonder where all his novels came from. Except this
-specimen of the plastic art, and one of Professor Agassiz, there is
-little that is ornamental in the ancient haunt. The green curtain that
-decorates the western corner of the establishment is a comparatively
-modern institution. It was found necessary to fence off that portion of
-the shop for strict business purposes. The profane converse of the world
-cannot penetrate those folds. Into that _sanctissimum sanctissimorum_ no
-joke, however good, may enter. What a strange dispensation of Providence
-is it, that a man should have been for years enjoying the good society
-that abounds at that corner, and yet should seem to have so little
-liking for a quiet jest as the estimable person who conceals his
-seriousness behind that green curtain!
-
-But every thing must yield to the law of nature, and the old corner must
-share the common lot. Some inauspicious night, the fire-alarm will sound
-for District III.; hoarse voices will echo at the foot of School Street,
-calling earnestly on No. 3 to "hold on," and No. 9 to "play away"; where
-erst good liquor was wont to abound water will more abound, and when the
-day dawns Mr. Barmesyde's old house will be an unsightly ruin,--there
-will be mourning and desolation among the lovers of literature, and
-wailing in the insurance offices in State Street. When the blackened
-ruins are cleared away, boys will pick up scraps of scorched
-manuscripts, and sell them piecemeal as parts of the original copy of
-Hiawatha, or Evangeline, or the Scarlet Letter. In the fulness of time,
-a tall, handsome stone or iron building will rise on that revered site,
-and we lovers of the past shall try to invest it with something of the
-unpretending dignity and genial associations of the present venerable
-pile, which will then be cherished among our most precious memories.
-
-
-
-SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THEATRE ALLEY
-
-
-We are all associationists. There is no man who does not believe in
-association in some degree. For myself, I am firm in the faith. Let me
-not be misunderstood, however; I do not mean that principle of
-association which the late Mr. Fourier advocated in France, and Mr.
-Brisbane in America. I do not believe in the utopian schemes which have
-been ground out of the brains of philosophers who mistake vagueness and
-impracticability for sublimity, and which they have misnamed
-association. The principle of association to which I pay homage is one
-which finds a home in every human heart. It is that principle of our
-nature which, when the bereaved Queen Constance was mourning for her
-absent child, "stuffed out his vacant garments with his form." It is
-that principle which makes a man love the scenes of his boyhood, and
-which brings tears to the eyes of the traveller in a foreign land, when
-he hears a familiar strain from a hand organ, however harsh and out of
-tune. Even the brute creation seems to share in it; the cat is sure to
-be found in her favourite place at the fireside, while the tea kettle
-makes music on the hob; the dog, too, (let Hercules himself do what he
-may,) will not only have his day, but will have his chosen corner for
-repose, and will stick to it, however tempting you may make other places
-by a superabundance of door mats and other canine furniture. And the
-tired cart horse, when his day's labour is over, and he finds himself
-once more in the familiar stall, with his provender before him--do you
-not suppose that the associations of equine comfort by which he is
-surrounded are dearer to him than any hopes of the luxury and splendour
-of Her Britannic Majesty's stables at Windsor could be? Ask him if he
-would leave his present peck of oats for the chances of royal service,
-and a red-waistcoated, white-top-booted groom to wait upon him, and I
-will warrant you that he will answer _nay_!
-
-There is no nation nor people that is free from this bondage of
-association. We treasure General Jackson's garments with respectful care
-in a glass case in the Patent Office at Washington; in the Louvre, you
-shall find preserved the crown of Charlemagne and the old gray coat of
-the first Napoleon; and at Westminster Abbey, (if you have the money to
-pay your admission fee,) you may see the plain old oaken chair in which
-the crowned monarchs of a thousand years have sat. Go to Rome, and stand
-"at the base of Pompey's statua," and association shall carry you back
-in imagination to the time when the mighty Julius fell. Stand upon the
-grassy mounds of Tusculum, and you will find yourself glowing with
-enthusiasm for Cicero, and wonder how you could have grown so sleepy
-over _Quousque tandem_, &c., in your schoolboy days. Climb up the
-Trasteverine steep to where the convent of San Onofrio suns itself in
-the bright blue air of Rome, and while the monks are singing the divine
-office where the bones of Tasso repose, you may fill your mind with
-memories of the bard of the crusades, in the chamber where his weary
-soul found the release it craved. Go to that fair capital which seems to
-have hidden itself among the fertile hills of Tuscany; walk through its
-pleasant old streets, and you shall find yourself the slave of many
-pleasing associations. The very place where Dante was wont to stand and
-gaze at that wondrous dome which Michel Angelo said he was unwilling to
-copy and unable to excel, is marked by an inscription in the pavement.
-Every street has its associations that appeal to your love of the
-beautiful or the heroic. Walk out into the lively streets of that city
-which stands at the head of the world's civilization, and you are
-overwhelmed with historic associations. You seem to hear the clatter of
-armed heels in some of those queer old alleys, and the vision of Godfrey
-or St. Louis, armed for the holy war, would not astonish you. The dim
-and stately halls of the palaces are eloquent of power, and you almost
-expect to see the thin, pale, thoughtful face of the great Richelieu at
-every corner. Over whole districts, rebellion, and anarchy, and
-infidelity, once wrote the history of their sway in blood, and even now,
-the names of the streets, as you read them, seem to fill you with
-terrible mementoes.
-
-But to us, Americans, connected as we are with England in our
-civilization and our literature, how full of thrilling associations is
-London! From Whitehall, where Puritanism damned itself by the murder of
-a king, to Eastcheap, where Mistress Quickly served Sir John with his
-sherris-sack; from St. Saviour's Church, where Massinger and Fletcher
-lie in one grave, to Milton's tomb in St. Giles's, Cripplegate, there is
-hardly a street, or court, or lane, or alley, which does not appeal by
-some association to the student of English history or literature. He
-perambulates the Temple Gardens with Chaucer; he hears the partisans of
-the houses of York and Lancaster, as they profane the silence of that
-scholastic spot; he walks Fleet Street, and disputes in Bolt Court with
-Dr. Johnson; he smokes in the coffee-houses of Covent Garden with Dryden
-and Pope, and the wits of their day; he makes morning calls in Leicester
-Square and its neighbourhood, on Sir Philip Sidney, Hogarth, Reynolds,
-and Newton; he buys gloves and stockings at Defoe's shop in Cornhill;
-and makes excursions with Dicky Steele out to Kensington, to see Mr.
-Addison. Drury Lane, despite its gin, and vice, and squalour, has its
-associations. The old theatre is filled with them. They show you, in the
-smoky green-room, the chairs which once were occupied by Siddons and
-Kemble; the seat of Byron by the fireside in the days of his
-trusteeship; the mirrors in which so many dramatic worthies viewed
-themselves, before they were called to achieve their greatest triumphs.
-
-Every where you find men acknowledging in their actions their allegiance
-to this great natural law. Our own city, too, has its associations. Who
-can pass by that venerable building in Union Street, which, like a deaf
-and dumb beggar, wears a tablet of its age upon its unsightly front,
-without recalling some of the events that have taken place, some of the
-scenes which that venerable edifice has looked down upon, since its
-solid timbers were jointed in the year of salvation 1685? Who can enter
-Faneuil Hall without a quickening of his pulse? Who can walk by the old
-Hancock House, and not look up at it as if he expected to see old John
-(the best writer on the subject of American independence) standing at
-the door in his shad-bellied coat, knee-breeches, and powdered wig? Who
-can look at the Old South Church without thinking of the part it played
-in the revolution, and of the time when it was obliged to yield its
-unwilling horsepitality to the British cavalry? Boston is by no means
-deficient in associations. Go to Brattle Street, to Copp's Hill, to
-Mount Washington, to Deer Island,--though it must be acknowledged, the
-only association connected with the last-named place is the Provident
-Association.
-
-If there be a fault in the Yankee character, I fear it is a lack of
-sufficient respect for the memory of the past. Nature will have her way
-with us, however we may try to resist her and trample old recollections
-under foot. We worship prosperity too much; and the wide, straight
-streets of western cities, with the telegraph posts standing like
-sentinels on the edge of the sidewalks, and a general odour of
-pork-packing and new houses pervading the atmosphere, seem to our
-acquisitive sense more beautiful than the sculptured arch, the
-moss-grown tower, the quaint gable, and all the summer fragrance of the
-gardens of the Tuileries or the _Unterdenlinden_. I am afraid that we
-almost deserve to be classed with those who (as Mr. Thackeray says)
-"have no reverence except for prosperity, and no eye for any thing but
-success."
-
-Many are kindled into enthusiasm by meditating upon the future of this
-our country,--"the newest born of nations, the latest hope of
-mankind,"--but for myself I love better to dwell on the sure and
-unalterable past, than to speculate upon the glories of the coming
-years. While I was young, I liked, when at sea, to stand on the
-top-gallant forecastle, and see the proud ship cut her way through the
-waves that playfully covered me with spray; but of late years my
-pleasure has been to lean over the taffrail and muse upon the subsiding
-foam of the vessel's wake. The recollection even of storms and dangers
-is to me more grateful than the most joyful anticipation of a fair wind
-and the expected port. With these feelings, I cannot help being moved
-when I see so many who try to deaden their natural sensibility to old
-associations. When the old Province House passed into the hands of the
-estimable Mr. Ordway, I congratulated him on his success, but I mourned
-over the dark fate of that ancient mansion. I respected it even in its
-fallen state as an inn,--for it retained much of its old dignity, and
-the ghosts of Andros and his predecessors seemed to brush by you in its
-high wainscoted passages and on its broad staircases; but it did seem
-the very ecstasy of sacrilege to transform it into a concert-room. I
-rejoiced, however, a few years since, when the birthplace of B.
-Franklin, in Milk Street, was distinguished by an inscription to that
-effect in letters of enduring stone. That was a concession to the
-historic associations of that locality which the most sanguine could
-hardly have expected from the satinetters of Milk Street.
-
-But I am forgetting my subject, and using up my time and ink in the
-prolegomena. My philosophy of association received a severe blow last
-week. It was a pleasant day, and I hobbled out on my gouty timbers for a
-walk. I wandered into Franklin Place, but it was not the Franklin Place
-of my youth. The rude hand of public improvement had not been kept even
-from that row of houses which, when I was a boy, was thought an ornament
-to our city, and was dignified with the name of the Tontine Buildings.
-Franklin Place looked as if two or three of its front teeth had been
-knocked out. I walked on, and my sorrow and dismay were increased to
-find that the last vestige of Theatre Alley had disappeared. It was bad
-enough when the old theatre and the residence of the Catholic bishops of
-Boston were swept away: I still clung to the old alley, and hoped that
-it would not pass away in my time--that before the old locality should
-be improved into what the profane vulgar call sightliness and
-respectability, I should (to use the common expressions of one of our
-greatest orators, who, in almost every speech and oration that he has
-made for some years past, has given a sort of obituary notice of himself
-before closing) have been "resting in peace beneath the green sods of
-Mount Auburn," or should have "gone down to the silent tomb."
-
-Do not laugh, beloved reader, at the tenderness of my affection for that
-old place. There is a great deal of romance of a quiet and genial kind
-about Theatre Alley. As I first remember it, commerce had not encroached
-upon its precincts; no tall warehouses shut out the light from its
-narrow footway, and its planks were unencumbered by any intrusive bales
-or boxes. Old Dearborn's scale factory was the only thing to remind one
-of traffic in that neighbourhood, which struck a balance with fate by
-becoming more scaley than before, when Dearborn and his factory passed
-away. The stage door of the theatre was in the alley, and the walk from
-thence, through Devonshire Street, to the Exchange Coffee House, which
-was the great hotel of Boston at that time, was once well known to many
-whose names are now part of the history of the drama. How often was I
-repaid for walking through the alley by the satisfaction of meeting
-George Frederick Cooke, the elder Kean, Finn, Macready, Booth, Cooper,
-Incledon, old Mathews, or the tall, dignified Conway--or some of that
-goodly company that made Old Drury classical to the play-goers of forty
-years ago.
-
-The two posts which used to adorn and obstruct the entrance to the alley
-from Franklin Street, when they were first placed there, were an
-occasion of indignation to a portion of the public, and of anxiety and
-vexation to Mr. Powell, the old manager. That estimable gentleman had
-often been a witness to the terror of the children and of those of the
-weaker sex (I hope that I shall be forgiven by the "Rev. Antoinette
-Brown" for using such an adjective) who sometimes met a stray horse or
-cow in the alley; so he placed two wooden posts just beyond the theatre,
-to shut out the dreaded bovine intruders. But the devout Hibernians who
-used to worship at the church in Franklin Street could not brook the
-placing of any such obstacles in their way to the performance of their
-religious duties; and they used to cut the posts down as often as Mr.
-Powell set them up, until he took refuge in the resources of science,
-and covered and bound them with the iron bands which imprisoned them up
-to a very recent period.
-
-Old Mr. Stoughton, the Spanish consul, used to occupy the first house in
-Franklin Street above the alley, behind which his garden ran back for
-some distance. How little that worthy gentleman thought that his tulip
-beds and rose bushes would one day give place to a dry goods shop! Se�or
-Stoughton was one of the urbanest men that ever touched a hat. If he met
-you in the morning, the memory of his bland and gracious salutation
-never departed from you during the day, and seemed to render your sleep
-sweeter at night. He always treated you as if you were a prince in
-disguise, and he were the only person in the secret of your incognito.
-He enjoyed the intimate friendship of that great and good man, Dr.
-Cheverus, the first Bishop of Boston, who was afterwards transferred to
-the archiepiscopal see of Bordeaux, and decorated with the dignity of a
-Prince of the Church. He, too, often walked through the old alley. The
-children always welcomed his approach. They respected Don Stoughton;
-Bishop Cheverus they loved. His very look was a benediction, and the
-mere glance of his eye was a _Sursum corda_. That calm, wise, benignant
-face always had a smile for the little ones who loved the neighbourhood
-of that humble Cathedral, and the pockets of that benevolent prelate
-never knew a dearth of sugar plums. Years after that happy time, a
-worthy Protestant minister of this vicinity--who was blessed with few or
-none of those prejudices against "Romanism" which are nowadays
-considered a necessary part of a minister's education--visited Cardinal
-Cheverus in his palace at Bordeaux, and found him keenly alive to every
-thing that concerned his old associations and friends in Boston. He
-declared, with tears in his eyes, and with that air of sincerity that
-marked every word he spoke, that he would gladly lay down the burden of
-the honour and power that then weighed upon him, to return to the care
-of his little New England flock. Now, Cardinal Cheverus was a man of
-taste and of kind feelings, and I will warrant you that when he thought
-of Boston, Theatre Alley was included among his associations, and
-enjoyed a share in his affectionate regrets.
-
-Mrs. Grace Dunlap's little shop was an institution which many considered
-to be coexistent with the alley itself. It was just one of those places
-that seem in perfect harmony with Theatre Alley as it was twenty-five
-years ago. It was one of those shops that always seem to shun the
-madding crowd's ignoble strife, and seek a refuge in some cool
-sequestered way. The snuff and tobacco which Mrs. Dunlap used to
-dispense were of the best quality, and she numbered many distinguished
-persons among her customers. The author of the History of Ferdinand and
-Isabella was often seen there replenishing his box, and exchanging kind
-courtesies with the fair-spoken dealer in that fragrant article which is
-productive of so many bad voices and so much real politeness in European
-society. Mrs. Dunlap herself was a study for an artist. Her pleasant
-face, her fair complexion, her quiet manner, her white cap, with its gay
-ribbons, rivalling her eyes in brightness, were all in perfect keeping
-with the scrupulous neatness and air of repose that always reigned in
-her shop. Her parlour was as comfortable a place as you would wish to
-see on a summer or a winter day. It had a cheerful English look that I
-always loved. The plants in the windows, the bird cage, the white
-curtains, the plain furniture, that looked as if you might use it
-without spoiling it, the shining andirons, and the blazing wood fire,
-are all treasured in my memory of Theatre Alley as it used to be. Mrs.
-Dunlap's customers and friends (and who could help being her friend?)
-were always welcome in her parlour, and there were few who did not enjoy
-her simple hospitality more than that pretentious kind which sought to
-lure them with the pomp and vanity of mirrors and gilding. Her punch was
-a work of art. But I will refrain from pursuing this subject further. It
-is no pleasure to me to harrow up the feelings of my readers by dwelling
-upon the joys of their _pr�teritos annos_.
-
-When Mrs. Dunlap moved out of the alley, its glory began to decline.
-From that day its _prestige_ seemed to have gone. Even before that time
-an attempt had been made to rob it of its honoured name. Signs were put
-up at each end of it bearing the inscription, "Odeon Avenue"; but the
-attempt was vain, whether it proceeded from motives of godliness or of
-respectability; nobody ever called it any thing but Theatre Alley. At
-about that time nearly all the buildings left in it were devoted to the
-philanthropic object of the quenching of human thirst. We read that St.
-Paul took courage when he saw _three_ taverns. Who can estimate the
-height of daring to which the Apostle of the Gentiles might have risen
-had it been vouchsafed to him to walk through Theatre Alley. One of the
-most frequented resorts there rejoiced in the name of "The Rainbow"--an
-auspicious title, certainly, and one which would attract those who were
-averse to the cold water principle. Some of the places were below the
-level of the alley, and verified, in a striking manner, the truth of
-Virgil's words, _Facilis descensus taverni_. Among certain low persons,
-not appreciative of its poetic associations, the alley at that time was
-nicknamed "Rum Row"; and he was considered a hero who could make all the
-ports in the passage through, and carry his topsails when he reached
-Franklin Street. Various efforts were made at that period to bring the
-alley into disrepute. Among others, a sign was put up announcing that it
-was _dangerous passing_ through there; I fear that Father Mathew would
-have thought a declaration that it was dangerous _stopping_, to have
-been nearer the truth. But the daily deputations from the Old Colony and
-Worcester Railways could not be kept back by any signs, and the alley
-echoed to their multitudinous tramp every morning. Mr. Choate, too, was
-faithful to the alley through good and evil report, and while there was
-a plank left, it was daily pressed by his India rubbers. To such a lover
-of nature as he, what shall take the place of a morning walk through
-Theatre Alley!
-
-But _venit summa dies et ineluctabile tempus_, and the old alley has
-been swept away. During the past century how many thousands have passed
-through it! how many anxious minds, engrossed with schemes of commercial
-enterprises, how many hearts weary with defeat, how many kind, and
-generous, and great, and good men, who have passed away from earthly
-existence, like the alley through which they walked! But while I mourn
-over the loss, I would not restore it if I could. When so many of its
-old associations had been blotted out; when low dram-drinking dens had
-taken the place of the ancient, quiet dispensatories of good cheer; when
-grim and gloomy warehouses, with their unsocial, distrustful iron
-shutters, had made the warm sunlight a stranger to it,--it was time for
-it to go. It was better that it should cease to exist, than continue in
-its humiliation, a reproach to the neighbourhood, and a libel upon its
-ancient and honourable fame.
-
-
-
-THE OLD CATHEDRAL
-
-
-In many people who have been abroad, the mere mention of the old city of
-Rouen is enough to kindle an enthusiasm. If you would know why this
-is,--why those who are familiar with the cathedrals of Cologne, Milan,
-Florence, and the basilicas of Rome, have yet so deep a feeling about
-the old capital of Normandy,--the true answer is, that Rouen, with its
-Gothic glories and the thrilling history of the middle ages written on
-its every stone, was the first ancient city that they saw, and made the
-deepest impression on their minds. They had left the stiff and
-unsympathetic respectability of Boston, the tiresome cleanliness of
-Philadelphia, or the ineffable filth of New York behind them; or
-perchance they had been emancipated from some dreary western town, whose
-wide, straight, unpaved streets seemed to have no beginning and to end
-nowhere; whose atmosphere was pervaded with an odour of fresh paint and
-new shingles, and whose inhabitants would regard fifty years as a highly
-respectable antiquity,--and had come steaming across the unquiet
-Atlantic to Havre, eager to see an old city. A short railway ride
-carried them to one in which they could not turn a corner without seeing
-something to remind them of what they had seen in pictures or read in
-books about the middle ages. The richly-carved window frames, the
-grotesque faces, the fanciful devices, the profusion of ornament, the
-shrines and statues of the saints at the corners of the streets, and all
-the other picturesque peculiarities of that queer old city, filled them
-with wonder and delight. Those fantastic gables that seemed to be
-leaning over to look at them, inspired them with a respect which all the
-architectural wonders and artistic trophies of the continent are
-powerless to disturb.
-
-It was not my fortune thus to make acquaintance with Rouen. I had
-several times tasted the pleasure of a continental sojourn. The streets
-of several of the great European capitals were as familiar to me as
-those of my native city. Yet Rouen captivated me with a charm peculiarly
-its own. I shall not easily forget the delicious summer day in which I
-left Paris for a short visit to Rouen. That four hours' ride over the
-Western Railway of France was full of solid enjoyment for every sense.
-The high cultivation of that fertile and unfenced country--the farmers
-at work in the sunny broad-stretched fields--the hay-makers piling up
-their fragrant loads--the ch�teau-like farm houses, looking as stately
-as if they had strayed out of the city, and, getting lost, had thought
-it beneath their dignity to inquire the way back--and those old
-compactly built towns, in each of which the houses seem to have nestled
-together around a moss-grown church tower, like children at the knees of
-a fond mother,--made up a scene which harmonized admirably with my
-feelings and with the day, "so calm, so cool, so bright, the bridal of
-the earth and sky." My fellow-passengers shared in the general joy which
-the blithesomeness of nature inspired. We all chatted merrily together,
-and a German, who looked about as lively as Scott's Commentaries bound
-in dark sheep-skin, tried to make a joke. So irresistible was the
-contagion of cheerfulness, that an Englishman, who sat opposite me, so
-far forgot his native dignity, as to volunteer the remark that it was a
-"nice day."
-
-At last we began to consult our watches and time tables, and, after a
-shrill whistle and a ride through a long tunnel, I found myself, with a
-punctuality by which you might set your Frodsham, in the station at
-Rouen. I obeyed the instructions of the conductor to _Messieurs les
-voyageurs pour Rouen_ to _descendez_, and was, in a very few minutes,
-walking leisurely through narrow and winding streets, which I used to
-think existed only in the imaginations of novelists and scene-painters.
-I say walking, but the fact is, I did not know what means of locomotion
-I employed in my progress through the town. My eyes and mind were too
-busy to take cognizance of any inferior matters. My astonishment and
-delight at all that met my sight was not so great as my astonishment and
-delight to find myself astonished and delighted. I had seen so many old
-cities that I had no thought of getting enthusiastic about Rouen, until
-I found myself suddenly in a state of mental exaltation. I had visited
-Rouen as many people visit churches and galleries of art in
-Italy--because I had an opportunity, and feared that in after years I
-might be asked if I had ever been there. But, if a dislike to
-acknowledge my ignorance led me to Rouen, it was a very different
-sentiment that took possession of me as soon as I caught the spirit of
-the place. The genius of the past seemed to inhabit every street and
-alley of that strange city. I half expected, whenever I heard the hoofs
-of horses, to find myself encompassed by mailed knights; and if Joan of
-Arc, with her sweet maidenly face beaming with the inspiration of
-religious patriotism, had galloped by, it would not have surprised me so
-much as it did to realize that I--a Yankee, clad in a gray travelling
-suit, with an umbrella in my hand, and drafts to a limited amount on
-Baring Brothers in my pocket--was moving about in the midst of such
-scenes, and was not arrested and hustled out of the way as a profane
-intruder.
-
-Wandering through the mouldy streets without any definite idea whither
-they led, and so charmed by all I saw, that I did not care, I suddenly
-turned a corner and suddenly found myself in a market-place well filled
-with figures, which would have graced a similar scene in any
-opera-house, and facing that stupendous cathedral which is one of the
-glories of France. I do not know how to talk learnedly about
-architecture; so I can spare you, dear reader, any criticism on the
-details of that great church. I have no doubt that it is full of faults,
-but my unskilful eyes rested only on its beauties. I would not have had
-it one stroke of the chisel less ornate, nor one shade less dingy. I
-could not, indeed, help thinking what it must have been centuries ago,
-when it was in all the glory of its fresh beauty; but still I rejoiced
-that it was reserved for me to behold it in the perfected loveliness and
-richer glory of its decay. Never until then did I fully appreciate the
-truth of Mr. Ruskin's declaration, that the greatest glory of a building
-is not in its sculptures or in its gold, but in its age,--nor did I ever
-before perfectly comprehend his eloquent words touching that mysterious
-sympathy which we feel in "walls that have long been washed by the
-passing waves of humanity."
-
-After lingering for a while before the sacred edifice, I entered, and
-stood within its northern aisle. Arches above arches, supported by a
-forest of massive columns, seemed to be climbing up as if they aspired
-to reach the throne of Him whose worship was daily celebrated there. The
-sun was obscured by a passing cloud as I entered, and that made the
-ancient arches seem doubly solemn. The stillness that reigned there was
-rendered more profound by the occasional twitter of a swallow from some
-"jutty frieze," or "coigne of vantage," high up above my head. I walked
-half way up the aisle, and stopped on hearing voices at a distance. As I
-stood listening, the sun uncovered his radiant face, and poured his
-golden glory through the great western windows of the church, bathing
-the whole interior with a prismatic brilliancy which made me wonder at
-my presumption in being there. At the same moment a clear tenor voice
-rang out from the choir as if the sunbeams had called it into being,
-giving a wonderful expression to the words of the Psalmist, _Dominus
-illuminatio mea et salus mea; quem timebo_. Then came a full burst of
-music as the choir took up the old Gregorian Chant--the universal
-language of prayer and praise. As the mute groves of the Academy re�cho
-still the wisdom of the sages, so did that ancient church people my mind
-with forms and scenes of an age long passed away. "I was all ear," and
-those solemn strains seemed to be endowed with the accumulated melody of
-the _Misereres_ and _Glorias_ of a thousand years.
-
-I have an especial affection for an old church, and I pity with all my
-heart the man whom the silent eloquence of that vast cathedral does not
-move. The very birds that build their nests in its mouldering towers
-have more soul than he. Its every stone is a sermon on the
-transitoriness of human enterprise and the vanity of worldly hopes.
-Beneath its pavement lie buried hopes and ambitions which have left no
-memorial but in the unread pages of forgotten historians. Richard, the
-lion-hearted, who made two continents ring with the fame of his valour,
-and yearned for new conquests, was obliged at last to content himself
-with the dusty dignity and obscurity of a vault beneath those lofty
-arches which stand unmoved amid the contentions of rival dynasties and
-the insane violence of republican anarchy.
-
-But it was not merely to write of the glories of Rouen and its churches,
-that I took up my neglected pen. The old cathedral of which I have now a
-few kind words to say, does not, like that of Rouen, date back sixteen
-centuries to its foundation; neither is it one of those marvels of
-architecture in which the conscious stone seems to have grown naturally
-into forms of enduring beauty. No great synods or councils have been
-held within its walls; nor have its humble aisles resounded daily with
-the divine office chanted by a chapter of learned and pious canons.
-Indeed it bears little in its external appearance that would raise a
-suspicion of its being a cathedral at all. Yet its plain interior, its
-simple altars, and its unpretentious episcopal throne, bear witness to
-the abiding-place of that power which is radiated from the shrine of the
-Prince of the Apostles--as unmistakably as if it were encrusted with
-mosaics, and the genius of generations of great masters had been taxed
-in its adornment.
-
-The Cathedral of Boston is the last relic of Franklin Street as I
-delight to remember it. One by one, the theatre, the residence of the
-Catholic bishops, and the old mansions that bore such a Berkeley
-Square-y look of respectability have passed away; and the old church
-alone remains. Tall warehouses look down upon it, as if it were an
-intruder there, and the triumphal car of traffic makes its old walls
-tremble and disturbs the devotion of its worshippers. An irreverent
-punster ventured a few months since to suggest that, out of regard to
-its new associations, it ought to be rededicated under the invocation of
-St. Casimir, and to be enlarged by the addition of a chapel built in
-honor of St. Pantaleone.
-
-      Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,
-    Joci sacra fames!
-
-But it is well that it should follow the buildings with which it held
-companionship through so many quiet years. The charm of the old street
-has been destroyed, and the sooner the last monument of its former state
-is removed the better it will be. The land on which it stands formerly
-belonged to the Boston Theatre corporation. It was transferred to its
-present proprietorship in the last week of the last century, and the
-first Catholic church in New England was erected upon it. That church
-(enlarged considerably by the late Bishop Fenwick) is the one which
-still stands, and towards which I feel a veneration similar in kind to
-that inspired by the cathedrals of the old world. Even now I remember
-with pleasure how I used to enjoy an occasional visit to that strange
-place in my boyhood. "Logic made easy" and "Geometry for Infant Schools"
-were things unknown in my young days. I was weaned from the Primer and
-Spelling-book with the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, and the works of
-Defoe, Goldsmith, Addison, and Shakespeare. Therefore the romantic
-instinct was not entirely crushed out of my youthful heart, and it would
-be difficult, dear reader, for you to conceive how much I found to feed
-it on, within those plain brick walls.
-
-The lamp which used to burn constantly before the altar, until an
-anxiety for "improvement" removed it out of sight behind the pulpit,
-filled me with an indescribable awe. I was ignorant of its meaning, and
-for years was unaware that my childish reverence for its mild flicker
-was a blind homage to one of the profoundest mysteries of the Catholic
-faith. I remember to this day the satisfaction I took in the lighting of
-those tall candles, and what a halo of mysterious dignity surrounded
-even the surpliced boys grouped around that altar. That strange
-ceremonial surpassed my comprehension. The Latin, as I heard it sung
-there, was pronounced so differently from what I had been taught at
-school, that it was all Greek to me. Yet, when I saw the devotion of
-that congregation, and the pious zeal of the devoted clergymen who built
-that church, I could not call their worship "mummery," nor join in the
-irreverent laughter of my comrades at those ancient rites. There was
-something about them that seemed to fill up my ideal of worship--a
-soothing and consoling influence which I found nowhere else.
-
-I never entertained the vulgar notion of a Catholic priest. Of course my
-education led me to regard the dogmas of the Roman Church with any thing
-but a friendly eye; but my ideas of the clergy of that Church were not
-influenced by popular prejudice. I was always willing to believe that
-Vincent de Paul, and Charles Borromeo, and F�nelon were what they were,
-_in consequence_ of their religion, rather than _in spite_ of it, as
-some people, who make pretensions to liberality, would fain persuade us.
-When I recall the self-denying lives of the two founders of the Catholic
-Church in Boston,--Matignon and Cheverus,--I wonder that the influence
-of their virtues has not extended even to the present day, to soften
-prejudice and do away with _irreligious_ animosity. They were regarded
-with distrust, if not with hatred, when they first came among us to take
-charge of that humble flock; but their devotedness, joined with great
-acquirements and rare personal worth, overcame even the force of the
-great Protestant tradition of enmity towards their office. Protestant
-admiration kept pace with Catholic love and veneration in their regard,
-and when they built the church which is now so near the term of its
-existence, there were few wealthy Protestants in Boston who did not
-esteem it a privilege to aid them with liberal contributions. The first
-subscription paper for its erection was headed by the illustrious and
-venerable name of John Adams, the successor of Washington in the
-presidency of the United States.
-
-The memory of the first Bishop of Boston, Dr. Cheverus, is (for most
-Bostonians of my age) the most precious association connected with the
-Cathedral. He was endeared to the people of this city by ten years of
-unselfish exertion in the duties of a missionary priest, before he was
-elevated to the dignity of the episcopate. His unwillingness to receive
-the proffered mitre was as characteristic of his modest and humble
-spirit, as the meekness with which he bore his faculties when the burden
-of that responsibility was forced upon him. His "episcopal palace," as
-he used facetiously to term his small and scantily-furnished dwelling,
-which was contiguous to the rear of the church, was the resort of all
-classes of the community. His simplicity of manner and ingenuous
-affability won all hearts. The needy and opulent, the learned and
-illiterate, the prosperous merchant and the Indians in the unknown wilds
-of Maine, found in him a father and a friend. Children used to run after
-him as he walked down Franklin Place, delighted to receive a smile and a
-kind word from one whose personal presence was like a benediction.
-
-His face was the index of a pure heart and a great mind. It was
-impossible to look at him without recalling that fine stanza of the old
-poet.--
-
-    "A sweete attractive kind of grace,
-    A full assurance given by lookes,
-    Continuall comfort in a face,
-    The lineaments of Gospel bookes;--
-    I trow that countenance cannot lie
-    Whose thoughts are legible in the eye."
-
-One of the ancient Hebrew prophets, in describing the glories of the
-millennial period, tells us that upon the bells of the horses shall be
-the words, _Holiness unto the Lord_--a prophecy which always reminded me
-of Cheverus; for that divine inscription seemed to have been written all
-over his benign countenance as with the luminous pen of the rapt
-evangelist in Patmos.
-
-But Bishop Cheverus was not merely a good man--he was a great man. He
-did not court the society of the learned, for his line of duty lay among
-the poor; but, even in that humble sphere, his talents shone out
-brightly, and won the respect even of those who had the least sympathy
-with the Church to which his every energy was devoted. Boston valued him
-highly; but few of her citizens thought, as they saw him bound on some
-errand of mercy through her streets, that France envied them the
-possession of such a prelate, that the peerage of the old monarchy was
-thought to need his virtuous presence, and that the scarlet dignity of a
-Prince of the Church was in reserve for that meek and self-sacrificing
-servant of the poor. Had he been gifted with prophetic vision, his
-humility would have had much to suffer, and his life would have been
-made unhappy, by the thought of coming power and honour. He had given
-the best part of his life to Boston, and here he wished to die. He had
-buried his friend and fellow-labourer, Dr. Matignon, in the Church of
-St. Augustine at South Boston, and when he placed the mural tablet over
-the tomb of that venerable priest, he left a space for his own name, and
-expressed the hope that, as they had lived together harmoniously for so
-many years, they might not in death be separated. It was a strange sight
-to see more than two hundred Protestants remonstrating against the
-translation of a Catholic bishop from their city, and speaking of him in
-such terms as these: "We hold him to be a blessing and a treasure in our
-social community, which we cannot part with, and which, without
-injustice to any man, we may affirm, if withdrawn from us, can never be
-replaced." And when he distributed all that he possessed among his
-clergy, his personal friends and the poor, and left Boston as poor as he
-had entered it, with the single trunk that contained his clothes when he
-arrived, twenty-seven years before,--public admiration outran the power
-of language. Doctrinal differences were forgotten. Three hundred
-carriages and other vehicles escorted him several miles on the road to
-New York, where he was to embark.
-
-Of his life as Bishop of Montauban, Archbishop of Bordeaux, a Peer of
-France, and a Cardinal, there is not space for me to speak. Suffice it
-to say, that amid all the dignities to which he was successively
-promoted, he lived as simply and unostentatiously as when he dwelt in
-Franklin Street; and that in time of pestilence and public distress he
-showed the same unbounded charity which caused his departure from Boston
-to be considered a public calamity. To the last day of his life he
-maintained his interest in his American home, and would gladly have
-relinquished all his dignities to return and minister at the altar of
-the church he here erected. Throughout France he was honoured and
-beloved, even as he had been in the metropolis of New England, and a
-nation sorrowed at his death. Full as his life was of good works, it was
-not in his eloquence, nor his learning, nor in the pious and charitable
-enterprises which he originated, that the glory of Cardinal Cheverus
-consisted; it was in the simplicity of his character and the daily
-beauty of his life:--
-
-    "His thoughts were as a pyramid up-piled,
-    On whose far top an angel stood and smiled,
-    Yet in his heart he was a little child."
-
-The gentle and benevolent spirit of that illustrious prelate has never
-departed from the church he built. When Channing died, and was buried
-from the church which his eloquence had made famous, the successor of
-Cheverus caused the bell of the neighbouring Cathedral to be tolled,
-that it might not seem as if the Catholics had forgotten the friendly
-relations which had existed between the great Unitarian preacher and
-their first bishop. And when the good Bishop Fenwick was borne from the
-old Cathedral, with all the pomp of pontifical obsequies, his courtesy
-and regard for Dr. Channing's memory was not forgotten, and the bell
-which was so lately removed from the tower, where it had swung for half
-a century, joined with that of the Cathedral in giving expression to the
-general sorrow, and proved that no dogmatic differences had disturbed
-the kindly spirit which Channing inculcated and had exemplified in his
-blameless life.
-
-Of the later history of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross I may not speak.
-My youthful respect for it has in no degree diminished, and I shall
-always consider it a substantial refutation of the old apothegm,
-"Familiarity breeds contempt." There are, I doubt not, those who regard
-that old edifice with deeper feelings than mine. Who can estimate the
-affection and veneration in which it is held by those who may there have
-found an asylum from harassing doubts, who have received from that font
-the joy of a renovated heart, and from that altar the divine gift which
-is at the same time a consolation for past sorrows and a renewal of
-strength to tread the rough path of life!
-
-I am told that it will not probably be long before the glittering cross
-which the pure-hearted Cheverus placed upon the old church will be
-removed, and the demolition of his only monument in Boston will be
-effected. Permit me to conclude these reminiscences with the expression
-of the hope that the new Cathedral of Boston will be an edifice worthy
-of this wealthy city, and that it may contain some fitting memorial of
-the remarkable man who exercised his beneficent apostolate among us
-during more than a quarter of a century. The virtues which merited the
-gratitude of the poor and the highest honours which pontiffs and kings
-can bestow, ought not to go uncommemorated in the city which witnessed
-their development, and never hesitated to give expression to its love
-and veneration for their possessor. But whatever the new Cathedral may
-be,--however glorious the skill of the architect, the sculptor, and the
-painter may render it,--there are those in whose affections it will
-never be able to replace the little unpretending church which Cheverus
-built, and which the remembrance of his saintly life has embalmed in all
-their hearts.
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF SUFFERING
-
-
-      I am old,
-    And my infirmities have chained me here
-    To suffer and to vex my weary soul
-    With the vain hope of cure. * * *
-    Yet my captivity is not so joyless
-    As you would think, my masters. Here I sit
-    And look upon this eager, anxious world,--
-    Not with the eyes of sour misanthropy,
-    Nor envious of its pleasures,--but content,--
-    Yea, blessedly content, 'mid all my pains,
-    That I no more may mingle with its brawlings.
-
-
-Human suffering is an old and favourite theme. From the time when the
-woes of Job assumed an epic grandeur of form, and the adventures and
-pains of Philoctetes inspired the tragic muse of Sophocles, down to the
-publication of the last number of the _London Lancet_, there would seem
-to have been no subject so attractive as the sufferings of poor
-humanity. Literature is filled with their recital, and, if books were
-gifted with a vocal power, every library would resound with wailings.
-Ask your neighbour Jenkins, who overtakes you on your way to your
-office, how he is, and it is ten chances to one that he will entertain
-you with an account of his influenza or his rheumatism. It is a subject,
-too, which age cannot wither nor custom stale. It knows none of the
-changes which will at times dwarf or keep out of sight all other themes.
-The weather, which forms the raw material of so much conversation, is
-nothing compared to it. There is nothing which men find so much pleasure
-in talking about as their own ailments. The late Mr. Webster, of
-Marshfield, was once stopping for a single day in a western city, where
-he had never been before, and where there was a natural curiosity among
-many of the inhabitants to see the Defender of the Constitution. He
-therefore set apart two hours before the time of his departure for the
-reception of such persons as might seek the honour of a shake of his
-hand. The reception took place in one of the parlours of a hotel, the
-crowd filing in at one door, being introduced by the mayor, and making
-their exit by another. In the course of the proceedings, a little man,
-with a lustrous beaver in one hand and a gold-headed cane in the other,
-and whose personal apparel appeared to have been got up (as old Pelby
-would have said) without the slightest regard to expense, and on a scale
-of unparalleled splendour, walked forward, and was presented by the
-mayor as "Mr. Smith, one of our most eminent steamboat builders and
-leading citizens." Mr. Webster's large, thoughtful, serene eyes seemed
-to be completely filled by the result of the combined efforts of the
-linen-draper, the tailor, and the jeweller, that confronted him, and his
-deep voice made answer--"Mr. Smith, I am happy to see you. I hope you
-are well, sir." "Thank you, thir," said the leading citizen, "I am not
-very well. I wath tho unfortunate ath to take cold yethterday by
-thitting in a draught. Very unpleathant, Mr. Webthter, to have a cold!
-But Mrs. Smith thays that the thinks that if I put my feet in thome warm
-water to-night, and take thome-thing warm to drink on going to bed, that
-I may get over it. I thertainly hope tho, for it really givth me the
-headache, and I can't thmell at all." Mr. Webster expressed a warm
-interest in Mr. Smith's case, and a hope that Mrs. Smith's simple
-medical treatment would result beneficially, and then turned with
-undisturbed gravity to the next citizen, who, with some six hundred
-others, was anxiously waiting his turn. We are all like Mr. Smith. We
-laugh, it is true, at his affectations, but we are as likely to force
-our petty ailments upon a mind burdened with the welfare of a nation;
-and we never tire of hearing ourselves talk about our varying symptoms.
-Politeness may hold us back from importuning our friends with the
-diagnosis of our case, but our self-centred hearts are all alike, and a
-cold in the head will awaken more feelings in its victim than the
-recital of all the horrors of the hospital of Scutari. Nothing can equal
-the heroic fortitude with which we bear the sufferings of our fellows,
-or the saintliness of our pious resignation and acquiescence in the
-wisdom of the divine decrees when our friends are bending under their
-afflictive stroke.
-
-I wish to say a few words about suffering. Do not be afraid, beloved
-reader, that I am going to carry you into rooms from which the light is
-excluded, and which are strangers to any sound above a whisper, or the
-casual movement of some of the phials on the mantel-piece. I am going to
-speak of suffering in its strict sense of pain,--bodily pain,--and
-sickness is not necessarily accompanied with pain. I cannot regard your
-sick man as a real sufferer. His fever rages, and he tosses from side to
-side as if he were suffering punishment with Dives; but from the
-incoherent phrases which escape from his parched lips, you learn that
-his other self is rapt in the blissfulness that enfolds Lazarus. He
-prattles childishly of other lands and scenes--he thinks himself
-surrounded by friends whose faces once were grateful to his sight, but
-who long since fell before the power with which he is struggling--or he
-fancies himself metamorphosed into a favourite character in some
-pleasant book which he has lately read. After a time he wakes forth from
-his delirium, but he cannot even then be called a sufferer. On the
-contrary, his situation, even while he is so entirely dependent upon
-those around him, is really the most independent one in the world. His
-lightest wish is cared for as if his life were the price of its
-non-accomplishment. All his friends and kinsmen, and neighbours whom he
-hardly knows by sight, vie with each other in trying to keep pace with
-his returning appetite. He is the absolute monarch of all he surveys.
-There is no one to dispute his reign. The crown of convalescence is the
-only one which does not make the head that wears it uneasy. He has
-nothing to do but to satisfy his longings for niceties, to listen to
-kind words from dear friends, to sleep when he feels like it, and to get
-better. I am afraid that we are all so selfish and so enslaved by our
-appetites, that the period of convalescence is the pleasantest part of
-life to most of us.
-
-Therefore I shut out common sickness, fevers, and the like, from any
-share in my observations on suffering. If you ask me what I should be
-willing to consider real bodily pain,--since I am unwilling to allow
-that ordinary sick men participate in it,--I should say that you can
-find it in a good, old-fashioned attack of rheumatism or gout. I think
-it was Horace Walpole who said that these two complaints were very much
-alike, the difference between them being this: that rheumatism was like
-putting your hand or foot into a vice, and screwing it up as tight as
-you possibly can, and gout was the same thing, only you give the screw
-one more turn. It is no flattery to speak of the victim to either of
-these disorders as a sufferer. The rheumatic gout is a complaint which
-possesses all the advantages and peculiarities which its compound title
-denotes. It unites in itself all the potentiality of gout and all the
-ubiquity of rheumatism. Its characteristics have been impressed upon me
-in a manner that sets at defiance that weakness of memory which
-generally accompanies old age. Sharp experience, increasing in sharpness
-as my years pile up, makes that complaint a specialty among my
-acquirements. These stinging, burning, cutting pains deserve the
-superlative case, if any thing does. Language (that habitual bankrupt)
-is reduced to a most abject state when called upon to describe rheumatic
-gout. The disease does not seem to feel satisfied with poisoning your
-blood by its aciduousness, it makes your flesh tingle and burn, and,
-like the late Duke of Wellington, does not rest until it has conquered
-the bony part. The very bone seems to be crumbling wherever the demon of
-gout pinches. There are moments in the life of every gouty man when it
-seems as if nothing would be so refreshing as to indulge for a while in
-the use of that energetic diction, savouring more of strength than of
-righteousness, which is common among cavalry troops and gentlemen of the
-seafaring profession, but which, in society, is considered to be a
-little in advance of the prejudices of the age. No higher encomium could
-be passed upon a gouty man than to say that, with all his torments, he
-never swore, and was seldom petulant. But there are very few whose
-merits deserve this canonization.
-
-But gout, with all its pains, has yet its redeeming characteristics.
-That great law of compensation which reduces the inequalities of our
-lot, and makes Brown, Jones, and Robinson come out about even in the
-long run, is not inoperative here. The gout is painful, but its
-respectability is unquestionable. It is the disease of a gentleman. It
-is a certificate of good birth more satisfactory than any which the
-Heralds' College or the Genealogical Association can furnish. It is but
-right, too, that the man who can date back his family history to
-Plymouth or Jamestown in this country, and to Runnymede on the other
-side of the Atlantic, should pay something for such a privilege. A man
-may never have indulged in "the sweet poison of the Tuscan grape"
-himself, but can he reasonably complain of an incontrovertible testimony
-to the fact that his ancestors lived well! _Chacun � son go�t_: for
-myself, I should much prefer my honoured family name, with all its
-associations with the brave knight who made it famous, accompanied by
-the only possession which I have received by hereditary right, to the
-most unequivocal state of health burdened with such a name as Jinkins.
-
-Mentally and spiritually, the gout is far from being a useless
-institution. It ripens a man's judgment, and prunes away the radical
-tendencies of his nature. It will convert the wildest of revolutionists
-into the stiffest of conservatives. It teaches a man to look at things
-as they really are, and not as enthusiasm would have them represented.
-No gouty man would ever look to the New York Tribune as the exponent of
-his religious or political creed. His complaint has a positive
-character, and it makes him earnest to find something positive in
-religion and politics. The negativeness of radicalism tires him. He
-deprecates every thing like change. He thinks that religion, and
-society, and government were established for some better end than to
-afford a perpetual employment to the destructive powers of visionary
-reformers and professional philanthropists. He longs to find constancy
-and stability in something besides his inexorable disorder.
-
-There is another disorder which people generally seem to consider a very
-trifling affair, but which any one who knows it will allow to be
-productive of the most unmistakable pain. I refer to neuralgia. Who
-pities a neuralgic person? Any healthy man, when asked about it, will
-answer in his ignorance that it is "only a headache." But ask the school
-teacher, whose throbbing head seems to be beating time to the ceaseless
-muttering and whispering of her scholars as they bend over their
-tasks--ask the student, whose thoughts, like undisciplined soldiers,
-will not fall into the ranks, and whose head seems to be occupied by a
-steam engine of enormous power, running at the highest rate of pressure,
-with the driver sitting on the safety-valve--ask them whether neuralgia
-is "only a headache"! Who can tell the cause of the prevalence of this
-scourge? whether it proceeds from our houses overheated with intolerable
-furnaces and anthracite coal, or from our treacherous and unconstant
-climate so forcibly described by Choate: "Cold to-day; hot to-morrow;
-mercury at eighty degrees in the morning, with wind at south-west; and
-in three hours more a sea turn, with wind at east, a thick fog from the
-very bottom of the ocean, and a fall of forty degrees of Fahrenheit."
-The uncertainty which seems to attend all human science, and the science
-of medicine in particular, envelops this mysterious disease, and
-thousands of us are left to suffer and wonder what the matter is.
-
-But all of these pains, gouty, neuralgic, and otherwise, have yet their
-sweet uses, and like the vile reptile Shakespeare tells us of, are
-adorned with a precious jewel. The old Roman emperors in the hour of
-triumph used to have a slave stand behind them to whisper in their ear,
-from time to time, the unwelcome but salutary truth that they were but
-mortal men. Even now, on the occasion of the enthronement of a Pope, a
-lighted candle is applied to a bunch of flax fixed upon a staff, and as
-the smoke dissipates itself into thin air before the newly-crowned
-Pontiff, surrounded as he is by all the emblems of religion and all the
-insignia and pomp of worldly power, the same great truth of the
-perishableness of all mortal things is impressed upon his mind by the
-chanting of the simple but eloquent phrase, _Sic transit gloria mundi_.
-But we neuralgic and gouty wretches need no whispering slave nor smoking
-flax to remind us of our frailty and the transientness of our happiness
-and glory. We carry with us a monitor who checks our swelling pride, and
-teaches us effectually the brevity of human joys. We are very apt, in
-our impatience and short-sightedness, to think that if we had the
-management of the world and the dispensation of pleasure and suffering,
-every thing could be conducted in a much more satisfactory manner. If it
-were so, we should undoubtedly carry things on in the style of a French
-restaurant, so that we could have _pain � discretion_. But on the whole,
-I am inclined to think that we had better leave these matters to the
-management of that infinite Power which gives us day by day our daily
-pain, and from which we receive in the long run about what is meet for
-us. I hope that I shall not be thought ill-bred or profane in using such
-expressions as these. At my time of life it is too late to begin to
-murmur. A few twinges more or less are nothing when the hair grows gray
-and the eye is dimmed with the mists of age. The man who knows nothing
-of the novitiate of patience--who has passed through life without the
-chastening discipline of bodily pain--has missed one of the best parts
-of existence. To suffer is one of the noblest prerogatives of human
-nature. Without suffering, life would be robbed of half its zest, and
-the thought of death would drive us to despair.
-
-When I was a young man, and gave little thought to the gout and the
-other ills that vex me at present, I saw a wonderful exhibition of
-patience, which I now daily recall to mind, and wish I could imitate. I
-was sojourning in Florence, that lovely city, whose every association is
-one of calm and satisfactory pleasure undisturbed by any thing like
-bodily suffering. I enjoyed the friendship of a young American amateur
-artist of unquestioned talent, but whose artistic efforts were
-interfered with by the frequent attacks of a serious and excruciating
-disorder. It was considerable time after I made his acquaintance before
-I knew that he was an invalid. I noticed his lameness, but whenever we
-met he wore a smiling face, and had a cheerful word for every body. One
-evening I called in at his quiet lodgings near the Lung' Arno, and found
-a party of some six or eight Americans talking over their recollections
-of home. He was entertaining them with the explanation of an imaginary
-panorama of New England, and a musical friend threw in illustrative
-passages from the piano in the intervals. The parlour resounded with our
-laughter at his irresistible fun; but in the midst of it all, he asked
-us to excuse him for a moment, and went into his bedroom. After a little
-while, another engagement calling me away, I went into his chamber to
-speak with him before leaving. I found him lying upon his bed, writhing
-like Laoco�n, while great drops stood upon his brow and agony was
-depicted on his patient face. He resisted all my attempts to do any
-thing for him; the attack had lasted all day, but was at some times
-severer than at others; he should feel better soon, and would go back to
-his friends; I had better not stop with him, as it might attract their
-attention in the parlour, &c. So I took my leave. The next morning I met
-one of his friends, who told me that he returned to his company a few
-minutes after my departure, and entertained them for an hour or more
-with an exhibition of his powers of wit and humour, which eclipsed all
-his previous efforts. Poor S. C.! His weary but uncomplaining spirit
-laid down that crippled body, which never gave aught but pain to its
-possessor, three or four years ago, and passed, let us hope, into a
-happier state of existence, which flesh and blood, with their countless
-maladies and dolours, may not inherit.
-
-The traveller in the south of Europe frequently encounters, in his
-perambulations through the streets and squares of cities, a group of
-people gathered around a monk, who is discoursing to them of those
-sublime truths which men are prone to lose sight of in their walks
-abroad. The style of the sermon is not, it is true, what we should look
-for from Newman, or Ravignan, or Ventura, but it has in it those
-fundamental principles of true eloquence, simplicity and earnestness;
-and the coarse brown habit, the knotted cord, and the pale, serene,
-devout face of the preacher, harmonize wondrously with the self-denying
-doctrine he teaches, and give a double force to all his words. His
-instructions frequently concern the simple moral duties of life and the
-exercise of the cardinal virtues, which he enforces by illustrations
-drawn from the lives of canonized saints, who won their heavenly crown
-and their earthly fame of blessedness by the practice of those virtues.
-Allow me to close my sermon on suffering in the manner of the preaching
-friars, though I may not draw my illustrations from the ancient
-martyrologies; for I apprehend that it will be more in keeping with the
-serious character of this essay to take them from another source. We
-have all laughed at Dickens's characters of Mark Tapley and Mr. Toots.
-The former was celebrated for "keeping jolly under disadvantageous
-circumstances," and seemed to mourn over those dispensations of good
-fortune which detracted from his credit in being jolly. The latter was
-never known to indulge in any complaint, but met every mishap and
-disappointment with a manly resignation and the simple remark, "It's of
-no consequence." Even when he was completely ingulfed in misfortunes,
-when Pelion seemed to have been heaped upon Ossa, and both upon him, he
-did not give way to despair. He only gave utterance more fervently to
-his favourite maxim, "It's of no consequence. Nothing is of any
-consequence whatever!" Now, laugh at it as we may, this is a great
-truth. It is the foundation of all true philosophy--of all practical
-religion. A few years more, and what will it avail us to have bargained
-successfully, to have lived in splendour, to have left in history a name
-that shall be the synonyme of power! A few years, and what shall we care
-for all our present sufferings and the light afflictions which are but
-for a moment! May we not say with Solomon, that "All is vanity," and
-with poor Toots, that "Nothing is of any consequence whatever"? Now, if
-there are any people who are likely to arrive at this satisfactory
-conclusion, and who need the consolation imparted by the reception and
-full appreciation of the deep truth it contains, it is the gouty, and
-rheumatic, and neuralgic wretches whom I have had in mind while writing
-this paper. Let me, in conclusion, as one who has had some experience,
-and is not merely theorizing, exhort all such persons to meditate upon
-the lives of the two great patterns of patience whom I have brought
-forward as examples; and to bear in mind that it is only through the
-resignation of Toots, that they can attain to the jollity of Tapley.
-Likewise let me counsel those who may be passing through life unharmed
-by serious misfortune and untrammelled by bodily pain, never to lose
-sight of that striking admonition of old Sir Thomas Browne's, "Measure
-not thyself by thy morning shadow, but by the extent of thy grave; and
-reckon thyself above the earth, by the line thou must be contented with
-under it."
-
-
-
-BOYHOOD AND BOYS
-
-
-Human nature is a very telescopic "institution." It delights to dwell on
-whatever is most distant. Lord Rosse's famous instrument dwindles down
-to a mere opera glass if you compare it with the mental vision of a
-restless boy, looking forward to the time when he shall don a tail-coat
-and a beaver hat. How his young heart swells with pride as he
-anticipates the day when he shall be his own master, as the phrase
-is--when he shall be able to stay out after nine o'clock in the evening,
-and to go home without being subjected to the ignominy of being escorted
-by a chambermaid! If he be of a particularly sanguine temperament, his
-wild imagination is rapt in the contemplation of the possibility of one
-day having his name in the newspapers as secretary of some public
-meeting, or as having made a vigorous speech at a political caucus where
-liberty of speech runs out into slander, and sedition is mistaken for
-patriotism,--or perhaps even of being one day a Common Councilman, or a
-member of the Great and General Court. A popular poet of the present day
-has expressed the same idea in a less prosaic manner:--
-
-    "Not rainbow pinions coloured like yon cloud,
-    The sun's broad banner o'er his western tent,
-    Can match the bright imaginings of a child
-    Upon the glories of his coming years:"--
-
-and another bard avers that human blessings are always governing the
-future, and never the present tense,--or something to that effect. The
-truth of this nobody will deny who has passed from the boxes of
-childhood upon the stage of manhood which so charmed his youthful fancy,
-and finds that the heroes who dazzled him once by their splendid
-achievements are mere ordinary mortals like himself, whom the blindness
-or caprice of their fellows has allowed to be dressed in a little brief
-authority; that the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces he used to
-gaze on from afar, prove, on a closer inspection, to be mere deceptions
-of paint and canvas, and that he has only to look behind them to see the
-rough bricks and mortar of every-day life.
-
-The voyager who sails from the dark waters of the restless Atlantic into
-the deep blue Mediterranean, notices at sunset a rich purple haze which
-rises apparently from the surface of that fair inland sea, and drapes
-the hills and vales along the beautiful shore with a glory that fills
-the heart of the beholder with unutterable gladness. The distant,
-snow-covered peaks of old Granada, clad in the same bright robe, seem by
-their regal presence to impose silence on those whom their majestic
-beauty has blessed with a momentary poetic inspiration which defies all
-power of tongue or pen. It touches nothing which it does not adorn, and
-the commonest objects are transmuted by its magic into fairy shapes
-which abide ever after in the memory. Under its softening influence, the
-dingy sail of a fisherman's boat becomes almost as beautiful an object
-to the sight as the ruins of the temple which crowns the height of Cape
-Colonna. But when you approach nearer to that which had seemed so
-charming in its twilight robes, your poetic sense is somewhat interfered
-with. You find the fishing boat as unattractive as any that anchor on
-the Banks from which we obtain such frequent discounts of nasty weather,
-and the shore, though it may still be very beautiful, lacks the supernal
-glory imparted to it by distance. It is very much after this fashion
-with manhood, when we compare its reality with our childish
-expectations. We find that we have been deceived by a mere atmospheric
-phenomenon. But the destruction of the charm which age had for our eyes
-as children, is compensated for by the creation of a new glory which
-lights up our young days, as we look back upon them with the regret of
-manhood, and realize that their joys can never be lived over again.
-
-Pardon me, gentle reader, for all this prosing. I have been reading that
-pleasant, hearty book, "Tom Brown's School Days at Rugby," during the
-past week, and it has set me a-thinking about my own boyhood; for,
-strange as it may seem, there was a time when this troublesome foot was
-more familiar with the football and the skate than with gout and
-flannel,--and Tom Brown's genial reminiscences have revived the memory
-of that time most wonderfully. There was considerable fun in Boston in
-my childhood, even though most of the faces which one met in Marlboro'
-Street and Cornhill were such as might have appropriately surrounded
-Cromwell at Naseby or Marston Moor. There were many people, even then,
-who did not regard religion as an affair of spasmodic emotions, and
-long, bilious-looking faces, and psalm-singing, and neck-ties. They
-thought that, so long as they were honest in their dealings, and did not
-swear to false invoices at the customhouse, and did as they would be
-done by, and lived virtuously, that He to whom they had been taught by
-parental lips to pray, would overlook the smaller offences--such as an
-occasional laugh or a pleasant jest--into which weak nature would now
-and then betray them. I cannot help thinking that they were about right,
-though I fear that I shall be set down as little better than one of the
-wicked by Stiggins, Chadband, Sleek & Co.
-
-Yes, there was a good deal of fun among the boys in those old days. Boys
-will be boys, however serious the family may be; and if you take away
-their marbles, some other "vanity" will be sure to take their place.
-What jolly times we used to have Artillery Election! How good the
-egg-pop used to taste, in spite of the dust of Park Street, which
-mingled itself liberally with the nutmeg! How we used to save up our
-money for those festive days! How hard the arithmetic lessons seemed,
-particularly in the days immediately preceding vacation! How dreary were
-those long winters; and yet how short and pleasant they seemed to us!
-for we loved the runners, and skates, and jingling bells, and, as
-Pescatore, the Neapolitan poet, sings, "though bleak our lot, our hearts
-were warm."
-
-Newspapers were not a common luxury in those times, and I suppose that I
-took as little notice of passing events as most children; yet I well
-remember the effect produced upon my mind one dark, threatening
-afternoon, near the close of the last century, by the announcement of
-the death of General Washington. I had been accustomed to hear him
-talked about as the Father of his Country; I had studied the lineaments
-of his calm countenance, as they were set forth for the edification of
-my patriotism on some coarse handkerchiefs presented to me by a
-public-spirited aunt, until I began to look upon him as almost a
-supernatural being. If I had been told that the Old South had been
-removed to Dorchester Heights, or that the solar system was irreparably
-disarranged, I should not have been more completely taken aback than I
-was by that melancholy intelligence. I need not say that afterwards,
-when I grew up and found that Washington was not only a mortal like the
-rest of us, but that he sometimes spelt incorrectly enough to have
-suited Noah Webster, (the inventor of the American language,) my
-supernatural view of that estimable general and patriot was very
-materially modified. I remember, too, how much I used to hear said about
-an extraordinary man who had risen up in France, and who seemed to be
-bending all Europe to his will. I never shall forget my astonishment on
-finding that Marengo was not a man, but a place. The discovery shamed me
-somewhat, and afterwards I always read whatever newspapers came in my
-way. When some slow tub of a packet had come across the ocean, battling
-with the nor'-westers, and was announced to have made a "quick passage
-of forty-eight days," how eagerly I followed the rapid fortunes of the
-first Napoleon! His successes, as they intoxicated him, dazzled and
-bewildered my boyish imagination. I understood the matter imperfectly,
-but I loved Napoleon, and delighted to repeat to myself those stirring
-names, Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, &c. How I hated Russia after the
-disastrous campaign of 1812! (By the way, the exhibition of the
-Conflagration of Moscow, which used to have its intermittent terms of
-exhibition here some years since, always brought back all my youthful
-feelings about the old Napoleon; the march of the artillery across the
-bridge, in the foreground of the scene, the rattling of the gun
-carriages,--that most warlike of all warlike sounds,--the burning city,
-the destruction of the Kremlin, all united in my mind to form a
-sentiment of admiration and sympathy for the baffled conqueror. If that
-admirable show were to be revived once more, I should be tempted to take
-a season ticket to it, for I have no doubt that it would thrill me just
-as it did before my head could boast of a single gray hair.) Nor was my
-admiration for Napoleon's old marshals much below that which I
-entertained for the mighty genius who knew so well how to avail himself
-of their surpassing bravery and skill. I felt as if the unconquerable
-Murat, Lannes, Macdonald, Davoust, were my dearest and most intimate
-friends. The impetuous Ney, "the bravest of the brave," as his soldiers
-called him; and the inflexible Mass�na, "the favourite child of
-victory," figured in all my dreams, heading gallant charges, and
-withstanding deadly assaults, and occupied the best part of my waking
-thoughts. I do not doubt that there is many a schoolboy nowadays who has
-dwelt with equal delight on the achievements of Scott and Taylor, of
-Canrobert, Bosquet and P�lissier, of Fenwick Williams and Havelock, and
-poor old Raglan, (that brave man upon whom the Circumlocution Office
-tried to fasten the blame of its own inefficiency, and who died
-broken-hearted, a melancholy illustration of the truth of Shakespeare's
-lines,--
-
-    "The painful warrior, famous�d for fight,
-    After a thousand victories once foiled,
-    Is from the book of honour raz�d quite,
-    And all the rest forgot for which he toiled,")
-
-and who cherishes them as I did the heroes of half a century ago.
-
-But, as I was saying, Tom Brown's happy reminiscences of Rugby have
-awakened once more all my boyish feelings; for New England has its
-Rugby, and many of the readers of the old Rugby boy's pleasant pages
-will grow enthusiastic with the recollection of their schoolboy days at
-Exeter,--their snowballings, their manly sports, their mighty contests
-with the boys of the town,--and, though they may not claim the genius of
-the former head-master of Rugby for the guardian of their youthful
-sports and studies, will apply all of the old boy's praises of Dr.
-Arnold to the wise, judicious, and lovable Dr. Abbot.
-
-I always cherished an unbounded esteem for boys. The boy--the genuine
-human boy--may, I think, safely be set down as the noblest work of God.
-Pope claims that proud distinction for the honest man, but at the
-present time, the nearest we can come to such a mythological personage
-as an honest man, (even though we add Argand burners, expensive Carcels,
-Davy safeties, and the Drummond light to the officially recognized
-lantern of Diogenes,) is a real human boy, without a thought beyond his
-next holiday, with his heart overflowing with happiness, and his pockets
-chock full of marbles. Young girls cannot help betraying something of
-the in-dwelling vanity so natural to the sex; you can discern a
-self-consciousness in their every action which you shall look for in
-vain in the boy. Bless your heart!--you may dress a real boy up with
-superhuman care, and try to impress on his young mind that he is the
-pride of his parents, and one of the most remarkable beings that ever
-visited this mundane sphere, and he will listen to you with becoming
-reverence and docility; but his pure and honest nature will give the lie
-to all your flattery as soon as your back is turned, and in ten minutes
-you will find him kicking out the toes of his new boots, or rumpling his
-clean collar by "playing horse," or using the top of his new cap for a
-drinking vessel, and mixing in with the Smiths, and Browns, and
-Jinkinses, on terms of the most unquestioned equality. The author of Tom
-Brown says that "boys follow one another in herds like sheep, for good
-or evil; they hate thinking, and have rarely any settled principles."
-This is undoubtedly true; but still there is a generous instinct in boys
-which is far more trustworthy than those sliding, and unreliable, and
-deceptive ideas which we call settled principles. The boy's thinking
-powers may be fallible, but his instinct is, in the main, sure. There is
-no aristocracy of feeling among boys. Linsey-woolsey and broadcloth find
-equal favour in their eyes. What they seek is just as likely to be found
-under coarse raiment as under purple and fine linen. If their companion
-is a real good feller, even though he be a son of a rich merchant or
-banker, he is esteemed as highly as if his father were an editor of a
-newspaper.
-
-The nature of the boy is full of the very essence of generosity. The
-boys who hide away their gingerbread, and eat it by themselves,--who lay
-up their Fourth of July five-cent pieces, for deposit in that excellent
-savings institution in School Street, instead of spending them for the
-legitimate India crackers of the "Sabbath Day of Freedom,"--are
-exceptions which only put the general rule beyond the pale of
-controversy. The real boy carries his apple in one of his pockets until
-it is comfortably warm, and he has found some companion to whom he may
-offer a festive bite; for he feels, with Goethe, that
-
-    "It were the greatest misery known
-    To be in paradise alone;"
-
-and if, occasionally, when he sees his friend gratifying his palate with
-a fair round specimen of the same delicious fruit, he asks for a return
-of his kindness, with a beckoning gesture, and a free and easy--"I say,
-you know me, Bill!"--he is moved thereto by no mere selfish liking for
-apples, but by a natural sense of friendship, and of the excellence of
-the apostolic principle of community of goods. This spirit of generosity
-may be seen in the friendships of boys, which are more entire and
-unselfish than those by which men seek to mitigate the irksomeness of
-life. There are more Oresteses and Pyladeses, more Damons and Pythiases,
-at twelve years of age than at any later period of life. The devotedness
-of boyish friendship is peculiar from the fact that it is generally
-reciprocal. In this it is superior to what we call love, which, if we
-may believe the French satirist, in most instances consists of one party
-who loves, and another who allows himself or herself to be loved. This
-phenomenon has not escaped the notice of that great observer of human
-nature, Thackeray.
-
-"What generous boy," he asks, "in his time has not worshipped somebody?
-Before the female enslaver makes her appearance, every lad has a friend
-of friends, a crony of cronies, to whom he writes immense letters in
-vacation; whom he cherishes in his heart of hearts; whose sister he
-proposes to marry in after life; whose purse he shares; for whom he will
-take a thrashing if need be; who is his hero."
-
-The generosity, and all the priceless charms of boyhood, rarely outlive
-its careless years of happiness. They are generally severely shaken, if
-not wholly destroyed, when the youth enters upon that crepuscular period
-of manhood in which his jacket is lengthened into a sack, and he begins
-to take his share in the conceit, and ambition, and selfishness of
-full-grown humanity. It is sad to think that a human boy, like the
-morning star, full of life and joy, may be stricken down by death, and
-all his hilarity stifled in the grave; but to my mind it is even more
-melancholy to think that he may live to grow up, and be hard, and
-worldly, and ungenerous as any of the rest of us. For this latter fate
-is accompanied by no consolations such as naturally assuage our sorrow
-when an innocent child is snatched from among his playthings,--when
-"death has set the seal of eternity upon his brow, and the beautiful
-hath been made permanent" I have seen few men who would be willing to
-live over again their years of manhood, however prosperous and
-comparatively free from trouble they may have been; but fewer still are
-those whom I have met, in whose memory the records of boyhood are not
-written as with a sunbeam. No, talk as we may about the happiness of
-manhood, the satisfaction of success in life, of gratified ambition, of
-the possession of the Mary or Lizzie of one's choice,--what is it all
-compared to the unadulterate joy of that time when we built our card
-houses, and made our dirt pies, or drove our hoops, unvexed by the
-thoughts that Jinkins's house was larger than ours, or by any anxiety
-concerning the possibility of obtaining our next day's mutton-chop and
-potatoes? Except the momentary pain occasioned by the exercise of a
-magisterial rattan upon our persons, or an occasional stern reproof from
-a hair-brush or the thin sole of a maternal shoe, that halcyon period is
-imperturbed, and may safely be called the happiest part of life.
-
-My venerated friend, Baron Nabem, who has been through all these
-"experiences," and therefore ought to know, insists upon it that no man
-really knows any thing until he is forty years old. For when he is
-eighteen or twenty years of age, he esteems himself to be a sort of
-combination of the seven wise men of Greece in one person, with
-Humboldt, Mezzofanti, and Macaulay thrown in to make out the weight; at
-twenty-five, his confidence in his own infallibility begins to grow
-somewhat shaky; at thirty, he begins to wish that he might really know a
-tenth part as much as he thought he did ten years before; at
-thirty-five, he thinks that if he were added up, there would be very
-little to carry; and at forty the great truth bursts upon him in all its
-effulgence that he is an ass. There are some who reach this desirable
-state of self-knowledge before they attain the age specified by the
-Baron; other some there are who never reach it at all,--as we all see
-numerous instances around us,--but these are mere exceptions
-strengthening rather than invalidating the common rule. It is a
-humiliating acknowledgment, but if we consider the uncertainty of all
-earthly things, if we try the depth of the sea of human science, and
-find how easy it is to touch bottom any where therein, if we convince
-ourselves of the impenetrability of the veil which bounds our mental
-vision,--I think that we shall be obliged to allow that the recognition
-of our own nothingness and asininity is the sum and perfection of human
-knowledge. Now, Solomon tells us that he who increases knowledge
-increases sorrow; and it naturally follows that when a man has reached
-the knowledge which generally comes with his fortieth year, he is less
-happy than he was when he wrapped himself in the measureless content of
-his twentieth year's self-deception. And it follows, too, most
-incontrovertibly, that he is happier when unpossessed by that
-exaggerated self-esteem which rendered the discovery of his fortieth
-year necessary to him; and when is that time, if not during the
-careless, happy years of boyhood?
-
-The period of boyhood has been shortened very considerably within a few
-years; and real boys are becoming scarce. They are no sooner emancipated
-from the bright buttons which unite the two principal articles of
-puerile apparel, than they begin to pant for virile habiliments. Their
-choler is roused if they are denied a stand-up dickey. They sport canes.
-They delight to display themselves at lectures and concerts. Their young
-lips are not innocent of damns and short-sixes; and they imitate the
-vulgarity and conceit of the young men of the present day so
-successfully that you find it hard to believe that they are mere
-children. Since this period of dearth in the boy market set in, of
-course the genuine, marketable article has become more precious to me. I
-remember seeing an old physician in Paris, who was as true a boy as any
-beloved twelve-year-old that ever snapped a marble or stuck his
-forefinger into a preserve jar on an upper shelf in a china closet. A
-charming old fellow he was, too. He used to stop to see the boys play in
-the gardens of the Tuileries, and I knew him once to spend a whole
-afternoon in the avenue of the Champs Elys�es looking at the puppet
-shows and other sights with the rest of the youngsters. He told me
-afterwards that that was one of the happiest days of his life; for he
-had felt as if he were back again in the pleasant time before he knew
-any thing of that most uncertain of all uncertain things--the science of
-medicine; and he doubted whether any boy there had enjoyed the cheap
-amusement more than himself. I envied him, for I knew that he who
-retained so much of the happy spirit of boyhood could not have outlived
-all of its generosity and simplicity. "Once a man and twice a child,"
-says the old proverb; and I cannot help thinking that if at the last we
-could only recall something of the sincerity, and innocence, and
-unselfishness of our early life, second childhood would indeed be a
-blessed thing.
-
-
-
-JOSEPHINE--GIRLHOOD AND GIRLS
-
-
-A bright-eyed, fair, young maiden, whose satchel I should insist upon
-carrying to school for her every morning if I were half a century
-younger, came to me a day or two after the publication of my last essay,
-and, placing her white, taper fingers in my rough, Esau-like hand, said,
-"I liked your piece about the boys very much; and now I hope that you'll
-write something about girls." "My dear Nellie," replied I, "if I should
-do that I should lose all my female acquaintances. I have a weakness for
-telling the truth, and there are some subjects concerning which it is
-very dangerous to speak out 'the whole truth and nothing but the
-truth.'" The gentle damsel smiled, and looked
-
-    "Modest as justice, and did seem a palace
-    For the crown'd truth to dwell in,"
-
-as she still urged me on, and refused to see any danger in my giving out
-the plainest truth about girlhood. _She_ had no fear, though all the
-truth were told; and I suppose that if we had some of Nellie's purity
-and gentleness remaining in our sere and selfish hearts, we should be
-much better and happier men and women, and should dread the truth as
-little as she does. But I must not begin my truth-telling by seeming to
-praise too highly, though it must be confessed, even at my time of life,
-if I were to describe the charming young person I have referred to, with
-the merciless fidelity of a daguerreotype and an absence of hyperbole
-worthy of the late Dr. Bowditch's work on Navigation, I should seem to
-the unfortunate "general reader" who does not know Nell, to be indulging
-in the grossest flattery, and panting poesy would toil after me in vain.
-So I will put aside all temptations of that kind, and come down to the
-plain prose of my subject.
-
-There is, in fact, very little that can be said about girlhood. Those
-calm years that come between the commencement of the bondage of the
-pantalettes and emancipation from the tasks of school, present few
-salient points upon which the essayist (observe he never so closely) may
-turn a neat paragraph. They offer little that is startling or attractive
-either to writer or reader,--
-
-    "As times of quiet and unbroken peace,
-    Though for a nation times of blessedness,
-    Give back faint echoes from the historian's page."
-
-The rough sports of boyhood, the out-door life which boys always take to
-so naturally, and all their habits of activity, give a strength of light
-and shade to their early years which is not to be found in girlhood. It
-is not enough to say that there is no difference in kind, but simply one
-in degree,--that the years of boyhood are calm and happy, and that those
-of girlhood are so likewise,--that the former resemble the garish
-sunshine, and the latter the mitigated splendour of the moon; for the
-characters of boys seem to be struck in a sharper die than those of
-girls, which gives them an absoluteness quite distinct from the feminine
-grace we naturally look for in the latter. The free-hearted boy,
-plunging into all sorts of fun without a thought of his next day's
-arithmetic lesson, and with a charming disregard of the expense of
-jackets and trousers, and the gentle girl, who clings to her mother's
-side, like an attendant angel, and contents herself with teaching long
-lessons to docile paper pupils in a quiet corner by the fireside, are
-representatives of two distinct classes in the order of nature, and
-(untheologically, of course, I might add) of grace. There is not a
-greater difference between a hockey and a crochet needle than there is
-between them.
-
-I have, as a general thing, a greater liking for boys than for girls;
-for the vanity so common to all mankind is not developed in them at so
-early an age as in the latter. Still I must acknowledge that I have seen
-some splendid exceptions, the mere recollection of which almost tempts
-me to draw my pen through that last sentence. Can I ever forget--I can
-never forget--one into whose years of girlhood the beauty and grace of a
-long, pure life seemed to have been compressed? It was many years ago,
-and I was younger than I am now--so pardon me if I should seem to catch
-a little enthusiasm of spirit from the remembrance of those days. Like
-the ancient Queen of Carthage, _Agnosco veteris vestigia flamm�_. I was
-living in London at that time, or rather at Hampstead, which had not
-then become a mere suburb of the great metropolis, but was a quiet town,
-whose bright doorplates, and well-scoured doorsteps, and clean window
-curtains contrasted finely with the dingy brick walls of its houses, and
-impressed the visitor with the general prosperity and quiet
-respectability of its inhabitants. In my daily walks to and from the
-city, I frequently met a gentleman whose gray hairs and simple dignity
-of manners always attracted me towards him, and exacted from me an
-involuntary tribute of respectful recognition. One day he overtook me in
-a shower, and gave me the benefit of his umbrella and his
-friendship--for an intimacy which ended only with his death commenced
-between us from that hour. He was a gentleman of good family and
-education, who had seen thirty years of responsible service in the
-employ of the Honourable East India Company, had attained a competency,
-and had forsworn Leadenhall Street for a pension and a quiet retreat on
-the heights of Hampstead. His wife was a lady of cultivated tastes,
-whose sober wishes never learned to stray from the path of simple
-domestic duty, and the presence of the books in which she found her
-daily pleasures.
-
-    "Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam;
-    True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home."
-
-Their only child, "one fair daughter, and no more," was a gentle and
-merry-hearted creature, who, in the short and murky days of November,
-filled that cottage with a more than June-like sunshine. Her parents
-always had a deep sympathy with that unfortunate Empress of France whose
-dismission from the throne was the commencement of the downward career
-of the first Napoleon, and bore witness to it by giving her name to
-their only child. They lived only three or four doors from my lodgings,
-and there were few days passed after the episode of the umbrella in
-which I did not find a welcome in their quiet home. Their daughter was
-their only idol, and I soon found myself a convert to their innocent
-system of paganism. We all three agreed that Josey was the incarnation
-of all known perfections, and the lapse of forty years has not sufficed
-to weaken that conviction in my mind. She had risen just above the
-horizon of girlhood, and the natural beauty of her character made the
-beholder content to forget even the promise of her riper years. I do not
-think she was what the world calls handsome. I sometimes distrust my
-judgment in the matter of female beauty; indeed, some of my candid
-friends have told me that I had no judgment in such things. Well, as I
-was saying, Josey was not remarkable for personal beauty--in fact, I
-think I remember some persons of her own sex who thought her "very
-plain"--"positively homely"--and wondered what there was attractive
-about her. There are circumstances under which I should not have
-hesitated to attribute such remarks to motives of envy and jealousy; but
-as they came from girls whose attractions of every kind were far below
-those of the gentle creature whom they delighted to criticise, how can I
-account for them? Josey's complexion was dark--her forehead, like those
-of the best models of female comeliness among the ancients, low. Her
-teeth were pearly and uniform, and her clear, dark eyes seemed to
-reflect the happiness and hope which were the companions of her youth.
-Her beauty was not of that kind which consists in mere regularity of
-features; it was far superior to that. You could discern under those
-traits, none of which were conspicuous, a combination of mental and
-social qualities which were far above the fleeting charms that delight
-so many, and which age, instead of destroying, would increase and
-perfect. She was quiet and gentle, without being dull or moody;
-light-hearted and cheery, without being frivolous; and witty, without
-being pert or conceited. Her unaffected goodness of heart found many an
-opportunity of exercise. I often heard of her among the poor, and among
-those who needed words of consolation even more than the necessaries of
-life. It was her delight to intercede with the magistrate who had
-inflicted a punishment on some disorderly brother of one of her poor
-clients, and to obtain his pardon by promising to watch over him and
-insure his future good behaviour; and there were very few, among the
-most reckless, who were not restrained by the thought that their
-offences would give pain to the kind-hearted girl who had so willingly
-become their protector.
-
-During the months that I lived at Hampstead my intercourse with that
-excellent family was as familiar as if I had been one of their own
-kindred. A little attack of rheumatism, which confined me to my lodging
-for a fortnight or three weeks, proved the constancy of their
-friendship. The old gentleman came daily to see me--told me all the news
-from the city, and read to me; the mother sent me some of her favourite
-books; and Josey came to get assistance in her Latin and French, and
-brought me sundry little pots of grape jelly and other preserves, which
-tasted all the sweeter for being the work of her fair hands. It was a
-sad parting when I was called away to America--sad for me; for I told
-them that I hoped that my absence from England would be but temporary,
-when I felt inwardly that it might extend to several years.
-
-Two or three months after my arrival at home, I received a letter from
-the old gentleman, written in his deliberate, round, clerk-like style,
-informing me of his wife's death. A note was enclosed from Josey, in
-which she described with her pencil the spot where her mother was buried
-in the old churchyard, and told me of her progress in her studies. More
-than a year passed by without my hearing from them at all, two or three
-of my letters to them having miscarried. Nearly seven years elapsed
-before I visited England again. Two years before that, I had read the
-decease of the old gentleman, in a stray London newspaper. I had written
-to Josey, sympathizing with her in her desolation, but had received no
-answer. So, the day after my arrival in London, I determined to make a
-search for the beloved Josey. I went to Hampstead, and my heart beat
-quicker as I approached the cottage where I had spent so many happy
-hours. My throat felt a little choky, as I recognized the neat bit of
-hedge before the door, the graceful vine which overhung it, and the
-familiar arrangement of the flower pots in the frames outside the
-windows; but my hopes received a momentary check when I found a strange
-name on the plate above the knocker. I knocked, and inquired concerning
-the former occupants of the house. After a severe effort to overcome the
-Boeotian stupidity of the housemaid, she ushered me into the little
-breakfast room, and said she would "call her missus." Almost before I
-had time to look about me, Josey entered the room. The little girl whose
-Latin exercises I had corrected, and who had always lived in my memory
-as she appeared in those days, suddenly came before me
-
-    "A perfect woman, nobly planned,
-    To warn, to comfort, and command;
-    And yet a spirit still and bright
-    With something of an angel light."
-
-Yet she was hardly changed at all. She had lost none of those charming
-qualities which had made the thought of her precious to me during long
-years of absence. She had gained the maturity and dignity of womanhood
-without losing any of the simplicity and light-heartedness of girlhood.
-She was married. Her husband was a literary man of considerable
-reputation. Though only in middle age, he was a great sufferer with the
-gout. He was, generally speaking, a patient man; but I found, after I
-became intimate with him, that his pains sometimes made him express
-himself with a force of diction somewhat in advance of the religious
-prejudices of his gentle Josey, who tended him and ministered to his
-wants like an angel, as she was. But excuse me for wandering so far from
-my theme. To make a long story short, Josey went to Italy with her
-husband, who had been ordered thither by his physicians, and I never saw
-her afterwards. She deposited her husband's remains in the cemetery
-where those of Shelley and Keats repose, and found for two or three
-years a consolation for her bereaved spirit in residence in that city
-which more than all others proclaims to our unwilling hearts the vanity
-and transitoriness of this world's hopes, and the glory of the unseen
-eternal. Years after, I met one of her husband's friends in Paris, who
-told me that some four years after his death, she had entered a convent
-of a religious order devoted to the reclaiming of the degraded of her
-sex, in Brussels. There she had found a fitting occupation for the
-natural benevolence of her heart, and the peace which the world could
-not give. She had concealed the glory of her good works under her vow of
-obedience--her personality was hidden under the common habit of her
-Order--the very name which was so dear to me had been exchanged for
-another on the day that saw her covered with the white veil of the
-novice. I was about returning to England from the continent when I heard
-this, and I resolved to take Belgium's fair capital in my route. I found
-the convent readily enough, and waited in its uncarpeted but
-scrupulously clean parlour some time for the Lady Superior. She was a
-lady of dignified mien, with the clear complexion, the serene brow, and
-the dovelike eyes so common among nuns, and her face lighted up, as she
-spoke, with a gentle smile, which seemed almost like a presage of
-immortality. I explained my errand, and she told me that the good
-English sister had been dead more than a year. The intelligence pained
-me, and it gave me a feeling of self-reproach to notice that the nun,
-who had been with her in her last hour, spoke of her as if she had
-merely passed into another part of the convent we were in. The Superior,
-perceiving my emotion, conducted me through the garden of the convent to
-a shady corner of the grounds, where there were several graves. She
-stopped before a mound, over which a rose bush bent affectionately, as
-if its white blossoms craved something of the purity which was enshrined
-beneath it. At its head was a simple wooden cross, on which was
-inscribed the name of "Sister Helen Agnes," the date of her death, and
-the common supplication that she might rest in peace; and that was the
-only memorial of Josey that remained to me.
-
-I have not forgotten, dear reader, that I am writing about girls; but
-having brought forward one who always seemed to me to be about as near
-perfection as it is vouchsafed to poor humanity to approach, I could not
-help following her to the end, and showing how she went from a beautiful
-girlhood to a still more beautiful womanhood, and a death which all of
-us might envy; and how lovely and harmonious was her whole career. For I
-feel that the consideration of the contrast which most of the young
-female readers of these pages will discover between themselves and
-Josey, will do them some good.
-
-I do not know of a more quietly funny sight than a group of
-school-girls, all talking as fast as their tongues can wag, (forty-woman
-power,) and clinging inextricably together like a parcel of macaroni, _�
-la Napolitaine_. Their independence is quite refreshing. Lady
-Blessington in her diamonds never descended the grand staircase at
-Covent Garden Opera House with half the consciousness of making a
-sensation, that you may notice in these school-girls whenever you take
-your walks abroad. It is delightful to see them step off so proudly, and
-look you in the face so coolly, thinking all the time of just nothing at
-all. Their boldness is the boldness of innocence; for perfect modesty
-does not even know how to blush. How vain they grow as they advance in
-their teens! How careful they are that the crinoline "sticks out"
-properly before they venture on the road to school! If Mother Goose (of
-blessed memory) could take a look into this world now, she would wish to
-revise her ancient rhyme to her patrons,--
-
-    "Come with a whoop--come with a call," &c.,--
-
-for she would find that it is now their custom to come with a _hoop_
-when they come for a call.
-
-When unhappy Romeo stands in old Capulet's garden, under the pale beams
-of the "envious moon," and watches the unconscious Juliet upon the
-balcony, he utters, in the course of his incoherent soliloquial
-apostrophe, these remarkable words concerning that interesting young
-person:--
-
-    "She speaks, yet she says nothing."
-
-I have seen many young ladies of Juliet's time of life in my day of whom
-the same thing might be said. They indeed speak, yet say nothing. Yet
-take them on such a subject as the trimming of a new bonnet for Easter
-Sunday, or any of those entertaining topics more or less connected with
-the adornment of their persons, and how voluble they are! To the
-stronger sex, which of course cares nothing about dress, being entirely
-free from vanity, the terms used in their never-ending colloquies on
-such themes are mere unmeaning words; but I must do the gentler side of
-humanity the justice to say that they are not all vanity, as their
-fathers and husbands find to their dismay, when the quarterly bills come
-in, that gimp, and flounces, and trimming generally, have a real,
-tangible existence.
-
-How sentimental they are! In my young days albums were all the rage
-among young ladies; but now they seem to be somewhat out of date, and
-young ministers have taken their place. What pains will they not take to
-get a bow from the Rev. Mr. Simkins! They swarm around him after
-service, like flies around the bung of a molasses cask. Raphael never
-had such a face as his; Massillon never preached as he does. What a
-wilderness of worsted work are they not willing to travel over for his
-sake! How do they exhaust their inventive faculties in the search after
-new patterns for lamp mats, watch cases, pen wipers, and slippers to
-encase the feet at which they delight to sit! But when Simkins marries
-old Thompson's youngest daughter and a snug property, he finds a sad
-abatement in his popularity. The Rev. Mr. Jenkins, a young preacher with
-a face every whit as milk-and-watery as his own, succeeds to the throne
-he occupied, and reigns in his stead among the volatile devotees; and
-Simkins then sees that his popularity was no more an evidence of the
-favour his preaching of the gospel found among those thoughtless young
-people than was the popularity of the good-looking light comedian, after
-whom the girls ran as madly as they did after his own white neckerchief
-and nicely-brushed black frock coat.
-
-Exaggeration is one of the great faults of girlhood. Whatever meets
-their eyes is either "splendid" or "horrid." They delight to exaggerate
-their likes and dislikes. Self-restraint seems to be a term not
-contained in their lexicon. They take a momentary fancy to a young man,
-and flatter him with their smiles until some new face takes his place in
-their fleeting memory. In this way many young hearts are frittered away
-in successive flirtations before their possessors have reached
-womanhood. But it would be wrong to confine action from mere blind
-impulse and exaggeration to young girls alone. I think it is St. Paul
-who gives us some good counsel about "speaking the truth in love." I
-fear that very few victims of the tender passion, from Pyramus and
-Thisbe down to Petrarch and Laura, and from the latter couple down to
-Mr. Smith with Miss Brown hanging on his arm,--who have not sadly needed
-the advice of the Apostle of the Gentiles. I have seen very few people
-in my day who really speak the truth in love. Therefore I will not blame
-girls for a fault which is common to all mankind.
-
-Impulse is commonly supposed to be inconsistent with cunning; but in
-most girls I think the two things are singularly combined. I am told
-that there is an academy in this city, frequented by many young women,
-known as the School of Design. The fact is a gratifying one to me; for
-my observation of girlish nature had led me to suppose that there were
-very few indeed of the young ladies of these days who required any
-tuition in the arts of design. I hail the fact as a good omen for the
-sex. Action from impulse carries its young victims to the extremes of
-good and evil. Queen Dido is a fair type of the majority of her sex.
-Defeated in their hopes, they are willing to make a funeral pile of all
-that remains to them. But there is a spirit of generosity in them which
-does not find a place in the hearts of men. It was the part of Eve to
-bring death into this world, and all our woe, by her inquisitiveness and
-credulity; but it was reserved for Adam to inaugurate the meanness of
-mankind by laying all the blame to his silly little wife. The accusation
-ought to have blistered Adam's cowardly tongue.
-
-But I am making a long preachment, and yet I have said very little. I
-must leave my young friends, however, to draw their own lessons from the
-portrait I have given of one whose perfections would far outweigh the
-silliness and vanity of a generation of girls. Let them take the gentle
-Josey as the model of their youth, and they will not wish to sculpture
-their later career after any less perfect shape. There will then be
-fewer heartless flirts, fewer vain exhibitors of the works of the
-milliner and dressmaker parading the streets, and more true women
-presiding over the homes of America. The imitation of her virtues will
-be found a better preservative of beauty than any _eau lustrale_; for it
-will create a beauty which "time's effacing fingers" are powerless to
-destroy, and give to those who practise it a serene and lovely old age,
-whose recollection of the past, instead of awakening any self-reproach,
-shall be a source of perpetual benediction.
-
-
-
-SHAKESPEARE AND HIS COMMENTATORS
-
-
-It was a favourite wish of the beneficent Caligula that all mankind had
-but one neck, that he might finish them off at a single chop. It would
-ill comport with my known modesty, were I to lay claim to any thing like
-the all-embracing humanity of the old Roman philanthropist; but I must
-acknowledge that I have frequently felt inclined to apply his pious
-aspiration to the commentators on Shakespeare. Impatience is not my
-prevailing weakness; but these pestilent annotators have often been
-instrumental in convincing me that I am no stoic. I have frequently
-regretted the days of my youth, when no envious commentary obscured the
-brilliancy of that genius which has consecrated the language through
-which it finds utterance, and made it venerable to the scholars of all
-lands and ages. My love of Shakespeare, like the gout which has been
-stinging my right foot all the morning, is hereditary. My revered
-grandmother was very fond of solid English literature. She had not had,
-it is true, the advantages which the young people of the present day
-rejoice in; she had not studied in any of those seminaries which polish
-off an education in a most Arabian-Nightsy style of expedition, and send
-a young lady home in the middle of her teens, accomplished in innumerous
-ologies, and knowing little or nothing that is really useful, or that
-will attract her to intellectual pursuits or pleasure in after life. She
-had acquired what is infinitely better than the superficial omniscience
-which is so much cultivated in these days. The more active duties of
-life pleased her not; and Shakespeare was the never-failing resource of
-her leisure hours. Mr. Addison's Spectator was for her a "treasure of
-contentment, a mine of delight, and, with regard to style, the best book
-in the world." I shall never forget that happy day (anterior even to the
-jacket era of my life) when she took me upon her knee, and read to me
-the speeches of Marullus, and Mark Antony, and Brutus. In that hour I
-became as sincere a devotee as ever bent down before the shrine of
-Shakespeare's genius. Nor has that innocent fanaticism abated any of its
-ardour under the weight laid upon me by increasing years. The theatre
-has lost many of its old charms for me. The friendships of youth--the
-only enduring intimacies, for our palms grow callous in the promiscuous
-intercourse of the world, and cannot easily receive new
-impressions--have either been terminated by that inexorable power whose
-chilling touch is merciless alike to love and enmity, or have been
-interfered with by the varying pursuits of life. But Shakespeare still
-maintains his wonted sway, and my loyalty to him has not been disturbed
-by any of the revolutionary movements which have made such changes in
-most other things. Martin Farquhar Tupper has written, but I am so
-old-fashioned in my prejudices that I find myself constantly turning to
-my Shakespeare, in preference even to that gifted and proverbially
-philosophic bard.
-
-But I am wandering. From the day I have mentioned, Robinson Crusoe was
-obliged to abdicate, and England's "monarch bard" (as Mr. Sprague calls
-Anne Hathaway's husband) reigned in his stead. I first devoured the
-Julius C�sar. I say "devoured," for no other word will express the eager
-earnestness with which I read. The last time I read that play through,
-it was "within a bowshot where the C�sars dwelt," and but a few minutes'
-walk from the palace which now holds great Pompey's statua, at whose
-foot the mighty Julius fell. Increase of appetite grew rapidly by what
-it fed on, and I was not long in learning as much about the black-clad
-prince, the homeless king, the exacting usurer, the fat knight and his
-jolly companions, the remorseful Thane, and generous, jealous Moor, as I
-knew about Brutus and the other red republican assassins of imperial
-Rome. My love of Shakespeare was greatly edified by a friendship which I
-formed in my earliest foreign journeyings. It was before the days of
-railways,--which, convenient as they are, have robbed travelling of half
-its zest, by rendering it so common. I had been making a little tour
-through the north of France. I had admired the white caps and pious
-simplicity of the peasants of Normandy, and had drunk in that exaltation
-of soul which the lofty nave of the majestic Cathedral of Amiens always
-imparts, and was about returning to Paris, when a rheumatic attack
-arrested my progress and prolonged my stay in the pleasant city of
-Douai. I there met accidentally with an English monk of that grand old
-Benedictine order, whose history for more than twelve centuries has been
-the history of civilization, and literature, and religion. He was
-descended from one of those old families which refused to modify their
-creed at the demand of a divorce-seeking king. He was a man of clear
-intellect and fascinating simplicity of character. He seemed to carry
-sunshine with him wherever he went. He occupied a professional chair in
-the English College attached to the Benedictine Monastery at Douai, and
-when his class hours were ended, he daily came to visit me. His sensible
-and sprightly conversation did more towards untying the rheumatic knots
-in my poor shoulder, than all the pills and lotions for which _M. le
-M�decin_ charged me so roundly. When I visited him in his cell, I found
-that a well-worn copy of Shakespeare was the only companion of his
-Breviary, his Aquinas and St. Bernard on his study table. He loved
-Shakespeare for himself alone. He never used him as a lay figure on
-which he might display the drapery of a pedant. He hated commentators as
-heartily as a man so sincerely religious can hate any thing except sin,
-and was as earnest in his predilection for Shakespeare, "without note or
-comment," as his dissenting fellow-countrymen would have wished him to
-be for a similar edition of the only other inspired book in the world.
-He had his theories, however, concerning Shakespeare's characters, and
-we often talked them over together; but I must do him the justice to say
-that he never published any of them. I always regarded this fact as a
-splendid evidence of the entireness of his self-abnegation, and of his
-extraordinary advancement in the path of religious perfection. Many have
-taken the three monastic vows by which he was bound, and have lived up
-to them with conscientious fidelity; but few scholars have studied
-Shakespeare as he did, and yet resisted the temptation to tell the world
-all about it in a book.
-
-Mousing the other day in the library of a venerable citizen of Boston,
-who is no less skilled in the gospel (let us hope) than in the law, I
-stumbled over a seedy-looking folio containing _A Treatise of Original
-Sinne_, by one Anthony Burgesse, who flourished in England something
-more than two centuries ago. One of the discoloured fly-leaves of this
-entertaining tome informed me, in a hand-writing which resembled a
-dilapidated rail-fence looked at from the window of an express train,
-that _Jacobus Keith me possedit, An. Dom. 1655_; and also bore this
-inscription, so pertinent to my present theme: "Expositors are wise when
-they are not otherwise." I feel that it is safe to leave my readers to
-make the application of this apothegm to the Shakespearean annotators of
-their acquaintance, so few of whom are wise, so many otherwise. I think
-it was the late Mr. Hazlitt who said (and if it was not, it ought to
-have been) that if you desire to know to what sublimity human genius is
-capable of ascending, you must read Shakespeare; but that if you seek to
-ascertain to what a depth of imbecility the intellect of man may be
-brought down, you must read his commentators.
-
-Notwithstanding the low estimate which I am inclined to place upon the
-labour of the majority of the commentators on Shakespeare, still I have
-often felt a strong temptation to enroll myself among them. Not all
-their stupidity in explaining things which are clear to the meanest
-capacity, not all their pedantry in elucidating matters which are simply
-inexplicable, not all their inordinate voluminousness, could quench my
-ambition to fasten my roll of waste paper to the bob (already so
-unwieldy) of the Shakespearean kite. Others have soared into fame by
-such means; why should not I? We ought not to study Shakespeare so many
-years for nothing, and I feel that a sacred duty would be neglected if
-the result of my researches were withheld from my suffering
-fellow-students. But let me be more merciful than other commentators;
-let me confine my remarks to a single play. From that one you may learn
-the tenor of my theories concerning the others; and if you wish for
-another specimen, I shall consider that I have achieved an unheard-of
-triumph in this department of literature.
-
-The tragedy of _Hamlet_ has always been regarded as one of the most
-creditable of Shakespeare's performances. It needs no new commendation
-from me. Dramatic composition has made great progress within the two
-hundred and sixty years that have elapsed since Hamlet was written, yet
-few better things are produced nowadays. We may as well acknowledge the
-humiliating fact that Hamlet, with all its age, is every whit as good as
-if it had been written since Lady Day, and were announced on the
-playbills of to-morrow night, with one of Mr. Boucicault's most eloquent
-and elaborate prefaces. The character of Hamlet has been much discussed,
-but, with all due respect for the genius of those who have fatigued
-their reader with their treatment of the subject, I would humbly suggest
-that they are all wrong. Hamlet resembles a picture which has been
-scoured, and retouched, and varnished, and restored, until you can
-hardly see any thing of the original. Critics and commentators have
-bedaubed the original character so thoroughly, and those credulous
-people who rejoice that Chatham's language is their mother tongue, have
-heard so much of their estimate of Hamlet's character, that they receive
-them on faith, flattering themselves all the while that they are paying
-homage to the Hamlet of Shakespeare. High-flown philosophy exerts its
-powers upon the theme, and Goethe gives it as his opinion that the
-dramatist wished to portray the effects of a great action, imposed as a
-duty upon a mind too feeble for its accomplishment, and compares it to
-an oak planted in a china vase, proper to receive only the most delicate
-flowers, and which flies to pieces as soon as the roots begin to strike
-out.
-
-Now let us drop all this metaphysical and poetical cant, and go back to
-the play itself. Shakespeare will prove his own best expositor, if we
-read him with docile minds, having previously instructed ourselves
-concerning the history of the time of which he wrote. There is a
-tradition common in the north of Ireland that Hamlet's father was a
-native of that country, named Howndale, and that he followed the trade
-of a tailor; that he was captured by the Danes, in one of their
-expeditions against that fair island, and carried to Jutland; that he
-married and set up in business again in that cold region, but that he
-afterwards forsook the sartorial for the regal line, by usurping the
-throne of Denmark. The tradition represents him to have been a man of
-violent character, a hard drinker, and altogether a most unprincipled
-and unamiable person, though an excellent tailor. Now, if we take the
-old chronicle of Saxo Grammaticus, (_Historia Danorum_,) from which
-Shakespeare drew the plot for his tragedy, we shall find there little
-that does not harmonize with this tradition. Saxo Grammaticus tells us
-that Hamlet was the son of Horwendal, who was a famous pirate of
-Jutland, whom the king, Huric, feared so much, that, to propitiate him,
-he was obliged to appoint him governor of Jutland, and afterwards to
-give him his daughter Gertrude in marriage. Thus he obtained the throne.
-The old Irish name, Howndale, might easily have been corrupted into
-Horwendal by the jaw-breaking Northmen, and for the rest, the Danish
-chronicle and the Irish tradition are perfectly consistent. That there
-was frequent communication at that early period between Denmark and
-Ireland, I surely need not take the trouble to prove. All the early
-chronicles of both of those countries bear witness to it. It was to the
-land evangelized by St. Patrick that Denmark was indebted for the
-blessings of education and the Christian faith. But the visits of the
-Danes were not dictated by any holy zeal for the salvation or mental
-advancement of their benefactors, if we may believe all the stories of
-their piratical expeditions. An Irish monk of the great monastery of
-Banchor, who wrote very good Latin for the age in which he lived,
-alludes to this period in his country's history in a poem, one line of
-which is sometimes quoted, even now:--
-
-      _Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes._
-    "Time was, O Danes, we feared your gifts."
-
-The great Danish poet, OEhlenschl�ger, makes frequent allusions in the
-course of his epic, _The Gods of the North_, to the relations that once
-existed between Denmark and Ireland, and to the fact that his native
-land received from Ireland the custom of imbibing spirituous liquors in
-large quantities.
-
-Hamlet's Irish parentage would naturally be concealed as much as
-possible by him, as it might prejudice his claims to the throne of
-Denmark; therefore we can hardly expect to find the ancient legend
-confirmed in the play, except in a casual manner. The free, outspoken,
-Irish nature would make itself known occasionally. Thus we find that
-when Horatio tells him that "there's no offence," he rebukes him with
-
-    "Yes, _by St. Patrick_, but there is, Horatio!"
-
-There certainly needs no ghost come from the grave to tell us that no
-true-born Scandinavian would have sworn in an unguarded moment by the
-Apostle of Ireland. Again, when Hamlet thinks of killing his uncle, the
-wrongful king, he apostrophizes himself by the name which he probably
-bore when he assisted his father (whose death he wishes to avenge) in
-his shop in Jutland:--
-
-    "Now, might I do it, Pat, now he is praying."
-
-Then, too, he speaks to Horatio of the "funeral baked meats" coldly
-furnishing forth the marriage table at his mother's second espousal. The
-custom of baking meats is as well known to be of Irish origin, as that
-of roasting them is to be peculiar to the northern nations of
-continental Europe.
-
-The frequent allusions in the course of the play to drinking customs not
-only prove that Hamlet descended from that nation whose hospitality is
-its greatest fault, but that he and his family were far from being the
-refined and philosophic people some of the commentators would have us
-believe. Thus he promises his old companion,--
-
-    "We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart,"--
-
-which the most prejudiced person will freely allow to be truly a
-_Corkonian_ phrase. This frailty of the family may be seen throughout
-the play. In the last scene, it is especially apparent. All the royal
-family of Denmark seem to have joined an intemperance society. The queen
-even, in spite of her husband's remonstrances, joins in the carousal.
-Hamlet, too, while he is dying, starts up on hearing Horatio say,
-"Here's yet some liquor left," and insists upon the cup being given to
-him. I know that it may be urged, on the other hand, that in the scene
-preceding the first appearance of the ghost before Hamlet, he indulges
-in some remarks which would prove him to have entertained sentiments
-becoming his compatriot, the noble Father Mathew. Speaking of the custom
-of draining down such frequent draughts of Rhenish, he pronounces it to
-his mind
-
-      "a custom
-    More honoured in the breach than the observance."
-
-It must be remembered that the occasion on which this speech was uttered
-was a solemn one. Under such supernatural circumstances old Silenus or
-the King of Prussia himself might be pardoned for growing somewhat
-homiletic on the subject of temperance. The conclusion of this speech
-has given the commentators a fine chance to exercise their ingenuity.
-
-      "The dram of bale
-    Doth all the noble substance often doubt
-    To his own scandal."
-
-They have called it the "dram of base," the "dram of eale," &c., and
-then have been as much in the dark as before. Some have thought that
-Shakespeare intended to have written it "the dram of Bale," as a sly hit
-at Dr. John Bale, the first Protestant Bishop of Ossory in Ireland, who
-was an unscrupulous dram-drinker as well as dramatist, for he wrote a
-play called "Kynge Johan," which was reprinted under the editorial care
-of my friend, Mr. J. O. Halliwell, by the Camden Society, in 1838. But
-this attempt to make it reflect upon the Ossory prelate is entirely
-uncalled for. A little research would have showed that _bale_ was a
-liquor somewhat resembling our whiskey of the true R. G. brand, the
-consumption of which in the dram-shops of his country the Prince Hamlet
-so earnestly deplored. The great Danish philosopher, V. Scheerer
-Homboegger, in his autobiography, speaks of it, and says that like all
-the Danes he prefers it to either wine or ale, or water even: _Der er
-vand, her er vun og oel,--men allested BAELE drikker saaledes de
-Dansker._ (Autobiog. II. xiii. Ed. Copenhag.)
-
-As to the proofs that Hamlet's family was closely connected with the
-tailoring interest, they are so thickly scattered through the entire
-tragedy, and are so apparent even to the casual reader, that, even if I
-had room, it would only be necessary to mention a few of the principal
-ones. In the very first scene in which he is introduced, Hamlet talks in
-an experienced manner about his "inky cloak," "suits of solemn black,"
-"forms" and "modes," and tries to defend himself from the suspicion
-which he feels is attached to him by many of the courtiers, by saying
-plainly, "I know not _seams_." This first speech of Hamlet's is a key to
-the wanton insincerity of his character. His mother has begged him to
-change his clothes,--to "cast his nighted colour off,"--and he answers
-her requests with, "I shall _in all my best_ obey you, madam;" yet it is
-notorious that he heeds not this promise, but wears black to the end of
-his career.
-
-He repeatedly uses the expressions which a tailor would naturally
-employ. His figures of speech frequently smell of the shop. As, for
-instance, he says to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, "The appurtenance of
-welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb;"
-in the scene preceding the play he declares that, though the devil
-himself wear black, he'll "have a suit of sables." In the interview with
-his mother, who may be supposed not to have forgotten the early history
-of the family, he uses such figures with still greater freedom:--
-
-    "That monster _custom_ who all sense doth eat
-    Of _habit's_ devil, is angel yet in this;
-    That to the use of actions fair and good
-    He likewise gives a _frock_ or _livery_,
-    That aptly is put on."
-
-In his instruction to the players he speaks of tearing "a passion to
-_tatters_, to very _rags_" and says of certain actors that when he saw
-them it seemed to him as if "some of nature's _journeymen_ had made men
-and not made them well." In the fourth act, he calls Rosencrantz a
-_sponge_.
-
-What better evidence of the skill of Hamlet and his father in their
-common trade can we have than that afforded by the fair Ophelia, who
-speaks of the Prince as "the glass of fashion and the mould of form"? In
-the chamber scene with his mother, Hamlet is taken entirely off his
-guard by the sudden appearance of his father's ghost, whom he
-apostrophizes, not in the set phrases which he used when Horatio and
-Marcellus were by, but as "_a king of shreds and patches_". Old Polonius
-does not wish his daughter to marry a tailor, but is too polite to tell
-her all of his objections to Lord Hamlet's suit; so he cloaks his
-reasons under these figures of speech, instead of telling her, out of
-whole cloth, that Hamlet is a tailor, and the match will never do:--
-
-    "Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers,
-    Not of that dye which there in vestments show,
-    But implorators of unholy suits," &c.
-
-Some late editions of the Bard make the second line of this passage
-read,--
-
-    "Not of that die which their investments show,"----
-
-which is as evident a corruption of the text as any of those detected by
-the indefatigable Mr. Payne Collier.
-
-If any further proof is needed of a matter which must be clear to every
-reasoning mind, it may be found in that solemn scene in which the
-Prince, oppressed by the burden of a life embittered and defeated in its
-highest aims, meditates suicide. Now, if there is a time when all
-affectation of worldly rank would be likely to be forgotten and
-swallowed up in the contemplation of the terrible deed which occupies
-the mind, it is such a time as this. And here we find Shakespeare as
-true as Nature herself. The soldier, weary of life, uses the sword his
-enemies once feared, to end his troubles. Hamlet's mind overleaps the
-interval of his princely life, and the weapon which is most naturally
-suggested by his youthful career is "_a bare bodkin_."
-
-Had I not already written more than I intended on this subject, I might
-go on with many other evidences of the truth of my view of this
-remarkable character. I did wish also to show that Hamlet was a most
-disreputable character, and by no means entitled to the sympathy or
-admiration of men. Suffice it to say that he was, even to his last hour,
-fonder of drink than became a prince (except perhaps a Prince
-Regent)--that he treated Ophelia improperly--that he often spoke of his
-step-father in profane terms--that he indulged in the use of profane
-language even in his soliloquies, as for example,--
-
-      "The spirit I have seen
-    May be a devil; and the devil hath power
-    To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
-    Out of my weakness, and my melancholy,
-    (As he is very potent with such spirits)
-    Abuses me too,--damme!"
-
-His familiarity with the players likewise is an incontrovertible proof
-of his depravity; for the theatrical people of Denmark in his age were
-not what the players of our day are. They were too often people of loose
-and reckless lives, careless of moral and social obligations, and whose
-company would by no means be acceptable to a truly philosophic prince.
-
-If this pre-Raphaelite sketch of Hamlet's character should seem
-unsatisfactory, it can be filled out by a perusal of the play itself, if
-the reader will only cast aside the trammels which the commentators have
-placed in his way. It may be a new view to most of my readers; but I am
-convinced that the theory, of which I have given an outline, is fully as
-tenable as many of the countless conjectural essays to which that
-matchless drama has given rise. If it be untrue, why, then we must
-conclude that all similar theories, though they may be sustained by as
-many passages as I have adduced in support of my Hibernico-sartorial
-hypothesis, are equally devoid of a foundation of common sense. If my
-theory stands, I have the satisfaction of having connected my name
-(which would else be soon forgotten) with one of Shakespeare's
-masterpieces; and that is all that any commentator has ever done. And if
-my theory proves false, it consoles me to think that the splendour of
-the genius which I so highly reverence is in no wise obscured thereby;
-for the stability and grandeur of the temple cannot be impaired by the
-obliteration of the ambitious scribblings and chalk-marks with which
-some aspiring worshippers may have defaced its portico.
-
-
-
-MEMORIALS OF MRS. GRUNDY
-
-
-Of all the studies to which I was ever impelled in my youth, either by
-fear of the birch or by the hope of the laurel or the bays, mythology
-was perhaps the most charming. It was refreshing, after trying in vain
-to conjugate a verb, and being at last obliged to decline it--after
-adding up a column of figures several times, and getting many different
-results, and none of them the right one--and after making a vain attempt
-to comprehend the only algebraic knowledge that ever was forced into my
-unmathematical brain, viz., that _x_ equals an unknown quantity,--it
-was, I say, refreshing to turn over the leaves of my Classical
-Dictionary, and revel among the gods and heroes whose wondrous careers
-were embalmed in its well-thumbed pages. Lempri�re was the great
-magician who summoned up before my delighted eyes the denizens of a
-sphere where existence was unvexed by any pestilent arithmetics, and
-where the slavery of the inky desk was unknown. It always seemed to me
-as if the knowledge that I gained out of those enchanted chronicles not
-only improved my mind, but made my body more robust; for I joined in the
-chase, fought desperate battles, as the gods willed it, and breathed all
-the while the pure, invigorating air of old Olympus. The consecrated
-groves were the dwelling-place of my mind, and I became for a time a
-sharer in the joys of beings in whom I believed with all the ardour and
-simplicity of childhood. I enjoyed my mythological readings all the more
-because they did not generally find favour with my school companions,
-most of whom vindicated their nationality by professing their affection
-for the Rule of Three. One of them, I remember, was especially severe on
-the uselessness of the studies in which I took pleasure. He, _parcus
-deorum cultor, et infrequens_, could get no satisfaction out of the
-books in which I revelled; if _he_ had got to study or read, he could
-not afford to waste his brains over the foolish superstitions of three
-thousand years ago. He did not care how much romance and poetic beauty
-there might be in the ancient mythology: what did it all come to in the
-end? It didn't pay. It was a humbug. Our paths in life separated when we
-graduated from jackets and peg-tops. He remained faithful to his boyish
-instincts, and pursued the practical as if it were a reality. After a
-few years his face lost all its youthful look; an intense spirit of
-acquisitiveness gleamed in his calculating eye, and an interest table
-seemed to be written in the lines of his care-worn countenance. We
-seldom had any conversation in our after years, for he always seemed to
-be under some restraint, as if he feared that I wished to borrow a
-little money of him, and he did not wish to refuse for the sake of the
-old time when we sat at the same desk, although he knew that my note was
-good for nothing. His devotion to his deity, the practical, did not go
-unrewarded. He became like the only mythological personage whom he would
-have envied, had he known any thing of the science he despised. His
-touch seemed to transmute every thing into gold. His speculations during
-the war of 1812 were all successful. Eastern lands harmed him not. The
-financial panic of 1837 only put money in his purse. He rolled up a
-large fortune, and was happy. He looked anxious, but of course he was
-happy. What man ever devoted his life to the working out of the dreams
-of his youth in the acquisition of riches, and succeeded beyond his
-anticipations, without being very happy? But, if his gains were
-something practical and real, his losses were doubly so. Each one of
-them was as a dagger stuck into that sere heart. His only son gave him
-much trouble by his wild life, and, what touched him still more, wasted
-the money he had laboured to pile up, at the gaming tables of Baden. I
-saw him walking down Tremont Street the other day, looking care-worn and
-miserable, and I longed to ask him what he thought of the real and
-practical after trying them. He would certainly have been willing to
-acknowledge that there is more reality in the romance and poetry of
-mythology than in the thousands which he invested in the Bay State
-Mills. His practical life has brought him vanity and vexation of spirit,
-while the old Lempri�re, which he used to treat so contemptuously,
-flourishes in immortal youth, unhurt amid the wreck of fortunes and the
-depreciation of stocks.
-
-But I am not writing an essay on mythology. I wish to treat of one who
-is sometimes considered a myth, but who is a living and breathing
-personality like all of us. This wide-spread scepticism is one of the
-most fatal signs of the times. Because the late Mrs. Sairey Gamp
-supposed herself justified in cultivating a little domestic mythology in
-the shade of the famous Mrs. Harris, are we to take all the personages
-who have illustrated history as myths and unrealities? Shade of
-Herodotus, forbid it! There are some unbelieving and irreverent enough
-to doubt whether there is really such a person as Mrs. Partington; other
-some there are so hardened in their incredulity as to question the
-existence of the individual who smote Mr. William Patterson, and even of
-the immortal recipient of the blow himself. Therefore we ought not to
-think it strange that the lady whose name adorns the title of this
-article should not have escaped the profane spirit of the age.
-
-Unfortunately for us, Mrs. Grundy is no myth, but a terrible reality.
-She is a widow. The late Mr. Grundy bore it with heroic patience as long
-as he could, and then, by a divine dispensation in which he gladly
-acquiesced, was relieved of the burden of life. If he be not happy now,
-the great doctrine of compensation is nought but a delusion and a sham.
-If endless happiness could only be attained through such a purgatory as
-poor Grundy's life, few of us, I fear, would yearn to be counted among
-the elect. Martyrs, and confessors, and saints of every degree have won
-their crowns of beatitude with comparative ease; if they had been
-subjected to a twenty years' novitiate with Mrs. Grundy and her tireless
-tongue, they would have found how much more terrible that was than the
-laborious life or cruel death by which they passed from earth, and fewer
-bulls of canonization would have received the Seal of the Fisherman. I
-have heard from those who were acquainted with that estimable and
-uncomplaining man that he married for love. His wife was a person of
-considerable attractions, of an inquiring turn of mind, and of uncommon
-energy of character. In her care of his household there was nothing of
-which he might with reason complain. She kept a sharp look-out over all
-those matters in which the prudent housewife delights to show her skill;
-her table was worthy to receive regal legs beneath its shining mahogany
-and spotless cloth, and I have even heard that her husband never had
-occasion to curse mentally over the lack of a shirt-button. Yet was
-Giles Grundy, Esquire, one of the most miserable of men. Of what avail
-was it to him that his wife could preserve quinces, if she could not
-preserve her own peace of mind? What did it matter how well she cured
-hams, if she always failed so miserably in curing her tongue? What
-profit was it that her accounts with her butcher and grocer were always
-correctly kept, if her accounts of all her neighbours constantly overran
-and kept her and her spouse in a perpetual state of moral bankruptcy?
-What difference did it make how well she took care of her own family, if
-they were to be kept in an unending turmoil by her solicitude concerning
-that of every body else?
-
-If you had visited Mrs. Grundy, and remarked the brightness of the
-door-knocker, the stair-rods, the andirons, and every other part of her
-premises that was susceptible of polish, and the scrupulous cleanliness
-that held absolute sway around her, you would have sworn that she was
-gifted with the hundred arms of Briareus: if you had listened for
-fifteen minutes to her observations of men and things, you would have
-had a conviction amounting to absolute certainty that she possessed the
-eyes of Argus. Nobody ever doubted that she was a most religious person.
-She attended to all her religious duties with most edifying exactness.
-She was always in her seat at church, and could tell you, to a bonnet
-ribbon, the dress of every person who honoured the sacred edifice with
-his or her presence. If you would know who of the congregation were so
-lacking in fervour of spirit as to neglect to bow in the creed, or to
-commit the impropriety of nodding during the sermon, Mrs. Grundy could
-give you all the information you could wish. She carried out the divine
-precept to the letter: she watched as well as prayed. But her religion
-did not waste itself in mere devotional ecstasy; it took the most
-attractive form of religion--that of active benevolence. And her pious
-philanthropy was not of that exclusively telescopic character that looks
-out for the interests of the Cannibal Islands and the king thereof, and
-cannot understand that there is any spiritual destitution nearer home.
-She subscribed, it is true, to support the missionaries with their wives
-and numerous children, who were devoted to the godly work of converting
-the Chinese and the Juggernauts; but she did something also in the way
-of food and flannel for the victims of want in her own neighbourhood.
-She established a sewing circle in the parish where she lived, and never
-appeared happier than when busily engaged with her female companions in
-their weekly task and talk. I am afraid that there was other sowing done
-in that circle besides plain sewing. The seeds of domestic unhappiness
-and strife were carried from thence into all parts of the parish.
-Reputations as well as garments took their turn among those benevolent
-ladies, and were cut out, and fitted, and basted, and sewed up, and
-overcast. The sewing circle was Mrs. Grundy's confessional. Do not
-misapprehend me--I would not asperse her character by accusing her of
-what are known at the present day as "Romanizing tendencies"; for she
-lived long before the "scarlet fever" invaded the University of Oxford
-and carried off its victims by hundreds; and nobody ever suspected her
-of any desire to tell her own offences in the ear of any human being.
-No, she detested the Roman confessional in a becoming manner; but she
-upheld, by word and example, that most scriptural institution, the
-sewing circle--the Protestant confessional, where each one confesses,
-not her own sins, but the sins of her neighbours. Mrs. Grundy's success
-with her favourite institution encouraged others to emulate her example;
-and now sewing circles are common wherever the mother tongue of that
-benevolent lady is spoken. It must in justice be acknowledged that there
-are few institutions of human invention which have departed from the
-spirit of their original founder so little as the sewing circle.
-
-Yet, in spite of all her virtues as a housekeeper, a philanthropist, and
-a Christian, Mrs. Grundy had her enemies. Some people were uncharitable
-enough to say that she was the cause of more trouble than all the rest
-of the female population of the town. They accused her of setting
-herself up as a censor, and giving judgments founded upon hearsay
-testimony rather than sound legal evidence. They even said that she made
-her visits among the poor a cloak for the gratification of her
-inquisitiveness; and, if it is ever pardonable to judge of the motives
-of a fellow-being, I think that, in consideration of their exasperation,
-they must be excused for making so unkind a charge, it seemed to be so
-well founded. Far be it from me to say that Mrs. Grundy ever wilfully
-misrepresented. She would have shrunk instinctively from a falsehood.
-But she delighted to draw inferences; and no fact or rumour ever came to
-her without being classified properly in her mental history of her
-neighbours, and being made to shed its full influence upon her next
-conversation. It is astonishing how much one pair of eyes and ears will
-do in the collection of information when a person is devoted to it in
-earnest. In her younger days, Mrs. Grundy had taken pleasure in watching
-her neighbours and keeping up a running commentary on their movements;
-as she advanced in life, it became her business. Her efforts in that way
-were rather in the style of an amateur up to the time of her marriage;
-afterwards she adopted a professional air. She placed herself at her
-favourite window, ornamenting its seat with her spools, and though she
-stitched away with commendable industry, nothing escaped her that came
-within range of her keen powers of observation.
-
-If Mr. Brown called on Mrs. White over the way, Mrs. Grundy set it down
-as a remarkable occurrence: if he repeated his visit a week later, she
-would not declare it positively scandalous, but it was evident that her
-nicer sense of propriety was deeply wounded: if he passed by the door
-without calling, it was clear that there had been a falling out--that
-Mrs. White had seen the error of her ways, or that her husband had, and
-had given Brown a warning. If a stranger was seen exercising Jones's
-bell-pull on two consecutive days, this indefatigable woman allowed not
-her eyes to sleep nor her eyelids to slumber until she had satisfied
-herself concerning his name and purpose. If Mr. Thompson waited upon
-pretty Miss Jenkins home in a shower, and treated her kindly and
-politely, (and who could do otherwise with a young angel in blue and
-drab, who might charm a Kaffir or a Sepoy into urbanity?) Mrs. Grundy
-straightway instituted inquiries among all the neighbours as to whether
-it was true that they were engaged. After this fashion did Mrs. Grundy
-live. Her words have been known to blast a reputation which under the
-sunshine of prosperity and the storms of misfortune had sustained itself
-with equal grace and honour. It was useless to bring up proofs of a life
-of integrity against her sentence or her knowing smile. There was no
-appeal from her decision. Not that she was uncharitable,--only it did
-seem as if she were rather more willing to believe evil of her
-neighbours than good; and she appeared slow to trust in the repentance
-of any one who had ever fallen into sin, especially if the person were
-of her own sex. I am not complaining of this peculiarity; we must be
-circumspect and strict, and mercy is a quality too rare and divine to be
-wasted on every trivial occasion. But I cannot help thinking that, if
-the penitent found it as hard to gain the absolving smile of that Power
-to which alone we are answerable for our misdeeds as to reinstate
-himself in the good graces of Mrs. Grundy, how few of us could have any
-hope of the beatific vision!
-
-Mrs. Grundy had great influence; she was respected and feared. People
-found that she would give her opinion _ex cathedra_, and that, however
-unfounded that opinion might be, there were those who would re�cho it
-until common repetition gave it the force of truth; so they tried to
-conciliate her by graduating their actions according to what they
-supposed would be her judgment. When this was seen, she began to be
-envied by some who had once hated her, and her idiosyncrasies were made
-the study of many of her sex who longed to share her empire over the
-thoughts and actions of their fellow-creatures. Thus, by a sort of
-multiplex metempsychosis, were Mrs. Grundy's virtues perpetuated, and
-she was endowed with a species of omnipresence. In this country Mrs.
-Grundy is a power. She is the absolute sovereign of America. Her reign
-there is none to dispute. Our national motto ought to be, instead of _E
-pluribus unum_, "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" There is no class in our
-community over which she does not exercise more or less power. Our
-politicians, when they cease to regard their influence as a commodity to
-be sold to the highest bidder, act, not from any fixed principles, but
-with a single eye to the good will of Mrs. Grundy. If a man is buying a
-house, it is ten chances to one that Mrs. Grundy's opinion concerning
-gentility of situation will carry the day against cosiness and real
-comfort. If your wife or daughter goes to buy a dress, Mrs. Grundy's
-taste will be consulted in preference to the durability of the fabric or
-the condition of your purse. Mrs. Grundy dictates to us how we shall
-furnish our houses, and prescribes to us our whole rule of life. Under
-her stern sway, multitudes are living beyond their means, and trying to
-avert the bankruptcy and unhappiness that inevitably await them. It is
-not merely in the management of temporal affairs that Mrs. Grundy makes
-her power felt. Her vigilance checks many a generous impulse, stands
-between the resolution to do justice and its execution, and is a
-fruitful source of hypocrisy. She presides over the pulpit; the power of
-wardens and vestrymen is swallowed up by her; and the minister who can
-dress up his weekly dish of moral commonplaces so as not to offend her
-discriminating taste deserves to retain his place, and merits the
-unanimous admiration of the whole sewing circle. She is to be found in
-courts of law, animating the opposing parties, and enjoying the contest;
-actions of slander are an agreeable recreation to her; petitions for
-divorce give her unmixed joy. Like the fury, Alecto, so finely described
-by Virgil, Mrs. Grundy can arm brothers to deadly strife against each
-other, and stir up the happiest homes with infernal hatred; to her
-belong a thousand woful arts--_Sibi nomina mille, mille nocendi artes_.
-Mrs. Grundy's philanthropy confines itself to no particular class; it is
-universal. Nothing that relates to human kind is alien to her. There is
-nothing earthly so high that she does not aspire to control it, nor any
-thing too contemptible for her not to wish to know all about it.
-
-Mrs. Grundy is omnipresent. Go where you will, you cannot escape from
-her presence. She stands guard unceasingly over your front door and back
-windows. Her watchful eye follows you whene'er you take your walks
-abroad. Your name is never mentioned that she is not by, and seriously
-inclined to hear aught that may increase her baleful stock of knowledge.
-It is all the same to her whether you have lived uprightly or viciously;
-beneath her Gorgon glance all human actions are petrified alike. And if
-she does not succeed in sowing discord around your hearthstone, and in
-driving you to despair and self-murder, as she did poor Henry Herbert
-the other day, it will be because you are not cursed with his fiery
-sensitiveness, and not because she lacks the will to do it.
-
-There is but one way in which the Grundian yoke can be thrown off. We
-must treat her as the English wit treated an insignificant person who
-had insulted him; we must "let her alone severely." We pay a certain
-kind of allegiance to her if we take notice of her for the purpose of
-running counter to her notions. We must ignore her altogether. It is
-true, this requires a great deal of moral courage, particularly in a
-country where every body knows every body else's business; but it is an
-easier task to acquire that courage than to submit patiently to Mrs.
-Grundy's dictation and interference. Who shall estimate the happiness of
-that millennial period when we shall cease to ask ourselves before our
-every action, "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" and shall begin in earnest to
-live up to the golden rule that counsels us to mind our own business?
-When that day comes, what a world this will be! How will superficial
-morality and skin-deep propriety, envy and uncharitableness, be
-diminished! How will contentment, and mutual good will, and domestic
-peace be augmented! Think on these things, O beloved reader; mind your
-own business, and the day is not far distant when, for you at least, the
-iron sceptre of Dame Grundy shall be powerless, and the spell broken
-that held you in so humiliating a thraldom.
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
-
-
-Life is what we make it. The same scenes wear a very different
-appearance to an ingenuous youth "in the bright morning of his virtues,
-in the full spring blossom of his hopes," and to the disappointed wretch
-who gazes on them "with the eyes of sour misanthropy." The horse that
-was turned by his benevolent owner into a carpenter's shop, with a pair
-of green spectacles prefixed to his nose, and mistook the dry pine
-shavings for his legitimate fodder, was very much in the condition of a
-youth looking upon life and yielding to the natural enthusiasm of his
-unwarped spirit. Like the noble brute, however, the young man is
-undeceived as soon as he tries to sustain himself with the vanities
-which look so tempting and nutritious. He may, like a Wolsey, a Charles
-V., or a Napoleon, attain to the heights of power before the delusive
-glasses drop off; but even though the moment be delayed until he lies
-gasping in the clutch of that monarch to whom the most absolute of
-sovereigns and the most radical of republicans alike must yield
-allegiance, it is sure to come, and show him the ashes that lay hid
-beneath the fair, ripe-looking rind of the fruit he climbed so high to
-obtain. Life passes before us like a vast panorama, day by day and year
-by year unrolling and disclosing new scenes to charm us into
-self-forgetfulness. At one time, we breathe the bracing air of the
-mountains; at another, our eyes are gladdened by the sight of sunshiny
-meadows, or of fertile and far-reaching prairies; and then the towered
-city, with its grove of masts and its busy wharves, makes all mere
-natural beauty seem insignificant in comparison with the enterprise and
-ambition of man; until, at last, the canvas is rolled away, the music
-ceases, the lights are put out, and we are left to realize that all in
-which we delighted was but an illusion and a "fleeting show."
-
-Nevertheless, in spite of the vanities that surround us,--in spite of
-the sublime world-sickness of Solomon and the Preacher, and the fierce
-satire of Juvenal, (who was as anxious to ascertain the precise weight
-of Hannibal as if that illustrious _dux_ had been a
-prize-fighter,)--there is considerable reality in life. The existence of
-so much sham and make-believe implies the existence of the real and
-true. Sir Thomas Browne tells us that "in seventy or eighty years a man
-may have a deep gust of the world"; and it were indeed melancholy if any
-one with hair as gray as mine should look despairingly over the field of
-human existence and effort, and cry, "All is barren."
-
-Life, as I have before said, is whatever we choose to make it. Its true
-philosophy is that divine art which enables us to transmute its every
-moment into the pure gold of heroic and changeless immortality. Without
-that philosophy, it is impossible for the world not to seem at times as
-it did to the desponding Danish prince, "a sterile promontory," and a
-"foul and pestilent congregation of vapours." Without it, life is like
-an elaborate piece of embroidery, looked at from the wrong side; we
-cannot but acknowledge the brilliancy of some of its threads, and the
-delicate texture of the work, but its lack of system, and of any
-appearance of utility, fatigues the mind that hungers after perfection,
-and tempts it to doubt the divine wisdom and goodness from which it
-originated. With it, however, we gaze with admiration and awe upon the
-front of the same marvellous work. Our sense is no longer puzzled by any
-straggling threads, or loose ends; the exquisite colours, the contrast
-of light and shade, and the perfect symmetry and harmony of the design,
-fill the heart of the beholder with wonder and delight, and draw him
-nearer to the source of those ineffable perfections which are but
-imperfectly symbolized in the marvels of the visible universe.
-
-The philosophy which can do all this is _sincerity_. "I think sincerity
-is better than grace," says Mr. T. Carlyle; and the Scotch savage is
-right. All the amenities of life that spring from any other source than
-a true heart, are but gratuitous hypocrisy. The kind-hearted knight whom
-I have already quoted showed how highly he esteemed this virtue when he
-said, "Swim smoothly in the stream of nature, _and live but one man_."
-This double existence, that most of us support,--that is, what we really
-are, and what we wish to be considered,--is the source of many of our
-faults, and most of our vexation and wretchedness. He is the truly happy
-man who forgets that "appearances must be kept up," and remembers only
-that "each of us is as great as he appears in the sight of his Creator,
-and no greater." A great French philosopher has truly said, "How many
-controversies would be terminated, if the disputants were obliged to
-speak out exactly what they thought!" And surely he might have gone
-farther in the same line of thought; for how much heartburning, domestic
-unhappiness, dishonesty, and shameful poverty might be prevented, if my
-neighbour Jinkins and his wife were content to pass in the world for
-what they are, instead of assuming a princely style of living that only
-makes their want of true refinement more apparent, and if Johnson and
-his wife could be induced not to imitate the vulgar follies of the
-Jinkinses! Believe me, incredulous reader, there is more wisdom in old
-Sir Thomas's exhortation to "live but one man" than appears at first
-sight.
-
-But to leave this great primary virtue, which policy teaches most men to
-practise, though they love it not,--there are two or three principles of
-action which I have found very useful in my career, and which form a
-part of my philosophy of life. The first is, never to anticipate
-troubles. Many years ago, I was travelling in a part of our common
-country not very thickly settled, and, coming to a place where two roads
-met, I applied, in my doubt as to which one I ought to take, to an old
-fellow (with a pair of shoulders like those of Hercules, and a face on
-which half a century of sunshine, and storm, and toddies had made an
-indelible record) who was repairing a rickety fence by the wayside. He
-scanned me with a look that seemed to take in not only my personal
-appearance, but the genealogy of my brave ancestor, who might have
-fallen in a duel if he had not learned how "to distinguish between the
-man and the act," and then directed me to turn to the left, as that road
-saved some three or four miles of the distance to the farm-house to
-which I was journeying. As it was spring-time, I manifested some anxiety
-to know whether the freshets, which had been having quite a run of
-business in some parts of the country, had done any damage to a bridge
-which I knew I must cross if I took the shorter road. He sneered at my
-forethought, and said he supposed that the bridge was all right, and
-that I had better "go ahead, and see." I was acting upon his advice,
-when a shout from his hoarse, nasal voice caused me to look back. "I
-say, young man," he bawled out to me, "never cross a bridge till you
-come to it!" There was wisdom in the old man's rough-spoken
-sentence--"solid chunks of wisdom," as Captain Ed'ard Cuttle would fain
-express it--and it sank deep into my memory. There are very few of us
-who have not a strong propensity to diminish our present strength by
-entertaining fears of future weakness. If we could content ourselves to
-"act in the living present,"--if we could keep these telescopic evils
-out of sight, and use all our energies in grappling with the
-difficulties that actually beset our path,--how much more we should
-achieve, and how greatly would our sum of happiness be increased!
-
-Another most salutary principle in my philosophy is, never to allow
-myself to be frightened until I have examined and fairly established the
-necessity of such a humiliation. I adopted this principle in my
-childhood, being led to it in the following manner: I was visiting my
-grandfather, who lived in a fine old mansion-house in the country, with
-high wainscotings, capacious fireplaces, heavy beams in the ceilings,
-and wide-arching elms overshadowing the snug porch where two or three
-generations had made love. Sixty years and more have elapsed since that
-happy time, yet it seems fresher in my memory than the events of only
-quarter of a century back. My grandfather was a lover of books, and
-possessed a good deal of general information. He thought it as advisable
-to keep up with the history of his own times as to be skilled in that of
-empires long since passed away. It is not to be wondered at that he
-should have treasured every newspaper--especially every foreign
-journal--that he could lay his hands upon. It was under his auspices
-that I first read the dreadful story of the Reign of Terror, and
-acquired my anti-revolutionary principles.
-
-I shall never forget the bright autumnal afternoon when the mail coach
-from Boston brought a package of books and papers to my grandfather. It
-was the last friendly favour, in fact the last communication, that he
-ever received from his old Tory friend, Mr. Barmesyde, whom I mentioned
-with respect in a former essay; for that genial old gentleman died in
-London not long after. The parcel had made a quick transit for those
-days, Mr. Barmesyde's letter being dated only forty-six days before it
-was opened by my grandsire, and we enjoyed the strong fragrance of its
-uncut contents together. The old gentleman seized upon a copy of Burke's
-splendid Essay on the French Revolution, which the package contained,
-and left me to revel in the newspapers, which were full of the dreadful
-details of that bloody Saturnalia. I got leave from my grandfather (who
-was so deep in Burke that he answered me at random) to sit up an hour
-later than usual. Terrible as all the things of which I read seemed to
-my young mind, there was a fascination about the details of that
-sanguinary orgie that completely enchanted me. My imagination was full
-of horrible shapes when I was obliged to leave the warm, cheerful
-parlour, and Robespierre, Danton, and Marat were the infernal
-chamberlains that attended me as I went up the broad, creaking staircase
-unwillingly to bed. A fresh north-west breeze was blowing outside, and
-the sere woodbines and honeysuckles that filled the house with
-fragrance, and gave it such a rural look in summer, startled me with
-their struggles to escape from bondage. Had it been spring, my young
-imagination was so excited that I should have feared that they might
-imitate the insurgents of whom I had been reading and begin to shoot! In
-the night my troubled slumbers were disturbed by a noise that seemed to
-me louder than the discharge of a heavy cannon. I sat up in the high,
-old-fashioned bed, and glared around the room, which was somewhat
-lighted by the beams of the setting moon. There was no mistake about my
-personal identity--I was neither royalist nor jacobin; there was no
-doubt that I was in the best "spare chamber" of my grandfather's house,
-and not in the Bastile, and that the dark-looking thing in the corner
-was a solid mahogany chest of drawers, and not a guillotine; but all
-these things only served to increase my terror when I noticed a dark
-form standing near the foot of the bed and staring at me with pale,
-fiery eyes. I rubbed my own eyes hard, and pinched myself severely, to
-make sure that I was awake. The room was as still as the great chamber
-in the pyramid of Cheops. I could hear the old clock tick at the foot of
-the stairs as plainly as if I had been shut up in its capacious case. In
-the midst of my perturbation it made every fibre of my frame tremble by
-striking _one_ with a solemn clangour that I thought must have waked
-every sleeper in the house. The stillness that followed was deeper and
-more terrifying than before. I heard distinctly the breathing of the
-monster at the foot of the bed. I tried to whistle at the immovable
-shape, but I had lost the power to pucker. At last, I formed a desperate
-resolution. I knew that, if the being whose big, fierce eyes filled me
-with terror were a genuine supernatural fiend, it was all over with me,
-and I might as well give up at once. But, if perchance a human form were
-hid beneath that dreadful disguise, there was some room for hope of
-ultimate escape. To settle this point, therefore, became necessary to my
-peace of mind, and I determined that it should be done. Bending up "each
-corporal agent to the terrible feat," I slid quietly out of bed. The
-monster was as motionless as before, but I noticed that his head was
-covered with a white cloth, which made his head seem ghastlier than
-ever. Setting my teeth firmly together, and clinching my little fists to
-persuade myself that I was not afraid, I made the last, decisive effort.
-I walked across the room, and stood face to face with that formidable
-shape. My grandfather's best coat hung there against the wall, its
-velvet collar protected from the dust by a white cloth, and the two gilt
-buttons on its back glittering in the moonlight. This was the tremendous
-presence that had appalled me. The weakness in the knees, the chattering
-of my teeth, and the profuse perspiration which followed my recognition
-of that harmless garment, bore witness to the severity of my fright.
-Before I crawled back into the warm bed, I resolved never in future to
-yield to fear, until I had ascertained that there was no escape from it;
-and I have had many occasions since to act upon that principle.
-
-Speaking of fear, a friend of mine has a favourite maxim, "Always do
-what you are afraid to do;" to which (in a limited sense, so far as it
-relates to bodily fear) I subscribed even in my boyhood. I was returning
-one evening to my grandfather's house, during one of my vacation visits,
-and yielded to the base sentiment of timidity so far as to choose the
-long way thither by the open road, rather than to take the short cut,
-through the graveyard and a little piece of woodland, which was the
-ordinary path in the daytime. I pursued my way, thinking of what I had
-done, until I got within sight of the old mansion and its guardian elms,
-when shame for my own cowardice compelled me to retrace my steps a
-quarter of a mile or more, and take the pathway I had so foolishly
-dreaded. The victory then achieved has lasted to this hour. Dead people
-and their habitations have not affrighted me since; indeed, some grave
-men whom I have met have excited my mirth rather than my fears.
-
-But overcome our fears and our propensity to borrow trouble, as we
-may,--in spite of all our philosophy, life is a severe task. I have
-heard of a worthy Connecticut parson of the old school, who enlarged
-upon the goodness of that Providence which dealt out time to a man,
-divided into minutes, and hours, and days, and months, and years,
-instead of giving it to him, as it were, in a lump, or in so large a
-quantity that he could not conveniently use it! Laugh as much as you
-please, gentle reader, at the seeming absurdity of the venerable divine,
-but do not neglect the great truth which inspired his thought. Do not
-forget what a great mercy it is that we are obliged to live but one day
-at a time. Do not overlook the loving kindness which softens the memory
-of past sorrows, and conceals from us those which are to come. I have no
-respect for that newest heresy of our age, which pretends to read the
-secrets of the unseen world, nor any sympathy with those morbid minds
-that yearn to tear away the veil which infinite wisdom and mercy hangs
-between us and the future. With all our boasted learning we know little
-enough; but that little is far too much for our happiness. How many of
-our trials and afflictions could we have borne, if we had been able to
-foresee their full extent and to anticipate their combined poignancy?
-Truly we might say with Shakespeare,--
-
-      "O, if this were seen,
-    The happiest youth--viewing his progress through,
-    What perils past, what crosses to ensue--
-    Would shut the book, and sit him down and die."
-
-He only is the true philosopher who uses life as the usurer does his
-gold, and employs each shining hour so as to insure an ever-increasing
-rate of interest. He does not bury his gift, nor waste it in frivolity.
-Like the old Doge of Venice, he grows old but does not wear out:
-_Senescit, non segnescit_. And he truly lives twice, as an old classical
-poet expresses it, inasmuch as he renews his enjoyment of the past in
-the recollection of his good actions and of pleasures "such as leave no
-sting behind."
-
-
-
-BEHIND THE SCENES
-
-
-There is no pleasure so satisfactory as that which an old man feels in
-recalling the happiness of his youthful days. All the woes, and
-anxieties, and heart-burnings that disturbed him then have passed away,
-and left only sunshine in his memory. And this retrospective enjoyment
-increases with every repeated recital, until the scenes of his past
-history assume a magnificence of proportion that bewilders the narrator
-himself, and sets the principles of optics entirely at defiance. It is
-with old men looking back on their younger days very much as it is with
-people who have travelled in Italy. How do the latter glow with
-enthusiasm at the mere mention of the "land of the melting lyre and
-conquering spear"! How do their eyes glisten as they tell of the time
-when they mused among the broken columns of the Forum, or breathed the
-air of ancient consecration under the majestic vaults of the old
-basilicas, or walked along the shores of the world's most beautiful bay,
-and watched the black form of Vesuvius striving in vain to tarnish with
-its foul breath the blue canopy above it! They have forgotten their
-squabbles with the _vetturini_, the draughtless chimneys in their
-lodgings, and the dirty staircase that conducted to them; the fleas,
-with all the other disagreeable accompaniments of Italian life, have
-fled into oblivion; and Italy lives in their memories only as a land of
-gorgeous sunsets, and of a history that dwarfs all other human annals.
-And so it is with an old man looking back upon his youth: he forgets how
-he cried over his arithmetic lessons; how unfilial his feelings were
-when his governor refused him permission to set up a theatre in the
-cellar; how sheepishly he slunk through all the back alleys on the day
-when he first mounted a tail-coat and a hat; how unhappy he was when he
-saw his heart's idol, Mary Smith, walking home from school with his
-implacable foe, Brown; how his head used to ache after those _noctes
-coen�que de�m_ with his club at the old Exchange Coffee House; and what
-a void was created in his heart when his crony of cronies was ordered
-off by a commission from the war department. There is no room in his
-crowded memory for such things as these. Sitting by his fireside, as I
-do now, he recalls his youth only as a season of bats and balls, and
-marbles, of sleds, and skates, and bright buttons, and clean ruffled
-collars, of Christmas cornucopias of hosiery, and no end of Artillery
-Elections and Fourths of July, with coppers enough to secure the
-potentiality of obtaining egg-pop to an alarming extent.
-
-How he fires up if you mention the theatre to him! He will allow that
-Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Warren are most excellent in their way; but bless
-your simple heart, what is the stage now compared to what it was in the
-first part of this century? And he is about right. It is useless for us,
-who remember the old Federal Street playhouse, and the triumphs of Cooke
-and the great Kean, to try to go to the theatre now. Our new theatre is
-more stately and splendid than Old Drury was, but our players do not
-reach my youthful standard. I miss those old familiar faces and voices
-that delighted me in times long past, and the stage has lost most of its
-charms. I can find my best theatrical entertainment here at home. I call
-up from among the shadows that the flickering firelight casts upon the
-wall, the tall, knightly figure of Duff, the brisk, busy, scolding Mrs.
-Barnes, the sedate and judicious Dickson, the grotesque Finn, the
-stately and elegant Mrs. Powell, looking like the personification of
-tragedy, and bluff old Kilner, fat and pleasant to the sight, and with
-that hearty laugh that made all who heard it love him.
-
-What is the excitement occasioned by the Ellsler or Miss Lind compared
-to that which attended the advent of the elder Kean? What crowds used to
-beset the box office in the ten-footer next to the theatre, from the
-earliest dawn until the opening! I often think, when I meet some of our
-gravest and grayest citizens in their daily walks, what a figure they
-cut now compared with the days when they were fighting their way into
-the box office of the old theatre! Talk of enthusiasm! What are all our
-political campaigns and public commemorations compared with that evening
-during the last war with Great Britain, when Commodore Bainbridge came
-into Boston Bay after his victory over the Java! That admirable actor,
-the late Mr. Cooper, was playing Macbeth, and interrupted his
-performance to announce the victory.
-
-But, pardon me, I did not sit down here to lose myself in the
-reminiscences of half a century ago. Let me try to govern this truant
-pen, and keep it more closely to my chosen theme. Do you remember,
-beloved reader, your second visit to the theatre? If you do, cherish it;
-let it not depart from you, for in the days that are in store for you,
-when age and infirmity shall stand guard over you, and you are obliged
-to find all your pleasures by your fireside, the memory of your second
-play will be very precious to you. You will find, on looking back to it
-through a vista of sixty years or more, that all the pleasure you then
-enjoyed was placed on the credit side of your account, and has been
-increasing by a sort of moral compound interest during the long years
-that you have devoted to delights less innocent, perhaps, and certainly
-less satisfactory, or to the pursuit of objects far more fleeting and
-unreal than those which then fascinated your youthful mind. I say your
-"second play," for the first dramatic performance that the child
-witnesses is too astonishing to afford him its full measure of
-gratification. It is only after he has told his playmates all about it,
-and imitated the wonderful hero who rescued the beautiful lady in white
-satin, and dreamed of the splendour of the last great scene, when all
-the persons of the drama stood in a semicircle, and the king, with a
-crown of solid gold upon his head, addressed to the magnanimous hero the
-thrilling words,--
-
-    "It is enough: the princess is thine own!"--
-
-and all the characters struck impressive attitudes, and the curtain
-descended upon a tableau lighted up by coloured fires of ineffable
-brilliancy,--it is only after all these things have sunk deep into the
-young mind, and he has resolved to write a play himself, and never to
-rest satisfied until he can bring down the house with the best of the
-actors he has seen, that he fully appreciates the entertainment which
-has been vouchsafed to him.
-
-What a charm invests the place where we made our first acquaintance with
-the drama! It becomes an enchanted spot for us, and I doubt if the
-greatest possible familiarity in after life can ever breed contempt for
-it in our hearts. For my own part, I regarded the destruction of the old
-theatre in Federal Street, and the erection of warehouses on its
-hallowed site, as a positive sacrilege. And I cannot pass that spot,
-even at this late day, without mentally recurring to the joys I once
-tasted there. Perhaps some who read this may cherish similar sentiments
-about the old Tremont Theatre, a place for which I had as great a
-fondness as one can have for a theatre in which he did not see his first
-play. The very mention of it calls up its beautiful interior in my
-mind's eye,--its graceful proscenium, its chandeliers around the front
-of the boxes, its comfortable pit, where I enjoyed so much good acting,
-and all the host of worthies who graced that spacious stage. Mr. Gilbert
-was not so fat in those days as he is now, nor Mr. Barry so gray. What a
-picturesque hero was old Brough in the time when the Woods were in their
-golden prime, and the appearance of the Count Rodolpho on the distant
-bridge was the signal for a tempest of applause! Who can forget how Mr.
-Ostinelli's bald head used to shine, as he presided over that excellent
-orchestra, or how funny old Gear's serious face looked, as he peered at
-the house through those heavy, silver-bowed spectacles? Perhaps for some
-of my younger readers the stage of the Museum possesses similar charms,
-and they will find themselves, years hence, looking back to the happy
-times when Mr. Angier received their glittering quarters, and they
-hastened up stairs, to forget the wanderings of �neas and the
-perplexities of arithmetic in the inimitable fun of that prince-regent
-among comedians, Mr. William Warren.
-
-But wherever we may have commenced our dramatic experience, and whatever
-that experience may have been, we have all, I am sure, felt the
-influence of that mysterious charm which hangs over the stage. We have
-all felt that keen curiosity to penetrate to the source of so much
-enjoyment. Who has not had a desire to enter that mysterious door which
-conducts the "sons of harmony" from the orchestra to the unknown depths
-below the stage? It looks dark and forbidding, but we feel instinctively
-that it is not so, when we see our venerated uncle Tom Comer carrying
-his honest and sunshiny face through it so often. That green curtain,
-which is the only veil between us and a world of heroes and
-demigods,--how enviously do we look at its dusty folds! With what
-curiosity do we inspect the shoes of varied make and colour that figure
-in the little space between it and the stage! How do we long to follow
-the hero who has strutted his hour upon the stage into the invisible
-recesses of P. S. and O. P., and to know what takes the place of the
-full audience and the glittering row of footlights in his eyes when he
-makes his exit at the "upper entrance, left," or through the "door in
-flat" which always moves so noiselessly on its hinges! I think that the
-performance of the "Forty Thieves" awakened this curiosity in my mind
-more than almost any other play. I longed to inspect more closely those
-noble steeds that came with such a jerky gait over the distant
-mountains, and to know what produced the fearful noise that attended the
-opening of the robbers' cave. I believed in the untold wealth that was
-said to be heaped up in those subterranean depths, but still I wished to
-look at the "cavern goblet," and see how it compared with those that
-adorned the cases of my excellent friends, Messrs. Davis and Brown. I
-can never forget the thrill that shot through me when Morgiana lifted
-the cover of the oil jar, and the terrible question, "Is it time?"
-issued from it, nor my admiration for the fearlessness of that
-self-possessed maiden when she answered with those eloquent and
-memorable words, "Not yet, but presently." I believed that the compound
-which Morgiana administered so freely to the concealed banditti was just
-as certain death to every mother's son of them as M. Fousel's _Pabulum
-Vit�_ is renewed life to the consumptives of the present day; and, years
-after I had supposed my recollections of the "Forty Thieves" to have
-become very misty and shapeless, I found myself startled in an oriental
-city by coming upon several oil jars of the orthodox model, and I
-astonished the malignant and turbaned Turk who owned them, and amused
-the companion of my walks about Smyrna, by lifting the lid of one of
-them, and quoting the words of Morgiana. My superstitions concerning
-that pleasant old melodrama of course passed away when I became familiar
-with the theatre by daylight, and was accustomed to exchange the
-compliments of the morning with the estimable gentleman who played
-Hassarac; but the illusion of its first performance has never been
-entirely blotted from my mind.
-
-Some years ago it was my privilege to visit a place which is classical
-to every lover of the drama and its literature. Drury Lane Theatre, now
-that its ancient rival, Covent Garden, has passed away, and been
-replaced by a house exclusively devoted to the lyric muse, is the only
-theatre of London which is associated in every mind with that host of
-geniuses who have illustrated dramatic art from the times of Garrick to
-our own. That gifted and versatile actor, Mr. Davenport, who stands as
-high in the favour of the English as of the American public, conducted
-me through that immense establishment. We entered the door, which I had
-often looked at with curiosity as I passed through the long colonnade of
-the theatre, encountering several of those clean-shaven personages in
-clothes that would be much refreshed if they were allowed to take a nap,
-and, after traversing two or three dark corridors, found ourselves upon
-the stage. The scene of so many triumphs as have there been achieved is
-not without its attractions, even though it may look differently _en
-d�shabille_ from what it does in the glitter of gaslight. The stage
-which has been trod by the Kembles, the Keans, Siddons, Macready, Young,
-Palmer Dowton, Elliston, Munden, Liston, and Farren, is by no means an
-ordinary combination of planks. We know, for Campbell has told us, that
-
-    "----by the mighty actor brought,
-      Illusion's perfect triumphs come;
-    Verse ceases to be airy thought,
-      And sculpture to be dumb."
-
-Yet what a shadowy, intangible thing the reputation of a great actor
-would seem to be! We simply know of him that in certain characters his
-genius held the crowded theatre in willing thraldom, and made the hearts
-of hundreds of spectators throb like that of one man. Those who felt his
-wondrous power have passed away like himself; and all that remains of
-him who once filled so large a space in the public eye is an ill-written
-biography or a few hastily penned sentences in an encyclop�dia.
-
-I was too full of wonder at the extent of that vast stage, however, to
-think much of its ancient associations. Those lumbering stacks of
-scenery that filled a large building at the rear of the stage, and ran
-over into every available corner, told the story of the scenic efforts
-of Old Drury during nearly half a century. How many dramas, produced
-"without the slightest regard to expense," and "on a scale of
-unparalleled splendour," must have contributed to the building up of
-those mighty piles! The labyrinthine passages, the rough brick walls,
-darkened by time and the un-Penelope-like spiders of Drury Lane, were in
-striking contrast to the stage of that theatre as it appears from the
-auditorium. The green-room had been placed in mourning for the "goodlie
-companie" that once filled it, by the all-pervading, omnipresent smoke
-of London. Up stairs the sight was still more wonderful. The space above
-the stage was crowded full of draperies, and borders, and dusty ropes,
-and wheels, and pulleys. Davenport enjoyed my amazement, and led me
-through a darksome, foot-wide passage above the stage, through that
-wilderness of cordage to the machinists' gallery. Take all the
-rope-walks that you have ever visited, dear reader, and add to them the
-running gear of several first-class ships, and you may obtain something
-of an idea of the sight that then met my view. I have often heard an
-impatient audience hiss at some trifling delay in the shifting of a
-scene. If they could see the complicated machinery which must be set in
-motion to produce the effects they desire, their impatience would be
-changed to wonder at the skill and care which are so constantly exerted
-and make so few mistakes. A glance into two or three of the
-dressing-rooms, and a hasty visit to the dark maze of machinery beneath
-the stage for working the trapdoors, completed my survey of Old Drury,
-and I left its ancient walls with an increased respect for them, and a
-feeling of self-gratulation that I was neither an actor nor a manager.
-
-Not long after the above visit, I availed myself of an opportunity to
-make a similar inspection of the _Th��tre Fran�ais_, in the Palais Royal
-at Paris. The old establishment is not so extensive as that of Drury
-Lane, but its main features are the same. There was an air of government
-patronage about it which was apparent in its every department. The stage
-entrance was through a long and well-lighted corridor that might have
-led to a banking-house. Its green-room was a luxurious saloon, with a
-floor of tessellated walnut and oak, waxed and polished so highly that
-you could see your figure in it, and could with difficulty avoid
-becoming a lay figure upon it. Its frescoed ceiling and gilded cornices,
-its immense mirrors, and its walls covered with the portraits of several
-generations of players, whose genius has made the very name of that
-theatre venerable throughout the civilized world, were very different
-from most of the green-rooms that I had seen. In the ancient colleges in
-Italy the walls of the classrooms are hung with portraits of the
-distinguished scholars, illustrious prelates, and sometimes of the
-canonized saints, who once studied under their time-honoured roofs. In
-the same spirit, the green-room of the _Th��tre Fran�ais_ is adorned
-with busts and pictures; and the chairs that once were occupied by a
-Talma, a Mars, and a Rachel are held in honour in the place where their
-genius received its full development. The dressing-rooms of the
-brilliant company which sustains the high reputation of that house are
-in perfect keeping with its green-room. Each of the leading actors and
-actresses has a double room, furnished in a style of comfortable
-elegance. In the wardrobe and property rooms, the imperial patronage is
-visible in the richness of the stage furniture and the profusion of
-dresses made of the costliest silks and velvets. The stage, however, is
-very much like that of any other theatre. There were the same obscure
-passages, the same stupendous collection of intricate machinery, and the
-same mysterious odour, as of gas and musty scenery, pervaded the whole.
-I was permitted to view all its arcana, from the wheels that revolve in
-dusty silence eighty or ninety feet above the stage to the ponderous
-balance weights that dwell in the darkness of the second and third
-stories below it; and enjoyed it so keenly that I regretted to be told
-that I had seen all, and to find myself once more in the dazzling
-sunshine of the Rue de Richelieu.
-
-We are accustomed to speak of the theatre as a repository of shams and
-unrealities, and to contrast it with the actualities of every-day life.
-I hope that you will excuse me, gentle reader, for venturing to deny the
-justice of all such figures of speech. They are as false as that common
-use of the expressions "sunrise" and "sunset," when we know that the sun
-does not really rise or set at all. No, it is the theatre that is the
-reality, and the life we see on every side the sham. The theatre is all
-that it pretends to be--a scenic illusion; and if we compare it to the
-world around us, with its loving couples, my-dearing each other before
-folks, and exchanging angry words over the solitary tea-tray,--its
-politicians, seeking nominations and votes, and then reluctantly giving
-up their private interests and comforts for the "public good," (as the
-spoils of office are facetiously termed,)--its so-called ministers of
-the gospel, who speak of an offer of increased salary as "an opportunity
-to labour in a wider sphere of usefulness,"--and its funerals, where
-there is such an imposing show of black crape and bombazine, but where
-the genuine mourning commences only after the reading of the will of the
-deceased,--I am sure that we shall be justified in concluding that the
-fictitious affair which we try to dignify with the title of "real life"
-is a far less respectable illusion than the mimic scene that captivates
-us in the hours of relaxation.
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF CANT
-
-
-Be not dismayed, kind reader,--I have no intention of impressing you for
-a tiresome cruise in the high and dangerous latitudes of German
-metaphysics; nor do I wish to set myself up as a critic of pure reason.
-In spite of Noah Webster and his inquisitorial publishers, I still
-cherish a partiality for correct orthography; and I would not be
-understood as referring in the caption of this article to the celebrated
-founder of the transcendental school of philosophy. I cannot but respect
-Emmanuel Kant as a remarkable intellectual man; and I hope to be
-pardoned for saying that his surname might properly be anglicized, by
-spelling it with a C instead of a K. Neither did I allude to the useful
-art of saying "No" opportunely, which an excellent friend of mine (whose
-numerous virtues are neutralized by his propensity to fabricate puns in
-season and out of season) insists upon denominating the "philosophy of
-can't." That faculty which is, in more senses than one, a negative
-virtue, is unhappily a much harder thing to find than the vice of which
-I have a few words to say.
-
-I do not mean cant in the worse sense of the word, as exemplified in the
-characters of Pecksniff, Stiggins, Chadband, and Aminadab Sleek, nor
-even in those of that large school of worshippers of propriety and
-bond-servants of popular opinion, who reverse the crowning glory of the
-character of Porcius Cato, and prefer to seem, rather than to be, good.
-The cant I allude to is the technical phraseology of the various
-virtues, which some people appear to think is the same thing as virtue
-itself. They do not remember that a greasy bank-note is valueless save
-as the representative of a given quantity of bullion, and that pious and
-virtuous language is of no account except its full value be found in the
-pure gold of virtue stored away in the treasure-chambers of the heart.
-For such cant as this I have less respect than for downright hypocrisy;
-for there is something positive about the character of your genuine
-villain, which certainly does not repel me so strongly as the
-milk-and-watery characteristics of that numerous class of every-day
-people who (not being good enough to serve as examples, nor bad enough
-to be held up as warnings) are of no use whatever in their day and
-generation. What possible solace can he who deals in the set phrases of
-consolation administer to the afflicted spirit in that hour, when (even
-among the closest friends) "speech is silver, but silence is golden"?
-
-There is scarcely a subject upon which men converse, in which this
-species of cant does not play its part; but there are some matters in
-which it makes itself so conspicuous that I cannot resist the temptation
-to pay particular attention to them. And, as the subject is rather an
-extensive one, I will parley no longer in its vestibule, but pull off my
-overcoat, and make myself at home in its front parlour. I wish to make a
-few observations on cant as it manifests itself in regard to morality,
-philanthropy, religion, liberty, and progress. My notions will excite
-the sneers of some of my younger readers, I doubt not, and perchance of
-some older ones; but, while I claim the privilege of age in speaking out
-my mind, I shall try to avoid the testiness which senility too often
-manifests towards those who do not respect its opinions. Convinced that
-mine are true, I can afford to emulate "Messire de Mauprat" in his
-patience, and wait to see my fellow-men pass their fortieth birthday,
-and, leaving their folly and enthusiasm behind them, come round to my
-position.
-
-The cant of Morality is so common that it is mistaken by many excellent
-people for morality itself. To leave unnoticed the people who consider
-it very iniquitous to go to the theatre, but perfectly allowable to
-laugh at Mr. Warren on the stage of the Museum; who enjoy backgammon,
-but shrink from whist with holy horror; and who hold up their hands and
-cry out against the innocent Sunday recreations of continental Europe,
-yet think themselves justified in reading their Sunday newspapers and
-the popular magazines, or talking of the style of the new bonnets which
-made their first appearance at the morning service,--to say nothing
-about the moralists of this school, I am afraid that the prevailing
-notions on matters of greater import than mere amusement are not such as
-would stand a very severe moral test. When I see so much circumspection
-with regard to external propriety, joined with such an evident want of
-principle, it seems to me as if the Ten Commandments of the Old Law had
-been superseded by an eleventh: _Thou shalt not be found out_. When I
-see people of education in a city like Boston, dignifying lust under the
-title of a spiritual affinity, and characterizing divorce as obedience
-to the highest natural law,--and still more, when I see how little
-surprise the enunciation of such doctrines occasions,--I no longer
-wonder at infidelity, for I am myself tempted to ask whether there is
-any such thing as abstract right or abstract wrong, and to question
-whether morality may not be an antiquated institution, which humanity is
-now sufficiently advanced to dispense with. It is a blessed thing that
-we have not the power to read one another's hearts. To pass by the
-unhappiness it would cause us, what changes it would occasion in our
-moral classifications! How many men, clad in picturesque and variegated
-costumes, are labouring in the public workshops of Charlestown, or Sing
-Sing, or Pentonville, who, if the heart were seen, would be found
-worthier by far than some of those ornaments of society who are always
-at the head of their pews, and whose names are found alike on false
-invoices and subscription lists for evangelizing some undiscovered
-continent! What a different balance would be struck between so-called
-respectability in its costly silks and its comparative immunity from
-actual temptation, and needy wantonness displaying its rouge and
-Attleborough jewelry all the more boldly because it feels that the ban
-of society is upon it!
-
-And this brings me to the cant of Philanthropy. That excellent word has
-been so shamefully abused of late years, by being applied to the
-empirical schemes of adventurers and social disorganizers, that you
-cannot now say a much worse thing of a man than that he is a
-"philanthropist." That term ought to designate one of the noblest
-representatives of the unselfish side of human nature; but to my mind,
-it describes a sallow, long-haired, whining fellow, who has taken up
-with the profession of loving all men in general, that he may better
-enjoy the satisfaction of hating all men in particular, and may the more
-effectually prey upon his immediate neighbours; a monomaniac, yet with
-sufficient "method in his madness" to make it pay a handsome profit; a
-knave whose telescopic vision magnifies the spiritual destitution of
-Tching-tou, and can see nothing wanting to complete our Christian
-civilization but a willingness to contribute to the "great and good
-work," and whose commissions for disbursing the funds are frightfully
-disproportionate to the amount collected and the work done. But there is
-a great deal of the cant of philanthropy passing current even among
-those who have no respect for the professional philanthropist. With all
-possible regard for the spirit of the age, I do not believe that modern
-philanthropy can ever be made to take the place of old-fashioned
-Christian charity. Far be it from me to underrate the benevolent efforts
-which are made in this community; but I cannot help seeing that while
-thousands are spent in alms, we lack that blessed spirit of charity
-which imparted such a charm to the benevolent institutions of the middle
-ages. They seemed to labour among the poor on the principle which Sir
-Thomas Browne laid down for his charities--"I give no alms to satisfy
-the hunger of my brother, but to fulfil and accomplish the will and
-command of my God; I draw not my purse for his sake that demands it, but
-His that enjoined it." We irreverent moderns have tried to improve upon
-this, and the result is seen in legal enactments against mendicancy, in
-palatial prisons for criminals, and in poorhouses where the needy are
-obliged to associate with the vicious and depraved. The "dark ages" (as
-the times which witnessed the foundation of the greatest universities,
-hospitals, and asylums the world ever saw, are sometimes called) were
-not dark enough for that.
-
-Do what we may to remedy this defect in our solicitude for the suffering
-classes, the legal view of the matter will still predominate. We may
-imitate the kindliness of the ancient times, but we cannot disguise the
-fact that pauperism is regarded not only as a great social evil, but as
-an offence against our laws. While this is so, we shall labour in vain
-to catch the tone of the days when poverty was ennobled by the virtues
-of the apostolic Francis of Assisi and the heroic souls that
-relinquished wealth and power to share his humble lot. The voice of our
-philanthropy may be the voice of Jacob, but the hand will be the hand of
-Esau. That true gentleman and kind-hearted knight whom I have already
-quoted, had no patience with this contempt for poverty which was just
-growing into sight in his time, but is now so common; and he
-administered to it a rebuke which has lost none of its force by the
-lapse of more than two hundred years: "Statists that labour to contrive
-a commonwealth without poverty, take away the object of charity, not
-understanding only the commonwealth of a Christian, but forgetting the
-prophecy of Christ."
-
-In making any allusion to religious cant, I am sensible that I tread on
-very dangerous ground. Still, in an essay on such a subject as the
-present, revivalism ought not to go unnoticed. God forbid that a man at
-my time of life should pen a light word against any thing that may draw
-men from their worldliness to a more intimate union with their Creator.
-But the revival extravagances which last year made the profane laugh and
-the devout grieve, merit the deprecation of every person who does not
-wish to see religion itself brought into contempt. I do not believe in
-the application of the high-pressure system to the spiritual life. Some
-persons seem to regard a religious excitement as an evidence of a
-healthy spiritual state. As well might they consider a fever induced by
-previous irregularity to be a proof of returning bodily health. As the
-physician of the body would endeavour to restore the patient to his
-normal state, so too the true physician of the soul would labour to
-banish the religious fever from the mind of his patient, and to plant
-therein the sure principles of spiritual health--a clearly-defined
-dogmatic belief, and a deep conviction of the sinfulness of sin. We all
-need to be from time to time reminded that true religion is not a mere
-effervescence, not a vain blaze, but a reality which reflects something
-of the unchangeable glory of its divine Author. It is not a volcano,
-treasuring within its bosom a fierce, destructive element, sullenly
-smouldering and smoking for years, and making intermittent exhibitions
-of a power as terrible as it is sublime. No; it is rather a majestic and
-deep-flowing river, taking its rise amid lofty mountains whose snowy
-crags and peaks are pure from the defilement of our lower world, fed
-from heaven, bearing in its broad current beauty, and fertility, and
-refreshment, to regions which would else be sterile and joyless, and
-emptying at last into a shoreless and untroubled sea, whose bright
-surface mirrors eternally the splendour of the skies.
-
-That the cant of Liberty should be popular with the American tongue is
-not, perhaps, to be wondered at. A young nation,--which has achieved its
-own independence in a contest with one of the most powerful governments
-in the world,--which has grown in territory, population, and wealth
-beyond all historical precedent,--and which has a new country for its
-field of action, so that its progress is unimpeded by the relics of
-ancient civilization or the ruins of dead empires,--could not reasonably
-be expected to resist all temptations to self-glorification. The
-American eagle is no mere barnyard fowl--content with a secure roost and
-what may be picked up within sight of the same. He is the most
-insatiable of birds. His fierce eye and bending beak look covetous, and
-his whole aspect is one of angry anxiety lest his prey should be
-snatched from him, or his dominion should be called in question. In this
-regard he differs greatly from his French relative, who squats with such
-a conscious air of superiority on the tops of the regimental
-standard-poles of the imperial army, and surveys the forest of bayonets
-in which he makes his nest as if he felt that his power was undisputed.
-And we Americans are not less uneasy and wild than the bird we have
-chosen for our national emblem, and appear to think that the essential
-part of liberty consists in keeping up an endless talk about it. Our
-cant of freedom needs to be reminded of Tom Hood's observation
-concerning religious cant:--
-
-    "'Tis not so plain as the old hill of Howth,
-      A man has got his bellyful of meat,
-    Because he talks with victuals in his mouth!"
-
-With all our howling about liberty, we Americans are abject slaves to a
-theory of government which we feel bound to defend under all
-circumstances, and to propagate even in countries which are entirely
-unfitted for it. This constitutional theory is a fine thing to talk
-about; few topics afford so wide a range to the imaginative powers of a
-young orator. It is not therefore to be wondered at, that the subject
-should be so often forced upon us, and that so many startling contrasts
-should be drawn between our governmental experiment and the
-thousand-years-old monarchies of Europe. These comparisons (which some
-people who make republicanism such an article of faith, that they must
-find it hard to repeat the clause of the Lord's prayer, "Thy _kingdom_
-come,"--are so fond of drawing) remind me of the question that was
-discussed in the Milesian debating society--"Which was the greatest man,
-St. Patrick or the Fourth of July?" and the conclusions drawn from them
-are very like the result of that momentous debate, which was decided in
-the affirmative.
-
-For my own part, I have got past the age when eloquence and poetry are
-of much account in matters of such vital importance as government. When
-I buy a pair of overshoes, my first object is to get something that is
-water-proof. So, too, in the matter of government, I only wish to know
-whether the purposes for which government is instituted--the protection
-of the life, property, and personal liberty of its subjects--are
-answered; and, if they are, I am ready to swear allegiance to it, not
-caring a splinter of a ballot-box whether it be founded on hereditary
-succession or a roll of parchment, or whether its executive authority be
-vested in a president, a king, or an emperor. That is the best
-government which is best administered; it makes little difference what
-you call it, or on what theory it is built. I love my country dearly,
-and yield to no one in my loyalty to her government and laws; but
-(pardon me for being so matter-of-fact, and seemingly unpatriotic) I
-would willingly part with some of this boasted liberty of ours, to
-secure a little more wisdom in making laws, and a good deal more
-strength in executing them. I count the privilege of talking politics
-and of choosing between the various political adventurers who aspire to
-be my rulers, as a very insignificant affair compared with a sense of
-security against popular violence and the dishonesty of dealers in the
-necessaries of life. And I cannot help thinking, that for the
-inhabitants of a country where there is little reverence for authority
-or willing obedience to law, where the better class of the citizens
-refuse to take any part in politics, and where the legislative power is
-enthroned, not in the Senate, nor in the House of Representatives, but
-in the Lobby,--for the inhabitants of such a country to boast of their
-liberty aloud, is the most absurd of all the cants in this canting
-world.
-
-Little as I respect the cant of liberty, I care even less for the cant
-of Progress. I never had much patience with this worship of the natural
-sciences, which is rapidly getting to be almost the only religion among
-certain cultivated people in this quarter. I remember in my boyhood
-startling by my scientific apathy a precocious companion who used to
-bother his brains about the solar system, and one useless ology and
-another, in the precious hours which ought to have been devoted to
-Robinson Crusoe and the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. He had been
-labouring hard to explain to me the law of gravitation, and concluded
-with the bold statement that, were it not for that law, an apple, with
-which he had been illustrating his theory, instead of falling to the
-earth, might roll off the unprotected side of this sublunary sphere into
-the abyss of space,--or something to that effect. He could not conceal
-his contempt for my want of scientific ardour, when I asked him whether
-he should really care if it did roll off, so long as there was a plenty
-left! I did wrong to joke him, for he was a good fellow, in spite of his
-weakness. It is many years since he figured himself out of this
-unsatisfactory world, into a state of existence where vision is clearer
-even than mathematical demonstration, and where _x_ does not "equal the
-unknown quantity."
-
-Pardon this digression: in complaining of the vaunted progress of this
-rapid age, I am making little progress myself. It appears to me that the
-people who laud this age so highly either do not know what true progress
-is, or suffer themselves to mistake the means for the end. Your cotton
-mills, and steam engines, and clipper ships, and electric telegraphs, do
-not constitute progress; they are means by which it may be attained. If
-gunpowder, immediately after its invention, had been devoted to the
-indiscriminate destruction of mankind, could such an invention have
-justly been termed progress? If the press were used only to perpetuate
-the blasphemies and indecencies of Mazzini and Eugene Sue, who would
-esteem Gutenberg and Fust as benefactors, or promoters of true progress?
-And if the increased facilities for travel, and the other inventions on
-which this age prides itself, only tend to make men's minds narrower by
-absorbing them in material interests, and their souls more mean by
-giving them the idol of prosperity to worship, then is this nineteenth
-century a century of progress indeed, but in the wrong direction. And if
-our mode of education only augments the ratio of crime among the lower
-class, and makes superficial pretenders of the higher orders of society,
-it is not a matter which will justify our setting ourselves quite so
-high above past ages and the rest of the world.
-
-I cannot see what need nor what excuse there is for all this bragging. A
-great many strong men lived before Agamemnon,--and after him. We indeed
-do some things that would astonish our forefathers; but how are we
-superior to them on that account? We enslave the lightnings of heaven to
-be our messengers, and compel the sun to take our portraits; but if our
-electric wires are prostituted to the chicanery of trade or politics,
-and the faces which the sun portrays are expressive of nothing nobler
-than mercantile shrewdness and the price of cotton, the less we boast of
-our achievements, the better. Thucydides never had his works puffed in a
-newspaper, Virgil and Horace never poetized or lectured for a lyceum;
-Charlemagne never saw a locomotive, nor did St. Thomas Aquinas ever use
-a friction match. Yet this unexampled age possesses, I apprehend, few
-historians who would not shrink from being compared with the famous
-Greek annalist, few poets worthy to wear the crowns of the friends of
-the great Augustus, few rulers more sagacious and firm than the first
-Emperor of the West, and few scholars who would not consider it a
-privilege to be taught by the Angelic Doctor.
-
-True progress is something superior to your puffing engines and clicking
-telegraphs, and independent of them. It is the advancement of humanity
-in the knowledge of its frailty and dependence; the elevation of the
-mind above its own limited acquirements, to the infinite source of
-knowledge; the cleansing of the heart of its selfishness and
-uncleanness; in fact, it is any thing whatever that tends to assimilate
-man more closely to the divine Exemplar of perfect manhood.
-
-
-
-
-
-                               *THE END.*
-
-
-
-
-
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35412 ***</div>
 <div class="document" id="my-unknown-chum-aguecheek">
 <h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">My Unknown Chum "<em class="italics">Aguecheek</em>"</h1>
-
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
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-</div>
-<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header">
-<p class="noindent pfirst">Title: My Unknown Chum</p>
-<p class="noindent pnext">Author: Charles Bullard Fairbanks</p>
-<p class="noindent pnext">Release Date: February 27, 2011 [EBook #35412]</p>
-<p class="noindent pnext">Language: English</p>
-<p class="noindent pnext">Character set encoding: UTF-8</p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pnext" id="pg-start-line">*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***</p>
 </div>
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 </div>
@@ -12938,344 +12920,6 @@ more closely to the divine Exemplar of perfect manhood.</p>
 <p class="center large pnext"><strong class="bold">THE END.</strong></p>
 <div class="vspace" style="height: 5em">
 </div>
-<p class="pnext" id="pg-end-line">*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***</p>
-<div class="backmatter">
-</div>
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+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35412 ***</div>
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-.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

