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diff --git a/35412.txt b/35412.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 80e63c4..0000000 --- a/35412.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -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: 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 *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35412 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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