tajSjijiibi 
 
 'Jlllal 
 
 V/s 
 
 AHWdP' 
 
 
 *"«■«? 
 
 H 
 
 
 4 ..,.- 
 
 I j 
 
 
 $% .-%** Jp? -fek \^"<' 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 00022094010 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/wonderfulcuriousOObrya 
 
AI.0N7.0 CHAPPEL PINX'T. 
 
 128 
 
 DECATUR'S COMBAT WITH THE ALGERINE CHIEF. 
 
Columbian Edition. 
 
 The Wonderful, the Curious and 
 the F^eautiful in the 
 
 World's History, 
 
 AS RECORDED IN THE 
 
 Historical Literature of Europe and America, 
 
 FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT TIME. 
 
 The Progress of the Human Race reflected in the Choicest Literature of All Ages. 
 Embracing Strange Incidents, Thrilling Descriptions and Remarkable 
 
 Facts in the Lives of 
 
 CELEBRATED HISTORICAL CHARACTERS, 
 
 Rulers of Nations, Great Generals and their Battles, Heroes and Leaders in the World's Progress, 
 The whole forming a GRAND PANORAMA of Passing Events. 
 
 By WILLIAM S. BRYAN, 
 
 The Renowned Writer and Historian, 
 AND 
 
 JOHN CLARK RIDPATH, LL.D., 
 
 Author of Ridpath's School Histories and a Cyclopedia 
 of Universal History, etc., etc. 
 
 Illustrated with over Two Hundred and Fifty Striking Pictures and Haif=Tone Steefl 
 
 Engravings by the Greatest Artists. 
 
 HISTORICAL PUBLISHING COHPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
Copyright, 1893, by H. S. Smith. 
 
 (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) 
 SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION. 
 
 *:(;* The illustrations in this work being from original drawings, and protected 
 by copyright, their reproduction in any form is unlawful, and notice is hereby 
 given that persons guilty of infringing the copyright thereof will be prosecuted. 
 
THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL 
 
 IN THE 
 
 WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 LIFE AND MAXIMS OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 GREATEST among all the philosophers, in 
 the beneficial results of his discoveries and 
 maxims, stands the name of Benjamin Franklin. 
 For this reason we have thought it proper and 
 right that a sketch of his life, and the best of his 
 maxims, should have the first place in this collec- 
 tion. 
 
 Parentage and Boyhood. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin was born at Boston, on the 
 17th day of January, 1706, and was the youngest 
 but two of a family of seventeen children, two 
 daughters being born after him. His ancestors, 
 as far as they can be traced back (at least three 
 hundred years), were petty freeholders at Eaton, 
 in Northamptonshire ; but if we may judge by 
 the surname of the family — the ancient Norman 
 appellative for a country gentleman — we may con- 
 clude they had originally been of some conse- 
 quence. After the Reformation, the immediate 
 progenitors of Benjamin continued zealously at- 
 tached to the Church of England till towards the 
 close of the reign of Charles the Second, when 
 his father Josias, along with his uncle Benjamin, 
 became dissenters. These men were both bred to 
 the trade of silk-dyeing. Josias married early in 
 life ; and about the year 1682 he emigrated, with 
 his wife and three children, to America, on ac- 
 count of the persecutions to which he was exposed 
 for his dissenting principles. On arriving in 
 New England, he embraced the occupations of 
 soap-boiler and tallow-chandler, of which busi- 
 nesses he previously knew nothing, but only from 
 their being at the time the likeliest to provide 
 maintenance for his increasing family. He ap- 
 pears to have been a man of great penetration 
 and solid judgment ; prudent, active and frugal ; 
 and although kept in comparative poverty by the 
 expenses of his numerous family, was held in 
 
 3 (; 
 
 great esteem by his townsmen. In no respect 
 was his practical good sense more conspicuous 
 than in the education of his children ; and his 
 illustrious son frequently alluded, in terms of 
 thankfulness and gratitude, to the many exem- 
 plars- precepts and sound moral lessons he re- 
 ceived while under the paternal roof. The fol- 
 lowing passage may be read with no little in- 
 struction by the heads and members of all fami- 
 lies similarly circumstanced. ' ' He was fond of 
 having at his table, as often as possible, some 
 friends, or well-informed neighbors, capable of 
 rational conversation ; and he was always careful 
 to introduce useful or ingenious topics of dis- 
 course, which might tend to form the minds of 
 his children. By this means he early attracted 
 our attention to what was just, prudent and 
 beneficial in the conduct of life. He never talked 
 of the meats which appeared on the table ; never 
 discussed whether the}' were well or ill dressed, 
 of a good or bad flavor, high-seasoned or other- 
 wise, preferable or inferior to this or that dish of a 
 similar kind. Thus accustomed from my infancy 
 to the utmost inattention to these objects, I have 
 since been perfectly regardless of what kind of 
 food was before me ; and I pay so little attention 
 to it even now that it would be a hard matter for 
 me to recollect a few hours after I had dined, of 
 what my dinner had consisted. When travelling, 
 I have particularly experienced the benefit of this 
 habit ; for it has often happened to me to be in 
 company with persons, who, having a more deli- 
 cate, because a more exercised taste, have suffered 
 in many cases considerable inconvenience ; while, 
 as to myself, I have had nothing to desire." Ben- 
 jamin was at first designed to be a clergyman, and 
 at eight years of age was put to the grammar- 
 school with that view, having previously been 
 taught to read. His uncle Benjamin, who had 
 3) 
 
34 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 likewise emigrated, encouraged this project. This 
 individual appears to have been an equally eccen- 
 tric and ingenious man. He cultivated the Muses 
 with a success that gave himself, at least, entire 
 satisfaction. But what he was most proud of 
 was a species of short-hand of his own inven- 
 tion, wherewith he had carried off from the con- 
 venticles in England several volumes of sermons 
 whole and entire ; and these he designed for his 
 nephew's stock in trade, when he should set up 
 as preacher. But young Franklin had not been 
 a year at school when his father perceived that 
 his circumstances were quite inadequate to the 
 expenses necessary to complete his son's educa- 
 tion for the clerical profession. He accordingly 
 removed him from the more learned seminary, and 
 placed him under a humbler teacher of reading 
 and writing for another twelvemonth, preparatory 
 to binding him to some handicraft trade. 
 Apprenticeship. 
 
 When his term at school was expired, being 
 then ten years of age, he was taken home to assist 
 his father in his business ; but he soon testified 
 such repugnance to the cutting of wicks for can- 
 dles, running errands, waiting in the shop, with 
 other drudgery of the same nature, that, after a 
 tedious and ill-borne trial of two years, his father 
 became afraid of his running off to sea (for which 
 he confesses to diave had a predilection), as an 
 elder brother had done, and resolved to put him 
 to some other occupation. After much delibera- 
 tion, therefore, he was sent on trial for a few days 
 to his cousin (a son of Benjamin), who was a cut- 
 ler ; but that relative being desirous of a larger 
 apprenticeship-fee than his uncle could spare, 
 he was recalled. His brother James, a short time 
 previous to this period, had returned from Eng- 
 land, whither he had been sent to learn the print- 
 ing business, and set up a press and types on his 
 own account at Boston. To him, therefore, after 
 no little persuasion, Benjamin at last agreed to 
 become an apprentice, and he was indentured ac- 
 cordingly for the term of nine years ; that is, until 
 he should reach the age of twenty-one. 
 
 The choice of this profession, as it turned out, 
 was a lucky one ; and it was made after much 
 careful and correct observation on the part of the 
 parent. He had watched his son's increasing 
 fondness for books, and thirst for information, and 
 that, too, of a solid and instructive sort ; and he 
 therefore judiciously resolved to place him in a 
 
 favorable situation for gratifying this propensity 
 in the youthful mind ; while he would, at the 
 same time, be instructed in a profession by which 
 he could always independently maintain himself 
 in whatever quarter his fortunes might lead him, 
 within the bounds of the civilized world. Frank- 
 lin thus speaks of his early and insatiable craving 
 after knowledge : 
 
 ' ' From my earliest years I had been passionately 
 fond of reading, and I laid out in books all the 
 money I could procure. I was particularly pleased 
 with accounts of voyages. My first acquisition 
 was Bunyan's collection, in small separate vol- 
 umes. These I aftenvards sold, in order to buy 
 an historical collection by R. Burton, which con- 
 sisted of small cheap volumes, amounting in all to 
 about forty or fifty. My father's little library was 
 principally made up of books of practical and 
 polemical theology. I read the greatest part of 
 them. There was also among my father's books 
 'Plutarch's Ljves,' in which I read continually, 
 and still regard as advantageously employed the 
 time devoted to them. I found, besides, a work of 
 De Foe, entitled, 'An Essay on Projects,' from 
 which, perhaps, I derived impressions that have 
 since influenced some of the principal events of 
 my life." It seems to have been lucky for him- 
 self and mankind that the last-named author's 
 most celebrated work, " Robinson Crusoe," did not 
 fall into his hands at this period. 
 
 By his assiduity Franklin soon attained great 
 proficiency in his business, and became very ser- 
 viceable to his brother. At the same time, he 
 formed acquaintance with various booksellers' 
 apprentices, by whose furtive assistance he was 
 enabled to extend the sphere of his reading. 
 This gratification, however, was for the most part 
 enjoyed at the expense of his natural rest. " How 
 often," says he, "has it happened to me to pass 
 the greater part of the night in reading by 1113' 
 bedside, when the book had been lent me in the 
 evening, and was to be returned the next morning, 
 lest it might be missed or wanted ! ' ' His studious 
 habits and intelligent conversation also attracted 
 the notice of a wealth}' merchant who was in the 
 habit of coming about the office, who invited him 
 to his house and gave him the use of an excellent 
 library. 
 
 It is a singular peculiarity of all minds of an 
 active and aspiring character, that they uniformly 
 endeavor to do whatever others have done, and 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 35 
 
 from which they themselves have derived enjoy- 
 ment or benefit. Franklin, from the delight he 
 took in the perusal of books, at last bethought 
 him of trying his own hand at composition ; and 
 as has happened, we believe, with a great propor- 
 tion of literary men of all ages, his first efforts 
 were of a poetical nature. His brother, having 
 come to the knowledge of his attempts, encour- 
 aged him to proceed, thinking such a talent might 
 prove useful in the establishment. At the sug- 
 gestion of the latter, therefore, he finished two 
 ballads, which, after being printed, he was sent' 
 round the town to sell : and one of them, the 
 subject of which was a recent affecting shipwreck, 
 had, he says, a prodigious run. But his father, 
 having heard of the circumstance, soon let down 
 the pegs of the young poet's vanity, by analyzing 
 his verses before him in a most unmerciful 
 style, and demonstrating, as Franklin says, what 
 "wretched stuff they really were." This sharp 
 lesson, which concluded with a warning that 
 versifiers were almost uniformly beggars, effectu- 
 ally weaned him from his rhyming propensities. 
 
 Franklin immediately afterwards betook himself 
 to the composition of prose, and the first oppor- 
 tunity of exercising his pen and his faculties in 
 this way occurred in the following manner : He 
 had a young acquaintance of the name of Collins, 
 who was like himself passionately fond of books, 
 and with whom he had frequent and long argu- 
 ments on various subjects. In narrating this 
 circumstance, Franklin comments, in passing, on 
 the dangerous consequences of acquiring a disputa- 
 tious habit, as tending to generate acrimony and 
 discord in society, and often hatred between the 
 best of friends. He dismisses the subject with 
 the following singular enough observation : "I 
 have since remarked, that men of sense seldom 
 fall into this error — lawyers, fellows of universities, 
 and persons of every profession educated at Edin- 
 burgh, excepted!" But to proceed : Franklin 
 and his companion having as usual got into an 
 argument one day, which was maintained on both 
 sides with equal pertinacity, they parted without 
 bringing it to a termination, and as they were to 
 be separated for some time, an agreement was 
 made that they should carry on their dispute by 
 letter. This was accordingly done ; when, after 
 the interchange of several epistles, the whole cor- 
 respondence happened to fall into the hands of 
 
 Franklin's father. After perusing it with much 
 interest, his natural acuteness and good sense en- 
 abled him to point out to his son how inferior he 
 was to his adversary in elegance of expression, 
 arrangement, and perspicuity. Feeling the justice 
 of his parent's remarks, he forthwith studied most 
 anxiously to improve his style ; and the plan he 
 adopted for this purpose is equally interesting and 
 instructive. 
 
 "Amidst these resolves," he says, "an odd 
 volume of the ' Spectator ' fell into my hands. This 
 was a publication I had never seen. I bought the 
 volume, and read it again and again. I was en- 
 chanted with it, thought the style excellent, and 
 wished it were in my power to imitate it. With 
 this view I selected some of the papers, made 
 short summaries of the sense of each period, and 
 put them for a few days aside. I then, without 
 looking at the book, endeavoured to restore the 
 essays to their due form, and to express each 
 thought at length, as it was in the original, em- 
 ploying the most appropriate words that occurred 
 to ray mind. I afterwards compared my Spectator 
 with the original. I perceived some faults, which 
 I corrected ; but I found that I chiefly wanted a 
 fund of words, if I may so express myself, and a 
 facility of recollecting and employing them, which 
 I thought I should by that time have acquired, 
 had I continued to make verses. The continual 
 need of words of the same meaning, but of dif- 
 ferent lengths, for the measure, and of different 
 sounds for the rhyme, would have obliged me to 
 seek for a variety of synonyms, and have rendered 
 me master of them. From this belief, I took 
 some of the tales of the Spectator, and turned 
 them into verse ; and after a time, when I had 
 sufficiently forgotten them, I again converted 
 them into prose. Sometimes, also, I mingled my 
 summaries together ; and, a few weeks afterwards, 
 endeavoured to arrange them in the best order, 
 before I attempted to form the periods and com- 
 plete the essaj-s. This I did with a view of ac- 
 quiring method in the arrangement of my 
 thoughts. On comparing afterwards my per- 
 formance with the original, man}' faults were 
 apparent, which I corrected ; but I had sometimes 
 the satisfaction to think, that, in certain particu- 
 lars of little importance, I had been fortunate 
 enough to improve the order of the thought or 
 style ; and this encouraged me to hope that I 
 
36 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 should succeed in time in writing decently in the 
 English language, which was one of the greatest 
 objects of ui}- ambition." 
 
 But it was not only by such rigorous self- 
 imposed tasks that this extraordinary man, even 
 at so early an age, endeavored to chasten his 
 mind, and make ever}' animal propensity subser- 
 vient to his sense of duty. He also began to 
 exercise those acts of personal self-denial which 
 the heyday of 3-outh, the season for animal enjoy- 
 ment, feels as the most intolerable of all restric- 
 tions. Having met with a work recommending a 
 vegetable diet, he determined to adopt it. Find- 
 ing, after some days' trial, that he was ridiculed 
 by his fellow-boarders for his singularity, he pro- 
 posed to his brother to take the half of what was 
 now r paid by that relative for his board, and there- 
 with to maintain himself. Xo objection was, of 
 course, made to such an arrangement ; and he 
 soon found that of what he received he was 
 able to save one-half. "This," says he, "was 
 a new fund for the purchase of books, and 
 other advantages resulted to me from the plan. 
 When my brother and his workmen left the 
 printing-house to go to dinner, I remained 
 behind ; and despatching my frugal meal, which 
 frequently consisted of a biscuit onl)', or a slice of 
 bread and a bunch of raisins, or a bun from the 
 pastry-cook's, with a glass of water, I had the 
 rest of the time till their return for study ; and 
 my progress therein was proportioned to that 
 clearness of ideas and quickness of conception 
 which are the fruits of temperance in eating and 
 drinking." 
 
 About three years after Franklin went to his 
 apprenticeship, that is to say, 172 1, his brother 
 began to print a newspaper, the second that was 
 established in America, which he called the ' ' Xew 
 England Courant :" the one previously established 
 was the ' ' Boston News Fetter. ' ' The new publica- 
 tion brought the most of the literati of Boston 
 about the printing office, man}- of whom were 
 contributors ; and Franklin frequently heard them 
 conversing about the various articles that ap- 
 peared in its columns, and the approbation with 
 which particular ones were received. He became 
 ambitious to participate in this sort of fame ; and 
 having written out a paper, in a disguised hand, 
 he slipped it under the door of the printing-office, 
 where it was found next morning, and submitted, 
 as usual, to the critics when they assembled. 
 
 ' ' They read it, ' ' he says ; ' ' commented on it in my 
 hearing ; and I had the exquisite pleasure to find 
 that it met with their approbation ; and that in 
 the various conjectures they made respecting the 
 author, 110 one was mentioned who did not enjoy 
 a high reputation in the country for talent and 
 genius. I now supposed myself fortunate in my 
 judges, and began to suspect that the}- were not 
 such excellent writers as I had hitherto supposed 
 them. Be this as it may, encouraged by this little 
 adventure, I wrote and sent to press, in the same 
 way, main- other pieces which were equally ap- 
 proved — keeping the secret till my slender stock 
 of information and knowledge for such perfor- 
 mances was pretty completely exhausted." He 
 then discovered himself, and had the satisfac- 
 tion of finding he was treated with much more 
 respect by his brother and his friends than here- 
 tofore. 
 
 The two brothers, however, lived together on 
 very disagreeable terms, in consequence of the 
 hast}- and overbearing temper of the elder ; and 
 Benjamin anxiously longed for an opportunity of 
 separating from him. This at last occurred. His 
 brother was apprehended and imprisoned for some 
 political article which offended the local govern- 
 ment, and upon his liberation was prohibited from 
 ever printing his newspaper again. It was there- 
 fore determined that it should be published in 
 Benjamin's name, who had managed it during his 
 brother's confinement with great spirit and ability. 
 To avoid having it said that the elder brother was 
 onl}- screening himself behind one of his appren- 
 tices, Benjamin's indenture was delivered up to 
 him discharged, and private indentures entered 
 into for the remainder of his time. This under- 
 hand arrangement was proceeded in for several 
 mouths, the paper continuing to be printed in 
 Benjamin's name ; but his brother having one day 
 again broken out into one of his violent fits of 
 passion, and struck him, he availed himself of 
 his discharged indentures, well knowing that the 
 others would never be produced against him, and 
 gave up his employment. Franklin afterwards 
 regretted his having taken so unfair an advantage 
 of his brother's situation, and regarded it as one 
 of the first errata of his life. His brother felt so 
 exasperated on the occasion, that he went round 
 to all the printing-offices, and represented Benjamin 
 in such a light that they each in turn refused his 
 services. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 37 
 
 Proceeds to Philadelphia. 
 
 Finding he could get no employment in Boston, 
 as well as that he was regarded with dislike by 
 the government, he resolved to proceed to New 
 York, the nearest town in which there was a 
 printing-office. To raise sufficient funds for this 
 purpose, he sold part of his library ; and having 
 eluded the vigilance of his parents, who were op- 
 posed to his intention, he secretly got on board of 
 a vessel, and landed at New York on the third 
 day after sailing. 
 
 Thus, at the age of seventeen, Franklin found 
 himself three hundred miles from his native place, 
 from which he was in some sort a runaway, with- 
 out a friend, or recommendation to any one, and 
 with very little money in his pocket. To com- 
 plete his dilemma, he found, on applying, that 
 the only printer in the town could give him no 
 employment. That person, however, recom- 
 mended him to go to Philadelphia, where he had 
 a son, who, he thought, would give him work ; 
 and he accordingly set off for that place. His 
 journey was a most disastrous one both by water 
 and land, and he frequently regretted leaving 
 home so rashly. He reached his destination at 
 last, however, and in a plight which certainly did 
 not bode over- auspiciously for his future fortunes. 
 His own graphic description of his condition and 
 appearance, on his first entrance into Philadelphia, 
 is at once interesting and amusing : — 
 
 "I have entered into the particulars of my 
 voyage, and shall in like manner describe my first 
 entrance into this place, that you may be able to 
 compare beginnings so unlikely with the figure I 
 have since made. I was in my working dress, my 
 best clothes being to come by sea. I was covered 
 with dirt ; my pockets were filled with shirts and 
 stockings ; I was unacquainted with a single soul 
 in the place, and knew not where to seek a lodg- 
 ing. Fatigued with walking, rowing, and having 
 passed the night without sleep, I was extremely 
 hungry, and all my money consisted of a Dutch 
 dollar, and about a shilling's worth of coppers, 
 which I gave to the boatmen for my passage. At 
 first they refused it because I had rowed, but I 
 insisted on them taking it. A man is sometimes 
 more generous when he has little than when he 
 has much money, probably because he is, in the 
 first place, desirous of concealing his poverty. 
 
 ' ' I walked towards the top of the street, looking 
 eagerly on both sides, till I came to Market street, 
 
 where I met a child with a loaf of bread. I in- 
 quired where he had bought it, and went straight 
 to the baker's shop which he pointed out to me. 
 I asked for some biscuits, expecting to find such 
 as we had in Boston ; but they made, it seems, 
 none of that sort at Philadelphia. I then asked 
 for a threepenny loaf; they made no loaves of 
 that price. I then desired him to let me have 
 threepence worth of bread, of some kind or other. 
 He gave me three large rolls. I was surprised at 
 receiving so much. I took them, however, and 
 having no room in my pockets, I walked on, with 
 a roll under each arm, eating the third. In this 
 manner I went through Market street to Fourth 
 street, and passed the house of Mr. Read, the 
 father of my future wife. She was standing at 
 the door, observed me, and thought with reason 
 that I made a very singular and grotesque appear- 
 ance. I then turned the corner, and went through 
 Chestnut street, eating my roll all the way ; and, 
 having made this round, I found myself again on 
 Market street wharf, near the boat on which I ar- 
 rived. I stepped into it to take a draught of the 
 river water ; and finding myself satisfied with my 
 first roll, I gave the other two to a woman and 
 her child who had come down the river with us 
 in the boat, and was waiting to continue her 
 journey. Thus refreshed, I regained the street, 
 which was now full of well-dressed people all 
 going the same way. I joined them, and was 
 thus led to a Quakers' meeting-house, near the 
 market-place. I sat down with the rest, and after 
 looking round me for some time, hearing nothing 
 said, and being drowsy from my last night's 
 labor and want of rest, I fell into a sound sleep. 
 In this state I continued till the assembly dis- 
 persed, when one of the congregation had the good- 
 ness to wake me. This was consequently the first 
 house I entered, or in which I slept in Philadelphia. ' ' 
 Having with some difficulty procured a lodging 
 for the night, he next morning waited on Mr. 
 Bradford, the printer to whom he had been di- 
 rected. That individual said he had no work for 
 him at present, but directed him to a brother in 
 trade of the name of Keimer, who, upon applica- 
 tion, made him the same answer ; but, after con- 
 sidering a little, set him to put an old press to 
 rights, being the only one indeed he possessed ; 
 and in a few days gave him regular work. Upon 
 this, Franklin took a lodging in the house of Mr. 
 Read, his future father-in-law. 
 
38 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Franklin had been some months at Philadelphia, 
 without ever writing to or hearing from home, and, 
 as he says, trying to forget Boston as much as pos- 
 sible, when a brother-in-law of his, a master of a 
 vessel, having accidentally heard where he was, 
 wrote to him, pressing his return home in the 
 most urgent terms. Franklin's reply, declining 
 compliance with the request, happened to reach 
 his brother-in-law when the latter was in the 
 company of Sir William Keith, governor of the 
 province ; and the composition and penmanship 
 struck him as so much superior to the ordinary 
 style of letter-writing, that he showed it to his 
 excellency. The governor was no less pleased 
 with it, and expressed the utmost surprise when 
 told the age of the writer. He observed, that he 
 must be a young man of promising talents, and 
 said that if he would set up business on his own 
 account at Philadelphia, he would procure him 
 the printing of all the public papers, and do him 
 every other sendee in his power. Franklin heard 
 nothing of this from his brother-in-law at the 
 time ; but one day while he and Keimer were at 
 work in the office, they observed, through the 
 window, the governor and another gentleman (who 
 proved to be Colonel French of Newcastle, in the 
 province of Delaware), finely dressed, cross the 
 street, and come directly for the office, where they 
 knocked at the door. Keimer ran down, in high 
 expectation of this being a visit to himself; " but 
 the governor (says Franklin) inquired for me, 
 came up stairs, and with a politeness to which 
 I had not at all been accustomed, paid me many 
 compliments, desired to be acquainted with me, 
 obligingly reproached me for not having made 
 myself known to him on my arrival in town, and 
 wished me to accompany him to a tavern, where 
 he and Colonel French were going to taste some 
 excellent Madeira wine ! I was, I confess, some- 
 what surprised, and Keimer was thunderstruck. 
 I went, however, with the governor and Colonel 
 French to a tavern at the corner of Third street, 
 where, while we were drinking the Madeira, he 
 proposed to me to establish a printing-house. He 
 set forth the probabilities of success, and himself 
 and Colonel French assured me that I should have 
 their protection and influence in obtaining the 
 printing of the public papers for both govern- 
 ments ; and as I appeared to doubt whether my 
 father would assist me in this enterprise. Sir 
 William said that he would give me a letter to 
 
 him, in which he would recommend the advan- 
 tages of the scheme in a light which he had no 
 doubt would determine him to agree to do so. It 
 was thus concluded that I should return to Boston 
 by the first vessel, with the letter of recommen- 
 dation from the governor to ruy father. Mean- 
 while, the project was to be kept secret, and I 
 continued to work for Keimer as before. The 
 governor subsequently sent for me every now and 
 then to dine with him. I considered this a very 
 great honor ; and I was the more sensible of it, 
 as he conversed with me in the most affable, 
 friendly, and familiar manner imaginable." 
 
 In pursuance of the above arrangement, Frank- 
 lin set out on his return homewards, in the end of 
 April, 1724, having been absent about seven 
 months, during which time his parents and re- 
 lations had heard nothing of him whatever, his 
 brother-in-law never having written to inform 
 them where he was. All the family, with the 
 exception of his brother James, were delighted to 
 see him ; and not the less so, perhaps, that he 
 was apparelled in a complete new suit of clothes, 
 had an excellent silver watch, and about five 
 pounds sterling in his pocket. His father was 
 exceedingly surprised wdien informed of the object 
 of his visit, and still more at the contents of Gov- 
 ernor Keith's epistle. After long deliberation, he 
 came to the resolution of refusing compliance 
 with the request, on account of his son being too 
 young to undertake the management of such a 
 speculation ; adding, that he thought the gover- 
 nor a man of little discretion in proposing it. He 
 promised, however, when his son had attained his 
 twenty-first year, that he would supply him with 
 what money he required to set him up in business, 
 praising him highly, at the same time, for his in- 
 dustry and good conduct. Franklin, accordingly, 
 was necessitated to return to Philadelphia with 
 the news of his bad success, but left Boston on 
 this occasion, accompanied by the blessings of his 
 parents. When he arrived at Philadelphia, he 
 immediately waited upon the governor, and com- 
 municated the result of his journey. Sir William 
 observed that his father was " too prudent ;" but 
 added, "Since he will not do it, I will do it my- 
 self." It was ultimately arranged, therefore, that 
 Franklin should proceed personally to London, to 
 purchase everything necessary for the proposed 
 establishment, for the expense of which the gov- 
 ernor promised him a letter of credit to the extent 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 39 
 
 of j£ioo, with recommendations to various people 
 of influence. 
 
 Sails for England. 
 
 It had been arranged that Franklin was to go 
 to England in the regular packet-ship ; and as the 
 time of her sailing drew near, he became impor- 
 tunate for the governor's letters of credit and 
 recommendation, but the latter always put him 
 off under various pretences. At last, when the 
 vessel was on the point of departing, he was sent 
 on board, under the assurance that Colonel French 
 would bring the letters to him immediately. That 
 gentleman accordingly came on board with a 
 packet of dispatches tied together, which were 
 put into the captain's bag, and Franklin was in- 
 formed that those intended for him were tied up 
 with the rest, and would be delivered to him be- 
 fore landing in England. When they arrived in 
 the Thames, accordingly, the captain allowed him 
 to search the bag, but Franklin could find no 
 letters directed either to himself or addressed as to 
 his care; but he selected six or seven, which, 
 from the directions on them, he conceived to be 
 those intended for his service. One of these was 
 to the king's printer, and Franklin accordingly 
 waited upon that gentleman with it ; but the lat- 
 ter had no sooner opened it, than he exclaimed, 
 ' ' Oh, this is from Riddlesden ! — (a well-known 
 rascally attorney at Philadelphia) ; I have lately 
 discovered him to be an arrant knave, and wish to 
 have nothing to do either with him or his letters.' ' 
 So saying, he turned on his heel, and resumed his 
 occupation. In short, it turned out that none of 
 the letters were from the governor ; and he soon 
 learned from a gentleman of the name of Denham, 
 who had been a fellow-passenger with him, and to 
 whom he explained his awkward situation, that 
 the governor was a complete cheat, deceiving peo- 
 ple, from vanity and a love of self-consequence, 
 with promises which he neither intended nor was 
 able to fulfil ; and laughed at the idea of a man 
 giving a letter of credit for ,£100, who had no 
 credit for himself. 
 
 Franklin's situation was now even more deso- 
 late than when set ashore, ragged, hungry, and 
 almost penniless, at Philadelphia, little more than 
 a twelvemonth before. But the heart at eighteen 
 is not naturally inclined to despond, and never 
 was one less so than Franklin's. He immediately 
 applied for and obtained employment in the office 
 of the celebrated Mr. Palmer. Among other books 
 
 on which he was set to work here was a second 
 edition of " Wollaston's Religion of Nature. " 
 Conceiving some of the positions assumed in it to 
 be weak or erroneous, he composed and published 
 a small metaphysical treatise in refutation of them. 
 This pamphlet acquired him considerable credit 
 with his master as a man of talent; but that 
 gentleman reprobated, with the utmost abhorrence, 
 the doctrines maintained in his publication, which 
 were completely irreligious, so far as regarded the 
 Christian faith, or aii} T other acknowledged system 
 of belief. Free-thinking, however, was then in 
 fashion among the higher and more learned classes, 
 and his pamphlet procured him the countenance 
 of various eminent individuals ; among the rest, 
 of Dr. Mandeville, author of the " Fable of the 
 Bees," and Dr. Pembertou, Sir Isaac Newton's 
 friend. He was likewise waited upon by Sir 
 Hans Sloane, who had been informed of his 
 bringing some curiosities with him from America ; 
 among others, a purse of asbestos — a natural sub- 
 stance which resists the action of fire, and then 
 very little known — for which he paid Franklin a 
 high price. From Mr. Palmer's office he removed 
 to Mr. Watt's, for the consideration of a higher 
 wage. Here he gave a striking proof of that 
 resolute adherence to temperance, industry, and 
 frugality, which were among the leading features 
 of his character. While Mr. Watt's other work- 
 men spent generallj- five or six shillings a week 
 on beer, which was brought into the office to them 
 during the day, he drank nothing but water ; and 
 they were surprised to see that he was much 
 stronger than any of them, while he himself had 
 the additional comfort and satisfaction of being 
 always clear-headed. At first they ridiculed his 
 abstinence, and conferred upon him the sobri- 
 quet of the American Aquatic; but as his charac- 
 ter rose among them, his example, he says, 
 ' ' prevailed with several of them to renounce their 
 abominable breakfast of bread and cheese, with 
 beer ; and they procured, like me, from a neigh- 
 boring house, a good basin of warm gruel, in 
 which was a small slice of butter, with toasted 
 bread and nutmeg. This was a much better 
 breakfast, which did not cost more than a pint of 
 beer, namely, three halfpence, and at the same 
 time preserved the head clearer." His assiduous 
 application to business, at the same time, together 
 with remarkable quickness in composing (setting 
 up the types), recommended him to his employer, 
 
40 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and procured him all the most urgent and best- 
 paid work : so that, with his frugal mode of living, 
 he quickly laid up money. 
 
 Returns to America. 
 
 After having been about eighteen months in 
 London, much to his advantage in every respect — 
 for, besides becoming more proficient in his busi- 
 ness, he had stuck to his books as seduloush- as 
 ever, even although he frequently went to the 
 play, made little pleasure excursions, and mingled 
 a good deal in society — he was about to set out on 
 a tour through Europe, with a young intelligent 
 fellow- workman (designing to maintain themselves 
 during their pilgrimage by means of their calling), 
 when he accidentally met with Mr. Denham, 
 before noticed as being his fellow-passenger from 
 America. That gentleman was on the eve of 
 returning to Philadelphia, to open a merchant's 
 store, and offered Franklin the situation of his 
 clerk, with a salary of ^50 per annum. This sum 
 was less than he was making as a compositor ; but 
 an anxious desire to revisit his native country in- 
 duced him to accept of it. They set sail accord- 
 ingly — Franklin now supposing that he had relin- 
 quished the composing-stick for ever — and arrived 
 at Philadelphia on the nth of October, 1726. 
 Upon his arrival, he found that his old acquaint- 
 ance, the governor, had been supplanted in his 
 office, and was held in general contempt. They 
 met several times, but no allusion was ever made 
 by Franklin to the disgraceful imposture the other 
 had practised upon him. 
 
 Franklin's new employer had only been in busi- 
 ness for a few months, when both were seized at 
 the same time with a violent disorder, which 
 carried off" the master in a few days, and brought 
 the clerk to the brink of the grave. On his re- 
 covery, being thus once more left destitute, he was 
 fain to accept employment as a printer from his 
 old master Keimer, who was now somewhat better 
 off in the world, but still utterly ignorant of his 
 profession. The whole charge of the office, with 
 that of instructing four or five ignorant appren- 
 tices, devolved on Franklin. "I also," says he, 
 "upon occasion, engraved various ornaments, 
 made ink, gave an eye to the shop — in short, I 
 was, in every respect, the factotum." But he like- 
 wise, at this time, gave another remarkable in- 
 stance of his versatile ingenuity. 
 
 "Our press," says he, "was frequently in want 
 of the necessary quantity of letter, and there was 
 
 no such trade as that of letter-founder in America. 
 I had seen the practice of this art at the house of 
 James, in London, but had at the time paid it very 
 little attention. I, however, contrived to fabricate 
 a mould. I made use of such letters as we had 
 for punches, founded new letters of lead in ma- 
 trices of clay ; and thus supplied, in a tolerable 
 manner, the wants that were most pressing." 
 Franklin's inventive mind would seem here to 
 have obtained a distant glimpse of the principle 
 of stereotyping , which has since been carried to 
 such a height of usefulness and perfection. 
 
 Keimer having engaged Franklin solely with 
 the view of having his apprentices so far initiated 
 in the art as that he could dispense with their 
 instructor's services, took the first occasion to 
 quarrel with him when he thought he had suffi- 
 ciently attained his object. Upon their separation, 
 one of Keimer' s apprentices, named Meredith, 
 who, like all the others, had conceived a great 
 veneration for Franklin, proposed that they should 
 enter into partnership together — Meredith's friends 
 undertaking to furnish the capital necessary for 
 purchasing the materials, etc. This offer was too 
 advantageous to be refused, and types, press, etc., 
 were forthwith commissioned from London ; but 
 while preparing to put their plan into execution, 
 Franklin was induced, during the interval, to 
 return again to Keimer, at the urgent solicitation 
 of the latter. The motive for this humble en- 
 treaty was that individual's having taken a con- 
 tract for the printing of some paper-money for the 
 State of New Jersey, requiring a variety of new 
 cuts and types, which he knew well nobody in 
 that place but Franklin could supply. This also 
 presents us with a very striking instance of Frank- 
 lin's remarkable gift of invention. 
 
 ' ' To execute the order, ' ' says he, "I constructed 
 a copperplate printing-press — the first that had 
 been seen in the country. I engraved various 
 ornaments and vignettes for the bills, and we 
 repaired to Burlington together, where I executed 
 the whole to the general satisfaction, and he 
 (Keimer) received a sum of money for this work 
 which enabled him to keep his head above water 
 for a considerable time longer. 
 
 At Burlington, Franklin formed acquaintance 
 with all the principal personages of the province, 
 who were attracted by his superior abilities and 
 intelligence. Among these was the inspector- 
 general, Isaac Decon, "who," says Franklin, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 41 
 
 "was a shrewd and subtle old man. He told me 
 that his first employment had been that of carry- 
 ing clay to the briekmakers ; that he did not learn 
 to write till he was somewhat advanced in life ; 
 that he was afterwards employed as underling to 
 a surveyor, who taught him his trade ; and that, 
 by industry, he had at last acquired a competent 
 fortune. ' I foresee, ' said he, ' that you will soon 
 supplant this man (speaking of Keimer), and get 
 a fortune in the business at Philadelphia.' He 
 was wholly ignorant at the time of my intention 
 of establishing myself there, or anywhere else. ' ' 
 Enters into Business. 
 Franklin had scarcely returned from Burlington 
 when the types commissioned for himself and 
 Meredith, from L,ondon, arrived; and having 
 settled matters with Keimer, the partners imme- 
 diately took a house, and commenced business. 
 They were in the act of opening up their pack- 
 ages, when a countryman came in to have a job 
 done ; and as all their cash had been expended in 
 their various purchases, "this countryman's five 
 shillings," says Franklin, "being our first-fruits, 
 and coming so seasonably, gave me more pleasure 
 than anj- crown I have since earned." A number 
 of young men having, during the preceding year, 
 formed themselves, at Franklin's suggestion, into 
 a weekly club for the purpose of mutual improve- 
 ment, they were so well pleased with the benefi- 
 cial results the}- experienced from their meetings, 
 that, when the originator of their society set up in 
 business, every one exerted himself more than 
 another to procure him employment. One of them 
 obtained from the Quakers the printing of forty 
 sheets of a history of that sect, then preparing at 
 the expense of the body. "Upon these," says 
 Franklin, "we worked exceeding hard, for the 
 price was very low. It was in folio, upon pro 
 patria paper, and in the pica letter, with heavy 
 notes in the smallest type. I composed a sheet a 
 day, and Meredith put it to press. It was fre- 
 quently eleven o'clock at night, sometimes later, 
 before I had finished my distribution for the next 
 day's task; for the other little jobs that came in 
 kept us back in this work ; but I was so deter- 
 mined to compose a sheet a day, that one evening, 
 when my form was imposed, and my day's work, 
 as I thought, at an end, an accident broke the 
 form, and deranged two complete folio pages. I 
 immediately distributed and composed them anew 
 before I went to bed." This unwearied industry, 
 
 which soon became known, acquired Franklin 
 great reputation and credit among his townsmen, 
 and business began rapidly to flow in upon them. 
 
 Starts a Newspaper. 
 The establishment and management of a news- 
 paper seems to have all along been a favorite 
 project with Franklin ; probably because, from his 
 former experience in it, and the consciousness of 
 his powers of writing, he felt himself so well 
 adapted for the task. The partners soon found 
 themselves in circumstances to enable them to 
 make the trial ; but Franklin having incautiously 
 divulged their intention to a third person, that 
 individual informed their old master Keimer of the 
 fact, who immediately took steps to anticipate 
 them, and issued a prospectus of a paper of his 
 own. The manner in which Franklin met and 
 defeated this treachery is exceedingly characteris- 
 tic. There was another paper published in Phila- 
 delphia by Mr. Bradford, which had been in 
 existence for some years, but was such a miserable 
 affair, that it only preserved its vitality because no 
 other arose to knock it on the head. In order to 
 keep down Keimer' s publication, however, Frank- 
 lin saw the policy of supporting the old one until 
 prepared to start his own. Ha thereupon set about 
 writing a series of amusing articles for it, which 
 the publisher, Bradford, was of course very glad 
 to insert ' ' By this means, ' ' says Franklin, ' ' the 
 attention of the public was kept fixed on that 
 paper, and Keimer' s proposals, which we bur- 
 lesqued and ridiculed, were disregarded. He began 
 his paper, however ; and after continuing it for 
 nine months, having at most not more than ninety 
 subscribers, he offered it to me for a mere trifle. I 
 had for some time been prepared for it ; I there- 
 fore instantly took it upon myself, and in a few 
 years it proved very profitable to me. ' ' In fact, 
 it obtained notoriety and applause at the very first 
 number, in consequence of some observations 
 therein by Franklin, on an important colonial 
 question ; and various members of Assembly ex- 
 erted themselves so well in his behalf, that the 
 printing of the House was speedily transferred 
 from Bradford to his two young rivals. In the 
 management of his newspaper, Franklin pursued 
 a system of unflinching integrity. He steadfastly 
 refused to give admission into his columns of any 
 article containing personal abuse of particular in- 
 dividuals. Whenever he was requested to pub- 
 lish anything of this sort, his answer was, that he 
 
42 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 would print the piece by itself and give the author 
 as many copies for his own distribution as he 
 wished. He very wisely considered that his sub- 
 scribers expected him to furnish them with useful 
 and entertaining information, and not with per- 
 sonal slander or private discussions with which 
 they had no concern. 
 
 Commences Business by Himself. 
 
 Luckily for Franklin, almost at the commence- 
 ment of the newspaper, an opportunity occurred 
 of getting rid of his partner Meredith, who had 
 become an idle, drunken fellow, and had all along 
 been of comparatively little use in the concern. 
 Meredith's father failed to implement the bargain 
 for advancing the necessary capital to pa}' the de- 
 mands of the paper-merchant, and other expenses 
 necessarily attending their speculation, when they 
 became due. A suit was accordingly instituted 
 against the partners ; and as Meredith's father 
 declared his inability to pay the amount of the 
 claims upon them, the sou offered to relinquish 
 the whole concern into Franklin's hands, on con- 
 dition that the latter would take upon him the 
 debts of the company, repay his father what he 
 had ahead}' advanced, settle his own little per- 
 sonal debts, and give him thirty pounds and a new 
 saddle ! By the kindness of two friends, who, un- 
 known to each other, came forward simultaneously 
 and unasked to his assistance, Franklin was en- 
 abled to accept the offer. The agreement was 
 carried into effect, and thus do we find this extra- 
 ordinary man, at the age of twenty-four, and in 
 the place where he had arrived penniless only 
 seven years before, settled down in business, with 
 a thriving trade, proprietor of an extensively cir- 
 culated newspaper, and a firmly established repu- 
 tation of no ordinary kind. All this success, 
 however, the result of his own good conduct, 
 perseverance, and frugality, had no undue effect 
 on his well-regulated mind, or could induce him 
 to assume those airs of arrogant superiority and 
 pretension, which have but too frequently blem- 
 ished the character of those who have praise- 
 worthily achieved their own elevation in society. 
 On the contrary, he dressed more plainly, and 
 deported himself more humbly than ever ; and to 
 show that he was not above his business, he 
 sometimes wheeled home on a barrow, with his 
 own hands, the paper which he had purchased at 
 the stores. 
 
 Soon after getting the whole printing and news- 
 
 paper concern into his hands, there was an outcry 
 among the people for a new emission of paper 
 money. Franklin took up the cause, and by his 
 arguments in a pamphlet which he published on 
 the subject, contributed so greatly to the success 
 of the proposal, and obtained himself so much 
 popularity, that upon its being resolved to issue 
 the notes, Franklin was selected to print them. 
 He then opened a stationer's shop, and from his 
 success in business, began gradually to pay off his 
 debts. Meanwhile, his old master Keimer went 
 fast to ruin, and with the exception of old Mr. 
 Bradford, who was rich, and did not care for busi- 
 ness, he was the only printer in the place. He 
 shortly afterwards married Miss Read, the lady 
 named in a former part of this memoir. Frank- 
 lin's behavior to this young lady had not been 
 altogether blameless. Previous to his sailing for 
 England, he had exchanged pledges of affection 
 with her ; yet, all the while he was away, he only 
 sent her one letter. Her friends and herself con- 
 cluding that he either never meant to return, or 
 that he wished to drop connection with her, she 
 was induced to accept the hand of another suitor, 
 and on his return to America Franklin found her 
 married — an event that seems to have given him 
 extremely little uneasiness. The lady's husband 
 proved a great rogue, deserted her, and it was sub- 
 sequently ascertained that he had still a former 
 wife living. After being established in business, 
 and rising in the world, the intimacy between 
 Franklin and her family was renewed, and it was 
 not long ere, despite her dubious situation, they 
 hazarded a fulfilment of their early vows. The 
 lady was about Franklin's own age, and proved, 
 according to his own testimony, "an honor and a 
 blessing to him." 
 
 We now find him, at the early age of twenty- 
 five or twenty-six, fairly embarked in life as a 
 tradesman, citizen, and a lover of literary and 
 scientific pursuits. His first consideration was 
 scrupulous attention to business and to his family. 
 He took care, he says, not only to be really indus- 
 trious and frugal, but also to avoid even- appear- 
 ance to the contrary — was plainly dressed, and was 
 never seen in any place of amusement ; never went 
 a-fishing or hunting ; his only relaxation being in 
 a game of chess, of which he was very fond. He 
 devoted the greater part of his leisure time to self- 
 examination and improvement. On instituting a 
 rigorous examination into his conduct and charac- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 43 
 
 ter, he found that he possessed many faults, which 
 he resolved upon amending ; he even conceived 
 the bold idea of seeking to attain moral perfection. 
 With the view of carrying this project into execu- 
 tion he fell upon the device of methodizing his 
 time during the twent3 _ -four hours of every day, 
 and of laying down certain rules by which he 
 should regulate his conduct and sentiments. He 
 rose at 5 in the morning ; the next three hours 
 he appropriated to devotional exercise, study, 
 cleaning of the person, and breakfast. From 8 to 
 12 he was at work. From 12 to 2 he read, did any 
 desultory duties, and dined. From 2 till 5 he was 
 again at work. From 6 to 10, he devoted to read- 
 ing, conversation, intercourse with his family, and 
 supper ; and from 10 to 4 or 5 in the morning, to 
 sleep ; after which he arose and pursued the same 
 routine as before. We thus see that early rising 
 was a leading feature in his habits of life, and to 
 this alone he doubtless owed much of his success. 
 
 Of Franklin's intercourse with his family little 
 has been made known, though it is ascertained, 
 by a few scattered hints in his writings, that he 
 was an affectionate husband and father, and placed 
 much of his happiness in home. In his household 
 affairs the most exact economy prevailed, and, for 
 several years after his marriage, his breakfast con- 
 sisted simply of bread and milk, which he ate 
 from a twopenny earthenware porringer with a 
 pewter spoon. Fortunately, his wife was as much 
 disposed to be industrious as he was ; she assisted 
 him in his business, folded the sheets of books 
 which he printed, kept his shop, and executed 
 other humble but useful duties. By following 
 this industrious and econ6mical plan of living, they 
 gradually accumulated wealth, and were enabled 
 to possess comforts and luxuries which were at 
 first beyond their reach. Still, Franklin was not 
 puffed up by prosperity, but continued to live in a 
 style of simplicity agreeably to the notions he had 
 formed at the outset of his career. 
 
 In conducting his business, he happily united 
 the occupation of a printer with the profession of 
 an author, and thus became the publisher of his 
 own literary productions. No large work, how- 
 ever, was given by him to the world. His writings 
 were chiefly of a minor character, such as de- 
 tached pamphlets on subjects of local import, and 
 short essays ; and he did not, as it appears, write 
 much that has been thought worthy of republica- 
 tion in a succeeding age. His newspaper was the 
 
 "Pennsylvania Gazette," which had been started 
 by Keimer in 172S, and which, after about a 
 twelvemonth's mismanagement, had come into the 
 possession of Franklin and Hugh Meredith. By 
 Franklin's ingenuity, the paper rose in general 
 estimation. 
 
 As Franklin advanced in worldly prosperity, he 
 endeavored to make his personal acquirements 
 keep pace with his upward progress in society ; 
 and among other accomplishments, applied him- 
 self sedulously to the stud}* of the dead and 
 modern languages, of which, besides his native 
 tongue, he as yet scarcely knew anything. The 
 following is his own account of his private curri- 
 culum : — 
 
 "Iliad begun in 1733 to study languages. I 
 soon made myself so much a master of the 
 French, as to be able to read the books in that 
 language with ease. I then undertook the Italian, 
 An acquaintance, who was also learning it, used 
 often to tempt me to play chess with him. Find- 
 ing this took up too much of the time I had to 
 spare for study, I at length refused to play any more, 
 unless on this condition, that the victor in every 
 game should have a right to impose a task, either 
 of parts of the grammar, to be got by heart, or in 
 translations, etc., which tasks the vanquished was 
 to perform upon honor before our next meeting. 
 As we played pretty equally, we thus beat one 
 another into that language. I afterwards, with a 
 little pains-taking, acquired as much of the Span- 
 ish as to read their books also. I have already 
 mentioned that I had only one year's instruction 
 in a Fatin school, and that when very young, after 
 which I neglected that language entirely ; but 
 when I had attained an acquaintance with the 
 French, Italian, and Spanish, I was surprised to- 
 find, on looking over a Latin Testament, that I 
 understood more of that language than I had 
 imagined, which encouraged me to apply myself 
 again to the study of it ; and I met with the more 
 success, as those preceding languages had greatly 
 smoothed my way." 
 
 Civic Preferments and Duties. 
 
 It was not to be supposed that a man of Frank- 
 lin's comprehensive mind, and useful practical 
 talents, would be allowed to remain long in the 
 ranks of private life. Accordingly, in the year 
 1736, he was appointed clerk to the General As- 
 sembly of Pennsylvania. No opposition was 
 made to his appointment the first year ; but on 
 
44 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the next election, a new member of the house 
 opposed his return in a long speech. Franklin 
 was, however, again elected, much to his satis- 
 faction : for although the place was one of almost 
 no direct emolument, it gave him an opportunity 
 of making friends among the members, and ulti- 
 mately to secure to himself the printing of most of 
 the public papers, which was previously shared with 
 his rivals. The new member who had resisted 
 his re-election was a man of talents and character ; 
 and Franklin, although too independent to pay 
 any cringing servility to hini, perceived the pro- 
 priety of gaining his good opinion ; and the 
 expedient he hit upon for this purpose affords 
 another instance of his shrewdness and knowledge 
 •of human nature. Having learned that the gen- 
 tleman possessed a very rare and curious book, he 
 wrote him a polite note, requesting that he would 
 do him the favor of lending it for a few days. 
 The book was immediately sent ; and in about a 
 week was returned by the borrower, with a short 
 epistle, expressive of his gratitude for the favor. 
 The member was so much conciliated by the cir- 
 cumstance that the next time he met him in the 
 house, he addressed him with great civility ; mani- 
 fested ever afterwards a great desire to serve him ; 
 and the} - became, in short, intimate friends. 
 "This is another instance," observes Franklin, 
 "of the truth of an old maxim I had learned, 
 which says, ' He that has done you a kindness 
 will be more ready to do you another than he 
 whom you yourself have obliged.' And it shows 
 how much more profitable it is prudently to re- 
 move than to resent, return, and continue, inimical 
 proceedings. ' ' He was thereafter re-elected to the 
 same post without opposition, for several years 
 successively. In the following year, 1737, he sup- 
 planted his rival in trade, Bradford, in the office 
 of deputy-postmaster for the State of Pennsyl- 
 vania. These honorable preferments induced him 
 to incline his thoughts to, and take a more active 
 part in, public affairs than he had hitherto done. 
 
 About this period (1739), the celebrated preach- 
 er Whitefield arrived at Philadelphia from Ireland. 
 He was at first permitted to preach in some of the 
 town churches ; but the clergy soon took a dislike 
 to him, and he was compelled to exercise his elo- 
 quence in the open streets or fields. This circum- 
 stance, however, like all displays of persecution 
 in matters exclusively connected with private 
 opinion, only rendered him the more popular : and 
 
 the effects of his oratory speedily manifested 
 themselves. 
 
 "It was wonderful," says Franklin, "to see the 
 change soon made in the manners of our inhabi- 
 tants. From being thoughtless or indifferent 
 about religion, it seemed as if all the world were 
 growing religious, so that one could not walk 
 through the town in an evening without hearing 
 psalms sung in different families of even- street ; 
 and it being found inconvenient to assemble in 
 the open air, subject to its inclemencies, the 
 building of a house to meet in was no sooner pro- 
 posed, and persons appointed to receive contribu- 
 tions, than sufficient sums were soon received to 
 procure the ground and erect the building, which 
 was one hundred feet long and seventy broad; 
 and the work was carried on with such spirit as 
 to be finished in a remarkably short time." 
 
 On leaving Philadelphia, Mr. Whitefield went, 
 preaching all the way, through the colonies to 
 Georgia. The settlement of that province had 
 been recently commenced, and was attempted by 
 people entirely unfit for such an experiment. 
 They were unable to endure the fatigues and 
 hardships of their situation, and perished in great 
 numbers, leaving many helpless children with 
 nothing to feed or clothe them. "The sight of 
 their miserable situation," says Franklin, "in- 
 spired the benevolent heart of Mr. Whitefield, with 
 the idea of building an orphan house there, in 
 which they might be supported and educated. 
 Returning northward, he preached up this charity, 
 and made large collections ; for his eloquence had 
 a wonderful power over the hearts and purses of 
 his hearers, of which I myself was an instance. 
 I did not disapprove of the design ; but as Geor- 
 gia was thexi destitute of materials and workmen, 
 and it was proposed to send them from Philadel- 
 phia at a great expense, I thought it would have 
 been better to have built the house at Philadel- 
 phia, and brought the children to it. This I 
 advised ; but he was resolute in his first project, 
 rejected my proposal, and I therefore refused to 
 contribute. 
 
 ' ' I happened soon after to attend one of his ser- 
 mons, in the course of which I perceived he in- 
 tended to finish with a collection, and I silently 
 resolved he should get nothing from me. I had 
 in my pocket a handful of coppers, three or four 
 silver dollars, and five pistoles in gold. As he 
 proceeded, I began to soften, and concluded to 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 45 
 
 give the coppers. Another stroke of his oratory 
 made me ashamed of that, and determined me to 
 give the silver ; and he finished so admirably, that 
 I emptied my pocket wholly into the collector's 
 dish, gold and all ! " 
 
 At this time there was no military defensive 
 force in Pennsylvania. The inhabitants were 
 mostly Quakers, and neglected to take any 
 measures of precaution against the dangers to 
 which, from the French possessions in Canada, 
 they were continually exposed. All the exertions 
 of the governor of the province to induce the 
 Quaker assembly to pass a militia law proved in- 
 effectual. Franklin thought something might be 
 done by a subscription among the people ; and to 
 pave the way for this, he wrote and published a 
 pamphlet called " Plain Truth." In this he clear- 
 ly exposed their helpless and perilous situation, 
 and demonstrated the necessity of co-operation 
 for their mutual defence. The pamphlet had a 
 sudden and surprising effect. A meeting of the 
 citizens was held, at which proposals of the in- 
 tended union, previously drawn up and printed by 
 Franklin, were distributed about the room, to be 
 signed by those who approved of them ; and when 
 the company separated, it was found that above 
 twelve hundred signatures had been appended to 
 the papers. Other copies were distributed through 
 the province, and the subscribers at length 
 amounted to upwards of ten thousand ! All these 
 individuals furnished themselves, as soon as they 
 could, with arms ; formed themselves into com- 
 panies and regiments ; chose their officers, and 
 had themselves regularly instructed in rnilitary 
 exercises. The women made subscriptions among 
 themselves, and provided silk colors, which they 
 presented to the companies, embellished with 
 devices and mottoes furnished by Franklin. Such 
 influence has one master-mind among his fellows 
 in a time of emergency ! 
 
 Franklin's modest}-, however, was more than 
 commensurate with his patriotism. The officers 
 of the companies composing the Philadelphia 
 regiment unanimous^ chose him for their colonel, 
 but he declined the office in favor of a man of 
 greater wealth and influence, who, on his recom- 
 mendation, was immediately elected. These 
 exertions of Franklin procured him great confi- 
 dence from the governor and council, who con- 
 sulted him on all their public measures. Not- 
 withstanding, too, the passive principle of the 
 
 Quakers, it was soon seen that the precautious 
 of military defence were anything but disagree- 
 able to them. A distinguished individual of their 
 number, Mr. Logan, published an address de- 
 claring his approbation of defensive war, and 
 supporting his opinion by able and elaborate 
 arguments. 
 
 This gentleman, who came over from England 
 when a young man, as secretary to the famous 
 William Penn, used to relate an anecdote respect- 
 ing his old master, which is sufficiently amusing. 
 During their voyage, they were chased by an 
 armed vessel, supposed to be an enemy. Their 
 captain prepared for defence, but told Penn and 
 his company of Quakers that he did not expect 
 their assistance, and that they might retire into 
 the cabin. This notification they all complied 
 with, excepting Logan, who remained on deck, 
 and was quartered to a gun. The supposed ene- 
 my proved a friend, so that there was no fighting ; 
 but when the secretary carried the joyful news for 
 his friends in the cabin, Penn reproved him se- 
 verely for staying on deck, and lending his assis- 
 tance in defence of the vessel, as being a breach 
 of the principles of the society. Logan, nettled 
 at this comment on his courageous conduct, which 
 was made before the whole company, replied, " I 
 being thy servant, why did thee not order me to 
 come down ? but thee was willing enough that I 
 should stay and help to fight the ship, when thee 
 thought there was danger ! ' ' 
 
 Franklin's Electrical Discoveries. 
 
 Some time previous to 1749, Franklin became 
 interested in the experiments with electricity that 
 were then attracting so much attention, and several 
 important discoveries were made by him. 
 
 We now advert to another brilliant discovery by 
 this illustrious philosopher, namely, the similarity 
 between lightning and electricity. The Abbe 
 Nollet had, before him, hinted his suspicions of 
 this resemblance, but only in the most loose and 
 distant way. 
 
 In a paper, dated November 7, 1749, Franklin 
 enumerates all the known points of resemblance 
 between lightning and electricity. In the first 
 place, he remarks, it is no wonder that the effects 
 of the one should be so much greater than those 
 of the other ; for if two gun-barrels electrified will 
 strike at two inches' distance, and make a loud re- 
 port, at how great a distance will ten thousand 
 acres of electrified cloud strike, and give out fire ; 
 
46 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and how loud must be that crack ! He had known 
 for some time the extraordinary power of pointed 
 bodies, both in drawing and in throwing off the 
 electric fire. The true explanation of this fact did 
 not occur to him ; but it is a direct consequence of 
 the fundamental principle of his own theory, ac- 
 cording to which the repulsive tendency of the 
 particles of electricity towards each other, occasion- 
 ing the fluid to retire, in even- case, from the in- 
 terior to the surface of bodies, drives it with espe- 
 cial force towards points and other prominences, 
 and thus favors its escape through such outlets ; 
 while, oil the other hand, the more concentrated 
 attraction which the matter of a pointed bod}-, as 
 compared with a blunt one, exerts upon the elec- 
 tricity to which it is presented, brings it down into 
 its new channel in a denser stream. In posses- 
 sion, however, of the fact, we find him concluding 
 the paper we have mentioned as follows : ' ' The 
 electric fluid is attracted by points. We do not 
 know whether this property be in lightning ; but 
 since they agree in all the particulars in which we 
 can already compare them, it is not improbable 
 that they agree likewise in this. Let the experi- 
 ment be made. 
 
 Full of this idea, his attention was one day drawn 
 to a kite which a boy was flying, and it suddenly 
 occurred to him that here was a method of reach- 
 ing the clouds preferable to any other. Accord- 
 ingly, he immediately took a large silk handker- 
 chief, and stretching it over two cross sticks, 
 formed in this manner his simple apparatus for 
 drawing the lightning from its cloud. Soon after, 
 seeing a thunder storm approaching, he took a 
 walk into a field in the neighborhood of the city, 
 in which there was a shed, communicating his in- 
 tentions, however, to no one but his son, whom 
 he took with him to assist him in raising the kite : 
 this was in June, 1752. 
 
 The kite being raised, he fastened a key to the 
 lower extremity of the hempen string, and insu- 
 lating it by attaching it to a post by means of silk, 
 he placed himself under the shed, and waited the 
 result. For some time no signs of electricity 
 appeared. A cloud, apparently charged with 
 lightning, had even passed over them without 
 producing any effect. At length, however, just 
 as Franklin was beginning to despair, he observed 
 some loose threads of the hempen string rise and 
 stand erect, exactly as if they had been repelled 
 from each other by being charged with electricity. 
 
 He immediately presented his knuckle to the key, 
 and, to his inexpressible delight, drew from it the 
 well-known electrical spark. He said afterwards 
 that his emotion was so great at this completion 
 of a discovery which was to make his name im- 
 mortal, that he heaved a deep sigh, and felt that 
 he could at that moment have willingly died. As 
 the rain increased, the cord became a better con- 
 ductor, and the key gave out its electricity co- 
 piously. Had the hemp been thoroughly wet, the 
 bold experimenter might, as he was contented to 
 do, have paid for his discover},- with his life. He 
 afterwards brought down the lightning into his 
 house, by means of an insulated iron rod, and per- 
 formed with it, at his leisure, all the experiments 
 that could be performed with electricity. But he 
 did not stop here. His active and practical mind 
 was not satisfied even with the splendid discovery, 
 until he had turned it to a useful end. It sug- 
 gested to him, as is well known, the idea of a 
 method of preserving buildings from lightning, 
 which is extremely simple and cheap, as well as 
 effectual, consisting, as it does, in nothing more 
 than attaching to the building a pointed metallic 
 rod, rising higher than any part of it, and com- 
 municating at the lower end with the ground. 
 This rod the lightning is sure to seize upon, in 
 preference to any part of the building ; by which 
 means it is conducted to the earth, and prevented 
 from doing any injur}-. There was always a 
 strong tendency in Franklin's philosophy to these 
 practical applications. 
 
 Franklin's discoveries did not at first attract 
 much attention in England ; and, in fact, he had 
 the mortification to hear that his paper on the 
 similarity between lightning and electricity had 
 been ridiculed when read in the Royal Society. 
 Having fallen, however, into the hands of the na- 
 turalist, Buffon, that celebrated man translated 
 and published it in Paris, when it speedily excited 
 the astonishment of Europe. What gave his book 
 the more sudden and general celebrity, was the 
 success of one of its proposed experiments for 
 drawing lightning from the clouds, made at Mar- 
 ley. This engaged the public attention every- 
 where. ' ' The Philadelphia experiments, ' ' as they 
 were called, were performed before the king and 
 court, and all the curious of Paris flocked to see 
 them. Dr. Wright, an English physician, being 
 at Paris at the time, wrote to a member of the 
 Roval Society of London, with an account of these 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 47 
 
 wonders, and stating the surprise of all the learned 
 men abroad of Franklin's writings being so little 
 noticed in England. The society were thus in a 
 manner compelled to pay more attention to what 
 they had previously considered as chimerical 
 speculations, "and soon," says Franklin, "made 
 me more than amends for the slight with which 
 they had before treated me. Without my having 
 made any application for that honor, they chose 
 me a member, and voted that I should be excused 
 the customary payments, which would have 
 amounted to twenty-five guineas, and ever since 
 have given me their Transactions gratis. They 
 also presented me with the gold medal of Sir God- 
 frey Copley for the year 1753, the delivery of 
 which was accompanied with a very handsome 
 speech of the president, Lord Macclesfield, wherein 
 I was highly honored. ' ' 
 
 Although the numerous important public duties 
 which Franklin was called upon latterly to dis- 
 charge chiefly engrossed his time, he still returned 
 to his philosophical studies on every occasion that 
 offered, and made several curious and interesting 
 discoveries. 
 
 Perhaps no philosopher ever stood on a prouder 
 eminence in the world's eye than Franklin during 
 the latter half of his life. The ^obscurity of his 
 origin served but to make his elevation the more 
 brightly conspicuous ; and honors were showered 
 on him from all quarters of the civilized world. 
 In 1757 he visited England, and before his return 
 made a tour of Scotland, where he formed an inti- 
 macy with Eord Karnes, and had the degree con- 
 ferred upon him of Doctor of Laws by the Uni- 
 versity of St. Andrews. In 1764 he again visited 
 England, from which he proceeded to the conti- 
 nent of Europe. In Holland, Germany and 
 France, he was received with the greatest testi- 
 monies of respect from all men of science and 
 distinction. At Paris Louis XV. honored him 
 with the most distinguished marks of his favor. 
 Political Career. 
 
 This part of Franklin's life need only be very 
 generally touched on, the scenes and transactions 
 in which he bore a part having long since become 
 matter of history, with which almost every indi- 
 vidual is now more or less acquainted. We have 
 before mentioned that he was elected a member of 
 the General Assembly of Pennsylvania, as burgess 
 for the city of Philadelphia, in 1747. Warm disputes 
 at this time subsisted between the Assembly and 
 
 the proprietaries,* each contending for what they 
 conceived to be their rights. Franklin, a friend of 
 the interests of the many from his infancy, speedily 
 distinguished himself as a stead}' opponent of the 
 claims of the proprietaries, and he was soon looked 
 up to as the head of the opposition. His influence 
 with the Assembly is said to have been very great. 
 This arose not from an)- superior powers of elocu- 
 tion ; he spoke but seldom, and he never was 
 known to make anything like an elaborate 
 harangue. "His speeches," says his intimate 
 friend, the late Dr. Stuber, of Philadelphia, "fre- 
 quently consisted of but a single sentence, or of a 
 well-told story, the moral of which was always 
 obviously to the point. He never attempted the 
 flowery fields of oratory. His manner was plain 
 and mild ; his style of speaking was, like that of his 
 writings, simple, unadorned, and remarkably con- 
 cise. With his plain manner, and his penetrating 
 and solid judgment, he was able to confound the 
 most eloquent and subtle of his adversaries, to con- 
 firm the opinions of his friends, and to make con- 
 verts of the unprejudiced who had opposed him. 
 With a single observation he has rendered of no 
 avail an elegant and lengthy discourse, and deter- 
 mined the fate of a question of importance. ' ' 
 
 Franklin had conducted himself so well in the 
 office of postmaster for the State of Pennsylvania, 
 and had shown himself so well acquainted with 
 the business of this department, that it was 
 thought expedient to raise him to a more dig- 
 nified station. In 1753, he was appointed deputy- 
 postmaster-general for the British colonies. It is 
 said that the revenue from this source, in Frank- 
 lin's hands, yielded to Great Britain three times 
 as much as that of Ireland. In 1754, Franklin 
 drew up the celebrated "Albany Plan of Union," 
 the purpose of which was the establishment of a 
 general government in the colonies, to be adminis- 
 tered by a president-general, appointed by the 
 crown, and by a grand council, consisting of 
 members chosen by the representatives of the dif- 
 ferent colonies ; the whole executive authority to 
 be committed to the president-general ; the legisla- 
 tive to the grand council and president jointly, 
 and all laws to be approved by the king. This 
 plan was unanimously approved of by the commis- 
 sioners for the crown and the colonies appointed 
 
 * The descendants of the original settlers who had re- 
 ceived grants of land from the British government, who 
 claimed exemption from all taxes, and other privileges. 
 
48 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 to consult on the question, but its final fate was 
 singular. It was rejected by the ministry of Great 
 Britain as too democratical, and by every local 
 assembly as too despotic. These verdicts were, 
 perhaps, the best proof of its excellence and of its 
 having steered exactly in the middle betwixt the 
 interests of both. 
 
 The British government having thus rejected a 
 proposal of internal defence in the colonies, they 
 were soon obliged to adopt measures of another 
 sort for their protection. Aggressive operations 
 were again threatened by the French ; and in 1754 
 General Braddock was dispatched from England 
 with two regiments of regular English troops to 
 resist them. The troops were landed at Alexan- 
 dria, and marched thence to Fredericktown in 
 Maryland, where they halted for carriages to trans- 
 port their baggage, ammunition, etc., to the fron- 
 tiers. Great reluctance was manifested by the 
 country people to supply these, and, in fact, so few 
 were sent in, and so many other difficulties oc- 
 curred, that the general was about to abandon the 
 expedition altogether. In this dilemma he was 
 fortunately joined by Franklin, who, aware of the 
 necessity and importance of the expedition, asked 
 General Braddock what recompense he would 
 afford to the owners for the use of their wagons 
 and horses. General Braddock referred the terms 
 to himself ; the}' were drawn up and accepted ; 
 and Franklin immediately published them in an 
 advertisement, with an animated appeal from him- 
 self to the loyalty and patriotism of his country- 
 men. The consequence was, that, in two weeks, 
 150 wagons and 260 horses poured into the camp, 
 the owners of which, however, declined the secu- 
 rity of the British commander for compensation, 
 and insisted on having the personal bond of Frank- 
 lin. This he accordingly gave them, and even 
 advanced several hundred pounds of his own in 
 present payment. 
 
 The expedition accordingly set forward, and its 
 disastrous issue must still be well remembered. 
 Although a brave man, Braddock had far too 
 much confidence in the prowess of his regular 
 troops, and too much contempt for the Americans 
 and Indians. About one hundred of the latter 
 joined him on his march, who would have proved 
 of the utmost use to him as guides and scouts, 
 but he treated them so slightingly that they all 
 left him. No appearance of the enemy was seen 
 until the troops had penetrated far into the in- 
 
 terior ; and the first intelligence which they had 
 of the approach of a foe was in finding that they 
 had fallen into an ambuscade, where they were 
 mowed down in hundreds by invisible antagonists 
 secreted among the trees and bushes. A general 
 rout and confusion almost immediately ensued. 
 The drivers cut their horses' traces and fled, aban- 
 doning the wagons, which also obstructed the 
 retreat of the soldiers. The general was with 
 difficulty brought off, severely wounded ; and out 
 of eighty-six officers, sixty-three were killed or 
 wounded, with seven hundred and fourteen privates 
 killed, out of eleven hundred who fell into the snare. 
 All the artillery and stores, of course, were left to 
 the enemy. 
 
 As soon as the news of the defeat, and the loss 
 of the wagons and horses, became generally known, 
 the owners came in a body upon Franklin for the 
 amount of their claims, for which he had given 
 bond, amounting to nearly ^20,000 ! It was with 
 difficulty that man}' of these claimants were pre- 
 vented from suing him, until government had time 
 to examine into their charges and order payment ; 
 but the matter was at length satisfactorily settled. 
 
 The assembly now laid a tax, to raise money 
 for the defence of the province, and Franklin was 
 appointed one of the commissioners to dispose 
 of it. He had also carried a bill through the 
 house for establishing and disciplining a vol- 
 untary militia. To promote the association ne- 
 cessary to form the militia, he wrote a dialogue 
 upon the subject, which was extensively circu- 
 lated, and thought to have great effect. While the 
 several companies in the city and country were 
 forming and learning their exercise, the governor 
 prevailed upon Franklin to take charge of the 
 northwestern frontier, which was infested by the 
 enemy, and provide for the defence of the in- 
 habitants, by raising troops and building a line 
 of forts. Franklin did not think himself very 
 well qualified for the military, but was willing 
 to be of all the service in his power. He re- 
 ceived a commission from the governor, with full 
 authority, and a parcel of blank commissions 
 for officers, to be given to whom he thought fit. 
 Five hundred and sixty men were soon raised 
 and placed under his command. 
 
 The first place selected for the erection of a fort 
 was Gnadenhutten, a small settlement of Mora- 
 vians ; and thither Franklin set out in the middle 
 of winter, amid torrents of rain, and through al- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 49 
 
 most impassable roads. Upon arriving at the 
 village, he lost not a moment in planning and 
 marking out the 
 fort, with a cir- 
 c u m f e r e n c e of 
 455 feet ; and the 
 men were in- 
 stantly set t o 
 work with their 
 axes to cut down 
 trees f o r p a 1 i - 
 sades. Seeing 
 the trees fall so 
 fast, Franklin 
 had the curiosity 
 to look at his 
 watch when two 
 men began to cut 
 at a pine. In six 
 minutes they 
 had it upon the 
 ground, and it 
 was fourteen 
 inches in di- 
 ameter. Each 
 pine made three 
 palisades of 
 eighteen feet 
 long, pointed at 
 one end. While 
 these were pre- 
 paring, other 
 men dug a trench 
 all round, of 
 three feet deep, 
 i n w h i c h the 
 palisades were to 
 be planted. 
 When these 
 were set up, the 
 carpenters built 
 within them a 
 platform of 
 boards all round, 
 about six feet 
 high, for the 
 men to stand on 
 and fire through 
 the loop-holes. 
 They had one 
 
 swivel gun, which they mounted, and fired as 
 soon as it was fixed that the Indians might know 
 4 
 
 they had such pieces. Thus their fort, such as 
 it was, was finished in a week, though it rained 
 
 FALL OF GENERAL BRADDOCK. 
 
 so hard every other day that the men were almost 
 unable to work. 
 
50 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 "This gave me occasion to observe," says 
 Franklin, " that when men are employed they are 
 best contented. For on the days they worked they 
 were good-natured and cheerful, and, with the 
 consciousness of having done a good day's work, 
 the}- spent the evening gayly. But on our idle 
 days they were mutinous and quarrelsome, finding 
 fault with the pork and the bread, and were con- 
 tinually in bad humor ; which put me in mind of 
 a sea captain, whose rule it was to keep his men 
 constantly at work ; and when his mate once told 
 him that they had done everything, and there was 
 nothing further to employ them about, ' Oh,' said 
 he, ' make them scour the anchor.' 
 
 "This kind of fort," he continues, "however 
 contemptible, is a sufficient defence against In- 
 dians, who have no cannon. Finding ourselves 
 now posted securely, and having a place to retreat 
 to on occasion, we ventured out in parties to scour 
 the adjacent country. We met with no Indians, 
 but we found the places on the neighboring hills 
 where they had lain to watch our proceedings. 
 There was an art in their contrivance of those 
 places that seems worth mentioning. 
 
 " It being winter, a fire was necessary for them ; 
 but a common fire, on the surface of the ground, 
 would by its light have discovered their position 
 at a distance : they had therefore dug holes in the 
 ground about three feet in diameter, and some- 
 what deeper ; we found where they had, with their 
 hatchets, cut off the charcoal from the side of 
 burnt logs lying in the woods. With these coals 
 thej' had made small fires in the bottom of the 
 holes, and we observed among the weeds and grass 
 the prints of their bodies made by their lying all 
 round, with their legs hanging down in the holes 
 to keep their feet warm, which with them is an 
 essential point. This kind of fire, so managed 
 could not discover them either by its light, flame, 
 sparks, or even smoke ; it appeared that the num- 
 ber was not great, and it seems they saw we were 
 too many to be attacked by them with a prospect 
 of advantage. 
 
 ' ' We had for our chaplain a zealous Presby- 
 terian minister, Mr. Beatty, who complained to 
 me that the men did not generally attend his 
 pi avers and exhortations. When they enlisted 
 they were promised, besides pay and provisions, a 
 gill of rum a-day, which was punctually served 
 out to them, half in the morning and half in the 
 evening, and I observed they were punctual in 
 
 attending to receive it.'' Franklin advised that 
 the rum should be distributed only just after 
 prayers ; and never were prayers more generally 
 or more punctually attended. 
 
 Franklin's military career, was, however, a short 
 one, for he had scarcely completed his defensive 
 preparations, when he received a summons to 
 attend the assembly, where his advice and assis- 
 tance were found indispensable. 
 
 Upon the breaking out of the fatal disturbances 
 in consequence of Mr. Grenville's Stamp Act, 
 Franklin had again returned to England, as agent 
 for Pennsylvania and other States. During his 
 residence in England, he consulted, with unre- 
 mitting industry, the best interests of his native 
 country. He was everywhere received with 
 respect, on account of his reputation as a writer 
 and philosopher. Franklin was unwearied in his 
 efforts to bring about a reconciliation. He had 
 frequent interviews with Ford Howe and Ford 
 Chatham, and other distinguished English states- 
 men, who entertained for him the highest respect 
 and esteem. Most of the time during his present 
 residence in England was occupied in these vain 
 efforts. It is well known that the first violent 
 demonstrations against the imposition of the 
 Stamp Act, broke out in Franklin's native place, 
 Boston, the capital of the State of Massachusetts. 
 The governor, Hutchinson, and other function- 
 aries, wrote to the home government, recommend- 
 ing the adoption of the most rigorous coercive 
 measures, inveighing in unmeasured tenns against 
 the leading characters of the State. By some un- 
 accountable means, these letters fell into Franklin's 
 hands ere they reached their destination. He in- 
 stantly transmitted them back to the assembly at 
 Massachusetts, who, enraged at the conduct 
 of the governor, sent a petition to the king, 
 praying for his dismissal, and Franklin was 
 appointed to present it. As might have been ex- 
 pected, the petition was dismissed as "frivolous 
 and vexatious ;" and Franklin incurred so much 
 obloquy for his interception of the governor's des- 
 patches (the mode of which was never discovered) 
 that he was dismissed from his office of deputy- 
 postmaster-general. He still continued in Eng- 
 land, however, and left nothing untried to effect 
 a reconciliation between the mother country and 
 the colonies ; but finding all his endeavors una- 
 vailing, he returned to America in 1775. The day 
 after his arrival, he was elected by the Legislature 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 51 
 
 of Pennsylvania as a delegate to Congress. Hos- 
 tilities had then commenced ; but it would be re- 
 peating a thrice-told tale to enter into any account 
 of the protracted and bloody struggle that ensued, 
 or the nature of its termination. In 1778, Frank- 
 lin was sent as ambassador to the court of France, 
 where he soon brought about an alliance between 
 that nation and the North American States. 
 When the British ministry at length saw the ne- 
 cessity of recognizing the independence of the 
 States, the definitive treaty to that effect was 
 signed at Paris, on the 3d of September, 1783, by 
 Dr. Franklin, Mr. Adams, and Mr. Jay r , for the 
 States, on the one hand ; and by Mr. David Hart- 
 ley, for Great Britain, on the other. Franklin 
 continued at Paris for the two following years ; 
 but at last, by his own urgent request, was re- 
 called. Shortly after his return, he was elected 
 president of the supreme executive council, and 
 lent all his still perfect energies to consolidating 
 the infant government. Age and infirmities, 
 however, claimed their usual ascendency ; and in 
 17S8 he retired wholly from public life. 
 
 Death. 
 
 Franklin's last public act — and it was one in 
 beautiful accordance with the whole tenor of his 
 life — was putting his signature, as president of 
 the An ti- Slavery Society, to a memorial presented 
 to the House of Representatives, praying them to 
 exert the full powers intrusted to them to dis- 
 courage the revolting traffic in the human species. 
 This was on the 12th of February, 1789. From 
 this day forward, he was confined almost constantly 
 to bed with the stone, from which he suffered 
 the most excruciating agony. Yet, when his par- 
 oxysms of pain drew forth, as they did occasion- 
 ally, an irrepressible groan, he would observe, he 
 was afraid he did not bear his suffering as he 
 ought — acknowledged his grateful sense of the 
 many blessings he had received from the Supreme 
 Being, who had raised him from small and low 
 beginnings to such high rank and consideration 
 among men, and made no doubt but his present 
 afflictions were kindly intended to wean him from 
 a world in which he was no longer fit to act the 
 part assigned him. He latterly sank into a calm 
 lethargic state ; and on the 17th April, 1790, about 
 eleven o'clock at night, he quietly expired. He 
 was then aged exactly eighty-four years and three 
 months. The following epitaph was written by 
 himself many years previous to his death, but 
 
 only the simple inscription "Benjamin and De- 
 borah Franklin, 1790," was placed upon the plain 
 marble slab that covers his grave. 
 
 ' ' The Body of Benjamin Franklin, Printer, 
 [like the cover of an old book, its contents torn 
 out, and stript of its lettering and gilding,] lies 
 here food for worms ; yet the work itself shall not 
 be lost, for it will (as he believed) appear once 
 more in a new and more beautiful edition, corrected 
 and amended by The Author." 
 Character. 
 
 In looking back on Franklin's career, it is evi- 
 dent that the principal feature in his character was 
 worldly prudence — not in the usual and selfish 
 acceptation of the term, but that prudence, founded 
 on true wisdom, which dictates the practice of 
 honesty, industry, frugality, temperance, in short, 
 all those qualities which may be classified under 
 the name of "moral virtues" — as being the only 
 certain means of obtaining distinction, respect, in- 
 dependence and mental cheerfulness. There is no 
 other writer who inculcates lessons of practical 
 wisdom in a more agreeable and popular manner, 
 and we much regret that the limits of this sketch 
 prevent our giving many extracts illustrative of 
 this quality. His whole conduct and writings, in- 
 deed, present the somewhat singular union of great 
 genius with practical good sense, and of singular 
 worldly shrewdness with the loftiest integrity of 
 principle. The greatest worldly honors — and few 
 have attained higher — could not for a moment 
 make him forget or deviate from the fixed prin- 
 ciples with which he started in life. Ever keeping 
 before his mind his own origin and rise, he justly 
 considered every man to be originally on a par in 
 as far as regarded real intrinsic worth; and equally, 
 by precept and example, contributed more, per- 
 haps, than any individual who ever existed to 
 breaking down these invidious bars to eminence 
 and success in life which the conventional habits 
 and artificial feelings of society had theretofore 
 interposed to the elevation of those unblessed by 
 birth and fortune. 
 
 Some of Franklin's Maxims. 
 
 As the present biography^ must be considered as 
 more immediately instructive to the industrious 
 and productive portion of mankind, we shall con- 
 clude it by giving the following ' ' Advice to a 
 Young Tradesmen," written by Franklin at the 
 time when his industrious and frugal habits were 
 
52 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 just beginning to be rewarded with independence 
 and worldly respect. 
 
 ' ' Remember that time is money. He that can 
 earn ten shillings a-day by his labor, and goes 
 abroad or sits idle one-half of that day, though he 
 spends but sixpence during his diversion or idle- 
 ness, ought not to reckon that the only expense ; 
 he has really spent, or rather thrown away, five 
 shillings besides. 
 
 " Remember that credit is money. If a man lets 
 his money lie in my hands after it is due, he gives 
 me the interest, or so much as I can make of it 
 during that time. This amounts to a considerable 
 sum where a man has a good and large credit, and 
 makes good use of it. 
 
 " Remember that money is of a prolific generat- 
 ing nature. Money can beget money, and its off- 
 spring can beget more, and so on. Five shillings 
 turned is six ; turned again is seven and three- 
 pence ; and so on till it becomes a hundred pounds. 
 The more there is of it, the more it produces every 
 turning, so that the profits rise quicker and cpaicker. 
 He that kills a breeding sow destroys all her off- 
 spring to the thousandth generation. He that 
 murders a crown destroys all that it might have 
 produced, even scores of pounds. 
 
 "Remember that six pounds a year is but a groat 
 a day. For this little sum (which may be daily 
 wasted either in time or expense, unperceived) a 
 man of credit may, on his own security, have the 
 constant possession and use of a hundred pounds. 
 So much in stock, briskly turned by an industrious 
 man, produces great advantage. 
 
 ' ' Remember this saying : ' The good paymaster 
 is lord of another man's purse.' He that is known 
 to pay punctually, and exactly to the time he pro- 
 mises, may at any time, and on any occasion, raise 
 all the money his friends can spare. This is some- 
 times of great use. After industry and frugality, 
 nothing contributes more to the raising of a young 
 man in the world than punctuality and justice in 
 all his dealings : therefore, never keep borrowed 
 money an hour beyond the time you promised, 
 lest a disappointment shut up your friend's purse 
 forever. 
 
 "The most trifling actions that affect a man's 
 credit are to be regarded. The sound of your ham- 
 mer at five in the morning, or nine at night heard 
 by a creditor, makes him easy six months longer ; 
 but if he sees you at a billiard-table, or hears your 
 voice at a tavern, when you should be at work, he 
 
 sends for his money the next day ; demands it be- 
 fore he can receive it in a lump. 
 
 ' ' It shows, besides, that you are mindful of what 
 you owe ; it makes you appear a careful as well as 
 an honest man, and that still increases your credit. 
 
 ' ' Beware of thinking all your own that you pos- 
 sess, and of living accordingly. It is a mistake 
 that many people who have credit fall into. To 
 prevent this, keep an exact account, for some time, 
 both of your expenses and your income. If you 
 take the pains at first to mention particulars, it 
 will have this good effect — you will discover how 
 wonderfully small trifling expenses mount up to a 
 large sums, and will discern what might have been, 
 and may for the future be saved, without occasion- 
 ing any great inconvenience. 
 
 ' ' In short, the way to wealth, if you desire it, is 
 as plain as the way to market. It depends chiefly 
 on two words — industry and frugality ; that is, 
 w r aste neither lime nor money, but make the best use 
 of both. Without industry and frugality nothing 
 will go, and with them everything. He that gets all 
 he can honestly, and saves all he gets (necessary 
 expenses excepted), will certainly become rich — if 
 that Being who governs the world, to whom all 
 should look for a blessing on their honest en- 
 deavors, doth not, in His wise providence, other- 
 wise determine." 
 
 Keimer's Attempt at a New Religion. 
 
 The following sketch from one of Franklin's 
 experiences with Keimer, the printer referred to 
 in the previous article, is taken from Weems' 
 "Life of Franklin." Parson Weems was the 
 Mark Twain of earl}' American literature, and his 
 description of Keimer's attempt to establish a new 
 religion occupies a deservedly high position in 
 humorous composition : 
 
 Ben was naturally comic in a high degree, and 
 this pleasant vein, greatly improved by his present 
 golden prospects, betrayed him into many a frolic 
 with Keimer, to whom he had prudentty attached 
 himself as a journeyman, until the Aunis should 
 sail. The reader will excuse Ben for these frolics 
 when lie comes to learn what were their aims ; 
 as also what an insufferable old creature this 
 Keimer was. Silly as a booby, yet vain as a jay, 
 and garrulous as a pie, he could never rest but 
 when in a stiff argument, and acting the orator, at 
 which he looked on Cicero himself as but a boy to 
 him. Here was a fine target for Ben's Socratic 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 53 
 
 artillery, which he frequently played off on the 
 old Pomposo with great effect. By questions art- 
 fully put, he would obtain of him certain points, 
 which Keinier readily granted, as seeing in them 
 no sort of connection with the matter in debate. 
 But yet these points, when granted, like distant 
 nets slyly hauling round a porpoise or sturgeon, 
 would by degrees, so completely circumvent the 
 silly fish, that with all his flouncing and fury he 
 could never extricate himself, but rather got more 
 deeply entangled. Often caught in this way, he 
 became at last so afraid of Ben's questions, that 
 he would turn as mad when one of them was 
 poked at him, as a bull at sight of a scarlet cloak ; 
 and would not answer the simplest question with- 
 out first asking, ' ' Well, and what would you make 
 of that ?" He came at length to form so exalted 
 an opinion of Ben's talents for refutation, that he 
 seriously proposed to him one day that thej' should 
 turn out together and preach a New Religion ! 
 Keimer was to preach and make the converts, and 
 Ben to answer and put to silence the gainsayers. 
 He said a world of money might be made by it. 
 
 On hearing the outlines of this new religion, 
 Ben found great fault with it. This he did only 
 that he might have another frolic with Keimer ; 
 but his frolics were praiseworthy, for they all 
 "leaned to virtue's side." The truth is, he saw 
 that Keimer was prodigiously a hypocrite. At 
 every whipstitch he would play the knave, and 
 then for a pretence would read his Bible. But 
 it was not the moral part of the Bible, the 
 sweet precepts and parables of the Gospel that he 
 read. No, verily. Food so angelic was not at all 
 to the tooth of his childish fancy, which delighted 
 in nothing but the novel and curious. Eike too 
 man}- of the saints nowadays, he would rather 
 read about the witch of Endor, than the good 
 Samaritan, and hear a sermon on the brazen 
 candlesticks than on the love of God. And then, 
 oh dear ! who was Melchizedeck ? Or where was 
 the land of Nod ? Or, was it in the shape of a 
 serpent or a monkey that the devil tempted Eve ? 
 As he was one day poring over the Pentateuch as 
 busy after some nice game of this sort as a terrier 
 on the track of a weazel, he came to that famous 
 text where Moses says, ' ' Thou shalt not mar the 
 comers of thy beard." Aye! this was the di- 
 vinity for Keimer. It struck him like a new light 
 from the clouds : then rolling his eyes as from an 
 apparition, he exclaimed, " Miserable man that I 
 
 am ! and was I indeed forbidden to mar even the 
 corners of my beard, and have I been all this time 
 shaving myself as smooth as a eunuch ! Fire and 
 brimstone, how have you been boiling up for me, 
 and I knew it not ! Hell, deepest hell is my por- 
 tion, that's a clear case, unless I reform. And 
 reform I will if I live. Yes, my poor naked chin, 
 if ever I but get another crop upon thee and I 
 suffer it to be touched by the ungodly steel, then 
 let my right hand forget her cunning." 
 
 From that day he became as shy of a razor as 
 ever Samson was. His long black whiskers 
 " whistled in the wind." And then to see how he 
 would stand up before his glass and stroke them 
 down, it would have reminded you of some ancient 
 Druid, adjusting the sacred mistletoe. . 
 
 Ben could not bear that sight. Such shameless 
 neglect of angel morality, and yet such fidgetting- 
 about a goatish beard! "Heavens, sir," said he 
 to Keimer. one day in the midst of a hot argu- 
 ment — 
 
 " Who can think, with common sense, 
 A smooth-shaved face gives God offence ? 
 Or that a whisker hath a charm, 
 Eternal justice to disarm ?" 
 
 He even proposed to him to get shaved. Keimer 
 swore outright that he would never lose his beard. 
 A stiff altercation ensued. But Keimer getting 
 angry, Ben agreed at last to give up the beard. He 
 said that, ' ' as the beard at best was but an exter- 
 nal, a mere excrescence, he would not insist on 
 that as so very essential. But certainly, sir," con- 
 tinued he, ' ' there is one thing that is. ' ' 
 
 Keimer wanted to know what that was. 
 
 " Why, sir," added Ben, "this turning out and 
 preaching up a new religion, is, without doubt, a 
 very serious affair, and ought not to be undertaken 
 too hastily. Much time, sir, in my opinion at least, 
 should be spent in making preparation, in which 
 fasting should certainly have a large share." 
 
 Keimer, who was a great glutton, said he could 
 never fast. 
 
 Ben then insisted that if they were not to fast 
 altogether, they ought, at any rate, to abstain from 
 animal food, and live as the saints of old did, on 
 vegetables and water. 
 
 Keimer shook his head, and said that if he were 
 to live on vegetables and water he should soon 
 die. 
 
 Ben assured him that it was entirely a mistake. 
 
54 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 He had tried it often, he said, and could testify 
 from his own experience that he was never more 
 healthy and cheerful than when he lived on vege- 
 tables alone. "Die from feeding on vegetables, 
 indeed ! Why, sir, it contradicts reason ; and 
 contradicts all history, ancient and profane. 
 There was Daniel, and his three young friends, 
 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who fed on a 
 vegetable diet, of choice ; did they languish and 
 die of it ? Or rather did the} - not display a rouge 
 of health and fire of genius, far beyond those silly 
 youths who crammed on all the luxuries of the 
 royal table ? And that amiable Italian nobleman, 
 Lewis Cornaro, who says of bread, that it was such 
 a dainty to his palate, that he was almost afraid, 
 at times, it was too good for him to eat ; did he 
 languish and die of this simple fare. On the con- 
 trary, did he not outlive three generations of grati- 
 fied epicures, and after all go off in his second 
 century, like a bird of Paradise, singing the praises 
 of Temperance and Virtue ? And pray, sir," con- 
 tinued Ben, " where's the wonder of all this? 
 Must not the blood that is formed of vegetables be 
 the purest in nature ? And then, as spirits depend 
 on the blood, must not the spirits secreted from such 
 blood be the purest too ? And when this is the 
 case with the blood and spirits, which are the very 
 life of man, must not that man enjoy the best 
 chance for such health}- secretions and circulations 
 as are most conducive to long and happy life?" 
 
 While Ben argued at this rate, Keimer regarded 
 him with a look which seemed to say, '"Very true, 
 sir ; all this is very true, but still I cannot^ it." 
 
 Ben, still unwilling to give up his point, 
 thought he would make one more push at him. 
 " What a pity it is," said he with a sigh, " that 
 the blessings of so sublime a religion should be all 
 lost to the world, merely for a lack of a little for- 
 titude on the part of its propagators." 
 
 This was touching him on the right string ; for 
 Keimer was a man of such vanity, that a little 
 flatten' would put him up to anything. So after 
 a few hems and ha's, he said, he believed he 
 would, at any rate, make a trial of this new 
 regimen. 
 
 Having thus carried his point, Ben immediately 
 engaged a poor old woman of the neighborhood to 
 become their cook ; and gave her, off-hand, written 
 receipts for three and forty dishes ; not one of 
 which contained a single atom of fish, flesh, or 
 fowl. For their first day's breakfast on the new 
 
 regimen, the old woman treated them with a tureen 
 of oatmeal gruel. Keimer was particularly fond of 
 his breakfast, at which a nice beefsteak with onion 
 sauce was a standing dish. It was as good as a 
 farce to Ben, to see with what an eye Keimer re- 
 garded the tureen, when, entering the room, in 
 place of his steak, hot, smoking, and savory, he 
 beheld this pale, meagre-looking slop. 
 
 " What have you got there?" said he, with a 
 visage grurn, and scowling eye. 
 
 "A dish of hasty pudding," replied Ben, with 
 the smile of an innocent youth who had a keen 
 appetite, with something good to satisfy it ; "a 
 dish of nice hasty pudding, sir, made of oats." 
 
 "Of oats?" retorted Keimer, with a voice 
 raised to a scream. 
 
 "Yes, sir, oats," rejoined Ben ; "oats, that pre- 
 cious grain which gives such elegance and fire to 
 our noblest of quadrupeds, the horse. ' ' 
 
 Keimer growled out that he was no horse to eat 
 oats. 
 
 "No matter for that," replied Ben, " 'tis equally 
 good for men." 
 Keimer denied that any human being ever ate oats. 
 "Ay !" said Ben, " and pray what's become of 
 the Scotch? Don't they live on oats? And yet, 
 where will you find a people so ' bonny, blithe, 
 and gay?' a nation of such wits and warriors?" 
 
 As there was no answering this, Keimer sat 
 down to the tureen, and swallowed a few spoon- 
 fuls, but not without making as many wry faces as 
 if it had been so much jalap ; while Ben, all smile 
 and chat, breakfasted most deliriously. 
 
 At dinner, by Ben's order, the old woman par- 
 aded a trencher piled up with potatoes. Keimer's 
 grumbling fit came on him again. " He saw clear 
 enough," he said, "that he was to be poisoned." 
 " Poh ! cheer up, man," replied Ben ; " this is 
 your right preacher's bread." 
 
 " Bread the d — 1 !" replied Keimer, snarling. 
 "Yes, bread, sir," continued Ben, pleasantly ; 
 " the bread of life, sir ; for where do you find such 
 health and spirits, such bloom and beauty, as 
 among the honest-hearted Irish, and yet for their 
 breakfast, dinner, and supper, the potato is their 
 tetotum ; the first, second, and third course." 
 
 In this way Ben and his old woman went on 
 with Keimer ; daily ringing the changes on oat- 
 meal gruel, roasted potatoes, boiled rice, and so 
 on, through the whole family of roots and grains in 
 all their various genders, moods, and tenses. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 55 
 
 Sometimes, like a restive mule, Keimer would 
 kick up and show strong symptoms of flying the 
 way. But then Ben would prick him up again 
 with a touch of his ruling passion, vanity. ' ' Only 
 think, Mr. Keimer," he would say, "only think 
 what has been done by the founders of ?iew reli- 
 gions : how they have enlightened the ignorant, 
 polished the rude, civilized the savage, and made 
 heroes of those who were little better than brutes. 
 Think, sir, what Moses did among the stiff-necked 
 Jews ; what Mahomet did among the wild Arabs ; 
 and what you may do among these gentle drab- 
 coated Pennsylvanians. ' ' This, like a spur in the 
 flank of a jaded horse, gave Keimer a new start, 
 and pushed him on afresh to his gruel breakfasts 
 and potato dinners. Ben strove hard to keep him 
 up- to this gait. Often, at table, and especially 
 when he saw that Keimer was in good humor and 
 fed kindly, he would give a loose rein to fancy, and 
 paint the advantages of their new regimen in the 
 most glowing colors. " Aye, sir," he would say, 
 letting drop at the same time his spoon, as in an 
 ecstasy, of his subject, while his pudding on the 
 platter cooled, " aye, sir, now we are beginning to 
 live like men going a preaching indeed. Let your 
 epicures gormandize their fowl, fish, and flesh, 
 with draughts of intoxicating liquors. Such gross, 
 inflammatory food ma}' suit the brutal votaries of 
 Mars and Venus. But our views, sir, are different 
 altogether ; we are going to teach wisdom and 
 benevolence to mankind. This is a heavenly work, 
 sir, and our mind ought to be heavenly. Now, 
 as the mind depends greatly on the body, and the 
 body on the food, we should certainly select that 
 which is of the most pure and refining quality. 
 And this, sir, is exactly the food to our purpose. 
 This mild potato, or this gentle pudding, is the 
 thing to insure the light stomach, the cool liver, 
 the clear head, and above all, those celestial pas- 
 sions which become a preacher that would moralize 
 the world. And these celestial passions, sir, let 
 me add, though I don't pretend to be a prophet, 
 these celestial passions, sir, were you but to 
 stick to this diet, would soon shine out in your 
 countenance with such apostolic majesty and 
 grace, as would strike all beholders with rev- 
 erence, and enable you to carry the world before 
 you." 
 
 Such was the style of Ben's rhetoric with old 
 Keimer. But it could not all do. For though 
 these harangues could sometimes make him fancy 
 
 himself as big as Zoroaster or Confucius, and talk 
 as if he should soon have the whole country run- 
 ning after him, and worshipping him for the Great 
 Iyama of the west ; yet this divinity was too much 
 against the grain to last long. Unfortunately for 
 poor Keimer, the kitchen lay between him and his 
 bishopric : and both nature and habit had so 
 wedded him to that swinish idol, that nothing 
 could divorce him. So after having been led by 
 Ben ' ' a very d — / of a life, "as he called it, ' ' for 
 three months," his flesh-pot appetites prevailed, 
 and he swore, ' ' by his whiskers, he would suffer it 
 7io longer. ' ' Accordingly he ordered a nice roast 
 pig for dinner, and desired Ben to invite a young 
 friend to dine with them. Ben did so ; but neither 
 himself nor his young friend were anythfng the 
 better for the pig. For before they could arrive, 
 the pig being done, and his appetite beyond all 
 restraint, Keimer had fallen on it and devoured the 
 whole. And there he sat panting and torpid as 
 an anaconda who had just swallowed a young 
 buffalo. But still his looks gave sign that the 
 ' ' ministers of grace ' ' had not entirely deserted 
 him, for at sight of Ben and his young friend, he 
 blushed up to the eyelids, and in a glow of scarlet, 
 which showed that he paid dear for his whistle, 
 he apologized for disappointing them of their 
 dinner. " Indeed, the smell of the pig," he said, 
 "was so sweet, and the ni eel}' browned skin so 
 inviting, especially to him who had been long 
 starved, that for the soul of him he could not 
 resist the temptation to taste it — and then, oh ! if 
 Lucifer himself had been at the door, he must 
 have gone on, let what would have been the con- 
 sequences." He said, too, " that for his part he 
 was glad it was a pig and not a hog, for that he 
 verily believed he should have bursted himself." 
 Then leaning back in his chair and pressing his 
 swollen abdomen with his paws, he exclaimed, 
 with an awkward laugh, "Well, I don't believe I 
 was ever cut out for a bishop !" Here ended the 
 farce : for Keimer never after this uttered another 
 word about his New Religion. 
 
 Ben used, laughing, to say that he drew Keimer 
 into this scrape that he might enjoy the satisfac- 
 tion of starving him out of his gluttony. And he 
 did it also that he might save the more for books 
 and caudles : their vegetable regimen costing him, 
 in all, rather less than three cents a day ! To 
 those who can spend twenty times this sum 00 
 tobacco and whiskey alone, three cents per day 
 
56 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 must appear a scurvy allowance, and of course 
 poor Ben must be sadly pitied. 
 
 HOW WASHINGTON RECEIVED THE NEWS 
 OF THE SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE. 
 
 DURING that disastrous period of the Revolu- 
 tion which succeeded the_ defeat of Wash- 
 ington at Brandywine, and his subsequent re- 
 pulse at Germantown, the excitement of the 
 public mind was deep and anxious, and the spirits 
 of the whole nation seemed depressed and para- 
 lyzed by the overthrow of their sagacious leader 
 in two successive battles. The public expectation 
 was on tiptoe for every breath of news, in hopes 
 that it might bring accounts of some achievement 
 which would wipe away the stain of Brandywine 
 and Germantown, or lest it should inform them of 
 some equally disastrous battle. Towards the close 
 of a wet, uncomfortable day, a week or two after 
 the defeat at Germantown, a horseman, heavily 
 armed, and clad in a thick overcoat, which was 
 nearly covered with mud, was observed to ride up 
 from the river, through the main street of Easton. 
 He stopped at the first tavern in sight, and inquired 
 for the commanding officer of the station. It was 
 presently noised through the town that an express 
 had arrived, and the citizens flocked in crowds to 
 the house of the commandant, to learn the news. 
 The stranger quickly informed him that he carried 
 an express of great importance, and that he must 
 be immediately furnished with guides to conduct 
 him to the camp of Washington. Two trust}' men 
 were forthwith selected, and just at caudle-light 
 the three started for Whitemarsh, whither Wash- 
 ington had retreated after his unfortunate attack 
 upon the enemy at Germantown. Pursuing an 
 unfrequented path, they were descending a little 
 eminence which overlooked the encampment, just 
 as the sun rose, after a wet and fatiguing ride 
 during the whole night. 
 
 As their jaded horses slowly descended the emi- 
 nence, the bearer of the express and his compan- 
 ions could observe the line of sentries pacing to and 
 fro upon the wet grass, some distance from the tents, 
 and a few officers and soldiers performing their 
 morning ablutions. Three horsemen of their mys- 
 terious character were an unusual sight at White- 
 marsh, and the officers and men regarded them 
 with fixed and anxious attention. The fact of their 
 approach was passed into the tents, and a crowd 
 of officers and soldiers soon appeared, all intently 
 
 watching their designs. As they neared the sen- 
 tries, they dropped their muskets to a charge and 
 bade them halt. An officer, approaching the 
 group at this moment, was told by one of the 
 guides in a loud voice that they had an express 
 for General Washington ; upon which they were 
 instantly allowed to pass. Their business reach- 
 ing the ears of the troops, an immense crowd was 
 soon collected around them, so great as to prevent 
 their proceeding only at a very slow pace. The 
 impatience of the troops to hear the news could 
 not be restrained, and they called loudly to be in- 
 formed. An officer approached one of the guides, 
 and putting his hand to his mouth, begged him, 
 for heaven's sake, just to tell him whether it was 
 good or bad. The guide, who was himself igno- 
 rant of the news he was carrying, but ashamed to 
 let others know it, put his finger beside his nose 
 with a most important manner, and gave the offi- 
 cer a significant shake of the head, by way of re- 
 ply, and which might be safely interpreted either 
 way. He chose to receive it as favorable ; and, 
 pulling off his hat, gave three hearty cheers, 
 which the surrounding troops immediately joined 
 with laudable good-humor — not one of them know- 
 ing what he was cheering about ! The noise reach- 
 ing the ears of those in tents, they too gave 
 three cheers, although no whit wiser than the 
 others, and immediately joined the formidable 
 cavalcade. 
 
 While the express and his guides were advanc- 
 ing, the afore-mentioned officer hastened across 
 the fields to apprise Washington that an express 
 was near at hand. When the concourse reached 
 his lodgings, the multitude, dying with impa- 
 tience to have their curiosity gratified, in their 
 eagerness, tore the three from their horses, and 
 bore them upon their shoulders up the steps of 
 the house where Washington was quartered. At 
 that instant, the commander-in-chief appeared 
 from the far end of the entry, and beckoned them 
 in. They entered a spacious room, in which was 
 a large table covered with smoking dishes, and to 
 which Washington, with all his staff, was about 
 sitting down to breakfast. The door was in- 
 stantly shut, and the bearer of the express 
 stepped forward to General Washington, informed 
 him that he bore important despatches, and open- 
 ing his coat, pointed to the left lapel, in which he 
 stated they were concealed. Instantly a dozen 
 knives were in operation, and in a few moments 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 57 
 
 the despatches were exhibited — leaving the poor 
 bearer with a ruined coat upon his back. 
 
 A stillness, unbroken but by the half-sup- 
 pressed breathings of the spectators, succeeded. 
 Washington, seating himself at the head of the 
 table, unfolded the mysterious document, and 
 perused it silently. Not a muscle of his noble 
 features moved — but his eye was seen to lighten 
 up a little. Around him sat the flower of the 
 army — Knox, Pulaski, and Greene, with Hamil- 
 ton, his first aid-de-camp, on his right hand. 
 While the general read the paper, the impatience 
 of his officers, burning to be gratified, was with 
 the utmost difficulty restrained ; yet a solemn and 
 death-like silence reigned within the room. At 
 the window might be seen the equally impatient 
 troops, endeavoring to catch some certain signal 
 from the group within. When Washington had 
 finished, he turned to Hamilton, and desired him 
 to read the document aloud. Hamilton began 
 with a voice already thick with joy — for his quick 
 eye in an instant had caught the contents of the 
 paper. But he began. It was the official report 
 from General Gates, communicating the original 
 intelligence of the total defeat and capture of the 
 British army, commanded by Burgoyne, at Sara- 
 toga ! 
 
 When Hamilton had read merely enough to in- 
 form the company, the whole staff rose from the 
 table with tears in their eyes, and in the presence 
 of their dignified commander, gave three hearty 
 cheers. Washington, in a voice made indistinct 
 and tremulous with joy, commanded them to 
 order, which with extreme difficulty he succeeded 
 in restoring. He then requested Hamilton to read 
 the whole. When he had done so, the officers 
 again rose, and, in the excess of their delight, 
 upset the table, stamped upon the dishes and un- 
 tasted meats, and, in spite of Washington's re- 
 peated calls to order, broke the breakfast table 
 and its burden into atoms. 
 
 Unable to restore silence, or careless to repress 
 the honest joy of his friends, the general retired 
 with Hamilton to another room, to issue new in- 
 structions suitable to the emergency. Meanwhile, 
 the assembled multitude at the windows, the un- 
 satisfied spectators of these extravagant demon- 
 strations of joy, still ignorant of the cause, 
 renewed their shoutings, and the air rang with 
 the acclamations of five thousand veterans, not a 
 man of them knowing what he was shouting for ! 
 
 When the uproar had in a degree subsided, 
 Washington returned to greet a second time the 
 bearers of these welcome tidings. Addressing 
 them with the kindest language, he told them 
 they must be wet and hungry from travelling all 
 night, and that whatever they might wish should 
 be set before them. One of them, an honest 
 German, proud of the attention shown him by 
 that noble man, replied, with his arms akimbo, 
 and with a consequental air, as if the fate of the 
 nation depend upon what he had for breakfast, 
 "Why, please your excellency, I'll have some 
 ham and eggs ! " — and according ham and eggs 
 were given to him. A suitable reward was given 
 to the guides, one of whom boasted, as he told 
 the story with the tears in his eyes, that for that 
 night's service he received five pounds in hard 
 money. 
 
 The news was soon communicated to the neigh- 
 boring detachments who were quartered in the 
 vicinity, and orders given to stop all stragglers 
 going in to the enemy, who had then possession 
 of Philadelphia. Accordingly, an old woman, 
 dressed as a market-woman, and bearing some 
 panniers on her horse, was stopped the same day 
 by Captain Craig, at Moorstown, a few miles from 
 the city, and examined. On taking off her bon- 
 net, to which she made a stout resistance, a bundle 
 was discovered in her hair. It proved to be the 
 official despatches from Burgoyne to General 
 Howe, informing him of his disastrous capture. 
 They had been brought as far as Baskingridge, in 
 Jersey, by express, but, fearful of detection if 
 attempted to be delivered by a man, were there 
 intrusted to a female disguised as a market- 
 woman. The heroine was immediately remounted 
 on her horse with uncomfortable quickness, and 
 started off for Philadelphia with this satisfactory 
 ejaculation, " That as she had such news to take 
 General Howe, she might be off with it as soon 
 as she pleased." 
 
 MARSHAL NEY'S DEATH-SCENE. 
 
 THE vengeance of the Allied Powers demanded 
 some victims ; and the intrepid Ney, who 
 well-nigh put the crown again on Bonaparte's 
 head at Waterloo, was to be one of them. Con- 
 demned to be shot, he was led to the Garden of 
 Luxemburg, on the morning of the 7th of Decem- 
 ber, and placed in front of a file of soldiers, drawn 
 up to kill him. One of the officers stepped up to 
 
58 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 bandage his eyes, but he repulsed him, saying, 
 ' ' Are you ignorant that for twenty-five years I 
 have been accustomed to face both ball and bullet ? ' ' 
 He then lifted his hat above his head, with the 
 same calm voice that had steadied his columns so 
 frequently in the roar and tumult of battle, said, 
 "I declare, before God and man, that I never be- 
 trayed my country ; may my death render her 
 happy. Vive la France ! ' ' He then turned to the 
 
 leon and the enthusiasm that hailed his approach 
 to Paris. Still, he was no traitor. 
 
 J! 
 
 combat BETWEEN archers and cross-bowmen. (Accurate Copy of an Ancient Engraving.) 
 
 soldiers, and striking his hand on his heart, gave 
 the order, "Soldiers, fire ! " A simultaneous dis- 
 charge followed, and the " bravest of the brave " 
 sank to rise no more. "He who had fought five 
 hundred battles for France, not one against her, 
 was shot as a traitor ! " As I looked on the spot 
 where he fell, I could not but sigh over his fate. 
 True, he broke his oath of allegiance — so did 
 others, carried away by their attachment to Xapo- 
 
 BATTLE OF CRECY. 
 
 HE following description of an incident in the 
 battle of Crecy occurs in Lord Berners' 
 translation of the writings of Froissart, pub- 
 lished in 1523 by order of Henry VIII. It is 
 doubtless a correct account of the event described, 
 
 and certainly 
 a fine speci- 
 men of vigor- 
 ous English 
 of that date : 
 When the 
 French king 
 saw the Eng- 
 lishmen, his 
 blood chang- 
 ed, and (he) 
 said to his 
 mars halls, 
 "Make the 
 Genoese go 
 on before, and 
 begin the bat- 
 1 1 e in the 
 name of God 
 and St. Den- 
 is." There 
 were of the 
 Genoese 
 cross-bows 
 about a fif- 
 teen thou- 
 sand, but they 
 were so weary 
 of going a- 
 foot that day, 
 a six leagues, 
 armed with 
 their cross-bows, that they said to their constables, 
 " We be not well ordered to fight this clay, for we 
 be not in the case to do any great deed of arms ; 
 we have more need of rest." These words came 
 to the Earl of Alengon, who said, "A man is well 
 at ease to be charged with such a sort of rascals, 
 to be faint and fail now at most need." Also, the 
 same season, there fell a great rain and an eclipse, 
 with a terrible thunder ; and before the rain, there 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 59 
 
 came flying over the battles a great number of 
 crows for fear of the tempest coming. Then anon 
 the air began to wax clear, and the sun to shine 
 fair and bright, the which was right in the French- 
 men's even, and on the Englishmen's back. 
 "When the Genoese were assembled together, and 
 began to approach, they made a great leap and 
 cry, to abash the Englishmen ; but they stood 
 still, and stirred not for all that. Then the Geno- 
 ese again the second time made another leap and 
 a fell cry, and stepped forward a little ; and the 
 Englishmen removed not one foot. Thirdly again 
 they leaped and cried, and went forth till they 
 came within shot ; then they shot fiercely with 
 their cross-bows. Then the English archers 
 stepped forth one pace, 
 and let fly their arrows 
 so wholly and thick that 
 it seemed snow. When 
 the Genoese felt the ar- 
 rows piercing through 
 heads and arms and 
 breasts, man}' of them 
 cast down their cross- 
 bows, and did cut their 
 strings, and returned dis- 
 comfited. W hen the 
 French king saw them 
 flee away, he said, " Slay 
 these rascals, for they 
 shall let and trouble us 
 without reason." Then 
 ye should have seen the 
 men-at-arms dash in 
 among them, and killed 
 a great number of them, 
 and ever still the English- 
 men shot whereas they saw the thickest press ; the 
 sharp arrows ran into the men-at-arms and into 
 their horses ; and many fell horse and men among 
 the Genoese ; and when they were down the}^ could 
 not relieve again ; the press was so thick that one 
 overthrew another. And also, among the Eng- 
 lishmen, there were certain rascals that went on 
 foot with great knives, and they went in among 
 the men-at-arms, and murdered many as they lay 
 on the ground, both earls, barons, knights, and 
 squires, whereof the King England was after 
 displeased, for he had rather they had taken pris- 
 oners. 
 
 DEATH OF LORD COBHAM. 
 
 IR JOHN OLDCASTLE, Baron of Cobham, 
 was born during the reign of Edward III., 
 of England, and executed, in the cruel and bar- 
 barous manner peculiar to those times, on the 
 14th of December, 1417. He was a soldier of 
 distinction, but having become a convert to the 
 doctrines of Wycliffe, he promoted them greatlj- ; 
 and when the king remonstrated with him he 
 said: "Next to God I profess obedience to my 
 king; but as to the spiritual dominion of the 
 Pope, I can pay him no obedience." He was 
 thereupon confined in the tower and condemned 
 to the flames, but escaped into Wales. A reward 
 of 1000 marks was offered for his head, and ex- 
 
 Fig 1. San-benzto. Garment 
 worn by those who escaped 
 burning by making a confes- 
 sion before being sentenced. 
 
 COSTUMES OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 Fig. 2. Fuego revollo. Gar- 
 ment worn by those who es- 
 caped being burnt alive by 
 making a confession after 
 they had been condemned. 
 
 Fig. 3. Samarra, Garment 
 worn by those who, refusing 
 to confess, were about to be 
 burnt. 
 
 emption from taxes promised to any town that 
 should apprehend him. After four years he was 
 discovered and carried to London, where he was 
 hanged in chains on a gibbet in St. Giles' field, 
 and roasted to death by a fire kindled under him. 
 He was the first martyr to his religious senti- 
 ments among the English nobility. The follow- 
 ing account of his execution was written by 
 Bishop Bole, in 1544, and strongly illustrates the 
 barbarism of the times : 
 
 " Upon the day appointed, he was brought out 
 of the tower with his arms bound behind him, 
 having a very cheerful countenance. Then was 
 
60 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 lie laid upon an hurdle, as though he had been a 
 most heinous traitor to the crown, and so drawn 
 forth into St. Giles' Field, where they had set up 
 a new pair of gallows. As he was corning to the 
 place of execution, and was taken from the hur- 
 dle, he fell down devoutly upon his knees, desir- 
 ing Almighty God to forgive his enemies. Then 
 stood he up and beheld the multitude, exhorting 
 them in most godly manner to follow the laws of 
 God written in the Scriptures, and in any wise to 
 beware of such teachers as they see contrary to 
 Christ in their conversation and living, with 
 many other special counsels. Then he was 
 hanged up there by the middle in chains of iron, 
 and so consumed alive in the fire, praising the 
 name of God, so long as his life lasted. In the 
 end he commended his soul into the hand of 
 God, and so departed hence most Christenly, his 
 body resolved into ashes." 
 
 HENRY VIII. ENTERTAINED AT THE HOUSE 
 OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 CHE following account of a visit of Henry 
 VIII. and a portion of his court to the 
 house of Cardinal Wolsey is a splendid pen-pic- 
 ture of the style of kingly entertainments that 
 prevailed in those days. It is selected from the 
 manuscript Life of Cardinal Wolsey by George 
 Cavendish, 1557 : 
 
 "And when it pleased the king's majesty, for 
 his recreation, to repair unto the Cardinal's house, 
 as he did, divers times in the year, at which times 
 there wanted no preparations, or goodly furniture, 
 with viands of the finest sort that might be pro- 
 vided for money or friendship ; such pleasures 
 were then devised for the king's comfort and con- 
 solation, as might be invented, or by man's wit 
 imagined. The banquets were set forth with 
 masks and mummeries, in so gorgeous a sort and 
 costly manner, that it was a heaven to behold. 
 There wanted no dames or damsels, meet or 
 apt to dance with the maskers, or to garnish 
 the place for the time with other goodly dis- 
 ports. Then was there all kinds of music 
 and harmony set forth, with excellent voices 
 both of men and children. I have .seen the king 
 suddenly come in thither in a mask, with a dozen 
 other maskers, all in garments like shepherds, 
 made of fine cloth of gold, and fine crimson satin 
 paned, and caps of the same, with visors of good 
 proportion of visnomy ; their hairs, and beards, 
 
 either of fine gold wire, or else of silver, and some 
 being of black silk ; having sixteen torch-bearers, 
 besides their drums, and other persons attending 
 upon them, with visors, aud clothed all in satin, of 
 the same colours. And at his coming, and before 
 he came into the hall, ye shall understand that he 
 came by water to the water-gate, without am' 
 noise, where, against his coming, were laid charged 
 many chambers,* and at his landing they were all 
 shot off, which made such a rumble in the air, that 
 it was like thunder. It made all the noblemen, 
 ladies and gentlewomen, to muse what it should 
 mean coming so suddenly, they sitting quietly at 
 a solemn banquet. * * * Then, immediately 
 after this great shot of guns, the cardinal desired the 
 lord chamberlain and comptroller to look what this 
 sudden shot should mean, as though he knew 
 nothing of the matter. They thereupon looking 
 out of the windows into the Thames, returned 
 again, and showed him, that it seemed to them 
 there should be some noblemen and strangers ar- 
 rived at his bridge, as ambassadors from some 
 foreign prince. * * * 'Then,' quoth the car- 
 dinal to my lord chamberlain, 'I pray you,' 
 quoth he, ' show them that it seemeth to 
 me that there should be among them some 
 nobleman, whom I suppose to be much more 
 worthy of honor to sit and occupy this room and 
 place than I : to whom I would most gladly, if I 
 knew him, surrender 1113- place according to my 
 duty,' Then spake my lord chamberlain unto 
 them in French, declaring my lord cardinal's 
 mind ; and they rouudingf him again in the ear, 
 my lord chamberlain said to my lord cardinal, 
 'Sir, they confess,' quoth he, 'that among them 
 there is such a noble personage, whom if your 
 grace can appoint him from the others, he is con- 
 tented to disclose himself, aud to accept your place 
 most worthily.' With that the cardinal, taking a 
 good advisement among them, at the last, quoth 
 he, ' Me seemeth the gentleman with the black 
 beard should be eveu he. ' And with that he arose 
 out of his chair, and offered the same to the gentle- 
 man in the black beard, with his cap in his 
 hand. The person to whom he offered then 
 his chair was Sir Edward Neville, a comely 
 knight of a goodly personage, that much more re- 
 sembled the king's person in that mask than any 
 
 * Short guns, or cannon, without carriages; chiefly 
 used for festive occasions. 
 f Whispering. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 61 
 
 other. The king, hearing and perceiving the 
 cardinal so deceived in his estimation and choice, 
 could not forbear laughing ; but plucked down his 
 visor, and Master Neville's also, and dashed out 
 with such a pleasant countenance and cheer, that 
 all noble estates there assembled, seeing the king 
 to be there amongst them, rejoiced very much. 
 The cardinal eftsoons* desired his highness to take 
 the place of estate, to whom the king answered, 
 that he would go first and shift his apparel ; and 
 so departed, and went straight into my lord's bed- 
 chamber, where was a great fire made and prepared 
 for him, and there new apparelled him with rich 
 and princely garments. And in the time of the 
 king's absence, the dishes of the banquet were 
 clean taken up, and the table spread again with 
 new and sweet perfumed cloths ; every man sitting 
 still until the king and his maskers came in among 
 them again, every man being newly apparelled. 
 Then the king took his seat under the cloth of es- 
 tate, commanding no man to remove, but sit still, 
 as they did before. Then in came a new banquet 
 before the king's majesty, and to all the rest 
 through the tables, wherein, I suppose, were 
 served two hundred dishes, or above, of wondrous 
 costly meats and devices, subtilly devised. Thus 
 passed they forth the whole night with banquet- 
 ting, dancing, and other triumphant devices, to 
 the great comfort of the king, and pleasant regard 
 of the nobility there assembled." 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF AN EXECUTION BY BURN- 
 ING AT THE STAKE DURING THE REIGN 
 OF QUEEN MARY OF ENGLAND. 
 
 THIS description was written by the historian, 
 John Fox, who was a witness of the scene. 
 We copy it in the original language of the 
 author, peculiar to that period, because its quaint- 
 ness adds materially to the interest of the recital. 
 The victim, a young man named William Hunter, 
 was only nineteen years of age, but he seems to 
 have borne his sufferings with heroic fortitude : 
 
 In the first year of Queen Mary, William Hun- 
 ter, apprentice to a silk weaver in London, was 
 discharged from his master's employment, in con- 
 sequence of his refusing to attend mass. Having 
 returned to the house of his father at Bruntwood, 
 he attracted the attention of the spiritual authori- 
 ties by his reading a copy of the Scriptures. He 
 was finally condemned to die for heresy. 
 * Immediately. 
 
 In the mean time William's father and mother 
 came to him, and desired heartily of God that he 
 might continue to the end, in that good way which 
 he had begun, and his mother said to him that she 
 was glad that ever she was so happy to bear such 
 a child, which could find in his heart to lose his 
 life for Christ's name's sake. 
 
 Then William said to his mother, ' ' For my 
 little pain which I shall suffer, which is but a 
 short braid, Christ hath promised me, mother (said 
 he), a crown of joy : may you not be glad of 
 that, mother?" With that his mother kneeled 
 down on her knees, saying, "I pray God 
 strengthen thee, my son, to the end : yea, I 
 think thee as well-bestowed as any child that ever 
 I bare." 
 
 At the which words, Master Higbed took her in 
 his arms, saying, "I rejoice (and so said the 
 others) to see you in this mind, and you have a 
 good cause to rejoice." And his father and 
 mother both said that they were never of other 
 mind, but prayed for him, that, as he had begun 
 to confess Christ before men, he likewise might so 
 continue to the end. William's father said, "I 
 was afraid of nothing, but that my son should 
 have been killed in the prison for hunger and cold, 
 the bishop was so hard to him." But William 
 confessed, after a month, that his father was 
 charged with his board, that he lacked nothing, 
 but had meat and clothing enough, yea, even out 
 of the court, both money, meat, clothes, wood, and 
 coals, and all things necessary. 
 
 Thus passing away Saturday, Sunday, and 
 Monday ; on Monday at night it happened that 
 William had a dream about two of the clock in 
 the morning, which was this : how that he was at 
 the place where the stake was pight, where he 
 should be burned, which (as he thought in his 
 dream) was at the town's end where the butts* 
 stood, which was so indeed ; and also he dreamed 
 that he met with his father as he went to the 
 stake, and also that there was a priest at the stake, 
 which went about to have him recant. To whom 
 he said (as he thought in his dream), how that he 
 bad him away false prophet, and how that he ex- 
 horted the people to beware of him and such as 
 he was, which things came to pass indeed. It 
 happened that William made a noise to himself in 
 his dream, which caused M. Higbed and the 
 others to awake him out of his sleep, to know 
 * Archery butts. 
 
(62) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 63 
 
 what he lacked. When he awaked, he told thein 
 his dream in order as is said. 
 
 Now when it was day, the sheriff, M. Brocket, 
 called on to set forward to the burning of William 
 Hunter. Then came the sheriff's son to William 
 Hunter, and embraced him in his right arm, say- 
 ing, "William, be not afraid of these men, which 
 are here present with bows, bills, and weapons, 
 read} 7 prepared to bring you to the place where 
 you shall be burned." To whom William an- 
 swered, ' ' I thank God I am not afraid ; for I have 
 cast my count, what it will cost me, already." 
 Then the sheriff's son could speak no more to him 
 for weeping. 
 
 Then William Hunter plucked up his gown, and 
 stepped over the parlor grounsel, and went for- 
 ward cheerfully, the sheriff's servant taking him 
 by one arm, and his brother by another ; and thus 
 going in the way, he met with his father according 
 to his dream, and he spake to his son, weeping, 
 and saying, "God be with thee, son William;" 
 and William said, ' ' God be with you, good father, 
 and be of good comfort, for I hope we shall meet 
 again, when we shall be merry." His father said, 
 "I hope so, William," aud so departed. So 
 William went to the place where the stake stood, 
 even according to his dream, whereas all things 
 were very unready. Then William took a wet 
 broom faggot, and kneeled down thereon, and read 
 the 51st psalm, till he came to these words, "The 
 sacrifice of God is a contrite spirit ; a contrite aud 
 a broken heart, O God, thou wilt not despise." 
 
 Then said Master Tyrell of the Bratches, called 
 William Tyrell, "Thou liest," said he; "thou 
 readest false, for the words are, 'an humble 
 spirit.'" But William said, "The translation 
 saith 'a contrite heart.'" "Yea," quoth Mr. 
 Tyrell, "the translation is false; ye translate 
 books as ye list yourselves, like heretics." 
 "Well," quoth William, "there is no great dif- 
 ference in those words." Then said the sheriff, 
 "Here is a letter from the queen: if thou wilt 
 recant, thou shalt live ; if not, thou shalt be 
 burned." "No," quoth William, "I will not 
 recant, God willing." Then William rose and 
 went to the stake, and stood upright to it. Then 
 came one Richard Pond, a bailiff, and made fast 
 the chain about William. 
 
 Then said Master Brown, "Here is not wood 
 enough to burn a leg of him." Then said Wil- 
 liam, " Good people, pray for me ; and make speed, 
 
 and dispatch quickly ; and pray for me while ye 
 see me alive, good people, and I will pray for you 
 likewise." "How !" quoth Master Brown, "pray 
 for thee ? I will pray no more for thee than I will 
 pray for a dog." To whom William answered, 
 "Master Brown, now you have that which you 
 sought for, and I pray God it be not laid to your 
 charge in the last day; howbeit, I forgive you." 
 Then said Master Brown, "I ask no forgiveness 
 of thee." "Well," said William, "if God for- 
 give you not, I shall require my blood at your 
 hands. ' ' 
 
 Then said William, "Sou of God, shine upon 
 me!" and immediately the sun in the element 
 shone out of a dark cloud so full in his face, that 
 he was constrained to look another way, whereat 
 the people mused, because it was so dark a little 
 time afore. Then William took up a faggot of 
 broom and embraced it in his arms. 
 
 Then this priest which William dreamed of 
 came to his brother Robert with a book to carry 
 to William, that he might recant, which book his 
 brother would not meddle withal. Then William, 
 seeing the priest, and perceiving how he would 
 have showed him the book, said, "Away, thou 
 false prophet ! Beware of them, good people, and 
 come away from their abominations, lest that you 
 be partakers of their plagues." Then quoth the 
 priest, ' ' Look how thou burnest here, so shalt 
 thou burn in hell." William answered, "Thou 
 liest, thou false prophet ! Away, thou false 
 prophet ! away ! ' ' 
 
 Then there was a gentleman which said, "I 
 pray God have mere}' upon his soul." The people 
 said, "Amen, Amen." 
 
 Immediately fire was made. Then William cast 
 his psalter right into his brother's hand, who said, 
 "William, think on the holy passion of Christ, 
 and be not afraid of death." And William an- 
 swered, "lam not afraid." Then lift he up his 
 hands to heaven, and said, "Lord, Lord, Lord, 
 receive my spirit !" And casting down his head 
 again into the smothering smoke, he yielded up 
 his life for the truth, sealing it with his blood to 
 the praise of God. 
 
 ORIGIN OF CERTAIN LEGENDS. 
 
 BEFORE colleges were established in the 
 monasteries where the schools were held, 
 the professors in rhetoric frequently gave their 
 pupils the life of some saint for a trial of their 
 
64 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 talent at amplification. The students, being con- 
 stantly at a loss to furnish out their pages, in- 
 vented most of these wonderful adventures. Jortin 
 observes, that they used to collect out of Ovid, 
 Livy, and other pagan poets and historians, the 
 miracles and portents to be found there, and ac- 
 commodated them to their own monks and saints. 
 The good fathers of that age, whose simplicity 
 was not inferior to their devotion, were so de- 
 lighted with these flowers of rhetoric, that they 
 were induced to make a collection of these mir- 
 aculous compositions ; not imagining that, at 
 some distant period, they would become matters 
 of faith. 
 
 When the world began to be more critical in 
 their reading, the monks gave a graver turn to 
 their narratives ; and became penurious of their 
 absurdities. The faithful believers contend that 
 the line of tradition has been preserved unbroken ; 
 notwithstanding that the originals were lost in 
 the general wreck of literature from the bar- 
 barians, or came down in a most imperfect state. 
 
 Baronius has given the lives of many apocry- 
 phal saints ; for instance, of saint Xinoris, whom 
 he calls a inartyr of Antioch : but it appears that 
 Baronius having read in Chrysostom this word, 
 which signifies a couple or pair, he mistook it for 
 the name of a saint, and contrived to give the 
 most authentic biography of a saint who never 
 existed ! As a specimen of the happier in- 
 ventions, one is given, embellished by the dic- 
 tion of Gibbon — 
 
 The Legend of the Seven Sleepers. 
 
 Among the legends of ecclesiastical history, I 
 arn tempted to distinguish the memorable fable of 
 the Seven Sleepers ; whose imaginary date cor- 
 responds with the reign of the younger Theodo- 
 sius, and the conquest of Africa by the Vandals. 
 When the Emperor Decius persecuted the Chris- 
 tians, seven notable youths of Ephesus con- 
 cealed themselves in a spacious cavern on 
 the side of an adjacent mountain ; where they 
 were doomed to perish by the tyrant, who gave 
 orders that the entrance should be firmly secured 
 with a pile of stones. They immediately fell into 
 a deep slumber, which was miraculously pro- 
 longed without injuring the powers of life, during 
 a period of one hundred and eighty-seven years. 
 At the end of that time the slaves of Adolius, to 
 whom the inheritance of the mountain had de- 
 scended, removed the stones to supply materials 
 
 for some rustic edifice. The light of the sun 
 darted into the cavern, and the Seven Sleepers 
 were permitted to awake. After a slumber as 
 they thought of a few hours, they were pressed 
 by the calls of hunger ; and resolved that Jam- 
 blichus, one of their number, should secretly 
 return to the city to purchase bread for the use of 
 his companions. The youth, if we may still 
 employ that appellation, could no longer recognize 
 the once familiar aspect of his native country ; 
 and his surprise was increased by tne appearance 
 of a large cross, triumphantly erected over the 
 principal gate of Ephesus. His singular dress 
 and obsolete language confounded the baker, to 
 whom he offered an ancient medal of Deeius as 
 the current coin of the empire ; and Jamblichus, 
 on the suspicion of a secret treasure, was dragged 
 before the judge. Their mutual inquiries pro- 
 duced the amazing discover}-, that two centuries 
 were almost elapsed since Jamblichus and his 
 friends had escaped from the rage of a Pagan 
 tyrant. The bishop of Ephesus, the clergy, the 
 magistrates, the people, and, it is said, the Em- 
 peror Theodosius himself, hastened to visit the 
 cavern of the Seven Sleepers, who bestowed their 
 benediction, related their story and at the same 
 instant peaceably expired. 
 
 This popular tale Mahomet learned when he 
 drove his camels to the fairs of Syria ; and he has 
 introduced it, as a divine revelation, into the 
 Koran. The same story has been adopted and 
 adorned, by the nations from Bengal to Africa, 
 who profess the Mahometan religion. 
 
 Peculiarities of Some of the Saints. 
 
 During the Dark Ages many saints obtained 
 credit for holiness in proportion to their lack of 
 cleanliness. They did not practise the maxim 
 that "cleanliness is next to godliness." It 
 is said that St. Ignatius delighted to appear 
 abroad with old dirt}- shoes ; he never used a 
 comb, but let his hair clot ; and religiously ab- 
 stained from jiaring his nails. One saint attained 
 to such piety as to have near three hundred 
 patches on his breeches ; which after his death, 
 were hung up in public as an incentive to imi- 
 tation. St. Francis discovered by certain ex- 
 perience, that the devils were frightened away 
 by such kind of breeches, but were animated by 
 clean clothing to tempt and seduce the wearers ; 
 and one of their heroes declares that the purest 
 souls are in the dirtiest bodies. On this they telJ 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 65 
 
 a story which may not be very agreeable to fas- 
 tidious delicacy. Brother Juniper was a gentle- 
 man perfectly pious on this principle ; indeed so 
 great was his merit in this species of mortifica- 
 tion, that a brother declared he could always 
 nose Brother Juniper when within a mile of the 
 monastery, provided the wind was at the due 
 point. Once, when the blessed Juniper, for he 
 was no saint, was a guest, his host, proud of the 
 honor of entertaining so pious a personage, the 
 intimate friend of St. Francis, provided an excel- 
 lent bed, and the finest sheets. Brother Juniper 
 abhorred such luxury. And this too evidently 
 appeared after his sudden departure in the morn- 
 ing unknown to his kind host. The great Juniper 
 did this, says his biographer, not so much from 
 his habitual inclinations, for which he was so 
 justly celebrated, as from his excessive piety, 
 and as much as he could to mortify worldly pride, 
 and to show how a true saint despised clean 
 sheets. 
 
 In the life of St. Francis we find, among other 
 miracles, that he preached a sermon in a desert, 
 but he soon collected an immence audience. 
 The birds warbled to every sentence, and 
 stretched out their necks, opened their beaks, and 
 when he finished, dispersed with a holy rapture 
 into four companies, to report his sermon to all 
 the birds in the universe. A grasshopper re- 
 mained a week with St. Francis during the ab- 
 sence of the Virgin Mary, and pittered on his 
 head. He grew so companionable with a night- 
 ingale, that when a nest of swallows began to 
 babble, he hushed them by desiring them not to 
 tittle-tattle of their sister, the nightingale. At- 
 tacked by a wolf, with only the sign manual of 
 the cross, he held a long dialogue with his rabid 
 assailant, till the wolf, meek as a lapdog, 
 stretched his paws in the hands of the saint, 
 followed him through towns, and became half a 
 Christian. 
 
 This same St. Francis had such a detestation of 
 the good things of this world, that he would never 
 suffer his followers to touch money. A friar hav- 
 ing placed in a window some money collected at 
 the altar, he desired him to take it in his mouth, 
 and throw it on the manure pile. St. Philip 
 Nerius was such a lover of poverty that he fre- 
 quently prayed that God would bring him to that 
 state as to stand in need of a penny, and find no-' 
 body that would give him one ! 
 5 
 
 It is said that Saint Macairie was so shocked at 
 having killed a louse, that he endured seven years 
 of penitence among the thorns and briars of a 
 forest. 
 
 Many absurdities similar to these are still prac- 
 tised by the religious devotees of Mohammedan 
 and other semi-civilized countries, but happily 
 they have disappeared before the advancing light 
 of knowledge and true religion in all Christian 
 nations ; and they are now worthy of notice only 
 as relics of a past age. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE TALMUD. 
 
 THF Talmud is a collection of Jewish tradi- 
 tions, which have been orally preserved. It 
 comprises the Mishna, which is the text, 
 and the Gejiara, its commentary. The whole 
 forms a complete system of learning, ceremonies, 
 civil and canon laws of the Jews ; treating indeed 
 on all subjects ; even gardening, manual arts, etc. 
 The rigid Jews persuaded themselves that these 
 traditional explications are of divine origin. The 
 Pentateuch, say they, was written out by their le- 
 gislator before his death in thirteen copies, distri- 
 buted among the twelve tribes, and the remaining 
 one deposited in the ark. The oral law Moses 
 continually taught in the Sanhedrim, to the elders 
 and the rest of the people. The law was repeated 
 four times ; but the interpretation was delivered 
 only by word of mouth from generation to genera- 
 tion. In the fortieth year of the flight from Egypt, 
 the memory of the people became treacherous, and 
 Moses was constrained to repeat this oral law, 
 which had been conveyed by successive tradition- 
 ists. Such is the account of honest David Levi : 
 it is the creed of every rabbi. 
 
 This history of the Talmud some are inclined to 
 suppose apocryphal, even among a few of the Jews 
 themselves. 
 
 The closest investigation has never been able to 
 determine when these traditions first appeared. It 
 cannot be denied that there existed traditions among 
 the Jews in the time of Christ. About the second 
 century they were industriously collected by Rab- 
 bi Juda, the holy, the prince of the rabbins, who 
 enjoyed the favor of Antoninus Pius. He has the 
 merit of giving some order to this very multifari- 
 ous collection. 
 
 It appears that the Talmud was compiled by 
 certain Jewish doctors, who were selected for this 
 purpose by their nation, that they might have 
 
66 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 something to oppose to their Christian adversaries. 
 There are two Talmuds : the Jerusalem and the 
 Babylonian. The last is the most esteemed, be- 
 cause it is the most bulky. 
 
 R. Juda, the prince of the rabbins, committed 
 to writing all these traditions, and arranged them 
 under six general heads, called orders or classes. 
 The subjects are indeed curious for philosophical 
 inquirers, and multifarious as the events of civil 
 life. Even- order is formed of treatises : every 
 treatise is divided into chapters, even - chapter into 
 mishnas, which word means mixtures or miscel- 
 lanies, in the form of aphorisms. In the first part 
 is discussed what relates to seeds, fruits, and trees ; 
 in the second, feasts ; in the third, women, their 
 duties, their disorders, marriages, divorces, con- 
 tracts, and nuptials ; in the forth are treated the 
 damages or losses sustained by beasts or men ; of 
 things found ; deposits ; usuries ; rents ; farms ; 
 partnerships in commerce ; inheritance ; sales and 
 purchases ; oaths ; witnesses ; arrests ; idolatry ; 
 and here are named those by whom the oral law 
 was received and preserved. In the fifth part are 
 noticed sacrifices and holy things ; and the sixth 
 treats of purifications, vessels, furniture, clothes, 
 houses, leprosy, baths, and numerous other arti- 
 cles. All this forms the MlSHNA. 
 
 The Gejiara, that is, the complement, or per- 
 fection, contains the disputes and the opinions of 
 the rabbins on the oral traditions. It must be 
 confessed that absurdities are sometimes eluci- 
 dated by other absurdities ; but there are many 
 admirable things in this vast repository. The 
 Jews have such veneration for this compilation, 
 that the}- compare the hoi}- writings to water, and 
 the Talmud to wine ; the text of Moses to pepper, 
 but the Talmud to aromatics. Of the twelve 
 hours of which the day is composed, they tell us 
 that God employs nine to study the Talmud, and 
 only three to read the written law ! 
 
 The antiquity of this work is of itself sufficient 
 to make it curious ; but it is full of absurdities and 
 old wives' tales. In illustration of this, we quote 
 some of its rides. No beast could be "convicted " 
 of being vicious until evidence was given that he 
 had done mischief three successive days ; if he left 
 off his vicious tricks for three days more, he was 
 innocent. An ox might be convicted of goring 
 an ox and not a man, or of goring a man and not 
 an ox ; or of goring on the Sabbath and not a work- 
 ing day. In short, they ' ' fitted the punishment 
 
 to the crime," and vicious oxen had to be very 
 careful how and when they performed their evil 
 deeds. The people were forbidden to touch fire 
 on the Sabbath da}-, which seems like a useless 
 enactment, as the natural sense of feeling doubt- 
 less taught them that it was dangerous to handle 
 fire an}- da}- in the week. A minister was not 
 allowed to read by lamp-light, lest he should trim 
 his lamp ; but he might direct his pupils where 
 to read, because in doing so he w r ould not need to 
 trim his lamp. If a man swore he would eat no 
 bread, and then ate all kinds of bread, he was 
 released from his oath ; but if he swore that he 
 would eat neither wheat, barley nor rye bread, 
 the perjury was multiplied in proportion as he ate 
 of the several sorts. The Pharisees and Saddu- 
 cees had strong differences about touching the 
 holy writings with their hands. The doctors 
 ordained that whoever touched the book of the 
 law must not eat of the truma (first-fruits of the 
 wrought produce of the ground) till they had 
 washed their hands. The reason they gave was 
 this : In times of persecutions they used to hide 
 the sacred books in secret places, where it was 
 possible that they might be gnawed by mice. The 
 hands then that touched these books were reason- 
 ably enough supposed to be unclean, so far as to 
 disable them from eating the truma until they 
 were washed. On that account they made it a 
 rule that if any part of the Bible (except Ecclesi- 
 astes, which they regarded as less holy than the 
 rest), or their phylacteries, or the strings of their 
 phylacteries, were touched by one who had a 
 right to eat the truma, he should not eat till he 
 had washed his hands. 
 
 Jesus reproaches the Pharisees in Matthew xv. 
 and Mark vii. for flagrantly violating the fifth 
 commandment, by allowing the vow of a son, per- 
 haps made in hasty auger, its full force when he 
 had sworn that his father should never be the bet- 
 ter for him or anything he had, and by which an 
 indigent father might be suffered to starve. There 
 is a case in point in the Talmud, under the head 
 of vows, and the story ma}- amuse the reader. A 
 man made a vow that his father should not profit 
 by him. The man afterward made a wedding- 
 feast for his own son, and wished that his father 
 should be present, but he could not invite him on 
 account of his vow. But he invented this expe- 
 dient : he made a gift of the court in which the 
 feast was to be kept, and of the feast itself, to a 
 
(67) 
 
OS 
 
 THE WONDERFUL. THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 third person in trust, and arranged that his father 
 should be invited b}- this third person. When all 
 was arranged the latter said, ' ' These things that 
 you thus give rne are mine, I will dedicate them 
 to God, and then none of you can be the better for 
 them." The son replied, " I did not give them to 
 you that you should consecrate them." " Yours 
 was no donation," replied the other, but only an 
 arrangement whereby you could eat and drink 
 with your father without breaking your oath." 
 The matter was finally taken before the rabbins, 
 who decreed that a gift which ma}* not be conse- 
 crated by the person to whom it is given is not a 
 gift, and so the property was restored to the right- 
 ful owner, who by this circumlocution had suc- 
 ceeded in entertaining his father without violating 
 his oath. 
 
 The following extract from the Talmud exhi- 
 bits a subtle mode of reasoning adopted b} T the 
 Jews when the learned of Rome sought to per- 
 suade them to conform to their idolatry : 
 
 "Some Roman senators examined the Jews in 
 this manner : If God had no delight in the wor- 
 ship of idols, why did he not destroy them ? The 
 Jews made answer : If men had worshipped only 
 things of which the world had no need, he 
 would have destroyed the objects of their wor- 
 ship ; but they also worship the sun and moon, 
 stars and planets ; and then he must have 
 destroyed his world for the sake of these deluded 
 men. But still, said the Romans, wiry does not 
 God destroy the things which the world does not 
 want, and leave those things which the world 
 cannot be without ! Because, replied the Jews, 
 this would strengthen the hands of such as wor- 
 ship these necessary things, who would then say, 
 Ye allow now that these are gods, since they are 
 not destroyed." 
 
 Stories from the Talmud. 
 
 The Talmud contains a vast collection of stories, 
 apologues and jests; main- display a vein of pleas- 
 antry, and at times have a wildness of invention 
 which sufficiently marks the features of an eastern 
 parent. Many extravagantly puerile were designed 
 merely to recreate their young students. When a 
 rabbin was asked the reason of much nonsense, he 
 replied that the ancients had a custom of introduc- 
 ing music in their lectures, which accompani- 
 ment made them more agreeable ; but that not 
 having musical instruments in the schools, the 
 rabbins invented these strange stories to arouse 
 
 attention. This was ingeniously said, but they 
 make miserable work when they pretend to give 
 mystical interpretations to pure nonsense. 
 
 Among other stories is the following account of 
 a dangerous adventure into which King David 
 was drawn by the devil : 
 
 King David's Adventure with the Devil. 
 
 The king one day hunting, Satan appeared 
 before him in the likeness of a foe. David dis- 
 charged an arrow at him, but missed his aim. 
 He pursued the feigned roe into the land of the 
 Philistines. Ishbi, the brother of Goliath, in- 
 stantly recognized the king as him who had slain 
 that giant. He bound him and bended him neck 
 and heels, and laid him under a wine-press in 
 order to press him to death. A miracle saves 
 David. The earth beneath him became soft, and 
 Ishbi could not press wine out of him. That 
 evening in the Jewish congregation a dove, whose 
 wings were covered with silver, appeared in great 
 perplexity, and evidently signified that the King of 
 Israel was in trouble. Abishai, one of the king's 
 counsellors, inquiring for the king, and finding 
 him absent, is at a loss to proceed, for, according 
 to the Mishna, no one may ride on the king's 
 horse, nor sit upon his throne, nor use his sceptre. 
 The school of the rabbins, however, allowed these 
 things in time of danger. On this Abishai vaults 
 on David's horse, and (with an Oriental meta- 
 phor) the land of the Philistines leaped to him 
 instantly ! Arrived at Ishbi's house, he beholds 
 his mother Orpa spinning. Perceiving the Israel- 
 ite, she snatched up her spinning-wheel and threw 
 it at him to kill him ; but not hitting him, she 
 desired him to bring the spinning-wheel to her. 
 He did not do this exactly, but returned it to her 
 in such a way that she never asked any more for 
 her spinning-wheel. When Ishbi saw this, and 
 recollecting that David, though tied up neck and 
 heels, was still under the wine-press, he cried out, 
 ' ' There are now two who will destroy me ! " So 
 he threw David high up into the air, and stuck 
 his spear into the ground, imagining that David 
 would fall upon it and perish. But Abishai pro- 
 nounced the magical name, which the Talmudists 
 frequently made use of, and it caused David to 
 hover between heaven and earth, so that he fell 
 not down ! Both at length unite against Ishbi, 
 and observing that two young lions should kill 
 one lion, find no difficulty in getting rid of the 
 brother of Goliath. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 69 
 
 The Death of Moses. 
 
 When Moses, the faithful sen-ant of God, was 
 to die and his hour approached, the Lord assem- 
 bled his angels and said, " It is time to recall the 
 soul of my messenger ; who among you will go 
 and summon her to come into my presence ? ' ' 
 Then the princes of the angelic host, Michael and 
 Gabriel, and all who stood before the throne of 
 the Lord, implored and said, "Let us not go, for 
 he has been our teacher." But Samael, the 
 leader of the rebellious angels, stood forth and 
 said, ' ' Behold here am I, send me. ' ' 
 
 And God sent him. 
 
 He descended in wrath, wielding the flaming 
 sword in his right hand, rejoicing beforehand at 
 the agony of the death throe of the righteous. 
 But when he came nearer he beheld the face of 
 Moses, ' ' his eyes were not dim nor his natural 
 force abated." The servant of the Lord was 
 writing the words of his last song ; his counte- 
 nance was resplendent, radiant with the peace and 
 brightness of heaven. 
 
 The enemy of mankind stood abashed ; his 
 sword dropped out of his hand and he hurried 
 away. " I cannot bring the soul of this man," he 
 said to the Lord, "for in him I have found 
 nothing impure." 
 
 And the Lord descended to summon the soul of 
 his faithful and beloved servant. Michael and 
 Gabriel and the host of angels that stood before 
 him followed in his train. They prepared Moses' 
 bier and surrounded it, and the voice was heard, 
 "Fear not; I myself will bun- thee." Then 
 Moses prepared himself to die and sanctified him- 
 self. And the Lord called unto his soul and said, 
 "My daughter ! One hundred and twenty years 
 is the term allotted for thy inhabiting my- ser- 
 vant's earthly tenement. The time is expired; 
 come forth, and tarry not." 
 
 And the soul of Moses answered and said, ' ' O 
 Lord of the universe ! I know that thou art God, 
 the sovereign Ruler of all spirits and of all souls, 
 and that the living and the dead are alike in thy 
 hand. From thee I received thy glorious law ; I 
 saw thee in the flame ; girt with thy power, I 
 entered the palace of Egypt's king ; I took the 
 crown from off the head of the proud Pharaoh and 
 did manifold signs and wonders in his land. I 
 led forth thy people and parted the sea, and I 
 have made known thy will unto the sons of man. 
 I dwelt beneath the throne of thy glory ; my tent 
 
 was under the pillar of fire, and I have spoken to 
 thee face to face, as a man speaketh with his 
 friend. And is not all this enough for me? 
 Receive me, therefore, for now I come to thee." 
 
 The breath of the Most High touched the lips 
 of Moses, whose soul departed in the touch. So 
 Moses died at the mouth of God, and the Eternal 
 buried him, and "no man knoweth of his sepul- 
 chre unto this day." 
 
 Solomon's Strange Adventure with the Devil. 
 
 Of Solomon, another favorite hero of the Tal- 
 mudists, a fine Arabian story is told. The king 
 was an adept in necromancy, and a male and 
 female devil were always in waiting for any emer- 
 gency. It is obsen-able that the Arabians, who 
 have many stories concerning Solomon, always 
 describe him as a magician. His adventures with 
 Aschmedai, the prince of devils, are numerous ; 
 and they both (the king and the devil) sen-ed one 
 another many a slippery trick. One of the most 
 remarkable is when Aschmedai, who was pris- 
 oner to Solomon, the king having contrived to 
 possess himself of the devil's seal-ring, and chained 
 him, one day offered to answer an unholy ques- 
 tion put to him by Solomon, provided he returned 
 him his seal-ring and loosened his chain. The 
 impertinent curiosity of Solomon induced him to 
 commit this folly. Instantly Aschmedai swal- 
 lowed the monarch, and stretching out his wings 
 up to the firmament of heaven, one of his feet 
 remaining on the earth, he spit out Solomon four 
 hundred leagues from him. This was done so pri- 
 vately that no one knew anything of the matter. 
 Aschmedai then assumed the likeness of the king, 
 and sat on his throne. From that hour did Solo- 
 mon say, " This, then, is the reward of all my 
 labor, ' ' according to Ecclesiasticus i. 3 ; which 
 this means, one rabbin says, his walking staff, and 
 another insists was his ragged coat. For Solo- 
 mon went a begging from door to door, and 
 wherever he came he uttered these words, "I, the 
 preacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem. ' ' At 
 length coming before the council, and still repeat- 
 ing these remarkable words without addition or 
 variation, the rabbins said, ' ' This means some- 
 thing ; for a fool is not constant in his tale ! ' ' They 
 asked the chamberlain if the king frequently saw 
 him, and he replied to them, No ! Then they 
 sent to the queens to ask if the king came into 
 their apartments, and they answered, Yes ! The 
 rabbins then sent them a messenger to take 
 
70 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 notice of his feet, for the feet of devils are like the 
 feet of cocks. The queens acquainted them that 
 his majesty always came in slippers, but forced 
 them to embraces at times forbidden by the law. 
 
 Abraham dismissing hagar. (From the Painting by Van Dyck.) 
 
 He had attempted to lie with his mother Bath- 
 sheba, whom he had almost torn to pieces. At 
 this the rabbins assembled in great haste, and 
 taking the beggar with them, they gave him the 
 ring and the chain in which the great magical 
 
 name was engraved, and led him to the palace. 
 Aschmedai was sitting on the throne as the real 
 Solomon entered ; but instantly he shrieked and 
 flew away. Yet to his last day was Solomon 
 
 afraid of the 
 
 prince of dev- 
 ils, and had his 
 bed guarded by 
 the valiant men 
 of Israel, as is 
 written in Cant, 
 iii. 7, 8. 
 
 Abraham's Strat- 
 agem to Save 
 Sarah. 
 
 Abraham, so 
 say the stories 
 of the Talmud, 
 was jealous of 
 his wives, and 
 built an en- 
 chanted city for 
 them. He built 
 an iron city and 
 put them in it. 
 The walls were 
 so high and 
 dark the sun 
 could not be 
 seen in it. He 
 gave them a 
 bowl full of 
 pearls and jew- 
 els, which sent 
 forth a light in 
 this dark city 
 equal to the 
 sun. Noah, it 
 seems, when in 
 the ark had no 
 other light than 
 jewels and 
 pearls. Abra- 
 ham, in trav- 
 elling to Egypt, 
 brought with 
 him a chest. At the custom-house the offi- 
 cers exacted the duties. Abraham would have 
 readily paid, but desired they would not open the 
 chest. They first insisted on the duty for clothes, 
 which Abraham consented to pay ; but then they 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 71 
 
 thought by his ready acquiescence that it might 
 be gold. Abraham consents to pay for gold. 
 They now suspected it might be silk. Abraham 
 was willing to pay for silk, or more costly pearls ; 
 and he generously consented to pay as if the chest 
 contained the most valuable of things. It was 
 then they resolved to open and examine the chest. 
 And behold as soon as it was opened, that great 
 lustre of human beauty broke out which made 
 such a noise in the land of Egypt ; it was Sarah 
 herself! The jealous Abraham, to conceal her 
 beauty, had locked her up in this chest. 
 
 The Four Wicked Judges of Sodom. 
 
 Some of the stories ot the Talmud display con- 
 siderable humor in their inventions, as in the fol- 
 lowing account of the manners and morals of the 
 infamous town of Sodom : 
 
 There were in Sodom four judges, who were 
 liars, and deriders of justice. When any one had 
 Struck his neighbor's wife and caused her to mis- 
 carry, these judges thus counselled the husband : 
 "Give her to the offender, that he may get her 
 with child for thee. ' ' When any one had cut oft 
 an ear of his neighbor's ass, they said to the 
 owner, ' ' L,et him have the ass till the ear is 
 grown again, that it may be returned to thee as 
 thou wishest. ' ' When any one had wounded his 
 neighbor, they told the wounded man to ' ' give 
 him a fee for letting him blood. ' ' A toll was ex- 
 acted in passing a certain bridge ; but if any one 
 chose to wade through the water, or walk round 
 about to save it, he was condemned to a double 
 toll. Eleasar, Abraham's servant, came thither, 
 and they wounded him. When before the judge 
 he was ordered to pay his fee for having his blood 
 let, Eleazar flung a stone at the judge and 
 wounded him ; on which the judge said to him, 
 " What meaneth this ? " Eleasar replied, "Give 
 him who wounded me the fee that is due to my- 
 self for wounding thee. ' ' The people of this town 
 had a bedstead, on which they laid travellers who 
 asked to rest. If any one was too long for it, 
 they cut off his legs ; and if he was shorter than 
 the bedstead, they stretched him to its head and 
 foot. When a beggar came to this town every 
 one gave him a penny, on which was inscribed 
 the donor's name ; but they would sell him no 
 bread nor let him escape. When the beggar died 
 from hunger, then they came about him, and 
 each man took back his penny. These stories are 
 curious inventions of keen mockery and malice, 
 
 seasoned with humor. It is said some of the 
 famous decisions of Sancho Panza are to be found 
 in the Talmud. 
 
 Some of the fancies in these Talmudic stories 
 strongly resemble those of the Arabian Nights, as, 
 for instance, the following accounts of certain 
 large birds, a flock of fat geese, manna in the 
 wilderness, and a judgment that came upon Titus 
 for his blasphemy of the God of Israel : 
 
 A certain bird was so large that when it spread 
 its wings it blotted out the sun. 
 
 An egg from another fell out of its nest, and the 
 white thereof broke and glued about three hun- 
 dred cedar- L rees and overflowed a village. One of 
 them stands up to the lower joint of the leg in a 
 river, and some mariners, imagining the water 
 was not deep, were hasting to bathe, when a 
 voice from heaven said, "Step not in there, for 
 seven years ago a carpenter dropped his axe, and 
 it hath not yet reached the bottom. ' ' 
 
 ' 'A rabbin once saw in a desert a flock of geese 
 so fat that their feathers fell off, and the rivers 
 flowed in fat. Then said I to them, shall we have 
 part of you in the other world when the Messiah 
 shall come ? And one of them lifted up a wing, 
 and another a leg, to signify these parts we should 
 have. We should otherwise have had all parts 
 of these geese ; but we Israelites shall be called to 
 an account touching these fat geese, because their 
 sufferings are owing to us. It is our iniquities 
 that have delayed the coming of the Messiah, and 
 these geese suffer greatly b}' reason of their exces- 
 sive fat, which daily and daily increases, and will 
 increase till the Messiah comes ! ' ' 
 
 What the manna was which fell in the wilder- 
 ness has often been disputed, and still is disput- 
 able. It was sufficient for the rabbins to have 
 found in the Bible that the taste of it was " as a 
 wafer made with honey," to have raised their 
 fancy to its highest pitch. They declare it was ' ' like 
 oil to children, honey to old men, and cakes to mid- 
 dle age. ' ' It had every kind of taste except that 
 of cucumbers, melons, garlic, and onions, and 
 leeks ; for these were those Egyptian roots which 
 the Israelites so much regretted to have lost. 
 This manna had, however, the quality to accom- 
 modate itself to the palate of those who did not 
 murmur in the wilderness, and to these it became 
 fish, flesh or fowl. 
 
 Their detestation of Titus, their great con- 
 queror, appears by the following wild invention. 
 
THE OUEEN OF SHEBA. (From the Painting by Cooniaus 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 73 
 
 After having narrated certain things, too shameful 
 to read, of a prince whom Josephus describes in 
 far different colors, they tell us that on sea Titus 
 tauntingly observed in a great storm that the God 
 of the Jews was only powerful on the water, and 
 that therefore he had succeeded in drowning Pha- 
 raoh and Sisera. " Had he been strong he would 
 have waged war with me in Jerusalem." On 
 uttering this blasphemy a voice from heaven said, 
 "Wicked man! I have a little creature in the 
 world which shall wage war with thee ! ' ' When 
 Titus landed, a gnat entered his nostrils, and for 
 seven years together made holes in his brains. 
 When his skull was opened the gnat was found 
 as large as a pigeon ; the mouth of the gnat was 
 of copper and the claws of iron. 
 
 Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. 
 
 We close these Talmudic stories with the 
 following, about Solomon and the Queen of 
 Sheba : 
 
 The power of the monarch had spread his wis- 
 dom to the remotest part of the known world. 
 The Queen of Sheba, attracted by the splendor of 
 his reputation, visited this poetical king at his 
 own court ; there, one day to exercise the sagaci- 
 ty of the monarch, Sheba presented herself at the 
 throne ; in each hand she held a wreath ; the one 
 was composed of natural, the other artificial flow- 
 ers. Art, in the labor of the mimetic wreath, had 
 exquisitely emulated the living hues of nature ; 
 so that at the distance it was held by the queen 
 for the inspection of the king, it was deemed im- 
 possible for him to decide, as her question im- 
 ported, which wreath was the production of na- 
 ture, and which the work of art. The sagacious 
 Solomon seemed perplexed ; yet to be vanquished, 
 though in a trifle, by a woman, irritated his pride. 
 The son of David, he who had written treatises 
 on the vegetable productions ' ' from the cedar to 
 the hyssop," to acknowledge himself outwitted by 
 a woman, with shreds of paper and glazed paint- 
 ings ! The honor of the monarch's reputation for 
 divine sagacity seemed diminished, and the whole 
 Jewish court looked solemn and melancholy. At 
 length, an expedient presented itself to the king ; 
 and it must be confessed worthy of the naturalist. 
 Observing a cluster of bees hovering about a win- 
 dow, he commanded that it should be opened ; 
 it was opened ; the bees rushed into the court, 
 and alighted immediately on one of the wreaths, 
 while not a single one fixed on the other. The 
 
 baffled Sheba had one more reason to be astonished 
 at the wisdom of Solomon. 
 
 TRIALS AND PROOFS OF GUILT IN SUPER- 
 STITIOUS AGES. 
 
 THE strange trials to which those suspected 
 of guilt were put in the middle ages, con- 
 ducted with many devout ceremonies, by 
 the ministers of religion, were pronounced to be the 
 judgments of God ! The ordeal consisted of vari- 
 ous kinds ; walking blindfold amidst burning 
 ploughshares ; passing through fires ; holding in 
 the hand a red-hot bar ; and plunging the arm into 
 boiling water ; the popular affirmation — ' ' I will 
 put my hand into the fire to confirm this," ap- 
 pears to be derived from this solemn custom of 
 our rude ancestors. Challenging the accuser 
 to single combat, when frequently the stoutest 
 champion was allowed to supply their place ; 
 swallowing a morsel of consecrated bread ; sink- 
 ing or swimming in a river for witchcraft ; or 
 weighing a witch ; stretching out the arms before 
 the cross, till the champion soonest wearied 
 dropped his arms, and lost his estate, which was 
 decided by this very short chancery suit, called the 
 indicium cruris. The bishop of Paris and the 
 abbot of St. Denis disputed about the patronage 
 of a monastery ; Pepin the Short, not being able 
 to decide on their confused claims, decreed one of 
 these judgments of God, that of the cross. The 
 bishop and abbot each chose a man, and both the 
 men appeared in the chapel, where they stretched 
 out their arms in the form of a cross. The specta- 
 tors, more devout than the mob of the present day, 
 but still a mob, were piously attentive, but betted 
 however, now for one man, now for the other, and 
 critically watched the slightest motion of the 
 arms. The bishop's man was first tired — he let 
 his arm fall, and ruined his patron's cause forever ! 
 Though sometimes these trials might be eluded 
 by the artifice of the priest, numerous were the in- 
 nocent victims who unquestionably suffered in 
 these superstitious practices. 
 
 In the tenth century the right of representation 
 was not fixed ; it was a question, whether the 
 sons of a son ought to be reckoned among the 
 children of the family'; and succeed equally with 
 their uncles, if their fathers happened to die while 
 their grandfather survived. This point was de- 
 cided by one of these combats. The champion 
 in behalf of the right of children to represent 
 
74 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND 7H3 
 
 SELF-CRUCIEIXION AS AN EVIDENCE OF INNOCENCE. 
 
 their deceased 
 father proved 
 victorious. It 
 was then estab- 
 lished by a per- 
 petual decree 
 that they should 
 henceforward 
 share in the in- 
 heritance, to- 
 gether with their 
 uncles. In the 
 eleventh cen- 
 tury the same 
 mode was prac- 
 tised to decide 
 respecting two 
 rival Liturgies f 
 Two knights, 
 clad in complete 
 armor, were the 
 critics to decide 
 which was the 
 authentic and 
 true liturgy. 
 
 If two neigh- 
 bors disputed re- 
 specti ug the 
 boundaries o f 
 their possessions, 
 a piece of turf of 
 the contested 
 land was dug up 
 by the judge and 
 brought by him 
 into the court, 
 and the two par- 
 ties touched it 
 with the points 
 of their swords, 
 calling on God 
 as a witness of 
 their claims- 
 after this the 
 combat decided 
 their rights ! 
 
 In these times 
 those who were 
 accused of rob- 
 bery were put to 
 trial by a piece 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 75 
 
 of barley-bread, on which the mass had been said ; 
 and if they could not swallow it they were declared 
 guilty. This mode of trial was improved by adding 
 to the bread a slice of cheese ; and such were their 
 credulity and firm dependence on Heaven in 
 these ridiculous trials, that they were very parti- 
 cular in this holy bread and cheese, called the 
 cbrsned. The bread was to be of unleavened 
 barley, and the cheese made of ewe's milk in the 
 month of May. 
 
 Du Cange observes that the expression — ' ' May 
 this piece of bread choke me!" comes from this 
 
 if the slightest change was observable in the eyes, 
 the mouth, the feet, or hands of the corpse, the 
 murderer was conjectured to be present, and many 
 innocent spectators must have suffered death ; 
 "for when a body is full of blood, warmed by a 
 sudden external heat and a putrefaction coming 
 on, some of the blood-vessels will burst, as they 
 will all in time." This practice was once allowed 
 in England, and is still looked on in some of the 
 uncivilized parts of those kingdoms as a detection 
 of the criminal. It forms a rich picture in the 
 imagination of our old writers ; and their histories 
 
 SINGLE combat TO be decided by The judgment OF GOD. (A Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century.) 
 
 custom. The anecdote of Earl Godwin's death 
 by swallowing a piece of bread, in making this 
 asseveration, is recorded in our history. If it be 
 true, it was a singular misfortune. 
 
 Amongst the proofs of guilt in superstitious ages 
 was that of the bleeding of a corpse. If a person 
 was murdered, it was believed that at the touch or 
 approach of the murderer the blood gushed out of 
 the body in various parts. By the side of the bier, 
 
 and ballads are labored into pathos by dwelling on 
 this phenomenon. 
 
 Strange to say, this species of superstition was 
 at one period admitted as evidence in the Scottish 
 criminal courts. The following incredible instance 
 was communicated to Sir Walter Scott, and is 
 given in his " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border :" 
 
 " Two young men, going a fishing in the River 
 Yarrow, fell out, and so high ran the quarrel that 
 
76 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 the one in a passion stabbed the other to the heart. 
 Astounded at the rash act, he hesitated whether 
 to fly, give himself up to justice, or conceal the 
 crime ; and in the end, fixed on the latter expe- 
 dient, burying the body of his friend very deep 
 in the sands. As the meeting had been acciden- 
 tal, he was never suspected, although a visible 
 change was observed in his behavior, from gayety 
 to a settled melancholy. Time passed on for the 
 space of fifty years, when a smith, fishing near 
 the same place discovered an uncommon and curi- 
 ous bone, which he put in his pocket, and after- 
 wards showed to some people in his smithy. The 
 murderer being present, now an old white-headed 
 man, leaning on his staff, desired a sight of the 
 little bone ; but how horrible was the issue ! — no 
 sooner had he touched it, than it streamed with 
 purple blood. Being told where it was found, he 
 confessed the crime, was condemned, but was pre- 
 vented by death from suffering the punishment 
 due to his crime." 
 
 We need only add, that no evidence is given of 
 the truth of this improbable tale, and it is utterly 
 unworthy of belief. 
 
 blood-caked knife in his hand. The lions were 
 disembowelled. Ever after, Silverheels was 
 known as tne bravest of the brave, for he told no 
 one that the lions were dead (through fright) 
 before he butchered them. 
 
 HOW AN INDIAN COWARD WON A REPUTA- 
 TION FOR BRAVERY. 
 
 O ILYERHEELS was known all through the 
 V^ Land of Flowers as the greatest coward in 
 the Seminole tribe. He was condemned by 
 even the meanest squaw in the Everglades. 
 Osceola, being the bravest warrior in the Indian 
 Nation, was the onty one that thought of, and 
 looked upon him with pity unmixed with con- 
 tempt. In spite of the youth and great beauty in 
 face and form of Silverheels, there was no woman 
 in the tribe who cared to call him husband. He 
 was a man apart. Now and then Osceola would 
 speak kindl}' to him, and try to make redder his 
 heart by courageable words, for Osceola knew 
 that Silverheels could no more help being a 
 coward than Osceola could help being the daunt- 
 less man he was. One night the tropical sky 
 split into fragments, and through the rents in 
 heaven fell forks, lances and sheets of lightning, 
 cataracts of rain, and all of the million thunder- 
 bolts from gigantic Jove's armory. The storm 
 raged all night. In the morning the dilapidated 
 tribe looked upon a dilapidated village and forest, 
 and upon Silverheels lying near two enormous 
 mountain lions bathed in blood, with a lone: 
 
 SINGULAR FACTS ABOUT THE COMPUTATION 
 OF TIME. 
 
 THE extra day given to the month of February 
 every four years, except the centennial years 
 of time, and to these if they are divisible by 
 400, dates back to the time of Julius Caesar, who 
 first noticed that twelve lunar months were not 
 quite enough to constitute a solar year, while 
 thirteen were too many. Julius also noted the 
 fact that 365 days were not enough for the year, 
 and that 366 exceeded what the calendar called 
 for. Caesar corrected this error b)- constituting 
 every fourth year to consist of 366 days, and the 
 others of 365 each ; the long or leap year was 
 always known to be an exact multiple of four. 
 This calendar was called the Julian, and the mode 
 of reckoning "old style." This was quite an 
 improvement on the old } r ear, as it got within 
 eleven minutes of the real period. When Gregory 
 became Pope in the sixteenth century it was found 
 that the simple error of eleven minutes each year 
 had put time ahead ten whole days and nights in 
 the comparatively short period of sixteen centu- 
 ries. In order to get rid of this error, Gregory 
 had ten days taken out of October, reckoning the 
 5th as the 15th. Still, there was that eleven 
 minutes overplus. To get rid of this it was 
 agreed that there should be no February 29th in 
 centennial years unless the year is divisible by 
 400. According to this plan everything is so 
 evenly poised that there will not be an error of 
 one whole day until the time wdien you begin to 
 date your letters 5448. 
 
 NAPOLEON AT THE BATTLE OF EYLAU. 
 
 y*HE battle of Eylau was fought February 7th 
 W and 8th, 1S07, between the French under 
 Napoleon, and the combined Russian and 
 Prussian armies. The French had 85,000 men 
 and 350 cannons, while the opposing armies were 
 75,000 strong and 460 guns. Nearly 40,000 were 
 killed and wounded, and both sides claimed the 
 victory. During a critical period of the battle, 
 Napoleon was about to be made prisoner, but 
 
THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 saved himself by his presence of mind and the 
 heroism of his bodyguard of ioo men. 
 
 The following account of this great battle is from 
 Guizot's " History of France :" 
 
 ' ' Long before the dawn of a slowly breaking 
 and cloudy day, Napoleon was already in the 
 streets, establishing his guard in the cemetery of 
 Eylau, and ordering his line of battle. The for- 
 midable artillery of the Russians covered their 
 two hues ; presently the shells fired the town of 
 Eylau and the village of Rothenen, which pro- 
 tected a division of Marshal Soult. The two 
 armies remained immovable in a rain of cannon 
 balls. The Russians were the first to move for- 
 ward, in order to attack the mill of Eylau ; ' they 
 were impatient at suffering so much,' says the 
 fifty-eighth bulletin of the grand army. Nearly 
 at the same moment the corps of Marshal Davout 
 arrived ; the Emperor had him supported by 
 Marshal Augereau. The snow fell in thick 
 masses, obscuring the view of the soldiers ; the 
 troops of Augereau turned swiftly to the left, 
 decimated by the Russian artillery. The Marshal 
 himself, already ill before the battle, was struck 
 by a ball. The officers were nearly all wounded. 
 The Emperor called Murat : ' Wilt thou let us 
 be annihilated by these people ?' The cavalry shot 
 immediately in advance ; only the imperial guard 
 remained massed round Napoleon. 
 
 "In a moment Murat had routed the Russian 
 centre, but already the battalions were reforming. 
 Marshal Soult defended with difficulty the posi- 
 tions of Eylau ; Davout maintained a furious 
 struggle against the left wing of the Russians ; the 
 Prussians, preceding by one hour Marshal Ney, 
 who had been pursuing them for several days, 
 made [their appearance on the battle-field. The 
 dead and dying formed round the Emperor a 
 ghastly rampart ; gloom}' and calm he contem- 
 plated the attack of the Prussians and Russians 
 united, in great numbers, and pressing upon Mar- 
 shal Davout. The latter glanced along the ranks 
 of his troops : ' The cowards will go to die in Sibe- 
 ria,' said he, 'the brave will die here like men of 
 honor. ' The effort of the enemy died out against 
 the heroic resistance of the French divisions, who 
 maintained their positions. 
 
 " Night was falling : the carnage was horrible. 
 In spite of the serious advantage of the French 
 troops, General Benningsen was preparing to at- 
 
 tempt a new assault, when he learned the ap- 
 proach of Marshal Ney, who was debouching to- 
 wards Althof. The bad weather and the distance 
 retarded the effects of the combinations of the em- 
 peror. He had caused much blood to be spilt : 
 victory, however, remained with him ; the Rus- 
 sians and the Prussians were decidedly beating a 
 retreat. The French remained masters of this 
 most sanguinary battle-field, destitute of provi- 
 sions, without shelter, in the wet and cold. Marshal 
 Ney, who had taken no part in the action, to 
 which, however, he assured success, surveyed the 
 plain, covered with corpses and inundated with 
 blood. ' ' He turned away from the hideous specta- 
 cle," says M. de Fezensac, "crying, 'What a 
 massacre, and without result ! ' " The Russians 
 had retreated behind the Pregel to cover Konigs- 
 berg. Napoleon re-entered his cantonments. He 
 established his headquarters at a little town of 
 Osterode, directing from this advanced post the 
 works of defence on the Vistula and Passarge, at 
 the same time as the preparations for the siege of 
 Dantzig. On arriving there he wrote to King 
 Joseph : ' ' Staff-officers, colonels, officers, have 
 not undressed for two months, and a few of them 
 not for four ; have myself been fifteen days with- 
 out taking off my boots. We are in the midst of 
 snow and mud, without wine, without brandy, 
 without bread, eating potatoes and meat, making 
 long marches and countermarches, without any- 
 thing to sweeten existence, and fighting at bayo- 
 net-point and under showers of grape-shot, the 
 wounded very often obliged to be removed on a 
 sledge for fifty leagues in the open air. After hav- 
 ing destroyed the Prussian monarch}-, we are 
 making war against the remnants of Prussia, 
 against the Russians, the Calmucs, the Cossacks, 
 and the peoples of the north who formerly invaded 
 the Roman Empire ; we are making war in all its 
 energy and all its horror." Such vigorous lan- 
 guage was not permitted to all. ' ' The gloomy 
 pictures that we have drawn of our situation," 
 wrote Napoleon to Fouche on April 13th, " have 
 for authors a few gossips of Paris, who are simply 
 blockheads. Never has the position of France 
 been grander or finer. As to Eylau, I have said 
 and resaid, that the bulletin exaggerated the loss ; 
 and, for a great battle, what are 2000 men slaii? 
 There were none of the battles of Louis XIV. or 
 Louis the XV. which did not cost more. When 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 79 
 
 I led back my army to France and across the 
 Rhine, it will be seen that there are not many 
 wanting at the roll-call." 
 
 THE IRON MASK. 
 
 THE " Man in the Iron Mask" is one of the 
 insolvable mysteries of history. Voltaire 
 first gave shape to the story of the mask, and 
 since that 
 time numerous 
 attempts have 
 been made to 
 establish the 
 identity of the 
 unfortunate 
 prisoner, but 
 invariably 
 without suc- 
 cess. The facts 
 established by 
 history are as 
 follows : 
 
 "On Thurs- 
 day, Septem- 
 ber 18, 1698, 
 a mysterious 
 prisoner was 
 committed to 
 the Bastile, in 
 Paris, having 
 been brought 
 thither from 
 the Island of 
 St. Marguer- 
 ite, by Saint- 
 Mars, who in 
 that year ex- 
 changed the 
 governorship 
 of the state 
 prison in that 
 place for that 
 of the Bastile. 
 
 The prisoner was carried in a close litter, which pre- 
 ceded that of the governor, and was accompanied 
 by a mounted guard. His face was covered with 
 a black velvet mask, fastened with steel springs, 
 which he was forbidden to remove on pain of in- 
 stant death . He was confined in one of the dun- 
 geons of the Bastile, a place of horrors, and fit 
 only for the breeding of vermin and poisonous va- 
 
 pors. These dungeons were located in the towers, 
 the walls of which, at the base, were from thirty 
 to forty feet in thickness. Each cell had an aper- 
 ture in the wall, defended by iron gratings, the 
 bars of which were an inch thick, and so arranged 
 that only two inches of space were left unob- 
 structed. The dungeons were nineteen feet below 
 the level of the court-yard, and five below that of 
 
 Ml 
 
 v ''■•■' 1181 
 
 VWmBt 
 
 THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK. 
 
 the ditch surrounding the walls of the Bastile, 
 with no opening to admit air and light except the 
 grated window just described, which opened not 
 into the sunlight and pure air of the outside world, 
 but into the poisonous and filthy ditch. In such 
 a place as this the unfortunate prisoner remained 
 for a little over five years, when death came to his 
 relief, November 19, 1703. During the time of 
 
80 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 his imprisonment he was not allowed to speak to 
 any one except the governor, who watched him 
 with a jealous care and always kept a pair of 
 loaded pistols within reach to destroy him in case 
 he made an effort to reveal himself. The governor 
 attended him at his meals and his toilet, and per- 
 sonally removed and examined the linen which 
 he had worn, lest he might make known his secret 
 by means of some mark upon it. At mass he was 
 forbidden to speak or remove his mask, the guards 
 who attended him with loaded muskets having 
 strict orders to shoot him instantly if he made the 
 attempt. After his death he was buried in the 
 cemetery of St. Paul, and everything which he 
 had used or worn was burned. This incident oc- 
 curred dining the reign of Eouis XIV. Numer- 
 ous theories have been advanced as to the identity 
 of the mysterious prisoner, but no satisfactory so- 
 lution has ever been reached. He was doubtless 
 some influential person, possessed of a dangerous 
 state secret, which the king and his advisers 
 thought best to bury with him in the living tomb 
 of the Bastile." 
 
 ANECDOTES OF SOME GREAT MEN AND 
 THEIR AMANUENSES. 
 
 IT is said of Julius Cresar that, while writing a 
 dispatch he could, at the same time, dictate 
 four others to his secretaries, and, if he did 
 not write himself, could dictate seven letters at 
 once. The same thing is asserted of the Emperor 
 Napoleon, who had a wonderful capacity of direct- 
 ing his whole mental energy to whatever came be- 
 fore him. 
 
 At Marengo, whilst Napoleon reconnoitred the 
 enemy's movements, and gave his orders in writ- 
 ing, a cannon-ball struck the officer to whom he 
 was dictating, and threw him mutilated on the 
 ground. Napoleon ordered another secretary — 
 he came. At the moment when Napoleon re- 
 sumed his dispatch, the wounded man raised 
 himself. "General!" said he, in a dying voice 
 — "General — we stopped there." And he re- 
 peated the last words that Napoleon had dictated. 
 
 Marshal Junot was originally a private soldier, 
 and, being a good penman, he was frequently em- 
 ployed in the writing of dispatches. On one oc- 
 casion he was ordered to write a letter at the dic- 
 tation of an officer. Junot was seated in an ex- 
 posed situation, and, just as he had finished the 
 letter, a shell burst, and ahnost buried this intrepid 
 
 soldier with earth. "In very good time," ex- 
 claimed Junot ; ' ' we wanted some sand ! ' ' The 
 officer was Napoleon, aud this circumstance oc- 
 casioned Junot's advancement. 
 
 Goldsmith's Failure at Dictating. 
 A voluminous author was one day expatiating 
 on the advantages of employing an amanuensis, 
 and thus saving the time and trouble of writing. 
 "How do you manage it," said Goldsmith. 
 "Why, I walk about the room and dictate to a 
 clever man, who puts down very correctly all that 
 I tell him, so that I have nothing to do, more than 
 just look over the manuscript, and then send it to 
 the press." Goldsmith was delighted with the 
 plan, for his love of labor was not one of his dis- 
 tinguishing characteristics, and he desired his 
 friend to send the amanuensis to him the next 
 morning. The scribe accordingly waited upon 
 the author with his implements of pens, ink and 
 paper, placed in order before him, ready to catch 
 the oracle. Goldsmith paced the room with great 
 solemnity for some time, but his thoughts refused 
 to flow, and finally, putting his hand in his pocket, 
 and presenting the man with a guinea, he said, 
 "It won't do, my friend; I find that my head 
 aud my hand must go together." 
 
 INTERESTING INFORMATION ABOUT THE 
 ALPHABETS OF DIFFERENT LANGUAGES. 
 
 THE invention of the first alphabet is attributed 
 to Cadmus, a mythical king of Thebes, son 
 of Agenor, king of Phoenicia, who is said to 
 have introduced into Hellas the sixteen simple 
 letters of the Greek alphabet. The history of 
 Cadmus and his accomplishments is so interwoven 
 with fiction that it is difficult to arrive at the 
 truth, but enough is known to entitle him to the 
 credit of being an earnest aud successful patron 
 and promoter of learning and the arts as they ex- 
 isted in his time. 
 
 He left his native country, so the legends run, 
 in search of his sister, Europa, who had been car- 
 ried off by Jupiter. On making inquiry of the 
 Delphic Oracle as to what state he should choose 
 for settlement, he was advised to follow a heifer, 
 which would meet him. He found the heifer in 
 Phocis, and followed her into Boeotia, where she 
 sank into the ground on a spot which Cadmus 
 called Cadmea, and upon which the citadel of 
 Thebes was afterward built. He sent some of his 
 company to draw water from the sacred well of 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 81 
 
 Mars, which was guarded by a dragon that slew 
 the intruders. Cadmus slew the dragon in turn, 
 and was directed by the goddess Minerva to sow 
 the monster's teeth. Upon obeying this injunction 
 a host of armed men sprang from the ground who 
 were called the Sparti, or the Sown. These were 
 about to turn upon Cadmus, but he threw a stone 
 among them, and in the fight which ensued he 
 slew all except five. These he forced into sub- 
 
 ventor of the Greek alphabet, as it is given in the 
 leading encyclopedias. 
 
 We think it will be equally as entertaining and 
 far more instructive to read the romantic, but true, 
 history of an American Cadmus, as given in the 
 following sketch : 
 
 The Inventor of the Cherokee Alphabet. 
 
 The invention of the Cherokee alphabet is one 
 of the most remarkable events in the history 
 
 THE DRAGON OF ANCIENT FABi.ES. 
 
 jection to him, and they aided him in building a 
 new city, which he called Thebes. To recom- 
 pense him for his perils the gods gave him Har- 
 monia, the daughter of Mars and Venus, for a 
 wife. He subsequently became king of the En- 
 chelians, carried on a war against the Illyrians, 
 and had a son called Illyrius ; finally he and his wife 
 were changed into serpents and removed to Ely- 
 sium. And so ends the fanciful history of the in- 
 
 of the aborigines. The best account we have 
 seen of it is by Samuel L,. Knapp, who became ac- 
 quainted with See-qua-yah, its author, in 1828. 
 The English name of this celebrated Indian was 
 George Guess. He is said to have been a half- 
 breed ; but whether he was so or not, he never as- 
 sociated with the whites, or spoke any language 
 but that of the Cherokees. Prompted by his own 
 curiosity, and urged by several literary friends, 
 
82 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Mr. Knapp applied to See-quah-yah, through 
 the medium of two interpreters, to relate to him, 
 as minutely as possible, the mental operations, and 
 all the facts, in his discovery. 
 
 The substance of his communications to Mr. 
 Knapp was as follows : 
 
 " That he, See-quah-yah, was now about sixty- 
 five years old ; that in early life lie was gay and 
 talkative ; and although he never attempted to 
 speak in council but once, yet was often, from the 
 strength of his memory, his easy colloquial powers, 
 and ready command of his vernacular, story-teller 
 of the convivial party. His reputation for talents 
 •of every kind gave him some distinction when he 
 was quite young, so long ago as St. Clair's defeat. 
 In this campaign, or some one that soon followed 
 it, a letter was found on the person of a prisoner, 
 which was wrongly read by him to the Indians. 
 In some of their deliberations on this subject, the 
 question arose among them, whether this rnj-steri- 
 ous power of the talking leaf was the gift of the 
 Great Spirit to the white man, or a discovery of 
 the white man himself? Most of his compan- 
 ions were of the former opinion, while he as 
 Strenuously maintained the latter. This frequent- 
 ly became a subject of contemplation with him af- 
 terwards, as well as many other tilings which he 
 knew, or had heard, that the white men could do ; 
 .but he never sat down seriously to reflect on the 
 subject until a swelling on his knee confined him 
 to his cabin, and which at length made him a 
 cripple for life, by shortening the diseased leg. 
 Deprived of the excitements of war and the plea- 
 sures of the chase, in the long nights of his 
 confinement, his mind was again directed to the 
 mystery of the power of speaking by letters — the 
 very name of which, of course, was not to be 
 found in his language. From the cries of the 
 wild beasts, from the talents of the mocking bird, 
 from the voices of his children and his compan- 
 ions, he knew that feelings and passions were con- 
 veyed by different sounds from one intelligent 
 being to another. The thought struck him to try 
 to ascertain all the sounds in the Cherokee lan- 
 guage. His own ear was not remarkably discrimi- 
 nating, and he called to his aid the more acute 
 ears of his wife and children. He found great as- 
 sistance from them. 
 
 When he thought that he had distinguished all 
 the different sounds in their language, he attempted 
 to use pictorial signs, images of birds and beasts, 
 
 to convey these sounds to others, or to mark them 
 in his own mind. He soon dropped this method, 
 as difficult or impossible, and tried arbitrary signs, 
 without any regard to appearances, except such as 
 might assist him in recollecting them, and distin- 
 guishing them from each other. At first these 
 signs were very numerous ; and when he got so 
 far as to think his invention was nearly accom- 
 plished, he had about two hundred characters 
 in his alphabet. By the aid of his daughter, who 
 seemed to enter into the genius of his labors, he 
 reduced them, at last, to eighty-six, the number 
 he now used. He then undertook to make these 
 characters more comely to the eye, and succeeded. 
 As yet he had not the knowledge of the pen as an 
 instrument, but made his letters on a piece of bark, 
 with a knife or nail. At this time he sent to the 
 Indian agent, or some trader in the nation, for 
 paper and pen. His ink was easily made from 
 some of the bark of the forest trees, whose color- 
 ing properties he had previously known ; and after 
 seeing the construction of the pen, he soon learned 
 to make one ; but at first he made it without a 
 slit ; this inconvenience was, however, quickly re- 
 moved by his sagacity. His next difficulty was 
 to make his invention known to his countrymen ; 
 for by this time he had become so abstracted from 
 his tribe and their usual pursuits, that he was 
 viewed with an eye of suspicion. His former 
 companions passed his wigwam without entering 
 it, and mentioned his name as one who was prac- 
 tising improper spells for notoriety or mischievous 
 purposes ; and he seemed to think that he should 
 have been hardly dealt with, if his docile and un- 
 ambitious disposition had not been so generally 
 acknowledged by his tribe. 
 
 At length he summoned some of the most dis- 
 tinguished of his nation, in order to make his 
 communication to them ; and after giving them 
 the best explanation of his principle that he could, 
 stripping it of all supernatural influence, he pro- 
 ceeded to demonstrate to them, in good earnest, 
 that he had made a discovery. His daughter, 
 who was now his only pupil, was ordered to go 
 out of hearing, while he requested his friends to 
 name a word or sentiment, which he put down, 
 and then she was called in and read it to them ; 
 then the father retired, and the daughter wrote. 
 The Indians were wonder-struck, but not entirely 
 satisfied. See-quah-yah then proposed that the 
 tribe should select several youths from among 
 
(83) 
 
34 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 their cleverest young men, that he might commu- 
 nicate the mystery to them. This was at length 
 agreed to, although there was some lurking suspi- 
 cion of necromancy in the whole business. John 
 Maw, with several others, was selected for this pur- 
 pose. The tribes watched them for several months 
 with anxiety ; and when they offered themselves for 
 examination, the feelings of all were wrought up 
 to the highest pitch. The youths were separated 
 from their master, and from each other, and 
 watched with the greatest care. The uninitiated 
 directed what the master and pupil should write 
 to each other, and these tests were varied in such 
 a manner, as not only to destroy their infidelity, 
 but most firmly to fix their faith. The Indians, 
 on this, ordered a great feast, and made See- 
 quah-yah conspicuous at it. How nearly is man 
 alike in even- age ! Pythagoras did the same 
 on the discovers- of an important principle in 
 geometry. See-quah-yah became at once school- 
 master, professor, philosopher, and a chief. His 
 countrymen were proud of his talents, and held 
 him in reverence as one favored by the Great 
 Spirit. The government of the United States 
 had a font of types cast for his alphabet and a 
 newspaper, printed partly in the Cherokee lan- 
 guage, and partly in the English, was soon es- 
 tablished at New Echota, characterized by de- 
 cency and good sense ; and many of the Chero- 
 kees were able ere long to read both languages. 
 
 Number of Letters in Different Alphabets. 
 
 The Sandwich Island alphabet has twelve let- 
 ters ; the Burmese, nineteen ; the Italian, twen- 
 ty ; the Bengalese, twenty-one ; the Hebrew, 
 Syriac, Chaldee, Samaritan and Eatin, twenty- 
 two each ; the French twenty-three ; the Greek, 
 twenty-four ; the German and Dutch, twenty- 
 six each ; the Spanish and Slavonic twenty- 
 seven each ; the Arabic twenty-eight ; the Per- 
 sian and Coptic, thirty-two ; the Georgian, thir- 
 ty-five ; the Armenian, thirty-eight ; the Russian, 
 forty-one ; the Muscovite, forty-three ; the San- 
 scrit and Japanese, fifty ; the Ethiopic and Tar- 
 tarian, two hundred and two. 
 
 Defect in the Russian Alphabet. 
 
 The Church of St. Alexander Nevskoi, at St. 
 Petersburg, is named after the canonized Grand 
 Duke Alexander, whose remains were brought 
 there in a silver coffin. It was in this same 
 church, Kohl, the traveller, was told by a guide, 
 
 pointing to a corner of the building, " There 
 lies a Cannibal '/" The inscription announced 
 it to be the Russian general, Hannibal, but as 
 the Russians have no H, they change that letter 
 into K ; and hence the extraordinary and not 
 very flattering misnomer given to the deceased 
 warrior. 
 
 IVAN, THE TERRIBLE. 
 
 CHIS ruler ascended the throne of Russia in 
 1533. He was the first monarch of that 
 nation who assumed the official title of Czar, 
 which means king or lord, and is supposed to be 
 a corruption of the Eatin Caesar. 
 
 Ivan was one of the greatest rulers that Russia 
 ever had, but his cruel and sanguinary disposition 
 overbalanced his other qualities, and obtained for 
 him the surname of the Terrible. He encouraged 
 commerce and the arts, concluded commercial 
 treaties with England, called many foreigners, 
 especially Germans and English, into his domin- 
 ions, and in 1569 established the first printing 
 office in Russia, at Moscow. In 1570 he put more 
 than sixty thousand men to death in the city of 
 Novgorod, adding the most exquisite tortures to 
 this terrible and unprovoked slaughter, his only 
 excuse being his hatred of the people of that city 
 on account of their love of freedom. Similar 
 scenes, though not on so large a scale, were en- 
 acted, by his directions, in Moscow and other cities. 
 Finally, struck with remorse for his terrible crimes, 
 and being thoroughly imbued with the supersti- 
 tious feelings of his age, he decided to abdicate 
 and retire into a convent, but died in agony and 
 terror before he could put his design into execu- 
 tion. The illustration represents his last moments 
 in the midst of his family and the officers of his 
 body-guard. 
 
 THE CID. 
 
 CHE designation el Seid, corrupted in Spanish 
 to Cid, was applied to the Spanish hero, 
 Roderigo Diaz, by the Moors, in acknowl- 
 edgment of his prowess and daring in battle. 
 He was born at the castle of Bivar, near Burgos, 
 about 1040, and died at Valencia, which he had 
 captured from the Moors five years previously, in 
 1099. His life was spent in combats with the 
 Moors, to whom he became a terror on account of 
 his constant success. Even after his death it is 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 85 
 
 asserted that his corpse, clad in armor, and seated 
 upon his war-horse, was led at the head of his 
 ann>', inspiring his own people with courage and 
 striking terror into the hearts of his enemies. His 
 wife fought by his side in many of his battles, and 
 remained in possession of Valencia for three years 
 after his death, when she was forced to fly to Cas- 
 tile, where she died in 1104. They had two 
 daughters and one son killed in battle with the 
 
 THF MACE AND MALLET IN BATTLE. 
 
 DURING the da}'s of chivalry the mace was re- 
 garded as the kingly weapon. It was an im- 
 provement upon the more ancient and more 
 barbarous war-club, and in the hands of one who 
 knew how to use it, was an exceedingly dangerous 
 and effective weapon. It was frequently armed 
 with sharp steel barbs, from one to two inches in 
 length, and capable of penetrating the stoutest 
 
 Tim BODY OF THE CID SEATED UPON HIS WAR-HORSE. 
 
 Moors, from which fact it appears that the courage 
 and determination of the parents were inherited 
 by their children. So much fiction is mingled 
 with the actual achievements of the Cid that it is 
 impossible to separate the real from the imaginary. 
 In the popular mind he was the pattern of a Chris- 
 tian warrior, invincible in battle and unblemished 
 in character. 
 
 armor. The appearance and manner of using the 
 mace are shown in a number of illustrations in 
 this volume. 
 
 The mallet was also a favorite weapon, and is 
 often referred to by ancient historians. One of 
 the warriors in the accompanying illustration is 
 armed with this weapon. It was made of bronze 
 or iron, and of sufficient weight to crush through 
 
86 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the stoutest an>»or. The mallet appears to have 
 been an improvement upon the more ancient stone 
 axe or hatchet. 
 
 There is an ancient ecclesiastical maxim to the 
 effect that " the Church knows not blood," and Bayle 
 the historian informs us that during the days of 
 the inquisition, heretics were punished by fire 
 because in burning a man they did not shed his 
 blood ! For a similar reason Christian warriors of 
 that era preferred the mace and mallet to other 
 
 burned by the Duke of Bedfr rd, ad that she 
 escaped and lived many years afterward. The 
 legend is not noticed by any of the historians, 
 though some have mentioned that after her death 
 an impostor arose, claiming to be the real Joan of 
 Arc, that she was married to a French gentleman, 
 and became the mother of several children. It is 
 at least pleasant to believe in the possibility of 
 this story, as a relief from the horrors of the death 
 by torture to which she was subjected. 
 
 r 
 
 HORSEMAN ARMED WITH BATTLE-MALLET 
 
 weapo s, because in dispatching their antagonists 
 they d ; 1 not spill their blood, but only broke their 
 bones. Matilda, Queen of William the Conqueror, 
 wove a famou ; tapestry picture of Eishop Otto, 
 in whic i he is represented as being armed with a 
 mace, because his priestly office made it improper 
 for him to use a weapon that woidd draw blood. 
 
 LEGEND OF THE ESCAPE OF JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 THERE is a legend to the effect that a bundle 
 of fagots was substituted for the Maid of 
 Orleans, when she was supposed to ha- T e been 
 
 HARDSHIPS OF DE- 
 THRONED MON- 
 ARCHS. 
 
 N Candide or the 
 Optimist, there is 
 an admirable stroke of 
 Voltaire's. Eight trav- 
 ellers meet in an ob- 
 scure inn, and some of 
 them with not sufficient 
 money to pay for a 
 scurv}- dinner. In the 
 course of conversation, 
 they are discovered to 
 be eight monarchs in 
 Europe, who had been 
 deprived of their 
 crowns ! 
 
 What added to this 
 exquisite satire was, 
 that there were eight 
 living monarchs at thai 
 moment wanderer; on 
 the earth. 
 
 Adelaide, the widow 
 of Lothario, King of 
 Italy, one of the most 
 beautiful women in her 
 age, was besieged in Pavia by Berenger, who re- 
 solved to constrain her to mam- his son after Pavia 
 should be taken ; she escaped from her prison with 
 her almoner. The archbishop of Reggie had 
 offered her an asylum : to reach it, she and her 
 almoner travelled on foot through the country 
 by night, concealing herself in the daytime 
 among the corn, while the almoner begged for 
 alms and food through the villages. 
 
 The Emperor Henry IV., after having been de- 
 posed and imprisoned by his son, Henry V., 
 escaped from prison ; poor, vagrant, and without 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 87 
 
 aid, he entreated the bishop of Spires to grant him 
 a lay prebend in his church. " I have studied," 
 said he, "and have learned to sing, and may there- 
 fore be of some service to you." The request was 
 denied, and he died miserably and obscurely at 
 Liege, after 
 having drawn 
 the attention 
 of Europe to 
 his victories 
 and his gran- 
 deur. 
 
 Mary of Me- 
 dicis, the wid- 
 ow of Henry 
 the Great, mo- 
 ther of Louis 
 XIII., mother- 
 in-law of three 
 sovereigns, 
 and regent of 
 France, fre- 
 quently wanted 
 the necessaries 
 of life, and died 
 at Cologne in 
 the utmost 
 misery. The 
 intriguer Rich- 
 elieu compelled 
 her to exile her- 
 self, and live an 
 unhappy fugi- 
 tive. 
 
 Lilly, the as- 
 trologer, in his 
 Life and Death 
 jf Charles the 
 First, thus de- 
 scribes the un- 
 fortunate con- 
 dition of the 
 old queen mo- 
 ther of France : 
 " In the month 
 
 of August, 1641, I beheld the old queen mother 
 of France departing from London, in company 
 of Thomas, Earl of Arundel. A sad spectacle 
 of mortality it was, and produced tears from 
 mine eyes and many other beholders, to see an 
 aged, lean, decrepit, poor queen ready for her 
 
 grave, necessitated to depart hence, having no 
 place of residence in this world left her, but 
 where the courtesy of her hard fortune assigned 
 it. She had been the only stately and magnifi- 
 cent woman of Europe : wife to the greatest king 
 
 MAMELUKE S0LD1EK 
 
 MIMED WITH LONG MACE AND PISTOL. 
 
 that ever liven in France ; mother unto one king' 
 and unto two queens." 
 
 Hume relates the following incident of royal 
 distress : He informs us that the queen of Eng- 
 land, with her son Charles, had a moderate pen- 
 sion assigned her ; but it was so ill paid, and he* 
 
88 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 credit ran so low, that one morning when the Car- 
 dinal de Retz waited on her, she informed him 
 that her daughter, the princess Henrietta, was 
 obliged to lie a-bed for want of a fire to warm her. 
 To such a condition was reduced, in the midst of 
 Paris, a queen of England, and daughter of Henry 
 IV. of France ! We find another proof of her ex- 
 cessive poverty. Salmasius, after publishing his 
 celebrated political book, in favor of Charles II., 
 the Defcnsio Regia, was much blamed by a friend 
 for not having sent a copy to the widowed queen 
 of Charles, who, he writes, though poor, would 
 3 T et have paid the bearer ! 
 
 A strange anecdote is related of Charles VII. of 
 France. Henry V. of England had shrunk his 
 kingdom into the town of Bourges. It is said 
 that having told a shoemaker after he had just 
 tried a p\ir of his boots, that he had no money to 
 pay for them, Crispin had such callous feelings 
 that he re fused his majesty the boots ! " It is for 
 this reason," says Comities, "I praise those 
 princes who are on good terms with the lowest 
 of their people ; for they know not at what hour 
 they may want them." 
 
 into ! The loyal soldier was brought to trial, and 
 as it was impossible to deny that he had entered 
 her apartment, the judges condemned him to die ! 
 The Spanish Princes, however, condescended in 
 consideration of the circumstance to pardon the 
 soldier, and very benevolently saved his life ! 
 
 SPANISH ROYAL ETIQUETTE. 
 
 PHILIP THE THIRD was gravely seated by 
 the fireside ; the fire-maker of the court had 
 kindled so great a quantity of wood, that the 
 monarch was nearly suffocated with heat, and 
 his grandeur would not suffer him to rise from the 
 chair ; the domestics could not presume to enter 
 the apartment, because it was against the etiquette. 
 At length the Marquis de Pota appeared, and the 
 king ordered him to damp the fires : but he ex- 
 cused himself ; alleging that he was forbidden by 
 the etiquette to perform such a function, for which 
 the Duke d'Usseda ought to be called upon, as it 
 was his business. The duke was gone out ; the 
 fire burnt fiercer ; and the king endured it, rather 
 than derogate from his dignity. But his blood 
 was heated to such a degree that an erysipelas of 
 the head appeared the next day, which, succeeded 
 by a violent fever, carried him off in 162 1, in the 
 twenty-fourth year of his age. 
 
 The palace was once on fire ; a soldier, who 
 knew the king's sister was in her apartment, and 
 must inevitably have been consumed in a few mo- 
 ments by the flames, at the risk of his life rushed 
 in, and brought her highness safe out in his arms : 
 but the Spanish etiquette was here woefully broken 
 
 ANCIENT FASHIONS. 
 
 CHE hair has in all ages been an endless topic 
 of the declamation of the moralist, and the 
 favorite object of fashion. If the beau monde 
 wore their hair luxuriant, or the wig enormous, 
 the preachers, as in Charles the Second's reigu, 
 instantly were seen in the pulpit with their hair 
 cut shorter, and their sermon longer, in conse- 
 quence ; respect was however paid by the world 
 to the size of the wig, in spite of the hair-cutter 
 in the pulpit. In the reign of Charles II. the 
 hair-dress of the ladies was very elaborate ; it 
 was not only curled and frizzed with the nicest 
 art, but set off with certain artificial curls, then 
 too emphatically known by the pathetic term of 
 heart-breakers and love- locks. So late as William 
 and Marj-, lads and even children, wore wigs ; and 
 if they had not wigs, they curled their hair to re- 
 semble this fashionable ornament. Women then 
 were the hair-dressers. 
 
 It is observed by the lively Vigneul de Marville 
 that there are flagrant follies in fashion which 
 must be endured while they reign, and which 
 never appear ridiculous till they are out of fash 
 ion. In the reign of Henry III. of France, thej 
 could not exist without an abundant use of com- 
 fits. All the world, the grave and the gay, 
 carried in their pocket a comfit-box as we do 
 snuff-boxes. The} - used them even on the most 
 solemn occasions ; when the Duke of Guise was 
 shot at Blois, he was found with his comfit-box 
 in his hand. Fashions indeed have been carried 
 to so extravagant a length as to have become a 
 public offence, and to have required the interfer- 
 ence of government. Short and tight breeches 
 were so much the rage in France, that Charles 
 V. was compelled to banish this digusting mode 
 by edicts which may be found in Mezeray. An 
 Italian author of the fifteenth century supposes 
 an Italian traveller of nice modesty would not pass 
 through France, that he might not be offended 
 by seeing men whose clothes rather exposed 
 nakedness than hid it. It is curious that the 
 very same fashion was the complaint in the re- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 89 
 
 moter period of Chaucer, in his "Parson's 
 Tales." 
 
 In the reign of Elizabeth the reverse of all this 
 took place ; then the mode of enormous breeches 
 was pushed to a most laughable excess. The 
 beaus of that day stuffed out their breeches with 
 rags, feathers, and other 
 light matters, till they 
 brought them out to a most 
 enormous size. They re- 
 sembled wool-sacks, and 
 in a public spectacle, they 
 were obliged to raise scaf- 
 folds for the seats of those 
 ponderous beaus. To ac- 
 cord with this fantastical 
 taste the ladies invented 
 large hoop farthingales. 
 Two lovers aside could 
 surely never have taken 
 one another by the hand. 
 In a preceding reign the 
 fashion ran on square-toes ; 
 insomuch that a proclama- 
 tion was issued that no 
 person should wear shoes 
 above six inches square at 
 the toes ! Then succeeded 
 picket-pointed shoes ! The 
 nation was again, in the 
 reign of Elizabeth, put un- 
 der the royal authority. 
 " In that time," says hon- 
 est John Stowe, "he was 
 held the greatest gallant 
 that had the deepest ruffe 
 and longest rapier ; the of- 
 ence to the eye of the one 
 and hurt unto the life of 
 the subject that come by 
 the other ; this caused her 
 Majesty to make procla- 
 mation against them both, and to place selected 
 grave citizens at every gate to cut off the ruffes, 
 and break the rapier points of all passengers that 
 exceeded a yeard in length of their rapiers, and 
 a nayle of a yeard in depth of their ruffes. ' ' These 
 " grave citizens," at every gate cutting the ruffes 
 and breaking the rapiers, must doubtless have en- 
 countered in their ludicrous employment some 
 Stubborn opposition ; but this regulation was, in 
 
 the spirit of that age, despotic and effectual. Peter 
 the Great, Emperor of Russia, ordered the soldiers 
 to stop every passenger who wore pantaloons, and 
 with their hangers to cut off, upon the leg, the of- 
 fending part of these superfluous breeches ; so that 
 a man's legs depended greatly on the adoitness 
 
 FRENCH COSTUMES DURING A PORTION OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 and humanity of a Russ or a Cossack ; however 
 this war against pantaloons was very successful, 
 and obtained a complete triumph in favor of the 
 breeches in the course of the week. 
 
 A shameful extravagance in dress has been a 
 most venerable folly. In the reign of Richard II. 
 their dress was sumptuous beyond belief. Sir John 
 Arundel had a change of no less than fifty-' wo 
 new suits of cloth of gold tissue. The pre* tes 
 
90 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Indulged in all the ostentatious luxury of dress. 
 Chancer says the}- had ' ' chaunge of clothing 
 everie daie." Brantome records of Elizabeth, 
 Queeeof Philip II., of Spain, that she never wore 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH IN FIXL COSTUME 
 
 i gown twice ; this told of him by her Majesty's 
 »wn iaillcur, who from a poor man soon became as 
 dch as any one he knew. Elizabeth of England, 
 
 left no less than three thousand different habits in 
 her wardrobe at the time of her death. 
 
 The toilet of Elizabeth was indeed an altar of 
 devotion, of which she was the idol, and all her 
 ministers were her votaries ; 
 it was the reign of coquetry, 
 and the golden age of milli- 
 nery ! But of grace and ele- 
 gance, they had not the slight- 
 est feeling ! There is a print 
 by Vertue, of Queen Eliza- 
 beth going in a procession to 
 Lord Hunsdon. This proces- 
 sion is led by Eady Hunsdon, 
 who no doubt was the leader 
 likewise of the fashions ; but 
 it is impossible, with our ideas 
 of grace and comfort, not to 
 commiserate this unfortunate 
 lad}-, whose standing-up wire 
 ruff, rising above her head ; 
 whose stays or bodice, so long- 
 waisted as to reach to her 
 knees, and the circumference of 
 her large hoop farthingale, 
 which seems to enclose her in 
 a capacious tub, mark her out 
 as one of the most pitiable 
 martyrs of ancient modes. 
 
 Stow T e, the historian, p,ives 
 the following account of some 
 singular customs that prcv . iled 
 in Queen Elizabeth's time : 
 
 ' ' In the second year of 
 Queen Elizabeth, 1560, her silk 
 woman, Mistris Mountague, 
 presented her majestie for a 
 new yeere's gift a paire of black 
 silk knit stockins, the which, 
 after a few days' wearing, 
 pleased her highness so well, 
 that she sent for Mistris Moun- 
 tague, and asked her where 
 she had them, and if she could 
 help her to any more, who an- 
 swered, ' I made them very 
 carefully of purpose only for 
 your majestie, and seeing these 
 please you so w T ell, I will presently set more in 
 hand.' 'Do so (quoth the queene), for indeed I 
 like silk stockins so well, because they are 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 91 
 
 pleasant, fine, and delicate, that henceforth I will 
 wear no more cloth stockins ' — and from that time 
 unto her death the queene never wore any more 
 cloth hose, but only silke stockins ; for you shall 
 understand that King Henry the Eight did weare 
 onely cloth hose, or hose cut out of ell-broade 
 taffaty, or that by great chance there came a pair 
 of Spanish silke stockins from Spain. King Ed- 
 ward the Sixte had a payre of long Spanish silke 
 stockins sent him for a great present. Duke's 
 daughters then wore gowns of satten of Bridges 
 (Bruges) upon 
 solemn dayes. 
 Cushens, and 
 window pil- 
 lows of velvet 
 and damaske, 
 formerly only 
 princely fur- 
 niture, now be 
 very plenteous 
 in most citi- 
 zens' houses. 
 
 " Milloners 
 or haberdash- 
 ers had not 
 then any 
 gloves imbroy- 
 dered, or trim- 
 med with gold, 
 or silke ; nei- 
 ther gold nor 
 embroydered 
 girdles and 
 hangers, nei- 
 ther could 
 they make any 
 
 costly wash or perfume, until about the fifteenth 
 yeere of the queene, the Right Honourable Ed- 
 ward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, came from Italy, 
 and brought with him gloves, sweete bagges, a 
 perfumed leather jerkin, and other pleasant things ; 
 and that yeere the queene had a pair of per- 
 fumed gloves trimmed onely with four tuffes, or 
 roses of coloured silk. The queene tooke such 
 pleasure in those gloves, that she was pictured 
 with them upon her handes, and for many years 
 after, it was called 'The Earl of Oxford's per- 
 fume.' " 
 
 The fashion of starching linen was first intro- 
 duced into England during Elizabeth's time, the 
 
 event being thus described by the same historian 
 whom we have quoted above : 
 
 "In the year 1564, Mistris Dinghen Van den 
 Plasse, borne at Tsenen in Flaunders, daughter to 
 a worshipful knight of that province, with her 
 husband came to London for their better safeties, 
 and there professed herselfe a starcher, wherein 
 she excelled, unto whom her owne nation pre- 
 sently repaired, and payed her very liberally for 
 her worke. Some very few of the best and most 
 curious wives of that time, observing the neatness 
 
 COSTUMES OF THE ENGLISH NOBILITY 
 
 OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. — 
 ancient engraving.) 
 
 Accurate copy of in 
 
 and delicacy of the Dutch for whiteness and fine 
 wearing of linen, made them cambricke ruffes, 
 and sent them to Mistris Dinghen to starche, and 
 after awhile they made them ruffes of lawn, which 
 was at that time a stuff most strange, and won- 
 derful, and thereupon arose a general scoffe or by- 
 word, that shortly they would make ruffes of a 
 spider's web ; and then they began to send their 
 daughters and nearest kinswomen to Mistris 
 Dinghen to learne how to starche ; her usuall 
 price was at that time, foure or five pound, to 
 teach them how to starche, and twenty shillings- 
 how to seeth starche. ' ' 
 
 The reign of Charles II. was the dominion of 
 
U2 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Frencu fashions. In some respects the taste was 
 a little lighter, but the moral effect of dress, and 
 which jo doubt it has, was much worse. The 
 dress of the French queen was very inflamma- 
 tory' ; and the nudity of the beauties of the por- 
 trait painter, Sir Peter I^ely, has been observed. 
 
 OUEEN HENRIETTA, WIFE OF CHARLES I. 
 
 The Queen of Charles II. exposed her breast and 
 shoulders without even the glass of the lightest 
 gauze ; and the tucker instead of standing up on 
 her bosom, is with licentious boldness turned 
 down, and lies upon her stays. This custom of 
 baring the bosom was much exclaimed against by 
 the authors of that age. That honest divine, 
 
 Richard Baxter, wrote a preface to a book, entitled 
 " A j ust and seasonable reprehension of naked 
 breasts and shoulders." In 1672 a book was 
 published, entitled, "New instructions unto 
 youth for their behaviour, and also a discourse 
 upon some innovations of habits and dressing ; 
 -.-.. against powdering the hair, naked 
 breasts, black spots, (or patches.) 
 and other unseemly customs." A 
 whimsical fashion now prevailed 
 among the ladies, of strangely orna- 
 menting their faces with abundance 
 of black patches cut into grotesque 
 forms, such as a coach and horses, 
 owls, rings, suns, moons, crowns, 
 cross and crosslets. 
 
 During the reign of William the 
 Conqueror, and for several centuries 
 afterward, it was the custom among 
 men and women throughout Europe, 
 to give an enormous length to thew 
 shoes, to draw the toe to a sharp 
 point, and to affix to it the fixture 
 of a bird's bill, or some such orna- 
 ment which was turned upward and 
 which was after sustained by gold or 
 silver chains tied to the knee. The 
 ecclesiastics took exception to this 
 ornament, declaring that it was an 
 attempt to belie the scriptures, where 
 it is affirmed that no man can add a 
 cubit to his stature. They not only 
 declaimed against the custom, but 
 the}- assembled synods and abso- 
 lutely condemned it. But though 
 the clergy at that time could over- 
 turn thrones, and make and un- 
 make kings, they could not prevail 
 against the long-pointed shoes ; in 
 fact some historians declare that the 
 opposition of the church was the 
 principal cause of the long-continu- 
 ance of the fashion, a striking in- 
 stance of the strange contradictions 
 in human nature. The accompanying portrait of 
 Louis XIV., of France, exhibits a peculiarity of 
 foppish style that prevailed at the French Court 
 during the latter part of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury. If a person should appear in public, during 
 these modem times of common-sense and utility 
 in fashions, dressed in such a costume, he would 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 93 
 
 certainly be arrested for a lunatic. The frills on 
 King Louis' trousers are especially remarkable. 
 
 THE LOVER'S HEART. 
 
 CHE following incident is related in the His- 
 torical Memoirs of Champagne, by Bougier. 
 It has been a favorite theme with poets and 
 romancers, but does 
 not appear in any 
 of the modern his- 
 tories. 
 
 The Lord De 
 Coucy, vassal to 
 the Count De 
 Champagne, was 
 one of the most 
 accompl ished 
 youths of his time. 
 He loved, with an 
 excess of passion, 
 the lady of the 
 Lord Du Fay el, 
 who felt a recipro- 
 cal affection. With 
 the most poignant 
 grief this lady 
 heard f r o m her 
 lover that he had 
 resolved to accom- 
 pany the king and 
 the Count De 
 Champagne to the 
 wars of the Holy 
 Land; but she 
 would not oppose 
 his wishes, because 
 she hoped that his 
 absence might dis- 
 sipate the jealousy 
 of her husband. 
 The time of de- 
 parture having 
 come, these two 
 lovers parted with 
 sorrows of the most 
 lively tenderness. 
 The lady, in quit- 
 ting her lover, pre- 
 sented him with some rings, some diamonds, and 
 with a string that she had woven herself of his 
 own hair, intermixed with silk and buttons of 
 
 large pearls, to serve him, according to the fash- 
 ion of those days, to tie a magnificent hood which 
 covered his helmet. This he gratefully accepted. 
 In Palestine, at the siege of Acre, in 1191, in 
 gloriously ascending the ramparts, he received a 
 wound which was declared mortal. He employed 
 the few moments he had to live in writing to the 
 
 LOUIS XIV., OF FRANCE, IN THE COURT COSTUME OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Lady Du Fayel ; and he poured forth the fervor 
 of his soul. He ordered his squire to embalm his 
 heart after his death, and to convey it to his be- 
 
94 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 loved mistress, with the presents he had received 
 from her hands on quitting her. 
 
 SIEGE OF ACRE AND DEATH OF THE LOVER 
 
 The squire, faithful to the dying' injunction of 
 his master, returned to France to present the heart 
 and the presents to the Lady of Du Fayel. But 
 
 when he approached the castle of this lady, he 
 concealed himself in the neighboring wood till he 
 
 could find some 
 favorable moment 
 to complete his pro- 
 mise. He had the 
 misfortune to be 
 observed by the 
 husband of the 
 lady, who recog- 
 nized him, and who 
 immediately sus- 
 pected he came in 
 search of his wife 
 with some mes- 
 sage from his mas- 
 ter. He threatened 
 to deprive him of 
 his life if he did 
 not divulge the oc- 
 casion of his re- 
 turn. The squire 
 assured him that 
 his master w a s 
 dead; but Du 
 Fayel, not believ- 
 ing it, drew his 
 sword on him. The 
 man, frightened at 
 the peril in which 
 he found himself, 
 confessed every- 
 thing, and put into 
 his hands the heart 
 and letter of his 
 master. Du Fayel, 
 prompted by the 
 fiercest revenge, or- 
 dered his cook to 
 mince the heart, 
 and having mixed 
 it with meat, he 
 caused a ragout to 
 be made, which he 
 knew pleased the 
 taste of his wife, 
 and had it served 
 to her. The lady 
 ate heartily of the dish. After the repast, Du 
 Fayel inquired of his wife if she had found 
 the ragout according to her taste. She answered 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 95 
 
 him that she had found it excellent. "It is 
 for this reason that I caused it to be served 
 to you, for it is a kind of meat which you very 
 much like. You have, madam," the savage 
 Du Fayel continued, "eaten the heart of the Lord 
 De Coucy." But this she would not believe till 
 he showed her the letter of her lover, with the 
 string of his hair and the diamonds she had given 
 him. Then, shuddering in the anguish of her 
 sensations, and urged by the darkest despair, she 
 told him, "It is true that I loved the heart, be- 
 cause it merited to be loved ; for never could it 
 find its superior ; and since I have eaten of so noble 
 a meat, and that my stomach is the tomb of so 
 precious a heart, I will take care that nothing of 
 inferior worth shall be mixed with :_." Grief and 
 passion choked her utterance. She retired to her 
 chamber ; she closed the door forever ; and refus- 
 ing to accept consolation or food, the amiable vic- 
 tim expired on the fourth day. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF GLOVES. 
 
 IT has been supposed that gloves are noticed in 
 the 108th Psalm, where the royal prophet de- 
 clares that he will cast his shoe over Edom ; 
 and still further back, in the time of the Judges, 
 where, in Ruth iv. 7, the custom is noted of a man 
 taking off his shoe and giving it to his neighbor as 
 a pledge for redeeming or exchanging anything. 
 The reason for this supposition is based upon the 
 fact that the word usually translated shoe is by 
 the Chaldeans rendered glove. Casaubon is of 
 opinion that gloves were worn by the Chaldeans, 
 from the word being explained in the Talmud 
 lexicon as ' ' the clothing of the hand. ' ' 
 
 Xenophon, as a proof of the efficiency of the 
 Persians, observes that, not satisfied with covering 
 their heads and their feet, they also guarded their 
 hands against the cold with thick gloves. Athe- 
 nseus speaks of a celebrated glutton who always 
 came to table with gloves on his hands, that he 
 might be able to handle and eat the meat while 
 hot, and thus devour more than the rest of the 
 company. 
 
 These authorities show that the ancients were 
 not strangers to the use of gloves, though their use 
 was not common. In a hot climate to wear gloves 
 implies a considerable degree of effeminacy. We 
 can more clearly trace the early use of gloves in 
 northern than in southern nations. When the 
 ancient severity of manners declined, the use of 
 
 gloves prevailed among the Romans ; but not with- 
 out some opposition from the philosophers. Mu- 
 sonius, a philosopher, who lived at the close of the ' 
 first century of Christianity, among other invectives 
 against the corruption of the age, says, "It is 
 shameful that persons in perfect health should clothe 
 their hands and feet with soft and hairy coverings." 
 Their convenience, however, soon made the use 
 general. Pliny the younger informs us, in his ac- 
 count of his uncle's journey to Vesuvius, that his 
 secretary sat hy him ready to write down whatever 
 occurred remarkable ; and that he had gloves on 
 his hands, that the coldness of the weather might 
 not impede his business. 
 
 Favin observes, that the custom of blessing 
 gloves at the coronation of the kings of France, 
 which still subsists, is a remnant of the eastern 
 practice of investiture by a glove. A remarkable 
 instance of this ceremony is recorded. The unfor- 
 tunate Conradin was deprived of his crown and 
 his life by the usurper Mainfroy. When having 
 ascended the scaffold, the injured prince, lament- 
 ing his hard fate, asserted his right to the crown, 
 and as a token of investiture, threw his glove 
 among the crowd, entreating that it might be 
 conveyed to some of his relations, who would re- 
 venge his death. It was taken up by a knight, 
 who conveyed it to Peter, king of Arragon, who 
 in virtue of this glove, was afterward crowned at 
 Palermo. 
 
 As the delivery of gloves was once a part of the 
 ceremony used in giving possession of property of 
 any kind, so the depriving of a person of these was 
 a mark of divesting him of his office. The Earl 
 of Carlisle, in the n_ j\\ of Edward the Second, 
 was condemned to die as a traitor for holding cor- 
 respondence with the Scots. Among other marks 
 of degradation, it is related that ' ' his spurs were 
 cut off with a hatchet, and his gloves and shoes 
 were taken off, ' ' etc. 
 
 The use of single combat, at first designed only 
 for a trial of innocence, like the ordeals of fire and 
 water, was in succeeding ages practised for decid- 
 ing rights of property. 
 
 Challenging by the glove was continued down 
 to the reign of Elizabeth, as appears by an account 
 given by Spelman of a duel appointed to be fought 
 in Tothill Fields in 1571. The dispute was con- 
 cerning some lands in the county of Kent. The 
 parties appeared in Court and demanded single 
 combat. One of them threw down his glove, 
 
96 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 which the other immediately taking up, carried it 
 off on the point of his sword, and the da)' of fight- 
 ing was then appointed, but the Queen adjusted 
 the affair by personal interference. 
 
 SOME CURIOUS EVENTS IN THE LIFE OF 
 WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 THIS famous prince was the natural son of 
 Robert, Duke of Normandy, and Harlotta, 
 
 the daughter of a tanner 
 
 Her name seems to 
 
 WIUJAJI THR CONQUEROR. 
 
 have been applied to her as a designation of her 
 disreputable profession, for she was also the mother, 
 by a different father, of Odo, Bishop of Baieux, 
 who was created Earl of Kent by his half-brother 
 after the latter had subjected the English to his 
 rule. William was so little ashamed of his birth 
 that he assumed the appellation of Bastard in 
 some of his letters and charters. 
 
 Odo, during the reign of his brother in Eng- 
 land, amassed a large fortune, and being extremely 
 ambitious, he conceived the idea of buying the 
 papacy. It seems that an astrologer had foretold 
 that he would be exalted to this dignity upon the 
 death of Gregory, the reigning pontiff; and with 
 this end in view he resolved to transfer his riches 
 to Italy, in conjunction with several discontented 
 barons who had espoused his cause. William, 
 from whom nil these projects had been carefully 
 concealed, at last received intelligence of 
 this design, and ordered the arrest of 
 Odo. His officers, imbued with the su- 
 perstitious reverence of the clergy which 
 prevailed at the time, were afraid to exe- 
 cute the command, whereupon the king 
 went in person and made the arrest. Odo 
 insisted that, being a prelate, he was ex- 
 empt from temporal jurisdiction, to which 
 his brother replied that he did not ar- 
 rest him as a bishop, but as an earl. He 
 was sent prisoner to Normandy, and, 
 notwithstanding the remonstrance of the 
 Pope, he was detained in custody during 
 the remainder of William's reign. 
 
 It was a fixed maxim of this reign that 
 no native Englishman should ever be ad- 
 vanced to any dignity, ecclesiastical, civil 
 or military. They were degraded and 
 humiliated in every possible manner. 
 Among other outrages, the Norman 
 Barons demanded the right of passing 
 the first three days with each newly- 
 married bride in their jurisdictions, and 
 for years they enforced this claim under 
 pretence of a desire to raise up a genera- 
 tion that would be friendly to their in- 
 terests. On other occasions they re- 
 quired young English married couples to 
 pass a night in a lake or river near the 
 baron's residence, in water up to their 
 waists, for the purpose, as they claimed, 
 of scaring awa3>- the frogs and preventing 
 them from disturbing the slumbers of their lord. 
 Others were compelled" to climb tall trees, and 
 spend the night among the topmost branches, 
 subjected to the ridicule of the rabble beneath 
 them. 
 
 All the English prelates, with one exception, 
 were deposed or imprisoned. Wulstan, of Wor- 
 cester, a man of inoffensive character, was the only 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 97 
 
 one who escaped the general proscription, and 
 remained in possession of his dignity. He accom- 
 plished this through the performance of one of 
 the miracles of the day. Having received his 
 pastoral staff and 
 ring from Edward 
 the Confessor, he re- 
 fused to surrender 
 them to any one 
 else, but going im- 
 mediately to King 
 Edward's tomb, he 
 struck the staff so 
 deeply into the stone 
 that covered it, that 
 none but himself 
 was able to pull it 
 out. This was con- 
 sidered so remark- 
 able a miracle that 
 he was permitted to 
 retain his bishopric. 
 Before entering 
 upon his expedition 
 for the subjection of 
 England, William 
 had declared in 
 favor of his eldest 
 son Robert as his 
 successor to the 
 duchy of Nor- 
 mandy, but after- 
 ward, when Robert, 
 who was an ambi- 
 tious and head- 
 strong youth, de- 
 manded of him the 
 execution of this 
 engagement, he 
 gave him an abso- 
 lute refusal, a n d 
 told him, according 
 to the homely say- 
 ing, that he never 
 intended to throw 
 off his clothes till 
 he went to bed. 
 Robert openly declared his discontent, and was 
 accused of secretly entering into an alliance against 
 his father with the king of France and the earl of 
 Brittany. He also became jealous of his brothers, 
 7 
 
 William and Henry, who, by their more gentle 
 dispositions, had acquired the affections of their 
 father. 
 