-

-.. meta::

-   :PG.Id: 35412

-   :PG.Title: My Unknown Chum

-   :PG.Released: 2011-02-27

-   :PG.Rights: Public Domain

-   :PG.Producer: Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

-   :DC.Creator: Charles Bullard Fairbanks

-   :MARCREL.ctb: Henry Garrity

-   :DC.Title: My Unknown Chum

-   :DC.Language: en

-   :DC.Created: 1912

-   :coverpage: images/cover.jpg

-

-.. role:: small-caps

-   :class: small-caps

-

-=============================

-My Unknown Chum "*Aguecheek*"

-=============================

-

-.. _pg-header:

-

-.. container::

-   :class: pgheader

-

-   .. style:: paragraph

-      :class: noindent

-

-   This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

-   almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

-   re-use it under the terms of the `Project Gutenberg License`_

-   included with this eBook or online at

-   http://www.gutenberg.org/license.

-

-   

-

-   |

-

-   .. _pg-machine-header:

-

-   .. container::

-

-      Title: My Unknown Chum

-      

-      Author: Charles Bullard Fairbanks

-      

-      Release Date: February 27, 2011 [EBook #35412]

-      

-      Language: English

-      

-      Character set encoding: UTF-8

-

-      |

-

-      .. _pg-start-line:

-

-      \*\*\* START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM \*\*\*

-

-   |

-   |

-   |

-   |

-

-   .. _pg-produced-by:

-

-   .. container::

-

-      Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.

-

-      |

-

-      

-

-

-.. figure:: images/cover.jpg

-   :align: center

-   :alt: Bookcover

-

-.. container::

-   :class: titlepage   

-

-   .. class:: center large

-   

-   | MY

-   | UNKNOWN CHUM

-   | "AGUECHEEK"

-

-   .. class:: center

-

-   | WITH A FOREWORD

-   | BY HENRY GARRITY

-

-   .. class:: center small

-

-   | NEW YORK

-   | THE DEVIN-ADAIR COMPANY

-   | 1930

-   |

-   |

-   | *THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIFTH THOUSAND*

-   |

-   |

-   | Copyright, 1912, by

-   | :small-caps:`The Devin-Adair Company`

-   |

-   | *All rights reserved by The Devin-Adair Co.*

-   |

-   | :small-caps:`Printed in U. S. A.`

-

-   .. vfill::

-

-.. ——File: 003.png

-

-   | A perfect woman, nobly planned,

-   | To warn, to comfort, and command;

-   | And yet a spirit still and bright

-   | With something of an angel light.

-

-.. contents:: CONTENTS

-   :depth: 2

-

-.. ——File: 005.png

-

-

-

-

-FOREWORD

-========

-

-.. epigraph::

-

-   | *Life is too short for reading inferior books.*

-   |

-   |     :small-caps:`Bryce.`

-

-

-In 1878 a letter of introduction to Mr. S—— of

-Detroit was instrumental in securing for me the

-close friendship of a man some twenty years my

-senior—a man of unusual poise of mind and of such

-superb character that I have ever looked upon him

-as a perfect type of Newman's ideal gentleman.

-

-My new friend was fond of all that is best in art

-and literature. His pet possession, however, was an

-old book long out of print—"Aguecheek." He spoke

-to me of its classic charm and of the recurring pleasure

-he found in reading and rereading the delightful

-pages of its unknown author, who saw in travel, in

-art, in literature, in life and humanity, much that

-other travellers and other writers and scholars had

-failed to observe—seeing all with a purity of vision,

-a clearness of intellect, and recording it with a grace

-and ease of phrase that suggest that he himself had

-perhaps been taught by the Angelic Doctor referred

-to in the closing lines of his last essay.

-

-A proffered loan of the book was eagerly accepted.

-Though still in my teens, I soon became a convert to

-all that my cultured friend had said in its praise.

-

-With the aid of a Murray Street dealer in old

-books, I was fortunate enough to get a copy for myself.

-I read it again and again. Obliged to travel

-much, I was rarely without its companionship; for I

-knew that if other reading-matter proved uninteresting,

-I could always find some new conversational

-charm in the views and words of the World-Conversant

-Author.

-

-Fearing that I weighed the merits of the work

-with a mental scale wanting in balance, I asked

-others what they thought of it. Much to my surprise,

-they had never even heard of it. In fact, in

-these thirty-four years I have found but three persons

-who knew the book at all. Recently at The

-Players I asked Mr. Evert Jansen Wendell if he

-knew "Aguecheek." "Why," said he, "it was in my

-hands only yesterday. It is in my library—my dramatic

-library." The late John E. Grote Higgens,

-President of the St. George Society, knew its interesting

-pages well; and it is, I am assured, a "prized

-unit" in the library of His Eminence Cardinal

-Farley.

-

-I lent my copy to young and old, to men and

-women of various professions and to friends in the

-world of commerce. The opinion of all might be

-summed up in the appreciation of a well-known Monsignor—himself

-an observant traveller and an ardent

-lover of "real" literature. Returning the book, he

-said, "I have read it with the greatest of pleasure,

-and have turned to it often. I could read it a hundred

-times. It is a great book. Its fine humor, its

-depth, its simplicity and high ideals, commend it to

-all, especially the highly educated—the scholar."

-

-Charles B. Fairbanks is the reputed author, but

-the records show that he died in 1859, when but

-thirty-two years old—an age that the text repeatedly

-discredits. Whether written by Mr. Fairbanks or

-not, the modest author hid his identity in an obscure

-pen-name that he might thus be free to make his book

-"his heart in other men's hands."

-

-Some necessary changes have been made in the

-text. In offering the book to the public and in reluctantly

-changing the title, I am but following the

-insistent advice of friends—critics and scholars—whose

-judgment is superior to my own. No one

-seemed to know the meaning of "Aguecheek"

-(taken, no doubt, from a character in "Twelfth

-Night"), and few could even spell or pronounce

-the word; moreover, there is not the remotest connection

-between title and text. The old book has

-been the best of comrades, "the joy of my youth, the

-consolation of my riper years." If the new name

-lacks dignity as well as euphony, the reader will, I

-am sure, understand and appreciate the spirit of

-affection that inspired "My Unknown Chum."

-

-   | :small-caps:`Henry Garrity.`

-

-.. ——File: 009.png

-

-

-

-

-SKETCHES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL

-==========================

-

-.. ——File: 013.png

-

-

-

-

-A PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC

------------------------------

-

-

-"To an American visiting Europe for the first

-time," saith Geoffrey Crayon, "the long voyage

-which he has to make is an excellent preparative."

-To the greater proportion of those who

-revisit the old world, the voyage is only an interval

-of ennui and impatience. Not such is it to the writer

-of this sentence. For him the sea has charms which

-age cannot wither, nor head winds abate. For him

-the voyage is a retreat from the cares of business, a

-rest from the pursuit of wealth, and a prolonged reminiscence

-of his youthful days, when he first trod

-the same restless pathway, and the glories of England

-and the Continent rose up resplendent before

-him, very much as the gorgeous city in the clouds

-looms up before the young gentleman in one of the

-late lamented Mr. Cole's pictures. For it is a satisfaction

-to him to remember that such things were,—even

-though the performances of life have not by

-any means equalled the promises of the programme

-of youth,—though age and the cares of an increasing

-family have stifled poetry, and the genius of Romance

-has long since taken his hat.

-

-The recollections of youthful Mediterranean voyages

-are a mine of wealth to an old man. They have

-transformed ancient history into a majestic reality

-for him, and the pages of his dog's-eared Lemprière

-become instinct with life as he recalls those halcyon

-days when he reclined on deck beneath an awning,

-and gazed on Crete and Lesbos, and the mountains

-that look on Marathon. Neither age nor misfortune

-can ever rob him of the joy he feels when he

-looks back to the cloudless afternoon when he passed

-from the stormy Atlantic to that blue inland sea,—when

-he saw where Africa has so long striven to

-shake hands with Europe,—and thrilled at the

-thought that the sea then glowing with the hues of

-sunset was once ploughed by the invincible galleys of

-the Cæsars, and dashed its angry surges over the

-shipwrecked Apostle of the Gentiles.

-

-It is rather a pleasant thing to report one's self on

-board a fine packet ship on a bright morning in May—the

-old portmanteau packed again, and thoughts

-turned seaward. There is a kind of inspiration in

-the song of the sailors at the windlass, (that is, as

-many of them as are able to maintain a perpendicular

-position at that early period of the voyage;) the very

-clanking of the anchor chains seems to speak of

-speedy liberation, and the ship sways about as if

-yearning for the freedom of the open sea. At last

-the anchor is up, and the ship swings around, and soon

-is gliding down the channel; and slowly the new gasometer,

-and Bunker Hill Monument, and the old

-gasometer (with the dome) on Beacon Hill, begin

-to diminish in size. (I might introduce a fine misquotation

-here about growing "small by degrees, and

-beautifully less," but that I don't like novelties in a

-correspondence like this.) The embankments of

-Fort Warren seem brighter and more verdurous than

-ever, and the dew-drops glitter in the sunbeams, as

-dear Nellie's tears did, when she said good-by, that

-very morning. Then, as we get into the bay, the

-tocsin calls to lunch—and the appetite for lobsters,

-sardines, ale, and olives makes us all forget how

-much we fear lest business of immediate importance

-may prevent an early return to the festive mahogany.

-And shortly after, the pilot takes his leave, and with

-him the small knot of friends, who have gone as far

-as friendship, circumstances, and the tide will allow.

-And so the voyage commences—the captain takes

-command—and all feel that the jib-boom points towards

-Motherland, and begin to calculate the distance,

-and anticipate the time when the ship shall be

-boarded by a blue-coated beef-eater, who will take

-her safely "round 'Oly'ead, and dock 'er." The day

-wears away, and the sunset finds the passengers well

-acquainted, and a healthy family feeling growing up

-among them. The next morning we greet the sea

-and skies, but not our mother earth. The breeze is

-light—the weather is fine—so that the breakfast is

-discussed before a full bench. Every body feels well,

-but sleepy, and the day is spent in conversation and

-enjoyment of the novelty of life at sea. The gentle

-heaving of the ocean is rather agreeable than otherwise,

-and the young ladies promenade the deck, and

-flatter themselves that they have (if I might use such

-an expression) their sea legs on. But the next day

-the gentle heaving has become a heavy swell,—locomotion

-is attended with great difficulties,—the process

-of dressing is a severe practical joke,—and the

-timorous approach to the breakfast table and precipitous

-retreat from it, are very interesting studies

-to a disinterested spectator. The dining-saloon is

-thinly populated when the bell rings—the gentlemen

-preferring to lounge about on deck—they have slight

-headaches—not seasick—of course not—the gentleman

-who had taken eight sherry cobblers was not

-intoxicated at all—it was a glass of lemonade, that

-he took afterwards, that disagreed with him and

-made his footing rather unsteady. But Neptune is

-inexorable, and exacts his tribute, and the payers

-show their receipts in pale faces and dull eyes,

-whether they acknowledge it or no; and many a poor

-victim curses the pernicious hour that ever saw him

-shipped, and comes to the Irishman's conclusion that

-the pleasantest part of going away from home is the

-getting back again.

-

-But a few days suffice to set all minds and stomachs

-at rest, and we settle down into the ordinary

-routine of life at sea. The days glide by rapidly, as

-Shakspeare says, "with books, and work, and healthful

-play," and as we take a retrospective view of the

-passage, it seems to be a maze of books, backgammon,

-bad jokes, cigars, *crochet*, cribbage, and conversation.

-Contentment obtains absolute sway,

-which even ten days of head winds and calms cannot

-shake off. Perhaps this is owing in a great measure

-to the good temper and gentlemanly bearing of the

-captain, who never yielded to the temptation, before

-which so many intrepid mariners have fallen, to

-speak in disrespectful and condemnatory terms of

-the weather. How varied must be the qualities

-which make a good commander of a packet ship;

-what a model of patience he must be—patience not

-only with the winds, but also with variable elements

-of humanity which surround him. He must have a

-good word for every body and a smiling face, although

-he knows that the ship will not head her

-course by four points of the compass on either tack;

-and must put aside with a jest the unconscious professional

-gentleman whose hat intervenes between

-his sextant and the horizon. In short, he must possess

-in an eminent degree what Virgil calls the *suaviter

-in* what's-his-name with the *fortiter in* what-d'ye-call-it.

-I am much disposed to think that had

-Job been a sea captain with a protracted head wind,

-the land of Uz would not have attained celebrity as

-the abode of the most patient of men.

-

-An eminent Boston divine, not long since deceased,

-who was noted alike for his Johnsonian style and his

-very un-Johnsonian meekness of manner, once said to

-a sea captain, "I have, sir, in the course of my professional

-career, encountered many gentlemen of your

-calling; but I really must say that I have never been

-powerfully impressed in a moral way by them, for

-their conversation abounded in expressions savouring

-more of strength than of righteousness; indeed, but

-few of them seemed capable of enunciating the simplest

-sentence without prefacing it with a profane

-allusion to the possible ultimate fate of their visual

-organs, which I will not shock your fastidiousness by

-repeating." The profanity of seafaring men has

-always been remarked; it has been a staple article for

-the lamentations of the moralist and the jests of the

-immoralist; but I must say that I am not greatly surprised

-at its prevalence, for when I have seen a

-thunder squall strike a ship at sea, and every effort

-was making to save the rent canvas, it has seemed to

-me as if those whose dealings were with the elements

-actually needed a stronger vocabulary than is required

-for less sublime transactions. To speak in

-ordinary terms on such occasions would be as absurd

-as the Cockney's application of the epithets "clever"

-and "neat" to Niagara. I am not attempting to

-palliate every-day profanity, for I was brought up in

-the abhorrence of it, having been taken at an early

-age from the care of the lady "who ran to catch me

-when I fell, and kissed the place to make it well,"

-and placed in the country under the superintendence

-of a maiden aunt, who was very moral indeed, and

-who instilled her principles into my young heart with

-wonderful eloquence and power. "Andrew," she

-used to say to me, "you mustn't laugh in meetin';

-I've no doubt that the man who was hung last week

-(for this was in those unenlightened days when the

-punishment of crime was deemed a duty, and not a

-sin) began his wicked course by laughing in meetin';

-and just think, if you were to commit a murder—for

-those who murder will steal—and those who steal

-will swear and lie—and those who swear and lie will

-drink rum—and then if they don't stop in their sinful

-ways, they get so bad that they will smoke cigars and

-break the Sabbath; and you know what becomes of

-'em then."

-

-The ordinary routine of life at sea, which is so irksome

-to most people, has a wonderful charm for me.

-There is something about a well-manned ship that

-commands my deepest enthusiasm. Each day is

-filled with a quiet and satisfactory kind of enjoyment.

-From that early hour of the morning when the captain

-turns out to see what is the prospect of the day,

-and to drink a mug of boiling coffee as strong as

-aquafortis, and as black as the newly-opened fluid

-Day & Martin, from No. 97, High Holborn, to that

-quiet time in the evening when that responsible functionary

-goes below and turns in, with a sententious

-instruction to the officer of the watch to "wake him

-at twelve, if there's any change in the weather,"

-there is no moment that hangs heavy on my hands.

-I love the regular striking of the bells, reminding me

-every half hour how rapidly time and I are getting

-on. The regularity with which every thing goes on,

-from the early washing of the decks to the sweeping

-of the same at four bells in the evening, makes me

-think of those ancient monasteries in the south of

-Europe, where the unvarying round of duties creates

-a paradise which those who are subject to the unexpected

-fluctuations of common life might be pardoned

-for coveting. If the rude voices that swell the

-boisterous chorus which hoists the tugging studding-sail

-up by three-feet pulls, only imperfectly remind

-one of the sounds he hears when the full choir of the

-monastery makes the grim arches of the chapel vibrate

-with the solemn tones of the Gregorian chant,

-certainly the unbroken calmness of the morning

-watch may well be allowed to symbolize the rapt

-meditation and unspoken devotion which finds its

-home within the "studious cloister's pale"; and I may

-be pardoned for comparing the close attention of the

-captain and his mates in getting the sun's altitude and

-working out the ship's position to the "examination

-of conscience" among the devout dwellers in the convent,

-and the working out of the spiritual reckoning

-which shows them how much they have varied from

-the course laid down on the divine chart, and how

-far they are from the wished-for port of perfection.

-

-I have a profound respect for the sea as a moral

-teacher. No man can be tossed about upon it without

-feeling his impotence and insignificance, and having

-his heart opened to the companions of his danger

-as it has never been opened before. The sea brings

-out the real character of every man; and those who

-journey over its "deep invisible paths" find themselves

-intrusting their most sacred confidences to the

-keeping of comparative strangers. The conventionalities

-of society cannot thrive in a salt atmosphere;

-and you shall be delighted to see how frank and

-agreeable the "world's people" can be when they are

-caught where the laws of fashion are silent, and what

-a wholesome neglect of personal appearances prevails

-among them when that sternest of democrats,

-Neptune, has placed them where they feel that it

-would be folly to try to produce an impression. The

-gentleman of the prize ring, whom Dickens introduces

-looking with admiration at the stately Mr.

-Dombey, gave it as his opinion that there was a way

-within the resources of science of "doubling-up" that

-incarnation of dignity; but, for the accomplishment

-of such an end, one good, pitching, head-sea would be

-far more effectual than all the resources of the

-"manly art." The most unbending assumption could

-not survive that dreadful sinking of the stomach, that

-convulsive clutch at the nearest object for support,

-and the faint, gurgling cry of "*stew'rd*" which announces

-that the victim has found his natural level.

-

-A thorough novitiate of seasickness is as indispensable,

-in my opinion, to the formation of true manly

-character, as the measles to a well-regulated childhood.

-Mentally as well as corporeally, seasickness

-is a wonderful renovator. We are such victims of

-habit, so prone to run in a groove, (most of us in a

-groove that may well be called a "vicious circle,")

-that we need to be thoroughly shaken up, and made

-to take a new view of the *rationale* of our way of

-life. I do not believe that any man ever celebrated

-his recovery from that marine malady by eating the

-pickles and biscuit which always taste so good on

-such an occasion, without having acquired a new set

-of ideas, and being made generally wiser and better

-by his severe experience. I meet many unamiable

-persons "whene'er I take my walks abroad," who

-only need two days of seasickness to convert them

-into positive ornaments to society.

-

-But, pardon me; all this has little to do with the

-voyage to Liverpool. The days follow each other

-rapidly, and it begins to seem as if the voyage would

-stretch out to the crack of doom, for the head wind

-stands by us with the constancy of a sheriff, and when

-that lacks power to retard us we have a calm. But

-the weather is beautiful, and all the time is spent in

-the open air. Nut brown maids work worsted and

-crochet on the cooler side of the deck, and gentlemen

-in rusty suits, with untrimmed beards, wearing the

-"shadowy livery of the burning sun," talk of the

-prospects of a fair wind or read innumerous novels.

-The evenings are spent in gazing at a cloudless sky,

-and promenading in the moonshine. Music lends its

-aid and banishes impatience; my young co-voyagers

-seem not to have forgotten "Sweet Home," and the

-"Old Folks at Home" would be very much gratified

-to know how green their memory is kept.

-

-At length we all begin to grow tired of fair

-weather. The cloudless sky, the gorgeous sunrises

-and sunsets, and the bright blue sea, with its lazily

-spouting whales and its lively porpoises playing

-around our bows,—grow positively distasteful to us;

-and we begin to think that any change would be an

-agreeable one. We do not have to wait many days

-before we are awaked very early in the morning, by

-the throwing down of heavy cordage on deck, and

-the shouts of the sailors, and are soon aware that we

-are subject to an unusual motion—as if the ship were

-being propelled by a strong force over a corduroy

-road constructed on an enormous scale. Garments,

-which yesterday were content to hang in an orderly

-manner against the partitions of one's state-room,

-now obstinately persist in hanging at all sorts of

-peculiar and disgraceful angles. Hat boxes, trunks,

-and the other movables of the voyager manifest

-great hilarity at the change in the weather, and dance

-about the floor in a manner that must satisfy the most

-fastidious beholder. Every timber in the ship groans

-as if in pain. The omnipresent steward rushes about,

-closing up sky-lights and dead lights, and "chocking"

-his rattling crockery and glassware. On deck the

-change from the even keel and the clear sunlight of

-the day before is still more wonderful. The colour

-of the sky reminds you of the leaden lining of a tea-chest;

-that of the sea, of the dingy green paper

-which covers the same. The sails, which so many

-days of sunshine have bleached to a dazzling whiteness,

-are now all furled, except those which are necessary

-to keep some little headway on the ship. The

-captain has adorned his manly frame with a suit of

-India rubber, which certainly could not have been

-selected for its gracefulness, and has overshadowed

-his honest face with a sou'wester of stupendous proportions.

-With the exception of occasional visits to

-the sinking barometer, he spends his weary day on

-the wet deck, and tries to read the future in the

-blackening waves and stormy sky. The wheel, which

-heretofore has required but one man, now taxes the

-strength of two of the stoutest of our crew;—so hard

-is it to keep our bashful ship heading up to that rude

-sea, and to "ease her when she pitches." The breakfast

-suffers sadly from neglect, for every one is engrossed

-with the care of the weather. At noon there

-is a lull for half an hour or so, and, in spite of the

-threats of the remorseless barometer, some of our

-company try to look for an amelioration in the

-meteorological line. But their hopes are crushed

-when they find that the wind has shifted one or two

-points, and has set in to blow more violently than

-before. The sea, too, begins to behave in a most

-capricious and disagreeable style. When the ship

-has, with a great deal of straining and cracking,

-ridden safely over two mighty ridges of water, and

-seems to be easily settling down into a black valley

-between two foam-capped hills, there comes a sudden

-shock, as if she had met the Palisades of the

-Hudson in her path—a crackling, grating sound,

-like that of a huge nutmeg-grater operating on a

-coral reef, a crash like the combined force of all the

-battering-rams of Titus Flavius Vespasianus on one

-of the gates of Jerusalem,—and a hundred tons of

-angry water roll aft against the cabin doors, in a

-manner not at all agreeable to weak nerves. For a

-moment the ship seems to stand perfectly still, as if

-deliberating whether to go on or turn back; then,

-realizing that the ship that deliberates in such a time

-is lost, she rises gracefully over a huge pile of water

-which was threatening to submerge her.

-

-The afternoon wears away slowly with the passengers.

-They say but little to one another, but look

-about them from the security of the wheel-house as if

-they were oppressed with a sense of the inestimable

-value of strong cordage. As twilight approaches,

-and all hands are just engaged in taking supper, after

-having "mended the reefs," the ship meets a staggering

-sea, which seems to start every timber in her

-firm-set frame, and our main-top-gallant-mast breaks

-off like a stick of candy. Such things generally happen

-just at night, the sailors say, when the difficulties

-of clearing away the broken rigging are increased by

-the darkness. Straightway the captain's big, manly

-voice is heard above the war-whoop of the gale, ringing

-out as Signor Badiali's was wont to in the third

-act of Ernani. The wind seems to pin the men to the

-ratlines as they clamber up; but all the difficulties are

-overcome at length; the broken mast is lowered

-down, and snugly stowed away; and before nine

-o'clock all is quiet, except the howling wind, which

-seems to have determined to make a night of it. And

-such a night! It is one of those times that make one

-want one's mother. There is little sleeping done

-except among the "watch below" in the forecastle,

-who snore away their four hours as if they appreciated

-the reasoning of Mr. Dibdin when he extols

-the safety of the open sea as compared with the town

-with its falling chimneys and flying tiles, and commiserates

-the condition of the unhappy shore-folks in

-such a tempestuous time. The thumping of the sea

-against our wooden walls, the swash of water on

-deck as the ship rolls and pitches as you would think

-it impossible for any thing addicted to the cold water

-movement to roll or pitch, and over all the wild,

-changeless, shrieking of the gale, will not suffer sleep

-to visit those who are not inured to such things.

-Tired of bracing up with knee, and hand, and heel,

-to keep in their berths, they lie and wonder how

-many such blows as that our good ship could endure,

-and think that if June gets up such gales on the

-North Atlantic, they have no wish to try the quality

-of those of January.

-

-Morning comes at last, and every heart is cheered

-by the captain's announcement, as he passes through

-the cabin, that the barometer is rising, and the

-weather has begun to improve. Some of the more

-hopeful and energetic of our company turn out and

-repair to the deck. The leaden clouds are broken

-up, and the sun trying to struggle through them; but

-to the inexperienced the gale appears to be as severe

-as it was yesterday. All the discomfort and danger

-of the time are forgotten, however, in the fearful

-magnificence of the spectacle that surrounds us. As

-far as the eye can reach it seems like a confused field

-of battle, where snowy plumes and white flowing

-manes show where the shock of war is felt most

-severely. To watch the gathering of one of those

-mighty seas that so often work destruction with the

-noblest ships,—to see it gradually piling up until it

-seems to be impelled by a fury almost intelligent,—to

-be dazzled by its emerald flash when it erects its

-stormy head the highest, and breaks into a field of

-boiling foam, as if enraged at being unable to reach

-us;—these are things which are worth all the anxiety

-and peril that they cost.

-

-The captain's prognostications prove correct.

-Our appetites at dinner bear witness to them; and

-before sunset we find our ship (curtailed of its fair

-proportion, it is true, by the loss of its main-top-gallant-mast)

-is under full sail once more. The next

-day we have a few hours' calm, and when a light

-breeze does spring up, it comes from the old easterly

-quarter. It begins to seem as if we were fated to sail

-forever, and never get any where. But patience

-wears out even a head wind, and at last the long-looked-for

-change takes place. The wind slowly

-hauls to the south, and many are the looks taken at

-the compass to see how nearly the ship can come up

-to her course. Then our impatience is somewhat

-allayed by speaking a ship which has been out twelve

-days longer than our own—for, if it be true, as

-Rochefoucauld says, that "there is something not

-unpleasing to us in the misfortunes of our best

-friends,"—how keen must be the satisfaction of finding

-a stranger-companion in adversity. The wind,

-though steady, is not very strong, and many fears

-are expressed lest it should die away and give Eurus

-another three weeks' chance. But our forebodings

-are not realized, and a sunshiny day comes when we

-are all called up from dinner to see a long cloud-like

-affair, (very like a whale,) which, we are told, is the

-Old Head of Kinsale. Straightway all begin to talk

-of getting on shore the next day; but when that

-comes, we find that we are drawing towards Holyhead

-very rapidly, as our favourable wind has increased

-to a gale—so that when we have got round

-Holyhead, and have taken our pilot, (that burly

-visitor whose coming every one welcomes, and whose

-departure every one would speed,) the aforesaid

-pilot heaves the ship to, and, having a bed made up

-on the cabin floor, composes himself to sleep. The

-next morning finds the gale abated, and early in the

-forenoon we are running up to the mouth of the

-river. The smoke (that first premonitory symptom

-of an English town) hangs over Liverpool, and

-forms a strong contrast with the bright green fields

-and verdant hedges which deck the banks of the

-Mersey. The ship, after an immense amount of vocal

-power has been expended in that forcible diction

-which may be termed the marine vernacular, is got

-into dock, and in the afternoon a passage of thirty-three

-days is concluded by our stepping once more

-upon the "inviolate island of the sage and free," and

-following our luggage up the pier, with a swing in

-our gait which any stage sailor would have viewed

-with envy. The examination at the Custom House

-is conducted with a politeness and despatch worthy of

-imitation among the officials of our Uncle Samuel.

-The party of passengers disperses itself about in various

-hotels, without any circumstance to hinder their

-progress except falling in with an exhibition of Punch

-and Judy, which makes the company prolific in

-quotations from the sayings of Messrs. Codlin and

-Short, and at last the family which never had its

-harmonious unity disturbed by any thing, is broken

-up forever.

-

-Liverpool wears its old thriving commercial look—perhaps

-it is a few shades darker with smoke. The

-posters are on a more magnificent scale, both as regards

-size and colour, than ever before, and tell not

-only of the night's amusements, but promise the acquisition

-of wealth outrunning the dreams of avarice

-in lands beyond the farthest Thule. Melbourne and

-Port Philip vie in the most gorgeous colours with

-San Francisco; and the United States seem to have

-spread wide their capacious arms to welcome the

-down-trodden Irishman. Liverpool seems to be the

-gate to all the rest of the world. I almost fear to

-walk about lest I should find myself starting off, in a

-moment of temporary insanity, for Greenland's icy

-mountains, or India's coral strand.

-

-.. ——File: 029.png

-

-

-

-

-LONDON

-------

-

-

-Dull must he be of soul who could make the

-journey from Liverpool to the metropolis in

-the month of June, and not be lifted above himself

-by the surpassing loveliness of dear mother Nature.

-Even if he were chained to a ledger and cash book—if

-he never had a thought or wish beyond the broker's

-board, and his entire reading were the prices

-current—he must forget them all, and feel for the

-time what a miserable sham his life is—or he does

-not deserve the gift of sight. It is Thackeray, I

-think, who speaks somewhere of the "charming

-friendly English landscape that seems to shake hands

-with you as you pass along"—and any body who has

-seen it in June will say that this is hardly a figurative

-expression. I used to think that it was my enthusiastic

-love for the land of the great Alfred which

-made it seem so beautiful to me when I was younger;

-but I find that it wears too well to be a mere fancy

-of my own brain. People may complain of the humid

-climate of England, and curse the umbrella which

-must accompany them whenever they walk out; but

-when the sun does shine, it shines upon a scene of

-beautiful fertility unequalled elsewhere in the world,

-and which the moist climate produces and preserves.

-And then, too, it seems doubly grateful to the eyes of

-one just come from sea. The bright freshness of

-the whole landscape, the varied tints of green, the

-trim hedges, the luxuriant foliage which springs from

-the very trunks of the trees, and the high state of

-cultivation which makes the whole country look as if

-it had been swept and dusted that morning,—all

-these things strike an American, for he cannot help

-contrasting them with the parched fields of his own

-land in summer, surrounded by their rough fences

-and hastily piled-up stone walls. The solidity of the

-houses and cottages, which look as if they were built,

-not for an age, but for all time, makes him think of

-the country houses of America, which seem to have

-grown up in a night, like our friend Aladdin's, and

-whose frailty is so apparent that you cannot sneeze

-in one of them without apprehending a serious calamity.

-Then the embankments of the railways

-present not only a pleasant sight to the eye of the

-traveller, but a pretty little hay crop to the corporation;

-and at every station, and bridge, and crossing,

-wherever there is a switch to be tended, you see the

-neat cottages of the keepers, and the gardens thereof—the

-railway companies having learned that the expenditure

-of a few hundred pounds in this way saves

-an expenditure of many thousands in surgeons' bills

-and damages, and is far more satisfactory to all concerned.

-

-What a charming sight is a cow—what a look of

-contentment she has—ambitious of nothing beyond

-the field of daily duty, and never looking happier

-than when she comes at night to yield a plenteousness

-of that fluid without which custards were an impossibility!

-Wordsworth says that "heaven lies about

-us in our infancy"—surely he must mean that portion

-of the heavens called by astronomers the Milky Way.

-It is pleasant to see a cow by the side of a railway—provided

-she is fenced from danger—to see her lift

-her head slowly as the train goes whizzing by, and

-gaze with those mild, tranquil eyes upon the noisy,

-smoke-puffing monster,—just as the saintly hermits

-of olden times might have looked from their serene

-heights of contemplation upon the dusty, bustling

-world. The taste of the English farmers for fine

-cattle is attested by a glance at any of their pastures.

-On every side you see the representatives of Alderney's

-bovine aristocracy; and scores of cattle crop

-the juicy grass, rivalling in their snowy whiteness any

-that ever reclined upon Clitumno's "mild declivity of

-hill," or admired their graceful horns in its clear

-waters. Until I saw them, I never comprehended

-what farmers meant when they spoke of "neat

-cattle."

-

-What an eloquent preacher is an old church-tower!

-Moss-crowned and ivy-robed, it lifts its head, unshaken

-by the tempests of centuries, as it did in the

-days when King John granted the Great Charter or

-the holy Edward ruled the realm, and tells of the

-ages when England was one in faith, and not a poor-house

-existed throughout the land. Like a faithful

-sentinel, it stands guard over the humbler edifices

-around it, and warns their inhabitants alike of their

-dangers and their duties by the music of its bells.

-Erect in silent dignity, it receives the first beams of

-the morning, and when twilight has begun to shroud

-every thing in its neighbourhood, the flash of sunset

-lingers on its gray summit. It looks down with sublime

-indifference upon the changing scene below, as if

-it would reproach the actors there with their forgetfulness

-of the transitoriness of human pursuits, and

-remind them, by its unchangeableness, of the eternal

-years.

-

-At last we draw near London. A gentleman,

-whose age I would not attempt to guess,—for he was

-very carefully made up, and boasted a deportment

-which would have excited the envy of Mr. Turveydrop,

-senior,—so far forgot his dignity as to lean

-forward and inform me that the place we were passing

-was "'Arrow on the 'Ill," which made me forget

-for the moment both his appearance and his uncalled-for

-"exasperation of the haitches." Not long

-after, I found myself issuing from the magnificent

-terminus of the North Western Railway, in Euston

-Square, in a cab marked V. R. 10,276. The cab and

-omnibus drivers of London are a distinct race of

-beings. Who can write their natural history? Who

-is competent to such a task? The researches of a

-Pritchard, a Pickering, a Smyth, would seem to

-cover the whole subject of the history of the human

-species from the anthropophagi and bosjesmen to the

-drinkers of train oil in the polar regions; but the cabmen

-are not included. They would require a master

-mind. The subject would demand the patient investigation

-of a Humboldt, the eloquence of a

-Macaulay, and the humour of a Dickens—and even

-then would fall short, I fear, of giving an adequate

-idea of them. Your London cab driver has no idea

-of distance; as, for instance, I ask one the simple

-question,—

-

-"How far is it to the Angel in Islington?"

-

-"Wot, sir?"

-

-I repeat my interrogatory.

-

-.. ——File: 033.png

-

-"Oh, the Hangel, sir! Four shillings."

-

-"No, no. I mean what distance."

-

-"Well, say three, then, sir."

-

-"But I mean—what distance? How many miles?"

-

-"O, come, sir, jump in—don't be 'ard on a fellow—I

-'aven't 'ad a fare to-day. Call it 'arf a crown,

-sir."

-

-Leigh Hunt says somewhere that if there were

-such a thing as metamorphosis, Dr. Johnson would

-desire to be transformed into an omnibus, that he

-might go rolling along the streets whose very pavements

-were the objects of his ardent affection. And

-he was about right. What better place is there in

-this world to study human nature than an omnibus?

-All classes meet there; in the same coach you may

-see them all—from the poor workwoman to the genteelly

-dressed lady, who looks as if she disapproved

-of such conveyances, but must ride nevertheless—from

-the young sprig, who is constantly anxious lest

-some profane foot should dim the polish of his

-boots, to the urbane old gentleman, who regrets his

-corpulence, and would take less room if he could.

-And then the top of the omnibus, which usually carries

-four or more passengers, what a place is that to

-see the tide of life which flows unceasingly through

-the streets of London! I know of nothing which can

-furnish more food for thought than a ride on an

-omnibus from Brompton to the Bank on a fine day.

-It is a pageant, in which all the wealth, pomp, power,

-and prosperity of this world pass before you; and for

-a moral to the whirling scene, you must go to the

-nearest churchyard.

-

-London is ever the same. The omnibuses follow

-each other as rapidly as ever up and down the

-Strand, the white-gloved, respectable-looking policemen

-walk about as deliberately, and the tail of the

-lion over the gate of Northumberland House sticks

-out as straight as ever. The only great change visible

-here is in the newspapers. The tone of society

-is so different from what it was formerly, in all that

-concerns France, that the editors must experience

-considerable trouble in accustoming themselves to the

-new state of things. Once, France and Louis Napoleon

-furnished Punch with his chief materials for

-satire and amusement, and if any of the larger and

-more dignified journals wished to let off a little ill

-humour, or to say any thing particularly bitter, they

-only had to dip their pens in *Gaul*; but times are

-changed, and now nothing can be said too strong in

-favour of "our chivalric allies, the French." The

-memory of St. Helena seems to have given place to

-what they call here the *entente cordiale*, which those

-who are acquainted with the French language assure

-me means an agreement by which one party contracts

-to "play second fiddle" to another, through fear that

-if he does not he will not be permitted to play at all.

-

-To the man who thoroughly appreciates the Essays

-of Elia, and Boswell's Life of Johnson, London

-can never grow tiresome. He can never turn a corner

-without finding "something new, something to

-please, and something to instruct." Its very pavements

-are classical. And there is nothing to abate,

-nor detract from, such a man's enthusiasm. The

-traveller who visits the Roman Forum, or the Palace

-of the Cæsars, experiences a sad check when he finds

-his progress impeded by unpoetical obstacles. But

-in London, all is harmonious; he sees on every side,

-not only that which tells of present life and prosperity,

-but the perennial glories of England's former

-days. Would he study history, he goes to the Tower,

-"rich with the spoils of time"; or to Whitehall,

-where mad fanaticism consummated its treasonable

-work with the murder of a sovereign; or to the towering

-minster, to gaze upon the chair in which the

-monarchs of a thousand years have sat; or to view

-the monuments, and read the epitaphs, of that host of

-

-   | "Bards, heroes, sages, side by side,

-   | Who darkened nations when they died."

-

-Is he a lover of English literature? Here are scenes

-eloquent of that goodly company of wits and

-worthies, whose glowing pages have been the delight

-of his youth and the consolation of his riper years;

-here are the streets in which they walked, the taverns

-in which they feasted, the churches where they

-prayed, the tombs where they repose.

-

-And London wears well. To revisit it when age

-has sobered down the enthusiasm of youth, is not

-like seeing a theatre by daylight; but you think almost

-that you have under-estimated your privileges.

-How well I remember the night when I first arrived

-in the metropolis! It was after ten o'clock, and I

-was much fatigued; but before I booked myself in

-my hotel, or looked at my room, I rushed out into

-the Strand, "with breathless speed, like a soul in

-chase." I pushed along, now turning to look at

-Temple Bar, now pausing to take breath as I went

-up Ludgate Hill. I saw St. Paul's and its dome before

-me, and I was satisfied. No, I was not satisfied;

-for when I returned up Fleet Street, I looked

-out dear old Bolt Court, and entered its Johnsonian

-precincts with an awe and veneration which a devout

-Mussulman, taking the early train for Mecca, would

-gladly imitate. And then I posted down Inner Temple

-Lane, and looked at the house in which Charles

-Lamb and his companions held their "Wednesday

-nights"; and, going still farther, I saw the river—I

-stood on the bank of the Thames, and I was satisfied.

-I looked, and all the associations of English

-history and literature which are connected with it

-filled my mind—but just as I was getting into a fine

-frenzy about it, a watchman hove in sight, and the

-old clock chimed out eleven. So I started on, and

-soon reached my hotel. I was accosted on my way

-thither by a young and gayly dressed lady, whom I

-did not remember ever to have seen before, but who

-expressed her satisfaction at meeting me, in the most

-cordial terms. I told her that I thought that it must

-be a mistake, and she responded with a laugh which

-very much shocked an elderly gentleman who was

-passing, who looked as if he might have been got up

-for the part of the uncle of the unhappy G. Barnwell.

-I have since learned that such mistakes and personal

-misapprehensions very frequently occur in London in

-the evening.

-

-Speaking of Temple Bar, it gratifies me to see that

-this venerable gateway still stands, "unshaken, unseduced,

-unterrified," by any of the recent attempts

-to effect its removal. The old battered and splashed

-doors are perhaps more unsightly than before; but

-the statues look down with the same benignity upon

-the crowd of cabs and omnibuses, and the never-ending

-tide of humanity which flows beneath them,

-as they did upon the Rake's Progress, so many years

-ago. The sacrilegious commissioners of streets long

-to get at it with their crows and picks, but the shade

-of Dr. Johnson watches over the barrier of his

-earthly home. It is not an ornamental affair, to be

-sure, and it would be difficult for Mr. Choate, even,

-to defend it against the charge of being an obstruction;

-but its associations with the literature and history

-of the last two or three centuries ought to entitle

-its dingy arches to a certain degree of reverence,

-even in our progressive and irreverent age. The

-world would be a loser by the demolition of this ancient

-landmark, and London, if it should lose this,

-though it might still be the metropolis of the British

-empire, would cease to be the London of Johnson

-and Goldsmith, of Addison and Pope, of Swift and

-Hogarth.

-

-Perhaps some may think, from what I have said

-in the commencement of this letter, that my enthusiasm

-has blinded me to those great moral and social

-evils which are apparent in English civilization; but

-it is not so. I love England rather for what she has

-been than for what she is; I love the England of

-Alfred and St. Edward; and when I contrast the

-present state with what it might have been under a

-succession of such rulers, I cannot but grieve. Truly

-the court of St. James under Victoria is not what it

-was under Charles II., nor even under Mr. Thackeray's

-favourite hero, "the great George IV.,"—but

-are not St. James and St. Giles farther apart than

-ever before? Is not Lazarus looked upon as a

-nuisance, which legislation ought, for decency's sake,

-to put out of the way? What does England do for

-the poor? Nothing; absolutely nothing, if you except

-a system of workhouses, compared with which

-prisons are delightful residences, and which seems to

-have been intended more for the punishment of poverty

-than as a work of charity. No; on the contrary,

-she discountenances works of charity; when a few

-earnest men among the clergy of her divided church

-make an effort in that direction, there is an outcry,

-and they must be put down; and their bishops, whose

-annual incomes are larger than the whole treasury of

-Alfred, admonish them to beware how they thus

-imitate the superstitions of the middle ages. No;

-your Englishman of the present day has something

-better to do than to look after the beggar at his doorstep;

-he is too respectable a man for that; he pays

-his "poor rates," and the police must order the thing

-of shreds and patches to "move on"; his progress

-must not be impeded, for his presence is required at

-a meeting of the friends of Poland, or of Italy, or of

-a society for the abolition of American slavery, and

-he has no time to waste on such common, every-day

-matters as the improvement of the miserable

-wretches who work his coal mines, or of those quarters

-of the town where vice parades its deformity

-with exulting pride, and the air is heavy with pestilence.

-There is proportionably more beggary in

-London at this hour than in any continental city. And

-such beggary! Not the comfortable, jolly-looking

-beggars you may see in Rome or Naples, who know

-that charity is enjoined upon the people as a religious

-duty, but the thin, pallid, high-cheeked supplicants,

-whose look is a petition which tells a more effective

-story than words can frame of destitution and starvation.

-

-But there is another phase of this part of London

-life, sadder by far than that of mere poverty. It is

-an evil which no attempt is made to prevent, and so

-great an evil that its very mention is forbidden by the

-spirit of this age of "superficial morality and skin-deep

-propriety." I pity the man who can walk

-through Regent Street or the Strand in the evening,

-unsaddened by what he shall see on every side. How

-ridiculous do our boasts of this Christian nineteenth

-century seem there! Here is this mighty Anglo-Saxon

-race, which can build steam engines, and telegraphs,

-and clipper ships, which tunnels mountains,

-and exerts an almost incredible mastery over the

-forces of nature,—and yet, when Magdalene looks

-up to it for a merciful hand to lift her from degradation

-and sin, she finds it either deaf or powerless.

-There is a work yet to be done in London which

-would stagger a philanthropist, if he were gifted

-with thrice the heroism, and patience, and self-forgetfulness

-of a St. Vincent of Paul.

-

-I cannot resist the inclination to give in this connection

-a passage from the personal experience of a

-friend in London, which, had I read it in any book

-or newspaper, I should have hesitated to believe.

-One evening, as he was passing along Pall Mall, he

-was addressed by a young woman, who, when she

-saw that he was going to pass on and take no notice

-of her, ran before him, and said in a tone of the

-most pathetic earnestness,—

-

-"Well, if you'll not go with me, for God's sake,

-sir, give me a trifle to buy bread!"

-

-.. ——File: 040.png

-

-Thus appealed to, and somewhat shaken by the

-voice and manner, he stopped under a gaslight, and

-looked at the speaker. Vice had not impressed its

-distinctive seal so strongly upon her as upon most of

-the unfortunate creatures one meets in London's

-streets; indeed, there was a shade of melancholy on

-her face which harmonized well with her voice and

-manner. So my friend resolved to have a few words

-more with her, and buttoning up his coat, to protect

-his watch and purse, he told her that he feared she

-wanted money to buy gin rather than bread. She

-assured him that it was not so, but that she wished to

-buy food for her little child, a girl of two or three

-years. Then he asked how she could lead such a life,

-if she had a child growing up, upon whom her example

-would have such an influence; and she said

-that she would gladly take up with an honest occupation,

-if she could find one,—indeed, she did try to

-earn enough for the daily wants of herself and child

-with her needle, but it was impossible,—and her only

-choice was between starvation and the street. At

-that time she said that she was learning the trade of

-a dressmaker, and she hoped that before long she

-should be able to keep herself above absolute necessity.

-Encouraged by a kind word from my friend,

-she went on in a simple, womanly manner, and told

-him of her whole career. It was the old story of

-plighted troth, betrayed affection, and flight from

-her village home, to escape the shame and reproach

-she would there be visited with. She arrived in London

-without money, without friends, without employment,—without

-any thing save that natural womanly

-self-respect which had received such a severe blow:—necessity

-stared her in the face, and she sank before

-it. My friend was impressed by the recital of

-her misfortunes, and thinking that she must be sincere,

-he took a sovereign from his purse and gave it

-to her. She looked from the gift to the giver, and

-thanked him again and again. He continued his

-walk, but had not gone more than three or four rods,

-when she came running after him, and reiterated her

-expressions of thankfulness with a trembling voice.

-He then walked on, and crossed over to the front of

-the Church of St. Martin, (that glorious soldier who

-with his sword divided his cloak with the beggar,)

-when she came after him yet again, and seizing hold

-of his hand, she looked up at him with streaming

-eyes, and said, holding the sovereign in her

-hand,—

-

-"God bless you, sir, again and again for your kindness

-to me! Pray pardon me, sir, for troubling you

-so much—but—but—perhaps you meant to give me a

-shilling, sir,—perhaps you don't know that you gave

-me a sovereign."

-

-How many models of propriety and respectability

-in every rank of life,—how many persons who have

-the technical language of religion constantly on their

-lips,—how many of those who, nurtured amid the

-influences of a good home, have never really known

-what temptation is,—how many such persons are

-there who might learn a startling lesson from this

-fallen woman, whom they seem to consider themselves

-religiously bound to despise and neglect! I

-have a great dread of these severely virtuous people,

-who are so superior to all human frailty that they

-cannot afford a kind word to those who have not the

-good fortune to be impeccable. But we all of us, I

-fear, need to be reminded of Burns's lines—

-

-   | "What's done we partly may compute,

-   | But know not what's resisted."

-

-If we thought of this, keeping our own weaknesses

-in view, which of us would not shrink from judging

-uncharitably, or casting the first stone at an erring

-fellow-creature? Which of us would dare to condemn

-the poor girl who preserved so much of the

-spirit of honesty in her degradation, and to commend

-the negative virtues which make up so many of what

-the world calls good lives?

-

-.. ——File: 043.png

-

-

-

-

-ANTWERP AND BRUSSELS

---------------------

-

-

-It is a very pleasant thing to get one's passport

-*viséd* (even though a pretty good fee is demanded

-for it,) and to make preparations for leaving

-London, at almost any time; but it is particularly

-so when the weather has been doing its worst for a

-fortnight, and the atmosphere is so "thick and slab"

-that to compare it to pea-soup would be doing that

-excellent compound a great injustice. It is very

-pleasant to think of getting out from under that

-blanket of smoke and fog, and escaping to a land

-where the sun shines occasionally, and where the

-manners of the people make a perpetual sunshine

-which renders you independent of the weather. If

-there ever was a day to which that expressive old

-Saxon epithet *nasty* might be justly applied, it was

-the one on which I left the greasy pavements of London,

-and (after a contest with a cabman, which

-ended, as such things generally do, in a compromise)

-found myself on board one of the fast-sailing packets

-of the General Steam Navigation Company, at St.

-Catharine's Wharf, just below the esplanade of the

-Tower. The beautiful banks of the river below the

-city, the fine pile of buildings, and the rich foliage of

-the park at Greenwich, seemed to have laid aside

-their charms, and shrouded themselves in mourning

-for the death of sunshine. The steamer was larger

-than most of those which ply in the Channel; but the

-crowded cabins and diminutive state-rooms made me

-think with envy of the passengers from New York to

-Fall River that afternoon. And there was a want

-of attention to those details which would have improved

-the appearance of the boat greatly—which

-made me wish that her commander might have

-served his apprenticeship on Long Island Sound or

-on the Hudson.

-

-The company was composed of about the usual

-admixture of English and foreign beauty and manliness;

-and the English, French, Dutch, and German

-languages were confounded in such a manner as to

-bring to mind the doings of the committee on the

-construction of public works recorded in Genesis.

-Among the crowd of young Cockneys in jockeyish-looking

-caps, with travelling pouches strapped to

-their sides, there was a rather tall gentleman in a

-clerical suit, with his throat covered with the usual

-white bandages. His highly respectable look, and

-the eminently "evangelical" expression of the corners

-of his mouth, made me feel quite sure that I had

-found a character. He had three little boys with

-him; and as far as appearance went, he might have

-been Dickens's model for Dr. Blimber, (the principal

-of that celebrated academy where they had

-mental green peas and intellectual asparagus all the

-year round,) for he had the eye of a pedagogue "to

-threaten and command," and his fixed look was the

-one which my old schoolmaster's face wore when he

-turned up his wristbands, and, taking his ruler, said,

-"I am very sorry, Andrew; but you know that it is

-for your good." His conversation savoured so

-strongly of the dictionary, that, even if I had been

-blind, I should have said that the speaker had spent

-years in correcting the compositions of ingenuous

-youth. I shall not forget his look of wonder when

-he asked one of the engineers what was the matter

-with a dog that was yelping about the deck, and received

-for a reply that he tumbled off the quarter

-deck, and was *strained in the garret*. However, I

-enjoyed two or three hours' conversation with him

-very much—if it could be called conversation when

-he did all the talking.

-

-Towards evening, when we found ourselves in the

-open sea, the south-westerly swell rolled up finely

-from the Goodwin Sands, and produced a scene to

-remind a disinterested spectator of Punch's touching

-pictorial representation of the commencement of the

-continental tour of Messrs. Brown, Jones, and Robinson.

-I soon perceived that a conspicuous collection

-of white bowls, which adorned the main saloon,

-was not a mere matter of ornament. The amount of

-medicine for the prevention or cure of seasickness,

-which was taken by my fellow-voyagers from flat

-bottles covered with wicker-work, would have astonished

-the most ardent upholder of the old allopathic

-practice. But all the pitching and rolling of the

-steamer, and the varied occupations of the passengers,

-did not interfere with my repose. I slept as

-soundly in my narrow accommodations as if I had

-been within hearing of the rattling of the omnibuses

-of my native city.

-

-The next morning I was out in good season; and

-though I do not consider myself either "remote,"

-"unfriended," "melancholy," or "slow," I found myself

-upon the "lazy Scheldt," with Antwerp's heaven-kissing

-spire climbing up the hazy perspective. The

-banks of the Scheldt are not very picturesque; indeed,

-a person of the strongest poetical susceptibilities

-might approach Flanders without the slightest

-apprehension of an attack of his weakness. I could

-not help congratulating myself, though, on having

-been spared to see the country which was immortalized

-by the profanity of a great military force.

-

-We Americans usually consider ourselves up to the

-times, and are prone to sneer at Russia for being

-eleven days behind the age; but we do not yet "beat

-the Dutch" in progress, for they are half an hour in

-advance, as I found, very soon after landing, that all

-the church clocks, with a great deal of formality and

-precision, struck nine, when the hands only pointed

-to half past eight; and I noted a similar phenomenon

-while I was taking breakfast an hour after. Antwerp

-is a beautiful old city, and its quiet streets are very

-pleasant, after the tumult and roar of London; but—there

-is one drawback—it is too scrupulously clean.

-I almost feared to walk about, lest I should unknowingly

-do some damage; and every door-handle and

-bell-pull had a most unhospitable polish, which

-seemed to say with the placards in the Crystal

-Palace, "Please not to handle." Cleanliness is a

-great virtue; but when it is carried to such an extent

-that you cannot find your books and papers which

-you left carefully arranged yesterday on your table,—when

-it gets to be a monomania with man or

-woman,—it becomes a bore. How strangely the

-first two or three hours in a Dutch town strike a

-stranger!—the odd, high-gabled houses, the queer

-head-dresses, (graceful because of their very ungracefulness,)

-the wooden shoes, and the language,

-which sounds like English spoken by a toothless person.

-But one very soon gets accustomed to it. It is

-like being in an Oriental city, where the great variety

-of costumes and languages, and the different manners

-of the people, make up an *ensemble* which a stranger

-thinks will be a lasting novelty; but on his second day

-he finds himself taking about as much notice of a

-Persian caravan as he would of a Canton Street or

-Sixth Avenue omnibus.

-

-I might here indulge in a little harmless enthusiasm

-about this grand old cathedral of Antwerp. I

-might talk about the "long-drawn aisle and fretted

-vault," and give an elaborate description of it,—its

-enormous dimensions and artistic glories,—if I did

-not know that any reader who desires such things can

-find them set down with greater exactness than becomes

-me, in any of the guide books for Belgium. I

-spent the greater proportion of my waking hours in

-Antwerp under the solemn arches of that majestic

-old church. I wonder, shall we ever see any thing in

-America to remind us even faintly of the glories of

-Antwerp, Cologne, Rouen, Amiens, York, or Milan?

-I fear not. The ages that built those glorious piles

-thought less of fat dividends than this boastful nineteenth

-century of ours, and their religion was not the

-mere one-day-out-of-seven affair that the improved

-Christianity of to-day is. The architects who conceived

-and executed those marvels of sublimity never

-troubled themselves with our popular query, "Will it

-pay?" any more than Dante interrupted the inspiration

-of his *Paradiso*, or Beethoven the linked

-harmony of his matchless symphonies, with their

-solicitude about the amount of their copyright. No;

-their work inspired them, and while it reflected their

-genius, it imparted to them something of its own

-divine dignity. Their art became religion, and its

-laborious processes acts of the most fervent devotion.

-But we have reformed all that, and now inspiration

-has to give way to considerations of the

-greatest number of "sittings," that can possibly be

-provided, and if the expenses of the sacred enterprise

-can be lessened by contriving accommodation for

-shops or storage in the basement, who does not rejoice?

-There are too many churches nowadays built

-upon the foundation of the *profits*, leaving the apostles

-entirely out of the question.

-

-But while I lament our want of those wonderful

-constructions whose very stones seem to have grown

-consciously into forms of beauty, I must record my

-satisfaction at the improvement in architectural taste

-which is visible in most of our cities at home. If we

-must have banks, and railway stations, and shops, it

-is some compensation to have them made pleasant to

-our sight. Buildings are the books that every body

-unconsciously reads; and if they are a libel on the

-laws of architecture, they will surely vitiate in time

-the taste of those who become familiarized to their

-deformity. Dr. Johnson said, that "if a man's

-hands were dirty, his thoughts would be dirty"; and

-it may be declared, with much more reason, that

-those who are obliged to look, day after day, at

-ungraceful, mean, and unsubstantial objects, lose, by

-degrees, their sense of the beautiful and the harmonious,

-and set forth, in the poverty of their minds,

-the meanness of their surroundings.

-

-.. ——File: 049.png

-

-On one account I have again and again blessed the

-star that guided me to Antwerp,—that is, for the

-pleasure afforded me by its treasures of art. I have,

-in times past, fed fat my appetite for the beautiful in

-the galleries of Italy, and therefore counted but little

-on the contents of the museum and churches of this

-ancient city. Do not be frightened, beloved reader;

-I am not going to launch out into the muddy stream

-of artistic criticism. I despise most of that which

-passes current under that dignified name, as heartily

-as you do. Even the laurels of Mr. Ruskin cannot

-rob me of a moment's repose. I cannot if I would,

-nor would I if I could, talk learnedly about pictures.

-So I can safely promise not to bore you with any

-"breadth of colouring," and to keep very "shady"

-about *chiaro 'scuro*. I only wish to say that he who

-has never been in Antwerp does not know who

-Rubens was. He may know that an industrious

-painter of that name once lived, and painted (as I

-used to think, judging from most of his works that I

-had seen elsewhere) a variety of fat, flaxen-haired

-women; but of Rubens, the great master, the painter

-of the Crucifixion, and the Descent from the Cross,

-he is as ignorant as a fourth-form boy in the public

-schools of Patagonia. It is worth a month of seasick

-voyaging to see the works of Rubens and Vandyck

-which Antwerp possesses; and the only regret

-connected with my visit there has been, that I could

-not give more days to the study of them than I could

-hours.

-

-It is but fifteen miles from Antwerp to Mechlin,

-or Malines, (as the people here, in the depths of

-their ignorance, insist upon calling it,) and as a representative

-of a nation whose sole criterion is success,

-and whose list of the cardinal virtues is headed

-by Prosperity, I felt that it would be a grievous sin

-of omission for me not to stop and visit that thriving

-old town. It did not require much time to walk

-through its nice, quiet streets, and look at the pictures

-and wood carvings in its venerable churches.

-The white-capped and bright-eyed lace-makers sat in

-windows and doorways, their busy fingers forming

-fabrics, the sight of which would kindle the fire of

-covetousness in any female heart. Three hours in

-Mechlin sufficed to make me about as well acquainted

-with it as if I had daily waked up its echoes with the

-creaking of my shoes, until their thick soles were

-worn out past all hope of tapping. Selecting one of

-the numerous railways that branch out from Mechlin,

-like the reins from the hand of a popular circus

-rider in his favourite "six-horse-act," the "Courier

-of St. Petersburg," I took a ticket for Brussels, and

-soon found myself spinning along over these fertile

-plains, whose joyous verdure I had not sufficient time

-to appreciate before I found myself in the capital of

-Belgium.

-

-And what a charming place this city of lace and

-carpets is! Clean as a parlour, not a speck nor a stain

-to be seen any where, with less of Dutch stiffness

-and more of French ease, so that you do not feel so

-much like an intruder as in most other strange cities.

-Brussels is a kind of vestibule to Paris; its streets, its

-shops, its public edifices are all reflections in miniature

-of those of the French metropolis. It has long

-seemed to me so natural a preparation for the

-meridian splendours of Paris, that to go thither in

-any other way than through Brussels, is as if you

-should enter a saloon by a back window, rather than

-through the legitimate front door. In one respect I

-prefer Brussels to Paris; it is smaller, and your mind

-takes it all in at once. In the French capital, its very

-vastness bewilders you. You are in the condition of

-the gentleman whose wife was so fat that when he

-wished to embrace her, he was obliged to make two

-actions of the feat, and use a bit of chalk to insure

-the proper distribution of his caress. But in Brussels

-every thing is so harmoniously and compactly combined,

-that you can enjoy it all at once. How does

-one's mind treasure up his rambles through these fair

-streets and gay arcades, his leisurely walks on these

-spacious boulevards, or under the dense shade of this

-lovely park, his musings in this fine old church of Ste.

-Gudule, whose gorgeous windows symbolize the

-heavenly bow, and whose air of devotion is eloquent

-of the undying hope which abides within its consecrated

-precincts! How one looks back years after

-leaving Brussels, and conjures up, in his memory, its

-public monuments, from that exceedingly diminutive

-and peculiar statue near the Hôtel de Ville, which

-has pursued its useful and ornamental career for so

-many centuries, to the heroic equestrian figure of

-Godfrey of Bouillon, in the Place Royale! How

-vividly does one remember the old Gothic hall,

-which has remained unchanged during the many

-years that have passed since the Emperor Charles V.

-there laid down the burden of his power, and exchanged

-the throne for the cloister.

-

-One of the most delightful recollections of my

-term of residence in Brussels, is of a bright summer

-day, when I made an excursion to the field of Waterloo.

-Some Englishmen have established a line of

-coaches for the purpose—real old fashioned coaches,

-with a driver and a guard, which latter functionary

-performed Yankee Doodle most admirably on his

-melodious horn as we rattled out of town. The

-roadside views cannot have changed much since the

-night when the pavement shook beneath the heavy

-artillery and thundering tramp of Wellington's

-army. The forest of Soignies (or, to use its poetical

-name, Arden) looked as it might have looked before

-it was immortalized by a Tacitus and a Shakspeare;

-and its fresh foliage was "dewy with Nature's tear-drops,"

-over our two coach loads of pleasure-seekers,

-just as Byron describes it to have been over the

-"unreturning brave," who passed beneath it forty

-years ago. Our party was shown over the memorable

-field by an old English sergeant who was in the

-battle; a fine bluff old fellow, and a gentleman withal,

-who, though his head was white, had all the enthusiasm

-of a young soldier. It was the most interesting

-trip of the kind that I ever made, far surpassing

-my expectations, for the ground remains literally *in

-statu quo ante bellum*. No commissioners of highways

-have interfered with its historical boundaries.

-It remains, for the most part, under cultivation, as it

-was before it became famous, and the grain grows,

-perhaps, more luxuriantly for the chivalric blood

-once shed there. There they are, unchanged, those

-localities which seem to so many mere inventions of

-the historian, Mont St. Jean, the farm of La Haye

-Sainte, the château of Hougoumont, the orchard

-with its low brick wall, over which the chosen troops

-of France and England fought hand to hand, and the

-spot where the last great charge was made, and the

-spell which held Europe in awe of the name of Napoleon,

-and made that name his country's watchword,

-and the synonyme of victory, was broken

-forever. Perhaps I err in saying forever, for France

-is certainly not unmindful of that name even now.

-That showery afternoon, when the great conqueror

-saw his veterans, against whom scores of battle

-fields, and all the terrors of a Russian campaign,

-proved powerless, cut to pieces and dispersed by a

-superior force, to which the news of coming reënforcements

-gave new strength and courage,—that

-very afternoon a boy, without a thought of battles or

-their consequences, was playing in the quiet grounds

-of the château of Malmaison. If Napoleon could

-have looked forward forty years, if he could have

-foreseen the romantic career of that child, and

-followed him through thirty years of exile, imprisonment,

-and discouragement, until he saw him reëstablish

-the empire which was then overthrown, and

-place France on a higher pinnacle of power than she

-ever knew before, how comparatively insignificant

-would have seemed to him the consequences of that

-last desperate charge! If he could have seen that it

-was reserved to his nephew, the grandchild of his

-divorced but faithful Josephine, to avenge Waterloo

-by an alliance more fatal to England's prestige than

-any invasion could be, and that the armies which had

-that day borne such bloody witness to their unconquerable

-daring, would forty years later be united to

-resist the encroachments of the power which first

-checked him in his career of victory, he would have

-had something to think of during that gloomy night

-besides the sad events that had wrought such a fearful

-change in his condition.

-

-I returned to Brussels in the afternoon, meditating

-on the scenes I had visited, and repeating the five

-stanzas of Childe Harold in which Byron has commemorated

-the battle of Waterloo. In the evening

-I read, with new pleasure, Thackeray's graphic

-Waterloo chapter in Vanity Fair, and dreamed all

-night of falling empires and "garments rolled in

-blood." And now I turn my face towards Italy.

-

-.. ——File: 055.png

-

-

-

-

-GENOA AND FLORENCE

-------------------

-

-

-It is a happy day in every one's life when he commences

-his journey into Italy. That glorious

-land, "rich with the spoils of time" above all others,

-endeared to every heart possessing any sense of the

-beautiful in poetry and art, or of the heroic in history,

-rises up before him as it was wont to do in the

-days of his youth, when Childe Harold's glowing

-numbers gave a tone of enthusiasm to his every

-thought, and filled him with longings, for the realization

-of which he hardly dared to hope. For the

-time, the commonest actions of the traveller seem to

-catch something of the indescribable charm of the

-land to which he is journeying. The ticketing of

-luggage and the securing of a berth on board a

-steamer—occupations which are not ordinarily considered

-particularly agreeable—become invested with

-an attractiveness that makes him wonder how he

-could ever have found them irksome. If he approaches

-Italy by land from France or Switzerland,

-with what curiosity does he study the varied features

-of the Piedmontese landscape! He recognizes the

-fertile fields which he read about in Tacitus years

-ago, and endeavours to find in the strange dialect

-which he hears spoken in the brief stops of the diligence

-to change horses, something to remind him

-even faintly of the melodious tongue with whose accents

-Grisi and Bosio had long since made him familiar.

-Meanwhile his imagination is not idle, and his

-mind is filled with historical pictures drawn from the

-classical pages which he once found any thing but

-entertaining. Though he may be fresh from the

-cloudless atmosphere of fair Provence, he fancies

-that the sky is bluer and the air more pure than he

-ever saw before.

-

-It is a great advantage to enter Italy from the

-sea. In this way you perceive more clearly the national

-characteristics, and enter at once into the

-Italian way of life. You avoid in this way that

-gradual change from one pure nationality to another,

-which is eminently unsatisfactory. You do not weary

-yourself with the mixed population and customs of

-those border towns which bear about the same relation

-to Italy that Boulogne, with its multitude of

-English residents, bears to France. It was my good

-fortune when I first visited Italy, years ago, to make

-the voyage from America direct to the proud city of

-Genoa. Fifty-five weary days passed away before

-the end of the voyage was reached. Twenty-six of

-those days were spent in battling with a terrible

-north-easter, before whose might many a better craft

-than the one I was in went down into the insatiable

-depths. My Italian anticipations kept me up through

-all the cheerlessness of that time. The stormy sky,

-the wet, the cold, and all the discomfort could not

-keep from my mind's eye the vineyards, palaces,

-churches, and majestic ruins which made up the Italy

-I had looked forward to from childhood. My first

-sight of that romantic land did somewhat shock, I

-must acknowledge, my preconceived notions. I was

-called on deck early one December morning to see

-the land which is associated in most minds with perpetual

-sunshine. Facing a biting, northerly blast, I

-saw the maritime range of the Alps covered with

-snow and looking as relentless as arctic icebergs. My

-disappointment was forgotten, however, two mornings

-after, when Genoa, wearing "the beauty of the

-morning," lay before our weather-beaten bark. It

-was something to remember to my dying day—that

-approach to the city of palaces. Surrounded by its

-amphitheatre of hills crested on every side with

-heavy fortifications, its palaces, and towers, and

-domes, and terraced gardens rising apparently from

-the very edge of that tideless sea, there sat Genoa,

-surpassing in its splendour the wildest imaginings of

-my youth. I shall never forget the thrill that ran

-through every fibre of my frame, when the sun rose

-above those embattled ridges, and poured his flood

-of saffron glory over the whole wonderful scene,

-and the bells from a hundred churches and convents

-rang out as cheerily as if the sunbeams made them

-musical, like the statue in the ancient fable, and there

-was no further need of bell ropes. The astonishment

-of Aladdin when he rubbed the lamp and saw

-the effects of that operation could not have equalled

-mine, when I saw Genoa put on the light and life of

-day like a garment. It was like a scene in a theatrical

-pageant, or one of the brilliant changes in a

-great firework, so instantaneous was the transition

-from the subdued light and calmness of early morning

-to the activity and golden light of day. All the

-discomfort of the eight preceding weeks was forgotten

-in the exultation of that moment. I had

-found the Italy of my young dreams, and my happiness

-was complete.

-

-This time, however, I entered Italy from the

-north. I pass by clean, prosperous-looking Milan,

-with its elegant churches, and its white-coated Austrian

-soldiers standing guard in every public place.

-I have not a word of lament to utter at seeing a

-stranger force sustaining social order there. It is

-better that it should be sustained by a despotism far

-more cruel than that of Austria, than to become the

-prey of that sanguinary anarchy which is dignified in

-Europe with the name of republicanism. The most

-absolute of all absolute monarchies is to be preferred

-to the best government that could possibly be built

-upon such a foundation as Mazzini's stiletto. Far

-better is the severest military despotism than the irresponsible

-tyranny of those who deny the first principles

-of government and common morality, and who

-seem to consider assassination the chief of virtues

-and the most heroic of actions. I pass by that magnificent

-cathedral, with its thousands of pinnacles and

-shining statues piercing the clear atmosphere like the

-peaks of a stupendous iceberg, and its subterranean

-chapel, glittering with precious metals and jewels,

-where, in a crystal shrine, repose the relics of the

-great St. Charles, and the lamps of gold and silver

-burn unceasingly, and symbolize the shining virtues of

-the self-forgetful successor of St. Ambrose, and the

-glowing gratitude of the faithful Milanese for his

-devotion to the welfare of their forefathers.

-

-I lingered among the attractions of Genoa for a

-few days. I enjoy not only those magnificent palaces

-with their spacious quadrangles, broad staircases,

-and sculptured façades, but those narrow, winding

-streets of which three quarters of the city are composed—so

-narrow indeed that a carriage never is

-seen in them, and a donkey, pannier-laden, after the

-manner of Ali Baba's faithful animal, compels you to

-keep very close to the buildings. Genoa is the very

-reverse of Philadelphia. Its streets are as narrow

-and crooked as those of Philadelphia are broad and

-straight. The Quaker City was always a wearisome

-place to me. Its rectangular avenues—so wide that

-they afford no protection from the wintry blast nor

-shelter from the canicular sunshine, and as interminable

-as a tale in a weekly newspaper—tire me out.

-They make me long for something more social and

-natural than their straight lines. Man is a gregarious

-animal. It is his nature to snuggify himself.

-But the Quaker affects a contempt for snugness, and

-includes Hogarth's line of beauty among the worldly

-vanities which his religion obliges him to shun.

-Every time I think of Philadelphia my disrespect for

-the science of geometry is increased, and I find myself

-more and more inclined to believe the most unkind

-things that Lord Macaulay can say about Mr.

-Penn, its founder. Cherishing such sentiments as

-these, is it wonderful that I find Genoa a pleasant

-city? I enjoy its gay port, its thronged market place,

-its sumptuous churches, with gilded vaults and panels,

-and checkered exteriors, its well-dressed people,

-from the bluff coachman, who laughed at my attempts

-to understand the Genoese dialect, to the

-devout feminines in their graceful white veils, which

-give the whole city a peculiarly festive and nuptial

-appearance: but it must be acknowledged, that the

-up-and-down-stairsy feature of the town is not grateful

-to my gouty feet.

-

-I must not weary you, dear reader, with any

-attempts to describe the delightful four days' journey

-from Genoa to Florence, in a *vettura*. The

-Cornice road, with its steep cliffs or trim villas on one

-side, and the clear blue Mediterranean on the other,—those

-pleasant old towns, pervaded with an air of

-respectable antiquity, Chiavari, Sestri, Sarzana,

-Spezzia, with its beautiful gulf, whose waters looked

-so pure and calm that it was difficult to think that

-they could ever have swallowed poor Percy Shelley,

-and robbed English literature of one of its brightest

-ornaments,—Pietra Santa, Carrara, with its queer

-old church, its quarries, its doorsteps and window-sills

-of milk-white marble, and its throng of artists,—the

-little marble city of Massa Ducale, nestling

-among the mountains,—the vast groves of olives,

-whose ash-coloured leaves made noontide seem like

-twilight,—all these things would require a great expenditure

-of time and rhetoric, and therefore I will

-not even allude to them.

-

-Neither will I tire you with any reference to my

-brief sojourn in Pisa. I will not tell how delightful

-it was to perambulate the clean streets of that peaceful

-city,—how I enjoyed the view from the bridges,

-the ancient towers and domes, and the lofty palaces,

-whose fair fronts are mirrored in the soft-flowing

-Arno. I will not attempt to describe the enchantment

-produced by that noble architectural group,—the

-Cathedral, the Baptistery, the Campanile, and

-the Campo Santo,—nor the joy I felt on making a

-closer acquaintance with that graceful tower, whose

-inexplicable dereliction from the perfect uprightness

-which is inculcated as a primary duty in all similar

-structures, was made familiar to me at an early age,

-through the medium of a remarkable wood-cut in my

-school Geography. I will not tell how I fatigued my

-sense with the forms of beauty with which that glorious

-church is filled,—how refreshing its holy quiet

-and subdued light were to my travel-worn spirit,—nor

-how the majestic cloisters of the Campo Santo,

-with their delicate traceries, antique frescoes, and

-constantly varying light and shade, elevated and

-purified my heart of the sordid spirit of this mean,

-practical age, until I felt that to live amid such scenes,

-and to be buried at last in the earth of Palestine,

-under the shade of those solemn arches, was the only

-worthy object of human ambition.

-

-I entered Florence late in the afternoon, under

-cover of a fog that would have done credit to London

-in the depths of its November nebulosity. It

-was rather an unbecoming dress for the style of

-beauty of the Tuscan capital,—that mantle of chill

-vapour,—but it was worn but a few hours, and the sun

-rose the next morning in all his legitimate splendour,

-and darted his rays through as clear and frosty an

-atmosphere as ever fell to the lot of even that

-favoured country. I have once or twice heard the

-epithet "beautiful" applied to this city; indeed, I will

-not be sure that I have not met with it in some book

-or other. It is, in fact, the only word that can be

-used with any propriety concerning this charming

-place. It is not vast like Rome, nor is the soul of its

-beholder saddened by the sight of mighty ruins, or

-burdened with the weight of thousands of years of

-heroic history. It does not possess the broad Bay of

-Naples, nor is it watched over by a stupendous volcano,

-smoking leisurely for want of some better occupation.

-But it lies in the valley of the Arno, one of

-the most harmonious and impressive works of art

-that the world has ever seen, surrounded by natural

-beauties that realize the most ecstatic dreams of

-poesy.

-

-*Firenze la bella!* Who can look at her from any

-of the terraced hills that enclose her from the rude

-world, and deny her that title? That fertile plain

-which stretches from her very walls to the edge of

-the horizon—those picturesque hills, dotted with

-lovely villas—those orchards and vineyards, in their

-glory of gold and purple—that river, stealing noiselessly

-to the sea—and far away the hoary peaks of

-the Apennines, changing their hue with every hour of

-sunlight, and displaying their most gorgeous robes,

-in honour of the departing day,—I pity the man who

-can look upon them without a momentary feeling of

-inspiration. The view from Fiesole is consolation

-enough for a life of disappointment, and ought to

-make all future earthly trials seem as nothing to him

-who is permitted to enjoy it.

-

-And then, those domes and towers, so eloquent of

-the genius of Giotto and Brunelleschi and of the public

-spirit and earnest devotion of ages which modern

-ignorance stigmatizes as "dark,"—who can behold

-them without a thrill? The battlemented tower of

-the Palazzo Vecchio—which seems as if it had been

-hewn out of solid rock, rather than built up by the

-patient labour of the mason—looks down upon the

-peaceful city with a composure that seems almost intelligent,

-and makes you wonder whether it appeared

-the same when the signiory of Florence held their

-councils under its massive walls, and in those dark

-days when the tyrannous factions of Guelph and

-Ghibelline celebrated their bloody carnival. The

-graceful Campanile of the cathedral, with its coloured

-marbles, seems too much like a mantel ornament

-to be exposed to the changes of the weather.

-Amid the other domes and towers of the city rises

-the vast dome of the cathedral, the forerunner of

-that of St. Peter's, and almost its equal. It appears

-to be conscious of its superiority to the neighbouring

-architectural monuments, and merits Hallam's description—"an

-emblem of the Catholic hierarchy

-under its supreme head; like Rome itself, imposing,

-unbroken, unchangeable, radiating in equal expansion

-to every part of the earth, and directing its

-convergent curves to heaven."

-

-There is no city in the world so full of memories

-of the middle ages as Florence. Its very palaces,

-with their heavily barred basement windows, look as

-if they were built to stand a siege. Their sombre

-walls are in strong contrast with the bloom and sunshine

-which we naturally associate with the valley of

-the Arno. Their magnificent proportions and the

-massiveness of their construction oppress you with

-recollections of the warlike days in which they were

-erected. You wonder, as you stand in their courtyards,

-or perambulate the streets darkened by their

-overhanging cornices, what has become of all the

-cavaliers; and if a gentleman in "complete steel"

-should lift his visor to accost you, it would not startle

-you so much as to hear two English tourists with the

-inevitable red guide-books under their arms, conversing

-about the "Grand Juke." Wherever one

-may turn his steps in Florence, he meets with some

-object of beauty or historical interest; yet among all

-these charms and wonders there is one building upon

-which my eyes and mind are never tired of feeding.

-The Palazzo Riccardi, the cradle of the great Medici

-family, is not less impressive in its architecture

-than in its historic associations. Its black walls have

-a greater charm for me than the variegated marbles

-of the Duomo. It was built by the great Cosmo de'

-Medici, and was the home of that family of merchant

-princes in the most glorious period of its history,

-when a grateful people delighted to render to its

-members that homage which is equally honourable to

-"him that gives and him that takes." The genius of

-Michel Angelo and Donatello is impressed upon it.

-It was within those lofty halls that Cosmo and his

-grandson, Lorenzo the Magnificent, welcomed pontiffs

-and princes, and the illustrious but untitled

-nobility of literature and art, which was the boast of

-their age. The ancient glories of the majestic pile

-are kept in mind by an inscription which greets him

-who enters it with an exhortation to "reverence with

-gratitude the ancient mansion of the Medici, in

-which not merely so many illustrious men, but Wisdom

-herself abode—a house which was the nurse of

-revived learning."

-

-I wonder whether any one ever was tired of strolling

-about these old streets and squares. At my time

-of life, walking is not particularly agreeable, even if

-it be not interfered with by either of those foes to

-active exercise and grace of movement—rheumatism

-or gout; but I must acknowledge that I have found

-such pleasure in rambling through the familiar

-streets of this delightful city, that I have taken no

-note of bodily fatigue, and have forgotten the crutch

-or cane which is my inseparable companion. It is all

-the same to me whether I walk about the streets, or

-loiter in the Boboli Gardens, or listen to the delicious

-music of the full military band that plays daily for

-an hour before sunset under the shade of the Cascine.

-They all afford me a kind of vague pleasure—very

-much that sort of satisfaction which springs from

-hearing a cat purr, or from watching the fitful blaze

-of a wood fire. I have no fondness for jewelry, and

-the great Kohinoor diamond and all the crown

-jewels of Russia could not invest respectable uselessness

-or aristocratic vice with any beauty for me, nor

-add any charm to a bright, intelligent face, such as

-lights up many a home in this selfish world; yet I

-have spent hours in looking at the stalls on the

-Jeweller's Bridge, and enjoying the covetous looks

-bestowed by so many passers-by upon their glittering

-contents.

-

-There are some excellent bookstalls here, and I

-have renewed the joys of past years and the memory

-of Paternoster Row, Fleet Street, Holborn, the

-Strand, and of the quays of Paris, in the inspection

-of their stock. I have a strong affection for bookstalls,

-and had much rather buy a book at one than in

-a shop. In the first place it would be cheaper; in the

-second place it would be a little worn, and I should

-become the possessor, not only of the volume, but of

-its associations with other lovers of books who

-turned over its leaves, reading here and there, envying

-the future purchaser. For books, so long as they

-are well used, increase in value as they grow in age.

-Sir William Jones's assertion, that "the best monument

-that can be erected to a man of literary talents

-is a good edition of his works," is not to be denied;

-but who would think of reading, for the enjoyment

-of the thing, a modern edition of Sir Thomas

-Browne, or Izaak Walton? Who would wish to

-read Hamlet in a volume redolent of printers' ink

-and binders' glue? Who would read a clean new

-copy of Robinson Crusoe when he might have one

-that had seen service in a circulating library, or had

-been well thumbed by several generations of adventure-loving

-boys? A book is to me like a hat or coat—a

-very uncomfortable thing until the newness has

-been worn off.

-

-It is in the churches of Florence that my enthusiasm

-reaches its meridian. This solemn cathedral,

-with its richly dight windows,—whose warm hues

-must have been stolen from the palette of Titian or

-Tintoretto,—makes me forget all earthly hopes and

-sorrows; and the majestic Santa Maria Novella and

-San Lorenzo, with their peaceful cloisters and treasures

-of literature and art, appeal strongly to my

-religious sensibilities, while they completely satisfy

-my taste. And then Santa Croce, solemn, not merely

-as a place of worship, but as the repository of the

-dust of many of those illustrious men whose genius

-illumined the world during the fourteenth and fifteenth

-centuries! I have enjoyed Santa Croce particularly,

-because I have seen more of the religious

-life of the Florentine people there. For more than

-a week I have been there every evening, just after

-sunset, when the only light that illuminated those

-ancient arches came from the high altar, which appeared

-like a vision of heaven in the midst of the

-thickest darkness of earth. The nave and aisles of

-that vast edifice were thronged: men, women, and

-children were kneeling upon that pavement which

-contains the records of so much goodness and greatness.

-I have heard great choirs; I have been thrilled

-by the wondrous power of voices that seemed too

-much like those of angels for poor humanity to listen

-to; but I have never before been so overwhelmed as

-by the hearty music of that vast multitude.

-

-The galleries of art need another volume and an

-abler pen than mine. Free to the people as the sunlight

-and the shade of the public gardens, they make

-an American blush to think of the niggardly spirit

-that prevails in the country which he would fain persuade

-himself is the most favoured of all earthly

-abodes. The Academy, the Pitti, the Uffizi, make

-you think that life is too short, and that art is indeed

-long. You wish that you had more months to devote

-to them than you have days. Great as is the pleasure

-that I have found in them, I have found myself

-lingering more fondly in the cloisters and corridors

-of San Marco than amid the wonderful works that

-deck the walls of the palaces. The pencil of Beato

-Angelico has consecrated that dead plastering, and

-given to it a divine life. The rapt devotion and holy

-tranquillity of those faces reflect the glory of the

-eternal world. I ask no more convincing proof of

-the immortality of the soul, than the fact that those

-forms of beauty and holiness were conceived and

-executed by a mortal.

-

-.. ——File: 068.png

-

-It is enough to excite the indignation of any reflective

-Englishman or American to visit Florence,

-and compare—or perhaps I ought rather to say contrast—the

-facts which force themselves upon his attention,

-with the prejudices implanted in his mind by

-early education. Surely, he has a right to be astonished,

-and may be excused if he indulges in a little

-honest anger, when he looks for the first time at the

-masterpieces of art which had their origin in those

-ages which he has been taught to consider a period of

-ignorance and barbarism. He certainly obtains a new

-idea of the "barbarism" of the middle ages, when he

-visits the benevolent institutions which they have

-bequeathed to our times, and when he sees the admirable

-working of the *Compagnia della Misericordia*,

-which unites all classes of society, from the

-grand duke to his humblest subject, in the bonds of

-religion and philanthropy. He may be pardoned,

-too, if he comes to the conclusion that the liberal arts

-were not entirely neglected in the age that produced

-a Dante and a Petrarch, a Cimabue and a Giotto,—not

-to mention a host of other names, which may not

-shine so brightly as these, but are alike superior to

-temporal accidents,—and he cannot be considered

-unreasonable if he refuses to believe that the ages

-which witnessed the establishment of universities like

-those of Paris, Oxford, Cambridge, Prague, Bologna,

-Salamanca, Vienna, Ferrara, Ingolstadt,

-Louvain, Leipsic, &c., were quite so deeply sunk in

-darkness, or were held in an intellectual bondage so

-utterly hopeless, as the eulogists of the nineteenth

-century would persuade him. The monuments of

-learning, art, and benevolence, with which Florence

-is filled, will convince any thinking man that those

-who speak of the times I have alluded to as the "dark

-ages," mean thereby the ages concerning which they

-are in the dark; and admirably exemplify in their

-own shallow self-sufficiency the ignorance they would

-impute to the ages when learning and all good arts

-were the handmaids of religion.

-

-.. ——File: 070.png

-

-

-

-

-ANCIENT ROME

-------------

-

-

-The moment in which one takes his first look at

-Rome is an epoch in his life. Even if his education

-should have been a most illiberal one, and he

-himself should be as strenuous an opponent of pontifical

-prerogatives as John of Leyden or Dr. Dowling,

-he is sure to be, for the time, imbued in some

-measure with the feelings of a pilgrim. The sight of

-that city which has exercised such a mighty influence

-on the world, almost from its very foundation, fills

-his mind with "troublings of strange joy." His

-vague notions of ancient history assume a more distinct

-form. The twelve Cæsars pass before his

-mind's eye like the spectral kings before the Scotch

-usurper. The classics which he used to neglect so

-shamefully at school, the historical lessons which he

-thought so dull, have been endowed with life and interest

-by that one glance of his astonished eye. But

-if he loved the classics in his youth,—if the wanderings

-of Æneas and the woes of Dido charmed instead

-of tiring him,—if "Livy's pictured page," the polished

-periods of Sallust and Tacitus, and the mighty

-eloquence of Cicero, were to him a mine of delight

-rather than a task,—how does his eye glisten with

-renewed youth, and his heart swell as his old boyish

-enthusiasm is once more kindled within it! He feels

-that he has reached the goal to which his heart and

-mind were turned during his purest and most unselfish

-years; and if he were as unswayed by human

-respect as he was then, he would kneel down with the

-travel-worn pilgrims by the wayside to give utterance

-to his gratitude, and to greet the queen city of the

-world: *Salve, magna parens!*

-

-I shall not easily forget the cloudless afternoon

-when I first took that long, wearisome ride from

-Civita Vecchia to Rome. There was no railway in

-those days, as there is now, and the diligence was of

-so rude and uncomfortable a make that I half suspected

-it to be the one upon the top of which Hannibal

-is said to have crossed the Alps, (*summâ

-diligentiâ*.) I shared the *coupé* with two other sufferers,

-and was, like them, so fatigued that it seemed

-as if a celestial vision would be powerless to make

-me forgetful of my aching joints, when (after a

-laborious pull up a hill which might be included

-among the "everlasting hills" spoken of in holy writ)

-our long-booted postilion turned his expressive face

-towards us, and banished all our weariness by exclaiming,

-as he pointed into the blue distance with his

-short whip-handle, "*Ecco! Roma! San Pietro!*"

-

-A single glance of the eye served to overcome all

-our fatigue. There lay the world's capital, crowned

-by the mighty dome of the Vatican basilica, and we

-were every moment drawing nearer to it. It was

-evening before we found ourselves staring at those

-dark walls which have withstood so many sieges,

-and heard the welcome demand for passports, which

-informed us that we had reached the gate of the city.

-

-I was really in Rome,—I was in that city hallowed

-by so many classical, historical, and sacred associations,—and

-it all seemed to me like a confused

-dream. Twice, before the diligence had gone a hundred

-yards inside the gate, I had pinched myself to

-ascertain whether I was really awake; and even after

-I passed through the lofty colonnade of St. Peter's,

-and had gazed at the front of the church and the

-vast square which art has made familiar to every

-one, and had seen the fountains with the moonbeams

-flashing in their silvery spray, I feared lest something

-should interrupt my dream, and I should wake to

-find myself in my snug bedroom at home, wondering

-at the weakness which allowed me to be seduced into

-the eating of a bit of cheese the evening before. It

-was not so, however; no disorganizing cheese had

-interfered with my digestion; it was no dream; and

-I was really in Rome. I slept soundly when I reached

-my hotel, for I felt sure that no hostile Brennus lay

-in wait to disturb the city's peace, and the grateful

-hardness of my bed convinced me that all the geese

-of the capital had not been killed, if the enemy

-should effect an entrance.

-

-There are few people who love Rome at first sight.

-The ruins, that bear witness to her grandeur in the

-days of her worldly supremacy, oppress you at first

-with an inexpressible sadness. The absence of any

-thing like the business enterprise and energy of this

-commercial age makes English and American people

-long at first for a little of the bustle and roar of

-Broadway and the Strand. The small paving stones,

-which make the feet of those who are unaccustomed

-to them ache severely, the brick and stone floors of

-the houses, and the lack of the little comforts of

-modern civilization, render Rome a wearisome place,

-until one has caught its spirit. Little does he think

-who for the first time gazes on those gray, mouldering

-walls, on which "dull time feeds like slow fire

-upon a hoary brand," or walks those streets in which

-the past and present are so strangely commingled,—little

-does he realize how dear those scenes will one

-day be to him. He cannot foresee the regret with

-which he will leave those things that seem too common

-and familiar to deserve attention, nor the glowing

-enthusiasm which their mention will inspire in

-after years; and he would smile incredulously if any

-one were to predict to him that his heart, in after

-times, will swell with homesick longings as he recalls

-the memory of that ancient city, and that he will one

-day salute it from afar as his second home.

-

-I make no claims to antiquarian knowledge; for I

-do not love antiquity for itself alone. It is only by

-force of association that antiquity has any charms for

-me. The pyramids of Egypt would awaken my respect,

-not so much by their age or size, as by the

-remembrance of the momentous scenes which have

-been enacted in their useless and ungraceful presence.

-Show me a scroll so ancient that human science can

-obtain no key to the mysteries locked up in the

-strange figures inscribed upon it, and you would

-move me but little. But place before me one of those

-manuscripts (filled with scholastic lore, instinct with

-classic eloquence, or luminous with the word of eternal

-life) which have come down to us from those

-nurseries of learning and piety, the monasteries of

-the middle ages, and you fill me with the intensest

-enthusiasm. There is food for the imagination hidden

-under those worm-eaten covers and brazen

-clasps. I see in those fair pages something more

-than the results of the patient toil which perpetuated

-those precious truths. From those carefully penned

-lines, and brilliant initial letters, the pale, thoughtful

-face of the transcriber looks upon me—his contempt

-of worldly ambition and sacrifice of human consolations

-are reflected there—and from the quiet of his

-austere cell, he seems to dart from his serene eyes a

-glance of patient reproach at the worldlier and more

-modern age which reaps the fruit of his labour, and

-repays him by slandering his character. Show me a

-building whose stupendous masonry seems the work

-of Titan hands, but whose history is lost in the twilight

-of the ages, so that no record remains of a time

-when it was any thing but an antique enigma, and its

-massive columns and Cyclopean proportions will not

-touch me so nearly as the stone in Florence where

-Dante used to stand and gaze upon that dome which

-Michel Angelo said he would not imitate, and could

-not excel.

-

-Feeling thus about antiquities, I need not say that

-those of Rome, so crowned with the most thrilling

-historical and personal associations, are not wanting

-in charms for me. Yet I do not claim to be an antiquarian.

-It is all one to me whether the column of

-Phocas be forty feet high or sixty,—whether a ruin

-on the Palatine that fascinates me by its richness and

-grandeur, was once a Temple of Minerva or of

-Jupiter Stator; or whether its foundations are of

-travertine or tufa. I abhor details. My enjoyment

-of a landscape would be at an end if I were called

-upon to count the mild-eyed cattle that contribute so

-much to its picturesqueness; and I have no wish to

-disturb my appreciation of the spirit of a place consecrated

-by ages of heroic history, by entertaining

-any of the learned conjectures of professional antiquarians.

-It is enough for me to know that I am

-standing on the spot where Romulus built his straw-thatched

-palace, and his irreverent brother leaped

-over the walls of the future mistress of the nations.

-Standing in the midst of the relics of the grandeur of

-imperial Rome, the whole of her wonderful history

-is constantly acting over again in my mind. The

-stern simplicity of those who laid the foundations of

-her greatness, the patriotic daring of those who extended

-her power, the wisdom of those who terminated

-civil strife by compelling the divided citizens to

-unite against a foreign foe, are all present to me. In

-that august place where Cicero pleaded, gazing upon

-that mount where captive kings did homage to the

-masters of the world, your mere antiquarian, with

-his pestilent theories and measurements, seems to me

-little better than a profaner. When I see such a one

-scratching about the base of some majestic column in

-the Forum (although I cannot but be grateful to

-those whose researches have developed the greatness

-of the imperial city,) I do long to interrupt him, and

-remind him that his "tread is on an empire's dust."

-I wish to recall him from the petty details in which

-he delights, and have him enjoy with me the grandeur

-and dignity of the whole scene.

-

-The triumphal arches,—the monuments of the cultivation

-of those remote ages, no less than of the

-power of the state which erected them,—the memorials

-of the luxury that paved the way to the decline

-of that power—all these things impress me with

-the thought of the long years that intervened between

-that splendour and the times when the seat of

-universal empire was inhabited only by shepherds

-and their flocks. It wearies me to think of the long

-centuries of human effort that were required to bring

-Rome to its culminating point of glory; and it affords

-me a melancholy kind of amusement to contrast the

-spirit of those who laid the deep and strong foundations

-of that prosperity and power, with that of

-some modern sages, to whom a hundred years are a

-respectable antiquity, and who seem to think that

-commercial enterprise and the will of a fickle populace

-form as secure a basis for a state as private

-virtue, and the principle of obedience to law. I know

-a country, yet in the first century of its national existence,

-full of hope and ambition, and possessing

-advantages such as never before fell to the lot of a

-young empire, but lacking in those powers which

-made Rome what she was. If that country, "the

-newest born of nations, the latest hope of mankind,"

-which has so rapidly risen to a power surpassing in

-extent that of ancient Rome, and bears within itself

-the elements of the decay that ruined the old empire,—wealth,

-vice, corruption,—if she could overcome

-the vain notion that hers is an exceptional case, and

-that she is not subject to that great law of nature

-which makes personal virtue the corner-stone of national

-stability and the lack of that its bane, and could

-look calmly upon the remains of old Rome's grandeur,

-she might learn a great lesson. Contemplating

-the patient formation of that far-reaching

-dominion until it found its perfect consummation in

-the age of Augustus, (*Tantæ molis erat Romanam

-condere gentem*,) she would see that true national

-greatness is not "the hasty product of a day"; that

-demagogues and adventurers, who have made politics

-their trade, are not the architects of that

-greatness; and that the parchment on which the constitution

-and laws of a country are written, might as

-well be used for drum-heads when reverence and

-obedience have departed from the hearts of its

-people.

-

-A gifted representative of a name which is classical

-in the history of the drama, some years ago gave

-to the world a journal of her residence in Rome.

-She called her volume "A Year of Consolation"—a

-title as true as it is poetical. Indeed I know of nothing

-more soothing to the spirit than a walk through

-these ancient streets, or an hour of meditation amid

-these remains of fallen majesty. To stand in the

-arena of the Coliseum in the noonday glare, or when

-those ponderous arches cast their lengthened shadows

-on the spot where the first Roman Christians

-were sacrificed to make a holiday for a brutalized

-populace,—to muse in the Pantheon, that changeless

-temple of a living, and monument of a dead, worship,

-and reflect on the many generations that have

-passed beneath its majestic portico from the days of

-Agrippa to our own,—to listen to the birds that sing

-amid the shrubbery which decks the stupendous

-arches of the Baths of Caracalla,—to be overwhelmed

-by the stillness of the Campagna while the

-eye is filled with that rolling verdure which seems in

-the hazy distance like the waves of the unquiet sea—what

-are all these things but consolations in the

-truest sense of the word? What is the bitterest grief

-that ever pierced a human heart through a long life

-of sorrows, compared to the dumb woe of that

-mighty desolation? What are our brief sufferings,

-when they are brought into the august presence of a

-mourner who has seen her hopes one by one taken

-from her, through centuries of war and rapine, neglect

-and silent decay?

-

-Among all of Rome's monuments of antiquity,

-there are few that impress me so strangely as those

-old Egyptian obelisks, the trophies of the victorious

-emperors, which the pontiffs have made to contribute

-so greatly to the adornment of their capital. It is

-almost impossible to turn a corner of one of the principal

-streets of the city without seeing one of these

-peculiar shafts that give a fine finish to the perspective.

-If their cold granite forms could speak, what

-a strange history they would reveal! They were witnesses

-of the achievements of a power which reached

-its noonday splendour centuries before the shepherd

-Faustulus took the foundling brothers into his cottage

-on the banks of the Tiber. The civilization of

-which they are the relics had declined before the

-Roman kings inaugurated that which afterwards reclaimed

-all Europe from the barbarians. Yet there

-they stand as grim and silent as if they had but yesterday

-been rescued from the captivity of the native

-quarry, and had never seen a nobler form than those

-of the dusty artisans who wrought them—as dull and

-unimpressible as some of the stupid tourists whom I

-see daily gazing upon these glorious monuments, and

-seeing only so much brick and stone.

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-MODERN ROME

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-

-

-Acknowledging as I do the charms which

-the Rome of antiquity possesses for me, it

-must still be confessed that the Rome of the present

-time enchants me with attractions scarcely less potent.

-Religion has consecrated many of the spots

-which history had made venerable, and thus added a

-new lustre to their associations. I turn from the

-broken columns and gray mouldering walls of old

-Rome to those fanes, "so ancient, yet so new," in

-which the piety of centuries has found its enduring

-expression. Beneath their sounding arches, by the

-mild light of the lamps that burn unceasingly around

-their shrines, who would vex his brain with antiquarian

-lore? We may notice that the pavement is

-worn away by the multitudes which have been drawn

-thither by curiosity or devotion; but we feel that

-Heaven's chronology is not an affair of months and

-years, and that Peter and Paul, Gregory and Leo,

-are not mere personages in a drama upon the first

-acts of which the curtain long since descended. Who

-thinks of antiquity while he inhabits that world of

-art which Rome encloses within her walls? Those

-are not the triumphs of a past age alone; they are

-the triumphs of to-day. The Apollo's bearing is not

-less manly, its step not less elastic, than it was in that

-remote age when its unknown sculptor threw aside

-his chisel and gazed upon his finished work. To-day's

-sunshine is not more clear and golden than that

-which glows in the landscapes of Claude Lorraine,

-though he who thus made the sunbeams his servants

-has been sleeping for nearly two centuries in the

-dusty vaults of *Trinita de' Monti*. Were Raphael's

-deathless faces more real while he was living than

-they are now? Were Guido's and Domenichino's

-triumphs more worthy of admiration while the paint

-was wet upon them? or were the achievements of

-that giant of art, Michel Angelo, ever more wonderful

-than now? No; these great works take no note

-of time, and confer upon the city which contains them

-something of their own immortality.

-

-I have heard people regret that so many of our

-artists should expatriate themselves, and spend their

-lives in Rome or Florence. To me, however, nothing

-seems more natural; and if I were a painter, or a

-sculptor, I feel certain that I should share the common

-weakness of the profession for a place of residence

-in harmony with my art. What sympathy can

-a true artist feel with a state of society in which he is

-regarded by nine people out of ten as a useless

-member, because he does not directly aid in the production

-of a given quantity of grain or of cloth?

-Every stroke of his brush, every movement of his

-hands in moulding the obedient clay, is a protest

-against the low, mean, materialistic views of life

-which prevail among us; and it is too much to ask of

-any man that he shall spend his days in trying to live

-peaceably in an enemy's camp. When figs and dates

-become common articles of food in Lapland, and the

-bleak sides of the hills of New Hampshire are

-adorned with the graceful palm tree and the luxuriant

-foliage of the tropics, you may expect art to

-flourish in a community whose god is commerce, and

-whose chief religious duty is money-getting.

-

-Truly the life of an artist in Rome is about as near

-the perfection of earthly happiness as is commonly

-vouchsafed to mortal man. The tone of society, and

-all the surroundings of the artist, are so congenial

-that no poverty nor privation can seriously interfere

-with them. The streets, with their architectural

-marvels, the trim gardens and picturesque cloisters of

-the old religious establishments, the magnificent

-villas of the neighbourhood of the city, and the vast,

-mysterious Campagna, with its gigantic aqueducts

-and its purple atmosphere, and those glorious galleries

-which at the same time gratify the taste of the

-artist and feed his ambition,—these are things which

-are as free to him as the blessed sunlight or the water

-that sparkles in the countless fountains of the Holy

-City. I do not wonder that artists who have lived

-any considerable time in Rome are discontented with

-the feverish restlessness of our American way of life,

-and that, after "stifling the mighty hunger of the

-heart" through two or three wearisome years in our

-western world, they turn to Rome as to a fond

-mother, upon whose breast they may find that peace

-which they had elsewhere sought in vain.

-

-The churches of Rome impress me in a way which

-I have never heard described by any other person. I

-do not speak of St. Peter's, (that "noblest temple

-that human skill ever raised to the honour of the

-Creator,") nor do I refer to those other magnificent

-basilicas in which the Christian glories of eighteen

-centuries sit enthroned. These have a dignity and

-majesty peculiarly their own, and the most thoughtless

-cannot tread their ancient pavement without

-being for the time subdued into awe and veneration.

-But the parish churches of Rome, the churches of the

-various religious orders and congregations, and

-those numerous little temples which are so thickly

-scattered through the city, attract me in manner

-especially fascinating. There is an air of cosiness

-and at-home-ativeness about them which cannot be

-found in the grander fanes. Some of them seem by

-their architectural finish to have been built in some

-fine street or square, and to have wandered off in

-search of quiet to their present secluded positions.

-It is beneath their arches that the Roman people may

-be seen. Before those altars you may see men, women,

-and children kneeling, their lips scarcely moving

-with the petitions which are heard only in another

-world. No intruding tourists, eye-glassed and Murrayed,

-interfere with their devotions, and the silence

-of the sacred place is unbroken, save by the rattling

-of a rosary, or at stated times by the swell of voices

-from the choir chapel. These are the places where

-the real power of the Catholic religion makes itself

-felt more unmistakably than in the grandest cathedrals,

-where every form and sound is eloquent of

-worship. I remember with pleasure that once in

-London, as I was passing through that miserable

-quarter which lies between Westminster Abbey and

-Buckingham Palace, I was attracted by the appearance

-of a number of people who were entering a narrow

-doorway. One or two stylish carriages, with

-crests upon their panels, and drivers in livery, stood

-before the dingy building which seemed to wear a

-mysterious air of semi-cleanliness in the midst of the

-general squalour. I followed the strange collection

-of the representatives of opulence and the extremest

-poverty through a long passage-way, and found myself

-in a large room which was tastefully fitted up for

-a Catholic chapel. The simplicity of the place,

-joined with its strictly ecclesiastical look, the excellent

-music, the crowded and devout congregation, and

-the almost breathless attention which was paid to the

-simple and persuasive eloquence of the preacher,

-who was formerly one of the chief ornaments of the

-established church, whose highest honours he had

-cast aside that he might minister more effectually to

-the poor and despised,—all these things astonished

-and delighted me. To see that church preserving,

-even in its hiddenness and poverty, its regard for the

-comeliness of God's worship, and adorning that

-humble chapel in a manner which showed that the

-spirit which erected the shrines of Westminster,

-Salisbury and York, had not died out, carried me

-back in spirit to the catacombs of Rome, where the

-early Christians left the abiding evidences of their

-zeal for the beauty of the house of God. I was at

-that time fresh from the continent, and my mind was

-occupied with the remembrance of the gorgeous

-churches of Italy. Yet, despite my recollection of

-those "forests of porphyry and marble," those altars

-of *lapis lazuli*, those tabernacles glittering with gold,

-and silver, and precious stones, and those mosaics

-and frescoes whose beauty and variety almost fatigue

-the sense of the beholder,—I must say that it gave

-me a new sense of the dignity and grandeur of the

-ancient Church, to see her in the midst of the poverty

-and obscurity to which she is now condemned in

-the land which once professed her faith, and was

-once thickly planted with those institutions of learning

-and charity which are the proudest monuments of

-her progress. A large ship, under full sail, running

-off before a pleasant breeze, is a beautiful sight; but

-it is by no means so grandly impressive as that of the

-same ship, under close canvas, gallantly riding out

-the merciless gale that carried destruction to every

-unseaworthy craft which came within its reach.

-

-I am not one of those who lament over the millions

-which have been expended upon the churches of

-Rome. I am *not* inclined to follow the sordid principle

-of that apostle who is generally held up rather

-as a warning than an example, and say that it had

-been better if the sums which have been devoted to

-architectural ornament had been withheld and given

-to the poor. Religion has no need, it is true, of

-these visible splendours, any more than of set forms

-and modes of speech. For it is the heart that believes,

-and loves, and prays. But we, poor mortals,

-so enslaved by our senses, so susceptible to external

-appearances, need every thing that can inspire in us

-a respect for something higher than ourselves, or

-remind us of the glories of the invisible, eternal

-world. And can we doubt that He who praised the

-action of that pious woman who poured the precious

-ointment upon His sacred head, looks with complacency

-upon the sacrifices which are made for the

-adornment of the temples devoted to His worship?

-Is it a right principle that people who are clad in expensive

-garments, who are not content unless they

-are surrounded by carved or enamelled furniture,

-and whose feet tread daily on costly tapestries,

-should find fault with the generous piety which has

-made the churches of Italy what they are, and should

-talk so impressively about the beauty of spiritual

-worship? I have no patience with these advocates

-for simplicity in every thing that does not relate to

-themselves and their own comforts.

-

-   | "Shall we serve Heaven with less respect

-   | Than we do minister to our gross selves?"

-

-I care not how simple our private houses may be, but

-I advocate liberality and splendour in our public

-buildings of all kinds, for the sake of preserving a

-due respect for the institutions they enshrine. I remember,

-in reading one of the old classical writers,—Sallust,

-I think,—in my young days, being greatly

-impressed by his declaration that private luxury is a

-sure forerunner of a nation's downfall, and that it is

-a fatal sign for the dwellings of the citizens to be

-spacious and magnificent, while the public edifices

-are mean and unworthy. Purely intellectual as we

-may think ourselves, we are, nevertheless, somewhat

-deferential to the external proprieties of life, and I

-very much doubt whether the most reverential of us

-could long maintain his respect for the Supreme

-Court if its sessions were held in a tap-room, or for

-religion, if its ministers prayed and preached in pea-jackets

-and top-boots.

-

-Displeasing as is the presence of most of the English-speaking

-tourists one meets in Rome, there are

-two places where they delight to congregate, which

-yet have charms for me that not even Cockney vulgarity

-or Yankee irreverence can destroy. The

-church of the convent of *Trinità de' Monti* wins me,

-in spite of the throng that fills its nave at the hour of

-evening every Sunday and festival day. Some years

-since, when I first visited Rome, the music which was

-heard there was of the highest order of merit. At

-present the nuns of the Sacred Heart have no such

-great artistes in their community as they had then,

-but the music of their choir is still one of those things

-which he who has once heard can never forget. It is

-the only church in Rome in which I have heard

-female voices; and, though I much prefer the great

-male choirs of the basilicas, there is a soothing simplicity

-in the music at *Trinità de' Monti* which goes

-home to almost every heart. I have seen giddy and

-unthinking girls, who laughed at the ceremonial they

-did not understand, subdued to reverence by those

-strains, and supercilious Englishmen reduced to the

-humiliating necessity of wiping their eyes. Indeed,

-the whole scene is so harmoniously impressive that

-its enchantment cannot be resisted. The solemn

-church, lighted only by the twilight rays, and the

-tapers upon the high altar,—the veiled forms of the

-pious sisterhood and their young pupils in the grated

-sanctuary,—the clouding of the fragrant incense,—the

-tinkling of that silvery bell and of the chains of

-the swinging censer,—those ancient and dignified

-rites,—and over all, those clear, angelic voices praying

-and praising, in litany and hymn—all combine to

-make up a worship, one moment of which would

-seem enough to wipe away the memory of a lifetime

-of folly, and disappointment, and sorrow.

-

-The Sistine Chapel is another place to which I am

-bound by an almost supernatural fascination. My

-imperfect eyesight will not permit me to enjoy fully

-the frescoes that adorn its lofty walls; but I feel that

-I am in the presence of the great master and some of

-his mightiest conceptions. I do not know whether

-the chapel is most impressive in its empty state, or

-when thronged for some great religious function. In

-the former condition, its fine proportions and its

-simplicity satisfy me so completely, that I hardly

-wish for the pomp and splendour which belong to it

-on great occasions. I know of nothing more grand

-than the sight of that simple throne of the Sovereign

-Pontiff, when it is occupied by that benignant old

-man, to whom more than two hundred millions of

-people look with veneration as to a father and a

-teacher,—and surrounded by those illustrious prelates

-and princes who compose a senate of moral and

-intellectual worth, such as all the world beside cannot

-parallel. Those venerable figures—those gray hairs—those

-massive foreheads, and those resplendent

-robes of office, seem to be a part of some great historical

-picture, rather than a reality before my eyes.

-There is nothing more severe in actual experience,

-or more satisfactory in the recollection, than Holy

-Week in the Sistine Chapel. The crowd, the fatigue,

-and the presence of so many sight-seers, who have

-come with the same feeling that they would attend an

-opera or a play, are not calculated to increase one's

-bodily comfort, or to awaken the sentiments proper

-to so sacred a season as that which is then commemorated.

-But after these have passed away, there remains

-the recollection, which time does not diminish,

-but makes more precious, of that darkening chapel

-and the bowed-down heads of the Pope and cardinals,

-of the music, "yearning like a god in pain," of

-the melodious woe of the *Miserere*, the plaintive

-majesty of the Lamentations and the Reproaches,

-and the shrill dissonance of the shouts of the populace

-in the gospel narrative of the crucifixion. These

-are things which would outweigh a year of fatigue

-and pain. I know of no greater or more sincere

-tribute to the perfections of the Sistine choir, and the

-genius of Allegri and Palestrina, than the patience

-with which so many people submit to be packed, like

-herring in a box, into that small chapel. But old and

-gouty as I am, I would gladly undergo all the discomforts

-of that time to hear those sounds once

-more.

-

-I hear some people complain of the beggars, and

-wonder why Rome, with her splendid system of

-charities for the relief of every form of suffering,

-permits mendicancy. For myself, I am not inclined

-to complain either of the beggars or of the merciful

-government, which refuses to look upon them as

-offenders against its laws. On the contrary, it appears

-to me rather creditable than otherwise to

-Rome, that she is so far behind the age, as not to

-class poverty with crime among social evils. I have

-a sincere respect for this feature of the Catholic

-Church; this regard for the poor as her most

-precious inheritance, and this unwillingness that her

-children should think that, because she has organized

-a vast system of benevolence, they are absolved of

-the duty of private charity. In this wisdom, which

-thus provides for the exercise of kindly feelings in

-alms-giving, may be found one of the most attractive

-characteristics of the Roman Church. This, no less

-than the austere religious orders which she has

-founded, shows in what sense she receives the beatitude,

-"Blessed are the poor in spirit." And the same

-kind spirit of equality may be seen in her churches

-and cathedrals, where rich and poor kneel upon the

-same pavement, before their common God and

-Saviour, and in her cloisters, and universities, and

-schools, where social distinctions cannot enter.

-

-When I walk through the cloisters of these venerable

-institutions of learning, or gaze upon the ancient

-city from *Monte Mario*, or the Janiculum, it seems

-to me that never until now did I appreciate the

-world's indebtedness to Rome. Dislike it as we may,

-we cannot disguise the fact, that to her every Christian

-nation owes, in a great measure, its civilization,

-its literature, and its religion. The endless empire

-which Virgil's muse foretold, is still hers; and, as one

-of her ancient Christian poets said, those lands which

-were not conquered by her victorious arms are held

-in willing obedience by her religion. When I think

-how all our modern civilization, our art, letters, and

-jurisprudence, sprang originally from Rome, it appears

-to me that a narrow religious prejudice has

-prevented our forming a due estimate of her services

-to humanity. To some, the glories of the ancient

-empire, the memory of the days when her sovereignty

-extended from Britain to the Ganges, and her

-capital counted its inhabitants by millions, seem to

-render all her later history insignificant and dull; but

-to my mind the moral dignity and power of Christian

-Rome is as superior to her old military omnipotence

-as it is possible for the human intellect to conceive.

-The ancient emperors, with all their power, could

-not carry the Roman name much beyond the limits of

-Europe; the rulers who have succeeded them have

-made the majestic language of Rome familiar to two

-hemispheres, and have built up, by spiritual arms, the

-mightiest empire that the world has ever seen. For

-me, Rome's most enduring glories are the memories

-of the times when her great missionary orders civilized

-and evangelized the countries which her arms

-had won, when her martyrs sowed the seed of

-Christianity with their blood, and her confessors illumined

-the world with their virtues; when her pontiffs,

-single-handed, turned back barbarian invasions,

-or mitigated the severities of the feudal age, or protected

-the people by laying their ban upon the tyrants

-who oppressed them, or defended the sanctity of

-marriage, and the rights of helpless women against

-divorce-seeking monarchs and conquerors. These

-things are the true fulfilment of the glowing prophecy

-of Rome's greatness, which Virgil puts into the

-mouth of Anchises, when Æneas visits the Elysian

-Fields, and hears from his old father that the mission

-of the government he is about to found is to rule

-the world by moral power, to make peace between

-opposing nations, to spare the subject, and to subdue

-the proud:

-

-   | "Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento;

-   | Hæ tibi erunt artes, pacisque imponere morem,

-   | Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos."

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-ROME TO MARSEILLES

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-

-

-The weather was fearfully hot the day of my

-departure from Rome. The sun was staring

-down, without winking, upon that wonderful old

-city, as if he loved the sight. The yellow current of

-old Father Tiber seemed yellower than ever in the

-glare. Except from sheer necessity, no person

-moved abroad; for the atmosphere, which early in

-the morning had seemed like airs from heaven, before

-noon had become most uncomfortably like a

-blast from the opposite direction. The Piazza di

-Spagna was like Tadmor in the wilderness. Not a

-single English tourist, with his well-read Murray

-under his arm, was to be seen there; not a carriage

-driver broke the stillness of the place with his polyglot

-solicitations to ride. The great staircase of

-*Trinità de' Monti* seemed an impossibility; to have

-climbed up its weary ascent under that broiling sun

-would have been poor entertainment for man or

-beast. The squares of the city were like furnaces,

-and made one mentally curse architecture, and bless

-the narrow, shady streets. The soldiers on guard at

-the gates and in the public places looked as if they

-couldn't help it. Now and then a Capuchin monk,

-in his heavy, brown habit, girded with the knotted

-cord, toiled along on some errand of benevolence,

-and made one marvel at his endurance. Occasionally

-a cardinal rolled by in scarlet state, looking as if

-he gladly would have exchanged the bondage of his

-dignity and power for a single day of virtuous liberty

-in linen pantaloons.

-

-Traffic seemed to have departed this life; there

-were no buyers, and the shopkeepers slumbered at

-their counters. The *cafés* were shrouded in their

-long, striped awnings, and seemed to invite company

-by their well-wet pavement. A few old Romans

-found energy enough to call for an occasional ice or

-lemonade, and talked in the intervals about *Pammerstone*,

-and his agent, Mazzini. How the sun blazed

-down into the Coliseum! Not a breath of air stirred

-the foliage that clothes that mighty ruin. Even the

-birds were mute. To have crossed that broad arena

-would have perilled life as surely as in those old days

-when the first Roman Christians there confessed

-their faith. On such a day, one's parting visits must

-necessarily be brief; so I left the amphitheatre, and

-walked along the dusty *Via Sacra*, pausing a moment

-to ponder on the scene of Cicero's triumphs, and of

-so many centuries of thrilling history, and coming to

-the conclusion that, if it were such a day as that when

-Virginius in that place slew his dear little daughter,

-the blow was merciful indeed. The market-place in

-front of the Pantheon, usually so thronged and

-lively, was almost deserted. The fresh, bright vegetables

-had either all been sold, or had refused to

-grow in such a heat. But the Pantheon itself was

-unchanged. There it stood, in all its severe grandeur,

-majestic as in the days of the Cæsars, the embodiment

-of heathenism, the exponent of the worship

-of the old, inexorable gods,—of justice without

-mercy, and power without love. Its interior seemed

-cool and refreshing, for no heat can penetrate that

-stupendous pile of masonry,—and I gathered new

-strength from my short visit. It was a fine thought

-in the old Romans to adapt the temples of heathenism

-to the uses of Christianity. The contrasts suggested

-to our minds by this practice are very striking.

-When we see that the images of the old revengeful

-and impure divinities have given place to those of the

-humble and self-denying heroes of Christianity, that

-the Saviour of the world stretches out His arms upon

-the cross, in the place from which the haughty Jupiter

-once hurled his thunderbolts, we are borne at

-once to a conclusion more irresistible than any that

-the mere force of language could produce. One of

-our own poets felt this in Rome, and expressed this

-same idea in graceful verse:—

-

-   | "The goddess of the woods and fields,

-   |   The healthful huntress undefiled,

-   | Now with her fabled brother yields

-   |   To sinless Mary and her Child."

-

-But I must hurry on towards St. Peter's. There

-are three places in Rome which every one visits as

-soon as possible after he arrives, and as short a time

-as may be before his departure—the Coliseum, the

-Pantheon, and St. Peter's. The narrow streets between

-the Pantheon and the Bridge of St. Angelo

-were endurable, because they were shady. It was

-necessary to be careful, however, and not trip over

-any of the numerous Roman legs whose proprietors

-were stretched out upon the pavement in various picturesque

-postures, sleeping away the long hours of

-that scorching day. At last the bridge is reached

-Bernini's frightful statues, which deform its balustrades,

-seem to be writhing under the influence of the

-sun. I am quite confident that St. Veronica's napkin

-was curling with the heat. The bronze archangel

-stood as usual upon the summit of the Castle of St.

-Angelo. I stopped a few moments, thinking that he

-might see the expediency of sheathing his sword and

-retreating, before he should be compelled, in the *confusion*

-of such a blaze as that, to *run* away; but it was

-useless. I moved on towards St. Peter's, and he still

-kept guard there as brazen-faced as ever. The great

-square in front of the basilica seemed to have

-scooped up its fill of heat, and every body knows that

-it is capable of containing a great deal. The few

-persons whom devotion or love of art had tempted

-out in such a day, approached it under the shade of

-its beautiful colonnades. I was obliged to content

-myself with the music of one of those superb fountains

-only, for the workmen were making a new

-basin for the other. St. Peter's never seemed to me

-so wonderful, never filled me up so completely, as it

-did then. The contrast of the heat I had been

-in with that atmosphere of unchangeable coolness,

-the quiet of the vast area, the fewness of people moving

-about, all conspired to impress me with a new

-sense of the majesty and holiness of the place. The

-quiet, unflickering blaze of the numerous lamps that

-burn unceasingly around the tomb of the Prince of

-the Apostles seemed a beacon of immortality. To one

-who could at that hour recall the bustle and turmoil

-of the Boulevards of Paris, or of the Strand, or of

-Broadway, the vast basilica itself seemed to be an

-island of peace in the tempestuous ocean of the

-world. I am not so blind a lover of Gothic architecture

-that I can find no beauty nor religious feeling in

-the Italian churches. I prefer, it is true, the "long-drawn

-aisle and fretted vault," and the "storied windows

-richly dight"; but I cannot for that reason

-sneer at the gracefully turned arches, the mosaic

-walls and domes rich in frescoes and precious marbles,

-that delight one's eyes in Italy. Both styles are

-good in their proper places. The Gothic and Norman,

-with their high-pitched roofs, are the natural

-growth of the snowy north, and to attempt to transplant

-them to a land where heat is to be guarded

-against, were as absurd as to expect the pine and fir

-to take the place of the fig tree and the palm. Talk

-as eloquently as we may about being superior to external

-impressions, I defy any man to breathe the

-quiet atmosphere of any of these old continental

-churches for a few moments, without feeling that he

-has gathered new strength therefrom to tread the

-thorns of life. Lamartine has spoken eloquently on

-this theme: "Ye columns who veil the sacred asylums

-where my eyes dare not penetrate, at the foot of

-your immovable trunks I come to sigh! Cast over

-me your deep shades, render the darkness more obscure,

-and the silence more profound! Forests of

-porphyry and marble! the air which the soul breathes

-under your arches is full of mystery and of peace!

-Let love and anxious cares seek shade and solitude

-under the green shelter of groves, to soothe their

-secret wounds. O darkness of the sanctuary! the eye

-of religion prefers thee to the wood which the breeze

-disturbs! Nothing changes thy foliage; thy still

-shade is the image of motionless eternity!"

-

-.. ——File: 096.png

-

-There was not time to linger long. The pressure

-of worldly engagements was felt even at the shrine

-of the apostles. I walked about, and tried to recall

-the many splendid religious pageants I had there witnessed,

-and wondered sorrowfully whether I should

-ever again listen to that matchless choir, or have my

-heart stirred to its depths by the silver trumpets that

-reëcho under that sonorous vault in the most solemn

-moment of religion's holiest rite. Once more out in

-the clear hot atmosphere which seemed hotter than

-before. The Supreme Pontiff was absent from his

-capital, and the Vatican was comparatively empty.

-The Swiss guards, in their fantastic but picturesque

-uniform, were loitering about the foot of the grand

-staircase, and sighing for a breath of the cool air of

-their Alpine home. I took a last long gaze at that

-grand old pile of buildings,—the home of all that is

-most wonderful in art, the abode of that power which

-overthrew the old Roman empire, inaugurated the

-civilization of Europe, and planted Christianity in

-every quarter of the globe,—and then turned my

-unwilling feet homewards. In my course I passed

-the foot of the Janiculum Hill: it was too hot, however,

-to think of climbing up to the convent of Sant'

-Onofrio—though I would gladly have paid a final

-visit to that lovely spot where the munificence of

-Pius IX. has just completed a superb sepulchre for

-the repose of Tasso. So I crossed the Tiber in one

-of those little ferry boats which are attached to a

-cable stretched over the river, and thus are swung

-across by the movement of the current,—a labour-saving

-arrangement preëminently Roman in its character,—and

-soon found myself in my lodgings

-However warm the weather may be in Rome, one

-can keep tolerably comfortable so long as he does not

-move about,—thanks to the thick walls and heavy

-wooden window shutters of the houses,—so I found

-my room a cool asylum after my morning of laborious

-pleasure.

-

-At last, the good byes having all been said, behold

-me, with my old portmanteau, (covered with its

-many-coloured coat of baggage labels, those trophies

-of many a hard campaign of travel,) at the office of

-the diligence for Civita Vecchia. The luggage and

-the passengers having been successfully stowed away,

-the lumbering vehicle rolled down the narrow streets,

-and we were soon outside the gate that opens upon

-the old Aurelian Way. Here the passports were

-examined, the postilions cracked their whips, and I

-felt indeed that I was "banished from Rome." It is

-a sad thing to leave Rome. I have seen people who

-have made but a brief stay there shed more tears on

-going away than they ever did on a departure from

-home; but for one who has lived there long enough

-to feel like a Roman citizen—to feel that the broken

-columns of the Forum have become a part of his

-being—to feel as familiar with St. Peter's and the

-Vatican as with the King's Chapel and the Tremont

-House—it is doubly hard to go away. The old city,

-so "rich with the spoils of time," seems invested with

-a personality that appeals most powerfully to every

-man, and would fain hold him back from returning

-to the world. The lover of art there finds its choicest

-treasures ever open to him; the artist there finds an

-abundance of employment for his chisel or his brush;

-the man of business there finds an asylum from the

-vexing cares of a commercial career; the student of

-antiquity or of history can there take his fill amid the

-"wrecks of a world whose ashes still are warm," and

-listen to the centuries receding into the unalterable

-past with their burdens of glory or of crime; the

-lover of practical benevolence will there be delighted

-by the inspection of establishments for the relief of

-every possible form of want and suffering; the enthusiast

-for education finds there two universities and

-hundreds of public schools of every grade, and all as

-free as the bright water that sparkles in Rome's

-countless fountains; the devout can there rekindle

-their devotion at the shrines of apostles and martyrs,

-and breathe the holy air of cloisters in which saints

-have lived and died, or join their voices with those

-that resound in old churches, whose pavements are

-furrowed by the knees of pious generations; the admirer

-of pomp, and power, and historic associations

-can there witness the more than regal magnificence

-of a power, compared to which the houses of Bourbon

-or of Hapsburg are but of yesterday; the lover

-of republican simplicity can there find subject for

-admiration in the facility of access to the highest

-authorities, and in the perfection of his favourite

-elective system by which the supreme power is perpetuated.

-There is, in short, no class of men to

-whom Rome does not attach itself. People may

-complain during their first week that it is dull, or

-melancholy, or dirty; but you generally find them

-sorry enough to go away, and looking back to their

-residence there as the happiest period of their existence.

-Somebody has said,—and I wish that I could

-recall the exact words, they are so true,—that when

-we leave Paris, or Naples, or Florence, we feel a

-natural sorrow, as if we were parting from a cherished

-friend; but on our departure from Rome we

-feel a pang like that of separation from a woman

-whom we love!

-

-At last Rome disappeared from sight in the dusk

-of evening, and the discomforts of the journey began

-to make themselves obtrusive. The night air in Italy

-is not considered healthy, and we therefore had the

-windows of the diligence closed. Like Charles Lamb

-after the oyster pie, we were "all full inside," and a

-pretty time we had of it. As to respiration, you

-might as well have expected the performance of that

-function from a mackerel occupying the centre of a

-well-packed barrel of his finny comrades, as of any

-person inside that diligence. Of course there was a

-baby in the company, and of course the baby cried.

-I could not blame it, for even a fat old gentleman

-who sat opposite to me would have cried if he had

-not known how to swear. But it is useless to recall

-the anguish of that night: suffice it to say that for

-several hours the only air we got was an occasional

-vocal performance from the above-mentioned infant.

-At midnight we reached Palo, on the sea coast,

-where I heard "the wild water lapping on the crag,"

-and felt more keenly than before that I had indeed

-left Rome behind me. The remainder of the journey

-being along the coast, we had the window open,

-though it was not much better on that account, as we

-were choking with dust. It was small comfort to see

-the cuttings and fillings-in for the railway which is

-destined soon to destroy those beastly diligences, and

-place Rome within two or three hours of its seaport.

-

-.. ——File: 100.png

-

-At five o'clock in the morning, after ten toilsome

-hours, I found myself, tired, dusty, and hungry, in

-Civita Vecchia, a city which has probably been the

-cause of more profanity than any other part of the

-world, including Flanders. I was determined not to

-be fleeced by any of the hotel keepers; so I staggered

-about the streets until I found a barber's shop

-open. Having repaired the damage of the preceding

-night, I hove to in a neighbouring *café* long enough

-to take in a little ballast in the way of breakfast.

-Afterwards I fell in with an Englishman, of considerable

-literary reputation, whom I had several times

-met in Rome. He was one of those men who seem

-to possess all sorts of sense except common sense.

-He was full of details, and could tell exactly the

-height of the dome of St. Peter's, or of the great

-pyramid,—could explain the process of the manufacture

-of the Minié rifle or the boring of an artesian

-well, and could calculate an eclipse with Bond or

-Secchi,—but he could not pack a carpet-bag to save

-his life. That he should have been able to travel so

-far from home alone is a fine commentary on the

-honesty and good nature of the people of the continent.

-I could not help thinking what a time he would

-have were he to attempt to travel in America. He

-would think he had discovered a new nomadic tribe

-in the cabmen of New York. He had come down to

-Civita Vecchia in a most promiscuous style, and

-when I discovered him he was trying to bring about

-a union between some six or eight irreconcilable

-pieces of luggage. I aided him successfully in the

-work, and his look of perplexity and despair gave

-way to one of gratitude and admiration for his deliverer.

-Delighted at this escape from the realities of

-his situation, he launched out into a profound dissertation

-on the philosophy of language and the formation

-of provincial dialects, and it was some time

-before I could bring him down to the common and

-practical business of securing his passage in the

-steamer for Marseilles. Ten o'clock, however,

-found us on board one of the steamers of the *Messageries

-Imperiales*, and we were very shortly after

-under way. We were so unfortunate as to run aground

-on a little spit of land in getting out of port, as we

-ran a little too near an English steamer that was

-lying there. But a Russian frigate sent off a cable to

-us, and thus established an alliance between their flag

-and the French, which drew the latter out of the

-difficulty in which it had got by too close a proximity

-to its English neighbour.

-

-It was a beautiful, cloudless day, and reminded me

-of many halcyon days I had spent on that blue Mediterranean

-in other times. It reminded me of some

-of my childhood's days in the country in New England,—days

-described by Emerson where he says

-that we "bask in the shining hours of Florida and

-Cuba,"—when "the day, immeasurably long, sleeps

-over the broad hills and warm, wide fields,"—when

-"the cattle, as they lie on the ground, seem to have

-great and tranquil thoughts." It was on such a day

-that I used to delight to pore over my Shakspeare,

-undisturbed by any sound save the hum of the insect

-world, or the impatient switch of the tail, or movement

-of the feet, of a horse who had sought the same

-shade I was enjoying. To a man who has been

-rudely used by fortune, or who has drunk deep of

-sorrow or disappointment, I can conceive of nothing

-more grateful or consoling than a summer cruise in

-the Mediterranean. "The sick heart often needs a

-warm climate as much as the sick body."

-

-My English friend, immediately on leaving port,

-took some five or six prescriptions for the prevention

-of seasickness, and then went to bed, so that I had

-some opportunity to look about among our ship's

-company. There were two men, apparently companions,

-though they hardly spoke to each other,

-who amused me very much One was a person of

-about four feet and a half in height, who walked

-about on deck with that manner which so many diminutive

-persons have, of wishing to be thought as

-tall as Mr. George Barrett. He boasted a deportment

-that would have made the elder Turveydrop

-envious, while it was evident that under that serene

-and dignified exterior lay hidden all the warm-heartedness

-and geniality of that eminent philanthropist

-who was obliged to play a concerto on the violin to

-calm his grief at seeing the conflagration of his native

-city. The other looked as if "he had not loved

-the world, nor the world him"; he was a thin, bilious-looking

-person, and seemed like a whole serious

-family rolled into one individuality. I felt a great

-deal of curiosity to know whether he was reduced to

-that pitiable condition by piety or indigestion. I felt

-sure that he was meditating suicide as he gazed upon

-the sea, and I stood by him for some time to prevent

-his accomplishing any such purpose, until I became

-convinced that to let him take the jump, if he pleased,

-would be far the more philanthropic course of action.

-There was a French bishop, and a colonel of

-the French staff at Rome, among the passengers, and

-by their genial urbanity they fairly divided between

-them the affections of the whole company. Either of

-them would have made a fog in the English Channel

-seem like the sunshine of the Gulf of Egina. I picked

-up a pleasant companion in an Englishman who had

-travelled much and read more, and spent the greater

-part of the day with him. When he found that I was

-an American, he at once asked me if I had ever been

-to Niagara, and had ever seen Longfellow and

-Emerson. I am astonished to find so many cultivated

-English people who know little or nothing

-about Tennyson; I am inclined to think he has ten

-readers in America to one in England, while the English

-can repeat Longfellow by pages.

-

-After thirty hours of pleasant sailing along by

-Corsica and Elba, and along the coast of France,

-until it seemed as if our cruise (like that of the widow

-of whom we have all read) would never have an

-end, we came to anchor in the midst of a vast fleet

-of steamers in the new port of Marseilles. The

-bustle of commercial activity seemed any thing but

-pleasant after the classical repose of Rome; but the

-landlady of the hotel was most gracious, and when I

-opened the window of my room looking out on the

-Place Royale, one of those peripatetic dispensers of

-melody, whose life (like the late M. Mantalini's

-after he was reduced in circumstances) must be "one

-demnition horrid grind," executed "Sweet Home"

-in a manner that went entirely home to the heart of

-at least one of his accidental audience.

-

-.. ——File: 104.png

-

-

-

-

-MARSEILLES, LYONS, AND AIX IN SAVOY

------------------------------------

-

-

-If the people of Marseilles do not love the Emperor

-of the French, they ought to be ashamed

-of themselves. He has so completely changed the

-aspect of that city by his improvements, that the man

-who knows it as it existed in the reign of Louis Philippe,

-would be lost if he were to revisit it now. The

-completion of the railway from Paris to Marseilles

-is an inestimable advantage to the latter city, while

-the new port, in magnitude and style of execution, is

-worthy of comparison with the splendid docks of

-London and Liverpool. The flags of every civilized

-nation may be seen there; and the variety of costumes

-and languages, which bewilder one's eyes and

-ears, assure him that he is in the commercial metropolis

-of the Mediterranean. The frequency of steam

-communication between Marseilles and the various

-ports of Spain, Italy, Africa, and the Levant, draws

-to it a large proportion of the travellers in those

-directions. I believe that Marseilles is only celebrated

-for having been colonized by the Phocæans,

-or some such people, for having several times been

-devastated by the plague, and for having been very

-perfectly described by Dickens in his Little Dorrit.

-The day on which I arrived there was very like the

-one described by Dickens; so if any one would like

-further particulars, he had better overhaul his Little

-Dorrit, and, "when found, make note of it."

-

-The day after my arrival I saw a grand religious

-procession in the streets of the city. The landlady

-of my hotel had told me of it, but my expectations

-were not raised very high, for I thought that after

-the grandeur of Rome, all other things in that way

-would be comparatively tame. But I was mistaken;

-the procession fairly rivalled those of Rome. There

-were the same gorgeous vestments, the same picturesque

-groupings of black robes and snowy surplices,

-of mitres and crosiers and shaven crowns, of

-scarlet and purple and cloth of gold, the same swinging

-censers and clouds of fragrant incense, the same

-swelling flood of almost supernatural music. The

-municipal authorities of the city, with the staff of the

-garrison, joined in the procession, and the military

-display was such as can hardly be seen out of France.

-I have often been struck with the facility with which

-the Catholic religion adapts itself to the character of

-every nation. I have had some opportunity of observation;

-I have seen the Catholic Church on three out

-of the four continents, and have every where noticed

-the same phenomenon. Mahometanism could never

-be transplanted to the snowy regions of Russia or

-Norway; it needs the soft, enervating atmosphere of

-Asia to keep it alive; the veranda, the bubbling fountain,

-the noontide repose, are all parts of it. Puritanism

-is the natural growth of a country where the

-sun seldom shines, and which is shut out by a barrier

-of water and fog from kindly intercourse with its

-neighbours. It could never thrive in the bright

-south. The merry vine-dressers of Italy could never

-draw down their faces to the proper length, and

-would be very unwilling to exchange their blithesome

-*canzonetti* for Sternhold and Hopkins's version.

-But the Catholic Church, while it unites its professors

-in the belief of the same inflexible creed, leaves

-them entirely free in all mere externals and national

-peculiarities. When I see the light-hearted Frenchman,

-the fiery Italian, the serious Spaniard, the cunning

-Greek, the dignified Armenian, the energetic

-Russian, the hard-headed Dutchman, the philosophical

-German, the formal and "respectable" Englishman,

-the thrifty Scotchman, the careless and

-warm-hearted Irishman, and the calculating, go-ahead

-American, all bound together by the profession

-of the same faith, and yet retaining their

-national characteristics,—I can compare it to nothing

-but to a similar phenomenon that we may notice in

-the prism, which, while it is a pure and perfect crystal,

-is found on examination to contain, in their perfection,

-all the various colours of the rainbow.

-

-The terminus of the Lyons and Mediterranean

-Railway is one of the best things of its kind in the

-world. I wish that some of our American railway

-directors could take a few lessons from the French.

-The attention paid to securing the comfort and

-safety of the passengers and the regularity of the

-trains would quite bewilder him. Instead of finding

-the station a long, unfinished kind of shed, with two

-small, beastly waiting rooms at one side, and a

-stand for a vender of apples, root beer, and newspapers,

-he would see a fine stone structure, several

-hundred feet in length, with a roof of iron and glass.

-He would enter a hall which would remind him of

-the Doric hall of the State House in Boston, only

-that it is several times larger, and is paved with

-marble. He would choose out of the three ticket

-offices of the three classes, where he would ride, and

-he would be served with a promptness and politeness

-that would remind him of Mr. Child in the palmy

-days of the old Tremont Theatre, while he would

-notice that an officer stood by each ticket office to see

-that every purchaser got his ticket and the proper

-change, and to give all necessary information. Having

-booked his luggage, he would be ushered into one

-of the three waiting rooms, all of them furnished

-in a style of neatness and elegance that would greatly

-astonish him. He might employ the interval in the

-study of geography, assisted by a map painted on one

-side of the room, giving the entire south of France

-and Piedmont, with the railways, &c., and executed

-in such a style that the names of the towns are legible

-at a distance of fifteen or twenty feet. Two or three

-minutes before the hour fixed for the starting of the

-train, the door would be opened, and he would take

-his seat in the train with the other passengers. The

-whole affair would go on so systematically, with such

-an absence of noise and excitement, that he would

-doubt whether he had been in a railway station at all,

-until he found himself spinning along at a rapid rate,

-through long tunnels, and past the beautiful panorama

-of Provençal landscape.

-

-The sun was as bright as it always is in fair

-Provence, the sky as blue. The white dusty roads

-wound around over the green landscape, like great

-serpents seeking to hide their folds amid those hills.

-The almond, the lemon, and the fig attracted the attention

-of the traveller from the north, before all

-other trees,—not to forget however, the pale foliage

-of that tree which used to furnish wreaths for Minerva's

-brow, but now supplies us with oil for our

-salads. Arles, with its old amphitheatre (a broken

-shadow of the Coliseum) looming up above it, lay

-stifled with dust and broiling in the sun, as we hurried

-on towards Avignon. It does not take much time to

-see that old city, which, from being so long the abode

-of the exiled popes, seems to have caught and retained

-something of the quiet dignity and repose of

-Rome itself. That gloomy old palace of the popes,

-with its lofty turrets, seems to brood over the town,

-and weigh it down as with sorrow for its departed

-greatness. Centuries have passed, America has been

-discovered, the whole face of Europe has changed,

-since a pontiff occupied those halls; and yet there it

-stands, a monument commemorating a mere episode

-in the history of the see of St. Peter.

-

-Arriving at Lyons, I found another palatial station,

-on even a grander scale than that of Marseilles.

-The architect has worked the coats of arms of the

-different cities of France into the stone work of the

-exterior in a very effective manner. Lyons bears

-witness, no less than Marseilles, to the genius of the

-wonderful man who now governs France. It is a

-popular notion in England and America, that the

-enterprise of Napoleon III. has been confined to the

-improvement of Paris. If persons who labour under

-this error would extend their journeyings a little beyond

-the ordinary track of a summer excursion, they

-would find that there is scarcely a town in the empire

-that has not felt the influence of his skill as a statesman

-and political economist. The *Rue Imperiale* of

-Lyons is a monument of which any sovereign might

-be justly proud. The activity of Lyons, the new

-buildings rising on every side, and its look of prosperity,

-would lead one to suppose that it was some

-place that had just been settled, instead of a city

-with twenty centuries of history. The Sunday, I was

-glad to see, was well observed; perhaps not exactly

-in the style which Aminadab Sleek would commend,

-but in a very rational, Christian, un-Jewish manner.

-The shops were, for the most part, closed, the

-churches were crowded with people, and in the afternoon

-and evening the entire population was abroad

-enjoying itself—and a cleaner, better-behaved, happier-looking

-set of people I never saw. The excessive

-heat still continues. It is now more than two

-months since I opened my umbrella; the prospects of

-the harvest are good, but they are praying hard in

-the churches for a little rain. During my stay at

-Lyons, I lived almost entirely on fresh figs, and

-plums and ices. How full the *cafés* were those sultry

-evenings! How busy must the freezers have been

-in the cellars below! I read through all the newspapers

-I could lay my hands on, and then amused

-myself with watching the gay, chattering throng

-around me. How my mind flew across the ocean

-that evening to a quiet back parlour at the South

-End! I could see the venerable Baron receiving a

-guest on such a night as that, and making the weather

-seem cool by contrast with the warmth of his hospitality.

-I could see him offering to his perspiring

-visitor a release from the slavery of broadcloth, in

-the loan of a nankeen jacket, and then busying himself

-in the preparation of a compound of old Cochituate,

-(I had almost said old Jamaica,) of ice, of

-sugar, yea, of lemons, and commending the grateful

-chalice to the parched lips of his guest. Such an

-evening in the Baron's back parlour is the very

-ecstasy of hospitality. It is many months since that

-old nankeen jacket folded me in its all-embracing

-arms, but the very thought of it awakes a thrill of

-pleasure in my heart. When I last saw it, "decay's

-effacing fingers" had meddled with the buttons

-thereof, and it was growing a trifle consumptive in

-the vicinity of the elbows; but I hope that it is good

-for many a year of usefulness yet, before the epitaph

-writer shall commence the recital of its merits with

-those melancholy words, *Hic jacet!* Pardon me,

-dear reader, for this digression from the recital of

-my wanderings; but this jacket, the remembrance of

-which is so dear to me, is not the trifle it may seem

-to you. It is, I believe, the only institution in the

-world of the same age and importance, which has

-not been apostrophized in verse by that gifted bard,

-Mr. Martin Farquhar Tupper. If this be not celebrity,

-what is it?

-

-In one of the narrow streets of Lyons I found a

-barber named Melnotte. He was a man somewhat

-advanced in life, and I feel sure that he addressed a

-good-looking woman in a snowy white cap, who

-looked in from a back room while I was having my

-hair cut, as Pauline. Be that as it may, when he had

-finished his work, and I walked up to the mirror to

-inspect it, he addressed to me the language of Bulwer's

-hero, "Do you like the picture?" or words to

-that effect. I cannot help mistrusting that Sir Edward

-may have misled us concerning the ultimate

-history of the Lady of Lyons and her husband. But

-the heat was too intolerable for human endurance;

-so I packed up, and leaving that fair city, with its

-numerous graceful bridges, and busy looms whose

-fabrics brighten the eyes of the beauties of Europe

-and America, and lighten the purses of their chivalry,—leaving

-Our Lady of Fourvières looking

-down with outstretched hands from the dome of her

-lofty shrine, and watching over her faithful Lyonnese,—I

-turned my face towards the Alpine regions.

-

-The Alps have always been to me what Australia

-was to the late Mr. Micawber—"the bright dream

-of my youth, and the fallacious aspiration of my

-riper years." I remember when I was young, long

-before the days of railways and steamers, in the

-times when a man who had travelled in Europe was

-invested with a sort of awful dignity—I remember

-hearing a travelled uncle of mine tell about the Alps,

-and I resolved, with all the enthusiasm of boyhood,

-thenceforward to "save up" all my Fourth of July

-and Artillery Election money, until I should be able

-to go and see one. When the Rev. James Sheridan

-Knowles (he was a wicked playactor in those days)

-produced his drama of William Tell, how it fed the

-flame of my ambition! How I longed to stand with

-the hero once again among his native hills! How I

-loved the glaciers! How I doted on the avalanches!

-But age has cooled the longings of my heart for

-mountain excursions, and robbed my legs of all their

-climbing powers, so that if it depends upon my own

-bodily exertions, the Vale of Chamouni will be entirely

-unavailable for me, and every mount will be to

-me a blank. The scenery along the line of railway

-from Ambérieu to Culoz on the Rhone is very grand.

-The ride reminded me of the ride over the Atlantic

-and St. Lawrence road through the White Mountains,

-only it is finer. The boldness of the cliffs and

-precipices was something to make one's heart beat

-quick, and cause him to wonder how the peasants

-could work so industriously, and the cattle feed so

-constantly, without stopping to look up at the magnificence

-that hemmed them in.

-

-At Culoz I went on board one of those peculiar

-steamers of the Rhone—about one hundred and

-fifty feet in length by ten or twelve in width. Our

-way lay through a narrow and circuitous branch of

-the river for several miles. The windings of the

-river were such that men were obliged to turn the

-boat about by means of cables, which they made fast

-to posts fixed in the banks on either side for that purpose.

-The scenery along the banks was like a dream

-of Paradise. To say that the country was smiling

-with flowers and verdure does not express it—it was

-bursting into a broad grin of fertility. Such vineyards!

-Not like the grape vine in your back yard,

-dear reader, nailed up against a brick wall, but large,

-luxuriant vines, seeming at a loss what to do with

-themselves, and festooned from tree to tree, just as

-you see them in the scenery of Fra Diavolo. And

-then there were groups of people in costumes of picturesque

-negligence, and women in large straw hats,

-and dresses of brilliant colours, just like the chorus

-of an opera. The deep, rich hue of the foliage particularly

-attracted my notice. It was as different

-from the foliage of New England as Winship's Gardens

-are from an invoice of palm-leaf hats. Beyond

-the immediate vicinity of the river rose up beautiful

-hills and cliffs like the Palisades of the Hudson. Let

-those who will, prefer the wild grandeur of our

-American mountain scenery; there is a great charm

-for me in the union of nature and art. The careful

-cultivation of the fields seems to set off and render

-more grand and austere the gray, jagged cliffs that

-overlook them. As the elder Pliny most justly remarks,

-(lib. iv. cap. xi. 24,) "It requires the lemon

-as well as the sugar to make the punch."

-

-After about an hour's sail upon the river, we came

-out upon the beautiful Lake of Bourget. It was

-stirred by a gentle breeze, but it seemed as if its

-bright blue surface had never reflected a cloud. All

-around its borders the trees and vines seemed bending

-down to drink of its pure waters. Far off in the

-distance rose up the mighty peaks of the Alps—their

-snow-white tops contrasting with the verdure of their

-sides. They seemed to be watching with pleasure

-over the glad scenes beneath them, like old men

-whose gray hairs have been powerless to disturb the

-youthful freshness and geniality of their hearts.

-

-At St. Innocent I landed, and underwent the custom

-house formalities attendant upon entrance into

-a new territory. The officials were very expeditious,

-and equally polite. I at first supposed that the letters

-V. E., which each of them bore conspicuously on his

-cap, meant "*very empty*,"—but it afterwards occurred

-to me that they were the initials of his majesty,

-the King of Sardinia. A few minutes' ride over

-the "Victor Emmanuel Railway" brought me to the

-beautiful village of Aix. It is situated, as my friend

-the Lyonnese barber would say, in "a deep vale shut

-out by Alpine hills from the rude world." It possesses

-about 2500 inhabitants; but that number is

-considerably augmented at present, for the mineral

-springs of Aix are very celebrated, and this is the

-height of "the season." There is a great deal of

-what is called "society" here, and during the morning

-the baths are crowded. It is as dull as all watering

-places necessarily are, and twice as hot. I think

-that the French manage these things better than we

-do in America. There is less humbug, less display of

-jewelry and dress, and a vast deal more of common

-sense and solid comfort than with us. The *cafés* are

-like similar establishments in all such places—an

-abundance of ices and ordinary coffee, and a plentiful

-lack of newspapers. I have found a companion,

-however, who more than makes good the latter deficiency.

-He is an Englishman of some seventy years,

-who is here bathing for his gout. His light hair and

-fresh complexion disguise his age so completely that

-most people, when they see us together, judge me,

-from my gray locks, to be the elder. He is one of the

-most entertaining persons I have ever met—he knows

-the classics by heart,—is familiar with English,

-French, Italian, German, and Spanish literature,—speaks

-nine languages,—and has travelled all over

-the world. He is as familiar with the Steppes of

-Tartary as with Wapping Old Stairs,—has imbibed

-sherbet in Damascus and sherry cobblers in New

-York, and seen a lion hunt in South Africa. But his

-heart is the heart of a boy—"age cannot wither nor

-custom stale" its infinite geniality. He cannot pass

-by a beggar without making an investment for eternity,

-and all the babies look over the shoulders of

-their nurses to smile at him as he walks the streets.

-I mention him here for the sake of recording one of

-his opinions, which struck me by its truth and originality.

-We were sitting in a *café* last evening, and,

-after a long conversation, I asked him what he

-should give as the result of all his reading and observation

-of men and things, and all his experience,

-if he were to sum it up in one sentence. "Sir," said

-he, removing his meerschaum from his mouth, and

-turning towards me as if to give additional force to

-his reply, "it may all be comprised in this: the world

-is composed of two classes of men—natural fools

-and d—d fools; the first class are those who have

-never made any pretensions, or have reached a just

-appreciation of the nothingness of all human acquirements

-and hopes; the second are those whose belief

-in their own infallibility has never been disturbed;

-and this class includes a vast number of every rank,

-from the profound German philosopher, who thinks

-that he has fathomed infinity, down to that young

-fop twirling his moustache at the opposite table, and

-flattering himself that he is making a great impression."

-

-Savoy, as every body knows, was once a part of

-France, and it still retains all of its original characteristics.

-I have not heard ten words of Italian since

-I arrived here, and, judging from what I do hear and

-from the tone of the newspapers, it would like to

-become a part of France again. The Savoyards are

-a religious, steady-going people, and they have little

-love either for the weak and dissolute monarch who

-governs them, or for the powerful, infidel prime minister

-who governs their monarch. The high-pitched

-roofs of the houses here are suggestive of the snows

-of winter; but the heat reminds me of the coast of

-Africa during a sirocco. How true is Sydney

-Smith's remark, "Man only lives to shiver or perspire"!

-The thermometer ranges any where from

-80° to 90°. Can this be the legitimate temperature

-of these mountainous regions? I am "ill at these

-numbers," and nothing would be so invigorating to

-my infirm and shaky frame as a sniff of the salt

-breezes of Long Branch or Nantasket.

-

-.. ——File: 117.png

-

-

-

-

-AIX TO PARIS

-------------

-

-

-There is no need of telling how disgusted I

-became with Aix-les-Bains and all that in it is,

-after a short residence there. How I hated those

-straw-hatted people who beset the baths from the

-earliest flush of the aurora! How I detested those

-fellows who were constantly pestering me with offers

-(highly advantageous, without doubt) of donkeys

-whereon to ride, when they knew that I didn't want

-one! How I abominated the sight of a man (who

-seemed to haunt me) in a high velvet-collared coat

-and a bell-crowned hat just overtopping an oily-looking

-head of hair and bushy whiskers—who looked,

-for all the world, as if he were made up for Sir Harcourt

-Courtly! How maliciously he held on to the

-newspapers in the *café*! How constantly he sat

-there and devoured all the news out of them through

-the medium of a double tortoise-shell eye-glass,

-which always seemed to be just falling off his nose!

-How I abhorred the sight of those waiters, who

-looked as if the season were a short one, and time

-(as B. Franklin said) was money! How stifling was

-the atmosphere of that "seven-by-nine" room for

-which I had to pay so dearly! How hot, how dusty,

-how dull it was, I need not weary you by telling;

-suffice it to say, that I never packed my trunk more

-willingly than when I left that village. I am very

-glad to have been there, however, for the satisfaction

-I felt at leaving the place is worth almost any

-effort to obtain. The joy of departure made even

-the exorbitant bills seem reasonable; and when I

-thought of the stupidity and discomfort I was escaping

-from, I felt as if, come what might, my future

-could only be one of sunshine and content. Aix-les-Bains

-is one of the pleasantest places to leave that I

-have ever seen. I can never forget the measureless

-happiness of seeing my luggage ticketed for Paris,

-and then taking my seat with the consciousness that

-I was leaving Aix (not *aches*, alas!) behind me.

-

-The Lake of Bourget was as beautiful and smiling

-as before—only it did seem as if the sun might have

-held in a little. He scorched and blistered the passengers

-on that steamboat in the most absurd manner.

-He seemed never to have heard of Horace,

-and was consequently entirely ignorant of the propriety

-of maintaining a *modus* in his *rebuses*. The

-scenery along the banks of the Rhone had not

-changed in the least, but was as romantic and theatrical

-as ever. At Culoz I was glad to get on shore,

-for like Hamlet, I had been "too much i' the sun";

-so I left the "blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,"

-(which the late Lord Byron, with his usual disregard

-of truth, talks about, and which is as muddy as a

-Medford brick-yard,) and took refuge in the hospitality

-of a custom house. Here I fell into a meditation

-upon custom house officers. I wonder whether

-the custom house officers of France are in their

-leisure hours given to any of the vanities which delight

-their American brethren. There was one lean,

-thoughtful-looking man among those at Culoz who

-attracted my attention. I tried ineffectually to make

-out his bent from his physiognomy. I could not

-imagine him occupying his leisure by putting any

-twice-told tales on paper—or cultivating Shanghai

-poultry—or riding on to the tented field amid the

-roar of artillery at the head of a brigade of militia,—and

-I was obliged, in the hurry of the examination

-of luggage, to give him up.

-

-I had several times, during the journey from Aix,

-noticed a tall, eagle-eyed man, in a suit of gray, and

-wearing a moustache of the same colour, and while

-we were waiting for the train at Culoz, I observed

-that he attracted a great deal of attention: his bearing

-was so commanding, that I had set him down as

-being connected with the military interest, before I

-noticed that he did not bear arms, for the left sleeve

-of his coat hung empty and useless by his side; so I

-ventured to inquire concerning him, and learned that

-I was a fellow-traveller of Marshal Baraguay d'Hilliers.

-I must do him the justice to say that he did not

-look like a man who would leave his arms on the

-field.

-

-We were soon whirling, and puffing, and whistling

-along through the tame but pleasing landscape of

-France. Those carefully-tilled fields, those vineyards

-almost overflowing with the raw material of

-conviviality, those interminable rows of tall trees

-which seem to give no shade, those farm-houses,

-whose walls we should in America consider strong

-enough for fortifications, those contented-looking

-cattle, those towns that seem to consist of a single

-street and an old gray tower, with a dark-coloured

-conical top, like a candle extinguisher,—all had a

-good, familiar look to me; and the numerous fields

-of Indian corn almost made me think that I was on

-my way to Worcester or Fitchburg. I stopped for a

-while at Macon, (a town which I respect for its contributions

-to the good cheer of the world,) and

-hugely enjoyed a walk through its clean, quiet streets.

-While I was waiting at the station, the express train

-from Paris came along; and many of the passengers

-left their places (like Mr. Squeers) to stretch their

-legs. Among them was a man whose acquisitive eye,

-black satin waistcoat, fashionable hat, (such as no

-man but an American would think of travelling in,)

-and coat with the waist around his hips, and six or

-eight inches of skirt, immediately fixed my attention.

-Before I thought, he had asked me if I could speak

-English. I set him at his ease by answering that I

-took lessons in it once when I was young, and he

-immediately launched out as follows: "Well, this is

-the cussedest language I ever did hear. I don't see

-how in *the* devil these blasted fools can have lived so

-long right alongside of England without trying to

-learn the English language." The whistle of the

-engine cut short the declaration of his sentiments,

-and he was whizzing on towards Lyons a moment

-after. Whoever that man may have been, he owes it

-to himself and his country to write a book. His

-work would be as worthy of consideration as the

-writings of two thirds of our English and American

-travellers, who think they are qualified to write about

-the government and social condition of a country

-because they have travelled through it. Fancy a

-Frenchman, entirely ignorant of the English tongue,

-landing at Boston, and stopping at the Tremont

-House or Parker's; he visits the State House, the

-Athenæum, Bunker Hill, the wharves, &c. Then on

-Sunday he wishes to know something about the religion

-of these strange people; so he goes across the

-street to the King's Chapel, and finds that it is

-closed; so he walks down the street in the burning

-sun to Brattle Street, where he hears a comfortable,

-drony kind of sermon, which seems to have as composing

-an effect upon the fifty or a hundred persons

-who are present as upon himself. In the afternoon

-he finds his way to Trinity Church, (somebody having

-charitably told him that that is the most genteel

-place,) and there he hears "our admirable liturgy"

-sonorously read out to twenty or thirty people, all of

-whom are so engrossed in their devotions that the

-responses are entirely neglected. Having had

-enough of what the Irishman called the English lethargy,

-he returns to his lodgings, and writes in his

-note-book that the Americans seldom go to church,

-and when they do, go there to sleep in comfortable

-pews. Then he makes a little tour of a fortnight to

-New Haven, Providence, Springfield, &c., and returns

-to France to write a book of travels in New

-England. And what are all his observations worth?

-I'll tell you. They are worth just as much, and give

-exactly as faithful a representation of the state of

-society in New England, as four fifths of the books

-written by English and American travellers in

-France, Spain, and Italy, do of the condition of

-those countries.

-

-I have encountered many interesting studies of

-humanity here on the continent in my day. I have

-met many people who have come abroad with a

-vague conviction that travel improves one, and who

-do not see that to visit Europe without some preparation

-is like going a-fishing without line or bait.

-They appear to think that some great benefit is to be

-obtained by passing over a certain space of land and

-water, and being imposed upon to an unlimited extent

-by a horde of *commissionnaires*, *ciceroni*, couriers,

-and others, who find in their ignorance and lack

-of common sense a source of wealth. I met, the

-other day, a gentleman from one of the Western

-States, who said that he was "putting up" at

-Meurice's Hotel, but didn't think much of it; if it

-had not been for some English people whom he fell

-in with on the way from Calais, he should have gone

-to the Hôtel de Ville, which he supposed, from the

-pictures he had seen, must be a "fust class house"! I

-have within a few hours seen an American, who could

-not ask the simplest question in French, but thinks

-that he shall stop three or four weeks, and learn the

-language! I have repeatedly met people who told

-me that they had come out to Europe "jest to see the

-place." But it is not alone such ignoramuses as these

-who merit the pity or contempt of the judicious and

-sensible. Their folly injures no one but themselves.

-The same cannot be said, however, of the authors of

-the numerous duodecimos of foreign travel which

-burden the booksellers' counters. They have supposed

-that they can sketch a nation's character by

-looking at its towns from the windows of an express

-train. They presume to write about the social life

-of France or Italy, while they are ignorant of any

-language but their own, and do not know a single

-French or Italian family. Victims of a bitter prejudice

-against those countries and their institutions,

-they are prepared beforehand to be shocked and disgusted

-at all they see. Like Sterne's Smelfungus,

-they "set out with the spleen and jaundice, and every

-object they pass by is discoloured or distorted."

-Kenelm Digby wisely remarks that one of the great

-advantages of journeying beyond sea, to a man of

-sense and feeling, is the spectacle of general travellers:

-"it will prevent his being ever again imposed

-upon by these birds of passage, when they record

-their adventures and experience on returning to the

-north."

-

-Dijon is a fine old city. Every body knows that

-it used to be the capital of Burgundy, but to the general

-reader it is more particularly interesting as being

-the place to which Mrs. Dombey and Mr. Carker

-fled after the elopement. There is a fine cathedral

-and public library, and the whole place has an eminently

-Burgundian flavour which makes one regret

-that he got tired so soon when he tried to read Froissart's

-Chronicles. There is a church there which

-was desecrated during the old revolution, and is now

-used as a market-house. It bears an inscription

-which presents a satirical commentary on its recent

-history: "*Domine, dilexi decorem domus tuæ!*" The

-Dijon gingerbread (which the people, in their ignorance

-and lack of our common school advantages,

-call *pain d'épice*) would really merit a diploma from

-that academy of connoisseurs, the Massachusetts

-House of Representatives. But Dombey and Dijon

-are all forgotten in our first glimpse of the "gay

-capital of bewildering France." There lay Paris,

-sparkling under the noonday sun. The sight of its

-domes and monuments awoke all my fellow-travellers:

-shabby caps and handkerchiefs were exchanged

-for hats and bonnets, which gave their wearers an

-air of respectability perfectly uncalled for. We were

-soon inside the fortifications, which have been so

-outgrown by the city that one hardly notices them;

-and, after the usual luggage examination, I found

-myself in an omnibus, and once more on the Boulevards.

-

-And what a good, comfortable home-feeling it

-was! There were the old, familiar streets, the well-known

-advertisements, painted conspicuously, in

-blue, and green, and gold, on what would else have

-been a blank, unsightly wall, and inviting me to purchase

-cloths and cashmeres; there were the same

-ceaseless tides of life ebbing and flowing through

-those vast thoroughfares, the same glossy beavers,

-the same snowy caps and aprons, the same blouses,

-the same polite, *s'il vous-plaît, pardon, m'sieur*, take-it-easy

-air, that Paris, as seen from an omnibus window,

-always presents. We rolled through the Rue

-St. Antoine, and it was hard to realize that it had

-ever been the theatre of so much appalling history.

-I tried to imagine the barricades, the street ploughed

-up by artillery, and that heroic martyr, Archbishop

-Affre, falling there, and praying that his blood might

-be the last shed in that fratricidal strife; but it was

-useless; the lively present made the past seem but

-the mere invention of the historian. All traces of

-the frightful scenes of 1848 have been effaced, and

-the facilities for barricades have been disposed of in

-a way that must make red republicanism very disrespectful

-to the memory of MacAdam. As we passed

-a church in that bloody locality, a wedding party

-came out; the bridegroom looked as if he had taken

-chloroform to enable him to get through his difficulties,

-and the effect of it had not entirely passed off.

-The bride (for women, you know, have greater

-power of endurance than men) seemed to take it

-more easily, and, beaming in the midst of a sort of

-wilderness of lace, and gauze, and muslin, like a

-lighthouse in a fog, she tripped briskly into the carriage,

-with a bouquet in her hand, and happiness in

-her heart. Before the bridal party got fairly out of

-sight, a funeral came along. The white pall showed

-that it was a child who slept upon the bier; for the

-Catholic church does not mourn over those who are

-removed from the temptations of life before they

-have known them. The vehicles all gave way to let

-the little procession pass, the hum seemed to cease

-for a moment, every head was uncovered, even the

-porter held his burden on his shoulder with one hand

-that he might pay his respects to that sovereign to

-whom even republicans are obliged to bow, and the

-many-coloured hats of the omnibus drivers were

-doffed. I had often before noticed those striking

-contrasts that one sees in a capital like Paris; but to

-meet such a one at my very entrance impressed me

-deeply. Such is Paris. You think it the liveliest

-place in the world, (and so it is;) but suddenly you

-come upon something that makes you thoughtful, if

-it does not sadden you. Life and death elbow and

-jostle each other along these gay streets, until it

-seems as if they were rivals striving to drive each

-other out. I entered a church a day or two since.

-There was a funeral at the high altar. The black

-vestments and hangings, the lighted tapers, the solemn

-chant of the *De profundis* were eloquent of

-death and what must follow it. I was startled by

-hearing a child's cry, and looking round into the

-chapel which served as a baptistery, there stood two

-young mothers who had just received their infants

-from that purifying laver which made them members

-of the great Christian family. I never before had

-that beautiful thought of Chateaubriand's so forced

-upon me—"Religion has rocked us in the cradle of

-life, and her maternal hand shall close our eyes,

-while her holiest melodies soothe us to rest in the

-cradle of death."

-

-There are, without doubt, many persons, who can

-say that in their pilgrimage of life they have truly

-"found their warmest welcome at an inn." My experience

-outstrips that, for I have received one of

-my most cordial greetings in a *café*. The establishment

-in question is so eminently American, that I

-should feel as if I had neglected a sacred duty, if I

-did not describe it, for the benefit of future sojourners

-in the French capital, who are hereby requested

-to overhaul their memorandum books and make a

-note of it. It does not boast the magnificence and

-luxury of the *Café de Paris*, Véry's, the *Trois Frères

-Provençaux*, nor of Taylor's; nor does it thrust itself

-forward into the publicity of the gay Boulevards,

-or of the thronged arcades of the *Palais

-Royal*. It does not appeal to those who love the

-noise and dust of fashion's highway; for them it has

-no welcome. But to those who love "the cool,

-sequestered path of life," it offers a degree of quiet

-comfort, to which the "slaves of passion, avarice,

-and pride," who view themselves in the mirrors of

-the *Maison Dorée*, are strangers. You turn from

-the *Boulevard des Italiens* into the *Rue de la Michodière*,

-which you perambulate until you come to number

-six, where you will stop and take an observation.

-Perhaps wonder will predominate over admiration.

-The front of the establishment does not exceed

-twelve feet in width, and the sign over the door

-shows that it is a *Crêmerie*. The fact is also adumbrated

-symbolically by a large brass can, which is set

-over the portal. In one of the windows may be

-observed a neatly-executed placard, to this effect:—

-

-   | :small-caps:`Aux Américains`

-   |    Spécialité.

-   |

-   |   Pumpkin Pie.

-

-"Enter—its vastness overwhelms thee not!" On

-the contrary, having passed through the little front

-shop, you stand in a room ten or twelve feet square—just

-the size of Washington Irving's "empire," in

-the Red Horse Inn, at Stratford. This little room

-is furnished with two round tables, a sideboard, and

-several chairs, and is decorated with numerous

-crayon sketches of the knights of the aforesaid round

-tables. You make the acquaintance of the excellent

-Madame Busque, and order your dinner, which is

-served promptly and with a motherly care, which

-will at first remind you of the time when your bib

-was carefully tied on, and you were lifted to a seat

-on the family Bible, which had been placed on a

-chair, to bring the juvenile mouth into proper relations

-with the table.

-

-.. ——File: 128.png

-

-Nothing can surpass the home feeling that took

-possession of me when I found myself once more in

-Madame Busque's little back room at No. 6, *Rue de

-la Michodière*. How cordial was that estimable

-lady's welcome! She made herself as busy as a cat

-with one chicken, and prepared for me a "tired

-nature's sweet restorer" in the shape of one of her

-famous omelets. The old den had not changed in

-the least. Madame Busque used to threaten occasionally

-to paint it, and otherwise improve and embellish

-it; but we always told her that if she did any

-thing of that kind, or tried to render it less dingy, or

-snug, or unpretending, we would never eat another

-of her pumpkin pies. Not all the mirrors and magnificence

-of the resorts of fashion can equal the quiet

-cosiness of Madame Busque's back room. You meet

-all kinds of company there. The blouse is at home

-there, as well as its ambitious cousin, the broadcloth

-coat. Law and medicine, literature and art, pleasure

-and honest toil, meet there upon equal terms. Our

-own aristocratic Washington never dreamed of such

-a democracy as his calm portrait looks down upon in

-that room. Then we have such a delightful neighbourhood

-there. I feel as if the charcoal woman of

-the next door but one below was some relation to me—at

-least an aunt; she always has a pleasant word

-and a smile for the frequenters of No. 6; and then it

-is so disinterested on her part, for we can none of us

-need any of her charcoal. I hope that no person

-who reads this will be misled by it, and go to Madame

-Busque's *crêmerie* expecting to find there the

-variety which the restaurants boast, for he will be

-disappointed. But he will find every thing there of

-the best description. My taste in food (as in most

-other matters) is a very catholic one: I can eat beef

-with the English, garlic and onions with the French,

-sauerkraut with the Germans, macaroni with the

-Italians, pilaf with the Turks, baked beans with the

-Yankees, hominy with the southerners, and oysters

-with any body. But as I feel age getting the better

-of me day by day, I think I grow to be more and

-more of a pre-Raphaelite in these things. So I crave

-nothing more luxurious than a good steak or chop,

-with the appropriate vegetables; and these are to be

-had in their perfection at Madame Busque's. My

-benison upon her!

-

-The canicular weather I suffered from in the south

-followed me even here. I found every body talking

-about the extraordinary *chaleur*. Shade of John

-Rogers! how the sun has glared down upon Paris,

-day after day, without winking, until air-tight stoves

-are refrigerators compared to it, and even old-fashioned

-preaching is outdone! How the asphalte sidewalks

-of the Boulevards have melted under his rays,

-and perfumed the air with any thing but a Sabæan

-odour! The fragrance of the linden trees was entirely

-overpowered. The thought of the helmets of

-the cavalry was utterly intolerable. Tortoni's and

-the *cafés* were crowded. Great was the clamour for

-ices. Greater still was the rush to the cool shades of

-the public gardens, or the environs of Bougival and

-Marly. At last, the welcome rain came hissing down

-upon these heated roofs; and *malheur* to the man

-who ventures out during these days without his umbrella.

-It has been a rain of terror. It almost spoilt

-the great national *fête* of the 15th; but the people

-made the best of it, and, between the free theatrical

-performances at sixteen theatres, the superb illuminations,

-and the fireworks, seemed to have a very

-merry time. I went in the morning to that fine lofty

-old church, (whose Lady Chapel is a splendid monument

-of Couture's artistic genius,) St. Eustache,

-where I heard a new mass, by one M. L'Hôte. It

-was well executed, and the orchestral parts were particularly

-effective. After the mass, the annual *Te

-Deum* for the Emperor was sung. The effect of the

-latter was very grand; indeed, when it was finished,

-I was just thinking that it was impossible for music

-to surpass it, when the full orchestra and two organs

-united in a burst of harmony that almost lifted me

-off my feet. I recognized the old Gregorian anthem

-that is sung every Sunday in all the churches, and

-when it had been played through, the trumpets took

-up the air of the chant, above the rest of the accompaniment,

-and the clear, alto voice of one of those

-scarlet-capped choir-boys rang out the words, *Domine,

-salvum fac imperatorem nostrum, Napoleonem*,

-in a way that seemed to make those old arches

-vibrate, and wonderfully quickened the circulation in

-the veins of every listener. It was like the gradual

-mounting and heaving up of a high sea in a storm

-on the Atlantic, which, when it has reached a pitch

-you thought impossible, curls majestically over, and,

-breaking into a creamy foam, loses itself in a transitory

-vision of emerald brilliancy, that for the

-moment realizes the most gorgeous and improbable

-fables of Eastern luxury. It made even me, notwithstanding

-my prejudices in favour of republicanism,

-forget the spread eagle, and my free (and

-easy) native land, and for several hours I found

-myself singing that solemn anthem over in a most

-impressive manner. *Vive l'Empereur!*

-

-.. ——File: 132.png

-

-

-

-

-PARIS

------

-

-

-This is a wonderful city. It seems to me, as I

-ride up and down the gay Boulevards on the

-roof of an omnibus, or gaze into the brilliant shop-windows

-of the Palais Royal, or watch the happy

-children in the garden of the Tuileries, or stand

-upon the bridges and take in as much as I can at once

-of gardens, palaces, and church towers—it seems to

-me like a great theatre, filled with gay company, to

-whom the same grand spectacle is always being

-shown, and whose faces always reflect something of

-that brilliancy which lights up the gorgeous, never-ending,

-last scene of the drama. I know that the

-play has its underplot of vicious poverty and crime,

-but they shrink from the glare of the footlights and

-the radiance of the red fire that lights up the scene.

-Taken in the abstract—taken as it appears from the

-outside—Paris is the most perfect whole the world

-can show. It was a witty remark of a well-known

-citizen of Boston, touching the materialistic views of

-many of his friends, that "when good Boston people

-die, they go to Paris." I know many whose highest

-idea of heaven would find its embodiment in the

-sunshine of the Place de la Concorde or the gas light

-of the Rue de Rivoli. Paris captivates you at once.

-In this it differs from Rome. You do not grow to

-love it; you feel its charms before you have recovered

-from the fatigue of your journey—before you

-have even reached your hotel, as you ride along and

-recognize the buildings and monuments which books

-and pictures have made familiar. In Rome all is

-different. Michel Angelo's mighty dome, to be sure,

-does impress you, as you come to the city; but when

-you enter, the narrow streets are such a contrast to

-the broad, free campagna you have just left, that

-you feel oppressed and cramped as you ride through

-them. You find one of the old temples kept in repair

-and serving as a custom house; this is a damper

-at the outset, and you sigh for something to revive

-the ancient customs of the world's capital. You

-walk into the Forum the next day, musing upon the

-line of the twelve Cæsars, and your progress is arrested,

-and your sense of the dramatic unities of

-your position deeply wounded, by an unamusing and

-prosaic clothes-line. You keep on and try to recall

-Cicero, and Catiline, and Jugurtha, and Servius Tullius,

-and Brutus, and Virginius,—but it is useless, for

-you find a cow feeding there as quietly as if she were

-on the hills of Berkshire. The whole city seems sad

-and mouldy, and out of date, and you think you will

-"do the sights" as rapidly as possible, and then be

-off. But before many days you find that all is

-changed. The moss that clothes those broken walls

-becomes as venerable in your sight as the gray hairs

-upon your mother's brow; the ivy that enwreathes

-those old towers and columns seems to have wound

-itself around your heart and bound it forever to that

-spot. Clothes-lines, dirt, and all the inconveniences

-inseparable from the older civilization of Rome,

-fade away. The Forum, the Palace of the Cæsars,

-the Appian Way, all become instinct with a new—or

-rather with their old life; and you feel that you

-are in the Rome of Livy and Sallust,—you have

-found the Rome of which you dreamed in boyhood,

-and you are happy. With Paris, as I have said, you

-are not obliged to serve such an apprenticeship. You

-have read of Paris in history, in novels, in guide-books,

-in the lucubrations of the whole tribe of correspondents—you

-recognize it at once on seeing it,

-and accept it for all that it pretends to be. And you

-are not deceived. And this, I apprehend, is the

-reason why we never feel that deep, clinging affection

-for Paris that we do for that "goddess of all the

-nations, to whom nothing is equal and nothing second"—that

-city which (as one of her prophet-poets

-said) shall ever be "the capital of the world, for

-whatever her arms have not conquered shall be hers

-by religion." You feel that Paris is the capital of

-Europe, and you bow before it as you would before

-a sovereign whose word was law.

-

-I wonder whether every body judges of all new

-things by the criterion of childhood, as I find myself

-constantly doing. Whatever it may be, I apply to it

-the test of my youthful recollections of something

-similar, and it almost always suffers by the process.

-Those beautiful architectural wonders that pierce

-the sky at Strasburg and Antwerp will bear no comparison,

-in point of height, with the steeple of the

-Old South as it exists in the memory of my childhood.

-I have never seen a picture gallery in Europe

-which awakened any thing like my old feelings on

-visiting one of the first Athenæum exhibitions many

-years ago. Those wonderful productions of Horace

-Vernet, in which one may read the warlike history of

-France, are nothing compared to my recollections of

-Trumbull's "Sortie of Gibraltar," as seen through

-an antediluvian tin trumpet which considerably interfered

-with my vision, but which I thought it was

-necessary to use. I have visited libraries which antedated

-by centuries the discovery of America,—I

-have rambled over castles which seemed to reëcho

-with the clank of armour and the clarion calls of the

-old days of chivalry,—I have walked through the

-long corridors and halls of the Vatican with cardinals

-and kings,—I have mused in church-crypts and

-cloisters, in whose silent shade the dead of a thousand

-years reposed,—but I have never yet been impressed

-with any thing like the awe which the old

-Athenæum in Pearl Street used to inspire into my

-boyish heart. Pearl Street in those days was as

-innocent of traffic and its turmoil as the quiet roads

-around Jamaica Pond are now. A pasture, in which

-the Hon. Jonathan Phillips kept a cow, extended

-through to Oliver Street, and handsome old-fashioned

-private houses with gardens around them occupied

-the place of the present rows of granite

-warehouses. The Athenæum, surrounded by horse-chestnut

-trees, stood there in aristocratic dignity and

-repose, which it seemed almost sacrilegious to disturb

-with the noise of our childish sports. There

-were a few old gentlemen who used to frequent its

-reading-room, whose white hair, (and some of them

-even wore knee breeches and queues and powder,)

-always stilled our boyish clamour as we played on

-the grass-plots in the yard. To some of these old

-men our heads were often uncovered,—for children

-were politer in those days than now,—and to our

-young imagination it seemed as if they were sages,

-who carried about with them an atmosphere of

-learning and the fragrance of academic groves.

-They seemed as much a part of the mysterious old

-establishment as the books in the library, the dusty

-busts in the entries, or the old librarian himself.

-Sometimes I used to venture into those still passages,

-and steal a look into that reading-room whose quiet

-was never broken, save by the wealthy creak of some

-old citizen's boots, or by the long breathing of some

-venerable frequenter of the place, enjoying his afternoon

-nap. In later years I came to know the

-Athenæum more familiarly; the old gentlemen lost

-the character of sages and became estimable individuals

-of quiet tastes, who were fatiguing the Massachusetts

-Hospital Life Insurance Company by

-their long-continued perusal of the Daily Advertiser

-and the Gentleman's Magazine; but my old impression

-of the awful mystery of the building remains to

-this day. I mourned over the removal to the present

-fine position, and I seek in vain amid the stucco-work

-and white paint of the new edifice for the charm

-which enthralled me in the old home of the institution.

-Some people, carried away by the utilitarian

-spirit of the age, may think that it is a great improvement;

-but to me it seems nothing but an unwarrantable

-innovation on the established order of things,

-and a change for the worse. Where is the quiet of

-the old place? Younger and less reverential men

-have risen up in the places of the old, and have destroyed

-all that rendered the old library respectable.

-The good old times when Dr. Bass, the librarian, sat

-on one side of the fireplace, and the late John Bromfield

-(with his silk handkerchief spread over his

-knees) on the other, and read undisturbed for hours,

-have passed away. A hundred persons use the library

-now for one who did then; and I am left to

-feed upon the memory of better times, when learning

-was a quiet, comfortable, select sort of thing, and

-mutter secret maledictions on the revolutionary spirits

-who have made it otherwise.

-

-But pardon me, dear reader,—all this has little to

-do with Paris, except by way of illustration of my

-remark that the youthful standard of intellectual

-weights and measures is the only infallible one we

-ever know. But Paris is something by itself: it overrides

-all standards of greatness or beauty, and all

-preconceived notions of itself, and addresses itself

-with confidence to every taste. Ladies love Paris as

-a vast warehouse of jewelry and all the rich stuffs

-that hide the crinoline from eyes profane. Physicians

-revel in its hospitals, and talk of "splendid

-operations," such as make the unscientific change

-colour.

-

-Paris is a world in itself. Here may the Yankee

-find his pumpkin-pie and sherry-cobblers, the Englishman

-his *rosbif*, the German his sauerkraut, the

-Italian his macaroni. Here may the lover of dramatic

-art choose his performance among thirty

-theatres, and he who, with Mr. Swiveller, loves "the

-mazy," will find at the Jardin Mabille a bower

-shaded for him. Here the bookworm can mouse

-about, in more than twenty large public libraries, and

-spend weeks in the delightful exploration of countless

-book-stalls. Here the student of art can read the

-history of France on the walls of Versailles, or,

-revelling in the opulence of the Louvre, forget his

-studies, his technicalities, his criticisms, in contemplation

-of the majestic loveliness of Murillo's "sinless

-Mother of the sinless Child." Here may "fireside

-philanthropists, great at the pen," compare their

-magnificent theories with the works of delicate ladies

-who have left the wealth they possessed and the

-society they adorned, for the humble garb of the Sister

-of Charity and a laborious ministry to the poor,

-the diseased, and the infirm, and meditate in the cool

-quadrangles of hospitals and benevolent institutions,

-founded by saints, and preserved in their integrity

-by the piety of their disciples. Here may the man

-who wishes to look beyond this brilliant world, find

-churches ever open, inviting to prayer and meditation,

-where he may be carried beyond himself by the

-choicest strains of Haydn and the solemn grandeur

-of the Gregorian Chant,—or may be thrilled by the

-eloquent periods of Ravignan or Lacordaire, until

-the unseen eternal fills his whole soul, and the visible

-temporal glories of the gay capital seem to him the

-transient vanities they really are.

-

-How few people really know Paris! To most

-minds it presents itself only as a place of general

-pleasure-seeking and dissipation. I have seen many

-men whose only recollections of Paris were such as

-will give them no pleasure in old age, who flattered

-themselves that they knew Paris. They thought

-that the whole city was given up to the folly that

-captivated them, and so they represent Paris as one

-vast reckless masquerade. I have seen others who,

-walking through the thronged *cafés* and restaurants,

-have felt themselves justified in declaring that the

-French had no domestic life, and were as ignorant of

-family joys as their language is destitute of a single

-Word to express our good old Saxon word "home";

-not knowing that there are in Paris thousands of

-families as closely knit together as any that dwell in

-the smoky cities of Old England, or amid the bustle

-and activity of our new world. Good people may

-turn up their eyes, and talk and write as many jeremiads

-as they will about the vanity and wickedness

-of Paris; but the truth is, that this great Babel has

-even for them its cheering side, if they would but

-keep their eyes open to discover it. Let them visit

-the churches on the vigils of great feasts, and every

-Saturday, and see the crowds that throng the confessionals:

-let them rise an hour or two earlier than

-usual, and go into any of the churches, and they will

-find more worshippers there on any common weekday

-morning than half of the churches in New England

-collect on Sundays. Let them visit that

-magnificent temple, the Madeleine, and see the freedom

-from social distinctions which prevails there:

-the soldier, the civilian, the rich and the poor, the

-high-bred lady, the servant in livery, and the negress

-with her bright yellow and red kerchief wound

-around her head, are there met, on an equality that

-free America knows not of.

-

-The observance of the Sunday is a sign of the

-times which ought not to be overlooked. Only a few

-years ago, and suspension of business on Sunday was

-so uncommon that notice was given by a sign to that

-effect on the front of the few shops whose proprietors

-indulged in that strange caprice. The signs

-(like certain similar ones on apothecary shops in

-Boston, to the effect that prescriptions are the only

-business attended to on the first day of the week)

-used to seem to me like a bait to catch the custom of

-the godly. But the signs have passed away before

-this movement, inaugurated by the Emperor, who

-forbade labour on the public works on Sunday, and

-preached up by the late Archbishop of Paris and the

-parish clergy. There are few shops in Paris that do

-not close on Sunday now—at least in the afternoon.

-And this is done by the free will of the trades-people:

-it is not the result of a legislative enactment. The

-law here leaves all people free in regard to their religious

-duties. The shops of the Jews, of course,

-are open on Sunday, for they are obliged to close on

-Saturday, and of course ought not to be expected to

-observe two days. Of course, too, the public galleries,

-and gardens, and places of amusement are all

-open; God forbid that the hard-faring children of

-toil should be cheated out of any innocent recreation

-on the only free day they have by any attempts to

-judaize the Christian Sunday into a sabbath. It is a

-great mistake to suppose that people can be made

-better by diminishing the sources of innocent pleasure.

-No; if the Sunday be made a hard, uninteresting

-day, when smiling is a grave impropriety, and a

-hearty laugh a mortal sin, children will begin by

-disliking the day, and end by despising the religion

-that made it gloomy. But provide the people with

-music in the public parks on Sunday afternoon and

-evening,—make the day a cheerful, happy time to

-those who are ingulfed in the carking cares of life all

-the rest of the week,—make it a day which children

-shall look forward to with longing, and you will find

-that the people are better, and happier, and thriftier

-for the change. You will find that the mechanic or

-labourer, instead of lounging away his Sunday in a

-grog-shop, (for the business goes on even though

-the front door may be barred and the shutters

-closed,) will be ambitious to take his wife and children

-to hear the music, and will after a time become

-as well behaved as the common run of people. It is

-better to use the merest worldly motives to keep men

-in the path of decency, than to let them slide away to

-perdition because they refuse to listen to the more

-dignified teachings of religion.

-

-I have been much impressed by a visit to a large,

-but unpretentious-looking house in the Rue du Bac—the

-"mother-house" of that admirable organization,

-the Sisters of Charity. It was not much of a visit, to

-be sure—for not even my gray hairs and respectable

-appearance could gain for me an admission beyond

-the strangers' parlour, the courtyard, and the cool,

-quiet chapel. But that was enough to increase my

-respect and admiration for those devoted women.

-The community there consists of *six hundred* Sisters

-of Charity, whose whole time is occupied in taking

-care of the sick, and needy, and neglected in the

-hospitals and asylums, and in every quarter of the

-city. You see them at every turn, going quietly

-about their work of benevolence, and presenting a

-fine contrast to some of our noisy theorists at home.

-I may be in error, but it strikes me that that community

-is doing more in its present mode of action

-to advance the true dignity and "rights" of the sex,

-than if it were to resolve itself into a convention,

-after the American fashion. I was somewhat anxious

-to inquire whether any of the sisters of the community

-had ever taken to lecturing or preaching in

-public; but the modest and unassuming manner of all

-those whom I saw, rendered such a question unnecessary.

-I fear that oratory is sadly neglected among

-them; with this exception, and perhaps the absence

-of a certain strong-mindedness in their characters, I

-think that they will compare very favourably with

-any of our distinguished female philanthropists.

-They wear the same gray habit and odd-shaped

-white bonnet that the Sisters of Charity wear in Boston.

-While we praise the self-forgetful heroism of

-Florence Nightingale as it deserves, let us not forget

-that France sent out her Florence Nightingales to

-the Crimea by fifties and hundreds—young and delicate

-women, hiding their personality under the common

-dress of a religious order, casting aside the

-names that would recall their rank in the world,

-unencouraged in their beneficence by any newspaper

-paragraphs, and unrewarded save by the sweet consciousness

-of duty done. The Emperor Alexander,

-struck by the part played in the Crimean campaign

-by the Sisters of Charity, has recently asked the

-superior of the order to detail five hundred of the

-sisters, for duty in the hospitals of Russia. It is

-understood that the request will be complied with so

-far as the number of the community will permit.

-

-If I were asked to sum up in one sentence the

-practical result of my observations of men and manners

-here on the continent, I should say that it was

-this: We have a great deal to learn in America concerning

-the philosophy of life. I do not mean that

-philosophy which teaches us that "it is not all of life

-to live," but the philosophy of making ninety-three

-cents furnish the same amount of comfort in America

-that five francs do in Paris. The spirit of centralization

-is stronger here than in any American

-city: (it is too true, as Heine said, that to speak of

-the departments of France having a political opinion

-as distinguished from Paris, "is to talk of a man's

-legs thinking;") and there is no reason why people

-of moderate means should not be able to live as

-respectably, comfortably, and economically in our

-cities as here, if they will only use a little common

-sense. The model-lodging-house enterprise was a

-most praiseworthy one, but it seems to have been

-confined only to the wants of the most necessitous

-class in the community. There is, however, a large

-class of salesmen, and book-keepers, and mechanics,

-on salaries of six hundred to twelve or fourteen hundred

-dollars, whose position is no less deserving of

-commiseration. When the prices of beefsteak and

-potatoes went up so amazingly a few years ago,

-there were few salaries that experienced a similar

-augmentation. The position of the men on small

-salaries therefore became peculiar, not to say unpleasant,

-as rents rose in the same proportion as

-every thing else. Any person, familiar with the rents

-of brick houses for small families in most of the

-Atlantic cities, will see how difficult it is for such

-people as these to live within their means. Now, the

-remedy for this evil is a simple one, but it requires

-some public-spirited men to initiate it. Suppose that

-a few large, handsome houses, on the European

-plan, (that is, having a suite of rooms, comprising

-a parlour, dining-room, two or three bedrooms, and

-a kitchen, on each floor,) were built in any of our

-great thoroughfares,—the ground floors might be

-used for shops,—for there is no reason why respectable

-people should any more object to living over

-shops there, than on the Boulevards. Such houses,

-it is easy to see, would be good paying property to

-their owners, as soon as people got into that way of

-living; and when salaried men saw that they could

-get the equivalent, in comfort and available room, to

-an ordinary five hundred dollar house for half that

-rent, in a central situation, depend upon it, they

-would not be long in learning how to live in that

-style. The advantages of this plan of domestic life

-are numerous and striking. Housekeeping would be

-disarmed of half its difficulties; the little kitchen

-would furnish the coffee and eggs in the morning and

-the tea and toast at night—the dinner might be ordered

-from a neighbouring restaurant for any hour—for

-such establishments would increase with the

-increase of apartments. The dangers of burglary

-would be diminished, for the housekeeper would

-have only the door leading to the staircase to lock

-up at night. The washing would be done out of the

-house, and the steam of boiling suds, and all anxiety

-about clothes-lines, and sooty chimneys, and windy

-weather would thereby be avoided. Thousands of

-people would be liberated from the caprice and petty

-tyranny of the railroad directors, whose action has

-so often filled our newspapers with resolutions and

-protests, and, so far as Boston is concerned, its peninsula

-might be made the home of a population of

-three hundred thousand instead of a hundred and

-eighty thousand persons. The most rigidly careless

-person can hardly fail to become a successful housekeeper,

-when the matter is made so easy as it is by

-the European plan. The plan, too, not only simplifies

-the mysteries of domestic economy, but it snuggifies

-one's establishment wonderfully, and gives it a

-home feeling, such as what are called genteel houses

-nowadays wot not of. The change has got to come—and

-the sooner it does, the better it will be for our

-cities, and many of their people, who have been

-driven into remote and unpleasant suburbs by high

-rents, or who are held back from marriage by the

-expenses of housekeeping conducted on the present

-method.

-

-.. ——File: 146.png

-

-

-

-

-PARIS—THE LOUVRE AND ART

--------------------------

-

-

-It is an inestimable advantage to an idle man to

-have such a place as the Louvre ever open to

-him. The book-stalls and print-shops of the quays,

-those never-failing sources of pleasure and of

-extravagance in a small way, cannot be visited with

-any satisfaction under the meridian sun; the shop

-windows, a perpetual industrial exhibition, grow tiresome

-at times; the streets are too crowded, the gardens

-too empty; the reading rooms are close; the

-newspapers are stupid; and what remains? Why,

-the Louvre opens its hospitable doors, and, blessing

-the memory of Francis I., the tired wanderer enters,

-and drinks in the refreshing coolness of those quiet

-and spacious halls. If he is an antiquarian, he

-plunges deep into the arcana of ancient Egypt, and

-emulates the great Champollion; if he is a student

-of history, he muses on the sceptre of Charlemagne,

-or the old gray coat and coronation robes of the first

-Napoleon; if he is devoted to art, he travels through

-that wilderness of paintings and statuary, and thinks

-and talks about *chiaro 'scuro*, "breadth of colour,"

-or "bits of foreshortening." But if he be a man of

-simple tastes, who detests technicalities, and enjoys

-all such things in a quiet, general sort of way, without

-knowing exactly what it is that pleases him,—he

-goes through room after room, now stopping for an

-instant before a set of antique china, now speculating

-on the figure he should cut in one of those old suits

-of armour, and finally settling down in a chair before

-some landscape by Cuyp or Claude, in which the

-artist seems to have imprisoned the sunbeams and

-the warm, fragrant atmosphere of early June; or

-else he seats himself on that comfortable sofa before

-Murillo's masterpiece, and contemplates the supernal

-beauty and holy exaltation of the face of her

-whom Dante calls the "Virgin Mother, daughter of

-her Son." He is surrounded by artists, engaged in

-a work that seems to verify the old maxim, *Laborare

-est orare*,—each one striving to reproduce on his canvas

-the effects of the angel-guided pencil of Murillo.

-

-I find it useless for me to attempt to visit the

-Louvre systematically, as most people do. I have

-frequently tried to do it, but it has ended by my

-walking through one or two rooms, and then taking

-up my position before Murillo's Conception, and

-holding it until the hour came for closing the gallery.

-When I was young, I used to think what a glorious

-thing it would have been to have felt the thrill of joy

-that filled the heart of the discoverer of America, or

-the satisfaction of Shakspeare when he had finished

-Hamlet or Macbeth, or of Beethoven when he had

-completed his seventh symphony; but all that covetousness

-of the impossible is blotted out by my envy

-of the great Spanish painter. What must have been

-the deep transport of his heart, when he gazed upon

-the heavenly vision his own genius had created! He

-must have felt

-

-   |     "——like some watcher of the skies,

-   |   When a new planet sails into his ken,

-   | Or like stout Cortez, when, with eagle eyes,

-   |   He stared at the Pacific.——"

-

-.. ——File: 148.png

-

-In spite of all my natural New England prejudice,

-I cannot help admiring and loving that old Catholic

-devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Its humanizing

-effects can be seen in the history of the middle ages,

-and they are felt amid all the bustle and roar of this

-irreverent nineteenth century. Woman cannot again

-be thought the soulless being heathen philosophy

-considered her; she cannot again become a slave, for

-she is recognized as the sister of her who was chosen

-to make reparation for the misdeeds of Mother Eve.

-I am strongly tempted to transcribe here some lines

-written in pencil on the fly-leaf of an old catalogue

-of the museum of the Louvre, and found on the sofa

-before Murillo's picture. The writer seems to have

-had in mind the beautiful conclusion of the life of

-Agricola by Tacitus, where the great historian says

-that he would not forbid the making of likenesses in

-marble or bronze, but would only remind us that

-such images, like the forms of their originals, are

-frail and unenduring, while the beauty of the mind is

-eternal, and can be perpetuated in the manners of

-succeeding generations better than by ignoble materials

-and the art of the sculptor. The lines appear

-to be a paraphrase of this idea.

-

-   | O blest Murillo! what a task was thine,

-   |   That Mother to portray whose beauty mild

-   | Combined earth's comeliness with grace divine,—

-   |   To whom our God and Saviour as a child

-   |   Was subject—upon whom so oft He smiled!

-   | Yet not less happy also in my part,—

-   |   For I, though in a world by sin defiled,

-   | Though lacking genius and unskilled in art,

-   | May paint that blessed likeness in a contrite heart.

-

-.. ——File: 149.png

-

-Art is the surest and safest civilizer. Popular

-education may be so perverted as only to minister to

-new forms of corruption, but art purifies itself; it has

-no Voltaires, and Rousseaus, and Eugene Sues,—for

-painting and sculpture, like poetry, refuse to be

-made the handmaids of vice or unbelief. Open your

-galleries of art to the people, and you confer on them

-a greater benefit than mere book education; you give

-them a refinement to which they would otherwise be

-strangers. The boor, turned loose into civilized

-society, soon catches something of its tone of politeness;

-and those who are accustomed to the contemplation

-of forms of ideal beauty will not easily be

-won by the grossness and deformity of vice. A fine

-picture daily looked at becomes by degrees a part of

-our own souls, and exerts an influence over us of

-which we are little aware. Some English writer—Hazlitt,

-I think—has said, that if a man were thinking

-of committing some wicked or disgraceful action,

-and were to stop short and look for a moment at

-some fine picture with which he had been familiar,

-he would inevitably be turned thereby from his purpose.

-It is to be hoped that the time is not far distant

-when each of our great American cities shall

-possess its gallery of art, which (on certain days of

-the week, at least) shall be as free to all well-behaved

-persons as the public parks themselves. We

-may not boast the artistic wealth of Rome, Florence,

-Paris, Dresden, or any of the old capitals of Europe;

-but the sooner we make a beginning, the better it will

-be for our galleries and our mob. We need some

-more effectual humanizer than our educational system.

-Reading, writing, and ciphering are great

-things, but they are powerless to overcome the rudeness

-and irreverence of our people. Our populace

-seems to lack entirely the sense of the beautiful or

-the sublime. As Charles Lamb said, "They have,

-alas! no passion for antiquities—for the tomb of

-king or prelate, sage or poet. If they had, they

-would no longer be the rabble." It is too true that

-the attempts which have been made to open private

-gardens to the enjoyment of the public have resulted

-in the most shameful abuses of privilege, and that

-flowers are stolen from the graves in our cemeteries;

-but there is no reason for giving our people up as

-past praying for, on the score of politeness and common

-decency. They must be educated up to it: some

-abuses may occur at first, but a few salutary lessons on

-the necessity of submission to authority will rectify

-it all, and our people will, in the course of time, become

-as well-behaved as the people of France or

-Italy.

-

-I am no antiquarian. I do not love the antique

-for antiquity's sake. It must appeal to me through

-the medium of history, or not at all. Etruscan relics

-have no other charm for me than their beauty of

-form. I care but little for Egyptian sarcophagi or

-their devices and hieroglyphics, and I would not go

-half a mile to see a wilderness of mummies. Whenever

-I feel a longing for any thing in the Egyptian or

-heathen line, I can resort to Mount Auburn, with its

-gateway—and this thought satisfies me; so that I

-pass by all such things without feeling that I am a

-loser. With such feelings, there are many of the

-halls of the Louvre which I only walk through with

-an admiring glance at their elegance of arrangement.

-A few days since, in wandering about there, I found

-a room which I had never seen before, and which

-touched me more nearly than any thing there, except

-the paintings. It has been opened recently. I had

-been looking through the relics of royalty with a considerable

-degree of pleasure,—meditating on the

-armour of Henry the Great, the breviary of St.

-Louis, and the worn satin shoe which once covered

-the little foot of Marie Antoinette,—and was about

-to leave, when I noticed that a door was open which

-in past years I had seen closed. I pushed in, and

-found myself in a vast and magnificent apartment, on

-the gorgeously frescoed ceiling of which was emblazoned

-the name—which is a tower of strength to

-every Frenchman—*Napoleon*. Around the room, in

-elegant glass cases, were disposed the relics of the

-saint whom Mr. Abbott's bull of canonization has

-placed in red letters in the calendar of Young America.

-Leaving aside all joking upon the attempts to

-prove that much-slandered monarch a saint, there

-was his history, written as Sartor Resartus would

-have written it, in his clothes. There was a crayon

-sketch of him at the age of sixteen; there was a

-mathematical book which he had studied, the case of

-mathematical instruments he had used; there was the

-coat in which he rode up and down the lines of

-Marengo, inspiring every heart with heroism, and

-every arm with vigour; the sword and coat he wore

-as First Consul; the glittering robes which decked

-him when he sat in the chair of Clovis and Charlemagne,

-the idol of his nation, and the terror of all

-the world besides; the stirrups in which he stood at

-Waterloo, and saw his brave legions cut up and dispersed;

-and, though last, not least, there was the old

-gray coat and hat in which he walked about at St.

-Helena, and the very handkerchief which in his

-dying hour wiped the chill dew of eternity from his

-brow. There were many things besides—there were

-his table and chair; his camp bed on which he rested

-during those long campaigns; his gloves, his razor

-strap, his comb, the clothes of his little son, the

-"King of Rome," and the bow he played with; the

-saddles and other presents which he received during

-his expedition to the East, and his various court

-dresses—but the old gray coat was the most attractive

-of all. It was a consolation to notice that it had

-lost a button, for it showed that though its wearer

-was an anointed emperor, he was not exempt from

-the vicissitudes of common humanity. I sat down

-and observed the people who visited the room, and I

-noticed that they all lingered around the old coat.

-It made no difference whether they spoke English,

-French, German, or any other tongue; there was

-something which appealed to them all; there was a

-common ground, where the student and the enthusiastic

-lover of high art could join in harmonious

-feeling, even with the practical man, who would not

-have cared a three-cent piece if Praxiteles and Canova

-had never sculptured, or Raphael and Murillo

-had never seen a brush. It required but a slight

-effort to fill the room up of the absent hero, and to

-"stuff out his vacant garments with his form," and

-perhaps this very thing tended to make the entire

-exhibition a sad one. It was the most melancholy

-commentary on human glory that can be imagined.

-It ought to be placed in the vestibule of a church, or

-in some more public place, and it would purge a

-community of ambition. What a sermon might Lacordaire

-preach on the temporal and the eternal, with

-the sword and the coronation robes of Napoleon I.

-before him!

-

-The interest which I have seen manifested by so

-many people in the relics of Napoleon I. has afforded

-me considerable amusement. I have lately

-seen so much ridicule cast upon the relics of the

-saints preserved in many of the churches of Italy, by

-people of the same class as those who lingered so

-reverentially before the glass cases of the Napoleon

-room in the Louvre, that I cannot help thinking how

-rare a virtue consistency is.

-

-Perhaps it may be owing to some weakness in my

-mental organization, but I cannot acknowledge the

-propriety of honouring the burial-places of successful

-generals, and, at the same time, think the shrines

-of the saints worthy of nothing but ridicule and

-desecration. I found myself, a few years ago, looking

-with grave interest at an old coat of General

-Jackson's, which is preserved in the Patent Office at

-Washington; and I cannot wonder at the reverence

-which some people pay to the garments of a martyr

-in the cause of religion. I cannot understand how it

-may be right and proper to celebrate the birthdays

-of worldly heroes, and "rank idolatry" to commemorate

-the self-denying heroes of Christianity. I cannot

-join in the setting-up of statues of generals and

-statesmen, and condemn a similar homage to the

-saints by any allusions to the enormity of making a

-"graven image." In fine, if it is right to adorn and

-reverence the tomb of the Father of his Country,

-(and what American heart does not acknowledge its

-propriety?) it certainly cannot be wrong to beautify

-and venerate the tomb of the chief apostle, and the

-shrines of saints and martyrs who achieved for themselves

-and their fellow-men an independence from a

-tyranny infinitely worse than that from which Washington

-liberated America.

-

-I have recently been visiting the three great monuments

-of the reign of Napoleon III.—the completed

-Louvre, the Bois de Boulogne, and the Halles Centrales.

-As to the first, those who remember those

-narrow, nasty streets, which within six years were

-the approaches to the Louvre and the Palais Royal,

-and those rickety old buildings reminding one too

-strongly of cheese in an advanced stage of mouldiness,

-that used to intrude their unsightly forms into

-the very middle of the Place du Carrousel,—those

-who recollect the junk shops that seemed more fitting

-to the neighbourhood of the docks than to the entrance

-to a palace and a gallery of art,—feel in a

-manner lost, when they walk about the courtyards of

-the noble edifice which has taken the place of so

-much deformity. If the new wings of the Louvre

-had been built in one range instead of quadrangles,

-they would extend more than half a mile! Half a

-mile of palace, and a palace, too, which in building

-has occupied one hundred and fifty sculptors for the

-past five years! Those who have not visited Paris

-within five years will recollect the Bois de Boulogne

-only as a vast neglected tract of woodland, which

-seemed a great waste of the raw material in a place

-where firewood is so expensive as it is here. It is

-now laid out in beautiful avenues and walks, the

-extent of which is said to be nearly two hundred

-miles. You are refreshed by the sound of waterfalls

-and the coolness of grottos, the rocks for the formation

-of which were brought from Fontainebleau,

-more than forty miles distant from Paris. You walk

-on, and find yourself on the shores of a lake, a mile

-or two in length, with two or three lovely islands in

-it, and in whose bright blue waters thousands of

-trout are sporting. That wild waste, the old Bois de

-Boulogne, which few persons but duellists ever visited,

-has passed away, and in its place you find the

-most magnificent park in the world. It is indeed a perfect

-triumph of landscape gardening. It is nature itself,

-not in miniature, but on such a scale as to deceive

-you entirely, and fill you with the same feeling of

-admiration that is awakened by any striking natural

-beauty. The old French notions of landscape gardening

-seem to have been entirely cast aside. The

-carriage roads and paths go winding about so that

-the view is constantly changing, and the trees are

-allowed to grow as they please, without being tortured

-into fantastic shapes by the pruning knife. The

-banks of the lake have been made irregular, now

-steep, now sloping gently to the water's edge, and in

-some places huge jagged rocks have been most naturally

-worked in, while ivy has been planted around

-them, and in their crevices those weeds and shrubs

-which commonly grow in such places. You would

-about as readily take Jamaica Pond to be artificial as

-this lovely sheet of water and its surroundings. The

-Avenue de l'Impératrice is the road from the Arc de

-Triomphe to the Bois de Boulogne. It is half or

-three quarters of a mile in length, and is destined to

-be one of the most striking features of Paris. It is

-laid out with spacious grass plots, with carriage ways

-and ways for equestrians and foot passengers, with

-regular double rows of trees on either side. Many

-elegant château-like private residences already adorn

-it, and others are rapidly rising. An idea of its

-majestic appearance may be had from the fact that

-its entire width from house to house is about four

-hundred feet. The large space around the Arc de

-Triomphe is already laid out in a square, to be called

-the Place de l'Europe, and the work has already

-been commenced of reducing the buildings around it

-to symmetry. The Halles Centrales, the great central

-market-house of Paris, has just been opened to

-the public. It is built mainly of iron and glass. As

-nearly as I could judge of its size, I should think it

-would leave but little spare room if it were placed in

-Union Park, New York. It is about a hundred feet

-in height, and so well ventilated that it is hard to

-realize when there that one is under cover. A wide

-street for vehicles runs through its whole length,

-crossed by others at equal intervals. I have called

-these three public improvements the great monuments

-of the reign of Napoleon III.; not that I

-would limit his good works to these, but because

-these may be taken as conspicuous illustrations of his

-care, no less for the amusements than for the bodily

-wants of his people, and of his zeal for the promotion

-of art and the adornment of his capital. But

-these noble characteristics of the Emperor deserve

-something more than a mere passing notice, and may

-well form the subject of my next letter.

-

-.. ——File: 157.png

-

-

-

-

-NAPOLEON THE THIRD [1]_

------------------------

-

-There is a period in the life of almost every

-man which may justly be termed the romantic

-period. I do not mean the time when a youth, whose

-heart is as yet unwarped by the selfishness of the

-world, and his brow unclouded by its trials and its

-sorrows, thinks that the performance of his life will

-fully come up to the glowing programme he then

-composes for it; neither do I refer to the period

-when, in hungry expectation, we clutched eagerly at

-the booksellers' announcements of the last productions

-of the eloquent Bulwer, or of the inexhaustible

-James. But I refer to the time when childhood forgets

-its new buttons in reading how poor Ali Baba

-relieved his wants at the expense of the wicked

-thieves; how Whittington heard Bow Bells ring out

-the prophecy of his greatness; how fierce Blue Beard

-punished his wife's curiosity; and how good King

-Alfred merited reproof by his forgetfulness of the

-herdsman's supper. This is the true period of

-romance in the lives of all of us; for then all the

-romance that we read is clothed with the dignity of

-history, and all our history is invested with the

-charm of romance. This happy period does not lose

-its attractions, even when we outgrow the credulity

-of childhood; for the romance of history captivates

-us when we no longer are subject to the sway of the

-novelist; and we leave Mr. Thackeray's last uncut,

-until we can finish a newspaper chapter in the history

-of these momentous times.

-

-.. [1] The author must plead guilty to a little hesitation (induced by the

-   present aspect of European affairs) about incorporating this paper on

-   the French Emperor, written some three years since, in his work. He

-   feels, however, that, whatever may be the issue of the present contest in

-   Europe, the services of Napoleon III. to France and to civilization are

-   a part of history; and he has no wish to disguise his satisfaction at having

-   been one of the first Americans who confronted the vulgar prejudices

-   of his countrymen against that remarkable man, and publicly recognized

-   the wonderful talents which have placed France at the head of all civilized

-   nations.

-

-We know how eagerly we pursue the vicissitudes

-of fortune which have marked the career of so many

-of the world's heroes; and this will teach us how

-future generations will read the history of the present

-century. Surely the whole range of romance

-presents no parallel to the simple history of the wonderful

-man who now governs France. It is easy to

-see that his varied fortunes will one day perform a

-conspicuous part in that juvenile classical literature

-of which I have spoken; and perhaps it may not be

-unprofitable, dear reader, for us to endeavour to

-raise ourselves above the excitement of partisanship

-and the influences of old prejudices, and look upon

-his career as may the writers of the twenty-fifth century.

-

-It is a popular error in America to regard Louis

-Napoleon as a singular combination of knavery and

-half-wittedness. Even Mr. Emerson, in his *English

-Traits*, so far forgets the kindliness of his nature as

-to call him a "successful thief." The English journalists

-once delighted to ridicule him as the "nephew

-of his uncle," and the shadow of a great name, and

-Punch used to represent him as a pygmy standing

-upon the brim of his uncle's hat, and wondering how

-he could ever fill it; but he has lived down ridicule,

-and they have long since learned that there is such a

-thing as the possibility of a mistake in judgment,

-even among journalists and politicians. It is time

-that we Americans got over a notion which has long

-since been exploded on this side of the Atlantic. I

-know that I am flying in the face of those who believe

-in the plenary inspiration of the New York Tribune,

-when I claim for the Emperor any thing like patriotism

-or capacity as a statesman. I know that the

-Greeleian, "philanthropic" code exacts that we

-should *not* "give the prisoner the benefit of the

-doubt," and that when any one whom we dislike does

-any good, we should attribute it to nothing but a

-selfish or ambitious motive. I know that this new-fangled

-love of all mankind requires us to hate those

-who differ from us politically, and never to lose an

-opportunity to blacken their characters and diminish

-their reputation; and therefore I make all due allowances

-for the refusal of the Tribune, and journals of

-the same amiable family, to see the truth. In April,

-1856, I was waiting for a train in a way station on

-the Worcester Railroad. A sun-burned, hard-working

-man was reading the news of the proclamation of

-peace at Paris from a penny paper, and he commented

-upon it to two or three others who were present,

-as follows: "Well, I don't know how 'tis, but it

-seems to *me* that we've been most almightily mistaken

-about this 'ere *Lewis* Napoleon. We used to

-think he was a shaller kind o' feller any how, but it

-really looks now, judging from the *position* of

-France in *European* affairs, as if he was turning out

-to be altogether the *biggest dog in that tanyard*!"

-The old fellow's conclusion was a true one, though

-his rhetoric would not have been commended at

-Cambridge; and it is to prevent this conclusion forcing

-itself upon the public sense, that the sympathizers

-with socialism have been labouring ever

-since. We are told that it is our duty as Americans

-and republicans to wish for the overthrow of Napoleon

-and his empire, and the establishment of the

-*république démocratique et sociale*. Now, having

-received my political principles from another source

-than the Tribune, I may be pardoned for having a

-prejudice in favour of allowing the people of France

-to govern France; and, as they elected Louis Napoleon

-President in 1848 by more than five millions

-of votes, and in 1851 chose him dictator (in their

-fear of the very party which the Tribune wishes to

-see in power) by more than *seven* millions of votes,

-and finally, in 1852, made him their Emperor by a

-vote of more than seven millions against a little more

-than three hundred thousand, we may suppose

-France to have expressed a pretty decided opinion

-on this matter. The French empire rests upon the

-very principle that forms the basis of true republicanism—universal

-suffrage. Louis Napoleon restored

-that principle after it had been suppressed or

-restricted, and proved himself a truer republican

-than his opponents. For nine years, Napoleon has

-been sustained by the people of France with a

-unanimity such as the United States never knew, except

-in the election of Washington as first President,

-and his majority has increased every time that he has

-appealed to the people. It is idle to say that there are

-parties here that are opposed to him; it would be a

-remarkable phenomenon if there were not. But

-there is a more united support here for the Emperor

-than there is in our own country for the constitution

-of the United States, and any right-minded man

-would regret a revolutionary movement in one country

-as much as in the other.

-

-If there was ever a position calculated to test the

-capabilities of its occupant, it was that in which Louis

-Napoleon found himself when he obeyed the voice

-of the French people, and accepted the presidency of

-the French republic. Surrounded by men holding

-all kinds of political opinions, from the agrarian

-Proudhon to the impracticable Louis Blanc, and men

-of no political opinions whatever,—he found himself

-obliged to use all the power reposed in him by

-the constitution, to keep the government from falling

-asunder. History bears witness to the fact that republican

-governments deteriorate more rapidly than

-those which are based upon a less changeable foundation

-than the popular will. But there was little

-danger of the French republic deteriorating, for it

-was about as weak and unprincipled as it could be in

-its very inception. There were a few men of high

-and patriotic character in the Assembly, but (as is

-generally the case) their voices were drowned amid

-the clamourings of a crowd of radical journalists and

-ambitious *littérateurs*, whose only bond of union was

-a fierce hatred of law and religion, and a desire for

-the spoils of office. These were the men with whom

-Napoleon had to deal. They had favoured his election

-to the presidency, for, in their misapprehension

-of his character, they thought him the mere shadow

-of a name, and expected under his government to

-have all things their own way. But they were not

-long in discovering their mistake.

-

-His conduct soon showed that he was the proper

-man for the crisis. That unflinching republican,

-General Cavaignac, had before pointed out the dangers

-to all European governments, and to civilization

-itself, that would spring from the continuance of the

-sanguinary and sacrilegious Roman Republic; and

-Napoleon, accepting his suggestions, took immediate

-measures to put an end to the atrocities which

-marked the sway of Mazzini and his assassins in the

-Roman States. [2]_ The success which attended these

-measures is now a part of history. There is a kind

-of historical justice in this part of Napoleon's career

-which must force itself upon every reflecting mind.

-From the day when St. Remy told his royal convert,

-Clovis, to "burn what he had adored, and adore

-what he had burned," the monarch of France had

-always been considered the "eldest son of the

-Church." The Roman Pontiff was indebted to Pepin

-and Charlemagne for those possessions which rendered

-him independent of the secular power. In the

-hour of need it was always to the Kings of France

-that he looked for aid; and whether he sought aid

-against the oppressors of the Holy See or the infidel

-possessors of the Holy Sepulchre, he seldom appealed

-to them in vain. It was meet, therefore, that

-Napoleon should inaugurate his power by thus reviving

-the ancient traditionary spirit of the French

-monarchy; for he could not better prove his worthiness

-to sit on the throne which had been occupied by

-so many generous and heroic spirits, than by fighting

-the battles of the Church they loved so well.

-

-.. [2] Lest I should be thought guilty of speaking rashly with regard to the

-   anarchy which Napoleon destroyed in 1849 at Rome, I take the liberty to

-   transcribe a few extracts from the constitution of the Society of "Young

-   Italy," which will give some idea of the principles upon which the Roman

-   Republic rested. I translate from the edition published at Naples, by

-   Benedetto Cantalupo.

-

-   ":small-caps:`Article I.` The Society is established for the entire destruction

-   of all the governments of the peninsula, and for the forming of Italy into

-   a single state, under a republican government.

-

-   ":small-caps:`Art. II.` In consequence of the evils attendant upon absolute government,

-   and the still greater evils of constitutional monarchy, we ought

-   to join all our efforts to establish a single and indivisible republic.

-

-   ":small-caps:`Art. XXX.` Those members who shall disobey the commands of

-   the Society, or who shall reveal its mysteries, shall be poniarded without

-   remission.

-

-   ":small-caps:`Art. XXXI.` The secret tribunal shall pronounce sentence in such

-   cases as the preceding, and shall designate one or more of the brethren

-   to carry it into instant execution.

-

-   ":small-caps:`Art. XXXII.` The brother who shall refuse to execute a sentence

-   thus pronounced shall be considered as a perjurer, and as such shall be

-   immediately put to death.

-

-   ":small-caps:`Art. XXXIII.` If the victim condemned to punishment should

-   succeed in escaping, he shall be pursued unremittingly into anyplace whatever,

-   and shall be struck as by an invisible hand, even if he shall have

-   taken refuge on the bosom of his mother, or in the tabernacle of Christ.

-

-   ":small-caps:`Art. XXXIV.` Each secret tribunal shall be competent not only

-   to condemn the guilty to death, but also to put to death all persons so

-   sentenced."

-

-The foreign and domestic policy which the Prince-President

-pursued excited at the same time the anger

-of the ultra republican faction, and the hopes of the

-religious and conservative portion of society. Order

-was restored, and an impetus was given to commercial

-enterprise and to the arts of peace such as France

-had not known since the outbreak of 1848. Still the

-discordant elements of which the Assembly was composed,

-were a just cause of alarm to all friends of

-good order, and all parties, conservative and radical,

-regarded the existing state of affairs as a temporary

-one. Napoleon saw that the only obstacle in the

-path of the nation to peace and prosperity was the

-Assembly—the radicals of the Assembly that the

-Prince-President was the only obstacle to their plans

-of disorganization and anarchy; and they also saw

-that, if the question were allowed to go to the people

-at the expiration of Napoleon's term of office, he

-would surely be reëlected, and that his policy would

-be triumphantly confirmed. So, as the time drew

-near for the new election, the struggle between the

-President and the Assembly—between order and

-anarchy—grew more and more severe. Plots were

-formed against Napoleon, and were just ripening for

-execution, when, on the second of December, 1851,

-he terminated the suspense of the nation by seizing

-and throwing into prison all the chief conspirators

-against the public peace, and then appealed to the

-people to sustain him in his efforts to preserve his

-country from the state of anarchy towards which it

-seemed to be hastening. The people answered

-promptly and with good will to the call, and Napoleon

-gained an almost bloodless victory.

-

-But we are told that by the *coup d'état*, "Napoleon

-violated his oath to sustain the constitution of the

-republic—that he is a perjurer, and all his success

-cannot diminish his crime." So might one of the old

-loyalists have said about our own Washington. "He

-was a British subject—by accepting a commission

-under Braddock, he formally acknowledged his

-allegiance to the crown—by drawing his sword in

-the revolution, he violated not only his fidelity as a

-subject, but his honour as a soldier." And what

-would any American reply to this? He would say

-that Washington never bound himself to violate his

-conscience, and that conscientiously he felt bound to

-defend the old English principles of free government

-even against the encroachments of his own

-rightful sovereign. And so, with equal reason, it

-may be said of Louis Napoleon, when the term of

-his presidency was approaching, and the radical

-members of the Assembly were forming conspiracies

-to dispose of him so as to prevent his reëlection, he

-was bound in conscience, as the chief ruler of his

-country, to prevent the anarchy that must result from

-such a movement. And how could he do this save by

-dissolving the Assembly and appealing to the people

-as he did? The constitution was nullified by the

-plots of the Assembly, and France in 1851 was really

-without a government, until the *coup d'état* inaugurated

-the present reign of public prosperity and

-peace. The *coup d'état* was not only justifiable—it

-was praiseworthy. When the prejudices and party

-spirit of the present time shall have passed away, the

-historian will grow eloquent in speaking of that fearless

-and far-sighted statesman, who, when his country

-was threatened with a repetition of the civil strife

-which had too often shaken her to her centre, threw

-himself boldly upon the patriotism of the people

-with those noble words, "The Assembly, instead of

-being what it ought to be, the support of public

-order, has become a nest of conspiracies. It compromises

-the peace of France. I have dissolved it;

-and I call upon the whole people to judge between it

-and myself."—The *coup d'état* excited the anger

-only of the socialists and of those partisans of the

-houses of Bourbon and Orléans who loved those

-families more than they loved their country's welfare;

-for they saw, by the revival of business, that

-confidence in the stability of the government was established,

-and that Napoleon had obtained a place in

-the affections of the French people from which he

-could not easily be dislodged.

-

-From this dictatorship, which the dangers of the

-time had rendered necessary, it was an easy transition

-to the empire, and Louis Napoleon found his

-succession to the throne of his uncle confirmed by

-almost the unanimous vote of the French people. It

-was a tribute to the man, and to his public policy,

-such as no ruler in modern times has ever received,

-and for unanimity is unparalleled in the history of

-popular elections. His marriage followed quickly

-upon the proclamation of the empire; and in this, as

-in all his acts, we can discern his manly and independent

-spirit. He sought not to ally himself with

-any of the royal families of Europe, for he felt himself

-to be so sure of his position, that he could without

-risk consult his affections rather than policy or

-ambition.

-

-The skilful diplomacy which led to the alliance

-with England, the campaign in the Crimea, and the

-repulse of Russia, are too fresh in every body's recollection

-to bear any repetition. So far as they concern

-Napoleon III., the world is a witness to his matchless

-coolness and determination. What could be

-grander than the heroic inflexibility he displayed in

-the face of the accumulated disasters of that campaign,

-and the murmurs of his allies! Misfortune

-only seemed to nerve him to more vigorous effort.

-During that terrible winter of 1854-5, he appeared

-more like a fixed, unvarying law of nature than a

-man,—so immovable was he in his opposition to

-those who, pressed by the unlooked-for difficulties of

-the time, counselled a change of policy. The successful

-termination of the siege of Sebastopol, however,

-proved the justice of his calculations, and, while conquering

-monarchs in other times have been content to

-see the negotiations for peace made in some provincial

-town, or in a city of some neutral state, the proud

-satisfaction was conceded to him by Russia of having

-the peace conferences held in his own capital.

-

-But while commemorating the success of his efforts

-to raise his country to a commanding position among

-the nations, we must not forget the great enterprises

-of internal improvement which he has set on foot

-within his empire. Who can recall what Paris was

-under Louis Philippe, or the time of the republic,

-and compare it with the Paris of to-day, without admiring

-the genius of Napoleon III.? Who does not

-recognize a wonderful capacity for the administration

-of government in the Emperor, when he sees

-that nearly all of these great improvements (unlike

-those of Louis XIV., which impoverished the nation)

-will gradually but surely pay for themselves by

-increasing the amount of taxable property? Indeed,

-the improvements in the city of Paris alone are on so

-vast a scale as to be incomprehensible to any one

-unacquainted with that capital. If Napoleon were

-to-day to fall a victim to that organization of republican

-assassins which is known to exist in France, as

-well as in the other states of Europe, he would leave,

-in the Louvre, in the Bois de Boulogne, in the new

-Boulevards, and the extension of the Rue de Rivoli,

-together with the countless other public works which

-now adorn Paris, testimonials to the splendour of

-his brief reign, such as no monarch ever left before:

-of him, as of Sir Christopher Wren, it might be truly

-said, "*Si quæris monumentum, circumspice*."

-

-But we must not think that Napoleon has confined

-his exertions to the improvement of Paris alone.

-Not a single province of his empire has been neglected

-by him, and there is scarcely a town that has

-not felt the influence of his policy. The foreign

-commerce of France has been wonderfully increased

-by him, and his favourite project for a ship canal

-through the Isthmus of Suez is now numbered among

-the probabilities of the age. When it is considered

-what a narrow strip of land separates the Red Sea

-from the Mediterranean, and what an immense advantage

-such a canal would be to all the countries

-bordering on the latter, it is not wonderful that Napoleon

-should find so many friends among the

-sovereigns of Europe. He has not built the magnificent

-new port of Marseilles merely for the accommodation

-of the Mediterranean coasting trade

-of his empire. His far-seeing eye looks upon those

-massive quays covered with merchandise from every

-quarter of the Orient, brought, not around the

-stormy Cape, nor by the toilsome caravan over the

-parching desert, but by the swift steamers of the

-*Messageries Impériales* from every port of India,

-through the waters which, centuries ago, rolled back

-and opened a path of safety to the chosen people of

-God.

-

-If the old proverb be true, that a man is known by

-the company he keeps, it is equally true, on the other

-hand, that a statesman may be rightly known by examining

-the character of his opponents. And who

-are the opponents of Napoleon III.? With the exception

-of a few partisans of the Bourbons, (whose

-opposition to the Napoleon dynasty is an hereditary

-complaint,) they are radical demagogues, who delight

-to mislead the fickle multitude with the words,

-"Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity," on their lips,

-but the designs of anarchy and bloodshed in their

-hearts. Their ranks are swelled by a number of

-visionary "philanthropists," and a large number of

-newspaper scribblers deprived of their occupation by

-Napoleon's salutary laws against abuse of the liberty

-of the press, and lacking ambition to earn an honest

-livelihood. Among them may be found a few literary

-men of high reputation, who have espoused some

-impracticable theory of government, and would

-blindly throw away their well-earned fame, and shed

-the last drop of their ink in forcing it upon an unwilling

-nation.

-

-Slander, like Death, loves a shining mark. The

-fact cannot be doubted, if we look at the lives of the

-greatest and best men the world has ever seen. In

-truth, a large part of the heroism of the noblest

-patriots, and the purest philanthropists, has been

-created by the necessity they have been under to bear

-up against the obloquy with which enmity or envy

-has assailed them. The Emperor Napoleon is, beyond

-a doubt, the best abused man in Christendom.

-There probably never existed a man whose every act

-and every motive have been more studiously misrepresented

-and systematically lied about than his.

-It cannot be wondered at, either; for he exercises too

-much power in the state councils of Europe, and fills

-too large a space in the public eye, not to be assailed

-by those whose evil prophecies have been falsified by

-his brilliant reign, and whose lawless schemes have

-been frustrated by his unexampled prudence and

-firmness.

-

-And what right has he to complain? If St. Gregory

-VII. were obliged to submit for centuries to

-being represented as an ambitious self-seeker and

-unscrupulous politician, instead of a wise and far-seeing

-pontiff, a vanquisher of tyrants, and a self-denying

-saint; if St. Thomas of Canterbury be held

-up, in hundreds of volumes, as a monster of ingratitude

-towards a beneficent sovereign, and a haughty

-and overbearing supporter of prelatical tyranny, instead

-of a martyr, in defence of religious liberty

-against the encroachments of the civil authority; if

-Cardinal Wolsey be held up to public scorn as a

-proud and selfish prince of the Church, a glutton, and

-a wine-bibber, instead of a skilful administrator of

-government, a liberal patron of learning, and all

-good arts, and the sole restrainer of the evil passions

-of the most shameless tyrant who ever sat upon the

-English throne; if Cardinal Richelieu be handed

-down from generation to generation, painted in the

-blackest colours, as a scheming politician, in whose

-heart, wile and cruelty were mixed up in equal parts,

-instead of a sagacious and inflexible statesman, and

-a patriot who made every thing (even his religion)

-bend to his devotion to the glory of his beloved

-France; if these great men have been thus misrepresented

-in that history which De Maistre aptly calls

-"a conspiracy against truth," I do not think that

-Napoleon III. can reasonably complain of finding

-himself denounced as a tyrant, a perjurer, and a victim

-of all the bad passions that vex the human heart,

-instead of a liberator of his country from that many-headed

-monstrosity, miscalled the *République Française*,

-an unswerving supporter of the cause of law

-and religion, and the architect of the present glory

-and prosperity of France. It must be a great consolation

-to the Emperor, under the slanders which

-have been heaped upon him, to reflect that their

-authors and the enemies who hate him worst, are,

-for the most part, infidels and assassins, and enemies

-of social order. Whatever errors a man may commit,

-he cannot be far from the course of right so long

-as he is hated and feared by people of that desperate

-stamp. The ancient adage tells us that "a cat may

-look at a king"; and it is, perhaps, a merciful provision

-of the law of compensation that the base

-reptiles which fatten on the offal of slander are permitted

-to trail their slime over a name which is the

-synonyme of the power and glory of France.

-

-When the prejudices of the present day shall have

-died out, the historian will relate how devoted Napoleon

-III. was to every thing that concerned his

-country's welfare. He will tell of his ceaseless care

-for the most common wants of his people, and of his

-vigilance in enforcing laws against those who

-wronged the poor by their dishonest dealings in the

-necessaries of life. He will relate how promptly he

-turned his back upon nobles and ambassadors to visit

-some of his people who had been overwhelmed by a

-terrible calamity, and will describe the kind, fatherly

-manner in which he went among them, carrying succour

-and consolation to all. He will not compare the

-Emperor to his great warrior-uncle; he will *contrast*

-the two. He will show how the uncle made all

-Europe fear and hate him, and how the nephew converted

-his enemies into allies; how the uncle manured

-the soil of Europe with the bones of his soldiers, and

-the nephew, having given splendid proofs of his

-ability to make war, won for himself the title of "the

-Pacificator of Europe"; how the uncle, through his

-hot-headed ambition, finally made France the prey of

-a hostile alliance, and the nephew brought the representatives

-of all the European powers around him in

-his capital to make peace under his supervision.

-

-The man who, after thirty years of exile and six

-years of close imprisonment, can take a country in

-the chaotic condition in which France found itself

-after the revolution of 1848, and reorganize its government,

-place its financial affairs on a better footing

-than they have been before within the memory of

-man, double its commerce, and raise it to the highest

-place among the states of Europe, cannot be an ordinary

-man. In 1852, the Emperor said, "France, in

-crowning me, crowns herself;" and he has proved

-the literal truth of his words. He has given France

-peace, prosperity, and a stable government. He has

-imitated Napoleon I. in every one of his great and

-praiseworthy actions in his civil capacity, while he

-has not made a single one of his mistakes. And if

-"he that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that

-taketh a city," this remarkable man, whose self-control

-is undisturbed by his most unparalleled success,

-is destined to be known in history as Napoleon the

-Great.

-

-.. ——File: 173.png

-

-The character of Napoleon III. is marked by a

-unity and a consistency such as invariably have distinguished

-the greatest men. We can see this consistency

-in his fidelity to the cause of law and order,

-whether it be manifested in his services as a special

-constable against the Chartists of England, or as the

-chief magistrate of his nation against the Chartists

-of France. And to this conspicuous virtue of steadfastness

-he adds a wonderful universality of acquirements

-and natural genius. We see him contracting

-favourable loans and averting impending dangers in

-the monetary affairs of France, and it would seem as

-if his early life had been spent amid the clamours of

-the Bourse; we see him concentrating troops in his

-capital against the threats of the revolutionists, or

-designing campaigns against the greatest military

-powers of Europe; we see him maintaining a perfect

-composure in the midst of deadly missiles which were

-expected to terminate his reign and dynasty, and it

-would seem as if the camp had always been his home,

-and the dangers of the battle-field his familiar associations;

-we see him buying up grain to prevent

-speculators from oppressing his people during a season

-of scarcity, or imprisoning bakers for a deficiency

-in the weight of their loaves, or regulating the sales

-of meats and vegetables,—and it would seem as if

-he always had been a prudent housekeeper and a profound

-student of domestic economy; we see him laying

-out parks, projecting new streets and public

-buildings, and we question whether he has paid most

-attention to architecture, engineering, or landscape-gardening;

-we see him visiting his subjects when they

-have been overwhelmed by a great calamity, and he

-would seem to have been a disciple of St. Thomas

-of Villanueva, or of St. Vincent of Paul; we see him

-taking the lead amid the chief statesmen and diplomatists

-of the world, we read his powerful state

-papers and speeches, and we wonder where he acquired

-his experience; we see him, in short, under all

-circumstances, and it appears that there is nothing

-that concerns his country's welfare or glory too difficult

-for him to grapple with, nor any thing affecting

-the happiness of his poorest subject trivial enough

-for him to overlook. By his advocacy of the cause

-of the Church, he has won a place in history by the

-side of Constantine and Charlemagne; by his internal

-policy and care for the needs of his subjects, his

-name deserves to be inscribed with those of St. Louis

-and Alfred. The language which Bulwer has put

-into the mouth of Cardinal Richelieu might be used

-by Napoleon III., and would from him be only the

-language of historical truth:—

-

-   |       "I found France rent asunder,

-   | Sloth in the mart and schism within the temple,

-   | Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws

-   | Rotting away with rust— \* \* \* \*

-   | *I have re-created France*, and from the ashes

-   | Civilization on her luminous wings

-   | Soars phoenix-like to Jove!"

-

-

-.. footnotes:: Footnotes

-   :class: smaller

-

-.. ——File: 175.png

-

-

-

-

-THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL

---------------------------------

-

-

-Foreign travel is one of the most useful

-branches of our education, but, like a great

-many other useful branches, it appears to be "gone

-through with" by many persons merely as a matter

-of course. It is astonishing how few people out of

-the great number constantly making the tour of

-Europe really carry home any thing to show for it

-except photographs and laces. Foreign travel ought

-to rub the corners off a man's character, and give

-him a polish such as "home-keeping youth" can never

-acquire; yet how many we see who seem to have increased

-their natural rudeness and inconsiderateness

-by a continental trip! Foreign travel ought to soften

-prejudices, religious or political, and liberalize a

-man's mind; but how many there are who seem to

-have travelled for the purpose of getting up their

-rancour against all that is opposed to their notions,

-making themselves illustrations of Tom Hood's remark,

-that "some minds resemble copper wire or

-brass, and get the narrower by going farther." Foreign

-travel, while it shows a man more clearly the

-faults of his own country, ought to make him love

-his country more dearly than before; yet how often

-does it have the effect of making a man undervalue

-his home and his old friends! There must be some

-general reason why foreign travel produces its legitimate

-fruits in so few instances; and I have, during

-several European tours, endeavoured to ascertain it.

-I am inclined to think that it is a general lack of

-preparation for travel, and a mistaken notion that

-"sight-seeing" is the chief end of travelling. The

-expenses of the passage across the Atlantic are diminishing

-every year, and when the motive power in

-electricity is discovered and applied, the expense of

-the trip will be a mere trifle; and in view of these

-considerations, I feel that, though I might find a

-more entertaining subject for a letter, I cannot find a

-more instructive one than the philosophy of European

-travel.

-

-Concerning the expense of foreign travel, there

-are many erroneous notions afloat. There are hundreds

-of persons in America—artists, and students,

-and persons of small means—who are held back

-from what is to them a land of promise, by the mistaken

-idea that it is expensive to travel in Europe.

-They know that Bayard Taylor made a tour on an

-incredibly small sum, and they think that they have

-not his tact in management, nor his self-denial in

-regard to the common wants of life; but if they will

-put aside a few of their false American prejudices,

-they will find that they can travel in Europe almost

-as cheaply as they can live at home. In America, we

-have an aristocracy of the pocket, which is far more

-tyrannical, and much less respectable, than any aristocracy

-of blood on this side of the water; for every

-man feels an instinctive respect for another who can

-trace his lineage back to some brave soldier whose

-deeds have shone in his country's history for centuries;

-but it requires a peculiarly constituted mind to

-bow down to a man whose chief claim to respect is

-founded in the fact of his having made a large fortune

-in the pork or dry goods line. Jinkins is a rich

-man; he lives in style, and fares sumptuously every

-day. Jones is one of Jinkins's neighbours; he is not

-so rich as Jinkins, but he feels a natural ambition to

-keep up with him in his establishment, and he does

-so; the rivalry becomes contagious, and the consequence

-is, that a score of well-meaning people find, to

-their dismay, at the end of the year, that they have

-been living beyond their means. Now, if people wish

-to travel reasonably in Europe, the first thing that

-they must do is to get rid of the Jones and Jinkins

-standard of respectability. I have seen many people

-who were content to live at home in a very moderate

-sort of way, who, when they came to travel, seemed

-to require all the style and luxury of a foreign prince.

-Such people may go all over Europe, and see very

-little of it except the merest outside crust. They

-might just as well live in a fashionable hotel in America,

-and visit Mr. Sattler's cosmoramas. They resemble

-those unfortunate persons who have studied

-the classics from Anthon's text-books—they have got

-a general notion, but of the mental discipline of the

-study they are entirely ignorant. But let me go into

-particulars concerning the expenses of travelling. I

-know that a person can go by a sailing vessel from

-Boston to Genoa, spend a week or more in Genoa

-and on the road to Florence, pass two or three weeks

-in that delightful city, and two months in Rome, then

-come to Paris, and stay here two or three weeks,

-then go to London for a month or more, and home

-by way of Liverpool in a steamer, for less than four

-hundred dollars; for I did it myself several years

-ago. During this trip, I lived and travelled respectably

-all the time—that is, what is called respectably

-in Europe. I went in the second class cars, and in

-the forward cabins of the steamers. Jones and

-Jinkins went in the first class cars and in the after

-cabins, and paid a good deal more money for the

-same pleasure that cost me so little. I know, too,

-that a person can sail from Boston to Liverpool,

-make a summer trip of two months and a half to

-Paris, *via* London and the cities of Belgium, and

-back to Boston *via* London and Liverpool, for a

-trifle over two hundred and fifty dollars. A good

-room in London can be got for two dollars and a

-half a week, in Paris for eight dollars a month, in

-Rome and Florence for four dollars a month, and

-in the cities of Germany for very considerably less.

-And a good dinner costs about thirty cents in London,

-thirty-five in Paris, fifteen to twenty-five in

-Florence or Rome, and even less in Germany.

-Breakfast, which is made very little of on the continent,

-generally damages one's exchequer to the extent

-of five to ten cents. It will be seen from this

-scale of prices that one can live very cheaply if he

-will; and, as the inhabitants of a country may be supposed

-to know the requirements of its climate better

-than strangers, common sense would dictate the

-adoption of their style of living.

-

-I need not say that some knowledge of the French

-language is absolutely indispensable to one who

-would travel with any satisfaction in Europe. This

-is the most important general preparation that can

-be made for going abroad. Next after it, I should

-place a review of the history of the countries about

-to be visited. The outlines of the history of the

-different countries of Europe, published by the English

-*Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge*,

-are admirably adapted to this purpose. This gives

-a reality to the scenes you are about to visit that they

-would not otherwise possess; it peoples the very

-roadside for you with heroes. And not only does it

-impart a reality to your travels, but history itself

-becomes a reality to you, instead of being a mere

-barren record of events, hard to be remembered. At

-this time, when the neglect of classical studies is

-apparent in almost every book, newspaper, and magazine,

-I am afraid that I shall be thought somewhat

-old-fashioned and out of date, if I say that some

-acquaintance with the Latin classics is necessary before

-a man can really enjoy Italy. Yet it is so; and

-it will be a great satisfaction to any man to find that

-Horace and Virgil, and Cicero and Livy, are something

-more than the hard tasks of childhood. Should

-a man's classical studies, however, be weak, the

-deficiency can be made up in some measure by the

-judicious use of translations, and by Eustace's Classical

-Tour. Murray's admirable hand-books of

-course will supply a vast amount of information; but

-it will not do to trust to reading them upon the spot.

-Some preparation must be made beforehand,—some

-capital is necessary to start in business. "If you

-would bring home the wealth of the Indies, you must

-carry out the wealth of the Indies." It would be

-well, too, for a person about to visit Europe to prepare

-himself for a quieter life than he has been leading

-at home. I mean, to tone himself down so as to

-be able to enjoy the freedom from excitement which

-awaits him here. It is now more than a year since I

-left America, and likewise more than a year since I

-have seen any disorderly conduct, or a quarrel, or

-even have heard high words between two parties in

-the street, or have known of an alarm of fire. In

-the course of the year, too, I have not seen half a

-dozen intoxicated persons. When we reflect what a

-fruitful source of excitement all these things are in

-America, it will be easy to see that a man may have,

-comparatively, a very quiet life where they are not

-to be found. It will not do any harm, either, to prepare

-one's self by assuming a little more consideration

-for the feelings of others than is generally seen

-among us, and by learning to address servants with

-a little less of the imperious manner which is so common

-in America. Strange as it may seem, there is

-much less distinction of classes on the continent, than

-in republican America. You are astonished to find

-the broadcloth coat and the blouse interchanging the

-civilities of a "light" in the streets, and the easy,

-familiar way of servants towards their masters is a

-source of great surprise. You seldom see a Frenchman

-or an Italian receive any thing from a servant

-without thanking him for it. Yet there appears to

-be a perfectly good understanding between all parties

-as to their relative position, and with all their

-familiarity, I have never seen a servant presume

-upon the good nature of his employer, as they often

-do with us. We receive our social habits in a great

-measure from England, and therefore we have got

-that hard old English way of treating servants, as if

-our object was to make them feel that they are inferiors.

-So the sooner a man who is going to travel

-on the continent, can get that notion out of his head,

-and replace it with the continental one, which seems

-to be, that a servant, so long as he is faithful in the

-discharge of his duties, is quite as respectable a member

-of society as his employer, the better it will be

-for him, and the pleasanter will be his sojourn in

-Europe.

-

-One of the first mistakes Americans generally

-make in leaving for Europe is, to take too much

-luggage. Presupposing a sufficiency of under-clothing,

-all that any person really needs is a good, substantial

-travelling suit, and a suit of black, including

-a black dress coat, which is indispensable for all occasions

-of ceremony. The Sistine Chapel is closed to

-frock coats, and so is the Opera—and as for evening

-parties, a man might as well go in a roundabout as

-in any thing but a dress coat. Clothing is at least one

-third cheaper in Europe than it is with us, and any

-deficiency can be supplied with ease, without carrying

-a large wardrobe around with one, and paying the

-charges for extra luggage exacted by the continental

-railways.

-

-Let us now suppose a person to have got fairly off,

-having read up his classics and his history, and got

-his luggage into a single good-sized valise,—let us

-suppose him to have got over the few days of seasickness,

-which made him wish that Europe had been

-submerged by the broad ocean (as Mr. Choate

-would say) or ever he had left his native land,—and

-to have passed those few pleasant days, which every

-one remembers in his Atlantic passage, when the ship

-was literally getting along "by degrees" on her

-course,—and to have arrived safely in some European

-port. The custom house officers commence

-the examination of the luggage, looking especially

-for tobacco; and if our friend is a wise man, he will

-not attempt to bribe the officers, as in nine cases out

-of ten he will increase his difficulties by so doing, and

-cause his effects to be examined with double care; but

-he will open his trunk, and, if he have any cigars,

-will show them to the examiner, and if he have not,

-he will undoubtedly be told to close it again, and will

-soon be on his way to his hotel. I suppose him to

-have selected a hotel before arriving in port—which

-would be done by carefully avoiding those houses

-which make a great show, or are highly commended

-in Murray's guide-books. He will find a neat, quiet

-European hotel a delightful place, after the gilding

-and red velvet of the great caravanseries of his native

-country. If he is going to stop more than a

-single night, he will ask the price of the room to

-which he is shown, and if it seems too expensive, will

-look until he finds one that suits him. When he has

-selected a room, and his valise has been brought up,

-he will probably observe that the servant (if it is

-evening) has lighted both of the candles on the

-mantel-piece. He will immediately blow one of them

-out and hand it to the waiter, with a look that will

-show him that he is dealing with an experienced

-traveller, who knows that he has to pay for candles

-as he burns them. When he leaves the hotel,

-he will make it a principle always to carry the unconsumed

-candle or candles with him, for use as occasion

-may require; for it is the custom of the country,

-and will secure him against the little impositions

-which are always considered fair play upon outsiders.

-It is possible that he will find, when he goes to wash

-his hands, that there is no soap in the wash stand,

-and will thank me for having reminded him to carry

-a cake with him rolled up in a bit of oiled silk. When

-he wishes to take lodgings in any city, he will be

-particular to avoid that part of the town where English

-people mostly do inhabit, and will be very shy of

-houses where apartments to let are advertised on a

-placard in phrases which the originator probably intended

-for English. He will look thoroughly before

-he decides, and so will save himself a great deal of

-dissatisfaction which he might feel on finding afterwards

-that others had done much better than he.

-Besides, "room-hunting" is not the least profitable,

-nor least amusing part of a traveller's experience.

-He will, when settled in his rooms, attend in person

-to the purchase of his candles and his fuel, and to the

-delivery of the same in his apartments; for by so

-doing he will save money, and will see more of the

-common people of the place.

-

-Of course he will see all the "sights" that every

-stranger is under a sort of moral obligation to see,

-however much it may fatigue him; but he must not

-stop there. He must not think, as so many appear

-to, that, when he has seen the palaces, and picture

-galleries, and gardens, and public monuments of a

-country, he knows that country. He must try to see

-and know as much as he can of the people of the

-country, for they (Louis Quatorze to the contrary,

-notwithstanding) are the state. Let him cultivate

-the habit of early rising, and frequent market places

-and old parish churches in the twilight of the morning,

-and he will learn more of the people in one

-month than a year of reading or ordinary sight-seeing

-could teach him. Let him choose back alleys,

-instead of crowded and fashionable thoroughfares

-for his walks; when he falls in with a wandering

-musician and juggler, exhibiting in public, let him

-stop, not to see the exhibition, but the spectators;

-when he goes to the theatre, let him not shut himself

-up in the privacy of a box, but go into the pit, where

-all he will see and hear around him will be full as

-amusing as the performance itself; and when he uses

-an omnibus, let him always choose a seat by the

-driver, in preference to one inside. I have learnt

-more of the religious character of the poorer class in

-Paris, by a visit to a little out-of-the-way church at

-sunrise, than could be acquired by hours of conversation

-with the people themselves. And I have learned

-equally as much of the brutality and degradation of

-the same class in England, by going into a gin-shop

-late at night, calling for a glass of ale, and drinking

-it slowly, while I was inspecting the company.

-There is many a man who travels through Europe,

-communicating only with hotel keepers, couriers, and

-ciceroni, and learning less of the people than he

-could by walking into a market-place alone, and buying

-a sixpence worth of fruit. Yet such men presume

-to write books, and treat not merely of the governments

-of these countries, but of the social condition

-of the people! I once met a man in Italy, who could

-not order his breakfast correctly in Italian, who

-knew only one Italian, and he was the waiter who

-served him in a restaurant; and yet this man was a

-correspondent of a respectable paper in Boston, and

-had the effrontery to write column after column upon

-Italian social life, and to speak of political affairs as

-if he were Cardinal Antonelli's sole confidant. There

-are such people here in Paris now, who send over to

-America, weekly, batches of falsehood about the

-household of the Tuileries, which the intelligent public

-of America accepts as being true; for it seems to

-be a part of some people's republicanism to believe

-nothing but evil of a ruler who wears a crown. I

-need not say in this connection, that the traveller who

-wishes to enjoy Europe must put away the habit (if

-he be so unfortunate as to have it) of looking upon

-every thing through the green spectacles of republicanism,

-and regarding that form of government as

-the only one calculated to benefit mankind. He must

-remember that the government of his own country is

-a mere experiment, compared with the old monarchies

-of Europe, and he must try to judge impartially between

-them. He must judge each system by its results,

-and if on comparison he finds that there is really

-less slavery in his own country than in Europe; that

-the government is administered more impartially;

-that the judiciary is purer; that there is less of mob

-law and violence, and less of political bargaining and

-trickery, and that life and property are more secure

-in his own country than they are here,—why, he will

-return to America a better republican than before,

-from the very fact of having done justice to the governments

-of Europe.

-

-As I have before said, it is better for a traveller to

-endeavour to live as nearly as possible in the manner

-of the inhabitants of the country in which he is sojourning.

-I do not mean that he should feel bound

-to make as general a use of garlic as some of the

-people of Europe do, for in some places I verily

-believe that a custard or a blanc mange would be

-thought imperfect if they were not seasoned with

-that savory vegetable; but, *ceteris* being *paribus*, if

-the general manner of living were followed, the traveller

-would find it conducive to health and to economy.

-The habits of life among every people are not

-founded on a mere caprice; and experience proves

-that under the warm sun of Italy, a light vegetable

-diet is healthier and more really invigorating than

-all the roast beef of Old England would be.

-

-In Europe, no man is ever ashamed of economy.

-Few Englishmen even shrink from acknowledging

-that they cannot afford to do this or that, and on the

-continent profuseness in the use of money is considered

-the sure mark of a *parvenu*. Every man is free

-to do as he pleases; he can travel in the first, second,

-or third class on the railways, and not excite the surprise

-of any body; and whatever class he may be in,

-he will be treated with equal respect by all. It is well

-to bear this in mind, for, taken in connection with the

-principle of paying for one's room and meals separately

-according to what one has, it puts it within

-one's power to travel all over Europe for a ridiculously

-small sum. You can live in Paris, by going

-over into the Latin quarter, on thirty cents a day,

-and be treated by every body, except your own countrymen,

-with as much consideration as if you abode

-among the mirrors and gilding of the Hôtel de

-Louvre. Not that I would advise any one to go

-over there for the sake of saving money, and live on

-salads and meats in which it is difficult to have confidence,

-when he can afford to do better. I only wish

-to encourage those who are kept from visiting Europe

-by the idea that it requires a great outlay of

-money. You can live in Europe for just what you

-choose to spend, and in a style of independence to

-which America is a total stranger. Every body does

-not know here what every body else has for dinner.

-You may live on the same floor with a man for

-months and years, and not know any more of him

-than can be learned from a semi-occasional meeting

-on the staircase, and an interchange of hat civilities.

-This seems so common to a Frenchman, that it would

-be considered by him hardly worth notice; but to any

-one who knows what a sharp look-out neighbours

-keep over each other in America, it is a most pleasing

-phenomenon. It is indeed a delightful thing to live

-among people who have formed a habit of minding

-their own business, and at the same time have a spirit

-of consideration for the rights and feelings of their

-neighbours.

-

-If, in the above hints concerning the way to travel

-pleasantly and cheaply in Europe, I have succeeded

-in removing any of the bugbear obstacles which hold

-back so many from the great advantages they might

-here enjoy, I shall feel that I have not tasked my

-poor eyes and brain for nothing. We are a long

-way behind Europe in many things, and it is only by

-frequent communication that we can make up our

-deficiencies. It cannot be done by boasting, nor by

-claiming for America all the enterprise and enlightenment

-of the nineteenth century. Neither can it be

-done by setting up the United States as superior to

-every historical precedent, and an exception to every

-rule. Most men (as the old French writer says) are

-mortal; and we Americans shall find that our country,

-with all its prosperity and unequalled progress,

-is subject to the same vicissitudes as the countries we

-now think we can afford to despise; and that our history

-is

-

-   |     "——but the same rehearsal of the past—

-   | First Freedom, and then Glory; when that fails,

-   | Wealth, vice, corruption,—barbarism at last."

-

-No, we cannot safely scorn the lesson which

-Europe teaches us; for if we do, we shall have to

-learn it at the expense of much adversity and wounding

-of our pride. Every American who comes

-abroad, if he knows how to travel, ought to carry

-home with him a new idea of the amenities of life,

-and of moderation in the pursuit and the use of

-wealth, such as will make itself felt in the course of

-time, and make the fast living and recklessness of

-authority and tendency to bankruptcy of the present

-day, give way to a spirit of moderation and obedience

-to law such as always produces private prosperity

-and public stability.

-

-.. ——File: 189.png

-

-

-

-

-PARIS TO BOULOGNE

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-

-

-It was a delicious morning when I packed my trunk

-to leave Paris. Indeed it was so bright and

-cloudless that it seemed wrong to go away and leave

-so fine a combination of perfections. It was more

-than the "bridal of the earth and sky"; it was the

-bridal of all the created beings around one and their

-works with the sky. The deep blue of the heavens,

-the glittering sunbeams, the clean streets, the fair

-house fronts, the gay shop windows, the white caps,

-and shining morning faces of the *bonnes* and market

-women, the busy, prosperous look of the passers by,

-were all blended together in one harmonious whole,

-more touching and poetical than any scene of mere

-natural beauty that the dewy morn, "with breath all

-incense and with cheek all bloom," ever looked upon.

-"Earth hath not any thing to show more fair."

-Others may delight in communing with solitary nature,

-and may rave in rhyme about the glories of

-woods, lakes, mountains, and Ausonian skies; but

-what is all that compared to the awakening of a great

-city to the life of day? What are the floods of

-golden light that every morning bathe the mountain

-tops, and are poured down into the valleys and fields

-below, compared to the playing of the sunbeams in

-the smoke from ten thousand chimneys, and the din

-of toil displacing the silence of night? I have seen

-the sunsets of the Archipelago—I have seen Lesbos

-and Egina clad in those robes of purple and gold,

-which till then I had thought were a mere figment of

-the painter's brain—I have enjoyed that "hush of

-world's expectation as day died"—I have often

-drunk in the glory of a cloudless sunrise on the Atlantic,

-and even now my heart leaps up at the remembrance

-of it; but after all, commend me to the deeper

-and more sympathetic feelings inspired by the dingy

-walls and ungraceful chimney-pots of a metropolis.

-Thousands of human hearts are there, throbbing

-with hope, or joy, or sorrow,—weighed down perchance

-by guilt; and humanity with all its imperfections

-is a noble thing. A single human heart, though

-erring, is a grander creation than the Alps or the

-Andes, for it shall outlive them. It is moved by aspirations

-that outrun the universe, and possesses a

-destiny that shall outlive the stars. It is the better

-side of human nature that we see in the early morning

-in large cities. Vice flourishes best under the

-glare of gas-lights, and does not salute the rising sun.

-The bloated form, the sunken eye, the painted cheek,

-shrink from that which would make their deformity

-more hideous, and hide themselves in places which

-their presence makes almost pestilential. Honest,

-healthful labour meets us at every step, and imparts

-to us something of its own hopefulness and activity.

-We miss the dew-drops glittering like jewels in the

-grass, but the loss is more than made up to us by the

-bright eyes of happy children, helping their parents

-in their work, or sporting together on their way to

-school.

-

-There was a time when I thought it very poetical

-to roam the broad fields in that still hour when the

-golden light seems to clasp every object that it meets,

-as if it loved it; but of late years a comfortable sidewalk

-has been more suggestive of poetry and less

-productive of wet feet. Give me a level pavement

-before all your groves and fields. The only *rus* that

-wears well in the long run is *Russ in urbe*. Nine

-tenths of all the fine things in our literature concerning

-the charms of country life, have been written, not

-beneath the shade of overarching boughs, but within

-the crowded city's smoke-stained walls. Depend

-upon it, Shakespeare could never have written about

-the moonlight sleeping on the bank any where but in

-the city; had the realities of country life been present

-to him, he would have rejected any such metaphor,

-for he loved the moonlight too dearly to subject it to

-the rheumatic attack that would inevitably have

-followed such a nap as that. It is with country life

-very much as it is with life at sea. Mr. Choate, who

-pours out his noblest eloquence on the glories and

-romance of the sea, seldom sees the outside of his

-state-room while he is out of sight of land, and all his

-glowing periods are forgotten in the realities of his

-position. So, too, the man who wishes to destroy

-the poetry and romance of country life, has only to

-walk about in the wet grass or the scorching heat, or

-to be obliged to pick the pebbles out of his shoes, or

-a caterpillar off his neck, or to be mocked at by unruly

-cattle, or pestered by any of the myriads of

-insect and reptiles which abound in every well-regulated

-country.

-

-The excellent Madame Busque (*la dame aux

-pumpkin pies*) had prepared for me a viaticum in

-the shape of a small loaf of as good gingerbread as

-was ever made west of Cape Cod—a motherly attention

-quite in keeping with her ordinary way of taking

-care of her customers. All who frequent the *crêmerie*

-are her *enfans*, and if she does not show them

-every little maternal attention, and tie a bib upon

-every one's neck, it is only that we may know better

-how to behave when we are beyond the reach of her

-kindly hand. Fortified with the gingerbread, I found

-myself whirling out of the terminus of the Northern

-Railway, and Paris, with its far-stretching fortifications,

-its domes and towers, and its windmill-crowned

-Montmartre, was soon out of sight.

-

-The train was very full, and the weather very

-warm. Two of my car-companions afforded me a

-good deal of amusement. They were a fat German

-and his wife. He was one of the jolliest old gentlemen

-I ever had the good fortune to travel with. His

-silvery hair was cropped close to his head, and he

-rode along with his cuffs turned up and his waistcoat

-open. He seemed to feel that he was occupying a

-good deal of room; but he was the only one there

-who felt it. No one of us would have had his circumference

-reduced an inch, but we should all of us have

-delighted to put a thin man who was there out by the

-roadside. His wife—a bright-eyed little woman,

-whose hair was just getting a little silvery—had a

-small box-cage in which she carried a large, intelligent-looking

-parrot. Before we had gone very far,

-the bird began to carry on an animated conversation

-with its mistress, but finally disgusted her and surprised

-us all by swearing in French and German at

-the whole company, with all the vehemence of a regiment

-of troopers. The lady tried hard to stop him,

-but it was useless. The old gentleman (like a great

-many good people who would not swear themselves,

-but rather like to hear a good round oath occasionally)

-seemed to enjoy it intensely, and laughed

-till the tears rolled down his cheeks. At noon the

-worthy pair made solemn preparations for a dinner.

-A basket, a carpet-bag, and sundry paper parcels

-were brought out. The lady spread a large checked

-handkerchief over their laps for a table cloth, and

-then produced a staff of life about two feet in length,

-and cut off a good thick slice for each of them.

-Cheese was added to it, and also a species of sausage

-about a foot in length, and three inches in diameter.

-From these they made a comfortable meal—not eating

-by stealth, as we Americans should have done—but

-diving in heartily, and chatting together all the

-while as cosily as if they had been at home. A bottle

-of wine was then brought out from the magic carpet-bag,

-and a glass, also a nice dessert of peaches and

-grapes. There was a charming at-home-ativeness

-about the whole proceeding that contrasted strongly

-with our American way of doing such things, and all

-the other passengers apparently took no notice of it.

-

-We arrived at Boulogne in the midst of a storm

-as severe as the morning had been serene. So fair

-and foul a day I have not seen. An omnibus whisked

-me to a hotel in what my venerable grandmother

-used to call a *jiffy*, and I was at once independent of

-the weather's caprices. A comfortable dinner at the

-*table d'hôte* repaired the damages of the journey,

-and I spent the evening with some good friends,

-whose company was made the more delightful by

-the months that had separated us. The storm raged

-without, and we chatted within. The old hotel

-creaked and sighed as the blast assailed it, and I

-dreamed all night of close-reefed topsails.

-

-   | "'Tis a wild night out of doors;

-   | The wind is mad upon the moors.

-   | And comes into the rocking town,

-   | Stabbing all things up and down:

-   | And then there is a weeping rain

-   | Huddling 'gainst the window pane;

-   | And good men bless themselves in bed;

-   | The mother brings her infant's head

-   | Closer with a joy like tears,

-   | And thinks of angels in her prayers,

-   | Then sleeps with his small hand in hers."

-

-Having in former years merely passed through

-Boulogne, I had never known before what a pleasant

-old city it is. Its clean streets and well-built houses,

-and the air of respectable antiquity which pervades

-it, make a very pleasant impression upon the mind.

-As you stand on the quay, and look across at the

-white cliffs on the other side of the Channel, which

-are distinctly visible on a clear day, the differences in

-the character of the two nations so slightly separated

-from one another, strike you more forcibly than ever.

-The very fish taken on the French side of the channel

-are different from any that you see in England; and

-as to the fishwomen, whose sunburnt legs, bare to the

-knee, are the astonishment of all new-comers,—go

-over all Europe, and you will find nothing like them.

-That superb cathedral, the shrine of our Lady of

-Boulogne, upon which the storm of the first French

-revolution beat with such fury, is now beginning to

-wear a look of completion. Its dome, one of the

-loftiest and most graceful in the world, is a striking

-and beautiful feature in the view of the city. For

-more than twelve centuries this has been a famous

-shrine. Kings and princes have visited it, not with

-the pomp and circumstance of royalty, but in the

-humble garb of the pilgrim. Henry VIII. made a

-pilgrimage hither in his unenlightened days, before

-the pious Cranmer had taught him how wicked it was

-to honour the Mother whom his Saviour honoured,

-and how godly and just it was to divorce and put to

-death the mothers of his children. Here it was that

-the heroic crusader, Godfrey, kindled the flame of

-that devotion which nerved his arm against the foes

-of Christianity, and added a new lustre to his

-knightly fame. It is a fashion of the present day to

-sneer at the age of chivalry and the crusades, and

-some of our best writers have been enticed into the

-following of it. While we have so many subjects

-deserving the treatment of the satirist, at our very

-doors,—while we have the fashionable world to

-draw upon,—while we can look around on political

-parsons, professional philanthropists and patriots,

-politicians who talk of principle, and followers who

-are weak enough to believe in them—it would really

-seem as if we might allow the crusaders and troubadours

-to rest. Supposing, for the sake of argument,

-Christianity to be a true religion,—supposing

-it to be a fact that eighteen hundred years ago the

-plains of Palestine were trodden by the blessed feet

-that were "nailed for our advantage on the bitter

-cross"—the redemption of the land which had been

-the scene of the sacred history, from the sacrilegious

-hands of the Saracens, was certainly an enterprise

-creditable to St. Louis, and Richard the lion-hearted,

-and Godfrey, and the other gentlemen who sacrificed

-so much in it. It was certainly as respectable an undertaking

-as any of the crusades of modern times,—as

-that of the Spaniards in America, the English in

-India, or the United States in Mexico,—with this

-exception, that it was not so profitable. I am afraid

-that some of our modern satirists are lacking in the

-spirit of their profession, and allow themselves to be

-made the mouthpieces of that worldly wisdom which

-it is their office to rebuke. I can see nothing to sneer

-at in the crusader exiling himself from his native

-land, and forfeiting his life in the defence of the

-Holy Sepulchre; indeed, I am inclined to respect a

-man who makes such a sacrifice to a conscientious

-conviction: it is a noble conquest of the visible temporal

-by the unseen eternal. I can well understand

-how such efforts for the protection of a mere empty

-tomb would seem worthy of laughter and ridicule to

-those who can find no food for satire in the *auri sacra

-fames* which has been the motive of modern foreign

-expeditions. It would be well for the world could

-we bring back something of that age of chivalry

-which Edmund Burke regretted so eloquently. We

-need it sorely; for we are every day sliding farther

-down from its high standard of honour and of unselfish

-devotion to principle.

-

-There is a little fishing village about a mile and a

-half from Boulogne, on the sea coast towards Calais,

-which is celebrated in history as having been the

-scene of the landing of Prince Louis Napoleon and

-his companions in their unsuccessful attempt to overthrow

-the government of Louis Philippe. Napoleon

-III. has not distinguished the spot by any memorial;

-but he has erected a colossal statue of Napoleon I.

-on the spot where that insatiable conqueror, with his

-mighty army around him, looked longingly at the

-coast of England. There is something of a contrast

-between the day thus commemorated and that on

-which the "nephew of his uncle" received Queen

-Victoria at Boulogne, when she visited France. It

-must have been a great satisfaction to Louis Napoleon,

-after his life of exile, and particularly after

-the studied neglect which he experienced from the

-English nobility, to have welcomed the British Queen

-to his realm with that kiss which is the token of

-equality among sovereigns. Waterloo must have

-been blotted out when he saw the Queen—in whose

-realm he had served the cause of good order in the

-rank of special constable—bending down at his knee

-to confer upon him the order of the garter.

-

-In spite of its geographical situation, Boulogne

-can hardly be considered a French town. The police

-department and the custom house are in the hands of

-the French, to be sure; but in the course of a walk

-through its streets, you hear much more of the English

-than of the French language. You meet those

-brown shooting jackets, and checked trousers, and

-thick shoes and gaiters that are at home every where

-in the "inviolate island of the sage and free." You

-cannot turn a corner without coming upon some of

-those beefy and beery countenances which symbolize

-so perfectly the genius of British civilization, and

-hearing the letter H exasperated to a wonderful degree.

-Every where you see bevies of young ladies

-wearing those peculiar brown straw hats, edged with

-black lace, with a brown feather put in horizontally

-on one side of the crown, a style of head dress to

-which the French and Italians have given the name

-of "*Ingleesh spoken here*." There is a large class

-among the English population of Boulogne upon

-which the disinterested spectator will look with interest

-and with pity. I mean those unfortunate persons

-who have been obliged by "force of circumstances"

-and the importunity of creditors to exile

-themselves for a time from their native land. You

-see them on every side; and all ranks in society are

-represented among them, from the distinguished-looking

-man, with the tortoise-shell spectacles, who

-ran through his wife's property at the club, to the

-pale, unhappy-looking fellow in the loose thread

-gloves and sleepless coat. You can distinguish them

-at a glance from their fellow-countrymen who have

-gone over for purposes of recreation, the poor devils

-walk about with such an evident wish to appear to be

-doing something or going somewhere. The condition

-of the prisoners, or rather the "collegians," in

-the old Marshalsea prison, must have been an enviable

-one, compared to these unfortunates, condemned

-to gaze at the cliffs of Old England from a

-distance, and wait vainly for something to turn up.

-

-The arrival and departure of the English steamers

-is the only source of excitement that the quiet city

-of Boulogne possesses. I was astonished to find,

-after being there a day or two, what an interest I

-took in those occurrences. I found myself on the

-quay with the rest of the foreign population of the

-town, an hour before the departure of the boat, to

-make sure, like every body else there, that not a

-traveller for England should escape my notice. Besides

-the pleasure of inspecting the motley crowd of

-spectators, I was gratified one day to see the big,

-manly form and good-natured ugly face of Thackeray,

-following a leathern portmanteau on its path

-from the omnibus to the boat. The great satirist

-took an observation of the crowd through his spectacles

-as if he were making a mental note, to be overhauled

-in due season, and then hurried on board, as if

-he longed to get back to London among his books.

-He had been spending the warm season at the baths

-of Hombourg. But the great excitement of the day

-is the arrival of the afternoon boat from Folkestone.

-It is better as an amusement than many plays that I

-have seen, and it has this advantage, (an indispensable

-one to a large part of the English population of

-Boulogne,) that it costs nothing. During the days

-when I was there, the equinoctial gale was in full

-blow, and, of course, there was a greater rush than

-usual to the quay. It was necessary to go very early

-to secure a good place. From the steamer to the

-passport office, a distance of two or three hundred

-feet, ropes were stretched to keep back the spectators,

-forming an avenue some thirty feet wide.

-Through this the wretched victims of the "chop sea"

-of the Channel were obliged to pass, and listen to the

-remarks or laughter which their pitiable condition

-excited among the crowd of their disinterested countrymen.

-Any person who has ever been seasick can

-imagine what it would be to go on shore from a boat

-that has just been pitching and rolling about in the

-most absurd manner, and try to walk like a Christian,

-with the eyes of several hundred amusement-seeking

-people fixed upon him. Sympathy is entirely

-out of the question. The pallid countenance and

-uncertain step, as if the walker were waiting for the

-pavement to rise to meet his foot, excite nothing but

-mirth in the spectators. The whole scene, including

-the lookers-on, was one of the funniest things I ever

-saw. The observations of the crowd, too, were well

-calculated to heighten the effect. "Ease her when

-she pitches," cried out a youngster at my side, as an

-old lady, who was supported by a gentleman and a

-maid servant, seemed to be trying to accommodate

-herself to the motion of the street, and testify her

-love for *terra firma* by lying down. "Hard a' starboard,"

-shouted another, as a gentleman, with a felt

-hat close reefed to his head with a white handkerchief,

-sidled along up the leeward side of the passage

-way. "That 'ere must 'a been a sewere case of sickness,"

-said a little old man, in an advanced state of

-seediness, as a tall man, looking defiance at the

-crowd, walked ashore with a carpet-bag in his hand,

-and an expression on his face very like that of Mr.

-Warren, in the farce, when he says, "Shall I slay him

-at once, or shall I wait till the cool of the evening?"

-"Don't go yet, Mary," said a young gentleman in a

-jacket and precocious hat, to his sister, who seemed

-to fear that it was about to begin to rain again,—"don't

-go yet; the best of all is to come; there's a fat

-lady on board who has been *so* sick—we must wait

-to see her!" And so they went on, carrying out in

-the most exemplary manner that golden rule which,

-applied to the period of seasickness, enjoins upon us

-that we shall do unto others just as others would do

-to us.

-

-.. ——File: 201.png

-

-It is no joke to most people to cross the Channel at

-any time, but to cross it on the tail-end of the equinoctial

-storm is far from being a humorous matter. I

-had crossed from almost all the ports between Havre

-and Rotterdam in former years; so I resolved to try

-a new route in spite of the weather, and booked myself

-for a passage in the boat from Boulogne to London,

-direct. The steamer was called the Seine; and

-when we had once got into the open sea, a large part

-of the passengers seemed to think that they were

-*insane* to have come in her. She was a very good

-sea-boat, but I could not help contrasting her with

-our Sound and Hudson River steamers at home. If

-the "General Steam Navigation Company" were to

-import a steamer from America like the Metropolis

-or the Isaac Newton, there would be a revolution in

-the travelling world of England. The people here

-would no longer put up with steamers without an

-awning or any shelter from sun or rain. After they

-had enjoyed the accommodations of one of our great

-floating hotels, they would not think of shutting

-themselves up in the miserable cabins which people

-pay so dearly for here. But to proceed: when we

-got fairly out upon the *nasty* deep, I ventured to

-gratify my curiosity, as a connoisseur in seasickness,

-by a visit to the cabin. If I were in the habit of writing

-for the newspapers, I suppose I should say that

-the scene "baffled description." It certainly was one

-that I shall not soon forget. The most rabid republican

-would have been satisfied with the equality that

-prevailed there. The squalls that assailed us on deck

-were nothing compared to the demonstrations of a

-whole regiment of infantry below, who were illustrating,

-in a manner worthy of Retsch, one of the

-first lines in Shakespeare's Seven Ages. Ladies of

-all ages were keeled up on every side in various postures

-of picturesque negligence, and with a forgetfulness

-of the conventionalities of society quite charming

-to look upon. The floor, where it was unoccupied by

-prostrate humanity, was nearly covered with hatboxes,

-and bonnets, and bowls, and anonymous articles

-of crockery ware, which were performing a

-lively quadrille, being assisted therein by the motion

-of the ship. But a little of such sights, and sounds,

-and smells as these goes a great way with me, and I

-was glad to return to the wet deck. They had managed

-to rig a tarpaulin between the paddle-boxes,

-and there I took refuge until the rain ceased. It was

-comparatively pleasant weather when we sailed past

-Walmer Castle, where that old hero died on whom

-all the world has conferred the title of "The Duke";

-and of course there was no rough sea as soon as we

-got into the Downs. Black-eyed Susan might have

-gone on board of any of the fleet of vessels that were

-lying there without discolouring her ribbons by a

-single dash of spray. Ramsgate and Margate (the

-Newport and Cape May of England) looked full of

-company as we sailed by them, and crowds of bathers

-were battling with the surf. The heavy black yards

-of the ships of war loomed up at Sheerness in the

-distance, and suggested thoughts of Nelson, and

-Dibdin, and Ben Bowlin. Now and then we passed

-by some splendid American clipper ship towing up or

-down the river, and I felt proud of my nationality as

-I contrasted her graceful lines and majestic proportions

-with the tub-like models of British origin that

-every where met my eye. The dock-yards of Woolwich

-seemed like a vast ant-hill for numbers and

-busy life. Greenwich, with its fine architecture and

-fresh foliage in the distance, was most grateful to

-my eyes; and it was pleasing to reflect, as I passed the

-observatory, that I could begin to reckon my longitude

-to the westward, for it made me feel nearer

-home.

-

-.. ——File: 204.png

-

-

-

-

-LONDON

-------

-

-

-No man can really appreciate the grandeur of

-London until he has approached it from the

-sea. The sail up the river from Gravesend to London

-Bridge is a succession of wonders, each one

-more overwhelming than that which preceded it.

-There is no display of fortifications; but here and

-there you see some storm-tossed old hulk, which, having

-finished its active career, has been safely anchored

-in that repose which powder magazines always enjoy.

-As the river grows narrower, the number of

-ships, steamers, coal barges, wherries, and boats of

-every description, seems to increase; and as you sail

-on, the grand panorama of the world-wide commerce

-of this great metropolis unfolds before you,

-and you are lost, not so much in admiration as in

-astonishment. Woolwich, Greenwich, Rotherhithe,

-Bermondsey, Blackwall, Millwall, Wapping, &c.,

-follow rapidly in the vision, like the phantom kings

-before the eyes of the unfortunate Scotch usurper,

-until one is temped to inquire with him, whether the

-"line will stretch out to the crack of doom." The

-buildings grow thicker and more unsightly as you

-advance; the black sides of the enormous warehouses

-seem to be bulging out over the edge of the wharves

-on which they stand; far off, beyond the reach of the

-tides, you see the forests of masts that indicate the

-site of the docks. The bright green water of the

-Channel has been exchanged for the filthy, drain-like

-current of the Thames. Hundreds of monstrous

-chimneys belch forth the smoke that constitutes the

-legitimate atmosphere of London. Every thing

-seems to be dressed in the deepest mourning for the

-cruel fate of nature, and you look at the distant hills

-and bright lawns, over in the direction of Sydenham,

-with very much of the feeling that Dives must have

-had, when he gazed on the happiness of Lazarus

-from his place of torment. Every thing presents a

-most striking contrast to the clean, fair cities of the

-continent. Paris, with its cream-coloured palaces

-adorning the banks of the Seine, seems more beautiful

-than ever as you recall it while surrounded by

-such sights, and sounds, and smells, as offend your

-senses here. The winding Arno, and the towers, and

-domes, and bridges, of Florence and Pisa, seem to

-belong to a celestial vision rather than to an earthly

-reality, as you contrast them with the monuments of

-England's commercial greatness. At last, you come

-in sight of London Bridge, with its never-ceasing

-current of vehicles and human beings crossing it; and

-your amazement is crowned by realizing that, notwithstanding

-the wonders you have seen, you have

-just reached the edge of the city, and that you can

-ride for miles and miles through a closely-built labyrinth

-of bricks and mortar, hidden under the veil of

-smoke before you.

-

-And what a change it is—from Paris to London!

-To a Frenchman it must be productive of a suicidal

-feeling. The scene has shifted from the sunny

-Boulevards to the blackened bricks and mortar,

-which neither great Neptune's ocean, nor Lord Palmerston's

-anti-smoke enactment can wash clean. In

-the place of the smiling, good-humoured Frenchman,

-you have the serious, stately Englishman. One

-misses the wining courtesy of which a Frenchman's

-hat is the instrument, and the ready *pardon* or *merci*

-is heard no more. The beggary, the drunkenness,

-and the depravity, so apparent on every side, appall

-one. Paris *may* be the most immoral city in the

-world; but there, vice must be sought for in its own

-haunts. Here in London, it prowls up and down in

-the streets, seeking for its victims. Put all the other

-European capitals together, and I do not believe that

-you could meet with so much to pain and disgust you

-as you would in one hour in the streets of London.