 At that time the three princes were residing with 
 
 PRINCE ROBERT ACCUSING HIS FATHER OF PARTIALITY TOWARDS HIS BROTHERS. 
 
 their father in the castle of E' Aigle, in Normandy. 
 One day they were engaged in boyish sport to- 
 gether, and after some mirth and jollity, the two 
 younger brothers took a fancy of throwing over 
 
98 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 some water on Robert as he passed through the court 
 on leaving their apartment. He would naturally 
 have regarded the frolic as innocent merriment, had 
 it not been for the meddlesome interference of a 
 
 PRINCE ROBERT WOUNDS HIS FATHER. 
 
 young conspirator, who supposed that his interests 
 would be advanced by a broil in the royal family. 
 This young man persuaded the prince that the ac- 
 
 tion of his brothers was meant as a public affront, 
 which it behooved him in honor to resent. Where- 
 upon the choleric Robert, drawing his sword, ran 
 up stairs with the intention of taking revenge 
 
 upon his brothers. 
 In an instant the 
 castle was in a tu- 
 mult, which the king 
 himself was only 
 able to appease after 
 asserting his kingly 
 and paternal author- 
 ity in the most ve- 
 hement manner. But 
 he could by no means 
 appease the resent- 
 ment of his eldest 
 son, who, instigated 
 by interested parties, 
 and smarting under 
 what he considered 
 to be a gross per- 
 sonal insult, left the 
 court the same eve- 
 ning, and, joining his 
 fortunes with some 
 discontented nobles, 
 engaged in open 
 rebellion against 
 his father. This was 
 continued for several 
 years, and grew to 
 such dimensions that 
 William was com- 
 pelled to call over an 
 army of English un- 
 der his old veteran 
 captains, who soon 
 expelled Robert and 
 his adherents from 
 their retreats, and re- 
 stored the authority 
 of the sovereign in 
 all his dominions. 
 The young prince 
 was obliged to take 
 shelter in the castle 
 of Gerberoz, where he 
 was soon besieged by the English under his father's 
 command. There passed under the walls of the 
 castle many rencontres, which resembled the single 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 99 
 
 combats of chivalry, more than the military actions 
 of armies. In one of these Robert happened to en- 
 gage the king, who was concealed by his helmet, 
 and, both being valiant, a fierce combat ensued, 
 till at last the prince 
 wounded his father in 
 the arm and unhorsed 
 him. On calling out 
 for assistance his voice 
 discovered him to his 
 son, who, struck with 
 remorse, and fearing 
 the result of the king's 
 fall, instantly threw 
 himself at his father's 
 feet, earr.astly craved 
 pardon for his offence, 
 and offered to purchase 
 forgiveness by any 
 atonement. The old 
 king was too much 
 embittered to respond 
 with tenderness to this 
 dutiful submission of 
 his son, but giving 
 him his malediction, 
 departed for his own 
 camp, on Robert's 
 horse, which the prince 
 had assisted him to 
 mount. He soon after 
 raised the siege, and 
 marched with his army 
 to Normandy, where 
 the interposition of the 
 queen and other friends 
 brought about a recon- 
 cilement, which was 
 probably not a little 
 forwarded by the recol- 
 lection of his son's 
 generous conduct in 
 their personal combat. 
 The king subsequently 
 took Robert with him 
 into England, where 
 
 he intrusted him with the command of an army 
 in repelling an inroad of the Scots. 
 
 As "William advanced in years he became very 
 corpulent, an event which, strange as it may seem, 
 was the cause of a fierce war between himself and 
 
 Philip, king of France, and which also resulted in 
 William's death. These events were brought 
 about in the following manner : William had 
 been detained in bed for some time by an indis- 
 
 WIUJAM THE CONQUEROR WOUNDED BY THE FRIGHT OF HIS HORSE. 
 
 position arising from his excessive fat ; upon 
 which Philip expressed his surprise that his 
 brother of England should be so long in being de- 
 livered of his big abdomen. The old king, being 
 informed of Philip's raillery, sent him word that, as 
 
100 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 soon as he was up, he would present so many lights 
 at Notre Dame, in Paris, as would perhaps give 
 little pleasure to the king of France — alluding to 
 a custom at that time of women after their confine- 
 ment. Immediately on his recover}' he proceeded 
 to put his threat into execution, by leading an 
 army into France and laying the country waste 
 with fire and sword. But the progress of hostili- 
 ties was stopped by an accident which soon after 
 put an end to William's life. His horse, one day, 
 starting suddenly aside, he bruised his abdomen 
 on the pommel of his saddle ; and being advanced 
 in years, as well as in a bad state of health, he 
 apprehended serious consequences, and ordered 
 himself to be carried in a litter to the monastery 
 of St. Gervas. As he saw death approaching he 
 began to repent of the evil he had done, and ac- 
 cording to the customs of those days, sought 
 atonement for his sins by making presents to the 
 churches and monasteries. He expired in the 
 sixty-third year of his age, having reigned over 
 England twenty-one years and over the duchy 
 of Normandy fifty-four. 
 
 THE CRUSADES. 
 
 C'HOSE remarkable irruptions known as the 
 ' Crusades began first to engage the attention 
 of the nations of Europe about 1096. They 
 were the most signal and durable monuments of 
 human folly that have appeared in any age or 
 country. After Mahomet had, by means of his 
 pretended revelations, united the Arabian tribes 
 under one head, and infused into them a spirit of 
 religious fanaticism such as the world never wit- 
 nessed before or since, they issued forth from their 
 deserts in great multitudes and rapidly overran 
 and conquered the eastern nations. Jerusalem 
 was one of their earliest conquests, and the Chris- 
 tians had the mortification to see the holy sepul- 
 chre and other consecrated places fallen into the 
 hands of the infidels. But the Arabians or Sara- 
 cens were so employed in military enterprises that 
 they had no leisure for theological controversy, 
 and the pilgrims who flocked daily to Jerusalem 
 were but little disturbed by them. Even* man, on 
 the payment of a moderate tribute, was allowed to 
 visit the hoi}- sepulchre, perforin his religious du- 
 ties, and return in peace. This was all changed, 
 however, in the year 1065, when the Turks wrested 
 Syria from the Saracens and made themselves 
 masters of Jerusalem. The barbarity of their man- 
 
 ners, and the confusion attending their unsettled 
 government, rendered pilgrimages much more diffi- 
 cult and dangerous to the Christians. The pil- 
 grims were robbed, insulted, and otherwise abused ; 
 and, returning from their perilous journeys, now 
 filled all Europe with indignation against the 
 infidels. 
 
 About this time, Peter, commonly called the 
 " Hermit," a native of the city of Amiens, made a 
 pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and being deeply afflicted 
 by the dangers and insults to which he was sub- 
 jected, he formed the bold idea of raising an army 
 among the Christian nations of sufficient strength to 
 subdue the warhke tribes that were destroying the 
 holy city, and, placing himself at their head, led 
 them forward to conquest and dominion. He pro- 
 posed his views to Urban II. (Hume has it 
 Martin, IV., evidently an error), then occupying 
 the papal chair, who, being impressed by the fer- 
 vor and zeal of Peter, summoned a council at Placen- 
 tia, which consisted of four thousand ecclesiastics 
 and thirty thousand laymen, and which was so 
 numerous that it was necessary to hold the assem- 
 blages in the open plain, as no hall could be found 
 large enough to contain so great a multitude. The 
 harangues of Peter and the pope were of such an 
 inflammatory character, and the minds of their au- 
 ditors so well prepared to entertain desperate pro- 
 jects like the one proposed, that the whole multi- 
 tude suddenly and violently declared for Avar, de- 
 voting themselves, as they supposed, to the ser- 
 vice of God and their religion. 
 
 But the pope knew that, in order to assure suc- 
 cess, it would be necessary to enlist greater and 
 more warlike nations than those which were con- 
 fined to Italy ; and having previously exhorted 
 Peter to visit the chief cities and sovereigns of 
 Christendom, he summoned another council, at 
 Clermont, in Auvergne. The fame of the great 
 and pious design being now universally diffused, 
 procured the attendance of the greatest prelates, 
 nobles and princes ; and when the pope and the 
 hermit renewed their pathetic appeals, the whole 
 assembly, as if impelled by an immediate inspira- 
 tion, exclaimed with one voice, "It is the will of 
 God! It is :hc will of God /" — words deemed so 
 memorable, and so much the result of a divine in- 
 fluence, that they were employed as the sig- 
 nal of rendezvous and battle in all the future 
 exploits of these adventurers. Men of all 
 ranks flew to arms with the utmost ardor, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 101 
 
 and the sign of the cross, affixed to the right 
 shoulder of all who enlisted themselves in this 
 sacred war, and emblazoned on the standards, be- 
 came the badge of union and the emblem under 
 which they fought. 
 
 All orders of men, 
 deeming the cru- 
 sades an open road 
 to heaven, enlisted 
 themselves under 
 the sacred banner, 
 and were impatient 
 to open the way 
 with their swords to 
 the holy city. The 
 infirm and the aged 
 contributed to the 
 expeditious by pre- 
 sents and money, 
 wdiile many attended 
 in person, deter- 
 mined to breathe 
 their last in sight of 
 the city where their 
 Saviour had died for 
 them. Even women, 
 concealing their sex 
 under the disguise 
 ,of armor, enlisted in 
 the ranks, and by 
 their presence and 
 example increased 
 the general fury and 
 excitement. M u r - 
 derers and criminals 
 of all classes hast- 
 ened to join the ser- 
 vice, as ail expia- 
 tion of their crimes 
 and an atonement 
 for everj' violation 
 of justice and hu- 
 manity. 
 
 Finally this undis- 
 ciplined and fanati- 
 cal mob took its way 
 toward Constantino- 
 ple, passing through 
 
 Hungary and Bulgaria ; and, trusting that Heaven, 
 by supernatural assistance, would supply all their 
 aecessities, they made no provision for subsistence 
 
 on the march. They soon found themselves 
 obliged to obtain by plunder what they did not 
 receive from miracles ; and the enraged inhabitants 
 of the countries through which they passed, gath- 
 
 PETER THE HERMIT, AND THE POPE, AROUSING THE PEOPLE TO RELIGIOUS FRENZY. 
 
 ering together in arms, attacked the disorderly 
 multitude, and slaughtered them by thousands. 
 The disciplined armies followed after ; and passing 
 
1012 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the straits at Constantinople, they were mustered 
 in the plains of Asia, and amounted in the whole 
 to the enormous number of seven hundred thou- 
 sand combatants, besides camp followers and 
 women and children, composing an army almost, 
 if not quite, so great as the one which Xerxes led 
 against the Greeks. 
 
 The crusades continued, with more or less vigor, 
 throughout the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth 
 centuries, and they constitute one of the most ro- 
 mantic and remarkable events in the history of na- 
 tions. Their leading object was not attained, but, 
 by the commingling of different nations in a com- 
 mon pursuit, they laid the foundations of the 
 future civilization of Europe, and thus, like nearly 
 all great popular commotions, were not barren of 
 good results. 
 
 Other interesting facts, personal incidents, and 
 many heroic deeds connected with the crusades, 
 are related in other portions of this volume. 
 
 NAPOLEON AT WATERLOO. 
 
 nAPOLEON, the greatest French General, and 
 perhaps the greatest of any or all countries, 
 fought and lost the battle of Waterloo, as every 
 one knows. It seems eminently proper, therefore, 
 that the grandest description of this or any other 
 battle, should be written by the greatest French 
 author — Victor Hugo. 
 
 Napoleon in Good Humor. 
 
 The emperor, though ill and suffering on horse- 
 back from a local injury, had never been so good- 
 tempered as on this da}'. From the morning his 
 impenetrability had been smiling, and on June 18, 
 1S15, this profound soul, coated with granite, was 
 radiant. The man who had been sombre at Aus- 
 terlitz was gay at Waterloo. The greatest predes- 
 tined men offer these contradictions, for our joys 
 are a shadow and the supreme smile belongs to 
 God. 
 
 Ridct Caesar, Pompcius flcbit, the legionaries of 
 the Fulminatrix used to say. On this occasion 
 Pompey was not destined to weep, but it is certain 
 that Ciesar laughed. 
 
 At one o'clock in the morning, amid the rain 
 and storm, he had explored with Bertrand the hills 
 near Rossomme, and was pleased to see the long 
 lines of English fires illumining the horizon from 
 Frischemont to Braine l'Alleud. It seemed to 
 him as if destiny had made an appointment with 
 him on a fixed day and was punctual. He stopped 
 
 his horse, and remained for some time motionless, 
 looking at the lightning and listening to the 
 thunder. The fatalist was heard to cast into the 
 night the mysterious words, "We are agreed." 
 Napoleon was mistaken ; they were no longer 
 agreed. 
 
 He had not slept for a moment ; all the instants 
 of the past night had been marked with joy for 
 him. He rode through the entire line of main 
 guards, stopping even- now and then to speak to 
 the videttes. At half-past two he heard the sound 
 of a marching column near Hougoumont, and 
 believed for a moment in a retreat on the side of 
 Wellington. He said to Bertrand, "The English 
 rear-guard is preparing to decamp. I shall take 
 prisoners the six thousand English who have just 
 landed at Osteud." He talked cheerfully, and 
 had regained the spirits he had displayed during 
 the landing of March 1, when he showed to the 
 grand marshal the enthusiastic peasant of the 
 Juan Gulf and said, "Well, Bertrand, here is a 
 re-enforcement already." On the night between 
 June 17th and iSth he made fun of Wellington. 
 "This little Englishman requires a lesson," said 
 Napoleon. The rain became twice as violent. 
 And it thundered while the emperor was speaking. 
 
 At half-past three A. M. he lost one illusion ; 
 officers sent to reconnoitre informed him that the 
 enemy was making no movement. Nothing was 
 stirring, not a single bivouac fire wasextinguished, 
 and the English army was sleeping. The silence 
 was profound on earth, and there was only noise 
 in the heavens. At four o'clock a peasant was 
 brought to him -by the scouts ; this peasant had 
 served as guide to a brigade of English cavalry, 
 probably Vivian's, which had taken up a position 
 on the extreme left in the village of Ohain. At 
 five o'clock two Belgian deserters informed him 
 that the}- had just left their regiments, and the 
 English army meant fighting. " All the better, " 
 cried Napoleon. " I would sooner crush them 
 than drive them back." 
 
 At daybreak he dismounted on the slope which 
 forms the angle of the Plancenoit road, had a 
 kitchen table and a peasant's chair brought from 
 the farm of Rossomme, sat down with a truss of 
 straw for a carpet, and laid on the table the map 
 of the battle-field, saying to Soult, " It is a pretty 
 chess-board. ' ' 
 
 Owing to the night rain, the commissariat wag- 
 ons, which stuck in the muddy roads, did not 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 10:= 
 
 arrive by daybreak. The troops had not slept, 
 were wet through and fasting, but this did not 
 prevent Xapoleon from exclaiming cheerfully to 
 Soult, " We have ninety chances out of a hundred 
 in our favor." At eight o'clock the emperor's 
 breakfast was brought, and he invited several 
 generals to share it with him. While breakfast- 
 ing, somebody said that Wellington had been the 
 last evening but one at a ball in Brussels, and 
 Soult, the rough soldier, with his archbishop's face, 
 remarked, "The ball will be to-day." The em- 
 peror teased Ney for saying, ' ' Wellington will 
 not be so simple as to wait for your majesty." 
 This was his usual manner. "He was fond of a 
 joke," says Fleury de Chaboulon ; "The basis 
 of his character was a pleasant humor," says 
 Gourgaud ; ' ' He abounded with jests more pecu- 
 liar than witty," says Benjamin Constant. The 
 gayety of the giant is worth dwelling on ; it was 
 he who called his grenadiers ' ' Growlers ; " he 
 pinched their ears and pulled their mustaches. 
 "The emperor was always playing tricks with 
 us," was the remark made by one of the them. 
 
 During the mysterious passage from Elba to 
 France, on February 27, the French brig of war, 
 the Zephyr, met the Inconstant, on board which 
 Napoleon was concealed, and inquiring after 
 Napoleon, the emperor, who still had in his hat 
 the white and violet cockade studded with bees, 
 which he had adopted at Elba, himself laugh- 
 ingly took up the speaking-trumpet, and answered, 
 "The emperor is quite well." A man who jests 
 in this way is on familiar terms with events. 
 Napoleon had several outbursts of this laughter 
 during the breakfast at Waterloo ; after breakfast 
 he reflected for a quarter of an hour ; then two 
 generals sat down on the truss of straw, each with 
 a pen in his hand and a sheet of paper on his 
 knee, and the emperor dictated to them the plan 
 of the battle. 
 
 At nine o'clock, the moment when the French 
 arm}-, echelonned and moving in five columns, 
 began to deploy, the divisions in two lines, the 
 artillery between, the bands in front, drums rat- 
 tling and bugles braying, — a powerful, might}-, 
 joyous army, a sea of bayonets and helmets on the 
 horizon, — the emperor, much affected, twice ex- 
 claimed, "Magnificent! magnificent!" 
 
 Between nine and half-past ten, although it 
 seems incredible, the whole army took up posi- 
 tion, and was drawn up in six lines, forming, to 
 
 repeat the emperor's expression, "the figure of 
 six Vs." A few minutes after the formation of 
 the line, and in the midst of that profound silence 
 which precedes the storm of battle, the emperor, 
 seeing three twelve-pounder batteries defile, which 
 had been detached by his orders from Erlon, 
 Reille and Lobau's brigades, and which were in- 
 tended to begin the action at the spot where the 
 Nevilles and Genappe roads crossed, tapped Haxo 
 on the shoulder, and said, "There are twenty- 
 four pretty girls, general." 
 
 Sure of the result, he encouraged with a smile 
 the company of sappers of the first corps as it 
 passed him, which he had selected to barricade 
 itself in Mont St. Jean so soon as the village was 
 carried. All this security was only crossed by 
 one word of human pity ; on seeing at his left, at 
 the spot where there is now a large tomb, the ad- 
 mirable Scotch Greys massed with their superb 
 horses, he said, " It is a pity." 
 
 Then he mounted his horse, rode toward Ros- 
 somme, and selected as his observatory a narrow 
 strip of grass on the right side of the road run- 
 ning from Genappe to Brussels, and this was his 
 second station. The third station, the one he 
 took at seven in the evening, is formidable — it is 
 a rather lofty mound which still exists, and 
 behind which the guard was massed in a hollow. 
 Around this mound the balls ricochetted on the 
 pavement of the road and reached Napoleon. As 
 at Brienne, he had round his head the whistle of 
 bullets and canister. Almost at the spot where 
 his horse's hoofs stood, cannon-balls, old sabre- 
 blades, and shapeless rust-eaten projectiles, scabra 
 titbighic, have been picked up ; a few years ago a 
 live shell was dug up, the fuse of which had 
 broken off. It was at this station that the em- 
 peror said to his guide, Eacoste, a hostile, timid 
 peasant, who was fastened to a hussar's saddle, 
 and tried at each volley of canister to hide behind 
 Napoleon, " You ass, it is shameful ; you will be 
 killed in the back." The person who is writing 
 these lines himself found, while digging up the 
 sand in the friable slope of this mound, the re- 
 mains of a shell rotted by the oxide of forty-six 
 years, and pieces of iron which broke like sticks 
 of barley-sugar between his fingers. 
 
 Everybody is aware that the undulations of 
 the plains on which the encounter between Na- 
 poleon and Wellington took place, are no longer 
 as they were on June iS, 1815. On taking 
 

 
 ti 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 .a 
 
 1- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 "J 
 
 
 etl 
 
 
 o 
 rn 
 
 J" 1 
 
 aJ 
 
 - 
 
 fj 
 
 flj 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 to 
 
 'X 
 
 as 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 fan 
 
 a 
 
 
 
 £ 
 
 
 11 J 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 tS 
 
 ,C 
 
 « 
 
 
 g 
 
 u 
 
 ;. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 U 
 
 T3 
 
 
 i3 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 tG 
 
 .y 
 
 p 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 <U 
 
 br 
 
 n 
 
 
 
 
 
 hn 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 o 
 
 u; 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 s 
 
 ~ 
 
 rt 
 
 
 Zl 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 nj 
 
 
 
 
 § 
 
 
 W 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ri 
 
 u 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 
 
 Jl 
 
 i- 
 
 i- 
 
 < 
 
 
 
 j 
 
 
 
 bo 
 
 £ 
 
 aj 
 
 be 
 
 aj 
 
 * 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 TJ 
 
 S 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 rt 
 
 ^> 
 
 
 
 to 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 be 
 
 u 
 
 "P 
 
 o 
 
 rt 
 
 ! p 
 
 
 g 
 
 hr 
 
 
 
 ni 
 
 n 
 
 J ; 
 
 -*- 1 
 
 ■ftj 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 « 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 *3 
 
 (fj 
 
 >* 
 
 hj 
 
 j- 
 
 o 
 
 p 
 
 bo 
 
 u 
 
 <U 
 
 rt 
 
 « 
 
 .W 
 
 
 - 
 
 Ti 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 a 
 
 ? 
 
 § 
 
 
 ci 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 <L» 
 
 - 
 
 s 
 
 be 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 < 
 
 .£ 
 
 'J 
 
 13 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 4 
 
 
 ■ t 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 be 
 
 •tn 
 
 as 
 
 s 
 
 (104) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 105 
 
 from this mournful plain the material to make a 
 monument, it was deprived of its real relics, and 
 history, disconcerted, no longer recognizes itself; 
 in order to glorify, they disfigured. Wellington, 
 on seeing Waterloo two years after, exclaimed, 
 " My battle-field has been altered ! " Where the 
 hugh pyramid of earth surmounted by a lion now 
 stands, there was a crest which on the side of the 
 Nivelles road had a practicable ascent, but which 
 on the side of the Genappe road was almost an 
 escarpment. The elevation of this escarpment 
 may still be imagined by the height of the 
 two great tombs which skirt the road from 
 Genappe to Brussels ; the English tomb 
 on the left, the German tomb on the right. 
 There is no French tomb — for France, the whole 
 plain is a sepulchre. Through the thousands of 
 cart-loads of earth employed in erecting the 
 mound, which is one hundred and fifty feet high 
 and half a mile in circumference, the plateau on 
 Mont St. Jean is now accessible by a gentle incline, 
 but on the day of the battle, and especially on the 
 side of La Have Sainte, it was steep and abrupt. 
 The incline was so sharp that the English gun- 
 ners could not see beneath them the farm situated 
 in the bottom of the valley, which was the centre 
 of the fight. On June iS, 1815, the rain had ren- 
 dered the steep road more difficult, and the troops 
 not only had to climb up, but slipped in the mud. 
 Along the centre of the crest of the plateau ran a 
 species of ditch, which it was impossible for a 
 distant observer to guess. 
 
 We will state what this ditch was. Braine 
 1' Alleud is a Belgian village and Ohain is another ; 
 these villages, both concealed in hollows, are con- 
 nected by a road about a league and a half in 
 length, which traverses an undulating plain, and 
 frequently buries itself between hills, so as to be- 
 come at certain spots a ravine. In 18 15, as to- 
 day, this road crossed the crest of the plateau of 
 Mont St. Jean, but at the present day it is level 
 with the ground, while at that time it was a hol- 
 low way. The two slopes have been carried away 
 to form the monumental mound. This road was, 
 and still is, a trench for the greater part of the 
 distance : a hollow trench, in some places twelve 
 fee; deep, whose scarped sides were washed down 
 here and there by the winter rains. Accidents oc- 
 curred there ; the road was so narrow where it en- 
 tered Braine 1' Alleud, that a wayfarer was crushed 
 there by a wagon, as is proved by a stone cross 
 
 standing near the graveyard, which gives the name 
 of the dead man as " Monsieur Bernard Debrye, 
 trader of Brussels, and the date, February, 
 1637." It was so deep on the plateau of Mont St. 
 Jean, that a peasant, one Mathieu Nicaise, was 
 crushed there in 1 783 by a fall of earth, as is proved 
 by another stone cross, the top of which disap- 
 peared in the excavation, but whose overthrown 
 pedestal is still visible on the grass slope to the 
 left of the road between La Haye Sainte and the 
 farm of Mont St. Jean. 
 
 On the day of the battle, this hollow waj', 
 whose existence nothing revealed, a trench on the 
 top of the escarpment, a rut hidden in the earth, 
 was invisible, that is to say, terrible. 
 
 The Emperor asks the Guide a Question. 
 
 On the morning of Waterloo, then, Napoleon 
 was cheerful. He had reason to be so, for the 
 plan he had drawn up was admirable. 
 
 Once the battle had begun, its various inci- 
 dents, the resistance of Hougoumont ; the tenacity 
 of La Haye Sainte ; Bauduin killed and Foy 
 placed hors de combat; the unexpected wall 
 against which Soye's brigade was broken ; the 
 fatal stupidity of Guilleminot, who had no pe- 
 tards or powder-bags to destroy the farm gates ; 
 the sticking of the artillery in the mud ; the fif- 
 teen guns without escort captured by Uxbridge 
 in a hollow way ; the slight effect of the shells 
 falling in the English lines, which buried them- 
 selves in the moistened ground, and only produced 
 a volcano of mud, so that the troops were merely 
 plastered with mud ; the inutility of Piret's 
 demonstration on Braine 1' Alleud, and the whole 
 of its cavalry, fifteen squadrons, almost annihi- 
 lated ; the English right hut slightly disquieted 
 and the left poorly attacked ; Ney's strange mis- 
 take in massing instead of echelonning the four 
 divisions of the first corps ; a depth of twenty- 
 seven ranks and a line of two hundred men 
 given up in this way to the canister ; the frightful 
 gaps made by the cannon-balls in these masses ; 
 the attacking columns disunited ; the oblique 
 battery suddenly unmasked on their flank ; Bour- 
 geois, Donzelot, and Burette in danger ; Quiot 
 repulsed ; Lieutenant Yiot, that Hercules who 
 came from the polytechnic school, wounded at 
 the moment when he was beating in with an axe 
 the gates of La Haye Sainte, under the plunging 
 fire of the English barricade on the Genappe 
 road ; Marcognet's division caught between in- 
 
106 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 fantry and cavalry, shot down from the wheat by 
 Best and Pack, and sabred by Ponsonby ; its 
 batten- of seven guns spiked ; the Prince of Saxe 
 Weimar holding and keeping, in defiance of 
 Count d'Erlon, Frischemont and Smohain ; the 
 flags of the 105th and 45th regiments captured ; 
 the Prussian black Hussar arrested by the scouts 
 of the flying column of three hundred chasseurs, 
 
 turbed his glance or cast a gloom over his impe- 
 rial face. Napoleon was accustomed to look 
 steadily at war ; he never reckoned up the poig- 
 nant details ; he cared little for figures, provided 
 that the}- gave him the total — victors-. If the com- 
 mencement went wrong, he did not alarm him- 
 self, as he believed himself master and owner of 
 the end ; he knew how to wait, and treated Des- 
 
 THE DEAD TRUMPETER BEFORE HOl'GOUMONT. 
 
 who were beating the country between Wavre 
 and Plancenoit ; the alarming things which this 
 man said ; Grouchy' s delay ; the fifteen hundred 
 men killed in less than an hour in the orchard 
 of Hougoumont ; the eighteen hundred laid low 
 even in a shorter space of time round La Have 
 Sainte; all these stormy incidents, passing like 
 battle-clouds before Napoleon, had scarce dis- 
 
 tiny as an equal. He seemed to saj' to Fate, 
 " You would not dare." One-half light, one-half 
 shade. Napoleon felt himself protected in good 
 and tolerated in evil. There was, or he fancied 
 there was, for him a connivance, we might say, 
 almost a complicity, on the part of events, equiva- 
 lent to the ancient invulnerability. 
 
 Yet, when a man has behind him the Beresina, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 107 
 
 Leipzig, and Fontainebleau, it seems as if he 
 could be distrustful of Waterloo. A mysterious 
 frown becomes visible on the face of heaven. 
 
 At the moment when Wellington retrograded, 
 Napoleon quivered. He suddenly saw the plateau 
 of Mont St. Jean deserted, and the front of the 
 English army disappear. It was rallying, but 
 was out of sight. 
 
 The emperor half raised himself in his stirrups, 
 and the flash of victory passed into his eyes. If 
 Wellington were driven back into the forest of 
 Soignies and destroyed, it would be the definitive 
 overthrow of England by France. It would be 
 Crecy, Poictiers, Malplaquet, and Ramillies 
 avenged ; the man of Marengo would erase 
 Agincourt. 
 
 The emperor, while meditating on this tremen- 
 dous denouement, turned his telescope to all parts 
 of the battle-field. His Guards, standing at ease 
 behind him, gazed at him with a sort of religious 
 awe. He was reflecting, he examined the slopes, 
 noted the inclines, scrutinized the clumps of 
 trees, the patches of barley, and the paths ; he 
 seemed to be counting every tuft of gorse. He 
 looked with some fixity at the English barricades, 
 two large masses of felled trees, the one on the 
 Genappe road defended by two guns, the only 
 ones of all the English artillery' which com- 
 manded the battle-field, and the one on the 
 Nivelles road, behind which flashed the Dutch 
 bayonets of Chasse's brigade. He remarked 
 near this barricade the old chapel of St. Nicholas, 
 which is at the corner of the cross-road leading 
 to Braine l'Alleud. He bent down and spoke in 
 a low voice to the guide Lacoste. The guide 
 shook his head with a probably perfidious negative. 
 
 The emperor drew himself up and reflected. 
 
 Wellington was retiring. 
 
 All that was needed now was to complete this 
 retreat by an overthrow. 
 
 Napoleon hurriedly turned and sent off a mes- 
 senger at full speed to Paris to announce that the 
 battle was gained. 
 
 Napoleon was one of the geniuses from whom 
 thunder issues. He had just found his thunder- 
 stroke. 
 
 He gave Milhaud's cuirassiers orders to carry 
 the plateau of Mont. St. Jean. 
 
 A Surprise. 
 
 They were three thousand five hundred in 
 number, and formed a front a quarter of a league 
 
 in length ; they were gigantic men mounted on 
 colossal horses. They formed twenty-six squad- 
 rons, and had behind them as a support, Eefebvre 
 Desnouette's division, composed of the one hun- 
 dred and sixty gendarmes, the chasseurs of the 
 Guard, eleven hundred and ninety-seven sabres, 
 and the lancers of the Guard, eight hundred and 
 eighty lances. They wore a helmet without a 
 plume, and a cuirass of wrought steel, and were 
 armed with pistols and a straight sabre. In the 
 morning the whole army had admired them when 
 they came up at nine o'clock with bugles sound- 
 ing, while all the bands played " Veillous au salut 
 de 1' Empire." inclose column with one battery 
 on their flank, the others in their centre, and de- 
 ployed in two ranks, and took their place in that 
 powerful second line, so skilfully formed by 
 Napoleon, which, having at its extreme left Kel- 
 lerman's cuirassiers, and on its extreme right 
 Milhaud's cuirassiers, seemed to be endowed with 
 two wings of steel. 
 
 The aide-de-camp, Bernard, carried to them the 
 emperor's order. Ney drew his sabre and placed 
 himself at their head, and the mighty squadron 
 started. 
 
 Then a formidable spectacle was seen. 
 
 The whole of this cavalry, with raised sabres, 
 with standards flying, and formed in columns of 
 division, descended with one movement and as 
 one man, with the precision of a bronze battering- 
 ram opening a breach, the hill of the Belle Alli- 
 ance. They entered the formidable valley in 
 which so many men had already fallen, disap- 
 peared in the smoke, and then, emerging from the 
 gloom, re-appeared on the other side of the valley, 
 still in a close, compact column, mounting at a trot, 
 under a tremendous canister fire, the frightful 
 muddy incline of the plateau of Mont. St. Jean. 
 They ascended it, stern, threatening, and imper- 
 turbable ; between the breaks in the artillery and 
 musketry fire, the colossal tramp could be heard. 
 As they formed two divisions, they were in two 
 columns: Wathier's division was on the right, 
 Delord's on the left. One seemed to see from a 
 distance two immense steel snakes crawling to- 
 ward the crest of the plateau ; they had traversed 
 the battle-field like a flash. 
 
 Nothing like it had been seen since the capture 
 of the great redoubt of the Moskova by the 
 heavy cavalry ; Murat was missing, but Ney was 
 there. It seemed as if this mass had become a 
 
108 
 
 THE WONDERFUL. THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 monster, and had but one soul : each squadron 
 undulated and swelled like the rings of a polyp. 
 This could be seen through a vast smoke which 
 was rent asunder at intervals ; it was a pell-mell 
 of helmets, shouts, and sabres, a stormy bound- 
 ing of horses among camion, and a disciplined 
 and terrible array : while above it all flashed the 
 cuirasses like the scales of the dragon. 
 
 It was a curious numerical coincidence that 
 twenty-six battalions were preparing to receive 
 the charge of these twenty-six squadrons. 
 Behind the crest of the plateau, in the shadow of 
 the masked battery, thirteen English squares, 
 each of two battalions and formed two deep, with 
 seven men in the first lines and six in the second, 
 were waiting, calm, dumb, and motionless, with 
 their muskets, for what was coming. They did 
 not see the cuirassiers, and the cuirassiers did not 
 see them ; they merely heard this tide of men as- 
 cending. The}- heard the swelling sound of three 
 thousand horses, the alternating and symmetrical 
 sound of the hoof, the clang of the cuirasses, the 
 clash of the sabres, and a species of great and 
 formidable breathing. There was a long, a terrible 
 silence, and then a long file of raised arms bran- 
 dishing sabres and helmets, and bugles and stan- 
 dards, and three thousand heads with great mus- 
 taches, shouting, " Long live the emperor ! " ap- 
 peared above the crest. The whole of this cavalry 
 debouched on the plateau, and it was like the 
 commencement of an earthquake. 
 
 All at once, terrible to relate, the head of the 
 column of cuirassiers facing the English left, 
 reared with a fearful clamor. On reaching the 
 culminating point of the crest, furious and eager 
 to make their exterminating dash on the English 
 squares and guns, the cuirassiers noticed between 
 them and the English a trench — a grave. It was 
 the hollow road of Ohain. 
 
 It was a frightful moment — the ravine was 
 there, unexpected, yawning, almost precipitous, 
 beneath the horses' feet, and with a depth of 
 twelve feet between its two sides. The second 
 rank thrust the first into the abyss ; the horses 
 reared, fell back, slipped with all four feet in the 
 air. crushing and throwing their riders. There 
 was no means of escaping ; the entire column was 
 one huge projectile. The force acquired to crush 
 the English crushed the French, and the inexor- 
 able ravine would not yield till it was filled up. 
 Men and horses rolled into it pell-mell, crushing 
 
 each other, and making one huge charnel-house 
 of the gulf, and when this grave was full of living 
 men the rest passed over them. Nearly one-third 
 of Dubois's men rolled into the abyss. 
 
 This commenced the loss of the battle. 
 
 A local tradition, which evidently exaggerates, 
 says that two thousand horses and fifteen hundred 
 men were buried in the hollow-way of Ohain. 
 These figures probably comprised the other 
 corpses cast into the ravine on the da}- after the 
 battle. 
 
 Let us note in passing that in this brigade 
 Dubois was the one who, charging alone, an hour 
 before, had taken the Hanoverian standard. 
 
 Napoleon, before ordering this charge, had sur- 
 veyed the ground, but had been unable to see this 
 hollow-way, which did not form even a ripple on 
 the crest of the plateau. Warned, however, By 
 the little white chapel which marked its juncture 
 with the Nevilles road, he had asked Lacoste a 
 question, probably as to whether there was any 
 obstacle. The guide answered no, and we might 
 say almost that Napoleon's catastrophe was 
 brought about by the peasant's shake of the head. 
 
 Other fatalities were yet to arise. 
 
 Was it possible for Napoleon to win the battle ? 
 We answer in the negative. Why ? On account 
 of Wellington? on account of Blucher ? No ; on 
 account of God. 
 
 Bonaparte, victor at Waterloo, did not har- 
 monize with the law of the nineteenth century. 
 Another series of facts was preparing, in which 
 Napoleon no longer had a place ; the ill-will of 
 events had been displayed long previously. 
 
 It was time for this vast man to fall. 
 
 His excessive weight in human destiny dis- 
 turbed the balance. This individual alone was 
 of more account than the universal group ; such 
 plethoras of human vitality concentrated in a 
 single head — the world mounting to one man's 
 brain — would be mortal to civilization if they 
 endured. The moment had arrived for the incor- 
 ruptible supreme equity to reflect, and it is prob- 
 able that the principles and elements on which 
 the regular gravitations of the moral order as of 
 the material order depend, complained. Stream- 
 ing blood, overcrowded grave-yards, mothers in 
 tears, are formidable pleaders. When the earth 
 is suffering from an excessive burden, there are 
 mysterious groans from the shadow, which the 
 abvss hears. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 100 
 
 Napoleon had been denounced in infinitude, 
 and his fall was decided. 
 
 He annoyed God. 
 
 Waterloo is not a battle, but a transformation 
 of the universe. 
 
 The Plateau of Mont St. Jean. 
 
 The battery was unmasked simultaneously with 
 the ravine. Sixty guns and thirteen squares 
 thundered at the cuirassiers at point-blank range. 
 The intrepid General Delord gave a military 
 salute to the English battery. 
 
 The whole of the English field artillery had 
 entered the squares at a gallop ; the cuirassiers 
 had not even a moment for reflection. The disas- 
 ter of the hollow way had decimated but not dis- 
 couraged them, the}' were of that nature of 
 men whose hearts grow large when their number 
 is diminished. 
 
 Wathier's column alone suffered in the disaster ; 
 but Delord's column, which he had ordered to 
 wheel to the left, as if he suspected the trap, 
 arrived entire. 
 
 The cuirassiers rushed at the English squares 
 at full gallop, with hanging bridles, sabres in 
 their mouths, and pistols in their hands. 
 
 There are moments in a battle when the soul 
 hardens a man, so that it changes the soldier 
 into a statue, and all flesh becomes granite. The 
 English battalions, though fiercely assailed, did 
 not move. 
 
 Then th_re was a frightful scene. 
 
 All the faces of the English squares were at- 
 tacked simultaneously, and a frenzied whirl sur- 
 rounded them. But the cold infantry remained 
 impassive ; the front rank, kneeling, received the 
 cuirassiers on their bayonets, while the second fired 
 at them ; behind the second rank the artillerymen 
 loaded their guns, the front of the square opened 
 to let an eruption of canister pass, and then 
 closed again. The cuirassiers responded by at- 
 tempts to crush their foe ; their great horses 
 reared, leaped over the bayonets, and landed in 
 the centre of the four living walls. The cannon 
 balls made gaps in the cuirassiers, and the cuiras- 
 siers made breaches in the squares. Files of men 
 disappeared, trampled down by the horses, and 
 bayonets were buried in the entrails of these cen- 
 taurs. Hence arose horrible wounds, such as 
 were probably never seen elsewhere. The 
 squares, where broken by the impetuous cavalry, 
 contracted without yielding an inch of ground ; 
 
 inexhaustible in canister, they produced an ex- 
 plosion in the midst of the assailants. The aspect 
 of this combat was monstrous ; these squares 
 were no longer battalions, but craters ; these 
 cuirassiers were no longer cavalry, but a tempest, 
 each square was a volcano attacked by a storm ; 
 the lava combated the lightning. 
 
 The extreme right square, the most exposed of 
 all, as it was in the air, was nearly annihilated in 
 the first attack. It was formed of the 75th High- 
 landers ; the piper in the centre, while his com- 
 rades were being exterminated around him, was 
 seated on a drum, with his bagpipe under his 
 arm, and playing mountain airs. These Scotch- 
 men died, thinking of Ben Lothian, as the 
 Greeks did, remembering Argos. A cuirassier's 
 sabre, by cutting through the pipe and the arm 
 that held it, had stopped the tune by killing the 
 player. 
 
 The cuirassiers, relatively few in number, and 
 reduced by the catastrophe of the ravine, had 
 against them nearly the whole English army ; 
 but the}- multiplied themselves, and each man 
 was worth ten. Some Hanoverian battalions, 
 however, gave way ; Wellington saw it, and 
 thought of his cavalry. Had Napoleon at this 
 minute thought of his infantry, the battle would 
 have been won, and this forgetfulness was his 
 great and fatal fault. 
 
 All at once the assailers found themselves as- 
 sailed ; the English cavalry were on their backs, 
 before them the squares, behind them Somerset 
 with the one thousand four hundred dragoon 
 guards. Somerset had on his right Doruberg 
 with the German chevau-legers, and on his left 
 Trip with the Belgian carbineers ; the cuirassiers, 
 attacked on the flank and in front, before and 
 behind, by infantry and cavalry, were compelled 
 to make a front on all sides. But what did they 
 care? They were a whirlwind, their bravery 
 became indescribable. 
 
 In addition they had behind them the still 
 thundering battery, and it was only in such a 
 way that these men could be wounded in the 
 back. One of these cuirasses, with a hole 
 through the left scapula, is in the Waterloo 
 Museum. 
 
 For such Frenchmen, nothing less than such 
 Englishmen was required. 
 
 It was no longer a melee, it was a headlong 
 fur}-, a hurricane of flashing swords. In an in- 
 
110 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 stant the one thousand four hundred dragoons 
 were only eight hundred, and Fuller, their lieu- 
 tenant-colonel, was dead. Ney dashed up with 
 Lefebvre Desnouette's lancers and chasseurs : 
 the plateau of Mont St. Jean was taken and re- 
 taken, and taken again. The cuirassiers left the 
 cavalry to attack the infantry, or, to speak more 
 correctly, all these men collared each other and 
 did not loose their hold. 
 
 The squares still held out after twelve assaults. 
 Ney had four horses killed under him, and one- 
 half of the cuirassiers remained on the plateau. 
 This struggle lasted two hours. 
 
 The English army was profoundly shaken ; 
 and there was no doubt that, had not the cuiras- 
 siers been weakened in their attack by the disaster 
 of the hollow way, they would have broken 
 through the centre and decided the victory. This 
 extraordinary cavalry petrified Clinton, who had 
 seen Talavera and Badajoz. Wellington, three 
 parts vanquished, admired heroically ; he said in 
 a low voice, " Splendid !" 
 
 The cuirassiers annihilated seven squares out 
 of thirteen, captured or spiked sixty guns, and 
 took six English regimental flags, which three 
 cuirassiers and three chasseurs of the guard car- 
 ried to the emperor before the farm of La Belle 
 Alliance. 
 
 Wellington's situation had grown worse. This 
 strange battle resembled a fight between two 
 savage wounded men, who constantly lose their 
 blood while continuing the struggle. Which 
 would be the first to fall ? 
 
 The combat for the plateau continued. 
 
 How far did the cuirassiers get ? no one could 
 say ; but it is certain that on the day after the 
 battle a cuirassier and his horse were found dead 
 on the weighing machine of Mont St. Jean, ay 
 the very spot where the Nivelles, Genappe, La 
 Hulpe, and Brussels roads intersect each other. 
 This horseman had pierced the English lines. 
 One of the men who picked up this corpse still 
 lives at Mont St. Jean ; his name is Dehaze, and 
 he was eighteen years of age at the time. Wel- 
 lington felt himself giving way, and the crisis 
 was close at hand. 
 
 The cuirassiers had not succeeded, in the sense 
 that the English centre had not been broken. 
 Even-body held the plateau, and nobody held it ; 
 but in the end the greater portion remained in the 
 hands of the English. Wellington had the vil- 
 
 lage and the plain ; Ney, only the crest and the 
 slope. Both sides seemed to have taken root in 
 this mournful soil. 
 
 But the weakness of the English seemed ir- 
 remediable, for the hemorrhage of this army was 
 horrible. Kempt on the left wing asked for rein- 
 forcements. "There are none," Wellington re- 
 plied. Almost at the same moment, by a strange 
 coincidence which depicts the exhaustion of both 
 armies, Xey asked Napoleon for infantry, and 
 Napoleon answered, "Infantry? where does he 
 expect me to get them. Does he think I can make 
 them ?" 
 
 Still the English army was the worse off of the 
 two ; the furious attacks of these great squadrons 
 with their iron cuirasses and steel chests had 
 crushed their infantry. A few men round the 
 colors marked the place of a regiment, and some 
 battalions were only commanded by a captain or 
 lieutenant. Alten's division, ahead}' so maltreated 
 at La Have Sainte, was nearly destroyed ; the 
 intrepid Belgians of Van Kluze's brigade lav 
 amongst the wheat along the Nivelles road ; 
 hardly any were left of those Dutch Grenadiers, 
 who, in 1S11, fought Wellington in Spain, on the 
 French side, and who. in 1815, joined the Eng- 
 lish and fought Napoleon. The loss in offi- 
 cers was considerable. Lord Uxbridge, who 
 had his leg interred the next da}-, had a frac- 
 tured knee. If on the side of the French in 
 this contest of the cuirassiers Delord, 1' Here- 
 tier, Colbert, Dnop, Travers and Blancard were 
 hors de combat, on the side of the English, Alten 
 was wounded, Barnes was wounded, Delancey 
 killed, Van Meeren killed, Ompteda killed, Well- 
 ington's staff decimated — and England had the 
 heaviest scale in this balance of blood. The 
 second regiment of foot-guards had lost five lieu- 
 tenant-colonels, four captains, and three ensigns ; 
 the first battalion of the 30th had lost twenty-four 
 officers and one hundred and twelve men ; the 
 79th Highlanders had twenty-four officers 
 wounded and eighteen officers and four hundred 
 and fifty men killed. Cumberland's Hanoverian 
 Hussars, an entire regiment, having their colonel 
 Hackeat their head, who, at a later date was tried 
 and cashiered, turned bridle during the fight and 
 fled into the forest of Soignies, spreading the rout 
 as far as Brussels. The wagons, ammunition 
 trains, baggage trains and ambulance carts full 
 of wounded, on seeing the French, gave ground, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 and, approaching the forest, rushed into it ; the 
 Dutch, sabred by the French cavalry, broke in 
 confusion. From Vert Coucou to Groenendael, a 
 distance of two leagues on the Brussels roads, 
 there was, according to the testimony of living 
 witnesses, a dense crowd of fugitives, and the 
 panic was so great that it assailed the Prince de 
 Conde at Mechlin and Louis XYIII. at Ghent. 
 With the exception of the weak reserve eche- 
 lonned behind the field hospital establishment 
 at the farm of Mont St. Jean, and Vivian's and 
 Vandeleur's brigades, which flanked the leftwing, 
 Wellington had no cavalry left, and many of the 
 guns la}' dismounted. These facts are confessed 
 by Siborne, and Pringle, exaggerating the dan- 
 ger, goes so far as to state the Anglo-Dutch army- 
 was reduced to thirty-four thousand men. The 
 Iron Duke remained firm, but his lips blanched. 
 The Austrian commissioner Vincent, and the 
 Spanish commissioner Alava, who were present at 
 the battle, thought the Duke, lost ; at five o'clock 
 Wellington looked at his watch, and could be 
 heard muttering, " Blucher or night." 
 
 It was at this moment that a distant line of 
 bayonets glistened on the heights on the side of 
 Frischemont. 
 
 This was the climax of the gigantic drama. 
 
 Bulow to the Rescue. 
 
 Everybody knows Napoleon's awful mistake ; 
 Grouchy expected ; Blucher coming up ; death 
 instead of life. Destiny has such turnings as 
 this ; men expect the throne of the world, and 
 perceive St. Helena. 
 
 If the little shepherd who served as guide to 
 Bulow, Blucher's lieutenant, had advised him to 
 debouche from the forest above Frischemont, in- 
 stead of below Plancenoit, the form of the nine- 
 teenth century would have been different; for 
 Napoleon would have won the battle of Waterloo. 
 By any other road than that below Plancenoit the 
 Prussian army would have come upon a ravine 
 impassable by artillery, and Bulow would not 
 have arrived. 
 
 Now one hour's delay — the Prussian general 
 Muffling declares it — and Blucher would not have 
 found Wellington erect — "the battle was lost." 
 
 It was high time, as we see, for Bulow to arrive, 
 and as it was he had been greatly delayed. He 
 had bivouacked at Dion-le-Mont, and started at 
 daybreak, but the roads were impracticable, and 
 his division stuck in the mud. The ruts came 
 
 up to the axle-tree of the guns ; moreover, he 
 was compelled to cross the Dyle by the narrow 
 bridge of Wavre ; the street leading to the bridge 
 had been burned by the French, and the artillery 
 train and limbers, which could not pass between 
 the two rows of blazing houses, were compelled 
 to wait until the fire was extinguished. By mid- 
 day Bulow' s vanguard had scarce reached Chap- 
 elle Saint Lambert. 
 
 Had the action begun two hours sooner, it 
 would have been over at four o'clock, and 
 Blucher would have fallen upon the battle gained 
 by Napoleon. 
 
 At mid-day the emperor had been the first to 
 notice, through his telescope, on the extreme 
 horizon, something which fixed his attention, and 
 he said, " I see over there a cloud which appears 
 to me to be troops. ' ' Then he asked the Duke 
 of Dalmatia, ' ' Soult, what do you see in the 
 direction of Chapelle Saint Lambert ? " The mar- 
 shal, after looking through his telescope, replied, 
 " Four or five thousand men, sire." It was evi- 
 dently Grouchy, still they remained motionless in 
 the mist. All the staff examined the cloud 
 pointed out by the emperor, and some said, 
 "They are columns halting," but the majority 
 were of opinion that they were trees. The truth 
 is that the cloud did not move, and the emperor 
 detached Domon's division of light cavalry to 
 reconnoitre in the direction of this dark point. 
 
 Bulow, in fact, had not stirred, for his vanguard 
 was very weak and could effect nothing. He was 
 obliged to wait for the main body of the army, 
 and had orders to concentrate his troops before 
 forming line; but at five o'clock, Blucher, seeing 
 Wellington's clanger, ordered Bulow to attack, 
 and employed the remarkable phrase, ' ' We must 
 let the English army breathe." 
 
 A short time after, Losthin's, Hiller's, Hacke's 
 and Ryssel's brigades deployed in front of Lobau's 
 corps, the cavalry of Prince William of Prussia 
 debouched from the Bois de Paris, Plancenoit 
 was in flames, and the Prussian cannon-balls 
 began pouring even upon the ranks of the guard 
 held in reserve behind Napoleon. 
 
 The Guard. 
 
 The rest is known — the irruption of a third 
 army ; the battle dislocated ; eighty-six cannon 
 thundering simultaneously ; Pirch I. coming up 
 with Bulow; Ziethen's cavalry led by Blucher in 
 person ; the French driven back ; Marcognet 
 
112 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 swept from the plateau of Ohain ; Durette dis- 
 lodged from Papelotte ; Donzelot and Ouiot fall- 
 ing back ; Lobau attacked on the flank ; a new 
 battle rushing at nightfall on the weakened French 
 regiments ; the whole English line resuming the 
 offensive and pushed forward ; the gigantic gap 
 made in the French army by the combined 
 English and Prussian batteries ; the extermina- 
 tion, the disaster in front, the disaster on the 
 flank, and the guard forming line amid this 
 fearful convulsion. 
 
 As they felt they were going to death, they 
 shouted, " Long live the emperor ! " History has 
 nothing more striking than this death-rattle 
 breaking out into acclamations. 
 
 The sky had been covered the whole day, but 
 at this very moment, eight o'clock in the evening, 
 the clouds parted in the horizon, and the sinister 
 red glow of the setting sun was visible through 
 the elms on the Xivelles road. It had been seen 
 to rise at Austerlitz. 
 
 Each battalion of the guard, for this denoue- 
 me?it, was commanded by a general. Friant, 
 Michel, Roguer, Harlot, Mallet, and Poret de 
 Morvau were there. When the tall bear-skins of 
 the grenadiers of the guard with the large eagle 
 device appeared, symmetrical in line and calm, in 
 the twilight of this fight, the enemy felt a respect 
 for France ; they fancied they saw twenty victories 
 entering the battle-field with outstretched wings, 
 and the men who were victors, esteeming them- 
 selves vanquished, fell back ; but Wellington 
 shouted, "Up, guards, and take steady aim." 
 The red regiment of English guards, which had 
 been lying down behind the hedges, rose ; a storm 
 of canister rent the tricolor flag waving above the 
 heads of the French ; all rushed forward, and the 
 supreme carnage commenced. The imperial 
 guard felt in the darkness the arm}- giving way 
 round them, and the vast staggering of the rout; 
 they heard the cry of "Sauve qui peut !" substi- 
 tuted for the "Vive l'empereur ! " and with flight 
 behind them they continued to advance, hundreds 
 falling at every step they took. Xone hesitated 
 or evinced timidity ; the privates were as heroic as 
 the generals, and not one attempted to escape 
 suicide. 
 
 Xey, wild and grand in the consciousness of ac- 
 cepted death, offered himself to every blow in this 
 combat. He had his fifth horse killed under him 
 here. Bathed in perspiration, with a flame in his 
 
 eye and foam on his lips, his uniform unbuttoned, 
 one of his epaulettes half cut through by the 
 sabre-cut of a horse-guard, and his decoration of 
 the great eagle dinted by a bullet — bleeding, 
 muddy, magnificent, and holding a broken sword 
 in his hand, he shouted, "Come and see how a 
 marshal of France dies on the battlefield I ' ' But 
 it was in vain — he did not die. He was haggard 
 and indignant, and hurled at Drouet d'Erlon the 
 question, "Are you not going to get yourself 
 killed?" He yelled amid the roar of all this 
 artillery, crushing a handful of men, " Oh ! there 
 is nothing for me ! I should like all these English 
 cannon-balls to enter my chest ! ' ' You were re- 
 served for French bullets, unfortunate man. 
 
 The Catastrophe. 
 
 The rout in the rear of the guard was mournful. 
 The army suddenly gave way on all sides simul- 
 taneously at Hougoumont, La Have Sainte, Pape- 
 lotte, and Plancenoit. The cry of "treachery" 
 was followed by that of " Sauve qui peut I " An 
 army which disbands is like a thaw — all gives 
 way, cracks, rolls, floats, falls, comes into collision, 
 and dashes forward. Ney borrows a horse, leaps on 
 it, and without hat, stock, or sword dashes across 
 the Brussels road, stopping at once English and 
 French. He tries to hold back the arm}', he re- 
 calls it, he insults it, he clings wildly to the rout 
 to hold it back. The soldiers fly from him, 
 shouting, "Long live Marshal Xey!" Two 
 regiments of Durutte's move backward and for- 
 ward in terror, and, as it were, tossed between 
 the sabres of the Hussars and musketry fire of 
 Kempt's, Best's, and Pack's brigades. A rout is 
 the highest of all confusions, for friends kill each 
 other in order to escape, and squadrons and bat- 
 talions dash against and destroy each other. 
 Lobau at one extremity and Reille at the other 
 are carried away by the torrent. In vain does 
 Xapoleon build a wall of what is left of the 
 guard ; in vain does he expend the squadrons of 
 his body-guard in a final effort. Ouiot retires 
 before Vivian, Kellerman before Vandeleur, 
 Lobau before Bulow, Moraud before Pirch, and 
 Domon and Subervic before Prince William of 
 Prussia. Guyot, who led the emperor's squadron, 
 to the charge, falls beneath the horses of English 
 dragoons. Xapoleon gallops along the line of 
 fugitives, harangues, urges, threatens, and im- 
 plores them : all the mouths that shouted ' ' Long 
 live the emperor" in the morning, remained wide 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 113 
 
 open ; the}- hardly knew him. The Prussian cav- each other and trample over the dead and over 
 
 airy, who had come up fresh, dash forward, cut the living. A multitude, wild with terror, fill the 
 
 down, kill, and exterminate. The artillery horses roads, the paths, the bridges, the plains, the hills, 
 
 dashed forward with the guns ; the train soldiers the valleys, and the woods, which are thronged by 
 
 ONI? OF BLUCHER'S FORAGERS. 
 
 unharness the horses from the caissons and escape this flight of forty thousand men. Cries, desper- 
 
 on them ; wagons overthrown, and with their ation ; knapsacks and muskets cast into the 
 
 four wheels in the air, block up the road and wheat ; passages cut with the edge of the sabres ; 
 
 supply opportunities for massacre. Men crush no comrades, no officers, no generals recognized— 
 8 
 
Ill 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 an indescribable terror. Zeithen sabreing France 
 at his ease. The lions become kids. Such was 
 this fright. 
 
 At Genappe an effort was made to turn and 
 rally ; L,obau collected three hundred men ; the 
 entrance of the village was barricaded, but at the 
 first round of Prussian canister all began flying 
 again, and Lobau was made prisoner. This vol- 
 ley may still be seen, buried in the gable of an old 
 
 the doorway of an inn in Genappe, surrendered 
 his sword to an hussar of death, who took the 
 sword and killed the prisoner. The victory was 
 completed by the assassination of the vanquished. 
 Let us punish, as we are writing history, — old 
 Blucher dishonored himself. This ferocity set 
 the seal on the disaster ; the desperate rout passed 
 through Genappe, passed through Quatre Bras, 
 passed through Sombreffe, passed through 
 
 THE NIGHT AFTER WATERLOO. 
 
 brick house on the right of the road, before you 
 reach Genappe. The Prussians dashed into Ge- 
 nappe, doubtless furious at beingsuch small victors, 
 and the pursuit was monstrous, for Blucher com- 
 manded extermination. Roguet had given the 
 mournful example of threatening with death any 
 French grenadier who brought in a Prussian pris- 
 oner, and Blucher surpassed Roguet. Duchesne, 
 general of the young guard, who was pursued into 
 
 Frasnes, passed through Thuin, passed through 
 Charleroi, and only stopped at the frontier. Alas ! 
 and who was it flying in this way ? The grand 
 army. 
 
 Did this vertigo, this terror, this overthrow of 
 the greatest bravery that ever astonished history, 
 take place without a cause ? No. The shadow 
 of a mighty right hand is cast over Waterloo ; 
 it is the day of destiny, and the force which is 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 115 
 
 above man produced that da} 1 . Hence the terror, 
 hence all those great souls laying down their 
 swords. Those who had conquered Europe fell 
 crushed, having nothing more to say or do, and 
 feeling a terrible presence in the shadow. Hoc 
 erat in fatis. On that day the perspective of the 
 human race was changed, and Waterloo is the 
 hinge of the nineteenth century. The disappear- 
 ance of the Great Man was necessary for the ad- 
 vent of the Great Age, and He who cannot be 
 answered undertook the task. The panic of the 
 heroes admits of explanation ; in the battle of 
 Waterloo there is more than a storm — there is a 
 meteor. 
 
 At nightfall, Bernard and Bertrand seized by 
 the skirt of his coat, in a field near Genappe, a 
 haggard, thoughtful, gloomy man, who, carried 
 so far by the current of the rout, had just dis- 
 mounted, passed the bridle over his arm, and was 
 now, with wandering eye, returning alone to 
 Waterloo. It was Napoleon, the immense som- 
 nambulist of the shattered dream still striving to 
 advance. 
 
 SOME OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S PECULIARI- 
 TIES. 
 
 THE great queen passionately admired hand- 
 some persons, and he was already far ad- 
 vanced in her favor who approached her 
 with beauty and grace. She had so unconquer- 
 able an aversion for ugly and ill-made men, 
 who had been treated unfortunately by nature, 
 that she could not endure their presence. 
 
 When she issued from her palace, her guards 
 were careful to disperse from before her eyes 
 hideous and deformed people, the lame, the hunch- 
 backed, etc. ; in a word, all those whose appear- 
 ance might shock her fastidious sensations. 
 
 There is this, singular and admirable in the 
 conduct of Elizabeth, that she made her pleasure 
 subservient to her politics, and she maintained her 
 affairs by what in general occasioned the ruin of 
 princes. So secret were her amours that even to 
 the present day their mysteries cannot be pene- 
 trated ; but the utility she drew from them is 
 public, and always operated for the good of her 
 people. Her lovers were her ministers, and her 
 ministers were her lovers. Dove commanded, love 
 was obeyed ; and the reign of this princess was 
 happy, because it was a reign of Love, in which 
 its chains and its slaver}- are linked ! 
 
 The origin of Raleigh's advancement in the 
 queen's graces, was by an act of gallantry. Ra- 
 leigh spoiled a new plush cloak, while the queen, 
 stepping cautiously on it, shot forth a smile, in 
 which he read promotion. Captain Raleigh soon 
 became Sir Walter, and rapidly advanced in the 
 queen's favor. 
 
 Hume has furnished us with ample proofs of 
 the passion which her courtiers feigned for her, and 
 which, with others, confirm the opinion of Vig- 
 neul Marville, who did not know probably the 
 reason why her amours were never discovered ; 
 which, indeed, never went further at the highest 
 than boisterous or extreme gallantry. Hume has 
 preserved in his notes a letter written by Raleigh. 
 It is a perfect amorous composition. After having 
 exerted his poetic talents to exalt her charms and his 
 affection, he concludes by comparing her majes- 
 ty, who was then sixty, to Venus and Diana. Sir 
 Walter was not her only courtier who wrote in this 
 style. Even in her old age she affected a strange 
 fondness for music and dancing, and a kind of 
 childish drollery, by which, however, her court 
 seemed a court of love, and she the sovereign. 
 A curious anecdote in a letter of the times has 
 reached us. Secretary Cecil, the youngest son of 
 Lord Burleigh, seems to have perfectly entered 
 into her character. Eady Derby wore about her 
 neck and in her bosom a portrait ; the queen 
 espying it, inquired about it, but her ladyship was 
 anxious to conceal it. The queen insisted on having 
 it, and discovering it to be the portrait of young 
 Cecil, she snatched it away, and tying it upon her 
 shoe, walked along with it ; afterwards she pinned 
 it on her elbow, and wore it some time there. Secre- 
 tary Cecil hearing of this composed some verses 
 and got them set to music ; this music the queen 
 insisted on hearing. In his verses Cecil sang that 
 he repined not, though her majesty was pleased to 
 grace others; he contented himself with the favor 
 she had given him, by wearing his portrait on her 
 feet and her elbow ! The writer of the letter adds, 
 ' ' All these things are very secret. In this man- 
 ner she contrived to lay the fastest hold on her 
 able servants, and her servants on her. ' ' 
 
 She encouraged ever}- person of eminence ; she 
 even went so far on the anniversary of her coro- 
 nation, as publicly to take a ring from her finger, 
 and put it on the Duke of Alencon's hand. She 
 also ranked among her suitors, Henry the Third 
 of France, and Henry the Great. 
 
11(3 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 She never forgave Buzenval for ridiculing her 
 bad pronunciation of the French language : and 
 when Henry IV. sent him over on an embass}-, 
 she would not receive him. So nice was the irri- 
 
 " who displayed so many heroic accomplishments, 
 had this foible, of wishing to be thought beauti- 
 ful by all the world. I heard from my father, 
 that having been sent to her, at every audience 
 
 mwmmmMtjmmmmmmM he had with her 
 
 pulled off her 
 gloves more 
 than a hundred 
 times to display 
 her hands, 
 which indeed 
 were very beau- 
 tiful and very 
 white." 
 
 "Francis, 
 Duke of Anjou, 
 being desirous 
 of marrying a 
 crowned head, 
 caused propo- 
 sals of marriage 
 to be made to 
 Elizabeth, 
 Queen of Eng- 
 land. Letters 
 passed betwixt 
 them, and their 
 portraits were 
 exchanged. At 
 length her ma- 
 jesty informed 
 him, that she 
 would never 
 contract a mar- 
 riage with any 
 one who sought 
 her, if she did 
 not first see his. 
 person. If he 
 would not come, 
 nothing more 
 should be said 
 on the subject. 
 This prince, 
 over-pressed by 
 his y o u h g 
 
 table pride of this great queen, that she made her friends, (who were as little able of judging as him- 
 
 private injuries matters of state. self), paid no attention to the counsels of men of 
 
 "The queen," writes Du Maurier, in the Me- maturer judgment. He passed over to England 
 
 moires pour servir a l Histoirc dc Hollandc, without a splendid train. The lady contemplated 
 
 OUEEN ELIZABETH CHASTISING THE INSOLENT COURTIER. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 117 
 
 his person ; she found him ugly, disfigured by deep 
 scars of the small-pox, and that he had also an 
 ill-shaped nose, with swellings in the neck ! All 
 these were so many reasons with her, that he 
 could never be admitted into her good graces. ' ' 
 
 She could be exceedingly sarcastic when the 
 humor suited her. A handsome young courtier, 
 encouraged by her natural fondness for handsome 
 people, became, one da}-, somewhat obtrusive in his 
 expressions of admiration, whereupon the queen 
 gave him a ringing box on the cheek, admonish- 
 ing him at the same time, in the vigorous Eng- 
 lish which she knew so well how to use, to keep 
 his mouth shut. 
 
 On another occasion, after her coronation, a 
 knight of the realm, who had insolently behaved 
 to her when she was only L,ady Elizabeth, fell 
 upon his knees to her, and besought her pardon, 
 expecting to be sent to the Tower ; she replied 
 mildly, ' ' Do you not know that we are descended 
 of the lion, whose nature is not to harm or prey 
 upon the mouse, or any other such small 
 vermin ? ' ' 
 
 The education of Elizabeth had been severely 
 classical ; she thought, and she wrote in all the 
 spirit of the great characters of antiquity ; and 
 her speeches and her letters are studded with 
 apophthegms, and a terseness of ideas and lan- 
 guage that give an exalted idea of her mind. In 
 her evasive answers to the Commons, in reply to 
 their petition to her majesty to marry, she has em- 
 ployed an energetic word : ' ' Were I to tell you 
 that I do not mean to marry, I might say less 
 than I intend ; and were I tell you that I do 
 mean to marry, I might say more than it is proper 
 for you to know ; therefore I give you an answer, 
 answerless ! ' ' 
 
 A RASH ADVENTURE AT THE NATURAL 
 BRIDGE OF VIRGINIA. 
 CTOME years ago a traveller recorded the fol- 
 vD lowing incident in connection with the 
 famous Natural Bridge in Virginia. It is inter- 
 esting, and at the same time of some historical 
 value : 
 
 As we stood under this beautiful arch, we saw 
 the place where visitors have often taken the 
 pains to engrave their names upon the rock. 
 Here Washington climbed up twenty-five feet, 
 and carved his own name, where it still remains. 
 Some, wishing to immortalize their names, have 
 
 engraved them deep and large, while others have 
 tried to climb up and insert them high in this 
 book of fame. 
 
 A few years since, a young man, being ambi- 
 tious to place his name above all others, came 
 very near losing his life in the attempt. After 
 much fatigue, he climbed up as high as possible, 
 but found that the person who had before occu- 
 pied his place was taller than himself, and conse- 
 quently had placed his name above his reach, but 
 he was not thus to be discouraged. He opened a 
 large jack-knife, and, in the soft limestone, began 
 to cut places for his hands and feet. With much 
 patience and difficulty, he worked his way up- 
 wards, and succeeded in carving his name higher 
 than the most ambitious had done before him. 
 He could now triumph, but his triumph was 
 short, for he was placed in such a situation that 
 it was impossible to descend unless he fell upon 
 the ragged rocks beneath him. 
 
 There was no house near, from which his com- 
 panions could get assistance. He could not long 
 remain in that condition, and, what was worse, 
 his friends were too much frightened to do any- 
 thing for his relief. They looked upon him as 
 already dead, expecting every moment to see him 
 dashed to pieces. Not so with himself. He de- 
 termined to ascend. Accordingly, he plied him- 
 self with his knife, cutting places for his hands 
 and feet, and gradually ascended, with incredible 
 labor. He exerted every muscle. His life was 
 at stake, and all the terrors of death rose before 
 him. He dared not to look downwards, lest his 
 head should become dizzy ; and perhaps on this 
 circumstance his life depended. His companions 
 stood on the top of the rock exhorting and en- 
 couraging him. His strength was almost ex- 
 hausted ; but a bare possibility of saving his life 
 still remained ; and hope, the last friend of the 
 distressed, had not forsaken him. His course 
 upwards was rather oblique than perpendicular. 
 His most critical moment had now arrived. He 
 had ascended considerably more than two hundred 
 feet, and had still further to rise, when he felt 
 himself fast growing weak. He thought of his 
 friends and all his earthly joys, and he could not 
 leave them. He thought of the grave, and dared 
 not meet it. He now made his last effort, and 
 succeeded. He had cut his way not far from two 
 hundred and fifty feet from the water, in a course 
 almost perpendicular ; and, in a little less than 
 
US 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 two hours, his anxious companions reached him 
 a pole from the top and drew him up. They 
 received him with shouts of joy : but he himself 
 was completely exhausted. He immediately 
 fainted aivaj" on reaching the top, and it was 
 some time before he recovered ! 
 
 It was interesting to see the path up these awful 
 rocks, and to follow in imagination this bold youth 
 as he thus saved his life. His name stands far 
 above all the rest, a monument of hardihood, of 
 rashness, and of follv. 
 
 JUST BEFORE THE BATTLE. 
 
 AX old soldier describes the peculiar feelings 
 usually experienced just before going into 
 battle, as follows : 
 
 It would be difficult to convey to the mind of 
 an ordinary reader anything like a correct notion 
 of the state of feeling which takes possession of a 
 man waiting for the commencement of a battle. 
 In the first place, time appears to move on leaden 
 wings ; every minute seems an hour, and even- 
 hour a day. Then there is a strange commingling 
 of levity and seriousness within him ; a levity 
 which prompts him to laugh, he knows not why, 
 and a seriousness which urges him ever and anon 
 to lift up a mental prayer to the throne of grace. 
 On such occasions, little or no conversation passes. 
 The privates generally lean on their firelocks, the 
 officers on their swords : and few words, except 
 monosyllables in reply to questions put, are spoken. 
 On these occasions, too, the faces of the bravest 
 often change their color, and the limbs of the 
 most resolute tremble, not with fear, but with 
 anxiety ; whilst watches are consulted, till the 
 individuals who consult them grow absolutely 
 weary of the employment. On the whole, it is a 
 situation of higher excitement and darker and 
 deeper agitation than any other in human life ; 
 nor can he be said to feel all that man is capable 
 of feeling, who has not felt it. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF PATRICK HENRY. 
 BY WILLIAM WIRT. 
 
 'T^OOK was a Scotchman, a man of wealth, and 
 X ) suspected of being unfriendly to the Amer- 
 ican cause. During the distresses of the American 
 army, consequent on the joint invasion of Coni- 
 wallis and Phillips, in 17S1. a Mr. Venable, an 
 armv commissary, had taken two of Hook's steers 
 
 for the use of the troops. The act had not been 
 strictly legal ; and on the establishment of peace, 
 Hook, on the advice of Mr. Cowan, a gentleman 
 of some distinction in the law, thought proper to 
 bring an action of trespass against Mr. Venable, 
 in the District Court of Xew London. Mr. 
 Henry appeared for the defendant, and is said to 
 have deported himself in this cause to the infinite 
 enjoyment of his hearers, the unfortunate Hook 
 always excepted. After Mr. Henry became ani- 
 mated in the cause, says a correspondent, he 
 appeared to have complete control over the pas- 
 sions of the audience. At one time he excited 
 their indignation against Hook — vengeance was 
 visible in every countenance. Again, when he 
 chose to relax, and ridicule him, the whole audi- 
 ence was in a roar of laughter. He painted the 
 distresses of the American army, exposed almost 
 naked to the rigor of a winter's sky, and mark- 
 ing the frozen ground over which they trod with 
 the blood of their unshod feet. ' ' Where was the 
 man, who had an American heart in his bosom, 
 who would not have thrown open his fields, his 
 barn, his cellars, the doors of his house, and the 
 portals of his breast, to have received with open 
 arms, the meanest soldier in that little band of 
 patriots ? Where is the man ? Tlicrc he stands 
 — but whatever of the heart of the American 
 beats in his bosom, you, gentlemen, are to be the 
 judge." He carried the jury, by the power of 
 his imagination, to the plains around York, the 
 surrender of which had followed shortly after the 
 act complained of. He depicted the surrender in 
 the most glowing and noble colors. The audi- 
 ence saw before their eyes the humiliation and 
 dejection of the British as they marched out of 
 their trenches. 
 
 They saw the triumph which lighted up even- 
 patriot's face, and heard the shouts of victory, 
 and the cry of " Washington and Liberty." as it 
 rung and echoed through the American ranks, 
 and was reverberated from the hills and shores of 
 the neighboring river — "But, hark! What 
 notes of discord are these which disturb the gen- 
 eral joy, and silence the acclamations of victory? 
 They are the notes of John Hook, hoarsely 
 bawling through the American camp, "Beef! 
 beef!' ' 
 
 The whole audience was convulsed. A parti- 
 cular incident will give a better idea of the effect 
 than any general description. The clerk of the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 119 
 
 court, unable to command himself, and unwilling 
 to commit any breach of decorum in his place, 
 rushed out of the court-house and threw himself 
 upon the grass, in the most violent paroxysms of 
 laughter, where he was rolling when Hook, with 
 very ditferent feelings, came out for relief in the 
 yard also. "Jemmy Steptoe," said he to the 
 clerk, "what the devil ails ye, mon?" Mr. Step- 
 toe could only say that he could not help it. 
 "Never mind ye," said Hook, "wait till Billy 
 Cowan gets up ; he'll show him the la' !" Mr. 
 Cowan, however, was so completely overwhelmed 
 by the torrent which bore upon his client, that, 
 when he rose to reply to Mr. Henry, he was 
 scarcely able to make an intelligible or audible 
 remark. The cause was decided almost by accla- 
 mation. The jury retired for form's sake, and 
 instantly returned with a verdict for the defend- 
 ant. Nor did the effect of Mr. Henry's speech 
 stop here. The people were so highly excited 
 by the tory audacity of such a suit, that Hook 
 began to hear around him a cry more terrible 
 than that of beef- — it was the cry of tar and 
 feathers — from the application of which, it is said, 
 nothing saved him but a precipitate flight' and the 
 speed of his horse. 
 
 SINGULAR ADVENTURE OF A BRITISH 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 IN the year 1779, when the war with America 
 w r as conducted with great spirit, a division 
 of the British army was encamped on the 
 banks of a river, and in a position so favored 
 by nature that it was difficult for any military 
 art to surprise it. War in America was rather 
 a species of hunting than a regular campaign. 
 "If you fight with art," said Washington to 
 the soldiers, ' ' you are sure to be defeated. 
 Acquire discipline enough for concert, and the 
 uniformity of combined attack, and our country 
 will prove the best of the engineers. ' ' So true 
 was this maxim of the American general that the 
 English soldiers had to contend with little else. 
 The Americans had incorporated the Indians into 
 their ranks, and had made them useful in a spe- 
 cies of war to which their habits of life had 
 peculiarly fitted them. They sallied out of their 
 impenetrable forests and jungles, and, with their 
 arrows and tomahawks, committed daily waste 
 upon the British army, surprising their sentinels, 
 cutting off their stragglers, aud even when the 
 
 alarm was given, and pursuit commenced, they 
 fled with a swiftness that the speed of cavalry 
 could not overtake, into rocks and fastnesses 
 whither it was dangerous to follow them. In 
 order to limit, as far as possible, this species of 
 war, in which there was so much loss and so little 
 honor, it was the custom with even- regiment to 
 extend its outposts to a great distance beyond the 
 encampments ; to station sentinels in the woods ; 
 and keep a constant guard around the main body. 
 A regiment of foot was, at this time, stationed 
 upon the confines of the boundless Savannah. 
 Its particular office was to guard every avenue of 
 approach to the main body ; the sentinels whose 
 post penetrated into the woods were supplied by 
 the ranks, and the service of this regiment was 
 thus more hazardous than that of any other. Its 
 loss was likewise greater. The sentinels were 
 perpetually surprised on their posts b3' the Indi- 
 ans, and, what was most astonishing, they were 
 borne off their stations without communicating 
 any alarm, or being heard of after. Not a trace 
 was left of the manner in which they had been 
 conveyed away, except that, upon one or two 
 occasions, a few drops of blood had appeared 
 upon the leaves which covered the ground. 
 Many imputed this unaccountable disappearance 
 to treachery, and suggested, as an unanswerable 
 argument, that the men thus surprised might, at 
 least, have fired their muskets and communicated 
 the alarm to the contiguous posts. Others, how- 
 ever, who could not be brought to consider it as 
 treachery, were content to receive it as a mystery, 
 which time would explain. 
 
 One morning, the sentinels having been sta- 
 tioned as usual over night, the guard went at sun- 
 rise to relieve a post which extended a consider- 
 able distance into the wood. The sentinel was 
 gone ; the surprise was great ; but the circum- 
 stance had occurred before. They left another 
 man, and departed, wishing him better luck. 
 "You need not be afraid," said the man, with 
 warmth, "I shall not desert." The relief com- 
 pany returned to the guard-house. The sentinels 
 were replaced even- four hours, and, at the 
 appointed time, the guard again marched to re- 
 lieve the post. To their inexpressible astonish- 
 ment, the man was gone ! They searched around 
 the post, but no traces could be found of his dis- 
 appearance. It was necessary that the station, 
 from a stronger motive than ever, should not 
 
120 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 remain unoccupied ; they were compelled to leave 
 another man. and returned, ruminating on this 
 strange circumstance, to the guard-house. The 
 superstition of the soldiers was awakened, and 
 terror ran through the regiment. The col- 
 onel, being apprised of the occurrence, signified 
 his intention of accompanying the guard when 
 they relieved the sentinel they had left. At the 
 appointed time, they all marched together ; and 
 again, to their unutterable wonder, they found 
 the post vacant, and the man gone ! Under these 
 circumstances, the colonel hesitated whether he 
 should station a whole company here, or if he 
 should again submit the post to a single sentinel. 
 The cause of these repeated disappearances of 
 men, whose courage and honesty were never sus- 
 pected, must be discovered ; and it seemed not 
 likely that this discovery could be obtained by 
 persisting in the old method. Three brave men 
 were now lost to the regiment, and to assign the 
 post to a fourth seemed nothing less than giving 
 him up to destruction. The poor fellow whose 
 turn it was to take the station, though a man in 
 other respects of unconquerable resolution, trem- 
 bled from head to foot. "I must do my duty," 
 said lie to the officer ; "I know that, but I should 
 like to lose my life with more credit." "I will 
 leave no man," said the colonel, "against his 
 will." A man immediately stepped from the 
 ranks, and desired to take the post. Every mouth 
 commended his resolution. " I will not be taken 
 alive,' ' said he, ' ' and you shall hear of me on the 
 least alarm. At all events, I will fire my piece if 
 I hear the least noise. If a crow chatters or a 
 leaf falls, you shall hear my musket. You may 
 be alarmed when nothing is the matter ; you must 
 take the chance of that, as the condition of un- 
 making the discovery." The colonel applauded 
 his courage, and told him he would be right to 
 fire upon the least noise which was ambiguous. 
 His comrades shook hands with him, and left him 
 with a melancholy foreboding. The company 
 marched back, and waited the event in the guard- 
 house, with the most anxious curiosity. 
 
 An hour had elapsed, and every ear was upon 
 the rack for the discharge of the musket, when, 
 upon a sudden, the report was heard. The guard 
 immediately marched, accompanied, as before, by 
 the colonel and some of the most experienced offi- 
 cers of the regiment. As they approached the 
 post, they saw the man advancing towards them, 
 
 tlragging another man on the ground by the hair 
 of the head. When they came up to him, it 
 appeared to be an Indian whom he had shot. An 
 explanation was immediately required. ' ' I told 
 your honor," said the man, "that I should fire if 
 heard the least noise. The resolution I had taken 
 has saved my life, and led to the discovery. I 
 had not been long on my post, when I heard a 
 rustling at some short distance : I looked, and 
 saw an American hog, such as are common in the 
 woods, crawling along the ground, and seemingly 
 looking for nuts under the trees, and among the 
 leaves. As these animals are so very common, I 
 ceased to consider it for some minutes ; but being 
 on the constant alarm and expectation of attack, 
 and scarcely knowing what to consider a real 
 cause of apprehension, or not. I kept my eyes 
 vigilantly fixed upon it, and marked its progress 
 among the trees ; still there was no need to give 
 the alarm, and my thoughts were, notwithstand- 
 ing, directed to danger from another quarter. It 
 struck me, however, as somewhat singular, to see 
 the animal making, by a circuitous passage, for 
 a thick coppice, immediately behind ni}- post. I 
 therefore kept my eyes more constantly fixed 
 upon it, and, as it was now within a few yards of 
 the coppice, I hesitated whether I should fire. My 
 comrades, thought I, will laugh at me for alarm- 
 ing them by shooting a pig ! I had almost re- 
 solved to let it alone, when, just as it approached 
 the thicket, I thought I observed it give an 
 unusual spring. I no longer hesitated ; I took 
 my aim, discharged my piece, and the animal was 
 instantly stretched before me, with a groan which 
 I conceived to be that of a human creature. I 
 went up to it, and judge my astonishment when I 
 found I had killed an Indian ! He had enveloped 
 himself with the skin of one of these wild hogs 
 so artfully and completely, his hands and feet 
 were so entirely concealed in it, and his gait and 
 appearance were so exactly correspondent to that of 
 the animal, that, imperfectly as they were always 
 seen through the trees and juugles, the disguise 
 could not be penetrated at a distance, and scarcelv 
 discovered upon the nearest aspect. He was 
 armed with a dagger and a tomahawk." Such 
 was the substance of this man's relation. The 
 cause of the disappearance of the other sentinels 
 was now apparent. The Indians, sheltered in 
 this disguise, secreted themselves in the coppice; 
 watched the moment when thev could throw it 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 121 
 
 off; burst upon the sentinels without previous 
 alarm, and, too quick to give them an opportunity 
 to discharge their pieces, either stabbed or scalped 
 them, and bore their bodies away, which they 
 concealed at some distance in the leaves. 
 
 THE ENCHANTED GUN. 
 
 IT once happened, that an honest old simpleton, 
 who had been "to training," had made 
 money enough by throwing stones at a " peg ' ' to 
 get very comfortably fuddled, even without any 
 draft upon his purse of three "fourpence-ha- 
 penny pieces ' ' laid by for that purpose several 
 months before. Some wags, who had kept 
 soberer upon the occasion than our hero, not 
 having had so good luck at gingerbread gambling, 
 loaded his gun to the very muzzle with alternate 
 charges of excellent powder and touchwood, and, 
 starting him homeward, took care to put a red- 
 hot nail upon the topmost piece of touchwood. 
 Uncle Ichabod, honest old soul, shouldered his fire- 
 lock and took up his ' ' line of march ' ' for home. 
 He had not gone far, however, before pop goes 
 the charge from his gun. Rather singular, 
 thought uncle Ich, but a mere accident, doubtless ; 
 a charge being left there carelessly. A few rods 
 farther, bang ! goes the second charge. "Lord a 
 mercy," says Ichabod, " this is tarnal strange, I 
 swagger; but I guess it didn't all go off the first 
 time, or else 'twouldn't go off again, and would 
 it though ? ' ' He had hardly finished this dia- 
 logue with himself, before off goes the repeater 
 again. " My gracious ! " exclaimed our terrified 
 military man, "the Old Boy is in the gun. I 
 never heard of such a thing in my born days ! ' ' 
 — an exclamation which he had hardly concluded, 
 before his everlasting musket struck four, and 
 Ichabod, having no longer any fellowship for a 
 weapon possessing such fearful continuity of ex- 
 plosion, very prudently threw it over the fence, 
 and made rapid strides for the house of the clergy- 
 man, having now no doubt that he or his gun was 
 bewitched. The clergyman himself was not 
 without his doubts on the subject, after Ichabod 
 had testified to the whole story, the truth of 
 which was corroborated by several distinct dis- 
 charges from the gun, in the place where he had 
 thrown it, which was within plain hearing of the 
 parties. However, while the matter remained 
 entirely unsettled, the mischievous caitiffs, who 
 had caused all the alarm, arrived with the offend- 
 
 ing musket, which made its last discharge in the 
 clergyman's presence, and refused further service 
 till reloaded. It was never fairly settled, however, 
 between him and Ichabod, whether or not it was 
 a case of real witchcraft — a matter which we are 
 the first to put fairly at rest, by detailing these 
 particulars. 
 
 Another somewhat similar incident, though of 
 an opposite character, took place at the battle of 
 New Orleans. The old flint-lock muskets with 
 which a portion of General Jackson's troops were 
 armed, were made with the bore slightly larger 
 than the cartridge, to facilitate loading, and it 
 was the custom during a battle, when rapid firing 
 became necessary, for the soldiers to send their 
 cartridges home, not with the ramrod, by a quick, 
 hard jar of the butt of the musket against the 
 ground. It happened, during this battle, that 
 one of the soldiers used a damp cartridge, which 
 did not ignite, and consequently the gun was not 
 discharged ; but there was so much noise from 
 the firing of other guns around him that the sol- 
 dier did not notice it, and continued loading and 
 firing, as he supposed, during the entire battle. 
 When victory was announced he examined his 
 musket, and was astonished to find it full nearly 
 to the muzzle — he had not fired a shot during the 
 battle, although he had been very active in his 
 efforts at loading and firing. 
 
 A THRILLING INCIDENT OF THE PESTILENCE 
 IN BOSTON. 
 
 AN educated and truthful gentleman relates 
 the following thrilling incident connected 
 with the yellow fever epidemic which occurred 
 in Boston many years ago : 
 
 In my mind, the urn-burial of the ancients has 
 always been sacredly and pleasantly associated. 
 The clean, white marble, containing the purified 
 remains of all we have loved, is an object around 
 which affection loves to linger ; but the damp, 
 dark grave, with its silent, loathsome work of 
 corruption, is a revolting subject of contempla- 
 tion, even where love is stronger than death. 
 Then there is a fear of being buried before the 
 vital spark is extinct, and of returning to con- 
 sciousness with the weight of the earth upon you, 
 and the fresh air of heaven shut out for ever ! 
 To me this idea is so terribly distinct, that it is 
 the spectre of my waking hours and the night- 
 mare of my dreams. Death himself has no 
 
THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 horrors for me : though well content with life, and 
 bound to it by the strongest ties, I think I could 
 calmly close my eyes beneath its oblivious touch ; 
 but human nature shrinks at the thought of being 
 buried alive ! Perhaps the vividness of this im- 
 pression is owing to the remark I frequently 
 heard from an aged relative, while I was yet a 
 very small child, that "hundreds and hundreds 
 were buried before the}- were dead, when the 
 yellow fever raged so terribly in Boston." That 
 peridd is well remembered by our fathers, when 
 pestilence walked abroad at noon-day, and the 
 hearth-stone was silent and dreary as the tomb. 
 The death-carts went their continued round 
 through every hour of the day and night, and, 
 unshrouded and uncoffined, the newly dead were 
 hurried to their last home. I knew a man who, 
 during this time of peril, was snatched from the 
 grave merely by the persevering affection of his 
 wife. Of the correctness of the story there is no 
 doubt ; for I have often heard it repeated by both 
 the parties concerned. This awful visitation of 
 God came upon them when they were newly 
 married ; when existence was happiness, and sep- 
 aration worse than death. The young husband 
 became a victim to that disease, which was breath- 
 ing destruction over the city. The friends of his 
 wife urged her to seek refuge in the country, and 
 not risk her own life in a useless attempt to save 
 his. But no persuasion could induce her to leave 
 him ; night and da}- she was by his bedside ; and, 
 in the anguish of her heart, she prayed that the 
 pestilence might likewise rest upon her. But her 
 prayer was not answered — surely and rapidly it 
 did its work upon all her heart held dear ; but to 
 her, death would not come, though she prayed 
 for it, and sought it with tears. She had inhaled 
 the breath of her dying husband ; but to her it 
 was harmless; and, in the madness of despair, 
 she repined at the merciful decrees of Heaven. 
 
 No one was with her in the house — she was 
 alone with the dead. Suddenly, the silence of 
 the deserted streets was interrupted by the rum- 
 bling of the death-carts ; and she knew they had 
 come to take him away from her sight forever; 
 and with the thought, it suddenly flashed into 
 her mind, that life might still be in him ! Her 
 entreaties excited compassion, and she was per- 
 mitted to keep the corpse one half-hour longer. 
 The impression made upon her mind had the 
 Strength of inspiration, and though every restora- 
 
 tive which ingenuity could devise had failed to 
 produce an effect, she would not relinquish hope. 
 Again the carts came round, and the solemn 
 sound, "Bring out the dead," disturbed the fear- 
 ful stillness. Again the young wife entreated, 
 wept, and screamed : the hearts of the men, 
 whose dreadful employment accustomed them to 
 such scenes, were touched ; but the}- would not 
 yield. They said, "The safety of the city re- 
 quired them to be firm in the discharge of their 
 duty; that they had already disobeyed strict 
 orders, and they dared not do it again ; that the 
 hope of restoring him was mere insanity ; it was 
 evident he had long been dead." 
 
 When she found they would not be moved by 
 her prayers, she threw her arms around the body, 
 and clung to it with the strength of madness ; de- 
 claring, if the\' buried one, they should bury 
 both. The men, after a few gentle attempts to 
 remove her, dashed the tears from their eyes, and 
 saying, "We cannot separate them," left her 
 another half hour of hope. The moments of that 
 interval had a value, of which mortals under or- 
 dinary circumstances can form no conception. 
 Restorative after restorative was applied ; but all 
 in vain. With sickening anxiety, she fastened 
 her eyes upon the watch, and then on the stiff, 
 cold form beside her. The half hour had nearly 
 gone ; in five minutes, they would again come to 
 claim the dead ; and she felt that she must resist 
 no longer ! She breathed into his nostrils — she 
 moved her hand upon his chest, to restore the 
 action of the lungs — but no change came over 
 his rigid features. She bathed his temples and 
 moistened his lips with sal volatile — the terrible 
 rumbling of carts was heard in the distance— 
 and, in the trembling eagerness of the moment, 
 she spilled the contents of the phial into his nos- 
 trils — a sudden convulsion passed over the face 
 of the dead ! a short, quick gasp — and the eyes 
 heavily opened ! 
 
 The men with the death carts were startled by 
 a loud, shrill shriek, that sounded as if it tore 
 asunder the soul from which it came. When 
 the}- entered, they found the dead living, and the 
 living senseless. 
 
 Both husband and wife were soon after restored 
 to health. They lived to be the parents of a 
 numerous family ; and the husband survived the 
 faithful wife, who, with the strong arm of love, 
 thus snatched him from an early grave. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 123 
 
 ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR. 
 
 DURING the traitor Arnold's predator}' opera- 
 tions in Virginia, in 1781, he took an Amer- 
 ican captain prisoner. After some general con- 
 versation, he asked the captain what he thought 
 the Americans would do with him, if they caught 
 him. The captain declined at first giving him 
 an answer ; but, upon being repeatedly urged, he 
 said, "Why, sir, if I must answer the question, 
 you will excuse my telling you the truth : if my 
 countrvmen should catch you. I believe they 
 
 saltpetre and brimstone with other ingredients, 
 and set them upon a fire in a crucible ; but a 
 spark getting into it, the pot immediately broke 
 with great violence and noise ; which event sur- 
 prised him at first, but he repeated his experiment, 
 and finding the effect constant, set himself to 
 work to improve it ; for which purpose he caused 
 an iron pipe to be made, with a small hole to fire 
 at, and putting in some of his ingredients, to- 
 gether with small stones, set fire to it, and found 
 it answered his expectations in penetrating all 
 
 besieging A town with ancient cannon. (Accurate copy of aii engraving of the fourteenth century.) 
 
 would first cut off your lame leg, which was 
 wounded in the cause of freedom and virtue at 
 Quebec, and bury it with the honours of war, and 
 afterwards hang the remainder of your body upon 
 a gibbet." 
 
 THE INVENTION OF GUNS. 
 
 GUNS and cannons were introduced into 
 Europe by the Germans, and it was brought 
 about in this manner : — One Barthoe Schwatis, a 
 friar, in making chemical experiments, mixed 
 
 before it. This happened about the year 133& 
 and was soon improved to the making of great 
 ordnance, etc. 
 
 As early as 969, the Chinese, under their 
 Emperor Fai-tsu, tied rockets to their arrows to 
 propel them to greater distances, and also for 
 incendiary purposes ; so that the idea of artillery, 
 as well as the invention of gunpowder, is justly 
 due to them. It is said that the Moors used 
 artillery at the siege of Cordova as early as 1280. 
 The Spaniards learned its use from them, and 
 
124 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Ferdinand IV. of Castile captured Gibraltar with 
 cannon in 1309. The first European cannon were 
 made of longitudinal bars of iron, bound together 
 with hoops, or occasionally cylindrical pieces of 
 timber, also bound with iron hoops, to prevent 
 them from bursting. Many of these ancient 
 cannons were very heavy, and were generally 
 made of several pieces screwed together, and 
 could not be moved without being taken apart. 
 In France one of these guns weighed 10,000 
 pounds, and threw a 400-lb. projectile ; another 
 weighed 36,000 pounds, with a 900-lb. projectile. 
 
 THE TREBUCHET. (Accurate copy of ancient engraving.) 
 
 Stones were the first missiles used, and these were 
 thrown at a high angle for the purpose of giving 
 them greater power and longer range, owing to 
 the inferior quality of the powder used in those 
 days. They moved with little velocity, and their 
 range was exceedingly inaccurate. Even at as late 
 a date as the war between the United States and 
 Mexico, Gen. Grant asserts in his Memoirs that, 
 at the battle of Palo Alto, the balls discharged 
 from the Mexican cannons moved so slowly that 
 the American troops were generally able to 
 observe their approach and keep out of their way. 
 
 Many of the earliest cannons were breech- 
 loaders, as appears by various engravings, but 
 these were abandoned on account of their imper- 
 fect mechanism and the numerous accidents that 
 resulted from their use. 
 
 At the museum of arms in the Tower of Lon- 
 don, there is a revolving musket, invented about 
 the middle of the 17th century, and operated on 
 the same principle as modern revolving guns and 
 pistols. It has a six-chambered revolving cylinder 
 at the breech, connecting with a long barrel through 
 which the discharge was made. The cylinder 
 
 was operated by the 
 hand, and not by 
 springs, as in the 
 more modern inven- 
 tions. There is no 
 record of the history 
 of this peculiar gun, 
 and the cause of its 
 not coming into gen- 
 eral use is unknown ; 
 but it no doubt sup- 
 plied Mr. Colt with 
 his idea for the re- 
 volver. 
 
 During our war of 
 the revolution Fergu- 
 son's regiment of 
 British soldiers was 
 armed with a breech- 
 loading rifle, capable 
 of being fired five 
 times per m i n u t e . 
 Washington had to 
 contend against these 
 deadly rifles at the 
 battle of Brandy wine, 
 and his defeat there 
 is attributed to their rapid and withering fire. 
 They were used again at the battle of King's 
 Mountain, in North Carolina, but being long- 
 range weapons they overshot the Americans, 
 who were below the British on the mountain- 
 side, and who also rushed into close quarters at 
 the commencement of the fight, where their 
 fowling-pieces and squirrel-guns did fearful exe- 
 cution. It is singular that these breech-loading 
 rifles were so soon forgotten, and still more sin- 
 gular that they are not mentioned by an}- of the 
 historians. Previous to the invention of artil- 
 
A SOLDIER BEFORE THE DAYS OF ARTILLERY. 
 
126 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 lery, numerous machines were contrived to serve 
 in its stead, such as the catapult, battering-ram, 
 trebuchet, etc. The latter was a machine for cast- 
 ing stones, and the method of its use is shown in 
 the accompanying illustration, copied from an 
 engraving in in Grose's " Military Antiquities." 
 
 There were also machines for shooting arrows, 
 and for breaking the ranks of the enemy, as 
 shown in the accompanying illustrations. The 
 former was stationary, while the latter seems to 
 have been adapted to movable infantry use, from 
 the more ancient scythed chariots which date back 
 
 MACHINE INTENDED TO BREAK THE EN- 
 EMY'S RANKS AND TO CRUSH HIS SOL- 
 DIERS — DATE, 1532. 
 
 MACHINE TO fcHOOT ARROWS AND TO 
 ASSIST IN APPROACHING A BESIEGED 
 TOWN—DATE, 1555. 
 
 (Accurate copies of ancient engravings.) 
 to the earliest periods of history. These machines fell into a sound slumber 
 were constructed in as grotesque and horrible 
 shapes as possible, for the purpose of terrifying the 
 enemy by their frightful appearance as well 
 as by their destructive powers. Such instruments 
 of death were regarded, during the superstitious 
 ages in which the}- were used, as contrivances of 
 the devil, and the bravest soldiers were stricken 
 -with terror on their approach. 
 
 AN ANGLO-SAXON POET. 
 
 THE first Anglo-Saxon writer of note, who 
 composed in his own language, and of whom 
 there are any remains, was Caedmon, a monk of 
 
 Whitby, who died about 680. He was a poet of 
 nature's making, sprung from the bosom of the 
 common people, and little indebted to education. 
 At one time he acted in the capacity of cow-herd, 
 then considered one of the lowest callings, and 
 from which has come our modern word coward, 
 owing to the contempt with which the soldier- 
 robbers of those ancient times regarded all who 
 engaged in pastoral pursuits. The circumstances 
 under which his talents were first developed are 
 recorded by the historian Bede, with a strong cast 
 of the marvellous, through which, however, it is 
 
 possible to trace a basis 
 of truth. It is stated 
 that he was so much 
 less instructed than 
 most of his equals, that 
 he had not even learnt 
 any poetry ; so that he 
 was frequently obliged 
 to retire, in order to 
 hide his shame, when 
 the harp was moved 
 toward him in the hall, 
 where at supper it was 
 customary for each per- 
 son to sing in turn. On 
 one of these occasions, 
 it happened to be Csed- 
 mon's turn to keep 
 guard at the stable 
 during the night, and, 
 overcome with vexa- 
 tion, he quitted the 
 table and retired to his 
 post of duty, where, 
 laying himself down, he 
 In the midst of sleep, 
 a stranger appeared to him, and, saluting him by 
 his name, said, "Caedmon, sing me something." 
 Caedmon answered, "I know nothing to sing; 
 for my incapacity in this respect was the cause 
 of my leaving the hall to come hither." " Nay, 
 said the stranger, "but thou hast something to 
 sing." "What must I sing?" said Caedmon. 
 "Sing the Creation," was the reply, and there- 
 upon Ceedmon began to sing verses "which he 
 never had heard before," and which are said to 
 have been as follows : 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 127 
 
 Nu we sceolan herian 
 
 heofon-rices weard, 
 
 metodes niihte, 
 
 and his mod-ge-thonc, 
 
 wera wuldor feeder ! 
 
 swa he wundra ge-hwaes, 
 
 ece dryhten, 
 
 oord onstealde. 
 
 He arrest ge sceop 
 
 }-eda bearnum 
 
 heofon to hrofe, 
 
 halig scyppend ! 
 
 tha middan-geard 
 
 rnon-cynnes weard, 
 
 ece dryhten, 
 
 sefter teode, 
 
 firuni foldan, 
 
 frea celmihtig ! 
 
 ENGLISH TRANSLATION. 
 
 Now we shall praise 
 
 the guardian of heaven, 
 
 the might of the Creator, 
 
 and his counsel, 
 
 the glory-father of men ! 
 
 how he of all wonders, 
 
 the eternal Lord, 
 
 formed the beginning. 
 
 He first created 
 
 for the children of men 
 
 heaven as a roof, 
 
 the holy Creator ! 
 
 then the world 
 
 the guardian of mankind, 
 
 the eternal Lord, 
 
 produced afterwards, 
 
 the earth for men, 
 
 the almighty Master ! 
 
 Caedmon then awoke ; and he was not only able 
 to repeat the lines which he had made in his sleep, 
 but he continued them in a strain of admirable 
 versification. In the morning, he hastened to the 
 town-reeve, or bailiff, of Whitby, who carried 
 him before the Abbess Hilda ; and there, in the 
 presence of some of the learned men of the place, 
 he told his story, and the}' were all of opinion 
 that he had received the gift of song from 
 heaven. They then expounded to him in his 
 mother tongue a portion of Scripture, which he 
 was required to repeat in verse. Caedmon went 
 home with his task, and the next morning he pro- 
 duced a poem which excelled in beaut}- all that 
 they were accustomed to hear. He afterwards 
 yielded to the earnest solicitations of the Abbess 
 Hilda, and became a monk of her house ; and she 
 ordered him to transfer into verse the whole of the 
 sacred history. We are told that he was continu- 
 ally occupied in repeating to himself what he 
 heard, and, "like a clean animal, ruminating it, 
 he turned it into most sweet verse." Caedmon 
 thus composed many poems on the Bible histories, 
 and on miscellaneous religious subjects, and some 
 of these have been preserved. His account of the 
 Fall of Man is somewhat like that given in 
 "Paradise Lost," and one passage in it might 
 almost be supposed to have been the found- 
 ation of a corresponding one in Milton's sub- 
 lime epic. It is that in which Satan is described 
 as reviving from the consternation of his over- 
 throw. A modern translation into English fol- 
 lows : 
 
 [SATAN'S SPEECH.] 
 Boiled within him 
 his thought about heart ; 
 Hot was without him 
 his dire punishment. 
 Then spake he words : 
 "This narrow place is most unlike 
 that other that we formerly knew, 
 high in heaven's kingdom, 
 which my master bestowed on me. 
 though we it, for the All-powerful, 
 may not possess. 
 We must cede our realm ; 
 yet hath he not done rightly, 
 that hath struck us down 
 to the fiery abyss 
 of the hot hell, 
 
 bereft us of heaven's kingdom, 
 hath decreed 
 to people it 
 with mankind. 
 
 That is to me of sorrows the greatest, 
 that Adam, 
 
 who was wrought of earth, 
 shall possess 
 my strong seat ; 
 
 that it shall be to him in delight, 
 and we endure this torment, 
 misery in this hell." 
 
 The following specimen of Anglo-Saxon, with 
 a literal translation into modern English, is from 
 the writings of Alfric, Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 who died in 1006. He was a voluminous writer 
 of pure Anglo-Saxon of his time, and we give 
 this extract both as a curiosity and a sample of the 
 ancient source of our present tongue 
 
 SAXON. TRANSLATION. 
 
 Haethen cild bith, ge-ful- (A) heathen child is christ- 
 lod, ac hit ne brset na his ened, yet he altereth not his 
 hiw with-utan, dheah dhe hit shape without, though he 
 beo with-innan awend. Hit be within changed. He is 
 bith ge-broht synfull dhurh brought s i n f u 1 through 
 Adames forgaegednysse to Adam's disobedience to the 
 tharn fant fate. Ac hit bith font-vessel. But he is washed 
 athwogen fram eallum syn- from all sins inwardly, 
 num with-innan, dheah dhe though he outwardly his 
 hit with-utan nis hiw ne shape not change. Even 
 awende. Eac swylce tha so the holy font water, 
 halige fant waster, dhe is ge- which is called life's foun- 
 haten lifes wyl-spring, is ge- tain, is like in shape (to) 
 lie on hiwe odhrum wae- other waters, and is subject 
 terum, & is under dheod to corruption ; but the Holy 
 brosnunge ; ac dhaes halgan Ghost's might comes (to) 
 gastes miht ge-nealsecth the corruptible water 
 tham brosnigendlicum, wae- through (the) priests' bless- 
 tere dhurh sacerda blet- ing, and it may afterwards 
 
128 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 sunge, & hit m'eg sytkan body and soul wash from all 
 lichaman & sawle athwean sin, through ghostly might, 
 fram eallum syrmurn, dhurh 
 gastlice mihte. 
 
 The following extract from the Saxon Chroni- 
 cles of 1 154, with modern translation, will also 
 be interesting in this connection : 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 SAXON. 
 
 On this yaer waerd the 
 King Stephen ded,and beby- 
 ried there his wif and his 
 sune waeron bebyried aet 
 Tauresfeld. That ministre 
 hi makiden. Tha the king 
 was ded, tha was the eorl 
 beionde sse. And ne durste 
 nan man don other bute god 
 for the micel eie of him. 
 Tha he to Engleland come, 
 tha was he underfangen mid 
 micel wortscipe ; and to king 
 bletcced in Lundiue, on the 
 Sunnen dad beforen mid- 
 winter-dagi. 
 
 In this year was the King 
 Stephen dead, and buried 
 where his wife and son were 
 buried, at Touresfield. That 
 minister they made. When 
 the king was dead, then was 
 the earl beyond sea. And not 
 durst no man do other but 
 good for the great awe of him. 
 When he to England came, 
 then was he received with 
 great worship ; and to king 
 consecrated in London, on 
 the Sunday before mid-win- 
 ter-day (Christmas day). 
 
 A MOHAMMEDAN'S LECTURE ON CHRISTIAN 
 VICES. 
 
 THE following is selected from the writings of 
 John Mandeville, who was born in 1300. Com- 
 pared with the preceding article, it shows the pro- 
 gress made in the English language during the 
 one and a half centuries that intervened : 
 
 And therefore I shall tell you what the Soudan 
 told me upon a day, in his chamber. He let 
 voiden out of his chamber all manner of men, 
 lords, and other ; for he would speak with me in 
 counsel. And there he asked me how the Chris- 
 tian men governed 'em in our country-. And I 
 said [to] him, "Right well, thonked be God." 
 And he said [to] me, "Truly nay, for ye Chris- 
 tian men ne reckon right not how untruly to 
 serve God. Ye should given ensample to the 
 lewed people for to do well, and ye given 'em en- 
 sample to don evil. For the commons, upon 
 festival days, when they shoulden go to church 
 to serve God, then gon the)* to taverns, and ben 
 there in gluttony all the day and all night, and 
 eaten and drinken, as beasts that have no reason, 
 and wit not when they have enow. And there- 
 withal they ben so proud, that the}- knowen not 
 how to ben clothed ; now long, now short, now 
 straight, now large, now sworded, now daggered, 
 and in all manner guises. They shoulden ben 
 
 simple, meek, and true, and full of alms-deed, as 
 Jesu was, in whom the)- trow ; but the}- ben all 
 the contrary, and ever inclined to the evil, and to 
 don evil. And the}- ben so covetous, that for a 
 little silver they sellen 'eir daughters, 'eir sisters, 
 and 'eir own wives, to putten 'em to lechery. And 
 one withdraweth the wife of another ; and none 
 of 'em holdeth faith to another, but they defoulen 
 'eir law, that Jesu Christ betook 'em keep for 'eir 
 salvation. And thus for 'eir sins, han [have] they 
 lost all this lond that we hoi den. For 'eir sins 
 here, hath God taken 'em in our honds, not only 
 by strength of ourself, but for 'eir sins. For we 
 knowen well in very sooth, that when ye serve 
 God, God will help you; and when he is with 
 you, no man may be against you. And that 
 know we well by our prophecies, that Christian 
 men shall winnen this lond again out of our 
 honds, when the}- serven God more devoutly. 
 But as long as they ben of foul and unclean living 
 (as they ben now), we have no dread of 'em in no 
 kind; for here God will not helpen 'em in 110 
 wise. ' ' 
 
 And then I asked him how he knew the state 
 of Christian men. And he answered me, that he 
 knew all the state of the commons also by his 
 messengers, that he sent to all lands, in maimer 
 as the}- were merchants of precious stones, of 
 cloths of gold, and of other things, for to knowen 
 the manner of every country amongs Christian 
 men. And then he let clepe in all the lords that 
 he made voiden first out of his chamber ; and 
 there he showed me four that were great lords in 
 the country, that tolden me of my country, and 
 of many other Christian countries, as well as if 
 the)- had been of the same country ; and they 
 spak French right well, and the Soudan also, 
 whereof I had great man-el. Alas, that it is 
 great slander to our faith and to our laws, when 
 folk that ben withouten law shall reproveu us, 
 and undernemen us of our sins. And the)' that 
 shoulden ben converted to Christ and to the law 
 of Jesus, by our good example and by our accept- 
 able life to God, ben through our wickedness and 
 evil living, far fro us ; and strangers fro the holy 
 and very belief shall thus appellen us and holdeu 
 us for wicked levirs and cursed. And truly they 
 say sooth. For the Saracens ben good and faith- 
 ful. For they keepen entirely the commandment 
 of the holy book Alcoran, that God sent 'em by 
 his messager Mahomet ; to the which, as they 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THK WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 129 
 
 sayen, St. Gabriel, the angel, oftentinie told the 
 will of God. 
 
 WICKLIFFE'S TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 JOHN WICKLIFFE was almost contemporary 
 with Sir John Mandeville, but there is a 
 marked difference in the style of the two, as will 
 be seen by this extract from Wickliffe's transla- 
 tion of the Bible : 
 
 And Mar3-e seyde, My soul magnifieth the Lord. 
 
 And mv spiryt hath gladid in God myn helthe. 
 
 For he hath behulden the mekenesse of his hand- 
 mavden : for lo for this alle generatiouns schulen seye 
 that I am blessid. 
 
 For he that is rnighti hath don to me grete thingis, and 
 his name is holy. 
 
 And his mercy is fro kyndrede into kyndredis to men 
 that dreden him. 
 
 He hath made myght in his arm, he scatteride proude 
 men with the thoughte of his herte. 
 
 He sette doun myghty men fro seete, and enhaunside 
 meke men. He hath fulfillid hungry men with goodis, 
 and he has left riche men voide. 
 
 He heuynge mynde of his mercy took up Israel his 
 child. 
 
 As he hath spokuu to oure fadris, to Abraham, and to 
 his seed into worlds. 
 
 It will be interesting to compare the above with 
 the modern or King James translation as it occurs 
 in Luke i. 46-55. 
 
 RELICS OF SAINTS. . 
 
 DURING the Dark Ages great value was at- 
 tached to the miraculous qualities of the 
 relics of departed saints. Every church and 
 monastery had its particular relics. Some were 
 valued more highly than others, in proportion to 
 the degree of sanctity which had marked the 
 saint's life during his existence on earth. These 
 relics were bought and sold, like other commodi- 
 ties, and in some instances they were even stolen, 
 when they could not be obtained otherwise. It 
 is entertaining to observe the singular ardor and 
 grasping avidity of some, to enrich themselves 
 with these religious morsels, their little discern- 
 ment, the curious impositions of the vendor, and 
 the good faith and sincerity of the purchaser. The 
 prelate of the place sometimes ordained a fast to 
 implore God that they might not be cheated with 
 the relics of saints, which he sometimes purchased 
 for the benefit of the village or town, and in which 
 he was occasionally cheated by receiving the relics 
 of a very bad person. In such cases we presume 
 9 
 
 the miracles were of an unsatisfactory and dan- 
 gerous character. These things seem humorously 
 absurd now, but in their day and time they were 
 as real and as much believed in as any other 
 customs connected with the history of the human 
 race. Men were in their infancy then, and they 
 thought and acted like children. 
 
 When Harold, who afterward became king of 
 England, visited William, Duke of Normandy, 
 for the purpose of persuading him to release cer- 
 tain English gentlemen who had been placed with 
 him as hostages, he was not aware that the duke 
 also had his eyes fixed upon the English throne. 
 But William was not long in imparting that fact 
 to his guest, and he insisted that the latter should 
 forthwith relinquish all claims that he might have 
 in the same direction. Harold was surprised at 
 the demand, but not daring to resist, he feigned 
 compliance, renounced all hopes of the crown for 
 himself and professed his sincere intention of 
 supporting the pretensions of the duke. William, 
 to bind him faster to his interests, required him 
 to take an oath to fulfil his promises, and in order 
 to render the oath more binding, he secretly con- 
 ve} 7 ed under 4 the altar, on which Harold had 
 agreed to swear, the relics of some of the most 
 revered martyrs. After the oath was adminis- 
 tered he showed the relics to Harold, and admon- 
 ished him to observe religiously an engagement 
 which had been ratified by so tremendous a sanc- 
 tion. Afterward, when Harold ascended the 
 throne of England, in spite of his obligations to 
 William, and was defeated and killed at the battle 
 of Hastings, his misfortunes were attributed to 
 the resentment of the saints over whose remains 
 he had sworn a false oath. 
 
 Guilbert de Nogen wrote a treatise on the relics 
 of saints ; acknowledging that there were many 
 false ones as well as false legends ; he reprobates 
 the inventors of these lying miracles. He wrote 
 his treatise on the occasion of a tooth of our 
 Lord by which the monks of St. Medard de 
 Soissons pretended to operate miracles. He 
 asserts that this pretension is as chimerical as that 
 of several persons who believed they possessed 
 other portions of the bod}' of the Saviour. 
 
 Another has written a history of what he calls 
 the translation of the relics of Saint Magean to 
 the monastry of Villemagne. Translation is in 
 fact only a softened expression for the robbery of 
 the relics of the saint committed by two monks, 
 
130 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 who carried them off secretly to enrich their mon- 
 astery ; and they did not hesitate at any artifice 
 
 BATTLE OF HASTINGS AND DEATH OF HAROLD. 
 
 to complete their design. They thought every 
 thing was permitted to acquire these fragments 
 
 of mortality, which had now become a branch of 
 commerce. The}- even regarded their possessors 
 
 with a hostile eye. 
 Such were the re- 
 ligious opinions 
 from the ninth to 
 the twelfth cen- 
 tury. Canute, the 
 Dane, commis- 
 sioned his agent at 
 Rome to purchase 
 Saint Augustine's 
 arm for one hun- 
 dred talents of sil- 
 ver and one of 
 gold! a much 
 larger sum than 
 the finest statue of 
 antiquity would 
 have then sold for. 
 Another monk 
 describes a strange 
 act of devotion at- 
 tested by several 
 contemporary wri- 
 ters. When the 
 saints did not 
 readily comply 
 with the prayers of 
 their votaries, 
 they flogged their 
 relics with rods, in 
 a spirit of impa- 
 tience which they 
 conceived was 
 proper to make 
 them bend into 
 compliance. 
 
 Theofroy, abbot 
 of Epternac , to 
 raise our admira- 
 tion, rel ates the 
 daily miracles per- 
 formed by the rel- 
 ics of saints, their 
 ashes, their clothes, 
 or other mortal 
 spoils, and even by 
 the instruments 
 of their martyrdom. He inveighs against that 
 luxury of ornaments which was indulged un- 
 
ST. AUGUSTINE. (From the Painting by de Crayer.) 
 
 (131) 
 
132 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 der a religious pretext; "It is not to be sup- 
 posed that the saints are desirous of such a pro- 
 fusion of gold and silver. They wish not that we 
 should raise to them such magnificent churches, 
 to exhibit that ingenuous order of pillars which 
 shine with gold ; nor those rich ceilings, nor 
 those altars sparkling with jewels. The} - desire 
 not the purple parchment of price for their writ- 
 ings, the liquid gold to embellish the letters, nor 
 the precious stones to decorate their covers ; while 
 you have such little care for the ministers of the 
 altar." 
 
 The monks not being able to deny, says Bayle, 
 that there have been false relics, which have 
 operated miracles, they reply that the good inten- 
 tions of those believers who have recourse to them, 
 obtained from God this reward for their good 
 faith ! In the same spirit, when it was shown 
 that two or three bodies of the same saint are 
 said to exist in different places, and, that there- 
 fore they all could not be authentic ; it was an- 
 swered, that they were all genuine ! for God had 
 multiplied and miraculously reproduced them for 
 the comfort of the faithful ! A curious specimen 
 of the intolerance of good sense. 
 
 When the Reformation was spread in Lithuania, 
 Prince Radzivil was so affected by it, that he went 
 in person to pay the pope all possible honors. 
 His holiness on this occasion presented him with 
 a precious box of relics. The prince having re- 
 turned home, some monks entreated permission 
 to try the effect of these relics on a demoniac, 
 who had hitherto resisted ever}' kind of exorcism. 
 They were brought into the church with solemn 
 pomp, and deposited on the altar, accompanied 
 by an innumerable crowd. After the usual con- 
 jurations, which were unsuccessful, they applied 
 the relics. The demoniac instantly recovered. 
 The people called out a miracle ! and the prince, 
 lifting his hands and eyes to heaven, felt his faith 
 confirmed. In this transport of pious joy, he 
 observed that a young gentleman who was keeper 
 oi this treasure of relics, smiled, and by his mo- 
 tions ridiculed the miracle. The prince indig- 
 nantly took our young keeper of the relics to 
 task ; who, on promise of pardon, gave the fol- 
 lowing secret intelligence concerning them : "In 
 travelling from Rome he had lost the box of 
 relics ; and not daring to mention it, he had pro- 
 cured a similar one, which he had filled with the 
 small bones of dogs and cats, and other trifles 
 
 similar to what were lost. He hoped he might 
 be forgiven for smiling, when he found that such 
 a collection of rubbish was idolized with such 
 pomp, and had even the virtue of expelling 
 demons. 
 
 Stephens, in his Traite preparatif a l'Apologie 
 pour Herodote, c. 39, says, "A monk of St. 
 Anthony having been at Jerusalem, saw there 
 several relics, among which were a bit of the fin- 
 ger of the Holy Ghost, as sound and entire as it 
 had ever been ; the snout of the seraphim that 
 appeared to St. Francis ; one of the nails of a 
 cherubim ; one of the ribs of the verbum caro fac- 
 tum ( the word made flesh ;) some rays of the star 
 which appeared to the three kings in the east ; a 
 vial of St. Michael's sweat when he was fighting 
 against the devil ; a hem of Joseph's garment, 
 which he wore when he cleaved wood, etc., 'all 
 of which things,' observes our treasurer of relics, 
 I have brought very devoutly with me home." 
 
 Henry III., of England, who was deeply tainted 
 with the superstition of the age, summoned all 
 the great in the kingdom to meet in London. 
 This summons excited the most general curiosity, 
 and multitudes appeared. The king then ac- 
 quainted them that the great master of the 
 Knights Templars had sent him a phial contain- 
 ing ^ small portion of the precious blood of Christ 
 which he had shed upon the cross ! and attested 
 to be genuine by the seals of the patriarch of 
 Terusalem and others. He commanded a proces- 
 sion the following day, and the historian adds 
 that though the road between St. Paul's and 
 Westminster abbey was very deep and miry, the 
 king kept his eyes constantly fixed on the phial. 
 Two monks received it, and deposited the phial in 
 the abbey, "which made all England shine with 
 glory, dedicating it to God and St. Edward." 
 Subsequently it was ascertained to be the blood 
 of a duck which had been deposited in the phial. 
 
 Lord Herbert, in his Life of Henry VIII., of 
 England, notices the great fall of the price of 
 relics. The respect given to relics, and some 
 pretended miracles, fell ; insomuch, that a piece 
 of St. Andrew's finger (covered only with an 
 ounce of silver,) being laid to pledge by a mona- 
 stery for forty pounds, was left unredeemed at the 
 dissolution of the house ; the king's commis- 
 sioners, who upon surrender of any foundation 
 undertook to pay the debts, refusing to return the 
 price again. That is, they did not choose to 
 
A SAINT OF THE middle AGES at prayer. (From the Painting by Gerard Dow.) 
 
 (133) 
 
134 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 repay the forty pounds, to receive a piece of 
 the finger of St. Andrew. 
 
 The elector Frederick, of Germany, called " the 
 Wise," was an indefatigable collector of relics, 
 but after his death the price of these articles 
 rapidly declined in the German empire ; and at 
 length the advancing intelligence of the Euro- 
 pean nations caused this remarkable superstition 
 to entirely disappear. 
 
 THE DELUSIONS OF ALCHEMY. 
 
 DURING the Middle Ages, alchemy was a 
 mysterious art, aiming to change inferior 
 metals into silver and gold, and to find the so- 
 called elixir of life, which was to be the universal 
 remedy for all diseases, rejuvenating the old, and 
 even preventing death. It is said that the Em- 
 peror Diocletian, after the conquest of the 
 rebellious Egyptians in the year 296, ordered 
 that all the writings on the chemistry of gold 
 and silver should be burned, in order that the 
 common people might not grow too rich by 
 making gold, and thus be enabled to again 
 engage in rebellion. 
 
 An infatuated lover of this delusive art met 
 with one who pretended to have the power of 
 transmuting lead into gold. This philosopher 
 required only the materials, and a little time, to 
 perform his golden operations ; and by way of 
 parenthesis it ma}- be remarked that his kind are 
 not all dead yet. He was taken to the country 
 residence of his patroness. A large laboratory- 
 was built, and, that his important labors might 
 not be impeded by any disturbance, no one was 
 allowed to enter. His door was contrived to turn 
 on a pivot, so that, unseen and unseeing, his 
 meals were conveyed to him, without distracting 
 his sublime contemplations. 
 
 During two years he never condescended to 
 speak to his patroness except in two or three 
 instances. On the few occasions that she was 
 admitted to the laboratory, she saw, with pleas- 
 ing astonishment, stills, immense caldrons, long 
 flues, and three or four vulcanious fires blazing 
 at different corners of the magical mine ; nor did 
 she behold with less reverence the venerable 
 figure of the dusty philosopher. Pale and ema- 
 ciated with daily operations and nightly vigils, 
 he revealed to her, in unintelligible jargon, his 
 progresses ; and having sometime condescended 
 to explain the mysteries of the arcana, she beheld, 
 
 or seemed to behold, streams of fluid and heaps 
 of solid ore, scattered around the laboratory. 
 Sometimes he required a new still, and sometimes 
 vast quantities of lead. Ahead}- this unfortunate 
 lady had expended the half of her fortune in 
 supplying the demands of the philosopher, and 
 she now began to lower her imagination to the 
 standard of reason. Two years had elapsed, 
 vast quantities of lead had gone in, and nothing 
 but lead had come out. She disclosed her sen- 
 timents to the philosopher. He candidly con- 
 fessed that he was himself surprised at his tardy 
 progress ; but that now he would exert himself 
 to the utmost, and that he would venture to per- 
 form a laborious operation, which hitherto he had 
 hoped to avoid the necessity of employing. The 
 lady retired, and the golden visions of expectation 
 resumed all their lustre. 
 
 One day as she and her family sat at dinner, a 
 terrible shriek, and one explosion after another, 
 loud as the report of cannons, assailed their ears. 
 They hastened to the laboratory ; two of the 
 greatest stills had burst, and one part of the 
 laboratory and the house were in flames. We 
 are told that after another adventure of this kind, 
 this victim to alchemy, after ruining another 
 patron, in despair swallowed poison. 
 
 Even more recently we have a history of an 
 alchemist in the life of Romney, the painter. 
 This alchemist, after bestowing much time and 
 money on preparations for the grand projection, 
 and being near the decisive hour, was induced, 
 by the too earnest request of his wife, to quit his 
 furnace one evening, to attend some of her com- 
 pany at the tea-table. While the projector was 
 attending the ladies his furnace blew up ! In 
 consequence of this event, he conceived such an 
 antipathy against his wife, that he could not 
 endure the idea of living with her again. 
 
 Henry VI. of England was so reduced by his 
 extravagances, that he endeavored to recruit his 
 empty coffers by alchemy. The record of this 
 singular proposition contains "The most solemn 
 and serious account of the feasibility and virtues 
 of the philosopher's stone, encouraging the search 
 after it, and dispensing with all statutes and pro- 
 hibitions to the contrary." 
 
 After this patent was published, many promised 
 to answer the king's expectations so effectually 
 that the next year he published another patent ; 
 wherein he tells his subjects, that the happy hour 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 135 
 
 was drawing nigh, and by means of the stone, 
 which he should soon be master of, he would pay 
 all the debts of the nation in real gold and silver. 
 The persons picked out for his new operators were 
 as remarkable as the patient itself, being a most 
 " miscellaneous rabble " of friars, grocers, mercers 
 and fishmongers ! 
 
 Alchemists were formerly called multipliers, as 
 appears from a statute of Henry IV., repealed in 
 the preceding record. The statute being ex- 
 
 to alchemy : ' ' The ancient books of alchemy, so 
 liberally ascribed to Pythagoras, to Solomon, or 
 to Hermes, were the pious frauds of more recent 
 adepts. The Greeks were inattentive either to 
 the use or the abuse of chemistry. In that im- 
 mense register, where Pliny has deposited the 
 discoveries, the arts, and the errors of mankind, 
 there is not the least mention of the transmu- 
 tations of metals ; and the persecution of Diocle- 
 tian is the first authentic event in the history of 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST'S WORKSHOP. 
 
 tremely short, we give it for the reader's satis- 
 faction : 
 
 "None from henceforth shall use to multiply 
 gold or silver, or use the craft of multiplication : 
 and if any the same do, he shall incur the pain 
 of felony." 
 
 Caesar commanded the treatises of alchemy to 
 be burnt throughout the Roman dominions : 
 Caesar, who is not less to be admired as a philo- 
 sopher than as a monarch. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon has this succinct passage relative 
 
 alchemy. The conquest of Egypt by the Arabs 
 diffused that vain science over the globe. Con- 
 genial to the avarice of the human heart, it was 
 studied in China, as in Europe, with equal eager- 
 ness and equal success. The darkness of the 
 Middle Ages ensued a favorable reception to 
 every tale of wonder ; and the revival of learning 
 gave new vigor to hope, and suggested more 
 specious arts to deception. Philosophy, with the 
 aid of experience, has at length banished the 
 study of alchemy ; and the present age, however 
 
136 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 desirous of riches, is content to seek them by the 
 means of commerce and industry." 
 
 Modern chemistry is not without a hope of veri- 
 fying the golden visions of the alchemist. Dr. 
 Girianger, of Gottingeu, has adventured the fol- 
 lowing prophecy : "In the nineteenth century the 
 transmutation of metals will be generally known 
 and practised. Even- chemist and even' artist 
 will make gold : kitchen utensils will be of silver, 
 and even of gold, which will contribute more 
 than anything else to prolong life, poisoned at 
 present by the oxides of copper, lead, and iron, 
 which we daily swallow with our food." This 
 sublime chemist, though he does not venture to 
 predict that universal elixir, which is to prolong 
 life at pleasure, yet approximates to it. A 
 chemical gentleman writes that "The metals 
 seem to be composite bodies, which nature is per- 
 petually preparing : and it may be reserved for 
 the future researches of science to trace, and per- 
 haps to imitate, some of these curious operations. 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF THE LITERATURE OF THE 
 REFORMATION. 
 
 IT is a difficult matter, in this modern era of 
 good feeling between the various Christian 
 denominations, to understand and appreciate the 
 personal bitterness that existed among the leaders 
 of what is known in history as the Reformation. 
 
 Those giants in the arena of religious contro- 
 versy were more careful about making them- 
 selves understood by the people for whom they 
 wrote, and to whom they spoke, than choice in 
 their modes of expression. Both sides indulged 
 in the bitterest invectives and the most scathing 
 anathemas. Luther refers to the Pope in lan- 
 guage so vigorous that polite usage will not ad- 
 mit of its reproduction. In one instance he calls 
 him "the governor of Sodom," and adds: "If 
 the Turks lay hold of us, then we shall be in the 
 hands of the devil ; but if we remain with the pope, 
 we shall be in hell. What a pleasing sight would 
 it be to see the pope and the cardinals hanging on 
 one gallows, in exact order, like the seals which 
 dangle from the bulls of the pope ! What an 
 excellent council would they hold under the 
 gallows ! ' ' 
 
 Again he exclaims: "Take care, my little 
 pope ! my little ass ! go on slowly : if thoufallest, 
 they will exclaim, 'See! how our little pope is 
 spoilt.' " It was fortunate for the cause of the Re- 
 
 formation that the violence of Luther was soft- 
 ened to a considerable degree at times by the meek 
 Melanchthon : he often poured honey on the sting 
 inflicted by the angry bee. Luther was no re- 
 specter of kings ; he was so fortunate, indeed, as 
 to find among his antagonists a crowned head ; a 
 great good fortune for an obscure controversialist, 
 and the very punctum salicns of controversy. 
 Henry VIII., of England, wrote his book against 
 the new doctrine ; then warm from scholastic 
 studies, Henry presented Leo X. with a work 
 highly creditable to his abilities, and no inferior 
 performance according to the genius of the age. 
 Collier, in his Ecclesiastical History, has ana- 
 lyzed the book, and does not ill describe its spirit : 
 " Henry seems superior to his adversary in the 
 vigor and propriety- of his style, in the force of 
 his reasoning, and the learning of his citations. 
 It is true he leans too much upon his character, 
 argues in his garter-robes, and writes as it were 
 with his sceptre." But Luther, in reply, abandons 
 his pen to all kinds of railing abuse. He ad- 
 dresses Henry in the following style : " It is hard 
 to say if folly can be more foolish, or stupidity 
 more stupid, than is the head of Henry. He has 
 not attacked me with the heart of a king, but 
 with the impudence of a knave. This rotten 
 worm of the earth having blasphemed the ma- 
 jesty of my king, I have a just right to bespatter 
 his English majesty with his own dirt and ordure. 
 This Henry has lied." 
 
 Calvin was even less tolerable than Luther, for 
 he had no Melanchthon ! His adversaries are stig- 
 matized as knaves, lunatics, drunkards, and assas- 
 sins ! Sometimes they are characterized by the 
 familiar appellatives of bulls, asses, cats and hogs ! 
 By him Catholic and Lutheran are alike hated. 
 Yet, after having given vent to this virulent 
 homor, he frequently boasts of his mildness. 
 When he reads over his writings, he tells us, that 
 he is astonished at his forbearance ; but this, he 
 adds, is the duty of every Christian ! at the same 
 time, he generally finishes a period with— " Do 
 you hear, you dog? Do you hear, madman?" 
 
 Beza, the disciple of Calvin, sometimes imitates 
 the luxuriant abuse of his master. When he 
 writes against Tillemau, a Lutheran minister, he 
 bestows on him the following titles of honor : 
 ' ' Polyphemus ; an ape ; a great ass who is distin- 
 guished from other asses by wearing a hat ; an 
 ass on two feet ; a monster composed of part of 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 137 
 
 an ape and wild ass ; a villain who merits hang- 
 ing on the first tree we find. ' ' And Beza was, no 
 doubt desirous of the office of executioner ! 
 
 Bishop Bedell, a great and good man, respected 
 even by his adversaries, in an address to his 
 clergy, observes : "Our calling is to deal with 
 errors, not to disgrace the man with scolding 
 words. It is said of Alexander, I think, when 
 he overheard one of his soldiers railing lustily 
 against Darius his enemy, that he reproved him, 
 and added, ' Friend, I entertain thee to fight 
 against Darius, not to revile him ; ' and my senti- 
 ments of treating the Catholics, ' ' concludes Bedell, 
 
 drunkard, had not her maid timely and outrage- 
 ously abused her. The story will amuse. — "My 
 mother had by little and little accustomed herself 
 to relish wine. The}- used to send her to the 
 cellar, as being one of the soberest in the family ; 
 she first sipped from the jug and tasted a few 
 drops, for she abhorred wine, and did not care to 
 drink. However, she gradually accustomed her- 
 self, and from sipping it on her lips she swallowed 
 a draught. As people from the smallest faults 
 insensibly increase, she at length liked wine, and 
 drank bumpers. But one day being alone with 
 her maid, who usually attended her to the cellar, 
 
 DANTE'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 "are not comfonnable to the practice of Duther 
 and Calvin ; but they were but men, and perhaps 
 we must confess they suffered themselves to yield 
 to the violence of passion." 
 
 The Fathers of the church were proficients in 
 the art of abuse, and very ingeniously defended 
 it. St. Austin affirms that the keenest personality 
 may produce a wonderful effect, in opening a 
 man's eyes to his own follies. He illustrates his 
 position with a story, given with great simplicity, 
 of his mother, Saint Monica, with her maid. Saint 
 Monica certainly would have been a confirmed 
 
 they quarrelled, and the maid bitterly reproached 
 her with being a drunkard ! That single word 
 struck her so poignantly that it opened her under- 
 standing ; and reflecting on the deformity of the 
 vice, she desisted forever from its use." 
 
 CELEBRATED HISTORICAL LITERARY 
 BLUNDERS. 
 
 7TTHEX Dante first published his Inferno, the 
 \X3 simple and superstitious of the age ac- 
 cepted it as a true narrative of the author's de- 
 scent into hell. 
 
138 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 For years after the publication of Gulliver's 
 Travels, many readers could not be convinced 
 that the imaginary voyages and discoveries 
 therein recorded were not real. 
 
 Utopia, by Sir Thomas More, as every well- 
 read person knows, is an imaginary description of 
 
 CHARLES II., "THE MOST RELIGIOUS KING," AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 a perfect but visionary republic, in an island sup- 
 posed to have been newly-discovered in America ; 
 but it was accepted, at the time of its publication, 
 by many persons, and by at least one historian, 
 as a true account of a "Teat discoverv. "As this 
 
 was an age of discovery," says Granger, "the 
 learned Budfeus, and others, took it for a genuine 
 history ; and considered it highly expedient that 
 missionaries should be sent thither to convert so 
 wise a nation to Christianity." 
 
 One of the most singular blunders was pro- 
 duced by the in- 
 genious Hermip- 
 pus Redivivus of 
 Dr. Campbell, a 
 curious banter of 
 the hermetic phil- 
 osophy and uni- 
 versal medicine ; 
 but the grave 
 irony is so closely 
 kept up through- 
 out this admir- 
 able treatise, that 
 it deceived for a 
 length of time 
 the most learned 
 people of that 
 day. His notions 
 of the art of pro- 
 longing life by 
 inhaling the 
 breath of young 
 women, was 
 eagerly credited. 
 A learned phy- 
 sician, who was 
 also an author 
 of one or more 
 medical works, 
 was so impressed 
 by it that he ac- 
 tually took lodg- 
 ings in a female 
 boarding school, 
 in order that he 
 might never be 
 without a con- 
 stant supply of 
 the breath of 
 young ladies. A 
 number of other learned men of that date were 
 greatly influenced by the subtle reasoning of the 
 work, which exercised so powerful an influence 
 as to temporarily unsettle their minds, at least in 
 that particular. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 139 
 
 Sir John Pringle mentions his having cured a 
 soldier by the use of two quarts of Dog and Duck 
 water daily ; a French translator specifies it as an 
 excellent broth made of a cluck and a dog ! In a 
 catalogue compiled by a French writer of Works 
 on Natural History, he inserted the well-known 
 "Essay on Irish Bulls" by the Edgeworths. 
 This is the only instance on record where an Irish 
 bull has been classed under the head of Natural 
 History. 
 
 A remarkable blunder was committed by the 
 Abbe Gregoire ; who affords another striking 
 proof of the errors to which foreigners are liable 
 when they decide on the language and customs of 
 another country. The abbe, in the excess of his 
 philanthropy, to show to what dishonorable 
 offices human nature is degraded, states that at 
 London he observed a sign-board proclaiming the 
 master as tuer des punaises de sa majcst'c ! Bug- 
 destroyer to his majesty ! The idea which must 
 have occurred to the good abbe was, that his 
 majesty's bugs were hunted and taken by hand— 
 and thus human nature was degraded. 
 
 In Charles II. 's reign a new collect was drawn, 
 in which a new epithet was added to the king's 
 title, that gave, says Burnet, great offence, and 
 occasioned great raillery. He was styled our most 
 religious king. Whatever the signification of re- 
 ligious might be in the Latin word as importing 
 the sacredness of the king's person, yet in the 
 English language it bore a signification that was no 
 way applicable to King Charles, who was every- 
 thing else except religious, most of his life being 
 spent in wild orgies and extravagant dissipations. 
 
 A literary blunder of Thomas Wharton is a 
 specimen of the manner in which a man of genius 
 may continue to blunder with infinite ingenuity. 
 In an old romance he finds these lines, describing 
 the duel of Saladin with Richard Cceur de Lion : 
 
 A Faucon brode in hande he bare, 
 For he thought he wolde there 
 Have slayne Richard. 
 
 He imagines this Faucon brode means a falcon 
 bird, or a hawk, and that Saladin is represented 
 with this bird on his fist to express his contempt 
 of his adversary. He supports his conjecture by 
 noticing a Gothic picture, supposed to be the sub- 
 ject of this duel, and also some old tapestry of 
 heroes on horseback with hawks on their fists ; he 
 plunges into feudal times where no gentleman 
 
 appeared on horseback without his hawk. After 
 all this curious erudition, the rough but skilful 
 Ritson inhumanly triumphed by dissolving the 
 magical fancies of the more elegant Wharton, by 
 explaining a Faucon brode to be nothing more than 
 a broad faulchion, which was certainly more useful 
 than a bird in a duel. 
 
 CELEBRATED MEN WHO HAD TERMAGANTS 
 FOR WIVES. 
 
 (T IR THOMAS MORE was united to a woman 
 vP of the harshest temper and the most sordid 
 manners. To soften the moroseness of her dispo- 
 sition, "he persuaded her to play on the lute, viol, 
 and other instruments, every day." Whether it 
 was that she had no ear for music, she herself 
 never became harmonious as the instrument she 
 touched. All these ladies may be considered as 
 rather too alert in thought, and too spirited in 
 action ; but a tame cuckoo bird who is always re- 
 peating the same tone, must be very fatiguing. 
 The wife of Samuel Clarke, the great compiler 
 of books in 1680, whose name was anagrammatized 
 to "suck all cream,'" alluding to his indefatigable 
 labors in sucking all the cream of every author 
 without having any cream himself, is described 
 by her husband as having the most sublime con- 
 ceptions of his illustrious compilations. This 
 appears by her behavior. He says, "that she 
 never rose from table without making him a 
 courtesy, nor drank to him without bowing, and 
 that his word was a law to her. ' ' How happy 
 most men would be if their wives would treat 
 them with such deference. 
 
 In 1590 the Bishop of Litchfield and Coventry, 
 writing to the earl of Shrewsbury (a very appro- 
 priate name under the circumstances) on the sub- 
 ject of living separate from his countess, uses the 
 following curious argument in favor of their 
 union, which seems to imply a singular state of 
 morals and religion in the British isles at that 
 time : 
 
 " But some will say in your Lordship's behalfe 
 that the Countesse is a sharp and bitter shrewe, 
 and therefore lieke enough to shorten your lief, 
 if shee should kepe yow company. Indeede, my 
 good Lord, I have heard some say so ; but if 
 shrewdnesse or sharpnesse may be a just cause 
 of separation between a man and wiefe, I thinck 
 fewe men in Englande would keepe their wives 
 longe ; for it is a common jeste, yet trewe in some 
 
140 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 sense, that there is but one shrewe in all the 
 worlde, and everee man hath her : and so everee 
 man must be ridd of his wiefe that would be ridd 
 of a shrewe." 
 
 The wife of Barclay, author of "The Argenis," 
 considered herself as the wife of a demigod. This 
 appeared glaringly after his death : for Cardinal 
 Barberiui having erected a monument to the 
 memory of his tutor, next to the tomb of Bar- 
 clay, Mrs. Barclay was so irritated at this that 
 she demolished his monument, brought home his 
 bust, and declared that the ashes of so great a 
 genius as her husband should never be placed be- 
 side so villainous a pedagogue. 
 
 Salmasius's wife was a termagant ; and Chris- 
 tiana said she admired his patience more than his 
 erudition, married to such a shrew. Mrs. Salma- 
 sius indeed considered herself as the queen of 
 science, because her husband was acknowledged 
 as a sovereign among the critics. She boasted she 
 had for her husband the most learned of all the 
 nobles, and the most noble of all the learned. 
 Our good lad}- always joined the learned confer- 
 ences which he held in his study. She spoke 
 loud, and decided with a tone of majesty. Sal- 
 masius was mild in conversation, but the reverse 
 in his writings, for our proud Xanthippe consid- 
 ered him as acting beneath himself if he did not 
 majestically call even- one names ! 
 
 The wife of Rohault, when her husband gave 
 lectures on the philosophy of Descartes, used to 
 seat herself on these days at the door, and refused 
 admittance to even- one shabbily dressed, or who 
 did not discover a genteel air. So convinced was 
 she that, to be worthy of hearing the lectures of 
 her husband it was proper to appear fashionable. 
 In vain our good lecturer exhausted himself in 
 telling her that fortune does not always give fine 
 clothes to philosophers. 
 
 The wives of Albert Durer and Berghem were 
 both shrews. The wife of Durer compelled that 
 great genius to do the hourly drudgery of his 
 profession, merely to gratify her own sordid pas- 
 sion : in despair, Albert ran away from his Tisi- 
 phone ; she wheedled him back, and not long 
 afterwards this great artist fell a victim to her 
 furious disposition. Berghem's wife would never 
 allow that excellent artist to quit his occupations : 
 and she contrived an odd expedient to detect his 
 indolence. The artist worked in a room above 
 her ; ever and anon she roused him by thump- 
 
 ing a long stick against the ceiling, while the 
 obedient Berghem answered by stamping his foot, 
 to satisfy Mrs. Berghem that he was not napping. 
 
 It is hardly necessary in this connection to 
 mention Xanthippe, the wife of Socrates, whose 
 name and fame are familiar to all. There is a 
 lingering suspicion in our minds that perhaps 
 the old philosopher deserved a good part of the 
 discipline that his wife bestowed upon him, and 
 that perhaps he used his advantages as philoso- 
 pher and historian to represent the old lady's 
 temper in warmer tints than it really deserved. 
 At any rate, Xanthippe has not been heard from. 
 
 There is an account of a distinguished modern 
 lecturer who evidently was fully as deserving of 
 public sympathy, on account of his wife's temper, 
 as Socrates. Among other exploits that have 
 been related of this lady, it is said that, on a 
 certain occasion, she came suddenly and furiously 
 into a public hall where her husband was lectur- 
 ing, and seizing his charts and other apparatus, 
 tore them to pieces in the presence of the audience. 
 The lecturer apologized by quietly remarking : 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, I have the misfortune to 
 be the husband of this woman." 
 
 The sentiments of Sir Thomas Browne, on the 
 consequences of marriage, are very curious, in the 
 second part of his Religio Medici, Sect. 9. When 
 he wrote that work, he said, ' ' I was never yet 
 once, and commend their resolutions, who never 
 marry twice." He calls woman "the rib, and 
 crooked piece of man." He adds, "I could be 
 content that w T e might procreate like trees, with- 
 out conjunction, or that there were any way to 
 procreate the world without this trivial and vul- 
 gar way." He means the union of sexes, which 
 he declares ' ' is the foolishest act a wise man com- 
 mits in all his life, nor is there anything that will 
 more deject his cooled imagination, when he shall 
 consider what an odd and unworthy piece of folly 
 he hath committed." He afterwards declares he 
 is not averse to that sweet sex, but naturally 
 amorous of all that is beautiful; "I could look 
 a whole day with delight upon a handsome picture, 
 though it be but of a horse." He afterwards 
 disserts very profoundly on the music there'is in 
 beaut}-, " and the silent note that Cupid strikes is 
 far sweeter than the sound of an instrument." 
 Such were his sentiments when youthful, and 
 residing at Ley den : Dutch philosophy had at 
 first chilled his passion ; it is probable that pas- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 141 
 
 sion afterwards inflamed his philosophy — for he 
 married and had four daughters ! 
 
 In some one of Bayle's writings there is a 
 philosophical disquisition on the subject of mar- 
 riage, brought about by the death of a learned 
 friend of the philosopher, who, having lost his 
 wife, whom he dearly loved, spent three years in 
 seclusion, and then died of grief. " What, there- 
 fore," remarks the philosopher, "must we think 
 of an unhappy marriage, since a happy one is 
 exposed to such evils. ' ' He then shows that an 
 unhappy marriage is attended by beneficial con- 
 sequences to the survivor. In this dilemma, in 
 the one case, the husband lives afraid his wife 
 will die, in the other that she will not ! If you 
 love her, you will always be afraid of losing her ; 
 if you do not love her, you will always be afraid 
 of not losing her. ' ' 
 
 AN ORIGINAL LETTER FROM QUEEN ELIZA- 
 BETH. 
 
 IN the Cottonian Library, Vespasian F. III., is 
 preserved a letter written by Queen Elizabeth 
 (then Princess) to her sister Queen Mary. It ap- 
 pears by this epistle, that Mary had desired to 
 have her picture ; and in gratifying the wishes of 
 her majesty, Elizabeth accompanies the present 
 with the following elaborate letter. It bears no 
 date of the year in which it was written ; but her 
 place of residence is marked to be at Hatfield. 
 There she had retired to enjoy the silent pleasures 
 of a studious life, and to be distant from the dan- 
 gerous politics of the time. When Mary died 
 Elizabeth was at Hatfield ; the letter must have 
 been written before this circumstance took place. 
 She was at the time of its composition in habitual 
 intercourse with the most excellent writers of an- 
 tiquity ; her letter displays this in every part of 
 it ; it is polished and repolished. It has also the 
 merit of now being first published. 
 
 The Letter. 
 Like as the riche man that dayly gathereth 
 riches to riches, and to one bag of money layeth 
 a greate store til it come to infinit, so me thinkes, 
 your Maiestie not beinge suffised with many ben- 
 efits and gentilnes shewed to me afore this time, 
 dothe now increase them in askinge and desiring 
 wher you may bid and commaunde, requiring a 
 thinge not worthy the desiringe for it selfe, but 
 made worthy for your highness request. My 
 pictur I mene, in wiche if the inward good mynde 
 
 towarde your grace might as wel be declared as 
 the outwarde face and countenance shal be seen, 
 I wold not haue taried the comandement but pre- 
 vent it, nor haue bine the last to graunt but the 
 first to offer it. For the face, I graunt, I mite 
 wel blusche to offer, but the mynde I shal neuer be 
 ashamed to present. For thogh from the grace 
 of the pictur, the coulers may fade by time, may 
 giue by wether, may be spotted by chance, yet 
 the other nor time with her swift wings shall 
 ouertake, nor the mistie clouds with their lower- 
 ings may darken, nor chance with her slipery fote 
 may overthrow. Of this althogh yet the profe could 
 not be greate because the occasions hathe bine but 
 smal, so may I perchaunce have time to declare it. 
 in dides wher now I do write them but in wordes. 
 And further I shall most humbly beseche your 
 Maiestie that whan you shal loke on my pictur 
 you will witsafe to thinke that as you have but 
 the outwarde shadow of the body afore you, so 
 my inward minde wischeth, that the body itselfe 
 wer oftener in your presence ; howbeit, bicause 
 bothe my so beinge I thinke coulde do your Ma- 
 iestie litel pleasure thogh my selfe great good, and 
 againe bicause I se as yet not the time agreing 
 therento, I shal learne to folow this Sainge of 
 Grace, Fcras non culpes quod vitari 71011 potest. 
 And thus I wil (trobling your maiestie I fere) 
 ende with my most humble thankes, beseching 
 God longe to preserve you to his honour, to your 
 comfort, to the realmes profit, and to my joy. 
 From Hatfield this 1st day of May, your Majes- 
 tie's most humble Sistar and sen-ante, 
 
 "Elizabeth." 
 
 EXECUTION OF ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 ANNE BOLEYN, wife of Henry VIII., and 
 mother of Queen Elizabeth, is represented 
 as having been a beautiful and charming woman. 
 To the very last she vehemently denied the charge 
 of incontinence upon which she was convicted and 
 brought to the scaffold ; whether that charge was 
 true or false, her death and the manner in which 
 it was brought about will always remain as a 
 dark and cruel stain upon the record of the royal 
 animal whose wife she had the misfortune to be. 
 Her executioner was a Frenchman of Calais, 
 who was supposed to have uncommon skill. 
 Anne refused to have her eyes covered with a ban- 
 dage, saying that she had no fear of death. All 
 that the minister who officiated at the execution 
 
142 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 could obtain from her was, that when the blow- 
 was to be delivered she would shut her eves. But 
 
 ANNE BOLEVN IN LONDON". 
 
 as she was opening thein every moment, the exe- 
 cutioner could not bear their mild and tender 
 
 glances, and fearful of missing his aim, he was 
 obliged to invent an expedient to behead the 
 
 queen. He drew 
 off his shoes and 
 approached her 
 silently at her 
 left hand, while 
 another person 
 advanced at her 
 right who made 
 a great noise in 
 walking. This 
 latter circum- 
 stance drew her 
 attention, and 
 the executioner 
 was enabled to 
 strike the fatal 
 blow without be- 
 ing disarmed by 
 that spirit of ten- 
 d e r resignation 
 that shone from 
 the eyes of the 
 lovely Anne Bo- 
 leyn. 
 
 The death and 
 the virtues of 
 Anne Boleyn are 
 thus described by 
 John Fox, an his- 
 torian of those 
 times : 
 
 "In certain 
 records thus we 
 find, that the 
 king being in 
 his justs at 
 Greenwich, sud- 
 denly, with a few 
 persons, depart- 
 ed to Westmin- 
 ster, and the next 
 day after Queen 
 Anne, his wife, 
 was had to the 
 Tower, with the 
 Lord Rochford, 
 her brother, and 
 certain other ; and the nineteenth day after 
 was beheaded. The words of this worthy and 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 143 
 
 Christian lady at her death were these : ' Good 
 Christian people, I am come hither to die ; for, ac- 
 cording to the law, and by the law, I am judged to 
 death, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. 
 I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak 
 anything of that whereof I am accused and con- 
 
 quire them to judge the best. And thus I take 
 my leave of the world, and of j ou all, and I 
 heartily desire you all to pray for me. The Lord 
 have mercy on me ; to God I recommend my soul.' 
 And so she kneeled down, saying, ' To Christ I 
 commend my soul ; Jesus, receive my soul ; ' re- 
 
 THE HOUR OF EXECUTION. 
 
 demned to die ; but I pray God save the king, and 
 send him long to reign over you, for a gentler, or 
 a more merciful prince was there never ; and to me 
 he was a very good, a gentle, and a sovereign lord. 
 And if any person will meddle of my cause, I re- 
 
 peating the same divers times, till at length the 
 stroke was given, and her head was stricken off. 
 
 ' ' And this was the end of that godly lady and 
 queen. Godlylcall her, for sundry respects, whatso- 
 ever the cause was, or quarrel objected against her. 
 
14, 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 First, her last words spoken at her death declared 
 no less, her sincere faith and trust in Christ, than 
 did her quiet modesty utter forth the goodness 
 of the cause and matter, whatsoever it was. Be- 
 sides that, to such as wisely can judge upon cases 
 occurrent, this also rnay seem to give a great clear- 
 ing unto her, that the king, the third day after, 
 was married in his whites unto another. Certain 
 this was, that for the rare and singular gifts of her 
 mind, so well instructed, and given toward God, with 
 such a fervent desire unto the truth, and setting 
 forth of sincere religion, joined with like gentleness, 
 modesty and pit}- toward all men, there have not 
 many such queens before her borne the crown of 
 England. Principally, this one commendation she 
 left behind her, that during her life, the religion of 
 Christ most happily flourished, and had a right 
 prosperous course. 
 
 "Many things might be written more of the 
 manifold virtues, and the quiet moderation of her 
 mild nature ; how lowly she would bear, not only 
 to be admonished, but also of her own accord, 
 would require her chaplains, plainly and freely to 
 tell whatsoever they saw in her amiss. Also, how 
 bountiful she was to the poor, passing not only the 
 poor example of other queens, but also the re- 
 venues almost of her estate ; insomuch, that the 
 alms which she gave in three-quarters of a year, 
 in distribution, is summed to the number of four- 
 teen thousand pounds ; besides the great piece of 
 money, which her Grace intended to impart into 
 four sundry quarters of the realm, as for a stock, 
 there to be employed to the behoof of poor artifi- 
 cers and occupiers. Again, what a zealous de- 
 fender she wasof Christ's gospel, all the world doth 
 know, and her acts do and will declare to the 
 world's end. Amongst which other her acts, this 
 is one, that she placed Master Hugh Latimer in 
 the bishopric of Worcester, and his preferred 
 Doctor Sharton to his bishopric, being then ac- 
 counted a good man. Furthermore, what a true 
 faith she bore unto the Lord, this one example 
 may stand for many ; for that when King Henry 
 was with her at Woodstock, and there being afraid of 
 an old bknd prophecy, for the which, neither he nor 
 other kings before him, durst hunt in the said park 
 of Woodstock, nor enter into the town of Oxford, at 
 last, through the Christian, and faithful counsel of 
 that queen he was so armed against all infidelity, 
 that both he hunted in the foresaid park, and also 
 entered into the town of Oxford, and had no harm. 
 
 But, because touching the memorable virtues of 
 this worth}- queen, partly we have said something 
 before, partly because more also is promised to be 
 declared of her virtuous life (the Lord so permit- 
 ting), by other who then were about her, I will 
 cease in this matter further to proceed." 
 
 LEGENDS OF ST. FRANCIS. 
 
 A good idea of the kind of history that was 
 written in the fifteenth century may be 
 obtained by reading the following sketch. It is 
 from the works of William Caxton, the first Eng- 
 lish printer, who was also an extensive writer and 
 translator of books : 
 
 Francis, servant and friend of Almighty God, 
 was born in the city of Assyse, and was made a 
 merchant unto the twenty-fifth year of his age, 
 and wasted his time by living vainly, whom our 
 Ford corrected by the scourge of sickness, and 
 suddenly changed him into another man ; so that 
 he began to shine by the spirit of prophecy. For 
 on a time, he, with other men of Peruse, was 
 taken prisoner, and were put in a cruel prison, 
 where all the other wailed and sorrowed, and he 
 only was glad and enjoyed. And when they had 
 repreved him thereof, he answered, "Know ye," 
 said he, "that I am joyful: for I shall be wor- 
 shipped as a saint throughout all the world." . . 
 
 On a time as this holy man was in prayer, the 
 ■devil called him thrice by his own name. And 
 when the holy man had answered him, he said, 
 none in this world is so great a sinner, but if he 
 convert him, our Ford would pardon him ; but 
 who that sleeth himself with hard penance, shall 
 never find mercy. And anon, this holy man 
 knew by revelation the fallacy and deceit of the 
 fiend, how he would have withdrawn him fro to 
 do well. And when the devil saw that he might 
 not prevail against him, he tempted him by 
 grievous temptation of the flesh. And when 
 this holy sen-ant of God felt that, he despoiled* 
 his cloaths, and beat himself right hard with an 
 hard cord, saying, "Thus, brother ass, it be- 
 hoveth thee to remain and to be beaten." And 
 when the temptation departed not, he went out 
 and plunged himself in the snow, all naked, and 
 made seven great balls of snow, and purposed to 
 have taken them intof his body, and said, "This 
 greatest is tin- wife ; and these four, two ben 
 thy daughters, and two thy sons ; and the other 
 * Took off. t t ; nto. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 145 
 
 twain, that one thy chambrere, aud that other thy 
 varlet or yeoman ; haste and clothe them : for 
 they all die for cold. And if thy business that 
 thou hast about them, grieve ye sore, then serve 
 our Lord perfectly." And anon, the devil departed 
 from him all confused ; and St. Francis returned 
 again unto his cell glorifying God. . . . 
 
 He was ennobled in his life by many miracles . . 
 and the very death, which is to all men horrible 
 and hateful, he admonished them to praise it. 
 And also he warned and admonished death to 
 come to him, and said, " Death, my sister, welcome 
 be you." And when he came at the last hour, he 
 slept in our Lord ; of whom a friar saw the soul, 
 in manner of a star, like the moon in quantity, 
 and the sun in clearness. 
 
 STORY OF AN ENGLISH MIRACLE. 
 
 THE following story of early English history 
 is related by Fabian, an historian of distinc- 
 tion, who died in London in 151 2. He prepared, 
 among other works, a collection of such fabulous 
 stories of early English history, which he pub- 
 lished under the title of the Concordance of Stories. 
 This one is based upon the attempted introduction 
 of Arianism into England, the heresy being 
 favored by King Vortigen, who is referred to in 
 the article : 
 
 About this time an heresy, called Allan's 
 heresy, began then to spring up in Britain. For 
 the which, two holy bishops, named Germanus 
 and Lupus, as of Gaufryde is witnessed, came into 
 Britain to reform the king, and all other that erred 
 from the way of truth. 
 
 Of this holy man, St. Germain, Vincent His- 
 torial saith, that upon an evening when the 
 weather was passing cold, and the snow fell very 
 fast, he axed lodging of the king of Britain, for 
 him and his compeers, which was denied. Then 
 he, after sitting under a bush in the field, the 
 king's herdman passed by, and seeing this bishop 
 with his company sitting in the weather, desired 
 him to his house to take there such poor lodging 
 as he had. Whereof the bishop being glad and 
 fain, yode* unto the house of the said herdman, 
 the which received him with glad cheer. And 
 for him and his company, willed his wife to kill his 
 only calf, and to dress it for his guest's supper ; the 
 which was also done. When the holy man had 
 supped, he called to him his hostess, willing and 
 *Rode. 
 10 
 
 desiring her, that she should diligently gather 
 together all the bones of the dead calf; and them, 
 so gathered, to wrap together within the skin of 
 the said calf. And then it lay in the stall before 
 the rack near unto the dame. Which done ac- 
 cording to the commandment of the holy man, 
 shortly after the calf was restored to life ; and 
 forthwith ate hay with the dam at the rack. At 
 which marvel all the house was greatly astonished, 
 and yielded thanking unto Almighty God, and to 
 that holy bishop. 
 
 Upon the morrow, this holy bishop took with 
 him the herdman, and yode unto the presence of 
 the king, and axed of him in sharp wise, why that 
 over-night he had denied to him lodging. Where- 
 with the king was so abashed, that he had no 
 power to give unto the holy man answer. Then, 
 St. Germain said to him : "I charge thee, in the 
 name of the Lord God, that thou and thine depart 
 from this palace, and resign it and the rule of thy 
 land to him that is more worthy this room than 
 thou art." The which all thing by power divine 
 was observed and done ; and the said herdman, 
 by the holy bishop's authority, was set into the 
 same dignity ; of whom after descended all the 
 kings of Britain. 
 
 What delightful story tellers those old bishops 
 and historians were ! 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 
 
 mRS. JOHN ADAMS was in Boston during 
 the famous battle of Bunker Hill, and on 
 the following day wrote a letter to her husband, 
 describing her own feelings and some of the inci- 
 dents of that great event. This letter and the 
 accompanying accurate illustration of the battle 
 give us a very correct and graphic picture of this 
 terrific engagement : 
 
 Sunday, June 18th, 1775. 
 Dearest Friend : — The day — perhaps the 
 decisive day — is come, on which the fate of 
 America depends. My bursting heart must find 
 vent at my pen. I have just heard that our dear 
 friend, Dr. Warren, is no more, but fell gloriously 
 fighting for his country ; saying, better to die 
 honorably in the field than ignominiously hung 
 upon the gallows. Great is our loss. He has 
 distinguished himself in every engagement, by 
 his courage and fortitude, by animating the 
 soldiers, and leading them on by his own ex- 
 ample. A particular account of these dreadful. 
 
146 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 but I hope glorious, days will be transmitted to 
 you, no doubt, in the exactest manner. 
 
 ' ' The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to 
 the strong ; but the God of Israel is he that giveth 
 strength and power unto his people. Trust in him 
 at all times, ye people, pour out your hearts before 
 him ; God is a refuge for us." Charlestown is 
 laid in ashes. The battle began upon our in- 
 trenchmeuts upon Bunker's Hill, Saturday morn- 
 ing about three o'clock, and has not ceased yet, 
 and it is now three o'clock Sabbath afternoon. 
 
 It is expected they will come out over the Neck 
 to-night, and a dreadful battle must ensue. Al- 
 mighty God, cover the heads of our countrymen, 
 and be a shield to our dear friends ! How many 
 have fallen, we know not. The constant roar of 
 the cannon is so distressing, that we cannot eat, 
 drink, or sleep. May we be supported and sus- 
 tained in the dreadful conflict. I shall tarry here 
 till it is thought unsafe by my friends, and then I 
 have secured myself a retreat at your brother's, 
 who has kindly offered me part of his house. I 
 cannot compose myself to write any further at 
 present. I will add more as I hear further. 
 
 Tuesday afternoon. — I have been so much agi- 
 tated that I have not been able to write since 
 Sabbath day. When I say that ten thousand 
 reports are passing, vague and uncertain as the 
 wind, I believe I speak the truth. I am not able 
 to give you any authentic account of last Satur- 
 day, but you will not be destitute of intelligence. 
 Colonel Palmer has just sent me word that he has 
 an opportunity of conveyance. Incorrect as this 
 scrawl ma3' be, it shall go. I ardently pray that 
 you may be supported through the arduous task 
 you have before you. I wish I could contradict 
 :he report of the Doctor's death ; but it is a 
 lamentable truth, and the tears of multitudes pay 
 tribute to his memory ; those favorite lines of 
 Collins continually sound in my ears : 
 
 "How sleep the brave," etc. 
 
 I must close, as the Deacon waits. I have not 
 pretended to be particular with regard to what I 
 have heard, because I know you will collect better 
 intelligence. The spirits of the people are very 
 good ; the loss of Charlestown affects them no 
 more than a drop of the bucket. I am, most 
 sincerely, 
 
 Yours, Portia. 
 
 CHARACTER AND PERSONAL APPEARANCE 
 OF RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 
 CTIR THOMAS MORE gives the following 
 vP description of the character and personal 
 appearance of Richard III. of England. Shakes- 
 peare evidently followed this description in deli- 
 neating the character of the deformed monarch : 
 
 Richard, the third son, of whom we now en- 
 treat, was in wit and courage equal w'th either of 
 them ; in body and prowess, far under them both ; 
 little of stature, ill- featured of limbs, crook-backed, 
 his left shoulder much higher than his right, hard- 
 favored of visage. He was malicious, wrathful, 
 envious, and from afore his birth ever froward. 
 It is for truth reported that the duchess his mother 
 had so much ado in her travail, that she could not 
 be delivered of him uncut ; and that he came into 
 the world with the feet forward, as men be borne 
 outward ; and (as the fame runneth) also not 
 untoothed (whether men of hatred report above 
 the truth, or else that nature changed her course 
 in his beginning, which, in the course of his life, 
 many things unnaturally committed). 
 
 None evil captain was he in the war, as to which 
 his disposition was more meetly than for peace. 
 Sundry victories had he, and sometimes over- 
 throws, but never in default for his own person, 
 either of hardiness or politic order. Free was he 
 called of dispense, and somewhat above his power 
 liberal. With large gifts he get him unsteadfast 
 friendship, for which he was fain to pil and spoil 
 in other places, and get him stedfast hatred. He 
 was close and secret ; a deep dissimuler, lowly of 
 countenance, arrogant of heart ; outwardly coum- 
 pinable where he inwardly hated, not letting to 
 kiss whom he thought to kill ; dispitious and 
 cruel, not for evil will alway, but oftener for am- 
 bition, and either for the surety and increase of 
 his estate. Friend and foe was indifferent, where 
 his advantage grew ; he spared no man's death 
 whose life withstood his purpose. He slew with 
 his own hands King Henry VI., being prisoner in 
 the Tower. 
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 Cf IR THOMAS MORE'S enduring fame rests 
 ^P principally upon the fact that he was the 
 author of Utopia. He was born in London in 
 1480, and beheaded at the Tower July 6th, 1535. 
 He was educated at Oxford College, where he 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 147 
 
 formed a friendship with the distinguished Eras- 
 mus that lasted through life. On leaving Oxford 
 he studied law at New Inn and Lincoln's Inn, 
 London, but subsequently manifested a predilec- 
 tion for a monastic life. Falling in love, how- 
 ever, with a young lady, a daughter of a Mr. Colt, 
 of Essex, he abandoned his monastic ideas and 
 resolved on marriage. Mr. Colt had two daughters, 
 and More's preference was for the younger, but 
 when he considered the slight and consequent 
 grief to the elder sister if the younger were pre- 
 ferred to her in marriage, he gallantly resolved to 
 disregard his own feelings, and accordingly 
 
 with nervous fits, broke out into ravings ; and she 
 and her parish priest asserted that she was an in- 
 spired prophetess. She was subsequently induced 
 to take the veil at Canterbury, for the sake of ad- 
 ditional effect, after which, through the influence 
 of her spiritual adviser, she delivered prophecies 
 against the reformation and particularly against 
 Henry VIII., on account of his proposed divorce 
 from Queen Catharine- This led to her arrest, 
 in 1533, and after having made a confession of 
 conspiracy in December of that year, she and four 
 of her accomplices were convicted and beheaded 
 at Tyburn on the 6th of March following. 
 
 THE LAST MEETING BETWEEN SIR 
 
 married the elder sister instead of the one he loved. 
 She proved to be a sour-tempered woman, and it 
 required considerable effort on his part to sustain 
 peace in his family. 
 
 After the accession of Henry VIII. he was promi- 
 nently employed in public affairs, where he 
 gained the ill-will of the king by refusing to sanc- 
 tion the latter' s efforts to secure a divorce from 
 Queen Catharine. About the same time he was 
 implicated in the imposture of Elizabeth Barton, 
 the nun of Kent, whom he believed to be inspired. 
 This woman was a servant, who, when seized 
 
 THOMAS MORE AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 The king's vengeance against Sir Thomas 
 More was not long delayed. Numerous charges 
 were pressed against him, and he was con- 
 demned to be beheaded. On his way to the 
 Tower an incident occurred which has been im- 
 mortalized by painters and poets. It was the last 
 meeting between himself and his beloved 
 daughter. The interview took place at the en- 
 trance of the Tower gateway, and is thus de- 
 scribed by Roper in his life of Sir Thomas More : 
 
 "Thare tarryinge his comminge, as soone as 
 she sawe him, after his blessings uppon her knees 
 
148 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 reverentlie received, she hastinge towards him, 
 without consideraeion or care of her selfe, press- 
 inge in amongst the midst of the thronge and 
 companie of the garde that with halbards and 
 bills went round about him, hastily raune to him, 
 and theare openly in sight of them imbraced him 
 and took him about the neck and kissed him. 
 Who well likinge her most naturall and deere 
 daughterlie affection towards him, gave her his 
 fatherlie blessinge and manie godlie words of 
 comfort besides." 
 
 On the morning of his execution Sir Thomas 
 dressed himself in his most elaborate costume, 
 as if he were about to attend some pleasant gather- 
 ing ; he preserved his composure to the last, and, 
 as the fatal stroke was about to fall, signed for a 
 moment's delay, while he moved aside his beard, 
 murmuring: " Pity that should be cut : that has 
 not committed treason." 
 
 The following letter from Sir Thomas to his 
 wife, on the occasion of learning about the burn- 
 ing of some barns belonging to himself and 
 neighbors, will be read with interest, as an indi- 
 cation of the character of the man and the cus- 
 toms of those ancient times : 
 
 Mistress Alice, in my most heartywise I 
 recommend me to you. And whereas I am in- 
 formed by my son Heron of the loss of our barns 
 and our neighbours' also, with all the corn that 
 was therein ; albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is 
 great pity of so much good corn lost ; yet since 
 it has liked him to send us such a chance, we 
 must and are bounden, not only to be content, but 
 also to be glad of his visitation. He sent us all 
 that we have lost ; and since he hath by such a 
 chance taken it away again, his pleasure be ful- 
 filled ! Let us never grudge thereat, but take it in 
 good worth, and heartily thank him, as well for 
 adversity as for prosperity. And peradventure we 
 have more cause to thank him for our loss than 
 for our winning, for his wisdom better seeth what 
 is good for us than we do ourselves. Therefore, 
 I pray you be of good cheer, and take all the 
 household with you to church, and there thank 
 God, both for what he has given us, and for that 
 he has taken from us, and for that he hath left 
 us; which, if it please him, he can increase when 
 he will, and if it please him to leave us yet less, 
 at his pleasure be it ! 
 
 I pray you to make some good onsearch what 
 my poor neighbours have lost, and bid them take 
 
 no thought therefor; for, if I should not leave 
 myself a spoon, there shall be no poor neigkbour 
 of mine bear no loss by my chance, happened in 
 my house. I pray you be, with my children and 
 your household, merry in God ; and devise some- 
 what with your friends what way were best to 
 take, for provision to be made for corn for our 
 household, and for seed this year coming, if we 
 think it good that we keep the ground still in our 
 hands. And whether we think it good that we 
 so shall do or not, yet I think it were not best 
 suddenly thus to leave it all up, and to put away 
 our folk from our farm, till we have somewhat 
 advised us thereon. Howbeit, if we have more 
 now than ye shall need, and which can get them 
 other masters, ye may then discharge us of them. 
 But I would not that any man were suddenly sent 
 away, he wot not whither. 
 
 At my coming hither, I perceived none other 
 but that I should tarry still with the king's grace. 
 But now I shall, I think, because of this chance, 
 get leave this next week to come home and see 
 you, and then shall we further devise together 
 upon all things, what order shall be the best to 
 take. 
 
 And thus as heartily fare you well, with all our 
 children, as ye can wish. At Woodstock, the 
 third day of September, by the hand of 
 
 Thomas More. 
 
 THE BLACK DEATH OF THE FOURTEENTH 
 
 CENTURY. 
 QTRANGELY enough, this great pestilence, 
 \D which desolated Europe, Asia, and Africa, 
 and of which the people of those countries still 
 preserve many gloomy traditions, has not been 
 considered by the leading historians of sufficient 
 importance to deserve more than a passing notice. 
 It destroyed more people in the space of fifteen 
 years than have been killed in all the battles of 
 Europe since the days of the Roman Empire, and 
 it exercised a greater influence upon western 
 civilization than any other single event. It was an 
 oriental plague, marked by inflammatory boils 
 and tumors of the glands ; and from the black 
 spots, indicatory of a putrid decomposition, which 
 appeared upon the skin, it was called in Germany 
 and in the northern kingdoms of Europe, the 
 Black Death, and in Italy, la mortolya grande, the 
 Great Mortality. 
 In many cases black spots broke out all over the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY 
 
 149 
 
 body, either single, or united and confluent. In 
 others, boils and blisters appeared on various parts 
 of the body, 
 emitting an ex- 
 ceedingly offen- 
 sive odor. Many 
 patients became 
 stupefied, and 
 fell into a deep 
 sleep, losing 
 also their speech 
 from palsy of the 
 tongue ; others 
 remained sleep- 
 leas and without 
 rest The fauces 
 and tongue were 
 black, as if suf- 
 fused with blood 
 Nothing could 
 assuage their 
 burning thirst, 
 so that their 
 sufferings con- 
 tinued without 
 alleviation until 
 terminated b y 
 death, which 
 many hastened 
 with their own 
 hands. Conta- 
 gion was evi- 
 dent ; the organs 
 of respiration 
 were seized with 
 a putrid inflam- 
 mation, accom- 
 panied by vio- 
 lent pains in the 
 chest ; blood was 
 expectorated, 
 and the breath 
 diffused a pes- 
 tiferous odor. 
 
 The plague 
 raged in Avig- 
 non for six or 
 eight weeks, and 
 the pestilential 
 breath of the sick caused a terrible contagion far 
 and near ; for even the vicinity of those who fell 
 
 ill was certain death, so that parents abandoned 
 their infected children, and all the ties of kindred 
 
 BLACK DEATH 
 
 AVIGNON, FRANCE. 
 
 were dissolved. The plague appeared twice in 
 Avignon, first in 1348, from January to August, 
 
150 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and again twelve years later, in the autumn. 
 The first time it raged principally among the poor, 
 but in 1360 more among the higher classes. 
 During the second visitation it also destroyed a 
 great many children, whom it had formerly spared, 
 and but few women. 
 
 I11 Florence, Italy, the fatality was incredible. 
 Boccaccio, the author, was an eye-witness of its 
 ravages, and he gives a lively description of the 
 progress and fearful havoc of the disease. It com- 
 menced here with bleeding of the nose, a sure 
 sign of inevitable death. Tumors and boils, vary- 
 ing in circumference to the size of an apple or an 
 egg, and called by the people "pest-boils," also 
 appeared indiscriminately over all parts of the 
 body, and black or blue spots came out on the 
 arms and thighs, or on other parts, either single 
 and large, or small and in thickly studded patches. 
 
 The plague spread itself with great fury, com- 
 municating from the sick to the health}' like fire 
 among dry and oil) - fuel ; even contact with the 
 clothes and other articles used by the sick seemed 
 to induce the disease. Not only human beings, 
 but animals fell sick and shortly expired, if they 
 but touched articles belonging to the sick or 
 dead. Boccacio relates that he saw two hogs 
 tearing the clothes of a person who had died of 
 the plague, and after staggering about a while 
 they fell down dead, as if they had taken poison. 
 In other places multitudes of cats, dogs, fowls 
 and other animals fell victims to the contagion. 
 
 The plague came from France in a northern 
 direction from Avignon, and was there more de- 
 structive than it had been in Italy and Germany, 
 It is asserted that in many places not more than 
 two in twenty of the inhabitants survived. Many 
 were struck as if by lightning, dying on the spot ; 
 and this more frequently among the young and 
 strong than among the old or feeble. Even the 
 eyes of patients were considered as sources of 
 contagion by the superstitious people of that age. 
 Flight from infected cities seldom availed the 
 fearful, for the germ of the disease adhered to 
 them, and they died by thousands along the 
 highways, and in the fields and other lonely 
 places, remote from sympathy or help, until the 
 whole land became offensive with putrefying dead 
 bodies. 
 
 The disease first approached England through 
 the count}' of Dorset, from whence it advanced 
 with great rapidity through the counties of Devon 
 
 and Somerset, to Bristol, and thence reached 
 Gloucester, Oxford and London. So terrible 
 were its ravages that throughout the land not 
 more than a tenth part of the inhabitants re- 
 mained alive. 
 
 From England the contagion was carried by 
 a ship to Bergen, Norway, where the plague 
 broke out in its most frightful form, with vomit- 
 ing of blood. The sailors found no refuge in 
 their ships ; and vessels were often seen driving 
 about 011 the ocean or drifting on shore, whose 
 crews had perished to the last man. 
 
 During the middle ages people lived principally 
 in closely built and densely populated cities, 
 totally unsupplied with the sanitary conveniences 
 of modern times. Their houses were narrowly 
 built, kept in a wretchedly filthy state, and sur- 
 rounded with stagnant ditches, as a means of de- 
 fence in time of war. There was little or no medi- 
 cal science, and the people were densely ignorant 
 and superstitious, regarding everything that was 
 mysterious or in the nature of a calamity as a 
 visitation from God. These conditions had much 
 to do with the spread and fatality of the pesti- 
 lence, and made it far more tenacious and stub- 
 born. 
 
 Terrible Convulsions of the Earth. 
 
 But there were also other causes of a most 
 alarming character, in the mighty revolutions of 
 the internal organism of the earth, commencing 
 just previous to the first appearance of the 
 plague and continuing for some years. These 
 remarkable facts have been almost totally neg- 
 lected by historians, who have preferred to 
 devote their talents to describing the intrigues of 
 princes and the petty wars of those barbarous 
 times. From China to the Atlantic the founda- 
 dations of the earth were shaken ; throughout 
 Asia and Europe the atmosphere was in com- 
 motion, and endangered, by its baleful influ- 
 ence, both animal and vegetable life. In 1333, 
 fifteen years before the plague broke out in Eu- 
 rope, a parching drought, accompanied by 
 famine, commenced in the tract of country wa- 
 tered by the rivers Kiang and Hoai. This was 
 followed by such violent torrents of rain that, 
 according to traditions, more than four hundred 
 thousand people perished in the floods. Finally 
 the mountain Tsin-cheon fell in, and vast clefts were 
 formed in the earth. In the succeeding year the 
 neighborhood of Canton was visited by inunda- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 151 
 
 tions; while in Tche, after an unexampled 
 drought, a plague arose which is said to have car- 
 ried off the almost incredible number of five 
 millions of people. Soon afterward the moun- 
 tains of Ki-ming-chan fell in, and a lake more 
 than three hundred miles in circumference was 
 formed in their stead, where thousands of other 
 human beings found a watery grave. The ele- 
 ments were in a fearful riot, and death prevailed 
 on all sides. In Hon-konang and Ho-nan a 
 drought prevailed for five months ; innumerable 
 swarms of locusts destroyed vegetation, while 
 famine and pestilence, as usual, followed in their 
 train. It is estimated that in China alone over 
 fifteen millions of people were destroyed by these 
 various calamities and the pestilence, between 
 1333 and 1347. According to Chinese govern- 
 ment annals about four millions of people per- 
 ished of famine in the neighborhood of Kiang 
 in the single year of 1337 ; while deluges, 
 swarms of locusts, and an earthquake that 
 lasted six days, caused incredible devastation. 
 In 1338 Kingsai was visited by an earthquake 
 of ten days' duration. In 1343 the mountain 
 of Hong-tchang fell in, causing a destructive 
 deluge ; and in the provinces of Pien-ptcheon 
 and L,iang-tcheon, after three months of pouring 
 rain, there followed innundations which destroyed 
 seven large cities, besides thousands of people 
 inhabiting the adjacent country districts. These 
 earthquakes and remarkable atmospheric dis- 
 turbances, accompanied by subterraneous thunder, 
 continued in China and portions of Egypt and 
 Syria, until 1348, when they gradually subsided. 
 
 Simultaneously with these dreadful disasters in 
 the East, many uncommon atmospheric pheno- 
 mena took place in the north of France, and in 
 other portions of Europe. Fearful thunder-storms 
 occurred in the midst of winter, and in the Rhine 
 regions there were great floods which could not 
 be attributed to rain alone ; for everywhere, even 
 on the tops of mountains, springs were seen to 
 burst forth, and dry tracts of land became sub- 
 merged in water in an inexplicable manner. 
 
 On the island of Cyprus the plague from the 
 East had already broken out, when an earthquake 
 shook the very foundations of the island, accom- 
 panied by a frightful hurricane that laid waste the 
 country and destroyed thousands of lives. The 
 sea overflowed its barriers, ships were dashed to 
 pieces on the rocks, and few outlived the terrific 
 
 events whereby this fertile and blooming island 
 was converted into a desert. Before the earth- 
 quake, a pestiferous wind spread so poisonous an 
 odor that many, being overpowered by it, fell 
 down suddenly and expired in dreadful agonies. 
 There were also many locusts which had been 
 blown into the sea by the hurricane, and after- 
 ward cast dead upon the shores, producing a 
 noxious and deadly exhalation. A dense and 
 awful fog was seen in the heavens rising in the 
 east and settling upon Italy. This fog or mist 
 was accompanied by a stinking odor, which 
 carried contagion with it and rapidly spread the 
 pestilence. In thousands of places chasms were 
 formed, from whence arose noxious vapors ; and 
 as in those times natural occurrences were trans- 
 formed into miracles, it was asserted that a fiery 
 meteor which descended on the earth far in the 
 East had destroyed everything within a circum- 
 ference of more than three hundred miles, infect- 
 ing the air far and wide. Vast river districts were 
 converted into swamps, and foul vapors arose 
 everywhere, increased by the odors of putrefied 
 locusts, which came in such dense swarms as to 
 darken the sun. Decaying corpses, which, even 
 in the best-regulated countries of Europe, they 
 knew not how to remove quickly enough out of 
 the sight of the living, festered in the streets, in 
 the deserted houses, and along the highways, 
 adding their poisons to the foul and stinking 
 atmosphere that was everywhere loaded with 
 death. 
 
 The earthquake shocks frequently continued for 
 a week, or even two weeks, without intermission, 
 during which people experienced an unusual 
 stupor and headache, and many fainted away. 
 These earthquakes recurred at frequent intervals, 
 throughout all the countries of Europe, until 
 1360, when they gradually ceased. 
 
 Great and extraordinary meteors appeared in 
 many places, doubtless caused by- the putrid con- 
 dition of the atmosphere, but they were regarded 
 with superstitious horror by the ignorant people 
 of those times. A pillar of fire, which on the 
 20th of December, 1348, remained for an hour at 
 sunrise over the Pope's palace at Avignon ; a fire- 
 ball, which, in August of the same year, was seen 
 at sunset hanging in the heavens over the city of 
 Paris, and was distinguished from similar pheno- 
 mena by its longer duration, not to mention other 
 instances of a startling character mixed up with 
 
152 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 wonderful prophecies and omens, are recorded iu 
 tb.2 chronicles of that age. No wonder, there- 
 fore, that the superstitious people were greatly 
 alarmed, or that they imagined the end of the 
 world to be near at hand. Such startling phe- 
 nomena, occurring even in our own times, would 
 naturally make a profound impression upon the 
 minds of men, and cause the timid to tremble 
 with apprehensions of unknown and unspeakable 
 
 bake-houses were erected, from which, during ' 1 '- 
 single month of April, ninety-four thousand loaves 
 of bread were distributed to the famishing people- 
 Children died of hunger in their mothers' arms, 
 and want, misery, and despair were general 
 throughout Christendom. 
 
 Horrors that Attended upon the Plague. 
 Such were the terrific events which took place 
 just before the eruption of the Black Death in 
 
 THE PESTILENCB IN VIENNA. 
 
 horrors. It seemed as if all the vials of wrath 
 were being emptied at once upon our devoted 
 planet. 
 
 The order of the seasons appeared to be in- 
 verted — rains, floods, and failures in crops were so 
 general, that few places were exempt from them. 
 In Italy a rain continued incessantly for four 
 months, destroying all the seeds, and producing 
 a distressing famine. In Florence, in 1347, large 
 
 Europe. The people were yet but little civilized. 
 The Church had indeed subdued them ; but they 
 all suffered from the ill-consequences of their ori- 
 ginal rudeness. The cities were fortresses for 
 their own defence ; highwaymen and marauders 
 openly plied their occupations of rapine and rob- 
 bery, and boldly encamped on the roads ; the 
 husbandman was a slave, without possessions of 
 his own, and subject to the whims ot ignorant 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 153 
 
 and cruel masters ; witches and heretics were 
 burned alive ; wild passions, severity, and cruelty 
 everywhere predominated. Human life was little 
 regarded, and the rulers did not concern them- 
 selves about their subjects, whom they considered 
 as chattels or slaves. 
 
 Careful estimates place the number of people 
 who perished from the plague and its attendant 
 horrors, in China, Europe, and Asia, at 23,840,000 ! 
 At Ivubeck, at that time the Venice of the north, 
 the citizens were thrown into such consternation 
 on the appearance of the plague that they de- 
 stroyed themselves as if in a frenzy. Riches were 
 no longer regarded. The superstitious people 
 carried their treasures to the churches and monas- 
 teries and laid them on the altar ; but gold had 
 no charms for the monks, for it brought them 
 deatk. They closed their gates to shut out the 
 contagion ; yet still the infected wealth was cast 
 to them over the convent walls. People would 
 brook no impediment to the last pious offerings to 
 which they were driven in despair. 
 
 The churchyards were unable to contain the 
 dead, and many houses, left without inhabitants, 
 fell into ruins. The pope consecrated the Rhone, 
 in order that the dead might be thrown into it 
 without delay, as there was no longer any room 
 for them in the churchyards. In all populous 
 cities extraordinary means were adopted for the 
 disposal of the dead. At Vienna the interment 
 of corpses in the church and churchyards was pro- 
 hibited; and corpses were then arranged in 
 layers by thousands, in six large pits outside the 
 city; yet still many were secretly buried, for at 
 all times the people are attached to the conse- 
 crated cemeteries of their dead, and will not re- 
 nounce the customary mode of interment. 
 
 In many places it was rumored that plague 
 patients were buried alive, as may sometimes 
 happen through senseless alarm and indecent 
 haste ; and thus the horror of the distressed people 
 was everywhere increased. At London, in one 
 burial ground alone, upwards of 50,000 corpses 
 were disposed of, arranged in layers in large pits. 
 
 Scotland would perhaps have escaped had not 
 the Scots availed themselves of the discomfiture 
 of the English, to make an irruption into their 
 territory, which terminated in the destruction of 
 their army by the pestilence and the sword, and 
 the extension of the plague, through those who 
 escaped, over tne whole country 
 
 At the commencement, there was in England a 
 superabundance of all the necessaries of life ; but 
 the plague, which seemed then to be the sole 
 disease, was soon accompanied by a fatal murrain 
 among the cattle. Wandering about without 
 herdsmen, they fell by thousands ; and it was 
 observed that the birds and beasts of prey, warned 
 by their instinct of self-preservation, would not 
 touch them. It is supposed that the murrain 
 originated from communication with the plague 
 patients, as it did not appear until after the com- 
 mencement of the Black Death, and in some 
 respects it resembled that terrible distemper. The 
 destruction of the cattle, and the neglect of the 
 harvests occasioned by the sickness among the 
 people, soon produced a great scarcity of provi- 
 sions, and famine, in its most dreaded aspects, 
 for many months threatened the people of Eng- 
 land. 
 
 When the plague ceased, men thought they 
 were still wandering among the dead, so appalling 
 was the livid aspect of the survivors, in conse- 
 quence of the anxiety they had undergone, the 
 lack of proper food, and the infection of the air. 
 
 Immediately after the cessation of the pesti- 
 lence, the monastic orders received large acces- 
 sions from the ignorant laymen, who having lost 
 their wives, sought to participate in the respecta- 
 bility of the priesthood and the rich heritages 
 which came to the churches from all quarters 
 Many disorderly and disreputable characters were 
 thus admitted to the sacred office, and thereby 
 brought great discredit upon the Church. 
 
 In 1350 Pope Clement VI. cited the faithful to 
 Rome in celebration of the jubilee. The large 
 bodies of people that gathered in obedience to 
 this summons, caused a new eruption of the 
 plague, from which it is said that scarcely one in 
 a hundred of the pilgrims escaped. Italy was, in 
 consequence, depopulated anew, and those who 
 returned spread poison and corruption of morals 
 in all directions. 
 
 The inhabitants of Iceland and Greenland 
 found, in the coldness of their inhospitable climate, 
 no protection against the southern enemy. The 
 plague caused great havoc among them. It also 
 spread to Denmark and Nonvay, where the people 
 beeame so occupied with their misery that their 
 accustomed voyages to Greenland ceased. The 
 convulsion of the earth, and changes in its con- 
 formation, caused towering icebergs to form oa 
 
154 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the coast of East Greenland, and no mortal, from 
 that time to the present day, has ever seen that 
 shore or its inhabitants. They were suddenly and 
 irrevocably cut off from communication with the 
 rest of mankind. This is a remarkable fact, and 
 some northern explorer may yet make a discovery 
 of these lost people, who, having had no opportu- 
 nity to make any progress, shall astonish the world 
 by exhibiting to us in all their details the manners 
 and customs of the thirteenth and fourteenth cen- 
 turies. 
 
 After the cessation of the plague, a great fertility 
 in women was everywhere remarkable — a phe- 
 nomenon which, from its occurrence after every 
 destructive pestilence, sustains our belief in a 
 higher power, governing and directing everything 
 for the good of mankind and the increase of the 
 world's population- Marriages were, almost with- 
 out exception, very prolific, and double and treble 
 births were more frequent than at other times. It 
 is also asserted that children born after the "great 
 mortality," had fewer teeth than before, a phe- 
 nomenon which greatly shocked the people of 
 those times. This leads us to conclude that there 
 may be some ground for the predictions of the den- 
 tists, that we are gradually advancing toward that 
 condition when we shall have no teeth whatever. 
 Writers of that period claim that children born 
 before the Black Death had twenty-eight decidu- 
 ous teeth, while since that time the usual number 
 is only twenty. We doubt the truth of this state- 
 ment, for the world then believed in miracles and 
 marvels, and it readily accepted the belief that the 
 plague had caused an imperfection in the human 
 body. We presume the matter could be easily 
 determined by an examination of the mummy of 
 some ancient Egyptian child. 
 
 Finally, when the plague had disappeared, the 
 people gradually consoled themselves for the suf- 
 ferings they had endured ; the dead were soon 
 forgotten, and in the stirring vicissitudes of exist- 
 ence the world belonged to the living. 
 
 LIFE AMONG THE ENGLISH YEOMEN IN THE 
 SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 THIS extract from a sermon by Bishop Lati- 
 mer gives a good idea of how the common 
 people of England lived in the early part of the 
 sixteenth century : 
 
 My father was a yeoman, and had no lands of 
 his own, only he had a farm of ,£3 or £^ by year 
 
 at the uttermost, and hereupon he tilled so much 
 as kept half a dozen men. He had walk for an 
 hundred sheep, and my mother milked thirty kine. 
 He was able, and did find the king a harness, with 
 himself and his horse, while he came to the place 
 that he should receive the king's wages. I can 
 remember that I buckled his harness when he went 
 to Blackheath field. He kept me to school, or else 
 I had not been able to have preached before the 
 king's majesty now. He married my sisters with 
 £5 or 20 nobles a-piece, so that he brought them 
 up in godliness and fear of God. He kept hospi- 
 tality for his poor neighbours. And also alms he 
 gave to the poor, and all this did he of the said 
 farm. Where he that now hath it, payeth £\6 by 
 the year, or more, and is not able to do any thing 
 for his prince, for himself, nor for his children, or 
 give a cup of drink to the poor. 
 
 In my time ray poor father was as diligent to 
 teach me to shoot, as to learn me any other thing, 
 and so I think other men did their children : he 
 taught me how to draw, how to lay my body in 
 my bow, and not to draw with strength of arms 
 as divers other nations do but with strength of 
 body. I had my bows brought me according to 
 my age and strength ; as I increased in them, so 
 my bows were made bigger and bigger, for men 
 shall never.shoot well, except they be brought up 
 in it ; it is a worthy game, a wholesome kind of 
 exercise, and much commended in physic. 
 
 Latimer was tried for heresy and executed at 
 the stake October 16, 1555. To hasten his death, 
 gunpowder was fastened about his body, and upon 
 its explosion with the first flame, he died instantly. 
 This was regarded as a special act of clemency in 
 those barbarous days. 
 
 THEATRES IN THE TIME OK QUEEN 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 THE first regularly licensed theatre in London 
 was opened at Blackfriars in 1576 ; and in 
 ten years, it is mentioned by Secretary Walsing- 
 ham, that there were two hundred players in and 
 near the metropolis. This was probably an ex- 
 aggeration, but it is certain that there were five 
 public theatres open about the commencement of 
 Shakspeare's career, and special private or select 
 establishments. Curiosity is naturally e xcited to 
 learn something of the structure and appearance 
 of the buildings in which his immortal dramas 
 first saw light, and where he unwillingly made 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 155 
 
 himself a "motley to the view," in his character 
 of actor. The theatres were constructed of wood, 
 of a cirular form, open to the weather, excepting 
 over the stage, which was covered with a thatched 
 roof. Outside, on the roof, a flag was hoisted 
 during the time of performance, which commenced 
 at three o'clock, at the third sounding or nourish 
 of trumpets. The cavaliers and fair dames of the 
 court of Elizabeth sat in boxes below the gallery, 
 or were accommodated with stools on the stage, 
 where some of the young gallants also threw 
 themselves at length on the rush-strewn floor, 
 while their pages handed them pipes and tobacco, 
 then a fashionable and highly-prized luxury. The 
 middle classes were crowded in the pit, or yard, 
 which was not furnished with seats. Moveable 
 scenery was first introduced by Davenant, after 
 the Restoration, but rude imitations of towers, 
 woods, animals, or furniture, served to illustrate 
 the scene. To point out the place of action, a 
 board containing the name, painted or written in 
 large letters, was hung out during the perform- 
 ance. Anciently, an allegorical exhibition, called 
 the Dumb Show, was exhibited before every act, 
 and gave an outline of the action or circumstances 
 to follow. Shakspeare has preserved this peculi- 
 arity in the play acted before the king and queen 
 in Hamlet ; but he never employs it in his own 
 dramas. Such machinery, indeed, would be in- 
 compatible with the increased action of the stage, 
 when the miracle plays had given place to the 
 ' ' pomp and circumstance ' ' of historical dramas, 
 and the bustling liveliness of comedy. The chorus 
 was longer retained, and appears in Marlow's 
 Faustus, and in Henry VI. Actresses were not 
 seen on the stage till after the Restoration, and 
 the female parts were played by boys, or delicate- 
 looking young men. This may perhaps palliate 
 the grossness of some of the language put into 
 the mouths of females in the old plays, while it 
 serves to point out still more clearly the depth of 
 that innate sense of beauty and excellence which 
 prompted the exquisite pictures of loveliness and 
 perfection in Shakspeare' s female characters. At 
 the end of each performance, the clown or buffoon 
 actor of the company, recited or sung a rhyming 
 medley called a jig, in which he contrived to in- 
 troduce satirical allusions to public men or events ; 
 and before dismissing the audience, the actors 
 knelt in front of the stage, and offered up a prayer 
 for the queen ! Reviewing these rude arrange- 
 
 ments of the old theatres, Mr. Dyce happily re- 
 marks — "What a contrast between the almost 
 total want of scenery in those days, and the 
 splendid representations of external nature in our 
 modern playhouses ! Yet perhaps the decline of 
 
 THEATRE IN WHICH SHAKESPEARE S PLAYS 
 WERE FIRST PRODUCED. 
 
 the drama may in a great measure be attributed to 
 this improvement. The attention of an audience 
 is now directed rather to the efforts of the painter 
 than to those of the actor, who is lost amid the 
 mavellous effects of light and shade on our gigan- 
 tic stage." 
 
 A BRAVE WOMAN. 
 
 ON the twenty-seventh of January, 1796, a 
 party of Indians killed George Mason, on 
 Flat Creek, about twelve miles from Knoxville, 
 Tennessee. During the night, he heard a noise at 
 his stable, and stepped out to ascertain the cause, 
 and the Indians, coming between him and the 
 door, intercepted his return. He fled, but was fired 
 upon, and wounded. He reached a cave, a quarter 
 of a mile from his house, out of which, already 
 weltering in his blood, he was dragged and mur- 
 dered. Having done this, they returned to the 
 house, to despatch his wife and children. Mrs. 
 Mason, unconscious of the fate of her husband, 
 heard them talking to each other as they ap- 
 proached the house. At first, she was delighted 
 with the hope that her neighbours, aroused by 
 the firing, had come to her assistance. But, per- 
 ceiving that the conversation was neither in 
 English nor German, the language of her neigh- 
 
156 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 bours, she instantly inferred that they were sav- 
 ages, coming to attack the house. 
 
 The heroine had, that very morning, learned 
 how the double trigger of a rifle was set. Fortu- 
 nately, the children were not awakened by the 
 firing ; and she took care not to awaken them. 
 She shut the door, and barred it with benches and 
 tables, and took down the well-charged rifle of 
 ber husband. She placed herself directly oppo- 
 site the opening which would be made by forcing 
 the door. Her husband came not, and she was 
 too well aware that he was slain. She was alone, 
 in the darkness. The yelling savages were with- 
 out, pressing upon the house. She took counsel 
 horn her own magnanimity, heightened by affec- 
 tion for her children, that were sleeping uncon- 
 sciously around her. The Indians, pushing with 
 great violence, gradually opened the door suffi- 
 ciently wide to attempt an entrance. The body of 
 one was thrust into the opening, and just filled it. 
 He was struggling for admittance. Two or three 
 more, directly behind him, were propelling him 
 forward. She set the trigger of the rifle, put the 
 muzzle near the body of the foremost, and in such 
 a direction that the ball, after passing through his 
 body, would penetrate those behind. She fired. 
 The first Indian fell. The next one uttered the 
 scream of mortal agony. This intrepid woman 
 saw the policy of profound silence. She observed 
 it. The Indians, in consequence, were led to 
 believe that armed men were in the house. They 
 ■withdrew, took three horses from the stable, and 
 set It on fire. It was afterwards ascertained 
 nbat this high-minded widow had saved herself 
 and her children from the attack of twenty-five 
 assailants ! 
 
 JNTERESTING INCIDENT OF OUR NATIONAL 
 HISTORY. 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON, having brought 
 the war of the Revolution to an honorable 
 dose, retired to private life. On the adoption of 
 the federal constitution, he was twice unanimously 
 elected to preside as chief magistrate ; when, at 
 the end of eight years, he voluntarily resigned, 
 and returned to his estate on Mount Vernon. 
 John Adams, a memorable patriot of the Revolu- 
 tion, was chosen by the suffrage of the people to 
 succeed him as President of the United States ; 
 aad his inauguration took place in the hall of 
 Congress, south-east comer of Sixth and Chest- 
 
 nut streets, Philadelphia, 4th March, 1797. At 
 an early hour, the lobbies and gallery were well 
 "wedged" with spectators. The floor of the 
 house was occupied by the members, ladies, and 
 other privileged persons, as on all similar occa- 
 sions, who silently and anxiously waited the com- 
 ing scene. On that day, Thomas Jefferson was to 
 appear as Vice-President, and George Washington 
 a private citizen. The first novelty that presented 
 itself was the entrance of the Spanish minister, 
 (the Marquis Yrugo,) in full diplomatic costume. 
 He was of middle size, of round person, florid 
 complexion, and hair powdered like a snowball — 
 dark striped silk coat, lined with satin, white 
 waistcoat, black silk breeches, white silk stock- 
 ings, shoes and buckles — he had by his side an 
 elegant hilted small sword, and his "chapeau," 
 tipped with white feathers, under his arm. Thus 
 decorated, he crossed the floor of the hall with 
 the most easy nonchalance possible, and an occa- 
 sional side toss of the head, (to him habitual,) to 
 his appointed place. He was viewed by the audi- 
 ence for a short time in curious silence. He had 
 scarcely adjusted himself in his chair, when the 
 attention of the audience was roused by the word 
 "Washington," near the door of the entrance. 
 The word flew like lightning through the as- 
 sembly, and the subsequent varied shouts of en- 
 thusiasm produced immediately such a sound as 
 "When loud surges lash the sounding shore. " 
 It was an unexpected and instantaneous ex- 
 pression of "simultaneous" feeling, which made 
 the hall tremble. Occasionally, the word 
 "Washington! Washington!" might be heard 
 like guns in a storm. He entered in the midst, and 
 crossed the floor at ' ' quick step, " as if eager to es- 
 capenotice, and seated himself quickly on his chair, 
 near "the Marquis Yrugo," who rose up at his 
 entrance, as if startled by the uncommon scene. 
 He was dressed similarly to all the full-length 
 portraits of him, hair full -powdered, with black 
 silk rose and bag pendent behind, as then was 
 usual for elderly gentlemen of the "old school." 
 But on those portraits, one who had never seen 
 Washington might look in vain for that benign 
 expression of countenance possessed by him, and 
 only sufficiently perceptible in the lithographic 
 bust of Rembrandt Peale to cause "a feeling," as 
 Judge Peters, in his certificate to the painter, ex- 
 presses it. The burst ac the entrance-door had 
 now subsided, when the word "Jefferson!" 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 157 
 
 again electrified the audience into another explo- 
 sion of feeling, similar to the "first, but abated in 
 force and energy. He entered, dressed in a long 
 blue frock-coat, single-breasted, and buttoned 
 down to the waist — light, sandy hair, very 
 slightly powdered, and cued with black ribbon a 
 long way down his back ; tall, of benign aspect, 
 and straight as an arrow; he bent not, but, 
 with an erect gait, moved leisurely to his seat, 
 near Washington, and sat down. Silence again 
 ensued. 
 
 Presently, an increased bustle near the door of 
 the entrance, and the words, "President!" 
 "President Adams!" again produced an ex- 
 plosion of feeling similar to those that had pre- 
 ceded, but again diminished, by repetition, in its 
 force and energy. He was dressed in a suit of 
 light drab cloth, his hair well powdered, with 
 rose and bag, like that of Washington. He 
 passed slowly on, bowing on each side, till he 
 reached the "speaker's chair," on which he sat 
 down. Again a deep silence prevailed, in the 
 midst of which he rose, and bowing round to the 
 audience three times, varying his position each 
 time — he then read his inaugural address, in the 
 course of which he alluded to, and, at the same 
 time, bowed to his predecessor, which was re- 
 turned from Washington, who, with the members 
 of Congress, were all standing. When he had 
 finished, he sat down ; after a short pause, he rose 
 up, and, bowing round as before, he descended 
 from the chair, and passed out with acclamation. 
 Washington and Jefferson remained, standing to- 
 gether, and the bulk of the audience watching 
 their movements in cautious silence. Presently, 
 with a graceful motion of the hand, Washington 
 invited the Vice-President, Jefferson, to pass on 
 before him, which was declined by Mr. Jefferson. 
 After a pause, an invitation to proceed was re- 
 peated by Washington, when the Vice-President 
 passed on towards the door, and Washington 
 after him. A rush for the street now commenced, 
 and the next view of Washington, the "beheld 
 of all beholders," was on the north side of Chest- 
 nut street, going down, with the crowd after him, 
 and Timothy Pickering on his right, to 
 "Francis's Hotel," on a visit of congratulation to 
 the President elect. On his arrival at the hotel, 
 in Fourth street, above Chestnut, they passed in, 
 and the door was closely "wedged in" with 
 people desirous of beholding^ to the last the 
 
 person of Washington, now passing away from 
 them, and to be seen by them no more for- 
 ever. When the door closed, another explosion 
 of feeling from the assembled throng produced a 
 sound like thunder. The effect was such that 
 the door of the hotel again opened, and again 
 Washington, (to them) "first in war, first in 
 peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen, " 
 stood uncovered before them. A deep silence en- 
 sued. He then bowed three times to the specta- 
 tors, varying his position each time, which was 
 returned with a shout by the crowd, and a clap- 
 ping of hands. Having done so, he slowly re- 
 tired, seemingly in much agitation, within the 
 door, and the grateful assembly gradually disap- 
 peared. 
 
 ANECDOTE ATTRIBUTED TO JOHN ADAMS. 
 
 BEFORE our country took a stand among the 
 nations of Europe, and while we were suf- 
 fering by depredations on every hand, the vener- 
 able John Adams remarked, that the situation of 
 the United States reminded him of the condition 
 of Daniel Defoe's game-cock — who, on being in a. 
 stable with a number of horses, exclaimed, " Take 
 care, gentlemen ; don't let us tread upon one an- 
 other!" 
 
 EMMETT'S LAST INTERVIEW WITH THE 
 WOMAN HE LOVED: 
 
 THE evening before his death, while the work- 
 men were busy with the scaffold, a young 
 lady was ushered into his dungeon. It was the 
 girl whom he so fondly loved, and who had now 
 come to bid him her eternal farewell. He was 
 leaning, in a melancholy mood, against the win- 
 dow-frame of his prison, and the heavy clanking 
 of his irons smote dismally on her heart. The 
 interview was bitterly affecting, and melted even 
 the callous soul of the jailer. As for Emmett, he 
 wept and spoke little ; but, as he pressed his be- 
 loved in silence to his bosom, his countenance be- 
 trayed his emotions. In a low voice, half-choked 
 by anguish, he besought her not to forget him; 
 he reminded her of their former happiness, of the 
 long-past days of their childhood, and concluded 
 by requesting her sometimes to visit the scenes 
 where their infancy was spent, and, though the 
 world might repeat his name with scorn, to cling 
 to his memory with affection. At this very in- 
 stant, the evening bell pealed from the neighbor- 
 
158 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ing church. Ernmett started at the sound ! and 
 as he felt that this was the last time he should 
 ever hear its dismal echoes, he folded his beloved 
 still closer to his heart, and bent over her sinking 
 form with eyes streaming with affection. The 
 turnkey entered at the moment ; ashamed of his 
 weakness, he dashed the rising drop from his eye, 
 and a frown again lowered on his countenance. 
 The man, meanwhile, approached to tear the lady 
 from his embraces. Overcome by his feelings, he 
 could make no resistance ; but, as he gloomily re- 
 leased her from his hold, gave her a little minia- 
 ture of himself, and, with this parting token of 
 attachment, he imprinted the last kisses of a 
 dying man upon her lips. On gaining the door, 
 she turned round, as if to gaze once more on the 
 object of her widowed love. He caught her eye 
 as she retired — it was but for a moment ; the dun- 
 geon-door swung back upon its hinges ; and as it 
 closed after her, informed him too surely, that 
 thev had met for the last time on earth. 
 
 the agreed sum. " " There is an order for them," 
 said the emperor, "and here is another, for an 
 equal sum, for the fright that I have given you." 
 
 NAPOLEON AND THE COAT OF MAIL. 
 
 JUST before Napoleon set out for the court of 
 Belgium, he sent to the cleverest artisan 
 of his class in Paris, and demanded of him whether 
 he would engage to make a coat of mail, to be 
 worn under the ordinary dress, which should be 
 absolutely bullet-proof; and that if so, he might 
 name his own price for such a work. The man 
 engaged to make the desired object, if allowed 
 proper time, and he named eighteen thousand 
 francs as the price of it. The bargain was con- 
 cluded, and in due time the work was produced, 
 and its maker honored with a second audience of 
 the emperor. " Now," said his imperial majesty, 
 "put it on." The man did so. "As I am to 
 stake my life on its efficacy, you will, I suppose, 
 have no objections to do the same." And he took 
 a brace of pistols, and prepared to discharge one 
 of them at the breast of the astonished artisan. 
 There was no retreating, however, and, half-dead 
 with fear, he stood the fire, and, to the infinite 
 credit of his work, with perfect impunity. But 
 the emperor was not content with one trial ; he 
 fired the second pistol at the back of the trembling 
 artisan, and afterwards discharged a fowling-piece 
 at another part of him, with similar effect. 
 "Well," said the emperor, "you have produced 
 a capital work, undoubtedly — what is the price of 
 it ? " " Eighteen thousand francs were named as 
 
 GENERAL PUTNAM'S IDEA OF DUELLING. 
 
 CHIS brave old soldier and hero of many 
 battles was opposed to duelling on principle. 
 He justly regarded it as a barbarous and cowardly 
 practice. On a certain occasion he unintention- 
 ally affronted a brother officer, and was called to 
 account for it. The dispute arose at a wine-table, 
 and the officer demanded instant reparation. 
 Putnam, being a little elevated, expressed his will- 
 ingness to accommodate the gentleman with a 
 fight ; and it was stipulated that the duel should 
 take place on the following morning, and that 
 they should fight without seconds. At the ap- 
 pointed time, the officer advanced to the ground, 
 armed with sword and pistols. On entering the 
 field, Putnam, who had taken a stand at the op- 
 posite extremity, and at a distance of about thirty 
 rods, levelled his musket, and fired at him. The 
 gentleman now ran towards his antagonist, who 
 deliberately proceeded to reload his gun. 
 
 ' ' What are you about to do ? " exclaimed he ; 
 ' ' Is this the conduct of an American officer and 
 a man of honor ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' What are you about to do ? " exclaimed the 
 general, attending only to the first question ; "A 
 pretty question to put to a man whom you in- 
 tended to murder. I'm about to kill you, and if 
 you don't beat a retreat in less time than 'twould 
 take old Heath to hang a Tory, you are a gone 
 dog;" at the same time returning his ramrod to 
 its place, and throwing the breech of his gun into 
 the hollow of his shoulder. 
 
 This intimation was too unequivocal to be mis- 
 understood, and our valorous duellist turned and 
 fled for life. 
 
 SINGULAR INCIDENT ABOUT MAJ. ANDRE. 
 
 IT is certainly a very singular circumstance that 
 Andre should, in a very satirical poem, have 
 foretold his own fate. It was called the " Cow 
 Ckase," and was published by Rivington, at New 
 York, in consequence of the failure of an expedi- 
 tion undertaken by Wayne for the purpose of 
 collecting cattle. Great liberties are taken with 
 the American officers employed on the occasion, 
 — with 
 
 Harry Lee, and his dragoons, and Proctor with his 
 cannon. 
 
,r- 
 
 BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 159 
 
 But the point of his irony seemed particularly 
 aimed at Wayne, whose entire baggage, he 
 asserts, was taken, containing 
 
 His Congress dollars and his prog, 
 
 His military speeches ; 
 His cornstalk whiskey for his grog, 
 
 Black stockings and blue breeches. 
 
 And concludes by observing, that it is necessary 
 to check the current of satire, 
 
 Lest the same warrior-drover Wayne 
 Should catch — and hang the poet. 
 
 He was actually taken by a party from the 
 division of the army immediately under the com- 
 mand of Wayne. 
 
 WESTERN HOSPITALITY. 
 
 mR. OGILVIE, formerly so well known in 
 Virginia as a supporter of the Godwenian 
 philosophy, conceiving a vehement desire to see 
 the Western country, set off from Richmond, for 
 Lexington, in Kentucky. It was in the month 
 of October, after a most lonely and wearisome 
 day's ride, that, a little before sunset, he came to 
 a small cabin on the road, and, fearing he should 
 find no other opportunity of procuring refresh- 
 ment for himself and his jaded horse, he stopped 
 and inquired if he could be accommodated for the 
 night. An old woman, the only person he saw, 
 civilly answering him in the affirmative, he gladly 
 alighted, and going in to a tolerable fire, enjoyed 
 the luxury of rest, while his hostess was discharg- 
 ing the duties of ostler and cook. In no long 
 time, she set before him a supper of comfortable, 
 but homely fare, of which having liberally par- 
 taken, and giving divers significant nods, the old 
 woman remarked she ' ' expected " he " chose 
 bed," and, pointing to one which stood in the 
 corner of the room, immediately went into the 
 yard awhile, to give him an opportunity of un- 
 dressing. Before he had been long in bed, and 
 while he was congratulating himself on his good 
 fortune, the latch of the door was drawn, and 
 there entered a dark-looking man, of gigantic 
 stature and form, with stiff, black hair, eyebrows, 
 and beard. He was apparently about eight-and- 
 twenty, was dressed in a brown hunting shirt, 
 which partly concealed a pair of dirty buckskin 
 overalls, and he wore moccasins of the same ma- 
 terial. Mr. O. thought he had never seen any- 
 thing half so ferocious. As soon as this man 
 
 entered the room, his mother, for so she proved 
 to be, pointing to the bed, motioned him to make 
 no noise ; on which, with inaudible steps, he ' 
 walked to the chimney, put his gun upon a rude 
 rack provided for that and other arms, and sat 
 softly down to the fire, then throwing a bright 
 blaze around the room. 
 
 Our traveller, not liking the looks of the new- 
 comer, and not caring to be teazed by conversa- 
 tion, drew his head under the bed-clothes, so that 
 he could see what was passing, without leaving 
 his own face visible. The two soon entered into 
 conversation, but in so low a voice, that Mr. O. 
 could not distinguish what was said. His powers 
 of attention were wrought up to the most painful 
 pitch of intensity. At length, the man, looking 
 towards the bed, made some remark to his 
 mother, to which Mr. O. heard her reply, " No, I 
 hardly think he's asleep yet," — and they again 
 conversed in a low voice, as before. After a short 
 interval, while the man sat with his feet stretched 
 out towards the fire, on which he was intently 
 gazing— 
 
 "Don't you think he's asleep now?" he was 
 heard to say. 
 
 "Stop," says she, "I'll go and see;" and, 
 moving near the bed, under the pretext of taking 
 something from a small table, she approached so 
 near as to see the face of our traveller, whose eyes 
 were indeed closed, but who was anything but 
 asleep. On her return to the fireplace, she said, 
 " Yes, he's fast asleep now." 
 
 On this, the mountaineer, rising from his stool, 
 reached up to the rack, and taking down, with 
 his right hand, an old greasy cutlass, walked with 
 the same noiseless step towards the traveller's 
 bed, and, stretching out the other hand, at the 
 moment that Mr. O. was about to implore his 
 pity, took down a venison ham which hung on 
 the wall near the head of the bed, walked softly 
 back to the fire, and began to slice some pieces 
 for his supper ; and Mr. O., who lay more dead 
 than alive, and whose romantic fancy heightened 
 the terrors of all he saw, had the unspeakable 
 gratification to find that these kind-hearted chil- 
 dren of the forest had been talking low, and that 
 the hungry hunter, who had eaten nothing since 
 the morning, had foreborne making a noise, lest 
 they should interrupt the slumbers of their way- 
 worn guest. The next day, Mr. O., who was an 
 enthusiast in physiognomy, discovered remark- 
 
160 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 able benevolence in the features of the hunter, 
 which, by the false and deceitful glare of the fire- 
 light, had escaped him, and in his recital of this 
 adventure, which furnished him with a favorite 
 occasion of exercising his powers of declamation 
 to great advantage, in a matter of real life, he 
 often declared that he had never taken a more 
 refreshing night's rest, or made a more grateful 
 repast, than he had done in this humble cottage. 
 We cannot forbear to add that the subject of 
 our memoir was reserved for a different, though 
 not less tragical fate, than that which seemed here 
 to threaten him. After having been an object of 
 criticism or admiration, as a professed rhetorician 
 and declaimer, in all the principal cities of the 
 Union — after trying his oratorical powers in the 
 Surrey Institute — after encountering, in various 
 forms, disappointment, obloquy, and, to use one 
 of his own alliterations, the miseries of debt and 
 destitution, he became heir to a title and a large 
 estate in Scotland, and, unable either to do with- 
 out the use of opium, or to bear that deterioration 
 of the faculties which its habitual use superin- 
 duced, he very soon afterwards put an end to his 
 weary existence, by a pistol. 
 
 DEATH OF HAMILTON. 
 
 IN the year 1804, General Hamilton, who had 
 just been appointed ambassador from the 
 United States to Paris, got involved in a political 
 dispute with Colonel Aaron Burr, then Vice- 
 President. Dr. Cooper had published a pamphlet, 
 in which he said, "General Hamilton and Dr. 
 Kent say, that they consider Colonel Burr as a 
 dangerous man, and one unfit to be trusted with 
 the reins of government. ' ' In another place the 
 same writer says, "General Hamilton has ex- 
 pressed of Colonel Burr opinions still more de- 
 spicable. ' ' 
 
 The last passage excited the resentment of Col- 
 onel Burr, who demanded from General Hamilton 
 "a prompt and unqualified acknowledgment or 
 denial of the expression, which could justify this 
 interference on the part of Dr. Cooper. ' ' General 
 Hamilton admitted the first statement, which he 
 contended was fairly within the bounds prescribed 
 in cases of political animosity, and objected to 
 being called on to retract every conversation which 
 he had held either publicly or confidentially in 
 the course of fifteen years' opposition. This would 
 
 not satisfy Colonel Burr, who demanded satisfac- 
 tion, and a meeting. 
 
 On the evening before the duel, General Hamil- 
 ton made his will, in which he enclosed a paper, 
 containing his opinions of duelling, and expres- 
 sive of the reluctance with which he obeyed a 
 custom so repugnant to his feelings. He says : 
 
 " On my expected interview with Colonel Burr, 
 I think proper to make some remarks, explanatory 
 of my conduct, motives, and views. I was cer- 
 tainly desirous of avoiding this interview, for the 
 most cogent reasons. 
 
 "First. My religious and moral principles are 
 strongly opposed to the practice of duelling ; and 
 it would ever give me pain to shed the blood of a 
 fellow-creature, in a private combat, forbidden by 
 the laws. 
 
 ' ' Secondly. My wife and children are extremely 
 dear to me ; and my life is of the utmost impor- 
 tance to them, in various views. 
 
 " Thirdly. I feel a sense of obligation towards 
 my creditors, who, in case of accident to me, by 
 the forced sale of my property, may be in some 
 degree sufferers. I did not think myself at lib- 
 erty, as a man of probity, lightly to expose them 
 to hazard. 
 
 ' ' Fourthly. I am conscious of no ill-will to- 
 Colonel Burr, distinct from political opposition, 
 which, as I trust, has proceeded from pure and 
 upright motives. 
 
 " Lastly. I shall hazard much, and can possibly 
 gain nothing, by the issue of the interview." 
 
 The parties met, and Colonel Burr's shot took 
 fatal effect. General Hamilton had determined 
 not to return the fire, but, on receiving the shock 
 of a mortal wound, his pistol went off involunta- 
 rily in an opposite direction. Few individuals- 
 died more lamented than General Hamilton, 
 whose funeral at New York was observed at that 
 place with unusual respect and ceremony. All 
 the public functionaries attended ; the bells, muf- 
 fled, tolled during the day ; all business was sus 
 pended, and the principal inhabitants wore 
 mourning for six weeks. No other death since 
 that of Washington filled the republic with such 
 deep and universal regret. 
 
 DEATH OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 IN the year 16 15, Raleigh was liberated from the 
 Tower, in consequence of having projected a 
 second expedition to Guiana, from which the king 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 161 
 
 hoped to derive some profit. His purpose was to 
 colonize the country, and work gold mines ; and 
 in 1617 a fleet of 
 twelve armed ves- 
 sels sailed under 
 Raleigh's com- 
 mand. The whole 
 details of his in- 
 tended proceed- 
 ings, however, 
 were weakly and 
 treacherously 
 communicated by 
 the king to the 
 Spanish govern- 
 ment, by whom 
 the scheme was 
 miserably thwart- 
 ed. Returning to 
 England, Raleigh 
 landed at Ply- 
 mouth, and on his 
 way to London 
 was arrested in the 
 king's name. At 
 this time the pro- 
 jected marriage 
 between Prince 
 Charles and the 
 Infanta of Spain 
 occupied James's 
 attention, and to 
 propitiate the 
 Spanish govern- 
 ment, he deter- 
 mined that Ra- 
 leigh must be sac- 
 rificed. After 
 many vain a t - 
 tempts to discover 
 valid grounds for 
 accusation against 
 him, it was found 
 necessary to pro- 
 ceed upon the old 
 sentence, and Ra- 
 leigh was accord - 
 inglj' beheaded on 
 the 29th of Oc- 
 tober, 161 8. On the scaffold his behavior was 
 firm and calm ; after addressing the people in 
 11 
 
 justification of his character and conduct, he took 
 up the axe, and observed to the sheriff, " This is 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH BEING LED TO EXECUTION. 
 
 a sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all dis- 
 eases." Having tried how the block fitted his 
 
162 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 head, he told the executioner that he would give 
 the signal by lifting up his hand ; " and then," 
 added he, " fear not, but strike home !" He then 
 laid himself down, but was requested by the exe- 
 cutioner to alter the position of his head : "So 
 the heart be right," was his reply, "it is no mat- 
 ter which way the head lies." On the signal 
 being given, the executioner failed to act with 
 promptitude, which caused Raleigh to exclaim, 
 " Why dost thou not strike? Strike, man!" By 
 two strokes, which he received without shrink- 
 ing, the head of this intrepid man was severed 
 from his body. 
 
 The night before his execution, he composed 
 the following verses in prospect of death : 
 
 Even such is Time, that takes on trust 
 Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 
 
 And pays us but with age and dust ; 
 Who in the dark and silent grave, 
 
 When we have wandered all our ways, 
 
 Shuts up the story of our days ! 
 
 While in prison, in expectation of death, either 
 on this or the former occasion, he wrote also a 
 tender and affectionate valedictory letter to his 
 wife, of which the following is a portion : 
 
 ' ' You shall receive, my dear wife, my last words 
 in these my last lines ; my love I send you, that 
 you may keep when I am dead, and my counsel, 
 that you may remember it when I am no more. 
 I would not with my will present you sorrows, 
 dear Bess ; let them go to the grave with me, and 
 be buried in the dust. And seeing that it is not 
 the will of God that I shall see you any more, 
 bear my destruction patiently, and with a heart 
 like yourself. 
 
 "First, I send you all the thanks which my 
 heart can conceive, or my words express, for your 
 many travails and cares for me, which, though 
 they have not taken as you wished, yet my debt 
 to you is not the less ; but pay it I never shall in 
 this world. 
 
 " Secondly, I beseech you, for the love you bear 
 me living, that you do not hide yourself many 
 days, but by your travails seek to help my miser- 
 able fortunes, and the right of your poor child ; 
 your mourning cannot avail me, that am but 
 dust. 
 
 " Paylie oweth me a thousand pounds, and 
 Aryan six hundred ; in Jersey, also, I have much 
 owing me. Dear wife, I beseech you, for my 
 
 soul's sake, pay all poor men. When I am dead, 
 no doubt you shall be much sought unto ; for the 
 world thinks I was very rich ; have a care to 
 the fair pretences of men, for no greater misery 
 can befall you in this life than to become a prey 
 unto the world, and after to be despised. I speak, 
 God, knows, not to dissuade you from marriage, 
 for it will be best for you, both in respect of God 
 and the world. As for me, I am no more yours, 
 nor you mine ; death hath cut us asunder, and God 
 hath divided me from the world, and you from me. 
 Remember your poor child for his father's sake, 
 who loved you in his happiest estate. I sued for 
 life, but, God knows, it was for you and yours 
 that I desired it ; for know it, my dear wife, your 
 child is the child of a true man, who, in his own 
 respect, despiseth death, and his mis-shapen and 
 ugly forms. I cannot write much (God knows 
 how hardly I steal this time when all sleep), and 
 it is also time forme to separate my thoughts from 
 the world. Beg my dead body, which living was 
 denied you, and either la}- it in Sherburn or Exe- 
 ter church, by my father and mother. I can say 
 no more, time and death calleth me away. The 
 everlasting God, powerful, infinite and inscrutable 
 God Almighty, who is goodness itself, the true 
 light and life, keep you and yours, and have 
 mercy upon me, and forgive my persecutors and 
 false accusers, send us to meet in His glorious 
 kingdom. My dear wife, farewell ; bless my boy, 
 pray for me, and let my true God hold you both 
 in his arms." 
 
 BATTLE OF THERMOPYLAE. 
 
 A GOOD idea of Sir Walter Raleigh's style as 
 a historian can be obtained in the reading of 
 his account of the battle of Thermopylae, as 
 follows : 
 
 ' ' After such time as Xerxes had transported 
 his army over the Hellespont, and landed in 
 Thrace (leaving the description of his passage 
 alongst that coast, and how the river of L/issus was 
 drunk dry by his multitudes, and the lake near to 
 Pissyrus by his cattle, with other accidents in his 
 marches towards Greece), I will speak of the en- 
 counters he had, and the shameful and incredible 
 overthrows which he received. As first at Ther- 
 mopylae, a narrow passage of half an acre of ground, 
 lying between the mountains which divide Thes- 
 saly from Greece, where sometimes the Phoeni- 
 cians had raised a wall with gates, which was then 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 163 
 
 ior the most part ruined. At this entrance, 
 Leonidas, one of the kings of Sparta, with 300 
 Lacedaemonians, assisted 
 with 1000 Tegeatae and 
 Mantineans, and 1000 
 Arcadians, and other Pe- 
 loponnesians, to the num- 
 ber of 3100 in the whole ; 
 besides 100 Phocians, 400 
 Thebans, 700 Thespians, 
 and all the forces (such 
 as they were) of the bor- 
 dering Tocrians, de- 
 fended the passage two 
 whole days together 
 against that huge army 
 of the Persians. The 
 valor of the Greeks ap- 
 peared so excellent in 
 this defence, that, in the 
 first day's fight, Xerxes 
 is said to have three times 
 leaped out of his throne, 
 fearing the detructions 
 of his army by one hand- 
 ful of those men whom 
 not long before he had 
 utterly despised: and 
 when the second day's 
 attempt upon the Greeks 
 had proved vain, he was 
 altogether ignorant how 
 to proceed further, and 
 so might have continued, 
 had not a runagate Gre- 
 cian taught him a secret 
 way, by which part of his 
 army might ascend the 
 ledge of mountains, and 
 set upon the backs of 
 those who kept the 
 straits. But when the 
 most valiant of the Per- 
 sian army had almost in- 
 closed the small forces of 
 the Greek then did Leo- 
 nidas, king of the Lace- 
 daemonians, with his 
 300, and 700 Thespians, 
 which were all abode by him, refuse to quit the 
 place which they had undertaken to make good, 
 
 and with admirable courage, not only resist that 
 world of men which charged them on all sides, but, 
 
 issuing out of their strength, made so great a 
 slaughter of their enemies, that they might be 
 
1G4 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 called vanquishers, though all of them were slain on 
 the place. Xerxes having lost in this last fight, 
 together with 20,000 other soldiers and captains, 
 two of his own brethren, began to doubt what 
 inconvenience might befall him by the virtue of 
 such as had not been present at these battles, 
 with whom he knew that he shortly was to deal. 
 Especially of the Spartans he stood in great fear, 
 whose manhood had appeared singular in this 
 trial, which caused him very carefully to inquire 
 what numbers they could bring into the field. It 
 is reported of Dieneces, the Spartan, that when 
 one thought to have terrified him by saying that 
 the flight of the Persian arrows was so thick as 
 would hide the sun, he answered thus : ' It is 
 very- good news, for then shall we fight in the cool 
 shade.' " 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S RULES OF LIFE. 
 
 AMONGST all other things of the world, take 
 care of thy estate, which thou shalt ever 
 preserve if thou observe three things : first, that 
 thou know what thou hast, what even, - thing is 
 worth that thou hast, and to see that thou art not 
 wasted by thy servants and officers. The second 
 is, that thou never spend anything before thou 
 have it ; for borrowing is the canker and death 
 of every man's estate. The third is, that thou 
 suffer not thyself to be wounded for other men's 
 faults, and scourged for other men's offences; 
 which is, the surety for another, for thereby mill- 
 ions of men have been beggared and destroyed, 
 paying the reckoning of other men's riot, and the 
 charge of other men's foil}- and prodigality ; if 
 thou smart, smart for thine own sins ; and above 
 all things, be not made an ass to carry the bur- 
 dens of other men : if any friend desire thee to be 
 his surety, give him a part of what thou hast to 
 spare ; if he press thee farther, he is not thy friend 
 at all, for friendship rather choose th harm to 
 itself than offereth it. If thou be bound for a 
 stranger, thou art a fool ; if for a merchant, thou 
 puttest thy estate to learn to swim ; if for a 
 churchman, he hath no inheritance ; if for a 
 lawyer, he will find an evasion by a syllable or 
 word to abuse thee ; if for a poor man, thou must 
 pay it thyself ; if for a rich man, he needs not : 
 therefore from suretyship, as from a man-slayer 
 or enchanter, bless thyself; for the best profit 
 and return will be this, that if thou force him for 
 whom thou art bound, to pay it himself, he will 
 
 become thy enemy ; if thou use to pay it thyself, 
 thou wilt be a beggar ; and believe thy father in 
 this, and print it in thy thought, that what virtue 
 soever thou hast, be it never so manifold, if thou 
 be poor withal, thou and thy qualities shall be de- 
 spised. Besides, poverty is ofttimes sent as a 
 curse of God ; it is a shame amongst men, an im- 
 prisonment of the mind, a vexation of every 
 worth)- spirit : thou shalt neither help thyself nor 
 others ; thou shalt drown thee in all thy virtues, 
 having no means to show them ; thou shalt be a 
 burden and an eyesore to th}- friends, every man 
 will fear thy company ; thou shalt be driven 
 basely to beg and depend on others, to flatter un- 
 worthy men, to make dishonest shifts ; and, to 
 conclude, poverty provokes a man to do infamous 
 and detested deeds ; let no vanity, therefore, or 
 persuasion, draw thee to that worst of worldly 
 miseries. 
 