-And yet, with all this staring people in the face here,

-how do they go to work to remedy it? They pass

-laws enforcing the suspension of business on Sundays,

-and when they succeed in keeping all the shutters

-closed, by fear of the law, they fold their arms,

-and say, "See what a godly nation is this!" If this

-is not "making clean the outside of the cup and platter,"

-what is it? For my part, I much prefer that

-perfect religious liberty which allows each man to

-keep Sunday as he pleases; and the recent improvement

-in the observance of the day in France is all the

-more gratifying, because it does not spring from any

-compulsory motive. Let the Jews keep the *Sabbath*

-as they are commanded to in the Old Testament; but

-*Sunday* is the Christian's day, and Sunday is a day of

-festivity and rejoicing, and not of fasting and penitential

-sadness.

-

-Despite the smoke, and the lack of continental

-courtesy which is felt on arriving from France, despite

-the din and hurry, I cannot help loving London.

-The very names of the streets have been mad classical

-by writers whose works are a part of our own

-intellectual being. The illustrious and venerable

-names of Barclay and Perkins, of Truman, Hanbury,

-and Buxton, that meet our eyes at every corner, are

-the synonymes of English hospitality and cheer. It

-is a pleasure, too, to hear one's native language

-spoken on all sides, after so many months of French

-twang. The hissing and sputtering English seems

-under such circumstances to be more musical than the

-most elegant phrases of the Tuscan in the mouth of

-a dignified Roman. Even the omnibus conductors'

-talk about the "Habbey," the "Benk," 'Igh 'Olborn,

-&c., does not offend the ear, so delightful does it

-seem to be able to say beefsteak instead of *biftek*.

-The odour of brown stout that prevails every where

-is as fragrant as the first sniff of the land breeze

-after a long voyage. Temple Bar is eloquent of the

-genius of Hogarth, whose deathless drawings first

-made its ugly form familiar to your youthful eyes in

-other lands. The very stones of Fleet Street prate of

-Dr. Johnson and Goldsmith. You walk into Bolt

-Court, and if you feel as I do the associations of the

-place, you eat a chop in the tavern that stands where

-stood the house of Dr. Johnson. Then you cross

-over the way to Inner Temple Lane, and mourn over

-the march of improvement when you see that its

-sacrilegious hand is sweeping away a row of four

-brick houses, which, dilapidated and unsightly as

-they may appear, are dear to every lover of English

-literature. In No. 1, formerly dwelt Dr. Johnson;

-in No. 4, Charles Lamb. You walk into the Temple

-Church, and muse over the effigies of the knights

-who repose there in marble or bronze, or go into the

-quiet Temple Gardens, and meditate on the wars of

-the red and white roses that were plucked there centuries

-ago, before the iron fences were built. It

-would be as difficult to pluck any roses there now as

-the most zealous member of the Peace Society could

-wish. You climb up Ludgate Hill, getting finely

-spattered by the cabs and omnibuses, and find yourself

-at St. Paul's. You smile when you think that

-that black pile of architecture, with its twopenny fee

-of admission, was intended to rival St. Peter's, and

-your smile becomes audible when you enter it, and

-see that while the images of the Saviour and the

-Saints may not be "had and retained," the statues of

-admirals and generals are considered perfectly in

-place there. You walk out with the conviction that

-consistency is a jewel, and tread a pavement that is

-classical to every lover of books. Paternoster Row

-receives you, and you slowly saunter through it. Nobody

-walks rapidly through Paternoster Row. Situated

-midway between the bustle and turmoil of

-Ludgate Hill and Cheapside, it is a kind of resting-place

-for pedestrians. They breathe the more quiet

-air of bookland there, and the windows are a temptation

-which few loiterers can withstand.

-

-The old church of St. Mary le Bow reminds you

-that you are at the very centre of Cockneydom, as

-you walk on towards the Bank and the Exchange.

-Crossing the street at the risk of your life through a

-maze of snorting horses and rattling wheels, you get

-into Cornhill. Here the faces that you see are a

-proof that the anxious, money-getting look is not confined

-to the worshippers of the almighty dollar. You

-push on until you reach Eastcheap. How great is

-your disappointment! The very name has called up

-all your recollections of the wild young prince and his

-fat friend—but nothing that you see there serves to

-heighten your Shakespearean enthusiasm. Coal-heavers

-and draymen make the air vocal with their

-oaths and slang, which once resounded with the

-laughter of Jack Falstaff and his jolly companions.

-No Mistress Quickly stands in the doorway of any

-of the numerous taverns. The whole scene is a great

-falling-off from what you had imagined of Eastcheap.

-The sanded floors, the snowy window curtains,

-the bright pewter pots, have given way to dirt

-and general frowsiness. You read on a card in a

-window that within you can obtain "a go of brandy

-for sixpence, and a go of gin for fourpence," and

-that settles all your Falstaffian associations. You

-stop to look at an old brick house which is being

-pulled down, for you think that perhaps its heavy

-timbered ceilings, and low windows, and Guy

-Fawkesy entries date back to Shakespeare's times;

-but you are too much incommoded by the dust from

-its crumbling walls to stop long, and you leave the

-place carrying with you the only reminder of Falstaff

-you have seen there—you leave with *lime in your

-sack*!

-

-I know of nothing better calculated to take down

-a man's self-esteem than a walk through the streets

-of London. To a man who has always lived in a

-small town, where every second person he meets is an

-acquaintance, a walk from Hyde Park corner to

-London Bridge must be a crusher. If that does not

-convince him that he is really of very little importance

-in the world, he is past cure. The whirl of

-vehicles, the throngs upon the sidewalks, seem to

-overwhelm and blot out our own individuality.

-Xerxes cried when he gazed upon his assembled

-forces, and reflected that out of all that vast multitude

-not one person would be alive in a hundred

-years. Xerxes ought to have ridden through Oxford

-Street or the Strand on the top of an omnibus.

-Spitalfields and Bandanna (two places concerning

-the geography of which I am rather in the dark)

-could not have furnished him with handkerchiefs to

-dry his eyes.

-

-I was never so struck with the lack of architectural

-beauty in London as I have been during this

-visit. There are, it is true, a few fine buildings—Westminster

-Abbey, St. Paul's, Somerset House,

-&c.; but they are all as black as my hat, with this

-soot in which all London is clothed; so there is really

-very little beauty about them. The new Houses of

-Parliament are a fine pile of buildings, certainly, and

-the lately finished towers are a pleasing feature in

-the view from the bridges; but they are altogether

-too gingerbready to wear well. They lack boldness

-of light and shade; and this lack is making itself

-more apparent every day as the smoke of the city is

-enveloping them in its everlasting shade. Buckingham

-Palace looks like a second rate American hotel,

-and as to St. James, the barracks at West Point are

-far more palatial than that. It is not architecture,

-however, that we look for in London. It has a

-charm in spite of all its deformities,—in spite of its

-climate, which is such an encouragement to the umbrella

-makers—in spite of its smoky atmosphere,

-through which the sun looks like a great copper ball—in

-spite of the mud, which the water-carts insure

-when the dark skies fail in the discharge of their

-daily dues to the metropolis. London, with all thy

-fogs, I love thee still! It is this great agglomeration

-of towns which we call London—this great human

-family of more than two millions and a half of

-beings that awakens our sympathy. It is the fact

-that through England we Americans trace our relationship

-to the ages that are past. It is the fact that

-we are here surrounded by the honoured tombs of

-heroes and wise men, whose very names have become,

-as it were, a part of our own being. These are

-the things that bind us to London, and which make

-the aureola of light that hangs over it at night time

-seem a crown of glory.

-

-But we must not forget that there is a dark side to

-the picture. There is a serious drawback to all our

-enthusiasm. Poverty and vice beset us at every step.

-Beggary more abject than all the world besides can

-show appeals to us at every crossing. The pale

-hollow cheek and sunken eye tell such a story of want

-as no language can express. The mother, standing

-in a doorway with her two hungry-looking children,

-and imploring the passers-by to purchase some of the

-netting work her hands have executed, is a sight that

-touches your heart. But walk into some of those

-lanes and alleys which abound almost under the

-shadow of the Houses of Parliament and the royal

-residence,—slums "whose atmosphere is typhus, and

-whose ventilation is cholera,"—and the sentiment of

-pity is lost in one of fear. There you see on every

-side that despair and recklessness which spring from

-want and neglect. Walk through Regent Street, and

-the Haymarket, and the Strand in the evening, and

-you shall be astonished at the gay dresses and painted

-cheeks that surround you. The rummy atmosphere

-reëchoes with profanity from female lips. From

-time to time you are obliged to shake off the vice and

-crinoline that seek to be companions of your walk.

-

-There is a distinguished prize-fighter here—one

-Benjamin Caunt. He keeps a gin shop in St. Martin's

-Lane, and rejoices in a profitable business and

-the title of the "Champion of England." He transacted

-a little business in the prize-fighting line over

-on the Surrey side of the river a few days ago, and is

-to sustain the honour of England against another

-antagonist to-morrow. During the entire week his

-gin shop has been surrounded by admiring crowds,

-anxious to catch a glimpse of the hero. And such

-crowds! It would be wronging the lowest of the race

-of quadrupeds to call those people beastly and brutal

-wretches. Most Americans think that the Bowery

-and Five Points can rival almost any thing in the

-world for displays of all that is disgusting in society;

-but London leaves us far behind. I stopped several

-times to note the character of Mr. Caunt's constituents.

-There were men there with flashy cravats

-around necks that reminded me of Mr. Buckminster's

-Devon cattle—their hair cropped close for obvious

-reasons—moving about among the crowd, filling the

-air with damns and brandy fumes. There were

-others in a more advanced stage of "fancy" existence—men

-with all the humanity blotted out of them, not

-a spark of intellect left in their beery countenances.

-There were women drabbled with dirt, soggy with

-liquor, with eyes artificially black. There were children

-pale and stunted from the use of gin, or bloated

-with beer, assuming the swagger of the blackguards

-around them, and looking as old and depraved as

-any of them. It seemed as if hell were empty and all

-the devils were there. The police—those guardians

-of the public weal, who are so efficient when a poor

-woman is trying to earn her bread by selling a few

-apples—so prompt to make the well-intentioned

-"move on"—did not appear to interfere. They evidently

-considered the street to be blockaded for a

-just cause, and looked as if, in aiding people to get a

-look at the Champion of England, they were sustaining

-the honour of England herself.

-

-And this is the same England that assumes to

-teach other nations the science of benevolence. This

-is the same England that laments over the tyranny of

-continental governments, and boasts of how many

-millions of Bibles it has sent to people who could not

-read them if they would, and would not if they

-could. This is the same England that turns up the

-whites of its eyes at American slavery, and wishes

-to teach the King of Naples how to govern. Why,

-you can spend months in going about the worst quarters

-of the continental cities, and not see so much of

-vice and poverty as you can in the great thoroughfares

-of London in a single day. There is vice

-enough in every large city, as we all know; but in

-most of them it has to be sought for by its votaries—in

-London it goes about seeking whom it may devour.

-The press of England may try to advance the interests

-of a prime minister anxious to get possession of

-Sicily by slandering Ferdinand of Naples; but every

-body knows, who has visited that fair kingdom, that

-there are few monarchs more public spirited and

-popular with all classes of their subjects than he.

-Every body knows that there is no class in that community

-corresponding to the prize-fighting class in

-London—that the horrors of the mining districts are

-unknown there, and that an English workhouse

-would make even an Englishman blush when compared

-with those magnificent institutions that relieve

-the poor of Italy. I had rather be sold at auction in

-Alabama any day than to take my chance as a denizen

-of the slums of London, or as a worker in the

-coal mines. I have no patience with this telescopic

-philanthropy of the English, while there are abuses

-all around them so much greater than those that disgrace

-any other civilized country. What can be more

-disgusting than this pharisaical cant—this thanking

-God that they are not as others are—extortioners

-and slaveholders—when you look at the real condition

-of things? Englishmen always boast that their

-country has escaped the revolutionary storm which

-has so many times swept over Europe during this

-century, and would try to persuade people that there

-is little or no discontent here. The fact is, the lower

-classes in this country have been so ground down by

-the money power and the force of the government,

-and are so ignorant and vicious, that they cannot be

-organized into a revolutionary force. Walk through

-Whitechapel, and observe the people there—contrast

-them with the *blouses* in the Faubourg St. Antoine—and

-you will acknowledge the truth of this.

-The people in the manufacturing districts in France

-are, indeed, far from being models of morality or of

-intellectual culture; but they have retained enough of

-the powers of humanity to make them very dangerous,

-when collected under the leadership of

-demagogues of the school of Ledru Rollin. But the

-farming districts of France have remained comparatively

-free from the infection of socialism and infidelity.

-The late Henry Colman, in his agricultural

-tour, found villages where almost the entire population

-went to mass every morning, before commencing

-the labour of the day. But the degradation of the

-labouring classes of England is not confined to the

-manufacturing towns; the peasantry is in a most

-demoralized condition: the Chartist leaders found

-nearly as great a proportion of adherents among the

-farm labourers as among the distressed operatives

-of Birmingham and Sheffield; and Mormonism

-counts its victims among both of those neglected

-classes by thousands. It is, perhaps, all very well for

-ambitious orators to make the House of Commons

-or Exeter Hall resound with their denunciations of

-French usurpations, Austrian tyranny, Neapolitan

-dungeons, Russian serfdom, and American slavery;

-but thinking men, when they note these enthusiastic

-demonstrations of philanthropy, cannot help thinking

-of England's workhouses, the brutalized workers

-in her coal mines and factories, and her oppressive

-and cruel rule in Ireland and in India; and it strikes

-them as strange that a country, whose eyesight is

-obstructed by a beam of such extraordinary magnitude,

-should be so exceedingly solicitous about the

-motes that dance in the vision of its neighbours.

-

-.. ——File: 217.png

-

-

-

-

-ESSAYS

-======

-

-.. ——File: 219.png

-

-

-

-

-STREET LIFE

------------

-

-

-Thomas Carlyle introduces his philosophical

-friend, Herr Teufelsdröckh, to his

-readers, seated in his watch-tower, which overlooks

-the city in which he dwells; and from which he can

-look down into that bee-hive of human kind, and see

-every thing "from the palace esplanade where music

-plays, while His Serene Highness is pleased to eat

-his victuals, down to the low lane where in her doorsill

-the aged widow, knitting for a thin livelihood,

-sits to feel the afternoon sun." He draws an animated

-picture of that busy panorama which is ever

-unrolling before Teufelsdröckh's eyes, and moralizes

-upon the scene in the spirit of a true poet who has

-struck upon a theme worthy of his lyre. And, most

-assuredly, Thomas is right. The daisies and buttercups

-are all very well in their way; but, as raw material

-for poetry, what are they to the deep-furrowed

-pavement and the blackened chimney-pots of a city!

-In spite of all our pantheistic rhapsodies, man is the

-noblest of natural productions, and the worthiest

-subject for the highest and holiest of poetic raptures.

-My old friend, the late Mr. Wordsworth, delighted

-to anathematize the railway companies, and raved

-finely about Nature never betraying the heart that

-loves her; he said that

-

-   |       "——the sounding cataract

-   | Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,

-   | The mountain and the deep and gloomy wood,

-   | Their colours and their forms, were then to him

-   | An appetite;—"

-

-and confessed that to him

-

-   |   "——the meanest flower that blows could give

-   | Thoughts that too often lie too deep for tears."

-

-Yet notwithstanding all this, he was constrained to

-acknowledge when he stood upon Westminster

-Bridge, and saw the vast, dingy metropolis of Britain

-wearing like a garment the beauty of the morning,

-that

-

-   | "Earth has not anything to show more fair,—

-   | Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

-   | A sight so touching in its majesty."

-

-When I was a young man, it was my delight to

-brush with early steps the dew away, and meet the

-sun upon the upland lawn. There was a romantic

-feeling about it that I liked, and I did not object to

-wet feet. But I have long since put away that depraved

-taste, although the recent application of

-India rubber to shoeing purposes has obviated the

-inconvenience of its gratification. Now, I am contented

-if I can find a level pavement and a clean

-crossing, and will gladly give up the woods and

-verdant fields to less prosaic and more youthful people.

-Your gout is a sad interferer with early poetical

-prejudices—but in my own case it has shown me that

-all such things, like most of our youthful notions, are

-mere fallacies. It has convinced me that the poetical

-abounds rather in the smoky, narrow streets of cities,

-than in the green lanes, the breezy hills, and the

-broad fields of the country. Like the toad, ugly and

-venomous, that fell disease is not without its jewel.

-It has reconciled me to life in town, and has shown

-me all its advantages and beauties.

-

-If it be true that "the proper study of mankind is

-man," then are the crowded streets of the city more

-improving and elevating to us (if rightly meditated

-upon) than the academic groves. If you desire society,—in

-a city you may find it to your taste, however

-fastidious you may be. If you are a lover of

-solitude, where can you be more solitary than in the

-very whirl of a multitude of people intent upon their

-own pursuits, and all unknown to you! That honey-tongued

-doctor, St. Bernard, said that he was never

-less alone than when alone—a sentiment which, in its

-reversed form, might be uttered by any denizen of a

-metropolis. I always loved solitude: the old monastic

-inscription was always a favourite motto of

-mine:—

-

-   | "O beata solitudo!

-   | O sola beatitudo!"

-

-But I have never found any solitude like the streets

-of a large city. I have walked in the cool, quiet

-cloister of *Santa Maria degli Angeli*, built amid the

-ruins of the baths of Diocletian, and—though my

-footfall was the only sound save the rustling of the

-foliage, and the song of the birds, and the bubbling

-of a fountain which seemed tired with its centuries of

-service, and which seemed to make the stillness and

-repose of that spacious quadrangle more profound—I

-could not feel so perfectly alone there as I have

-often felt in the thronged Boulevards or the busy

-Strand. Place a mere worldling in those holy precincts,

-and he would summon mentally around him

-the companions of his past pleasures, and his worldliness

-would be increased by his thus being driven to

-his only resources for overcoming the ungrateful

-quiet of the place. Introduce a religious man to

-those consecrated shades, and his devotion would be

-quickened; he would soon forget the world which he

-had not loved and which had not loved him, and his

-face would soon be as unwrinkled, his eye as serene,

-as those of the monks who dwell there. But place

-either of them in the most crowded thoroughfare of

-the city, and the worldling would be made for a time

-as meditative as the other. When I was a child, I

-delighted to watch the busy inhabitants of an ant-hill,

-pursuing their various enterprises with an intentness

-almost human; and I should be tempted to

-continue my observations of them, were it not that

-the streets of my native city offer me a similar, but a

-more interesting study. Xerxes, we are told, shed

-tears when he saw his army drawn up before him,

-and reflected that not one of all that mighty host

-would be alive a century after. Who could ride from

-Paddington to London Bridge, through the current

-of human life that flows ceaselessly through the

-streets of that great city, without sharing somewhat

-in the feelings of that tender-hearted monarch?

-

-What are all the sermons that ever were preached

-from a pulpit, compared to those which may be

-found in the stones of a city? When we visit Pompeii

-and Herculaneum, we are thrilled to notice the

-ruts made by the wheels of chariots centuries ago.

-The original pavement of the Appian Way, now for

-some distance visible, carries us back more than almost

-any of the other antiquities of Rome, to the

-time when it was trodden by captive kings, and re-echoed

-with the triumphal march of returning conquerors.

-I pity him in whom these things awaken

-no new train of thought. The works of man have

-outlived their builders by centuries, and still remain

-a solemn testimony to the power and the nothingness

-which originated them. Nineveh, Thebes, Troy,

-Carthage, Tyre, Athens, Rome, London, Paris, have

-won the crown in their turn, and have passed or will

-pass away. The dilapidated sculptures of the former

-have been taken to adorn the museums of the latter,

-and crowds have gazed and are gazing on them with

-curious eyes, unmindful of their great lesson of the

-transitoriness of the glory of the world. These are,

-indeed, "sermons in stones"; but, like most other

-sermons, we look rather at their style of finish, than

-at the deep meaning with which they are so pregnant.

-

-But I did not take up my pen to write about dead

-cities; I have somewhat to say about the life that

-now renders the streets of our own towns so pleasant,

-and makes us so forgetful of their inevitable

-fate. I am not going to claim for the street life of

-our new world the charms which abound in the ancient

-cities of Europe. We are too much troubled

-about many things, and too utilitarian to give

-thought to those lesser graces which delight us

-abroad, and which we hardly remember until we

-come home and miss them. Our street architecture,

-improved though it may have been within a few

-years, is yet far behind the grace and massive symmetry

-of European towns. Our builders and real

-estate owners need to be reminded that it costs no

-more to build in good taste than in bad; that brick

-work can be made as architectural as stone; and that

-architecture is a great public instructor, whose works

-are constantly open to the public eye, and from

-which we are learning lessons, good or bad, whether

-we will or not. I think it is Goethe who calls architecture

-frozen music. I am glad to see these tall

-piles rearing their ornamented fronts on every side

-of us, even though they are intended for purposes of

-trade; for every one of them is a reproach to the

-untasteful structures around it, and an example

-which future builders must copy, if they do not surpass.

-The quaint beauty which charms us in Rouen,

-and in the old towns of Belgium,—the high pitched

-gables leaning over, as if yearning to get across the

-narrow street,—these all belong to another age, and

-we may not possess them; but the architecture

-which, in its simplicity or its magnificence, speaks its

-adaptedness to our climate and our social wants, is

-within our reach, and is capable of making our cities

-equal to any in the world.

-

-I have a great liking for streets. In the freshness

-of morning, the glare of noonday, and the coolness

-of evening, they have an equal charm for me. I like

-that market-carty period of the day, before Labour

-has taken up his shovel and his hoe, before the sun

-has tipped the chimneys with gold, and reinspired the

-dolorous symphony of human toil, just as his earliest

-beams were wont to draw supernal melodies from

-old Memnon's statue. There is a holy quiet in that

-hour, which, could we preserve it in our minds, would

-keep us clear from many a wrong and meanness, into

-which the bustle and the heat of passion betray us,

-and would sanctify our day. In that time, the city

-seems wrapped in a silent ecstasy of adoration. The

-incense of its worship curls up from innumerous

-chimneys, and hangs over it like the fragrant cloud

-which hovers over the altars where saints have

-prayed, and religion's most august rites have been

-celebrated for centuries. In the continental cities,

-large numbers of people may be seen at that early

-hour repairing to the churches. They are drawn together

-by no spasmodic, spiritual stimulation; they

-do not assemble to hear their fellow-sinners tell with

-nasal twang how bad they were once, and how good

-they are now, nor to implore the curse of Heaven

-upon those who differ from them in their belief or

-disbelief. They kneel beneath those consecrated

-arches, joining in a worship in which scarce an audible

-word is uttered, and drawing from it new

-strength to tread the thorns of life. In our own

-cities, too, people—generally of the poorer classes—may

-be seen wending their way in the early morning

-to churches and chapels, humbler than the marble

-and mosaic sanctuaries of Europe, but one with them

-in that faith and worship which radiates from the

-majestic Lateran basilica, (*omnium urbis et orbis

-ecclesiarum mater et caput*,) and encircles the world

-with its anthems and supplications.

-

-A little later in the morning, and the silence is

-broken by the clattering carts of the dispensers of

-that fluid without which custards would be impossible.

-The washing of doorsteps and sidewalks, too,

-begins to interfere with your perambulations, and to

-dim the lustre which No. 97, High Holborn, has imparted

-to your shoes. Bridget leans upon her wet

-broom, and talks with Anne, who leaves her water-pail

-for a little conference, in which the affairs of the

-two neighbouring families of Smith and Jenkins receive,

-you may be sure, due attention. Men smoking

-short and odorous pipes, and carrying small, mysterious-looking

-tin pails, begin to awaken the echoes

-with their brogans, and to prove him a slanderer who

-should say they have no music in their soles. Newspaper

-carriers, bearing the damp chronicles of the

-world's latest history bestrapped to their sides, hurry

-along, dispensing their favours into areas and doorways,

-seasoning my friend Thompson's breakfast

-with the reports of the councils of kings, or with the

-readable inventions of "our own correspondent," and

-delighting the gentle Mrs. Thompson with a full list

-of deaths and marriages, or another fatal railway

-accident. Then the omnibuses begin to rattle and

-jolt along the streets, carrying such masculine loads

-that they deserve for the time to be called mail

-coaches. Later, an odour as of broiled mackerel

-salutes the sense; school children, with their shining

-morning faces, begin to obstruct your way, and the

-penny postman, with his burden of joy and sorrow,

-hastens along and rings peremptorily at door after

-door. Then the streets assume by degrees a new

-character. Toil is engaged in its workshops and in

-by-places, and staid respectability, in its broadcloth

-and its glossy beaver, wends its deliberate way to its

-office or its counting-house, unhindered by aught that

-can disturb its equanimity, unless, perchance, it meets

-with a gang of street-sweepers in the full exercise of

-their dusty avocation.

-

-.. ——File: 226.png

-

-Who can adequately describe that most inalienable

-of woman's rights—that favourite employment

-of the sex—which is generally termed *shopping*?

-Who can describe the curiosity which overhauls a

-wilderness of dress patterns, and the uncomplaining

-patience of the shopman who endeavours to suit the

-lady so hard to be suited,—his well-disguised disappointment

-when she does not purchase, and her husband's

-exasperation when she does? Not I, most

-certainly, for I detest shops, have little respect for

-fashions, lament the necessity of buying clothes, and

-wish most heartily that we could return to the

-primeval fig-leaves.

-

-I love the by-streets of a city—the streets whose

-echoes are never disturbed by the heavy-laden

-wagons which bespeak the greatness of our manufacturing

-interests. Formerly the houses in such

-streets wore an air of sobriety and respectability, and

-the good housewifery which reigned within was symbolized

-by the bright polish of the brass door-plate,

-or bell-pull, or knocker. Now they are grown more

-pretentious, and the brass has given place to an outward

-and visible sign of silver. But the streets

-retain their old characteristics, and are strangers to

-any sound more inharmonious than the shouts of

-sportive children, or the tones of a hand-organ. I do

-not profess to be a musical critic, but I have been

-gifted by nature with a tolerable idea of time and

-tune; yet I am not ashamed to say that I do not

-despise hand-organs. They have given me "Sweet

-Home" in the cities of Italy, Yankee Doodle in the

-Faubourg St. Germain; and the best melodies of

-Europe's composers are daily ground out under my

-windows. I have no patience with these canting people

-who talk about productive labour, and who see in

-the organ-grinder who limps around, looking up expectantly

-for the remunerating copper, only a vagabond

-whom it is expedient for the police to counsel

-to "move on." These peripatetic dispensers of harmony

-are full as useful members of society as the

-majority of our legislators, and have a far more

-practical talent for organization. Douglas Jerrold

-once said that he never saw an Italian image merchant,

-with his Graces, and Venuses, and Apollos at

-sixpence a head, that he did not spiritually touch his

-hat to him: "It is he who has carried refinement into

-the poor man's house; it is he who has accustomed

-the eyes of the multitude to the harmonious forms of

-beauty." Let me apply these kindly expressions of

-the dead dramatist and wit to the organ-grinders.

-They have carried music into lanes and slums, which,

-without them, would never have known any thing

-more melodious than a watchman's rattle, and have

-made the poorest of our people familiar with harmonies

-that might "create a soul under the ribs of

-death." Occasionally their music may be instrumental

-in producing a feeling of impatience, so that I

-wish that their "Mary Ann" were married off, and

-that Norma would "hear," and make an end of it;

-but my better feelings triumph in the end, and I

-would not interfere with the poor man's and the

-children's concert to hear a strain from St. Cecilia's

-viol. Let the grinders be encouraged! May the evil

-days foretold in ancient prophecy never come among

-us, when the grinders shall cease because they are

-few!

-

-.. ——File: 224.png

-

-It is at evening that the poetic element is found

-most abundant in the streets of cities. There is to

-me something of the sublime in the long lines of glittering

-shop-windows that skirt Regent Street and the

-Boulevards. Dr. Johnson exhorted the people who

-attended the sale of his friend Thrale's brewery,

-to remember that it was not the mere collection of

-boilers, and tubs, and vats which they saw around

-them, for which they were about to bargain, but "the

-potentiality of growing rich beyond the dreams of

-avarice"; and, in a similar spirit, I see in the shop

-windows not merely the silks and laces, and the other

-countless luxuries and wonders which delight the eye

-of taste and form the source of wealth to multitudes,

-but a vast exposition of the results of that industry,

-which, next to religion and obedience to law, is the

-surest foundation of national greatness, and which

-shows us, behind the frowning Providence that laid

-on man the curse of labour, the smiling face of divine

-beneficence. There, in one great collection, may be

-seen the fruits of the toil of millions. To produce

-that gorgeous display, artists have cudgelled their

-weary brains; operatives have suffered; ship-masters

-have strained their eyes over their charts and daily

-observations, and borne patiently with the provoking

-vagaries of the "lee main brace"; sailors have

-climbed the icy rigging and furled the tattered topsails

-with hands cracked and bleeding; for that, long

-trains of camels freighted with the rich products of

-the golden East, "from silken Samarcand to cedared

-Lebanon," have toiled with their white-turbaned

-drivers across the parching desert; thousands of busy

-hands have plied the swift shuttle in the looms of

-Brussels, and Tournai, and Lyons; and thousands in

-deep and almost unfathomable mines have suffered a

-living death. Manchester and Birmingham have

-been content to wear their suit of mourning that

-those windows may be radiant and gay. The tears,

-and sweat, and blood of myriads have been poured

-out behind those shining panes transmuted into

-shapes that fill the beholder with wonder and delight.

-"In our admiration of the plumage we forget the

-dying bird." Nevertheless, above the roar and

-bustle of those whirling thoroughfares, above the

-endless groan and "infinite fierce chorus" of manhood

-ground down, and starving in bondage more cruel

-because it does not bear the name of slavery, I hear

-the carol of virtuous and well-rewarded labour, and

-the cheerful song of the white-capped lace-makers of

-Belgium and the vine-dressers of Italy reminds me

-that powerful wrong does not have every thing its

-own way even in this world.

-

-I did intend to have gone farther in my evening

-walk; but time and space alike forbid it. I wished to

-leave the loud roaring avenues for those more quiet

-streets, where every sight and sound speak of domestic

-comfort, or humble fidelity, or patient effort;

-where the brilliancy of splendid mansions is but imperfectly

-veiled by rich and heavy draperies; where

-high up gleams the lamp of the patient student,

-happy in his present obscurity because he dreams of

-coming fame; and where the tan on the pavement

-and the mitigated light from the windows are

-eloquent of suffering and the sleepless affection that

-ministers to its unspoken wants. But I must stop.

-If, however, I have shown one of my readers, who

-regrets that he is obliged to dwell in a city, that there

-is much that is beautiful in paved streets and smoke-stained

-walls, and that, if we only open our eyes to

-see them, even though the fresh fields and waving

-woods may be miles away, the beauties of nature

-daily fold us in their bosom,—I shall feel that I have

-not tasked my tired brain and gouty right hand entirely

-in vain.

-

-.. ——File: 221.png

-

-

-

-

-HARD UP IN PARIS

-----------------

-

-

-Money, whatever those who affect misanthropy

-or a sublime superiority to all temporal

-things may say to the contrary, is a very

-desirable thing. We all enjoy the visit of the great

-Alexander to the contented inhabitant of the imperishable

-tub, who was alike independent of the good

-will and displeasure of that mighty monarch; we

-sympathize with all the bitter things that Timon says

-when he is reduced from wealth to beggary; and we

-are never tired of lamenting, with Virgil, that the

-human heart should be such an abject prey to this

-accursed hunger for gold. I am not sure that Horace

-would not be dearer to us, if he had lived in a "three-pair-back"

-in some obscure street, and his deathless

-odes had been inspired by fear of a shrewish landlady

-or an inexorable sheriff, instead of being an

-honoured guest at the imperial court, and a recipient

-of the splendid patronage of a Mæcenas and an

-Augustus. Poetical justice seems to require a setting

-of the most cheerless poverty for the full development

-of the lustre of genius. At least, we think so,

-at times;—though, under it all, admire as we may the

-successful struggles of the want-stricken bard,—we

-do not envy him his penury. We should shrink from

-his gifts and his fame, if they were offered to us with

-his sufferings. For underneath our abstract magnanimity

-lurks the conviction that money is by no

-means a bad thing, after all. Our enthusiasm is

-awakened by contemplating the self-forgetful career

-of Francis of Assisi, who chose Poverty for his bride,

-and whose name is in benediction among men, even

-six centuries after he entered into possession of that

-kingdom which was promised to the poor in spirit;

-and, if we should chance to see a more modern bearer

-of that Christian name, who worshipped the wealth

-which the ancient saint despised; who trampled down

-honest poverty in his unswerving march towards opulence;

-who looked unmoved upon the tears of the

-widow and the orphan; who exercised his sordid

-apostolate even to the last gasp of his miserable life;

-and whose name (unblessed by the poor, and unhonoured

-by canonization) became, in the brief period

-that it outlived him, a byword and a synonyme of

-avarice,—we should not fail to visit his memory with

-a cordial malediction. But, in spite of all our veneration

-for Francis, the apostle of holy poverty, and of

-loathing for his namesake, the apostle of unholy

-wealth, we cannot help wishing that we had a little

-more of that which the Saint cast away, and the miser

-took in exchange for his soul.

-

-A little more—that is the phrase—and there is no

-human being, rich or poor, who does not think that

-"a little more" is all that is needed to fill up the

-measure of his earthly happiness. It is for this that

-the gambler risks his winnings, and the merchant

-perils the gains of many toilsome years. For this,

-some men labour until they lose the faculty of enjoying

-the fruit of their exertions; and this is the *ignis

-fatuus* that goes dancing on before others, leading

-them at last into that bog of bankruptcy from which

-they never wholly extricate themselves. Enough is

-a word unknown in the lexicon of those who have

-once tasted the joy of having money at interest, and

-there are very few men who practically appreciate

-the wisdom of the ancient dramatist who tells us that

-

-   | "He is most rich who stops at competence,—

-   | Not labours on till the worn heart grows sere,—

-   | Who, wealth attained, upon some loftier aim

-   | Fixes his gaze, and never turns it backward."

-

-"Give me neither poverty nor riches," has been my

-prayer through life, as it was that of the ancient

-sage; and it has always been my opinion that a man

-who owns even a single acre of land within a convenient

-distance of State Street or of the Astor House,

-is just as well off as if he were rich. My petition has

-been answered: but it must be confessed that when I

-mouse in the book shops, or turn over the rich portfolios

-of the print dealers, I feel that I am poor indeed.

-I do not envy him who can adorn the walls of

-his dwelling with the masterpieces of ancient or

-modern art on their original canvas; but I do crave

-those faithful reproductions which we owe to the

-engraver's skill, and which come so near my grasp

-as to aggravate my covetousness, and make me speak

-most disrespectfully of my unelastic purse.

-

-Few people have spent any considerable time

-abroad without being for a season in straitened circumstances.

-A mistake may have been made in reckoning

-up one's cash, or a bill may be longer than was

-expected, or one's banker may temporarily suspend

-payment; and suddenly he who never knew a moment's

-anxiety about his pecuniary affairs finds himself

-wondering how he can pay for his lodgings, and

-where his next day's beefsteak is coming from. It

-was my good fortune once to undergo such a trial in

-Paris. I say good fortune—for, unpleasant as it was

-at the time, it was one of the most precious experiences

-of my life. I do not think that a true, manly

-character can be formed without placing the subject

-in the position of a ship's helm, when she is in danger

-of getting aback; to speak less technically, he must

-(once in his life, at least) be *hard up*.

-

-I was younger in those days than I am now, and

-was living for a time in the gay capital of France.

-My lodgings were in one of those quiet streets that

-lead to the *Place Ventadour*, in which the Italian

-Opera House stands. My room was about twelve

-feet square, was handsomely furnished, and decorated

-with a large mirror, and a polished oaken floor

-that rivalled the mirror in brilliancy. Its window

-commanded an unobstructed view of a court-yard

-about the size of the room itself; but, as I was pretty

-high up (on the second floor coming down) my light

-was good, and I could not complain. As I write, it

-seems as if I could hear the old *concierge* blacking

-boots and shoes away down at the bottom of that

-well of a court-yard, enlivening his toil with an occasional

-snatch from some old song, and now and then

-calling out to his young wife within the house, with a

-clear voice, "Marie!"—the accent of the final syllable

-being prolonged in a preternatural manner.

-And then out of the same depths came a melodious

-response from Marie's blithesome voice, that made

-me stop shaving to enjoy it—a voice that seemed in

-perfect harmony with the cool breath and bright sky

-of that sunny spring morning. Marie was a representative

-woman of her class. I do not believe that

-she could have been placed in any honest position,

-however high, that she would not have adorned. Her

-simplicity and good nature conciliated the good will

-of every one who addressed her, and I have known

-her quiet, lady-like dignity to inspire even some loud

-and boastful Americans, who called on me, with a

-momentary sentiment of respect. They appeared

-almost like gentlemen for two or three minutes after

-speaking with her. Upon my honour, sir, it was

-worth considerably more than I paid for my room to

-have the privilege of living under the same roof with

-such a cheery sunbeam—to see her seated daily at the

-window of the *conciergerie* with a snow-white cap on

-her head and a pleasant smile on her face; to interrupt

-her sewing, with an inquiry whether any letters

-had come for me, and be charmed with her alacrity

-in handing me the expected note, and the key of

-*numero dix-huit*. Her nightly *Bon soir, M'sieur*, was

-like a benediction from a guardian angel; her vivacious

-*Bon jour* was an augury of an untroubled day;

-it would have made the darkest, foggiest November

-afternoon seem as bright, and fresh, and exhilarating

-as a morning in June. These are trifles, I know,

-but it is of trifles such as these that the true happiness

-of life is made up. Great joys, like great griefs, do

-not possess the soul so completely as we think, as

-Wellington victorious, or Napoleon defeated, at

-Waterloo, would have discovered, if, in that great

-hour, they had been visited with a twinge of neuralgia

-in the head, or a gnawing dyspepsia.

-

-The influenza, or *grippe*, as the French call it, is

-not a pleasant thing under any circumstances; but I

-think of a four days' attack, during which Marie attended

-to my wants, as a period of unmixed pleasure.

-She seemed to hover about my sick bed, she moved

-so gently, and her voice (to use the words of my

-former cherished friend, S. T. Coleridge,) was like

-

-   |     "——a hidden brook

-   |   In the leafy month of June,

-   | That to the sleeping woods all night

-   |   Singeth a quiet tune."

-

-"Was it that Monsieur would be able to drink a little

-tea, or would it please him to taste some cool lemonade?"

-*Hélas!* Monsieur was too *malade* for that;

-but the kind attentions of that estimable little woman

-were more refreshing than a Baltic Sea of the

-beverage that cheers but does not inebriate, or all the

-aid that the lemon groves of Italy could afford. Marie's

-politeness was the genuine article, and came

-right from her pure, kind heart. It was as far removed

-from that despicable obsequiousness which

-passes current with so many for politeness, as old-fashioned

-Christian charity is from modern philanthropy.

-

-But—pardon my garrulity—I am forgetting my

-story. In a moment of kindly forgetfulness I lent a

-considerable portion of my available funds to a

-friend who was short, and who was obliged to return

-to America, *via* England. I was in weekly expectation

-of a draft from home that would place me once

-more upon my financial legs. One, two, three weeks

-passed away, and the letters from America were distributed

-every Tuesday morning, but there was none

-for me. It gave me a kind of faint sensation when

-the clerk at the banker's gave me the disappointing

-answer, and I went into the reading-room of the

-establishment to read the new American papers, and

-to speculate upon the cause of the unremitting neglect

-of my friends at home. I shall never forget my

-feelings when, in the third week of my impecuniosity,

-I found my exchequer reduced to the small sum of

-eight francs. I saw the truth of Shakespeare's words

-describing the "consumption of the purse" as an incurable

-disease. I had many acquaintances and a

-few friends in Paris, but I determined not to borrow

-if it could possibly be avoided. Five days would

-elapse before another American mail arrived, and I

-resolved that my remaining eight francs should carry

-me through to the eventful Tuesday, which I felt

-sure would bring the longed-for succor. I found a

-little dingy shop, in a narrow street behind the

-Church of St. Roch, where I could get a breakfast,

-consisting of a bowl of very good coffee and piece of

-bread (I asked for the end of the loaf) for six sous.

-My dinners I managed to bring down to the sum of

-twelve sous, by choosing obscure localities for the

-obtaining of that repast, and confining myself to

-those simple and nutritious viands which possessed

-the merit attributed to the veal pie by Samuel

-Weller, being "werry fillin' at the price." Sometimes

-I went to bed early, to avoid the inconveniences

-of a light dinner. One day I dined with a friend at

-his lodgings, but I did not enjoy his hospitality; I felt

-guilty, as if I had sacrificed friendship to save my

-dwindling purse. The coarsest bread and the most

-suspicious beef of the Latin Quarter would have been

-more delicious to me under such circumstances than

-the best ragout of the Boulevards or the Palais

-Royal.

-

-Of course, this state of things weighed heavily

-upon my spirits. I heard Marie tell her husband

-that Monsieur l'Anglais was *bien triste*. I avoided

-the friends with whom I had been used to meet, and

-(remembering what a sublime thing it is to suffer and

-be strong) sternly resolved not to borrow till I

-found myself completely gravelled. It grieved me

-to be obliged to pass the old blind man who played

-the flageolet on the *Pont des Arts* without dropping

-a copper into his tin box; but the severest blow was

-the being compelled to put off my obliging washerwoman

-and her reasonable bill. The time passed

-away quickly, however. The *Louvre*, with its treasures

-of art, was a blessed asylum for me. It cost me

-nothing, and I was there free from the importunities

-of distress which I could not relieve. In the halls of

-the great public library—now the *Bibliothèque Impériale*—I

-found myself at home. Among the studious

-throng that occupied its vast reading rooms, I

-was as independent as if my name had been Rothschild,

-or the treasures of the Bank of France had

-been at my command. The master spirits with

-whom I there communed do not ask what their

-votaries carry in their pockets. There is no property-test

-for admission to the privileges of their

-companionship. I felt the equality which prevails in

-the republic of letters. I knew that my left hand

-neighbour was not, in that quiet place, superior to

-me on account of his glossy coat and golden-headed

-cane, and that I was no better than the reader at my

-right hand because he wore a blouse. I jingled my

-two or three remaining francs in my pocket, and

-thought how useless money was, when the lack of it

-was no bar to entrance into the hallowed presence of

-

-   | "Those dead but sceptred sovereigns who still rule

-   | Our spirits from their urns."

-

-I shall not soon forget the intense satisfaction with

-which I read in the regulations of the library a strict

-prohibition against offering any fees or gratuities

-whatever to its blue-coated officials.

-

-At last the expected Tuesday morning came. My

-funds had received an unlooked-for diminution by

-receiving a letter from my friend whose wants had

-led me into difficulty. He was just embarking at

-Liverpool—hoped that my remittance had arrived in

-due season—promised to send me a draft as soon as

-he reached New York—envied my happiness at remaining

-in Paris—and left me to pay the postage on

-his valediction. It would be difficult for any disinterested

-person to conceive how dear the thoughtless

-writer of that letter was to me in that unfortunate

-hour. Then, too, I was obliged to lay out six of

-those cherished copper coins for a ride in an omnibus,

-as I was caught in a shower over in the vicinity

-of St. Sulpice, and could not afford to take the risk of

-a rheumatic attack by getting wet. I well remember

-the cool, business-like air with which that relentless

-*conducteur* pocketed those specimens of the French

-currency that were so precious in my sight. Yet, in

-spite of these serious and unexpected drains upon my

-finances, I had four sous left after paying for my

-breakfast on that memorable morning. I felt uncommonly

-cheerful at the prospect of being relieved

-from my troubles, and stopped several minutes after

-finishing my coffee, and conversed with the tidy shopwoman

-with a fluency that astonished both of us. I

-really regretted for the moment that I was so soon

-to be placed in funds, and should no longer enjoy her

-kindly services. I chuckled audibly to myself as I

-pursued my way to the banker's, to think what an

-immense joke it would be for some skilful Charley

-Bates or Artful Dodger to try to pick my pocket just

-then. An ancient heathen expecting an answer from

-the oracle of Delphos, a modern candidate for office

-awaiting the count of the vote, never felt more oppressed

-with the importance of the result than I did

-when I entered the banking-house. My delight at

-having a letter from America put into my hands

-could only be equalled by my dismay when I opened

-it, and found, instead of the draft, a request from a

-casual acquaintance who had heard that I might

-possibly return home through England, and who, if

-I did, would be under great obligations if I would

-take the trouble to procure and carry home for him

-an English magpie and a genuine King Charles

-spaniel!

-

-I did not stop to read the papers that morning.

-As I was leaving the establishment, I met its chief

-partner, to whom I could not help expressing my

-disappointment. He was one of your hard-faced,

-high-cheek-boned Yankees, with a great deal of

-speculation in his eyes. I should as soon have

-thought of attempting the cultivation of figs and

-dates at Franconia as of trying to get a small loan

-from *him*. So I pushed on into those busy streets

-whose liveliness seemed to mock my pitiable condition.

-I had come to it at last. I had got to borrow.

-A physician, who now stands high among the faculty

-in Boston, was then residing in Paris, and, as I had

-been on familiar terms with him, I determined to

-have recourse to him. He occupied two rooms in

-the fifth story of a house in the Rue St. Honoré. His

-apartments were more remarkable for their snugness

-than for the extent of accommodation they afforded.

-A snuff-taking friend once offered to present the doctor

-with one of his silk handkerchiefs to carpet that

-parlour with. But the doctor's heart was not to be

-measured by the size of his rooms, and I knew that

-he would be a friend in need. The *concierge* told

-me that the doctor had not gone out, and, in obedience

-to the instructions of that functionary, I

-mounted the long staircase and *frapped* at the door

-of that estimable disciple of Galen. It was not my

-usual thrice-repeated stroke upon the door; it was a

-timid and uncertain knock—the knock of a borrower.

-The doctor said that he had been rather short himself

-for a week or two, but that he should undoubtedly

-find a letter in the General Post that morning

-that would place him in a condition to give me a lift.

-This was said in a manner that put me entirely at my

-ease, and made me feel that by accepting his loan I

-should be conferring an inestimable favour upon

-him. As we walked towards the Rue Jean Jacques

-Rousseau, I amused him with the story of the preceding

-week's adventures. He laughed heartily, and

-after a few minutes I joined with him, though I must

-say that the events, as they occurred, did not particularly

-impress me as subjects for very hilarious

-mirth. The doctor inquired at the *poste restante* in

-vain. His friends had been as remiss as mine, and

-we had both got to wait another week. The doctor

-was not an habitually profane man, but as we came

-through the court-yard of the post office, he expressed

-his anxiety as to what the devil we should do.

-He examined his purse, and found that his available

-assets amounted to a trifle more than nineteen

-francs. He looked as troubled as he had before

-looked gay. I generously offered him my four remaining

-coppers, and told him that I would stand by

-him as long as he had a centime in his pocket. Such

-an exhibition of magnanimity could not be made in

-vain. We stopped in front of the church of Our

-Lady of Victories, and took the heroic resolve to

-club our funds and go through the week of expectation

-together. And we did it. I wish that space

-would allow of my describing the achievements of

-that week. Medical books were cast aside for the

-study of domestic economy. I do not believe that a

-similar sum of money ever went so far before, even

-in Paris. We found a place in a narrow street, near

-the Odeon, where fried potatoes were sold very

-cheap; we bought our bread by the loaf, as it was

-cheaper—the loaves being so long that the doctor

-said that he understood, when he first saw them, why

-bread was called the staff of life. We resorted to all

-sorts of expedients to make a franc buy as much as

-possible of the necessaries of life. We frequented

-with great assiduity all places of public amusement

-where there was no fee for admission. The public

-galleries, the libraries, the puppet shows in the

-Champs Elysées, were often honoured with our presence.

-We made a joke of our necessities, and carried

-it through to the end. The next Tuesday morning

-found us, after breakfasting, on our way to the post

-office, with a franc left in our united treasury. I had

-begun to give up all hopes of our ever getting a letter

-from home, and insisted upon the doctor's trying his

-luck first. He was successful, but the severest part of

-the joke came when he found that his letter (contrary

-to all precedent) was not postpaid. The polite

-official at the window must have thirty-two sous for

-it, and we had but twenty. Our laughter showed him

-the whole state of the case, and we left him greatly

-amused at our promises to return soon, and get the

-desirable prize. My application at the banker's was

-successful, too, and before noon we were both prepared

-to laugh a siege to scorn. I paid the rosy-cheeked

-washerwoman, bought Marie a neat crucifix

-to hang up in the place of a very rude one in her

-*conciergerie*, out of sheer good humour; and that

-evening the doctor and I laughed over the recollections

-of the week and a good dinner in a quiet restaurant

-in the Palais Royal.

-

-.. ——File: 245.png

-

-

-

-

-THE OLD CORNER

---------------

-

-

-The human heart loves corners. The very

-word "corner" is suggestive of snugness and

-cosy comfort, and he who has no liking for them is

-something more or less than mortal. I have seen

-people whose ideas of comfort were singularly crude

-and imperfect; who thought that it consisted in keeping

-a habitation painfully clean, and in having every

-book or paper that might give token of the place

-being the dwelling of a human being, carefully out of

-sight. We have great cause for thankfulness that

-such people are not common, (for a little wholesome

-negligence is by no means an unpleasant thing,) so

-that we can say that mankind generally likes to snuggify

-itself, and is therefore fond of a corner. This

-natural fondness is manifested by the child with his

-playthings and infantile sports, in one of which, at

-least, the attractions of corners for the feline race

-are brought strongly before his inquisitive mind.

-And how is this liking strengthened and built up as

-the child increases in secular knowledge, and learns

-in the course of his poetical and historical researches

-all about the personal history of Master John

-Horner, whose sedentary habits and manducation of

-festive pastry are famous wherever the language of

-Shakespeare and Milton is spoken!

-

-This love of nooks and corners is especially observable

-in those who are obliged to live in style and

-splendour. Many a noble English family has been

-glad to escape from the bondage of its rank, and has

-found more real comfort in the confinement of a

-Parisian *entresol* than amid the gloomy grandeur of

-its London home. Those who are condemned to

-dwell in palaces bear witness to this natural love of

-snugness, by choosing some quiet sunny corner in

-their marble halls, and making it as comfortable as if

-it were a cosy cottage. Napoleon and Eugenie delight

-to escape from the magnificence of the Tuileries

-to that quiet and homelike refuge for people who

-are burdened with imperial dignity, amid the thick

-foliage and green alleys of St. Cloud. Even in that

-mighty maze, the Vatican, the rooms inhabited by

-the Sovereign Pontiff are remarkably comfortable

-and unpalatial, and prove the advantages of smallness

-and simplicity over gilding and grandeur, for

-the ordinary purposes of life. An American gentleman

-once called on the great and good Cardinal

-Cheverus, and while talking with him of his old

-friends in America, said that the contrast between

-the Cardinal's position in the episcopal palace of

-Bordeaux and in his former humble residence when

-he was Bishop of Boston, was a very striking one.

-The humble and pious prelate smiled, and taking his

-visitor by the arm, led him from the stately hall in

-which they were conversing, into a narrow room

-furnished in a style of austere simplicity: "The

-palace," said he, "which you have seen and admired

-is the residence of the Cardinal Archbishop of Bordeaux;

-but this little chamber is where John Cheverus

-*lives*."

-

-Literary men and statesmen have always coveted

-the repose of a corner where they might be undisturbed

-by the wranglings of the world. Twickenham,

-and Lausanne, and Ferney, and Rydal Mount

-have become as shrines to which the lover of

-books would fain make pilgrimages. Have we not a

-Sunnyside and an Idlewild even in this new land of

-ours! Cicero, in spite of his high opinion of Marcus

-Tullius, and his thirst for popular applause, often

-grew tired of urban life, and was glad to forsake the

-*Senatus populusque Romanus* for the quiet of his

-snug villa in a corner of the hill country overlooking

-Frascati. And did not our own Tully love to fling

-aside the burden of his power, and find his Tusculum

-on the old South Shore? In the Senate Chamber or

-the Department of State you might see the Defender

-of the Constitution, but it was at Marshfield that

-Webster really lived. Horace loved good company

-and the entertainment of his wealthy patrons and

-friends, but he loved snugness and quiet even more.

-In one of his odes he apostrophizes his friend Septimius,

-and describes to him the delight he takes in

-the repose of his Tiburtine retreat from the bustle of

-the metropolis, saying that of all places in the world

-that corner is the most smiling and grateful to

-him:—

-

-   | Ille terrarum mihi præter omnes

-   | Angulus ridet.

-

-If we look into our hearts, I think we shall most

-of us find that we have a clinging attachment to some

-favourite corner, as well as Mr. Horatius Flaccus.

-There is at least one corner in the city of Boston,

-which has many pleasant associations for the lover

-of literature. Allusion was made a few days since,

-in an evening paper, to the well-known fact that the

-old building at the corner of Washington and School

-Streets was built in 1713, and is therefore older by

-seventeen years than the Old South Church. That

-little paragraph reminded me of some passages in

-the history of that ancient edifice related to me by an

-ancestor of mine, for whom the place had an almost

-romantic charm.

-

-The old building (my grandfather used to tell

-me) was originally a dwelling-house. It had the

-high wainscots, the broad staircases, the carved cornices,

-and all the other blessed old peculiarities of

-the age in which it was built, which we irreverently

-have improved away. One hundred years ago the

-old corner was considered rather an aristocratic place

-of residence. It was slightly suburban in its position,

-for the town of Boston had an affection for Copp's

-Hill, and the inhabitants clustered about that sacred

-eminence as if the southern parts of their territory

-were a quicksand. Trees were not uncommon in the

-vicinity of the foot of School Street in those days,

-and no innovating Hathorne had disturbed the quiet

-of the place with countless omnibuses. The old corner

-was then occupied by an English gentleman

-named Barmesyde, who gave good dinners, and was

-on intimate terms with the colonial governor. My

-venerated relative, to whom I have already alluded,

-enjoyed his friendship, and in his latter days delighted

-to talk of him, and tell his story to those who

-had heard it so often, that Hugh Greville Barmesyde,

-Esquire, seemed like a companion of their own

-young days.

-

-.. ——File: 249.png

-

-Old Barmesyde sprang from an ancient Somersetshire

-family, from which he inherited a considerable

-property, and a remarkable energy of character. He

-increased his wealth during a residence of many

-years in Antigua, at the close of which he relinquished

-his business, and returned to England to

-marry a beautiful English lady to whom he had

-engaged himself in the West Indies. He arrived in

-England the day after the funeral of his betrothed,

-who had fallen a victim to intermittent fever. Many

-of his relations had died in his absence, and he found

-himself like a stranger in the very place where he had

-hoped to taste again the joys of home. The death of

-the lady he loved so dearly, and the changes in his

-circle of friends, were so depressing to him, that he

-resolved to return to the West Indies. He thought

-it would be easier for him to continue in the associations

-he had formed there than to recover from the

-shock his visit to England had given him. So he

-took passage in a brig from Bristol to Antigua, and

-said farewell forever, as he supposed, to his native

-land. Before half the voyage was accomplished, the

-vessel was disabled: as Mr. Choate would express it,

-a north-west gale inflicted upon her a serious, an immedicable

-injury; and she floated a wreck upon the

-foamy and uneven surface of the Atlantic. She was

-fallen in with by another British vessel, bound for

-Boston, which took off her company, and with the

-renewal of the storm she foundered before the eyes

-of those who had so lately risked their lives upon her

-seaworthiness. When Mr. Barmesyde arrived in

-Boston, he found an old friend in the governor of

-the Province of Massachusetts Bay. Governor

-Pownall had but lately received his appointment

-from the Crown, and being a comparative stranger

-in Boston, he was as glad to see Mr. Barmesyde as

-the latter was to see him. It was several months before

-an opportunity to reach the West Indies offered

-itself, and when one did occur, Mr. Barmesyde only

-used it to communicate with his agent at Antigua.

-He had given up all ideas of returning thither, and

-had settled down, with his negro servant Cato, to

-housekeeping at the corner of School Street, within

-a few doors of his gubernatorial friend.

-

-Governor Pownall's term of office was not a long

-one, but even when he was removed, Mr. Barmesyde

-stuck faithfully to the old corner. He had found

-many warm friends here, and could no longer consider

-himself alone in the world. He was a man of

-good natural powers, and of thorough education. He

-was one of those who seem never to lose any thing

-that they have once acquired. In person he was tall

-and comely, and my grandfather said that he somewhat

-resembled General Washington as he appeared

-twenty-five years later, excepting that Mr. Barmesyde's

-countenance was more jolly and port-winy.

-From all I can learn, his face, surmounted by that

-carefully-powdered head of hair, must have resembled

-a red brick house after a heavy fall of snow. If

-Hugh Barmesyde had a fault, I am afraid it was a

-fondness for good living. He attended to his marketing

-in person, assisted by his faithful Cato, who

-was as good a judge in such matters as his master,

-and who used to vindicate the excellence of his master's

-fare by eating until he was black in the face.

-For years there were few vessels arrived from England

-without bringing choice wines to moisten the

-alimentary canal of Mr. Barmesyde. The Windward

-Isles contributed bountifully to keep alight the festive

-flame that blazed in his cheery countenance, and to

-make his flip and punch the very best that the province

-could produce. Every Sunday morning Mr.

-Barmesyde's best buckles sparkled in the sunbeams

-as he walked up School Street to the King's Chapel.

-Not that he was an eminently religious man, but he

-regarded religion as an institution that deserved encouragement

-for the sake of maintaining a proper

-balance in society. The quiet order and dignity of

-public worship pleased him, the liturgy gratified his

-taste, and so Sunday after Sunday his big manly voice

-headed the responses, and told that its possessor had

-done many things that he ought not to have done,

-and had left undone a great many that he ought to

-have done.

-

-Mr. Barmesyde was not a mere feeder on good

-things, however; he had a cultivated taste for literature,

-and his invoices of wine were frequently accompanied

-by parcels of new books. The old gentleman

-took a great delight in the English literature of that

-day. Fielding and Smollett were writing then, and

-no one took a keener pleasure in their novels than he.

-He imported, as he used to boast, the first copy of

-Dr. Johnson's Dictionary that ever came to America,

-and was never tired of reading that stately and

-pathetic preface, or of searching for the touches of

-satire and individual prejudice that abound in that

-entertaining work. His well-worn copy of the Spectator,

-in eight duodecimo volumes, presented by him

-to my grandfather, now graces one of my book

-shelves. His books were always at the service of his

-friends, who availed themselves of the old gentleman's

-kindness to such an extent that his collection

-might have been called a circulating library. But it

-was not merely for the frequent "feast of reason and

-flow of soul" that his friends were indebted to him.

-He was the very incarnation of hospitality. I am

-afraid that my excellent grandparent had an uncommon

-admiration for this trait in the old fellow's

-character, for a frequent burning twinge in one of

-the toes of my right foot, and occasionally in the

-knuckles of my left hand, reminds me of his fondness

-for keeping his legs under Mr. Barmesyde's festive

-mahogany. A few years ago, when a new floor was

-laid in the cellar at the old corner, a large number of

-empty bottles was discovered, whose appearance bore

-witness to the previous good character of the place

-as a cellar. Some labels were also found bearing

-dates like 1697, 1708, 1721, &c. To this day the

-occupants of the premises take pleasure in showing

-the dark wine stains on the old stairs leading to the

-cellar.

-

-But Mr. Barmesyde's happiness, like the *gioia de

-profani*, which we have all heard the chorus in the

-last scene of Lucrezia Borgia discordantly allude to,

-was but transient. The dispute which had been

-brewing for years between the colonies and the

-mother country, began to grow unpleasantly warm.

-Mr. B. was a stanch loyalist. He allowed that injustice

-had been done to the colonies, but still he

-could not throw off his allegiance to his most religious

-and gracious king, George III., Defender of

-the Faith. He was ready to do and to suffer as

-much for his principles as the most ardent of the revolutionists.

-And he was not alone in his loyalty.

-There were many old-fashioned conservative people

-in this revolutionary and ismatic city in those days as

-well as now. The publication in this city of a translation

-of De Maistre's great defence of the monarchical

-principle of government, (the Essay on the

-Generative Principle of Political Constitutions,) and

-of the late Mr. Oliver's "Puritan Commonwealth,"

-proves that the surrender of Cornwallis and the

-formation of the Federal Constitution did not destroy

-the confidence of a good many persons in the

-truth of the principles on which the loyalists took

-their stand. The unfortunate occurrence in State

-Street, March 5, 1770, gave Mr. B. great pain. He

-regretted the bloodshed, but he regretted more

-deeply to see many persons so blinded by their hatred

-of the king's most excellent majesty, as to defend

-and praise the action of a lawless mob just punished

-for their riotous conduct. The throwing overboard

-of the tea excited his indignation. He stigmatized

-it (and not without some reason on his side) as a

-wanton and cowardly act,—a destruction of the

-property of parties against whom the town of Boston

-had no cause of complaint,—a deed which proved

-how little real regard for justice and honour there

-might be among those who were the loudest in their

-shrieks for freedom. Of course he could not give

-utterance to these sentiments without exciting the ire

-of many people; and feeling that he could no longer

-safely remain in this country, he concluded to return

-to England. In the spring of 1774, Hugh Greville

-Barmesyde gave his last dinner to a few of the faithful

-at the old corner, and sailed the next day with a

-sorrowing heart and his trusty Cato for the land

-of his birth. He spent the remainder of his days in

-London, where he died in 1795. He was interred

-in the vault belonging to his family, in the north

-transept of the Parish Church of Shepton Mallet, in

-Somersetshire, where there is still a handsome tablet

-commemorating his many virtues and the inconsolable

-grief of the nephews and nieces whom his decease

-enriched.

-

-Some of the less orderly "liberty boys" bore witness

-to the imperfect sympathy that existed between

-them and the late occupant of the old corner, by

-breaking sundry panes of glass in the parlour windows

-the night after his departure. The old house,

-during the revolutionary struggle, followed the common

-prosaic course of ordinary occupancy. There

-was "marrying and giving in marriage" under that

-steep and ancient roof in those days, and troops of

-clamorous children used to play upon the broad stone

-steps, and tarnish the brasses that Cato was wont to

-keep so clean and bright. In the latter part of the

-last century the old house underwent a painful transformation.

-An enterprising apothecary perverted it

-to the uses of trade, and decorated its new windows

-with the legitimate jars of various coloured fluids.

-It is now nearly half a century since it became a bookstore.

-Far be it from me to offer any disturbance to

-the modesty of my excellent friends, Messrs. Ticknor

-and Fields, by enlarging upon the old corner in

-its present estate. It were useless to write about any

-thing so familiar. They are young men yet, and

-must pardon me if I have used the prerogative of age

-and spoken too freely about their old establishment

-and its reminiscences. I love the old corner, and

-should not hesitate to apply to it the words of Horace

-which I have quoted above. I love its freedom from

-pretence and ostentation. New books seem more

-grateful to me there than elsewhere; for the dinginess

-of Paternoster Row harmonizes better with literature

-than the plate glass and gairish glitter of Piccadilly

-or Regent Street.

-

-The large looking-glass which stands near the

-Washington Street entrance to the old corner used

-to adorn the dining-room where Mr. Barmesyde

-gave so many feasts. It is the only relic of that

-worthy gentleman now remaining under that roof.

-If that glass could only publish its reflexions during

-the past century, what an entertaining work on the

-curiosities of literature and of life it might make!

-It is no ordinary place that may boast of having been

-the familiar resort of people like Judge Story, Mr.

-Otis, Channing, Kirkland, Webster, Choate, Everett,

-Charles Kemble and the elder Vandenhoff with their

-gifted daughters, Ellen Tree, the Woods, Finn,

-Dickens, Thackeray, James, Bancroft, Prescott,

-Emerson, Brownson, Dana, Halleck, Bryant, Hawthorne,

-Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell, Willis, Bayard

-Taylor, Whipple, Parkman, Hilliard, Sumner, Parsons,

-Sprague, and so many others whose names will

-live in literature and history. It is a very pleasant

-thing to see literary men at their ease, as they always

-are around those old counters. It is a relief to find

-that they can throw off at times the dignity and restraint

-of authorship. It is pleasant to see the lecturer

-and the divine put away their tiresome

-earnestness and severe morality, and come down to

-the jest of the day. It refreshes one to know that

-Mr. Emerson is not always orphic, and that the

-severely scholastic Everett can forget his elegant and

-harmonious sentences, and descend to common prose.

-For we can no more bear to think of an orator living

-unceasingly in oratory than we could of Signorina

-Zanfretta being obliged to remain constantly poised

-on the *corde tendue*.

-

-The bust of Sir Walter Scott has filled the space

-above the mirror I have spoken of, for many years.

-It is a fine work of Chantrey's, and a good likeness

-of that head of Sir Walter's, so many *stories* high

-that one can never wonder where all his novels came

-from. Except this specimen of the plastic art, and

-one of Professor Agassiz, there is little that is ornamental

-in the ancient haunt. The green curtain that

-decorates the western corner of the establishment is

-a comparatively modern institution. It was found

-necessary to fence off that portion of the shop for

-strict business purposes. The profane converse of

-the world cannot penetrate those folds. Into that

-*sanctissimum sanctissimorum* no joke, however good,

-may enter. What a strange dispensation of Providence

-is it, that a man should have been for years

-enjoying the good society that abounds at that corner,

-and yet should seem to have so little liking for a

-quiet jest as the estimable person who conceals his

-seriousness behind that green curtain!

-

-But every thing must yield to the law of nature,

-and the old corner must share the common lot. Some

-inauspicious night, the fire-alarm will sound for District

-III.; hoarse voices will echo at the foot of

-School Street, calling earnestly on No. 3 to "hold

-on," and No. 9 to "play away"; where erst good

-liquor was wont to abound water will more abound,

-and when the day dawns Mr. Barmesyde's old house

-will be an unsightly ruin,—there will be mourning

-and desolation among the lovers of literature, and

-wailing in the insurance offices in State Street. When

-the blackened ruins are cleared away, boys will pick

-up scraps of scorched manuscripts, and sell them

-piecemeal as parts of the original copy of Hiawatha,

-or Evangeline, or the Scarlet Letter. In the fulness

-of time, a tall, handsome stone or iron building will

-rise on that revered site, and we lovers of the past

-shall try to invest it with something of the unpretending

-dignity and genial associations of the present

-venerable pile, which will then be cherished among

-our most precious memories.

-

-.. ——File: 258.png

-

-

-

-

-SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THEATRE ALLEY

--------------------------------------

-

-

-We are all associationists. There is no man

-who does not believe in association in some

-degree. For myself, I am firm in the faith. Let me

-not be misunderstood, however; I do not mean that

-principle of association which the late Mr. Fourier

-advocated in France, and Mr. Brisbane in America.

-I do not believe in the utopian schemes which have

-been ground out of the brains of philosophers who

-mistake vagueness and impracticability for sublimity,

-and which they have misnamed association.

-The principle of association to which I pay homage

-is one which finds a home in every human heart. It

-is that principle of our nature which, when the bereaved

-Queen Constance was mourning for her

-absent child, "stuffed out his vacant garments with

-his form." It is that principle which makes a man

-love the scenes of his boyhood, and which brings

-tears to the eyes of the traveller in a foreign land,

-when he hears a familiar strain from a hand organ,

-however harsh and out of tune. Even the brute

-creation seems to share in it; the cat is sure to be

-found in her favourite place at the fireside, while the

-tea kettle makes music on the hob; the dog, too, (let

-Hercules himself do what he may,) will not only

-have his day, but will have his chosen corner for repose,

-and will stick to it, however tempting you may

-make other places by a superabundance of door mats

-and other canine furniture. And the tired cart horse,

-when his day's labour is over, and he finds himself

-once more in the familiar stall, with his provender

-before him—do you not suppose that the associations

-of equine comfort by which he is surrounded

-are dearer to him than any hopes of the luxury and

-splendour of Her Britannic Majesty's stables at

-Windsor could be? Ask him if he would leave his

-present peck of oats for the chances of royal service,

-and a red-waistcoated, white-top-booted groom to

-wait upon him, and I will warrant you that he will

-answer *nay*!

-

-There is no nation nor people that is free from

-this bondage of association. We treasure General

-Jackson's garments with respectful care in a glass

-case in the Patent Office at Washington; in the

-Louvre, you shall find preserved the crown of

-Charlemagne and the old gray coat of the first Napoleon;

-and at Westminster Abbey, (if you have the

-money to pay your admission fee,) you may see the

-plain old oaken chair in which the crowned monarchs

-of a thousand years have sat. Go to Rome, and

-stand "at the base of Pompey's statua," and association

-shall carry you back in imagination to the time

-when the mighty Julius fell. Stand upon the grassy

-mounds of Tusculum, and you will find yourself

-glowing with enthusiasm for Cicero, and wonder how

-you could have grown so sleepy over *Quousque tandem*,

-&c., in your schoolboy days. Climb up the Trasteverine

-steep to where the convent of San Onofrio

-suns itself in the bright blue air of Rome, and while

-the monks are singing the divine office where the

-bones of Tasso repose, you may fill your mind with

-memories of the bard of the crusades, in the chamber

-where his weary soul found the release it craved.

-Go to that fair capital which seems to have hidden

-itself among the fertile hills of Tuscany; walk

-through its pleasant old streets, and you shall find

-yourself the slave of many pleasing associations. The

-very place where Dante was wont to stand and gaze

-at that wondrous dome which Michel Angelo said

-he was unwilling to copy and unable to excel, is

-marked by an inscription in the pavement. Every

-street has its associations that appeal to your love of

-the beautiful or the heroic. Walk out into the lively

-streets of that city which stands at the head of the

-world's civilization, and you are overwhelmed with

-historic associations. You seem to hear the clatter

-of armed heels in some of those queer old alleys, and

-the vision of Godfrey or St. Louis, armed for the

-holy war, would not astonish you. The dim and

-stately halls of the palaces are eloquent of power,

-and you almost expect to see the thin, pale, thoughtful

-face of the great Richelieu at every corner. Over

-whole districts, rebellion, and anarchy, and infidelity,

-once wrote the history of their sway in blood, and

-even now, the names of the streets, as you read them,

-seem to fill you with terrible mementoes.

-

-But to us, Americans, connected as we are with

-England in our civilization and our literature, how

-full of thrilling associations is London! From

-Whitehall, where Puritanism damned itself by the

-murder of a king, to Eastcheap, where Mistress

-Quickly served Sir John with his sherris-sack; from

-St. Saviour's Church, where Massinger and Fletcher

-lie in one grave, to Milton's tomb in St. Giles's, Cripplegate,

-there is hardly a street, or court, or lane, or

-alley, which does not appeal by some association to

-the student of English history or literature. He

-perambulates the Temple Gardens with Chaucer; he

-hears the partisans of the houses of York and Lancaster,

-as they profane the silence of that scholastic

-spot; he walks Fleet Street, and disputes in Bolt

-Court with Dr. Johnson; he smokes in the coffee-houses

-of Covent Garden with Dryden and Pope,

-and the wits of their day; he makes morning calls in

-Leicester Square and its neighbourhood, on Sir Philip

-Sidney, Hogarth, Reynolds, and Newton; he buys

-gloves and stockings at Defoe's shop in Cornhill;

-and makes excursions with Dicky Steele out to Kensington,

-to see Mr. Addison. Drury Lane, despite

-its gin, and vice, and squalour, has its associations.

-The old theatre is filled with them. They show you,

-in the smoky green-room, the chairs which once were

-occupied by Siddons and Kemble; the seat of Byron

-by the fireside in the days of his trusteeship; the mirrors

-in which so many dramatic worthies viewed

-themselves, before they were called to achieve their

-greatest triumphs.

-

-Every where you find men acknowledging in their

-actions their allegiance to this great natural law.

-Our own city, too, has its associations. Who can

-pass by that venerable building in Union Street,

-which, like a deaf and dumb beggar, wears a tablet

-of its age upon its unsightly front, without recalling

-some of the events that have taken place, some of the

-scenes which that venerable edifice has looked down

-upon, since its solid timbers were jointed in the year

-of salvation 1685? Who can enter Faneuil Hall

-without a quickening of his pulse? Who can walk by

-the old Hancock House, and not look up at it as if

-he expected to see old John (the best writer on the

-subject of American independence) standing at the

-door in his shad-bellied coat, knee-breeches, and powdered

-wig? Who can look at the Old South Church

-without thinking of the part it played in the revolution,

-and of the time when it was obliged to yield its

-unwilling horsepitality to the British cavalry? Boston

-is by no means deficient in associations. Go to

-Brattle Street, to Copp's Hill, to Mount Washington,

-to Deer Island,—though it must be acknowledged,

-the only association connected with the

-last-named place is the Provident Association.

-

-If there be a fault in the Yankee character, I fear

-it is a lack of sufficient respect for the memory of the

-past. Nature will have her way with us, however

-we may try to resist her and trample old recollections

-under foot. We worship prosperity too much; and

-the wide, straight streets of western cities, with the

-telegraph posts standing like sentinels on the edge of

-the sidewalks, and a general odour of pork-packing

-and new houses pervading the atmosphere, seem to

-our acquisitive sense more beautiful than the sculptured

-arch, the moss-grown tower, the quaint gable,

-and all the summer fragrance of the gardens of the

-Tuileries or the *Unterdenlinden*. I am afraid that

-we almost deserve to be classed with those who (as

-Mr. Thackeray says) "have no reverence except for

-prosperity, and no eye for any thing but success."

-

-Many are kindled into enthusiasm by meditating

-upon the future of this our country,—"the newest born

-of nations, the latest hope of mankind,"—but for

-myself I love better to dwell on the sure and unalterable

-past, than to speculate upon the glories of the

-coming years. While I was young, I liked, when at

-sea, to stand on the top-gallant forecastle, and see

-the proud ship cut her way through the waves that

-playfully covered me with spray; but of late years

-my pleasure has been to lean over the taffrail and

-muse upon the subsiding foam of the vessel's wake.

-The recollection even of storms and dangers is to

-me more grateful than the most joyful anticipation

-of a fair wind and the expected port. With these

-feelings, I cannot help being moved when I see so

-many who try to deaden their natural sensibility to

-old associations. When the old Province House

-passed into the hands of the estimable Mr. Ordway,

-I congratulated him on his success, but I mourned

-over the dark fate of that ancient mansion. I respected

-it even in its fallen state as an inn,—for it

-retained much of its old dignity, and the ghosts of

-Andros and his predecessors seemed to brush by you

-in its high wainscoted passages and on its broad staircases;

-but it did seem the very ecstasy of sacrilege to

-transform it into a concert-room. I rejoiced, however,

-a few years since, when the birthplace of B.

-Franklin, in Milk Street, was distinguished by an

-inscription to that effect in letters of enduring stone.

-That was a concession to the historic associations of

-that locality which the most sanguine could hardly

-have expected from the satinetters of Milk Street.

-

-But I am forgetting my subject, and using up my

-time and ink in the prolegomena. My philosophy of

-association received a severe blow last week. It was

-a pleasant day, and I hobbled out on my gouty timbers

-for a walk. I wandered into Franklin Place,

-but it was not the Franklin Place of my youth. The

-rude hand of public improvement had not been kept

-even from that row of houses which, when I was a

-boy, was thought an ornament to our city, and was

-dignified with the name of the Tontine Buildings.

-Franklin Place looked as if two or three of its front

-teeth had been knocked out. I walked on, and my

-sorrow and dismay were increased to find that the

-last vestige of Theatre Alley had disappeared. It

-was bad enough when the old theatre and the residence

-of the Catholic bishops of Boston were swept

-away: I still clung to the old alley, and hoped that it

-would not pass away in my time—that before the old

-locality should be improved into what the profane

-vulgar call sightliness and respectability, I should (to

-use the common expressions of one of our greatest

-orators, who, in almost every speech and oration

-that he has made for some years past, has given a

-sort of obituary notice of himself before closing)

-have been "resting in peace beneath the green sods

-of Mount Auburn," or should have "gone down to

-the silent tomb."

-

-Do not laugh, beloved reader, at the tenderness of

-my affection for that old place. There is a great

-deal of romance of a quiet and genial kind about

-Theatre Alley. As I first remember it, commerce

-had not encroached upon its precincts; no tall warehouses

-shut out the light from its narrow footway,

-and its planks were unencumbered by any intrusive

-bales or boxes. Old Dearborn's scale factory was

-the only thing to remind one of traffic in that neighbourhood,

-which struck a balance with fate by becoming

-more scaley than before, when Dearborn and

-his factory passed away. The stage door of the theatre

-was in the alley, and the walk from thence,

-through Devonshire Street, to the Exchange Coffee

-House, which was the great hotel of Boston at that

-time, was once well known to many whose names are

-now part of the history of the drama. How often

-was I repaid for walking through the alley by the

-satisfaction of meeting George Frederick Cooke, the

-elder Kean, Finn, Macready, Booth, Cooper, Incledon,

-old Mathews, or the tall, dignified Conway—or

-some of that goodly company that made Old

-Drury classical to the play-goers of forty years

-ago.

-

-The two posts which used to adorn and obstruct

-the entrance to the alley from Franklin Street, when

-they were first placed there, were an occasion of indignation

-to a portion of the public, and of anxiety

-and vexation to Mr. Powell, the old manager. That

-estimable gentleman had often been a witness to the

-terror of the children and of those of the weaker sex

-(I hope that I shall be forgiven by the "Rev. Antoinette

-Brown" for using such an adjective) who

-sometimes met a stray horse or cow in the alley; so

-he placed two wooden posts just beyond the theatre,

-to shut out the dreaded bovine intruders. But the

-devout Hibernians who used to worship at the

-church in Franklin Street could not brook the placing

-of any such obstacles in their way to the performance

-of their religious duties; and they used to cut the

-posts down as often as Mr. Powell set them up,

-until he took refuge in the resources of science, and

-covered and bound them with the iron bands which

-imprisoned them up to a very recent period.

-

-Old Mr. Stoughton, the Spanish consul, used to

-occupy the first house in Franklin Street above the

-alley, behind which his garden ran back for some

-distance. How little that worthy gentleman thought

-that his tulip beds and rose bushes would one day

-give place to a dry goods shop! Señor Stoughton

-was one of the urbanest men that ever touched a hat.

-If he met you in the morning, the memory of his

-bland and gracious salutation never departed from

-you during the day, and seemed to render your sleep

-sweeter at night. He always treated you as if you

-were a prince in disguise, and he were the only person

-in the secret of your incognito. He enjoyed the

-intimate friendship of that great and good man, Dr.

-Cheverus, the first Bishop of Boston, who was afterwards

-transferred to the archiepiscopal see of Bordeaux,

-and decorated with the dignity of a Prince of

-the Church. He, too, often walked through the old

-alley. The children always welcomed his approach.

-They respected Don Stoughton; Bishop Cheverus

-they loved. His very look was a benediction, and

-the mere glance of his eye was a *Sursum corda*. That

-calm, wise, benignant face always had a smile for the

-little ones who loved the neighbourhood of that humble

-Cathedral, and the pockets of that benevolent

-prelate never knew a dearth of sugar plums. Years

-after that happy time, a worthy Protestant minister

-of this vicinity—who was blessed with few or none

-of those prejudices against "Romanism" which are

-nowadays considered a necessary part of a minister's

-education—visited Cardinal Cheverus in his palace

-at Bordeaux, and found him keenly alive to every

-thing that concerned his old associations and friends

-in Boston. He declared, with tears in his eyes, and

-with that air of sincerity that marked every word he

-spoke, that he would gladly lay down the burden of

-the honour and power that then weighed upon him,

-to return to the care of his little New England flock.

-Now, Cardinal Cheverus was a man of taste and of

-kind feelings, and I will warrant you that when he

-thought of Boston, Theatre Alley was included

-among his associations, and enjoyed a share in his

-affectionate regrets.

-

-Mrs. Grace Dunlap's little shop was an institution

-which many considered to be coexistent with the

-alley itself. It was just one of those places that seem

-in perfect harmony with Theatre Alley as it was

-twenty-five years ago. It was one of those shops

-that always seem to shun the madding crowd's ignoble

-strife, and seek a refuge in some cool sequestered

-way. The snuff and tobacco which Mrs.

-Dunlap used to dispense were of the best quality, and

-she numbered many distinguished persons among her

-customers. The author of the History of Ferdinand

-and Isabella was often seen there replenishing his

-box, and exchanging kind courtesies with the fair-spoken

-dealer in that fragrant article which is productive

-of so many bad voices and so much real

-politeness in European society. Mrs. Dunlap herself

-was a study for an artist. Her pleasant face, her

-fair complexion, her quiet manner, her white cap,

-with its gay ribbons, rivalling her eyes in brightness,

-were all in perfect keeping with the scrupulous neatness

-and air of repose that always reigned in her

-shop. Her parlour was as comfortable a place as

-you would wish to see on a summer or a winter day.

-It had a cheerful English look that I always loved.

-The plants in the windows, the bird cage, the white

-curtains, the plain furniture, that looked as if you

-might use it without spoiling it, the shining andirons,

-and the blazing wood fire, are all treasured in my

-memory of Theatre Alley as it used to be. Mrs.

-Dunlap's customers and friends (and who could help

-being her friend?) were always welcome in her parlour,

-and there were few who did not enjoy her simple

-hospitality more than that pretentious kind

-which sought to lure them with the pomp and vanity

-of mirrors and gilding. Her punch was a work of

-art. But I will refrain from pursuing this subject

-further. It is no pleasure to me to harrow up the

-feelings of my readers by dwelling upon the joys of

-their *præteritos annos*.

-

-When Mrs. Dunlap moved out of the alley, its

-glory began to decline. From that day its *prestige*

-seemed to have gone. Even before that time an attempt

-had been made to rob it of its honoured name.

-Signs were put up at each end of it bearing the inscription,

-"Odeon Avenue"; but the attempt was

-vain, whether it proceeded from motives of godliness

-or of respectability; nobody ever called it any

-thing but Theatre Alley. At about that time nearly

-all the buildings left in it were devoted to the philanthropic

-object of the quenching of human thirst. We

-read that St. Paul took courage when he saw *three*

-taverns. Who can estimate the height of daring to

-which the Apostle of the Gentiles might have risen

-had it been vouchsafed to him to walk through Theatre

-Alley. One of the most frequented resorts there

-rejoiced in the name of "The Rainbow"—an auspicious

-title, certainly, and one which would attract

-those who were averse to the cold water principle.

-Some of the places were below the level of the alley,

-and verified, in a striking manner, the truth of Virgil's

-words, *Facilis descensus taverni*. Among certain

-low persons, not appreciative of its poetic

-associations, the alley at that time was nicknamed

-"Rum Row"; and he was considered a hero who

-could make all the ports in the passage through, and

-carry his topsails when he reached Franklin Street.

-Various efforts were made at that period to bring the

-alley into disrepute. Among others, a sign was put

-up announcing that it was *dangerous passing* through

-there; I fear that Father Mathew would have

-thought a declaration that it was dangerous *stopping*,

-to have been nearer the truth. But the daily deputations

-from the Old Colony and Worcester Railways

-could not be kept back by any signs, and the alley

-echoed to their multitudinous tramp every morning.

-Mr. Choate, too, was faithful to the alley through

-good and evil report, and while there was a plank

-left, it was daily pressed by his India rubbers. To

-such a lover of nature as he, what shall take the place

-of a morning walk through Theatre Alley!

-

-But *venit summa dies et ineluctabile tempus*, and

-the old alley has been swept away. During the past

-century how many thousands have passed through

-it! how many anxious minds, engrossed with schemes

-of commercial enterprises, how many hearts weary

-with defeat, how many kind, and generous, and

-great, and good men, who have passed away from

-earthly existence, like the alley through which they

-walked! But while I mourn over the loss, I would

-not restore it if I could. When so many of its old

-associations had been blotted out; when low dram-drinking

-dens had taken the place of the ancient,

-quiet dispensatories of good cheer; when grim and

-gloomy warehouses, with their unsocial, distrustful

-iron shutters, had made the warm sunlight a stranger

-to it,—it was time for it to go. It was better that it

-should cease to exist, than continue in its humiliation,

-a reproach to the neighbourhood, and a libel upon

-its ancient and honourable fame.

-

-.. ——File: 271.png

-

-

-

-

-THE OLD CATHEDRAL

------------------

-

-

-In many people who have been abroad, the mere

-mention of the old city of Rouen is enough to

-kindle an enthusiasm. If you would know why this

-is,—why those who are familiar with the cathedrals

-of Cologne, Milan, Florence, and the basilicas of

-Rome, have yet so deep a feeling about the old capital

-of Normandy,—the true answer is, that Rouen,

-with its Gothic glories and the thrilling history of the

-middle ages written on its every stone, was the first

-ancient city that they saw, and made the deepest impression

-on their minds. They had left the stiff

-and unsympathetic respectability of Boston, the tiresome

-cleanliness of Philadelphia, or the ineffable

-filth of New York behind them; or perchance they

-had been emancipated from some dreary western

-town, whose wide, straight, unpaved streets seemed

-to have no beginning and to end nowhere; whose

-atmosphere was pervaded with an odour of fresh

-paint and new shingles, and whose inhabitants would

-regard fifty years as a highly respectable antiquity,—and

-had come steaming across the unquiet Atlantic

-to Havre, eager to see an old city. A short railway

-ride carried them to one in which they could not turn

-a corner without seeing something to remind them

-of what they had seen in pictures or read in books

-about the middle ages. The richly-carved window

-frames, the grotesque faces, the fanciful devices, the

-profusion of ornament, the shrines and statues of

-the saints at the corners of the streets, and all the

-other picturesque peculiarities of that queer old city,

-filled them with wonder and delight. Those fantastic

-gables that seemed to be leaning over to look

-at them, inspired them with a respect which all the

-architectural wonders and artistic trophies of the

-continent are powerless to disturb.

-

-It was not my fortune thus to make acquaintance

-with Rouen. I had several times tasted the pleasure

-of a continental sojourn. The streets of several of

-the great European capitals were as familiar to me

-as those of my native city. Yet Rouen captivated

-me with a charm peculiarly its own. I shall not easily

-forget the delicious summer day in which I left Paris

-for a short visit to Rouen. That four hours' ride

-over the Western Railway of France was full of

-solid enjoyment for every sense. The high cultivation

-of that fertile and unfenced country—the farmers

-at work in the sunny broad-stretched fields—the

-hay-makers piling up their fragrant loads—the château-like

-farm houses, looking as stately as if they

-had strayed out of the city, and, getting lost, had

-thought it beneath their dignity to inquire the way

-back—and those old compactly built towns, in each

-of which the houses seem to have nestled together

-around a moss-grown church tower, like children at

-the knees of a fond mother,—made up a scene which

-harmonized admirably with my feelings and with the

-day, "so calm, so cool, so bright, the bridal of the

-earth and sky." My fellow-passengers shared in

-the general joy which the blithesomeness of nature

-inspired. We all chatted merrily together, and a

-German, who looked about as lively as Scott's Commentaries

-bound in dark sheep-skin, tried to make a

-joke. So irresistible was the contagion of cheerfulness,

-that an Englishman, who sat opposite me, so

-far forgot his native dignity, as to volunteer the remark

-that it was a "nice day."

-

-At last we began to consult our watches and time

-tables, and, after a shrill whistle and a ride through

-a long tunnel, I found myself, with a punctuality by

-which you might set your Frodsham, in the station at

-Rouen. I obeyed the instructions of the conductor

-to *Messieurs les voyageurs pour Rouen* to *descendez*,

-and was, in a very few minutes, walking leisurely

-through narrow and winding streets, which I used to

-think existed only in the imaginations of novelists

-and scene-painters. I say walking, but the fact is, I

-did not know what means of locomotion I employed

-in my progress through the town. My eyes and

-mind were too busy to take cognizance of any inferior

-matters. My astonishment and delight at all

-that met my sight was not so great as my astonishment

-and delight to find myself astonished and delighted.

-I had seen so many old cities that I had no

-thought of getting enthusiastic about Rouen, until I

-found myself suddenly in a state of mental exaltation.

-I had visited Rouen as many people visit

-churches and galleries of art in Italy—because I had

-an opportunity, and feared that in after years I

-might be asked if I had ever been there. But, if a

-dislike to acknowledge my ignorance led me to

-Rouen, it was a very different sentiment that took

-possession of me as soon as I caught the spirit of the

-place. The genius of the past seemed to inhabit

-every street and alley of that strange city. I half expected,

-whenever I heard the hoofs of horses, to find

-myself encompassed by mailed knights; and if Joan

-of Arc, with her sweet maidenly face beaming with

-the inspiration of religious patriotism, had galloped

-by, it would not have surprised me so much as it did

-to realize that I—a Yankee, clad in a gray travelling

-suit, with an umbrella in my hand, and drafts to a

-limited amount on Baring Brothers in my pocket—was

-moving about in the midst of such scenes, and

-was not arrested and hustled out of the way as a

-profane intruder.

-

-Wandering through the mouldy streets without

-any definite idea whither they led, and so charmed

-by all I saw, that I did not care, I suddenly turned a

-corner and suddenly found myself in a market-place

-well filled with figures, which would have graced a

-similar scene in any opera-house, and facing that

-stupendous cathedral which is one of the glories of

-France. I do not know how to talk learnedly about

-architecture; so I can spare you, dear reader, any

-criticism on the details of that great church. I have

-no doubt that it is full of faults, but my unskilful eyes

-rested only on its beauties. I would not have had it

-one stroke of the chisel less ornate, nor one shade

-less dingy. I could not, indeed, help thinking what

-it must have been centuries ago, when it was in all

-the glory of its fresh beauty; but still I rejoiced that

-it was reserved for me to behold it in the perfected

-loveliness and richer glory of its decay. Never until

-then did I fully appreciate the truth of Mr. Ruskin's

-declaration, that the greatest glory of a building is

-not in its sculptures or in its gold, but in its age,—nor

-did I ever before perfectly comprehend his eloquent

-words touching that mysterious sympathy which we

-feel in "walls that have long been washed by the

-passing waves of humanity."

-

-After lingering for a while before the sacred edifice,

-I entered, and stood within its northern aisle.

-Arches above arches, supported by a forest of massive

-columns, seemed to be climbing up as if they

-aspired to reach the throne of Him whose worship

-was daily celebrated there. The sun was obscured by

-a passing cloud as I entered, and that made the ancient

-arches seem doubly solemn. The stillness that

-reigned there was rendered more profound by the

-occasional twitter of a swallow from some "jutty

-frieze," or "coigne of vantage," high up above my

-head. I walked half way up the aisle, and stopped

-on hearing voices at a distance. As I stood listening,

-the sun uncovered his radiant face, and poured his

-golden glory through the great western windows of

-the church, bathing the whole interior with a prismatic

-brilliancy which made me wonder at my presumption

-in being there. At the same moment a

-clear tenor voice rang out from the choir as if the

-sunbeams had called it into being, giving a wonderful

-expression to the words of the Psalmist, *Dominus

-illuminatio mea et salus mea; quem timebo*. Then

-came a full burst of music as the choir took up the

-old Gregorian Chant—the universal language of

-prayer and praise. As the mute groves of the Academy

-reëcho still the wisdom of the sages, so did that

-ancient church people my mind with forms and scenes

-of an age long passed away. "I was all ear," and

-those solemn strains seemed to be endowed with the

-accumulated melody of the *Misereres* and *Glorias* of

-a thousand years.

-

-I have an especial affection for an old church, and

-I pity with all my heart the man whom the silent

-eloquence of that vast cathedral does not move. The

-very birds that build their nests in its mouldering

-towers have more soul than he. Its every stone is a

-sermon on the transitoriness of human enterprise and

-the vanity of worldly hopes. Beneath its pavement

-lie buried hopes and ambitions which have left no

-memorial but in the unread pages of forgotten historians.

-Richard, the lion-hearted, who made two

-continents ring with the fame of his valour, and

-yearned for new conquests, was obliged at last to

-content himself with the dusty dignity and obscurity

-of a vault beneath those lofty arches which stand

-unmoved amid the contentions of rival dynasties and

-the insane violence of republican anarchy.

-

-But it was not merely to write of the glories of

-Rouen and its churches, that I took up my neglected

-pen. The old cathedral of which I have now a few

-kind words to say, does not, like that of Rouen, date

-back sixteen centuries to its foundation; neither is it

-one of those marvels of architecture in which the conscious

-stone seems to have grown naturally into

-forms of enduring beauty. No great synods or councils

-have been held within its walls; nor have its humble

-aisles resounded daily with the divine office

-chanted by a chapter of learned and pious canons.

-Indeed it bears little in its external appearance that

-would raise a suspicion of its being a cathedral at all.

-Yet its plain interior, its simple altars, and its unpretentious

-episcopal throne, bear witness to the abiding-place

-of that power which is radiated from the shrine

-of the Prince of the Apostles—as unmistakably as if

-it were encrusted with mosaics, and the genius of

-generations of great masters had been taxed in its

-adornment.

-

-The Cathedral of Boston is the last relic of Franklin

-Street as I delight to remember it. One by one,

-the theatre, the residence of the Catholic bishops,

-and the old mansions that bore such a Berkeley

-Square-y look of respectability have passed away;

-and the old church alone remains. Tall warehouses

-look down upon it, as if it were an intruder there, and

-the triumphal car of traffic makes its old walls tremble

-and disturbs the devotion of its worshippers. An

-irreverent punster ventured a few months since to

-suggest that, out of regard to its new associations, it

-ought to be rededicated under the invocation of St.

-Casimir, and to be enlarged by the addition of a

-chapel built in honor of St. Pantaleone.

-

-   |     Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,

-   | Joci sacra fames!

-

-But it is well that it should follow the buildings with

-which it held companionship through so many quiet

-years. The charm of the old street has been destroyed,

-and the sooner the last monument of its

-former state is removed the better it will be. The

-land on which it stands formerly belonged to the

-Boston Theatre corporation. It was transferred to

-its present proprietorship in the last week of the last

-century, and the first Catholic church in New England

-was erected upon it. That church (enlarged

-considerably by the late Bishop Fenwick) is the one

-which still stands, and towards which I feel a veneration

-similar in kind to that inspired by the cathedrals

-of the old world. Even now I remember with pleasure

-how I used to enjoy an occasional visit to that

-strange place in my boyhood. "Logic made easy"

-and "Geometry for Infant Schools" were things unknown

-in my young days. I was weaned from the

-Primer and Spelling-book with the Arabian Nights'

-Entertainments, and the works of Defoe, Goldsmith,

-Addison, and Shakespeare. Therefore the romantic

-instinct was not entirely crushed out of my youthful

-heart, and it would be difficult, dear reader, for you

-to conceive how much I found to feed it on, within

-those plain brick walls.

-

-The lamp which used to burn constantly before the

-altar, until an anxiety for "improvement" removed it

-out of sight behind the pulpit, filled me with an indescribable

-awe. I was ignorant of its meaning, and

-for years was unaware that my childish reverence

-for its mild flicker was a blind homage to one of the

-profoundest mysteries of the Catholic faith. I remember

-to this day the satisfaction I took in the

-lighting of those tall candles, and what a halo of

-mysterious dignity surrounded even the surpliced

-boys grouped around that altar. That strange ceremonial

-surpassed my comprehension. The Latin, as

-I heard it sung there, was pronounced so differently

-from what I had been taught at school, that it was all

-Greek to me. Yet, when I saw the devotion of that

-congregation, and the pious zeal of the devoted

-clergymen who built that church, I could not call their

-worship "mummery," nor join in the irreverent

-laughter of my comrades at those ancient rites.

-There was something about them that seemed to fill

-up my ideal of worship—a soothing and consoling

-influence which I found nowhere else.

-

-I never entertained the vulgar notion of a Catholic

-priest. Of course my education led me to regard the

-dogmas of the Roman Church with any thing but a

-friendly eye; but my ideas of the clergy of that

-Church were not influenced by popular prejudice. I

-was always willing to believe that Vincent de Paul,

-and Charles Borromeo, and Fénelon were what they

-were, *in consequence* of their religion, rather than *in

-spite* of it, as some people, who make pretensions to

-liberality, would fain persuade us. When I recall

-the self-denying lives of the two founders of the

-Catholic Church in Boston,—Matignon and Cheverus,—I

-wonder that the influence of their virtues

-has not extended even to the present day, to soften

-prejudice and do away with *irreligious* animosity.

-They were regarded with distrust, if not with hatred,

-when they first came among us to take charge of that

-humble flock; but their devotedness, joined with

-great acquirements and rare personal worth, overcame

-even the force of the great Protestant tradition

-of enmity towards their office. Protestant admiration

-kept pace with Catholic love and veneration in

-their regard, and when they built the church which is

-now so near the term of its existence, there were few

-wealthy Protestants in Boston who did not esteem

-it a privilege to aid them with liberal contributions.

-The first subscription paper for its erection was

-headed by the illustrious and venerable name of John

-Adams, the successor of Washington in the presidency

-of the United States.

-

-.. ——File: 280.png

-

-The memory of the first Bishop of Boston, Dr.

-Cheverus, is (for most Bostonians of my age) the

-most precious association connected with the Cathedral.

-He was endeared to the people of this city by

-ten years of unselfish exertion in the duties of a missionary

-priest, before he was elevated to the dignity

-of the episcopate. His unwillingness to receive the

-proffered mitre was as characteristic of his modest

-and humble spirit, as the meekness with which he

-bore his faculties when the burden of that responsibility

-was forced upon him. His "episcopal

-palace," as he used facetiously to term his small and

-scantily-furnished dwelling, which was contiguous to

-the rear of the church, was the resort of all classes of

-the community. His simplicity of manner and ingenuous

-affability won all hearts. The needy and

-opulent, the learned and illiterate, the prosperous

-merchant and the Indians in the unknown wilds of

-Maine, found in him a father and a friend. Children

-used to run after him as he walked down Franklin

-Place, delighted to receive a smile and a kind

-word from one whose personal presence was like a

-benediction.

-

-His face was the index of a pure heart and a great

-mind. It was impossible to look at him without recalling

-that fine stanza of the old poet.—

-

-   | "A sweete attractive kind of grace,

-   | A full assurance given by lookes,

-   | Continuall comfort in a face,

-   | The lineaments of Gospel bookes;—

-   | I trow that countenance cannot lie

-   | Whose thoughts are legible in the eye."

-

-.. ——File: 281.png

-

-One of the ancient Hebrew prophets, in describing

-the glories of the millennial period, tells us that

-upon the bells of the horses shall be the words, *Holiness

-unto the Lord*—a prophecy which always reminded

-me of Cheverus; for that divine inscription

-seemed to have been written all over his benign

-countenance as with the luminous pen of the rapt

-evangelist in Patmos.

-

-But Bishop Cheverus was not merely a good man—he

-was a great man. He did not court the society

-of the learned, for his line of duty lay among the

-poor; but, even in that humble sphere, his talents

-shone out brightly, and won the respect even of

-those who had the least sympathy with the Church to

-which his every energy was devoted. Boston valued

-him highly; but few of her citizens thought, as they

-saw him bound on some errand of mercy through her

-streets, that France envied them the possession of

-such a prelate, that the peerage of the old monarchy

-was thought to need his virtuous presence, and that

-the scarlet dignity of a Prince of the Church was in

-reserve for that meek and self-sacrificing servant of

-the poor. Had he been gifted with prophetic vision,

-his humility would have had much to suffer, and his

-life would have been made unhappy, by the thought

-of coming power and honour. He had given the best

-part of his life to Boston, and here he wished to die.

-He had buried his friend and fellow-labourer, Dr.

-Matignon, in the Church of St. Augustine at South

-Boston, and when he placed the mural tablet over the

-tomb of that venerable priest, he left a space for his

-own name, and expressed the hope that, as they had

-lived together harmoniously for so many years, they

-might not in death be separated. It was a strange

-sight to see more than two hundred Protestants

-remonstrating against the translation of a Catholic

-bishop from their city, and speaking of him in such

-terms as these: "We hold him to be a blessing and a

-treasure in our social community, which we cannot

-part with, and which, without injustice to any man,

-we may affirm, if withdrawn from us, can never be

-replaced." And when he distributed all that he possessed

-among his clergy, his personal friends and the

-poor, and left Boston as poor as he had entered it,

-with the single trunk that contained his clothes when

-he arrived, twenty-seven years before,—public admiration

-outran the power of language. Doctrinal

-differences were forgotten. Three hundred carriages

-and other vehicles escorted him several miles

-on the road to New York, where he was to embark.

-

-Of his life as Bishop of Montauban, Archbishop

-of Bordeaux, a Peer of France, and a Cardinal, there

-is not space for me to speak. Suffice it to say, that

-amid all the dignities to which he was successively

-promoted, he lived as simply and unostentatiously as

-when he dwelt in Franklin Street; and that in time

-of pestilence and public distress he showed the same

-unbounded charity which caused his departure from

-Boston to be considered a public calamity. To the

-last day of his life he maintained his interest in his

-American home, and would gladly have relinquished

-all his dignities to return and minister at the altar of

-the church he here erected. Throughout France he

-was honoured and beloved, even as he had been in

-the metropolis of New England, and a nation sorrowed

-at his death. Full as his life was of good

-works, it was not in his eloquence, nor his learning,

-nor in the pious and charitable enterprises which he

-originated, that the glory of Cardinal Cheverus consisted;

-it was in the simplicity of his character and

-the daily beauty of his life:—

-

-   | "His thoughts were as a pyramid up-piled,

-   | On whose far top an angel stood and smiled,

-   | Yet in his heart he was a little child."

-

-The gentle and benevolent spirit of that illustrious

-prelate has never departed from the church he built.

-When Channing died, and was buried from the

-church which his eloquence had made famous, the

-successor of Cheverus caused the bell of the neighbouring

-Cathedral to be tolled, that it might not

-seem as if the Catholics had forgotten the friendly

-relations which had existed between the great Unitarian

-preacher and their first bishop. And when

-the good Bishop Fenwick was borne from the old

-Cathedral, with all the pomp of pontifical obsequies,

-his courtesy and regard for Dr. Channing's memory

-was not forgotten, and the bell which was so lately

-removed from the tower, where it had swung for

-half a century, joined with that of the Cathedral in

-giving expression to the general sorrow, and proved

-that no dogmatic differences had disturbed the

-kindly spirit which Channing inculcated and had exemplified

-in his blameless life.

-

-Of the later history of the Cathedral of the Holy

-Cross I may not speak. My youthful respect for it

-has in no degree diminished, and I shall always consider

-it a substantial refutation of the old apothegm,

-"Familiarity breeds contempt." There are, I doubt

-not, those who regard that old edifice with deeper

-feelings than mine. Who can estimate the affection

-and veneration in which it is held by those who may

-there have found an asylum from harassing doubts,

-who have received from that font the joy of a renovated

-heart, and from that altar the divine gift which

-is at the same time a consolation for past sorrows

-and a renewal of strength to tread the rough path of

-life!

-

-I am told that it will not probably be long before

-the glittering cross which the pure-hearted Cheverus

-placed upon the old church will be removed, and the

-demolition of his only monument in Boston will be

-effected. Permit me to conclude these reminiscences

-with the expression of the hope that the new Cathedral

-of Boston will be an edifice worthy of this

-wealthy city, and that it may contain some fitting

-memorial of the remarkable man who exercised his

-beneficent apostolate among us during more than a

-quarter of a century. The virtues which merited the

-gratitude of the poor and the highest honours which

-pontiffs and kings can bestow, ought not to go uncommemorated

-in the city which witnessed their development,

-and never hesitated to give expression to its

-love and veneration for their possessor. But whatever

-the new Cathedral may be,—however glorious

-the skill of the architect, the sculptor, and the painter

-may render it,—there are those in whose affections it

-will never be able to replace the little unpretending

-church which Cheverus built, and which the remembrance

-of his saintly life has embalmed in all their

-hearts.

-

-.. ——File: 285.png

-

-

-

-

-THE PHILOSOPHY OF SUFFERING

----------------------------

-

-.. epigraph::

-

-   |               I am old,

-   | And my infirmities have chained me here

-   | To suffer and to vex my weary soul

-   | With the vain hope of cure. \* \* \*

-   | Yet my captivity is not so joyless

-   | As you would think, my masters. Here I sit

-   | And look upon this eager, anxious world,—

-   | Not with the eyes of sour misanthropy,

-   | Nor envious of its pleasures,—but content,—

-   | Yea, blessedly content, 'mid all my pains,

-   | That I no more may mingle with its brawlings.

-

-

-Human suffering is an old and favourite

-theme. From the time when the woes of Job

-assumed an epic grandeur of form, and the adventures

-and pains of Philoctetes inspired the tragic

-muse of Sophocles, down to the publication of the

-last number of the *London Lancet*, there would seem

-to have been no subject so attractive as the sufferings

-of poor humanity. Literature is filled with their

-recital, and, if books were gifted with a vocal power,

-every library would resound with wailings. Ask

-your neighbour Jenkins, who overtakes you on your

-way to your office, how he is, and it is ten chances to

-one that he will entertain you with an account of his

-influenza or his rheumatism. It is a subject, too,

-which age cannot wither nor custom stale. It knows

-none of the changes which will at times dwarf or

-keep out of sight all other themes. The weather,

-which forms the raw material of so much conversation,

-is nothing compared to it. There is nothing

-which men find so much pleasure in talking about as

-their own ailments. The late Mr. Webster, of

-Marshfield, was once stopping for a single day in a

-western city, where he had never been before, and

-where there was a natural curiosity among many of

-the inhabitants to see the Defender of the Constitution.

-He therefore set apart two hours before the

-time of his departure for the reception of such persons

-as might seek the honour of a shake of his

-hand. The reception took place in one of the parlours

-of a hotel, the crowd filing in at one door, being

-introduced by the mayor, and making their exit by

-another. In the course of the proceedings, a little

-man, with a lustrous beaver in one hand and a gold-headed

-cane in the other, and whose personal apparel

-appeared to have been got up (as old Pelby

-would have said) without the slightest regard to expense,

-and on a scale of unparalleled splendour,

-walked forward, and was presented by the mayor as

-"Mr. Smith, one of our most eminent steamboat

-builders and leading citizens." Mr. Webster's large,

-thoughtful, serene eyes seemed to be completely

-filled by the result of the combined efforts of the

-linen-draper, the tailor, and the jeweller, that confronted

-him, and his deep voice made answer—"Mr.

-Smith, I am happy to see you. I hope you are well,

-sir." "Thank you, thir," said the leading citizen, "I

-am not very well. I wath tho unfortunate ath to

-take cold yethterday by thitting in a draught. Very

-unpleathant, Mr. Webthter, to have a cold! But

-Mrs. Smith thays that the thinks that if I put my

-feet in thome warm water to-night, and take thome-thing

-warm to drink on going to bed, that I may get

-over it. I thertainly hope tho, for it really givth me

-the headache, and I can't thmell at all." Mr. Webster

-expressed a warm interest in Mr. Smith's case,

-and a hope that Mrs. Smith's simple medical treatment

-would result beneficially, and then turned with

-undisturbed gravity to the next citizen, who, with

-some six hundred others, was anxiously waiting his

-turn. We are all like Mr. Smith. We laugh, it is

-true, at his affectations, but we are as likely to force

-our petty ailments upon a mind burdened with the

-welfare of a nation; and we never tire of hearing

-ourselves talk about our varying symptoms. Politeness

-may hold us back from importuning our friends

-with the diagnosis of our case, but our self-centred

-hearts are all alike, and a cold in the head will

-awaken more feelings in its victim than the recital of

-all the horrors of the hospital of Scutari. Nothing

-can equal the heroic fortitude with which we bear

-the sufferings of our fellows, or the saintliness of our

-pious resignation and acquiescence in the wisdom of

-the divine decrees when our friends are bending under

-their afflictive stroke.

-

-I wish to say a few words about suffering. Do not

-be afraid, beloved reader, that I am going to carry

-you into rooms from which the light is excluded, and

-which are strangers to any sound above a whisper,

-or the casual movement of some of the phials on the

-mantel-piece. I am going to speak of suffering in its

-strict sense of pain,—bodily pain,—and sickness is

-not necessarily accompanied with pain. I cannot regard

-your sick man as a real sufferer. His fever

-rages, and he tosses from side to side as if he were

-suffering punishment with Dives; but from the incoherent

-phrases which escape from his parched lips,

-you learn that his other self is rapt in the blissfulness

-that enfolds Lazarus. He prattles childishly of

-other lands and scenes—he thinks himself surrounded

-by friends whose faces once were grateful to his

-sight, but who long since fell before the power with

-which he is struggling—or he fancies himself metamorphosed

-into a favourite character in some pleasant

-book which he has lately read. After a time he

-wakes forth from his delirium, but he cannot even

-then be called a sufferer. On the contrary, his situation,

-even while he is so entirely dependent upon

-those around him, is really the most independent one

-in the world. His lightest wish is cared for as if his

-life were the price of its non-accomplishment. All

-his friends and kinsmen, and neighbours whom he

-hardly knows by sight, vie with each other in trying

-to keep pace with his returning appetite. He is the

-absolute monarch of all he surveys. There is no one

-to dispute his reign. The crown of convalescence is

-the only one which does not make the head that

-wears it uneasy. He has nothing to do but to satisfy

-his longings for niceties, to listen to kind words from

-dear friends, to sleep when he feels like it, and to

-get better. I am afraid that we are all so selfish and

-so enslaved by our appetites, that the period of convalescence

-is the pleasantest part of life to most

-of us.

-

-Therefore I shut out common sickness, fevers, and

-the like, from any share in my observations on suffering.

-If you ask me what I should be willing to consider

-real bodily pain,—since I am unwilling to allow

-that ordinary sick men participate in it,—I should

-say that you can find it in a good, old-fashioned attack

-of rheumatism or gout. I think it was Horace

-Walpole who said that these two complaints were

-very much alike, the difference between them being

-this: that rheumatism was like putting your hand or

-foot into a vice, and screwing it up as tight as you

-possibly can, and gout was the same thing, only you

-give the screw one more turn. It is no flattery to

-speak of the victim to either of these disorders as a

-sufferer. The rheumatic gout is a complaint which

-possesses all the advantages and peculiarities which

-its compound title denotes. It unites in itself all the

-potentiality of gout and all the ubiquity of rheumatism.

-Its characteristics have been impressed

-upon me in a manner that sets at defiance that weakness

-of memory which generally accompanies old

-age. Sharp experience, increasing in sharpness as

-my years pile up, makes that complaint a specialty

-among my acquirements. These stinging, burning,

-cutting pains deserve the superlative case, if any

-thing does. Language (that habitual bankrupt) is

-reduced to a most abject state when called upon to

-describe rheumatic gout. The disease does not seem

-to feel satisfied with poisoning your blood by its

-aciduousness, it makes your flesh tingle and burn,

-and, like the late Duke of Wellington, does not rest

-until it has conquered the bony part. The very bone

-seems to be crumbling wherever the demon of gout

-pinches. There are moments in the life of every

-gouty man when it seems as if nothing would be so refreshing

-as to indulge for a while in the use of that

-energetic diction, savouring more of strength than

-of righteousness, which is common among cavalry

-troops and gentlemen of the seafaring profession,

-but which, in society, is considered to be a little in

-advance of the prejudices of the age. No higher

-encomium could be passed upon a gouty man than to

-say that, with all his torments, he never swore, and

-was seldom petulant. But there are very few whose

-merits deserve this canonization.

-

-But gout, with all its pains, has yet its redeeming

-characteristics. That great law of compensation

-which reduces the inequalities of our lot, and makes

-Brown, Jones, and Robinson come out about even in

-the long run, is not inoperative here. The gout is

-painful, but its respectability is unquestionable. It is

-the disease of a gentleman. It is a certificate of good

-birth more satisfactory than any which the Heralds'

-College or the Genealogical Association can furnish.

-It is but right, too, that the man who can date back

-his family history to Plymouth or Jamestown in this

-country, and to Runnymede on the other side of the

-Atlantic, should pay something for such a privilege.

-A man may never have indulged in "the sweet poison

-of the Tuscan grape" himself, but can he reasonably

-complain of an incontrovertible testimony to the fact

-that his ancestors lived well! *Chacun à son goût*:

-for myself, I should much prefer my honoured family

-name, with all its associations with the brave

-knight who made it famous, accompanied by the only

-possession which I have received by hereditary right,

-to the most unequivocal state of health burdened

-with such a name as Jinkins.

-

-.. ——File: 291.png

-

-Mentally and spiritually, the gout is far from

-being a useless institution. It ripens a man's judgment,

-and prunes away the radical tendencies of his

-nature. It will convert the wildest of revolutionists

-into the stiffest of conservatives. It teaches a man

-to look at things as they really are, and not as enthusiasm

-would have them represented. No gouty man

-would ever look to the New York Tribune as the

-exponent of his religious or political creed. His

-complaint has a positive character, and it makes him

-earnest to find something positive in religion and

-politics. The negativeness of radicalism tires him.

-He deprecates every thing like change. He thinks

-that religion, and society, and government were established

-for some better end than to afford a perpetual

-employment to the destructive powers of

-visionary reformers and professional philanthropists.

-He longs to find constancy and stability in

-something besides his inexorable disorder.

-

-There is another disorder which people generally

-seem to consider a very trifling affair, but which any

-one who knows it will allow to be productive of the

-most unmistakable pain. I refer to neuralgia. Who

-pities a neuralgic person? Any healthy man, when

-asked about it, will answer in his ignorance that it is

-"only a headache." But ask the school teacher,

-whose throbbing head seems to be beating time to

-the ceaseless muttering and whispering of her scholars

-as they bend over their tasks—ask the student,

-whose thoughts, like undisciplined soldiers, will not

-fall into the ranks, and whose head seems to be occupied

-by a steam engine of enormous power, running

-at the highest rate of pressure, with the driver

-sitting on the safety-valve—ask them whether neuralgia

-is "only a headache"! Who can tell the

-cause of the prevalence of this scourge? whether it

-proceeds from our houses overheated with intolerable

-furnaces and anthracite coal, or from our treacherous

-and unconstant climate so forcibly described by

-Choate: "Cold to-day; hot to-morrow; mercury at

-eighty degrees in the morning, with wind at south-west;

-and in three hours more a sea turn, with wind

-at east, a thick fog from the very bottom of the

-ocean, and a fall of forty degrees of Fahrenheit."

-The uncertainty which seems to attend all human

-science, and the science of medicine in particular, envelops

-this mysterious disease, and thousands of us

-are left to suffer and wonder what the matter is.

-

-But all of these pains, gouty, neuralgic, and

-otherwise, have yet their sweet uses, and like the vile

-reptile Shakespeare tells us of, are adorned with a

-precious jewel. The old Roman emperors in the

-hour of triumph used to have a slave stand behind

-them to whisper in their ear, from time to time, the

-unwelcome but salutary truth that they were but

-mortal men. Even now, on the occasion of the enthronement

-of a Pope, a lighted candle is applied to

-a bunch of flax fixed upon a staff, and as the smoke

-dissipates itself into thin air before the newly-crowned

-Pontiff, surrounded as he is by all the emblems

-of religion and all the insignia and pomp of

-worldly power, the same great truth of the perishableness

-of all mortal things is impressed upon his

-mind by the chanting of the simple but eloquent

-phrase, *Sic transit gloria mundi*. But we neuralgic

-and gouty wretches need no whispering slave nor

-smoking flax to remind us of our frailty and the

-transientness of our happiness and glory. We carry

-with us a monitor who checks our swelling pride, and

-teaches us effectually the brevity of human joys. We

-are very apt, in our impatience and short-sightedness,

-to think that if we had the management of the world

-and the dispensation of pleasure and suffering, every

-thing could be conducted in a much more satisfactory

-manner. If it were so, we should undoubtedly carry

-things on in the style of a French restaurant, so that

-we could have *pain à discretion*. But on the whole,

-I am inclined to think that we had better leave these

-matters to the management of that infinite Power

-which gives us day by day our daily pain, and from

-which we receive in the long run about what is meet

-for us. I hope that I shall not be thought ill-bred or

-profane in using such expressions as these. At my

-time of life it is too late to begin to murmur. A few

-twinges more or less are nothing when the hair

-grows gray and the eye is dimmed with the mists of

-age. The man who knows nothing of the novitiate

-of patience—who has passed through life without

-the chastening discipline of bodily pain—has missed

-one of the best parts of existence. To suffer is one

-of the noblest prerogatives of human nature. Without

-suffering, life would be robbed of half its zest,

-and the thought of death would drive us to despair.

-

-When I was a young man, and gave little thought

-to the gout and the other ills that vex me at present,

-I saw a wonderful exhibition of patience, which I

-now daily recall to mind, and wish I could imitate.

-I was sojourning in Florence, that lovely city, whose

-every association is one of calm and satisfactory

-pleasure undisturbed by any thing like bodily suffering.

-I enjoyed the friendship of a young American

-amateur artist of unquestioned talent, but whose

-artistic efforts were interfered with by the frequent

-attacks of a serious and excruciating disorder. It

-was considerable time after I made his acquaintance

-before I knew that he was an invalid. I noticed his

-lameness, but whenever we met he wore a smiling

-face, and had a cheerful word for every body. One

-evening I called in at his quiet lodgings near the

-Lung' Arno, and found a party of some six or eight

-Americans talking over their recollections of home.

-He was entertaining them with the explanation of an

-imaginary panorama of New England, and a musical

-friend threw in illustrative passages from the piano

-in the intervals. The parlour resounded with our

-laughter at his irresistible fun; but in the midst of it

-all, he asked us to excuse him for a moment, and

-went into his bedroom. After a little while, another

-engagement calling me away, I went into his chamber

-to speak with him before leaving. I found him lying

-upon his bed, writhing like Laocoön, while great

-drops stood upon his brow and agony was depicted

-on his patient face. He resisted all my attempts to

-do any thing for him; the attack had lasted all day,

-but was at some times severer than at others; he

-should feel better soon, and would go back to his

-friends; I had better not stop with him, as it might

-attract their attention in the parlour, &c. So I took

-my leave. The next morning I met one of his

-friends, who told me that he returned to his company

-a few minutes after my departure, and entertained

-them for an hour or more with an exhibition

-of his powers of wit and humour, which eclipsed

-all his previous efforts. Poor S. C.! His weary

-but uncomplaining spirit laid down that crippled

-body, which never gave aught but pain to its possessor,

-three or four years ago, and passed, let us hope,

-into a happier state of existence, which flesh and

-blood, with their countless maladies and dolours,

-may not inherit.

-

-The traveller in the south of Europe frequently

-encounters, in his perambulations through the streets

-and squares of cities, a group of people gathered

-around a monk, who is discoursing to them of those

-sublime truths which men are prone to lose sight of

-in their walks abroad. The style of the sermon is

-not, it is true, what we should look for from Newman,

-or Ravignan, or Ventura, but it has in it those

-fundamental principles of true eloquence, simplicity

-and earnestness; and the coarse brown habit, the

-knotted cord, and the pale, serene, devout face of

-the preacher, harmonize wondrously with the self-denying

-doctrine he teaches, and give a double force

-to all his words. His instructions frequently concern

-the simple moral duties of life and the exercise of the

-cardinal virtues, which he enforces by illustrations

-drawn from the lives of canonized saints, who won

-their heavenly crown and their earthly fame of

-blessedness by the practice of those virtues. Allow

-me to close my sermon on suffering in the manner of

-the preaching friars, though I may not draw my

-illustrations from the ancient martyrologies; for I

-apprehend that it will be more in keeping with the

-serious character of this essay to take them from another

-source. We have all laughed at Dickens's

-characters of Mark Tapley and Mr. Toots. The

-former was celebrated for "keeping jolly under disadvantageous

-circumstances," and seemed to mourn

-over those dispensations of good fortune which detracted

-from his credit in being jolly. The latter was

-never known to indulge in any complaint, but met

-every mishap and disappointment with a manly resignation

-and the simple remark, "It's of no consequence."

-Even when he was completely ingulfed in

-misfortunes, when Pelion seemed to have been

-heaped upon Ossa, and both upon him, he did not

-give way to despair. He only gave utterance more

-fervently to his favourite maxim, "It's of no consequence.

-Nothing is of any consequence whatever!"

-Now, laugh at it as we may, this is a great truth. It

-is the foundation of all true philosophy—of all practical

-religion. A few years more, and what will it

-avail us to have bargained successfully, to have lived

-in splendour, to have left in history a name that shall

-be the synonyme of power! A few years, and what

-shall we care for all our present sufferings and the

-light afflictions which are but for a moment! May

-we not say with Solomon, that "All is vanity," and

-with poor Toots, that "Nothing is of any consequence

-whatever"? Now, if there are any people

-who are likely to arrive at this satisfactory conclusion,

-and who need the consolation imparted by the

-reception and full appreciation of the deep truth it

-contains, it is the gouty, and rheumatic, and neuralgic

-wretches whom I have had in mind while writing this

-paper. Let me, in conclusion, as one who has had

-some experience, and is not merely theorizing, exhort

-all such persons to meditate upon the lives of

-the two great patterns of patience whom I have

-brought forward as examples; and to bear in mind

-that it is only through the resignation of Toots, that

-they can attain to the jollity of Tapley. Likewise let

-me counsel those who may be passing through life

-unharmed by serious misfortune and untrammelled

-by bodily pain, never to lose sight of that striking

-admonition of old Sir Thomas Browne's, "Measure

-not thyself by thy morning shadow, but by the extent

-of thy grave; and reckon thyself above the earth, by

-the line thou must be contented with under it."

-

-.. ——File: 298.png

-

-

-

-

-BOYHOOD AND BOYS

-----------------

-

-

-Human nature is a very telescopic "institution."

-It delights to dwell on whatever is

-most distant. Lord Rosse's famous instrument

-dwindles down to a mere opera glass if you compare

-it with the mental vision of a restless boy, looking

-forward to the time when he shall don a tail-coat and

-a beaver hat. How his young heart swells with

-pride as he anticipates the day when he shall be his

-own master, as the phrase is—when he shall be able

-to stay out after nine o'clock in the evening, and to

-go home without being subjected to the ignominy of

-being escorted by a chambermaid! If he be of a

-particularly sanguine temperament, his wild imagination

-is rapt in the contemplation of the possibility of

-one day having his name in the newspapers as secretary

-of some public meeting, or as having made a

-vigorous speech at a political caucus where liberty of

-speech runs out into slander, and sedition is mistaken

-for patriotism,—or perhaps even of being one day a

-Common Councilman, or a member of the Great and

-General Court. A popular poet of the present day

-has expressed the same idea in a less prosaic manner:—

-

-   | "Not rainbow pinions coloured like yon cloud,

-   | The sun's broad banner o'er his western tent,

-   | Can match the bright imaginings of a child

-   | Upon the glories of his coming years:"—

-

-and another bard avers that human blessings are

-always governing the future, and never the present

-tense,—or something to that effect. The truth of

-this nobody will deny who has passed from the boxes

-of childhood upon the stage of manhood which so

-charmed his youthful fancy, and finds that the heroes

-who dazzled him once by their splendid achievements

-are mere ordinary mortals like himself, whom

-the blindness or caprice of their fellows has allowed

-to be dressed in a little brief authority; that the

-cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces he used to

-gaze on from afar, prove, on a closer inspection, to

-be mere deceptions of paint and canvas, and that he

-has only to look behind them to see the rough bricks

-and mortar of every-day life.

-

-The voyager who sails from the dark waters of

-the restless Atlantic into the deep blue Mediterranean,

-notices at sunset a rich purple haze which rises

-apparently from the surface of that fair inland sea,

-and drapes the hills and vales along the beautiful

-shore with a glory that fills the heart of the beholder

-with unutterable gladness. The distant, snow-covered

-peaks of old Granada, clad in the same bright

-robe, seem by their regal presence to impose silence

-on those whom their majestic beauty has blessed

-with a momentary poetic inspiration which defies all

-power of tongue or pen. It touches nothing which it

-does not adorn, and the commonest objects are transmuted

-by its magic into fairy shapes which abide ever

-after in the memory. Under its softening influence,

-the dingy sail of a fisherman's boat becomes almost

-as beautiful an object to the sight as the ruins of the

-temple which crowns the height of Cape Colonna.

-But when you approach nearer to that which had

-seemed so charming in its twilight robes, your poetic

-sense is somewhat interfered with. You find the

-fishing boat as unattractive as any that anchor on the

-Banks from which we obtain such frequent discounts

-of nasty weather, and the shore, though it may still

-be very beautiful, lacks the supernal glory imparted

-to it by distance. It is very much after this fashion

-with manhood, when we compare its reality with our

-childish expectations. We find that we have been

-deceived by a mere atmospheric phenomenon. But

-the destruction of the charm which age had for our

-eyes as children, is compensated for by the creation

-of a new glory which lights up our young days, as we

-look back upon them with the regret of manhood,

-and realize that their joys can never be lived over

-again.

-

-Pardon me, gentle reader, for all this prosing. I

-have been reading that pleasant, hearty book, "Tom

-Brown's School Days at Rugby," during the past

-week, and it has set me a-thinking about my own boyhood;

-for, strange as it may seem, there was a time

-when this troublesome foot was more familiar with

-the football and the skate than with gout and flannel,—and

-Tom Brown's genial reminiscences have revived

-the memory of that time most wonderfully.

-There was considerable fun in Boston in my childhood,

-even though most of the faces which one met

-in Marlboro' Street and Cornhill were such as might

-have appropriately surrounded Cromwell at Naseby

-or Marston Moor. There were many people, even

-then, who did not regard religion as an affair of

-spasmodic emotions, and long, bilious-looking faces,

-and psalm-singing, and neck-ties. They thought

-that, so long as they were honest in their dealings,

-and did not swear to false invoices at the customhouse,

-and did as they would be done by, and lived

-virtuously, that He to whom they had been taught by

-parental lips to pray, would overlook the smaller

-offences—such as an occasional laugh or a pleasant

-jest—into which weak nature would now and then

-betray them. I cannot help thinking that they were

-about right, though I fear that I shall be set down as

-little better than one of the wicked by Stiggins, Chadband,

-Sleek & Co.

-

-Yes, there was a good deal of fun among the boys

-in those old days. Boys will be boys, however serious

-the family may be; and if you take away their marbles,

-some other "vanity" will be sure to take their

-place. What jolly times we used to have Artillery

-Election! How good the egg-pop used to taste, in

-spite of the dust of Park Street, which mingled itself

-liberally with the nutmeg! How we used to save up

-our money for those festive days! How hard the

-arithmetic lessons seemed, particularly in the days

-immediately preceding vacation! How dreary were

-those long winters; and yet how short and pleasant

-they seemed to us! for we loved the runners, and

-skates, and jingling bells, and, as Pescatore, the Neapolitan

-poet, sings, "though bleak our lot, our hearts

-were warm."

-

-Newspapers were not a common luxury in those

-times, and I suppose that I took as little notice of

-passing events as most children; yet I well remember

-the effect produced upon my mind one dark, threatening

-afternoon, near the close of the last century, by

-the announcement of the death of General Washington.

-I had been accustomed to hear him talked about

-as the Father of his Country; I had studied the

-lineaments of his calm countenance, as they were set

-forth for the edification of my patriotism on some

-coarse handkerchiefs presented to me by a public-spirited

-aunt, until I began to look upon him as

-almost a supernatural being. If I had been told that

-the Old South had been removed to Dorchester

-Heights, or that the solar system was irreparably

-disarranged, I should not have been more completely

-taken aback than I was by that melancholy intelligence.

-I need not say that afterwards, when I grew

-up and found that Washington was not only a mortal

-like the rest of us, but that he sometimes spelt incorrectly

-enough to have suited Noah Webster, (the

-inventor of the American language,) my supernatural

-view of that estimable general and patriot was

-very materially modified. I remember, too, how

-much I used to hear said about an extraordinary man

-who had risen up in France, and who seemed to be

-bending all Europe to his will. I never shall forget

-my astonishment on finding that Marengo was not a

-man, but a place. The discovery shamed me somewhat,

-and afterwards I always read whatever newspapers

-came in my way. When some slow tub of a

-packet had come across the ocean, battling with the

-nor'-westers, and was announced to have made a

-"quick passage of forty-eight days," how eagerly I

-followed the rapid fortunes of the first Napoleon!

-His successes, as they intoxicated him, dazzled and

-bewildered my boyish imagination. I understood the

-matter imperfectly, but I loved Napoleon, and delighted

-to repeat to myself those stirring names,

-Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, &c. How I hated Russia

-after the disastrous campaign of 1812! (By the

-way, the exhibition of the Conflagration of Moscow,

-which used to have its intermittent terms of exhibition

-here some years since, always brought back all

-my youthful feelings about the old Napoleon; the

-march of the artillery across the bridge, in the foreground

-of the scene, the rattling of the gun carriages,—that

-most warlike of all warlike sounds,—the

-burning city, the destruction of the Kremlin, all

-united in my mind to form a sentiment of admiration

-and sympathy for the baffled conqueror. If that admirable

-show were to be revived once more, I should

-be tempted to take a season ticket to it, for I have no

-doubt that it would thrill me just as it did before my

-head could boast of a single gray hair.) Nor was

-my admiration for Napoleon's old marshals much

-below that which I entertained for the mighty genius

-who knew so well how to avail himself of their surpassing

-bravery and skill. I felt as if the unconquerable

-Murat, Lannes, Macdonald, Davoust, were my

-dearest and most intimate friends. The impetuous

-Ney, "the bravest of the brave," as his soldiers

-called him; and the inflexible Masséna, "the favourite

-child of victory," figured in all my dreams,

-heading gallant charges, and withstanding deadly

-assaults, and occupied the best part of my waking

-thoughts. I do not doubt that there is many a schoolboy

-nowadays who has dwelt with equal delight on

-the achievements of Scott and Taylor, of Canrobert,

-Bosquet and Pélissier, of Fenwick Williams and

-Havelock, and poor old Raglan, (that brave man

-upon whom the Circumlocution Office tried to fasten

-the blame of its own inefficiency, and who died

-broken-hearted, a melancholy illustration of the

-truth of Shakespeare's lines,—

-

-   | "The painful warrior, famouséd for fight,

-   | After a thousand victories once foiled,

-   | Is from the book of honour razéd quite,

-   | And all the rest forgot for which he toiled,")

-

-and who cherishes them as I did the heroes of half a

-century ago.

-

-But, as I was saying, Tom Brown's happy reminiscences

-of Rugby have awakened once more all my

-boyish feelings; for New England has its Rugby, and

-many of the readers of the old Rugby boy's pleasant

-pages will grow enthusiastic with the recollection of

-their schoolboy days at Exeter,—their snowballings,

-their manly sports, their mighty contests with the

-boys of the town,—and, though they may not claim

-the genius of the former head-master of Rugby for

-the guardian of their youthful sports and studies,

-will apply all of the old boy's praises of Dr. Arnold

-to the wise, judicious, and lovable Dr. Abbot.

-

-I always cherished an unbounded esteem for boys.

-The boy—the genuine human boy—may, I think,

-safely be set down as the noblest work of God. Pope

-claims that proud distinction for the honest man, but

-at the present time, the nearest we can come to such

-a mythological personage as an honest man, (even

-though we add Argand burners, expensive Carcels,

-Davy safeties, and the Drummond light to the officially

-recognized lantern of Diogenes,) is a real

-human boy, without a thought beyond his next holiday,

-with his heart overflowing with happiness, and

-his pockets chock full of marbles. Young girls cannot

-help betraying something of the in-dwelling

-vanity so natural to the sex; you can discern a self-consciousness

-in their every action which you shall

-look for in vain in the boy. Bless your heart!—you

-may dress a real boy up with superhuman care, and

-try to impress on his young mind that he is the pride

-of his parents, and one of the most remarkable

-beings that ever visited this mundane sphere, and he

-will listen to you with becoming reverence and docility;

-but his pure and honest nature will give the lie

-to all your flattery as soon as your back is turned, and

-in ten minutes you will find him kicking out the toes

-of his new boots, or rumpling his clean collar by

-"playing horse," or using the top of his new cap for

-a drinking vessel, and mixing in with the Smiths, and

-Browns, and Jinkinses, on terms of the most unquestioned

-equality. The author of Tom Brown says

-that "boys follow one another in herds like sheep,

-for good or evil; they hate thinking, and have rarely

-any settled principles." This is undoubtedly true;

-but still there is a generous instinct in boys which is

-far more trustworthy than those sliding, and unreliable,

-and deceptive ideas which we call settled principles.

-The boy's thinking powers may be fallible,

-but his instinct is, in the main, sure. There is no

-aristocracy of feeling among boys. Linsey-woolsey

-and broadcloth find equal favour in their eyes. What

-they seek is just as likely to be found under coarse

-raiment as under purple and fine linen. If their companion

-is a real good feller, even though he be a son

-of a rich merchant or banker, he is esteemed as

-highly as if his father were an editor of a newspaper.

-

-The nature of the boy is full of the very essence of

-generosity. The boys who hide away their gingerbread,

-and eat it by themselves,—who lay up their

-Fourth of July five-cent pieces, for deposit in that

-excellent savings institution in School Street, instead

-of spending them for the legitimate India crackers of

-the "Sabbath Day of Freedom,"—are exceptions

-which only put the general rule beyond the pale of

-controversy. The real boy carries his apple in one

-of his pockets until it is comfortably warm, and he

-has found some companion to whom he may offer a

-festive bite; for he feels, with Goethe, that

-

-   | "It were the greatest misery known

-   | To be in paradise alone;"

-

-and if, occasionally, when he sees his friend gratifying

-his palate with a fair round specimen of the same

-delicious fruit, he asks for a return of his kindness,

-with a beckoning gesture, and a free and easy—"I

-say, you know me, Bill!"—he is moved thereto by no

-mere selfish liking for apples, but by a natural sense

-of friendship, and of the excellence of the apostolic

-principle of community of goods. This spirit of

-generosity may be seen in the friendships of boys,

-which are more entire and unselfish than those by

-which men seek to mitigate the irksomeness of life.

-There are more Oresteses and Pyladeses, more Damons

-and Pythiases, at twelve years of age than at

-any later period of life. The devotedness of boyish

-friendship is peculiar from the fact that it is generally

-reciprocal. In this it is superior to what we

-call love, which, if we may believe the French

-satirist, in most instances consists of one party who

-loves, and another who allows himself or herself to

-be loved. This phenomenon has not escaped the

-notice of that great observer of human nature,

-Thackeray.

-

-"What generous boy," he asks, "in his time has

-not worshipped somebody? Before the female enslaver

-makes her appearance, every lad has a friend

-of friends, a crony of cronies, to whom he writes

-immense letters in vacation; whom he cherishes in his

-heart of hearts; whose sister he proposes to marry

-in after life; whose purse he shares; for whom he

-will take a thrashing if need be; who is his hero."

-

-The generosity, and all the priceless charms of

-boyhood, rarely outlive its careless years of happiness.

-They are generally severely shaken, if not

-wholly destroyed, when the youth enters upon that

-crepuscular period of manhood in which his jacket

-is lengthened into a sack, and he begins to take his

-share in the conceit, and ambition, and selfishness of

-full-grown humanity. It is sad to think that a human

-boy, like the morning star, full of life and joy, may

-be stricken down by death, and all his hilarity stifled

-in the grave; but to my mind it is even more melancholy

-to think that he may live to grow up, and be

-hard, and worldly, and ungenerous as any of the rest

-of us. For this latter fate is accompanied by no consolations

-such as naturally assuage our sorrow when

-an innocent child is snatched from among his playthings,—when

-"death has set the seal of eternity

-upon his brow, and the beautiful hath been made permanent"

-I have seen few men who would be willing

-to live over again their years of manhood, however

-prosperous and comparatively free from trouble they

-may have been; but fewer still are those whom I have

-met, in whose memory the records of boyhood are

-not written as with a sunbeam. No, talk as we may

-about the happiness of manhood, the satisfaction of

-success in life, of gratified ambition, of the possession

-of the Mary or Lizzie of one's choice,—what is

-it all compared to the unadulterate joy of that time

-when we built our card houses, and made our dirt

-pies, or drove our hoops, unvexed by the thoughts

-that Jinkins's house was larger than ours, or by any

-anxiety concerning the possibility of obtaining our

-next day's mutton-chop and potatoes? Except the

-momentary pain occasioned by the exercise of a magisterial

-rattan upon our persons, or an occasional

-stern reproof from a hair-brush or the thin sole of a

-maternal shoe, that halcyon period is imperturbed,

-and may safely be called the happiest part of life.

-

-My venerated friend, Baron Nabem, who has

-been through all these "experiences," and therefore

-ought to know, insists upon it that no man really

-knows any thing until he is forty years old. For

-when he is eighteen or twenty years of age, he esteems

-himself to be a sort of combination of the

-seven wise men of Greece in one person, with Humboldt,

-Mezzofanti, and Macaulay thrown in to make

-out the weight; at twenty-five, his confidence in his

-own infallibility begins to grow somewhat shaky; at

-thirty, he begins to wish that he might really know a

-tenth part as much as he thought he did ten years

-before; at thirty-five, he thinks that if he were added

-up, there would be very little to carry; and at forty

-the great truth bursts upon him in all its effulgence

-that he is an ass. There are some who reach this

-desirable state of self-knowledge before they attain

-the age specified by the Baron; other some there are

-who never reach it at all,—as we all see numerous

-instances around us,—but these are mere exceptions

-strengthening rather than invalidating the common

-rule. It is a humiliating acknowledgment, but if we

-consider the uncertainty of all earthly things, if we

-try the depth of the sea of human science, and find

-how easy it is to touch bottom any where therein, if

-we convince ourselves of the impenetrability of the

-veil which bounds our mental vision,—I think that

-we shall be obliged to allow that the recognition of

-our own nothingness and asininity is the sum and perfection

-of human knowledge. Now, Solomon tells

-us that he who increases knowledge increases sorrow;

-and it naturally follows that when a man has

-reached the knowledge which generally comes with

-his fortieth year, he is less happy than he was when

-he wrapped himself in the measureless content of his

-twentieth year's self-deception. And it follows, too,

-most incontrovertibly, that he is happier when unpossessed

-by that exaggerated self-esteem which rendered

-the discovery of his fortieth year necessary to

-him; and when is that time, if not during the careless,

-happy years of boyhood?

-

-The period of boyhood has been shortened very

-considerably within a few years; and real boys are

-becoming scarce. They are no sooner emancipated

-from the bright buttons which unite the two principal

-articles of puerile apparel, than they begin to pant

-for virile habiliments. Their choler is roused if they

-are denied a stand-up dickey. They sport canes.

-They delight to display themselves at lectures and

-concerts. Their young lips are not innocent of

-damns and short-sixes; and they imitate the vulgarity

-and conceit of the young men of the present day so

-successfully that you find it hard to believe that they

-are mere children. Since this period of dearth in the

-boy market set in, of course the genuine, marketable

-article has become more precious to me. I remember

-seeing an old physician in Paris, who was as true

-a boy as any beloved twelve-year-old that ever

-snapped a marble or stuck his forefinger into a preserve

-jar on an upper shelf in a china closet. A

-charming old fellow he was, too. He used to stop to

-see the boys play in the gardens of the Tuileries, and

-I knew him once to spend a whole afternoon in the

-avenue of the Champs Elysées looking at the puppet

-shows and other sights with the rest of the youngsters.

-He told me afterwards that that was one of

-the happiest days of his life; for he had felt as if he

-were back again in the pleasant time before he knew

-any thing of that most uncertain of all uncertain

-things—the science of medicine; and he doubted

-whether any boy there had enjoyed the cheap amusement

-more than himself. I envied him, for I knew

-that he who retained so much of the happy spirit of

-boyhood could not have outlived all of its generosity

-and simplicity. "Once a man and twice a child,"

-says the old proverb; and I cannot help thinking that

-if at the last we could only recall something of the

-sincerity, and innocence, and unselfishness of our

-early life, second childhood would indeed be a

-blessed thing.

-

-.. ——File: 311.png

-

-

-

-

-JOSEPHINE—GIRLHOOD AND GIRLS

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-

-

-A bright-eyed, fair, young maiden, whose

-satchel I should insist upon carrying to school

-for her every morning if I were half a century

-younger, came to me a day or two after the publication

-of my last essay, and, placing her white, taper

-fingers in my rough, Esau-like hand, said, "I liked

-your piece about the boys very much; and now I hope

-that you'll write something about girls." "My dear

-Nellie," replied I, "if I should do that I should lose

-all my female acquaintances. I have a weakness for

-telling the truth, and there are some subjects concerning

-which it is very dangerous to speak out 'the

-whole truth and nothing but the truth.'" The gentle

-damsel smiled, and looked

-

-   | "Modest as justice, and did seem a palace

-   | For the crown'd truth to dwell in,"

-

-as she still urged me on, and refused to see any danger

-in my giving out the plainest truth about girlhood.

-*She* had no fear, though all the truth were

-told; and I suppose that if we had some of Nellie's

-purity and gentleness remaining in our sere and

-selfish hearts, we should be much better and happier

-men and women, and should dread the truth as little

-as she does. But I must not begin my truth-telling

-by seeming to praise too highly, though it must be

-confessed, even at my time of life, if I were to describe

-the charming young person I have referred to,

-with the merciless fidelity of a daguerreotype and an

-absence of hyperbole worthy of the late Dr. Bowditch's

-work on Navigation, I should seem to the

-unfortunate "general reader" who does not know

-Nell, to be indulging in the grossest flattery, and

-panting poesy would toil after me in vain. So I will

-put aside all temptations of that kind, and come down

-to the plain prose of my subject.

-

-There is, in fact, very little that can be said about

-girlhood. Those calm years that come between the

-commencement of the bondage of the pantalettes and

-emancipation from the tasks of school, present few

-salient points upon which the essayist (observe he

-never so closely) may turn a neat paragraph. They

-offer little that is startling or attractive either to

-writer or reader,—

-

-   | "As times of quiet and unbroken peace,

-   | Though for a nation times of blessedness,

-   | Give back faint echoes from the historian's page."

-

-The rough sports of boyhood, the out-door life which

-boys always take to so naturally, and all their habits

-of activity, give a strength of light and shade to their

-early years which is not to be found in girlhood. It

-is not enough to say that there is no difference in

-kind, but simply one in degree,—that the years of

-boyhood are calm and happy, and that those of girlhood

-are so likewise,—that the former resemble the

-garish sunshine, and the latter the mitigated splendour

-of the moon; for the characters of boys seem to

-be struck in a sharper die than those of girls, which

-gives them an absoluteness quite distinct from the

-feminine grace we naturally look for in the latter.

-The free-hearted boy, plunging into all sorts of fun

-without a thought of his next day's arithmetic lesson,

-and with a charming disregard of the expense of

-jackets and trousers, and the gentle girl, who clings

-to her mother's side, like an attendant angel, and

-contents herself with teaching long lessons to docile

-paper pupils in a quiet corner by the fireside, are

-representatives of two distinct classes in the order of

-nature, and (untheologically, of course, I might add)

-of grace. There is not a greater difference between

-a hockey and a crochet needle than there is between

-them.

-

-I have, as a general thing, a greater liking for

-boys than for girls; for the vanity so common to all

-mankind is not developed in them at so early an age

-as in the latter. Still I must acknowledge that I have

-seen some splendid exceptions, the mere recollection

-of which almost tempts me to draw my pen through

-that last sentence. Can I ever forget—I can never

-forget—one into whose years of girlhood the beauty

-and grace of a long, pure life seemed to have been

-compressed? It was many years ago, and I was

-younger than I am now—so pardon me if I should

-seem to catch a little enthusiasm of spirit from the

-remembrance of those days. Like the ancient Queen

-of Carthage, *Agnosco veteris vestigia flammæ*. I

-was living in London at that time, or rather at

-Hampstead, which had not then become a mere

-suburb of the great metropolis, but was a quiet town,

-whose bright doorplates, and well-scoured doorsteps,

-and clean window curtains contrasted finely with the

-dingy brick walls of its houses, and impressed the

-visitor with the general prosperity and quiet respectability

-of its inhabitants. In my daily walks to and

-from the city, I frequently met a gentleman whose

-gray hairs and simple dignity of manners always

-attracted me towards him, and exacted from me an

-involuntary tribute of respectful recognition. One

-day he overtook me in a shower, and gave me the

-benefit of his umbrella and his friendship—for an

-intimacy which ended only with his death commenced

-between us from that hour. He was a gentleman of

-good family and education, who had seen thirty

-years of responsible service in the employ of the

-Honourable East India Company, had attained a

-competency, and had forsworn Leadenhall Street for

-a pension and a quiet retreat on the heights of Hampstead.

-His wife was a lady of cultivated tastes,

-whose sober wishes never learned to stray from the

-path of simple domestic duty, and the presence of

-the books in which she found her daily pleasures.

-

-   | "Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam;

-   | True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home."

-

-Their only child, "one fair daughter, and no more,"

-was a gentle and merry-hearted creature, who, in the

-short and murky days of November, filled that cottage

-with a more than June-like sunshine. Her

-parents always had a deep sympathy with that unfortunate

-Empress of France whose dismission from

-the throne was the commencement of the downward

-career of the first Napoleon, and bore witness to it

-by giving her name to their only child. They lived

-only three or four doors from my lodgings, and there

-were few days passed after the episode of the umbrella

-in which I did not find a welcome in their quiet

-home. Their daughter was their only idol, and I

-soon found myself a convert to their innocent system

-of paganism. We all three agreed that Josey was

-the incarnation of all known perfections, and the

-lapse of forty years has not sufficed to weaken that

-conviction in my mind. She had risen just above the

-horizon of girlhood, and the natural beauty of her

-character made the beholder content to forget even

-the promise of her riper years. I do not think she

-was what the world calls handsome. I sometimes

-distrust my judgment in the matter of female beauty;

-indeed, some of my candid friends have told me that

-I had no judgment in such things. Well, as I was

-saying, Josey was not remarkable for personal

-beauty—in fact, I think I remember some persons of

-her own sex who thought her "very plain"—"positively

-homely"—and wondered what there was attractive

-about her. There are circumstances under

-which I should not have hesitated to attribute such

-remarks to motives of envy and jealousy; but as they

-came from girls whose attractions of every kind were

-far below those of the gentle creature whom they delighted

-to criticise, how can I account for them?

-Josey's complexion was dark—her forehead, like

-those of the best models of female comeliness among

-the ancients, low. Her teeth were pearly and uniform,

-and her clear, dark eyes seemed to reflect the

-happiness and hope which were the companions of

-her youth. Her beauty was not of that kind which

-consists in mere regularity of features; it was far

-superior to that. You could discern under those

-traits, none of which were conspicuous, a combination

-of mental and social qualities which were far

-above the fleeting charms that delight so many, and

-which age, instead of destroying, would increase and

-perfect. She was quiet and gentle, without being

-dull or moody; light-hearted and cheery, without

-being frivolous; and witty, without being pert or conceited.

-Her unaffected goodness of heart found

-many an opportunity of exercise. I often heard of

-her among the poor, and among those who needed

-words of consolation even more than the necessaries

-of life. It was her delight to intercede with the

-magistrate who had inflicted a punishment on some

-disorderly brother of one of her poor clients, and to

-obtain his pardon by promising to watch over him

-and insure his future good behaviour; and there

-were very few, among the most reckless, who were

-not restrained by the thought that their offences

-would give pain to the kind-hearted girl who had so

-willingly become their protector.

-

-During the months that I lived at Hampstead my

-intercourse with that excellent family was as familiar

-as if I had been one of their own kindred. A little

-attack of rheumatism, which confined me to my lodging

-for a fortnight or three weeks, proved the constancy

-of their friendship. The old gentleman came

-daily to see me—told me all the news from the city,

-and read to me; the mother sent me some of her

-favourite books; and Josey came to get assistance in

-her Latin and French, and brought me sundry little

-pots of grape jelly and other preserves, which tasted

-all the sweeter for being the work of her fair hands.

-It was a sad parting when I was called away to

-America—sad for me; for I told them that I hoped

-that my absence from England would be but temporary,

-when I felt inwardly that it might extend to

-several years.

-

-Two or three months after my arrival at home, I

-received a letter from the old gentleman, written in

-his deliberate, round, clerk-like style, informing me

-of his wife's death. A note was enclosed from Josey,

-in which she described with her pencil the spot where

-her mother was buried in the old churchyard, and

-told me of her progress in her studies. More than a

-year passed by without my hearing from them at all,

-two or three of my letters to them having miscarried.

-Nearly seven years elapsed before I visited England

-again. Two years before that, I had read the decease

-of the old gentleman, in a stray London newspaper.

-I had written to Josey, sympathizing with

-her in her desolation, but had received no answer.

-So, the day after my arrival in London, I determined

-to make a search for the beloved Josey. I

-went to Hampstead, and my heart beat quicker as I

-approached the cottage where I had spent so many

-happy hours. My throat felt a little choky, as I recognized

-the neat bit of hedge before the door, the

-graceful vine which overhung it, and the familiar

-arrangement of the flower pots in the frames outside

-the windows; but my hopes received a momentary

-check when I found a strange name on the plate

-above the knocker. I knocked, and inquired concerning

-the former occupants of the house. After a

-severe effort to overcome the Bœotian stupidity of

-the housemaid, she ushered me into the little breakfast

-room, and said she would "call her missus."

-Almost before I had time to look about me, Josey

-entered the room. The little girl whose Latin exercises

-I had corrected, and who had always lived in

-my memory as she appeared in those days, suddenly

-came before me

-

-   | "A perfect woman, nobly planned,

-   | To warn, to comfort, and command;

-   | And yet a spirit still and bright

-   | With something of an angel light."

-

-Yet she was hardly changed at all. She had lost

-none of those charming qualities which had made the

-thought of her precious to me during long years of

-absence. She had gained the maturity and dignity

-of womanhood without losing any of the simplicity

-and light-heartedness of girlhood. She was married.

-Her husband was a literary man of considerable

-reputation. Though only in middle age, he was

-a great sufferer with the gout. He was, generally

-speaking, a patient man; but I found, after I became

-intimate with him, that his pains sometimes made

-him express himself with a force of diction somewhat

-in advance of the religious prejudices of his

-gentle Josey, who tended him and ministered to his

-wants like an angel, as she was. But excuse me for

-wandering so far from my theme. To make a long

-story short, Josey went to Italy with her husband,

-who had been ordered thither by his physicians, and

-I never saw her afterwards. She deposited her husband's

-remains in the cemetery where those of Shelley

-and Keats repose, and found for two or three

-years a consolation for her bereaved spirit in residence

-in that city which more than all others proclaims

-to our unwilling hearts the vanity and

-transitoriness of this world's hopes, and the glory of

-the unseen eternal. Years after, I met one of her

-husband's friends in Paris, who told me that some

-four years after his death, she had entered a convent

-of a religious order devoted to the reclaiming of the

-degraded of her sex, in Brussels. There she had

-found a fitting occupation for the natural benevolence

-of her heart, and the peace which the world could

-not give. She had concealed the glory of her good

-works under her vow of obedience—her personality

-was hidden under the common habit of her Order—the

-very name which was so dear to me had been

-exchanged for another on the day that saw her covered

-with the white veil of the novice. I was about

-returning to England from the continent when I

-heard this, and I resolved to take Belgium's fair

-capital in my route. I found the convent readily

-enough, and waited in its uncarpeted but scrupulously

-clean parlour some time for the Lady Superior. She

-was a lady of dignified mien, with the clear complexion,

-the serene brow, and the dovelike eyes so

-common among nuns, and her face lighted up, as she

-spoke, with a gentle smile, which seemed almost like

-a presage of immortality. I explained my errand,

-and she told me that the good English sister had

-been dead more than a year. The intelligence pained

-me, and it gave me a feeling of self-reproach to

-notice that the nun, who had been with her in her last

-hour, spoke of her as if she had merely passed into

-another part of the convent we were in. The Superior,

-perceiving my emotion, conducted me through

-the garden of the convent to a shady corner of the

-grounds, where there were several graves. She

-stopped before a mound, over which a rose bush bent

-affectionately, as if its white blossoms craved something

-of the purity which was enshrined beneath it.

-At its head was a simple wooden cross, on which was

-inscribed the name of "Sister Helen Agnes," the

-date of her death, and the common supplication that

-she might rest in peace; and that was the only memorial

-of Josey that remained to me.

-

-I have not forgotten, dear reader, that I am writing

-about girls; but having brought forward one who

-always seemed to me to be about as near perfection

-as it is vouchsafed to poor humanity to approach, I

-could not help following her to the end, and showing

-how she went from a beautiful girlhood to a still

-more beautiful womanhood, and a death which all

-of us might envy; and how lovely and harmonious

-was her whole career. For I feel that the consideration

-of the contrast which most of the young female

-readers of these pages will discover between themselves

-and Josey, will do them some good.

-

-I do not know of a more quietly funny sight than

-a group of school-girls, all talking as fast as their

-tongues can wag, (forty-woman power,) and clinging

-inextricably together like a parcel of macaroni, *à

-la Napolitaine*. Their independence is quite refreshing.

-Lady Blessington in her diamonds never

-descended the grand staircase at Covent Garden

-Opera House with half the consciousness of making

-a sensation, that you may notice in these school-girls

-whenever you take your walks abroad. It is delightful

-to see them step off so proudly, and look you in

-the face so coolly, thinking all the time of just nothing

-at all. Their boldness is the boldness of innocence;

-for perfect modesty does not even know how to

-blush. How vain they grow as they advance in their

-teens! How careful they are that the crinoline

-"sticks out" properly before they venture on the

-road to school! If Mother Goose (of blessed memory)

-could take a look into this world now, she

-would wish to revise her ancient rhyme to her

-patrons,—

-

-   | "Come with a whoop—come with a call," &c.,—

-

-for she would find that it is now their custom to come

-with a *hoop* when they come for a call.

-

-When unhappy Romeo stands in old Capulet's

-garden, under the pale beams of the "envious moon,"

-and watches the unconscious Juliet upon the balcony,

-he utters, in the course of his incoherent soliloquial

-apostrophe, these remarkable words concerning that

-interesting young person:—

-

-   | "She speaks, yet she says nothing."

-

-I have seen many young ladies of Juliet's time

-of life in my day of whom the same thing might

-be said. They indeed speak, yet say nothing. Yet

-take them on such a subject as the trimming of

-a new bonnet for Easter Sunday, or any of those entertaining

-topics more or less connected with the

-adornment of their persons, and how voluble they

-are! To the stronger sex, which of course cares

-nothing about dress, being entirely free from vanity,

-the terms used in their never-ending colloquies on

-such themes are mere unmeaning words; but I must

-do the gentler side of humanity the justice to say that

-they are not all vanity, as their fathers and husbands

-find to their dismay, when the quarterly bills come in,

-that gimp, and flounces, and trimming generally,

-have a real, tangible existence.

-

-How sentimental they are! In my young days

-albums were all the rage among young ladies; but

-now they seem to be somewhat out of date, and

-young ministers have taken their place. What pains

-will they not take to get a bow from the Rev. Mr.

-Simkins! They swarm around him after service,

-like flies around the bung of a molasses cask.

-Raphael never had such a face as his; Massillon

-never preached as he does. What a wilderness of

-worsted work are they not willing to travel over for

-his sake! How do they exhaust their inventive faculties

-in the search after new patterns for lamp mats,

-watch cases, pen wipers, and slippers to encase the

-feet at which they delight to sit! But when Simkins

-marries old Thompson's youngest daughter and a

-snug property, he finds a sad abatement in his popularity.

-The Rev. Mr. Jenkins, a young preacher

-with a face every whit as milk-and-watery as his own,

-succeeds to the throne he occupied, and reigns in his

-stead among the volatile devotees; and Simkins then

-sees that his popularity was no more an evidence of

-the favour his preaching of the gospel found among

-those thoughtless young people than was the popularity

-of the good-looking light comedian, after

-whom the girls ran as madly as they did after his

-own white neckerchief and nicely-brushed black

-frock coat.

-

-.. ——File: 323.png

-

-Exaggeration is one of the great faults of girlhood.

-Whatever meets their eyes is either "splendid"

-or "horrid." They delight to exaggerate their

-likes and dislikes. Self-restraint seems to be a term

-not contained in their lexicon. They take a momentary

-fancy to a young man, and flatter him with their

-smiles until some new face takes his place in their

-fleeting memory. In this way many young hearts are

-frittered away in successive flirtations before their

-possessors have reached womanhood. But it would

-be wrong to confine action from mere blind impulse

-and exaggeration to young girls alone. I think it is

-St. Paul who gives us some good counsel about

-"speaking the truth in love." I fear that very few

-victims of the tender passion, from Pyramus and

-Thisbe down to Petrarch and Laura, and from the

-latter couple down to Mr. Smith with Miss Brown

-hanging on his arm,—who have not sadly needed the

-advice of the Apostle of the Gentiles. I have seen

-very few people in my day who really speak the

-truth in love. Therefore I will not blame girls for

-a fault which is common to all mankind.

-

-Impulse is commonly supposed to be inconsistent

-with cunning; but in most girls I think the two things

-are singularly combined. I am told that there is an

-academy in this city, frequented by many young women,

-known as the School of Design. The fact is a

-gratifying one to me; for my observation of girlish

-nature had led me to suppose that there were very

-few indeed of the young ladies of these days who

-required any tuition in the arts of design. I hail the

-fact as a good omen for the sex. Action from impulse

-carries its young victims to the extremes of

-good and evil. Queen Dido is a fair type of the

-majority of her sex. Defeated in their hopes, they

-are willing to make a funeral pile of all that remains

-to them. But there is a spirit of generosity in them

-which does not find a place in the hearts of men. It

-was the part of Eve to bring death into this world,

-and all our woe, by her inquisitiveness and credulity;

-but it was reserved for Adam to inaugurate the

-meanness of mankind by laying all the blame to his

-silly little wife. The accusation ought to have blistered

-Adam's cowardly tongue.

-

-But I am making a long preachment, and yet I

-have said very little. I must leave my young friends,

-however, to draw their own lessons from the portrait

-I have given of one whose perfections would

-far outweigh the silliness and vanity of a generation

-of girls. Let them take the gentle Josey as the

-model of their youth, and they will not wish to sculpture

-their later career after any less perfect shape.

-There will then be fewer heartless flirts, fewer vain

-exhibitors of the works of the milliner and dressmaker

-parading the streets, and more true women

-presiding over the homes of America. The imitation

-of her virtues will be found a better preservative

-of beauty than any *eau lustrale*; for it will create a

-beauty which "time's effacing fingers" are powerless

-to destroy, and give to those who practise it a serene

-and lovely old age, whose recollection of the past,

-instead of awakening any self-reproach, shall be a

-source of perpetual benediction.

-

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-SHAKESPEARE AND HIS COMMENTATORS

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-

-

-It was a favourite wish of the beneficent Caligula

-that all mankind had but one neck, that he might

-finish them off at a single chop. It would ill comport

-with my known modesty, were I to lay claim to any

-thing like the all-embracing humanity of the old

-Roman philanthropist; but I must acknowledge that

-I have frequently felt inclined to apply his pious aspiration

-to the commentators on Shakespeare. Impatience

-is not my prevailing weakness; but these

-pestilent annotators have often been instrumental in

-convincing me that I am no stoic. I have frequently

-regretted the days of my youth, when no envious

-commentary obscured the brilliancy of that genius

-which has consecrated the language through which it

-finds utterance, and made it venerable to the scholars

-of all lands and ages. My love of Shakespeare, like

-the gout which has been stinging my right foot all

-the morning, is hereditary. My revered grandmother

-was very fond of solid English literature.

-She had not had, it is true, the advantages which the

-young people of the present day rejoice in; she had

-not studied in any of those seminaries which polish

-off an education in a most Arabian-Nightsy style of

-expedition, and send a young lady home in the middle

-of her teens, accomplished in innumerous ologies,

-and knowing little or nothing that is really useful, or

-that will attract her to intellectual pursuits or pleasure

-in after life. She had acquired what is infinitely

-better than the superficial omniscience which is so

-much cultivated in these days. The more active

-duties of life pleased her not; and Shakespeare was

-the never-failing resource of her leisure hours. Mr.

-Addison's Spectator was for her a "treasure of contentment,

-a mine of delight, and, with regard to

-style, the best book in the world." I shall never forget

-that happy day (anterior even to the jacket era

-of my life) when she took me upon her knee, and

-read to me the speeches of Marullus, and Mark

-Antony, and Brutus. In that hour I became as sincere

-a devotee as ever bent down before the shrine

-of Shakespeare's genius. Nor has that innocent

-fanaticism abated any of its ardour under the weight

-laid upon me by increasing years. The theatre has

-lost many of its old charms for me. The friendships

-of youth—the only enduring intimacies, for our

-palms grow callous in the promiscuous intercourse of

-the world, and cannot easily receive new impressions—have

-either been terminated by that inexorable

-power whose chilling touch is merciless alike to love

-and enmity, or have been interfered with by the varying

-pursuits of life. But Shakespeare still maintains

-his wonted sway, and my loyalty to him has not been

-disturbed by any of the revolutionary movements

-which have made such changes in most other things.

-Martin Farquhar Tupper has written, but I am so

-old-fashioned in my prejudices that I find myself

-constantly turning to my Shakespeare, in preference

-even to that gifted and proverbially philosophic

-bard.

-

-.. ——File: 327.png

-

-But I am wandering. From the day I have mentioned,

-Robinson Crusoe was obliged to abdicate,

-and England's "monarch bard" (as Mr. Sprague

-calls Anne Hathaway's husband) reigned in his

-stead. I first devoured the Julius Cæsar. I say

-"devoured," for no other word will express the

-eager earnestness with which I read. The last time

-I read that play through, it was "within a bowshot

-where the Cæsars dwelt," and but a few minutes'

-walk from the palace which now holds great Pompey's

-statua, at whose foot the mighty Julius fell.

-Increase of appetite grew rapidly by what it fed on,

-and I was not long in learning as much about the

-black-clad prince, the homeless king, the exacting

-usurer, the fat knight and his jolly companions, the

-remorseful Thane, and generous, jealous Moor, as

-I knew about Brutus and the other red republican assassins

-of imperial Rome. My love of Shakespeare

-was greatly edified by a friendship which I formed

-in my earliest foreign journeyings. It was before

-the days of railways,—which, convenient as they are,

-have robbed travelling of half its zest, by rendering

-it so common. I had been making a little tour

-through the north of France. I had admired the

-white caps and pious simplicity of the peasants of

-Normandy, and had drunk in that exaltation of soul

-which the lofty nave of the majestic Cathedral of

-Amiens always imparts, and was about returning to

-Paris, when a rheumatic attack arrested my progress

-and prolonged my stay in the pleasant city of Douai.

-I there met accidentally with an English monk of

-that grand old Benedictine order, whose history for

-more than twelve centuries has been the history of

-civilization, and literature, and religion. He was

-descended from one of those old families which refused

-to modify their creed at the demand of a

-divorce-seeking king. He was a man of clear intellect

-and fascinating simplicity of character. He

-seemed to carry sunshine with him wherever he went.

-He occupied a professional chair in the English College

-attached to the Benedictine Monastery at Douai,

-and when his class hours were ended, he daily came

-to visit me. His sensible and sprightly conversation

-did more towards untying the rheumatic knots in

-my poor shoulder, than all the pills and lotions for

-which *M. le Médecin* charged me so roundly. When

-I visited him in his cell, I found that a well-worn

-copy of Shakespeare was the only companion of his

-Breviary, his Aquinas and St. Bernard on his study

-table. He loved Shakespeare for himself alone. He

-never used him as a lay figure on which he might

-display the drapery of a pedant. He hated commentators

-as heartily as a man so sincerely religious

-can hate any thing except sin, and was as earnest in

-his predilection for Shakespeare, "without note or

-comment," as his dissenting fellow-countrymen

-would have wished him to be for a similar edition of

-the only other inspired book in the world. He had

-his theories, however, concerning Shakespeare's

-characters, and we often talked them over together;

-but I must do him the justice to say that he never

-published any of them. I always regarded this fact

-as a splendid evidence of the entireness of his self-abnegation,

-and of his extraordinary advancement in

-the path of religious perfection. Many have taken

-the three monastic vows by which he was bound, and

-have lived up to them with conscientious fidelity; but

-few scholars have studied Shakespeare as he did, and

-yet resisted the temptation to tell the world all about

-it in a book.

-

-Mousing the other day in the library of a venerable

-citizen of Boston, who is no less skilled in the

-gospel (let us hope) than in the law, I stumbled over

-a seedy-looking folio containing *A Treatise of Original

-Sinne*, by one Anthony Burgesse, who flourished

-in England something more than two centuries ago.

-One of the discoloured fly-leaves of this entertaining

-tome informed me, in a hand-writing which resembled

-a dilapidated rail-fence looked at from the window

-of an express train, that *Jacobus Keith me

-possedit, An. Dom. 1655*; and also bore this inscription,

-so pertinent to my present theme: "Expositors

-are wise when they are not otherwise." I feel that it

-is safe to leave my readers to make the application of

-this apothegm to the Shakespearean annotators of

-their acquaintance, so few of whom are wise, so

-many otherwise. I think it was the late Mr. Hazlitt

-who said (and if it was not, it ought to have been)

-that if you desire to know to what sublimity human

-genius is capable of ascending, you must read Shakespeare;

-but that if you seek to ascertain to what a

-depth of imbecility the intellect of man may be

-brought down, you must read his commentators.

-

-Notwithstanding the low estimate which I am inclined

-to place upon the labour of the majority of the

-commentators on Shakespeare, still I have often felt

-a strong temptation to enroll myself among them.

-Not all their stupidity in explaining things which are

-clear to the meanest capacity, not all their pedantry

-in elucidating matters which are simply inexplicable,

-not all their inordinate voluminousness, could quench

-my ambition to fasten my roll of waste paper to the

-bob (already so unwieldy) of the Shakespearean

-kite. Others have soared into fame by such means;

-why should not I? We ought not to study Shakespeare

-so many years for nothing, and I feel that a

-sacred duty would be neglected if the result of my

-researches were withheld from my suffering fellow-students.

-But let me be more merciful than other

-commentators; let me confine my remarks to a single

-play. From that one you may learn the tenor of my

-theories concerning the others; and if you wish for

-another specimen, I shall consider that I have

-achieved an unheard-of triumph in this department

-of literature.

-

-The tragedy of *Hamlet* has always been regarded

-as one of the most creditable of Shakespeare's performances.

-It needs no new commendation from

-me. Dramatic composition has made great progress

-within the two hundred and sixty years that have

-elapsed since Hamlet was written, yet few better

-things are produced nowadays. We may as well

-acknowledge the humiliating fact that Hamlet, with

-all its age, is every whit as good as if it had been

-written since Lady Day, and were announced on the

-playbills of to-morrow night, with one of Mr. Boucicault's

-most eloquent and elaborate prefaces. The

-character of Hamlet has been much discussed, but,

-with all due respect for the genius of those who have

-fatigued their reader with their treatment of the

-subject, I would humbly suggest that they are all

-wrong. Hamlet resembles a picture which has been

-scoured, and retouched, and varnished, and restored,

-until you can hardly see any thing of the original.

-Critics and commentators have bedaubed the original

-character so thoroughly, and those credulous

-people who rejoice that Chatham's language is their

-mother tongue, have heard so much of their estimate

-of Hamlet's character, that they receive them on

-faith, flattering themselves all the while that they

-are paying homage to the Hamlet of Shakespeare.

-High-flown philosophy exerts its powers upon the

-theme, and Goethe gives it as his opinion that the

-dramatist wished to portray the effects of a great

-action, imposed as a duty upon a mind too feeble for

-its accomplishment, and compares it to an oak

-planted in a china vase, proper to receive only the

-most delicate flowers, and which flies to pieces as

-soon as the roots begin to strike out.

-

-Now let us drop all this metaphysical and poetical

-cant, and go back to the play itself. Shakespeare

-will prove his own best expositor, if we read him

-with docile minds, having previously instructed ourselves

-concerning the history of the time of which he

-wrote. There is a tradition common in the north of

-Ireland that Hamlet's father was a native of that

-country, named Howndale, and that he followed the

-trade of a tailor; that he was captured by the Danes,

-in one of their expeditions against that fair island,

-and carried to Jutland; that he married and set up in

-business again in that cold region, but that he afterwards

-forsook the sartorial for the regal line, by

-usurping the throne of Denmark. The tradition

-represents him to have been a man of violent character,

-a hard drinker, and altogether a most unprincipled

-and unamiable person, though an excellent

-tailor. Now, if we take the old chronicle of Saxo

-Grammaticus, (*Historia Danorum*,) from which

-Shakespeare drew the plot for his tragedy, we shall

-find there little that does not harmonize with this

-tradition. Saxo Grammaticus tells us that Hamlet

-was the son of Horwendal, who was a famous pirate

-of Jutland, whom the king, Huric, feared so much,

-that, to propitiate him, he was obliged to appoint

-him governor of Jutland, and afterwards to give

-him his daughter Gertrude in marriage. Thus he

-obtained the throne. The old Irish name, Howndale,

-might easily have been corrupted into Horwendal

-by the jaw-breaking Northmen, and for the rest,

-the Danish chronicle and the Irish tradition are perfectly

-consistent. That there was frequent communication

-at that early period between Denmark and

-Ireland, I surely need not take the trouble to prove.

-All the early chronicles of both of those countries

-bear witness to it. It was to the land evangelized by

-St. Patrick that Denmark was indebted for the blessings

-of education and the Christian faith. But the

-visits of the Danes were not dictated by any holy

-zeal for the salvation or mental advancement of

-their benefactors, if we may believe all the stories of

-their piratical expeditions. An Irish monk of the

-great monastery of Banchor, who wrote very good

-Latin for the age in which he lived, alludes to this

-period in his country's history in a poem, one line of

-which is sometimes quoted, even now:—

-

-   |     *Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.*

-   | "Time was, O Danes, we feared your gifts."

-

-The great Danish poet, Œhlenschlæger, makes frequent

-allusions in the course of his epic, *The Gods of

-the North*, to the relations that once existed between

-Denmark and Ireland, and to the fact that his native

-land received from Ireland the custom of imbibing

-spirituous liquors in large quantities.

-

-Hamlet's Irish parentage would naturally be concealed

-as much as possible by him, as it might

-prejudice his claims to the throne of Denmark;

-therefore we can hardly expect to find the ancient

-legend confirmed in the play, except in a casual manner.

-The free, outspoken, Irish nature would make

-itself known occasionally. Thus we find that when

-Horatio tells him that "there's no offence," he rebukes

-him with

-

-   | "Yes, *by St. Patrick*, but there is, Horatio!"

-

-There certainly needs no ghost come from the grave

-to tell us that no true-born Scandinavian would have

-sworn in an unguarded moment by the Apostle of

-Ireland. Again, when Hamlet thinks of killing his

-uncle, the wrongful king, he apostrophizes himself

-by the name which he probably bore when he assisted

-his father (whose death he wishes to avenge)

-in his shop in Jutland:—

-

-   | "Now, might I do it, Pat, now he is praying."

-

-Then, too, he speaks to Horatio of the "funeral

-baked meats" coldly furnishing forth the marriage

-table at his mother's second espousal. The custom

-of baking meats is as well known to be of Irish origin,

-as that of roasting them is to be peculiar to the

-northern nations of continental Europe.

-

-.. ——File: 334.png

-

-The frequent allusions in the course of the play to

-drinking customs not only prove that Hamlet descended

-from that nation whose hospitality is its

-greatest fault, but that he and his family were far

-from being the refined and philosophic people some

-of the commentators would have us believe. Thus

-he promises his old companion,—

-

-   | "We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart,"—

-

-which the most prejudiced person will freely allow

-to be truly a *Corkonian* phrase. This frailty of the

-family may be seen throughout the play. In the last

-scene, it is especially apparent. All the royal family

-of Denmark seem to have joined an intemperance

-society. The queen even, in spite of her husband's

-remonstrances, joins in the carousal. Hamlet, too,

-while he is dying, starts up on hearing Horatio say,

-"Here's yet some liquor left," and insists upon the

-cup being given to him. I know that it may be urged,

-on the other hand, that in the scene preceding the

-first appearance of the ghost before Hamlet, he indulges

-in some remarks which would prove him to

-have entertained sentiments becoming his compatriot,

-the noble Father Mathew. Speaking of the

-custom of draining down such frequent draughts of

-Rhenish, he pronounces it to his mind

-

-   |                       "a custom

-   | More honoured in the breach than the observance."

-

-It must be remembered that the occasion on which

-this speech was uttered was a solemn one. Under

-such supernatural circumstances old Silenus or the

-King of Prussia himself might be pardoned for growing

-somewhat homiletic on the subject of temperance.

-The conclusion of this speech has given the

-commentators a fine chance to exercise their ingenuity.

-

-   |                       "The dram of bale

-   | Doth all the noble substance often doubt

-   | To his own scandal."

-

-They have called it the "dram of base," the "dram

-of eale," &c., and then have been as much in the dark

-as before. Some have thought that Shakespeare intended

-to have written it "the dram of Bale," as a

-sly hit at Dr. John Bale, the first Protestant Bishop

-of Ossory in Ireland, who was an unscrupulous

-dram-drinker as well as dramatist, for he wrote a

-play called "Kynge Johan," which was reprinted

-under the editorial care of my friend, Mr. J. O.

-Halliwell, by the Camden Society, in 1838. But this

-attempt to make it reflect upon the Ossory prelate is

-entirely uncalled for. A little research would have

-showed that *bale* was a liquor somewhat resembling

-our whiskey of the true R. G. brand, the consumption

-of which in the dram-shops of his country the

-Prince Hamlet so earnestly deplored. The great

-Danish philosopher, V. Scheerer Homboegger, in

-his autobiography, speaks of it, and says that like all

-the Danes he prefers it to either wine or ale, or

-water even: *Der er vand, her er vun og oel,—men

-allested BAELE drikker saaledes de Dansker.* (Autobiog.

-II. xiii. Ed. Copenhag.)

-

-As to the proofs that Hamlet's family was closely

-connected with the tailoring interest, they are so

-thickly scattered through the entire tragedy, and are

-so apparent even to the casual reader, that, even if

-I had room, it would only be necessary to mention a

-few of the principal ones. In the very first scene in

-which he is introduced, Hamlet talks in an experienced

-manner about his "inky cloak," "suits of solemn

-black," "forms" and "modes," and tries to

-defend himself from the suspicion which he feels is

-attached to him by many of the courtiers, by saying

-plainly, "I know not *seams*." This first speech of

-Hamlet's is a key to the wanton insincerity of his

-character. His mother has begged him to change

-his clothes,—to "cast his nighted colour off,"—and

-he answers her requests with, "I shall *in all my best*

-obey you, madam;" yet it is notorious that he heeds

-not this promise, but wears black to the end of his

-career.

-

-He repeatedly uses the expressions which a tailor

-would naturally employ. His figures of speech frequently

-smell of the shop. As, for instance, he says

-to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, "The appurtenance

-of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me

-comply with you in this garb;" in the scene preceding

-the play he declares that, though the devil himself

-wear black, he'll "have a suit of sables." In the

-interview with his mother, who may be supposed not

-to have forgotten the early history of the family, he

-uses such figures with still greater freedom:—

-

-   | "That monster *custom* who all sense doth eat

-   | Of *habit's* devil, is angel yet in this;

-   | That to the use of actions fair and good

-   | He likewise gives a *frock* or *livery*,

-   | That aptly is put on."

-

-In his instruction to the players he speaks of tearing

-"a passion to *tatters*, to very *rags*" and says of certain

-actors that when he saw them it seemed to him

-as if "some of nature's *journeymen* had made men

-and not made them well." In the fourth act, he calls

-Rosencrantz a *sponge*.

-

-What better evidence of the skill of Hamlet and

-his father in their common trade can we have than

-that afforded by the fair Ophelia, who speaks of the

-Prince as "the glass of fashion and the mould of

-form"? In the chamber scene with his mother,

-Hamlet is taken entirely off his guard by the sudden

-appearance of his father's ghost, whom he apostrophizes,

-not in the set phrases which he used when

-Horatio and Marcellus were by, but as "*a king of

-shreds and patches*". Old Polonius does not wish

-his daughter to marry a tailor, but is too polite to tell

-her all of his objections to Lord Hamlet's suit; so he

-cloaks his reasons under these figures of speech, instead

-of telling her, out of whole cloth, that Hamlet

-is a tailor, and the match will never do:—

-

-   | "Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers,

-   | Not of that dye which there in vestments show,

-   | But implorators of unholy suits," &c.

-

-Some late editions of the Bard make the second line

-of this passage read,—

-

-   | "Not of that die which their investments show,"——

-

-which is as evident a corruption of the text as any of

-those detected by the indefatigable Mr. Payne Collier.

-

-If any further proof is needed of a matter which

-must be clear to every reasoning mind, it may be

-found in that solemn scene in which the Prince, oppressed

-by the burden of a life embittered and defeated

-in its highest aims, meditates suicide. Now,

-if there is a time when all affectation of worldly rank

-would be likely to be forgotten and swallowed up in

-the contemplation of the terrible deed which occupies

-the mind, it is such a time as this. And here we

-find Shakespeare as true as Nature herself. The

-soldier, weary of life, uses the sword his enemies

-once feared, to end his troubles. Hamlet's mind

-overleaps the interval of his princely life, and the

-weapon which is most naturally suggested by his

-youthful career is "*a bare bodkin*."

-

-Had I not already written more than I intended

-on this subject, I might go on with many other evidences

-of the truth of my view of this remarkable

-character. I did wish also to show that Hamlet was

-a most disreputable character, and by no means entitled

-to the sympathy or admiration of men. Suffice

-it to say that he was, even to his last hour, fonder of

-drink than became a prince (except perhaps a Prince

-Regent)—that he treated Ophelia improperly—that

-he often spoke of his step-father in profane terms—that

-he indulged in the use of profane language even

-in his soliloquies, as for example,—

-

-   |         "The spirit I have seen

-   | May be a devil; and the devil hath power

-   | To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps

-   | Out of my weakness, and my melancholy,

-   | (As he is very potent with such spirits)

-   | Abuses me too,—damme!"

-

-His familiarity with the players likewise is an incontrovertible

-proof of his depravity; for the theatrical

-people of Denmark in his age were not what the

-players of our day are. They were too often people

-of loose and reckless lives, careless of moral and

-social obligations, and whose company would by no

-means be acceptable to a truly philosophic prince.

-

-If this pre-Raphaelite sketch of Hamlet's character

-should seem unsatisfactory, it can be filled out

-by a perusal of the play itself, if the reader will only

-cast aside the trammels which the commentators

-have placed in his way. It may be a new view to most

-of my readers; but I am convinced that the theory,

-of which I have given an outline, is fully as tenable

-as many of the countless conjectural essays to which

-that matchless drama has given rise. If it be untrue,

-why, then we must conclude that all similar theories,

-though they may be sustained by as many passages as

-I have adduced in support of my Hibernico-sartorial

-hypothesis, are equally devoid of a foundation of

-common sense. If my theory stands, I have the satisfaction

-of having connected my name (which would

-else be soon forgotten) with one of Shakespeare's

-masterpieces; and that is all that any commentator

-has ever done. And if my theory proves false, it

-consoles me to think that the splendour of the genius

-which I so highly reverence is in no wise obscured

-thereby; for the stability and grandeur of the temple

-cannot be impaired by the obliteration of the ambitious

-scribblings and chalk-marks with which some

-aspiring worshippers may have defaced its portico.

-

-.. ——File: 340.png

-

-

-

-

-MEMORIALS OF MRS. GRUNDY

-------------------------

-

-

-Of all the studies to which I was ever impelled in

-my youth, either by fear of the birch or by the

-hope of the laurel or the bays, mythology was perhaps

-the most charming. It was refreshing, after

-trying in vain to conjugate a verb, and being at last

-obliged to decline it—after adding up a column of

-figures several times, and getting many different results,

-and none of them the right one—and after

-making a vain attempt to comprehend the only algebraic

-knowledge that ever was forced into my

-unmathematical brain, viz., that *x* equals an unknown

-quantity,—it was, I say, refreshing to turn over the

-leaves of my Classical Dictionary, and revel among

-the gods and heroes whose wondrous careers were

-embalmed in its well-thumbed pages. Lemprière

-was the great magician who summoned up before

-my delighted eyes the denizens of a sphere where

-existence was unvexed by any pestilent arithmetics,

-and where the slavery of the inky desk was unknown.

-It always seemed to me as if the knowledge that I

-gained out of those enchanted chronicles not only

-improved my mind, but made my body more robust;

-for I joined in the chase, fought desperate battles, as

-the gods willed it, and breathed all the while the

-pure, invigorating air of old Olympus. The consecrated

-groves were the dwelling-place of my mind,

-and I became for a time a sharer in the joys of beings

-in whom I believed with all the ardour and simplicity

-of childhood. I enjoyed my mythological

-readings all the more because they did not generally

-find favour with my school companions, most of

-whom vindicated their nationality by professing

-their affection for the Rule of Three. One of them,

-I remember, was especially severe on the uselessness

-of the studies in which I took pleasure. He, *parcus

-deorum cultor, et infrequens*, could get no satisfaction

-out of the books in which I revelled; if *he* had got to

-study or read, he could not afford to waste his brains

-over the foolish superstitions of three thousand years

-ago. He did not care how much romance and poetic

-beauty there might be in the ancient mythology:

-what did it all come to in the end? It didn't pay.

-It was a humbug. Our paths in life separated when

-we graduated from jackets and peg-tops. He remained

-faithful to his boyish instincts, and pursued

-the practical as if it were a reality. After a few

-years his face lost all its youthful look; an intense

-spirit of acquisitiveness gleamed in his calculating

-eye, and an interest table seemed to be written in the

-lines of his care-worn countenance. We seldom had

-any conversation in our after years, for he always

-seemed to be under some restraint, as if he feared

-that I wished to borrow a little money of him, and

-he did not wish to refuse for the sake of the old time

-when we sat at the same desk, although he knew that

-my note was good for nothing. His devotion to his

-deity, the practical, did not go unrewarded. He became

-like the only mythological personage whom he

-would have envied, had he known any thing of the

-science he despised. His touch seemed to transmute

-every thing into gold. His speculations during the

-war of 1812 were all successful. Eastern lands

-harmed him not. The financial panic of 1837 only

-put money in his purse. He rolled up a large fortune,

-and was happy. He looked anxious, but of

-course he was happy. What man ever devoted his

-life to the working out of the dreams of his youth

-in the acquisition of riches, and succeeded beyond his

-anticipations, without being very happy? But, if his

-gains were something practical and real, his losses

-were doubly so. Each one of them was as a dagger

-stuck into that sere heart. His only son gave him

-much trouble by his wild life, and, what touched him

-still more, wasted the money he had laboured to pile

-up, at the gaming tables of Baden. I saw him walking

-down Tremont Street the other day, looking care-worn

-and miserable, and I longed to ask him what

-he thought of the real and practical after trying

-them. He would certainly have been willing to

-acknowledge that there is more reality in the romance

-and poetry of mythology than in the thousands which

-he invested in the Bay State Mills. His practical life

-has brought him vanity and vexation of spirit, while

-the old Lemprière, which he used to treat so contemptuously,

-flourishes in immortal youth, unhurt

-amid the wreck of fortunes and the depreciation of

-stocks.

-

-But I am not writing an essay on mythology. I

-wish to treat of one who is sometimes considered a

-myth, but who is a living and breathing personality

-like all of us. This wide-spread scepticism is one of

-the most fatal signs of the times. Because the late

-Mrs. Sairey Gamp supposed herself justified in cultivating

-a little domestic mythology in the shade of the

-famous Mrs. Harris, are we to take all the personages

-who have illustrated history as myths and

-unrealities? Shade of Herodotus, forbid it! There

-are some unbelieving and irreverent enough to doubt

-whether there is really such a person as Mrs. Partington;

-other some there are so hardened in their

-incredulity as to question the existence of the individual

-who smote Mr. William Patterson, and even

-of the immortal recipient of the blow himself.

-Therefore we ought not to think it strange that the

-lady whose name adorns the title of this article

-should not have escaped the profane spirit of the

-age.

-

-Unfortunately for us, Mrs. Grundy is no myth,

-but a terrible reality. She is a widow. The late Mr.

-Grundy bore it with heroic patience as long as he

-could, and then, by a divine dispensation in which he

-gladly acquiesced, was relieved of the burden of life.

-If he be not happy now, the great doctrine of compensation

-is nought but a delusion and a sham. If

-endless happiness could only be attained through

-such a purgatory as poor Grundy's life, few of us,

-I fear, would yearn to be counted among the elect.

-Martyrs, and confessors, and saints of every degree

-have won their crowns of beatitude with comparative

-ease; if they had been subjected to a twenty years'

-novitiate with Mrs. Grundy and her tireless tongue,

-they would have found how much more terrible that

-was than the laborious life or cruel death by which

-they passed from earth, and fewer bulls of canonization

-would have received the Seal of the Fisherman.

-I have heard from those who were acquainted with

-that estimable and uncomplaining man that he married

-for love. His wife was a person of considerable

-attractions, of an inquiring turn of mind, and of

-uncommon energy of character. In her care of his

-household there was nothing of which he might with

-reason complain. She kept a sharp look-out over all

-those matters in which the prudent housewife delights

-to show her skill; her table was worthy to receive

-regal legs beneath its shining mahogany and

-spotless cloth, and I have even heard that her husband

-never had occasion to curse mentally over the

-lack of a shirt-button. Yet was Giles Grundy,

-Esquire, one of the most miserable of men. Of what

-avail was it to him that his wife could preserve

-quinces, if she could not preserve her own peace of

-mind? What did it matter how well she cured hams,

-if she always failed so miserably in curing her

-tongue? What profit was it that her accounts with

-her butcher and grocer were always correctly kept, if

-her accounts of all her neighbours constantly overran

-and kept her and her spouse in a perpetual state

-of moral bankruptcy? What difference did it make

-how well she took care of her own family, if they

-were to be kept in an unending turmoil by her solicitude

-concerning that of every body else?

-

-If you had visited Mrs. Grundy, and remarked

-the brightness of the door-knocker, the stair-rods, the

-andirons, and every other part of her premises that

-was susceptible of polish, and the scrupulous cleanliness

-that held absolute sway around her, you would

-have sworn that she was gifted with the hundred

-arms of Briareus: if you had listened for fifteen

-minutes to her observations of men and things, you

-would have had a conviction amounting to absolute

-certainty that she possessed the eyes of Argus. Nobody

-ever doubted that she was a most religious

-person. She attended to all her religious duties with

-most edifying exactness. She was always in her seat

-at church, and could tell you, to a bonnet ribbon, the

-dress of every person who honoured the sacred edifice

-with his or her presence. If you would know

-who of the congregation were so lacking in fervour

-of spirit as to neglect to bow in the creed, or to commit

-the impropriety of nodding during the sermon,

-Mrs. Grundy could give you all the information you

-could wish. She carried out the divine precept to the

-letter: she watched as well as prayed. But her religion

-did not waste itself in mere devotional ecstasy;

-it took the most attractive form of religion—that of

-active benevolence. And her pious philanthropy was

-not of that exclusively telescopic character that looks

-out for the interests of the Cannibal Islands and the

-king thereof, and cannot understand that there is

-any spiritual destitution nearer home. She subscribed,

-it is true, to support the missionaries with

-their wives and numerous children, who were devoted

-to the godly work of converting the Chinese

-and the Juggernauts; but she did something also in

-the way of food and flannel for the victims of want

-in her own neighbourhood. She established a sewing

-circle in the parish where she lived, and never appeared

-happier than when busily engaged with her

-female companions in their weekly task and talk. I

-am afraid that there was other sowing done in that

-circle besides plain sewing. The seeds of domestic

-unhappiness and strife were carried from thence into

-all parts of the parish. Reputations as well as garments

-took their turn among those benevolent ladies,

-and were cut out, and fitted, and basted, and sewed

-up, and overcast. The sewing circle was Mrs.

-Grundy's confessional. Do not misapprehend me—I

-would not asperse her character by accusing her of

-what are known at the present day as "Romanizing

-tendencies"; for she lived long before the "scarlet

-fever" invaded the University of Oxford and carried

-off its victims by hundreds; and nobody ever suspected

-her of any desire to tell her own offences in

-the ear of any human being. No, she detested the

-Roman confessional in a becoming manner; but she

-upheld, by word and example, that most scriptural

-institution, the sewing circle—the Protestant confessional,

-where each one confesses, not her own sins,

-but the sins of her neighbours. Mrs. Grundy's success

-with her favourite institution encouraged others

-to emulate her example; and now sewing circles are

-common wherever the mother tongue of that benevolent

-lady is spoken. It must in justice be acknowledged

-that there are few institutions of human

-invention which have departed from the spirit of

-their original founder so little as the sewing circle.

-

-Yet, in spite of all her virtues as a housekeeper, a

-philanthropist, and a Christian, Mrs. Grundy had

-her enemies. Some people were uncharitable enough

-to say that she was the cause of more trouble than

-all the rest of the female population of the town.

-They accused her of setting herself up as a censor,

-and giving judgments founded upon hearsay testimony

-rather than sound legal evidence. They even

-said that she made her visits among the poor a cloak

-for the gratification of her inquisitiveness; and, if it

-is ever pardonable to judge of the motives of a fellow-being,

-I think that, in consideration of their exasperation,

-they must be excused for making so

-unkind a charge, it seemed to be so well founded.

-Far be it from me to say that Mrs. Grundy ever wilfully

-misrepresented. She would have shrunk instinctively

-from a falsehood. But she delighted to

-draw inferences; and no fact or rumour ever came to

-her without being classified properly in her mental

-history of her neighbours, and being made to shed its

-full influence upon her next conversation. It is

-astonishing how much one pair of eyes and ears will

-do in the collection of information when a person is

-devoted to it in earnest. In her younger days, Mrs.

-Grundy had taken pleasure in watching her neighbours

-and keeping up a running commentary on their

-movements; as she advanced in life, it became her

-business. Her efforts in that way were rather in the

-style of an amateur up to the time of her marriage;

-afterwards she adopted a professional air. She

-placed herself at her favourite window, ornamenting

-its seat with her spools, and though she stitched

-away with commendable industry, nothing escaped

-her that came within range of her keen powers of

-observation.

-

-If Mr. Brown called on Mrs. White over the

-way, Mrs. Grundy set it down as a remarkable occurrence:

-if he repeated his visit a week later, she would

-not declare it positively scandalous, but it was evident

-that her nicer sense of propriety was deeply

-wounded: if he passed by the door without calling, it

-was clear that there had been a falling out—that

-Mrs. White had seen the error of her ways, or that

-her husband had, and had given Brown a warning.

-If a stranger was seen exercising Jones's bell-pull on

-two consecutive days, this indefatigable woman allowed

-not her eyes to sleep nor her eyelids to slumber

-until she had satisfied herself concerning his name

-and purpose. If Mr. Thompson waited upon pretty

-Miss Jenkins home in a shower, and treated her

-kindly and politely, (and who could do otherwise

-with a young angel in blue and drab, who might

-charm a Kaffir or a Sepoy into urbanity?) Mrs.

-Grundy straightway instituted inquiries among all

-the neighbours as to whether it was true that they

-were engaged. After this fashion did Mrs. Grundy

-live. Her words have been known to blast a reputation

-which under the sunshine of prosperity and the

-storms of misfortune had sustained itself with equal

-grace and honour. It was useless to bring up proofs

-of a life of integrity against her sentence or her

-knowing smile. There was no appeal from her

-decision. Not that she was uncharitable,—only it

-did seem as if she were rather more willing to believe

-evil of her neighbours than good; and she appeared

-slow to trust in the repentance of any one who had

-ever fallen into sin, especially if the person were of

-her own sex. I am not complaining of this peculiarity;

-we must be circumspect and strict, and mercy is

-a quality too rare and divine to be wasted on every

-trivial occasion. But I cannot help thinking that, if

-the penitent found it as hard to gain the absolving

-smile of that Power to which alone we are answerable

-for our misdeeds as to reinstate himself in the

-good graces of Mrs. Grundy, how few of us could

-have any hope of the beatific vision!

-

-Mrs. Grundy had great influence; she was respected

-and feared. People found that she would

-give her opinion *ex cathedra*, and that, however unfounded

-that opinion might be, there were those who

-would reëcho it until common repetition gave it the

-force of truth; so they tried to conciliate her by

-graduating their actions according to what they supposed

-would be her judgment. When this was seen,

-she began to be envied by some who had once hated

-her, and her idiosyncrasies were made the study of

-many of her sex who longed to share her empire

-over the thoughts and actions of their fellow-creatures.

-Thus, by a sort of multiplex metempsychosis,

-were Mrs. Grundy's virtues perpetuated, and she

-was endowed with a species of omnipresence. In

-this country Mrs. Grundy is a power. She is the

-absolute sovereign of America. Her reign there is

-none to dispute. Our national motto ought to be,

-instead of *E pluribus unum*, "What will Mrs. Grundy

-say?" There is no class in our community over

-which she does not exercise more or less power. Our

-politicians, when they cease to regard their influence

-as a commodity to be sold to the highest bidder, act,

-not from any fixed principles, but with a single eye to

-the good will of Mrs. Grundy. If a man is buying a

-house, it is ten chances to one that Mrs. Grundy's

-opinion concerning gentility of situation will carry

-the day against cosiness and real comfort. If your

-wife or daughter goes to buy a dress, Mrs. Grundy's

-taste will be consulted in preference to the durability

-of the fabric or the condition of your purse. Mrs.

-Grundy dictates to us how we shall furnish our

-houses, and prescribes to us our whole rule of life.

-Under her stern sway, multitudes are living beyond

-their means, and trying to avert the bankruptcy and

-unhappiness that inevitably await them. It is not

-merely in the management of temporal affairs that

-Mrs. Grundy makes her power felt. Her vigilance

-checks many a generous impulse, stands between the

-resolution to do justice and its execution, and is a

-fruitful source of hypocrisy. She presides over the

-pulpit; the power of wardens and vestrymen is swallowed

-up by her; and the minister who can dress up

-his weekly dish of moral commonplaces so as not to

-offend her discriminating taste deserves to retain his

-place, and merits the unanimous admiration of the

-whole sewing circle. She is to be found in courts of

-law, animating the opposing parties, and enjoying

-the contest; actions of slander are an agreeable recreation

-to her; petitions for divorce give her unmixed

-joy. Like the fury, Alecto, so finely described

-by Virgil, Mrs. Grundy can arm brothers to deadly

-strife against each other, and stir up the happiest

-homes with infernal hatred; to her belong a thousand

-woful arts—*Sibi nomina mille, mille nocendi

-artes*. Mrs. Grundy's philanthropy confines itself

-to no particular class; it is universal. Nothing that

-relates to human kind is alien to her. There is nothing

-earthly so high that she does not aspire to control

-it, nor any thing too contemptible for her not to wish

-to know all about it.

-

-Mrs. Grundy is omnipresent. Go where you will,

-you cannot escape from her presence. She stands

-guard unceasingly over your front door and back

-windows. Her watchful eye follows you whene'er

-you take your walks abroad. Your name is never

-mentioned that she is not by, and seriously inclined

-to hear aught that may increase her baleful stock of

-knowledge. It is all the same to her whether you

-have lived uprightly or viciously; beneath her Gorgon

-glance all human actions are petrified alike. And

-if she does not succeed in sowing discord around your

-hearthstone, and in driving you to despair and self-murder,

-as she did poor Henry Herbert the other

-day, it will be because you are not cursed with his

-fiery sensitiveness, and not because she lacks the will

-to do it.

-

-There is but one way in which the Grundian yoke

-can be thrown off. We must treat her as the English

-wit treated an insignificant person who had insulted

-him; we must "let her alone severely." We pay a

-certain kind of allegiance to her if we take notice of

-her for the purpose of running counter to her notions.

-We must ignore her altogether. It is true,

-this requires a great deal of moral courage, particularly

-in a country where every body knows every

-body else's business; but it is an easier task to acquire

-that courage than to submit patiently to Mrs.

-Grundy's dictation and interference. Who shall

-estimate the happiness of that millennial period

-when we shall cease to ask ourselves before our

-every action, "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" and

-shall begin in earnest to live up to the golden rule

-that counsels us to mind our own business? When

-that day comes, what a world this will be! How

-will superficial morality and skin-deep propriety,

-envy and uncharitableness, be diminished! How

-will contentment, and mutual good will, and domestic

-peace be augmented! Think on these things, O

-beloved reader; mind your own business, and the day

-is not far distant when, for you at least, the iron

-sceptre of Dame Grundy shall be powerless, and the

-spell broken that held you in so humiliating a thraldom.

-

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-

-THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE

-----------------------

-

-

-Life is what we make it. The same scenes wear

-a very different appearance to an ingenuous

-youth "in the bright morning of his virtues, in the

-full spring blossom of his hopes," and to the disappointed

-wretch who gazes on them "with the eyes of

-sour misanthropy." The horse that was turned by

-his benevolent owner into a carpenter's shop, with a

-pair of green spectacles prefixed to his nose, and

-mistook the dry pine shavings for his legitimate

-fodder, was very much in the condition of a youth

-looking upon life and yielding to the natural enthusiasm

-of his unwarped spirit. Like the noble brute,

-however, the young man is undeceived as soon as he

-tries to sustain himself with the vanities which look

-so tempting and nutritious. He may, like a Wolsey,

-a Charles V., or a Napoleon, attain to the heights of

-power before the delusive glasses drop off; but even

-though the moment be delayed until he lies gasping

-in the clutch of that monarch to whom the most absolute

-of sovereigns and the most radical of republicans

-alike must yield allegiance, it is sure to come,

-and show him the ashes that lay hid beneath the fair,

-ripe-looking rind of the fruit he climbed so high to

-obtain. Life passes before us like a vast panorama,

-day by day and year by year unrolling and disclosing

-new scenes to charm us into self-forgetfulness. At

-one time, we breathe the bracing air of the mountains;

-at another, our eyes are gladdened by the sight

-of sunshiny meadows, or of fertile and far-reaching

-prairies; and then the towered city, with its grove of

-masts and its busy wharves, makes all mere natural

-beauty seem insignificant in comparison with the

-enterprise and ambition of man; until, at last, the

-canvas is rolled away, the music ceases, the lights are

-put out, and we are left to realize that all in which

-we delighted was but an illusion and a "fleeting

-show."

-

-Nevertheless, in spite of the vanities that surround

-us,—in spite of the sublime world-sickness of

-Solomon and the Preacher, and the fierce satire of

-Juvenal, (who was as anxious to ascertain the precise

-weight of Hannibal as if that illustrious *dux* had

-been a prize-fighter,)—there is considerable reality

-in life. The existence of so much sham and make-believe

-implies the existence of the real and true. Sir

-Thomas Browne tells us that "in seventy or eighty

-years a man may have a deep gust of the world";

-and it were indeed melancholy if any one with hair

-as gray as mine should look despairingly over the

-field of human existence and effort, and cry, "All is

-barren."

-

-Life, as I have before said, is whatever we choose

-to make it. Its true philosophy is that divine art

-which enables us to transmute its every moment into

-the pure gold of heroic and changeless immortality.

-Without that philosophy, it is impossible for the

-world not to seem at times as it did to the desponding

-Danish prince, "a sterile promontory," and a "foul

-and pestilent congregation of vapours." Without it,

-life is like an elaborate piece of embroidery, looked

-at from the wrong side; we cannot but acknowledge

-the brilliancy of some of its threads, and the delicate

-texture of the work, but its lack of system, and of

-any appearance of utility, fatigues the mind that

-hungers after perfection, and tempts it to doubt the

-divine wisdom and goodness from which it originated.

-With it, however, we gaze with admiration

-and awe upon the front of the same marvellous work.

-Our sense is no longer puzzled by any straggling

-threads, or loose ends; the exquisite colours, the contrast

-of light and shade, and the perfect symmetry

-and harmony of the design, fill the heart of the beholder

-with wonder and delight, and draw him

-nearer to the source of those ineffable perfections

-which are but imperfectly symbolized in the marvels

-of the visible universe.

-

-The philosophy which can do all this is *sincerity*.

-"I think sincerity is better than grace," says Mr. T.

-Carlyle; and the Scotch savage is right. All the

-amenities of life that spring from any other source

-than a true heart, are but gratuitous hypocrisy. The

-kind-hearted knight whom I have already quoted

-showed how highly he esteemed this virtue when he

-said, "Swim smoothly in the stream of nature, *and

-live but one man*." This double existence, that most

-of us support,—that is, what we really are, and what

-we wish to be considered,—is the source of many of

-our faults, and most of our vexation and wretchedness.

-He is the truly happy man who forgets that

-"appearances must be kept up," and remembers only

-that "each of us is as great as he appears in the sight

-of his Creator, and no greater." A great French

-philosopher has truly said, "How many controversies

-would be terminated, if the disputants were obliged

-to speak out exactly what they thought!" And

-surely he might have gone farther in the same line of

-thought; for how much heartburning, domestic unhappiness,

-dishonesty, and shameful poverty might

-be prevented, if my neighbour Jinkins and his wife

-were content to pass in the world for what they are,

-instead of assuming a princely style of living that

-only makes their want of true refinement more apparent,

-and if Johnson and his wife could be induced

-not to imitate the vulgar follies of the Jinkinses!

-Believe me, incredulous reader, there is more wisdom

-in old Sir Thomas's exhortation to "live but one

-man" than appears at first sight.

-

-But to leave this great primary virtue, which policy

-teaches most men to practise, though they love it

-not,—there are two or three principles of action

-which I have found very useful in my career, and

-which form a part of my philosophy of life. The

-first is, never to anticipate troubles. Many years

-ago, I was travelling in a part of our common country

-not very thickly settled, and, coming to a place

-where two roads met, I applied, in my doubt as to

-which one I ought to take, to an old fellow (with a

-pair of shoulders like those of Hercules, and a face

-on which half a century of sunshine, and storm, and

-toddies had made an indelible record) who was repairing

-a rickety fence by the wayside. He scanned

-me with a look that seemed to take in not only my

-personal appearance, but the genealogy of my brave

-ancestor, who might have fallen in a duel if he had

-not learned how "to distinguish between the man and

-the act," and then directed me to turn to the left, as

-that road saved some three or four miles of the distance

-to the farm-house to which I was journeying.

-As it was spring-time, I manifested some anxiety to

-know whether the freshets, which had been having

-quite a run of business in some parts of the country,

-had done any damage to a bridge which I knew I

-must cross if I took the shorter road. He sneered at

-my forethought, and said he supposed that the bridge

-was all right, and that I had better "go ahead, and

-see." I was acting upon his advice, when a shout from

-his hoarse, nasal voice caused me to look back. "I

-say, young man," he bawled out to me, "never cross

-a bridge till you come to it!" There was wisdom in

-the old man's rough-spoken sentence—"solid chunks

-of wisdom," as Captain Ed'ard Cuttle would fain

-express it—and it sank deep into my memory. There

-are very few of us who have not a strong propensity

-to diminish our present strength by entertaining

-fears of future weakness. If we could content ourselves

-to "act in the living present,"—if we could

-keep these telescopic evils out of sight, and use all

-our energies in grappling with the difficulties that

-actually beset our path,—how much more we should

-achieve, and how greatly would our sum of happiness

-be increased!

-

-Another most salutary principle in my philosophy

-is, never to allow myself to be frightened until I have

-examined and fairly established the necessity of such

-a humiliation. I adopted this principle in my childhood,

-being led to it in the following manner: I was

-visiting my grandfather, who lived in a fine old mansion-house

-in the country, with high wainscotings,

-capacious fireplaces, heavy beams in the ceilings, and

-wide-arching elms overshadowing the snug porch

-where two or three generations had made love.

-Sixty years and more have elapsed since that happy

-time, yet it seems fresher in my memory than the

-events of only quarter of a century back. My grandfather

-was a lover of books, and possessed a good

-deal of general information. He thought it as advisable

-to keep up with the history of his own times

-as to be skilled in that of empires long since passed

-away. It is not to be wondered at that he should

-have treasured every newspaper—especially every

-foreign journal—that he could lay his hands upon.

-It was under his auspices that I first read the dreadful

-story of the Reign of Terror, and acquired my

-anti-revolutionary principles.

-

-I shall never forget the bright autumnal afternoon

-when the mail coach from Boston brought a package

-of books and papers to my grandfather. It was the

-last friendly favour, in fact the last communication,

-that he ever received from his old Tory friend, Mr.

-Barmesyde, whom I mentioned with respect in a

-former essay; for that genial old gentleman died in

-London not long after. The parcel had made a

-quick transit for those days, Mr. Barmesyde's letter

-being dated only forty-six days before it was opened

-by my grandsire, and we enjoyed the strong fragrance

-of its uncut contents together. The old gentleman

-seized upon a copy of Burke's splendid Essay

-on the French Revolution, which the package contained,

-and left me to revel in the newspapers, which

-were full of the dreadful details of that bloody

-Saturnalia. I got leave from my grandfather (who

-was so deep in Burke that he answered me at random)

-to sit up an hour later than usual. Terrible as

-all the things of which I read seemed to my young

-mind, there was a fascination about the details of

-that sanguinary orgie that completely enchanted me.

-My imagination was full of horrible shapes when I

-was obliged to leave the warm, cheerful parlour, and

-Robespierre, Danton, and Marat were the infernal

-chamberlains that attended me as I went up the

-broad, creaking staircase unwillingly to bed. A fresh

-north-west breeze was blowing outside, and the sere

-woodbines and honeysuckles that filled the house

-with fragrance, and gave it such a rural look in summer,

-startled me with their struggles to escape from

-bondage. Had it been spring, my young imagination

-was so excited that I should have feared that they

-might imitate the insurgents of whom I had been

-reading and begin to shoot! In the night my troubled

-slumbers were disturbed by a noise that seemed to

-me louder than the discharge of a heavy cannon. I

-sat up in the high, old-fashioned bed, and glared

-around the room, which was somewhat lighted by the

-beams of the setting moon. There was no mistake

-about my personal identity—I was neither royalist

-nor jacobin; there was no doubt that I was in the best

-"spare chamber" of my grandfather's house, and

-not in the Bastile, and that the dark-looking thing in

-the corner was a solid mahogany chest of drawers,

-and not a guillotine; but all these things only served

-to increase my terror when I noticed a dark form

-standing near the foot of the bed and staring at me

-with pale, fiery eyes. I rubbed my own eyes hard,

-and pinched myself severely, to make sure that I was

-awake. The room was as still as the great chamber

-in the pyramid of Cheops. I could hear the old clock

-tick at the foot of the stairs as plainly as if I had

-been shut up in its capacious case. In the midst of

-my perturbation it made every fibre of my frame

-tremble by striking *one* with a solemn clangour that

-I thought must have waked every sleeper in the

-house. The stillness that followed was deeper and

-more terrifying than before. I heard distinctly the

-breathing of the monster at the foot of the bed. I

-tried to whistle at the immovable shape, but I had

-lost the power to pucker. At last, I formed a desperate

-resolution. I knew that, if the being whose

-big, fierce eyes filled me with terror were a genuine

-supernatural fiend, it was all over with me, and I

-might as well give up at once. But, if perchance a

-human form were hid beneath that dreadful disguise,

-there was some room for hope of ultimate escape.

-To settle this point, therefore, became necessary to

-my peace of mind, and I determined that it should

-be done. Bending up "each corporal agent to the

-terrible feat," I slid quietly out of bed. The monster

-was as motionless as before, but I noticed that his

-head was covered with a white cloth, which made his

-head seem ghastlier than ever. Setting my teeth

-firmly together, and clinching my little fists to persuade

-myself that I was not afraid, I made the last,

-decisive effort. I walked across the room, and stood

-face to face with that formidable shape. My grandfather's

-best coat hung there against the wall, its

-velvet collar protected from the dust by a white

-cloth, and the two gilt buttons on its back glittering

-in the moonlight. This was the tremendous presence

-that had appalled me. The weakness in the knees,

-the chattering of my teeth, and the profuse perspiration

-which followed my recognition of that harmless

-garment, bore witness to the severity of my fright.

-Before I crawled back into the warm bed, I resolved

-never in future to yield to fear, until I had ascertained

-that there was no escape from it; and I have

-had many occasions since to act upon that principle.

-

-Speaking of fear, a friend of mine has a favourite

-maxim, "Always do what you are afraid to do;" to

-which (in a limited sense, so far as it relates to

-bodily fear) I subscribed even in my boyhood. I

-was returning one evening to my grandfather's

-house, during one of my vacation visits, and yielded

-to the base sentiment of timidity so far as to choose

-the long way thither by the open road, rather than to

-take the short cut, through the graveyard and a little

-piece of woodland, which was the ordinary path in

-the daytime. I pursued my way, thinking of what I

-had done, until I got within sight of the old mansion

-and its guardian elms, when shame for my own cowardice

-compelled me to retrace my steps a quarter of

-a mile or more, and take the pathway I had so foolishly

-dreaded. The victory then achieved has lasted

-to this hour. Dead people and their habitations have

-not affrighted me since; indeed, some grave men

-whom I have met have excited my mirth rather than

-my fears.

-

-But overcome our fears and our propensity to

-borrow trouble, as we may,—in spite of all our

-philosophy, life is a severe task. I have heard of a

-worthy Connecticut parson of the old school, who

-enlarged upon the goodness of that Providence

-which dealt out time to a man, divided into minutes,

-and hours, and days, and months, and years, instead

-of giving it to him, as it were, in a lump, or in so

-large a quantity that he could not conveniently use it!

-Laugh as much as you please, gentle reader, at the

-seeming absurdity of the venerable divine, but do not

-neglect the great truth which inspired his thought.

-Do not forget what a great mercy it is that we are

-obliged to live but one day at a time. Do not overlook

-the loving kindness which softens the memory

-of past sorrows, and conceals from us those which

-are to come. I have no respect for that newest

-heresy of our age, which pretends to read the secrets

-of the unseen world, nor any sympathy with those

-morbid minds that yearn to tear away the veil which

-infinite wisdom and mercy hangs between us and the

-future. With all our boasted learning we know little

-enough; but that little is far too much for our happiness.

-How many of our trials and afflictions could

-we have borne, if we had been able to foresee their

-full extent and to anticipate their combined poignancy?

-Truly we might say with Shakespeare,—

-

-   |               "O, if this were seen,

-   | The happiest youth—viewing his progress through,

-   | What perils past, what crosses to ensue—

-   | Would shut the book, and sit him down and die."

-

-He only is the true philosopher who uses life as

-the usurer does his gold, and employs each shining

-hour so as to insure an ever-increasing rate of interest.

-He does not bury his gift, nor waste it in frivolity.

-Like the old Doge of Venice, he grows old

-but does not wear out: *Senescit, non segnescit*. And

-he truly lives twice, as an old classical poet expresses

-it, inasmuch as he renews his enjoyment of the past

-in the recollection of his good actions and of pleasures

-"such as leave no sting behind."

-

-.. ——File: 364.png

-

-

-

-

-BEHIND THE SCENES

------------------

-

-

-There is no pleasure so satisfactory as that

-which an old man feels in recalling the happiness

-of his youthful days. All the woes, and anxieties,

-and heart-burnings that disturbed him then have

-passed away, and left only sunshine in his memory.

-And this retrospective enjoyment increases with

-every repeated recital, until the scenes of his past

-history assume a magnificence of proportion that bewilders

-the narrator himself, and sets the principles

-of optics entirely at defiance. It is with old men

-looking back on their younger days very much as it

-is with people who have travelled in Italy. How do

-the latter glow with enthusiasm at the mere mention

-of the "land of the melting lyre and conquering

-spear"! How do their eyes glisten as they tell of the

-time when they mused among the broken columns of

-the Forum, or breathed the air of ancient consecration

-under the majestic vaults of the old basilicas, or

-walked along the shores of the world's most beautiful

-bay, and watched the black form of Vesuvius

-striving in vain to tarnish with its foul breath the

-blue canopy above it! They have forgotten their

-squabbles with the *vetturini*, the draughtless chimneys

-in their lodgings, and the dirty staircase that

-conducted to them; the fleas, with all the other disagreeable

-accompaniments of Italian life, have fled

-into oblivion; and Italy lives in their memories only

-as a land of gorgeous sunsets, and of a history that

-dwarfs all other human annals. And so it is with an

-old man looking back upon his youth: he forgets

-how he cried over his arithmetic lessons; how unfilial

-his feelings were when his governor refused him permission

-to set up a theatre in the cellar; how sheepishly

-he slunk through all the back alleys on the day

-when he first mounted a tail-coat and a hat; how

-unhappy he was when he saw his heart's idol, Mary

-Smith, walking home from school with his implacable

-foe, Brown; how his head used to ache after those

-*noctes cœnæque deûm* with his club at the old Exchange

-Coffee House; and what a void was created

-in his heart when his crony of cronies was ordered off

-by a commission from the war department. There

-is no room in his crowded memory for such things as

-these. Sitting by his fireside, as I do now, he recalls

-his youth only as a season of bats and balls, and

-marbles, of sleds, and skates, and bright buttons, and

-clean ruffled collars, of Christmas cornucopias of

-hosiery, and no end of Artillery Elections and

-Fourths of July, with coppers enough to secure the

-potentiality of obtaining egg-pop to an alarming extent.

-

-How he fires up if you mention the theatre to him!

-He will allow that Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Warren are

-most excellent in their way; but bless your simple

-heart, what is the stage now compared to what it

-was in the first part of this century? And he is about

-right. It is useless for us, who remember the old

-Federal Street playhouse, and the triumphs of Cooke

-and the great Kean, to try to go to the theatre now.

-Our new theatre is more stately and splendid than

-Old Drury was, but our players do not reach my

-youthful standard. I miss those old familiar faces

-and voices that delighted me in times long past, and

-the stage has lost most of its charms. I can find my

-best theatrical entertainment here at home. I call

-up from among the shadows that the flickering firelight

-casts upon the wall, the tall, knightly figure of

-Duff, the brisk, busy, scolding Mrs. Barnes, the

-sedate and judicious Dickson, the grotesque Finn,

-the stately and elegant Mrs. Powell, looking like the

-personification of tragedy, and bluff old Kilner, fat

-and pleasant to the sight, and with that hearty laugh

-that made all who heard it love him.

-

-What is the excitement occasioned by the Ellsler

-or Miss Lind compared to that which attended the

-advent of the elder Kean? What crowds used to

-beset the box office in the ten-footer next to the theatre,

-from the earliest dawn until the opening! I

-often think, when I meet some of our gravest and

-grayest citizens in their daily walks, what a figure

-they cut now compared with the days when they

-were fighting their way into the box office of the old

-theatre! Talk of enthusiasm! What are all our

-political campaigns and public commemorations

-compared with that evening during the last war with

-Great Britain, when Commodore Bainbridge came

-into Boston Bay after his victory over the Java!

-That admirable actor, the late Mr. Cooper, was

-playing Macbeth, and interrupted his performance

-to announce the victory.

-

-But, pardon me, I did not sit down here to lose

-myself in the reminiscences of half a century ago.

-Let me try to govern this truant pen, and keep it

-more closely to my chosen theme. Do you remember,

-beloved reader, your second visit to the theatre?

-If you do, cherish it; let it not depart from you, for

-in the days that are in store for you, when age and

-infirmity shall stand guard over you, and you are

-obliged to find all your pleasures by your fireside, the

-memory of your second play will be very precious to

-you. You will find, on looking back to it through a

-vista of sixty years or more, that all the pleasure you

-then enjoyed was placed on the credit side of your

-account, and has been increasing by a sort of moral

-compound interest during the long years that you

-have devoted to delights less innocent, perhaps, and

-certainly less satisfactory, or to the pursuit of objects

-far more fleeting and unreal than those which

-then fascinated your youthful mind. I say your

-"second play," for the first dramatic performance

-that the child witnesses is too astonishing to afford

-him its full measure of gratification. It is only after

-he has told his playmates all about it, and imitated

-the wonderful hero who rescued the beautiful lady

-in white satin, and dreamed of the splendour of the

-last great scene, when all the persons of the drama

-stood in a semicircle, and the king, with a crown of

-solid gold upon his head, addressed to the magnanimous

-hero the thrilling words,—

-

-   | "It is enough: the princess is thine own!"—

-

-and all the characters struck impressive attitudes,

-and the curtain descended upon a tableau lighted up

-by coloured fires of ineffable brilliancy,—it is only

-after all these things have sunk deep into the young

-mind, and he has resolved to write a play himself,

-and never to rest satisfied until he can bring down the

-house with the best of the actors he has seen, that

-he fully appreciates the entertainment which has

-been vouchsafed to him.

-

-What a charm invests the place where we made

-our first acquaintance with the drama! It becomes

-an enchanted spot for us, and I doubt if the greatest

-possible familiarity in after life can ever breed contempt

-for it in our hearts. For my own part, I

-regarded the destruction of the old theatre in Federal

-Street, and the erection of warehouses on its

-hallowed site, as a positive sacrilege. And I cannot

-pass that spot, even at this late day, without mentally

-recurring to the joys I once tasted there. Perhaps

-some who read this may cherish similar sentiments

-about the old Tremont Theatre, a place for which I

-had as great a fondness as one can have for a theatre

-in which he did not see his first play. The very mention

-of it calls up its beautiful interior in my mind's

-eye,—its graceful proscenium, its chandeliers around

-the front of the boxes, its comfortable pit, where I

-enjoyed so much good acting, and all the host of

-worthies who graced that spacious stage. Mr. Gilbert

-was not so fat in those days as he is now, nor

-Mr. Barry so gray. What a picturesque hero was

-old Brough in the time when the Woods were in their

-golden prime, and the appearance of the Count

-Rodolpho on the distant bridge was the signal for a

-tempest of applause! Who can forget how Mr.

-Ostinelli's bald head used to shine, as he presided

-over that excellent orchestra, or how funny old

-Gear's serious face looked, as he peered at the house

-through those heavy, silver-bowed spectacles? Perhaps

-for some of my younger readers the stage of

-the Museum possesses similar charms, and they will

-find themselves, years hence, looking back to the

-happy times when Mr. Angier received their glittering

-quarters, and they hastened up stairs, to forget

-the wanderings of Æneas and the perplexities of

-arithmetic in the inimitable fun of that prince-regent

-among comedians, Mr. William Warren.

-

-But wherever we may have commenced our dramatic

-experience, and whatever that experience may

-have been, we have all, I am sure, felt the influence

-of that mysterious charm which hangs over the stage.

-We have all felt that keen curiosity to penetrate to

-the source of so much enjoyment. Who has not had

-a desire to enter that mysterious door which conducts

-the "sons of harmony" from the orchestra to the

-unknown depths below the stage? It looks dark and

-forbidding, but we feel instinctively that it is not so,

-when we see our venerated uncle Tom Comer carrying

-his honest and sunshiny face through it so often.

-That green curtain, which is the only veil between

-us and a world of heroes and demigods,—how enviously

-do we look at its dusty folds! With what

-curiosity do we inspect the shoes of varied make and

-colour that figure in the little space between it and

-the stage! How do we long to follow the hero who

-has strutted his hour upon the stage into the invisible

-recesses of P. S. and O. P., and to know what takes

-the place of the full audience and the glittering row

-of footlights in his eyes when he makes his exit at the

-"upper entrance, left," or through the "door in flat"

-which always moves so noiselessly on its hinges! I

-think that the performance of the "Forty Thieves"

-awakened this curiosity in my mind more than almost

-any other play. I longed to inspect more closely

-those noble steeds that came with such a jerky gait

-over the distant mountains, and to know what produced

-the fearful noise that attended the opening of

-the robbers' cave. I believed in the untold wealth

-that was said to be heaped up in those subterranean

-depths, but still I wished to look at the "cavern goblet,"

-and see how it compared with those that

-adorned the cases of my excellent friends, Messrs.

-Davis and Brown. I can never forget the thrill that

-shot through me when Morgiana lifted the cover of

-the oil jar, and the terrible question, "Is it time?"

-issued from it, nor my admiration for the fearlessness

-of that self-possessed maiden when she answered

-with those eloquent and memorable words,

-"Not yet, but presently." I believed that the compound

-which Morgiana administered so freely to the

-concealed banditti was just as certain death to every

-mother's son of them as M. Fousel's *Pabulum Vitæ*

-is renewed life to the consumptives of the present

-day; and, years after I had supposed my recollections

-of the "Forty Thieves" to have become very

-misty and shapeless, I found myself startled in an

-oriental city by coming upon several oil jars of the

-orthodox model, and I astonished the malignant and

-turbaned Turk who owned them, and amused the

-companion of my walks about Smyrna, by lifting the

-lid of one of them, and quoting the words of Morgiana.

-My superstitions concerning that pleasant

-old melodrama of course passed away when I became

-familiar with the theatre by daylight, and

-was accustomed to exchange the compliments of

-the morning with the estimable gentleman who

-played Hassarac; but the illusion of its first performance

-has never been entirely blotted from

-my mind.

-

-Some years ago it was my privilege to visit a place

-which is classical to every lover of the drama and its

-literature. Drury Lane Theatre, now that its ancient

-rival, Covent Garden, has passed away, and

-been replaced by a house exclusively devoted to the

-lyric muse, is the only theatre of London which is

-associated in every mind with that host of geniuses

-who have illustrated dramatic art from the times of

-Garrick to our own. That gifted and versatile actor,

-Mr. Davenport, who stands as high in the favour of

-the English as of the American public, conducted me

-through that immense establishment. We entered

-the door, which I had often looked at with curiosity

-as I passed through the long colonnade of the theatre,

-encountering several of those clean-shaven personages

-in clothes that would be much refreshed if

-they were allowed to take a nap, and, after traversing

-two or three dark corridors, found ourselves

-upon the stage. The scene of so many triumphs as

-have there been achieved is not without its attractions,

-even though it may look differently *en déshabille*

-from what it does in the glitter of gaslight.

-The stage which has been trod by the Kembles, the

-Keans, Siddons, Macready, Young, Palmer Dowton,

-Elliston, Munden, Liston, and Farren, is by no

-means an ordinary combination of planks. We

-know, for Campbell has told us, that

-

-   | "——by the mighty actor brought,

-   |   Illusion's perfect triumphs come;

-   | Verse ceases to be airy thought,

-   |   And sculpture to be dumb."

-

-.. ——File: 372.png

-

-Yet what a shadowy, intangible thing the reputation

-of a great actor would seem to be! We simply know

-of him that in certain characters his genius held the

-crowded theatre in willing thraldom, and made the

-hearts of hundreds of spectators throb like that of

-one man. Those who felt his wondrous power have

-passed away like himself; and all that remains of

-him who once filled so large a space in the public eye

-is an ill-written biography or a few hastily penned

-sentences in an encyclopædia.

-

-I was too full of wonder at the extent of that vast

-stage, however, to think much of its ancient associations.

-Those lumbering stacks of scenery that filled

-a large building at the rear of the stage, and ran over

-into every available corner, told the story of the

-scenic efforts of Old Drury during nearly half a century.

-How many dramas, produced "without the

-slightest regard to expense," and "on a scale of unparalleled

-splendour," must have contributed to the

-building up of those mighty piles! The labyrinthine

-passages, the rough brick walls, darkened by time

-and the un-Penelope-like spiders of Drury Lane,

-were in striking contrast to the stage of that theatre

-as it appears from the auditorium. The green-room

-had been placed in mourning for the "goodlie companie"

-that once filled it, by the all-pervading, omnipresent

-smoke of London. Up stairs the sight was

-still more wonderful. The space above the stage

-was crowded full of draperies, and borders, and

-dusty ropes, and wheels, and pulleys. Davenport

-enjoyed my amazement, and led me through a darksome,

-foot-wide passage above the stage, through

-that wilderness of cordage to the machinists' gallery.

-Take all the rope-walks that you have ever visited,

-dear reader, and add to them the running gear of

-several first-class ships, and you may obtain something

-of an idea of the sight that then met my view.

-I have often heard an impatient audience hiss at

-some trifling delay in the shifting of a scene. If they

-could see the complicated machinery which must be

-set in motion to produce the effects they desire, their

-impatience would be changed to wonder at the skill

-and care which are so constantly exerted and make

-so few mistakes. A glance into two or three of the

-dressing-rooms, and a hasty visit to the dark maze of

-machinery beneath the stage for working the trapdoors,

-completed my survey of Old Drury, and I left

-its ancient walls with an increased respect for them,

-and a feeling of self-gratulation that I was neither

-an actor nor a manager.

-

-Not long after the above visit, I availed myself of

-an opportunity to make a similar inspection of the

-*Théâtre Français*, in the Palais Royal at Paris. The

-old establishment is not so extensive as that of Drury

-Lane, but its main features are the same. There

-was an air of government patronage about it which

-was apparent in its every department. The stage

-entrance was through a long and well-lighted corridor

-that might have led to a banking-house. Its

-green-room was a luxurious saloon, with a floor of

-tessellated walnut and oak, waxed and polished so

-highly that you could see your figure in it, and could

-with difficulty avoid becoming a lay figure upon it.

-Its frescoed ceiling and gilded cornices, its immense

-mirrors, and its walls covered with the portraits of

-several generations of players, whose genius has

-made the very name of that theatre venerable

-throughout the civilized world, were very different

-from most of the green-rooms that I had seen. In

-the ancient colleges in Italy the walls of the classrooms

-are hung with portraits of the distinguished

-scholars, illustrious prelates, and sometimes of the

-canonized saints, who once studied under their time-honoured

-roofs. In the same spirit, the green-room

-of the *Théâtre Français* is adorned with busts and

-pictures; and the chairs that once were occupied by a

-Talma, a Mars, and a Rachel are held in honour in

-the place where their genius received its full development.

-The dressing-rooms of the brilliant company

-which sustains the high reputation of that house are

-in perfect keeping with its green-room. Each of the

-leading actors and actresses has a double room, furnished

-in a style of comfortable elegance. In the

-wardrobe and property rooms, the imperial patronage

-is visible in the richness of the stage furniture

-and the profusion of dresses made of the costliest

-silks and velvets. The stage, however, is very much

-like that of any other theatre. There were the same

-obscure passages, the same stupendous collection of

-intricate machinery, and the same mysterious odour,

-as of gas and musty scenery, pervaded the whole. I

-was permitted to view all its arcana, from the wheels

-that revolve in dusty silence eighty or ninety feet

-above the stage to the ponderous balance weights

-that dwell in the darkness of the second and third

-stories below it; and enjoyed it so keenly that I regretted

-to be told that I had seen all, and to find myself

-once more in the dazzling sunshine of the Rue

-de Richelieu.

-

-.. ——File: 375.png

-

-We are accustomed to speak of the theatre as a

-repository of shams and unrealities, and to contrast

-it with the actualities of every-day life. I hope that

-you will excuse me, gentle reader, for venturing to

-deny the justice of all such figures of speech. They

-are as false as that common use of the expressions

-"sunrise" and "sunset," when we know that the sun

-does not really rise or set at all. No, it is the theatre

-that is the reality, and the life we see on every side

-the sham. The theatre is all that it pretends to be—a

-scenic illusion; and if we compare it to the world

-around us, with its loving couples, my-dearing each

-other before folks, and exchanging angry words over

-the solitary tea-tray,—its politicians, seeking nominations

-and votes, and then reluctantly giving up their

-private interests and comforts for the "public good,"

-(as the spoils of office are facetiously termed,)—its

-so-called ministers of the gospel, who speak of an

-offer of increased salary as "an opportunity to labour

-in a wider sphere of usefulness,"—and its funerals,

-where there is such an imposing show of black crape

-and bombazine, but where the genuine mourning

-commences only after the reading of the will of the

-deceased,—I am sure that we shall be justified in

-concluding that the fictitious affair which we try to

-dignify with the title of "real life" is a far less respectable

-illusion than the mimic scene that captivates

-us in the hours of relaxation.

-

-.. ——File: 376.png

-

-

-

-

-THE PHILOSOPHY OF CANT

-----------------------

-

-

-Be not dismayed, kind reader,—I have no intention

-of impressing you for a tiresome cruise in

-the high and dangerous latitudes of German metaphysics;

-nor do I wish to set myself up as a critic of

-pure reason. In spite of Noah Webster and his inquisitorial

-publishers, I still cherish a partiality for

-correct orthography; and I would not be understood

-as referring in the caption of this article to the celebrated

-founder of the transcendental school of

-philosophy. I cannot but respect Emmanuel Kant as

-a remarkable intellectual man; and I hope to be pardoned

-for saying that his surname might properly be

-anglicized, by spelling it with a C instead of a K.

-Neither did I allude to the useful art of saying "No"

-opportunely, which an excellent friend of mine

-(whose numerous virtues are neutralized by his propensity

-to fabricate puns in season and out of season)

-insists upon denominating the "philosophy of can't."

-That faculty which is, in more senses than one, a

-negative virtue, is unhappily a much harder thing to

-find than the vice of which I have a few words to say.

-

-I do not mean cant in the worse sense of the word,

-as exemplified in the characters of Pecksniff, Stiggins,

-Chadband, and Aminadab Sleek, nor even in those

-of that large school of worshippers of propriety and

-bond-servants of popular opinion, who reverse the

-crowning glory of the character of Porcius Cato, and

-prefer to seem, rather than to be, good. The cant I

-allude to is the technical phraseology of the various

-virtues, which some people appear to think is the

-same thing as virtue itself. They do not remember

-that a greasy bank-note is valueless save as the representative

-of a given quantity of bullion, and that pious

-and virtuous language is of no account except its full

-value be found in the pure gold of virtue stored away

-in the treasure-chambers of the heart. For such cant

-as this I have less respect than for downright hypocrisy;

-for there is something positive about the character

-of your genuine villain, which certainly does

-not repel me so strongly as the milk-and-watery

-characteristics of that numerous class of every-day

-people who (not being good enough to serve as examples,

-nor bad enough to be held up as warnings)

-are of no use whatever in their day and generation.

-What possible solace can he who deals in the set

-phrases of consolation administer to the afflicted

-spirit in that hour, when (even among the closest

-friends) "speech is silver, but silence is golden"?

-

-There is scarcely a subject upon which men converse,

-in which this species of cant does not play its

-part; but there are some matters in which it makes

-itself so conspicuous that I cannot resist the temptation

-to pay particular attention to them. And, as the

-subject is rather an extensive one, I will parley no

-longer in its vestibule, but pull off my overcoat, and

-make myself at home in its front parlour. I wish to

-make a few observations on cant as it manifests itself

-in regard to morality, philanthropy, religion, liberty,

-and progress. My notions will excite the sneers of

-some of my younger readers, I doubt not, and perchance

-of some older ones; but, while I claim the

-privilege of age in speaking out my mind, I shall try

-to avoid the testiness which senility too often manifests

-towards those who do not respect its opinions.

-Convinced that mine are true, I can afford to emulate

-"Messire de Mauprat" in his patience, and wait to

-see my fellow-men pass their fortieth birthday, and,

-leaving their folly and enthusiasm behind them, come

-round to my position.

-

-The cant of Morality is so common that it is mistaken

-by many excellent people for morality itself.

-To leave unnoticed the people who consider it very

-iniquitous to go to the theatre, but perfectly allowable

-to laugh at Mr. Warren on the stage of the

-Museum; who enjoy backgammon, but shrink from

-whist with holy horror; and who hold up their hands

-and cry out against the innocent Sunday recreations

-of continental Europe, yet think themselves justified

-in reading their Sunday newspapers and the popular

-magazines, or talking of the style of the new bonnets

-which made their first appearance at the morning

-service,—to say nothing about the moralists of this

-school, I am afraid that the prevailing notions on

-matters of greater import than mere amusement are

-not such as would stand a very severe moral test.

-When I see so much circumspection with regard to

-external propriety, joined with such an evident want

-of principle, it seems to me as if the Ten Commandments

-of the Old Law had been superseded by an

-eleventh: *Thou shalt not be found out*. When I see

-people of education in a city like Boston, dignifying

-lust under the title of a spiritual affinity, and characterizing

-divorce as obedience to the highest natural

-law,—and still more, when I see how little surprise

-the enunciation of such doctrines occasions,—I no

-longer wonder at infidelity, for I am myself tempted

-to ask whether there is any such thing as abstract

-right or abstract wrong, and to question whether

-morality may not be an antiquated institution, which

-humanity is now sufficiently advanced to dispense

-with. It is a blessed thing that we have not the

-power to read one another's hearts. To pass by the

-unhappiness it would cause us, what changes it would

-occasion in our moral classifications! How many

-men, clad in picturesque and variegated costumes,

-are labouring in the public workshops of Charlestown,

-or Sing Sing, or Pentonville, who, if the heart

-were seen, would be found worthier by far than some

-of those ornaments of society who are always at the

-head of their pews, and whose names are found

-alike on false invoices and subscription lists for evangelizing

-some undiscovered continent! What a different

-balance would be struck between so-called

-respectability in its costly silks and its comparative

-immunity from actual temptation, and needy wantonness

-displaying its rouge and Attleborough jewelry

-all the more boldly because it feels that the ban of

-society is upon it!

-

-And this brings me to the cant of Philanthropy.

-That excellent word has been so shamefully abused

-of late years, by being applied to the empirical

-schemes of adventurers and social disorganizers, that

-you cannot now say a much worse thing of a man

-than that he is a "philanthropist." That term ought

-to designate one of the noblest representatives of the

-unselfish side of human nature; but to my mind, it

-describes a sallow, long-haired, whining fellow, who

-has taken up with the profession of loving all men in

-general, that he may better enjoy the satisfaction of

-hating all men in particular, and may the more effectually

-prey upon his immediate neighbours; a monomaniac,

-yet with sufficient "method in his madness"

-to make it pay a handsome profit; a knave whose

-telescopic vision magnifies the spiritual destitution of

-Tching-tou, and can see nothing wanting to complete

-our Christian civilization but a willingness to contribute

-to the "great and good work," and whose

-commissions for disbursing the funds are frightfully

-disproportionate to the amount collected and the

-work done. But there is a great deal of the cant of

-philanthropy passing current even among those who

-have no respect for the professional philanthropist.

-With all possible regard for the spirit of the age, I

-do not believe that modern philanthropy can ever be

-made to take the place of old-fashioned Christian

-charity. Far be it from me to underrate the benevolent

-efforts which are made in this community; but I

-cannot help seeing that while thousands are spent in

-alms, we lack that blessed spirit of charity which imparted

-such a charm to the benevolent institutions of

-the middle ages. They seemed to labour among the

-poor on the principle which Sir Thomas Browne laid

-down for his charities—"I give no alms to satisfy the

-hunger of my brother, but to fulfil and accomplish

-the will and command of my God; I draw not my

-purse for his sake that demands it, but His that enjoined

-it." We irreverent moderns have tried to

-improve upon this, and the result is seen in legal enactments

-against mendicancy, in palatial prisons for

-criminals, and in poorhouses where the needy are

-obliged to associate with the vicious and depraved.

-The "dark ages" (as the times which witnessed the

-foundation of the greatest universities, hospitals, and

-asylums the world ever saw, are sometimes called)

-were not dark enough for that.

-

-Do what we may to remedy this defect in our

-solicitude for the suffering classes, the legal view of

-the matter will still predominate. We may imitate

-the kindliness of the ancient times, but we cannot

-disguise the fact that pauperism is regarded not only

-as a great social evil, but as an offence against our

-laws. While this is so, we shall labour in vain to

-catch the tone of the days when poverty was ennobled

-by the virtues of the apostolic Francis of

-Assisi and the heroic souls that relinquished wealth

-and power to share his humble lot. The voice of our

-philanthropy may be the voice of Jacob, but the hand

-will be the hand of Esau. That true gentleman and

-kind-hearted knight whom I have already quoted,

-had no patience with this contempt for poverty which

-was just growing into sight in his time, but is now so

-common; and he administered to it a rebuke which

-has lost none of its force by the lapse of more than

-two hundred years: "Statists that labour to contrive

-a commonwealth without poverty, take away the object

-of charity, not understanding only the commonwealth

-of a Christian, but forgetting the prophecy

-of Christ."

-

-In making any allusion to religious cant, I am sensible

-that I tread on very dangerous ground. Still,

-in an essay on such a subject as the present, revivalism

-ought not to go unnoticed. God forbid that a

-man at my time of life should pen a light word

-against any thing that may draw men from their

-worldliness to a more intimate union with their Creator.

-But the revival extravagances which last year

-made the profane laugh and the devout grieve, merit

-the deprecation of every person who does not wish

-to see religion itself brought into contempt. I do not

-believe in the application of the high-pressure system

-to the spiritual life. Some persons seem to regard a

-religious excitement as an evidence of a healthy

-spiritual state. As well might they consider a fever

-induced by previous irregularity to be a proof of

-returning bodily health. As the physician of the

-body would endeavour to restore the patient to his

-normal state, so too the true physician of the soul

-would labour to banish the religious fever from the

-mind of his patient, and to plant therein the sure

-principles of spiritual health—a clearly-defined dogmatic

-belief, and a deep conviction of the sinfulness

-of sin. We all need to be from time to time reminded

-that true religion is not a mere effervescence,

-not a vain blaze, but a reality which reflects something

-of the unchangeable glory of its divine Author.

-It is not a volcano, treasuring within its bosom a

-fierce, destructive element, sullenly smouldering and

-smoking for years, and making intermittent exhibitions

-of a power as terrible as it is sublime. No; it is

-rather a majestic and deep-flowing river, taking its

-rise amid lofty mountains whose snowy crags and

-peaks are pure from the defilement of our lower

-world, fed from heaven, bearing in its broad current

-beauty, and fertility, and refreshment, to regions

-which would else be sterile and joyless, and emptying

-at last into a shoreless and untroubled sea, whose

-bright surface mirrors eternally the splendour of the

-skies.

-

-That the cant of Liberty should be popular with

-the American tongue is not, perhaps, to be wondered

-at. A young nation,—which has achieved its own

-independence in a contest with one of the most powerful

-governments in the world,—which has grown

-in territory, population, and wealth beyond all historical

-precedent,—and which has a new country for

-its field of action, so that its progress is unimpeded

-by the relics of ancient civilization or the ruins of

-dead empires,—could not reasonably be expected to

-resist all temptations to self-glorification. The

-American eagle is no mere barnyard fowl—content

-with a secure roost and what may be picked up within

-sight of the same. He is the most insatiable of birds.

-His fierce eye and bending beak look covetous, and

-his whole aspect is one of angry anxiety lest his prey

-should be snatched from him, or his dominion should

-be called in question. In this regard he differs greatly

-from his French relative, who squats with such a

-conscious air of superiority on the tops of the regimental

-standard-poles of the imperial army, and surveys

-the forest of bayonets in which he makes his nest

-as if he felt that his power was undisputed. And

-we Americans are not less uneasy and wild than the

-bird we have chosen for our national emblem, and

-appear to think that the essential part of liberty consists

-in keeping up an endless talk about it. Our

-cant of freedom needs to be reminded of Tom

-Hood's observation concerning religious cant:—

-

-   | "'Tis not so plain as the old hill of Howth,

-   |   A man has got his bellyful of meat,

-   | Because he talks with victuals in his mouth!"

-

-.. ——File: 384.png

-

-With all our howling about liberty, we Americans

-are abject slaves to a theory of government which

-we feel bound to defend under all circumstances, and

-to propagate even in countries which are entirely

-unfitted for it. This constitutional theory is a fine

-thing to talk about; few topics afford so wide a range

-to the imaginative powers of a young orator. It is

-not therefore to be wondered at, that the subject

-should be so often forced upon us, and that so many

-startling contrasts should be drawn between our governmental

-experiment and the thousand-years-old

-monarchies of Europe. These comparisons (which

-some people who make republicanism such an article

-of faith, that they must find it hard to repeat the

-clause of the Lord's prayer, "Thy *kingdom* come,"—are

-so fond of drawing) remind me of the question

-that was discussed in the Milesian debating society—"Which

-was the greatest man, St. Patrick or the

-Fourth of July?" and the conclusions drawn from

-them are very like the result of that momentous

-debate, which was decided in the affirmative.

-

-For my own part, I have got past the age when

-eloquence and poetry are of much account in matters

-of such vital importance as government. When I

-buy a pair of overshoes, my first object is to get something

-that is water-proof. So, too, in the matter of

-government, I only wish to know whether the purposes

-for which government is instituted—the protection

-of the life, property, and personal liberty of

-its subjects—are answered; and, if they are, I am

-ready to swear allegiance to it, not caring a splinter

-of a ballot-box whether it be founded on hereditary

-succession or a roll of parchment, or whether its

-executive authority be vested in a president, a king,

-or an emperor. That is the best government which

-is best administered; it makes little difference what

-you call it, or on what theory it is built. I love my

-country dearly, and yield to no one in my loyalty to

-her government and laws; but (pardon me for being

-so matter-of-fact, and seemingly unpatriotic) I would

-willingly part with some of this boasted liberty of

-ours, to secure a little more wisdom in making laws,

-and a good deal more strength in executing them. I

-count the privilege of talking politics and of choosing

-between the various political adventurers who aspire

-to be my rulers, as a very insignificant affair compared

-with a sense of security against popular violence

-and the dishonesty of dealers in the necessaries

-of life. And I cannot help thinking, that for the

-inhabitants of a country where there is little reverence

-for authority or willing obedience to law,

-where the better class of the citizens refuse to take

-any part in politics, and where the legislative power

-is enthroned, not in the Senate, nor in the House of

-Representatives, but in the Lobby,—for the inhabitants

-of such a country to boast of their liberty

-aloud, is the most absurd of all the cants in this canting

-world.

-

-Little as I respect the cant of liberty, I care even

-less for the cant of Progress. I never had much patience

-with this worship of the natural sciences, which

-is rapidly getting to be almost the only religion

-among certain cultivated people in this quarter. I

-remember in my boyhood startling by my scientific

-apathy a precocious companion who used to bother

-his brains about the solar system, and one useless

-ology and another, in the precious hours which ought

-to have been devoted to Robinson Crusoe and the

-Arabian Nights' Entertainments. He had been

-labouring hard to explain to me the law of gravitation,

-and concluded with the bold statement that,

-were it not for that law, an apple, with which he had

-been illustrating his theory, instead of falling to the

-earth, might roll off the unprotected side of this sublunary

-sphere into the abyss of space,—or something

-to that effect. He could not conceal his contempt for

-my want of scientific ardour, when I asked him

-whether he should really care if it did roll off, so long

-as there was a plenty left! I did wrong to joke him,

-for he was a good fellow, in spite of his weakness.

-It is many years since he figured himself out of this

-unsatisfactory world, into a state of existence where

-vision is clearer even than mathematical demonstration,

-and where *x* does not "equal the unknown quantity."

-

-Pardon this digression: in complaining of the

-vaunted progress of this rapid age, I am making little

-progress myself. It appears to me that the people

-who laud this age so highly either do not know what

-true progress is, or suffer themselves to mistake the

-means for the end. Your cotton mills, and steam engines,

-and clipper ships, and electric telegraphs, do

-not constitute progress; they are means by which it

-may be attained. If gunpowder, immediately after

-its invention, had been devoted to the indiscriminate

-destruction of mankind, could such an invention have

-justly been termed progress? If the press were used

-only to perpetuate the blasphemies and indecencies

-of Mazzini and Eugene Sue, who would esteem

-Gutenberg and Fust as benefactors, or promoters of

-true progress? And if the increased facilities for

-travel, and the other inventions on which this age

-prides itself, only tend to make men's minds narrower

-by absorbing them in material interests, and

-their souls more mean by giving them the idol of

-prosperity to worship, then is this nineteenth century

-a century of progress indeed, but in the wrong direction.

-And if our mode of education only augments

-the ratio of crime among the lower class, and makes

-superficial pretenders of the higher orders of society,

-it is not a matter which will justify our setting ourselves

-quite so high above past ages and the rest of

-the world.

-

-I cannot see what need nor what excuse there is for

-all this bragging. A great many strong men lived

-before Agamemnon,—and after him. We indeed do

-some things that would astonish our forefathers; but

-how are we superior to them on that account? We

-enslave the lightnings of heaven to be our messengers,

-and compel the sun to take our portraits; but if

-our electric wires are prostituted to the chicanery of

-trade or politics, and the faces which the sun portrays

-are expressive of nothing nobler than mercantile

-shrewdness and the price of cotton, the less we

-boast of our achievements, the better. Thucydides

-never had his works puffed in a newspaper, Virgil

-and Horace never poetized or lectured for a lyceum;

-Charlemagne never saw a locomotive, nor did St.

-Thomas Aquinas ever use a friction match. Yet this

-unexampled age possesses, I apprehend, few historians

-who would not shrink from being compared

-with the famous Greek annalist, few poets worthy

-to wear the crowns of the friends of the great Augustus,

-few rulers more sagacious and firm than the first

-Emperor of the West, and few scholars who would

-not consider it a privilege to be taught by the

-Angelic Doctor.

-

-True progress is something superior to your puffing

-engines and clicking telegraphs, and independent

-of them. It is the advancement of humanity in the

-knowledge of its frailty and dependence; the elevation

-of the mind above its own limited acquirements,

-to the infinite source of knowledge; the cleansing of

-the heart of its selfishness and uncleanness; in fact,

-it is any thing whatever that tends to assimilate man

-more closely to the divine Exemplar of perfect manhood.