 If thou be rich, it will give thee pleasure in 
 health, comfort in sickness, keep thy mind and 
 body free, save thee from many perils, relieve thee 
 in thy elder years, relieve the poor and thy honest 
 friends, and give means to thy posterity to live, 
 and defend themselves and thine own fame. 
 Where it is said in the Proverbs, " That he shall 
 be sore vexed that is surety for a stranger, and he 
 that hateth suretyship is sure ; " it is further said, 
 ' ' The poor is hated even of his own neighbour, 
 but the rich have many friends." Tend not to 
 him that is mightier than thyself, for if thou lend- 
 est him, count it but lost ; be not surety above 
 thy power, for if thou be surety, think to pay it. 
 
 SPORTS UPON THE ICE IN ELIZABETH'S 
 REIGN. 
 
 7TVE select the following unique description of 
 \XJ sports on the ice, during Queen Elizabeth's 
 time, from the writings of John Stow, a pains- 
 taking and accurate historian of that period : 
 
 When that great moor which washeth Moor- 
 fields, at the north wall of the city, is frozen over, 
 great companies of young men go to sport upon 
 the ice ; then fetching a run, and setting their 
 feet at a distance, and placing their bodies side- 
 wise, they slide a great way. Others take heaps 
 of ice, as if it were great mill-stones, and make 
 seats ; many going before, draw him that sits 
 thereon, holding one another by the hand in going 
 so fast ; some slipping with their feet, all fall down 
 together : some are better practised to the ice, and 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 165 
 
 bind to their shoes bones, as the legs of some beasts, 
 and hold stakes in their hands headed with sharp 
 iron, which sometimes they strike against the 
 ice ; and these men go on with speed as doth a 
 bird in the air, or darts shot from some warlike 
 engine : sometimes two men set themselves at a 
 distance, and run one against another, as it were 
 at tilt, with these stakes, wherewith one or both 
 parties are thrown down, not without some hurt 
 to their bodies ; and after their fall, by reason of 
 the violent motion, are carried a good distance 
 from one another ; and wheresoever the ice doth 
 touch their head, it rubs off all the skin, and laj r s 
 it bare ; and if one fall upon his leg or arm, it is 
 usually broken ; but the young men, greedy of 
 honour, and desirous of victory, do thus exercise 
 themselves in counterfeit battles, that they may 
 bear the brunt more strongly when the}' come to 
 it in good earnest. 
 
 ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 THE writings of William Harrison, an English 
 clergyman of the sixteenth century, are 
 greatly valued, as affording an interesting picture 
 of the state of the country, and manners of the 
 people, of that period. His history of the Eng- 
 lish language is speciall}- interesting and valuable, 
 and we present it in his own quaint and attractive 
 style : 
 
 The British tongue called Cymric doth yet re- 
 main in that part of the island which is now 
 called Wales, whither the Britons were driven 
 after the Saxons had made a full conquest of the 
 other, which we now call England, although the 
 pristine integrity thereof be not a little dimin- 
 ished by mixture of the Latin and Saxon speeches 
 withal. Howbeit, many poesies and writings (in 
 making whereof that nation hath evermore de- 
 lighted) are yet extant in my time, whereby some 
 difference between the ancient and present lan- 
 guage may easily be discerned, notwithstanding 
 that among all these there is nothing to be found 
 which can set down any sound and full testimony 
 of their own original, in remembrance whereof 
 their bards and cunning men have been most 
 slack and negligent. . . 
 
 Next unto the British speech, the Latin tongue 
 was brought in by the Romans, and in manner 
 generally planted through the whole region, as 
 the French was after by the Normans. Of this 
 tongue I will not say much, because there are few 
 
 which be not skilful in the same. Howbeit, as 
 the speech itself is easy and delectable, so hath it 
 perverted the names of the ancient rivers, regions, 
 and cities of Britain, in such wise, that in these 
 our days their old British denominations are quite 
 grown out of memory, and yet those of the new 
 Latin left as most uncertain.' This remaiueth, 
 also, unto my time, borrowed from the Romans, 
 that all our deeds, evidences, charters, and writ- 
 ings of record, are set down in the Latin tongue, 
 though now very barbarous, and thereunto the 
 copies and court-rolls, and processes of courts and 
 leets registered in the same. 
 
 The third language apparently known is the 
 Scythian,* or High Dutch, induced at the first by 
 the Saxons (which the Britons call Saysonaec.f 
 as they do the speakers Sayson), a hard and rough 
 kind of speech, God wot, when our nation was 
 brought first into acquaintance withal, but now 
 changed with us into a far more fine and easy 
 kind of utterance, and so polished and helped 
 with new and milder words, that it is to be 
 avouched how there is no one speech under the 
 sun spoken in our time that hath or can have more 
 variety of words, copiousness of phrases, or fig- 
 ures and flowers of eloquence, than hath our Eng- 
 lish tongue, although some have affirmed us 
 rather to bark as dogs than talk like men, because 
 the most of our words (as they do indeed) incline 
 unto one syllable. This, also, is to be noted as a 
 testimony remaining still of our language, de- 
 rived from the Saxons, that the general name, for 
 the most part, of every skilful artificer in his 
 trade endeth in here with us, albeit the h be left 
 out, and er only inserted, as, scrivenhere, writehere, 
 shiphere, etc., for scrivener, writer, and shipper, 
 etc. : beside many other relics of that speech, 
 never to be abolished. 
 
 After the Saxon tongue came the Norman or 
 French language over into our country, and 
 therein were our laws written for a long time. 
 Our children, also, were, by an especial decree, 
 taught first to speak the same, and thereunto en- 
 forced to learn their constructions in the French, 
 whensoever the}- were set to the grammar-school. 
 In like sort, few bishops, abbots, or other clergy- 
 men, were admitted unto any ecclesiastical fuuc- 
 
 * It is scarcely necessary to remark, that this term is 
 here misapplied. 
 
 t The Highlanders of Scotland still speak of the Eng- 
 lish as Sassenach (meaning Saxons). 
 
166 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 tion here among us, but such as came out of reli- 
 gious houses from beyond the seas, to the end they 
 should not use the English tongue in their ser- 
 mons to the people. In the court, also, it grew 
 into such contempt, that most men thought it no 
 small dishonor to speak an}- English there ; which 
 bravery took his hold at the last likewise in the 
 country with every ploughman, that even the very 
 carters began to wax wean- of their mother- 
 tongue, and labored to speak French, which as 
 then was counted no small token of gentility. 
 And no man-el ; for every French rascal, when he 
 came once hither, was taken for a gentleman, only 
 because he was proud, and could use his own lan- 
 guage. And all this (I say) to exile the English 
 and British speeches quite out of the country. 
 But in vain ; for in the time of King Edward I., 
 to wit, toward the latter end of his reign, the 
 French itself ceased to be spoken generally, but 
 most of all and by law in the midst of Edward 
 III., and then began the English to recover and 
 grow in more estimation than before ; notwith- 
 standing that, among our artificers, the most part 
 of their implements, tools, and works of art, retain 
 still their French denominations even to these 
 our days, as the language itself is used likewise in 
 sundry courts, books of record, and matters of 
 law ; whereof here is no place to make an)- par- 
 ticular rehearsal. 
 
 Afterward, also, by diligent travail of Geoffrey 
 Chaucer and John Gower, in the time of Richard 
 II., and after them of John Scogan and John 
 Lydgate, monk of Bury, our said tongue was 
 brought to an excellent pass, notwithstanding 
 that it never came under the type of perfection 
 until the time of Queen Elizabeth, wherein John 
 Jewel, bishop of Sarum, John Fox, and sundry 
 learned and excellent writers, have fully accom- 
 plished the ornature of the same, to their great 
 praise and immortal commendation ; although not 
 a few other do greatly seek to stain the same, by 
 fond affectation of foreign and strange words, 
 presuming that to be the best English which is 
 most corrupted with external terms of eloquence 
 and sound cf many syllables. But as this excel- 
 lency of the English tongue is found in one, and 
 the south part of this island, so in Wales the 
 greatest number (as I said) retain still their own 
 ancient language, that of the north part of the 
 said country being less corrupted than the other, 
 and therefore reputed for the better in their own 
 
 estimation and judgment. This, also, is proper 
 to us Englishmen, that since ours is a middle or 
 intermediate language, and neither too rough nor 
 too smooth in utterance, we ma}- with much facil- 
 ity learn any other language, beside Hebrew, 
 Greek, and Latin, and speak it naturally, as if we 
 were home-born in those countries ; and yet on 
 the other side it falleth out, I wot not by what 
 other means, that few foreign nations can rightly 
 pronounce ours, without some and that great note 
 of imperfection, especially the Frenchmen, who 
 also seldom write anything that savoureth of 
 English truly. But this of all the rest doth breed 
 most admiration with me, that if any stranger do 
 hit upon some likely pronunciation of our tongue, 
 yet in age he swen-eth so much from the same, 
 that he is worse therein than ever he was, and 
 thereto, peradventure, halteth not a little also in 
 his own, as I have seen by experience in Reginald 
 Wolfe, and others, whereof I have justly mar- 
 velled. 
 
 The Cornish and Devonshire men, whose coun- 
 try the Britons call Cerniw, have a speech in like 
 sort of their own, and such as hath indeed more 
 affinity with the Armoricaii tongue than I can 
 well discuss of. Yet in mine opinion, they are 
 both but a corrupted kind of British, albeit so far 
 degenerating in these days from the old, that if 
 either of them do meet with a Welshman, they 
 are not able at the first to understand one another, 
 except here and there in some odd words, without 
 the help of interpreters. And no man-el, in mine 
 opinion, that the British of Cornwall is thus cor- 
 rupted, since the Welsh tongue that is spoken in 
 the north and south part of Wales doth differ so 
 much in itself, as the English used in Scotland 
 doth from that which is spoken among us here in 
 this side of the island, as I have said already. 
 
 The Scottish-English hath been much broader 
 and less pleasant in utterance than ours, because 
 that nation hath not, till of late, endeavoured to 
 bring the same to any perfect order, and yet it 
 was such in manner as Englishmen themselves 
 did speak for the most part beyond the Trent, 
 whither any great amendment of our language 
 had not, as then, extended itself. Howbeit, in 
 our time the Scottish language endeavoureth to 
 come near, if not altogether to match, our tongue 
 in fineness of phrase and copiousness of words, 
 and this may in part appear by a history of the 
 Apocrypha translated into Scottish verse by Hud- 
 
AN OLD SOLDIER'S STORY. 
 
 (I6 7 ) 
 
168 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 son, dedicated to the king of that country, and con- 
 taining six books, except my memory do fail me. 
 
 TALES CF TRAVELLERS. 
 
 Q ELECTED from the writings of James Howell, 
 \D an author of the sixteenth century : 
 
 ' ' Others have a custom to be always relating 
 strange things and wonders (of the humour of Sir 
 John Mandeville), and they usually present them 
 to the hearers through multiplying-glasses, and 
 thereby cause the thing to appear far greater 
 than it is itself; they make mountains of mole- 
 hills, like Chareuton-Bridge-Echo, which doubles 
 the sound nine times. Such a traveller was he 
 that reported the Indian fly to be as big as a fox ; 
 China birds to be as big as some horses, and their 
 mice to be as big as monkeys ; but they have the 
 wit to fetch this far enough off, because the hearer 
 may rather believe it than make a voyage so far 
 to disprove it. 
 
 " Even- one knows the tale of him who reported 
 he had seen a cabbage, under whose leaves a re- 
 giment of soldiers were sheltered from a shower 
 of rain. Another, who was no traveller (yet the 
 wiser man), said he had passed by a place where 
 there were 400 braziers making a cauldron — 200 
 within, and 200 without, beating the nails in ; the 
 traveller asking for what use that huge cauldron 
 w T as? he told him — 'Sir it was to boil your 
 cabbage. ' 
 
 "Such another was the Spanish traveller, who 
 was so habituated to hyperboles, and relate 
 wonders, that he became ridiculous in all com- 
 panies, so that he was forced at last to give 
 order to his man, when he fell into any excess 
 this way, and report anything improbable, he 
 should pull him by the sleeve. The master 
 falling into his wonted hyperboles, spoke of a 
 church in China that was ten thousand yards 
 long ; his man, standing behind, and pulling him 
 by the sleeve, made him stop suddenly. The com- 
 pany- asking, I ' pray, sir, how broad might that 
 church be ? ' he replied, ' But a yard broad, and 
 you may- thank my man for pulling me by the 
 sleeve, else I had made it foursquare for you.' " 
 
 THE TAKING OF CONSTANTINOPLE BY THE 
 TURKS. 
 
 CTELECTED from the writings of Richard 
 
 VP Knolles, an historian of the Elizabethan era : 
 
 A little before day, the Turks approached the 
 
 walls and began the assault, where shot and stones 
 
 were delivered upon them from the walls as thick 
 as hail, whereof little fell in vain, by reason of 
 the multitude of the Turks, who, pressing fast 
 unto the walls, could not see in the dark how to 
 defend themselves, but were without number 
 wounded or slain ; but these were of the common 
 and worst soldiers, of whom the Turkish king 
 made no more reckoning than to abate the first 
 force of the defendants. Upon the first appear- 
 ance of the day, Mahomet gave the sign appointed, 
 for the general assault, whereupon the city was in 
 a moment, and at one instant, on every side most 
 furiously assaulted by the Turks ; for Mahomet, 
 the more to distress the defendants, and the better 
 to see the forwardness of the soldiers, had before 
 appointed which part of the city every colonel 
 with his regiment should assail : which they 
 valiantly performed, delivering their arrows and 
 shot upon the defendants so thick that the light 
 of the day was therewith darkened ; others in the 
 meantime courageously- mounting the scaling-lad- 
 ders, and coming even to handy-strokes with the de- 
 fendants upon the wall, where the foremost were for 
 the most part violently borne forward by them which 
 followed after. On the other side, the Christians 
 with no less courage withstood the Turkish fury, 
 beating them clown again with great stones and 
 weighty pieces of timber, and so overwhelmed 
 them with shot, darts and arrows, and other hurt- 
 ful devices from above, that the Turks, dis- 
 mayed with the terror thereof, were ready to 
 retire. 
 
 Mahomet, seeing the great slaughter and dis- 
 comfiture of his men, sent in fresh supplies of his 
 janizaries and best men of war, whom he had for 
 that purpose reserved as his last hope and refuge ; 
 by whose coming on his fainting soldiers were 
 again encouraged, and the terrible assault begun 
 afresh. At which time the barbarous king ceased 
 not to use all possible means to maintain the 
 assault ; by name calling upon this and that cap- 
 tain, promising unto some whom he saw forward 
 golden mountains, and unto others in whom he 
 saw any sign of cowardice, threatening most ter- 
 rible death ; by which means the assault became 
 most dreadful, death there raging in the midstof 
 manv thousands. And albeit that the Turks lay- 
 dead by heaps upon the ground, yet other fresh 
 men pressed on still in their places over their dead 
 bodies, and with divers event either slew or were 
 slain by their enemies. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 169 
 
 In this so terrible a conflict, it chanced Justini- 
 anus the general to be wounded in the arm, who, 
 losing much blood, cowardly withdrew himself 
 from the place of 
 his charge, not 
 leaving any to 
 supply his room, 
 and so got into 
 the city by the 
 gate called Ro- 
 mana, which he 
 had caused to be 
 opened in the 
 inner wall ; pre- 
 tending the cause 
 of his departure 
 to be for the bind- 
 ing up of his 
 wound, but being, 
 indeed, a man 
 n o w altogether 
 discouraged. 
 
 The soldiers 
 there present, dis- 
 mayed with the 
 departure of their 
 general, and sore 
 charged b y the 
 janizaries, for- 
 sook their s t a - 
 tions, and in haste 
 fled to the same 
 gate whereby Jus- 
 tinianus was en- 
 tered ; with the 
 sight whereof the 
 other soldiers, 
 disma5'ed, ran 
 thither by heaps 
 also. But whilst 
 they violently 
 strive all together 
 to get in at once, 
 the>" so wedged 
 one another in the 
 entrance of the 
 gate, that few of 
 so great a multi- 
 tude got in ; in which so great a press and confu- 
 sion of minds, eight hundred persons were there by 
 them that followed trodden under foot, or thrust to 
 
 death. The emperor himself, for safeguard of his 
 life, flying with the rest in that press as a man not 
 regarded, miserably ended his days, together with 
 
 ASSAULT UPON CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 the Greek empire. His dead body was shortly 
 after found by the Turks among the slain, and 
 known by his rich apparel, whose head being cut 
 
170 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 off, was forthwith presented to the Turkish tyrant, 
 by whose commandment it was afterward thrust 
 upon the point of a lance, and in great derision 
 carried about as a trophy of his victory, first in 
 the camp, and afterwards up and down the city. 
 
 The Turks, encouraged with the flight of the 
 Christians, presently advanced their ensigns upon 
 the top of the uttermost wall, crying Victory ; 
 and by the breach entered it as if it had been a 
 great flood, which, having once found a breach 
 in the bank, overfloweth, and beareth down all 
 before it ; so the Turks, when they had won the 
 utter wall, entered the city by the same gate that 
 was opened for Justiniauus, and by a breach 
 which the}- had before made with their great 
 artillery, and without mercy cutting in pieces all 
 that came in their way, without further resistance 
 became lords of that most famous and imperial 
 city. ... In this fun - of the barbarians perished 
 many thousands of men, women and children, 
 without respect of age, sex, or condition. Many, 
 for safeguard of their lives, fled into the temple 
 of Sophia, where they were all without pity slain, 
 except some few reserved by the barbarous vic- 
 tors to purposes more grievous than death itself. 
 The rich and beautiful ornaments and jewels of 
 that most sumptuous and magnificent church (the 
 stately building of Justinianus the emperor) were, 
 in the turning of a hand, plucked down and car- 
 ried awav by the Turks ; and the church itself, 
 built for God to be honoured in, for the present 
 converted into a stable for their horses, or a place 
 for the execution of their abominable and un- 
 speakable filthiness ; the image of the crucifix 
 was also by them taken down, and a Turk's cap 
 put upon the head thereof, and so set up and shot 
 at with their arrows, and afterwards, in great de- 
 rision, carried about in their camp, as it had been 
 in procession, with drums playing before it, rail- 
 ing and spitting at it, and calling it the God of 
 the Christians, which I note not so much done in 
 contempt of the image, as in despite of Christ 
 and the Christian religion. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 ONE of the most important literary undertak- 
 ings of the 17th century was the execution 
 of the present authorized, or King James, transla- 
 tion of the Bible. At the great conference held 
 in 1604 at Hampton Court, between the estab- 
 lished and puritan clergy, the version of Scripture 
 
 then existing was generally disapproved of, and 
 the king consequently appointed fifty-four men, 
 man}- of whom were eminent as Hebrew and 
 Greek scholars, to commence a new translation. 
 In 1607, forty-seven of the number met, in six 
 parties, at Oxford, Cambridge, and Westminster, 
 and proceeded to their task, a certain portion of 
 Scripture being assigned to each. Ever) 7 indi- 
 vidual of each division, in the first place, trans- 
 lated the portion assigned to the division, all of 
 which translations were collected ; and when each 
 party had determined on the construction of its 
 part, it was proposed to the other divisions for 
 general approbation. When they met together, 
 one read the new version, whilst all the rest held 
 in their hands either copies of the original, or 
 some valuable version ; and on any one objecting 
 to a passage, the reader stopped till it was agreed 
 upon. The work was completed in 161 1, and has 
 ever since been reputed as a translation generally 
 faithful, and an excellent specimen of the lan- 
 guage of the time. Being universally read by all 
 ranks of the people, it has contributed most essen- 
 tially to give stability and uniformity to the 
 English tongue. 
 
 KING JAMES AND HIS BELIEF IN WITCH- 
 CRAFT. 
 
 THE fulsome address of the translators of the 
 Bible, to King James, on the completion 
 of their work, sounds exceedingly strange in 
 these modem times. They address him as ' ' The 
 most high and mighty Prince James, by the 
 grace of God, King of Great Britain, France, and 
 Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc.," and then 
 proceed to express their appreciation of his vir- 
 tues in a manner that appears almost like idolatry. 
 The opening paragraph, which we quote, is cer- 
 tainly objectionable on this ground : 
 
 " Great and manifold were the blessings, most 
 dread Sovereign, which Almighty God, the Father 
 of all mercies, bestowed upon us, the people of 
 England, when first he sent Your Majesty's Royal 
 Person to rule and reign over us. For whereas it 
 was the expectation of many, who wished not 
 well unto our Sion, that upon the setting of that 
 bright Occidental Star, Queen Elizabeth of most 
 happy memory, some thick and palpable clouds 
 of darkness would so have overshadowed this 
 land, that men would have been in doubt which 
 way the}- were to walk ; and that it would haraly 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 171 
 
 be known, who was to direct the unsettled State ; 
 the appearance of Your Majesty, as of the Sun in 
 his strength, instantly dispelled those supposed 
 and surmised mists, and gave unto all that were 
 well affected exceeding cause of comfort ; espe- 
 cially when we behold the Government established 
 in Your Highness, and Your hopeful Seed, by an 
 undoubted Title, and this also accompanied with 
 peace and tranquillity at home and abroad." 
 
 This nauseating flattery seems all the more out 
 of place when we consider the unsavory moral 
 character of this prince, and the further fact that 
 he was a devout believer in witchcraft and all the 
 kindred superstitions of his times. During his 
 reign the severest laws were enacted for the 
 punishment of witches, and they were persecuted 
 and tortured in the most horrible manner from 
 one end of the kingdom to the other. James even 
 wrote a book on the subject of witchcraft, entitled 
 Dcemonology, in which he maintained the exist- 
 ence and criminality of witches, and discussed the 
 manner in which their feats were performed. Our 
 readers will be amused by some extracts from this 
 literary effort of the British Solomon. We quote 
 first from his preface : 
 
 ' ' The fearful abounding at this time in this 
 country of these detestable slaves of the devil, 
 the witches or enchanters, hath moved me (be- 
 loved reader) to despatch in post this following 
 treatise of mine, not in any wise (as I protest) to 
 serve for a show of my learning and ingine, but 
 only, moved of conscience, to press thereb}', so 
 far as I can, to resolve the doubting hearts of 
 many ; both that such assaults of Sathan are 
 most certainly practised, and that the instruments 
 thereof merit most severely to be punished ; 
 against the damnable opinions of two principally 
 in our age, whereof the one called Scot, an Eng- 
 lisman, is not ashamed in public print to deny 
 that there can be such a thing as witchcraft ; and 
 so maintains the old error of the Sadducees in 
 denying of spirits. The other called Wierus, a 
 German physician, sets out a public apology for 
 all these crafts-folks, whereby, procuring for their 
 impunity, he plainly bewrays himself to have been 
 one of that profession. And for to make this 
 treatise the more pleasant and facile, I have put 
 it iu form of a dialogue, which I have divided 
 into three books : the first speaking of magic in 
 general, and necromancy in special : the second, 
 of sorcery and witchcraft : and the third contains 
 
 a discourse of all these kinds of spirits, and 
 spectres that appears and troubles persons : to- 
 gother with a conclusion of the whole work. My 
 intention in this labour is only to prove two things, 
 as I have already said : the one, that such devilish 
 arts have been and are : the other, what exact 
 trial and severe punishment they merit : and 
 therefore reason I, what kind of things are possi- 
 ble to be performed in these arts, and by what 
 natural causes they may be. Not that I touch 
 every particular thing of the devil's power, for 
 that were infinite : but only, to speak scholasticly 
 (since this cannot be spoken in our language), I 
 reason upon genus, leaving species and differentia. 
 to be comprehended therein. As, for example, 
 speaking of the power of magicians in the first 
 book and sixth chapter, I say that they can sud- 
 denly cause to be brought unto them all kinds of 
 dainty dishes by their familiar spirit : since as a 
 thief he delights to steal, and as a spirit he can 
 subtilly and suddenly enough transport the same. 
 Now, under this genus may be comprehended all 
 particulars depending thereupon ; such as the 
 bringing wine out of a wall (as we have heard oft 
 to have been practised) and such others ; which 
 particulars are sufficiently proved by the reasons 
 of the general." 
 
 He then proceeds wisely to explain ' ' how 
 witches travel : ' ' 
 
 " There is the thing which I esteem their senses 
 to be deluded in, and, though they lie not in con- 
 fessing of it, because they think it to be true, yet 
 not to be so in substance or effect, for they say, 
 that by divers means they may convene either to 
 the adoring of their master, or to the putting in 
 practice any service of his committed unto their 
 charge ; one way is natural, which is natural rid- 
 ing, going, or sailing, at what hour their master 
 comes and advertises them. And this way may 
 be easily believed. Another way is somewhat 
 more strange, and yet it is possible to be true : 
 which is by being carried by the force of the spirit 
 which is their conductor, either above the earth 
 or above the sea, swiftly, to the place where they 
 are to meet : which I am persuaded to be likewise 
 possible, in respect that as Habakkuk was carried 
 by the angel in that form to the den where Daniel 
 lay, so think I the devil will be ready to imitate 
 God, as well in that as in other things : which is 
 much more possible to him to do, being a spirit, 
 than to a mighty wind, being but a natural meteor, 
 
172 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 to transport from one place to another a solid body 
 as is commonly and daily seen in practice. But 
 in this violent form they cannot be carried but a 
 short bounds, agreeing with the space that they 
 may retain their breath : for if it were longer, 
 their breath could not remain unextinguished, 
 their body being carried in such a violent and 
 forcible manner, as, by example, if one fall off a 
 small height, his life is but in peril, according to 
 the soft lighting ; but if one fall from a high and 
 stay* rock, his breath will be forcibly banished 
 from the body before he can winf to the earth, 
 as is oft seen by experience. And in this trans- 
 porting they say themselves, that they are invisi- 
 ble to any other, except amongst themselves. 
 For if the devil may form what kind of impres- 
 sions he pleases in the air, as I have said before, 
 speaking of magic, why may he not far easier 
 thicken and obscure so the air that is next about 
 them, by contracting it straight together, that the 
 beams of any other man's eyes cannot pierce 
 through the same, to see them ? But the third 
 way of their coming to their conventions is that 
 wherein I think them deluded : for some of them 
 saith that, being transformed in the likeness of a 
 little beast or fowl, they will come and pierce 
 through whatsoever house or church, though all 
 ordinary passages be closed, by whatsoever open 
 the air may enter in at. And some saith, that 
 their bodies lying still, as in an ecstacy, their 
 spirits will be ravished out of their bodies, and 
 carried to such places ; and for verifying thereof 
 will give evident tokens, as well by witnesses that 
 have seen their body lying senseless in the 
 meantime, as bj r many persons whomwith they 
 met, and giving tokens what purpose was amongst 
 them, whom otherwise they could not have 
 known ; for this form of journeying they affirm 
 to use most when they are transported from one 
 country to another. ' ' 
 
 No wonder people were ignorant and super- 
 stitious. And what a vast difference there was 
 in the mental capacities of Elizabeth, the wise 
 and strong-minded queen, and James, the weak 
 and superstitious king. 
 
 the story teaches that we should treat with respect 
 the opinions of others, even where they differ 
 widely from our own : 
 
 ' ' When Abraham sat at his tent door, accord- 
 ing to his custom, waiting to entertain strangers, 
 he espied an old man stopping and leaning on his 
 staff, weary with age and travel, coming towards 
 him, who was a hundred years of age. He re- 
 ceived him kindly, washed his feet, provided 
 supper, and caused him to sit down ; but observ- 
 ing that the old man ate and prayed not, nor 
 begged for a blessing on his meat, asked him why 
 he did not worship the God of heaven ? The old 
 man told him that he worshipped the fire only, 
 and acknowledged no other God ; at which an- 
 swer Abraham grew so zealously angry, that he 
 thrust the old man out of his tent, and exposed 
 him to all the evils of the night and an unguarded 
 condition. When the old man was gone, God 
 called to Abraham, and asked him where the 
 stranger was ? He replied, I thrust him away be- 
 cause he did not worship thee : God answered 
 him, I have suffered him these hundred years, 
 although he dishonoured me, and couldst not thou 
 endure him one night, when he gave thee no 
 trouble ? Upon this, saith the story, Abraham 
 fetched him back again, and gave him hospitable 
 entertainment and wise instruction. Go thou and 
 do likewise, and tin- charity will be rewarded by 
 the God of Abraham." 
 
 A STORY OF ABRAHAM. 
 
 JEREMY TAYLOR gives us the following 
 story of Abraham, which he said he found 
 in the "Jews' Book," or Talmud. The moral of 
 * Steep. f Get. 
 
 NO MAN CAN BE GOOD TO ALL. 
 
 INEYER yet knew any man so bad, but some 
 have thought him honest and afforded him 
 love ; nor ever any so good, but some have 
 thought him evil and hated him. Few are so 
 stigmatical as that they are not honest to some ; 
 and few, again, are so just, as that they seem not 
 to some unequal : either the ignorance, the envy, 
 or the partiality of those that judge, do constitute 
 a various man. Nor can a man in himself always 
 appear alike to all. In some, nature hath invested 
 a disparity ; in some, report hath fore-blinded 
 judgment; and in some, accident is the cause of 
 disposing us to love or hate. Or, if not these, the 
 variation of the bodies' humours ; or perhaps, not 
 any of these. The soul is often led by secret 
 motions ; and loves, she knows not why. There 
 are impulsive privacies which urge us to a liking, 
 even against the parliamental acts of the two 
 Houses, reason, and the common sense ; as if 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 173 
 
 there were some hidden beaut}' of a more mag- 
 netic force than all that the e}'e can see, and this, 
 too, more powerful at one time than another. Un- 
 discovered influences please us now, with what we 
 would sometimes condemn. I have come to the 
 same man that hath now welcomed me with a 
 free expression of love and courtesy, and another 
 time hath left me unsaluted at all ; yet, knowing 
 him well, I have been certain of his sound affec- 
 tion ; and have found this, not an intended 
 neglect, but an indisposedness, or a mind seriously 
 
 also on account of its descriptions of certain fash- 
 ions then prevailing : 
 
 ' ' Good clothes are the embroidered trappings 
 of pride, and good cheer the very root of glut- 
 tony. Did man, think you, come wrangling into 
 the world about no better matters, than all his 
 lifetime to make privy searches in Birchin Lane 
 for whalebone doublets, or for pies of nightin- 
 gales' tongues in Heliogabalus his kitchen ? No, 
 no ; the first suit of apparel that ever mortal man 
 put on, came neither from the mercer's shop nor 
 
 A FLEMISH LADY AND SERVANT OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 busied within Occasion reins the motions of the 
 stirring mind. Like men that walk in their 
 sleep, we are led about, we neither know whither 
 nor how. — Owen Fell/ham. 
 
 ANCIENT FOLLIES OF FASHION. 
 
 THE follies of fashion have always been con- 
 sidered a fair subject of ridicule by both 
 press and pulpit. We select the following from 
 the writing of Thomas Dekker, published in 
 1609, as a sample of the raillery of the times, and 
 
 the merchant's warehouse: Adam's bill would 
 have been taken then, sooner than a knight's 
 bond now; yet was he great in nobody's books 
 for satin and velvets. The silk-worms had some- 
 thing else to do in those days than to set up looms, 
 and be free of the weavers. His breeches were 
 not so much worth as King Stephen's, that cost 
 but a poor noble; for Adam's holiday hose and 
 doublet were of no better stuff than plain fig- 
 leaves, and Eve's best gown of the same piece- 
 there went but a pair of shears between them. 
 
174 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 An antiquary of this town has yet some of the 
 powder of those leaves to show. Tailors then 
 were none of the twelve companies ; their hall, 
 that now is larger than some dories among the 
 Netherlands, was then no bigger than a Dutch 
 butcher's shop; they durst not strike down their 
 customers with large bills : Adam cared not an 
 apple-paring for their lousy hems. There was 
 then neither the Spanish slop, nor the skipper's 
 galligaskin, nor the Danish sleeve, nor the French 
 standing collar : your treble-quadruple ruffs, nor 
 your stiff-necked rabatos, that have more arches 
 for pride than can stand under five London 
 bridges, durst not then set themselves out in 
 point ; for the patent for starch could by no means 
 be signed. Fashion was then counted a disease, 
 and horses died of it ; but now, thanks to folly, it 
 is held the only rare physic, and the purest golden 
 asses live upon it. ' ' 
 
 When we examine the private histories of an- 
 cient days, we find that the people of those ' ' good 
 old times" were really no better, if quite so good, 
 as those who are now living. In fact it would be 
 a sad commentary upon humanity if it could be 
 proven that we get no better as we grow older. 
 
 THE FRENCHMAN OF THE SEVENTEENTH 
 CENTURY. 
 
 IN 1621, Peter Heylin, of England, wrote a very 
 interesting history of the people of the world, 
 from which we select the following description 
 of the French of that period. 
 
 The present French is nothing but an old Gaul, 
 moulded into a new name : as rash he is, as head- 
 strong, and as hair-brained. A nation whom you 
 shall win with a feather, and lose with a straw ; 
 upon the first sight of him, you shall have him as 
 familiar as your sleep, or the necessity of breath- 
 ing. In one hour's conference you may endear 
 him to you, in the second unbutton him, the third 
 pumps him dry of all his secrets, and he gives 
 them you as faithfully as if you were his ghostly 
 father, and bound to conceal them "sub sigillo 
 confessionis " — [" under the seal of confession "] ; 
 when you have learned of this, you ma}' lay him 
 aside, for he is no longer serviceable. 
 
 I will give you now a taste of his table, which 
 you will find in a measure furnished (I speak not of 
 the peasant), but not with so full a manner as with 
 us. Their beef they cut out into such chops, that 
 
 that which goeth there for a laudable dish, would 
 be thought here a university commons, new served 
 from the hatch. A loin of mutton serves amongst 
 them for three roastings, besides the hazard of 
 making pottage with the rump. Fowl, also, they 
 have in good plenty, especially such as the king 
 found in Scotland ; to say truth, that which they 
 have is sufficient for nature and a friend, were it 
 not for the mistress or the kitchen wench. I have 
 heard much fame of the French cooks, but their 
 skill lieth not in the neat handling of beef and 
 mutton. They have (as generally have all this 
 nation) good fancies, and are special fellows for 
 the making of puff-pastes, and the ordering of 
 banquets. Their trade is not to feed the belly, but 
 the palate. It is now time you were set down, 
 ■where the first thing you must do is to say your 
 grace ; private graces are as ordinary there as pri- 
 vate masses, and from thence I think the} - learned 
 them. That done, fall to where you like best ; 
 they observe no method in their eating, and if you 
 look for a carver, you may rise fasting. When 
 you are risen, if you can digest the sluttishness of 
 the cookery (which is most abominable at first 
 sight), I dare trust you in a garrison. Follow him 
 to church, and there he will show himself most 
 irreligious and irreverent ; I speak not of all, but 
 the general. At a mass, in Cordeliers' church in 
 Paris, I saw two French papists, even when the 
 most sacred mystery of their faith was celebrating, 
 break out into such blasphemous and atheistical 
 laughter, that even an Ethnic would have hated 
 it ; it was well they were Catholics, otherwise some 
 French hothead or other would have sent them 
 laughing to Pluto. 
 
 The French language is, indeed, very sweet and 
 delectable . it is cleared of all harshness, by the 
 cutting and leaving out the consonants, which 
 maketh it fall off the tongue very volubl}- ; yet in 
 my opinion, it is rather elegant than copious ; and, 
 therefore, is much troubled for want of words to 
 find out paraphrases. It expresseth very much of 
 itself in action ; the head, bod}-, and shoulders, 
 concur in all the pronouncing of it ; and he that 
 hopeth to speak it with good grace, must have 
 something in him of the mimic. It is enriched 
 with a full number of insignificant proverbs, 
 which is a great help to the French humour in 
 scoffing ; and very full of courtship, which maketh 
 all the people complimeutal. The poorest cobbler 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 175 
 
 in the village hath his court cringes, and his eau be seen by this extract on the liberty of the press 
 
 bcnitc de coar ; his court holy-water as perfectly as and the value of books : 
 
 the prince of Conde. ' ' I deny not but that it is of the greatest con- 
 
 A FRENCH GALLANT OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 MILTON ON THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS. cernment in the church, and commonwealth, to 
 
 mlLTON was not only one of the immortals have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves 
 
 as a poet, but he was also a miscellaneous as well as men ; and thereafter to confine, imprison, 
 
 writer of very strong and beautiful prose, as will and do sharpest justice on them as malefactors j 
 
176 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 for books are not absolutely dead things, but do 
 contain a potency of life in them, to be as active 
 as that soul whose progeny the}' are ; nay, they 
 do preserve, as in a vial, the purest efficacy and 
 extraction of that living intellect that bred them. 
 I know they are as lively, and as vigorously pro- 
 ductive, as those fabulous dragons' teeth ; and 
 being sown up and down, may chance to spring 
 up armed men. And yet, on the other hand, 
 unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a good 
 man as kill a good book ; who kills a man kills a 
 reasonable creature, God's image ; but he who 
 destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the 
 image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man 
 lives a burden to the earth ; but a good book is 
 the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed 
 and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. 
 'Tis true no age can restore a life, where perhaps 
 there is no great loss ; and revolutions of ages do 
 not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for the 
 want of which whole nations fare the worse. "We 
 should be wary, therefore, what persecutions we 
 raise against the living labours of public men, how 
 spill that seasoned life of man, preserved and 
 stored up in books ; since we see a kind of homi- 
 cide may thus be committed, sometimes a kind of 
 martyrdom ; and if it extend to the whole impres- 
 sion, a kind of massacre, whereof the execution 
 ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, but 
 strikes at that ethereal and soft essence, the 
 breath of reason itself, slays an immortality 
 rather than a life." 
 
 WHAT MILTON RECEIVED FOR "PARADISE 
 LOST." 
 
 IT is very generally believed that Milton re- 
 ceived only £$• or about $25, for the copy- 
 right of ' ' Paradise Lost, ' ' but this is a mistake, as 
 will appear by the following true history of the 
 immortal poem : 
 
 The Restoration deprived Milton of his public 
 employment, and exposed him to danger, but by 
 the interest of Davenant and Man-ell (as has been 
 said), his name was included in the general am- 
 nesty. The great poet was now at liberty to pur- 
 sue his private studies, and to realize the devout 
 aspirations of his youth for an immortality of 
 literary fame. His spirit was unsubdued. " Para- 
 dise Lost'' was begun in 165S. He at first in- 
 tended it as a drama, and two drafts of his scheme 
 are preserved among his manuscripts in Trinity 
 
 College Library, Cambridge. The poem was com- 
 pleted in 1665, at a cottage at Chalfont, in Bucks, 
 to which the poet had withdrawn from the plague, 
 then raging in the metropolis ; but it was not pub- 
 lished till two years afterwards, when the copyright 
 was purchased by Samuel Simmons, a bookseller, 
 on the following terms : An immediate payment 
 of ^5, and ,£5 more when 1300 copies should be 
 sold ; the like sum after the same number of the 
 second edition (each edition to consist of 1500 
 copies), and other ^"5 after the sale of the third. 
 The third edition was not published till 1678 
 (when the poet was no more), and his widow 
 (Milton married a third time, about 1660) sold all 
 her claims to Simmons for /"S. It appears that in 
 the comparatively short period of two years, the 
 poet became entitled to his second payment, so 
 that 1300 copies of "Paradise Lost" had been 
 sold in the first two years of its publication — a 
 proof that the nation was not, as has been vulgarly- 
 supposed , insensible to the merits of the divine 
 poem then entering on its course of immortality-. 
 It will be seen from the above statement that 
 Milton received during his lifetime ^15, or about 
 seventy--five dollars, and after his death his widow 
 disposed of her remaining interest for ^S, or forty- 
 dollars more, making a total of about $115 that 
 Milton and his family realized from the poem, 
 While this is a very insignificant sum, when com- 
 pared with the grandeur of the work, yet it is 
 probably as much as any modem publisher would 
 care to offer for a similar work, should one be 
 offered to him. In eleven years from the date of 
 its publication, 3000 copies had been sold ; and a 
 modern critic has expressed a doubt whether 
 "Paradise Lost," published eleven years since, 
 would have met with a greater demand ! The 
 fall of man was a theme suited to the serious part 
 of the community in that age, independently- of 
 the claims of a work of genius. The Puritans 
 had not yet wholly- died out — their beatific visions 
 were not quenched by the gross sensualism of the 
 times. Compared with Dryden's plays, how pure, 
 how lofty- and sanctified, must have appeared the 
 epic strains of Milton ! The blank-verse of "Para- 
 dise Lost " was, however, a stumblingblock to the 
 reading public. It is pleasing to reflect that 
 Poverty, in her worst shape never entered Milton's 
 dwelling, irradiated by visions of paradise ; and 
 that, though long a sufferer from hereditary dis- 
 ease, his mind was calm and bright to the last. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 177 
 
 He died without a struggle on Sunday the 8th 
 of November, 1674. By his first rash and ill- 
 assorted marriage, Milton left three daughters, 
 whom, it is said, he taught to read and pronounce 
 several languages, though they only understood 
 their 
 
 native tongue. 
 He complained that 
 the children were 
 ' ' undutiful and un- 
 kind" to him ; and 
 they were all living 
 apart from their illus- 
 trious parent for some 
 years before his death. 
 His widow inherited 
 a fortune of about 
 ,£1500, of which she 
 gave ^100 to each of 
 his daughters. 
 
 Generally, nature hangs out a sign of simplicity 
 in the face of a fool, and there is enough in his 
 countenance for a hue and cry to take him on sus- 
 picion ; or else it is stamped in the figure of his 
 bodv ; their heads sometimes so little, that there 
 
 APHORISMS OF 
 THOMAS FULLER. 
 
 IT is dangerous to 
 gather flowers 
 that grow on the 
 banks of the pit of 
 hell, for fear of falling 
 in ; yea, they which 
 play with the devil's 
 rattles will be brought 
 by degrees to wield 
 his sword ; and from 
 making of sport, they 
 come to doing of mis- 
 chief. 
 
 Heat gotten by de- 
 grees, with motion 
 and exercise, is more 
 natural, and stays 
 longer by one, than 
 what is gotten all at 
 or>ce by coming to the 
 fire. Goods acquired by industry prove commonly 
 more lasting than lands by descent. 
 
 A public office is a guest which receives the 
 best usage from them who never invited it. 
 
 Scoff not at the natural defects of any, which 
 are not in their power to amend. Oh ! 'tis cruelty 
 to beat a cripple with his own crutches. 
 
 Anger is one of the sinews of the soul : he that 
 wants it hath a maimed mind. 
 12 
 
 MILTON IN HIS YOUTH. 
 
 is no room for wit ; sometimes so long, that there 
 is no wit for so much room. 
 
 They that marry ancient people, merely in ex- 
 pectation to bury them, hang themselves, in hope 
 that one will come and cut the halter. 
 
 Learning hath gained most by those books by 
 which the printers have lost. 
 
 Ts there no way to bring home a wandering 
 sheep but by worrying him to death ? 
 
178 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Moderation is the silken striin 
 the pearl-chain of all virtues. 
 
 runninsr through 
 
 I 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 HATE these potent madmen, who keep all 
 Mankind awake, while they, by their great 
 
 deeds, 
 Are drumming hard upon this hollow world, 
 Only to make a sound to last for ages. 
 
 — Nathaniel Lee. 
 
 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 
 
 CT IK. ISAAC NEWTON, a little before he died, 
 \>P said, "I don't know what I may seem to 
 the world, but as to myself, I seem to have 
 been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, 
 and diverting myself in now and then finding a 
 smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, 
 whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscov- 
 ered before me." 
 
 THE GREAT FIRE IN LONDON DESCRIBED BY 
 AN EYE-WITNESS 
 
 THE following graphic description of the great 
 fire in London, in 1666, is from the pen of 
 John Evelyn, a philosophical author of distinc- 
 
 tion who witnessed the conflagration. The unique 
 style of composition prevailing at that period, 
 adds to the picturesqueuess of the description : 
 
 "1676. 2d Sept. This fatal night about ten 
 began that deplorable fire near Fish Streete in 
 London. 
 
 "3d. The fire continuing, after dinner I took 
 coach with my wife and sonn and went to the 
 Bank side in Southwark, where we beheld that 
 dismal spectacle, the whole citty in dreadful 
 flames near ye water side ; all the houses 
 from the Bridge, all Thames Street, and 
 upwards towards Cheapeside, down to 
 the Three Cranes, were now consum'd. 
 
 "The fire having contiuu'd all this 
 night (if I may call that night which 
 was light as day for 10 miles round 
 about, after a dreadful manner), when 
 conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in 
 a very drie season, I went on foote to 
 the same place, and saw the whole south 
 part of ye cittj- burning from Cheapeside 
 to ye Thames, and all along Cornehill 
 (for it kindl'd back against ye wind as 
 well as forward), Tower Streete, Fen- 
 church Streete, Gracious Streete, and so 
 along to Bainard's Castle, and was now 
 taking hold of St. Paule's church, to 
 which the scaffolds contributed exceed- 
 ingly. The conflagration was so univer- 
 sal, and the people so astonish'd, that 
 from the beginning, I know not by what 
 despondency or fate, the}' hardly stirr'd 
 to quench it, so that there was nothing 
 heard or seene but crying out and lamen- 
 tation, running about like distracted 
 creatures, without at all attempting to 
 save even their goods, such a strange conster- 
 nation there was upon them, so as it burned 
 both iu breadth and length, the churches, pub- 
 liq halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments, and 
 ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner 
 from house to house and streete to streete, at 
 greate distances one from ye other ; for ye heate 
 with a long set of faire and warme weather had 
 even ignited the air, and prepar'd the materials to 
 conceive the fire, which devour'd, after an incred- 
 ible manner, houses, furniture, and everything. 
 Here we saw the Thames cover' d with goods 
 floating, all the barges and 'boates laden with 
 what some had time and courage to save, as, on 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 179 
 
 ye other, ye carts, &c. , carrying out to the fields, 
 which for many miles were strew' d with move- 
 ables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both 
 people and what goods they could get away. Oh 
 the miserable and calamitous spectacle ! such as 
 haply the world had not seene the like since the 
 foundation of it, nor be outdone till the universal 
 conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, 
 like the top of a burning oven, the light seene 
 above 40 miles round about for many nights. 
 God grant my eyes may never behold the like, 
 now seeing above 10,000 houses all in one flame: 
 the noise, and crackling, and thunder of the im- 
 petuous flames, ye shrieking of women and chil- 
 dren, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, 
 and churches, was like an hideous storme, and 
 the aire all about so hot and inflam'd, that at last 
 one was not able to approach it, so that they were 
 fore' d to stand still and let ye flames burn on, well 
 the}- did for neere two miles in length and one in 
 bredth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and 
 reacli'd upon computation neer 50 miles in length. 
 Thus I left it this afternoon burning, a resem- 
 blance of Sodom or the last day. London was, 
 but is no more ! 
 
 ' ' 4th. The burning still rages, and it was now 
 gotten as far as the Inner Temple, all Fleete 
 Streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, Warwick 
 Lane, Newgate, Paul's Chain, Watling Streete, 
 now flaming, and most of it redue'd to ashes ; the 
 stones of Paules flew like granados, ye meal ting 
 lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and 
 the very pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, 
 so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, 
 and the demolition had stopp'd all the passages, 
 so that no help could be applied. The eastern 
 wind still more impetuoudy drove the flames for- 
 ward. Nothing but ye Almighty power of God 
 was able to stop them, for vaine was ye help of 
 man. 
 
 "5th. It crossed towards Whitehall: Oh the 
 confusion there was then at the court ! It pleased 
 his Ma'ty to command me among ye rest to looke 
 after the quenching of Fetter Lane end, to pre- 
 serve if possible, that part of Holborn, whilst the 
 rest of ye gentlemen tooke their several posts (for 
 now thej - began to bestir themselves, and not till 
 now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, 
 with their hands acrosse), and began to consider 
 that nothing was likely to put a stop but the 
 blowing up of so many houses, as might make a 
 
 wider gap than any had yet ben made by the 
 ordinary method of pulling them down with en- 
 gines ; this some stout seamen propos'd early 
 enyugh to have sav'd near ye whole citty, but this 
 some tenacious and avaritious men, aldermen, etc.,- 
 would not permit, because their houses must have 
 ben of the first. It was therefore now commanded 
 to be practis'd, and my concern being particularly 
 for the hospital of St. Bartholomew, neere Smith- 
 field, where I had many wounded and sick men, 
 made me the more diligent to promote it, nor was 
 my care for the Savoy lesse. It now pleas' d God, 
 by abating the wind, and by the Industrie of ye 
 people, infusing a new spirit into them, that tht 
 fury of it began sensibly to abate about 'noone, so 
 as it came no farther than ye Temple westward, 
 nor than ye entrance of Smithfield north. But 
 continu'd all this day and night so impetuous 
 towards Cripplegate and the Tower, as made us 
 all despaire ; it also broke out againe in the Tem- 
 ple, but the courage of the multitude persisting, 
 and many houses being blown up, such gaps and 
 desolations were soone made, as with the former 
 three days' consumption, the back fire did not so 
 vehemently urge upon the rest as formerly. There 
 was yet no standing neere the burning and glow- 
 ing ruines by neere a furlong's space. 
 
 ' ' The coale and wood wharfes and magazines 
 of oyle, rosin, &c. , did infinite mischeife, so as the 
 invective which a little before I had dedicated to 
 his Ma'ty, and published, giving warning what 
 might probably be the issue of suffering those 
 shops to be in the citty, was look'd on as a 
 prophecy. 
 
 "The poore inhabitants were dispers'd about 
 St. George's Fields, and Moorefields, as far as 
 Highgate, and severall miles in circle, some under 
 tents, some under miserable hutts and hovells, 
 many without a rag or any necessary utensills, bed 
 or board, who, from delicatenesse, riches, and easy 
 accommodations in stately and well furnish' d 
 houses, were now redue'd to extreamest misery 
 and poverty. 
 
 In this calamitous condition, I return'd with a 
 sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the 
 mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst 
 of all this mine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, 
 safe and sound. 
 
 ' ' 7th. I went this morning on foote fin White- 
 hall as far as London Bridge, thro' the late Fleete 
 Street, Ludgate Hill, by St. Paules, Cheapeside, 
 
1 1 So; 
 
 VICTIMS OK THE GREAT FIRF,. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 181 
 
 Exchange, Bishopgate, Aldersgate, and out to 
 Moorefields, thence thro' Cornehill, &c, with ex- 
 traordinary difficult) - , clambering over heaps of 
 yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking 
 where I was. The ground under my feete was so 
 hot, that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In 
 the meantime his Ma'ty got to the Tower by water, 
 to demolish ye houses about the graff, which being 
 built entirely about it, had the}' taken fire and at- 
 tack' d the White Tower where the magazine of 
 powder la)', would undoubtedly not only have 
 beaten downe and destroy' d all ye bridge, but 
 tiunke and torne the vessells in ye river, and ren- 
 der' d ye demolition beyond all expression for sev- 
 eral miles about the countrey. 
 
 "At my return, I was infinitely concern'd to 
 find that goodly church St. Paules, now a sad 
 mine, and that beautiful portico (for structure 
 comparable to any in Europe, as not long before 
 repair' d by the king) now rent in pieces, flakes of 
 vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining 
 intire but the inscription in the architrave, show- 
 ing by whom it was built, which had not one let- 
 ter of it defac'd. It was astonishing to see what 
 : mmense stones the heat had in a manner calcin'd, 
 so that all ye ornaments, columns, freezes, and 
 projectures of massie Portland stone flew off, even 
 to ye very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a 
 great space was totally mealted ; the ruines of the 
 vaulted roofe falling broke into St Faith's, which 
 being filled with the magazines of bookes belong- 
 ing to ye stationers, and carried thither for safety, 
 the}' were all consum'd, burning for a weeke fol- 
 lowing. It is also observable, that the lead over 
 ye altar at ye east end was untouch'd, and among 
 the divers monuments, the body of one bishop 
 remain' d intire. Thus lay in ashes that most 
 venerable church, one of the most ancient pieces 
 of early piety in ye Christian world, besides neere 
 ioo more. The lead, yron worke, bells, plate, &c, 
 mealted ; the exquisitely wrought Mercers 
 Chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, ye august 
 fabriq of Christ Church, all ye rest of the Compa- 
 nies Halls, sumptuous buildings, arches, all in 
 dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin' d, whilst 
 the very waters remain'd boiling ; the vorago's of 
 subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, for- 
 merly warehouses, still burning in stench and 
 dark clouds of smoke, so that in 5 or 6 miles, 
 in traversing about, I did not see one load of tim- 
 
 ber unconsum'd, nor many stones but what were 
 calcin'd white as snow. 
 
 "The people who now walk' d about ye ruines 
 appear' d like men in a dismal desart, or rather in 
 some greate citty laid waste by a cruel enemy ; to 
 which was added the stench that came from some 
 poore creatures bodies, beds, &c. Sir Tho. Gress- 
 ham's statue, tho' fallen from its nich in the 
 Royal Exchange, remain'd intire, when all those 
 of ye kings since ye Conquest were broken to 
 pieces, also the standard in Cornehill, and Q. Eliza- 
 beth's effigies, with some armes on Eudgate, con- 
 tinued with but little detriment, whilst the vast 
 yron chaines of the citty streetes, hinges, bars, 
 and gates of prisons, were many or them mealted 
 and reduc'd to cinders by ye vehement heate. I 
 was not able to passe through any of the narrow 
 streetes, but kept the widest ; the ground and air, 
 smoake and fiery vapour continu'd so intense, that 
 my haire was almost sing'd, and my feete un- 
 sufferably sur-heated. The bie lanes and nar- 
 rower streetes were quite filled up with rubbish, 
 nor could one have knowne where he was, but 
 by ye ruines of some church or hall, that had 
 some remarkable tower or pinnacle remaining. 
 
 1 then went towards Islington and Highgate, 
 where one might have seene 200,000 people of 
 all ranks and degrees dispers'd and lying along 
 by their heapes of what they could save from 
 the fire, deploring their losse ; and tho' ready to 
 perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking 
 one penny for relief, which to me appear' d a 
 stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His 
 Majesty and Council indeede tooke all imagina- 
 ble care for their reliefe, by proclamation for 
 the country to come in and refresh them with 
 provisions. In ye midst of all this calamity and 
 confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarme 
 begun that the French and Dutch, with whom 
 we were now in hostility, were not onely landed, 
 but even entering the citty. There was, in 
 truth, some days before, greate suspicion of those 
 
 2 nations joining ; and now, that they had ben 
 the occasion of firing the towne. This report 
 did so terrifie, that on a suddaine there was 
 such an uproare and tumult, that they ran from 
 their goods, and taking what weapons they 
 could come at, they could not be stopp'd from 
 falling on some of those nations, whom they 
 casually met, without sense or reason. The 
 
182 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 clamour and peril grew so excessive, that it 
 made the whole court amaz'd, and they did 
 with infinite paiues and greate difficulty reduce 
 and appease the people, sending troops of sol- 
 diers and guards to cause them to retire into ye 
 fields againe, where they were watch' d all this 
 night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home 
 sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits 
 thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, 
 thej' now began to repaire into ye suburbs about 
 the citty, where such as had friends or oppor- 
 tunity got shelter for the present, to which his 
 Ma' tys proclamation also invited them." 
 
 iESOP'S INVENTION TO BRING HIS MIS- 
 TRESS BACK AGAIN TO HER HUSBAND 
 AFTER SHE HAD LEFT HIM. 
 
 BY SIR ROGER L' ESTRANGE. 
 
 THE wife of Xanthus was well bora and 
 wealthy, but so proud and domineering 
 withal, as if her fortune and her extraction had 
 entitled her to the breeches. She was horribly 
 bold, meddling and expensive (as that sort of 
 women commonly are), easily put off the hooks, 
 and monstrous hard to be pleased again ; perpe- 
 tually chattering at her husband, and upon all 
 occasions of controversy threatening him to be 
 gone. It came to this at last, that Xanthus' s 
 stock of patience being quite spent, he took up a 
 resolution of going another way to work with her, 
 and of trying a course of severity, since there 
 was nothing to be done with her by kind- 
 ness. But this experiment, instead of mending 
 the matter, made it worse ; for, upon harder 
 usage, the woman grew desperate, and went 
 away from him, in earnest. She was as 
 bad, 'tis true, as bad might well be, and yet 
 Xanthus had a kind of hankering for her still ; 
 beside that, there was a matter of interest in the 
 case ; and a pestilent tongue she had, that the poor 
 husband dreaded above all things under the sun. 
 But the man was willing, however, to make the 
 best of a bad game, and so his wits and his friends 
 were set at work, in the fairest manner that might 
 be, to get her home again. But there was no 
 good to be done in it, it seems ; and Xanthus was 
 so visibly out of humour upon it, that JBsop in 
 pure pity bethought himself immediately how to 
 comfort him. " Come, master," says he, "pluck 
 up a good heart, for I have a project in my noddle, 
 that shall bring my mistress to you back again, 
 
 with as good a will as ever she went from you. 1 ' 
 What does my -Esop, but away immediately to 
 the market among the butchers, poulterers, fish- 
 mongers, confectioners, &c. , for the best of every- 
 thing that was in season. Nay, he takes private 
 people in this way too, and chops into the very 
 house of his mistress's relations, as by mistake. 
 This way of proceeding set the whole town agog 
 to know the meaning of all this bustle ; and TJsop 
 innocently told everybody that his master's wife 
 was run away from him, and he had married an- 
 other ; his friends up and down were all invited 
 to come and make merry with him, and this was 
 to be the wedding feast. The news flew like 
 lightning, and happy were they that could carry 
 the first tidings of it to the run-away lady (for 
 everybody knew ^Esop to be a servant in that 
 family). It gathered in the rolling, as all other 
 stories do in the telling, especially where women's 
 tongues and passions have the spreading of them. 
 The wife, that was in her nature violent and un- 
 steady, ordered her chariot to be made read}- im- 
 mediately, and away she posts back to her hus- 
 band, falls upon him with outrages of looks and 
 language ; and after the easing of her mind a 
 little, " Xo, Xanthus," says she, "do not you. 
 flatter yourself with the hopes of enjoying another 
 woman while I am alive. ' ' Xanthus looked upon 
 this as one of ..Esop's masterpieces; and for that 
 bout all was well again betwixt master and 
 mistress. 
 
 RICHARD BAXTER'S ESTIMATE OF HIS OWN 
 
 WRITINGS AND THE HISTORIES OF 
 
 HIS TIME. 
 
 IF Richard Baxter had not written "The Saint's 
 Everlasting Rest," he perhaps would not 
 have attained to immortality. He expresses his 
 •own judgment of that work, as well as his other 
 writings, in the following style : 
 
 "Concerning almost all my writings, I must 
 confess that my own judgment is, that fewer, well 
 studied and polished, had been better; but the 
 reader who can safely censure the books, is not fit 
 to censure the author, unless he had been upon the 
 place, and acquainted with all the occasions and 
 circumstances. Indeed, for the ' Saint's Rest,' I 
 had four months' vacancy to write it, but in the 
 midst of continual languishing and medicine ; but, 
 for the rest, I wrote them in the crowd of all my 
 other employments, which would allow me no 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 183 
 
 gieat leisure for polishing and exactness, or any 
 ornament ; so that I scarce ever wrote one sheet 
 twice over, nor stayed to make any blots or inter- 
 linings, but was fain to let it go as it was first con- 
 ceived ; and when my own desire was rather to 
 stay upon one thing long than run over many, 
 some sudden occasions or other extorted almost 
 all my writings from me ; and the apprehensions 
 of present usefulness or necessity prevailed against 
 all other motives ; so that the divines which were 
 at hand with me still put me on, and approved of 
 what I did, because they were moved by present 
 necessities as well as I ; but those that were far 
 off, and felt not those nearer motives, did rather 
 wish that I had taken the other way, and pub- 
 lished a few elaborate writings ; and I am ready 
 myself to be of their mind, when I forget the case 
 that I then stood in, and have lost the sense of 
 former motives." * * 
 
 Baxter entertained a very poor opinion of the 
 histories of his times, as will be seen by the fol- 
 lowing extract from his writings : 
 
 ' ' I am abundantly satisfied by the experience 
 of this age that there is no believing two sorts 
 of men, ungodly men and partial men ; though an 
 honest heathen, of no religion, may be believed, 
 where enmity against religion biasseth him not ; 
 yet a debauched Christian, besides his enmity to 
 the power and practice of his own religion, is 
 seldom without some further bias of interest or 
 faction ; especially when these concur, and a man 
 is both ungodly and ambitious, espousing an in- 
 terest contrary to a holy heavenly life, and also 
 factious, embodying himself with a sect or party 
 suited to his spirit and 1 -signs ; there is no believ- 
 ing his word or oath. If you read any man par- 
 tially bitter against others, as differing from him 
 in opinion, or as cross to his greatness, interest, or 
 designs, take heed how you believe any more 
 than the historical evidence, distinct from his 
 word, compelleth you to believe. The prodigious 
 lies which have been published in this age in 
 matters of fact, with unblushing confidence, even 
 where thousands or multitudes of eye and ear- 
 witnesses knew all to be false, doth call men to 
 take heed what history they believe, especially 
 where power and violence affordeth that privilege 
 to the reporter, that no man dare answer him, or 
 detect his fraud ; or if they do, their writings are 
 all supprest. As long as men have liberty to ex- 
 amine and contradict one another, one may partly 
 
 conjecture, by comparing their words, on which 
 side the truth is like to lie. But when great men 
 write histor}-, or flatterers by their appointment, 
 which no man dare contradict, believe it but a? 
 you are constrained." 
 
 Observance of the Sabbath in Baxter's Youth. 
 I cannot forget, that in my youth, in those late 
 times, when we lost the labours of some of our 
 conformable godly teachers, for not reading pub- 
 licly the book of sports and dancing on the Lord's 
 Day, one of my father's own tenants was the town 
 piper, hired by the year (for many years together), 
 and the place of the dancing assembly was not an 
 hundred yards from our door. We could not, on 
 the Lord's Day, either read a chapter, or pray, or 
 sing a psalm, or catechise, or instruct a servant, 
 but with the noise of the pipe and tabor, and the 
 shoutings in the street, continually in our ears. 
 Even among a tractable people, we were the com- 
 mon scorn of all the rabble in the streets, and 
 called puritans, precisians, and hypocrites, because 
 we rather chose to read the Scriptures than to do 
 as they did ; though there was no savour of 
 nonconformity in our family. And when the peo- 
 ple by the book were allowed to play and dance 
 out of public service time, they could so hardly 
 break off their sports, that man)- a time the reader 
 was fain to stay till the piper and players would 
 give over. Sometimes the morris-dancers would 
 come into the church in all their linen, and scarfs, 
 and antic-dresses, with morris-bells jingling at 
 their legs ; and as soon as common prayer was 
 read, did haste out presently to their play again. 
 
 A SHORT HISTORY OF GEORGE FOX. 
 
 GEORGE FOX, the founder of the Society 
 of Friends, or, as they are usually termed, 
 Quakers, was one of the most prominent religious 
 enthusiasts in an age which produced them in ex- 
 traordinary abundance. He was the son of a 
 weaver at Drayton, in Leicestershire, and was 
 born in 1624. Having been apprenticed to a 
 shoemaker, who traded in wool and cattle, he spent 
 much of his youth in tending sheep, an employ- 
 ment which allowed him to indulge his propensity 
 for musing and solitude. When about nineteen 
 years of age, he was one day vexed by a disposi- 
 tion to intemperance which he observed in two 
 professedly religious friends whom he met at a 
 fair. "I went away," says he in his Journal, 
 
184 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ''and when I had done my business returned 
 home ; but I did not go to bed that night, nor 
 could I sleep ; but sometimes walked up and down, 
 and sometimes prayed, and cried to the Lord, who 
 said unto me, ' Thou seest how young people go 
 together into vanity, and old people into the earth ; 
 ■thou must forsake all, young and old, keep out of 
 all, and be a stranger to all.' " This divine com- 
 munication, as in the warmth of his imagination 
 he considered it to be, was scrupulously obeyed. 
 Leaving his relations and master he betook him- 
 self for several years to a wandering life, which 
 was interrupted only for a few mouths, during 
 which lie was prevailed upon to reside at 
 home. At this time he seems to have been com- 
 pletely insane. In the course of his melancholy 
 wanderings, he sometimes, for weeks together, 
 passed the night in the open air, and used to 
 spend entire days without sustenance. "My 
 troubles," says he, "continued, aud I was often 
 under great temptations. I fasted much, walked 
 abroad in solitary places many days, and often 
 took my Bible and sat in hollow trees and lone- 
 some places until night came on ; and frequently 
 i.i the night walked mournfully about by myself; 
 for 1 was a man of sorrows in the first workings 
 of the Lord in me." On another occasion, "I 
 was in a fast for about ten days, my spirit being 
 greatly exercised on truth's behalf." At this 
 period, as well as during the remainder of his 
 life, Fox had many dreams and visions, and sup- 
 posed himself to receive supernatural messages 
 from above. In his Journal he gives an account 
 of a particular movement of his mind in singularly 
 beautiful and impressive language: "One morn- 
 ing, as I was sitting by the fire, a great cloud 
 came over me, and a temptation beset me, and I 
 sate still. And it was said, All things come by 
 nature; and the Elements and Stars came over 
 me, so that I was in a moment quite clouded with 
 (t ; but, inasmuch as I sate still and said nothing, 
 the people of the house perceived nothing. And 
 as I sate still under it and let it alone, a living 
 hope rose in me, and a true voice arose in me 
 which cried, There is a living God who made all 
 things. And immediately the cloud and tempta- 
 tion vanished away, and the life rose over it all, 
 and my heart was glad, and I praised the living 
 God." Afterwards, he tells us, "The Lord's 
 power broke forth, and I had great openings and 
 prophecies, and spoke unto the people of the 
 
 things of God, which they heard with attention 
 and silence, and went away aud spread the fame 
 thereof. ' ' Conceiving himself to be divinely com- 
 missioned to convert his countrymen from their 
 sins, he began, about the year 1647, to teach pub- 
 licly in the vicinity of Duckenfield and Man- 
 chester, whence he travelled through several 
 neighboring counties, haranguing at the market- 
 places against the vices of the age. He had now 
 formed the opinions, that a learned education is 
 unnecessary to a minister ; that the existence of a 
 separate clerical profession is unwarranted by the 
 Bible; that the Creator of the world is not a 
 dweller in temples made with hands; and that 
 the Scriptures are not the rule either of conduct 
 or judgment, but that man should follow "the 
 light of Christ within." He believed, moreover, 
 that he was divinely commanded to abstain from 
 taking off his hat to any one, of whatever rank ; 
 to use the words thee and thou in addressing all 
 persons with whom he communicated ; to bid no- 
 body good-morrow or good-night ; and never to 
 bend his knee to any one in authority, or take an 
 oath, even on the most solemn occasion. Acting 
 upon these views, he sometimes went into 
 churches while service was going on, and inter- 
 rupted the clergymen by loudly contradicting 
 their statements of doctrine. By these breaches 
 of order, and the employment of such uncere- 
 monious fashions of address, as, "Come down, 
 thou deceiver ! " he naturally gave great offence, 
 which led sometimes to his imprisonment, and 
 sometimes to severe treatment from the hands of 
 the populace. At Derby, he was imprisoned in a 
 loathsome dungeon for a year, and afterwards in a 
 still more disgusting cell at Carlisle for half that 
 period. To this ill-treatment he submitted with 
 meekness and resignation ; and out of prison, also, 
 there was ample opportunity for the exercise of 
 the same qualities. As an illustration of the 
 rough usuage which he frequently brought upon 
 himself, we extract this affecting narrative from 
 his Journal : — 
 
 Fox's Ill-treatment at Ulverstone. 
 
 The people were in a rage, and fell upon me in 
 the steeple-house before his [Justice Sawrey's] 
 face, knocked me down, kicked me, and trampled 
 upon me. So great was the uproar, that some 
 tumbled over their seats for fear. At last he came 
 and took me from the people, led me out of the 
 steeple-house, and put me into the hands of the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 185 
 
 constables and other officers, bidding them whip 
 me, and put me out of the town. Many friendly 
 people being come to the market, and some to the 
 steeple-house to hear me, divers of these they 
 knocked down also, and broke their heads, so 
 that the blood ran down several ; and Judge Fell'.: 
 son running after, to see what they would do with 
 me, they threw him into a ditch of water, some 
 of them crying, ' ' Knock the teeth out of his 
 head. ' ' When they had haled me to the common 
 moss side, a multitude following, the constables 
 and other officers gave me some blows over my 
 back with willow-rods, and thrust me among the 
 rude multitude, who, having furnished themselves 
 with staves, hedge-stakes, holm or holly-bushes, 
 fell upon me, and beat me upon the head, arms, 
 and shoulders, till they had deprived me of 
 sense ; so that I fell down upon the wet common. 
 When I recovered again, and saw myself lying in 
 a watery common, and the people standing about 
 me, I lay still a little while, and the power of the 
 Lord sprang through me, and the eternal refresh- 
 ings revived me, so that I stood up again in the 
 strengthening power of the eternal God, and 
 stretching out my arms amongst them, I said 
 with a loud voice, ' ' Strike again ! here are my 
 arms, my head, and cheeks ! ' ' Then they began 
 to fall out among themselves. 
 
 Fox not only acted as a prophet, but assumed 
 the power of working miracles — in the exercise 
 of which he claims to have cured various indivi- 
 duals, including a man whose arm had long been 
 disabled, and a woman afflicted with king's evil, 
 or scrofula. On one occasion he ran with bare 
 feet through Litchfield, exclaiming, "Wo to the 
 bloody city of Litchfield ! ' ' and, when no calamity 
 followed this denouncement, as expected, he found 
 no better mode of accounting for the failure than 
 discovering that some Christians had once been 
 slain there ! Of his powers of discerning witches, 
 the following examples are given in his Jownal : 
 "As I was sitting in a house full of people, de- 
 claring the word of life to them, I cast mine eyes 
 upon a woman, and I discovered an unclean spirit 
 in her ; and I was moved of the Lord to speak 
 sharply to her, and told her she was a witch ; 
 whereupon the woman went out of the room, and 
 I being a stranger there, and knowing nothing of 
 the woman outwardly, the people wondered at it, 
 and told me afterwards, I had discovered a great 
 thing, for all the country looked upon her as a 
 
 witch. The Lord had given me a spirit of dis- 
 cerning, by which I many times saw the states 
 and conditions of people, and could try their 
 spirits. For, not long before, as I was going to a 
 meeting, I saw women in a field, and I discerned 
 them to be witches ; and I was moved to go out 
 of my way into the field to them, and to declare 
 unto them their^conditions, telling them plainly 
 they were in the spirit of witchcraft. At another 
 time, there came such an one into Swarthmore 
 Hall, in the meeting time, and I was moved to 
 speak sharply to her, and told her she was a witch ; 
 and the people said afterwards, she was generally 
 accounted so." 
 
 CURIOUS CUSTOMS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 THE feudal lords erected castles as a protection 
 against one another, and also as a barrier to 
 the encroachments of the Danish freebooters or 
 Northmen. In turn the owners of these castles 
 became the disturbers of the public repose ; they 
 were, in fact, highway robbers, sallying out of 
 their strongholds, at the head of their vassals, to 
 rob and plunder their weaker neighbors. They 
 pillaged whoever passed, carrying off as their 
 special prizes the women whose comeliness of form 
 or feature pleased them. Many women, as a pro- 
 tection against the marauders, entered the con- 
 vents and took the veil, which, in those supersti- 
 tious times, was generally a protection against all 
 kinds of violence. Society was so barbarous and 
 degraded that even the monks engaged in those 
 lawless enterprises. De Saint Foix, in his His- 
 torical Essays, asserts that women and girls were 
 in no greater security when passing the abbeys, 
 than in the presence of the castles of the lords. 
 The monks allowed their monasteries to be as- 
 saulted rather than relinquish their prey ; and if 
 they saw themselves losing ground, the} - exhibited 
 from their walls the relics of some saint. Then it 
 generally happened that the assailants, seized 
 with awful veneration, retired, and dared not 
 pursue their vengeance. These customs were the 
 origin of the Knights-errant, and the Middle Age 
 romances of giants, monsters, enchanted castles, 
 etc. 
 
 As the walls of the castles ran winding about 
 them, they were frequently called by names that 
 signified serpents or dragons. In these were com- 
 monly secured the women and young maids of 
 distinction, who were seldom safe elsewhere when 
 
(1 86) 
 
 A SHRINE BY THE WAYSIDE IN' THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 187 
 
 so many bold warriors were rambling up and down 
 in search of adventures. It was this custom 
 which gave occasion to ancient romancers, who 
 knew not how to describe anything simple, to in- 
 vent so many fables concerning princesses of 
 great beauty guarded by dragons. 
 
 A singular and barbarous custom prevailed 
 during this period ; it consisted in punishment by 
 mutilation. This practice became so general that, 
 it is asserted by reliable historians, the abbots, in- 
 stead of inflicting canonical penalties on their 
 monks, required them to cut off an ear, an arm or 
 a leg ; William the Conqueror, on several occa- 
 sions, after suppressing the numerous insurrections 
 of the English against his authority, resorted to 
 the punishment of mutilation for the purpose of 
 preventing similar disorders in the future. On 
 some occasions he chopped off the right hands of 
 the offenders, on others their right feet ; now and 
 then he put out their eyes, and on one occasion he 
 disfigured a large number of prisoners by cutting 
 off their noses. 
 
 Veil}', in his " Histor}- of France," describes 
 two popular festivals, called the Feast of Fools, 
 and the Feast of Asses, which gives us a just idea 
 of the manner and style of devotion that prevailed 
 among the common people even as late as the 
 thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. There is also 
 a fine description of one of these festivals in Victor 
 Hugo's BeU Ringer of Notre Dame. The 
 people of that age regarded religion as an amuse- 
 ment ! It took the place of the theatre, the circus, 
 and the more ancient gladiatorial arena. The 
 Feast of Fools continued until the Reforma- 
 tion. The priests and clerks assembled, elected 
 a fool's pope, an arch-bishop or a bishop, and con- 
 ducted them in great pomp to the church, which 
 they entered, dancing, masked, and dressed in imi- 
 tation of animals, or the apparel of women and 
 Merry Andrews ; sung licentious songs, and con- 
 verted the altar into a bouffet, where they ate and 
 drank during the celebration of the holy mysteries ; 
 played at dice ; burned their old sandals and 
 shoes instead of incense ; ran about, leaped from 
 seat to seat, assuming all the indecent and ludi- 
 crous postures with which the clowns knew how 
 to amuse the populace. 
 
 The ' ' Feast of Asses ' ' was no less extrava- 
 gant than the "Feast of Fools." It was cele- 
 brated at Beauvaris. They chose a young woman, 
 the handsomest in town ; they made her ride an 
 
 ass richly harnessed, and placed in her arms a 
 pretty infant. In this state, followed by the bishop 
 and clergy, she marched in procession from the 
 cathedral to the church of St. Stephen's ; entered 
 into the sanctuary ; placed herself near the altar, 
 and the mass began. Whatever the choir sang 
 was terminated by this charming burthen, 
 "Hiban! Hiban." Their prose, half Latin and 
 half French, explained the fine qualities of the 
 animal. Ever}- strophe finished with this invita- 
 tion : 
 
 Hez, sire Ane, ca ckantez 
 Belle bouche rechignez, 
 Vous aures du foin assez 
 Et de l'avoine a plantez. 
 
 These grotesque festivals were also practised in 
 England, varying but little from those just de- 
 scribed. We copy this account of them from an 
 ancient writer : 
 
 ' ' In the feast of Asses, an ass, covered with 
 sacerdotal robes, was gravely conducted to the 
 choir, where service was performed before him, 
 and a hymn chanted in as discordant a manner as 
 they could contrive ; the office was a medley of 
 all that had been sung in the course of the year ; 
 pails of water were flung at the head of the 
 chanters; the ass was supplied with drink and 
 provender at every division of the service ; and 
 the asinines were drinking, dancing, and braying 
 for two days. The hymn to the ass has been pre- 
 served ; each stanza ends with the burden ' Hez ! 
 Sire Ane, hez ! ' ' Huzza ! Seignior Ass, Huzza ! ' 
 On other occasions, they put burnt old shoes to 
 fume in the censers ; ran about the church leap- 
 ing, singing, and dancing obscenely ; scattering 
 ordure among the audience ; playing at dice upon 
 the altar ! while a boy-bishop, or a pope of fools, 
 burlesqued the divine sendee. Sometimes they 
 disguised themselves in the skins of animals, and 
 pretending to be transformed into the animal they 
 represented, it became dangerous, or worse, to 
 meet these abandoned fools. There was a pre- 
 centor of fools, who was shaved in public, during 
 which he entertained the populace with all the 
 balderdash his genius could invent. We had in 
 Leicester, in 1415, what was called a glutton mass; 
 during the five days of the festival of the Virgin 
 Mary. The people rose early to mass, during 
 which they practised eating and drinking with 
 the most zealous velocity, and, as in France, drew 
 
188 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 from the comers of the altar the rich puddings 
 placed there. 
 
 So late as 1645, a pupil of Gasseudi, writing 
 to his master what he himself witnessed at Aix 
 on the feast of the Innocence, says, ' ' I have seen, 
 in some monasteries in this province extravagances 
 solemnized, which the pagans would not have 
 practised. Neither the clergy, nor the guardians, 
 indeed, go to the choir on this da}-, but all is given 
 up to the lay-brethren, the cabbage-cutters, the 
 errand-boys, the cooks and scullions, the garden- 
 ers ; in a word, all the menials fill their places in 
 the church, and insist that they perform the offices 
 proper for the day. — They dress themselves with 
 all the sacerdotal ornaments, but torn to rags, or 
 wear them inside out ; they hold in their hands 
 the books reversed or sideways, which the} - pre- 
 tend to read with large spectacles without glasses, 
 and to which they fix the shells of scooped 
 oranges, which render them so hideous, that one 
 must have seen these madmen to form a notion of 
 their appearance ; particularly while dangling the 
 censers, the}' keep shaking them in derision, and 
 letting the ashes fly about their heads and faces, 
 one against the other. In this equipage they 
 neither sing hymns, nor psalms, nor masses; but 
 mumble a certain gibberish as shrill and squeak- 
 ing as a herd of pigs whipped on to market." 
 
 These antics remind us of the modem tricks 
 played at Mardi Gras festivals, the latter being, 
 doubtless, nothing more than a modernized or civ- 
 ilized representation of the ancient follies. 
 
 Strange contradictions of human nature ! Dur- 
 ing the very period that these extravagances were 
 so freely indulged, the clergy would not suffer 
 men to play at so simple a game as chess ; while 
 man} - other perfectly innocent amusements were 
 also placed under the ban of the church. 
 
 Chastity, both among men and women, was 
 very highly regarded as a virtue of holiness. It 
 was no uncommon thing for men and women to 
 enter into vows of chastity, and remain religiously 
 faithful to them during their entire lives. This 
 occurred in the case of one of the ancient queens 
 of England, and, although she was happily 
 married, she remained faithful to her vow, and at 
 her death the throne was left without an heir. 
 Louis VIII., of France, made a similar vow, and, 
 falling dangerously ill, his physicians, on consulta- 
 tion, decided that nothing could save his life ex- 
 cept the enjoyment of conjugal pleasures. With 
 
 this purpose in view, they placed near the mon- 
 arch, while he slept, a young and beautiful lady, 
 who, when he awoke, tenderly and modestly 
 made known to him the object of her presence. 
 "No!" answered Louis, "I will die rather 
 than save my life by a mortal sin," and in 
 conformity with this determination, he died. 
 
 Following the inroads of the northern barba- 
 rians upon the southern and more cultivated 
 nations of Italy, France, and Spain, flaxen hair 
 became very popular. In the times of chivalry 
 the minstrels dwell with great complacency on 
 the fair heads and delicate complexion of their 
 damsels. This taste was continued for a long 
 time, and to render the hair light was a great 
 object of education. Even when wigs first came 
 into fashion they were all flaxen. Such was the 
 color of the hair of the Gauls and their German 
 conquerors. It required some centuries to reconcile 
 their eyes to the swarthy beauties of their Spanish 
 and Italian neighbors. 
 
 It was a common custom, in those peculiar 
 times, to "mortify the flesh" for the good of the 
 soul. Many different expedients were resorted to 
 for the accomplishment of this purpose. Histor- 
 ians assert that Louis NIL, of France, hastened 
 his death by sudden and radical changes in his 
 habits and diet, made as penances for his sins. 
 
 When he was accustomed to dine at eight 
 o'clock, he dined at twelve; and when he was 
 used to retire to bed at six o'clock in the evening, 
 he frequently sat up as late as midnight. 
 
 Houssaye gives the following authentic notice 
 drawn from the the registers of the court, which 
 presents a curious account of domestic life in the 
 fifteenth century. Of the dauphin Louis, son of 
 Charles VI., who died at the age of twenty, we 
 are told : ' ' that he knew the Latin and French 
 languages ; that he had many musicians in his 
 chapel ; passed the night in vigils ; dined at three 
 in the afternoon, supped at midnight, went to bed 
 at the break of day, and thus was acerte?ie (that is 
 threatened ) with a short life. ' ' Froissart men- 
 tions waiting upon the Duke of Lancaster at five 
 o'clock in the afternoon, when he had supped. 
 
 The use of coaches was introduced into Eng- 
 land by Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, in 1580, and at 
 first were only drawn by a pair of horses. The 
 favorite Buckingham, about 1619, began to have 
 them drawn by six horses, and Wilson, in his life 
 of James I., tells us this "was wondered at as a 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY 
 
 189 
 
 novelty, and imputed to him as a mastering 
 pride." The same arbiter elegantiarum introduced 
 sedan chairs. In France, Catharine of Medicis 
 was the first who used a coach, which had leather 
 doors, and curtains instead of 
 glass windows. If the carriage 
 of Henry IV. had had glass 
 windows, this circumstance 
 might have saved his life. Car- 
 riages were so rare in the reign 
 of this monarch, that in a let- 
 ter to his minister Sully, he 
 notices that having taken medi- 
 cine that day, though he had 
 intended to call on him, he 
 was prevented, because the 
 queen had gone out with the 
 carriage. Even as late as in 
 the reign of Louis XIV., the 
 couriers rode horseback to their 
 dinner parties, and wore their 
 light boots and spurs. Count 
 Hamilton describes his boots 
 of white Spanish leather with 
 gold spurs. 
 
 him from ever doing a hard-hearted thing ; and, 
 therefore, he was so apt to grant pardon to male- 
 factors, that the judges of the land represented to 
 him the damage and insecurity to the public that 
 
 PERSONAL CHARACTER OF 
 CHARLES THE FIRST. 
 
 CHE following description of 
 the personal character of 
 Charles I. occurs in the his- 
 tory of the revolution in Eng- 
 land, written by Lord Claren- 
 don. As he was an ardent roy- 
 alist, his opinion of the unfortu- 
 nate king is of course colored 
 by his personal feelings, but 
 aside from this his account is 
 generally conceded to be fair 
 and just : 
 
 To speak first of his private 
 qualifications as a man, before 
 the mention of his princely and 
 royal virtues ; he was, if ever 
 any, the most worthy of the 
 title of an honest man ; so great "^B?^2ffj 
 
 a lover of justice, that no temp- 
 
 tatiou could dispose him to a 
 wrongful action, except it was so disguised to 
 him that he believed it to be just. He had a ten- 
 derness and compassion of nature which restrained 
 
 CHARLES I. — By Van Dyck. 
 
 flowed from such his indulgence. And then he 
 restrained himself from pardoning either murders 
 or highway robberies, and quickly discerned the 
 
190 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 fruits of his severity by a wonderful reformation 
 of those enormities. He was very punctual and 
 regular in his devotions ; he was never known to 
 enter upon his recreations or sports, though never 
 so early in the morning, before he had been at 
 public prayers ; so that on hunting days, his 
 chaplains were bound to a very earl}- attendance. 
 He was likewise very strict in observing the hours 
 of his private cabinet devotions, and was so severe 
 an exacter of gravity and reverence in all mention 
 of religion, that he could never endure any light 
 or profane word, with what sharpness of wit so- 
 ever it was covered ; and though he was well 
 pleased and delighted with reading verses made 
 upon any occasion, no man durst bring before him 
 anything that was profane or unclean. That kind 
 of wit had never any countenance then. He was 
 so great an example of conjugal affection, that 
 the}- who did not imitate him in that particular, 
 durst not brag of their liberty ; and he did not 
 only permit, but direct his bishops to prosecute 
 those scandalous vices, in the ecclesiastical courts, 
 against persons of eminence, and near relation to 
 his sen-ice. 
 
 His kingly virtues had some mixture and alloy 
 that hindered them from shining in full lustre, 
 and from producing those fruits they should have 
 been attended with. He was not in his nature 
 very bountiful, though he gave very much. This 
 appeared more after the Duke of Buckingham's 
 death, after which those showers fell very rarely; 
 and he paused too long in giving, which made 
 those to whom he gave less sensible of the benefit. 
 He kept state to the full, which made his court 
 very orderly, no man presuming to be seen in a 
 place where he had no pretence to be. He saw 
 and observed men long before he received them 
 about his person ; and did not love strangers, nor 
 vers- confident men. He was a patient hearer of 
 causes, which he frequently accustomed himself 
 to at the council board, and judged very well, and 
 was dexterous in the mediating part ; so that he 
 often put an end to causes by persuasion, which 
 the stubbornness of men's humors made dilatory 
 in courts of justice. 
 
 He was very fearless in his person ; but in his 
 riper years not very enterprising. He had an ex- 
 cellent understanding, but was not confident 
 enough of it ; which made him oftentimes change 
 his own opinion for a worse, and follow the advice 
 of men that did not judge as well as himself. 
 
 This made him more irresolute than the conjunc- 
 ture of his affairs would admit ; if he had been 
 of a rougher and more imperious nature, he would 
 have found more respect and duty. And his not 
 applying some severe cures to approaching evils 
 proceeded from the lenity of his nature, and the 
 tenderness of his conscience, which, in all cases 
 of blood, made him choose the softer way, and 
 not hearken to severe counsels, how reasonably 
 soever urged. This only restrained him from 
 pursuing his advantage in the first Scottish expe- 
 dition, when, humanly speaking, he might have 
 reduced that nation to the most entire obedience 
 that could have been wished. But no man can 
 say he had then many who advised him to it, but 
 the contrary, by a wonderful indisposition all his 
 council had to the war or any other fatigue. He 
 was always a great lover of the Scottish nation, 
 having not only been born there, but educated by 
 that people, and besieged by them always, having 
 few English about him till he was king ; and the 
 major number of his sen-ants being still with 
 that nation, who he thought could never fail him. 
 And among these, no man had such an ascendant 
 over him, by the humblest insinuations, as Duke 
 Hamilton had. 
 
 As he excelled in all other virtues, so in tem- 
 perance he was so strict, that he abhorred all 
 debauchery to that degree, that, at a great festi- 
 val solemnity, where he once was, when very 
 many of the nobility of the English and Scots 
 were entertained, being told by one who withdrew 
 from thence what vast draughts of wine they 
 drank, and that there was one earl who had 
 drunk most of the rest down, and was not him- 
 self moved or altered, the king said that he 
 desen-ed to be hanged ; and the earl coming 
 shortly after into the room where his majesty 
 was, in some gaiety, to show how unhurt he was 
 from that battle, the king sent one to bid him 
 withdraw from his majesty's presence ; nor did 
 he in some days after appear before him. 
 
 So many miraculous circumstances contributed 
 to his ruin, that men might well think that 
 heaven and earth conspired it. Though he was, 
 from the first declension of his power, so much 
 betrayed by his own sen-ants, that there were 
 very few who remained faithful to him, yet that 
 treachery proceeded not always from any treason- 
 able purpose to do him any harm, but from par- 
 ticular and personal animosities against other 
 
P 
 > 
 
 H 
 K 
 
 m 
 
 xn 
 
 H 
 
 a 
 a 
 
 rigi) 
 
192 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 men. And afterwards, the terror all men were 
 under of the parliament, and the guilty were 
 conscious of themselves, made them watch all 
 opportunities to make themselves gracious to 
 those who could do them good ; and so they be- 
 
 after all this, when a man might reasonably be- 
 lieve that less than universal defection of three 
 nations could have reduced a great king to so 
 ugly a fate, it is most certain that, in that very 
 hour, when he was thus wickedly murdered in 
 the light of the sun, he had 
 as great a share in the 
 hearts and affections of his 
 subjects in general, was as 
 much beloved, esteemed, 
 and longed for by the peo- 
 ple in general of the three 
 nations, as any of his prede- 
 cessors had ever been. To 
 conclude, he was the worthi- 
 est gentleman, the best mas- 
 ter, the best friend, the best 
 husband, the best father, 
 and the best Christian that 
 the age in which he lived 
 produced. And if he were 
 not the greatest king, if he 
 were without some parts 
 and qualities which have 
 made some kings great and 
 happy, no other prince was 
 ever unhappy who was pos- 
 sessed of half his virtues 
 and endowments, and so 
 much without any kind of 
 vice. 
 
 CHARLES II 
 
 came spies upon their master, and from one piece 
 of knavery were hardened and confirmed to take 
 another, till at last they had no hope of preserva- 
 tion but by destruction of their master. And 
 
 ESCAPE OF CHARLES II. 
 AFTER THE DEFEAT AT 
 WORCESTER. 
 
 THE strange and roman- 
 tic adventures of 
 King Charles II., after his 
 defeat at Worcester, were 
 related by himself to Lord 
 Clarendon, the historian, 
 who recorded them in the 
 king' s own language. They 
 bear a strong resemblance 
 to many similar incidents 
 that occurred during the 
 late war between our North- 
 ern and Southern States : 
 Though the king could not get a body of horse 
 to fight, he could have too many to fly with him ; 
 and he had not been many hours from Worcester, 
 when he found about him near, if not above, four 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY, 
 
 j 93 
 
 thousand of his horse. There was David Lesley 
 with all his own equipage, as if he had not fled 
 upon the sudden ; so that good order, and regu- 
 larity, and obedience, might yet have made a 
 retreat even into Scotland itself. But there was 
 paleness in every man's looks, and jealousy and 
 confusion in their faces ; and scarce anything 
 could worse befall the king than a return into 
 Scotland, which yet he could not reasouably 
 promise to himself in that company. But when 
 the night covered them, he found means to with- 
 draw himself with 
 one or two of his 
 own servants, whom 
 he likewise d i s - 
 charged when it be- 
 gan to be light ; 
 and after he had 
 made them cut off 
 his hair, he betook 
 himself alone into 
 an adjacent wood, 
 and relied o n 1 y 
 upon Him for his 
 preservation w h o 
 alone could, and 
 did miraculously 
 deliver him. 
 
 When it was 
 morning, and the 
 troops which had 
 marched all night, 
 and who knew that 
 when it began to 
 be dark the king 
 was with them, 
 
 found now that he was not there, they cared less 
 for each other's company ; and most of them who 
 were English separated themselves, and went into 
 other roads ; and wherever twenty horse appeared 
 of the country, which was now awake, and upon 
 their guard to stop and arrest the runaways, the 
 whole body of the Scottish horse would fly, and 
 run several ways ; and twenty of them would give 
 themselves prisoners to two country fellows ; how- 
 ever, David Lesley reached Yorkshire with above 
 fifteen hundred horse in a body. But the jeal- 
 ousies increased every day : and those of his own 
 country were so unsatisfied with his whole con- 
 duct and behaviour, that they did, that is, many 
 of them, believe that he was corrupted by Crom- 
 i.3 
 
 well ; and the rest, who did not think so, believed 
 him not to understand his profession, in which he 
 had been bred from his cradle. When he was in 
 his flight, considering one morning with the prin- 
 cipal persons which way they should take, some 
 proposed this and others that way, Sir William 
 Armorer asked him, "which way he thought 
 best?" which, when he had named, the other 
 said, "he would then go the other ; for, he swore, 
 he had betrayed the king and the army all the 
 time;" and so left him. * * * 
 
 FLIGHT OF THE ROYALISTS FROM THK BATTLE OF WORCESTER. 
 
 It is great pity that there was never a journal 
 made of that miraculous deliverance, in which 
 there might be seen so many visible impressions 
 of the immediate hand of God. When the dark- 
 ness of the night was over, after the king had 
 cast himself into that wood, he discerned another 
 man, who had gotten upon an oak in the same 
 wood, near the place where the king had rested 
 himself, and had slept soundly. The man upon 
 the tree had first seen the king, and knew him, 
 and came down to him, and was known to the 
 king, being a gentleman of the neighbour count}' 
 of Staffordshire, who had served his late majesty 
 during the war, and had now been one of the few 
 who resorted to the king after his coming to Wor- 
 
194 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 cester. His name was Careless, who had had a 
 command of foot, about the degree of a captain, 
 under the Lord Loughborough. He persuaded 
 the king, since it could not be safe for him to go 
 out of the wood, and that, as soon as it should be 
 fully light, the wood itself would probably be 
 visited by those of the country, who would be 
 searching to find those whom they might make 
 prisoners, that he would get up into that tree 
 where he had been, where the boughs were so 
 thick with leaves that a man would not be dis- 
 
 highway near one side of it, where the king had 
 entered into it, yet it was large, and all other 
 sides of it opened amongst inclosures, and Care- 
 less was not unacquainted with the neighbour vil- 
 lages ; and it was part of the king's good fortune 
 that this gentleman, by being a Roman Catholic, 
 was acquainted with those of that profession of 
 all degrees, who had the best opportunities of con- 
 cealing him : for it must never be denied that 
 some of that religion had a very great share in 
 his majesty's preservation. 
 
 THE WOODS IX WHICH KING CHARLES LAV CON'CEALED. 
 
 covered there without a narrower inquiry than 
 people usually make in places which they do not 
 suspect. The king thought it good counsel, and, 
 with the other's help, climbed into the tree, and 
 then helped his companion to ascend after- him, 
 where they sat all that day, and securely saw 
 many who came purposely into the wood to look 
 after them, and heard all their discourse, how 
 they would use the king himself if they could 
 take him. This wood was either in or upon the 
 borders of Staffordshire ; and though there was a 
 
 The day being spent in the tree, it was not in 
 the king's power to forget that he had lived two 
 days with eating very little, and two nights with 
 as little sleep ; so that, when the night came, he 
 was willing to make some provision for both ; and 
 he resolved, with the advice and assistance of his 
 companion, to leave his blessed tree ; and, when 
 the night was dark, they walked through the wood 
 into those inclosures which were farthest from any 
 highway, and making a shift to get over hedges 
 and ditches, after walking at least eight or nine 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 195 
 
 miles, which were the more grievous to the king 
 by the weight of his boots (for he could not put 
 them off when he cut off his hair, for want of 
 shoes), before morning they came to a poor cot- 
 tage, the owner whereof, being a Roman Catholic, 
 was known to Careless. He was called up, and as 
 soon as he knew one of them, he easily concluded in 
 what condition they both were, and presently carried 
 them into a little barn full of ha)-, which was a 
 better lodging than he had for himself. But when 
 the}- were there, and had conferred with their host 
 of the news and temper of the country, it was 
 agreed that the danger would be the greater if they 
 stayed together ; and, therefore, that Careless 
 should presently be gone, and should, within two 
 days, send an honest man to the king, to guide 
 him to some other place of security ; and in the 
 mean time his majesty should stay upon the hay 
 rnow. The poor man had nothing for him to eat, 
 but promised him good butter-milk ; and so he was 
 once more left alone, his companion, how weary- 
 soever, departing from him before day, the poor 
 man of the house knowing no more than that he 
 was a friend of the captain's, and one of those who 
 had escaped from Worcester. The king slept very 
 well in his lodging, till the time that his host 
 brought him a piece of bread, and a great pot of 
 butter-milk, which he thought the best food he had 
 ever eaten. The poor man spoke very intelligently 
 to him of the country, and of the people who 
 were well or ill affected to the king, and of the 
 great fear and terror that possessed the hearts of 
 those who were best affected. He told him, "that 
 he himself lived by his daily labour, and that 
 what he had brought him was the fare he and his 
 wife had ; and that he feared, if he should endea- 
 vour to procure better, it might draw suspicion 
 upon him, and people might be apt to think he 
 had somebody with him that was not of his own 
 family. However, if he would have him get some 
 meat, he would do it ; but if he could bear this 
 hard diet, he should have enough of the milk, 
 and some of the butter that was made with it." 
 The king was satisfied with his reason, and would 
 not run the hazard for a change of diet ; desired 
 only the man that he might have his company 
 as often and as much as he could give it him ; 
 there being the same reason against the poor 
 man's discontinuing his labour, as the alteration of 
 his fare. 
 
 After he had rested upon this hay-mow and 
 
 fed upon this diet two days and two nights, in the 
 evening before the third night, another fellow, a 
 little above the condition of his host, came to the 
 house, sent from Careless, to conduct the king to 
 another house, more out of any road near which 
 any part of the army was like to march. It was 
 above twelve miles that he was to go, and was to 
 use the same caution he had done the first night, 
 not to go in any common road, which his guide knew 
 well how to avoid. Here he new dressed himself, 
 changing clothes with his landlord ; he had a 
 great mind to have kept his own shirt ; but he con- 
 sidered, that men are not sooner discovered by any 
 mark in disguises than by having fine linen in ill 
 clothes ; and so he parted with his shirt too, and 
 took the same his poor host had then on. Though 
 he had foreseen that he must leave his boots, and his 
 landlord had taken the best care he could to provide 
 an old pair of shoes, yet they were not easy to 
 him when he first put them on, and, in a short 
 time after, grew very grievous to him. In this 
 equipage he set out from his first lodging in the 
 beginning of the night, under the conduct of this 
 guide, who guided him the nearest way, crossing 
 over hedges and ditches, that they might be in 
 least danger of meeting passengers. This was so 
 grievous a march, and he was so tired, that he 
 was even read}- to despair, and to prefer being 
 taken and suffered to rest, before purchasing his 
 safety at that price. His shoes had, after a few 
 miles, hurt him so much, that he had thrown them 
 away, and walked the rest of the way in his ill 
 stockings, which were quickly worn out ; and his 
 feet, with the thorns in getting over hedges, and 
 with the stones in other places, were so hurt and 
 wounded, that he man}- times cast himself upon 
 the ground, with a desperate and obstinate resolu- 
 tion to rest there till the morning, that he might 
 shift with less torment, what hazard soever he 
 run. But his stout guide still prevailed with him 
 to make a new attempt, sometimes promising 
 that the way should be better, and sometimes as- 
 suring him that he had but little farther to go ; 
 and in this distress and perplexity, before the 
 morning they arrived at the house designed ; 
 which, though it was better than that which he 
 had left, his lodging was still in the barn, upon 
 straw instead of hay, a place being made as easy 
 in it as the expectation of a guest could dispose it. 
 Here he had such meat and porridge as such peo- 
 ple use to have, with which, but especially with 
 
106 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the butter and the cheese, he thought himself observed that he was never carried to any gentle- 
 well feasted ; and took the best care he could to man's house, though that country was full of 
 be supplied with other, little better, shoes and them, but only to poor houses of poor men, which 
 stockings ; and after his feet were enough recov- only yielded him rest with very unpleasant suste- 
 ered that he could go, he was conducted from nance ; whether there was more danger in those 
 thence to another poor house, within such a dis- better houses, in regard of the resort and the 
 tance as put him not to much trouble ; for having many servants, or whether the owners of great 
 
 CHARLES II. TRAVELLING IN DISGUISE. 
 
 not yet in his thought which way or by what 
 means to make his escape, all that was designed 
 was only, by shifting from one house to another, 
 to avoid discover,-. And being now in that quar- 
 ter which was more inhabited by the Roman 
 Catholics than most other parts in England, he 
 was led from one to another of that persuasion, 
 and concealed with great fidelitv. But he then 
 
 estates were the owners likewise of more fears and 
 apprehensions. 
 
 Within a few days, a very honest and discreet 
 person, one Mr. Hudleston, a Benedictine monk, 
 who attended the sen-ice of the Roman Catholics 
 in these parts, came to him, sent by Careless, and 
 was a very great assistance and comfort to him. 
 And when the places to which he carried him 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 197 
 
 were at too great a distance to walk, he provided 
 him a horse, and more proper habit than the rags 
 he wore. This man told him, "that the Lord 
 Wilmot la} T concealed likewise in a friend's house 
 of his, which his majesty was very glad of, and 
 wished him to contrive some means how they 
 might speak together," which the other easily did, 
 and, within a night or two, brought them into one 
 place. Wilmot told the king "that he had by 
 very good fortune fallen into the house of an hon- 
 est gentleman, one Mr. Lane, a person of an excel- 
 lent reputation for his fidelity to the king, but of 
 so universal and general a good name, that, though 
 he had a son who had been a colonel in the king's 
 service during the late war, and was then upon 
 his way with men to Worcester, the very day of 
 the defeat, men of all affections in the country, 
 and of all opinions, paid the old man a very great 
 respect ; that he had been very civilly treated 
 there ; and that the old gentleman had used 
 some diligence to find out where the king was, 
 that he might get him to his house, where, he 
 was sure, he could conceal him till he might con- 
 trive a full deliverance." He told him, "he had 
 withdrawn from that house, in hope that he 
 might, in some other place, discover where his 
 majesty was ; and having now happily found him, 
 advised him to repair to that house, which stood 
 not near an}- other. ' ' 
 
 The king inquired of the monk of the reputa- 
 tion of this gentleman, who told him, "that he 
 had a fair estate, was exceedingly beloved, and 
 the eldest justice of peace of that county of Staf- 
 ford ; and though he was a very zealous Pro- 
 testant, yet he lived with so much civility and 
 candor towards the Catholics, that they would all 
 trust him as much as they would do an}' of their 
 own profession ; and that he could not think of 
 any place of so good repose and security for his 
 majesty's repair to." The king liked the proposi- 
 tion, yet thought not fit to surprise the gentleman, 
 but sent Wilmot thither again, to assure himself 
 that he might be received there, and was willing 
 that he should know what guest he received ; 
 which hitherto was so much concealed, that none 
 of the houses where he had yet been, knew or 
 seemed to suspect more than that he was one of 
 the king's party that fled . from Worcester. The 
 monk carried him to a house at a reasonable dis- 
 tance, where he was to expect an account from 
 the Lord Wilmot, who returned very punctually, 
 
 with as much assurance of welcome as he could 
 wish. And so the}' two went together to Mr. 
 Lane's house, where the king found he was wel- 
 come, and conveniently accommodated in such 
 places as in a large house had been provided to 
 conceal the persons of maliguants, or to preserve 
 goods of value from being plundered. Here he 
 lodged and ate very well, and began to hope that 
 he was in present safety. Wilmot returned under 
 the care of the monk, and expected summons 
 when any farther motion should be thought to be 
 necessary. 
 
 In this station the king remained in quiet and 
 blessed security many days, receiving every day 
 information of the general consternation the king- 
 dom was in, out of the apprehension that his per- 
 son might fall into the hands of his enemies, and 
 of the great diligence they used to inquire for him. 
 He saw the proclamation that was issued out and 
 printed, in which a thousand pounds were prom- 
 ised to any man who would deliver and discover 
 the person of Charles Stuart, and the penalty of 
 high treason declared against those who presumed 
 to harbor or conceal him, by which he saw how 
 much he was beholden to all those who were faith- 
 ful to him. It was now time to consider how he 
 might get near the sea, from whence he might find 
 some means to transport himself ; and he was now 
 near the middle of the kingdom, saving that it 
 was a little more northward, where he was utterly 
 unacquainted with all the ports, and with that 
 coast. In the west he was best acquainted, and 
 that coast was most proper to transport him into 
 France, to which he was inclined. Upon this 
 matter he communicated with those of this family 
 to whom he was known, that is, with the old 
 gentleman the father, a very grave and venerable 
 person ; the colonel, his eldest son, a very plain 
 man in his discourse and behaviour, but of a fear- 
 less courage, and an integrity superior to any 
 temptation ; and a daughter of the house, of a 
 very good wit and discretion, and very fit to bear 
 any part in such a trust. It was a benefit, as well 
 as an inconvenience, in those unhappy times, 
 that the affections of all men were almost as well 
 known as their faces, by the discovery they had 
 made of themselves in those sad seasons in many 
 trials and persecutions ; so that men knew not 
 only the minds of their next neighbours, and those 
 who inhabited near them, but, upon conference 
 with their friends, could choose fit houses, at any 
 
19S 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 distance, to repose themselves in security, from 
 one end of the kingdom to another, without trust- 
 ing the hospitality of a common inn ; and men 
 were very rarely deceived in their confidence upon 
 such occasions ; but the persons with whom they 
 were at any time, could conduct them to another 
 house of the same affection. 
 
 Mr. Lane had a niece, or very near kinswoman, 
 who was married to a gentleman, one Mr. Norton, 
 a person of eight or nine hundred pounds per- an- 
 num, who lived within four or five miles of Bristol, 
 which was at least four or five days' journey from 
 the place where the king then was, but a place 
 most to be wished for the king to be in, because 
 he did not only know all that country very well, 
 but knew many persons also to whom, in an ex- 
 traordinary case, he durst make himself known. 
 It was hereupon resolved that Mrs. Lane should 
 visit this cousin, who was known to be of good 
 affections, and that she should ride behind the 
 king, who was fitted with clothes and boots for 
 such a service ; and that a servant of her father's, 
 in liven-, should wait upon her. A good house 
 was easily pitched upon for the first night's lodg- 
 ing, where Wilmot had notice given him to meet ; 
 and in this equipage the king began his journey, 
 the colonel keeping him company at a distance, 
 with a hawk upon his fist, and two or three 
 spaniels, which, where there were any fields at 
 hand, warranted him to ride out of the way, keep- 
 ing his company still in his eye, and not seeming 
 to be of it. In this manner they came to their 
 first night's lodging ; and they need not now con- 
 trive to come to their journey's end about the 
 close of the evening, for it was in the month of 
 October far advanced, that the long journeys the}' 
 made could not be despatched sooner. Here the 
 Lord Wilmot found them, and their journeys 
 being then adjusted, he was instructed where he 
 should be every night ; so they were seldom seen 
 together in the journey, and rarely lodged in the 
 same house at night. In this manner the colonel 
 hawked two or three days, till he had brought 
 them within less than a day's journey of Mr. 
 Norton's house, and then he gave his hawk to the 
 Lord Wilmot, who continued the journey in the 
 same exercise. 
 
 There was great care taken when the} - came 
 to any house, that the king might be presently 
 carried into some chamber, Mrs. Lane declaring 
 "that he was a neighbour's son, whom his father 
 
 had lent her to ride before her, in hope that he 
 would the sooner recover from a quartan ague, 
 with which he had been miserably afflicted, and 
 was not yet free. ' ' And by this artifice she caused 
 a good bed to be still provided for him, and the 
 best meat to be sent, which she often carried her- 
 self, to hinder others from doing it. There was 
 no resting in any place till the} - came to Mr. Nor- 
 ton's, nor anything extraordinary that happened 
 in the way, save that they met many people every 
 da} - in the way. who were very well known to the 
 king ; and the day that they went to Mr. Norton's, 
 the} - were necessarily to ride quite through the 
 city of Bristol — a place and people the king had 
 been so well acquainted with, that he could not but 
 send his eyes abroad to view the great alterations 
 which had been made there, after his departure 
 from thence ; and when he rode near the place 
 where the great fort had stood, he could not for- 
 bear putting his horse out of the way, and rode with 
 his mistress behind him round about it. 
 
 They came to Mr. Norton's house sooner than 
 usual, and it being on a holiday, the} - saw many 
 people about a bowling-green that was before the 
 door ; and the first man the king saw was a chap- 
 lain of his own, who was allied to the gentleman 
 of the house, and was sitting upon the rails to see 
 how the bowlers played. William, by which 
 name the king went, walked with his horse into 
 the stable, until his mistress could provide for his 
 retreat. Airs. Lane was very welcome to her 
 cousin, and was presently conducted to her cham- 
 ber, where she no sooner was, than she lamented 
 the condition of "a good youth who came with 
 her, and whom she had borrowed of his father to 
 ride before her, who was very sick, being newly 
 recovered of an ague;" and desired her cousin 
 " that a chamber might be provided for him, and 
 a good fire made, for that he would go early to 
 bed, and was not fit to be below stairs. ' ' A pretty 
 little chamber was presently made ready, and a 
 fire prepared, and a boy sent into the stable to 
 call William, and to show him his chamber ; who 
 was very glad to be there, freed from so much 
 company as was below. Mrs. Lane was put to 
 find some excuse for making a visit at that time 
 of the year, and so many days' journey from her 
 father, and where she had never been before, 
 though the mistress of the house and she had 
 been bred together, and friends as well as kin- 
 dred. She pretended " that she was, after a little 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 19:> 
 
 rest, to go iuto Dorsetshire to another friend." 
 When it was supper-time, there being broth 
 brought to the table, Mrs. Lane filled a little dish, 
 and desired the butler who waited at the table 
 "to carry that dish of porridge to William, and 
 to tell him that he should have some meat sent to 
 him presently. ' ' The butler carried the porridge 
 into the chamber, with a napkin, and spoon, and 
 bread, and spoke kindly to the young man, who 
 was willing to be eating. 
 
 The butler, looking narrowly upon him, fell 
 upon his knees, and with tears told him, " he was 
 glad to see his majesty. ' ' The king was infinitely 
 surprised, yet recollected himself enough to laugh 
 at the man, and to ask him "what he meant?" 
 The man had been falconer to Sir Thomas Jermyn, 
 and made it appear that he knew well enough to 
 whom he spoke, repeating some particulars which 
 the king had not forgot. Whereupon the king 
 conjured him " not to speak of what he knew, so 
 much as to his master, though he believed him a 
 very honest man." The fellow promised, and 
 kept his word ; and the king was the better waited 
 upon during the time of his abode there. 
 
 Dr. Gorges, the king's chaplain, being a gentle- 
 man of a good family near that place, and allied 
 to Mr. Norton, supped with them ; and being a 
 man of a cheerful conversation, asked Mrs. Lane 
 many questions concerning William, of whom he 
 saw she was so careful, by sending up meat to 
 him, "how long his ague had been gone? and 
 whether he had taken medicine since it left him?" 
 and the like ; to which she gave such answers as 
 occurred. The doctor, from the final prevalence of 
 the Parliament, had, as many others of that func- 
 tion had done, declined his profession, and pre- 
 tended to study physic. As soon as supper was 
 done, out of good nature, and without telling 
 anybody, he went to see William. The king saw 
 him coming into the chamber, and withdrew to 
 the inside of the bed, that he might be farthest 
 from the candle ; and the doctor came and sat 
 down by him, felt his pulse, and asked him many 
 questions, which he answered in as few words as 
 was possible, and expressing great inclination to 
 go to his bed ; to which the doctor left him, and 
 went to Mrs. Lane, and told her "that he had 
 been with William, and that he would do well;" 
 and advised her what she should do if his ague 
 returned. The next morning the doctor went 
 away, so that the king saw him no more. The 
 
 next day, the Lord Wilmot came to the house 
 with his hawk, to see Mrs. Lane, and so conferred 
 with William, who was to consider what he was 
 to do. They thought it necessary to rest some 
 days, till they were informed what pert la)' most 
 convenient for them, and what person lived nearest 
 to it, upon whose fidelity the}- might rely ; and 
 the king gave him directions to inquire after some 
 persons, and some other particulars, of which when 
 he should be fully instructed, he should return 
 again to him. In the mean time, Wilmot lodged 
 at a house not far from Mr. Norton's, to which he 
 had been recommended. 
 
 After some days' stay here, and communication 
 between the king and the Lord Wilmot by letters, 
 the king came to know that Colonel Francis 
 Windham lived within little more than a day's 
 journey of the place where he was, of which he 
 was very glad ; for, besides the inclination he had 
 to his eldest brother, whose wife had been his 
 nurse, this gentleman had behaved himself very 
 well during the war, and had been governor of 
 Dunstar castle, where the king had lodged when 
 he was in the west. After the end of the war, 
 and when all other places were surrendered in 
 that county, he likewise surrendered that, upon 
 fair conditions, and made his peace, and after- 
 wards married a wife with a competent fortune, 
 and lived quietly, without any suspicion of having 
 lessened his affection towards his king. 
 
 The king sent Wilmot to him, and acquainted 
 him where he was, and "that he would gladly 
 speak with him." It was not hard for him to 
 choose a good place where to meet, and thereupon 
 the day was appointed. After the king had taken 
 his leave of Mrs. Lane, who remained with her 
 cousin Norton, the king and the Lord Wilmot 
 met the colonel ; and in the way he met, in a town 
 through which they passed, Mr. Kirton, a servant 
 of the king's, who well knew the Lord Wilmot, 
 who had no other disguise than the hawk, but 
 took no notice of him, nor suspected the king to 
 be there ; yet that day made the king more wary 
 of having him in his company upon the way. At 
 the place of meeting, they rested only one night, 
 and then the king went to the colonel's house, 
 where he rested many days, whilst the colonel 
 projected at what place the king might embark, 
 and how they might procure a vessel to be ready 
 there, which was not easy to find, there being so 
 great a fear possessing those who were honest, 
 
2J0 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 that it was hard to procure any vessel that was 
 outward-bound to take in any passenger. 
 
 There was a gentleman, one Mr. Ellison, who 
 lived near Lyme, in Dorsetshire, and was well 
 known to Colonel Windham, having been a cap- 
 tain in the king's army, and was still looked upon 
 as a very honest man. With him the colonel con- 
 sulted how they might get a vessel to be ready to 
 take in a couple of gentlemen, friends of his, who 
 were in danger to be arrested, and transport them 
 into France. Though no man would ask who the 
 persons were, yet it could not but be suspected 
 who they were ; at least they concluded that it 
 \va 5 some of Worcester party. Lyme was gene- 
 rally as malicious and disaffected a town to the 
 king's interest as any town in England could be, 
 yet there was in it a master of a bark, of whose 
 honesty this captain was very confident. This 
 man was lately returned from France, and had 
 unladen his vessel, when Ellison asked him 
 " when he would make another voyage ? " And 
 he answered, " as soon as he could get lading for 
 his ship." The other asked " whether he would 
 undertake to cany over a couple of gentlemen, 
 and laud them in France, if he might be as well 
 paid for his voyage as he used to be when he was 
 freighted by the merchants?" In conclusion, he 
 told him "he should receive fifty pounds for his 
 fare. ' ' The large recompense had that effect, that 
 the man undertook it ; though he said " he must 
 make his provision very secretly, for that he 
 might be well suspected for going to sea again 
 without being freighted, after he was so newly 
 returned." Colonel Windham being advertised 
 of this, came, together with the Lord Wilmot, to 
 the captain's house, from whence the lord and the 
 captain rid to a house near Lyme, where the 
 master of the bark met them : and the Lord Wil- 
 mot being satisfied with the discourse of the man, 
 and his wariness in foreseeing suspicions which 
 would arise, it was resolved that on such a night, 
 which upon consideration of the tides was agreed 
 upon, the man should draw out his vessel from 
 the pier, and, being at sea, should come to such 
 a point about a mile from the town, where his 
 ship should remain upon the beach when the 
 water was gone, which would take it off again 
 about break of day the next morning. There 
 was very near that point, even in the view of it, 
 a small inn, kept by a man who was reputed 
 honest, to which the cavaliers of the country 
 
 often resorted ; and the Louden road passed that 
 way, so that it was seldom without company. 
 Into that inn the two gentlemen were to come in 
 the beginning of the night, that the}- might put 
 themselves on board. All things being thus con- 
 certed, and good earnest given to the master, the 
 Lord Wilmot and the colonel returned to the 
 colonel's house, above a day's journey from the 
 place, the captain undertaking every day to look 
 that the master should provide, and, if anything 
 fell out contrary to expectation, to give the colonel 
 notice at such a place where they intended the 
 king should be the day before he was to embark. 
 
 The king being satisfied with these prepara- 
 tions, came at the time appointed to that house 
 where he was to hear that all went as it ought to 
 do ; of which he received assurance from the cap- 
 tain, who found that the man had honestly put 
 his provisions on board, and had his company 
 read}-, which were but four men, and that the 
 vessel should be drawn out that night ; so that it 
 was fit for the two persons to come to the afore- 
 said inn : and the captain conducted them within 
 sight of it, and then went to his own house, not 
 distant a mile from it ; the colonel remaining still 
 at the house where they had lodged the night 
 before, till he might hear the news of their being 
 embarked. 
 
 They found many passengers in the inn, and so 
 were to be contented with an ordinary chamber, 
 which they did not intend to sleep long in. But 
 as soon as there appeared any light, Wilmot went 
 out to discover the bark, of which there was no 
 appearance. In a word, the sun arose, and 
 nothing like a ship in view. They sent to the 
 captain, who was as much amazed; and he sent 
 to the town, and his servant could not find the 
 master of the bark, which was still in the pier. 
 They suspected the captain, and the captain sus- 
 pected the master. However, it being past ten 
 of the clock, they concluded it was not fit for 
 them to stay longer there, and so they mounted 
 their horses again to return to the house where 
 they had left the colonel, who, they knew, re- 
 solved to stay there till he were assured that they 
 were gone. 
 
 The truth of the disappointment was this : the 
 man meant honestly, and made all things ready 
 for his departure ; and the night he was to go out 
 with his vessel, he had stayed in his own house, 
 and slept two or three hours ; and the time of the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 201 
 
 tide being come that it was necessary to be on used to go with him, and that some of them had 
 board, he took out of a cupboard some linen and carried provisions on board the bark ; of which 
 other things, which he used to carry with him to she had asked her husband the reason, who had 
 
 J 
 
 LORD WILMOT AND KING CHARLES AT THE DOOR OF THE INN. 
 
 sea. His wife had observed that he had been for told her " that he was promised freight speedily, 
 si^me days fuller of thoughts than he used to be, and therefore he would make all things ready." 
 and that he had been speaking with seamen who She was sure that there was yet no lading in the 
 
202 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ship, and therefore, when she saw her husband 
 take all those materials with him, which was a 
 sure sign that he meant to go to sea, and it being 
 late in the night, she shut the door, and swore he 
 should not go out of his house. He told her ' ' he 
 must go, and was engaged to go to sea that night, 
 for which he should be well paid." His wife told 
 him " she was sure he was doing somewhat that 
 would undo him, and she was resolved he should 
 not go out of his house ; and if he should persist 
 in it, she would tell the neighbours, and carry him 
 before the mayor to be examined, that the truth 
 might be found out." The poor man, thus mas- 
 tered by the passion and violence of his wife, was 
 forced to yield to her, that there might be no 
 farther noise, and so went into his bed. 
 
 And it was very happy that the king's jealousy 
 hastened him from that inn. It was the solemn 
 fast-day, which was observed in those times prin- 
 cipally to inflame the people against the king, and 
 all those who were loyal to him ; and there was a 
 chapel in that village over against that inn, where 
 a weaver, who had been a soldier, used to preach, 
 and utter all the villany imaginable against the 
 old order of government ; and he was then in the 
 chapel preaching to his congregation when the 
 king went from thence, and telling the people 
 "that Charles Stuart was lurking somewhere in 
 that country, and that they would merit from God 
 Almighty if the}' could find him out." The pas- 
 sengers, who had lodged in the inn that night, 
 had, as soon as they were up, sent for a smith to 
 visit their horses, it being a hard frost. The 
 smith, when he had done what he was sent for, 
 according to the custom of that people, examined 
 the feet of the other two horses, to find more 
 work. When he had observed them, he told the 
 host of the house "that one of those horses had 
 travelled far, and that he was sure that his four 
 shoes had been made in four several counties;" 
 which, whether his skill was able to discover or 
 mi, was very true. The smith going to the ser- 
 mon, told his story to some of his neighbours, and 
 so it came tc the ears of the preacher when his 
 sermon was done. Immediately he sent for an 
 officer, and searched the inn, and inquired for 
 those horses ; and being informed that they were 
 gone, he caused horses to be sent to follow them, 
 and to make inquiry after the two men who rid 
 those horses, and positively declared " that one of 
 them was Charles Stuart." 
 
 When they came again to the colonel, the}' 
 presently concluded that the} - were to make no 
 longer stay in those parts, nor any more to endea- 
 vour to find a ship upon that coast ; and without 
 any farther delay, the}- rode back to the colonel's 
 house, where they arrived in the night. Then 
 they resolved to make their next attempt in 
 Hampshire and Sussex, where Colonel Windham 
 had no interest. They must pass through all 
 Wiltshire before they came thither, which would 
 require man}- days' journey ; and they were first 
 to consider what honest houses there were in or 
 near the way, where the}- might securely repose , 
 and it was thought very dangerous for the king 
 to ride through any great town, as Salisbury or 
 Winchester, which might probably lie in their 
 way. 
 
 There was, between that and Salisbury, a very 
 honest gentleman, Colonel Robert Philips, a 
 younger brother of a very good family, which had 
 always been very loyal, and he had served the 
 king during the war. The king was resolved to 
 trust him, and so sent the Lord Wilmot to a place 
 from whence he might send to Mr. Philips to come 
 to him ; and when he had spoken with him, Mr. 
 Philips should come to the king, and Wilmot was 
 to stay in such a place as they two should agree. 
 Mr. Philips accordingly came to the colonel's 
 house, which he could do without suspicion, they 
 being nearly allied. The ways were very full of 
 soldiers, which were sent now from the army to 
 their quarters, and many regiments of horse and 
 foot were assigned for the west, of which division 
 Desborough was commander-in-chief. These 
 marches were like to last for many days, and it 
 would not be fit for the king to stay so long in 
 that place. Thereupon he resorted to his old 
 security of taking a woman behind him, a kins- 
 woman of Colonel Windham, whom he carried in 
 that manner to a place not far from Salisbury, to 
 which Colonel Philips conducted him. In this 
 journey he passed through the middle of a regi- 
 ment of horse, and, presently after, met Des- 
 borough walking down a hill with three or four 
 men with him, who had lodged in Salisbury the 
 night before, all that road being full of soldiers. 
 
 The next day, upon the plains, Dr. Hinchman, 
 one of the prebends of Salisbury, met the king, 
 the Lord Wilmot and Philips then leaving him 
 to go to the sea coast to find a vessel, the doctor 
 conducting the king to a place called Heale, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 203 
 
 three miles from Salisbury, belonging then to 
 Serjeant Hyde, who was aftenvards Chief Justice 
 of the King's Bench, and then in possession of 
 the widow of his elder brother — a house that 
 stood alone from neighbours, and from any high- 
 way — where coming in late in the evening, he 
 supped with some gentlemen who accidentally 
 were in the house, which could not well be 
 avoided. But the next morning he went early 
 from thence, as if he had continued his journey ; 
 and the widow, being trusted with the knowledge 
 of her guest, sent her servants out of the way, 
 and at an hour appointed received him again, 
 and accommodated him in a little room, which 
 had been made since the beginning of the 
 troubles for the concealment of delinquents, the 
 seat always belonging to a malignant family. 
 
 Here he lay concealed, without the knowledge 
 of some gentlemen, who lived in the house, and 
 of others who daily resorted thither, for many 
 days ; the widow herself only attending him 
 with such things as were necessary, and bringing 
 him such letters as the doctor received from the 
 Lord Wilmot and Colonel Philips. A vessel 
 being at last provided upon the coast of Sussex, 
 and notice thereof sent to Dr. Hinchman, he sent 
 to the king to meet him at Stonehenge, upon the 
 plains, three miles from Heale, whither the widoc 
 took care to direct him ; and being there met, he 
 attended him to the place where Colonel Philips 
 received him. He, the next day, delivered him 
 to the Lord Wilmot, who went with him to a 
 house in Sussex recommended by Colonel 
 Gunter, a gentleman of that country, who had 
 served the king in the war, who met him there, 
 and had provided a little bark at Brighthelm- 
 stone, a small fisher town, where he went early 
 on board, and, by God's blessing, arrived safely 
 in Normandy. 
 
 CHARACTER OF OLIVER CROMV^ELL. 
 
 THE true character of Oliver Cromwell was 
 perhaps never more correctly painted than 
 in the following sketch by Lord Clarendon. 
 Cromwell possessed great abilities, both as a sol- 
 dier and a statesman, but his actions were 
 dictated by personal ambition to a greater extent 
 than the)' were by love of country. His character 
 was well suited to the times and the work he had 
 to accomplish, and he played his part, doubtless, 
 better than any other man could have done ; yet 
 
 his contradictions of excessive piety and lack of 
 moral principle mark him as a man who acted a 
 double part and wanted to appear what he really 
 was not. 
 
 He was one of those men, says Clarendon, 
 whom his very enemies could not condemn with- 
 out commending him at the same time ; for he 
 could never have clone half that mischief without 
 great parts of courage, industry, and judgment. 
 He must have had a wonderful understanding in 
 the natures and humors of men, and as great a 
 dexterity in applying them ; who, from a private 
 and obscure birth (though of a good family), 
 without interest or estate, alliance or friendship, 
 could raise himself to such a height, and com- 
 pound and knead such opposite and contradictory- 
 tempers, humors, and interests into a consistence, 
 that contributed to his designs, and to their own 
 destruction ; whilst himself grew insensibly pow- 
 erful enough to cut off those by whom he had 
 climbed, in the instant that they projected to de- 
 molish their own building. What was said of 
 Cinna may be justly said of him, "He at- 
 tempted those things which no good man durst 
 have ventured on, and achieved those in which 
 none but a valiant and great man could have suc- 
 ceeded." Without doubt, no man with more 
 wickedness ever attempted anything, or brought 
 to pass what he desired more wickedly-, more in 
 the face and contempt of religion and moral 
 honesty. Yet wickedness as great as his could 
 never have accomplished those designs without 
 the assistance of a great spirit, an admirable cir- 
 cumspection and sagacity, and a most magnani- 
 mous resolution. 
 
 When he appeared first in the parliament, he 
 seemed to have a person in no degree gracious, no 
 ornament of discourse, none of those talents which 
 use to conciliate the affections of the stander-by. 
 Yet as he grew into place and authority-, his parts 
 seemed to be raised, as if he had had concealed 
 faculties, till he had occasion to use them ; and 
 when he was to act the part of a great man, he did 
 it without any indecency, notwithstanding the 
 want of custom. 
 
 After he was confirmed and invested Protector by 
 the humble petition and advice, he consulted with 
 very r few upon any action of importance, nor com- 
 municated any enterprise he resolved upon with 
 more than those who were to have principal parts 
 :n the execution of it ; nor with them sooner than 
 
204 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 was absolutely necessary. What he once resolved, 
 in which he was not rash, he would not be dis- 
 suaded from, nor endure any contradiction of his 
 
 11 1 AT 
 
 V 
 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 power and authority, but extorted obedience from 
 them who were not willing to yield it. 
 
 Thus he subdued a spirit that had been often 
 
 troublesome to the most sovereign power, and made 
 Westminster Hall as obedient and subservient to 
 his commands as any of the rest of his quarters. 
 In all other matters, which did not 
 concern the life of his jurisdiction, 
 he seemed to have great reverence for 
 the law, rarely interposing between 
 party and party. As he proceeded 
 with this kind of indignation and 
 haughtiness with those who were re- 
 fractor}', and durst contend with his 
 greatness, so towards all who com- 
 plied with his good pleasure, and 
 courted his protection, he used great 
 civility, generosity and bounty. 
 
 To reduce three nations, which 
 perfectly hated him, to an entire obe- 
 dience to all dictates ; to awe and 
 govern those nations by an army that 
 was indevoted to him, and wished 
 his ruin, was an instance of a very 
 prodigious address. But his great- 
 ness at home was but a shadow of 
 the glory he had abroad. It was 
 hard to discover which feared him 
 most, France, Spain, or the Low 
 Countries, where his friendship was 
 current at the value he put upon it. 
 As they did all sacrifice their honour 
 and their interest to his pleasure, so 
 there is nothing he could have de- 
 manded that either of them would 
 have denied him. 
 
 To conclude his character : Crom- 
 well was not so far a man of blood 
 as to follow Machiavel's method ; 
 which prescribes, upon a total altera- 
 tion of government, as a thing abso- 
 lutely necessary to cut off all the 
 heads of those, and extirpate their 
 families, who are friends to the old 
 one. It was confidently reported, that 
 in the council of officers it was more 
 than once proposed, ''that there 
 might be a general massacre of all 
 the royal party, as the only expedient 
 to secure the government, ' ' but that 
 Cromwell would never consent to it ; 
 it mav be, out of too great a contempt of his ene- 
 mies. In a word, as he was guilty of many 
 crimes against which damnation is denounced, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 20." 
 
 and for which hell-fire is prepared, so he had some 
 good qualities which have caused the memory of 
 some men in all ages to be celebrated. 
 
 CHARACTER AND DEATH OF EDWARD VI. 
 
 [Selected from the works of Gilbert Burnett, 
 an English historian of the seventeenth century]. 
 
 IX the beginning of January this year [1553], 
 he was seized with a deep cough, and all 
 medicines that were used did rather increase than 
 
 covered, he resumed most of the heads of the 
 sermon, and said he looked upon himself as 
 chiefly touched by it. He desired him, as he had 
 already given him the exhortation in general, so 
 to direct him to do his duty in chat particular. 
 The bishop, astonished at this tenderness in so 
 young a prince, burst forth in tears, expressing 
 how much he was overjoyed to see such inclina- 
 tions in him ; but told him he must take time to 
 think on it, and craved leave co consult with the 
 
 CROMWELL AT THE COFFIN OF CHARLES I. 
 
 lessen it. He was so ill when the parliament 
 met, that he was not able to go to Westminster, 
 but ordered their first meeting and the sermon to 
 be at Whitehall. In the time of his sickness, 
 Bishop Ridley preached before him, and took 
 occasion to run out much on works of charity, 
 and the obligation that lay on men of high condi- 
 tion to be eminent in good works. This touched 
 the king to the quick ; so that, presently after the 
 sermon, he sent for the bishop. And, after he 
 had commanded him to sit down bv him, and be 
 
 lord-mayor and court of aldermen. So the king 
 writ by him to them to consult speedily how the 
 poor should be relieved. They considered there 
 were three sorts of poor ; such as were so by natu- 
 ral infirmity or folly, as impotent persons, and 
 madmen or idiots ; such as were so by accident, as 
 sick or maimed persons; and such as, by their 
 idleness, did cast themselves into poverty. So the 
 king ordered the Greyfriars' church, near New- 
 gate, with the revenues belonging to it, to be a 
 house for orphans ; St. Bartholomew's, near Smith- 
 
206 THE WONDERFUL. THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 field, to be an hospital : and gave his own house 
 of Bridewell to be a place of correction and work 
 for such as were wilfully idle. He also confirmed 
 and enlarged the grant for the hospital of St. 
 Thomas in Southwark, which he had erected and 
 endowed in August last. And when he set his 
 hand to these foundations, which was not done 
 before the 5th of June this year, he thanked God 
 that had prolonged his life till he had finished 
 that design. So he was the first founder of those 
 houses, which, by many great additions since that 
 time, have risen to be amongst the noblest in 
 Europe. 
 
 He expressed, in the whole course of his sick- 
 ness, great submission to the will of God, and 
 seemed glad at the approaches of death ; only, 
 the consideration of religion and the church 
 touched him much ; and upon that account he 
 .said he was desirous of life. . . His distemper 
 rather increased than abated ; so that the physi- 
 cians had no hope of his recovery. Upon which 
 a confident woman came, and undertook his cure, 
 if he might be put into her hands. This was 
 done, and the physicians were put from him, upon 
 this pretence, that, they having no hopes of his 
 recovery, in a desperate case desperate remedies 
 were to be applied. This was said to be the 
 Duke of Northumberland's advice in particular ; 
 and it increased the people's jealousy of him, 
 when they saw the king grow sensibly worse 
 every day after he came under the woman's care ; 
 which becoming so plain, she was put from him, 
 and the physicians were again sent for, and took 
 him into their charge. But if they had small 
 hopes before, they had none at all now. Death 
 thus hastening on him, the Duke of Northumber- 
 land, who had done but half his work, except he 
 had got the king's sisters in his hands, got the 
 council to write to them in the king's name, in- 
 viting them to come and keep him company in 
 his sickness. But as they were on the wav, on 
 the 6th of Jul\-, his spirits and body were so sunk, 
 that he found death approaching ; and so he com- 
 posed himself to die in a most devout manner. 
 His whole exercise was in short prayers and 
 ejaculations. The last that he was heard to use 
 was in these words : " Lord God, deliver me out 
 of this miserable and wretched life, and take me 
 among thy chosen ; howbeit, not my will, but 
 thine be done ; Lord, I commit my spirit to thee. 
 Oh Lord, thou knowest how happy it were for me 
 
 to be with thee ; yet, for thy chosen's sake, send 
 me life and health, that I may truly serve thee. 
 Oh ni}' Lord God, bless my people, and save thine 
 inheritance. Oh Lord God, save thy chosen peo- 
 ple of England ; oh Lord God, defend this realm 
 from papistry, and maintain tin- true religion, 
 that I and rny people may praise thy holy name, 
 for Jesus Christ his sake." Seeing some about 
 him, he seemed troubled that the}- were so near, 
 and had heard him : but, with a pleasant counte- 
 nance, he said he had been praying to God. And 
 soon after, the pangs of death coming upon him, 
 he said to Sir Henry Sidney, who was holding 
 him in his arms, "I am faint ; Lord have mercy 
 011 me, and receive my spirit ;" and so he breathed 
 out his innocent soul. 
 
 CHARLES THE SECOND. 
 
 BY GILBERT BURNETT. 
 
 CHUS lived and died King Charles II. He 
 was the greatest instance in the history of 
 the various revolutions of which any one man 
 seemed capable. He was bred up the first twelve 
 years of his life with the splendor that became 
 the heir of so great a crown. After that, he 
 passed through eighteen years of great inequali- 
 ties ; unhappy in the war, in the loss of his 
 father, and of the crown of England. Scotland 
 did not only receive him, though upon terms hard 
 of digestion, but made an attempt upon England 
 for him, though a feeble one. He lost the battle 
 of Worcester with too much indifference. And 
 then he showed more care of his person than be- 
 came one who had so much at stake. He wan- 
 dered about England for ten weeks after 
 that, hiding from place to place. But, under all 
 the apprehensions he had then upon him, he 
 showed a temper so careless, and so much turned 
 to levity, that he was then diverting himself with 
 little household sports, in as unconcerned a 
 manner as if he had made no loss, and had been 
 in no danger at all. He got at last out of Eng- 
 land. But he had been obliged to so many who 
 had been faithful to him, and careful of him, that 
 he seemed afterwards to resolve to make an equal 
 return to them all ; and finding it not easy to re- 
 ward them all as they deserved, he forgot them 
 all alike. Most princes seem to have this pretty 
 deep in them, and to think that they ought never 
 to remember past services, but that their accept- 
 ance of them is a full reward. He, of all in our 
 
* 
 
 (80?) 
 
208 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 age, exerted this piece of prerogative in the 
 amplest manner ; for he never seemed to charge 
 his memory, or to trouble his thoughts, with the 
 sense of any of the services that had been done 
 him. While he was abroad at Paris, Cologne, or 
 Brussels, he never seemed to lay anything to 
 heart. He pursued, all his diversions and irregu- 
 lar pleasures in a free career, and seemed to be as 
 serene under the loss of a crown as the greatest 
 philosopher could have been. Xor did he will- 
 ingly hearken to any of those projects with 
 which he often complained that his chancellor 
 persecuted him. That in which he seemed most 
 concerned was, to find money for supporting his 
 expense. And it was often said, that if Crom- 
 well would have compounded the matter, and 
 have given him a good round pension, that he 
 might have been induced to resign his title to him. 
 During his exile, he delivered himself so entirely 
 to his pleasures, that he became incapable of ap- 
 plication. He spent little of his time in reading 
 or study, and yet less in thinking. And in the 
 state his affairs were then in, he accustomed him- 
 self to say to every person, and upon all occasions, 
 that which he thought would please most; so 
 that words or promises went very easily from 
 him. And he had so ill an opinion of mankind, 
 that he thought the great art of living and gov- 
 erning was, to manage all things and all persons 
 with a depth of craft and dissimulation. And in 
 that few men in the world could put on the ap- 
 pearances of sincerity better than he could ; under 
 which so much artifice was usually hid, that in 
 conclusion he could deceive none, for all were be- 
 come mistrustful of him. He had great vices, 
 but scarce any virtues to correct them. He had 
 in him some vices that were less hurtful, which 
 corrected his more hurtful ones. He was, during 
 the active part of life, given up to sloth and lewd- 
 ness to such a degree, that he hated business, and 
 could not bear the engaging in anything that 
 gave him much trouble, or put him under any 
 constraint. And though he desired to become 
 absolute, and to overturn both our religion and 
 our laws, yet he would neither run the risk, nor 
 give himself the trouble, which so great a design 
 required. He had an appearance of gentleness in 
 his outward deportment ; but he seemed to have 
 no bowels nor tenderness in his nature, and in the 
 end of his life he became cruel. He was apt to 
 forgive all crimes, even blood itself, yet he never 
 
 forgave anything that was done against himself, 
 after his first and general act of indemnity, which 
 was to be reckoned as done rather upon maxims 
 of state than inclinations of mercy. He delivered 
 himself up to a most enormous course of vice, 
 without any sort of restraint, even from the con- 
 sideration of the nearest relations. The most 
 studied extravagances that way seemed, to the 
 very last, to be much delighted in and pursued by 
 him. He had the art of making all people grow 
 fond of him at first, by a softness in his whole 
 way of conversation, as he was certainly the best- 
 bred man of the age. But when it appeared how 
 little could be built on his promise, the}- were 
 cured of the fondness that he was apt to raise in 
 them. When he saw 7 young men of quality, who 
 had something more than ordinary in them, he 
 drew them about him, and set himself to corrupt 
 them both in religion and morality ; in which he 
 proved so unhappily successful, that he left Eng- 
 land much changed at his death from what he had 
 found it at his restoration. He loved to talk over 
 all the stories of his life to every new man that 
 came about him. His stay in Scotland, and the 
 share he had in the war of Paris, in carrying mes- 
 sages from the one side to the other, were his 
 common topics. He went over these in a very 
 graceful manner, but so often and so copiously, 
 that all those who had been long accustomed to 
 them grew wear}- of them ;. and when he entered 
 on those stories, they usually withdrew. So that 
 he often began them in a full audience, and before 
 he had done, there were not above four or five 
 persons left about him, which drew a severe jest 
 from Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. He said he 
 wondered to see a man have so good a memory as 
 to repeat the same story without losing the least 
 circumstance, and yet not remember that he had 
 told it to the same persons the very clay before. 
 This made him fond of strangers, for they heark- 
 ened to all his often-repeated stories, and went 
 away as in a rapture at such an uncommon con- 
 descension in a king. 
 
 His person and temper, his vices as well as his 
 fortunes, resemble the character we have given us 
 of Tiberius so much, that it were easy to draw 
 the parallel between them. Tibenus's banish- 
 ment, and his coming afterwards to reign, makes 
 the comparison in that respect come pretty near. 
 His hating of business, and his love of pleasures; 
 his raisin? of favorites, and trusting them en- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 200 
 
 tiiely; and his pulling them down, and hating 
 them excessively ; his art of covering deep de- 
 signs, particularly of revenge, with an appear- 
 ance of softness, brings them so near a likeness, 
 that I did not wonder much to observe the resem- 
 blance of their faces 
 and persons. At 
 Rome, I saw one 
 of the last statues 
 made for Tiberius, 
 after he had lost 
 his teeth. But, 
 bating the alter- 
 ation which that 
 made, it was so 
 like King Charles, 
 that Prince Bor- 
 ghese and Signor 
 Dominico, to whom 
 it belonged, did 
 agree with me 
 that it looked like a 
 statue madefor him. 
 Few things ever 
 went near his heart. 
 The Duke of Glou- 
 cester's death 
 seemed to touch 
 him much. But 
 those who knew 
 him best, thought 
 it was because he 
 had lost him by 
 whom only he could 
 have balanced the 
 surviving brother, 
 whom he hated, 
 and yet embroiled 
 all his affairs to pre- 
 serve the succession 
 to him. 
 
 the Czar's coming out of his own country, on 
 which I will now enlarge. He came this winter 
 over to England, and stayed some months among 
 us. I waited often on him, and was ordered, both 
 by the king and the archbishop and bishops, to at- 
 
 KING CHARLES AND HIS BOON COMPANIONS. 
 
 PETER THE GREAT IN ENGLAND, IN 1698. 
 
 THE following account of the visit of Peter 
 the Great of Russia, to England, in 1698, 
 is all the more iuteresting from having been writ- 
 ten b}- the historian Burnett, who was associated 
 with him almost every day during his residence 
 under the British flag, and who had good oppor- 
 tunities of observing his character and habits : 
 I mentioned, in the relation of the former 3'ear, 
 14 
 
 tend upon him, and to offer him such informations 
 of our religion and constitution as he was willing 
 to receive. I had good interpreters, so I had 
 much free discourse with him. He is a man of a 
 very hot temper, soon inflamed, and very brutal 
 in Ids passions. He raises his natural heat by 
 drinking much brandy, which he rectifies himself 
 with great application ; he is subject to convulsive 
 motions all over his body, and his head seems to 
 
210 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 be affected with these ; he wants not capacity, and 
 has a larger measure of knowledge than might be 
 expected from his education, which was very in- 
 different ; a want of judgment, with an insta- 
 bility of temper, appear in him too often and too 
 evidently ; he is mechanically turned, and seems 
 designed by nature rather to be a ship-carpenter 
 than a great prince. This was his chief study 
 and pleasure while he remained here ; he wrought 
 much with his own hands, and made all about him 
 work at the models of ships. He told me he de- 
 signed a great fleet at Azuph, and with it to 
 attack the Turkish Empire : but he did not seem 
 capable of conducting so great a design, though 
 his conduct in his wars since this has discovered 
 a greater genius in him than appeared at that time. 
 He was desirous to understand our doctrine, but 
 he did not seem disposed to mend matters in Mos- 
 cow. He was, indeed, resolved to encourage 
 learning, and to polish his people by sending some 
 of them to travel in other countries, and to draw 
 strangers to come and live among them. He 
 seemed apprehensive still of his sister's intrigues. 
 There was a mixture both of passion and severity 
 in his temper. He is resolute, but understands 
 little of war, and seemed not at all inquisitive that 
 wav. After I had seen him often, and had con- 
 versed much with him, I could not but adore the 
 depth of the providence of God, that had raised 
 up such a furious man to so absolute an authority 
 over so great a part of the world. 
 
 David, considering the great things God had 
 made for the use of man, broke out into the medi- 
 tation, " What is man that thou art so mindful of 
 him?" But here there is an occasion for re- 
 versing these words, since man seems a very con- 
 temptible thing in the sight of God, while such 
 a person as the Czar has such multitudes put, as 
 it were, under his feet, exposed to his restless jeal- 
 ousy and savage temper. He went from hence to 
 the court of Vienna, where he purposed to have 
 stayed some time ; but he was called home, sooner 
 than he intended, upon a discovery or a suspicion 
 of intrigues managed by his sister. The strangers, 
 to whom he trusted most, were so true to him, 
 that those designs were crushed before he came 
 back. But on this occasion he let loose his fury 
 on all whom he suspected. Some hundreds of 
 them were hanged all round Moscow ; and it 
 was said that he cut off many heads with his 
 own hand. And so far was he from relenting, 
 
 or showing any sort of tenderness, that he seemed 
 delighted with it. How long he is to be the 
 scourge of that nation, or of his neighbours, God 
 only knows. So extraordinary an incident will. I 
 hope, justify such a digression. 
 
 JOHN LOCKE'S OPINION OF HISTORY. 
 
 THE stories of Alexander and Caesar, farther 
 than they instruct us in the art of living 
 well, and furnish us with observations of wisdom 
 and prudence, are not one jot to be preferred to 
 the history of Robin Hood, or the Seven Wise 
 Masters. I do not deny but history is very use- 
 ful, and very instructive of human life ; but if it 
 be studied only for the reputation of being a his- 
 torian, it is a very empty thing ; and he that can 
 tell all the particulars of Herodotus and Plutarch, 
 Curtius and Livy, without making any other use 
 of them, may be an ignorant man with a good 
 memory, arrd with all his pains hath only filled 
 his head with Christmas tales. And, which is 
 worse, the greatest part of history being made up 
 of wars and conquests, and their style, especially 
 the Romans, speaking of valour as the chief if 
 not the only virtue, we are iir danger to be misled 
 by the general current and business of history ; 
 and, looking on Alexander and Csesar, and such- 
 like heroes, as the highest instances of human 
 greatness because they each of them caused the 
 death of several hundred thousand men, and the 
 ruin of a much greater number, overran a great 
 part of the earth, and killed the inhabitants to 
 possess themselves of their countries — we are apt 
 to make butchery and rapine the chief marks and 
 very essence of human greatness. Arrd if civil 
 history be a great dealer of it, and to many readers 
 thus useless, curious and difficult inquirirrgs in 
 antiquity are much more so ; and the exact dimen- 
 sions of the Colossus, or figure of the Capitol, the 
 ceremonies of the Greek arrd Roman marriages, 
 or who it was that first coirred money ; these, I 
 confess, set a man well off irr the world, especially 
 amongst the learned, but set him very little on 
 his way. .... 
 
 I shall only add one word, and then conclude ; 
 and that is, that whereas in the beginning I cut 
 off history from our study as a useless part, as 
 certainly it is where it is read only as a tale that 
 is told ; here, on the other side, I recommend it to 
 one who hath well settled irr his mind the prin- 
 ciples of morality, and knows how to make a 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 211 
 
 judgment on the actions of men, as one of the 
 most useful studies he can apply himself to. 
 There he shall see a picture of the world and the 
 nature of mankind, and soleam to think of men as 
 they are. There he shall see the rise of opinions, 
 and find from what slight and sometimes shameful 
 occasions some of them have taken rise, which yet 
 afterwards have had great authority, and passed 
 almost for sacred in the world, and borne down 
 all before them. There also one may learn great 
 and useful instructions of prudence, and be warned 
 against the cheats and rogueries of the world, with 
 man} - more advantages which I shall not here 
 enumerate. 
 
 ORTHODOXY AND HERESY. 
 
 7TYE are indebted to John Locke, the great 
 \XJ English philosopher of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, for these observations on the subjects that 
 
 1 were so greatly agitating this country during the 
 
 , lifetime of the writer : 
 
 The great division among Christians is about 
 opinions. Every sect has its set of them, and that 
 is called Orthodoxy ; and he that professes his as- 
 sent to them, though with an implicit faith, and 
 without examining, is orthodox, and in the way to 
 salvation. But if he examines, and thereupon 
 questions any one of them, he is presently sus- 
 pected of heresy ; and if he oppose them or hold 
 the contrary, he is presently condemned as in a 
 
 i damnable error, and in the sure way to perdition. 
 Of this one may say, that there is nor can be noth- 
 ing more wrong. For he that examines, and 
 upon a fair examination embraces an error for a 
 truth, has done his duty more than he who em- 
 
 I braces the profession (for the truths themselves he 
 
 ' does not embrace) of the truth without having 
 examined whether it be true or no. And he that 
 
 i has done his duty according to the best of his 
 ability, is certainly more in the way to heaven 
 than he who has done nothing of it. For if it be 
 our duty to search after truth, he certainly that 
 has searched after it, though he has not found it, 
 in some points has paid a more acceptable obedi- 
 ence to the will of his Maker than he that has not 
 searched at all, but professes to have found truth, 
 when he has neither searched nor found it. For 
 he that takes up the opinions of any church in the 
 lump, without examining them, has truly neither 
 searched after nor found truth, but has only found 
 those that he thinks have found truth, and so re- 
 
 ceives what the)- say with an implicit faith, and 
 so pays them the homage that is due only to God, 
 who cannot be deceived, nor deceive. In this way 
 the several churches (in which, as one ma}- ob- 
 serve, opinions are preferred to life, and orthodoxy 
 is that which they are concerned for, and not 
 morals) put the terms of salvation on that which 
 the Author of our salvation does not put them in. 
 The believing of a collection of certain proposi- 
 tions, which are called and esteemed fundamental 
 articles, because it has pleased the compilers to 
 put them into their confession of faith, is made 
 the condition of salvation. 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF ANCIENT COOKERY. 
 
 CHE elder Pliny tells that one man had studied 
 the art of fattening snails with paste so suc- 
 cessfully, that the shells of some of his snails 
 would contain many quarts. The same monstrous 
 taste fed up those prodigious goose livers ; a taste 
 stiil prevailing in Italy. Swine were fattened 
 with whey and figs ; and even fish in their ponds 
 were increased by such artificial means. Our 
 prize oxen might astonish a Roman, as much as 
 one of their crammed peacocks would ourselves. 
 Glutton)- produces monsters, and turns away from 
 nature to feed on unwholesome meats. The flesh 
 of young foxes about autumn, when they fed on 
 grapes, is praised by Galen ; and Hippocrates 
 equals the flesh of puppies to that of birds. 
 
 These cooks of the ancients, who appear to 
 have been hired for a grand dinner, carried their 
 art to the most whimsical profession. They were 
 so dexterous as to be able to serve up a whole pig 
 boiled on one side and roasted on the other. The 
 cook who performed this feat defies his guests to 
 detect the place where the knife had separated the 
 animal, or how it was contrived to stuff it with 
 an olio, composed of thrushes and other birds, 
 slices of pork, the yolk of eggs, the bodies of 
 hens with their soft eggs, flavored with a rich 
 juice, and minced meats highly spiced. When 
 this cook is entreated to explain this secret art, 
 he solemnly swears by the manes of those who 
 braved all the dangers of the Plain of Marathon, 
 and combated at sea at Salamis, that he will not 
 reveal the secret that year. But of an incident, 
 so triumphant in the annals of the gastric art, our 
 philosopher would not deprive posterity of the 
 knowledge. The animal had been bled to death 
 by a wound under the shoulder, whence, after a 
 
THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 copious effusion, the master-cook extracted the 
 extrails, washed them with wine, and hanging the 
 animal by the feet, he crammed down the throat 
 the stuffings already prepared. Then covering 
 the half of the pig with a paste of barley thick- 
 ened with wine and oil. he put it in a small oven, 
 or on a heated table of brass, where it was gently 
 roasted with all due care : when the skin was 
 browned, he boiled the other side ; and then tak- 
 ing away the barley paste, the pig was served up, 
 at once boiled and roasted. These cooks, with a 
 vegetable, could counterfeit the shape and the 
 taste of fish and flesh. The king of Bithynia, in 
 some expedition against the Scythians, in the 
 winter and at a great distance from the sea, had 
 a violent longing for a small fish called aphy — a 
 pilchard, a herring, or an anchovy. His cook 
 cut a turnip to the perfect imitation of its shape ; 
 then fried in oil, salted, and well powdered with 
 the grains of a dozen black poppies, his majesty's 
 taste was so exquisitely deceived, that he praised 
 the root to his guests as an excellent fish. This 
 transmutation of vegetables into meat or fish is a 
 province of the culinary art which we appear to 
 have lost. 
 
 CURIOUS FACTS ABOUT ANIMALS. 
 
 I SHALL now add another instance of the wis- 
 dom of nature, or rather the God of nature, 
 in adapting the parts of the same animal one to 
 another, and that is the proportioning the length 
 of the neck to that of the legs. For seeing terres- 
 trial animals, as well birds as quadrupeds, are en- 
 dued with legs, upon which they stand, and 
 wherewith they transfer themselves from place to 
 place, to gather their food, and for other conve- 
 niences of life, and so the trunk of their body 
 must needs be elevated above the superficies of the 
 earth, so that they could not conveniently either 
 gather their food or drink if they wanted a neck, 
 therefore Nature hath not only furnished them 
 therewith, but with such a one as is commensu- 
 rable to their legs, except here the elephant, which 
 hath indeed a short neck (for the excessive weight 
 of his head and teeth, which to a long neck would 
 have been unsupportable), but is provided with a 
 trunk, wherewith, as with a hand, he takes up his 
 food and drink, and brings it to his mouth. I say 
 the necks of birds and quadrupeds are commensu- 
 rate to their legs, so that they which have long 
 leers have long necks, and they that have short 
 
 legs short ones, as is seen in the crocodile, and all 
 lizards ; and those that have no legs, as they do 
 not want necks, so neither have they any, as 
 fishes. This equality between the length of the 
 legs and neck, is especially seen in beasts that 
 feed constantly upon grass, whose necks and legs 
 are always very near equal ; very near, I say, be- 
 cause the neck must necessarily have some advan- 
 tage, in that it cannot hang perpendicularly 
 down, but must incline a little. Moreover, be- 
 cause this sort of creatures must needs hold their 
 heads down in an inclining posture for a consider- 
 able time together, which would be very laborious 
 and painful for the muscles ; therefore on each 
 side the ridge of the vertebres of the neck, nature 
 hath placed an aponeurosis, or nervous ligament 
 of a great thickness and strength, apt to stretch 
 and shrink again as need requires, and void of 
 sense, extending from the head ( to which, and 
 the next vertebres of the neck, it is fastened at 
 that end) to the middle vertebres of the back (to 
 which it is knit at the other), to assist them to 
 support the head in that posture, which aponeu- 
 rosis is taken notice of by the vulgar by the name 
 of fixfax, or pack-wax, or whit leather. It is 
 also very observable in fowls that wade in the 
 water, which, having long legs, have also necks 
 answerably long. Only in these too there is an 
 exception, exceedingly worthy to be noted ; for 
 some water-fowl, which are palmipeds, or whole- 
 footed, have very long necks, and yet but short 
 legs, as swans and geese, and some Indian birds ; 
 wherein we may observe the admirable provinces 
 of nature. For such birds as were to search and 
 gather their food, whether herbs or insects, in 
 the bottom of pools and deep waters, have long 
 necks for that purpose, though their legs, as is 
 most convenient for swimming, be but short. 
 Whereas there are no land-fowl to be seen with 
 short legs and long necks, but all have their 
 necks in length commensurate to their legs. This 
 instance is the more considerable, because the 
 atheists' usual flam will not here help them out. 
 For, say they, there were many animals of dis- 
 proportionate parts, and of absurd and uncouth 
 shapes, produced at first, in the infancy of the 
 world ; but because they could not gather their 
 food or perform other functions necessary to main- 
 tain life, the>- soon perished, and were lost again. 
 For these birds, we see, can gather their food 
 upon land conveniently enough, notwithstanding 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 213 
 
 the length of their necks; for example, geese 
 graze upon commons, and can feed themselves 
 fat upon land. Yet is there not one land-bird 
 which hath its neck thus disproportionate to its 
 legs ; nor one water one neither, but such as are 
 destined by nature in such manner as we have 
 mentioned to search and gather their food ; for 
 nature makes not a long neck to no purpose. — 
 Jolni Ray, English Naturalist. 
 
 F« 
 
 G RASMUS gives a curious account of English 
 dirtiness, during the fifteenth century. He as- 
 cribes the plague from which England was hardly 
 ever free, and the 
 sweating -sickness, 
 partly to the incom- 
 modious form, and 
 bad exposition of the 
 houses, to the filthi- 
 ness of the streets, 
 and to the sluttish- 
 ness within doors. 
 The floors, says he. 
 are commonly of clay, 
 strewed with rushes ; 
 under which lies, un- 
 molested, an ancient 
 
 Indians had many vegetables and food products 
 that were unknown before the discover}' of this 
 continent ; among which were potatoes, sweet 
 potatoes, corn, tomatoes, and several varieties of 
 beans, now common articles of food in nearly 
 all the temperate regions of the world. To- 
 bacco is also a native of America ; and the tur- 
 key, which graces our Thanksgiving and Christ- 
 mas tables, and furnishes such a delicious dish, 
 was unknown to the Europeans previous to the 
 landing of Columbus. All these the Indians 
 had in abundance. They also made themselves 
 clothing, not only of the skins of animals, like their 
 
 collection of beer, 
 grease, fragments, 
 bones, spittle, excre- 
 ments of dogs and 
 cats, and everything 
 that is nasty. 
 
 At the time of the 
 discovery of America 
 the Indians lived in 
 better houses, and 
 were better fed and 
 clothed, than the com- 
 mon people of England. The latter lived in 
 wretched houses, often mere burrows in the ground, 
 without floors or windows ; while their clothing was 
 of the cheapest and coarsest kind, frequently con- 
 sisting of nothing more than the skins of ani- 
 mals. For food they had the bare necessaries 
 of life, which the}' ate with their hands, with- 
 out the aid of dishes or table cutlery. Knives, 
 forks and spoons were not introduced until about 
 the date of Elizabeth's reign. Previous to that 
 time even kings and the nobility prepared their 
 lood with their hunting or sheath-knives. The 
 
 HOMES OF THE COMMON l'EOPLE OF ENGLAND IX 1HE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 European brothers, but of cotton, the feathers of 
 birds, the bark of the trees, and other articles, so 
 that the}' were frequently attired with as much 
 grace and splendor as the monarchs of the Old 
 countries. 
 
 POWER OF THE ANCIENT POPES. 
 
 Y ALOIS observes that the Popes scrupulously 
 followed, in the early ages of the church, 
 the custom of placing their names after that of 
 the person whom they addressed in their letters. 
 This mark of their humilitv he shows by letters 
 
214 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 written by various Popes. But as their temporal 
 power increased they became less meek. Henry 
 VI. being at the feet of Pope Celestine, his holi- 
 ness thought proper to kick the crown off his 
 head ; which ludicrous and disgraceful action 
 Baronius has highly praised. Jortin observes on 
 this great cardinal, an advocate of the Roman 
 see. that he breathes nothing but fire and brim- 
 stone ; and accounts kings and emperors to be 
 mere catch-poles and constables, bound to exe- 
 cute with implicit faith all the commands of in- 
 solent ecclesiastics. 
 
 It was Nicholas I., a bold and enterprising 
 Pope, who, in 858, forgetting the pious modesty 
 of his predecessors, took advantage of the divi- 
 sions in the royal families of France, and did not 
 hesitate to place his name before that of the kings 
 and emperors to whom he wrote. Since that 
 time he has been imitated by all his successors, 
 and this encroachment on the honors of mon- 
 archy has passed into a custom from having been 
 tolerated in its commencement. 
 
 Concerning the acknowledged infallibility of the 
 Popes it appears that Gregory VII., in council, de- 
 creed that the church of Rome neither had erred 
 and never should err. It was thus this preroga- 
 tive of his holiness became received, till 1313, 
 when John XXII. abrogated decrees made by 
 three popes his predecessors, and declared that 
 what was done amiss by one pope or council 
 might be corrected by another. The university of 
 Vienna protested against this, calling it a con- 
 tempt of God, and an idolatry, if any one in 
 matters of faith should appeal from a council to 
 the Pope : that is, from God who presides in coun- 
 cils to man. But the infallibility was at length 
 established by Leo X., especially after Luther's 
 opposition, because they despaired of defending 
 their indulgences, bulls, etc., by any other 
 method. 
 
 Imagination cannot form a scene more terrific 
 that when these men were in the height of power, 
 and to serve their political purposes hurled the 
 thunders of their excommunications over a king- 
 dom. It was a national distress not inferior to a 
 plague or famine. 
 
 Philip Augustus, desirous of divorcing Ingel- 
 burg, to unite himself to Agues de Meranie, the 
 Pope put his kingdom under an interdict. The 
 churches were shut during the space of eight 
 months; they said neither mass nor vespers ; they 
 
 did not marry ; and even the offspring of the 
 married, born at this unhappy period, were con- 
 sidered as illicit ; and because the king would not 
 sleep with his wife, it was not permitted to any 
 of his subjects to sleep with theirs ! In that year 
 France was threatened with an extinction of the 
 ordinary generation. A man under this curse of 
 public penance was divested of all his functions, 
 civil, military and matrimonial ; he was not 
 allowed to dress his hair, to shave, to bathe, nor 
 even change his linen, so that, says Saint Foix, 
 upon the whole this made a filthy penitent. The 
 good king Robert incurred the censures of the 
 church for having married his cousin. He was 
 immediately abandoned. Two faithful domestics 
 alone remained with him, and these always 
 passed through the fire whatever he touched. In 
 a word, the horror which an excommunication 
 occasioned was such that a woman of pleasure, 
 with whom Peletier had passed some moments, 
 having learnt soon afterwards that he had been 
 above six months an excommunicated person, 
 fell into a panic, and with great difficult}' recov- 
 ered from her convulsions. 
 
 CAPT. SMITH'S ACCOUNT OF HOW HE WAS 
 RESCUED BY POCAHONTAS. 
 
 CHE following, although written in the third 
 person, is Capt. John Smith's own account 
 of his famous rescue by the Indian maiden, Poca- 
 hontas : 
 
 At last they brought him to Meronoco moco, 
 where was Powhatan their emperor. Here more 
 than two hundred of those grim courtiers stood 
 wondering at him as he had been a monster : till 
 Powhatan and his train had put themselves in 
 their greatest braveries. Before a fire, upon a 
 seat like a bedstead, he sat covered with a great 
 robe, made of Rarowcun skins, and all the tails 
 hanging by. On either hand did sit a young 
 wench of sixteen or eighteen years, and along on 
 each side of the house, two rows of men, and 
 behind them as many women, with all their heads 
 and shoulders painted red : many of their heads 
 bedecked with the white down of birds; but 
 even- one with something : and a great chain of 
 white beads about their necks. At his entrance 
 before the king, all the people gave a great shout. 
 The queen of Appamatuck was appointed to bring 
 him water to wash his hands, and another brought 
 him a bunch of feathers, instead of a towel to dry 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 211 
 
 them : having feasted him after their best barbar- 
 ous manner they could, a long consultation was 
 held, but the conclusion was, two great stones 
 were brought before Powhatan ; then as man}- as 
 could laid hand on him, dragged him to them, 
 and thereon laid his head, and being ready with 
 their clubs to beat out his brains, Pocahontas, the 
 king's dearest daughter, when no entreat}- could 
 prevail, got his head in her arms, and laid her 
 own upon his to save him from death : whereat 
 the emperor was contented he should live to make 
 him hatchets, and her bells, beads, and copper : 
 for they thought him as well of all occupations 
 as themselves. For the king himself will make 
 his own robes, shoes, bows, arrows, pots ; plant, 
 hunt, or do anything as well as the rest. 
 
 HANGING BY PROXY. 
 
 CHE following is given as a true account of an 
 incident in the early history of the Plymouth 
 colony : 
 
 A young man was arrested for stealing corn 
 from an Indian, and the following mode of deal- 
 ing with the case was proposed by one of the 
 general assembly of the community called to ad- 
 judge punishment. Says he: "You all agree 
 that one must die, and one shall die. This young 
 man's clothes we will take off, and put upon one 
 that is old and impotent ; a sickly person that 
 cannot escape death ; such is the disease on him 
 confirmed, that die he must. Put the young 
 man's clothes on this man, and let the sick person 
 be hanged in the other's stead." Amen, says 
 one, and so says many more. 
 
 This method of disposing of criminals was 
 exceedingly business-like and practical, and well 
 worthy of our ancient Yankee ancestors, however 
 inconvenient it may have been to the unfortunate 
 substitutes. 
 
 SOME CAUSTIC CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN 
 ROGER WILLIAMS AND AN ENGLISH LADY. 
 
 CHE following letters, which passed between 
 Roger Williams, famous in the early history 
 of our country, and Mrs. Annie Sadleir, daughter 
 of Sir Edward Coke, will be read with interest. 
 They are full of character on both sides : the 
 humor of them consisting in the lady being a 
 royalist, well disposed to the church of England 
 establishment, a sharp-shooter in her language and 
 
 a bit of a termagant, while Williams was prac- 
 tising his politest graces and most Christian for- 
 bearance, as he steadily maintained his indepen- 
 dent theology. He addresses her, "My much- 
 honored friend, Mrs. Sadleir," and tenders her 
 one of his compositions to read, probably the work 
 he had just published in England, entitled "Ex- 
 periments of Spiritual Life and Health and their 
 Preservatives," which he describes as " a plain and 
 peaceable discourse, of my own personal experi- 
 ments, which, in a letter to my dear wife — upon 
 the occasion of her great sickness near death — I 
 sent her, being absent myself among the Indians." 
 He courteously invites attention and even censure. 
 " I have been oft glad," he says, "in the wilder- 
 ness of America to have been reproved for going 
 in a wrong path, and to be directed by a naked 
 Indian boy in my travels." He quietly throws 
 out a few hints of the virtues of his own position 
 in church matters. Mrs. Sadleir quotes Scripture 
 in reply. 
 
 Mr. Williams, — Since it has pleased God to 
 make the prophet David's complaint ours (Ps. 
 lxxxix.): "O God, the heathen," &c, and that 
 the apostle St. Peter has so long ago foretold, in 
 his second epistle, the second chapter, by whom 
 these things should be occasioned, I have given 
 over reading many books, and, therefore, with 
 thanks, have returned yours. Those that I now 
 read, besides the Bible, are, first, the late king's 
 book ; Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity ; Reverend 
 Bishop Andrew's Sermons, with his other divine 
 meditations ; Dr. Jer. Taylor's works ; and Dr. 
 Tho. Jackson upon the Creed. Some of these my 
 dear father was a great admirer of, and would 
 often call them the glorious lights of the church 
 of England. These lights shall be my guide ; I 
 wish they ma}- be yours ; for your new lights that 
 are so much cried up, I believe, in the conclusion, 
 the}- will prove but dark lanterns ; therefore I 
 dare not meddle with them. 
 
 Your friend in the old way, 
 
 Anne Sadleir. 
 Which little repellant, Williams, feeling the sting, 
 answers, offering another book : — 
 
 My much-honored, kind Friend, Mrs. Sad- 
 leir, — My humble respects premised to your 
 much-honored self, and Mr. Sadleir, humbly wish- 
 ing you the saving knowledge and assurance of 
 that life which is eternal, when this poor minute's 
 dream is over. In my poor span of time, I have 
 
216 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 been oft in the jaws of death, sickening at sea, 
 shipwrecked on shore, in danger of arrows, swords 
 and bullets : and yet, methinks, the most high 
 and most holy God hath reserved me for some ser- 
 vice to his most glorious and eternal majesty. 
 
 I think, sometimes, in this common shipwreck 
 of mankind, wherein we all are either floating or 
 sinking, despairing or struggling for life, why 
 should I ever faint in striving, as Paul saith, in 
 hopes to save myself, to save others — to call, and 
 cry, and ask, what hope of saving, what hope of 
 life, and of the eternal shore of mercy ? Your last 
 letter, my honored friend, I received as a bitter 
 sweeting — as all, that is under the sun, is — sweet, 
 in that I hear from you, and that you continue 
 striving for life eternal ; bitter, in that we differ 
 about the way, in the midst of the dangers and 
 the distresses. 
 
 For the scope of this rejoinder, if it please the 
 Most High to direct your eye to a glance on it, 
 please you to know, that at my last being in Eng- 
 land, I wrote a discourse entitled, "The Bloudy 
 Tenent of Persecution for Cause of Conscience." 
 I bent my charge against Mr. Cotton especially, 
 your standard-bearer of New England ministers. 
 That discourse he since answered, and calls 
 his book, " The Bloody Tenent made white in the 
 Blood of the Eamb. " This rejoinder of mine, as 
 I humbly hope, unwashed his washings, and 
 proves that in soul matters no weapons but soul 
 weapons are reaching and effectual. 
 
 His " much-honored, kind friend " replies : 
 
 Sir : I thank God my blessed parents bred me 
 up in the old and best religion, and it is my glory 
 that I am a member of the Church of England, as 
 it was when all the reformed churches gave her the 
 right hand. When I cast mine eye upon the fron- 
 tispiece of your book, and saw it entitled "The 
 Bloudy Tenent," I durst not adventure to look 
 into it, for fear I should bring into my memory 
 the much blood that has of late been shed, and 
 which I would fain forget ; therefore I do, with 
 thanks, return it. I cannot call to mind any blood 
 shed for conscience : some few that went about to 
 make a rent in our once well-governed church 
 were punished, but none suffered death. But this 
 I know, that since it has been left to every man's 
 conscience to fancy what religion he list, there has 
 more Christian blood been shed than was in the ten 
 persecutions. And some of that blood will, I fear, 
 cry to the day of judgment. But you know what 
 
 the Scripture says, that when there was no king 
 in Israel, every man did that which was right in 
 his own eyes — but what became of that, the sacred 
 story will tell you. 
 
 Thus entreating you to trouble me no more in 
 this kind, and wishing you a good journey to your 
 charge in New Providence, I rest 
 
 Your Friend, in the Old and Best Wav. 
 
 Williams, not to be disconcerted, triples the 
 length of his response, with new divisions and 
 Scripture citations, and this among other biting 
 paragraphs on the lady's favorite reading : 
 
 I have read those books you mention, and the 
 king's book, which commends two of them, Bp. 
 Andrews's and Hooker's — yea, and a third also, 
 Bp. Eaud's ; and as for the king, I know his person, 
 vicious, a swearer from his youth, and an oppres- 
 sor and persecutor of good men (to say nothing of 
 his own father), and the blood of so many hun- 
 dred thousands English, Irish, Scotch, French, 
 lately charged upon him. Against his and his 
 blasphemous father's cruelties, your own dear 
 father, and many precious men, shall rise up 
 shortly and cry for vengeance. 
 
 But for the book itself — if it be his — and theirs 
 you please to mention, and thousands more, not 
 only protestants of several sects, but some papists 
 and Jesuits also — famous for worldly repute, &c. 
 — I have found them sharp and witty, plausible 
 and delightful, devout and pathetical. And I 
 have been amazed to see the whole world of our 
 forefathers, wise and gallant, wondering after the 
 glory of the Romish learning and worship. (Rev. 
 xiii. ) But amongst them all whom I have so 
 diligently read and heard, how few express the 
 simplicity, the plainness, the meekness, and true 
 humility of the learning of the Son of God. 
 
 With this telling postscript : — 
 
 My honored friend, since you please not to 
 read mine, let me pray leave to recpiest your read- 
 ing of one book of your own authors. I mean 
 the "Liberty of Prophesying," penned by (so 
 called) Dr. Jer. Taylor. In the which is excel- 
 lently asserted the toleration of different religions, 
 yea, in a respeel, that of the Papists themselves, 
 which is a new way of soul freedom, and yet is 
 the old way of Christ Jesus, as all his holy Testa- 
 ment declares. 
 
 I also humbly wish that you may please to 
 read over impartially Mr. Milton's answer to the 
 kind's book. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 2U 
 
 Mrs. Sadleir waxes indignant, and replies more 
 at length — getting personally discourteous and 
 scandalous on John Milton : — 
 
 Mr. Williams : I thought my first letter 
 would have given you so much satisfaction, that, 
 in, that kind, I should never have heard of you 
 any more ; but it seems you have a face of brass, 
 so thai you cannot blush. 
 
 For Milton's book, that you desire I should 
 read, if I be not mistaken, that is he that has 
 wrote a book of the lawfulness of divorce ; and, 
 if report says true, he had, at that time, two or 
 three wives living. This, perhaps, were good 
 doctrine in Xew England, but it is most abomi- 
 nable in Old England. For his book that he 
 wrote against the late king that you would have 
 me read, you should have taken notice of God's 
 judgment upon him, who stroke him with blind- 
 ness ; and, as I have heard, he was fain to have 
 the help of one Andrew Marvell, or else he could 
 not have finished that most accursed libel. God 
 has began his judgment upon him here — his pun- 
 ishment will be hereafter in hell. But have you 
 seen the answer to it ? If you can get it, I assure 
 you it is worth your reading . 
 
 I have also read Taylor's book of the Liberty 
 of Prophesying ; though it please not me, yet I 
 am sure it does you, or else I [know]* you 
 [would]* not have wrote to me to have read it. 
 I say, it and you would make a good fire. But 
 have you seen his Divine Institution of the Office 
 Ministerial ? I assure you that is both worth 
 your reading and practice. Bishop Laud's book 
 against Fisher I have read long since, which, if 
 you have not done, let me tell you that he has 
 deeply wounded the Pope ; and, I believe, how- 
 soever he be slighted, he will rise a saint, when 
 man}' seeming ones, such as you are, will rise 
 devils. 
 
 This winds up the correspondence. Mrs. Sad- 
 leir, as she puts it aside, for publication a couple 
 of hundred years later, writing on the back of 
 Williams' first letter : ' ' This Roger Williams, 
 when he was a youth, would, in short hand, take 
 sermons and speeches in the Star Chamber, and 
 present them to my dear father. He, seeing so 
 hopeful a youth, took such liking to him that he 
 sent him into Sutton's Hospital, and he was the 
 second that was placed there ; full little did he 
 
 * These words are not in the MS. 
 
 think that he would have proved such a rebel to 
 God, the king, and the country. I have his 
 letters, that, if ever he has the face to return into 
 his native country, Tyburn ma}' give him wel- 
 come. ' ' 
 
 For which scrap of biographical information in 
 the too general dearth of anecdote respecting a 
 arood and great man, we thank her. 
 
 COTTON MATHER'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
 WITCHES. 
 
 /70TTON MATHER, the great New England 
 ^V divine, was a firm believer in witches, and 
 took a prominent part in the lamentable and dis- 
 graceful persecutions at Salem. He was a volu- 
 minous author and, strange as it may seem, a 
 learned man, for learning in those days did not 
 banish superstition from men's minds. In the 
 Massachusetts Historical Library there is stored 
 an immense manuscript from his pen, under the 
 title of ' ' Illustrations from the Sacred Scriptures. ' ' 
 It is written in double columns, on foolscap paper, 
 and comprises six folic volumes. Its magnitude, 
 as well as its forgotten theology, have bidden 
 defiance, for centuries, to the enterprise of pub- 
 lishers ; and this voluminous work, to which he 
 devoted so much time and devout labor, will 
 doubtless never pass through the press, unless 
 some publisher should consider it worthy of seeing 
 the light as a curiosity of past ages. In the same 
 library there are also portions of his "Diary," 
 including the torn leaf from which, according to 
 his earnest declaration, the invisible hand of 
 witches plucked a fragment. Mather was equally 
 as earnest in his statement of this incident as 
 Luther was in asserting that he saw the devil in 
 his cell and frightened him away by hurling his 
 inkstand at him. 
 
 The following extract from Mather's writings, 
 which he issued under the title of ' ' An Hor- 
 tatory, and Necessary Address to a Country now 
 Extraordinarily Alarmed by the Wrath of the 
 Devil," will afford a good idea of the absurd 
 opinions entertained by even the learned in those 
 times : 
 
 That the Devil is come dozen unto us with great 
 wrath, we find, we feel, we now deplore. In 
 man}- ways, for many years, hath the Devil been 
 assaying to extirpate the Kingdom of our Lord 
 Jesus here. New England may complain of the 
 Devil, as in Psalm exxix. 1,2: Many a time have 
 
518 
 
 THE WONDERFUL,. THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 they afflicted me, from my youth, may New Eng- 
 land now say; many a time have they afflicted me 
 from my youth ; yet they have not prevailed against 
 me. But now there is a more than ordinary afflic- 
 tion, with which the Devil is Galling of us: and 
 such an one as is indeed Unparallelable. The 
 things confessed by Witches, and the things en- 
 dured by Others, laid together, amount unto this 
 account of our Affliction. The Devil, Exhibiting 
 himself ordinarily as a small Black man, has de- 
 coy' d a fearful knot of proud, forward, ignorant, 
 envious, and malicious creatures, to list them- 
 selves in his horrid Service, by entering their 
 Names in a Book, by him tendered unto them. 
 These Witches, whereof above a Score have now 
 Confessed and shown their Deeds, and some are 
 now tormented by the Devils, for Confessing, have 
 met in Hellish Rendezvous, wherein the Confes- 
 sors do say, they have had their diabolical Sacra- 
 ments, imitating the Baptism and the Suffer of 
 our Lord. In these hellish meetings, these Mon- 
 sters have associated themselves to do no less a 
 thing than, To destroy the Kingdom of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ, in these farts of the World ; and in 
 order hereunto, First they each of them have 
 their Spectres, or Devils, commissioned by them 
 and representing of them, to be the Engines of 
 their Malice. By these wicked Spectres, they 
 seize poor people about the country, with various 
 and bloody Torments ; and of those evidently 
 Preternatural torments there are some have dy'd. 
 They have bewitched some, even so far as to 
 make Self-destroyers : and others are in many 
 Towns here and there languishing under their 
 Evil hands. The people thus afflicted are miser- 
 ably scratched, and bitten, so that the Marks are 
 most visible to all the World, but the causes 
 utterly invisible ; and the same Invisible Furies 
 do most visibly stick Pins into the bodies of the 
 Afflicted, and scale them, and hideously distort, 
 and disjoint all their members, besides a thousand 
 other sorts of Plague, beyond these of any na- 
 tural diseases which the} - give unto them. Yea, 
 they sometimes drag the poor people out of their 
 chambers, and carry them over Trees and Hills, 
 for divers miles together. A large part of the 
 persons tortured by these Diabolical Spectres, are 
 horribly tempted by them, sometimes with fair 
 promises, and sometimes with hard threatenings, 
 but always with felt miseries, to sign the Devil's 
 Laws in a Spectral Book laid before them ; which 
 
 two or three of these poor Sufferers, being by 
 their tiresome sufferings overcome to do, they 
 have immediately been released from all their 
 miseries, and they appeared in Spectre then to 
 Torture those that were before their fellow-suffer- 
 ers. The Witches, which by their covenant with 
 the Devil are become Owners of Spectres, are 
 often-times by their own Spectres required and 
 compelled to give their consent, for the molesta- 
 tion of some, which they had no mind otherwise 
 to fall upon : and cruel depredations are then 
 made upon the Vicinage. In the Prosecution of 
 these Witchcrafts, among a thousand other unac- 
 countable things, the Spectres have an odd faculty 
 of cloathing the most substantial and corporeal In- 
 struments of Torture, with Invisibility, while the 
 wounds thereby given have been the most palpa- 
 ble things in the World ; so that the Sufferers as- 
 saulted with Instruments of Iron, wholly unseen 
 to the standers by, though, to their cost, seen by 
 themselves, have, upon snatching, wrested the 
 Instruments out of the Spectre's hands, and every 
 one has then immediately not only beheld, but 
 handled, an Iron Instrument taken by a Devil 
 from a Neighbour. These wicked Spectres have 
 proceeded so far, as to steal several quantities of 
 Money from divers people, part of which Money 
 has, before sufficient Spectators, been dropt out 
 of the Air into the Hands of the Sufferers, while 
 the Spectres have been urging them to subscribe 
 their Covenant with Death. In such extravagant 
 ways have these Wretches propounded the Dra- 
 gooning of as many as they can, into their own 
 Combination, and the Destroying of others, with 
 lingering, spreading, deadly diseases ; till our 
 Country should at last become too hot for us. 
 Among the Ghastly Instances of the success which 
 those Blood}- Witches have had, we have seen 
 even some of their own Children, so dedicated 
 unto the Devil, that in their Infancy, it is found, 
 the Imps have sucked them, and rendered them 
 Venomous to a Prodigy. We have also seen the 
 Devil's first battries upon the Town where the first 
 Church of our Lord in this Colony was gathered, 
 produced those distractions, which have almost 
 ruin'd the Town. We have seen, likewise, the 
 Plague reaching afterwards into the Towns far 
 and near, where the Houses of good Men have 
 the Devils filling of them with terrible vexa- 
 tions ! 
 
 This is the descent, which, it seems, the devil 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 219 
 
 has now made upon us. But that which makes 
 this descent the more formidable is, The multitude 
 and quality of Persons accused of an interest in 
 this Witchcraft, by the Efficacy of the Spectres 
 which take their name and shape upon them ; 
 causing very many good and wise men to fear, 
 that many innocent, yea, and some virtuous per- 
 sons, are, by the devils in this matter, imposed 
 upon ; that the devils have obtain' d the power to 
 take on them the likeness of harmless people, and 
 in that likeness to afflict other people, and be so 
 abused by Praestigious Daemons, that upon their 
 look or touch, the afflicted shall be oddly affected. 
 Arguments from the Providence of God, on the 
 one side, and from our charity towards man on 
 the other side, have made this now to become a 
 most agitated Controversie among us. There is 
 an Agony produced in the Minds of Men, lest the 
 Devil should sham us with Devices, of perhaps a 
 finer Thread, than was ever yet practised upon 
 the World. The whole business is become here- 
 upon so Snarled, and the determination of the 
 Question one way or another, so dismal, that our 
 Honourable Judges have a Room for JehosaphaC s 
 Exclamation, We know not what to do! They 
 have used, as Judges have heretofore done, the 
 Spectral Evidences, to introduce their further En- 
 quiries into the Lives of the persons accused ; and 
 they have thereupon, by the wonderful Provi- 
 dence of God, been so strengthened with other 
 evidences, that some of the Witch Gang have been 
 fairly Executed. But what shall be done as to 
 those against whom the evidence is chiefly founded 
 in the dark world? Here they do solemnly de- 
 mand our Addresses to the Father of Lights, on 
 their behalf. But in the mean time, the Devil 
 improves the Darkness of this Affair, to push us 
 into a Blind Man' s Buffet, and we are even ready 
 to be sinfully, yea, hotly and madly, mauling one 
 another in the dark. 
 
 People of these modern times will naturally 
 conclude that no man in his right mind could 
 compose such stuff as the foregoing, and yet 
 these sentiments were in full accord with the 
 belief of the people of this country two hun- 
 dred years ago. It is a sad commentary upon 
 our race. Will the people two hundred years 
 hence laugh at our follies as we do now at the 
 follies of Mather and his simple-hearted contem- 
 poraries ? 
 
 EARLY DAYS IN NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 ONE of the most touching memorials of early 
 life in New England, and the hardships to 
 which the pioneers were subjected, is found in 
 the narrative of Capt. Roger Clap, of Dorchester, 
 which he prepared for the benefit of his children. 
 Capt. Clap settled at Dorchester, Mass., in 1630, 
 served in the Pequot war, and died in 1691. The 
 following passage from his narrative will be read 
 with interest : 
 
 In those days God did cause his people to trust 
 in him, and to be contented with mean things. 
 It was not accounted a strange thing in those days 
 to drink water and to eat samp or hominy with- 
 out butter or milk. Indeed it would have been a 
 strange thing to see a piece of roast beef, mutton, 
 or veal ; though it was not long before there was 
 roast goat. After the first winter, we were very 
 healthy ; though some of us had no great store 
 of corn. The Indians did sometimes bring corn, 
 and truck with us for clothing and knives ; and 
 once I had a peck of corn or thereabouts for a 
 little puppy-dog. Frost fish, muscles, and clams 
 were a relief to many. If our provision be better 
 now than it was then, let us not (and do you, 
 dear children, take heed that you do not) forget 
 the Lord our God. You have better food and 
 raiment than was in former times, but have you 
 better hearts than your forefathers had ? If so, 
 rejoice in that mercy, and let New England then 
 shout for joy. Sure all the people of God in 
 other parts of the world, that shall hear that the 
 children and grandchildren of the first planters 
 of New England have better hearts, and are more 
 heavenly than their predecessors ; they will doubt- 
 less greatly rejoice, and will say, This is the 
 generation whom the Lord hath blessed. 
 
 DR. MATHER'S REMARKABLE ACCOUNT OF 
 THE TARANTULA. 
 
 AMONG Dr. Mather's other works, was one 
 which he published under the title of "The 
 Christian Philosopher, ' ' and in which he evidently 
 intended to embrace all the knowledge of the uni- 
 verse. But his "knowledge" was of a peculiar 
 sort, as will be seen by his description of the 
 tarantula : 
 
 What amazing effects, he remarks, follow on 
 the bite of the tarantula ! the patient is taken 
 with an extreme difficulty of breathing, and 
 
220 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 heavy anguish of heart, a dismal sadness of mind, 
 a voice querulous and sorrowful, and his eyes 
 very much disturbed. When the violent symp- 
 toms which appear on the first day are over, a 
 continual melancholy hangs about the person, till 
 by dancing or singing, or change of air, the poi- 
 sonous impressions are extirpated from the blood, 
 and the fluid of the nerves ; but this is a happi- 
 ness that rarely happens; nay, Baglivi, this 
 wicked spider's countryman, says, there is no 
 expectation of ever being perfectly cured. Many 
 of the poisoned are never well but among the 
 graves, and in solitary places ; and the}- lay them- 
 selves along upon a bier as if the)- themselves 
 were dead : like people in despair, they will throw 
 themselves into a pit ; women, otherwise chaste 
 enough, cast away all modest}-, and throw them- 
 selves into every indecent posture. There are 
 some colors agreeable to them, others offensive, 
 especially black ; and if the attendants have their 
 clothes of ungrateful colors, the}- must retire out 
 of their sight. The music with the dancing 
 which must be employed for their cure, continues 
 three or four days ; in this vigorous exercise they 
 sigh, they are full of complaints ; like persons in 
 drink, they almost lose the right use of their 
 understanding ; they distinguish not their very- 
 parents from others in their treating of them, and 
 scarce remember anything that is past. Some 
 during this exercise are much pleased with green 
 boughs of reeds or vines, and wave them with 
 their hands in the air, or dip them in the water, 
 or bind them about their face or neck ; others love 
 to handle red cloths or naked swords. And there 
 are those who, upon a little intermission of the 
 dancing, fall a digging of holes in the ground, 
 which they fill with water, and then take a 
 strange satisfaction in rolling there. When they 
 begin to dance, they call for swords and act like 
 fencers ; sometimes they are for a looking-glass, 
 but then they fetch many a deep sigh at behold- 
 ing themselves. Their fancy sometimes leads 
 them to rich clothes, to necklaces, to fineries and 
 a variety of ornaments ; and they are highly 
 courteous to the bystanders that will gratify them 
 with any of these things ; the}- la}' them very 
 orderly about the place where the exercise is pur- 
 sued, and in dancing please themselves with one 
 or other of these things by turns, as their troubled 
 imagination directs them. 
 
 How miserable would be the condition of man- 
 
 kind if these animals were common in every 
 country ! But our compassionate God has con- 
 fined them to one little corner of Italy ; they are 
 existing elsewhere, but nowhere thus venomous, 
 except in Apulia. My God, I glorify thy com- 
 passion to sinful mankind in thy restraints upon 
 the poisons of the tarantula. 
 
 What a simple, credulous soul the good doctor 
 was ! But a little later on, in connection with 
 the Salem witchcraft persecution, we shall find 
 that his simplicity and credulity led him to sanc- 
 tion and personally encourage the most horrible 
 cruelties and persecutions in the holy name of 
 reliarion ! 
 
 REV. JOHN WILLIAMS' ACCOUNT OF THE 
 CAPTURE OF HIMSELF AND FAMILY BY 
 THE INDIANS. 
 
 DEARLY all of our leading histories contain 
 accounts of the Indian massacre at Deerfield, 
 Mass., on the 29th of February, 1704, but we 
 believe none of them embrace the graphic story 
 of this event, written by Rev. John Williams, 
 who, with his entire family, was captured on that 
 occasion and taken to Canada. 
 
 Mr. Williams was the first minister of Deerfield, 
 locating there in 16S6. The post was an ex- 
 tremely dangerous one at that time, and 'for some 
 years afterward, on account of its exposed position 
 to attack from the Indians engaged in King Philip's 
 war. Attacks were made by them from time to 
 time, until the final one in February, 1704, when 
 the place was captured, destroyed by fire, some 
 thirty-eight of the townspeople slain, and about 
 one hundred carried into captivity, among whom 
 were Mr. Williams, his wife (who was murdered 
 on the route) and children. The}- were marched 
 through the wilderness to Montreal, where they 
 arrived about the end of March. They remained 
 in Canada until October 25, 1706, when fifty-seven 
 were removed in a vessel to Boston, where they 
 arrived on the 21st of November following. 
 A portion of the remainder had fallen from 
 fatigue or violence on the march, or died dur- 
 ing their captivity, and some preferred to re- 
 main with their Indian captors. Williams, with 
 two of his children, returned, and in the March fol- 
 lowing published his work on his captivity, one 
 of the most interesting productions in our early 
 literature. We present a passage from his record 
 of the painful and perilous journey : — 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 99 
 
 21 
 
 We travelled not far the first day ; God made 
 the heathen so to pit}- our children, that though 
 they had several wounded persons of their own 
 to carry upon their shoulders, for thirty miles, 
 before they came to the river, yet they carried our 
 children, incapable of travelling, in their arms, 
 and upon their shoulders. When we came to our 
 lodging place, the first night, they dug away the 
 snow, and made some wigwams, cut down some 
 small branches of the spruce tree to lie down on, 
 and gave the prisoners somewhat to eat ; but we 
 had but little appetite. I was pinioned and bound 
 down that night, and so I was every night whilst 
 I was with the army. Some of the enemy who 
 brought drink with them from the town fell to 
 drinking, and in their drunken fit they killed my 
 negro man, the only dead person I either saw at 
 the town, or in the way. 
 
 In the night an Englishman made his escape ; 
 in the morning (March i), I was called for, and 
 ordered by the general to tell the English, that if 
 any more made their escape, they would bum the 
 rest of the prisoners. He that took me was un- 
 willing to let me speak with any of the prisoners, 
 as we marched ; but on the morning of the second 
 day, he being appointed to guard the rear, I was 
 put into the hands of my other master, who per- 
 mitted me to speak to my wife, when I overtook 
 her, and to walk with her to help her in her jour- 
 ney. On the way, we discoursed of the happi- 
 ness of those who had a right to an house not 
 made with hands, eternal in the heavens ; and 
 God for a father and friend ; as also, that it was 
 our reasonable duty quietly- to submit to the will 
 of God, and to say, "The will of the Lord be 
 done." My wife told me her strength of body- 
 began to fail, and that I must expect to part with 
 her ; saying, she hoped God would preserve my 
 life, and the life of some, if not of all our children 
 with us ; and commended to me, under God, the 
 care of them. She never spake any discontented 
 word as to what had befallen us, but with suitable 
 expressions justified God in what had happened. 
 We soon made a halt, in which time my chief 
 surviving master came up, upon which I was put 
 upon marching with the foremost, and so made 
 my last farewell of my dear wife, the desire of my 
 eyes, and companion in many mercies and afflic- 
 tions. Upon our separation, we asked for each 
 other grace sufficient for what God should call 
 us to. 
 
 After our being parted from one another, she 
 spent the few remaining minutes of her stay in 
 reading the Holy Scriptures ; which she was wont 
 personally every r day to delight her soul in read- 
 ing, praying, meditating on, by herself, in her 
 closet, over and above what she heard out of 
 them in our family worship. I was made to wade 
 over a small river, and so were all the English, 
 the water above knee deep, the stream very swift ; 
 and after that to travel up a small mountain ; my 
 strength was almost spent, before I came to the 
 top of it. No sooner had I overcome the diffi- 
 culty of that ascent, but I w-as permitted to sit 
 down, and be unburdened of my pack. I sat 
 pitying those who were behind, and entreated my 
 master to let me go down and help my wife ; but 
 he refused, and would not let me stir from him. I 
 asked each of the prisoners (as they passed by 
 me) after her, and heard that, passing through 
 the above-said river, she fell down, and was 
 plunged over head and ears in the water ; after 
 which she travelled not far, for at the foot of that 
 mountain, the cruel and blood-thirsty savage who 
 took her slew her with his hatchet at one stroke, 
 the tidings of which were very awful. And yet 
 such was the hard-heartedness of the' adversary, 
 that my tears were reckoned to me as a reproach. 
 My loss and the loss of my children was g^eat ; 
 our hearts were so filled with sorrow, that nothing 
 but the comfortable hopes of her being taken 
 away, in mercy to herself, from the evils we were 
 to see, feel, and suffer under, (and joined to the 
 assembly- of the spirits of just men made perfect, 
 to rest in peace, and joy unspeakable and full of 
 glory, and the good pleasure of God thus to ex- 
 ercise us, ) could have kept us from sinking under, 
 at that time. That Scripture, Job i. 21, " Naked 
 came I out of my mother's womb, and naked 
 shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the 
 Lord hath taken away- ; blessed be the name of 
 the Lord," — was brought to my mind, and from 
 it, that an afflicting God was to be glorified ; with 
 some other places of Scripture, to persuade to a 
 patient bearing my r afflictions. 
 
 We were again called upon to march, with a far 
 heavier burden on my spirits than on my back. 
 I begged of God to overrule, in his province, that 
 the corpse of one so dear to me, and of one whose 
 spirit he had taken to dwell witli him in glory, 
 might meet with a Christian burial, and not be 
 left for meat to the fowls of the air and beasts of 
 
999 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the earth, a mercy that God graciously vouch- 
 safed to grant. For God put it into the hearts of 
 my neighbours, to come out as far as she lay, to 
 take up her corpse, carry it to the town, and de- 
 cently to bury it soon after. In our march they 
 killed a sucking infant of one of my neighbours ; 
 and before night a girl of about eleven years of 
 age. I was made to mourn, at the consideration 
 of my flock being, so far, a flock of slaughter, 
 main- being slain in the town, and so many mur- 
 dered in so few miles from the town ; and from 
 fear what we must yet expect, from such who de- 
 lightfully imbrued their hands in the blood of so 
 many of His people. When we came to our 
 lodging place, an Indian captain from the east- 
 ward spake to my master about killing me, and 
 taking off my scalp. I lifted up my heart to 
 God, to implore his grace and mercy in such a 
 time of need ; and afterwards I told my master, 
 if he intended to kill me, I desired he would let 
 me know of it ; assuring him that my death, after 
 a promise of quarter, would bring the guilt of 
 blood upon him. He told me he would not kill 
 me. We laid down and slept, for God sustained 
 and kept us. 
 
 ABOUT BEARS. 
 
 IN the early settlement of our country bear meat 
 was both a luxury and a staple article of food. 
 The few old pioneers, still living, who ate it in 
 their younger days, refer to it with a relish and ap- 
 proval that are unmistakable. We copy the follow- 
 ing description of Bruin, who eats and is eaten, 
 from the journal of Colonel William Byrd, written 
 in 172S : 
 
 " Our Indian killed a bear, two years old, that 
 was feasting on grapes. He was very fat, as they 
 generally are in that season of the year. In the 
 fall, the flesh of this animal has a high relish, 
 different from that of any other creatures, though 
 inclining nearest to that of pork, or rather of wild 
 boar. A true woodsman prefers this sort of meat 
 to that of the fattest venison, not only for the hant 
 gout, but also because the fat of it is well tasted, 
 and never rises in the stomach. Another proof 
 of the goodness of this meat is, that it is less apt 
 to corrupt than any other with which we are ac- 
 quainted. As agreeable as such rich diet was to 
 the men, yet we who were not accustomed to it, 
 tasted it at first with some sort of sqeamishness, 
 that animal being of the dog kind ; though a little 
 
 use soon reconciled us to this American venison. 
 And that its being of the dog kind might give us 
 the less disgust, we had the example of that an- 
 cient and polite people, the Chinese, who reckon 
 dog's flesh too good for any under the quality of a 
 mandarin. This beast is in truth a very clean 
 feeder, living, while the season lasts, upon acorns, 
 chestnuts and chinquapins, wild honey and wild 
 grapes. They are naturally not carnivorous, un- 
 less hunger constrain them to it, after the mast is 
 all gone, and the product of the woods quite ex- 
 hausted. They are not provident enough to lay 
 up any hoard, like the squirrels, nor can the}-, after 
 all, live very long upon licking their paws, as Sir 
 John Mandeville and some other travellers 
 tell us, but are forced in the winter months to 
 quit the mountains, and visit the inhabitants. 
 Their errand is then to surprise a poor hog at a 
 pinch to keep them from starving. And to show 
 that they are not flesh-eaters by trade, the} - de- 
 vour their prey very awkwardly. They do not 
 kill it right out, and feast upon its blood and en- 
 trails, like other ravenous beasts, but having, 
 after a fair pursuit, seized it with their paws, they 
 begin first upon the rump, and so devour one col- 
 lop after another, till they come to the vitals, the 
 poor animal crying all the while, for several min- 
 utes together. However, in so doing, Bruin acts 
 a little imprudently, because the dismal outcry of 
 the hog alarms the neighbourhood, and it is odds 
 but he pays the forfeit with his life, before he can 
 secure his retreat. But bears soon grow weary 
 of this unnatural diet, and about January, when 
 there is nothing to be gotten in the woods, they 
 retire into some cave or hollow tree, where they 
 sleep away two or three mouths very comfortably. 
 But then they quit their holes in March, when 
 the fish begin to run up the rivers, on which they 
 are forced to keep Lent, till some fruit or berry 
 comes in season. But bears are fondest of chest- 
 nuts, which grow plentifully towards the moun- 
 tains, upon very large trees, where the soil 
 happens to be rich. We were curious to know 
 how it happened that man}- of the outward 
 branches of those trees came to be broken off in 
 that solitary place, and were informed that the 
 bears are so discreet as not to trust their unwieldy 
 bodies on the smaller limbs of the trees, that 
 would not bear their weight ; but after venturing 
 as far as is safe, which they can judge to an inch, 
 they bite off the end of the branch, which falling 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 22^ 
 
 down, they are content to finish their repast upon 
 the ground. In the same cautious manner they 
 secure the acorns that grow on the weaker limbs 
 of the oak. And it must be allowed that, in 
 these instances, a bear carries instinct a great waj r , 
 and acts more reasonably than many of his 
 betters, who indiscreetly venture upon frail pro- 
 jects that will not bear them.'' 
 
 to be alone, walking in the fields and groves, and 
 seems to have some one invisible always conver- 
 sing with her. 
 
 JONATHAN EDWARDS' DESCRIPTION OF HIS 
 WIFE. 
 
 REV. JONATHAN EDWARDS, the famous 
 New England divme, was a man of ardent 
 affections, which, however, were tempered and 
 subdued as he advanced in life by his austere re- 
 ligious views. He was married, at the age of 
 twenty-three, to Miss Sarah Pierrepont, a young 
 lady of eighteen, and of unusual beauty. His 
 description of her, written a short time previous 
 to their marriage, is poetic in the extreme, and 
 appears like the unconscious admiration of the 
 lover in the saint. 
 
 "They say," he writes, "there is a young 
 l_tdy in New Haven who is beloved of that Great 
 Being, who made and rules the world, and that 
 there are certain seasons in which this Great Being, 
 in some way or other invisible, comes to her and 
 fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, and 
 that she hardly cares for anything, except to 
 meditate on him — that she expects, after a while, 
 to be received up where he is, to be raised up out 
 of the world and caught up into heaven ; being 
 assured that he loves her too well to let her re- 
 main at a distance from him always. There she 
 is to dwell with him, and to be ravished with his 
 love and delight for ever. Therefore, if you pre- 
 sent all the world before her, with the richest of 
 its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for it, 
 and is unmindful of an}- pain or affliction. She 
 has a strange sweetness in her mind, and singular 
 purity in her affections ; is most just and conscien- 
 tious in all her conduct ; and you could not per- 
 suade her to do airything wrong or sinful, if you 
 would give her all the world, lest she should of- 
 fend this Great Being. She is of a wonderful 
 sweetness, calmness, and universal benevolence 
 of mind ; especially after this Great God has 
 manifested himself to her mind. She will some- 
 times go about from place to place, singing 
 sweetly, and seems to be always full of joy and 
 pleasure, and no one knows for what. She loves 
 
 PERSONAL PECULIARITIES OF THE GREAT 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 nAPOEEON, we are told, was dressed every 
 morning by the valet in attendance. He 
 did not don a single garment himself; eventually, 
 however, he was induced to shave himself. It 
 happened in this wise: In 1803 the head valet 
 Hambard, pleaded ill health as an excuse for not 
 accompanying his master to Boulogne. "Who 
 is to shave me?" asked Napoleon, for Hambard 
 had regularly discharged this duty. 
 
 Hambard suggested Constant, who, foreseeing 
 this emergency, had been diligently taking les- 
 sons on humbler chins, and had acquired profi- 
 ciency. He had no easy task, for Napoleon, 
 while undergoing the operation, would talk, read 
 the newspapers, and fidget in his chair, sometimes 
 sitting as stiff as a statue and declining to bend 
 his head an inch. Great care was necessary to 
 avoid cutting his face. Another peculiarity was 
 that he insisted on one side being lathered and 
 shaved before the other was touched. When Con- 
 stant got free enough with him to venture on the 
 step, he urged on Napoleon the desirability of his 
 learning to shave, as he himself might be ill or 
 absent, and Napoleon would not like to be ope- 
 rated on by a stranger. 
 
 Napoleon was, with some difficulty, induced to 
 try- the experiment, but, of course, he experi- 
 mented only on himself, and did not, therefore, 
 acquire professional proficiency. Very clumsy at 
 first, he gradually became tolerably expert. On 
 one point, however, he was obstinate — he per- 
 sisted in moving the razor downward instead of 
 upward, and occasional cuts were the consequence. 
 While not lifting a finger to dress himself, Na- 
 poleon dispensed with assistance in undressing ; 
 but he flung his garments all over the room — 
 his watch sometimes missing the table or bed at 
 which it was aimed, and falling broken on the 
 floor. 
 
 As to dress, he despised dandies, never wore 
 rings, and abominated scents, except eau de 
 cologne, with which he was often rubbed, and 
 which was his specific for bruises. When coat- 
 tails became shorter, he stuck to the old fashion 
 of the Directory period, illustrated in several of 
 
(224) 
 
 TALLEYRAND AND HORTENSE, SHOWING COSTUMES OF THE DIRECTORY PERIOD. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 225 
 
 the engravings in this volume, until Constant got 
 the tailor to shorten them by imperceptible gra- 
 dations. He disliked tights-fighting clothes, 
 found a new hat uncomfortable — though lined 
 with silk and wadding — and stuck to an old one 
 as long as possible. He put on every morning a 
 clean white waistcoat, with knee-breeches to match 
 — he never wore trousers — but as he habitually 
 wiped his pen on his breeches, after three or four 
 washings they were done with. 
 
 Constant denies, however, the common story of 
 his keeping snuff loose in his waistcoat pocket ; 
 he always used a snuff-box, and though he fre- 
 quently took a pinch, he simply held it to his 
 nose, and then dropped all or nearly all on the 
 floor. His snuff injured the carpet, not his waist- 
 coat. Smoking he never tried but once. An 
 Oriental Embassador had presented him with a 
 chibouk. It was filled and lit for him, but he 
 merely opened and shut his lips instead of draw- 
 ing. When at last he was induced to draw, the 
 smoke went down his throat and came out at his 
 nose. He felt queer for an hour, declaimed 
 agdnst the habit as fit only for lazy people, and 
 never touched a pipe again. 
 
 INCIDENTS OF A QUAKER'S LIFE. 
 
 C-HOMAS CHALKLEY, a Quaker, and a 
 -' writer of some distinction, who was born in 
 London in 1675, gives a touching account of the 
 persecutions to which his sect were exposed, even 
 from their tender years. He says : 
 
 "When between eight and ten years of age, 
 my father and mother sent me near two miles to 
 school, to Richard Scoryer, in the suburbs of 
 London. I went mostly by myself to the school ; 
 and many and various were the exercises I went 
 through, by beatings and stonings along the 
 stieets, being distinguished to the people by the 
 badge of plainness which my parents put upon 
 me, of what profession I was : divers telling me, 
 ' it was no more sin to kill me than it was to kill 
 a dog.' " 
 
 He relates his spiritual experiences at great 
 length, commencing with his tenth year. At the 
 age of twenty he was pressed on board a man-of- 
 war. He passed the night in the hold, having 
 nothing to lie upon but casks, and among wicked 
 men ; ' ' and as we were shut up in darkness, so 
 was their conversation dark and hellish." On 
 being asked, in the morning, "if he was willing 
 1-- 
 
 to serve his Majesty," he answered, that he was 
 willing to serve him in his business, and accord- 
 ing to his conscience ; ' ' but as for war and fight- 
 ing, Christ had forbid it in his excellent Sermon 
 on the Mount ; and for that reason I could not 
 bear arms nor be instrumental to destroy or kill 
 men." "Then," he continues, 
 
 ' ' The lieutenant looked on me and on the peo- 
 ple, and said : ' Gentlemen, what shall we do 
 with this fellow? He swears he will not fight.' 
 The commander of the vessel made answer : ' Xo, 
 he will neither swear nor fight. ' Upon which they 
 turned me on shore. I was thankful that I was 
 delivered out of their hands ; and my tender 
 parents were glad to see me again. ' ' 
 
 In 169S he came as a missionary to America, 
 landing at the mouth of the Patuxent River in 
 Maryland. The following year he travelled 
 through New England and Virginia, where he 
 found an aged Friend, ninety-two years of age, 
 "who had then a daughter two years old." This 
 aged veteran lived until one year after his child 
 was married, affording a good example of the 
 beneficial effects of a clear conscience and a salu- 
 brious climate like that of his adopted country. 
 
 Mr. Chalkley subsequently returned to England, 
 where he married, and, after a journey through 
 Ireland, he decided to remove permanently to 
 America. Settling his wife in Philadelphia, he 
 made an extensive tour to Barbadoes, and through 
 Maryland, Virginia and North Carolina, doing 
 missionary work. In those early days, the re- 
 gions through which he travelled contained very 
 few white settlers, and he was frequently under 
 the necessity of camping out in the woods, with 
 no shelter but the trees and the heavens. He de- 
 scribes an incident of this kind with great 
 beaut}- : 
 
 " In going to and coming from this place, we 
 lay two nights in the woods, and I think I never 
 slept better in all my life. It was the eighth hour 
 in the evening, when I laid down on the ground, 
 one night, my saddle being my pillow, at the root 
 of a tree , and it was four o'clock in the morning 
 when thej- called me. When I awoke. I thought 
 of good Jacob's lodging he had on the way to 
 Padan Aram, when he saw the holy vision oi 
 angels, with the ladder, whose top reached to 
 heaven. Very sweet was the love of God to my 
 soul that morning, and the clew of the everlasting- 
 hills refreshed me ; and I went on my way prais- 
 
22(3 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ing the Lord, and magnifying the God of my sal- 
 vation." 
 
 He continued this mode of life until 1707, when 
 he made another voyage to Barbadoes, and sail- 
 ing thence for England, was shipwrecked on the 
 coast of Ireland, but escaped personal injury. 
 
 Upon leaving Ireland, he journeyed through 
 Great Britain, and after a visit to Holland and 
 Germany, returned to Philadelphia. 
 
 On a subsequent voyage, from the Bermudas, 
 in consequence of a long continuance of calms, 
 the stock of provisions became scanty. The ves- 
 sel being consigned to Chalkley, and under his 
 care, the crew began to upbraid him for the 
 scarcity, and "tell dismal stories about eating 
 one another." 
 
 " To stop their murmuring," he says, " I told 
 them they should not need to cast lots, which was 
 usual in such cases, which of us should die first, 
 for I would freely offer up my life to do them 
 good. One said, ' God bless you ! I will not eat 
 any of you.' Another said, ' He would die before 
 he would eat any of me ;' and so said several. 
 I can truly say, on that occasion, at that time, 
 my life was not dear to me, and that I was 
 serious and ingenuous in my proposition ; and as 
 I was leaning over the side of the vessel, thought- 
 fully considering my proposal to the company, 
 and looking in my mind to Him that made me, 
 a very large dolphin came up towards the top 
 or surface of the water, and looked me in the 
 face ; and I called the people to put a hook into 
 the sea, and take him, for here is one come to 
 redeem me ( I said to them ). And they put a 
 hook into the sea, and the fish readily took it, 
 and they caught him. I think he was about six 
 feet long, the largest that ever I saw. This 
 plainly showed us that we ought not to distrust 
 the providence of the Almighty. The people 
 were quieted by this act of Providence, and mur- 
 mured no more. We caught enough to eat 
 plentifully of till we got into the capes of Dela- 
 ware. 
 
 ESTHETIC TASTES OF CHARLES I. 
 
 THIS monarch possessed "four and twenty 
 palaces, all of them elegantly and com- 
 pletely furnished." The value of pictures 
 doubled in Europe during his reign, by the 
 emulation in fine arts between Charles and 
 
 Philip IV., of Spain, who was touched with the 
 same elegant passion. 
 
 The mind of Charles I. was moulded by the 
 Graces. His favorite Buckingham was probably 
 a greater favorite, for those congenial tastes, 
 and the frequent exhibition of those splendid 
 masks and entertainments, which combined all 
 the picture of ballet dances, with the voice of 
 music ; the charms of the verse of Jonson, the 
 scenic machinery of Inigo Jones, and the variety 
 of fanciful devices of Gerbier, the duke's archi- 
 tect, the bosom friend of Rubens. There was a 
 costly magnificence in the fetes at York House, 
 the residence of Buckingham, of which few but 
 curious researchers are aware ; the} - eclipsed the 
 splendor of the French Court ; for Bassompiere, 
 in one of his despatches, declares he had never 
 witnessed a similar magnificence. He describes 
 tlie vaulted apartments, the ballets at supper, 
 which were proceeding between the services, with 
 various representations, theatrical changes, and 
 those of the tables, and the music ; the duke's 
 own contrivance, to prevent the inconvenience of 
 pressure, by having a turning door made like that 
 of the monasteries, which admitted only one per- 
 son at a time. The following extract from a 
 manuscript letter of the times conveys a lively 
 account of one of these fetes : 
 
 "Last Sunday at night, the duke's grace en- 
 tertained their majesties and the French ambassa- 
 dor at York House, with great feasting and show, 
 where all things came down in clouds ; amongst 
 which, one rare device was a representation of the 
 French king and the two queens with their chiefest 
 attendants, and so to the life, that the queen's ma- 
 jesty could name them. It was four o'clock in 
 the morning before the}- parted, and then the 
 king and queen, together with the French am- 
 bassador, lodged there. Some estimate this en- 
 tertainment at five or six thousand pounds." 
 At another time, "The king and queen were en- 
 tertained at supper, at Gerbier's, the duke's pain- 
 ter's house, which could not stand him less than 
 a thousand pounds." Sir Symonds D'Ewes 
 mentions banquets at 500/. Accounts of these 
 entertainments show the curiosity of the scenical 
 machinery, and the fancy of the poet, the rich- 
 ness of the crimson habits of the gentlemen, 
 and the white dresses with white heron's plumes 
 and jewelled head dresses, and ropes or pearls 
 of the ladies. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 227 
 
 WILLIAM PENN'S ADVICE TO HIS CHILDREN. 
 
 BETAKE yourselves to some honest, indus- 
 trious course of life, and that not of sordid 
 covetousness, but for example, and to avoid idle- 
 ness. And if you change your condition and 
 marry, choose with the knowledge and consent 
 of your mother, if living, or of guardians, or 
 those that have the charge of you. Mind neither 
 beauty nor riches, but the fear of the Lord, and a 
 sweet and amiable disposition, such as you can 
 love above all this world, and that ma}- make your 
 habitations pleasant and desirable to you. 
 
 the poor and need}- ; let the Lord have a volun- 
 tary share of your income for the good of the poor, 
 both in our society and others ; for we are all his 
 creatures ; remembering that ' ; he that giveth to 
 the poor lendeth to the Lord." 
 
 Know well your incomings, and your outgoings 
 may be better regulated. Love not money nor 
 the world : use them only, and they will serve 
 you ; but if you love them you serve them, which 
 will debase your spirits as well as offend the 
 Lord. 
 
 Pity the distressed, and hold out a hand of help 
 
 BANOUET TO THE FRENCH AMBASSADORS. 
 
 And being married, be tender, affectionate, 
 patient, and meek. Live in the fear of the Lord, 
 and he will bless you and your offspring. Be sure 
 to live within compass ; borrow not, neither be 
 beholden to any. Ruin not yourselves by kind- 
 ness to others ; for that exceeds the due bounds 
 of friendship, neither will a true friend expect it. 
 Small matters I heed not. 
 
 Let your industry and parsimony go no further 
 than for a sufficiency for life, and to make a pro- 
 vision for your children, and that in moderation, 
 if the Lord gives you any. I charge you help 
 
 to them ; it ma}- be your case, and as you mete to 
 others, God will mete to you again. 
 
 Be humble and gentle in your conversation ; of 
 few words I charge you, but alwavs pertinent 
 when you speak, hearing out before you attempt 
 to answer, and then speaking as if you' would per- 
 suade, not impose. 
 
 Affront none, neither revenge the affronts that 
 are done to you ; but forgive, and you shall be 
 forgiven of your heavenly Father. 
 
 In making friends, consider well first ; and when 
 you are fixed, be true, not wavering by reports, 
 
228 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 nor deserting in affliction, for that becomes not 
 the good and virtuous. 
 
 Watch against anger : neither speak nor act in 
 it ; for, like drunkenness, it makes a man a beast, 
 and throws people into desperate inconveniences. 
 
 Avoid flatterers, for they are thieves in dis- 
 guise ; their praise is costly, designing to get by 
 those they bespeak : they are the worst of crea- 
 tures : they lie to flatter, and flatter to cheat ; and, 
 which is worse, if you believe them, you cheat 
 yourselves most dangerously. But the virtuous, 
 though poor, love, cherish, and prefer. Remem- 
 ber David, who, asking the Lord, ' ' Who shall 
 abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell upon 
 th>- holy hill?" answers, "He that walketh up- 
 rightly, worketh righteousness, and speaketh the 
 truth in his heart : in whose eyes the vile person 
 is contemned, but honoureth them who fear the 
 Lord." 
 
 Xext, my children, be temperate in all things: 
 in your diet, for that is physic by prevention ; it 
 keeps, nay, it makes people healthy, and their 
 generation sound. This is exclusive of the 
 spiritual advantage it brings. Be also plain in 
 your apparel ; keep out that lust which reigns too 
 much over some ; let your virtues be your orna- 
 ments, remembering life is more than food, and 
 the body than raiment. Let your furniture be 
 simple and cheap. Avoid pride, avarice, and 
 luxury. Read my "No Cross, no Crown." 
 There is instruction. Make your conversation 
 with the most eminent for wisdom and piety, and 
 shun all wicked men as you hope for the blessing 
 of God and the comfort of your father's living 
 and dying prayers. Be sure you speak no evil of 
 any, no, not of the meanest; much less of your 
 superiors, as magistrates, guardians, tutors, 
 teachers, and elders in Christ. 
 
 Be no busybodies : meddle not with other folks' 
 matters, but when in conscience and duty pressed ; 
 for it procures trouble, and is ill manners, and very 
 unseemly to wise men. 
 
 In your families remember Abraham, Moses, 
 and Joshua, their integrity to the Lord, and do as 
 you have them for your examples. 
 
 Let the fear and service of the living God be 
 encouraged in your houses, and that plainness, 
 sobriety, and moderation in all things, as be- 
 cometh God's chosen people ; and as I advise you, 
 my beloved children, do you counsel yours, if 
 God should give vou an v. Yea, I counsel and 
 
 command them as my- posterity, that they love 
 and serve the Lord God with an upright heart, 
 that he may bless you and yours from generation 
 to generation. 
 
 And as for you, who are likely to be concerned 
 in the government of Pennsylvania and niy parts 
 of East Jersey, especially the first, I do charge 
 you before the Lord God and his holy angels, 
 that you be lowly, diligent, and tender, fearing 
 God, loving the people, and hating covetousness. 
 Let justice have its impartial course, and the law 
 free passage. Though to your loss, protect no 
 man against it ; for you are not above the law, 
 but the law above you. Live, therefore, the lives 
 yourselves you would have the people live, and 
 then you have right and boldness to punish the 
 transgressor. Keep upon the square, for God sees 
 you : therefore, do your duty, and be sure you see 
 with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears. 
 Entertain no lurchers, cherish no informers for 
 gain or revenge, use no tricks, fly to no devices to 
 support or cover injustice ; but let your hearts be 
 upright before the Lord, trusting in him above 
 the contrivances of men, and none shall be able 
 to hurt or supplant. 
 
 TURBULENT INCIDENTS OF THE ENGLISH 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 7TVE copy these interesting incidents from Lord 
 \XJ Clarendon's "History of the Rebellion," 
 published in 1707, as an evidence of the fact that 
 the dispositions of people were about the same 
 then as now, under like circumstances : 
 
 On the Sunday morning appointed for the work, 
 the Chancellor of Scotland, and others of the 
 council, being present in the cathedral church, 
 the dean began to read the Liturgy, which he had 
 no sooner entered upon, but a noise and clamor 
 was raised throughout the church, that no words 
 could be heard distinctly ; and then a shower of 
 stones, and sticks, and cudgels, were thrown at 
 the dean's head. The bishop went up into the 
 pulpit, and from thence put them in mind of the 
 sacredness of the place, of their duty to God and 
 the king ; but he found no more reverence, nor 
 was the clamor and disorder less than before. 
 The chancellor, from his seat, commanded the 
 provost and magistrates of the city to descend 
 from the gallery in which they sat, and by their 
 authority to suppress the riot ; which at last with 
 creat difficultv they did, by driving the rudest 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 229 
 
 of those who made the disturbance out of the 
 church, and shutting the doors, which gave the 
 dean opportunity to proceed in the reading of the 
 Liturgy, that was 
 not at all attended 
 or hearkened to by 
 those who remained 
 within the church ; 
 and if it had, they 
 who were turned 
 out continued their 
 barbarous noise, 
 broke the win- 
 dows, and endeav- 
 ored to break down 
 the doors, so that 
 it was not possible 
 for any to follow 
 their devotions. 
 
 When all was 
 done that at that 
 time could be done 
 there, and the coun- 
 cil and magistrates 
 went out of the 
 church to their 
 houses, the rabble 
 followed the bish- 
 ops with all the 
 opprobrious 1 a n - 
 guage they could 
 invent, of bringing 
 in superstition and 
 popery into the 
 kingdom, and 
 making the people 
 slaves ; and were 
 not content to use 
 their tongues, but 
 employed their 
 hands too in throw- 
 ing dirt and stones 
 at them ; and treat- 
 ed the bishop of 
 Edinburgh, whom 
 they looked upon 
 as most active that 
 way, so rudely, that 
 
 with difficulty he got into a house, after they had 
 torn his habit, and was from thence removed to 
 his own, with great hazard of his life. As this 
 
 was the reception which the liturgy had in the ca- 
 thedral, so it fared not better in the other churches 
 of the city, but was entertained with the same 
 wm. 
 
 THE RABBLE FORCING THEIR WAY INTO THE CHURCH. 
 
 noise and outcries, and threatening the men, 
 whose office it was to read it, with the same bitter 
 execrations against bishops and popery. 
 
230 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Hitherto no person of condition or name ap- 
 peared or seemed to countenance this seditious 
 confusion ; it was the rabble, of which nobody 
 was named, and, which is more strange, not one 
 apprehended : and it seems the bishops thought 
 it not of moment enough to desire or require any 
 help or protection from the council ; but without 
 conferring with them, or applying themselves to 
 them, they despatched away an express to the 
 king, with a full and particular information of all 
 that had passed, and a desire that he would take 
 that course he thought best for the carrying on 
 his service. 
 
 Until this advertisement arrived from Scotland, 
 there were very few in England who had heard 
 of any disorders there, or of anything done there 
 which might produce any * * And the truth 
 is, there was so little curiosity either in the court 
 or in the country to know anything of Scotland, 
 or what was done there, that when the whole 
 nation was solicitous to know what passed weekly 
 in Germany, and Poland, and all other parts of 
 Europe, no man ever inquired what was doing in 
 Scotland. Nor had that kingdom a place or men- 
 tion in one page of any gazette ; and even after the 
 advertisement of this preamble to rebellion, no 
 mention was made of it at the council-board, but 
 such a despatch made into Scotland upon it, as 
 expressed the king's dislike and displeasure, and 
 obliged the lords of the council there to appear 
 more vigorously in the vindication of his author- 
 ity, and suppression of those tumults. But all 
 was too little. That people, after they had once 
 begun, pursued the business vigorously, and 
 with all imaginable contempt of the government ; 
 and though in the hubbub of the first day there 
 appeared nobody of name or reckoning, but the 
 actors were really of the dregs of the people, yet 
 they discovered by the countenance of that day, 
 that few men of rank were forward to engage 
 themselves in the quarrel on the behalf of the 
 bishops ; whereupon more considerable persons 
 every day appeared against them, and (as hereto- 
 fore in the case of St Paul, Acts xiii. 50, ' The 
 Jews stirred up the devout and honourable wo- 
 men") the women and ladies of the best quality 
 declared themselves of the part}-, and, with all 
 the reproaches imaginable, made war upon the 
 bishops, as introducers of popery and superstition, 
 against which they avowed themselves to be irre- 
 concilable enemies; and their husbands did not 
 
 long defer the owning the same spirit ; insomuch 
 as within a few days the bishops durst not appear 
 in the streets, nor in any courts, or houses, but 
 were in danger of their lives ; and such of the lords 
 as durst be in their company, or seemed to desire 
 to rescue them from violence, had their coaches 
 torn in pieces, and their persons assaulted, inso- 
 much as they were glad to send for some of those 
 great men, who did indeed govern the rabble, 
 though they appeared not in it, who readily came 
 and redeemed them out of their hands ; so that, 
 by the time new orders came from England, 
 there was scarce a bishop left in Edinburgh, and 
 not a minister who durst read the Liturgy in any 
 church. 
 
 CHARACTER OF HAMPDEN. 
 
 THIS description of the character of Hampden 
 we also copy from Lord Clarendon's history : 
 Mr. Hampden was a man of much greater cun- 
 ning, and, it may be, of the most discerning 
 spirit, and of the greatest address and insinuation 
 to bring anything to pass which he desired, of any 
 man of that time, and who laid the design 
 deepest. He was a gentleman of a good extrac- 
 tion, and a fair fortune ; who, from a life of plea- 
 sure and license, had on a sudden retired to ex- 
 traordinary sobriety and strictness, and yet re- 
 tained his usual cheerfulness and affability ; 
 which, together with the opinion of his wisdom 
 and justice, and the courage he had shown in 
 opposing the ship-money, raised his reputation to 
 a very great height, not only in Buckingham- 
 shire, where he lived, but generally throughout 
 the kingdom. He was not a man of many words, 
 and rarely began the discourse, or made the first 
 entrance upon any business that was assumed ; 
 but a very weighty speaker, and after he had 
 heard a full debate, and observed how the house 
 was like to be inclined, took up the argument, 
 and shortly, and clearly, and craftily so stated it, 
 that he commonly conducted it to the conclusion 
 he desired ; and if he found he could not do that, 
 he was never without the dexterity to divert the 
 debate to another time, and to prevent the deter- 
 mining anything in the negative, which might 
 prove inconvenient in the future. He made so- 
 great a show of civility, and modesty, and humil- 
 ity, and always of mistrust of his own judgment, 
 and esteeming his with whom he conferred for 
 the present, that he seemed to have no opinions. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 231 
 
 or resolutions, but such as he contracted from the 
 information and instruction he received upon the 
 discourses of others, whom he had a wonderful 
 art of governing and leading into his principles 
 and inclinations, whilst they believed that he 
 wholly depended upon their counsel and advice. 
 No man had ever a greater power over himself, 
 or was less the man that he seemed to be ; which 
 shortly after appeared to everybody, when he 
 cared less to keep on the mask. 
 
 that time the most popular man in England, 
 and exercised a greater influence than any other 
 over the actions of the people. 
 
 During the war between the parliamentary 
 forces and the royalists, he commanded a regi- 
 ment of volunteer infantry, which he had raised 
 in his native county, and he made himself so 
 distinguished by his daring and intrepidity that 
 a wish was expressed that he should take com- 
 mand of the entire army. On the evening of 
 
 the burial of 
 
 This sketch hardly does justice to the character 
 of Hampden. He was a cousin of Oliver Crom- 
 well, his mother (Elizabeth Cromwell) being an 
 aunt of the latter ; and as he was also a leader 
 of the people in their revolution against the ty- 
 ranny of the king, he naturally made bitter 
 enemies, whose hatred could not be restrained 
 from tarnishing his name in history. That he 
 was very popular with the people is shown by 
 the fact that when he had been denounced for 
 treason, and his person was demanded by 
 Charles, the officers of the latter, in spite of 
 their utmost efforts, found it impossible to arrest 
 him. In fact it is asserted that he was at 
 
 JOHN HAMPDEN. 
 