-

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diff --git a/35412-rst/images/cover.jpg b/35412-rst/images/cover.jpg
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-                     My Unknown Chum "_Aguecheek_"
-
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
-no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
-eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-Title: My Unknown Chum
-
-Author: Charles Bullard Fairbanks
-
-Release Date: February 27, 2011 [EBook #35412]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: US-ASCII
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
-
-
-
-                                   MY
-                              UNKNOWN CHUM
-                              "AGUECHEEK"
-
-
-
-
-                            WITH A FOREWORD
-                            BY HENRY GARRITY
-
-
-
-
-                                NEW YORK
-                        THE DEVIN-ADAIR COMPANY
-                                  1930
-
-
-              _THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIFTH THOUSAND_
-
-
-                          Copyright, 1912, by
-                       _The Devin-Adair Company_
-
-              _All rights reserved by The Devin-Adair Co._
-
-                         _Printed in U. S. A._
-
-
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
-
-  - FOREWORD
-  - SKETCHES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
-    - A PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC
-    - LONDON
-    - ANTWERP AND BRUSSELS
-    - GENOA AND FLORENCE
-    - ANCIENT ROME
-    - MODERN ROME
-    - ROME TO MARSEILLES
-    - MARSEILLES, LYONS, AND AIX IN SAVOY
-    - AIX TO PARIS
-    - PARIS
-    - PARIS--THE LOUVRE AND ART
-    - NAPOLEON THE THIRD
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
-    - PARIS TO BOULOGNE
-    - LONDON
-  - ESSAYS
-    - STREET LIFE
-    - HARD UP IN PARIS
-    - THE OLD CORNER
-    - SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THEATRE ALLEY
-    - THE OLD CATHEDRAL
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF SUFFERING
-    - BOYHOOD AND BOYS
-    - JOSEPHINE--GIRLHOOD AND GIRLS
-    - SHAKESPEARE AND HIS COMMENTATORS
-    - MEMORIALS OF MRS. GRUNDY
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
-    - BEHIND THE SCENES
-    - THE PHILOSOPHY OF CANT
-
-
-
-
-FOREWORD
-
-
-    _Life is too short for reading inferior books._
-
-      _Bryce._
-
-
-In 1878 a letter of introduction to Mr. S---- of Detroit was
-instrumental in securing for me the close friendship of a man some
-twenty years my senior--a man of unusual poise of mind and of such
-superb character that I have ever looked upon him as a perfect type of
-Newman's ideal gentleman.
-
-My new friend was fond of all that is best in art and literature. His
-pet possession, however, was an old book long out of print--"Aguecheek."
-He spoke to me of its classic charm and of the recurring pleasure he
-found in reading and rereading the delightful pages of its unknown
-author, who saw in travel, in art, in literature, in life and humanity,
-much that other travellers and other writers and scholars had failed to
-observe--seeing all with a purity of vision, a clearness of intellect,
-and recording it with a grace and ease of phrase that suggest that he
-himself had perhaps been taught by the Angelic Doctor referred to in the
-closing lines of his last essay.
-
-A proffered loan of the book was eagerly accepted. Though still in my
-teens, I soon became a convert to all that my cultured friend had said
-in its praise.
-
-With the aid of a Murray Street dealer in old books, I was fortunate
-enough to get a copy for myself. I read it again and again. Obliged to
-travel much, I was rarely without its companionship; for I knew that if
-other reading-matter proved uninteresting, I could always find some new
-conversational charm in the views and words of the World-Conversant
-Author.
-
-Fearing that I weighed the merits of the work with a mental scale
-wanting in balance, I asked others what they thought of it. Much to my
-surprise, they had never even heard of it. In fact, in these thirty-four
-years I have found but three persons who knew the book at all. Recently
-at The Players I asked Mr. Evert Jansen Wendell if he knew "Aguecheek."
-"Why," said he, "it was in my hands only yesterday. It is in my
-library--my dramatic library." The late John E. Grote Higgens, President
-of the St. George Society, knew its interesting pages well; and it is, I
-am assured, a "prized unit" in the library of His Eminence Cardinal
-Farley.
-
-I lent my copy to young and old, to men and women of various professions
-and to friends in the world of commerce. The opinion of all might be
-summed up in the appreciation of a well-known Monsignor--himself an
-observant traveller and an ardent lover of "real" literature. Returning
-the book, he said, "I have read it with the greatest of pleasure, and
-have turned to it often. I could read it a hundred times. It is a great
-book. Its fine humor, its depth, its simplicity and high ideals, commend
-it to all, especially the highly educated--the scholar."
-
-Charles B. Fairbanks is the reputed author, but the records show that he
-died in 1859, when but thirty-two years old--an age that the text
-repeatedly discredits. Whether written by Mr. Fairbanks or not, the
-modest author hid his identity in an obscure pen-name that he might thus
-be free to make his book "his heart in other men's hands."
-
-Some necessary changes have been made in the text. In offering the book
-to the public and in reluctantly changing the title, I am but following
-the insistent advice of friends--critics and scholars--whose judgment is
-superior to my own. No one seemed to know the meaning of "Aguecheek"
-(taken, no doubt, from a character in "Twelfth Night"), and few could
-even spell or pronounce the word; moreover, there is not the remotest
-connection between title and text. The old book has been the best of
-comrades, "the joy of my youth, the consolation of my riper years." If
-the new name lacks dignity as well as euphony, the reader will, I am
-sure, understand and appreciate the spirit of affection that inspired
-"My Unknown Chum."
-
-    _Henry Garrity._
-
-
-
-
-SKETCHES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL.
-
-
-
-A PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC
-
-
-"To an American visiting Europe for the first time," saith Geoffrey
-Crayon, "the long voyage which he has to make is an excellent
-preparative." To the greater proportion of those who revisit the old
-world, the voyage is only an interval of ennui and impatience. Not such
-is it to the writer of this sentence. For him the sea has charms which
-age cannot wither, nor head winds abate. For him the voyage is a retreat
-from the cares of business, a rest from the pursuit of wealth, and a
-prolonged reminiscence of his youthful days, when he first trod the same
-restless pathway, and the glories of England and the Continent rose up
-resplendent before him, very much as the gorgeous city in the clouds
-looms up before the young gentleman in one of the late lamented Mr.
-Cole's pictures. For it is a satisfaction to him to remember that such
-things were,--even though the performances of life have not by any means
-equalled the promises of the programme of youth,--though age and the
-cares of an increasing family have stifled poetry, and the genius of
-Romance has long since taken his hat.
-
-The recollections of youthful Mediterranean voyages are a mine of wealth
-to an old man. They have transformed ancient history into a majestic
-reality for him, and the pages of his dog's-eared Lempriere become
-instinct with life as he recalls those halcyon days when he reclined on
-deck beneath an awning, and gazed on Crete and Lesbos, and the mountains
-that look on Marathon. Neither age nor misfortune can ever rob him of
-the joy he feels when he looks back to the cloudless afternoon when he
-passed from the stormy Atlantic to that blue inland sea,--when he saw
-where Africa has so long striven to shake hands with Europe,--and
-thrilled at the thought that the sea then glowing with the hues of
-sunset was once ploughed by the invincible galleys of the Caesars, and
-dashed its angry surges over the shipwrecked Apostle of the Gentiles.
-
-It is rather a pleasant thing to report one's self on board a fine
-packet ship on a bright morning in May--the old portmanteau packed
-again, and thoughts turned seaward. There is a kind of inspiration in
-the song of the sailors at the windlass, (that is, as many of them as
-are able to maintain a perpendicular position at that early period of
-the voyage;) the very clanking of the anchor chains seems to speak of
-speedy liberation, and the ship sways about as if yearning for the
-freedom of the open sea. At last the anchor is up, and the ship swings
-around, and soon is gliding down the channel; and slowly the new
-gasometer, and Bunker Hill Monument, and the old gasometer (with the
-dome) on Beacon Hill, begin to diminish in size. (I might introduce a
-fine misquotation here about growing "small by degrees, and beautifully
-less," but that I don't like novelties in a correspondence like this.)
-The embankments of Fort Warren seem brighter and more verdurous than
-ever, and the dew-drops glitter in the sunbeams, as dear Nellie's tears
-did, when she said good-by, that very morning. Then, as we get into the
-bay, the tocsin calls to lunch--and the appetite for lobsters, sardines,
-ale, and olives makes us all forget how much we fear lest business of
-immediate importance may prevent an early return to the festive
-mahogany. And shortly after, the pilot takes his leave, and with him the
-small knot of friends, who have gone as far as friendship,
-circumstances, and the tide will allow. And so the voyage commences--the
-captain takes command--and all feel that the jib-boom points towards
-Motherland, and begin to calculate the distance, and anticipate the time
-when the ship shall be boarded by a blue-coated beef-eater, who will
-take her safely "round 'Oly'ead, and dock 'er." The day wears away, and
-the sunset finds the passengers well acquainted, and a healthy family
-feeling growing up among them. The next morning we greet the sea and
-skies, but not our mother earth. The breeze is light--the weather is
-fine--so that the breakfast is discussed before a full bench. Every body
-feels well, but sleepy, and the day is spent in conversation and
-enjoyment of the novelty of life at sea. The gentle heaving of the ocean
-is rather agreeable than otherwise, and the young ladies promenade the
-deck, and flatter themselves that they have (if I might use such an
-expression) their sea legs on. But the next day the gentle heaving has
-become a heavy swell,--locomotion is attended with great
-difficulties,--the process of dressing is a severe practical joke,--and
-the timorous approach to the breakfast table and precipitous retreat
-from it, are very interesting studies to a disinterested spectator. The
-dining-saloon is thinly populated when the bell rings--the gentlemen
-preferring to lounge about on deck--they have slight headaches--not
-seasick--of course not--the gentleman who had taken eight sherry
-cobblers was not intoxicated at all--it was a glass of lemonade, that he
-took afterwards, that disagreed with him and made his footing rather
-unsteady. But Neptune is inexorable, and exacts his tribute, and the
-payers show their receipts in pale faces and dull eyes, whether they
-acknowledge it or no; and many a poor victim curses the pernicious hour
-that ever saw him shipped, and comes to the Irishman's conclusion that
-the pleasantest part of going away from home is the getting back again.
-
-But a few days suffice to set all minds and stomachs at rest, and we
-settle down into the ordinary routine of life at sea. The days glide by
-rapidly, as Shakspeare says, "with books, and work, and healthful play,"
-and as we take a retrospective view of the passage, it seems to be a
-maze of books, backgammon, bad jokes, cigars, _crochet_, cribbage, and
-conversation. Contentment obtains absolute sway, which even ten days of
-head winds and calms cannot shake off. Perhaps this is owing in a great
-measure to the good temper and gentlemanly bearing of the captain, who
-never yielded to the temptation, before which so many intrepid mariners
-have fallen, to speak in disrespectful and condemnatory terms of the
-weather. How varied must be the qualities which make a good commander of
-a packet ship; what a model of patience he must be--patience not only
-with the winds, but also with variable elements of humanity which
-surround him. He must have a good word for every body and a smiling
-face, although he knows that the ship will not head her course by four
-points of the compass on either tack; and must put aside with a jest the
-unconscious professional gentleman whose hat intervenes between his
-sextant and the horizon. In short, he must possess in an eminent degree
-what Virgil calls the _suaviter in_ what's-his-name with the _fortiter
-in_ what-d'ye-call-it. I am much disposed to think that had Job been a
-sea captain with a protracted head wind, the land of Uz would not have
-attained celebrity as the abode of the most patient of men.
-
-An eminent Boston divine, not long since deceased, who was noted alike
-for his Johnsonian style and his very un-Johnsonian meekness of manner,
-once said to a sea captain, "I have, sir, in the course of my
-professional career, encountered many gentlemen of your calling; but I
-really must say that I have never been powerfully impressed in a moral
-way by them, for their conversation abounded in expressions savouring
-more of strength than of righteousness; indeed, but few of them seemed
-capable of enunciating the simplest sentence without prefacing it with a
-profane allusion to the possible ultimate fate of their visual organs,
-which I will not shock your fastidiousness by repeating." The profanity
-of seafaring men has always been remarked; it has been a staple article
-for the lamentations of the moralist and the jests of the immoralist;
-but I must say that I am not greatly surprised at its prevalence, for
-when I have seen a thunder squall strike a ship at sea, and every effort
-was making to save the rent canvas, it has seemed to me as if those
-whose dealings were with the elements actually needed a stronger
-vocabulary than is required for less sublime transactions. To speak in
-ordinary terms on such occasions would be as absurd as the Cockney's
-application of the epithets "clever" and "neat" to Niagara. I am not
-attempting to palliate every-day profanity, for I was brought up in the
-abhorrence of it, having been taken at an early age from the care of the
-lady "who ran to catch me when I fell, and kissed the place to make it
-well," and placed in the country under the superintendence of a maiden
-aunt, who was very moral indeed, and who instilled her principles into
-my young heart with wonderful eloquence and power. "Andrew," she used to
-say to me, "you mustn't laugh in meetin'; I've no doubt that the man who
-was hung last week (for this was in those unenlightened days when the
-punishment of crime was deemed a duty, and not a sin) began his wicked
-course by laughing in meetin'; and just think, if you were to commit a
-murder--for those who murder will steal--and those who steal will swear
-and lie--and those who swear and lie will drink rum--and then if they
-don't stop in their sinful ways, they get so bad that they will smoke
-cigars and break the Sabbath; and you know what becomes of 'em then."
-
-The ordinary routine of life at sea, which is so irksome to most people,
-has a wonderful charm for me. There is something about a well-manned
-ship that commands my deepest enthusiasm. Each day is filled with a
-quiet and satisfactory kind of enjoyment. From that early hour of the
-morning when the captain turns out to see what is the prospect of the
-day, and to drink a mug of boiling coffee as strong as aquafortis, and
-as black as the newly-opened fluid Day & Martin, from No. 97, High
-Holborn, to that quiet time in the evening when that responsible
-functionary goes below and turns in, with a sententious instruction to
-the officer of the watch to "wake him at twelve, if there's any change
-in the weather," there is no moment that hangs heavy on my hands. I love
-the regular striking of the bells, reminding me every half hour how
-rapidly time and I are getting on. The regularity with which every thing
-goes on, from the early washing of the decks to the sweeping of the same
-at four bells in the evening, makes me think of those ancient
-monasteries in the south of Europe, where the unvarying round of duties
-creates a paradise which those who are subject to the unexpected
-fluctuations of common life might be pardoned for coveting. If the rude
-voices that swell the boisterous chorus which hoists the tugging
-studding-sail up by three-feet pulls, only imperfectly remind one of the
-sounds he hears when the full choir of the monastery makes the grim
-arches of the chapel vibrate with the solemn tones of the Gregorian
-chant, certainly the unbroken calmness of the morning watch may well be
-allowed to symbolize the rapt meditation and unspoken devotion which
-finds its home within the "studious cloister's pale"; and I may be
-pardoned for comparing the close attention of the captain and his mates
-in getting the sun's altitude and working out the ship's position to the
-"examination of conscience" among the devout dwellers in the convent,
-and the working out of the spiritual reckoning which shows them how much
-they have varied from the course laid down on the divine chart, and how
-far they are from the wished-for port of perfection.
-
-I have a profound respect for the sea as a moral teacher. No man can be
-tossed about upon it without feeling his impotence and insignificance,
-and having his heart opened to the companions of his danger as it has
-never been opened before. The sea brings out the real character of every
-man; and those who journey over its "deep invisible paths" find
-themselves intrusting their most sacred confidences to the keeping of
-comparative strangers. The conventionalities of society cannot thrive in
-a salt atmosphere; and you shall be delighted to see how frank and
-agreeable the "world's people" can be when they are caught where the
-laws of fashion are silent, and what a wholesome neglect of personal
-appearances prevails among them when that sternest of democrats,
-Neptune, has placed them where they feel that it would be folly to try
-to produce an impression. The gentleman of the prize ring, whom Dickens
-introduces looking with admiration at the stately Mr. Dombey, gave it as
-his opinion that there was a way within the resources of science of
-"doubling-up" that incarnation of dignity; but, for the accomplishment
-of such an end, one good, pitching, head-sea would be far more effectual
-than all the resources of the "manly art." The most unbending assumption
-could not survive that dreadful sinking of the stomach, that convulsive
-clutch at the nearest object for support, and the faint, gurgling cry of
-"_stew'rd_" which announces that the victim has found his natural level.
-
-A thorough novitiate of seasickness is as indispensable, in my opinion,
-to the formation of true manly character, as the measles to a
-well-regulated childhood. Mentally as well as corporeally, seasickness
-is a wonderful renovator. We are such victims of habit, so prone to run
-in a groove, (most of us in a groove that may well be called a "vicious
-circle,") that we need to be thoroughly shaken up, and made to take a
-new view of the _rationale_ of our way of life. I do not believe that
-any man ever celebrated his recovery from that marine malady by eating
-the pickles and biscuit which always taste so good on such an occasion,
-without having acquired a new set of ideas, and being made generally
-wiser and better by his severe experience. I meet many unamiable persons
-"whene'er I take my walks abroad," who only need two days of seasickness
-to convert them into positive ornaments to society.
-
-But, pardon me; all this has little to do with the voyage to Liverpool.
-The days follow each other rapidly, and it begins to seem as if the
-voyage would stretch out to the crack of doom, for the head wind stands
-by us with the constancy of a sheriff, and when that lacks power to
-retard us we have a calm. But the weather is beautiful, and all the time
-is spent in the open air. Nut brown maids work worsted and crochet on
-the cooler side of the deck, and gentlemen in rusty suits, with
-untrimmed beards, wearing the "shadowy livery of the burning sun," talk
-of the prospects of a fair wind or read innumerous novels. The evenings
-are spent in gazing at a cloudless sky, and promenading in the
-moonshine. Music lends its aid and banishes impatience; my young
-co-voyagers seem not to have forgotten "Sweet Home," and the "Old Folks
-at Home" would be very much gratified to know how green their memory is
-kept.
-
-At length we all begin to grow tired of fair weather. The cloudless sky,
-the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, and the bright blue sea, with its
-lazily spouting whales and its lively porpoises playing around our
-bows,--grow positively distasteful to us; and we begin to think that any
-change would be an agreeable one. We do not have to wait many days
-before we are awaked very early in the morning, by the throwing down of
-heavy cordage on deck, and the shouts of the sailors, and are soon aware
-that we are subject to an unusual motion--as if the ship were being
-propelled by a strong force over a corduroy road constructed on an
-enormous scale. Garments, which yesterday were content to hang in an
-orderly manner against the partitions of one's state-room, now
-obstinately persist in hanging at all sorts of peculiar and disgraceful
-angles. Hat boxes, trunks, and the other movables of the voyager
-manifest great hilarity at the change in the weather, and dance about
-the floor in a manner that must satisfy the most fastidious beholder.
-Every timber in the ship groans as if in pain. The omnipresent steward
-rushes about, closing up sky-lights and dead lights, and "chocking" his
-rattling crockery and glassware. On deck the change from the even keel
-and the clear sunlight of the day before is still more wonderful. The
-colour of the sky reminds you of the leaden lining of a tea-chest; that
-of the sea, of the dingy green paper which covers the same. The sails,
-which so many days of sunshine have bleached to a dazzling whiteness,
-are now all furled, except those which are necessary to keep some little
-headway on the ship. The captain has adorned his manly frame with a suit
-of India rubber, which certainly could not have been selected for its
-gracefulness, and has overshadowed his honest face with a sou'wester of
-stupendous proportions. With the exception of occasional visits to the
-sinking barometer, he spends his weary day on the wet deck, and tries to
-read the future in the blackening waves and stormy sky. The wheel, which
-heretofore has required but one man, now taxes the strength of two of
-the stoutest of our crew;--so hard is it to keep our bashful ship
-heading up to that rude sea, and to "ease her when she pitches." The
-breakfast suffers sadly from neglect, for every one is engrossed with
-the care of the weather. At noon there is a lull for half an hour or so,
-and, in spite of the threats of the remorseless barometer, some of our
-company try to look for an amelioration in the meteorological line. But
-their hopes are crushed when they find that the wind has shifted one or
-two points, and has set in to blow more violently than before. The sea,
-too, begins to behave in a most capricious and disagreeable style. When
-the ship has, with a great deal of straining and cracking, ridden safely
-over two mighty ridges of water, and seems to be easily settling down
-into a black valley between two foam-capped hills, there comes a sudden
-shock, as if she had met the Palisades of the Hudson in her path--a
-crackling, grating sound, like that of a huge nutmeg-grater operating on
-a coral reef, a crash like the combined force of all the battering-rams
-of Titus Flavius Vespasianus on one of the gates of Jerusalem,--and a
-hundred tons of angry water roll aft against the cabin doors, in a
-manner not at all agreeable to weak nerves. For a moment the ship seems
-to stand perfectly still, as if deliberating whether to go on or turn
-back; then, realizing that the ship that deliberates in such a time is
-lost, she rises gracefully over a huge pile of water which was
-threatening to submerge her.
-
-The afternoon wears away slowly with the passengers. They say but little
-to one another, but look about them from the security of the wheel-house
-as if they were oppressed with a sense of the inestimable value of
-strong cordage. As twilight approaches, and all hands are just engaged
-in taking supper, after having "mended the reefs," the ship meets a
-staggering sea, which seems to start every timber in her firm-set frame,
-and our main-top-gallant-mast breaks off like a stick of candy. Such
-things generally happen just at night, the sailors say, when the
-difficulties of clearing away the broken rigging are increased by the
-darkness. Straightway the captain's big, manly voice is heard above the
-war-whoop of the gale, ringing out as Signor Badiali's was wont to in
-the third act of Ernani. The wind seems to pin the men to the ratlines
-as they clamber up; but all the difficulties are overcome at length; the
-broken mast is lowered down, and snugly stowed away; and before nine
-o'clock all is quiet, except the howling wind, which seems to have
-determined to make a night of it. And such a night! It is one of those
-times that make one want one's mother. There is little sleeping done
-except among the "watch below" in the forecastle, who snore away their
-four hours as if they appreciated the reasoning of Mr. Dibdin when he
-extols the safety of the open sea as compared with the town with its
-falling chimneys and flying tiles, and commiserates the condition of the
-unhappy shore-folks in such a tempestuous time. The thumping of the sea
-against our wooden walls, the swash of water on deck as the ship rolls
-and pitches as you would think it impossible for any thing addicted to
-the cold water movement to roll or pitch, and over all the wild,
-changeless, shrieking of the gale, will not suffer sleep to visit those
-who are not inured to such things. Tired of bracing up with knee, and
-hand, and heel, to keep in their berths, they lie and wonder how many
-such blows as that our good ship could endure, and think that if June
-gets up such gales on the North Atlantic, they have no wish to try the
-quality of those of January.
-
-Morning comes at last, and every heart is cheered by the captain's
-announcement, as he passes through the cabin, that the barometer is
-rising, and the weather has begun to improve. Some of the more hopeful
-and energetic of our company turn out and repair to the deck. The leaden
-clouds are broken up, and the sun trying to struggle through them; but
-to the inexperienced the gale appears to be as severe as it was
-yesterday. All the discomfort and danger of the time are forgotten,
-however, in the fearful magnificence of the spectacle that surrounds us.
-As far as the eye can reach it seems like a confused field of battle,
-where snowy plumes and white flowing manes show where the shock of war
-is felt most severely. To watch the gathering of one of those mighty
-seas that so often work destruction with the noblest ships,--to see it
-gradually piling up until it seems to be impelled by a fury almost
-intelligent,--to be dazzled by its emerald flash when it erects its
-stormy head the highest, and breaks into a field of boiling foam, as if
-enraged at being unable to reach us;--these are things which are worth
-all the anxiety and peril that they cost.
-
-The captain's prognostications prove correct. Our appetites at dinner
-bear witness to them; and before sunset we find our ship (curtailed of
-its fair proportion, it is true, by the loss of its
-main-top-gallant-mast) is under full sail once more. The next day we
-have a few hours' calm, and when a light breeze does spring up, it comes
-from the old easterly quarter. It begins to seem as if we were fated to
-sail forever, and never get any where. But patience wears out even a
-head wind, and at last the long-looked-for change takes place. The wind
-slowly hauls to the south, and many are the looks taken at the compass
-to see how nearly the ship can come up to her course. Then our
-impatience is somewhat allayed by speaking a ship which has been out
-twelve days longer than our own--for, if it be true, as Rochefoucauld
-says, that "there is something not unpleasing to us in the misfortunes
-of our best friends,"--how keen must be the satisfaction of finding a
-stranger-companion in adversity. The wind, though steady, is not very
-strong, and many fears are expressed lest it should die away and give
-Eurus another three weeks' chance. But our forebodings are not realized,
-and a sunshiny day comes when we are all called up from dinner to see a
-long cloud-like affair, (very like a whale,) which, we are told, is the
-Old Head of Kinsale. Straightway all begin to talk of getting on shore
-the next day; but when that comes, we find that we are drawing towards
-Holyhead very rapidly, as our favourable wind has increased to a
-gale--so that when we have got round Holyhead, and have taken our pilot,
-(that burly visitor whose coming every one welcomes, and whose departure
-every one would speed,) the aforesaid pilot heaves the ship to, and,
-having a bed made up on the cabin floor, composes himself to sleep. The
-next morning finds the gale abated, and early in the forenoon we are
-running up to the mouth of the river. The smoke (that first premonitory
-symptom of an English town) hangs over Liverpool, and forms a strong
-contrast with the bright green fields and verdant hedges which deck the
-banks of the Mersey. The ship, after an immense amount of vocal power
-has been expended in that forcible diction which may be termed the
-marine vernacular, is got into dock, and in the afternoon a passage of
-thirty-three days is concluded by our stepping once more upon the
-"inviolate island of the sage and free," and following our luggage up
-the pier, with a swing in our gait which any stage sailor would have
-viewed with envy. The examination at the Custom House is conducted with
-a politeness and despatch worthy of imitation among the officials of our
-Uncle Samuel. The party of passengers disperses itself about in various
-hotels, without any circumstance to hinder their progress except falling
-in with an exhibition of Punch and Judy, which makes the company
-prolific in quotations from the sayings of Messrs. Codlin and Short, and
-at last the family which never had its harmonious unity disturbed by any
-thing, is broken up forever.
-
-Liverpool wears its old thriving commercial look--perhaps it is a few
-shades darker with smoke. The posters are on a more magnificent scale,
-both as regards size and colour, than ever before, and tell not only of
-the night's amusements, but promise the acquisition of wealth outrunning
-the dreams of avarice in lands beyond the farthest Thule. Melbourne and
-Port Philip vie in the most gorgeous colours with San Francisco; and the
-United States seem to have spread wide their capacious arms to welcome
-the down-trodden Irishman. Liverpool seems to be the gate to all the
-rest of the world. I almost fear to walk about lest I should find myself
-starting off, in a moment of temporary insanity, for Greenland's icy
-mountains, or India's coral strand.
-
-
-
-LONDON
-
-
-Dull must he be of soul who could make the journey from Liverpool to the
-metropolis in the month of June, and not be lifted above himself by the
-surpassing loveliness of dear mother Nature. Even if he were chained to
-a ledger and cash book--if he never had a thought or wish beyond the
-broker's board, and his entire reading were the prices current--he must
-forget them all, and feel for the time what a miserable sham his life
-is--or he does not deserve the gift of sight. It is Thackeray, I think,
-who speaks somewhere of the "charming friendly English landscape that
-seems to shake hands with you as you pass along"--and any body who has
-seen it in June will say that this is hardly a figurative expression. I
-used to think that it was my enthusiastic love for the land of the great
-Alfred which made it seem so beautiful to me when I was younger; but I
-find that it wears too well to be a mere fancy of my own brain. People
-may complain of the humid climate of England, and curse the umbrella
-which must accompany them whenever they walk out; but when the sun does
-shine, it shines upon a scene of beautiful fertility unequalled
-elsewhere in the world, and which the moist climate produces and
-preserves. And then, too, it seems doubly grateful to the eyes of one
-just come from sea. The bright freshness of the whole landscape, the
-varied tints of green, the trim hedges, the luxuriant foliage which
-springs from the very trunks of the trees, and the high state of
-cultivation which makes the whole country look as if it had been swept
-and dusted that morning,--all these things strike an American, for he
-cannot help contrasting them with the parched fields of his own land in
-summer, surrounded by their rough fences and hastily piled-up stone
-walls. The solidity of the houses and cottages, which look as if they
-were built, not for an age, but for all time, makes him think of the
-country houses of America, which seem to have grown up in a night, like
-our friend Aladdin's, and whose frailty is so apparent that you cannot
-sneeze in one of them without apprehending a serious calamity. Then the
-embankments of the railways present not only a pleasant sight to the eye
-of the traveller, but a pretty little hay crop to the corporation; and
-at every station, and bridge, and crossing, wherever there is a switch
-to be tended, you see the neat cottages of the keepers, and the gardens
-thereof--the railway companies having learned that the expenditure of a
-few hundred pounds in this way saves an expenditure of many thousands in
-surgeons' bills and damages, and is far more satisfactory to all
-concerned.
-
-What a charming sight is a cow--what a look of contentment she
-has--ambitious of nothing beyond the field of daily duty, and never
-looking happier than when she comes at night to yield a plenteousness of
-that fluid without which custards were an impossibility! Wordsworth says
-that "heaven lies about us in our infancy"--surely he must mean that
-portion of the heavens called by astronomers the Milky Way. It is
-pleasant to see a cow by the side of a railway--provided she is fenced
-from danger--to see her lift her head slowly as the train goes whizzing
-by, and gaze with those mild, tranquil eyes upon the noisy,
-smoke-puffing monster,--just as the saintly hermits of olden times might
-have looked from their serene heights of contemplation upon the dusty,
-bustling world. The taste of the English farmers for fine cattle is
-attested by a glance at any of their pastures. On every side you see the
-representatives of Alderney's bovine aristocracy; and scores of cattle
-crop the juicy grass, rivalling in their snowy whiteness any that ever
-reclined upon Clitumno's "mild declivity of hill," or admired their
-graceful horns in its clear waters. Until I saw them, I never
-comprehended what farmers meant when they spoke of "neat cattle."
-
-What an eloquent preacher is an old church-tower! Moss-crowned and
-ivy-robed, it lifts its head, unshaken by the tempests of centuries, as
-it did in the days when King John granted the Great Charter or the holy
-Edward ruled the realm, and tells of the ages when England was one in
-faith, and not a poor-house existed throughout the land. Like a faithful
-sentinel, it stands guard over the humbler edifices around it, and warns
-their inhabitants alike of their dangers and their duties by the music
-of its bells. Erect in silent dignity, it receives the first beams of
-the morning, and when twilight has begun to shroud every thing in its
-neighbourhood, the flash of sunset lingers on its gray summit. It looks
-down with sublime indifference upon the changing scene below, as if it
-would reproach the actors there with their forgetfulness of the
-transitoriness of human pursuits, and remind them, by its
-unchangeableness, of the eternal years.
-
-At last we draw near London. A gentleman, whose age I would not attempt
-to guess,--for he was very carefully made up, and boasted a deportment
-which would have excited the envy of Mr. Turveydrop, senior,--so far
-forgot his dignity as to lean forward and inform me that the place we
-were passing was "'Arrow on the 'Ill," which made me forget for the
-moment both his appearance and his uncalled-for "exasperation of the
-haitches." Not long after, I found myself issuing from the magnificent
-terminus of the North Western Railway, in Euston Square, in a cab marked
-V. R. 10,276. The cab and omnibus drivers of London are a distinct race
-of beings. Who can write their natural history? Who is competent to such
-a task? The researches of a Pritchard, a Pickering, a Smyth, would seem
-to cover the whole subject of the history of the human species from the
-anthropophagi and bosjesmen to the drinkers of train oil in the polar
-regions; but the cabmen are not included. They would require a master
-mind. The subject would demand the patient investigation of a Humboldt,
-the eloquence of a Macaulay, and the humour of a Dickens--and even then
-would fall short, I fear, of giving an adequate idea of them. Your
-London cab driver has no idea of distance; as, for instance, I ask one
-the simple question,--
-
-"How far is it to the Angel in Islington?"
-
-"Wot, sir?"
-
-I repeat my interrogatory.
-
-"Oh, the Hangel, sir! Four shillings."
-
-"No, no. I mean what distance."
-
-"Well, say three, then, sir."
-
-"But I mean--what distance? How many miles?"
-
-"O, come, sir, jump in--don't be 'ard on a fellow--I 'aven't 'ad a fare
-to-day. Call it 'arf a crown, sir."
-
-Leigh Hunt says somewhere that if there were such a thing as
-metamorphosis, Dr. Johnson would desire to be transformed into an
-omnibus, that he might go rolling along the streets whose very pavements
-were the objects of his ardent affection. And he was about right. What
-better place is there in this world to study human nature than an
-omnibus? All classes meet there; in the same coach you may see them
-all--from the poor workwoman to the genteelly dressed lady, who looks as
-if she disapproved of such conveyances, but must ride nevertheless--from
-the young sprig, who is constantly anxious lest some profane foot should
-dim the polish of his boots, to the urbane old gentleman, who regrets
-his corpulence, and would take less room if he could. And then the top
-of the omnibus, which usually carries four or more passengers, what a
-place is that to see the tide of life which flows unceasingly through
-the streets of London! I know of nothing which can furnish more food for
-thought than a ride on an omnibus from Brompton to the Bank on a fine
-day. It is a pageant, in which all the wealth, pomp, power, and
-prosperity of this world pass before you; and for a moral to the
-whirling scene, you must go to the nearest churchyard.
-
-London is ever the same. The omnibuses follow each other as rapidly as
-ever up and down the Strand, the white-gloved, respectable-looking
-policemen walk about as deliberately, and the tail of the lion over the
-gate of Northumberland House sticks out as straight as ever. The only
-great change visible here is in the newspapers. The tone of society is
-so different from what it was formerly, in all that concerns France,
-that the editors must experience considerable trouble in accustoming
-themselves to the new state of things. Once, France and Louis Napoleon
-furnished Punch with his chief materials for satire and amusement, and
-if any of the larger and more dignified journals wished to let off a
-little ill humour, or to say any thing particularly bitter, they only
-had to dip their pens in _Gaul_; but times are changed, and now nothing
-can be said too strong in favour of "our chivalric allies, the French."
-The memory of St. Helena seems to have given place to what they call
-here the _entente cordiale_, which those who are acquainted with the
-French language assure me means an agreement by which one party
-contracts to "play second fiddle" to another, through fear that if he
-does not he will not be permitted to play at all.
-
-To the man who thoroughly appreciates the Essays of Elia, and Boswell's
-Life of Johnson, London can never grow tiresome. He can never turn a
-corner without finding "something new, something to please, and
-something to instruct." Its very pavements are classical. And there is
-nothing to abate, nor detract from, such a man's enthusiasm. The
-traveller who visits the Roman Forum, or the Palace of the Caesars,
-experiences a sad check when he finds his progress impeded by unpoetical
-obstacles. But in London, all is harmonious; he sees on every side, not
-only that which tells of present life and prosperity, but the perennial
-glories of England's former days. Would he study history, he goes to the
-Tower, "rich with the spoils of time"; or to Whitehall, where mad
-fanaticism consummated its treasonable work with the murder of a
-sovereign; or to the towering minster, to gaze upon the chair in which
-the monarchs of a thousand years have sat; or to view the monuments, and
-read the epitaphs, of that host of
-
-    "Bards, heroes, sages, side by side,
-    Who darkened nations when they died."
-
-Is he a lover of English literature? Here are scenes eloquent of that
-goodly company of wits and worthies, whose glowing pages have been the
-delight of his youth and the consolation of his riper years; here are
-the streets in which they walked, the taverns in which they feasted, the
-churches where they prayed, the tombs where they repose.
-
-And London wears well. To revisit it when age has sobered down the
-enthusiasm of youth, is not like seeing a theatre by daylight; but you
-think almost that you have under-estimated your privileges. How well I
-remember the night when I first arrived in the metropolis! It was after
-ten o'clock, and I was much fatigued; but before I booked myself in my
-hotel, or looked at my room, I rushed out into the Strand, "with
-breathless speed, like a soul in chase." I pushed along, now turning to
-look at Temple Bar, now pausing to take breath as I went up Ludgate
-Hill. I saw St. Paul's and its dome before me, and I was satisfied. No,
-I was not satisfied; for when I returned up Fleet Street, I looked out
-dear old Bolt Court, and entered its Johnsonian precincts with an awe
-and veneration which a devout Mussulman, taking the early train for
-Mecca, would gladly imitate. And then I posted down Inner Temple Lane,
-and looked at the house in which Charles Lamb and his companions held
-their "Wednesday nights"; and, going still farther, I saw the river--I
-stood on the bank of the Thames, and I was satisfied. I looked, and all
-the associations of English history and literature which are connected
-with it filled my mind--but just as I was getting into a fine frenzy
-about it, a watchman hove in sight, and the old clock chimed out eleven.
-So I started on, and soon reached my hotel. I was accosted on my way
-thither by a young and gayly dressed lady, whom I did not remember ever
-to have seen before, but who expressed her satisfaction at meeting me,
-in the most cordial terms. I told her that I thought that it must be a
-mistake, and she responded with a laugh which very much shocked an
-elderly gentleman who was passing, who looked as if he might have been
-got up for the part of the uncle of the unhappy G. Barnwell. I have
-since learned that such mistakes and personal misapprehensions very
-frequently occur in London in the evening.
-
-Speaking of Temple Bar, it gratifies me to see that this venerable
-gateway still stands, "unshaken, unseduced, unterrified," by any of the
-recent attempts to effect its removal. The old battered and splashed
-doors are perhaps more unsightly than before; but the statues look down
-with the same benignity upon the crowd of cabs and omnibuses, and the
-never-ending tide of humanity which flows beneath them, as they did upon
-the Rake's Progress, so many years ago. The sacrilegious commissioners
-of streets long to get at it with their crows and picks, but the shade
-of Dr. Johnson watches over the barrier of his earthly home. It is not
-an ornamental affair, to be sure, and it would be difficult for Mr.
-Choate, even, to defend it against the charge of being an obstruction;
-but its associations with the literature and history of the last two or
-three centuries ought to entitle its dingy arches to a certain degree of
-reverence, even in our progressive and irreverent age. The world would
-be a loser by the demolition of this ancient landmark, and London, if it
-should lose this, though it might still be the metropolis of the British
-empire, would cease to be the London of Johnson and Goldsmith, of
-Addison and Pope, of Swift and Hogarth.
-
-Perhaps some may think, from what I have said in the commencement of
-this letter, that my enthusiasm has blinded me to those great moral and
-social evils which are apparent in English civilization; but it is not
-so. I love England rather for what she has been than for what she is; I
-love the England of Alfred and St. Edward; and when I contrast the
-present state with what it might have been under a succession of such
-rulers, I cannot but grieve. Truly the court of St. James under Victoria
-is not what it was under Charles II., nor even under Mr. Thackeray's
-favourite hero, "the great George IV.,"--but are not St. James and St.
-Giles farther apart than ever before? Is not Lazarus looked upon as a
-nuisance, which legislation ought, for decency's sake, to put out of the
-way? What does England do for the poor? Nothing; absolutely nothing, if
-you except a system of workhouses, compared with which prisons are
-delightful residences, and which seems to have been intended more for
-the punishment of poverty than as a work of charity. No; on the
-contrary, she discountenances works of charity; when a few earnest men
-among the clergy of her divided church make an effort in that direction,
-there is an outcry, and they must be put down; and their bishops, whose
-annual incomes are larger than the whole treasury of Alfred, admonish
-them to beware how they thus imitate the superstitions of the middle
-ages. No; your Englishman of the present day has something better to do
-than to look after the beggar at his doorstep; he is too respectable a
-man for that; he pays his "poor rates," and the police must order the
-thing of shreds and patches to "move on"; his progress must not be
-impeded, for his presence is required at a meeting of the friends of
-Poland, or of Italy, or of a society for the abolition of American
-slavery, and he has no time to waste on such common, every-day matters
-as the improvement of the miserable wretches who work his coal mines, or
-of those quarters of the town where vice parades its deformity with
-exulting pride, and the air is heavy with pestilence. There is
-proportionably more beggary in London at this hour than in any
-continental city. And such beggary! Not the comfortable, jolly-looking
-beggars you may see in Rome or Naples, who know that charity is enjoined
-upon the people as a religious duty, but the thin, pallid, high-cheeked
-supplicants, whose look is a petition which tells a more effective story
-than words can frame of destitution and starvation.
-
-But there is another phase of this part of London life, sadder by far
-than that of mere poverty. It is an evil which no attempt is made to
-prevent, and so great an evil that its very mention is forbidden by the
-spirit of this age of "superficial morality and skin-deep propriety." I
-pity the man who can walk through Regent Street or the Strand in the
-evening, unsaddened by what he shall see on every side. How ridiculous
-do our boasts of this Christian nineteenth century seem there! Here is
-this mighty Anglo-Saxon race, which can build steam engines, and
-telegraphs, and clipper ships, which tunnels mountains, and exerts an
-almost incredible mastery over the forces of nature,--and yet, when
-Magdalene looks up to it for a merciful hand to lift her from
-degradation and sin, she finds it either deaf or powerless. There is a
-work yet to be done in London which would stagger a philanthropist, if
-he were gifted with thrice the heroism, and patience, and
-self-forgetfulness of a St. Vincent of Paul.
-
-I cannot resist the inclination to give in this connection a passage
-from the personal experience of a friend in London, which, had I read it
-in any book or newspaper, I should have hesitated to believe. One
-evening, as he was passing along Pall Mall, he was addressed by a young
-woman, who, when she saw that he was going to pass on and take no notice
-of her, ran before him, and said in a tone of the most pathetic
-earnestness,--
-
-"Well, if you'll not go with me, for God's sake, sir, give me a trifle
-to buy bread!"
-
-Thus appealed to, and somewhat shaken by the voice and manner, he
-stopped under a gaslight, and looked at the speaker. Vice had not
-impressed its distinctive seal so strongly upon her as upon most of the
-unfortunate creatures one meets in London's streets; indeed, there was a
-shade of melancholy on her face which harmonized well with her voice and
-manner. So my friend resolved to have a few words more with her, and
-buttoning up his coat, to protect his watch and purse, he told her that
-he feared she wanted money to buy gin rather than bread. She assured him
-that it was not so, but that she wished to buy food for her little
-child, a girl of two or three years. Then he asked how she could lead
-such a life, if she had a child growing up, upon whom her example would
-have such an influence; and she said that she would gladly take up with
-an honest occupation, if she could find one,--indeed, she did try to
-earn enough for the daily wants of herself and child with her needle,
-but it was impossible,--and her only choice was between starvation and
-the street. At that time she said that she was learning the trade of a
-dressmaker, and she hoped that before long she should be able to keep
-herself above absolute necessity. Encouraged by a kind word from my
-friend, she went on in a simple, womanly manner, and told him of her
-whole career. It was the old story of plighted troth, betrayed
-affection, and flight from her village home, to escape the shame and
-reproach she would there be visited with. She arrived in London without
-money, without friends, without employment,--without any thing save that
-natural womanly self-respect which had received such a severe
-blow:--necessity stared her in the face, and she sank before it. My
-friend was impressed by the recital of her misfortunes, and thinking
-that she must be sincere, he took a sovereign from his purse and gave it
-to her. She looked from the gift to the giver, and thanked him again and
-again. He continued his walk, but had not gone more than three or four
-rods, when she came running after him, and reiterated her expressions of
-thankfulness with a trembling voice. He then walked on, and crossed over
-to the front of the Church of St. Martin, (that glorious soldier who
-with his sword divided his cloak with the beggar,) when she came after
-him yet again, and seizing hold of his hand, she looked up at him with
-streaming eyes, and said, holding the sovereign in her hand,--
-
-"God bless you, sir, again and again for your kindness to me! Pray
-pardon me, sir, for troubling you so much--but--but--perhaps you meant
-to give me a shilling, sir,--perhaps you don't know that you gave me a
-sovereign."
-
-How many models of propriety and respectability in every rank of
-life,--how many persons who have the technical language of religion
-constantly on their lips,--how many of those who, nurtured amid the
-influences of a good home, have never really known what temptation
-is,--how many such persons are there who might learn a startling lesson
-from this fallen woman, whom they seem to consider themselves
-religiously bound to despise and neglect! I have a great dread of these
-severely virtuous people, who are so superior to all human frailty that
-they cannot afford a kind word to those who have not the good fortune to
-be impeccable. But we all of us, I fear, need to be reminded of Burns's
-lines--
-
-    "What's done we partly may compute,
-    But know not what's resisted."
-
-If we thought of this, keeping our own weaknesses in view, which of us
-would not shrink from judging uncharitably, or casting the first stone
-at an erring fellow-creature? Which of us would dare to condemn the poor
-girl who preserved so much of the spirit of honesty in her degradation,
-and to commend the negative virtues which make up so many of what the
-world calls good lives?
-
-
-
-ANTWERP AND BRUSSELS
-
-
-It is a very pleasant thing to get one's passport _vised_ (even though a
-pretty good fee is demanded for it,) and to make preparations for
-leaving London, at almost any time; but it is particularly so when the
-weather has been doing its worst for a fortnight, and the atmosphere is
-so "thick and slab" that to compare it to pea-soup would be doing that
-excellent compound a great injustice. It is very pleasant to think of
-getting out from under that blanket of smoke and fog, and escaping to a
-land where the sun shines occasionally, and where the manners of the
-people make a perpetual sunshine which renders you independent of the
-weather. If there ever was a day to which that expressive old Saxon
-epithet _nasty_ might be justly applied, it was the one on which I left
-the greasy pavements of London, and (after a contest with a cabman,
-which ended, as such things generally do, in a compromise) found myself
-on board one of the fast-sailing packets of the General Steam Navigation
-Company, at St. Catharine's Wharf, just below the esplanade of the
-Tower. The beautiful banks of the river below the city, the fine pile of
-buildings, and the rich foliage of the park at Greenwich, seemed to have
-laid aside their charms, and shrouded themselves in mourning for the
-death of sunshine. The steamer was larger than most of those which ply
-in the Channel; but the crowded cabins and diminutive state-rooms made
-me think with envy of the passengers from New York to Fall River that
-afternoon. And there was a want of attention to those details which
-would have improved the appearance of the boat greatly--which made me
-wish that her commander might have served his apprenticeship on Long
-Island Sound or on the Hudson.
-
-The company was composed of about the usual admixture of English and
-foreign beauty and manliness; and the English, French, Dutch, and German
-languages were confounded in such a manner as to bring to mind the
-doings of the committee on the construction of public works recorded in
-Genesis. Among the crowd of young Cockneys in jockeyish-looking caps,
-with travelling pouches strapped to their sides, there was a rather tall
-gentleman in a clerical suit, with his throat covered with the usual
-white bandages. His highly respectable look, and the eminently
-"evangelical" expression of the corners of his mouth, made me feel quite
-sure that I had found a character. He had three little boys with him;
-and as far as appearance went, he might have been Dickens's model for
-Dr. Blimber, (the principal of that celebrated academy where they had
-mental green peas and intellectual asparagus all the year round,) for he
-had the eye of a pedagogue "to threaten and command," and his fixed look
-was the one which my old schoolmaster's face wore when he turned up his
-wristbands, and, taking his ruler, said, "I am very sorry, Andrew; but
-you know that it is for your good." His conversation savoured so
-strongly of the dictionary, that, even if I had been blind, I should
-have said that the speaker had spent years in correcting the
-compositions of ingenuous youth. I shall not forget his look of wonder
-when he asked one of the engineers what was the matter with a dog that
-was yelping about the deck, and received for a reply that he tumbled off
-the quarter deck, and was _strained in the garret_. However, I enjoyed
-two or three hours' conversation with him very much--if it could be
-called conversation when he did all the talking.
-
-Towards evening, when we found ourselves in the open sea, the
-south-westerly swell rolled up finely from the Goodwin Sands, and
-produced a scene to remind a disinterested spectator of Punch's touching
-pictorial representation of the commencement of the continental tour of
-Messrs. Brown, Jones, and Robinson. I soon perceived that a conspicuous
-collection of white bowls, which adorned the main saloon, was not a mere
-matter of ornament. The amount of medicine for the prevention or cure of
-seasickness, which was taken by my fellow-voyagers from flat bottles
-covered with wicker-work, would have astonished the most ardent upholder
-of the old allopathic practice. But all the pitching and rolling of the
-steamer, and the varied occupations of the passengers, did not interfere
-with my repose. I slept as soundly in my narrow accommodations as if I
-had been within hearing of the rattling of the omnibuses of my native
-city.
-
-The next morning I was out in good season; and though I do not consider
-myself either "remote," "unfriended," "melancholy," or "slow," I found
-myself upon the "lazy Scheldt," with Antwerp's heaven-kissing spire
-climbing up the hazy perspective. The banks of the Scheldt are not very
-picturesque; indeed, a person of the strongest poetical susceptibilities
-might approach Flanders without the slightest apprehension of an attack
-of his weakness. I could not help congratulating myself, though, on
-having been spared to see the country which was immortalized by the
-profanity of a great military force.
-
-We Americans usually consider ourselves up to the times, and are prone
-to sneer at Russia for being eleven days behind the age; but we do not
-yet "beat the Dutch" in progress, for they are half an hour in advance,
-as I found, very soon after landing, that all the church clocks, with a
-great deal of formality and precision, struck nine, when the hands only
-pointed to half past eight; and I noted a similar phenomenon while I was
-taking breakfast an hour after. Antwerp is a beautiful old city, and its
-quiet streets are very pleasant, after the tumult and roar of London;
-but--there is one drawback--it is too scrupulously clean. I almost
-feared to walk about, lest I should unknowingly do some damage; and
-every door-handle and bell-pull had a most unhospitable polish, which
-seemed to say with the placards in the Crystal Palace, "Please not to
-handle." Cleanliness is a great virtue; but when it is carried to such
-an extent that you cannot find your books and papers which you left
-carefully arranged yesterday on your table,--when it gets to be a
-monomania with man or woman,--it becomes a bore. How strangely the first
-two or three hours in a Dutch town strike a stranger!--the odd,
-high-gabled houses, the queer head-dresses, (graceful because of their
-very ungracefulness,) the wooden shoes, and the language, which sounds
-like English spoken by a toothless person. But one very soon gets
-accustomed to it. It is like being in an Oriental city, where the great
-variety of costumes and languages, and the different manners of the
-people, make up an _ensemble_ which a stranger thinks will be a lasting
-novelty; but on his second day he finds himself taking about as much
-notice of a Persian caravan as he would of a Canton Street or Sixth
-Avenue omnibus.
-
-I might here indulge in a little harmless enthusiasm about this grand
-old cathedral of Antwerp. I might talk about the "long-drawn aisle and
-fretted vault," and give an elaborate description of it,--its enormous
-dimensions and artistic glories,--if I did not know that any reader who
-desires such things can find them set down with greater exactness than
-becomes me, in any of the guide books for Belgium. I spent the greater
-proportion of my waking hours in Antwerp under the solemn arches of that
-majestic old church. I wonder, shall we ever see any thing in America to
-remind us even faintly of the glories of Antwerp, Cologne, Rouen,
-Amiens, York, or Milan? I fear not. The ages that built those glorious
-piles thought less of fat dividends than this boastful nineteenth
-century of ours, and their religion was not the mere
-one-day-out-of-seven affair that the improved Christianity of to-day is.
-The architects who conceived and executed those marvels of sublimity
-never troubled themselves with our popular query, "Will it pay?" any
-more than Dante interrupted the inspiration of his _Paradiso_, or
-Beethoven the linked harmony of his matchless symphonies, with their
-solicitude about the amount of their copyright. No; their work inspired
-them, and while it reflected their genius, it imparted to them something
-of its own divine dignity. Their art became religion, and its laborious
-processes acts of the most fervent devotion. But we have reformed all
-that, and now inspiration has to give way to considerations of the
-greatest number of "sittings," that can possibly be provided, and if the
-expenses of the sacred enterprise can be lessened by contriving
-accommodation for shops or storage in the basement, who does not
-rejoice? There are too many churches nowadays built upon the foundation
-of the _profits_, leaving the apostles entirely out of the question.
-
-But while I lament our want of those wonderful constructions whose very
-stones seem to have grown consciously into forms of beauty, I must
-record my satisfaction at the improvement in architectural taste which
-is visible in most of our cities at home. If we must have banks, and
-railway stations, and shops, it is some compensation to have them made
-pleasant to our sight. Buildings are the books that every body
-unconsciously reads; and if they are a libel on the laws of
-architecture, they will surely vitiate in time the taste of those who
-become familiarized to their deformity. Dr. Johnson said, that "if a
-man's hands were dirty, his thoughts would be dirty"; and it may be
-declared, with much more reason, that those who are obliged to look, day
-after day, at ungraceful, mean, and unsubstantial objects, lose, by
-degrees, their sense of the beautiful and the harmonious, and set forth,
-in the poverty of their minds, the meanness of their surroundings.
-
-On one account I have again and again blessed the star that guided me to
-Antwerp,--that is, for the pleasure afforded me by its treasures of art.
-I have, in times past, fed fat my appetite for the beautiful in the
-galleries of Italy, and therefore counted but little on the contents of
-the museum and churches of this ancient city. Do not be frightened,
-beloved reader; I am not going to launch out into the muddy stream of
-artistic criticism. I despise most of that which passes current under
-that dignified name, as heartily as you do. Even the laurels of Mr.
-Ruskin cannot rob me of a moment's repose. I cannot if I would, nor
-would I if I could, talk learnedly about pictures. So I can safely
-promise not to bore you with any "breadth of colouring," and to keep
-very "shady" about _chiaro 'scuro_. I only wish to say that he who has
-never been in Antwerp does not know who Rubens was. He may know that an
-industrious painter of that name once lived, and painted (as I used to
-think, judging from most of his works that I had seen elsewhere) a
-variety of fat, flaxen-haired women; but of Rubens, the great master,
-the painter of the Crucifixion, and the Descent from the Cross, he is as
-ignorant as a fourth-form boy in the public schools of Patagonia. It is
-worth a month of seasick voyaging to see the works of Rubens and Vandyck
-which Antwerp possesses; and the only regret connected with my visit
-there has been, that I could not give more days to the study of them
-than I could hours.
-
-It is but fifteen miles from Antwerp to Mechlin, or Malines, (as the
-people here, in the depths of their ignorance, insist upon calling it,)
-and as a representative of a nation whose sole criterion is success, and
-whose list of the cardinal virtues is headed by Prosperity, I felt that
-it would be a grievous sin of omission for me not to stop and visit that
-thriving old town. It did not require much time to walk through its
-nice, quiet streets, and look at the pictures and wood carvings in its
-venerable churches. The white-capped and bright-eyed lace-makers sat in
-windows and doorways, their busy fingers forming fabrics, the sight of
-which would kindle the fire of covetousness in any female heart. Three
-hours in Mechlin sufficed to make me about as well acquainted with it as
-if I had daily waked up its echoes with the creaking of my shoes, until
-their thick soles were worn out past all hope of tapping. Selecting one
-of the numerous railways that branch out from Mechlin, like the reins
-from the hand of a popular circus rider in his favourite
-"six-horse-act," the "Courier of St. Petersburg," I took a ticket for
-Brussels, and soon found myself spinning along over these fertile
-plains, whose joyous verdure I had not sufficient time to appreciate
-before I found myself in the capital of Belgium.
-
-And what a charming place this city of lace and carpets is! Clean as a
-parlour, not a speck nor a stain to be seen any where, with less of
-Dutch stiffness and more of French ease, so that you do not feel so much
-like an intruder as in most other strange cities. Brussels is a kind of
-vestibule to Paris; its streets, its shops, its public edifices are all
-reflections in miniature of those of the French metropolis. It has long
-seemed to me so natural a preparation for the meridian splendours of
-Paris, that to go thither in any other way than through Brussels, is as
-if you should enter a saloon by a back window, rather than through the
-legitimate front door. In one respect I prefer Brussels to Paris; it is
-smaller, and your mind takes it all in at once. In the French capital,
-its very vastness bewilders you. You are in the condition of the
-gentleman whose wife was so fat that when he wished to embrace her, he
-was obliged to make two actions of the feat, and use a bit of chalk to
-insure the proper distribution of his caress. But in Brussels every
-thing is so harmoniously and compactly combined, that you can enjoy it
-all at once. How does one's mind treasure up his rambles through these
-fair streets and gay arcades, his leisurely walks on these spacious
-boulevards, or under the dense shade of this lovely park, his musings in
-this fine old church of Ste. Gudule, whose gorgeous windows symbolize
-the heavenly bow, and whose air of devotion is eloquent of the undying
-hope which abides within its consecrated precincts! How one looks back
-years after leaving Brussels, and conjures up, in his memory, its public
-monuments, from that exceedingly diminutive and peculiar statue near the
-Hotel de Ville, which has pursued its useful and ornamental career for
-so many centuries, to the heroic equestrian figure of Godfrey of
-Bouillon, in the Place Royale! How vividly does one remember the old
-Gothic hall, which has remained unchanged during the many years that
-have passed since the Emperor Charles V. there laid down the burden of
-his power, and exchanged the throne for the cloister.
-
-One of the most delightful recollections of my term of residence in
-Brussels, is of a bright summer day, when I made an excursion to the
-field of Waterloo. Some Englishmen have established a line of coaches
-for the purpose--real old fashioned coaches, with a driver and a guard,
-which latter functionary performed Yankee Doodle most admirably on his
-melodious horn as we rattled out of town. The roadside views cannot have
-changed much since the night when the pavement shook beneath the heavy
-artillery and thundering tramp of Wellington's army. The forest of
-Soignies (or, to use its poetical name, Arden) looked as it might have
-looked before it was immortalized by a Tacitus and a Shakspeare; and its
-fresh foliage was "dewy with Nature's tear-drops," over our two coach
-loads of pleasure-seekers, just as Byron describes it to have been over
-the "unreturning brave," who passed beneath it forty years ago. Our
-party was shown over the memorable field by an old English sergeant who
-was in the battle; a fine bluff old fellow, and a gentleman withal, who,
-though his head was white, had all the enthusiasm of a young soldier. It
-was the most interesting trip of the kind that I ever made, far
-surpassing my expectations, for the ground remains literally _in statu
-quo ante bellum_. No commissioners of highways have interfered with its
-historical boundaries. It remains, for the most part, under cultivation,
-as it was before it became famous, and the grain grows, perhaps, more
-luxuriantly for the chivalric blood once shed there. There they are,
-unchanged, those localities which seem to so many mere inventions of the
-historian, Mont St. Jean, the farm of La Haye Sainte, the chateau of
-Hougoumont, the orchard with its low brick wall, over which the chosen
-troops of France and England fought hand to hand, and the spot where the
-last great charge was made, and the spell which held Europe in awe of
-the name of Napoleon, and made that name his country's watchword, and
-the synonyme of victory, was broken forever. Perhaps I err in saying
-forever, for France is certainly not unmindful of that name even now.
-That showery afternoon, when the great conqueror saw his veterans,
-against whom scores of battle fields, and all the terrors of a Russian
-campaign, proved powerless, cut to pieces and dispersed by a superior
-force, to which the news of coming reenforcements gave new strength and
-courage,--that very afternoon a boy, without a thought of battles or
-their consequences, was playing in the quiet grounds of the chateau of
-Malmaison. If Napoleon could have looked forward forty years, if he
-could have foreseen the romantic career of that child, and followed him
-through thirty years of exile, imprisonment, and discouragement, until
-he saw him reestablish the empire which was then overthrown, and place
-France on a higher pinnacle of power than she ever knew before, how
-comparatively insignificant would have seemed to him the consequences of
-that last desperate charge! If he could have seen that it was reserved
-to his nephew, the grandchild of his divorced but faithful Josephine, to
-avenge Waterloo by an alliance more fatal to England's prestige than any
-invasion could be, and that the armies which had that day borne such
-bloody witness to their unconquerable daring, would forty years later be
-united to resist the encroachments of the power which first checked him
-in his career of victory, he would have had something to think of during
-that gloomy night besides the sad events that had wrought such a fearful
-change in his condition.
-
-I returned to Brussels in the afternoon, meditating on the scenes I had
-visited, and repeating the five stanzas of Childe Harold in which Byron
-has commemorated the battle of Waterloo. In the evening I read, with new
-pleasure, Thackeray's graphic Waterloo chapter in Vanity Fair, and
-dreamed all night of falling empires and "garments rolled in blood." And
-now I turn my face towards Italy.
-
-
-
-GENOA AND FLORENCE
-
-
-It is a happy day in every one's life when he commences his journey into
-Italy. That glorious land, "rich with the spoils of time" above all
-others, endeared to every heart possessing any sense of the beautiful in
-poetry and art, or of the heroic in history, rises up before him as it
-was wont to do in the days of his youth, when Childe Harold's glowing
-numbers gave a tone of enthusiasm to his every thought, and filled him
-with longings, for the realization of which he hardly dared to hope. For
-the time, the commonest actions of the traveller seem to catch something
-of the indescribable charm of the land to which he is journeying. The
-ticketing of luggage and the securing of a berth on board a
-steamer--occupations which are not ordinarily considered particularly
-agreeable--become invested with an attractiveness that makes him wonder
-how he could ever have found them irksome. If he approaches Italy by
-land from France or Switzerland, with what curiosity does he study the
-varied features of the Piedmontese landscape! He recognizes the fertile
-fields which he read about in Tacitus years ago, and endeavours to find
-in the strange dialect which he hears spoken in the brief stops of the
-diligence to change horses, something to remind him even faintly of the
-melodious tongue with whose accents Grisi and Bosio had long since made
-him familiar. Meanwhile his imagination is not idle, and his mind is
-filled with historical pictures drawn from the classical pages which he
-once found any thing but entertaining. Though he may be fresh from the
-cloudless atmosphere of fair Provence, he fancies that the sky is bluer
-and the air more pure than he ever saw before.
-
-It is a great advantage to enter Italy from the sea. In this way you
-perceive more clearly the national characteristics, and enter at once
-into the Italian way of life. You avoid in this way that gradual change
-from one pure nationality to another, which is eminently unsatisfactory.
-You do not weary yourself with the mixed population and customs of those
-border towns which bear about the same relation to Italy that Boulogne,
-with its multitude of English residents, bears to France. It was my good
-fortune when I first visited Italy, years ago, to make the voyage from
-America direct to the proud city of Genoa. Fifty-five weary days passed
-away before the end of the voyage was reached. Twenty-six of those days
-were spent in battling with a terrible north-easter, before whose might
-many a better craft than the one I was in went down into the insatiable
-depths. My Italian anticipations kept me up through all the
-cheerlessness of that time. The stormy sky, the wet, the cold, and all
-the discomfort could not keep from my mind's eye the vineyards, palaces,
-churches, and majestic ruins which made up the Italy I had looked
-forward to from childhood. My first sight of that romantic land did
-somewhat shock, I must acknowledge, my preconceived notions. I was
-called on deck early one December morning to see the land which is
-associated in most minds with perpetual sunshine. Facing a biting,
-northerly blast, I saw the maritime range of the Alps covered with snow
-and looking as relentless as arctic icebergs. My disappointment was
-forgotten, however, two mornings after, when Genoa, wearing "the beauty
-of the morning," lay before our weather-beaten bark. It was something to
-remember to my dying day--that approach to the city of palaces.
-Surrounded by its amphitheatre of hills crested on every side with heavy
-fortifications, its palaces, and towers, and domes, and terraced gardens
-rising apparently from the very edge of that tideless sea, there sat
-Genoa, surpassing in its splendour the wildest imaginings of my youth. I
-shall never forget the thrill that ran through every fibre of my frame,
-when the sun rose above those embattled ridges, and poured his flood of
-saffron glory over the whole wonderful scene, and the bells from a
-hundred churches and convents rang out as cheerily as if the sunbeams
-made them musical, like the statue in the ancient fable, and there was
-no further need of bell ropes. The astonishment of Aladdin when he
-rubbed the lamp and saw the effects of that operation could not have
-equalled mine, when I saw Genoa put on the light and life of day like a
-garment. It was like a scene in a theatrical pageant, or one of the
-brilliant changes in a great firework, so instantaneous was the
-transition from the subdued light and calmness of early morning to the
-activity and golden light of day. All the discomfort of the eight
-preceding weeks was forgotten in the exultation of that moment. I had
-found the Italy of my young dreams, and my happiness was complete.
-
-This time, however, I entered Italy from the north. I pass by clean,
-prosperous-looking Milan, with its elegant churches, and its
-white-coated Austrian soldiers standing guard in every public place. I
-have not a word of lament to utter at seeing a stranger force sustaining
-social order there. It is better that it should be sustained by a
-despotism far more cruel than that of Austria, than to become the prey
-of that sanguinary anarchy which is dignified in Europe with the name of
-republicanism. The most absolute of all absolute monarchies is to be
-preferred to the best government that could possibly be built upon such
-a foundation as Mazzini's stiletto. Far better is the severest military
-despotism than the irresponsible tyranny of those who deny the first
-principles of government and common morality, and who seem to consider
-assassination the chief of virtues and the most heroic of actions. I
-pass by that magnificent cathedral, with its thousands of pinnacles and
-shining statues piercing the clear atmosphere like the peaks of a
-stupendous iceberg, and its subterranean chapel, glittering with
-precious metals and jewels, where, in a crystal shrine, repose the
-relics of the great St. Charles, and the lamps of gold and silver burn
-unceasingly, and symbolize the shining virtues of the self-forgetful
-successor of St. Ambrose, and the glowing gratitude of the faithful
-Milanese for his devotion to the welfare of their forefathers.
-
-I lingered among the attractions of Genoa for a few days. I enjoy not
-only those magnificent palaces with their spacious quadrangles, broad
-staircases, and sculptured facades, but those narrow, winding streets of
-which three quarters of the city are composed--so narrow indeed that a
-carriage never is seen in them, and a donkey, pannier-laden, after the
-manner of Ali Baba's faithful animal, compels you to keep very close to
-the buildings. Genoa is the very reverse of Philadelphia. Its streets
-are as narrow and crooked as those of Philadelphia are broad and
-straight. The Quaker City was always a wearisome place to me. Its
-rectangular avenues--so wide that they afford no protection from the
-wintry blast nor shelter from the canicular sunshine, and as
-interminable as a tale in a weekly newspaper--tire me out. They make me
-long for something more social and natural than their straight lines.
-Man is a gregarious animal. It is his nature to snuggify himself. But
-the Quaker affects a contempt for snugness, and includes Hogarth's line
-of beauty among the worldly vanities which his religion obliges him to
-shun. Every time I think of Philadelphia my disrespect for the science
-of geometry is increased, and I find myself more and more inclined to
-believe the most unkind things that Lord Macaulay can say about Mr.
-Penn, its founder. Cherishing such sentiments as these, is it wonderful
-that I find Genoa a pleasant city? I enjoy its gay port, its thronged
-market place, its sumptuous churches, with gilded vaults and panels, and
-checkered exteriors, its well-dressed people, from the bluff coachman,
-who laughed at my attempts to understand the Genoese dialect, to the
-devout feminines in their graceful white veils, which give the whole
-city a peculiarly festive and nuptial appearance: but it must be
-acknowledged, that the up-and-down-stairsy feature of the town is not
-grateful to my gouty feet.
-
-I must not weary you, dear reader, with any attempts to describe the
-delightful four days' journey from Genoa to Florence, in a _vettura_.
-The Cornice road, with its steep cliffs or trim villas on one side, and
-the clear blue Mediterranean on the other,--those pleasant old towns,
-pervaded with an air of respectable antiquity, Chiavari, Sestri,
-Sarzana, Spezzia, with its beautiful gulf, whose waters looked so pure
-and calm that it was difficult to think that they could ever have
-swallowed poor Percy Shelley, and robbed English literature of one of
-its brightest ornaments,--Pietra Santa, Carrara, with its queer old
-church, its quarries, its doorsteps and window-sills of milk-white
-marble, and its throng of artists,--the little marble city of Massa
-Ducale, nestling among the mountains,--the vast groves of olives, whose
-ash-coloured leaves made noontide seem like twilight,--all these things
-would require a great expenditure of time and rhetoric, and therefore I
-will not even allude to them.
-
-Neither will I tire you with any reference to my brief sojourn in Pisa.
-I will not tell how delightful it was to perambulate the clean streets
-of that peaceful city,--how I enjoyed the view from the bridges, the
-ancient towers and domes, and the lofty palaces, whose fair fronts are
-mirrored in the soft-flowing Arno. I will not attempt to describe the
-enchantment produced by that noble architectural group,--the Cathedral,
-the Baptistery, the Campanile, and the Campo Santo,--nor the joy I felt
-on making a closer acquaintance with that graceful tower, whose
-inexplicable dereliction from the perfect uprightness which is
-inculcated as a primary duty in all similar structures, was made
-familiar to me at an early age, through the medium of a remarkable
-wood-cut in my school Geography. I will not tell how I fatigued my sense
-with the forms of beauty with which that glorious church is filled,--how
-refreshing its holy quiet and subdued light were to my travel-worn
-spirit,--nor how the majestic cloisters of the Campo Santo, with their
-delicate traceries, antique frescoes, and constantly varying light and
-shade, elevated and purified my heart of the sordid spirit of this mean,
-practical age, until I felt that to live amid such scenes, and to be
-buried at last in the earth of Palestine, under the shade of those
-solemn arches, was the only worthy object of human ambition.
-
-I entered Florence late in the afternoon, under cover of a fog that
-would have done credit to London in the depths of its November
-nebulosity. It was rather an unbecoming dress for the style of beauty of
-the Tuscan capital,--that mantle of chill vapour,--but it was worn but a
-few hours, and the sun rose the next morning in all his legitimate
-splendour, and darted his rays through as clear and frosty an atmosphere
-as ever fell to the lot of even that favoured country. I have once or
-twice heard the epithet "beautiful" applied to this city; indeed, I will
-not be sure that I have not met with it in some book or other. It is, in
-fact, the only word that can be used with any propriety concerning this
-charming place. It is not vast like Rome, nor is the soul of its
-beholder saddened by the sight of mighty ruins, or burdened with the
-weight of thousands of years of heroic history. It does not possess the
-broad Bay of Naples, nor is it watched over by a stupendous volcano,
-smoking leisurely for want of some better occupation. But it lies in the
-valley of the Arno, one of the most harmonious and impressive works of
-art that the world has ever seen, surrounded by natural beauties that
-realize the most ecstatic dreams of poesy.
-
-_Firenze la bella!_ Who can look at her from any of the terraced hills
-that enclose her from the rude world, and deny her that title? That
-fertile plain which stretches from her very walls to the edge of the
-horizon--those picturesque hills, dotted with lovely villas--those
-orchards and vineyards, in their glory of gold and purple--that river,
-stealing noiselessly to the sea--and far away the hoary peaks of the
-Apennines, changing their hue with every hour of sunlight, and
-displaying their most gorgeous robes, in honour of the departing day,--I
-pity the man who can look upon them without a momentary feeling of
-inspiration. The view from Fiesole is consolation enough for a life of
-disappointment, and ought to make all future earthly trials seem as
-nothing to him who is permitted to enjoy it.
-
-And then, those domes and towers, so eloquent of the genius of Giotto
-and Brunelleschi and of the public spirit and earnest devotion of ages
-which modern ignorance stigmatizes as "dark,"--who can behold them
-without a thrill? The battlemented tower of the Palazzo Vecchio--which
-seems as if it had been hewn out of solid rock, rather than built up by
-the patient labour of the mason--looks down upon the peaceful city with
-a composure that seems almost intelligent, and makes you wonder whether
-it appeared the same when the signiory of Florence held their councils
-under its massive walls, and in those dark days when the tyrannous
-factions of Guelph and Ghibelline celebrated their bloody carnival. The
-graceful Campanile of the cathedral, with its coloured marbles, seems
-too much like a mantel ornament to be exposed to the changes of the
-weather. Amid the other domes and towers of the city rises the vast dome
-of the cathedral, the forerunner of that of St. Peter's, and almost its
-equal. It appears to be conscious of its superiority to the neighbouring
-architectural monuments, and merits Hallam's description--"an emblem of
-the Catholic hierarchy under its supreme head; like Rome itself,
-imposing, unbroken, unchangeable, radiating in equal expansion to every
-part of the earth, and directing its convergent curves to heaven."
-
-There is no city in the world so full of memories of the middle ages as
-Florence. Its very palaces, with their heavily barred basement windows,
-look as if they were built to stand a siege. Their sombre walls are in
-strong contrast with the bloom and sunshine which we naturally associate
-with the valley of the Arno. Their magnificent proportions and the
-massiveness of their construction oppress you with recollections of the
-warlike days in which they were erected. You wonder, as you stand in
-their courtyards, or perambulate the streets darkened by their
-overhanging cornices, what has become of all the cavaliers; and if a
-gentleman in "complete steel" should lift his visor to accost you, it
-would not startle you so much as to hear two English tourists with the
-inevitable red guide-books under their arms, conversing about the "Grand
-Juke." Wherever one may turn his steps in Florence, he meets with some
-object of beauty or historical interest; yet among all these charms and
-wonders there is one building upon which my eyes and mind are never
-tired of feeding. The Palazzo Riccardi, the cradle of the great Medici
-family, is not less impressive in its architecture than in its historic
-associations. Its black walls have a greater charm for me than the
-variegated marbles of the Duomo. It was built by the great Cosmo de'
-Medici, and was the home of that family of merchant princes in the most
-glorious period of its history, when a grateful people delighted to
-render to its members that homage which is equally honourable to "him
-that gives and him that takes." The genius of Michel Angelo and
-Donatello is impressed upon it. It was within those lofty halls that
-Cosmo and his grandson, Lorenzo the Magnificent, welcomed pontiffs and
-princes, and the illustrious but untitled nobility of literature and
-art, which was the boast of their age. The ancient glories of the
-majestic pile are kept in mind by an inscription which greets him who
-enters it with an exhortation to "reverence with gratitude the ancient
-mansion of the Medici, in which not merely so many illustrious men, but
-Wisdom herself abode--a house which was the nurse of revived learning."
-
-I wonder whether any one ever was tired of strolling about these old
-streets and squares. At my time of life, walking is not particularly
-agreeable, even if it be not interfered with by either of those foes to
-active exercise and grace of movement--rheumatism or gout; but I must
-acknowledge that I have found such pleasure in rambling through the
-familiar streets of this delightful city, that I have taken no note of
-bodily fatigue, and have forgotten the crutch or cane which is my
-inseparable companion. It is all the same to me whether I walk about the
-streets, or loiter in the Boboli Gardens, or listen to the delicious
-music of the full military band that plays daily for an hour before
-sunset under the shade of the Cascine. They all afford me a kind of
-vague pleasure--very much that sort of satisfaction which springs from
-hearing a cat purr, or from watching the fitful blaze of a wood fire. I
-have no fondness for jewelry, and the great Kohinoor diamond and all the
-crown jewels of Russia could not invest respectable uselessness or
-aristocratic vice with any beauty for me, nor add any charm to a bright,
-intelligent face, such as lights up many a home in this selfish world;
-yet I have spent hours in looking at the stalls on the Jeweller's
-Bridge, and enjoying the covetous looks bestowed by so many passers-by
-upon their glittering contents.
-
-There are some excellent bookstalls here, and I have renewed the joys of
-past years and the memory of Paternoster Row, Fleet Street, Holborn, the
-Strand, and of the quays of Paris, in the inspection of their stock. I
-have a strong affection for bookstalls, and had much rather buy a book
-at one than in a shop. In the first place it would be cheaper; in the
-second place it would be a little worn, and I should become the
-possessor, not only of the volume, but of its associations with other
-lovers of books who turned over its leaves, reading here and there,
-envying the future purchaser. For books, so long as they are well used,
-increase in value as they grow in age. Sir William Jones's assertion,
-that "the best monument that can be erected to a man of literary talents
-is a good edition of his works," is not to be denied; but who would
-think of reading, for the enjoyment of the thing, a modern edition of
-Sir Thomas Browne, or Izaak Walton? Who would wish to read Hamlet in a
-volume redolent of printers' ink and binders' glue? Who would read a
-clean new copy of Robinson Crusoe when he might have one that had seen
-service in a circulating library, or had been well thumbed by several
-generations of adventure-loving boys? A book is to me like a hat or
-coat--a very uncomfortable thing until the newness has been worn off.
-
-It is in the churches of Florence that my enthusiasm reaches its
-meridian. This solemn cathedral, with its richly dight windows,--whose
-warm hues must have been stolen from the palette of Titian or
-Tintoretto,--makes me forget all earthly hopes and sorrows; and the
-majestic Santa Maria Novella and San Lorenzo, with their peaceful
-cloisters and treasures of literature and art, appeal strongly to my
-religious sensibilities, while they completely satisfy my taste. And
-then Santa Croce, solemn, not merely as a place of worship, but as the
-repository of the dust of many of those illustrious men whose genius
-illumined the world during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries! I
-have enjoyed Santa Croce particularly, because I have seen more of the
-religious life of the Florentine people there. For more than a week I
-have been there every evening, just after sunset, when the only light
-that illuminated those ancient arches came from the high altar, which
-appeared like a vision of heaven in the midst of the thickest darkness
-of earth. The nave and aisles of that vast edifice were thronged: men,
-women, and children were kneeling upon that pavement which contains the
-records of so much goodness and greatness. I have heard great choirs; I
-have been thrilled by the wondrous power of voices that seemed too much
-like those of angels for poor humanity to listen to; but I have never
-before been so overwhelmed as by the hearty music of that vast
-multitude.
-
-The galleries of art need another volume and an abler pen than mine.
-Free to the people as the sunlight and the shade of the public gardens,
-they make an American blush to think of the niggardly spirit that
-prevails in the country which he would fain persuade himself is the most
-favoured of all earthly abodes. The Academy, the Pitti, the Uffizi, make
-you think that life is too short, and that art is indeed long. You wish
-that you had more months to devote to them than you have days. Great as
-is the pleasure that I have found in them, I have found myself lingering
-more fondly in the cloisters and corridors of San Marco than amid the
-wonderful works that deck the walls of the palaces. The pencil of Beato
-Angelico has consecrated that dead plastering, and given to it a divine
-life. The rapt devotion and holy tranquillity of those faces reflect the
-glory of the eternal world. I ask no more convincing proof of the
-immortality of the soul, than the fact that those forms of beauty and
-holiness were conceived and executed by a mortal.
-
-It is enough to excite the indignation of any reflective Englishman or
-American to visit Florence, and compare--or perhaps I ought rather to
-say contrast--the facts which force themselves upon his attention, with
-the prejudices implanted in his mind by early education. Surely, he has
-a right to be astonished, and may be excused if he indulges in a little
-honest anger, when he looks for the first time at the masterpieces of
-art which had their origin in those ages which he has been taught to
-consider a period of ignorance and barbarism. He certainly obtains a new
-idea of the "barbarism" of the middle ages, when he visits the
-benevolent institutions which they have bequeathed to our times, and
-when he sees the admirable working of the _Compagnia della
-Misericordia_, which unites all classes of society, from the grand duke
-to his humblest subject, in the bonds of religion and philanthropy. He
-may be pardoned, too, if he comes to the conclusion that the liberal
-arts were not entirely neglected in the age that produced a Dante and a
-Petrarch, a Cimabue and a Giotto,--not to mention a host of other names,
-which may not shine so brightly as these, but are alike superior to
-temporal accidents,--and he cannot be considered unreasonable if he
-refuses to believe that the ages which witnessed the establishment of
-universities like those of Paris, Oxford, Cambridge, Prague, Bologna,
-Salamanca, Vienna, Ferrara, Ingolstadt, Louvain, Leipsic, &c., were
-quite so deeply sunk in darkness, or were held in an intellectual
-bondage so utterly hopeless, as the eulogists of the nineteenth century
-would persuade him. The monuments of learning, art, and benevolence,
-with which Florence is filled, will convince any thinking man that those
-who speak of the times I have alluded to as the "dark ages," mean
-thereby the ages concerning which they are in the dark; and admirably
-exemplify in their own shallow self-sufficiency the ignorance they would
-impute to the ages when learning and all good arts were the handmaids of
-religion.
-
-
-
-ANCIENT ROME
-
-
-The moment in which one takes his first look at Rome is an epoch in his
-life. Even if his education should have been a most illiberal one, and
-he himself should be as strenuous an opponent of pontifical prerogatives
-as John of Leyden or Dr. Dowling, he is sure to be, for the time, imbued
-in some measure with the feelings of a pilgrim. The sight of that city
-which has exercised such a mighty influence on the world, almost from
-its very foundation, fills his mind with "troublings of strange joy."
-His vague notions of ancient history assume a more distinct form. The
-twelve Caesars pass before his mind's eye like the spectral kings before
-the Scotch usurper. The classics which he used to neglect so shamefully
-at school, the historical lessons which he thought so dull, have been
-endowed with life and interest by that one glance of his astonished eye.
-But if he loved the classics in his youth,--if the wanderings of AEneas
-and the woes of Dido charmed instead of tiring him,--if "Livy's pictured
-page," the polished periods of Sallust and Tacitus, and the mighty
-eloquence of Cicero, were to him a mine of delight rather than a
-task,--how does his eye glisten with renewed youth, and his heart swell
-as his old boyish enthusiasm is once more kindled within it! He feels
-that he has reached the goal to which his heart and mind were turned
-during his purest and most unselfish years; and if he were as unswayed
-by human respect as he was then, he would kneel down with the
-travel-worn pilgrims by the wayside to give utterance to his gratitude,
-and to greet the queen city of the world: _Salve, magna parens!_
-
-I shall not easily forget the cloudless afternoon when I first took that
-long, wearisome ride from Civita Vecchia to Rome. There was no railway
-in those days, as there is now, and the diligence was of so rude and
-uncomfortable a make that I half suspected it to be the one upon the top
-of which Hannibal is said to have crossed the Alps, (_summa
-diligentia_.) I shared the _coupe_ with two other sufferers, and was,
-like them, so fatigued that it seemed as if a celestial vision would be
-powerless to make me forgetful of my aching joints, when (after a
-laborious pull up a hill which might be included among the "everlasting
-hills" spoken of in holy writ) our long-booted postilion turned his
-expressive face towards us, and banished all our weariness by
-exclaiming, as he pointed into the blue distance with his short
-whip-handle, "_Ecco! Roma! San Pietro!_"
-
-A single glance of the eye served to overcome all our fatigue. There lay
-the world's capital, crowned by the mighty dome of the Vatican basilica,
-and we were every moment drawing nearer to it. It was evening before we
-found ourselves staring at those dark walls which have withstood so many
-sieges, and heard the welcome demand for passports, which informed us
-that we had reached the gate of the city.
-
-I was really in Rome,--I was in that city hallowed by so many classical,
-historical, and sacred associations,--and it all seemed to me like a
-confused dream. Twice, before the diligence had gone a hundred yards
-inside the gate, I had pinched myself to ascertain whether I was really
-awake; and even after I passed through the lofty colonnade of St.
-Peter's, and had gazed at the front of the church and the vast square
-which art has made familiar to every one, and had seen the fountains
-with the moonbeams flashing in their silvery spray, I feared lest
-something should interrupt my dream, and I should wake to find myself in
-my snug bedroom at home, wondering at the weakness which allowed me to
-be seduced into the eating of a bit of cheese the evening before. It was
-not so, however; no disorganizing cheese had interfered with my
-digestion; it was no dream; and I was really in Rome. I slept soundly
-when I reached my hotel, for I felt sure that no hostile Brennus lay in
-wait to disturb the city's peace, and the grateful hardness of my bed
-convinced me that all the geese of the capital had not been killed, if
-the enemy should effect an entrance.
-
-There are few people who love Rome at first sight. The ruins, that bear
-witness to her grandeur in the days of her worldly supremacy, oppress
-you at first with an inexpressible sadness. The absence of any thing
-like the business enterprise and energy of this commercial age makes
-English and American people long at first for a little of the bustle and
-roar of Broadway and the Strand. The small paving stones, which make the
-feet of those who are unaccustomed to them ache severely, the brick and
-stone floors of the houses, and the lack of the little comforts of
-modern civilization, render Rome a wearisome place, until one has caught
-its spirit. Little does he think who for the first time gazes on those
-gray, mouldering walls, on which "dull time feeds like slow fire upon a
-hoary brand," or walks those streets in which the past and present are
-so strangely commingled,--little does he realize how dear those scenes
-will one day be to him. He cannot foresee the regret with which he will
-leave those things that seem too common and familiar to deserve
-attention, nor the glowing enthusiasm which their mention will inspire
-in after years; and he would smile incredulously if any one were to
-predict to him that his heart, in after times, will swell with homesick
-longings as he recalls the memory of that ancient city, and that he will
-one day salute it from afar as his second home.
-
-I make no claims to antiquarian knowledge; for I do not love antiquity
-for itself alone. It is only by force of association that antiquity has
-any charms for me. The pyramids of Egypt would awaken my respect, not so
-much by their age or size, as by the remembrance of the momentous scenes
-which have been enacted in their useless and ungraceful presence. Show
-me a scroll so ancient that human science can obtain no key to the
-mysteries locked up in the strange figures inscribed upon it, and you
-would move me but little. But place before me one of those manuscripts
-(filled with scholastic lore, instinct with classic eloquence, or
-luminous with the word of eternal life) which have come down to us from
-those nurseries of learning and piety, the monasteries of the middle
-ages, and you fill me with the intensest enthusiasm. There is food for
-the imagination hidden under those worm-eaten covers and brazen clasps.
-I see in those fair pages something more than the results of the patient
-toil which perpetuated those precious truths. From those carefully
-penned lines, and brilliant initial letters, the pale, thoughtful face
-of the transcriber looks upon me--his contempt of worldly ambition and
-sacrifice of human consolations are reflected there--and from the quiet
-of his austere cell, he seems to dart from his serene eyes a glance of
-patient reproach at the worldlier and more modern age which reaps the
-fruit of his labour, and repays him by slandering his character. Show me
-a building whose stupendous masonry seems the work of Titan hands, but
-whose history is lost in the twilight of the ages, so that no record
-remains of a time when it was any thing but an antique enigma, and its
-massive columns and Cyclopean proportions will not touch me so nearly as
-the stone in Florence where Dante used to stand and gaze upon that dome
-which Michel Angelo said he would not imitate, and could not excel.
-
-Feeling thus about antiquities, I need not say that those of Rome, so
-crowned with the most thrilling historical and personal associations,
-are not wanting in charms for me. Yet I do not claim to be an
-antiquarian. It is all one to me whether the column of Phocas be forty
-feet high or sixty,--whether a ruin on the Palatine that fascinates me
-by its richness and grandeur, was once a Temple of Minerva or of Jupiter
-Stator; or whether its foundations are of travertine or tufa. I abhor
-details. My enjoyment of a landscape would be at an end if I were called
-upon to count the mild-eyed cattle that contribute so much to its
-picturesqueness; and I have no wish to disturb my appreciation of the
-spirit of a place consecrated by ages of heroic history, by entertaining
-any of the learned conjectures of professional antiquarians. It is
-enough for me to know that I am standing on the spot where Romulus built
-his straw-thatched palace, and his irreverent brother leaped over the
-walls of the future mistress of the nations. Standing in the midst of
-the relics of the grandeur of imperial Rome, the whole of her wonderful
-history is constantly acting over again in my mind. The stern simplicity
-of those who laid the foundations of her greatness, the patriotic daring
-of those who extended her power, the wisdom of those who terminated
-civil strife by compelling the divided citizens to unite against a
-foreign foe, are all present to me. In that august place where Cicero
-pleaded, gazing upon that mount where captive kings did homage to the
-masters of the world, your mere antiquarian, with his pestilent theories
-and measurements, seems to me little better than a profaner. When I see
-such a one scratching about the base of some majestic column in the
-Forum (although I cannot but be grateful to those whose researches have
-developed the greatness of the imperial city,) I do long to interrupt
-him, and remind him that his "tread is on an empire's dust." I wish to
-recall him from the petty details in which he delights, and have him
-enjoy with me the grandeur and dignity of the whole scene.
-
-The triumphal arches,--the monuments of the cultivation of those remote
-ages, no less than of the power of the state which erected them,--the
-memorials of the luxury that paved the way to the decline of that
-power--all these things impress me with the thought of the long years
-that intervened between that splendour and the times when the seat of
-universal empire was inhabited only by shepherds and their flocks. It
-wearies me to think of the long centuries of human effort that were
-required to bring Rome to its culminating point of glory; and it affords
-me a melancholy kind of amusement to contrast the spirit of those who
-laid the deep and strong foundations of that prosperity and power, with
-that of some modern sages, to whom a hundred years are a respectable
-antiquity, and who seem to think that commercial enterprise and the will
-of a fickle populace form as secure a basis for a state as private
-virtue, and the principle of obedience to law. I know a country, yet in
-the first century of its national existence, full of hope and ambition,
-and possessing advantages such as never before fell to the lot of a
-young empire, but lacking in those powers which made Rome what she was.
-If that country, "the newest born of nations, the latest hope of
-mankind," which has so rapidly risen to a power surpassing in extent
-that of ancient Rome, and bears within itself the elements of the decay
-that ruined the old empire,--wealth, vice, corruption,--if she could
-overcome the vain notion that hers is an exceptional case, and that she
-is not subject to that great law of nature which makes personal virtue
-the corner-stone of national stability and the lack of that its bane,
-and could look calmly upon the remains of old Rome's grandeur, she might
-learn a great lesson. Contemplating the patient formation of that
-far-reaching dominion until it found its perfect consummation in the age
-of Augustus, (_Tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem_,) she would see
-that true national greatness is not "the hasty product of a day"; that
-demagogues and adventurers, who have made politics their trade, are not
-the architects of that greatness; and that the parchment on which the
-constitution and laws of a country are written, might as well be used
-for drum-heads when reverence and obedience have departed from the
-hearts of its people.
-
-A gifted representative of a name which is classical in the history of
-the drama, some years ago gave to the world a journal of her residence
-in Rome. She called her volume "A Year of Consolation"--a title as true
-as it is poetical. Indeed I know of nothing more soothing to the spirit
-than a walk through these ancient streets, or an hour of meditation amid
-these remains of fallen majesty. To stand in the arena of the Coliseum
-in the noonday glare, or when those ponderous arches cast their
-lengthened shadows on the spot where the first Roman Christians were
-sacrificed to make a holiday for a brutalized populace,--to muse in the
-Pantheon, that changeless temple of a living, and monument of a dead,
-worship, and reflect on the many generations that have passed beneath
-its majestic portico from the days of Agrippa to our own,--to listen to
-the birds that sing amid the shrubbery which decks the stupendous arches
-of the Baths of Caracalla,--to be overwhelmed by the stillness of the
-Campagna while the eye is filled with that rolling verdure which seems
-in the hazy distance like the waves of the unquiet sea--what are all
-these things but consolations in the truest sense of the word? What is
-the bitterest grief that ever pierced a human heart through a long life
-of sorrows, compared to the dumb woe of that mighty desolation? What are
-our brief sufferings, when they are brought into the august presence of
-a mourner who has seen her hopes one by one taken from her, through
-centuries of war and rapine, neglect and silent decay?
-
-Among all of Rome's monuments of antiquity, there are few that impress
-me so strangely as those old Egyptian obelisks, the trophies of the
-victorious emperors, which the pontiffs have made to contribute so
-greatly to the adornment of their capital. It is almost impossible to
-turn a corner of one of the principal streets of the city without seeing
-one of these peculiar shafts that give a fine finish to the perspective.
-If their cold granite forms could speak, what a strange history they
-would reveal! They were witnesses of the achievements of a power which
-reached its noonday splendour centuries before the shepherd Faustulus
-took the foundling brothers into his cottage on the banks of the Tiber.
-The civilization of which they are the relics had declined before the
-Roman kings inaugurated that which afterwards reclaimed all Europe from
-the barbarians. Yet there they stand as grim and silent as if they had
-but yesterday been rescued from the captivity of the native quarry, and
-had never seen a nobler form than those of the dusty artisans who
-wrought them--as dull and unimpressible as some of the stupid tourists
-whom I see daily gazing upon these glorious monuments, and seeing only
-so much brick and stone.
-
-
-
-MODERN ROME
-
-
-Acknowledging as I do the charms which the Rome of antiquity possesses
-for me, it must still be confessed that the Rome of the present time
-enchants me with attractions scarcely less potent. Religion has
-consecrated many of the spots which history had made venerable, and thus
-added a new lustre to their associations. I turn from the broken columns
-and gray mouldering walls of old Rome to those fanes, "so ancient, yet
-so new," in which the piety of centuries has found its enduring
-expression. Beneath their sounding arches, by the mild light of the
-lamps that burn unceasingly around their shrines, who would vex his
-brain with antiquarian lore? We may notice that the pavement is worn
-away by the multitudes which have been drawn thither by curiosity or
-devotion; but we feel that Heaven's chronology is not an affair of
-months and years, and that Peter and Paul, Gregory and Leo, are not mere
-personages in a drama upon the first acts of which the curtain long
-since descended. Who thinks of antiquity while he inhabits that world of
-art which Rome encloses within her walls? Those are not the triumphs of
-a past age alone; they are the triumphs of to-day. The Apollo's bearing
-is not less manly, its step not less elastic, than it was in that remote
-age when its unknown sculptor threw aside his chisel and gazed upon his
-finished work. To-day's sunshine is not more clear and golden than that
-which glows in the landscapes of Claude Lorraine, though he who thus
-made the sunbeams his servants has been sleeping for nearly two
-centuries in the dusty vaults of _Trinita de' Monti_. Were Raphael's
-deathless faces more real while he was living than they are now? Were
-Guido's and Domenichino's triumphs more worthy of admiration while the
-paint was wet upon them? or were the achievements of that giant of art,
-Michel Angelo, ever more wonderful than now? No; these great works take
-no note of time, and confer upon the city which contains them something
-of their own immortality.
-
-I have heard people regret that so many of our artists should expatriate
-themselves, and spend their lives in Rome or Florence. To me, however,
-nothing seems more natural; and if I were a painter, or a sculptor, I
-feel certain that I should share the common weakness of the profession
-for a place of residence in harmony with my art. What sympathy can a
-true artist feel with a state of society in which he is regarded by nine
-people out of ten as a useless member, because he does not directly aid
-in the production of a given quantity of grain or of cloth? Every stroke
-of his brush, every movement of his hands in moulding the obedient clay,
-is a protest against the low, mean, materialistic views of life which
-prevail among us; and it is too much to ask of any man that he shall
-spend his days in trying to live peaceably in an enemy's camp. When figs
-and dates become common articles of food in Lapland, and the bleak sides
-of the hills of New Hampshire are adorned with the graceful palm tree
-and the luxuriant foliage of the tropics, you may expect art to flourish
-in a community whose god is commerce, and whose chief religious duty is
-money-getting.
-
-Truly the life of an artist in Rome is about as near the perfection of
-earthly happiness as is commonly vouchsafed to mortal man. The tone of
-society, and all the surroundings of the artist, are so congenial that
-no poverty nor privation can seriously interfere with them. The streets,
-with their architectural marvels, the trim gardens and picturesque
-cloisters of the old religious establishments, the magnificent villas of
-the neighbourhood of the city, and the vast, mysterious Campagna, with
-its gigantic aqueducts and its purple atmosphere, and those glorious
-galleries which at the same time gratify the taste of the artist and
-feed his ambition,--these are things which are as free to him as the
-blessed sunlight or the water that sparkles in the countless fountains
-of the Holy City. I do not wonder that artists who have lived any
-considerable time in Rome are discontented with the feverish
-restlessness of our American way of life, and that, after "stifling the
-mighty hunger of the heart" through two or three wearisome years in our
-western world, they turn to Rome as to a fond mother, upon whose breast
-they may find that peace which they had elsewhere sought in vain.
-
-The churches of Rome impress me in a way which I have never heard
-described by any other person. I do not speak of St. Peter's, (that
-"noblest temple that human skill ever raised to the honour of the
-Creator,") nor do I refer to those other magnificent basilicas in which
-the Christian glories of eighteen centuries sit enthroned. These have a
-dignity and majesty peculiarly their own, and the most thoughtless
-cannot tread their ancient pavement without being for the time subdued
-into awe and veneration. But the parish churches of Rome, the churches
-of the various religious orders and congregations, and those numerous
-little temples which are so thickly scattered through the city, attract
-me in manner especially fascinating. There is an air of cosiness and
-at-home-ativeness about them which cannot be found in the grander fanes.
-Some of them seem by their architectural finish to have been built in
-some fine street or square, and to have wandered off in search of quiet
-to their present secluded positions. It is beneath their arches that the
-Roman people may be seen. Before those altars you may see men, women,
-and children kneeling, their lips scarcely moving with the petitions
-which are heard only in another world. No intruding tourists,
-eye-glassed and Murrayed, interfere with their devotions, and the
-silence of the sacred place is unbroken, save by the rattling of a
-rosary, or at stated times by the swell of voices from the choir chapel.
-These are the places where the real power of the Catholic religion makes
-itself felt more unmistakably than in the grandest cathedrals, where
-every form and sound is eloquent of worship. I remember with pleasure
-that once in London, as I was passing through that miserable quarter
-which lies between Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace, I was
-attracted by the appearance of a number of people who were entering a
-narrow doorway. One or two stylish carriages, with crests upon their
-panels, and drivers in livery, stood before the dingy building which
-seemed to wear a mysterious air of semi-cleanliness in the midst of the
-general squalour. I followed the strange collection of the
-representatives of opulence and the extremest poverty through a long
-passage-way, and found myself in a large room which was tastefully
-fitted up for a Catholic chapel. The simplicity of the place, joined
-with its strictly ecclesiastical look, the excellent music, the crowded
-and devout congregation, and the almost breathless attention which was
-paid to the simple and persuasive eloquence of the preacher, who was
-formerly one of the chief ornaments of the established church, whose
-highest honours he had cast aside that he might minister more
-effectually to the poor and despised,--all these things astonished and
-delighted me. To see that church preserving, even in its hiddenness and
-poverty, its regard for the comeliness of God's worship, and adorning
-that humble chapel in a manner which showed that the spirit which
-erected the shrines of Westminster, Salisbury and York, had not died
-out, carried me back in spirit to the catacombs of Rome, where the early
-Christians left the abiding evidences of their zeal for the beauty of
-the house of God. I was at that time fresh from the continent, and my
-mind was occupied with the remembrance of the gorgeous churches of
-Italy. Yet, despite my recollection of those "forests of porphyry and
-marble," those altars of _lapis lazuli_, those tabernacles glittering
-with gold, and silver, and precious stones, and those mosaics and
-frescoes whose beauty and variety almost fatigue the sense of the
-beholder,--I must say that it gave me a new sense of the dignity and
-grandeur of the ancient Church, to see her in the midst of the poverty
-and obscurity to which she is now condemned in the land which once
-professed her faith, and was once thickly planted with those
-institutions of learning and charity which are the proudest monuments of
-her progress. A large ship, under full sail, running off before a
-pleasant breeze, is a beautiful sight; but it is by no means so grandly
-impressive as that of the same ship, under close canvas, gallantly
-riding out the merciless gale that carried destruction to every
-unseaworthy craft which came within its reach.
-
-I am not one of those who lament over the millions which have been
-expended upon the churches of Rome. I am _not_ inclined to follow the
-sordid principle of that apostle who is generally held up rather as a
-warning than an example, and say that it had been better if the sums
-which have been devoted to architectural ornament had been withheld and
-given to the poor. Religion has no need, it is true, of these visible
-splendours, any more than of set forms and modes of speech. For it is
-the heart that believes, and loves, and prays. But we, poor mortals, so
-enslaved by our senses, so susceptible to external appearances, need
-every thing that can inspire in us a respect for something higher than
-ourselves, or remind us of the glories of the invisible, eternal world.
-And can we doubt that He who praised the action of that pious woman who
-poured the precious ointment upon His sacred head, looks with
-complacency upon the sacrifices which are made for the adornment of the
-temples devoted to His worship? Is it a right principle that people who
-are clad in expensive garments, who are not content unless they are
-surrounded by carved or enamelled furniture, and whose feet tread daily
-on costly tapestries, should find fault with the generous piety which
-has made the churches of Italy what they are, and should talk so
-impressively about the beauty of spiritual worship? I have no patience
-with these advocates for simplicity in every thing that does not relate
-to themselves and their own comforts.
-
-    "Shall we serve Heaven with less respect
-    Than we do minister to our gross selves?"
-
-I care not how simple our private houses may be, but I advocate
-liberality and splendour in our public buildings of all kinds, for the
-sake of preserving a due respect for the institutions they enshrine. I
-remember, in reading one of the old classical writers,--Sallust, I
-think,--in my young days, being greatly impressed by his declaration
-that private luxury is a sure forerunner of a nation's downfall, and
-that it is a fatal sign for the dwellings of the citizens to be spacious
-and magnificent, while the public edifices are mean and unworthy. Purely
-intellectual as we may think ourselves, we are, nevertheless, somewhat
-deferential to the external proprieties of life, and I very much doubt
-whether the most reverential of us could long maintain his respect for
-the Supreme Court if its sessions were held in a tap-room, or for
-religion, if its ministers prayed and preached in pea-jackets and
-top-boots.
-
-Displeasing as is the presence of most of the English-speaking tourists
-one meets in Rome, there are two places where they delight to
-congregate, which yet have charms for me that not even Cockney vulgarity
-or Yankee irreverence can destroy. The church of the convent of _Trinita
-de' Monti_ wins me, in spite of the throng that fills its nave at the
-hour of evening every Sunday and festival day. Some years since, when I
-first visited Rome, the music which was heard there was of the highest
-order of merit. At present the nuns of the Sacred Heart have no such
-great artistes in their community as they had then, but the music of
-their choir is still one of those things which he who has once heard can
-never forget. It is the only church in Rome in which I have heard female
-voices; and, though I much prefer the great male choirs of the
-basilicas, there is a soothing simplicity in the music at _Trinita de'
-Monti_ which goes home to almost every heart. I have seen giddy and
-unthinking girls, who laughed at the ceremonial they did not understand,
-subdued to reverence by those strains, and supercilious Englishmen
-reduced to the humiliating necessity of wiping their eyes. Indeed, the
-whole scene is so harmoniously impressive that its enchantment cannot be
-resisted. The solemn church, lighted only by the twilight rays, and the
-tapers upon the high altar,--the veiled forms of the pious sisterhood
-and their young pupils in the grated sanctuary,--the clouding of the
-fragrant incense,--the tinkling of that silvery bell and of the chains
-of the swinging censer,--those ancient and dignified rites,--and over
-all, those clear, angelic voices praying and praising, in litany and
-hymn--all combine to make up a worship, one moment of which would seem
-enough to wipe away the memory of a lifetime of folly, and
-disappointment, and sorrow.
-
-The Sistine Chapel is another place to which I am bound by an almost
-supernatural fascination. My imperfect eyesight will not permit me to
-enjoy fully the frescoes that adorn its lofty walls; but I feel that I
-am in the presence of the great master and some of his mightiest
-conceptions. I do not know whether the chapel is most impressive in its
-empty state, or when thronged for some great religious function. In the
-former condition, its fine proportions and its simplicity satisfy me so
-completely, that I hardly wish for the pomp and splendour which belong
-to it on great occasions. I know of nothing more grand than the sight of
-that simple throne of the Sovereign Pontiff, when it is occupied by that
-benignant old man, to whom more than two hundred millions of people look
-with veneration as to a father and a teacher,--and surrounded by those
-illustrious prelates and princes who compose a senate of moral and
-intellectual worth, such as all the world beside cannot parallel. Those
-venerable figures--those gray hairs--those massive foreheads, and those
-resplendent robes of office, seem to be a part of some great historical
-picture, rather than a reality before my eyes. There is nothing more
-severe in actual experience, or more satisfactory in the recollection,
-than Holy Week in the Sistine Chapel. The crowd, the fatigue, and the
-presence of so many sight-seers, who have come with the same feeling
-that they would attend an opera or a play, are not calculated to
-increase one's bodily comfort, or to awaken the sentiments proper to so
-sacred a season as that which is then commemorated. But after these have
-passed away, there remains the recollection, which time does not
-diminish, but makes more precious, of that darkening chapel and the
-bowed-down heads of the Pope and cardinals, of the music, "yearning like
-a god in pain," of the melodious woe of the _Miserere_, the plaintive
-majesty of the Lamentations and the Reproaches, and the shrill
-dissonance of the shouts of the populace in the gospel narrative of the
-crucifixion. These are things which would outweigh a year of fatigue and
-pain. I know of no greater or more sincere tribute to the perfections of
-the Sistine choir, and the genius of Allegri and Palestrina, than the
-patience with which so many people submit to be packed, like herring in
-a box, into that small chapel. But old and gouty as I am, I would gladly
-undergo all the discomforts of that time to hear those sounds once more.
-
-I hear some people complain of the beggars, and wonder why Rome, with
-her splendid system of charities for the relief of every form of
-suffering, permits mendicancy. For myself, I am not inclined to complain
-either of the beggars or of the merciful government, which refuses to
-look upon them as offenders against its laws. On the contrary, it
-appears to me rather creditable than otherwise to Rome, that she is so
-far behind the age, as not to class poverty with crime among social
-evils. I have a sincere respect for this feature of the Catholic Church;
-this regard for the poor as her most precious inheritance, and this
-unwillingness that her children should think that, because she has
-organized a vast system of benevolence, they are absolved of the duty of
-private charity. In this wisdom, which thus provides for the exercise of
-kindly feelings in alms-giving, may be found one of the most attractive
-characteristics of the Roman Church. This, no less than the austere
-religious orders which she has founded, shows in what sense she receives
-the beatitude, "Blessed are the poor in spirit." And the same kind
-spirit of equality may be seen in her churches and cathedrals, where
-rich and poor kneel upon the same pavement, before their common God and
-Saviour, and in her cloisters, and universities, and schools, where
-social distinctions cannot enter.
-
-When I walk through the cloisters of these venerable institutions of
-learning, or gaze upon the ancient city from _Monte Mario_, or the
-Janiculum, it seems to me that never until now did I appreciate the
-world's indebtedness to Rome. Dislike it as we may, we cannot disguise
-the fact, that to her every Christian nation owes, in a great measure,
-its civilization, its literature, and its religion. The endless empire
-which Virgil's muse foretold, is still hers; and, as one of her ancient
-Christian poets said, those lands which were not conquered by her
-victorious arms are held in willing obedience by her religion. When I
-think how all our modern civilization, our art, letters, and
-jurisprudence, sprang originally from Rome, it appears to me that a
-narrow religious prejudice has prevented our forming a due estimate of
-her services to humanity. To some, the glories of the ancient empire,
-the memory of the days when her sovereignty extended from Britain to the
-Ganges, and her capital counted its inhabitants by millions, seem to
-render all her later history insignificant and dull; but to my mind the
-moral dignity and power of Christian Rome is as superior to her old
-military omnipotence as it is possible for the human intellect to
-conceive. The ancient emperors, with all their power, could not carry
-the Roman name much beyond the limits of Europe; the rulers who have
-succeeded them have made the majestic language of Rome familiar to two
-hemispheres, and have built up, by spiritual arms, the mightiest empire
-that the world has ever seen. For me, Rome's most enduring glories are
-the memories of the times when her great missionary orders civilized and
-evangelized the countries which her arms had won, when her martyrs sowed
-the seed of Christianity with their blood, and her confessors illumined
-the world with their virtues; when her pontiffs, single-handed, turned
-back barbarian invasions, or mitigated the severities of the feudal age,
-or protected the people by laying their ban upon the tyrants who
-oppressed them, or defended the sanctity of marriage, and the rights of
-helpless women against divorce-seeking monarchs and conquerors. These
-things are the true fulfilment of the glowing prophecy of Rome's
-greatness, which Virgil puts into the mouth of Anchises, when AEneas
-visits the Elysian Fields, and hears from his old father that the
-mission of the government he is about to found is to rule the world by
-moral power, to make peace between opposing nations, to spare the
-subject, and to subdue the proud:
-
-    "Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento;
-    Hae tibi erunt artes, pacisque imponere morem,
-    Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos."
-
-
-
-ROME TO MARSEILLES
-
-
-The weather was fearfully hot the day of my departure from Rome. The sun
-was staring down, without winking, upon that wonderful old city, as if
-he loved the sight. The yellow current of old Father Tiber seemed
-yellower than ever in the glare. Except from sheer necessity, no person
-moved abroad; for the atmosphere, which early in the morning had seemed
-like airs from heaven, before noon had become most uncomfortably like a
-blast from the opposite direction. The Piazza di Spagna was like Tadmor
-in the wilderness. Not a single English tourist, with his well-read
-Murray under his arm, was to be seen there; not a carriage driver broke
-the stillness of the place with his polyglot solicitations to ride. The
-great staircase of _Trinita de' Monti_ seemed an impossibility; to have
-climbed up its weary ascent under that broiling sun would have been poor
-entertainment for man or beast. The squares of the city were like
-furnaces, and made one mentally curse architecture, and bless the
-narrow, shady streets. The soldiers on guard at the gates and in the
-public places looked as if they couldn't help it. Now and then a
-Capuchin monk, in his heavy, brown habit, girded with the knotted cord,
-toiled along on some errand of benevolence, and made one marvel at his
-endurance. Occasionally a cardinal rolled by in scarlet state, looking
-as if he gladly would have exchanged the bondage of his dignity and
-power for a single day of virtuous liberty in linen pantaloons.
-
-Traffic seemed to have departed this life; there were no buyers, and the
-shopkeepers slumbered at their counters. The _cafes_ were shrouded in
-their long, striped awnings, and seemed to invite company by their
-well-wet pavement. A few old Romans found energy enough to call for an
-occasional ice or lemonade, and talked in the intervals about
-_Pammerstone_, and his agent, Mazzini. How the sun blazed down into the
-Coliseum! Not a breath of air stirred the foliage that clothes that
-mighty ruin. Even the birds were mute. To have crossed that broad arena
-would have perilled life as surely as in those old days when the first
-Roman Christians there confessed their faith. On such a day, one's
-parting visits must necessarily be brief; so I left the amphitheatre,
-and walked along the dusty _Via Sacra_, pausing a moment to ponder on
-the scene of Cicero's triumphs, and of so many centuries of thrilling
-history, and coming to the conclusion that, if it were such a day as
-that when Virginius in that place slew his dear little daughter, the
-blow was merciful indeed. The market-place in front of the Pantheon,
-usually so thronged and lively, was almost deserted. The fresh, bright
-vegetables had either all been sold, or had refused to grow in such a
-heat. But the Pantheon itself was unchanged. There it stood, in all its
-severe grandeur, majestic as in the days of the Caesars, the embodiment
-of heathenism, the exponent of the worship of the old, inexorable
-gods,--of justice without mercy, and power without love. Its interior
-seemed cool and refreshing, for no heat can penetrate that stupendous
-pile of masonry,--and I gathered new strength from my short visit. It
-was a fine thought in the old Romans to adapt the temples of heathenism
-to the uses of Christianity. The contrasts suggested to our minds by
-this practice are very striking. When we see that the images of the old
-revengeful and impure divinities have given place to those of the humble
-and self-denying heroes of Christianity, that the Saviour of the world
-stretches out His arms upon the cross, in the place from which the
-haughty Jupiter once hurled his thunderbolts, we are borne at once to a
-conclusion more irresistible than any that the mere force of language
-could produce. One of our own poets felt this in Rome, and expressed
-this same idea in graceful verse:--
-
-    "The goddess of the woods and fields,
-      The healthful huntress undefiled,
-    Now with her fabled brother yields
-      To sinless Mary and her Child."
-
-But I must hurry on towards St. Peter's. There are three places in Rome
-which every one visits as soon as possible after he arrives, and as
-short a time as may be before his departure--the Coliseum, the Pantheon,
-and St. Peter's. The narrow streets between the Pantheon and the Bridge
-of St. Angelo were endurable, because they were shady. It was necessary
-to be careful, however, and not trip over any of the numerous Roman legs
-whose proprietors were stretched out upon the pavement in various
-picturesque postures, sleeping away the long hours of that scorching
-day. At last the bridge is reached Bernini's frightful statues, which
-deform its balustrades, seem to be writhing under the influence of the
-sun. I am quite confident that St. Veronica's napkin was curling with
-the heat. The bronze archangel stood as usual upon the summit of the
-Castle of St. Angelo. I stopped a few moments, thinking that he might
-see the expediency of sheathing his sword and retreating, before he
-should be compelled, in the _confusion_ of such a blaze as that, to
-_run_ away; but it was useless. I moved on towards St. Peter's, and he
-still kept guard there as brazen-faced as ever. The great square in
-front of the basilica seemed to have scooped up its fill of heat, and
-every body knows that it is capable of containing a great deal. The few
-persons whom devotion or love of art had tempted out in such a day,
-approached it under the shade of its beautiful colonnades. I was obliged
-to content myself with the music of one of those superb fountains only,
-for the workmen were making a new basin for the other. St. Peter's never
-seemed to me so wonderful, never filled me up so completely, as it did
-then. The contrast of the heat I had been in with that atmosphere of
-unchangeable coolness, the quiet of the vast area, the fewness of people
-moving about, all conspired to impress me with a new sense of the
-majesty and holiness of the place. The quiet, unflickering blaze of the
-numerous lamps that burn unceasingly around the tomb of the Prince of
-the Apostles seemed a beacon of immortality. To one who could at that
-hour recall the bustle and turmoil of the Boulevards of Paris, or of the
-Strand, or of Broadway, the vast basilica itself seemed to be an island
-of peace in the tempestuous ocean of the world. I am not so blind a
-lover of Gothic architecture that I can find no beauty nor religious
-feeling in the Italian churches. I prefer, it is true, the "long-drawn
-aisle and fretted vault," and the "storied windows richly dight"; but I
-cannot for that reason sneer at the gracefully turned arches, the mosaic
-walls and domes rich in frescoes and precious marbles, that delight
-one's eyes in Italy. Both styles are good in their proper places. The
-Gothic and Norman, with their high-pitched roofs, are the natural growth
-of the snowy north, and to attempt to transplant them to a land where
-heat is to be guarded against, were as absurd as to expect the pine and
-fir to take the place of the fig tree and the palm. Talk as eloquently
-as we may about being superior to external impressions, I defy any man
-to breathe the quiet atmosphere of any of these old continental churches
-for a few moments, without feeling that he has gathered new strength
-therefrom to tread the thorns of life. Lamartine has spoken eloquently
-on this theme: "Ye columns who veil the sacred asylums where my eyes
-dare not penetrate, at the foot of your immovable trunks I come to sigh!
-Cast over me your deep shades, render the darkness more obscure, and the
-silence more profound! Forests of porphyry and marble! the air which the
-soul breathes under your arches is full of mystery and of peace! Let
-love and anxious cares seek shade and solitude under the green shelter
-of groves, to soothe their secret wounds. O darkness of the sanctuary!
-the eye of religion prefers thee to the wood which the breeze disturbs!
-Nothing changes thy foliage; thy still shade is the image of motionless
-eternity!"
-
-There was not time to linger long. The pressure of worldly engagements
-was felt even at the shrine of the apostles. I walked about, and tried
-to recall the many splendid religious pageants I had there witnessed,
-and wondered sorrowfully whether I should ever again listen to that
-matchless choir, or have my heart stirred to its depths by the silver
-trumpets that reecho under that sonorous vault in the most solemn moment
-of religion's holiest rite. Once more out in the clear hot atmosphere
-which seemed hotter than before. The Supreme Pontiff was absent from his
-capital, and the Vatican was comparatively empty. The Swiss guards, in
-their fantastic but picturesque uniform, were loitering about the foot
-of the grand staircase, and sighing for a breath of the cool air of
-their Alpine home. I took a last long gaze at that grand old pile of
-buildings,--the home of all that is most wonderful in art, the abode of
-that power which overthrew the old Roman empire, inaugurated the
-civilization of Europe, and planted Christianity in every quarter of the
-globe,--and then turned my unwilling feet homewards. In my course I
-passed the foot of the Janiculum Hill: it was too hot, however, to think
-of climbing up to the convent of Sant' Onofrio--though I would gladly
-have paid a final visit to that lovely spot where the munificence of
-Pius IX. has just completed a superb sepulchre for the repose of Tasso.
-So I crossed the Tiber in one of those little ferry boats which are
-attached to a cable stretched over the river, and thus are swung across
-by the movement of the current,--a labour-saving arrangement
-preeminently Roman in its character,--and soon found myself in my
-lodgings However warm the weather may be in Rome, one can keep tolerably
-comfortable so long as he does not move about,--thanks to the thick
-walls and heavy wooden window shutters of the houses,--so I found my
-room a cool asylum after my morning of laborious pleasure.
-
-At last, the good byes having all been said, behold me, with my old
-portmanteau, (covered with its many-coloured coat of baggage labels,
-those trophies of many a hard campaign of travel,) at the office of the
-diligence for Civita Vecchia. The luggage and the passengers having been
-successfully stowed away, the lumbering vehicle rolled down the narrow
-streets, and we were soon outside the gate that opens upon the old
-Aurelian Way. Here the passports were examined, the postilions cracked
-their whips, and I felt indeed that I was "banished from Rome." It is a
-sad thing to leave Rome. I have seen people who have made but a brief
-stay there shed more tears on going away than they ever did on a
-departure from home; but for one who has lived there long enough to feel
-like a Roman citizen--to feel that the broken columns of the Forum have
-become a part of his being--to feel as familiar with St. Peter's and the
-Vatican as with the King's Chapel and the Tremont House--it is doubly
-hard to go away. The old city, so "rich with the spoils of time," seems
-invested with a personality that appeals most powerfully to every man,
-and would fain hold him back from returning to the world. The lover of
-art there finds its choicest treasures ever open to him; the artist
-there finds an abundance of employment for his chisel or his brush; the
-man of business there finds an asylum from the vexing cares of a
-commercial career; the student of antiquity or of history can there take
-his fill amid the "wrecks of a world whose ashes still are warm," and
-listen to the centuries receding into the unalterable past with their
-burdens of glory or of crime; the lover of practical benevolence will
-there be delighted by the inspection of establishments for the relief of
-every possible form of want and suffering; the enthusiast for education
-finds there two universities and hundreds of public schools of every
-grade, and all as free as the bright water that sparkles in Rome's
-countless fountains; the devout can there rekindle their devotion at the
-shrines of apostles and martyrs, and breathe the holy air of cloisters
-in which saints have lived and died, or join their voices with those
-that resound in old churches, whose pavements are furrowed by the knees
-of pious generations; the admirer of pomp, and power, and historic
-associations can there witness the more than regal magnificence of a
-power, compared to which the houses of Bourbon or of Hapsburg are but of
-yesterday; the lover of republican simplicity can there find subject for
-admiration in the facility of access to the highest authorities, and in
-the perfection of his favourite elective system by which the supreme
-power is perpetuated. There is, in short, no class of men to whom Rome
-does not attach itself. People may complain during their first week that
-it is dull, or melancholy, or dirty; but you generally find them sorry
-enough to go away, and looking back to their residence there as the
-happiest period of their existence. Somebody has said,--and I wish that
-I could recall the exact words, they are so true,--that when we leave
-Paris, or Naples, or Florence, we feel a natural sorrow, as if we were
-parting from a cherished friend; but on our departure from Rome we feel
-a pang like that of separation from a woman whom we love!
-
-At last Rome disappeared from sight in the dusk of evening, and the
-discomforts of the journey began to make themselves obtrusive. The night
-air in Italy is not considered healthy, and we therefore had the windows
-of the diligence closed. Like Charles Lamb after the oyster pie, we were
-"all full inside," and a pretty time we had of it. As to respiration,
-you might as well have expected the performance of that function from a
-mackerel occupying the centre of a well-packed barrel of his finny
-comrades, as of any person inside that diligence. Of course there was a
-baby in the company, and of course the baby cried. I could not blame it,
-for even a fat old gentleman who sat opposite to me would have cried if
-he had not known how to swear. But it is useless to recall the anguish
-of that night: suffice it to say that for several hours the only air we
-got was an occasional vocal performance from the above-mentioned infant.
-At midnight we reached Palo, on the sea coast, where I heard "the wild
-water lapping on the crag," and felt more keenly than before that I had
-indeed left Rome behind me. The remainder of the journey being along the
-coast, we had the window open, though it was not much better on that
-account, as we were choking with dust. It was small comfort to see the
-cuttings and fillings-in for the railway which is destined soon to
-destroy those beastly diligences, and place Rome within two or three
-hours of its seaport.
-
-At five o'clock in the morning, after ten toilsome hours, I found
-myself, tired, dusty, and hungry, in Civita Vecchia, a city which has
-probably been the cause of more profanity than any other part of the
-world, including Flanders. I was determined not to be fleeced by any of
-the hotel keepers; so I staggered about the streets until I found a
-barber's shop open. Having repaired the damage of the preceding night, I
-hove to in a neighbouring _cafe_ long enough to take in a little ballast
-in the way of breakfast. Afterwards I fell in with an Englishman, of
-considerable literary reputation, whom I had several times met in Rome.
-He was one of those men who seem to possess all sorts of sense except
-common sense. He was full of details, and could tell exactly the height
-of the dome of St. Peter's, or of the great pyramid,--could explain the
-process of the manufacture of the Minie rifle or the boring of an
-artesian well, and could calculate an eclipse with Bond or Secchi,--but
-he could not pack a carpet-bag to save his life. That he should have
-been able to travel so far from home alone is a fine commentary on the
-honesty and good nature of the people of the continent. I could not help
-thinking what a time he would have were he to attempt to travel in
-America. He would think he had discovered a new nomadic tribe in the
-cabmen of New York. He had come down to Civita Vecchia in a most
-promiscuous style, and when I discovered him he was trying to bring
-about a union between some six or eight irreconcilable pieces of
-luggage. I aided him successfully in the work, and his look of
-perplexity and despair gave way to one of gratitude and admiration for
-his deliverer. Delighted at this escape from the realities of his
-situation, he launched out into a profound dissertation on the
-philosophy of language and the formation of provincial dialects, and it
-was some time before I could bring him down to the common and practical
-business of securing his passage in the steamer for Marseilles. Ten
-o'clock, however, found us on board one of the steamers of the
-_Messageries Imperiales_, and we were very shortly after under way. We
-were so unfortunate as to run aground on a little spit of land in
-getting out of port, as we ran a little too near an English steamer that
-was lying there. But a Russian frigate sent off a cable to us, and thus
-established an alliance between their flag and the French, which drew
-the latter out of the difficulty in which it had got by too close a
-proximity to its English neighbour.
-
-It was a beautiful, cloudless day, and reminded me of many halcyon days
-I had spent on that blue Mediterranean in other times. It reminded me of
-some of my childhood's days in the country in New England,--days
-described by Emerson where he says that we "bask in the shining hours of
-Florida and Cuba,"--when "the day, immeasurably long, sleeps over the
-broad hills and warm, wide fields,"--when "the cattle, as they lie on
-the ground, seem to have great and tranquil thoughts." It was on such a
-day that I used to delight to pore over my Shakspeare, undisturbed by
-any sound save the hum of the insect world, or the impatient switch of
-the tail, or movement of the feet, of a horse who had sought the same
-shade I was enjoying. To a man who has been rudely used by fortune, or
-who has drunk deep of sorrow or disappointment, I can conceive of
-nothing more grateful or consoling than a summer cruise in the
-Mediterranean. "The sick heart often needs a warm climate as much as the
-sick body."
-
-My English friend, immediately on leaving port, took some five or six
-prescriptions for the prevention of seasickness, and then went to bed,
-so that I had some opportunity to look about among our ship's company.
-There were two men, apparently companions, though they hardly spoke to
-each other, who amused me very much One was a person of about four feet
-and a half in height, who walked about on deck with that manner which so
-many diminutive persons have, of wishing to be thought as tall as Mr.
-George Barrett. He boasted a deportment that would have made the elder
-Turveydrop envious, while it was evident that under that serene and
-dignified exterior lay hidden all the warm-heartedness and geniality of
-that eminent philanthropist who was obliged to play a concerto on the
-violin to calm his grief at seeing the conflagration of his native city.
-The other looked as if "he had not loved the world, nor the world him";
-he was a thin, bilious-looking person, and seemed like a whole serious
-family rolled into one individuality. I felt a great deal of curiosity
-to know whether he was reduced to that pitiable condition by piety or
-indigestion. I felt sure that he was meditating suicide as he gazed upon
-the sea, and I stood by him for some time to prevent his accomplishing
-any such purpose, until I became convinced that to let him take the
-jump, if he pleased, would be far the more philanthropic course of
-action. There was a French bishop, and a colonel of the French staff at
-Rome, among the passengers, and by their genial urbanity they fairly
-divided between them the affections of the whole company. Either of them
-would have made a fog in the English Channel seem like the sunshine of
-the Gulf of Egina. I picked up a pleasant companion in an Englishman who
-had travelled much and read more, and spent the greater part of the day
-with him. When he found that I was an American, he at once asked me if I
-had ever been to Niagara, and had ever seen Longfellow and Emerson. I am
-astonished to find so many cultivated English people who know little or
-nothing about Tennyson; I am inclined to think he has ten readers in
-America to one in England, while the English can repeat Longfellow by
-pages.
-
-After thirty hours of pleasant sailing along by Corsica and Elba, and
-along the coast of France, until it seemed as if our cruise (like that
-of the widow of whom we have all read) would never have an end, we came
-to anchor in the midst of a vast fleet of steamers in the new port of
-Marseilles. The bustle of commercial activity seemed any thing but
-pleasant after the classical repose of Rome; but the landlady of the
-hotel was most gracious, and when I opened the window of my room looking
-out on the Place Royale, one of those peripatetic dispensers of melody,
-whose life (like the late M. Mantalini's after he was reduced in
-circumstances) must be "one demnition horrid grind," executed "Sweet
-Home" in a manner that went entirely home to the heart of at least one
-of his accidental audience.
-
-
-
-MARSEILLES, LYONS, AND AIX IN SAVOY
-
-
-If the people of Marseilles do not love the Emperor of the French, they
-ought to be ashamed of themselves. He has so completely changed the
-aspect of that city by his improvements, that the man who knows it as it
-existed in the reign of Louis Philippe, would be lost if he were to
-revisit it now. The completion of the railway from Paris to Marseilles
-is an inestimable advantage to the latter city, while the new port, in
-magnitude and style of execution, is worthy of comparison with the
-splendid docks of London and Liverpool. The flags of every civilized
-nation may be seen there; and the variety of costumes and languages,
-which bewilder one's eyes and ears, assure him that he is in the
-commercial metropolis of the Mediterranean. The frequency of steam
-communication between Marseilles and the various ports of Spain, Italy,
-Africa, and the Levant, draws to it a large proportion of the travellers
-in those directions. I believe that Marseilles is only celebrated for
-having been colonized by the Phocaeans, or some such people, for having
-several times been devastated by the plague, and for having been very
-perfectly described by Dickens in his Little Dorrit. The day on which I
-arrived there was very like the one described by Dickens; so if any one
-would like further particulars, he had better overhaul his Little
-Dorrit, and, "when found, make note of it."
-
-The day after my arrival I saw a grand religious procession in the
-streets of the city. The landlady of my hotel had told me of it, but my
-expectations were not raised very high, for I thought that after the
-grandeur of Rome, all other things in that way would be comparatively
-tame. But I was mistaken; the procession fairly rivalled those of Rome.
-There were the same gorgeous vestments, the same picturesque groupings
-of black robes and snowy surplices, of mitres and crosiers and shaven
-crowns, of scarlet and purple and cloth of gold, the same swinging
-censers and clouds of fragrant incense, the same swelling flood of
-almost supernatural music. The municipal authorities of the city, with
-the staff of the garrison, joined in the procession, and the military
-display was such as can hardly be seen out of France. I have often been
-struck with the facility with which the Catholic religion adapts itself
-to the character of every nation. I have had some opportunity of
-observation; I have seen the Catholic Church on three out of the four
-continents, and have every where noticed the same phenomenon.
-Mahometanism could never be transplanted to the snowy regions of Russia
-or Norway; it needs the soft, enervating atmosphere of Asia to keep it
-alive; the veranda, the bubbling fountain, the noontide repose, are all
-parts of it. Puritanism is the natural growth of a country where the sun
-seldom shines, and which is shut out by a barrier of water and fog from
-kindly intercourse with its neighbours. It could never thrive in the
-bright south. The merry vine-dressers of Italy could never draw down
-their faces to the proper length, and would be very unwilling to
-exchange their blithesome _canzonetti_ for Sternhold and Hopkins's
-version. But the Catholic Church, while it unites its professors in the
-belief of the same inflexible creed, leaves them entirely free in all
-mere externals and national peculiarities. When I see the light-hearted
-Frenchman, the fiery Italian, the serious Spaniard, the cunning Greek,
-the dignified Armenian, the energetic Russian, the hard-headed Dutchman,
-the philosophical German, the formal and "respectable" Englishman, the
-thrifty Scotchman, the careless and warm-hearted Irishman, and the
-calculating, go-ahead American, all bound together by the profession of
-the same faith, and yet retaining their national characteristics,--I can
-compare it to nothing but to a similar phenomenon that we may notice in
-the prism, which, while it is a pure and perfect crystal, is found on
-examination to contain, in their perfection, all the various colours of
-the rainbow.
-
-The terminus of the Lyons and Mediterranean Railway is one of the best
-things of its kind in the world. I wish that some of our American
-railway directors could take a few lessons from the French. The
-attention paid to securing the comfort and safety of the passengers and
-the regularity of the trains would quite bewilder him. Instead of
-finding the station a long, unfinished kind of shed, with two small,
-beastly waiting rooms at one side, and a stand for a vender of apples,
-root beer, and newspapers, he would see a fine stone structure, several
-hundred feet in length, with a roof of iron and glass. He would enter a
-hall which would remind him of the Doric hall of the State House in
-Boston, only that it is several times larger, and is paved with marble.
-He would choose out of the three ticket offices of the three classes,
-where he would ride, and he would be served with a promptness and
-politeness that would remind him of Mr. Child in the palmy days of the
-old Tremont Theatre, while he would notice that an officer stood by each
-ticket office to see that every purchaser got his ticket and the proper
-change, and to give all necessary information. Having booked his
-luggage, he would be ushered into one of the three waiting rooms, all of
-them furnished in a style of neatness and elegance that would greatly
-astonish him. He might employ the interval in the study of geography,
-assisted by a map painted on one side of the room, giving the entire
-south of France and Piedmont, with the railways, &c., and executed in
-such a style that the names of the towns are legible at a distance of
-fifteen or twenty feet. Two or three minutes before the hour fixed for
-the starting of the train, the door would be opened, and he would take
-his seat in the train with the other passengers. The whole affair would
-go on so systematically, with such an absence of noise and excitement,
-that he would doubt whether he had been in a railway station at all,
-until he found himself spinning along at a rapid rate, through long
-tunnels, and past the beautiful panorama of Provencal landscape.
-
-The sun was as bright as it always is in fair Provence, the sky as blue.
-The white dusty roads wound around over the green landscape, like great
-serpents seeking to hide their folds amid those hills. The almond, the
-lemon, and the fig attracted the attention of the traveller from the
-north, before all other trees,--not to forget however, the pale foliage
-of that tree which used to furnish wreaths for Minerva's brow, but now
-supplies us with oil for our salads. Arles, with its old amphitheatre (a
-broken shadow of the Coliseum) looming up above it, lay stifled with
-dust and broiling in the sun, as we hurried on towards Avignon. It does
-not take much time to see that old city, which, from being so long the
-abode of the exiled popes, seems to have caught and retained something
-of the quiet dignity and repose of Rome itself. That gloomy old palace
-of the popes, with its lofty turrets, seems to brood over the town, and
-weigh it down as with sorrow for its departed greatness. Centuries have
-passed, America has been discovered, the whole face of Europe has
-changed, since a pontiff occupied those halls; and yet there it stands,
-a monument commemorating a mere episode in the history of the see of St.
-Peter.
-
-Arriving at Lyons, I found another palatial station, on even a grander
-scale than that of Marseilles. The architect has worked the coats of
-arms of the different cities of France into the stone work of the
-exterior in a very effective manner. Lyons bears witness, no less than
-Marseilles, to the genius of the wonderful man who now governs France.
-It is a popular notion in England and America, that the enterprise of
-Napoleon III. has been confined to the improvement of Paris. If persons
-who labour under this error would extend their journeyings a little
-beyond the ordinary track of a summer excursion, they would find that
-there is scarcely a town in the empire that has not felt the influence
-of his skill as a statesman and political economist. The _Rue Imperiale_
-of Lyons is a monument of which any sovereign might be justly proud. The
-activity of Lyons, the new buildings rising on every side, and its look
-of prosperity, would lead one to suppose that it was some place that had
-just been settled, instead of a city with twenty centuries of history.
-The Sunday, I was glad to see, was well observed; perhaps not exactly in
-the style which Aminadab Sleek would commend, but in a very rational,
-Christian, un-Jewish manner. The shops were, for the most part, closed,
-the churches were crowded with people, and in the afternoon and evening
-the entire population was abroad enjoying itself--and a cleaner,
-better-behaved, happier-looking set of people I never saw. The excessive
-heat still continues. It is now more than two months since I opened my
-umbrella; the prospects of the harvest are good, but they are praying
-hard in the churches for a little rain. During my stay at Lyons, I lived
-almost entirely on fresh figs, and plums and ices. How full the _cafes_
-were those sultry evenings! How busy must the freezers have been in the
-cellars below! I read through all the newspapers I could lay my hands
-on, and then amused myself with watching the gay, chattering throng
-around me. How my mind flew across the ocean that evening to a quiet
-back parlour at the South End! I could see the venerable Baron receiving
-a guest on such a night as that, and making the weather seem cool by
-contrast with the warmth of his hospitality. I could see him offering to
-his perspiring visitor a release from the slavery of broadcloth, in the
-loan of a nankeen jacket, and then busying himself in the preparation of
-a compound of old Cochituate, (I had almost said old Jamaica,) of ice,
-of sugar, yea, of lemons, and commending the grateful chalice to the
-parched lips of his guest. Such an evening in the Baron's back parlour
-is the very ecstasy of hospitality. It is many months since that old
-nankeen jacket folded me in its all-embracing arms, but the very thought
-of it awakes a thrill of pleasure in my heart. When I last saw it,
-"decay's effacing fingers" had meddled with the buttons thereof, and it
-was growing a trifle consumptive in the vicinity of the elbows; but I
-hope that it is good for many a year of usefulness yet, before the
-epitaph writer shall commence the recital of its merits with those
-melancholy words, _Hic jacet!_ Pardon me, dear reader, for this
-digression from the recital of my wanderings; but this jacket, the
-remembrance of which is so dear to me, is not the trifle it may seem to
-you. It is, I believe, the only institution in the world of the same age
-and importance, which has not been apostrophized in verse by that gifted
-bard, Mr. Martin Farquhar Tupper. If this be not celebrity, what is it?
-
-In one of the narrow streets of Lyons I found a barber named Melnotte.
-He was a man somewhat advanced in life, and I feel sure that he
-addressed a good-looking woman in a snowy white cap, who looked in from
-a back room while I was having my hair cut, as Pauline. Be that as it
-may, when he had finished his work, and I walked up to the mirror to
-inspect it, he addressed to me the language of Bulwer's hero, "Do you
-like the picture?" or words to that effect. I cannot help mistrusting
-that Sir Edward may have misled us concerning the ultimate history of
-the Lady of Lyons and her husband. But the heat was too intolerable for
-human endurance; so I packed up, and leaving that fair city, with its
-numerous graceful bridges, and busy looms whose fabrics brighten the
-eyes of the beauties of Europe and America, and lighten the purses of
-their chivalry,--leaving Our Lady of Fourvieres looking down with
-outstretched hands from the dome of her lofty shrine, and watching over
-her faithful Lyonnese,--I turned my face towards the Alpine regions.
-
-The Alps have always been to me what Australia was to the late Mr.
-Micawber--"the bright dream of my youth, and the fallacious aspiration
-of my riper years." I remember when I was young, long before the days of
-railways and steamers, in the times when a man who had travelled in
-Europe was invested with a sort of awful dignity--I remember hearing a
-travelled uncle of mine tell about the Alps, and I resolved, with all
-the enthusiasm of boyhood, thenceforward to "save up" all my Fourth of
-July and Artillery Election money, until I should be able to go and see
-one. When the Rev. James Sheridan Knowles (he was a wicked playactor in
-those days) produced his drama of William Tell, how it fed the flame of
-my ambition! How I longed to stand with the hero once again among his
-native hills! How I loved the glaciers! How I doted on the avalanches!
-But age has cooled the longings of my heart for mountain excursions, and
-robbed my legs of all their climbing powers, so that if it depends upon
-my own bodily exertions, the Vale of Chamouni will be entirely
-unavailable for me, and every mount will be to me a blank. The scenery
-along the line of railway from Amberieu to Culoz on the Rhone is very
-grand. The ride reminded me of the ride over the Atlantic and St.
-Lawrence road through the White Mountains, only it is finer. The
-boldness of the cliffs and precipices was something to make one's heart
-beat quick, and cause him to wonder how the peasants could work so
-industriously, and the cattle feed so constantly, without stopping to
-look up at the magnificence that hemmed them in.
-
-At Culoz I went on board one of those peculiar steamers of the
-Rhone--about one hundred and fifty feet in length by ten or twelve in
-width. Our way lay through a narrow and circuitous branch of the river
-for several miles. The windings of the river were such that men were
-obliged to turn the boat about by means of cables, which they made fast
-to posts fixed in the banks on either side for that purpose. The scenery
-along the banks was like a dream of Paradise. To say that the country
-was smiling with flowers and verdure does not express it--it was
-bursting into a broad grin of fertility. Such vineyards! Not like the
-grape vine in your back yard, dear reader, nailed up against a brick
-wall, but large, luxuriant vines, seeming at a loss what to do with
-themselves, and festooned from tree to tree, just as you see them in the
-scenery of Fra Diavolo. And then there were groups of people in costumes
-of picturesque negligence, and women in large straw hats, and dresses of
-brilliant colours, just like the chorus of an opera. The deep, rich hue
-of the foliage particularly attracted my notice. It was as different
-from the foliage of New England as Winship's Gardens are from an invoice
-of palm-leaf hats. Beyond the immediate vicinity of the river rose up
-beautiful hills and cliffs like the Palisades of the Hudson. Let those
-who will, prefer the wild grandeur of our American mountain scenery;
-there is a great charm for me in the union of nature and art. The
-careful cultivation of the fields seems to set off and render more grand
-and austere the gray, jagged cliffs that overlook them. As the elder
-Pliny most justly remarks, (lib. iv. cap. xi. 24,) "It requires the
-lemon as well as the sugar to make the punch."
-
-After about an hour's sail upon the river, we came out upon the
-beautiful Lake of Bourget. It was stirred by a gentle breeze, but it
-seemed as if its bright blue surface had never reflected a cloud. All
-around its borders the trees and vines seemed bending down to drink of
-its pure waters. Far off in the distance rose up the mighty peaks of the
-Alps--their snow-white tops contrasting with the verdure of their sides.
-They seemed to be watching with pleasure over the glad scenes beneath
-them, like old men whose gray hairs have been powerless to disturb the
-youthful freshness and geniality of their hearts.
-
-At St. Innocent I landed, and underwent the custom house formalities
-attendant upon entrance into a new territory. The officials were very
-expeditious, and equally polite. I at first supposed that the letters V.
-E., which each of them bore conspicuously on his cap, meant "_very
-empty_,"--but it afterwards occurred to me that they were the initials
-of his majesty, the King of Sardinia. A few minutes' ride over the
-"Victor Emmanuel Railway" brought me to the beautiful village of Aix. It
-is situated, as my friend the Lyonnese barber would say, in "a deep vale
-shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world." It possesses about 2500
-inhabitants; but that number is considerably augmented at present, for
-the mineral springs of Aix are very celebrated, and this is the height
-of "the season." There is a great deal of what is called "society" here,
-and during the morning the baths are crowded. It is as dull as all
-watering places necessarily are, and twice as hot. I think that the
-French manage these things better than we do in America. There is less
-humbug, less display of jewelry and dress, and a vast deal more of
-common sense and solid comfort than with us. The _cafes_ are like
-similar establishments in all such places--an abundance of ices and
-ordinary coffee, and a plentiful lack of newspapers. I have found a
-companion, however, who more than makes good the latter deficiency. He
-is an Englishman of some seventy years, who is here bathing for his
-gout. His light hair and fresh complexion disguise his age so completely
-that most people, when they see us together, judge me, from my gray
-locks, to be the elder. He is one of the most entertaining persons I
-have ever met--he knows the classics by heart,--is familiar with
-English, French, Italian, German, and Spanish literature,--speaks nine
-languages,--and has travelled all over the world. He is as familiar with
-the Steppes of Tartary as with Wapping Old Stairs,--has imbibed sherbet
-in Damascus and sherry cobblers in New York, and seen a lion hunt in
-South Africa. But his heart is the heart of a boy--"age cannot wither
-nor custom stale" its infinite geniality. He cannot pass by a beggar
-without making an investment for eternity, and all the babies look over
-the shoulders of their nurses to smile at him as he walks the streets. I
-mention him here for the sake of recording one of his opinions, which
-struck me by its truth and originality. We were sitting in a _cafe_ last
-evening, and, after a long conversation, I asked him what he should give
-as the result of all his reading and observation of men and things, and
-all his experience, if he were to sum it up in one sentence. "Sir," said
-he, removing his meerschaum from his mouth, and turning towards me as if
-to give additional force to his reply, "it may all be comprised in this:
-the world is composed of two classes of men--natural fools and d--d
-fools; the first class are those who have never made any pretensions, or
-have reached a just appreciation of the nothingness of all human
-acquirements and hopes; the second are those whose belief in their own
-infallibility has never been disturbed; and this class includes a vast
-number of every rank, from the profound German philosopher, who thinks
-that he has fathomed infinity, down to that young fop twirling his
-moustache at the opposite table, and flattering himself that he is
-making a great impression."
-
-Savoy, as every body knows, was once a part of France, and it still
-retains all of its original characteristics. I have not heard ten words
-of Italian since I arrived here, and, judging from what I do hear and
-from the tone of the newspapers, it would like to become a part of
-France again. The Savoyards are a religious, steady-going people, and
-they have little love either for the weak and dissolute monarch who
-governs them, or for the powerful, infidel prime minister who governs
-their monarch. The high-pitched roofs of the houses here are suggestive
-of the snows of winter; but the heat reminds me of the coast of Africa
-during a sirocco. How true is Sydney Smith's remark, "Man only lives to
-shiver or perspire"! The thermometer ranges any where from 80 deg. to 90
-deg.. Can this be the legitimate temperature of these mountainous
-regions? I am "ill at these numbers," and nothing would be so
-invigorating to my infirm and shaky frame as a sniff of the salt breezes
-of Long Branch or Nantasket.
-
-
-
-AIX TO PARIS
-
-
-There is no need of telling how disgusted I became with Aix-les-Bains
-and all that in it is, after a short residence there. How I hated those
-straw-hatted people who beset the baths from the earliest flush of the
-aurora! How I detested those fellows who were constantly pestering me
-with offers (highly advantageous, without doubt) of donkeys whereon to
-ride, when they knew that I didn't want one! How I abominated the sight
-of a man (who seemed to haunt me) in a high velvet-collared coat and a
-bell-crowned hat just overtopping an oily-looking head of hair and bushy
-whiskers--who looked, for all the world, as if he were made up for Sir
-Harcourt Courtly! How maliciously he held on to the newspapers in the
-_cafe_! How constantly he sat there and devoured all the news out of
-them through the medium of a double tortoise-shell eye-glass, which
-always seemed to be just falling off his nose! How I abhorred the sight
-of those waiters, who looked as if the season were a short one, and time
-(as B. Franklin said) was money! How stifling was the atmosphere of that
-"seven-by-nine" room for which I had to pay so dearly! How hot, how
-dusty, how dull it was, I need not weary you by telling; suffice it to
-say, that I never packed my trunk more willingly than when I left that
-village. I am very glad to have been there, however, for the
-satisfaction I felt at leaving the place is worth almost any effort to
-obtain. The joy of departure made even the exorbitant bills seem
-reasonable; and when I thought of the stupidity and discomfort I was
-escaping from, I felt as if, come what might, my future could only be
-one of sunshine and content. Aix-les-Bains is one of the pleasantest
-places to leave that I have ever seen. I can never forget the
-measureless happiness of seeing my luggage ticketed for Paris, and then
-taking my seat with the consciousness that I was leaving Aix (not
-_aches_, alas!) behind me.
-
-The Lake of Bourget was as beautiful and smiling as before--only it did
-seem as if the sun might have held in a little. He scorched and
-blistered the passengers on that steamboat in the most absurd manner. He
-seemed never to have heard of Horace, and was consequently entirely
-ignorant of the propriety of maintaining a _modus_ in his _rebuses_. The
-scenery along the banks of the Rhone had not changed in the least, but
-was as romantic and theatrical as ever. At Culoz I was glad to get on
-shore, for like Hamlet, I had been "too much i' the sun"; so I left the
-"blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone," (which the late Lord Byron, with his
-usual disregard of truth, talks about, and which is as muddy as a
-Medford brick-yard,) and took refuge in the hospitality of a custom
-house. Here I fell into a meditation upon custom house officers. I
-wonder whether the custom house officers of France are in their leisure
-hours given to any of the vanities which delight their American
-brethren. There was one lean, thoughtful-looking man among those at
-Culoz who attracted my attention. I tried ineffectually to make out his
-bent from his physiognomy. I could not imagine him occupying his leisure
-by putting any twice-told tales on paper--or cultivating Shanghai
-poultry--or riding on to the tented field amid the roar of artillery at
-the head of a brigade of militia,--and I was obliged, in the hurry of
-the examination of luggage, to give him up.
-
-I had several times, during the journey from Aix, noticed a tall,
-eagle-eyed man, in a suit of gray, and wearing a moustache of the same
-colour, and while we were waiting for the train at Culoz, I observed
-that he attracted a great deal of attention: his bearing was so
-commanding, that I had set him down as being connected with the military
-interest, before I noticed that he did not bear arms, for the left
-sleeve of his coat hung empty and useless by his side; so I ventured to
-inquire concerning him, and learned that I was a fellow-traveller of
-Marshal Baraguay d'Hilliers. I must do him the justice to say that he
-did not look like a man who would leave his arms on the field.
-
-We were soon whirling, and puffing, and whistling along through the tame
-but pleasing landscape of France. Those carefully-tilled fields, those
-vineyards almost overflowing with the raw material of conviviality,
-those interminable rows of tall trees which seem to give no shade, those
-farm-houses, whose walls we should in America consider strong enough for
-fortifications, those contented-looking cattle, those towns that seem to
-consist of a single street and an old gray tower, with a dark-coloured
-conical top, like a candle extinguisher,--all had a good, familiar look
-to me; and the numerous fields of Indian corn almost made me think that
-I was on my way to Worcester or Fitchburg. I stopped for a while at
-Macon, (a town which I respect for its contributions to the good cheer
-of the world,) and hugely enjoyed a walk through its clean, quiet
-streets. While I was waiting at the station, the express train from
-Paris came along; and many of the passengers left their places (like Mr.
-Squeers) to stretch their legs. Among them was a man whose acquisitive
-eye, black satin waistcoat, fashionable hat, (such as no man but an
-American would think of travelling in,) and coat with the waist around
-his hips, and six or eight inches of skirt, immediately fixed my
-attention. Before I thought, he had asked me if I could speak English. I
-set him at his ease by answering that I took lessons in it once when I
-was young, and he immediately launched out as follows: "Well, this is
-the cussedest language I ever did hear. I don't see how in _the_ devil
-these blasted fools can have lived so long right alongside of England
-without trying to learn the English language." The whistle of the engine
-cut short the declaration of his sentiments, and he was whizzing on
-towards Lyons a moment after. Whoever that man may have been, he owes it
-to himself and his country to write a book. His work would be as worthy
-of consideration as the writings of two thirds of our English and
-American travellers, who think they are qualified to write about the
-government and social condition of a country because they have travelled
-through it. Fancy a Frenchman, entirely ignorant of the English tongue,
-landing at Boston, and stopping at the Tremont House or Parker's; he
-visits the State House, the Athenaeum, Bunker Hill, the wharves, &c.
-Then on Sunday he wishes to know something about the religion of these
-strange people; so he goes across the street to the King's Chapel, and
-finds that it is closed; so he walks down the street in the burning sun
-to Brattle Street, where he hears a comfortable, drony kind of sermon,
-which seems to have as composing an effect upon the fifty or a hundred
-persons who are present as upon himself. In the afternoon he finds his
-way to Trinity Church, (somebody having charitably told him that that is
-the most genteel place,) and there he hears "our admirable liturgy"
-sonorously read out to twenty or thirty people, all of whom are so
-engrossed in their devotions that the responses are entirely neglected.
-Having had enough of what the Irishman called the English lethargy, he
-returns to his lodgings, and writes in his note-book that the Americans
-seldom go to church, and when they do, go there to sleep in comfortable
-pews. Then he makes a little tour of a fortnight to New Haven,
-Providence, Springfield, &c., and returns to France to write a book of
-travels in New England. And what are all his observations worth? I'll
-tell you. They are worth just as much, and give exactly as faithful a
-representation of the state of society in New England, as four fifths of
-the books written by English and American travellers in France, Spain,
-and Italy, do of the condition of those countries.
-
-I have encountered many interesting studies of humanity here on the
-continent in my day. I have met many people who have come abroad with a
-vague conviction that travel improves one, and who do not see that to
-visit Europe without some preparation is like going a-fishing without
-line or bait. They appear to think that some great benefit is to be
-obtained by passing over a certain space of land and water, and being
-imposed upon to an unlimited extent by a horde of _commissionnaires_,
-_ciceroni_, couriers, and others, who find in their ignorance and lack
-of common sense a source of wealth. I met, the other day, a gentleman
-from one of the Western States, who said that he was "putting up" at
-Meurice's Hotel, but didn't think much of it; if it had not been for
-some English people whom he fell in with on the way from Calais, he
-should have gone to the Hotel de Ville, which he supposed, from the
-pictures he had seen, must be a "fust class house"! I have within a few
-hours seen an American, who could not ask the simplest question in
-French, but thinks that he shall stop three or four weeks, and learn the
-language! I have repeatedly met people who told me that they had come
-out to Europe "jest to see the place." But it is not alone such
-ignoramuses as these who merit the pity or contempt of the judicious and
-sensible. Their folly injures no one but themselves. The same cannot be
-said, however, of the authors of the numerous duodecimos of foreign
-travel which burden the booksellers' counters. They have supposed that
-they can sketch a nation's character by looking at its towns from the
-windows of an express train. They presume to write about the social life
-of France or Italy, while they are ignorant of any language but their
-own, and do not know a single French or Italian family. Victims of a
-bitter prejudice against those countries and their institutions, they
-are prepared beforehand to be shocked and disgusted at all they see.
-Like Sterne's Smelfungus, they "set out with the spleen and jaundice,
-and every object they pass by is discoloured or distorted." Kenelm Digby
-wisely remarks that one of the great advantages of journeying beyond
-sea, to a man of sense and feeling, is the spectacle of general
-travellers: "it will prevent his being ever again imposed upon by these
-birds of passage, when they record their adventures and experience on
-returning to the north."
-
-Dijon is a fine old city. Every body knows that it used to be the
-capital of Burgundy, but to the general reader it is more particularly
-interesting as being the place to which Mrs. Dombey and Mr. Carker fled
-after the elopement. There is a fine cathedral and public library, and
-the whole place has an eminently Burgundian flavour which makes one
-regret that he got tired so soon when he tried to read Froissart's
-Chronicles. There is a church there which was desecrated during the old
-revolution, and is now used as a market-house. It bears an inscription
-which presents a satirical commentary on its recent history: "_Domine,
-dilexi decorem domus tuae!_" The Dijon gingerbread (which the people, in
-their ignorance and lack of our common school advantages, call _pain
-d'epice_) would really merit a diploma from that academy of
-connoisseurs, the Massachusetts House of Representatives. But Dombey and
-Dijon are all forgotten in our first glimpse of the "gay capital of
-bewildering France." There lay Paris, sparkling under the noonday sun.
-The sight of its domes and monuments awoke all my fellow-travellers:
-shabby caps and handkerchiefs were exchanged for hats and bonnets, which
-gave their wearers an air of respectability perfectly uncalled for. We
-were soon inside the fortifications, which have been so outgrown by the
-city that one hardly notices them; and, after the usual luggage
-examination, I found myself in an omnibus, and once more on the
-Boulevards.
-
-And what a good, comfortable home-feeling it was! There were the old,
-familiar streets, the well-known advertisements, painted conspicuously,
-in blue, and green, and gold, on what would else have been a blank,
-unsightly wall, and inviting me to purchase cloths and cashmeres; there
-were the same ceaseless tides of life ebbing and flowing through those
-vast thoroughfares, the same glossy beavers, the same snowy caps and
-aprons, the same blouses, the same polite, _s'il vous-plait, pardon,
-m'sieur_, take-it-easy air, that Paris, as seen from an omnibus window,
-always presents. We rolled through the Rue St. Antoine, and it was hard
-to realize that it had ever been the theatre of so much appalling
-history. I tried to imagine the barricades, the street ploughed up by
-artillery, and that heroic martyr, Archbishop Affre, falling there, and
-praying that his blood might be the last shed in that fratricidal
-strife; but it was useless; the lively present made the past seem but
-the mere invention of the historian. All traces of the frightful scenes
-of 1848 have been effaced, and the facilities for barricades have been
-disposed of in a way that must make red republicanism very disrespectful
-to the memory of MacAdam. As we passed a church in that bloody locality,
-a wedding party came out; the bridegroom looked as if he had taken
-chloroform to enable him to get through his difficulties, and the effect
-of it had not entirely passed off. The bride (for women, you know, have
-greater power of endurance than men) seemed to take it more easily, and,
-beaming in the midst of a sort of wilderness of lace, and gauze, and
-muslin, like a lighthouse in a fog, she tripped briskly into the
-carriage, with a bouquet in her hand, and happiness in her heart. Before
-the bridal party got fairly out of sight, a funeral came along. The
-white pall showed that it was a child who slept upon the bier; for the
-Catholic church does not mourn over those who are removed from the
-temptations of life before they have known them. The vehicles all gave
-way to let the little procession pass, the hum seemed to cease for a
-moment, every head was uncovered, even the porter held his burden on his
-shoulder with one hand that he might pay his respects to that sovereign
-to whom even republicans are obliged to bow, and the many-coloured hats
-of the omnibus drivers were doffed. I had often before noticed those
-striking contrasts that one sees in a capital like Paris; but to meet
-such a one at my very entrance impressed me deeply. Such is Paris. You
-think it the liveliest place in the world, (and so it is;) but suddenly
-you come upon something that makes you thoughtful, if it does not sadden
-you. Life and death elbow and jostle each other along these gay streets,
-until it seems as if they were rivals striving to drive each other out.
-I entered a church a day or two since. There was a funeral at the high
-altar. The black vestments and hangings, the lighted tapers, the solemn
-chant of the _De profundis_ were eloquent of death and what must follow
-it. I was startled by hearing a child's cry, and looking round into the
-chapel which served as a baptistery, there stood two young mothers who
-had just received their infants from that purifying laver which made
-them members of the great Christian family. I never before had that
-beautiful thought of Chateaubriand's so forced upon me--"Religion has
-rocked us in the cradle of life, and her maternal hand shall close our
-eyes, while her holiest melodies soothe us to rest in the cradle of
-death."
-
-There are, without doubt, many persons, who can say that in their
-pilgrimage of life they have truly "found their warmest welcome at an
-inn." My experience outstrips that, for I have received one of my most
-cordial greetings in a _cafe_. The establishment in question is so
-eminently American, that I should feel as if I had neglected a sacred
-duty, if I did not describe it, for the benefit of future sojourners in
-the French capital, who are hereby requested to overhaul their
-memorandum books and make a note of it. It does not boast the
-magnificence and luxury of the _Cafe de Paris_, Very's, the _Trois
-Freres Provencaux_, nor of Taylor's; nor does it thrust itself forward
-into the publicity of the gay Boulevards, or of the thronged arcades of
-the _Palais Royal_. It does not appeal to those who love the noise and
-dust of fashion's highway; for them it has no welcome. But to those who
-love "the cool, sequestered path of life," it offers a degree of quiet
-comfort, to which the "slaves of passion, avarice, and pride," who view
-themselves in the mirrors of the _Maison Doree_, are strangers. You turn
-from the _Boulevard des Italiens_ into the _Rue de la Michodiere_, which
-you perambulate until you come to number six, where you will stop and
-take an observation. Perhaps wonder will predominate over admiration.
-The front of the establishment does not exceed twelve feet in width, and
-the sign over the door shows that it is a _Cremerie_. The fact is also
-adumbrated symbolically by a large brass can, which is set over the
-portal. In one of the windows may be observed a neatly-executed placard,
-to this effect:--
-
-    _Aux Americains_
-        Specialite.
-
-      Pumpkin Pie.
-
-"Enter--its vastness overwhelms thee not!" On the contrary, having
-passed through the little front shop, you stand in a room ten or twelve
-feet square--just the size of Washington Irving's "empire," in the Red
-Horse Inn, at Stratford. This little room is furnished with two round
-tables, a sideboard, and several chairs, and is decorated with numerous
-crayon sketches of the knights of the aforesaid round tables. You make
-the acquaintance of the excellent Madame Busque, and order your dinner,
-which is served promptly and with a motherly care, which will at first
-remind you of the time when your bib was carefully tied on, and you were
-lifted to a seat on the family Bible, which had been placed on a chair,
-to bring the juvenile mouth into proper relations with the table.
-
-Nothing can surpass the home feeling that took possession of me when I
-found myself once more in Madame Busque's little back room at No. 6,
-_Rue de la Michodiere_. How cordial was that estimable lady's welcome!
-She made herself as busy as a cat with one chicken, and prepared for me
-a "tired nature's sweet restorer" in the shape of one of her famous
-omelets. The old den had not changed in the least. Madame Busque used to
-threaten occasionally to paint it, and otherwise improve and embellish
-it; but we always told her that if she did any thing of that kind, or
-tried to render it less dingy, or snug, or unpretending, we would never
-eat another of her pumpkin pies. Not all the mirrors and magnificence of
-the resorts of fashion can equal the quiet cosiness of Madame Busque's
-back room. You meet all kinds of company there. The blouse is at home
-there, as well as its ambitious cousin, the broadcloth coat. Law and
-medicine, literature and art, pleasure and honest toil, meet there upon
-equal terms. Our own aristocratic Washington never dreamed of such a
-democracy as his calm portrait looks down upon in that room. Then we
-have such a delightful neighbourhood there. I feel as if the charcoal
-woman of the next door but one below was some relation to me--at least
-an aunt; she always has a pleasant word and a smile for the frequenters
-of No. 6; and then it is so disinterested on her part, for we can none
-of us need any of her charcoal. I hope that no person who reads this
-will be misled by it, and go to Madame Busque's _cremerie_ expecting to
-find there the variety which the restaurants boast, for he will be
-disappointed. But he will find every thing there of the best
-description. My taste in food (as in most other matters) is a very
-catholic one: I can eat beef with the English, garlic and onions with
-the French, sauerkraut with the Germans, macaroni with the Italians,
-pilaf with the Turks, baked beans with the Yankees, hominy with the
-southerners, and oysters with any body. But as I feel age getting the
-better of me day by day, I think I grow to be more and more of a
-pre-Raphaelite in these things. So I crave nothing more luxurious than a
-good steak or chop, with the appropriate vegetables; and these are to be
-had in their perfection at Madame Busque's. My benison upon her!
-
-The canicular weather I suffered from in the south followed me even
-here. I found every body talking about the extraordinary _chaleur_.
-Shade of John Rogers! how the sun has glared down upon Paris, day after
-day, without winking, until air-tight stoves are refrigerators compared
-to it, and even old-fashioned preaching is outdone! How the asphalte
-sidewalks of the Boulevards have melted under his rays, and perfumed the
-air with any thing but a Sabaean odour! The fragrance of the linden
-trees was entirely overpowered. The thought of the helmets of the
-cavalry was utterly intolerable. Tortoni's and the _cafes_ were crowded.
-Great was the clamour for ices. Greater still was the rush to the cool
-shades of the public gardens, or the environs of Bougival and Marly. At
-last, the welcome rain came hissing down upon these heated roofs; and
-_malheur_ to the man who ventures out during these days without his
-umbrella. It has been a rain of terror. It almost spoilt the great
-national _fete_ of the 15th; but the people made the best of it, and,
-between the free theatrical performances at sixteen theatres, the superb
-illuminations, and the fireworks, seemed to have a very merry time. I
-went in the morning to that fine lofty old church, (whose Lady Chapel is
-a splendid monument of Couture's artistic genius,) St. Eustache, where I
-heard a new mass, by one M. L'Hote. It was well executed, and the
-orchestral parts were particularly effective. After the mass, the annual
-_Te Deum_ for the Emperor was sung. The effect of the latter was very
-grand; indeed, when it was finished, I was just thinking that it was
-impossible for music to surpass it, when the full orchestra and two
-organs united in a burst of harmony that almost lifted me off my feet. I
-recognized the old Gregorian anthem that is sung every Sunday in all the
-churches, and when it had been played through, the trumpets took up the
-air of the chant, above the rest of the accompaniment, and the clear,
-alto voice of one of those scarlet-capped choir-boys rang out the words,
-_Domine, salvum fac imperatorem nostrum, Napoleonem_, in a way that
-seemed to make those old arches vibrate, and wonderfully quickened the
-circulation in the veins of every listener. It was like the gradual
-mounting and heaving up of a high sea in a storm on the Atlantic, which,
-when it has reached a pitch you thought impossible, curls majestically
-over, and, breaking into a creamy foam, loses itself in a transitory
-vision of emerald brilliancy, that for the moment realizes the most
-gorgeous and improbable fables of Eastern luxury. It made even me,
-notwithstanding my prejudices in favour of republicanism, forget the
-spread eagle, and my free (and easy) native land, and for several hours
-I found myself singing that solemn anthem over in a most impressive
-manner. _Vive l'Empereur!_
-
-
-
-PARIS
-
-
-This is a wonderful city. It seems to me, as I ride up and down the gay
-Boulevards on the roof of an omnibus, or gaze into the brilliant
-shop-windows of the Palais Royal, or watch the happy children in the
-garden of the Tuileries, or stand upon the bridges and take in as much
-as I can at once of gardens, palaces, and church towers--it seems to me
-like a great theatre, filled with gay company, to whom the same grand
-spectacle is always being shown, and whose faces always reflect
-something of that brilliancy which lights up the gorgeous, never-ending,
-last scene of the drama. I know that the play has its underplot of
-vicious poverty and crime, but they shrink from the glare of the
-footlights and the radiance of the red fire that lights up the scene.
-Taken in the abstract--taken as it appears from the outside--Paris is
-the most perfect whole the world can show. It was a witty remark of a
-well-known citizen of Boston, touching the materialistic views of many
-of his friends, that "when good Boston people die, they go to Paris." I
-know many whose highest idea of heaven would find its embodiment in the
-sunshine of the Place de la Concorde or the gas light of the Rue de
-Rivoli. Paris captivates you at once. In this it differs from Rome. You
-do not grow to love it; you feel its charms before you have recovered
-from the fatigue of your journey--before you have even reached your
-hotel, as you ride along and recognize the buildings and monuments which
-books and pictures have made familiar. In Rome all is different. Michel
-Angelo's mighty dome, to be sure, does impress you, as you come to the
-city; but when you enter, the narrow streets are such a contrast to the
-broad, free campagna you have just left, that you feel oppressed and
-cramped as you ride through them. You find one of the old temples kept
-in repair and serving as a custom house; this is a damper at the outset,
-and you sigh for something to revive the ancient customs of the world's
-capital. You walk into the Forum the next day, musing upon the line of
-the twelve Caesars, and your progress is arrested, and your sense of the
-dramatic unities of your position deeply wounded, by an unamusing and
-prosaic clothes-line. You keep on and try to recall Cicero, and
-Catiline, and Jugurtha, and Servius Tullius, and Brutus, and
-Virginius,--but it is useless, for you find a cow feeding there as
-quietly as if she were on the hills of Berkshire. The whole city seems
-sad and mouldy, and out of date, and you think you will "do the sights"
-as rapidly as possible, and then be off. But before many days you find
-that all is changed. The moss that clothes those broken walls becomes as
-venerable in your sight as the gray hairs upon your mother's brow; the
-ivy that enwreathes those old towers and columns seems to have wound
-itself around your heart and bound it forever to that spot.
-Clothes-lines, dirt, and all the inconveniences inseparable from the
-older civilization of Rome, fade away. The Forum, the Palace of the
-Caesars, the Appian Way, all become instinct with a new--or rather with
-their old life; and you feel that you are in the Rome of Livy and
-Sallust,--you have found the Rome of which you dreamed in boyhood, and
-you are happy. With Paris, as I have said, you are not obliged to serve
-such an apprenticeship. You have read of Paris in history, in novels, in
-guide-books, in the lucubrations of the whole tribe of
-correspondents--you recognize it at once on seeing it, and accept it for
-all that it pretends to be. And you are not deceived. And this, I
-apprehend, is the reason why we never feel that deep, clinging affection
-for Paris that we do for that "goddess of all the nations, to whom
-nothing is equal and nothing second"--that city which (as one of her
-prophet-poets said) shall ever be "the capital of the world, for
-whatever her arms have not conquered shall be hers by religion." You
-feel that Paris is the capital of Europe, and you bow before it as you
-would before a sovereign whose word was law.
-
-I wonder whether every body judges of all new things by the criterion of
-childhood, as I find myself constantly doing. Whatever it may be, I
-apply to it the test of my youthful recollections of something similar,
-and it almost always suffers by the process. Those beautiful
-architectural wonders that pierce the sky at Strasburg and Antwerp will
-bear no comparison, in point of height, with the steeple of the Old
-South as it exists in the memory of my childhood. I have never seen a
-picture gallery in Europe which awakened any thing like my old feelings
-on visiting one of the first Athenaeum exhibitions many years ago. Those
-wonderful productions of Horace Vernet, in which one may read the
-warlike history of France, are nothing compared to my recollections of
-Trumbull's "Sortie of Gibraltar," as seen through an antediluvian tin
-trumpet which considerably interfered with my vision, but which I
-thought it was necessary to use. I have visited libraries which
-antedated by centuries the discovery of America,--I have rambled over
-castles which seemed to reecho with the clank of armour and the clarion
-calls of the old days of chivalry,--I have walked through the long
-corridors and halls of the Vatican with cardinals and kings,--I have
-mused in church-crypts and cloisters, in whose silent shade the dead of
-a thousand years reposed,--but I have never yet been impressed with any
-thing like the awe which the old Athenaeum in Pearl Street used to
-inspire into my boyish heart. Pearl Street in those days was as innocent
-of traffic and its turmoil as the quiet roads around Jamaica Pond are
-now. A pasture, in which the Hon. Jonathan Phillips kept a cow, extended
-through to Oliver Street, and handsome old-fashioned private houses with
-gardens around them occupied the place of the present rows of granite
-warehouses. The Athenaeum, surrounded by horse-chestnut trees, stood
-there in aristocratic dignity and repose, which it seemed almost
-sacrilegious to disturb with the noise of our childish sports. There
-were a few old gentlemen who used to frequent its reading-room, whose
-white hair, (and some of them even wore knee breeches and queues and
-powder,) always stilled our boyish clamour as we played on the
-grass-plots in the yard. To some of these old men our heads were often
-uncovered,--for children were politer in those days than now,--and to
-our young imagination it seemed as if they were sages, who carried about
-with them an atmosphere of learning and the fragrance of academic
-groves. They seemed as much a part of the mysterious old establishment
-as the books in the library, the dusty busts in the entries, or the old
-librarian himself. Sometimes I used to venture into those still
-passages, and steal a look into that reading-room whose quiet was never
-broken, save by the wealthy creak of some old citizen's boots, or by the
-long breathing of some venerable frequenter of the place, enjoying his
-afternoon nap. In later years I came to know the Athenaeum more
-familiarly; the old gentlemen lost the character of sages and became
-estimable individuals of quiet tastes, who were fatiguing the
-Massachusetts Hospital Life Insurance Company by their long-continued
-perusal of the Daily Advertiser and the Gentleman's Magazine; but my old
-impression of the awful mystery of the building remains to this day. I
-mourned over the removal to the present fine position, and I seek in
-vain amid the stucco-work and white paint of the new edifice for the
-charm which enthralled me in the old home of the institution. Some
-people, carried away by the utilitarian spirit of the age, may think
-that it is a great improvement; but to me it seems nothing but an
-unwarrantable innovation on the established order of things, and a
-change for the worse. Where is the quiet of the old place? Younger and
-less reverential men have risen up in the places of the old, and have
-destroyed all that rendered the old library respectable. The good old
-times when Dr. Bass, the librarian, sat on one side of the fireplace,
-and the late John Bromfield (with his silk handkerchief spread over his
-knees) on the other, and read undisturbed for hours, have passed away. A
-hundred persons use the library now for one who did then; and I am left
-to feed upon the memory of better times, when learning was a quiet,
-comfortable, select sort of thing, and mutter secret maledictions on the
-revolutionary spirits who have made it otherwise.
-
-But pardon me, dear reader,--all this has little to do with Paris,
-except by way of illustration of my remark that the youthful standard of
-intellectual weights and measures is the only infallible one we ever
-know. But Paris is something by itself: it overrides all standards of
-greatness or beauty, and all preconceived notions of itself, and
-addresses itself with confidence to every taste. Ladies love Paris as a
-vast warehouse of jewelry and all the rich stuffs that hide the
-crinoline from eyes profane. Physicians revel in its hospitals, and talk
-of "splendid operations," such as make the unscientific change colour.
-
-Paris is a world in itself. Here may the Yankee find his pumpkin-pie and
-sherry-cobblers, the Englishman his _rosbif_, the German his sauerkraut,
-the Italian his macaroni. Here may the lover of dramatic art choose his
-performance among thirty theatres, and he who, with Mr. Swiveller, loves
-"the mazy," will find at the Jardin Mabille a bower shaded for him. Here
-the bookworm can mouse about, in more than twenty large public
-libraries, and spend weeks in the delightful exploration of countless
-book-stalls. Here the student of art can read the history of France on
-the walls of Versailles, or, revelling in the opulence of the Louvre,
-forget his studies, his technicalities, his criticisms, in contemplation
-of the majestic loveliness of Murillo's "sinless Mother of the sinless
-Child." Here may "fireside philanthropists, great at the pen," compare
-their magnificent theories with the works of delicate ladies who have
-left the wealth they possessed and the society they adorned, for the
-humble garb of the Sister of Charity and a laborious ministry to the
-poor, the diseased, and the infirm, and meditate in the cool quadrangles
-of hospitals and benevolent institutions, founded by saints, and
-preserved in their integrity by the piety of their disciples. Here may
-the man who wishes to look beyond this brilliant world, find churches
-ever open, inviting to prayer and meditation, where he may be carried
-beyond himself by the choicest strains of Haydn and the solemn grandeur
-of the Gregorian Chant,--or may be thrilled by the eloquent periods of
-Ravignan or Lacordaire, until the unseen eternal fills his whole soul,
-and the visible temporal glories of the gay capital seem to him the
-transient vanities they really are.
-
-How few people really know Paris! To most minds it presents itself only
-as a place of general pleasure-seeking and dissipation. I have seen many
-men whose only recollections of Paris were such as will give them no
-pleasure in old age, who flattered themselves that they knew Paris. They
-thought that the whole city was given up to the folly that captivated
-them, and so they represent Paris as one vast reckless masquerade. I
-have seen others who, walking through the thronged _cafes_ and
-restaurants, have felt themselves justified in declaring that the French
-had no domestic life, and were as ignorant of family joys as their
-language is destitute of a single Word to express our good old Saxon
-word "home"; not knowing that there are in Paris thousands of families
-as closely knit together as any that dwell in the smoky cities of Old
-England, or amid the bustle and activity of our new world. Good people
-may turn up their eyes, and talk and write as many jeremiads as they
-will about the vanity and wickedness of Paris; but the truth is, that
-this great Babel has even for them its cheering side, if they would but
-keep their eyes open to discover it. Let them visit the churches on the
-vigils of great feasts, and every Saturday, and see the crowds that
-throng the confessionals: let them rise an hour or two earlier than
-usual, and go into any of the churches, and they will find more
-worshippers there on any common weekday morning than half of the
-churches in New England collect on Sundays. Let them visit that
-magnificent temple, the Madeleine, and see the freedom from social
-distinctions which prevails there: the soldier, the civilian, the rich
-and the poor, the high-bred lady, the servant in livery, and the negress
-with her bright yellow and red kerchief wound around her head, are there
-met, on an equality that free America knows not of.
-
-The observance of the Sunday is a sign of the times which ought not to
-be overlooked. Only a few years ago, and suspension of business on
-Sunday was so uncommon that notice was given by a sign to that effect on
-the front of the few shops whose proprietors indulged in that strange
-caprice. The signs (like certain similar ones on apothecary shops in
-Boston, to the effect that prescriptions are the only business attended
-to on the first day of the week) used to seem to me like a bait to catch
-the custom of the godly. But the signs have passed away before this
-movement, inaugurated by the Emperor, who forbade labour on the public
-works on Sunday, and preached up by the late Archbishop of Paris and the
-parish clergy. There are few shops in Paris that do not close on Sunday
-now--at least in the afternoon. And this is done by the free will of the
-trades-people: it is not the result of a legislative enactment. The law
-here leaves all people free in regard to their religious duties. The
-shops of the Jews, of course, are open on Sunday, for they are obliged
-to close on Saturday, and of course ought not to be expected to observe
-two days. Of course, too, the public galleries, and gardens, and places
-of amusement are all open; God forbid that the hard-faring children of
-toil should be cheated out of any innocent recreation on the only free
-day they have by any attempts to judaize the Christian Sunday into a
-sabbath. It is a great mistake to suppose that people can be made better
-by diminishing the sources of innocent pleasure. No; if the Sunday be
-made a hard, uninteresting day, when smiling is a grave impropriety, and
-a hearty laugh a mortal sin, children will begin by disliking the day,
-and end by despising the religion that made it gloomy. But provide the
-people with music in the public parks on Sunday afternoon and
-evening,--make the day a cheerful, happy time to those who are ingulfed
-in the carking cares of life all the rest of the week,--make it a day
-which children shall look forward to with longing, and you will find
-that the people are better, and happier, and thriftier for the change.
-You will find that the mechanic or labourer, instead of lounging away
-his Sunday in a grog-shop, (for the business goes on even though the
-front door may be barred and the shutters closed,) will be ambitious to
-take his wife and children to hear the music, and will after a time
-become as well behaved as the common run of people. It is better to use
-the merest worldly motives to keep men in the path of decency, than to
-let them slide away to perdition because they refuse to listen to the
-more dignified teachings of religion.
-
-I have been much impressed by a visit to a large, but
-unpretentious-looking house in the Rue du Bac--the "mother-house" of
-that admirable organization, the Sisters of Charity. It was not much of
-a visit, to be sure--for not even my gray hairs and respectable
-appearance could gain for me an admission beyond the strangers' parlour,
-the courtyard, and the cool, quiet chapel. But that was enough to
-increase my respect and admiration for those devoted women. The
-community there consists of _six hundred_ Sisters of Charity, whose
-whole time is occupied in taking care of the sick, and needy, and
-neglected in the hospitals and asylums, and in every quarter of the
-city. You see them at every turn, going quietly about their work of
-benevolence, and presenting a fine contrast to some of our noisy
-theorists at home. I may be in error, but it strikes me that that
-community is doing more in its present mode of action to advance the
-true dignity and "rights" of the sex, than if it were to resolve itself
-into a convention, after the American fashion. I was somewhat anxious to
-inquire whether any of the sisters of the community had ever taken to
-lecturing or preaching in public; but the modest and unassuming manner
-of all those whom I saw, rendered such a question unnecessary. I fear
-that oratory is sadly neglected among them; with this exception, and
-perhaps the absence of a certain strong-mindedness in their characters,
-I think that they will compare very favourably with any of our
-distinguished female philanthropists. They wear the same gray habit and
-odd-shaped white bonnet that the Sisters of Charity wear in Boston.
-While we praise the self-forgetful heroism of Florence Nightingale as it
-deserves, let us not forget that France sent out her Florence
-Nightingales to the Crimea by fifties and hundreds--young and delicate
-women, hiding their personality under the common dress of a religious
-order, casting aside the names that would recall their rank in the
-world, unencouraged in their beneficence by any newspaper paragraphs,
-and unrewarded save by the sweet consciousness of duty done. The Emperor
-Alexander, struck by the part played in the Crimean campaign by the
-Sisters of Charity, has recently asked the superior of the order to
-detail five hundred of the sisters, for duty in the hospitals of Russia.
-It is understood that the request will be complied with so far as the
-number of the community will permit.
-
-If I were asked to sum up in one sentence the practical result of my
-observations of men and manners here on the continent, I should say that
-it was this: We have a great deal to learn in America concerning the
-philosophy of life. I do not mean that philosophy which teaches us that
-"it is not all of life to live," but the philosophy of making
-ninety-three cents furnish the same amount of comfort in America that
-five francs do in Paris. The spirit of centralization is stronger here
-than in any American city: (it is too true, as Heine said, that to speak
-of the departments of France having a political opinion as distinguished
-from Paris, "is to talk of a man's legs thinking;") and there is no
-reason why people of moderate means should not be able to live as
-respectably, comfortably, and economically in our cities as here, if
-they will only use a little common sense. The model-lodging-house
-enterprise was a most praiseworthy one, but it seems to have been
-confined only to the wants of the most necessitous class in the
-community. There is, however, a large class of salesmen, and
-book-keepers, and mechanics, on salaries of six hundred to twelve or
-fourteen hundred dollars, whose position is no less deserving of
-commiseration. When the prices of beefsteak and potatoes went up so
-amazingly a few years ago, there were few salaries that experienced a
-similar augmentation. The position of the men on small salaries
-therefore became peculiar, not to say unpleasant, as rents rose in the
-same proportion as every thing else. Any person, familiar with the rents
-of brick houses for small families in most of the Atlantic cities, will
-see how difficult it is for such people as these to live within their
-means. Now, the remedy for this evil is a simple one, but it requires
-some public-spirited men to initiate it. Suppose that a few large,
-handsome houses, on the European plan, (that is, having a suite of
-rooms, comprising a parlour, dining-room, two or three bedrooms, and a
-kitchen, on each floor,) were built in any of our great
-thoroughfares,--the ground floors might be used for shops,--for there is
-no reason why respectable people should any more object to living over
-shops there, than on the Boulevards. Such houses, it is easy to see,
-would be good paying property to their owners, as soon as people got
-into that way of living; and when salaried men saw that they could get
-the equivalent, in comfort and available room, to an ordinary five
-hundred dollar house for half that rent, in a central situation, depend
-upon it, they would not be long in learning how to live in that style.
-The advantages of this plan of domestic life are numerous and striking.
-Housekeeping would be disarmed of half its difficulties; the little
-kitchen would furnish the coffee and eggs in the morning and the tea and
-toast at night--the dinner might be ordered from a neighbouring
-restaurant for any hour--for such establishments would increase with the
-increase of apartments. The dangers of burglary would be diminished, for
-the housekeeper would have only the door leading to the staircase to
-lock up at night. The washing would be done out of the house, and the
-steam of boiling suds, and all anxiety about clothes-lines, and sooty
-chimneys, and windy weather would thereby be avoided. Thousands of
-people would be liberated from the caprice and petty tyranny of the
-railroad directors, whose action has so often filled our newspapers with
-resolutions and protests, and, so far as Boston is concerned, its
-peninsula might be made the home of a population of three hundred
-thousand instead of a hundred and eighty thousand persons. The most
-rigidly careless person can hardly fail to become a successful
-housekeeper, when the matter is made so easy as it is by the European
-plan. The plan, too, not only simplifies the mysteries of domestic
-economy, but it snuggifies one's establishment wonderfully, and gives it
-a home feeling, such as what are called genteel houses nowadays wot not
-of. The change has got to come--and the sooner it does, the better it
-will be for our cities, and many of their people, who have been driven
-into remote and unpleasant suburbs by high rents, or who are held back
-from marriage by the expenses of housekeeping conducted on the present
-method.
-
-
-
-PARIS--THE LOUVRE AND ART
-
-
-It is an inestimable advantage to an idle man to have such a place as
-the Louvre ever open to him. The book-stalls and print-shops of the
-quays, those never-failing sources of pleasure and of extravagance in a
-small way, cannot be visited with any satisfaction under the meridian
-sun; the shop windows, a perpetual industrial exhibition, grow tiresome
-at times; the streets are too crowded, the gardens too empty; the
-reading rooms are close; the newspapers are stupid; and what remains?
-Why, the Louvre opens its hospitable doors, and, blessing the memory of
-Francis I., the tired wanderer enters, and drinks in the refreshing
-coolness of those quiet and spacious halls. If he is an antiquarian, he
-plunges deep into the arcana of ancient Egypt, and emulates the great
-Champollion; if he is a student of history, he muses on the sceptre of
-Charlemagne, or the old gray coat and coronation robes of the first
-Napoleon; if he is devoted to art, he travels through that wilderness of
-paintings and statuary, and thinks and talks about _chiaro 'scuro_,
-"breadth of colour," or "bits of foreshortening." But if he be a man of
-simple tastes, who detests technicalities, and enjoys all such things in
-a quiet, general sort of way, without knowing exactly what it is that
-pleases him,--he goes through room after room, now stopping for an
-instant before a set of antique china, now speculating on the figure he
-should cut in one of those old suits of armour, and finally settling
-down in a chair before some landscape by Cuyp or Claude, in which the
-artist seems to have imprisoned the sunbeams and the warm, fragrant
-atmosphere of early June; or else he seats himself on that comfortable
-sofa before Murillo's masterpiece, and contemplates the supernal beauty
-and holy exaltation of the face of her whom Dante calls the "Virgin
-Mother, daughter of her Son." He is surrounded by artists, engaged in a
-work that seems to verify the old maxim, _Laborare est orare_,--each one
-striving to reproduce on his canvas the effects of the angel-guided
-pencil of Murillo.
-
-I find it useless for me to attempt to visit the Louvre systematically,
-as most people do. I have frequently tried to do it, but it has ended by
-my walking through one or two rooms, and then taking up my position
-before Murillo's Conception, and holding it until the hour came for
-closing the gallery. When I was young, I used to think what a glorious
-thing it would have been to have felt the thrill of joy that filled the
-heart of the discoverer of America, or the satisfaction of Shakspeare
-when he had finished Hamlet or Macbeth, or of Beethoven when he had
-completed his seventh symphony; but all that covetousness of the
-impossible is blotted out by my envy of the great Spanish painter. What
-must have been the deep transport of his heart, when he gazed upon the
-heavenly vision his own genius had created! He must have felt
-
-        "----like some watcher of the skies,
-      When a new planet sails into his ken,
-    Or like stout Cortez, when, with eagle eyes,
-      He stared at the Pacific.----"
-
-In spite of all my natural New England prejudice, I cannot help admiring
-and loving that old Catholic devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Its
-humanizing effects can be seen in the history of the middle ages, and
-they are felt amid all the bustle and roar of this irreverent nineteenth
-century. Woman cannot again be thought the soulless being heathen
-philosophy considered her; she cannot again become a slave, for she is
-recognized as the sister of her who was chosen to make reparation for
-the misdeeds of Mother Eve. I am strongly tempted to transcribe here
-some lines written in pencil on the fly-leaf of an old catalogue of the
-museum of the Louvre, and found on the sofa before Murillo's picture.
-The writer seems to have had in mind the beautiful conclusion of the
-life of Agricola by Tacitus, where the great historian says that he
-would not forbid the making of likenesses in marble or bronze, but would
-only remind us that such images, like the forms of their originals, are
-frail and unenduring, while the beauty of the mind is eternal, and can
-be perpetuated in the manners of succeeding generations better than by
-ignoble materials and the art of the sculptor. The lines appear to be a
-paraphrase of this idea.
-
-    O blest Murillo! what a task was thine,
-      That Mother to portray whose beauty mild
-    Combined earth's comeliness with grace divine,--
-      To whom our God and Saviour as a child
-      Was subject--upon whom so oft He smiled!
-    Yet not less happy also in my part,--
-      For I, though in a world by sin defiled,
-    Though lacking genius and unskilled in art,
-    May paint that blessed likeness in a contrite heart.
-
-Art is the surest and safest civilizer. Popular education may be so
-perverted as only to minister to new forms of corruption, but art
-purifies itself; it has no Voltaires, and Rousseaus, and Eugene
-Sues,--for painting and sculpture, like poetry, refuse to be made the
-handmaids of vice or unbelief. Open your galleries of art to the people,
-and you confer on them a greater benefit than mere book education; you
-give them a refinement to which they would otherwise be strangers. The
-boor, turned loose into civilized society, soon catches something of its
-tone of politeness; and those who are accustomed to the contemplation of
-forms of ideal beauty will not easily be won by the grossness and
-deformity of vice. A fine picture daily looked at becomes by degrees a
-part of our own souls, and exerts an influence over us of which we are
-little aware. Some English writer--Hazlitt, I think--has said, that if a
-man were thinking of committing some wicked or disgraceful action, and
-were to stop short and look for a moment at some fine picture with which
-he had been familiar, he would inevitably be turned thereby from his
-purpose. It is to be hoped that the time is not far distant when each of
-our great American cities shall possess its gallery of art, which (on
-certain days of the week, at least) shall be as free to all well-behaved
-persons as the public parks themselves. We may not boast the artistic
-wealth of Rome, Florence, Paris, Dresden, or any of the old capitals of
-Europe; but the sooner we make a beginning, the better it will be for
-our galleries and our mob. We need some more effectual humanizer than
-our educational system. Reading, writing, and ciphering are great
-things, but they are powerless to overcome the rudeness and irreverence
-of our people. Our populace seems to lack entirely the sense of the
-beautiful or the sublime. As Charles Lamb said, "They have, alas! no
-passion for antiquities--for the tomb of king or prelate, sage or poet.
-If they had, they would no longer be the rabble." It is too true that
-the attempts which have been made to open private gardens to the
-enjoyment of the public have resulted in the most shameful abuses of
-privilege, and that flowers are stolen from the graves in our
-cemeteries; but there is no reason for giving our people up as past
-praying for, on the score of politeness and common decency. They must be
-educated up to it: some abuses may occur at first, but a few salutary
-lessons on the necessity of submission to authority will rectify it all,
-and our people will, in the course of time, become as well-behaved as
-the people of France or Italy.
-
-I am no antiquarian. I do not love the antique for antiquity's sake. It
-must appeal to me through the medium of history, or not at all. Etruscan
-relics have no other charm for me than their beauty of form. I care but
-little for Egyptian sarcophagi or their devices and hieroglyphics, and I
-would not go half a mile to see a wilderness of mummies. Whenever I feel
-a longing for any thing in the Egyptian or heathen line, I can resort to
-Mount Auburn, with its gateway--and this thought satisfies me; so that I
-pass by all such things without feeling that I am a loser. With such
-feelings, there are many of the halls of the Louvre which I only walk
-through with an admiring glance at their elegance of arrangement. A few
-days since, in wandering about there, I found a room which I had never
-seen before, and which touched me more nearly than any thing there,
-except the paintings. It has been opened recently. I had been looking
-through the relics of royalty with a considerable degree of
-pleasure,--meditating on the armour of Henry the Great, the breviary of
-St. Louis, and the worn satin shoe which once covered the little foot of
-Marie Antoinette,--and was about to leave, when I noticed that a door
-was open which in past years I had seen closed. I pushed in, and found
-myself in a vast and magnificent apartment, on the gorgeously frescoed
-ceiling of which was emblazoned the name--which is a tower of strength
-to every Frenchman--_Napoleon_. Around the room, in elegant glass cases,
-were disposed the relics of the saint whom Mr. Abbott's bull of
-canonization has placed in red letters in the calendar of Young America.
-Leaving aside all joking upon the attempts to prove that much-slandered
-monarch a saint, there was his history, written as Sartor Resartus would
-have written it, in his clothes. There was a crayon sketch of him at the
-age of sixteen; there was a mathematical book which he had studied, the
-case of mathematical instruments he had used; there was the coat in
-which he rode up and down the lines of Marengo, inspiring every heart
-with heroism, and every arm with vigour; the sword and coat he wore as
-First Consul; the glittering robes which decked him when he sat in the
-chair of Clovis and Charlemagne, the idol of his nation, and the terror
-of all the world besides; the stirrups in which he stood at Waterloo,
-and saw his brave legions cut up and dispersed; and, though last, not
-least, there was the old gray coat and hat in which he walked about at
-St. Helena, and the very handkerchief which in his dying hour wiped the
-chill dew of eternity from his brow. There were many things
-besides--there were his table and chair; his camp bed on which he rested
-during those long campaigns; his gloves, his razor strap, his comb, the
-clothes of his little son, the "King of Rome," and the bow he played
-with; the saddles and other presents which he received during his
-expedition to the East, and his various court dresses--but the old gray
-coat was the most attractive of all. It was a consolation to notice that
-it had lost a button, for it showed that though its wearer was an
-anointed emperor, he was not exempt from the vicissitudes of common
-humanity. I sat down and observed the people who visited the room, and I
-noticed that they all lingered around the old coat. It made no
-difference whether they spoke English, French, German, or any other
-tongue; there was something which appealed to them all; there was a
-common ground, where the student and the enthusiastic lover of high art
-could join in harmonious feeling, even with the practical man, who would
-not have cared a three-cent piece if Praxiteles and Canova had never
-sculptured, or Raphael and Murillo had never seen a brush. It required
-but a slight effort to fill the room up of the absent hero, and to
-"stuff out his vacant garments with his form," and perhaps this very
-thing tended to make the entire exhibition a sad one. It was the most
-melancholy commentary on human glory that can be imagined. It ought to
-be placed in the vestibule of a church, or in some more public place,
-and it would purge a community of ambition. What a sermon might
-Lacordaire preach on the temporal and the eternal, with the sword and
-the coronation robes of Napoleon I. before him!
-
-The interest which I have seen manifested by so many people in the
-relics of Napoleon I. has afforded me considerable amusement. I have
-lately seen so much ridicule cast upon the relics of the saints
-preserved in many of the churches of Italy, by people of the same class
-as those who lingered so reverentially before the glass cases of the
-Napoleon room in the Louvre, that I cannot help thinking how rare a
-virtue consistency is.
-
-Perhaps it may be owing to some weakness in my mental organization, but
-I cannot acknowledge the propriety of honouring the burial-places of
-successful generals, and, at the same time, think the shrines of the
-saints worthy of nothing but ridicule and desecration. I found myself, a
-few years ago, looking with grave interest at an old coat of General
-Jackson's, which is preserved in the Patent Office at Washington; and I
-cannot wonder at the reverence which some people pay to the garments of
-a martyr in the cause of religion. I cannot understand how it may be
-right and proper to celebrate the birthdays of worldly heroes, and "rank
-idolatry" to commemorate the self-denying heroes of Christianity. I
-cannot join in the setting-up of statues of generals and statesmen, and
-condemn a similar homage to the saints by any allusions to the enormity
-of making a "graven image." In fine, if it is right to adorn and
-reverence the tomb of the Father of his Country, (and what American
-heart does not acknowledge its propriety?) it certainly cannot be wrong
-to beautify and venerate the tomb of the chief apostle, and the shrines
-of saints and martyrs who achieved for themselves and their fellow-men
-an independence from a tyranny infinitely worse than that from which
-Washington liberated America.
-
-I have recently been visiting the three great monuments of the reign of
-Napoleon III.--the completed Louvre, the Bois de Boulogne, and the
-Halles Centrales. As to the first, those who remember those narrow,
-nasty streets, which within six years were the approaches to the Louvre
-and the Palais Royal, and those rickety old buildings reminding one too
-strongly of cheese in an advanced stage of mouldiness, that used to
-intrude their unsightly forms into the very middle of the Place du
-Carrousel,--those who recollect the junk shops that seemed more fitting
-to the neighbourhood of the docks than to the entrance to a palace and a
-gallery of art,--feel in a manner lost, when they walk about the
-courtyards of the noble edifice which has taken the place of so much
-deformity. If the new wings of the Louvre had been built in one range
-instead of quadrangles, they would extend more than half a mile! Half a
-mile of palace, and a palace, too, which in building has occupied one
-hundred and fifty sculptors for the past five years! Those who have not
-visited Paris within five years will recollect the Bois de Boulogne only
-as a vast neglected tract of woodland, which seemed a great waste of the
-raw material in a place where firewood is so expensive as it is here. It
-is now laid out in beautiful avenues and walks, the extent of which is
-said to be nearly two hundred miles. You are refreshed by the sound of
-waterfalls and the coolness of grottos, the rocks for the formation of
-which were brought from Fontainebleau, more than forty miles distant
-from Paris. You walk on, and find yourself on the shores of a lake, a
-mile or two in length, with two or three lovely islands in it, and in
-whose bright blue waters thousands of trout are sporting. That wild
-waste, the old Bois de Boulogne, which few persons but duellists ever
-visited, has passed away, and in its place you find the most magnificent
-park in the world. It is indeed a perfect triumph of landscape
-gardening. It is nature itself, not in miniature, but on such a scale as
-to deceive you entirely, and fill you with the same feeling of
-admiration that is awakened by any striking natural beauty. The old
-French notions of landscape gardening seem to have been entirely cast
-aside. The carriage roads and paths go winding about so that the view is
-constantly changing, and the trees are allowed to grow as they please,
-without being tortured into fantastic shapes by the pruning knife. The
-banks of the lake have been made irregular, now steep, now sloping
-gently to the water's edge, and in some places huge jagged rocks have
-been most naturally worked in, while ivy has been planted around them,
-and in their crevices those weeds and shrubs which commonly grow in such
-places. You would about as readily take Jamaica Pond to be artificial as
-this lovely sheet of water and its surroundings. The Avenue de
-l'Imperatrice is the road from the Arc de Triomphe to the Bois de
-Boulogne. It is half or three quarters of a mile in length, and is
-destined to be one of the most striking features of Paris. It is laid
-out with spacious grass plots, with carriage ways and ways for
-equestrians and foot passengers, with regular double rows of trees on
-either side. Many elegant chateau-like private residences already adorn
-it, and others are rapidly rising. An idea of its majestic appearance
-may be had from the fact that its entire width from house to house is
-about four hundred feet. The large space around the Arc de Triomphe is
-already laid out in a square, to be called the Place de l'Europe, and
-the work has already been commenced of reducing the buildings around it
-to symmetry. The Halles Centrales, the great central market-house of
-Paris, has just been opened to the public. It is built mainly of iron
-and glass. As nearly as I could judge of its size, I should think it
-would leave but little spare room if it were placed in Union Park, New
-York. It is about a hundred feet in height, and so well ventilated that
-it is hard to realize when there that one is under cover. A wide street
-for vehicles runs through its whole length, crossed by others at equal
-intervals. I have called these three public improvements the great
-monuments of the reign of Napoleon III.; not that I would limit his good
-works to these, but because these may be taken as conspicuous
-illustrations of his care, no less for the amusements than for the
-bodily wants of his people, and of his zeal for the promotion of art and
-the adornment of his capital. But these noble characteristics of the
-Emperor deserve something more than a mere passing notice, and may well
-form the subject of my next letter.
-
-
-
-NAPOLEON THE THIRD[1]
-
-
-There is a period in the life of almost every man which may justly be
-termed the romantic period. I do not mean the time when a youth, whose
-heart is as yet unwarped by the selfishness of the world, and his brow
-unclouded by its trials and its sorrows, thinks that the performance of
-his life will fully come up to the glowing programme he then composes
-for it; neither do I refer to the period when, in hungry expectation, we
-clutched eagerly at the booksellers' announcements of the last
-productions of the eloquent Bulwer, or of the inexhaustible James. But I
-refer to the time when childhood forgets its new buttons in reading how
-poor Ali Baba relieved his wants at the expense of the wicked thieves;
-how Whittington heard Bow Bells ring out the prophecy of his greatness;
-how fierce Blue Beard punished his wife's curiosity; and how good King
-Alfred merited reproof by his forgetfulness of the herdsman's supper.
-This is the true period of romance in the lives of all of us; for then
-all the romance that we read is clothed with the dignity of history, and
-all our history is invested with the charm of romance. This happy period
-does not lose its attractions, even when we outgrow the credulity of
-childhood; for the romance of history captivates us when we no longer
-are subject to the sway of the novelist; and we leave Mr. Thackeray's
-last uncut, until we can finish a newspaper chapter in the history of
-these momentous times.
-
- [1] The author must plead guilty to a little hesitation (induced by the
-     present aspect of European affairs) about incorporating this paper
-     on the French Emperor, written some three years since, in his work.
-     He feels, however, that, whatever may be the issue of the present
-     contest in Europe, the services of Napoleon III. to France and to
-     civilization are a part of history; and he has no wish to disguise
-     his satisfaction at having been one of the first Americans who
-     confronted the vulgar prejudices of his countrymen against that
-     remarkable man, and publicly recognized the wonderful talents which
-     have placed France at the head of all civilized nations.
-
-We know how eagerly we pursue the vicissitudes of fortune which have
-marked the career of so many of the world's heroes; and this will teach
-us how future generations will read the history of the present century.
-Surely the whole range of romance presents no parallel to the simple
-history of the wonderful man who now governs France. It is easy to see
-that his varied fortunes will one day perform a conspicuous part in that
-juvenile classical literature of which I have spoken; and perhaps it may
-not be unprofitable, dear reader, for us to endeavour to raise ourselves
-above the excitement of partisanship and the influences of old
-prejudices, and look upon his career as may the writers of the
-twenty-fifth century.
-
-It is a popular error in America to regard Louis Napoleon as a singular
-combination of knavery and half-wittedness. Even Mr. Emerson, in his
-_English Traits_, so far forgets the kindliness of his nature as to call
-him a "successful thief." The English journalists once delighted to
-ridicule him as the "nephew of his uncle," and the shadow of a great
-name, and Punch used to represent him as a pygmy standing upon the brim
-of his uncle's hat, and wondering how he could ever fill it; but he has
-lived down ridicule, and they have long since learned that there is such
-a thing as the possibility of a mistake in judgment, even among
-journalists and politicians. It is time that we Americans got over a
-notion which has long since been exploded on this side of the Atlantic.
-I know that I am flying in the face of those who believe in the plenary
-inspiration of the New York Tribune, when I claim for the Emperor any
-thing like patriotism or capacity as a statesman. I know that the
-Greeleian, "philanthropic" code exacts that we should _not_ "give the
-prisoner the benefit of the doubt," and that when any one whom we
-dislike does any good, we should attribute it to nothing but a selfish
-or ambitious motive. I know that this new-fangled love of all mankind
-requires us to hate those who differ from us politically, and never to
-lose an opportunity to blacken their characters and diminish their
-reputation; and therefore I make all due allowances for the refusal of
-the Tribune, and journals of the same amiable family, to see the truth.
-In April, 1856, I was waiting for a train in a way station on the
-Worcester Railroad. A sun-burned, hard-working man was reading the news
-of the proclamation of peace at Paris from a penny paper, and he
-commented upon it to two or three others who were present, as follows:
-"Well, I don't know how 'tis, but it seems to _me_ that we've been most
-almightily mistaken about this 'ere _Lewis_ Napoleon. We used to think
-he was a shaller kind o' feller any how, but it really looks now,
-judging from the _position_ of France in _European_ affairs, as if he
-was turning out to be altogether the _biggest dog in that tanyard_!" The
-old fellow's conclusion was a true one, though his rhetoric would not
-have been commended at Cambridge; and it is to prevent this conclusion
-forcing itself upon the public sense, that the sympathizers with
-socialism have been labouring ever since. We are told that it is our
-duty as Americans and republicans to wish for the overthrow of Napoleon
-and his empire, and the establishment of the _republique democratique et
-sociale_. Now, having received my political principles from another
-source than the Tribune, I may be pardoned for having a prejudice in
-favour of allowing the people of France to govern France; and, as they
-elected Louis Napoleon President in 1848 by more than five millions of
-votes, and in 1851 chose him dictator (in their fear of the very party
-which the Tribune wishes to see in power) by more than _seven_ millions
-of votes, and finally, in 1852, made him their Emperor by a vote of more
-than seven millions against a little more than three hundred thousand,
-we may suppose France to have expressed a pretty decided opinion on this
-matter. The French empire rests upon the very principle that forms the
-basis of true republicanism--universal suffrage. Louis Napoleon restored
-that principle after it had been suppressed or restricted, and proved
-himself a truer republican than his opponents. For nine years, Napoleon
-has been sustained by the people of France with a unanimity such as the
-United States never knew, except in the election of Washington as first
-President, and his majority has increased every time that he has
-appealed to the people. It is idle to say that there are parties here
-that are opposed to him; it would be a remarkable phenomenon if there
-were not. But there is a more united support here for the Emperor than
-there is in our own country for the constitution of the United States,
-and any right-minded man would regret a revolutionary movement in one
-country as much as in the other.
-
-If there was ever a position calculated to test the capabilities of its
-occupant, it was that in which Louis Napoleon found himself when he
-obeyed the voice of the French people, and accepted the presidency of
-the French republic. Surrounded by men holding all kinds of political
-opinions, from the agrarian Proudhon to the impracticable Louis Blanc,
-and men of no political opinions whatever,--he found himself obliged to
-use all the power reposed in him by the constitution, to keep the
-government from falling asunder. History bears witness to the fact that
-republican governments deteriorate more rapidly than those which are
-based upon a less changeable foundation than the popular will. But there
-was little danger of the French republic deteriorating, for it was about
-as weak and unprincipled as it could be in its very inception. There
-were a few men of high and patriotic character in the Assembly, but (as
-is generally the case) their voices were drowned amid the clamourings of
-a crowd of radical journalists and ambitious _litterateurs_, whose only
-bond of union was a fierce hatred of law and religion, and a desire for
-the spoils of office. These were the men with whom Napoleon had to deal.
-They had favoured his election to the presidency, for, in their
-misapprehension of his character, they thought him the mere shadow of a
-name, and expected under his government to have all things their own
-way. But they were not long in discovering their mistake.
-
-His conduct soon showed that he was the proper man for the crisis. That
-unflinching republican, General Cavaignac, had before pointed out the
-dangers to all European governments, and to civilization itself, that
-would spring from the continuance of the sanguinary and sacrilegious
-Roman Republic; and Napoleon, accepting his suggestions, took immediate
-measures to put an end to the atrocities which marked the sway of
-Mazzini and his assassins in the Roman States.[2] The success which
-attended these measures is now a part of history. There is a kind of
-historical justice in this part of Napoleon's career which must force
-itself upon every reflecting mind. From the day when St. Remy told his
-royal convert, Clovis, to "burn what he had adored, and adore what he
-had burned," the monarch of France had always been considered the
-"eldest son of the Church." The Roman Pontiff was indebted to Pepin and
-Charlemagne for those possessions which rendered him independent of the
-secular power. In the hour of need it was always to the Kings of France
-that he looked for aid; and whether he sought aid against the oppressors
-of the Holy See or the infidel possessors of the Holy Sepulchre, he
-seldom appealed to them in vain. It was meet, therefore, that Napoleon
-should inaugurate his power by thus reviving the ancient traditionary
-spirit of the French monarchy; for he could not better prove his
-worthiness to sit on the throne which had been occupied by so many
-generous and heroic spirits, than by fighting the battles of the Church
-they loved so well.
-
- [2] Lest I should be thought guilty of speaking rashly with regard to
-     the anarchy which Napoleon destroyed in 1849 at Rome, I take the
-     liberty to transcribe a few extracts from the constitution of the
-     Society of "Young Italy," which will give some idea of the
-     principles upon which the Roman Republic rested. I translate from
-     the edition published at Naples, by Benedetto Cantalupo.
-
-     "_Article I._ The Society is established for the entire destruction
-     of all the governments of the peninsula, and for the forming of
-     Italy into a single state, under a republican government.
-
-     "_Art. II._ In consequence of the evils attendant upon absolute
-     government, and the still greater evils of constitutional monarchy,
-     we ought to join all our efforts to establish a single and
-     indivisible republic.
-
-     "_Art. XXX._ Those members who shall disobey the commands of the
-     Society, or who shall reveal its mysteries, shall be poniarded
-     without remission.
-
-     "_Art. XXXI._ The secret tribunal shall pronounce sentence in such
-     cases as the preceding, and shall designate one or more of the
-     brethren to carry it into instant execution.
-
-     "_Art. XXXII._ The brother who shall refuse to execute a sentence
-     thus pronounced shall be considered as a perjurer, and as such
-     shall be immediately put to death.
-
-     "_Art. XXXIII._ If the victim condemned to punishment should
-     succeed in escaping, he shall be pursued unremittingly into
-     anyplace whatever, and shall be struck as by an invisible hand,
-     even if he shall have taken refuge on the bosom of his mother, or
-     in the tabernacle of Christ.
-
-     "_Art. XXXIV._ Each secret tribunal shall be competent not only to
-     condemn the guilty to death, but also to put to death all persons
-     so sentenced."
-
-The foreign and domestic policy which the Prince-President pursued
-excited at the same time the anger of the ultra republican faction, and
-the hopes of the religious and conservative portion of society. Order
-was restored, and an impetus was given to commercial enterprise and to
-the arts of peace such as France had not known since the outbreak of
-1848. Still the discordant elements of which the Assembly was composed,
-were a just cause of alarm to all friends of good order, and all
-parties, conservative and radical, regarded the existing state of
-affairs as a temporary one. Napoleon saw that the only obstacle in the
-path of the nation to peace and prosperity was the Assembly--the
-radicals of the Assembly that the Prince-President was the only obstacle
-to their plans of disorganization and anarchy; and they also saw that,
-if the question were allowed to go to the people at the expiration of
-Napoleon's term of office, he would surely be reelected, and that his
-policy would be triumphantly confirmed. So, as the time drew near for
-the new election, the struggle between the President and the
-Assembly--between order and anarchy--grew more and more severe. Plots
-were formed against Napoleon, and were just ripening for execution,
-when, on the second of December, 1851, he terminated the suspense of the
-nation by seizing and throwing into prison all the chief conspirators
-against the public peace, and then appealed to the people to sustain him
-in his efforts to preserve his country from the state of anarchy towards
-which it seemed to be hastening. The people answered promptly and with
-good will to the call, and Napoleon gained an almost bloodless victory.
-
-But we are told that by the _coup d'etat_, "Napoleon violated his oath
-to sustain the constitution of the republic--that he is a perjurer, and
-all his success cannot diminish his crime." So might one of the old
-loyalists have said about our own Washington. "He was a British
-subject--by accepting a commission under Braddock, he formally
-acknowledged his allegiance to the crown--by drawing his sword in the
-revolution, he violated not only his fidelity as a subject, but his
-honour as a soldier." And what would any American reply to this? He
-would say that Washington never bound himself to violate his conscience,
-and that conscientiously he felt bound to defend the old English
-principles of free government even against the encroachments of his own
-rightful sovereign. And so, with equal reason, it may be said of Louis
-Napoleon, when the term of his presidency was approaching, and the
-radical members of the Assembly were forming conspiracies to dispose of
-him so as to prevent his reelection, he was bound in conscience, as the
-chief ruler of his country, to prevent the anarchy that must result from
-such a movement. And how could he do this save by dissolving the
-Assembly and appealing to the people as he did? The constitution was
-nullified by the plots of the Assembly, and France in 1851 was really
-without a government, until the _coup d'etat_ inaugurated the present
-reign of public prosperity and peace. The _coup d'etat_ was not only
-justifiable--it was praiseworthy. When the prejudices and party spirit
-of the present time shall have passed away, the historian will grow
-eloquent in speaking of that fearless and far-sighted statesman, who,
-when his country was threatened with a repetition of the civil strife
-which had too often shaken her to her centre, threw himself boldly upon
-the patriotism of the people with those noble words, "The Assembly,
-instead of being what it ought to be, the support of public order, has
-become a nest of conspiracies. It compromises the peace of France. I
-have dissolved it; and I call upon the whole people to judge between it
-and myself."--The _coup d'etat_ excited the anger only of the socialists
-and of those partisans of the houses of Bourbon and Orleans who loved
-those families more than they loved their country's welfare; for they
-saw, by the revival of business, that confidence in the stability of the
-government was established, and that Napoleon had obtained a place in
-the affections of the French people from which he could not easily be
-dislodged.
-
-From this dictatorship, which the dangers of the time had rendered
-necessary, it was an easy transition to the empire, and Louis Napoleon
-found his succession to the throne of his uncle confirmed by almost the
-unanimous vote of the French people. It was a tribute to the man, and to
-his public policy, such as no ruler in modern times has ever received,
-and for unanimity is unparalleled in the history of popular elections.
-His marriage followed quickly upon the proclamation of the empire; and
-in this, as in all his acts, we can discern his manly and independent
-spirit. He sought not to ally himself with any of the royal families of
-Europe, for he felt himself to be so sure of his position, that he could
-without risk consult his affections rather than policy or ambition.
-
-The skilful diplomacy which led to the alliance with England, the
-campaign in the Crimea, and the repulse of Russia, are too fresh in
-every body's recollection to bear any repetition. So far as they concern
-Napoleon III., the world is a witness to his matchless coolness and
-determination. What could be grander than the heroic inflexibility he
-displayed in the face of the accumulated disasters of that campaign, and
-the murmurs of his allies! Misfortune only seemed to nerve him to more
-vigorous effort. During that terrible winter of 1854-5, he appeared more
-like a fixed, unvarying law of nature than a man,--so immovable was he
-in his opposition to those who, pressed by the unlooked-for difficulties
-of the time, counselled a change of policy. The successful termination
-of the siege of Sebastopol, however, proved the justice of his
-calculations, and, while conquering monarchs in other times have been
-content to see the negotiations for peace made in some provincial town,
-or in a city of some neutral state, the proud satisfaction was conceded
-to him by Russia of having the peace conferences held in his own
-capital.
-
-But while commemorating the success of his efforts to raise his country
-to a commanding position among the nations, we must not forget the great
-enterprises of internal improvement which he has set on foot within his
-empire. Who can recall what Paris was under Louis Philippe, or the time
-of the republic, and compare it with the Paris of to-day, without
-admiring the genius of Napoleon III.? Who does not recognize a wonderful
-capacity for the administration of government in the Emperor, when he
-sees that nearly all of these great improvements (unlike those of Louis
-XIV., which impoverished the nation) will gradually but surely pay for
-themselves by increasing the amount of taxable property? Indeed, the
-improvements in the city of Paris alone are on so vast a scale as to be
-incomprehensible to any one unacquainted with that capital. If Napoleon
-were to-day to fall a victim to that organization of republican
-assassins which is known to exist in France, as well as in the other
-states of Europe, he would leave, in the Louvre, in the Bois de
-Boulogne, in the new Boulevards, and the extension of the Rue de Rivoli,
-together with the countless other public works which now adorn Paris,
-testimonials to the splendour of his brief reign, such as no monarch
-ever left before: of him, as of Sir Christopher Wren, it might be truly
-said, "_Si quaeris monumentum, circumspice_."
-
-But we must not think that Napoleon has confined his exertions to the
-improvement of Paris alone. Not a single province of his empire has been
-neglected by him, and there is scarcely a town that has not felt the
-influence of his policy. The foreign commerce of France has been
-wonderfully increased by him, and his favourite project for a ship canal
-through the Isthmus of Suez is now numbered among the probabilities of
-the age. When it is considered what a narrow strip of land separates the
-Red Sea from the Mediterranean, and what an immense advantage such a
-canal would be to all the countries bordering on the latter, it is not
-wonderful that Napoleon should find so many friends among the sovereigns
-of Europe. He has not built the magnificent new port of Marseilles
-merely for the accommodation of the Mediterranean coasting trade of his
-empire. His far-seeing eye looks upon those massive quays covered with
-merchandise from every quarter of the Orient, brought, not around the
-stormy Cape, nor by the toilsome caravan over the parching desert, but
-by the swift steamers of the _Messageries Imperiales_ from every port of
-India, through the waters which, centuries ago, rolled back and opened a
-path of safety to the chosen people of God.
-
-If the old proverb be true, that a man is known by the company he keeps,
-it is equally true, on the other hand, that a statesman may be rightly
-known by examining the character of his opponents. And who are the
-opponents of Napoleon III.? With the exception of a few partisans of the
-Bourbons, (whose opposition to the Napoleon dynasty is an hereditary
-complaint,) they are radical demagogues, who delight to mislead the
-fickle multitude with the words, "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity," on
-their lips, but the designs of anarchy and bloodshed in their hearts.
-Their ranks are swelled by a number of visionary "philanthropists," and
-a large number of newspaper scribblers deprived of their occupation by
-Napoleon's salutary laws against abuse of the liberty of the press, and
-lacking ambition to earn an honest livelihood. Among them may be found a
-few literary men of high reputation, who have espoused some
-impracticable theory of government, and would blindly throw away their
-well-earned fame, and shed the last drop of their ink in forcing it upon
-an unwilling nation.
-
-Slander, like Death, loves a shining mark. The fact cannot be doubted,
-if we look at the lives of the greatest and best men the world has ever
-seen. In truth, a large part of the heroism of the noblest patriots, and
-the purest philanthropists, has been created by the necessity they have
-been under to bear up against the obloquy with which enmity or envy has
-assailed them. The Emperor Napoleon is, beyond a doubt, the best abused
-man in Christendom. There probably never existed a man whose every act
-and every motive have been more studiously misrepresented and
-systematically lied about than his. It cannot be wondered at, either;
-for he exercises too much power in the state councils of Europe, and
-fills too large a space in the public eye, not to be assailed by those
-whose evil prophecies have been falsified by his brilliant reign, and
-whose lawless schemes have been frustrated by his unexampled prudence
-and firmness.
-
-And what right has he to complain? If St. Gregory VII. were obliged to
-submit for centuries to being represented as an ambitious self-seeker
-and unscrupulous politician, instead of a wise and far-seeing pontiff, a
-vanquisher of tyrants, and a self-denying saint; if St. Thomas of
-Canterbury be held up, in hundreds of volumes, as a monster of
-ingratitude towards a beneficent sovereign, and a haughty and
-overbearing supporter of prelatical tyranny, instead of a martyr, in
-defence of religious liberty against the encroachments of the civil
-authority; if Cardinal Wolsey be held up to public scorn as a proud and
-selfish prince of the Church, a glutton, and a wine-bibber, instead of a
-skilful administrator of government, a liberal patron of learning, and
-all good arts, and the sole restrainer of the evil passions of the most
-shameless tyrant who ever sat upon the English throne; if Cardinal
-Richelieu be handed down from generation to generation, painted in the
-blackest colours, as a scheming politician, in whose heart, wile and
-cruelty were mixed up in equal parts, instead of a sagacious and
-inflexible statesman, and a patriot who made every thing (even his
-religion) bend to his devotion to the glory of his beloved France; if
-these great men have been thus misrepresented in that history which De
-Maistre aptly calls "a conspiracy against truth," I do not think that
-Napoleon III. can reasonably complain of finding himself denounced as a
-tyrant, a perjurer, and a victim of all the bad passions that vex the
-human heart, instead of a liberator of his country from that many-headed
-monstrosity, miscalled the _Republique Francaise_, an unswerving
-supporter of the cause of law and religion, and the architect of the
-present glory and prosperity of France. It must be a great consolation
-to the Emperor, under the slanders which have been heaped upon him, to
-reflect that their authors and the enemies who hate him worst, are, for
-the most part, infidels and assassins, and enemies of social order.
-Whatever errors a man may commit, he cannot be far from the course of
-right so long as he is hated and feared by people of that desperate
-stamp. The ancient adage tells us that "a cat may look at a king"; and
-it is, perhaps, a merciful provision of the law of compensation that the
-base reptiles which fatten on the offal of slander are permitted to
-trail their slime over a name which is the synonyme of the power and
-glory of France.
-
-When the prejudices of the present day shall have died out, the
-historian will relate how devoted Napoleon III. was to every thing that
-concerned his country's welfare. He will tell of his ceaseless care for
-the most common wants of his people, and of his vigilance in enforcing
-laws against those who wronged the poor by their dishonest dealings in
-the necessaries of life. He will relate how promptly he turned his back
-upon nobles and ambassadors to visit some of his people who had been
-overwhelmed by a terrible calamity, and will describe the kind, fatherly
-manner in which he went among them, carrying succour and consolation to
-all. He will not compare the Emperor to his great warrior-uncle; he will
-_contrast_ the two. He will show how the uncle made all Europe fear and
-hate him, and how the nephew converted his enemies into allies; how the
-uncle manured the soil of Europe with the bones of his soldiers, and the
-nephew, having given splendid proofs of his ability to make war, won for
-himself the title of "the Pacificator of Europe"; how the uncle, through
-his hot-headed ambition, finally made France the prey of a hostile
-alliance, and the nephew brought the representatives of all the European
-powers around him in his capital to make peace under his supervision.
-
-The man who, after thirty years of exile and six years of close
-imprisonment, can take a country in the chaotic condition in which
-France found itself after the revolution of 1848, and reorganize its
-government, place its financial affairs on a better footing than they
-have been before within the memory of man, double its commerce, and
-raise it to the highest place among the states of Europe, cannot be an
-ordinary man. In 1852, the Emperor said, "France, in crowning me, crowns
-herself;" and he has proved the literal truth of his words. He has given
-France peace, prosperity, and a stable government. He has imitated
-Napoleon I. in every one of his great and praiseworthy actions in his
-civil capacity, while he has not made a single one of his mistakes. And
-if "he that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a
-city," this remarkable man, whose self-control is undisturbed by his
-most unparalleled success, is destined to be known in history as
-Napoleon the Great.
-
-The character of Napoleon III. is marked by a unity and a consistency
-such as invariably have distinguished the greatest men. We can see this
-consistency in his fidelity to the cause of law and order, whether it be
-manifested in his services as a special constable against the Chartists
-of England, or as the chief magistrate of his nation against the
-Chartists of France. And to this conspicuous virtue of steadfastness he
-adds a wonderful universality of acquirements and natural genius. We see
-him contracting favourable loans and averting impending dangers in the
-monetary affairs of France, and it would seem as if his early life had
-been spent amid the clamours of the Bourse; we see him concentrating
-troops in his capital against the threats of the revolutionists, or
-designing campaigns against the greatest military powers of Europe; we
-see him maintaining a perfect composure in the midst of deadly missiles
-which were expected to terminate his reign and dynasty, and it would
-seem as if the camp had always been his home, and the dangers of the
-battle-field his familiar associations; we see him buying up grain to
-prevent speculators from oppressing his people during a season of
-scarcity, or imprisoning bakers for a deficiency in the weight of their
-loaves, or regulating the sales of meats and vegetables,--and it would
-seem as if he always had been a prudent housekeeper and a profound
-student of domestic economy; we see him laying out parks, projecting new
-streets and public buildings, and we question whether he has paid most
-attention to architecture, engineering, or landscape-gardening; we see
-him visiting his subjects when they have been overwhelmed by a great
-calamity, and he would seem to have been a disciple of St. Thomas of
-Villanueva, or of St. Vincent of Paul; we see him taking the lead amid
-the chief statesmen and diplomatists of the world, we read his powerful
-state papers and speeches, and we wonder where he acquired his
-experience; we see him, in short, under all circumstances, and it
-appears that there is nothing that concerns his country's welfare or
-glory too difficult for him to grapple with, nor any thing affecting the
-happiness of his poorest subject trivial enough for him to overlook. By
-his advocacy of the cause of the Church, he has won a place in history
-by the side of Constantine and Charlemagne; by his internal policy and
-care for the needs of his subjects, his name deserves to be inscribed
-with those of St. Louis and Alfred. The language which Bulwer has put
-into the mouth of Cardinal Richelieu might be used by Napoleon III., and
-would from him be only the language of historical truth:--
-
-      "I found France rent asunder,
-    Sloth in the mart and schism within the temple,
-    Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws
-    Rotting away with rust-- * * * *
-    _I have re-created France_, and from the ashes
-    Civilization on her luminous wings
-    Soars phoenix-like to Jove!"
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
-
-
-Foreign travel is one of the most useful branches of our education, but,
-like a great many other useful branches, it appears to be "gone through
-with" by many persons merely as a matter of course. It is astonishing
-how few people out of the great number constantly making the tour of
-Europe really carry home any thing to show for it except photographs and
-laces. Foreign travel ought to rub the corners off a man's character,
-and give him a polish such as "home-keeping youth" can never acquire;
-yet how many we see who seem to have increased their natural rudeness
-and inconsiderateness by a continental trip! Foreign travel ought to
-soften prejudices, religious or political, and liberalize a man's mind;
-but how many there are who seem to have travelled for the purpose of
-getting up their rancour against all that is opposed to their notions,
-making themselves illustrations of Tom Hood's remark, that "some minds
-resemble copper wire or brass, and get the narrower by going farther."
-Foreign travel, while it shows a man more clearly the faults of his own
-country, ought to make him love his country more dearly than before; yet
-how often does it have the effect of making a man undervalue his home
-and his old friends! There must be some general reason why foreign
-travel produces its legitimate fruits in so few instances; and I have,
-during several European tours, endeavoured to ascertain it. I am
-inclined to think that it is a general lack of preparation for travel,
-and a mistaken notion that "sight-seeing" is the chief end of
-travelling. The expenses of the passage across the Atlantic are
-diminishing every year, and when the motive power in electricity is
-discovered and applied, the expense of the trip will be a mere trifle;
-and in view of these considerations, I feel that, though I might find a
-more entertaining subject for a letter, I cannot find a more instructive
-one than the philosophy of European travel.
-
-Concerning the expense of foreign travel, there are many erroneous
-notions afloat. There are hundreds of persons in America--artists, and
-students, and persons of small means--who are held back from what is to
-them a land of promise, by the mistaken idea that it is expensive to
-travel in Europe. They know that Bayard Taylor made a tour on an
-incredibly small sum, and they think that they have not his tact in
-management, nor his self-denial in regard to the common wants of life;
-but if they will put aside a few of their false American prejudices,
-they will find that they can travel in Europe almost as cheaply as they
-can live at home. In America, we have an aristocracy of the pocket,
-which is far more tyrannical, and much less respectable, than any
-aristocracy of blood on this side of the water; for every man feels an
-instinctive respect for another who can trace his lineage back to some
-brave soldier whose deeds have shone in his country's history for
-centuries; but it requires a peculiarly constituted mind to bow down to
-a man whose chief claim to respect is founded in the fact of his having
-made a large fortune in the pork or dry goods line. Jinkins is a rich
-man; he lives in style, and fares sumptuously every day. Jones is one of
-Jinkins's neighbours; he is not so rich as Jinkins, but he feels a
-natural ambition to keep up with him in his establishment, and he does
-so; the rivalry becomes contagious, and the consequence is, that a score
-of well-meaning people find, to their dismay, at the end of the year,
-that they have been living beyond their means. Now, if people wish to
-travel reasonably in Europe, the first thing that they must do is to get
-rid of the Jones and Jinkins standard of respectability. I have seen
-many people who were content to live at home in a very moderate sort of
-way, who, when they came to travel, seemed to require all the style and
-luxury of a foreign prince. Such people may go all over Europe, and see
-very little of it except the merest outside crust. They might just as
-well live in a fashionable hotel in America, and visit Mr. Sattler's
-cosmoramas. They resemble those unfortunate persons who have studied the
-classics from Anthon's text-books--they have got a general notion, but
-of the mental discipline of the study they are entirely ignorant. But
-let me go into particulars concerning the expenses of travelling. I know
-that a person can go by a sailing vessel from Boston to Genoa, spend a
-week or more in Genoa and on the road to Florence, pass two or three
-weeks in that delightful city, and two months in Rome, then come to
-Paris, and stay here two or three weeks, then go to London for a month
-or more, and home by way of Liverpool in a steamer, for less than four
-hundred dollars; for I did it myself several years ago. During this
-trip, I lived and travelled respectably all the time--that is, what is
-called respectably in Europe. I went in the second class cars, and in
-the forward cabins of the steamers. Jones and Jinkins went in the first
-class cars and in the after cabins, and paid a good deal more money for
-the same pleasure that cost me so little. I know, too, that a person can
-sail from Boston to Liverpool, make a summer trip of two months and a
-half to Paris, _via_ London and the cities of Belgium, and back to
-Boston _via_ London and Liverpool, for a trifle over two hundred and
-fifty dollars. A good room in London can be got for two dollars and a
-half a week, in Paris for eight dollars a month, in Rome and Florence
-for four dollars a month, and in the cities of Germany for very
-considerably less. And a good dinner costs about thirty cents in London,
-thirty-five in Paris, fifteen to twenty-five in Florence or Rome, and
-even less in Germany. Breakfast, which is made very little of on the
-continent, generally damages one's exchequer to the extent of five to
-ten cents. It will be seen from this scale of prices that one can live
-very cheaply if he will; and, as the inhabitants of a country may be
-supposed to know the requirements of its climate better than strangers,
-common sense would dictate the adoption of their style of living.
-
-I need not say that some knowledge of the French language is absolutely
-indispensable to one who would travel with any satisfaction in Europe.
-This is the most important general preparation that can be made for
-going abroad. Next after it, I should place a review of the history of
-the countries about to be visited. The outlines of the history of the
-different countries of Europe, published by the English _Society for the
-Diffusion of Useful Knowledge_, are admirably adapted to this purpose.
-This gives a reality to the scenes you are about to visit that they
-would not otherwise possess; it peoples the very roadside for you with
-heroes. And not only does it impart a reality to your travels, but
-history itself becomes a reality to you, instead of being a mere barren
-record of events, hard to be remembered. At this time, when the neglect
-of classical studies is apparent in almost every book, newspaper, and
-magazine, I am afraid that I shall be thought somewhat old-fashioned and
-out of date, if I say that some acquaintance with the Latin classics is
-necessary before a man can really enjoy Italy. Yet it is so; and it will
-be a great satisfaction to any man to find that Horace and Virgil, and
-Cicero and Livy, are something more than the hard tasks of childhood.
-Should a man's classical studies, however, be weak, the deficiency can
-be made up in some measure by the judicious use of translations, and by
-Eustace's Classical Tour. Murray's admirable hand-books of course will
-supply a vast amount of information; but it will not do to trust to
-reading them upon the spot. Some preparation must be made
-beforehand,--some capital is necessary to start in business. "If you
-would bring home the wealth of the Indies, you must carry out the wealth
-of the Indies." It would be well, too, for a person about to visit
-Europe to prepare himself for a quieter life than he has been leading at
-home. I mean, to tone himself down so as to be able to enjoy the freedom
-from excitement which awaits him here. It is now more than a year since
-I left America, and likewise more than a year since I have seen any
-disorderly conduct, or a quarrel, or even have heard high words between
-two parties in the street, or have known of an alarm of fire. In the
-course of the year, too, I have not seen half a dozen intoxicated
-persons. When we reflect what a fruitful source of excitement all these
-things are in America, it will be easy to see that a man may have,
-comparatively, a very quiet life where they are not to be found. It will
-not do any harm, either, to prepare one's self by assuming a little more
-consideration for the feelings of others than is generally seen among
-us, and by learning to address servants with a little less of the
-imperious manner which is so common in America. Strange as it may seem,
-there is much less distinction of classes on the continent, than in
-republican America. You are astonished to find the broadcloth coat and
-the blouse interchanging the civilities of a "light" in the streets, and
-the easy, familiar way of servants towards their masters is a source of
-great surprise. You seldom see a Frenchman or an Italian receive any
-thing from a servant without thanking him for it. Yet there appears to
-be a perfectly good understanding between all parties as to their
-relative position, and with all their familiarity, I have never seen a
-servant presume upon the good nature of his employer, as they often do
-with us. We receive our social habits in a great measure from England,
-and therefore we have got that hard old English way of treating
-servants, as if our object was to make them feel that they are
-inferiors. So the sooner a man who is going to travel on the continent,
-can get that notion out of his head, and replace it with the continental
-one, which seems to be, that a servant, so long as he is faithful in the
-discharge of his duties, is quite as respectable a member of society as
-his employer, the better it will be for him, and the pleasanter will be
-his sojourn in Europe.
-
-One of the first mistakes Americans generally make in leaving for Europe
-is, to take too much luggage. Presupposing a sufficiency of
-under-clothing, all that any person really needs is a good, substantial
-travelling suit, and a suit of black, including a black dress coat,
-which is indispensable for all occasions of ceremony. The Sistine Chapel
-is closed to frock coats, and so is the Opera--and as for evening
-parties, a man might as well go in a roundabout as in any thing but a
-dress coat. Clothing is at least one third cheaper in Europe than it is
-with us, and any deficiency can be supplied with ease, without carrying
-a large wardrobe around with one, and paying the charges for extra
-luggage exacted by the continental railways.
-
-Let us now suppose a person to have got fairly off, having read up his
-classics and his history, and got his luggage into a single good-sized
-valise,--let us suppose him to have got over the few days of
-seasickness, which made him wish that Europe had been submerged by the
-broad ocean (as Mr. Choate would say) or ever he had left his native
-land,--and to have passed those few pleasant days, which every one
-remembers in his Atlantic passage, when the ship was literally getting
-along "by degrees" on her course,--and to have arrived safely in some
-European port. The custom house officers commence the examination of the
-luggage, looking especially for tobacco; and if our friend is a wise
-man, he will not attempt to bribe the officers, as in nine cases out of
-ten he will increase his difficulties by so doing, and cause his effects
-to be examined with double care; but he will open his trunk, and, if he
-have any cigars, will show them to the examiner, and if he have not, he
-will undoubtedly be told to close it again, and will soon be on his way
-to his hotel. I suppose him to have selected a hotel before arriving in
-port--which would be done by carefully avoiding those houses which make
-a great show, or are highly commended in Murray's guide-books. He will
-find a neat, quiet European hotel a delightful place, after the gilding
-and red velvet of the great caravanseries of his native country. If he
-is going to stop more than a single night, he will ask the price of the
-room to which he is shown, and if it seems too expensive, will look
-until he finds one that suits him. When he has selected a room, and his
-valise has been brought up, he will probably observe that the servant
-(if it is evening) has lighted both of the candles on the mantel-piece.
-He will immediately blow one of them out and hand it to the waiter, with
-a look that will show him that he is dealing with an experienced
-traveller, who knows that he has to pay for candles as he burns them.
-When he leaves the hotel, he will make it a principle always to carry
-the unconsumed candle or candles with him, for use as occasion may
-require; for it is the custom of the country, and will secure him
-against the little impositions which are always considered fair play
-upon outsiders. It is possible that he will find, when he goes to wash
-his hands, that there is no soap in the wash stand, and will thank me
-for having reminded him to carry a cake with him rolled up in a bit of
-oiled silk. When he wishes to take lodgings in any city, he will be
-particular to avoid that part of the town where English people mostly do
-inhabit, and will be very shy of houses where apartments to let are
-advertised on a placard in phrases which the originator probably
-intended for English. He will look thoroughly before he decides, and so
-will save himself a great deal of dissatisfaction which he might feel on
-finding afterwards that others had done much better than he. Besides,
-"room-hunting" is not the least profitable, nor least amusing part of a
-traveller's experience. He will, when settled in his rooms, attend in
-person to the purchase of his candles and his fuel, and to the delivery
-of the same in his apartments; for by so doing he will save money, and
-will see more of the common people of the place.
-
-Of course he will see all the "sights" that every stranger is under a
-sort of moral obligation to see, however much it may fatigue him; but he
-must not stop there. He must not think, as so many appear to, that, when
-he has seen the palaces, and picture galleries, and gardens, and public
-monuments of a country, he knows that country. He must try to see and
-know as much as he can of the people of the country, for they (Louis
-Quatorze to the contrary, notwithstanding) are the state. Let him
-cultivate the habit of early rising, and frequent market places and old
-parish churches in the twilight of the morning, and he will learn more
-of the people in one month than a year of reading or ordinary
-sight-seeing could teach him. Let him choose back alleys, instead of
-crowded and fashionable thoroughfares for his walks; when he falls in
-with a wandering musician and juggler, exhibiting in public, let him
-stop, not to see the exhibition, but the spectators; when he goes to the
-theatre, let him not shut himself up in the privacy of a box, but go
-into the pit, where all he will see and hear around him will be full as
-amusing as the performance itself; and when he uses an omnibus, let him
-always choose a seat by the driver, in preference to one inside. I have
-learnt more of the religious character of the poorer class in Paris, by
-a visit to a little out-of-the-way church at sunrise, than could be
-acquired by hours of conversation with the people themselves. And I have
-learned equally as much of the brutality and degradation of the same
-class in England, by going into a gin-shop late at night, calling for a
-glass of ale, and drinking it slowly, while I was inspecting the
-company. There is many a man who travels through Europe, communicating
-only with hotel keepers, couriers, and ciceroni, and learning less of
-the people than he could by walking into a market-place alone, and
-buying a sixpence worth of fruit. Yet such men presume to write books,
-and treat not merely of the governments of these countries, but of the
-social condition of the people! I once met a man in Italy, who could not
-order his breakfast correctly in Italian, who knew only one Italian, and
-he was the waiter who served him in a restaurant; and yet this man was a
-correspondent of a respectable paper in Boston, and had the effrontery
-to write column after column upon Italian social life, and to speak of
-political affairs as if he were Cardinal Antonelli's sole confidant.
-There are such people here in Paris now, who send over to America,
-weekly, batches of falsehood about the household of the Tuileries, which
-the intelligent public of America accepts as being true; for it seems to
-be a part of some people's republicanism to believe nothing but evil of
-a ruler who wears a crown. I need not say in this connection, that the
-traveller who wishes to enjoy Europe must put away the habit (if he be
-so unfortunate as to have it) of looking upon every thing through the
-green spectacles of republicanism, and regarding that form of government
-as the only one calculated to benefit mankind. He must remember that the
-government of his own country is a mere experiment, compared with the
-old monarchies of Europe, and he must try to judge impartially between
-them. He must judge each system by its results, and if on comparison he
-finds that there is really less slavery in his own country than in
-Europe; that the government is administered more impartially; that the
-judiciary is purer; that there is less of mob law and violence, and less
-of political bargaining and trickery, and that life and property are
-more secure in his own country than they are here,--why, he will return
-to America a better republican than before, from the very fact of having
-done justice to the governments of Europe.
-
-As I have before said, it is better for a traveller to endeavour to live
-as nearly as possible in the manner of the inhabitants of the country in
-which he is sojourning. I do not mean that he should feel bound to make
-as general a use of garlic as some of the people of Europe do, for in
-some places I verily believe that a custard or a blanc mange would be
-thought imperfect if they were not seasoned with that savory vegetable;
-but, _ceteris_ being _paribus_, if the general manner of living were
-followed, the traveller would find it conducive to health and to
-economy. The habits of life among every people are not founded on a mere
-caprice; and experience proves that under the warm sun of Italy, a light
-vegetable diet is healthier and more really invigorating than all the
-roast beef of Old England would be.
-
-In Europe, no man is ever ashamed of economy. Few Englishmen even shrink
-from acknowledging that they cannot afford to do this or that, and on
-the continent profuseness in the use of money is considered the sure
-mark of a _parvenu_. Every man is free to do as he pleases; he can
-travel in the first, second, or third class on the railways, and not
-excite the surprise of any body; and whatever class he may be in, he
-will be treated with equal respect by all. It is well to bear this in
-mind, for, taken in connection with the principle of paying for one's
-room and meals separately according to what one has, it puts it within
-one's power to travel all over Europe for a ridiculously small sum. You
-can live in Paris, by going over into the Latin quarter, on thirty cents
-a day, and be treated by every body, except your own countrymen, with as
-much consideration as if you abode among the mirrors and gilding of the
-Hotel de Louvre. Not that I would advise any one to go over there for
-the sake of saving money, and live on salads and meats in which it is
-difficult to have confidence, when he can afford to do better. I only
-wish to encourage those who are kept from visiting Europe by the idea
-that it requires a great outlay of money. You can live in Europe for
-just what you choose to spend, and in a style of independence to which
-America is a total stranger. Every body does not know here what every
-body else has for dinner. You may live on the same floor with a man for
-months and years, and not know any more of him than can be learned from
-a semi-occasional meeting on the staircase, and an interchange of hat
-civilities. This seems so common to a Frenchman, that it would be
-considered by him hardly worth notice; but to any one who knows what a
-sharp look-out neighbours keep over each other in America, it is a most
-pleasing phenomenon. It is indeed a delightful thing to live among
-people who have formed a habit of minding their own business, and at the
-same time have a spirit of consideration for the rights and feelings of
-their neighbours.
-
-If, in the above hints concerning the way to travel pleasantly and
-cheaply in Europe, I have succeeded in removing any of the bugbear
-obstacles which hold back so many from the great advantages they might
-here enjoy, I shall feel that I have not tasked my poor eyes and brain
-for nothing. We are a long way behind Europe in many things, and it is
-only by frequent communication that we can make up our deficiencies. It
-cannot be done by boasting, nor by claiming for America all the
-enterprise and enlightenment of the nineteenth century. Neither can it
-be done by setting up the United States as superior to every historical
-precedent, and an exception to every rule. Most men (as the old French
-writer says) are mortal; and we Americans shall find that our country,
-with all its prosperity and unequalled progress, is subject to the same
-vicissitudes as the countries we now think we can afford to despise; and
-that our history is
-
-      "----but the same rehearsal of the past--
-    First Freedom, and then Glory; when that fails,
-    Wealth, vice, corruption,--barbarism at last."
-
-No, we cannot safely scorn the lesson which Europe teaches us; for if we
-do, we shall have to learn it at the expense of much adversity and
-wounding of our pride. Every American who comes abroad, if he knows how
-to travel, ought to carry home with him a new idea of the amenities of
-life, and of moderation in the pursuit and the use of wealth, such as
-will make itself felt in the course of time, and make the fast living
-and recklessness of authority and tendency to bankruptcy of the present
-day, give way to a spirit of moderation and obedience to law such as
-always produces private prosperity and public stability.
-
-
-
-PARIS TO BOULOGNE
-
-
-It was a delicious morning when I packed my trunk to leave Paris. Indeed
-it was so bright and cloudless that it seemed wrong to go away and leave
-so fine a combination of perfections. It was more than the "bridal of
-the earth and sky"; it was the bridal of all the created beings around
-one and their works with the sky. The deep blue of the heavens, the
-glittering sunbeams, the clean streets, the fair house fronts, the gay
-shop windows, the white caps, and shining morning faces of the _bonnes_
-and market women, the busy, prosperous look of the passers by, were all
-blended together in one harmonious whole, more touching and poetical
-than any scene of mere natural beauty that the dewy morn, "with breath
-all incense and with cheek all bloom," ever looked upon. "Earth hath not
-any thing to show more fair." Others may delight in communing with
-solitary nature, and may rave in rhyme about the glories of woods,
-lakes, mountains, and Ausonian skies; but what is all that compared to
-the awakening of a great city to the life of day? What are the floods of
-golden light that every morning bathe the mountain tops, and are poured
-down into the valleys and fields below, compared to the playing of the
-sunbeams in the smoke from ten thousand chimneys, and the din of toil
-displacing the silence of night? I have seen the sunsets of the
-Archipelago--I have seen Lesbos and Egina clad in those robes of purple
-and gold, which till then I had thought were a mere figment of the
-painter's brain--I have enjoyed that "hush of world's expectation as day
-died"--I have often drunk in the glory of a cloudless sunrise on the
-Atlantic, and even now my heart leaps up at the remembrance of it; but
-after all, commend me to the deeper and more sympathetic feelings
-inspired by the dingy walls and ungraceful chimney-pots of a metropolis.
-Thousands of human hearts are there, throbbing with hope, or joy, or
-sorrow,--weighed down perchance by guilt; and humanity with all its
-imperfections is a noble thing. A single human heart, though erring, is
-a grander creation than the Alps or the Andes, for it shall outlive
-them. It is moved by aspirations that outrun the universe, and possesses
-a destiny that shall outlive the stars. It is the better side of human
-nature that we see in the early morning in large cities. Vice flourishes
-best under the glare of gas-lights, and does not salute the rising sun.
-The bloated form, the sunken eye, the painted cheek, shrink from that
-which would make their deformity more hideous, and hide themselves in
-places which their presence makes almost pestilential. Honest, healthful
-labour meets us at every step, and imparts to us something of its own
-hopefulness and activity. We miss the dew-drops glittering like jewels
-in the grass, but the loss is more than made up to us by the bright eyes
-of happy children, helping their parents in their work, or sporting
-together on their way to school.
-
-There was a time when I thought it very poetical to roam the broad
-fields in that still hour when the golden light seems to clasp every
-object that it meets, as if it loved it; but of late years a comfortable
-sidewalk has been more suggestive of poetry and less productive of wet
-feet. Give me a level pavement before all your groves and fields. The
-only _rus_ that wears well in the long run is _Russ in urbe_. Nine
-tenths of all the fine things in our literature concerning the charms of
-country life, have been written, not beneath the shade of overarching
-boughs, but within the crowded city's smoke-stained walls. Depend upon
-it, Shakespeare could never have written about the moonlight sleeping on
-the bank any where but in the city; had the realities of country life
-been present to him, he would have rejected any such metaphor, for he
-loved the moonlight too dearly to subject it to the rheumatic attack
-that would inevitably have followed such a nap as that. It is with
-country life very much as it is with life at sea. Mr. Choate, who pours
-out his noblest eloquence on the glories and romance of the sea, seldom
-sees the outside of his state-room while he is out of sight of land, and
-all his glowing periods are forgotten in the realities of his position.
-So, too, the man who wishes to destroy the poetry and romance of country
-life, has only to walk about in the wet grass or the scorching heat, or
-to be obliged to pick the pebbles out of his shoes, or a caterpillar off
-his neck, or to be mocked at by unruly cattle, or pestered by any of the
-myriads of insect and reptiles which abound in every well-regulated
-country.
-
-The excellent Madame Busque (_la dame aux pumpkin pies_) had prepared
-for me a viaticum in the shape of a small loaf of as good gingerbread as
-was ever made west of Cape Cod--a motherly attention quite in keeping
-with her ordinary way of taking care of her customers. All who frequent
-the _cremerie_ are her _enfans_, and if she does not show them every
-little maternal attention, and tie a bib upon every one's neck, it is
-only that we may know better how to behave when we are beyond the reach
-of her kindly hand. Fortified with the gingerbread, I found myself
-whirling out of the terminus of the Northern Railway, and Paris, with
-its far-stretching fortifications, its domes and towers, and its
-windmill-crowned Montmartre, was soon out of sight.
-
-The train was very full, and the weather very warm. Two of my
-car-companions afforded me a good deal of amusement. They were a fat
-German and his wife. He was one of the jolliest old gentlemen I ever had
-the good fortune to travel with. His silvery hair was cropped close to
-his head, and he rode along with his cuffs turned up and his waistcoat
-open. He seemed to feel that he was occupying a good deal of room; but
-he was the only one there who felt it. No one of us would have had his
-circumference reduced an inch, but we should all of us have delighted to
-put a thin man who was there out by the roadside. His wife--a
-bright-eyed little woman, whose hair was just getting a little
-silvery--had a small box-cage in which she carried a large,
-intelligent-looking parrot. Before we had gone very far, the bird began
-to carry on an animated conversation with its mistress, but finally
-disgusted her and surprised us all by swearing in French and German at
-the whole company, with all the vehemence of a regiment of troopers. The
-lady tried hard to stop him, but it was useless. The old gentleman (like
-a great many good people who would not swear themselves, but rather like
-to hear a good round oath occasionally) seemed to enjoy it intensely,
-and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. At noon the worthy
-pair made solemn preparations for a dinner. A basket, a carpet-bag, and
-sundry paper parcels were brought out. The lady spread a large checked
-handkerchief over their laps for a table cloth, and then produced a
-staff of life about two feet in length, and cut off a good thick slice
-for each of them. Cheese was added to it, and also a species of sausage
-about a foot in length, and three inches in diameter. From these they
-made a comfortable meal--not eating by stealth, as we Americans should
-have done--but diving in heartily, and chatting together all the while
-as cosily as if they had been at home. A bottle of wine was then brought
-out from the magic carpet-bag, and a glass, also a nice dessert of
-peaches and grapes. There was a charming at-home-ativeness about the
-whole proceeding that contrasted strongly with our American way of doing
-such things, and all the other passengers apparently took no notice of
-it.
-
-We arrived at Boulogne in the midst of a storm as severe as the morning
-had been serene. So fair and foul a day I have not seen. An omnibus
-whisked me to a hotel in what my venerable grandmother used to call a
-_jiffy_, and I was at once independent of the weather's caprices. A
-comfortable dinner at the _table d'hote_ repaired the damages of the
-journey, and I spent the evening with some good friends, whose company
-was made the more delightful by the months that had separated us. The
-storm raged without, and we chatted within. The old hotel creaked and
-sighed as the blast assailed it, and I dreamed all night of close-reefed
-topsails.
-
-    "'Tis a wild night out of doors;
-    The wind is mad upon the moors.
-    And comes into the rocking town,
-    Stabbing all things up and down:
-    And then there is a weeping rain
-    Huddling 'gainst the window pane;
-    And good men bless themselves in bed;
-    The mother brings her infant's head
-    Closer with a joy like tears,
-    And thinks of angels in her prayers,
-    Then sleeps with his small hand in hers."
-
-Having in former years merely passed through Boulogne, I had never known
-before what a pleasant old city it is. Its clean streets and well-built
-houses, and the air of respectable antiquity which pervades it, make a
-very pleasant impression upon the mind. As you stand on the quay, and
-look across at the white cliffs on the other side of the Channel, which
-are distinctly visible on a clear day, the differences in the character
-of the two nations so slightly separated from one another, strike you
-more forcibly than ever. The very fish taken on the French side of the
-channel are different from any that you see in England; and as to the
-fishwomen, whose sunburnt legs, bare to the knee, are the astonishment
-of all new-comers,--go over all Europe, and you will find nothing like
-them. That superb cathedral, the shrine of our Lady of Boulogne, upon
-which the storm of the first French revolution beat with such fury, is
-now beginning to wear a look of completion. Its dome, one of the
-loftiest and most graceful in the world, is a striking and beautiful
-feature in the view of the city. For more than twelve centuries this has
-been a famous shrine. Kings and princes have visited it, not with the
-pomp and circumstance of royalty, but in the humble garb of the pilgrim.
-Henry VIII. made a pilgrimage hither in his unenlightened days, before
-the pious Cranmer had taught him how wicked it was to honour the Mother
-whom his Saviour honoured, and how godly and just it was to divorce and
-put to death the mothers of his children. Here it was that the heroic
-crusader, Godfrey, kindled the flame of that devotion which nerved his
-arm against the foes of Christianity, and added a new lustre to his
-knightly fame. It is a fashion of the present day to sneer at the age of
-chivalry and the crusades, and some of our best writers have been
-enticed into the following of it. While we have so many subjects
-deserving the treatment of the satirist, at our very doors,--while we
-have the fashionable world to draw upon,--while we can look around on
-political parsons, professional philanthropists and patriots,
-politicians who talk of principle, and followers who are weak enough to
-believe in them--it would really seem as if we might allow the crusaders
-and troubadours to rest. Supposing, for the sake of argument,
-Christianity to be a true religion,--supposing it to be a fact that
-eighteen hundred years ago the plains of Palestine were trodden by the
-blessed feet that were "nailed for our advantage on the bitter
-cross"--the redemption of the land which had been the scene of the
-sacred history, from the sacrilegious hands of the Saracens, was
-certainly an enterprise creditable to St. Louis, and Richard the
-lion-hearted, and Godfrey, and the other gentlemen who sacrificed so
-much in it. It was certainly as respectable an undertaking as any of the
-crusades of modern times,--as that of the Spaniards in America, the
-English in India, or the United States in Mexico,--with this exception,
-that it was not so profitable. I am afraid that some of our modern
-satirists are lacking in the spirit of their profession, and allow
-themselves to be made the mouthpieces of that worldly wisdom which it is
-their office to rebuke. I can see nothing to sneer at in the crusader
-exiling himself from his native land, and forfeiting his life in the
-defence of the Holy Sepulchre; indeed, I am inclined to respect a man
-who makes such a sacrifice to a conscientious conviction: it is a noble
-conquest of the visible temporal by the unseen eternal. I can well
-understand how such efforts for the protection of a mere empty tomb
-would seem worthy of laughter and ridicule to those who can find no food
-for satire in the _auri sacra fames_ which has been the motive of modern
-foreign expeditions. It would be well for the world could we bring back
-something of that age of chivalry which Edmund Burke regretted so
-eloquently. We need it sorely; for we are every day sliding farther down
-from its high standard of honour and of unselfish devotion to principle.
-
-There is a little fishing village about a mile and a half from Boulogne,
-on the sea coast towards Calais, which is celebrated in history as
-having been the scene of the landing of Prince Louis Napoleon and his
-companions in their unsuccessful attempt to overthrow the government of
-Louis Philippe. Napoleon III. has not distinguished the spot by any
-memorial; but he has erected a colossal statue of Napoleon I. on the
-spot where that insatiable conqueror, with his mighty army around him,
-looked longingly at the coast of England. There is something of a
-contrast between the day thus commemorated and that on which the "nephew
-of his uncle" received Queen Victoria at Boulogne, when she visited
-France. It must have been a great satisfaction to Louis Napoleon, after
-his life of exile, and particularly after the studied neglect which he
-experienced from the English nobility, to have welcomed the British
-Queen to his realm with that kiss which is the token of equality among
-sovereigns. Waterloo must have been blotted out when he saw the
-Queen--in whose realm he had served the cause of good order in the rank
-of special constable--bending down at his knee to confer upon him the
-order of the garter.
-
-In spite of its geographical situation, Boulogne can hardly be
-considered a French town. The police department and the custom house are
-in the hands of the French, to be sure; but in the course of a walk
-through its streets, you hear much more of the English than of the
-French language. You meet those brown shooting jackets, and checked
-trousers, and thick shoes and gaiters that are at home every where in
-the "inviolate island of the sage and free." You cannot turn a corner
-without coming upon some of those beefy and beery countenances which
-symbolize so perfectly the genius of British civilization, and hearing
-the letter H exasperated to a wonderful degree. Every where you see
-bevies of young ladies wearing those peculiar brown straw hats, edged
-with black lace, with a brown feather put in horizontally on one side of
-the crown, a style of head dress to which the French and Italians have
-given the name of "_Ingleesh spoken here_." There is a large class among
-the English population of Boulogne upon which the disinterested
-spectator will look with interest and with pity. I mean those
-unfortunate persons who have been obliged by "force of circumstances"
-and the importunity of creditors to exile themselves for a time from
-their native land. You see them on every side; and all ranks in society
-are represented among them, from the distinguished-looking man, with the
-tortoise-shell spectacles, who ran through his wife's property at the
-club, to the pale, unhappy-looking fellow in the loose thread gloves and
-sleepless coat. You can distinguish them at a glance from their
-fellow-countrymen who have gone over for purposes of recreation, the
-poor devils walk about with such an evident wish to appear to be doing
-something or going somewhere. The condition of the prisoners, or rather
-the "collegians," in the old Marshalsea prison, must have been an
-enviable one, compared to these unfortunates, condemned to gaze at the
-cliffs of Old England from a distance, and wait vainly for something to
-turn up.
-
-The arrival and departure of the English steamers is the only source of
-excitement that the quiet city of Boulogne possesses. I was astonished
-to find, after being there a day or two, what an interest I took in
-those occurrences. I found myself on the quay with the rest of the
-foreign population of the town, an hour before the departure of the
-boat, to make sure, like every body else there, that not a traveller for
-England should escape my notice. Besides the pleasure of inspecting the
-motley crowd of spectators, I was gratified one day to see the big,
-manly form and good-natured ugly face of Thackeray, following a leathern
-portmanteau on its path from the omnibus to the boat. The great satirist
-took an observation of the crowd through his spectacles as if he were
-making a mental note, to be overhauled in due season, and then hurried
-on board, as if he longed to get back to London among his books. He had
-been spending the warm season at the baths of Hombourg. But the great
-excitement of the day is the arrival of the afternoon boat from
-Folkestone. It is better as an amusement than many plays that I have
-seen, and it has this advantage, (an indispensable one to a large part
-of the English population of Boulogne,) that it costs nothing. During
-the days when I was there, the equinoctial gale was in full blow, and,
-of course, there was a greater rush than usual to the quay. It was
-necessary to go very early to secure a good place. From the steamer to
-the passport office, a distance of two or three hundred feet, ropes were
-stretched to keep back the spectators, forming an avenue some thirty
-feet wide. Through this the wretched victims of the "chop sea" of the
-Channel were obliged to pass, and listen to the remarks or laughter
-which their pitiable condition excited among the crowd of their
-disinterested countrymen. Any person who has ever been seasick can
-imagine what it would be to go on shore from a boat that has just been
-pitching and rolling about in the most absurd manner, and try to walk
-like a Christian, with the eyes of several hundred amusement-seeking
-people fixed upon him. Sympathy is entirely out of the question. The
-pallid countenance and uncertain step, as if the walker were waiting for
-the pavement to rise to meet his foot, excite nothing but mirth in the
-spectators. The whole scene, including the lookers-on, was one of the
-funniest things I ever saw. The observations of the crowd, too, were
-well calculated to heighten the effect. "Ease her when she pitches,"
-cried out a youngster at my side, as an old lady, who was supported by a
-gentleman and a maid servant, seemed to be trying to accommodate herself
-to the motion of the street, and testify her love for _terra firma_ by
-lying down. "Hard a' starboard," shouted another, as a gentleman, with a
-felt hat close reefed to his head with a white handkerchief, sidled
-along up the leeward side of the passage way. "That 'ere must 'a been a
-sewere case of sickness," said a little old man, in an advanced state of
-seediness, as a tall man, looking defiance at the crowd, walked ashore
-with a carpet-bag in his hand, and an expression on his face very like
-that of Mr. Warren, in the farce, when he says, "Shall I slay him at
-once, or shall I wait till the cool of the evening?" "Don't go yet,
-Mary," said a young gentleman in a jacket and precocious hat, to his
-sister, who seemed to fear that it was about to begin to rain
-again,--"don't go yet; the best of all is to come; there's a fat lady on
-board who has been _so_ sick--we must wait to see her!" And so they went
-on, carrying out in the most exemplary manner that golden rule which,
-applied to the period of seasickness, enjoins upon us that we shall do
-unto others just as others would do to us.
-
-It is no joke to most people to cross the Channel at any time, but to
-cross it on the tail-end of the equinoctial storm is far from being a
-humorous matter. I had crossed from almost all the ports between Havre
-and Rotterdam in former years; so I resolved to try a new route in spite
-of the weather, and booked myself for a passage in the boat from
-Boulogne to London, direct. The steamer was called the Seine; and when
-we had once got into the open sea, a large part of the passengers seemed
-to think that they were _insane_ to have come in her. She was a very
-good sea-boat, but I could not help contrasting her with our Sound and
-Hudson River steamers at home. If the "General Steam Navigation Company"
-were to import a steamer from America like the Metropolis or the Isaac
-Newton, there would be a revolution in the travelling world of England.
-The people here would no longer put up with steamers without an awning
-or any shelter from sun or rain. After they had enjoyed the
-accommodations of one of our great floating hotels, they would not think
-of shutting themselves up in the miserable cabins which people pay so
-dearly for here. But to proceed: when we got fairly out upon the _nasty_
-deep, I ventured to gratify my curiosity, as a connoisseur in
-seasickness, by a visit to the cabin. If I were in the habit of writing
-for the newspapers, I suppose I should say that the scene "baffled
-description." It certainly was one that I shall not soon forget. The
-most rabid republican would have been satisfied with the equality that
-prevailed there. The squalls that assailed us on deck were nothing
-compared to the demonstrations of a whole regiment of infantry below,
-who were illustrating, in a manner worthy of Retsch, one of the first
-lines in Shakespeare's Seven Ages. Ladies of all ages were keeled up on
-every side in various postures of picturesque negligence, and with a
-forgetfulness of the conventionalities of society quite charming to look
-upon. The floor, where it was unoccupied by prostrate humanity, was
-nearly covered with hatboxes, and bonnets, and bowls, and anonymous
-articles of crockery ware, which were performing a lively quadrille,
-being assisted therein by the motion of the ship. But a little of such
-sights, and sounds, and smells as these goes a great way with me, and I
-was glad to return to the wet deck. They had managed to rig a tarpaulin
-between the paddle-boxes, and there I took refuge until the rain ceased.
-It was comparatively pleasant weather when we sailed past Walmer Castle,
-where that old hero died on whom all the world has conferred the title
-of "The Duke"; and of course there was no rough sea as soon as we got
-into the Downs. Black-eyed Susan might have gone on board of any of the
-fleet of vessels that were lying there without discolouring her ribbons
-by a single dash of spray. Ramsgate and Margate (the Newport and Cape
-May of England) looked full of company as we sailed by them, and crowds
-of bathers were battling with the surf. The heavy black yards of the
-ships of war loomed up at Sheerness in the distance, and suggested
-thoughts of Nelson, and Dibdin, and Ben Bowlin. Now and then we passed
-by some splendid American clipper ship towing up or down the river, and
-I felt proud of my nationality as I contrasted her graceful lines and
-majestic proportions with the tub-like models of British origin that
-every where met my eye. The dock-yards of Woolwich seemed like a vast
-ant-hill for numbers and busy life. Greenwich, with its fine
-architecture and fresh foliage in the distance, was most grateful to my
-eyes; and it was pleasing to reflect, as I passed the observatory, that
-I could begin to reckon my longitude to the westward, for it made me
-feel nearer home.
-
-
-
-LONDON
-
-
-No man can really appreciate the grandeur of London until he has
-approached it from the sea. The sail up the river from Gravesend to
-London Bridge is a succession of wonders, each one more overwhelming
-than that which preceded it. There is no display of fortifications; but
-here and there you see some storm-tossed old hulk, which, having
-finished its active career, has been safely anchored in that repose
-which powder magazines always enjoy. As the river grows narrower, the
-number of ships, steamers, coal barges, wherries, and boats of every
-description, seems to increase; and as you sail on, the grand panorama
-of the world-wide commerce of this great metropolis unfolds before you,
-and you are lost, not so much in admiration as in astonishment.
-Woolwich, Greenwich, Rotherhithe, Bermondsey, Blackwall, Millwall,
-Wapping, &c., follow rapidly in the vision, like the phantom kings
-before the eyes of the unfortunate Scotch usurper, until one is temped
-to inquire with him, whether the "line will stretch out to the crack of
-doom." The buildings grow thicker and more unsightly as you advance; the
-black sides of the enormous warehouses seem to be bulging out over the
-edge of the wharves on which they stand; far off, beyond the reach of
-the tides, you see the forests of masts that indicate the site of the
-docks. The bright green water of the Channel has been exchanged for the
-filthy, drain-like current of the Thames. Hundreds of monstrous chimneys
-belch forth the smoke that constitutes the legitimate atmosphere of
-London. Every thing seems to be dressed in the deepest mourning for the
-cruel fate of nature, and you look at the distant hills and bright
-lawns, over in the direction of Sydenham, with very much of the feeling
-that Dives must have had, when he gazed on the happiness of Lazarus from
-his place of torment. Every thing presents a most striking contrast to
-the clean, fair cities of the continent. Paris, with its cream-coloured
-palaces adorning the banks of the Seine, seems more beautiful than ever
-as you recall it while surrounded by such sights, and sounds, and
-smells, as offend your senses here. The winding Arno, and the towers,
-and domes, and bridges, of Florence and Pisa, seem to belong to a
-celestial vision rather than to an earthly reality, as you contrast them
-with the monuments of England's commercial greatness. At last, you come
-in sight of London Bridge, with its never-ceasing current of vehicles
-and human beings crossing it; and your amazement is crowned by realizing
-that, notwithstanding the wonders you have seen, you have just reached
-the edge of the city, and that you can ride for miles and miles through
-a closely-built labyrinth of bricks and mortar, hidden under the veil of
-smoke before you.
-
-And what a change it is--from Paris to London! To a Frenchman it must be
-productive of a suicidal feeling. The scene has shifted from the sunny
-Boulevards to the blackened bricks and mortar, which neither great
-Neptune's ocean, nor Lord Palmerston's anti-smoke enactment can wash
-clean. In the place of the smiling, good-humoured Frenchman, you have
-the serious, stately Englishman. One misses the wining courtesy of which
-a Frenchman's hat is the instrument, and the ready _pardon_ or _merci_
-is heard no more. The beggary, the drunkenness, and the depravity, so
-apparent on every side, appall one. Paris _may_ be the most immoral city
-in the world; but there, vice must be sought for in its own haunts. Here
-in London, it prowls up and down in the streets, seeking for its
-victims. Put all the other European capitals together, and I do not
-believe that you could meet with so much to pain and disgust you as you
-would in one hour in the streets of London. And yet, with all this
-staring people in the face here, how do they go to work to remedy it?
-They pass laws enforcing the suspension of business on Sundays, and when
-they succeed in keeping all the shutters closed, by fear of the law,
-they fold their arms, and say, "See what a godly nation is this!" If
-this is not "making clean the outside of the cup and platter," what is
-it? For my part, I much prefer that perfect religious liberty which
-allows each man to keep Sunday as he pleases; and the recent improvement
-in the observance of the day in France is all the more gratifying,
-because it does not spring from any compulsory motive. Let the Jews keep
-the _Sabbath_ as they are commanded to in the Old Testament; but
-_Sunday_ is the Christian's day, and Sunday is a day of festivity and
-rejoicing, and not of fasting and penitential sadness.
-
-Despite the smoke, and the lack of continental courtesy which is felt on
-arriving from France, despite the din and hurry, I cannot help loving
-London. The very names of the streets have been mad classical by writers
-whose works are a part of our own intellectual being. The illustrious
-and venerable names of Barclay and Perkins, of Truman, Hanbury, and
-Buxton, that meet our eyes at every corner, are the synonymes of English
-hospitality and cheer. It is a pleasure, too, to hear one's native
-language spoken on all sides, after so many months of French twang. The
-hissing and sputtering English seems under such circumstances to be more
-musical than the most elegant phrases of the Tuscan in the mouth of a
-dignified Roman. Even the omnibus conductors' talk about the "Habbey,"
-the "Benk," 'Igh 'Olborn, &c., does not offend the ear, so delightful
-does it seem to be able to say beefsteak instead of _biftek_. The odour
-of brown stout that prevails every where is as fragrant as the first
-sniff of the land breeze after a long voyage. Temple Bar is eloquent of
-the genius of Hogarth, whose deathless drawings first made its ugly form
-familiar to your youthful eyes in other lands. The very stones of Fleet
-Street prate of Dr. Johnson and Goldsmith. You walk into Bolt Court, and
-if you feel as I do the associations of the place, you eat a chop in the
-tavern that stands where stood the house of Dr. Johnson. Then you cross
-over the way to Inner Temple Lane, and mourn over the march of
-improvement when you see that its sacrilegious hand is sweeping away a
-row of four brick houses, which, dilapidated and unsightly as they may
-appear, are dear to every lover of English literature. In No. 1,
-formerly dwelt Dr. Johnson; in No. 4, Charles Lamb. You walk into the
-Temple Church, and muse over the effigies of the knights who repose
-there in marble or bronze, or go into the quiet Temple Gardens, and
-meditate on the wars of the red and white roses that were plucked there
-centuries ago, before the iron fences were built. It would be as
-difficult to pluck any roses there now as the most zealous member of the
-Peace Society could wish. You climb up Ludgate Hill, getting finely
-spattered by the cabs and omnibuses, and find yourself at St. Paul's.
-You smile when you think that that black pile of architecture, with its
-twopenny fee of admission, was intended to rival St. Peter's, and your
-smile becomes audible when you enter it, and see that while the images
-of the Saviour and the Saints may not be "had and retained," the statues
-of admirals and generals are considered perfectly in place there. You
-walk out with the conviction that consistency is a jewel, and tread a
-pavement that is classical to every lover of books. Paternoster Row
-receives you, and you slowly saunter through it. Nobody walks rapidly
-through Paternoster Row. Situated midway between the bustle and turmoil
-of Ludgate Hill and Cheapside, it is a kind of resting-place for
-pedestrians. They breathe the more quiet air of bookland there, and the
-windows are a temptation which few loiterers can withstand.
-
-The old church of St. Mary le Bow reminds you that you are at the very
-centre of Cockneydom, as you walk on towards the Bank and the Exchange.
-Crossing the street at the risk of your life through a maze of snorting
-horses and rattling wheels, you get into Cornhill. Here the faces that
-you see are a proof that the anxious, money-getting look is not confined
-to the worshippers of the almighty dollar. You push on until you reach
-Eastcheap. How great is your disappointment! The very name has called up
-all your recollections of the wild young prince and his fat friend--but
-nothing that you see there serves to heighten your Shakespearean
-enthusiasm. Coal-heavers and draymen make the air vocal with their oaths
-and slang, which once resounded with the laughter of Jack Falstaff and
-his jolly companions. No Mistress Quickly stands in the doorway of any
-of the numerous taverns. The whole scene is a great falling-off from
-what you had imagined of Eastcheap. The sanded floors, the snowy window
-curtains, the bright pewter pots, have given way to dirt and general
-frowsiness. You read on a card in a window that within you can obtain "a
-go of brandy for sixpence, and a go of gin for fourpence," and that
-settles all your Falstaffian associations. You stop to look at an old
-brick house which is being pulled down, for you think that perhaps its
-heavy timbered ceilings, and low windows, and Guy Fawkesy entries date
-back to Shakespeare's times; but you are too much incommoded by the dust
-from its crumbling walls to stop long, and you leave the place carrying
-with you the only reminder of Falstaff you have seen there--you leave
-with _lime in your sack_!
-
-I know of nothing better calculated to take down a man's self-esteem
-than a walk through the streets of London. To a man who has always lived
-in a small town, where every second person he meets is an acquaintance,
-a walk from Hyde Park corner to London Bridge must be a crusher. If that
-does not convince him that he is really of very little importance in the
-world, he is past cure. The whirl of vehicles, the throngs upon the
-sidewalks, seem to overwhelm and blot out our own individuality. Xerxes
-cried when he gazed upon his assembled forces, and reflected that out of
-all that vast multitude not one person would be alive in a hundred
-years. Xerxes ought to have ridden through Oxford Street or the Strand
-on the top of an omnibus. Spitalfields and Bandanna (two places
-concerning the geography of which I am rather in the dark) could not
-have furnished him with handkerchiefs to dry his eyes.
-
-I was never so struck with the lack of architectural beauty in London as
-I have been during this visit. There are, it is true, a few fine
-buildings--Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's, Somerset House, &c.; but they
-are all as black as my hat, with this soot in which all London is
-clothed; so there is really very little beauty about them. The new
-Houses of Parliament are a fine pile of buildings, certainly, and the
-lately finished towers are a pleasing feature in the view from the
-bridges; but they are altogether too gingerbready to wear well. They
-lack boldness of light and shade; and this lack is making itself more
-apparent every day as the smoke of the city is enveloping them in its
-everlasting shade. Buckingham Palace looks like a second rate American
-hotel, and as to St. James, the barracks at West Point are far more
-palatial than that. It is not architecture, however, that we look for in
-London. It has a charm in spite of all its deformities,--in spite of its
-climate, which is such an encouragement to the umbrella makers--in spite
-of its smoky atmosphere, through which the sun looks like a great copper
-ball--in spite of the mud, which the water-carts insure when the dark
-skies fail in the discharge of their daily dues to the metropolis.
-London, with all thy fogs, I love thee still! It is this great
-agglomeration of towns which we call London--this great human family of
-more than two millions and a half of beings that awakens our sympathy.
-It is the fact that through England we Americans trace our relationship
-to the ages that are past. It is the fact that we are here surrounded by
-the honoured tombs of heroes and wise men, whose very names have become,
-as it were, a part of our own being. These are the things that bind us
-to London, and which make the aureola of light that hangs over it at
-night time seem a crown of glory.
-
-But we must not forget that there is a dark side to the picture. There
-is a serious drawback to all our enthusiasm. Poverty and vice beset us
-at every step. Beggary more abject than all the world besides can show
-appeals to us at every crossing. The pale hollow cheek and sunken eye
-tell such a story of want as no language can express. The mother,
-standing in a doorway with her two hungry-looking children, and
-imploring the passers-by to purchase some of the netting work her hands
-have executed, is a sight that touches your heart. But walk into some of
-those lanes and alleys which abound almost under the shadow of the
-Houses of Parliament and the royal residence,--slums "whose atmosphere
-is typhus, and whose ventilation is cholera,"--and the sentiment of pity
-is lost in one of fear. There you see on every side that despair and
-recklessness which spring from want and neglect. Walk through Regent
-Street, and the Haymarket, and the Strand in the evening, and you shall
-be astonished at the gay dresses and painted cheeks that surround you.
-The rummy atmosphere reechoes with profanity from female lips. From time
-to time you are obliged to shake off the vice and crinoline that seek to
-be companions of your walk.
-
-There is a distinguished prize-fighter here--one Benjamin Caunt. He
-keeps a gin shop in St. Martin's Lane, and rejoices in a profitable
-business and the title of the "Champion of England." He transacted a
-little business in the prize-fighting line over on the Surrey side of
-the river a few days ago, and is to sustain the honour of England
-against another antagonist to-morrow. During the entire week his gin
-shop has been surrounded by admiring crowds, anxious to catch a glimpse
-of the hero. And such crowds! It would be wronging the lowest of the
-race of quadrupeds to call those people beastly and brutal wretches.
-Most Americans think that the Bowery and Five Points can rival almost
-any thing in the world for displays of all that is disgusting in
-society; but London leaves us far behind. I stopped several times to
-note the character of Mr. Caunt's constituents. There were men there
-with flashy cravats around necks that reminded me of Mr. Buckminster's
-Devon cattle--their hair cropped close for obvious reasons--moving about
-among the crowd, filling the air with damns and brandy fumes. There were
-others in a more advanced stage of "fancy" existence--men with all the
-humanity blotted out of them, not a spark of intellect left in their
-beery countenances. There were women drabbled with dirt, soggy with
-liquor, with eyes artificially black. There were children pale and
-stunted from the use of gin, or bloated with beer, assuming the swagger
-of the blackguards around them, and looking as old and depraved as any
-of them. It seemed as if hell were empty and all the devils were there.
-The police--those guardians of the public weal, who are so efficient
-when a poor woman is trying to earn her bread by selling a few
-apples--so prompt to make the well-intentioned "move on"--did not appear
-to interfere. They evidently considered the street to be blockaded for a
-just cause, and looked as if, in aiding people to get a look at the
-Champion of England, they were sustaining the honour of England herself.
-
-And this is the same England that assumes to teach other nations the
-science of benevolence. This is the same England that laments over the
-tyranny of continental governments, and boasts of how many millions of
-Bibles it has sent to people who could not read them if they would, and
-would not if they could. This is the same England that turns up the
-whites of its eyes at American slavery, and wishes to teach the King of
-Naples how to govern. Why, you can spend months in going about the worst
-quarters of the continental cities, and not see so much of vice and
-poverty as you can in the great thoroughfares of London in a single day.
-There is vice enough in every large city, as we all know; but in most of
-them it has to be sought for by its votaries--in London it goes about
-seeking whom it may devour. The press of England may try to advance the
-interests of a prime minister anxious to get possession of Sicily by
-slandering Ferdinand of Naples; but every body knows, who has visited
-that fair kingdom, that there are few monarchs more public spirited and
-popular with all classes of their subjects than he. Every body knows
-that there is no class in that community corresponding to the
-prize-fighting class in London--that the horrors of the mining districts
-are unknown there, and that an English workhouse would make even an
-Englishman blush when compared with those magnificent institutions that
-relieve the poor of Italy. I had rather be sold at auction in Alabama
-any day than to take my chance as a denizen of the slums of London, or
-as a worker in the coal mines. I have no patience with this telescopic
-philanthropy of the English, while there are abuses all around them so
-much greater than those that disgrace any other civilized country. What
-can be more disgusting than this pharisaical cant--this thanking God
-that they are not as others are--extortioners and slaveholders--when you
-look at the real condition of things? Englishmen always boast that their
-country has escaped the revolutionary storm which has so many times
-swept over Europe during this century, and would try to persuade people
-that there is little or no discontent here. The fact is, the lower
-classes in this country have been so ground down by the money power and
-the force of the government, and are so ignorant and vicious, that they
-cannot be organized into a revolutionary force. Walk through
-Whitechapel, and observe the people there--contrast them with the
-_blouses_ in the Faubourg St. Antoine--and you will acknowledge the
-truth of this. The people in the manufacturing districts in France are,
-indeed, far from being models of morality or of intellectual culture;
-but they have retained enough of the powers of humanity to make them
-very dangerous, when collected under the leadership of demagogues of the
-school of Ledru Rollin. But the farming districts of France have
-remained comparatively free from the infection of socialism and
-infidelity. The late Henry Colman, in his agricultural tour, found
-villages where almost the entire population went to mass every morning,
-before commencing the labour of the day. But the degradation of the
-labouring classes of England is not confined to the manufacturing towns;
-the peasantry is in a most demoralized condition: the Chartist leaders
-found nearly as great a proportion of adherents among the farm labourers
-as among the distressed operatives of Birmingham and Sheffield; and
-Mormonism counts its victims among both of those neglected classes by
-thousands. It is, perhaps, all very well for ambitious orators to make
-the House of Commons or Exeter Hall resound with their denunciations of
-French usurpations, Austrian tyranny, Neapolitan dungeons, Russian
-serfdom, and American slavery; but thinking men, when they note these
-enthusiastic demonstrations of philanthropy, cannot help thinking of
-England's workhouses, the brutalized workers in her coal mines and
-factories, and her oppressive and cruel rule in Ireland and in India;
-and it strikes them as strange that a country, whose eyesight is
-obstructed by a beam of such extraordinary magnitude, should be so
-exceedingly solicitous about the motes that dance in the vision of its
-neighbours.
-
-
-
-
-ESSAYS.
-
-
-
-STREET LIFE
-
-
-Thomas Carlyle introduces his philosophical friend, Herr Teufelsdroeckh,
-to his readers, seated in his watch-tower, which overlooks the city in
-which he dwells; and from which he can look down into that bee-hive of
-human kind, and see every thing "from the palace esplanade where music
-plays, while His Serene Highness is pleased to eat his victuals, down to
-the low lane where in her doorsill the aged widow, knitting for a thin
-livelihood, sits to feel the afternoon sun." He draws an animated
-picture of that busy panorama which is ever unrolling before
-Teufelsdroeckh's eyes, and moralizes upon the scene in the spirit of a
-true poet who has struck upon a theme worthy of his lyre. And, most
-assuredly, Thomas is right. The daisies and buttercups are all very well
-in their way; but, as raw material for poetry, what are they to the
-deep-furrowed pavement and the blackened chimney-pots of a city! In
-spite of all our pantheistic rhapsodies, man is the noblest of natural
-productions, and the worthiest subject for the highest and holiest of
-poetic raptures. My old friend, the late Mr. Wordsworth, delighted to
-anathematize the railway companies, and raved finely about Nature never
-betraying the heart that loves her; he said that
-
-      "----the sounding cataract
-    Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,
-    The mountain and the deep and gloomy wood,
-    Their colours and their forms, were then to him
-    An appetite;--"
-
-and confessed that to him
-
-      "----the meanest flower that blows could give
-    Thoughts that too often lie too deep for tears."
-
-Yet notwithstanding all this, he was constrained to acknowledge when he
-stood upon Westminster Bridge, and saw the vast, dingy metropolis of
-Britain wearing like a garment the beauty of the morning, that
-
-    "Earth has not anything to show more fair,--
-    Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
-    A sight so touching in its majesty."
-
-When I was a young man, it was my delight to brush with early steps the
-dew away, and meet the sun upon the upland lawn. There was a romantic
-feeling about it that I liked, and I did not object to wet feet. But I
-have long since put away that depraved taste, although the recent
-application of India rubber to shoeing purposes has obviated the
-inconvenience of its gratification. Now, I am contented if I can find a
-level pavement and a clean crossing, and will gladly give up the woods
-and verdant fields to less prosaic and more youthful people. Your gout
-is a sad interferer with early poetical prejudices--but in my own case
-it has shown me that all such things, like most of our youthful notions,
-are mere fallacies. It has convinced me that the poetical abounds rather
-in the smoky, narrow streets of cities, than in the green lanes, the
-breezy hills, and the broad fields of the country. Like the toad, ugly
-and venomous, that fell disease is not without its jewel. It has
-reconciled me to life in town, and has shown me all its advantages and
-beauties.
-
-If it be true that "the proper study of mankind is man," then are the
-crowded streets of the city more improving and elevating to us (if
-rightly meditated upon) than the academic groves. If you desire
-society,--in a city you may find it to your taste, however fastidious
-you may be. If you are a lover of solitude, where can you be more
-solitary than in the very whirl of a multitude of people intent upon
-their own pursuits, and all unknown to you! That honey-tongued doctor,
-St. Bernard, said that he was never less alone than when alone--a
-sentiment which, in its reversed form, might be uttered by any denizen
-of a metropolis. I always loved solitude: the old monastic inscription
-was always a favourite motto of mine:--
-
-    "O beata solitudo!
-    O sola beatitudo!"
-
-But I have never found any solitude like the streets of a large city. I
-have walked in the cool, quiet cloister of _Santa Maria degli Angeli_,
-built amid the ruins of the baths of Diocletian, and--though my footfall
-was the only sound save the rustling of the foliage, and the song of the
-birds, and the bubbling of a fountain which seemed tired with its
-centuries of service, and which seemed to make the stillness and repose
-of that spacious quadrangle more profound--I could not feel so perfectly
-alone there as I have often felt in the thronged Boulevards or the busy
-Strand. Place a mere worldling in those holy precincts, and he would
-summon mentally around him the companions of his past pleasures, and his
-worldliness would be increased by his thus being driven to his only
-resources for overcoming the ungrateful quiet of the place. Introduce a
-religious man to those consecrated shades, and his devotion would be
-quickened; he would soon forget the world which he had not loved and
-which had not loved him, and his face would soon be as unwrinkled, his
-eye as serene, as those of the monks who dwell there. But place either
-of them in the most crowded thoroughfare of the city, and the worldling
-would be made for a time as meditative as the other. When I was a child,
-I delighted to watch the busy inhabitants of an ant-hill, pursuing their
-various enterprises with an intentness almost human; and I should be
-tempted to continue my observations of them, were it not that the
-streets of my native city offer me a similar, but a more interesting
-study. Xerxes, we are told, shed tears when he saw his army drawn up
-before him, and reflected that not one of all that mighty host would be
-alive a century after. Who could ride from Paddington to London Bridge,
-through the current of human life that flows ceaselessly through the
-streets of that great city, without sharing somewhat in the feelings of
-that tender-hearted monarch?
-
-What are all the sermons that ever were preached from a pulpit, compared
-to those which may be found in the stones of a city? When we visit
-Pompeii and Herculaneum, we are thrilled to notice the ruts made by the
-wheels of chariots centuries ago. The original pavement of the Appian
-Way, now for some distance visible, carries us back more than almost any
-of the other antiquities of Rome, to the time when it was trodden by
-captive kings, and re-echoed with the triumphal march of returning
-conquerors. I pity him in whom these things awaken no new train of
-thought. The works of man have outlived their builders by centuries, and
-still remain a solemn testimony to the power and the nothingness which
-originated them. Nineveh, Thebes, Troy, Carthage, Tyre, Athens, Rome,
-London, Paris, have won the crown in their turn, and have passed or will
-pass away. The dilapidated sculptures of the former have been taken to
-adorn the museums of the latter, and crowds have gazed and are gazing on
-them with curious eyes, unmindful of their great lesson of the
-transitoriness of the glory of the world. These are, indeed, "sermons in
-stones"; but, like most other sermons, we look rather at their style of
-finish, than at the deep meaning with which they are so pregnant.
-
-But I did not take up my pen to write about dead cities; I have somewhat
-to say about the life that now renders the streets of our own towns so
-pleasant, and makes us so forgetful of their inevitable fate. I am not
-going to claim for the street life of our new world the charms which
-abound in the ancient cities of Europe. We are too much troubled about
-many things, and too utilitarian to give thought to those lesser graces
-which delight us abroad, and which we hardly remember until we come home
-and miss them. Our street architecture, improved though it may have been
-within a few years, is yet far behind the grace and massive symmetry of
-European towns. Our builders and real estate owners need to be reminded
-that it costs no more to build in good taste than in bad; that brick
-work can be made as architectural as stone; and that architecture is a
-great public instructor, whose works are constantly open to the public
-eye, and from which we are learning lessons, good or bad, whether we
-will or not. I think it is Goethe who calls architecture frozen music. I
-am glad to see these tall piles rearing their ornamented fronts on every
-side of us, even though they are intended for purposes of trade; for
-every one of them is a reproach to the untasteful structures around it,
-and an example which future builders must copy, if they do not surpass.
-The quaint beauty which charms us in Rouen, and in the old towns of
-Belgium,--the high pitched gables leaning over, as if yearning to get
-across the narrow street,--these all belong to another age, and we may
-not possess them; but the architecture which, in its simplicity or its
-magnificence, speaks its adaptedness to our climate and our social
-wants, is within our reach, and is capable of making our cities equal to
-any in the world.
-
-I have a great liking for streets. In the freshness of morning, the
-glare of noonday, and the coolness of evening, they have an equal charm
-for me. I like that market-carty period of the day, before Labour has
-taken up his shovel and his hoe, before the sun has tipped the chimneys
-with gold, and reinspired the dolorous symphony of human toil, just as
-his earliest beams were wont to draw supernal melodies from old Memnon's
-statue. There is a holy quiet in that hour, which, could we preserve it
-in our minds, would keep us clear from many a wrong and meanness, into
-which the bustle and the heat of passion betray us, and would sanctify
-our day. In that time, the city seems wrapped in a silent ecstasy of
-adoration. The incense of its worship curls up from innumerous chimneys,
-and hangs over it like the fragrant cloud which hovers over the altars
-where saints have prayed, and religion's most august rites have been
-celebrated for centuries. In the continental cities, large numbers of
-people may be seen at that early hour repairing to the churches. They
-are drawn together by no spasmodic, spiritual stimulation; they do not
-assemble to hear their fellow-sinners tell with nasal twang how bad they
-were once, and how good they are now, nor to implore the curse of Heaven
-upon those who differ from them in their belief or disbelief. They kneel
-beneath those consecrated arches, joining in a worship in which scarce
-an audible word is uttered, and drawing from it new strength to tread
-the thorns of life. In our own cities, too, people--generally of the
-poorer classes--may be seen wending their way in the early morning to
-churches and chapels, humbler than the marble and mosaic sanctuaries of
-Europe, but one with them in that faith and worship which radiates from
-the majestic Lateran basilica, (_omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater
-et caput_,) and encircles the world with its anthems and supplications.
-
-A little later in the morning, and the silence is broken by the
-clattering carts of the dispensers of that fluid without which custards
-would be impossible. The washing of doorsteps and sidewalks, too, begins
-to interfere with your perambulations, and to dim the lustre which No.
-97, High Holborn, has imparted to your shoes. Bridget leans upon her wet
-broom, and talks with Anne, who leaves her water-pail for a little
-conference, in which the affairs of the two neighbouring families of
-Smith and Jenkins receive, you may be sure, due attention. Men smoking
-short and odorous pipes, and carrying small, mysterious-looking tin
-pails, begin to awaken the echoes with their brogans, and to prove him a
-slanderer who should say they have no music in their soles. Newspaper
-carriers, bearing the damp chronicles of the world's latest history
-bestrapped to their sides, hurry along, dispensing their favours into
-areas and doorways, seasoning my friend Thompson's breakfast with the
-reports of the councils of kings, or with the readable inventions of
-"our own correspondent," and delighting the gentle Mrs. Thompson with a
-full list of deaths and marriages, or another fatal railway accident.
-Then the omnibuses begin to rattle and jolt along the streets, carrying
-such masculine loads that they deserve for the time to be called mail
-coaches. Later, an odour as of broiled mackerel salutes the sense;
-school children, with their shining morning faces, begin to obstruct
-your way, and the penny postman, with his burden of joy and sorrow,
-hastens along and rings peremptorily at door after door. Then the
-streets assume by degrees a new character. Toil is engaged in its
-workshops and in by-places, and staid respectability, in its broadcloth
-and its glossy beaver, wends its deliberate way to its office or its
-counting-house, unhindered by aught that can disturb its equanimity,
-unless, perchance, it meets with a gang of street-sweepers in the full
-exercise of their dusty avocation.
-
-Who can adequately describe that most inalienable of woman's
-rights--that favourite employment of the sex--which is generally termed
-_shopping_? Who can describe the curiosity which overhauls a wilderness
-of dress patterns, and the uncomplaining patience of the shopman who
-endeavours to suit the lady so hard to be suited,--his well-disguised
-disappointment when she does not purchase, and her husband's
-exasperation when she does? Not I, most certainly, for I detest shops,
-have little respect for fashions, lament the necessity of buying
-clothes, and wish most heartily that we could return to the primeval
-fig-leaves.
-
-I love the by-streets of a city--the streets whose echoes are never
-disturbed by the heavy-laden wagons which bespeak the greatness of our
-manufacturing interests. Formerly the houses in such streets wore an air
-of sobriety and respectability, and the good housewifery which reigned
-within was symbolized by the bright polish of the brass door-plate, or
-bell-pull, or knocker. Now they are grown more pretentious, and the
-brass has given place to an outward and visible sign of silver. But the
-streets retain their old characteristics, and are strangers to any sound
-more inharmonious than the shouts of sportive children, or the tones of
-a hand-organ. I do not profess to be a musical critic, but I have been
-gifted by nature with a tolerable idea of time and tune; yet I am not
-ashamed to say that I do not despise hand-organs. They have given me
-"Sweet Home" in the cities of Italy, Yankee Doodle in the Faubourg St.
-Germain; and the best melodies of Europe's composers are daily ground
-out under my windows. I have no patience with these canting people who
-talk about productive labour, and who see in the organ-grinder who limps
-around, looking up expectantly for the remunerating copper, only a
-vagabond whom it is expedient for the police to counsel to "move on."
-These peripatetic dispensers of harmony are full as useful members of
-society as the majority of our legislators, and have a far more
-practical talent for organization. Douglas Jerrold once said that he
-never saw an Italian image merchant, with his Graces, and Venuses, and
-Apollos at sixpence a head, that he did not spiritually touch his hat to
-him: "It is he who has carried refinement into the poor man's house; it
-is he who has accustomed the eyes of the multitude to the harmonious
-forms of beauty." Let me apply these kindly expressions of the dead
-dramatist and wit to the organ-grinders. They have carried music into
-lanes and slums, which, without them, would never have known any thing
-more melodious than a watchman's rattle, and have made the poorest of
-our people familiar with harmonies that might "create a soul under the
-ribs of death." Occasionally their music may be instrumental in
-producing a feeling of impatience, so that I wish that their "Mary Ann"
-were married off, and that Norma would "hear," and make an end of it;
-but my better feelings triumph in the end, and I would not interfere
-with the poor man's and the children's concert to hear a strain from St.
-Cecilia's viol. Let the grinders be encouraged! May the evil days
-foretold in ancient prophecy never come among us, when the grinders
-shall cease because they are few!
-
-It is at evening that the poetic element is found most abundant in the
-streets of cities. There is to me something of the sublime in the long
-lines of glittering shop-windows that skirt Regent Street and the
-Boulevards. Dr. Johnson exhorted the people who attended the sale of his
-friend Thrale's brewery, to remember that it was not the mere collection
-of boilers, and tubs, and vats which they saw around them, for which
-they were about to bargain, but "the potentiality of growing rich beyond
-the dreams of avarice"; and, in a similar spirit, I see in the shop
-windows not merely the silks and laces, and the other countless luxuries
-and wonders which delight the eye of taste and form the source of wealth
-to multitudes, but a vast exposition of the results of that industry,
-which, next to religion and obedience to law, is the surest foundation
-of national greatness, and which shows us, behind the frowning
-Providence that laid on man the curse of labour, the smiling face of
-divine beneficence. There, in one great collection, may be seen the
-fruits of the toil of millions. To produce that gorgeous display,
-artists have cudgelled their weary brains; operatives have suffered;
-ship-masters have strained their eyes over their charts and daily
-observations, and borne patiently with the provoking vagaries of the
-"lee main brace"; sailors have climbed the icy rigging and furled the
-tattered topsails with hands cracked and bleeding; for that, long trains
-of camels freighted with the rich products of the golden East, "from
-silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon," have toiled with their
-white-turbaned drivers across the parching desert; thousands of busy
-hands have plied the swift shuttle in the looms of Brussels, and
-Tournai, and Lyons; and thousands in deep and almost unfathomable mines
-have suffered a living death. Manchester and Birmingham have been
-content to wear their suit of mourning that those windows may be radiant
-and gay. The tears, and sweat, and blood of myriads have been poured out
-behind those shining panes transmuted into shapes that fill the beholder
-with wonder and delight. "In our admiration of the plumage we forget the
-dying bird." Nevertheless, above the roar and bustle of those whirling
-thoroughfares, above the endless groan and "infinite fierce chorus" of
-manhood ground down, and starving in bondage more cruel because it does
-not bear the name of slavery, I hear the carol of virtuous and
-well-rewarded labour, and the cheerful song of the white-capped
-lace-makers of Belgium and the vine-dressers of Italy reminds me that
-powerful wrong does not have every thing its own way even in this world.
-
-I did intend to have gone farther in my evening walk; but time and space
-alike forbid it. I wished to leave the loud roaring avenues for those
-more quiet streets, where every sight and sound speak of domestic
-comfort, or humble fidelity, or patient effort; where the brilliancy of
-splendid mansions is but imperfectly veiled by rich and heavy draperies;
-where high up gleams the lamp of the patient student, happy in his
-present obscurity because he dreams of coming fame; and where the tan on
-the pavement and the mitigated light from the windows are eloquent of
-suffering and the sleepless affection that ministers to its unspoken
-wants. But I must stop. If, however, I have shown one of my readers, who
-regrets that he is obliged to dwell in a city, that there is much that
-is beautiful in paved streets and smoke-stained walls, and that, if we
-only open our eyes to see them, even though the fresh fields and waving
-woods may be miles away, the beauties of nature daily fold us in their
-bosom,--I shall feel that I have not tasked my tired brain and gouty
-right hand entirely in vain.
-
-
-
-HARD UP IN PARIS
-
-
-Money, whatever those who affect misanthropy or a sublime superiority to
-all temporal things may say to the contrary, is a very desirable thing.
-We all enjoy the visit of the great Alexander to the contented
-inhabitant of the imperishable tub, who was alike independent of the
-good will and displeasure of that mighty monarch; we sympathize with all
-the bitter things that Timon says when he is reduced from wealth to
-beggary; and we are never tired of lamenting, with Virgil, that the
-human heart should be such an abject prey to this accursed hunger for
-gold. I am not sure that Horace would not be dearer to us, if he had
-lived in a "three-pair-back" in some obscure street, and his deathless
-odes had been inspired by fear of a shrewish landlady or an inexorable
-sheriff, instead of being an honoured guest at the imperial court, and a
-recipient of the splendid patronage of a Maecenas and an Augustus.
-Poetical justice seems to require a setting of the most cheerless
-poverty for the full development of the lustre of genius. At least, we
-think so, at times;--though, under it all, admire as we may the
-successful struggles of the want-stricken bard,--we do not envy him his
-penury. We should shrink from his gifts and his fame, if they were
-offered to us with his sufferings. For underneath our abstract
-magnanimity lurks the conviction that money is by no means a bad thing,
-after all. Our enthusiasm is awakened by contemplating the
-self-forgetful career of Francis of Assisi, who chose Poverty for his
-bride, and whose name is in benediction among men, even six centuries
-after he entered into possession of that kingdom which was promised to
-the poor in spirit; and, if we should chance to see a more modern bearer
-of that Christian name, who worshipped the wealth which the ancient
-saint despised; who trampled down honest poverty in his unswerving march
-towards opulence; who looked unmoved upon the tears of the widow and the
-orphan; who exercised his sordid apostolate even to the last gasp of his
-miserable life; and whose name (unblessed by the poor, and unhonoured by
-canonization) became, in the brief period that it outlived him, a byword
-and a synonyme of avarice,--we should not fail to visit his memory with
-a cordial malediction. But, in spite of all our veneration for Francis,
-the apostle of holy poverty, and of loathing for his namesake, the
-apostle of unholy wealth, we cannot help wishing that we had a little
-more of that which the Saint cast away, and the miser took in exchange
-for his soul.
-
-A little more--that is the phrase--and there is no human being, rich or
-poor, who does not think that "a little more" is all that is needed to
-fill up the measure of his earthly happiness. It is for this that the
-gambler risks his winnings, and the merchant perils the gains of many
-toilsome years. For this, some men labour until they lose the faculty of
-enjoying the fruit of their exertions; and this is the _ignis fatuus_
-that goes dancing on before others, leading them at last into that bog
-of bankruptcy from which they never wholly extricate themselves. Enough
-is a word unknown in the lexicon of those who have once tasted the joy
-of having money at interest, and there are very few men who practically
-appreciate the wisdom of the ancient dramatist who tells us that
-
-    "He is most rich who stops at competence,--
-    Not labours on till the worn heart grows sere,--
-    Who, wealth attained, upon some loftier aim
-    Fixes his gaze, and never turns it backward."
-
-"Give me neither poverty nor riches," has been my prayer through life,
-as it was that of the ancient sage; and it has always been my opinion
-that a man who owns even a single acre of land within a convenient
-distance of State Street or of the Astor House, is just as well off as
-if he were rich. My petition has been answered: but it must be confessed
-that when I mouse in the book shops, or turn over the rich portfolios of
-the print dealers, I feel that I am poor indeed. I do not envy him who
-can adorn the walls of his dwelling with the masterpieces of ancient or
-modern art on their original canvas; but I do crave those faithful
-reproductions which we owe to the engraver's skill, and which come so
-near my grasp as to aggravate my covetousness, and make me speak most
-disrespectfully of my unelastic purse.
-
-Few people have spent any considerable time abroad without being for a
-season in straitened circumstances. A mistake may have been made in
-reckoning up one's cash, or a bill may be longer than was expected, or
-one's banker may temporarily suspend payment; and suddenly he who never
-knew a moment's anxiety about his pecuniary affairs finds himself
-wondering how he can pay for his lodgings, and where his next day's
-beefsteak is coming from. It was my good fortune once to undergo such a
-trial in Paris. I say good fortune--for, unpleasant as it was at the
-time, it was one of the most precious experiences of my life. I do not
-think that a true, manly character can be formed without placing the
-subject in the position of a ship's helm, when she is in danger of
-getting aback; to speak less technically, he must (once in his life, at
-least) be _hard up_.
-
-I was younger in those days than I am now, and was living for a time in
-the gay capital of France. My lodgings were in one of those quiet
-streets that lead to the _Place Ventadour_, in which the Italian Opera
-House stands. My room was about twelve feet square, was handsomely
-furnished, and decorated with a large mirror, and a polished oaken floor
-that rivalled the mirror in brilliancy. Its window commanded an
-unobstructed view of a court-yard about the size of the room itself;
-but, as I was pretty high up (on the second floor coming down) my light
-was good, and I could not complain. As I write, it seems as if I could
-hear the old _concierge_ blacking boots and shoes away down at the
-bottom of that well of a court-yard, enlivening his toil with an
-occasional snatch from some old song, and now and then calling out to
-his young wife within the house, with a clear voice, "Marie!"--the
-accent of the final syllable being prolonged in a preternatural manner.
-And then out of the same depths came a melodious response from Marie's
-blithesome voice, that made me stop shaving to enjoy it--a voice that
-seemed in perfect harmony with the cool breath and bright sky of that
-sunny spring morning. Marie was a representative woman of her class. I
-do not believe that she could have been placed in any honest position,
-however high, that she would not have adorned. Her simplicity and good
-nature conciliated the good will of every one who addressed her, and I
-have known her quiet, lady-like dignity to inspire even some loud and
-boastful Americans, who called on me, with a momentary sentiment of
-respect. They appeared almost like gentlemen for two or three minutes
-after speaking with her. Upon my honour, sir, it was worth considerably
-more than I paid for my room to have the privilege of living under the
-same roof with such a cheery sunbeam--to see her seated daily at the
-window of the _conciergerie_ with a snow-white cap on her head and a
-pleasant smile on her face; to interrupt her sewing, with an inquiry
-whether any letters had come for me, and be charmed with her alacrity in
-handing me the expected note, and the key of _numero dix-huit_. Her
-nightly _Bon soir, M'sieur_, was like a benediction from a guardian
-angel; her vivacious _Bon jour_ was an augury of an untroubled day; it
-would have made the darkest, foggiest November afternoon seem as bright,
-and fresh, and exhilarating as a morning in June. These are trifles, I
-know, but it is of trifles such as these that the true happiness of life
-is made up. Great joys, like great griefs, do not possess the soul so
-completely as we think, as Wellington victorious, or Napoleon defeated,
-at Waterloo, would have discovered, if, in that great hour, they had
-been visited with a twinge of neuralgia in the head, or a gnawing
-dyspepsia.
-
-The influenza, or _grippe_, as the French call it, is not a pleasant
-thing under any circumstances; but I think of a four days' attack,
-during which Marie attended to my wants, as a period of unmixed
-pleasure. She seemed to hover about my sick bed, she moved so gently,
-and her voice (to use the words of my former cherished friend, S. T.
-Coleridge,) was like
-
-        "----a hidden brook
-      In the leafy month of June,
-    That to the sleeping woods all night
-      Singeth a quiet tune."
-
-"Was it that Monsieur would be able to drink a little tea, or would it
-please him to taste some cool lemonade?" _Helas!_ Monsieur was too
-_malade_ for that; but the kind attentions of that estimable little
-woman were more refreshing than a Baltic Sea of the beverage that cheers
-but does not inebriate, or all the aid that the lemon groves of Italy
-could afford. Marie's politeness was the genuine article, and came right
-from her pure, kind heart. It was as far removed from that despicable
-obsequiousness which passes current with so many for politeness, as
-old-fashioned Christian charity is from modern philanthropy.
-
-But--pardon my garrulity--I am forgetting my story. In a moment of
-kindly forgetfulness I lent a considerable portion of my available funds
-to a friend who was short, and who was obliged to return to America,
-_via_ England. I was in weekly expectation of a draft from home that
-would place me once more upon my financial legs. One, two, three weeks
-passed away, and the letters from America were distributed every Tuesday
-morning, but there was none for me. It gave me a kind of faint sensation
-when the clerk at the banker's gave me the disappointing answer, and I
-went into the reading-room of the establishment to read the new American
-papers, and to speculate upon the cause of the unremitting neglect of my
-friends at home. I shall never forget my feelings when, in the third
-week of my impecuniosity, I found my exchequer reduced to the small sum
-of eight francs. I saw the truth of Shakespeare's words describing the
-"consumption of the purse" as an incurable disease. I had many
-acquaintances and a few friends in Paris, but I determined not to borrow
-if it could possibly be avoided. Five days would elapse before another
-American mail arrived, and I resolved that my remaining eight francs
-should carry me through to the eventful Tuesday, which I felt sure would
-bring the longed-for succor. I found a little dingy shop, in a narrow
-street behind the Church of St. Roch, where I could get a breakfast,
-consisting of a bowl of very good coffee and piece of bread (I asked for
-the end of the loaf) for six sous. My dinners I managed to bring down to
-the sum of twelve sous, by choosing obscure localities for the obtaining
-of that repast, and confining myself to those simple and nutritious
-viands which possessed the merit attributed to the veal pie by Samuel
-Weller, being "werry fillin' at the price." Sometimes I went to bed
-early, to avoid the inconveniences of a light dinner. One day I dined
-with a friend at his lodgings, but I did not enjoy his hospitality; I
-felt guilty, as if I had sacrificed friendship to save my dwindling
-purse. The coarsest bread and the most suspicious beef of the Latin
-Quarter would have been more delicious to me under such circumstances
-than the best ragout of the Boulevards or the Palais Royal.
-
-Of course, this state of things weighed heavily upon my spirits. I heard
-Marie tell her husband that Monsieur l'Anglais was _bien triste_. I
-avoided the friends with whom I had been used to meet, and (remembering
-what a sublime thing it is to suffer and be strong) sternly resolved not
-to borrow till I found myself completely gravelled. It grieved me to be
-obliged to pass the old blind man who played the flageolet on the _Pont
-des Arts_ without dropping a copper into his tin box; but the severest
-blow was the being compelled to put off my obliging washerwoman and her
-reasonable bill. The time passed away quickly, however. The _Louvre_,
-with its treasures of art, was a blessed asylum for me. It cost me
-nothing, and I was there free from the importunities of distress which I
-could not relieve. In the halls of the great public library--now the
-_Bibliotheque Imperiale_--I found myself at home. Among the studious
-throng that occupied its vast reading rooms, I was as independent as if
-my name had been Rothschild, or the treasures of the Bank of France had
-been at my command. The master spirits with whom I there communed do not
-ask what their votaries carry in their pockets. There is no
-property-test for admission to the privileges of their companionship. I
-felt the equality which prevails in the republic of letters. I knew that
-my left hand neighbour was not, in that quiet place, superior to me on
-account of his glossy coat and golden-headed cane, and that I was no
-better than the reader at my right hand because he wore a blouse. I
-jingled my two or three remaining francs in my pocket, and thought how
-useless money was, when the lack of it was no bar to entrance into the
-hallowed presence of
-
-    "Those dead but sceptred sovereigns who still rule
-    Our spirits from their urns."
-
-I shall not soon forget the intense satisfaction with which I read in
-the regulations of the library a strict prohibition against offering any
-fees or gratuities whatever to its blue-coated officials.
-
-At last the expected Tuesday morning came. My funds had received an
-unlooked-for diminution by receiving a letter from my friend whose wants
-had led me into difficulty. He was just embarking at Liverpool--hoped
-that my remittance had arrived in due season--promised to send me a
-draft as soon as he reached New York--envied my happiness at remaining
-in Paris--and left me to pay the postage on his valediction. It would be
-difficult for any disinterested person to conceive how dear the
-thoughtless writer of that letter was to me in that unfortunate hour.
-Then, too, I was obliged to lay out six of those cherished copper coins
-for a ride in an omnibus, as I was caught in a shower over in the
-vicinity of St. Sulpice, and could not afford to take the risk of a
-rheumatic attack by getting wet. I well remember the cool, business-like
-air with which that relentless _conducteur_ pocketed those specimens of
-the French currency that were so precious in my sight. Yet, in spite of
-these serious and unexpected drains upon my finances, I had four sous
-left after paying for my breakfast on that memorable morning. I felt
-uncommonly cheerful at the prospect of being relieved from my troubles,
-and stopped several minutes after finishing my coffee, and conversed
-with the tidy shopwoman with a fluency that astonished both of us. I
-really regretted for the moment that I was so soon to be placed in
-funds, and should no longer enjoy her kindly services. I chuckled
-audibly to myself as I pursued my way to the banker's, to think what an
-immense joke it would be for some skilful Charley Bates or Artful Dodger
-to try to pick my pocket just then. An ancient heathen expecting an
-answer from the oracle of Delphos, a modern candidate for office
-awaiting the count of the vote, never felt more oppressed with the
-importance of the result than I did when I entered the banking-house. My
-delight at having a letter from America put into my hands could only be
-equalled by my dismay when I opened it, and found, instead of the draft,
-a request from a casual acquaintance who had heard that I might possibly
-return home through England, and who, if I did, would be under great
-obligations if I would take the trouble to procure and carry home for
-him an English magpie and a genuine King Charles spaniel!
-
-I did not stop to read the papers that morning. As I was leaving the
-establishment, I met its chief partner, to whom I could not help
-expressing my disappointment. He was one of your hard-faced,
-high-cheek-boned Yankees, with a great deal of speculation in his eyes.
-I should as soon have thought of attempting the cultivation of figs and
-dates at Franconia as of trying to get a small loan from _him_. So I
-pushed on into those busy streets whose liveliness seemed to mock my
-pitiable condition. I had come to it at last. I had got to borrow. A
-physician, who now stands high among the faculty in Boston, was then
-residing in Paris, and, as I had been on familiar terms with him, I
-determined to have recourse to him. He occupied two rooms in the fifth
-story of a house in the Rue St. Honore. His apartments were more
-remarkable for their snugness than for the extent of accommodation they
-afforded. A snuff-taking friend once offered to present the doctor with
-one of his silk handkerchiefs to carpet that parlour with. But the
-doctor's heart was not to be measured by the size of his rooms, and I
-knew that he would be a friend in need. The _concierge_ told me that the
-doctor had not gone out, and, in obedience to the instructions of that
-functionary, I mounted the long staircase and _frapped_ at the door of
-that estimable disciple of Galen. It was not my usual thrice-repeated
-stroke upon the door; it was a timid and uncertain knock--the knock of a
-borrower. The doctor said that he had been rather short himself for a
-week or two, but that he should undoubtedly find a letter in the General
-Post that morning that would place him in a condition to give me a lift.
-This was said in a manner that put me entirely at my ease, and made me
-feel that by accepting his loan I should be conferring an inestimable
-favour upon him. As we walked towards the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, I
-amused him with the story of the preceding week's adventures. He laughed
-heartily, and after a few minutes I joined with him, though I must say
-that the events, as they occurred, did not particularly impress me as
-subjects for very hilarious mirth. The doctor inquired at the _poste
-restante_ in vain. His friends had been as remiss as mine, and we had
-both got to wait another week. The doctor was not an habitually profane
-man, but as we came through the court-yard of the post office, he
-expressed his anxiety as to what the devil we should do. He examined his
-purse, and found that his available assets amounted to a trifle more
-than nineteen francs. He looked as troubled as he had before looked gay.
-I generously offered him my four remaining coppers, and told him that I
-would stand by him as long as he had a centime in his pocket. Such an
-exhibition of magnanimity could not be made in vain. We stopped in front
-of the church of Our Lady of Victories, and took the heroic resolve to
-club our funds and go through the week of expectation together. And we
-did it. I wish that space would allow of my describing the achievements
-of that week. Medical books were cast aside for the study of domestic
-economy. I do not believe that a similar sum of money ever went so far
-before, even in Paris. We found a place in a narrow street, near the
-Odeon, where fried potatoes were sold very cheap; we bought our bread by
-the loaf, as it was cheaper--the loaves being so long that the doctor
-said that he understood, when he first saw them, why bread was called
-the staff of life. We resorted to all sorts of expedients to make a
-franc buy as much as possible of the necessaries of life. We frequented
-with great assiduity all places of public amusement where there was no
-fee for admission. The public galleries, the libraries, the puppet shows
-in the Champs Elysees, were often honoured with our presence. We made a
-joke of our necessities, and carried it through to the end. The next
-Tuesday morning found us, after breakfasting, on our way to the post
-office, with a franc left in our united treasury. I had begun to give up
-all hopes of our ever getting a letter from home, and insisted upon the
-doctor's trying his luck first. He was successful, but the severest part
-of the joke came when he found that his letter (contrary to all
-precedent) was not postpaid. The polite official at the window must have
-thirty-two sous for it, and we had but twenty. Our laughter showed him
-the whole state of the case, and we left him greatly amused at our
-promises to return soon, and get the desirable prize. My application at
-the banker's was successful, too, and before noon we were both prepared
-to laugh a siege to scorn. I paid the rosy-cheeked washerwoman, bought
-Marie a neat crucifix to hang up in the place of a very rude one in her
-_conciergerie_, out of sheer good humour; and that evening the doctor
-and I laughed over the recollections of the week and a good dinner in a
-quiet restaurant in the Palais Royal.
-
-
-
-THE OLD CORNER
-
-
-The human heart loves corners. The very word "corner" is suggestive of
-snugness and cosy comfort, and he who has no liking for them is
-something more or less than mortal. I have seen people whose ideas of
-comfort were singularly crude and imperfect; who thought that it
-consisted in keeping a habitation painfully clean, and in having every
-book or paper that might give token of the place being the dwelling of a
-human being, carefully out of sight. We have great cause for
-thankfulness that such people are not common, (for a little wholesome
-negligence is by no means an unpleasant thing,) so that we can say that
-mankind generally likes to snuggify itself, and is therefore fond of a
-corner. This natural fondness is manifested by the child with his
-playthings and infantile sports, in one of which, at least, the
-attractions of corners for the feline race are brought strongly before
-his inquisitive mind. And how is this liking strengthened and built up
-as the child increases in secular knowledge, and learns in the course of
-his poetical and historical researches all about the personal history of
-Master John Horner, whose sedentary habits and manducation of festive
-pastry are famous wherever the language of Shakespeare and Milton is
-spoken!
-
-This love of nooks and corners is especially observable in those who are
-obliged to live in style and splendour. Many a noble English family has
-been glad to escape from the bondage of its rank, and has found more
-real comfort in the confinement of a Parisian _entresol_ than amid the
-gloomy grandeur of its London home. Those who are condemned to dwell in
-palaces bear witness to this natural love of snugness, by choosing some
-quiet sunny corner in their marble halls, and making it as comfortable
-as if it were a cosy cottage. Napoleon and Eugenie delight to escape
-from the magnificence of the Tuileries to that quiet and homelike refuge
-for people who are burdened with imperial dignity, amid the thick
-foliage and green alleys of St. Cloud. Even in that mighty maze, the
-Vatican, the rooms inhabited by the Sovereign Pontiff are remarkably
-comfortable and unpalatial, and prove the advantages of smallness and
-simplicity over gilding and grandeur, for the ordinary purposes of life.
-An American gentleman once called on the great and good Cardinal
-Cheverus, and while talking with him of his old friends in America, said
-that the contrast between the Cardinal's position in the episcopal
-palace of Bordeaux and in his former humble residence when he was Bishop
-of Boston, was a very striking one. The humble and pious prelate smiled,
-and taking his visitor by the arm, led him from the stately hall in
-which they were conversing, into a narrow room furnished in a style of
-austere simplicity: "The palace," said he, "which you have seen and
-admired is the residence of the Cardinal Archbishop of Bordeaux; but
-this little chamber is where John Cheverus _lives_."
-
-Literary men and statesmen have always coveted the repose of a corner
-where they might be undisturbed by the wranglings of the world.
-Twickenham, and Lausanne, and Ferney, and Rydal Mount have become as
-shrines to which the lover of books would fain make pilgrimages. Have we
-not a Sunnyside and an Idlewild even in this new land of ours! Cicero,
-in spite of his high opinion of Marcus Tullius, and his thirst for
-popular applause, often grew tired of urban life, and was glad to
-forsake the _Senatus populusque Romanus_ for the quiet of his snug villa
-in a corner of the hill country overlooking Frascati. And did not our
-own Tully love to fling aside the burden of his power, and find his
-Tusculum on the old South Shore? In the Senate Chamber or the Department
-of State you might see the Defender of the Constitution, but it was at
-Marshfield that Webster really lived. Horace loved good company and the
-entertainment of his wealthy patrons and friends, but he loved snugness
-and quiet even more. In one of his odes he apostrophizes his friend
-Septimius, and describes to him the delight he takes in the repose of
-his Tiburtine retreat from the bustle of the metropolis, saying that of
-all places in the world that corner is the most smiling and grateful to
-him:--
-
-    Ille terrarum mihi praeter omnes
-    Angulus ridet.
-
-If we look into our hearts, I think we shall most of us find that we
-have a clinging attachment to some favourite corner, as well as Mr.
-Horatius Flaccus. There is at least one corner in the city of Boston,
-which has many pleasant associations for the lover of literature.
-Allusion was made a few days since, in an evening paper, to the
-well-known fact that the old building at the corner of Washington and
-School Streets was built in 1713, and is therefore older by seventeen
-years than the Old South Church. That little paragraph reminded me of
-some passages in the history of that ancient edifice related to me by an
-ancestor of mine, for whom the place had an almost romantic charm.
-
-The old building (my grandfather used to tell me) was originally a
-dwelling-house. It had the high wainscots, the broad staircases, the
-carved cornices, and all the other blessed old peculiarities of the age
-in which it was built, which we irreverently have improved away. One
-hundred years ago the old corner was considered rather an aristocratic
-place of residence. It was slightly suburban in its position, for the
-town of Boston had an affection for Copp's Hill, and the inhabitants
-clustered about that sacred eminence as if the southern parts of their
-territory were a quicksand. Trees were not uncommon in the vicinity of
-the foot of School Street in those days, and no innovating Hathorne had
-disturbed the quiet of the place with countless omnibuses. The old
-corner was then occupied by an English gentleman named Barmesyde, who
-gave good dinners, and was on intimate terms with the colonial governor.
-My venerated relative, to whom I have already alluded, enjoyed his
-friendship, and in his latter days delighted to talk of him, and tell
-his story to those who had heard it so often, that Hugh Greville
-Barmesyde, Esquire, seemed like a companion of their own young days.
-
-Old Barmesyde sprang from an ancient Somersetshire family, from which he
-inherited a considerable property, and a remarkable energy of character.
-He increased his wealth during a residence of many years in Antigua, at
-the close of which he relinquished his business, and returned to England
-to marry a beautiful English lady to whom he had engaged himself in the
-West Indies. He arrived in England the day after the funeral of his
-betrothed, who had fallen a victim to intermittent fever. Many of his
-relations had died in his absence, and he found himself like a stranger
-in the very place where he had hoped to taste again the joys of home.
-The death of the lady he loved so dearly, and the changes in his circle
-of friends, were so depressing to him, that he resolved to return to the
-West Indies. He thought it would be easier for him to continue in the
-associations he had formed there than to recover from the shock his
-visit to England had given him. So he took passage in a brig from
-Bristol to Antigua, and said farewell forever, as he supposed, to his
-native land. Before half the voyage was accomplished, the vessel was
-disabled: as Mr. Choate would express it, a north-west gale inflicted
-upon her a serious, an immedicable injury; and she floated a wreck upon
-the foamy and uneven surface of the Atlantic. She was fallen in with by
-another British vessel, bound for Boston, which took off her company,
-and with the renewal of the storm she foundered before the eyes of those
-who had so lately risked their lives upon her seaworthiness. When Mr.
-Barmesyde arrived in Boston, he found an old friend in the governor of
-the Province of Massachusetts Bay. Governor Pownall had but lately
-received his appointment from the Crown, and being a comparative
-stranger in Boston, he was as glad to see Mr. Barmesyde as the latter
-was to see him. It was several months before an opportunity to reach the
-West Indies offered itself, and when one did occur, Mr. Barmesyde only
-used it to communicate with his agent at Antigua. He had given up all
-ideas of returning thither, and had settled down, with his negro servant
-Cato, to housekeeping at the corner of School Street, within a few doors
-of his gubernatorial friend.
-
-Governor Pownall's term of office was not a long one, but even when he
-was removed, Mr. Barmesyde stuck faithfully to the old corner. He had
-found many warm friends here, and could no longer consider himself alone
-in the world. He was a man of good natural powers, and of thorough
-education. He was one of those who seem never to lose any thing that
-they have once acquired. In person he was tall and comely, and my
-grandfather said that he somewhat resembled General Washington as he
-appeared twenty-five years later, excepting that Mr. Barmesyde's
-countenance was more jolly and port-winy. From all I can learn, his
-face, surmounted by that carefully-powdered head of hair, must have
-resembled a red brick house after a heavy fall of snow. If Hugh
-Barmesyde had a fault, I am afraid it was a fondness for good living. He
-attended to his marketing in person, assisted by his faithful Cato, who
-was as good a judge in such matters as his master, and who used to
-vindicate the excellence of his master's fare by eating until he was
-black in the face. For years there were few vessels arrived from England
-without bringing choice wines to moisten the alimentary canal of Mr.
-Barmesyde. The Windward Isles contributed bountifully to keep alight the
-festive flame that blazed in his cheery countenance, and to make his
-flip and punch the very best that the province could produce. Every
-Sunday morning Mr. Barmesyde's best buckles sparkled in the sunbeams as
-he walked up School Street to the King's Chapel. Not that he was an
-eminently religious man, but he regarded religion as an institution that
-deserved encouragement for the sake of maintaining a proper balance in
-society. The quiet order and dignity of public worship pleased him, the
-liturgy gratified his taste, and so Sunday after Sunday his big manly
-voice headed the responses, and told that its possessor had done many
-things that he ought not to have done, and had left undone a great many
-that he ought to have done.
-
-Mr. Barmesyde was not a mere feeder on good things, however; he had a
-cultivated taste for literature, and his invoices of wine were
-frequently accompanied by parcels of new books. The old gentleman took a
-great delight in the English literature of that day. Fielding and
-Smollett were writing then, and no one took a keener pleasure in their
-novels than he. He imported, as he used to boast, the first copy of Dr.
-Johnson's Dictionary that ever came to America, and was never tired of
-reading that stately and pathetic preface, or of searching for the
-touches of satire and individual prejudice that abound in that
-entertaining work. His well-worn copy of the Spectator, in eight
-duodecimo volumes, presented by him to my grandfather, now graces one of
-my book shelves. His books were always at the service of his friends,
-who availed themselves of the old gentleman's kindness to such an extent
-that his collection might have been called a circulating library. But it
-was not merely for the frequent "feast of reason and flow of soul" that
-his friends were indebted to him. He was the very incarnation of
-hospitality. I am afraid that my excellent grandparent had an uncommon
-admiration for this trait in the old fellow's character, for a frequent
-burning twinge in one of the toes of my right foot, and occasionally in
-the knuckles of my left hand, reminds me of his fondness for keeping his
-legs under Mr. Barmesyde's festive mahogany. A few years ago, when a new
-floor was laid in the cellar at the old corner, a large number of empty
-bottles was discovered, whose appearance bore witness to the previous
-good character of the place as a cellar. Some labels were also found
-bearing dates like 1697, 1708, 1721, &c. To this day the occupants of
-the premises take pleasure in showing the dark wine stains on the old
-stairs leading to the cellar.
-
-But Mr. Barmesyde's happiness, like the _gioia de profani_, which we
-have all heard the chorus in the last scene of Lucrezia Borgia
-discordantly allude to, was but transient. The dispute which had been
-brewing for years between the colonies and the mother country, began to
-grow unpleasantly warm. Mr. B. was a stanch loyalist. He allowed that
-injustice had been done to the colonies, but still he could not throw
-off his allegiance to his most religious and gracious king, George III.,
-Defender of the Faith. He was ready to do and to suffer as much for his
-principles as the most ardent of the revolutionists. And he was not
-alone in his loyalty. There were many old-fashioned conservative people
-in this revolutionary and ismatic city in those days as well as now. The
-publication in this city of a translation of De Maistre's great defence
-of the monarchical principle of government, (the Essay on the Generative
-Principle of Political Constitutions,) and of the late Mr. Oliver's
-"Puritan Commonwealth," proves that the surrender of Cornwallis and the
-formation of the Federal Constitution did not destroy the confidence of
-a good many persons in the truth of the principles on which the
-loyalists took their stand. The unfortunate occurrence in State Street,
-March 5, 1770, gave Mr. B. great pain. He regretted the bloodshed, but
-he regretted more deeply to see many persons so blinded by their hatred
-of the king's most excellent majesty, as to defend and praise the action
-of a lawless mob just punished for their riotous conduct. The throwing
-overboard of the tea excited his indignation. He stigmatized it (and not
-without some reason on his side) as a wanton and cowardly act,--a
-destruction of the property of parties against whom the town of Boston
-had no cause of complaint,--a deed which proved how little real regard
-for justice and honour there might be among those who were the loudest
-in their shrieks for freedom. Of course he could not give utterance to
-these sentiments without exciting the ire of many people; and feeling
-that he could no longer safely remain in this country, he concluded to
-return to England. In the spring of 1774, Hugh Greville Barmesyde gave
-his last dinner to a few of the faithful at the old corner, and sailed
-the next day with a sorrowing heart and his trusty Cato for the land of
-his birth. He spent the remainder of his days in London, where he died
-in 1795. He was interred in the vault belonging to his family, in the
-north transept of the Parish Church of Shepton Mallet, in Somersetshire,
-where there is still a handsome tablet commemorating his many virtues
-and the inconsolable grief of the nephews and nieces whom his decease
-enriched.
-
-Some of the less orderly "liberty boys" bore witness to the imperfect
-sympathy that existed between them and the late occupant of the old
-corner, by breaking sundry panes of glass in the parlour windows the
-night after his departure. The old house, during the revolutionary
-struggle, followed the common prosaic course of ordinary occupancy.
-There was "marrying and giving in marriage" under that steep and ancient
-roof in those days, and troops of clamorous children used to play upon
-the broad stone steps, and tarnish the brasses that Cato was wont to
-keep so clean and bright. In the latter part of the last century the old
-house underwent a painful transformation. An enterprising apothecary
-perverted it to the uses of trade, and decorated its new windows with
-the legitimate jars of various coloured fluids. It is now nearly half a
-century since it became a bookstore. Far be it from me to offer any
-disturbance to the modesty of my excellent friends, Messrs. Ticknor and
-Fields, by enlarging upon the old corner in its present estate. It were
-useless to write about any thing so familiar. They are young men yet,
-and must pardon me if I have used the prerogative of age and spoken too
-freely about their old establishment and its reminiscences. I love the
-old corner, and should not hesitate to apply to it the words of Horace
-which I have quoted above. I love its freedom from pretence and
-ostentation. New books seem more grateful to me there than elsewhere;
-for the dinginess of Paternoster Row harmonizes better with literature
-than the plate glass and gairish glitter of Piccadilly or Regent Street.
-
-The large looking-glass which stands near the Washington Street entrance
-to the old corner used to adorn the dining-room where Mr. Barmesyde gave
-so many feasts. It is the only relic of that worthy gentleman now
-remaining under that roof. If that glass could only publish its
-reflexions during the past century, what an entertaining work on the
-curiosities of literature and of life it might make! It is no ordinary
-place that may boast of having been the familiar resort of people like
-Judge Story, Mr. Otis, Channing, Kirkland, Webster, Choate, Everett,
-Charles Kemble and the elder Vandenhoff with their gifted daughters,
-Ellen Tree, the Woods, Finn, Dickens, Thackeray, James, Bancroft,
-Prescott, Emerson, Brownson, Dana, Halleck, Bryant, Hawthorne,
-Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell, Willis, Bayard Taylor, Whipple, Parkman,
-Hilliard, Sumner, Parsons, Sprague, and so many others whose names will
-live in literature and history. It is a very pleasant thing to see
-literary men at their ease, as they always are around those old
-counters. It is a relief to find that they can throw off at times the
-dignity and restraint of authorship. It is pleasant to see the lecturer
-and the divine put away their tiresome earnestness and severe morality,
-and come down to the jest of the day. It refreshes one to know that Mr.
-Emerson is not always orphic, and that the severely scholastic Everett
-can forget his elegant and harmonious sentences, and descend to common
-prose. For we can no more bear to think of an orator living unceasingly
-in oratory than we could of Signorina Zanfretta being obliged to remain
-constantly poised on the _corde tendue_.
-
-The bust of Sir Walter Scott has filled the space above the mirror I
-have spoken of, for many years. It is a fine work of Chantrey's, and a
-good likeness of that head of Sir Walter's, so many _stories_ high that
-one can never wonder where all his novels came from. Except this
-specimen of the plastic art, and one of Professor Agassiz, there is
-little that is ornamental in the ancient haunt. The green curtain that
-decorates the western corner of the establishment is a comparatively
-modern institution. It was found necessary to fence off that portion of
-the shop for strict business purposes. The profane converse of the world
-cannot penetrate those folds. Into that _sanctissimum sanctissimorum_ no
-joke, however good, may enter. What a strange dispensation of Providence
-is it, that a man should have been for years enjoying the good society
-that abounds at that corner, and yet should seem to have so little
-liking for a quiet jest as the estimable person who conceals his
-seriousness behind that green curtain!
-
-But every thing must yield to the law of nature, and the old corner must
-share the common lot. Some inauspicious night, the fire-alarm will sound
-for District III.; hoarse voices will echo at the foot of School Street,
-calling earnestly on No. 3 to "hold on," and No. 9 to "play away"; where
-erst good liquor was wont to abound water will more abound, and when the
-day dawns Mr. Barmesyde's old house will be an unsightly ruin,--there
-will be mourning and desolation among the lovers of literature, and
-wailing in the insurance offices in State Street. When the blackened
-ruins are cleared away, boys will pick up scraps of scorched
-manuscripts, and sell them piecemeal as parts of the original copy of
-Hiawatha, or Evangeline, or the Scarlet Letter. In the fulness of time,
-a tall, handsome stone or iron building will rise on that revered site,
-and we lovers of the past shall try to invest it with something of the
-unpretending dignity and genial associations of the present venerable
-pile, which will then be cherished among our most precious memories.
-
-
-
-SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THEATRE ALLEY
-
-
-We are all associationists. There is no man who does not believe in
-association in some degree. For myself, I am firm in the faith. Let me
-not be misunderstood, however; I do not mean that principle of
-association which the late Mr. Fourier advocated in France, and Mr.
-Brisbane in America. I do not believe in the utopian schemes which have
-been ground out of the brains of philosophers who mistake vagueness and
-impracticability for sublimity, and which they have misnamed
-association. The principle of association to which I pay homage is one
-which finds a home in every human heart. It is that principle of our
-nature which, when the bereaved Queen Constance was mourning for her
-absent child, "stuffed out his vacant garments with his form." It is
-that principle which makes a man love the scenes of his boyhood, and
-which brings tears to the eyes of the traveller in a foreign land, when
-he hears a familiar strain from a hand organ, however harsh and out of
-tune. Even the brute creation seems to share in it; the cat is sure to
-be found in her favourite place at the fireside, while the tea kettle
-makes music on the hob; the dog, too, (let Hercules himself do what he
-may,) will not only have his day, but will have his chosen corner for
-repose, and will stick to it, however tempting you may make other places
-by a superabundance of door mats and other canine furniture. And the
-tired cart horse, when his day's labour is over, and he finds himself
-once more in the familiar stall, with his provender before him--do you
-not suppose that the associations of equine comfort by which he is
-surrounded are dearer to him than any hopes of the luxury and splendour
-of Her Britannic Majesty's stables at Windsor could be? Ask him if he
-would leave his present peck of oats for the chances of royal service,
-and a red-waistcoated, white-top-booted groom to wait upon him, and I
-will warrant you that he will answer _nay_!
-
-There is no nation nor people that is free from this bondage of
-association. We treasure General Jackson's garments with respectful care
-in a glass case in the Patent Office at Washington; in the Louvre, you
-shall find preserved the crown of Charlemagne and the old gray coat of
-the first Napoleon; and at Westminster Abbey, (if you have the money to
-pay your admission fee,) you may see the plain old oaken chair in which
-the crowned monarchs of a thousand years have sat. Go to Rome, and stand
-"at the base of Pompey's statua," and association shall carry you back
-in imagination to the time when the mighty Julius fell. Stand upon the
-grassy mounds of Tusculum, and you will find yourself glowing with
-enthusiasm for Cicero, and wonder how you could have grown so sleepy
-over _Quousque tandem_, &c., in your schoolboy days. Climb up the
-Trasteverine steep to where the convent of San Onofrio suns itself in
-the bright blue air of Rome, and while the monks are singing the divine
-office where the bones of Tasso repose, you may fill your mind with
-memories of the bard of the crusades, in the chamber where his weary
-soul found the release it craved. Go to that fair capital which seems to
-have hidden itself among the fertile hills of Tuscany; walk through its
-pleasant old streets, and you shall find yourself the slave of many
-pleasing associations. The very place where Dante was wont to stand and
-gaze at that wondrous dome which Michel Angelo said he was unwilling to
-copy and unable to excel, is marked by an inscription in the pavement.
-Every street has its associations that appeal to your love of the
-beautiful or the heroic. Walk out into the lively streets of that city
-which stands at the head of the world's civilization, and you are
-overwhelmed with historic associations. You seem to hear the clatter of
-armed heels in some of those queer old alleys, and the vision of Godfrey
-or St. Louis, armed for the holy war, would not astonish you. The dim
-and stately halls of the palaces are eloquent of power, and you almost
-expect to see the thin, pale, thoughtful face of the great Richelieu at
-every corner. Over whole districts, rebellion, and anarchy, and
-infidelity, once wrote the history of their sway in blood, and even now,
-the names of the streets, as you read them, seem to fill you with
-terrible mementoes.
-
-But to us, Americans, connected as we are with England in our
-civilization and our literature, how full of thrilling associations is
-London! From Whitehall, where Puritanism damned itself by the murder of
-a king, to Eastcheap, where Mistress Quickly served Sir John with his
-sherris-sack; from St. Saviour's Church, where Massinger and Fletcher
-lie in one grave, to Milton's tomb in St. Giles's, Cripplegate, there is
-hardly a street, or court, or lane, or alley, which does not appeal by
-some association to the student of English history or literature. He
-perambulates the Temple Gardens with Chaucer; he hears the partisans of
-the houses of York and Lancaster, as they profane the silence of that
-scholastic spot; he walks Fleet Street, and disputes in Bolt Court with
-Dr. Johnson; he smokes in the coffee-houses of Covent Garden with Dryden
-and Pope, and the wits of their day; he makes morning calls in Leicester
-Square and its neighbourhood, on Sir Philip Sidney, Hogarth, Reynolds,
-and Newton; he buys gloves and stockings at Defoe's shop in Cornhill;
-and makes excursions with Dicky Steele out to Kensington, to see Mr.
-Addison. Drury Lane, despite its gin, and vice, and squalour, has its
-associations. The old theatre is filled with them. They show you, in the
-smoky green-room, the chairs which once were occupied by Siddons and
-Kemble; the seat of Byron by the fireside in the days of his
-trusteeship; the mirrors in which so many dramatic worthies viewed
-themselves, before they were called to achieve their greatest triumphs.
-
-Every where you find men acknowledging in their actions their allegiance
-to this great natural law. Our own city, too, has its associations. Who
-can pass by that venerable building in Union Street, which, like a deaf
-and dumb beggar, wears a tablet of its age upon its unsightly front,
-without recalling some of the events that have taken place, some of the
-scenes which that venerable edifice has looked down upon, since its
-solid timbers were jointed in the year of salvation 1685? Who can enter
-Faneuil Hall without a quickening of his pulse? Who can walk by the old
-Hancock House, and not look up at it as if he expected to see old John
-(the best writer on the subject of American independence) standing at
-the door in his shad-bellied coat, knee-breeches, and powdered wig? Who
-can look at the Old South Church without thinking of the part it played
-in the revolution, and of the time when it was obliged to yield its
-unwilling horsepitality to the British cavalry? Boston is by no means
-deficient in associations. Go to Brattle Street, to Copp's Hill, to
-Mount Washington, to Deer Island,--though it must be acknowledged, the
-only association connected with the last-named place is the Provident
-Association.
-
-If there be a fault in the Yankee character, I fear it is a lack of
-sufficient respect for the memory of the past. Nature will have her way
-with us, however we may try to resist her and trample old recollections
-under foot. We worship prosperity too much; and the wide, straight
-streets of western cities, with the telegraph posts standing like
-sentinels on the edge of the sidewalks, and a general odour of
-pork-packing and new houses pervading the atmosphere, seem to our
-acquisitive sense more beautiful than the sculptured arch, the
-moss-grown tower, the quaint gable, and all the summer fragrance of the
-gardens of the Tuileries or the _Unterdenlinden_. I am afraid that we