 June 17, 1643, Prince Rupert set out for Oxford 
 with two thousand men, on one of his charac- 
 teristic expeditions. Hampden hastened with a 
 small body of volunteers to intercept his return, 
 and overtook the enemy at Chalgrove. With- 
 out a moment's hesitation he charged into their 
 ranks, according to his usual intrepid custom, 
 but was struck in the shoulder by two balls, 
 which lodged in his body. After six days' acute 
 suffering he expired, uttering with his latest 
 breath a prayer for England. The whole coun- 
 try mourned his loss, and his funeral was at- 
 tended by an immense concourse of people. 
 His name will stand forever on the pages of 
 
232 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 history as one of the great defenders of the 
 liberties of the people. 
 
 PRIVATE HISTORY OF THE COURT OF 
 CHARLES I. 
 
 CHE king is accused of the most spiritless 
 uxoriousness ; and the chaste fondness of a 
 husband is placed among his political errors. 
 Even Hume conceives that his queen precipitated 
 
 ATTEMPT OF CHARLES I. TO SEIZE THK FIVE MEMBERS 
 
 him into hasty and imprudent counsels, and 
 Bishop Kennet had alluded to the influence of a 
 stately queen over an affectionate husband. The 
 uxoriousness of Charles is re-echoed by all the 
 writers of a certain party. This is an odium 
 which the king's enemies first threw out to make 
 him contemptible ; while his apologists imagined 
 that, in perpetuating this accusation, they had dis- 
 covered, in a weakness which has at least some- 
 thing amiable, some palliation for his own politi- 
 
 cal misconduct. The factious, too, by this asper- 
 sion, promoted the alarm they spread in the na- 
 tion, of the king's inclination to popery ; yet, on 
 the contrary, Charles was then making a deter- 
 mined stand, and at i length triumphed over a 
 Catholic faction, which was ruling his queen ; and 
 this at the risk of menace of a war with France. 
 Yet this firmness too has been denied him, even 
 by his apologist Hume : that historian on his pre- 
 conceived system imagined, 
 that every action of Charles 
 I. originated in the Duke of 
 Buckingham, and that the 
 duke pursued his personal 
 quarrel with Richelieu and 
 taking advantage of these do- 
 mestic quarrels, had per- 
 suaded Charles to dismiss the 
 French attendants of the 
 queen. 
 
 There are, fortunately, two 
 letters from Charles I. to 
 Buckingham, preserved in the 
 state-papers of Lord Hard- 
 wicke, which set this point 
 to rest: these decisively 
 prove, that the whole matter 
 originated with the king him- 
 self, and that Buckingham 
 had tried every effort to per- 
 suade him to the contrary. 
 
 It is remarkable that the 
 character of a queen who is 
 imagined to have performed 
 so active a part in our his- 
 tory, scarcely ever appears 
 in it : when abroad, and when 
 she returned to England, in 
 the midst of a winter storm, 
 bringing all the aid she could 
 to her unfortunate consort, 
 those who witnessed this appearance of energy 
 imagined that her character was equally powerful 
 in the cabinet. Yet Henrietta, after all, was 
 nothing more than a volatile woman : one who 
 had never studied, never reflected, and whom 
 nature had formed to be charming and haughty, 
 but whose vivacity could not retain a state-secret 
 for an hour, and whose talents were quite opposite 
 to those of deep political intrigue. 
 
 Henrietta viewed even the characters of great 
 
 PARLIAMENT. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 233 
 
 men with all the sensations of a woman. Describ- 
 ing the Earl of Stafford to a confidential friend, 
 and having observed that he was a great man, 
 she dwelt with far more interest on his person : 
 "Though not handsome," said she, "he was 
 agreeable enough, and he had the finest hands 
 of any man in the world." Lauding at Burling- 
 ton Bay in Yorkshire, she lodged on the quay ; 
 the parliament's admiral barbarously pointed his 
 cannon at the house ; and several shot reaching 
 
 lively temper, and impatiently babbled the plot ; 
 so that one of the ladies in attendance despatched 
 a hasty note to the parties, who, as the king en- 
 tered the house, had just time to leave it. Some 
 have dated the ruin of his cause to the failure of 
 that impolitic step, which alarmed every one zeal- 
 ous for that spirit of political freedom which had 
 now grown up in the commons. Incidents like 
 these mark the feminine dispositions of Henrietta. 
 But when at sea, in danger of being taken by a 
 
 LANDING OF OUEEN HENRIETTA AT BURLINGTON BAY. 
 
 it, her favorite, Jermyn requested her to fly ; she 
 safely reached a cavern in the fields, but, recol- 
 lecting that she had left a lap-dog asleep in its 
 bed, she flew back, and, amidst the cannon-shot, 
 returned with this other favorite. The queen re- 
 lated this incident of the lap-dog to her friend 
 Madame Motteville ; these ladies considered it as 
 a complete woman's victory. It is in these me- 
 moirs we find, that when Charles went down to 
 the house, to seize on the five leading members of 
 the opposition, the queen could not retain her 
 
 parliamentarian, the queen commanded the cap- 
 tain not to strike, but to prepare at the extremity 
 to blow up the ship, resisting the shrieks of her 
 females and domestics ; we perceive how, on every 
 trying occasion, Henrietta never forgot that she 
 was the daughter of Henry IV.; that glorious 
 affinity was inherited by her with all the sexual 
 pride ; and hence, at times, that energy in her 
 actions which was so far above her intellectual 
 capacity. Even when driven to land, to escape 
 capture, she was the coolest of her party, and 
 
234 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 nursed her lap-dog apparently unconscious of all 
 danger. 
 
 And, indeed, when the awful events she had 
 witnessed were one by one registered in her melan- 
 choly mind, the sensibility of the woman subdued 
 the natural haughtiness of her character ; but, 
 true woman ! the feeling creature of circum- 
 stances, at the Restoration she resumed it, and 
 when the new court of Charles II. would not en- 
 dure her obsolete haughtiness, the dowager-queen 
 left it in all the full bitterness of her spirit. An 
 habitual gloom, and the meagerness of grief, 
 during the commonwealth had changed a counte- 
 nance once the most lively, and her eyes, whose 
 dark and dazzling lustre was even celebrated, then 
 only shone in tears. When she told her physi- 
 cian, Sir Theodore Mayerne, that she found her 
 understanding was failing her, and seemed terri- 
 fied lest it was approaching to madness, the court 
 physician, hardly courtly to fallen majesty, re- 
 plied, "Madam, fear not that; for you are al- 
 ready mad." Henrietta had lived to contemplate 
 the awful changes of her reign, without compre- 
 hending them. 
 
 When Henrietta was on her way to England, a 
 legate from Rome arrested her at Amiens, requir- 
 ing the princess to undergo a penance, which was 
 to last sixteen days, for marrying Charles without 
 the papal dispensation. The queen stopped her 
 journey, and wrote to inform the king of the occa- 
 sion. Charles, who was then waiting for her at 
 Canterbury, replied, that if Henrietta did not in- 
 stantly proceed, he would return alone to London. 
 Henrietta doubtless sighed for the pope and the 
 penance, but she set off the day she received the 
 king's letter. The king, either by his wisdom or 
 his impatience, detected the aim of the Roman 
 pontiff, who, had he been permitted to arrest the 
 progress of a Queen of England for sixteen days 
 in the face of all Europe, would thus have obtained 
 a tacit supremacy over a British Monarch. 
 
 When ';he king arrived at Canterbury, although 
 not at the moment prepared to receive him, Hen- 
 rietta flew to meet him, and with all her sponta- 
 neous grace and native vivacity, kneeling at his 
 feet, rhe kissed his hand, while the king, bending 
 over ier, wrapt her in his arms, and kissed her 
 with many kisses. This royal and youthful pair, 
 unusual with those of their rank, met with the 
 eagerness of lovers, and the first words of Henrietta 
 WP e those of devotion ; Sire. Je sin's venue en ce 
 
 paic de votre Majeste, pour etre usee et commandee 
 de vous. It had been rumoured that she was of 
 a very short stature, but reaching to the king's 
 shoulder, his eyes were cast down to her feet, 
 seemingly observing whether she used art to in- 
 crease her height. Anticipating his thoughts, 
 and playfully showing her feet, she declared, that 
 " she stood upon her own feet, for thus high I am, 
 and neither higher or lower." After an hour's 
 conversation in privacy, Henrietta took her 
 dinner surrounded by the court ; and the king, 
 who had already dined, performing the office of 
 her carver, cut a pheasant and some venison. By 
 the side of the queen stood her ghostly confessor, 
 solemnly reminding her that this was the eve of 
 John the Baptist, and was to be fasted, exhorting 
 her to be cautious that she set no scandalous ex- 
 ample on her first arrival. But Charles and his 
 court were now to be gained over, as well as John 
 the Baptist. She affected to eat very heartily of 
 the forbidden meat, which gave great comfort, it 
 seems, to several of her new heretical subjects 
 then present ; but we may conceive the pangs of 
 so confirmed a devotee ! She carried her dissimu- 
 lation so far, that being asked about this time 
 whether she could abide a Huguenot ? she replied, 
 "Why not? — Was not my father one?" Her 
 ready smiles, the graceful wave of her hand, the 
 many " good signs of hope," as a contemporary 
 irj a manuscript letter expresses it, induced many 
 of the English to believe that Henrietta might 
 even become one of themselves ! Sir Symonds 
 D'Ewes, as appears by his manuscript diary, was 
 struck by " her deportment to her women, and 
 her looks to her servants, which were so sweet 
 and humble ! ' ' However, this was in the 
 first days of her arrival, and these "sweet and 
 humble looks ' ' were not constant ones ; for a cour- 
 tier at Whitehall, writing to a friend, observes- 
 that " the queen, however little of stature, yet is 
 of a pleasing countenance, if she be pleased, 
 otherwise full of spirit and vigour, and seems of 
 more than ordinary resolution ' ' ; and he adds an 
 incident of one of her "frowns." The room in 
 which the queen was at dinner being somewhat 
 overheated with the fire and company, "she 
 drove us all out of the chamber. I suppose none 
 but a queen could have cast such a scowl." We 
 may already detect the fair waxen mask melting 
 away on the features it covered, even in one short 
 month ! 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 235 
 
 By the marriage contract, Henrietta was to be 
 allowed a household establishment, composed of 
 her own people ; and this had been contrived to 
 be no less than a small French colony, exceeding 
 three hundred persons. 
 
 The French party had not long resided in 
 Eondon, ere the mutual jealousies between the 
 two nations broke out. All the English who 
 were not Catholics were soon dismissed from their 
 attendance on the queen, by herself; while 
 Charles was compelled, by the popular cry, to 
 forbid any English Catholics to serve the queen, 
 or to be present at the celebration of her mass. 
 The king was even obliged to employ pursui- 
 vants or king' s messengers, to stand at the door 
 of her chapel to seize on any of the English who 
 entered there, while on these occasions the French 
 would draw their swords to defend these concealed 
 Catholics. ' ' The queen and hers ' ' became an 
 odious distinction in the nation. Such were the 
 indecent scenes exhibited in public ; they were not 
 less reserved in private. The following anecdote 
 of saying a grace before the king, at his own 
 table, in a most indecorous race run between the 
 catholic priest and the king's chaplain, is given 
 in a manuscript letter of the times : 
 
 "The King and queen dining together in the 
 presence, Mr. Hacket (the chaplain to the Lord 
 Keeper Williams) being then to say grace, the 
 confessor would have prevented him, but that 
 Hacket shoved him away ; whereupon the con- 
 fessor went to the queen's side, and was about to 
 say grace again, but that the king pulling the 
 dishes unto him, and the carvers falling to their 
 business, hindered. When dinner was done, the 
 confessor thought, standing by the queen, to have 
 been before Mr. Hacket, but Mr. Hacket again 
 got the start. The confessor, nevertheless, begins 
 his grace as loud as Mr. Hacket, with such a 
 confusion that the king in great passion instantly 
 rose from the table, and, taking the queen by the 
 hand, retired into the bed-chamber." 
 
 One evening the king suddenly appeared, and 
 summoning the French household, commanded 
 them to take their instant departure — the car- 
 riages were prepared for their removal. In doing 
 this, Charles had to resist the warmest entreaties, 
 and even the vehement anger of the queen, who 
 is said in her rage to have broken several panes 
 of the window of the apartment, to which the 
 kin^ dragged her, and confined her from them. 
 
 The scene which took place among the French 
 people, at the sudden announcement of the king's 
 determination, was remarkably indecorous. They 
 instantly flew to take possession of the queen's 
 wardrobe and jewels ; they did not leave her, it 
 appears, a change of linen, since it was with 
 difficult}- she procured one as a favor, according 
 to some manuscript letters of the times. One of 
 their extraordinary expedients was that of invent- 
 ing bills, for which the}- pretended they had 
 engaged themselves on account of the queen, to 
 the amount of 10,000 pounds ($50,000), which the 
 queen at first owned to, but afterwards acknowl- 
 edged the debts were fictitious ones. Among these 
 items was one for 400 pounds for necessaries for 
 her majesty ; an apothecary's bill for drugs of 800 
 pounds; and another of 150 pounds for "the 
 bishop's unholy water," as the writer expresses it. 
 The young French bishop attempted by all sorts 
 of delays to avoid this ignominious expulsion ; 
 till the king was forced to send his yeomen of 
 the guards to turn them out from Somerset House,, 
 where the juvenile French bishop at once pro- 
 tested against it, and mounting the steps of the 
 coach, took his departure "head and shoulders." 
 It appears that to pay the debts and pensions, 
 besides sending the French troops home, cost 
 50,000 pounds ($250,000). 
 
 In a long procession of nearly forty coaches, 
 after four days' tedious travelling, they reached 
 Dover ; but the spectacle of these impatient 
 foreigners so reluctantly quitting England, ges- 
 ticulating their sorrows or their quarrels, exposed 
 them to the derision and stirred up the prejudices 
 of the common people. As Madame George, 
 whose vivacity is described as extravagantly 
 French, was stepping into the boat, one of the 
 mob could not resist the satisfaction of flinging a 
 stone at her French cap ; an English courtier, who 
 was conducting her, instantly quitted his charge, 
 ran the fellow through the body, and quietly 
 returned to the boat. The man died on the spot ; 
 but no further notice appears to have been taken 
 of the inconsiderate gallantry of this English 
 courtier. 
 
 During the residence of the French party at 
 the English court, they found opportunities to 
 divulge many state secrets to the French govern- 
 ment, and this fact was no doubt the real cause 
 of their expulsion. 
 
 The queen's priests, by those peculiar methods 
 
236 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 which have been sanctioned by the Church in 
 all ages, were drawing from the queen the minutest 
 circumstances which passed in privacy between 
 her and the king ; indisposed her mind towards 
 her royal consort, impressed on her a contempt of 
 the English nation, and a disgust of their customs, 
 and particularly, as has been usual with the 
 French, made her neglect the English language, 
 as if the queen of England held no common inter- 
 est with the nation. The)- had made her resi- 
 dence a place of security for the persons and 
 papers of the discontented. Yet all this was 
 hardly more offensive than the humiliating state 
 to which they had reduced an English queen 
 by their monastic obedience ; inflicting the most 
 degrading penances. One of the most flagrant is 
 alluded to in our history. This was a barefoot 
 pilgrimage to Tyburn, where, one morning, under 
 the gallows on which so many Jesuits had been 
 executed as traitors to Elizabeth and James I., she 
 knelt and prayed to them as martyrs and saints 
 who had shed their blood in defence of the 
 catholic cause. A manuscript letter of the times 
 mentions that "the priests had also made her 
 dabble in the dirt in a foul morning from Somerset 
 house to St. James's, her confessor riding along by 
 her in his coach ! They made her to go barefoot, 
 to spin, and to eat her meat out of dishes, to wait 
 at the table of servants, with many other ridicu- 
 lous and absurd penances. And if they dare thus 
 insult (adds the writer) over the daughter, sister, 
 and wife of so great a king, what slaver}- would 
 they not make us, the people, to undergo ! " 
 
 One of the articles in the contract of marriage 
 "was, that the queen should have a chapel at St. 
 James's to be built and consecrated by her French 
 bishop ; the priests became very importui ate, 
 declaring that without a chapel mass could not be 
 performed with the state it ought, before the queen. 
 The king's answer was firm and to the point : "If 
 the queen's closet, where they now say mass, is 
 not large enough, let them have it in the great 
 chambei ; and, if the great chamber is not wide 
 enough, they might use the garden ; and, if the 
 garden will not serve their turn, the park is the 
 fittest place." 
 
 VISIONS IN LITERATURE. 
 
 DANTE'S "Inferno" is written in the form 
 of a vision, and of late years it has been 
 asserted that this masterpiece of poetry was bor- 
 
 rowed from the older ' ' Vision of Charles the 
 Bald," written by a monk named Alberico, two 
 centuries before Dante's time. These "visions" 
 were the satires of the times, and served the pur- 
 pose of a vehicle for popular instruction. We 
 quote some passages from the ' ' Vision of Charles 
 the Bald," to show the similarity to correspond- 
 ing passages in Dante's poem. Alberico, in 
 writing this vision, put himself in the place 
 of the emperor : 
 
 "I, Charles, by the gratuitous gift of God, 
 king of the Germans, Roman patrician, and like- 
 wise emperor of the Franks : 
 
 "On the holy night of Sunday, having per- 
 formed the divine offices of matins, returning to 
 rny bed to sleep, a voice most terrible came to my 
 ear : ' Charles ! thy spirit shall now issue from 
 thy body ; thou shalt go and behold the judg- 
 ments of God ; they shall serve thee only as pre- 
 sages, and thy spirit shall again return shortly 
 afterwards.' Instantly was in}- spirit rapt, and he 
 who bore me away was a being of the most splen- 
 did whiteness. He put into my hand a ball of 
 thread, which shed about a blaze of light, such 
 as the comet darts when it is apparent. He 
 divided it, and said to me, ' Take thou this thread, 
 and bind it strongly on the thumb of thy righi 
 hand, and by this I will lead thee through the 
 infernal labyrinth of punishments.' 
 
 "Then going before with velocity, but always 
 unwinding this luminous thread, he conducted 
 me into deep valleys filled with fires, and wells 
 inflamed, blazing with all sorts of unctuous matter. 
 There I observed the prelates who had served my 
 father and my ancestors. Although I trembled, 
 I still, however, inquired of them to learn the 
 cause of their torments. They answered, ' We 
 are the bishops of your father and your ancestors ; 
 instead of uniting them and their people in peace 
 and concord, we sowed among them discord, and 
 were the kindlers of evil ; for this we are burning 
 in these Tartarean punishments ; we, and other 
 men-slayers and devourers of rapine. Here also 
 shall come your bishops, and that crowd of satel- 
 lites who surround you, and who imitate the evil 
 we have done.' 
 
 "And whilst I listened to them tremblingly, I 
 beheld the blackest demons flying with hooks of 
 burning iron, who would have caught that ball 
 of thread which I held in my hand, and drawn it 
 towards them, but I darted such a reverberating; 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 237 
 
 j,'£;lit, that they could not lay hold of the thread. 
 These demons, when at my back, hustled to pre- 
 cipitate me into those sulphureous pits ; but my 
 conductor, who carried the ball, wound about my 
 shoulder a doubled thread, drawing me to him 
 with such force, that we ascended high mountains 
 of flame, from whence issued lakes and burning 
 streams, melting all kinds of metals. There I 
 found the souls of lords who had served my father 
 and my brothers ; some plunged in up to the hair 
 of their heads, others to their chins, others with 
 half their bodies immersed. These yelling, cried 
 to me, ' It is for inflaming discontents with 3'our 
 father, and your brothers, and yourself, to make 
 war and spread murder and rapine, eager for 
 earthly spoils, that we now suffer these torments 
 in these rivers of boiling metal.' While I was 
 timidly bending over their suffering, I heard at 
 my back the clamor of voices, potentes potenter 
 iormcnta pathtntur ! 'The powerful suffer tor- 
 ments powerfully ; ' and I looked up, and beheld 
 on the shore boiling streams and ardent furnaces, 
 blazing with pitch and sulphur, full of great 
 dragons, large scorpions, and serpents of a strange 
 species ; where also I saw some of my ancestors, 
 princes, and my brothers also, who said to me, 
 ' Alas, Charles ! behold our heavy punishment for 
 evil, and for proud and malignant counsels, which 
 in our realms and in thine we yielded to from the 
 lust of dominion.' As I was grieving with their 
 groans, dragons hurried on, who sought to de-, 
 vour me with throats opened, belching flame and 
 sulphur. But my leader trebled the thread over 
 me, at whose resplendent light these were over- 
 come. Leading me then securely, we descended 
 into a great vallej-, which on one side was dark, 
 except where lighted by ardent furnaces, while 
 the amenity of the other was so pleasant and 
 splendid that I cannot describe it. I turned, 
 however, to the obscure and flaming side ; I be- 
 held some kings of my race agonized in great and 
 strange punishments, and I thought how in an 
 instant the huge black giants who in turmoil were 
 working to set this whole valley into flames, 
 would have hurled me into these gulfs ; I still 
 trembled, when the luminous thread cheered my 
 eyes, and on the other side of the valley a light 
 for a little while whitened, gradually breaking : I 
 observed two fountains ; one, whose waters had 
 extreme heat, the other more temperate and clear ; 
 and two large vessels filled with these waters. 
 
 The luminous thread rested on one of the fen-id 
 waters, where I saw my father Louis covered to 
 his thighs, and though laboring in the anguish 
 of bodily pain, he spoke to me, ' My son Charles, 
 fear nothing ! I know that thy spirit shall return 
 unto thy body ; and God has permitted thee to- 
 come here that thou mayest witness, because of 
 the sins I have committed, the punishments I 
 endure. One day I am placed in the boiling bath 
 of this large vessel, and on another changed into 
 that of more temperate waters : this I owe to the- 
 prayers of Saint Peter, Saint Denis, Saint Remy, 
 who are the patrons of our royal house ; but if by 
 prayers and masses, offerings and alms, psalmody 
 and vigils, my faithful bishops and abbots, and 
 even all the ecclesiastical order, assist me, it will 
 not be long before I am delivered from these boil- 
 ing waters. Look on your left ! ' I looked, and 
 beheld two tuns of boiling waters. ' These are 
 prepared for thee,' he said, 'if thou wilt not be- 
 thine own corrector, and do penance for thy 
 crimes ! ' Then I began to sink with horror ; but 
 my guide, perceiving the panic of my spirit, said 
 to me, ' Follow me to the right of the valley 
 bright in the glorious light of Paradise.' I had 
 not long proceeded, when amidst the most illus- 
 trious kings, I beheld my uncle Lotharius seated 
 on a topaz, of marvellous magnitude, crowned 
 with a most precious diadem ; and beside him was- 
 his son Louis, like him crowned, and seeing me, 
 he spake with a blandishment of air, and a sweet- 
 ness of voice, ' Charles, my successor, now the 
 third in the Roman Empire, approach ! I know- 
 that thou hast come to view these places of pun- 
 ishment, where thy father and my brother groans- 
 to his destined hour ; but still to end by the inter- 
 cession of the three saints, the patrons of the 
 kings and the people of France. Know that it 
 will not be long ere thou shalt be dethroned, and 
 shortly after thou shalt die ! ' Then Louis turn- 
 ing towards me : ' Thy Roman Empire shall pass 
 into the hands of Louis, the son of my daughter ; 
 give him the sovereign authority, and trust to his 
 hands, that ball of thread thou holdest.' Directly 
 I loosened it from the finger of my right hand to 
 give the empire to his son. This invested him with 
 empire, and he became brilliant with all light ; 
 and at the same instant, admirable to see, my 
 spirit, greatly wearied and broken, returned and 
 glided into my body. Hence let all know, what- 
 ever happen, that Louis the young possesses the 
 
233 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AXD THE 
 
 Roman empire destined by God. And so the 
 Lord who reigneth over the living and the dead, 
 and whose kingdom endureth forever and for aye, 
 will perform when he shall call me away to 
 another life." 
 
 It is easy to believe, from the similarity of the 
 two, that this "Vision of Charles the Bald " fur- 
 nished Dante with his inspiration for the "In- 
 ferno." 
 
 When the latter first appeared, it was accepted 
 by the credulous and ignorant people of the times 
 as a veritable history, and thereby no doubt 
 exerted a good influence over the turbulent and 
 lawless characters of that period. 
 
 FRANKLIN'S PARABLE AGAINST PERSECU- 
 TION. 
 
 THE following parable was composed by Benja- 
 min Franklin. It was his habit to call for a 
 copy of the Bible and read it as a portion of the 
 Old Testament, and it is so like the Bible in style 
 and sentiment that he had no difficulty in causing 
 even the best read persons to suppose that it was 
 really a part of the Scriptures. It sounds very 
 much like some of the articles in the Talmud, 
 and Franklin may have borrowed it. But no 
 matter where it came from, it is worth reading 
 and preserving : 
 
 i. And it came to pass after these things, that 
 Abraham sat in the door of his tent, about the 
 going down of the sun. 
 
 2. And behold a man, bowed with age, came 
 from the way of the wilderness, leaning on a 
 staff. 
 
 3. And Abraham arose and met him, and said 
 unto him, "Turn in, I pray thee, and wash tin- 
 feet, and tarn- all night, and thou shalt arise 
 early on the morrow, and go on thy way. 
 
 4. But the man said, " Xay, for I will abide 
 under this tree." 
 
 5. And Abraham pressed him greatly ; so he 
 turned, and they went into the tent, and Abraham 
 baked unleavened bread, and they did eat. 
 
 6. And when Abraham saw that the man 
 blessed not God, he said unto him, " Wherefore 
 dost thou not worship the most higk God, Creator 
 of heaven and earth ?" 
 
 7. And the man answered and said, " I do not 
 worship the God thou speakest of, neither do I 
 call upon his name ■ for I have made to myself a 
 
 god, which abideth alway in mine house, and 
 provideth me with all things." 
 
 8. And Abraham's zeal was kindled against the 
 man, and he arose and fell upon him, and drove 
 him forth with blows into the wilderness. 
 
 9. And at midnight God called unto Abraham, 
 saying, "Abraham, where is the stranger?" 
 
 10. And Abraham answered and said, "Lord, 
 he would not worship thee, neither would he call 
 upon thy name ; therefore have I driven him out 
 from before my face into the wilderness." 
 
 11. And God said, "Have I borne with him 
 these hundred ninety and eight years, and nour- 
 ished him, and clothed him, notwithstanding his 
 rebellion against me ; and couldst not thou, that 
 art thyself a sinner, bear with him one night?" 
 
 12. And Abraham said, " Let not the anger of 
 the Lord wax hot against his servant ; lo, I have 
 sinned ; forgive me, I pray thee." 
 
 13. And Abraham arose, and went forth into 
 the wilderness, and sought diligently for the man, 
 and found him, and returned with him to the 
 tent ; and when he had entreated him kindly, he 
 sent him away on the morrow with gifts. 
 
 14. And God spake again unto Abraham, say- 
 ing, " For this thy sin shall thy seed be afflicted 
 four hundred years in a strange land ; 
 
 15. "But for thy repentance will I deliver 
 them ; and they shall come forth with power, and 
 with gladness of heart, and with much sub- 
 stance." 
 
 JOHN WESLEY'S "PREACHMENT." 
 
 7TVE copy the following interesting description 
 \XJ of Wesley's personal appearance and style 
 of preaching from the journal of Samuel Curwen, 
 written on the 7th and 14th of September, 1777 : 
 
 In the afternoon, walked to a street adjoining 
 King's square to attend John Wesley's preach- 
 ment ; he being seated on a decent scaffold, ad- 
 dressed about two thousand people, consisting of 
 the middle and lower ranks. The preacher's lan- 
 guage was plain and intelligible, without descend- 
 ing to vulgarisms. 
 
 Sept. 14. In the afternoon I attended once more. 
 John Wesley, having the heavens for his canopy -, 
 he began with an extempore prayer, followed by 
 a hymn of his own composing, and adapted to 
 the subject of his discourse. He wears his own 
 gray hair, or a wig so very like that my eye could 
 not distinguish. He is not a graceful speaker his 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 239 
 
 voice being weak and harsh ; he is attended by 
 great numbers of the middling and lower classes ; 
 is said to have humanized the almost savage col- 
 liers of Kingswood, who, before his time, were 
 almost as fierce and unmanageable as the wild 
 beasts of the wilderness. He wears an Oxford 
 master's gown ; his attention seemingly not di- 
 rected to manner and behavior, — not rude, but 
 negligent, dress cleanly, not neat. He is always 
 visiting the numerous societies of his own form- 
 ing in England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland ; 
 though near eighty years old, he reads without 
 spectacles the smallest print. He rises at four, 
 preaches every day at five, and once besides ; an 
 uncommon instance of physical ability. 
 
 A HISTORY OF PSALM-SINGING. 
 
 THE history of psalm-singing is a portion of 
 the history of the Reformation ; of that 
 great religious revolution which separated for 
 ever, into two unequal divisions, the great estab- 
 lishment, of Christianity. Archbishop Seeker ob- 
 serves, ' ' that though the first Christians (from 
 this passage in James v. 13, 'Is any merry? let 
 him sing psalms ! ') made singing a constant 
 part of their worship, and the whole congregation 
 joined in it ; yet afterwards the singers by profes- 
 sion, who had been prudently appointed to lead 
 and direct them, by degrees usurped the whole per- 
 formance. But at the Reformation the people 
 were restored to their rights, ' ' after which, con- 
 gregational singing again became the rule among 
 most of the churches. 
 
 To trace the history of modern metrical psalmo- 
 dy, we must have recourse to Bayle, who, as a 
 mere literary historian, has accidentally preserved 
 it. The inventor was a celebrated French poet, 
 named Clement Marot ; and the invention, though 
 perhaps in its very origin inclining towards the 
 abuse to which it was afterwards carried, was un- 
 expectedly adopted by the austere Calvin, and in- 
 troduced into the Geneva discipline. It is indeed 
 strange, that while he was stripping religion not 
 merely of its pageantry, but even of its decent 
 ceremonies, that this levelling reformer should 
 have introduced this taste for singing psalms in 
 opposition to reading psalms. "On a parallel 
 principle," says Thomas Warton, " and if any 
 artificial aids to devotion were to be allowed, he 
 might at least have retained the use of pictures 
 
 in the church." But it was decreed that statues 
 should be mutilated of " their fair proportions," 
 and painted glass be dashed into pieces while the 
 congregation were to sing ! "Calvin," says the 
 same writer, "sought for proselytes among the 
 rabble of a republic, who can have no relish for 
 the more elegant externals." But to have made 
 men sing in concert, in the streets, or at their 
 work, and merry, or sad, on all occasions to tickle 
 the ear with rhymes and touch the heart with 
 emotion, was betraying no deficient knowledge of 
 human nature, 
 
 The following is a sample of one of Marot' s 
 ' ' psalms, ' ' selected from his holy song-book : 
 
 Thrice happy the}', who may behold, 
 And listen, in that age of gold ! 
 As by the plough the labourer strays, 
 And carman mid the public ways, 
 And tradesman in his shop shall swell 
 Their voice in Psalm or Canticle, 
 Singing to solace toil ; again, 
 From woods shall come a sweeter strain " 
 Shepherd and shepherdess shall vie 
 In many a tender Psalmody ; 
 And the Creator's name prolong 
 As rock and stream return their song ! 
 
 Begin then, ladies fair ! begin 
 The age renew'd that knows no sin ! 
 And with light heart, that wants no wing, 
 Sing ! from this holy song-book, sing. 
 
 This " holy song-book" for the harpsichord or 
 the voice was a gay novelty, and no book was ever 
 more eagerly received by all classes than Marot's 
 " Psalms." In the fervour of that day, they sold 
 faster than the printers could take them off their 
 presses ; but as the3 T were understood to be songs, 
 and yet were not accompanied by music, every 
 one set them to favourite tunes, commonly those 
 of popular ballads. Each of the royal iamily, 
 and every nobleman, chose a psalm or a song, 
 which expressed his own personal feelings, 
 adapted to his own tune. The Dauphin, after- 
 wards Henry II., a hunter, when he went to the 
 chase, was singing Ainsi qiC on vit Ic cerf beuvre. 
 " Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks." 
 
 The Queen of France adopted for herself a 
 psalm under the title of ' ' Rebuke me not in Thy 
 indignation," which she sang to the tune of a 
 fashionable jig ; while the King of Xavarre sang 
 for himself, " Stand up, O Lord, to revenge my 
 quarrel," to the air of a popular dance. 
 
 Catharine de Medicis had her psalm, and nearly 
 
> 
 
 ►4 
 
 6. 
 C 
 
 W 
 
 K 
 
 H 
 
 § 
 
 W 
 
 H 
 
 P 
 

 THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 241 
 
 all her courtiers adopted some particular one for 
 themselves, which they often played on lutes, 
 guitars, etc. Singing psalms in verse was thus a 
 favorite social amusement. 
 
 The universal reception of Marot's psalms in- 
 duced Theodore Beza to complete the collection, 
 and ten thousand copies were immediately dis- 
 persed. These had the advantage of being set to 
 music, for we are told they were " admirably fitted 
 to the violins and other musical instruments. ' ' 
 
 And who was the man who had thus adroitly 
 taken hold of the public feeling to give it this 
 strong direction ? It was the solitary and ascetic 
 Calvin, who, from the depth of his closet at 
 Geneva, had engaged the finest musical composers, 
 who were no doubt warmed by the zeal of propa- 
 gating his faith, to form these simple and beautiful 
 airs to assist the Psalm singers. At first this was 
 not discovered, and Catholics as well as Huguenots, 
 were solacing themselves on all occasions with 
 this new music. But when Calvin appointed 
 these Psalms, as set to music, to be sung at his 
 meetings, and Marot's formed an appendix to the 
 Catechism of Geneva, this put an end to all 
 Psalm singing for the Catholics ! Marot himself 
 was forced to fly to Geneva from the fulminations 
 of the Sorbonne, and Psalm singing became an 
 open declaration of what the French called 
 ' ' Lutherauism, ' ' when it became with the reformed 
 a regular part of their religious discipline. The 
 Cardinal of Lorraine succeeded in persuading the 
 lovely patroness of the " holy song book," Diana 
 de Poictiers, who at first was a Psalm singer and 
 an heretical reader of the Bible, to discountenance 
 this new fashion. He began by finding fault with 
 the Psalms of David, and revived the amatory 
 elegancies of Horace : at that moment even the 
 reading of the Bible was symptomatic of Luther- 
 anism ; Diana, who had given way to these 
 novelties, would have a French Bible, because the 
 queen, Catharine de Medicis, had one, and the 
 Cardinal finding a Bible on her table, immediately 
 crossed himself, beat his breast, and otherwise so 
 well acted his part, that, "having thrown the 
 Bible down and condemned it, he remonstrated 
 with the fair penitent, that it was a kind of read- 
 ing not adapted for her sex, containing dangerous 
 matters ; if she was uneasy in her mind she should 
 hear two masses instead of one, and rest content 
 with her Paternosters and her Primer, which were 
 not only devotional but ornamented with a variety 
 16 
 
 of elegant forms from the most exquisite pencils 
 of France. ' ' Such is the story drawn from a cu- 
 rious letter, written by a Huguenot, and a former 
 friend of Catharine de Medicis, and by which we 
 may infer that the reformed religion was making 
 considerable progress in the French court, — had 
 the Cardinal of Lorraine not interfered by per- 
 suading the mistress, and she the king, and the 
 king his queen, at once to give up Psalm singing 
 and the reading of the Bible ! 
 
 " This infectious frenzy of Psalm singing," as 
 Warton describes it, under the Calvinistic preach- 
 ers, had rapidly propagated itself through Germany 
 as well as France. It was admirably calculated 
 to kindle the flame of religious enthusiasm, and 
 frequently served as the trumpet to rebellion." 
 These energetic hymns of Geneva excited and 
 supported a variety of popular instructions in the 
 most flourishing cities of the Low Countries, and 
 what our poetical antiquary could never forgive, 
 ' ' fomented the fury which defaced many of the 
 most beautiful and venerable churches of Flan- 
 ders. ' ' 
 
 At length it reached England at the critical 
 moment when it had first embraced the Reforma- 
 tion ; and here its domestic history was paralleled 
 with its foreign, except, perhaps, in the splendor 
 of its success. Sternhold, an enthusiast for the 
 reformation, was much offended, says Warton, at 
 the lascivious ballads which prevailed among the 
 courtiers, and with a laudable design to check 
 these indecencies, he undertook to be the English 
 Marot — without his genius ; ' ' thinking thereby, ' ' 
 says the cynical literary historian, Antony Wood, 
 ' ' that the courtiers would sing them instead of 
 their sonnets bid did not, only some few excepted. ' ' 
 They were practised by the Puritans in the reign 
 of Elizabeth ; for Shakespeare notices the Puritan 
 of his day "singing Psalms to hornpipes," and 
 more particularly during the protectorate of 
 Cromwell, on the same plan of accommodating 
 them to popular tunes and jigs, which one of them 
 said ' ' were too good for the devil. ' ' Psalms were 
 now sung at Lord Mayor dinners and city feasts ; 
 soldiers sang them on their march and at parade ; 
 a few houses which had windows fronting the 
 streets, but had their evening psalms ; for a story 
 has come down to us, to record that the good 
 brethren did not always care to sing unless they 
 were heard ! a failing that still obtains to some 
 extent. 
 
242 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 SECRET HISTORY OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 t^ALEIGH exercised in perfection incorruptible 
 iy talents, and his character connects the op- 
 posite extremes of our nature. His "Book of 
 l,ife, ' ' with its incidents of prosperity and adversity, 
 of glory and humiliation, was as checkered as 
 the novelist could desire for a tale of fiction. 
 From his earliest days he betrayed the genius of 
 an adventurer, which prevailed in his character 
 to the last ; and degraded by its littleness the 
 grandeur of a character which was closed by a 
 splendid death, worthy the life of the wisest and 
 the greatest of mankind ! 
 
 The sunshine of his days was in the reign of 
 Elizabeth. From a boy, always dreaming of 
 romantic conquests, for he was born in an age of 
 heroism ; and formed by nature for the chivalric 
 gallantry of the court of a maiden queen, from 
 the moment he with such infinite art cast his rich 
 mantle over the miry spot, his life was a progress 
 of glory. All about Raleigh was splendid as 
 the dress he wore : his female sovereign, whose 
 eyes loved to dwell on men who might have been 
 fit subjects for "the Faerie Queen" of Spenser, 
 penurious of reward, only recompensed her favor- 
 ites by suffering them to make their own fortunes 
 on sea and land ; and Elizabeth listened to the 
 glowing projects of her hero, indulging that spirit 
 which could have conquered the world, to lay the 
 toy at the feet of the sovereign ! 
 
 This man, this extraordinary being, who was 
 prodigal of his life and fortune on the Spanish 
 main, in the idleness of peace could equally di- 
 rect his invention to supply the domestic wants 
 of everyday life, in his project of " an office for 
 address." Nothing was too high for his ambi- 
 tion, nor too humble for his genius. Pre-eminent 
 as a military and a naval commander, as a states- 
 man and a student, Raleigh was as intent on 
 forming the character of Prince Henry, as that 
 prince was studious of moulding his own aspiring 
 qualities by the genius of the friend whom he con- 
 templated. Yet the active life of Raleigh is not 
 more remarkable than his contemplative one. He 
 may well rank among the founders of our litera- 
 ture : for composing on a subject exciting little 
 interest, his fine genius has sealed his unfinished 
 volume with immortality. For magnificence of 
 eloquence, and massiveness of thought, we must 
 still dwell on his pages. Such was the man, who 
 was the adored patron of Spenser ; whom Ben 
 
 Jonson, proud of calling other favourites "his 
 sons," honoured by the title of "his father;" 
 and who left political instructions which Milton 
 deigned to edit. 
 
 A letter written at that time records the follow- 
 ing characteristic incident illustrative of the arti- 
 fices to which Raleigh occasionally stooped for 
 the purpose of gaining his ends : 
 
 When, under Elizabeth, he was once in con- 
 finement, and it appears, that seeing the queen 
 passing by, he was suddenly seized with a strange 
 resolution of combating with the governor and 
 his people ; declaring that the mere sight of the 
 queen had made him desperate, as a confined 
 lover would feel at the sight of his mistress. The 
 writer gives a minute narrative of Sir Walter's 
 astonishing conduct, and carefully repeats the 
 wann romantic style in which he talked of his 
 royal mistress, and his formal resolution to die 
 rather than exist out of her presence. This ex- 
 travagant scene, with all its colouring, was most 
 elaborately penned, with a hint to the person 
 whom the writer addresses, to suffer it to 
 meet the eye of their royal mistress, who could 
 not fail of admiring our new ' ' Orlando Furioso ; ' ' 
 and she soon after released this tender prisoner ! 
 
 The letter referred to was doubtless written by 
 Raleigh himself, under an arrangement with the 
 person to whom it was addressed, whereby it pur- 
 posely fell into the queen's hands, with the happy 
 result that was anticipated and intended. 
 
 On another occasion, while Raleigh was im- 
 prisoned in the Tower for the Cobham conspiracy, 
 an examination took place, and an incident oc- 
 curred which is thus described by Lord Cecil : 
 
 "One afternoon, while diverse of us were in 
 the Tower examining some of these prisoners, Sir 
 Walter attempted to murder himself ; whereof 
 when we were advertised, we came to him and 
 found him in some agony to be unable to endure 
 his misfortunes, and protesting innocency, with 
 carelessness of life ; and in that humour he had 
 wounded himself under the rigid breast, but no way 
 mortally, being in truth rather a cut than a stab, and 
 now very well cured both in body and mind." 
 
 When Raleigh returned from his wild and des- 
 perate voyage to Guiana, he found misery in every 
 shape about him. His son had perished, his 
 friends were deserting him, and, without fortune 
 or hope, in sickness and sorrow, he brooded over 
 the sad thought that in the hatred of the Span- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 243 
 
 iards and the political pusillanimity of King 
 James, he was arriving only to meet inevitable 
 death. 
 
 He landed in his native county of Devon, 
 and having settled his affairs, he set off for 
 London, in obedience to the king's proclamation. 
 On the way he was met and placed under surveil- 
 lance by Sir Lewis Stucley, Vice-Admiral of 
 Devon, and a kinsman of Sir Walter. Stucley 
 was accompanied by a Frenchman named Ma- 
 noury, who was sent to act the part of spy, and 
 report to the authorities anything that might ap- 
 pear suspicious in the conduct or actions of the 
 distinguished prisoner. They proceeded together 
 to London, where for a time, by the king's per- 
 mission, Sir Walter was allowed to reside in his 
 own house, but still under the surveillance of 
 Stucley and the Frenchman. 
 
 At first he suspected that Manoury was one of 
 those instruments of state, who are sometimes 
 employed when open measures are not to be pur- 
 sued, or when the cabinet have not yet determined 
 on the fate of a person implicated in a state crime ; 
 in a word, Raleigh thought that Manoury was a 
 spy over him, and probably over Stucley too. 
 The first impression of these matters is usually 
 the right one ; but when Raleigh found himself 
 caught in the toils, he imagined that such corrupt 
 agents were to be corrupted. The French em- 
 piric was sounded, and found very compliant ; 
 Raleigh was desirous by his aid to counterfeit 
 sickness, and for this purpose invented a series of 
 the most humiliating stratagems. He imagined 
 that a constant appearance of sickness might pro- 
 duce delay, and procrastination, in the chapter of 
 accidents, might end in pardon. He procured 
 vomits from the Frenchman, and whenever he 
 chose, produced every appearance of sickness ; 
 with dimness of sight, dizziness in his head, he 
 reeled about, and once struck himself with such 
 violence against a pillar in the gallery, that there 
 was no doubt of his malady. Raleigh's servant 
 one morning entered Stucley s chamber, and de- 
 clared that his master was out of his senses, for 
 that he had just left him in his shirt upon all 
 fours, gnawing the rushes from the floor. On 
 Stucley' s entrance, Raleigh was raving, and reel- 
 ing in strong convulsions. Stucley ordered him 
 to be chafed and fomented, and Raleigh after- 
 wards laughed at this ludicrous scene, observing 
 that he had made Stucley a perfect physician. 
 
 But Raleigh found it required some more visible 
 and alarming disease than such ridiculous scenes 
 had exhibited. The vomits worked so slowly 
 that Manoury was fearful to repeat the doses. Sir 
 Walter inquired whether the empiric knew of any 
 preparations which could make him look ghastly, 
 without injuring his health. The Frenchman 
 offered a harmless ointment to act on the surface 
 of the skin, which would give him the appearance 
 of a leper. "That will do ! " said Raleigh, "for 
 the lords will be afraid to approach me ; and be- 
 sides, it will move their pit}'." Applying the 
 ointment to his brows, his arms, and his breast, 
 the blisters rose, the skin inflamed, and was 
 covered with purple spots. Stucley concluded 
 that Raleigh had the plague. Physicians were 
 now called in ; Raleigh took the black silk ribbon 
 from his poinard, and Manoury tightened it 
 strongly about his arm, to disorder his pulse, but it 
 beat too strong and regular. He appeared to take 
 no food, while Manoury secretly provided him. 
 The physicians pronounced the disease mortal, and 
 that the patient could not be removed into the aii 
 without immediate danger. Awhile after, being 
 in his bed-chamber undressed, and no one present 
 but Manoury, Sir Walter held a looking-glass in 
 his hand, to admire his spotted face, and observed 
 in merriment to his new confidant, how they 
 should one day laugh for having thus cozened the 
 king, council, physicians, Spaniards and all. The 
 excuse Raleigh offered for this course of poor stra- 
 tagems, so unworthy of his genius, was to obtain 
 time and seclusion for writing his apology, or 
 vindication of his voyage, which has come down 
 to us in his "Remains." "The prophet David 
 did make himself a fool, and suffered spittle to 
 fall upon his beard, to escape from the hands of 
 his enemies," said Raleigh in his last speech. 
 Brutus, too, was another example. But his dis- 
 cernment often prevailed over this mockery of his 
 spirits. The king licensed him to reside at his 
 own house on his arrival in London ; on which 
 Manoury observed, that the king showed by his 
 indulgence that his majesty was favorably inclined 
 towards him; but Raleigh replied, "They used 
 all these kinds of flatteries to the Duke of Biron, 
 to draw him fairly into prison, and then they cut 
 off his head. I know they have concluded among 
 them, that it is expedient that a man should die, 
 to reassure the traffic which I have broke with 
 Spain. And Manoury adds, from whose narrative 
 
244 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 we have all these particulars, that Sir Walter 
 broke out in this raut : "If he could but save 
 himself for this time, he would plot such plots as 
 would make the king think himself happy to send 
 for him again, and restore him to his estate, and 
 would force the king of Spain to write to England 
 in his favor. ' ' 
 
 Raleigh at length proposed a flight to France 
 with Manoury, who then revealed to Stucley what 
 he had hitherto concealed from him, and Raleigh 
 soon perceived that he had two rogues to bribe 
 instead of one, and that they were playing into 
 one another's hands. For the purpose of bribing 
 him, Sir Walter presented Stucley with "a jewel 
 made in the fashion of hair powdered with dia- 
 monds, with a ruby in the midst." But Stucley 
 observed that if he allowed his friend and kins- 
 man to escape it would cost him his office, which 
 was worth ,£6oo, to which Raleigh replied that he 
 should be no loser, for that his wife would pay 
 him ^1000 when they had safely reached France 
 or Holland. 
 
 About this time the Frenchman took his leave ; 
 the part he had to act was performed ; the juggle 
 was complete, and two wretches had triumphed 
 over the sagacity and magnanimity of a sage and 
 hero, whom misfortune had levelled him to folly. 
 
 But the story does not here conclude, for the 
 treacheries of Stucley were more intricate. This 
 villain had obtained a warrant of indemnity, to 
 authorize his compliance with any offer to assist 
 Raleigh in his escape. This miserable wretch 
 was both the confidant and the executioner of 
 Raleigh ; he carried about him a license to betray 
 him, and was making profit of the victim before 
 delivering him to the sacrifice. Arrangements 
 were made to secure a boat at Tilbury, in which 
 Sir Walter could escape, the price agreed upon 
 being ' ' thirty pieces of silver. ' ' Stucley betraj'ed 
 the plot to his cousin, William Herbert, and the 
 two Judases kept their treachery as a family affair. 
 The night for the flight was fixed, but Sir Walter, 
 blinded as to Stucley's real motive, insisted that 
 he should accompany him. The party met at 
 the appointed place, Raleigh being in disguise. 
 They had not rowed twenty strokes before the 
 boatmen observed that Mr. Herbert had lately 
 taken boat, and made toward the bridge, but had 
 returned down the river after them. 
 
 At this Raleigh became apprehensive, and 
 wished to return home, while the boatmen became 
 
 greatly frightened, for they clearty perceived that 
 something unusual was in progress, which might 
 result iu danger to them. Stucley acted his part 
 well, cursing his ill-fortune in having a friend, 
 whom he was anxious to save, so full of doubts 
 and fears, and threatening to pistol the boatmen 
 if they did not proceed. Thus menaced, they 
 rowed a mile beyond Woolwich, approaching two 
 or three ketches, when King, the boatswain, 
 doubted whether any of these were the one he 
 had provided to furnish them. "We are be- 
 trayed!" cried Raleigh, and ordered the water- 
 men to row back : he strictly examined the boat- 
 swain, alas ! his ingenuity was baffled b}' a shuf- 
 fling villain, whose real answer appeared when a 
 wherry hailed the boat ; Raleigh observed that 
 it contained Herbert's crew. He saw that all 
 was now discovered. He took Stucley aside ; his 
 ingenious mind still suggesting projects for him- 
 self to return home in safety, or how Stucley 
 might plead that he had only pretended to go 
 with Raleigh, to seize on his private papers. 
 They whispered together, and Raleigh took 
 some things from his pocket, and handed them 
 to Stucley ; probably more ' ' rubies powdered 
 with diamonds. ' '—Some effect was instantaneously 
 produced ; for the tender heart of his friend Stuc- 
 ley relented, and he not only repeatedly embraced 
 him with extraordinary warmth of affection, but 
 was voluble in effusions of friendship and fidelity. 
 Stucley persuaded Raleigh to land a f Grave- 
 send, the strange wherry which had dogged them 
 landing at the same time ; these were people be- 
 longing to Mr. Herbert and Sir William St. John, 
 who, it seems, had formerly shared in the spoils 
 of this unhappy hero. On Greenwich bridge, 
 Stucley advised Captain King that it would be 
 advantageous to Sir Walter, that King should 
 confess that he had joined with Stucley to be- 
 tray his master ; and Raleigh lent himself to> 
 the suggestion of Stucley, of whose treachery he 
 might still be uncertain ; but King, a rough 
 and honest seamen, declared that he would not 
 share iu the odium. At the moment he refused, 
 Stucley arrested the captain in the king's name, 
 committing him to the charge of Herbert's men. 
 They then proceeded to a tavern, but Raleigh, 
 who now viewed the monster in his true shape, 
 observed, "Sir Lewis, these actions will not turn 
 out to your credit ; ' ' and on the following day, 
 when they passed through the Tower-gate, Ra- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 245 
 
 leigh, turning to King, observed, "Stucley and 
 my servant Cotterell have betrayed me. You 
 need be in no fear of danger, but as for me, it 
 is I who am the mark that is shot at." The 
 fate of Raleigh soon verified the prediction. 
 
 This long narrative of treachery will not, how- 
 ever, be complete, unless we wind it up with 
 the fate of the infamous Stuck)-. Fiction gives 
 perfection to its narratives, by the privilege it 
 enjoys of disposing of its criminals in the most 
 exemplary manner ; but the labours of the his- 
 torian are not always refreshed by this moral 
 pleasure. 
 
 Raleigh, in his admirable address from the 
 scaffold, where he seemed to be rather one of the 
 spectators than the sufferer, declared he forgave 
 Sir Lewis, for he had forgiven all men ; but he 
 was bound in charity to caution all men against 
 him, and such as he is ! Raleigh's lait and sol- 
 emn notice of the treachery of his ' ' kinsman and 
 friend " was irrevocably fatal to this wretch. The 
 hearts of the people were open to the deepest im- 
 pressions of sympathy, melting into tears at the 
 pathetic address of the magnanimous spirit who 
 had touched them ; in one moment Sir L,ewis 
 Stucley became an object of execration through- 
 out the nation ; he soon obtained a new title, that 
 of " Sir Judas," and was shunned by every man. 
 To remove the Cain-like mark, which God and 
 men had fixed on him, he published an apology 
 for his conduct, in which he pleaded in justifica- 
 tion of his perfidy that he was a state agent ; that 
 it was lawful to lie for the discover)' of treason ; 
 that he had a personal hatred towards Raleigh, 
 for having abridged his father of his share of 
 some prize-money ; and then he entered more into 
 Raleigh's character, who "being desperate of 
 any fortune here, agreeable to the height of his 
 mind, would have made up his fortune elsewhere, 
 upon any terms against his sovereign and his 
 country. " Is it not man-el," continues the personi- 
 fier of Stucley, ' ' that he was angry with me at 
 his death for bringing him back ? Besides, being 
 a man of so great a wit, it was no small grief, that 
 a man of mean wit as I, should be thought to go 
 beyond him," all of which is the mere subterfuge 
 of a coward and villain. 
 
 To keep up appearances, Sir Judas resorted 
 more than usual to court ; where, however, he 
 was perpetually enduring rebuffs, or avoided, as 
 one infected with the plague of treachery. He 
 
 offered the king, in his own justification, to take 
 the sacrament, that whatever he had laid to Ra- 
 leigh's charge was true, and would produce two 
 unexceptionable witnesses to do the like. ' ' Why, 
 then," replied his majesty, " the more malicious 
 was Sir Walter to utter these speeches at his 
 death." Sir Thomas Badger, who stood by, ob- 
 served, "I^et the king take off Stucley' s head, as 
 Stucley has done Sir Walter's, and let him at his 
 death take the sacrament and his oath upon it, 
 and I'll believe him ; but till Stucley loses his 
 head, I shall credit Sir Walter Raleigh's bare 
 affirmative before a thousand of Stucley 's oaths. 
 When Stuck) - , on pretence of giving an account 
 of his office, placed himself in the audience cham- 
 ber of the lord admiral, and his lordship passed 
 him without any notice, Sir Judas attempted tc 
 address the earl ; but with a bitter look his lord- 
 ship exclaimed, " Base fellow ! darest thou, who 
 art the scorn and contempt of men, offer thyself 
 in my presence? Were it not in my own house, I 
 would cudgel thee with my staff for presuming 
 on this sauciness." This annihilating affront 
 Stucley hastened to convey to the king ; his ma- 
 jesty answered him, "What wouldst thou have 
 me do ? Wouldst thou have me hang him ? On 
 my soul, if I should hang all that speak ill of 
 thee, all fie trees of the country would not suffice, 
 so great is the number !" 
 
 One of the crimes of that age, ere the forgery 
 of bank-notes existed, was the clipping of gold ; 
 and this was one of the private amusements suita- 
 ble to the character c r Sir Judas. Treachery and 
 forger)' are the same crime in a different form. 
 Stucley received out of the exchequer five hun- 
 dred pounds, as the reward of his espionage and 
 perfidy. It was the price of blood, and was hardly 
 in his hands ere it was turned into the fraudulent 
 coin of "the Cheater!" He was seized in the 
 palace of Whitehall, for diminishing the gold coin. 
 "The manner of the discover)'," says the manu- 
 script-writer, " was strange, if my occasions would 
 suffer me to relate the particulars." On his ex- 
 amination he attempted to shift the crime to his 
 own son, who fled, and on his man, who being 
 taken, in the words of the letter-writer, was 
 "willing to set the saddle upon the right horse, 
 and accused his master." Manoury, too, the 
 French empiric, was arrested at Plymouth for the 
 same crime, and accused his worthy friend. But 
 such was the interest of Stucley with government, 
 
24G 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 bought probabl}- with his last shilling, and, as 
 one says, with his last shirt, that he obtained his 
 own, and his son's pardon, for crimes that ought 
 to have finally concluded the history of this 
 blessed famil}-. A more solemn and tragical ca- 
 tastrophe was reserved for the perfidious Stucley. 
 He was deprived of his place of vice-admiral, and 
 left destitute in the world. Abandoned by all 
 human beings, by the son whom he had tutored 
 in the arts of villain}-, he appears to have wan- 
 dered about an infamous and distracted beggar. 
 It is also recorded that "in August, 1620, Lewis 
 Stucley, who betrayed Sir Water Raleigh, died 
 in a manner mad.'' Such is the catastrophe of 
 one of the most remarkable domestic tales ; an 
 historical example not easily paralleled in the an- 
 nals of retribution. 
 
 The close of Sir Walter Raleigh's life was as 
 extraordinary as many parts of his varied history. 
 The promptitude and uprightness of his genius, 
 his carelessness of life, and the equanimity of his 
 great spirit in quitting the world, are only equalled 
 by a few other heroes and sages. 
 
 Raleigh one morning was taken out of his 
 bed in a fit of fever, and unexpectedly hurried, 
 not to his trial, but to a sentence of death. The 
 story is well known. Yet pleading with " a voice 
 grown weak by sickness and an ague he had at 
 that instant on him," he used every means to avert 
 his fate ; he did, therefore value the life he could 
 so easily part with. His judges there at least, 
 respected their state criminal, and they addressed 
 him in a tone far different from that which he had 
 fifteen years before listened to from Coke. Yel- 
 verton, the attorney-general, said, "Sir Walter 
 Raleigh hath been as a star at which the world 
 have gazed ; but stars may fall, nay, they must fall, 
 when they trouble the sphere where they abide." 
 And the lord chief-justice noticed Raleigh's 
 great work : "I know that you have been valiant 
 and wise, and I doubt not but you retain both 
 these virtues, for now you shall have occasion to 
 use them. Your book is an admirable work ; I 
 would give you counsel, but I know 3-011 can 
 apply unto yourself far better than I am able to 
 give you." But the judge ended with saying, 
 " Execution is granted." It was stifling Raleigh 
 with roses ! the heroic sage felt as if listening to 
 fame from the voice of death. 
 
 He declared, that now being old, sickly, and in 
 disgrace, and certain were he allowed to live, to go 
 
 to it again, life was wearisome to him, and all he en- 
 treated was to have leave to speak freely at his 
 farewell, to satisfy the world that he was ever 
 loyal to the king, and a true lover of the com- 
 monwealth ; for this he would seal with his 
 blood. 
 
 Raleigh, on his return to prison, while some 
 were deploring his fate, observed, that "the 
 world itself is but a large prison, out of which 
 some are daily selected for execution." 
 
 That last night of his existence was occupied 
 by writing what the letter- writer calls ' ' a re- 
 membrancer" to be left with his wife, to acquaint 
 the world with his sentiments, should he be de- 
 nied their delivery from the scaffold as he had 
 been at the bar of the King's Bench. She visited 
 him that night, and amidst her tears acquainted 
 him that she had obtained the favour of disposing 
 of his body : to which he answered smiling, " It 
 is well, Bess, that thou rnayest dispose of that, 
 dead, which thou hadst not always the disposing 
 of when it was alive. ' ' At midnight he entreated 
 her to leave him. It must have been then, that, 
 with unshaken fortitude, Raleigh sat down to 
 compose those verses on his death, which, being 
 short, the most appropriate may be repeated. 
 " Even such is Time, that takes on trust, 
 Our youth, our joys, or all we have, 
 And pays us but with age and dust ; 
 
 Who in dark and silent graves, 
 When we have wandered all our ways, 
 Shuts up the story of our days ! " 
 
 The same night Raleigh wrote this distich, 
 on the candle burning dimly : 
 
 "Cowards fear to die: but courage stout. 
 Rather than live in snuff, will be put out." 
 
 His cheerfulness was so remarkable, and his 
 fearlessness of death so marked, that the Dean of 
 Westminster, who attended, at first wondering at 
 the hero, reprehended the lightness of his man- 
 ner ; but Raleigh gave God thanks that he had 
 never feared death, for it was but an opinion and 
 an imagination ; and as for the manner of death, 
 he would rather so than of a burning fever ; and 
 that some might have made shows outwardly, but 
 he felt the joys within. The Dean says that he 
 made no more of his death than if he had been to 
 take a journey : "Not," said he, "but that I 
 am a great sinner, for I have been a soldier, a 
 seaman, and a courtier." The writer of a 
 manuscript letter tells us, that the Dean de- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 247 
 
 but I am sure 
 the prison to 
 
 clared he died not only religiously, but he found 
 him to be a man as ready and as able to give as 
 to take instruc- 
 tion. 
 
 On the morn- 
 ing of his death 
 he smoked, as 
 usual, his favor- 
 ite tobacco, and 
 when they 
 brought h i m a 
 cup of excellent 
 sack, being 
 asked how he 
 liked it, Raleigh 
 answered, "As 
 the fellow, that, 
 drinking of St. 
 Giles's bowl, as 
 he went to Ty- 
 burn, said, 'That 
 was good drink 
 if a man might 
 tarry by it.' " 
 The day before, 
 in passing from 
 Westminster- 
 hall to the Gate- 
 house, his eye 
 had caught Sir 
 Hugh Beeston in 
 the throng, and 
 calling on him, 
 Raleigh request- 
 ed that he would 
 see him die to- 
 rn o r r o w. Sir 
 Hugh, to secure 
 himself a seat 
 on the scaffold, 
 had provided 
 himself with a 
 letter to the sher- 
 iff, which w a s 
 not read at the 
 time, and Sir 
 Walter found his 
 friend thrust by, 
 lamenting that 
 
 he could not get there. "Farewell! "exclaimed were pressing 
 Raleigh, " I know not what shift you will make, whose head w 
 
 to have a place." In going from 
 the scaffold, among others who 
 
 SIR WAI.TKR RALEIGH DRESSED FOR THE SCAFFOLD. 
 
 hard to see him, one old man, 
 as bald, came very forward, inso- 
 
248 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 much that Raleigh noticed him, and asked, 
 "whether he would have ought of him?" The 
 old man answered, "Nothing but to see him, 
 and to pray God for him." Raleigh replied, "I 
 thank thee, good friend, and I am sorry I have 
 no better thing to return thee for thy good will." 
 Observing his bald head, he continued, "but 
 take this night-cap, (which was a very rich 
 wrought one that he wore) for thou hast more 
 need of it now than I." 
 
 His dress, as was usual with him, was elegant, 
 if not rich. Oldys describes it, but mentions 
 that ' ' he had a wrought night cap under his hat, ' ' 
 this we have otherwise disposed of; he wore a 
 ruff-band, a black wrought velvet night-gown 
 over a hair-coloured satin doublet, and a black 
 wrought waistcoat ; black cut taffety breeches, 
 and ash-colored silk stockings. 
 
 He ascended the scaffold with the same cheer- 
 fulness as he had passed to it ; and observing the 
 lords seated at a distance, some at windows, he 
 requested that they would approach him, as he 
 wished that they should all witness what he had - 
 to say. The request was complied with by several. 
 When he finished, he requested Lord Arundel 
 that the king would not suffer any libels to defame 
 him after death — "And now I have a long jour- 
 ney to go, and must take my leave." "He 
 embraced all the lords and other friends with such 
 courtly compliments, as if he had met them at 
 some feast," says a letter- writer. Having taken 
 off his gown, he called to the headsman to show 
 him the axe, which not being instantly done, he 
 repeated, " I prithee let me see it. Dost thou 
 think that I am afraid of it ? " He passed the 
 edge lightly over his finger, and smiling, observed 
 to the sheriff, "This is a sharp medicine, but a 
 sound cure for all diseases," and kissing it, laid 
 it down. Another writer has it, ' ' This is that, that 
 will cure all sorrows. ' ' After this he went to three 
 several corners of the scaffold, and kneeling down, 
 desired all the people to pray for him, and recited 
 a long prayer to himself. When he began to fit 
 himself for the block, he first laid himself down 
 to try how the block fitted him ; after rising up, 
 the executioner kneeled down to ask his forgiv- 
 ness, which Raleigh with an embrace gave, but 
 entreated him not to strike till he gave a token 
 by lifting up his hand, " and then, fear not, but 
 strike home!" When he laid his head down to 
 receive the stroke, the executioner desired him to 
 
 lay his face towards the east. "It is no great 
 matter which way a man's head stands, so the 
 heart is right," said Raleigh; but these were 
 not his last words. He was once more to speak 
 in this world with the same intrepidity he had 
 lived in it — for, having lain some minutes on the 
 block in prayer, he gave his signal ; but the ex- 
 ecutioner, either unmindful, or in fear, failed to 
 strike, and Raleigh, after once or twice putting 
 forth his hands, was compelled to ask him, ' ' Why 
 dost thou not strike? Strike! man!" In two 
 blows he was beheaded ; but from the first, his 
 body never shrunk from the spot, by an}- discom- 
 posure of his posture, which, like his mind, was 
 immovable. 
 
 " In all the time he was upon the scaffold, and 
 before, ' ' says one of the manuscript letter- writers, 
 " there appeared not the least alteration in him, 
 either in his voice or countenance ; but he seemed 
 as free from all manner of apprehension as if he 
 had been come thither rather to be a spectator 
 than a sufferer ; nay, the beholders seemed much 
 more sensible than did he, so that he hath pur- 
 chased here in the opinion of men such honour 
 and reputation, as it is thought his greatest enemies 
 are they that are most sorrowful for his death, 
 which the}- see is like to turn so much to his ad- 
 vantage." 
 
 The people were deeply affected at the sight, 
 and so much, that one said, that "we had not 
 such another head to cut off;" and another, 
 ' ' wished the head and brains to be upon Secretary 
 Xaunton's shoulders." The observer suffered for 
 this ; he was a wealthy citizen, and a great news- 
 monger, and one who haunted Paul's Walk. 
 Complaint was made, and the citizen summoned 
 to the privy-council. He pleaded that he intended 
 no disrespect to Mr. Secretary ; but only spoke 
 in reference to the old proverb, that " two heads 
 were better than one ! ' ' His excuse was allowed 
 at the moment ; but when afterwards called on 
 for a contribution to St. Paul's cathedral, and 
 having subscribed a hundred pounds, the Secre- 
 tary observed to him, " that two were better than 
 one, Mr. Wiemark !" either from fear, or charity, 
 the witty citizen doubled his subscription. 
 
 Thus died this glorious and gallant cavalier, of 
 whom Osborne says, "His death was managed 
 by him with so high and religious a resolution, as 
 if a Roman had acted a Christian, or rather a 
 Christian a Roman." 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 24 9 
 
 After having read the preceding article, we are 
 astonished at the greatness, and the variable nature 
 of this extraordinary man, and this happy genius. 
 With Gibbon, who once meditated to write his 
 life, we may pause, and pronounce ' ' his character 
 is ambiguous ;" but we shall not hesitate to de- 
 cide, that Raleigh knew better how to die than to 
 live. ' ' His glorious hours, ' ' says a contemporary, 
 "were his arraignment and execution;" — but 
 never will be forgotten the intermediate years of 
 his lettered imprisonment ! 
 
 EFFECTS OF APPROACHING DEATH ON THE 
 MINDS OF GREAT MEN. 
 
 THE functions of the mind are connected with 
 those of the body. On a death-bed a fort- 
 night's disease may reduce the firmest to a most 
 wretched state ; while, on the contrary, the soul 
 struggles, as it were in torture, in a robust frame. 
 Nani, the Venetian historian, has curiously de- 
 scribed the death of Innocent X., who was a 
 character unblemished by vices, and who died a': 
 an advanced age, with too robust a constitution. 
 " After a long and terrible agony, with great 
 bodily pain and difficulty, his soul separated itself 
 from that robust frame, and expired in his eighty- 
 first year." 
 
 Some have composed sermons of consolation on 
 
 death, while they passed many years of anxiety, 
 
 ipproachiug to madness, in contemplating their 
 
 >wn. The certainty of an immediate separation 
 
 om all our human sympathies may, even on a 
 
 'ath-bed, suddenly disorder the imagination. A 
 
 ''ebrated physician relates an incident of a general , 
 
 to had often faced the cannon's mouth, dropping 
 
 oVn in terror when informed by him that his 
 
 d ase was rapid and fatal. Some have died of 
 
 thtrong imagination of death. There is a print 
 
 of knight brought on the scaffold to suffer ; he 
 
 vit^d the headsman ; he was blinded, and knelt 
 
 do to receive the stroke. Having passed 
 
 thr^li the whole ceremony of a criminal execu- 
 
 tioiiccompanied by all its disgrace, it was 
 
 ordtl that his life should be spared, — instead of 
 
 the -,ke from the sword, the}' poured cold water 
 
 overs neck. After this operation the knight 
 
 remad motionless ; they discovered that he had 
 
 expiiin the very imagination of death ! Such 
 
 are aijg the many causes which maj' affect the 
 
 the m in the hour of its last trial. The habitual 
 
 associins of the natural character are most 
 
 likely to prevail — though not always ! The 
 intrepid Marshal Biron disgraced his exit by 
 womanish tears, and raging imbecility ; the 
 virtuous Erasmus, with miserable groans was 
 heard crying out Domine ! Domine ! fac fiyiem ! 
 fac finem ! Bayle having prepared his proof for 
 the printer, pointed to where it lay when dying. 
 The last words which Lord Chesterfield was heard 
 to speak were, when the valet, opening the cur- 
 tains of the bed, announced Mr. Dayroles — "Give 
 Dayroles a chair!" " This good-breeding," ob- 
 served Dr. Warren, his physician, "only quits 
 him with his life." The last words of Nelson 
 were, ' ' Tell Collingwood to bring the fleet to an 
 anchor." The tranquil grandeur which cast a 
 new majesty over Charles the First on the scaffold, 
 appeared when he declared — " I fear not death ! 
 Death is not terrible to me ! ' ' And the charac- 
 teristic pleasantry of Sir Thomas More exhilarated 
 his last moments, when observing the weakness 
 of the scaffold, he said, in mounting it, "I pray 
 you see me up safe, and for my coming down, let 
 me shift for myself ! ' ' Sir Walter Raleigh used a 
 similar expression while on the way co the scaffold. 
 
 In one of the bloody battles fought by the Duke 
 of Enghien, two French noblemen were left 
 wounded among the dead on the field of battle. 
 One complained loudly of his pains, the other 
 after long silence thus offered him consolation. 
 " My friend, whoever you are, remember that our 
 God died on the cross, our king on the scaffc 1 d ; 
 and if you have strength to look at him who now 
 speaks to you, you will see that both his legs are 
 shot away." 
 
 At the execution of the Duke D' Enghien, the 
 royal victim, looking at the soldiers who had 
 pointed their fusees, said, "Grenadiers! lower 
 your arms, othenvise you will miss, or only wound 
 me !" To two of them who proposed to tie a 
 handkerchief over his eyes, he said, "A loyal sol- 
 dier who has been so often exposed to fire and 
 sword, can see the approach of death with naked 
 eyes, and without fear." 
 
 After a similar caution on the part of Sir George 
 Lisle, or Sir Charles Lucas, when executed in 
 nearly the same manner at Colchester, by the sol- 
 diers of Fairfax, the hero in answer to there asser- 
 tions and assurances that they would take care 
 not to miss him, replied, " You have often missed 
 me when I have been nearer to you in the field 
 of battle." 
 
250 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 When the Governor of Cadiz, the Marquis de 
 Solano, was murdered by the enraged and mis- 
 taken citizens, to one of the murderers who had 
 run a pike through his back, he calmly turned 
 and said, " Coward to strike there ! Come round, 
 if you dare, face and destroy me." 
 
 It is doubtful whether the thoughts of death 
 are useful, particularly with persons who are so 
 constituted that such thoughts deprive them of 
 their proper faculties. In this connection we 
 quote some of Lady Gethin's thoughts on 
 "Death:" "The very thought of death, ' she 
 says, " disturbs one's reason ; and though a man 
 may have many excellent qualities, yet he may 
 have the weakness of not commanding his senti- 
 ments. Nothing is worse for one's health than to 
 be in fear of death. There are some so wise as 
 to neither hate nor fear it ; but for my part I have 
 an aversion for it, and with reason ; for it is a 
 rash, inconsiderate thing, that always comes before 
 it is looked for ; always comes unseasonably, 
 parts friends, ruins beauty, laughs at youth, and 
 draws a dark veil over all the pleasures of life. 
 This dreadful evil is but the evil of a moment, 
 and what we cannot by any means avoid ; and it 
 is that which makes it so terrible to me ; for were 
 it uncertain, hope might diminish some part of the 
 fear ; but when I think I must die, and that I 
 may die every moment, and that too a thousand 
 several ways, I am in such a fright as you cannot 
 imagine. I see dangers where, perhaps, there 
 never were any. I am persuaded it is happy to 
 be somewhat dull of apprehension in this case ; 
 and yet the best way to cure the pensiveness of 
 the thoughts of death is to think of it as little as 
 possible." 
 
 She proceeds b}- enumerating the terrors of the 
 fearful, who "cannot enjoy themselves in the 
 pleasantest places, and although they are neither 
 on sea, river, or creek, but in good health in their 
 chamber, yet are they so well instructed with the 
 fear of dying, that they do not measure it only by 
 the present dangers that wait on us. ' ' 
 
 Such is the picture of an ingenious and a reli- 
 gious mind, drawn by an amiable woman, who, 
 it is evident, lived always in the fear of death. 
 The Gothic skeleton was ever haunting her imagi- 
 nation. 
 
 Dr. Johnson had the same horror of the 
 thoughts of death. When Boswell once in con- 
 versation persecuted him on the subject, by argu- 
 
 ing whether we might not fortify our minds for 
 the approach of death, he answered in a passion, 
 " No, sir ! let it alone ! It matters not how a man 
 dies, but how he lives ! the art of dying is not of 
 importance, it lasts so short a time !" When Bos- 
 well persisted in the conversation, Johnson was 
 thrown into such a state of agitation that he thun- 
 dered out, " Give us no more of this ;" and further 
 sternly told the trembling and too curious philoso- 
 pher, " Don't let us meet to-morrow !" 
 
 HISTORY OF THE FEAR OF DEATH. 
 
 THE ancients contemplated death without ter- 
 ror, and met it with indifference. It was the 
 only divinity to which they never sacrificed, con- 
 vinced that no human being could turn aside its 
 stroke. They raised altars to fever, to misfortune, 
 to all the evils of life ; for these might change I 
 But though they did not court the presence of 
 death in any shape, they acknowledged its tran- 
 quillity ; and in the beautiful fables of their alle- 
 gorical religion, Death was the daughter of "Night,. 
 and the sister of Sleep ; and ever the friend of 
 the unhappy ! To the eternal sleep of death they 
 dedicated their sepulchral monuments — sEtcrnaii 
 Somno ! If the full light of revelation had not 
 yet broken on them, it can hardly be denied that 
 they had some glimpses and a dawn of the life to 
 come, from the many allegorical inventions which 
 describe the transmigration of the soul. A butter- 
 fly on the extremity of an extinguished lamp, 
 held up by the messenger of the gods intently 
 gazing above, implied a dedication of that soul ; 
 Love, with a melancholy air, his legs crossed, 
 leaning on an inverted torch, the flame thus natu- 
 rally extinguishing itself, elegantly denoted th' 
 cessation of human life : a rose sculptured on j 
 sarcophagus, or the emblems of epicurean li J 
 traced on it, in a skull wreathed by a chaplet ij 
 flowers, such as they wore at their convivial mej 
 ings, a. flask of wine, a patera, and the sin,' 
 bones used as dice ; all these symbols were indiri 
 allusions to death, veiling its painful recolf 
 tions. They did not pollute their imaginatis 
 with the contents of a charnel-house. The f- 
 cophagi of the ancients rather recall to us th£- 
 membrance of the activity of life ; for theye 
 sculptured with battles or games, in basso relP ', 
 a sort of tender homage paid to the dead, obses 
 Mad. De Stael, with her peculiar refinemepf 
 thinking:. 
 
THE URN OF DEATH AS REGARDED BY THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 (251) 
 
252 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 A representation of Death by a skeleton ap- 
 pears among the Egyptians ; and a custom more 
 singular than barbarous prevailed, of enclosing a 
 skeleton of beautiful workmanship in a small 
 coffin, which the bearer carried round at their 
 entertainments ; observing, ' ' After death you will 
 resemble this figure : drink then ! and be happy ! ' ' 
 A symbol of Death in a convivial party was not 
 designed to excite terrific or gloom} - ideas. 
 
 It would seem that the Romans had even an 
 aversion to mention death in express terms, for 
 they disguised its very name by some peri- 
 phrasis, such as "he has departed from life;" 
 and they did not say that their friend had 
 died, but that he had lived ; vixit! In the old 
 Latin chronicles, and even the Fecdera and other 
 documents of the middle ages, we find the same 
 delicacy about using the fatal word Death, espe- 
 cially when applied to kings and great people. 
 Even among a people less refined, the obtrusive- 
 idea of death has been studiously avoided : we are 
 told that when the emperor of Morocco inquires 
 after any one who has recently died, it is against 
 eticpiette to mention the word "death;" the answer 
 is, " his destiny is closed." But this tenderness is 
 only reserved for ' ' the elect ' ' of the Mussulmans. 
 A Jew's death is at once plainly expressed, "He 
 is dead, sir ! asking your pardon for mentioning 
 such a contemptible wretch ! " i. e. , a Jew ! They 
 describe a Christian's death by saying "The infi- 
 del is dead ! " or " The cuckold is dead ! ' ' 
 
 The artists of antiquity have so rarefy attempted 
 to personify Death, that we have not discovered a 
 single revolting image of this nature in all the 
 works of antiquity — to conceal its deformity to the 
 eye, as well as to elude its suggestion to the mind, 
 seems to have been an universal feeling, and it 
 accorded with a fundamental principle of ancient 
 art ; that of never offering to the eye a distortion 
 •of form in the violence of passion, which destroyed 
 the beauty of its representation ; such is shown in 
 the Laccoon, where the mouth only opens suffi- 
 ciently to indicate the suppressed agony of su- 
 perior humanity, without expressing the loud cry 
 of vulgar suffering. Pausanias considered as a 
 personification of death a female figure, whose 
 teeth and nails, long and crooked, were engraven 
 on a coffin of cedar, which enclosed the bod) - of 
 Cypselus ; this female was unquestionably only 
 one of the Parccc, or the Fates, ' ' watchful to cut 
 the thread of life ;" Hesiod describes Atropos in- 
 
 deed as having sharp teeth and long nails, waiting 
 to tear and devour the dead ; but this image was 
 in a barbarous era. Catullus ventured to personify 
 the Sister- Destinies as three Crones; "but in 
 general," Winkelman observes, "they are por- 
 trayed as beautiful virgins, with winged heads, 
 one of whom is always in the attitude of writing 
 on a scroll." 
 
 Death was a nonentity to the ancient artist. 
 Could he exhibit what represents nothing ? Could 
 he animate into action what lies in a state of 
 eternal tranquillity ? Elegant images of repose 
 and tender sorrow were all he could invent to indi- 
 cate the state of death. Even the terms which 
 different nations have bestowed on a burial-place 
 are not associated with emotions of horror. The 
 Greeks called a burying-ground by the soothing 
 term of Camcirion, or "the sleeping-place;" the 
 Jews, who had no horrors of the grave, by Deth- 
 haim, or " the house of the living ;" the Germans, 
 with religious simplicity, " God'sfield," or "God's 
 acre." 
 
 When the Christian religion spread over Europe, 
 the world changed ! The certainty of a future state 
 of existence, terrified instead of consoling human 
 nature : and in the resurrection the ignorant mul- 
 titude seemed rather to have dreaded retribution, 
 than hoped for remuneration. The Founder of 
 Christianity every where breathes the blessedness 
 of social feeling. It is " our Father ! ' ' whom he 
 addresses. The horrors with which Christianity 
 was afterwards disguised arose in the corruptions 
 of Christ's teachings among those insane ascetics, 
 who, misinterpreting the word of life, trampled on 
 nature ; and imagined that to secure an existence 
 in the other world it was necessary not to exist in 
 the one in which God had placed them. The do- 
 minion of mankind fell into the usurping hands 
 of those imperious monks whose artifices trafficked 
 with the terrors of ignorant and hypochondriac 
 ' ' Kaisers and kings. ' ' The scene was darkened by 
 penances and by pilgrimages, b) r midnight vigils ; 
 by miraculous shrines, and bloody flagellations ; 
 spectres started up everywhere ; millions of masses 
 increased their supernatural influence. Amidst 
 this general gloom of Europe, their troubled ima- 
 ginations were frequently predicting the end of 
 the world. It was at this period that they first 
 beheld the grave yawn, and Death in the Gothic 
 form of a giant anatomy parading through the 
 universe ! The people were frightened, as they 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 ?53 
 
 viewed everywhere hung before their eyes, in the 
 twilight of their cathedrals, and their pale clois- 
 ters, the most revolting emblems of death. The}' 
 startled the traveller on the bridge ; they stared 
 on the sinner in the carvings of his table and 
 chair ; the spectre moved in the hangings of the 
 apartment ; it stood in 
 the niche, and was the 
 picture of their sitting- 
 room ; it was worn in 
 their rings, while the il- 
 luminator shaded the 
 bony phantom in the 
 margins of their 
 " horae," their primers, 
 and their breviaries. 
 
 An anecdote of these 
 monkish times has been 
 preserved by old Gerard 
 Leigh; and as old 
 stories are best set off 
 by old words, Gerard 
 speaketh ! ' ' The great 
 Maximilian the em- 
 peror came to a monas- 
 tery in high Almaine 
 (Germany), the monks 
 whereof had caused to 
 be curiously painted the 
 charnel of a man, which 
 they termed — ■ Death ! 
 When that well-learned 
 emperor had beholden 
 it awhile, he called unto 
 him his painter, com- 
 manding to blot the 
 skeleton out, and to 
 paint therein the image 
 of — a fool. Wherewith 
 the abbot, humbly be- 
 seeching him to the 
 contrary, said, ' It was 
 a good remembrance ! ' 
 'Nay,' quoth the em- 
 peror, ' as vermin that 
 annoyeth man's body 
 
 cometh unlooked for, so doth death, which here 
 is but a famed image, and life is a certain thing, 
 if we know to deserve it.' " The original mind of 
 Maximilian the Great is characterized by this 
 curious story of converting our emblem of death 
 
 into a parti-colored fool ; and such satirical allu- 
 sions to the foll} r of those who persisted in their 
 notion of the skeleton were not unusual with the 
 artists of those times ; we find the figure of a fool 
 sitting, with some drollery, between the legs of 
 one of these skeletons. 
 
 AN INSANE RELIGIONIST OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 This story is associated with an important fact. 
 After they had successfully terrified the people 
 with their charnel-house figure, a reaction in the 
 public feelings occurred, for the skeleton was now 
 employed as a medium to convey the most face- 
 
254 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 tious, satirical, and burlesque notions of human 
 life. Death, which had so long harassed their 
 imaginations, suddenly changed into a theme fer- 
 
 XHe knight OF DEATH. — By Albert Durer. 
 
 This illustration, by one 01 the most famous artists of the Middle Ages, represents a knight going 
 forth to battle, accompanied by the spectres of Sin and Death. It is one of the most striking repre- 
 sentations of the ghostly fancies of that age. 
 
 tile in coarse humor. The Italians were too long 
 accustomed to the study of the beautiful to allow 
 their pencil to sport with deformity ; but the Gothic 
 taste of the German artists, who could only copy 
 
 their own homely nature, delighted to give human 
 passions to the hideous physiognomy of a noseless 
 skull ; to put an eye of mockery or malignity into 
 
 its hollow socket, 
 and to stretch out 
 the gaunt anat- 
 omy into the pos- 
 tures of a Ho- 
 garth ; and that 
 the ludicrous 
 might be carried 
 to its extreme, 
 this imaginary be- 
 ing, taken from 
 the bone-house, 
 was viewed in the 
 action of danc- 
 ing! This blend- 
 ing of the gro- 
 tesque with the- 
 most disgusting 
 image of mortal- 
 ity is the more 
 singular part of 
 this history of the 
 skeleton, and in- 
 deed of human 
 nature itself! 
 
 "The Dance of 
 Death " erro- 
 neously consid- 
 ered as Holbein's, 
 with other simi- 
 lar dances, how- 
 ever differently 
 treated, have one 
 common subject, 
 which was paint- 
 ed in the arcades 
 of burying- 
 grounds, or on 
 town-halls and in 
 market-places. 
 The subject is 
 usually The Skel- 
 eton in the act 
 of leading all 
 grave, personated 
 
 ranks and conditions to the 
 after nature, and in the strict costume of the 
 times. This invention opened a new field for 
 genius ; and when we can for a moment forget 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 255 
 
 their luckless choice of their bony and bloodless 
 hero, who, to abuse us by a variety of action, be- 
 comes a sort of horrid harlequin in these panto- 
 mimical scenes, we may be delighted by the 
 numerous human characters, which are so vividly 
 presented to us. The origin of this extraordinary 
 invention is supposed to be a favorite pageant, or 
 religious mummery, invented by the clergy, who in 
 these ages of barbarous Christianity always found 
 it necessary to amuse, as well as to frighten the 
 populace ; a circumstance well known to have 
 occurred in so many other grotesque and licentious 
 festivals they allowed the people. This pageant 
 was performed in churches, in which the chief 
 characters in society were supported in a sort of 
 masquerade, mixing together in a general dance, 
 in the course of which every one in his turn 
 vanished from the scene, to show how one after 
 the other died off. 
 
 PROPHECIES THAT WERE FULFILLED. 
 
 A LETTER from Cardinal Julian to Pope 
 Eugenius IV., written a century before 
 Luther appeared, clearly predicts the Reforma- 
 tion and its consequences. He observes that the 
 minds of men were ripe for something tragical ; 
 he felt the axe striking at the root, and the tree 
 beginning to bend, ard that his party instead 
 of propping it, were hastening its fall. In Eng- 
 land, Sir Thoma? More was not less prescient 
 in his views ; for when his son Roper was ob- 
 serving to him, that the Catholic religion, under 
 "the Defender of the Faith," was in a most 
 flourishing state, the answer of More was an 
 evidence of political foresight, — "Truth it is, son 
 Roper ! and yet I pra3' God that we may not 
 live to see the day that we would gladly be at 
 league and composition with heretics, to let them 
 have their churches quietly to themselves, so that 
 they would be contented to let us have ours 
 quietly to ourselves." Whether the great chan- 
 cellor predicted from a more intimate knowledge 
 of the king's character, or from some private cir- 
 cumstances which may not have been recorded 
 for our information, of which we have an obscure 
 suspicion, remains to be ascertained. The minds 
 of men of great political sagacity were unques- 
 tionably at that moment full of obscure indica- 
 tions of the approaching change : Erasmus, when 
 at Canterbury before the tomb of Becket, observ- 
 ing it loaded with a vast profusion of jewels, 
 
 wished that those had been distributed among 
 the poor, and that the shrine had been only 
 adorned with boughs and flowers; "For," said 
 he, " those who have heaped up all this mass of 
 treasure will one day be plundered, and fall a prey 
 to those who are in power ; " — a prediction liter- 
 ally fulfilled about twenty years after it was made. 
 The unknown author of the Visions of Piers 
 Ploughman, who wrote in the reign of Edward 
 the Third, surprised the world by a famous pre- 
 diction of the fall of the religious houses from the 
 hand of a king-. The event was realized two hun- 
 dred years afterwards, by Henry the Eighth. But 
 moral and political prediction is not inspiration ; 
 the one may be wrought out by man ; the other 
 descends from God. The same principle which 
 led Erasmus to predict that those who were ' ' in 
 power ' ' would destroy the rich shrines, because 
 no other class of men in society could mate with 
 so mighty a body as the monks, conducted the 
 author of Piers Ploughman to the same conclu- 
 sion ; and since power only could accomplish that 
 great purpose, he fixed on the highest as the most 
 likely ; and thus the wise prediction was, so long 
 after, literally accomplished ! 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh foresaw the future conse- 
 quences of the separatists and the sectaries in the 
 national church, and the very scene his imagina- 
 tion raised in 1530 was exhibited, to the letter of 
 his description, two centuries after the prediction ! 
 His memorable words are, ' ' Time will bring it 
 to pass, if it were not resisted, that God would 
 be turned out of churches into barns, and from 
 thence again into the fi elds and mountains, and 
 under hedges — all order of discipline and church- 
 government left to newness of opinion and men's 
 fancies, and as many kinds of ?rligio?i spring up 
 as there are parish-churches within England." 
 We are struck by the profound genius of Tacitus, 
 who clearly foresaw the calamities which so long 
 ravaged Europe on the fall of the Roman empire, 
 in a work written five hundred years before the 
 event ! In that sublime anticipation of the future, 
 he observed, ' ' When the Romans shall be hunted 
 out from those countries which they have con- 
 quered, what will then happen? The revolted 
 people, freed from their master-oppressor, will not 
 be able to subsist without destroying their neigh- 
 bours, and the most cruel wars will exist among 
 all these nations. ' ' 
 
 We are told that Solon at Athens, contemplat- 
 
2-50 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, T^E CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ing on the port and citadel of Munychia, sud- 
 denly exclaimed, ' ' How blind is man to futurity ! 
 Could the Athenians foresee what mischief this 
 
 A NORMAN" RAIDER IN THE DAYS OF CHARLEMAGNE. 
 
 ■will do their city, they would even eat it with 
 their own teeth, to get rid of it ! " — a prediction 
 verified more than two hundred rears after- 
 
 wards ! Thales desired to be buried in an ob- 
 scure quarter of Milesia, observing that that 
 very spot would in time be the forum. Charle- 
 magne, in his 
 old age, obser- 
 ving from the 
 window of a 
 castle a Xorman 
 descent on his 
 coast, tears start- 
 ed in the eyes 
 of the aged mon- 
 arch. He pre- 
 dicted that, since 
 they dared to 
 threaten his do- 
 minions while 
 he was yet living, 
 what would they 
 do when he 
 should be no 
 more? A mel- 
 ancholy predic- 
 tion, says De 
 Foix, of their 
 subsequent i n - 
 cursions, and of 
 the protracted 
 calamities of the 
 French nation 
 during a whole 
 century ! 
 
 There seems 
 to be some- 
 thing in minds 
 that take in ex- 
 tensive views of 
 human nature, 
 which serves 
 them as a kind 
 of d i v i n a t i o n, 
 and the con- 
 sciousness of 
 this faculty has 
 been asserted by 
 some. Cicero 
 appeals to At- 
 ticus how he 
 had always judged of the affairs of the Republic as 
 a good diviner : and that its overthrow had hap- 
 pened, as he had foreseen, four'.een years before. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 257 
 
 Cicero had not only predicted what happened in 
 his own time, but also what occurred long after, 
 according to the testimony of Cornelius Nepos. 
 The philosopher indeed, affects no secret revela- 
 tion, nor visionary second-sight ; he honestly tells 
 us that this art had been acquired merely by study, 
 and the administration of public affairs, while 
 he reminds his friend of several remarkable 
 instances of his successful predictions. " I do not 
 divine human events by the arts practised by 
 the augurs ; but I use other signs. ' ' Cicero then 
 expresses himself with the guarded obscurity of 
 a philosopher who could not openly ridicule the 
 prevailing superstitions ; but we perfectly com- 
 prehend the nature of his " signs," when, in the 
 great pending event of the rival conflicts of 
 Pompey and of Caesar, he shows the means he 
 used for his purpose. 
 
 Aristotle, who collected all the curious knowl- 
 edge of his times, has preserved some remarkable 
 opinions on the art of divination. In detailing the 
 various subterfuges practised by the pretended 
 diviners of his day, he reveals the secret principle 
 by which one of them regulated his predictions. 
 He frankly declared that the future, being always 
 very obscure, while the past was easy to know, his 
 predictions had never the future in view ; for he 
 decided from the past as it appeared in human 
 affairs, what the future would most likely produce. 
 Such is the true principle by which a philosophi- 
 cal historian may become a skilful diviner. 
 
 The revolutionary character of Cardinal de 
 Retz, even in his youth, was detected by the saga- 
 city of Mazarine. He then wrote the history of 
 the conspiracy of Fiesco with such vehement ad- 
 miration of his hero, that the Italian politician, 
 after "its perusal, predicted that the j"Oung author 
 would be one of the most turbulent spirits of the 
 ige ! The father of the Marshal Biron, even 
 amid the glory of his son, discovered the cloud 
 which, invisible to others, was to obscure it. The 
 father, indeed, well knew the fiery passions of his 
 son. "Biron," said the domestic seer, " I advise 
 thee, when peace takes place, to go and plant cab- 
 bages in thy garden, otherwise, I warn thee, thou 
 wilt lose thy head on a scaffold ! ' ' The predic- 
 tion was literally fulfilled Jul}' 31, 1602. 
 
 The future career of Cromwell was predicted by 
 two celebrated politicians of England : 
 
 "This coarse, unpromising man," said Lord 
 Falkland, pointing to Cromwell, " will be the first 
 17 
 
 person in the kingdom, if the nation comes to 
 blows ! " And Archbishop Williams told Charles 
 the First confidentially, that " There was that in 
 Cromwell which foreboded something dangerous, 
 and wished his majesty would either win him over 
 to him, or get him taken off." The Marquis of 
 Wellesley's incomparable character of Bonaparte 
 predicted his fall when highest in his glory ; that 
 great statesman then poured forth the sublime lan- 
 guage of philosphical prophecy. ' ' His eagerness 
 of power is so inordinate ; his jealousy of inde- 
 pendence so fierce ; his keenness of appetite so 
 feverish in all that touches his ambition, even in 
 the most trifling things, that he must plunge into 
 dreadful difficulties. He is one of an order of minds 
 that by nature make for themselves great re- 
 verses. ' ' 
 
 A great genius, who was oppressed b>r malig- 
 nant rivals in his own times, has been noticed by 
 Madame de Stael, as having left behind him an 
 actual prophecy of the French revolution ; this 
 was Guibert, who, in his commentary on Folard's 
 Polybius, published in 1727, declared, that "a 
 conspiracy is actually forming in Europe, by means 
 at once so subtile and efficacious, that I am Sony 
 not to have come into the world thirty years later 
 to witness its result. It must be confessed that 
 the sovereigns of Europe wear very bad spec- 
 tacles. The proofs of it are mathematical, if such 
 proofs ever were, of a conspiracy." Guibert un- 
 questionably foresaw the anti-monarchical spirit 
 gathering up its mighty wings, and rising over 
 the universe ! but could not judge of the nature 
 of the impulse which he predicted ; prophesying 
 from the ideas in his luminous intellect, he seems 
 to have been far more curious about, than certain 
 of the consequences. Rousseau even circumstan- 
 tially predicted the convulsions of modern Europe. 
 He stood on the crisis of the French revolution, 
 which he vividly foresaw, for he seriously advised 
 the higher classes of society to have their children 
 taught some useful trade ; a notion highl) r ridi- 
 culed on the first appearance of the ' ' Emile ; ' ' but 
 at its hour the awful truth struck ! 
 
 John Knox the reformer possessed an extra- 
 ordinary portion of this awful prophetic confidence; 
 he appears to have predicted several remarkable 
 events, and the fates of some persons. We are told, 
 that, condemned to a galley at Rochelle, he pre- 
 dicted that " within two or three years, he should 
 preach the gospel at Saint Giles's in Edinburgh;" 
 
2 5 81 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 259 
 
 an improbable event, which happened. Of Mary 
 and Darnley, he pronounced, that "as the king, 
 for the queen's pleasure, had gone to mass, the 
 Lord in his justice, would make her the instru- 
 ment of his overthrow." Other striking predic- 
 tions of the deaths of Thomas Maitland, and of 
 Kirkaldy of Grange, and the warning he solemnly 
 gave to the Regent Murray not to go to Linlith- 
 gow, where he was assassinated, occasioned a 
 barbarous people to imagine that the prophet 
 Knox had received an immediate communication 
 from Heaven. 
 
 We may account for many predictions of this 
 class, without the intervention of any supernatural 
 agency. Among the busy spirits of a revolutionary 
 age, the heads of a party, such as Knox, have 
 frequently secret communications with spies or 
 with friends. In a constant source of concealed 
 information, a shrewd, confident and enthusiastic 
 temper will find ample matter for mysterious pre- 
 science. Knox exercised that deep sagacity which 
 took in the most enlarged views of the future, as 
 appears by his Machiavelian foresight on the 
 destruction of the monasteries and the cathedrals. 
 ' ' The best way to keep the rooks from returning, 
 is to pull down their nests. ' ' 
 
 The multitude live only among the shadows of 
 things in the appearances of the present ; the 
 learned, busied with the past, can only trace 
 whence, and how, all comes ; but he, who is one 
 of the people and one of the learned, the true 
 philosopher, views the natural tendency and ter- 
 minations which are preparing for the future ! 
 
 MARSHAL BIRON. 
 
 A SHORT sketch of the brilliant career of 
 Marshal Biron, referred to in the preceding 
 article, will doubtless be interesting, especially as 
 one of his descendants of the same name took a 
 prominent part in our revolutionary war, a fact 
 which we have never seen mentioned in any of 
 our country's histories. Charles de Goutant, 
 Duke of Biron, was bora in 1562. He first dis- 
 tinguished himself in the battles of Arques and 
 Ivry, the latter being fought on the 14th of March, 
 1590. He afterward took a prominent part in the 
 sieges of Paris and Rouen, and fought with dis- 
 tinguished valor in a number of other engage- 
 ments. His daring conduct and quickness of 
 movement won for him the title of "the light- 
 
 ning. ' ' He was impetuous and brave to the verge 
 of rashness, being apparently devoid of all sense 
 of fear. In 1592 he was made admiral of France, 
 Marshal in 1594, Governor of Burgundy in 1595, 
 duke and peer in 1598, and was ambassador to 
 the court of Elizabeth of England and to the 
 Swiss cantons. 
 
 Up to the time of Napoleon no other historical 
 character in France ever enjoyed so brilliant a 
 career as Marshal Biron. But, excited by merce- 
 nary motives, he plotted with Savoy and Spain 
 for the dismemberment of his own country. His 
 intrigues were discovered by the king, who par- 
 doned him once, and even after he had renewed 
 his treason, the king offered him forgiveness the 
 second time if he would repent and confess his 
 crime. But Biron, denying every thing, was com- 
 mitted to the Bastile, where he was speedily tried 
 and condemned, and, on the 31st of July, 1602, 
 beheaded. 
 
 Armaud Louis de Gontaut, duke of Biron, a 
 descendant of the distinguished marshal, was born 
 in Paris, April 15, 1747. He was better known 
 in history as the Due de Lauzun, which was his 
 title till 17S8, when he succeeded his uncle as 
 Due de Biron. In 1778 he was placed in com- 
 mand of the French expedition against the British 
 colonies of Senegal and Gambia, Africa, which he 
 reduced to the French authority early the follow- 
 ing year. In 1780, having squandered his for- 
 tune, he joined Lafayette in America, and in 
 July, 1 78 1, he was placed in command of an ex- 
 pedition designed to capture New York from the 
 British, but it was unsuccessful. He took part in 
 the battle of Yorktown, and was present at the 
 surrender of Ford Cornwallis. At the close of 
 the war, he returned to France, and in 1789 was 
 chosen a deputy to the States General, and subse- 
 quently accompanied Talleyrand on his mission 
 to England. Joining his fortunes with the revo- 
 lutionists, he was appointed general-in-chief of the 
 army of the coast of La Rochelle in 1793. He 
 defeated the Vendeans in a desperately fought 
 battle, but being accused of insubordination and 
 leniency towards the enemy, he was brought be- 
 fore the revolutionary tribunal, condemned to 
 death, and guillotined at Paris, December 31, 
 1793. He was the last distinguished representa- 
 tive of his heroic family, and is supposed to have 
 been the original of Gauvain in Victor Hugo's 
 historical story of " Ninety -Three." 
 
2G0 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ROBESPIERRE, DANTON, AND MARAT. 
 BY VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 '•HERE was a public-house in the Rue du Paon 
 ' which was called a cafe. This cafe had a 
 which is to-day historical. It was 
 
 ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 there that often, almost secretly, met certain men, 
 so powerful and so constantly watched that they 
 hesitated to speak with one another in public. 
 
 On the 28th of June, 1793, three men were 
 seated about a table in this back chamber. Their 
 chairs did not touch ; they were placed one on 
 either of the three sides of the table, leaving the 
 fourth vacant. It was about eight o'clock in the 
 
 evening ; it was still 
 light in the street, but 
 dark in the back room, 
 and a lamp, hung from 
 a hook in the ceiling — 
 a luxury there — lighted 
 the table. 
 
 The first of these 
 three men was pale, 
 young, grave, with thin 
 lips and a cold glance. 
 He had a nervous 
 movement in his cheek, 
 which must have made 
 it difficult for him to 
 smile. He wore his 
 hair powdered ; he was 
 gloved ; his light blue 
 coat, well brushed, was 
 without a w r i n k le , 
 carefully buttoned. He 
 wore nankeen breeches, 
 white stockings, a high 
 cravat, a plaited shirt- 
 frill, and shoes with sil- 
 ver buckles. 
 
 Of the other two men, 
 one a species of giant, 
 the other a sort of 
 dwarf. The tall one 
 was untidily dressed in 
 a coat of scarlet cloth, 
 his neck bare, his un- 
 knotted cravat falling 
 down over his shirt- 
 frill, his vest gaping 
 from lack of buttons. 
 He wore top-boots ; his 
 hair stood stiffly up and 
 was disarranged, 
 though it still showed 
 traces of powder ; his 
 very peruke w r as like a 
 mane. His face was marked with small-pox ; there 
 was a choleric line between his brows ; a wrinkle 
 that signified kindness at the corner of his mouth ; 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 261 
 
 his lips were thick, the teeth large ; he had the 
 fist of a porter, and eyes that blazed. The little 
 one was a yellow man, who looked deformed 
 when seated. He carried his head thrown back, 
 the eyes were injected with blood, there were 
 livid blotches on his face ; he had a handkerchief 
 knotted about his greasy, straight hair ; he had 
 no forehead ; the mouth was enormous and horri- 
 ble. He wore pantaloons instead of knee-breeches, 
 slippers, a waistcoat which seemed originally to 
 have been of white satin, and over this a loose 
 jacket, under whose folds a hard, straight line 
 showed that a poniard was hidden. 
 
 The first of these men was named Robespierre ; 
 the second, Danton ; the third, Marat. 
 
 They were alone in the room. Before Danton 
 was set a glass and a dusty wine bottle, remind- 
 ing one of Luther's pint of beer ; before Marat a 
 cup of coffee ; before Robespierre only papers. 
 
 Near the papers stood one of those heavy, 
 round, ridged, leaden inkstands which will be re- 
 membered by men who were school-boys at the 
 beginning of this century. A pen was thrown 
 carelessly by the side of the inkstand. On the 
 papers lay a great brass seal, on which could be 
 read Palloy fecit, and which was a perfect minia- 
 ture model of the Bastile. 
 
 A map of France was spread in the middle of 
 the table. Outside was stationed Marat's ' ' watch- 
 dog," a certain Laurent Basse, porter on No. 18 
 Rue des Cordeliers, who some fifteen days after 
 this 28th of June, say the 13th of July, was to 
 deal a blow with a chair on the head of a woman 
 named Charlotte Corday, at this moment vaguely 
 dreaming in Caen. Laurent Basse was the proof- 
 carrier of the Friend ofihe People. Brought this 
 evening by his master to the cafe of the Rue du 
 Paon, he had been ordered to keep the room 
 closed where Marat, Danton, and Robespierre 
 were seated, and to allow no person to enter un- 
 less it might be some member of the Committee 
 of Public Safety, the Commune, or the Eveche. 
 
 Tne conference had already lasted a long time. 
 Ic was in reference to papers spread on the table, 
 which Robespierre had read. The voices began 
 to grow louder. Symptoms of anger arose be- 
 tween these three men. From without eager 
 words could be caught at angry moments. At 
 that period the example of the public tribunals 
 seemed to have created the right to listen at 
 doors. It was the time when the copying-clerk 
 
 Fabricius Paris looked through the keyhole at the 
 proceedings of the Committee of Public Safety ; 
 a feat which, be it said by the way, was not with- 
 out its use, for it was this Paris who warned Dan- 
 ton on the night before the 31st of March, 1794. 
 Laurent Basse had his ear to the door of the back 
 room where Danton, Marat, and Robespierre 
 were. Laurence Basse served Marat, but he be- 
 longed to the Eveche. 
 
 DEATH OF KING PHILIP. 
 
 KING PHILIP, the celebrated Indian chief, 
 was surprised and killed by a party of men 
 under the command of Capt. Benjamin Church, 
 the leader of the movement for the suppression 
 of the marauding bands of savages that infested 
 the New England colonies during the 17th cen- 
 tury. In the latter part of his life Capt. Church 
 dictated to his son Thomas an account of his cam- 
 paigns and adventures, which Thomas subse- 
 quently rewrote and published in book form in 
 17 16. From this interesting work we copy the 
 following account of the death of King Philip, 
 which differs materially from descriptions of this 
 event as published in our leading histories. This 
 is no doubt the true account : 
 
 Captain Church being now at Plymouth again, 
 weary and worn, would have gone home to his 
 wife and family, but the government being solici- 
 tous to engage him in the service until Philip was 
 slain, and promising him satisfaction and redress 
 for some mistreatment that he had met with, he 
 fixes for another expedition. 
 
 He had soon volunteers enough to make up the 
 company he desired, and marched through the 
 woods until he came to Pocasset. And not seeing 
 or hearing of any of the enemy, they went over 
 the ferry to Rhode Island, to refresh themselves. 
 The captain, with about half a dozen in his com- 
 pany, took horses and rode about eight miles 
 down the island, to Mr. Sanford's, where he had 
 left his wife. She no sooner saw him, but fainted 
 with surprise ; and by that time she was a little 
 revived, they spied two horsemen coming a great 
 pace. Captain Church told his company that 
 "Those men (by their riding) come with tidings." 
 When they came up, they proved to be Major 
 Sanford and Captain Golding. They immediately 
 asked Captain Church what he would give to hear 
 some news of Philip ? He replied that that was 
 what he wanted. They told him that they had 
 
202 
 
 THE WONDERFUL. THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 rode hard with some hopes of overtaking him, 
 and were now come on purpose to inform him 
 that there were j ust now tidings from Mount Hope. 
 An Indian came down from thence (where Philip's 
 camp now was) to Sandy Point, over against 
 Trip's, and hallooed, and made signs to be fetched 
 over. And being fetched over, he reported that 
 he was fled from Philip, ' ' who (said he) has killed 
 my brother just before I came away, for giving 
 some advice that displeased him." And said that 
 he was fled for fear of meeting with the same his 
 brother had met with. Told them also that 
 Philip was now in Mount Hope Neck. Captain 
 Church thanked them for their good news, and 
 said that he hoped by to-morrow morning to have 
 the rogue's head. The horses that he and his 
 company came on standing at the door (for they 
 had not been unsaddled), his wife must content 
 herself with a short visit, when such game was 
 ahead. They immediately mounted, set spurs to 
 their horses, and away. 
 
 The two gentlemen that brought him the tid- 
 ings told him that they would gladly wait upon 
 him to see the event of the expedition. He 
 thanked them, and told them that he should be 
 as fond of their company as an} - men's ; and (in 
 short ) they went with him. And they were soon 
 at Trip's ferry (with Captain Church's company), 
 where the deserter was. He was a fellow of good 
 sense, and told his story handsomely. He offered 
 Captain Church to pilot him to Philip, and to help 
 to kill him, that he might revenge his brother's 
 death. Told him that Philip was now upon a 
 little spot of upland, that was in the south end of 
 the miry swamp, just at the foot of the mount, 
 which was a spot of ground that Captain Church 
 was well acquainted with. 
 
 By that time they were over the ferry, and came 
 near the ground, half the night was spent. The 
 captain commands a halt, and bringing the com- 
 pany together, he asked Major Sanford's and 
 Captain Golding's advice, what method it was 
 best to take in making the onset ; but they de- 
 clined giving him any advice ; telling him that 
 his great experience and success forbid their tak- 
 ing upon them to give advice. Then Captain 
 Church offered Captain Golding the honor (if he 
 would please accept of it) to beat up Philip's 
 headquarters. He accepted the offer and had his 
 allotted number drawn out to him, and the pilot. 
 Captain Church's instructions to him were, to be 
 
 very careful in his approach to the enemy, and be 
 sure not to show himself, until by daylight they 
 might see and discern their own men from the 
 enemy ; told him also that his custom in like cases 
 was to creep with his company, on their bellies, 
 until they came as near as they could ; and that 
 as soon as the enemy discovered them, they would 
 cry out, and that was the word for his men to fire 
 and fall on. He directed him, that when the 
 enemy should start and take into the swamp, that 
 they should pursue with speed, every man shout- 
 ing and making what noise he could ; for he 
 would give orders to his ambuscade to fire on any 
 that should come silently. 
 
 Captain Church, knowing that it was Philip's 
 custom to be foremost in the flight, went down to 
 the swamp, and gave Captain Williams of Scitu- 
 ate the command of the right wing of the ambush, 
 and placed an Englishman and an Indian together 
 behind such shelters of trees, etc., as he could 
 find, and took care to place them at such distance 
 that none might pass undiscovered between them ; 
 charged them to be careful of themselves, and of 
 hurting their friends, and to fire at any that should 
 come silently through the swamp. But it being 
 somewhat farther through the swamp than he was 
 aware of, he wanted men to make up his ambuscade. 
 
 Having placed what men he had, he took Major 
 Sanford by the hand, and said, "Sir, I have so 
 placed them that it is scarce possible Philip should 
 escape them. ' ' The same moment a shot whistled 
 over their heads, and then the noise of a gun to- 
 wards Philip's camp. Captain Church, at first, 
 thought that it might be some gun fired by acci- 
 dent ; but before he could speak, a whole volley 
 followed, which was earlier than he expected. 
 One of Philip's gang going forth a little to one 
 side of the camp, looked round him, and Cap- 
 tain Golding thought that the Indian looked right 
 at him f though probably it was but his conceit), 
 so fired at him ; and upon his firing, the whole 
 company that were with him fired upon the 
 enemy's shelter, before the Indians had time to 
 rise from their sleep, and so overshot them. But 
 their shelter was open on that side next the 
 swamp, built so on purpose for the convenience of 
 flight on occasion. They were soon in the swamp, 
 and Philip the foremost, who, starting at the first 
 gun, threw his petiuik and powderhorn over his 
 head, catched up his gun, and ran as fast as he 
 could scamper, without any more clothes than his 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 263 
 
 small breeches and stockings ; and ran directly on 
 two of Captain Church's ambush. They let him 
 come fair within shot, and the Englishman's gun 
 missing fire, he bid the Indian fire away, and he 
 did so to the purpose ; sent one musket bullet 
 through his heart, and another not above two 
 inches from it. He fell upon his face in the mud 
 and water, with his gun under him. 
 
 By the time the enemy perceived that they 
 were waylaid on the east side of the swamp, and 
 tacked short about. One of the enemy, who 
 seemed to be a great, surly old fellow, hallooed 
 with a loud voice, and often called out, "lootash, 
 Iootash." Captain Church called to his Indian, 
 Peter, and asked him who that was that called so? 
 He answered that it was old Anuawon, Philip's 
 great captain, calling on his soldiers to stand to 
 it, and fight stoutly. Now the enemy finding that 
 place of the swamp which was not ambushed, many 
 of them made their escape in the English tracks. 
 
 The man that had shot down Philip ran with 
 all speed to Captain Church, and informed him 
 of his exploit, who commanded him to be silent 
 about it and let no man more know it, until they 
 had driven the swamp clean. But when they had 
 driven the swamp through, and found that the 
 enemy had escaped, or at least the most of them, 
 and the sun now up, and so the dew gone, that 
 the}" could not easily track them, the whole com- 
 pany met together at the place where the enemy's 
 night shelter was, and then Captain Church gave 
 them the news of Philip's death. Upon which 
 the whole army gave three loud huzzas. 
 
 Captain Church ordered his bod}- to be pulled 
 out of the mire to the upland. So some of Cap- 
 tain Church's Indians took hold of him by his 
 stockings, and some by his small breeches ( being 
 otherwise naked) and drew him through the mud 
 to the upland ; and a doleful, great, naked, dirtv 
 beast he looked like. Captain Church then said, 
 that forasmuch as he had caused many an Eng- 
 lishman's body to 'be unburied, and to rot above 
 ground, that not one of his terns should be 
 buried. And calling his old Indian executioner, 
 bid him behead and quarter him. 
 
 DESPERATE STRUGGLE BETWEEN CAPTAIN 
 CHURCH AND AN INDIAN. 
 
 7FVE copy the following thrilling account of a 
 \Xj desperate hand-to-hand encounter between 
 Capt. Church and an Indian warrior, from the 
 
 same interesting work mentioned in the preceding 
 article . 
 
 Capt. Church had been severely wounded in a 
 combat with the Indians, and was removed, with 
 other injured men, to Rhode Island, where he re- 
 mained for three months. He then designed re- 
 ' turning home, as his wounds were not yet fully 
 healed, but was prevailed upon by the earnest 
 solicitations of his general, to accompany him on 
 a long march into the country occupied by the 
 Nipmucks. We give the history of the march 
 and his singular and- desperate encounter with the 
 savage in his own language, as dictated to his 
 son : 
 
 In this march, the first thing remarkable was, 
 they came to an Indian town, where there were 
 man}- wigwams in sight, but an icy swamp, lying 
 between them and the wigwams, prevented their 
 running at once upon it as they intended. There 
 was much firing upon each side before they passed 
 the swamp. But at length the enemy all fled, 
 and a certain Mohegan, that was a friendly 
 Indian, pursued and seized one of the enemy that 
 had a small wound in his leg, and brought him 
 before the General, where he was examined. 
 Some were for torturing him to bring him to a 
 more ample confession of what he knew concern- 
 ing his countrymen. Mr. Church verily believing 
 that he had been ingenuous in his confession, in- 
 terceded, and prevailed for his escaping torture. 
 But the army being bound forward in their 
 march, and the Indian's wound somewhat disen- 
 abling him for travelling, it was concluded that 
 he should be knocked on the head. Accordingly, 
 he was brought before a great fire, and the Mohe- 
 gan that took him was allowed, as he desired, to 
 be his executioner. Mr. Church, taking no de- 
 light in the sport, framed an errand at some dis- 
 tance among the baggage horses, and when he 
 had got ten rods or thereabouts, from the fire, the 
 executioner fetching a blow with a hatchet at the 
 head of the prisoner, he being aware of the blow, 
 dodged his head aside, and the executioner miss- 
 ing his stroke, the hatchet flew out of his hand, 
 and had like to have done execution where it was 
 not designed. The prisoner upon his narrow es- 
 cape, broke from them that held him, and not- 
 withstanding his wound, made use of his legs, 
 and happened to run right upon Mr. Church, who 
 laid hold on him, and a close scuffle they had ; 
 but the Indian having no clothes on, slipped from 
 
204 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 him and ran again, and Mr. Church pursued him, 
 although being lame there was no great odds in 
 the race, until the Indian stumbled and fell, and 
 then the}- closed again — scuffled and fought 
 pretty smartly, until the Indian, by the advantage 
 of his nakedness, slipped from his hold again, 
 and set out on his third race, with Mr. Church 
 close at his heels, endeavouring to lay hold on 
 the hair of his head, which was all the hold could 
 be taken of him. And running through a swamp 
 that was covered with hollow ice, it made so loud 
 a noise that Mr. Church expected (but in vain) 
 that some of his English friends would follow the 
 noise and come to his assistance. But the Indian 
 happened to run athwart a large tree that lay 
 fallen near breast high, where he stopped and 
 cried out aloud for help. But Mr. Church being 
 soon upon him again, the Indian seized him fast 
 by the hair of his head, and endeavoured by 
 twisting to break his neck. But though Mr. 
 Church's wounds had somewhat weakened him, 
 and the Indian a stout fellow, yet he held him 
 in play and twisted the Indian's neck as well, 
 and took advantage of many opportunities, while 
 the}- hung by each other's hair, gave him notor- 
 ious bunts in the face with his head. But in the 
 heat of the scuffle they heard the ice break, with 
 somebody's coming apace to them, which when 
 they heard, Church concluded there was help for 
 o:ie or other of them, but was doubtful which of 
 them must now receive the fatal stroke — anon 
 somebody comes up to them, who proved to be the 
 Indian that had first taken the prisoner ; and with- 
 out speaking a word, he felt them out, (for it was 
 so dark he could nut distinguish them by sight, 
 the one being clothed and the other naked) he 
 felt where Mr. Church's hands were fastened in 
 the Netop's hair, and with one blow settled his 
 hatchet in between them, and thus ended the 
 strife. He then spoke to Mr. Church and hugged 
 him in his arms, and thanked him abundantly for 
 catching his prisoner. He then cut off the head 
 of his victim and carried it to the camp, and after 
 giving an account to the rest of the friend Indians 
 in the camp how Mr. Church had seized his pris- 
 oner, &c, they all joined in a mighty shout. 
 
 INDIAN SUPERSTITIONS. 
 
 mANY of the customs and superstitions of 
 the Indians, as they existed at the time 
 of the discoverv of America and for one or two 
 
 centuries afterward, were of the most peculiar 
 and interesting character, differing in many re- 
 spects from those of any other race or people. 
 We copy a history of some of these peculiarities 
 from the writings of David Brainerd, who served 
 as a missionary among the tribes of Pennsyl- 
 vania and New Jersey for some years during the 
 first half of the eighteenth century. The work 
 from which we quote was published about one 
 hundred and fifty years ago. 
 
 When I was in this region in May last, I had 
 an opportunity of learning many of the notions and 
 customs of the Indians, as well as observing many 
 of their practices. I then travelled more than an 
 hundred and thirty miles upon the river, above the 
 English settlements ; and, in that journey, met 
 with individuals of seven or eight distinct tribes, 
 speaking as many different languages. But of all 
 the sights I ever saw among them, or indeed any 
 where else, none appeared so frightful, or so near 
 akin 10 what is usually imagined of infernal pow- 
 ers, none ever excited such images of terror in my 
 mind, as the appearance of one who was a devout 
 and zealous Reformer, or rather, restorer of what 
 he supposed was the ancient religion of the In- 
 dians. He made his appearance in his pontifical 
 garb, which was a coat of boar skins, dressed with 
 the hair on, and hanging down to his toes ; a pair 
 of bear skin stockings ; and a great wooden face 
 painted, the one-half back, the other half tawny, 
 about the color of an Indian's skin, with an ex- 
 travagant mouth, cut very much awry ; the face 
 fastened to a bear-skin cap, which was drawn 
 over his head. He advanced towards me with the 
 instrument in his hand, which he used for music 
 in his idolatrous worship ; which was a dry tor- 
 toise shell with some corn in it, and the neck of it 
 drawn on to a piece of wood, which made a very 
 convenient handle. As he came forward, he beat 
 his tune with the rattle, and danced with all his 
 might, but did not suffer any part of his body, 
 not so much as his fingers, to be seen. No one 
 would have imagined from his appearance or ac- 
 tions, that he could have been a human creature, 
 if the}- had not had some intimation of it other- 
 wise. When he came near me, I could not but 
 shrink away from him, although it was then noon 
 day, and I knew who it was : his appearance and 
 gestures were so prodigiously frightful. He had 
 a house consecrated to religious uses, with divers 
 images cut upon the several parts of it. I went 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 265 
 
 in, and found the ground beat almost as hard as a 
 rock, with their frequent dancing upon it. I dis- 
 coursed with him about Christianity. Some of my 
 discourse he seemed to like, but some of it he dis- 
 liked extremely. He told me that God had 
 taught him his religion, and that he never would 
 turn from it ; but wanted to find some who would 
 join heartily with him in it ; for the Indians, he 
 said, were grown very degenerate and corrupt. 
 He had thoughts, he said, of leaving all his friends, 
 and travelling abroad, in order to find some who 
 would join with him ; for he believed that God 
 had some good people some where, who felt as he 
 did. He had not always, he said, felt as he now 
 did ; but had formerly been like the rest of the 
 Indians, until about four or five years before that 
 time. Then, he said, his heart was very much dis- 
 tressed, so that he could not live among the In- 
 dians, but got away into the woods, and lived 
 alone for some months. At length, he says, God 
 comforted his heart, and showed him what he 
 should do ; and since that time he had known 
 God, and tried to serve him ; and loved all men, 
 be they who they would, so as he never did be- 
 fore. He treated me with uncommon courtesy, 
 and seemed to be heart}- in it. I was told by the 
 Indians, that he opposed their drinking strong 
 liquor with all his power ; and that, if at any time 
 he could not dissuade them from it by all he could 
 say, he would leave them, and go crying into the 
 woods. It was manifest that he had a set of reli- 
 gious notions which he had examined for himself, 
 and not taken for granted, upon bare tradition ; 
 and be relished or disrelished whatever was spoken 
 of a religious nature, as it either agreed or dis- 
 agreed with his standard. While I was discours- 
 ing, he would sometimes say, "Now that I like; 
 so God has taught me;" &c, and some of his 
 sentiments seemed very just. Yet he utterly de- 
 nied the existence of a devil, and declared there 
 was no such creature known among the Indians 
 of old times, whose religion he supposed he was 
 attempting to revive. He likewise told me, that 
 departed souls all went southward, and that the 
 difference between the good and the bad, was this : 
 that the former were admitted into a beautiful 
 town with spiritual walls : and that the latter 
 would for ever hover around these walls, in vain 
 attempts to get in. He seemed to be sincere, hon- 
 est, and conscientious in his own way, and accord- 
 ing to his own religious notions ; which was more 
 
 than I ever saw in any other Pagan. I perceived 
 that he was looked upon and derided among most 
 of the Indians, as a precise zealot, who made a 
 needless noise about religious matters ; but I must 
 say that there was something in his temper and 
 disposition, which looked more like true religion, 
 than any thing I ever observed amongst other 
 heathens. 
 
 BAYARD, THE HERO OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 The brightest pages in the annals of chivalry 
 and knight-errantry are those which record the 
 brilliant deeds of Bayard. He lived at a time 
 when the strict laws of chivalry were becoming 
 greatly relaxed, and when knights were assum- 
 ing the vices as well as the profession of mere 
 soldiers of fortune ; but no breath of dishonor 
 ever tarnished his fame. His loyalty, purity of 
 character and scrupulous honor won the uni- 
 versal admiration of his contemporaries, friends 
 and foes alike uniting in proclaiming him "the 
 good knight" and above all reproach. 
 
 The correct orthography of his name, accord- 
 ing to his original signatures preserved in the 
 National Library at Paris, is Bayart, but he is 
 better known under the name that has become a 
 synonym for gallantry and heroism. 
 
 He was born at the Chateau de Bayard, in 
 Dauphiny, France, in 1475, the exact date and 
 month being unknown. His family was an 
 ancient and honorable one, and had produced sev- 
 eral brilliant warriors before his advent. They 
 were a race of warriors. His great-great-grand- 
 father was killed at the battle of Poitiers, his 
 great-grandfather at Crecy, and his grandfather 
 at Montlhery, while his father received many 
 honorable wounds in the wars of Louis XL 
 Young Bayard, while serving as page to the 
 Duke of Savoy, and in the household of Paul of 
 Luxembourg, received his education in the rules 
 of chivalry, in horsemanship, and in feats of 
 arms. When only eighteen years of age, his 
 martial valor and desire for military glory led 
 him to enlist under the banners of Charles VIII., 
 in the expedition against Naples, and in the 
 hotly contested battle of Fornovo he won the ad- 
 miration of his companions and the favorable 
 notice of his king by a desperate hand-to-hand 
 combat in which he captured a stand of colors. 
 On a certain occasion, during the siege of Milan 
 in 1499, the enemy made a strong sortie from 
 
266 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 their works, but were defeated and driven hack ; 
 and in the eagerness of pursuit, Bayard was car- 
 ried by the press within the walls of the city and 
 captured ; but even at that earl}- age his reputa- 
 tion for honor and valor was so great that he was 
 liberated by his admiring enemies, and conducted 
 in safety to the lines of the French army, with 
 his horse and armor, and without ransom or 
 parole. He was admired and honored equally 
 by friends and foes, because all men naturally 
 love the true and the noble. On another occa- 
 sion, during the war with Spain, when the 
 battle had gone against the French and they 
 were in full retreat, two hundred steel-clad 
 Spanish knights, mounted on fresh horses, and 
 with their lances firmly fixed, came dashing down 
 upon the devoted army. Such an attack in that 
 moment of rout and peril meant certain destruc- 
 tion. It was like a Grecian phalanx crashing 
 into the confused mass of a defeated army. Fright 
 and despair blanched the cheeks of the French 
 troops as they saw this dreadful array of glitter- 
 ing spears bearing down upon them. But the 
 magnificent courage of a single man turned the 
 tide and saved the army. Between the flying 
 French and the plunging column of Spanish 
 horsemen there was a deep and rapid stream, 
 spanned by a narrow bridge, over which the 
 Spaniards were compelled to pass. Bayard's 
 quick eye saw the opportunity, and dashing the 
 spurs into the foaming flanks of his jaded war- 
 horse, he threw himself upon the bridge and 
 awaited the shock. It came in all its power 
 and ferocity, but he held his own, and with his 
 battle-axe hewed bloody gaps in the ranks of the 
 astonished Spaniards. They hesitated and re- 
 coiled, and then came on again with redoubled 
 energy ; but the gallant Bayard cut to the right 
 and left and soon built a rampart in front of him 
 with the bodies of the dead and wounded. Thus 
 he held the two hundred in check until the 
 French, having recovered from their panic and 
 gained a place of security, he turned and fol- 
 lowed them, amidst the admiring shouts of both 
 armies. The Spaniards did not attempt to pur- 
 sue, for they were satisfied with that display of 
 his prowess and courage which they had wit- 
 nessed upon the bridge, and they suffered the de- 
 feated army to withdraw in safety. 
 
 In the assault upon Bresica Bayard was severely 
 wounded, and carried to a house in the town, oc- 
 
 cupied only by a lady and her two danghters. 
 Soon afterward the house was entered by a party 
 of half-frenzied soldiers, who, not being aware- 
 of the knight's presence, proceeded to insult the 
 ladies in the grossest and most brutal manner. 
 This aroused the hot blood of the gallant Bayard, 
 who, in spite of the fact that he was almost dis- 
 abled by his wounds, arose from his couch, and. 
 charging among them with his sword, drove them 
 into the street. For this valiant and timely ser- 
 vice the hostess presented him with two thousand, 
 pistoles, which with knightly eourtes}- he imme- 
 diately gave to the young ladies for a marriage 
 portion. 
 
 In the battle of Guinegate, fought on the 16th 
 of August, 1 513, between the French and the 
 army of Henry VIII., of England, Bayard, as- 
 sisted by only twelve men-at-arms, held the entire 
 English army at bay until the French, who were 
 panic-stricken and in full retreat, had time to re- 
 cover. This battle was called by the English 
 " the battle of the spurs," because they claimed 
 that the French made a better use of their spurs 
 than their arms during the fight. 
 
 After the victory of Marignano, known in his- 
 tory as " the battle of the giants," and which was 
 won principally through the bravery and sagacity 
 of Bayard, Francis I. was so delighted with his- 
 feats of valor, that he requested the honor of 
 being knighted by his hands, a mark of distinc- 
 tion never offered by any other royal ruler to a 
 subject. In 1522, with a force of only one thou- 
 sand men, he defended the unfortified town of 
 Mezieres for six weeks against an army of 35,000, 
 aided by artillery. For this gallant service he re- 
 ceived the collar of St. Michael, and was made a 
 commander of one hundred men-at-arms, a posi- 
 tion until then never held except by princes of 
 the blood royal. 
 
 But it was in his last battle that he won his 
 most enduring fame. When he came to face the 
 infinite he showed himself godlike. Although 
 he had been deservedly promoted to the rank of 
 lieutenant-general, for his many acts of valor and 
 his sendees to his king and country, yet when 
 called upon to serve in a subordinate position in 
 the army of Bonnivet, which Francis was sending 
 into Italy to fight against the Constable de Bour- 
 bon, he did not hesitate, but came forward and 
 took his place cheerfully and with enthusiasm. 
 When Bonnivet was defeated and wounded, he 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 267 
 
 wisely entrusted the command of the army to the 
 sagacious and ever-valiant Bayard, who restored 
 order and would doubtless have gained a victory, 
 if he had not been' wounded by a stone discharged 
 from an arquebuse. Realizing that his wound 
 was mortal, at his own request he was left seated 
 against a tree, with his face toward the advancing 
 enemy, among whom he soon afterward expired. 
 His death ended the battle, for the French, learn- 
 ing that he had fallen, broke into a disorderly 
 flight, abandoning their standards, ordnance and 
 baggage, and seeking only to save their lives. 
 When Bayard fell, France lost more than an 
 army ; she lost the soul of chivalry, and the 
 genius of victory. 
 
 INCIDENTS OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 7TVE obtain the following interesting incidents 
 \XJ of the American Revolution from the 
 writings of Mercy Warren, who was a witness of 
 the events described : 
 
 Last Thursday, which was a very stormy day, 
 a large number of British troops came softly 
 through the town, via Watertown, to Prospect 
 Hill. On Friday we heard the Hessians were to 
 make a procession in the same route. We thought 
 we should have nothing to do but to view them 
 as they passed. To be sure the sight was truly 
 astonishing. I never had the least idea that the 
 creation produced such a sordid set of creatures in 
 human figure — poor, dirty, emaciated men. Great 
 numbers of women, who seemed to be the beasts 
 of burden, having bushel-baskets on their backs, 
 by which they were bent double. The contents 
 seemed to be pots and kettles, various sorts of fur- 
 niture, children peeping through gridirons, and 
 other utensils — some very young infants, who 
 were born on the road — the women barefoot, 
 clothed in dirty rags. Such effluvia filled the air 
 while they were passing, that, had they not been 
 smoking all the time, I should have been appre- 
 hensive of being contaminated. 
 
 The same writer gives this anecdote of General 
 Burgoyne : 
 
 General Burgoyne dined on Saturday, in Boston, 
 
 with General . He rode through the town 
 
 properly attended, down Court street, and through 
 the main street ; and on his return walked on foot 
 to Charlestown Ferry, followed by as great a 
 number of spectators as ever attended a pope ; and 
 generously observed to an officer with him, the 
 
 decent and modest behaviour of the inhabitants 
 as he passed ; saying, if he had been conducting 
 prisoners through the city- of London, not all the 
 Guards of his Majesty could have prevented 
 insults. He likewise acknowledges Lincoln and 
 Arnold to be great generals. 
 
 AN AFRICAN IDEA OF THE ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 IN one of his letters, John Adams, the Ameri- 
 can statesman, gives the following account of 
 an intelligent negro's description of the creation 
 of the world : 
 
 The negro had been brought from his own coun- 
 try to America and sold as a slave, but soon mani- 
 festing a degree of intelligence above his race, he 
 was treated with respect and consideration. On 
 one occasion he was present in a company of gen- 
 tlemen who were discussing the question of 
 Adam's fall and the introduction of natural and 
 moral evil into the world, when he said that they 
 had in his country a different account of this, 
 matter. 
 
 ' ' A dog and a toad were to run a race, ' ' said 
 he, " and if the dog reached the goal first, the 
 world was to continue innocent and happy, but if 
 the toad should outstrip the dog, the world was to 
 become sinful and miserable. Everybody thought 
 there could be no danger ; but in the midst of 
 their career the dog found a bone by the way, and 
 stopped to gnaw it ; and while he was so engaged, 
 the toad, constant in his malevolence, hopped oil,, 
 reached the mark, and spoiled the world." 
 
 COL. PUTNAM'S INDIAN STORY. 
 
 mR. ADAMS also relates the following In- 
 dian story-, which was told him by the old 
 Revolutionary hero, Israel Putnam : 
 
 Col. Putnam told a story of an Indian upon 
 Connecticut river, who called at a tavern, in the 
 fall of the year, for a dram. The landlord asked 
 him two coppers for it. The next spring, happen- 
 ing at the same house, he called for another, 
 and had three coppers to pay for it. ' ' How is 
 this, landlord," said he; "last fall you asked 
 but two coppers for a glass of rum, now yon 
 ask three." "Oh," says the landlord, "it cost 
 me a good deal to keep 'em over winter. It is as- 
 expensive to keep a hogshead of rum over winter 
 as a horse. " " Ay ! ' ' says the Indian, ' ' I can't see 
 through that ; he won't eat so much hay — maybe 
 he drink as much ?ca/er." "This," says Mr. 
 
r?ss) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 269 
 
 Adams, "was sheer wit, pure satire, and true 
 humor from a source generally supposed to be 
 void of these faculties." 
 
 VOLTAIRE AND FRANKLIN. 
 
 THE following anecdote about Voltaire and 
 Franklin has been incorporated in a num- 
 ber of our histories, without its origin being 
 given. It occurs for the first time in a letter 
 written by John Adams, from Paris, April 29, 
 1778. He says : 
 
 After dinner we went to the Academy of 
 Science, and heard M. d'Alembert, as perpetual 
 secretary, pronounce eulogies upon several of 
 their members, lately deceased. Voltaire and 
 Franklin were both present, and there presents- 
 arose a general cry that M. Voltaire and M. Frank- 
 lin should be introduced to each other. This was 
 no satisfaction ; there must be something more. 
 Neither of the philosophers seemed to divine what 
 was wished or expected ; they however, took each 
 other by the hand. But this was not enough ; the 
 clamor continued, until the explanation came out. 
 "II faut s'embraiser a la Francoise." The two 
 aged actors upon this great theatre of philosophy 
 then embraced each other, by hugging one an- 
 other in their arms, and kissing each other's 
 cheeks, and then the tumult subsided. 
 
 HISTORICAL LETTERS FROM JOHN ADAMS TO 
 HIS WIFE. 
 
 THE first letter relates some very interesting 
 private information about General Arnold, 
 and very much to the latter's credit. It has been 
 asserted that Arnold was driven into his treason- 
 able course through the intrigues of the supporters 
 of Gen. Gates, who at that time were doing their 
 best to put him in Washington's place, but found 
 an insurmountable obstacle in Gen. Arnold, who 
 was an unswerving friend of the great commander- 
 in-chief. Finding that they could not win him to 
 their side, they determined to force him out of the 
 army, and with this end in view they pursued a 
 course which so irritated and inflamed him that, 
 hoping to obtain revenge, he began his negotia- 
 tions with Sir Henry Clinton, and the force of cir- 
 cumstances impelled him onward to open treason. 
 Whether there is any ground for this view of the 
 case or not, it is quite evident, from the tone of 
 Mr. Adams's letter, that his sympathies at that 
 time were very decidedly with Arnold, and he was 
 
 not a man who could be easily deceived or misled. 
 The letter is dated at Philadelphia, May 22d, 
 1780, only three months before the capture of 
 Andre and flight of Arnold from West Point : 
 
 After a series of the severest and harshest 
 weather that I ever felt in this climate, we are at 
 last blessed with a bright sun and a soft air. The 
 weather here has been like our old easterly winds 
 to me and southerly winds to you. The charms 
 of the morning at this hour are irresistible. The 
 streaks of glory dawning in the east ; the fresh- 
 ness and purity in the air, the bright blue of the 
 sky, the sweet warblings of a great variety of 
 birds intermingling with the martial clarions of a 
 hundred cocks now within my hearing, all con- 
 spire to cheer the spirits. 
 
 This kind of puerile description is a very pretty 
 employment for an old fellow whose brow is fur- 
 rowed with the cares of politics and war. I shall 
 be on horseback in a few minutes, and then I 
 shall enjoy the morning in more perfection. I 
 spent the last evening at the war office with Gen- 
 eral Arnold. He has been basely slandered and 
 libelled. The regulars say, "he fought like- 
 Julius Caesar " [at Danbury]. I am wearied to 
 death with the wranglings between military officers, 
 high and low. They quarrel like cats and dogs. 
 They worry one another like mastiffs, scrambling 
 for rank and pay, like apes for nuts. I believe 
 there is no one principle which predominates in 
 human nature so much, in every stage of life, 
 from the cradle to the grave, in males and females, 
 old and young, black and white, rich and poor, 
 high and low, as this passion for superiority. 
 Every human being compares itself in its imagin- 
 ation with every other round about it, and will 
 find some superiority over every other, real or 
 imaginary, or it will die of grief and vexation. 
 I have seen it among boys and girls at school, 
 among lads at college, among practitioners at the 
 bar, among the clergy in their associations, among 
 clubs of friends, among the people in town meet- 
 ings, among the members of a House of Repre- 
 sentatives, among the grave councillors, on the 
 more solemn bench of Justice, and in that awfully 
 august body, the Congress, and on many of its 
 committees, and among ladies everywhere ; but I 
 never saw it operate with such keenness, ferocity, 
 and fury, as among military officers. They will 
 go terrible lengths in their emulation, their envy 
 and revenge, in consequence of it. 
 
270 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 So much for philosophy. I hope my five or six 
 babes are all well. My duty to my mother and 
 your father, and love to sisters and brothers, 
 aunts and uncles. Pray how does your asparagus 
 perform ? &C. I would give three guineas for a 
 barrel of your cider. Not one drop is to be had 
 here for gold, and wine is not to be had under six 
 or eight dollars a gallon, and that very bad. I 
 would give a guinea for a barrel of your beer. 
 The small beer here is wretchedly bad. In short, 
 I can get nothing that I can drink, and I believe 
 I shall be sick from this cause alone. Rum at 
 fort}- shillings a gallon, and bad water will never 
 do, in this hot climate, in summer, when acid 
 liquors are necessary against putrefaction. 
 
 The second letter to his wife was written two 
 years previous to the above, from Passy, France, 
 and is full of pleasant gossip, such as the ladies 
 love. The reference to Franklin's gallantry with 
 the ladies brings that philosopher down to the 
 comprehension of ordinary men, and makes us 
 love him all the more : 
 
 Passy, April 25th, 1778. 
 Mv Dearest Friend : — 
 
 Monsieur Chaumont has just informed me of a 
 vessel bound to Boston, but I am reduced to such 
 a moment of time, that I can only inform you 
 that I am well, and enclose a few lines from 
 Johnny to let you know that he is so. I have 
 ordered the things you desired to be sent you, but 
 I will not yet say by what conveyance, for fear of 
 accidents. 
 
 If human nature could be made happy by any 
 thing that can please the eye, the ear, the taste, 
 or any other sense, or passion, or fancy, this 
 country would be the region for happiness. But 
 if my country were at peace, I should be happier 
 among the rocks and shades of Penn's hill ; and 
 would cheerfully exchange all the elegance, mag- 
 nificence, and sublimity of Europe, for the sim- 
 plicity of Braintree and Weymouth. 
 
 To tell you the truth, I admire the ladies here. 
 Don't be jealous. They are handsome, and very 
 well educated. Their accomplishments are ex- 
 ceedingly brilliant, and their knowledge of letters 
 and arts exceeds that of the English ladies, I 
 believe. 
 
 Tell Mrs. Warren that I shall write her a letter, 
 as she desired, and let her know some of my re- 
 flections in this country. My venerable colleague 
 {Dr. Franklin] enjoys a privilege here, that is 
 
 much to be envied. Being seventy years of age, 
 the ladies not only allow him to embrace them as 
 often as he pleases, but they are perpetually em- 
 bracing him. I told him, yesterday, I would 
 write this to America. 
 
 Mrs. Adams to her Husband, on His Election to the 
 Presidency. 
 
 Quincy, February Sth, 1797. 
 " The sun is dressed in brighest beams, 
 To give thy houors to the day." 
 
 And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each 
 ensuing season. You have this day to declare 
 yourself head of a nation. ' ' And now, O Lord, 
 my God, thou hast made thy servant ruler over 
 the people. Give unto him an understanding 
 heart, that he may know how to go out and come 
 in before this great people ; that he may discern 
 between good and bad. For who is able to 
 judge this thy so great a people ? ' ' were the words 
 of a royal sovereign ; and not less applicable to 
 him who is invested with the chief magistracy of 
 a nation, though he wear not a crown, nor the 
 robes of royalty. 
 
 My thoughts and my meditations are with you, 
 though personally absent ; and my petitions to 
 Heaven are, that "the things which make for 
 peace may not be hidden from your eyes." My 
 feelings are not those of pride or ostentation, upon 
 the occasion. They are solemnized by a sense of 
 the obligations, the important trusts, and numer- 
 ous duties connected with it. That you may be 
 enabled to discharge them with honor to yourself, 
 with justice and impartiality to your country, and 
 with satisfaction to this great people, shall be the 
 daily prayer of your wife. 
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PARIS. 
 
 BY VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 PEOPLE lived in public ; they ate at tables 
 spread outside the doors ; women seated on 
 the steps of the churches made lint as they sang 
 the Marseillaise . Park Monceaux and the Lux- 
 embourg Gardens were parade-grounds. There 
 were gunsmiths' shops in full work ; they manu- 
 factured muskets before the eyes of the passers-by; 
 who clapped their hands in applause. The watch- 
 word on every lip was, " Patience ; we are in Revo- 
 lution." The people smiled heroically. They 
 went to the theatre as they did at Athens during 
 the Peloponnesian war. One saw play-bills such 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 271 
 
 as these pasted at the street corners ! " The Siege above her head. A solicitor named Seran, who 
 of Thionville ; "A Mother Saved from the had been denounced, awaited his arrest in dress- 
 Flames;" "The Club of the Careless;" "The ing-gown and slippers, playing his flute at his 
 Eldest of the Popes Joan ; " " The Philosopher- window. Nobody seemed to have leisure ; all the 
 Soldiers ; " " The Art of Village Love-making." world was in a hurry. Every hat bore a cockade. 
 
 WOMEN AT THE BARRIERS. 
 
 The Germans were at the gates ; a report was 
 current that the King of Prussia had secured 
 boxes at the opera. Everything was terrible, 
 and no one was frightened. The mysterious law 
 against the suspected, which was the crime of 
 Merlin of Douai, held a vision of the guillotine 
 
 The women said, " We are pretty in red caps." 
 All Paris seemed to be removing. The curiosity 
 shops were crowded with crowns, mitres, sceptres 
 of gilded wood, and fleurs-de-lis — torn down from 
 royal dwellings ; it was the demolition of mon- 
 archy that went on. 
 
272 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Copes were to be seen for sale at the old clothes- 
 men's, and rochets hung on hooks at their doors. 
 At Rarnponneau' sand the Porcherons, men dressed 
 out in surplices and stoles, and mounted on don- 
 keys, caparisoned with chasubles, drank wine at 
 the doors from the cathedral ciboria. In the Rue 
 Saint Jacques, barefooted street-pavers stopped 
 the wheelbarrow of a peddler who had boots for 
 sale, and clubbed together to buy fifteen pairs of 
 shoes, which they sent to the Convention ' ' for 
 our soldiers. ' ' 
 
 Busts of Franklin, Rousseau, Brutus, and, we 
 must add, of Marat, abounded. Under a bust of 
 Marat in the Rue Cloche-Perce was hung in a 
 black wooden frame, and under glass, an address 
 against Malouet, with testimony in support of the 
 charges, and these marginal lines : 
 
 ' ' These details were furnished me by the mis- 
 tress of Silvain Bailly, a good patriotess, who has 
 a liking for me. (Signed) Marat." 
 
 Very few of the larger shops were open ; peri- 
 patetic haberdashery and toy shops were dragged 
 about by women, lighted by candles, which 
 dropped their tallow on the merchandise. Open- 
 air shops were kept by ex-nuns, in blonde wigs. 
 This mender, darning stockings in a stall, was a 
 countess; that dressmaker a marchioness. Madame 
 de Burners inhabited a garret, from whence she 
 could look out at her own hotel. Hawkers ran 
 about offering the ' ' paper of news. ' ' Persons 
 who wore cravats that hid their chins were called 
 " the scrofulous. " Street-singers swarmed. The 
 crowd hooted Pitou, the royalist song-writer, and 
 a valiant man into the bargain ; he was twenty- 
 two times imprisoned and taken before the revo- 
 lutionary tribunal for slapping his coat-tails as he 
 pronounced the word Civism. Seeing that his 
 head was in danger, he exclaimed : ' 'But it is 
 just the opposite of my head that is in fault ! " — a 
 witticism which made the judges laugh, and saved 
 his life. This Pitou ridiculed the rage for Greek 
 and Latin names ; his favorite song was about a 
 cobbler, whom he called Cujus, and to whom he 
 gave a wife named Cujusdam. They danced the 
 Carmagnole in great circles. They no longer said 
 gentleman and lady, but citizen and citizeness. 
 
 They danced in the ruined cloisters with the 
 church-lamps lighted on the altars, with cross- 
 shaped chandeliers hanging from the vaulted roofs 
 and tombs beneath their feet. Waistcosts of 
 " tyrant's blue" were worn. There were " libertv- 
 
 caps" shirt-pins made of white, blue, and red 
 stones. The Rue de Richelieu was called the 
 Street of Paw ; the Faubourg Saint Antoine was 
 named the Faubourg of Glory ; a statue of Nature 
 stood in the Place de la Bastile. People pointed 
 out to one another certain well-known personages 
 — Chatelet, Didier, Nicholas and Garnier-De- 
 launay, who stood guard at the door of Duplay 
 the joiner ; Voullant, who never missed a guillo- 
 tine-day, and followed the carts of the condemned 
 — he called it going to "the red mass;" Mont- 
 flabert, revolutionary juryman ; and a marquis, 
 who took the name of Dix Aout (Tenth of August ). 
 People watched the pupils of the Ecole Militaire 
 file past, described by the decrees of the Conven- 
 tion as " aspirants in the school of Mars," and by 
 the crowd as " the pages of Robespierre." They 
 read the proclamations of Freron denouncing those 
 suspected of the crime of " negotiantism." The 
 dandies collected at the doors of the mayoralties 
 to mock at the civil marriages, thronging about 
 the brides and grooms as they passed, and shout 
 "Married municipaliter. ! " At the Invalides, 
 the statues of the saints and kings were crowned 
 with Phrygian caps. They played cards on the 
 curb-stones at the crossings. The packs of cards 
 were also in the full tide of revolution : the kings 
 were replaced by genii ; the queens by the goddess 
 of Liberty ; the knaves by figures representing 
 Equality, and the aces by impersonations of Law. 
 They tilled the public gardens ; the plow worked 
 at the Tuileries. With all these excesses was 
 mingled, especially among the conquered parties, 
 an indescribable haughty weariness of life. A 
 man wrote to Fouquier-Tinville, " Have the good- 
 ness to free me from existence. This is my address." 
 Champeenteux was arrested for having cried in 
 the midst of the Palais Royal garden : " When 
 are we to have the revolution of Turkey. I want 
 to see the republic a la Porte." Newspapers ap- 
 peared in legions. The hair-dressers' men curled 
 the wigs of women in public, while the masters 
 read the Moniteur aloud. Others, surrounded by 
 eager groups, commented with violent gestures 
 upon the journal Listen to Us of Dubois Crance, 
 or the Trumpet of Father Bellerose. Sometimes 
 the barbers were pork -sellers as well, and hams 
 and chitterlings might be seen hanging side by 
 side with a golden-haired doll. Dealers sold in 
 the open street "wines of the refugees:" one 
 merchant advertised wines of fifty-two sorts. 
 
l~ Tf 3 W¥±?"3 f" 
 
 '«■['.}]■ 
 
 (273) 
 
274 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Othe'i displayed harp-shaped clocks and sofas "« 
 la o ichc ise. ' ' One hairdresser had for a sign : "I 
 si ave the Clergy ; I comb the Xobility ; I arrange 
 the Third Estate." 
 
 People went to have their fortunes told by Mar- 
 tin, at No. 173 in the Rue d'Aujou, formerly Rue 
 Dauphine. There was a lack of bread, of coal, 
 of soap. Herds of milch-eows might be seen com- 
 ing in from the country. At the Yallee, lamb 
 sold for fifteen francs the pound. An order of 
 the Commune assigned a pound of meat per head 
 even- ten days. People stood in ranks at the 
 doors of the butchers' shops. One of these files 
 has remained famous : it reached from a grocer's 
 shop in the Rue du Petit Carreau to the middle 
 of the Rue Montorgueil. To form a line was 
 called "holding the cord," from a long rope 
 which was held in the hands of those who were 
 standing in a row. Amid this wretchedness, the 
 women were brave and mild : they passed entire 
 nights awaiting their turn to get into the bakers' 
 shops. The Revolution resorted to expedients 
 which were successful : she alleviated this wide 
 distress by two perilous means — the assiguat and 
 the maximum. The assiguat was the lever, the 
 maximum was the fulcrum. This empiricism 
 saved France. The enemy, whether of Coblentz 
 or London, gambled iu assignats. Girls came 
 and went, offering lavender-water, garters, false 
 hair, and selling stocks. There were jobbers on 
 the Perron of the Rue Vivienne, with muddy 
 shoes, greasy hair, and fur caps decorated with 
 fox-tails ; and there were swells from the Rue Ya- 
 lois, with varnished boots, toothpicks, and long- 
 napped hats on their heads, to whom the girls 
 said "thee and thou." Later, the people gave 
 chase to them as they did the thieves, whom the 
 royalists styled " active citizens." For the time, 
 theft was rare. There reigned a terrible destitu- 
 tion and a stoical probity. The barefooted and 
 the starving passed with lowered eyelids before 
 the jewellers' shops of the Palais Egalite. Dur- 
 ing domiciliary visit that the Section Antoine 
 made to the house of Beaumarchais, a women 
 picked a flower in the garden ; the crowd boxed 
 her ears. Wood cost four hundred francs iu coin 
 per cord ; people could be seen in the streets saw- 
 ing up their bedsteads. In the winter the foun- 
 tains were frozen ; two pails of water cost twenty 
 sous : every man made himself a water-carrier. A 
 sjold louis was worth three thousand nine hun- 
 
 dred and fifty francs. After a day's use of a car- 
 riage, this sort of dialogue might be heard : 
 " Coachman, how much do I owe you?" "Six 
 thousand francs. ' ' A green-grocer woman sold 
 twenty thousand francs' worth of vegetables in 
 a day. A beggar said, "Help me, in the name 
 of charity ! I lack two hundred and thirty francs 
 to finish paying for my shoes." 
 
 There was no faltering among this people. 
 There was the sombre joy of having made an end 
 of thrones. Volunteers abounded ; each street 
 furnished a battalion. The flags of the districts 
 came and went, every one with its own device. 
 On the banner of the Capuchin district could be 
 read, " Nobody can cut our beards." On another, 
 ' ' No other nobility than that of the heart. ' ' On all 
 the walls were placards, large and small, white, 
 yellow, green, red, printed and written, on which 
 might be read this motto: "Long live the Re- 
 public! " The children lisped " Ca ira." 
 
 These children were in themselves the great 
 future. 
 
 Later, to the tragical city succeeded the cynical 
 city. The streets of Paris have offered two revo- 
 lutionary aspects entirely distinct — that before 
 and that after the 9th Thermidor. The Paris of 
 Saint Just gave place to the Paris of Tallien. 
 Such anthiseses are perpetual ; after Sinai, the 
 Courtille appeared. 
 
 An attack of public madness made its appear- 
 ance. It had already been seen eighty years be- 
 fore. The people came out from under Louis 
 XIV. as the>- did from under Robespierre, with a 
 great need to breathe ; hence the regency which 
 opened that century and the director}- which 
 closed it. Two Saturnalia after two terrorisms. 
 France snatched the wicket-key and got beyond 
 the Puritan cloister just as it did beyond that of 
 monarchy, with the joy of a nation that escapes. 
 
 After the 9th Thermidor Paris was gay ; but 
 with ni insane gayety. An unhealthy joy over- 
 flowed all bonis. To the frenzy for dying suc- 
 ceeded the frenzy for living, and grandeur eclipsed 
 •tself. They had a Trimalcion, calling himself 
 Grimod de la Reyniere : there was the " Almanac 
 of the Gourmands." People dined in the entre- 
 sols of the Palais Royal to the din of orchestras 
 of women beating drums' and blowing trumpets ; 
 the " rigadooner " reigned, bow in hand. People 
 supped oriental fashion at Meot's, surrounded by 
 perfumes. The artist Boze painted his daughters, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 27c 
 
 innocent and charming heads of sixteen, en guil- 
 lotinccs ; that is to say, with bare necks and red 
 shifts. To the wild dances in the ruined churches 
 succeeded the balls of Ruggieri, of Luquet-Wen- 
 zel, Mauduit, and the Montansier ; to grave citi- 
 zenesses making lint succeeded sultanas, savages, 
 nymphs ; to the naked feet of the soldiers covered 
 with blood, dust, and mud, succeeded the naked 
 feet of women decorated with diamonds ; at the 
 same time, with shamelessness, improbity reap- 
 peared ; and it had its purveyors in high ranks, 
 and their imitators among the class below. A 
 swarm of sharpers filled Paris, and every man 
 was forced to guard well his " luc" — that is, his 
 pocket-book. One of the amusements of the day 
 was to go to the Palace of Justice to see the fe- 
 male thieves ; it was necessary to tie fast their 
 petticoats. At the doors of the theatres the street 
 boys opened cab doors, saying, ' ' Citizen and citi- 
 zeness, there is room for two." The Old Cordelier 
 and the Friend of the People were no longer sold. 
 In their place were cried Punch' s Letter and the 
 Rogues' Petition. The Marquis de Sade presided 
 at the Section of the Pikes, Place Vendome. The 
 reaction was jovial and ferocious. The Dragons 
 of Liberty of '92 were reborn under the name of 
 the Chevaliers of the Dagger. At the same time 
 there appeared in the booths that type, Jocrisse. 
 There were ' ' the Merveillcuses, ' ' and in advance 
 of these feminine marvels came "the Incroyables. " 
 People swore by strange and affected oaths ; they 
 j umped back from Mirabeau to Bobeche. Thus 
 it is that Paris sways back and forth ; it is the 
 enormous pendulum of civilization ; it touches 
 either pole in turn, Thermopylae and Gomorrah. 
 After '93 the Revolution traversed a singular os- 
 cillation ; the century seemed to forget to finish 
 that which it had commenced ; a strange orgy in- 
 terposed itself, took the foreground, swept back 
 to the second place the awful Apocalypse ; veiled 
 the immeasurable vision, and laughed aloud after 
 its fright. Tragedy disappeared in parody, and, 
 rising darkly from the bottom of the horizon, a 
 smoke of carnival effaced Medusa. 
 
 DR. SAMUEL PETERS THE CONNECTICUT 
 MUNCHAUSEN. 
 
 ONE of the rarest historical characters that this 
 country has ever produced was the Rev. Sam- 
 uel Andrew Peters, who was born in Hebron, Ct., 
 December 12, 1735, and died in New York, April 
 
 19, 1826. He graduated at Yale College in 1757, 
 was ordained a clergyman of the Church of Eng- 
 land in 1760, and two years later took charge of 
 the churches of Hartford and Hebron. In 1774 
 he was compelled to leave the country on account of 
 his Torj* principles. The circumstances of his 
 exit were characteristic of the times. He was re- 
 garded with distrust by his Whig neighbors for 
 meddling with and marring the work of Independ- 
 ence by his communications to persons in Eng- 
 land. If his humorous, voluble style of composi- 
 tion is to be taken as evidence of his conversa- 
 tional powers, his tongue would also have been an 
 unwelcome scourge of his townspeople. Three 
 hundred of the latter accordingly gathered at his 
 house one evening, and demanded a declaration of 
 his principles, hinting at a coat of tar and feathers 
 if their demand were not immediately complied 
 with. They also demanded copies of letters which 
 he had sent to England, and o*" the malignant 
 articles which he had written for the newspapers. 
 
 His visitors were so numerous and vehement in 
 their requests that he hastened to comply with 
 their wishes, and signed a paper agreeing to 
 curb his royal inclinations and behave himself in 
 the future. This occurred in August. 
 
 When the storm had blown over the good Doc- 
 tor recovered his equanimity, and soon began 
 again to make himself fully as objectionable as he 
 had ever been in the past. A month later 
 another committee called on him, and made 
 him understand that they "meant business." 
 He offered to argue the question with them, but 
 they informed him that they had come to act 
 and not to talk. He persisted, however, and com- 
 menced a lengthly harangue ; in the midst of 
 which a gun was heard to go off in his house, 
 notwithstanding his solemn declarations that he 
 had no firearms. The whole body thereupon 
 broke into the house by door and windows, seized 
 the doctor and carried him off to the meeting- 
 house green, three-quarters of a mile away. 
 "During the affair," we are told, "his gown and 
 shirt were torn, one sock of his hose was some- 
 what shattered, a table was turned over, and a 
 punch-bowl and glass were broken." 
 
 These energetic measures convinced Dr. Peters 
 that a sojourn in more loyal regions would be 
 conducive to his health, and he accordingly fled to 
 Boston and sailed from thence to England. Here, 
 smarting under a sense of his wrongs, and desir- 
 
276 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ing to be avenged against the whole Yankee na- 
 tion, he wrote his ' ' General History of Connecti- 
 cut," which is the most perfect and enduring 
 specimen of pure Munehausenism that ever came 
 from the press. The humorous gravity of the 
 style is irresistible ; while its feigned earnestness 
 has led man}- learned men to suppose that its ex- 
 travagant statements were intended for facts, 
 and they have accordingly composed excuses 
 and apologies for the author on the ground of his 
 excited condition during the preparation of his 
 book ! This, of course, adds to the humor of the 
 productions. 
 
 When the war was ended, Peters was chosen, in 
 1794, bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in 
 Vermont, and he accepted the office with enthusi- 
 asm ; but the Archbishop declined to consecrate 
 him. The good doctor had not only gone so far 
 as to accept the proffered call, but had also writ- 
 ten and caused to be extensively circulated an 
 "Episcopal Letter," somewhat after the style of 
 St. Paul. He addressed his epistle "to the 
 churches of Christ spread abroad in the State of 
 Vermont, niercy, peace, and love be multiplied," 
 and proceeded with an apostolic injunction, the hu- 
 mor of which is irresistible, when we consider St. 
 Paul, Dr. Peters, and the fact that he was no 
 bishop after all. 
 
 ' ' Until I come, ' ' he writes, parodying the Apos- 
 tle, " give attendance to reading, prayer and faith. 
 When present with you, by the grace of God, I 
 will lead you through the wilderness of life, up to 
 a world that knows no sorrow. I will guide you 
 with mine eye, and feed your lambs and sheep 
 with bread more durable than the everlasting hills. 
 While absent from you in body I am present with 
 you in mind, thanking God always in ever}' 
 pra}'er of mine, and making request with joy for 
 your fellowship in the gospel of His Son ; that you 
 maj r be of good cheer, and overcome a world 
 yielding no content, the only wealth of man ; and 
 that you ma}' know how to be abased, and how 
 to abound ; even-where and in all things to be in- 
 structed to obey the laws of Christ. The spirit 
 which heals all our infirmities, no doubt led you to 
 glorify God in me, when you appointed the least of 
 all saints to fill the highest station in the Church 
 of Jesus Christ ; duty and inclination (with feeble 
 blood flowing in my veins ) inspire my soul to seek 
 and do you good in that sacred office to which you 
 have invited me ; being confident that you will 
 
 receive me with all gladness, and hold me in repu- 
 tation for the work of Christ ; which brought me 
 near to death, and shall finally make you my 
 glory andmy joy. Should my insufficiency in spir- 
 itual and scientific knowledge appear too manifest 
 among you, my zeal and labors in the vineyard of 
 the Lord shall, I trust, be your pride and boast; in 
 this hope, and resting on the candor, order, mo- 
 rality, learning, piety, and religion of those over 
 whom I am well chosen to preside, I shall with 
 some degree of confidence undertake the charge, 
 and claim the wisdom of the wise to enlighten my 
 understanding, and the charity and prayers of all 
 to remove any wants, and to lessen my manifold 
 imperfections. Salute one another with faith and 
 love." 
 
 History is silent with reference to Dr. Peters' 
 feelings on learning that the Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury had refused to consecrate him. But his 
 "episcopal address" had gone forth, and it was 
 too late to recall it. His opinion of himself, how- 
 ever, was not lessened, for he subsequently wrote 
 and published a work in which he mentions his 
 good qualities in the following terms : ' ' He is re- 
 puted," says he of himself, "to have the facul- 
 ties of his uncle Hugh, the zeal and courage of 
 his grand-parent, General Thomas Harrison, 
 mixed with the benevolence that characterized 
 his great-grand-pareut, William Peters, Esq., of 
 
 jfis-i-" 
 
 We now proceed to copy some extracts from 
 the Doctor's " History," which, if not reliable as 
 history, are at least entertaining as specimens of 
 magnificent and boundless imagination : 
 Interview Between Rev. Mr. Ward and Cotton Mather. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Ward, being an eminent Puritan 
 in England, disliked the spiritual and star-chamber 
 courts under the control of the hierarchy of Eng- 
 land ; he fled to New England, and became min- 
 ister of Agawam, an Indian village, making the 
 west part of Springfield in the State of Massachu- 
 setts. He was an exact scholar, a meek, benevo- 
 lent, and charitable Christian. He used the In- 
 dians with justice and tenderness, and established 
 one of the best towns on the Connecticut river. 
 He was free from hypocrisy and stiff bigotry, 
 which then domineered in New England, and 
 which yet remain at Hadley and Northampton, 
 not much to the credit of morality and piety. Mr. 
 Ward had a large share of Hudibrastic wit, and 
 much pleasantry with his gravity. This appears 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 277 
 
 in his history of of Agawam, wherein he satirized 
 the prevailing superstition of the times ; which 
 did more good than Dr. Mather's book, entitled, 
 " Stilts for Dwarfs in Christ to Wade through the 
 Mud, ' ' or his ' ' Magnalia, ' ' with his other twenty- 
 four books. His posterity are man)', and have 
 done their part in the pulpit, in the field, and at 
 the bar, in the six States of New England, and 
 generally have followed the charitable temper of 
 their venerable ancestor, and seldom fail to lash 
 the avarice of the clergy, who are often recom- 
 mending charity and hospitality to the needy 
 stranger, and at the same time never follow their 
 own advice to others. Mr. Ward, of Agawam, 
 has left his children an example worth)- of imita- 
 tion. The story is thus related : 
 
 Dr. Mather, of Boston, was constantly exhort- 
 ing his hearers to entertain strangers, for by doing 
 so they might entertain angels. But it was re- 
 marked, that Dr. Mather never entertained 
 strangers, nor gave any relief to beggars. This 
 report reached Mr. Ward, of Agawam, an inti- 
 mate chum of the Doctor while at the university. 
 Ward said he hoped it was not true ; but resolved 
 to discover the truth ; therefore he set off for 
 Boston on foot, one hundred and twenty miles, 
 and arriving at the door of Dr. Mather on Satur- 
 day evening, when most people were in bed, and 
 knocked at the door, which the maid opened. 
 Ward said, "I come from the country, to hear 
 good Dr. Mather preach to-morrow. I am 
 hungry, and thirsty, without money, and I beg 
 the good Doctor will give me relief and a bed in 
 his house until the Sabbath is over. ' ' The maid 
 replied, "The Doctor is in his study, it is' Satur- 
 day night, the Sabbath is begun, we have no bed, 
 or victuals, for ragged beggars," and shut the 
 door upon him. Mr. Ward again made use of 
 the knocker : the maid went to the Doctor, and 
 told him there was a sturdy beggar beating the 
 door, who insisted on coming in and staying there 
 over the Sabbath. The Doctor said, "Tell him 
 to depart, or a constable shall conduct him to a 
 prison." The maid obeyed the Doctor's order ; 
 and Mr. Ward said, " I will not leave the door 
 until I have seen the Doctor." This tumult 
 roused the Doctor, with his black velvet cap on 
 his head, and he came to the door and opened it, 
 and said, "Thou country villain, how dare you 
 knock thus at my door after the Sabbath has 
 
 begun ? ' ' Mr. Ward replied, ' ' Sir, I am a 
 stranger, hungry and moneyless ; pray take me 
 in, until the holy Sabbath is past, so that I may 
 hear one of your godly sermons." The Doctor 
 said, "Vagrant, go thy way, and trouble me no 
 more ; I will not break the Sabbath by giving 
 thee food and lodging," and then shut the door. 
 The Doctor had scarcely reached his study, when 
 Ward began to exercise the knocker with con- 
 tinued violence. The Doctor, not highly pleased, 
 returned to the door and said, "Wretched being, 
 why dost thou trouble me thus ? what wilt thou 
 have?" Ward replied, " Entertainment in your 
 house until Monday morning." The Doctor 
 said, "You shall not, therefore go thy way." 
 Mr. Ward replied, "Sir, as that point is settled, 
 pray give me a sixpence or a shilling, and a 
 piece of bread and meat." The Doctor 
 said, "I will give thee neither," and again shut 
 the door. And then Mr. Ward thundered with 
 the knocker of the door, and the Doctor returned 
 in great wrath and said, "Thou art mad, or pos- 
 sessed w T ith an evil spirit : what wilt thou have 
 now?" Mr. Ward replied, " Since you, sir, will not 
 give lodgings, nor money, nor food, nor drink to 
 me, I pray for your advice ; will you direct me to a 
 stew?" The Doctor cried out, " Vagrant of all 
 vagrants ! the curse of God will fall on thee ; thou 
 art one of the non-elects. Dost thou, villain, sup- 
 pose that I am acquainted with bad houses ? 
 What dost thou want at a stew?" Mr. Ward re- 
 plied, " I am hungry, weary, thirsty, moneyless, 
 and almost naked ; and Solomon, the wisest king 
 the Jews ever had, tells me and you, that a 
 whore will bring a man to a morsel of bread at 
 the last." Now Dr. Mather awoke from his 
 reverend dream, and cried, " Tu es Wardonus 
 vel Diabolus. ' ' Mr. Ward laughed, and the Doc- 
 tor took him in and gave him all he wanted ; 
 and Mr. Ward preached for the Doctor next day, 
 both morning and evening. This event had its 
 due effect on the Doctor ever after, and he kept 
 the Shunamite's chamber, and became hospita- 
 ble and charitable to all in want. 
 
 It corrected the Doctor's temper to such a de- 
 gree, that six months after, he ceased to pray 
 more against the pope and conclave of Rome, 
 and supplied the vacuum, by praying for the 
 downfall of the red dragon at Morocco, Egypt, 
 and Arabia, on the east side of the Red Sea, 
 
278 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 even at Mecca and Medina ; words which helped 
 the sand to pass through the hour-glass, the or- 
 thodox length of a prayer. 
 
 A History of the Connecticut River. 
 
 The middle river is named Connecticut, after 
 the great Sachem to whom that part of the pro- 
 vince through which it runs belonged. This 
 vast river is 500 miles long, and four miles wide 
 at its mouth : its channel, or inner banks, in 
 general, half a mile wide. It takes its rise from 
 the White Hills, in the north of Xew England, 
 where also springs the river Kennebec. Above 
 500 rivulets, which issue from lakes, ponds, and 
 drowned lands, fall into it ; main- of them are 
 larger than the Thames at London. In March, 
 when the rain and sun melt the snow and ice, each 
 stream is overcharged, and kindly hastens to this 
 great river, to overflow, fertilize, and preserve its 
 trembling meadows. They lift up enormous 
 cakes of ice, bursting from their frozen beds with 
 threatening intentions of ploughing up the 
 frighted earth, and carry them rapidly down the 
 falls, where they are dashed in pieces and rise in 
 mist. Except at these falls, of which there are 
 five, the first sixty miles from its mouth, the river 
 is navigable throughout. In its northern parts 
 are three great bendings, called cohosses, about 
 100 miles asunder. Two hundred miles from the 
 Sound is a narrow of five yards only, formed by 
 two shelving mountains of solid rock, whose tops 
 intercept the clouds. Through this chasm are 
 compelled to pass all the waters which in the time 
 of the floods bun- the northern country. At the 
 upper cohos the river then spreads several miles 
 wide, and for five or six weeks ships of war might 
 sail over lands, that afterwards produce the greatest 
 crops of hay and grain in all America. People 
 who can bear the sight, the groans, the tremblings 
 and surly motion of water, trees, and ice, through 
 this awful passage, view with astonishment one of 
 the greatest phenomenons in nature. Here water 
 is consolidated, without frost, by pressure, by swift- 
 ness, between the pinching, sturdy rocks, to such 
 a degree of induration, that an iron crow floats 
 smoothly clown its current : — here iron, lead, and 
 cork, have one common weight : — here, steady as 
 time, and harder than marble, the stream passes 
 irresistible, if not swift, as lightning : — the electric 
 fire rends trees in pieces with no greater ease, than 
 does this mighty water. The passage is about 
 
 400 yards in length, and of a zigzag form, with 
 obtuse corners. 
 
 Remarkable Achievement of the Frogs at Windham. 
 
 Windham resembles Rumford, and stands on 
 Winuomantic river. Its meeting-house is ele- 
 gant, and has a steeple, bell, and clock. Its 
 court-house is scarcely to be looked upon as an 
 ornament. The township forms four parishes, 
 and is ten miles square. 
 
 Strangers are very much terrified at the hideous 
 noise made 011 summer evenings by the vast num- 
 ber of frogs in the brooks and ponds. There are 
 about thirty different voices among them ; some 
 of which resemble the bellowing of a bull. The 
 owls and whippoorwills complete the rough con- 
 cert, which may be heard several miles. Persons 
 accustomed to such serenades are not disturbed by 
 them at their proper stations ; but one night, in 
 July, 1758, the frogs of an artificial pond, three 
 miles square, and about five from Windham, find- 
 ing the water dried up, left the place in a bod}-, 
 and marched, or rather hopped towards Winuo- 
 mantic river. They were under the necessity of 
 taking the road and going through the town, 
 which the}- entered about midnight. The bull 
 frogs were the leaders, and the pipers followed 
 without number. They filled a road 40 yards 
 wide for four miles in length, and were for several 
 hours in passing through the town, unusually 
 clamorous. The inhabitants were equally per- 
 plexed and frightened ; some expected to find an 
 army of French and Indians ; others feared an 
 earthquake, and dissolution of nature. The con- 
 sternation was universal. Old and young, male 
 and female, fled naked from their beds with worse 
 shriekings than those of the frogs. The event 
 was fatal to several women. The men, after a 
 flight of half a mile, in which they met with 
 many broken shins, finding no enemies in pursuit 
 of them made a halt, and summoned resolution 
 enough to venture back to their wives and chil- 
 dren ; when they distinctly heard from the enemy's 
 camp these words, Wight, Hilda-ken, Dier, Tcte. 
 This last they thought meant treaty ; and pluck- 
 ing up courage, the}- sent a triumvirate to capitu- 
 late with the supposed French and Indians. These 
 three men approached in their shirts, and begged 
 to speak with the general ; but it being dark, and 
 no answer given, the}- were sorely agitated for 
 some time betwixt hope and fear ; at length. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY 
 
 270 
 
 however, the}" discovered that the dreaded inimical 
 arm} - was an arm}- of thirsty frogs, going to the 
 river for a little water. 
 
 Such an incursion was never known before nor 
 since ; and yet the people of Windham have been 
 ridiculed for their timidity on this occasion. I 
 verily believe an army under the Duke of Marl- 
 borough, would, under like circumstances, have 
 acted no better than they did. 
 
 The Story of Gen. Putnam and the Wolf. 
 Dr. Peters' account of Gen. Putnam's en- 
 counter with the wolf differs materially from the 
 accepted version : 
 
 We read that David slew a lion and a bear, and 
 afterwards that Saul trusted him to fight Goliath. 
 In Pomfret lives Col. Israel Putnam, who slew a 
 she-bear and her two cubs with a billet of wood. 
 The bravery of this action brought him into pub- 
 lic notice ; and, it seems, he is one of fortune's 
 favorites. The story is as follows: — In 1754, a 
 large she-bear came in the night from her den, 
 which was three miles from Mr. Putnam's house, 
 and took a sow out of a pen of his. The sow, by 
 her squeaking, awoke Mr. Putnam, who hastily 
 ran to the poor creature's relief; but before he 
 could reach the pen, the bear had left it, and was 
 trotting away with the sow in her mouth. Mr. 
 Putnam took up a billet of wood, and followed the 
 screamings of the sow, till he came to the foot of 
 the mountain, where the den was. Dauntless he 
 entered the horrid cavern ; and, after walking and 
 crawling upon his hands and knees for fifty yards, 
 came to a roomy cell, where the bear met him 
 • with great fur}-. He saw nothing but the fire of 
 her eyes ; but that was sufficient for our hero ; he 
 accordingly directed his blow, which at once proved 
 fatal to the bear and saved his own life at a most 
 critical moment. Putnam then discovered and 
 killed two cubs ; and having, though in Egyptian 
 darkness, dragged them and the dead sow, one by 
 one, out of the cave, he went home, and calmly 
 reported to his family what had happened. The 
 neighbors declared, on viewing the place by torch- 
 light, that his exploit exceeded those of Samson 
 or David. Soon afterwards the General Assembly 
 appoiuted Mr. Putnam a Lieutenant in the Army 
 marching against Canada. His courage and good 
 conduct raised him to the rank of Captain the 
 next year. The third year he was made a Major ; 
 and the fourth a Colonel. Putnam and Rogers 
 were the heroes through the last war. Putnam 
 
 was so hard}-, at a time when the Indians had 
 killed all his men, and completely hemmed him 
 in upon a river, as to leap into a stream, which in 
 a minute carried him down a stupendous fall, 
 where no tree could pass without being torn in 
 pieces. The Indians reasonably concluded that 
 Putnam, their terrible enemy, was dead, and made 
 their report accordingly at Ticonderoga ; but soon 
 after, a scouting party found their sad mistake in 
 a bloody rencontre. Some few that got off de- 
 clared that Putnam was yet living, and that he 
 was the first sou of Hobbamockow, and therefore 
 immortal. However, at length the Indians took 
 this terrible warrior prisoner, and tied him to a 
 tree ; where he hung three days without food or 
 drink. They did not attempt to kill him for fear 
 of offending Hobbamockow ; but they sold him to 
 the French at a great price. The name of Putnam 
 was more alarming to the Indians than cannon, 
 and they never would fight him after his escape 
 from the falls. He was afterwards redeemed by 
 the English. 
 
 But we must take leave of good Dr. Peters, al- 
 though we do so with regret. We have quoted 
 enough from his writings to prove that his faculty 
 of entertaining was more rarely developed than 
 that of almost any other American writer, and if 
 his reputation for veracity had been equal to his 
 humor and his imagination, what a splendid char- 
 acter he would have been ! 
 
 ETHAN ALLEN, THE HERO OF VERMONT. 
 
 GTHAX ALLEX, the son of a farmer in Con- 
 necticut, was born at Coventry in that State, 
 January 10, 1737. He removed to Vermont about 
 the year 1772, and became the stalwart leader of 
 the Green Mountain Boys in their resistance to 
 the territorial claims of New York. His brilliant 
 surprisal of Ticonderoga, in 1775, "in the name 
 of the great Jehovah and the Continental Con- 
 gress," need hardly be mentioned here. It was 
 probably the success of that adventure which led 
 to the rash attempt upon Montreal, where he was 
 taken prisoner ; a captivity which gave rise to his 
 authorship of a volume which contains as much of 
 the essence of military revolutionary whigism and 
 anti-toryism, as it is possible to convey in the same 
 space. This work tells a sad story of the lack of 
 gallantry and of the oppression of the British 
 service at that time. A prisoner taken in war by 
 the English seems to have been regarded as 
 
280 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 something between an enemy and a convict, not 
 entitled to the honorable courtesy due to the 
 one, and not exactly responsible to the gallows 
 assigned for the other. The interminable term 
 was a rebel, and the respect for consanguinity 
 which England should have shown in the strug- 
 gle, was lost in the contempt of familiarity — as 
 an old-fashioned father would whip his own 
 children and reverence those of other persons. 
 In this humor of his conquerors, Allen was 
 taken from Montreal, confined hand and feet in 
 irons, carried on board the Gaspee schooner-of- 
 war, taken from Quebec to Liverpool in a gov- 
 ernment vessel, suffering die accommodations of 
 a slave ship, landed with indignity at Falmouth ; 
 was kept a prisoner and a show at Pendennis 
 castle ; removed to the Solebay frigate, which, 
 putting into Cork, the stores which tender- 
 hearted Irish friends sent him were confiscated 
 for the use of the vessel ; was brought 
 to the coast of America, and kept in various 
 degrees of restraint, latterly under freedom of 
 parole at Xew York, till the victory of Sara- 
 toga brought about his release in 177S. He 
 published the narrative of his captivity in the 
 following year. He wrote as he acted, a word 
 and a blow. For a certain quick intense con- 
 ception of things, the uninstructed physique of 
 the mind, his narrative of his captivity is a 
 model like his own figure, of rude, burly 
 strength. 
 
 When confined on board the schooner Gaspee, 
 in irons, he asserts that he was obliged to throw 
 out plenty of "extravagant language," which 
 answered his purpose at that time better than 
 softer words would have done. "The cause I 
 was engaged in, " he adds, ' ' I ever viewed worthy 
 hazarding my life for, nor was I, in the most criti- 
 cal moments of trouble, sorry that I engaged 
 in it." 
 
 His remarks on the character of those about 
 him show a subtle knowledge of human nature, 
 as this hint at a fool in authority : "I now found 
 myself under a worse captain than Symonds, for 
 Montague was loaded with prejudices against 
 even-body and everything that was not stamped 
 with royalty ; and being by nature underwitted, 
 his wrath was heavier than the others ; or at least 
 his mind was in no instance liable to be directed 
 by good sense, humor, or bravery, of which 
 Symonds was by turns susceptible. " His account 
 
 of Toring, the British commissary of prisoners in 
 the days of prison-ships at Xew York, is in his 
 strongest manner : 
 
 ' ' This Loring is a monster ! There is not his 
 like in human shape. He exhibits a smiling 
 countenance, seems to wear a phiz of humanity, 
 but has been instrumentally capable of the most 
 consummate acts of wickedness, which were first 
 projected by an abandoned British council clothed 
 with the authority of a Howe, murdering preme- 
 ditatedly, in cold blood, near or quite two thousand 
 helpless prisoners, and that in the most clandes- 
 tine, mean, and shameful manner. He is the 
 most mean spirited, cowardly, deceitful, and de- 
 structive animal in God's creation below, and 
 regions of infernal devils, with all their tremen- 
 dous horrors, are impatiently read}- to receive Howe 
 and him, with all their detestable accomplices, 
 into the most exquisite agonies of the hottest 
 region of hell fire." 
 
 This extract is pretty good evidence that he 
 could use his tongue as well as his sword, and the 
 British were no doubt glad to see him depart when 
 an opportunity came for his exchange. An anec- 
 dote is related of one of his word encounters with 
 a British officer, that the latter on being chal- 
 lenged by Allen to produce another such woman 
 as his (Allen's) mother, the officer replied by say- 
 ing that Mary Magdalene was a case in point, as 
 she was also delivered of seven devils ! 
 
 Allen's Encounter with a Savage. 
 
 AT the time of Allen's capture, his life was 
 threatened by an Indian warrior, but he 
 escaped by superior strength and adroitness, as he 
 relates in the following language : 
 
 The officer I capitulated with then directed me 
 and my part)- to advance towards him, which was 
 done ; I handed him my sword, and in half a 
 minute after, a savage, part of whose head was 
 shaved, being almost naked and painted, with 
 feathers intermixed with the hair of the other side 
 of his head, came running to me with an incredible 
 swiftness ; he seemed to advance with more than 
 mortal speed ; as he approached near me, his 
 hellish visage was beyond all description ; snake's 
 eyes appear innocent in comparison to his ; his fea- 
 tures distorted ; malice, death, murder, and the 
 wrath of devils and damned spirits are the emblems 
 of his countenance ; and in less than twelve feet 
 of me, presented his firelock ; at the instant of his 
 present, I twitched the officer, to whom I gave my 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 281 
 
 sword, between me and the savage ; but he flew 
 round with great fury, trying to single me out to 
 shoot me without killing the officer ; but by this 
 time I was nearly as nimble as he, keeping the 
 officer in such a position that his danger was my 
 defence ; but, in less than half a minute, I was at- 
 tacked by just such another imp of hell ; then I 
 made the officer fly around with incredible velo- 
 city, for a few seconds of time, when I perceived 
 a Canadian, who had lost one eye, as appeared 
 afterwards, taking my part against the savages ; 
 and in an instant an Irishman came to my assist- 
 ance with a fixed bayonet, and drove away the 
 fiends, swearing he would kill them. This tragic 
 scene composed my mind. The escaping from so 
 awful a death made even imprisonment happy ; 
 the more so as my conquerors on the field treated 
 me with great civility and politeness. 
 
 His Interview with Rivington. 
 
 Allen's interview with Rivington, the pleasure 
 loving king's printer, of New York, during his 
 parole, is characteristic of both parties. Riving- 
 ton had offended him by his allusions, and the old 
 hero swore ' ' he would lick him the first opportu- 
 nity he had." The sequel is told by Rivington 
 himself; 
 
 " I was sitting," says he, " after a good dinner, 
 alone, with my bottle of Madeira before me, when 
 I heard an unusual noise in the street, and a 
 huzza from the boys. 1 was in the second story, 
 and, stepping to the window, saw a tall figure in 
 tarnished regimentals, with a large cocked hat 
 and an enormous long sword, followed by a crowd 
 of boys, who occasionally cheered him with huz- 
 zas, of which he seemed insensible. He came up 
 to my door and stopped. I could see no more. 
 My heart told me it was Ethan Allen. I shut my 
 window and retired behind my table and my 
 bottle. I was certain the hour of reckoning had 
 come. There was no retreat. Mr. Staples, my 
 clerk, came in paler than ever, and, clasping his 
 hands, said, ' Master, he has come ! ' 'I know 
 it.' ' He entered the store and asked ' if James 
 Rivington lived there ? ' I answered, 'Yes, sir.' 
 ' Is he at home ? ' 'I will go and see, sir, ' I said ; 
 ' and now, master, what is to be done ? There he 
 is in the store, and the boys peeping at him from 
 the street.' I had made up my mind. I looked 
 at the Madeira — possibly took a glass. ' Show 
 him up,' said I; 'and if such Madeira cannot 
 mollify him, he must be harder than adamant.' 
 
 There was a fearful moment of suspense. I heard 
 him on the stairs, his long sword clanking at 
 everj- step. In he stalked. ' Is your name James 
 Rivington ? ' ' It is sir, and no man could be 
 more happy than I am to see Colonel Ethan 
 
 Allen.' 'Sir, I have come .' 'Not another 
 
 word, my dear Colonel, until you have taken a 
 seat and a glass of old Madeira.' 'But, sir, I 
 
 don't think it proper ' ' Not another word, 
 
 Colonel. Taste this wine. I have had it in glass 
 for ten years. Old wine, you know, unless it is 
 originally sound, never improves by age.' He 
 took the glass, swallowed the wine, smacked his 
 lips, and shook his head approvingly. ' Sir, I 
 
 come ' ' Not another word until you have 
 
 taken another glass, and then, my dear Colonel, 
 we will talk of old affairs, and I have some queer 
 events to detail.' In short, we finished two 
 bottles of Madeira, and parted as good friends as 
 if we had never had cause to be otherwise." 
 
 Personal Appearance of Ethan Allen. 
 
 When Alexander Gray, the American author, 
 was a prisoner of war in New York, in 1777, after 
 the loss of Fort Washington, he met Allen, and 
 has left in his " Memoirs" a striking account of 
 his recollections of the man. 
 
 "His figure," says Gray, "was that of a ro- 
 bust, large-framed man, worn down by confine- 
 ment and hard fare ; but he was now recovering 
 his flesh and 'spirits; and a suit of blue clothes, 
 with a gold-laced hat that had been presented to 
 him by the gentlemen of Cork, enabled him to 
 make a very passable appearance for a rebel 
 colonel. He used to show a fracture in one of 
 his teeth, occasioned by his twisting off with it, 
 in a fit of anger, the nail which fastened the bar 
 of his hand-cuffs ; and which drew from one of 
 the astonished spectators the exclamation of 
 ' He can eat iron !' His style was a singular com- 
 pound of local barbarisms, scriptural phrases, and 
 oriental wildness ; and though unclassic and some- 
 times ungrammatical, it was highly animated and 
 forcible. In the following sentence of his narrative, 
 though it is not perhaps strictly correct in its con- 
 struction, there is to me, a flash of moral pathos 
 not unworthy a Robertson : ' When the fleet, ' 
 says he, ' consisting of about forty-five sail, in- 
 cluding five men-of-war, sailed from the cove (of 
 Cork) with a fresh breeze, the appearance was 
 beautiful, abstracted from the unjust and bloody 
 designs they had in view.' Notwithstanding 
 
282 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 that Allen might have had something of the in- 
 subordinate, lawless frontier spirit in his composi- 
 tion, having been in a state of hostility with the 
 government of New York before the war of the 
 revolution, he appeared to be a man of gener- 
 osity and honor ; several instances of which occur 
 in his publication, and one not equivocally came 
 under my own observation. General Washing- 
 ton, speaking of him in an official letter of May 
 ths 12th, 17S8, observes, with a just discrimina- 
 tion, that there was an original something in him 
 which commanded admiration." 
 
 How Ethan Allan Proposed to His Second Wife. 
 
 The following story of Ethan Allen's proposal 
 to his second wife is told by Du Puy, in his 
 " History of Vermont :" 
 
 General Allen, who had at various times resided 
 at Bennington, Arlington, and Tinmouth, at last 
 took up his residence on the Winooski. During 
 a session of the court at Westminster, he appeared 
 with a magnificent pair of horses and a black 
 driver. Chief Justice Robinson and Stephen R. 
 Bradley, an eminent lawyer, were there, and as 
 their breakfast was on the table, they asked Allen 
 to join them. He replied that he had breakfasted, 
 and while they were at the table, he would go in 
 and see Mrs. Buchanan, a handsome widow who 
 was at the house. He entered the sitting-room, 
 and at once said to Mrs. Buchanan, "Well, Fanny, 
 if we are to be married, let us be about it." 
 "Yen- well," she promptly replied, "give me 
 time to fix up." In a few minutes she was read}-, 
 and Judge Robinson was at once called upon by 
 them to perform the customary ceremony. Said 
 Allen, "Judge, Mrs. Buchanan and I have con- 
 cluded to be married ; I don't care much about 
 the ceremony, and as near as I can find out, Fanny 
 cares as little for it as I do ; but as a decent re- 
 spect for the customs of society requires it of us, 
 we are willing to have the ceremony performed." 
 The gentlemen present were much surprised, and 
 Judge Robinson replied, "General Allen, this is 
 an important matter ; have you thought seriously 
 of it?" "Yes, yes," exclaimed Allen, looking at 
 Mrs. Buchanan; "but it don't require much 
 thought." Judge Robinson then rose from his 
 seat and said, "Join your hands together. Ethan 
 Allen, you take this woman to be your lawful and 
 wedded wife : you promise to love and protect her 
 .according to the law of God and " "Stop, 
 
 stop, Judge. The law of God," said Allen, look- 
 ing forth upon the fields ; "all nature is full of it. 
 Yes, go on. My team is at the door." As soon 
 as the ceremony was ended, General Allen and his 
 bride entered his carriage and drove off. 
 
 Incidents of Allen's Singular Character. 
 Two anecdotes of Allen show the best nature 
 of the man. He once gave a note to a citi- 
 zen of Boston, who put it in collection in Ver- 
 mont. Judgment was about being taken, when 
 Allen employed a lawyer to stay proceedings. To 
 his surprise, he heard, from a distant part of the 
 court-house, his lawyer den}' the signature, upon 
 which he rushed forward, and in a loud, indignant 
 
 tone, confronted him: "Mr. , I didn't hire 
 
 you to come here and lie. That is a true note. I 
 signed it; I'll swear to it; and I'll pay it ! I 
 want no shuffling. I want time. What I em- 
 ployed you for, was to get this business put over 
 to the next court ; not to come here and lie and 
 juggle about it." This proves his honor ; another 
 instance shows his humanity. When two children, 
 daughters of a settler, were once lost in the woods 
 of Vermont, search was made for them by the 
 townspeople and given up. Allen mounted a 
 stump, made an eloquent, pathetic appeal, rallied 
 the company for a new expedition, and the chil- 
 dren were restored to their parents. Another 
 anecdote is somewhat ludicrous, but energetic. 
 While at Tinmouth, he was one day in the house 
 of the village physician when a lady was present 
 for the purpose of having a tooth drawn. As 
 often as the doctor was read}', the lady's timidity 
 baulked his operations. Allen's big nature grew 
 restive at the sight. " Here, doctor, take out one 
 of my teeth." " But your teeth are all sound." 
 "Nevermind. Do as I direct you." Out came 
 a tooth. ' ' Now, madam, ' ' says Allen to the lady, 
 "take courage from the example." He once 
 threatened to apply the argumentum ad hominem 
 in this novel form on a somewhat larger scale A 
 man had been convicted of supplying the British 
 with provisions, and been sentenced by a jury of 
 six to be hung. A lawyer interposed for a new 
 trial, as twelve must constitute a legal jury. The 
 public was disappointed at the reprieve. Allen 
 addressed them with an oath, advising to wait for 
 the day next appointed, promising, "You shall 
 see somebody hung at all events ; for if Redding 
 is not then hung, I will be hung myself." - 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 283 
 
 CAPTURE OF TICONDEROGA. 
 
 ay 
 
 grand old revolutionary hero, Ethan Allen, 
 with his own graphic and stirring account of his 
 famous capture of Ticonderoga : 
 
 Ever since I arrived at the state of manhood, 
 and acquainted myself with the general history 
 of mankind, I have felt a sincere passion for lib- 
 erty-. The history of nations, doomed to per- 
 petual slavery, in consequences of yielding up to 
 tyrants their natural-born liberties, I read with a 
 sort of philosophical horror ; so that the first sys- 
 tematical and bloody attempt, at Lexington, to 
 enslave America, thoroughly electrified my mind, 
 and fully determined me to take part with my 
 country. And, while I was wishing for an oppor- 
 tunity to signalize myself in its behalf, directions 
 were privately sent to me from the then colon)' 
 (now state) of Connecticut, to raise the Green- 
 Mountain Boys, and, if possible, with them to 
 surprise and take the fortress of Ticonderoga. 
 This enterprise I cheerfully undertook ; and, 
 after first guarding all the several passes that led 
 thither, to cut off all intelligence between the 
 garrison and the country, made a forced march 
 from Bennington, and arrived at the lake oppo- 
 site to Ticonderoga, on the evening of the ninth 
 day of May, 1775, with two hundred and thirty 
 valiant Green-Mountain Boys ; and it was with 
 the utmost difficult}- that I procured boats to cross 
 the lake. However, I landed eighty-three men 
 near the garrison, and sent the boats back for the 
 rear-guard, commanded by Col. Seth Warner, but 
 the day began to dawn, and I found myself under 
 the necessity' to attack the fort, before the rear 
 could cross the lake ; and, as it was viewed haz- 
 ardous, I harangued the officers and soldiers in 
 the manner following : — 
 
 ' ' Friends and fellow soldiers — you have for a 
 number of years past been a scourge and terror to 
 arbitrary power. Your valor has been famed 
 abroad, and acknowledged, as appears by the ad- 
 vice and orders to me, from the General Assembly 
 of Connecticut, to surprise and take the garrison 
 now before us. I now propose to advance before 
 you, and, in person, conduct you through the 
 wicket-gate, for we must this morning either quit 
 our pretensions to valor, or possess ourselves of 
 this fortress in a few minutes ; and, inasmuch as 
 it is a desperate attempt, which none but the 
 bravest of men dare undertake, I do not urge it 
 
 on an)' contrary to his will. You that will under- 
 take voluntarily, poise your firelocks. ' ' 
 
 The men being, at that time, drawn up in three 
 ranks, each poised his firelock. I ordered them 
 to face to the right, and at the head of the centre- 
 file, marched them immediately to the wicket- 
 gate aforesaid, where I found a sentry posted, who 
 instantly snapped his fusee at me ; I ran immedi- 
 ately towards him, and he retreated through the 
 covered way into the parade within the garrison, 
 gave a halloo, and ran under a bomb-proof. My 
 party, who followed me into the fort, I formed 
 on the parade in such a manner as to face the two 
 barracks which faced each other. 
 
 The garrison being asleep, except the sentries, 
 we gave three huzzas which greatly surprised 
 them. One of the sentries made a pass at one of 
 my officers with a charged bayonet, and slightly 
 wounded him : My first thought was to kill him 
 with my sword ; but, in an instant, I altered the 
 design and fury of the blow to a slight cut on the 
 side of the head, upon which he dropped his gun, 
 and asked quarter, which I readily granted him, 
 and demanded of him the place where the com- 
 manding officer kept ; he shewed me a pair of 
 stairs in the front of a barrack, on the west part 
 of the garrison, which led up to a second story in 
 said barrack, to which I immediately repaired, 
 and ordered the commander, Captain De la Place, 
 to come forth instantly, or I would sacrifice the 
 whole garrison ; at which the Capt. came imme- 
 diately to the door, with his breeches in his hand ; 
 when I ordered him to deliver me the fort in- 
 stantly ; he asked me by what authority I de- 
 manded it : I answered him, "In the name of 
 the Great Jehovah, and the Continental Con- 
 gress." The authority of the Congress being 
 very little known at that time, he began to 
 speak again ; but I interrupted him, and with 
 my drawn sword over his head, again demanded 
 an immediate surrender of the garrison ; with 
 which he then complied, and ordered his men to 
 be forthwith paraded without arms, as he had 
 given up the garrison. In the mean time some of 
 my officers had given orders, and in consequence 
 thereof, sundry of the barrack doors were beat 
 down, and about one third of the garrison im- 
 prisoned, which consisted of the said commander, 
 a Lieut. Feltham, a conductor of artillery, a 
 gunner, two Serjeants, and forty-four rank and 
 file ; about one hundred pieces of cannon, one 
 
284 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 thirteen inch mortar, and a number of swivels. 
 This surprise was carried into execution in the 
 grey of the morning of the tenth of May, 1775. 
 The sun seemed to rise that morning with a 
 superior lustre ; and Ticonderoga and its depend- 
 encies smiled to its conquerors, who tossed about 
 the flowing bowl, and wished success to Congress, 
 and the liberty and freedom of America. 
 
 THE VENDEAN WAR. 
 BY VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 CHERE were at that time seven ill-famed forests 
 in Brittany. The Vendean war was a revolt of 
 priests. This revolt had the forests as auxiliaries. 
 These spirits of darkness aid one another. 
 
 The seven black forests of Brittany were the 
 forest of Fougeres, which stopped the way between 
 Dol and Avranches ; the forest of Prince, which 
 was eight leagues in circumference ; the forest of 
 Paimpol, full of ravines and brooks, almost inac- 
 cessible on the side towaid Baignon, with an easy 
 retreat upon Concornet, which was a royalist town ; 
 the forest of Rennes, from whence could be heard 
 the tocsin of the Republican parishes — always nu- 
 merous in the neighborhood of the cities — it was 
 in this forest that Puysaye lost Focard ; the forest 
 of Machecoul, which had Charette for its wild 
 beast ; the forest of Garnache, which belonged to 
 the Tremoilles, the Gauvains, and the Rohans ; 
 and the forest of Broceliande, which belonged to 
 the fairies. 
 
 If one wish to comprehend Vendee, one must 
 picture to one's self this antagonism : on one side 
 the French Revolution, on the other the Breton 
 peasant. In face of these unparalleled events — an 
 immense promise of all benefits at once — a fit of 
 rage for civilization — an excess of maddened pro- 
 gress — an improvement that exceeded measure 
 and comprehension — must be placed this grave, 
 strange, savage man, with an eagle glar.ce and 
 flowing hair, living on milk and chestnuts, his 
 ideas bounded by his thatched roof, his hedge, and 
 his ditch, able to distinguish the sound of each 
 village bell in the neighborhood, using water only 
 to drink, wearing a leather jacket covered with 
 silk- arabesques — uncultivated, but clad embroid- 
 ered — tattooing his garments as his ancestors, the 
 Celts, had tattooed their faces, looking up to a 
 master in his executioner, speaking a dead lan- 
 guage, which was like forcing his thoughts to 
 dwell in a tomb ; driving his bullocks, sharpening 
 
 his scythe, winnowing his black grain, kneading 
 his buckwheat biscuit, venerating his plow first, 
 his grandmother next ; believing in the Blessed 
 Virgin and the White Lady ; devoted to the altar, 
 but also to the lofty mysterious stone standing in 
 the midst of the moor ; a laborer in the plain, a 
 fisher on the coast, a poacher in the thicket, lov- 
 ing his kings, his lords, his priests, his very lice ; 
 pensive, often immovable for entire hours upon 
 the great deserted sea-shore, a melancholy listener 
 to the sea. 
 
 It is difficult to picture to one's self what those 
 Breton forests really were ; they were towns. 
 Xothing could be more secret, more silent, and 
 more savage than those inextricable entanglements 
 of thorns and branches ; those vast thickets were 
 the home of immobility and silence ; no solitude 
 could present an appearance more death-like and 
 sepulchral ; yet if it had been possible to fell those 
 trees at one blow, as by a flash of lightning, a 
 swarm of men would have stood revealed in those 
 shades. There were wells, round and narrow, 
 masked by coverings of stones and branches, the 
 interior at first vertical, then horizontal, spread- 
 out underground like funnels, and ending in dark 
 chambers ; Cambyses found such in Egypt, and 
 Vestermaun found the same in Brittany. There 
 they were found in the desert, here in the forest ; 
 the caves of Egypt held dead men, the caves of 
 Brittany were filled with the living. One of the 
 wildest glades of the wood of Misdon, perforated 
 by galleries and cells, amid which came and went 
 a mysterious society, was called "the great city." 
 Another glade, not less deserted above ground 
 and not less inhabited beneath, was styled ' ' the 
 place royal." This subterranean life had existed 
 in Brittany from time immemorial. From the 
 earliest days man had there hidden, flying from 
 man. Hence those hiding-places, like the dens 
 of reptiles, hollowed out below the trees. They 
 dated from the era of the Druids, and certain of 
 those crypts were as ancient as the cromlechs. 
 The larvae of legend and the monsters of history 
 all passed across that shadowy- land. Teutates, 
 Caesar, Hoel, Xeomenes, Geoffrey of England, 
 Alain of the iron glove, Pierre Manclerc, the 
 French house of Blois, the English house of Mont- 
 fort, kings and dukes, the nine barons of Brittany, 
 the judges of the Great Days, the counts of 
 Xantes contesting with the counts of Rennes, 
 highwaymen, banditti, Free Lances, Rene II., 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 285 
 
 Viscount de Rohan, the governors for the king, 
 " the good Duke of Chaulnes, " hanging the peas- 
 ants under the windows of Madame de Sevigne ; 
 in the fifteenth century, the butcheries by the 
 nobles ; in the sixteenth and seventeenth centu- 
 ries, the wars of religion ; in the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, the thirty thousand dogs trained to hunt 
 men. Beneath these pitiless tramplings the in- 
 habitants made up their minds to disappear. Each 
 in turn — the Troglodytes to escape the Celts, the 
 Celts to escape the Romans, the Bretons to escape 
 the Normans, the Huguenots to escape the Roman 
 
 Brittany revolted, finding itself oppressed by 
 this forced deliverance — a mistake natural to 
 slaves. 
 
 The gloomy Breton forests took up anew their 
 ancient role, and were the servants and accom- 
 plices of this rebellion, as they had been of all 
 others. The subsoil of every forest was a sort of 
 madrepore, pierced and traversed in all directions 
 by a secret highway of mines, cells and galleries. 
 Each one of these blind cells could shelter five or 
 six men. There are in existence certain strange 
 lists which enable one to understand the powerful 
 
 HUT OF A VKNDKAN PEASANT. 
 
 Catholics, the smugglers to escape the excise offi- 
 cers — took refuge first in the forests and then 
 underground — the resource of hunted animals. It 
 it this to which tyranny reduces nations. During 
 two thousand years despotism under all its forms — 
 conquest, feudality, fanaticism, taxes — beset this 
 wretched, distracted Brittany : a sort of inexora- 
 ble battue, which only ceased under one shape to 
 recommence under another. Men hid under- 
 ground. When the French Republic burst forth, 
 terror, which is a species of rage, was already 
 latent in human souls, and when the Republic 
 burst forth, the dens were already in the woods. 
 
 organization of that past peasant rebellion. In 
 Ule-et-Vilaine, in the forest of Petre, the refuge 
 of the Prince de Talmont, not a breath was 
 heard, not a human trace to be found, yet there 
 collected six thousand men under Focard. In 
 the forest of Meulac, in Morbihan, not a soul was 
 to be seen, yet it held eight thousand men. Still, 
 these two forests, Petre and Meulac, do not count 
 among the great Breton forests. If one trod 
 there, the explosion was terrible. Those hypo- 
 critical copses, filled with fighters waiting in a 
 sort of underground labyrinth, were like enor- 
 mous black sponges, whence, under the pressure 
 
286 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 of the gigautic foot of Revolution, civil war 
 spurted out. 
 
 Invisible battalions lay there in wait. These 
 untrackable armies wound along beneath the Re- 
 publican troops ; burst suddenly forth from the 
 earth and sank into it again, sprang up in num- 
 berless force and vanished at will, gifted with a 
 strange ubiquity and power of disappearance ; an 
 avalanche at one instant, gone like a cloud of 
 dust at the next ; colossal, yet able to become 
 pigmies at will ; giants in battle, dwarfs in ability 
 to conceal themselves — jaguars with the habits of 
 moles. 
 
 The women lived in the huts, and the men in 
 the cellars. In carrying on the war, they utilized 
 the galleries of the fairies and the old Celtic mines. 
 Food was carried to the buried men. Some were 
 forgotten and died of hunger; but these were 
 awkward fellows who had not known how to 
 open the mouth of their well. Usually the cover, 
 made of moss and branches, was so artistically 
 fashioned that, although impossible on the out- 
 side to distinguish from the surrounding turf, it 
 was very easy to open and close on the inside. 
 These hiding-places were dug with care. The 
 earth taken out of the well was thrown into some 
 neighboring pond. The sides and bottoms were 
 carpeted with ferns and moss. These nooks were 
 called ' ' lodges. ' ' The men were as comfortable 
 there as could be expected, considering that they 
 lacked light, fire, bread and air. 
 
 It was a difficult matter to unbury themselves 
 and come up among the living without great pre- 
 caution. They might find themselves between 
 the legs of an army on the march. These were 
 formidable woods ; snares with a double trap. 
 The Blues dared not enter ; the Whites dared not 
 come out. 
 
 These underground belligerents were kept per- 
 fectly informed of what was going on. Nothing 
 could be more rapid, nothing more mysterious, 
 than their means of communication. They had 
 cut all the bridges, broken up all the wagons, 
 yet the\- found means to tell each other every - 
 thing, to give each other timely warning. Re- 
 lays of emissaries were established from forest to 
 forest, from village to village, from farm to farm, 
 from cottage to cottage, from bush to bush. A 
 peasant with a stupid air passed by : he carried 
 dispatches in his hollow stick. Man}' of them 
 were only armed with pikes. Good fowling- 
 
 pieces were abundant. No marksmen could be 
 more expert than the poachers of the Bocage 
 and the smugglers of the Loroux. They were 
 strange combatants — terrible and intrepid. 
 
 In order to attack the Blues and to leap the 
 ravines, they had their poles fifteen feet in length, 
 called ferte, an arm available for combat and for 
 flight. In the thickest of the frays, when the 
 peasants were attacking the Republican squares, 
 if they chanced to meet upon the battle-field a 
 cross or a chapel, all fell upon their knees and 
 said a prayer under the enemy's fire ; the rosary 
 counted, such as were still living sprang up again 
 and rushed upon the foe. Alas, what giants ! 
 They loaded their guns as the}- ran ; that was 
 their peculiar talent. They were made to believe 
 whatever their leaders chose. The priests showed 
 them other priests whose necks had been reddened 
 by means of a cord, and said to them, "These 
 are the guillotined who have been brought back 
 to life." They had their spasms of chivalry : 
 they honored Fesque, a Republican standard- 
 bearer, who allowed himself to be sabred without 
 losing hold of his flag. The peasants had a vein 
 of mockery : they called the Republican and 
 married priests " Des sans-caloites devenus sans- 
 culottes" ("The unpetticoated become the un- 
 breeched "). 
 
 They began by being afraid of the cannon, 
 then they dashed forward with their sticks and 
 took them. They captured first a fine bronze 
 cannon, which they baptized "The Missionary ;" 
 then another which dated from the Roman Catho- 
 lic wars, upon which were engraved the arms of 
 Richelieu and a head of the Virgin ; this they 
 named "Marie Jeanne." When they lost Fon- 
 tenay they lost Marie Jeanne, about which six 
 hundred peasants fell without flinching ; then 
 they retook Fontenay in order to recover Marie 
 Jeanne : they brought it back beneath a fleur-de- 
 lis embroidered banner, and covered with flowers, 
 and forced the women who passed to kiss it. But 
 two cannons were a small store. Stofflet had 
 taken Marie Jeanne ; Cathelineau, jealous of his 
 success, started out of Pinen-Mange, assaulted 
 Jallaiz, and captured a third. Forest attacked 
 Saint-Florent, and took a fourth. Two other 
 captains, Chouppes and Saint Pol, did better; 
 they simulated cannons by the trunks of trees, 
 gunners by mannikins, and with this artillery, 
 about which they laughed heartily, made the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 28 
 
 Blues retreat to Mareuil. This was their great 
 era. Later, when Chalbos routed La Marson- 
 niere, the peasants left behind them on the dis- 
 honored field of battle thirty-two cannon bearing 
 the arms of England. 
 
 The}- styled the "Jacobin herd" those of the 
 country people who had joined the Blues, and 
 exterminated such with more ferocity than other 
 foes. They loved battle like soldiers, and mas- 
 sacre like brigands. To shoot the ' ' clumsy fel- 
 lows " — that is, the bourgeois — pleased them; 
 they called that ' ' breaking Lent. ' ' At Fonte- 
 nay, one of their priests, the Cure Barbotin, 
 struck down an old mail by a sabre stroke. At 
 Saint-Germain-sur-Ille, one of their captains, a 
 nobleman, shot the solicitor of the Commune and 
 took his watch. At Machecoul, for five weeks 
 the}- shot Republicans at the rate of thirty a day, 
 setting them in a row, which was called "the 
 rosary." Back of the line was a trench, into 
 which some of the victims fell alive ; they were 
 buried all the same. We have seen a revival of 
 such actions. Joubert, the president of the dis- 
 trict, had his hands sawed off. They put sharp 
 handcuffs, forged expressly, on the Blues, whom 
 the}' made prisoners. They massacred them in 
 the public places, with the hunting cry, "In at 
 the death." They preferred a cartridge to a gold 
 louis. They wept when they lost sight of their 
 village belfry. To run away seemed perfectly 
 natural to them ; at such times the leaders would 
 cry : ' ' Throw off your sabots, but keep your 
 guns." When munitions were wanting, they 
 counted their rosaries and rushed forth to seize 
 the powder in the caissons of the Republican 
 artillery ; later, D'Elbee demanded powder from 
 the English. If the}' had wounded men among 
 them, at the approach of the enemy they con- 
 cealed these in the grain-fields or among the ferns, 
 and went back in search of them when the fight 
 was ended. They had no uniforms. Their gar- 
 ments were torn to bits. Peasants and nobles 
 wrapped themselves in any rags they could find. 
 Roger Mouliniers wore a turban and a pelisse 
 taken from the wardrobe of the theatre of La 
 Fleche ; the Chevalier de Beauvilliers wore a bar- 
 rister's gown, and set a woman's bonnet on his 
 head over a woolen cap. All wore the white belt 
 and a scarf; different grades were marked by the 
 knots. Stofnet had a red knot ; La Rochejacque- 
 lein had a black knot ; Wimpfen, who was half a 
 
 Girondist, and who for that matter never left 
 Normandy, wore the leather jacket of the Cara- 
 bots of Caen. They had women in their ranks : 
 Madame de Lescure, who became Madame de la 
 Rochejacquelein ; Therese de Mollien, the mis- 
 tress of La Rouarie — she who burned the list of 
 the chiefs of the parishes ; Madame de la Roche- 
 foucauld — beautiful, young — who, sabre in hand, 
 rallied the peasants at the foot of the great tower 
 of the castle of Puy Rousseau ; and that Antoi- 
 nette Adams, styled the Chevalier Adams, who 
 was so brave that when captured she was shot 
 standing, out of respect for her courage. 
 
 This epic period was a cruel one. Men were 
 mad. Madame de Lescure made her horse tread 
 upon the Republicans stretched on the ground ; 
 dead, she averred ; only wounded perhaps. Some- 
 times men proved traitors ; the women, never. 
 Mademoiselle Fleury, of the Theatre Francais, 
 went from La Rouarie to Marat, but it was for love. 
 The captains were often as ignorant as the soldiers. 
 Monsieur de Sapinaud could not spell ; he was at 
 fault in regard to the orthography of the common- 
 est word. There was enmity among the leaders. 
 The captains of the Marais cried: "Down with 
 those of the High Country !" Their cavalry were 
 not numerous and difficult to form. Puysaye 
 writes : " Many a man who would cheerfully give 
 me his two sons grows lukewarm if I ask for one 
 of his horses." Poles, pitchforks, reaping-hooks, 
 guns old and new, poacher's knives, spits, cud- 
 gels, bound and studded with iron, these were 
 the arms ; some of them carried slung round them 
 crosses made of dead men's bones. 
 
 They rushed to an attack with loud cries, 
 springing up suddenly from every quarter, from 
 the woods, the hills, the bushes, the hollows of 
 the roads, killing, exterminating, destroying, 
 then were gone. When they marched through a 
 Republican town they cut down the liberty pole, 
 set it on fire, and danced in circles about it as it 
 burned. All their habits were nocturnal. The 
 Vendean rule was, always to appear unexpectedly. 
 They would march fifteen leagues in silence, not 
 so much as stirring a blade of grass as they went. 
 When evening came, after the chiefs had settled 
 what Republican posts should be surprised on the 
 morrow, the men loaded their guns, mumbled 
 their prayers, pulled off their sabots, and filed in 
 long columns through the woods, marching bare- 
 foot across heath and moss, without a sound, 
 
288 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 without a word, without a breath. It was like a 
 march of cats through the darkness. 
 
 UJ' 
 
 THRILLING ADVENTURE WITH CROCODILES 
 ON THE ST. JOHN'S RIVER. 
 
 JE copy the following thrilling incidents 
 from the writings of William Bartram, 
 the American Naturalist, relating his remarkable 
 experiences on the St. John's river, in Florida, 
 while exploring that country for scientific pur- 
 poses in 1772 : 
 
 The evening was temperately cool and calm. 
 The crocodiles began to roar and appear in un- 
 common numbers along the shores and in the 
 river. I fixed my camp in an open plain, near 
 the utmost projection of the promontory, under 
 the shelter of a large live oak, which stood on 
 the highest part of the ground, and but a few 
 yards from my boat. From this open, high situ- 
 ation, I had a free prospect of the river, which 
 was a matter of no trivial consideration to me, 
 having good reason to dread the subtle attacks 
 of the alligators, who were crowding about my 
 harbor. Having collected a good quantity of 
 wood for the purpose of keeping up a light and 
 smoke during the night, I began to think of pre- 
 paring my supper, when, upon examining my 
 stores, I found but a scanty provision. I there- 
 upon determined, as the most expeditious way of 
 supplying my necessities, to take my bob and try 
 for some trout. About one hundred yards above 
 my harbor began a cove or bay of the river, out 
 of which opened a large lagoon. The mouth or 
 entrance from the river to it was narrow, but the 
 waters soon after spread and formed a little lake, 
 extending into the marshes : its entrance and 
 shores within I observed to be verged with float- 
 ing lawns of the pistia and nymphea and other 
 acquatic plants ; these I knew were excellent 
 haunts for trout. 
 
 The verges and islets of the lagoon were ele- 
 gantly embellished with flowering plants and 
 shrubs ; the laughing coots with wings half spread 
 were tripping over the little coves, and hiding 
 themselves in the tufts of grass ; young broods 
 of the painted summer teal, skimming the still 
 surface of the waters, and following the watchful 
 parent unconscious of danger, were frequently 
 surprised by the voracious trout ; and he, in turn, 
 as often by the subtle greedy alligator. Behold 
 him rushins; forth from the flags and reeds. His 
 
 enormous body swells. His plaited tail, brand- 
 ished high, floats upon the lake. The waters 
 like a cataract descend from his opening jaws. 
 Clouds of smoke issue from his dilated nostrils. 
 The earth trembles with his thunder. When 
 immediately from the opposite coast of the lagoon 
 emerges from the deep his rival champion. The}' 
 suddenly dart upon each other. The boiling 
 surface of the lake marks their rapid course, and 
 terrific conflict commences. The}- now sink to 
 the bottom folded together in horrid wreaths. 
 The water becomes thick and discolored. Again 
 they rise, their jaws clap together, re-echoing 
 through the deep surrounding forests. Again 
 they sink, when the contest ends at the muddy 
 bottom of the lake, and the vanquished makes a 
 hazardous escape, hiding himself in the muddy 
 turbulent waters and sedge on a distant shore. 
 The proud victor exulting returns to the place of 
 action. The shores and forests resound his dread- 
 ful roar, together with the triumphing shouts of 
 the plaited tribes around, witnesses of the horrid 
 combat. 
 
 My apprehensions were highly alarmed after 
 being a spectator of so dreadful a battle. It was 
 obvious that every delay would but tend to in- 
 crease my dangers and difficulties, as the sun 
 was near setting, and the alligators gathered 
 around my harbor from all quarters. From 
 these considerations I concluded to be expeditious 
 in my trip to the lagoon, in order to take some 
 fish. Not thinking it prudent to take my fusee 
 with me, lest I might lose it overboard in case of a 
 battle, which I had ever} - reason to dread be- 
 fore my return, I therefore furnished myself with 
 a club for my defense, went on board, and pene- 
 trating the first line of those which surrounded 
 my harbor, they gave way ; but being pursued 
 by several very large ones, I kept strictly on the 
 watch, and paddled with all my might towards 
 the entrance of the lagoon, hoping to be sheltered 
 there from the multitude of my assailants ; but 
 ere I had half-way reached the place, I was at- 
 tacked on all sides, several endeavoring to over- 
 set the canoe. My situation now became pre- 
 carious to the last degree : two very large ones 
 attacked me closely, at the same instant, rushing 
 up with their heads and part of their bodies above 
 the water, roaring terribly and belching floods of 
 water over me. They struck their jaws together 
 so close to my ears, as almost to stun me, and I 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 289 
 
 expected every moment to be dragged out of the 
 boat and instantly devoured. But I applied my 
 weapons so effectually about me, though at ran- 
 dom, that I was so successful as to beat them off a 
 little ; when finding that they designed to renew 
 the battle, I made for the shore, as the only means 
 left me for rny preservation ; for, by keeping close 
 to it, I should have my enemies on one side of me 
 only, whereas I was before surrounded by them ; 
 and there was a probability, if pursued to the 
 last extremity, of saving myself by jumping out 
 of the canoe on shore, as it is easy to outwalk 
 them on land, although comparatively as swift as 
 lightning in the water. I found this last experi- 
 ment alone could fully answer my expectations, 
 for as soon as I gained the shore, they drew off 
 and kept aloof. This was a happy relief, as my 
 confidence was, in some degree, recovered by it. 
 On recollecting myself, I discovered that I had 
 almost reached the entrance of the lagoon, and 
 determined to venture in, if possible, to take a 
 few fish, and then return to my harbor, while 
 daylight continued ; for I could now with caution 
 and resolution, make my way with safety along 
 shore ; and indeed there was no other way to re- 
 gain my camp, without leaving my boat and 
 making my retreat through the marshes and reeds, 
 which, if I could even effect, would have been in 
 a manner throwing myself away, for then there 
 would have been no hopes of ever recovering my 
 bark, and returning in safety to any settlement of 
 men. I accordingly proceeded, and made good 
 my entrance into the lagoon, though not without 
 opposition from the alligators, who formed a line 
 across the entrance, but did not pursue me into it, 
 nor was I molested by any there, though there 
 were some very large ones in a cove at the upper 
 end. I soon caught more trout than I had present 
 occasion for, and the air was too hot and sultry 
 to admit of their being kept for many hours, even 
 though salted or barbecued. I now prepared for 
 my return to camp, which I succeeded in with but 
 little trouble, by keeping close to the shore ; yet 
 I was opposed upon re-entering the river out of 
 the lagoon, and pursued near to my landing 
 (though not closely attacked), particularly by an 
 old daring one, about twelve feet in length, who 
 kept close after me ; and when I stepped on shore 
 and turned about, in order to draw up my canoe, 
 he rushed up near my feet, and lay there for some 
 time, looking me in the face, his head and 
 19 
 
 shoulders out of water. I resolved he should 
 pa} 7 for his temerity, and having a heavy load in 
 my fusee, I ran to my camp, and returning with 
 my piece, found him with his foot on the gunwale 
 of the boat, in search of fish. On my coming up 
 he withdrew sullenly and slowly into the water, 
 but soon returned and placed himself in his former 
 position, looking at me, and seeming neither fear- 
 ful nor any way disturbed. I soon dispatched 
 him by lodging the contents of my gun in his 
 head, and then proceeded to cleanse and prepare 
 my fish for supper : and accordingly took them 
 out of the boat, laid them down on the sand close 
 to the water, and began to scale them : when, 
 raising my head, I saw before me, through the 
 clear water, the head and shoulders of a very 
 large alligator, moving slowly towards me. I in- 
 stantly stepped back, when, with a sweep of his 
 tail, he brushed off several of my fish. It was 
 certainly most providential that I looked up at 
 that instant, as the monster would probably, in 
 less than a minute, have seized and dragged me 
 into the river. This incredible boldness of the 
 animal disturbed me greatly, supposing there 
 could now be no reasonable safety for me during 
 the night, but by keeping constantly on the 
 watch ; I therefore, as soon as I had prepared 
 the fish, proceeded to secure myself and effects in 
 the best manner I could. In the first place, I 
 hauled my bark upon the shore, almost clear out 
 of the water, to prevent their over-setting or sink- 
 ing her ; after this, every movable was taken out 
 and carried to my camp, which was but a few 
 yards off ; then ranging some dry wood in such 
 order as was the most convenient, I cleared the 
 ground round about it, that there might be no 
 impediment in my way, in case of an attack in 
 the night, either from the water or the land ; for 
 I discovered by this time, that this small isthmus, 
 from its remote situation and fruitfulness, was re- 
 sorted to by bears and wolves. Having prepared 
 myself in the best manner I could, I charged my 
 gun, and proceeded to reconnoitre my camp and 
 the adjacent grounds ; when I discovered that the 
 peninsula and grove, at the distance of about two 
 hundred yards from my encampment, on the land 
 side, were invested by a ej^press swamp, covered 
 with water, which below was joined to the shore 
 of the little lake, and above to the marshes sur- 
 rounding the lagoon ; so that I was confined to 
 an island exceedingly circumscribed, and I found 
 
290 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 there was no other retreat for me, in ease of an 
 attack, but by either ascending one of the large 
 oaks, or pushing off with my boat. 
 
 It was by this time dusk, and the alligators had 
 nearly ceased their roar, when I was again alarmed 
 by a tumultuous noise that seemed to be in my 
 harbor, and therefore engaged my immediate at- 
 tention. Returning to my camp, I found it undis- 
 turbed, and then continued on to the extreme 
 point of the promontory, where I saw a scene, 
 new and surprising, which at first threw my senses 
 into such a tumult that it was some time before I 
 could comprehend what was the matter ; however, 
 I soon accounted for this prodigious assemblage 
 
 ALLIGATORS IN THE ST. JOHN'S RIVER. 
 
 of crocodiles at this place, which exceeded every- 
 thing of the kind I had ever heard of. 
 
 How shall I express myself so as to convey an 
 adequate idea of it to the reader, and at the same 
 time avoid raising suspicions of my veracity? 
 Should I say that the river (in this place) from 
 shore to shore, and perhaps near half a mile above 
 aud below me, appeared to be one solid bank of 
 fish, of various kinds, pushing through this nar- 
 row pass of St. John's into the little lake, on their 
 return down the river, and that the alligators were 
 in such incredible numbers, and. so close together 
 from shore to shore, that it would have been easy 
 to have walked across on their heads, had the 
 animals been harmless ! What expressions can 
 sufficiently declare the shocking scene that for 
 
 some minutes continued, while this might} - army 
 of fish were forcing the pass ? During this at- 
 tempt, thousands, I may say hundreds of thou- 
 sands, of them were caught and swallowed by the 
 devouring alligators. I have seen an alligator 
 take up out of the water several great fish at a 
 time, and just squeeze them betwixt his jaws, 
 while the tails of the great trout flapped about his 
 eyes and lips, ere he had swallowed them. The 
 horrid noise of their closing jaws, their plunging 
 amidst the broken banks of fish, and rising with 
 their prey some feet upright above the water, the 
 floods of water and blood rushing out of their 
 mouths, and the clouds of vapor issuing from their 
 wide nostrils, were truly frightful. This 
 scene continued at intervals during the 
 night, as the fish came to the pass. 
 After this sight, shocking and tremen- 
 dous as it was, I found myself some- 
 what easier and more reconciled to my 
 situation ; being convinced that their ex- 
 traordinary assemblage here was owing 
 to this annual feast of fish, and that they 
 were so well employed in their own ele- 
 ment that I had little occasion to fear 
 their paying me a visit. 
 
 It being now almost night, I returned 
 to my camp, where I had left my fish 
 broiling, and my kettle of rice stewing ; 
 and having with me oil, pepper, and 
 salt, and excellent oranges hanging in 
 abundance over my head (a valuable sub- 
 stitute for vinegar), I sat down and re- 
 galed myself cheerfully. Having finished 
 my repast, I rekindled my fire for light, 
 and whilst I was revising the notes of my past 
 day's journey, I was suddenly roused with a 
 noise behind me toward the main land. I 
 sprang up on my feet, and listening, I dis- 
 tinctly heard some creature wading in the water 
 of the isthmus. I seized my gun and went cau- 
 tiously from my camp, directing my steps towards 
 the noise. When I had advanced about thirty 
 yards, I halted behind a coppice of orange trees, 
 and soon perceived two very large bears, which 
 had made their way through the water, and had 
 landed in the grove, about one hundred yards' 
 distance from me, and were advancing towards 
 me. I waited until they were within thirty yards 
 of me : they there began to snuff and look towards 
 my camp. I snapped my piece, but it flashed, on 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 291 
 
 which they both turned about and galloped off, 
 plunging through the water and swamp, never 
 halting, as I suppose, until they reached fast land, 
 as I could hear them leaping and plunging a long 
 time. "They did not presume to return again, nor 
 was I molested by any other creatures except 
 being occasionally awakened by the whooping of 
 owls, screaming of bitterns, or the wood-rats 
 running amongst the leaves. 
 
 CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 BY THOMAS JEFFERSON. 
 
 I THINK I knew General Washington intimately 
 and thoroughly ; and were I called on to deline- 
 ate his character, it should be in terms like 
 these : — 
 
 His mind was great and powerful, without be- 
 ing of the very first order ; his penetration strong, 
 though not so acute as that of a Newton, Bacon, 
 or L,ocke ; and as far as he saw, no judgment was 
 ever sounder. It was slow in operation, being 
 little aided by invention or imagination, but sure 
 in conclusion. Hence the common remark of his 
 officers, of the advantage he derived from coun- 
 cils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, he se- 
 lected the best ; and certainly no general ever 
 planned his battles mere judiciously. But if de- 
 ranged during the course of the action, if any 
 member of his plan was dislocated by sudden cir- 
 cumstance, he was slow in re-adjustment. The 
 consequence was, that he often failed in the field, 
 and rarely against an enemy in station, as at Bos- 
 ton and York, He was incapable of fear, meeting 
 personal dangers with the calmes* - unconcern. 
 Perhaps the strongest feature in his character was 
 prudence, never acting until every circumstance, 
 •every consideration was maturely weighed ; re- 
 fraining, if he saw a doubt ; but, when once de- 
 cided, going through with his purpose, whatever 
 obstacles opposed. His integrity was most pure, 
 his justice the most inflexible I have ever known ; 
 no motives of interest or consanguinity, of friend- 
 ship or hatred, being able to bias his decisions. 
 He was, indeed, in ever}' sense of the word, a 
 wise, a good, and a great man. His temper was 
 naturally irritable and high-toned ; but reflection 
 and resolution had obtained a firm and habitual 
 ascendancy over it. If ever, however, it broke its 
 bonds, he was most tremendous in his wrath. In 
 his expenses he was honorable, but exact ; liberal 
 
 in his contributions to whatever promised utility; 
 but frowning and unyielding on all visionary pro- 
 jects and all unworthy calls on his charity. His 
 heart was not warm in its affections ; but he ex- 
 actly calculated every man's value, and gave him 
 a solid esteem proportioned to it. His person, 
 you know, was fine ; his stature exactly what one 
 would wish ; his deportment easy, erect, and no- 
 ble ; the best horseman of his age, and the most 
 graceful figure that could be seen on horseback. 
 Although in the circle of his friends, where he 
 might be unreserved with safety, he took a free 
 share in conversation, his colloquial talents were 
 not above mediocrity, possessing neither copious- 
 ness of ideas nor fluencj' of words. In public, 
 when called on for a sudden opinion, he was un- 
 read}-, short, and embarrassed. Yet he wrote 
 readily, rather diffusely, in an easy and correct 
 style. This he had acquired by conversation 
 with the world, for his education was merely 
 reading, writing, and common arithmetic, to 
 which he added surveying, at a later day. His 
 time was employed in action chiefly, reading lit- 
 tle, and that only on agricultural and English his- 
 tory. His correspondence became necessarily 
 extensive and, with journalizing his agricultural 
 proceedings, occupied most of his leisure hours 
 within doors. On the whole, his character was in its 
 mass, perfect ; in nothing bad, in few points in- 
 different; and it may truly be said, that never did 
 nature and fortune combine more perfectly to 
 make a man great, and to place him in the same 
 constellation with whatever worthies have merit- 
 ed from man an everlasting remembrance. For 
 his was the singular destiny and merit of leading 
 the armies of his country successfully through an 
 arduous war, for the establishment of its inde- 
 pendence ; of conducting its councils through the 
 birth of a government, new in its forms and prin- 
 ciples, until it had settled down into a quiet and 
 orderly train ; and of scrupulously obeying the 
 laws through the whole of his career, civil and 
 military, of which the history of the world fur- 
 nishes no other example. 
 
 JEFFERSON'S RULES OF LIFE. 
 
 i. Never put off till to-morrow what you can 
 
 do to-day, 
 2. Never trouble another for what you can do 
 
 yourself. 
 
292 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 3. Never spend your money before you have it. 
 
 4. Never buy what you do not want, because 
 
 it is cheap ; it will be dear to you. 
 
 5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst, and 
 
 cold. 
 
 6. We never repent of having eaten too little. 
 
 7. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly. 
 
 8. How much pain have cost us the evils that 
 
 have never happened 
 
 9. Take things always by their smooth han- 
 
 dle. 
 10. When angry, count ten before you speak ; if 
 very angry, an hundred. 
 
 INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF LINDLEY MUR- 
 RAY, THE GRAMMARIAN. 
 
 I HAVE sometimes hesitated, respecting the pro- 
 priety of communicating this little piece of 
 my history. But as it is intimately connected 
 with events of this period, and contains some 
 traits of disposition and character in early life, I 
 have at length concluded to relinquish my scruples 
 on this subject. The following is the occurrence 
 to which I allude : 
 
 Though my father, as the events already men- 
 tioned demonstrate, had an earnest desire to pro- 
 mote my interest arrd happiness, yet he appeared 
 to me, in some respects, and on some occasions, 
 rather too rigorous. Among other regulations, he 
 had, with true parental prudence, given me gen- 
 eral directions not to leave the house, in an even- 
 ing, without previously obtaining his approbation. 
 I believe that his permission was generally and 
 readily procured. But a particular instance oc- 
 curred, in which, on account of his absence, I 
 could not apply to him. I was invited by an 
 uncle to spend the evening with him ; and trust- 
 ing to this circumstance, and to the respectability 
 of my company, I ventured to break the letter, 
 though I thought not the spirit, of the injunction 
 which had been laid upon me. The next morn- 
 ing, I was taken by my father into a private apart- 
 ment, and remonstrated with for my disobedience. 
 In vain were my apologies. Nothing that I could 
 offer was considered as an extenuation of my 
 having broken a plain and positive command. In 
 short, I received a very severe chastisement ; and 
 was threatened with a repetition of it, for even- 
 similar offence. Being a lad of some spirit, I felt 
 very indignant at such treatment, under circum- 
 stances which, as I conceived, admitted of so much 
 
 alleviation. I could not bear it ; I resolved to 
 leave my father's house, and seek in a distant coun- 
 try, what I conceived to be an asylum, or a better 
 fortune. Young and ardent, I did not want con- 
 fidence in my own powers : and I presumed that, 
 with health and strength, which I possessed in a 
 superior degree, I could support myself, and make 
 my way happily through life. I meditated on my 
 plan ; and came to the resolution of taking my 
 books and all my property with me, to a town in 
 the interior of the country, where I had understood 
 there was an excellent seminary, kept by a man 
 of distinguished talents and learning. Here I 
 purposed to remain, till I had learned the French 
 language, which I thought would be of great use 
 to me ; and till I had acquired as much other im- 
 provements as my funds would admit. With this 
 stock of knowledge, I presumed that I should set 
 out in life under much greater advantages than I 
 should possess by entering immediately into busi- 
 ness, with my small portion of property, and great 
 inexperience. I was then about fourteen years of 
 age. My views being thus arranged, I procured 
 a new suit of clothes, entirely different from those 
 which I had been accustomed to wear, packed up 
 my little all and left the city, without exciting any 
 suspicion of my design, till it was too late to pre- 
 vent its accomplishment. 
 
 In a short time I arrived at the place of destina- 
 tion. I settled myself immediately as a boarder 
 in the seminary-, and commenced my studies. The 
 prospect which I entertained was so luminous and 
 cheering, that, on the whole, I did not regret the 
 part I had acted. Past recollections and future 
 hopes combined to animate me. The chief uneasi- 
 ness which I felt in my present situation, must 
 have arisen from the reflection of having lost the 
 society and attentions of a most affectionate 
 mother, and of having occasioned sorrow to her 
 feeling mind. But as I had passed the Rubicon, 
 and believed I could not be comfortable at home, 
 I contented myself with the thought, that the pur- 
 suit of the objects before me was better calculated 
 than any other, to produce my happiness. In this 
 quiet retreat, I had as much enjoyment as my cir- 
 cumstances were adapted to convey. The pleasure 
 of study, and the glow of a fond imagination, 
 brightened the scenes around me. And the con- 
 sciousness of a state of freedom and independence 
 undoubtedly contributed to augment my gratifica- 
 tions, and to animate my youthful heart. But 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 293 
 
 my continuance in this delightful situation was 
 not of long duration. Circumstances of an appa- 
 rently trivial nature concurred to overturn the 
 visionary fabric I had formed, and to bring me 
 again to the paternal roof. 
 
 I had a particular friend, a youth about my 
 own age, who resided at Philadelphia. I wished 
 to pay him a short visit, and then resume my 
 studies. We met according to appointment, at an 
 inn on the road. I enjoyed his society, and com- 
 municated to him my situation and views. But 
 before I returned to my retreat an occurrence took 
 place which occasioned me to go to Philadelphia. 
 When I was about to leave that city, as I passed 
 through one of the streets, I met a gentleman who 
 had some time before dined at my father's house. 
 He expressed great pleasure on seeing me ; and 
 inquired when I expected to leave the city. I told 
 him I was then on the point of setting off. He 
 thought the occasion very fortunate for him. He 
 had just been with a letter to the post office ; but 
 found that he was too late. The letter, he said, 
 was of importance ; and he begged that I would 
 deliver it with my own hand, and as soon as I ar- 
 rived at New York, to the person for whom it was 
 directed. Surprised by the request, and unwilling 
 to state to him my situation, I engaged to take 
 good care of the letter. 
 
 My new residence was at Burlington, about 
 twenty miles from Philadelphia. I travelled to- 
 wards it rather pensive, and uncertain what 
 plan to adopt respecting the letter. I believe 
 that I sometimes thought of putting it into the 
 post office ; sometimes, of hiring a person to 
 deliver it. But the confidence which had been 
 reposed in me ; the importance of the trust ; and 
 my tacit engagement to deliver it personally; 
 operated so powerfully on my mind, that after I 
 had ridden a few miles, I determined, whatever 
 risk and expense I might incur, to hire a carriage 
 for the purpose, to go to New York as speedily as 
 possible, deliver the letter, and return immediately. 
 My design, so far as it respected the charge of the 
 letter, was completely accomplished. I delivered 
 it, according to the direction, and my own en- 
 gagement. I was, however, obliged to remain in 
 New York that night, as the packet-boat, in which 
 I had crossed the bay, could not sail till next 
 morning. This was a mortifying circumstance, 
 as I wished to return very expeditiously. The 
 delay was, however, unavoidable. I put up at an 
 
 inn, near the wharf from which the packet was 
 to sail in the morning, and waited for that period 
 with some anxiety. 
 
 I thought I had conducted my business with so 
 much caution, that no one acquainted with me had 
 known of my being in the city. I had, however, 
 been noticed by some person who knew me ; and, 
 in the evening, to my great surprise, my uncle, 
 whom I have mentioned before, paid me a visit. 
 He treated me affectionately, and with much pru- 
 dent attention ; and, after some time, strenuously 
 urged me to go with him to my father's house ; 
 but I firmly refused to comply with his request. 
 At length he told me, that my mother was greatly 
 distressed on account of my absence ; and that I 
 should be unkind and undutiful, if I did not see 
 her. This made a strong impression upon me. I 
 resolved, therefore, to spend a short time with her, 
 and then return to my lodgings. The meeting 
 which I had with my dear and tender parent was 
 truly affecting to me. Everything that passed, 
 evinced the great affection she had for me, and the 
 sorrow into which my departure from home had 
 plunged her. After I had been some time at the 
 house, my father unexpectedly came in ; and my 
 embarrassment, under these circumstances, may 
 easily be conceived. It was, however, instantly 
 removed, by his approaching me in the most af- 
 fectionate manner. He saluted me very tenderly ; 
 and expressed great satisfaction on seeing me 
 again. Every degree of resentment was imme- 
 diately dissipated. I felt myself happy, in per- 
 ceiving the pleasure which my society could afford 
 to persons intimately connected with me, and to 
 whom I was so much indebted. We spent the 
 evening together in love and harmony ; and I 
 abandoned entirely, without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, the idea of leaving a house and family, 
 which were now dearer to me than ever. 
 
 NELSON'S GREAT VICTORY AT TRAFALGAR. 
 
 FRUSTRATED as his own hopes had been, 
 Nelson had yet the high satisfaction of 
 knowing that his judgment had never been more 
 conspicuously approved, and that he had rendered 
 essential service to his country by driving the 
 enemy from those islands, where they expected 
 there could be no force capable of opposing them. 
 The West India merchants in London, as men 
 whose interests were more immediately benefited, 
 appointed a deputation to express their thanks 
 
294 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 for his great and judicious exertions. It was now 
 his intention to rest awhile from his labors, and 
 recruit himself, after all his fatigues and cares, in 
 the society of those whom he loved. All his stores 
 were brought up from the Victory ; and he 
 found in his house at Merton the enjoyment 
 which he had anticipated. Many days had not 
 elapsed before Captain Blackwood, on his way to 
 London with despatches, called on him at five in 
 the morning. Xelson, who was already dressed, 
 exclaimed, the moment he saw him : "I am sure 
 you bring me news of the French and Spanish 
 fleets ! I think I shall yet have to beat them !" 
 They had refitted at Vigo, after the indecisive 
 action with Sir Robert Calder ; then proceeded to 
 Ferrol, brought out the squadron from thence, 
 and with it entered Cadiz in safety. " Depend on 
 it, Blackwood," he repeatedly said, " I shall yet 
 give M. Villeneuve a drubbing." But, when 
 Blackwood had left him, he wanted resolution to 
 declare his wishes to Lad}- Hamilton and his 
 sisters, and endeavored to drive away the 
 thought. " He had done enough," he said ; "let 
 the man trudge it who has lost his budget ! ' ' His 
 countenance belied his lips ; and as he was pacing 
 one of the walks in the garden, which he used to 
 call the quarter-deck, Lady Hamilton came up to 
 him, and told him she saw he was uneasy. He 
 smiled, and said : " Xo, he was as happy as pos- 
 sible, he was surrounded by his family, his health 
 was better since he had been on shore, and he- 
 would not give sixpence to call the king his 
 uncle." She replied, that she did not believe 
 him, — that she knew he was longing to get at the 
 combined fleets, — that he considered them as his 
 own property, — that he would be miserable if any 
 man but himself did the business ; and that he 
 ought to have them, as the price and reward of 
 his two years long watching, and his hard chase. 
 "Nelson," said she, "however we may lament 
 your absence, offer your services ; — they will be 
 accepted, and you will gain a quiet heart by it : 
 you will have a glorious victor}', and then you 
 may return here and be happy. ' ' He looked at 
 her with tears in his eyes — "Brave Emma! — 
 Good Emma ! — If there were more Emmas; there 
 would be more Nelsons." 
 
 His services were as willingly accepted as they 
 were offered ; and Lord Barham, giving him the 
 list of the navy, desired him to choose his own 
 officers. " Choose vourself, my lord," was his 
 
 reply : ' ' the same spirit actuates the whole pro- 
 fession : you cannot choose wrong. ' ' Lord Bar- 
 ham then desired him to say what ships, and how 
 many, he would wish, in addition to the fleet 
 which he was going to command, and said they 
 should follow him as soon as each was ready. No 
 appointment was ever more in unison with the 
 feelings and judgment of the whole nation. They, 
 like Lady Hamilton, thought that the destruction 
 of the combined fleets ought properly to be 
 Nelson's work : that he ought to reap the spoils 
 of the chase, which he had watched so long, and 
 so perseveringly pursued. 
 
 Unremitting exertions were made to equip the 
 ships which he had chosen, and especially to refit 
 the Victory, which was once more to bear his 
 flag. Before he left London he called at his up- 
 holsterer's, where the coffin, which Captain Hal- 
 lowell had given him, was deposited ; and desired 
 that his history might be engraven upon the lid, 
 saying that it was highly probable that he miglu. 
 want it on his return. He seemed, indeed, to 
 have been impressed with an expectation that he 
 should fall in the battle. In a letter to his bro- 
 ther, written immediately after his return, he had 
 said : "We must not talk of Sir Robert Calder' s 
 battle — I might not have done so much with my 
 small force. If I had fallen in with them, you 
 might probably have been a lord before I wished ; 
 for I know they meant to make a dead set at the 
 Victory. Nelson had once regarded the pros- 
 pect of death with gloomy satisfaction ; it w r as 
 when he anticipated the upbraidings of his wife, 
 and the displeasure of his venerable father. The 
 state of his feelings new was expressed, in his 
 private journal, in these words : — " Friday night 
 (Sept 13), at half-past ten, I drove from dear, 
 dear Merton, where I left all which I hold dear 
 in this world, to go to serve my king and country. 
 May the great God, whom I adore, enable me to 
 fulfil the expectations of my country ! and, if it 
 is His good pleasure that I should return, my 
 thanks will never cease being offered up to the 
 throne of His mercy. If it is His good provi- 
 dence to cut short my days upon earth, I bow 
 with the greatest submission ; relying that He 
 will protect those so dear to me, whom I may 
 leave behind ! His will be done ! Amen ! Amen ! 
 Amen ! ' ' 
 
 Early on the following morning he reachet 
 Portsmouth; and, having despatched his busine? 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 295 
 
 on shore, endeavored to elude the populace by 
 taking a bye-way to the beach; but a crowd col- 
 lected in his train, pressing forward to obtain a 
 sight of his face — many were in tears, and many 
 knelt down before him, and blessed him as he 
 passed. England has had many heroes, but never 
 one who so entirely possessed the love of his fel- 
 low-countrymen as Nelson. All men knew that 
 his heart was as humane as it was fearless; that 
 there was not in his nature the slightest alloy of 
 selfishness or cupidity; but that, with perfect and 
 entire devotion, he served his country with all his 
 heart, and with all his soul, and with all his 
 strength ; and, therefore, they loved him as truly 
 and as fervently as he loved England. They 
 pressed upon the parapet to gaze after him when 
 his barge pushed off, and he was returning their 
 cheers by waving his hat. The sentinels, who 
 endeavored to prevent them from trespassing upon 
 this ground, were wedged among the crowd; and 
 an officer, who, not very prudently upon such an 
 occasion, ordered them to drive the people down 
 with their bayonets, was compelled speedily to re- 
 treat, for the people would not be debarred from 
 gazing, till the last moment, upon the hero, the 
 darling hero of England. 
 
 He arrived off Cadiz on the 29th of September, 
 — his birthday. Fearing that, if the enemy knew 
 his force, they might be deterred from venturing 
 to sea, he kept out of sight of land, desired Col- 
 lingwood to fire no salute and hoist no colors; 
 and wrote to Gibraltar, to request that the force of 
 the fleet might not be inserted there in the 
 "Gazette." His reception in the Mediterranean 
 fleet was as gratifying as the farewell of his coun- 
 trymen at Portsmouth: the officers, who came on 
 board to welcome him, forgot his rank as com- 
 mander, in their joy at seeing him again. On the 
 day of his arrival, Villeneuve received orders to 
 pnt to sea the first opportunity. Villeneuve, how- 
 ever, hesitated when he heard that Nelson had 
 resumed the command. He called a council of 
 war; and their determination was, that it would 
 not be expedient to leave Cadiz, unless they had 
 reason to believe themselves stronger by one- 
 third than the British force. In the public meas- 
 ures of England secrecy is seldom practicable, and 
 seldom attempted ; here, however, bj' the precau- 
 tion of Nelson and the wise measures of the Ad- 
 miralty, the enemy were for once kept in ignor- 
 ance ; for, as the ships appointed to reinforce the 
 
 Mediterranean fleet were dispatched singly — each 
 as soon as it was ready — their collected number 
 was not stated in the newspapers, and their ar- 
 rival was not known to the enemy. But the en- 
 emy knew that Admiral Eewis, with six sail, had 
 been detached for stores and water to Gibraltar. 
 Accident also contributed to make the French 
 admiral doubt whether Nelson himself had actu- 
 ally taken the command. An American lately, 
 arrived from England maintained that it was 
 impossible, for he had seen him only a few days 
 before in London, and at that time there was no 
 rumor of his going again to sea. 
 
 The station which Nelson had chosen was some 
 fifty or sixty miles to the west of Cadiz, near Cape 
 St. Mary's. At this distance he hoped to decoy 
 the enemy out, while he guarded against the dan- 
 ger of being caught with a westerly wind near 
 Cadiz, and driven within the Straits. The block- 
 ade of the port was rigorously enforced ; in hopes 
 that the combined fleet might be forced to sea by 
 want. The Danish vessels, therefore, which 
 were carrying provisions from the French ports in 
 the bay, under the name of Danish property, to 
 all the little ports from Ayamonte to Algeziras, 
 from whence they were conveyed in coasting 
 boats to Cadiz, were seized. Without this proper 
 exertion of power, the blockade would have been 
 rendered nugatory, by the advantage thus taken 
 of the neutral flag. The supplies from France 
 were thus effectually cut off. There was now 
 every indication that the enemy would speedily 
 venture out ; officers and men were in the high- 
 est spirits at the prospect of giving them a deci- 
 sive blow, such, indeed, as would put an end to all 
 further contest upon the seas. Theatrical amuse- 
 ments were performed every evening in most of 
 the ships, and "God Save the King" was the 
 hymn with which the sports concluded. ' ' I 
 verily believe," says Nelson (writing on the 6th 
 of October), "that the country will be put to 
 some expense on my account ; either a monument, 
 or a new pension and honors ; for I have not the 
 smallest doubt but that a very few days, almost 
 hours, will put us in battle. The success no 
 man can ensure ; but for fighting them, if they 
 can be got at, I pledge myself. The sooner the 
 better : I don't like to have these things upon my 
 mind." 
 
 At this time he was not without some cause of 
 anxiety : he was in want of frigates, — the eyes of 
 
29(3 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the fleet as he always called them : — to the want 
 of which, the enemy before were indebted for 
 their escape, and Bonaparte for his arrival in 
 Egypt. He 'iad only twenty-three ships — others 
 were on the \ 'ay — but might come too late ; and, 
 though Nelson never doubted of victory, mere 
 victory was not what he looked to, he wanted to 
 annihilate the enemy's fleet. 
 
 On the 9th Nelson sent Collingwood what he 
 called, in his diary, the Nelson-touch. "I send 
 you," said he, "my plan of attack, as far as a 
 man dare venture to guess at the very uncertain 
 position the enemy may be found in : but it is to 
 place you perfectly at ease respecting my inten- 
 tions, and to give full scope to your judgment 
 for carrying them into effect. We can, my dear 
 Coll, have no little jealousies. We have only one 
 great object in view, that of annihilating our ene- 
 mies, and getting a glorious peace far our country. 
 No man has more confidence in another than I 
 have in you ; and no man will render your ser- 
 vices more justice than your very old friend Nel- 
 son and Bronte." The order of sailing was to be 
 the order of battle : the fleet in two lines, with an 
 advanced squadron of eight of the fastest sailing 
 two-deckers. The second in command having 
 the entire direction of his line, was to break 
 through the enemy, about the twelfth ship from 
 their rear : he would lead through the centre, and 
 the advanced squadron was to cut off three or four 
 ahead of the centre. This plan was to be adapted 
 to the strength of the enemy, so that they should 
 always be one-fourth superior to those whom they 
 cut off. Nelson said, ' ' That his admirals and 
 captains, knowing his precise object to be that of 
 a close and decisive action, would supply any de- 
 ficiency of signals, and act accordingly. In case 
 signals cannot be seen or clearly understood, no 
 captain can do wrong if he places his ship along- 
 side that of an enemy." One of the last orders of 
 this admirable man was, that the name and fam- 
 ily of every officer, seaman and marine, who 
 might be killed or wounded in action, should be, 
 as soon as possible, returned to him, in order to 
 be transmitted to the chairman of the Patriotic 
 Fund, that the case might be taken into consider- 
 ation, for the benefit of the sufferer or his family. 
 
 About half-past nine in the morning of the 19th, 
 the Mars, being the nearest to the fleet of the 
 ships which formed the line of communication 
 with the frigates in shore, repeated the signal that 
 
 the enemy were coming out of port. The wind 
 was at this time very high, with partial breezes, 
 mostly from the S. S. W. Nelson ordered the 
 signal to be made for a chase in the south-east 
 quarter. About two, the repeating ships announced 
 that the enemy were at sea. All night the British 
 fleet continued under all sail, steering to the south- 
 east. At daybreak they were in the entrance of 
 the Straits, but the enemy were not in sight. 
 About seven, one of the frigates made signal that 
 the enemy were bearing north. Upon this the 
 Victory hove to ; and shortly afterwards 
 Nelson made sail again to the northward. In the 
 afternoon the wind blew fresh from the south- 
 west, and the English began to fear that the foe 
 might be forced to return to port. A little before 
 sunset, however, Blackwood, in the Euryalus, 
 telegraphed that they appeared determined to go 
 to the westward, — "And that," said the admiral 
 in his diary, "they shall not do, if it is in the 
 power of Nelson and Bronte to prevent them." 
 Nelson had signified to Blackwood that he de- 
 pended upon him to keep sight of the enemy. 
 They were observed so well, that all their motions 
 were made known to him ; and, as they wore 
 twice, he inferred that they were aiming to keep 
 the port of Cadiz open, and would retreat there 
 as soon as they saw the British fleet : for this 
 reason he was very careful not to approach near 
 enough to be seen by them during the night. At 
 daybreak the combined fleets were distinctly seen 
 from the Victory ' s deck, formed in a close line of 
 battle ahead, on the starboard tack, about twelve 
 miles to leeward, and standing to the south. The 
 British fleet consisted of twenty-seven sail of the 
 line and four frigates ; the French and Spanish of 
 thirty-three, and seven large frigates. Their 
 superiority was greater in size, and weight of 
 metal, than in numbers. They had four thousand 
 troops on board ; and the best riflemen who could 
 be procured, man}- of them Tyrolese, were dis- 
 persed through the ships. 
 
 Soon after daylight Nelson came upon deck. 
 The 21st of October was a festival in his family ; 
 because on that day his uncle, Captain Suckling, 
 in the Dreadnough, with two other line of 
 battle ships, had beaten off a French squadron of 
 four sail of the line and three frigates. Nelson, 
 with that sort of superstition from which few per- 
 sons are entirely exempt, had more than once 
 expressed his persuasion that this was to be the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 297 
 
 day of his battle also ; and he was well pleased at 
 seeing his prediction about to be verified. The 
 wind was now from the west,- — light breezes, with 
 a long heavy swell. Signal was made to bear 
 down upon the enemy in two lines ; and the fleet 
 set all sail. Collingwood, in the Royal Sover- 
 eign, led the lee line of thirteen ships ; the 
 Victory led the weather line of fourteen. Hav- 
 ing seen that all was as it should be, Nelson 
 retired to his cabin, and wrote this paper : — 
 
 ' ' ' May the Great God, whom I worship, grant 
 to my country, and for the benefit of Europe in 
 general, a great and glorious victory ; and may 
 no misconduct in any one tarnish it ; and may 
 humanity after victory be the predominant fea- 
 ture in the British fleet ! For myself individually, 
 I commit my life to Him that made me, and may 
 His blessing alight on my endeavors for serving 
 my country faithfully ! To Him I resign myself, 
 and the just cause which is entrusted to me to 
 defend. Amen, Amen, Amen." 
 
 Having thus discharged his devotional duties, 
 he annexed, in the same diary, the following re- 
 markable writing : — 
 "October 2 ist, 1805. — Then in sight of the combined 
 
 fleets of France and Spain, distant about ten 
 
 miles. 
 
 Whereas, the eminent services of Emma Ham- 
 ilton, widow of the Right Honorable Sir William 
 Hamilton, have been of the very greatest service 
 to my king and country, to my knowledge, with- 
 out ever receiving any reward from either our 
 king or country : 
 
 "First, that she obtained the King of Spain's 
 letter, in 1796, to his brother, the King of Naples, 
 acquainting him with his intention to declare war 
 against England : from which letter the ministry 
 sent out orders to the then Sir John Jervis to 
 strike a stroke, if opportunity offered, against 
 either the arsenals of Spain or her fleets. That 
 neither of these was done is not the fault of Lady 
 Hamilton ; the opportunity might have been of- 
 fered. 
 
 ' ' Secondly : The British fleet under my com- 
 mand could never have returned the second time 
 to Egypt, had not Lady Hamilton's influence 
 with the Queen of Naples caused letters to be 
 wrote to the governor of Syracuse, that he was 
 to encourage the fleet's being supplied with every- 
 thing, should they put into any port in Sicily. 
 We put into Syracuse, and received every sup- 
 
 ply ; went to Egypt, and destroyed the French 
 fleet. 
 
 Could I have rewarded these services, I would 
 not now call upon my country ; but as that has 
 not been in my power, I leave Emma Lady Ham- 
 ilton, therefore, a legacy to my king and country, 
 that they will give her an ample provision to 
 maintain her rank in life. 
 
 ' ' I also leave to the beneficence of my country 
 my adopted daughter, Horatia Nelson Thomp- 
 son ; and I desire she will use in future the name 
 of Nelson only. 
 
 "These are the only favors I ask of my king 
 and country, at this moment when I am going to 
 fight their battle. May God bless my king and 
 country, and all those I hold dear ! My relations 
 it is needless to mention : they will, of course, be 
 amply provided for. 
 
 "Nelson and Bronte." 
 
 " Witness \ Henr y Blackwood - 
 tT. M. Hardy." 
 
 The child, of whom this writing speaks, was 
 believed to be his daughter, and so, indeed, he 
 called her the last time that he pronounced her 
 name. She was then about five years old, living 
 at Merton, under Lady Hamilton's care. The 
 last minutes which Nelson passed at Merton were 
 employed in praying over this child as she lay 
 sleeping. A portrait of Lady Hamilton hung in his 
 cabin ; and no Catholic ever beheld the picture of 
 his patron saint with devouter reverence. The 
 undisguised and romantic passion with which he 
 regarded it amounted almost to superstition ; and 
 when the portrait was now taken down, in clear- 
 ing for action, he desired the men who removed it 
 to "take care of his guardian angel." In this 
 manner he frequently spoke of it as if he believed 
 there were a virtue in the image. He wore a min- 
 iature of her next his heart. Blackwood went on 
 board the " Victory" about six. He found him 
 in good spirits, but very calm ; not in that exhila- 
 ration which he had felt upon entering into battle 
 at Aboukir and Copenhagen ; he knew that his 
 own life would be particularly aimed at, and seems 
 to have looked for death with almost as sure an 
 expectation as for victory. His whole attention 
 was fixed upon the enemy. They tacked to the 
 northward, and formed their line on the larboard 
 tack ; thus bringing the shoals of Trafalgar and 
 St. Pedro under the lee of the British, and keep- 
 ing the port of Cadiz open for themselves. This 
 
298 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 was judiciously done : and Nelson, aware of all 
 the advantages which it gave them, made signal 
 to prepare to anchor. 
 
 Yilleneuve was a skilful seaman ; his plan of 
 defence was as well conceived, and as original, as 
 the plan of attack. He formed the fleet in a 
 double line, even- alternate ship being about a 
 cable's length to windward of her second ahead 
 and astern. Xelson, certain of a triumphant issue 
 to the da%-, asked Blackwood what he should con- 
 sider as a victory. That officer answered, that, 
 considering the handsome way in which battle 
 was offered by the enemy, their apparent determi- 
 nation for a fair trial of strength, and the situation 
 of the land, he thought it would be a glorious 
 result if fourteen were captured. He replied : " I 
 shall not be satisfied with less than twenty. ' ' Soon 
 afterwards he asked him if he did not think there 
 was a signal wanting. Captain Blackwood made 
 answer that he thought the whole fleet seemed 
 very clearly to understand what they were about. 
 These words were scarcely spoken before that sig- 
 nal was made, which will be remembered as long 
 as the language, or even the memory, of England 
 shall endure ; — Nelson's last signal : — "England 
 expects every man to do his duty .' " It was re- 
 ceived throughout the fleet with a shout of an- 
 swering acclamation, made sublime by the spirit 
 which it breathed and the feeling which it ex- 
 pressed. " Xow, " said Lord Xelson, " I can do 
 no more. We must trust to the Great Disposer 
 of all events, and the justice of our cause. I 
 thank God for this great opportunity of doing my 
 duty." 
 
 He wore that day, as usual, his admiral's frock 
 coat, bearing on the left breast four stars of the 
 different orders with which he was invested. Or- 
 naments which rendered him so conspicuous a 
 mark for the enemy were beheld with ominous 
 apprehensions by his officers. It was known that 
 there were riflemen on board the French ships ; 
 and it could not be doubted but that his life 
 would be particularly aimed at. They communi- 
 cated their fears to each other ; and the surgeon, 
 Mr. Beatty, spoke to the chaplain, Dr. Scott, and 
 to Mr. Scott, the public secretary, desiring that 
 some person would entreat him to change his 
 dress, or cover the stars : but they knew that such 
 a request would highly displease him. "In 
 honour I gained them," he had said when such a 
 thins; had been hinted to him formerly, " and in 
 
 honour I will die with them." Mr. Beatty, how- 
 ever, would not have been deterred by an}' fear 
 of exciting his displeasure, from speaking to him 
 himself upon a subject, in which the weal of Eng- 
 land as well as the life of Xelson was concerned, 
 but he was ordered from the deck before he could 
 find an opportunity. This was a point upon 
 which Xelson 1 s officers knew that it was hopeless 
 to remonstrate or reason with him ; but both 
 Blackwood, and his own captain, Hardy, repre- 
 sented to him how advantageous to the fleet it 
 would be for him to keep out of action as long as 
 possible ; and he consented at last to let the 
 Leviathan and the Temerairc, which were sailing 
 abreast of the Victory, be ordered to pass ahead. 
 Yet even here the last infirmity of this noble mind 
 was indulged ; for these ships could not pass 
 ahead if the Victory continued to cam- all her 
 sail ; and so far was Xelson from shortening sail, 
 that it was evident he took pleasure in pressing 
 on, and rendering it impossible for them to obey 
 his own orders A long swell was setting into 
 the Bay of Cadiz : our ships, crowding all sail, 
 moved majestically before it, with light winds 
 from the south-west. The sun shone on the sails 
 of the enemy ; and their well-formed line, with 
 their numerous three-deckers, made an appear- 
 ance which any other assailants would have 
 thought formidable ; but the British sailors only 
 admired the beauty and the splendor of the spec- 
 tacle ; and, in full confidence of winning what 
 they saw, remarked to each other what a fine 
 sight yonder ships would make at Spithead ! 
 
 The French admiral, from the Bncentaure, be- 
 held the new manner in which his enemy was 
 advancing, Xelson and Collingwood each leading 
 his line ; and, pointing them out to his officers, 
 he is said to have exclaimed that such conduct 
 could not fail to be successful. Yet Yilleneuve 
 had made his own dispositions with the utmost 
 skill, and the fleets under his command waited 
 for the attack with perfect coolness. Ten minutes 
 before twelve they opened their fire. Eight or 
 nine of the ships immediately ahead of the I 'ictory, 
 and across her bows, fired single guns at her, to 
 ascertain whether she was yet within their range. 
 As soon as Xelson perceived that their shot passed 
 over him, he desired Blackwood, and Captain 
 Prowse, of the Sirius, to repair to their respective 
 frigates ; and, on their way to tell all the captains 
 of the line of battle ships that he depended on 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 299 
 
 their exertions ; and that, if by the prescribed 
 mode of attack they found it impracticable to get 
 into action immediately, they might adopt what- 
 ever they thought best, provided it led them 
 quickly and closely alongside an enemy. As they 
 were standing on the front of the poop, Blackwood 
 took him by the hand, saying, he hoped soon to 
 return and find him in possession of twenty prizes. 
 He replied : " God bless you, Blackwood : I shall 
 never see you again." 
 
 Nelson's column was steered about two points 
 more to the north than Collingwood's, in order to 
 cut off the enemy's escape into Cadiz: the lee 
 line, therefore, was first engaged. "See," cried 
 Nelson, pointing to the Royal Sovereign, as 
 she steered right for the centre of the enemy's 
 line, cut through it astern of the Santa Anna 
 three decker, and engaged her at the muzzle of 
 her guns on the starboard side ; see how that no- 
 ble fellow, Collingwood, carries his ship into 
 action!" Collingwood, delighted at being first 
 in the heat of the fire, and knowing the feelings 
 of his commander and old friend, turned to his 
 captain, and exclaimed, " Rotherham, what would 
 Nelson give to be here !" Both these brave offi- 
 cers, perhaps, at this moment thought of Nelson 
 with gratitude, for a circumstance which had oc- 
 curred on the preceding day. Admiral Colling- 
 wood, with some of the captains, having gone 
 on board the Victory to receive instructions, 
 Nelson inquired of him where his captain was ? 
 and was told, in reply, that they were not upon 
 good terms with each other. "Terms!" said 
 Nelson; — good terms with each other!" Imme- 
 diatefy he sent a boat for Captain Rotherham ; 
 led him, as soon as he arrived, to Collingwood, 
 and saying, "Look; yonder are the enemy!" 
 bade them shake hands like Englishmen. 
 
 The enemy continued to fire a gun at a time at 
 the Victory, till they saw that a shot had passed 
 through her main-topgallant-sail ; then they 
 opened their broadsides, aiming chiefly at her 
 rigging, in the hope of disabling her before she 
 could close with them. Nelson, as usual, had 
 hoisted several flags, lest one should be shot 
 away. The enemy showed no colors till late in 
 the action, when they began to feel the necessity 
 of having them to strike. For this reason, the 
 Santissima Trinidad, Nelson's old acquaintance, 
 as he used to call her, was distinguishable onfy 
 by her four decks ; and to the bow of this op- 
 
 ponent he ordered the Victory to be steered. 
 Meantime an incessant raking fire was kept up 
 upon the Victory. The admiral's secretary- was 
 one of the first who fell : he was killed by a can- 
 non shot, while conversing with Hardy. Captain 
 Adair, of the marines, with the help of a sailor, 
 endeavored to remove the body from Nelson's 
 sight, who had a great regard for Mr. Scott ; but 
 he anxiously asked, "Is that poor Scott that's 
 gone ?" and being informed that it was indeed so, 
 exclaimed, " Poor fellow !" Presently a double- 
 headed shot struck a party of marines, who were 
 drawn up on the poop, and killed eight of them : 
 upon which Nelson immediately desired Captain 
 Adair to disperse his men round the ship, that 
 they might not suffer so much from being to- 
 gether. A few minutes afterwards a shot struck 
 the fore brace bits on the quarter-deck, and passed 
 between Nelson and Hardy, a splinter from the 
 bit tearing off Hardy's buckle and bruising his 
 foot. Both stopped, and looked anxiously at 
 each other, each supposing the other to be 
 wounded. Nelson then smiled, and said, " This 
 is too warm work, Hardy, to last long." 
 
 The Victory had not yet returned a single 
 gun : fifty of her men had been by this time 
 killed or wounded, and her main-topmast, with 
 all her studding sails and their booms, shot away. 
 Nelson declared that, in all his battles, he had 
 seen nothing which surpassed the cool courage 
 of his crew on this occasion. At four minutes 
 after twelve she opened her fire from both sides 
 of her deck. It was not possible to break the 
 enemy's line without running on board one of 
 their ships : Hardy informed him of this, and 
 asked which he would prefer. Nelson replied : 
 " Take your choice, Hardy, it does not signify 
 much." The master was then ordered to put the 
 helm to port, and Victory ran on board the 
 Redoubtable, just as her tiller ropes were shot 
 away. The French ship received her with a 
 broadside ; then instantly let down her lower 
 deck ports, fos fear of being boarded through 
 them, and never afterwards fired a great gun dur- 
 ing the action. Her tops, like those of all the 
 enemy's ships, were filled with riflemen. Nelson 
 never placed musketry in his tops ; he had a 
 strong dislike to the practice ; not merely- because 
 it endangers setting fire to the sails, but also be- 
 cause it is a murderous sort of warfare, by which 
 individuals may suffer, and a commander, now 
 
BOO 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and then, be picked off, but which never can de- 
 cide the fate of a general engagement. 
 
 Captain Harvey, in the Temeraire fell on 
 board the Redoubtable on the other side. An- 
 other enemy was in like manner on board the 
 Temeraire : so that these four ships formed as 
 compact a tier as if they had been moored toge- 
 ther, their heads lying all the same way. The 
 lieutenants of the 1 'iciory, seeing this, de- 
 pressed their guns of the middle and lower decks, 
 and fired with a diminished charge, lest the shot 
 should pass through, and injure the Temeraire. 
 And because there was danger that the Re- 
 doubtable might take fire from the lower-deck 
 guns, the muzzles of which touched her side 
 when the}- were run out, the fireman of each gun 
 stood ready with a bucket of water, which, as 
 soon as the gun was discharged, he dashed into 
 the hole made by the shot. An incessant fire 
 was kept up from the Victory from both 
 sides ; her larboard guns playing upon the Bu- 
 .centaure and the hugh Santissima Trinidad. 
 
 It had been part of Nelson's prayer, that the 
 British fleet might be distinguished by humanity 
 in the victory which he expected. Setting an ex- 
 ample himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing 
 upon the Redoubtable, supposing that she had 
 struck, because her great guns were silent ; for, 
 as she carried no flag, there was no means of in- 
 stantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, 
 which he had thus twice spared, he received his 
 death. A ball fired from her mizen-top, which, 
 in the then situation of the two vessels, was not 
 more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck 
 where he was standing, struck the epaulette on 
 his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just 
 in the heat of the action. He fell upon his face, 
 on the spot which was covered with his poor sec- 
 retary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from 
 him, turning round, saw three men raising him 
 up. " They have done for me at last, Hardy," 
 said he. " I hope not ! " cried Hardy. "Yes," 
 he replied ; " my back bone is shot through," 
 Vet even now, not for a moment losing his pres- 
 ence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying 
 him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which 
 had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and 
 ordered that new ones should be rove immediately : 
 — then, that he might not be seen by the crew, 
 he took out his handkerchief, and covered his 
 face and his stars. Had he but concealed these 
 
 badges of honor from the enemy, England, per- 
 haps, would not have had cause to receive with 
 sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. 
 
 The cockpit was crowded with wounded and 
 dying men ; over whose bodies he was with some 
 difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the 
 midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon 
 examination, that the wound was mortal. This, 
 however, was concealed from all, except Captain 
 Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. 
 He himself being certain, from the sensation in 
 his back, and the gush of blood which he felt 
 momently within his breast, that no human care 
 could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should 
 leave him, and attend to those to whom he might 
 be useful : " For," said he, " you can do nothing 
 for me. ' ' All that could be done was to fan him with 
 paper, and frequently to give him lemonade, to 
 alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, 
 and expressed much anxiety for the event of the 
 action, which now began to declare itself. As 
 often as a ship struck the crew of the Victory hur- 
 raed ; and at every hurra a visible expression of 
 joy gleamed in the eyes and marked the counte- 
 nance of the dying hero. But he became impa- 
 tient to see Captain Hardy ; and as that officer, 
 though often sent for, could not leave the deck, 
 Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented 
 him, and repeatedly cried: "Will no one bring 
 Hardy to me? He must be killed ! He is surely 
 dead!" — An hour and ten minutes elapsed, from 
 the time when Nelson received his wound, before 
 Hardy could come to him. They shook hands 
 in silence ; Hard}- in vain struggling to suppress 
 the feelings of that most painful, and yet sub- 
 limest moment. "Well, Hardy," said Nelson, 
 "how goes the day with us?" — Very well," re- 
 plied Hardy : " ten ships have struck, but five of 
 their van have tacked, and show an intention of 
 bearing down upon the J'ictory. I have called 
 two or three of our fresh ships round, and have 
 no doubt of giving them a drubbing. " — " I 
 hope," said Nelson, "none of our ships have 
 struck?" Hardy answered, "Theiewas no fear 
 of that." Then, and not till then, Nelson spoke 
 of himself. ' ' I am a dead man, Hardy, ' ' said 
 he : "I am going fast : — it will be all over with 
 me soon. Come nearer to me. L,et my dear 
 Lady Hamilton have my hair, and all other 
 things belonging to me." Hardy observed, that 
 he hoped Mr. Peatty could yet hold out some 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 301 
 
 prospect of life. "Oh, no!" he replied; "it is 
 impossible. My back is shot through. Beatty 
 will tell you so." Captain Hardy then, once 
 more, shook hands with him ; and, with a heart 
 almost bursting, hastened upon deck. 
 
 By this time all feeling below the breast was 
 gone ; and Nelson, having made the surgeon as- 
 certain this, said to him : " You knoT I am gone. 
 I know it. I feel something rising in my breast ' ' 
 — putting his hand on his left side— " which tells 
 me so." And upon Beatty's inquiring whether 
 his pain was very great? he replied, "So great, 
 that he wished he was dead. Yet," said he, in a 
 lower voice, ' ' one would like to live a little longer 
 too!" And after a few minutes, in the same 
 under tone, he added : ' ' What would become of 
 poor Fady Hamilton if she knew my situation?" 
 Next to his country she occupied his thoughts. 
 Captain Hardy, some fifty minutes after he had 
 left the cockpit returned ; and again taking the 
 hand of his dying friend and commander, con- 
 gratulated him on having gained a complete 
 victory. How many of the enemy were taken he 
 did not know, as it was impossible to perceive 
 them distinctly — but fourteen or fifteen at least. 
 " That's well," cried Nelson ; "but, I bargained 
 for twenty. ' ' And then, in a stronger voice, he said, 
 ' Anchor, Hardy ; anchor. ' ' Hardy, upon this, 
 hinted that Admiral Collingwood would take upon 
 himself the direction of affairs. ' ' Not while I 
 live, Hardy !" said the dying Nelson, ineffectually 
 endeavoring to raise himself from the bed : "do 
 you anchor." His previous order for preparing 
 to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the 
 necessity of this. Presently, calling Hardy back, 
 he said to him, in a low voice, "Don't throw me 
 overboard :" and he desired that he might be 
 buried by his parents, unless it should please the 
 king to order otherwise. Then, reverting to pri- 
 vate feelings ; ' ' Take care of my dear Lady 
 Hamilton. — Kiss me, Hardy," said he. Hardy 
 knelt down, and kissed his cheek : and Nelson 
 said, " Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have 
 done my duty." Hardy stood over him in silence 
 for a moment or two ; then knelt again, and kissed 
 his forehead. " Who is that?" said Nelson ; and 
 being informed, he replied, "God bless you, 
 Hardy." And Hardy then left him — for ever. 
 
 Nelson now desired to be turned upon his right 
 side, and said : "I wish I had not left the deck ; 
 for I shall soon be gone." Death was, indeed, 
 
 rapidly approaching. He said to the chaplain : 
 "Doctor, I have not been a great sinner:" and, 
 after a short pause, ' ' Remember that I leave Lady 
 Hamilton, and my daughter Horatia, as a legacy 
 to my country." His articulation now became 
 difficult ; but he was distinctly heard to say, 
 "Thank God, I have done my duty!" These 
 words he had repeatedly pronounced ; and they 
 were the last words which he uttered. He expired 
 at thirty minutes after four, — three hours and a 
 quarter after he had received his wound. 
 
 Within a quarter of an hour after Nelson was> 
 wounded, about fifty of the Victory's men fell- 
 by the enemy's musketry. They, however, on 
 their part, were not idle ; and it was not long 
 before there were only two Frenchmen left alive 
 in the mizentop of the Redoubtable. One of 
 them was the man who had given the fatal wound : 
 he did not live to boast of what he had^done. An 
 old quartermaster had seen him fire ; and easily 
 recognized him, because he wore a glazed cocked 
 hat and a white frock. This quartermaster, and 
 two midshipmen, Mr. Collingwood and Mr. Pol- 
 lard, were the only persons left on the Victory s 
 poop ; — the two midshipmen kept firing at the 
 top, and he supplied them with cartridges. One 
 of the Frenchmen, attempting to make his escape 
 down the rigging, was shot by Mr. Pollard, and 
 fell on the poop. But the old quartermaster, as 
 he cried out, " That's he, that's he, " and pointed 
 at the other, who was coming forward to fire again, 
 received a shot in his mouth, and fell dead. Botli 
 the midshipmen then fired at the same time, and 
 the fellow dropped in the top. When they took 
 possession of the prize, they went into the mizen- 
 top, and found him dead ; with one ball through 
 his head, and another through his breast. 
 
 The Redoubtable struck within twenty min- 
 utes after the fatal shot had been fired from her. 
 During that time she had been twice on fire, — in 
 her fore-chains and in her forecastle. The French, 
 as they had done in other batties, made use in 
 this of fireballs and other combustibles. Once 
 they succeeded in setting fire, from the Redoubt- 
 able, to some ropes and canvass on the Vic- 
 tory s booms. The cry ran through the ship, 
 and reached the cockpit : but even this dreadful 
 cry produced no confusion : the men displayed 
 that perfect self-possession in danger by which 
 English seamen are characterized ; they extin- 
 guished the flames on board their own ship, and 
 
THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 "then hastened to extinguish them in the enemy, 
 by throwing buckets of water from the gangway. 
 When the Redoubtable had struck, it was not 
 practicable to board her from the Victory ; for, 
 though the two ships touched, the upper works 
 of both fell in so much that there was a great 
 space between their gangways ; and she could not 
 be boarded from the lower or middle decks, because 
 her ports were down. 
 
 Once, amidst his sufferings, Nelson had ex- 
 pressed a wish that he w T ere dead ; but immedi- 
 ately the spirit subdued the pains of death, and 
 he wished to live a little longer ; doubtless that 
 he might hear the completion of the victory which 
 he had seen so gloriously begun. That consola- 
 tion — that joy — that triumph, was afforded him. 
 He lived to know that the victory was decisive ; 
 and the last guns which were fired at the flying en- 
 emy were heard a minute or two before he expired. 
 
 The total British loss in the battle of Trafalgar 
 amounted to 1587. Twenty of the enemy struck ; 
 — unhappily the fleet did not anchor, as Nelson, 
 almost with his dying breath, had enjoined ; — a 
 gale came on from the south-west ; some of the 
 prizes went down, some went on shore ; one 
 effected its escape into Cadiz ; others were de- 
 stroyed ; four only were saved, and those by the 
 greatest exertions. 
 
 It is almost superfluous to add, that all the 
 honors which a grateful country could bestow, 
 were heaped upon the memory of Nelson. His 
 brother was made an earl, with a grant of £6000 
 per year ; .£10,000 were voted to each of his 
 sisters ; and ,£100,000 for the purchase of an 
 estate. A public funeral was decreed, and a pub- 
 lic monument. Statues and monuments also were 
 voted by most of our principal cities. The leaden 
 coffin, in which he was brought home, was cut in 
 pieces, which were distributed as relics of Saint 
 Nelson, — so the gunner of the Victory called 
 them : — and when, at his interment, his flag was 
 about to be lowered into the grave, the sailors, 
 who assisted at the ceremony, with one accord 
 rent it in pieces, that each might preserve a frag- 
 ment while he lived. 
 
 REMARKABLE FACTS REGARDING THE IN- 
 FLUENCE OF MILITARY EVENTS UPON 
 THE HUMAN BODY. 
 
 THE singular and remarkable facts recorded in 
 this article are selected from the writings 
 •of Dr. Benjamin Rush, the celebrated physician 
 
 and philanthropist of Colonial times, and intimate 
 friend of Franklin : 
 
 In the beginning of a battle, I have observed 
 thirst to be a very common sensation among both 
 officers and soldiers. It occurred where no exer- 
 cise, or action of the body, could have excited it. 
 
 Many officers have informed me, that after the 
 first onset in a battle they felt a glow of heat, so 
 universal as to be perceptible in both their ears. 
 This was the case, in a particular manner, in the 
 battle of Princeton, on the third of January, in 
 the year 1777, on which day the weather was re- 
 markably cold. 
 
 A veteran colonel of a New England regiment, 
 whom I visited at Princeton, and who was 
 wounded in the hand at the battle of Monmouth, 
 on the 28th of June, 1778 (a day in which the 
 mercury stood at 90 of Fahrenheit's thermome- 
 ter), after describing his situation at the time he 
 received his wound, concluded his story by re- 
 marking, " that fighting was hot work, on a cold 
 day, but much more so on a warm day." The 
 many instances which appeared after that memor- 
 able battle, of soldiers who were found among the 
 slain without any marks of wounds or violence 
 upon their bodies, were probably occasioned by 
 the heat excited in the body, by the emotions of 
 the mind, being added to that of the atmosphere. 
 
 Soldiers bore operations of every kind, immedi- 
 ately after a battle, with much more fortitude 
 than they did at any time afterwards. 
 
 The effects of the military life upon the human 
 body come next to be considered under this 
 head. 
 
 In another place I have mentioned three cases 
 of pulmonary consumption being perfectly cured 
 by the diet and hardships of a camp life. 
 
 Doctor Blane, in his valuable observations on 
 the diseases incident to seamen, ascribes the ex- 
 traordinary healthiness of the British fleet in the 
 month of April, 1782, to the effects produced on 
 the spirit of the soldiers and seamen, by the vic- 
 tory obtained over the French fleet on the 12th 
 of that month ; and relates, upon the authority 
 of Mr. Ives, an instance, in the war between 
 Great Britain and the combined powers of France 
 and Spain, in 1744, in which the scurvy, as well 
 as other diseases, were checked by the prospect 
 of a naval engagement. 
 
 The American army furnished an instance of 
 the effects of victory upon the human mind, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 303 
 
 which may serve to establish the inferences from 
 the facts related by Doctor Blane. The Philadel- 
 phia militia who joined the remains of General 
 Washington's army, in December, 1776, and 
 shared with them a few clays afterwards in the 
 capture of a large body of Hessians at Trenton, 
 consisted of 1500 men, most of whom had been 
 accustomed to the habits of a city life. These 
 men slept in tents and barns, and sometimes in 
 the open air, 
 during the 
 usual colds of 
 December and 
 January ; and 
 yet there were 
 but two in- 
 stances of 
 sickness, and 
 only one of 
 death, in that 
 body of men 
 in the course 
 of nearly six 
 weeks, in 
 those winter 
 months. This 
 extraordinary 
 healthiness of 
 so great a 
 number of 
 men, under 
 such trying 
 circumstances 
 can only be 
 ascribed to the 
 vigour infused 
 into the hu- 
 man body by 
 the victory of 
 Trenton hav- 
 ing produced 
 insensi b i 1 i t y 
 
 to all the usual remote causes of diseases. Militia 
 officers and soldiers, who enjoyed good health 
 during a campaign, were often affected by fevers 
 and other diseases as soon as they returned to 
 their respective homes. I know one instance 
 of a militia captain who was seized with convul- 
 sions the first night he lay on a feather bed, after 
 sleeping several months on a mattress or upon the 
 ground. These affections of the body appeared 
 
 to be produced only by the sudden abstraction of 
 that tone in the system, which was excited by a 
 sense of danger, and the other invigorating ob- 
 jects of a military life. 
 
 The nostalgia of Doctor Cullen, or the home- 
 sickness, was a frequent disease in the American 
 army, more especially among the soldiers of the 
 New England States. But this disease was sus- 
 pended by the superior action of the mind, under 
 
 &>d m$MeM~>* 
 
 MS^r^SS^ • ' .ij'-'ri. ■ &*<»?*' 
 
 CHARGE OF THE AMERICAN CAVALRY AT THE BATTLE OF PRINCETON. 
 
 the influence of the principles which governed 
 common soldiers in the American army. Of this 
 General Gates furnished me with a remarkable 
 instance in 1776, soon after his return from the 
 command of a large bod}' of regular troops and 
 militia at Ticonderoga. From the effects of the 
 nostalgia, and the feebleness of the discipline 
 which was exercised over the militia, desertions 
 were very frequent and numerous in his army, in 
 
304 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the latter part of the campaign ; and yet during 
 the three weeks in which the general expected 
 every hour an attack to be made upon him b}' 
 General Burgoyne, there was not a single deser- 
 tion from his army, which consisted at that time 
 of 10,000 men. 
 
 The patience, firmness, and magnanimity with 
 which the officers and soldiers of the American 
 army endured the complicated evils of hunger, 
 coid, and nakedness, can only be ascribed to an 
 insensibility of body produced by an uncommon 
 tone of mind, excited by the love of liberty and 
 their country. 
 
 Before I proceed to the second general division 
 of this subject, I shall take notice that more in- 
 stances of apoplexies occurred in the city of 
 Philadelphia, in the winter of 1774-5, than had 
 been known in former years. I should have hesi- 
 tated in recording this fact had I not found the 
 observation supported by a fact of the same kind, 
 and produced by a nearly similar cause, in the 
 appendix to the practical works of Doctor Baglivi, 
 professor of physic and anatomy at Rome. After 
 a very wet season in the winter of 1694-5, ^ le i n " 
 forms us that " apoplexies displayed their rage ; 
 and perhaps (adds our author) some part of this 
 epidemic illness was owing to the universal grief 
 and domestic care occasioned by all Europe being 
 engaged in a war. All commerce was disturbed, 
 and all the avenues of peace blocked up, so that 
 the strongest heart could scarcely bear the 
 thoughts of it." The winter of 1774-5 was a 
 period of uncommon anxiety among the citizens 
 of America. Every countenance wore the marks 
 of painful solicitude for the event of a petition to 
 the throne of Britain, which was to determine 
 whether reconciliation, or a civil war, with all its 
 terrible and distressing consequences, were to take 
 place. The apoplectic fit, which deprived the 
 world of the talents and virtues of Peyton Ran- 
 dolph, while he filled the chair of Congress, in 
 1775, appeared to be occasioned in part by the 
 pressure of the uncertainty of those great events 
 upon his mind. To the name of this illustrious 
 patriot, several others might be added, who were 
 affected by the apoplexy in the same memorable 
 year. At this time a difference of opinion upon 
 the subject of the contest with Great Britain had 
 scarcely taken place among the citizens of 
 America. 
 
 The political events of the revolution produced 
 
 different effects upon the human body, through 
 the medium of the mind, according as they acted 
 upon the friends or enemies of the revolution. 
 
 I shall first describe its effects upon the former 
 class of citizens of the United States. 
 
 Many persons of infirm and delicate habits were 
 restored to perfect health by the change of place, 
 or occupation, to which the war exposed them. 
 This was the case in a more especial manner with 
 hysterical women, who were much interested in 
 the successful issue of the contest. The same 
 effects of a civil war upon the hysteria were ob- 
 served by Doctor Cullen in Scotland, in the 3-ears 
 1745 and 1746. It may perhaps help to extend 
 our ideas of the influence of the passions upon 
 diseases, to add, that when either love, jealous}', 
 giief, or even devotion, wholly engross the female 
 mind, they seldom fail in like manner to cure or 
 to suspend hysterical complaints. 
 
 An uncommon cheerfulness prevailed every- 
 where, among the friends of the revolution. De- 
 feats, and even the loss of relations and property, 
 were soon forgotten in the great objects of the 
 war. 
 
 The population in the United States w 7 as more 
 rapid from births during the war than it had ever 
 been in the same number of years since the settle- 
 ment of the country. 
 
 I am disposed to ascribe this increase of births 
 chiefly to the quantity and extensive circulation 
 of money, and to the facility of procuring the 
 means of subsistence during the war, which 
 favoured marriages among the labouring part of 
 the people.* But I have sufficient documents to 
 prove that marriages were more fruitful than in 
 former years, and that a considerable number of 
 unfruitful marriages became fruitful during the 
 war. In 1783, the year of the peace, there were 
 several children born of parents who had lived 
 many years together without issue. 
 
 Mr. Hume informs us, in his History of Eng- 
 land, that some old people, upon hearing the news 
 of the restoration of Charles II., died suddenly 
 of joy. There was a time when I doubted the 
 truth of this assertion ; but I am now disposed to 
 
 * Wheat, which was sold before the war for seven shil- 
 lings and sixpence, was sold for several years during the 
 war for four, and in some places for two and sixpence, 
 Pennsylvania currency, per bushel. Beggars of every 
 description disappeared in the year 1776, and were seldom 
 seen till near the close of the war. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 305 
 
 believe it, from having heard of a similar effect 
 from an agreeable political event, in the course of 
 the American revolution. The door-keeper of 
 Congress, an aged man, died suddenly, imme- 
 diately after hearing of the capture of Lord 
 Cornwallis's army. His death was universally 
 ascribed to a violent emotion of political joy. 
 This species of joy appears to be one of the 
 strongest emotions that can agitate the human 
 mind. 
 
 Perhaps the influence of that ardour in trade 
 and speculation which seized many of the friends 
 of the revolution, and which was excited by the 
 fallacious nominal amount of the paper money, 
 should rather be considered as a disease than as a 
 passion. It unhinged the judgment, deposed the 
 moral faculty, and filled the imagination, in many 
 people, with airy and imx-iracticable schemes of 
 wealth and grandeur. Desultory manners, and a 
 peculiar species of extempore conduct, were among 
 its characteristic symptoms. It produced insen- 
 sibility to cold, hunger, and danger. The trading 
 towns, and in some instances the extremities of the 
 United States, were frequently visited in a few 
 hours or days by persons affected by this disease ; 
 and hence, " to travel with the speed of a specu- 
 lator ' ' became a common saying in many parts 
 of the country. This species of insanity (if I 
 may be allowed to call it by that name) did not 
 require the confinement of a Bedlam to cure it, 
 like the South-Sea madness described by Doctor 
 Mead. Its remedies were the depreciation of the 
 paper money, and the events of the peace. 
 
 The political events of the revolution produced 
 upon its enemies very different effects from those 
 which have been mentioned. 
 
 It was observed in South Carolina that several 
 gentlemen, who had protected their estates by 
 swearing allegiance to the British government, 
 died soon after the evacuation of Charlestown by 
 the British army. Their deaths were ascribed to 
 the neglect with which they were treated by their 
 ancient friends, who had adhered to the govern- 
 ment of the United States. The disease was 
 called, by the common people, the "protection 
 fever. ' ' 
 
 From the causes which produced this hypo- 
 chondriasis, I have taken the liberty of distin- 
 guishing it by the name of revolutiana. 
 
 In some cases this disease was rendered fatal by 
 exile and confinement ; and in others, by those 
 20 
 
 persons who were afflicted with it seeking relief '? 
 from spirituous liquors. 
 
 CONQUEST OF JERUSALEM BY THE CRU- 
 SADERS. 
 BY EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 JERUSALEM has derived some reputation 
 from the number and importance of her 
 memorable sieges. It was not till after a long and 
 obstinate contest that Babylon and Rome could 
 prevail against the obstinacy of the people, the 
 craggy ground that might supersede the necessity 
 of fortifications, and the walls and towers that 
 would have fortified the most accessible plain. 
 These obstacles were diminished in the age of 
 the crusades. The bulwarks had been complete- 
 ly destroyed and imperfectly restored : the Jews,, 
 their nation and worship, were forever banished ; 
 but nature is less changeable than man, and the 
 site of Jerusalem, though somewhat softened and 
 somewhat removed, was still strong against the 
 assaults of an enemy. By the experience of a 
 recent siege, and a three years' possession, the 
 Saracens of Egypt had been taught to discern, 
 and in some degree to remedy, the defects of a 
 place which religion as well as honour forbade 
 them to resign. Aladin or Iftikhar, the caliph's 
 lieutenant, was intrusted with the defence ; his 
 policy strove to restrain the native Christians by 
 the dread of their own ruin and that of the holy 
 sepulchre ; to animate the Moslems by the assur- 
 ance of temporal and eternal rewards. His gar- 
 rison is said to have consisted of forty thousand 
 Turks and Arabians ; and if he could muster 
 twenty thousand of the inhabitants, it must be 
 confessed that the besieged were more numerous 
 than the besieging arm}-. Had the diminished 
 strength and numbers of the Latins allowed them 
 to grasp the whole circumference of four thousand 
 yards (about two English miles and a half), to 
 what useful purpose should the}- have descended 
 into the valley of Ben Himmon and torrent of 
 Cedron, or approached the precipices of the south 
 and east, from whence they had nothing either to 
 hope or fear? This siege was more reasonably 
 directed against the northern and western sides of 
 the city. Godfrey of Bouillon erected his stand- 
 ard on the first swell of Mount Calvary ; to the 
 left as far as St. Stephen's gate, the line of at- 
 tack was continued by Tancred and the two 
 Roberts ; and Count Raymond established his 
 
306 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 quarters from the citadel to the foot of Mount supply of cisterns and aqueducts. The circumjacent 
 
 S :i. which was no longer included within the country is equally destitute of trees for the uses 
 
 precincts of the city. On the fifth day, the cru- of shade and building, but some large beams were 
 
 saders made a general assault, in the fanatic hope discovered in a cave by the crusaders : a wood 
 
 SOUTH WALL OF JERUSALEM, 
 
 SCALED BY THE CRUSA- .5 
 
 DERS. ~ 
 
 of battering down the walls 
 without engines, and of "* $ 
 
 scaling them without lad- 
 ders. By the dint of brutal force, they 
 burst the first barrier, but they were 
 driven back with shame and slaughter 
 to the camp : the influence of vision 
 and prophecy was deadened by the 
 too frequent abuse of those pious strata- 
 gems, and time and labour were found to be 
 the only means of victory. The time of the 
 siege was indeed fulfilled in forty days, but they 
 were forty daj-s of calamity and anguish. A 
 repetition of the old complaint of famine may be 
 imputed in some degree to the voracious or dis- 
 orderly appetite of the Franks, but the stony soil 
 of Jerusalem is almost destitute of water : the 
 scanty springs and hasty torrents were dry in the 
 summer season ; nor was the thirst of the be- 
 siegers relieved, as in the city, by the artificial 
 
 near Sichem, the enchanted grove of Tasso, was 
 cut down : the necessary timber was transported 
 to the camp by the vigour and dexterity of Tan- 
 cred ; and the engines were framed by some 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 307 
 
 Genoese artists, who had fortunately landed in 
 the harbour of Jaffa. Two movable turrets were 
 constructed at the expense and in the stations of 
 the Duke of Lorraine and the Count of Tholouse, 
 and rolled forwards with devout labour, not to 
 the most accessible but to the most neglected parts 
 of the fortification. Raymond' s tower was reduced 
 to ashes by the fire of the besieged, but his col- 
 league was more 
 vigilant and suc- 
 cessful ; the enemies 
 were driven by his 
 archers from the 
 rampart ; the draw- 
 bridge was let down ; 
 and on a Friday, at 
 three in the after- 
 noon, the day and 
 hour of the Passion, 
 Godfrey of the Bou- 
 illon stood victorious 
 on the walls of Je- 
 rusalem. His ex- 
 ample was followed 
 on every side by the 
 emulation of valour ; 
 and about four hun- 
 dred and sixty years 
 after the conquest of 
 Omar ; the holy city 
 was rescued from 
 the Mohammedan 
 yoke. In the pillage 
 of public and pri- 
 vate wealth, the ad- 
 venturers had agreed 
 to respect the exclu- 
 sive property of the 
 first occupant ; and 
 the spoils of the 
 great mosque — sev- 
 enty lamps and 
 mass}' vases of gold 
 
 and silver — rewarded the diligence and displayed 
 the generosity of Tancred. A bloody sacrifice 
 was offered by his mistaken votaries to the 
 God of the Christians : resistance might pro- 
 voke, but neither age nor sex could mollify their 
 implacable rage ; they indulged themselves three 
 days in a promiscuous masscre, and the infection 
 of the dead bodies produced an epidemical dis- 
 
 ease. After seventy thousand Moslems had been 
 put to the sword, and the harmless Jews had been 
 burnt in their synagogue, they could still reserve 
 a multitude of captives whom interest or lassitude 
 persuaded them to spare. Of these savage heroes 
 of the cross, Tancred alone betrayed some senti- 
 ments of compassion ; yet we may praise the 
 more selfish lenity of Raymond, who granted a 
 
 GODFREY, OF BOOmoN, LEADING THE ASSAULT UPON JERUSALEM. 
 
 capitulation and safe conduct to the garrison of 
 the citadel. The holy sepulchre was now free ; 
 and the bloody victors prepared to accomplish 
 their vow. Bareheaded and barefoot, with con- 
 trite hearts, and in a humble posture, they ascended 
 the hill of Calvary amidst the loud anthems of 
 the clergy ; kissed the stone which had covered 
 the Saviour of the world, and bedewed with tears 
 
308 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 of joy aud penitence the monument of their re- 
 demption. 
 
 SCENES AT THE DEATH OF QUEEN ELIZA- 
 BETH. 
 QOME incidents happened which revived her 
 vP tenderness for Essex, and filled her with the 
 deepest sorrow for the consent which she had un- 
 warily given to his execution. 
 
 her service recmired him often to be absent from 
 her person, and exposed him to all those ill offices 
 which his enemies, more assiduous in their attend- 
 ance, could employ against, him. She was moved 
 with this tender jealousy ; and making him the 
 present of a ring, desired him to keep that pledge 
 of her affection, and assured him that into what- 
 ever disgrace he should fall, whatever prejudices 
 she mitrht be induced to entertain against him. 
 
 MASSACRE OF THE INFIDELS. 
 
 The Earl of Essex, after his return from the yet if he sent her that ring, she would immedi- 
 fortunate expedition against Cadiz, observing the ately, upon sight of it, recall her former tender- 
 increase of the queen's fond attachment towards ness, would afford him a patient hearing, and 
 him, took occasion to regret that the necessity of would lend a favorable ear to his apology. Essex, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 309 
 
 notwithstanding all his misfortunes, reserved this 
 precious gift to the last extremity ; but after his 
 trial and condemnation, he resolved to try the ex- 
 periment, "and he committed the ring to the Coun- 
 tess of Nottingham, whom he desired to deliver 
 it to the queen. The countess was prevailed on 
 by her husband, the mortal enemy of Essex, not 
 to execute the commission ; and Elizabeth, who 
 still expected that her favourite would make this 
 last appeal to her tenderness, and who 
 ascribed the neglect of it to his invincible 
 obstinacy, was, after much delay and 
 man}- internal combats, pushed by re- 
 sentment and policy to sign the warrant 
 for his execution. The Countess of Not- 
 tingham, falling into sickness, and af- 
 fected with the near approach of death, 
 was seized with remorse for her conduct ; 
 and having obtained a visit from the 
 queen, she craved her pardon, and re- 
 vealed to her the fatal secret. The queen, 
 astonished with this incident, burst into a 
 furious passion : she shook the dying 
 countess in her bed ; and crying to her 
 that God might pardon her, but she never 
 could, she broke from her, and thence- 
 forth res : gned herself over to the deepest 
 and most incurable melancholy. She re- 
 jected all consolation : she even refused 
 food and-sustenance ; and, throwing her- 
 self on the floor, she remained sullen 
 and immovable, feeding her thoughts on 
 her afflictions, and declaring life and ex- 
 istence an insufferable burden to her. Few 
 words she uttered ; and they were all ex- 
 pressive of some inward grief which she 
 cared not to reveal : but sighs and 
 groans were the chief vent which she 
 gave to her despondency, and which, 
 though thej - discovered her sorrows, 
 were never able to ease or assuage them. 
 Ten days and nights she la}- upon the 
 carpet, leaning on cushions which her maids 
 brought her ; and her physicians could not per- 
 suade her to allow herself to be put to bed, 
 much less to make trial of any remedies which 
 they prescribed to her. Her anxious mind 
 at last had so long preyed on her frail body, 
 that her end was visibly approaching ; and 
 the council being assembled, sent the keeper, 
 
 admiral, and secretary, to know her will with re- 
 gard to her successor. She answered with a faint 
 voice that as she had held a regal sceptre, she de- 
 sired no other than a royal successor. Cecil, re- 
 questing her to explain herself more particularly, 
 she subjoined that she would have a king to suc- 
 ceed her ; and who should that be but her nearest 
 kinsman, the king of Scots? Being then advised 
 by the archbishop of Canterbury to fix her 
 
 DEATH OF OUEEX ELIZABETH. 
 
 thoughts upon God, she replied that she did so, 
 nor did her mind in the least wander from him. 
 Her voice soon after left her ; her senses failed ; 
 she fell into a lethargic slumber, which continued 
 some hours, and she expired gently, without far- 
 ther struggle or convulsion (March 24), in the 
 seventieth year of her age and forty-fifth of her 
 reisrn. — David Hume. 
 
Slo 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 CHARACTER OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 BY WILLIAM ROBERTSON, HISTORIAN 
 
 TO all the charms of beauty and the utmost 
 elegance of external form, she added those 
 accomplishments which render their impression 
 irresistible. Polite, affable, insinuating, spright- 
 ly, and capable of speaking and writing with 
 equal ease and dignity. Sudden, however, and 
 violent in all her attachments, because her heart 
 was warm and unsuspicious. Impatient of con- 
 tradiction, because she had been accustomed from 
 her infancy to be treated as a queen. Xo stranger, 
 on some occasions, to dissimulation, which, in that 
 perfidious court where she received her education, 
 
 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 was reckoned among the necessary arts of govern- 
 ment. Xot insensible to flatter}-, or unconscious 
 of that pleasure with which almost even - woman 
 beholds the influence of her own beauty. Formed 
 with the qualities which we love, not with the 
 talents that we admire, she was an agreeable 
 woman rather than an illustrious queen. The vi- 
 vacity of her spirit, not sufficiently tempered with 
 sound judgment, and the warmth of her heart, 
 which was not at all times under the restraint of 
 discretion, betrayed her both into errors and into 
 crimes. To sav that she was alwavs unfortunate 
 
 will not account for that long and almost uninter- 
 rupted succession of calamities which befell her ; 
 we must likewise add that she was often impru- 
 dent. Her passion for Darnley was rash, youth- 
 ful, and excessive. And though the sudden tran- 
 sition to the opposite extreme was the natural 
 effect of her ill-requited love, and of his ingrati- 
 tude, insolence and brutality, yet neither these nor 
 Both well's artful address and important sendees 
 can justify her attachment to that nobleman. 
 Even the manners of the age, licentious as they 
 were, are no apology for this unhappy passion ; 
 nor can they induce us to look on that tragical 
 and infamous scene which followed upon it with 
 less abhorrence. Humanity will draw a veil over 
 this part of her character which it cannot approve, 
 and ma} - , perhaps, prompt some to impute her 
 actions to her situation more than to her disposi- 
 tion, and to lament the unhappiness of the former 
 rather than accuse the perverseness of the latter. 
 Mary's sufferings exceed, both in degree and in 
 duration, those tragical distresses which fancy has 
 feigned to excite sorrow and commiseration ; and 
 while we survey them, we are apt altogether to 
 forget her frailties ; we think of her faults with 
 less indignation, and approve of our tears as il 
 they were shed for a person who had attained much 
 nearer to pure virtue. 
 
 With regard to the queen's person, a circum- 
 stance not to be omitted in writing the history of 
 a female reign, all contemporary authors agree in 
 ascribing to Man- the utmost beauty of counte- 
 nance and elegance of shape of which the human 
 form is capable. Her hair was black, though, 
 according to the fashion of that age, she fre- 
 quently wore borrowed locks, and of different 
 colors. Her eyes were a dark gray, her com- 
 plexion was exquisitely fine, and her hands and 
 arms remarkably delicate, both as to shape and 
 color. Her statue was a height that rose to the 
 majestic. She danced, she walked and rode with 
 equal grace. Her taste for music was just, and 
 she both sung and played upon the lute with un- 
 common skill. Towards the end of her life she 
 began to grow fat, and her long confinement and 
 the coldness of the houses in which she had been 
 imprisoned, brought on a rheumatism, which de- 
 prived her of the use of her limbs. " Xo man," 
 says Brautome, "ever beheld her person without 
 admiration and love, or will read her history with- 
 out sorrow." 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 311 
 
 Man- Stuart, the daughter of James V., of 
 Scotland, and Man- of Lorraine, daughter of 
 Claude, Duke of Guise, was born in the castle of 
 Linlithgow, Scotland, in December, 1542, and be- 
 headed at Fotheringay Castle, Northamptonshire, 
 England, February 8, 15S7. Her father died a 
 few days after her birth, and she was crowned 
 queen of Scotland when not quite one year old. 
 In her sixth year 'she was betrothed by her mother 
 and the regent Arran to the Dauphin of France, 
 and immediately sailed for that country, 
 landing at Brest on the 14th of August, 
 1548. She was received in Paris most 
 affectionately by King Henry II., who 
 treated her as a daughter. The French 
 court was brilliant and gay, and Mary 
 grew to young womanhood under its influ- 
 ences, which, no doubt, accounts for much 
 of the frivolous conduct of her subse- 
 quent life. In her sixteenth j-ear she was 
 married to the Dauphin, and on the death 
 of Queen Mary, of England, called 
 "Bloody Mary," which occurred the 
 same year, the king of France caused his 
 son to quarter the arms of Scotland with 
 those of England, claiming that Mary 
 Stuart was the rightful heir to the crowns 
 of both England and Scotland. This 
 claim was based on the ground of her de- 
 scent from Margaret Tudor, eldest daugh- 
 ter of Henry VII., of England, Elizabeth, 
 daughter of Henry VIII. and Anne Bo- 
 leyn, having been declared illegitimate. 
 This act, aided by her own imprudent 
 disposition, was the cause of all the 
 troubles that befell the unhappy Queen 
 of Scots in after life. 
 
 Henry II. , of France, died July 10, 1559, 
 and the Dauphin succeeding his father, as 
 Francis II. , Mary became Queen of France, 
 as well as Scotland, and retained that po- ~ 
 sition until the death of her husband, on 
 the 5th of December, 1560. During this short reign 
 she was practically the head of the government, 
 through her influence over her pliable husband, 
 and being intensely Catholic herself, that party pre- 
 dominated in all the affairs of the kingdom. But 
 after the death of her husband the influence of 
 Catharine de Medici, her personal enemy, pre- 
 dominated, and the situation became so unpleas- 
 ant for Man- Stuart that she decided to lose 
 
 no time in returning to her native country. 
 It is not necessary to repeat the story of her 
 unhappy life in Scotland, for that is familiar to 
 all readers of history. Her death was peculiarly 
 tragical. After her trial and conviction, parlia- 
 ment urged immediate execution, but Elizabetn 
 seemed reluctant to proceed to extremities, and 
 for six weeks the warrant remained unsigned ; in 
 fact, there are the best of reasons for believing 
 that she never did sign it, and that the one pur- 
 
 MARV STUART IN PRISON. 
 
 porting to bear her signature was a forger)-. An 
 attempt to induce her jailor to poison the unhappy 
 queen having failed, on the 7th of February, 15S7, 
 the earls of Kent and Shrewsbury proceeded to 
 Fotheringay Castle, and informed Mary that she 
 must prepare to die the next morning at eight 
 o'clock. She was taken by surprise, as Eliza- 
 beth's delay in signing the warrant had led her 
 to hope that she would escape the axe ; but she 
 
312 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 bore herself with firmness and dignity. She made 
 all her preparations for death with deliberation, 
 and at the appointed time proceeded calmly to the 
 scaffold, which, with cruel irony, had been erected 
 in the banqueting hall. She was denied spiritual 
 consolation by a priest of her own faith, and was 
 rudely importuned by the dean of Peterborough 
 and the earl of Kent to change her belief : but 
 she firmly repulsed their efforts. Her heroic for- 
 titude did not fail her even at the last moment, 
 for when the executioner struck her on the skull, 
 
 Bedford. Twenty-five years later, her son, James 
 I., caused them to be removed to the chapel of 
 Henry VII., in Westminster Abbey, where they 
 now rest. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN AND HIS FATHER. 
 
 THE following affecting historical incident is 
 recorded by Smollet, the novelist, in one 
 of his inimitable stories : 
 
 We set out from Glasgow, by the way of Lan- 
 ark, the county town of Clydesdale, in the neigh- 
 
 mm 
 
 A PIOUS SCOTTISH FAMILY OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 inflicting a frightful wound, she did not shrink or 
 groan. Two more blows were required to dis- 
 patch her. 
 
 After six months of contemptuous .neglect, her 
 remains were buried in Peterborough Cathedral, 
 Elizabeth acting as chief mourner through Lady 
 
 borhood of which the whole river Clyde, rushing 
 down a steep rock, forms a very noble and stu- 
 pendous cascade. Xext day we were obliged to 
 halt in a small borough until the carriage, which 
 had received some damage, should be repaired ; 
 and here we met with an incident which warmly 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 313 
 
 interested the benevolent spirit of Mr. Bramble. 
 As we stood at the window of an inn that fronted 
 the public prison, a person arrived on horseback, 
 genteelly though plainly dressed in a blue frock, 
 with his own hair cut short, and a gold-laced hat 
 upon his head. Alighting, and giving his horse 
 to the landlord, he advanced to an old man who 
 was at work in paving the street, and accosted 
 him in these words — ■" This is hard work for such 
 an old man as you." So saying, he took the instru- 
 ment out of his hand, 
 and began to thump 
 the pavement. After 
 a few strokes, ' ' Have 
 you never a son," said 
 he, " to ease you of this 
 labor?" "Yes, an' 
 please your honor," 
 replied the senior, " I 
 have three hopeful 
 lads, but at present 
 they are out of the 
 way." "Honor not 
 me," cried the 
 stranger ; " it more be- 
 comes me to honor 
 your gray hairs. 
 Where are those sons 
 you talk of?" The 
 ancient pavier said 
 his eldest son was a 
 captain in the East 
 Indies, and the young- 
 est had lately enlisted 
 as a soldier, in hopes 
 of prospering like his 
 brother. The gentle- 
 men desiring to know 
 what was become of 
 
 the second, he wiped his eyes, and owned he had 
 taken upon him his old father's debts, for which 
 he was now in the prison hard by. 
 
 The traveller made three quick steps towards 
 the jail ; then turning short, " Tell me," said he, 
 ' ' has that unnatural captain sent you nothing to re- 
 lieve your distresses ?" " Call him not unnatural, ' ' 
 replied the other, " God's blessings be upon him ! 
 he sent me a great deal of monej', but I made bad 
 use of it ; I lost it by being security for a gentle- 
 man that was my landlord, and was stripped of 
 all I had in the world besides." At that instant a 
 
 young man thrusting out his head and neck be- 
 tween two bars in the prison-window, exclaimed, 
 ' ' Father ! father ! if my brother William is in life, 
 that's he." "I am! I am !" cried the stranger, 
 clasping the old man in his arms, and shedding a 
 flood of tears, " I am your son Willy, sure 
 enough ! ' ' Before the father, who was quite con- 
 founded, could make any return to this tender- 
 ness, a decent old women, bolting out from the 
 door of a poor habitation, cried, "Where is my 
 
 A RUI5AI, WEDDING IN SCOTLAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 bairn? where is my dear Willy?" The Captain 
 no sooner beheld her than he quitted his father, 
 and ran to her embrace. 
 
 I can assure you, my uncle who saw and heard 
 everything that passed, was as much moved as 
 any one of the parties concerned in this pathetic 
 recognition. He sobbed, and wept, and clapped 
 his hands, and hollowed, and finally ran down 
 into the street. By this time the captain had re- 
 tired with his parents, and all the inhabitants of 
 the place were assembled at the door, Mr. 
 Bramble, nevertheless, pressed through the crowd, 
 
314 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and entering the house, "Captain," said he, "I 
 beg the favour of your acquaintance. I would 
 have travelled a hundred miles to see this affect- 
 ing scene ; and I shall think myself happy if you 
 and your parents will dine with ine at the public 
 house. ' ' The captain thanked him for his kind 
 invitation, which he said he would accept with 
 pleasure ; but in the mean time he could not think 
 of eating or drinking while his poor brother was 
 in trouble. He forthwith deposited a sum equal 
 to the debt in the hands of the magistrate, w T ho 
 ventured to set his brother at liberty without fur- 
 ther process ; and then the whole family repaired 
 to the inn with my uncle, attended by the crowd, 
 the individuals of which shook their townsman 
 by the hand, while he returned their caresses 
 without the least sign of pride or affectation. 
 
 The honest favourite of fortune, whose name 
 was Brown, told my uncle that he had been bred 
 a weaver, and about eighteen years ago had, from 
 a spirit of idleness and dissipation, enlisted as a 
 soldier in the service of the East India Company ; 
 that in the course of duty he had the good fortune 
 to attract the notice and approbation of Lord 
 Clive, who preferred him from one step to an- 
 • other till he had attained the rank of captain and 
 pavmaster to the regiment, in which capacities 
 he had honestly amassed above twelve thousand 
 pounds, and at the peace resigned his commis- 
 sion. He had sent several remittances to his 
 father, who received the first only, consisting of 
 one hundred pounds ; the second had fallen into 
 the hands of a bankrupt ; and the third had been 
 consigned to a gentlemen in Scotland, who died 
 before it arrived, so it still remained to be ac- 
 counted for by his executors. He now presented 
 the old man with fifty pounds for his present oc- 
 casions, over and above bank notes for one hun- 
 dred, which he had deposited for his brother's 
 release. He brought along with him a deed, 
 readj' executed, by which he settled a perpetuity 
 of fourscore pounds upon his parents, to be in- 
 herited by the other two soiu after their decease. 
 He promised to purchase a commission for his 
 youngest brother ; to take the other as his own 
 partner in a manufacture which he intends to set 
 up to give employment and bread to the industri- 
 ous ; and to give five hundred pounds, by way of 
 dower, to his sister, who had married a farmer in 
 poor circumstances. Finally, he gave fifty pounds 
 
 to the poor of the town where he was born, and 
 feasted all the inhabitants without exception. 
 
 A FRENCH PEASANT'S SUPPER. 
 BY LAWRENCE STERNE. 
 
 A SHOE coming loose from the fore-foot of 
 the thill-horse, at the beginning of the as- 
 cent of Mount Taurira, the postilion dismounted, 
 twisted the shoe off, and put it in his pocket. As 
 the ascent was of five or six miles, and that horse 
 our main dependence, I made a point of having 
 the shoe fastened on again as well as we could ; 
 but the postilion had thrown away the nails, and 
 the hammer in the chaise-box being of no great 
 use without them, I submitted to go on. He had 
 not mounted half a mile higher, when, coming to 
 a flint}- piece of road, the poor devil lost a second 
 shoe, and from off his other fore-foot. I then got 
 out of the chaise in good earnest ; and seeing a 
 house about a quarter of a mile to the left hand, 
 with a great deal to do I prevailed upon the pos- 
 tilion to turn up to it. The look of the house, 
 and of everything about it, as we drew nearer, 
 soon reconciled me to the disaster. It was a little 
 farm-house, surrounded with about twenty acres 
 of vineyard, about as much corn ; and close to 
 the house on one side was a potagerie of an acre 
 and a-half, full of everything which could make 
 plenty in a French peasant's house ; and on the 
 other side was a little wood, which furnished 
 wherewithal to dress it. It was about eight in the 
 evening when I got to the house ; so I left the 
 postilion to manage his point as he could, and for 
 mine, I walked directly into the house. 
 
 The family consisted of an old grayheaded man 
 and his wife, with five or six sons and sons-in-law 
 and their several wives, and a joyous genealogy 
 out of them. They were all sitting down together 
 to their lentil-soup ; a large wheaten loaf was in 
 the middle of the table ; and a flagon of wine at 
 each end of it promised joy through the stages 
 of the repast ; 'twas a feast of love. The old man 
 rose up to meet me, and with a respectful cordial- 
 ity would have me sit down at the table ; ray 
 heart was set down the moment I entered the 
 room, so I sat down at once like a son of the 
 family ; and to invest myself in the character as 
 speedily as I could, I instantly borrowed the old 
 man's knife, and taking up the loaf, cut myself a 
 hearty luncheon ; and as I did it, I saw a testi- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 mony in every eye, not only of an honest wel- 
 come, but of a welcome mixed with thanks that 
 I had not seemed to doubt it. Was it this, or tell 
 me, Nature, what else it was, that made this morsel 
 
 hour ? If the supper was to my taste, the grace 
 which followed it was much more so. 
 
 When supper was over, the old man gave a 
 knock upon the table with the haft of his knife, 
 
 A. FRENCH PEASANT FAMILY OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 so sweet : and to what magic I owe it, that the to bid them prepare for the dance. The moment 
 
 draught I took of their flagon was so delicious 
 with it, that they remain upon my palate to this 
 
 the signal was given, the women and girls ran all 
 together into a back apartment to tie up their 
 
$16 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 hair, and the young men to the door to wash their 
 faces and change their sabots ; and in three min- 
 utes every soul was ready, upon a little esplanade 
 before the house, to begin. The old man and his 
 wife came out last, and placing me betwixt them, 
 sat down upon a sofa of turf by the door. The 
 old man had some fifty years ago been no mean 
 performer upon the vielle ; and at the age he was 
 then of, touched it well enough for the purpose. 
 His wife sung now and then a little to the tune, 
 then intermitted, and joined her old man again as 
 their children and grandchildren danced before 
 them. 
 
 It was not till the middle of the second dance, 
 when, for some pauses in the movement, wherein 
 they all seemed to look up, I fancied I could dis- 
 tinguish an elevation of spirit different from that 
 which is the cause or the effect of simple jollity. 
 In a word, I thought I beheld Religion mixing 
 in the dance ; but as I had never seen her so en- 
 gaged, I should have looked upon it now as one 
 of the illusions of an imagination which is eter- 
 nally misleading me, had not the old man, as soon 
 as the dance ended, said that this was their con- 
 stant way ; and that all his life long he had made 
 it a rule, after supper was over, to call out his 
 family to dance and rejoice ; believing, he said, 
 that a cheerful and contented mind was the best 
 sort of thanks to Heaven that an illiterate peasant 
 could pay. Or a learned prelate either, said I. 
 
 CHARACTER OF JULIUS CffiSAR. 
 /T.KSAR was endowed with every great and 
 \f> noble quality that could exalt human nature, 
 and give a man the ascendant in society : formed to 
 excel in peace, as well as in war ; provident in coun- 
 sel : fearless in action ; and executing what he had 
 resolved with amazing celerity ; generous beyond 
 measure to his friends ; placable to his enemies ; 
 and for parts, learning, eloquence, scarce inferior 
 to any man. His orations were admired for two 
 qualities which are seldom found together — 
 strength and elegance. Cicero ranks him among 
 the greatest orators that Rome ever bred ; and 
 Ouintilian says, that he spoke with the same force 
 with which he fought ; and if he had devoted 
 himself to the bar, would have been the only 
 man capable of rivalling Cicero. Xor was he a 
 master only of the politer arts ; but conversant 
 also with the most abstruse and critical parts of 
 learning ; and, among other works which he pub- 
 
 lished, addressed two books to Cicero on the 
 analogy of language, or the art of speaking and 
 writing correctly. He was a most liberal patron 
 of wit and learning wheresoever they were found; 
 and out of his love of those talents, would readily 
 pardon those who had employed them against 
 himself; rightly judging that by making such 
 men his friends, he should draw praises from the 
 same fountain from which he had been aspersed. 
 His capital passions were ambition and love of 
 pleasure, which he indulged in their turns to the 
 greatest excess ; j-et the first was always predomi- 
 nant, to which he could easily sacrifice all the 
 charms of the second, and draw pleasure even 
 from toils and dangers when they ministered to his 
 glory. For he thought Tyranny, as Cicero says, 
 the greatest of goddesses ; and he had frequently 
 in his mouth a verse of Euripides, which expressed 
 the image of his soul, that, if right and justice 
 were ever to be violated, the} - were to be violated 
 for the sake of reigning. This was the chief end 
 and purpose of his life ; the scheme that he had 
 formed from his early youth ; so that, as Cato 
 truly declared of him, he came with sobriety and 
 meditation to the subversion of the republic. He 
 used to say that there were two things necessary 
 to acquire and support power — soldiers and money; 
 which yet depended mutually upon each other. 
 With money, therefore, he provided soldiers, and 
 with soldiers extorted money ; and was of all 
 men the most rapacious in plundering both friends 
 and foes, sparing neither prince, nor state, nor 
 temple, nor even private persons who were known 
 to possess any share of treasure. His great 
 abilities would necessarily have made him one of 
 the first citizens of Rome ; but disdaining the 
 condition of a subject, he could never rest till he 
 made himself a monarch. In acting this last part, 
 his usual prudence seemed to fail him, as if the 
 height to which he was mounted had turned his 
 head and made him giddy ; for, by a vain osten- 
 tation of his power, he destroyed the stability of 
 it ; and as men shorten life by living too fast, so, 
 by an intemperance of reigning, he brought his 
 reiam to a violent end. 
 
 MAGNIFICENCE OF THE ANCIENT CALIPHS. 
 
 ALMAXSOR, the brother and successor of 
 Saffah, laid the foundations of Bagdad ('a. d. 
 762"), the imperial seat of his posterity during a 
 reign of five hundred years. The chosen spot is 
 
ALMANSOR AND HIS COURT. 
 
 (317) 
 
318 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 on the eastern bank of the Tigris, about fifteen 
 miles above the ruins of Modain ; the double wall 
 was of a circular form ; and such was the rapid 
 increase of a capital now dwindled to a provincial 
 town, that the funeral of a popular saint might be 
 attended by eight hundred thousand men and 
 sixty thousand women of Bagdad and the adja- 
 cent villages. In this city of peace, amidst the 
 riches of the east, the Abbassides soon disdained 
 the abstinence and frugality of the first caliphs, 
 and aspired to emulate the magnificence of the 
 Persian kings. After his wars and buildings, 
 Almausor left behind him in gold and silver about 
 thirty millions sterling ; and this treasure was 
 •exhausted in a few years by the vices or virtues 
 of his children. His sou Mahadi, in a single pil- 
 grimage to Mecca, expended six millions of dinars 
 of gold. A pious and charitable motive may 
 sanctify the foundation of cisterns and caravan- 
 saries, which he distributed along a measured road 
 of seven hundred miles ; but his train of camels, 
 laden with snow, could serve only to astonish the 
 natives of Arabia, and to refresh the fruits and 
 liquors of the royal banquet. The courtiers 
 would surely praise the liberality of his grandson 
 Almamon, who gave away four-fifths of the income 
 of a province — a sum of two millions four hun- 
 dred thousand gold dinars — before he drew his 
 foot from the stirrup. At the nuptials of the same 
 prince, a thousand pearls of the largest size were 
 showered on the head of the bride, and a lottery 
 of lands and houses displayed the capricious 
 bounty of fortune. The glories of the court were 
 brightened rather than impaired in the decline of 
 the empire, and a Greek ambassador might ad- 
 mire or pity the magnificence of the feeble Moc- 
 tader. " The caliph's whole army," says the his- 
 torian Abulfeda, " both horse and foot, was under 
 arms, which together made a body of one hun- 
 dred and sixty thousand men. His state-officers, 
 the favorite slaves, stood near him in splendid 
 apparel, their belts glittering with gold and gems. 
 Near them were seven thousand eunuchs, four 
 thousand of them white, the remainder black. 
 The porters or doorkeepers were in number seven 
 hundred. Barges and boats, with the most superb 
 decorations, were seen swimming upon the Tigris. 
 Nor was the place itself less splendid, in which 
 were hung up thirty-eight thousand pieces of 
 tapestry, twelve thousand five hundred of which 
 were of silk embroidered with gold. The carpets 
 
 on "the floor were twenty-two thousand. A hun- 
 dred lions were brought out, with a keeper to 
 each lion. Among the other spectacles of rare 
 and stupendous luxury, was a tree of gold and 
 silver spreading into eighteen large branches, on 
 which, and on the lesser boughs, sat a variety of 
 birds made of the same precious metals, as well 
 as the leaves of the tree. While the machinery 
 affected spontaneous motions, the several birds 
 warbled their natural harmony. Through this 
 scene of magnificence, the Greek ambassador was 
 led by the vizier to the foot of the caliph's throne. ' ' 
 In the west, the Ommiades of Spain supported, 
 with equal pomp, the title of commander of the 
 faithful. Three miles from Cordova, in honor 
 of his favourite sultana, the third and greatest of 
 the Abdalrahmans constructed the city, palace, 
 and gardens of Zehra. Twenty-five years, and 
 above three millions sterling, were employed by 
 the founder : his liberal taste invited the artists 
 of Constantinople, the most skilful sculptors and 
 architects of the age ; and the buildings were sus- 
 tained or adorned by twelve hundred columns of 
 Spanish and African, of Greek and Italian marble. 
 The hall of audience was incrusted with gold and 
 pearls, and a great bason in the centre was sur- 
 rounded with the curious and costly figures of 
 birds and quadrupeds. In a lofty pavilion of the 
 gardens, one of these basins and fountains, so 
 delightful in a sultry climate, was replenished not 
 with water but with the purest quicksilver. The 
 seraglio of Abdalrahman, his wives, concubines, 
 and black eunuchs, amounted to six thousand 
 three hundred persons ; and he was attended to 
 the field by a guard of twelve thousand horse, 
 whose belts and scimitars were studded with gold. 
 In a private condition, our desires are perpe- 
 tually repressed by poverty and subordination ; but 
 the lives and labors of millions are devoted to 
 the service of a despotic prince, whose laws are 
 blindly obeyed, and whose wishes are instantly 
 gratified. Our imagination is dazzled by the 
 splendid picture ; and whatever may be the cool 
 dictates of reason, there are few among us who 
 would obstinately refuse a trial of the comforts 
 and the cares of royalty. It ma} - therefore be of 
 some use to borrow the experience of the same 
 Abdalrahman, whose magnificence has perhaps 
 excited our admiration and envy, and to tran- 
 scribe an authentic memorial which was found in 
 the closet of the deceased caliph : "I have now 
 
FAVORITE SULTANA OF ABDALRAHMAN. 
 
 (319) 
 
THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 reigned above fifty years in victory or peace ; be- 
 loved by my subjects, dreaded by my enemies, 
 and respected by my allies. Ricbes and honors, 
 power and pleasure', have waited on niy call, nor 
 does an}- earthly blessing appear to have been 
 wanting to my felicity. In this situation I have 
 diligently numbered the days of pure and genu- 
 ine happiness which have fallen to my lot ; they 
 amount to fourteen. O man ! place not thy con- 
 fidence in this present world." 
 
 WHITEFIELD AND WESLEY. 
 
 /70XXECTED with the English establishment, 
 \^ yet ultimately separating from it, were those 
 two remarkable men, Whitefield and Wesley. 
 Both were highly useful in their day and genera- 
 tion, and the}- enjoyed a popularity rarely at- 
 tained by divines. George Whitefield was born 
 in Gloucester in 17 14. He took orders, and 
 preached in London with astonishing success. 
 He made several voyages to America, where he 
 was equally popular. Whitefield adopted the 
 Calvinistic doctrines, and preached them with in- 
 cessant activity, and an eloquence unparalleled 
 in its effects. As a popular orator he was passion- 
 ate and vehement, wielding his audiences almost 
 at will, and so fascinating in his style and manner, 
 that Hume the historian said he was worth travel- 
 ling twenty miles to hear. He died in Newbury, 
 Xew England, in 1770. His writings are tame 
 and commonplace, and his admirers regretted that 
 he should have injured his fame by resorting to 
 publication. 
 
 John Wesley was more learned, and in all re- 
 spects better fitted to become the leader and 
 founder of a sect. His father was rector of Ep- 
 worth, in Lincolnshire, where John was born in 
 1703. He was educated at Oxford, where he and 
 his brother Charles, and a few other students, 
 lived in a regular system of pious study and dis- 
 cipline, whence they were denominated Method- 
 ists. After officiating a short time as curate to 
 his father, the young enthusiast set off as a mis- 
 sionary to Georgia, where he remained about two 
 years. Shortly after his return in 173S, he com- 
 menced field-preaching, occasionally travelling 
 through every part of Great Britain and Ireland, 
 where he established congregations of Methodists. 
 Thousands flocked to his standard. The doc- 
 trine of Wesley was universal redemption, as 
 contradistinguished from the Calvinistic doctrine 
 
 of particular redemption, and his proselytes were, 
 by the act of conversion, made regenerate men. 
 The Methodists also received lay converts as 
 preachers, who, by their itinerant ministrations 
 and unquenchable enthusiasm, contributed ma- 
 terially to the extension of their societies. Wes- 
 ley continued writing, preaching, and travelling, 
 till he was eighty-eight years of age ; his apostolic 
 earnestness and venerable appearance procured 
 for him everywhere profound respect. He had 
 preached about forty thousand sermons, and tra- 
 velled three hundred thousand miles. His highly 
 useful and laborious career was terminated on the 
 2d of March, 1791. His body lay in a kind of 
 state in his chapel at Loudon the day previous to 
 his interment, dressed in his clerical habit, with 
 gown, cassock, and band ; the old clerical cap on 
 his head, a Bible in one hand, and a white hand- 
 kerchief in the other. The funeral service was 
 read by one of his old preachers. When he came 
 to that part of the service, " Forasmuch as it hath 
 pleased God to take unto himself the soul of our 
 dear brother" his voice changed, and he substi- 
 tuted the word father ; and the feeling with which 
 he did this was such, that the congregation, who 
 were shedding silent tears, burst at once into loud 
 weeping. 
 
 A LADY'S CHAMBER IN THE THIRTEENTH 
 CENTURY. 
 
 A SILVER lamp, richly fretted, suspended 
 from the raftered roof, gleamed faintly on 
 the splendid bed. The curtains were of silk, and 
 the coverlet of velvet, faced with miniver ; gilded 
 coronals and tufts of plumage shed alternate 
 gleam and shadow over ever}- angle of the 
 canopy ; and tapestry of silk and silver covered 
 even- compartment of the walls, save where the 
 uncouthly-eonstructed doors and windows broke 
 them into angles, irreconcilable alike to every 
 rule of symmetry or purpose of accommodation. 
 Xear the ample hearth, stored with blazing wood, 
 were placed a sculptured desk, furnished with a 
 missal and breviary gorgeously illuminated, and 
 a black marble tripod supporting a vase of holy 
 water : certain amulets, too, lay on the hearth, 
 placed there by the care of Dame Marguerite, 
 some in the shape of relics, and others in less 
 consecrated forms, on which the lady was often 
 observed by her attendants to look somewhat dis- 
 resrardfullv. The srreat door of the chamber was 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY, 
 
 closed by the departing damsels carefully ; and 
 the rich sheet of tapestry dropt over it, whose 
 hushful sweeping on the floor seemed like the 
 wish for a deep repose breathed from a thing in- 
 animate. The castle was still, the silver lamp 
 twinkled silently and dimly ; the perfumes, burn- 
 ing in small silver vases round the chamber, began 
 to abate their 
 gleams and 
 odours; the 
 scented waters, 
 scattered on the 
 rushes with 
 which the floor 
 was strewn, 
 flagged and 
 failed in their 
 delicious tribute 
 to the sense ; the 
 bright moon, 
 pouring its 
 glories through 
 the uncurtained 
 but richly tinted 
 casement, shed 
 its borrowed 
 hues of crim- 
 son, amber, and 
 purple on cur- 
 tain and canopy, 
 as in defiance of 
 the artificial 
 light that 
 gleamed so 
 feebly within 
 the chamber. 
 
 tory of his reign, has collected from a variety 
 ol authorities : 
 
 " it was his general custom to rise at five o'clock 
 in the morning, and sometimes earlier. He com- 
 monly dressed his hair himseli. and seldom em- 
 ployed more than two minutes for that purpose. 
 After he was dressed, the adjutant oi the first bat- 
 
 PRIVATE LIFE 
 OF FREDERIC 
 THE GREAT. 
 
 THE life of 
 Frederic 
 the Great of 
 Prussia was one 
 of the utmost 
 regularity and 
 
 activity. A more complete notion will be ob- 
 tained of the management by which he contrived 
 to make so much use of his time from the fol- 
 lowing interesting account of his daily occupa- 
 tions, which Dr. Towers, who has written a his- 
 
 21 
 
 A WDV OF RANK DURING THK THIRTEENTH CfiNTURY. 
 
 talion of his guards brought him a list of all the 
 persons that were arrived at Potsdam, or departed 
 from thence, and an account of whatever had oc- 
 curred in the garrison. When he had delivered 
 his orders to this officer, he retired into an innei 
 
M 
 
 e 
 
 H 
 
 <: 
 w 
 S 
 o 
 
 w 
 
 s 
 
 2 
 
 K 
 Q 
 W 
 « 
 
 (322) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 323 
 
 cabinet, where he employed himself in private till 
 seven o'clock. He then went into another apart- 
 ment, where he drank coffee or chocolate ; and 
 here he found upon the table all the letters, ad- 
 dressed to him from Potsdam, Berlin, or any other 
 parts of his dominions. Foreign letters were 
 placed upon a separate table. After reading all 
 these letters he wrote hints or notes in the margin 
 of those which his secretaries were to answer ; and 
 then, returning into the inner cabinet, carried with 
 him such as he meant to write or dictate an an- 
 swer to himself. Here he employed himself till 
 nine o'clock with one of his private secretaries. 
 He then returned back again into his former apart- 
 ment, where he was attended by three secretaries, 
 each of whom gave him an account of what he 
 had done ; after which the king delivered his 
 orders to them, with the letters they were to an- 
 swer. None of these answers, however, were sent 
 off till they had been read, and many of them 
 signed by the king. At ten o'clock the generals 
 •"'ho were about his person, whom he was accus- 
 tomed to send for in their turn, attended him to his 
 closet, where he conversed with them on the news 
 of the day, politics, tactics, and other subjects ; 
 and at this time he also gave audience to such per- 
 sons as had received previous notice to attend. 
 At eleven o'clock he mounted his horse and rode 
 to the parade, where he reviewed and exercised 
 his regiment of guards. He afterwards w T alked 
 for some time in the garden, with his generals and 
 the rest of the company whom he had invited to 
 dine with him. At one o'clock he sat down to 
 dinner, and his company generally consisted of 
 the princes his brothers, some of his general offi- 
 cers, some of the officers of his regiment of guards, 
 and one or two of his chamberlains. He had no 
 carver, but did the honors of the table himself, 
 like a private gentleman. After dinner he gener- 
 ally conversed with some of his guests for about a 
 quarter of an hour, walking about the room. He 
 then retired into his private apartment, making 
 low bows to his company. He remained in pri- 
 vate till five o'clock, when his reader waited on him. 
 His reading lasted about two hours ; and this was 
 succeeded bj r a concert, in which he himself was a 
 performer on the flute, and which lasted till nine. 
 When the concert was over, he was attended by 
 such wits or favorites as he had invited. With these 
 he supped at half an hour after nine, and his 
 company seldom consisted of more than eight 
 
 persons, the king himself included. At twelve he 
 went to bed." 
 
 The literary works of Frederic will be at least 
 allowed to show great industry, when it is stated 
 that they extend, in the most complete edition, to 
 no fewer than twenty-five octavo volumes — quite 
 a wonderful amount of authorship, certainly, for 
 one who led so busy a life, and strikingly illustra- 
 tive of what may be done by the economical em 
 ployment even of the merest odds and ends of 
 time ; for, compared to the leisure which many a 
 student enjoys, such must be considered the very 
 few hours every day which were the utmost that 
 Frederic could, by possibility, have given to 
 study. 
 
 VOLTAIRE AND THE MISCHIEVOUS PAGE. 
 
 VOLTAIRE, being once on a visit to Frederick 
 the Great, was attended at dinner by a 
 page, to whom he called for something which the 
 page either could not, or probably would not, 
 immediately execute ; for his illiberality and am- 
 biguous character made him disliked by every 
 one in court. Offended at the tardiness of the 
 page, Voltaire immediately flew into a violent 
 passion, as usual, to which he gave vent by load- 
 ing him with a volley of opprobrious names, par- 
 ticularly with that of Pomeranian clown. 
 
 The page, who dared not, in the presence of 
 the king, express his resentment at the unman- 
 nerly insult of the Frenchman, in the mean time 
 was determined to watch an opportunity of mak- 
 ing him feel his just vengeance. The following 
 day the king undertook a journey, on which he 
 was accompanied by Voltaire and another gentle- 
 man of the bed-chamber. The page, having 
 received orders to attend, rode with some others 
 of the household, in order to prepare accommo- 
 dations on the road. In the first carriage sat 
 the king with one of his officers ef state, and, 
 in the second, Voltaire on the right hand, and 
 the other gentleman of the bed-chamber on the 
 left. Previously to their arrival at a village, 
 where they intended to take a breakfast, and 
 where the carriages had to stop before the house, 
 the page had informed a number of peasants 
 assembled there that in the first carriage was the 
 king ; but that in the second was the king's 
 favorite monkey, dressed like a gentleman, seated 
 aside of his attendant ; that the monkey had the 
 vicious habit of teasing persons whenever he was 
 
wm%rwi. 
 
 1 j - ; mk 
 
 iSHIil 
 
 SSfiii 
 
 s 
 
 < 
 a 
 to 
 
 H 
 O 
 f- 
 
 < 
 
 J 3 
 
 z 
 o 
 u 
 
 (3 2 4) 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 suffered to leave the coach, when he would often 
 fly at their faces and belabor them most unmer- 
 cifully. In order to avoid this, he desired that 
 some of them might attend at the coach door, 
 and, on the gentleman to the left getting out, 
 immediately shut it again, and that, should he 
 cut capers, and endeavor to get out, they need 
 only give him a few raps on his meagre knuckles. 
 This the peasants promised to execute with atten- 
 tion. The coaches arriving soon after, the king 
 alighted, and was followed by the gentleman in 
 the second, and the door immediately closed 
 again. Voltaire endeavored to express the resent- 
 ment he felt at this insult offered to so illustrious 
 a personage, by shaking his head, and using 
 every gesture in his power ; but all was in vain. 
 The peasants, who had, by this time, collected in 
 ■considerable numbers, and who all believed him 
 to be a monkey, began to laugh heartily at the 
 trick, and threatened him with their sticks. He 
 began to rail at them in French, which none of 
 them understanding, they only deemed it a 
 monkey trick, and continued to laugh still more 
 at him. The noise and collection of so many 
 people at last attracted the attention of the king, 
 so that he went to the window, and surprised at 
 the concourse of people around the coach door, 
 inquired what was the matter. Being informed 
 that it was Voltaire, still sitting in the carriage 
 surrounded by the country people, he immediately 
 sent some of his attendants for an explanation 
 why he remained in the carriage, and if he did 
 not intend to take his breakfast. 
 
 With some difficulty and force they succeeded 
 in extricating him from the hands of the peasants, 
 who, finding that they no longer could prevent 
 the escape of this vicious or enraged animal, and 
 dreading lest he should make them feel his resent- 
 ment the more furiously, immediately separated 
 and fled in all directions with the utmost speed, 
 and as far as possible, each being apprehensive 
 that the detested creature might fasten on his 
 neck or bod}-, and ply him with his teeth and 
 claws. 
 
 At last Voltaire joined the company upstairs, 
 and complained to his majesty of the brutality of 
 these savage boors. Exasperated on hearing the 
 details of the treatment, the king immediately 
 gave orders for an inquiry into the motives which 
 had induced the peasants to commit such an out- 
 rage. 
 
 Some of the fugitives being speedily overtaken, 
 the examination commenced, when the sad mis- 
 take of the innocent peasants was explained ; 
 they added, that a gentleman belonging to his 
 majesty's suite had occasioned this excess ; and 
 by pointing him out at last, they proved their 
 harmless intention. The king immediately de- 
 manded to know why he had undertaken such a 
 trick, and was frankly informed by the latter 
 that it was intended as a retaliation for the insult 
 offered to his countrymen by the supercilious 
 Frenchman, and to prove to the scoffer that the 
 Germans were not altogether so stupid as Voltaire 
 imagined. This honest confession at once dis- 
 armed the king's anger ; but, to appease the fury 
 of Voltaire, he ordered the page to be put under 
 arrest for a few hours, and often indulged in a 
 smile on recollecting this ludicrous adventure. 
 
 Subsequently this same page, on account of 
 some mischievous trick, was dismissed from the 
 household service of the king, and having nothing 
 else to do, he enlisted in the guard ; but the easy life 
 that he had been accustomed to in the palace un- 
 fitted him for the rigors of military duty. He was 
 stationed, one day, as a sentinel in the royal 
 gardens, where the king soon afterward found 
 him sitting on a bench sound asleep. Frederick, 
 with a resounding rap of his cane upon the bench, 
 awoke the terrified young soldier, and demanded 
 why he was asleep on his post. ' ' Do you not 
 know," thundered Frederick, ''that if you should 
 sleep on your post in the presence of an enemy, 
 the penalty would be death?" "Ah, sire," re- 
 plied the youth, rubbing his eyes, and coming to 
 an awkward ' ' present arms ' ' in front of the king, 
 ' ' but how is it when we sleep in the presence of a 
 friend?" The wit of the young rascal, in re- 
 ferring to the king as his friend, disarmed Frede- 
 rick's resentment, and he soon afterward reinstated 
 him in the household service. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF GENERAL MOREAU. 
 
 7TYHEX General Moreau, who forsook the 
 VXJ colors of Napoleon, and was afterwards 
 killed fighting against his former commander, in 
 Germany, was in the city of Boston, he was much 
 courted and sought after as a lion of the firs! 
 quality. On one occasion he was invited to Cam- 
 bridge to attend the commencement exercises. In 
 the course of the day a musical society of under- 
 graduates sang a then very- popular ode, th« 
 
32b- 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 chorus of which was, ' ' To-morrow, to-morrow, 
 to-rnorrow." Moreau, who was imperfectly ac- 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AND QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 TEEN ELIZABETH condescended some- 
 
 Qu: 
 times to a little flirtation. Shakespeare was 
 complimenting him, and at every recurrence of performing the part of a king ; Queen Elizabeth's 
 the burden, which he interpreted, "To Moreau, box was contiguous to the stage; she purposely 
 
 FREDERIC THE GREAT AND THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 
 
 to Moreau, to Moreau," he rose and bowed dropped her handkerchief upon the boards, at 
 
 gracefully to the singers' gallery, pressing his the feet of Shakespeare, having a mind to try 
 
 laced chapeau to his heart. We can easily imagine whether her poet would stoop from his assumed 
 
 the amusement of the spectators who were in the majesty. She was mistaken. "Take up our 
 
 secret, and the mortification of the Frenchman sister's handkerchief," was his prompt and digni- 
 
 xvh"T he discovered his mistake. fied order to one of the actors in his train. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 '327 
 
 CHRISTIAN NAMES OF THE PURITANS. 
 
 THE Puritans, in the reign of Elizabeth, among 
 other objects of reformation which they laid 
 down in their discipline, as it was called, had this 
 article : ' ' L,et persuasions be used that such 
 names as do savor either of paganism or popery 
 be not given to children, but principally those 
 whereof there are examples in the Scriptures." 
 They were not content with the plain scriptural 
 names of Abraham, Obadiah, Zechariah, Ruth, 
 and Rebecca ; they adopted phrases, and some- 
 times sentences, for their children, such as "The 
 Eord is near," "More tryall," "Reformation," 
 "Discipline," "Joy again," "Sufficient," "From 
 above," "Heavenly mind," "Free gifts," "More 
 fruit, " " Dust, ' ' &c. ; and one of the Puritanical 
 ministers was so bigoted in this respect, that he 
 refused to christen a man's child because he in- 
 sisted on having him called Richard. 
 
 This ridiculous superstition continued to pre- 
 vail till the reign of Charles II., as may be seen 
 by examining the accounts of many persons of 
 eminence, who were born about the period of the 
 great rebellion, as, for instance, Accepted Frewen, 
 Archbishop of York, Offspring Blackhall, Bishop 
 of Exeter. 
 
 Praise God Bareboiies, a respectable leather- 
 seller in Holborn, was one of the most active 
 members of the Parliament assembled by Crom- 
 well, and which took its denomination from his 
 surname. It is said there were three brothers of 
 this family, each of whom had a sentence to his 
 name, viz.: "Praise God Barebone," "Christ 
 came into the world to save, Barebone," and " II 
 
 Christ had not died, thou hadst been d d, 
 
 Barebone." But this last name was so long, that 
 many persons took the liberty of abridging it, and 
 
 called the owner only ' ' D d Barebone. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Brome, in his Travels over England, gives 
 the following list of a jury impanelled in Sussex 
 about the same time : — 
 
 Accepted Trevor, of Horsham ; Redeemed 
 Compton, of Battle ; Faint-not Hewet, of Heath- 
 field ; Make Peace Heaton, of Hare ; God-reward 
 Smart, of Fivehurst ; Staud-fast-on-high Stringer, 
 of Crowhurst ; Earth Adams, of Warbleton ; 
 Called Dower, of the same ; Fight-the-good-fight- 
 of-faith White, of Emer ; More Fruit Fowler, of 
 East Hadley ; Hope for Bending, of the same ; 
 Graceful Harding, of Dewes ; Weep-not Billing, 
 of the same : Meek Brewer, of Okeham. 
 
 THE GRAY CHAMPION. ' > 
 BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.' 
 
 ^■HERE was once a time when New England 
 W' groaned under the actual pressure of heavier 
 wrongs than those threatened ones which brought 
 on the Revolution. James II., the bigoted suc- 
 cessor of Charles the Voluptuous, had annulled 
 the charters of all the colonies, and sent a harsh 
 and unprincipled soldier to take away our liber- 
 ties and endanger our religion. The administra- 
 tion of Sir Edmund Andros lacked scarcely a 
 single characteristic of tyranny : a Governor and 
 Council, holding office from the King, and wholly 
 independent of the country ; laws made and taxes 
 levied without concurrence of the people, immedi- 
 ate or by their representatives ; the rights of 
 private citizens violated, and the titles of all 
 landed property declared void ; the voice of com- 
 plaint stifled by restrictions on the press ; and 
 finally, disaffection overawed by the first band of 
 mercenary troops that ever marched on our free 
 soil. For two years our ancestors were kept in 
 sullen submission, by that filial love which had 
 invariably secured their allegiance to the mother 
 country, whether its head chanced to be Parlia- 
 ment, Protector, or popish Monarch. Till these 
 evil times, however, such allegiance had been 
 merely nominal, and the colonists had ruled 
 themselves, enjoying far more freedom than is 
 even yet the privilege of the native subjects of 
 Great Britain. 
 
 At length, a rumor reached our shores, that the 
 Prince of Orange had ventured on an enterprise, 
 the success of which would be the triumph of civil 
 and religious rights and the salvation of New 
 England. It was but a doubtful whisper ; it 
 might be false, or the attempt might fail ; and in 
 either case, the man that stirred against King 
 James would lose his head. Still the intelligence 
 produced a marked effect. The people smiled 
 mysteriously in the streets, and threw bold 
 glances at their oppressors ; while far and wide 
 there was a subdued and silent agitation, as if the 
 slightest signal would rouse the whole land from 
 its sluggish despondency. Aware of their dan- 
 ger, the rulers resolved to avert it by an imposing 
 display of strength, and perhaps to confirm their 
 despotism by yet harsher measures. One after- 
 noon in April, 1689, Sir Edmund Andros and his 
 favorite councillors, being warm with wine, as- 
 sembled the red-coats of the Governor's Guard, and 
 
323 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 made their appearance in the streets of Boston. tial music of the soldiers, than as the muster-call 
 The sun was near setting when the march com- to the inhabitants themselves. A multitude, by 
 menced. various avenues, assembled in King street, which 
 
 
 ^=r^j** 
 
 i!*^ 
 
 RED COATS OF THE GOVERNOR S GUARD. 
 
 The roll of the drum, at that unquiet crisis, was destined to be the scene, nearly a century af- 
 seetned to po through the streets less as the mar- terwards, of another encounter between the troops 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 S29 
 
 of Britain and a people struggling against lier 
 tyranny. Though more than sixty years had 
 elapsed since the Pilgrims came, this crowd of 
 their descendants still showed the strong and som- 
 bre features of their character, perhaps more strik- 
 ingly in such a stern emergency than on happier 
 occasions. There was the sober garb, the gen- 
 eral severity of mien, the gloomy but undismayed 
 expression, the scriptural forms of speech, and the 
 confidence in Heaven's blessing on a righteous 
 cause, which would have marked a band of the 
 original Puritans, when threatened by some peril 
 of the wilderness. Indeed, it was not yet time for 
 the old spirit to be extinct ; since there were men in 
 the street, that day, who had worshipped there 
 beneath the trees, before a house was reared to 
 the God for whom they had become exiles. Old 
 soldiers of the Parliament were here too, smiling 
 grimly at the thought that their aged arms might 
 strike another blow against the house of Stuart. 
 Here, also, were the veterans of King Philip's 
 war, who had burned villages and slaughtered 
 young and old with pious fierceness, while the 
 godly souls throughout the land were helping 
 them with prayer. Several ministers were scat- 
 tered among the crowd, which, unlike all other 
 mobs, regarded them with such reverence, as if 
 there were sanctity in their garments. These 
 holy men exerted their influence to quiet the 
 people, but not to disperse them. Meantime, 
 the purpose of the Governor in disturbing the 
 peace of the town, at a period when the slightest 
 commotion might throw the country into a fer- 
 ment, was the almost universal subject of inquiry, 
 and variously explained. 
 
 " Satan will strike his master-stroke presently," 
 cried some, " because he knoweth that his time is 
 short. All our godly pastors are to be dragged 
 to prison. We shall see them at a Smithfield fire 
 in King street." 
 
 Hereupon, the people of each parish gathered 
 closer round their ministers, who looked calmly 
 upwards and assumed a more apostolic dignity, 
 as well befitted a candidate for the highest honor 
 of his profession, the crown of martyrdom. It 
 was actually fancied, at that period, that New 
 England might have a John Rogers of her own, 
 to take the place of that worthy in the Primer. 
 
 ' ' The Pope of Rome has given orders for a 
 new St. Bartholomew ! ' ' cried others. ' ' We are 
 to be massacred, man and male child ! " 
 
 Neither was this rumor wholly discredited, al- 
 though the wiser class believed the Governor's 
 object somewhat less atrocious. His predecessor 
 under the old charter, Bradstreet, a venerable 
 companion of the first settlers, was known to be 
 in town. There were grounds for conjecturing, 
 that Sir Edmund Andros intended at once to 
 strike terror by a parade of military force, and to 
 confound the opposite faction by possessing him- 
 self of their chief. 
 
 ' ' Stand firm for the old charter, Governor ! ' ' 
 shouted the crowd, seizing upon the idea. "The 
 good old Governor Bradstreet ! ' ' 
 
 While this cry was at the loudest, the people 
 were surprised by the well-known figure of Gov- 
 ernor Bradstreet himself, a patriarch of nearly 
 ninety, who appeared on the elevated steps of a 
 door, and, with characteristic mildness, besought 
 them to submit to the constituted authorities. 
 
 "My children," concluded this venerable per- 
 son, "do nothing rashly. Cry not aloud, but 
 pray for the welfare of New England, and expect 
 patieirti}- what the Lord will do in this matter ! ' ' 
 
 The event was soon to be decided. All this 
 time the roll of the drum had been approaching 
 through Cornhill, louder and deeper, till, with 
 reverberations from house to house, and the regu- 
 lar tramp of martial footsteps, it burst into the 
 street. A double rank of soldiers made their 
 appearance, occupying the whole breadth of the 
 passage, with shouldered matchlocks, and matches 
 burning, so as to present a row of fires in the 
 dusk. Their steady march was like the progress 
 of a machine, that would roll irresistibly over 
 everything in its way. Next, moving slowly, 
 with a confused clatter of hoofs on the pavement, 
 rode a party of mounted gentlemen, the central 
 figure being Sir Edmund Andros, elderly, but 
 erect and soldier-like. Those around him were 
 his favorite councillors, and the bitterest foes of 
 New England. At his right hand rode Edward 
 Randolph, our arch enemy, that "blasted wretch," 
 as Cotton Mather calls him, who achieved the 
 downfall of our ancient government, and was 
 followed with a sensible curse through life and to 
 his grave. On the other side was Bullivant, 
 scattering jests and mockery as he rode along. 
 Dudley came behind, with a downcast look, dread- 
 ing, as well he might, to meet the indignant gaze 
 of the people, who beheld him, their only coun- 
 try-man by birth, among the oppressors of his na- 
 
L330 
 
 SIR EDMUXD AXDKUS AND HIS (JFFIC1 
 
 XS! I.TATION. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 331 
 
 tive land. The captain of a frigate in the harbor, 
 and two or three civil officers under the Crown, 
 were also there. But the figure which most at- 
 tracted the public eye, and stirred up the deepest 
 feeling, was the Episcopal clergyman of King's 
 Chapel, riding haughtily among 
 the magistrates in his priestly vest- 
 ments, the fitting representative of 
 prelacy and persecution, the union 
 of church and state, and all those 
 abominations which had driven the 
 Puritans to the wilderness. Another 
 guard of soldiers, in doable rank, 
 brought up the rear. 
 
 The whole scene was a picture ox 
 the condition of New England, and 
 its morale, the deformity of any gov- 
 ernment that does not grow out of 
 the nature of things and the charac- 
 ter of the people. On one side the 
 religious multitude, with their sad 
 visages and dark attire, and on the 
 other, the group of despotic rulers, 
 with the high churchmen in the 
 midst, and here and there a crucifix 
 at their bosoms, all magnificently 
 clad, flushed with wine, proud of 
 unjust authority, and scoffing at the 
 universal groan. And the mer- 
 cenary soldiers, waiting but the 
 word to deluge the street with blood, 
 showed the only means by which 
 obedience could be secured. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! Lord of Hosts ! ' ' cried a 
 voice among the crowd, "provide 
 a Champion for thy people." 
 
 This ejaculation was loudly ut- 
 tered, and served as a herald's cry to 
 introduce a remarkable personage. 
 The crowd had rolled back, and 
 were now huddled together nearly 
 at the extremity of the street, while 
 the soldiers had advanced no more 
 than a third of its length. The in- 
 tervening space was empty — a paved 
 solitude, between lofty edifices, which 
 threw almost a twilight shadow over it. Sud- 
 denly, there was seen the figure of an ancient 
 man, who seemed to have emerged from among 
 the people, and was walking by himself along 
 the centre of the street, to confront the armed 
 
 baud. He wore the old Puritan dress, a dark 
 cloak and a steeple-crowned hat, in the fashion 
 of at least fifty years before, with a heavy sword 
 upon his thigh, but a staff in his hand, to assist 
 the tremulous gait of age. 
 
 SIR EDMUND ANDROS. 
 
 When at some distance from the multitude, the 
 old man turned slowly round, displaying a face 
 of antique majesty, rendered doubly venerable 
 by the hoary beard that descended on his breast. 
 He made a gesture at once of encouragement 
 
>o o 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and warning, then turned again and resumed his 
 "way. 
 
 ' ' Who is this gray patriarch ! ' ' asked the young 
 men of their sires. 
 
 ' ' Who is this venerable brother ! ' ' asked the 
 old men among themselves. 
 
 But none could make reply. The fathers of 
 the people, those of fourscore years and upwards, 
 were disturbed, deeming it strange they should 
 forget one of such evident authority, whom they 
 must have known in their early days, the associ- 
 ate of Winthrop and all the old Councillors, 
 giving laws, and making pra3 - ers, and leading 
 them against the savage. The elderly men ought 
 to have remembered him, too, with locks as gray 
 in their youth, as their own were now. And the 
 young ! How could he have passed so utterly 
 from their memories — that hoary sire, the relic of 
 long departed times, whose awful benediction 
 had surely been bestowed on their uncovered heads 
 in childhood. 
 
 ' ' Whence did he come ? What is his purpose ? 
 Who can this old man be ? " whispered the wonder- 
 ing crowd. 
 
 Meanwhile, the venerable stranger, staff in 
 hand, was pursuing his solitary walk along the 
 centre of the street. As he drew near the ad- 
 vancing soldiers, and as the roll of their drum 
 came full upon his ear, the old man raised him- 
 self to a loftier mien, while the decrepitude of age 
 seemed to fall from his shoulders, leaving him in 
 gray but unbroken dignity. Now, he marched 
 onward with a warrior's step, keeping time to 
 the military music. Thus the aged form advanced 
 on one side, and the whole parade of soldiers and 
 magistrates on the other, till, when scarcely 
 twenty yards remained between, the old man 
 grasped his staff by the middle, and held it before 
 him like a leader's truncheon. 
 
 " Stand ! " cried he. 
 
 The eye, the face, and attitude of command ; 
 the solemn yet warlike peal of that voice, fit 
 either to rule a host in the battle-field or be raised 
 to God in prayer, were irresistible. At the old 
 man's word and outstretched arm, the roll of the 
 drum was hushed at once, and the advancing line 
 stood still. A tremulous enthusiasm seized upon 
 the multitude. That stately form, combining the 
 leader and the saint, so gray, so dimly seen, in 
 such an ancient garb, could only belong to some 
 old champion of the righteous cause, whom the 
 
 oppressor's drum had summoned from his grave. 
 They raised a shout of awe and exultation, and 
 looked for the deliverance of New England. 
 
 The Governor, and the gentlemen of his party, 
 perceiving themselves brought to an unexpected 
 stand, rode hastily forward, as if they would have 
 pressed their snorting and affrighted horses right 
 against the hoary apparition. He, however, 
 blenched not a step, but glancing his severe eye 
 round the group which half encompassed him, 
 at last bent it sternly on Sir Edmund Andros. 
 One would have thought that the dark old man 
 was chief ruler there, and that the Governor and 
 Council, with soldiers at their back, representing 
 the whole power and authority of the Crown, had 
 no alternative but obedience. 
 
 "What does this old fellow here?" cried 
 Edward Randolph, fiercely. " On, Sir Edmund ! 
 Bid the soldiers forward, and give the dotard the 
 same choice that you give all his countrymen — 
 to stand aside or be trampled on ! " 
 
 "Nay, nay, let us show respect to the good 
 grandsire," said Bullivant, laughing. " See you 
 not he is some old round-headed dignitary, who 
 hath lain asleep these thirty years, and knows 
 nothing of the change of times? Doubtless, he 
 thinks to put us down with a proclamation in Old 
 Noll's name ! " 
 
 "Are you mad, old man?" demanded Sir 
 Edmund Andros, in loud and harsh tones. " How 
 dare you stay the march of King James's Gover- 
 nor?" 
 
 " I have staid the march of a King himself, ere 
 now," replied the gray figure, with stern compo- 
 sure. " I am here, Sir Governor, because the cry 
 of an oppressed people hath disturbed me in my 
 secret place ; and beseeching this favor earnestly 
 of the Lord, it was vouchsafed me to appear once 
 again on earth in the good old cause of his saints. 
 And what speak ye of James ? There is no longer 
 a popish tyrant on the throne of England, and by 
 to-morrow noon his name shall be a by-word in 
 this very street, where ye would make it a word 
 of terror. Back, thou chat wast a Governor, back ' 
 With this night thy power is ended — to-morrow, 
 the prison ! — back, lest I foretell the scaffold ! " 
 
 The people had been drawing nearer and nearer, 
 and drinking in the words of their champion, who 
 spoke in accents long disused, like one unaccus- 
 tomed to converse, except with the dead of many 
 years ago. But this voice stirred their souls. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 They confronted the soldiers, not wholly without 
 arms, and ready to convert the stones of the street 
 into deadly weapons. Sir Edmund Andros looked 
 at the old man ; then he cast his hard and cruel 
 eye over the multitude, and beheld them burn- 
 ing with that lurid wrath, so difficult to kindle or 
 to quench ; and again he fixed his gaze on the 
 aged form, which stood obscurely in an open space, 
 where neither friend nor foe had thrust himself. 
 What were his thoughts, he uttered no word which 
 might discover. But whether the oppressor was 
 overawed by the Gray Champion's look, or per- 
 ceived his peril in the threatening attitude of the 
 people, it is certain that he gave back, and ordered 
 his soldiers to commence a slow and guarded 
 retreat. Before another sunset, the Governor, and 
 all that rode so proudly with him, were prisoners, 
 and long ere it was known that James had abdi- 
 cated King William was proclaimed throughout 
 New England. 
 
 But where was the Gray Champion? Some 
 reported that when the troops had gone from King 
 street, and the people were thronging tumultously 
 in their rear, Bradstreet, the aged Governor, was 
 ^>een to embrace a form more aged than his own. 
 Others soberly affirmed, that while they marvelled 
 at the venerable grandeur of his aspect, the old 
 man had faded from their eyes, melting slowly 
 into the hues of twilight, till where he stood there 
 was an empty space. But all agreed that the 
 hoary shape was gone. The men of that genera- 
 tion watched for his re-appearance, in sunshine and 
 in twilight, but never saw him more, nor knew 
 when his funeral passed, nor where his gravestone 
 was. 
 
 And who was the Gray Champion ? Perhaps 
 his name might be found in the records of that 
 stern Court of Justice which passed a sentence too 
 mighty for the age, but glorious in all after times 
 for its humbling lesson to the monarch and its 
 high example to the subject. I have heard, that 
 whenever the descendants of the Puritans are to 
 show the spirit of their sires the old man appears 
 again. When eighty years had passed he walked 
 once more in King street. Five years later, in the 
 twilight of an April morning, he stood on the 
 green, beside the meeting-house, at Lexington, 
 where now the obelisk of granite, with a slab of 
 slate inlaid, commemorates the first fallen of the 
 Revolution. And when our fathers were toiling 
 at the breastwork on Bunker's Hill, all through 
 
 that night the old warrior walked his rounds. 
 Long, long may it be ere it comes again ! His 
 hour is one of darkness, and adversity, and peril. 
 But should domestic tyranny oppress us, or the 
 invader's step pollute our soil, still may the Gray 
 Champion come ; for he is the type of New Eng- 
 land's hereditary spirit ; and his shadowy march 
 on the eve of danger must ever be the pledge that 
 New England's sons will vindicate their ancestry. 
 
 THE BASTINADO AT CAIRO. 
 T^AVING finished my purchases in the bazaars, 
 L/ I returned to my hotel, ready to set out, and 
 found the dromedaries, camels, and guides, and 
 expected to find the letter for the governor of 
 Akaba, which, at the suggestion of Mr. Linant, 
 I had requested Mr. Gliddon to procure for me. 
 I now learned, however, from that gentleman, 
 that to avoid delay it would be better to go my- 
 self, first sending my caravan outside the gate, 
 and representing to the minister that I was 
 actually waiting for the letter, in which case he 
 would probably give it to me immediately. I 
 accordingly sent Paul with my little caravan to 
 wait for me at the tombs of the califs, and, at- 
 tended by the consul's janizary, rode up to the 
 citadel, and stopped at the door of the governor's 
 palace. The reader may remember that on my 
 first visit to his excellency I saw a man whipped 
 — this time I saw one bastinadoed. I had heard 
 much of this, a punishment existing, I believe, 
 only in the East, but I had never seen it inflicted 
 before, and hope I never shall see it again. As 
 on the former occasion, I found the little governor 
 standing at one end of the large hall of entrance, 
 munching, and trying causes. A crowd was 
 gathered around, and before him was a poor Arab, 
 pleading and beseeching most piteously, while 
 the big tears were rolling down his cheeks ; near 
 him was a man whose resolute and somewhat 
 angry expression marked him as the accuser, 
 seeking vengeance rather than justice. Suddenly 
 the governor made a gentle movement with his 
 hand ; all noise ceased ; all stretched their necks 
 and turned their eager e3'es towards him ; the 
 accused cut short his crying, and stood with his 
 mouth wide open, and his eyes fixed upon the 
 governor. The latter spoke a few words in a very 
 low voice, to me of course unintelligible, and, in- 
 deed, scarcely audible, but they seemed to fall 
 upon the quick ears of the culprit like bolts of 
 
334 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 thunder ; the agony of suspense was over, and, 
 without a word or a look, he laid himself down 
 on his face at the feet of the governor. A space 
 was immediately cleared around ; a man on each 
 side took him by the hand, and stretching out his 
 arms, kneeled upon and held them down, while 
 another seated himself across his neck and 
 shoulders. Thus nailed to the ground, the poor 
 fellow, knowing that there was no chance of 
 escape, threw up his feet from the knee-joint, so 
 as to present the soles in a horizontal position. 
 Two men came forward with a pair of long stout 
 bars of wood, attached together by a cord, be- 
 tween which the)- placed the feet, drawing them 
 together with the cord so as to fix them in their 
 horizontal position, and leave the whole flat sur- 
 face exposed to the full force of the blow. In the 
 mean time two strong Turks were standing read}-, 
 one at each side, armed with long whips much 
 resembling our common cow-skin, but longer and 
 thicker, and made of the tough hide of the hip- 
 popotamus. While the occupation of the judge 
 was suspended by these preparations, the janizary 
 had presented the consul's letter. My sensibili- 
 ties are not particularly acute, but they yielded in 
 this instance. I had watched all the preliminary 
 arrangements, nerving myself for what was to 
 come, but when I heard the scourge whizzing 
 through the air, and, when the first blow fell 
 upon the naked feet, saw the convulsive move- 
 ments of the bod}-, and heard the first loud, 
 piercing shriek, I could stand it no longer ; I broke 
 through the crowd, forgetting the governor and 
 -everything else, except the agonizing sounds from 
 which I was escaping ; but the janizary followed 
 close at my heels, and, laying his hand upon my 
 arm, hauled me back to the governor. If I had 
 consulted merely the impulse of feeling, I should 
 have consigned him, and the governor, and the 
 whole nation of Turks, to the lower regions ; but 
 it was all important not to offend this summary 
 dispenser of justice, and I never made a greater 
 sacrifice of feeling to expediency than when I re- 
 entered his presence. The shrieks of the un- 
 happy criminal were ringing through the chamber, 
 but the governor received me with as calm a smile 
 as if he had been sitting on his own divan, listen- 
 ing only to the strains of some pleasant music, 
 while I stood with my teeth clenched, and felt the 
 hot breath of the victim, and heard the whizzing 
 of the accursed whip, as it fell again and again 
 
 upon his bleeding feet. I have heard men cry 
 out in agony when the sea was raging, and the 
 drowning man, rising for the last time upon the 
 mountain waves, turned his imploring arms to- 
 wards us, and with his dying breath called in vain 
 for help ; but I never heard such heart-rending 
 sounds as those from the poor bastinadoed wretch 
 before me. I thought the governor would never 
 make an end of reading the letter, when the 
 scribe handed it to him for his signature, although 
 it contained but half a dozen lines ; he fumbled in 
 his pocket for his seal, and dipped it in the ink ; 
 the impression did not suit him, and he made 
 another, and after a delay that seemed to me 
 eternal, employed in folding it, handed it to me 
 with a most gracious smile. I am sure I grinned 
 horribly in return, and almost snatching the letter, 
 just as the last blow fell, I turned to hasten from 
 the scene. The poor scourged wretch was silent ; 
 he had found relief in happy insensibility ; I east 
 one look upon the senseless body, and saw the 
 feet laid open in gashes, and the blood streaming 
 down the legs. At that moment the bars were 
 taken away, and the mangled feet fell like lead 
 upon the floor. I had to work my way through 
 the crowd, and before I could escape I saw the 
 poor fellow revive, and by the first natural im- 
 pulse rise upon his feet, but fall again as if he had 
 stepped upon red-hot irons. He crawled upon his 
 hands and knees to the door of the hall, and here 
 I rejoiced to see that, miserable, and poor, and 
 degraded as he was, he had yet friends whose 
 hearts yearned towards him ; they took him in 
 their arms and carried him away. 
 
 THE ROMANTIC HISTORY OF QUEEN 
 ISABELLA, OF ENGLAND. 
 
 IT is a trite saying, that truth is stranger than 
 fiction ; and we find it so when we examine 
 the pages of history. 
 
 Philip, king of France, surnamed "the Fair," 
 had three sons, besides his beautiful daughter 
 Isabella, married to Edward, king of England. 
 These three sons were very hendsome. The 
 eldest, Lewis, king of Navarre, during the life- 
 time of his father, was called Lewis Hulin ; the 
 second was named Philip the Great, or the Long, 
 because he was tall ; and the third, Charles. All 
 of these princes reigned on the throne of France, 
 one after the other, in legitimate succession, after 
 their father, Charles being the last. 
 
BLAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 335 
 
 When Charles ascend jd the throne of France, 
 the English were fighting with the Scots, and suf- 
 fered a defeat at Sterling, which the nobles and 
 barons, and King Edward's council, attributed to 
 Sir Hugh Spencer, a powerful baron, on account 
 of his partiality to the king of Scotland. The 
 discontent became so great that Sir Hugh realized 
 his life was in danger, and being a great favorite 
 with King Edward, he 
 determined to take 
 measures to check the 
 conspiracy against 
 himself. 
 
 On the first opportu- 
 nity, therefore, he told 
 the king that certain 
 lords, including the 
 Earl of Lancaster, the 
 king's uncle, had en- 
 tered into an alliance 
 against him, and if he 
 did not take proper 
 measures, they would 
 drive him out of his 
 kingdom. The king 
 was so alarmed and in- 
 censed at this informa- 
 tion, which Sir Hugh 
 had maliciously im- 
 parted to him, that he 
 caused all the lords 
 who were supposed to 
 be in the conspiracy, to 
 the number of twenty- 
 two, to be arrested one 
 da} - when they were in 
 a room together, and 
 had all their heads im- 
 mediately cut off, with- 
 out assigning any cause 
 whatever. His uncle, 
 the earl of Lancaster, 
 
 suffered first. He was a discreet and pious man, 
 and was so highly regarded by the people that 
 after he was beheaded they imagined miracles 
 were performed at his tomb. 
 
 The hatred against Sir Hugh Spencer was 
 greatly increased by this dastardly deed, and the 
 queen, taking part against him, so incensed King 
 Edward that he refused to see her, or to come to 
 any place where she was. The quarrel lasted for 
 
 some time, when the queen was informed that if 
 she did not speedily quit the court she would re- 
 pent of it, as Sir Hugh was determined to wreak 
 his vengeance upon her. She at once made 
 preparations for departing secret!}' to France, and 
 giving out that she was going on a pilgrimage to 
 St. Thomas, of Canterbury, she proceeded instead 
 
 to the sea co; 
 
 ist, accompanied by her young 
 
 '.on 
 
 FHrui' the hair, of France, and his COURT. — ( Copy of ail ancient engravi 
 
 the eighteenth century.) 
 
 Edward, the earl of Kent, Sir Roger Mortimer, 
 and a small retinue of servants, and embarking 
 on a vessel they landed the next morning at 
 Boulogne. 
 
 Her brother, King Charles, learning of her 
 coming, sent a number of his great lords to meet 
 her, who received and conducted her to Paris in 
 great honor. On their arrival, the king greeted 
 his sister and her son with great affection, and in- 
 
336 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 quired after her affairs. She immediately related 
 to him all the injuries that had been done to her 
 by Sir Hugh Spencer, and asked his advice and 
 assistance. The king was greatly moved, and de- 
 clared, "Fair sister, be appeased ; for by the faith 
 I owe to God and St. Denis, I will provide a 
 remedy." He then conducted her to another 
 apartment, which was richly furnished for her and 
 her young son Edward, and with a show of great 
 affection bade them good night, having first di- 
 rected that even-thing should be provided for 
 
 ARRIVAL OF OUF.KN ISABELLA AT PARIS. — (Copy of 
 
 their comfort in accordance with their royal 
 state. 
 
 A short time afterward the king assembled a 
 council of his lords and barons, for the purpose 
 of considering what was best to be done with ref- 
 erence to his sister's affairs. At this great council 
 it was advised that she should be permitted to 
 raise an army and purchase supplies in France, 
 for the purpose of making war against her hus- 
 band, the king of England, and Sir Hugh Spen- 
 cer, but that the king of France should pretend 
 to be ignorant of what was going on, lest he 
 should bring on a war between his country and 
 England. King Charles acceded to this advice, 
 and his sister was immediately authorized to pro- 
 
 ceed with the enlistment and equipping of her 
 arm j'. 
 
 Meanwhile matters in England were growing 
 worse every day. Sir Hugh Spencer, using the 
 power that he possessed over King Edward, 
 caused many noblemen and others to be put to 
 death without law or justice, merely because he 
 suspected them of being ill-inclined toward him- 
 self. His pride had also become so intolerable 
 that the other barons could not endure it, and 
 the)- sent secretly to inform Queen Isabella that 
 if she would collect about 
 a thousand men-at-arms, and 
 come at the head of them 
 herself, with her son, into 
 England, they would unite 
 their forces to hers, and obey 
 her as their lawful sover- 
 eign. 
 
 The queen showed these 
 letters to her brother, who 
 was greatly pleased, and 
 said, "God be your help, 
 and your affairs will prosper 
 so much the better. Tak 
 of my subjects as many as 
 your friends desire. I freely 
 give my consent, and I will 
 order the necessary sums of 
 money to be distributed 
 among them." 
 
 The queen accordingly 
 pushed her preparations as 
 rapidly and secretly as pos- 
 sible, but she could not pre- 
 vent her intentions from be- 
 coming known to Sir Hugh Spencer, who thought 
 the most prudent plan would be to win the king of 
 France over to his interests, by means of presents, 
 promises of alliances, etc. For this purpose he sent 
 over trusted secret messengers, loaded with gold, 
 silver, and rich jewels; and these were distribu- 
 ted among the king and his ministers with such 
 effect that in a short time they were as cold to- 
 ward the cause of Isabella as they had before been 
 warm. The king forbade any person, under pain 
 of banishment, to aid his sister in her intended 
 expedition against England. 
 
 Sir Hugh also endeavored to get the queen into 
 his and the king's power, and to this effect caused 
 King Edward to write an affectionate letter to the 
 
 ancient engraving.) 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 337 
 
 Pope, entreating him to order the king of France 
 to send back his wife, as he was anxious to acquit 
 himself toward her before God and the world ; 
 since it was not his fault that she had left him, for 
 he was all love and good faith toward her. In 
 addition to this, Sir Hugh sent large sums of 
 money and rich presents to the cardinals and pre- 
 lates, the nearest relations to the Pope, and those 
 most in his counsels, who managed him in such a 
 manner that he wrote to the king of France to 
 send back Isabella to her husband, under pain of 
 excommunication. 
 
 On receipt of the Pope's letter, the king caused 
 his sister to be brought before him, and com- 
 manded her, in the grossest and most unkind 
 manner, to leave his kingdom immediately, or he 
 Would make her leave it with shame. 
 
 The queen was greatly astonished and grieved 
 at this command, and knew not what to do. She 
 had no resource or adviser left except in her 
 cousin, Robert of Artois ; and he could only coun- 
 sel and assist her in secret, for he had heard the 
 king say and swear that whoever should speak to 
 him in his sister's behalf should forfeit his lands 
 and be banished from the kingdom. He was also 
 informed that the king was not averse to the 
 seizure of the persons of the queen, her son, and 
 their supporters, and causing them to be delivered 
 into the hands of the king of England and Sir 
 Hugh Spencer. He therefore came in the middle 
 of the night to inform Queen Isabella of the peril 
 she was in. She was thunderstruck at this in- 
 formation and the perfidy of her brother. Sir 
 Robert advised her to set out at once for Ger- 
 man}-, where there were man}' noble lords who 
 would assist her, particularly William, Earl of 
 Hainault, and his brother, who were wise and 
 true men, and much dreaded by their enemies. 
 
 The queen, acting upon this good advice, 
 ordered her baggage to be made ready, and hav- 
 ing paid for everything, she quitted Paris, accom- 
 panied by her son, the earl of Kent, and her com- 
 pany. They took the road toward the country 
 of the Earl of Hainault, as the queen had been 
 advised by her cousin, Robert of Artois, and after 
 some days the}- came into the borders of the Ger- 
 man Empire, when she felt more at ease, as she 
 was now in the midst of friends. They lodged 
 one night at the house of a poor knight named 
 Eustace d'Ambreticourt, who received the queen 
 with great pleasure, and entertained her the best 
 22 
 
 he could, for which she was very grateful ; and 
 afterward when she had become queen of Eng- 
 land, she invited him and his family to pay her a 
 visit at her capital, where she advanced their for- 
 tunes in many ways. The son of this poor knight 
 was created one of the first Knights of the Garter, 
 and the queen lost no opportunity to show her 
 gratitude for their kindness to her when she was 
 in want and peril. 
 
 The queen's arrival was soon known in the 
 house of the Earl of Hainault, who was then at 
 Valenciennes, but his brother, Sir John, a young 
 and handsome man, and panting for glory like a 
 knight -errant, mounted his horse, and, accom- 
 panied by a few retainers, set off in hot haste to 
 pay his respects to the beautiful queen. She re- 
 ceived him in the midst of her maids and the other 
 company, and he was greatly charmed with her 
 graceful manners and queenly bearing. 
 
 When their first greetings were over, and 
 mutual compliments had been exchanged, Sir 
 John begged the queen to inform him of all her 
 troubles ; and feeling that he was a true friend, 
 she told him all, which so affected him that he 
 mingled his own tears with hers, and said, ' ' L,ady. 
 I am your knight, who will not fail to die for you, 
 though every one else should desert you ; there- 
 fore will I do everything in my power to conduct 
 you and your son, and to restore you to your 
 rank in England, by the grace of God and the 
 assistance of friends in your own country ; and I. 
 and all those whom I can influence, will risk our 
 lives in this adventure, for your dear sake, and 
 we will have a sufficient armed force, if it please 
 God, without fearing any danger from the king 
 of France." 
 
 The queen, who was seated during this address, 
 with Sir John standing before her, arose, and 
 would have cast herself at his feet, out of grati- 
 tude for the great favor he had just offered her ; 
 but the gallant knight, raising her quickly, took 
 her in his arms, and said, " God forbid that the 
 queen of England should kneel to me ! Be of 
 good comfort to yourself and company, for I will 
 keep my promise — and you shall come and see 
 my brother, and the countess, his wife, and all 
 their fine children, who will be rejoiced to meet 
 you." 
 
 To this gallant and affecting speech the queen 
 replied, weeping: "Sir, I find in you more kind- 
 ness and comfort than in all the world besides, 
 
538 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 and I give you five hundred thousand thanks for 
 what you have said and offered me. If you will 
 keep what you have promised me with so much 
 
 SIR JOHN BEFORE OUKEN* ISABELLA. 
 
 land under your management, as in justice it 
 
 ought to be." 
 After this conversation, S>r John took leave of 
 
 the queen and the 
 knight whose 
 guest she was, 
 and went to Douay , 
 where he slept, for 
 the knight was so 
 poor that he had 
 no place to offer 
 him, except that 
 which was already 
 occupied b y the 
 queen and her 
 women. 
 
 The next day 
 he returned to the 
 queen, who re- 
 ceived him with 
 great joy. She 
 had just finished 
 her dinner, and 
 was going to 
 mount her horse 
 for the purpose of 
 setting out on her 
 journey to Valen- 
 ciennes, when Sir 
 John arrived. In 
 taking leave of the 
 knight and his 
 lady, who had so 
 courteously enter- 
 tained her and her 
 company, she 
 thanked them for 
 their good cheer, 
 adding that she 
 trusted a time 
 would come when 
 she and her son 
 woidd not fail to 
 remember their 
 courtesy, and her 
 promise was faith- 
 fully kept. Sir 
 John H a i n a u 1 1 , 
 with great joy and 
 
 courtesy, I and my son shall be forever bound respect, conducted the queen to Valenciennes, 
 unto you, and we will put the kingdom of Eng- where the citizens came out to meet her with 
 
o 
 
 M 
 O 
 
 (350) 
 
340 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 many tokens of respect and good-will. Here she 
 was introduced to William, Earl of Hainault, 
 and his Countess, by whom she was very gra- 
 ciously received. Many great fetes were given 
 on this happy occasion, and no one knew better 
 than the countess how to do the duties of her 
 house. 
 
 The Earl had at that time four daughters, Mar- 
 garet, Philippa, Joan and Isabella. Philippa was 
 
 Queen Isabella remained at Valenciennes eight 
 days, preparing for her journey to her own coun- 
 try, and meanwhile Sir John Hainault wrote 
 a number of letters to certain knights and com- 
 panions in whom he had great confidence, be- 
 seeching them to accompany him on his expedi- 
 tion to England. 
 
 There were great numbers in those countries, 
 who were willing to go with him for the love 
 
 THE QUEEN'S SHI 
 
 the most beautiful woman in all Valenciennes, 
 and the young Prince Edward was captivated by 
 her bright eyes and gentle manners. She was 
 also brilliant and witty in conversation, and it 
 was soon noticed that the young people were 
 nearly always together, and that the3 T preferred 
 one another's society to that of all other persons. 
 It was in fact a case of true love, and afterwards 
 when Edward ascended the throne of England, he 
 offered his hand and heart to the beautiful maiden, 
 and she became his queen. 
 
 PS IN THE STORM. 
 
 they bore him, for he was very popular ; but 
 others objected on account of the great hazards, 
 and because their countries were not at war with 
 England ; but Sir John told them that all true 
 knights were bound to aid, to the utmost of their 
 power, all ladies and damsels driven from their 
 kingdoms comfortless and forlorn ; and that, for 
 himself, he would not change his purpose, for he 
 could only die but once. 
 
 His brother, the Earl of Hainault, was ?mong 
 those who had opposed the expedition, believing 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 341 
 
 it was wrong to take part in any hostile move- 
 ment against a friendly nation. But Sir John said 
 to him on taking his departure : " My dear lord 
 and brother, I am young, and feeling that God 
 has inspired me with a desire for this enterprise, for 
 our advancement ; if it is for the honor and glory 
 of God to comfort the afflicted and oppressed, how 
 much more so is it to help and succor one of such 
 high birth as this beautiful queen and her son. 
 I would rather renounce every expectation I have 
 here, and serve 
 God beyond the 
 seas, rather than 
 this good lady 
 should be left 
 without aid and 
 comfort. 
 
 When the Earl 
 perceived that 
 his brother was 
 in such deep earn- 
 est, and consid- 
 ered that per- 
 haps the enter- 
 prise might result 
 in great honor 
 and profit to him- 
 self and his de- 
 scendants, he 
 said to him, "God 
 forbid that there 
 should be any 
 hindrance to your 
 ■wish — therefore 
 I give you leave 
 in the name of 
 God." He then 
 kissed him and 
 pressed his hand 
 in token of great 
 affection, for to him he seemed more like a son 
 than a brother. 
 
 That night Sir John and the queen and her corn- 
 pan}* set out, and proceeded toward the sea coast, 
 where it had been appointed for their friends to 
 meet them. Here they collected a force of about 
 three thousand men and many knights, all eager 
 to serve in this expedition. A fleet had been 
 prepared to convey them to England, and the 
 weather being clear and temperate they set sail 
 in good order, making a fine appearance, 
 
 considering the smallness of their numbers. 
 It seemed indeed a hazardous undertaking, 
 but the queen knew that she had many friends of 
 great power and influence in her own country, 
 and she confidently depended upon these for such 
 an increase to her forces as she might need. 
 
 It was their intention to follow the coast of 
 Zealand, and land at a port in England which 
 they had descried ; but they were prevented by a 
 violent tempest, which drove them far to the 
 
 queen Isabella's army BESIEGING BRISTOL. — (Copy of an engraving of the fifteenth century. 
 
 north, so that for two days they knew not where 
 they- were. But this was a fortunate circumstance 
 for them, for if they had landed at the port they 
 intended, they would have fallen into the hands 
 of their enemies, who, apprised of their coming, 
 were prepared with a large force to meet them. 
 At the end of the second day the storm abated, 
 and the sailors, perceiving land, made for it joy- 
 fully, and drove the ships upon the sand, having 
 neither port nor harbor. They were then upon 
 the coasts of Suffolk, but having: lost their reckon- 
 
342 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 iug, they were ignorant as to what part of Eng- 
 land they were in, or whether the inhabitants 
 were friendly to their cause or not. 
 
 The}' were occupied three days in landing their 
 horses and baggage, and on the fourth they began 
 their inarch, putting themselves under the protec- 
 tion of God and St. George. 
 
 The news of their arrival soon spread abroad, 
 and the barons by whose advice the queen had 
 returned hastened to join her forces. The first 
 who came was Henry, Earl of Lancaster, brother 
 of Earl Thomas who had been beheaded by order 
 of King Edward. He was attended by a great 
 number of men-at-arms. Other nobles, barons, 
 knights, and esquires, with their retainers, flocked 
 to the queen's standard from different parts of the 
 country, so that in a short time her forces were so 
 large that they felt they had nothing more to fear. 
 It was decided in a council of the leaders that 
 they would march directly to Bristol, where the 
 king and Sir Hugh Spencer and his father were. 
 Bristol at that time was a very large town, well 
 inclosed by walls, and situated on a good port. 
 Its castle was very strong, and surrounded by the 
 sea. Here the king and Sir Hugh Spencer, the 
 elder, who was about ninety years of age, and his 
 sou. Sir Hugh, the chief governor of the king, 
 and adviser of all his evil deeds, shut them- 
 selves up. 
 
 The queen and her army took the shortest road 
 for that place. In even' town through which they 
 passed they were entertained with marks of dis- 
 tinction. Her forces augmented daily, until their 
 arrival at Bristol, which they immediately be- 
 sieged. The king and the younger Spencer retired 
 to the castle, while the old earl remained in the 
 town. When the citizens saw the queen's force, 
 and 'the affections of almost all England on her 
 side, they were alarmed at their own perilous 
 situation, and determined to surrender the town, 
 on condition that their lives and property should 
 be spared. They sent to treat with the queen on 
 this subject ; but neither she nor her council 
 would consent to it unless Sir Hugh Spencer and 
 the Earl of Arundel were delivered up to her dis- 
 cretion, for she had come purposely to destroy 
 them. The citizens, seeing they had no other 
 means of saving the town, their lives, and their 
 fortunes, acceded to the queen's terms, and opened 
 the gates to her. She entered the town, accom- 
 panied by Sir John Hainault, with all her barons, 
 
 knights, and esquires, who took their lodging 
 therein, while the others, for want of accommo- 
 dation, remained without. Sir Hugh Spencer 
 and the Earl of Arundel were delivered to the 
 queen to do with them as should please her. Her 
 son John and her two daughters were also found 
 there in Sir Hugh's keeping, and they were 
 brought safely to her. As she had not seen them 
 for a long time, this meeting gave her great joy. 
 The king and the younger Spencer remained 
 shut up in the castle, but were much grieved to 
 see the whole country turned over to the queen's 
 party, and to young Edward, her eldest son. 
 
 After a few days' rest, the queen and her barons 
 began to make their approaches to the castle as 
 near as they could, whereupon she ordered 
 Sir Hugh Spencer, the elder, and the Earl of Arun- 
 del to be brought before Prince Edward and her 
 barons, and said to them that she and her son 
 would see that law and justice should be done 
 them according to their deeds. Sir Hugh replied, 
 "Ah! madam, God grant us an upright judge 
 and a just sentence ; and that if we cannot have 
 it in this world, we may find it in another." 
 Then rose up Sir Thomas Wager, a good knight, 
 wise and courteous, and marshal of the army : he 
 read, from a paper in his hand, the charges against 
 them, and then addressed himself to an old knight, 
 seated on his right hand, to decide the punish- 
 ment due to persons guilt}' of such crimes. This 
 knight consulted with the other barons and 
 knights, and reported it as their opinion that they 
 deserved death for the man}' horrible crimes with 
 which they had been charged, and which 
 they believed to be clearly proved. They de- 
 cided that from the diversity of their crimes, they 
 should suffer in three different manners : first, 
 to be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execu- 
 tion, there beheaded, and afterwards hanged on 
 a gibbet. Agreeably to this sentence, they were 
 executed before the castle of Bristol, in the sight 
 of the king, Sir Hugh Spencer, and all those 
 within it. This execution took place in October, 
 on St. Denis's Day, 1326. 
 
 The king and Sir Hugh Spencer, from their 
 places in the castle, witnessed the execution with 
 terror, and seeing themselves so closely pressed, 
 embarked secretly one morning, with a few fol- 
 lowers, in a small boat behind the castle, intend- 
 ing if possible, to reach the coast of Wales. They 
 were driven for eleven or twelve days in this small 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 34: 
 
 boat, and notwithstanding their efforts to get for- 
 ward, the winds blew so contrary that they were 
 frequently driven back near the castle, from 
 whence they had set out. At length an officer in 
 the queen's army, Sir Henry Beaumont, seeing 
 the vessel, embarked with some of his companions 
 in a barge and rowed so vig- 
 orously that the king's 
 boatmen, unable to escape, 
 were overtaken. The king 
 and Sir Hugh Spencer were 
 brought back to Bristol 
 and delivered to the queen 
 and her son, as prisoners. 
 
 Thus ended this bold and 
 gallant enterprise in which 
 Sir John of Hainault and 
 his companions had so chiv- 
 alrously assisted Queen Isa- 
 bella in recovering her king- 
 dom. The whole nation, 
 with the exception of a 
 few who were attached to 
 the Spencers, greatly re- 
 joiced at the result. 
 
 The queen and her army 
 soon set out for London, 
 and on the march Sir 
 Thomas Wager caused Sir 
 Hugh Spencer to be fast- 
 ened to the poorest and 
 smallest horse that he could 
 find, clothed with a tabart, 
 such as he was accustomed 
 to wear. He led him thus 
 in derision in the suite of 
 the queen, through all the 
 towns they passed, where 
 he was announced by trum- 
 pets and cymbals, by way 
 of greater mockery, until 
 they reached Hereford, 
 where the queen and her 
 
 companions were respectfully and joyfully re- 
 ceived. Here the feast of All Saints was cele- 
 brated with great solemnity and magnificence, 
 out of respect to the queen and her son, and to 
 the noble foreigners -who attended them. 
 
 When the feast was over, .Sir Hugh Spencer 
 was brought before the queen and her knights. 
 The charges against him were read, to which he 
 
 made no reply. The barons and knights then 
 passed the sentence upon him, which was exe- 
 cuted in the following manner : He was first 
 drawn on a hurdle, attended by trumpets and 
 clarions, through all the streets of Hereford, and 
 then conducted to the market place, where the 
 
 THE QUEEN'S ARMY PASSING THROUGH ENGLAND. 
 
 people were assembled. At that place he was 
 bound to a high scaffold, in order that he might 
 be more easily seen by the people. Certain por- 
 tions of his body were first cut off, because he 
 was deemed a heretic, and guilty of unnatural 
 practices, even with the king, whose affections he 
 had alienated from the queen by his wicked sug- 
 gestions. The parts which had been severed were 
 
344 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 then cast into a large fire, kindled close to him ; 
 afterwards, his heart was torn out and thrown into 
 the same fire, because it had been false and trai- 
 torous, since he had by his treasonable counsels 
 so advised the king as to bring shame and mis- 
 chief on the land, ajul had caused some of the 
 greatest lords to be beheaded, and had so seduced 
 the king that he could not nor would not see the 
 queen nor his eldest son, who was to be their 
 future sovereign, both of whom, in order to pre- 
 serve their lives, had been forced to quit the king- 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF THE SCOTTISH ARMY IN 
 THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 
 
 7TYE quote the following interesting descrip- 
 \XJ tion of the Scottish army, commanded by 
 Robert Bruce during the last years of his life, 
 from the chronicles of Sir John Froissart. It af- 
 fords a most excellent idea of what an army really 
 was in those days, and takes away much of the 
 glamor with which romancers have clothed the 
 rough heroes of those ancient times : 
 The Scots are bold, hardy, and much inured to 
 
 A SCOTTISH ARMY OF 
 
 dom. His head w 7 as then cut off and sent to 
 Xrondou. 
 
 The young Prince Edward was crowned with 
 the royal diadem in the palace of Westminster on 
 Christmas Day, 1326. He was then only sixteen 
 years of age. King Edward II., his father, was 
 imprisoned in Berkeley Castle, where he was 
 cruelly murdered in bed one morning ; his bowels 
 having been burnt out with hot irons. 
 
 Thus ends the romantic and wonderful story 
 of Queen Isabella of England. 
 
 the olden time. 
 
 war. When they make their invasions into Eng- 
 land, they march from twenty to four-and-twenty 
 leagues without halting, as well by night as da3 7 ; 
 for they are all on horseback, except the camp 
 followers, who are on foot. The knights and 
 esquires are well mounted on large bay horses, 
 the common people on little galloways. They 
 bring no carriages with them on account of the 
 mountains they have to pass in Northumberland ; 
 neither do they carry with them any provisions 
 or bread or wine ; for their habits of sobriety are 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 345 
 
 such, in time of war, that they will live for a long 
 time on flesh half sodden, without bread, and 
 drink the river water without wine. They have, 
 therefore, no occasion for pots or pans ; for they 
 dress the flesh of their cattle in the skins, after 
 they have taken them off; and, being sure to find 
 plenty of them in the country in which the}- invade 
 they carry none with them. Under the flaps of 
 his saddle, each man carries a broad plate of 
 metal ; behind the saddle, a little bag of oatmeal : 
 when they have eaten too much of the sodden 
 flesh, and their stomachs appear weak and empty, 
 they place their plate over the fire, mix with 
 water their oatmeal, and when the plate is 
 heated, they put a little of the paste upon it, and 
 make a thin cake, like a cracknel or biscuit, 
 which they eat to warm their stomachs ; it is 
 therefore no wonder, that they perform a longer 
 day's march than other soldiers. In this manner 
 the Scots entered England, destroying and burn- 
 ing everything as they passed. They seized more 
 cattle than they knew what to do with. Their 
 army consisted of four thousand men-at-arms, 
 knights and esquires, well mounted ; besides 
 twenty thousand men, bold and hardy, armed 
 after the manner of their country, and mounted 
 upon little hackneys, that are never tied up or 
 dressed, but turned, immediately after the day's 
 march, to pasture on the heath or in the fields. 
 
 THE HEART OF ROBERT BRUCE. 
 
 OOON after the crowning of Edward III., in 
 S«P 1327, Robert Bruce, of Scotland, sent an 
 army into England, under command of the Earl 
 of Moray and Sir James Douglass. It was this 
 army which Froissart has so graphically described 
 in the preceding article. 
 
 To meet and repel the Scots, Edward mustered 
 an army of over 40,000 men, and led them in 
 person ; but no battles resulted from this expe- 
 dition. The Scots, being inferior in numbers to 
 the English, refused to descend from the moun- 
 tain heights and strongholds in which the)' had 
 encamped, and the English did not deem it pru- 
 dent to force an engagement. Several combats, 
 however, took place between small parties, one 
 of which is thus related by Sir John Froissart : 
 
 ' ' The first night that the English were posted 
 on this second mountain, the lord James Douglass 
 took with him about two hundred men-at-arms ; 
 and at midnight crossed the river at such a dis- 
 
 tance from the camp that he was not noticed, and 
 fell upon the English army most valiantly, shout- 
 ing, ' Douglass forever. Ye shall die, ye English 
 thieves.' 
 
 ' ' He and his companions killed more than three 
 hundred ; and he galloped up to the king's tent 
 and cut two or three of its cords, crying at the 
 same time, ' Douglass ! Douglass forever ! ' when 
 he set off, and in his retreat he lost some of his 
 
 ROBERT BRUCE, KING OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 followers, but not man}-. He then returned to 
 his friends on the mountains." 
 
 Lord Berners wrote an account of this incident 
 in 1523, and as the peculiarities of the English 
 language at that time adds interest to the adven- 
 ture, we will copy it verbatim : 
 
 ' ' The fyrst nyght that the Englisshe ost was 
 thus lodged on the second mountaigne, the lorde 
 William Duglas toke with hym aboute CC men- 
 at-armes, & past the ryver farre afro the oste, so 
 that he was not parceyued : and rodely he brake 
 into the Englysshe ooste about mydnyght crying, 
 ' Duglas ! Duglas ! ye shall dye, ye theves of Ing- 
 land.' And he slewe or he seased CCC men, 
 some in thire beddes, and some skan redy, and 
 
346 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 he strake his horse with the spurres & earne to 
 the kyng's owne tente, ahvayes crying Duglas, 
 and strake a sundre ii or iii cordis of the kyng 
 tent, & so departed. 
 
 The following incident of this campaign is also 
 related by Froissart, and serves a good purpose 
 in depicting the customs of the times. He says : 
 
 ' ' Some of the English mounted their horses, 
 passed the river and went to the mountain which 
 the Scots had quitted, and found more than five 
 hundred large cattle, which the enemy had killed, 
 as the}- were too heavy to carry with them, and 
 too slow to follow them, and they wished not to 
 let them fall into the hands of the English alive. 
 
 ' J wm¥k 
 
 THE SCOTCH ARMY HOSTED ON THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 engraving. ) 
 The}- found there also more than three hundred 
 caldrons, which were hung on the fires full of 
 water and meat, and ready for boiling. There 
 were also upward of a thousand spits with meat 
 on them, prepared for roasting ; and more than 
 ten thousand pairs of old worn-out shoes, made 
 of undressed leather, which the Scots had left 
 there. There were found five poor English pris- 
 oners, whom the Scots had bound naked to the 
 trees, and some of them had their legs broken." 
 
 The expedition resulted in a total failure, and 
 it is said that the young King Edward wept when 
 he found himself out-generalled by an inferior 
 enemy. 
 
 After the withdrawal of the English army, the 
 Scots returned to their native mountains and dis- 
 banded ; and a few months later a truce of three 
 
 years was concluded between the rulers of the two 
 countries. 
 
 Bruce was a peculiarly gallant and generous 
 king, exhibiting toward his enemies whom he 
 conquered a spirit of kindness and huniunity 
 totally at variance with the cruel practices of his 
 times. Brave and chivalrous himself, he greatly 
 admired the same qualities in those who fought 
 against him ; and many an enemy captured in 
 battle had cause to be thankful for having fallen 
 into the hands of so noble a conqueror as Robert 
 Bruce. 
 
 We will now proceed, in the language of Frois- 
 sart, to record the singular circumstances of the 
 death of Robert Bruce, and the 
 promise he exacted from Sir 
 James Douglas to convey his 
 heart to the holy sepulchre at 
 Jerusalem, with the tragic termi- 
 nation of his efforts to comply 
 with this promise. Bruce died 
 of leprosy, after having suffered 
 for some years from this loath- 
 some disease, a fact which we 
 have not seen generally stated 
 in our histories. 
 
 During the three years' truce 
 previously referred to, it hap- 
 pened, says Froissart, that King 
 Robert of Scotland, who had 
 been a very valiant knight, 
 waxed old, and was attacked 
 -with so severe an illness, that 
 he saw his end was approach- 
 ing ; he therefore summoned together all the 
 chiefs and barons, in whom he most confided, 
 and, after having told them that he should never 
 get the better of this sickness, he commanded 
 them, upon their honor and loyalty, to keep and 
 preserve faithfully and entire the kingdom for his 
 son David, and obey him and crown him king 
 when he was of a proper age, and to marry him 
 with a lady suitable to his station. 
 
 He after that called to the gallant lord James 
 Douglas, and said to him, in presence of the 
 others, ' ' My dear lord James Douglas, you know 
 that I have had much to do, and have suffered 
 many troubles, during the time I have lived, to 
 support the rights of my crown ; at the time that 
 I was most occupied, I made a vow, the non- 
 accomplishment of which gives me much uneasi- 
 
 Copv of an ancient 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 347 
 
 ness — I vowed, that, if I could finish my wars in 
 such a manner, that I might have quiet to govern 
 peaceably, I would go and make war against the 
 enemies of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the adver- 
 saries of the Christian faith. To this point my 
 heart has always leaned ; but our Lord was not 
 willing, and gave me so much to do in my life- 
 time, and this last expedition has lasted so long, 
 followed by this heavy sickness, that, since my 
 
 loyalty, that if you undertake it, it cannot fail of 
 success — and I shall die more contented ; but it 
 must be executed as follows : 
 
 ' ' I will, that as soon as I shall be dead, you 
 take ni)' heart from my bod)', and have it well 
 embalmed ; you will also take as much money 
 from my treasury as will appear to you sufficient 
 to perform your journey, as well as for all those 
 whom vou may choose to take with vou in vour 
 
 BRUCE ORDERING THE RELEASE OF CAPTIVES. 
 
 body cannot accomplish what my heart wishes, I 
 will send my heart in the stead of my body to 
 fulfill my vow. And, as I do not know any one 
 knight so gallant or enterprising, or better formed 
 to complete my intentions than yourself, I beg 
 and entreat you, dear and special friend, as earn- 
 estly as I can, that you would have the goodness 
 to undertake this expedition for the love of me, 
 and to acquit my soul to our Lord and Saviour ; 
 for I have that opinion of your nobleness and 
 
 train ; you will then deposit your charge at the 
 Holy Sepulchre of our Lord, where he was buried, 
 since my body cannot go there. You will not be 
 sparing of expense — and provide yourself with 
 such company and such things as may be suitable 
 to your rank — and wherever you pass, you will 
 let it be known, that you bear the heart of King 
 Robert of Scotland, which you are carrying be- 
 yond seas by his command, since his body cannot 
 go thither ." 
 
34S 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 All those present began wailing bitterly ; and 
 when the lord James could speak, he said : 
 
 " Gallant and noble king, I return you a hun- 
 dred thousand thanks for the high honor you do 
 me, and for the valuable and dear treasure with 
 
 ' ' Certainly 
 knight. He 
 knighthood. 
 
 The king said, ' 
 now die in peace 
 
 sir, most willingly," answered the 
 then gave his promise upon his 
 
 ROBERT BRUCE S CHARGE TO LORD JAMES DOUGLAS, 
 
 which you intrust me ; and I will most willingly 
 do all that you command me with the utmost 
 loyalty in my power ; never doubt it, however I 
 may feel unworthy of such a high distinction." 
 
 The king replied, "Gallant knight, I thank 
 you— you promise it me then ? ' ' 
 
 Thanks be to God ! for I shall 
 since I know that the most 
 valiant and accomplished 
 knight of my kingdom will 
 perform that for me which I 
 am unable to do for myself. ' ' 
 Soon afterwards the gal- 
 lant Robert Bruce, king of 
 Scotland, departed this life, 
 the 7th day of November, 
 1337. His heart was em- 
 balmed, and his body buried 
 in the monastery of Dun- 
 fermline. 
 
 Early in the spring, the 
 Lord James Douglas having 
 made provision of every- 
 thing that was proper for his 
 expedition, embarked at the 
 port of Montrose, and sailed 
 directly for Sluys, in Flan- 
 ders, in order to learn if any 
 one were going beyond the 
 sea to Jerusalem, that he 
 might join companies. He 
 remained there twelve days, 
 and would not set his foot on 
 shore, but staid the whole- 
 time on board, where he 
 kept a magnificent table, 
 with music of trumpets and 
 drums, as if he had been 
 king of Scotland. His com- 
 pany consisted of one knight 
 banneret, and seven others 
 of the most valiant knights 
 of Scotland, without count- 
 ing the rest of his house- 
 hold. His plate was of gold 
 and silver, consisting of pots, 
 basins, porringers, cups, bot- 
 tles, barrels and other such 
 things. He had likewise twenty-six young and 
 gallant esquires of the best families in Scotland to 
 wait on him ; and all those who came to visit him 
 were handsomely served with two sorts of wine, 
 and two sorts of spices — I mean those of a certain 
 rank. At last, after staying at Sluys twelve days, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 349 
 
 he heard that Alphonso, king of Spain, was 
 waging war against the Saracen king of Granada. 
 He considered that if he should go thither he should 
 employ his time and journey according to the late 
 king's wishes ; and when he should have finished 
 
 avail, as they were all killed. It was a great 
 misfortune that they were not assisted by the 
 Spaniards. 
 
 Froissart does not give the whole of this in- 
 teresting story, which is as follows : When Doug- 
 
 there he would proceed further to complete that las and his company made their desperate attack 
 with which he was charged. 
 He made sail therefore to- 
 ward Spain, and landed first 
 at Valencia ; thence he went 
 straight to the king of Spain, 
 who was with his army on 
 the frontiers, very near the 
 Saracen king of Granada. 
 
 It happened, soon after 
 the arrival of Sir James 
 Douglas, that the king of 
 Spain issued forth into the 
 fields, to make his ap- 
 proaches nearer the enemy ; 
 the king of Granada did 
 the same ; and each king 
 could easily distinguish the 
 other's banners, and they 
 both began to set their 
 armies in array. The Lord 
 James placed himself and 
 his company on one side, to 
 make better work, and a 
 more powerful effort. When 
 he perceived that the bat- 
 talions on each side were 
 fully arranged, and that of 
 the king of Spain in motion, 
 he imagined they were 
 about to begin the onset; 
 and as he always wished 
 to be among the first rather 
 than last on such occasions, 
 he and his company stuck 
 their spurs into their horses, 
 until they were in the midst 
 of the king of Granada's 
 battalion, and made a furious 
 attack on the Saracens. He 
 thought that he should be 
 
 supported by the Spaniards ; but in this he was 
 mistaken, for not one that day followed his ex- 
 ample. The gallant knight and all his com- 
 panions were surrounded by the enemy ; the)- pre- 
 formed prodigies of valor ; but they were of no 
 
 SIR JAMES DOUGLAS ENTERTAINS HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 upon the Moors, there was a quick, sharp, and 
 bloody combat, and that portion of the Moorish 
 army with which the}- were engaged fled. Doug- 
 las, with his companions, rapidly pursued the 
 flying Saracens, and, taking from his neck the 
 
350 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 casket which held the heart of Bruce, he threw 
 it before him, crying, " Now, pass thou onward, as 
 thou icast zcont, and Douglas will follow thee or did' ' 
 But the fugitives rallied, and, surrounded and 
 overwhelmed by superior numbers, Douglas fell, 
 while attempting to rescue Sir William St. Clare, 
 who shared his fate. Robert and Walter Logan, 
 brothers, and both of them knights, were also 
 slain with Dousrlas. His friend. Sir William 
 
 where it remains an object of historic interest for 
 tourists. 
 
 Archibald Douglas, natural son of Sir James, 
 erected a marble monument to his memory, but 
 his countrymen have more effectually preserved 
 his renown by bestowing on him the title of 
 ' ' the good Sir James Douglas. ' ' Contempo- 
 rary historians state that he fought seventy 
 battles, in fifty-seven of which he was victorious. 
 
 THE CAPTURE 
 OF EDIN- 
 BURGH CAS- 
 TLE BY SIR 
 WILLIAM 
 DOUGLAS. 
 
 npi 
 
 DOUGLAS S BATTLE WITH THE SARACENS. 
 
 Keith, having had his arm broken, was not m 
 this engagement, and accordingly escaped. His 
 few surviving comrades found his body in the 
 field, after the battle was over, together with the 
 casket containing the heart of Bruce, and reve- 
 rently conveyed them to Scotland. The remains 
 of Douglas were interred in the sepulchre of castle: 
 his fathers, in the church of Douglas, and the burgh, 
 heart of Bruce was deposited at Melrose, A strong English garrison, under command ot 
 
 HE bold ex- 
 ploit of Sir 
 William Doug- 
 las, in the cap- 
 ture of E d i n - 
 burgh Castle, 
 has been im- 
 mortalized in 
 history, song, 
 a n d romance ; 
 but we do not 
 remember to 
 have seen the 
 circum stances 
 minutely stated, 
 as they were re- 
 corded at the 
 time by contem- 
 porary authors. 
 Sir W i 1 1 i a m 
 ^j was a nephew 
 of Sir James 
 Douglas, some 
 of whose deeds 
 are recorded in 
 the preceding 
 article ; and his fame is no less brilliant in the 
 annals of Scotland than that of his illustrious 
 kinsman. 
 
 Edward III., of England, had invaded Scot- 
 land, carrying havoc and desolation before him, 
 and capturing many of the principal forts and 
 anion? others those at Stirling and Edin- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 351 
 
 Sir Walter Simonsin, was placed in the latter, and 
 they greatly annoyed and incensed the Scots by 
 their frequent raids upon the people of the ad- 
 jacent country, and the outrages which they 
 inflicted upon the inhabitants. 
 
 Edinburgh Castle is built upon the point of a 
 steep and rocky hill, and almost inaccessible 
 except by the regular pathway cut in the rocks. 
 Before the days of cannon it was practically im- 
 pregnable, and could only be reduced by strata- 
 
 read}' for any desperate undertaking, readily 
 acquiesced in his suggestions. 
 
 Collecting two hundred Highland lancers, and 
 purchasing a cargo of oats, oatmeal, coal, and 
 straw, the}- procured a small vessel and put to 
 sea ; but having passed out of sight of land, 
 they returned and anchored peaceably in a har- 
 bor about three miles from Edinburgh, repre- 
 senting themselves as merchants or tradesmen. 
 At night the three leaders chose ten or twelve of 
 
 EDINBURGH CASTLE. 
 
 gem or famine. The accompanying illustration 
 is a very fine and accurate picture of the castle 
 and its immediate surroundings, as they now 
 appear, and as they were in the days of Bruce 
 and the Douglases. 
 
 One day while pondering over the disasters and 
 sorrows of his country, a bold thought came into 
 Sir William Douglas's mind, which he communi- 
 cated to three of his companions, the earl of Dun- 
 bar, Sir Robert Fraser, and Alexander Ramsey. 
 They, being daring spirits like himself, and ever 
 
 their most trustworthy men, whom they dressed 
 in old, threadbare clothes, with torn hats, like 
 poor tradesmen, and loaded twelve small horses 
 with oats, oatmeal, and coal ; they then placed 
 the rest of their men in ambuscade in an old 
 abbey that was in ruins and uninhabited, close 
 to the foot of the mountain on which the castle 
 stands. At daybreak, the pretended merchants, 
 with' their arms concealed, took the road with 
 their horses and ascended the narrow pathway as 
 well as they could toward the castle. When 
 
352 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 they were about half-way up, Sir William and 
 Sir Robert Fraser advanced in front of the others, 
 whom the}' ordered to follow ; and thus they 
 ascended until they came to the porter's lodge. 
 Here they boldly announced their presence, and 
 informed the porter that they had brought, with 
 many risks and fears, coals, oats and meal, and, 
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE CASTLE. 
 
 if the English were in need of such articles, they 
 would be glad to dispose of them at a cheap rate. 
 He explained that the garrison would thankfully 
 take them, but it was so early he dared not 
 awake either the governor or his steward ; at the 
 
 same time he told them to come forward and 
 he would open the gate. They all then passed 
 quietly through, and entered with their loads to 
 the gate of the barriers, which he also opened 
 for them. 
 
 Sir William Douglas noticed that the porter 
 had all the great keys of the castle gates, and he 
 inquired, in an apparently 
 indifferent manner, which 
 opened the main gate and 
 which the wicket. When the 
 first gate was opened they 
 turned in their nags, and fling- 
 ing off the loads of two, which 
 consisted of coal, directly in 
 the way of the gate, so it 
 could not be closed, they 
 seized the porter and slew him 
 so suddenly that he could 
 not utter a word. They then 
 took the keys and opened all 
 the gates ; and Douglas gave 
 a blast upon his horn as a sig- 
 nal to those who were in am- 
 bush, after which they tore 
 off their old clothes and 
 stepped forth in their glisten- 
 ing armor. As soon as those 
 who were in hiding heard the 
 horn they rushed forth and 
 hastened toward the castle, as 
 had been previously agreed 
 upon. The noise of the horn 
 also awakened the guards of 
 the castle, who, seeing armed 
 men running up the hill, 
 sounded the alarm, and roared, 
 ' ' Treason ! treason ! Arm 
 yourselves, my masters, as 
 fast as you can, for here are 
 men-at-arms advancing to our 
 castle ! ' ' The garrison roused 
 themselves as quickly as they 
 could, and seizing their arms, 
 rushed to the gate, but Sir 
 William and his twelve com- 
 panions defended it so that it could not be shut. 
 The combat then grew hot and fierce, but the 
 Scots maintained their ground with great valor 
 until their friends who had been in ambush ar- 
 rived. The English made a gallant defence, kill- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 353 
 
 ing and wounding a number of the assailants ; but 
 Sir William and his men fought with the des- 
 peration of men determined to win or die, so that 
 in a short time they were masters of the castle, 
 and all the English were slain except the gov- 
 ernor and six esquires, to whom they showed 
 mercy. 
 
 This was one of the most daring adventures 
 that ever took place in the history of any nation, 
 and could only have been sue- „«i.yB* 
 
 cessful through the strategy 
 and daring: of a Douglas. 
 
 After many weary months of siege and battle 
 and suffering, and an ineffectual attempt on the 
 part of the French king to relieve the place, the 
 citizens of Calais saw clearly that all their hopes 
 were gone, and that nothing remained for them 
 but to make the best terms they could with King 
 Edward. They, therefore, earnestly entreated 
 their governor, Lord John of Vienne, to mount 
 the battlements and make a sign that he wished 
 
 QUEEN PHILIPPA AND THE 
 CITIZENS OF CALAIS. 
 
 IT was a happy and fortu- 
 nate affair of love which 
 led to the marriage between 
 Edward III. of England and 
 Philippa, the beautiful daugh- 
 ter of the Earl of Hainault. 
 She proved to be a queen 
 worthy of so great and gener- 
 ous a monarch. She not only 
 won the esteem and love of his 
 subjects, by her kind and 
 gentle manners, but when the 
 Scots invaded England during 
 his absence in the campaign 
 against Philip of France, 
 which resulted in the remark- 
 able victory of Crecy and the 
 capitulation of Calais, she 
 hastily collected such an army 
 as she could at the moment, 
 and, infusing into the soldiers 
 some degree of her own spirit, 
 drove the Scotch back to their 
 native mountains. She then 
 crossed the channel and joined 
 her husband in his camp be- 
 fore the city of Calais, which 
 soon afterwards capitulated. Her conduct on 
 that occasion reveals her true womanly nature, 
 and proves that she was as generous and kind 
 as she was brave. This incident forms one of 
 the brightest pages in history, and is deserving 
 of more than a passing notice. We adapt our 
 description from the chronicles of that charming 
 old writer, Sir John Froissart. 
 23 
 
 KING EDWARD III. 
 
 to hold a parley. He accordingly did as they 
 had requested him, and King Edward in response 
 sent Sir Walter Manny and Ford Basset to con- 
 fer with him. In this conference de Vienne in- 
 formed them that the people of Calais had en- 
 deavored to faithfully serve their king and 
 country, as the English would have done under 
 like circumstances ; but that now all hope ha'i 
 
854 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 left theru, and they entreated that they might be 
 allowed to depart in their present condition, leav- 
 
 SIR JOHN MANNY BEFOE.B KIN 
 
 ing the fortifications and the town, with all its 
 riches, as the spoils of the conquerors. 
 
 To this address Sir John Manny replied that stances : 
 
 the king would not consent to such terms ; that 
 he was greatly enraged at the obstinate resist- 
 ance of the Cala- 
 sians, and was 
 determined that 
 they should sur- 
 render to his will 
 to ransom those 
 whom he chose, 
 and to put to 
 death those who 
 by their obsti- 
 nate resistance 
 had cost him 
 so many lives 
 and so much 
 money. 
 
 "These are 
 hard condi- 
 tions," replied 
 de Vienne, " and 
 I entreat you 
 out of compas- 
 sion, to return to 
 your king, and 
 beg of him to 
 have pity on us : 
 for I have such 
 an opinion of his 
 gallantly as to 
 hope that, 
 through God's 
 mercy, he will 
 alter his mind.' : 
 The two Eng- 
 1 i s h gentlemen 
 returned to the 
 king, and related 
 what had passed. 
 The king said 
 he had no in- 
 tention of com- 
 plying with this 
 request, but 
 should insist 
 that they sur- 
 render them- 
 edward. selves uncondi- 
 
 tionally to his will. Sir Walter replied, with a 
 boldness that seems surprising under the circum- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 355 
 
 " My lord, you may be to blame in this, as 
 you will set us a very bad example ; for if you or- 
 der us to go to any of your castles, we shall not 
 draw our swords so cheerfully if you put these 
 
 expect from me, is that six of the principal citi- 
 zens march out of the town, with bare heads and 
 feet, with ropes around their necks, and the keys 
 of the town and castle in their hands. These six 
 
 SIR JOHN DE VIENNE EXPLAINING TO THE PEOPLE THE CONDITIONS OF THE SURRENDER. 
 
 people to death ; for they will retaliate upon us iu 
 a similar case." 
 
 Many barons who were present supported this 
 opinion ; whereupon the king replied: "Gentle- 
 men, I am not so obstinate as to hold my opinion 
 against you all. Sir Walter, you may inform the 
 governor of Calais that the only grace he must 
 
 persons shall be at my absolute disposal, but the 
 remainder of the inhabitants will be pardoned." 
 
 When the king had expressed his final deter- 
 mination, Sir Walter returned to Sir John de 
 Vienne, who had remained on the battlements 
 anxiously awaiting the issue of the conference. 
 When he heard the king's decision, he returned 
 
356 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 sorrowfully to the town, and caused the bell to be 
 rung as a sign for the people to collect in the 
 market place ; and when all the men, women, and 
 children had come together, he told them what 
 had taken place, and the hard conditions upon 
 which the king would accept their submission. 
 This information caused the greatest lamentation 
 
 QUEEN PHILIPl'A PLEADING FOR THE a 
 
 and despair, and the hardest heart would have 
 had compassion on them ; Sir John wept bit- 
 terly. 
 
 After a short time, the most wealthy citizen of 
 the town, named Eustace de St. Pierre, arose and 
 said : Gentlemen, both high and low, it would be 
 
 a great pity to suffer so many people to die 
 through famine, if any means could be found to 
 prevent it, and it would be highly meritorious in 
 the eyes of our Saviour if such misery could be 
 averted. I have such faith and trust in finding 
 grace before God, if I die to save my townsmen, 
 that I name myself as one of the six." When he 
 
 had done speak- 
 ing, the}- all rose 
 up and almost 
 worshipped him ; 
 many cast them- 
 selves at his feet 
 with tears and 
 groans. Five 
 other prominent 
 citizens rose up 
 one after the 
 other, and of- 
 ered themselves 
 as his compan- 
 ions, so that the 
 number required 
 was thus soon 
 completed. 
 
 Sir John de 
 Vienne then 
 mounted a small 
 hackney, for it 
 was with diffi- 
 cult}' that he 
 could walk on 
 account of his 
 wounds, and con- 
 ducted the six 
 citizens to the 
 gate, through 
 which thej r pass- 
 ed, and he led 
 them on to the 
 barriers, where 
 he met Sir Wal- 
 ter Manny, who 
 was there wait- 
 ing for him. ' ' I 
 deliver up to you," said he, "as governor 
 of Calais, with the consent of the inhabitants, 
 these six citizens, and I swear to you that 
 they were and are to this day, the most wealthy 
 and respectable inhabitants of Calais. I beg of 
 you, gentle sir, that you would have the goodness 
 
 'NDE-MNED CITIZENS. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 357 
 
 to beseech the king that they shall not be put to 
 death." "I cannot answer for what the king 
 will do with them, ' ' replied Sir Walter, ' ' but you 
 may depend upon it that I shall do all in my 
 power to save them." 
 
 When Sir Walter had presented the six citizens 
 to the king, they fell upon their knees, and up- 
 holding their hands said : ' ' Most gallant king, 
 see before you six citizens of Calais who have 
 been capital merchants, and who bring you the 
 keys of the castle and of the town. We surrender 
 ourselves to your absolute will and pleasure, in 
 order to save the remainder of the inhabitants 
 who have suffered much distress and misery. 
 Condescend, therefore, out of your nobleness of 
 mind, to have mercy and compassion upon us." 
 All the barons, knights and esquires who were 
 assembled there in great numbers, wept at this 
 sight. The king looked at them angrily, for he 
 hated the people of Calais on account of the great 
 loss he had suffered from them ; and he ordered 
 the heads of the six citizens to be immediately 
 stricken off. All present entreated the king that 
 he be more merciful to them, but he would not 
 listen to what they said. He immediately sent 
 the headsman and ordered that the Calasians 
 should be executed immediately ; whereupon the 
 queen fell upon her knees and with tears said : 
 "Ah, gentle sir, since I have crossed the sea with 
 great danger to see you, I have never asked you 
 one favor ; now, I most humbly ask a gift, for 
 the sake of the Son of the blessed Mary, and for 
 your love to me, that you will be merciful to these 
 six men." The king looked at her for some time 
 in silence, and then said : " Ah, lad}', I wish that 
 you had been anywhere else than here ; you have 
 entreated in such a manner that I cannot refuse 
 you , I therefore give them to you, to do as you 
 please with them." 
 
 The queen immediately conducted the six citi- 
 zens to her apartments, and had the halters taken 
 from round their necks, after which she clothed 
 them in new clothes, and served them with a 
 plentiful dinner ; she then presented each with 
 six nobles, and had them escorted out of the camp 
 in safety. 
 
 THE BOSTON MASSACRE, 1770. 
 
 ON Friday the second day of March, a soldier 
 of the Twentj'-ninth asked to be employed 
 at Gray's Ropewalk, and was repulsed in the 
 
 coarsest words. He then defied the ropemakers 
 to a boxing match ; and one of them accepting 
 his challenge, he was beaten off. Returning with 
 several of his companions, they too were driven 
 away. A larger number came down to renew the 
 fight with clubs and cutlasses, and in their turn 
 encountered defeat. By this time Gray and others 
 interposed, and for that day prevented further dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 There was an end to the affair at the E_opewalk, 
 but not at the barracks, where the soldiers in- 
 flamed each other's passions, as if the honor of 
 the regiment were tarnished. On Saturday they 
 prepared bludgeons, and being resolved to brave 
 the citizens on Monday night, they forewarned 
 their particular acquaintances not to be abroad. 
 Without duly restraining his men, Carr, the Lieu- 
 tenant-Colonel of the Twenty-ninth, made com- 
 plaint to the Lieutenant-Governor of the insult 
 they had received. 
 
 The council, deliberating on Monday, seemed of 
 the opinion that the town would never be safe from 
 quarrels between the people and the soldiers as 
 long as soldiers should be quartered among them. 
 In the present case the owner of the Ropewalk 
 gave satisfaction by dismissing the workmen com- 
 plained of. 
 
 The officers should, 011 their part, have kept 
 their men within the barracks after night-fall. In- 
 stead of it they left them to roam the streets 
 Hutchinson should have insisted on measures of 
 precaution, but he, too, much wished the favor 
 of all who had influence at Westminster. 
 
 Evening came on. The young moon was shin- 
 ing brightly in a cloudless winter sky, and its 
 light was increased by a new fallen snow. Parties 
 of soldiers were driving about the streets, making 
 a parade of valor, challenging resistance, and 
 striking the inhabitants indiscriminately with 
 sticks or sheathed cutlasses. 
 
 A band, which rushed out from Murray's Bar- 
 racks in Brattle street, armed with clubs, cut- 
 lasses, and bayonets, provoked resistance, and an 
 affray ensued. Ensign Maul, at the gate of the 
 barrack-yard, cried to the soldiers, "Turn out 
 and I will stand by you ; kill them ; stick them ; 
 knock them down ; run your bayonets through 
 them ; ' ' and one soldier after another levelled a 
 firelock, and threatened to ' ' make a lane ' ' through 
 the crowd. Just before nine, as an officer crossed 
 King street, now State street, a barber's lad cried 
 
358 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 after him, "There goes a mean fellow who hath 
 not paid my master for dressing his hair;" on 
 which the sentinel stationed at the westerly end 
 of the Custom-house, on the corner of King street 
 and Exchange lane, left his post, and with his 
 musket gave the boy a stroke on the head, which 
 made him stagger, and cry for pain. 
 
 The street soon became clear, and nobody trou- 
 bled the sentry, when a party of soldiers issued 
 violently from the main guard, their arms glitter- 
 
 BRITISH SOLDIERS IN BOSTON. 
 
 ing in the moonlight, and passed on hallooing, 
 ' ' Where are they ? where are they ? let them 
 come." Presently twelve or fifteen more, utter- 
 ing the same cries, rushed from the south into 
 King street, and so by way of Cornhill, towards 
 Murray's Barracks. "Pray, soldiers, spare my 
 life," cried a boy of twelve, whom the} 1 met ; ' ' No, 
 no ; I'll kill you all," answered one of them, and 
 
 knocked him down with his cutlass. They 
 abused and insulted several persons at their doors, 
 and others in the street, "running about like 
 madmen in a fury," crying, "Fire," which 
 seemed their watchword, and " Where are they? 
 knock them down. ' ' Their outrageous behavior 
 occasioned the ringing of the bell at the head 
 of King street. 
 
 The citizens, whom the alarm set in motion, 
 came out with canes and clubs ; andpartly by the 
 interference of well disposed 
 officers, partly by the courage 
 of Crispus Attacks, a mulatto, 
 and some others, the fray at 
 the barracks was soon over. 
 Of the citizens, the prudent 
 shouted, "Home, Home;" 
 others, it was said, called out, 
 ' ' Huzza for the main guard ; 
 there is the nest ; ' ' but the 
 main guard was not molested 
 the whole evening. 
 
 A body of soldiers came up 
 Royal Exchange lane, crying 
 ' ' Where are the cowards ? ' ' 
 and brandishing their arms, 
 passed through King street. 
 From ten to twenty bo3^s came 
 after them, asking, "Where 
 are they, where are they?" 
 ' ' There is the soldier who 
 knocked me down," said the 
 barber's bo} r , and they began 
 pushing one another towards 
 the sentinel. — He primed and 
 loaded his musket. ' ' The lob- 
 ster is going to fire," cried a 
 boy. Waving his piece about, 
 the sentinel pulled the trigger. 
 ' ' If you fire you must die 
 for it," said Henry Knox, 
 who was passing by. ' ' I don' t 
 care," replied the sentry ; 
 damn them, if they touch 
 me I'll fire." "Fire and be damned," shouted 
 the boys, for they were persuaded he could 
 not do it without leave from a civil officer ; 
 and a young fellow spoke out, "We will 
 knock him down for snapping;" while they 
 whistled through their fingers and huzzaed. 
 "Stand off," said the sentry, and shouted aloud, 
 "Turn out, main guard." "They are killing 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 359 
 
 the sentinel," reported a servant from the Custom- 
 house, running to the main guard. " Turn out ; 
 why don't you turn out?" cried Preston, who 
 was Captain of the day, to the guard. " He ap- 
 peared in a great flutter of spirits," and "spoke 
 to them roughly. ' ' A party of six, two of whom, 
 Kilroi and Montgomery, had been worsted at the 
 Ropewalk, formed with a corporal in front, and 
 Preston following. With bayonets fixed, they 
 haughtily "rushed through the people," upon 
 
 been standing, gave three cheers, and passed 
 along the front of the soldiers, whose muskets 
 some of them struck as they went by. — "You are 
 cowardly rascals," said they, " for bringing arms 
 against naked men ; " " lay aside your guns, and 
 we are ready for you." "Are the soldiers 
 loaded?" inquired Palmes of Preston. "Yes," 
 he answered, "with powder and ball." "Are 
 they going to fire upon the inhabitants ? ' ' asked 
 Theodore Bliss. ' ' They cannot, without my 
 
 lf 5S lfSfff|I 
 
 The boston massacre. 
 
 the trot, cursing them and pushing them as they 
 went along. They found about ten persons 
 round the sentry, while about fifty or sixty came 
 down with them. " For God's sake," said Knox, 
 holding Preston by the coat, ' ' take your men 
 back again ; if they fire, your life must answer 
 for the consequences. " "I know what I am 
 about," said he, hastily, and much agitated. 
 None pressed on them or provoked them, till 
 they began loading, when a party of about twelve 
 in number, with sticks in their hands, moved 
 from the middle of the street, where they had 
 
 orders, ' ' replied Preston ; while the ' ' town-born ' ' 
 called out, " Come on, you rascals, you bloody 
 backs, you lobster scoundrels, fire if you dare ; we 
 know you dare not. ' ' Just then Montgomery re- 
 ceived a blow from a stick thrown, which hit his 
 musket; and the word "Fire" being given, he 
 stepped a little on one side, and shot Attucks, who 
 at the time was quietly leaning on a long stick. 
 The people immediately began to move off. 
 "Don't fire," said Pangford, the watchman, to 
 Kilroi, looking him full in the face, but yet he did 
 so, and Samuel Gray, who was standing next 
 
360 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Langford with his hands in his bosom, fell life- 
 less. The rest fired slowly and in succession on 
 the people, who were dispersing. One aimed de- 
 liberately at a boy who was running for safety. 
 Montgomery then pushed at Palmes to stab him ; 
 on which the latter knocked his gun out of his 
 hand, and levelling a blow at him, hit Preston. 
 Three persons were killed, among them Attucks 
 the mulatto ; eight were wounded, two of them 
 mortally. Of all the eleven, not more than one 
 had had any share in the disturbance. 
 
 So infuriated were the soldiers, that when the 
 men returned to take up the dead, they prepared 
 to fire again, but where checked by Preston, while 
 the Twenty-ninth regiment appeared under arms 
 in King street, as if bent on a further massacre. 
 "This is our time," cried soldiers of the Four- 
 teenth ; and dogs were never seen more greedy 
 for their prey. 
 
 The bells rung in all the churches ; the town 
 drums beat. " To arms, to arms," was the cry- 
 And now was to be tested the true character of 
 Boston. All its sons came forth, excited almost 
 to madness : many were absolutely distracted by 
 the sight of the dead bodies, and of the blood, 
 which ran plentifully in the street, and was im- 
 printed in all directions by the foot-tracks on the 
 snow. "Our hearts," says Warren, " beat to 
 arms ; almost resolved by one stroke to avenge 
 the death of our slaughtered brethren. ' ' But they 
 stood self-possessed and irresistible, demanding 
 justice, according to the law. "Did you not 
 know that you should not have fired without the 
 order of a civil magistrate ? " asked Hutchinson, 
 on meeting Preston. "I did it," answered 
 Preston, "to savemy men." 
 
 The people would not be pacified till the regi- 
 ment was confined to the guard-room and the bar- 
 racks : and Hutchinson himself gave assurances 
 that instant inquiries should be made by the 
 county magistrates. The body of them then re- 
 tired, leaving about one hundred persons to keep 
 watch on the examination, which lasted till 
 three hours after midnight. A warrant was 
 issued against Preston, who surrendered himself 
 to the Sheriff ; and the soldiers who composed the 
 party were delivered up and committed to prison. 
 — George Bancroft. 
 
 GEORGIA THEATRICS. 
 
 FROM "GEORGIA SCENES," BY A. B. EONGSTREET. 
 
 f)APT with the enchantment of the season and 
 x\ the scenery around me, I was slowly rising 
 the slope, when I was startled by loud, profane 
 and boisterous voices, which seemed to proceed 
 from a thick covert of undergrowth about two 
 hundred yards in the advance of me, and about 
 one hundred to the right of my road. 
 
 " You kin, kin you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I kin, and am able to do it ! Boo-oo-oo! 
 Oh, wake, snakes, and walk your chalks! Brim- 
 stone and fire ! Don't hold me, Nick 
 
 Stoval ! The fight's made up and let's go at it. 
 
 my soul if I don't jump down his throat, 
 
 and gallop every chitterling out of him before 
 you can say ' quit !' " 
 
 "Now, Nick, don't hold him! Jist let the 
 wildcat come, and I'll tame him. Ned'll see me 
 a fair fight, won't you, Ned ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; I'll see you a fair fight, blast my 
 old shoes if I don't." 
 
 "That's sufficient, as Tom Haynes said when 
 he saw the elephant. Now let him come." 
 
 Thus they went on, with countless oaths inter- 
 spersed, which I dare not even hint at, and with 
 much that I could not distinctly hear. 
 
 In Mercy's name! thought I, what band of 
 ruffians has selected this holy season and this 
 heavenly retreat for such Pandaemonian riots ! 
 I quickened my gait, and had come nearly oppo- 
 site to the thick grove whence the noise pro- 
 ceeded, when my eye caught indistinctly and at 
 intervals, through the foliage of the dwarf-oaks 
 and hickories which intervened, glimpses of a 
 man or men, who seemed to be in a violent strug- 
 gle ; and I could occasionally catch those deep- 
 drawn, emphatic oaths which men in conflict ut- 
 ter when they deal blows. I dismounted, and 
 hurried to the spot with all speed. I had over- 
 come about half the space which separated it 
 from me, when I saw the combatants come to the 
 ground, and, after a short struggle, I saw the 
 uppermost one (for I could not see the other) 
 make a heavy plunge with both his thumbs, and 
 at the same instant I heard a cry in the accent 
 of keenest torture, "Enough !" My eye's out !" 
 
 I was so completely horrorstruck, that I stood 
 transfixed for a moment to the spot where the cry 
 met me. The accomplices in the hellish deed 
 which had been perpetrated had all fled at my 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 361 
 
 approach ; at least I supposed so, for they were 
 not to be seen. 
 
 ' ' Now, blast your corn-shucking soul, ' ' said 
 the victor (a youth about eighteen years old) as 
 he rose from the ground, "come cutt'n your 
 shines 'bout me agin, next time I come to the 
 Courthouse, will you ! Get your owl-eye in agin 
 if you can !" 
 
 At this moment he saw me for the first time. 
 He looked excessively embarrassed, and was 
 moving off, when I called to him, in a tone em- 
 boldened by the sacreduess of my office and the 
 iniquity of his crime, "Come back, you brute! 
 and assist me in relieving your fellow-mortal, 
 whom you have ruined forever!" 
 
 My rudeness subdued his embarrassment in an 
 instant ; and, with a taunting curl of the nose, 
 he replied, "You needn't kick before you're 
 spurr'd. There a'nt nobody there, nor ha'nt 
 been no then I was jist seein' how I could 'a' 
 /out.'" So saying, he bounded to his plough, 
 which stood in the corner of the fence about fifty 
 yards beyond the battle-ground. 
 
 And, would you believe it, gentle reader ! his 
 report was true. All that I had heard and seen 
 was nothing more nor less than a Lincoln re- 
 hearsal ; in which the youth who had just left me 
 had played all the parts of all the characters of a 
 Courthouse fight. 
 
 I went to the ground from which he had risen, 
 and there were the prints of his two thumbs, 
 plunged up to the balls in the mellow earth, 
 about the distance of a man's eyes apart; and 
 the ground around was broken up as if two stags 
 had been engaged upon it. 
 
 LETTER FROM A MAN WHO HAD BEEN 
 CHALLENGED TO HIS CHALLENGER. 
 
 Q IR: I have two objections to this duel matter. 
 vO The one is, lest I should hurt you ; and the 
 other is, lest you should hurt me. I do not see 
 any good it would do me to put a bullet thro' any 
 part of your body. I could make no use of you 
 when dead for any culinary purpose, as I would a 
 rabbit or turkey. I am no cannibal to feed on the 
 flesh of men. Why then shoot down a human 
 creature, of which I could make no use ? A buf- 
 falo would be better meat. For though your flesh 
 may be delicate and tender ; yet it wants that 
 firmness and consistency which takes and retains 
 
 salt. At any rate, it would not be fit for long sea 
 voyages. You might make a good barbecue, it 
 is true, being of the nature of a raccoon or an opos- 
 sum ; but people are not in the habit of barbe- 
 cuing any thing human. As to your hide, it is 
 not worth taking off, being little better than that 
 of a year old colt. 
 
 It would seem to me a strange thing to shoot at 
 a man that would stand still to be shot at ; inas- 
 much as I have been heretofore used to shoot at 
 things flying, or running, or jumping. 
 
 As to myself, I do not much like to stand in the 
 way of any thing harmful. I am under appre- 
 hensions you might hit me. That being the case, 
 I think it most advisable to stay at a distance. If 
 you want to try your pistols, take some object, a 
 tree or a barn door, about my dimensions. If you 
 hit that, send me word, and I shall acknowledge 
 that if I had been in the same place you might 
 also have hit me. 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO WOMAN. 
 
 ( (. T HAVE observed among all nations, that the 
 1 women ornament themselves more than the 
 men ; that, wherever found, they are the same 
 kind, civil, obliging, humane, tender beings ; 
 that they are ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, 
 timorous and modest. They do not hesitate, like 
 man, to perform a hospitable or generous action : 
 not haughty, nor arrogant, nor supercilious, but 
 full of courtesy and fond of society ; industrious, 
 economical, ingenuous ; more liable in general to 
 err than man, but in general, also, more virtuous, 
 and performing more good actions than he. I 
 never addressed myself in the language of decency 
 and friendship to a woman, whether civilized or 
 savage, without receiving a decent and friendly 
 answer. With man it has often been otherwise. 
 In wandering over the barren plains of inhospita- 
 ble Denmark, through honest Sweden, frozen Lap- 
 land, rude and churlish Finland, unprincipled 
 Russia, and the wide-spread regions of the wan- 
 dering Tartar, if hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, 
 woman has ever been friendly to me, and uni- 
 formly so ; and to add to this virtue, so worthy 
 of the appellation of benevolence, these actions 
 have been performed in so free and so kind a man- 
 ner, that, if I was dry, I drank the sweei draught, 
 and, if hungry, ate the coarse morsel, with a 
 double relish."— John Ledvard. 
 
362 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 AN AMERICAN IN PARIS DURING THE 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 7TTE select the following highly interesting 
 XXJ account of an American gentleman's ex- 
 periences with Robespierre, and life in Paris 
 during the revolution, from the writings of 
 Thomas Cooper : 
 
 When I was going over to Paris with Watt dur- 
 ing the French Revolution, being both members 
 
 took me to Robespierre's. We passed through a 
 carpenter's shop, and went up a ladder to the 
 place occupied by Robespierre. He was dressed 
 up. A complete petit maitre, a dandy. A little 
 pale man, with dark hair. He received me well. 
 I told him that I had written an address to deliver 
 to the club, and requested him to deliver it for me, 
 as I spoke French badly. He said he would. I 
 wrote the address, and Watt translated it into 
 
 STREETS OF PARIS DURING THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 of the club at Manchester, we had letters from 
 the club to Robespierre, Petion, and other mem- 
 bers of the Jacobin clubs of Paris. I called on 
 Petion and told him my business, and that I 
 wished to be introduced to Robespierre. Petion 
 was a clever fellow, and more like an Englishman 
 than any Frenchman I have ever seen — good, 
 candid fellow, on whom you might rely. He 
 
 French. We went to the club (he mentioned 
 which, but it has escaped me), and he with others 
 sat under the canopy (I think he said) where the 
 president sits. He mentioned who presided. 
 After a while a loud noise was made, and a call 
 for Citizen Cooper (Citoycn Gouappe) and Watt, 
 and for the address of Citoyen Gouappe which had 
 been formally announced. I requested Robes- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 363 
 
 pierre to take it and read it as he had promised. 
 He declined, and I insisted, until he refused posi- 
 tively, when the noise increasing, I told him, 
 ' ' O'toyen Robespierre, votes ctes un coqirin ! ' ' and 
 with that I mounted and delivered my address, 
 which was well received, and with considerable 
 noise. After that (which was before Robespierre 
 commenced his reign of blood), I kept company 
 principally with the Brissotians. The day after 
 the above affair took place at the club, several 
 persons told me to take care of myself, for that 
 Robespierre and his friends had their designs upon 
 us. Spies were set upon us. We were informed 
 of it, and their names furnished, which he men- 
 
 wouldn't agree to join us. They would not risk 
 it. At last we were denounced by Robespierre, 
 and Watt went off to Germany, and I returned to 
 England. Now those four months that I spent in 
 Paris were the most happy and pleasant of my life. 
 I laughed more than I ever did before or have 
 since. I lived four years. 
 
 It is curious, but I believe the fact from what I 
 saw, that during the most dreadful times of that 
 revolution, during its most bloody period, the 
 people of Paris enjoyed more aggregate happiness 
 than at any other period of their lives. Every 
 moment was a century. When there every energy 
 of my mind was called out, every moment en- 
 
 THE CHARGE. 
 
 tioned. We invited them regularly to dinner, 
 and the poor devils not being used to drinking 
 wine, we always got them drunk after dinner. 
 One evening, at the house of a person whose name 
 I did not catch, where many Brissotians were 
 present, Watt and I proposed that if they would 
 gather as many friends as they could and go with 
 us, to support us at the club, I would insult 
 Robespierre before the whole assembly, and com- 
 pel him to challenge us to fight. We should have 
 broken him up that night. We did not care for 
 responsibility there, it would have been all amuse- 
 ment. Such was our excitement, I would as leave 
 have fought him as not. I would have liked it. 
 We might have got him off, but these fellows 
 
 gaged. Some important event unceasingly oc- 
 curred, and incessantly occupied the mind. 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 The battle took place on the margin of the 
 Niagara river, an extensive plain, which had once 
 been covered with fine farms ; but now, forsaken 
 by the inhabitants, and desolated by war, it ex- 
 hibited only a barren waste. The river at that 
 place begins to acquire some of that terrific velo- 
 city with which it rushes over the awful precipice 
 three miles below, creating one of the grandest 
 natural curiosities in existence ; the noise of the 
 cataract is heard, and the column of foam dis- 
 tinctly seen, from the battle-ground. On the 
 
3<M 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 other side, the field is bounded by a thick forest, 
 but the plain itself presents a level smooth surface, 
 unbroken by ravines, and without a tree or bush 
 to intercept the view, or an obstacle to impede the 
 movements of the hostile bodies, or to afford to 
 either party an advantage. From this plain the 
 American camp was separated by a small creek. 
 In the full glare of the summer sun on the morn- 
 ing of the 5th of July, the British troops were 
 seen advancing to our camp, across the destined 
 field of strife; their waving plumes, their scarlet 
 uniforms, and gilded ornaments exhibited a gay 
 and gorgeous appearance. Their martial music, 
 their firm and rapid step, indicated elastic hopes 
 and high courage. The Americans, inferior in 
 number, were easily put in motion to meet the 
 advancing foe ; they crossed a small rude bridge, 
 the only outlet from the camp, under a heavy fire 
 of the enemy's artillery, and moved steadily to the 
 spot selected for the engagement. The scene at 
 this moment was beautiful and imposing. The 
 British line, glowing with crimson hues, was 
 stretched across the plain, flanked by pieces of 
 brass ordnance, whose rapid discharge spread death 
 over the field, and filled the air with thunder; 
 while the clouds of smoke enveloped each ex- 
 tremity of the line, leaving the centre only exposed 
 to the eye, and, extending on to the river on the one 
 hand, and the forest on the other, filled the whole 
 back-ground of the landscape. The Americans 
 were advancing in columns. The}' were new 
 recruits, now led for the first time into action, and 
 except a few officers, none of that heroic band had 
 ever before seen the banner of a foe. But they 
 moved steadily to their ground, unbroken by the 
 galling fire ; and platoon after platoon wheeled 
 into line with the same graceful accuracy of move- 
 ment which marks the evolution of the holiday 
 parade, until the whole column w T as deployed into 
 one extended front; the officers carefully dressed 
 the line with technical skill, and the whole 
 brigade evinced, by its deep silence, and the faith- 
 ful precision of its movements, the subordination 
 of strict discipline, and the stead} - firmness of 
 determined courage. Xow the musketry of the 
 enemy began to rattle, pouring bullets as thick as 
 hail upon our ranks. Still not a trigger was 
 drawn, not a voice was heard on our side, save 
 the quick peremptory tones of command. General 
 Scott rode along the line cheering and restraining 
 lis troops, then passed from flank to flank to see 
 
 if all was as he wished: he wheeled his steed into 
 the rear of the troops, and gave the command to 
 "Fire." A voice was immediately heard in the 
 British ranks — supposed to be that of their com- 
 mander — exclaiming, " Charge the Yankees ! 
 charge the Buffalo militia! charge! charge!" 
 The American general ordered his men to ' ' Sup- 
 port arms." 
 
 The British rushed forward with bayonets 
 charged, but they were struck with amazement 
 when they beheld those whom their commander 
 tauntingly called "militia" standing motionless 
 as statues ; their muskets erect, their arms folded 
 across their breasts, gazing calmly at their hostile 
 ranks advancing furiously with levelled bayonets. 
 It was a refinement of discipline rarely exhibited, 
 and here altogether unexpected. The Americans 
 stood until the enemy approached within a few 
 paces ; until the foemen could see the fire flashing 
 from each other's eyes, and each could read the 
 expression of his adversary's face ; then deliber- 
 ately as the word was given, the Americans 
 levelled their pieces and fired — and the whole of 
 the enemy's line seemed annihilated ! — Many 
 were killed, many wounded, and some, rushing 
 forward with powerful momentum, fell over their 
 prostrate companions, or were thrown down by the 
 weight of succeeding combatants. In one instance 
 the ground occupied by that gallant line w T as 
 covered by flying Britons ; in another, a second 
 line had advanced to sustain the contest ; while 
 the broken fragments of the first were rallied 
 behind it. The " Buffalo militia" were now the 
 assailants, advancing with charged bayonets. 
 Then it was that the young American chiefs who 
 led that gallant host displayed the skill of veterans, 
 and the names of Scott, Jessup, Leavenworth, 
 McNeil, and Hinman, were given to their country 
 to adorn the proudest page of its history. Five- 
 and thirty minutes decided the contest, and the 
 retiring foe was pursued and driven to his fortress. 
 None who saw will forget the terrific beauty of 
 this scene; the noble appearance of the troops — 
 the dreadful precision of ever}- movement — the 
 awful fun- of the battle — its fatal severity — its 
 brief continuance — its triumphant close. 
 
 As the victors returned from the pursuit of the 
 retiring enemy, a scene of intense interest was 
 presented. They traversed the field which a few 
 minutes before had sparkled with the proud equip- 
 age of war. There had been gallant men, and 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 :m 
 
 gay uniforms, and waving banners ; and there had 
 been drums and trumpets, and the wild notes of 
 the bugle, stirring the soul to action. There had 
 been nodding plumes, and beating hearts, and 
 eyes that gleamed with ambition. 
 
 There too had been tempestuous chiefs, emulous 
 of fame, dashing their fiery steeds along the hos- 
 tile ranks ; and there had been all the spirit-stir- 
 ring sighs and sounds that 
 fill the eye and the ear and 
 the heart of the young war- 
 rior, giving more than the 
 poet's fire to the entranced 
 imagination. What a change 
 had a few brief minutes pro- 
 duced ! Now the field was 
 strewed with ghastly and 
 disfigured forms, with the 
 wounded, with the muti- 
 lated and the dying. The 
 ear was filled with strange 
 and melancholy and terrific 
 sounds ; the shouts of victory 
 had given place to groans 
 of anguish, the complaints of 
 the vanquished, the prayers 
 or the imprecations of the 
 dying. 
 
 the fire, as the men were very anxious to engage 
 the enemy. 
 
 "Mr. Morris," was the commodore's reply, 
 " are you read}- for action on the gun-deck ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, keep so — but don't let a gun be fired 
 till I give the word. " 
 
 In a few moments Mr. Morris again appeared, 
 
 BATTLE BETWEEN THE 
 CONSTITUTION AND , 
 THE GUERRIERE. 
 
 CHE Guerriere was lying 
 to. The Constitution 
 was leisurely bearing down 
 upon the enemy under her 
 topsails — every man was at 
 his respective station, and all 
 onboard were eager for the 
 contest, — when the Guerriere 
 commenced the action at long 
 shot. Commodore Hull gave 
 a peremptory order to his 
 officers not to apply a single 
 match until he gave the word. In a few min- 
 utes a forty-two pounder from the Guerriere took 
 effect, and killed and wounded some of our brave 
 tars. Lieutenant Morris immediately left his 
 station on the gun-deck to report the same to the 
 commodore, and requested permission to return 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 and stated that he could with difficulty restrain 
 the men from giving the enemy a broadside, so 
 anxious were they to commence the engagement. 
 "Mr. Morris," reiterated the commodore, in- 
 tently gazing on the English frigate, ' ' are you 
 readv for action on the cnm-deck ? " 
 
366 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ' ' Yes, sir ; and it is impossible for tne any longer 
 
 to restrain the men from firing on the foe. Their 
 
 passions are wrought up to the highest possible 
 
 pitch of excitement. Several of our bravest sea- 
 
 , men are already killed and wounded " — 
 
 ' ' Keep cool, Mr. Morris — keep cool. See all 
 prepared, and do not suffer a gun to be fired till I 
 give the word. ' ' 
 
 The gallant lieutenant went below. In a few 
 minutes, the vessels having neared each other to 
 within pistol-shot distance, Morris was sent for to 
 appear on the quarter-deck. 
 
 "Are you all ready for action, Mr. Morris?" 
 again demanded the commodore. 
 
 ' ' We are all ready, sir — and the men are utter- 
 ing horrid imprecations because they are not suf- 
 fered to return the fire of the enemy. ' ' 
 
 "Fire then, in God's name!" shouted the 
 commodore, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 It is added that he wore at the time a pair of 
 nankeen tights ; and he accompanied this soul- 
 cheering order with such a tremendous stamp on 
 the deck with his right foot that the unfortunate 
 pantaloons were split open from the knee to the waist- 
 band. 
 
 The conduct of Dacres, before and during the 
 action, was such as might have been expected 
 from a brave and generous enemy. Mr. Reed, a 
 young man belonging to Brewster, Massachusetts, 
 had been pressed on board the Guerriere a few 
 weeks previous to the engagement. Several other 
 American seamen were also on board. When the 
 Constitution was bearing down in such gallant 
 style, and it became evident that a severe action 
 with an American frigate was inevitable, young 
 Reed left his station and proceeded to the quarter- 
 deck, and respectfully but firmly represented to 
 Captain Dacres that he was an American citizen, 
 who had been unj ustly detained on board the Eng- 
 lish frigate ; that he had hitherto faithfully per- 
 formed the duties which were assigned him ; and 
 that it could not reasonably be expected he would 
 fight against his countrymen ; he therefore begged 
 leave to decline the honor of participating in the 
 engagement. 
 
 The English captain frankly told him that he 
 appreciated his patriotic feelings ; that he did not 
 wish the Americans on board to use arms against 
 their countrymen ; and he subsequently ordered 
 them all into the cockpit, to render assistance to 
 the surgeon, if it should be necessary. Reed left 
 
 the spar-deck after the Guerriere had commenced 
 the action. Several shots were known to have 
 taken effect, but che Constitution had not yet fired 
 a gun — much to the amusement of the British 
 tars, who predicted that the eneiny would be taken 
 without resistance, with the exception of a veteran 
 man-of-war' s-mau, who had been in the battle of 
 the Nile, and gruffly observed, with a significant 
 shake of the head, "That Yankee knows what 
 he's about." 
 
 A few moments passed away, and the Constitu- 
 tion poured in her tremendous broadside — every 
 gun was double-shotted and well pointed, and the 
 effect which it had on the enemy can hardly be 
 conceived. Mistimed jests and jeers at the im- 
 perturbable but harmless Yankees gave place to 
 the groans of the wounded and dying, and sixteen 
 poor mutilated wretches were tumbled down into 
 the cockpit, from the effects of the first broadside ! 
 
 Dacres fought as long as a spar was standir g 
 and a gun could be brought to bear upon the 
 enemy ; but when his masts were completely 
 swept away, his officers and men mostly killed 
 and wounded, encumbering the decks ; while the 
 scuppers were streaming with gore ; when the 
 Guerriere, which a few hours before was justly 
 considered one of the most splendid specimens of 
 naval architecture which belonged to the British 
 navy, lay on the water an unsightly, unmanage- 
 able mass ; when he had no longer the stump of a 
 mast left from which to display the proud flag of 
 his country, the gallant Briton began to think he 
 had got into an ugly scrape, from which he could 
 not possibly extricate himself. He could no longer 
 oppose even a feeble resistance to his more fortu- 
 nate foe. ' 
 
 Captain Hull sent an officer to take possession 
 of the Guerriere. When he arrived alongside, he 
 demanded of the commander of the English 
 frigate if he had struck. 
 
 Dacres was extremely reluctant to make this 
 concession in plain terms, but with a shrewdness 
 which would have done honor to a Yankee, en- 
 deavored to evade the question. 
 
 "I do not know that it would be prudent to 
 continue the engagement any longer," said he. 
 
 ' ' Do I understand you to say that you have 
 struck?" inquired the American lieutenant. 
 
 "Not precisely," returned Dacres; "but I 
 don't know that it will be worthwhile to fight 
 an}- longer." 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 367 
 
 ' ' If you think it advisable, I will return 
 aboard," replied the Yankee, "and we will 
 resume the engagement. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Why, I am pretty much hors de combat al- 
 ready," said Dacres ; " I have hardly men enough 
 left to work a gun, and my ship is in a sinking 
 condition." 
 
 ' ' I wish to know, sir, ' ' peremptorily demanded 
 the American ofneer, ' ' whether I am to consider 
 you as a prisoner of war, or an enemy. I have 
 no time for further parley." 
 
 ' ' I believe there is no alternative. If I could 
 fight longer, I would with pleasure ; but I — must 
 — surrender — myself — a prisoner of war ! ' ' 
 
 And so the famous battle closed. 
 
 HOW A COUNTRY GIRL BECAME THE ANCES- 
 TOR OF TWO OF ENGLAND'S QUEENS. 
 
 DURING the troubles in the reign of Charles 
 I., a country girl came to London in search 
 of a place as a servant-maid ; but not succeeding, 
 she hired herself to carry out beer from a brew- 
 house, and was one of those called tub-women. 
 The brewer, observing a good-looking girl in this 
 low occupation, took her into his family as a 
 servant, and after a short time married her ; but 
 he died while she was yet a young woman, and 
 left her the bulk of his fortune. The business of 
 the brewery was dropped, and to the young 
 woman was recommended Mr. Hyde, as a skilful 
 lawyer to arrange her husband's affairs. Hyde, 
 who was afterwards the great Earl of Clarendon, 
 finding the widow's fortune very considerable, 
 married her. Of this marriage there was no 
 other issue than a daughter, who was afterwards 
 the wife of James II., and mother of Mary and 
 Anne, queens of England. 
 
 PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF DISTINGUISHED 
 OFFICERS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. 
 
 THERE are few that hear of the achievements 
 of distinguished men without forming some 
 idea of their persons and features, and it is always 
 pleasing to know whether the reality answers to 
 the idea. 
 
 Washington has been described so often that 
 his whole appearance must be familiar from our 
 infancy. A person six feet two inches in stature, 
 expanded, muscular, of elegant proportions, and 
 unusually graceful in all his movements : his head 
 
 moulded somewhat on the model of the Grecian 
 antique ; features sufficiently prominent for 
 strength or comeliness — a Roman nose and large 
 blue eyes ; deeply thoughtful, rather than lively. 
 With these attributes, the appearance of Wash- 
 ington was striking and august. A fine com- 
 plexion being superadded, he was accounted, 
 when young, one of the handsomest of men. But 
 his majesty consisted in the expression of his 
 countenance, much more than in his comely fea- 
 tures, his lofty person, or his dignified deport- 
 ment. It was the emanation of his great spirit 
 through the tenement it occupied. 
 