-almost deserve to be classed with those who (as Mr. Thackeray says)
-"have no reverence except for prosperity, and no eye for any thing but
-success."
-
-Many are kindled into enthusiasm by meditating upon the future of this
-our country,--"the newest born of nations, the latest hope of
-mankind,"--but for myself I love better to dwell on the sure and
-unalterable past, than to speculate upon the glories of the coming
-years. While I was young, I liked, when at sea, to stand on the
-top-gallant forecastle, and see the proud ship cut her way through the
-waves that playfully covered me with spray; but of late years my
-pleasure has been to lean over the taffrail and muse upon the subsiding
-foam of the vessel's wake. The recollection even of storms and dangers
-is to me more grateful than the most joyful anticipation of a fair wind
-and the expected port. With these feelings, I cannot help being moved
-when I see so many who try to deaden their natural sensibility to old
-associations. When the old Province House passed into the hands of the
-estimable Mr. Ordway, I congratulated him on his success, but I mourned
-over the dark fate of that ancient mansion. I respected it even in its
-fallen state as an inn,--for it retained much of its old dignity, and
-the ghosts of Andros and his predecessors seemed to brush by you in its
-high wainscoted passages and on its broad staircases; but it did seem
-the very ecstasy of sacrilege to transform it into a concert-room. I
-rejoiced, however, a few years since, when the birthplace of B.
-Franklin, in Milk Street, was distinguished by an inscription to that
-effect in letters of enduring stone. That was a concession to the
-historic associations of that locality which the most sanguine could
-hardly have expected from the satinetters of Milk Street.
-
-But I am forgetting my subject, and using up my time and ink in the
-prolegomena. My philosophy of association received a severe blow last
-week. It was a pleasant day, and I hobbled out on my gouty timbers for a
-walk. I wandered into Franklin Place, but it was not the Franklin Place
-of my youth. The rude hand of public improvement had not been kept even
-from that row of houses which, when I was a boy, was thought an ornament
-to our city, and was dignified with the name of the Tontine Buildings.
-Franklin Place looked as if two or three of its front teeth had been
-knocked out. I walked on, and my sorrow and dismay were increased to
-find that the last vestige of Theatre Alley had disappeared. It was bad
-enough when the old theatre and the residence of the Catholic bishops of
-Boston were swept away: I still clung to the old alley, and hoped that
-it would not pass away in my time--that before the old locality should
-be improved into what the profane vulgar call sightliness and
-respectability, I should (to use the common expressions of one of our
-greatest orators, who, in almost every speech and oration that he has
-made for some years past, has given a sort of obituary notice of himself
-before closing) have been "resting in peace beneath the green sods of
-Mount Auburn," or should have "gone down to the silent tomb."
-
-Do not laugh, beloved reader, at the tenderness of my affection for that
-old place. There is a great deal of romance of a quiet and genial kind
-about Theatre Alley. As I first remember it, commerce had not encroached
-upon its precincts; no tall warehouses shut out the light from its
-narrow footway, and its planks were unencumbered by any intrusive bales
-or boxes. Old Dearborn's scale factory was the only thing to remind one
-of traffic in that neighbourhood, which struck a balance with fate by
-becoming more scaley than before, when Dearborn and his factory passed
-away. The stage door of the theatre was in the alley, and the walk from
-thence, through Devonshire Street, to the Exchange Coffee House, which
-was the great hotel of Boston at that time, was once well known to many
-whose names are now part of the history of the drama. How often was I
-repaid for walking through the alley by the satisfaction of meeting
-George Frederick Cooke, the elder Kean, Finn, Macready, Booth, Cooper,
-Incledon, old Mathews, or the tall, dignified Conway--or some of that
-goodly company that made Old Drury classical to the play-goers of forty
-years ago.
-
-The two posts which used to adorn and obstruct the entrance to the alley
-from Franklin Street, when they were first placed there, were an
-occasion of indignation to a portion of the public, and of anxiety and
-vexation to Mr. Powell, the old manager. That estimable gentleman had
-often been a witness to the terror of the children and of those of the
-weaker sex (I hope that I shall be forgiven by the "Rev. Antoinette
-Brown" for using such an adjective) who sometimes met a stray horse or
-cow in the alley; so he placed two wooden posts just beyond the theatre,
-to shut out the dreaded bovine intruders. But the devout Hibernians who
-used to worship at the church in Franklin Street could not brook the
-placing of any such obstacles in their way to the performance of their
-religious duties; and they used to cut the posts down as often as Mr.
-Powell set them up, until he took refuge in the resources of science,
-and covered and bound them with the iron bands which imprisoned them up
-to a very recent period.
-
-Old Mr. Stoughton, the Spanish consul, used to occupy the first house in
-Franklin Street above the alley, behind which his garden ran back for
-some distance. How little that worthy gentleman thought that his tulip
-beds and rose bushes would one day give place to a dry goods shop! Senor
-Stoughton was one of the urbanest men that ever touched a hat. If he met
-you in the morning, the memory of his bland and gracious salutation
-never departed from you during the day, and seemed to render your sleep
-sweeter at night. He always treated you as if you were a prince in
-disguise, and he were the only person in the secret of your incognito.
-He enjoyed the intimate friendship of that great and good man, Dr.
-Cheverus, the first Bishop of Boston, who was afterwards transferred to
-the archiepiscopal see of Bordeaux, and decorated with the dignity of a
-Prince of the Church. He, too, often walked through the old alley. The
-children always welcomed his approach. They respected Don Stoughton;
-Bishop Cheverus they loved. His very look was a benediction, and the
-mere glance of his eye was a _Sursum corda_. That calm, wise, benignant
-face always had a smile for the little ones who loved the neighbourhood
-of that humble Cathedral, and the pockets of that benevolent prelate
-never knew a dearth of sugar plums. Years after that happy time, a
-worthy Protestant minister of this vicinity--who was blessed with few or
-none of those prejudices against "Romanism" which are nowadays
-considered a necessary part of a minister's education--visited Cardinal
-Cheverus in his palace at Bordeaux, and found him keenly alive to every
-thing that concerned his old associations and friends in Boston. He
-declared, with tears in his eyes, and with that air of sincerity that
-marked every word he spoke, that he would gladly lay down the burden of
-the honour and power that then weighed upon him, to return to the care
-of his little New England flock. Now, Cardinal Cheverus was a man of
-taste and of kind feelings, and I will warrant you that when he thought
-of Boston, Theatre Alley was included among his associations, and
-enjoyed a share in his affectionate regrets.
-
-Mrs. Grace Dunlap's little shop was an institution which many considered
-to be coexistent with the alley itself. It was just one of those places
-that seem in perfect harmony with Theatre Alley as it was twenty-five
-years ago. It was one of those shops that always seem to shun the
-madding crowd's ignoble strife, and seek a refuge in some cool
-sequestered way. The snuff and tobacco which Mrs. Dunlap used to
-dispense were of the best quality, and she numbered many distinguished
-persons among her customers. The author of the History of Ferdinand and
-Isabella was often seen there replenishing his box, and exchanging kind
-courtesies with the fair-spoken dealer in that fragrant article which is
-productive of so many bad voices and so much real politeness in European
-society. Mrs. Dunlap herself was a study for an artist. Her pleasant
-face, her fair complexion, her quiet manner, her white cap, with its gay
-ribbons, rivalling her eyes in brightness, were all in perfect keeping
-with the scrupulous neatness and air of repose that always reigned in
-her shop. Her parlour was as comfortable a place as you would wish to
-see on a summer or a winter day. It had a cheerful English look that I
-always loved. The plants in the windows, the bird cage, the white
-curtains, the plain furniture, that looked as if you might use it
-without spoiling it, the shining andirons, and the blazing wood fire,
-are all treasured in my memory of Theatre Alley as it used to be. Mrs.
-Dunlap's customers and friends (and who could help being her friend?)
-were always welcome in her parlour, and there were few who did not enjoy
-her simple hospitality more than that pretentious kind which sought to
-lure them with the pomp and vanity of mirrors and gilding. Her punch was
-a work of art. But I will refrain from pursuing this subject further. It
-is no pleasure to me to harrow up the feelings of my readers by dwelling
-upon the joys of their _praeteritos annos_.
-
-When Mrs. Dunlap moved out of the alley, its glory began to decline.
-From that day its _prestige_ seemed to have gone. Even before that time
-an attempt had been made to rob it of its honoured name. Signs were put
-up at each end of it bearing the inscription, "Odeon Avenue"; but the
-attempt was vain, whether it proceeded from motives of godliness or of
-respectability; nobody ever called it any thing but Theatre Alley. At
-about that time nearly all the buildings left in it were devoted to the
-philanthropic object of the quenching of human thirst. We read that St.
-Paul took courage when he saw _three_ taverns. Who can estimate the
-height of daring to which the Apostle of the Gentiles might have risen
-had it been vouchsafed to him to walk through Theatre Alley. One of the
-most frequented resorts there rejoiced in the name of "The Rainbow"--an
-auspicious title, certainly, and one which would attract those who were
-averse to the cold water principle. Some of the places were below the
-level of the alley, and verified, in a striking manner, the truth of
-Virgil's words, _Facilis descensus taverni_. Among certain low persons,
-not appreciative of its poetic associations, the alley at that time was
-nicknamed "Rum Row"; and he was considered a hero who could make all the
-ports in the passage through, and carry his topsails when he reached
-Franklin Street. Various efforts were made at that period to bring the
-alley into disrepute. Among others, a sign was put up announcing that it
-was _dangerous passing_ through there; I fear that Father Mathew would
-have thought a declaration that it was dangerous _stopping_, to have
-been nearer the truth. But the daily deputations from the Old Colony and
-Worcester Railways could not be kept back by any signs, and the alley
-echoed to their multitudinous tramp every morning. Mr. Choate, too, was
-faithful to the alley through good and evil report, and while there was
-a plank left, it was daily pressed by his India rubbers. To such a lover
-of nature as he, what shall take the place of a morning walk through
-Theatre Alley!
-
-But _venit summa dies et ineluctabile tempus_, and the old alley has
-been swept away. During the past century how many thousands have passed
-through it! how many anxious minds, engrossed with schemes of commercial
-enterprises, how many hearts weary with defeat, how many kind, and
-generous, and great, and good men, who have passed away from earthly
-existence, like the alley through which they walked! But while I mourn
-over the loss, I would not restore it if I could. When so many of its
-old associations had been blotted out; when low dram-drinking dens had
-taken the place of the ancient, quiet dispensatories of good cheer; when
-grim and gloomy warehouses, with their unsocial, distrustful iron
-shutters, had made the warm sunlight a stranger to it,--it was time for
-it to go. It was better that it should cease to exist, than continue in
-its humiliation, a reproach to the neighbourhood, and a libel upon its
-ancient and honourable fame.
-
-
-
-THE OLD CATHEDRAL
-
-
-In many people who have been abroad, the mere mention of the old city of
-Rouen is enough to kindle an enthusiasm. If you would know why this
-is,--why those who are familiar with the cathedrals of Cologne, Milan,
-Florence, and the basilicas of Rome, have yet so deep a feeling about
-the old capital of Normandy,--the true answer is, that Rouen, with its
-Gothic glories and the thrilling history of the middle ages written on
-its every stone, was the first ancient city that they saw, and made the
-deepest impression on their minds. They had left the stiff and
-unsympathetic respectability of Boston, the tiresome cleanliness of
-Philadelphia, or the ineffable filth of New York behind them; or
-perchance they had been emancipated from some dreary western town, whose
-wide, straight, unpaved streets seemed to have no beginning and to end
-nowhere; whose atmosphere was pervaded with an odour of fresh paint and
-new shingles, and whose inhabitants would regard fifty years as a highly
-respectable antiquity,--and had come steaming across the unquiet
-Atlantic to Havre, eager to see an old city. A short railway ride
-carried them to one in which they could not turn a corner without seeing
-something to remind them of what they had seen in pictures or read in
-books about the middle ages. The richly-carved window frames, the
-grotesque faces, the fanciful devices, the profusion of ornament, the
-shrines and statues of the saints at the corners of the streets, and all
-the other picturesque peculiarities of that queer old city, filled them
-with wonder and delight. Those fantastic gables that seemed to be
-leaning over to look at them, inspired them with a respect which all the
-architectural wonders and artistic trophies of the continent are
-powerless to disturb.
-
-It was not my fortune thus to make acquaintance with Rouen. I had
-several times tasted the pleasure of a continental sojourn. The streets
-of several of the great European capitals were as familiar to me as
-those of my native city. Yet Rouen captivated me with a charm peculiarly
-its own. I shall not easily forget the delicious summer day in which I
-left Paris for a short visit to Rouen. That four hours' ride over the
-Western Railway of France was full of solid enjoyment for every sense.
-The high cultivation of that fertile and unfenced country--the farmers
-at work in the sunny broad-stretched fields--the hay-makers piling up
-their fragrant loads--the chateau-like farm houses, looking as stately
-as if they had strayed out of the city, and, getting lost, had thought
-it beneath their dignity to inquire the way back--and those old
-compactly built towns, in each of which the houses seem to have nestled
-together around a moss-grown church tower, like children at the knees of
-a fond mother,--made up a scene which harmonized admirably with my
-feelings and with the day, "so calm, so cool, so bright, the bridal of
-the earth and sky." My fellow-passengers shared in the general joy which
-the blithesomeness of nature inspired. We all chatted merrily together,
-and a German, who looked about as lively as Scott's Commentaries bound
-in dark sheep-skin, tried to make a joke. So irresistible was the
-contagion of cheerfulness, that an Englishman, who sat opposite me, so
-far forgot his native dignity, as to volunteer the remark that it was a
-"nice day."
-
-At last we began to consult our watches and time tables, and, after a
-shrill whistle and a ride through a long tunnel, I found myself, with a
-punctuality by which you might set your Frodsham, in the station at
-Rouen. I obeyed the instructions of the conductor to _Messieurs les
-voyageurs pour Rouen_ to _descendez_, and was, in a very few minutes,
-walking leisurely through narrow and winding streets, which I used to
-think existed only in the imaginations of novelists and scene-painters.
-I say walking, but the fact is, I did not know what means of locomotion
-I employed in my progress through the town. My eyes and mind were too
-busy to take cognizance of any inferior matters. My astonishment and
-delight at all that met my sight was not so great as my astonishment and
-delight to find myself astonished and delighted. I had seen so many old
-cities that I had no thought of getting enthusiastic about Rouen, until
-I found myself suddenly in a state of mental exaltation. I had visited
-Rouen as many people visit churches and galleries of art in
-Italy--because I had an opportunity, and feared that in after years I
-might be asked if I had ever been there. But, if a dislike to
-acknowledge my ignorance led me to Rouen, it was a very different
-sentiment that took possession of me as soon as I caught the spirit of
-the place. The genius of the past seemed to inhabit every street and
-alley of that strange city. I half expected, whenever I heard the hoofs
-of horses, to find myself encompassed by mailed knights; and if Joan of
-Arc, with her sweet maidenly face beaming with the inspiration of
-religious patriotism, had galloped by, it would not have surprised me so
-much as it did to realize that I--a Yankee, clad in a gray travelling
-suit, with an umbrella in my hand, and drafts to a limited amount on
-Baring Brothers in my pocket--was moving about in the midst of such
-scenes, and was not arrested and hustled out of the way as a profane
-intruder.
-
-Wandering through the mouldy streets without any definite idea whither
-they led, and so charmed by all I saw, that I did not care, I suddenly
-turned a corner and suddenly found myself in a market-place well filled
-with figures, which would have graced a similar scene in any
-opera-house, and facing that stupendous cathedral which is one of the
-glories of France. I do not know how to talk learnedly about
-architecture; so I can spare you, dear reader, any criticism on the
-details of that great church. I have no doubt that it is full of faults,
-but my unskilful eyes rested only on its beauties. I would not have had
-it one stroke of the chisel less ornate, nor one shade less dingy. I
-could not, indeed, help thinking what it must have been centuries ago,
-when it was in all the glory of its fresh beauty; but still I rejoiced
-that it was reserved for me to behold it in the perfected loveliness and
-richer glory of its decay. Never until then did I fully appreciate the
-truth of Mr. Ruskin's declaration, that the greatest glory of a building
-is not in its sculptures or in its gold, but in its age,--nor did I ever
-before perfectly comprehend his eloquent words touching that mysterious
-sympathy which we feel in "walls that have long been washed by the
-passing waves of humanity."
-
-After lingering for a while before the sacred edifice, I entered, and
-stood within its northern aisle. Arches above arches, supported by a
-forest of massive columns, seemed to be climbing up as if they aspired
-to reach the throne of Him whose worship was daily celebrated there. The
-sun was obscured by a passing cloud as I entered, and that made the
-ancient arches seem doubly solemn. The stillness that reigned there was
-rendered more profound by the occasional twitter of a swallow from some
-"jutty frieze," or "coigne of vantage," high up above my head. I walked
-half way up the aisle, and stopped on hearing voices at a distance. As I
-stood listening, the sun uncovered his radiant face, and poured his
-golden glory through the great western windows of the church, bathing
-the whole interior with a prismatic brilliancy which made me wonder at
-my presumption in being there. At the same moment a clear tenor voice
-rang out from the choir as if the sunbeams had called it into being,
-giving a wonderful expression to the words of the Psalmist, _Dominus
-illuminatio mea et salus mea; quem timebo_. Then came a full burst of
-music as the choir took up the old Gregorian Chant--the universal
-language of prayer and praise. As the mute groves of the Academy reecho
-still the wisdom of the sages, so did that ancient church people my mind
-with forms and scenes of an age long passed away. "I was all ear," and
-those solemn strains seemed to be endowed with the accumulated melody of
-the _Misereres_ and _Glorias_ of a thousand years.
-
-I have an especial affection for an old church, and I pity with all my
-heart the man whom the silent eloquence of that vast cathedral does not
-move. The very birds that build their nests in its mouldering towers
-have more soul than he. Its every stone is a sermon on the
-transitoriness of human enterprise and the vanity of worldly hopes.
-Beneath its pavement lie buried hopes and ambitions which have left no
-memorial but in the unread pages of forgotten historians. Richard, the
-lion-hearted, who made two continents ring with the fame of his valour,
-and yearned for new conquests, was obliged at last to content himself
-with the dusty dignity and obscurity of a vault beneath those lofty
-arches which stand unmoved amid the contentions of rival dynasties and
-the insane violence of republican anarchy.
-
-But it was not merely to write of the glories of Rouen and its churches,
-that I took up my neglected pen. The old cathedral of which I have now a
-few kind words to say, does not, like that of Rouen, date back sixteen
-centuries to its foundation; neither is it one of those marvels of
-architecture in which the conscious stone seems to have grown naturally
-into forms of enduring beauty. No great synods or councils have been
-held within its walls; nor have its humble aisles resounded daily with
-the divine office chanted by a chapter of learned and pious canons.
-Indeed it bears little in its external appearance that would raise a
-suspicion of its being a cathedral at all. Yet its plain interior, its
-simple altars, and its unpretentious episcopal throne, bear witness to
-the abiding-place of that power which is radiated from the shrine of the
-Prince of the Apostles--as unmistakably as if it were encrusted with
-mosaics, and the genius of generations of great masters had been taxed
-in its adornment.
-
-The Cathedral of Boston is the last relic of Franklin Street as I
-delight to remember it. One by one, the theatre, the residence of the
-Catholic bishops, and the old mansions that bore such a Berkeley
-Square-y look of respectability have passed away; and the old church
-alone remains. Tall warehouses look down upon it, as if it were an
-intruder there, and the triumphal car of traffic makes its old walls
-tremble and disturbs the devotion of its worshippers. An irreverent
-punster ventured a few months since to suggest that, out of regard to
-its new associations, it ought to be rededicated under the invocation of
-St. Casimir, and to be enlarged by the addition of a chapel built in
-honor of St. Pantaleone.
-
-      Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,
-    Joci sacra fames!
-
-But it is well that it should follow the buildings with which it held
-companionship through so many quiet years. The charm of the old street
-has been destroyed, and the sooner the last monument of its former state
-is removed the better it will be. The land on which it stands formerly
-belonged to the Boston Theatre corporation. It was transferred to its
-present proprietorship in the last week of the last century, and the
-first Catholic church in New England was erected upon it. That church
-(enlarged considerably by the late Bishop Fenwick) is the one which
-still stands, and towards which I feel a veneration similar in kind to
-that inspired by the cathedrals of the old world. Even now I remember
-with pleasure how I used to enjoy an occasional visit to that strange
-place in my boyhood. "Logic made easy" and "Geometry for Infant Schools"
-were things unknown in my young days. I was weaned from the Primer and
-Spelling-book with the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, and the works of
-Defoe, Goldsmith, Addison, and Shakespeare. Therefore the romantic
-instinct was not entirely crushed out of my youthful heart, and it would
-be difficult, dear reader, for you to conceive how much I found to feed
-it on, within those plain brick walls.
-
-The lamp which used to burn constantly before the altar, until an
-anxiety for "improvement" removed it out of sight behind the pulpit,
-filled me with an indescribable awe. I was ignorant of its meaning, and
-for years was unaware that my childish reverence for its mild flicker
-was a blind homage to one of the profoundest mysteries of the Catholic
-faith. I remember to this day the satisfaction I took in the lighting of
-those tall candles, and what a halo of mysterious dignity surrounded
-even the surpliced boys grouped around that altar. That strange
-ceremonial surpassed my comprehension. The Latin, as I heard it sung
-there, was pronounced so differently from what I had been taught at
-school, that it was all Greek to me. Yet, when I saw the devotion of
-that congregation, and the pious zeal of the devoted clergymen who built
-that church, I could not call their worship "mummery," nor join in the
-irreverent laughter of my comrades at those ancient rites. There was
-something about them that seemed to fill up my ideal of worship--a
-soothing and consoling influence which I found nowhere else.
-
-I never entertained the vulgar notion of a Catholic priest. Of course my
-education led me to regard the dogmas of the Roman Church with any thing
-but a friendly eye; but my ideas of the clergy of that Church were not
-influenced by popular prejudice. I was always willing to believe that
-Vincent de Paul, and Charles Borromeo, and Fenelon were what they were,
-_in consequence_ of their religion, rather than _in spite_ of it, as
-some people, who make pretensions to liberality, would fain persuade us.
-When I recall the self-denying lives of the two founders of the Catholic
-Church in Boston,--Matignon and Cheverus,--I wonder that the influence
-of their virtues has not extended even to the present day, to soften
-prejudice and do away with _irreligious_ animosity. They were regarded
-with distrust, if not with hatred, when they first came among us to take
-charge of that humble flock; but their devotedness, joined with great
-acquirements and rare personal worth, overcame even the force of the
-great Protestant tradition of enmity towards their office. Protestant
-admiration kept pace with Catholic love and veneration in their regard,
-and when they built the church which is now so near the term of its
-existence, there were few wealthy Protestants in Boston who did not
-esteem it a privilege to aid them with liberal contributions. The first
-subscription paper for its erection was headed by the illustrious and
-venerable name of John Adams, the successor of Washington in the
-presidency of the United States.
-
-The memory of the first Bishop of Boston, Dr. Cheverus, is (for most
-Bostonians of my age) the most precious association connected with the
-Cathedral. He was endeared to the people of this city by ten years of
-unselfish exertion in the duties of a missionary priest, before he was
-elevated to the dignity of the episcopate. His unwillingness to receive
-the proffered mitre was as characteristic of his modest and humble
-spirit, as the meekness with which he bore his faculties when the burden
-of that responsibility was forced upon him. His "episcopal palace," as
-he used facetiously to term his small and scantily-furnished dwelling,
-which was contiguous to the rear of the church, was the resort of all
-classes of the community. His simplicity of manner and ingenuous
-affability won all hearts. The needy and opulent, the learned and
-illiterate, the prosperous merchant and the Indians in the unknown wilds
-of Maine, found in him a father and a friend. Children used to run after
-him as he walked down Franklin Place, delighted to receive a smile and a
-kind word from one whose personal presence was like a benediction.
-
-His face was the index of a pure heart and a great mind. It was
-impossible to look at him without recalling that fine stanza of the old
-poet.--
-
-    "A sweete attractive kind of grace,
-    A full assurance given by lookes,
-    Continuall comfort in a face,
-    The lineaments of Gospel bookes;--
-    I trow that countenance cannot lie
-    Whose thoughts are legible in the eye."
-
-One of the ancient Hebrew prophets, in describing the glories of the
-millennial period, tells us that upon the bells of the horses shall be
-the words, _Holiness unto the Lord_--a prophecy which always reminded me
-of Cheverus; for that divine inscription seemed to have been written all
-over his benign countenance as with the luminous pen of the rapt
-evangelist in Patmos.
-
-But Bishop Cheverus was not merely a good man--he was a great man. He
-did not court the society of the learned, for his line of duty lay among
-the poor; but, even in that humble sphere, his talents shone out
-brightly, and won the respect even of those who had the least sympathy
-with the Church to which his every energy was devoted. Boston valued him
-highly; but few of her citizens thought, as they saw him bound on some
-errand of mercy through her streets, that France envied them the
-possession of such a prelate, that the peerage of the old monarchy was
-thought to need his virtuous presence, and that the scarlet dignity of a
-Prince of the Church was in reserve for that meek and self-sacrificing
-servant of the poor. Had he been gifted with prophetic vision, his
-humility would have had much to suffer, and his life would have been
-made unhappy, by the thought of coming power and honour. He had given
-the best part of his life to Boston, and here he wished to die. He had
-buried his friend and fellow-labourer, Dr. Matignon, in the Church of
-St. Augustine at South Boston, and when he placed the mural tablet over
-the tomb of that venerable priest, he left a space for his own name, and
-expressed the hope that, as they had lived together harmoniously for so
-many years, they might not in death be separated. It was a strange sight
-to see more than two hundred Protestants remonstrating against the
-translation of a Catholic bishop from their city, and speaking of him in
-such terms as these: "We hold him to be a blessing and a treasure in our
-social community, which we cannot part with, and which, without
-injustice to any man, we may affirm, if withdrawn from us, can never be
-replaced." And when he distributed all that he possessed among his
-clergy, his personal friends and the poor, and left Boston as poor as he
-had entered it, with the single trunk that contained his clothes when he
-arrived, twenty-seven years before,--public admiration outran the power
-of language. Doctrinal differences were forgotten. Three hundred
-carriages and other vehicles escorted him several miles on the road to
-New York, where he was to embark.
-
-Of his life as Bishop of Montauban, Archbishop of Bordeaux, a Peer of
-France, and a Cardinal, there is not space for me to speak. Suffice it
-to say, that amid all the dignities to which he was successively
-promoted, he lived as simply and unostentatiously as when he dwelt in
-Franklin Street; and that in time of pestilence and public distress he
-showed the same unbounded charity which caused his departure from Boston
-to be considered a public calamity. To the last day of his life he
-maintained his interest in his American home, and would gladly have
-relinquished all his dignities to return and minister at the altar of
-the church he here erected. Throughout France he was honoured and
-beloved, even as he had been in the metropolis of New England, and a
-nation sorrowed at his death. Full as his life was of good works, it was
-not in his eloquence, nor his learning, nor in the pious and charitable
-enterprises which he originated, that the glory of Cardinal Cheverus
-consisted; it was in the simplicity of his character and the daily
-beauty of his life:--
-
-    "His thoughts were as a pyramid up-piled,
-    On whose far top an angel stood and smiled,
-    Yet in his heart he was a little child."
-
-The gentle and benevolent spirit of that illustrious prelate has never
-departed from the church he built. When Channing died, and was buried
-from the church which his eloquence had made famous, the successor of
-Cheverus caused the bell of the neighbouring Cathedral to be tolled,
-that it might not seem as if the Catholics had forgotten the friendly
-relations which had existed between the great Unitarian preacher and
-their first bishop. And when the good Bishop Fenwick was borne from the
-old Cathedral, with all the pomp of pontifical obsequies, his courtesy
-and regard for Dr. Channing's memory was not forgotten, and the bell
-which was so lately removed from the tower, where it had swung for half
-a century, joined with that of the Cathedral in giving expression to the
-general sorrow, and proved that no dogmatic differences had disturbed
-the kindly spirit which Channing inculcated and had exemplified in his
-blameless life.
-
-Of the later history of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross I may not speak.
-My youthful respect for it has in no degree diminished, and I shall
-always consider it a substantial refutation of the old apothegm,
-"Familiarity breeds contempt." There are, I doubt not, those who regard
-that old edifice with deeper feelings than mine. Who can estimate the
-affection and veneration in which it is held by those who may there have
-found an asylum from harassing doubts, who have received from that font
-the joy of a renovated heart, and from that altar the divine gift which
-is at the same time a consolation for past sorrows and a renewal of
-strength to tread the rough path of life!
-
-I am told that it will not probably be long before the glittering cross
-which the pure-hearted Cheverus placed upon the old church will be
-removed, and the demolition of his only monument in Boston will be
-effected. Permit me to conclude these reminiscences with the expression
-of the hope that the new Cathedral of Boston will be an edifice worthy
-of this wealthy city, and that it may contain some fitting memorial of
-the remarkable man who exercised his beneficent apostolate among us
-during more than a quarter of a century. The virtues which merited the
-gratitude of the poor and the highest honours which pontiffs and kings
-can bestow, ought not to go uncommemorated in the city which witnessed
-their development, and never hesitated to give expression to its love
-and veneration for their possessor. But whatever the new Cathedral may
-be,--however glorious the skill of the architect, the sculptor, and the
-painter may render it,--there are those in whose affections it will
-never be able to replace the little unpretending church which Cheverus
-built, and which the remembrance of his saintly life has embalmed in all
-their hearts.
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF SUFFERING
-
-
-      I am old,
-    And my infirmities have chained me here
-    To suffer and to vex my weary soul
-    With the vain hope of cure. * * *
-    Yet my captivity is not so joyless
-    As you would think, my masters. Here I sit
-    And look upon this eager, anxious world,--
-    Not with the eyes of sour misanthropy,
-    Nor envious of its pleasures,--but content,--
-    Yea, blessedly content, 'mid all my pains,
-    That I no more may mingle with its brawlings.
-
-
-Human suffering is an old and favourite theme. From the time when the
-woes of Job assumed an epic grandeur of form, and the adventures and
-pains of Philoctetes inspired the tragic muse of Sophocles, down to the
-publication of the last number of the _London Lancet_, there would seem
-to have been no subject so attractive as the sufferings of poor
-humanity. Literature is filled with their recital, and, if books were
-gifted with a vocal power, every library would resound with wailings.
-Ask your neighbour Jenkins, who overtakes you on your way to your
-office, how he is, and it is ten chances to one that he will entertain
-you with an account of his influenza or his rheumatism. It is a subject,
-too, which age cannot wither nor custom stale. It knows none of the
-changes which will at times dwarf or keep out of sight all other themes.
-The weather, which forms the raw material of so much conversation, is
-nothing compared to it. There is nothing which men find so much pleasure
-in talking about as their own ailments. The late Mr. Webster, of
-Marshfield, was once stopping for a single day in a western city, where
-he had never been before, and where there was a natural curiosity among
-many of the inhabitants to see the Defender of the Constitution. He
-therefore set apart two hours before the time of his departure for the
-reception of such persons as might seek the honour of a shake of his
-hand. The reception took place in one of the parlours of a hotel, the
-crowd filing in at one door, being introduced by the mayor, and making
-their exit by another. In the course of the proceedings, a little man,
-with a lustrous beaver in one hand and a gold-headed cane in the other,
-and whose personal apparel appeared to have been got up (as old Pelby
-would have said) without the slightest regard to expense, and on a scale
-of unparalleled splendour, walked forward, and was presented by the
-mayor as "Mr. Smith, one of our most eminent steamboat builders and
-leading citizens." Mr. Webster's large, thoughtful, serene eyes seemed
-to be completely filled by the result of the combined efforts of the
-linen-draper, the tailor, and the jeweller, that confronted him, and his
-deep voice made answer--"Mr. Smith, I am happy to see you. I hope you
-are well, sir." "Thank you, thir," said the leading citizen, "I am not
-very well. I wath tho unfortunate ath to take cold yethterday by
-thitting in a draught. Very unpleathant, Mr. Webthter, to have a cold!
-But Mrs. Smith thays that the thinks that if I put my feet in thome warm
-water to-night, and take thome-thing warm to drink on going to bed, that
-I may get over it. I thertainly hope tho, for it really givth me the
-headache, and I can't thmell at all." Mr. Webster expressed a warm
-interest in Mr. Smith's case, and a hope that Mrs. Smith's simple
-medical treatment would result beneficially, and then turned with
-undisturbed gravity to the next citizen, who, with some six hundred
-others, was anxiously waiting his turn. We are all like Mr. Smith. We
-laugh, it is true, at his affectations, but we are as likely to force
-our petty ailments upon a mind burdened with the welfare of a nation;
-and we never tire of hearing ourselves talk about our varying symptoms.
-Politeness may hold us back from importuning our friends with the
-diagnosis of our case, but our self-centred hearts are all alike, and a
-cold in the head will awaken more feelings in its victim than the
-recital of all the horrors of the hospital of Scutari. Nothing can equal
-the heroic fortitude with which we bear the sufferings of our fellows,
-or the saintliness of our pious resignation and acquiescence in the
-wisdom of the divine decrees when our friends are bending under their
-afflictive stroke.
-
-I wish to say a few words about suffering. Do not be afraid, beloved
-reader, that I am going to carry you into rooms from which the light is
-excluded, and which are strangers to any sound above a whisper, or the
-casual movement of some of the phials on the mantel-piece. I am going to
-speak of suffering in its strict sense of pain,--bodily pain,--and
-sickness is not necessarily accompanied with pain. I cannot regard your
-sick man as a real sufferer. His fever rages, and he tosses from side to
-side as if he were suffering punishment with Dives; but from the
-incoherent phrases which escape from his parched lips, you learn that
-his other self is rapt in the blissfulness that enfolds Lazarus. He
-prattles childishly of other lands and scenes--he thinks himself
-surrounded by friends whose faces once were grateful to his sight, but
-who long since fell before the power with which he is struggling--or he
-fancies himself metamorphosed into a favourite character in some
-pleasant book which he has lately read. After a time he wakes forth from
-his delirium, but he cannot even then be called a sufferer. On the
-contrary, his situation, even while he is so entirely dependent upon
-those around him, is really the most independent one in the world. His
-lightest wish is cared for as if his life were the price of its
-non-accomplishment. All his friends and kinsmen, and neighbours whom he
-hardly knows by sight, vie with each other in trying to keep pace with
-his returning appetite. He is the absolute monarch of all he surveys.
-There is no one to dispute his reign. The crown of convalescence is the
-only one which does not make the head that wears it uneasy. He has
-nothing to do but to satisfy his longings for niceties, to listen to
-kind words from dear friends, to sleep when he feels like it, and to get
-better. I am afraid that we are all so selfish and so enslaved by our
-appetites, that the period of convalescence is the pleasantest part of
-life to most of us.
-
-Therefore I shut out common sickness, fevers, and the like, from any
-share in my observations on suffering. If you ask me what I should be
-willing to consider real bodily pain,--since I am unwilling to allow
-that ordinary sick men participate in it,--I should say that you can
-find it in a good, old-fashioned attack of rheumatism or gout. I think
-it was Horace Walpole who said that these two complaints were very much
-alike, the difference between them being this: that rheumatism was like
-putting your hand or foot into a vice, and screwing it up as tight as
-you possibly can, and gout was the same thing, only you give the screw
-one more turn. It is no flattery to speak of the victim to either of
-these disorders as a sufferer. The rheumatic gout is a complaint which
-possesses all the advantages and peculiarities which its compound title
-denotes. It unites in itself all the potentiality of gout and all the
-ubiquity of rheumatism. Its characteristics have been impressed upon me
-in a manner that sets at defiance that weakness of memory which
-generally accompanies old age. Sharp experience, increasing in sharpness
-as my years pile up, makes that complaint a specialty among my
-acquirements. These stinging, burning, cutting pains deserve the
-superlative case, if any thing does. Language (that habitual bankrupt)
-is reduced to a most abject state when called upon to describe rheumatic
-gout. The disease does not seem to feel satisfied with poisoning your
-blood by its aciduousness, it makes your flesh tingle and burn, and,
-like the late Duke of Wellington, does not rest until it has conquered
-the bony part. The very bone seems to be crumbling wherever the demon of
-gout pinches. There are moments in the life of every gouty man when it
-seems as if nothing would be so refreshing as to indulge for a while in
-the use of that energetic diction, savouring more of strength than of
-righteousness, which is common among cavalry troops and gentlemen of the
-seafaring profession, but which, in society, is considered to be a
-little in advance of the prejudices of the age. No higher encomium could
-be passed upon a gouty man than to say that, with all his torments, he
-never swore, and was seldom petulant. But there are very few whose
-merits deserve this canonization.
-
-But gout, with all its pains, has yet its redeeming characteristics.
-That great law of compensation which reduces the inequalities of our
-lot, and makes Brown, Jones, and Robinson come out about even in the
-long run, is not inoperative here. The gout is painful, but its
-respectability is unquestionable. It is the disease of a gentleman. It
-is a certificate of good birth more satisfactory than any which the
-Heralds' College or the Genealogical Association can furnish. It is but
-right, too, that the man who can date back his family history to
-Plymouth or Jamestown in this country, and to Runnymede on the other
-side of the Atlantic, should pay something for such a privilege. A man
-may never have indulged in "the sweet poison of the Tuscan grape"
-himself, but can he reasonably complain of an incontrovertible testimony
-to the fact that his ancestors lived well! _Chacun a son gout_: for
-myself, I should much prefer my honoured family name, with all its
-associations with the brave knight who made it famous, accompanied by
-the only possession which I have received by hereditary right, to the
-most unequivocal state of health burdened with such a name as Jinkins.
-
-Mentally and spiritually, the gout is far from being a useless
-institution. It ripens a man's judgment, and prunes away the radical
-tendencies of his nature. It will convert the wildest of revolutionists
-into the stiffest of conservatives. It teaches a man to look at things
-as they really are, and not as enthusiasm would have them represented.
-No gouty man would ever look to the New York Tribune as the exponent of
-his religious or political creed. His complaint has a positive
-character, and it makes him earnest to find something positive in
-religion and politics. The negativeness of radicalism tires him. He
-deprecates every thing like change. He thinks that religion, and
-society, and government were established for some better end than to
-afford a perpetual employment to the destructive powers of visionary
-reformers and professional philanthropists. He longs to find constancy
-and stability in something besides his inexorable disorder.
-
-There is another disorder which people generally seem to consider a very
-trifling affair, but which any one who knows it will allow to be
-productive of the most unmistakable pain. I refer to neuralgia. Who
-pities a neuralgic person? Any healthy man, when asked about it, will
-answer in his ignorance that it is "only a headache." But ask the school
-teacher, whose throbbing head seems to be beating time to the ceaseless
-muttering and whispering of her scholars as they bend over their
-tasks--ask the student, whose thoughts, like undisciplined soldiers,
-will not fall into the ranks, and whose head seems to be occupied by a
-steam engine of enormous power, running at the highest rate of pressure,
-with the driver sitting on the safety-valve--ask them whether neuralgia
-is "only a headache"! Who can tell the cause of the prevalence of this
-scourge? whether it proceeds from our houses overheated with intolerable
-furnaces and anthracite coal, or from our treacherous and unconstant
-climate so forcibly described by Choate: "Cold to-day; hot to-morrow;
-mercury at eighty degrees in the morning, with wind at south-west; and
-in three hours more a sea turn, with wind at east, a thick fog from the
-very bottom of the ocean, and a fall of forty degrees of Fahrenheit."
-The uncertainty which seems to attend all human science, and the science
-of medicine in particular, envelops this mysterious disease, and
-thousands of us are left to suffer and wonder what the matter is.
-
-But all of these pains, gouty, neuralgic, and otherwise, have yet their
-sweet uses, and like the vile reptile Shakespeare tells us of, are
-adorned with a precious jewel. The old Roman emperors in the hour of
-triumph used to have a slave stand behind them to whisper in their ear,
-from time to time, the unwelcome but salutary truth that they were but
-mortal men. Even now, on the occasion of the enthronement of a Pope, a
-lighted candle is applied to a bunch of flax fixed upon a staff, and as
-the smoke dissipates itself into thin air before the newly-crowned
-Pontiff, surrounded as he is by all the emblems of religion and all the
-insignia and pomp of worldly power, the same great truth of the
-perishableness of all mortal things is impressed upon his mind by the
-chanting of the simple but eloquent phrase, _Sic transit gloria mundi_.
-But we neuralgic and gouty wretches need no whispering slave nor smoking
-flax to remind us of our frailty and the transientness of our happiness
-and glory. We carry with us a monitor who checks our swelling pride, and
-teaches us effectually the brevity of human joys. We are very apt, in
-our impatience and short-sightedness, to think that if we had the
-management of the world and the dispensation of pleasure and suffering,
-every thing could be conducted in a much more satisfactory manner. If it
-were so, we should undoubtedly carry things on in the style of a French
-restaurant, so that we could have _pain a discretion_. But on the whole,
-I am inclined to think that we had better leave these matters to the
-management of that infinite Power which gives us day by day our daily
-pain, and from which we receive in the long run about what is meet for
-us. I hope that I shall not be thought ill-bred or profane in using such
-expressions as these. At my time of life it is too late to begin to
-murmur. A few twinges more or less are nothing when the hair grows gray
-and the eye is dimmed with the mists of age. The man who knows nothing
-of the novitiate of patience--who has passed through life without the
-chastening discipline of bodily pain--has missed one of the best parts
-of existence. To suffer is one of the noblest prerogatives of human
-nature. Without suffering, life would be robbed of half its zest, and
-the thought of death would drive us to despair.
-
-When I was a young man, and gave little thought to the gout and the
-other ills that vex me at present, I saw a wonderful exhibition of
-patience, which I now daily recall to mind, and wish I could imitate. I
-was sojourning in Florence, that lovely city, whose every association is
-one of calm and satisfactory pleasure undisturbed by any thing like
-bodily suffering. I enjoyed the friendship of a young American amateur
-artist of unquestioned talent, but whose artistic efforts were
-interfered with by the frequent attacks of a serious and excruciating
-disorder. It was considerable time after I made his acquaintance before
-I knew that he was an invalid. I noticed his lameness, but whenever we
-met he wore a smiling face, and had a cheerful word for every body. One
-evening I called in at his quiet lodgings near the Lung' Arno, and found
-a party of some six or eight Americans talking over their recollections
-of home. He was entertaining them with the explanation of an imaginary
-panorama of New England, and a musical friend threw in illustrative
-passages from the piano in the intervals. The parlour resounded with our
-laughter at his irresistible fun; but in the midst of it all, he asked
-us to excuse him for a moment, and went into his bedroom. After a little
-while, another engagement calling me away, I went into his chamber to
-speak with him before leaving. I found him lying upon his bed, writhing
-like Laocooen, while great drops stood upon his brow and agony was
-depicted on his patient face. He resisted all my attempts to do any
-thing for him; the attack had lasted all day, but was at some times
-severer than at others; he should feel better soon, and would go back to
-his friends; I had better not stop with him, as it might attract their
-attention in the parlour, &c. So I took my leave. The next morning I met
-one of his friends, who told me that he returned to his company a few
-minutes after my departure, and entertained them for an hour or more
-with an exhibition of his powers of wit and humour, which eclipsed all
-his previous efforts. Poor S. C.! His weary but uncomplaining spirit
-laid down that crippled body, which never gave aught but pain to its
-possessor, three or four years ago, and passed, let us hope, into a
-happier state of existence, which flesh and blood, with their countless
-maladies and dolours, may not inherit.
-
-The traveller in the south of Europe frequently encounters, in his
-perambulations through the streets and squares of cities, a group of
-people gathered around a monk, who is discoursing to them of those
-sublime truths which men are prone to lose sight of in their walks
-abroad. The style of the sermon is not, it is true, what we should look
-for from Newman, or Ravignan, or Ventura, but it has in it those
-fundamental principles of true eloquence, simplicity and earnestness;
-and the coarse brown habit, the knotted cord, and the pale, serene,
-devout face of the preacher, harmonize wondrously with the self-denying
-doctrine he teaches, and give a double force to all his words. His
-instructions frequently concern the simple moral duties of life and the
-exercise of the cardinal virtues, which he enforces by illustrations
-drawn from the lives of canonized saints, who won their heavenly crown
-and their earthly fame of blessedness by the practice of those virtues.
-Allow me to close my sermon on suffering in the manner of the preaching
-friars, though I may not draw my illustrations from the ancient
-martyrologies; for I apprehend that it will be more in keeping with the
-serious character of this essay to take them from another source. We
-have all laughed at Dickens's characters of Mark Tapley and Mr. Toots.
-The former was celebrated for "keeping jolly under disadvantageous
-circumstances," and seemed to mourn over those dispensations of good
-fortune which detracted from his credit in being jolly. The latter was
-never known to indulge in any complaint, but met every mishap and
-disappointment with a manly resignation and the simple remark, "It's of
-no consequence." Even when he was completely ingulfed in misfortunes,
-when Pelion seemed to have been heaped upon Ossa, and both upon him, he
-did not give way to despair. He only gave utterance more fervently to
-his favourite maxim, "It's of no consequence. Nothing is of any
-consequence whatever!" Now, laugh at it as we may, this is a great
-truth. It is the foundation of all true philosophy--of all practical
-religion. A few years more, and what will it avail us to have bargained
-successfully, to have lived in splendour, to have left in history a name
-that shall be the synonyme of power! A few years, and what shall we care
-for all our present sufferings and the light afflictions which are but
-for a moment! May we not say with Solomon, that "All is vanity," and
-with poor Toots, that "Nothing is of any consequence whatever"? Now, if
-there are any people who are likely to arrive at this satisfactory
-conclusion, and who need the consolation imparted by the reception and
-full appreciation of the deep truth it contains, it is the gouty, and
-rheumatic, and neuralgic wretches whom I have had in mind while writing
-this paper. Let me, in conclusion, as one who has had some experience,
-and is not merely theorizing, exhort all such persons to meditate upon
-the lives of the two great patterns of patience whom I have brought
-forward as examples; and to bear in mind that it is only through the
-resignation of Toots, that they can attain to the jollity of Tapley.
-Likewise let me counsel those who may be passing through life unharmed
-by serious misfortune and untrammelled by bodily pain, never to lose
-sight of that striking admonition of old Sir Thomas Browne's, "Measure
-not thyself by thy morning shadow, but by the extent of thy grave; and
-reckon thyself above the earth, by the line thou must be contented with
-under it."
-
-
-
-BOYHOOD AND BOYS
-
-
-Human nature is a very telescopic "institution." It delights to dwell on
-whatever is most distant. Lord Rosse's famous instrument dwindles down
-to a mere opera glass if you compare it with the mental vision of a
-restless boy, looking forward to the time when he shall don a tail-coat
-and a beaver hat. How his young heart swells with pride as he
-anticipates the day when he shall be his own master, as the phrase
-is--when he shall be able to stay out after nine o'clock in the evening,
-and to go home without being subjected to the ignominy of being escorted
-by a chambermaid! If he be of a particularly sanguine temperament, his
-wild imagination is rapt in the contemplation of the possibility of one
-day having his name in the newspapers as secretary of some public
-meeting, or as having made a vigorous speech at a political caucus where
-liberty of speech runs out into slander, and sedition is mistaken for
-patriotism,--or perhaps even of being one day a Common Councilman, or a
-member of the Great and General Court. A popular poet of the present day
-has expressed the same idea in a less prosaic manner:--
-
-    "Not rainbow pinions coloured like yon cloud,
-    The sun's broad banner o'er his western tent,
-    Can match the bright imaginings of a child
-    Upon the glories of his coming years:"--
-
-and another bard avers that human blessings are always governing the
-future, and never the present tense,--or something to that effect. The
-truth of this nobody will deny who has passed from the boxes of
-childhood upon the stage of manhood which so charmed his youthful fancy,
-and finds that the heroes who dazzled him once by their splendid
-achievements are mere ordinary mortals like himself, whom the blindness
-or caprice of their fellows has allowed to be dressed in a little brief
-authority; that the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces he used to
-gaze on from afar, prove, on a closer inspection, to be mere deceptions
-of paint and canvas, and that he has only to look behind them to see the
-rough bricks and mortar of every-day life.
-
-The voyager who sails from the dark waters of the restless Atlantic into
-the deep blue Mediterranean, notices at sunset a rich purple haze which
-rises apparently from the surface of that fair inland sea, and drapes
-the hills and vales along the beautiful shore with a glory that fills
-the heart of the beholder with unutterable gladness. The distant,
-snow-covered peaks of old Granada, clad in the same bright robe, seem by
-their regal presence to impose silence on those whom their majestic
-beauty has blessed with a momentary poetic inspiration which defies all
-power of tongue or pen. It touches nothing which it does not adorn, and
-the commonest objects are transmuted by its magic into fairy shapes
-which abide ever after in the memory. Under its softening influence, the
-dingy sail of a fisherman's boat becomes almost as beautiful an object
-to the sight as the ruins of the temple which crowns the height of Cape
-Colonna. But when you approach nearer to that which had seemed so
-charming in its twilight robes, your poetic sense is somewhat interfered
-with. You find the fishing boat as unattractive as any that anchor on
-the Banks from which we obtain such frequent discounts of nasty weather,
-and the shore, though it may still be very beautiful, lacks the supernal
-glory imparted to it by distance. It is very much after this fashion
-with manhood, when we compare its reality with our childish
-expectations. We find that we have been deceived by a mere atmospheric
-phenomenon. But the destruction of the charm which age had for our eyes
-as children, is compensated for by the creation of a new glory which
-lights up our young days, as we look back upon them with the regret of
-manhood, and realize that their joys can never be lived over again.
-
-Pardon me, gentle reader, for all this prosing. I have been reading that
-pleasant, hearty book, "Tom Brown's School Days at Rugby," during the
-past week, and it has set me a-thinking about my own boyhood; for,
-strange as it may seem, there was a time when this troublesome foot was
-more familiar with the football and the skate than with gout and
-flannel,--and Tom Brown's genial reminiscences have revived the memory
-of that time most wonderfully. There was considerable fun in Boston in
-my childhood, even though most of the faces which one met in Marlboro'
-Street and Cornhill were such as might have appropriately surrounded
-Cromwell at Naseby or Marston Moor. There were many people, even then,
-who did not regard religion as an affair of spasmodic emotions, and
-long, bilious-looking faces, and psalm-singing, and neck-ties. They
-thought that, so long as they were honest in their dealings, and did not
-swear to false invoices at the customhouse, and did as they would be
-done by, and lived virtuously, that He to whom they had been taught by
-parental lips to pray, would overlook the smaller offences--such as an
-occasional laugh or a pleasant jest--into which weak nature would now
-and then betray them. I cannot help thinking that they were about right,
-though I fear that I shall be set down as little better than one of the
-wicked by Stiggins, Chadband, Sleek & Co.
-
-Yes, there was a good deal of fun among the boys in those old days. Boys
-will be boys, however serious the family may be; and if you take away
-their marbles, some other "vanity" will be sure to take their place.
-What jolly times we used to have Artillery Election! How good the
-egg-pop used to taste, in spite of the dust of Park Street, which
-mingled itself liberally with the nutmeg! How we used to save up our
-money for those festive days! How hard the arithmetic lessons seemed,
-particularly in the days immediately preceding vacation! How dreary were
-those long winters; and yet how short and pleasant they seemed to us!
-for we loved the runners, and skates, and jingling bells, and, as
-Pescatore, the Neapolitan poet, sings, "though bleak our lot, our hearts
-were warm."
-
-Newspapers were not a common luxury in those times, and I suppose that I
-took as little notice of passing events as most children; yet I well
-remember the effect produced upon my mind one dark, threatening
-afternoon, near the close of the last century, by the announcement of
-the death of General Washington. I had been accustomed to hear him
-talked about as the Father of his Country; I had studied the lineaments
-of his calm countenance, as they were set forth for the edification of
-my patriotism on some coarse handkerchiefs presented to me by a
-public-spirited aunt, until I began to look upon him as almost a
-supernatural being. If I had been told that the Old South had been
-removed to Dorchester Heights, or that the solar system was irreparably
-disarranged, I should not have been more completely taken aback than I
-was by that melancholy intelligence. I need not say that afterwards,
-when I grew up and found that Washington was not only a mortal like the
-rest of us, but that he sometimes spelt incorrectly enough to have
-suited Noah Webster, (the inventor of the American language,) my
-supernatural view of that estimable general and patriot was very
-materially modified. I remember, too, how much I used to hear said about
-an extraordinary man who had risen up in France, and who seemed to be
-bending all Europe to his will. I never shall forget my astonishment on
-finding that Marengo was not a man, but a place. The discovery shamed me
-somewhat, and afterwards I always read whatever newspapers came in my
-way. When some slow tub of a packet had come across the ocean, battling
-with the nor'-westers, and was announced to have made a "quick passage
-of forty-eight days," how eagerly I followed the rapid fortunes of the
-first Napoleon! His successes, as they intoxicated him, dazzled and
-bewildered my boyish imagination. I understood the matter imperfectly,
-but I loved Napoleon, and delighted to repeat to myself those stirring
-names, Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, &c. How I hated Russia after the
-disastrous campaign of 1812! (By the way, the exhibition of the
-Conflagration of Moscow, which used to have its intermittent terms of
-exhibition here some years since, always brought back all my youthful
-feelings about the old Napoleon; the march of the artillery across the
-bridge, in the foreground of the scene, the rattling of the gun
-carriages,--that most warlike of all warlike sounds,--the burning city,
-the destruction of the Kremlin, all united in my mind to form a
-sentiment of admiration and sympathy for the baffled conqueror. If that
-admirable show were to be revived once more, I should be tempted to take
-a season ticket to it, for I have no doubt that it would thrill me just
-as it did before my head could boast of a single gray hair.) Nor was my
-admiration for Napoleon's old marshals much below that which I
-entertained for the mighty genius who knew so well how to avail himself
-of their surpassing bravery and skill. I felt as if the unconquerable
-Murat, Lannes, Macdonald, Davoust, were my dearest and most intimate
-friends. The impetuous Ney, "the bravest of the brave," as his soldiers
-called him; and the inflexible Massena, "the favourite child of
-victory," figured in all my dreams, heading gallant charges, and
-withstanding deadly assaults, and occupied the best part of my waking
-thoughts. I do not doubt that there is many a schoolboy nowadays who has
-dwelt with equal delight on the achievements of Scott and Taylor, of
-Canrobert, Bosquet and Pelissier, of Fenwick Williams and Havelock, and
-poor old Raglan, (that brave man upon whom the Circumlocution Office
-tried to fasten the blame of its own inefficiency, and who died
-broken-hearted, a melancholy illustration of the truth of Shakespeare's
-lines,--
-
-    "The painful warrior, famoused for fight,
-    After a thousand victories once foiled,
-    Is from the book of honour razed quite,
-    And all the rest forgot for which he toiled,")
-
-and who cherishes them as I did the heroes of half a century ago.
-
-But, as I was saying, Tom Brown's happy reminiscences of Rugby have
-awakened once more all my boyish feelings; for New England has its
-Rugby, and many of the readers of the old Rugby boy's pleasant pages
-will grow enthusiastic with the recollection of their schoolboy days at
-Exeter,--their snowballings, their manly sports, their mighty contests
-with the boys of the town,--and, though they may not claim the genius of
-the former head-master of Rugby for the guardian of their youthful
-sports and studies, will apply all of the old boy's praises of Dr.
-Arnold to the wise, judicious, and lovable Dr. Abbot.
-
-I always cherished an unbounded esteem for boys. The boy--the genuine
-human boy--may, I think, safely be set down as the noblest work of God.
-Pope claims that proud distinction for the honest man, but at the
-present time, the nearest we can come to such a mythological personage
-as an honest man, (even though we add Argand burners, expensive Carcels,
-Davy safeties, and the Drummond light to the officially recognized
-lantern of Diogenes,) is a real human boy, without a thought beyond his
-next holiday, with his heart overflowing with happiness, and his pockets
-chock full of marbles. Young girls cannot help betraying something of
-the in-dwelling vanity so natural to the sex; you can discern a
-self-consciousness in their every action which you shall look for in
-vain in the boy. Bless your heart!--you may dress a real boy up with
-superhuman care, and try to impress on his young mind that he is the
-pride of his parents, and one of the most remarkable beings that ever
-visited this mundane sphere, and he will listen to you with becoming
-reverence and docility; but his pure and honest nature will give the lie
-to all your flattery as soon as your back is turned, and in ten minutes
-you will find him kicking out the toes of his new boots, or rumpling his
-clean collar by "playing horse," or using the top of his new cap for a
-drinking vessel, and mixing in with the Smiths, and Browns, and
-Jinkinses, on terms of the most unquestioned equality. The author of Tom
-Brown says that "boys follow one another in herds like sheep, for good
-or evil; they hate thinking, and have rarely any settled principles."
-This is undoubtedly true; but still there is a generous instinct in boys
-which is far more trustworthy than those sliding, and unreliable, and
-deceptive ideas which we call settled principles. The boy's thinking
-powers may be fallible, but his instinct is, in the main, sure. There is
-no aristocracy of feeling among boys. Linsey-woolsey and broadcloth find
-equal favour in their eyes. What they seek is just as likely to be found
-under coarse raiment as under purple and fine linen. If their companion
-is a real good feller, even though he be a son of a rich merchant or
-banker, he is esteemed as highly as if his father were an editor of a
-newspaper.
-
-The nature of the boy is full of the very essence of generosity. The
-boys who hide away their gingerbread, and eat it by themselves,--who lay
-up their Fourth of July five-cent pieces, for deposit in that excellent
-savings institution in School Street, instead of spending them for the
-legitimate India crackers of the "Sabbath Day of Freedom,"--are
-exceptions which only put the general rule beyond the pale of
-controversy. The real boy carries his apple in one of his pockets until
-it is comfortably warm, and he has found some companion to whom he may
-offer a festive bite; for he feels, with Goethe, that
-
-    "It were the greatest misery known
-    To be in paradise alone;"
-
-and if, occasionally, when he sees his friend gratifying his palate with
-a fair round specimen of the same delicious fruit, he asks for a return
-of his kindness, with a beckoning gesture, and a free and easy--"I say,
-you know me, Bill!"--he is moved thereto by no mere selfish liking for
-apples, but by a natural sense of friendship, and of the excellence of
-the apostolic principle of community of goods. This spirit of generosity
-may be seen in the friendships of boys, which are more entire and
-unselfish than those by which men seek to mitigate the irksomeness of
-life. There are more Oresteses and Pyladeses, more Damons and Pythiases,
-at twelve years of age than at any later period of life. The devotedness
-of boyish friendship is peculiar from the fact that it is generally
-reciprocal. In this it is superior to what we call love, which, if we
-may believe the French satirist, in most instances consists of one party
-who loves, and another who allows himself or herself to be loved. This
-phenomenon has not escaped the notice of that great observer of human
-nature, Thackeray.
-
-"What generous boy," he asks, "in his time has not worshipped somebody?
-Before the female enslaver makes her appearance, every lad has a friend
-of friends, a crony of cronies, to whom he writes immense letters in
-vacation; whom he cherishes in his heart of hearts; whose sister he
-proposes to marry in after life; whose purse he shares; for whom he will
-take a thrashing if need be; who is his hero."
-
-The generosity, and all the priceless charms of boyhood, rarely outlive
-its careless years of happiness. They are generally severely shaken, if
-not wholly destroyed, when the youth enters upon that crepuscular period
-of manhood in which his jacket is lengthened into a sack, and he begins
-to take his share in the conceit, and ambition, and selfishness of
-full-grown humanity. It is sad to think that a human boy, like the
-morning star, full of life and joy, may be stricken down by death, and
-all his hilarity stifled in the grave; but to my mind it is even more
-melancholy to think that he may live to grow up, and be hard, and
-worldly, and ungenerous as any of the rest of us. For this latter fate
-is accompanied by no consolations such as naturally assuage our sorrow
-when an innocent child is snatched from among his playthings,--when
-"death has set the seal of eternity upon his brow, and the beautiful
-hath been made permanent" I have seen few men who would be willing to
-live over again their years of manhood, however prosperous and
-comparatively free from trouble they may have been; but fewer still are
-those whom I have met, in whose memory the records of boyhood are not
-written as with a sunbeam. No, talk as we may about the happiness of
-manhood, the satisfaction of success in life, of gratified ambition, of
-the possession of the Mary or Lizzie of one's choice,--what is it all
-compared to the unadulterate joy of that time when we built our card
-houses, and made our dirt pies, or drove our hoops, unvexed by the
-thoughts that Jinkins's house was larger than ours, or by any anxiety
-concerning the possibility of obtaining our next day's mutton-chop and
-potatoes? Except the momentary pain occasioned by the exercise of a
-magisterial rattan upon our persons, or an occasional stern reproof from
-a hair-brush or the thin sole of a maternal shoe, that halcyon period is
-imperturbed, and may safely be called the happiest part of life.
-
-My venerated friend, Baron Nabem, who has been through all these
-"experiences," and therefore ought to know, insists upon it that no man
-really knows any thing until he is forty years old. For when he is
-eighteen or twenty years of age, he esteems himself to be a sort of
-combination of the seven wise men of Greece in one person, with
-Humboldt, Mezzofanti, and Macaulay thrown in to make out the weight; at
-twenty-five, his confidence in his own infallibility begins to grow
-somewhat shaky; at thirty, he begins to wish that he might really know a
-tenth part as much as he thought he did ten years before; at
-thirty-five, he thinks that if he were added up, there would be very
-little to carry; and at forty the great truth bursts upon him in all its
-effulgence that he is an ass. There are some who reach this desirable
-state of self-knowledge before they attain the age specified by the
-Baron; other some there are who never reach it at all,--as we all see
-numerous instances around us,--but these are mere exceptions
-strengthening rather than invalidating the common rule. It is a
-humiliating acknowledgment, but if we consider the uncertainty of all
-earthly things, if we try the depth of the sea of human science, and
-find how easy it is to touch bottom any where therein, if we convince
-ourselves of the impenetrability of the veil which bounds our mental
-vision,--I think that we shall be obliged to allow that the recognition
-of our own nothingness and asininity is the sum and perfection of human
-knowledge. Now, Solomon tells us that he who increases knowledge
-increases sorrow; and it naturally follows that when a man has reached
-the knowledge which generally comes with his fortieth year, he is less
-happy than he was when he wrapped himself in the measureless content of
-his twentieth year's self-deception. And it follows, too, most
-incontrovertibly, that he is happier when unpossessed by that
-exaggerated self-esteem which rendered the discovery of his fortieth
-year necessary to him; and when is that time, if not during the
-careless, happy years of boyhood?
-
-The period of boyhood has been shortened very considerably within a few
-years; and real boys are becoming scarce. They are no sooner emancipated
-from the bright buttons which unite the two principal articles of
-puerile apparel, than they begin to pant for virile habiliments. Their
-choler is roused if they are denied a stand-up dickey. They sport canes.
-They delight to display themselves at lectures and concerts. Their young
-lips are not innocent of damns and short-sixes; and they imitate the
-vulgarity and conceit of the young men of the present day so
-successfully that you find it hard to believe that they are mere
-children. Since this period of dearth in the boy market set in, of
-course the genuine, marketable article has become more precious to me. I
-remember seeing an old physician in Paris, who was as true a boy as any
-beloved twelve-year-old that ever snapped a marble or stuck his
-forefinger into a preserve jar on an upper shelf in a china closet. A
-charming old fellow he was, too. He used to stop to see the boys play in
-the gardens of the Tuileries, and I knew him once to spend a whole
-afternoon in the avenue of the Champs Elysees looking at the puppet
-shows and other sights with the rest of the youngsters. He told me
-afterwards that that was one of the happiest days of his life; for he
-had felt as if he were back again in the pleasant time before he knew
-any thing of that most uncertain of all uncertain things--the science of
-medicine; and he doubted whether any boy there had enjoyed the cheap
-amusement more than himself. I envied him, for I knew that he who
-retained so much of the happy spirit of boyhood could not have outlived
-all of its generosity and simplicity. "Once a man and twice a child,"
-says the old proverb; and I cannot help thinking that if at the last we
-could only recall something of the sincerity, and innocence, and
-unselfishness of our early life, second childhood would indeed be a
-blessed thing.
-
-
-
-JOSEPHINE--GIRLHOOD AND GIRLS
-
-
-A bright-eyed, fair, young maiden, whose satchel I should insist upon
-carrying to school for her every morning if I were half a century
-younger, came to me a day or two after the publication of my last essay,
-and, placing her white, taper fingers in my rough, Esau-like hand, said,
-"I liked your piece about the boys very much; and now I hope that you'll
-write something about girls." "My dear Nellie," replied I, "if I should
-do that I should lose all my female acquaintances. I have a weakness for
-telling the truth, and there are some subjects concerning which it is
-very dangerous to speak out 'the whole truth and nothing but the
-truth.'" The gentle damsel smiled, and looked
-
-    "Modest as justice, and did seem a palace
-    For the crown'd truth to dwell in,"
-
-as she still urged me on, and refused to see any danger in my giving out
-the plainest truth about girlhood. _She_ had no fear, though all the
-truth were told; and I suppose that if we had some of Nellie's purity
-and gentleness remaining in our sere and selfish hearts, we should be
-much better and happier men and women, and should dread the truth as
-little as she does. But I must not begin my truth-telling by seeming to
-praise too highly, though it must be confessed, even at my time of life,
-if I were to describe the charming young person I have referred to, with
-the merciless fidelity of a daguerreotype and an absence of hyperbole
-worthy of the late Dr. Bowditch's work on Navigation, I should seem to
-the unfortunate "general reader" who does not know Nell, to be indulging
-in the grossest flattery, and panting poesy would toil after me in vain.
-So I will put aside all temptations of that kind, and come down to the
-plain prose of my subject.
-
-There is, in fact, very little that can be said about girlhood. Those
-calm years that come between the commencement of the bondage of the
-pantalettes and emancipation from the tasks of school, present few
-salient points upon which the essayist (observe he never so closely) may
-turn a neat paragraph. They offer little that is startling or attractive
-either to writer or reader,--
-
-    "As times of quiet and unbroken peace,
-    Though for a nation times of blessedness,
-    Give back faint echoes from the historian's page."
-
-The rough sports of boyhood, the out-door life which boys always take to
-so naturally, and all their habits of activity, give a strength of light
-and shade to their early years which is not to be found in girlhood. It
-is not enough to say that there is no difference in kind, but simply one
-in degree,--that the years of boyhood are calm and happy, and that those
-of girlhood are so likewise,--that the former resemble the garish
-sunshine, and the latter the mitigated splendour of the moon; for the
-characters of boys seem to be struck in a sharper die than those of
-girls, which gives them an absoluteness quite distinct from the feminine
-grace we naturally look for in the latter. The free-hearted boy,
-plunging into all sorts of fun without a thought of his next day's
-arithmetic lesson, and with a charming disregard of the expense of
-jackets and trousers, and the gentle girl, who clings to her mother's
-side, like an attendant angel, and contents herself with teaching long
-lessons to docile paper pupils in a quiet corner by the fireside, are
-representatives of two distinct classes in the order of nature, and
-(untheologically, of course, I might add) of grace. There is not a
-greater difference between a hockey and a crochet needle than there is
-between them.
-
-I have, as a general thing, a greater liking for boys than for girls;
-for the vanity so common to all mankind is not developed in them at so
-early an age as in the latter. Still I must acknowledge that I have seen
-some splendid exceptions, the mere recollection of which almost tempts
-me to draw my pen through that last sentence. Can I ever forget--I can
-never forget--one into whose years of girlhood the beauty and grace of a
-long, pure life seemed to have been compressed? It was many years ago,
-and I was younger than I am now--so pardon me if I should seem to catch
-a little enthusiasm of spirit from the remembrance of those days. Like
-the ancient Queen of Carthage, _Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae_. I was
-living in London at that time, or rather at Hampstead, which had not
-then become a mere suburb of the great metropolis, but was a quiet town,
-whose bright doorplates, and well-scoured doorsteps, and clean window
-curtains contrasted finely with the dingy brick walls of its houses, and
-impressed the visitor with the general prosperity and quiet
-respectability of its inhabitants. In my daily walks to and from the
-city, I frequently met a gentleman whose gray hairs and simple dignity
-of manners always attracted me towards him, and exacted from me an
-involuntary tribute of respectful recognition. One day he overtook me in
-a shower, and gave me the benefit of his umbrella and his
-friendship--for an intimacy which ended only with his death commenced
-between us from that hour. He was a gentleman of good family and
-education, who had seen thirty years of responsible service in the
-employ of the Honourable East India Company, had attained a competency,
-and had forsworn Leadenhall Street for a pension and a quiet retreat on
-the heights of Hampstead. His wife was a lady of cultivated tastes,
-whose sober wishes never learned to stray from the path of simple
-domestic duty, and the presence of the books in which she found her
-daily pleasures.
-
-    "Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam;
-    True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home."
-
-Their only child, "one fair daughter, and no more," was a gentle and
-merry-hearted creature, who, in the short and murky days of November,
-filled that cottage with a more than June-like sunshine. Her parents
-always had a deep sympathy with that unfortunate Empress of France whose
-dismission from the throne was the commencement of the downward career
-of the first Napoleon, and bore witness to it by giving her name to
-their only child. They lived only three or four doors from my lodgings,
-and there were few days passed after the episode of the umbrella in
-which I did not find a welcome in their quiet home. Their daughter was
-their only idol, and I soon found myself a convert to their innocent
-system of paganism. We all three agreed that Josey was the incarnation
-of all known perfections, and the lapse of forty years has not sufficed
-to weaken that conviction in my mind. She had risen just above the
-horizon of girlhood, and the natural beauty of her character made the
-beholder content to forget even the promise of her riper years. I do not
-think she was what the world calls handsome. I sometimes distrust my
-judgment in the matter of female beauty; indeed, some of my candid
-friends have told me that I had no judgment in such things. Well, as I
-was saying, Josey was not remarkable for personal beauty--in fact, I
-think I remember some persons of her own sex who thought her "very
-plain"--"positively homely"--and wondered what there was attractive
-about her. There are circumstances under which I should not have
-hesitated to attribute such remarks to motives of envy and jealousy; but
-as they came from girls whose attractions of every kind were far below
-those of the gentle creature whom they delighted to criticise, how can I
-account for them? Josey's complexion was dark--her forehead, like those
-of the best models of female comeliness among the ancients, low. Her
-teeth were pearly and uniform, and her clear, dark eyes seemed to
-reflect the happiness and hope which were the companions of her youth.
-Her beauty was not of that kind which consists in mere regularity of
-features; it was far superior to that. You could discern under those
-traits, none of which were conspicuous, a combination of mental and
-social qualities which were far above the fleeting charms that delight
-so many, and which age, instead of destroying, would increase and
-perfect. She was quiet and gentle, without being dull or moody;
-light-hearted and cheery, without being frivolous; and witty, without
-being pert or conceited. Her unaffected goodness of heart found many an
-opportunity of exercise. I often heard of her among the poor, and among
-those who needed words of consolation even more than the necessaries of
-life. It was her delight to intercede with the magistrate who had
-inflicted a punishment on some disorderly brother of one of her poor
-clients, and to obtain his pardon by promising to watch over him and
-insure his future good behaviour; and there were very few, among the
-most reckless, who were not restrained by the thought that their
-offences would give pain to the kind-hearted girl who had so willingly
-become their protector.
-
-During the months that I lived at Hampstead my intercourse with that
-excellent family was as familiar as if I had been one of their own
-kindred. A little attack of rheumatism, which confined me to my lodging
-for a fortnight or three weeks, proved the constancy of their
-friendship. The old gentleman came daily to see me--told me all the news
-from the city, and read to me; the mother sent me some of her favourite
-books; and Josey came to get assistance in her Latin and French, and
-brought me sundry little pots of grape jelly and other preserves, which
-tasted all the sweeter for being the work of her fair hands. It was a
-sad parting when I was called away to America--sad for me; for I told
-them that I hoped that my absence from England would be but temporary,
-when I felt inwardly that it might extend to several years.
-
-Two or three months after my arrival at home, I received a letter from
-the old gentleman, written in his deliberate, round, clerk-like style,
-informing me of his wife's death. A note was enclosed from Josey, in
-which she described with her pencil the spot where her mother was buried
-in the old churchyard, and told me of her progress in her studies. More
-than a year passed by without my hearing from them at all, two or three
-of my letters to them having miscarried. Nearly seven years elapsed
-before I visited England again. Two years before that, I had read the
-decease of the old gentleman, in a stray London newspaper. I had written
-to Josey, sympathizing with her in her desolation, but had received no
-answer. So, the day after my arrival in London, I determined to make a
-search for the beloved Josey. I went to Hampstead, and my heart beat
-quicker as I approached the cottage where I had spent so many happy
-hours. My throat felt a little choky, as I recognized the neat bit of
-hedge before the door, the graceful vine which overhung it, and the
-familiar arrangement of the flower pots in the frames outside the
-windows; but my hopes received a momentary check when I found a strange
-name on the plate above the knocker. I knocked, and inquired concerning
-the former occupants of the house. After a severe effort to overcome the
-Boeotian stupidity of the housemaid, she ushered me into the little
-breakfast room, and said she would "call her missus." Almost before I
-had time to look about me, Josey entered the room. The little girl whose
-Latin exercises I had corrected, and who had always lived in my memory
-as she appeared in those days, suddenly came before me
-
-    "A perfect woman, nobly planned,
-    To warn, to comfort, and command;
-    And yet a spirit still and bright
-    With something of an angel light."
-
-Yet she was hardly changed at all. She had lost none of those charming
-qualities which had made the thought of her precious to me during long
-years of absence. She had gained the maturity and dignity of womanhood
-without losing any of the simplicity and light-heartedness of girlhood.
-She was married. Her husband was a literary man of considerable
-reputation. Though only in middle age, he was a great sufferer with the
-gout. He was, generally speaking, a patient man; but I found, after I
-became intimate with him, that his pains sometimes made him express
-himself with a force of diction somewhat in advance of the religious
-prejudices of his gentle Josey, who tended him and ministered to his
-wants like an angel, as she was. But excuse me for wandering so far from
-my theme. To make a long story short, Josey went to Italy with her
-husband, who had been ordered thither by his physicians, and I never saw
-her afterwards. She deposited her husband's remains in the cemetery
-where those of Shelley and Keats repose, and found for two or three
-years a consolation for her bereaved spirit in residence in that city
-which more than all others proclaims to our unwilling hearts the vanity
-and transitoriness of this world's hopes, and the glory of the unseen
-eternal. Years after, I met one of her husband's friends in Paris, who
-told me that some four years after his death, she had entered a convent
-of a religious order devoted to the reclaiming of the degraded of her
-sex, in Brussels. There she had found a fitting occupation for the
-natural benevolence of her heart, and the peace which the world could
-not give. She had concealed the glory of her good works under her vow of
-obedience--her personality was hidden under the common habit of her
-Order--the very name which was so dear to me had been exchanged for
-another on the day that saw her covered with the white veil of the
-novice. I was about returning to England from the continent when I heard
-this, and I resolved to take Belgium's fair capital in my route. I found
-the convent readily enough, and waited in its uncarpeted but
-scrupulously clean parlour some time for the Lady Superior. She was a
-lady of dignified mien, with the clear complexion, the serene brow, and
-the dovelike eyes so common among nuns, and her face lighted up, as she
-spoke, with a gentle smile, which seemed almost like a presage of
-immortality. I explained my errand, and she told me that the good
-English sister had been dead more than a year. The intelligence pained
-me, and it gave me a feeling of self-reproach to notice that the nun,
-who had been with her in her last hour, spoke of her as if she had
-merely passed into another part of the convent we were in. The Superior,
-perceiving my emotion, conducted me through the garden of the convent to
-a shady corner of the grounds, where there were several graves. She
-stopped before a mound, over which a rose bush bent affectionately, as
-if its white blossoms craved something of the purity which was enshrined
-beneath it. At its head was a simple wooden cross, on which was
-inscribed the name of "Sister Helen Agnes," the date of her death, and
-the common supplication that she might rest in peace; and that was the
-only memorial of Josey that remained to me.
-
-I have not forgotten, dear reader, that I am writing about girls; but
-having brought forward one who always seemed to me to be about as near
-perfection as it is vouchsafed to poor humanity to approach, I could not
-help following her to the end, and showing how she went from a beautiful
-girlhood to a still more beautiful womanhood, and a death which all of
-us might envy; and how lovely and harmonious was her whole career. For I
-feel that the consideration of the contrast which most of the young
-female readers of these pages will discover between themselves and
-Josey, will do them some good.
-
-I do not know of a more quietly funny sight than a group of
-school-girls, all talking as fast as their tongues can wag, (forty-woman
-power,) and clinging inextricably together like a parcel of macaroni, _a
-la Napolitaine_. Their independence is quite refreshing. Lady
-Blessington in her diamonds never descended the grand staircase at
-Covent Garden Opera House with half the consciousness of making a
-sensation, that you may notice in these school-girls whenever you take
-your walks abroad. It is delightful to see them step off so proudly, and
-look you in the face so coolly, thinking all the time of just nothing at
-all. Their boldness is the boldness of innocence; for perfect modesty
-does not even know how to blush. How vain they grow as they advance in
-their teens! How careful they are that the crinoline "sticks out"
-properly before they venture on the road to school! If Mother Goose (of
-blessed memory) could take a look into this world now, she would wish to
-revise her ancient rhyme to her patrons,--
-
-    "Come with a whoop--come with a call," &c.,--
-
-for she would find that it is now their custom to come with a _hoop_
-when they come for a call.
-
-When unhappy Romeo stands in old Capulet's garden, under the pale beams
-of the "envious moon," and watches the unconscious Juliet upon the
-balcony, he utters, in the course of his incoherent soliloquial
-apostrophe, these remarkable words concerning that interesting young
-person:--
-
-    "She speaks, yet she says nothing."
-
-I have seen many young ladies of Juliet's time of life in my day of whom
-the same thing might be said. They indeed speak, yet say nothing. Yet
-take them on such a subject as the trimming of a new bonnet for Easter
-Sunday, or any of those entertaining topics more or less connected with
-the adornment of their persons, and how voluble they are! To the
-stronger sex, which of course cares nothing about dress, being entirely
-free from vanity, the terms used in their never-ending colloquies on
-such themes are mere unmeaning words; but I must do the gentler side of
-humanity the justice to say that they are not all vanity, as their
-fathers and husbands find to their dismay, when the quarterly bills come
-in, that gimp, and flounces, and trimming generally, have a real,
-tangible existence.
-
-How sentimental they are! In my young days albums were all the rage
-among young ladies; but now they seem to be somewhat out of date, and
-young ministers have taken their place. What pains will they not take to
-get a bow from the Rev. Mr. Simkins! They swarm around him after
-service, like flies around the bung of a molasses cask. Raphael never
-had such a face as his; Massillon never preached as he does. What a
-wilderness of worsted work are they not willing to travel over for his
-sake! How do they exhaust their inventive faculties in the search after
-new patterns for lamp mats, watch cases, pen wipers, and slippers to
-encase the feet at which they delight to sit! But when Simkins marries
-old Thompson's youngest daughter and a snug property, he finds a sad
-abatement in his popularity. The Rev. Mr. Jenkins, a young preacher with
-a face every whit as milk-and-watery as his own, succeeds to the throne
-he occupied, and reigns in his stead among the volatile devotees; and
-Simkins then sees that his popularity was no more an evidence of the
-favour his preaching of the gospel found among those thoughtless young
-people than was the popularity of the good-looking light comedian, after
-whom the girls ran as madly as they did after his own white neckerchief
-and nicely-brushed black frock coat.
-
-Exaggeration is one of the great faults of girlhood. Whatever meets
-their eyes is either "splendid" or "horrid." They delight to exaggerate
-their likes and dislikes. Self-restraint seems to be a term not
-contained in their lexicon. They take a momentary fancy to a young man,
-and flatter him with their smiles until some new face takes his place in
-their fleeting memory. In this way many young hearts are frittered away
-in successive flirtations before their possessors have reached
-womanhood. But it would be wrong to confine action from mere blind
-impulse and exaggeration to young girls alone. I think it is St. Paul
-who gives us some good counsel about "speaking the truth in love." I
-fear that very few victims of the tender passion, from Pyramus and
-Thisbe down to Petrarch and Laura, and from the latter couple down to
-Mr. Smith with Miss Brown hanging on his arm,--who have not sadly needed
-the advice of the Apostle of the Gentiles. I have seen very few people
-in my day who really speak the truth in love. Therefore I will not blame
-girls for a fault which is common to all mankind.
-
-Impulse is commonly supposed to be inconsistent with cunning; but in
-most girls I think the two things are singularly combined. I am told
-that there is an academy in this city, frequented by many young women,
-known as the School of Design. The fact is a gratifying one to me; for
-my observation of girlish nature had led me to suppose that there were
-very few indeed of the young ladies of these days who required any
-tuition in the arts of design. I hail the fact as a good omen for the
-sex. Action from impulse carries its young victims to the extremes of
-good and evil. Queen Dido is a fair type of the majority of her sex.
-Defeated in their hopes, they are willing to make a funeral pile of all
-that remains to them. But there is a spirit of generosity in them which
-does not find a place in the hearts of men. It was the part of Eve to
-bring death into this world, and all our woe, by her inquisitiveness and
-credulity; but it was reserved for Adam to inaugurate the meanness of
-mankind by laying all the blame to his silly little wife. The accusation
-ought to have blistered Adam's cowardly tongue.
-
-But I am making a long preachment, and yet I have said very little. I
-must leave my young friends, however, to draw their own lessons from the
-portrait I have given of one whose perfections would far outweigh the
-silliness and vanity of a generation of girls. Let them take the gentle
-Josey as the model of their youth, and they will not wish to sculpture
-their later career after any less perfect shape. There will then be
-fewer heartless flirts, fewer vain exhibitors of the works of the
-milliner and dressmaker parading the streets, and more true women
-presiding over the homes of America. The imitation of her virtues will
-be found a better preservative of beauty than any _eau lustrale_; for it
-will create a beauty which "time's effacing fingers" are powerless to
-destroy, and give to those who practise it a serene and lovely old age,
-whose recollection of the past, instead of awakening any self-reproach,
-shall be a source of perpetual benediction.
-
-
-
-SHAKESPEARE AND HIS COMMENTATORS
-
-
-It was a favourite wish of the beneficent Caligula that all mankind had
-but one neck, that he might finish them off at a single chop. It would
-ill comport with my known modesty, were I to lay claim to any thing like
-the all-embracing humanity of the old Roman philanthropist; but I must
-acknowledge that I have frequently felt inclined to apply his pious
-aspiration to the commentators on Shakespeare. Impatience is not my
-prevailing weakness; but these pestilent annotators have often been
-instrumental in convincing me that I am no stoic. I have frequently
-regretted the days of my youth, when no envious commentary obscured the
-brilliancy of that genius which has consecrated the language through
-which it finds utterance, and made it venerable to the scholars of all
-lands and ages. My love of Shakespeare, like the gout which has been
-stinging my right foot all the morning, is hereditary. My revered
-grandmother was very fond of solid English literature. She had not had,
-it is true, the advantages which the young people of the present day
-rejoice in; she had not studied in any of those seminaries which polish
-off an education in a most Arabian-Nightsy style of expedition, and send
-a young lady home in the middle of her teens, accomplished in innumerous
-ologies, and knowing little or nothing that is really useful, or that
-will attract her to intellectual pursuits or pleasure in after life. She
-had acquired what is infinitely better than the superficial omniscience
-which is so much cultivated in these days. The more active duties of
-life pleased her not; and Shakespeare was the never-failing resource of
-her leisure hours. Mr. Addison's Spectator was for her a "treasure of
-contentment, a mine of delight, and, with regard to style, the best book
-in the world." I shall never forget that happy day (anterior even to the
-jacket era of my life) when she took me upon her knee, and read to me
-the speeches of Marullus, and Mark Antony, and Brutus. In that hour I
-became as sincere a devotee as ever bent down before the shrine of
-Shakespeare's genius. Nor has that innocent fanaticism abated any of its
-ardour under the weight laid upon me by increasing years. The theatre
-has lost many of its old charms for me. The friendships of youth--the
-only enduring intimacies, for our palms grow callous in the promiscuous
-intercourse of the world, and cannot easily receive new
-impressions--have either been terminated by that inexorable power whose
-chilling touch is merciless alike to love and enmity, or have been
-interfered with by the varying pursuits of life. But Shakespeare still
-maintains his wonted sway, and my loyalty to him has not been disturbed
-by any of the revolutionary movements which have made such changes in
-most other things. Martin Farquhar Tupper has written, but I am so
-old-fashioned in my prejudices that I find myself constantly turning to
-my Shakespeare, in preference even to that gifted and proverbially
-philosophic bard.
-
-But I am wandering. From the day I have mentioned, Robinson Crusoe was
-obliged to abdicate, and England's "monarch bard" (as Mr. Sprague calls
-Anne Hathaway's husband) reigned in his stead. I first devoured the
-Julius Caesar. I say "devoured," for no other word will express the
-eager earnestness with which I read. The last time I read that play
-through, it was "within a bowshot where the Caesars dwelt," and but a
-few minutes' walk from the palace which now holds great Pompey's statua,
-at whose foot the mighty Julius fell. Increase of appetite grew rapidly
-by what it fed on, and I was not long in learning as much about the
-black-clad prince, the homeless king, the exacting usurer, the fat
-knight and his jolly companions, the remorseful Thane, and generous,
-jealous Moor, as I knew about Brutus and the other red republican
-assassins of imperial Rome. My love of Shakespeare was greatly edified
-by a friendship which I formed in my earliest foreign journeyings. It
-was before the days of railways,--which, convenient as they are, have
-robbed travelling of half its zest, by rendering it so common. I had
-been making a little tour through the north of France. I had admired the
-white caps and pious simplicity of the peasants of Normandy, and had
-drunk in that exaltation of soul which the lofty nave of the majestic
-Cathedral of Amiens always imparts, and was about returning to Paris,
-when a rheumatic attack arrested my progress and prolonged my stay in
-the pleasant city of Douai. I there met accidentally with an English
-monk of that grand old Benedictine order, whose history for more than
-twelve centuries has been the history of civilization, and literature,
-and religion. He was descended from one of those old families which
-refused to modify their creed at the demand of a divorce-seeking king.
-He was a man of clear intellect and fascinating simplicity of character.
-He seemed to carry sunshine with him wherever he went. He occupied a
-professional chair in the English College attached to the Benedictine
-Monastery at Douai, and when his class hours were ended, he daily came
-to visit me. His sensible and sprightly conversation did more towards
-untying the rheumatic knots in my poor shoulder, than all the pills and
-lotions for which _M. le Medecin_ charged me so roundly. When I visited
-him in his cell, I found that a well-worn copy of Shakespeare was the
-only companion of his Breviary, his Aquinas and St. Bernard on his study
-table. He loved Shakespeare for himself alone. He never used him as a
-lay figure on which he might display the drapery of a pedant. He hated
-commentators as heartily as a man so sincerely religious can hate any
-thing except sin, and was as earnest in his predilection for
-Shakespeare, "without note or comment," as his dissenting
-fellow-countrymen would have wished him to be for a similar edition of
-the only other inspired book in the world. He had his theories, however,
-concerning Shakespeare's characters, and we often talked them over
-together; but I must do him the justice to say that he never published
-any of them. I always regarded this fact as a splendid evidence of the
-entireness of his self-abnegation, and of his extraordinary advancement
-in the path of religious perfection. Many have taken the three monastic
-vows by which he was bound, and have lived up to them with conscientious
-fidelity; but few scholars have studied Shakespeare as he did, and yet
-resisted the temptation to tell the world all about it in a book.
-
-Mousing the other day in the library of a venerable citizen of Boston,
-who is no less skilled in the gospel (let us hope) than in the law, I
-stumbled over a seedy-looking folio containing _A Treatise of Original
-Sinne_, by one Anthony Burgesse, who flourished in England something
-more than two centuries ago. One of the discoloured fly-leaves of this
-entertaining tome informed me, in a hand-writing which resembled a
-dilapidated rail-fence looked at from the window of an express train,
-that _Jacobus Keith me possedit, An. Dom. 1655_; and also bore this
-inscription, so pertinent to my present theme: "Expositors are wise when
-they are not otherwise." I feel that it is safe to leave my readers to
-make the application of this apothegm to the Shakespearean annotators of
-their acquaintance, so few of whom are wise, so many otherwise. I think
-it was the late Mr. Hazlitt who said (and if it was not, it ought to
-have been) that if you desire to know to what sublimity human genius is
-capable of ascending, you must read Shakespeare; but that if you seek to
-ascertain to what a depth of imbecility the intellect of man may be
-brought down, you must read his commentators.
-
-Notwithstanding the low estimate which I am inclined to place upon the
-labour of the majority of the commentators on Shakespeare, still I have
-often felt a strong temptation to enroll myself among them. Not all
-their stupidity in explaining things which are clear to the meanest
-capacity, not all their pedantry in elucidating matters which are simply
-inexplicable, not all their inordinate voluminousness, could quench my
-ambition to fasten my roll of waste paper to the bob (already so
-unwieldy) of the Shakespearean kite. Others have soared into fame by
-such means; why should not I? We ought not to study Shakespeare so many
-years for nothing, and I feel that a sacred duty would be neglected if
-the result of my researches were withheld from my suffering
-fellow-students. But let me be more merciful than other commentators;
-let me confine my remarks to a single play. From that one you may learn
-the tenor of my theories concerning the others; and if you wish for
-another specimen, I shall consider that I have achieved an unheard-of
-triumph in this department of literature.
-
-The tragedy of _Hamlet_ has always been regarded as one of the most
-creditable of Shakespeare's performances. It needs no new commendation
-from me. Dramatic composition has made great progress within the two
-hundred and sixty years that have elapsed since Hamlet was written, yet
-few better things are produced nowadays. We may as well acknowledge the
-humiliating fact that Hamlet, with all its age, is every whit as good as
-if it had been written since Lady Day, and were announced on the
-playbills of to-morrow night, with one of Mr. Boucicault's most eloquent
-and elaborate prefaces. The character of Hamlet has been much discussed,
-but, with all due respect for the genius of those who have fatigued
-their reader with their treatment of the subject, I would humbly suggest
-that they are all wrong. Hamlet resembles a picture which has been
-scoured, and retouched, and varnished, and restored, until you can
-hardly see any thing of the original. Critics and commentators have
-bedaubed the original character so thoroughly, and those credulous
-people who rejoice that Chatham's language is their mother tongue, have
-heard so much of their estimate of Hamlet's character, that they receive
-them on faith, flattering themselves all the while that they are paying
-homage to the Hamlet of Shakespeare. High-flown philosophy exerts its
-powers upon the theme, and Goethe gives it as his opinion that the
-dramatist wished to portray the effects of a great action, imposed as a
-duty upon a mind too feeble for its accomplishment, and compares it to
-an oak planted in a china vase, proper to receive only the most delicate
-flowers, and which flies to pieces as soon as the roots begin to strike
-out.
-
-Now let us drop all this metaphysical and poetical cant, and go back to
-the play itself. Shakespeare will prove his own best expositor, if we
-read him with docile minds, having previously instructed ourselves
-concerning the history of the time of which he wrote. There is a
-tradition common in the north of Ireland that Hamlet's father was a
-native of that country, named Howndale, and that he followed the trade
-of a tailor; that he was captured by the Danes, in one of their
-expeditions against that fair island, and carried to Jutland; that he
-married and set up in business again in that cold region, but that he
-afterwards forsook the sartorial for the regal line, by usurping the
-throne of Denmark. The tradition represents him to have been a man of
-violent character, a hard drinker, and altogether a most unprincipled
-and unamiable person, though an excellent tailor. Now, if we take the
-old chronicle of Saxo Grammaticus, (_Historia Danorum_,) from which
-Shakespeare drew the plot for his tragedy, we shall find there little
-that does not harmonize with this tradition. Saxo Grammaticus tells us
-that Hamlet was the son of Horwendal, who was a famous pirate of
-Jutland, whom the king, Huric, feared so much, that, to propitiate him,
-he was obliged to appoint him governor of Jutland, and afterwards to
-give him his daughter Gertrude in marriage. Thus he obtained the throne.
-The old Irish name, Howndale, might easily have been corrupted into
-Horwendal by the jaw-breaking Northmen, and for the rest, the Danish
-chronicle and the Irish tradition are perfectly consistent. That there
-was frequent communication at that early period between Denmark and
-Ireland, I surely need not take the trouble to prove. All the early
-chronicles of both of those countries bear witness to it. It was to the
-land evangelized by St. Patrick that Denmark was indebted for the
-blessings of education and the Christian faith. But the visits of the
-Danes were not dictated by any holy zeal for the salvation or mental
-advancement of their benefactors, if we may believe all the stories of
-their piratical expeditions. An Irish monk of the great monastery of
-Banchor, who wrote very good Latin for the age in which he lived,
-alludes to this period in his country's history in a poem, one line of
-which is sometimes quoted, even now:--
-
-      _Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes._
-    "Time was, O Danes, we feared your gifts."
-
-The great Danish poet, OEhlenschlaeger, makes frequent allusions in the
-course of his epic, _The Gods of the North_, to the relations that once
-existed between Denmark and Ireland, and to the fact that his native
-land received from Ireland the custom of imbibing spirituous liquors in
-large quantities.
-
-Hamlet's Irish parentage would naturally be concealed as much as
-possible by him, as it might prejudice his claims to the throne of
-Denmark; therefore we can hardly expect to find the ancient legend
-confirmed in the play, except in a casual manner. The free, outspoken,
-Irish nature would make itself known occasionally. Thus we find that
-when Horatio tells him that "there's no offence," he rebukes him with
-
-    "Yes, _by St. Patrick_, but there is, Horatio!"
-
-There certainly needs no ghost come from the grave to tell us that no
-true-born Scandinavian would have sworn in an unguarded moment by the
-Apostle of Ireland. Again, when Hamlet thinks of killing his uncle, the
-wrongful king, he apostrophizes himself by the name which he probably
-bore when he assisted his father (whose death he wishes to avenge) in
-his shop in Jutland:--
-
-    "Now, might I do it, Pat, now he is praying."
-
-Then, too, he speaks to Horatio of the "funeral baked meats" coldly
-furnishing forth the marriage table at his mother's second espousal. The
-custom of baking meats is as well known to be of Irish origin, as that
-of roasting them is to be peculiar to the northern nations of
-continental Europe.
-
-The frequent allusions in the course of the play to drinking customs not
-only prove that Hamlet descended from that nation whose hospitality is
-its greatest fault, but that he and his family were far from being the
-refined and philosophic people some of the commentators would have us
-believe. Thus he promises his old companion,--
-
-    "We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart,"--
-
-which the most prejudiced person will freely allow to be truly a
-_Corkonian_ phrase. This frailty of the family may be seen throughout
-the play. In the last scene, it is especially apparent. All the royal
-family of Denmark seem to have joined an intemperance society. The queen
-even, in spite of her husband's remonstrances, joins in the carousal.
-Hamlet, too, while he is dying, starts up on hearing Horatio say,
-"Here's yet some liquor left," and insists upon the cup being given to
-him. I know that it may be urged, on the other hand, that in the scene
-preceding the first appearance of the ghost before Hamlet, he indulges
-in some remarks which would prove him to have entertained sentiments
-becoming his compatriot, the noble Father Mathew. Speaking of the custom
-of draining down such frequent draughts of Rhenish, he pronounces it to
-his mind
-
-      "a custom
-    More honoured in the breach than the observance."
-
-It must be remembered that the occasion on which this speech was uttered
-was a solemn one. Under such supernatural circumstances old Silenus or
-the King of Prussia himself might be pardoned for growing somewhat
-homiletic on the subject of temperance. The conclusion of this speech
-has given the commentators a fine chance to exercise their ingenuity.
-
-      "The dram of bale
-    Doth all the noble substance often doubt
-    To his own scandal."
-
-They have called it the "dram of base," the "dram of eale," &c., and
-then have been as much in the dark as before. Some have thought that
-Shakespeare intended to have written it "the dram of Bale," as a sly hit
-at Dr. John Bale, the first Protestant Bishop of Ossory in Ireland, who
-was an unscrupulous dram-drinker as well as dramatist, for he wrote a
-play called "Kynge Johan," which was reprinted under the editorial care
-of my friend, Mr. J. O. Halliwell, by the Camden Society, in 1838. But
-this attempt to make it reflect upon the Ossory prelate is entirely
-uncalled for. A little research would have showed that _bale_ was a
-liquor somewhat resembling our whiskey of the true R. G. brand, the
-consumption of which in the dram-shops of his country the Prince Hamlet
-so earnestly deplored. The great Danish philosopher, V. Scheerer
-Homboegger, in his autobiography, speaks of it, and says that like all
-the Danes he prefers it to either wine or ale, or water even: _Der er
-vand, her er vun og oel,--men allested BAELE drikker saaledes de
-Dansker._ (Autobiog. II. xiii. Ed. Copenhag.)
-
-As to the proofs that Hamlet's family was closely connected with the
-tailoring interest, they are so thickly scattered through the entire
-tragedy, and are so apparent even to the casual reader, that, even if I
-had room, it would only be necessary to mention a few of the principal
-ones. In the very first scene in which he is introduced, Hamlet talks in
-an experienced manner about his "inky cloak," "suits of solemn black,"
-"forms" and "modes," and tries to defend himself from the suspicion
-which he feels is attached to him by many of the courtiers, by saying
-plainly, "I know not _seams_." This first speech of Hamlet's is a key to
-the wanton insincerity of his character. His mother has begged him to
-change his clothes,--to "cast his nighted colour off,"--and he answers
-her requests with, "I shall _in all my best_ obey you, madam;" yet it is
-notorious that he heeds not this promise, but wears black to the end of
-his career.
-
-He repeatedly uses the expressions which a tailor would naturally
-employ. His figures of speech frequently smell of the shop. As, for
-instance, he says to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, "The appurtenance of
-welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb;"
-in the scene preceding the play he declares that, though the devil
-himself wear black, he'll "have a suit of sables." In the interview with
-his mother, who may be supposed not to have forgotten the early history
-of the family, he uses such figures with still greater freedom:--
-
-    "That monster _custom_ who all sense doth eat
-    Of _habit's_ devil, is angel yet in this;
-    That to the use of actions fair and good
-    He likewise gives a _frock_ or _livery_,
-    That aptly is put on."
-
-In his instruction to the players he speaks of tearing "a passion to
-_tatters_, to very _rags_" and says of certain actors that when he saw
-them it seemed to him as if "some of nature's _journeymen_ had made men
-and not made them well." In the fourth act, he calls Rosencrantz a
-_sponge_.
-
-What better evidence of the skill of Hamlet and his father in their
-common trade can we have than that afforded by the fair Ophelia, who
-speaks of the Prince as "the glass of fashion and the mould of form"? In
-the chamber scene with his mother, Hamlet is taken entirely off his
-guard by the sudden appearance of his father's ghost, whom he
-apostrophizes, not in the set phrases which he used when Horatio and
-Marcellus were by, but as "_a king of shreds and patches_". Old Polonius
-does not wish his daughter to marry a tailor, but is too polite to tell
-her all of his objections to Lord Hamlet's suit; so he cloaks his
-reasons under these figures of speech, instead of telling her, out of
-whole cloth, that Hamlet is a tailor, and the match will never do:--
-
-    "Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers,
-    Not of that dye which there in vestments show,
-    But implorators of unholy suits," &c.
-
-Some late editions of the Bard make the second line of this passage
-read,--
-
-    "Not of that die which their investments show,"----
-
-which is as evident a corruption of the text as any of those detected by
-the indefatigable Mr. Payne Collier.
-
-If any further proof is needed of a matter which must be clear to every
-reasoning mind, it may be found in that solemn scene in which the
-Prince, oppressed by the burden of a life embittered and defeated in its
-highest aims, meditates suicide. Now, if there is a time when all
-affectation of worldly rank would be likely to be forgotten and
-swallowed up in the contemplation of the terrible deed which occupies
-the mind, it is such a time as this. And here we find Shakespeare as
-true as Nature herself. The soldier, weary of life, uses the sword his
-enemies once feared, to end his troubles. Hamlet's mind overleaps the
-interval of his princely life, and the weapon which is most naturally
-suggested by his youthful career is "_a bare bodkin_."
-
-Had I not already written more than I intended on this subject, I might
-go on with many other evidences of the truth of my view of this
-remarkable character. I did wish also to show that Hamlet was a most
-disreputable character, and by no means entitled to the sympathy or
-admiration of men. Suffice it to say that he was, even to his last hour,
-fonder of drink than became a prince (except perhaps a Prince
-Regent)--that he treated Ophelia improperly--that he often spoke of his
-step-father in profane terms--that he indulged in the use of profane
-language even in his soliloquies, as for example,--
-
-      "The spirit I have seen
-    May be a devil; and the devil hath power
-    To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
-    Out of my weakness, and my melancholy,
-    (As he is very potent with such spirits)
-    Abuses me too,--damme!"
-
-His familiarity with the players likewise is an incontrovertible proof
-of his depravity; for the theatrical people of Denmark in his age were
-not what the players of our day are. They were too often people of loose
-and reckless lives, careless of moral and social obligations, and whose
-company would by no means be acceptable to a truly philosophic prince.
-
-If this pre-Raphaelite sketch of Hamlet's character should seem
-unsatisfactory, it can be filled out by a perusal of the play itself, if
-the reader will only cast aside the trammels which the commentators have
-placed in his way. It may be a new view to most of my readers; but I am
-convinced that the theory, of which I have given an outline, is fully as
-tenable as many of the countless conjectural essays to which that
-matchless drama has given rise. If it be untrue, why, then we must
-conclude that all similar theories, though they may be sustained by as
-many passages as I have adduced in support of my Hibernico-sartorial
-hypothesis, are equally devoid of a foundation of common sense. If my
-theory stands, I have the satisfaction of having connected my name
-(which would else be soon forgotten) with one of Shakespeare's
-masterpieces; and that is all that any commentator has ever done. And if
-my theory proves false, it consoles me to think that the splendour of
-the genius which I so highly reverence is in no wise obscured thereby;
-for the stability and grandeur of the temple cannot be impaired by the
-obliteration of the ambitious scribblings and chalk-marks with which
-some aspiring worshippers may have defaced its portico.
-
-
-
-MEMORIALS OF MRS. GRUNDY
-
-
-Of all the studies to which I was ever impelled in my youth, either by
-fear of the birch or by the hope of the laurel or the bays, mythology
-was perhaps the most charming. It was refreshing, after trying in vain
-to conjugate a verb, and being at last obliged to decline it--after
-adding up a column of figures several times, and getting many different
-results, and none of them the right one--and after making a vain attempt
-to comprehend the only algebraic knowledge that ever was forced into my
-unmathematical brain, viz., that _x_ equals an unknown quantity,--it
-was, I say, refreshing to turn over the leaves of my Classical
-Dictionary, and revel among the gods and heroes whose wondrous careers
-were embalmed in its well-thumbed pages. Lempriere was the great
-magician who summoned up before my delighted eyes the denizens of a
-sphere where existence was unvexed by any pestilent arithmetics, and
-where the slavery of the inky desk was unknown. It always seemed to me
-as if the knowledge that I gained out of those enchanted chronicles not
-only improved my mind, but made my body more robust; for I joined in the
-chase, fought desperate battles, as the gods willed it, and breathed all
-the while the pure, invigorating air of old Olympus. The consecrated
-groves were the dwelling-place of my mind, and I became for a time a
-sharer in the joys of beings in whom I believed with all the ardour and
-simplicity of childhood. I enjoyed my mythological readings all the more
-because they did not generally find favour with my school companions,
-most of whom vindicated their nationality by professing their affection
-for the Rule of Three. One of them, I remember, was especially severe on
-the uselessness of the studies in which I took pleasure. He, _parcus
-deorum cultor, et infrequens_, could get no satisfaction out of the
-books in which I revelled; if _he_ had got to study or read, he could
-not afford to waste his brains over the foolish superstitions of three
-thousand years ago. He did not care how much romance and poetic beauty
-there might be in the ancient mythology: what did it all come to in the
-end? It didn't pay. It was a humbug. Our paths in life separated when we
-graduated from jackets and peg-tops. He remained faithful to his boyish
-instincts, and pursued the practical as if it were a reality. After a
-few years his face lost all its youthful look; an intense spirit of
-acquisitiveness gleamed in his calculating eye, and an interest table
-seemed to be written in the lines of his care-worn countenance. We
-seldom had any conversation in our after years, for he always seemed to
-be under some restraint, as if he feared that I wished to borrow a
-little money of him, and he did not wish to refuse for the sake of the
-old time when we sat at the same desk, although he knew that my note was
-good for nothing. His devotion to his deity, the practical, did not go
-unrewarded. He became like the only mythological personage whom he would
-have envied, had he known any thing of the science he despised. His
-touch seemed to transmute every thing into gold. His speculations during
-the war of 1812 were all successful. Eastern lands harmed him not. The
-financial panic of 1837 only put money in his purse. He rolled up a
-large fortune, and was happy. He looked anxious, but of course he was
-happy. What man ever devoted his life to the working out of the dreams
-of his youth in the acquisition of riches, and succeeded beyond his
-anticipations, without being very happy? But, if his gains were
-something practical and real, his losses were doubly so. Each one of
-them was as a dagger stuck into that sere heart. His only son gave him
-much trouble by his wild life, and, what touched him still more, wasted
-the money he had laboured to pile up, at the gaming tables of Baden. I
-saw him walking down Tremont Street the other day, looking care-worn and
-miserable, and I longed to ask him what he thought of the real and
-practical after trying them. He would certainly have been willing to
-acknowledge that there is more reality in the romance and poetry of
-mythology than in the thousands which he invested in the Bay State
-Mills. His practical life has brought him vanity and vexation of spirit,
-while the old Lempriere, which he used to treat so contemptuously,
-flourishes in immortal youth, unhurt amid the wreck of fortunes and the
-depreciation of stocks.
-
-But I am not writing an essay on mythology. I wish to treat of one who
-is sometimes considered a myth, but who is a living and breathing
-personality like all of us. This wide-spread scepticism is one of the
-most fatal signs of the times. Because the late Mrs. Sairey Gamp
-supposed herself justified in cultivating a little domestic mythology in
-the shade of the famous Mrs. Harris, are we to take all the personages
-who have illustrated history as myths and unrealities? Shade of
-Herodotus, forbid it! There are some unbelieving and irreverent enough
-to doubt whether there is really such a person as Mrs. Partington; other
-some there are so hardened in their incredulity as to question the
-existence of the individual who smote Mr. William Patterson, and even of
-the immortal recipient of the blow himself. Therefore we ought not to
-think it strange that the lady whose name adorns the title of this
-article should not have escaped the profane spirit of the age.
-
-Unfortunately for us, Mrs. Grundy is no myth, but a terrible reality.
-She is a widow. The late Mr. Grundy bore it with heroic patience as long
-as he could, and then, by a divine dispensation in which he gladly
-acquiesced, was relieved of the burden of life. If he be not happy now,
-the great doctrine of compensation is nought but a delusion and a sham.
-If endless happiness could only be attained through such a purgatory as
-poor Grundy's life, few of us, I fear, would yearn to be counted among
-the elect. Martyrs, and confessors, and saints of every degree have won
-their crowns of beatitude with comparative ease; if they had been
-subjected to a twenty years' novitiate with Mrs. Grundy and her tireless
-tongue, they would have found how much more terrible that was than the
-laborious life or cruel death by which they passed from earth, and fewer
-bulls of canonization would have received the Seal of the Fisherman. I
-have heard from those who were acquainted with that estimable and
-uncomplaining man that he married for love. His wife was a person of
-considerable attractions, of an inquiring turn of mind, and of uncommon
-energy of character. In her care of his household there was nothing of
-which he might with reason complain. She kept a sharp look-out over all
-those matters in which the prudent housewife delights to show her skill;
-her table was worthy to receive regal legs beneath its shining mahogany
-and spotless cloth, and I have even heard that her husband never had
-occasion to curse mentally over the lack of a shirt-button. Yet was
-Giles Grundy, Esquire, one of the most miserable of men. Of what avail
-was it to him that his wife could preserve quinces, if she could not
-preserve her own peace of mind? What did it matter how well she cured
-hams, if she always failed so miserably in curing her tongue? What
-profit was it that her accounts with her butcher and grocer were always
-correctly kept, if her accounts of all her neighbours constantly overran
-and kept her and her spouse in a perpetual state of moral bankruptcy?
-What difference did it make how well she took care of her own family, if
-they were to be kept in an unending turmoil by her solicitude concerning
-that of every body else?
-
-If you had visited Mrs. Grundy, and remarked the brightness of the
-door-knocker, the stair-rods, the andirons, and every other part of her
-premises that was susceptible of polish, and the scrupulous cleanliness
-that held absolute sway around her, you would have sworn that she was
-gifted with the hundred arms of Briareus: if you had listened for
-fifteen minutes to her observations of men and things, you would have
-had a conviction amounting to absolute certainty that she possessed the
-eyes of Argus. Nobody ever doubted that she was a most religious person.
-She attended to all her religious duties with most edifying exactness.
-She was always in her seat at church, and could tell you, to a bonnet
-ribbon, the dress of every person who honoured the sacred edifice with
-his or her presence. If you would know who of the congregation were so
-lacking in fervour of spirit as to neglect to bow in the creed, or to
-commit the impropriety of nodding during the sermon, Mrs. Grundy could
-give you all the information you could wish. She carried out the divine
-precept to the letter: she watched as well as prayed. But her religion
-did not waste itself in mere devotional ecstasy; it took the most
-attractive form of religion--that of active benevolence. And her pious
-philanthropy was not of that exclusively telescopic character that looks
-out for the interests of the Cannibal Islands and the king thereof, and
-cannot understand that there is any spiritual destitution nearer home.
-She subscribed, it is true, to support the missionaries with their wives
-and numerous children, who were devoted to the godly work of converting
-the Chinese and the Juggernauts; but she did something also in the way
-of food and flannel for the victims of want in her own neighbourhood.
-She established a sewing circle in the parish where she lived, and never
-appeared happier than when busily engaged with her female companions in
-their weekly task and talk. I am afraid that there was other sowing done
-in that circle besides plain sewing. The seeds of domestic unhappiness
-and strife were carried from thence into all parts of the parish.
-Reputations as well as garments took their turn among those benevolent
-ladies, and were cut out, and fitted, and basted, and sewed up, and
-overcast. The sewing circle was Mrs. Grundy's confessional. Do not
-misapprehend me--I would not asperse her character by accusing her of
-what are known at the present day as "Romanizing tendencies"; for she
-lived long before the "scarlet fever" invaded the University of Oxford
-and carried off its victims by hundreds; and nobody ever suspected her
-of any desire to tell her own offences in the ear of any human being.
-No, she detested the Roman confessional in a becoming manner; but she
-upheld, by word and example, that most scriptural institution, the
-sewing circle--the Protestant confessional, where each one confesses,
-not her own sins, but the sins of her neighbours. Mrs. Grundy's success
-with her favourite institution encouraged others to emulate her example;
-and now sewing circles are common wherever the mother tongue of that
-benevolent lady is spoken. It must in justice be acknowledged that there
-are few institutions of human invention which have departed from the
-spirit of their original founder so little as the sewing circle.
-
-Yet, in spite of all her virtues as a housekeeper, a philanthropist, and
-a Christian, Mrs. Grundy had her enemies. Some people were uncharitable
-enough to say that she was the cause of more trouble than all the rest
-of the female population of the town. They accused her of setting
-herself up as a censor, and giving judgments founded upon hearsay
-testimony rather than sound legal evidence. They even said that she made
-her visits among the poor a cloak for the gratification of her
-inquisitiveness; and, if it is ever pardonable to judge of the motives
-of a fellow-being, I think that, in consideration of their exasperation,
-they must be excused for making so unkind a charge, it seemed to be so
-well founded. Far be it from me to say that Mrs. Grundy ever wilfully
-misrepresented. She would have shrunk instinctively from a falsehood.
-But she delighted to draw inferences; and no fact or rumour ever came to
-her without being classified properly in her mental history of her
-neighbours, and being made to shed its full influence upon her next
-conversation. It is astonishing how much one pair of eyes and ears will
-do in the collection of information when a person is devoted to it in
-earnest. In her younger days, Mrs. Grundy had taken pleasure in watching
-her neighbours and keeping up a running commentary on their movements;
-as she advanced in life, it became her business. Her efforts in that way
-were rather in the style of an amateur up to the time of her marriage;
-afterwards she adopted a professional air. She placed herself at her
-favourite window, ornamenting its seat with her spools, and though she
-stitched away with commendable industry, nothing escaped her that came
-within range of her keen powers of observation.
-
-If Mr. Brown called on Mrs. White over the way, Mrs. Grundy set it down
-as a remarkable occurrence: if he repeated his visit a week later, she
-would not declare it positively scandalous, but it was evident that her
-nicer sense of propriety was deeply wounded: if he passed by the door
-without calling, it was clear that there had been a falling out--that
-Mrs. White had seen the error of her ways, or that her husband had, and
-had given Brown a warning. If a stranger was seen exercising Jones's
-bell-pull on two consecutive days, this indefatigable woman allowed not
-her eyes to sleep nor her eyelids to slumber until she had satisfied
-herself concerning his name and purpose. If Mr. Thompson waited upon
-pretty Miss Jenkins home in a shower, and treated her kindly and
-politely, (and who could do otherwise with a young angel in blue and
-drab, who might charm a Kaffir or a Sepoy into urbanity?) Mrs. Grundy
-straightway instituted inquiries among all the neighbours as to whether
-it was true that they were engaged. After this fashion did Mrs. Grundy
-live. Her words have been known to blast a reputation which under the
-sunshine of prosperity and the storms of misfortune had sustained itself
-with equal grace and honour. It was useless to bring up proofs of a life
-of integrity against her sentence or her knowing smile. There was no
-appeal from her decision. Not that she was uncharitable,--only it did
-seem as if she were rather more willing to believe evil of her
-neighbours than good; and she appeared slow to trust in the repentance
-of any one who had ever fallen into sin, especially if the person were
-of her own sex. I am not complaining of this peculiarity; we must be
-circumspect and strict, and mercy is a quality too rare and divine to be
-wasted on every trivial occasion. But I cannot help thinking that, if
-the penitent found it as hard to gain the absolving smile of that Power
-to which alone we are answerable for our misdeeds as to reinstate
-himself in the good graces of Mrs. Grundy, how few of us could have any
-hope of the beatific vision!
-
-Mrs. Grundy had great influence; she was respected and feared. People
-found that she would give her opinion _ex cathedra_, and that, however
-unfounded that opinion might be, there were those who would reecho it
-until common repetition gave it the force of truth; so they tried to
-conciliate her by graduating their actions according to what they
-supposed would be her judgment. When this was seen, she began to be
-envied by some who had once hated her, and her idiosyncrasies were made
-the study of many of her sex who longed to share her empire over the
-thoughts and actions of their fellow-creatures. Thus, by a sort of
-multiplex metempsychosis, were Mrs. Grundy's virtues perpetuated, and
-she was endowed with a species of omnipresence. In this country Mrs.
-Grundy is a power. She is the absolute sovereign of America. Her reign
-there is none to dispute. Our national motto ought to be, instead of _E
-pluribus unum_, "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" There is no class in our
-community over which she does not exercise more or less power. Our
-politicians, when they cease to regard their influence as a commodity to
-be sold to the highest bidder, act, not from any fixed principles, but
-with a single eye to the good will of Mrs. Grundy. If a man is buying a
-house, it is ten chances to one that Mrs. Grundy's opinion concerning
-gentility of situation will carry the day against cosiness and real
-comfort. If your wife or daughter goes to buy a dress, Mrs. Grundy's
-taste will be consulted in preference to the durability of the fabric or
-the condition of your purse. Mrs. Grundy dictates to us how we shall
-furnish our houses, and prescribes to us our whole rule of life. Under
-her stern sway, multitudes are living beyond their means, and trying to
-avert the bankruptcy and unhappiness that inevitably await them. It is
-not merely in the management of temporal affairs that Mrs. Grundy makes
-her power felt. Her vigilance checks many a generous impulse, stands
-between the resolution to do justice and its execution, and is a
-fruitful source of hypocrisy. She presides over the pulpit; the power of
-wardens and vestrymen is swallowed up by her; and the minister who can
-dress up his weekly dish of moral commonplaces so as not to offend her
-discriminating taste deserves to retain his place, and merits the
-unanimous admiration of the whole sewing circle. She is to be found in
-courts of law, animating the opposing parties, and enjoying the contest;
-actions of slander are an agreeable recreation to her; petitions for
-divorce give her unmixed joy. Like the fury, Alecto, so finely described
-by Virgil, Mrs. Grundy can arm brothers to deadly strife against each
-other, and stir up the happiest homes with infernal hatred; to her
-belong a thousand woful arts--_Sibi nomina mille, mille nocendi artes_.
-Mrs. Grundy's philanthropy confines itself to no particular class; it is
-universal. Nothing that relates to human kind is alien to her. There is
-nothing earthly so high that she does not aspire to control it, nor any
-thing too contemptible for her not to wish to know all about it.
-
-Mrs. Grundy is omnipresent. Go where you will, you cannot escape from
-her presence. She stands guard unceasingly over your front door and back
-windows. Her watchful eye follows you whene'er you take your walks
-abroad. Your name is never mentioned that she is not by, and seriously
-inclined to hear aught that may increase her baleful stock of knowledge.
-It is all the same to her whether you have lived uprightly or viciously;
-beneath her Gorgon glance all human actions are petrified alike. And if
-she does not succeed in sowing discord around your hearthstone, and in
-driving you to despair and self-murder, as she did poor Henry Herbert
-the other day, it will be because you are not cursed with his fiery
-sensitiveness, and not because she lacks the will to do it.
-
-There is but one way in which the Grundian yoke can be thrown off. We
-must treat her as the English wit treated an insignificant person who
-had insulted him; we must "let her alone severely." We pay a certain
-kind of allegiance to her if we take notice of her for the purpose of
-running counter to her notions. We must ignore her altogether. It is
-true, this requires a great deal of moral courage, particularly in a
-country where every body knows every body else's business; but it is an
-easier task to acquire that courage than to submit patiently to Mrs.
-Grundy's dictation and interference. Who shall estimate the happiness of
-that millennial period when we shall cease to ask ourselves before our
-every action, "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" and shall begin in earnest to
-live up to the golden rule that counsels us to mind our own business?
-When that day comes, what a world this will be! How will superficial
-morality and skin-deep propriety, envy and uncharitableness, be
-diminished! How will contentment, and mutual good will, and domestic
-peace be augmented! Think on these things, O beloved reader; mind your
-own business, and the day is not far distant when, for you at least, the
-iron sceptre of Dame Grundy shall be powerless, and the spell broken
-that held you in so humiliating a thraldom.
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
-
-
-Life is what we make it. The same scenes wear a very different
-appearance to an ingenuous youth "in the bright morning of his virtues,
-in the full spring blossom of his hopes," and to the disappointed wretch
-who gazes on them "with the eyes of sour misanthropy." The horse that
-was turned by his benevolent owner into a carpenter's shop, with a pair
-of green spectacles prefixed to his nose, and mistook the dry pine
-shavings for his legitimate fodder, was very much in the condition of a
-youth looking upon life and yielding to the natural enthusiasm of his
-unwarped spirit. Like the noble brute, however, the young man is
-undeceived as soon as he tries to sustain himself with the vanities
-which look so tempting and nutritious. He may, like a Wolsey, a Charles
-V., or a Napoleon, attain to the heights of power before the delusive
-glasses drop off; but even though the moment be delayed until he lies
-gasping in the clutch of that monarch to whom the most absolute of
-sovereigns and the most radical of republicans alike must yield
-allegiance, it is sure to come, and show him the ashes that lay hid
-beneath the fair, ripe-looking rind of the fruit he climbed so high to
-obtain. Life passes before us like a vast panorama, day by day and year
-by year unrolling and disclosing new scenes to charm us into
-self-forgetfulness. At one time, we breathe the bracing air of the
-mountains; at another, our eyes are gladdened by the sight of sunshiny
-meadows, or of fertile and far-reaching prairies; and then the towered
-city, with its grove of masts and its busy wharves, makes all mere
-natural beauty seem insignificant in comparison with the enterprise and
-ambition of man; until, at last, the canvas is rolled away, the music
-ceases, the lights are put out, and we are left to realize that all in
-which we delighted was but an illusion and a "fleeting show."
-
-Nevertheless, in spite of the vanities that surround us,--in spite of
-the sublime world-sickness of Solomon and the Preacher, and the fierce
-satire of Juvenal, (who was as anxious to ascertain the precise weight
-of Hannibal as if that illustrious _dux_ had been a
-prize-fighter,)--there is considerable reality in life. The existence of
-so much sham and make-believe implies the existence of the real and
-true. Sir Thomas Browne tells us that "in seventy or eighty years a man
-may have a deep gust of the world"; and it were indeed melancholy if any
-one with hair as gray as mine should look despairingly over the field of
-human existence and effort, and cry, "All is barren."
-
-Life, as I have before said, is whatever we choose to make it. Its true
-philosophy is that divine art which enables us to transmute its every
-moment into the pure gold of heroic and changeless immortality. Without
-that philosophy, it is impossible for the world not to seem at times as
-it did to the desponding Danish prince, "a sterile promontory," and a
-"foul and pestilent congregation of vapours." Without it, life is like
-an elaborate piece of embroidery, looked at from the wrong side; we
-cannot but acknowledge the brilliancy of some of its threads, and the
-delicate texture of the work, but its lack of system, and of any
-appearance of utility, fatigues the mind that hungers after perfection,
-and tempts it to doubt the divine wisdom and goodness from which it
-originated. With it, however, we gaze with admiration and awe upon the
-front of the same marvellous work. Our sense is no longer puzzled by any
-straggling threads, or loose ends; the exquisite colours, the contrast
-of light and shade, and the perfect symmetry and harmony of the design,
-fill the heart of the beholder with wonder and delight, and draw him
-nearer to the source of those ineffable perfections which are but
-imperfectly symbolized in the marvels of the visible universe.
-
-The philosophy which can do all this is _sincerity_. "I think sincerity
-is better than grace," says Mr. T. Carlyle; and the Scotch savage is
-right. All the amenities of life that spring from any other source than
-a true heart, are but gratuitous hypocrisy. The kind-hearted knight whom
-I have already quoted showed how highly he esteemed this virtue when he
-said, "Swim smoothly in the stream of nature, _and live but one man_."
-This double existence, that most of us support,--that is, what we really
-are, and what we wish to be considered,--is the source of many of our
-faults, and most of our vexation and wretchedness. He is the truly happy
-man who forgets that "appearances must be kept up," and remembers only
-that "each of us is as great as he appears in the sight of his Creator,
-and no greater." A great French philosopher has truly said, "How many
-controversies would be terminated, if the disputants were obliged to
-speak out exactly what they thought!" And surely he might have gone
-farther in the same line of thought; for how much heartburning, domestic
-unhappiness, dishonesty, and shameful poverty might be prevented, if my
-neighbour Jinkins and his wife were content to pass in the world for
-what they are, instead of assuming a princely style of living that only
-makes their want of true refinement more apparent, and if Johnson and
-his wife could be induced not to imitate the vulgar follies of the
-Jinkinses! Believe me, incredulous reader, there is more wisdom in old
-Sir Thomas's exhortation to "live but one man" than appears at first
-sight.
-
-But to leave this great primary virtue, which policy teaches most men to
-practise, though they love it not,--there are two or three principles of
-action which I have found very useful in my career, and which form a
-part of my philosophy of life. The first is, never to anticipate
-troubles. Many years ago, I was travelling in a part of our common
-country not very thickly settled, and, coming to a place where two roads
-met, I applied, in my doubt as to which one I ought to take, to an old
-fellow (with a pair of shoulders like those of Hercules, and a face on
-which half a century of sunshine, and storm, and toddies had made an
-indelible record) who was repairing a rickety fence by the wayside. He
-scanned me with a look that seemed to take in not only my personal
-appearance, but the genealogy of my brave ancestor, who might have
-fallen in a duel if he had not learned how "to distinguish between the
-man and the act," and then directed me to turn to the left, as that road
-saved some three or four miles of the distance to the farm-house to
-which I was journeying. As it was spring-time, I manifested some anxiety
-to know whether the freshets, which had been having quite a run of
-business in some parts of the country, had done any damage to a bridge
-which I knew I must cross if I took the shorter road. He sneered at my
-forethought, and said he supposed that the bridge was all right, and
-that I had better "go ahead, and see." I was acting upon his advice,
-when a shout from his hoarse, nasal voice caused me to look back. "I
-say, young man," he bawled out to me, "never cross a bridge till you
-come to it!" There was wisdom in the old man's rough-spoken
-sentence--"solid chunks of wisdom," as Captain Ed'ard Cuttle would fain
-express it--and it sank deep into my memory. There are very few of us
-who have not a strong propensity to diminish our present strength by
-entertaining fears of future weakness. If we could content ourselves to
-"act in the living present,"--if we could keep these telescopic evils
-out of sight, and use all our energies in grappling with the
-difficulties that actually beset our path,--how much more we should
-achieve, and how greatly would our sum of happiness be increased!
-
-Another most salutary principle in my philosophy is, never to allow
-myself to be frightened until I have examined and fairly established the
-necessity of such a humiliation. I adopted this principle in my
-childhood, being led to it in the following manner: I was visiting my
-grandfather, who lived in a fine old mansion-house in the country, with
-high wainscotings, capacious fireplaces, heavy beams in the ceilings,
-and wide-arching elms overshadowing the snug porch where two or three
-generations had made love. Sixty years and more have elapsed since that
-happy time, yet it seems fresher in my memory than the events of only
-quarter of a century back. My grandfather was a lover of books, and
-possessed a good deal of general information. He thought it as advisable
-to keep up with the history of his own times as to be skilled in that of
-empires long since passed away. It is not to be wondered at that he
-should have treasured every newspaper--especially every foreign
-journal--that he could lay his hands upon. It was under his auspices
-that I first read the dreadful story of the Reign of Terror, and
-acquired my anti-revolutionary principles.
-
-I shall never forget the bright autumnal afternoon when the mail coach
-from Boston brought a package of books and papers to my grandfather. It
-was the last friendly favour, in fact the last communication, that he
-ever received from his old Tory friend, Mr. Barmesyde, whom I mentioned
-with respect in a former essay; for that genial old gentleman died in
-London not long after. The parcel had made a quick transit for those
-days, Mr. Barmesyde's letter being dated only forty-six days before it
-was opened by my grandsire, and we enjoyed the strong fragrance of its
-uncut contents together. The old gentleman seized upon a copy of Burke's
-splendid Essay on the French Revolution, which the package contained,
-and left me to revel in the newspapers, which were full of the dreadful
-details of that bloody Saturnalia. I got leave from my grandfather (who
-was so deep in Burke that he answered me at random) to sit up an hour
-later than usual. Terrible as all the things of which I read seemed to
-my young mind, there was a fascination about the details of that
-sanguinary orgie that completely enchanted me. My imagination was full
-of horrible shapes when I was obliged to leave the warm, cheerful
-parlour, and Robespierre, Danton, and Marat were the infernal
-chamberlains that attended me as I went up the broad, creaking staircase
-unwillingly to bed. A fresh north-west breeze was blowing outside, and
-the sere woodbines and honeysuckles that filled the house with
-fragrance, and gave it such a rural look in summer, startled me with
-their struggles to escape from bondage. Had it been spring, my young
-imagination was so excited that I should have feared that they might
-imitate the insurgents of whom I had been reading and begin to shoot! In
-the night my troubled slumbers were disturbed by a noise that seemed to
-me louder than the discharge of a heavy cannon. I sat up in the high,
-old-fashioned bed, and glared around the room, which was somewhat
-lighted by the beams of the setting moon. There was no mistake about my
-personal identity--I was neither royalist nor jacobin; there was no
-doubt that I was in the best "spare chamber" of my grandfather's house,
-and not in the Bastile, and that the dark-looking thing in the corner
-was a solid mahogany chest of drawers, and not a guillotine; but all
-these things only served to increase my terror when I noticed a dark
-form standing near the foot of the bed and staring at me with pale,
-fiery eyes. I rubbed my own eyes hard, and pinched myself severely, to
-make sure that I was awake. The room was as still as the great chamber
-in the pyramid of Cheops. I could hear the old clock tick at the foot of
-the stairs as plainly as if I had been shut up in its capacious case. In
-the midst of my perturbation it made every fibre of my frame tremble by
-striking _one_ with a solemn clangour that I thought must have waked
-every sleeper in the house. The stillness that followed was deeper and
-more terrifying than before. I heard distinctly the breathing of the
-monster at the foot of the bed. I tried to whistle at the immovable
-shape, but I had lost the power to pucker. At last, I formed a desperate
-resolution. I knew that, if the being whose big, fierce eyes filled me
-with terror were a genuine supernatural fiend, it was all over with me,
-and I might as well give up at once. But, if perchance a human form were
-hid beneath that dreadful disguise, there was some room for hope of
-ultimate escape. To settle this point, therefore, became necessary to my
-peace of mind, and I determined that it should be done. Bending up "each
-corporal agent to the terrible feat," I slid quietly out of bed. The
-monster was as motionless as before, but I noticed that his head was
-covered with a white cloth, which made his head seem ghastlier than
-ever. Setting my teeth firmly together, and clinching my little fists to
-persuade myself that I was not afraid, I made the last, decisive effort.
-I walked across the room, and stood face to face with that formidable
-shape. My grandfather's best coat hung there against the wall, its
-velvet collar protected from the dust by a white cloth, and the two gilt
-buttons on its back glittering in the moonlight. This was the tremendous
-presence that had appalled me. The weakness in the knees, the chattering
-of my teeth, and the profuse perspiration which followed my recognition
-of that harmless garment, bore witness to the severity of my fright.
-Before I crawled back into the warm bed, I resolved never in future to
-yield to fear, until I had ascertained that there was no escape from it;
-and I have had many occasions since to act upon that principle.
-
-Speaking of fear, a friend of mine has a favourite maxim, "Always do
-what you are afraid to do;" to which (in a limited sense, so far as it
-relates to bodily fear) I subscribed even in my boyhood. I was returning
-one evening to my grandfather's house, during one of my vacation visits,
-and yielded to the base sentiment of timidity so far as to choose the
-long way thither by the open road, rather than to take the short cut,
-through the graveyard and a little piece of woodland, which was the
-ordinary path in the daytime. I pursued my way, thinking of what I had
-done, until I got within sight of the old mansion and its guardian elms,
-when shame for my own cowardice compelled me to retrace my steps a
-quarter of a mile or more, and take the pathway I had so foolishly
-dreaded. The victory then achieved has lasted to this hour. Dead people
-and their habitations have not affrighted me since; indeed, some grave
-men whom I have met have excited my mirth rather than my fears.
-
-But overcome our fears and our propensity to borrow trouble, as we
-may,--in spite of all our philosophy, life is a severe task. I have
-heard of a worthy Connecticut parson of the old school, who enlarged
-upon the goodness of that Providence which dealt out time to a man,
-divided into minutes, and hours, and days, and months, and years,
-instead of giving it to him, as it were, in a lump, or in so large a
-quantity that he could not conveniently use it! Laugh as much as you
-please, gentle reader, at the seeming absurdity of the venerable divine,
-but do not neglect the great truth which inspired his thought. Do not
-forget what a great mercy it is that we are obliged to live but one day
-at a time. Do not overlook the loving kindness which softens the memory
-of past sorrows, and conceals from us those which are to come. I have no
-respect for that newest heresy of our age, which pretends to read the
-secrets of the unseen world, nor any sympathy with those morbid minds
-that yearn to tear away the veil which infinite wisdom and mercy hangs
-between us and the future. With all our boasted learning we know little
-enough; but that little is far too much for our happiness. How many of
-our trials and afflictions could we have borne, if we had been able to
-foresee their full extent and to anticipate their combined poignancy?
-Truly we might say with Shakespeare,--
-
-      "O, if this were seen,
-    The happiest youth--viewing his progress through,
-    What perils past, what crosses to ensue--
-    Would shut the book, and sit him down and die."
-
-He only is the true philosopher who uses life as the usurer does his
-gold, and employs each shining hour so as to insure an ever-increasing
-rate of interest. He does not bury his gift, nor waste it in frivolity.
-Like the old Doge of Venice, he grows old but does not wear out:
-_Senescit, non segnescit_. And he truly lives twice, as an old classical
-poet expresses it, inasmuch as he renews his enjoyment of the past in
-the recollection of his good actions and of pleasures "such as leave no
-sting behind."
-
-
-
-BEHIND THE SCENES
-
-
-There is no pleasure so satisfactory as that which an old man feels in
-recalling the happiness of his youthful days. All the woes, and
-anxieties, and heart-burnings that disturbed him then have passed away,
-and left only sunshine in his memory. And this retrospective enjoyment
-increases with every repeated recital, until the scenes of his past
-history assume a magnificence of proportion that bewilders the narrator
-himself, and sets the principles of optics entirely at defiance. It is
-with old men looking back on their younger days very much as it is with
-people who have travelled in Italy. How do the latter glow with
-enthusiasm at the mere mention of the "land of the melting lyre and
-conquering spear"! How do their eyes glisten as they tell of the time
-when they mused among the broken columns of the Forum, or breathed the
-air of ancient consecration under the majestic vaults of the old
-basilicas, or walked along the shores of the world's most beautiful bay,
-and watched the black form of Vesuvius striving in vain to tarnish with
-its foul breath the blue canopy above it! They have forgotten their
-squabbles with the _vetturini_, the draughtless chimneys in their
-lodgings, and the dirty staircase that conducted to them; the fleas,
-with all the other disagreeable accompaniments of Italian life, have
-fled into oblivion; and Italy lives in their memories only as a land of
-gorgeous sunsets, and of a history that dwarfs all other human annals.
-And so it is with an old man looking back upon his youth: he forgets how
-he cried over his arithmetic lessons; how unfilial his feelings were
-when his governor refused him permission to set up a theatre in the
-cellar; how sheepishly he slunk through all the back alleys on the day
-when he first mounted a tail-coat and a hat; how unhappy he was when he
-saw his heart's idol, Mary Smith, walking home from school with his
-implacable foe, Brown; how his head used to ache after those _noctes
-coenaeque deum_ with his club at the old Exchange Coffee House; and what
-a void was created in his heart when his crony of cronies was ordered
-off by a commission from the war department. There is no room in his
-crowded memory for such things as these. Sitting by his fireside, as I
-do now, he recalls his youth only as a season of bats and balls, and
-marbles, of sleds, and skates, and bright buttons, and clean ruffled
-collars, of Christmas cornucopias of hosiery, and no end of Artillery
-Elections and Fourths of July, with coppers enough to secure the
-potentiality of obtaining egg-pop to an alarming extent.
-
-How he fires up if you mention the theatre to him! He will allow that
-Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Warren are most excellent in their way; but bless
-your simple heart, what is the stage now compared to what it was in the
-first part of this century? And he is about right. It is useless for us,
-who remember the old Federal Street playhouse, and the triumphs of Cooke
-and the great Kean, to try to go to the theatre now. Our new theatre is
-more stately and splendid than Old Drury was, but our players do not
-reach my youthful standard. I miss those old familiar faces and voices
-that delighted me in times long past, and the stage has lost most of its
-charms. I can find my best theatrical entertainment here at home. I call
-up from among the shadows that the flickering firelight casts upon the
-wall, the tall, knightly figure of Duff, the brisk, busy, scolding Mrs.
-Barnes, the sedate and judicious Dickson, the grotesque Finn, the
-stately and elegant Mrs. Powell, looking like the personification of
-tragedy, and bluff old Kilner, fat and pleasant to the sight, and with
-that hearty laugh that made all who heard it love him.
-
-What is the excitement occasioned by the Ellsler or Miss Lind compared
-to that which attended the advent of the elder Kean? What crowds used to
-beset the box office in the ten-footer next to the theatre, from the
-earliest dawn until the opening! I often think, when I meet some of our
-gravest and grayest citizens in their daily walks, what a figure they
-cut now compared with the days when they were fighting their way into
-the box office of the old theatre! Talk of enthusiasm! What are all our
-political campaigns and public commemorations compared with that evening
-during the last war with Great Britain, when Commodore Bainbridge came
-into Boston Bay after his victory over the Java! That admirable actor,
-the late Mr. Cooper, was playing Macbeth, and interrupted his
-performance to announce the victory.
-
-But, pardon me, I did not sit down here to lose myself in the
-reminiscences of half a century ago. Let me try to govern this truant
-pen, and keep it more closely to my chosen theme. Do you remember,
-beloved reader, your second visit to the theatre? If you do, cherish it;
-let it not depart from you, for in the days that are in store for you,
-when age and infirmity shall stand guard over you, and you are obliged
-to find all your pleasures by your fireside, the memory of your second
-play will be very precious to you. You will find, on looking back to it
-through a vista of sixty years or more, that all the pleasure you then
-enjoyed was placed on the credit side of your account, and has been
-increasing by a sort of moral compound interest during the long years
-that you have devoted to delights less innocent, perhaps, and certainly
-less satisfactory, or to the pursuit of objects far more fleeting and
-unreal than those which then fascinated your youthful mind. I say your
-"second play," for the first dramatic performance that the child
-witnesses is too astonishing to afford him its full measure of
-gratification. It is only after he has told his playmates all about it,
-and imitated the wonderful hero who rescued the beautiful lady in white
-satin, and dreamed of the splendour of the last great scene, when all
-the persons of the drama stood in a semicircle, and the king, with a
-crown of solid gold upon his head, addressed to the magnanimous hero the
-thrilling words,--
-
-    "It is enough: the princess is thine own!"--
-
-and all the characters struck impressive attitudes, and the curtain
-descended upon a tableau lighted up by coloured fires of ineffable
-brilliancy,--it is only after all these things have sunk deep into the
-young mind, and he has resolved to write a play himself, and never to
-rest satisfied until he can bring down the house with the best of the
-actors he has seen, that he fully appreciates the entertainment which
-has been vouchsafed to him.
-
-What a charm invests the place where we made our first acquaintance with
-the drama! It becomes an enchanted spot for us, and I doubt if the
-greatest possible familiarity in after life can ever breed contempt for
-it in our hearts. For my own part, I regarded the destruction of the old
-theatre in Federal Street, and the erection of warehouses on its
-hallowed site, as a positive sacrilege. And I cannot pass that spot,
-even at this late day, without mentally recurring to the joys I once
-tasted there. Perhaps some who read this may cherish similar sentiments
-about the old Tremont Theatre, a place for which I had as great a
-fondness as one can have for a theatre in which he did not see his first
-play. The very mention of it calls up its beautiful interior in my
-mind's eye,--its graceful proscenium, its chandeliers around the front
-of the boxes, its comfortable pit, where I enjoyed so much good acting,
-and all the host of worthies who graced that spacious stage. Mr. Gilbert
-was not so fat in those days as he is now, nor Mr. Barry so gray. What a
-picturesque hero was old Brough in the time when the Woods were in their
-golden prime, and the appearance of the Count Rodolpho on the distant
-bridge was the signal for a tempest of applause! Who can forget how Mr.
-Ostinelli's bald head used to shine, as he presided over that excellent
-orchestra, or how funny old Gear's serious face looked, as he peered at
-the house through those heavy, silver-bowed spectacles? Perhaps for some
-of my younger readers the stage of the Museum possesses similar charms,
-and they will find themselves, years hence, looking back to the happy
-times when Mr. Angier received their glittering quarters, and they
-hastened up stairs, to forget the wanderings of AEneas and the
-perplexities of arithmetic in the inimitable fun of that prince-regent
-among comedians, Mr. William Warren.
-
-But wherever we may have commenced our dramatic experience, and whatever
-that experience may have been, we have all, I am sure, felt the
-influence of that mysterious charm which hangs over the stage. We have
-all felt that keen curiosity to penetrate to the source of so much
-enjoyment. Who has not had a desire to enter that mysterious door which
-conducts the "sons of harmony" from the orchestra to the unknown depths
-below the stage? It looks dark and forbidding, but we feel instinctively
-that it is not so, when we see our venerated uncle Tom Comer carrying
-his honest and sunshiny face through it so often. That green curtain,
-which is the only veil between us and a world of heroes and
-demigods,--how enviously do we look at its dusty folds! With what
-curiosity do we inspect the shoes of varied make and colour that figure
-in the little space between it and the stage! How do we long to follow
-the hero who has strutted his hour upon the stage into the invisible
-recesses of P. S. and O. P., and to know what takes the place of the
-full audience and the glittering row of footlights in his eyes when he
-makes his exit at the "upper entrance, left," or through the "door in
-flat" which always moves so noiselessly on its hinges! I think that the
-performance of the "Forty Thieves" awakened this curiosity in my mind
-more than almost any other play. I longed to inspect more closely those
-noble steeds that came with such a jerky gait over the distant
-mountains, and to know what produced the fearful noise that attended the
-opening of the robbers' cave. I believed in the untold wealth that was
-said to be heaped up in those subterranean depths, but still I wished to
-look at the "cavern goblet," and see how it compared with those that
-adorned the cases of my excellent friends, Messrs. Davis and Brown. I
-can never forget the thrill that shot through me when Morgiana lifted
-the cover of the oil jar, and the terrible question, "Is it time?"
-issued from it, nor my admiration for the fearlessness of that
-self-possessed maiden when she answered with those eloquent and
-memorable words, "Not yet, but presently." I believed that the compound
-which Morgiana administered so freely to the concealed banditti was just
-as certain death to every mother's son of them as M. Fousel's _Pabulum
-Vitae_ is renewed life to the consumptives of the present day; and,
-years after I had supposed my recollections of the "Forty Thieves" to
-have become very misty and shapeless, I found myself startled in an
-oriental city by coming upon several oil jars of the orthodox model, and
-I astonished the malignant and turbaned Turk who owned them, and amused
-the companion of my walks about Smyrna, by lifting the lid of one of
-them, and quoting the words of Morgiana. My superstitions concerning
-that pleasant old melodrama of course passed away when I became familiar
-with the theatre by daylight, and was accustomed to exchange the
-compliments of the morning with the estimable gentleman who played
-Hassarac; but the illusion of its first performance has never been
-entirely blotted from my mind.
-
-Some years ago it was my privilege to visit a place which is classical
-to every lover of the drama and its literature. Drury Lane Theatre, now
-that its ancient rival, Covent Garden, has passed away, and been
-replaced by a house exclusively devoted to the lyric muse, is the only
-theatre of London which is associated in every mind with that host of
-geniuses who have illustrated dramatic art from the times of Garrick to
-our own. That gifted and versatile actor, Mr. Davenport, who stands as
-high in the favour of the English as of the American public, conducted
-me through that immense establishment. We entered the door, which I had
-often looked at with curiosity as I passed through the long colonnade of
-the theatre, encountering several of those clean-shaven personages in
-clothes that would be much refreshed if they were allowed to take a nap,
-and, after traversing two or three dark corridors, found ourselves upon
-the stage. The scene of so many triumphs as have there been achieved is
-not without its attractions, even though it may look differently _en
-deshabille_ from what it does in the glitter of gaslight. The stage
-which has been trod by the Kembles, the Keans, Siddons, Macready, Young,
-Palmer Dowton, Elliston, Munden, Liston, and Farren, is by no means an
-ordinary combination of planks. We know, for Campbell has told us, that
-
-    "----by the mighty actor brought,
-      Illusion's perfect triumphs come;
-    Verse ceases to be airy thought,
-      And sculpture to be dumb."
-
-Yet what a shadowy, intangible thing the reputation of a great actor
-would seem to be! We simply know of him that in certain characters his
-genius held the crowded theatre in willing thraldom, and made the hearts
-of hundreds of spectators throb like that of one man. Those who felt his
-wondrous power have passed away like himself; and all that remains of
-him who once filled so large a space in the public eye is an ill-written
-biography or a few hastily penned sentences in an encyclopaedia.
-
-I was too full of wonder at the extent of that vast stage, however, to
-think much of its ancient associations. Those lumbering stacks of
-scenery that filled a large building at the rear of the stage, and ran
-over into every available corner, told the story of the scenic efforts
-of Old Drury during nearly half a century. How many dramas, produced
-"without the slightest regard to expense," and "on a scale of
-unparalleled splendour," must have contributed to the building up of
-those mighty piles! The labyrinthine passages, the rough brick walls,
-darkened by time and the un-Penelope-like spiders of Drury Lane, were in
-striking contrast to the stage of that theatre as it appears from the
-auditorium. The green-room had been placed in mourning for the "goodlie
-companie" that once filled it, by the all-pervading, omnipresent smoke
-of London. Up stairs the sight was still more wonderful. The space above
-the stage was crowded full of draperies, and borders, and dusty ropes,
-and wheels, and pulleys. Davenport enjoyed my amazement, and led me
-through a darksome, foot-wide passage above the stage, through that
-wilderness of cordage to the machinists' gallery. Take all the
-rope-walks that you have ever visited, dear reader, and add to them the
-running gear of several first-class ships, and you may obtain something
-of an idea of the sight that then met my view. I have often heard an
-impatient audience hiss at some trifling delay in the shifting of a
-scene. If they could see the complicated machinery which must be set in
-motion to produce the effects they desire, their impatience would be
-changed to wonder at the skill and care which are so constantly exerted
-and make so few mistakes. A glance into two or three of the
-dressing-rooms, and a hasty visit to the dark maze of machinery beneath
-the stage for working the trapdoors, completed my survey of Old Drury,
-and I left its ancient walls with an increased respect for them, and a
-feeling of self-gratulation that I was neither an actor nor a manager.
-
-Not long after the above visit, I availed myself of an opportunity to
-make a similar inspection of the _Theatre Francais_, in the Palais Royal
-at Paris. The old establishment is not so extensive as that of Drury
-Lane, but its main features are the same. There was an air of government
-patronage about it which was apparent in its every department. The stage
-entrance was through a long and well-lighted corridor that might have
-led to a banking-house. Its green-room was a luxurious saloon, with a
-floor of tessellated walnut and oak, waxed and polished so highly that
-you could see your figure in it, and could with difficulty avoid
-becoming a lay figure upon it. Its frescoed ceiling and gilded cornices,
-its immense mirrors, and its walls covered with the portraits of several
-generations of players, whose genius has made the very name of that
-theatre venerable throughout the civilized world, were very different
-from most of the green-rooms that I had seen. In the ancient colleges in
-Italy the walls of the classrooms are hung with portraits of the
-distinguished scholars, illustrious prelates, and sometimes of the
-canonized saints, who once studied under their time-honoured roofs. In
-the same spirit, the green-room of the _Theatre Francais_ is adorned
-with busts and pictures; and the chairs that once were occupied by a
-Talma, a Mars, and a Rachel are held in honour in the place where their
-genius received its full development. The dressing-rooms of the
-brilliant company which sustains the high reputation of that house are
-in perfect keeping with its green-room. Each of the leading actors and
-actresses has a double room, furnished in a style of comfortable
-elegance. In the wardrobe and property rooms, the imperial patronage is
-visible in the richness of the stage furniture and the profusion of
-dresses made of the costliest silks and velvets. The stage, however, is
-very much like that of any other theatre. There were the same obscure
-passages, the same stupendous collection of intricate machinery, and the
-same mysterious odour, as of gas and musty scenery, pervaded the whole.
-I was permitted to view all its arcana, from the wheels that revolve in
-dusty silence eighty or ninety feet above the stage to the ponderous
-balance weights that dwell in the darkness of the second and third
-stories below it; and enjoyed it so keenly that I regretted to be told
-that I had seen all, and to find myself once more in the dazzling
-sunshine of the Rue de Richelieu.
-
-We are accustomed to speak of the theatre as a repository of shams and
-unrealities, and to contrast it with the actualities of every-day life.
-I hope that you will excuse me, gentle reader, for venturing to deny the
-justice of all such figures of speech. They are as false as that common
-use of the expressions "sunrise" and "sunset," when we know that the sun
-does not really rise or set at all. No, it is the theatre that is the
-reality, and the life we see on every side the sham. The theatre is all
-that it pretends to be--a scenic illusion; and if we compare it to the
-world around us, with its loving couples, my-dearing each other before
-folks, and exchanging angry words over the solitary tea-tray,--its
-politicians, seeking nominations and votes, and then reluctantly giving
-up their private interests and comforts for the "public good," (as the
-spoils of office are facetiously termed,)--its so-called ministers of
-the gospel, who speak of an offer of increased salary as "an opportunity
-to labour in a wider sphere of usefulness,"--and its funerals, where
-there is such an imposing show of black crape and bombazine, but where
-the genuine mourning commences only after the reading of the will of the
-deceased,--I am sure that we shall be justified in concluding that the
-fictitious affair which we try to dignify with the title of "real life"
-is a far less respectable illusion than the mimic scene that captivates
-us in the hours of relaxation.
-
-
-
-THE PHILOSOPHY OF CANT
-
-
-Be not dismayed, kind reader,--I have no intention of impressing you for
-a tiresome cruise in the high and dangerous latitudes of German
-metaphysics; nor do I wish to set myself up as a critic of pure reason.
-In spite of Noah Webster and his inquisitorial publishers, I still
-cherish a partiality for correct orthography; and I would not be
-understood as referring in the caption of this article to the celebrated
-founder of the transcendental school of philosophy. I cannot but respect
-Emmanuel Kant as a remarkable intellectual man; and I hope to be
-pardoned for saying that his surname might properly be anglicized, by
-spelling it with a C instead of a K. Neither did I allude to the useful
-art of saying "No" opportunely, which an excellent friend of mine (whose
-numerous virtues are neutralized by his propensity to fabricate puns in
-season and out of season) insists upon denominating the "philosophy of
-can't." That faculty which is, in more senses than one, a negative
-virtue, is unhappily a much harder thing to find than the vice of which
-I have a few words to say.
-
-I do not mean cant in the worse sense of the word, as exemplified in the
-characters of Pecksniff, Stiggins, Chadband, and Aminadab Sleek, nor
-even in those of that large school of worshippers of propriety and
-bond-servants of popular opinion, who reverse the crowning glory of the
-character of Porcius Cato, and prefer to seem, rather than to be, good.
-The cant I allude to is the technical phraseology of the various
-virtues, which some people appear to think is the same thing as virtue
-itself. They do not remember that a greasy bank-note is valueless save
-as the representative of a given quantity of bullion, and that pious and
-virtuous language is of no account except its full value be found in the
-pure gold of virtue stored away in the treasure-chambers of the heart.
-For such cant as this I have less respect than for downright hypocrisy;
-for there is something positive about the character of your genuine
-villain, which certainly does not repel me so strongly as the
-milk-and-watery characteristics of that numerous class of every-day
-people who (not being good enough to serve as examples, nor bad enough
-to be held up as warnings) are of no use whatever in their day and
-generation. What possible solace can he who deals in the set phrases of
-consolation administer to the afflicted spirit in that hour, when (even
-among the closest friends) "speech is silver, but silence is golden"?
-
-There is scarcely a subject upon which men converse, in which this
-species of cant does not play its part; but there are some matters in
-which it makes itself so conspicuous that I cannot resist the temptation
-to pay particular attention to them. And, as the subject is rather an
-extensive one, I will parley no longer in its vestibule, but pull off my
-overcoat, and make myself at home in its front parlour. I wish to make a
-few observations on cant as it manifests itself in regard to morality,
-philanthropy, religion, liberty, and progress. My notions will excite
-the sneers of some of my younger readers, I doubt not, and perchance of
-some older ones; but, while I claim the privilege of age in speaking out
-my mind, I shall try to avoid the testiness which senility too often
-manifests towards those who do not respect its opinions. Convinced that
-mine are true, I can afford to emulate "Messire de Mauprat" in his
-patience, and wait to see my fellow-men pass their fortieth birthday,
-and, leaving their folly and enthusiasm behind them, come round to my
-position.
-
-The cant of Morality is so common that it is mistaken by many excellent
-people for morality itself. To leave unnoticed the people who consider
-it very iniquitous to go to the theatre, but perfectly allowable to
-laugh at Mr. Warren on the stage of the Museum; who enjoy backgammon,
-but shrink from whist with holy horror; and who hold up their hands and
-cry out against the innocent Sunday recreations of continental Europe,
-yet think themselves justified in reading their Sunday newspapers and
-the popular magazines, or talking of the style of the new bonnets which
-made their first appearance at the morning service,--to say nothing
-about the moralists of this school, I am afraid that the prevailing
-notions on matters of greater import than mere amusement are not such as
-would stand a very severe moral test. When I see so much circumspection
-with regard to external propriety, joined with such an evident want of
-principle, it seems to me as if the Ten Commandments of the Old Law had
-been superseded by an eleventh: _Thou shalt not be found out_. When I
-see people of education in a city like Boston, dignifying lust under the
-title of a spiritual affinity, and characterizing divorce as obedience
-to the highest natural law,--and still more, when I see how little
-surprise the enunciation of such doctrines occasions,--I no longer
-wonder at infidelity, for I am myself tempted to ask whether there is
-any such thing as abstract right or abstract wrong, and to question
-whether morality may not be an antiquated institution, which humanity is
-now sufficiently advanced to dispense with. It is a blessed thing that
-we have not the power to read one another's hearts. To pass by the
-unhappiness it would cause us, what changes it would occasion in our
-moral classifications! How many men, clad in picturesque and variegated
-costumes, are labouring in the public workshops of Charlestown, or Sing
-Sing, or Pentonville, who, if the heart were seen, would be found
-worthier by far than some of those ornaments of society who are always
-at the head of their pews, and whose names are found alike on false
-invoices and subscription lists for evangelizing some undiscovered
-continent! What a different balance would be struck between so-called
-respectability in its costly silks and its comparative immunity from
-actual temptation, and needy wantonness displaying its rouge and
-Attleborough jewelry all the more boldly because it feels that the ban
-of society is upon it!
-
-And this brings me to the cant of Philanthropy. That excellent word has
-been so shamefully abused of late years, by being applied to the
-empirical schemes of adventurers and social disorganizers, that you
-cannot now say a much worse thing of a man than that he is a
-"philanthropist." That term ought to designate one of the noblest
-representatives of the unselfish side of human nature; but to my mind,
-it describes a sallow, long-haired, whining fellow, who has taken up
-with the profession of loving all men in general, that he may better
-enjoy the satisfaction of hating all men in particular, and may the more
-effectually prey upon his immediate neighbours; a monomaniac, yet with
-sufficient "method in his madness" to make it pay a handsome profit; a
-knave whose telescopic vision magnifies the spiritual destitution of
-Tching-tou, and can see nothing wanting to complete our Christian
-civilization but a willingness to contribute to the "great and good
-work," and whose commissions for disbursing the funds are frightfully
-disproportionate to the amount collected and the work done. But there is
-a great deal of the cant of philanthropy passing current even among
-those who have no respect for the professional philanthropist. With all
-possible regard for the spirit of the age, I do not believe that modern
-philanthropy can ever be made to take the place of old-fashioned
-Christian charity. Far be it from me to underrate the benevolent efforts
-which are made in this community; but I cannot help seeing that while
-thousands are spent in alms, we lack that blessed spirit of charity
-which imparted such a charm to the benevolent institutions of the middle
-ages. They seemed to labour among the poor on the principle which Sir
-Thomas Browne laid down for his charities--"I give no alms to satisfy
-the hunger of my brother, but to fulfil and accomplish the will and
-command of my God; I draw not my purse for his sake that demands it, but
-His that enjoined it." We irreverent moderns have tried to improve upon
-this, and the result is seen in legal enactments against mendicancy, in
-palatial prisons for criminals, and in poorhouses where the needy are
-obliged to associate with the vicious and depraved. The "dark ages" (as
-the times which witnessed the foundation of the greatest universities,
-hospitals, and asylums the world ever saw, are sometimes called) were
-not dark enough for that.
-
-Do what we may to remedy this defect in our solicitude for the suffering
-classes, the legal view of the matter will still predominate. We may
-imitate the kindliness of the ancient times, but we cannot disguise the
-fact that pauperism is regarded not only as a great social evil, but as
-an offence against our laws. While this is so, we shall labour in vain
-to catch the tone of the days when poverty was ennobled by the virtues
-of the apostolic Francis of Assisi and the heroic souls that
-relinquished wealth and power to share his humble lot. The voice of our
-philanthropy may be the voice of Jacob, but the hand will be the hand of
-Esau. That true gentleman and kind-hearted knight whom I have already
-quoted, had no patience with this contempt for poverty which was just
-growing into sight in his time, but is now so common; and he
-administered to it a rebuke which has lost none of its force by the
-lapse of more than two hundred years: "Statists that labour to contrive
-a commonwealth without poverty, take away the object of charity, not
-understanding only the commonwealth of a Christian, but forgetting the
-prophecy of Christ."
-
-In making any allusion to religious cant, I am sensible that I tread on
-very dangerous ground. Still, in an essay on such a subject as the
-present, revivalism ought not to go unnoticed. God forbid that a man at
-my time of life should pen a light word against any thing that may draw
-men from their worldliness to a more intimate union with their Creator.
-But the revival extravagances which last year made the profane laugh and
-the devout grieve, merit the deprecation of every person who does not
-wish to see religion itself brought into contempt. I do not believe in
-the application of the high-pressure system to the spiritual life. Some
-persons seem to regard a religious excitement as an evidence of a
-healthy spiritual state. As well might they consider a fever induced by
-previous irregularity to be a proof of returning bodily health. As the
-physician of the body would endeavour to restore the patient to his
-normal state, so too the true physician of the soul would labour to
-banish the religious fever from the mind of his patient, and to plant
-therein the sure principles of spiritual health--a clearly-defined
-dogmatic belief, and a deep conviction of the sinfulness of sin. We all
-need to be from time to time reminded that true religion is not a mere
-effervescence, not a vain blaze, but a reality which reflects something
-of the unchangeable glory of its divine Author. It is not a volcano,
-treasuring within its bosom a fierce, destructive element, sullenly
-smouldering and smoking for years, and making intermittent exhibitions
-of a power as terrible as it is sublime. No; it is rather a majestic and
-deep-flowing river, taking its rise amid lofty mountains whose snowy
-crags and peaks are pure from the defilement of our lower world, fed
-from heaven, bearing in its broad current beauty, and fertility, and
-refreshment, to regions which would else be sterile and joyless, and
-emptying at last into a shoreless and untroubled sea, whose bright
-surface mirrors eternally the splendour of the skies.
-
-That the cant of Liberty should be popular with the American tongue is
-not, perhaps, to be wondered at. A young nation,--which has achieved its
-own independence in a contest with one of the most powerful governments
-in the world,--which has grown in territory, population, and wealth
-beyond all historical precedent,--and which has a new country for its
-field of action, so that its progress is unimpeded by the relics of
-ancient civilization or the ruins of dead empires,--could not reasonably
-be expected to resist all temptations to self-glorification. The
-American eagle is no mere barnyard fowl--content with a secure roost and
-what may be picked up within sight of the same. He is the most
-insatiable of birds. His fierce eye and bending beak look covetous, and
-his whole aspect is one of angry anxiety lest his prey should be
-snatched from him, or his dominion should be called in question. In this
-regard he differs greatly from his French relative, who squats with such
-a conscious air of superiority on the tops of the regimental
-standard-poles of the imperial army, and surveys the forest of bayonets
-in which he makes his nest as if he felt that his power was undisputed.
-And we Americans are not less uneasy and wild than the bird we have
-chosen for our national emblem, and appear to think that the essential
-part of liberty consists in keeping up an endless talk about it. Our
-cant of freedom needs to be reminded of Tom Hood's observation
-concerning religious cant:--
-
-    "'Tis not so plain as the old hill of Howth,
-      A man has got his bellyful of meat,
-    Because he talks with victuals in his mouth!"
-
-With all our howling about liberty, we Americans are abject slaves to a
-theory of government which we feel bound to defend under all
-circumstances, and to propagate even in countries which are entirely
-unfitted for it. This constitutional theory is a fine thing to talk
-about; few topics afford so wide a range to the imaginative powers of a
-young orator. It is not therefore to be wondered at, that the subject
-should be so often forced upon us, and that so many startling contrasts
-should be drawn between our governmental experiment and the
-thousand-years-old monarchies of Europe. These comparisons (which some
-people who make republicanism such an article of faith, that they must
-find it hard to repeat the clause of the Lord's prayer, "Thy _kingdom_
-come,"--are so fond of drawing) remind me of the question that was
-discussed in the Milesian debating society--"Which was the greatest man,
-St. Patrick or the Fourth of July?" and the conclusions drawn from them
-are very like the result of that momentous debate, which was decided in
-the affirmative.
-
-For my own part, I have got past the age when eloquence and poetry are
-of much account in matters of such vital importance as government. When
-I buy a pair of overshoes, my first object is to get something that is
-water-proof. So, too, in the matter of government, I only wish to know
-whether the purposes for which government is instituted--the protection
-of the life, property, and personal liberty of its subjects--are
-answered; and, if they are, I am ready to swear allegiance to it, not
-caring a splinter of a ballot-box whether it be founded on hereditary
-succession or a roll of parchment, or whether its executive authority be
-vested in a president, a king, or an emperor. That is the best
-government which is best administered; it makes little difference what
-you call it, or on what theory it is built. I love my country dearly,
-and yield to no one in my loyalty to her government and laws; but
-(pardon me for being so matter-of-fact, and seemingly unpatriotic) I
-would willingly part with some of this boasted liberty of ours, to
-secure a little more wisdom in making laws, and a good deal more
-strength in executing them. I count the privilege of talking politics
-and of choosing between the various political adventurers who aspire to
-be my rulers, as a very insignificant affair compared with a sense of
-security against popular violence and the dishonesty of dealers in the
-necessaries of life. And I cannot help thinking, that for the
-inhabitants of a country where there is little reverence for authority
-or willing obedience to law, where the better class of the citizens
-refuse to take any part in politics, and where the legislative power is
-enthroned, not in the Senate, nor in the House of Representatives, but
-in the Lobby,--for the inhabitants of such a country to boast of their
-liberty aloud, is the most absurd of all the cants in this canting
-world.
-
-Little as I respect the cant of liberty, I care even less for the cant
-of Progress. I never had much patience with this worship of the natural
-sciences, which is rapidly getting to be almost the only religion among
-certain cultivated people in this quarter. I remember in my boyhood
-startling by my scientific apathy a precocious companion who used to
-bother his brains about the solar system, and one useless ology and
-another, in the precious hours which ought to have been devoted to
-Robinson Crusoe and the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. He had been
-labouring hard to explain to me the law of gravitation, and concluded
-with the bold statement that, were it not for that law, an apple, with
-which he had been illustrating his theory, instead of falling to the
-earth, might roll off the unprotected side of this sublunary sphere into
-the abyss of space,--or something to that effect. He could not conceal
-his contempt for my want of scientific ardour, when I asked him whether
-he should really care if it did roll off, so long as there was a plenty
-left! I did wrong to joke him, for he was a good fellow, in spite of his
-weakness. It is many years since he figured himself out of this
-unsatisfactory world, into a state of existence where vision is clearer
-even than mathematical demonstration, and where _x_ does not "equal the
-unknown quantity."
-
-Pardon this digression: in complaining of the vaunted progress of this
-rapid age, I am making little progress myself. It appears to me that the
-people who laud this age so highly either do not know what true progress
-is, or suffer themselves to mistake the means for the end. Your cotton
-mills, and steam engines, and clipper ships, and electric telegraphs, do
-not constitute progress; they are means by which it may be attained. If
-gunpowder, immediately after its invention, had been devoted to the
-indiscriminate destruction of mankind, could such an invention have
-justly been termed progress? If the press were used only to perpetuate
-the blasphemies and indecencies of Mazzini and Eugene Sue, who would
-esteem Gutenberg and Fust as benefactors, or promoters of true progress?
-And if the increased facilities for travel, and the other inventions on
-which this age prides itself, only tend to make men's minds narrower by
-absorbing them in material interests, and their souls more mean by
-giving them the idol of prosperity to worship, then is this nineteenth
-century a century of progress indeed, but in the wrong direction. And if
-our mode of education only augments the ratio of crime among the lower
-class, and makes superficial pretenders of the higher orders of society,
-it is not a matter which will justify our setting ourselves quite so
-high above past ages and the rest of the world.
-
-I cannot see what need nor what excuse there is for all this bragging. A
-great many strong men lived before Agamemnon,--and after him. We indeed
-do some things that would astonish our forefathers; but how are we
-superior to them on that account? We enslave the lightnings of heaven to
-be our messengers, and compel the sun to take our portraits; but if our
-electric wires are prostituted to the chicanery of trade or politics,
-and the faces which the sun portrays are expressive of nothing nobler
-than mercantile shrewdness and the price of cotton, the less we boast of
-our achievements, the better. Thucydides never had his works puffed in a
-newspaper, Virgil and Horace never poetized or lectured for a lyceum;
-Charlemagne never saw a locomotive, nor did St. Thomas Aquinas ever use
-a friction match. Yet this unexampled age possesses, I apprehend, few
-historians who would not shrink from being compared with the famous
-Greek annalist, few poets worthy to wear the crowns of the friends of
-the great Augustus, few rulers more sagacious and firm than the first
-Emperor of the West, and few scholars who would not consider it a
-privilege to be taught by the Angelic Doctor.
-
-True progress is something superior to your puffing engines and clicking
-telegraphs, and independent of them. It is the advancement of humanity
-in the knowledge of its frailty and dependence; the elevation of the
-mind above its own limited acquirements, to the infinite source of
-knowledge; the cleansing of the heart of its selfishness and
-uncleanness; in fact, it is any thing whatever that tends to assimilate
-man more closely to the divine Exemplar of perfect manhood.
-
-
-
-
-
-                               *THE END.*
-
-
-
-
-
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNKNOWN CHUM ***
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