 Major-General Greene, in person, was 
 rather corpulent and above the common size ; his 
 complexion was fair and florid ; his countenance 
 serene and mild, indicating a goodness which 
 seemed to shade and soften the fire and greatness 
 of its expression. His health was delicate, but 
 preserved by temperance and regularity. 
 
 General Lafayette was one of the finest- 
 looking men in the army, notwithstanding his 
 deep-red hair, which then, as now, was rather in 
 disrepute. His forehead was fine, though reced- 
 ing ; his eyes, clear and hazel ; his mouth and 
 chin delicately formed, and exhibiting beauty 
 rather than strength. The expression of his 
 countenance was strongly indicative of the gener- 
 ous and gallant spirit which animated him, ming- 
 ling with something of the pride of conscious 
 manliness. His mien was noble, his manners 
 frank and amiable, and his movements light and 
 graceful. He wore his hair plain, and never 
 complied so far with the fashion of the times as 
 to powder. 
 
 General Wayne was about the middle size, 
 with a fine ruddy countenance, commanding port, 
 with an eagle eye. His looks corresponded well 
 with his character ; indicating a soul noble, ardent 
 and daring. At this time, he was about thirty- 
 two 3'ears of age ; a period of life which, perhaps, 
 as much as any other, blends the graces of youth 
 with the majesty of manhood. In his intercourse 
 with his officers and men, he was affable and 
 agreeable, and had the art of communicating to 
 their bosoms the gallant and chivalrous spirit 
 which glowed in his own. 
 
 General Sullivan was a man of short stature, 
 well formed and active ; his complexion dark — 
 his nose prominent — his eyes black and piercing, 
 and his face altogether agreeable and well-formed. 
 
3G8 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 IyORD Sterling was short and thick-set ; some- 
 what pursy and corpulent. His face was red, and 
 looked as though colored by brandy rather than 
 sunburnt, and his appearance in no manner either 
 military or commanding. 
 
 Colonel Morgan was stout and active, six 
 feet in height, not too much encumbered with 
 flesh, and exactly fitted for the toils and pomp of 
 war. The features of his face were strong and 
 manly, and his brow thoughtful. His manners 
 plain and decorous, neither insinuating nor repul- 
 sive ; his conversation grave, sententious and 
 considerate, unadorned and uncaptivating. 
 
 Colonel Hamilton is thus described by Mr. 
 Delaplaine : ' 'Although in person below the mid- 
 dle stature, and somewhat deficient in elegance of 
 figure, Hamilton possessed a very striking and 
 manly appearance. By the most superficial obser- 
 vers, he never could be regarded as a common ill- 
 dividual. His head was large, formed on the 
 finest model, resembling somewhat the Grecian 
 antique. His forehead was spacious and elevated; 
 his nose projecting, but inclined to the aquiline ; 
 his eyes gray, keen at all times, and when ani- 
 mated by debate, intolerably piercing, and his 
 mouth and chin well-proportioned and handsome. 
 These two latter, although his strongest, were his 
 most pleasing features ; yet the form of his mouth 
 was expressive of eloquence, more especially of 
 persuasion. He was remarkable for . a deep de- 
 pression between his nose and forehead, and a 
 contraction of the brows, which gave to the up- 
 per part of his countenance an air of sternness. 
 The lower part was an emblem of mildness and 
 ingenuity. 
 
 Major L,EE, one of the most vigilant and act- 
 ive partisan officers in the American army, was 
 short in stature, and of light make, but agile and 
 active. His face was small and freckled ; his 
 looks eager and sprightly. He was then quite 
 young, and his appearance was even more youth- 
 ful than his years. 
 
 Sir William Howe, the British general, was 
 a fine figure, full six feet high, and admirably 
 well-proportioned. In person, he a good deal re- 
 sembled Washington, and at a little distance 
 might have been easily taken for the American 
 general ; but his features, though good, were 
 more pointed, and the expression of his counten- 
 ance was less benignant. His manners were pol- 
 ished, graceful, and dignified. 
 
 Sir Henry Clinton was short and fat, with 
 a full face, prominent nose, and animated intelli- 
 gent countenance. In his manners, he was po- 
 lite and courtly, but more formal and distant 
 than Howe, and in his intercourse with his offi- 
 cers was rather punctilious, and not inclined to 
 intimacy. 
 
 GENERAL JACKSON'S VICTORY AT NEW 
 ORLEANS. 
 
 IN the month of December, 1814, fifteen thou- 
 sand British troops, under Sir Edward Packen- 
 ham, were landed for the attack of New Orleans. 
 The defence of this place was intrusted to General 
 Andrew Jackson, whose force was about six thou- 
 sand men, chiefly raw militia. Several slight 
 skirmishes occurred previous to the arrival of the 
 enemy before the city ; during this time General 
 Jackson was employed in making preparations for 
 his defence. His front was a straight line of one 
 thousand yards, defended by upwards of three thou- 
 sand infantry and artillerists. The ditch contained 
 five feet of water, and his front, from having been 
 flooded by opening the levees, and by frequent 
 rains, was rendered slippery and muddy. Eight 
 distinct batteries were judiciously disposed, mount- 
 ing in all twelve guns of different calibres. On 
 the opposite side of the river was a strong battery 
 of fifteen guns. 
 
 At daylight on the morning of the Sth of Janu- 
 ary, the main body of the British, under their 
 commander-in-chief, General Packenham, were 
 seen advancing from their encampment to storm 
 the American lines. On the preceding evening 
 they had erected a battery within eight hundred 
 yards, which now opened a brisk fire to protect 
 their advance. The British came on in two col- 
 umns, the left along the levee on the bank of the 
 river, directed against the American right, while 
 their right advanced to the swamp, with a view 
 to turn General Jackson's left. The country being 
 a perfect level, and the view unobstructed, their 
 march was observed from its commencement. 
 They were suffered to approach, in silence and 
 unmolested, until within three hundred yards of 
 the lines. This period of suspense and expecta- 
 tion was employed by General Jackson and his 
 officers in stationing every man at his post, and 
 arranging every thing for the decisive event. 
 When the British columns had advanced within 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 369 
 
 three hundred yards of the lines, the whole artil- 
 lery at once opened upon them a most deadly fire. 
 Forty pieces of cannon, deeply charged with 
 grape, canister, and musket-balls, mowed them 
 down by hundreds ; at the same time the batteries 
 on the west bank opened their fire, while the 
 riflemen, in perfect security behind their works, 
 as the British advanced took deliberate aim, and 
 nearly every shot took effect. Through this de- 
 structive fire, the British left column, under the 
 immediate orders of the commander-in-chief, 
 rushed on with their fascines and scaling ladders, 
 to the advance bastion on the American right, 
 and succeeded in mounting the parapet ; here, 
 after a close conflict with the bayonet, the)- suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining possession of the bastion ; 
 when the battery planted in the rear for its protec- 
 tion opened its fire, and drove the British from 
 the ground. On the American left, the British 
 attempted to pass the swamp, and gain the rear, 
 but the works had been extended as far into the 
 swamp as the ground would permit. Some who 
 attempted it sank in the mire and disappeared ; 
 those behind, seeing the fate of their companions, 
 seasonably retreated and gained the hard ground. 
 The assault continued an hour and a quarter ; 
 during the whole time the British were exposed 
 to the deliberate and destructive fire of the Ameri- 
 can artillery and musketry, which lay in perfect 
 security behind their breastworks of cotton bales, 
 which no balls could penetrate. 
 
 At eight o'clock, the British columns drew off 
 in confusion, and retreated behind their works. 
 Flushed with success, the militia were eager to 
 pursue the British troops to their intrenchments, 
 and drive them immediately from the island. A 
 less prudent and accomplished general might have 
 been induced to yield to the indiscreet ardor of 
 his troops ; but General Jackson understood too 
 well the nature both of his own and his enemy's 
 force, to hazard such an attempt. Defeat must 
 inevitably have attended an assault made by raw 
 militia, upon an entrenched camp of British regu- 
 lars. The defence of New Orleans was the ob- 
 ject ; nothing was to be hazarded which would 
 jeopardize the city. The British were suffered to 
 retire behind their works without molestation. 
 The result was such as might be expected from 
 the different positions of the two armies. General 
 Packenham, near the crest of the glacis, received 
 a ball in his knee. Still continuing to lead on his 
 24 
 
 men, another shot pierced his body, and he was 
 carried off the field. Nearly at this time, Major- 
 General Gibbs, the second in command, within a 
 few yards of the lines, received a mortal wound, 
 and was removed. The third in command, Major- 
 General Keane, at the head of his troops near the 
 glacis, was severely wounded. The three com- 
 manding generals, on marshalling their troops at 
 five o'clock in the morning, promised them a 
 plentiful dinner in New Orleans, and gave them 
 booty and beauty as the parole and countersign of 
 the day. Before eight o'clock, the three generals 
 were carried off the field, two in the agonies of 
 death, and the third entirely disabled ; leaving 
 upwards of two thousand of their men, dead, 
 dying, and wounded, on the field of battle. 
 
 On the 9th, General Lambert and Admiral Coch- 
 rane, with the surviving officers of the army, held 
 a council of war, and determined to abandon the 
 expedition. To withdraw the troops in the face 
 of a victorious enemy, would have been difficult 
 and hazardous. To withdraw in safety, every ap- 
 pearance of a renewal of the assault was kept up, 
 till the night of the 18th, when the whole army 
 moved off in one bod}-, over a road which had 
 been previously constructed through a miry slough, 
 in which a number of the troops perished by sink- 
 ing into the mire. On the 27th, the whole land 
 and naval forces which remained of this disastrous 
 expeditio/i found themselves on board of their 
 ships, with their ranks thinned, their chiefs and 
 many of their companions slain, their bodies ema- 
 ciated by hunger, fatigue and sickness. 
 
 DEATH OF COUNT DONOP. 
 
 IHAYF been down to Redbank, on the Jersey 
 side of the Delaware, below Philadelphia, to 
 look at the remains of that little fortress, within 
 whose rudely-constructed walls so terrible a blow 
 was given to British courage. Only a few remains 
 of that memorable fort are now to be seen. The 
 breastworks are nearly levelled to the earth, and 
 over some, the ploughshare of the industrious 
 farmer has already passed. Nothing but a few 
 mis-shapen mounds are visible to point out to the 
 stranger the site where so much blood was spilt, 
 where so many gallant spirits breathed their last. 
 The neighboring farmer, however, will point you 
 to the battle-ground. His house stood within 
 pistol-shot of the fort, and during the attack the 
 balls whistled around his roof in shrill and fre- 
 
370 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 quent showers. He will tell 3'ou all that can now 
 be told of it. He saw the battle from his farm- 
 house ; he saw the foreign foe advance ; he heard 
 their shout as they entered the outer-wall, and in 
 a moment after, he saw them hurrying back, bear- 
 ing with them the body of their lamented and ill- 
 fated Donop. 
 
 The fort at Redbank was thrown up hastily by 
 a handful of Americans. The}- constructed two 
 walls, or two forts, one within the other ; the 
 outer one of which was not completed when the 
 enemy attacked it. At the head of a chosen baud 
 of men, Donop entered the outer wall, and think- 
 ing the fort taken by surprise, gave a shout of 
 exultation, which was re-echoed by his men. 
 They entered with shouldered arms. The feeble 
 garrison, commanded by the gallant Greene, opened 
 at once a brisk and murderous fire. I knew a 
 Jerseyman who was in the fortress. He told me 
 every particular. The narrow limits in which the 
 assailants were confined, and the unlooked-for 
 repulse, threw them into irremediable confusion. 
 They fired a few shots, and hastily retired, just as 
 the Americans had fired their eighth round of 
 ammunition — and they had but nine rounds to a 
 man. As the enemy turned about, a volunteer in 
 the fort, whose musket had snapped, pulled the 
 trigger a second time — the last shot from the fort — 
 and the gallant, the misguided, the accomplished 
 Donop fell, among a breastwork of his own dying 
 men ! 
 
 The enemy retreated to Philadelphia in the 
 greatest confusion. Terrible slaughter had been 
 made in their ranks, and they trembled for the 
 whizzing of the next platoon of balls. Four 
 pieces of brass cannon, which they brought to the 
 assault, were either buried in the earth on their 
 way home, or thrown into the neighbouring creek. 
 Searches have been made for them, but they are 
 lost for ever. Donop was carried to the nearest 
 farm-house, his wounds dressed, and consolation 
 given him. It was then that the gallant Hessian 
 first saw his error. He was a mere hireling in 
 the enemy's ranks. He had no enmity to Ameri- 
 cans, for he was of another country, and we had 
 never injured him. Bitterly did he regret, in the 
 agonies of that tremendous and humbling moment, 
 that he had lent his aid to smother the bursting 
 flame of freedom, and deeply did he weep over 
 the ignominy of his end. He felt there was none 
 to pity him. The British did not ; for they paid 
 
 his king for his services ; his king did not, for his 
 death insured to him a stipulated compensation ; 
 and America could not, for he was a chosen enemy. 
 Thus did the dying count depict his situation, and 
 cried, "I, who might have flourished in the pal- 
 aces of kings, am here, the victim of a mercenary 
 bargain, left to die in a solitary hut, in the wilder- 
 ness of America ! " 
 
 A solitary mound, with a bit of rough stone at 
 the head, in the margin of a wood, is all that now 
 remains to point the stranger to the grave of 
 Count Donop. His name has been rudely carved 
 upon it ; but the wanton sportsman makes the 
 melancholy memento his favorite mark, and a 
 few summers more will do away the slightest trace 
 of where he now reposes. Such, alas ! is military 
 glory ; such is the reward of dauntless bravery 
 and misguided virtue ! 
 
 The hickory on which the banner of our country 
 floated on that memorable day is still rocked by 
 the breeze that sweeps across our happy country. 
 Dong may it flourish in undying prime ! I have 
 cut a fragment from it, and it now stands before 
 me in the fashion of an inkstand, from which the 
 ink is drawn that wrote these transient reminis- 
 cences of that ever-memorable scene. 
 
 SOME CURIOUS ROYAL PROCLAMATIONS. 
 
 TO a certain extent, the proclamations of every 
 sovereign characterize his reign, and open 
 to us some of the interior operations of the 
 cabinet. The despotic will, yet vacillating con- 
 duct of Henry the Eighth, towards the close of 
 his reign, may be traced in a proclamation to 
 abolish the translation of the Scriptures, and even 
 the reading of Bibles by the people ; commanding 
 all printers of English books and pamphlets to 
 affix their names to them, and forbidding the sale 
 of an}' English books printed abroad. When the 
 people were not suffered to publish their opinions 
 at home, all the opposition flew to foreign presses, 
 and their writings were then smuggled into the 
 country in which they ought to have been printed. 
 Hence many volumes printed in a foreign type at 
 this period are found in our collections. The 
 king shrunk in dismay from that spirit of refor- 
 mation which had only been a party-business with 
 him, and making himself a pope, decided that 
 nothing should be learnt but what he himself 
 designed to teach ! 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 371 
 
 The antipathies and jealousies of the English 
 people, long indulged by their incivilities to all 
 foreigners, are characterized by a proclamation 
 issued by Mary, commanding her subjects to be- 
 have themselves peaceably towards the strangers 
 coming with King Philip ; that noblemen and 
 gentlemen should warn their servants to refrain 
 from ' ' strife and contention, either by outward 
 deeds, taunting words, unseemly countenance, by 
 mimicking them, etc." The punishment was not 
 only ' ' her grace's displeasure, but to be committed 
 to prison without bail or mainprise." 
 
 During the reign of Edward the Sixth, a pro- 
 clamation was issued in which were severely de- 
 nounced ' ' those who despise the sacrament by 
 calling it idol, or such other vile name." An- 
 other is against such ' ' as innovate any ceremony, 
 and who are described as ' ' certain private 
 preachers and other laiemen who rashly attempt 
 of their own and singular wit and mind, not only 
 to persuade the people from the old and accus- 
 tomed rites and ceremonies, but also themselves 
 bring in new and strange orders according to their 
 phantasies. The which, as it is an evident token 
 of pride and arrogancy, so it tendeth both to con- 
 fusion and disorder." Another proclamation, to 
 press ' ' a godly conformity throughout his realm, ' ' 
 where we learn the following curious fact, of 
 ' ' divers unlearned and indiscreet priests of a 
 devilish mind and intent, teaching that a man 
 may forsake his wife and marry another, his first 
 wife yet living ; likewise that the wife may do 
 the same to the husband. Others that a man may 
 have two wives or more at once, for that these 
 things are not prohibited by God's law, but by 
 the Bishop of Rome's law ; so that by such evil 
 and phantastical opinions some have not been 
 afraid indeed to marry and keep two wives." 
 Here, as in the bud, we may unfold those subse- 
 quent scenes of our story, which spread out in the 
 following century ; the branching out of the non- 
 conformists into their various sects ; and the inde- 
 cent haste of our reformed priesthood, who, in 
 their zeal to cast off the yoke of Rome, despe- 
 rately submitted to the liberty of having "two 
 wives or more!" There is also a proclamation 
 of the same reign, commanding the people to 
 abstain from flesh on Fridays and Saturdays ; on 
 the principle, not only that " men should abstain 
 on those days, and forbear their pleasures and the 
 meats wherein they have more delight, to the 
 
 intent to subdue their bodies to the soul and spirit, 
 but also for worldly policy. To use fish for the 
 benefit of the commonwealth, and profit of many 
 who be fishers and men using that trade, unto the 
 which this realm, in ever}- part environed with 
 the seas, and so plentiful of fresh waters, be in- 
 creased the nourishment of the land by saving 
 flesh." It did not seem to occur to the king in 
 council that the butchers might have had cause 
 to petition against this monopoly of two days in 
 the week granted to the fishmongers ; and much 
 less, that it was better to let the people eat flesh 
 or fish as suited their convenience. In respect to 
 the religious rite itself, it was evidently not con- 
 sidered as an essential point of faith, since the 
 king enforces it on the principle " for the profit 
 and commodity of his realm." 
 
 A curious proclamation against the Iconoclasts 
 was issued during the reign of Elizabeth, which 
 throws a great deal of light upon the state of re- 
 ligious society at that time. This proclamation, 
 as well as all others issued by Elizabeth, was 
 signed by her own hand, affording an instance of 
 the remarkable industry and close attention to 
 public affairs manifested on all occasions by this 
 great queen. She informs us in this proclama- 
 tion that "several persons, ignorant, malicious, 
 or covetous, of late years, have spoiled and broken 
 ancient monuments, erected only to show a memory 
 to posterity, and not to nourish any kind of super- 
 stition." The queen laments, that what is broken 
 and spoiled would be now hard to recover, but 
 advises her good people to repair them ; and com- 
 mands them in future to desist from committing 
 such injuries ! 
 
 These image-breakers, so famous in English 
 history, first appeared under Henry the Eighth, 
 and continued their impractical zeal, in spite of 
 proclamations and remonstrances, till the}- had 
 accomplished their work. In 1641, an order was 
 published by the commons, that they should 
 ' ' take away all scandalous pictures out of 
 churches :" but more was intended than was ex- 
 pressed ; and we are told that the people did not 
 at first carry their barbarous practice against all 
 Art, to the lengths which they afterwards did, 
 till they were instructed by private information ! 
 
 James the First was prolific with his proclama- 
 tions. He was fond of giving gentle advice to 
 the people, and as the daily newspaper was not 
 then, as now, the vehicle of public information. 
 
he was obliged to resort 
 to the more kingly 
 method of expressing 
 his thoughts and impart- 
 ing advice in the form of 
 proclamations, man}- of 
 which were evidently 
 written by his own hand. 
 In several of these public 
 documents he judi- 
 ciously warns the people 
 against "speaking too 
 freely of matters above 
 their reach," advice 
 which could he well ap- 
 plied in man}- instances 
 even in these modern 
 times. As a sample of 
 his prolix and fatherly 
 Style of addressing his 
 subjects, we quote the 
 following : 
 
 "Although the com- 
 mixture of nations, con- 
 fluence of ambassadors, 
 and the relation which 
 the affairs of our king- 
 doms have had towards 
 the business and inter- 
 ests of foreign states, 
 have caused, during our 
 regiment (government,) 
 a greater openness and 
 liberty of discourse, even 
 concerning matters of 
 state (which are no 
 themes or subjects fit for 
 vulgar persons or com- 
 mon meetings) than hath 
 been in former times used 
 or permitted; and al- 
 though in our own na- 
 ture and judgment we 
 do well allow of conve- 
 nient freedom of speech, 
 esteeming any over-cu- 
 rious or restrained hands 
 carried in that kind 
 rather as a weakness, or 
 else over-much severity 
 of government than 
 otherwise; yet for as 
 
 (372) 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 Oli 
 
 much as it is come to our ears, by common report, 
 that there is at this time a more licentious passage 
 of lavish discourse and bold censure in matters of 
 state than is fit to be suffered : We give this warn- 
 ing, &c., to take heed how they intermeddle by 
 pen or speech with causes of state and secrets of 
 empire, either at home or abroad, but contain 
 themselves within that modest and reverent regard 
 of matters above their reach and 
 calling ; nor to give any manner 
 of applause to such discourse, 
 without acquainting one of our 
 privy council within the space of 
 twenty- four hours. ' ' 
 
 He also seemed to have a very 
 good understanding of a certain 
 class of sycophants whom he very 
 accurately describes in the follow- 
 ing sentence of the same procla- 
 mation : 
 
 ' ' Neither let any man mistake 
 us so much as to think that by 
 giving fair and specious attri- 
 butes to our person, they cover 
 the scandals which the}' otherwise 
 lay upon our government, but 
 conceive that we make no other 
 construction of them but as fine 
 and artificial glosses, the better 
 to give passage to the rest of 
 their imputations and scandals. ' ' 
 
 This proclamation was issued 
 in the eighteenth year of his 
 reign ; again in the nineteenth ; 
 and he might have arranged to 
 have it continuously issued every 
 year, for all time, with satisfac- 
 tory results. 
 
 There were some curious pro- 
 clamations issued during the 
 reign of Charles the First, which 
 reveal the character of the king 
 and the customs of the times bet- 
 ter than any history could. There is one 
 for the regulation of the cure of the " king's 
 evil," or scrofula, by which it appears that 
 his "majesty hath good success therein;" but 
 though ready and willing as any king could 
 be to lay his hand on the afflicted in order that 
 they might be made whole, yet he had regard for 
 his own comfort in the matter, and commanded 
 
 to change the seasons for his " sacred touch," 
 " from Easter and Whitsuntide to Easter and 
 Michaelmas, as times more convenient for the 
 temperature of the season," etc. There was an- 
 other curious proclamation to erect an office for 
 the ' ' suppression of cursing and swearing, ' ' 
 which was doubtless a measure greatly needed at 
 that particular time. 
 
 BACCHANALIAN RKVEl^S. 
 
 As every one knows who has read history, 
 Charles the Second was what we now sometimes 
 call a "wild and giddy youth ;" he was, in fact, 
 a very persistent sower of "wild oats;" but in 
 order to retain the good graces of his people, who 
 were sadly impressed with the solemn Puritanical 
 influences of the times, he was under the neces- 
 sity of issuing frequent proclamations condemn- 
 
THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ing the very excesses that he was specially ad- 
 dicted to. It may be reasonably inferred that his 
 proclamation against •' ' vicious, debauched, and 
 
 LONDON AND A PUBLIC EXECUTION DURING THE REIGN OF CHARLES II, 
 
 was sent forth some morning conscience would not ; and 
 
 profane persons 
 
 after he and his boon companions had employed 
 
 themselves in " painting the town red," in their 
 own peculiar and special manner. Charles was 
 doubtless suffering from a severe headache when 
 
 he wrote his 
 proclamation : 
 
 "A sort of 
 men," he re- 
 morsefully writes 
 ' ' of w h o m we 
 have heard much 
 and are suffi- 
 ciently ashamed ; 
 who spend their 
 time in taverns, 
 tipling- houses 
 and debauches ; 
 giving no other 
 evidence of their 
 affection to us 
 but in drinking 
 our health, and 
 inveighing 
 against all others 
 who are not of 
 their own disso- 
 lute temper ; and 
 who, in truth, 
 have more dis- 
 credited our 
 cause, by the li- 
 cence of their 
 manners and 
 lives, than they 
 could ever ad- 
 vance it by their 
 affection or cour- 
 age. We hope 
 all persons of 
 honour, or in 
 place and author- 
 it}-, will so far 
 assist us in dis- 
 countenancing 
 such men, that 
 their discretion 
 and shame will 
 persuade them to 
 reform what their 
 that the displea- 
 
 sure 
 
 of a;ood men towards them 
 
 supply 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 375 
 
 ■what the laws have not, and, it may be, cannot 
 well provide against ; there being by the licence 
 and corruption of the times, and the depraved 
 nature of man, many enormities, scandals, and 
 impieties in practice and manners, which laws 
 cannot well describe, and consequently not enough 
 provide against, which ma}-, by the ex- 
 ample and severity of virtuous men, 
 be easily discountenanced, and by de- 
 grees suppressed." 
 
 How many young men there are in 
 our own times, sad though it be, who, 
 after a night's debauch, and while nur- 
 sing their aching temples, would con- 
 sider it a joyful relief to their pent-up 
 feelings to be able to express their sen- 
 timents in the earnest language of the 
 "most Christian" King Charles ! 
 
 Charles also issued proclamations 
 ' ' to repress the excess of gilding of 
 coaches and chariots," to restrain the 
 waste of gold, which, as he supposed, 
 by the excessive use of gilding, had 
 grown scarce. Against ' ' the exporta- 
 tion and the buying and selling of gold 
 and silver at higher rates than in our 
 mint." Against the excess of building 
 in and about London and Westminster 
 in 1 66 1 : ''The inconveniences daily 
 growing by increase of new buildings 
 are, that the people increasing in such 
 great numbers, are not well to be gov- 
 erned by the wonted officers ; the prices 
 of victuals are enhanced ; the health of 
 the subject inhabiting the cities much 
 endangered, and many good towns and 
 boroughs unpeopled, and in their trades 
 much decayed — frequent fires occasioned 
 by timber-buildings." He orders to 
 build with brick and stone, which 
 would beautify, and make an uniformity 
 in the buildings ; and which are not ' 
 
 only more durable and safe against fire, but by 
 experience are found to be of little more if not less 
 charge than the building with limber." We must 
 infer that by the general use of timber, it had 
 considerably risen in price, while brick and stone, 
 not then being generally used, became as cheap 
 as wood I 
 
 A most excellent idea do these old kingly 
 
 proclamations afford us of what was really 
 going on in the world in those ancient times ! 
 
 $ 
 
 HISTORY OF THE ICONOCLASTS. 
 
 OME reference having been made in the pre- 
 vious article to the destruction of pictures, 
 
 (EEK PAINTING REPRESENTING A HOME SCENE. 
 
 etc., by the " picture destroyers," in the reign of 
 Queen Elizabeth, it will be interesting to read a 
 history of this remarkable feature of religious 
 frenzy. Opposition, to the veneration of images 
 was first manifested in the eighth and ninth cen- 
 turies ; the use of images, however, which led to 
 the Iconoclastic troubles, dates from the very com- 
 mencement of the spread of Christianity among 
 
376 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 heathen nations, it is a matter of dispute when 
 images were first introduced as symbols in the 
 
 KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE ATTACKING THE RIOTERS. 
 
 into the temple at the end of the third century, 
 and that their public use became general toward 
 
 the close of the 
 
 fourth. The vis- 
 ible representa- 
 tion of the cross 
 found its way 
 earlier both into 
 ecclesiastical and 
 domestic life. 
 
 The Greeks 
 and Romans fa- 
 vored the fine 
 arts, but there 
 always existed 
 among Christ- 
 ians an aversion 
 toward every- 
 thing which had 
 any resemblance 
 to the old pagan 
 union of art and 
 religion. They 
 were opposed to 
 representing God 
 and the angels in 
 pictures and by 
 statues. The 
 first note of icon- 
 oclastic warfare 
 came from Mar- 
 seilles, where the 
 bishop, Serenus, 
 caused all im- 
 ages to be demol- 
 ished and cast 
 out of the 
 churches. For 
 this he was twice 
 censured by 
 Pope Gregory 
 the Great, who, 
 while blaming 
 the superstitious 
 use of images, 
 advised their em- 
 ployment as a 
 mean s of instruc- 
 tion for the un- 
 
 public worship of the Christians, but the prevail- 
 ing opinion is that they passed from the family 
 
 lettered, who could not read the Scriptures. 
 Soon after the Emperor Constantine embraced 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 377 
 
 the Christian belief, he began to embellish the 
 public monuments and churches with representa- 
 tions of religious objects taken from the Old and 
 New Testaments. Very soon this custom became 
 interwoven with the whole domestic and public 
 life of the Greek and Asiatic Christians. Books 
 and furniture, as well as churches, vestibules, 
 private houses and public edifices, household 
 utensils and wearing apparel, were profusely orna- 
 mented with images of Christ, the martyrs, and 
 Biblical personages. Reports of miracles said to 
 have been wrought 
 by some of these 
 images attracted 
 crowds of pilgrims. 
 In the course of 
 the sixth century 
 it became a custom 
 in the Greek 
 Church to make 
 prostrations before 
 images as a token 
 of reverence to the 
 persons whom they 
 represented. In the 
 folio wing c e n t u r y 
 the Mohammedans 
 wherever they pre- 
 vailed, forbade the 
 worship of images. 
 In 726 the Byzan- 
 tine emperor Leo 
 issued a proclama- 
 tion directed not 
 against the images 
 themselves, but 
 against such signs 
 
 sacres. After the death of Leo, the work which 
 he had commenced was taken up no less zealously 
 by his son Constantine, who, in 754, assembled a 
 council of 338 bishops, who, after a deliberation 
 of six months, pronounced all visible symbols of 
 Christ, excepc in the eucharist, to be either blas- 
 phemous or heretical, and the use of images in 
 the churches to be a revival of paganism. The 
 emperor, determined to carry out his purpose, 
 compelled every inhabitant of his capital to take 
 an oath never again to worship an image. In 787 
 
 the great organ AT ANTWERP. — (Copy of Ancient Engraving. ) 
 
 of an idolatrous homage as prostrations and kneel- 
 ing down before them. This measure met with 
 resistance from the mass of the people, who held 
 these images in great reverence. Besides serious 
 disturbances in many places, the inhabitants of 
 the Cyclades rebelled against the emperor and 
 equipped a fleet. This was destroyed by means 
 of Greek fire, and the empe* ~>r issued a new edict 
 forbidding the use of images for religious pur- 
 poses. He caused the statues in the churches to 
 be burned, and the paintings on the walls to be 
 effaced, which resulted in fearful riots and mas- 
 
 the second oecumenical council of Nice decreed 
 that "bowing to an image, which is simply the 
 token of love and reverence, ought by no means 
 to be confounded with the adoration which is due 
 to God alone." The same was declared true also 
 of the cross, the books of the evangelists, and 
 other sacred objects. 
 
 During the reign of Philip II. in the Nether- 
 lands, the Protestants tumultuously assembled 
 and destroyed the images in man}' of the Catholic 
 churches. These tumults began August 14th, 
 1566, at St. Omer, in Flanders, where several 
 
378 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 churches were desecrated, the images overturned 
 and broken, and the pictures ruined. They next 
 attacked the cathedral at Ypres, which they also 
 stripped. The excitement rapidly spread all over 
 the country, and many of the cities and towns 
 were sacked. At Antwerp a mob ravaged the 
 cathedral, destroyed the statues, cut into pieces 
 the paintings, which were the pride of Flemish 
 art ; demolished the great organ, the most perfect 
 in the world ; overthrew the seventy altars, and 
 carried off the vestments and sacred vessels. 
 These scenes continued at Antwerp for three days, 
 when the}- were stopped by a few knights of the 
 golden fleece, who, with their retainers, attacked 
 and dispersed the rioters. Prescott states that the 
 amount of injury inflicted during this dismal 
 period it is not possible to estimate. Four hun- 
 dred churches were sacked by the insurgents in 
 Flanders alone. The damage to the cathedral at 
 Antwerp was said to amount to not less than 
 400,000 ducats. But who can estimate the irre- 
 parable loss occasioned by the destruction of 
 manuscripts, statues, and paintings? The frenzy 
 of the people was aroused purely from religious 
 motives. In Flanders a company of rioters 
 hanged one of their own number for stealing an 
 article to the value of five shillings. In other 
 places the Iconoclasts were offered large sums of 
 money if they would refrain from the destruction 
 of churches, but the}" rejected these proposals 
 with disdain. 
 
 The destruction of books deemed heretical was 
 for many centuries a favorite method of disposing 
 of objectionable authors, and in this manner many 
 of the most valuable works of the ancients have 
 been lost forever, as well as some of the best 
 thoughts of later writers. 
 
 CURIOUS HISTORICAL FACTS ABOUT THE 
 BIBLE. 
 
 DURING the Reformation in England, there 
 arose a great demand for Bibles among the 
 people, to whom it had previously been a sealed 
 book. The rapid increase of sects, and the spiri- 
 tual interpretations of texts to suit their views, 
 also led to the most extravagant corruptions of 
 the Bible, which soon swarmed with innumerable 
 errata. 
 
 These errata unquestionably were in great part 
 voluntary omissions, passages interpolated, and 
 
 meanings forged for certain purposes ; sometimes 
 to sanction the new creed of a half-hatched sect, 
 and sometimes with an intention to destroy all 
 scriptural authority by a confusion, or an omission 
 of texts — the whole was left open to the option or 
 the malignity of the editors, who, probably, like 
 certain ingenious wine-merchants, contrived to 
 accommodate ' ' the waters of life ' ' to their custo- 
 mers' peculiar taste. They had also a project of 
 printing Bibles as cheaply and in form as con- 
 tracted as the}- possibly could for the common 
 people ; and they proceeded till it nearly ended 
 with having no Bible at all : and, as Fuller, in 
 his " Mixt Contemplations on Better Times," 
 alluding to this circumstance, with one of his 
 luck}' quibbles, observes, "The small price of the 
 Bible hath caused the small prizing of the Bible." 
 
 The English and Scotch presses were not only 
 kept busily employed, but the demand was so 
 great that Bibles were "also imported from the 
 Protestant countries of the Netherlands, and they 
 were not any more accurate than those which were 
 printed at home. 
 
 These errata were not always made by the 
 printers, as might at first be supposed ; but, in the 
 vigorous language of a writer of the times, they 
 were the "egregious blasphemies and damnable 
 errors" of some sectarian, who had a purpose in 
 making them. 
 
 The printing of Bibles was at length conceded 
 as a privilege to William Bently ; but he was op- 
 posed by two other printers named Hills and 
 Field. A paper war arose in consequence, in 
 which the}- mutually recriminated each other, and 
 with equal truth. 
 
 In 1653 Field printed what is known as "the 
 Pearl Bible," probably from the smallness of the 
 type used. There are many errors in this edi- 
 tion, of which the following are notable exam- 
 ples : 
 
 Rom. vi. 13 : Neither yield ye your members 
 as instruments of righteousness unto sin — for un- 
 righteousness. 
 
 1 Cor. vi. 9 : Know ye not the unrighteous 
 shall inherit the kingdom of God — for shall not 
 inherit. 
 
 This last error served as the formation of a 
 dangerous doctrine, and was doubtless intended 
 for that purpose. Many libertines urged this 
 text in justification of their evil practices. 
 
 Field was a great former. It is asserted that he 
 
BURNING HERETICAL BOOKS DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 (3V9) 
 
3S0 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AXD THE 
 
 received a present of ,£1500 from the Independ- 
 ents to corrupt a text in Acts vi. 3, to sanction 
 the right of the people to appoint their own pas- 
 tors. This corruption was made by substituting 
 ye for we. 
 
 Other Bibles published by Field and Hills con- 
 
 A BIBLE SCRIBE OF THE REFORMATION PERIOD 
 
 tained so many errata and intentional changes 
 that the} - reduced the text to nonsense or blas- 
 phemy, making the Scriptures contemptible to 
 the multitude, who came to pray and not to 
 scorn. It is affirmed that one of these Bibles 
 swarmed with six thousand errors, another three 
 thousand six hundred, etc. But these were not 
 
 the first attempts to alter the meaning of the 
 Bible, for on the assembling of the Council of 
 Trent, in 1546, a commission appointed by that 
 bod}- reported that the text of the translation 
 then in use had been so corrupted by careless 
 copyists, indiscreet revisers, ambitious critics, 
 and reckless theologians, that 
 only the Pope could restore it. 
 But these incorrect transla- 
 tions served the purposes of 
 those who used them, so that 
 when our present authentic 
 translation was made by order 
 of King James the First, it 
 was suffered to lie neglected 
 for many years. Copies of 
 the original manuscripts were 
 in the possession of two of 
 the king's printers, who, from 
 cowardice, consent, and con- 
 nivance, suppressed their pub- 
 lication ; considering that a 
 Bible full of errors, and ac- 
 commodated to the notions 
 of certain sectarists, was more 
 valuable than an authentic 
 edition. The King James 
 translation was completed 
 about 161 1. but according to 
 good authorities it was not 
 printed until about 1660. 
 
 In the earlier centuries the 
 four gospels of the New Tes- 
 tament were generally written 
 in one collection, and the epis- 
 tles of Paul in one. The gos- 
 pels were usually given in the 
 order in which we have them 
 now, though in some copies 
 they were transposed. The 
 place of the Apocalypse was 
 fixed were it now stands, by 
 Athanasius, in the fourth cen- 
 turv. For the convenience of 
 public readings, breaks in the lines, and simple 
 points, were introduced about the same time. The 
 gospels were divided into chapters from a very 
 early period, but not in the same order in which 
 we now have them : the present arrangement did 
 not originate until the 13th century. The division 
 of the Xew Testament into verses was made by 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 381 
 
 Robert Stephens, in 1551, while performing a 
 journey on horseback from Paris to I/Hidon. 
 Two years later he completed the versification of 
 the Old Testament. Before this was accomplished, 
 it is difficult to conceive how references were made 
 to particular passages. Stephens was a printer, 
 and he used his new arrangement as a recom- 
 mendation of the Bibles published by himself, 
 with good results financially. 
 
 The proverbial expression of "chapter and 
 verse ' ' is peculiar to English-speaking people, 
 and doubtless originated in the Puritanic period, 
 probably just before the civil wars under Charles 
 the First, from the frequent custom of appealing 
 to the Bible on the most frivolous occasions. 
 Those who engaged in this practice were deri- 
 sively designated by their opponents as "those 
 mighty men at chapter and verse." With a sort 
 of religious coquetry, they were vain of perpetu- 
 ally opening their gilt pocket Bibles in proof of 
 their peculiar or special tenets. The learned 
 Selden found considerable amusement in attend- 
 ing their "assembly of divines," and puzzling or 
 confounding them with their own pedantic pre- 
 tences. A ludicrous anecdote is related in this 
 connection. One of their assemblies was dis- 
 cussing the distance between Jerusalem and 
 Jericho, with a perfect ignorance of sacred or 
 ancient geography ; one said it was twent}' miles, 
 another ten, and at last it was concluded to be 
 only seven, for the singular reason that fish were 
 brought from Jericho to the Jerusalem market. 
 Selden silenced their disputations by observing 
 that perhaps the fish were salted ! 
 
 RELIGIOUS INSANITY OF THE 16th AND 17th 
 CENTURIES. 
 
 IT appears from the public as well as private re- 
 cords of those times that religion and fanaticism 
 were almost synonymous terms. The Creator 
 was regarded, not as a Father of mere}:, but as a 
 God of vengeance, seeking whom He might de- 
 stroy ; and they spent their lives, figuratively 
 speaking, in sackcloth and ashes, sorrowfully 
 awaiting the day of destruction which they felt 
 sure was rapidly approaching. Such a belief led 
 naturally to all sorts of fanatical excesses and 
 ridiculous customs. It was also the parent of 
 the intolerance and oppression which eventually 
 drove the Puritans to seek a home in the wilds of 
 
 America ; where they soon proved themselves to- 
 be equally as intolerant as their enemies from 
 whom they had fled. Each particular sect 
 imagined that its interpretation of the Bible was- 
 the only true one, that all who differed from 
 them were on the sure road to damnation, and 
 that it was a religious duty to save their souls, 
 even at the expense of the destruction of their 
 bodies. These fanatical ideas led to the fearful 
 religious persecutions that blacken the history of 
 the Middle Ages, and which, in some countries, 
 extended on down even to the 18th and the com- 
 mencement of the 19th century. As late as 
 November 26, 1815, a Mexican Presbyterian named 
 Jose Maria Morelos, was executed in the City of 
 Mexico as a heretic — the last of which there is 
 any official record. Fray Vetancurt, a Mexican 
 writer, without intending to be at all facetious, in 
 describing some of the ancient beauties of the 
 city of the Montezumas, says : ' ' The view is beau- 
 tified by the Plaza of San Hippolito — and by the 
 burning -place of the Holy- Office!" The peculiar 
 "beauties" of this place were enhanced by the 
 erection of a "square platform, with a wall and 
 terrace arranged for the stakes to which the con- 
 demned, living or dead, were fastened to be burned. 
 Being raised on a large open space, the spectacle 
 could be witnessed by the entire population of the 
 city. When the ceremony was ended, the ashes 
 of the burned were thrown into the marsh that 
 there was in the rear of the church of San Diego." 
 Here, according to the records, "twenty-one pesti- 
 lential Lutherans ' ' suffered death in a single day, 
 their sufferings and contortions no doubt adding 
 greatly to the ' ' beauties ' ' of the scene and the 
 edification of the populace. It was the merciful 
 custom to hang the victims first, and burn their 
 bodies afterward, but i:i special cases they were 
 burned alive. And all this in the name of re- 
 ligion ! 
 
 But enough of this ! The world has grown 
 better, and wiser, and kinder; the "good old 
 times" of burnings and torturings for opinion's 
 sake have passed away forever, and we doubt the 
 propriety of recalling them to the minds of our 
 modern generations, except as object-lessons in 
 proof of the grand progress of mankind. 
 
 We will now consider an instance of humorous 
 folly, practised in all earnestness by a very learned 
 and devout man in the first quarter of the 17th 
 century. We copy his own account of the man- 
 
38: 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 tier in which he amused himself, as recorded in 
 his diary : 
 
 ' ' I spent this day chiefly in private fasting, 
 prayer, and other religious exercises. This was 
 the first time that I ever practised this study, 
 having always before declined it, by reason of the 
 Papists' superstitious abuses of it. I had par- 
 
 after entered upon framing an evidence of marks 
 and signs for my assurance of a better life. 
 
 ' ' I found much benefit of my secret fasting, 
 from a learned discourse on fasting by Mr Henry 
 Mason, and observed his rule, that Christians 
 ought to sit sometimes apart for their ordinal- 
 humiliation and fasting, and so intend to continue 
 
 RELIGIOUS INSANITY OF TH 
 
 taken formerly of public fasts, but never knew 
 the use and benefit of the same duty performed 
 alone in secret, or with others of mine own family 
 in private. In these particulars, I had my know- 
 ledge much enlarged by the religious converse I 
 enjoyed at Albury-L,odge, for there also I shortly 
 
 SEYENTEEN'TH CENTURY. 
 
 the same course as long as my health will permit 
 me. Yet did I van - the times and duration of my 
 fasting. At first, before I had finished the marks 
 and signs of my assurance of a better life, which 
 scrutiny and search cost me some three-score days 
 of fasting, I performed it sometimes twice in the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 383 
 
 preface in Latin also to it ; I spent a great part of 
 the day in that work," &c. 
 
 "Saturday, December i, 1627, I devoted to my 
 
 space of five weeks, then once each month, or a 
 little sooner or later, and then also I sometimes 
 ended the duties of the day, and took some little 
 food about three 
 of the clock in 
 the afternoon. 
 But for divers 
 years last past, 
 I constantly ab- 
 stained from all 
 food the whole 
 day. I fasted 
 till supper-time, 
 about six in the 
 evening, and 
 spent ordinarily 
 about eight or 
 nine hours in the 
 performance of 
 religious duties ; 
 one part of 
 which was a 
 prayer and con- 
 fession of sins, 
 to which end I 
 wrote down a 
 catalogue of all 
 my known sins, 
 orderl}'. These 
 were all sins of 
 infirmity ; for 
 through God's 
 grace, I was so 
 far from allow- 
 ing myself in 
 the practice and 
 commission of 
 any actual sins, 
 as I durst not 
 take upon me 
 any controver- 
 sial sins, as 
 usury, carding, 
 d i c e i n g , mixt 
 dancing, and the 
 like, because I 
 was in mine own people of the city of mexico witnessing an execution by burning at the stake. 
 
 judgment persuaded they were unlawful. Till I usual course of secret fasting, and drew divers 
 had finished my assurance first in English and signs of my assurance of a better life, from the 
 afterwards in Latin, with a large and elaborate grace of repentance, having before gone through 
 
384 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the gr?.ces of knowledge, faith, hope, love, zeal, 
 patience, humility, and joy ; and drawing several 
 marks from them on like days of humiliation for 
 the greater part. My dear wife beginning also to 
 draw most certain signs of her own future happi- 
 ness after death from several graces." 
 
 "January 19, 162S. — Saturday I spent in secret 
 humiliation and fastings, and finished my whole 
 assurance to a better life, consisting of three-score 
 and four signs, or marks drawn from several 
 graces. I made some small alterations in those 
 signs afterwards ; and when I turned them into 
 the Latin tongue, I enriched the margent with 
 further proofs and authorities. I found much 
 comfort and reposedness of spirit from them, 
 which shows the devilish sophisms of the Papists, 
 Anabaptists, and pseudo-Lutherans, and profane 
 atheistical men, who say that assurance brings 
 forth presumption, and a careless wicked life. 
 True when men pretend to the end, and not use 
 the means." 
 
 " My wife joined with me in a private day of 
 fasting and drew several signs and marks by my 
 help and assistance, for her assurance to a better 
 life." 
 
 If a learned man, able to intelligently express 
 his thoughts in two or more languages, could de- 
 vote his life, even r day, to such absurd follies as 
 are above described, what must have been the 
 condition of the ignorant and unlettered ! Ob- 
 serve, too, the secret hate that apparently rankled 
 in his breast against all who were opposed to him 
 in religious belief, as shown by the entries in his 
 diary under the date of January 19th. 
 
 This was an era of religious diaries, particu- 
 larly among the non-conformists ; but they were, 
 as we see, used by others. Of the Countess of 
 Warwick, who died in 167S, we are told, that 
 "She kept a diary and took counsels with two 
 persons, whom she called her soul's friends." 
 She called prayers "heart's ease," for such she 
 found them. " Her own lord, knowing her hours 
 of prayers, once conveyed a goodly minister into 
 a secret place within hearing, who, being a man 
 very able to judge, much admired her humble 
 fervency ; for in praying she prayed : but when 
 she did not with an audible voice, her sighs and 
 groans might be heard at a good distance from 
 the closet." We are not surprised to discover 
 this practice of religious diaries among the more 
 puritanic sort ; what they were we ma}* discover 
 
 from this description of one. Mr. John Janeway 
 "kept a diary, in which he wrote down every 
 evening what the frame of his spirit had been all 
 that day ; he took notice what incomes he had, 
 what profit he received in his spiritual traffic ; 
 what returns came from that far country ; what 
 answers of prayer, what deadness and flatness of 
 spirit," etc. And so we find of Mr. John Carter, 
 that "He kept a day-book and cast up his ac- 
 counts with God even- da} - . 
 
 We should like to know if the good man found 
 his accounts all right when he cast them up in 
 the other world. These follies are amusing now, 
 but they were exceedingly earnest in those an- 
 cient times. 
 
 Such was the domestic state of many well 
 meaning families, that they were rejecting with 
 the utmost abhorrence even- resemblance to what 
 they called the idolatry of Rome, while, in fact, 
 the gloom of the monastic cell was settling over 
 the houses of these melancholy Puritans. Private 
 fasts were more than ever practised ; and a lady 
 said to be eminent for her genius and learning, 
 who outlived this era, declared that she had nearly 
 lost her life through a prevalent notion that no 
 fat person could get to heaven ; and thus spoiled 
 and wasted her body through excessive fastings. 
 A Quaker, to prove the text that " Man shall not 
 live by bread alone, but by the word of God," 
 persisted in refusing his meals. The literal text 
 proved for him a dead letter, and this practical 
 commentator died by a metaphor. This Quaker, 
 however, was not the only victim to the letter of 
 the text ; for the famous Origen, by interpreting 
 in too literal a way the twelfth verse of the nine- 
 teenth chapter of St. Matthew, which alludes to 
 those persons who become eunuchs for the king- 
 dom of heaven, with his own hands armed him- 
 self against himself, as is sufficiently known. 
 The parliament afterwards had both periodical 
 and occasional fasts ; and Charles the First op- 
 posed "the hypocritical fast of every Wednesday 
 in the month by appointing one for the second 
 Friday ;" thus the two unhappy parties, who were 
 hungering and thirsting for each other's blood, 
 fasted to spite one another ! 
 
 The two great giants in this theological war 
 were the famous Richard Baxter and Dr. Owen. 
 Each of these good men wrote a library of books, 
 the controversy growing out of the extraordinary 
 and incomprehensible subject as to whether the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 885 
 
 death of Christ was solutio cjusdcm, or only tan- 
 tundcm ; that is, whether it was a payment of the 
 very thing, which by law we ought to have paid, 
 or something held by God to be equivalent. 
 
 Happily, however, this absurd controversy did 
 not lead to such sanguinary results as the one in 
 Russia, out of which there came a long and 
 bloody war, over the question as to whether it 
 was proper for the Metropolitan, in blessing the 
 people, to hold up the two fingers of his right 
 hand, or merely the thumb ! The thumb, we be- 
 lieve, eventually gained the day, after many 
 ^^fri;^-,;,,;. 
 
 ran riot. There were the ' ' Brownists ' ' from 
 Robert Brown ; the ' ' Vaneists ' ' from Sir Henry 
 Vane, besides the humbler followers of Mr. Frank, 
 Mr. Wilkinson, Mr. Robinson, and many others ; 
 also the Grindletonian family, who preferred 
 "motions to motives," and conveniently assumed 
 that ' ' their spirit should not be tried by trie- 
 Scriptures, but the Scriptures by their spirit." A 
 learned antiquarian collected a list of over two hurt- 
 drcd of these peculiar sects, which arose and flour- 
 ished during the revolutionary period in England. 
 Intelligent, well-meaning persons were affected 
 
 rt'; 1,!!|& 
 
 RELIGIOUS CONTROVERSY DURING THE REFORMATION. 
 
 thousands of poor Russians had been slaughtered 
 and crippled in a senseless and bloody war. 
 
 In England these metaphysical controversies 
 ran to words rather than blows, and printers' ink 
 was shed more abundantly than human gore. 
 Every one became his own Bible-maker and his 
 own prophet, and even the meanest aspired to give 
 his name -to some sect. One saint, becoming 
 afflicted with St. Vitus' s dance, supposed he had 
 caught a peculiar sort of religion, and succeeded 
 in establishing a sect ! 
 
 Eveiy- enthusiast had his own particular sect 
 and his own manner of worshipping. Religion 
 25 
 
 by this religious insanity, as well as the ignorant 
 and emotional. One case may stand for man}'. 
 A Mr. Griswold, of Warwickshire, whom a 
 ' ' Brownist ' ' had by degrees enticed from his 
 parish church, was afterward persuaded to return 
 to it, but he came back with a troubled mind, and 
 lost in the prevalent theological fogs. A horroi 
 of his future existence shut him out, as it were, 
 from his present one, so that, entering into his 
 own house with his children, he ceased to com- 
 municate with the living world. He had his food 
 put in at the window, and when his children lay 
 sick, he would suffer no one to come to their reiitl 
 
3S6 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 The house was at length forced open, by some of 
 his neighbors who were governed more by feelings 
 of humanity than respect for absurd religious 
 notions. They found two children dead and the 
 father confined to his bed. He had mangled his 
 Bible, cutting out the titles, contents, and every- 
 thing except the very text itself ; for he seemed 
 to think that everything human was sinful, and 
 that the titles of the books and the contents of the 
 chapters should be destroyed because the}- were 
 the work of men. He wanted nothing but the 
 pure word of God ; and yet it did not teach him 
 humanity to his own children. 
 
 Many other absurd, wicked, and foolish things 
 were done. In 1640 a pamphlet was printed 
 bearing this remarkable title : ' ' Xews from 
 Powles ; or, the Xew Reformation of the Army, 
 with a True Relation of a Colt that was Foaled 
 in the Cathedral Church of St. Paul in London, 
 and how it was Publiquely Baptized, and the 
 Name (because a Bald Colt 1 was called Baal-Rex. ' ' 
 These were the men who baptized horses and pigs 
 in the name of the Trinity, and sang psalms when 
 they marched or went into battle ! 
 
 Society itself seemed dissolved ; for every tie 
 of private affection and public duty was unloos- 
 ened. Even nature was strangely violated. After 
 the first departure from decorous ceremonies in 
 religious services, it was easy to reach the next 
 stage of ridicule and absurdity. They began by 
 calling the surplice a linen rag on the back : bap- 
 tism a Christ-cross on a baby's face; while the 
 organ was likened to the bellow, the grunt, and 
 the barking of the respective animals. Horses 
 were actually baptized at the fonts in churches ; 
 and the jest of that day was that the reformation 
 was now a thorough one in England, since the 
 horses went to church. St. Paul's Cathedral was 
 turned itito a market, and the aisles, the altar, 
 and the communion table served for the most in- 
 appropriate purposes. The most horrible blas- 
 phemies were perpetrated. A glazier was de- 
 clared to be a prophet, and it was claimed that 
 his wife was soon to become the mother of the 
 Messiah. A man married his father's wife. A 
 woman crucified her own mother ; another, in 
 imitation of Abraham, sacrificed her own child. 
 In some of these particulars history has repeated 
 itself. Only a few years ago a man and woman 
 in one of oflr Eastern States were arrested for 
 
 having murdered a dearly loved child after the 
 manner of Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac; and at 
 this moment there is a lunatic in Illinois (or more 
 likely a licentious reprobate ) claiming to be Jesus 
 Christ — and, strange as it may seem, he has found 
 people silly enough to believe his claim. But in 
 matters of religion it seems that there is nothing 
 too silly or too absurd to find believers among the 
 ignorant and credulous. In those mad times of 
 religious insanity, one madman of the many 
 drank a health "to the devil," on his knees, in 
 the midst of a town, so that it should not be said 
 that his family had become extinct without doing 
 some infamous act. 
 
 A perfect scene of the effects of this condition 
 of society upon the lower orders, is found in the 
 manuscript life of John Shaw, vicar of Rotheram, 
 in an account of what happened to himself. This 
 honest divine was puritanically inclined, but there 
 can be no exaggeration in these unvarnished facts. 
 He tells a remarkable story of the state of religi- 
 ous knowledge in Lancashire, at a place called 
 Cartmel : some of the people appeared desirous 
 of religious instruction, declaring that they were 
 without any minister, and had entirely neglected 
 even - religious rite, and therefore pressed him to 
 quit his situation at Lymm for a short period. He 
 may now tell his own story : 
 
 "I found a very large spacious church, scarce 
 any seats in it ; a people very ignorant, and yet 
 willing to learn ; so I had frequently some thou- 
 sands of hearers. I catechised in season and out 
 of season. The churches were so thronged at 
 nine in the morning, that I had much ado to get 
 to the pulpit. One day an old man about sixty, 
 sensible enough in other things, and living in the 
 parish of Cartmel, coming to me on some busi- 
 ness, I told him that he belonged to my care and 
 charge, and I desired to be informed in his knowl- 
 edge of religion. I asked him how many Gods 
 there were ? He said he knew not. I informed 
 him, asked again how he thought to be saved ? 
 He answered he could not tell. Yet thought that 
 was a harder question than the other. I told him 
 that the way to salvation was by Jesus Christ, 
 God-man, who as he was man shed his blood for 
 us on the cross, &c. Oh, sir, said he, I think I 
 heard of that man you speak of once in a play at 
 Kendall, called Corpus-Christ's play, where there 
 was a man on a tree and blood run down, &c. 
 

 
 
 (388) 
 
 DESECRATION OF CHURCHES AND SACRED PLACES. 
 
 fr-Arid afterwards he 
 Kprofessed he could 
 Ml not remem ber that 
 Jjihe eve, heard of 
 H salvation by Jesus, 
 ijbiit in that play." 
 U The parliament 
 Bat length issued 
 §1 one of their orch- 
 il nances for " pun- 
 11 ishing blasphe- 
 §§|mous and execra- 
 ble opinions" and 
 this was enforced 
 j with greater power 
 than the slight 
 proclamations of 
 James and Charles; 
 but the curious 
 wording is a com- 
 Hf ment on our pres- 
 2nt subject. The 
 preamble notices 
 ; ,3H that ' ' men and wo- 
 ||$ men had latelj- dis- 
 covered monstrous 
 ™ opinions, even such 
 as tended to the dis- 
 solution of human 
 society, and have 
 I abused, a?id turned 
 into licentiousness, 
 the liberty given in 
 matters of reli- 
 gion.' ' It punishes 
 anj' person, not dis- 
 tempered in his 
 brains, who shall 
 maintain anj' mere 
 creature f o be God ; 
 ] or that all acts of 
 unrighteousness 
 I are not forbidden 
 in the Scriptures ; 
 [ or that God ap- 
 I proves of them ; or 
 j that there is no 
 ! real difference be- 
 i tween moral good 
 and evil, &c. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 389 
 
 TOUCHING 
 
 INCIDENTS OF THE 
 LONDON. 
 
 PLAGUE IN 
 
 THE following incidents of the plague in Eon- 
 don are recorded in the writings of Daniel 
 Defoe, the author of " Robinson Crusoe." 
 
 Much about the same time I walked out into 
 the fields towards Bow, for I had a great mind to 
 .see how things were managed in the river, and 
 
 sea-wall, as they call it, by himself. I walked a 
 while also about, seeing the houses all shut up ; 
 at last I fell into some talk, at a distance, with 
 this poor man. First I asked how people did 
 thereabouts ? Alas ! sir, says he, almost desolate ; 
 all dead or sick : Here are very few families in 
 this part, or in that village, pointing at Poplar, 
 where half of them are not dead already, and the 
 
 Til LC DEAD MOTHER. 
 
 among the ships ; and as I had some concern in 
 shipping, I had a notion that it had been one of 
 the best ways of securing one's self from the in- 
 fection, to have retired into a ship; and musing 
 how to satisfy my curiosity in that point, I turned 
 away over the fields, from Bow to Bromley, and 
 down to Black wall, to the stajrs that are there for 
 landing or taking water. 
 
 Here I saw a poor man walking on the bank or 
 
 rest sick. Then he, pointing to one house, There 
 they are all dead, said he, and the house stands 
 open ; nobody dares go into it. A poor thief, 
 says he, ventured in to steal something, but he 
 paid dear for his theft, for he was carried to the 
 churchyard too, last night. Then he pointed to 
 several other houses. There, says he, they are 
 all dead, the man and his wife and five children. 
 There, says he, they are shut up ; you see a 
 
390 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 watchman at the door ; and so of other houses. 
 Why, says I, what do you here all alone ? Why, 
 says he, I am a poor desolate man ; it hath pleased 
 God I am not yet visited, though my family is, 
 and one of my children dead. How do you mean 
 then, said I, that you are not visited? Why, says 
 he, that is my house, pointing to a very little low 
 boarded house, and there niy poor wife and two 
 children live, said he, if they may be said to live ; 
 for my wife and one of the children are visited, 
 
 honest man, that is a great mercy, as things go 
 now with the poor. But how do you live then, 
 and how are you kept from the dreadful calamity 
 that is now upon us all ? Why, sir, says he, I am 
 a waterman, and there is my boat, says he, and 
 the boat serves me for a house ; I work in it in 
 the day, and I sleep in it in the night, and what 
 I get I lay it down upon that stone, says he, show- 
 ing me a broad stone on the other side of the 
 street, a good way from his house ; and then, says 
 
 SKIPS ANCHORED IX THE THAMES DURING THE LONDON* PLAGUE. 
 
 but I d i not come at them. And with that word 
 I saw 1he tears run very plentifully down his face ; 
 and so they did down mine too, I assure you. 
 
 But, said I. why do you not come at them ? 
 How can you abandon your own flesh and blood? 
 Oh, sir, says he, the Lord forbid : I do not aban- 
 don them ; I work for them as much as I am able ; 
 and, blessed be the Lord, I keep them from want. 
 And with that I observed he lifted up his eyes to 
 heaven with a countenance that presently told me 
 I had happened on a man that was no hypocrite, 
 but a serious, religious, good man ; and his ejacu- 
 lation was an expression of thankfulness, that, in 
 such a condition as he was in, he should be able 
 to say his family did not want. Well, savs J 
 
 he, I halloo and call to them till I make them 
 hear, and they come and fetch it. 
 
 Well, friend, says I, but how can you get 
 money as a waterman ? Does anybody go by 
 water these times ? Yes, sir, says he, in the way 
 I am employed there does. Do you see there, 
 says he, five ships lie at anchor? pointing down 
 the river a good way below the town ; and do 
 you see, says he, eight or ten ships lie at the chain 
 -.here, and at anchor yonder ? pointing above the 
 town. All those ships have families on board, of 
 their merchants and owners, and such like, who 
 have locked themselves up, and live on board, 
 close shut in, for fear of the infection ; and I tend 
 o.i them to fetch things for them, carry letters, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 391 
 
 and do what is absolutely necessary, that they 
 may not be obliged to come on shore ; and every 
 night I fasten my boat on board one of the ship's 
 boats and there I sleep by myself ; and blessed be 
 God, I am preserved hitherto. 
 
 Well, said I, friend, but will they let you come 
 on board after you have been on shore here, when 
 this has been such a terrible place, and so infected 
 as it is. 
 
 Why, as to that, said he, I very seldom go up 
 the ship-side, but deliver what I bring to their 
 boat, or lie by the side, and they hoist it on 
 board ; if I did I think they are in no danger 
 from me, for I never go into any house on shore, 
 or touch anybody, no, not of my own family ; 
 but I fetch provision.3 for them. 
 
 Nay, sa3's I, but that may be worse, for you 
 must have those provisions of somebody or 
 other ; and since all this part of the town is so 
 infected, it is dangerous so much as to speak 
 with anybody ; for the village said I, is, as it 
 were, the beginning of London, though it be at 
 some distance from it. 
 
 That is true, added he, but you do not under- 
 stand me right. I do not buy provisions for them 
 here ; I row up to Greenwich, and buy fresh 
 meat there, and sometimes I row down the river 
 to Woolwich, and buy there ; then I go to single 
 farm-houses on the KeVitish side, where I am 
 known, and buy fowls, and eggs, and butter, and 
 bring to the ships, as they direct me, sometimes 
 one, sometimes the other. I seldom come on 
 shore here ; and I came only now to call my 
 wife, and hear how my little family do, and give 
 them a little money which I received last night. 
 
 Poor man ! said I, and how much hast thou 
 gotten for them ? 
 
 I have gotten four shillings, said he, which 
 is a good sum, as things go now with poor men ; 
 but they have given me a bag of bread too, and 
 a salt fish, and some flesh ; so all helps out. 
 
 Well, said I, and have you given it them 
 yet? 
 
 No, said he, but I have called, and my wife 
 has answered that she cannot come out yet ; but 
 in half an hour she hopes to come, and I am 
 waiting for her. Poor woman ! says he, she is 
 brought sadly down ; she has had a swelling, 
 and it is broke, and I hope she will recover, but 
 I fear the child will die ; but it is the Lord ! 
 Here he stopt, and wept very much. 
 
 Well, honest friend, said I, thou hast a sure 
 comforter, if thou hast brought thyself to be re- 
 signed to the will of God ; he is dealing with 
 us all in judgment. 
 
 Oh, sir, says he, it is infinite mercy if any of us 
 are spared ; and who am I to repine ! 
 
 Say'st thou so, said I ; and how much less is 
 my faith than thine ! And here my heart smote 
 me, suggesting how much better this poor man's 
 foundation was, on which he staid in the danger, 
 than mine; that he had nowhere to fly; that he had 
 a family to bind him to attendance, which I had 
 not ; and mine was mere presumption, his a true 
 dependence and a courage resting on God ; and 
 yet, that he used all possible caution for his 
 safety. 
 
 I turned a little way from the man while these 
 thoughts engaged me ; for, indeed, I could no 
 more refrain from tears than he. 
 
 At length, after some farther talk, the poor 
 woman opened the door, and called Robert, 
 Robert ; he answered, and bid her stay a few mo- 
 ments and he would come ; so he ran down the 
 common stairs to his boat, and fetched up a sack 
 in which was the provisions he had brought from 
 the ships ; and when he returned, he halloed 
 again ; then he went to the great stone which he 
 showed me, and emptied the sack, and laid all 
 out, everything by themselves, and then retired ; 
 and his wife came with a little boy to fetch them 
 away ; and he called, and said, such a captain 
 had sent such a thing, and such a captain, such a 
 thing : and at the end adds, God has sent it all, 
 give thanks to him. When the poor woman had 
 taken up all, she was so weak, she could not 
 carry it at' once in, though the weight was not 
 much neither, so she left the biscuit, which was 
 in a little bag, and left a little boy to watch it till 
 she came again. 
 
 Well, but, says I to him, did you leave her 
 the four shillings, too, which you said was your 
 week's pay? 
 
 Yes, yes, says he, you shall hear her own it. 
 So he calls again, Rachel, which, it seems, wa; 
 her name, did you take up the money? Yes, 
 said she. How much was it? said he. Four 
 shillings and a groat, said she. Well, well, says 
 he, the Lord keep yen all ; and so he turned to 
 go away. 
 
 As I could not retrain contributing tears to this 
 man's story, so neither could I refrain my charity 
 
39: 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 for his assistance; so I called him. Hark, thee, 
 friend, said I, come hither, for I believe thou art 
 in health, that I may venture thee ; so I pulled 
 out my hand, which was in my pocket before. 
 Here, says I, go and call thy Rachel once more, 
 and give her a little more comfort from me ; God 
 will never forsake a family that trust in him as 
 thou dost : so I gave him four other shillings, 
 and bid him go lay them on the stone, and call 
 his wife. 
 
 I have not words to express the poor man's 
 thankfulness, neither could he express it himself, 
 but by teats running down his face. He called 
 his wife, and told her that God had moved the 
 heart of a stranger, upon hearing their condition, 
 to give them all that money ; and a great deal 
 more such as that he said to her. The woman, 
 too, made signs of the like thankfulness, as well 
 to Heaven as to me, and joyfully picked it up; 
 and I parted with no money all that year that I 
 thought better bestowed. 
 
 VULGAR HOSPITALITY. 
 
 THOSE inferior duties of life which the French 
 call ks petites morales, or the smaller morals, 
 are with us distinguished by the "name of good 
 manners or breeding. This I look upon, in the 
 general notion of it, to be a sort of artificial good 
 sense, adapted to the meanest capacities, and in- 
 troduced to make mankind easy in their com- 
 merce with each other. L,ow and little under- 
 standings, without some rules of this kind, would 
 be perpetually wandering into a thousand in- 
 decencies and irregularities in behaviour ; and in 
 their ordinary conversation, fall into the same 
 boisterous familiarities that one observeth amongst 
 them when a debauch hath quite taken away the 
 use of their reason. In other instances, it is odd 
 to consider, that for want of common discretion, 
 the very end of good breeding is wholly perverted ; 
 and civility, intended to make us easy, is em- 
 ployed in laying chains and fetters upon us, in 
 debarring us of our wishes, and in crossing our 
 most reasonable desires and inclinations. This 
 abuse reigneth chiefly in the country, as I found 
 to my vexation, when I was last there, in a visit 
 I made to a neighbour about two miles from my 
 cousin. As soon as I entered the parlour, they 
 put me into the great chair that stood close by a 
 huge fire, and kept me there by force until I was 
 almost stifled. Then a boy came in great hurry 
 
 to pull off my boots, which I in vain opposed, 
 urging that I must return soon after dinner. In 
 the meantime, the good lady whispered her 
 eldest daughter, and slipped a key into her hand. 
 The girl returned instantly with a beer-glass half 
 full of aqua mirabilis and syrup of gilly-flowers. 
 I took as much as I had a mind for ; but madam 
 vowed I should drink it off (for she was sure it 
 would do me good, after coming out of the cold 
 air), and I was forced to obey ; which absolutely 
 took away my stomach. When dinner came in, I 
 had a mind to sit at a distance from the fire ; but 
 thej' told me it was as much as my life was worth, 
 and set me with my back just against it. Al- 
 though my appetite were quite gone, I resolved 
 to force down as much as I could ; and desired 
 the leg of a pullet. Indeed, Mr. Bickerstaff, 
 says the lady, you must eat a wing, to oblige me ; 
 and so put a couple upon my plate. I was perse- 
 cuted at this rate during the whole meal. As 
 often as I called for small beer, the master tipped 
 the wink, and the servant brought me a brimmer 
 of October. Some time after dinner, I ordered 
 my cousin's man, who came with me, to get ready 
 the horses, but it was resolved I should not stir 
 that night ; and when I seemed pretty much 
 bent upon going, the}' ordered the stable door to 
 be locked ; and the children hid my cloak and 
 boots. The next question was, what I would 
 have for supper? I said I never eat anything at 
 night ; but was at last, in my own defence, 
 obliged to name the first thing that came into my 
 head. After three hours spent chiefly in apolo- 
 gies for my entertainment, insinuating to me, 
 ' ' That this was the worst time of the year for 
 provisions ; that they were at a great distance 
 from any market ; that they were afraid I should 
 be starved ; and that they knew they kept me to 
 my loss," the lady went and left me to her hus- 
 band (for they took special care I should never be 
 alone). As soon as her back was turned, the lit- 
 tle misses ran backwards and forwards ever}' mo- 
 ment ; and constantly, as they came in or went 
 out, made a curtsy directly at me, which in good 
 manners I was forced to return with a bow, and, 
 " Your humble sen-ant, pretty Miss." Exactly at 
 eight the mother came up, and discovered by the 
 redness of her face that supper was not far off. 
 It was twice as large as the dinner, and my per- 
 secution doubled in proportion. I desired at my 
 usual hour to go to my repose, and was conducted 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 593 
 
 to my chamber by the gentleman, his lady, and 
 the whole train of children. They importuned 
 me to drink something before I went to bed ; and 
 upon my refusing, at last left a bottle of stingo, 
 as they called it, for fear I should wake and be 
 thirsty in the night. I was forced in the morn- 
 ing to rise and dress myself in the dark, because 
 they would not suffer my kinsman's servant to 
 disturb me at the hour I desired to be called. I 
 was now resolved to break through all measures 
 to get away ; and after sitting down to a mon- 
 
 the absurdities I met with in this visit proceeded 
 from an ill intention, but from a wrong judgment 
 of complaisance, and a misapplication in the 
 rules of it. — Jonathan Swift. 
 
 SINGULAR EXPERIENCE OF AN AMERICAN 
 
 PRISONER OF WAR DURING THE 
 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 FLATBUSH was the place assigned for the offi- 
 cers of our regiment, as well as those of Ma- 
 gaw's. Here also, were stationed Colonels Miles, 
 
 VULGAR HOSPITALITY. 
 
 strous breakfast of cold beef, mutton, neats'- 
 tongu.es, venison -pasty, and stale beer, took leave 
 of the family. But the gentleman would needs 
 see me part of my way, and carry me a short cut 
 through his own grounds, which he told me 
 would save half a mile's riding. This last piece 
 of civility had liked to have cost me dear, being 
 once or twice in danger of my neck, by leaping 
 over his ditches, and at last forced to alight in the 
 dirt ; when my horse, having slipped his bridle, 
 ran away, and took us, up more than an hour to 
 recover him again. It is evident, that none of 
 
 Atlee Rawlings, and Major Williams ; the indul- 
 gence of arranging ourselves agreeably to our re- 
 spective circles of acquaintance having been granted 
 by Mr. Loring, of whom, for my own part, I 
 have nothing hard to say. Mr. Forrest and myself 
 were billeted on a Mr. Jacob Suydam. His house 
 was pretty large, consisting of buildings which 
 appeared to have been erected at different times, 
 the front and better part of which was in the oc- 
 cupation of Mr. Theophylact Bache and his family, 
 from New York. Though we were in general 
 civilly enough received, it cannot be supposed 
 
394 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 that we were very welcome to our Low Dutch would in both 'cases induce a stoppage of pay- 
 hosts, whose habits of living were extremely par- ment. They were, however, a people who seemed 
 sirnonious, and whose winter provision was barely thoroughly disposed to submit to any power which 
 sufficient for themselves. Had they been sure of might be set over them ; and whatever might 
 receiving the two dollars a- week, it might have have been their propensities or demonstrations at 
 
 II 
 
 Hill 
 
 ill 
 
 wife 
 
 liliilllK 
 
 IltiliH^l 
 
 m^m 
 
 %=tt V« n i i"i ji j i fa ifaV^- 
 
 fm 
 
 
 •li 
 ill 
 
 EARLY DUTCH INHABITANTS OF NKW YOKK. 
 
 reconciled them to the measure ; but payment ap- an earlier stage of the contest, they were now the 
 
 peared to them to depend on the success of our dutiful and loyal subjects of His Majesty George 
 
 cause (Congress, or ourselves, being looked upon the Third ; and entirel}- obedient to the behests 
 
 as the paymasters), and its failure, in their eyes, of their military masters in New York. As it 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 395 
 
 was at the instance of these that we were saddled 
 upon them, they received us with the best grace 
 they could put on. Their houses and beds were 
 found clean, but their living extremely poor, and 
 well calculated to teach the luxurious, how infin- 
 itely less than their pampered appetites require, 
 is essential to the sustenation of life. 
 
 A sorry wash, made up of a sprinkling of bohea, 
 and the darkest sugar on the verge, of fluidity, 
 with half-baked bread, fuel being among the 
 scarcest articles at Flatbush, and a little stale 
 butter, constituted our breakfast. At our first 
 coming, a small piece of pickled beef was occa- 
 sionally boiled for dinner, but, to the beef 
 which was soon consumed, succeeded clippers 
 or clams, and our unvaried supper was supon or 
 mush, sometimes with skimmed milk, but 
 more generally with buttermilk, blended with 
 molasses, which was kept for weeks in a churn, as 
 swill is saved for hogs. I found it, however, after 
 a little use, very eatable ; and supper soon became 
 m}- best meal. The table company consisted of 
 the master of the house, Mr. Jacob Suydam, an 
 old bachelor, a young man, a shoemaker of the 
 name of Rem Hagerman, married to Jacob's 
 niece, who, with a mewling infant in her arms, 
 never failed to appear. A black boy, too, was 
 generally in the room, not as a waiter, but as a 
 kind of enfant de maison, who walked about or 
 took post in the chimney corner with his hat on, 
 and occasionally joined in the conversation. It is 
 probable, that but for us, he would have been 
 placed at the table ; and that it ha/i been the cus- 
 tom before we came. Certain it- is, that the idea 
 of equality was more fully and fairly acted upon 
 in this house of a British subject, than ever I have 
 seen it practised by the most vehement declaimers 
 for the rights of man among ourselves. It is but 
 fair, however, to mention, that I have never been 
 among our transcendent republicans of Virginia, 
 and her dependencies. But notwithstanding some 
 unpleasant circumstances in our establishment, 
 every member of the family, the black fellow, to 
 whom we had been the cause of some privations, 
 excepted, was exceedingly courteous and accom- 
 modating. Rem Hagerman, and Yonichy, his 
 wife, gave themselves no airs ; nor was our har- 
 mony with Uncle Jacob ever interrupted, but on 
 a single occasion, when, soured a little by 1 know 
 not what provocation, he made a show of knock- 
 ing down Forrest with a pair of yarn stockings 
 
 he had just drawn from his legs, as he sat in the 
 chimney-corner one evening preparing for bed. 
 It was, indeed, but an offer, though it might, for 
 aught I know, have amounted to an assault in 
 law, as Jacob was not so far from the person 
 menaced, but that the feet of the stockings, if held 
 by the other extremity, and projected from an 
 extended arm, might possibly have reached him ; 
 and a pair of long-worn yarn stockings, might, 
 from daily alluvian, have acquired somewhat 
 of the properties of a cudgel. But moments 
 of peevishness were allowable to our host ; since, 
 though we had for some time been consuming 
 his provisions, he had never seen a penny of our 
 money, and it was somewhat doubtful, to say the 
 truth, whether he ever would ; for, considering 
 the contractors for our boarding liable for it, we 
 never thought of paying it ourselves. As the 
 Low Dutch are a people little known in Penn- 
 svlvama, and more especially, as it is my avowed 
 intention to advert to the character of the time, 
 this sketch of their domestic economy and man- 
 ners may not be thought impertinent. In a word, 
 from what I saw of them on Long Island, I was 
 led to consider them as people, quiet and inoffen- 
 sive beyond any I had seen ; such, from whom no 
 enthusiastic efforts, either of good or evil ten- 
 dency, were to be looked for ; who were neither 
 prolific of Catos nor Catilines ; and who, had 
 they been the sole occupants of this great con- 
 tinent of ours, would still have been colonists, 
 and never known what it was to be independent 
 republicans. Their religions, like their other 
 habits, were unostentatious and plain ; and a 
 silent grace before meat, prevailed at the table of 
 Jacob Suydam. When we were all seated, he 
 suddenly clasped his hands together, threw his 
 head on one side, closed his eyes, and remained 
 mute and motionless for a minute. His niece and 
 nephew followed his example ; but with such an 
 eager solicitude that the copied attitude should be 
 prompt and simultaneous, as to give an air of 
 absurdity to what might otherwise have been very 
 decent. Although little of the vernacular accent 
 remained on the tongue of these pepple, they had 
 some peculiarities in other phraseology. Among 
 these, instead of asking you to sit, or sit down to 
 table, they invited you to sit by : and this I even 
 observed in General Schuyler, when I was at Lake 
 George. It might be asked by a stickling New- 
 Yorker, if "sit by" is not as proper, and even 
 
(396) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 >;97 
 
 more so, than "sit down," which, in strictness, is 
 a redundancy. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON AND AN AFRICAN 
 POETESS. 
 
 IN 176 1 there was landed from a slave ship, in 
 Boston, a delicate, intelligent-looking African 
 girl, apparently about seven years of age. 
 Shortly afterward she was sold in the slave mar- 
 ket at that city, and was purchased by the wife of 
 Mr. John Wheatley, who was attracted to her by 
 her slender form and delicate appearance. She 
 became a great favorite in the family, and grew 
 up as a pet of the household. 
 
 One of Mrs. Wheatley' s daughters taught her 
 to read and write, and it is said that in sixteen 
 months from the time of her arrival she had ac- 
 quired the English language, to which she was 
 previously an utter stranger, to such an extent 
 that she could read the most difficult portions of 
 the Bible with a fluency that astonished all who 
 heard her. She commenced writing verses at the 
 age of fourteen, and at nineteen visited England, 
 where she attracted much attention, and was re- 
 ceived by many distinguished people. A volume 
 of her poems was published in Eondon in 1773, 
 with a dedication to the Right Honorable the 
 Countess of Huntingdon, bearing the following 
 title: "Poems on Various Subjects, Religious 
 and Moral. By Phillis Wheatley, Negro Servant 
 to Mr. John Wheatley, of Boston, in New Eng- 
 land. ' ' Several other editions of her poems and 
 letters were subsequently published at different 
 dates in Boston. 
 
 In 1775 she wrote a poem on Gen. Washington, 
 and sent him a copy, accompanied by the follow- 
 ing letter : 
 
 Sir : — I have taken the freedom to address your 
 Excellency in the enclosed Poem, and entreat 
 your acceptance, though I am not insensible of 
 its inaccuracies. Your being appointed by the 
 Grand Continental Congress to be Generalissimo 
 of the armies of North America, together with 
 the fame of your virtues, excite sensations not 
 easy to suppress. Your generosity, therefore, 
 I presume, will pardon the attempt. Wishing 
 your Excellency all possible success in the great 
 cause you are so generously engaged in, I am 
 Your Excellency's most obedient 
 
 f>_!inbie servant, 
 
 Phillis Wheatley. 
 ^findence, Oct. 26, 1775. 
 
 THE POEM. 
 /"TELESTIAL choir ! enthron'd in realms of light, 
 l/j Columbia's scenes of glorious toils I write, 
 
 *^ While freedom's cause her anxious breast alarms, 
 She flashes dreadful in refulgent arms. 
 See mother earth her offspring's fate bemoan, 
 And nations gaze at scenes before unknown ! 
 See the bright beams of heaven's revolving light 
 Involved in sorrows and the veil of night ! 
 
 The goddess comes, she moves divinely fair 
 Olive and laurel binds her golden hair : 
 Wherever shines this native of the skies, 
 Unnumber'd charms and recent graces rise. 
 
 Muse ! bow propitious while my pen relates 
 How pour her armies through a thousand gates, 
 As when Eolus heaven's fair face deforms, 
 Enwrapp'd in tempest and a night of storms ; 
 Astonish'd ocean feels the wild uproar, 
 The refluent surges beat the sounding shore ; 
 Or thick as leaves in Autumn's golden reign, 
 Such, and so many, moves the warrior's train. 
 In bright array they seek the work of war, 
 Where high unfurl'd the ensign waves in air. 
 Shall I to Washington their praise recite ? 
 Enough thou know'st them in the fields of fight. 
 Thee, first in place and honours, — we demand 
 The grace and glory of thy martial band. 
 Fam'd for thy valour, for thy virtues more, 
 Hear every tongue thy guardian aid implore ! 
 
 One century scarce perform'd its destined round 
 When Gallic powers Columbia's fury found : 
 And so may you, whoever dares disgrace 
 The land of freedom's heaven-defended race ! 
 Fix'd are the eyes of nations on the scales, 
 For in their hopes Columbia's arm prevails. 
 Anon Britannia droops the pensive head, 
 While round increase the rising hills of dead. 
 Ah ! cruel blindness to Columbia's state ! 
 Lament thy thirst of boundless power too late. 
 
 Proceed, great chief, with virtue on thy side. 
 Thy ev'ry action let the goddess guide. 
 A crown, a mansion, and a throne that shine, 
 With gold unfading, Washington ! be thine. 
 
 Washington replied in the following letter : 
 Cambridge, February 2d, 1776. 
 
 Miss Phillis : 
 
 Your favor of the 26th October did not reach 
 my hands till the middle of December. Time 
 enough, you will say, to have given an answer ere 
 this. Granted. But a variety of important oc- 
 currences continually interposing to distract the 
 mind and withdraw the attention, I hope will 
 apologize for the delay, and plead my excuse for 
 the seeming and not real neglect. I thank you 
 most sincerely lor your polite notice of me, in the 
 elegant lines you enclosed ; and however undeserv- 
 ing I may be of such encomium and panegyric. . 
 
SdS 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of 
 your poetical talents ; in honour of which, and as 
 a tribute justly due to you, I would .have pub- 
 lished the poem had I not been apprehensive that, 
 while I only meant to give the world this new in- 
 stance of your genius, I might have incurred the 
 imputation of vanity. This, and nothing else, 
 determined me not to give it place in the public 
 prints. If you should ever come to Cambridge, 
 or near headquarters, I shall be happy to see a 
 person so favoured by the muses, and to whom 
 Nature has been so liberal and beneficent in her 
 dispensations. I am, with great respect, your 
 obedient humble servant, 
 
 George Washington. 
 
 On her return from England, after the publica- 
 tion of her poems, the Wheatley family was 
 broken up by death, and Phillis married a colored 
 man, who seems to have been a show}' fellow, 
 passing, according to one account, as a lawyer, 
 another as a grocer, and a third a barber. He 
 fell into poverty during the Revolution, and his 
 wife suffered with him till she died in Boston, Dec. 
 5, 17S4. It was one thing dreaming with Ovid, 
 and another living with ' ' Doctor Peters. ' ' 
 
 The only recollection which she retained of her 
 life in Africa was a poetical reminiscence of her 
 mother pouring out water before the sun at his 
 rising — a trait of natural devotion in a heathen 
 land. When she w r as sixteen, in 1770, Phillis 
 became a member of Dr. Sewall's congregation in 
 the Old South Meeting House. 
 
 PUTNAM'S ADVENTURE WITH THE WOLF. 
 
 IN our school days the history that we studied 
 gave a short sketch of the life of the famous 
 old hero, Israel Putnam ; but it dismissed his ad- 
 venture with the wolf by the simple statement 
 that the story was familiar to even- school-boy, 
 and it was therefore unnecessary to repeat it. 
 This was a sad disappointment, for, boy-like, we 
 felt that the adventure with the wolf must neces- 
 sarily be the most interesting event in the old 
 hero's life. It was years afterward, when we had 
 grown to manhood, before we found a book con- 
 taining the wolf story, and then we read it with 
 true boyish eagerness. We now give it as it was 
 originally written by David Humphreys, the poet, 
 and biographer of Gen. Putnam, and hope it will 
 be as interesting to other boys as it was to the 
 compiler of this volume : 
 
 In the year 1739, he removed from Salem to 
 Pomfret, an inland fertile town in Connecticut, 
 fort}- miles east of Hartford. Having here pur- 
 chased a considerable tract of land, he applied 
 himself successfully to agriculture. 
 
 The first years on a new farm are not, however, 
 exempt from disasters and disappointments, which 
 can only be remedied by stubborn and patient in- 
 dustry. Our farmer, sufficiently occupied in build- 
 ing an house and barn, felling woods, making 
 fences, sowing grain, planting orchards, and tak- 
 ing care of his stock, had to encounter, in turn, 
 the calamities occasioned by drought in summer, 
 blast in harvest, loss of cattle in winter, and the 
 desolation of his sheep-fold by wolves. In one 
 night he had seventy fine sheep and goats killed, 
 besides many lambs and kids wounded. This 
 havock was committed by a she-wolf, which, with 
 her annual whelps, had for several years infested 
 the vicinity. The young were commonly de- 
 stroyed by the vigilance of the hunters, but the 
 old one was too sagacious to come within reach of 
 gun-shot : upon being closely pursued, she would 
 generally fly to the western woods, and return the 
 next winter with another litter of whelps. 
 
 This wolf at length became such an intolerable 
 nuisance that Mr. Putnam entered into a combina- 
 tion with five of his neighbors to hunt alternately 
 until they could destroy her. Two, by rotation, 
 were to be constantly in pursuit. It was known 
 that, having lost the toes from one foot by a steel- 
 trap, she made one track shorter than the other. 
 By this vestige the pursuers recognized, in a light 
 snow, the route of this pernicious animal. Having 
 followed her to Connecticut river, and found she 
 had turned back in a direct course towards Pom- 
 fret, they immediately returned, and by ten o'clock 
 the next morning the blood-hounds had driven 
 her into a den, about three miles distant from the 
 house of Mr. Putnam. The people soon collected 
 with dogs, guns, straw, fire, and sulphur, to at- 
 tack the common enemy. With this apparatus, 
 several unsuccessful efforts were made to force her 
 from the den. The hounds came back badly 
 wounded, and refused to return. The smoke of 
 blazing straw had no effect. Nor did the fumes 
 of burnt brimstone, with which the cavern was 
 filled, compel her to quit the retirement. Wearied 
 with such fruitless attempts (which had brought 
 the time to ten o'clock at night), Mr. Putnam 
 tried once more to make his dog enter, but in 
 
BEAUTIFUL IX THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 399 
 
 vain. He proposed to his negro man to go down 
 into the cavern and shoot the wolf : the negro de- 
 clined the hazardous service. Then it was that 
 the master, angry at the disappointment, and de- 
 claring that he was ashamed to have a coward in 
 his family, resolved himself to destroy the fero- 
 cious beast, lest she should escape through some 
 unknown fissure of the rock. His neighbors 
 strongly remonstrated against the perilous enter- 
 prise ; but he, knowing that wild animals were 
 intimidated by fire, and having provided several 
 strips of birch-bark, the only combustible material 
 which he could obtain that would afford light in 
 this deep and darksome cave, prepared for his 
 descent. Having, accordingly, divested himself 
 of his coat and waistcoat, 
 and having a long rope 
 fastened round his legs, by 
 which he might be pulled 
 back, at a concerted sig- 
 nal, he entered head-fore- 
 most, with the blazing 
 torch in his hand. 
 
 The aperture of the den, 
 on the east side of a very 
 high ledge of rocks, is 
 about two feet square ; 
 from thence it descends 
 obliquely fifteen feet, then 
 running horizontally about 
 ten more, it ascends grad- 
 ually sixteen feet towards 
 its termination. The sides 
 of this subterraneous cav- 
 ity are composed of smooth and solid rocks, 
 which seem to have been divided from each other 
 by some former earthquake. The top and bot- 
 tom are also of stone, and the entrance, in win- 
 ter, being covered with ice, is exceedingly slip- 
 pery. It is in no place high enough for a man 
 to raise himself upright, nor in any part more 
 than three feet in width. 
 
 Having groped his passage to the horizontal 
 part of the den, the most terrifying darkness ap- 
 peared in front of the dim circle of light afforded 
 by his torch. It was silent as the house of death. 
 None but monsters of the desert had ever before 
 explored this solitary mansion of horror. He, 
 cautiously proceeding onward, came to the ascent, 
 which he slowly mounted on his hands and knees, 
 until he discovered the glaring eye-balls of the 
 
 wolf, who was sitting at the extremity of the 
 cavern. Startled at the sight of fire, she gnashed 
 her teeth, and gave a sullen growl. As soon as 
 he had made the necessary discovery, he kicked 
 the rope as a signal for pulling him out. The 
 people at the mouth of the den, who had listened 
 with painful anxiety, hearing the growling of the 
 wolf, and supposing their friend to be in the most 
 imminent danger, drew him forth with such 
 celerity that his shirt was stripped over his head, 
 and his skin severely lacerated. After he had 
 adjusted his clothes and loaded his gun with nine 
 buck-shot, holding a torch in one hand and the 
 musket in the other, he descended the second 
 time. When he drew nearer than before, the 
 
 THE 
 
 OLD WOLF AND HER YOUNG ONES. 
 
 wolf, assuming a still more fierce and terrible ap- 
 pearance, howling, rolling her eyes, snapping her 
 teeth, and dropping her head between her legs, 
 was evidently in the attitude and on the point of 
 springing at him. At the critical instant he 
 levelled and fired at her head. Stunned with the 
 shock, and suffocated with the smoke, he imme- 
 diately found himself drawn out of the cave. But 
 having refreshed himself, and permitted the smoke 
 to dissipate, he went down the third time. Once 
 more he came within sight of the wolf, who ap- 
 pearing very passive, he applied the torch to her 
 nose, and perceiving her dead, he took hold of her 
 ears, and then kicking the rope (still tied round 
 his legs) the people above, with no small exulta- 
 tion, dragged them both out together. 
 
 I have offered these tacts in greater detail, be- 
 
400 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 cause they contain a display of character ; and 
 because they have been erroneously related in 
 several European publications, and very- much 
 mutilated in the history of Connecticut — a work 
 as replete with falsehood as destitute of genius — 
 lately printed in London. 
 
 PUTNAM'S RIDE. 
 
 GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM was the'ideal 
 hero of the Revolutionary war. No adven- 
 ture was too desperate for him to undertake. His 
 instant readiness on all occasions, the purity of 
 his motives, and the sincerity of his patriotism 
 won the admiration and hearty friendship of all 
 his associates, and left him a name that will 
 stand forever as one of the brightest on the pages 
 of American history. His nature was rugged and 
 honest. He hated a mean action, and deceit was 
 a thing that he could not endure. He was an 
 unpolished diamond of the first water. 
 
 His letter to Sir Henry Clinton, on a certain 
 historical occasion, indicates the character of the 
 ■ man. A Tory spy had been arrested within his 
 lines, and, after a fair trial by court-martial, was 
 condemned to suffer the usual penalty for such 
 offences. General Clinton claimed that the man 
 was a British officer, and demanded that he should 
 be treated as a prisoner of war. To this demand 
 ' ' Old Put ' ' made the following characteristic 
 reply, which, for brevity and decision, has not 
 been surpassed in military annals : 
 
 "Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy's 
 service, was taken as a spy lurking within our 
 lines ; he has been tried as a spy, condemned as 
 a spy, and shall be executed as a spy, and the 
 flag is ordered to depart immediately. 
 
 " Israel Putnam. 
 
 "P. S. — He has been accordingly executed." 
 
 The grim humor of the production is embraced 
 in the postscript. 
 
 His famous ride occurred in March, 1779 ; but 
 the bright colors in which it was first painted by 
 the earl}' historians have been somewhat dimmed 
 by time and the researches of later writers. 
 Enough remains, however, to make it a celebrated 
 and daring event, fully in keeping with the old 
 hero's reckless disregard of all personal danger. 
 The following is said to be a truthful account of 
 the adventure : 
 
 Gov. Tyron, who gained for himself an unenvi- 
 
 able reputation for infamy, and who was also the 
 last of the royal governors of New York, marched 
 into Connecticut at the head of fifteen hundred 
 British regulars and Hessians, for the purpose of 
 destroying some salt works belonging to the 
 Americans at Horse-neck, and committing such 
 other exasperating meanness as might come in 
 their way. Putnam was stationed there at the 
 time, having under his command 150 raw and 
 ragged Connecticut militia and two small pieces 
 of ancient cannon, capable of doing about as 
 much havoc at their breeches as at their muzzles. 
 But being totally devoid of the sense of fear, as 
 well as impervious to all ideas of the ludicrous, 
 he drew up his ' ' army ' ' in all the panoply and 
 dread aspect of fearful war, and coolly awaited the 
 result. It came a little sooner and with more 
 vigor than the old hero had counted upon. When 
 the British commander saw the force that was 
 opposed to him, he smiled grimly and ordered a 
 company of dragoons to charge General Putnam 
 and his army and "wipe the earth up with 
 them." The dragoons immediately proceeded to 
 carry out the order, and came down like a whirl- 
 wind with drawn sabres in their hands. "Old 
 Put " managed to unload his wheezy cannons, and 
 a few of the militiamen also discharged their 
 flint-lock fowling-pieces, before the earthquake 
 reached them ; then ordering his men to take 
 refuge in a swamp that lay near them, he put 
 spurs to his horse, and darting down a steep and 
 rocky hill-side made his escape. The dragoons, on 
 approaching the brow of the hill, did not have the 
 courage to follow, but contented themselves by 
 firing their carbines over Putnam's head. 
 
 The earlier accounts of this adventure declare 
 that the General rode down a steep flight of steps 
 which had been cut in the rocks in the side of a 
 hill, to accommodate the people who worshipped 
 in a country church near by ; but this statement 
 has been corrected by later writers. Mr. Lossing 
 says : ' ' That he fled down a steep hill near a 
 flight of steps that had been formed for the accom- 
 modation of the'neighboring inhabitants in taking 
 a direct way to a church on the eminence, there 
 can be no doubt ; but, that he went all the way 
 down the steps, is a pure fiction." 
 
 But the fact remains undisputed that he did 
 ride, at full speed, down a place so steep and 
 dangerous iat none of the British soldiers dared 
 to follow, although they were close upon him; 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 401 
 
 and the glory of the achievement is therefore 
 not in the least diminished. 
 
 MORAL EFFECTS OF THE BLACK PLAGUE 
 UPON EUROPEAN CIVILIZATION. 
 
 IN another portion of this volame we have 
 given a history of the Black Plague which 
 devastated Europe and Asia in the fourteenth 
 century, and destroyed a larger number of human 
 beings than any other single cause since the cre- 
 ation of the world ; together with an account of 
 the remarkable and terrific convulsions of the 
 earth which preceded and ushered in this destruc- 
 tive pestilence. We will now consider its moral ef- 
 fects, and the permanent influences which it ex- 
 erted upon European civilization. 
 
 The mental shock sustained by all nations dur- 
 ing the prevalence of the Black Death, as it was 
 called, is without parallel and indescribable. The 
 pious closed their accounts with the world, and 
 prepared themselves for what they confidently 
 believed would be a blissful future. Death was 
 inevitable, and religion disarmed it of its sting. 
 All minds were directed to the contemplation of 
 futurity ; and even children were frequently seen, 
 while suffering the agonies of the plague, to 
 breathe out their spirits with prayer and songs of 
 thanksgiving. Parents warned their children, 
 and instructed them how to pray ; neighbors mu- 
 tually admonished each other, while none could 
 reckon on a single hour's respite. 
 
 An awful sense of contrition seized Christians 
 of ever}- communion ; they resolved to forsake 
 their vices, to make restitution for past offences, 
 and to avert by self-chastisement, the punishment 
 which the)- imagined was due to their past wick- 
 edness. 
 
 The Flagellants. 
 
 While all the countries were filled with lamenta- 
 tions and woe, there first arose in Hungary, and 
 afterward in German}-, the brotherhood of the 
 Flagellants, called also the Brethren of the Cross, 
 or Crossbearers, who took upon themselves the 
 repentance of the people, for the sins they had com- 
 mitted, and offered prayers and supplications for 
 the averting of the plague. At first this order 
 consisted chiefly of the lower classes, who were 
 either actuated by sincere contrition, or who joy- 
 fully availed themselves of this pretext for idle- 
 ness, and were hurried along by the tide of dis- 
 tracting frenzy. But as they gained in repute, 
 26 
 
 and were welcomed by the people with veneration, 
 many nobles and ecclesiastics ranged themselves 
 under their standard ; and their bands were not 
 infrequently augmented by children, honorable 
 women, and nuns, so powerfully were minds of 
 the most opposite temperaments enslaved by the 
 strange infatuation. The}- marched through the 
 cities in well organized processions, with leaders 
 and singers ; their heads covered as far as their 
 eyes ; their gaze fixed upon the ground, and ac- 
 companied by every token of the deepest contri- 
 tion and mourning. They wore a sombre gar- 
 
 PARENTS INSTRUCTING THEIR CHILDREN TO PRAY. 
 
 ment, with red crosses on the breast, back, and 
 cap ; and bore triple scourges, tied in three or four 
 knots, in which points of iron were fixed to ren- 
 der them the more severe. Wherever they made 
 their appearance they were welcomed with the 
 ringing of bells, and the people flocked from all 
 quarters to listen to their hymns and witness their 
 penances, with devotions and tears. 
 
 At the city of Spires, in Germany, two hun- 
 dred boys, of twelve years of age and under, 
 organized themselves into a Brotherhood of 
 the Cross, in imitation of those children, who, 
 about one hundred years before, at the insti- 
 gation of some fanatic monks, had bound 
 themselves together for the purpose of re- 
 covering the Holy Sepulchre. All the inhabi- 
 
402 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 tants were carried away by the illusion ; they 
 ;onducted the children to their houses, with 
 songs of thanksgiving, to regale them for the 
 night. The women embroidered banners for 
 them ; and at every succeeding pilgrimage their 
 influence and reputation increased. 
 
 In 1260 the Flagellants appeared in Italy as 
 Devoti. ' ' With the land polluted by vices and 
 crimes," says a writer of that period, "an unexam- 
 pled spirit of remorse seized the minds of the peo- 
 ple. The fear of Christ fell upon all — noble and 
 ignoble, old and young, and even children of five 
 years of age, marched through the streets with no 
 covering but a scarf around the waist. Each car- 
 ried a scourge of leather thongs, with which they 
 lashed their naked limbs, amid sighs and tears, 
 until the blood flowed from their wounds. Xot 
 only during the day, but even by night, and in 
 the severest winter, they traversed the cities 
 with banners and burning torches, headed by 
 their priests, and prostrated themselves before 
 the altars. Enemies were reconciled ; men and 
 women vied with each other in splendid works of 
 charity, as if they would propitiate the Divine 
 wrath which threatened them with annihilation. 
 The impression which this singular fanaticism 
 made upon the minds of the people was astonish- 
 ing. In 1446 a citizen of Xordhausen, testified 
 that his wife, in the belief of performing a Chris- 
 tian act, insisted upon scourging her infant chil- 
 dren as soon as the}* were baptized. 
 
 Pilgrimages of the Flagellants extended through 
 all the countries of Europe. The mania seemed 
 to arise in many places at the same time, for the 
 terror of death, which prevailed over all nations, 
 apparently conjured up a universal fanaticism of 
 exaggerated repentance. It did uot cease for sev- 
 eral centuries ; in the 15th century the Flagellants 
 were so numerous in several parts of Germany 
 that it was deemed necessary to extirpate them 
 with fire and sword ; and as late as 17 10 their 
 processions were seen in Italy, and even at a later 
 date in Mexico and portions of Spain. 
 
 Each applicant ior membership in the Brother- 
 hood was required to obligate himself to remain 
 with it not less than thirty-four days, and to come 
 supplied with an average of four-pence per day, 
 so that he might not be a burden to any one ; if 
 married, he was obliged to have the sanction of 
 his wife, and give assurance that he was reconciled 
 to all men. They were not permitted to seek for 
 
 free lodgings, or even to enter a house, without 
 having been invited ; the)' were forbidden to con- 
 verse with women ; and if they transgressed any 
 of these rules, they were obliged to confess to the 
 Superior, who sentenced them to a certain num- 
 ber of lashes, according to the degree of the 
 offence. 
 
 Penances were performed twice a day, in the 
 morning and evening. They went in pairs, sing- 
 ing psalms, amid the ringing of bells ; and on 
 arriving at the place of flagellation, they stripped 
 the upper part of their bodies and put off their 
 shoes, retaining only a linen covering, reaching 
 from the waist to the ankles. They then lay 
 down in a circle, in positions varying according 
 to the nature of their offences ; the adulterer with 
 his face to the ground, the perjurer on his side, 
 holding up three fingers, &c, and they were then 
 castigated, some more, some less, by the master, 
 after which he bade them rise in the prescribed 
 form : 
 
 "Stant ouf durch der reinen Martel ere ; 
 
 Und hute dich vor der Sunden mere." 
 
 Then the}- scourged themselves, amid the sing- 
 ing of psalms and loud supplications for the 
 averting of the plague, at the same time con- 
 stantly asserting that the blood of their wounds 
 was mingled with that of the Saviour. In con- 
 clusion, one of them stood up and read a letter, 
 which it was pretended an angel had brought 
 from Heaven, to St. Peter's Church, at Jerusalem, 
 stating that Christ, who was sore displeased at the 
 sins of man, had granted, on the intercession of 
 the Virgin and all the angels, that all who should 
 wander about and scourge themselves for thirty- 
 four days should be partakers of the divine 
 grace. If an}- were so bold as to question the 
 authority of this letter, they were quickly silenced 
 by the assertion that it came from the same per- 
 son who had sealed the Gospel, a quality of evi- 
 dence equally as convincing as that upon which 
 many other religious dogmas have been founded. 
 
 The Flagellants occasionally attempted to 
 work miracles, a common practice among all 
 religionists in those times of dense ignorance and 
 superstition. The miracle, instead of being re- 
 garded in its true light as a deception and a fraud, 
 was the universally accepted evidence of divine 
 origin. In Strasburg they even went so far as to 
 attempt to resurrect a dead child ; but failing, 
 their unskilfulness did them much harm. They 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 4m 
 
 preserved their reputation, however, and sus- 
 tained the public confidence in their holy calling, 
 by pretending to cast out devils. This has always 
 been the last refuge of the miracle-worker in all 
 nations and all ages — when he fails in everything 
 else, he is sure of being able to frighten the devil, 
 and thus restore confidence in his miraculous 
 powers. 
 
 But the Flagellants finally ceased to excite 
 astonishment. They were no longer welcomed 
 by the ringing of bells, and were not received 
 with veneration, as before. In October, 1349, 
 Pope Clement issued a bull against them, and they 
 gradually disappeared, as human inventions are 
 wont to do. At Breslau one of their masters 
 was condemned and publicly 
 burnt as a heretic. In West- 
 phalia, where so shortly be- 
 fore they had venerated the 
 Brothers of the Cross, they 
 now persecuted them with 
 relentless severity ; and in 
 many other countries they 
 were pursued as if they had 
 been the authors of every 
 misfortune. A belief began 
 to prevail, with a good de- 
 gree of plausibility, that they 
 promoted the spread of the 
 plague, by means of their nu- 
 merous pilgrimages ; and this 
 was no doubt the true cause 
 of the persecutions that arose 
 against them. 
 
 Barbarous Cruelties Practised 
 against the Jews. 
 
 The horrors of the perse- 
 cutions of the Jews, which followed the advent 
 of the Black Death, and resulted in a great 
 measure from it, exceeded anything ever known 
 in the history of the world. The exasperation of 
 the people against them was greater even than in 
 the 1 2th century, during the first Crusades. 
 
 In every destructive pestilence of ancient times, 
 the common people at first attributed the mor- 
 tality to poison. No explanation or instruction 
 could avail to change their opinion ; the supposed 
 testimony of their eyesight was to them a suffi- 
 cient proof, and they demanded the victims of 
 their rage. The Jews were everywhere accused 
 of poisoning the wells or infecting the air. They 
 
 alone were supposed to be responsible for the fear- 
 ful mortality among the Christians ; and strangely 
 enough, they did not suffer so severely from tiie 
 effects of the pestilence as their Christian neigh- 
 bors. They were in consequence pursued with 
 merciless cruelty, and either indiscriminately given 
 up to the fury of the populace, or sentenced to 
 sanguinary tribunals, which, with all the forms 
 of law, sentenced them to be burnt alive. 
 
 The persecutions of the Jews commenced in 
 September and October, 1348, at Chillon, on hake 
 Geneva, where the first criminal proceedings were 
 instituted against them, after they had long before 
 been accused by the people of poisoning the wells. 
 Similar scenes soon followed in many other places. 
 
 PERSECUTIONS OF THE JEWS. 
 
 Under the influence of excruciating suffering, the 
 tortured Jews in many instances confessed them- 
 selves guilty of the crimes imputed to them ; and 
 it being affirmed that poison had in fact been dis- 
 covered in a well at Zoffinger, this was deemed 
 sufficient proof of their guilt in general. 
 
 A fearful panic immediately seized all nations ; 
 and in German}' especially the springs and wells 
 were built over, that no one might drink of them, 
 or use the water for culinary purposes, and for a 
 long time the inhabitants of numerous towns and 
 villages used only river and rain water. If medi- 
 cine or any other article which might be supposed 
 to be poisonous, was found in the possession of a 
 
404 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 stranger, which might very naturally occur in the 
 most innocent manner, owing to the prevailing 
 sickness which caused nearly every person to go 
 prepared with the necessary remedies, they were 
 forced to swallow a portion of it. All classes of 
 the inhabitants bound themselves by oaths to ex- 
 tirpate the Jews by fire and sword, and they were 
 accordingly hunted like wild beasts and slaugh- 
 tered in the most cruel manner. In the town of 
 
 A JEWESS BEING LED TO THE STAKI 
 
 Basle the populace forced their magistrates to 
 bind themselves by an oath to burn the Jews, and 
 to forbid persons of that race to enter their 
 city for the space of two hundred years. Upon 
 this all the Jews in Basle were driven into a 
 wooden building, prepared for that purpose, and 
 burnt with it Soon afterward a like horrible 
 deed was perpetrated at Freyburg ; and similar 
 scenes were enacted at Strasburg and other places. 
 
 Wherever the Jews were not burned, the}- were 
 at least banished ; and being thus compelled to 
 wander about, they fell into the merciless hands of 
 the country people, who slew them without re- 
 morse or pity, their fury- being increased by the 
 dread of these detested strangers spreading the 
 pestilence among them. The Jewish inhabitants 
 of Spires, driven to despair, assembled in theii 
 own houses, which they set on fire, and thus con- 
 sumed themselves with their 
 families. The few who re- 
 mained were forced to sub- 
 mit to baptism ; while the 
 dead bodies of many who had 
 been murdered, and lay about 
 the streets, were put into 
 empty wine-casks and rolled 
 into the Rhine, lest they 
 should infect the air. At 
 Strasburg two thousand Jews 
 were burned alive in their own 
 burying ground, on a scaffold 
 erected for that purpose ; a few 
 who promised to embrace 
 Christianity, were spared, and 
 their children taken from the 
 burning pile. The youth and 
 beauty of several girls also 
 excited commiseration, and 
 they were rescued against 
 their will ; but man}' who 
 forcibly made their escape 
 from the flames were mur- 
 dered in the streets. 
 
 The Jews of that age were 
 the bankers and money-lend- 
 ers for all the nations where 
 they lived, and a large ma- 
 jority of the people were in 
 debt to them. The magistrates 
 took advantage of this con- 
 dition of affairs to declare all 
 pledges and bonds forfeited, and directed that the 
 money should be divided among the work-people. 
 Many wealth}- Jews, on their way to the stake, 
 w r ere stripped of their clothes by the avaricious 
 and barbarous mob, for the sake of the jewels 
 and gold that were frequently found sewed in 
 the linings. 
 
 Much of this wealth, obtained by murder and 
 robber}-, was presented to the monasteries and 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 405 
 
 churches, the superstitious devotees imagining 
 that these goods, reeking with the blood of inno- 
 cent and helpless victims, would be an accept- 
 able offering to Heaven, and serve as an atone- 
 ment for the blackest of crimes. The)- even took 
 the bricks from the de- 
 stroyed dwellings of the 
 Jews, and the tombstones 
 from their graves, and 
 with them built churches 
 and erected altars. 
 
 In Mayence, Germain-, 
 more than 12,000 Jews 
 were burned at the stake 
 or murdered in the streets. 
 The Flagellants had en- 
 tered the place, stirred up 
 the worst prejudices of the 
 people, and aroused them 
 to a frenzy of supersti- 
 tious zeal. They rushed 
 at once to the quarters 
 occupied by the Jews and 
 began an indiscriminate 
 slaughter ; but in this in- 
 stance the victims resisted, 
 and several Christians (so- 
 called by way of distinc- 
 tion) were killed. This 
 increased their frenzy un- 
 til it passed beyond the 
 limits of control, and the 
 Jews, finding themselves 
 no longer able to resist, 
 set their dwellings on fire 
 and voluntarily made a 
 holocaust of themselves 
 and their families. A free 
 rein was given to the spirit 
 of proselytism, under the 
 influence of the Flagel- 
 lants, and in consequence 
 a counter-spirit of fanatical 
 zeal arose among the Jews 
 to perish as martyrs to 
 
 their ancient religion. Seeing that death by 
 torture was inevitable, the)- made no effort to 
 evade it, but rather courted it as a sure 
 means of immediate admission into the heaven 
 of their fathers. Their repugnance to Christi- 
 anity was naturally increased by the outrage- 
 
 ous violation of all its precepts on the part of 
 those professing to be its followers. At Islingen 
 the whole Jewish population gathered in their 
 synagogue and burned themselves amid songs 
 and shouts of religious exaltation. At other 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF THE JEWS. 
 
 places mothers were often seen throwing their 
 children on the burning pile to prevent them 
 from receiving Christian baptism, and then pre- 
 cipitating themselves into the flames. The few 
 who saved their lives by renouncing their faith 
 and receiving baptism, were afterward nearly 
 
406 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 all burnt at different times. Christians also, 
 who, through compassion or offers of gain, had 
 endeavored to protect them, were put to the 
 rack and executed with those whom the}- had 
 tried to save. 
 
 But in the midst of this wild and reckless 
 slaughter of a helpless and unoffending people, 
 let it be said to the honor of Pope Clement VI., 
 that he did all that lay within his power to curb 
 the passions of the fanatical populace, and re- 
 strain their bloody propensities. He not only pro- 
 tected the Jews who dwelt at Avignon, at that 
 time the capital of the popes, but he also issued 
 two general bulls in which he declared them inno- 
 cent, and admonished Christians everywhere 
 to cease their groundless and cruel persecu- 
 tions. But his advice was unheeded. Duke 
 Albert of Austria went further than the Pope, 
 for, after having warned his people against 
 their persecutions of the Jews, he burned and 
 pillaged those cities which did not heed the 
 warning ; but he was unable, in his own fortress 
 or Kyberg, to protect some hundreds of Jews, 
 whom he had received there, from being barbar- 
 ously burnt by his own people. Several other 
 princes and lords, among whom was Rupert von 
 der Pfalz, took the Jews under their protection, 
 on payment of large sums of money, in conse- 
 quence of which the opprobrious epithet of "Jews- 
 Masters" was bestowed upon them, and it re- 
 quired the utmost efforts of themselves and their 
 faithful adherents to protect them against the 
 fury of the populace. 
 
 The general discord and frenzy were greatly 
 fomented by reports circulated through all 
 Europe, that the Jews were working in concert 
 with secret superiors in Toledo, to whose decrees 
 the}' were subject, and from whom they had re- 
 ceived commands to coin base money, poison the 
 wells and springs, and destroy the children of 
 Christian parents. These reports stated that 
 they received the poison by sea, from distant 
 places, and also prepared it themselves from 
 spiders and venomous reptiles; but, in order that 
 their secret might not be discovered, it was 
 known only to their rabbis and principal men. 
 It is no wonder that such statements aroused the 
 worst passions of an ignorant and superstitious 
 populace, accustomed to believe in the marvel- 
 lous, and being then only in the transition state 
 from barbarism to semi-civilization. Some of 
 
 the Jews, having been put to the rack, and in 
 order to escape its tortures, confessed to having 
 received poisonous powders in bags, with secret 
 injunctions from Toledo concerning their use. 
 Such bags were occasionally actually found in 
 wells, though subsequent investigations proved 
 that they had, in many instances, been thrown 
 there by the persons who had taken a prominent 
 part in the persecutions of the Jews, doubtless 
 with the double purpose of sustaining their repu- 
 tation for veracity and to give occasion for mur- 
 der and pillage ; similar instances of which may 
 be found in the subsequent persecutions of 
 witches, recorded elsewhere in this volume. 
 
 Many Christians were actually punished with 
 the Jews for the supposed crime of poisoning the 
 wells and springs. In this connection we quote 
 a portion of the evidence given before an Inqui- 
 sition held in the city of Chillon in 1348 : 
 
 ' ' I must add that all the Jews of Neustadt were 
 burnt according to the just sentence of the law. 
 At Augst, I was present when three Christians 
 were flayed on account of being accessory to the 
 plot of poisoning. Ve'ry many Christians were 
 arrested for this crime in various places in this 
 country, especially at Evian, Gebenne, Krusilien 
 and Hochstett, who, at last, and in their dying 
 moments, were brought to confess and acknowl- 
 edge that they had received the poison from the. 
 Jews. Of these Christians some have been quar- 
 tered ; others flayed and afterwards hanged. Cer- 
 tain commissioners have been appointed by the 
 magistrates to enforce judgment against all Jews ; 
 and I believe that none will escape. ' ' 
 
 The cool and matter-of-course way in which 
 this witness relates these barbarities shows very 
 clearly that they were common practices of those 
 times, and were not regarded as being in the least 
 reprehensible. It was, in short, an every-day affair 
 to skin or quarter a live man for some trivial 
 offence, and hang him afterward. 
 
 The condition of society at that time is fearful 
 to contemplate. The ravages of the pestilence 
 had destroyed all the ties of friendship and con- 
 sanguinity, and the naturally vicious dispositions 
 of the people were greatly intensified by ex 
 aggerated stories and marvellous rumors, as well 
 as by the horrors which death everywhere spread 
 before them. A careful observer of those times 
 has left a curious record in the following lan- 
 guage : 
 
U°7) 
 
4U5 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 ' ' The hearts of all the inhabitants were closed 
 to feelings of humanity. They fled from the sick 
 and all that belonged to them, hoping thereby to 
 save themselves. Others shut themselves up in 
 their houses, with their wives, their children, and 
 their goods, living on the most costly food, but 
 carefully avoiding all excess. None were allowed 
 access to them ; no intelligence of sickness or 
 death was permitted to reach their ears ; and they 
 spent their time in singing and music, and other 
 
 Others, in their mode of living, chose a middle 
 course ; the}- ate and drank what they pleased, 
 and walked abroad, carrying odoriferous flowers, 
 herbs, or spices, inhaling their perfumes from 
 time to time, in order to invigorate the brain, and 
 to avert the baneful influence of the air, infected 
 by the sick and the innumerable corpses of those 
 who had died of the plague. 
 
 Others, unnerved and crazed with fear, fled 
 from the infected districts, parents deserting their 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF THE JEWS. — (Copy of an ancient engraving.) 
 
 pastimes. Others, on the contrary, considered children, and children their parents, to die at last 
 
 in some lonely place, unattended and helpless ; 
 
 eating and drinking to excess, amusements of all 
 descriptions, the indulgence of even - gratification, 
 and an indifference to what was passing around 
 them, as the best medicine, and acted accordingly. 
 They wandered, day and night, from one tavern 
 to another, and feasted without moderation or 
 bounds. In this way they endeavored to avoid 
 all contact with the sick, and abandoned their 
 houses and property to chance, like men whose, 
 death-knell had already tolled. ' ' 
 
 for the pestilence followed them wherever they 
 went. 
 
 Propriety and decorum were extinguished 
 among the sick. Women of rank and refine- 
 ment forgot their native modesty, and com- 
 mitted the care of their persons, indiscriminately, 
 to men and women of the lowest orders, for 
 these, through greed, were the only ones who 
 could be hired to nurse the sick, and they fre- 
 
HORRORS OF THE RELIGIOUS WARS IN EUROPE. 
 
 (409) 
 
410 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 quently increased their emoluments by robbing 
 the dead. 
 
 Frivolity, indifference and mirth took the place 
 of sorrow, this course being considered, especially 
 by the women, as conducive to health. Survivors, 
 to preserve themselves from infection, generally 
 had the bodies taken out of the house as soon as 
 the breath had departed, and laid before the doors, 
 where the morning found them in heaps, exposed 
 to the affrighted view of passers by. Many died 
 in the streets : while the stench of putrefying 
 corpses was often the first intimation to the neigh- 
 bors that an entire family had been stricken in 
 their home. 
 
 Quarantine laws of the most exacting and bar- 
 barous character were enacted in man}- places. 
 One of these, which is a fair sample of the rest, 
 required that ' ' even - plague patient shall be 
 taken out of the city into the fields, there to die or to 
 recover. Those who attend upon a plague-patient 
 shall remain apart for ten days, before they again 
 associate with anybody. The priests shall exam- 
 ine the diseased, and point them out to special 
 commissioners, under penalty of a confisca- 
 tion of their goods and of being burned alive. 
 Whoever shall import the plague into a com- 
 munity not previously infected, shall have all his 
 goods confiscated ; and none shall attend upon 
 plague-patients except those appointed for that 
 purpose, on pain of death and confiscation." 
 
 Virtue seemed to be driven from the earth by 
 the horrors of the scene, and wickedness, cruelty 
 and rapacity everywhere reared their hideous 
 heads, infecting the morals of succeeding genera- 
 tions, and driving the Christian world into that 
 state of religious insanity and intolerance which 
 prevailed for nearly three centuries. 
 
 Remarkable Document Issued by the College of Physi- 
 cians of Paris, during the Prevalence of the Black 
 Death. 
 
 The medical faculty of Paris, the most cele- 
 brated of the fourteenth century, were commis- 
 sioned to deliver their opinion on the causes of 
 the pestilence, together with some appropriate 
 regulations as to the proper mode of living during 
 its prevalence. 
 
 We quote this document entire, both on account 
 of its singularity, and to show the condition of 
 medical science at that time : 
 
 " We, the members of the College of Physi- 
 cians, of Paris, have, after mature consideration 
 
 and consultation on the present mortality, col- 
 lected the advice of our old masters in the art, 
 and intend to make known the causes of this 
 pestilence, more clearly than could be done ac- 
 cording to the rules and principles of astrology 
 and natural science,; we, therefore, declare as 
 follows ; — 
 
 " It is known that in India and the vicinity of 
 the Great Sea, the constellations which combated 
 the rays of the sun, and the warmth of the heav- 
 enly fire, exerted their power especially against 
 that sea, and struggled violently with its waters. 
 Hence, vapors often originate which envelop 
 the sun, and convert his light into darkness. 
 These vapors alternately rose and fell for twenty- 
 eight days ; but at last, sun and fire acted so 
 powerfully upon the sea, that they attracted a 
 great portion of it to themselves, and the waters 
 of the ocean arose in the form of vapor ; thereby 
 the waters were in some parts so corrupted that 
 tl;e fish which they contained, died. These cor- 
 rupted waters, however, the heat of the sun could 
 not consume, neither could other wholesome wa- 
 ter, hail or snow, and dew, originate therefrom. 
 On the contrary, this vapor spread itself through 
 the air in many places on the earth, and envel- 
 oped them in fog. 
 
 "Such was the case all over Arabia, in a part 
 of India, in Crete, in the plains and valleys of 
 Macedonia, in Hungary, Albania and Sicily. 
 Should the same thing occur in Sardinia, not a 
 man will be left alive ; and the like will continue 
 so long as the sun remains in the sign of Leo, on 
 all the islands and adjoining countries to which 
 this corrupted sea-wind extends, or has alread} r 
 extended from India. If the inhabitants of those 
 parts do not employ and adhere to the following, 
 or similar, means and precepts, we announce to 
 them inevitable death — except the grace of Christ 
 preserve their lives. 
 
 "We are of opinion, that the constellations, 
 with the aid of nature, strive, by virtue of their 
 divine might, to protect and heal the human race ; 
 and to this end, in union with the rays of the sun, 
 acting through the power of fire, endeavor to 
 break through the mist. Accordingly, within the 
 next ten days, and until the 17th of the ensuing 
 month of July, this mist will be converted into a 
 stinking, deleterious rain, whereby the air will be 
 much purified. Now, as soon as this rain an- 
 nounces itself, every one of you should protect 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 411 
 
 himself from the air ; and, as well before as after 
 the rain, kindle a large fire of vine-wood, green 
 laurel, or other green wood ; wormwood and 
 camomile should also be burnt in great quantity 
 in the market-places, in other densely inhabited 
 localities, and in the houses. Until the earth is 
 again completely dry, and for three days after- 
 . wards, no one ought to go abroad in the fields. 
 During this time the diet should be simple, and 
 people should be cautious in avoiding exposure in 
 the cool of the evening, at night, and in the 
 morning. Poultry and water-fowl, young pork, 
 old beef, and fat meat, in general should not be 
 eaten ; but on the contrary, meat of a proper age, 
 of a warm and dry nature, by no means, how- 
 ever, heating and exciting. Broth should be 
 taken, seasoned with ground pepper, ginger and 
 cloves, especially by those who are accustomed 
 to live temperately, and are yet choice in their 
 diet. Sleep in the daytime is detrimental ; it 
 should be taken at night until sunrise, or some- 
 what longer. At breakfast, one should drink lit- 
 tle ; supper should be taken an hour before sun- 
 set, when more may be drunk than in the morn- 
 ing. Clear light wine, mixed with a fifth or 
 sixth part of water, should be used as a beverage. 
 Dried or fresh fruits with wine are not injurious ; 
 but highly so without it. Beet-root and other 
 vegetables, whether eaten pickled or fresh, are 
 hurtful : ou the contrary, spicy pot-herbs, as sage 
 or rosemary, are wholesome. Cold, moist, wa- 
 ter)- food is, in general, prejudicial. Going out 
 at night, and even until three o'clock in the 
 morning, is dangerous, on account of the dew. 
 Only small river fish should be used. Too much 
 exercise is hurtful. The body should be kept 
 warmer than usual, and thus protected from 
 moisture and cold. Rain-water must not be em- 
 ployed in cooking, and every one should guard 
 against exposure to wet weather. If it rain, a 
 little fine treacle should be taken after dinner. 
 Fat people should not sit in the sunshine. Good 
 clear wine should be selected and drunk often, 
 but in small quantities, by da5\ Olive oil, as an 
 article of food, is fatal. Equally injurious are 
 fasting or excessive abstemiousness, anxiety of 
 mind, anger and excessive drinking. Young 
 p20ple, in autumn especially, must abstain from 
 all these things, if they do not wish to run a risk 
 of dying of dysentery. In order to keep the 
 body properly open, an enema, or some other 
 
 simple means, should be employed when neces- 
 sary. Bathing is injurious. Men must preserve 
 chastity as they value their lives. Every one 
 should impress this on his recollection, but espe- 
 cially those who reside on the coast, or upon an 
 island into which the noxious wind has pene- 
 trated." 
 
 There are many passages in this learned docu- 
 ment which are calculated to excite a smile ; such, 
 for instance, as the one advising fat men not to 
 sit in the sun ! In these modern times it would 
 be a singular sort of a fat man who would volun- 
 tarily sit in the sun when he could sit in the 
 shade just as well ; but perhaps the fat men of 
 the fourteenth century were different from those 
 who are ' ' now on the earth. ' ' There is also an 
 element of humor in the advice about the deadly 
 qualities of olive oil, and the injurious effects of 
 bathing. The latter injunction, if we are cor- 
 rectly informed about the habits of most of the 
 people of the middle ages, was hardl}- necessary, 
 for some one has remarked that the only bath 
 they were accustomed to was the one they re- 
 ceived at baptism. 
 
 WAS IT THE HAND OF GOD? 
 
 CHE following remarkable statements were 
 furnished by a correspondent at Birming- 
 ham, Ala., in October, 1890 : 
 
 A few days ago a man was found dead here in 
 the gutter. Even in death there was a mute look 
 of terror in the bloodshot eyes, and the bloated 
 face had grown pale and haggard at the coming 
 of the grim destroyer. ' ' Drink ! ' ' said the Cor- 
 oner' s jury, but an old man who came and looked 
 for a long time on the pale, dead face, said, with 
 a shudder, as he turned away, ' ' It was the hand 
 of God." This man who died in the gutter was 
 the last of a fated thirteen, and in the death of 
 each and all of them, the Christian will read the 
 vengeance of an insulted Deity. 
 
 At the leading hotel in a Southern city, in the 
 summer of 1865, thirteen men, wearing the uni- 
 form of Confederate officers, sat down to a dinner. 
 Every man in the party belonged to a grand old 
 Southern family, and many of the names are illus- 
 trious in the history of the country. Even- man 
 was a cavalier. They were flowers of the Old 
 South, representatives of the chivalry of the 
 sunny land, then enveloped in the gloom of de- 
 
412 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 feat and despair. Ever} - man there had been a 
 gallant soldier in the Confederate army. They 
 had returned from the field of defeat to find their 
 homes destroyed, their slaves free, their wealth 
 gone, and man}- of their nearest and dearest rela- 
 tives and friends dead. The meeting at this hotel 
 was a chance one, but talking over the situation 
 in which they found themselves, the}- resolved to 
 forget the horror of it for a while and drown their 
 sorrows in drink. They sat down to dinner, and 
 round after round of drinks were ordered. Soon 
 the blood} - scenes of war, the visions of ruined 
 homes, were all forgotten. First they became 
 merry, then reckless. 
 
 " Let us call this the last supper," suddenly 
 exclaimed one of the party, and the suggestion 
 met with instant approval. The}- might never 
 meet again, so ' ' the last supper ' ' would be a fit- 
 ting name for the feast where reason had fled. 
 More drinks were ordered, every man filled his 
 glass, the lights were turned low and the thirteen 
 men declared themselves Christ and his twelve 
 apostles. A young man who had commanded a 
 regiment acted the role of Christ, and for the oc- 
 casion, each man assumed the name of one of the 
 apostles. There was a wrangle as to who should 
 impersonate Judas, but more drinks were ordered, 
 and then a young Lieutenant agreed to act the 
 character of the betrayer of his Saviour. 
 
 "It was midnight, but peals of drunken laughter 
 awoke the echoes in every nook and corner of the 
 old house. Again and again the decanters were 
 passed around, and the blasphemous mocker}- of 
 the last supper went on. A Bible was called for, 
 and the young officer who was impersonating the 
 Saviour turned to the New Testament and read 
 aloud the solemn words of Christ. The reading 
 was interrupted now and then by some coarse jest 
 or ribald laughter, while expressions like, "Judas, 
 pass the bottle," would excite the mirth of the 
 drunken men to a point that completely drowned 
 the voice of the reader. At the proper point in 
 the reading bread was passed around, and the 
 wine was represented by glasses filled to the brim 
 with brandy. 
 
 " He that drinketh from the bottle with me 
 shall betray me ! " exclaimed the mock Christ, in 
 a tragic manner, and placing a decanter to his lips 
 he swallowed a quantity of brandy, then passed 
 it to Judas across the table. This was greeted 
 
 with peals of laughter, and again the other mock 
 apostles yelled, "Judas, pass the bottle ! " 
 
 All night long this mockery went on, and when 
 morning came the thirteen men were in a drunken 
 stupor. It was several days before they all re- 
 covered from the effects of that night's debauch- 
 ery. Then they separated. That supper had in- 
 deed been their last ; they never met again. 
 
 From that night the vengeance of God followed 
 those thirteen men. Everything they undertook 
 failed. Apples of gold turned to Dead Sea fruit 
 in their hands. One by one they went to the dogs, 
 and every man of them met a horrible and dis- 
 graceful death. Repeated failures in business 
 drove some of them to desperation and crime. 
 One of them was lynched in Texas for murder. 
 The young man who had impersonated Christ, 
 was drowned in the Brazos River while fleeing 
 from a vigilance committee oil a stolen horse, and 
 his body was never recovered. Another, while in 
 a drunken stupor, was caught in a burning build- 
 ing and perished in the flames. One was stabbed 
 to the heart by a woman he had betrayed, and 
 still another was murdered in a low brothel in a 
 Western city. So far as can be learned, not one 
 of them ever received Christian burial, and their 
 graves are unmarked and unknown. The man 
 who died in the gutter and was buried in the 
 potter's field was the last of the thirteen. 
 
 PROGRESS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE AS 
 EXEMPLIFIED IN THE LORD'S PRAYER. 
 
 CHE world's history does not record a stranger 
 phenomenon than the present state of the 
 English language. I f is unique in that, while all 
 other languages have a unity of origin, English 
 alone has derived its words from every source ; no 
 language on the globe but has contributed more 
 or less to its vocabulary. So wonderful is its 
 adaptability, that materials from any source are 
 easily adjusted to the use of its people ; so great 
 is its flexibility, that any material, however un- 
 promising, may be brought into sendee to enrich 
 its capacity for the expression of thought. It is 
 practically a perfect language, from the fact that 
 it may be, and is, changed from day to day to meet 
 the changing requirements of any age. It can bor- 
 row from any direction and incorporate the bor- 
 rowed material into its own substance, and such 
 is the wealth of the lansniacre, owing to this 
 
THE SAXONS IN ENGLAND. 
 
 (413) 
 
414 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 peculiarity, that no tongue has more synonyms, 
 or words having almost, if not exactly, the same 
 meaning. 
 
 But the present perfection of the English tongue 
 was reached by a slow growth — a welding to- 
 gether of some of the best parts of several lan- 
 guages. It is a curious feature of English that 
 its growth may be distinctly traced from a time 
 when its forms of expression can hardly be recog- 
 nized by the reader of to-day, through century 
 after century, until the language assumes a shape 
 in which we recognize it, not as colloquial English, 
 
 COMBAT BETWEEN ROMAN AND SAXON SOLDIERS. 
 
 but as the English of the best-known publication 
 in the language, the English of the Bible. The 
 principal elements which enter into the English 
 language, are the Celtic, the Saxon, or, as it is 
 sometimes called, the Anglo-Saxon, the Norman- 
 French and the Latin. In the native home of the 
 English language, it is still possible to trace in 
 proper names, the evidence of the successive 
 waves of population which have passed over the 
 country, each leaving its trace on the nomencla- 
 ture. So far as known, the Celts were the abori- 
 gines, and the traces of their occupation may be 
 seen in the names still given to English rivers and 
 
 mountains. The Romans came next and con- 
 quered the country, establishing everywhere forti- 
 fied camps, and Winchester, Dorchester, and a 
 hundred other chesters, cesters, and casters, 
 attest the military character of the Roman occu- 
 pation. 
 
 Saxon Elements in English. 
 
 Next came the Saxons, who in England fol- 
 lowed out the national custom of their native land, 
 and settled over the country in small villages, 
 many of them imperfectly fortified with stock- 
 ades, the fields of the inhabitants surrounding 
 
 these little groups 
 of houses. These 
 were the hams or 
 tons ; either word 
 meaning, some- 
 times, a group of 
 houses, sometimes 
 a single dwelling, 
 and occasionally a 
 farm with its 
 buildings. Thus 
 came such names 
 or places as Cob- 
 ham, Kuightham, 
 Compton ; occa- 
 sionally a combi- 
 nation resulting in 
 such a word as 
 Northampton, va- 
 riety being secured 
 by such expres- 
 sions as Tun- 
 bridge, originally 
 o n 1 y the town 
 bridge, and Hamp- 
 den, which — den 
 being a low place — meant the town or hamlet 
 in the marsh. After the Saxons came the Nor- 
 man-French, who conquered England in the 
 eleventh century, and perpetuated their govern- 
 ment by building castles or chateaux in favorable 
 situations all over the country, whence come the 
 French names of many of the old ruins to be 
 found at every turn. During all this time — that 
 is, from the beginning of the Christian era to the 
 end of the twelfth century — the Latin was the 
 language of the learned, the language of the law, 
 to some extent of the courts, and hence Latin 
 words and expressions were kept in use from age 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY, 
 
 415 
 
 to age, often without their significance being 
 clearly understood. 
 
 In this connection, it is curious to trace in many 
 words of common usage evidences of national 
 movements which took place when our great lan- 
 guage was still in process of formation. The 
 proper names of features of English scenery have 
 already been mentioned, but in addition to this 
 we have basket, pall, mat- 
 tock, and several other Cel- 
 tic words of similar charac- 
 ter, names of objects, the 
 use of which the Celts may 
 have taught their conquerors. 
 Most, however, of the com- 
 mon words of our language, 
 the names of objects, such as 
 day, sun, moon ; the names 
 of actions, such as stand, 
 fall ; terms of relationship, 
 such as father, mother, and 
 the like, are from the Saxon. 
 A singular illustration of the 
 Norman supremacy is found 
 in the fact that while many 
 names of domestic animals, 
 while living, are Saxon, the 
 names of the flesh are Nor- 
 man. Thus, ox, sheep, pig, 
 are Saxon, while beef, mut- 
 ton, pork, are Norman. The 
 Saxons tended the animals, 
 but were not allowed to share 
 the flesh. The names of ne- 
 cessary articles of clothing, 
 such as shirt, breeches, shoes, 
 and hat, are Saxon, while the 
 names of garments and arti- 
 cles of apparel, the form of 
 which was likely to change 
 in fashion, were Norman, as 
 coat, mantle, bonnet. But besides these elements 
 of the English language, the Latin, as already 
 seen, contributed largely ; the Danish, mostly in 
 names of places along the coast of England fre- 
 quented by these bold pirates ; the Greek, as seen 
 in scientific terms and other languages, words from 
 which crept in through commercial intercourse. 
 
 The First English. 
 This linguistic broth bubbled for a long time 
 ere it produced literary work which can be recog- 
 
 nized as English, and, although so familiar a bit 
 of composition as the Lord's Prayer is preserved 
 in Celtic, Saxon, Norman- French, Latin, and 
 Danish, in none of these languages can it, by 
 the ordinary reader, be recognized as bearing any 
 resemblance whatever to the English which we 
 are accustomed to use. The Lord's Prayer in 
 Anglo-Saxon, would be as unfamiliar to the Eng- 
 
 A SAXON KINc 
 
 lish eye as the same composition in Low Dutch. 
 For purposes of comparison, however, this 
 familiar prayer, whose brief and comprehensive 
 terms are known to ever}- child, is singularly 
 appropriate, and the more so that the first im- 
 portant book printed in English was the transla- 
 tion of the Bible, and so numerous were the 
 translators that at every stage in the history of 
 the language a new translation appears illustrating 
 the gradual growth, and the slow processes by 
 
416 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 which our language has arrived at its present per- 
 fection. 
 
 Specimens of the earl5' English, which pre- 
 vailed before the 3-ear 1300 are numerous, but 
 the language as then spoken and written was the 
 language of the rhyming chronicles, a language 
 which, though more closely resembling German, 
 still can be recognized as possessing a few of the 
 characteristic features of our own tonguvl-. The 
 following version of the Lord's Prayer is from a 
 
 done much to polish the English language, and 
 so it is not surprising to find that WyclifFe's trans- 
 lation, made from the Vulgate of Jerome, is a 
 little more like the English of the present day. 
 The spelling is not so crude as in the former ex- 
 ample, and altogether the version of 1356 by the 
 great reformer is a considerable improvement on 
 that of the- Oxford manuscript. 
 
 Fader oure in hevene. Halewd be thi name. 
 Come thi kingdom. Thi wille be don as in heven 
 
 INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY INTO ENGLAND. 
 
 manuscript paraphrase of the scriptures in the 
 library of Oxford, and dated A. D. 1290 : 
 
 Fader ure in heune, halewede beoth thi neune, 
 cumen thi kuneriche, thi wote beoth idon in 
 heune and in earth. Ure euerych dawe breid git 
 vus thilk, dawe. And vorzef ure deltes, as vi 
 vorzefen ure bettoures, and lede vus nouzt into 
 temptation, bote deliueri vus of uvel. Amen. 
 
 Sixty-five years later Wyeliffe and his followers 
 finished the first complete English translation of 
 the Bible, and gave it to the world at a time of 
 considerable literary activity. It was the age of 
 Gower and of Chaucer. The courtly poet had 
 
 and in erthe. Oure eche dayes bred geve us to-day. 
 And forgeve us our defies, as we forgeven our 
 dettoures. And lede us not into temptatioun. Bote 
 delyvere us of yvel. Amen. 
 
 But changes were going on rapidly, and only a 
 few years later a marked difference was observable 
 in the forms of speech. The Wyeliffe Bibles have 
 several dates, and from time to time were revised , 
 apparently at the pleasure of the printer. From 
 a copy of the Scriptures, presumably a version \>y 
 Wyeliffe, dated in 1380, comes the following, 
 which shows marked improvement over the 
 former : 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 417 
 
 (Dure fadir that art in heunes halowid by thi 
 name, thi kingdom come to, be thi wille don in 
 erthe as in heune, give to us this day our breetl, 
 ouir other substance, forgeue to vs our dettis, as 
 we forgeuen to our dettouris, lede us not into 
 temptacioun, but delyuer us from yuel. Amen. 
 
 From that time printed copies became common, 
 through the labors of Caxton and others, and 
 hardly any two agree. The differences were not 
 of great importance, but still a considerable 
 change from its predecessors, both in spelling and 
 in phraseology, may be noticed in the following 
 version, from a Bible printed in 14S3, a hundred 
 years later than the one last mentioned : 
 
 Father our that art in heavens, hallowed be 
 thy name : thy kingdom come to us ; thy wille 
 be done in earth as is in heaven ; oure every days 
 bred give us to-day ; and forgive us oure tres- 
 passes as we forgive them that trespass against 
 us ; and lead us not into temptatioun, but deliver 
 us from all evil sin, amen. 
 
 Tyndale's Translation. 
 
 The rise and progress of Puritanism in England 
 gave a mighty impetus to the stud)- of the Scrip- 
 tures, and the work of translation was taken up 
 by Wm. Tyndale and other learned and able men. 
 The translation given by Tyndale brings the 
 prayer into a form quite familiar. His Testament 
 was printed in 1425, and the following version is 
 from a copy dated 1534 : 
 
 O oure father which art in heven, hallowed be 
 thy name. Eet thy kingdome come. Thy wille 
 be fulfilled as well in erth as yt in heven. Geve 
 vs this daye oure dayly breede. And forgeve vs 
 our trespasses, even as we forgeve our trespassers. 
 And leade vs not into temptacion : but delyver vs 
 from evell. For thine is the kyngedome and the 
 power and the glorye for ever. Amen. 
 
 This century was the age of Raleigh and Spen- 
 ser, Hooker and Sidney. Clever prose writers 
 and able conversationalists appeared, and the lan- 
 guage became that of polite literature and refined 
 thought. The English Catholics, seeing the im- 
 portance of the Scriptures, insisted on a version of 
 their own, and, in compliance with this demand, 
 the English College at Rheims prepared a trans- 
 lation from the Vulgate, gave it to the English- 
 speaking people, and from it comes the following : 
 
 Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be 
 Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be 
 27 
 
 done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this 
 day our supersubstantial bread, And forgive us 
 our debts, as we forgive our debtors ; And lead us 
 not into temptation ; But deliver us from evil. 
 Amen. 
 
 The marked difference between this and the 
 previous versions is found in the use of the word 
 "supersubstantial." The commentator on the 
 Douay Bible, as the Rheims and Douay version 
 is commonly called, is careful to explain that, in 
 their prayer, Euke says " daily," but Matthew 
 refers to the "supersubstantial," contained in the 
 wafer of the mass. 
 
 The Breeches Bible. 
 
 From Tyndale's time, his translation served as 
 the basis of all others, and Cranmer's, or the 
 Great Bible, Matthew's, the Bishop's Bible, and 
 a score of others appeared, all modifications of the 
 one by Tyndale. Minor, yet sometimes curious, 
 differences are observable. The Breeches Bible 
 of 1608, so-called from a verse in Genesis, "They 
 sewed figge leaves together and made themselves 
 breeches, ' ' has its own rendering. 
 
 Our Father which art in heaven halowed be 
 Thy name : Thy kingdom come : Eet thy will be 
 euen in earth as it is in heaven : Our Dayly 
 Bread Giue us for the day ; And forgive us our 
 sinnes : for even wee forgive euery mann that is in- 
 debted to us : And lead us not into tentation : 
 But deliuer us from evill. Amen. 
 
 The latter part of the sixteenth and the 
 early years of the seventeenth centuries were 
 among the most glorious periods of our language 
 and literature ; the days of Bacon and Massinger 
 and Jonson, of Shakspeare and Milton and Tay- 
 lor. The language then assumed the form it 
 still retains, save in minor particulars. The 
 multiplicity of copies, and consequent variety of 
 readings, induced James I. to direct the prepara- 
 tion of a new version, to be based on Tyndale, 
 as had all the other? since the time of the great 
 scholar. This revision has since been styled 
 the Authorized Version, The King James Bible 
 gives the prayer in its present form : 
 
 Our Father which art in heaver*, hallowed be 
 thy name. Thy kingdom come, th}' will be done 
 on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our 
 daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we for- 
 give our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, 
 but deliver us from evil. For thine is the king- 
 
418 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 dom and the power and the glory forever. 
 Amen. 
 
 It is a curious fact, however, that in repeating 
 the prayer most persons substitute ' ' forgive us 
 our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass 
 against us," for the words as given above, which 
 are not found either in Matthew or Luke, but 
 which are found in the version of 1483. The 
 change was probably in the interest of euphony. 
 
 The revisers of 1S81 made no changes of conse- 
 quence, save to alter the concluding words in 
 Matthew to "And bring us not into temptation, 
 but deliver us from the evil one," while in Luke 
 the prayer is cut short with the words, "And 
 bring us not into temptation." This brief peti- 
 tion, therefore, presents us a complete history of 
 the changes which have taken place in written 
 and spoken English for a period of over 600 years. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF CHIEF JUSTICE MARSHALL. 
 
 A COURTEOUS and intelligent English trav- 
 eller in the United States, the Hon. Charles 
 Augustus Murray, has given us a pleasing picture 
 of Marshall, as he appeared at Richmond in 1835, 
 a few months before his death : — "A tall, vener- 
 able man ; his hair tied in a cue, according to 
 olden custom, and with a countenance indicating 
 that simplicity of mind and benignity which so 
 eminently distinguished his character. I had the 
 pleasure of several long conversations with him, 
 and was struck with admiration at the extraor- 
 dinary union of modesty and power, gentleness 
 and force which his mind displays. His house is 
 small, and more humble in appearance than those 
 of the average of successful lawyers or merchants. 
 I called three times upon him ; there is no bell to 
 the door ; once I turned the handle of it, and 
 walked in unannounced ; on the other two occa- 
 sions he had seen me coming, and lifted the latch 
 and received me at the door, although he was at 
 the time suffering from some very severe contu- 
 sions received in the stage while travelling on the 
 road from Fredericksburg to Richmond. ' ' 
 
 Anecdotes of the simplicity of Marshall are nu- 
 merous. On one occasion, as the story has been 
 related to us, at the old market at Richmond, 
 meeting a would-be exquisite, and hearing him 
 call for some one to take a turkey which he had 
 purchased, home for him, he humorously offered 
 himself. He was in his usual plain dress, and the 
 gentleman, taking him for a countryman, accepted 
 
 his services. The judge carried the turkey home, 
 and actually received a shilling for his services, 
 which proved a very costly retainer to the young 
 man, in the amount of chagrin he endured, when 
 he found that his porter was the Chief-Justice of 
 the United States. 
 
 His favorite haunt at Richmond was Buchanan's 
 Spring, just on the edge of town, where he used 
 to go with the club of which he was a member, 
 pitch quoits, drink juleps, and dispute about the 
 technicalities of the game with the zest of a boy. 
 The club still survives, rich in these traditions. 
 
 AGREEABLE COMPANIONS AND FLATTERERS. 
 
 AX old acquaintance who met me this morning 
 seemed overjoyed to see me, and told me I 
 looked as well as he had known me do these forty 
 years ; but, continued he, not quite the man you 
 were wdien we visited together at Lad}- Brightly's. 
 Oh! Isaac, those days are over. Do you think 
 there are any such fine creatures now living as we 
 then conversed with ? He went on with a thousand 
 incoherent circumstances, which, in his imagina- 
 tion, must needs please me ; but the}- had the 
 quite contrary effect. The flatten - with which he 
 began, in telling me how well I wore, was not 
 disagreeable ; but his indiscreet mention of a set 
 of acquaintance we had outlived, recalled ten 
 thousand things to 1113- memory, which made me 
 reflect upon my present condition with regret. 
 Had he indeed been so kind as, after a long ab- 
 sence, to felicitate me upon an indolent and easy 
 old age, and mentioned how much he and I had 
 to thank for, who at our time of da}' could walk 
 firmly, eat heartily, and converse cheerfully, he 
 had kept up my pleasure in myself. But of all 
 mankind, there are none so shocking as these in- 
 judicious civil people. They ordinarily begin 
 upon something that they know must be a satis- 
 faction ; but then, for fear of the imputation of 
 flatten-, they follow it with the last thing in the 
 world of which you would be reminded. It is this 
 that perplexes civil persons. The reason that 
 there is such a general outcry among us against 
 flatterers, is, that there are so very few good ones. 
 It is the nicest art in this life, and is a part of 
 eloquence which does not want the preparation 
 that is necessary to all other parts of it, that your 
 audience should be your well-wishers ; for praise 
 r rom an enemy is the most pleasing of all com- 
 mendations. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 419 
 
 SERGEANT CHAMPE'S ATTEMPT TO ARREST 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 The following account of the romantic adven- 
 tures of Sergeant Champe, in his effort to capture 
 the traitor Arnold, is copied from the writings of 
 " Light Horse Harry Lee," of Virginia, at whose 
 request Champe was induced to enter upon the 
 desperate undertaking : 
 
 Giving to the sergeant three guineas, and pre- 
 senting his best wishes, Lee recommended him 
 to start without delay, and enjoined him to com- 
 municate his arrival in New York as soon there- 
 after as might be practicable. Champe, pulling 
 out his watch, compared it 
 with the major's, reminding 
 the latter of the importance 
 of holding back pursuit, 
 which he was convinced 
 would take place 'n the 
 course of the night, and 
 which might be fatal, as he 
 knew that he should be 
 obliged to zigzag in order 
 to avoid the patroles, which 
 would consume time. It 
 was now nearly eleven. 
 The sergeant returned to 
 camp, and taking his cloak, 
 valise and orderly book, he 
 drew his horse from the 
 picket, and mounting him 
 put himself upon fortune. 
 Lee, charmed with his ex- 
 peditious consummation of 
 the first part of the enter- 
 prise, retired to rest. Use- 
 less attempt ! the past scene could not be oblit- 
 erated; and, indeed, had that been practicable, 
 the interruption which ensued would have stopped 
 repose. 
 
 Within half an hour Captain Carnes, officer of 
 the day, waited upon the major, and with consid- 
 erable emotion told him that one of the patrole 
 had fallen in with a dragoon, who, being: chal- 
 
 can the fellow that was pursued be ? inquired the 
 major ; adding, a countryman, probably. No, 
 replied the captain, the patrole sufficiently distin- 
 guished him as to know that he was a dragoon ; 
 probably one from the army, if not certainly one 
 of our own. This idea was ridiculed from its im- 
 probability, as during the whole war but a single 
 dragoon had deserted from the legion. This did 
 not convince Carnes, so much stress was now the 
 fashion to lay on the desertion of Arnold, and the 
 probable effect of his example. The captain 
 withdrew to examine the squadron of horse, whom 
 he had ordered to assemble in nursuauce of estab- 
 
 lenged, put spurs to his horse and escaped, though 
 instantly pursued. Lee, complaining of the inter- 
 ruption, and pretending to be extremely fatigued 
 by his ride to and from headquarters, answered as 
 if he did not understand what had been said, 
 which compelled the captain to repeat it. Who 
 
 SERGEANT CHAMPE'S DEPARTURE. 
 
 lished usage on similar occasions. Very quickly 
 he returned, stating that the scoundrel was known, 
 and was no less a person than the sergeant-major, 
 who had gone off with his horse, baggage, arms 
 and orderly book — so presumed, as neither the 
 one nor the other could be found. Sensibly af- 
 fected at the supposed baseness of a soldier ex- 
 tremely respected, the captain added that he had 
 ordered a party to make ready for pursuit, and 
 begged the major's written orders. 
 
 Occasionally this discourse was interrupted, and 
 ever}- idea suggested which the excellent charac- 
 ter of the sergeant warranted, to induce the sus- 
 picion that he had not deserted, but had taken 
 
420 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the liberty to leave camp with a view to personal 
 pleasure ; an example, said Lee, too often set by 
 the officers themselves, destructive as it was of 
 discipline, opposed, as it was to orders, and disas- 
 trous as it might prove to the corps in the course 
 of service. 
 
 Some little delay was thus interposed ; but it 
 being now announced that the pursuing party 
 was ready, major Lee directed a change in the 
 officer, saying that he had a particular service in 
 view, which he had determined to entrust to the 
 lieutenant ready for duty, and which probably 
 must be performed in the morning. He therefore 
 directed him to summon Cornet Middleton for the 
 present command. Lee was induced thus to act, 
 first to add to the delay, and next from his knowl- 
 edge of the tenderness. of Middleton' s disposition, 
 which he hoped would lead to the protection of 
 Champe should he be taken. Within ten minutes 
 Middleton appeared to receive his orders, which 
 were delivered to him made out in the customary 
 form, and signed by the major. "Pursue so far 
 as you can with safety Sergeant Champe, who is 
 suspected of deserting to the enemy, and has 
 taken the road leading to Paulus Hook. Bring 
 him alive, that he ma}' suffer in the presence of 
 the army ; but kill him if he resists, or escapes 
 after being taken." 
 
 Detaining the cornet a few minutes longer in 
 advising him what course to pursue, — urging him 
 to take care of the horse and accoutrements, if 
 recovered, — and enjoining him to be on his guard, 
 lest he might, by his eager pursuit, improvidently 
 fall into the hands of the enemy, — the major dis- 
 missed Middleton, wishing him success. A 
 shower of rain fell soon after Champe' s depar- 
 ture, which enabled the pursuing dragoons to take 
 the trail of his horse ; knowing, as officer and 
 troopers did, the make of their shoes, whose im- 
 pression was an unerring guide.* 
 
 When Middleton departed, it was a few minutes 
 past twelve ; so that Champe had only the start 
 of rather more than an hour, — by no means so 
 long as was desired. Lee became very unhappy, 
 not only because the estimable and gallant Champe 
 might be injured, but lest the enterprise might be 
 
 * The horses being all shod by our own farriers, the shoes 
 were made in the same form ; which, with a private mark 
 annexed to the fore-shoes, and known to die troopers, 
 pointed out the trail of our dragoons to each other, which 
 was often very useful. 
 
 delayed : and he spent a sleepless night. The 
 pursuing party during the night, were, on their 
 part, delayed by the necessary halts to examine 
 occasionally the road, as the impression of the 
 horse's shoes directed their course ; this was un- 
 fortunately too evident, no other horse having 
 passed along the road since the shower. When 
 the da}' broke, Middleton was no longer forced to 
 halt, and he pressed on with rapidity. Ascending 
 an eminence before he reached the Three Pid- 
 geons, some miles on the north of the village of 
 Bergen, as the pursuing party reached its summit, 
 Champe was descried not more than half a mile 
 in front. Resembling an Indian in his vigilance, 
 the sergeant at the same moment discovered the 
 part}' (whose object he was no stranger to), and 
 giving spur to his horse, he determined to outstrip 
 his pursuers. Middleton at the same instant put 
 his horses to the top of their speed ; and being 
 (as the legion all were) well tcquainted with the 
 country, he recollected a short route through the 
 woods to the bridge below Bergen, which diverged 
 from the great road just after you gain the Three 
 Pidgeons. Reaching the point of separation, he 
 halted : and dividing the party, directed a ser- 
 geant with a few dragoons to take the near cut, 
 and possess with all possible despatch the bridge, 
 while he with the residue followed Champe ; not 
 doubting but that Champe must deliver himself 
 up, as he would be closed between himself and 
 his sergeant. Champe did not forget the short 
 cut, and would have taken it himself, but he 
 knew it was the usual route of our parties when 
 returning in the day from the neighborhood of 
 the enemy, properly preferring the woods to the 
 road. He consequently avoided it ; and persuaded 
 that Middleton would avail himself of it, wisely 
 resolved to relinquish his intention of getting to 
 Paulus Hook, and to seek refuge from two British 
 galleys, lying a few miles to the west of Bergen. 
 This was a station always occupied by one or 
 two galleys, and which it was known now lay 
 there. Entering the village of Bergen, Champe 
 turned to his right, and disguising his change of 
 course as much as he could by taking the beaten 
 streets, turning as they turned, he passed through 
 the village and took the road towards Elizabeth- 
 town Point. Middleton's sergeant gained the 
 bridge, where he concealed himself, ready to 
 pounce upon Champe when he came up ; and 
 Middleton, pursuing his course through Bergen, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 421 
 
 soon got also to the bridge, when, to his extreme 
 mortification, he found that the sergeant had 
 slipped through his fingers. Returning up the 
 road, he inquired of the villagers of Bergen, 
 whether a dragoon had been seen that morning 
 preceding his part}'. He was answered in the af- 
 firmative, but could learn nothing satisfactorily 
 as to the route he took. While engaged in in- 
 quiries himself, he spread his party through the 
 village to strike the trail 
 ofChampe's horse, a resort 
 always recurred to. Some 
 of his dragoons hit it just 
 as the sergeant, leaving the 
 village, got in the road to 
 the Point. Pursuit was re- 
 newed with vigor, and 
 again Champe was des- 
 cried. He, apprehending 
 the event, had prepared 
 himself for it, by lashing 
 his valise (containing his 
 clothes and orderly book) 
 on his shoulders, and hold- 
 ing his drawn sword in 
 his hand, having thrown 
 away its scabbard. This 
 he did to save what was 
 indispensable to him, and 
 to prevent any interruption 
 to his swimming by the 
 scabbard, should Middleton 
 as he presumed, when dis- 
 appointed at the bridge 
 take the measures adopted 
 by him. The pursuit was 
 rapid and close, as the stop 
 occasioned by the sergeant's 
 preparations for swimming 
 had brought Middleton 
 
 within two or three hundred yards. As soon 
 as Champe got abreast of the galleys, he dis- 
 mounted, and running through the marsh to 
 the river, plunged into it, calling upon the gal- 
 leys for help. This was readily given ; they 
 fired upon our horse, and sent a boat to meet 
 Champe, who was taken in and carried on board, 
 and conveyed to New York with a letter from the 
 captain of the galley, stating the past scene, all 
 of which he had observed. 
 
 The horse with his equipments, the sergeant's 
 cloak and sword scabbard, were recovered ; the 
 sword itself, being held by Champe until he 
 plunged into the river, was lost, as Middleton 
 found it necessary to retire without searching 
 for it. 
 
 About three o'clock in the evening our party 
 returned, and the soldiers, seeing the horse (well 
 known to them) in our possession, made the air 
 
 BRITISH OFFICERS IN NEW YORK. 
 
 resound with exclamations that the scoundrel 
 was killed. 
 
 Major Lee, called by this heart-rending annun- 
 ciation from his tent, saw the sergeant's horse 
 led by one of Middleton's dragoons, and began 
 to reproach himself with the blood of the high- 
 prized, faithful and intrepid Champe. Stifling 
 his agony, he advanced to meet Middleton, and 
 became somewhat relieved as soon as he got near 
 enouefh to discern the countenances of his officer 
 
422 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and party. There was evidence in their looks of 
 disappointment, and he was quickly relieved by 
 Middleton's information that the sergeant had ef- 
 fected his escape with the loss of his horse, and 
 narrated the particulars just recited. 
 
 Lee's joy was now as full as, the moment before, 
 his torture had been excruciating. Never was a 
 happier conclusion, the sergeant escaped unhurt, 
 carrying with him to the enemy undeniable testi- 
 mony of the sincerity of his desertion, — cancelling 
 even- apprehension before entertained, lest the 
 enemy might suspect him of being what he really 
 was. 
 
 Major Lee imparted to the commander-in-chief 
 the occurrence, who was sensibly affected by the 
 hair-breadth escape of Champe, and anticipated 
 with pleasure the good effect sure to follow the 
 enemy's knowledge of its manner. 
 
 On the fourth day after Champe' s departure, 
 Lee received a letter from him, written the day 
 before in a disguised hand, without any signature, 
 and stating what had passed after he got on board 
 the galley, where he was kindly received. 
 
 He was carried to the commandant of New 
 York as soon as he arrived, and presented the 
 letter addressed to this officer from the captain of 
 the galley. Being asked as to what corps he lie- 
 longed, and a few other common questions, he 
 was sent under care of an orderly sergeant to the 
 adjutant-general, who, finding that he was ser- 
 geant-major of the legion of horse, heretofore re- 
 markable for their fidelity, began to interro- 
 gate him. He was told by Champe, that such 
 was the spirit of defection which prevailed among 
 the American troops in consequence of Arnold's 
 example, that he had no doubt, if the temper was 
 properly cherished, Washington's ranks would not 
 only be greatly thinned, but that some of his best 
 corps would leave him. To this conclusion, the ser- 
 geant said, he was led by his own observations, 
 and especially by his knowledge of the discon- 
 tents which agitated the corps to which he had 
 belonged. His size, place of birth, his form, 
 countenance, color of his hair, the corps in which 
 he had served with other remarks, in conformity 
 to the British usage, were noted in a large folio 
 book. After this was finished, he was sent to the 
 commander-in-chief, in charge of one of the staff, 
 with a letter from the adjutant-general. Sir 
 Henry Clinton treated him very kindly, and de- 
 tained him more than one hour, asking him many 
 
 questions, all leading, — first to know to what ex- 
 tent this spirit of defection might be pushed by pro- 
 per incitements, — what were the most operating in- 
 citements, —whether any general officers were sus- 
 pected by Washington as concerned in Arnold's 
 conspiracy, or any other officers of note ; — who 
 they were, and whether the troops approved or 
 censured Washington's suspicions; whether his 
 popularity in the army Avas sinking or continued 
 stationary. What was Major Andre's situation, 
 — whether any change had taken place in the 
 manner of his confinement, — what was the current 
 opinion of his probable fate, — and whether it was 
 thought Washington would treat him as a sp5*. 
 To these various interrogations, some of which 
 were perplexing, Champe answered warily ; ex- 
 citing, nevertheless, hopes that the adoption of 
 proper measures to encourage desertion (of which 
 lie could not pretend to form an opinion) would 
 certainly bring off hundreds of the American 
 soldiers, including some of the best troops, horse 
 as well as foot. Respecting the fate of Andre, he 
 said he was ignorant, though there appeared to 
 be a general wish in the army that his life should 
 not be taken ; and that he believed it would de- 
 pend more upon the disposition of Congress, than 
 on the will of Washington. 
 
 After this long conversation ended, Sir Henry 
 presented Champe with a couple of guineas, and 
 recommended him to wait upon General Arnold, 
 who was engaged in raising an American legion 
 in the sen-ice of His Majesty. He directed one 
 of his aids to write to Arnold by Champe, stating 
 who he was, and what he had said about the dis- 
 position in the army to follow his example ; which 
 being very soon done, it was given to the orderly 
 attending on Champe to be presented with the 
 deserter to General Arnold. Arnold expressed 
 much satisfaction on hearing from Champe the 
 manner of his escape, and the effect of Arnold's 
 example ; and concluded his numerous inquiries 
 by assigning quarters to the sergeant, — the same 
 as were occupied by his recruiting sergeant. 
 
 He also proposed to Champe to join his legion, 
 telling him he would give him the same station 
 he had held in the rebel sen'ice, and promising 
 further advancement when merited. Expressing 
 his wish to retire from war, and his conviction of 
 the certainty of his being hung if ever taken by 
 the rebels, he begged to be excused from enlist- 
 ment ; assuring the general, that should he change 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 423 
 
 his mind, he would certainly accept his offer. Re- 
 tiring to the assigned quarter, Champe now turned 
 his attention to the delivery of his letters, which 
 he could not effect until the next night, and then 
 only to one of the two incognita to whom he was 
 recommended. This man received the sergeant 
 with extreme attention, and having read the let- 
 ter, assured Champe that he might rely on his 
 faithful co-operation in doing everything in his 
 power consistent with his safety, to guard which 
 required the utmost prudence and circumspection. 
 The sole object in which the aid of this individual 
 was required, regarded the general and others of 
 our army, implicated in the in format ion sent to 
 Washington by him. To 
 this object Champe urged 
 his attention ; assuring him 
 of the solicitude it had ex- 
 cited, and telling him that 
 its speedy investigation had 
 induced the general to send 
 him into New York ; prom- 
 ising to enter upon it with 
 zeal, and engaging to send 
 out Champe' s letters to 
 Major Lee, he fixed the 
 time and place for their 
 next meeting, when they 
 separated. 
 
 Tee made known to the 
 General what had be e n 
 transmitted to him by 
 Champe, and received in 
 answer directions to press 
 Champe to the expeditious 
 
 conclusion of his mission ; as the fate of An- 
 dre would be soon decided, when little or no delay 
 could be admitted in executing whatever sentence 
 the court might decree. The same messenger 
 who brought Champe' s letter, returned with the 
 ordered communication. Five days had nearly 
 elapsed after reaching New York, before Champe 
 saw the confidant to whom only, the attempt 
 against Arnold was to be entrusted. This person 
 entered with promptitude into the design, promis- 
 ing his cordial assistance. To procure a proper 
 associate to Champe was the first object, and this 
 he promised to do with all possible despatch. 
 Furnishing a conveyance to Lee, he again heard 
 from Champe, who stated what I have related, 
 
 with the additional intelligence that he had that 
 morning (the last of September) been appointed 
 one of Arnold's recruiting sergeants, having en- 
 listed the daj- before with Arnold ; and that he was 
 induced to take this afflicting step, for the pur- 
 pose of securing uninterrupted ingress and egress 
 to the house which the general occupied ; it being 
 indispensable to a speedy conclusion of the diffi- 
 cult enterprise which the information he had just 
 received had so forcibly urged. He added, that 
 the difficulties in his way were numerous and 
 stubborn, and that his prospect of success was by 
 no means cheering. With respect to the addi- 
 tional treason, he asserted that he had every 
 
 INTERVIEW BETWEEN ARNOLD AND SERGEANT CHAMPE. 
 
 reason to believe that it was groundless ; that the 
 report took its rise in the enemy's camp, and that 
 he hoped soon to clear up the matter satisfac- 
 torily. The pleasure which the last part of this 
 communication afforded, was damped by the tid- 
 ings it imparted respecting Arnold, as on his 
 speedy delivers - depended Andre's relief. The in- 
 terposition of Sir Henry Clinton, who was ex- 
 tremely anxious to save his much-loved aid-de- 
 camp, still continued ; and it was expected the 
 examination of witnesses and the defence of the 
 prisoner, would protract the decision of the court 
 of inquiry, now assembled, and give sufficiei t 
 time for the consummation of the project com- 
 mitted to Champe. A complete disappointment 
 
424 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 took place from a quarter unforeseen and unex- 
 pected. The honorable and accomplished Andre, 
 knowing his guilt, disdained defence, and pre- 
 vented the examination of witnesses by confessing 
 the character in which he stood. On the next 
 day (_the 2d of October) the court again assembled ; 
 when every doubt that could possibly arise in the 
 case having been removed by the previous confes- 
 sion, Andre was declared to be a spy, and con- 
 demned to suffer accordingly. 
 
 The sentence was executed on the subsequent 
 day in the usual form, the commander-in-chief 
 deeming it improper to interpose an}- delay. In 
 this decision he was warranted by the very un- 
 promising intelligence received from Champe, — 
 by the still existing implication of other officers 
 in Arnold's conspiracy, — by a due regard to public 
 opinion, — and by real tenderness to the con- 
 demned. 
 
 Xeither Congress nor the nation could have 
 been with propriety informed of the cause of the 
 delay, and without such information it must have 
 excited in both alarm and suspicion. Andre him- 
 self could not have been entrusted with the secret, 
 and would consequently have attributed the un- 
 looked-for event to the expostulation and exertion 
 of Sir Henry Clinton, which would not tail to 
 produce in his breast expectations of ultimate 
 relief ; to excite which would have been cruel, as 
 the realization of such expectations depended upon 
 a possible but improbable contingency. The fate 
 of Andre, hastened by himself, deprived the enter- 
 prise committed to Champe of a feature which had 
 been highly prized by its projector, and which 
 had very much engaged the heart of the individual 
 chosen to execute it. 
 
 Washington ordered Major Lee to communicate 
 what had passed to the sergeant, with directions 
 to encourage him to prosecute with unrelaxed 
 vigor the remaining objects of his instructions, 
 but to intermit haste in the execution only so far 
 as was compatible with final success. 
 
 This was accordingly done by the first oppor- 
 tunity, in the manner directed. Champe de- 
 plored the sad necessity which occurred, and 
 candidly confessed that the hope of enabling 
 Washington to save the life of Andre (who had 
 been the subject of universal commiseration in the 
 American camp) greatly contributed to remove 
 the serious difficulties which opposed his acceding 
 to the proposition when first propounded. Some 
 
 documents accompanied this communication, tend- 
 ing to prove the innocence of the accused general ; 
 thej- were completely satisfactory, and did credit 
 to the discrimination, zeal and diligence of the 
 sergeant. Lee inclosed them immediately to the 
 commander-in-chief, who was pleased to express 
 the satisfaction he derived from the information, 
 and to order the major to wait upon him the next 
 da}-, when the whole subject was re-examined, 
 and the distrust heretofore entertained of the ac- 
 cused was forever dismissed. Nothing now re- 
 mained to be done, but the seizure and safe de- 
 liver}- of Arnold. To this object Champe gave 
 his undivided attention : and on the 19th October 
 Major Lee received from him a very particular 
 account of the progress he had made, with the 
 outlines of his plan. This was, without delay, 
 submitted to Washington, with a request for a 
 few additional guineas. The general's letter, 
 written on the same day (20th October), evinces 
 his attention to the minutiae of business, as well 
 as his immutable determination to possess Arnold 
 alive, or not at all. This was his original injunc- 
 tion, which he never omitted to enforce upon every 
 proper occasion. 
 
 Major Lee had an opportunity in the course of 
 the week of writing to Champe, when he told him 
 that the rewards which he had promised to his 
 associates would be certainly paid on the delivery 
 of Arnold ; and in the mean time, small sums of 
 money would be furnished for casual expenses, it 
 being deemed improper that he should appear 
 with much, lest it might lead to suspicion and 
 detection. That five guineas were now sent, 
 with a promise that more would follow when ab- 
 solutely necessary. 
 
 Ten days elapsed before Champe brought his 
 measures to conclusion, when Lee received from 
 him his final communication, appointing the third 
 subsequent night for a party of dragoons to meet 
 him at Hoboken, when he hoped to deliver Arnold 
 to the officer. Champe had, from his enlistment 
 into the American legion (Arnold's corps), every 
 opportunity he could wish, to attend to the habits 
 of the general. He discovered that it was his 
 custom to return home about twelve every night, 
 and that previous to going to bed he always visited 
 the garden. During this visit the conspirators 
 were to seize him, and being prepared with a gag, 
 intended to have applied the same instantly. 
 
 Adjoining the house in which Arnold resided, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 425 
 
 and in which it was designed to seize and gag 
 him, Champe had taken off several of the palings 
 and replaced them, so that with care and without 
 noise he could readily open his way to the adjoin- 
 ing alle}-. Into this alley he meant to have con- 
 veyed his prisoner, aided by his companion, one 
 of two associates who had been introduced by the 
 friend to whom Champe had been originally made 
 known by letter from the commander-in-chief, and 
 with whose aid and counsel he had so far con- 
 ducted the enterprise. His other associate was 
 with the boat prepared at one of the wharves on 
 the Hudson river, to receive the party. 
 
 Champe and his friend intended to have placed 
 themselves each under Arnold's shoulder, and to 
 have thus borne him through the most unfre- 
 quented alleys and streets to the boat ; represent- 
 ing Arnold, in case of being questioned, as a 
 drunken soldier whom they were conveying to the 
 guard-house. 
 
 When arrived at the boat the difficulties would 
 be all surmounted, there being no danger nor 
 obstacle in passing to the Jersey shore. These 
 particulars, as soon as known to Lee, were com- 
 municated to the commander-in-chief, who was 
 highly gratified with the much desired intelli- 
 gence. He directed Major Lee to meet Champe, 
 and to take care that Arnold should not be hurt. 
 The day arrived, and Lee with a party of dragoons 
 left camp late in the evening, with three led ac- 
 coutred horses ; one for Arnold, one for the ser- 
 geant, and the third for his associate, never 
 doubting the success of the enterprise, from the 
 tenor of the last received communication. The 
 party reached Hoboken about midnight, where 
 they were concealed in the adjoining wood, — Tee 
 with three dragoons stationing himself near the 
 river shore. Hour after hour passed — no boat ap- 
 proached. At length the day broke and the 
 major retired to his part}', and with his led horses 
 returned to camp, when he proceeded to head- 
 quarters to inform the general of the much la- 
 mented disappointment, as mortifying as inexpli- 
 cable. Washington having perused Champe's 
 plan and communication, had indulged the 
 presumption that at length the object of his keen 
 and constant pursuit was sure of execution, and 
 did not dissemble the joy such conviction pro- 
 duced. He was chagrined at the issue, and appre- 
 hended that his faithful sergeant must have been 
 detected in the last scene of his tedious and diffi- 
 cult enterprise. 
 
 In a few days, Lee received an anonymous letter 
 from Champe's patron and friend, informing him 
 that on the da}- preceding the night fixed for the 
 execution of the plot, Arnold had removed his 
 quarters to another part of the town, to superin- 
 tend the embarkation of troops, preparing (as was 
 rumored) for an expedition to be directed by him- 
 self; and that the American legion, consisting 
 chiefly of American deserters, had been transferred 
 from their barracks to one of the transports ; it 
 being apprehended that if left on shore until the 
 expedition was ready, many of them might desert. 
 Thus it happened that John Champe, instead of 
 crossing the Hudson that night, was safely de- 
 posited on board one of the fleet of transports, 
 from whence he never departed until the troops 
 under Arnold landed in Virginia ! Nor was he 
 able to escape from the British army until after 
 the junction of Lord Cornwallis at Petersburg, 
 when he deserted ; and proceeding high up into 
 Virginia, he passed into North Carolina near the 
 Saura towns, and keeping in the friendly districts 
 of that state, safely joined the army soon after 
 it had passed the Congaree in pursuit of Lord 
 Rawdon. 
 
 His appearance excited extreme surprise among 
 his former comrades, which was not a little in- 
 creased when thej' saw the cordial reception he 
 met with from the late major, now Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Lee. His whole story soon became known 
 to the corps, which reproduced the love and 
 respect of officer and soldier (heretofore invariably 
 entertained for the sergeant), heightened by uni- 
 versal admiration of his late daring and arduous 
 attempt. 
 
 Champe was introduced to General Greene, who 
 very cheerfully complied with the promises made 
 by the commander-in-chief, so far as in his power ; 
 and having provided the sergeant with a good 
 horse and money for his journey, sent him to 
 General Washington, who munificently anticipated 
 every desire of the sergeant, and presented him 
 with his discharge from further service, lest he 
 might, in the vicissitudes of war, fall into the 
 enemy's hands ; when, if recognized, he was sure 
 to die on a gibbet. 
 
 THE PANTHER. 
 
 BY JAMES FENIHORE COOPER. 
 
 BY this time they gained the summit of the 
 mountain, where they left the highway, and 
 pursued their course under the shade of the stately 
 
426 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS., AND THE 
 
 trees that crowned the eminence. The day was 
 becoming warm, and the girls plunged more 
 deeply into the forest, as they found its invigora- 
 ting coolness agreeably contrasted to the excessive 
 heat they had experienced in the ascent. The 
 conversation, as if by mutual consent, was entirely 
 changed to the little incidents and scenes of their 
 walk, and every tall pine, and even- shrub or 
 flower, called forth some simple expression of 
 admiration. 
 
 In this manner they proceeded along the margin 
 of the precipice, catching occasional glimpses of 
 the placid Otsego, or pausing to listen to the rat- 
 tling of wheels and the sounds of hammers that 
 rose from the valley, to mingle the signs of men 
 
 As--; 
 
 m 
 
 
 THE PANTHER 
 
 with the scenes of nature, when Elizabeth sud- 
 denly started, and exclaimed — 
 
 ' ' Listen ! there are the cries of a child on this 
 mountain ! Is there a clearing near us? or can 
 some little one have strayed from its parents ?" 
 
 "Such things frequently happen," returned 
 Louisa. " Let us follow the sounds : it may be a 
 wanderer starving on the hill." 
 
 Urged by this consideration, the females pur- 
 sued the low, mournful sounds that proceeded 
 from the forest, with quick and impatient steps. 
 More than once, the ardent Elizabeth was on the 
 point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, 
 when Louisa caught her by the arm, and pointing 
 behind them, cried — 
 
 " Look at the clog !" 
 
 Brave had been their companion, from the time 
 the voice of his young mistress lured him from 
 his kennel, to the present moment. His advanced 
 age had long before deprived him of his activity ; 
 and when his companions stopped to view the 
 scenery, or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff 
 would lay his huge frame on the ground, and 
 await their movements with his e3 - es closed, and 
 a listlessness in his air that ill accorded with the 
 character of a protector. But when, aroused by 
 this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she 
 saw the dog with his eyes keenly set on some dis- 
 tant object, his head bent near the ground, and 
 his hair actually rising on his body, through 
 fright or anger. It was most probably the latter, 
 for he was growling in a low key, and 
 occasionally showing his teeth, in a 
 manner that would have terrified his 
 mistress, had she not so well known 
 his good qualities. 
 
 "Brave !" she said, " be quiet, Bra\e! 
 what do you see, fellow?" 
 
 At the sound of her voice, the rage 
 of the mastiff, instead of being at all 
 diminished, was very sensibly in- 
 creased. He stalked in front of the 
 ladies, and seated himself at the feet 
 of his mistress, growling louder than 
 before, and occasionally giving vent to 
 his ire, by a short, surly barking. 
 
 " What does he see?" said Eliza- 
 beth ; " there must be some animal in 
 sight." 
 
 Hearing no answer from her com- 
 panion, Miss Temple turned her head, 
 and beheld Louisa standing with her face whit- 
 ened to the color of death, and her finger pointing 
 upwards, with a sort of flickering, convulsed mo- 
 tion. The quick eye of Elizabeth glanced in the 
 direction indicated by her friend, where she saw 
 the fierce front and glaring eyes of a female pan- 
 ther, fixed on them in horrid malignity, and 
 threatening to leap. 
 
 "Let us fly," exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping 
 the arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melt- 
 ing snow. 
 
 There was not a single feeling in the tempera- 
 ment of Elizabeth Temple that could prompt her 
 to desert a companion in such an extremity. She 
 fell on her knees, by the side of the inanimate 
 Louisa, tearing from the person of her friend, with 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 427 
 
 instinctive readiness, such parts of her dress as 
 might obstruct her respiration, and encouraging 
 their only safeguard, the dog, at the same time, 
 by the sound of her voice. 
 
 "Courage, Brave!" she cried, her own tones 
 beginning to tremble, "courage, courage, good 
 Brave !" 
 
 A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been 
 unseen, now appeared, dropping from the branches 
 of a sapling that grew under the shade of the 
 beech which held its dam. This ignorant, but 
 vicious creature, approached the dog, imitating 
 the actions and sounds of its parent, but exhibit- 
 ing a strange mixture of the playfulness of a kit- 
 ten with the ferocity of its race. Standing on its 
 hind legs, it would rend the bark of a tree with 
 its fore paws, and play the antics of a cat ; and 
 then, by lashing itself with its tail, growling, and 
 scratching the earth, it would attempt the mani- 
 festations of anger that rendered its parent so 
 terrific. 
 
 All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, 
 his short tail erect, his body drawn backward on 
 its haunches, and his eyes following the move- 
 ments of both dam and cub. At every gambol 
 played by the latter, it approached nigher to the 
 dog, the growling of the three becoming more 
 horrid at each movement, until the younger beast 
 overleaping its intended bound, fell directly before 
 the mastiff. There was a moment of fearful cries 
 and struggles, but they ended almost as soon as 
 commenced, by the cub appearing in the air, 
 hurled from the jaws of Brave, with a violence 
 that sent it against a tree so forcibly as to render 
 it completely senseless. 
 
 Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her 
 blood was warming with the triumph of the dog, 
 when she saw the form of the old panther in the 
 air, springing twenty feet from the branch of the 
 beech to the back of the mastiff. No words of 
 ours can describe the fury of the conflict that fol- 
 lowed. It was a confused struggle on the dry 
 leaves, accompanied by loud and terrific cries. 
 Miss Temple continued on her knees, bending 
 over the form of Louisa, her eyes fixed on the 
 animals, with an interest so horrid, and yet so 
 intense, that she almost forgot her own stake in 
 the result. So rapid and vigorous were the bounds 
 of the inhabitant of the forest, that its active frame 
 seemed constantly in the air, while the dog nobly 
 faced his foe at each successive leap. When the 
 
 panther lighted on the shoulders of the mastiff, 
 which was its constant aim, old Brave, though 
 torn with her claws, and stained with his own 
 blood, that already flowed from a dozen wounds, 
 would shake off his furious foe like a feather, and 
 rearing on his hind legs, rush to the fray again, 
 with jaws distended, and a dauntless eye. But 
 age, and his pampered life, great^- disqualified 
 the noble mastiff for such a struggle. In every- 
 thing but courage, he was only the vestige of 
 what he had once been. A higher bound than 
 ever, raised the wary and furious beast far beyond 
 the reach of the dog, who was making a desperate 
 but fruitless dash at her, from which she alighted 
 in a favorable position on the back of her aged 
 foe. For a single moment only could the panther 
 remain there, the ' great strength of the dog 
 returning with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth 
 saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side of his 
 enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck, 
 which had been glittering throughout the fray, 
 was of the color of blood, and directly, that his 
 frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay 
 prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of 
 the wild-cat to extricate herself from the jaws of 
 the dog followed, but they were fruitless, until 
 the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed, 
 and his teeth loosened, when the short convul- 
 sions and stillness that ensued, announced the 
 death of poor Brave. 
 
 Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the 
 beast. There is said to be something in the front 
 of the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts 
 of the inferior beings of his creation ; and it would 
 seem that some such power, in the present instance, 
 suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the 
 monster and the kneeling maiden met for an in- 
 stant, when the former stooped to examine her 
 fallen foe ; next to scent her luckless cub. From 
 the latter examination, it turned, however, with 
 its eyes apparently emitting flashes of fire, its tail 
 lashing its sides furiously, and its claws projecting 
 inches from her broad feet. 
 
 Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her 
 hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, but 
 her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy — 
 her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of 
 marble, and her lips were slightly separated with 
 horror. 
 
 The moment seemed now to have arrived for 
 the fatal termination, and the beautiful figure of 
 
428 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Elizabeth was bowing meekly to the stroke, when 
 a rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock 
 the organs than to meet her ears. 
 
 " Hist ! hist !" said a low voice, " stoop lower, 
 gal ; your bonnet hides the creater's head." 
 
 It was rather the yielding of nature than a com- 
 pliance with this unexpected order, that caused 
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 
 
 the head of our heroine to sink on her bosom ; 
 when she heard the report of the rifle ; the whiz- 
 zing of the bullet, and the enraged cries of the 
 beast, who was rolling over on the earth biting 
 its own flesh, and tearing the twigs and branches 
 within its reach. At the next instant the form of 
 the Leather-stocking rushed by her. and he called 
 aloud — 
 
 " Come in, Hector, come in, old fool; 'tis a 
 hard-lived animal, and ma}' jump agin." 
 
 Natty fearlessly maintained his position in front 
 of the females, notwithstanding the violent 
 bounds and threatening aspect of the wounded 
 panther, which gave several indications of return- 
 ing strength and ferocity, until his rifle was agair. 
 loaded, when he stepped up to the enraged 
 animal, and placing the muzzle ck,se to its 
 head, even- spark of life was extinguished 
 by the discharge. 
 
 r 
 
 THE WHITE STONE CANOE.— AN INDIAN 
 LEGEND. 
 
 BY HENRY ROWE SCHOOLCRAFT. 
 
 HERE was once a very beautiful young 
 girl, who died suddenly on the day 
 she was to have been married to a hand- 
 some young man. He was also brave, but 
 his heart was not proof against this loss. 
 From the hour she was buried, there was no 
 more joy or peace for him. He went often 
 to visit the spot where the women had buried 
 her, and sat musing there, when, it was 
 thought, by some of his friends, he would 
 have done better to try to amuse himself in 
 the chase, or by diverting his thoughts in 
 the war-path. But war and hunting had 
 both lost their charms for him. His heart 
 was already dead within him. He pushed 
 aside both his war-club and his bow and 
 arrows. 
 
 He had heard the old people sa} - , that 
 there was a path that led to the land of 
 souls, and he determined to follow it. He 
 accordingly set out, one morning, after hav- 
 ing completed his preparations for the jour- 
 ney. At first he hardty knew which way 
 to go. He was only guided by the tradition 
 that he must go south. For a while, he 
 could see no change in the face of the 
 country. Forests, and hills, and valleys, 
 and streams had the same looks, which 
 they wore in his native place. There was 
 snow on the ground, when he set out, and it 
 was sometimes seen to be piled and matted 
 on the thick trees and bushes. At length, it 
 began to diminish, and filially disappeared. The 
 forest assumed a more cheerful appearance, the 
 leaves put forth their buds, and before he was 
 aware of the completeness of his change, he found 
 

 i.y.-. 
 
 THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 (429) 
 
430 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 himself surrounded by spring. He had left be- 
 hind him the land of snow and ice. The air be- 
 came mild, the dark clouds of winter had rolled 
 away from the sky ; a pure field of blue was above 
 him, and as he went he saw flowers beside his 
 path, and heard the songs of birds. By these 
 signs he knew that he was going the right way, 
 for they agreed with the traditions of his tribe. 
 At length he spied a path. It led him through a 
 grove, then up a long and elevated ridge, on the 
 very top of which he came to a lodge. At the 
 door stood an old man, with white hair, whose 
 eyes, though deeply sunk, had a fiery brilliancy. 
 He had a long robe of skins thrown loosely around 
 his shoulders, and a staff in his hands. 
 
 The young Chippewayan began to tell his story ; 
 but the venerable chief arrested him, before he 
 had proceeded to speak ten words. ' ' I have ex- 
 pected you," he replied, "and had just risen to 
 bid you welcome to my abode. She, whom you 
 seek, passed here but a few days since, and being 
 fatigued with her journey, rested herself here. 
 Enter my lodge and be seated, and I will then 
 satisfy your enquiries, and give you directions for 
 your journey from this point." Having done 
 this, they both issued forth to the lodge door. 
 "You see yonder gulf," said he, " and the wide 
 stretching blue plains beyond. It is the land of 
 souls. You stand upon its borders, and my lodge 
 is the gate of entrance. But you cannot take 
 your body along. Leave it here with your bow 
 and arrows, your bundle and your dog. You will 
 find them safe on your return." So saying, he 
 re-entered the lodge, and the freed traveller 
 bounded forward, as if his feet had suddenly been 
 endowed with the power of wings. But all things 
 retained their natural colors and shapes. The 
 woods and leaves, and streams and lakes, were 
 only more bright and comely than he had ever 
 witnessed. Animals bounded across his path, 
 with a freedom and a confidence which seemed to 
 tell him, there was no bloodshed here. Birds of 
 beautiful plumage inhabited the groves, and 
 sported in the waters. There was but one thing, 
 in which he saw a very unusual effect. He noticed 
 that his passage was not stopped by trees or other 
 objects. He appeared to walk directly through 
 them. They were, in fact, but the souls or 
 shadows of material trees. He became sensible 
 that he was in a land of shadows. When he had 
 travelled half a day's journey, through a country 
 
 which was continually becoming more attractive, 
 he came to the banks of a broad lake, in the centre 
 of which was a large and beautiful island. He 
 found a canoe of shining white stone, tied to the 
 shore. He was now sure that he had come the 
 right path, for the aged man had told him of this. 
 There were also shining paddles. He immediately 
 entered the canoe, and took the paddles in his 
 hands, when to his joy and surprise, on turn- 
 ing round, he beheld the object of his search in 
 another canoe, exactly its counterpart in every- 
 thing. She had exacts* imitated his motions, 
 and they were side by side. They at once pushed 
 out from shore and began to cross the lake. Its 
 waves seemed to be rising, and at a distance looked 
 ready to swallow them up ; but just as they en- 
 tered the whitened edge of them they seemed to 
 melt away, as if they were but the images of 
 waves. But no sooner was one wreath of foam 
 passed, than another, more threatening still, rose 
 up. Thus they were in perpetual fear ; and what 
 added to it, was the clearness of the water, 
 through which they could see heaps of beings who 
 had perished before, and whose bones lay strewed 
 on the bottom of the lake. The Master of Life 
 had, however, decreed to let them pass, for the 
 actions of neither of them had been bad. But 
 thej' saw man}- others struggling and sinking in 
 the waves. Old men and young men, males and 
 females of all ages and ranks were there ; some 
 passed, and some sank. It was only the little 
 children whose canoes met no waves." At length 
 every difficulty was gone, as in a moment, 
 and they both leapt out on the happy island. 
 They felt that the very air was food. It strength- 
 ened and nourished them. The}' wandered to- 
 gether over the blissful fields, where everything 
 was formed to please the eye and the ear. There 
 were no tempests — there was no ice, no chilly 
 winds — no one shivered for the want of warm 
 clothes : no one suffered for hunger — no one 
 mourned for the dead. They saw no graves. 
 They heard of no wars. There was no hunting 
 of animals ; for the air itself was their food. 
 Gladly would the young warrior have remained 
 there for ever, but he was obliged to go back for 
 his body. He did not see the Master of Life, but 
 he heard his voice in a soft breeze : "Go back," 
 said this voice, "to the land from whence you 
 came. Your time has not yet come. The duties 
 for which I made you, and which you are to per- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 43i 
 
 form, are not yet finished. Return to your peo- my messenger, who keeps the gate. When he 
 pie, and accomplish the duties of a good man. surrenders back your body, he will tell you what 
 
 You will be the ruler of your tribe for many days, to do. Listen to him, and you shall afterwards 
 The rules you must observe, will be told you by rejoin the spirit, which you must now leave be- 
 
432 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AXD THE 
 
 hind. She is accepted and will be ever here, as 
 young and as happy as she was when I first called 
 her from the land of snows." "When this voice 
 ceased, the narrator awoke. It was the fancy 
 work of a dream, and he was still in the bitter 
 land of snows, and hunger, and tears. 
 
 DEERSLAYER AT THE DEATH OF HIS SAV- 
 AGE FOE. 
 
 BY JAMES FEXIMORE COOPER. 
 
 BY this time the piece was reloaded, and Deer- 
 slayer, after tossing the tomahawk into the 
 canoe, advanced to his victim, and stood over 
 him, leaning on his rifle, in melancholy attention. 
 It was the first instance in which he had seen a 
 man fall in battle. It was the first fellow-creature 
 against whom he had ever seriously raised his 
 own hand The sensations were novel; and 
 regret, with the freshness of our better feelings, 
 mingled with his triumph. The Indian was not 
 dead, though shot directly through the bod}-. 
 He lay- on his back motionless, but his eyes, now 
 full of consciousness, watched each action of 
 his victor — as the fallen bird regards the fowler — 
 jealous of even - movement. The man probably 
 expected the fatal blow which was to precede the 
 loss of his scalp ; or perhaps he anticipated his 
 death. Deerslayer read his thoughts ; and he 
 found a melancholy satisfaction in relieving the 
 apprehensions of the helpless savage. 
 
 " Xo, no, red-skin," he said : " you've nothing 
 more to fear from me. I am of a Christian stock 
 and scalping is not of my gifts. I'll just make sar- 
 tain of your rifle, and then come back and do you 
 what sarvice I can. Though here I can't stay 
 rnuch longer, as the crack of three rifles will be 
 apt to bring some of your devils upon me." 
 
 The close of this was said in a sort of soliloquy, 
 as the young man went in quest of the fallen rifle. 
 The piece was found where its owner had dropped 
 it, and was immediately put into the canoe. Lay- 
 ing his own rifle at his side, Deerslayer then re- 
 turned and stood over the Indian again. 
 
 " All inmity atween you and me's at an ind, 
 red-skin," lie said ; " and you may set your heart 
 at rest on the score of the scalp, or any further in- 
 jury. My gifts are white, as I've told you ; and 
 I hope my conduct will be white also ! ' ' 
 
 Could looks have conveyed all the}- meant, 
 it is probable Deer slayer's innocent vanity on 
 
 the subject of color would have been rebuked 
 a little : but he comprehended the gratitude that 
 was expressed in the eyes of the dying savage, 
 without in the least detecting the bitter sarcasm 
 that struggled with the better feeling. 
 
 " Water ! " ejaculated the thirsty and unfortu- 
 nate creature ; " give poor Injin water." 
 
 "Aye, water you shall have, if you drink the 
 lake dry. I'll jus' carry you down to it, that you 
 may take your fill. This is the way, they tell me, 
 with all wounded people — water is their greatest 
 comfort and delight." 
 
 So saying, Deerslayer raised the Indian in his 
 arms, and carried him to the lake. Here he first 
 helped him to take an attitude in which he could 
 appease his burning thirst ; after which he seated 
 himself on a stone, and took the head of his 
 wounded adversary in his own lap, and endea- 
 vored to soothe his anguish in the best manner he 
 could. 
 
 " It would be sinful in me to tell you your time 
 hadn't come, warrior," he commenced, and there- 
 fore I'll not say it. You've passed the middle age 
 already, and, considerin' the sort of lives ye lead, 
 your days have been pretty well filled. The prin- 
 cipal thing now, is to look forward to what comes 
 next. Neither red-skin nor pale-face, on the 
 whole, calculates much on sleepin' for ever ; but 
 both expect to live in another world. Each has 
 his gifts, and will be judged by 'em, and I sup- 
 pose, you've thought these matters over enough 
 not to stand in need of sarmons when the trial 
 conies. You'll find your happy hunting-ground, 
 if you've been a just Injin ; if an unjust, you'll 
 meet your desarts in another way. I've my own 
 idees about these things ; but you're too old and 
 experienced to need any explanations from one as 
 young as I." 
 
 "Good!" ejaculated the Indian, whose voice 
 retained its depth even as life ebbed away; " young 
 head — ole wisdom ! ' ' 
 
 "It's sometimes a consolation, when the ind 
 comes, to know that them we've harmed or tried 
 to harm, forgive us. I suppose natur' seeks this 
 relief, by way of getting a pardon on 'arth ; as we 
 never can know whether He pardons, who is all 
 in all. till judgment itself comes. It's soothing 
 to know that any pardon at such times ; and that, 
 I conclude, is the secret. Now, as for myself, I 
 overlook altogether your designs ag'in my life : 
 first because no harm came of 'em : next, because 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 433 
 
 It's your gifts, and natur', and trainin', and I 
 ought not to have trusted you at all ; and, finally 
 and chiefly, because I can bear no ill-will to a 
 dying man, whether heathen or Christian. So 
 put your heart at ease, so far as I'm consarned ; 
 you know best what other matters ought to trou- 
 ble you, or what ought to give you satisfaction in 
 so trying a. moment." 
 
 It is probable that the Indian had some of the 
 fearful glimpses of the unknown state of being 
 which God in mere) - seems at times to afford to all 
 the human race ; but the}- were necessarily in con- 
 formity with his habits and prejudices. Like most 
 of his people, and like too many of our own, he 
 thought more of dying in a way to gain applause 
 among those he left than to secure a better state 
 of existence hereafter. While Deerslayer was 
 speaking his mind was a little bewildered, though 
 he felt that the intention was good ; and when he 
 had done, a regret passed over his spirit that none 
 of his own tribe were present to witness his stoi- 
 cism, under extreme bodily suffering, and the 
 firmness with which he met his end. With the 
 high innate courtesy that so often distinguishes 
 the Indian warrior before he becomes corrupted 
 by too much intercourse with the worst class of 
 the white men, he endeavored to express his 
 thankfulness for the other's good intentions, and 
 to let him understand that they were appreciated. 
 
 ' ' Good ! " he repeated for this was an English 
 word much used by the savages — "good — young 
 head ; young heart, too. Old heart tough ; no 
 shed tear. Hear Indian when he die, and no 
 want to lie — what he call him ? ' ' 
 
 " Deerslayer is the name I bear now, though 
 the Delawares have said that when I get back 
 from this war-path, I shall have a more manly 
 title, provided I can 'am one." 
 
 " That good name for boy — poor name for war- 
 rior. He get better quick. Xo fear there" — the 
 savage had strength sufficient, under the strong 
 excitement he felt, to raise a hand and tap the 
 young man on his breast — "eye sartain — finger 
 lightning — aim, death — great warrior soon. Xo 
 Deerslayer — Hawkeye — Hawkeye — Hawkeye. 
 Shake hand." 
 
 Deerslayer — or Hawkeye, as the youth was 
 then first named, for in after years he bore the 
 appellation throughout all that region — Deerslayer 
 took the hand of the savage, whose last breath 
 was drawn in that attitude, gazing in admiration 
 
 23 
 
 at the countenance of a stranger who had shown 
 so much readiness, skill, and firmness, in a scene 
 that was equally trying and novel. When the 
 reader remembers it is the highest gratification an 
 Indian can receive to see his enemy betray weak- 
 ness, he will be better able to appreciate the con- 
 duct which had extorted so great a concession at 
 such a moment. 
 
 "His spirit has fled !" said Deerslayer, in a sup- 
 pressed, melancholy voice. "Ah's me ! Well, to 
 this we must all come, sooner or later ; and he is 
 happiest, let his skin be of what color it may, who 
 is best fitted to meet it. Here lies the body of no 
 doubt a brave warrior, and the soul is already fly- 
 ing towards its heaven or hell, whether that be a 
 happy hunting-ground, a place scant of game ; 
 regions of glory, according to Moravian doctrine, 
 or flames of fire ! So it happens, too, as regards 
 other matters ! Here have old Hutter and Hurry 
 Harry got themselves into difficult}', if they 
 haven't got themselves into torment and death, and 
 all for a bounty that luck offers to me in what 
 many would think a lawful and suitable manner. 
 But not a farthing of such money shall cross my 
 hand. White I was born, and white will I die ; 
 clinging to color to the last, even though the 
 King's Majesty, his governors, and all his coun- 
 cils, both at home and in the Colonies, forget from 
 what they come, and where they hope to go, and 
 all for a little advantage in warfare. No, no — 
 warrior, hand of mine shall never molest your 
 scalp, and so your soul may rest in peace on the 
 point of making a decent appearance, when the 
 body comes to join it, in your own land of spirits." 
 
 Deerslayer arose as soon as he had spoken. 
 Then he placed the body of the dead man in a 
 sitting posture, with its back against the little 
 rock, taking the necessary care to prevent it from 
 falling or in any way settling into an attitude that 
 might be thought unseemly by the sensitive, 
 though wild notions of a savage. When this duty 
 was performed, the young man stood gazing at 
 the grim countenance of his fallen foe, in a sort 
 of meiancnoly abstraction. 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF CHRISTIANS BY WILD 
 BEASTS IN THE ROMAN AMPHITHEATRE. 
 
 IN 183S, Rev. William Ware, of Brookliue, Mass., 
 published in the " Knickerbocker Magazine," 
 a series of letters purporting to have been written 
 
o 
 
 Pi 
 
 » 
 
 1434) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 435 
 
 by a young Roman Christian from the Imperial 
 city during the period of the persecution of Chris- 
 tians which preceded the accession of Constantine. 
 They are among the most successful efforts to re- 
 store to the modern reader the every-day life of 
 the Roman Empire, and are exceedingly graphic 
 in their portrayal of the sanguinary scenes en- 
 acted at that time. They are based upon histori- 
 cal representations, and, though wholly imagin- 
 ary, are supposed to accurately describe what 
 really took place : 
 
 The long peal of trumpets, and the shouts of 
 the people without gave note of the approach and 
 entrance of the Emperor. In a moment more, 
 with his swift step, he entered the amphitheatre, 
 and strode to the place set apart for him, the 
 whole multitude rising and saluting him with a 
 burst of welcome that might have been heard be- 
 yond the walls of Rome. The Emperor acknowl- 
 edged the salutation by rising from his seat and 
 lifting the crown from his head. He was in- 
 stantly seated again, and at a sign from him the 
 herald made proclamation of the entertainments 
 which were to follow. He who was named as the 
 first to suffer was Probus. 
 
 When I heard his name pronounced, with the 
 punishment which awaited him, my resolution to 
 remain forsook me, and I turned to rush from the 
 theatre. But my recollection of Probus' s earnest 
 entreaties that I would be there, restrained me, 
 and I returned to my seat. I considered, that as 
 I would attend the dying bed of a friend, so I was 
 clearly bound to remain where I was, and wait 
 for the last moments of this my more than Chris- 
 tian friend ; and the circumstance that his death 
 wis to be shocking and harrowing to the friendly 
 heart, was not enough to absolve me from the 
 heavy obligation. I therefore kept my place, and 
 awaited with patience the event. 
 
 I had waited not long when, from beneath that 
 extremity of the theatre where I was sitting, Pro- 
 bus was led forth and conducted to the centre of 
 the arena, where was a short pillar to which it 
 was customary to bind the sufferers. Probus, as 
 he entered, seemed rather like one who came to 
 witness what was there, than to be himself a vic- 
 tim, so free was his step, so erect his form. In 
 his face there might indeed be seen an expression, 
 that could only dwell on the countenance of one 
 whose spirit was already gone beyond the earth, 
 and holding converse with things unseen. There 
 
 was always much of this in the serene, uplifted face 
 of this remarkable man ; but it was now there 
 written in lines so bold and deep, that there could 
 have been few in that vast assembly but must have 
 been impressed by it as never before by aught 
 human. It must have been this which brought 
 so deep a silence upon that great multitude — not 
 the mere fact that an individual was about to be 
 torn by lions — that is an almost daily pastime. 
 For it was so, that when he first made his appear- 
 ance, and, as he moved toward the centre, turned 
 and looked round upon the crowded seats rising 
 to the heavens, the people neither moved nor 
 spoke, but kept their eyes fastened upon him as 
 by some spell which they could not break. 
 
 When he had reached the pillar, and he who 
 had conducted him was about to bind him to it, 
 it was plain, by what at that distance we could 
 observe, that Probus was entreating him to desist 
 and leave him at liberty ; in which he at length 
 succeeded, for that person returned, leaving him 
 alone and unbound. O sight of misery ! he who 
 for the humblest there present would have per- 
 formed any office of love, by w'.ilch the least good 
 should redound to him, left alone and defenceless, 
 they looking on and scarcely pitying his cruel 
 fate ! 
 
 When now he had stood there not many min- 
 utes, one of the doors of the vivaria was suddenly 
 thrown back, and bounding forth with a roar that 
 seemed to shake the walls of the theatre, a lion of 
 huge dimensions leaped upon the arena. Majesty 
 and power were inscribed upon his lordly limbs ; 
 and as he stood there where he had first sprung, 
 and looked round upon the multitude, how did 
 his gentle eye and noble carriage, with which 
 no one for a moment could associate meanness, 
 or cruelty, or revenge, cast shame upon the hu- 
 man monsters assembled to behold a solitary, 
 unarmed man torn limb from limb ! When he 
 had in this way looked upon that cloud of faces, 
 he then turned and moved round the arena 
 through its whole circumference, still looking 
 upwards upon those who filled the seats — not 
 till he had come again to the point from which 
 he started, so much as noticing who stood, his 
 victim, in the midst. Then, as if apparently for 
 the first time becoming conscious of his presence, 
 he caught the form of Probus ; and moving 
 slowly towards him, looked steadfastly upon 
 him, receiving in return the settled gaze of the 
 
436 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Christian. Standing there still awhile — each 
 locking upon the other — he then walked round 
 him, then approached nearer, making suddenly 
 and for a moment those motions which indicate 
 the roused appetite ; but as it were in the spirit 
 of self-rebuke, he immediately retreated a few 
 paces and lay down in the sand, stretching out 
 his head towards Probus, and closing his eyes 
 as if for sleep. 
 
 The people, who had watched in silence, and 
 ■with the interest of those who wait for their en- 
 tertainment, were both amazed and vexed at what 
 now appeared to be the dulness and stupidity of 
 the beast. When, however, he moved not from 
 his place, but seemed as if he were indeed about 
 to fall into a quiet sleep, those who occupied the 
 lower seats began both to cry out to him and 
 shake at him their caps, and toss about their arms 
 in the hope to rouse him. But it was all in vain ; 
 and at the command of the Emperor he was driven 
 back to his den. 
 
 Again a door of the vivaria was thrown open, 
 and another of equal size, but of a more alert and 
 rapid step, broke forth, and, as if delighted with 
 his sudden liberty and the ample range, coursed 
 round and round the arena, wholly regardless 
 both of the people and of Probus, intent only as 
 it seemed upon his own amusement. And when 
 at length he discovered Probus standing at his 
 place, it was but to bound towards him as in 
 frolic, and then wheel away in pursuit of a plea- 
 sure he esteemed more highly than the satisfy- 
 ing of his hunger. 
 
 At this, the people were not a little astonished, 
 and many who were near me hesitated not to say, 
 "that there might be some design of the gods, in 
 this." Others said plainly, but not with raised 
 
 voices, " An omen ! an omen 
 
 At the same 
 
 time Isaac turned and looked at me with an ex- 
 pression of countenance which I could not inter- 
 pret. Aurelian meanwhile exhibited manj' signs 
 of impatience ; and when it was evident the 
 animal could not be wrought up, either by the 
 cries of the people, or of the keepers, to any act 
 of violence, he too was taken away. But when a 
 third had been let loose, and with no better effect, 
 nay, with less — -for he, when he had at length ap- 
 proached Probus, fawned upon him, and laid him- 
 self at his feet — the people, superstitious as you 
 know beyond any others, now cried out aloud, 
 
 " An omen ! an omen ! " and made the sign that 
 Probus should be spared and removed. 
 
 Aurelian himself seemed almost of the same 
 mind, and I can hardly doubt would have ordered 
 him to be released, but that Pronto at that 
 moment approached him, and by a few of those 
 words, which, coming from him, are received by 
 Aurelian as messages from Heaven, put within 
 him a new and different mind ; for rising quickly 
 from his seat he ordered the keeper of the vivaria 
 to be brought before him. When he appeared 
 below upon the sands, Aurelian cried out to him, 
 
 "Why, knave, dost thou weary out our pa- 
 tience thus — letting forth beasts already over- fed ? 
 Do thus again, and thou thyself shall be thrown 
 to them. Art thou too a Christian? " 
 
 " Great Emperor," replied the keeper, "than 
 those I have now let loose there are not larger 
 nor fiercer in the imperial dens, and since the 
 sixth hour of yesterday they have tasted nor food 
 nor drink. Why they have thus put off their 
 nature 'tis hard to guess, unless the general cry 
 be taken for the truth, ' that the gods have touched 
 them."' 
 
 Aurelian was again seen to waver, when a voice 
 from the benches cried out, 
 
 " It is, O Emperor, but another Christian de- 
 vice ! Forget not the voice from the temple ! The 
 Christians, who claim powers over demons, bid- 
 ding them go and come at pleasure, may well be 
 thought capable to change, by the magic imputed 
 to them, the nature of a beast." 
 
 " I doubt not," said the Emperor, "but it is so. 
 Slave ! throw open now the doors of all thy 
 vaults, and let us see whether both lions and tigers 
 be not too much for this new necromancy. If it 
 be the gods who interpose, the}- can shut the 
 mouths of thousands as of one." 
 
 At those cruel words, the doors of the vivaria 
 were at once flung open, and an hundred of their 
 fierce tenants, maddened both by hunger and the 
 goads that had been applied, rushed forth, and in 
 the fur}- with which in a single mass they fell 
 upon Probus — then kneeling upon the sands — and 
 burying him beneath them, no one ccidd behold 
 his fate, nor, when that dark troop separated and 
 ran howling about the arena, in search of other 
 victims, could the eye discover the least vestige 
 of that holy man. I then fled from the theatre as 
 one who flies from that which is worse than death. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 437 
 
 Felix was next offered up, as I have learned, 
 and after him more than fourscore of the Chris- 
 tians of Rome. 
 
 A SOUTH CAROLINA CORN-SHUCKING IN THE 
 OLDEN TIME. 
 
 BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 BUT you must hear of the corn-shucking. The 
 one at which I was present was given on pur- 
 pose that I might witness the humors of the Caro- 
 lina negroes. A huge fire of light-wood was made 
 near the corn-house. Light-wood is the wood of 
 the long-leaved pine, and is so called, not because 
 it is light, for it is almost the heaviest wood in 
 the world, but because it gives more light than 
 any other fuel. In clearing land, the pines are 
 girdled and suffered to stand : the outer portion 
 of the wood decays and falls off; the inner part, 
 which is saturated with turpentine, remains up- 
 right for years, and constitutes the planter's pro- 
 vision of fuel. When a supply is wanted, one of 
 these dead trunks is felled by the axe. The 
 abundance of light-wood is one of the boasts of 
 South Carolina. Wherever you are, if you hap- 
 pen to be chilly, you may have a fire extempore ; 
 a bit of light-wood and a coal give you a bright 
 blaze and a strong heat in an instant. The ne- 
 groes make fires of it in the fields where they 
 work ; and, when the mornings are wet and chill}', 
 in the pens where they are milking the cows. At 
 a plantation, where I passed a frost}- night, I 
 saw fires in a small iuclosure, and was told by the 
 lady of the house that she had ordered them to 
 be made to warm the cattle. 
 
 The light-wood fire was made, and the negroes 
 dropped in from the neighboring plantations, 
 singing as they came. The driver of the planta- 
 tion, a colored man, brought out baskets of corn 
 in the husk, and piled it in a heap ; and the ne- 
 groes began to strip the husks from the ears, 
 singing with great glee as they worked, keeping 
 time to the music, and now and then throwing in 
 a joke and an extravagant burst of laughter. The 
 songs were generally of a comic character; but 
 one of them was set to a singularly wild and 
 plaintive air, which some of our musicians would 
 do well to reduce to notation. These are the 
 
 words : 
 
 Johnny come down de hollow. 
 
 Ob hollow ! 
 Johnny come down de hollow. 
 
 Oh hollow ! 
 
 De nigger-trader got me. 
 
 Oh hollow ! 
 De speculator bought me. 
 
 Oh hollow ! 
 I'm sold for silver dollars. 
 
 Oh hollow ! 
 Boys, go catch the pony. 
 
 Oh hollow ! 
 Bring him round the corner. 
 
 Oh hollow ! 
 I'm goin' away to Georgia. 
 
 Oh hollow ! 
 Boys, good-by forever ! 
 
 . Oh hollow ! 
 
 The song of "Jenny gone away," was also 
 given, and another, called the monkey-song, prob- 
 ably of African origin, in which the principal 
 singer personated a monkey, with all sorts of odd 
 gesticulations, and the other negroes bore part in 
 the chorus, " Dan, dan, who's the dandy?" One 
 of the songs, commonly sung on these occasions, 
 represents the various animals of the woods as 
 belonging to some profession or trade. For 
 example : 
 
 De cooter is de boatman. 
 
 The cooter is the terrapin, and a very expert boat- 
 man he is. 
 
 De cooter is de boatman. 
 John John Crow. 
 
 De red-bird de soger. 
 
 John John Crow. 
 
 De mocking-bird de lawyer. 
 John John Crow. 
 
 De alligator sawyer 
 
 John John Crow. 
 
 The alligator's back is furnished with a toothed 
 ridge, like the edge of a saw, which explains the 
 last line. 
 
 When the work of the evening was over, the 
 negroes adjourned to a spacious kitchen. One of 
 them took his place as musician, whistling, and 
 beating time with two sticks upon the floor. 
 Several of the men came forward and executed 
 various dances, capering, prancing, and drumming 
 with heel and toe upon the floor, with astonishing 
 agility and perseverance, though all of them had 
 performed their daily tasks and had worked all 
 the evening, and some had walked from four to 
 seven miles to attend the corn-shucking. From 
 the dances a transition was made to a mock mili- 
 
438 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 tary parade, a sort of burlesque of our militia 
 trainings, in which the words of command and 
 the evolutions were extremely ludicrous. It be- 
 came necessary for the commander to make a 
 speech, and confessing his incapacity for public 
 speaking, he called upon a huge black man named 
 Toby to address the compairy in his stead. Toby, 
 a man of powerful frame, six feet high, his face 
 ornamented with a beard of fashionable cut, had 
 hitherto stood leaning against the wall, looking 
 upon the frolic with an air of superiority. He 
 consented, came forward, demanded a bit of paper 
 to hold in his hand, and harangued the soldiery. 
 It was evident that Toby had listened to stump- 
 speeches in his day. He spoke of " de majority 
 of Sous Carolina," "de interests of de state," 
 "de honor of ole Ba'nwell district," and these 
 phrases he connected by various expletives, and 
 sounds of which we could make nothing. At 
 length he began to falter, when the captain, with 
 admirable presence of mind, came to his relief, 
 and interrupted and closed the harangue with an 
 hurrah from the company. Toby was allowed by 
 all the spectators, black and white, to have made 
 an excellent speech. 
 
 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. — A HISTORY OF 
 "HOME, SWEET HOME." 
 
 THE author of the song that has touched more 
 hearts than any other single composition in 
 the languages of men, was born in the city of 
 New York, June 9, 1792, and died in Tunis, Al- 
 giers, April 10, 1S52. Such is the simple record 
 of the birth and death of the man of whom it 
 has been truthfully said that he never had a home 
 of his own, and yet who has expressed, better 
 than any one else, that sentiment of sacredness 
 which clusters around the old "roof tree "of 
 every human being. 
 
 Soon after Payne's birth his father removed to 
 Boston, where his boyhood days were spent. 
 Earl} - in life he manifested a marked talent for 
 elocution, and this fact coming to the notice of an 
 actor of considerable reputation in Boston at that 
 time, he urged his father to allow him to prepare 
 the youth for the stage. But the elder Payne had 
 other views for the future of his son, and declined 
 the offer, much to the chagrin of the lad, whose 
 mind, even at this earl} - period, was earnestly 
 fixed upon the drama. 
 
 About this time his elder brother, a partner in 
 the mercantile house of Forbes & Payne, of New 
 York, died, and, with a view of weaning him 
 from the stage, his father sent him to New York 
 to take the place of his deceased brother. He 
 was then only thirteen years of age, but he had 
 no sooner become installed in his new position 
 than he commenced the publication of a little 
 periodical called "The Thespian Mirror," which 
 soon attracted more attention than the youthful 
 editor had expected. Some person, writing over 
 the nom dc plume of "Criticus," sent an article to 
 to the "Evening Post," severely criticising cer- 
 tain statements which had appeared in the 
 "Mirror," and the announcement by the editor 
 that the article would appear in the next number 
 of his paper, brought an earnest appeal from his 
 youthful contemporary not to reveal his incognito, 
 on the ground that his relatives were ignorant of 
 his literary venture, and he dreaded their anger 
 if it should become known to them. The inge- 
 nuity and earnestness of the letter attracted the 
 attention of Mr. Coleman, the editor of the "Post," 
 who invited Payne to call upon him. He was 
 highly pleased with the interview, and stated after- 
 ward that the youth's conduct and answers were 
 such as to dispel all doubts as to any imposition, 
 and he found that it required an effort on his part 
 to keep up the conversation in as choice a style 
 as his own. He made the incident public, in 
 spite of Payne's earnest objections, for the pur- 
 pose of calling attention to his remarkable merits, 
 and to create an interest in his career. 
 
 He succeeded in enlisting the co-operation of 
 Mr. John E. Seaman, a benevolent gentleman, 
 who offered to defray the youth's expenses at 
 Union College. The offer was gladly accepted, 
 and Payne took his departure for Albany in one 
 of the sailing vessels that then earned passengers 
 between New York and that city. During his 
 progress up the Hudson he wrote the following 
 verses, which indicate a remarkable genius in a 
 boy of thirteen : 
 
 On the deck of the slow sailing vessel, alone, 
 As I silently sat, all was mute as the grave ; 
 
 It was night — and the moon mildly beautiful shone, 
 Lighting up with her soft smile, the quivering ware. 
 
 So bewitchingly gentle and pure was its beam, 
 In tenderness watching o'er nature's repose, 
 
 That I likened its ray to Christianity's gleam, 
 
 When it mellows and soothes without chasing our woes. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 4W 
 
 And I felt such an exquisite mildness of sorrow, 
 While entranced by the tremulous glow of the deep, 
 
 That I longed to prevent the intrusion of morrow, 
 And to stay there forever to wonder and weep. 
 
 There is something in this production, which 
 strangely reminds one of his later famous poem 
 of " Home, Sweet Home." The latter is in fact 
 a sweet and mournful echo of this first effort. 
 
 At college he started a periodical called ' ' The 
 Pastime," and wrote a Fourth of July ode that 
 was sung by the students in one of the churches. 
 
 of his remarks that he had been his own severest 
 critic. 
 
 Soon after his establishment at college, he lost 
 his mother. The effect of this calamity on his 
 father, already much broken by disease, was such 
 as to incapacitate him for attention to his affairs, 
 which had become involved, and his bankruptcy 
 speedily followed. In this juncture, the son in- 
 sisted upon trying the stage as a means of support, 
 and obtaining the consent of his father and his pa- 
 tron, made his first appearance at the Park Theatre 
 
 'There's no tlace like home.' 
 
 Both were sufficiently meritorious to arouse the 
 venom of the critics, who attacked the author in 
 the public prints. Paj-ne, in a spirit of fun, wrote 
 an article himself, and published it in the Albany 
 papers, berating his production even more severely 
 than his critics had done. It produced a sensa- 
 tion among his associates, all of whom were 
 warmly attached to him. The affair reached its 
 climax at a supper party, where one of the stu- 
 dents offered as a satirical toast " The Critics of 
 Albany." To the astonishment of all, Payne 
 rose and returned thanks, admitting in the course 
 
 as Young Norval on the evening of February 24, 
 1S09, in his sixteenth year. The performance, 
 like those of the entire engagement, was highly 
 successful. A writer, who had seen Garrick and 
 all the great actors since his day, said, " I have 
 seen Master Payne in Douglas, Zaphna, Selim, 
 and Octavian, and ma}' truly say, I think him 
 superior to Betty in all. There was one scene of 
 his Zaphna, which exhibited more taste and sen- 
 sibility than I have witnessed since the days of 
 Garrick. He has astonished everybody." 
 
 From New York Payne wen f to Philadelphia, 
 
440 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and afterwards to Boston, performing with great 
 success in both cities. He also appeared at Balti- 
 more, Richmond, and Charleston, where Heury 
 'Placide, afterwards the celebrated comedian of 
 the Park Theatre, gained his first success by a 
 capital imitation of his style of acting. 
 
 On his return to New York, after these engage- 
 ments, Payne yielded to the wishes of his family 
 by retiring from the stage, and started a circula- 
 ting library and reading-room, the Athenaeum, 
 which he designed to expand into a great public 
 institution. Soon after this, George Frederick 
 Cooke arrived in America. Payne, of course, be- 
 came acquainted with him, and was very kindly 
 treated b}' the great tragedian, who urged him to 
 try his fortune on the London stage. They ap- 
 peared once at the Park Theatre together, Payne 
 playing Edgar to Cooke's Lear. Other joint per- 
 formances were planned, but evaded by Cooke, 
 whose pride was hurt at ' ' having a boy called in 
 to support him." The Athenaeum speculation 
 proving unprofitable, he returned to the stage. 
 While playing an engagement at Boston, his 
 father died. He afterwards played in Philadel- 
 phia and Baltimore. During his stay in the latter 
 city, the printing-office of his friend Hanson, an 
 editor, was attacked by a mob during the absence 
 of its proprietor. He offered his services, and 
 rendered essential aid to the paper at the crisis, 
 and Mr. Hanson not only publicly acknowledged 
 his services, but exerted himself in aiding his 
 young friend to obtain the means to visit Europe. 
 By the liberality of a few gentlemen of Baltimore, 
 this was effected, and Payne sailed from New 
 York on the seventeenth of January, 1813, in- 
 tending to be absent but one year. 
 
 The war between England and the United 
 States was then in progress, and Payne's first ex- 
 periences were of a very unpleasant character. 
 The Mayor of Liverpool, where he landed, hav- 
 ing determined to act with vigor respecting aliens, 
 had him arrested and thrown into prison, where 
 he remained until some of his friends, learning 
 the fact, interceded in his behalf and obtained 
 his release. 
 
 On arriving in London, he spent several weeks 
 in sight-seeing before applying to the managers. 
 By the influence of powerful persons to whom he 
 brought letters, he obtained a hearing from Mr. 
 Whitbread of Drury Lane, and appeared at that 
 theatre as Douglas the performance being an- 
 
 nounced on the bills as by a young gentleman, 
 " his first appearance," it being deemed advisable 
 to get an unbiased verdict from the audience. 
 The debut was successful, and he was announced 
 in the bills of his next night as " Mr. Payne, 
 from the theatres of New York and Philadelphia." 
 
 After playing a triumphant engagement, he 
 made a circuit of the provinces, and, upon his 
 return to London, visited Paris, principally for the 
 purpose of seeing Talma, by whom he was most 
 cordially received. Napoleon returned from Elba 
 soon after his arrival, and he consequently re- 
 mained in Paris during the Hundred Days. 
 
 Payne continued iu London and Paris for about 
 twenty years, engaged in his profession as actor, 
 manager and playwright, but meeting with indif- 
 ferent success on account of the jealousies and 
 unfaithfulness of those with whom he was asso- 
 ciated. During this time he wrote several plays 
 that were received with great favor ; one of these, 
 the drama of "Brutus," is still a standard pro- 
 duction of the stage. 
 
 But his enduring fame rests upon the plaintive 
 song of "Home, Sweet Home," which was first 
 sung as a part of his opera "Clari," produced 
 about 1S1S. This piece was purchased from 
 Payne by Charles Kemble the actor, and at that 
 time manager of Covent Garden Theatre, where 
 it was first produced, for thirty pounds (about 
 $150). The song immediately captured the sym- 
 pathies of the public, and the theatre was filled 
 from the pit to the galleries every night, with 
 wildly enthusiastic audiences. The piece made a 
 fortune for everybody who was prominently con- 
 nected with its production — except the author, who 
 never realized any more than the original price of 
 $150. Miss M. Free, the elder sister of Mrs. 
 Charles Kean, had the part in which the song of 
 " Home, Sweet Home " occurred, and it not only 
 made her a comfortable fortune, but also gained 
 for her a wealthy husband, whose affections were 
 won by the charming manner in which she sang 
 the song. 
 
 Upwards of one hundred thousand copies of 
 the song were estimated- in 1832 to have been sold 
 by the original publishers, whose profits, within 
 two years after it was issued, are said to have 
 amounted to $10,000. It is known all over the 
 world, and doubtless years after its composition, 
 saluted its author's ears in far-off Tunis. He not 
 only lost the twenty-five pounds which were to 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 441 
 
 have been paid for the copyright on the twentieth Payne returned to the United States in 1832, 
 
 night of performance, but was not even compli- and engaged in various literary pursuits, with in- 
 
 mented with a copy of his own song by the pub- different success, until 1838, when he received the 
 
 lisher. He soon after made a great hit in Charles appointment of American consul at Tunis. He 
 
 "mid pleasures and palaces tho' we may roam." 
 the Second. It became one of Kemble's most fa- remained there for several years, and then came 
 vorite parts. The author sold the copyright for home for the purpose of soliciting a diplomatic 
 fifty pounds, one-quarter of the average price appointment more agreeable to his tastes; but 
 paid for a piece of its length. failing in this, he accepted a re-appointment to 
 
442 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Tunis, and died there in 1852, soon after his re- 
 turn. Here at last he found a home, far from his 
 native land and among strangers and barbarians. 
 It is not known at what time Payne wrote the 
 following verses, but they sound like a premoni- 
 tion of his own sad fate : 
 
 THE TOMB OF GENU'S. 
 
 Where the chilling north wind howls, 
 Where the weeds so wildly wave, 
 
 Mourned by the weeping willow, 
 Washed by the beating billow, 
 Lies the youthful Poet's grave. 
 
 Beneath you little eminence, 
 Harked by the grass-green turf, 
 
 The winding-sheet his form encloses, 
 On the cold rock his head reposes — 
 Near him foams the troubled surf! 
 
 "Roars around " his tomb "the ocean," 
 Pensive sleeps the moonbeam there ! 
 
 Naiads love to wreathe his urn — 
 
 Dryads thither hie to mourn — 
 Fairy music melts in air ! 
 
 O'er his tomb the village virgins 
 
 Love to drop the tribute tear ; 
 Stealing from the groves around, 
 Soft they tread the hallowed ground, 
 
 And scatter wild flowers o'er his bier. 
 
 By the cold earth mantled— 
 
 All alone — 
 Pale and lifeless lies his form : 
 Batters on his grave the storm : 
 Silent now his tuneful numbers, 
 Here the son of Genius slumbers : 
 Stranger ! mark his burial-stone ! 
 
 AN INCIDENT OF THE SINGING OF "HOME, 
 SWEET HOME," AT SEA. 
 
 THEN' it was the remembrance of the past 
 crowded up like odors from a bed of 
 flowers, lulling the feelings to that delicious calm- 
 ness which pleasant memories alwaj^s inspire, 
 and which none feel more sensibly than the tem- 
 pest-tossed mariner. The father dwelt in tender- 
 ness on his distant family ; the brother recalled 
 the unbidden assiduities of a sister's love ; and 
 the son, as he leaned against the mast, his fea- 
 tures set in the sedateness of sober reflection, felt 
 his heart softened by the recollection of a 
 mother's care. But few remarks were made. All 
 felt that the silence which reigned above, beneath, 
 and around should not be disturbed. Each one 
 had retired to the recess of his own heart — a 
 sanctuary too sacred to be violated. 
 
 Such was the state of feeling, when a clear, 
 melodious voice slowly poured forth the first line 
 of that exquisite song — "Home, Sweet Home!" 
 As the words, "Mid pleasures and palaces," 
 swelled upon the air, a single exclamation of 
 pleasure escaped the hearers, and they again re- 
 lapsed into silence. We had often heard the song, 
 but never had it come so thrillingly as then. Had 
 it been sung by even an ordinary performer, its 
 effect would have been great ; but breathed, as 
 it was, with a fervor and feeling I have never 
 known excelled, in a voice full, manly, and touch- 
 ing, it could but produce a powerful impression. 
 As the singer proceeded, the circle was augmented. 
 The sturdy seaman seated himself with calm grav- 
 ity, and, by the side of the j-outhful midship- 
 man, listened with enthralled attention. The 
 man whose locks were whitened, equally with 
 the boy whose features were unmasked b3 f the 
 furrows of time and care, seemed to drink in the 
 beautiful words as a healing draught. 
 
 Oh, how magical is music at such an hour! 
 
 It comes to the heart like a flood of sunshine, 
 dispelling its gathering mists, and causing high 
 aspirations to spring into strength and beauty. 
 The soul is elevated above the narrowness of earth, 
 and seeks in thought to commune with the in- 
 telligence of a higher world, and with that Being 
 
 Who plants his footsteps in the sea, 
 And rides upon the storm. 
 
 Thus were the feelings of the listening group 
 when the performer, at the close of the first verse, 
 eloquently burst forth with the words, "There's 
 no place like home !" An emotion was visible in 
 all. There was a tremor in his voice, showing 
 that he felt the influence of the line ; and when 
 he concluded it, his pause was longer than usual, 
 and a deep sigh escaped him. 
 
 When he recommenced — "An exile from 
 home," — the agitation in those around was 
 merged in attention to the song, but his increased. 
 His face was slightly averted, and the rays of the 
 moon, as they fell upon it, and glistened in the 
 tear that rested on his cheek, gave additional ef- 
 fect to the expression almost of agony stamped 
 upon his features. He was, indeed, as I know, 
 "an exile from home," though from what cause 
 I never could discover,— and the smothered grief 
 of years was now loosed, and flowed in unre- 
 strained power over him. 
 
THE SAILOR'S RETURN HOME. 
 
 (443) 
 
444 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 He continued. As the song drew to a close 
 his emotion increased, with that of every one who 
 listened. At length, as the line, "There's no 
 place like home," rose on the stillness of the 
 hour the last time, a rush of feeling was evident, 
 and in many showed itself in tears ! The man, 
 who from childhood had "braved the foaming 
 brine," and had stood without fear on the brink 
 of eternity ; and he, who, au outcast from the so- 
 ciety of the virtuous and the good, knew no home, 
 alike with the being of turbid passions and unhal- 
 lowed deeds, gave a tribute to him who had so 
 well-timed and so feelingly executed one of the 
 most grateful songs that ever greets the seaman's 
 ear. Oh ! it was good to look on men I had con- 
 sidered in iniquity, thus throwing open the flood- 
 gates of long-pent affections, that they might once 
 more gladden and purify the soul ! I could not 
 think such men entirely lost ; I could but look on 
 human nature in a fairer and more pleasing as- 
 pect. 
 
 Xo one spoke ; and after a few moments, in 
 which all else was banished by the one dear 
 thought of the distant home we had exchanged 
 for our " home upon the deep," each one sought 
 his pillow, I do not doubt, a purer and a better 
 man. 
 
 PROPHETS AND PROPHECIESOF THE MIDDLE 
 AGES. 
 
 IN the early years of Christianity that eager de- 
 sire to look into the future, to turn over the 
 leaves of the dread Book of Fate, which is so 
 characteristic of human nature that it has been 
 found to exist in every race, was satisfied to some 
 extent by the so-called Oracles of the Sibyl. For 
 several centuries these were modified as circum- 
 stances required, and made to suit the changing 
 conditions of the times ; but, after the collapse of 
 the Roman empire, they fell into gradual disrepute, 
 and their place in popular estimation was taken 
 by the prophecies of Merlin. A cloud of fable 
 envelops this mysterious personage, so that it is 
 hard to determine how far he is a reality or a 
 myth. According to one of the numerous tradi- 
 tions of which he is the hero, he was the magician 
 and counselor of Uther Pendragon, King of the 
 Britons, and, by Queen Ingoma, became the 
 father of our legendary hero, Arthur. According 
 to another, he was ensnared bv the charms of the 
 
 wily enchantress, Vivien, and died, spell-bound, 
 in a hawthorn bush. Picturesque use of this 
 fable has been made by Spenser and Tennyson. 
 
 It seems probable that there really was a British 
 bard -of the seventh century of this name, who 
 gained so vast a renown by his Tyrtean strains 
 that the other lights of the old Celtic poetry faded 
 before his greater splendor, and eventually the 
 various fragments of verse surviving in the 
 national memory were all attributed to him. Even 
 as late as the fifteenth century- his wild guesses at 
 the future — so vague in meaning and obscure in 
 expression that they lent themselves readily to 
 different interpretations — were accepted through- 
 out the West of Europe as utterances of infallible 
 import. But their greatest vogue was in the 
 twelfth century, when scarcely a single event took 
 place which the credulity of the monastic chroni- 
 clers did not represent to have been foretold by 
 the omniscient Merlin. 
 
 It is a wise maxim, never to prophesy unless 
 you know ; a maxim that nearly all prophets have 
 faithfully observed ; and probably the Merlinesque 
 prophecies were all concocted "after the event." 
 Sometimes, however, the same oracle received the 
 most opposite interpretations. Thus, when King 
 William the Lion, of Scotland, was captured by 
 an English ami}', and imprisoned in Richmond 
 Castle, Matthew Paris, the historian, informs us 
 that the event was looked upon as fulfilling one 
 of Merlin's prophetic deliverances — "A bit shall 
 be thrust in his teeth, forged on the shores of the 
 Annorican Gulf" — the Armorican Gulf being 
 understood as referring to the channel hereditarily 
 owned by the Lords of Annorica or Brittany — ■ 
 then a province of the English throne. But some 
 months afterward the same prophecy was applied 
 to Henry II., who, on the revolt of his sons, John 
 and Richard, had been closely pressed by their 
 allies, the Bretons. 
 
 The deposition of Richard II. and the usurpa- 
 tion of Henry I\". are among the events which 
 Merlin was said to have foretold, the truth being 
 that, in these troublesome times, people invented 
 prophecies according as they found them conve- 
 nient. The curious circumstances attending the 
 death of Henry IV., of which Shakespeare has 
 made good use, were first related by the London 
 historian, Robert Fabian, in his " Concordance of 
 Stories." Having fallen ill while saying his 
 prayers at St. Edward's shrine in Westminster 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 445 
 
 Abbe}-, at the beginning of 14 13, the King was 
 carried into the Abbot s residence close at hand. 
 On corning to himself, he inquired what place it 
 was, and his attendants answered that he was 
 lying in the Jerusalem Chamber. Then said the 
 King: "Loving be the 
 Father of heaven, for now 
 I know I shall die in this 
 chamber, according to the 
 prophecy of one before said 
 that I should die in Jerusa- 
 lem." This prophecy he 
 had previously interpreted 
 to mean he should die in 
 the Holy City. 
 
 In like manner Pope Syl- 
 vester II., having made a 
 brazen head — like Roger 
 Bacon's — obtained from it 
 the information that he 
 would not die before he had 
 chanted mass in Jerusalem. 
 One day, while celebrating 
 mass in a church at Rome, 
 he was overtaken by a se- 
 rious illness, and, on mak- 
 ing inquiry, found that the 
 church was named Jerusa- 
 lem. Of course, the oracle 
 of the brazen head was 
 duly fulfilled. 
 
 Of this juggling kind of 
 prophecy there are other 
 instances. One of the Earls 
 of Pembroke, having been 
 told he would die at War- 
 wick, obtained the Govern- 
 orship of Berwick-upon- 
 Tweed, which certainly lay 
 at a considerable distance 
 from the old midland city. 
 But when he was killed in 
 a fight with the Scots it was 
 discovered that Barwick, as 
 it was then pronounced, was captur 
 
 obviously the place intended by the prophet. 
 Cardinal Wolsey had been warned to beware of 
 Kingston, and was especially careful never to 
 enter the town so named ; but this did not pre- 
 vent him, when his fall occurred, from being 
 arrested by Sir Walter Kingston. Margery Jour- 
 dain, or Jourdenemyne, the witch of Ely, is said 
 
 to have informed Edward, Duke of Somerset, that 
 
 he would be defeated and slain at a castle : 
 
 Let him shun castles ; 
 
 Safer shall he be on the sandy plain 
 
 Than v.-here castles mounted stand. 
 
 OF WILLIAM, THE LION, OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 He fell in the first battle of St. Alban's, and 
 his dead bod}- was found — 
 
 Underneath an ale-house' paltry' sign — 
 "The Castle." 
 
 Lastly. William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk 
 (temp. Henry VI.), was warned by a wizard to 
 
446 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 beware of water and avoid the Tower. So that 
 when his enemies prevailed against him he has- 
 tened from London and its Tower, with the view 
 of escaping to France. On his passage across the 
 Channel he was captured by the King's ship 
 Nicholas of the Tower, commanded by a man 
 named Walter Whitmore. The dramatist makes 
 the unfortunate Duke exclaim : 
 
 THE WIZARD WARNING WILLIAM, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, 
 
 Thy name affrights me. in whose sound is death. 
 A cunning man did calculate my birth, 
 And told me that by water I should die ; 
 Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded, 
 Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded. 
 
 However, Suffolk was straightway beheaded, 
 and the quibbling prediction fulfilled. 
 
 In the sixteenth century, to Merlin's place suc- 
 ceeded Michael Nostradamus, a Provencal physi- 
 cian, who died in 1566. He seems to have been 
 •i man of considerable scholarship, and he at- 
 
 tained a wide reputation for medical skill. Hav- 
 ing settled in the town of Salon, he studied as- 
 trology in order to extend his powers in curing 
 man's diseases, and was' thus led to practise the 
 seer's craft, beginning in the modest character of 
 an almanac maker. His earliest " guesses " were 
 published in 1555 — written in mystical and ex- 
 ceedingly figurative quatrains — and at once be- 
 came so popular that King 
 Henry II., (of France) sum- 
 moned him to Paris, and con- 
 sulted him about his children's 
 future. Charles IX. and his 
 mother, the infamous Cath- 
 arine de Medici, also consulted 
 him and rewarded him each 
 with a handsome sum in gold 
 crowns, while the king ap- 
 pointed him his physician. 
 He died at Salon, aged 63. 
 " I am," he says, in the intro- 
 duction to his prophecies, in 
 which, it appears, he himself 
 implicitly believed, "but a 
 mortal man, and the greatest 
 sinner in the world ; but being 
 surprised occasionally by a 
 prophetical mood, and long 
 calculations, pleasing myself 
 in my study, I have made 
 several books of predictions, 
 each one containing a hun- 
 dred astronomical stanzas." 
 
 A man who delivers himself 
 of some hundreds of prophe- 
 cies, is almost sure to make 
 one or two lucky hits ; that 
 is, by the law of coincidences, 
 certain events ma}' be expected 
 to occur, which will bear a re- 
 semblance, more or less vague, to his guesses or 
 inventions. Thus the credulous may easily trace 
 a forecast of the fire of London preceded by the 
 execution of Charles I., in the following shadowy 
 
 verse : 
 
 Le sang de juste a Londres sera faute 
 Brulez par feu, de vingt et trois, les six. 
 La dame antique cherra de place haute 
 De meme sorte plusieurs seront occis. 
 
 The blood of the just shall be wanting in Lon- 
 don, burnt by fire of three-and-twenty, the six— 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 447 
 
 which is near enough, we suppose, for 1666 ; — the 
 ancient dame — Monarchy — shall fall from her high 
 place, of the 
 same sect many 
 shall be killed. 
 In another quo- 
 tation we meet 
 with the line, Le 
 Sanat de Londres 
 metteront a vwrt 
 leRoy t which cer- 
 tainly does ap- 
 pear a pretty 
 good guess at 
 Charles I.'s ex- 
 ecution ; and the 
 victories of 
 Cromwell's Iron- 
 sides at Dunkirk 
 may be assumed 
 as foreshadowed 
 in the line, Le 
 Oliver se plant era 
 on terra firma. 
 But our sporting 
 prophets in the 
 columns of the 
 daily and weekly 
 press are quite as 
 often successful 
 as was this Pro- 
 vencal seer ; and 
 on the whole he 
 fairly merited the 
 punning epitaph 
 of the poet Jo- 
 delle : "We give 
 our own things 
 when we give 
 false things, for 
 it is our habit to 
 deceive; and 
 when we give 
 false things we 
 are giving only 
 our own."* 
 
 The son of 
 Nostradamus 
 also tried his 
 
 •Nostra damus cum falsa damus, nam fallere nostrum est, 
 Et cum falsa damus, nil nisi Nostra damus. 
 
 hand at soothsaying, but with unpleasant conse- 
 quences. When the Catholic army, in 1574, was be- 
 
 CEOMWEI 
 
 L'S IRONSIDES AT DUNKIRK. 
 
 sieging the town of Pouzin, in Languedoc, Saint 
 Luc, its commander, inquired of young Nostrada- 
 
448 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 mus what would be the result. After reflecting, 
 the prophet replied that the town would perish by 
 fire ; and to prove the truth of his prediction, was 
 found, when the town was taken and plundered, 
 setting fire to it in several places. Xext day, 
 when Saint Luc met him, he said : " Come, now, 
 Master Prophet, can you tell if any accident will 
 befall you to-day ? " And on Nostradamus con- 
 fidently replying "None," he struck him in the 
 
 mm i 
 
 KING JOHN ORDERS THE YORKSHIRE HERMIT TO BE IMPRISONED 
 
 stomach with his stick, and so startled the horse 
 which Nostradamus was riding that he reaied, 
 threw his rider and dealt him a mortal blow with 
 his hoof. 
 
 When King John Lackland, of England, was at 
 war with his barons, there was a Yorkshire hermit, 
 named Peter, who enjoyed a great reputation for 
 wisdom, because he had several times foretold 
 "coming events." Among other thinars revealed 
 
 to him about King John by the spirit of prophecv, 
 he affirmed, and publicly declared before all who 
 were willing to listen, that he would not be King 
 of England after next Ascension Day ; but on 
 that day the crown would be transferred to an- 
 other. The King, informed of this highly trea- 
 sonable " guess," sent for its author. 
 
 "Shall I die, then, on the day you name? Or 
 by what other means shall I lose my crown?" 
 
 The hermit said: 
 ' ' Know for certain that on 
 the da}" I have said you will 
 no longer be King ; and if 
 I am convicted of lying, do 
 with me what you will. 
 
 ' ' I take you at your 
 word, ' ' said John ; and he 
 placed him in the custody 
 of William of Harcourt, 
 who shut him up in Corfe 
 Castle. 
 
 Close guarded and loaded 
 with irons, the hermit 
 awaited the issue. His 
 prophecy had spread on the 
 wings of rumor all over the 
 country, and was every- 
 where accepted as if it had 
 been a voice from heaven. 
 Ascension D a y came, 
 Ascension Day went, and 
 John was still King of 
 England. Then he caused 
 the unfortunate hermit to 
 be tied to the tail of a horse 
 and dragged through the 
 streets of Wareham, after 
 which he was hung, to- 
 gether with his sons, with 
 even* circumstance of igno- 
 miny. 
 
 Some of the most cu- 
 rious of the mediaeval predictions are those 
 which dealt with the destinies of certain states ; 
 and of these the most interesting relate to the 
 history of Constantinople. They show at how 
 early a period the Greeks were apprehensive of 
 the coming downfall of their empire, pressed as 
 it was on every side by Arabs, Bulgarians, Rus- 
 sians, and finally by the Turks. 
 
 Ralph de Diceto, one of our early Anglo-Nor- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 449 
 
 man chroniclers, whose history does not extend 
 beyond 1199, asserts that on the famous Golden 
 Gates of Canstantinople, through which victorious 
 generals led 
 their triumphal 
 processions, was 
 inscribed the fol- 
 lowing predic- 
 tion : 
 
 When the Fair 
 King shall come 
 from the West, I 
 shall open of my 
 own will. 
 
 It was not 
 through this 
 gate, however, 
 that the Crusa- 
 ders entered in 
 1204, for in order 
 to baffle the pro- 
 phecies concern- 
 ing it, the Byzan- 
 tine princes had 
 ordered it to be 
 walled up. It is 
 a remarkable fact 
 that even to this 
 day the Turks 
 accept the tradi- 
 t i o n which so 
 alarmed the 
 Greeks; they 
 firmly believe 
 that the Golden 
 gates will at 
 some future time, 
 open to admit 
 the Christians, 
 who, they are per- 
 suaded, will ulti- 
 mately reconquer 
 the beautiful 
 city of the Bos- 
 phorus. 
 
 Here is another fanciful story : 
 
 On the forum of Taurus, or the Bull, stood a 
 
 colossal equestrian statue, a masterpiece of art, 
 
 which passed in the vulgar opinion for Joshua, 
 
 with hand extended, staying the course of the 
 
 descending sun ; but by classic scholars was de- 
 29 
 
 clared to be Bellerophon and his winged horse, 
 Pegasus ; and the free attitude of the latter 
 seemed to mark that he trod on air rather than 
 
 LANDING OF THE CRUSADERS AT CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 on earth. Xicetas, contemporary historian, as- 
 serts that, according to an old tradition, under 
 the left fore foot of the horse was hidden the fig- 
 ure of a man, representing a Venetian, a Bul- 
 garian, or some other Western enemy of the 
 Roman name. So much pains, however, had 
 
450 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 been taken to render this foot firm and solid, that 
 it was impossible to put the truth of this tradition 
 to the test. But when, after the capture of Con- 
 stantinople, the horse and its rider were broken 
 in pieces, and sent to be melted clown, the figure 
 was discovered — the Latins, however, caring 
 nothing for the traditions attached to it, cast it 
 into the flames with the rest. 
 
 It is said that the Emperor Michael Paleologus, 
 tormented by his conscience for the crimes he had 
 
 Finally, a remarkable prophecy concerning the 
 Imperial City of the East is recorded by a 
 Georgian writer — probably of the eighteenth 
 century — whose political sagacity made a bold 
 leap into the future. He pretends that on the 
 tomb of Constantine the Great were engraved the 
 words : " Many nations shall unite upon the 
 Black Sea and the continent ; the Ishmaelites 
 shall be conquered and the power of their nation 
 extinguished. The combined peoples of Russia 
 
 LEGENDARY VISION OF CONSTANTINE- 
 
 committed, in order to gratify his ambition, and 
 fearing the imperial crown would not descend to 
 his family, consulted his soothsayers whether his 
 sou would enjoy it after his death. The oracle 
 replied, "Mancairni," which seemed incompre- 
 hensible. But the soothsayers explained it to 
 mean that the empire would be possessed by as 
 man}- of his descendants as there were letters in 
 this barbarous word, and by no more. The 
 course of events proved the truth of their ex- 
 planation. 
 
 and the adjacent territories shall take possession 
 of the Seven Hills and the country round about. " 
 We have neither the space nor the inclination 
 to enumerate all the predictions which the per- 
 verted ingenuity of fanatics has wrested out of 
 the Apocalyptic visions, nor to repeat the names 
 of all the personages to whom they have been 
 applied. How many times has the number of 
 the Beast — 666 — been differently rendered? 
 Among others, it has been identified with Trajan, 
 Diocletian, Mohammed, Julian the Apostate, with 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 45? 
 
 more than one of the Popes, Luther, Calvin, and, 
 more recently, Napoleon Bonaparte. We remem- 
 ber to have seen it fixed, in an advertisement in 
 a London paper, upon Napoleon III. 
 
 The futility of political prophecies has been 
 demonstrated in our own time ; and we shall pass 
 on, therefore, to some illustrations of the guesses 
 at the approaching end of the world which form- 
 erly terrified mankind. They began, indeed, in 
 the earliest years of Christianity, through a mis- 
 interpretation of the words of its founder ; but 
 as generation succeeded generation, and yet the 
 dreaded cataclysm did not take place, men's 
 minds recovered their tranquillity. After the 
 irruptions of the Barbarians, however, when the 
 mighty fabric of the Roman Empire fell with a 
 crash that resounded throughout Christendom, 
 their fears revived ; and every tempest, every 
 earthquake, every unusual celestial appearance, 
 was regarded as a portent of the day of judgment. 
 In the fourth century, Hesychius, Bishop of Sa- 
 dona, wrote to St. Augustine to inquire if it were 
 true that the end of the world was at hand ? 
 "No," said the great Bishop of Hippo, "that 
 cannot be, for it is written that the Gospel shall 
 be preached everywhere before that event ar- 
 rives. ' ' 
 
 Year after year the catastrophe was postponed, 
 until, in the latter part of the ninth century, men 
 once more fell into mortal terror, the year iooo 
 being definitely assigned as the utmost limit of 
 the world's existence. 
 
 " It was a time," says Canon Robertson, "of 
 gloomy apprehensions. The approach of the 
 thousandth year from the Saviour's birth had 
 raised a general belief that the second advent was 
 at hand ; and, in truth, there was much which 
 might easily be construed as fulfilling the pre- 
 dicted signs of the end — wars and rumors of wars, 
 famines and pestilences, fearful appearances in 
 the heavens, faith passing from the earth and love 
 waning cold. The preamble, ' Whereas the end 
 of the world draweth near,' which had been com- 
 mon in donations to churches or monasteries, now 
 assumed a new and more urgent significance ; 
 and the belief that the long expectation was at 
 length to be accomplished, did much to revive 
 the power and wealth of the clergy. The minds 
 of men were called away from the ordinary cares 
 and employments of life ; even our knowledge of 
 history has suffered in consequence, since there 
 
 was little inclination to bestow labor in record- 
 ing of events, when no posterity was exp2cted 
 to read the records. Some plunged into desper- 
 ate recklessness of living ; an eclipse of the sun 
 or moon was the signal for multitudes to seek 
 a hiding place in dens and caves of the earth ; 
 and crowds of pilgrims flocked to Palestine, 
 where the Saviour was expected to appear foi 
 judgment." 
 
 But the year iooo passed away without any 
 catastrophe, and the world again breathed freely. 
 Thenceforward a belief in the Second Advent re- 
 appeared only at rare intervals and among a limited 
 number of persons. 
 
 Astrologers, however, have more than once 
 struck a panic to the hearts of men by their 
 frightful predictions. In 1521 a general alarm 
 prevailed, owing to a prediction of Johann Stofner, 
 a celebrated German magician, who had an- 
 nounced a great deluge for the month of February 
 in that year. The alarm spread from Germany 
 into France, and from France into Italy, and over 
 the rest of Europe. The distinguished Italian 
 philosopher, Augustine Niso, endeavored, but in 
 vain, to alia}- it by his book, " De Falsa Diluvii 
 Prognosticatione " (On the False Prophecy of a 
 Deluge). 
 
 The legendary prediction concerning Easter, 
 
 that 
 
 When my lord falls in my lady's lap, 
 Let England beware of some mishap ; 
 
 that is, when the Easter festival falls near to L,ady 
 Day, has given rise to some strange coincidences. 
 In 1S1S Easter Da}- happened on the 22d of 
 March, and in the following November died 
 Queen Charlotte ; in 1826 it fell on the 26th, and 
 the year was saddened by wide-spread and alarm- 
 ing commercial disaster. 
 
 The credulity of the human mind was vividly 
 illustrated by the world of fashion in 1750. A 
 smart shock of earthquake had startled all Eng- 
 land in February, and was succeeded by a more 
 violent one in the following March. The con- 
 sternation was general, and bishops and clergy- 
 men made the event the subject of numerous 
 sermons, homilies, and exhortations ; while it is 
 on record that a country quack reaped a golden 
 harvest by selling earthquake pills. Then arose 
 a crazy-minded life-guardsman, solemnly predict- 
 ing that a third and special fatal shock would 
 occur on April 5. The polite world, as it is 
 
452 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 called, took fright ; and on the evening preceding 
 the fatal day the roads out of London, which the 
 earthquake was to tumble into ruins, were 
 thronged with vehicles, though the newspapers 
 threatened to publish ' ' an exact list of all the 
 nobility and gentry who have left, or shall leave, 
 this place through fear of another earthquake." 
 The ladies wrapped themselves in ' ' earthquake 
 
 ill 
 n 
 
 M/Ufj&' 
 
 
 mm 
 
 THE THREE CONSPIRATORS DECIDING TO ASSASSINATE CARDINAL BEATON. 
 
 gowns "• — warm gowns intended to be worn while 
 sitting out of doors all night. Not a few persons 
 spent the night in Hyde Park, sitting in their 
 coaches, and playing cards by the light of wax 
 candles. " What will you think," writes Horace 
 Walpole, " of Ladj- Catharine Pelham, Lady 
 Frances Arundel, and Lord and Lad}' Galway, 
 who go this evening to an inn ten miles out of 
 town, where they are to play brag till four o'clock 
 
 in the morning, and then come back, I suppose, 
 to look for the bones of their husbands and families 
 under the rubbish ? ' ' 
 
 Some predictions, by the mental anxiety they 
 occasion, work out their own fulfilments. When 
 Peter and John de Carvajal had been found guilty 
 of murder, on most inadequate evidence, and sen- 
 tenced to be thrown from the summit of a rock, 
 Ferdinand IV., who was 
 then King of Spain (1362), 
 could not be induced to par- 
 don them. As they were led 
 to execution they called upon 
 God to witness their inno- 
 cence, and appealed to his 
 tribunal, before which they 
 summoned the King to ap- 
 pear in thirty days' time. 
 Ferdinand laughed at the 
 summons ; but some days 
 afterward fell sick, and re- 
 tired to his country place to 
 recover his health and divert 
 his mind, hoping to shake 
 off the remembrance of the 
 summons, which troubled 
 him in spite of his laughter. 
 On the thirtieth day he 
 seemed better, and was very 
 merry and cheerful, ridicul- 
 ing the uneasiness he had 
 experienced ; he retired to 
 rest as usual, but was found 
 dead in his bed the next 
 morning. 
 
 Similar incidents have oc- 
 curred in history, and dra- 
 matist and poet have made 
 effective use of them. 
 
 The alleged prophecy of 
 George Wishart, the Scottish 
 martyr, respecting the death 
 of Cardinal Beaton, may be classed among these 
 remarkable coincidences. Through the unrelent- 
 ing severity of the Cardinal, Wishart was con- 
 demned to be burnt as a heretic, in front of the 
 castle of St. Andrew's, on the 1st of March, 1546. 
 As he proceeded to the place of execution he saw 
 his persecutor sitting in a balcony, to watch the 
 sufferings of his victim, and, as if suddenly in- 
 spired, called upon him to appear before the divine 
 
 .v:i 
 I 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 453 
 
 tribunal within sixty days. If so happened that 
 on the 29th of May following the great churchman 
 was assassinated by John L,ister, James Melville 
 and Carmichael. " Repent thee," cried Melville, 
 " of thy former wicked life, but especially of the 
 shedding of the blood of that instrument of God, 
 Mr. George Wishart, which, albeit the flames of 
 fire consumed before noon, yet cries it with a ven- 
 geance upon thee ; and we from God are sent to 
 
 by one foot, for all the people to gaze at. But it 
 
 is right to say that some doubt attaches to the 
 authenticity of this story. 
 
 I HATE THE DRUM'S DISCORDANT SOUND. 
 
 I HATE the drum's discordant sound, 
 Parading round, and round, and round : 
 To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, 
 And lures from cities and from fields, 
 
 I HATE THE DRUM S DISCORDANT SOUND. 
 
 revenge it. I protest that neither the hatred of 
 thy person, the love of thy riches, or the fear of 
 any trouble thou couldst have done to me in par- 
 ticular, moved or move me to strike thee, but 
 only because thou hast been, and remainest, an 
 obstinate enemy to Christ and his holy Evangel." 
 A.nd so he struck him twice or thrice through with 
 a sword, and he fell, shrieking miserably : "I am 
 a priest ! I am a priest ! Fie ! Fie ! All is gone !" As 
 soon as he was dead his murderers took his body 
 and hung it over the castle wall by one arm and 
 
 To sell their liberty for charms 
 Of tawdry lace, and glittering arms , 
 And when Ambition's voice commands, 
 To march, and fight, and fall in foreign lands. 
 
 I hate the drum's discordant sound, 
 Parading round, and round, and round : 
 To me it talks of ravaged plains, 
 And burning towns, and ruined swains, 
 And mangled limbs, and dying groans, 
 And widows' tears, and orphans' moans ; 
 And all that misery's hand bestows 
 To fill the catalogue of human woes. 
 
434 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 A HISTORY OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 CHE legal definition of marriage, in all Chris- 
 tian countries, is the conjugal union of one 
 man with one woman. In Catholic countries the 
 ceremony is regarded as a sacrament of the church ; 
 but in Protestant nations, so far as the mere law 
 is concerned, it stands in the relation of a civil 
 contract only, though custom, and the romance 
 necessarily connected with it, give it a character 
 of sacredness far above a common agreement. In 
 the United States, magistrates, equally with cler- 
 gymen, have a right to solemnize the marriage 
 ceremony ; but a mere legal wedding is regarded 
 with disfavor by nearly all classes of the people, 
 and it is, therefore, the usual custom to have the 
 ceremoii}' performed by a clergyman, which is in 
 just conformity with the sentiment of sacredness 
 inseparably united with it. 
 
 There is one singular fact connected with the 
 laws of marriage which is not generally known, 
 namely, that no person can enter into a binding 
 agreement not to marry. Contracts in restraint of 
 marriage, in any and every form, are wholly void, 
 by the universal policy of the law, and no action 
 can be maintained under any such promise or 
 obligation. Marriage having been instituted by 
 the Creator, and enforced and perpetuated by the 
 requirements of nature, is considered as being 
 above all the restraints of human contracts and 
 •enactments. 
 
 In Germany there is a law which permits a man 
 to marry without bestowing upon his wife his civil 
 or political rank, and in such cases, while the 
 woman is his real wife in every respect, she is 
 designated legally as a " half- wife, " (Hatbweib). 
 This sort of union was discountenanced by the 
 church, but when contracted seriously it was held 
 to be indissoluble. We believe there is also a 
 similar custom in the same country relative to 
 the marriage of women of rank with men of a 
 lower station, whereby the man assumes the name 
 of the woman, and becomes a half-husband, though 
 he is in fact, as well as law, a real husband. 
 
 In the early history of the Catholic Church 
 priests were not forbidden to marry, but were 
 simply admonished, by the advice of St. Paul, to 
 remain single, as it was thought they were better 
 qualified, in that state, to administer the duties 
 of their sacred office. Consequently most of the 
 priests married and reared families, and this cus- 
 tom prevailed until about the 12th centmy. 
 
 In England priestly celibacy was not fully ac- 
 complished until during the reign of Henry I., 
 though man}- previous efforts had been made to 
 bring it about. 
 
 In 1077, during the reign of William the Con- 
 queror, Pope Gregory VII. attempted to enforce 
 celibacy among the English clergy, but he en- 
 countered the opposition of William, who had de- 
 termined to resist the encroachments of the 
 Roman Pontiffs upon his kingly prerogatives. 
 Gregory affected an anxious care for the purity 
 of manners ; and he declared that even the chaste 
 pleasures of the marriage relation were inconsist- 
 ent with the sanctit}- of the sacerdotal office. He 
 accordingly issued a decree prohibiting the mar- 
 riage of priests, excommunicating all clergy- 
 men who should refuse to abandon their wives, 
 and rendering it criminal in the people to attend 
 services conducted by such profane priests. This 
 decree was a blow at the very root and foundation 
 of society ; it meant the destruction of family ties, 
 the separation of thousands of husbands from 
 their wives, and the abandonment of helpless and 
 innocent children. It was a measure that cost 
 the Church more pains than the propagation of 
 any other doctrine it had ever previously at- 
 tempted. Many synods were summoned in dif- 
 ferent parts of Europe before it was finally settled, 
 for it affected those interests and sentiments 
 which all men hold dearer than life, and nothing 
 but the blind obedience of the age could ever have 
 driven the clergy to the acceptance of such a de- 
 cree. It was observed that the younger priests 
 offered less opposition to the Pope's requirements 
 than those who were more advanced in years, 
 and whose family connections and habits of life 
 were consequently more firmly fixed. A tempor- 
 ary compromise was finally effected, by which it 
 was enacted that none except those who belonged 
 to collegiate and cathedral churches should be re- 
 quired to separate from their wives. But the con- 
 troversy continued through the remainder of Will- 
 iam's reign, as well as that of William Rufus his 
 successor, the Church gradually and steadily ad- 
 vancing in its purpose, until in n 16, during the 
 reign of Henry I. , at a synod called by the legate of 
 London, a vote was passed enacting severe penal- 
 ties on the marriages of priests ; but even then the 
 measure was not rigidly enforced until some years 
 later, owing to an indiscretion of the presiding 
 bishop, in seeking the company of a woman of 
 
A MARRIAGE CEREMONY IN ITALY DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 (455) 
 
456 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 pleasure the night following his most earnest contempt, but the authorities at Rome persisted 
 harangue in favor of the sanctity of the priestly in their determination and eventually accom- 
 'Pi^^i 3 ^ SSSSiM^ plished their pur- 
 
 ';*iy2k \f1w« ' i fl pose - 
 
 &A-% Marriage, like 
 
 nearly every thing 
 else, has devel- 
 oped, through 
 the natural laws 
 of evolution, from 
 a barbarous union 
 of the sexes, to its 
 present position 
 as the most ten- 
 der, sacred and 
 important rela- 
 tion in human 
 affairs. There is 
 a vast difference 
 between the rude 
 : and forcible 
 = seizure of a wife, 
 : according to the 
 j custom of barba- 
 : rous ages, and 
 ; the pomp and 
 ; circumstance of 
 : the English 
 ; Episcopal or 
 Catholic service 
 : and ceremony, 
 where officiate a 
 bishop, a deacon, 
 an archdeacon, 
 the scholarly 
 head of a great 
 seat of learning, 
 together with the 
 clergy of the 
 richest religious 
 foundations in the 
 kingdom, all clad 
 in the splendid 
 sacerdotal vest- 
 ments and robes 
 of a powerful 
 Church, while 
 around, met to 
 witness the mar- 
 office. This incident caused the measure to be riage, are assembled the flower of the reigning 
 regarded, for the time being, with derision and nouse, of the nobilitv and of the Commons— illus- 
 
A STUDY OF I.OVE. 
 
 (457) 
 
458 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 trious statesmen, artists, men of letters, of science 
 — accompanied by the fairest women in the realm ; 
 while in the midst of this dazzling scene, in front 
 of the steps of the altar, are the groom and his 
 bride, the latter resplendent in pearls and dia- 
 monds. 
 
 In contrast with this splendid and beautiful 
 scene, students of history will recall the seizure 
 of the Sabine women by the early Romans. This 
 is an example of the uncivilized marriage by cap- 
 ture. As men gather into society and build cities 
 and form states, the institution of property modi- 
 fies the marriage by capture into marriage by 
 purchase, as exemplified in the annual marriage 
 market of the Babylonians. Wicked old Babylon 
 did not mean to have any old maids on her hands, 
 and so she declared that every marriageable girl 
 should be put up and sold once a year at public 
 auction. But as only the pretty girls found hus- 
 bands by this device, the price for the pretty ones 
 was turned into the public coffers as dowries for 
 their homely sisters. In this way that terrible 
 old sinner found husbands for all her girls. Those 
 men whom she could -not catch with beauty she 
 snared with money. 
 
 We learn from history that the girls themselves 
 were not averse to this arrangement, and that on 
 the days of their public sales they decked them- 
 selves out in their prettiest and most bewitching 
 attire, and sat babbling as only young girls can 
 on the elevated platform where they were exposed 
 to the view of their future husbands — or, most 
 likely, masters. It was for those poor, ignorant 
 creatures a delightful holiday, and the delicious 
 realization of their maidenly dreams, particularly 
 when they were so fortunate as to become the 
 property of rich, handsome or influential youths. 
 
 The old Roman marriage custom was more 
 humane and romantic, and nearer in accord with 
 the modern style. When the hearts of a Roman 
 m; ti and woman beat as one, and they were reach- 
 to make public announcement of this interesting 
 face, the woman placed herself in the arms of the 
 iiie:i in the presence of ten witnesses, then the 
 tw lin ate together an unleavened farina cake pre- 
 viously blessed by the priest. This was the be- 
 tro:hal. On the day when the separate legal 
 existence of the two ended, and the union of 
 their lives began, the woman was conducted to 
 the house of her betrothed, with a veil over her 
 face and a distaff in her hand. Upon stepping 
 
 over the threshold of her new home, between two 
 youths, and lighted with the torch of a third, she 
 placed herself upon a sheepskin rug spread just 
 within the door, and called to her beloved, who 
 incontinently answered the soft coo of his mate, 
 and delivered to her the key of the love cote. 
 When together they touched fire and water, in 
 token of purity and fidelity, whereupon they were 
 declared man and wife by the sanction of the 
 gods and the legal authorities. This was an ex- 
 ceedingly beautiful as well as romantic marriage 
 custom, and could be introduced with excellent 
 effect into our modern ceremonies. 
 
 The Indian wedding ceremony is illustrated by 
 the marriage of Pocahontas and John Rolf. It 
 was short and simple, but doubtless answered all 
 practical purposes. The bride and groom, joining 
 hands, jumped together over a broomstick, after 
 which they turned and blew at one another through 
 their lips from the reservoir of wind stored in 
 their puffed-out cheeks. Such a ceremony no 
 doubt appeared very curious, if not ridiculous, to 
 those who witnessed it, but if history is to be 
 relied upon, Pocahontas made a most excellent 
 and loving little wife, and many proud families 
 and distinguished men and women of the Old 
 Dominion have congratulated themselves upon 
 having the biood of this Indian princess in their 
 veins — among others, no less a personage than 
 Jhe celebrated John Randolph, of Roanoke. 
 
 In Japan a wedding is a very close and exclu- 
 sive affair. Usually no one but a blood relation 
 is admitted as a spectator. Rarely, therefore, has 
 a foreigner ever seen a Japanese nuptial celebra- 
 tion. Their marriage custom is very curious. 
 The only dowry which a bride takes to her hus- 
 band is her trousseau, which is extensive enough 
 to satisfy all her feminine passion for dress. The 
 husband's expectation is realized if the wife' pos- 
 sesses amiability and housewifely ability — the 
 very best dowry which any woman can convey to 
 the man whom she marries. 
 
 At " sweet 16 " the betrothed maiden becomes 
 a wife, and the man a husband at 20. The nup- 
 tials are at night. On the morning of the wed- 
 ding da>* the bridal trousseau is taken to the house 
 of the bridegroom, and if she has any pieces of 
 furniture, these also are carried to her future 
 home. The household goods of both families, in 
 their counterfeit presentments, are assembled before 
 an altar, decked with flowers and covered with 
 
(459) 
 
460 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 offerings. Near by stands a lacquer table with a 
 dwarf cedar, holding also the figures of the Japan- 
 ese Adam and Eve and the mystic turtle and stork. 
 
 Toward high noon of the happy day the wed- 
 ding company, splendid in variegated costume, 
 proceeds to the fete. Then the bride in spotless 
 white, with a veil over her face, goes out between 
 two friends, and is followed by a procession of 
 relatives no less splendid than the one approach- 
 ing to meet them. The two friends are called the 
 male and female butterflies. In their dress they 
 imitate the brilliant coloring on the wings of this 
 insect, which in Japan is the symbol of conjugal 
 felicity. 
 
 The most solemn form of the ceremony is the 
 scene of the two-mouth vase, ornamented with 
 bauds of dainty colored paper. At a given signal 
 one of the butterflies fills the vase, the other offers 
 it to the lips of the kneeling couple, the husband 
 drinking first, the wife afterward. It is their first 
 draught of mortal bliss, the pledge and promise 
 that henceforth they are to partake equally of the 
 bitter-sweet of coming years. 
 
 The Russian marriage feast is a rude and boist- 
 erous affair, in keeping with the character of that 
 people. After the ceremony in the chapel, ac- 
 cording to the rites of the Greek Church, the 
 happy couple repair to the home of the bride, 
 where the feast is served. Here are gathered 
 huge, rough looking men and women in caps and 
 furs, who indulge in boisterous laughter and 
 coarse jests that bring the blood of shame to the 
 cheeks of the shrinking bride. In no other coun- 
 try would such tilings be tolerated, not even 
 among the lower grades of society ; but unfor- 
 tunately Russia is still the only nation, pretend- 
 ing to civilization, which remains under the heel 
 of a despotic ruler, and the people are conse- 
 quently no further advanced than the Middle-Age 
 state of refinement. 
 
 A Dutch psasant wedding represents a scene of 
 love and hilarious enjoyment, untainted by the 
 coarseness of the Russian ceremony. The wed- 
 ding guests dance in all the stages of rustic agil- 
 ity and glorious fun, to the music of the hurdy- 
 gurdy, while the happy pair, seated or standing, 
 the man awkardly embracing his wife, whispers 
 in her ear the honeyed gibberish of his rustic af- 
 fections, to which she listens in a constrained, 
 passive, foolishly-happy sort of wa}^ 
 
 The ancient Hebrew ceremony was an elabo- 
 
 rate and brilliant affair. On the morning of the 
 wedding day a splendid canopy of scarlet silk or 
 velvet was erected out of doors ; four poles sup- 
 ported the canopy and four men supported the 
 poles. The groom was then led under the canopy 
 by one of his male friends, to the strains 
 of instrumental music. As he passed under the 
 pavilion the spectators burst into the joyous salu- 
 tation : "Blessed is he who is now come. "After 
 him came the bride, led by a female friend under 
 the nuptial canopy and three times around the 
 groom. Then the bridegroom took her once 
 around, receiving as they went the congratu' i- 
 tions of those present. He then placed her at his 
 right, and so together they stood with their faces 
 to the north, and their backs to the south. There- 
 upon the Rabbi covered the pair with the mar- 
 riage wrapper of the bridegroom, joined their 
 hands and said a blessing over a cup of wine, 
 which they touched with their lips. 
 
 After this the groom slipped a plain gold ling 
 on the finger of his spouse. Then, following the 
 reading of the marriage settlement by the officiat- 
 ing rabbi, the ceremony of the cup of wine was 
 repeated, varied this time by a rabbinical reading 
 of the "seven benedictions," and the dramatic 
 breaking of the cup by the bridegroom, in token 
 that the marriage just consummated could never 
 be broken. At the sound of shivering glass, 
 "May you be happy! " pealed from the throats 
 of the festive company, and the two were no more 
 twain, but one flesh, for thus saith the Lord. 
 
 The union of the sexes must ever continue to 
 be associated with sentiments of tenderness and 
 romance, and the eternal fitness of things requires 
 that it should be so. The little "god of love," 
 that beautiful creation of the ancient poets, will 
 never cease to be an object of tender interest, 
 if not of worship, on the part of those who pos- 
 sess young hearts and warm affections. In :.he 
 blooming months of spring the maiden's mind 
 runs unconsciously upon thoughts of love, and in 
 every budding flower and blushing rose she ex- 
 pects to find a Cupid, with roguish lips and bent 
 bow, ready to pierce her heart with the divine 
 passion 
 
 THE WAR OF THE ROSEJ. 
 
 CHE civil war in England known as " The War 
 of the Roses" was a contest for the throne 
 between the houses of York and Lancaster. It 
 
CUPID AND THE MAIDEN 
 
462 
 
 IHE WONDERFUL. THE CURIOUS, AXD THE 
 
 T 
 
 began with the battle of St. Albans, May 22, 1455, 
 and continued, with occasional intermissions, for 
 a period of more than twenty years. During its 
 progress upwards of sixty princes of the blood per- 
 ished, fully one-half of the nobility were exter- 
 minated, and it is estimated ihat more than one 
 hundred thousand soldiers fell in the various bat- 
 tles that were fought. All England was a scene 
 of carnage, and every house became a fortress, 
 merely to decide, quaintly remarks a well-known 
 historian, "whether the son of a fifth son by 
 male descent, and of a third son by the female 
 Line, or the son of a fourth son, had a better claim 
 to the crown o f England." 
 
 The Duke of York was a title formerly con- 
 ferred upon the younger sons of the kings of 
 England, the first to bear it being Edward Plan- 
 tageuet, fifth son of Edward III. and Queen 
 Philippa, whose romantic love-story is told in the 
 history of Oueen Isabella, of England, in another, 
 part of this volume. Edward was created Duke 
 of York on the 6th of August, 13S5. 
 
 Twenty-three years previously, on the 13th of 
 November, 1362, his elder brother, John of Gaunt, 
 the fourth son of Edward and Philippa, had been 
 created Duke of Lancaster ; and these two brothers 
 became the founders of the rival houses which, 
 nearly a century later, deluged England with the 
 fratricidal blood of a civil war. At the commence- 
 ment of the war the house of York adopted a 
 white rose as its emblem, and the house of Lan- 
 caster a red rose ; hence the designation of ''The 
 War of the Roses." 
 
 A better understanding of the dispute can be 
 reached by tracing the descent of the house of 
 York : The first Duke was succeeded by his son 
 Edward, who was killed at the battle of Agincourt, 
 in 1415, and w r as succeeded by his nephew Richard, 
 son of Anne Mortimer, who was great-grand- 
 daughter of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the third 
 son of Edward III. and Philippa. It was by vir- 
 tue of this descent from the Duke of Clarence that 
 the house alleged its superior right over that of 
 Lancaster, which was descended from a fourth 
 son. The title of Duke of York was subsequently 
 borne by Edward Planfagenet, known in history 
 as Edward IY. ; Richard Plantagenet, supposed 
 lo have been murdered in the Tower by his uncle 
 Richard III., in 14S3 ; Henry Tudor, the sanguin- 
 ary Henry VIII. , of history; Charles Stuart, 
 known as Charles I., who was beheaded through 
 
 the influence of Cromwell ; and James Stuart, who 
 became James II. , of England. The title was 
 afterward conferred by the pretender James III., 
 on his second sou, Henry Benedict, who is known 
 in history as Cardinal York, the last of the royal 
 family of Stuarts. 
 
 The War of the Roses began during the reign 
 of Henry VI., the third and last monarch of the 
 Lancasterian dynasty. He was born in Windsor, 
 December 6, 142 1, and crowned on the 1st of the 
 following September, the day after the death of his 
 father, Henry V., when only nine months old. 
 Parliament declared him king of France and 
 England and Lord of Ireland, and made his Uncle, 
 the Duke of Bedford, protector, defender and 
 chief counsellor of the kingdom and church, with 
 the provision that his younger brother, the Duke 
 of Gloucester, should act in his stead during his 
 absence. A month later, in October, 1422 ; 
 Charles VI., of France, died, and the infant 
 Henry was proclaimed king of France in all 
 those parts of that country which were in the 
 possession of the English, while the French 
 placed their crown upon the head of Charles 
 YIL, afterward called the Victorious, fifth son of 
 their deceased monarch. A long struggle followed 
 between the supporters of Henry and those of 
 Charles, in which the English were generally vic- 
 torious, until Joan of Arc, the famous Maid of 
 Orleans, appeared upon the scene and by her heroic 
 valor and enthusiasm turned the scale in favor of 
 the French. 
 
 Henry was a weak prince, of an amiable dis- 
 position, but subject to fits of insanity, which re- 
 curred at intervals during his entire life. His 
 wife, the beautiful Margaret of Anjou, on the con- 
 trary, was a woman of superior intellect, indomi- 
 table will, and heroic courage. During their 
 joint reign she was the real ruler. 
 
 Margaret was the daughter of the Duke of 
 Lorraine and Count of Provence, who was also titu- 
 lar king of Sicily and Jerusalem. She was born 
 on the 23d of March, 1429, and died on the 25th 
 of August, 14S1, having compressed into the short 
 period of her life about as many startling events 
 as any other celebrated woman the world has pro- 
 duced. Reports of her wonderful beauty having 
 reached Henry, he requested that her portrait 
 should be obtained for his inspection. This por- 
 trait showed her to be even more beautiful than 
 she had been represented, and Henry was instantly 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 463 
 
 captivated. The marriage was favored by Charles 
 VII., of France, hoping that it would prove the 
 basis of a peace between the two countries. 
 Henry's devotion was so blind and overpower- 
 ing that he rushed into the alliance against the 
 will of the powerful leaders by whom he was sur- 
 rounded, and this indiscretion in the matter of his 
 marriage was probably the real cause of his future 
 political troubles. For the purpose of hastening 
 matters he sent the Duke of Suffolk to Nancy, in 
 France, where Margaret and her parents were at 
 that time residing, and the marriage ceremony 
 "was performed with Suffolk as Henry's proxy. 
 Margaret did not reach England until the follow- 
 ing April, when the marriage was proclaimed at 
 Titchfield Abbey on the 2 2d of that month. Her 
 strong will dominated over the weak disposition 
 of her husband, and she became unpopular with 
 the ruling classes of her adopted country. This 
 ill feeling was aggravated by the disasters to the 
 English arms in France, the war with that coun- 
 try having meanwhile been resumed. Popular 
 attention began to be directed toward Richard, 
 Duke of York, as the rightful heir to the throne. 
 As previously stated, he was descended from the 
 third son of Edward III., while Edward himself 
 was descended from the fourth son, and this fact, 
 added to Henry's weakness and Margaret's un- 
 popularity, encouraged the Duke of York, who 
 was much loved because of his bravery, mildness, 
 and good conduct in public and private life. It 
 was believed, however, that so long as no offspring 
 followed from the marriage of Henry and Mar- 
 garet, York would peaceably succeed to the throne 
 on the king's death, and this opinion prevented 
 any overt acts. But on the 13th of October, 1453, 
 Margaret's only child, Edward, was born. 
 
 Henry was at that time suffering from one of 
 his periodical fits of imbecility, and the enemies 
 of Margaret claimed that her son was either the 
 offspring of adultery or a supposititious child. 
 The Duke of York was made protector, but on the 
 restoration of the king's health he was dismissed, 
 whereupon he appealed to arms, and the first 
 shock of battle took place at St. Albans, May 22, 
 1455, resulting in a complete victory for the York- 
 ists, or party of the White Rose. This was the 
 a:tual commencement of the war of the roses. 
 The administration passed temporarily into the 
 hands of the Duke of York, but the following 
 year Henry's authority was restored, although 
 
 the control of the government was virtually in 
 Margaret's hands. A bitter personal feeling had 
 long existed between the queen and the Earl of 
 Warwick, who was the most powerful of the 
 Yorkist leaders, and this personal enmity caused a 
 renewal of the war. The first battles were favor- 
 able to the Eancasterian part}', but in 1460, at the 
 decisive action of Northampton, they were de- 
 feated by Warwick, and the king was captured. 
 York now demanded the throne, and parliament 
 decided that he should succeed to it on Henry's 
 death, the duke in 
 the mean time to ad- 
 minister the govern- 
 ment. 
 
 In this crisis Mar- 
 garet rose above the 
 difficulties by which 
 she was surrounded, 
 and exhibited the 
 remarkable courage 
 a n d determination 
 of her character. 
 She gathered about 
 her the leaders of the 
 red rose part}', and 
 assembling a small 
 army, she impetu- 
 ously attacked the 
 superior forces of the 
 white roses, at 
 Wakefield, on the 
 30th of December, 
 1460, and her troops 
 being animated by 
 thusiasm, won a complete victory 
 York being slain in the battle, 
 later, on the 17th of February, 1461, she fought 
 the second battle of St. Albans, and won another 
 brilliant victory, by which her husband, who 
 had meanwhile been held as a prisoner, was once 
 more restored to his friends. 
 
 But other events were occurring which were to 
 result in the complete overthrow of the party of 
 the red rose. Immediately after the death of the 
 Duke of York, his eldest son, Edward, then only 
 nineteen years of age, put himself at the head of 
 an army of Welsh mountaineers, and defeated a 
 formidable force under the Earls of Pembroke and 
 Ormond, near Hereford. After the defeat of War- 
 wick at the second battle of St. Albans, Edward 
 
 own 
 
 DUKE OF YORK. 
 
 courage and en- 
 the Duke of 
 
 Two months 
 
U64) 
 
 MURDER OF THOMAS A BECKET. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 405 
 
 inarched directly to London, which he entered 
 without opposition. Here his youth, boldness, 
 and manly beauty rendered him a universal 
 favorite, and on the 4th of March, 1461, he was 
 proclaimed king by the parliament. 
 
 Margaret, finding the gates of London closed 
 against her, and vigorous preparations being made 
 for an attack upon her forces, retreated toward the 
 north, and was 
 pursued b y 
 young Edward 
 at the head of 
 an army about 
 equal to her own 
 in numbers. 
 They met upon 
 the marshy 
 plain near Tow- 
 ton, and here 
 was fought, on 
 the 29th of 
 March, 1461, 
 the bloodiest 
 battle in the 
 whole history 
 of England. 
 The two armies 
 were nearly 
 equal, number- 
 ing about 50,000 
 on each side, 
 and within their 
 ranks were con- 
 centrated the 
 accumulated 
 hatreds of years 
 of civil strife. 
 Each party pro- 
 claimed that no 
 quarter should 
 be given, and 
 the riot of mur- battle of 
 
 der had full sway. The battle began early in the 
 morning, and continued until the following day, 
 resulting in the complete overthrow of the Lan- 
 casterian party. More than 30,000 men were slain 
 on this bloody field. Margaret, with her husband 
 and son, fled into Scotland, and sailed from thence 
 to France, where she sought an alliance with 
 Louis XL She succeeded only to a limited ex- 
 tent, returning to Scotland four years later at the 
 30 
 
 head of five hundred French troops. This insig- 
 nificant force was joined by a small band of 
 Scotch, and in pure desperation the intrepid queen 
 gave battle to the English army under Lord Mon- 
 tacute, near Hexham, resulting, as might have 
 been anticipated, in a complete rout of her little 
 army. The old king, her husband, made his es- 
 cape in one direction, and Margaret and her son 
 
 WAKEFIELD AND DEATH OF YORK. 
 
 in another. The former fled into Lancashire, 
 where he remained concealed for more than a year, 
 but was finally captured and conveyed to London _ 
 Here he was subjected to the most cruel indigni- 
 ties. The Earl of Warwick ordered that his feet 
 should be tied in his stirrups, after the manner of 
 a common criminal, and that he should be 
 paraded around the pillory, where he was greeted 
 bv the base insults and derisive shouts of a 
 
466 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 vicious mob. He was then conducted to the 
 Tower, aud cast into a dungeon, from which, four 
 years later, he was rescued and once more pro- 
 claimed king of England for a brief term. 
 
 The unfortunate Margaret and the young Prince 
 of Wales sought safety in a dense forest, where 
 they were attacked by a robber ; but she met 
 him with such queenly dignity and grace 
 that he was completely subdued, and became 
 their staunch and faithful fr'end, guiding them in 
 
 THE BATTLE OF TOWTON. 
 
 safety to the coast, where they embarked for 
 France. 
 
 King Edward, feeling that he was now firmly 
 seated upon the throne, engaged in a life of plea- 
 sure, and also manifested great cruelty toward the 
 wearers of the red rose. Every Lancasterian of 
 prominence who could be found was executed, 
 according to the sanguinary customs of the times ; 
 the gaps thus made in the English nobility being 
 filled as rapidly as the}- occurred by the substitu- 
 tion of staunch friends of the king. 
 
 About this time Edward privately married 
 
 Elizabeth, the widow of Sir John Grey and 
 daughter of Richard Woodville, Baron Rivers, 
 whom he had met at her father's house, while 
 hunting in the forests of Grafton. She was soon 
 afterwards proclaimed queen, and her father was 
 made an earl. This union greatly displeased the 
 haughty Earl of Warwick, who had been negoti- 
 ating for an influential foreign matrimonial alli- 
 ance with the king. He was therefore deeply 
 incensed because his efforts were so little regarded, 
 and other influential members of 
 the court joined him in openly ex- 
 pressing their dissatisfaction over 
 the elevation of a low-born woman 
 like Elizabeth to the proud posi- 
 tion of queen of England. Among 
 the other malcontents was no less 
 a personage than the Duke of 
 Clarence, a brother of the king. 
 The dissatisfaction blazed out into 
 open revolt in 1469, and quickly 
 spread to all parts of the island. 
 An armj' of 60,000 men was col- 
 lected in Yorkshire, under a hero 
 of the troopers, named Robin Re- 
 desdale ; while the Earl of War- 
 wick, who had been absent in 
 France, had won the friendship of 
 Louis XL and become reconciled 
 to his old enem}- Margaret, landed 
 at Dartmouth with a small body of 
 troops, which in a few days in- 
 creased to an army equal to the 
 one in Yorkshire. Edward, wholly 
 engrossed with his pleasures and 
 the punishment of his enemies, paid 
 no attention to the gathering storm 
 until it was almost ready to burst 
 upon his devoted head. Then 
 he began his operations with spirit aud en- 
 ergy, but it was too late. As the Earl of War- 
 wick marched northward, the enthusiasm of his 
 soldiers and their rapidly increasing numbers 
 shook the fidelity of the royal troops, and Edward 
 soon found himself without a sufficient arm)- to 
 depend upon. Becoming alarmed for his personal 
 safety, he fled to Holland, and Warwick entered 
 London with flying colors and amidst the plaudits 
 of the fickle populace. Poor old King Henry was 
 brought forth from his gloomy cell in the Tower, 
 and once more proclaimed the royal head of 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 467 
 
 England. A 
 new parliament 
 was summoned, 
 which, obedient 
 to the c om- 
 ul a n d s of its 
 masters, pro- 
 nounced E d - 
 ward a usurper, 
 attainted his ad- 
 herents of trea- 
 son, and d e - 
 clared all acts 
 passed b y his 
 authority re- 
 pealed. 
 
 But mean- 
 while he was 
 not idle. With 
 commendable 
 spirit he col- 
 lected within a 
 few months a 
 bod}- of Flemish 
 and Dutch free 
 lances, with 
 whom he landed 
 at Ravenspur, 
 and i m m e d i - 
 ately began his 
 march towards 
 the interior. 
 At first he pre- 
 tended that he 
 was only trying 
 to recover his 
 ancient patri- 
 mony as Duke 
 of York, and by 
 his ' instructions 
 the battle-cry of 
 his f o 1 1 o w e r s 
 was, "Long 
 live King Hen 
 ry," until hid 
 force had in- 
 creased to such 
 an extent that 
 he felt safe in 
 offering battle to 
 the king's army, 
 
468 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 commanded by Warwick. The battle took place 
 at Barnet, April 14, 1471, where the Lancas- 
 terians were beaten and Warwick himself slain. 
 Once more Edward became master of London 
 and the person of the old king, who was again 
 remanded to the Tower, where he was murdered 
 a month later by the Duke of Gloucester, better 
 known as the infamous hunchback, Richard III. 
 
 w%9m?m. 
 
 BATTLE OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 During the progress of these events the coura- 
 geous Margaret had collected a small force of 
 French troops and accompanied by her son, then 
 eighteen year? of age, lauded at their head, at 
 Weymouth, on the very day of the disaster at 
 Barnet. On receiving this startling information 
 she took sanctuary in Beaulieu Abbey, where she 
 was waited upon by some of the Lancasterian 
 leaders, who, having a strong force, prevailed 
 upon her to join them ; but while seeking to effect 
 
 a junction with their friends in Wales, Edward 
 assaulted them at Tewkesbury, May 4, 147 1, with 
 a largely superior force, and totally defeated them. 
 Margaret and her son fled to a neighboring fortress, 
 where the}- were soon afterward attacked by 
 Edward's entire army, and when the commandant 
 proposed a surrender, she with her own hands 
 lashed the standard to the pole and declared that 
 she would rather die than 
 submit. But resistance 
 against such overwhelming 
 numbers was madness, and 
 they were soon compelled to 
 yield. 
 
 After so many years of he- 
 roic effort the unfortunate 
 queen and the young prince 
 were helpless captives in the 
 hands of their enemies. 
 When the prince was brought 
 before King Edward the lat- 
 ter asked him what business 
 he had in England, to which 
 he replied that he had come 
 to recover his father's king- 
 dom , whereupon E d w a r d 
 struck him in the face with 
 his mailed hand and knocked 
 him clown. At this, the 
 Dukes of Gloucester and 
 Clarence, who were standing 
 by, taking the hint from the 
 king, drew their swords and 
 stabbed the youth to death 
 on the spot. 
 
 Queen Margaret was im- 
 prisoned in the Tower, and 
 was there at the time of the 
 murder of her husband. She 
 was subsequently removed to 
 Windsor, and from thence to 
 Walllngford, remaining a prisoner until No- 
 vember 3, 1475, when she was ransomed hy 
 Louis XL, who paid 50,000 crowns for her 
 libertv, her father having ceded Provence to 
 him as security for that purpose. On being 
 released she formally renounced all the rights 
 her marriage with King Henry had given her, 
 and retired to deep seclusion at Reculee, near 
 Angers, one of the possessions of her father. On 
 the death of the latter she became a member of the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 469 
 
 family of the L,ord of Dampierre, and resided in 
 his chateau during 1 the remainder of her life. She 
 is said to have retained her vivacity and much of 
 her remarkable beauty, through all the trials and 
 vicissitudes of her eventful career. 
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON, THE MAD POET. 
 
 THOMAS CHATTERTON was born at Bris- 
 tol, November 20, 1752. His father, who 
 had taught the Free School there, died before his 
 birth, and he was educated at a charity school, 
 where nothing but English, writing, and accounts 
 were taught. His first lessons were said to have 
 been from a black-letter Bible, which may have 
 had some effect on his youthful imagination. At 
 the age of fourteen he was put apprentice to an 
 attorney, where his situation was irksome and 
 uncomfortable, but left him ample time to prose- 
 cute his private studies. He was passionately 
 devoted to poetry, antiquities and heraldry, and 
 ambitious of distinction. His ruling passion, he 
 says, was "unconquerable pride." He now set 
 himself to accomplish his various impositions by 
 pretended discoveries of old manuscripts. In 
 October, 1768, the new bridge at Bristol was fin- 
 ished ; and Chatterton sent to a newspaper in the 
 town a pretended account of the ceremonies on 
 opening the old bridge, introduced by a letter to 
 the printer, intimating that "the description of 
 the friars first passing over the old bridge was 
 taken from an ancient manuscript." To one 
 man, fond of heraldic honors, he gave a pedigree 
 reaching up to the time of William the Conqueror; 
 to another he presents an ancient poem, the " Ro- 
 maunt of the Cnyghte," written by one of his an- 
 cestors 450 years before ; to a religious citizen of 
 Bristol he gives an ancient fragment of a sermon 
 on the Divinity of the Holy Spirit, as wroten by 
 Thomas Rowley, a monk of the fifteenth century ; 
 to another, solicitous of obtaining information 
 about Bristol, he makes the valuable present of an 
 account of all the churches of the city, as they 
 appeared three hundred years before, and accom- 
 panies it with drawings and descriptions of the 
 castle, the whole pretended to be drawn from 
 writings of the " gode prieste Thomas Rowley." 
 Horace Walpole was engaged in writing the 
 History of British Painters, and Chatterton sent 
 him an account of eminent ' ' Carvellers and Peyne- 
 ters, ' ' who once flourished in Bristol. These, with 
 various impositions of a similar nature, duped the 
 
 citizens of Bristol. Chatterton had no confidant 
 in his labors ; he toiled in secret, gratified only 
 by " the stoical pride of talent." He frequently 
 wrote by moonlight, conceiving that the imme- 
 diate presence of that luminary added to the in- 
 spiration. His Sundays were commonly spent in 
 walking alone into the country about Bristol, and 
 drawing sketches of churches and other objects 
 which had impressed his romantic imagination. 
 He would also lie down on the meadows in view 
 of St. Mary's Church, Bristol, fix his eyes upon 
 the ancient edifice, and seem as if he were in a 
 kind of trance. He thus nursed the enthusiasm 
 which destroyed him. Though correct and orderly 
 in his conduct, Chatterton, before he was sixteen, 
 imbibed principles of infidelity, and the idea of 
 suicide was familiar to his mind. It was, how- 
 ever, overruled for a time by his passion for 
 literary fame and distinction. It was a favorite 
 maxim with him, that man is equal to anything, 
 and that everything might be achieved by dili- 
 gence and abstinence. His alleged discoveries 
 having attracted great attention, the youth stated 
 that he found the manuscripts in his mother's 
 house. "In the muniment room of St. Mary 
 Redcliffe Church of Bristol, several chests had 
 been anciently deposited, among which was one 
 called the ' Coffre ' of Mr. Canynge, an eminent 
 merchant of Bristol, who had rebuilt the church 
 in the reign of Edward IV. About the year 1727 
 those chests had been broken open by an order 
 from proper authority : some ancient deeds had 
 been taken out, and the remaining manuscripts 
 left exposed as of no value. Chatterton' s father, 
 whose uncle was sexton of the church, had carried 
 off great numbers of the parchments, a:id had 
 used them as covers for books in his school. 
 Amidst the residue of his father's ravages, Chat- 
 terton gave out that he had found many writings 
 of Mr. Canynge, and of Thomas Rowley (the 
 friend of Canynge), a priest of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury. ' ' These fictitious poems were published in 
 the "Town and County Magazine," to which Chat- 
 terton had become a contributor, and occasioned 
 a warm controversy among literary antiquaries. 
 Some of them he had submitted to Horace Wal- 
 pole, who showed them to Gray and Mason ; but 
 these competent judges pronounced them to be 
 forgeries. 
 
 After three years spent in the attorney's office, 
 Chatterton obtained his release from his appren- 
 
470 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ticeship, and went to London, where he engaged 
 in various tasks for the booksellers, and wrote for 
 the magazines and newspapers. He obtained an 
 introduction to Beckford, the patriotic and popular 
 lord-mayor, and his own inclinations led him to 
 espouse the opposition part}-. " But no money," 
 he sa3 r s, " is to be got on that side of the question ; 
 interest is on the other side. But he is a poor 
 author who cannot write on both sides." He 
 boasted that his company was courted everywhere, 
 
 composition. His spirits had always been un- 
 equal, alternately gloomy and elevated — both in 
 extremes ; he had cast off the restraints of religion, 
 and had no steady principle to guide him, unless 
 it was a strong affection for his mother and sister, 
 to whom he sent remittances of money, while his 
 means lasted. Habits of intemperance, succeeded 
 by fits of remorse, exasperated his constitutional 
 melancholy ; and after being reduced to actual 
 want (though with characteristic pride he rejected 
 
 NAPOLEON' AT THE BOMBARDMENT OF MADRID. 
 
 and ' ' that he would settle the nation before he 
 had done. " The splendid visions of promotion 
 and consequence, however, soon vanished, and 
 even his labours for the periodical press failed to 
 afford him the means of comfortable subsistence. 
 He applied for the appointment of a surgeon's 
 mate to Africa, but was refused the necessary re- 
 commendation. This seems to have been his last 
 hope, and he made no farther effort at literary 
 
 a dinner offered him by his landlady the day be- 
 fore his death), he tore all his papers, and de- 
 stroyed himself by taking arsenic, August 25, 
 1770. At the time of his death he was aged seven- 
 teen years nine months and a few days. ' ' No 
 English poet," says Campbell, "ever equalled 
 him at the same age." The remains of the un- 
 happy youth were interred in a shell in the bury- 
 insr-sxound of Shoe-Lane workhouse. His un- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 471 
 
 finished papers he had destroyed before his death, 
 and his room, when broken open, was found 
 covered with scraps of paper. 
 
 THE SLEEP OF GREAT MEN. 
 
 nAPOLEON slept an average of about five or 
 six hours out of the twenty-four. His 
 physical constitution was such that he could do 
 with less sleep than almost any other celebrated 
 person of whom history furnishes any record. 
 When actively engaged in his campaigns he fre- 
 quently did not sleep more than two or three 
 hours at a time ; and Victor Hugo asserts that 
 the night before the battle of Waterloo he did 
 not lie down or close his eyes. It is also stated 
 that his anxiety during the siege of Madrid, in 
 December, 1808, added to his irritation over the 
 bad generalship of the French commanders dur- 
 ing the previous Spanish campaigns, rendered him 
 more sleepless than usual, and that he frequently 
 did not rest more than two or three hours during 
 the twenty-four. 
 
 Washington was a regular and sound sleeper. 
 When at home at Mount Vernon he usually retired 
 between nine and ten o'clock, and arose the next 
 morning about five. During his military cam- 
 paigns his anxiety frequently kept him awake, 
 and made him restless and irritable. He had not 
 slept for two days previous to the disastrous battle 
 of I/)ng Island, and his bad generalship and 
 consequent defeat on that occasion have been 
 attributed by some writers to this fact. 
 
 Caesar, like Napoleon, was a light sleeper. As 
 a rule he averaged -five to six hours out of the 
 twenty-four, and during his active campaigns 
 much less. 
 
 Authors, teachers, and other mental workers 
 require more sleep than those who labor physi- 
 cally. Dickens slept an average of about seven 
 hours, but if he overslept himself he found it diffi- 
 cult to express his thoughts in his usual happy 
 and fluent style. In working up the climaxes of 
 his stories he frequently became excessively nerv- 
 ous, and sleep fled entirety away from him. He 
 states himself that after he had finished the 
 description of the death of little Paul Dombey, he 
 was in such an excited mental condition that he 
 spent the whole night nervously walking the 
 streets of Paris, where he was at that time so- 
 journing. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott has stated that he required seven 
 
 hours of total unconsciousness to fit him for the 
 duties of the day. He was one of the most vol- 
 uminous writers of an)' age, and his composition 
 has a more even and regular flow than that of 
 almost any other celebrated author. Most of his 
 later books were dictated to amanuenses, as he 
 found the excessive labor of constant writing more 
 than he could endure. The larger number of his 
 books, as well as his greatest works, were pro- 
 duced after he was fifty years of age, and the 
 ' ' Tales of a Grandfather ' ' and others of his most 
 popular writings were composed after he had 
 reached his sixtieth year. At the age of fifty-five 
 the failure of his publishers left him with an enor- 
 mous personal debt of over $750,000. He im- 
 mediately set to work to pay this off, and six 
 years later, when his failing powers compelled 
 him to cease writing, he had disposed of over 
 $500,000 of it. The remainder was discharged in 
 full, so that his creditors did not lose a shilling. 
 In those days it was quite an unusual thing for 
 an author to be largely remunerated for his work ; 
 indeed, many of them received only a miserable 
 pittance as a reward of their labors. In later times 
 large fortunes have been amassed by authors. 
 
 Sir Edward Coke, the famous English jurist, 
 claimed that he required only six hours' sleep, 
 and he expressed his rules for the division of his 
 ti me in the following couplet : 
 
 "Six Hours in sleep, in law's grave study six, 
 Four spend in prayer — the rest on nature fix." 
 
 Sir William Jones, another celebrated English- 
 man, amended these rules as follows : 
 
 ".Seven hours to law, to soothing slumber seven, 
 Ten to the world allot, and all to Heaven." 
 
 Sir William Jones' rules are free from that in- 
 nate suspicion of insincerity which clusters around 
 those of Sir Edward Coke. A lawyer who claims 
 to spend four hours a day in prayer will bear 
 watching. 
 
 THE TRANSMIGRATION OF SOULS. 
 
 DEAR Tom, this brown iug that now foams with mild 
 ale 
 (In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale) ; 
 Was once Toby Fillpot, a thirsty old soul, 
 As e'er drank a bottle, or fathomed a bowl ; 
 In brousing about 'twas his praise to excel, 
 And among jolly topers he bore off the bell. 
 
 It chanced as in dog-days he sat at his ease, 
 In his flower- woven arbor, as gay as you please, 
 With a friend and a pipe puffing sorrows away, 
 And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay, 
 
472 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut, 
 And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt. 
 
 His body when long in the ground it had lain, 
 
 And Jime into clay had resolved it again, 
 
 A potter found out in its covert so snug, 
 
 And with part of fat Toby he formed this brown jug ; 
 
 Now sacred to friendship, and mirth, and mild ale, 
 
 So here's to mv lovely sweet Nan of the vale ! 
 
 ON parent knees, a naked new-born child, 
 Weeping thou satst while all around thee smiled ; 
 So live, that sinking in thy last long sleep, 
 Calm thou mayst smile, while all around thee weep. 
 
 — From the Persian. 
 
 THE STORY OF LA ROCHE.— A PERSONAL PIC- 
 TURE OF DAVID HUME. 
 BY HENRY MCKENZIE. 
 
 THE character of La Roche, in this exquisite 
 story, is intended for Hume, the historian ; 
 and it is said to be a perfect picture of this amiable 
 author. We copy the story, both on account 
 of its great interest and its historical value : 
 
 More than forty years ago, an English philoso- 
 pher, whose works have since been read and 
 , admired by all Europe, resided at a little town in 
 France. Some disappointments in his native 
 country had first driven him abroad, and he was 
 afterwards induced to remain there, from having 
 found, in this retreat, where the connections even 
 of nation and language were avoided, a perfect 
 seclusion and retirement highly favorable to the 
 ■development of abstract subjects, in which he ex- 
 celled all the writers of his time. 
 
 Perhaps in the structure of such a mind as, Mr 
 
 's, the finer and more delicate sensibilities 
 
 are seldom known to have place ; or if originally 
 implanted there, are in a great measure extin- 
 guished by the exertions of intense study and pro- 
 found investigation. Hence the idea of philoso- 
 phy and uufeelinguess being united has become 
 proverbial, and in common language the former 
 word is often used to express the latter. Our phil- 
 osopher has been censured by some as deficient in 
 warmth and feeling ; but the mildness of his 
 manners has been allowed by all ; and it is cer- 
 tain that, if he was not easily melted into com- 
 passion, it was at least not difficult to awaken his 
 benevolence. 
 
 One morning, while he sat busied in those specu- 
 lations which afterwards astonished the world, 
 an old female domestic, who served him for a 
 
 housekeeper, brought him word that an elderly 
 gentleman and his daughter had arrived in the 
 village the preceding evening on their way to 
 some distant country, and that the father had been 
 suddenly seized in the night with a dangerous dis- 
 order, which the people of the inn where they 
 lodged feared would prove mortal ; that she had 
 been sent for as having some knowledge in medi- 
 cine, the village surgeon being then absent ; and 
 that it was truly piteous to see the good old man, 
 who seemed not so much afflicted by his own dis- 
 tress as by that which it caused to his daughter 
 Her master laid aside the volume in his hand, and 
 broke off the chain of ideas it had inspired. His 
 night-gown was exchanged for a coat, and he fol- 
 lowed his gouvernante to the sick man's apart- 
 ment. 
 
 'Twas the best in the little inn where they lay, 
 
 but a paltry one notwithstanding. Mr was 
 
 obliged to stoop as he entered it. It was floored 
 with earth, and above were the joists, not plas- 
 tered, and hung with cobwebs. On a flock-bed, at 
 one end, lay the old man he came to visit ; at the 
 foot of it sat his daughter. She was dressed in a 
 clean white bed-gown ; her dark locks hung loosely 
 over it as she bent forward, watching the languid 
 
 looks of her father. Mr and his housekeeper 
 
 had stood some moments in the room without the 
 young lady's being sensible of their entering it. 
 " Mademoiselle ! " said the old woman at last, in 
 a soft tone. She turned, and showed one of the 
 finest faces in the world. It was touched, not 
 spoiled with sorrow ; and when she perceived a 
 stranger, whom the old woman now introduced to 
 her, a blush at first, and then the gentle cere- 
 monial of native politeness which the affliction of 
 the time tempered, but did not extinguish, crossed 
 it for a moment, and changed its expression. 
 'Twas sweetness all, however, and our philosopher 
 felt it strongly. It was not a time for words ; he 
 offered his services in a few sincere ones. " Mon- 
 sieur lies miserably ill here," said the gouver- 
 nante ; "if he could possibly be moved any- 
 where." " If he could be moved to our house," 
 said her master. He had a spare bed for a friend, 
 and there was a garret room unoccupied, next to 
 the gouvernante's. It was contrived accordingly. 
 The scruples of the stranger, who could look 
 scruples though he could not speak them, were 
 overcome, and the bashful reluctance of his 
 daughter gave way to her belief of its use to her 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 473 
 
 father. The sick man was wrapt in blankets and 
 carried across the street to the English gentle- 
 man's. The old woman helped his daughter to 
 nurse him there. The surgeon, who arrived soon 
 after, prescribed a little, and nature did much for 
 him ; in a week he was able to thank his bene- 
 factor. 
 
 By this time his host had learned the name and 
 character of his guest. He was a Protestant 
 clergyman of Switzerland, called L,a Roche, a 
 widower, who had lately buried his wife after a 
 long and lingering illness, for which travelling 
 had been prescribed, and he was now returning 
 home, after an ineffectual and melancholy journey, 
 with his only child, the daughter we have men- 
 tioned. 
 
 He was a devout man, as became his profession. 
 He possessed devotion in all its warmth, but with 
 none of its asperity ; I mean that asperity which 
 men, called devout, « sometimes indulge in. Mr. 
 
 , though he felt no devotion, never quarrelled 
 
 with it in others. His gouvernante joined the old 
 man and his daughter in the prayers and thanks- 
 givings which they put up on his recovery ; for 
 she, too, was a heretic in the phrase of the village. 
 The philosopher walked out, with his long staff 
 "and his dog, and left them to their prayers and 
 thanksgivings. "My master," said the old 
 woman, " alas ! he is not a Christian ! ' but he 
 is the best of unbelievers." " Not a Christian ! " 
 exclaimed Mademoiselle La Roche ; ' ' yet he 
 saved my father ! Heaven bless him for't ; I 
 would he were a Christian ! " " There is a pride 
 in human knowledge, my child," said her father, 
 "which often blinds men to the sublime truths 
 of revelation ; hence opposers of Christianity are. 
 found among men of virtuous lives, as well as 
 among those of dissipated and licentious charac- 
 ters. Nay, sometimes I have known the latter 
 more easily converted to the true faith than the 
 former, because the fume of passion is more easily 
 dissipated than the mist of false theory and delu- 
 sive speculation." " But Mr. ," sa id his 
 
 daughter; "alas! my father, he shall be a 
 Christian before he dies." She was interrupted 
 by the arrival of their landlord. He took her 
 hand with an air of kindness ; she drew it away 
 from him silence, threw down her eyes to the 
 ground, and left the room. " I have been thank- 
 ing God," said the good La Roche, "for my re- 
 covery." "That is right," replied his landlord. 
 
 " I would not wish," continued the old man hesi- 
 tatingly, ' ' to think otherwise ; did I not look up 
 with gratitude to that Being, I should barely be 
 satisfied with my recovery as a continuation of 
 life, which, it may be, is not a real good. Alas ! 
 I may live to wish I had died, that you had left 
 me to die, sir, instead of kindly relieving me (he 
 
 clasped Mr. 's hand); but when I look on 
 
 this renovated be- 
 ing as the gift of 
 the Almighty, I 
 feel a far different 
 sentiment; my 
 heart dilates with 
 gratitude and love 
 to him ; it is pre- 
 pared for doing his 
 
 the clergyman's daughter. 
 
 will, not as a duty, but as a pleasure; and re- 
 gards every breach of it, not with disappro- 
 bation, but with horror.' "You say right, my 
 dear sir," replied the philosopher ; "but you are 
 not yet re-established enough to talk much ; you 
 must take care of your health, and neither study 
 nor preach for some time. I have been thinking 
 over a scheme that struck me to-day when you 
 mentioned your intended departure. I never was 
 in Switzerland ; I have a great mind to accom- 
 
474 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 pany your daughter and you into that country. 
 I will help to take care of you by the road , for, as 
 I was your first' physician, I hold myself responsi- 
 ble for your cure." La Roche's eyes glistened at 
 the proposal ; his daughter was called in and told 
 of it. She was equally pleased with her father ; 
 for they really loved their landlord — not perhaps 
 the less for his infidelity ; at least that circum- 
 stance mixed a sort of pity with their regard for 
 him ; their souls were net of a mould for harsher 
 feelings ; hatred never dwelt in them. 
 
 They travelled by short stages ; for the philoso- 
 pher was as good as his word, in taking care that 
 the old man should not be fatigued. The party 
 had time to be well acquainted with one another, 
 and their friendship was increased by acquaint- 
 ance. La Roche found a degree of simplicity and 
 gentleness in his companion which is not always 
 annexed to the character of a learned or a wise man. 
 His daughter, who was prepared to be afraid of 
 him, was equally undeceived. She found in him 
 nothing of that self-importance which superior 
 parts, or great cultivation of them, is apt to con- 
 fer. He talked of everything but philosphy and 
 religion ; he seemed to enjoy every pleasure and 
 amusement of ordinary life, and to be interested 
 in the most common topics of discourse ; when his 
 knowledge or learning at any time appeared, it 
 was delivered with the utmost plainness, and with- 
 out the least shadow of dogmatism. On his part 
 he was charmed with the society of the good 
 clergyman and his lovely daughter. He found in 
 them the guileless manner of the earliest times, 
 the culture and accomplishment of the most re- 
 fined ones. Ever}- better feeling warm and vivid ; 
 ever}' ungentle one repressed or overcome. He 
 was not addicted to love ; but he felt himself 
 happy in being the friend of Mademoiselle La 
 Roche, and sometimes envied her father the pos- 
 session of such a child. 
 
 After a journey of eleven days, they arrived at 
 the dwelling of La Roche. It was situated in one 
 of those valleys of the canton of Berne, where 
 nature seems to repose, as it were, in quiet, and 
 has enclosed her retreat with mountains inaccessi- 
 ble. A stream, that spent its fury in the hills above, 
 ran in front of the house, and a broken waterfall 
 was seen through the wood that covered its sides ; 
 below, it circled round a tufted plain, and formed 
 a little lake in front of a village, at the end of 
 which appeared the spire of La Roche's church, 
 
 rising above a clump of beeches. Mr. en- 
 joyed the beauty of the scene; but to his compan- 
 ions it recalled the memory of a wife and parent 
 they had lost. The old man's sorrow was silent 
 — his daughter sobbed and wept. Her father 
 took her hand, kissed it twice, pressed it to his 
 bosom, threw up his eyes to heaven, and having 
 wiped off a tear that was just about to drop from 
 each, began to point out to his guest some of the' 
 most striking objects which the prospect afforded. 
 The philosopher interpreted all this ; and he 
 could but slightly censure the creed from which it 
 arose. 
 
 They had not been long arrived, when a num- 
 ber of La Roche parishioners, who had heard of 
 his return, came to the house to see and welcome 
 him. The honest folks were awkward but sincere 
 in their professions of regard. They made some 
 attempts at condolence ; it was too delicate for theit 
 handling, but La Roche to*k it in good part. 
 " It has pleased God," said he ; and the} - saw he 
 had settled the matter with himself. Philosophy 
 could not have done so much with a thousand 
 words. 
 
 It was now evening, and the good peasants 
 were about to depart, when a clock was heard t< > 
 strike seven, and the hour was followed by a par- 
 ticular chime. The country folks who had come 
 to welcome their pastor, turned their looks toward 
 him at the sound ; he explained their meaning to 
 his guest. " That is a signal," said he, " for our 
 evening exercise ; this is one of the nights of the 
 week in which some of my parishioners are wont 
 to join in it ; a little rustic saloon serves for the 
 chapel of our family, and such of the good people 
 as are with us. If you choose rather to walk out, 
 I will furnish you with an attendant ; or here are 
 a few old books that may afford you some enter- 
 tainment within." "By no means," answered 
 the philosopher, "I will attend Mademoiselle at 
 her devotions." "She- is our organist," said La 
 Roche ; " our neighborhood is the country of mu- 
 sical mechanism, and I have a small organ fitted 
 up for the purpose of assisting our singing." 
 ' 'Tis an additional inducement," replied the 
 other, and they walked into the room together. 
 At the end stood the organ mentioned by La 
 Roche ; before it was a curtain, which his daugh- 
 ter drew aside, and placing herself on a seat 
 within, and drawing the curtain close, so as to 
 save her the awkwardness of an exhibition. bes:an 
 

 v 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 BBwBBSr----"" ~- r Jlft 
 
 IM^M?-. *- 
 
 (475) 
 
476 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 a voluntary, solemn and beautiful in the highest 
 
 decree. Mr. was no musician, but he was not 
 
 altogether insensible to music ; this fastened on his 
 mind more strongly, from its beauty being unex- 
 pected. The solemn prelude introduced a hymn, 
 in which such of the audience as could sing im- 
 mediately joined ; the words were mostly taken 
 from holy writ ; it spoke the praises of God, and 
 his care of good men. Something was said of 
 the death of the just, of such as die in the Lord. 
 The organ was touched with a hand less firm ; it 
 paused, it ceased, and the sobbing of Made- 
 moiselle La Roche was heard instead. Her father 
 gave a sign for stopping the psalmody, and rose 
 to pray. He was discomposed at first, and his 
 voice faltered as he spoke ; but his heart was in 
 his words, and his warmth overcame his embar- 
 rassment. He addressed a Being whom he loved, 
 and he spoke for those he loved. His parishioners 
 catched the ardour of the good old man ; even 
 the philosopher felt himself moved, and forgot 
 a moment to think why he should not. La Roche' s 
 religion was that of sentiment, not theory, and 
 his guest was averse from disputation ; their dis- 
 course, therefore, did not lead to questions con- 
 cerning the belief of either ; yet would the old man 
 sometimes speak of his, from the fulness of a heart 
 impressed with its force, and wishing to spread the 
 pleasure he enjoyed in it. The ideas of his God 
 and his Saviour were so congenial to his mind that 
 even.- emotion of it naturally awaked them. A 
 philosopher might have called him an enthusiast ; 
 but if he possessed the fervour of enthusiasts, he 
 was guiltless of their bigotry. "Our Father 
 which art in heaven!" might the good man say, 
 for he felt it, and all mankind were his brethren. 
 
 " You regret, my friend," said he to Mr. , 
 
 " when my daughter and I talk of the exquisite 
 pleasure derived from music, you regret your want 
 of musical powers and musical feelings ; it is a 
 department of soul, you say, which nature has 
 almost denied you, which from the effects you see 
 it have on others you are sure must be highly de- 
 lightful. Why should not the same thing be 
 said of religion ? Trust me, I feel it in the same 
 way — an energy, an inspiration, which I would 
 not lose for all the blessings of sense, or enjoy- 
 ments of the world ; yet, so far from lessening my 
 relish of the pleasures of life, methinks I feel it 
 heighten them all. The thought of receiving it 
 from God adds the blessing of sentiment to 
 
 that of sensation in every good thing I possess ; I 
 and when calamities overtake me — and I have 4 
 had my share — it confers a dignity on my afflic- 
 tion, so lifts me above the world. Man, I know, I 
 is but a worm, yet methinks I am then allied to 
 God!" It would have been inhuman in oui 
 philosopher to have clouded, even with a doubt, 
 the sunshine of this belief. . 
 
 His discourse, indeed, was very remote from 
 metaphysical disquisition, or religious contro- 
 versy. Of all men I ever knew, his ordinary con- 
 versation was the least tinctured with pedantry, 
 or liable to dissertation. With La Roche and his 
 daughter it was perfectly familiar. The country 
 around them, the maimers of the village, the com- 
 parison of both with those of England, remarks 
 on the works of favorite authors, on the senti- 
 ments the}- conveyed, and the passions they ex- 
 cited, with manj r other topics in which there was 
 an equality or alternate advantage among the 
 speakers, were the subjects they talked on. Their 
 hours too of riding and walking were many, in 
 which Mr. , as a stranger, was shown the re- 
 markable scenes and curiosities of the country. 
 They would sometimes make little expeditions to 
 contemplate, in different attitudes, those astonish- 
 ing mountains, the cliffs of which, covered with 
 eternal snows, and sometimes shooting into fan- 
 tastic shapes, form the termination of most of the 
 Swiss prospects. Our philosopher asked many 
 questions as to their natural history and produc- 
 tions. La Roche observed the sublimity of the 
 ideas which the view of their stupendous sum- 
 mits, inaccessible to mortal foot, and visited by no 
 living thing except the wild chamois, was calcu- 
 lated to inspire, which naturally, said he, leads 
 the mind to that Being by whom their foundations 
 were laid. ' ' They are not seen in Flanders, ' ' 
 said Mademoiselle with a sigh. "That's an odd 
 
 remark," said Mr. , smiling. She blushed, 
 
 and he inquired no farther. 
 
 'Twas with regret he left a society in which he 
 found himself so happy ; but he settled with La 
 Roche and his daughter a plan of correspondence : 
 and they took his promise, that if ever he came 
 within fifty leagues of their dwelling, he should 
 travel those fifty leagues to visit them. 
 
 About three years after, our philosopher was on 
 a visit at Geneva ; the promise be made to La 
 Roche and his daughter on his former visit was 
 recalled to his mind by a view of that range of 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 477 
 
 ■mountains, on a part of which they had often 
 looked together. There was a reproach, too, con- 
 veyed along with the recollection, for his having 
 failed to write to either for several months past. 
 The truth was, that indolence was the habit most 
 natural to him, from which he was not easily 
 roused by the 
 claims of corre- 
 spondence either 
 of his friends or 
 of his enemies ; 
 when the latter 
 drew their pens in 
 controversy, they 
 were often unan- 
 swered as well as 
 the former. While 
 he was hesitating 
 about a visit to 
 La Roche, which 
 he wished to 
 make, but found 
 the effort rather 
 too much for him, 
 he received a let- 
 ter from the old 
 man, which had 
 been forwarded to 
 him from Paris, 
 where he had then 
 his fixed residence. 
 It contained a 
 gentle complaint 
 
 of Mr 's want 
 
 of punctuality, but 
 an assurance of 
 continued grati- 
 tude for his for- 
 mer good offices ; 
 and as a friend 
 whom the writer 
 considered inter- 
 ested in his family, 
 it informed him of 
 
 the approaching nuptials of Mademoiselle La 
 Roche with a young man, a relation of her 
 own, and formerly a pupil of her father's, of 
 the most amiable disposition, and respectable 
 character. Attached from their earliest years, 
 the}' had been separated by his joining one 
 of the subsidiary regiments of the canton, then 
 
 in the service of a foreign power. In this situ- 
 ation he had distinguished himself as much 
 for courage and military skill as for the other 
 endowments which he had cultivated at home. 
 The term of his service was now expired, 
 and they expected him to return in a few weeks, 
 
 HOME OF THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 
 
 when the old man hoped, as he expressed it irt 
 his letter, to join their hands, and see them happy 
 before he died. 
 
 Our philosopher felt himself interested in this 
 event ; but he was not, perhaps, altogether so- 
 happy in the tidings of Mademoiselle La Roche's 
 marriage as her father supposed him. Not that 
 
478 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 he was ever a lover of the lady's : but he thought 
 her one of the most amiable women he had seen, 
 and there was something in the idea of her being 
 another's forever, that struck him, he knew not 
 why, like a disappointment. After some little 
 speculation on the matter, however, he could look 
 i>n it as a thing fitting, if not quite agreeable, 
 and determined on this visit to see his old friend 
 and his daughter happy. 
 
 On the last day of his journey, different acci- 
 dents had retarded his progress : he was benighted 
 before he reached the quarter in which La Roche 
 
 dress of an attendant on a funeral, and accompa- 
 nied by several others, who, like him, seemed to 
 have been employed in the rites of sepulture. 
 
 On Mr. 's making inquiry who was the 
 
 person they had been burying, one of them, with 
 an accent more mournful than is common to their 
 profession, answered, "Then you knew not 
 Mademoiselle, sir? you never beheld a lovelier." 
 "La Roche!" exclaimed he, in reply. "Alas! 
 it was she indeed !" The appearance of surprise 
 and grief which his countenance assumed at- 
 tracted the notice of the peasant with whom he 
 
 SHE DIED OF A BROKEN HEART. 
 
 resided. His guide, however, was well acquainted 
 with the road, and he found himself at last in 
 view of the lake, which I have before described, 
 in the neighborhood of La Roche's dwelling. 
 A light gleamed on the water, that seemed to 
 proceed from the house ; it moved slowly along 
 as he proceeded up the side of the lake, and at 
 last he saw it glimmer through the trees, and stop 
 at some distance from the place where he then was. 
 He supposed it some piece of bridal merriment, 
 and pushed on his horse that he might be a spec- 
 tator of the scene ; but he was a good deal 
 shocked, on approaching the spot, to find it pro- 
 ceed from the torch of a person clothed in the 
 
 talked. He came up closer to Mr. 
 
 ■ ; "I per- 
 
 ceive, sir, j-ou were acquainted with Mademoiselle 
 La Roche." "Acquainted with her ! Good God ! 
 when — how — where did she die ? Where is her 
 father?" "She died, sir, of heart-break, I be- 
 lieve ; the young gentleman to whom she was 
 soon to have been married, was killed in a duel 
 by a French officer, his intimate companion, and 
 to whom, before their quarrel, he had often dons 
 the greatest favors. Her worthy father bears 
 her death as he has often told us a Christian 
 should ; he is even so composed as to be now ir. 
 his pulpit, ready to deliver a few exhortations tc 
 his parishioners, as is the custom with us on such 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 479 
 
 occasions : follow me, sir, and you shall hear 
 him." He followed the man without answering. 
 
 The church was dimly lighted, except near the 
 pulpit, where the venerable La Roche was seated. 
 His people were now lifting up their voices in a 
 psalm to that Being whom their pastor had taught 
 them ever to bless and to revere. La Roche sat, 
 his figure bending gently forward, his eyes half- 
 closed, lifted up in silent devotion. A lamp 
 placed near him threw its light strong on his 
 head, and marked the shadow}' lines of age 
 across the paleness of his brow, thinly covered 
 with gray hairs. The music ceased : La Roche 
 sat for a moment, and nature wrung a few tears 
 from him. His people were loud in their grief. 
 
 Mr. was not less affected than they. La 
 
 Roche arose: "Father of mercies," said he, 
 " forgive these tears ; assist thy servant to lift up 
 his soul to thee ; to lift to thee the souls of thy 
 people. My friends, it is good so to do, at all 
 seasons it is good ; but in the days of our distress, 
 what a privilege it is ! Well saith the sacred 
 book, ' Trust in the Lord ; at all times trust in 
 the Lord.' When every other support fails us, 
 when the fountains of worldly comfort are dried 
 up, let us then seek those living waters which flow 
 from the throne of God. 'Tis only from the be- 
 lief of the goodness and wisdom of a Supreme 
 Being that our calamities can be borne in that 
 manner which becomes a man. Human wisdom 
 is here of little use ; for, in proportion as it be- 
 stows comfort, it represses feeling, without which 
 we may cease to be hurt by calamity, but we shall 
 also cease to enjoy happiness. I will not bid you 
 be insensible, my friends — I cannot, I cannot, if 
 I would (his tears flowed afresh) — I feel too much 
 myself, and I am not ashamed of my feelings ; 
 but therefore may I the more willingly be heard ; 
 therefore have I prayed God to give me strength 
 to speak to you, to direct you to him, not with 
 empty words, but with these tears; not from 
 speculation, but from experience ; that while you 
 see me suffer, you may know also my consolation. 
 
 "You behold the mourner of his only child, the 
 last earthly stay and blessing of his declining 
 years ! Such a child too ! It becomes not me to 
 speak of her virtues ; yet it is but gratitude to 
 mention them, because they were exerted towards 
 myself. Not man}- days ago you saw her young, 
 beautiful, virtuous, and happy : ye who are parents 
 will judge of my felicity then — ye will judge of 
 
 my affliction now. But I look towards him who 
 struck me ; I see the hand of a father amidst the 
 chastenings of my God. Oh ! could I make you 
 feel what it is to pour out the heart when it is 
 pressed down with many sorrows, to pour it out 
 with confidence to him, in whose hands are life 
 and death, on whose power awaits all that the 
 first enjoys, and in contemplation of whom disap- 
 pears all that the last can inflict. For we are not 
 as those who die without hope ; we know that 
 our Redeemer liveth — that we shall live with him, 
 with our friends his servants, in that blessed land 
 where sorrow is unknown, and happiness is end- 
 less as it is perfect. Go, then, mourn not for me ; 
 I have not lost my child : but a little while and 
 we shall meet again, never to be separated. But 
 ye are also my children : would ye that I should 
 not grieve without comfort? So live as she lived ; 
 that when your death cometh, it may be the death 
 of the righteous, and your latter end like his. ' ' 
 
 Such was the exhortation of La Roche ; his 
 audience answered it with their tears. The good 
 old man had dried up his at the altar of the Lord ; 
 his countenance had lost its sadness, and assumed 
 
 the glow of faith and of hope. Mr. followed 
 
 him into his house. The inspiration of the pulpit 
 was past ; at sight of him the scene they had last 
 met in rushed again on his mind ; La Roche threw 
 his arms round his neck, and watered it with his 
 tears. The other was equally affected ; they went 
 together in silence into the parlor where the even- 
 ing service was wont to be performed. The cur- 
 tains of the organ were open ; La Roche started 
 back at the sight. "Oh! my friend," said'he, 
 
 and his tears burst forth again. Mr. had 
 
 now recollected himself; he stept forward and 
 drew the curtains close ; the old man wiped off 
 his tears, and taking his friend's hand, "You see 
 my weakness," said he; " 'tis the weakness of 
 humanity ; but my comfort is not therefore lost." 
 " I heard you," said the other, "in the pulpit; I 
 rejoice that such consolation is yours." "It is, 
 my friend, " said he, ' ' and I trust I shall ever hold 
 it fast. If there are any who doubt our faith, let 
 them think of what importance religion is to 
 calamity, and forbear to weaken its force ; if they 
 cannot restore our happiness, let them not take 
 away the solace of our affliction." 
 
 Mr. 's heart was smitten ; and I have heard 
 
 him long after confess that there were moments 
 when the remembrance overcame him even to 
 
480 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 weakness ; when, amidst all the pleasures of 
 philosophical discover}', and the pride of literary 
 fame, he recalled to his mind the venerable figure 
 of the good La Roche, and wished that he had 
 never doubted. 
 
 CAPTIVITY VERSUS LIBERTY. 
 BY LAURENCE STERNE. 
 
 AND as for the Bastile, the terror is in the 
 word. Make the most of it you can, said I 
 to myself, the Bastile is but another word for a 
 
 PORTION OK THE ANCIENT WALLS OF THE 
 
 tower, and a tower is but another word for a house 
 you can't get out of. Mercy on the gouty ! for 
 they are in it twice a-year ; but with nine livres a 
 day, and pen, and ink, and paper, and patience, 
 albeit a man can't get out, he may do very well 
 within, at least for a month or six weeks ; at the 
 end of which, if he is a harmless fellow, his inno- 
 
 cence appears, and he comes out a better and 
 wiser man than he went in. 
 
 I had some occasion (I forget what) to step into 
 the court-yard as I settled this account ; and re- 
 member I walked clown stairs in no small triumph 
 with the conceit of my reasoning. Beshrew the 
 sombre pencil ! said I vauntingly, for I envy not 
 its powers which paints the evils of life with so 
 hard and deadly a coloring. The mind sits terri- 
 fied at the obiects she has magnified herself and 
 blackened : reduce them to their proper size and 
 hue, she overlooks them. 
 "Tis true, said I, correcting 
 the' proposition, the Bastile 
 is not an evil to be despised ; 
 but strip it of its towers, fill 
 up the fosse, unbarricade the 
 doors, call it simply a confine- 
 ment, and suppose 'tis some 
 tyrant of a distemper and not 
 of a man which holds you in 
 it, the evil vanishes, and you 
 bear the other half without 
 complaint. I was interrupted 
 in the heyday of this soliloquy 
 with a voice which I took to 
 be of a child, which com- 
 plained " it could not get out." 
 I looked up and down the 
 passage, and seeing neither 
 man, woman, nor child, I went 
 out without further attention. 
 In my return back through the 
 passage, I heard the same 
 words repeated twice over ; and 
 looking up, I saw it was a 
 starling hung in a little cage ; 
 "I can't get out, I can't get 
 out," said the starling. I stood 
 looking at the bird ; and to 
 every person who came through, 
 the passage, it ran fluttering 
 to the side towards which they 
 bastile. approached it, with the same 
 
 lamentation of its captivity— " I can't get out," 
 said the starling. God help thee ! said I, but I'll 
 let thee out, cost what it will ; so I turned about 
 the cage to get the door. It was twisted and dou- 
 ble twisted so fast with wire there was no getting 
 it open without pulling the cage to pieces. I took 
 both hands to it. The bird flew to the place 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 481 
 
 ■where I was attempting his deliverance, and 
 thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his 
 breast against it as if impitient ; I fear, poor crea- 
 ture, said I, I cannot set thee at liberty. " No," 
 said the starling, " I can't get out ; I can't get 
 out," said the starling. I vow I never had my 
 affections more ten- 
 derly awakened ; or 
 do I remember an 
 incident in 1113' life 
 where the dissipated 
 spirits, to which my 
 reason had been a 
 bubble, were so sud- 
 denly called home. 
 Mechanical as the 
 notes were, 3-et so 
 true in tune to nature 
 were they chanted, 
 that in one moment 
 they overthrew all 
 my systematic rea- 
 sonings upon the 
 Bastile ; and I heavily 
 walked up stairs, un- 
 saying every word I 
 had said in going 
 down them. 
 
 Disguise thyself as 
 thou wilt, still Sla- 
 very, said I, still thou 
 art a bitter draught ; 
 and though thou- 
 sands in all ages have 
 been made to drink 
 of thee, thou art no 
 less bitter on that ac- 
 count. "Tis thou, 
 thrice sweet and gra- 
 cious goddess, ad- 
 dressing myself to 
 Liberty, whom all in 
 public or in private 
 worship, whose taste 
 is grateful, and ever 
 
 will be so, till nature herself shall change ; no 
 tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or 
 chemic power turn thy sceptre into iron ; with 
 thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the 
 swain is happier than his monarch, from whose 
 court thou art exiled. Gracious heaven ! cried I, 
 3i 
 
 kneeling down upon the last step but one in my 
 ascent, grant me but health, thou great bestower 
 of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my 
 companion, and shower down thy mitres, if it 
 seem good unto thy divine providence, upon those 
 heads which are aching for them. 
 
 THE PRISONERS. 
 
 The bird in his cage pursued me into my room, 
 I sat down close to my table, and leaning my 
 head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself 
 the miseries of confinement. I was in a right 
 frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagi- 
 nation. I was going to begin with the millions 
 
482 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 of niy fellow-creatures born to no inheritance but 
 slavery ; but finding, however affecting the pic- 
 ture was, that I could not bring it near me, and 
 that the multitude of sad groups in it did but dis- 
 tract me, I took a single captive, and having first 
 shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked 
 through the twilight of his grated door to take 
 his picture. I beheld his body half-wasted away 
 with long expectation and confinement, and felt 
 what kind of sickness of the heart it was which 
 arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, 
 I saw him pale and feverish ; in thirty years the 
 western breeze had not once fanned his blood ; he 
 had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time, nor 
 had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed 
 through his lattice ; his children — but here my 
 heart began to bleed, and I was forced to go on 
 with another part of the portrait. He was sitting 
 upon the ground upon a little straw, in the fur- 
 thest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately 
 his chair and bed ; a little calendar of small sticks 
 lay at the head, notched all over with the dismal 
 days and nights he had passed there ; he had one 
 of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty 
 nail he was etching another day of misery to add 
 to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, 
 he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then 
 cast it down, shook his head, and went on with 
 his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon 
 his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little 
 stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh : I 
 saw the iron enter into his soul. I burst into 
 tears ; I could not sustain the picture of confine- 
 ment which my fancy had drawn. 
 
 HARLEY AND THE BEGGAR. 
 
 BY HENRY M'KENZIE. 
 
 T^E had taken leave of his aunt on the eve of 
 Ay his intended departure ; but the good lady's 
 affection for her nephew interrupted her sleep, and 
 early as it was, next morning when Harley came 
 down stairs to set out, he found her in the parlor 
 with a tear on her cheek, and her caudle-cup in 
 her hand. She knew enough of physic to prescribe 
 against going abroad of a morning with an 
 empty stomach. She gave her blessing with the 
 draught ; her instructions she had delivered the 
 night before. They consisted mostly of negatives ; 
 for London, in her idea, was so replete with tempta- 
 tions, that it needed the whole armor of her 
 friendly cautions to repel their attacks. 
 
 Peter stood at the door. Harley' s father had 
 taken him up an orphan, and saved him from 
 being cast on the parish ; and he had ever since 
 remained in the sen-ice of him and of his son. 
 Harley shook him by the hand as he passed, 
 smiling, as if he had said, "I will not weep." 
 He sprung hastily into the chaise that waited 
 for him; Peter folded up the step. "My 
 dear master," said he, shaking the solitary 
 lock that hung on either side of his head, "I 
 have been told as how London is a sad place." 
 He was choked with the thought, and his bene- 
 diction could not be heard. But it shall be heard, 
 honest Peter ! where these tears will add to its 
 energy. 
 
 In a few hours Harley reached the inn where 
 he proposed breakfasting ; but the fulness of his 
 heart would not suffer him to eat a morsel. He 
 walked out on the road, and gaining a little 
 height, stood gazing on the quarter he had left. 
 He looked for his wonted prospect, his fields, his 
 woods, and his hills ; they were lost in the dis- 
 tant clouds ! He pencilled them on the clouds, 
 and bade them farewell with a sigh ! 
 
 He sat down on a large stone to take out a lit- 
 tle pebble from his shoe, when he saw, at some 
 distance, a beggar approaching him. He had on 
 a loose sort of a coat, mended with different-col- 
 ored rags, amongst which the blue and the rus- 
 set were the predominant. He had a short knotty 
 stick in his hand, and on the top of it was stuck 
 a ram's horn ; his knees (though he was no pil- 
 grim) had worn the stuff of his breeches ; he wore 
 no shoes, and his stockings had entirely lost that 
 part of them which should have covered his feet 
 and ankles. In his face, however, was the plump 
 appearance of good humor : he walked a good 
 round pace, and a crooked-legged dog trotted at 
 his heels. 
 
 "Our delicacies." said Harley to himself, "are 
 fantastic ; they are not in nature ! that beggar 
 walks over the sharpest stones barefooted, while I 
 have lost the most delightful dream in the world 
 from the smallest of them happening to get into 
 my shoe." The beggar had by this time come 
 up, and, pulling off a piece of hat, asked charity 
 of Harley ; the dog began to beg too. It was 
 impossible to resist both ; and, in truth, the want 
 of shoes and stockings had made both unneces- 
 sary, for Harley had destined sixpence for him 
 before. The beggar, on receiving it, poured forth 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY, 
 
 483 
 
 blessings without number ; and, with a sort of a 
 smile on his countenance, said to Harley, ' ' that if 
 he wanted his fortune told — " Harley turned his 
 ■eyes briskly on the beggar : it was an unpromis- 
 ing look for the subject of a prediction, and 
 silenced the prophet immediately. ' ' I would 
 much rather learn," said Harley, "what it is in 
 your power to tell me : your trade must be an en- 
 tertaining one : sit down on this stone, and let me 
 know something of your profession ; I have often 
 thought of turning fortune-teller for a week or 
 two myself. ' ' 
 
 "Master," replied the beggar, "I like your 
 frankness much ; God knows I had the humor 
 of plain dealing in me from a child ; but there is 
 no doing with it in this world ; we must live as we 
 ■can, and lying is, as you call it, my profession : 
 but I was in some sort forced to the trade, for I 
 ■dealt once in telling truth. I was a laborer, sir, 
 and gained as much as to make me live : I never 
 laid by indeed ; for I was reckoned a piece 
 of a wag, and your wags, I take it, are seldom 
 rich, Mr. Harley." "So," said Harley, "you 
 seem to know me. " " Ay, there are few folks in 
 the country that I don' t know something of ; how 
 should I tell fortunes else?" " True ; but to go on 
 with your story: you were a laborer, you say, 
 and a wag ; your industry, I suppose, you left 
 with your old trade ; but your humor you pre- 
 serve to be of use to you in your new. ' ' 
 
 ' ' What signifies sadness, sir ? a man grows lean 
 on't : but I was brought to my idleness by degrees ; 
 first I could not work, and it went against my 
 stomach to work ever after. I was seized with a 
 jail fever at the time of the assizes being in the 
 country where I lived ; for I was curious to get 
 acquainted with the felons, because they are com- 
 monly fellows of much mirth and little thought, 
 qualities I had ever an esteem for. In the height 
 of this fever, Mr. Harley, the house where I lay 
 took fire, and burnt to the ground ; I was carried 
 out in that condition, and lay all the rest of my ill- 
 ness in a barn. I got the better of my disease, how- 
 ever, but I was so weak that I spit blood when- 
 ever I attempted to work. I had no relation 
 living that I knew of, and I never kept a friend 
 above a week when I was able to joke ; I seldom 
 remained above six months in a parish, so that I 
 might have died before I had found a settlement 
 in any : thus I was forced to beg my bread, and a 
 sorry trade I found it, Mr. Harley. I told all my 
 
 misfortunes, but they were seldom believed ; and 
 the few who gave me a halfpenny as they passed, 
 did it with a shake of the head, and an injunction 
 not to trouble them with a long story. In short, 
 I found that the people do not c&re to give 
 alms without some security for their money ; a 
 wooden leg, or a withered arm is a sort of a 
 draught upon heaven for those who choose to 
 have their money placed to account there ; so I 
 changed my plan, and, instead of telling my own 
 misfortunes, began to prophesy happiness to 
 others. This I found by much the better way : 
 folks will always listen when the tale is their own ; 
 and of many who say they do not believe in for- 
 tune telling, I have known few on whom it had 
 not a very sensible effect. I pick up the names 
 of their acquaintance ; amours and little squabbles 
 are easily gleaned among servants and neigh- 
 bors ; and indeed people themselves are the best 
 intelligencers in the world for our puipose ; they 
 dare not puzzle us for their own sakes, for every 
 one is anxious to hear what they wish to believe ; 
 and they who repeat it, to laugh at it when they 
 have done, are generally more serious than their 
 hearers." 
 
 CHIVALRY OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 BY WILLIAM ROBERTSON. 
 
 AMONG uncivilized nations, there is but one 
 profession honorable — that of arms. All 
 the ingenuity and vigor of the human mind are 
 exerted in acquiring military skill or address. 
 The functions of peace are few and simple, and 
 require no particular course of education or of 
 study as a preparation for discharging them. This 
 was the state of Europe during several centuries. 
 Every gentleman, born a soldier, scorned any 
 other occupation. He was taught no science but 
 that of war ; even his exercises and pastimes were 
 feats of martial prowess. Nor did the judicial 
 character, which persons of noble birth were alone 
 entitled to assume, demand any degree of know- 
 ledge beyond that which such untutored soldiers 
 possessed. To recollect a few traditionary cus- 
 toms which time had confirmed and rendered re- 
 spectable, to mark out the lists of battle with due 
 formality, to observe the issue of the combat, and 
 to pronounce whether it had been conducted ac- 
 cording to the laws of arms, included every thing 
 that a baron, 'who acted as a judge, found it ne- 
 cessary to understand. 
 
fZ^T^^'C^V: r^r-r^-^-rr^-, ■ 'j^^^^T/r'-i ,: 
 
 ■ ;.-v - 
 
 ^v»%C3 
 
 :->*. 
 
 HH 
 
 
 
 (484) 
 
 A KNIGHT OE THE MIDDLE AGES.— (By Leonardo da Vinci.) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 485 
 
 But when the rules of legal proceedings were 
 fixed, when the rules of decision were committed 
 to writing and collected into a bod}', law became 
 a science, the knowledge of which required a reg- 
 ular course of study, together with long attention 
 to the practice of courts. Martial and illiterate 
 nobles had neither leisure nor inclination to under- 
 take a task so laborious, as well as so foreign from 
 all the occupations which they deemed entertain- 
 ing or suitable to their rank. They gradually re- 
 linquished their places in courts of justice, where 
 their ignorance exposed them to contempt. They 
 became weary of attending to the dis- 
 cussion of cases which grew too intricate 
 for them to comprehend. Not only 
 the judicial determination of points, 
 which were the subject of controversy, 
 but the conduct of all legal business and 
 transactions, was committed to persons 
 trained by previous study and applica- 
 tion to the knowledge of law. An order 
 of men, to whom their fellow-citizens 
 had daily recourse for advice, and to 
 whom they looked up for decision in 
 their most important concerns, naturally 
 acquired consideration and influence in 
 society. They were advanced to honors 
 which had been considered hitherto as the 
 peculiar rewards of military virtue. They 
 were intrusted with offices of the highest 
 dignity and most extensive power. Thus, 
 another profession than that of amis 
 came to be introduced among the laity, 
 and was reputed honorable. The func- 
 tions of civil life were attended to. The 
 talents requisite for discharging them 
 were cultivated. A new road was opened 
 to wealth and eminence. The arts and 
 virtues of peace were placed in their 
 proper rank, and received their due recompense. 
 
 While improvements, so important with respect 
 to the state of societ}' and the administration of 
 justice gradually made progress in Europe, sen- 
 timents more liberal and generous had begun to 
 animate the nobles. These were inspired by the 
 spirit of chivalry, which, though considered com- 
 monly as a wild institution, the effect of caprice, 
 and the source of extravagance, arose naturally 
 from the state of society at that period, and had 
 a very serious influence in refining the manners 
 of the European nations. The feudal state was 
 
 a state of almost perpetual war, rapine, and an- 
 archy ; during which the weak and unarmed were 
 exposed to insults or injuries. The power of the 
 sovereign was too limited to prevent these wrongs, 
 and the administration of justice too feeble to re- 
 dress them. The most effectual protection against 
 violence and oppression was often found to be that 
 which the valor and generosity of private per- 
 sons afforded. The same spirit of enterprise 
 which had prompted so many gentlemen to take 
 arms in defence of the oppressed pilgrims in 
 Palestine, incited others to declare themselves the 
 
 A TOURNAMENT OF 
 
 tht? eleventh century. — (Copy of ancient 
 engraving). 
 
 patrons and avengers of injured innocence at 
 home. When the final reduction of the Holy 
 Land, under the dominion of infidels, put an end 
 to these foreign expeditions, the latter was the 
 only employment left for the activity and courage 
 of adi-enturers. To check the insolence of over- 
 grown oppressors ; to rescue the helpless from 
 captivity ; to protect or to avenge women, or- 
 phans, and ecclesiastics, who could not bear arms 
 in their own defence ; to redress wrongs and re- 
 move grievances ; were deemed acts of highest 
 prowess and merit. Valor, humanity, courtesy 
 
486 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 justice, honor, were the characteristic qualities of 
 chivalry. To these were added religion, which 
 mingled itself with every passion and institution 
 
 KNIGHT IN FULL SUIT OF PLATE ARMOR. 
 
 during the middle ages, and by infusing a large 
 proportion of enthusiastic zeal, gave them such 
 force as cgrried them to 
 romantic excess. Men 
 were trained to knight- 
 hood by a long previous 
 discipline ; they were ad- 
 mitted into the order by 
 solemnities no less devout 
 than pompous; every 
 person of noble birth 
 courted that honor ; it 
 was deemed a distinction 
 superior to royalty ; and 
 monarchs were proud to 
 receive it from the hands 
 of private gentlemen. 
 
 This singular institu- 
 tion, in which valor, gal- 
 lantry, and religion, were 
 so strangely blended, was 
 wonderfully adapted to 
 the taste and genius of 
 martial nobles ; and its 
 effects were soon visible 
 in their manners. War 
 was carried on with less 
 
 ferocity when humanity came to be deemed the 
 ornament of knighthood no less than courage. 
 More gentle and polished manners were introduced 
 
 when courtesy was recommended as the most ami- 
 able of knightly virtues. Violence and oppres- 
 sion decreased when it was reckoned meritorious 
 to check and to punish them. A scrupulous ad- 
 herence to truth, with the most religious attention 
 to fulfil every engagement, became the distin- 
 guishing characteristic of a gentleman, because 
 chivalry was regarded as the school of honor, and 
 inculcated the most delicate sensibility with re- 
 spect to those points. The admiration of these 
 qualities, together with the high distinctions and 
 prerogatives conferred on knighthood in every 
 part of Europe, inspired persons of noble birth on 
 some occasions with a species of military fanati- 
 cism, and led them to extravagant enterprises. But 
 they deeply imprinted on their minds the princi- 
 ples of generosity and honor. These were strength- 
 ened by everything that can affect the senses or 
 touch the heart. The wild exploits of those 
 romantic knights who sallied forth in quest of 
 adventures are well known, and have been treated 
 with proper ridicule. The political and permanent 
 effects of the spirit of chivalry have been less 
 
 conferring knighthood on the FIELD OF battle. — (Copy of ancient engraving.) 
 
 observed. Perhaps the humanity which accom- 
 panies all the operations of war. the refinements 
 of gallantry, and the point of honor — the three 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 487 
 
 chief circumstances which distinguish modern 
 from ancient manners — ma)- be ascribed in a great 
 measure to this institution, which has appeared 
 whimsical to superficial observers, but by its 
 effects has proved of great benefit to mankind. 
 The sentiments which chivalry inspired had a 
 wonderful influence on man- 
 ners and conduct during the 
 twelfth, thirteenth, four- 
 teenth, and fifteenth centu- 
 ries. They were so deeply 
 rooted, that the}' continued 
 to operate after the vigor 
 and reputation of the insti- 
 tution itself began to decline. 
 
 of the Nabob of Arcot, he drew from every 
 quarter whatever a savage ferocity could add to 
 his new rudiments in the arts of destruction ; 
 and compounding all the materials of fury, havoc, 
 and desolation, into one black cloud, he hung for 
 a while on the declivities of the mountains. 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF THE 
 CARNATIC. 
 
 BY EDMUND BURKE. 
 
 7TVHEN at length Hyder 
 \X) AH found that he had 
 to do with men who either 
 would sign no convention, 
 or whom no treat)' and no 
 signature could bind, and 
 who were the determined 
 enemies of human inter- 
 course itself, he decreed to 
 make the country possessed 
 by these incorrigible and 
 predestinated criminals a 
 memorable example to man- 
 kind He resolved in the 
 gloomy recesses of a mind 
 capacious of such things, to 
 leave the whole Carnatic an 
 everlasting monument of 
 vengeance, and to put per- 
 petual desolation as a bar- 
 rier between him and those 
 
 . against whom the faith 
 which holds the moral ele- 
 ments of the world together 
 
 .was no protection. He be- 
 came at length so confident 
 of his force, so collected in 
 his might, that he made no 
 
 secret whatever of his dreadful resolution. Having 
 terminated his disputes with every enemy and 
 every rival, who buried their mutual animosities 
 in their common detestation against the creditors 
 
 MAIL-CI.AD KNIGHTS OF THE PERIOD OF THE CRUSADES. 
 
 Whilst the authors of all these evils were idly 
 and stupidly gazing on the menacing meteor 
 which blackened all their horizon, it suddenly 
 burst and poured down the whole of its contents 
 
488 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 upon the plains of the Carnatic. Then ensued a 
 scene of woe, the like of which no eye had seen, 
 no heart conceived, and which no tongue can 
 adequately tell. All the horrors of war before 
 known or heard of were mercy to that new 
 havoc. A storm of universal fire blasted every 
 field, consumed every house, destroyed ever}' 
 temple. The miserable inhabitants flying from 
 the flaming villages, in part were slaughtered : 
 Others, without regard to sex, to age, to the re- 
 
 done by charity that private charity could do : 
 but it was a people in beggary ; it was a nation 
 that stretched out its hands for food. For 
 months together these creatures of sufferance, 
 whose very excess and luxury in their most 
 plenteous days had fallen short of the allowance 
 of our austerest fasts, silent, patient, resigned, 
 without sedition or disturbance, almost without 
 complaint, perished by a hundred a day in the 
 streets of Madras ; every day seventy at least 
 
 HORRORS OF THE 
 
 spect of rank, or sacredness of function ; fathers 
 torn from children, husbands from wives, envel- 
 oped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the 
 goading spears of drivers, and the trampling of 
 pursuing horses, were swept into captivity, in an 
 unknown and hostile land. Those who were 
 able to evade this tempest fled to the walled 
 cities ; but, escaping from fire, sword, and exile, 
 the}- fell into the jaws of famine. 
 
 The alms of the settlement, in this dreadful 
 exigency, were certainly liberal ; and all was 
 
 WAR IN INDIA. 
 
 laid their bodies in the streets, or on the glacis of 
 Tanjore, and expired of famine in the granary of 
 India. I was going to awake your justice 
 towards this unhappy part of our fellow-citizens, 
 by bringing before you some of the circumstances 
 of this plague of hunger. Of all the calamities 
 which beset and waylay the life of man, this 
 comes the nearest to our heart, and is that 
 wherein the proudest of us all feels himself 
 to be nothing more than he is : but I find myself 
 unable to manage it with decorum ; these details 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 489 
 
 are of a species of horror so nauseous and dis- 
 gusting ; they are so degrading to the sufferers 
 and to the hearers ; the} - are so humiliating to 
 human nature itself, that, on better thoughts, I 
 find it more advisable to throw a pall over this 
 hideous object, and to leave it to your general 
 conceptions. 
 
 For eighteen months, without intermission, 
 this destruction raged from the gates of Madras 
 to the gates of Tanjore ; and so completely did 
 these masters in their art, Hyder Ali and his 
 more ferocious son, absolve themselves of their 
 impious vow, that when the British armies tra- 
 versed, as they did, the Carnatic for hundreds of 
 miles in all directions, through the whole line of 
 their march did they not see one man, not one 
 woman, not one child, not one four-footed beast 
 •of any description whatever One dead uniform 
 silence reigned over the whole region. * * * 
 The Carnatic is a country not much inferior in 
 ■extent to England. Figure to yourself, Mr. 
 Speaker, the land in whose representative chair 
 you sit ; figure to yourself the form and fashion 
 of your sweet and cheerful country from Thames 
 to Trent, north and south, and from the Irish to 
 the German sea, east and west, emptied and em- 
 towelled (may God avert the omen of our 
 crimes !) by so accomplished a desolation ! 
 
 GOOD BREEDING. 
 
 TROM LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS 
 
 SON. 
 
 A FRIEND of yours and mine has very justly 
 defined good breeding to be " the result of 
 much good sense, some good nature, and a little 
 self-denial for the sake of others, and with a view 
 to obtain the same indulgence from them." Tak- 
 ing this for granted (as I think it cannot be dis- 
 puted ), it is astonishing to me that anybody, who 
 has good sense and good nature, can essentially 
 fail in good breeding. As to the modes of it, 
 indeed, they vary according to persons, places, 
 and circumstances, and are only to be acquired 
 by observation and experience ; but the substance 
 •of it is everywhere and eternally the same. Good 
 manners are, to particular societies, what good 
 morals are to society in general — their cement and 
 their security. And as laws are enacted to en- 
 force good morals, or at least to prevent the ill 
 effects of bad ones, so there are certain rules of 
 civility, universally implied and received, to en- 
 
 force good manners and punish bad ones. And 
 indeed there seems to me to be less difference 
 both between the crimes and punishments, than 
 at first one would imagine. The immoral man, 
 who invades another's property, is justly hanged 
 for it ; and the ill-bred man, who by his ill 
 manners invades and disturbs the quiet and com- 
 forts of private life, is by common consent as 
 justly banished society. Mutual complaisances, 
 attentions, and sacrifices of little conveniences, 
 are as natural an implied compact between civil- 
 ized people, as protection and obedience are be- 
 tween kings and subjects ; whoever, in either case, 
 violates that compact, justly forfeits all advan- 
 tages arising from it. For my own part, I really 
 think that, next to the consciousness of doing a 
 good action, that of doing a civil one is the most 
 pleasing ; and the epithet which I should covet 
 the most, next to that of Aristides, would be that 
 of well-bred. Thus much for good breeding in 
 general ; I will now consider some of the various 
 modes and degrees of it. 
 
 Very few, scarcely any, are wanting in the 
 respect which they should show to those whom 
 they acknowledge to be infinitely their superiors, 
 such as crowned heads, princes, and public per- 
 sons of distinguished and eminent posts. It is 
 the manner of showing that respect which is dif- 
 ferent. The man of fashion and of the world 
 expresses it in its fullest extent, but naturally, 
 easily, and without concern ; whereas a man who 
 is not used to keep good company expresses it 
 awkwardly ; one sees that he is not used to it, 
 and that it costs him a great deal ; but I never 
 saw the worst-bred man living guilt}' of lolling:, 
 whistling, scratching his head, and such like in- 
 decencies, in company that he respected. In such 
 companies, therefore, the only point to be at- 
 tended to is, to show that respect which everybody 
 means to show, in an easy, unembarrassed, and 
 graceful manner. This is what observation and 
 experience must teach you. 
 
 In mixed companies, whoever is admitted to 
 make part of them is, for the time at least, sup- 
 posed to be on a footing of equality with the rest ; 
 and, consequently, as there is no one principal 
 object of awe and respect, people are apt to take 
 a greater latitude in their behavior, and to be 
 less upon their guard ; and so they may, provided 
 it be within certain bounds, which are upon no 
 occasion to be transgressed. But upon these oc- 
 
(49°) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 491 
 
 <^.sions, though no one is entitled to distinguished 
 marks of respect, every one claims, and very 
 justly, every mark of civility and good breeding. 
 Ease is allowed, but carelessness and negligence 
 are strictly forbidden. If a man accosts you, and 
 talks to you ever so dully or frivolously, it is worse 
 than rudeness, it is brutality, to show him, by a 
 manifest inattention to what he says, that you 
 think him a fool or a blockhead, and not worth 
 hearing. It is much more so with regard to 
 women, who, of whatever rank they are, are en- 
 titled, in consideration of their sex, not only to 
 an attentive, but an officious good breeding from 
 men. Their little wants, likings, dislikes, pre- 
 ferences, antipathies, and fancies, must be offi- 
 ciously attended to, and, -if possible, guessed at 
 and anticipated, by a well-bred man. You must 
 never usurp to yourself those conveniences and 
 gratifications which are of common right, such as 
 the best places, the best dishes, etc. ; but on the 
 contrary, always decline them yourself, and offer 
 them to others, who, in their turns, will offer 
 them to you ; so that, upon the whole, you will 
 in your turn enjoy your share of the common 
 right. It would be endless for me to enumerate 
 all the particular instances in which a well-bred 
 man shows his good breeding in good company ; 
 and it would be injurious to you to suppose that 
 your own good sense will not point them out to 
 you ; and then your own good nature will recom- 
 mend, and your self-interest enforce the practice. 
 There is a third sort of good breeding, in which 
 people are the most apt to fail, from a very mis- 
 taken notion that they cannot fail at all. I mean 
 with regard to one's most familiar friends and 
 acquaintances, or those who really are our in- 
 feriors ; and there, undoubtedly, a greater deg-i^fc 
 of ease is not only allowed, but proper, and con- 
 tributes much to the comforts of a private social 
 life. But ease and freedom have their bounds, 
 which must by no means be violated. A certain 
 degree of negligence and carelessness becomes 
 injurious and insulting, from the real or supposed 
 inferiority of the persons ; and that delightful 
 liberty of conversation among a few friends is 
 soon destroyed, as liberty often has been, by being 
 carried to licentiousness. But example explains 
 things best, and I will put a pretty strong case : 
 Suppose you and me alone together ; I believe 
 you will allow that I have as good a right to un- 
 limited freedom in your company, as either you 
 
 or I can possibly have in an} r other ; and I am apt 
 to believe, too, that you would indulge me in that 
 freedom as far as anybody would. But, notwith- 
 standing this, do you imagine that I should think 
 there was no bounds to that freedom ? I assure 
 you I should not think so ; and I take myself to 
 be as much tied down by a certain degree of good 
 manners to you, as by other degrees of them to 
 other people. The most familiar and intimate 
 habitudes, connections, and friendships, require a. 
 degree of good breeding both to preserve and 
 cement them. The best of us have our bad sides, 
 and it is as imprudent as it is ill-bred to exhibit 
 them. I shall not use ceremony with you ; it 
 would be misplaced between us ; but I shall cer- 
 tainly observe that degree of good breeding with 
 you which is, in the first place, decent, and which, 
 I am sure, is absolutely necessary to make us like- 
 one another's company long. 
 
 DREAM-CHILDREN. 
 
 BY CHARLES LAMB. 
 
 /THIL,DREN love to listen to stories about their 
 \y elders, when they were children ; to stretch 
 imagination to the conception of a traditionary 
 great-uncle, or grandame, whom they never saw. 
 It was in this spirit that my little ones crept about 
 me the other evening to hear about their great- 
 grandmother Field, who lived in a great house in 
 Norfolk (a hundred times bigger than that in 
 which they and papa lived), which had been the 
 scene — so at least it was generally believed in that 
 part of the country — of the tragic incidents which 
 they had lateb- become miiliar with from the 
 bullae 1 of the Children in jieWood. Certain it is 
 that the - ..o iC story ol the children and their cruel 
 uncle was to be seen fairly carved out in wood 
 upon the chimney-piece of the great hall, the 
 whole story down to the Robin Redbreasts, till a 
 foolish rich person pulled it down to set up a mar- 
 ble one of modern invention in its stead, with no- 
 story upon it. Here Alice put out one of her dear 
 mother's looks, too tender to be called upbraiding. 
 Then I went on to say how religious and how good 
 their great-grandmother Field was, how beloved 
 and respected by everybody, though she was not 
 indeed the mistress of this great house, but had 
 only the charge of it (and yet in some respects she 
 might be said to be the mistress of it too) com- 
 mitted to her by the owner, who preferred living 
 in a newer and more fashionable mansion which. 
 
492 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 he had purchased somewhere in the adjoining 
 county ; but still she lived in it in a manner as if 
 it had been her own, and kept up the dignity of 
 the great house in a sort while she lived, which 
 afterwards came to decay, and was nearly pulled 
 down, and all its old ornaments stripped and car- 
 
 DREAM-CHILDREN. 
 
 ried away to the owner's other house, where they 
 were set up, and looked as awkward as if some 
 one were to carry away the old tombs they had 
 seen lately at the abbey, and stick them up in 
 Iyady C.'s tawdry gilt drawing-room. Here John 
 smiled, as much as to say, " that would be foolish 
 
 indeed." And then I told how, when she came 
 to die, her funeral was attended by a concourse 
 of all the poor, and some of the gentry too, of 
 the neighborhood for many miles round, to show 
 their respect for her memory, because she had 
 been such a good and religious woman ; so good, 
 -^tt .-. -■■ - — ^ ■ ■— .- - . ■« i indeed, that 
 
 she knew all 
 i the Psalter by 
 ! heart, ay, and 
 a great part of 
 the Testament 
 besides. Here 
 little A lice 
 spread her 
 hands. Then 
 I told what a 
 tall, upright, 
 graceful person 
 their great- 
 gran dmother 
 Field once was; 
 and how in her 
 youth she was 
 esteemed the 
 best dancer. 
 Here Alice's 
 little right foot 
 played an in- 
 voluntary 
 movement, till, 
 upon my look- 
 ing grave, it 
 desisted — the 
 best dancer, I 
 was saying, 
 in the county, 
 till a cruel dis- 
 ease, called a 
 cancer, came, 
 and bowed her 
 down with 
 pain ; but it 
 could never 
 bend her spir- 
 its, or make them stoop, but they were still 
 upright, because she was so good and reli- 
 gious. Then I told how she was used to 
 sleep by herself in a lone chamber of the great 
 lone house ; and how she believed that an appari- 
 tion of two infants was to be seen at midnight 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 493 
 
 gading up and down the great staircase near 
 where she slept ; but she said ' ' those innocents 
 would do her no harm;" and how frightened I 
 used to be, though in those days I had my maid 
 to sleep with me, because I was never half so 
 good or religious as she — and yet I never saw the 
 infants. Here John expanded all his eyebrows, 
 and tried to look courageous. Then I told how 
 good she was to all her grandchildren, having us 
 to the great house in the holidays, where I, in 
 particular, used to spend many hours by myself 
 in gazing upon the old busts of the twelve Caesars 
 that had been emperors of Rome, till the old 
 marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be 
 turned into marble with them ; how I never could 
 be tired with roaming about that huge mansion, 
 with its vast empty rooms, with their worn-out 
 hangings, fluttering tapestry, and carved oaken 
 pannels, with the gilding almost rubbed out — 
 sometimes in the spacious old-fashioned gardens, 
 which I had almost to myself, unless, when now 
 and then a solitary gardening man would cross 
 me — and how the nectarines and peaches hung 
 upon the walls, without my ever offering to pluck 
 them, because they were forbidden fruit, unless 
 now and then, and because I had more pleasure 
 in strolling about among the old melancholy- 
 looking yew trees, or the firs, and picking up the 
 red berries and the fir apples, which were good 
 for nothing but to look at ; or in lying about upon 
 the fresh grass, with all the fine garden smells 
 around me ; or basking in the orangery, till I 
 could almost fancy myself ripening, too, along 
 with the oranges and the limes in that grateful 
 warmth ; or in watching the dace that darted to 
 and fro in the fish-pond at the bottom of the gar- 
 den, with here and there a great sulky pike 
 hanging midway down the water in silent state, 
 as if it mocked at their impertinent friskings. I 
 had more pleasure in these busy-idle diversions 
 than in all the sweet flavors of peaches, necta- 
 rines, oranges, and such like common baits of 
 children. Here John slyly deposited back upon 
 the plate a bunch of grapes, which, not unob- 
 served by Alice, he had meditated dividing with 
 her, and both seemed willing to relinquish them 
 for the present as irrelevant. Then, in somewhat 
 a more heightened tone, I told how, though their 
 great-grandmother Field loved all her grand- 
 children, yet in an especial manner she might be 
 said to love their uncle, John L, , because he 
 
 was so handsome and spirited a youth, and a king 
 to the rest of us ; and, instead of moping about 
 in solitary corners, like some of us, he would 
 mount the most mettlesome horse he could get, 
 when but an imp no bigger than themselves, and 
 make it carry him half over the count}' in a morn- 
 ing, and join the hunters when there were any 
 out ; and yet he loved the old great house and 
 gardens too, but had too much spirit to be always 
 pent up within their boundaries ; and how their 
 uncle grew up to man's estate as brave as he was 
 handsome, to the admiration of everybody, but 
 of their great-grandmother Field most especially ; 
 and how he used to carry me upon his back when 
 I was a lame-footed boy — for he was a good bit 
 older than me — many a mile when I could not 
 walk for pain ; and how, in after life, he became 
 lame-footed too, and I did not always, I fear, make 
 allowances enough for him when he was impatient 
 and in pain, nor remember sufficiently how con- 
 siderate he had been to me when I was lame- 
 footed ; and how, when he died, though he had 
 not been dead an hour, it seemed as if he had died 
 a great while ago, such a distance there is betwixt 
 life and death ; and how I bore his death, as I 
 thought, pretty well at first, but afterwards it 
 haunted and haunted me ; and though I did not 
 cry or take it to heart as some do, and as I think 
 he would have done if I had died, yet I missed 
 him all day long, and knew not till then how 
 much I had loved him. I missed his kindness, 
 and I missed his crossness, and wished him to be 
 alive again, to be quarrelling with him (for we 
 quarrelled sometimes), rather than not have him 
 again ; and was as uneasy without him, as he, 
 their poor uncle, must have been when the doctor 
 took off his limb. Here the children fell a-crying, 
 and asked if their little mourning which they had 
 on was not for Uncle John ; and they looked up, 
 and prayed me not to go on about their uncle, but 
 to tell them some stories about their pretty dead 
 mother. Then I told how, for seven long years, 
 in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet per- 
 sisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W — n ; and, 
 as much as children could understand, I explained 
 to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial 
 meant in maidens ; when suddenly turning to 
 Alice, the soul of the first Alice looked out at her 
 eyes with such a reality of re-presentment, that I 
 became in doubt which of them stood there before 
 me, or whose that bright hair was ; and while I 
 
494 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL 
 
 stood gazing, both the children gradually grew 
 fainter to my view, receding, and still receding, 
 till nothing at last but two mournful features were 
 seen in the uttermost distance, which, without 
 speech, strangely impressed upon me the effects 
 ■of speech : "We are not of Alice, nor of thee; 
 nor are we children at all. The children of Alice 
 call Bartrum father. We are nothing, less than 
 nothing, and dreams. We are only what might 
 have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores 
 of Lethe millions of ages before we have exist- 
 ence and a name;" and immediately awaking, I 
 found myself quietly seated in my bachelor arm- 
 chair, where I had fallen asleep, with the faithful 
 Bridget unchanged by my side. 
 
 THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS AFTER HIS 
 
 FIRST VOYAGE. 
 
 BY WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT. 
 
 IN the spring of 1493, while the court was still 
 at Barcelona, letters were received from Chris- 
 topher Columbus, announcing his return to Spain 
 and the successful achievement of his great enter- 
 prise, by the discovery of land beyond the west- 
 ern ocean. The delight and astonishment, raised 
 by this intelligence, were proportioned to the 
 skepticism with which his project had been 
 originally viewed. The sovereigns were now 
 filled with a natural impatience to ascertain the 
 extent and other particulars of the important dis- 
 covery : and they transmitted instant instructions 
 to the admiral to repair to Barcelona, as soon as 
 he should have made the preliminary arrange- 
 ments for the further prosecution of his enter- 
 prise. 
 
 The great navigator had succeeded, as is well 
 known, after a voyage the natural difficulties of 
 which had been much augmented by the distrust 
 and mutinous spirit of his followers, in descrying 
 laud on Friday, the 12th of October, 1492. After 
 some months spent in exploring the delightful re- 
 gions, now for the first time thrown open to the 
 eyes of a European, he embarked in the month 
 of January, 1493, for Spain. One of his vessels 
 had previously foundered, and another had de- 
 serted him ; so that he was left alone to retrace 
 his course across the Atlantic. After a most 
 tempestuous voyage, he was compelled to take 
 shelter in theTagus, sorely against his inclination. 
 He experienced, however, the most honorable re- 
 ception from the Portuguese monarch, John the 
 
 Second, who did ample justice to the great quali- 
 ties of Columbus, although he had failed to profit 
 by them. After a brief delay, the admiral re- 
 sumed his voyage, and crossing the bar of Saltes 
 entered the harbor of Palos about noon, on the 
 15th of March, 1493, being exactly seven months 
 and eleven days since his departure from that 
 port. 
 
 Great was the agitation in the little community 
 of Palos, as they beheld the well-known vessel of 
 the admiral re-entering their harbor. Their de- 
 sponding imaginations had long since consigned 
 him to a watery grave; for, in addition to the 
 preternatural horrors which hung over the voy- 
 age, they had experienced the most stormy and 
 disastrous winter within the recollection of the 
 oldest mariners. Most of them had relatives or 
 friends on board. They thronged immediately 
 to the shore, to assure themselves with their own 
 eyes of the truth of their return. When they 
 beheld their faces once more, and saw them ac- 
 companied by the numerous evidences which 
 they brought back of the success of the expedi- 
 tion, they burst forth in acclamations of joy and 
 gratulation. They awaited the landing of Col- 
 umbus, when the whole population of the place 
 accompanied him and his crew to the principal 
 church, where solemn thanksgivings were offered 
 up for their return ; while every bell in the village 
 sent forth a joyous peal in honor of the glorious 
 event. The admiral was too desirous of present- 
 ing himself before the sovereigns, to protract his 
 stay long at Palos. He took with him on his 
 journey specimens of the multifarious products of 
 the newly discovered regions. He was accom- 
 panied by several of the native islanders, arrayed 
 in their simple barbaric costume, and decorated, 
 as he passed through the principal cities, with 
 collars, bracelets, and other ornaments of gold, 
 rudely fashioned ; he exhibited also considerable 
 quantities of the same metal in dust, or in crude 
 masses, numerous vegetable exotics, possessed of 
 aromatic or medicinal virtue, and several kinds of 
 quadrupeds unknown in Europe, and birds, whose 
 variety of gaudy plumage gave a brilliant effect 
 to the pageant. The admiral's progress through 
 the country was everywhere impeded by the mul- 
 titudes thronging forth to gaze at the extraordin- 
 ary spectacle, and the more extraordinary man, 
 who, in the emphatic language of that time, 
 which has now lost its force from its familiarity. 
 
COLUMBUS EXPLAINING HIS DISCOVERY TO FERDINAND. 
 
 (495) 
 
49G THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 first revealed the existence of a "New World." 
 As he passed through the bus}-, populous city of 
 Seville, every window, balcony, and housetop, 
 which could afford a glimpse of him, is described 
 to have been crowded with spectators. It was 
 the middle of April before Columbus reached 
 Barcelona. The nobility and cavaliers in at- 
 tendance on the court, together with the authori- 
 ties of the city, came to the gates to receive him, 
 and escorted him to the royal presence. Ferdinand 
 and Isabella were seated, with their son, Prince 
 John, under a superb canopy of state, awaiting 
 his arrival. On his approach, they rose from 
 their seats, and extending their hands to him to 
 salute, caused him to be seated before them. 
 These were unprecedented marks of condescen- 
 sion to a person of Columbus's rank, in the 
 haughty and ceremonious court of Castile. It 
 was, indeed, the proudest moment in the life of 
 Columbus. He had fully established the truth 
 of his long-contested theory, in the face of argu- 
 ment, sophistry, sneer, skepticism, and contempt. 
 He had achieved this, not by chance, but by cal- 
 culation, supported through the most adverse cir- 
 cumstances by consummate conduct. The honors 
 paid him, which had hitherto been reserved only 
 for rank, or fortune, or military success, purchased 
 by the blood and tears of thousands, were, in his 
 case, a homage to intellectual power, successfully 
 exerted in behalf of the noblest interests of 
 humanity. 
 
 After a brief interval, the sovereigns requested 
 from Columbus a recital of his adventures. His 
 manner was sedate and dignified, but warmed by 
 the glow of natural enthusiasm. He enumerated 
 the several islands which he had visited, expati- 
 ated on the temperate character of the climate, and 
 the capacity of the soil for even' variety of agri- 
 cultural production, appealing to the samples 
 imported by him, as evidence of their natural 
 fruitfulness. He dwelt more at large on the pre- 
 cious metals to be found in these islands, which 
 he inferred, less from the specimens actually ob- 
 tained, than from the uniform testimony of the 
 natives to their abundance in the unexplored re- 
 gions of the interior. Lastly, he pointed out the 
 wide scope afforded to Christian zeal, in the illu- 
 mination of a race of men, whose minds, far from 
 being wedded to any system of idolatry, were 
 prepared by their extreme simplicity for the re- 
 ception of pure and uncorrupted doctrine. The 
 
 last consideration touched Isabella's heart most 
 sensibly ; and the whole audience, kindled with 
 various emotions by the speaker's eloquence, 
 filled up the perspective with the gorgeous color- 
 ing of their own fancies, as ambition or avarice, 
 or devotional feeling predominated in their 
 bosoms. When Columbus ceased, the king and 
 queen, together with all present, prostrated them- 
 selves on their knees in grateful thanksgivings, 
 while the solemn strains of the Te Deum were 
 poured forth by the choir of the royal chapel, as 
 in commemoration of some glorious victory. 
 
 AN HEROIC PHYSICIAN. 
 
 7 T THEN the plague raged violently at Mar- 
 KXJ seilles, every link of affection was broken ; 
 the father turned from the child — the child from 
 the father ; cowardice and ingratitude no longer 
 excited indignation. Misery is at its height 
 when it thus destroys every generous feeling— 
 thus dissolves every tie of humanity ! The city 
 became a desert ; the grass grew in the streets ; a 
 funeral met you at every step ! 
 
 The physicians assembled in a body at the Ho- 
 tel de Yille, to hold a consultation on the fearful 
 disease, for which no remedy had yet been dis- 
 covered. After a long consultation, they decided 
 unanimously, that the malady had a peculiar and 
 mysterious character, which opening a corpse 
 might develop — an operation which it was im- 
 possible to attempt, since the operator must infal- 
 libly become a victim, in a few hours, beyond the 
 power of human art to save him, as the violence 
 of the attack would preclude their administering 
 the customary remedies. A dead pause succeeded 
 this fatal declaration. Suddenly, a surgeon by 
 the name of Guyon, in the prime of life, of great 
 celebrity in his profession, rose, and said firmly, 
 "Be it so : I devote myself for the safety of the 
 country. Before this numerous assembly, I prom- 
 ise in the name of humanity and religion, that to- 
 morrow, at the break of day, I will dissect a 
 corpse, and write down, as I proceed, what I ob- 
 serve." 
 
 He left the assembly instantly. They admired 
 him, lamented his fate, and doubted whether he 
 would persist in his design. The intrepid and 
 pious Guyon, animated by all the sublime energy 
 that religion or patriotism can inspire, acted up 
 to his word. He had married, and was rich ; and 
 
FKSTIVITIHS IN HONOR op COI.n.lBtlS. 
 
498 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 he iinmcu.ately made his will, dictated by justice 
 and piety. 
 
 A man had died in his house within four-and- 
 twenty hours. Guyon, at daybreak, shut himself 
 up in the same room ; he took with him ink, 
 paper, and a little crucifix. Full of enthusiasm, 
 
 my native city, thou wilt enable me to point out 
 some salutary remedy ; thou wilt render my sacri- 
 fice useful. O God ! " continued he, "thou wilt 
 bless the action thou hast thyself inspired." 
 
 He began — he finished the dreadful operation, 
 and recorded in detail his surgical observations. 
 
 A VENETIAN SHIP OF WAR. 
 
 never had he felt more firm or collected. Kneel- 
 ing beside the corpse, he wrote — "Mouldering 
 tenement of an immortal soul — not only can I gaze 
 on thee without terror, but even with joy and 
 gratitude. Thou wilt open to me the gates of a 
 glorious eternity. In discovering to me the se- 
 cret cause of the terrible plague which destroys 
 
 He then left the room, threw the papers into b 
 vase of vinegar, and immediately sought the Laz- 
 aretto, where he died in twelve hours — a death 
 ten times more glorious than the warrior who to 
 save his country, rushes on the enemy's ranks, 
 since he advances with hope, at least, and sus- 
 tained, admired, and seconded by a whole annjs 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 4ys 
 
 Physicians who remain firm in the discharge 
 of their duties, while the fears of their fellow-citi- 
 zens are prompting them to fly from contagion, 
 display that moral courage which is as far superior 
 to the physical energy which sustains the soldier 
 in battle, as the mind is superior to matter 
 
 MOHAMMED AND THE CANNON-FOUNDER. 
 
 ONE Orban, an Hungarian metal-founder, hav- 
 ing passed over from the emperor's into the 
 sultan's service, received so many gifts and such 
 a liberal appointment from his new master, that 
 had he been offered but a 
 fourth part as much by the 
 Greek ministry, he would 
 never have dreamed of quit- 
 ting the imperial city. Mo- 
 hammed inquired of him 
 whether he could cast a can- 
 non capable of crumbling 
 the walls of Constantinople ? 
 "It is in my power," re- 
 plied the Hungarian, " to 
 cast a cannon of any calibre 
 that is desired, and grind 
 the walls of Constantinople 
 and Babylon into powder ; I 
 will answer for my science 
 extending thus far, but I can- 
 not pronounce to what extent 
 the shot will range." The 
 sultan gave him directions 
 to proceed with the casting, 
 but not to trouble himself 
 about the range of the shot, 
 which should be subse- 
 quently determined. As a 
 specimen of his skill, Orban cast a cannon for 
 the great tower on the Bosphorean Channel, and 
 a trial of its range was made upon the first vessel 
 which sailed past without hauling in her sails. A 
 Venetian ship, commanded by one Rici, was 
 made use of as a target, and afforded satisfactory 
 evidence of the perfectness of the casting, as well 
 as the range of the shot. It was struck, severed 
 asunder, and sunk. The captain and thirty cf his 
 crew escaped the dangers of the turbulent current 
 in a boat, but, on reaching the shore, fell into the 
 hands of the Turkish garrison. They were 
 loaded with fetters, and brought before the 
 sultan at Didymotichon ; by his orders the sailors 
 
 were beheaded, the captain impaled, and theii 
 dead bodies exposed to rot in the open air. This 
 barbarous scene was witnessed by Ducas, the his- 
 torian, who was a resident at Didymotichon at 
 that period. 
 
 Mohammed was so perfectly satisfied with the 
 founder's skill, and the result of the trial, that he 
 directed the construction of a prodigious battering 
 piece, twice as large as the first ; in fact, the 
 largest which is recorded in the annals of the 
 " tormentorum bellicorum." It vomited stone 
 balls twelve spans in circumference and twelve 
 
 ASSAULT ON THE WALLS OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 hundred pounds in weight ; was moved with 
 great difficulty by fifty pair of oxen, and was 
 committed to the manipulation of seven hundred 
 men. 
 
 When the casting was completed, the piece was 
 transported to the gate of the palace Dechthan- 
 numa (or the spectacle of the world), a lofty pile 
 which had just been finished at Adrianople ; and 
 on this spot it was, for the first time, loaded with 
 infinite trouble. 
 
 Notice was then given to the inhabitants, that it 
 would be discharged the next morning ; it was 
 feared that without such a warning, the terror 
 occasioned by its report might have been attended 
 
 
500 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 with the most disastrous consequences. The 
 morning dawned, the pie;e was fired off, an im- 
 mense cloud of smoke enveloped the whole city, 
 its thunders were heard for several miles in the 
 distance, and the shot buried itself a fathom deep 
 in the ground, at a distance of a mile from the 
 spot whence it was discharged. By the trepida- 
 tion which it spread far and wide, this enormous 
 masterpiece of pyroteehny at least bespoke the 
 gigantic schemes of conquest on which the grasp- 
 ing mind of its owner was intent. 
 
 This cannon , together with two smaller pieces, 
 wLich discharged balls of 160 pounds weight, 
 
 without producim 
 ticipated from it. 
 Turks. 
 
 the effects which had been an - 
 — Von Hammer s History of tlu 
 
 JL 
 
 tar ^ r. 
 
 ANCIENT signal STATION. — (Copy of an engraving of 
 the fifteenth century.) 
 
 was subsequently employed at the siege of Con- 
 stantinople, where it was stationed opposite the 
 gate of St. Roman's, which was afterwards de- 
 nominated the " Cannongate,'"' a name it has re- 
 tained to the present day. It consumed two 
 hours in loading, and, on the first day, was dis- 
 charged seven times, the eighth firing was on the 
 second day, when it gave the signal for an at- 
 tack. Though ; t afterwards bursted, and de- 
 stroyed its founder, it was speedily repaired and 
 oontinued to be used seven times a day, but 
 
 ANCIENT STORM SIGNALS. 
 
 IT is most curious to find, that a contrivance 
 similar to the lightning-rod, which so many 
 men of genius, learning, and ingenuity have been 
 at the pains to complete, was known and em- 
 ployed by a people of no more refined cultivation 
 than the wild peasantry of Lornbardy. The Abbe 
 Berthollet, in his work on the Electricity of Me- 
 teors, describes a practice used in one of the bas- 
 tions of the Castle of Duino, on the shores of the 
 Adriatic, which has existed from time immemo- 
 rial, and which is literally neither more nor less 
 than the process that enabled Franklin to bring 
 down lightning from the clouds. An iron staff, 
 it seems, was erected on the bastion of this castle 
 during the summer, and it was part of the duty 
 of the sentinel, whenever a storm threatened, to 
 raise an iron-pointed halberd towards this staff. 
 If, upon the approach of the halberd, sparks were 
 emitted, (which, to the scientific mind, would 
 show that the staff was charged with electricity 
 from a thunder-cloud,) then the sentinel made 
 sure that a storm impended, and he tolled a bel] 
 which sent forth the tidings of danger to the sur- 
 rounding country. Nothing can be more delight- 
 fully amiable than the paternal care of its subjects 
 which this interesting provision of the local gov- 
 ernment exemplified. The admonishing sound 
 of the bell was obeyed like a preternatural signal 
 from the depths of the firmament ; shepherds 
 were seen hurrying over the valleys, urging their 
 flocks from the exposed fields to places of shelter. 
 The fishing-boats, with which the coast of the 
 Adriatic was generally studded, forthwith began 
 to crowd sail and make for the nearest port, while 
 manj' a supplication was put up from many a 
 gentle and devout heart on shore, before some 
 hallowed shrine, for the safety of the little fleet. 
 
 PRESIDENT JACKSON'S VISIT TO NEW YORK. 
 
 ' OON after President Jackson's election to his 
 second term, he made a visit to New York, 
 where he was received with enthusiastic demon- 
 strations of popular favor. An accomplished 
 English gentleman, who was in New York at the 
 time, wrote' a graphic description of the scenes that 
 he witnessed, to a friend at home, and as many of 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 501 
 
 the incidents possess a large degree of historical 
 interest, we copy the article in full : 
 
 At present the city is all in commotion. It is 
 quite an era, and a very interesting one, in the 
 history of the town, from the fact, that the vener- 
 able President of the Republic is now, for the first 
 time in many years, a visitor. He is a man of 
 extraordinary character, and, from his earliest 
 boyhood, has continually grown in popularity. 
 You have heard me before speak of General Jack- 
 son, the famous hero of New Orleans — a military 
 chieftain — a soldier of courage and genius, and 
 unrivalled firmness and decision — a statesman, 
 prompt, fearless, and energetic. His coming to 
 New York has been for some time a topic of news- 
 paper comment and congratulation, and of draw- 
 ing-room as well as tavern discussion. There is 
 not, probably, living, a man so popular as this 
 aged chief; his name is in everybody's mouth; 
 his pictures, busts, etc., have, for many years, 
 crowded the streets and print shops, windows, 
 parlors, libraries, barber-shops, taverns, etc., etc., 
 etc., and, on certain public occasions, he has been 
 from time immemorial, to the rising generation, 
 represented in the evening on an illuminated trans- 
 parency, with one warlike hand resting on his un- 
 sheathed blade — a tremendous affair, by the way, 
 which might have tested the strength of Sir Will- 
 iam Wallace — and the other leaning on the flow- 
 ing mane of a steed of superb outlines and dimen- 
 sions, and so mettlesome, that we fancy the youth- 
 ful Alexander would not have been as ready to 
 back him as he was to mount Bucephalus. 
 
 I do not mean to say that the President has 
 been universally popular — no, no ; that would be 
 a sad deviation from the custom of republics. 
 There has been against him, as against all others, 
 a party, whose opposition has probably rendered 
 the acclamations of his adherents more loud and 
 apparent. Their watchword is, "Hurrah for 
 Jackson ! ' ' There is not a little curly-pated imp 
 of three years old, but will fling up his tattered 
 hat and cry out, ' ' Hurrah for Jackson ! ' ' For 
 years and years this has been the state of the city 
 in reference to their present President ; and many 
 measures of his administration have tended to 
 overflow the cup of his popularity, already full. 
 The fact that, under his direction, a dangerous 
 question, which threatened a dissolution of the 
 Union, has been amicably settled, has elevated 
 the general enthusiasm and curiosity beyond all 
 
 bounds. Besides this, a recent personal insult, 
 offered him by a crazy naval officer, has shocked 
 the whole country, and all, friends and foes, ap- 
 pear anxious to make every possible reparation to 
 him, whose gray hairs might have still protected 
 him from actual assault, if no respect was felt for 
 the dignity of the office and the services of the 
 man. Hence you may judge, that on the day of 
 his expected arrival, the streets presented a curious 
 spectacle. There are more than two hundred 
 thousand inhabitants in New York, and, I do 
 believe, the greater part of them thronged toward 
 the place where the celebrated soldier and vener- 
 able statesman was expected to land. The scene 
 was imposing, grand, and sublime. It will prob- 
 ably live on the page of history, as one of the 
 most impressive and romantic events of the 
 times. 
 
 Fancy, my dear B., a proud, great city — lofty 
 houses — trees — fences — all swarming with multi- 
 tudes, all anxious to get a glimpse of the hero as 
 he passed from the superb shore. On landing, he 
 was received by Major General Morton, at the 
 head of his column, a gentleman of the old school, 
 to whom I had letters from you, and with whose 
 acquaintance I am greatly pleased. He addressed 
 the President in an appropriate, concise, and 
 pointed speech, and the line of march was taken 
 up through the city. The distinguished visitor 
 rode through the most magnificent street on this 
 continent to his hotel. 
 
 The Battery, a large area, was a living mass of 
 human beings ; troops, horse and foot, and thou- 
 sands and thousands of citizens ; the bay covered 
 with steamboats and other vessels ; flags floating ; 
 cannon roaring ; music swelling on the winds ; 
 bursts from the trumpet that made the pulses 
 wild, and, over the whole, the cheers and loud 
 acclamations of the crowd. I was well accommo- 
 dated with a seat at the hotel, which is situated 
 (or, as the Americans say, "located") in the 
 widest part of the street, and where the throng, 
 carriages, carts, stages, gigs, horses, and fool-pas' 
 sengers amounted to suffocation, and furnished, 
 certainly, one of the most impressive sights that 
 I ever beheld. The wide street through which, 
 for hours, the tide of human beings had been 
 rushing steadily with the heavy sound and motion 
 of a strong current, was at length filled and 
 dammed up completely, as far as the eye could 
 reach. Windows, up to the fourth story ; nay, the 
 
502 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 very house-tops, and the roofs of the churches 
 and all public buildings were crowded. They 
 were well-behaved folks, and waited patiently till 
 a troop of horse rode through the vast, dense as- 
 sembly, in order to make way for the principal 
 object of interest, whose arrival had ahead}- been 
 announced by the cannon. The trumpeter blew 
 his blast, long and loud ; the hoofs of the horses 
 rattled over the stones ; a passage was at length 
 cleared, only wide enough for two or three horse- 
 men abreast. The President had been much 
 abused ; his face, form, and health had been cari- 
 catured and misrepresented. He had been termed 
 a feeble, sickly, dying old man, and by some an 
 "old woman," suffering under the weakness of 
 age and imbecility, and incapable of acting for 
 himself. The excitement at this moment was 
 really intense, and it was not allayed by a rumor 
 which flew from lip to lip, that, in crossing from 
 a fort a little out in the bay to the main land, the 
 bridge had given way, and also a covered arch, 
 bearing scores of people, a single moment after 
 the President had passed from beneath it. All 
 the great men in company with him had been pre- 
 cipitated, with numbers of others, into the water 
 — and in the confusion of the moment, it was said 
 that many were dangerously wounded, that some 
 were killed, and that the escape of the President 
 was miraculous. Presently my ears were stunned 
 with the burst of voices which announced that 
 the crowd had caught sight of him. The waving 
 of hats and handkerchiefs grew nearer, till amid 
 the thousands beneath me that rocked and heaved 
 like a tumultuous sea, I saw a group of officers 
 richly dressed, and among them, and distinguished 
 by the simplicity of his attire — by his tall com- 
 manding form and dignified demeanor — his bare 
 venerable head and calm expression of face, I 
 saw the President himself mounted — reining his 
 horse with the air of an accomplished rider, and 
 waving his hat continually, and bowing to the 
 thousands and thousands who, above, below, and 
 all around, were greeting his course with thunder- 
 ing cheers. Do you not remember a passage in 
 Shakespeare exactly applicable to this ? 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, 
 With slow but stately pace kept on his course : 
 You would have thought the very windows spake, 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 Opou "lis visage ; and that all the walls, 
 
 With painted imagery, had said at once, 
 "Jesu preserve thee ! Welcome, Bolingbroke ! " 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
 Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus : — "I thank you, countrymen ; " 
 And thus, still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
 There was, really, in this sight a good deal of 
 the moral sublime. Cincinnatus from his plough 
 would scarcely appear more unassuming than this 
 great man in his plain black dress. 
 
 The city is all in excitement on this, as well as 
 on one or two other subjects. A balloon has gone 
 up — and an Indian chief with his son, and a 
 prophet of the tribe which have been recently 
 conquered by the government, are also in town. 
 The vice-president, Mr. Van Buren, is also a 
 sojourner— and some of the secretaries of the de- 
 partments — and yesterday I ran against a gentle- 
 man, whom, upon a nearer view, I recognized as 
 Washington Irving — and the deuse knows what 
 else there is to ferment the population. What 
 did old mother Trollope mean by saying that the 
 Americans had no enthusiasm ? Why, they are 
 tinder. They burn spontaneously. Eight or ten 
 thousand of them assembled yesterday on the 
 Battery to see a balloon ascend. I am a great 
 friend to balloons ; they are so elegant, and airy, 
 and careless, like a fine gentleman, or a poet, or a 
 belle, or a butterfly. They tell odd things of 
 those inflated machines, too. You have heard 
 of the aeronaut who ascended with his dog. The 
 parachute was overturned at an indefinite height, 
 and both were precipitated (that is scarcely the 
 word — overset) into the air. The man fell, was 
 whirled about for a long time by the conflicting 
 currents of wind, and after having been aban- 
 doned to his fate for three or four hours, he heard 
 his little dog somewhere near him barking in the 
 air ! If I had not seen this story actually printed, 
 I should scarcely believe it. The New York man 
 is a bold fellow ; he goes up really in magnificent 
 style. The inflation takes place in a fort (now 
 converted into a public ice-cream garden), on the 
 shore of the bay. The place itself is generally 
 filled, and also the surrounding stream, walks, 
 streets, etc., with boats, pedestrians, carriages, 
 and all the et casteras. Imagine a delicious, sun- 
 shiny afternoon ; a soft Italian air ; a heaven with 
 scarcely a cloud, all blue and transparent ; the 
 thronging thousands waiting around. At length 
 a little balloon — a pioneer — ascends, and is borne 
 off rapidly by the light breeze, till it is lost in the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 503 
 
 sky. Presently the huge globe of brown silk 
 looms up above the edges of the wall with a beau- 
 tiful motion ; swinging, floating, and displaying 
 all the aspiring impulses of an eagle eager for the 
 flight, and scarcely retainable on earth. 
 
 The arrangements within are at length com- 
 pleted. The huge mass rises slowly, clear and 
 free into the air. The car, with its adventurous 
 pilot, is greeted with multitudinous cheers, and 
 off they float upward and away upon the gale — 
 flags waving, huzzas mingling, cannon firing, 
 horses prancing, and the lonely vessel smoothly 
 gliding into the blue and high distance till it 
 fades to a speck. Among the spectators of this 
 scene were Black Hawk and his party. These 
 Indians are great curiosities to me. Nothing 
 makes me more strikingly realize that I am in 
 America — that a broad ocean rolls between you 
 and me. The savages who infest the frontiers of 
 the republic have no idea that the whites com- 
 prise more than a handful of men, and fancy they 
 may be conquered by perseverance. Several of 
 them were conducted on a tour through the coun- 
 try some years since, and of course were astonished. 
 On going back to their people, they detailed the 
 wonders they had seen ; but such monstrous 
 stories gained no credit ; they were for some time 
 the objects of ridicule and persecution, till at 
 length, in self-defence, they recanted. It is the 
 desire of the government that the present chief 
 may see and judge for himself of the extent of 
 the people with whom they presume to war. 
 
 The president was also on the ground at the 
 hour for the ascension of the balloon. He was, 
 as before, ever greeted with acclamations, and 
 continues to be the victim of reports. One paper 
 says, ' ' A story has become very current, that 
 President Jackson intends uniting himself to a 
 Very amiable and accomplished lady in Connecti- 
 cut, and that the nuptials are to be celebrated 
 during his present visit. We presume the story, 
 like many similar reports, is without the least 
 foundation in truth." Another announces, that 
 "among other tokens of respect which will be 
 shown to the president and vice-president, about 
 five thousand of the fairest of the fair, unmarried, 
 and young, elegantly dressed in white, will join 
 in a procession to meet and greet them on their 
 arrival in Lowell, in the state of Massachusetts." 
 
 Here is a specimen of the enthusiasm with 
 
 which his words are observed and reported, from 
 one of the newspapers : 
 
 ' ' When the president appeared on the balcony 
 of the City Hall, and witnessed the countless- 
 multitudes of well-dressed, orderly citizens, who 
 had assembled to do honor to the first magistrate 
 of the republic, and to testify the reverence and 
 affection so well due to the public services and 
 individual character of the incumbent — when he 
 heard the long rolling thunders of their enthusi- 
 astic cheering, he felt that it was to their noble 
 and happy institutions that this people were doing 
 honor, and were thus giving the most sincere of 
 all pledges of their endearing attacnment to, and 
 worthiness of, such high advantages. His for- 
 getfulness of self, and his singleness of devotion 
 to the common weal, were never more strikingly- 
 displayed than in the half unconscious remark 
 which fell from his lips, as the magnificent scene 
 presented itself before him. Turning to Gover- 
 nor Marcy, with a quivering lip, but a brighten- 
 ing eye, he said, ' Nullification will never take 
 root here ! ' Even at that moment, the proudest 
 and dearest to himself in all his lifetime, he could 
 think only of his country and its welfare." 
 
 As for myself, I have witnessed the entrance 
 into cities of victorious generals and the corona- 
 tions of kings, but I never saw a sight presenting 
 such a striking example of the moral sublime, as 
 the entrance into New York of that tall old man, 
 in simple attire, with his gray, uncovered head, 
 bending to the salutations of his countrymen. 
 
 NAPOLEON'S PERSONAL PECULIARITIES. 
 
 CHE person of Napoleon has served as a model 
 for the most skilful painters and sculptors ; 
 many able French artists have successfully de- 
 lineated his features, and yet it may be said, that 
 no perfectly faithful portrait of him exists. His 
 finely shaped head, his superb forehead, his pale 
 countenance, and his usual meditative look, have 
 been transferred to the canvas ; but the versatil- 
 ity of his expression was beyond the reach of 
 imitation. All the various workings of his mind 
 were instantaneously depicted in his countenance ; 
 and his glance changed from mild to severe, and 
 from anger to good humor, almost with the 
 rapidity of lightning. It may truly be said, that 
 he had a particular look for every thoaght that 
 arose in his mind. Bonaparte had beautiful 
 
504 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 hands, and he was very proud of them ; while 
 conversing he would often look at them with an 
 air of self-complacency. He also fancied he had 
 fine teeth, but his pretension to that advantage 
 
 and crossing his hands behind his back. He 
 frequently gave an involuntary shrug of his right 
 shoulder, which was accompanied by a move- 
 ment of his mouth from left to right. This habit 
 
 THK EMPRESS CATHARINE. 
 
 was not so well founded as his vanity on the score 
 of his hands. When walking, either alone or in 
 company with any one, in his apartments or in 
 his gardens, he had the habit of stooping a little, 
 
 was always most remarkable when his mind was 
 absorbed in the consideration of any profound 
 subject. It was often while walking that he dic- 
 tated to me his most important notes. He could 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 505 
 
 endure great fatigue, not only on horseback, but 
 on foot : he would sometimes walk for five or six 
 hours in succession, without being aware of it. 
 When walking with any person whom he treated 
 with familiarity, he would link his arm into that 
 of his compan- 
 ion, and lean 
 on it. When 
 excited, all his 
 actions were 
 nervous and 
 decisive. The 
 incident of the 
 Empress Ca- 
 tharine's 
 broken set of 
 porcelain af- 
 fords a familiar 
 illustration. In 
 October, 1797, 
 at the close of 
 his brilliant 
 campaign in 
 Italy, Napo- 
 leon was anx- 
 ious for peace ; 
 but the Aus- 
 trian commis- 
 sioner, Cobent- 
 zel, hesitated. 
 There were 
 certain condi- 
 tions which he 
 wanted ratified, 
 and others that 
 Napoleon had 
 demanded he 
 thought his 
 government 
 would not ac- 
 cede to, espe- 
 cially the re- 
 lease of Lafay- 
 ette, who was 
 then a prisoner 
 in a damp and 
 foul dungeon in 
 the citadel of Olmutz, where he had suffered from 
 disease and close confinement until his hair had 
 fallen out. Napoleon listened to the drivel of the 
 Austrian commissioner with increasing restless- 
 
 ness, until finally his impatience overcame him ; 
 when, rising suddenly, and without speaking, he 
 lifted from a table standing near, a set of porcelain 
 that the Empress Catharine had formerly given to 
 Cobentzel. Raising it in his nervous grasp, he 
 
 NAPOLEON AND THE SET OF PORCELAIN. 
 
 exclaimed in a voice of thunder, "The truce is 
 then broken, and war declared ; but remember 
 that before the end of autumn I shall have crushed 
 your monarchy like this porcelain," whereupon 
 
506 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 he dashed the precious set upon the floor, break- 
 ing it into a thousand fragments, and strode an- 
 grily from the room. A few minutes later he had 
 mounted his horse and ridden rapidly to his head- 
 quarters, where he immediately issued orders for 
 the renewal of hostilities. 
 
 The incident was too much for the resolution 
 of Cobentzel ; he was seized with fear and gave 
 way; and the next day Napoleon's ultimatum 
 was accepted and the treaty of peace signed. — 
 Bourrienne's Memoirs. 
 
 ORIGIN OF THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 mILLS, in his work upon chivalry, mentions, 
 that the beautiful little flower called 
 " Forget-me-not " was known in England as early 
 as the time of Edward IV ; and, in a note, he 
 gives the following pretty incident in explanation 
 of the name : "Two lovers were loitering on the 
 margin of a lake, on a fine summer's evening, 
 when the lady discovered some flowers of the 
 Afyosotis growing on the water, close to the bank 
 of an island, at some distance from the shore. 
 She expressed a desire to possess them, when her 
 knight, in the true spirit of chivalry, plunged 
 into the water, and swimming to the spot, cropped 
 the wished-for plant ; but his strength was unable 
 to fulfil the object of his achievement, and feel- 
 ing that he could not regain the shore, although 
 very near it, he threw the flowers upon the bank, 
 and casting a last affectionate look upon his lady- 
 love, he said, ' Forget me not,' and was buried 
 in the water." 
 
 FULTON AND THE FIRST STEAMBOAT. 
 
 U 7ITHEN," said Mr. Fulton, "I was build- 
 \XJ ing my first steamboat at New York, 
 the project was viewed by the public either with 
 indifference or contempt, as a visionary scheme. 
 My friends, indeed, were civil, but they were shy. 
 The}- listened with patience to my explanations, 
 but with a settled cast of incredulity on their 
 countenances. I felt the full force of the lamen- 
 tation of the poet, 
 
 'Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land, 
 All fear, none aid you, and few understand.' 
 
 As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the 
 building yard, while ray boat was in progress, I 
 have often loitered unknown near the idle groups 
 of strangers, gathering in little circles, and heard 
 various inquiries as to the object of this new vehi- 
 
 cle. The language was uniformly that of scorn, 
 or sneer, or ridicule. The loud laugh often rose 
 at my expense ; the dry jest ; the wise calculation 
 of the Fulton folly. Never did a single encour- 
 aging remark, a bright hope, or a warm wish 
 cross my path. Silence itself was but politeness 
 veiling its doubts, or hiding its reproaches. At 
 length the day arrived when the experiment was 
 to be put into operation. To me it was a most 
 trying and interesting occasion. I invited many 
 friends to go on board to witness the first success- 
 ful trip. Many of them did me the favor to at- 
 tend, as a matter of personal respect ; but it was 
 manifest that they did it with reluctance, fearing 
 to be the partners of my mortification, and not of 
 my triumph. I was well aware, that in my case 
 there were many reasons to doubt of my own 
 success. The machinery was new and ill-made ; 
 many parts of it were constructed by mechanics 
 unaccustomed to such work ; and unexpected 
 difficulties might reasonably be presumed to pre- 
 sent themselves from other causes. The moment 
 arrived in which the word was to be given for the 
 vessel to move. My friends were in groups on 
 the deck. There was anxiety, mixed with fear, 
 among them. They were silent, and sad, and 
 weary. I read in their looks nothing but disas- 
 ter, and almost repented of my efforts. The 
 signal was given, the boat moved a small dis- 
 tance and stopped, and became immovable. To 
 the silence of the preceding moment, now suc- 
 ceeded murmurs of discontent, and agitations, 
 and whispers, and shrugs. I could hear distinctly 
 repeated, ' I told you it would be so — it is a fool- 
 ish scheme — I wish we were well out of it. ' I 
 elevated myself upon a platform, and addressed 
 the assembly. I stated that I knew not what 
 was the matter ; but if they would be quiet, and 
 indulge me for half an hour, I would either go 
 on, or abandon the voyage for that time. This 
 short respite was conceded without objection. I 
 went below, examined the machinery, and dis- 
 covered that the cause was a slight misadjustment 
 of some of the work. In a short period it was 
 obviated. The boat was put again in motion. 
 She continued to move on. All were still incredu- 
 lous. None seemed willing to trust the evidence 
 of their own senses. We left the fair city of New 
 York ; we passed through the romantic and ever- 
 varying scenery of the Highlands ; we descried 
 the clustering houses of Albany, we reached its 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 507 
 
 shores; and then, even then, when all seemed 
 achieved, I was the victim of disappointment. 
 Imagination superseded the influence of fact. It 
 was then doubted if it could be done again, it was 
 doubted if it could be made of any great value." 
 Such was the history of the first experiment, as 
 it fell, not in the very language which I have 
 used, but in its substance, from the lips of the 
 inventor. He did not live, indeed, to enjoy the 
 full glory of his invention. It is mournful to say 
 that attempts were made to rob him in the first 
 place of the merits of his invention, and next of 
 its fruits. He fell a victim to his efforts to sus- 
 tain his title to both. When already his inven- 
 tion had covered the waters of the Hudson, he 
 seemed little satisfied with the results, and looked 
 forward to far more extensive operations. "My 
 ultimate triumph," he used to sa}', "will be 
 on the Mississippi. I know indeed that even now 
 it is deemed impossible, by many, that the diffi- 
 culties of its navigation can be overcome. But I 
 am confident of success. I may not live to see 
 it; but the Mississippi will yet be covered by 
 steamboats ; and thus an entire change be wrought 
 in the course of the internal navigation and com- 
 merce of the country. 
 
 THE DYING HINDOO. 
 
 THERE are few things more shocking to Euro- 
 pean eyes than the publicity of death-bed 
 scenes in India, and the apathetical indifference 
 displayed by the Hindoos while attending the ex- 
 piring moments of their nearest relatives or 
 friends. Frequently only a few yards from a 
 crowded ghaut thronged by the inhabitants of 
 the neighboring village, who are laughing, sing- 
 ing and following their ordinary occupations with 
 the utmost gayety, a dying person may be seen 
 stretched upon a charpoy (bedstead) close to the 
 river's brink, surrounded by a group of three or 
 four individuals, who look upon the sufferer with- 
 out the slightest appearance of interest. As soon 
 as the breath has left the body, the corpse is 
 thrown into the river, death being often precipi- 
 tated by stuffing the mouth and nose with mud. 
 Strangers, attracted by some superb lotus floating 
 down the stream, are disgusted by the sight of a 
 dead body rapidly descending with the tide, the 
 ghastly head appearing above the surface of the 
 water. Every Hindoo is anxious to draw his last 
 Bgh on the banks of the Ganges, or some equally 
 
 sacred stream flowing into its holy waters ; the re- 
 latives therefore of expiring persons fulfil the last 
 offices of humanity in the manner most desirable 
 lo them by bringing a dying friend to the edge 
 of the river, and consigning the bod}', when the 
 vital spark has fled, to the hallowed stream. The 
 corpse of a rich Hindoo is burned upon a funeral 
 pile ; but as wood is dear, the poorer classes 
 either dispense with it entirely, or merely scorch 
 the flesh previously to launching it into the river. 
 — Miss Roberts Oriental Sketches. 
 
 QUEEN ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 
 
 BY WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT. 
 
 T^ER person was of the middle height, and 
 X J well proportioned. She had a clear, fresh 
 complexion, with light blue eyes and auburn hair 
 — a style of beauty exceedingly rare in Spain. 
 Her features were regular, and universally allowed 
 to be uncommonly handsome. The illusion 
 which attaches to rank, more especially when 
 united with engaging manners, might lead us to 
 suspect some exaggeration in the encomiums so 
 liberally lavished on her. But they would seem 
 to be in a great measure justified by the portraits 
 that remain of her, which combine a faultless 
 symmetry of features with singular sweetness and 
 intelligence of expression. 
 
 Her manners were most gracious and pleasing. 
 They were marked by natural dignity and modest 
 reserve, tempered by an affabillity which flowed 
 from the kindliness of her disposition. She was 
 the last person to be approached with undue 
 familiarity ; yet the respect which she imposed 
 was mingled with the strongest feelings of devo- 
 tion and love. She showed great tact in accom- 
 modating herself to the peculiar situation and 
 character of those around her. She appeared in ■ 
 arms at the head of her troops, and shrunk from 
 none of the hardships of war. During the re- 
 forms introduced into the religious houses, she 
 visited the nunneries in person, taking her needle- 
 work with her, and passing the day in the society 
 of the inmates. When travelling in Galicia, she 
 attired herself in the costume of the country, 
 borrowing for that purpose the jewels and other 
 ornaments of the ladies there, and returning them 
 with liberal additions. By this condescending 
 and captivating deportment, as well as by her 
 higher qualities, she gained an ascendency over 
 
508 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS. AND THE 
 
 her turbulent subjects, which no king of Spain 
 could ever boast. 
 
 Che spoke the Castilian with much elegance 
 and correctness. She had an easy fluency of dis- 
 
 in** 
 
 .«£• Ms 
 
 St. 
 
 proverbs. She was temperate even to abstemi- 
 ousness in her diet, seldom or never tasting wine ; 
 and so frugal in her table, that the daily expenses 
 for herself and family did not exceed the moder- 
 ate sum of forty du- 
 cats. She was 
 equally simple and 
 economical in her 
 apparel. On all 
 public occasions, 
 indeed, she dis- 
 played a royal mag- 
 nificence ; but she 
 had no relish for it 
 in private, and she 
 freely gave away 
 her clothes and 
 jewels, as presents 
 to her friends. 
 Naturally of a se- 
 date, though cheer- 
 ful temper, she had 
 little taste for the 
 frivolous amuse- 
 ments which make 
 -J up so much of a 
 court life ; and, if 
 she encouraged the 
 presence of min- 
 strels and musi- 
 cians in her palace, 
 it was to wean her 
 young nobility 
 from the coarser 
 jtr*3 and less intellectual 
 'III pleasures to which 
 1 they we^e addicted. 
 Among her moral 
 I qualities, the most 
 ^"ia\S< conspicuous, per- 
 |i||M haps, was her mag- 
 ft^T nanimity. Shebe- 
 Jlllllp trayed nothing lit- 
 ?3tts tie or selfish, in 
 thought or action. 
 Her schemes were 
 vast, and executed 
 in the same noble 
 which they were conceived. She 
 
 OUEEN ISABELLA, OF SPAIN. 
 
 course, which, though generally of a serious spirit 
 
 complexion, was occasionally seasoned with never employed doubtful agents or sinister mea 
 
 agreeable sallies, some of which have passed into snres, but the most direct and open policy, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 509 
 
 •Jhe scorned to avail herself of advantages 
 offered by the perfidy of others. Where she 
 had once given her confidence, she gave her 
 hearty and steady support ; and she was scru- 
 pulous to redeem any pledge she had made 
 to those who ventured in her cause, however 
 unpopular. She sustained Ximenes in all his 
 obnoxious, but salutary reforms. She seconded 
 Columbus in the prosecution of his arduous en- 
 terprise, and shielded him from the calumny of 
 his enemies. She did the same good service to 
 her favorite, Gonsalvo de Cordova ; and the day 
 of her death was felt, and, as it proved, truly 
 felt by both, as the last of their good fortune. 
 Artifice and duplicity were so abhorrent to her 
 character, and so averse from her domestic pol- 
 icy, that when they appear in the foreign re- 
 lations with Spain, it is certainly not imputable 
 to her. She was incapable of harboring any 
 petty distrust, or latent malice , and, although 
 stern in the execution and exaction of public jus- 
 tice, she made the most generous allowance, and 
 even sometimes advances, to those who had per- 
 sonally injured her. 
 
 But the principle, which gave a peculiar color- 
 ing to every feature of Isabella's mind, was piety. 
 It shone forth from the very depths of her soul 
 with a heavenly radiance, which illuminated her 
 whole character. Fortunately, her earliest years 
 had been passed in the rugged school of adver- 
 sity, under the eye of a mother who implanted in 
 her serious mind such strong principles of religion 
 as nothing in after life had power to shake. At 
 an early age, in the flower of youth and beauty, 
 she was introduced to her brother's court; but 
 its blandishments, so dazzling to a young imagi- 
 nation, had no power over hers ; for she was sur- 
 rounded by a moral atmosphere of purity, 
 
 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt. 
 Such was the decorum of her manners, that, 
 though encompassed by false friends and open 
 enemies, not the slightest reproach was breathed 
 on her fair name in this corrupt and calumnious 
 court. 
 
 DEATH OF ARCHIMEDES. 
 
 IT is related that when the Roman army took 
 Syracuse, Archimedes, the great geometri- 
 cian, was occupied with some geometrical demon- 
 stration. He heard nothing of the sounds of con- 
 fusion and strife, and was wholly insensible to all 
 
 the scenes of suffering around him; and when the 
 soldier who took his life entered the room where 
 he was sitting, calmly drawing the lines of a dia- 
 gram, and placed a sword to his throat — " Hold, 
 friend ! ' ' said Archimedes : ' ' one moment, and my 
 demonstration will be finished ! ' ' 
 
 The soldier did not heed the request, but struck 
 him down without mercy, so that the demonstra- 
 tion upon which he was then at work wa3 
 never finished. The general who commanded the 
 Roman army caused his body to receive a decent 
 burial, and afterward erected a tombstone over his 
 grave. Forty years afterward Cicero visited his 
 grave, and found it overgrown with weeds and 
 thorns. 
 
 Archimedes was born in Syracuse, Sicily, about 
 2S7 B. C, and was murdered by the Roman 
 soldier, as related above, in 212. King Hiero, 
 of Syracuse, was his personal friend and patron. 
 The king, on a certain occasion, ordered a golder> 
 crown from a goldsmitn of Syracuse, and upor 
 examining it, after it had been delivered to him, 
 he became suspicious that it was alloyed with 
 silver. He accordidgly gave the crown to his 
 friend Archimedes, and desired him to ascertain 
 if his suspicions were correct. The philosopher 
 was at a loss how to proceed with the investiga- 
 tion, but going one day into a public bath, the 
 tub chanced to be full of water, and he instantly 
 discovered that as much water must run over the 
 edge of the tub as would be equal to the bulk of 
 his body. Perceiving that this gave him a mode 
 of determining the bulk and specific gravity of the 
 crown, he sprang out of the tub and ran through 
 the streets, shouting, Eureka ! Eureka ! "I have 
 found it ! " "I have found it." His fellow-towns- 
 men, being well acquainted with his peculiarities, 
 did not arrest him as a madman, but permitted 
 him to go unmolested on his way, being assured 
 that he had suddenly made some important and 
 valuable discovery. 
 
 This was in fact the origin of the discovery of 
 the important principle that a body plunged in a 
 fluid loses as much of its weight as is equal to the 
 weight of an equal volume of the fluid. It ena- 
 bled him to determine that the king's suspicions 
 regarding the alloy of the crown were correct, and 
 the dishonest goldsmith was accordingly arrested, 
 and, when confronted by the evidence and demon- 
 strations of Archimedes, confessed his guilt and 
 threw himself upon the mercy of the king. 
 
C5io) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 511 
 
 In his old age it is said that Archimedes de- 
 fended his native city against the Romans by con- 
 centrating the rays of the sun, from numerous 
 large morrors, upon their ships, until they burst 
 into flames and were destroyed. He also invented 
 a powerful derrick, so it is stated, by means of 
 which he could seize a ship and with a single 
 whirling stroke dash it in pieces. Several im- 
 portant principles of mechanism, as now applied, 
 owe their origin to this great Sicilian inventor. 
 
 MONTEZUMA, THE EMPEROR OF MEXICO. 
 BY WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT. 
 
 IT is not easy to depict the portrait of Monte- 
 zuma in its true colors, since it has been 
 exhibited to us under two aspects, of the most 
 opposite and contradictory character. In the ac- 
 counts gathered of him by the Spaniards, on 
 coming into the country, he was uniformly repre- 
 sented as bold and warlike, unscrupulous as to 
 the means of gratifying his ambition, hollow and 
 perfidious, the terror of his foes, with a haughty 
 bearing which made him feared even by his own 
 people. They found him, on the contrary, not 
 merely affable and gracious, but disposed to waive 
 all the advantages of his own position, and to 
 place them on a footing with himself; making 
 their wishes his law ; gentle even to effeminacy in 
 his deportment, and constant in his friendship, 
 while his whole nation was in arms against them. 
 Yet these traits, so contradictory, were truly 
 enough drawn. They are to be explained by the 
 extraordinary circumstances of his position. 
 
 When Montezuma ascended the throne, he was 
 scarcely twenty-three years of age. Young, and 
 ambitious of extending his empire, he was con- 
 tinually engaged in war, and is said to have been 
 present himself in nine pitched battles. He was 
 greatly renowned for his martial prowess, for he 
 belonged to the Quachidin, the highest military 
 order of his nation, and one into which but few 
 even of its sovereigns had been admitted. In 
 later life, he preferred intrigue to violence, as 
 more consonant to his character and priestly edu- 
 cation. In this he was as great an adept as any 
 prince of his time, and, by arts not very honor- 
 able to himself, succeeded in filching away much 
 of the territory of his royal kinsman of Tezcuco. 
 Severe in the administration of justice, he made 
 important reforms in the arrangement ~ f the tri- 
 bunals. He introduced other innovations in the 
 
 royal household, creating new offices, introducing 
 a lavish magnificence and forms of courtly eti- 
 quette unknown to his ruder predecessors. He ' 
 was, in short, most attentive to all that concerned 
 the exterior and pomp of royalty. Stately and 
 decorous, he was careful of his own dignity, and 
 might be said to be as great an ' ' actor of ma- 
 jesty ' ' among the barbarian potentates of the New 
 World, as Louis the Fourteenth was among the 
 polished princes of Europe. 
 
 He was deeply tinctured, moreover, with that 
 spirit of bigotry, which threw such a shade over 
 the latter days of the French monarch. He re- 
 ceived the Spaniards as the beings predicted by 
 his oracles. The anxious dread, with which he 
 had evaded their proffered visit, was founded on 
 the same feelings which led him so blindly to 
 resign himself to them on their approach. He 
 felt himself rebuked by their superior genius. 
 He at once conceded all that they demanded, — his 
 treasures, his power, even his person. For their 
 sake, he forsook his wonted occupation, his plea- 
 sures, his most familiar habits. He might be said 
 to forego his nature ; and, as his subjects asserted, 
 to change his sex and become a woman. If we 
 cannot refuse our contempt for the pusillanimity 
 of the Aztec monarch, it should be mitigated by 
 the consideration, that his pusillanimity sprung 
 from his superstition, and that superstition in the 
 savage is the substitute for religious principle in 
 the civilized man. 
 
 It is not easy to contemplate the fate of Monte- 
 zuma without feelings of the strongest compas- 
 sion ; — to see him thus borne along the tide of 
 events beyond his power to avert or control ; to 
 see him, like some stately tree, the pride of his 
 own Indian forests, towering aloft in the pomp 
 and majesty of its branches, by its very eminence 
 a mark for the thunderbolt, the first victim of the 
 tempest which was to sweep over its native hills ! 
 When the wise king of Tezcuco addressed his 
 royal relative at his coronation, he exclaimed, 
 ' ' Happy the empire, which is now in the meri. 
 dian of its prosperity, for the sceptre is given U 
 one whom the Almighty has in his keeping; antf 
 the nations shall hold him in reverence ! ' ' Alas \ 
 the subject of this auspicious invocation lived to 
 see his empire melt away like the winter's wreath • 
 to see a strange race drop, as it were, from the 
 clouds on his land ; to find himself a prisoner in 
 the palace of his latriers, the companion of those 
 
(512) 
 
 X,0UI3 THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 513 
 
 who were the enemies of his gods and his people ; 
 to be insulted, reviled, trodden in the dust, by 
 the meanest of his subjects, by those who, a few 
 mouths previous, had trembled at his glance ; 
 drawing his last breath in the halls of the stranger, 
 —a lonely outcast in the heart of his own capital ! 
 He was the sad victim of destiny,— a destiny as 
 dark and irre- 
 sistible in its 
 march as that 
 which broods 
 over the mythic 
 legends of An- 
 tiquity ! 
 
 Jeanne was the fifth child in this family of 
 French peasants, and as her parents were too 
 poor to give her an education, even if such had 
 been the custom in those .times, she was allowed 
 to grow up in ignorance, like other peasant girls, 
 and became accustomed to out-of-door duties, 
 such as the tending of sheep, riding the horses 
 
 ROMANCE OF 
 THE MAID OF 
 ORLEANS. 
 
 ABOUT 141 1, 
 in the 
 
 quaint old town 
 
 of Domremy, in 
 
 the province of 
 
 Lorraine, at that 
 
 time belonging 
 
 to France, but 
 
 now a part of 
 
 the German Em- 
 pire, there was 
 
 born a little girl, 
 
 who was called 
 
 by her parents 
 
 Joan or Jeanne, 
 
 and who was 
 
 destined, in her 
 
 short life of only 
 
 twenty years, 
 to win a glorious 
 immortality. 
 Her parents 
 were poor and 
 obscure ; in fact 
 they constituted 
 so insignificant 
 a part of the great mass of humanity that 
 her father's name is not even known with 
 certainty, but it is supposed to have been Dare. 
 The little cottage in which she was born still 
 stands, as shown in the accompanying engraving, 
 and is protected by two stately buildings on either 
 side, erected as a monument to her memory. 
 33 
 
 the watering place, milking the 
 
 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 to and from 
 cows, etc. 
 
 She was a quiet, demure child, and spent much 
 of her time gazing into the heavens and dream- 
 ing unutterable things. In 142 1, when she was 
 ten years of age, the great Henry V., of England, 
 the hero of Agincourt, died, and his infant sonj 
 
514 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 then onlj r nine months old, was declared by Par- 
 liament king of France and England and lord of 
 Ireland, under the title of Hear)- VI. The 
 greater part of France had been subdued by the 
 arms of his heroic father, but Charles VII., after- 
 wards called ' ' the victorious, ' ' claimed the throne 
 and was supported in a feeble manner by a min- 
 ority of the people in the central and southern 
 portions of the kingdom. He was so poor and 
 powerless that his enemies called him ' ' the king 
 
 r 
 
 of Bourges, " as if that city were the whole of his 
 monarchy. 
 
 The inhabitants of the neighborhood in which 
 Jeanne's parents lived were intensely patriotic 
 and loyal to the house of Orleans, represented by 
 Charles ; they were also ignorant and supersti- 
 tious, believers in miracles and wonders, and 
 were earnestly expecting the fulfilment of a 
 prophecy to the effect that a virgin should relieve 
 France of her enemies. This prophecy was 
 doubtless nothing more than a pulpit exclama- 
 tion, uttered by some priest with reference to the 
 saving powers of the Virgin Mary. But it took 
 fast hold upon the lively imaginations of the 
 credulous peasants, and especially did it make a 
 profound impression on the plastic mind of the 
 dreaming maiden. She began to hear mysterious 
 voices, and see wonderful visions. Her thoughts 
 
 wandered into the future, where she heard the 
 clash of arms and caught the first glimmering? 
 of those military glories in which she was to be 
 the central figure and the moving spirit. In a 
 few years the idea that she was the virgin to whom 
 the prophecy referred, and that she should save 
 her country and crown her king, took full posses- 
 sion of her and controlled all her actions and 
 purposes. But she observed a studious silence, 
 and remained apparently the same dreaming child 
 
 she had always been, 
 while her soul ex- 
 panded with visions 
 of patriotism and 
 renown. 
 
 When she was 
 about seventeen 
 years of age her na- 
 tive village was at- 
 tacked by a roving 
 band of Burgun- 
 dians, serving in the 
 interest of the Eng- 
 lish partj-, who com- 
 mitted such gross 
 outrages upon the 
 people that her vis- 
 ions and dreams be- 
 came a fixed purpose, 
 and roused her to 
 decisive action. 
 Through the influ- 
 ence of an uncle, who 
 seems to have been a person of some standing, 
 she obtained an audience with the governor of 
 Vaucouleurs, to whom she revealed her wishes, 
 and appealed for assistance in the accomplishment 
 of her purpose. But he treated her pretensions 
 with such unconcealed scorn and contempt that 
 she was abashed, and returned to her uncle de- 
 pressed and in anguish. The voices and visions 
 soon returned, however, with greater power than 
 ever ; and she renewed her entreaties to the gov- 
 ernor, pressing her claims with such earnestness 
 and enthusiasm that he was at length influenced 
 to some extent by the superstitious reverence 
 which had begun to hedge her about ; and he 
 accordingly sent her to Chinon, where Charles 
 was then holding his court, accompanied by a 
 letter explaining the object of her visit. On 
 arriving there and making known her mission, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 515 
 
 she declared that she would be able to distinguish 
 the king by inspiration, no matter under what 
 circumstances she might first behold him ; and as 
 a test of her powers she was introduced into the 
 audience room, where 
 she immediately 
 singled out the king 
 and fell on her knees 
 before him, although 
 he had purposely re- 
 moved all marks of 
 royalty from his per- 
 son. This circum- 
 stance is in fact not 
 surprising, when we 
 remember that there 
 is a subtle, undefined 
 something about all 
 distinguished people 
 which separates them 
 from the common 
 herd and marks them 
 as those who have 
 been set apart for a 
 special purpose. 
 
 The devotion and 
 enthusiasm of the 
 rustic maiden deeply 
 impressed the king, 
 but before yielding 
 to her entreaties for 
 permission to lead an 
 arm}- against the Eng- 
 lish, he directed that 
 her claims to super- 
 natural powers should 
 be tested by a rigid 
 examination, to which 
 she cheerfully s u b - 
 mitted. But no indi- 
 cations of her alliance 
 with the powers of 
 darkness were discov- 
 ered, and the fact of 
 her virginity being 
 accepted as a satis- 
 factory assurance 
 
 that she was not under Satanic influence, a 
 decision favorable to her wishes was reached. 
 A suit of armor was made to fit her person, 
 and at her request a consecrated sword which 
 
 she described as buried in the church of St. 
 Catharine, at Fierbois, was discovered and 
 brought to her. Thus equipped she placed her- 
 self at the head of an army of 10,000 men, com- 
 
 70UNDING OF JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 manded by experienced officers, and animating 
 them with a spirit of religious fervor, as Crom- 
 well did his Ironsides two centuries later, she 
 launched ber forces suddenly and with fearful 
 
51 6 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 havoc upon the English who were then besieging 
 Orleans, defeated them in a number of brilliant 
 and dashing engagements, and within a week 
 compelled them to raise the siege. Her genius 
 for war was identical with that which has ani- 
 mated all great military leaders, namely, quick 
 and unexpected movements, bringing overpower- 
 ing numbers to bear upon strategic points, and 
 thus throwing the enemy into confusion. 
 
 Having driven the English from before Orleans, 
 she did not give them time to recover from their 
 confusion, but pressed them so vigorously at all 
 points that within three months the French arms 
 were victorious over the larger part of the king- 
 dom, and Charles was triumphantly crowned at 
 
 ENGLISH ARCHERS OF THE FIFTEENTH 
 CENTURY. 
 
 Rheims, the Maid of Orleans, in full armor, oc- 
 cupying a distinguished place by his side. 
 
 Having accomplished the mission for which she 
 believed that she had been divinely inspired, the 
 virgin commander now desired to retire to the se- 
 clusion of her rural home, but the king and' his 
 principal officers felt that they could not do with- 
 out her, and prevailed upon her to remain with 
 the army. It was a fatal determination, for the 
 spell of her victorious career was broken, and 
 from that time she experienced nothing but dis- 
 aster, ending in a frightful and ignominious 
 death. During the early part of the winter of 
 1429, her army besieged the city of Paris, and 
 during an assault upon the enemy's works, which 
 she led and encouraged by her immediate pres- 
 ence, she was severely wounded in the shoulder 
 
 by an arrow. The English archers were then 
 celebrated for their skill in the use of this primi- 
 tive military weapon. Their aim was unerring, 
 and it is asserted that at short distances they 
 could pierce the stoutest armor. It proved to be 
 only too true in the case of Joan of Arc, and she 
 fell from her horse dangerously wounded. 
 
 She did not recover until the following spring, 
 when, placing herself once more at the head of 
 an army, she threw her forces like a thunderbolt 
 upon the English who had surrounded and were 
 besieging Compiegne, breaking through their 
 ranks and carrying her troops triumphantly into 
 the city. Soon afterward, on the 24th of May, 
 1430, she led a sortie against the besiegers, and 
 was captured and conveyed to Beaurevoir, then 
 in possession of the English, where she was con- 
 fined in a dungeon of the fortress. She attempted 
 to escape by leaping from the walls of the dun- 
 geon, but was discovered, lecaptured, and con- 
 veyed to Rouen for greater security. 
 
 The University of Paris now demanded that she 
 should be tried as a sorcerer, for they asserted 
 that no person could entertain such sentiments as 
 hers or perform the deeds that she had accom- 
 plished without being in league with the powers 
 of darkness. Such were the superstitions of the 
 times, even among the learned men of the uni- 
 versities ! The leading English authorities were 
 unwilling to proceed to extreme measures, but 
 the French party in alliance with them, and op- 
 posed to the Orleans family, forced the issue, and 
 the trial began. It lasted for several months, and 
 resulted, as might have been expected, in convic- 
 tion. The sentence was read to Joan in public 
 by the Bishop of Beauvais, and the alternative 
 offered of recantation and submission to the 
 church, or the stake. Terrified at the prospects 
 of so horrible a death, the young girl recanted, 
 and was taken back to prison. Here her visions 
 returned, and strengthened her determination to 
 remain true to her convictions even at the risk of 
 martyrdom. But the enemies of herself and 
 France had decided that she must be destroyed, 
 and for the purpose of tempting her a suit of 
 male attire was left in her cell, as if by mistake. 
 She innocently fell into the trap, and was detected 
 by the Bishop in the act of donning the clothes, 
 with the evident intention of trying to escape. 
 The Bishop declared that her conduct was suffi- 
 cient evidence of her relapse into her former 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 517 
 
 belief and he took immediate steps to hasten the 
 execution of the first sentence. On the morning 
 of the 30th of May, a Dominican brother named 
 Martin L,advenu was instructed to announce this 
 decision to Joan. At first she gave way to feel- 
 ings of terror. " Alas ! ' she cried, " am I to be 
 so horribly and cruelly treated that this my body, 
 full pure and perfect and never defiled, must to- 
 day be consumed and reduced to ashes ! Ah ! I 
 would seven times rather be beheaded than 
 burned ! ' ' 
 
 At this moment the bishop of Beauvais came 
 up. " Bishop," said Joan, " you are the cause of 
 my death ; if you had put me in the prisons of 
 the Church and in the hands of fit and proper 
 ecclesiastical warders, this had never happened ; 
 I appeal from you to the presence of God." 
 
 Peter Maurice, one of the doctors who had sat 
 in judgment against her, came to see her, and 
 asked her sympathy and forgiveness. "Master 
 Peter," said she to him, "where shall I be to- 
 night ?" " Have you not good hope in God ?" re- 
 plied the doctor. "Oh! yes," she answered; 
 " by the grace of God I shall be in paradise." 
 
 On being left alone with the Dominican, she 
 confessed and asked to communicate. The monk 
 thereupon sent to the bishop to inquire what he 
 should do. "Tell Brother Martin," was the 
 answer, "to give her the eucharist and all she 
 asks for. ' ' 
 
 i\t nine o'clock, having resumed her woman's 
 dress, Joan was dragged from the prison and 
 driven to the market place. The car was guarded 
 by from seven to eight hundred soldiers, and no 
 one was permitted to approach near it ; but one 
 man forced a passage through the soldiers and 
 threw himself at the feet of the trembling victim. 
 It was Nicholas Loiseleur, who, having been 
 placed as a sp}' over the Maid of Orleans, had 
 abused her confidence, and now, beside himself 
 with despair, wished to ask her pardon. The 
 English soldiers drove him back with violence, 
 applying to him the epithet of traitor, and his life 
 would have been in danger but for the interven- 
 tion of the Earl of Warwick. 
 
 Joan wept and prayed, and the crowd afai off 
 wept and prayed with her. On arriving at the 
 place of execution she listened in silence to a ser- 
 mon by one of the doctors of the court, who ended 
 by saying, ' ' Joan, go in peace ; the Churcti can 
 no longer defend thee ; she gives thee over to the 
 
 secular arm." The priest was continuing his ex- 
 hortations, when the soldiers cried out, "How 
 now ! priest, are you going to make us dine here ?" 
 " Away with her !" said the baillie to the guards, 
 and then turning to the executioner, he exclaimed, 
 " Do thy duty." 
 
 When she came to the stake Joan knelt down 
 and became completely absorbed in prayer. She 
 had begged a priest named Massieu to get her a 
 cross, but he neglected to comply with ber re- 
 quest ; whereupon an Englishman present made 
 one out of a little stick, and handed it to her. 
 She took it eagerly, kissed it, and laid it on her 
 breast. She then begged another priest to pro- 
 cure the cross in the church of St. Sauveur, the 
 principal door of which opened into the market 
 place, and hold it " upright before her eyes until 
 the coming of death, in order that the cross 
 whereon God hung might as long as she lived 
 continue in her sight." This priest, more kind- 
 hearted and humane than his fellows, complied 
 faithfully with her wishes. She wept for her 
 country and the spectators, as well as for herself. 
 "Rouen! Rouen!" she cried, " is it here that I 
 must die ? Shalt thou be my last resting-place ? I 
 fear greatly thou wilt have to suffer for my death. ' ' 
 
 At this moment the executioner set fire to the 
 fagots. When Joan perceived the flames rising, 
 she begged her confessor to kneel down in front 
 of her, at the same time asking him to hold the 
 cross up high in front that she might never cease 
 to see it, and thus miserably perished one of the 
 purest souls God ever created. When the life was 
 gone from her body two of her conscience-stricken 
 judges cried out in despair, and one exclaimed, 
 "Would that my soul were where I believe the 
 soul of that woman is !" The English secretary 
 of Henry VI., named Tressart, said sorrowfully 
 011 his return from the place of execution, "We 
 are all lost ; we have burned a saint." 
 
 Her ashes were then gathered up and thrown 
 into the Seine, in order that they might be so scat- 
 tered as to prevent resurrection on the day of 
 judgment, in accordance with a belief entertained 
 by the church at that time. 
 
 The execution of the Maid of Orleans was one 
 of the most cruel and barbarous deeds that blacken 
 the pages of mediaeval history, but it has resulted 
 in a glorious immortality of fame for the victim, 
 while the very names of her persecutors are sunk 
 in the oblivion of infamv and universal abhor- 
 
^ p» -~-S 5 g^-- -^ A aJA;Ui,ulESLE^ASlUTTSASr^= 
 
 '5IS) 
 
 EXECUTION OF JOAN OF ARC. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 519 
 
 rence. So it is that time makes all things equal ! 
 The king showed a base ingratitude toward his 
 heroic deliverer. He made no effort to prevent 
 the execution of the cruel sentence, or to avenge 
 her death ; and he waited ten long years before 
 taking steps to relieve her memory of the obloquy 
 which naturally attaches to a criminal execution. 
 Then he caused her sentence to be reversed, and 
 prono unced 
 her ' ' a mar- 
 tyr to her re- 
 1 i g i o n , her 
 country and 
 her king." 
 
 But the 
 death of 
 Charles was 
 little, if any 
 less terrible 
 than that of 
 the innocent 
 and patriotic 
 maid ; and 
 we have in 
 this fact an 
 instance in 
 support of the 
 principle 
 which his- 
 tory plainly 
 teaches, 
 namely, that 
 retribution, 
 even though 
 it may be 
 slow, is nev- 
 ertheless sure 
 and terrible. 
 
 Her character was spotless and free from reproach. 
 She was distinguished for modesty, innocence, 
 and purity. Although she planned and directed 
 a score of battles, and never hesitated to lead her 
 soldiers into the hottest of the fight, yet it is as- 
 serted that with her own hands she never shed a 
 drop of human blood. She continued to carry 
 her enchanted sword, but never used it, relying 
 
 KNIGHTS DISPLAYING THE ORIFUMME. 
 
 Although the king was victorious in 
 his subsequent wars with the English, and suc- 
 ceeded in releasing the larger part of his country 
 from foreign dominion, yet his later years were 
 embittered by the intrigues and rebellion of his 
 son, the future cruel and craft}- L,ouis XI. Charles' 
 fear of being poisoned by his son was so over- 
 whelming that he finally refused to take any- 
 thing to eat, and died miserably from starvation. 
 The Maid of Orleans has been the subject of 
 numerous poems, tragedies, and romances, while 
 the memory of her great deeds is preserved not 
 alone in the pages of history and famous statues 
 and paintings, but in the hearts of the people. 
 
 upon her personal magnetism and the inspiration 
 of her consecrated banner for victory. The gentle 
 dignity of her bearing impressed all who came 
 within the circle of its magic influence, and re- 
 strained the brutality of her soldiers on the battle- 
 field and in the midst of victory. How glorious 
 does this gentle, earnest, lovable character appear 
 in contrast with the cruelty and baseness of her 
 infamous and detestable persecutors. 
 
 The Oriflamme. 
 
 The "consecrated banner" so frequently re- 
 ferred to in the history of Joan of Arc, is sup- 
 posed to have been the famous "Oriflamme," or 
 banner of the Capetian kings. It originally be- 
 
520 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 longed to the Abbey of St. Denis, and the monks 
 claimed that they received it from heaven. For 
 many years the banner was used exclusively in 
 religious ceremonies, but it was afterward carried 
 by the counts of Yexin, in their capacity of 
 patrons of the monastery, in the religious wars 
 which they waged for its protection. When 
 Philip I., of France, annexed Yexin to his domiu- 
 
 devotion of the soldiers. Miracles also were at- 
 tributed to its sacred influence. The following 
 marvellous incident is related by Sir John 
 Froissart, in connection with his description of 
 the battle of Rosebeccpie, fought by the French 
 and the Flemings : 
 
 "The lord de Clisson, Sir John de Vienne, and 
 Sir William de L,angres, having made their re- 
 
 thr king taking the ORiFLAMiiE into battle. — (Copy of engraving oftbe sixteenth century.) 
 
 ions, he adopted the Oriflamme as his royal 
 standard, and it was carried by him and his suc- 
 cessors for many centuries. It was composed of 
 flame-colored silk, adorned with green silk tassels, 
 and hanging from a gilded shaft. 
 
 The Oriflamme was regarded with superstitious 
 reverence, and when unfurled it never failed to 
 excite the enthusiasm and arouse the patriotic 
 
 port to the king, left him and went to their post 
 in the vanguard. Shortly afterwards, the Ori- 
 flamme was displayed by Sir Peter de Villieis, 
 who bore it. Some say (as they find it written) 
 that it was never before displayed against Chris- 
 tians, and that it was a matter of great doubt 
 during the march whether it should be displayed 
 or not. However, the matter having been fully 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 521 
 
 considered, they resolved to display it, because 
 the Flemings followed opinions contrary to those 
 of Pops Clement, and called themselves Urbanists; 
 for which the French said they were rebellious 
 and out of the pale of the Church. This was the 
 principal cause why it had been brought and dis- 
 played in Flanders. 
 
 "The Oriflanime was a most excellent banner, 
 and had been sent from heaven with great mys- 
 tery : it is a sort of gonfanon, and is of much com- 
 fort iu the day of battle to those who see it. 
 Proof was made of its virtues at this time ; for 
 all the morning there was so thick a fog, that 
 with difficulty the)- could see each other, but the 
 moment the knight had displayed it, and raised 
 his lance in the air, this fog instantly dispersed, 
 and the sky was as clear as it had been during the 
 whole year. The lords of France were much re- 
 joiced when they saw this clear da}-, and the sun 
 shine, so that they could look about them on all 
 sides. 
 
 "It was a fine sight to view these banners, 
 helmets, and beautiful emblazoned arms : the 
 army kept a dead silence, not uttering a sound, 
 but eyed a large battalion of Flemings before 
 them, who were marching in a compact body, 
 with their staves advanced in the air, which 
 looked like spears ; and, so great were their num- 
 bers, they had the appearance of a wood. The 
 Lord d' Estonnenort told me, that he saw (as well 
 as several others) when the Oriflamme was dis- 
 played, and the fog had dispersed, a white dove 
 fly many times around the king's battalion. 
 When it had made several circles, and the engage- 
 ment was about to begin, it perched on one of the 
 king's banners: this was considered as a fortu- 
 nate omen." 
 
 The Oriflamme, being regarded as a sacred ban- 
 ner, was carefully preserved and guarded. It had 
 upon it the name of St. Diouysius, and was never 
 unfurled except upon the most urgent occasions, 
 when the king himself was present, and its use 
 was forbidden except against infidels and heretics. 
 
 THE RESCUE. 
 BY ROBERT M. BIRD. 
 
 'ITH these words, having first examined his 
 own and Roland's arms, to see that all 
 were in proper battle condition, and then directed 
 little Peter to ensconce in a bush, wherein little 
 Peter straightway bestowed himself, Bloody 
 
 ID' 
 
 Nathan, with an alacrity of motion and ardor 
 of look that indicated anything rather than dis- 
 taste to the murderous work in hand, led the way 
 along the ridge, until he had reached the place 
 where it dipped down to the valley, covered with 
 the bushes through which he expected to ad- 
 vance to a desirable position undiscovered. 
 
 But a better auxiliary even than the bushes 
 was soon discovered by the two friends. A deep 
 gull)-, washed in the side of the hill by the rains, 
 was here found running obliquely from its top to 
 the bottom, affording a covered way, by which, as 
 they saw at a glance, they could approach within 
 twenty or thirty yards of the foe entirely unseen ; 
 and, to add to its advantages, it was the bed of a 
 little water-course, whose murmurs, as it leaped 
 from rock to rock, assured them they could as 
 certainly approach unheard. 
 
 "Truly," muttered Nathan, with a grim 
 chuckle, as he looked, first at the friendly ravine, 
 and then at the savages below, "the Philistine 
 rascals is in our hands, and we will smite them 
 hip and thigh !" 
 
 With this inspiring assurance he crept into the 
 ravine ; and Roland following, they were soon in 
 possession of a post commanding, not only the 
 spot occupied by the enemy, but the whole 
 valley. 
 
 Peeping through the fringe of shrubs that rose, 
 a verdant parapet, on the brink of the gully, they 
 looked down upon the savage part}', now less 
 than forty paces from the muzzles of their guns, 
 and wholly unaware of the fate preparing for 
 them. The scene of diversion and torment was 
 over : the prisoner, a man of powerful frame but 
 squalid appearance, whose hat, — a thing of shreds 
 and patches, — adorned the shorn pate of one of 
 the Indians, while his coat, equally rusty and 
 tattered, hung from the shoulders of a second, lay 
 bound under a tree, but so nigh that they could 
 mark the laborious heavings of his chest. Two 
 of the Indians sat near him on the grass, keeping 
 watch, their hatchets in their hands, their guns 
 resting within reach against the trunk of a tree 
 overthrown by some hurricane of former years 
 and now mouldering away. A third was en- 
 gaged with his tomahawk, lopping away the few 
 dry boughs that remained on the trunk. Squat- 
 ting at the fire, which the third was thus laboring 
 to replenish with fuel, were the two remaining 
 savages ; who, holding their rifles in their hands, 
 
522 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 divided their attention betwixt a shoulder of 
 venison roasting on a stick in the fire, and the 
 captive, whom the}' seemed to regard as destined 
 to be sooner or later disposed of in a similar man- 
 ner. 
 
 The position of the parties precluded the hope 
 Nathan had ventured to entertain of getting them 
 in a cluster, and so doing double execution with 
 each bullet ; but the disappointment neither 
 chilled his ardor nor embarrassed his plans. His 
 scheme of attack had been framed to embrace all 
 contingencies ; and he wasted no further time in 
 deliberation. A few whispered words conveyed 
 his last instructions to the soldier ; who, reflect- 
 ing that he was fighting in the cause of humanity, 
 remembering his own heavy wrongs, and marking 
 the fiery eagerness that flamed from Nathan's 
 visage, banished from his mind whatever disin- 
 clination he might have felt at beginning the fray 
 in a mode so seemingly treacherous and ignoble. 
 He laid his axe on the brink of the gully at his 
 side, together with his foraging cap ; and then, 
 thrusting his rifle through the bushes, took aim 
 at one of the savages at the fire, Nathan direct- 
 ing his piece against the other. Both of them 
 presented the fairest marks, as they sat wholly 
 unconscious of their danger, enjoying in imagina- 
 tion the tortures yet to be inflicted on the prisoner. 
 But a noise in the gully, — the falling of a stone 
 loosened by the soldier's foot, or a louder than 
 usual splash of water — suddenly roused them 
 from their dreams : they started up, and turned 
 their eyes towards the hill. — "Now, friend!" 
 whispered Nathan; — "if thee misses, thee loses 
 thee maiden and thee life into the bargain. Is 
 thee ready ?" 
 
 " Ready," was the reply. 
 
 " Right, then, through the dog's brain, — fire !" 
 
 The crash of the pieces, and the fall of the two 
 victims, both marked by a fatal aim, and both 
 pierced through the brain, were the first an- 
 nouncement of peril to their companions ; who, 
 springing up, with yells of fear and astonishment 
 and snatching at their arms, looked wildly around 
 them for the unseen foe. The prisoner also, 
 astounded out of his despair, raised his head from 
 the grass, and glared around. The wreaths of 
 smoke curling over the bushes on the hill-side, 
 betrayed the lurking-place of the assailants, and 
 savages and prisoner turning together, they all 
 beheld at once the spectacle of two human heads, 
 
 — or, to speak more correctly, two human caps, 
 for the heads were far below them, — rising in the 
 smoke, and peering over the bushes, as if to 
 mark the result of the volley. Loud, furious, 
 and exulting were the screams of the Indians, as 
 with the speed of thought, seduced by a stratagem 
 often practised among the wild heroes of the bor- 
 der, they raised and discharged their pieces against 
 the imaginary foes so incautiously exposed to 
 their vengeance. The caps fell, and with them the 
 rifles that had been employed to raise them ; and 
 the voice of Nathan thundered through the glen, 
 as he grasped his tomahawk and sprang from the 
 ditch, — " Now, friend ! up with thee axe. and do 
 thee duty ! ' ' 
 
 With these words, the two assailants at once 
 leaped into view, and with a bold hurrah, and 
 bolder hearts, rushed towards the file, where lay 
 the undischarged rifles of their first victims. The 
 savages 3-elled also in reply, and two of them 
 bounded forward to dispute the prize. The third, 
 staggered into momentary inaction by the sud- 
 denness and amazement of the attack, rushed 
 forward but a step ; but a whoop of exultation was 
 on his lips, as he raised the rifle which he had 
 not yet discharged, full against the breast of 
 blood}- Nathan. But his triumph was short-lived ; 
 so fatal as it must have proved to the life of 
 Nathan, it was averted by an unexpected inci- 
 dent. The prisoner, near whom he stood, putting 
 all his vigor into one tremendous effort, burst his 
 bonds, and, with a yell ten times louder and 
 fiercer than had yet been uttered, added himself 
 to the combatants. With a furious cry of en- 
 couragement to his rescuers, — "Hurrah for 
 Kentucky! — give it to 'em good!" he threw 
 himself upon the savage, beat the gun from his 
 hands, and grasping him in his brawny arms, 
 hurled him to the earth, where, rolling over and 
 over in mortal struggle, growling and whooping, 
 and rending one another like wild beasts, the two, 
 still locked in furious embrace, suddenly tumbled 
 down the bank of the brook, there high and 
 steep, and were immediately lost to sight. 
 
 Before this catastrophe occurred, the other In- 
 dians and the assailants met at the fire ; and each 
 singling out his opponent, and thinking no more 
 of the rifles, they met as men whose only busi- 
 ness was to kill or to die. With his axe flourished 
 over his head, Nathan rushed against the tallest 
 and foremost enemy, who, as he advanced, swung 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 523 
 
 his tomahawk, in the act of throwing it. Their 
 weapons parted from their hands at the same 
 moment, and with perhaps equal accuracy of aim; 
 but meeting with a crash in the air, they fell to- 
 gether to the earth, doing no harm to either. 
 The Indian stooped to recover his weapon ; .but 
 it was too late : the hand of Nathan was already 
 upon his shoulder : a single effort of his vast 
 strength sufficed to stretch the savage at his feet, 
 and holding him down with knee and hand, 
 Nathan snatched up the nearest axe, "If the life 
 of thee tribe was in thee bosom," he cried with a 
 look of unrelenting fury, of hatred deep and 
 ineffaceable, "thee should die the dog's death, as 
 thee does !" And with a blow furiously struck, 
 and thrice repeated, he despatched the struggling 
 savage as he lay. 
 
 He rose, brandishing the bloody hatchet, and 
 looked for his companion. He found him upon 
 the earth, lying upon the breast of his antagonist 
 whom it had been his good fortune to overmaster. 
 Both had thrown their hatchets, and both with- 
 out effect, Roland because skill was wanting, and 
 the Shawnee because, in the act of throwing, he- 
 had stumbled over the body of one of his comrades 
 so as to disorder his aim, and even to deprive him 
 of his footing. Before he could recover himself, 
 Roland imitated Nathan's example, and threw 
 himself upon the unlucky Indian — a youth, as it 
 appeared, whose strength, perhaps at no moment 
 equal to his own, had been reduced by recent 
 wounds, — and found that he had him entirely at 
 his mercy. This circumstance, and the knowl- 
 edge that the other Indians were now overpowered, 
 softened the soldier's wrath ; and when Nathan, 
 rushing to assist him. cried aloud to him to move 
 aside, that he might " knock the assassin knave's 
 brains out," Roland replied by begging Nathan 
 to spare his life. "I have disarmed him," he 
 cried, — " he resists no more — don't kill him." 
 
 "To the last man of his tribe !" cried Nathan 
 with unexampled ferocit}- ; and without another 
 word, drove the hatchet into the wretch's brain. 
 
 The victors now leaping to their feet, looked 
 round for the fifth savage and the prisoner ; and 
 directed by a horrible din under the bank of the 
 stream, which was resounding with curses, groans, 
 heavy blows, and the plashing of water, ran to 
 the spot, where the last incident of battle was 
 revealed to them in a spectacle as novel as it was 
 shocking. The Indian lay on his back suffocating 
 
 in mire and water ; while astride his body sat the 
 late prisoner, covered from head to foot with mud 
 and gore, furiously plying his fists, for he had no 
 other weapons, about the head and face of his foe, 
 his blows falling like sledge-hammers or batter- 
 ing-rams, with such strength and fury that it 
 seemed impossible any one of them could fail to 
 crush the skull to atoms ; and all the while gar- 
 nishing them with a running accompaniment of 
 oaths and maledictions little less emphatic and 
 overwhelming. ' ' You switches gentlemen, do 
 you, you exflunctified, preditioned rascal ? Ar'n't 
 you got it, you niggur-in-law to old Sattan ? you 
 'tarnal half-imp, you ? H'yar's for you, you dog, 
 and thar's for 3'ou, you dog's dog ! H'yar's the 
 way I pa} - you in a small-change of sogdolo- 
 gers!" 
 
 And thus he cried, until Roland and Nathan 
 seizing him by the shoulders, dragged him by 
 main force from the Indian, whom, as was found 
 when they came to examine the body afterwards, 
 he had actually pommelled to death, the skull 
 having been beaten in as with bludgeons. The 
 victor sprang upon his feet, and roared his triumph 
 aloud : — "Ar'n't I licked him handsome ! — Hur- 
 rah for Kentucky and old Salt — Cock-a-doodle- 
 doo !" 
 
 And with that, turning to his deliverers, he 
 displayed to their astonished eyes, though dis- 
 figured by blood and mire, the never-to-be-forgot- 
 ten features of the captain of horse-thieves, Roar- 
 ing Ralph Stackpole. 
 
 TWO SWISS HEROES. 
 
 7TVE are indebted to the genius of Schiller for 
 \XJ the beautiful and thrilling story of William 
 Tell. Being familiar with certain patriotic le- 
 gends connected with the struggle for the inde- 
 pendence of Switzerland, the German poet wove 
 them in with deeds of real heroes, and created a 
 fabric of fancy which for many years was accepted 
 as an historical reality. It is cruel to demolish 
 so pleasant a faith, but critical investigation has 
 established the fact that no such person as Wil- 
 liam Tell ever existed ; he was merely a creation 
 of fancy and the representative of Swiss heroism 
 and the spirit of freedom. This is the substance 
 of the story as told by Schiller. 
 
 William Tell was a mighty hunter, full of 
 the spirit of independence and the love of liberty, 
 who lived in peace and happiness with his wife 
 
52-1 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AXD THE 
 
 and children at Burgelen, in the canton of Uri. 
 This, according to the story, was about 1307. At 
 that time Switzerland was a province of Austria, 
 but the people had already begun their struggle 
 for freedom, and Tell was one of the leaders in 
 the movement. Gessler, the Austrian bailiff at 
 Kussnacht. for the purpose of making a display 
 of his authoritv, and humiliating the people, 
 
 WILLIAM TKLL SHOOTING THE APPLE FROM THE HEAD OF HIS SOX. 
 
 placed his cap upon a pole in the market place of 
 Altorf, and ordered that all who passed by should 
 uncover and bow down to it. Tell neglected or 
 refused to comply with the bailiff's order, and was 
 arrested and sentenced to death. During the 
 trial he attempted to excuse his disrespect to the 
 cap on the ground that he was dull of wit. for 
 otherwise, said he, " I should not be called the 
 
 tall," this word in German meaning haif-witted. 
 Before the time appointed for the execution, 
 Gessler learned that Tell was a celebrated marks- 
 man with the bow and arrow, and sending for 
 him he offered him his life and liberty on condi- 
 tion that he would shoot an apple from the head 
 of his little son. Tell accepted the cruel alterna- 
 tive, but determined, that if he failed, or harmed 
 
 even so much 
 as one hair 
 of the head of 
 his son, Gess- 
 ler should pay 
 the penalty 
 with his life. 
 
 When the 
 time arrived 
 for the trial 
 of skill upon 
 w h i c h so 
 much depend- 
 ed, a bundle 
 of arrows was 
 handed Tell 
 from which to 
 make his se- ' 
 lection, a n d 
 he a d r o i 1 1 y 
 concealed an 
 extra one be- 
 n e a t h his 
 coat. Then 
 with a fervent 
 prayer to God 
 f o r strength 
 of nerve and 
 accuracy o f 
 aim, he drew 
 the bow- 
 string to his 
 shoulder, and 
 sent the ar- 
 row whizzing 
 without the 
 
 through the centre of the apple 
 slightest hurt to his beloved child. 
 
 The spectators applauded the extraordinary feat, 
 but Gessler refused to make good his promise, 
 and accused Tell of concealing the extra arrow 
 beneath his coat. "Wiry didst thou hide the 
 arrow?" he demanded. "To kill thee if I had 
 harmed my son," boldly replied the Swiss patriot. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 525 
 
 For this he was again placed in chains, and Gess- 
 ler, embarking in a boat for Kussnacht, took Tell 
 with him. While the}- were on the way a storm 
 arose, which threatened to destroy the vessel, and 
 the crew, alarmed for their safety implored the 
 bailiffto release Tell, who was an expert pilot, 
 and let him steer them into a place of safety. He 
 complied, and as they neared a point now known 
 as "Tell's rock," or "Leap," he sprang ashore 
 and escaped. The storm had by this time sub- 
 sided, and the crew brought the vessel in safety to 
 Brunnen ; but meanwhile, Tell had gone around 
 by land, and concealing himself in the woods, 
 near a road by which he knew the party would 
 pass, shot and mortally wounded Gessler with an 
 arrow. 
 
 The fall of the tyrant was the signal for a gen- 
 eral uprising, and the Austrians were driven from 
 the country and their castles destroyed. In all 
 these movements William Tell was a leading 
 spirit, encouraging and animating his people by 
 his own heroic example. In 1354, according to 
 the story, he. was drowned in the Sachen, while 
 attempting to save the life of a boy, dying as he 
 had lived, doing good to others. 
 
 Such is the story as it has come to us from the 
 writings of Schiller, but late historical investiga- 
 tions have shown that it is almost purely imagin- 
 ary, embracing, however, what might be termed 
 a crystallization of the spirit of independence as 
 exemplified in the Swiss struggle for liberty. 
 
 But the story of Tell is not confined alone to 
 Switzerland, for we find it also in the poetry and 
 romances of such widely separated and distinc- 
 tive countries as Persia and Denmark. About 
 1 1 75 the Persian poet Ferid ed-Din Attar, re- 
 corded the deeds of a king of his country, who, 
 among other exploits, shot an apple from the head 
 of his favorite son ; while in the " Danish Chroni- 
 cle " of Saxo Grammaticus, written about 11 70, 
 we learn of a hero named Toko who shot an apple 
 from the head of his son, by order of King Har- 
 old Bluetooth. The story has been even traced back 
 to the mythological legends of the Northmen, 
 where it is related that Eigil, a celebrated marks- 
 man, was compelled by king Nidung to shoot an 
 apple from the head of his son. In each of the 
 last two versions the incident of the concealed 
 arrow is mentioned just as it occurs in the story of 
 William Tell. 
 
 The Story of Arnold Winkelried, the Swiss Patriot. 
 
 Arnold Struth von Winkelried was a Swiss 
 peasant and patriot, whose heroism and devotion 
 to the cause of his country decided the battle of 
 Sempach, fought on the 9th of July, 1386. This 
 is a true story, and therefore all the more inter- 
 esting. Leopold, Duke of Austria, undertook to 
 further the interests of the house of Hapsburg by 
 seizing the cantons of Switzerland , but the Swiss, 
 being supported by the free cities of Suabia, made 
 a gallant fight for independence, whereupon Leo- 
 pold determined to enforce his pretensions by an 
 invasion of the country . In conformity with this 
 determination, in 1386 he placed himself at the 
 head of an army of four thousand well armed and 
 drilled knights and soldiers, and marched into 
 the Swiss cantons. The people of the latter 
 country were able to muster a small force of only 
 thirteen hundred men to meet this formidable 
 arm}', and even these were without experience in 
 war, being farmers, fishermen and herdsmen, and 
 armed with primitive pikes and battle-axes. The 
 two armies met in the pass of Sempach, and as 
 the advantages were all on the side of the Aus- 
 trians, it appeared inevitable but that victors- 
 should perch upon their banners. As the lines of 
 Leopold advanced to the shock of battle, they 
 presented a solid wall of steel-tipped spears, which 
 it seemed impossible for the Swiss to break or 
 disperse. They were in despair. Defeat and 
 slaughter stared them in the face. The glittering 
 spears of the advancing Austrians presented an 
 unbroken and apparently impregnable front. 
 
 But in this emergency an unknown hero ap- 
 peared in the person of Arnold of Winkelried. 
 "Comrades!" he shouted, "remember my wife 
 and children !" and then springing forward with 
 a wild cry of "Make way for liberty!" he 
 gathered within his outstretched arms as many 
 of the Austrian spears as he could reach, and 
 pressed them against his devoted bosom. 
 
 Into the small breach thus made the gallant 
 Swiss threw themselves with an energy born of 
 desperation, and hewing to the right and left 
 with their battle axes, they soon made an open 
 ing in the Austrian ranks wide enough to admit 
 all of their little army. Stimulated by the spirit 
 of their martyred comrade and the love of liberty, 
 they vigorously pressed their advantage until the 
 Austrians, terrified at the havoc in their ranks, 
 
(526) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 527 
 
 turned and fled, leaving Leopold and seven hun- 
 dred of his knights and soldiers dead on the 
 field. 
 
 It was a glorious victory, and decided the fate 
 of Switzerland, for never again were the brave 
 mountaineers reduced to such extreme peril. 
 
 CHARMED BY A RATTLESNAKE. 
 
 BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 
 
 mISS BESS MATTHEWS, a beautiful young 
 lady, goes into the woods to meet her 
 lover, and becomes the victim of a fearful adven- 
 ture : 
 
 ' ' He is not come, ' ' she murmured, half disap- 
 pointed, as the old grove of oaks with all its reli- 
 gious solemnity of shadow lay before her. She 
 took her seat at the foot of a tree, the growth of a 
 century, whose thick and knotted roots, started 
 from their sheltering earth, shot even above the 
 long grass around them, and ran in irregular 
 sweeps for a considerable distance upon the sur- 
 face. Here she sat not long, for her mind grew 
 impatient and confused with the various thoughts 
 crowding upon it — sweet thoughts it may be, for 
 she thought of him whom she loved — of him 
 almost only ; and of the long hours of happy 
 enjoyment which the future had in store. Then 
 came the fears, following fast upon the hopes, as 
 the shadows follow the sunlight. The doubts of 
 existence — the brevity and the fluctuations of 
 life ; these are the contemplations even of happy 
 love, and these beset and saddened her ; till, start- 
 ing up in that dreamy confusion which the scene 
 not less than the subject of her musings had in- 
 spired, she glided among the old trees scarce con- 
 scious of her movement. 
 
 ' ' He does not come — he does not come, ' ' she 
 murmured, as she stood contemplating the thick 
 copse spreading before her, and forming the bar- 
 rier which terminated the beautiful range of oaks 
 which constituted the grove. How beautiful was 
 the green and garniture of that little copse of 
 wood. The leaves were thick, and the grass 
 around lay folded over and over in bunches, with 
 here and there a wild flower, gleaming from its 
 green, and making cf it a beautiful carpet of the 
 richest and most various texture. A small tree 
 rose from the centre of a clump around which a 
 wild grape gadded luxuriantly ; and, with an 
 Incoherent sense of what she saw, she lingered 
 before the little cluster, seeming to survey that 
 
 which, though it seemed to fix her eye, yet failed 
 to fill her thought. Her mind wandered — her 
 soul was far away ; and the objects in her vision 
 were far other than those which occupied her 
 imagination. Things grew indistinct beneath her 
 eye. The eye rather slept than saw. The musing 
 spirit had given holiday to the ordinary senses, 
 and took no heed of the forms that rose, and 
 floated, or glided away, before them. In this 
 way, the leaf detached made no impression upon 
 the sight that was yet bent upon it ; she saw not 
 the bird, though it whirled, untroubled by a fear, 
 in wanton circles around her head — and the black 
 snake, with the rapidity of an arrow, darted over 
 her path without arousing a single terror in the 
 form that otherwise would have shivered at its 
 mere appearance. And yet, though thus indis- 
 tinct were all things around her to the musing eye 
 of the maiden, her eye was yet singularly fixed — 
 fastened as it were, to a single spot — gathered and 
 controlled by a single object, and glazed, appar- 
 ently, beneath a curious fascination. Before the 
 maiden rose a little clump of bushes — bright, tan- 
 gled leaves flaunting wide in glossiest green, with 
 vines trailing over them, thickly decked with blue 
 and crimson flowers. Her eye communed vacantly 
 with these ; fastened by a starlike shining glance 
 — a subtle ray, that shot out from the circle of 
 green leaves — seeming to be their very eye — and 
 sending out a lurid lustre that seemed to stream 
 across the space between, and find its way into 
 her own eyes. Very piercing and beautiful was 
 that subtle brightness, of the sweetest, strangest 
 power. And now the leaves quivered and seemed 
 to float away, only to return, and the vines waved 
 and swung around in fantastic mazes, unfolding 
 ever-changing varieties of form and color to her 
 gaze ; but the star-like eye was ever steadfast, 
 bright and gorgeous gleaming in their midst, and 
 still fastened, with strange fondness, upon her 
 own. How beautiful, with wondrous intensity, 
 did it gleam, and dilate, growing larger and more 
 lustrous with every ray which it sent forth. And 
 her own glance became intense, fixed also ; but 
 with a dreaming sense that conjured up the 
 wildest fancies, terribly beautiful, that took her 
 soul away from her, and wrapt it about as with a 
 spell. She would have fled, she would have cried 
 out ; but she had not power to move. The will 
 was wanting to her flight. She felt that she 
 could have bent forward to pluck the gem-like 
 
52$ 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 thing from the bosom of the leaf in which it 
 seemed to grow, and which it irradiated with its 
 bright white gleam ; but ever as she aimed to 
 stretch forth her hand, and bend forward, she 
 heard a rush of wings, and a shrill scream from 
 the tree above her — such a scream as the mocking 
 bird makes, when, angrily, it raises its dusky 
 crest, and flaps its wings furiously against its 
 slender sides. Such a scream seemed like a warn- 
 ing, and though yet uuawakened to full conscious- 
 ness, it startled her and forbade her effort. More 
 than once in her survey of this strange object, 
 had she heard that shrill note, and still had it car- 
 ried to her ear the same note of warning, and to 
 her mind the same vague consciousness of an evil 
 presence. But the star-like eye was yet upon her 
 own — a small, bright eye, quick like that of a bird, 
 now steady in its place, and observant seemingly 
 only of hers, now darting forward with all the 
 clustering leaves about it, and shooting up towards 
 her, as if wooing her to seize. At another mo- 
 ment, riveted to the vine which lay around it, it 
 would whirl round and round, dazzlingly bright 
 and beautiful, even as a torch, waving hurriedly 
 by night in the hands of some playful boy ; but, 
 in all this time, the glance was never taken from 
 her own — there it grew, fixed — a very principle 
 of light — and such a light — a subtle, burning, 
 piercing, fascinating gleam, such as gathers in 
 vapor above the old grave, and binds us as we 
 look — shooting, darting directly into her e3*e, 
 dazzling her gaze, defeating its sense of discrimi- 
 nation, and confusing strangely that of percep- 
 tion. 
 
 She felt dizzy, for as she looked, a cloud of 
 colors, bright, gay, various colors, floated and 
 hung like so much drapery around the single ob- 
 ject that had so secured her attention and spell- 
 bound her feet. Her limbs felt momentarily more 
 and more insecure — her blood grew cold, and she 
 seemed to feel the gradual freeze of vein through- 
 out her person. At that moment a rustling was 
 heard in the branches of the tree beside her, and 
 the bird, which had repeatedly uttered a single 
 cry above her, as it were of warning, flew away 
 from his station with a scream more piercing than 
 ever. This movement had the effect, for which 
 it really seemed intended, of -bringing back to her 
 a portion of the consciousness she seemed so 
 totally to have been deprived of before. She 
 strove to move from before the beautiful but terri- 
 
 ble presence, but for a while she strove in vain. 
 The rich star-like glance still riveted her own, and 
 the subtle fascination kept her bound. The men- 
 tal energies, however, with the moment of their 
 greatest trial, now gathered suddenly to her aid ; 
 and, with a desperate effort, but with a feeling 
 still of most annoying uncertainty and dread, she 
 succeeded partially in the attempt, and threw her 
 arms backwards, her hands grasping the neigh- 
 boring tree, feeble, tottering, and depending upon 
 it for that support which her limbs almost entirely 
 denied her. With her movement, however, came 
 the full development of the powerful spell and 
 dreadful mystery before her. As her feet re- 
 ceded, though but a single pace, to the tree 
 against which she now rested, the audibly articu- 
 lated ring, like that of a watch when wound up 
 with the verge broken, announced the nature of 
 that splendid yet dangerous presence, in the form 
 of the monstrous rattlesnake, now but a few feet 
 before her, lying coiled at the bottom of a beauti- 
 ful shrub, with which, to her dreaming eye, many 
 of its own glorious hues had become associated. 
 She was, at length, conscious enough to perceive 
 and to feel all her danger ; but terror had denied 
 her the strength necessary to fly from her dreadful 
 enemy. There still the eye glared beautifully 
 bright and piercing upon her own ; and, seemingly 
 in a spirit of sport, the insidious reptile slowly 
 unwound himself from his coil, but only to gather 
 himself up again into his muscular rings, his great 
 flat head rising in the midst, and slowly nodding, 
 as it were, towards her, the eye still peering deeply 
 into her own ; the rattle still slightly ringing at 
 intervals, and giving forth that paralyzing sound, 
 which, once heard, is remembered forever. The 
 reptile all this while appeared to be conscious of, 
 and to sport with, while seeking to excite her ter- 
 rors. Now, with his flat head, distended mouth, 
 and curving neck, would it dart forward its long 
 form towards her — its fatal teeth, unfolding on 
 either side of its upper jaws, seeming to threaten 
 her with instantaneous death, whilst its powerful 
 eye shot forth glances of that fatal power of fascin- 
 ation, malignantly bright, which, by paralyzing, 
 with a novel form of terror and of beauty, may 
 readil}' account for the spell it possesses of bind- 
 ing the feet of the timid, and denying to fear even 
 the privilege of flight. Could she have fled ! 
 She felt the necessity ; but the power of her limbs 
 was gone ! and there still it lay, coiling and an- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 529 
 
 coiling, its arching neck glittering like a ring of 
 brazed copper, bright and lurid ; and the dreadful 
 beauty of its eye still fastened, eagerly contem- 
 plating the victim, while the pendulous rattle still 
 rang the death note, as if to prepare the conscious 
 mind for the fate which is momently approaching 
 to the blow. Meanwhile the stillness became 
 death-like with all surrounding objects. The 
 bird had gone with its scream and rush. The 
 breeze was silent. The vines ceased to wave. 
 The leaves faintly quivered on their stems. The 
 serpent once more lay still ; but the eye was never 
 once turned away from the victim. Its corded 
 muscles are all in coil. They have but to unclasp 
 suddenly, and the dreadful folds will be upon her, 
 its full length, and the fatal teeth will strike, and 
 the deadly venom which they secrete will mingle 
 with the life-blood in her veins. 
 
 The terrified damsel, her full consciousness 
 restored, but not her strength, feels all the danger. 
 She sees that the sport of the terrible reptile is at 
 an end. She cannot now mistake the horrid ex- 
 pression of its eye. She strives to scream, but 
 the voice dies away, a feeble gurgling in her 
 throat. Her tongue is paralyzed ; her lips are 
 sealed — once more she strives for flight, but her 
 limbs refuse their office. She has nothing left of 
 life but its fearful consciousness. It is in her 
 despair, that, a last effort, she succeeds to scream, 
 a single wild cry, forced from her by the accumu- 
 lated agony ; she sinks down upon the grass 
 before her enemy — her eyes, however, still open, 
 and still looking upon those which he directs for 
 ever upon them. She sees him approach — now 
 advancing, now receding — now swelling in every 
 part with something of anger, while his neck is 
 arched beautifully like that of a wild horse under 
 the curb ; until at length, tired as it were of play, 
 like the cat with its victim, she sees the neck 
 growing larger and becoming completely bronzed 
 as about to strike — the huge jaws unclosing almost 
 directly above her, the long tubulated fang charged 
 with venom, protruding from the cavernous mouth 
 — and she sees no more. Insensibility came to 
 her aid, and she lay almost lifeless under the very 
 folds of the monster. 
 
 In that moment the copse parted, and an arrow, 
 piercing the monster through and through the 
 neck, bore his head forward to the ground, along- 
 side the maiden, while his spiral extremities, now 
 unfolding in his own agony, were actually, in 
 34 
 
 part, writhing upon her person. The arrow came 
 from the fugitive Occonestoga, who had fortu- 
 nately reached the spot in season, on his way to 
 the Block House. He rushed from the copse as 
 the snake fell, and, with a stick, fearlessly ap- 
 proached him where he lay tossing in agony upon 
 the grass. Seeing him advance, the courageous 
 reptile made an effort to regain his coil, shaking 
 the fearful rattle violently at every evolution 
 which he took for that purpose ; but the arrow, 
 completely passing through his neck, opposed an 
 unyielding obstacle to the endeavor ; and finding 
 it hopeless, and seeing the new enemy about to 
 assault him, with something of the spirit of the 
 white man under like circumstances, he turned 
 desperately round, and striking his charged fangs, 
 so that they were riveted in the wound they made, 
 into a susceptible part of his own body, he threw 
 himself over with a single convulsion, and, a 
 moment after, lay dead beside the utterly uncon- 
 scious maiden. 
 
 A KITCHEN FIRE-SIDE IN THE OLD 
 DOMINION. 
 
 BY WILLIAM A. CARRUTHERS. 
 
 IMAGINE to yourself, reader, a fire-place large 
 enough to roast an ox whole, and within 
 which a common wagon load of wood might be 
 absorbed in such a speedy manner as to horrify 
 one of our city economical housewives — though 
 now it was late in summer, and of course no such 
 pile of combustibles enlivened the scene — besides, 
 it was night, and the culinary operations of the 
 day were over. A few blazing fagots of rich pine, 
 however, still threw a lurid glare over the murky 
 atmosphere, and here and there sat the several 
 domestics of the establishment ; some nodding 
 until they almost tumbled into the fire, but 
 speedily regaining the perpendicular without ever 
 opening their eyes, or giving any evidence of dis- 
 composure, except a loud snort, perhaps, and then 
 dozing away again as comfortably as ever. Others 
 were conversing without exhibiting any symptoms 
 of weariness or drowsiness. 
 
 In one corner of the fire-place sat old Sylvia, a 
 Moor, who had accompanied the father of the 
 governor (a British naval officer) all the way from 
 Africa, the birth-place of his excellency. She 
 had straight hair, which was now white as the 
 driven snow, and hung in long matted locks about 
 her shoulders, not unlike a bunch of candles. 
 
530 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 She was hy the negroes called outlandish, and 
 talked a sort of jargon entirely different from the 
 hroken lingo of that race. She was a general 
 scape-goat for the whole plantation, and held in 
 •especial dread by the Ethiopian tribe. She was 
 not asleep, nor dozing, but sat rocking her body 
 back and forth, without moving the stool, and 
 humming a most mournful and monotonous ditty, 
 all the while throwing her large stealth}' eyes 
 around the room. In the opposite corner sat a 
 regular hanger-on of the establishment, and one 
 of those who kept a greedy eye always directed 
 towards the fleshpots, whenever he kept them 
 open at all. His name was June, and he wore an 
 old cast-off coat of the governor's, the waist- 
 buttons of which just touched his hips, while the 
 skirts hung down to the ground in straight lines, 
 or rather in the rear of the perpendicular, as if 
 afraid of the constant kicking which his heels 
 kept up against them when walking. His legs 
 were bandied, and set so much in the middle of 
 the feet as to render it rather a difficult matter to 
 tell which end went foremost. His face was of 
 the true African stamp : large mouth, flat nose, 
 and a brow overhung with long, plaited queues, 
 like so many whip-cords cut off short and even all 
 round, and now quite grey. The expression of 
 his countenance was full of mirthfulness and 
 good humor, mixed with just enough of shrewd- 
 ness to redeem it from utter vacuity. There was 
 a slight degree of cunning twinkled from his 
 small terrapin-looking eye, but wholly swallowed 
 up by his large mouth, kept constantly on the 
 stretch. He had the run of the kitchen ; and, 
 for these perquisites was expected and required to 
 perform no other labor than running and riding 
 errands to and from the capital ; and it is because 
 he will sometimes be thus employed that we have 
 been so particular in describing him, and because 
 he was the banjo player to all the small fry at 
 Temple Farm. He had his instrument across his 
 lap on the evening in question, his hands in the 
 very attitude of playing, his eyes closed, and 
 everj- now and then, as he rose up from a pro- 
 found inclination to old Somnus, twang, twang, 
 went the strings, accompanied by some negro 
 doggerel just lazily let slip through his lips in half 
 utterance, such as the following : 
 
 Massa is a wealthy man, and all de nebors knows it ; 
 Keeps good liquors in his house, and always says — here 
 goes it. 
 
 The last words were lost in another declination 
 of the head, until catgut and voice became merged 
 in a grunt or snort, when he would start up, 
 perhaps, strain his eyes wide open, and go on 
 again : 
 
 Sister Sally's mighty sick, oh what de debil ails her, 
 She used to eat good beef and beans, but now her stomach 
 fails her. 
 
 The last words spun out again into a drawl to 
 accompany a monotonous symphony, until all 
 were lost together, by his head being brought in 
 wonderful propinquity to his heels in the ashes. 
 
 While old June thus kept up a running accom- 
 paniment to Sylvia's Moorish monotony, on the 
 opposite side of the fire, the front of the circle was 
 occupied by more important characters. 
 
 Old Essex, the major-domo of the establishment, 
 sat there in all the panoply of state. He was a 
 tall, dignified old negro, with his hair queued up 
 behind and powdered all over, and not a little of 
 it sprinkled upon the red collar of his otherwise 
 scrupulously clean livery. He wore small-clothes 
 and knee-buckles, and was altogether a fine speci- 
 men of the gentlemanly old family servant. He 
 felt himself just as much a part and parcel of the 
 governor's family as if he had been related to it 
 by blood. The manners of Essex were very far 
 above his mental culture ; this no one could per- 
 ceive by a slight and superficial observation, be- 
 cause he had acquired a most admirable tact (like 
 some of his betters) by which he never travelled 
 beyond his depth ; added to this, whatever he did 
 say was in the most appropriate manner, narrowly 
 discerning nice shades of character, and suiting 
 his replies to every one who addressed him. For 
 instance, were a gentleman to alight at the hall 
 door and meet old Essex, he would instantly re- 
 ceive the attentions due to a gentleman ; whereas, 
 were a gentlemanly dressed man to come, who 
 feared that his whole importance might not be 
 impressed upon this important functionary', Essex 
 would instantly elevate his dignity in exact pro- 
 portion to the fussiness of his visitor. Alas ! the 
 days of Essex's class are fast fading away. 
 
 On the present occasion, though presumed to 
 be not upon his dignity, the old major sat with 
 folded arms and a benignant but yet contemptu- 
 ous smile playing upon his features, illuminated 
 as they were by the lurid fire-light, while Martin 
 the carpenter told one of the most marvellous and 
 wonder-stirring stories of the headless corpse ever 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 531 
 
 heard within these walls, teeming, as they were, 
 with the marvellous. Essex had often heard 
 stories first told over the gentlemen's wine, and 
 then the kitchen version, and of course knew 
 how to estimate them exactly : now that before- 
 mentioned incredulous smile began to spread 
 until he was forced to laugh outright, as Martin 
 capped the climax of his tale of horror, by some 
 supernatural appearance of blue flames over the 
 grave. Not so the other domestics, male and fe- 
 male, clustering around his chair ; they were 
 "worked up to the highest pitch of the marvellous. 
 Even old June ceased to twang his banjo, and at 
 length got his eyes wide open as the carpenter 
 came to the sage conclusion, that the place would 
 be haunted. 
 
 On this occasion the story-teller had worked 
 his audience up to such a pitch of terror, that not 
 one individual dared to stir for his life, every one 
 seeming to apprehend an instant apparition. The 
 effect on their terrified imaginations was not a 
 little heightened by the storm raging without. 
 The distant thunder had been some time reverber- 
 ating from the shores of the bay, mingling with 
 the angry roar of the waves as they splashed and 
 foamed against the beach, breaking and then re- 
 treating for a fresh onset. 
 
 COTTON MATHER AND THE "POSSESSED" 
 MAIDEN. 
 
 THE most celebrated person of his age in 
 America was Cotton Mather. He w r as once 
 revered as a saint, and he is still regarded as a man 
 of great natural abilities, and profound and uni- 
 versal learning. It is true that he had much 
 scholarship ; he could read mam- languages, and 
 his memory was so retentive that he rarely forgot 
 the most trivial circumstance ; but he had too 
 little genius to comprehend great truths, and his 
 attainments were for the most part rather curious 
 than valuable. In all his long life he was a 
 model of industry ; and, besides his three hun- 
 dred and eighty-two printed works, he left many 
 manuscripts, of which the largest is called "Illus- 
 trations of the Sacred Scriptures," on which he 
 labored daily for more than thirty years. It is a 
 mere compilation of facts and opinions, from mul- 
 titudinous sources, and embraces nothing that 
 would be valuable to the modern scholar. His 
 minor works are nearly all forgotten, even by the 
 antiquaries. The "Magnalia Christi Americana " 
 
 is preserved rather as a curiosity than as an au- 
 thority ; for recent investigations have shown that 
 his statements are not to be relied on where he 
 had any interest in misrepresenting facts or charac- 
 ters. His style abounds, more than that of any 
 of his contemporaries, with puerilities, puns, and 
 grotesque conceits. But it is questionable whether 
 his intellectual was not better than his moral 
 character ; for though of all men he was the most 
 observant of forms, and ' ' deemed himself starved 
 unless he fasted once a mouth," and "found as- 
 tonishing entertainment" in "spending three 
 days together, without food, in knocking at the 
 door of heaven," he was still without humility 
 or charity — ambitious, intriguing and unscrupu- 
 lous. He believed in witchcraft, a circumstance 
 for which he is not perhaps to be blamed, since 
 no amount of learning or integrity could exempt 
 one from credulity ; but after fanning into a flame 
 the terrible superstition on this subject, when the 
 frenzy was over he hypocritically endeavored to 
 persuade the people that instead of encouraging 
 the proceedings, his influence and exertions had 
 been on the side of caution and forbearance. Fail- 
 ing of this, he attempted to justify his conduct by 
 inventing various personal histories, to show that 
 there had been good cause for the atrocious perse- 
 cutions. The devil certainly had much more 
 power over Mather and the civil judges than 
 over an3 T of the unhappy convicts, the bodies of 
 some of whom were treated even after death 
 with a brutality that might have appalled the 
 "savages" who were spectators of these "civil- 
 ized" tragedies. Mather at one time kept 
 one of the supposed witches in his house, to 
 observe closely her actions. She was a young 
 girl, who in sport or wantonness attempted to 
 practise upon his credulity. "The manner in 
 which she played with his religious prejudices 
 shows considerable art. A Quaker's book which 
 was then one of the greatest of abominations, was 
 brought to her, and she read w r hole pages in it, 
 with the exception of the names of the Deity and 
 the Saviour, which she was not able to speak. 
 Such books as she might have read with profit, 
 she was not permitted to open ; or, if she was 
 urged to read in her Bible or Catechism, she was 
 immediately taken with contortions. On the con- 
 trary, she could read in a jest-book without the 
 least difficulty, and actually seemed to enjoy it. 
 Popish books she was permitted to read at plea- 
 
532 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 sure, but a work against the Catholics, she might 
 not touch." One gleam of suspicion seemed to 
 shoot over his mind on one occasion ; for he says, 
 " I, considering there might be a snare in it, put 
 a stop to this fanciful business. Only I could not 
 but be amazed at one thing ; a certain prayer- 
 book, [the Episcopal doubtless,] being brought 
 her, she not only could read it very well, but also 
 did read a large part of it over, calling it her 
 Bible, and putting more than ordinary respect 
 upon it. If she were going into her tortures, at 
 the tender of this book, she would recover herself 
 to read it. Only when she came to the Lord's 
 prayer, now and then occurring in that book, she 
 would have her eyes put out ; so that she must 
 turn over a new leaf, and then she could read 
 again. Whereas also there are scriptures in that 
 book, she could read them there ; but if any 
 showed her the same scriptures in the Bible itself, 
 she should sooner die than read them. And she 
 was likewise made unable to read the Psalms in 
 an ancient metre, which this prayer-book had in 
 the same volume with it." It was not very sur- 
 prising, that she should after a time lose her ven- 
 eration for him. Accordingly he remarks, that, 
 though her carriage had been dutiful, "it was 
 afterwards with a sauciness, which I was not used 
 to be treated withal." She would knock at his 
 study door, telling him that some one below 
 would be glad to see him ; when he had taken 
 the trouble to go down, and scolded her for the 
 falsehood, she would say, " Mrs. Mather is always 
 glad to see you." "She would call out to him 
 with numberless impertinencies." Having deter- 
 mined to give a public account of her case, in a 
 sermon to his congregation, she was troubled at 
 it, thinking it not unlikely that sharper eyes than 
 his might be turned upon her. She made main- 
 attempts to prevent it, by threatening him with 
 the vengeance of the spirits, till he was almost 
 out of patience, and exorcized them in Latin, 
 Greek, and Hebrew. All these were perfectly in- 
 telligible to them; but "the Indian language 
 they did not seem so well to understand." One 
 part of the system of this artful young creature 
 was to persuade him, that he was under the 
 special protection of Heaven, so that spells could 
 have no power over him. When he went to 
 prayer, ' ' the demone would throw her on the 
 floor, where she would whistle, and sing, and 
 yell, to drown the voice of prayer ; and she would 
 
 fetch blows with her fist and kicks with her foot 
 at the man that prayed. But still her fist and 
 foot would recoil, when within an inch or two of 
 him, as if rebounding against a wall." This 
 powerful appeal to his vanity was not lost upon 
 him. It made him more solicitous than ever to 
 patronize the delusion. 
 
 ELIOT'S INDIAN BIBLE. 
 
 IN 1663 John Eliot, the learned missionary, 
 completed the translation of the Bible into 
 the Indian dialect, and it was published the same 
 year, with this title : 
 
 "Mamusse Wunneetupanatamwe L T p-Biblum God 
 naneeswe Kukkoue-Testament kah wonk Wuxu Testa- 
 ment. Nequoshinnumuk nashpe Wuttinneumak Christ 
 noli asoowesit John Eliot. Naliohteou ontehetoe Prin- 
 tewoonmk. Cambridge : rrinteuoop naslipe Samuel 
 Green." 
 
 Several editions of this Bible were printed, but 
 it is believed that at this time there are no com- 
 plete copies in existence. As a specimen of the 
 translation, a copy of the Lord's prayer will be 
 interesting : 
 
 THE eord's prayer, Matt. vi. 9, &e. 
 
 Nooshun kesukqut, qut- Our Father which art in 
 tianatamimach koowesu- heaven, hallowed be Thy 
 onk. Peyaumooutch kuk- name. Thy kingdom come, 
 ketassootamoonk, kukke- Thy will be done in earth 
 nantoomoonk ne 11 nach as it is in heaven. Give 
 ohkeit neane kesukqut. us this day our daily bread. 
 Nummeetsuongash aseke- And forgive us our debts, 
 sukokish assamaiineau ye- as we forgive our debtors, 
 dyeu kesukod. Kah ah- And lead us not into tempt- 
 quontamaiinneau humma- atiou, but deliver us from 
 tcheongash, neane matche- evil : For thine is the king- 
 uehukqueagig nutahquon- dom, the power, and the 
 tammounonog. A h q u e glory for ever. Amen, 
 sagkompagunaiinnean en 
 qutchhuaoonganit, w e b e 
 pohquohwussinean wutch 
 matchitut. Newutche ku- 
 tahtaun ketassootamonk, 
 kah nienuhkesuonk, kah 
 sohsumoonk micheme. A- 
 mcn. 
 
 GOETHE'S ARREST AS A SORCERER. 
 
 COWARDS the close of the last century, a 
 traveller, modest in his appearance and in 
 his baggage, alighted at the principal tavern of 
 Wurtzburg, a small city of Germany, where his 
 person soon had the privilege of exciting the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 533 
 
 curiosity of all the inhabitants of the place. It 
 is true that the stranger owed to the mystery of 
 his conduct this remarkable excitement. 
 
 At first there might be discovered, notwith- 
 standing the simplicity of his dress, something 
 that betrayed the man of distinction. Although 
 not a youth, he wore his hair long, like the stu- 
 dents of the university, and his pale and melan- 
 choly visage wore even while he smiled a sombre 
 cast. The next day after his arrival, instead of 
 asking his hostess, as all other travellers did, 
 either the address of some citizen, to present to 
 him his letters, or where the curiosities and anti- 
 quities of the city might be seen, he had gone 
 out without saying a word. He had been walk- 
 ing all day, as his dusty clothes testified, and did 
 not return until supper time. The day following 
 he did the same thing. A shepherd boy said that 
 he saw him walking rapidly along the banks of 
 the Rhine, then stopping suddenly and gesticulat- 
 ing, and throwing his arms about like one pos- 
 sessed ; and the young girls passed close to him 
 without his paying an}- attention to them. 
 
 All these things, it must be confessed, were even 
 more than enough to awaken conjectures as to 
 the stranger. All that the hostess could say of 
 him was, that he was a very sober, quiet man, 
 always satisfied with what was set before him. 
 Curiosity, however, continued to increase. It was 
 remarked that the unknown man went immedi- 
 ately to his chamber after supper, but did not go 
 to bed ; and some of the family, who happened to 
 be awake in the middle of the night, saw a light 
 in his chamber. One of the 3-oungest servants 
 came running down stairs one evening, terribly 
 frightened, and rushed into the hall, where were 
 her mistress and two or three neighbors. She 
 solemnly protested that the stranger was talking 
 earnestly with some one in his chamber — "al- 
 though no one but he had entered — by the door 
 at least," added she. This made the auditors 
 tremble. The little hussy was scolded soundly 
 by her mistress for having listened at the lodger's 
 door, and the next evening the good lady herself 
 was at the same place where the servant had been, 
 with her ear applied to the key-hole, where she 
 heard — what she heard we know not. The truth 
 is, she came down stairs with her spirit more 
 troubled than had been observed in her since the 
 death of her husband. She threw on her cloak, 
 and hastened to the burgomaster's. 
 
 The following morning, when the stranger was 
 going out, the landlady placed herself before him, 
 made the sign of the cross upon her, and said, 
 " Do you understand me?" 
 
 The stranger did not seem to hear her, and 
 passed on, saluting her. 
 
 "Ah, it is a hardened sinner," cried she ; "and 
 yet the monster ! with such a figure — who would 
 have suspected him ?" 
 
 In the evening, the traveller entered his cham- 
 ber tranquilly. At each side of the door were 
 two policemen, some of the hardy citizens of 
 Wurtzburg, and on the stairs, in the hall, and in 
 the street were all the women in the city remark- 
 able for their curiosity. The number was very 
 great. 
 
 The voice of the stranger rose and fell at inter- 
 vals, as if he were discoursing with some one. 
 Those who were near the door heard the follow- 
 ing strange invocation : ' ' Thou misformed off- 
 spring of our uncreated power — thou whom I 
 have so long sought — thou shalt escape me no 
 longer: answer me. Come, my black barbet, 
 change thy costume. How thy black hair rises 
 on end, thy body swells, and thy red eyes spar- 
 kle ! Now, now thou understandest me — ■ dost 
 increase ? increase again — stop, thou already 
 reachest the ceiling — now one more effort, infernal 
 power ; if thou indeed hast submitted thyself to 
 me, show thyself, demon, and speak to thy mas- 
 ter." 
 
 At that call, a sharp, shrill voice, that seemed 
 to come up out of the lower regions, answered, 
 with an ironical humility, — 
 
 ' ' Master, what dost thou desire of thy ser- 
 vant?" 
 
 At once all the women who heard the awful 
 voice fled with screams of terror. The men burst 
 open the door, although not fastened, and seized 
 the traveller, whom they found seated in an arm- 
 chair, at a little distance from the table. As to 
 the demon, he had disappeared ; but a distinct 
 and strong sulphurous smell remained, as many 
 witnesses testified. 
 
 The stranger was dragged before a magistrate, 
 and charged with using magic and sorcery, and 
 of holding commerce with the devil. The fol- 
 lowing was his only response : — 
 
 " I had begun a tragedy, but as my friends dis- 
 turbed me continually in Weimer, where I live, I 
 came to write here. The hero of my tragedy is 
 
534 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 a man who invokes the devil, and to whom the 
 devil appears. I confess that I have an unfortu- 
 nate habit, for which I ask pardon of the citizens 
 of Wurtzburg, of reading aloud what I compose, 
 as fast as I write it. As to my invoking, person- 
 ally, the devil, I am too good a Christian to do 
 
 English school of engraving, which brought the 
 art to its present perfection in that country. 
 When this affecting picture was exhibited at the 
 Royal Academy, Mr. Garrick went one morning 
 early, that he might review the exhibition unin- 
 terrupted by the crowd, which constantly at- 
 
 DBATH OK WOLFE — 
 
 that, and you, Mr. Burgomaster, too enlightened 
 to believe it. ' ' 
 
 The sorcerer was named Goethe, the author of 
 "Werther, " and of " Goetz von Berlichingen," 
 and was then becoming the author of " Faust." 
 
 GARRICK AND THE DEATH OF WOLFE. 
 
 mR. WEST'S justly admired picture, the 
 Death of General Wolfe, at once raised 
 the painter to a summit of reputation unattained 
 before, and, by affording an ample subject for the 
 talents of Woollet, laid that foundation of an 
 
 (By Benjamin West.) 
 
 tended at the fashionable hours. A considerable 
 party was in the room, drawn there, at that hour, 
 by the same motive. Of this number was a 
 young lady, whose personal beauty appeared not 
 to be her only accomplishment. The remarks 
 she made on many of the pictures showed a deli- 
 cate taste, and considerable knowledge of the 
 arts. They were attended to with pleasure by 
 her friends ; and Mr. Garrick, then unknown to 
 most of the company, paid some handsome com- 
 pliments to her judgment. The Death of Wolfe 
 drew the highest encomiums from every spec- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 535 
 
 tator. The young lady was particular in her 
 commendation, but thought the expression not 
 absolutely perfect ; there was a something want- 
 ing in the General's countenance, which she could 
 not easily describe ; there was in that countenance 
 a languor too happily portrayed. The company 
 were dissatisfied with this opinion, and her friends 
 appeared concerned on her account. Garrick, 
 who had listened attentively and viewed the pic- 
 
 that transient rapture which history records the 
 dying hero to have felt at the joyful w T ords, 
 ' ' They run !" " Who run ?" " The French !' ' 
 He maintained the representation a sufficient 
 length of time for every one present to compare, 
 and feel, the astonishing effect of his inimitable 
 performance. A burst of applause followed, 
 which, he politely declared was justly due to the 
 discernment of the lady, who had suggested, per- 
 
 CROMWELL DISMISSING THE PARLIAMENT. 
 
 ture with acute penetration, begged leave to offer 
 something in support of the lady's opinion, which 
 he hoped to convince the company was not alto- 
 gether erroneous. The lady, he observed, had 
 remarked that there was something wanting in 
 the General's countenance : of that something he 
 would endeavor to supply an idea. He immedi- 
 ately placed himself in the attitude so judiciously 
 chosen by the painter, supported by two gentle- 
 men of the company ; and displayed, in his own 
 face, the exact countenance depicted by the artist. 
 He then assumed a most animated expression of 
 
 haps, the only improvement of which that mas- 
 terly work was susceptible. 
 
 CROMWELL AND THE LADY. 
 
 rj ROM WELL was one day engaged in a warm 
 \^l argument with a lady on the subject of ora- 
 tory, in which she maintained that eloquence 
 could only be acquired by those who made it 
 their study in earl)' youth, and their practice af- 
 terwards. The lord protector, on the contrary, 
 maintained that there was an eloquence which 
 sprang from the heart ; since, when that was 
 
536 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 deeply interested in the attainment of airy object, 
 it never failed to supply a fluency and richness of 
 expression, which would, in comparison, render 
 vapid the studied speeches of the most celebrated 
 orators. It happened, some days after, that this 
 lad}- was thrown into a state bordering on dis- 
 traction, by the arrest and imprisonment of her 
 husband, who was conducted to the Tower as a 
 traitor to the government. The agonized wife flew 
 to the lord protector, rushed through his guards, 
 threw herself at his feet, and, with the most 
 pathetic eloquence, pleaded for the life and inno- 
 cence of her injured husband. His highness 
 maintained a severe brow, till the petitioner, 
 overpowered by the excess of her feelings, and 
 the energy with which she had expressed them, 
 paused ; then his stern countenance relaxed into 
 a smile, and, extending to her an order for the 
 immediate liberation of her husband, he said, " I 
 think all who have witnessed this scene will vote 
 on my side of the question, in a dispute between 
 us the other day, that the eloquence of the 
 heart is far above that mechanically acquired by 
 study." 
 
 When the occasion demanded it, Cromwell 
 himself possessed that nervous eloquence of word 
 and action which is so effective in swaying the 
 minds of men. "You are no longer a parlia- 
 ment!" he cried, on dismissing the famous 
 ' ' rump. " " The Lord is done with }'ou. He has 
 chosen other instruments for earning on his 
 ■work." His words and manner had as much to 
 do with subduing the spirit of the members and 
 driving them from the hall as the presence of the 
 soldiers. 
 
 PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF PETER THE 
 HERMIT. 
 
 THE appearance of Peter was mean, his stature 
 small, his body meagre, and his countenance 
 shrivelled ; but, with these disadvantages, he had 
 a keen and lively eye, and a ready eloquence. 
 Being encouraged by Pope Urban II., he travelled 
 as a missionary through the provinces of Italy 
 and France. He rode on an ass ; his- head and 
 feet were naked, and he bore a weighty crucifix. 
 He prayed frequently, fed on bread and water, 
 gave away in alms all that he received, and, by 
 his saintly demeanor and fervid address, drew in- 
 numerable crowds of all ranks to listen to his 
 preaching. When he painted the indignities 
 
 offered to the true believers at the birthplace and 
 sepulchre of the Saviour, every heart was melted 
 to compassion, and animated to revenge. His 
 success was such as might be expected from the 
 rude enthusiasm and martial spirit of the age ; 
 and Peter soon collected an army of sixty thousand 
 followers, with which he proceed towards Jeru- 
 salem. 
 
 CARACTACUS, THE BRITISH PATRIOT. 
 
 T^ IS army being defeated, Caractacus fled to Car- 
 Lj tesmandua, Queen of the Brigantes, who, jeal- 
 ous of the glory he had acquired, treacherously de- 
 livered the unfortunate monarch into the hands 
 of the Romans. Claudius, being desirous of be- 
 holding a prince of whom such extraordinary ex- 
 ploits had been rumored, ordered him to be con- 
 ducted into his presence, when, according to 
 Tacitus, he delivered the following memorable 
 oration : — 
 
 "If, in my prosperity, the moderation of my 
 conduct had been equal to my birth and fortune, 
 I should have entered this city rather as a friend 
 than a prisoner ; nor would you, Caesar, have dis- 
 dained the alliance of a prince descended from il- 
 lustrious ancestors, and ruler over man}' nations. 
 My present fate is to me dishonorable ; to you 
 magnificently glorious. I once had horses, I 
 once had men, I once had arms, I once had 
 riches ; can you wonder that I should part from 
 them reluctantly ? Though you, as Romans, may 
 aim at universal empire, it does not follow that 
 all mankind must tamely submit to be your vas- 
 sals. If I had yielded without resistance, neither 
 the perverseness of my fortune, nor the glory of ' 
 your triumph, would have been famous. Punish 
 me with death, and I shall soon be forgotten ; 
 suffer me to live, and I shall remain a perpetual 
 monument of your clemency." 
 
 This magnanimous but heart-rending speech 
 affected the whole assembly, and Claudius him- 
 self shed tears. The emperor immediately or- 
 dered the chains of Caractacus and his family to 
 be taken off, and they were restored to the posses- 
 sion of perfect liberty. Caractacus in viewing the 
 city of Rome, and captivated with the splendor of 
 that imperial city, exclaimed, " How astonishing 
 that the Romans, who have such magnificent palaces 
 of their own, should envy the wretched huts and 
 cabins of the Britons ! " 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 537 
 
 day's after they were put on their trial as "dis- 
 turbers of the peace. ' ' 
 
 Some of the scenes of this famous trial were 
 graphically described, by a gentleman who was 
 present, in the following language : 
 
 PATRICK HENRY'S DEFENCE OF THE BAP- 
 TIST PREACHERS. 
 
 IN the Colonial days of Virginia, before Patrick 
 Henry had become famous, the Baptists were 
 the most numerous class of dissenters, and the first 
 to resist the es- 
 tablished hie- 
 rarchy. Their 
 ministers were 
 generally poor 
 men, warm- 
 hearted and af- 
 fectionate, and 
 spent much time 
 in gratuitous ser- 
 vices in promo- 
 ting the spiritual 
 welfare of their 
 fellow-men. It 
 is not certain 
 that there was 
 ever a law in the 
 colony author- 
 izing the impris- 
 onment of any 
 person for preach- 
 ing the gospel, 
 but the law for 
 preserving peace 
 and order, and 
 to ' ' preserve the 
 purity of doc- 
 trine and unity 
 of the church," 
 was so construed, 
 and whenever 
 preachers were 
 apprehended and 
 imprisoned, it 
 was done by vir- 
 tue of a peace 
 warrant. 
 
 The first con- 
 viction and act- 
 ual imprison- 
 ment under this 
 
 construction o f caractacus before cesar. 
 
 law was in Spotsylvania count}-, on the 4th of The clerk was reading the indictment in a slow 
 June, 1768, when John Waller, Lewis Craig, and formal manner, and as he pronounced the 
 James Childs, and others were dragged before crime with emphasis, "for preaching the gospel 
 the magistrates, and bound over for trial. Three of the Son of God," a plain-dressed man, who 
 
538 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 had just ridden up to the court-house, entered and 
 took his seat within the bar. He was known to 
 the court and lawyers, but a stranger to the mass 
 of spectators who had gathered on the occasion. 
 This was Patrick Henry, who, on hearing of this 
 prosecution, had ridden some fifty or sixty miles 
 from his residence in Hanover county, to volun- 
 teer his services in their defence. He listened to 
 
 A TRIAL FOR HERESY IN AN ENGLISH COURT DUR 
 
 CENTURY. 
 
 the further reading of the indictment w 7 ith marked 
 attention, the first sentence of which, that had 
 caught his ear, was, " for preaching the gospel of 
 the Son of God." When it was finished, and the 
 prosecuting attorney had submitted a few remarks, 
 Henry arose, reached out his hand, and received 
 the paper, and addressed the court : 
 
 May it please your worships : I think I heard 
 read by the prosecutor, as I entered this house, 
 
 the paper I now hold in 1113' hand. If I have 
 rightly understood, the king's attorney of this 
 colony has framed an indictment for the purpose 
 of arraigning and punishing by imprisonment the 
 three inoffensive persons before the bar of this 
 court, for a crime of great magnitude — as dis- 
 turbers of the peace. May it please the court, 
 what did I hear read ? Did I hear it distinctly, 
 or was it a mistake of my 
 own ? Did I hear an expres- 
 sion, as if a crime that these 
 men, whom your worships 
 are about to try for a misde- 
 meanor, are charged with — 
 what?" and continuing in a 
 low, solemn, heavy tone, 
 " for preaching the gospel of 
 the Son of God." Pausing 
 amidst the most profound si- 
 lence and breathless aston- 
 ishment, he slowly waved the 
 paper three times around his 
 head, when, lifting his hands 
 and eyes to heaven, with pe- 
 culiar and impressive energy, 
 he exclaimed, " Great God !" 
 The exclamation, the action, 
 the burst of feeling from the 
 audience, were all overpower- 
 ing. Mr. Henry resumed : 
 
 ' ' May it please your wor- 
 ships : In a day like this, 
 when truth is about to burst 
 her fetters ; when mankind 
 are about to be aroused to 
 claim their natural and in- 
 alienable rights ; when the 
 yoke of oppression that has 
 reached the wilderness of 
 America, and the unnatural 
 ng the eighteenth alliance of ecclesiastical and 
 civil power, are about to be 
 dissevered, — at such a period, when liberty — lib- 
 erty of conscience — is about to awake from her 
 slumberings, and inquire into the reason of such 
 charges as I find exhibited here to-day in this in- 
 dictment ! ' ' Another fearful pause, while the 
 speaker alternately cast his sharp, piercing eyes 
 on the court and the prisoners, and resumed : "If 
 I am not deceived, according to the contents of 
 the paper I now hold in my hand, these men are 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 539 
 
 accused of ' preaching the gospel of the Son of 
 God.' — Great God ! " Another long pause, while 
 he again waved the indictment around his head, 
 and a deeper impression was made on the audi- 
 tory. Resuming his speech : ' ' May it please 
 your worships, there are periods in the history of 
 man, when corruption and depravity have so long 
 debased the human character, that man sinks 
 under the weight of the oppressor's hand, and 
 becomes his servile, his abject slave ; he licks the 
 hand that smites him ; he bows in passive obe- 
 dience to the mandates of the despot, and in this 
 state of servility he receives his fetters of per- 
 petual bondage. But, may it please your wor- 
 ships, such a day has passed away ! From that 
 period, when our fathers left the land of their 
 nativity for settlement in these American wilds — 
 for liberty — for civil and religious liberty — for 
 liberty of conscience — to worship his Creator ac- 
 cording to his conception of Heaven's revealed 
 will ; from the moment he placed his foot on the 
 American continent, and in the deeply-imbedded 
 forests sought an asylum from persecution and 
 tyranny — from that moment despotism was 
 crushed ; her fetters of darkness were broken, 
 and Heaven decreed that man should be free — 
 free to worship God according to the Bible. Were 
 it not for this, in vain have been the efforts and 
 sacrifices of the colonists ; in vain were all their 
 sufferings and bloodshed to subjugate this new 
 world, if we, their offspring, must still be op- 
 pressed and persecuted. But, may it please your 
 worships, permit me to inquire once more — For 
 what are these men about to be tried ? This paper 
 says, ' for preaching the gospel of the Son of 
 God ! ' Great God ! for preaching the gospel of 
 the Saviour to Adam's fallen race!" And in 
 tones of thunder he exclaimed, "What law 
 have they violated ? ' ' while the third time, 
 in a slow, dignified manner, he lifted his eyes to 
 heaven, and waved the indictment around his 
 head. The court and audience were now wrought 
 up to the most intense pitch of excitement. The 
 face of the prosecuting attorney was pallid and 
 ghastly, and he appeared unconscious that his 
 whole frame was agitated with alarm ; while the 
 judge, in a tremulous voice, put an end to the 
 scene, now becoming excessively painful, by the 
 authoritative declaration, ''Sheriff, discharge those 
 men ! ' ' 
 
 The announcement had no sooner been made 
 
 than there arose a scene of the wildest excite- 
 ment and enthusiasm. Strong men wept, others 
 shouted like madmen, while around Patrick 
 Henry there was such an exhibition of hand- 
 shaking and shouting as was perhaps never wit- 
 nessed outside of an old-fashioned Methodist 
 revival. Henry's fame as an orator was estab- 
 lished from that hour. 
 
 THE POOR RELATION. 
 BY CHARLES LAMB. 
 
 I DO not know how, upon a subject which I 
 began with treating half seriously, I should 
 have fallen upon a recital so eminently painful ; 
 but this theme of poor relationship is replete 
 with so much matter for tragic as well as comic 
 associations, that it is difficult to keep the ac- 
 count distinct without blending. The earliest 
 impressions which I received on this matter are 
 certainly not attended with anything painful, or 
 very humiliating, in the recalling. At my father's, 
 table (no very splendid one) was to be found 
 every Saturday the mysterious figure of an aged 
 gentleman, clothed in neat black, of a sad, yet 
 cornel}- appearance. His deportment was of the 
 essence of gravity ; his words few or none ; and 
 I was not to make a noise in his presence. I had 
 little inclination to have done so — for my cue was- 
 to admire in silence. A particular elbow-chair 
 was appropriated to him, which was in no case to- 
 be violated. A peculiar sort of sweet pudding, 
 which appeared on no other occasion, distin- 
 guished the days of his coming. I used to think 
 him a prodigiously rich man. All I could make 
 out of him was, that he and my father had been 
 school-fellows a world ago at Lincoln, and that he 
 came from the Mint. The Mint I knew to be a 
 place where all the money was coined, and I 
 thought he was the owner of all the money. 
 Awful ideas of the Tower twined themselves 
 about his presence. He seemed above human 
 infirmities and passions. A sort of melancholy 
 grandeur invested him. From some inexplicable 
 doom I fancied him obliged to go about in an 
 eternal suit of mourning ; a captive — a stately 
 being let out of the Tower on Saturdays. Often 
 have I wondered at the temerity of my father, 
 who, in spite of a habitual general respect which 
 we all in common manifested towards him, would 
 venture now and then to stand up against him in 
 some argument touching their youthful days. 
 
540 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 The houses of the ancient city of Lincoln are 
 divided (as most of my readers know) between 
 the dwellers on the hill and in the valley. This 
 marked distinction formed an obvious divisiou 
 between the boys who lived above (however 
 brought together in a common school) and the 
 boys whose parental residence was on the plain — 
 a sufficient cause of hostility in the code of these 
 young Grotiuses. My father had been a leading 
 mountaineer ; and would still maintain the general 
 superiority, in skill and hardihood, of the above 
 boys (his own faction) over the below boys (so 
 were they called), of which part}- his contempo- 
 rary had been a chieftain. Many and hot were the 
 shirmishes on this topic — the only one upon which 
 the old gentleman was ever brought out — and 
 •bad blood bred ; even sometimes almost to the 
 recommencement (so I expected) of actual hostil- 
 ities. But my father, who scorned to insist upon 
 advantages, generally contrived to turn the con- 
 versation upon some adroit by -commendation of 
 the old minister ; in the general preference of 
 which, before all other cathedrals in the island, 
 the dweller on the hill and the plain-born could 
 meet on a conciliating level, and lay down their 
 less important differences. Once only I saw the 
 old gentleman really ruffled, and I remember with 
 anguish the thought that came over me — "Per- 
 haps he will never come here again." He had 
 been pressed to take another plate of the viand 
 which I have already mentioned as the indispens- 
 able concomitant of his visits. He had refused, 
 with a resistance amounting to rigor, when my 
 aunt, an old Lincolnian but who had something 
 of this, in common with my cousin Bridget, that 
 she would sometimes press civility out of season, 
 uttered the following memorable application : 
 "Do take another slice, Mr. Billet, for you do 
 not get pudding every da}-." The old gentleman 
 said nothing at the time — but he took occasion in 
 the course of the evening, when some argument 
 had intervened between them, to utter, with an 
 emphasis which chilled the company, and which 
 chills me now as I write it — ' ' Woman, you are 
 superannuated." John Billet did not survive long 
 after the digesting of this affront ; but he sur- 
 vived long enough to assure me that peace was 
 actually restored ! and, if I remember aright, 
 another pudding was discreetly substituted in the 
 place of that which had occasioned the offence. 
 He died at the Mint (anno 1781), where he had 
 
 long held, what he accounted, a comfortable inde- 
 pendence ; and with five pounds fourteen shillings 
 and a penny, which were found in his escritoire 
 after his decease, left the world, blessing God that 
 he had enough to bury him, and that he had 
 never been obliged to any man for a sixpence. 
 This was — a Poor Relation. 
 
 HOHENLINDEN. 
 BY THOJUS CAMPBELL. 
 
 ON Linden, -when the sun was low, 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
 And dark as winter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 But Linden saw another sight, 
 "When the drums beat at dead of night, 
 Commanding fires of death to light 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
 Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
 And furious every charger neighed 
 To join the dreadful revelry. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
 Then rushed the steed to battle driven, 
 And louder than the bolts of heaven 
 Far flashed the red artillery. 
 
 But redder yet that light shall glow 
 On Linden's hills of stained snow, 
 And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun 
 Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
 Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 
 
 The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
 Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
 And charge with all thy chivalry. 
 
 Few, few shall part where many meet ! 
 The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; 
 And ever}- turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 
 
 ESCAPE OF A PRISONER CONDEMNED BY 
 THE INQUISITION. 
 
 OUR progress to Valladolid was slow and 
 solemn, and occupied a space of no less than 
 four days. On the evening of the fourth day we 
 approached that city. The king and his court 
 came out to meet us ; he saluted the inquisitor- 
 general with all the demonstrations of the deepest 
 submission and humility ; and then having 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 541 
 
 yielded him the place of honor, turned round his 
 horse, and accompanied us back to Valladolid. 
 The cavalcade that attended the king broke into 
 two files, and received us in the midst of them. 
 The whole city seemed to empty itself on this 
 memorable occasion, and the multitudes that 
 crowded along the road, and were scattered in the 
 neighboring fields, were innumerable. The day 
 was now closed, and the 
 procession went forward 
 amidst the light of a thou- 
 sand torches. We, the con- 
 demned of the Inquisition, 
 had been conducted from 
 the metropolis upon tum- 
 brils ; but as we arrived at 
 the gates of Valladolid, 
 we were commanded, for 
 the greater humiliation, to 
 alight and proceed on foot 
 to the place of our con- 
 finement, as many as could 
 not walk without assist- 
 ance being supported by 
 the attendants. We were 
 neither chained nor bound ; 
 the practice of the Inqui- 
 sition being to deliver the 
 condemned upon such oc- 
 casions into the hands of 
 two sureties each, who 
 placed their charge in the 
 middle between them ; and 
 men of the most respect- 
 able characters were ac- 
 customed, from religious 
 motives, to sue for this 
 melancholy office. 
 
 Dejected and despairing, I entered the streets 
 of the city, no object present to the eyes of my 
 mind but that of my approaching execution. The 
 crowd was vast, the confusion inexpressible. As 
 we passed by the end of a narrow lane, the horse 
 of one of the guards, who rode exactly in a line 
 with me, plunged and reared in a violent manner, 
 and at length threw his rider upon the pavement. 
 Others of the horse-guards attempted to catch the 
 bridle of the enraged animal ; they rushed against 
 each other ; several of the crowd were thrown 
 down, and trampled under the horses' feet. The 
 shrieks of these, and the loud cries and exclama- 
 
 tions of the bystanders mingled in confused and 
 discordant chorus ; no sound, no object could be 
 distinguished. From the excess of the tumult, 
 a sudden thought darted into my mind, where all, 
 an instant before, had been relaxation and de- 
 spair. Two or three of the horses pushed for- 
 ward in a particular direction ; a moment after, 
 they re-filed with equal violence, and left a wide 
 
 RUSHED THE STEED TO BATTLE DRIVEN." 
 
 but transitory gap. My project was no sooner 
 conceived than executed. Weak as I had just 
 now felt myself, a supernatural tide of strength 
 seemed to come over me ; I sprang away with all 
 imaginable impetuosity, and rushed down the 
 lane I have just mentioned. Every one amidst 
 the confusion was attentive to his personal safety, 
 and several minutes elapsed before I was missed. 
 In the lane everything was silent, and the 
 darkness was extreme. Man, woman, and child, 
 were gone out to view the procession. For some 
 time I could scarcely distinguish a single object ; 
 the doors and windows were all closed. I now 
 
542 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 chanced to come to an open door ; within I saw 
 no one but an old man, who was bus}- over some 
 metallic work at a chafimr dish of fire. I had no 
 
 heels. I rushed in ; I impetuously closed the 
 door, and bolted it ; I then seized the old man by 
 the collar of his shirt with a determined grasp, 
 
 and swore vehe- 
 mently that I 
 would annihilate 
 him that instant 
 if he did not con- 
 sent to afford me 
 assistance. 
 Though for some 
 time I had per- 
 haps been feebler 
 than he, the ter- 
 ror that now 
 drove me on ren- 
 dered me compar- 
 ative!}' a giant. 
 He entreated me 
 to permit him to 
 breathe, and pro- 
 mised to do what- 
 ever I should de- 
 sire. I looked 
 round the apart- 
 ment, and saw a 
 rapier hanging 
 against the wall, 
 of which I in- 
 stantly proceeded 
 to make myself 
 master. While I 
 was doing this, 
 my involuntary 
 host, who was 
 extremely terri- 
 fied at my pro- 
 cedure, nimbly 
 attempted to slip 
 by me and rush 
 into the street. 
 With difficulty I 
 caught hold of 
 his arm, and pull- 
 ing him back, put 
 the point of my 
 rapier to his 
 breast, solemnly 
 condemned by the inquisition. assuring him that 
 
 room for choice ; I expected every moment to no consideration on earth should save him from my 
 hear the myrmidons of the Inquisition at my fury if he attempted to escape a second time. He 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 543 
 
 Immediately dropped on his knees, and with the 
 most piteous accents entreated me to spare his 
 life. I told him that I was no robber, that I did 
 not intend him the slightest harm ; and that, if 
 he would implicitly yield to my direction, he 
 might assure himself he never should have rea- 
 son to repent his compliance. By this declara- 
 tion the terrors of the old man were somewhat 
 appeased. I took the opportunity of this calm 
 to go to the street-door, which I instantly locked, 
 and put the key in my bosom. ***** 
 
 We were still engaged in discussing the topics 
 I have mentioned, when I was suddenly alarmed 
 by the noise of some one stirring in the inner 
 apartment. I had looked into this room, and had 
 perceived nothing but the bed upon which the 
 old man nightly reposed himself. I sprang up, 
 however, at the sound, and perceiving that the 
 door had a bolt on the outside, I eagerly fastened 
 it. I then turned to Mordecai — that was the 
 name of my host : Wretch, said I, did not you 
 assure me that there was no one but yourself in 
 the house ? Oh, cried Mordecai, it is my child ! 
 it is my child'! she went into the inner apartment, 
 and has fallen asleep on the bed. Beware, I 
 answered ; the slightest falsehood more shall in- 
 stantly be expiated in your blood. I call Abra- 
 ham to witness, rejoined the once more terrified 
 Jew, it is my child ! only my child ! Tell me, 
 cried I, with severity of accent, how old is this 
 child ? Only five years, said Mordecai : my dear 
 Leah died when she was a year old, and though 
 we had several children, this single one has sur- 
 vived her. Speak to your child ; let me hear her 
 voice ! He spoke to her, and she answered, 
 Father, I want to come out. I was satisfied it 
 was the voice of a little girl. I turned to the 
 Jew : Take care, said I, how you deceive me now ; 
 is there no other person in that room ? He impre- 
 cated a curse on himself if there were. I opened 
 the door with caution, and the little girl came for- 
 ward. As soon as I saw her, I seized her with a 
 rapid motion, and returned to my chair. Man, 
 said I, you have trifled with me too rashly; you 
 have not considered what I am escaped from, and 
 what I have to fear ; from this moment this child 
 shall be the pledge of my safety ; I will not part 
 with her an instant as long as I remain in your 
 house ; and with this rapier in my hand I will 
 pierce her to the heart the moment I am led to 
 imagine that I am no longer in safety. The Jew 
 
 trembled at my resolution ; the emotions of a 
 father worked in his features and glistened in his 
 eye. At least let me kiss her, said he. Be it so, 
 replied I : one embrace, and then, till the dawn 
 of the coming day, she remains with me. I re- 
 leased my hold ; the child rushed to her father, 
 and he caught her in his arms. My dear Teah, 
 cried Mordecai, now a sainted spirit in the bosom 
 of our father Abraham ! I call God to witness 
 between us, that, if all my caution and vigilance 
 can prevent it, not a hair of this child shall be 
 inj ured ! Stranger, you little know by how 
 strong a motive you have now engaged me to 
 your cause. We poor Jews, hunted on the face 
 of the earth, the abhorrence and execration of 
 mankind, have nothing but family affections to 
 support us under our multiplied disgraces ; and 
 family affections are entwined with our existence, 
 the fondest and best loved part of ourselves. The 
 God of Abraham bless you, my child ! Now, sir, 
 speak ! what is it you require of me ? 
 
 I told the Jew that I must have a suit of clothes 
 conformable to the appearance of a Spanish cava- 
 lier, and certain medical ingredients that I named 
 to him, together with his chafing-dish of coals to 
 prepare them ; and that done, I would then im- 
 pose on him no further trouble. Having received 
 his instructions, he immediately set out to pro- 
 cure what I demanded. He took with him the 
 key of the house ; and as soon as he was gone, I 
 retired with the child into the inner apartment, 
 and fastened the door. At first I applied myself 
 to tranquillize the child, who had been somewhat 
 alarmed at what she had heard and seen : this 
 was no very difficult task. She presently left me, 
 to amuse herself with some playthings that lay 
 scattered in a corner of the apartment. My heart 
 was now comparatively at ease ; I saw the power- 
 ful hold I had on the fidelity of the Jew, and 
 firmly persuaded myself that I had no treachery 
 to fear on his part. Thus circumstanced, the ex- 
 ertion and activity with which I had lately been 
 imbued left me, and I insensibly sank into a sort 
 of slumber. * * * * * 
 
 Now, for the first time, I was at leisure to at- 
 tend to the state of my strength and my health. 
 My confinement in the Inquisition, and the treat- 
 ment I had experienced, had before rendered me 
 feeble and almost helpless ; but these appeared to 
 be circumstances scarcely worthy of attention in 
 the situation in which I was then placed. The 
 
544 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 impulse I felt in the midst of the confusion in the 
 grand street of Valladolid, produced in me an 
 energy and power of exertion which nothing but 
 the actual experience of the fact could have per- 
 suaded me was possible. This energy-, once begun, 
 appeared to have the faculty of prolonging itself, 
 and I did not relapse into imbecility till the occasion 
 seemed to be exhausted which called for my exer- 
 tion I examined myself by a mirror with which 
 Mordecai furnished me ; I found my hair as white 
 as snow, and my face ploughed with a thousand 
 furrows. I was now fifty-four, an age which, with 
 moderate exercise and a vigorous constitution, 
 often appears like the prime of human existence ; 
 but whoever had looked upon me in my 
 present condition would not have doubted to 
 affirm that I had reached the eightieth year of my 
 ao-e I examined with dispassionate remark the 
 state of my intellect ; I was persuaded that it had 
 subsided into childishness. My mind had been 
 as much cribbed and impaired as my body. I 
 was the mere shadow of a man, of no more power 
 and worth than that which a magic lantern pro- 
 duces upon a wall. 
 
 # * * 
 
 I was now once again alone. The little girl, 
 who had been unusually disturbed and roused at 
 an unseasonable hour, sunk into a profound sleep. 
 I heard the noise which Mordecai made in un- 
 dressing himself, and composing his limbs upon 
 a mattress which he had dragged for the present 
 occasion into the front room, and spread before 
 the hearth. I soon found by the hardness of his 
 breathing that he also was asleep. I unfolded the 
 papers he had brought me ; they consisted of var- 
 ious medical ingredients I had directed him to 
 procure ; there were also two or three vials con- 
 taining syrups and essences. I had near me a 
 pair of scales with which to weigh my ingredients, 
 a vessel of water, the chafing-dish of my host in 
 which the fire was nearly extinguished, and a 
 small taper, with some charcoal to relight the fire 
 in case of necessity. While I was occupied in 
 surveying these articles and arranging my mate- 
 rials a sort of torpor came suddenly over me, so 
 as to allow me no time for resistance. I sank upon 
 the bed I remained thus for about half an 
 hour, seemingly without the power of collecting 
 my thoughts. At length I started, felt alarmed, 
 and applied my utmost force of mind to rouse my 
 exertions. While I drove, or attempted to drive, 
 
 my animal spirits from limb to limb, and from 
 part to part, as if to inquire into the general con- 
 dition of my frame, I became convinced that I 
 was dying. Let not the reader be surprised at 
 this ; twelve years' imprisonment in a narrow and 
 unwholesome cell may well account for so sudden 
 a catastrophe. Strange and paradoxical as it may 
 seem, I believe it will be found in the experiment, 
 that the calm and security which succeed to great 
 internal injuries are more dangerous than the 
 pangs and hardships that went before. I was now 
 thoroughly alarmed ; I applied myself with all 
 vigilance and expedition to the compounding my 
 materials. The fire was gone out ; the taper was 
 glimmering in the socket : to swallow the julep, 
 when I had prepared it, seemed to be the last 
 effort of which my organs and muscles were capa- 
 ble. It was the elixir of immortality, exactly 
 made up according to the prescription of the 
 stranger. 
 
 Whether from the potency of the medicine or 
 the effect of imagination, I felt revived the 
 moment I had swallowed it. I placed myself de- 
 liberately in Mordecai's bed, and drew over me 
 the bedclothes. I fell asleep almost instantly. 
 
 My sleep was not long ; in a few hours I 
 awakened. With difficulty I recognized the 
 objects about me, and recollected where I had 
 been. It seemed to me that my heart had never 
 beat so vigorously, nor my spirits flowed so gay. 
 I was all elasticity and life ; I could scarcely hold 
 myself quiet ; I felt impelled to bound and leap 
 like a kid upon the mountains. I perceived that 
 my little Jewess was still asleep ; she had been 
 unusually fatigued the night before. I know not 
 whether Mordecai's hour of rising were come ; if 
 it were, he was careful not to disturb his guest. 
 I put on the garments he had prepared ; I gazed 
 upon the mirror he had left in my apartment. I 
 can recollect no sensation in the course of my life 
 so unexpected and surprising as what I felt at 
 that moment. The evening before I had seen 
 my hair white, and my face ploughed with fur- 
 rows ; I looked fourscore. What I beheld now was 
 totally different, yet altogether familiar ; it was 
 myself—myself as I had appeared on the day of 
 my marriage with Marguerite de Damville ; the 
 eyes, the mouth, the hair, the complexion, even- 
 circumstance, point by point, the same. I leaped 
 a gulf of thirty-two- years. I waked from a dream, 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 u±5 
 
 troublesome and distressful beyond all descrip- 
 tion ; but it vanished like the shades of night 
 upon the burst of a glorious morning in Jul}', and 
 left not a trace behind. I knew not how to take 
 away my eyes from the mirror before me. 
 
 I soon began to consider that, if it were aston- 
 ishing to me that, through all the regions of my 
 countenance, I could discover no trace of what I 
 had been the night before, it would be still more 
 astonishing to ruy host. This sort of sensation I 
 had not the smallest ambition to produce : 
 one of the advantages of the metamorphosis I 
 had sustained, consisted in its tendency, in 
 the eyes of all that saw me, to cut off 
 every species of connection between my present 
 and my former self. It fortunately happened that 
 the room in which I slept, being constructed upon 
 the model of many others in Spain, had a stair at 
 the further end, with a trap-door in the ceiling, 
 for the purpose of enabling the inhabitant to as- 
 cend on the roof in the cool of the day. The 
 roofs were flat, and so constructed that there was 
 little difficulty in passing along them from house 
 to house, from one end of the street to the other. 
 I availed myself of the opportunity, and took 
 leave of the residence of my kind host in a way 
 perfectly unceremonious, determined, however, 
 speedily to transmit to him the reward I had 
 promised. It may easily be believed that Morde- 
 cai was not less rej oiced at the absence of a guest 
 whom the vigilance of the Inquisition rendered an 
 uncommonly dangerous one, than I was to quit 
 his habitation. I closed the trap after me, and 
 clambered from roof to roof to a considerable dis- 
 tance. At length I encountered the occasion of 
 an open window, and fortunately descended, un- 
 seen by any human being, into the street. 
 
 ay 
 
 CONDEMNATION AND DEATH OF SOCRATES. 
 
 JE are not informed when Socrates first be- 
 came distinguished as a sophist ; for in 
 that description of men he was in his own day 
 reckoned. When the wit of Aristophanes was 
 directed against him in the theatre, he was already 
 among the most eminent, but his eminence seems 
 to have been then recent. It was about the tenth 
 or eleventh year of the Peloponnesian war, when 
 he was six or seven and forty years of age, that 
 after the manner of the old comedy, he was offered 
 to public derision upon the stage by his own 
 name, as one of the persons of the drama, in the 
 35 
 
 comedy of Aristophanes, called "The Clouds," 
 which is yet extant. Some antipathy, it appears, 
 existed between the comic poets collectively and 
 the sophists or philosophers. The licentiousness 
 of the former could indeed scarcely escape the 
 animadversion of the latter, who, on the contrary, 
 favored the tragic poets, competitors with the 
 comedians for public favor. Euripides and Aris- 
 tophanes were particularly enemies ; and Socrates 
 not only lived in intimacy with Euripides, but is 
 said to have assisted him in some of his tragedies. 
 We are informed of no other cause for the injur- 
 ious representation which the comic poet has 
 given of Socrates, whom he exhibits in The 
 Clouds as a flagitious yet ridiculous pretender to 
 the occult sciences, conversing with the clouds as 
 divinities, and teaching the principal youths of 
 Athens to despise the received gods and to cozen 
 men. The audience, accustomed to look on 
 defamation with carelessness, and to hold as law- 
 ful and proper whatever might amuse the multi- 
 tude, applauded the wit, and even gave general 
 approbation to the piece ; but the high estimation 
 of the character of Socrates sufficed to prevent 
 that complete success which the poet had promised 
 himself. The crown which rewarded him whose 
 drama most earned the public favor, and which 
 Aristophanes had so often won, was on this occa- 
 sion refused him. 
 
 Two or three-and-twenty years had elapsed 
 since the first representation of The Clouds ; the 
 storms of conquest suffered from a foreign enemy, 
 and four revolutions in the civil government of 
 the country, had passed ; nearly three years had 
 followed of that quiet which the revolution under 
 Thrasybulus produced, and the act of amnesty 
 should have confirmed, when a young man named 
 Melitus went to the kingarchon, and in the usual 
 form delivered an information against Socrates, 
 and bound himself to prosecute. The informa- 
 tion ran thus : — " Melitus, son of Melitus, of the 
 borough of Pitthos, declares these upon oath 
 against Socrates, son of Sophroniscus, of the 
 borough of Alopece : Socrates is guilty of revil- 
 ing the gods whom the city acknowledges, and 
 of preaching other new gods : moreover, he is 
 guilty of corrupting the youth. Penalty, death." 
 
 Xenophon begins his memorials of his revered 
 master, with declaring his wonder how the Athe- 
 nians could have been persuaded to condemn to 
 death a man of such uncommonly clear innocence 
 
SOCRATES TEACHING THE YOUTHS OF ATHENS. 
 
 (546) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 547 
 
 and exalted worth. ^Elian, though for authority 
 he can bear no comparison with Xenophon, has 
 nevertheless, I think, given the solution. "So- 
 crates," he says, "disliked the Athenian consti- 
 tution ; for he saw that democrac}' is tyrannical, 
 and abounds with all the evils of absolute mon- 
 archy." But though the political circumstances 
 of the times made it necessary for contemporary 
 writers to speak with caution, yet both Xenophon 
 
 appointment to magistracy by lot. "Thus," 
 they said, "he taught his numerous followers, 
 youths of the principal families of the city, to 
 despise the established government, and to be 
 turbulent and seditious ; and his success had been 
 seen in the conduct of two of the most eminent, 
 Alcibiades and Critias. Even the best things he 
 converted to these ill purposes : from the most 
 esteemed poets, and particularly from Homer, he 
 
 TRIUMPH OF A GRECIAN GENERAL DURING THK TIME OP SOCRATES. 
 
 and Plato have declared enough to show that the 
 assertion of Jilian was well-founded ; and farther 
 proof, were it wanted, may be derived from 
 another early writer, nearly contemporary, and 
 deeply versed in the politics of his age, the orator 
 iEschines. Indeed, though not stated in the 
 indictment, yet it was urged against Socrates by 
 his prosecutors before the court, that he was 
 disaffected to the democracy ; and in proof, they 
 affirmed it to be notorious that he had ridiculed 
 what the Athenian constitution prescribed, the 
 
 selected passages to enforce his anti-democratical 
 principles." 
 
 Socrates, it appears, indeed, was not inclined to 
 deny his disapprobation of the Athenian consti- 
 tution. His defence itself, as it is reported by 
 Plato, contains matter on which to found an 
 accusation against him of disaffection to the 
 sovereignt3" of the people, such as, under the 
 jealous tyranny of the Athenian democracy, 
 would sometimes subject a man to the penalties 
 of high treason. "You well know," he says, 
 
548 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 "Athenians, that had I engaged in public busi- 
 ness, I should long ago have perished without 
 procuring any advantage either to you or to my- 
 self. L,et not the truth offend you : it is no 
 peculiarity of your democracy, or of your national 
 character ; but wherever the people is sovereign, 
 no man who shall dare honestly to oppose injustice 
 
 of the labors to which he dedicated himself, to in- 
 fuse principles into the rising generation that 
 might bring about the desirable change insensibly. 
 His scholars were chiefly sons of the wealthiest 
 citizens, whose easy circumstances afforded leisure 
 to attend him ; and some of these zealousl)' adopt- 
 ing his tenets, others, merely pleased with the 
 
 DEATH OF SOCRATES. 
 
 — frequent and extravagant injustice — can avoid 
 destruction. " 
 
 Without this proof, indeed, we might reason- 
 ably believe, that though Socrates was a good and 
 faithful subject of the Athenian government, and 
 would promote no sedition, no political violence, 
 yet he could not like the Athenian constitution. 
 He wished for wholesome changes by gentle means ; 
 and it seems even to have been a principal object 
 
 ingenuity of his arguments and the liveliness of 
 his manner, and desirous to emulate his triumphs 
 over his opponents, were forward, after his exam- 
 ple, to engage in disputation upon all the subjects 
 on which he was accustomed to discourse. Thus 
 employed, and thus followed, though himself 
 avoiding office and public business, those who 
 governed or desired to govern the commonwealth 
 through their influence among the many, might 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 549 
 
 perhaps not unreasonably consider him as one who 
 ■was or might become a formidable adversary, nor 
 might it be difficult to excite popular jealousy 
 against him. 
 
 By the course of his life, however, and by the 
 turn of his thoughts for many years, he had so 
 prepared himself for all events, that, far from 
 alarmed at the probability of his condemnation, 
 he rather rejoiced at it, as at his age a fortunate 
 occurrence. He was persuaded of the soul's 
 immortality, and of the superintending providence 
 ■of an ail-good Deity, whose favor he had always 
 been assiduously endeavoring to deserve. Men 
 fear death, he s;id, as if unquestionably the 
 greatest evil, and yet no man knows that it may 
 not be the greatest good. If, indeed, great joys 
 were in prospect, he might, and his friends for 
 him, with somewhat more reason regret the event ; 
 but at his years, and with his scanty fortune — 
 though he was happy enough at seventy still to 
 preserve both body and mind in vigor — yet even 
 his present gratifications must necessarily soon 
 decay. To avoid, therefore, the evils of age, pain, 
 sickness, decay of sight, decay of hearing, per- 
 haps decay of understanding, by the easiest of 
 ■deaths (for such the Athenian mode of execution 
 — by a draught of hemlock — was reputed), cheered 
 with the company of surrounding friends, could 
 not be otherwise than a blessing. 
 
 Xenophon says that, by condescending to a little 
 supplication, Socrates might easily have obtained 
 his acquittal. No admonition or entreaty of his 
 friends, however, could persuade him to such an 
 Tinworthiness. On the contrary, when put upon 
 his defence, he told the people that he did not 
 plead for his own sake, but for theirs, wishing 
 them to avoid the guilt of an unjust condemna- 
 tion. It was usual for accused persons to bewail 
 their apprehended lot, with tears to supplicate 
 favor, and, by exhibiting their children upon the 
 bema, to endeavor to excite pity. He thought it, 
 he said, more respectful to the court, as well as 
 more becoming himself, to omit all this ; however 
 aware mat their sentiments were likely so far to 
 ■difhr irom his, that judgment would be given in 
 anger for it. 
 
 Condemnation pronounced wrought no change 
 upon him. He again addressed the court, de- 
 clared his innocence of the matters laid against 
 him, and observed that, even if every charge had 
 Oeen completely proved still, all together did not, 
 
 according to any known law, amount to a capital 
 crime. "But," in conclusion he said, "it is 
 time to depart — I to die, you to live ; but which 
 for the greater good, God only knows. ' ' 
 
 It was usual at Athens for execution very soon 
 to follow condemnation — commonly on the mor- 
 row ; but it happened that the condemnation of 
 Socrates took place on the eve of the day ap- 
 pointed for the sacred ceremony of crowning the 
 galley which carried the annual offerings to the 
 gods worshipped at Delos, and immemorial tradi- 
 tion forbade all executions till the sacred vessel's 
 return. Thus, the death of Socrates was respited 
 thirty days, while his friends had free access to 
 him in prison. During all that time he admir- 
 ably supported his constancy. Means were con- 
 certed for his escape ; the jailer was bribed, a 
 vessel prepared, and a secure retreat in Thessaly 
 provided. No arguments, no prayers, could per- 
 suade him to use the opportunity. He had al- 
 ways taught the duty of obedience to the laws, 
 and he would not furnish an example of the 
 breach of it. To no purpose it was urged that he 
 had been unjustly condemned — he had always 
 held that wrong did not justify wrong. He 
 waited with perfect composure the return of the 
 sacred vessel, reasoned on the immortality of the 
 soul, the advantage of virtue, the happiness de- 
 rived from having made it through life his pursuit, 
 and, with his friends about him, took the fatal 
 cup and died. 
 
 HOSPITALITY OF A HEATHEN WOMAN. 
 BY MUNGO PARK. 
 
 THE great traveller had reached the town of 
 Syo, the capital of Bambarra, Africa, and 
 wished to cross the river towards the residence of 
 the king. He says : 
 
 I waited more than two hours without having 
 an opportunity of crossing the river, during which 
 time the people who had crossed carried informa- 
 tion to Mansong, the king, that a white man was 
 waiting for a passage, and was coming to see him. 
 He immediately sent over one of his chief men, 
 who informed me that the king could not possibly 
 see me until he knew what had brought me into 
 his country ; and that I must not presume to 
 cross the river without the king's permission. He 
 therefore advised me to lodge at a distant village, 
 to which he pointed, for the night, and said that 
 in the morning he would trive me further instruo- 
 
550 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 tions how to conduct myself. This was very dis- 
 couraging. However, as there was no remedy, I 
 set off for the village, where I found, to my great 
 mortification, that no person would admit me into 
 his house. I was regarded with astonishment 
 and fear, and was obliged to sit all da}- without 
 victuals in the shade of a tree ; and the night 
 threatened to be very uncomfortable — for the 
 wind rose, and there was great appearance of a 
 aeavy rain — and the wild beasts are so very nu- 
 merous in the neighborhood, that I should have 
 Deen under the necessity of climbing up the tree 
 and resting amongst the branches. About sun- 
 set, however, as I was preparing to pass the night 
 in this manner, and had turned my horse loose 
 tnat he might graze at liberty, a woman, return- 
 ing from the labors of the field, stopped to observe 
 nu;, and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, 
 inquired into my situation, which I briefly ex- 
 plained to her ; whereupon, with looks of great 
 ?on,passion, she took up my saddle and bridle, 
 and ;old me to follow her. Having conducted me 
 into her hut, she lighted up a lamp, spread a mat 
 on t.ie floor, and told me I might remain there for 
 the : .light. Finding that I was very hungry, she 
 said ihe would procure me something to eat. She 
 accoi dingly went out, and returned in a short 
 time with a very fine fish, which, having caused 
 to be jialf broiled upon some embers, she gave me 
 for si pper. The rites of hospitality being thus 
 perfoi med towards a stranger in distress, my 
 ■worth ; benefactress (pointing to the mat, and tell- 
 ing mt I might sleep there without apprehension,) 
 called vo the female part of her family, who had 
 stood gazing on me all the while in fixed aston- 
 ishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton, 
 in which they continued to employ themselves 
 the greater part of the night. They lightened their 
 labor by songs, one of which was composed ex- 
 tempore, for I was myself the subject of it. It 
 was sung by one of the young women, the rest 
 joining in a sort of chorus. The air was sweet 
 and plaintive, and the words, literally translated, 
 were these: — " The winds roared, and the rains 
 fell. The poor white man, faint and wean-, came 
 and sat under our tree. He has no mother to 
 bring him milk — no wife to grind his corn. 
 Chorus. — Let us pit}- the white man — no mother 
 has he," etc., etc. Trifling as this recital rnay 
 appear to the reader, to a person in my situation 
 the circumstance was affecting in the highest de- 
 
 gree. I was oppressed by such unexpected kind" 
 ness, and sleep fled from my eyes. In the morn- 
 ing I presented my compassionate landlady with 
 two of the four brass buttons which remained on 
 my waistcoat — the only recompense I could make 
 her. 
 
 A FUNERAL IN ROME. 
 
 ONE da}-, in my way home, I met a funeral 
 ceremony. A crucifix hung with black, 
 followed by a train of priests, with lighted tapers 
 in their hands, headed the procession. Then 
 came a troop of figures dressed in white robes, 
 with their faces covered with masks of the same 
 materials. The bier followed, on which lay the 
 corpse of a young woman arrayed in all the orna- 
 ments of dress, with her face exposed, where the 
 bloom of life yet lingered. The members of dif- 
 ferent fraternities followed the bier, dressed in the 
 robes of their orders, and all masked. They car- 
 ried lighted tapers in their hands, and chanted out 
 prayers in a sort of mumbling recitative. I fol- 
 lowed the train to the church, for I had doubts 
 whether the beautiful figure I had seen on the 
 bier was not a figure of wax ; but I was soon con- 
 vinced it was indeed the corpse of a fellow crea- 
 ture, cut off in the pride and bloom of youthful 
 maiden beauty. Such is the Italian mode of con- 
 ducting the last scene of the tragi-comedy of life. 
 As soon as a person dies, the relatives leave the 
 house, and fly to bury themselves and their griefs 
 in some other retirement. The care of the funeral 
 devolves on one of the fraternities who are asso- 
 ciated for this purpose in every parish. These 
 are dressed in a sort of domino and hood, which, 
 having holes for the eyes, answers the purpose of 
 a mask, and completely conceals the face. The 
 funeral of the very poorest is thus conducted with 
 quite as much ceremony as needs be. This is 
 perhaps a better system than our own, where the 
 relatives are exhibited as a spectacle to imperti- 
 nent curiosity, whilst from feelings of duty they 
 follow to the grave the remains of those they 
 loved. But ours is surely an unphilosophical 
 view of the subject. It looks as if we were mate- 
 rialists, and considered the cold clod as the sole 
 remains of the object of our affection. The Ital- 
 ians reason better, and perhaps feel as much as 
 ourselves, when they regard the body, deprived 
 of the soul that animated, and the mind that in- 
 formed it, as no more a part of the departed spirit 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 551 
 
 than the clothes which it has also left behind. 
 The ultimate disposal of the bod}- is perhaps con- 
 ducted here with too much of that spirit which 
 would disregard all claims that ' ' this mortal coil ' ' 
 can have to our attention. As soon as the funeral 
 service is concluded, the corpse is stripped and 
 consigned to those who have the care of the inter- 
 ment. There are large vaults underneath the 
 ■churches for the reception of the dead. Those 
 
 prepared for their reception, 
 scene of the drama of life. 
 
 So much for the last 
 
 VANITY OF AN ESQUIMAU WOMAN. 
 
 BY CAPTAIN PARRY. 
 
 THE Esquimaux exhibit a strange mixture of 
 intellect and duluess, of cunning and sim- 
 plicity, of ingenuity and stupidity ; few of them 
 could count beyond five, and not one of them 
 
 a funeral in 
 who can afford it, are put into a wooden shell be- 
 fore they are cast into one of these Golgothas ; 
 but the great mass are tossed in without a rag to 
 cover them. When one of these caverns is full, 
 it is bricked up : and after fifty years it is opened 
 again, and the bones are removed to other places 
 
 ANCIENT ROME. 
 
 beyond ten, nor could any of them speak a dozen 
 words of English after a constant intercourse of 
 seventeen or eighteen months ; yet many of them 
 could imitate the manners and actions of the 
 strangers, and were on the whole excellent mimics. 
 One woman in particular, of the name of Iligluik, 
 
552 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 very- soon attracted the attention of our voyagers 
 by the various traits of that superiority of under- 
 standing for which, it was found, she was remark- 
 ably distinguished, and held in esteem even by 
 her own countrymen. She had a great fondness 
 for singing, possessed a soft voice and an ex- 
 cellent ear ; but, like another great singer who 
 figured in a different society, " there was scarcely 
 any stopping her when she had once begun ;" she 
 would listen, however, for hours together to the 
 tunes played on the organ. Her superior intelli- 
 gence was perhaps most conspicuous in the readi- 
 ness with which she was made to comprehend the 
 manner of laying down on paper the geographical 
 outline of that part of the coast of America she 
 was acquainted with, and the neighboring islands, 
 so as to construct a chart. At first it was found 
 difficult to make her comprehend what was meant; 
 but when Captain Parry had discovered that the 
 Esquimaux were already acquainted with the 
 four cardinal points of the compass, for which 
 they' have appropriate names, he drew them on a 
 sheet of paper, together with that portion of the 
 coast just discovered, which was opposite to 
 Winter Island, where then they were, and of 
 course well known to her. 
 
 We desired her to complete the rest, and to do 
 it mikkce (small), when, with a countenance of 
 the most grave attention and peculiar intelligence 
 she drew the coast of the continent beyond her 
 own country, as lying nearly north from Winter 
 Island. The most important part still remained, 
 and it would have amused an unconcerned looker- 
 on to have observed the anxiety and suspense 
 depicted on the countenances of our part of the 
 group till this was accomplished, for never were 
 the "tracings of a pencil watched with more eager 
 solicitude. Our surprise and satisfaction may 
 therefore in some degree be imagined when, with- 
 out taking it from the paper, Iligluik brought the 
 continental coast short round to the westward, 
 and afterwards to the S. S. W., so as to come 
 within three or four days' journey of Repulse 
 Bay. 
 
 I am, however, compelled to acknowledge, that 
 in proportion as the superior understanding of 
 this extraordinary woman became more and more 
 developed, her head (for what female head is in- 
 different to praise ?) began to be turned by the 
 general attention and numberless presents she 
 received. The superior decency and even modesty 
 
 of her behavior had combined, with her intel- 
 lectual qualities, to raise her in our estimation 
 far above her companions ; and I often heard 
 others express what I could not but agree in, that 
 for Iligluik alone, of all the Esquimau women, 
 that kind of respect could be entertained which 
 modesty in a female never fails to command in 
 our sex. Thus regarded, she had always been 
 freely admitted into the ships, the quarter-masters 
 at the gangway never thinking of refusing en- 
 trance to " the wise woman," as they called her. 
 Whenever any explanation was necessary between 
 the Esquimaux and us, Iligluik was sent for as an 
 interpreter ; information was chiefly obtained 
 through her, and she thus found herself rising 
 into a degree of consequence to which, but for us, 
 she could never have attained. Notwithstanding 
 a more than ordinary share of good sense on her 
 part, it will not therefore be wondered at if she 
 became giddy with her exaltation — considered 
 her admission into the ships and most of the 
 cabins no longer an indulgence, but a right — 
 ceased to return the slightest acknowledgment 
 for any kindness or presents — became listless and 
 inattentive in unravelling the meaning of our 
 questions, and careless whether her answers con- 
 veyed the information we desired. In short, 
 Iligluik in February and Iligluik in April were 
 confessedly very different persons ; and it was at 
 last amusing to recollect, though not very easy to 
 persuade one's self, that the woman who now sat 
 demurely in the chair, so confidently expecting 
 the notice of those around her, and she who had 
 at first, with eager and wild delight, assisted in 
 cutting snow for the building of a hut, and with 
 the hope of obtaining a single needle, were 
 actually one and the same individual. 
 
 No kind of distress can deprive the Esquimaux 
 of their cheerful temper and good humor, which 
 they preserve even when severely pinched with 
 hunger and cold, and wholly deprived for days 
 together both of food and fuel — a situation to 
 which they are very frequently reduced. Yet no 
 calamity of this kind can teach them to be pro- 
 vident, or to take the least thought for the mor- 
 row ; with them, indeed, it is always either a feast 
 or a famine. The enormous quantity of animal 
 food (they have no other) which they devour at a 
 time is almost incredible. The quantity of meat 
 which they procured between the first of October 
 and the first of April was sufficient to have fur- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY 
 
 006 
 
 nished about double the number of working 
 people, who were moderate eaters, and had any 
 idea of providing for a future day ; but to indi- 
 viduals who can demolish four or five pounds at 
 a sitting, and at least ten in the course of a day, 
 and who never bestow a thought on to-morrow, 
 at least with the view to provide for it by economy, 
 there is scarcely any supply which could secure 
 them from occasional scarcity. It is highly 
 probable that the alternate feasting and fasting to 
 which the gluttony and improvidence of these 
 people so constantly subject them, may have oc- 
 casioned many of the complaints that proved 
 fatal during the winter ; and on this account we 
 hardly knew whether to rejoice or not at the 
 general success of their fishery. 
 
 FEMALE SOCIETY IN THE CITY OF BAGDAD. 
 BY SIR R. K. PORTER. 
 
 CHE wives of the higher classes in Bagdad are 
 usually selected from the most beautiful 
 girls that can be obtained from Georgia and Cir- 
 cassia ; and, to their natural charms, in like man- 
 ner with their captive sisters all over the East, 
 they add the fancied embellishments of painted 
 •complexions, hands and feet dyed with henna, 
 and their hair and eyebrows stained with the 
 rang, or prepared indigo leaf. Chains of gold, 
 and collars of pearls, with various ornaments of 
 precious stones, decorate the upper part of their 
 persons, while solid bracelets of gold, in shapes 
 resembling serpents, clasp their wrists and ankles. 
 Silver and golden tissued muslins not only form 
 their turbans, but frequently their under gar- 
 ments. In summer the ample pelisse is made of 
 the most costly shawl, and in cold weather, lined 
 and bordered with the choicest furs. The dress is 
 altogether very becoming ; by its easy folds and 
 glittering transparency, showing a fine shape to 
 advantage, without the immodest exposure of 
 the open vest of the Persian ladies. The humbler 
 females generally move abroad with faces totally 
 unveiled, having a handkerchief rolled around 
 their heads, from beneath which their hair hangs 
 down over their shoulders, while another piece of 
 linen passes under their chin, in the fashion of the 
 Georgians. Their garment is a gown of a shift 
 form, reaching to their ankles, open before, and 
 of a gray color. Their feet are completely naked. 
 Many of the very inferior classes stain their bos- 
 oms with the figures of circles, half-moons, stars. 
 
 etc., in a bluish stamp. In this barbaric embel- 
 lishment the poor damsel of Irak Arabi has one 
 point of vanity resembling that of the ladies of 
 Irak Ajem. The former frequently adds this 
 frightful cadaverous hue to her lips ; and, to com- 
 plete her savage appearance, thrusts a ring 
 through the right nostril, pendent with a flat-but- 
 ton like ornament set round with blue or red 
 stones. 
 
 But to return to the ladies of the higher circles, 
 whom we left in some gay saloon of Bagdad. 
 When all are assembled, the evening meal or din- 
 ner is soon served. The party, seated in rows, 
 then prepare themselves for the entrance of the 
 show, which, consisting of music and dancing, 
 continues in noisy exhibition through the whole 
 night. At twelve o'clock supper is produced, 
 when pilaus, kabobs, preserves, fruits, dried sweet- 
 meats, and sherbets of every fabric and flavor, en- 
 gage the fair convives for some time. Between 
 this second banquet and the preceding, the per- 
 fumed nargileh is never absent from their rosy 
 lips, excepting when they sip coffee, or indulge 
 in a general shout of approbation, or a hearty peal 
 of laughter at the freaks of the dancers or the sub- 
 ject of the singers' madrigals. But no respite is 
 given to the entertainers ; and, during so long a 
 stretch of merriment, should any of the happy 
 guests feel a desire for temporary repose, without 
 the least apology she lies down to sleep on the 
 luxurious carpet that is her seat ; and thus she re- 
 mains, sunk in as deep oblivion as if the nummad 
 were spread in her own chamber. Others speed- 
 ily follow her example, sleeping as soundly ; not- 
 withstanding the bawling of the singers, the 
 horrid jangling of the guitars, the thumping on 
 the jar-like double-drum, the ringing and clangor 
 of the metal bells and castanets of the dancers, 
 with an eternal talking in all keys, abrupt 
 laughter, and vociferous expressions of gratifica- 
 tion, making in all a full concert of distracting 
 sounds, sufficient, one might suppose, to awaken 
 the dead. But the merry tumult and joyful 
 strains of this conviviality gradually becoming 
 fainter and fainter ; first one and then another of 
 the visitors (while even the performers are not 
 spared by the soporific god) sink down under 
 the influence, till at length the whole carpet is 
 covered with the sleeping beauties, mixed indis- 
 criminately with handmaids, dancers, and musi- 
 cians, as fast asleep as themselves. The business, 
 
554 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 however, is not thus quietly ended. ' ' As soon as 
 the sun begins to call forth the blushes of the 
 morn, by lifting the veil that shades her slumber- 
 ing eyelids," the faithful slaves rub their own 
 clear of any lurking drowsiness, and then tug 
 their respective mistresses by the toe or the 
 shoulder, to rouse them up to perform the devo- 
 tional ablutions usual at the dawn of day. All 
 start mechanically, as if touched bj r a spell ; and 
 then commences the splashing of water and the 
 muttering of prayers, presenting a singular con- 
 trast to the vivacious scene of a few hours before. 
 This duty over, the fair devotees shake their 
 feathers like birds from a refreshing shower, and 
 tripping lightly forward with garments, and per- 
 haps looks, a little the worse for wear of the pre- 
 ceding evening, plunge at once again into all the 
 depths of its amusements. Coffee, sweetmeats, 
 kaliouns, as before, accompany even- obstreper- 
 ous repetition of the midnight song and dance ; and 
 all being followed up by a plentiful breakfast of 
 rice, meats, fruits, etc., towards noon the party sep- 
 arate, after having spent between fifteen and six- 
 teen hours in this riotous festivity. 
 
 SACRIFICE OF A HINDOO WIDOW. 
 
 nEWS of the widow's intentions having 
 spread, a great concourse of people of both 
 sexes, the women clad in their gala costumes, as- 
 sembled round the pyre. In a short time after 
 their arrival the fated victim appeared, accom- 
 panied by the Brahmins, her relatives, and the 
 body of the deceased. The spectators showered 
 ehaplets of mogree on her head, and greeted her 
 appearance with laudatory exclamations at her 
 constancy and virtue. The women especially 
 pressed forward to touch her garments — an act 
 which is considered meritorious, and highly de- 
 sirable for absolution and protection from the 
 " evil eye." 
 
 The widow was a remarkably handsome wo- 
 man, apparentl}' about thirty, and most superbly 
 attired. Her manner was marked by great apathy 
 to all around her, and by a complete indifference 
 to the preparations which for the first time met 
 her eye. From this circumstance an impression 
 was given that she might be under the influence 
 of opium ; and in conformity with the declared in- 
 tention of the European officers present to interfere 
 should any coercive measures be adopted by the 
 Brahmins or relatives, two medical officers were 
 
 requested to give their opinion on the subject. 
 The}- both agreed that she was quite free from 
 any influence calculated to induce torpor or in- 
 toxication. 
 
 Captain Burns then addressed the woman, de 
 siring to know whether the act she was about to 
 perform were voluntary or enforced, and assuring 
 her that, should she entertain the slighest reluc- 
 tance to the fulfilment of her vow, he, on the part 
 of the British government, would guarantee the 
 protection of her life and property. Her answer 
 was calm, heroic, and constant to her purpose : 
 "I die of my own free will; give me back my 
 husband, and I will consent to live ; if I die not 
 with him, the souls of seven husbands will con- 
 demn me ! " 
 
 Ere the renewal of the horrid ceremonies of 
 death were permitted, again the voice of merc3% 
 of expostulation, and even of entreaty was heard - 
 but the trial was vain, and the cool and collected 
 manner with which the woman still declared her 
 determination unalterable, chilled and startled the 
 most courageous. Physical pangs evidently ex- 
 cited no fears in her ; her singular creed, the cus- 
 toms of her country, and her sense of conjugal 
 duty, excluded from her mind the natural emo- 
 tions of personal dread ; and never did martyr to> 
 a true cause go to the stake with more constancy 
 and firmness, than did this delicate and gentle 
 woman prepare to become the victim of a delib- 
 erate sacrifice to the demoniacal tenets of her 
 heathen creed. Accompanied by the officiating 
 Brahmin, the widow walked seven times round 
 the pyre, repeating the usual mantras, or prayers, 
 strewing rice and coories on the ground, and 
 sprinkling water from her hand over the bystand- 
 ers, who believe this to be efficacious in prevent- 
 ing disease and in expiating committed sins. She 
 then removed her jewels, and presented them to 
 her relations, saying a few words to each with a 
 calm soft smile of encouragement and hope. The 
 Brahmins then presented her with a lighted torch, 
 bearing which, she stepped through the fatal 
 door, and sat within the pile. The bod}- of her 
 husband, wrapped in rich kinkaub, was then 
 carried seven times round the pile, and finally laid 
 across her knees. Thorns and grass were piled 
 over the door : and again it was insisted that free 
 space should be left, as it was hoped the poor 
 victim might yet relent, and rush from her fiery 
 prison to the protection so freely offered. The 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 555 
 
 command was readily obeyed ; the strength of a 
 child would have sufficed to burst the frail bar- 
 rier which confined her, and a breathless pause 
 succeeded ; but the woman's constancy was faith- 
 ful to the last. Not a sigh broke the death-like 
 silence of the crowd, until a slight smoke, curling 
 from the summit of the pj're, and then a tongue 
 of flame darting with bright and lightning-like 
 rapidity into the clear blue sky, told us that the 
 sacrifice was completed. Fearlessly had this 
 courageous woman fired the pile, and not a groan 
 had betrayed to us the moment when her spirit 
 fled. At sight of the flame a fiendish shout of 
 exultation rent the air ; the tom-toms sounded, 
 the people clapped their hands with delight as 
 the evidence of their murderous work burst on 
 their view, whilst the English spectators of this 
 sad scene withdrew, bearing deep compassion in 
 their hearts, to philosophize as best they might 
 on a custom so fraught with horror, so incompati- 
 ble with reason, and so revolting to human sym- 
 pathy. The pile continued to burn for three 
 hours ; but, from its form, it is supposed that 
 almost immediate suffocation must have termi- 
 nated the sufferings of the unhappy victim. 
 
 ST. GEORGE, THE PATRON SAINT OF 
 ENGLAND. 
 Q AINTS and miracle-workers flourished abun- 
 \>P dantly during the Middle Ages, and the 
 imaginations of the people were fired with the 
 recital of marvels more astounding than the 
 highest flights of fancy in the " Arabian Nights." 
 Many of the saints were purely imaginary char- 
 acters, invented for some special purpose or to 
 suit some particular occasion ; but most of them 
 were real personages whose deeds were excessively 
 exaggerated. A reputation for piety usually 
 carried with it a belief in the ability to work 
 miracles, and if the saint, from honest motives or 
 other reasons, refused to perform them on his own 
 account, they were usually invented for him, either 
 before or after his death ; and these inventions, 
 being of the most vivid and picturesque character, 
 would doubtless greatly astonish the saints them- 
 selves if they could but read their own histories. 
 
 Saint George was the special or patron saint of 
 Chivalry, and was adopted in a similar capacity 
 by the English at a very early date. He is a 
 prominent figure in the legendary history of the 
 English people, as well as in art , but when we 
 
 look for historical facts in his life we are met with 
 almost a total blank. It is probable that he per- 
 formed some deed of heroism for the relief or pro- 
 tection of some eminent female in trouble, and this 
 grain of reality, through the accretions of the 
 ages, grew into the splendid structure of fancy 
 that now adorns the pages of romance. 
 
 Eusebius, the father of ecclesiastical history, 
 mentions a person who is supposed by some to be 
 Saint George. He says that on the promulgation 
 of the edict of the Emperor Diocletian, in the 
 third century, authorizing the persecution of the 
 Christians, " a certain man of no mean origin, but 
 highly esteemed for his temporal dignities, as soon 
 as the decree was published against the churches 
 in Nicomedia, stimulated by a divine zeal, and 
 excited by an ardent faith, took it as it was openly 
 placed and posted up for public inspection, and 
 tore it to shreds as a most profane and wicked 
 act. This, too, was done when the two Caesars 
 were in the city, the first of whom was the eldest 
 and chief of all, and the other held the fourth 
 grade of the imperial dignity after him. But this 
 man, as the first that was distinguished there in 
 this manner, after enduring what was likely to 
 follow an act so daring, preserved his mind calm 
 and serene until the moment when his spirit 
 fled." 
 
 The rather ambiguous closing sentence means 
 in fact that the man who performed so daring a 
 deed was soon afterward tortured to death, accord- 
 ing to the usual custom of the times ; and this 
 person has been generally supposed to be Saint 
 George. If so, this is about all we know authen- 
 tic concerning him. 
 
 There are accounts of this saint both in Greek 
 and Latin, the latter pretending to be the com- 
 position of a servant of the martyr named Pasi* 
 kras ; but both accounts are highly colored and 
 utterly improbable. 
 
 The Greek belongs to the sixth century, and is 
 in substance as follows : Saint George was born 
 of Christian parents in Cappadocia. His father 
 suffered a martyr's death, and the mother, with 
 her child, took refuge in Palestine. At an early 
 age he entered the Roman army, and won a repu- 
 tation for courage and endurance. At the age of 
 twenty he lost his mother, who left him a large 
 inheritance. He then went to the court of Dio- 
 cletian, hoping to secure advancement in the 
 profession of arms. But on the breaking out of 
 
556 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 the persecutions lie distributed his money among 
 the poor, and in the presence of the emperor 
 boldly declared himself a Christian. He was 
 immediately ordered to renounce his faith and 
 sacrifice to the Roman gods, or suffer the conse- 
 •quences. He chose the latter alternative, and 
 "with spears against his body was at once thrust 
 into prison. One of the spears, when it touched 
 him, snapped like straw. He was thrown upon 
 his back in the dungeon, his feet and hands made 
 fast to posts, and a heavy stone laid upon his 
 breast, but the power of God was with him and 
 he escaped unharmed. The next day he was 
 bound to a wheel set with blades and swords, but 
 again he was miraculously preserved from harm. 
 The emperor supposed him to be dead ; but an angel 
 appeared to St. George, and was saluted by him 
 in the military fashion, after which the angel ap- 
 peared to Diocletian and made known the condi- 
 tion of the prisoner to him. He was then released 
 from the wheel, and it was discovered that all his 
 •wounds were healed. After this he was cast into 
 a pit of quick-lime, but it did not harm him ; and 
 two days later, when the emperor sent to have his 
 limbs broken, he was found on his knees praying 
 and perfectly whole. He was next made to run 
 in red-hot iron shoes, but suffered no inconven- 
 ience on that account. The following night he 
 spent in prayer, and on the sixth day he appeared 
 before Diocletian walking and unhurt. He was 
 then scourged with thongs of hide until his flesh 
 came off his back, but he was well the next day. 
 On the seventh day he drank the contents of two 
 cups, whereof the one was prepared to make him 
 mad, and the other to poison him, but he experi- 
 enced no ill-effects from the draughts. He then 
 performed some miracles, raised a dead man to 
 life, and restored life to an ox which had been 
 killed — miracles which caused great astonishment 
 and resulted in many conversions. That night 
 he dreamed that the Saviour laid a golden crown 
 on his head, and bade him prepare for Paradise, 
 by which he knew that his decease was near at 
 hand. He called to him the servant, who claimed 
 to write these memoirs, and commanded him, 
 after his death, to remove his body and his will 
 to Palestine. On the eighth day, by the sign of 
 the cross, he forced the devil inhabiting the statue 
 of Apollo to declare that he was a fallen angel, 
 when all the statues of the gods fell down before 
 
 him. This miracle converted the Empress Alex- 
 andra ; and Diocletian w r as so exasperated against 
 the truth that he condemned her to instant death. 
 She was executed, with three of her servants, 
 Apollo, Isaac, and Creates, who were converted 
 with her. This empress is commemorated in the 
 Greek Church on the 21st of April; and the 
 names of her servants are entered in the Latin 
 catalogue of martyrs, although she herself was 
 excluded. Two days later St. George died and 
 received his crown. 
 
 So much for the Greek legends concerning this 
 saint. The Latin account may be summed up as 
 follows : 
 
 The devil urges Dacian, emperor of the Per- 
 sians, to persecute the Church. At this time there 
 lived at Melitena, with a holy widow, a devout 
 Christian named George. He was subjected to 
 numerous tortures, such as the rack, hot iron 
 pincers, fire, a sword-spiked wheel, shoes nailed 
 to his feet, etc. ; he was put into an iron box, set 
 within with sharp nails, and flung down a preci- 
 pice ; he was beaten -with sledge-hammers, a 
 heavy stone pillar was laid upon him, a large 
 stone was dashed against his head ; he was 
 stretched upon a red-hot iron bed, and melted 
 lead poured over him ; he was cast into a well 
 and transfixed with large nails ; he was enclosed 
 in the stomach of a brazen bull and placed over 
 a hot fire, after which he was cast into another 
 deep well with a heavy stone around his neck. 
 Each time that he returned from a torment he 
 was restored to full vigor. His tortures lasted 
 for seven years, and we may naturally suppose 
 that he became somewhat hardened to them. He 
 was a tough saint ! His constancy and miracles 
 during these long years were the means of con- 
 verting 40,900 men, besides the Empress Alex- 
 andra. The women and children were not 
 counted ; he was satisfied with the men, and was 
 very particular to record the exact number. After 
 all this, Dacian ordered the execution of St. 
 George and the empress, and as they died a 
 whirlwind of fire consumed and carried off the 
 persecutor. 
 
 All this string of nonsense was recorded as 
 true history by two of the brothers of the Church ; 
 but Pope Gelasius rejected their "histories" as 
 the work of heretics. If the fact were not well 
 attested by the records of infallible history, it 
 
EEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 557 
 
 would be impossible to believe that such follies 
 were resorted to, in the earl} r days of the Church, 
 for the conversion 
 of the people. 
 
 In Europe the 
 story of St. George 
 became popular- 
 ized under a to- 
 tal ly different 
 form, as far re- 
 moved from truth 
 as either the Greek 
 or Latin version. 
 It is in substance 
 as follows ; 
 
 George, a tri- 
 bune, was born in 
 Cappadocia, and 
 came to Libya, to 
 the town called 
 Silene, near which 
 was a ford infested 
 by a monster that 
 had man)- times 
 driven back armed 
 hosts sent to de- 
 stroy him. He even 
 had the audacity 
 to approach the 
 walls of the city, 
 and with his ex- 
 halations poisoned 
 all who came near. 
 To satisfy his vo- 
 racity and prevent 
 such unwelcome 
 visits, he was each 
 day supplied with 
 two full-grown 
 sheep. When the 
 sheep were ex- 
 hausted, the sons 
 and daughters of 
 the people were 
 cast to the dragon, 
 .as it was thought 
 better to sacrifice 
 these rather than 
 
 allow him to destroy the whole town. The 
 lot fell one day on the princess, a beautiful, 
 innocent girl, with golden hair and large, soft 
 
 eyes that could melt with tears of pity for the dis- 
 tressed or burn with the heavenly fire of love. 
 
 THE KING S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The king covered his child with the royal robes 
 and sent her forth alone to meet the dragon. At 
 this moment St. George was riding by, clad in 
 
ooS 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 glittering mail and armed with a spear; and see- 
 ing the maiden in tears, standing on the margin 
 of the pond, with the monster rising out of the 
 thick and murky water to devour her, he com- 
 mended himself to God, and dashed upon the 
 dragon with his spear in his hand. At one stroke 
 he transfixed the monster, and then bade the 
 princess pass her girdle round it and fear nothing. 
 When this was done the dragon followed like a 
 docile hound, and they led it into the city, where 
 all the people fled from it in terror; but St. 
 George recalled them and quieted their ap- 
 prehensions. Then the king and all his peo- 
 ple, amounting to twenty thousand men, with- 
 out counting women and children, were baptized, 
 and St. George smote off the head of the 
 monster. 
 
 Other versions of the story are to the effect 
 that the princess was shut up in a castle, and 
 that all within were perishing for water, which 
 could be obtained only from a fountain at the 
 base of a hill, and this was guarded by the dra- 
 gon, from which St. George delivered them. 
 
 This story was accepted by the writers of the 
 Middle Ages, and found its way into the records 
 of the Church, the missals and breviaries, whence 
 it was cut out by order of Pope Clement VII. , 
 and St. George was simply acknowledged as a 
 martyr reigning with Christ. Calvin was the 
 first to declare his conviction that St. George was 
 a myth, a mere creation of some one's imagina- 
 tion ; but his argument was demolished by the 
 learned Peter Heylyn, who proved, to his own 
 satisfaction at least, that the patron saint of chiv- 
 alry was a reality. We may remark, by way of 
 parenthesis, that it required very little evidence, 
 in those days, to prove an absurdity. 
 
 Gibbon identifies Saint George with the Arian 
 Bishop of Alexandria, of that name, whose fame, 
 by the way, was not first-class — not at all becom- 
 ing that of a saint ; though it must be admitted 
 that there were many saints of the Middle Ages 
 whose reputations were not of the most savory 
 character. 
 
 The story of this Arian Saint George is in sub- 
 stance as follows : 
 
 He was bom in a fuller's mill, at Epiphania, in 
 Silicia. His first occupation was that of purveyor 
 of bacon to the army at Constantinople, where, 
 according to the testimony of Saint Athanasius, 
 
 he made large profits, not in the most honest 
 manner. In short, he did what was done by 
 man}- quartermasters during our late war, enriched 
 himself while serving his country. Being found 
 out, he fled to Cappadocia, where he began to 
 pose as a saint. His religion was of that elastic 
 kind which accommodates itself to circumstances, 
 and he accordingly made a profession of Ariauism, 
 because that style of religion was then in fashion, 
 at court. He rendered himself useful in cer- 
 tain devious ways, so that his past sins were over- 
 looked and pardoned. He made a pretence of 
 learning, and collected a large library ; and was 
 eventually promoted to the throne of Saint Atha- 
 nasius. His entrance into ecclesiastical authority 
 was that of a barbarian conqu^ior, and his reign 
 was polluted by cruelty and avarice. 
 
 The Catholics of Alexandria and Egypt were 
 subjected to all sorts of outrages ; in fact, he op- 
 pressed with an impartial hand the various in- 
 habitants of his diocese. As primate of Egypt, 
 he assumed pomp and insolence in his lofty sta- 
 tion, but could not conceal the vices of his base 
 and servile extraction. The merchants of Alex- 
 andria were impoverished by the unjust and al- 
 most exclusive monopoly which he acquired in 
 the sale of nitre, salt, paper, the conducting of 
 funerals, etc. ; and it is said that he even conde- 
 scended to the vile acts of an informer. The 
 pagans excited his devout avarice, and their rich 
 temples in Alexandria were either pillaged or 
 insulted by this haughty prelate, who exclaimed 
 in a loud and threatening tone, " How long shall 
 these sepulchres be permitted to stand?" 
 
 But the accession of the apostate Julian caused 
 the downfall of George. He and two of his 
 obsequious retainers, Diodorus and Dracontius, 
 were ignominiously dragged to the common 
 prison. At the end of twenty days, the prison 
 was forced open by an enraged heathen multi- 
 tude, and the three prisoners were torn to pieces 
 and their bodies cast into the sea. 
 
 It is hardly possible that such an infamous 
 character as the one just described, could have 
 been transformed, even with the aid of the most 
 vivid imagination, into a saint ; and Gibbon must 
 therefore have made a mistake in confounding 
 the mythical, but just and pure Saint George, 
 with the licentious and tyrannical Bishop of 
 Alexandria. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 559 
 
 A HISTORY OF DUELLING AND SOME FAMOUS 
 DUELS. 
 
 CHE most ancient and illustrious duel that we 
 have an}- authentic account of, is the one 
 that was fought between David, the shepherd 
 lad, and the champion of the Philistines. The 
 result, in this combat, was favorable to the cause 
 of right and justice ; but it has not been always 
 so in the case of other duels fought since that 
 time. 
 
 When the northern barbarians overran the 
 Roman empire, they introduced single combats as 
 a proof of divine right, and the ordeal was accord- 
 ingly accompanied by religious ceremonies. The 
 duel was formally legalized as a decisive test of 
 right, by Gundebold, king of the Burgundians, 
 about the year 500, and Tacitus mentions the 
 custom as prevailing extensively among the 
 Germans previous to that date. During the 
 Middle Ages, duels were patronized by mon- 
 archs, and approved as judicial ordeals by the 
 clergy and the courts. By the truce of God of 
 1041, they were not permitted between Wednes- 
 day and Monday, the intervening days being 
 held sacred to Christ's passion. The custom was 
 greatly abused, and various monarchs, at different 
 eras, attempted to curb it or bring it within legal 
 restrictions, but their efforts were not attended 
 with flattering success. In 1386, one Jacques 
 Eagris was accused of violence to a lady. He 
 denied the crime, was forced to accept the ordeal 
 of battle, was overcome, and being adjudged 
 guilty, was hanged ; but subsequently another 
 person confessed that he was the criminal. This 
 made a profound impression, and caused the abo- 
 lition of the judicial ordeal. From this date the 
 character of the duel underwent a complete 
 change, and its subsequent history exhibits it 
 solely in the light of an attempt to obtain satis- 
 faction for an injury, particularly an insult. This 
 idea owes its prevalence largely to Francis the 
 First, of France, who laid down the principle 
 " that the lie was never to be put up with, with- 
 out satisfaction, except by base-born fellows;" 
 and lies were divided into thirty-two classes, each 
 having its mode of satisfaction. Through the 
 influence of Francis, duelling became a custom 
 throughout his dominions, and it spread from 
 thence to the other continental countries and to 
 England. 
 
 International disputes and quarrels were sub- 
 
 mitted to the arbitrament of amis, and " the chal- 
 lenge of the king" was the highest form of the 
 duel. It was not the custom for kings to send or 
 accept challenges, except from persons of their 
 own station, so that a kingly challenge usually 
 meant a war between two or more nations. On 
 some occasions, however, they entered the lists 
 and tested their prowess and skill in friendly tour- 
 naments with their subjects. Henry II. , of France, 
 was mortally wounded in a combat of this kind, 
 which he fought with the Count de Montgomery, 
 a captain of his guard, in Jul}-, 1559. The point 
 of the count's lance entered the king's visor, in- 
 flicting the wound from which he died. 
 
 When Henry III., of France, died, one of his 
 courtiers, anxious to make a display of his loyal 
 grief, swore that he would not survive him, and 
 threw a challenge into the air. Another lord 
 picked it up, and sent him to join his master. 
 Such were the pastimes of the nobility in those 
 days. When Henry the Fourth was challenged, 
 he fought not in person, but by deputy, on the 
 ground that, as there was no person in the king- 
 dom of equal station with himself, he could not 
 personally engage in a combat of that sort. At 
 the same time he was perfectly willing to allow 
 an} r gentleman who felt himself aggrieved to seek 
 satisfaction by crossing swords with a deputy. 
 This was a comfortable and pleasant way of 
 fighting, and Henry's good sense is highly com- 
 mendable. 
 
 Duelling iu France reached its height of savage 
 ferocity under Louis XIII. It was the custom 
 then for the combatants to hold each other by 
 their left hands, while with their right they cut 
 and slashed one another with daggers or short 
 swords. Such duels were bloody and brutal in 
 the extreme, and frequently ended in the death 
 of both parties. Another custom prevailed dur- 
 ing the same period of turning the combatants 
 loose in a darkened room, and allowing them to 
 cut one another's throats. A humorous incident 
 is related iu this connection. A gentleman had 
 been challenged who was opposed to fighting, and 
 had no desire to take the life of his enemy. 
 Being the challenged party, he had choice of 
 weapons, and he selected pistols, as they were 
 quicker in action and less barbarous than the 
 knife. On being left alone with his antagonist 
 in the darkened room, and desiring to convince 
 him of his friendly intentions in the most emphatic 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 561 
 
 manner, he groped his way to the fire-place and 
 discharged his pistol up the chimnej-, but unfor- 
 tunately brought down 
 
 erected a gallows for the 
 survive a certain combat ; 
 
 party who should 
 yet having struck 
 
 .<4 .ferjr 
 
 his opponent, who had 
 taken refuge there. 
 
 During the ascend- 
 ency of the Puritans 
 in England efforts 
 were made to sup- 
 press duelling ; it was 
 looked upon as aris- 
 tocratic, and therefore 
 reprehensible, and the 
 life of every man was 
 said to belong to his 
 country. When the 
 reaction commenced 
 the custom was re- 
 vived, because of the 
 ascendency of the mili- 
 tary class. 
 
 Napoleon was bit- 
 
 terlv averse to the wounding of henry n. in a tournament. 
 
 code, but public opinion compelled him to toler- an officer in a fit of passion, he offered him 
 ate it, even while expressing his contempt for "the satisfaction of a gentleman." 
 
 The first duel in 
 America took place 
 in 162 1, at Plymouth, 
 between two serving 
 men. They were tried 
 and sentenced to be 
 tied together neck 
 and heels for twenty - 
 four hours, but a por- 
 tion of the punish- 
 ment was remitted. 
 In 1728 two young 
 men named Wood- 
 bridge and Phillips 
 fought a duel in Bos- 
 ton Commons, after 
 dark and without sec- 
 onds. Swords were 
 the weapons used, 
 and Woodbridge was 
 killed. Phillips got 
 on board a man-of- 
 war and escaped to 
 France. This incident 
 and new and severe 
 
 A duel with battle-axes. — (Copy of an engraving of the fifteenth century.) 
 
 those who engaged in it. Gustavus Adolphus created a great sensation, 
 was also opposed to duelling, and on one occasion laws were enacted against duelling. In 1785 a 
 36 
 
AG: 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Captain Gunn twice challenged General Greene, 
 the Revolutionary hero, and threatened a personal 
 assault if he refused to meet him. Greene wrote 
 to Washington, and acknowledged that he would 
 accept the challenge if he thought his honor 
 would suffer by a refusal, but that he did not 
 think the circumstances justified an acceptance. 
 Washington heartily approved cf his course. 
 Andrew Jackson killed Charles Dickinson in a 
 duel, and was engaged in other " aff? ; rs 
 of honor;" yet when he was President in 
 1S30 he caused the names of four naval 
 
 evidence of courage to send or accept a challenge, 
 but quite the contrary. 
 
 The latest noted duel in this country occurred 
 a few months since, in Alabama, between two 
 negroes who were rivals for the affections of 
 the same colored damsel. The meeting took 
 place in the earl}- morning, on the banks of the 
 Tombigbee river. The challenger came on the 
 ground first, where he was surprised to find a 
 large concourse of people whose curi- 
 osity had attracted them to the spot 
 to witness the ' ' affair. ' ' It could 
 
 A TrvriNC Tournament of THE sixteenth century. — (Copy of ancient engraving-.! 
 
 officers to be stricken from the rolls because 
 they had engaged in a duel. 
 
 At present there are strict laws against duel- 
 ling in all the States, and public opinion is very 
 decidedly opposed to the custom ; so much so, in 
 fact, that those who engage in it are usually sub- 
 jected to the ridicule and contempt of their ac- 
 quaintances. It is 110 longer considered an 
 
 be plainly seen that he was greatly agitated 
 over the approaching event, and as the mo- 
 ments went by his cheeks blanched with terror. 
 Finally, when his antagonist, accompanied by his 
 second, appeared, and preparations for the deadly 
 combat were commenced, he could bear the 
 strain no longer. His life seemed dearer to him 
 than ever before, now that there was a chance of 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 o(J8 
 
 his losing it. He even forgot his honor, and the 
 smile of his dusky Dulcinea, and turning with a 
 howl of terror, he fled from the spot, plunged into 
 the river, and swimming across, sought safety in 
 a dense forest on the opposite side, followed by the 
 shouts and derisive laughter of the amused 
 crowd. 
 
 Famous Duel of the 14th Century between Sir John De 
 Carogne and James Le Gris. 
 
 This was the last judicial combat that took 
 place in France under the award of Parliament. 
 
 then a young and very beautiful lady, and leav- 
 ing her safe and comfortable in his castle of 
 Argentiel, he began his journey toward the sea- 
 side. His wife remained in the castle, with her 
 household, living in the most decent and orderly 
 manner, and above all reproach. 
 
 At this time there belonged also to the house- 
 hold of Count d'Alencon, a squire named James 
 Le Gris, whom the count loved above all others, 
 and placed the most unlimited confidence in him. 
 This man became infatuated with the beauty 
 
 TRIAL OF LE GRIS BBFORE THE COUNT D'ALENCON. 
 
 It occurred in 1337, and the peculiar circum- 
 stances attending and preceding it, gave it a na- 
 tional reputation. The king and his court were 
 present at the fatal contest, and all the particulars 
 are related in full by Sir John Froissart, from 
 whose writings this account is made up. It was 
 one of the most celebrated duels of the roman- 
 ce days of chivalry, but is representative of 
 many others of its class, and is therefore enti- 
 tled to a place in this work. 
 
 Sir John de Carogne, having decided to seek 
 glory in the Holy Land, took leave of his lord, 
 the Count d'Alencon, and of his wife, who was 
 
 of Lady Carogne, and emboldened by the absence 
 of her husband, he decided to take a mean and 
 dishonorable advantage of her. According^ he 
 set out one da}-, mounted on the finest horse in the 
 stables of the count, and in due time arrived, in 
 full gallop, at the castle of Argentiel, where he 
 dismounted. The servants made a handsome en- 
 tertainment for him, because they knew he was a 
 particular friend of their master ; and the lady, 
 thinking no ill, received him with pleasure, led 
 him to her apartment, and showed him her fancy 
 work, surf) as ladies delight in. But he was 
 fully intent upon accomplishing his wicked pur- 
 
504 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 pose, and begged her to conduct him to the dun- 
 geon, claiming that the object of his visit was prin- 
 cipally to examine that, as it was built upon a plan 
 somewhat different from others of that period. 
 She readily complied, and led him thither ; but 
 they had no sooner entered the dungeon than he 
 fastened the door, and with force and violence 
 accomplished his base purpose. 
 
 This occurred at nigh.':. He then mounted his 
 horse and hastened back to the castle of the Count 
 d'Alencon, in time to attend the rising in the 
 morning. He had arranged matters so that he 
 was seen in the hotel of the castle at four o'clock, 
 which circumstance, in the subsequent trial of the 
 case, was brought up as evidence in his favor. 
 
 The L,ady de Carogne kept the matter a secret 
 in her own breast for a long time, and until her 
 husband came back from the wars of the Holy 
 Land. When Sir John returned he was joyfully 
 received by his lad} 7 and household, who feasted 
 him well, but when they retired at night, she 
 threw herself on her knees and bitterly bewailed 
 the insult she had suffered. Her husband at first 
 could not believe what she told him, but after her 
 repeated assurances and protestations of innocence, 
 he accepted her statement, and believed her im- 
 plicitly. 
 
 On the following day he sent for her nearest 
 relatives, and when they were assembled, he led 
 them into an apartment and told them his reasons 
 for summoning them, and requested his lady to 
 relate minutely everything that had passed during 
 his absence. They were astonished at what they 
 heard, and advised him to refer the matter to the 
 Count d'Alencon. This he did, but the Count, 
 who greatly loved L,e Gris, refused to credit the ac- 
 cusation made against him, and appointed a day 
 for the parties to come before him, and desired 
 that the lady might attend and give her evidence 
 against the man whom she thus accused, he 
 Gris boldly denied the charge, and wondered how 
 he could have incurred the mortal hatred of the 
 lady. He proved by the household of the Count 
 that he had been seen in the castle at four o'clock 
 in the morning, and as the Count himself had ob- 
 served him in his chamber at nine o'clock, he de- 
 cided that it was quite impossible for any one to 
 have ridden three and twenty leagues and back 
 again in five hours. He commanded that hence- 
 forward all should be buried in oblivion, and 
 under pain of incurring his displeasure nothing 
 
 farther was to be done in the matter. Sir John, 
 being a man of courage, and believing what his 
 wife had told him, would not submit to this 
 decision, but went to Paris and appealed to the 
 parliament. The latter summoned James he Gris, 
 who replied, and gave pledges to obey whatever 
 judgment parliament should give. The cause 
 lasted for upwards of a year, and they could not 
 in an}- way compromise it, for Sir John was deter- 
 mined that he woidd pursue the matter until 
 death rather than allow a stain to remain upon his 
 wife's name. This caused the Count d'Alencon 
 to conceive a great dislike for him, and he would 
 have put him to death had he not placed himself 
 under the safeguard of the parliament. The latter 
 at length decided that the case should be settled 
 by an appeal to arms, as a last resort, and Sir 
 Tohn, the squire, and the lady were instantly put 
 under arrest until the day set for the mortal com- 
 bat. 
 
 At this time the king was at Sluys, preparing 
 for an invasion of England, but on hearing of the 
 intended duel, he declared his purpose to be 
 present on that occasion. Accordingly he ari" 
 his principal officers set out for Paris to witnesi 
 the combat. On their arrival lists were made up 
 for the champions, in the place of St. Catharine, 
 while scaffolds were erected on one side for the 
 accommodation of the king and his nobles. An 
 immense crowd of people gathered to witness the 
 exciting spectacle. The two champions entered 
 the lists armed at all points, and each was seated 
 in a chair opposite the other ; the Count de 
 St. Pol directed Sir John de Carogne, and the re- 
 tainers of the Count d'Alencon, James Le Gris. 
 On entering the lists, Sir John approached his 
 lady, who was covered in black and seated on a 
 chair, and saluting her said, " Lady, from your 
 accusation, and in your quarrel, am I thus ven- 
 turing my life to combat James Te Gris ; you 
 know whether my cause be loyal and true." To 
 this she replied, "My lord, it is so; and you 
 may fight securely, for your cause is good. ' ' 
 
 She remained seated, making fervent prayers 
 to God and the Virgin, entreating humbly rhat 
 through her grace and intercession, she might 
 gain the victory according to her right. Her life 
 depended upon the result, for should her husband 
 lose the victor}-, he would be hanged and she 
 herself burnt as a criminal. She regretted that 
 she had not kept the matter a secret, and thus 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 565 
 
 avoided placing herself and her husband in such 
 mortal peril ; but it was now too late, and she 
 must abide the event. 
 
 The two champions were then advanced and 
 placed opposite to each other, making a handsome 
 appearance, for they were both expert men-at- 
 arms. The first course was run without either 
 receiving any hurt. After the tilting, they dis- 
 mounted, and made ready to continue the fight 
 on foot. Both behaved with great courage, but 
 at the first onset, Sir John was wounded in the 
 thigh, which alarmed all of his friends, 
 particularly his wife, who now yielded to 
 'despair, feeling sure that Sir John would 
 be overcome ; but he nerved himself to a 
 desperate effort, and throwing all his en- 
 ergies into one blow, struck down his 
 adversary, and thrusting his sword through 
 his bod}-, killed him on the spot. He 
 then appealed to the king and the specta- 
 tors to know if he had not done his duty, 
 and they greeted him with enthusiasm 
 and applause. 
 
 The bodj- of Le Gris was delivered to 
 the hangman, who dragged it to Mont- 
 faucon, and there hanged it. Sir John 
 approached the king, and fell on his 
 knees ; the king made him rise, and or- 
 dered one thousand francs to be paid to 
 him that very day. He also retained him 
 in his household, with a pension of two 
 hundred livres a year, which he received 
 as long as he lived. After thanking the 
 king and his lords, Sir John went to his 
 lady and kissed her, after which they 
 went together to make their offering in 
 the church of Notre Dame, and then re- 
 
 followed. Hamilton accepted the challenge, al- 
 though he utterly condemned the practice of 
 duelling, to which he had already been a victim 
 in the loss of his eldest son, a promising youth of 
 only twenty, who fell in a political duel in 1802. 
 He declared that it was solely in his character as 
 a public man that he accepted Burr's challenge, 
 explaining his position in the following language : 
 "The ability to be in future useful, whether in 
 resisting mischief or effecting good in those crises 
 of our public affairs which seem likely to happen, 
 
 turned to their home, 
 for many years. 
 
 where they lived happily 
 
 THE BURR-HAMILTON DUEL. 
 
 IN 1S03 Aaron Burr was a candidate for Gov- 
 ernor of New York, but was defeated by Gen- 
 eral Hamilton's influence, an unfriendly feeling 
 having existed for many years between the two. 
 After his defeat Burr demanded that Hamilton 
 should disavow certain expressions derogatory to 
 his personal character, which he claimed the latter 
 had uttered during the campaign. Hamilton 
 declined to comply, and a challenge from Burr 
 
 DUEL BETWEEN SIR JOHN CAROGNE AND I.E GRIS. 
 
 would probably be inseparable from a conformity 
 with prejudice in this particular." 
 
 In his personal appearance Hamilton is de- 
 scribed as being under the middle size, thin in 
 person, and very erect, courtly and dignified in 
 his bearing. His figure, though slight, was well- 
 proportioned and graceful ; his complexion deli- 
 cate and fine ; rosy cheeks, and the whole expres- 
 sion of his countenance pleasant and cheerful ; 
 his voice musical, and his manner frank and cor- 
 dial. He excelled equally as a writer and a 
 speaker. 
 
 Burr is described as being in the prime of 
 
566 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 his manhood, small but well-formed, fair com- 
 plexioned, and fascinating in his manners. His 
 face was strikingly handsome, with jet black and 
 uncommonly brilliant and piercing e3 r es. In the 
 drawing-room his manners were singularly grace- 
 ful, gentle and winning, but in public he assumed 
 an air of haughty superiority. He was a wit, a 
 beau, a good scholar, an unscrupulous lawyer 
 and politician, and a libertine in morals. He had 
 only one legitimate child, a daughter named 
 Theodosia, who was married to Governor Allston, 
 
 On this occasion Hamilton was cheerful, and at 
 times even merry. He was urged by his friends 
 to sing the only song he ever sang or knew — the 
 familiar old ballad of " The Drum." He sang it 
 in his heartiest manner, greatly to the delight of 
 the old soldiers by whom he was surrounded. 
 During the evening Burr was reserved and silent, 
 mingling but little with the company, and taking 
 no part in the general conversation. In fact, as a 
 rule, he was more of a listener than talker, so 
 that on this occasion his silence was less remarked. 
 
 MURDER OF HAMILTON. 
 
 of South Carolina, and was lost in a storm at 
 sea. 
 
 Burr's second was a young lawyer named Wm. 
 P. Van Ness, one of his most attached parti- 
 sans, and fully as dark, designing, cool, and im- 
 placable as his principal. Considerable corre- 
 spondence took place between the parties, Hamil- 
 ton endeavoring in every possible way, without 
 going so far as to involve his honor, to bring 
 about a reconciliation, but failing in his purpose, 
 the terms of the meeting were agreed upon, pis- 
 tols selected as the weapons, and the distance 
 fixed at ten paces. 
 
 During the progress of these preliminaries 
 Hamilton and Burr met at a banquet of the Society 
 of the Cincinnati, of which they were members. 
 
 He paid not the slightest attention to Hamilton 
 until he began to sing, when he turned, and lean- 
 ing on the table, looked fixedly at him until the 
 song was finished. 
 
 When the fatal morning came, Burr arrived on 
 the ground first, as had been previously arranged. 
 He deliberately took off his coat, surveyed the 
 ground, and then cleared away the brush, limbs 
 of trees, etc. When General Hamilton arrived 
 the parties exchanged salutations, and the seconds 
 proceeded to make their arrangements. The dis- 
 tance was measured and lots cast for the choice of 
 position, and also to determine by whom the word 
 should be given. In both instances the advar* 
 tage was with Hamilton. The pistols were the 
 loaded, and the parties took their stations. Hamf 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 567 
 
 ton's second now explained to the principals the 
 rules which were to govern them in firing, as fol- 
 lows : "The parties being placed at their sta- 
 tions, the second who gives the word shall ask 
 them whether they are ready ; being answered in 
 the affirmative, he shall say Present ; after this, 
 the parties shall present and fire when the}- please. 
 If one fires before the other, the opposite second 
 shall say, one, two, three — fire ; and he shall then 
 fire or lose his shot." The second then took his 
 position, and asked if they were read}- ; being 
 answered in the affirmative, he gave the word 
 Present, when instantly Burr's pistol was dis- 
 charged. Hamilton was seen to spring upon his 
 toes with a convulsive movement, and reel a little 
 to one side, when his pistol was discharged at 
 random, and he fell headlong on his .face, remain- 
 ing motionless on the ground. The ball from his 
 pistol rustled among the branches some distance 
 over the head of his antagonist. Burr heard it, 
 and coolly looked up and noticed where it had 
 severed a twig. Glancing then at Hamilton he 
 beheld him falling, and advanced toward him with 
 a manner and gesture that appeared to be expres- 
 sive of regret, but without speaking, turned about 
 and withdrew, being urged from the field by his 
 second. No further conversation took place be- 
 tween the principals, and Burr immediately re- 
 turned to New York. 
 
 Hamilton was borne away in the arms of Pen- 
 dleton, his second, and his wound was attended 
 to by Dr. Hosack. He had just strength enough 
 to say, " This is a mortal wound, doctor ;" when 
 he sank away, and became unconscious. On re- 
 covering, his first words were, " My vision is 
 indistinct," but soon after recovering his sight, 
 and observing the case of pistols, w T ith the one 
 that had been used lying outside, he said, ' ' Take 
 care of that pistol ; it is undischarged and still 
 cocked ; it may go off and do harm — Pendleton 
 knows (attempting to turn his head towards him) 
 that I did not intend to fire at him." The dis- 
 charge of the pistol was in fact purely accidental, 
 resulting from nervous agitation produced by the 
 wound and his fall. He had offered himself an 
 unresisting victim to the vengeance of Burr, and 
 the unhealthy public sentiment of the times. 
 
 Hamilton was tenderly placed in the bottom of 
 a barge, and the party rowed rapidly toward the 
 New York side. On approaching the shore, he 
 requested that Mrs. Hamilton should be imme- 
 
 diately sent for, but that the event should be grad- 
 ually broken to her, and in such a way as to lead 
 her to believe that his wound was not serious. 
 His friend, Mr. Bayard, was standing on the 
 wharf in great agitation, and on seeing Hamilton 
 lying in the boat, threw up his arms and burst 
 into tears and lamentations. Hamilton was im- 
 mediately conveyed to his home, where he was 
 put to bed, and a consultation of physicians held. 
 They united in the opinion that there was no 
 chance for his recovery ; the ball had struck the 
 second or third false rib and fractured it about the 
 middle ; it then passed through the liver and the 
 diaphragm, lodging in the first or second lumbar 
 vertebra. 
 
 The news of Hamilton's fall and probable 
 speedy death, sped rapidly over the entire coun- 
 try. In New York bulletins, giving an account 
 of his condition, were issued hourly, and kept 
 the city in the wildest agitation. Mrs. Hamilton 
 was overwhelmed with sorrow, but her husband 
 remained calm and uncomplaining, although he 
 suffered intense agony during the remainder of 
 the day and the following night. At his request, 
 he was visited by Bishop Moore and Rev. Dr. 
 Mason. To the former he said: "My dear sir, 
 you perceive my unfortunate situation, and no 
 doubt have been made acquainted with the cir- 
 cumstances which led to it. It is my desire to 
 receive the communion at your hands. I hope 
 you will not conceive there is • any impropriety in 
 my request. It has for some time past been the 
 wish of my heart, and it was my intention to 
 take an early opportunity of uniting myself to the 
 church by the reception of that holy ordinance." 
 Bishop Moore observed to him that he must be 
 very sensible of the delicate and trying situation 
 in which he as a minister was placed ; that how- 
 ever desirous he might be to afford consolation to 
 a fellow mortal in distress, it was his duty to hold 
 up the law of God as paramount to all other cus- 
 toms, and that he must unequivocally condemn 
 the practice which had brought him to his present 
 unhappy condition. Hamilton acknowledged the 
 propriety of these sentiments, and added, "I 
 have no ill-will against Colonel Burr. I met him 
 with a fixed determination to do him no harm. 
 I forgive all that happened. ' ' After some further 
 conversation he received the sacrament with great 
 devotion. 
 
 On the following day at n o'clock he embraced 
 
56S 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 his wife for the last time, and then calmly com- 
 posing himself to die, expired without a shudder 
 or a groan, in the prime of his manhood, being 
 then forty-seven years of age. A week before the 
 time fixed for the duel Hamilton prepared a letter 
 to his wife, to be handed to her in case of his 
 death. In this epistle he assured her that he had 
 striven, by all honorable means, to avoid the meet- 
 ing, but that he expected to fall in it. He entreated 
 her forgiveness for the calamity his death would 
 bring upon her and her children, and implored 
 her to meet the blow in calm submission to 
 Providence. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton was a woman of rare excel- 
 lence and dignity of character. She survived him 
 fifty years, dying in 1S54 at the advanced age of 
 97. It is related that after the death of her hus- 
 band she met his murderer only on one occasion, 
 the incident being described as follows : In the 
 year 1822, she was travelling from New York to 
 Albany, on one of the boats plying the Hudson. 
 At the dinner hour when Mrs. Hamilton was ap- 
 proaching the dining-saloon, and had almost 
 reached her place at the table, she raised her 
 eyes and perceived Aaron Burr standing directly 
 opposite to her, with only a few feet intervening 
 between them. The shock of the unexpected 
 meeting was so great that she uttered a loud 
 scream, fell fainting to the floor, and was carried 
 from the apartment. As soon as she recovered she 
 insisted upon being set on shore at the first landing 
 place, refusing to journey further in the same 
 vessel with Burr. It is said that after her re- 
 moval from the dining-saloon, he deliberate^' sat 
 down and ate a hearty meal with the utmost com- 
 posure. 
 
 Public indignation against Burr after the duel 
 knew no bounds. The fact that he had expressed 
 a determination to force the fight, being sure of 
 his ability to kill his antagonist, caused him to be 
 branded as a wilful murderer, and an indictment 
 was found against him ; but he escaped by flight 
 and concealment. The day following General 
 Hamilton's death, Burr addressed a letter to Gov- 
 ernor Allston, his son-in-law, in which he used the 
 following heartless words : ' ' General Hamilton 
 died yesterday. The malignant federalists or 
 tories. and the embittered Clintonians, unite in 
 endeavoring to excite public sympathy in his 
 favor and indignation against his antagonist. 
 Thousands of absurd falsehoods are circulated 
 
 with industry. The most illiberal means are 
 practised in order to produce excitement, and for 
 the moment with effect." 
 
 Evil almost invariably meets with its just pun- 
 ishment. Retribution may be slow, but it is 
 terribly sure. In the liistor)- of our country the 
 name of Aaron Burr stands even below that of 
 Benedict Arnold, for he was a murderer as well as 
 a traitor, and infamy will be his portion so long 
 as the world may last. 
 
 THE DUEL BETWEEN COMMODORES DECA- 
 TUR AND BARRON. 
 
 nEXT to the unfortunate Hamilton-Burr affair, 
 perhaps the most celebrated American duel 
 was the one fought by Commodores Stephen 
 Decatur and James Barron, near Bladeusburg, 
 Maryland, March 22, 1820, resulting in the death 
 of the former and the severe wounding of the 
 latter. 
 
 The quarrel was an old one, dating back to 
 1807 and growing out of what is known in our 
 naval history as the ' ' affair of the Chesapeake. ' ' 
 On the 22nd of June, 1807, the United States 
 Frigate " Chesapeake," carrying thirty-eight 
 guns, and under the command of Commodore 
 Barron, got under way from Hampton Roads, 
 bound to the Mediterranean, and was almost im- 
 mediately boarded by a boat from the British ship 
 "Eeopard," of fifty guns. The officer in command 
 of the boat's crew presented an order from the 
 Captain of his ship to search the American vessel 
 for some men who were claimed as British de- 
 serters. Commodore Barron indignantly and 
 peremptorily refused to submit to such an outrage, 
 and immediatel}- afterward the "Leopard" fired 
 a broadside into his ship. The Chesapeake was 
 not prepared to return it ; for, besides her inferior 
 force and poor armament, she was in great con- 
 fusion consequent upon her leaving port. The 
 guns were loaded, but there were no rammers, 
 wads, matches, gun-locks, or powder-horns at 
 hand. Only one shot was fired from the ' ' Ches- 
 apeake " during the action, and it was discharged 
 by means of a coal brought from below. The 
 " Eeopard " continued firing rapidly, until Barron, 
 finding that he could make no resistance, ordered 
 his colors struck. The ' ' Chesapeake ' ' received 
 twenty-one shots in the hull, and had three men 
 killed and eighteen wounded, among the latter 
 being Commodore Barron himself. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 509 
 
 This unpardonable outrage created intense ex- 
 citement throughout the United States, and the 
 martial ardor of the people was aroused to the 
 highest pitch. War seemed inevitable, but 
 through diplomacy it was postponed until 1S12. 
 
 Commodore Barron was tried by court-martial, 
 and found guilty of "neglecting, on the proba- 
 bility of an engagement, to clear his ship for ac- 
 tion, ' ' and was sentenced to be suspended for five 
 years without pay or emoluments. Decatur was 
 a member of the court-martial, and this was the 
 origin of the enmity between the two, although 
 the court closed its findings on the subject of 
 the personal conduct of the accused in the fol- 
 lowing terms : ' ' No transposition of the specifi- 
 cation or any other modification of the charges 
 themselves, would alter the opinion of the court 
 as to the firmness and courage of the accused ; 
 the evidence on this point is clear and satisfac- 
 tory." 
 
 Barron entered the merchant service during his 
 suspension, and remained abroad until 18 18, when 
 an attempt was made to restore him to duty, 
 which Decatur opposed. After a long and bit- 
 ter correspondence, Barron challenged Decatur, 
 the challenge was accepted, and the encounter 
 fixed for March, 1820, at a place near Bladens- 
 burg. Both of the principals fell at the first fire, 
 Decatur mortally wounded, and Barron so severely 
 that he was confined to his bed, in great suffering, 
 for several months. Decatur died during the fol- 
 lowing night, in the forty-second year of his 
 age. 
 
 THE CELEBRATED CLAY-RANDOLPH DUEL. 
 
 THIS duel arose from a remark made by Mr. 
 Randolph during the course of a speech 
 in Congress on the appointment of Mr. Clay as 
 Secretary of State by President Adams. Ran- 
 dolph characterized it as " the coalition of Bilfil 
 and Black George — the combination, unheard of 
 until then, of the Puritan with the blackleg." 
 This was pretty rough language coming from a 
 man of such prominence as Mr. Randolph ; in 
 fact it sounds more like Billingsgate than the ut- 
 terance of a scholar and statesman ; and Mr. 
 Clay could not afford to let it go unnoticed. The 
 challenge followed at once. We quote the history 
 of the duel as recorded by General James Hamil- 
 ton, of South Carolina, who was present : 
 
 "The night before the duel," says General 
 
 Hamilton, " Mr. Randolph sent for me. I found 
 him calm, but in a singularly kind and confiding 
 mood. He told me that he had something on his 
 mind to tell me. He then remarked, ' Hamilton, 
 I have determined to receive, without returning, 
 Clay's fire ; nothing shall induce me to harm a 
 hair of his head ; I will not make his wife a 
 widow, or his children orphans. Their tears 
 would be shed over his grave ; but when the sod 
 of Virginia rests on my bosom, there is not in 
 this wide world one individual to pay this tribute 
 upon mine.' His eyes filled, and resting his head 
 upon his hand, we remained some minutes silent. 
 I replied, ' My dear friend (for ours was a sort 
 of posthumous friendship, bequeathed by our 
 mothers), I deeply regret that you have men- 
 tioned this subject to me ; for you call upon me 
 to go to the field and to see you shot down, or to 
 assume the responsibility, in regard to your own 
 life, in sustaining your determination to throw 
 it away. But on this subject, a man's own con- 
 science and his own bosom are his best monitors. 
 I will not advise, but under the enormous and un- 
 provoked personal insult you have offered Mr. 
 Clay, I cannot dissuade. I feel bound, however, to 
 communicate to Colonel Tatnall* your decision.' 
 He begged me not to do so, and said, ' he was 
 very much afraid that Tatuall would take the 
 studs and refuse to go out with him.' I, how- 
 ever, sought Colonel Tatnall, and we repaired 
 about midnight to Mr. Randolph's lodgings, 
 whom we found reading Milton's great poem. 
 For some moments he did not permit us to say one 
 word in relation to the approaching duel ; and he 
 at once commenced one of those delightful criti- 
 cisms on a passage of this poet, in which he was 
 wont so enthusiastically to indulge. After 3 
 pause, Colonel Tatnall remarked, ' Mr. Randolph, 
 I am told you have determined not to return Mr. 
 Clay's fire ; I must say to you, my dear sir, if I am 
 only to go out to see you shot down, you must 
 find some other friend. ' Mr. Randolph remarked 
 that it was his determination. After much con- 
 versation on the subject, 1 induced Colonel Tat- 
 nall to allow Mr. Randolph to take his own 
 course, as his withdrawal, as one of his friends, 
 might lead to very injurious misconstructions. 
 At last, Mr. Randolph, smiling, said, 'Well, 
 Tatuall, I promise you one thing, if I see the 
 devil in Clay's eye, and that with malice pre- 
 * Randolph's second. 
 
570 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 perse lie means to take my life, I may change my 
 mind.' A remark I knew he made merely to 
 propitiate the anxieties of his friend. 
 
 " Mr. Clay and himself met at 4 o'clock the 
 succeeding evening, on the banks of the Potomac. 
 But he saw 'no devil in Clay's eye,' but a man 
 fearless, and expressing the mingled sensibility 
 and firmness which belonged to the occasion. 
 
 ' ' I shall never forget this scene, as long as I 
 live. It has been my misfortune to witness sev- 
 eral duels, but I never saw one, at least in its se- 
 quel, so deeply affecting. The sun was just set- 
 ting behind the blue hills of Randolph's own 
 Virginia. Here were two of the most extraor- 
 dinary men our country in its prodigality had pro- 
 duced, about to meet in mortal combat. Whilst 
 Tatnall was loading Randolph's pistols I ap- 
 proached my friend, I believed, for the last time; 
 I took his hand ; there was not in its touch the 
 quivering of one pulsation. He turned to me 
 and said, 'Clay is calm, but not vindictive — I 
 hold my purpose, Hamilton, in airy event ; re- 
 member this.' On handing him his pistol, Col- 
 onel Tatnall sprung the hair-trigger. Mr. Ran- 
 dolph said, ' Tatnall, although I am one of the 
 best shots in Virginia, with either a pistol or gun, 
 yet I never fire with the hair-trigger ; besides, I 
 have a thick buckskin glove on, which will de- 
 stroy the delicacy of my touch, and the trigger 
 may fly before T know where I am.' But, from 
 his great solicitude for his friend, Tatnall insisted 
 upon hairing the trigger. On taking their posi- 
 tion, the fact turned out as Mr. Randolph antici- 
 pated ; his pistol went off before the word, with 
 the muzzle down. 
 
 "The moment this event took place, General 
 Jesup, Mr. Clay's friend, called out that he would 
 instantly leave the ground with his friend, if that 
 occurred again. Mr. Clay at once exclaimed, ' it 
 was entirely an accident,' and begged that the gen- 
 tleman might be allowed to go on. On the word 
 being given, Mr. Clay fired without effect, Mr. 
 Randolph discharging his pistol in the air. The 
 moment Mr. Clay saw that Mr. Randolph had 
 thrown away his fire, with a gush of sensibility, 
 he instantly approached Mr. Randolph, and said 
 with an emotion I never can forget : — ' I trust in 
 God, my dear sir, you are untouched ; after what 
 has occurred, I would not have harmed you for a 
 thousand worlds.' 
 
 Col. Thomas H. Benton was also present at this 
 
 duel, and wrote a fuller account of it than that 
 given by General Hamilton. As he mentions 
 several interesting particulars not referred to by 
 General Hamilton, we will give a portion of Col. 
 Benton's statement : 
 
 ' ' I have said that the count was to be quick 
 after giving the word 'fire,' and for a reason 
 which could not be told to the principals. To 
 Mr. Randolph, who did not mean to fire, and 
 who, though agreeing to be shot at, had no de- 
 sire to be hit, this rapidity of counting out the 
 time and quick arrival at the command ' stop ' 
 presented no objection. With Mr. Clay it was 
 different. With him it was all a real transaction, 
 and gave rise to some proposal for more deliberate- 
 ness in counting off the time ; which being com- 
 municated to Col. Tatnall, and by him to Mr. 
 Randolph, had an ill effect upon his feelings, and, 
 aided by an untoward accident on the ground, 
 unsettled for a moment the noble determination 
 which he had formed not to fire at Mr. Clay. I 
 now give the words of Gen. Jesup : 
 
 ' ' ' When I repeated to Mr. Clay the ' ' word ' ' in 
 the manner in which it would be given, he ex- 
 pressed some apprehension that, as he was not 
 accustomed to the use of the pistol, he might not 
 be able to fire within the time, and for that reason 
 alone desired that it might be prolonged. I men- 
 tioned to Col. Tatnall the desire of Mr. Clay. He 
 replied, " If you insist upon it, the time must be 
 prolonged, but I should very much regret it." I 
 informed him I did not insist upon prolonging the 
 time, and I was sure Mr. Clay would acquiesce. 
 The original agreement was carried out.' 
 
 " I knew nothing of this until it was too late to 
 speak with the seconds or principals. I had 
 crossed the L,ittle Falls bridge just after them, 
 and come to the place where the servants and 
 carriages had stopped. I saw none of the gentle- 
 men, and supposed they had all gone to the spot 
 where the ground was being marked off; but on 
 speaking to Johnny,* Mr. Randolph, who was still 
 in his carriage and heard my voice, looked out 
 from the window, and said to me : ' Colonel, 
 since I saw you, and since I have been in this 
 carriage, I have heard something which may 
 make me change my determination. Col. Hamil- 
 ton will give you a note which will explain it. ' 
 Col. Hamilton was then in the carriage, and gave 
 me the note, in the course of the evening, of 
 * Randolph's sen-ant. 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 571 
 
 which Mr. Randolph spoke. I readily compre- 
 hended that this possible change of determina- 
 tion related to his firing ; but the emphasis with 
 which he pronounced the word ' may ' clearly 
 showed that his mind was undecided, and left it 
 doubtful whether he would fire or not. No fur- 
 ther conversation took place between us ; the 
 preparations for the duel were finished ; the par- 
 ties went to their places ; and I went forward to 
 a piece of rising ground from which I could see 
 what passed and hear what was said. The faith- 
 ful Johnny followed me close, speaking not a word, 
 but evincing the deepest anxiety for his beloved 
 master. The place was a thick forest, and the 
 immediate spot a little depression or basin, in 
 which the parties stood. The principals saluted 
 each other courteously as they took their stands. 
 Col. Tatnall had won the choice of position, 
 which gave to Gen. Jesup the delivery of the 
 word. They stood on a line east and west — a 
 small stump just behind Mr. Randolph. The 
 latter asked Gen. Jesup to repeat the word as he 
 would give it ; and while in the act of doing so, 
 and Mr. Randolph, adjusting the butt of his pistol 
 to his hand, the muzzle pointing downwards, and 
 almost to the ground, it fired. Instantly Mr. 
 Randolph turned to Col. Tatnall and said : ' I 
 protest against the hair trigger.' Col. 'Tatnall 
 took the blame to himself for having sprung the 
 hair. Mr. Clay had not then received his pistol. 
 Senator Johnson, of Louisiana (Josiah), one of 
 his seconds, was carrying it to him, and still sev- 
 eral steps from him. This untimely fire, though 
 clearly an accident, necessarily gave rise to some 
 remarks, and a species of inquiry, which was con- 
 ducted with the utmost delicacy, but which, in 
 itself, was of a nature to be inexpressibly painful 
 to a gentleman's feelings. Mr. Clay stopped it 
 with a generous remark that the fire was clearly 
 an accident ; and it was so unanimously declared. 
 Another pistol was immediately furnished ; an 
 exchange of shots took place, and, happily, with- 
 out effect upon the persons. Mr. Randolph's 
 bullet struck the stump behind Mr. Clay, and Mr. 
 Clay's knocked up the earth and gravel behind 
 Mr. Randolph, and in a line with the level of his 
 hips, both bullets having gone so true and close 
 that it was a marvel how they missed. The mo- 
 ment had come for me to interpose. I went 
 among the parties and offered my mediation ; but 
 nothing could be done. Mr. Clay said, with that 
 
 wave of the hand with which he was accustomed 
 to put away a trifle, ' This is child's play,' and 
 required another fire. Mr. Randolph also de- 
 manded another fire. The seconds were directed 
 to reload. While this was doing I prevailed on 
 Mr. Randolph to walk away from his post, and 
 renewed to him, more pressingly than ever, my 
 importunities to yield to some accommodation ; 
 but I found him more determined than I had ever 
 seen him, and for the first time impatient, and 
 seemingly annoyed and dissatisfied at what I was. 
 doing. He was indeed annoyed and dissatisfied. 
 The accidental fire of his pistol preyed upon his 
 feelings. He was doubly chagrined at it, both as 
 a circumstance susceptible in itself of an unfair 
 interpretation, and as having been the immediate 
 and controlling cause of his firing at Mr. Clay. 
 He regretted this fire the instant it was over. He 
 felt that it had subjected him to imputations from 
 which he knew himself to be free — a desire to kill 
 Mr. Clay, and a contempt for the laws of his be- 
 loved State ; and the annoyances which he felt at 
 these vexatious circumstances revived his original 
 determination, and decided him irrevocably to 
 carry it out. 
 
 ' ' It was in this interval that he told me what 
 he had heard since we parted, and to which he 
 alluded when he spoke to me from the window of 
 the carriage. It was to this effect : That he had 
 been informed by Col. Tatnall that it was pro- 
 posed to give out the words with more deliberate- 
 ness, so as to prolong the time for taking aim. 
 This information grated harshly upon his feelings. 
 It unsettled his purpose, and brought his mind to 
 the inquiry (as he now told me, and as I found it 
 expressed in the note which he had immediately 
 written in pencil to apprise me of his possible 
 change), whether, under these circumstances, he 
 might not ' disable' his adversary ? This note is 
 so characteristic, and such an essential part of 
 this affair, that I here give its words, so far as re- 
 lates to this point. It ran thus : 
 
 " 'Information received from Col. Tatnall since 
 I got into the carriage may induce me to change 
 my mind, of not returning Mr. Clay's fire. I 
 seek not his death. I would not have his blood 
 upon my hands — it will not be upon my soul if 
 shed in self-defence — for the world. He has de- 
 termined, by the use of a long, preparatory cau- 
 tion by words, to get time to kill me. May I not, 
 then, disable him ? Yes, if I please.' 
 
572 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ' ' It has been seen, by the statement of Gen. 
 Jesup, already given, that this ' information ' 
 was a misapprehension ; that Mr. Clay had not 
 applied for a prolongation of time for the purpose 
 of getting sure aim, but only to enable his unused 
 hand, long unfamiliar with the pistol, to fire 
 within the limited time ; that there was no pro- 
 longation, in fact, either granted or insisted upon ; 
 but he was in doubt, and Gen. Jesup having 
 won the word, he was having him repeat it 
 
 knees — not higher than the knee-band; 'for it 
 was no mercy to shoot a man in the knee ; ' and 
 his only object was to disable him and spoil his 
 aim. And then he added, with a beauty of expres- 
 sion and a depth of feeling which no studied ora- 
 tor}- can ever attain, and I never shall forget, these 
 impressive words : ' / would not have see?i him 
 fall mortally woimded, or eveti doubtfidly wounded, 
 for all the land that is watered by the King of 
 Floods and all its tributary streams. He left me 
 
 DUEL BETWEEN RANDOLPH AND CLAY. 
 
 in the way he was to give it out, when his finger 
 touched the hair-trigger. How unfortunate that 
 I did not know of this in time to speak to Gen. 
 Jesup, when one word from him would have set 
 all right, and saved the imminent risks incurred ! 
 This inquiry, ' May I not disable him? 'was still 
 on Mr. Randolph's mind, and dependent for its 
 solution on the rising incidents of the moment, 
 when the accidental fire of his pistol gave the turn 
 to his feelings which solved the doubt. But he 
 declared to me that he had not aimed at the life 
 of Mr. Clav ; that he did not level as hiarh as the 
 
 to resume his post, utterly refusing to explain out 
 of the Senate any thing that he had said in it, 
 and with the positive declaration that he would 
 not return the next fire. I withdrew a little way 
 into the woods, and kept my eyes fixed on Mr. 
 Randolph, whom then I knew to be the only one in 
 danger. I saw him receive the fire of Mr. Clay, 
 saw the gravel knocked up in the same place, saw 
 Mr. Randolph raise his pistol — discharge it in the 
 air ; heard him say, ' I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay' 
 and immediately advancing and offering his hand. 
 He was met in the same spirit. The)' met half 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 573 
 
 way, shook hands, Mr. Randolph saying, jocosely, 
 ' You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay' — the bullet had 
 passed through the skirt of the coat, very near 
 the pocket — to which Mr. Clay promptly and hap- 
 pily replied, ' I am glad the debt is no greater,' 1 " 
 
 DUEL BETWEEN GENERAL JACKSON AND 
 CHARLES DICKINSON. 
 
 THIS fatal and historic duel took place on the 
 banks of Red River, in Logan County, 
 Ky., earl}' in the morning of May 30, 1806. 
 Charles Dickinson was a prominent and influential 
 citizen of Nashville, Term., but opposed to Gen. 
 Jackson in politics ; and according to the deplor- 
 able customs of the times, the bitterness and 
 rancor of political antagonism were carried into 
 the personal relations of the parties. Early in the 
 year Dickinson made some disparaging remarks 
 about Mrs. Jackson, which " Old Hickory " imme- 
 diately resented in his usual determined and vigor- 
 ous manner. Dickinson offered a satisfaetory 
 apology and explanation, which was accepted ; 
 but subsequently he repeated the offensive re- 
 marks, whereupon Jackson remonstrated with his 
 father-in-law, Mr. Irvin, saying, ' I wish no quar- 
 rel with Dickinson ; he is used as a tool by my 
 enemies in Nashville, who are urging him to pick 
 a quarrel with me. Advise him to stop in time.'' 
 This warning, from so determined and fearless a 
 man, should have been heeded, but it was not. 
 Dickinson continued to find opportunities to 
 make offensive remarks about Jackson and his 
 personal affairs ; and finally, on the 10th of Jan- 
 uary, just before starting for New Orleans in a 
 flat-boat, he wrote to Jackson, charging him with 
 equivocations, falsehood, and cowardice. He did 
 not return from this trip until the 20th of May, 
 when he immediately resumed the quarrel, and 
 wrote a severe attack on Jackson, which was pub- 
 lished in a Nashville paper the following day. 
 Jackson immediately challenged him, and the 
 meeting was fixed for the 30th of the month. 
 The place decided upon is a long day's journey 
 from Nashville, and the duellists and their friends 
 had to leave their homes earl}- in the morning of 
 the 29th. Jackson was accompanied only by his 
 second, General Overton, but Dickinson, being a 
 leader of society in Nashville, and standing high 
 in the estimation of man}- of the principal citizens, 
 was accompanied by a number of his associates. 
 He was a quick and practised shot, and fully ex- 
 
 pected to kill Jackson before the latter could fire, 
 so that on his side the duel was little better than 
 premeditated murder. The distance was eight 
 paces, and Jackson's second won the right to give 
 the word, which, however, afforded but little ad- 
 vantage to his principal, who was not familiar 
 with the use of pistols. The moment the word 
 was uttered Dickinson fired, and the ball hit 
 Jackson in the breast, but there was not the quiver 
 of a muscle or a movement of the body to indicate 
 that he had been struck. He was determined 
 that his antagonist should not have the satisfac- 
 tion of knowing that his shot had taken effect, and 
 his iron will did not falter in this supreme mo- 
 ment. Even Dickinson supposed he had missed 
 his mark, and exclaimed excitedly, " Good God ! 
 have I missed him t" General Overton knew that 
 his principal was hurt, for he saw the dust fly from 
 the breast of Jackson's coat, and he watched him 
 breathlessly, expecting a tragic result. Slowly 
 and deliberately, like an avenging Nemesis, Jack- 
 son raised his pistol and fired, and Dickinson fell 
 at full length upon the ground, mortally wounded. 
 He died that night without knowing that his ball 
 had hit Jackson, for the latter declared "that as 
 Dickinson considered himself the best shot in the 
 world, and was certain of killing him at the first 
 fire, he did not want him to have the satisfaction 
 of knowing that he had touched him." His 
 wound, however, proved more severe and trouble- 
 some than was at first anticipated. The ball 
 raked the breast-bone and broke a rib, and it was 
 nearly a month before he could move about with- 
 out inconvenience and great pain. The wound 
 healed falsely, and he suffered from its effects dur- 
 ing the remainder of his life. 
 
 Senator Benton, who was intimately acquainted 
 with Jackson, spoke of his remarkable courtesy 
 and chivalrous conduct toward women, in the fol- 
 lowing language : ' ' There was an innate, unvary- 
 ing, self-acting delicacy in his intercourse with the 
 female sex, including all womankind. His whole 
 life was continent. If he had been born in the 
 time of Cromwell, he would have been a Puritan. 
 Nothing could exceed his kindness and affection 
 for Mrs. Jackson, always increasing in proportion 
 as his elevation and culminating fortunes drew 
 cruel attacks upon her." It was this chivalrous 
 disposition which caused him to so quickly and 
 fiercely resent the least aspersion against the char- 
 acter or reputation of his wife. 
 
574 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 DECATUR'S COMBAT WITH THE ALGERINE 
 CHIEF. 
 
 TN iSoi war was threatened between the United 
 JL States and Tripoli, on account of the piratical 
 course pursued by the armed cruisers of that in- 
 significant power. Commodore Dale, with a squad- 
 ron of two ships and a sloop-of-war, was sent out 
 with instructions from President Jefferson to block- 
 ade the port of Tripoli. Two years later it be- 
 came necessary to increase this Mediterranean 
 force, and a squadron of seven sail was ordered 
 out, under command of Commodore Preble. In 
 October, 1803, the 44-gun frigate Philadelphia, 
 while in pursuit of a small piratical vessel, 
 grounded in the harbor of Tripoli, and becoming 
 unmanageable, her commander, Captain Bain- 
 bridge, was forced to surrender his ship and crew 
 at discretion. The Tripolitan authorities treated 
 the officers as prisoners of war, but the men were 
 sold as slaves. 
 
 In this emergency, Stephen Decatur, then a 
 lieutenant under Commodore Preble, proposed a 
 daring plan for recapturing or destroying the 
 Philadelphia, and the Commodore, admiring 
 the courage of his subaltern, and having great 
 faith in his discretion and good sense, readily 
 acquiesced in the suggestion. The Intrepid, a 
 small vessel of only four guns and seventy -five 
 men, which had recently been captured from the 
 Tripolitaus, was placed at Decatur's disposal, and 
 under the escort of the Syren, one of the ves- 
 sels of the squadron, proceeded at once from the 
 bay of Syracuse, where the ships were then lying, 
 to Tripoli. The Philadelphia was anchored 
 within half-gun shot of the castle, and guarded 
 by several Algerine cruisers and gun-boats. Re- 
 storing his little vessel to her former national ap- 
 pearance, and waiting until the shades of evening 
 had settled down upon the bay, Decatur cautiously 
 made his way into the harbor, and between ten 
 and eleven o'clock drifted alongside of the Phila- 
 delphia. The moment the vessels came in con- 
 tact, Decatur and his men, with their cutlasses 
 in hand, leaped on board, and in a few moments 
 overpowdered and subdued the piratical crew. 
 Twenty Tripolitans were killed, while the Ameri- 
 cans did not lose a man. All the batteries in the 
 harbor were instantly opened upon the Philadel- 
 phia, which rendered the attempt to tow her 
 out to sea so extremely hazardous, that Decatur 
 ordered the ship to be set on fire, and then, ex- 
 
 tricating the Intrepid from the burning vessel, 
 he sailed triumphantly out of the harbor. 
 
 This daring and successful adventure made 
 him the hero of the occasion, and won for him 
 the thanks of his commander and the praise and 
 admiration of his fellow-officers. Congress also 
 voted him the thanks of the nation and presented 
 him with a sword, while the President sent him 
 a commission as captain. 
 
 In July of the following year he added another 
 laurel to his wreath of fame in a desperate en- 
 counter with an Algerine chief, which is thus 
 described : Commodore Preble, having concen- 
 trated his forces at Tripoli, opened a tremendous 
 fire of shot and shell upon the forts and war 
 vessels in the harbor. In this memorable com- 
 bat Captain Decatur was placed in command of 
 three gun-boats and a bombard, and he handled 
 his forces with such intrepidity and good judgment 
 that the success of the battle was largety due to 
 him. The enemy's boats were moored along the 
 mouth of the harbor, iu two divisions, and within 
 musket-shot of their batteries on shore. Decatur 
 determined to carry the eastern division by board- 
 ing. In accomplishing this desperate design he 
 had to contend with four vessels against nine, the 
 latter being also protected by shore-batteries ; but 
 he rushed to the encounter and overcame the 
 fearful odds with an intrepidity and celerity of 
 movement, which astonished and dismayed the 
 enemy. With his own vessel he boarded and 
 carried two of the Tripolitan boats in quick suc- 
 cession. As he sprang on board the second, he 
 singled out the commander, who was his superior 
 in size and strength, and closing with him they 
 engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand combat with 
 their swords, in which Decatur's was quickly 
 broken. He then grappled with the Algerine, 
 who soon bore him to the deck with his over- 
 powering strength, and was in the act of plunging 
 a large dirk into Decatur's heart, when the latter 
 snatched a pistol from his pocket and shot his 
 adversary dead. 
 
 While this was taking place, an Algerine soldier 
 sprang forward and aimed a blow at Decatur with 
 his scimitar, but an American sailor named James, 
 who had already been severely wounded in the 
 arm, observing his commander's peril, threw him- 
 self in front of the soldier and saved Decatur's 
 life by receiving on his own person a part of the 
 stroke intended for him. It was one of those 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 575 
 
 quick, hot, and decisive combats which so 
 frequently occurred in the old-time sea-fights, and 
 whose results depended as much upon chance as 
 the courage or dexterity of the contending parties. 
 
 In 1 8 15 the troubles between the Barbary states 
 and our country were renewed, and Decatur was 
 sent in command of a squadron to enforce a satis- 
 factory peace. He reached Algiers on the 2Sth 
 of June, and in less than forty-eight hours terrified 
 the regency into accepting his own terms ; which 
 were, mainly, that no tribute should ever be 
 required by Algiers from the United States ; that 
 all Americans held in slavery should be given up 
 without ransom ; that compensation should be 
 made for American property which had been 
 seized ; that all citizens of the United States, 
 taken in war, should be treated as prisoners of 
 war are by other nations, and held subject to an 
 exchange of prisoners, and not as slaves. 
 
 Having exacted similar conditions from all the 
 other Barbary states, he sailed for home in triumph. 
 
 THE HUGUENOTS OF FRANCE, AND CONDI- 
 
 TION OF THE PEOPLE OF EUROPE 
 
 DURING THE REFORMATION. 
 
 CHE term Huguenot is peculiar in its applica- 
 tion by the Catholic party in France to the 
 several branches or denominations of the Pro- 
 testants who were opposed to them during the 
 religious wars of the Reformation. Its origin is 
 doubtless connected with some important event 
 or circumstance, and as the term will be forever 
 prominently connected with the history of France 
 and the Reformation, it would be interesting to 
 know from whence it came, if it were possible to 
 trace it to the beginning. 
 
 William Fare', the First French Reformer. 
 The Reformation had established itself on a 
 solid footing in Germany, Switzerland and Eng- 
 land nearly half a century before it made any 
 headway in France. It is true that the leaven 
 had begun to work, and many devoted Christians 
 were looking forward to the time when " God 
 would renew the world," but no active effort was 
 made to bring about this desired renewal until 
 the beginning of the sixteenth century. There 
 lived at that time, at a small castle near Gap, 
 in Dauphiny, a young man of ardent imagination, 
 fiery temper and energetic character, named 
 William Farel. He was devoted to the religion 
 of the ancient Catholic Church, which was sacred 
 
 to him through association, custom, and the 
 established usages of centuries ; still, he was am- 
 bitious, as all young men have a right to be, of 
 making a mark in the world and winning fame 
 for himself; and this desire was soon strength- 
 ened into a decided purpose by the rumors that 
 came to the quiet neighborhood, from time to 
 time, of the glory that was being achieved, in the 
 wars of their common country, by another young 
 man whose home was in the same community, 
 and with whom Farel was intimately acquainted 
 — no less a person, in fact, than the subsequently 
 celebrated Chevalier Bayard. "Such sons," was 
 said in his hearing, one day, ' ' are as arrows in 
 the hand of a giant ; blessed is he who hath a 
 quiver full of them ! ' ' This saying sank into the 
 boy's heart, and was not forgotten. 
 
 Young Farel pressed his father to let him go, 
 too, and make himself a man in the world, and 
 the old gentleman would have willingly permitted 
 his son to take up such a life as Bayard's, but it 
 was toward the University of Paris, ' ' that mother 
 of all the sciences, that pure and shining mirror 
 of the faith," that the young man's aspirations 
 were directed. His father at first opposed his 
 wishes, but afterwards yielded, and about 15 10 
 the youth lauded in Paris. From this date we 
 might safely count the beginning of the Refor- 
 mation in France. 
 
 At the University there was a doctor of theo- 
 logy, named Jacques Lefevre, a man already 
 advanced in years, of mean appearance and hum- 
 ble origin, but who for seventeen years had filled 
 the position of professor with credit to himself 
 and the institution he represented. Erasmus said 
 of him : " Amongst many thousands of men, you 
 will not find any of higher integrity and more 
 versed in polite letters ; " and Zwingle, who also 
 knew him, wrote : " He is very fond of me ; he is 
 perfectly open and good ; he argues, he sings, he 
 plays, and he laughs with me at the follies of the 
 world." Between this happy and genial old 
 professor and the fiery young man from Dau- 
 phiny, there soon sprang up a warm attachment ; 
 they liked one another, and soon became frienchj. 
 " Never," said Farel, " have I seen a chanter of 
 mass who chanted it with deeper reverence." 
 But this old-fashioned piety did not interfere with 
 f he freedom of the professor's ideas and conversa- 
 tions touching either the abuses or the doctrines 
 of the Church. " How shameful it is," he would 
 
576 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 say to his young friend, ' ' to see a bishop solicit- 
 ing people to drink with him, earing for naught 
 but gaming, constantly handling the dice and the 
 dice-box, frequently hunting, hallooing after birds 
 and game, and visiting bad houses. Religion has 
 but one foundation, but one end, but one head — 
 Jesus Christ, blessed forever." 
 
 These conversations, and the looseness of morals 
 which he witnessed daily among the clergy, had 
 their natural effect upon the pious and ardent 
 young student, " and in the end," writes Farel, 
 
 queuces he fled, and travelled in Alsace and Switz- 
 erland. In 1532, he was invited to a conference 
 with the Catholics at Geneva. Calvin was there 
 also. The debates grew so stormy that the dele- 
 gates came to blows, and the civil authorities had 
 to interfere to prevent bloodshed. That was the 
 way they argued religious questions in those 
 times. Each party believed itself right and wholly 
 right, and neither was willing to make any con- 
 cessions to the other. It has been truly said that 
 there is nothing more dangerous than an honest 
 
 SCENE IN DAUPHINY, FRANCE. 
 
 " little by little the papacy slipped from its place 
 in my heart ; it did not come down at the first 
 shock." But having fallen, it never rose again ; 
 and he remained from that time till the close of 
 his life an uncompromising and vehement advo- 
 cate of reform. 
 
 He soon began to preach those doctrines which 
 the Church denounced as heretical, and his fiery 
 zeal drew him into many troubles. One day he 
 interrupted a procession in honor of St. Anthony, 
 laid violent hands upon the statue of the saint, 
 and threw it into the river. To escape the conse- 
 
 man engaged in a rascally calling, and during the 
 struggles of the Reformation the opposing factions 
 were not only honest, but terribly in earnest. The 
 most frightful wrongs were committed by both 
 sides, alwa3'S in the name of religion, and, as 
 they sincerely believed, for the eternal good of 
 those who were punished. The Catholics were 
 no worse than the Protestants ; it was a struggle 
 for existence between the opposing factions, and 
 the only reason why more wrongs were committed 
 by the Catholics than the Protestants was because 
 the former were the ruling party and in the 
 
(sv) 
 
578 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 majority. Sleidan, a contemporary historian, 
 says : ' ' The common people in France hold that 
 there are no people more wicked and criminal 
 than heretics ; generally, as long as they are a prey 
 to the blazing fagots, the people around them are 
 excited to frenzy, and curse them in the midst of 
 their torments." And the victims just as fre- 
 
 FAREI/S ESCAPE FROM THE SOLDIERS OF GUISE 
 
 quently cursed and derided their tormentors, until 
 death silenced them. Is it any wonder, then, 
 that when they attempted to settle their differ- 
 ences by argument, they frequently came to blows 
 .and ended in riot ? 
 
 After the incident above referred to, Farel was 
 
 banished from the cit} r , but he returned a year 
 later, and in 1536 persuaded Calvin to aid him in 
 organizing a reformed church at Geneva. As 
 usual, in all reforms, some of their members went 
 to extremes, and two years after the organization 
 of the church, a faction known as the "Liber- 
 tines," having gained the upper hand in the elec- 
 tion, both Calvin 
 and Farel were 
 banished. The 
 latter went to 
 Strasburg, and 
 having organ- 
 ized a Protestant 
 church there, he 
 passed on into 
 France, to a place 
 called G o z z e , 
 where, in 1543, 
 while preaching 
 to a congrega- 
 tion of Protes- 
 tants, he was at- 
 tacked by a body 
 of troops under 
 Claude de Guise, 
 and his peoph 
 were dispersed, 
 while he was 
 wounded and 
 narrowly escaped 
 with his life. He 
 then settled as 
 paster cf a Pro- 
 testant congre- 
 gation at Neuf- 
 chatel. In 1557, 
 he incurred the 
 displeasure of 
 Calvin and other 
 leaders of the 
 Reformation, by 
 his marriage to 
 a young girl,. dis- 
 playing in this 
 instance his usual disregard for the opinions 
 of others. Four years later he returned to 
 his native town of Gap, where he preached 
 with all the violence of his youth, and was 
 arrested and thrown into prison, from which 
 his followers released him by letting him dowc 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 579 
 
 from the ramparts in a basket, in imitation of the 
 escape of Saint Paul from Damascus. Farel died 
 at Neufchatel, September 13, 1565. We have 
 given a somewhat extended sketch of this distin- 
 guished man, because he was the first prominent 
 leader of the Reformation in France, and also 
 because his character and conduct are representa- 
 tive of the times in which he lived. 
 
 Peculiar Conditions and Influences of the Times. 
 
 In considering the terrible events of that era, 
 due allowance should be made for the conditions 
 and influences by which the people were sur- 
 rounded. Monarchs were regarded as of divine 
 appointment, and the maxim that "the king 
 can do no wrong" was universally believed in. 
 Governments were absolute, depending almost 
 entirely upon the will of the kings and emperors, 
 who were usually ignorant men, controlled by 
 the worst passions and the most grovelling super- 
 stitions. All learning was confined to the priests, 
 who were but little less superstitious than their 
 ignorant followers. The people were sunk into 
 the lowest depths of ignorance, and their savage 
 dispositions were rendered sanguinary and brutal 
 by their unquestioning faith in all sorts of super- 
 natural follies. All classes, from the educated 
 priests down to the lowest orders of society, were 
 earnest believers in witchcraft and the black art. 
 Even the great leaders of the Reformation, like 
 Luther and Calvin, were not free from these fol- 
 lies. Both of these celebrated characters were 
 pious and earnest believers in witchcraft. Luther 
 not only imagined that he had been honored by 
 a personal visit from the great arch fiend, whom 
 he frightened away by flinging his ink-horn at 
 his head, but he also fancied that the devil and 
 his imps came to his room by night and stole nuts, 
 which they cracked against his bed-posts for the 
 solacement of their monkey-like appetites. If 
 the great and fearless Luther could be so power- 
 fully influenced by such a silly superstition, what 
 should we not expect from the common, ignorant 
 and besotted herd ? 
 
 The Absurdities of Witchcraft. 
 A short account of this singular superstition 
 will help to a better understanding of the events 
 of the Reformation, and in some degree excuse 
 the follies and horrors that were enacted, with 
 the utmost sincerity and honesty of purpose, in, 
 the holy name of religion. These follies and 
 horrors were the result, not of natural cruelty or 
 
 wickedness, but of the sterility and depravity of 
 the uneducated human mind, acting as a blind* 
 and unreasoning power. 
 
 A belief that certain individuals possessed 
 magical powers, and could exercise a supernatu- 
 ral influence over their fellow-creatures, existed 
 in ancient Rome, and those who practised, or 
 pretended to exercise such arts, were punishable 
 by the civil magistrates. The Romans viewed 
 this folly, as they did nearly everything else, in a 
 purely practical light, and dealt with it accord- 
 ingly. Nearly, if not quite all, the other ancient 
 nations, not excepting the enlightened Jews, en- 
 tertained similar beliefs, but none of them were 
 quite as sensible in their treatment of them as the 
 practical Romans. But neither among the Roman 
 nor the Pagan nations of northern Europe was 
 witchcraft considered an offence against religion ; 
 in some instances, and indeed in probably a ma- 
 jority of them, the witch was supposed to be 
 influenced by spirits who were friendly to man- 
 kind, and the profession, though feared, was held 
 in high honor by the infatuated dupes. 
 
 Upon the introduction of Christianity, how- 
 ever, witchcraft assumed a new form, though re- 
 taining all its old attributes. Instead of ascribing 
 the supernatural powers of the practitioner to the 
 gods, to Odin, to spirits of good or evil disposi- 
 tion, or to supposed mysteries in nature, the 
 people imputed them to the great arch-fiend ol 
 the Scriptures, the comm ,n enemy of God ani 
 mankind. This potent be lug whose power see'jis 
 to have been regarded as equal to that of Divinity 
 itself, and who owes his origin doubtless to the 
 Zoroastrian belief in the contending forces of 
 light and darkness, with a wicked and malic'rOns 
 desire to destroy all that was good and hopefil in 
 man's destiny, was believed to enter into a com- 
 pact with the aspiring witch, in which, for an 
 irrevocable assignment of her soul at death, he 
 was to grant all her wishes, and assist in all her 
 malevolent projects. These new features of 
 witchcraft thoroughly changed and prodigiously 
 extended the superstition throughout Europe, and 
 its influences have not entirely disappeared even 
 in this enlightened century, as we see evidenced 
 in the faint belief still existing in signs, omens, 
 lucky and unlucky days, etc., which cling perti- 
 naciously even to the educated classes. From 
 being regarded as sporting jugglery, or trickery 
 in practical magic, and at most only a civil 
 
5b0 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 offence, the superstition was recognized as a crime 
 of the deepest dye, meriting the severest punish- 
 ment which the combined civil and ecclesiastical 
 wowers could inflict. 
 
 As the superstition gained force in the Christian 
 tvorld, as it did by slow and successive steps 
 during the entire period of the Middle Ages, that 
 is to say, from about the fifth to the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, the devil was gradually transformed, through 
 the commingling of the superstitions of different 
 nations, into an entirely different being, combin- 
 ing some of the characteristics of the Scandina- 
 vian L,okke with those of a Satyr of heathen 
 mythology — a person equally wicked and mali- 
 cious as the sterner spirit of evil, but rendered 
 ludicrous by a propensity for petty trickery, and 
 by such personal adornment as a pair of horns, a 
 cow's tail, and cloven feet. There can be no 
 doubt that the demon of the Middle Ages bor- 
 rowed these attributes from his human represen- 
 tatives in the old mysteries and plays, where a 
 laudable endeavor was made to render the evil 
 one as ugly as possible. It was supposed, in 
 fact, that he could assume any specious disguise 
 that suited him, but the eye of the initiated 
 observer could readily detect the " cloven foot. " 
 Such as he was, he played an important part in 
 the annals of modern witchcraft, which was sup- 
 posed to rest entirely upon the direct personal 
 agency of himself and the imps commissioned by 
 him. Nor was the supposition confined to the 
 illiteiate, or to persons of peculiarly credulous 
 temperaments. Authors, distinguished for sense 
 and talent, record with great seriousness that the 
 devil once delivered a course of lectures on magic 
 at Salamanca, habited in a professor's gown and 
 wig ; and that at another time he rented a house 
 in Milan, where he lived in great style, rather 
 imprudently assuming the suspicious but appro- 
 priate title of the " Duke of Mammon." 
 
 The powers ascribed to this debased demon 
 were exceedingly great. It was believed that 
 through his agency storms at sea or on land could 
 be made to prevail at any time or season ; that 
 crops could be blighted, or cattle injured ; that 
 bodily illness or injury could be inflicted upon 
 any person who was the object of secret malice ; 
 that the dead could be raised to life ; that witches 
 could ride through the air on broom-sticks, and 
 transform themselves into the shapes of cats, rab- 
 bits, or other animals, at pleasure. On a certain 
 
 historic occasion the murrain which swept off 
 more than a third part of the cattle on the Brit- 
 ish Isles was attributed to the influence of the 
 witches, and many innocent and deserving, but 
 helpless and friendless, old women suffered the 
 horrors of torture and death in consequence. 
 
 An old writer, speaking of the powers of 
 witches, says : " i. Some work their bewitchings 
 only by way of invocation or imprecation. They 
 wish it, or will it, and so it falls out. 2. Some 
 by way of emissary, sending out their imps or 
 familiars to crosse the way, jostle, affront, flash 
 in the face, barke, howle, bite, scratch, or other- 
 wise infest. 3. Some by inspecting, or looking 
 on, or to glare, or peep at with an envious and 
 evil eye. 4. Some by a hollow muttering or 
 mumbling. 5. Some by breathing or blowing on. 
 6. Some by cursing and banning. 7. Some by 
 blessing and praising. 8. Some revengefully, by 
 occasion of ill turnes. 9. Some ungratefully, and 
 by occasion of good turnes. 10. Some by leaving 
 something of theirs in your house. 1 1 . Some by 
 getting something of yours in their house. 12. 
 Some have a more special way of working by 
 several elements — earth, water, ayre, or fire. But 
 who can tell the manner of ways of a witch's 
 working ; that works not only darkly and closely, 
 but variously and versatilly, as God will permit, 
 the devil can suggest, or the malicious hag can 
 devise to put in practice." 
 
 Learned treatises and volumes were composed 
 on the subject of witches and witchcraft, couched 
 in the most self-complacent and pious language, 
 as if the authors were perfectly familiar with all 
 the devious ways and wicked arts of these 
 deceivers of men, and had been divinely com- 
 missioned to expose them and warn the less intel- 
 ligent and more easily influenced portion of their 
 fellow-creatures. The productions of nearly all 
 the Middle Age writers are didactic and assertive 
 in style. They seemed to consider that they 
 perfectly understood every subject which they 
 deigned to write about, and having asserted what 
 they knew to be true, all men were expected 10 
 hold their peace and believe. This peculiarity is 
 specially noticeable in the "Institutes" of Cal- 
 vin. It requires but little study of that ponderous 
 and soporific work to convince the reader that the 
 learned author, at least in his own estimation, was 
 on very intimate and confidential terms with the 
 Creator, and that his assertion of God's will and 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 581 
 
 purposes was final and irrevocable. Our own 
 amusing and inimitable Cotton Mather, the great 
 clerical Eli Perkins of the seventeenth century, 
 indulged a similar belief in his own omniscience, 
 and favored a gaping world with much wisdom 
 on the subject of witchcraft, in its .relations to 
 America, some of which we have copied in these 
 pages for the amusement of the children of the 
 nineteenth and twentieth centuries. 
 
 In the present age of comparative intelligence, 
 it is difficult to understand how human beings 
 could be so deplorably ignorant as to entertain 
 such a gross superstition ; but we must remember 
 that the belief was fostered by religious impres- 
 sions, and that it was long considered a mark of 
 impiety to doubt the existence of witches. In 
 addition to this, the laws of nature were unknown, 
 or but imperfectly understood, and the weak and 
 easily terrified mind of man flew to the conclusion 
 that all evil proceeded from a malignant cause, 
 and that by certain impious dealings it was possi- 
 ble for men to direct that power against their 
 neighbors. 
 
 The superstition seems to have approached its 
 highest point about the end of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury. Pope Innocent, in his bull of 1484, charged 
 the Inquisitors and others to discover and destroy 
 all such as were guilty of witchcraft. Immediately 
 there followed a regular form of process and trial 
 for suspected witches, based upon the rules and 
 instructions given in the Malleus Maleficarum, or a 
 "Hammer for Witches," upon which all judges 
 were called scrupulously to act. Other bulls in 
 enforcement of this were subsequently issued in 
 1494 by Pope Alexander VI., in 1521 by Leo X., 
 and in 1522 by Adrian VI., each adding vigor to 
 its predecessor, and the whole serving to increase 
 the agitation of the public upon the subject. The 
 results were fearful. A panic fright of witchcraft 
 took possession of society. Every one was at the 
 mercy of his neighbor. If any one felt an unac- 
 countable illness, or a peculiar pain in any part of 
 the body, or suffered any misfortune in his family 
 affairs, or if a storm arose and committed any 
 damage by sea or land, or if any cattle died sud- 
 denly, or, in short, if any event, circumstance or 
 thing occurred out of the regular routine of daily 
 experience, the cause of it was attributed to 
 witchcraft. To be accused was to be doomed, for 
 it rarely happened that proof was wanting, or that 
 condemnation was not followed by execution. If 
 
 the accused did not at once confess,, their bodies 
 were ordered to be shaved and clo&ely examined 
 for "devils' marks;" it being a tenet in the 
 delusion that the devil, on inaugurating a witch, 
 impressed certain marks upon her person ; and if 
 any strange mark was discovered, such as a pecu- 
 liar mole, scar, birth-mark, etc., there remained 
 no longer any doubt of the guilt of the helpless 
 victim. If no evidence of this kind could be 
 found, torture was applied, and this seldom failed 
 to extort the desired confession from the unhappy 
 victim. A large proportion of the accused witches, 
 in order to avoid these preliminary horrors, con- 
 fessed in any terms which might be dictated to 
 them, and were forthwith led to execution. Others 
 seemed to confess voluntarily, being probably 
 insane or feeble-minded beings whose reason had 
 been distorted by brooding over the popular 
 witchcraft craze, or who in this dangerous manner 
 sought public notoriety. A singular instance of ' 
 this last phase of the delusion occurred in Scot- 
 land during the reign of James VII., afterwards 
 James I., of England, whose mental calibre was 
 well suited to a belief in witchcraft and an unrea- 
 soning prosecution of witches. In 1 590 this kingly 
 persecutor of helpless old women made a voyage 
 to Denmark, to see, marry, and bring home his 
 appointed bride, the Princess Anne. Soon after 
 his arrival in Denmark a tremendous witch con- 
 spiracy against the happy conclusion of his home- 
 ward voyage was discovered, one of the principal 
 witches implicated in the affair being Mrs. Agnes 
 Sampson, commonly called the Wise Wife oj 
 Keith, from her native place. She is described in 
 the records of the trial as "grave, matron-like, 
 and settled in her answers." The king presided 
 in person at the examination, and even superin- 
 tended the tortures applied to the victims to force 
 their confessions. The statements made by the 
 poor wretches under these circumstances form a 
 singular tissue of the ludicrous and the horrible 
 in intimate union. 
 
 "The said Agnes Sampson," so runs the 
 record, "was after brought again before the 
 king's majestie and his council, and being ex- 
 amined of the meetings and detestable dealings 
 of those witches, she confessed that upon the 
 night of All-Hallow-Eveu she was accompanied, 
 as well with the persons aforesaid, as also v : th 
 a great many other witches, to the number of 
 two hundred, and that they all together wen' to 
 
(582) 
 
 msm 
 
 ARRESTING A WITCH. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 583 
 
 sea, each one in a riddle or sieve, and went in the 
 same way substantially, with flaggons of wine, 
 making merrie and drinking by the way in the 
 same riddles, or sieves, to the Kirk of North- 
 Berwick, in Lothian, and that after the}' had 
 landed, took hands on the land, and danced this 
 reil, or short daunce, singing all with one voice, 
 
 " ' Cummer, goe ye before, cummer, goe ye ; 
 Gif ye will not goe before, cummer, let me. s 
 
 "At which she confessed that Geillis Duncan 
 did ^'jc before them, playing this reil or daunce 
 upon a small trump, called a Jew's-harp, until 
 they entered into the Kirk of North-Berwick. 
 These made the king in a wonderful admiration, 
 and he sent for the said Geillis Duncan, who upon 
 the like tramp did play the said daunce before 
 the king's majestie, who, in respect of the strange- 
 ness of these matters, took great delight to be 
 present at their examinations." 
 
 In these confessions the witches pandered to 
 the king's vanity on all occasions, probably in 
 the vain hope of mitigating their own doom. 
 Agnes Sampson declared that it was the ardent 
 desire of Satan, their master, to destroy the king, 
 and that this was the sole object of the events 
 just described. "The witches demanded of the 
 devill, ' ' said she, ' ' why he did beare much hatred 
 to the king, who answered, by reason the king is 
 the greatest enemie hee hath in the world." Such 
 a eulogy from such a quarter could not fail to 
 to be exceedingly agreeable to the vanity of the 
 "Scottish Solomon," but it did not relieve the 
 poor victims from the horrors of the most ex- 
 quisite tortures. Among other persons who were 
 tried by the king and his council at this time 
 was one Dr. Fian, who seems to have been a man 
 above the average of his day in education and 
 intelligence. The witches, through malice or 
 heedlessness, declared that the Doctor was always 
 a prominent person at their meetings, and this 
 declaration decided his fate. After undergoing 
 the tortures of hanging and "the boot,"* he 
 seems only to have thought how he could best 
 get up a story that would bring him to a speedy 
 death. Thereupon he admitted that he was the 
 devil's "register" or clerk, who took the oaths 
 from all the witches at their initiation, and he 
 avowed having bewitched various persons him- 
 
 *An instrument fitted to the foot, which could be com- 
 pressed by means of screws until it would crush the flesh 
 and bones into a pulp. 
 
 self. In proof of the latter statement he instanced 
 a case of a man near Saltpans, whom he had so 
 practiced upon, he said, that the victim fell into 
 fits at intervals. This person, who seems to have 
 been a lunatic, or afflicted with St. Vitus's dance, 
 was sent for, and, as the record states, ' ' being in 
 his majestie's chamber, suddenly he gave a great 
 scritch, and fell into madnesse, sometimes bend- 
 ing himself, and sometimes capring so directly 
 up that his heade did touch the seeling of the 
 chamber, to the 'great admiration of his majestie."' 
 This poor idiotic wretch was soon afterwards, 
 by order of his "most Christian majestie," 
 strangled and then burnt on the Castle hill of 
 Edinburgh. Dr. Fian was sent to prison, from 
 which he managed to escape, but was soon re- 
 captured and subjected to the most fearful and 
 brutal tortures, as follows : ' ' His nails upon all 
 his fingers were riven and pulled off" with an in- 
 strument called in Scottish a Turkas, which in 
 English are called a payre of pincers, and under 
 everie nayle there was thrust in two needles over, 
 even up to the heads ; at all which torments, 
 notwithstanding, the doctor never shrunk a whit, 
 neither would he then confess it the sooner for all 
 the tortures inflicted upon him. Then was hee, 
 with all convenient speed, by commandment, 
 convaied again to the torment of the bootes, 
 wherein he continued a long time, and did abide 
 so man}- blowes in them that his legges were 
 crusht and beaten together as small as might bee, 
 whereby they were made unserviceable forever. ' ' 
 And King James not only directed, but was a 
 willing and interested witness of these horrifying 
 details ! 
 
 Other records of trials and executions for witch- 
 craft, at various periods and in different countries, 
 will serve to still further illustrate the deplorable 
 condition of mankind during the period of the 
 Reformation. 
 
 In the single year 1485, Cumanas, an inquisitor, 
 burnt forty-one poor women as witches, in the 
 county of Burlia, having first caused them to be 
 shaven and searched for "witch marks." He 
 continued the persecutions the following year, 
 and man}' women fled out of the country. 
 
 About the same time another inquisitor ournt 
 a hundred women in the city of Piedmont, and 
 was proceeding daily to burn more, when the 
 people arose and chased him out of the country. 
 
 T 'i 1488 a violent tempest of thunder and light- 
 
584 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ning in Constance destroyed the corn for four 
 leagues round. The people accused two poor 
 old women of having caused the storm, and they 
 were accordingly burnt. 
 
 About the same time one of the inquisitors 
 came to a certain town which had been almost 
 desolated by the plague and famine. A report 
 was current that a certain woman, buried not long 
 before, was eating up her winding-sheet, and that 
 the plague would not cease till she had made an 
 end of it. The matter being taken into consider- 
 ation, the chief magistrate of the city opened 
 the grave, and found that she had indeed (so says 
 the record) swallowed and devoured one-half of 
 her winding-sheet. The magistrate, moved with 
 horror at the thing, drew out his sword and cut 
 off her head, and threw it into a ditch, and im- 
 mediately the plague ceased ! After this the 
 Inquisition "sat upon the case," and it was found 
 that she had been long a reputed witch ! 
 
 In 1524 a thousand persons were burned as 
 witches in the small diocese of Como, and a hun- 
 dred per annum for several years thereafter. 
 
 In 15 1 5 five hundred witches were burned in 
 the city of Geneva, within the space of three 
 months. It is estimated by careful authorities 
 that between 16 10 and 1660, a space of only fifty 
 years, over 100,000 persons were executed as 
 witches in Germany alone ; and this country, 
 ■owing to the liberty-loving character of its people, 
 was less affected by the superstition than such 
 ■nations as France, Spain, Italy, etc. It is safe to 
 •estimate that during the entire period of the 
 witchcraft delusion, there were executed for this 
 supposed crime, in all the Christian nations, not 
 less than one million persons, principally helpless 
 old women, who should have excited the sym- 
 pathies of their persecutors instead of their ani- 
 mosity. But there is no frenzy so unreasoning 
 and cruel as religious frenzy, and its fur}- is in 
 exact proportion to its sincerity and honest}-. 
 Some one who has studied this subject has given 
 a list of the classes of persons who were destroyed 
 as witches in two German towns, and the list is 
 doubtless also representative of the victims in 
 other cities and countries. There were children 
 of nine, ten, eleven and twelve years of age. 
 Boys of noble families ; two sons of a Senator ; 
 a strange boy who had wandered into the town, 
 and had no visible means of support ; a little 
 blind girl ; the prettiest girl in Wurtzburg, whose 
 
 beaut}- had excited the envy of her rival, etc., 
 etc. But the greater part of this horrible cata- 
 logue was made up of infirm old women and 
 unknown travellers. It should be remembered, 
 also, that these frightful horrors were enacted a 
 hundred years after the death of Luther, when 
 the light of the Reformation had penetrated the 
 mental darkness of all the nations of Europe. 
 This fearful witch delusion was not confined to 
 one denomination or shade of religious belief, but 
 all were alike guilty. Catholics and Protestants, 
 while religiously cutting one another's throats, 
 also vied with each other in their persecutions of 
 the witches. It was the climacteric period of the 
 religious insanity of the Middle Ages. 
 Some Curious Instances. 
 
 The belief in witches and demons seems to have 
 been co-equal with the creation cf man. The 
 Talmudic stories relate that Adam had a wife 
 called Lilith before he married Eve, and that she 
 bore him nothing but devils. This Lilith, or 
 Lillis, figures in the Middle Ages as a famous 
 witch, and is introduced by Goethe in the Wal- 
 purgis night scene in "Faust." The Cabalists 
 made Adam the natural king of the world of 
 spirits before his fall, and described Solomon as 
 an accomplished magician. A similar character 
 is attributed to the latter by Josephus. Other 
 ancient Jewish writers divided demons into nine 
 classes, as follows: 1. False gods of the Gen- 
 tiles, whose prince is Beelzebub. 2. Liars and 
 equivocators, as the Pythian Apollo. 3. Invent- 
 ors of mischief and vessels of anger, whose prince 
 is Belial. 4. Malicious, revenging devils, who 
 are governed by Asmodeus. 5. Cozeners, magi- 
 cians and witches, whose prince is Satan. 6. 
 Devils of the air, spoken of in the Apocalypse, 
 who corrupt the atmosphere and cause plagues, 
 thunders and fires, and whose prince is Meresin. 
 7. The destroyer, who is called Abaddon in the 
 Apocalypse, and who causes wars, tumults, com- 
 bustions and uproars. S. The accusing, calum- 
 niating devil, Diabolus, who drives men to 
 despair. 9. Tempters of several sorts, whose 
 prince is Mammon. 
 
 Paracelsus, a learned Swiss alchemist and writer 
 of the sixteenth century, declared that the air is 
 not so full of flies in summer as it is at all times 
 of invisible devils. Demons and sorcerers were 
 supposed to celebrate their nocturnal orgies in an 
 assembly called the " sabbat," the time of meet- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 585 
 
 ing being made known to them by a peculiar 
 sensation in their "witch-marks," imprinted 
 upon their bodies by the devil. In case of 
 urgency a sheep appeared in a cloud in the sky, 
 which was invisible to all except the servants and 
 ministers of Satan. Before starting on their jour- 
 ney to the place of meeting it was necessary for 
 them to fall asleep for a short time, or close one 
 eye, after which they flew to the " sabbat " 
 through the air, on staves or broom-sticks, or on 
 the backs of subaltern demons, and were often 
 transformed into goats, cats, or other animals. 
 Stolen children were brought to the presiding 
 devil, and forced to swear to renounce God, the 
 virgin, and the saints, and were marked with one 
 of his horns with a sign which they bore during 
 th^ir novitiate. This belief was the cause of the 
 execution of so many children during the preva- 
 lence of the delusion. 
 
 European nations, as a rule, represented their 
 demons as black, while the African negroes sup- 
 posed them to be white ; the opposite color in 
 each case being selected as the most appropriate 
 for the spirits of evil. An anecdote illustrative of 
 this propensity is related of a negro preacher. In 
 the midst of an energetic sermon he announced to 
 his congregation that hell was an extremely cold 
 place, abounding with frozen lakes and rivers, 
 while icicles as long as his arm hung from the 
 ceilings of the dungeons in which the condemned 
 were confined. At the close of the sermon a white 
 man who was present remonstrated with him, for 
 representing the abode of the wicked as a frozen 
 region, when holy writ declared that it was a lake 
 of fire. " Ah, " said he in reply, ' ' it would never 
 do to tell my people that hell is a hot place, for 
 they love a warm climate, and would go there in 
 spite of everything." In other words, the white 
 man's hell is the negro's heaven. 
 
 It is asserted that there are still witches in Swe- 
 den and Norway who make a living by selling 
 favorable winds to superstitious sailors. Eric IX. , 
 of Sweden, called Saint Eric after his death, on 
 account of his efforts to spread Christianity among 
 his people and the barbarians of the adjacent 
 islands, is said to have possessed an enchanted 
 cap, by virtue of which and some magical words, 
 he could command spirits to trouble the air, make 
 the wind blow in whatever direction he pleased, 
 or raise tempests to destroy his enemies. 
 
 During the prevalence of the witch superstition 
 
 great stress was laid upon certain cabalistic words, 
 the greatest of these being Agla. It was supposed 
 that when this word was uttered toward the east 
 it would either drive away malignant spirits or 
 produce marvellous revelations. An incident is 
 mentioned of a child who, having heard some 
 frightful spell muttered, caught the words and 
 repeated them till such tempests and thuuderings 
 were produced that a whole village was burned by 
 the lightning. Jacob Boehm, a German mystic 
 and religious writer of the early part of the seven- 
 teenth century, declared that he had discovered the 
 original name of the devil, but he could not dis- 
 close it without peril to his soul, so tremendous 
 would be its influence. This same Jacob Boehm 
 was a voluminous author of theological works, 
 but his books, like those of so man}' other writers 
 on kindred subjects, were incomprehensible. 
 This, however, did not hinder them from having 
 many admirers, and after his death a large sect 
 was founded upon a belief in his meaningless rav- 
 ings. 
 
 It was also believed, during the period of the 
 witchcraft delusion, that certain persons had the 
 power to imprison demons and employ their ser- 
 vices in whatever manner they might choose. It 
 was supposed that Paracelsus, the Swiss alchemist 
 previously referred to, had a demon confined in 
 the hilt of his sword, but his brother alchemists 
 wisely maintained that it was the philosopher's 
 stone, and no demon at all. Much mediaeval 
 wisdom was expended in the consideration of this 
 momentous question, but it could never be fully 
 decided. The magicians of Salamanca and Toledo 
 were supposed to keep their devils confined in 
 finger rings, phials, boxes and caskets, from 
 whence they were sent forth at the will of their 
 masters to do whatever might be commanded of 
 them. The ancient Jews were persuaded that 
 Solomon wore a signet ring, with the hidden name 
 of God engraved upon it, which gave him com- 
 mand of the spirits, and transported him every 
 day at noon into the firmament, where he heard 
 the secrets of the universe, and thus diurnally 
 increased his exhaustless store of wisdom. 
 
 At the Council of Antioch, A.D. 341, a special 
 ecclesiastical order was established in the Chris- 
 tian Church, and denominated Exorcists. They 
 are still recognized in the Latin Church as one 
 of the four minor orders of the clergy. It is their 
 office, in the name of God, Christ, and the saints, 
 
.336 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 and b)' the use of holy water, the sign of the 
 cross, the recitation of psalms, litanies, prayers, 
 and adjurations, to expel the evil spirits, who, it 
 is believed, by divine permission not only tempt 
 the soul but frequently also possess the bod}'. 
 This belief was general throughout the known 
 ivorld previous to the advent of Christ, aud was 
 recognized in the Gospels, where the Saviour is 
 represented as casting out devils and evil spirits. 
 At the time of the Reformation this power, as 
 well as the ability to perform miracles, was 
 claimed as one of the tests of the divinity of the 
 Catholic Church, the Jesuits denying that heret- 
 ical teachers had ever been able to manifest such 
 power. 
 
 The Lycanthropes. 
 
 During the eleventh century there appeared a 
 peculiar madness which has been designated as 
 lycanthropia. The victimsbf this strange hallucina- 
 tion imagined that the)- were dogs or wolves, and no 
 argument or reasoning could convince them to 
 the contrary. It was their custom to lie hid dur- 
 ing the daytime, and issue forth with the setting 
 of the sun to howl during the night around 
 graveyards and in desert places. The madness 
 spread through the whole of central and northern 
 Europe, and seemed to be highly contagious. In 
 1374, during the festivities of midsuninier-day at 
 Aix-la-Chapelle, a large troop of infatuated men 
 and women rushed into the city from the adjacent 
 country, and gathering in the public squares and 
 churches danced furiously in circles for many 
 hours, apparently unconscious of the presence of 
 spectators, until the)- sank upon the ground from 
 exhaustion, where they writhed and groaned in 
 apparent agony. While in this state they pro- 
 fessed to see visions of good and evil spirits, to 
 whom they called by name. Skeptics and incre- 
 dulous spectators who came to witness the phe- 
 nomenon were themselves infected, and danced 
 and became ecstatic in their turn. Exorcism was 
 powerless against this remarkable infatuation. 
 The victims claimed that their dances were per- 
 formed in honor of St. John, and they were accord- 
 ingly designated Chorea Sanrfi Johannis. When 
 it was decided by the Rhenish provinces to banish 
 every person who was attacked, the disease soon 
 disappeared from those regions. It reappeared in 
 Strasburg in 14 18, and the victims could do 
 nothing but dance till they were dead or cured. 
 This phase of the maladv was entitled St. T ' u >ts's 
 
 Dance, and it is still recognized as a nervous dis- 
 order by physicians of our own times, but is now 
 rarely, if ever, caused by religious excitement. 
 In 1491 the nuns of Cambria were seized with 
 lycanthropia, and for the space of four years ran 
 like wild dogs over the country, sprang into the 
 air like birds, climbed trees like cats, hung on 
 the branches, imitated the cries of animals, and 
 uttered divinations. At last the exorcists took a 
 hand in the matter, and forced the devil to admit 
 that he was the cause of all these strange things ; 
 and the secular and ecclesiastical authorities- 
 enacted the most severe penalties against such 
 exhibitions, whereupon they soon ceased. Vol- 
 taire relates that in the district of Jura, during 
 two years between 159S and 1600, more than six 
 hundred lycanthropes were condemned to death 
 by one judge. 
 
 Manifestations of lycanthropia and kindred 
 manias continued to appear at intervals in differ- 
 ent countries, but with constantly decreasing ma- 
 levolence, until about the middle of the present 
 century. The last well defined case of which 
 there is any record took place in our own country, 
 in Montgomery County, Missouri, about 1850. 
 A young girl named Katy Williamson was sub- 
 ject to attacks of what was known locally as the 
 "jerks," aud on a certain occasion, during the 
 progress of a camp-meeting under the auspices 
 of the Cumberland Presbyterians, she became 
 more violently afflicted than usual. Some men 
 standing near began to laugh at her contortions 
 and antics, when she sprang toward them, snap- 
 ping her teeth and bounding into the air in such 
 an unearthly fashion that the men were badly 
 frightened and ran away. On another occasion 
 the same girl, while under the influence of the 
 mania, threw herself upon the ground, and as- 
 suming the motions and appearance of a reptile, 
 horrified all the spectators with her fearful and 
 hideous convolutions. 
 
 These later instances were but the last faint 
 struggles of the expiring monster who played 
 such fantastic and fearful tricks during the Mid- 
 dle Ages, the fountain-head of whose vitality had 
 been sapped by the penetrating probe of intelli- 
 gence and civilization. 
 
 Commencement of the Huguenot persecutions. 
 
 Having by this digression shown the lament- 
 able condition of the people of Europe during 
 the period of the Reformation, we will now be 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 587 
 
 better prepared to understand the course of events 
 and comprehend the frenzy and cruelty of the 
 warring factions. 
 
 The first execution of a Huguenot in France 
 took place at Metz in 1525. John Leclerc, a 
 wool-carder of the town of Meaux, seeing a bull 
 of indulgences affixed to the door of the cathe- 
 dral, tore it down and replaced it with a placard 
 in which the Pope was caricatured and repre- 
 sented as Antichrist. He was arrested on the 
 spot, and, by decree of the Parliament of Paris, 
 whipped publicly three days in succession, and 
 branded on the forehead by the hangman in the 
 presence of his mother, who encouraged him by 
 shouting, ' ' Jesus Christ forever. ' ' He was ban- 
 ished to Metz, where, while working at his trade 
 in July of the same year, he heard that a solemn 
 procession was to take place the next day in the 
 environs of the town. In his blind and furious 
 zeal he left his work and broke down the images, 
 at the feet of which the Catholics were to have 
 burnt incense. Being arrested as soon as he re- 
 turned to town, he did not attempt to disavow 
 the deed, but gloried in it. He was sentenced to 
 the most horrible punishment, which was inflicted 
 in the following manner : First, his right hand 
 was cut off ; then his nose was torn out ; the skin 
 was torn from his arms with pincers ; his nipples 
 were plucked out ; his head was confined in two 
 circlets of red-hot iron, and whilst he was still 
 chanting in a loud voice this versicle from the 
 CXVth Psalm, 
 
 "Their idols are silver and gold, 
 The work of men's hands," 
 his bleeding and mutilated body was thrown upon 
 the blazing fagots. 
 
 John Leclerc had a younger brother, Peter, a 
 simple wool-carder like himself, who remained at 
 Meaux, devoted to the same faith and cause. He 
 became the first minister of the reformed gospel 
 in France, and forty or fifty faithful members 
 formed the nucleus of the little church which 
 grew up. The meetings were held in the house 
 of an old man named Stephen Mangan, and 
 twenty years after the martyrdom of John Leclerc 
 the membership had increased in spite of all per- 
 secutions, until it numbered between three and 
 four hundred persons. On the 8th of September, 
 1546, the house was surrounded, and nearly sixty 
 men, women and children were taken after a sharp 
 resistance. Thev were all sent before the Parlia- 
 
 ment of Paris ; fourteen of the men were sen- 
 tenced to be burnt alive in the market-place at 
 Meaux, and the sentence was executed in the 
 presence of their wives and nearest relatives, who' 
 were ccmpelled by the authorities to be present. 
 
 On the death of Henry II., in July, 1559, his- 
 eldest son, Francis, ascended the throne and 
 assumed the title of Francis II. He is described 
 as a "boy of sixteen, a poor creature both in 
 mind and body." A little more than a year pre- 
 vious to the death of his father he had married 
 the beautiful but strong-willed, cruel and design- 
 ing Mary Stuart, of Scotland, who seems to have 
 been greatly influenced by the still more cruel 
 and determined Catharine de Medici, the queen- 
 mother ; and during Francis' short and inglorious 
 reign of one and a half years, these two women, 
 aided and abetted by the Guises, deluged France 
 in blood and caused the fires of persecution to 
 burn with renewed vigor. 
 
 The romance that has been woven about the 
 life of Mary Stuart, aided by the sympathy arising 
 from her long imprisonment and treacherous death, 
 has caused man} - historians to mistake her real 
 character ; but no one can read the incidents of 
 her brief ascendency in France, as recorded by 
 M. Guizot, without reaching the conclusion that 
 with similar opportunities and years of experi- 
 ence, 'she would have full}- equalled Catharine de 
 Medici in craft and cruelty. 
 
 Deputies from Parliament went immediately, 
 according to custom, to offer their felicitations to 
 the new king, and to ask him "to whom it was 
 his pleasure that they should thenceforward apply 
 for to learn his will and receive his commands." 
 Francis replied: "With the approbation of the 
 queen, my mother, I have chosen the Duke of 
 Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, my uncles, 
 to have the direction of the state ; the former will 
 take charge of the department of war, the latter 
 the administration of finance and justice ; " and 
 M. Guizot adds : "Up to the very last moment, 
 either by themselves or through their niece, Mary- 
 Stuart, the Guises preserved their influence over 
 him." When we read of what followed we cease 
 to wonder at the invectives of that stern old 
 patriot and reformer, John Knox, after the estab- 
 lishment of Mary's frivolous court at Edinburgh, 
 or at the subsequent determined course of Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 The young king, with his mind groping in the 
 
588 
 
 THE WONDERFUL THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 darkness of his weak understanding, was sur- 
 prised and horrified at the cruelties enacted in 
 
 DKATH OF HENRY II. 
 
 his name as the head of the government. "I 
 don't know how it is," he said to the Guises, 
 
 ' ' but I hear it said that the people are against 
 you only. I wish you could be away from here 
 
 for a time, that 
 we might see 
 whether it is you 
 or I that they 
 are a g a i n st . " 
 But the Guises 
 set about re- 
 moving this idea 
 by telling him 
 ' ' that neither he 
 nor his brothers 
 would live one 
 hour after their 
 departure, and 
 that the house 
 of Bourbon were 
 only seeking 
 how to extermi- 
 nate the king's 
 house." The 
 caresses of his 
 young queen 
 added weight to 
 these assertions 
 of her uncles, 
 who made a 
 cruel use of their 
 easy victory, 
 ' ' For a whole 
 month," accord- 
 ing to contempo- 
 rary chronicles, 
 ' ' there was noth- 
 ing but hanging 
 or drowning 
 folks. The Loire 
 was covered with 
 corpses, strung 
 six, eight, ten 
 and fifteen to 
 long poles." 
 "What was 
 strange to see," 
 says Regnier de 
 la Planche, 
 'and had never 
 been wont under 
 they were led out 
 sentence pro- 
 
 any form of government, 
 
 to execution without having any 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 589 
 
 A/unced against them publicly, or having the 
 cause of their death declared, or having their 
 names mentioned. They of the Guises reserved 
 the chief of them after dinner to make sport for 
 the ladies ; the two sexes were ranged at the win- 
 dows of the castle, as if it were a question of 
 seeing some mummery played. And what is 
 worse, the king and his young brothers were 
 present at these spectacles, as if the desire were to 
 ' blood ' them ; the sufferers were pointed out to 
 them by the Cardinal of Lorraine with all the 
 signs of a man greatly rejoiced, and when the 
 poor wretches died with more than usual firm- 
 ness, he would say, ' See, sir, what brazenness 
 and madness : the fear of death cannot abate their 
 pride and felonry. What would they do, then, 
 if they had you in their clutches? ' " 
 
 These "after-dinner drownings," with the 
 young queen, Mary Stuart, a girl of only seven- 
 teen, as an interested and amused spectator, pre- 
 sent her in a very different light from that in 
 which she has been usually painted, and they go 
 far towards excusing the perfidy of Elizabeth, 
 even if she did bring about the execution of her 
 "fair cousin," as is generally believed, by treach- 
 ery and deceit. 
 
 These were hideous exhibitions of man's de- 
 pravity, and it costs a pang to record them ; but 
 it is right that it should be done, for history is 
 bound to do justice to the crimes and errors of 
 the past, especially when the past had no idea of 
 guilt in the commission of them. They serve as 
 warnings for the future, and create a more kindly 
 spirit toward one another in our desire to atone 
 for the errors of our ancestors. 
 
 The foregoing will afford a good idea of how 
 the common people were treated when they fell 
 under the condemnation of the authorities. Nei- 
 ther mercy nor leniency was shown to them. 
 They were subjected to a refinement of barbarity 
 that would have made savages blush, not so much 
 from the cruelty of their adversaries, as a 
 sincere desire to deter others, by the rigor of these 
 punishments, from being influenced by what 
 they religiously believed to be a pernicious and 
 fatal example. Heretics of influence and standing 
 were treated with more consideration in the man- 
 ner of their punishment, but it was merely a milder 
 means of accomplishing the same end. We have 
 neither the space nor the desire to go through the 
 long lists of horrors that were inflicted upon the 
 
 Huguenots during their memorable struggle for 
 religious liberty, but having quoted characteristic 
 examples of the treatment of common offenders, 
 we will now relate an instance in a higher grade 
 of society, and let these stand as representatives 
 of the thousands of similar ones that occurred all 
 over France. 
 
 Louis de Berquin was a nobleman, born at 
 Passy, near Paris, about 1490. Remaining a 
 bachelor, and possessed of a patrimonial estate 
 which yielded him a modest income of about $700 
 a year, but which was amply sufficient for his 
 needs, he devoted himself to study and the con- 
 sideration of religious matters with an indepen- 
 dence of mind which in due time brought down 
 upon his head the condemnation of the ecclesias- 
 tical authorities. Being high in favor with the 
 king, Francis I., he succeeded during the space 
 of about six years in evading the vengeance of the 
 Church, but his weak and vacillating royal friend 
 finally abandoned him to the sanguinary mercy 
 of the ecclesiastics, and on the 16th of April, 
 1529, he was brought before the court for the last 
 time. "Louis Berquin," said the President to 
 him, " you are convicted of having belonged to 
 the sect of Luther, and of having made wicked 
 books against the majesty of God and His glorious 
 mother. In consequence, we do sentence you to 
 make honorable amends, bareheaded and with a 
 waxen taper alight in your hand, in the great 
 court of the palace, crying for mercy to God, the 
 king and the law, for the offence by you com- 
 mitted. After that you will be conducted bare- 
 headed and on foot to the Place de Greve, 
 where your books will be burned before your 
 eyes. Then you will be taken in front of the 
 church of Notre Dame, where you will make 
 honorable amends to God and the glorious Vir- 
 gin, His mother. After which a hole will be 
 pierced in your tongue, that member wherewith 
 you have sinned. Lastly, you will be placed in 
 the prison of the Bishop, and will be there con- 
 fined between two stone walls for the whole of 
 your life. And we forbid that there ever be 
 given you book to read or pen and ink to 
 write." 
 
 From this horrible and blasphemous sentence 
 Berquin appealed to the king, but the latter was 
 afraid any longer to extend his protection over 
 his old friend ; and a few days later the court 
 revised its sentence, and for the penalty of per- 
 
590 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 petual imprisonment substituted that of the 
 stake. 
 
 We borrow the account of the execution from a 
 letter of Erasmus, written on the evidence of an 
 eye-witness : On the 22d of April, 1529, the offi- 
 cers of Parliament entered Berquin's gloomy 
 chamber. He arose quietly and went with them, 
 arriving at the Place de Greve, where the stake 
 was set, about three o'clock in the afternoon. He 
 wore a gown of velvet, garments of satin and 
 damask, and hose of gold thread. ' ' Alas ! ' ' said 
 some as they saw him pass, "he is of noble lin- 
 eage, a mighty great scholar, expert in science, 
 and subtle withal, and nevertheless he hath gone 
 out of his senses. ' ' These expressions reveal the 
 real disposition and compassionate feelings of his 
 adversaries, who felt that it was a painful but 
 religious duty to destroy such a troublesome 
 and hurtful heretic for the glory of God and the 
 preservation of the true faith. Honest and igno- 
 rant fanaticism, in its multifarious forms, is the 
 most dangerous power the world has ever had to 
 ■contend against, and the lessons of the past, if 
 well learned, will save us from the repetition of 
 its follies and horrors in the future. 
 
 Berquin remained calm and dignified. No 
 symptom of agitation appeared either in his face 
 or the attitude of his body. He had the bearing 
 of a man who is meditating in his cabinet on the 
 subject of his studies, or in a temple on the affairs 
 of heaven. When the order was given him to 
 dismount from the tumbrel, he obeyed cheerfully 
 and without hesitation ; nevertheless he had not 
 about him any of that audacity, that arrogance, 
 which in the case of malefactors is sometimes 
 bred of their natural savagery. Before he died he 
 made a speech to the people ; but none could hear 
 him, so great was the noise which the soldiers 
 made according, it is said, to the orders they had 
 received. When the cord which bound him to 
 the post suffocated his voice, not a soul in the 
 •crowd ejaculated the name of Jesus, whom it was 
 customary to evoke even in favor of parricides 
 and the sacrilegious, to such an extent had the 
 multitude been excited against him by those who 
 are to be found everywhere and who can do any- 
 thing with the feelings of the simple and ignorant. 
 The smoke and flames soon produced suffocation, 
 and one more pure spirit entered the realms where 
 persecution ceases. "I never saw any one die 
 more Christianly," exclaimed the grand peni- 
 
 tentiary of Paris, as he withdrew from the stiU 
 smoking stake. But the majority of the crowd 
 cried out, ' ' He was a heretic. ' ' Others said, 
 "God is the only just Judge, and happy is the 
 man whom He absolves." Some whispered 
 below their breath, "It is only through the 
 cross that Christ will triumph in the kingdom 
 of the Gauls." And their prediction was the 
 true one. 
 
 The martyrdom of Berquin put a stop to the 
 attempt at quasi-tolerance in favor of aristocratic 
 and learned reformers which Francis I. had 
 essayed to practise, and persecution thence- 
 forward followed its natural course of riot and 
 civil war, embracing the incidents already men- 
 tioned, spreading devastation and slaughter over 
 the green fields of France, and shaking the very 
 foundations of the kingdom for a period of sixty- 
 nine years, until the victory of Henry of Navarre, 
 at Ivry, on the 14th of March, 1590, gave him the 
 power, eight years later, to issue the famous 
 edict of Nantes, guaranteeing religious toleration 
 within the borders of France. 
 
 The Massacre of St. Bartholomew. 
 
 Meanwhile the massacre of St. Bartholomew 
 had taken place in 1572, during the reign of 
 Charles IX., a prince of but little greater mental 
 vigor than his brother, Francis II., and who seems 
 never to have been quite able to decide for himself 
 between Catholicism and Protestantism, but who 
 finally yielded to the strong will of his mother, 
 and allowed events to take their own course. St. 
 Bartholomew was a political, rather than a re- 
 ligious outbreak, and was a result of the bitter 
 rivalries and jealousies existing between the 
 Guises, who were the head and leaders of the 
 " Holy Alliance " or Catholic party, and Admiral 
 Coligny, the leader of the Huguenots. It is so 
 regarded by M. Guizot, a painstaking and un- 
 prejudiced Protestant historian, who profoundly 
 studied the subject. But the infamous instiga- 
 tors of this horrible butchery made use of the 
 religious frenzy and inflamed prejudices of the 
 people as a means of carrying out their designs, 
 and for this reason the obloquy attaching to it 
 has been unjustly charged against the Catholic 
 Church. 
 
 On the 22d of August, 1572, the day before the 
 massacre, while Coligny was returning on foot 
 from the palace to his home, he was fired upon 
 from the window of a house by an assassin in the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 591 
 
 employ of the Guises, and two fingers of his right 
 hand were shot away and a ball lodged in his left 
 arm. The assassin escaped, and Coligny pro- 
 ceeded on his way home, where, after his wounds 
 were dressed, he sought and obtained an inter- 
 view with the king. About 2 p. m. the latter 
 called, accom- 
 panied by his 
 mother and two 
 younger broth- 
 ers, the Dukes 
 •of Anjou and 
 Aleneon, the 
 former of whom 
 s u b s e q u ently 
 became Henry 
 III. , of France. 
 The queen- 
 mother and her 
 younger sons 
 were very un- 
 popular with 
 the Huguenots, 
 many of whom 
 were present at 
 the time, and 
 they did not 
 hesitate to de- 
 clare, by means 
 ■of scowls and 
 nods, that they 
 believed them 
 guilty of the 
 attempted mur- 
 der of their 
 idolized leader. 
 Catharine and 
 the young 
 dukes soon be- 
 c a m e b a d 1 y 
 frightened at 
 the ominous ap- 
 pearance of 
 their surround- 
 i n g s , and 
 
 cause them to be severely punished for their out- 
 rageous crime. 
 
 On the following day, Saturday, August 23, 
 1572, in the afternoon, the queen-mother, the 
 Duke of Anjou and several of the Catholic lead- 
 ers held a secret conference with the king in his 
 
 HENRY, OF NAVARRE, AT THE BATTLE OF IVRY. 
 
 availed themselves of the first opportunity to make 
 a hast\^ departure. The king remained sometime 
 in friendly conversation with Coligny, during 
 which he expressed the bitterest resentment 
 .against the Guises, and declared that he would 
 
 closet, during which they represented to him that 
 the Huguenots had seized upon this occasion for 
 taking up arms against him ; that they had sent 
 dispatches to Germany to procure a levy of ten 
 thousand reiters (cavalry soldiers), and to the 
 
592 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Swiss cantons for another levy of ten thousand 
 foot. Catharine also declared vehemently that 
 the French captains in the interests of the Hugue- 
 nots, had most of them left Paris to raise levies 
 in the kingdom, while the Catholics, disgusted 
 with so long a war and harassed with so many 
 kinds of calamities, had decided to form a league 
 and elect a Captain-General for the purpose of 
 waging effectual war against the heretics. The 
 whole of France would thus be armed and di- 
 vided into two great contending parties, between 
 which the king would remain isolated and with- 
 out any command or authority. "All that is 
 necessary," said Catherine, "is to kill the ad- 
 miral, the head and front of all the civil wars ; 
 the design and enterprise of the Huguenots will 
 die with him, and the Catholics, satisfied with 
 the sacrifice of two or three men, wilf remain 
 forever in obedience to you." The Duke of 
 Anjou left a written history of this celebrated 
 meeting, and after the address of the queen- 
 mother, he adds: "At the beginning the king 
 would not by any means consent to have the 
 admiral touched ; feeling, however, some fear of 
 the danger which we had so well depicted and 
 represented to him, he desired that, in a case of 
 such importance, every one should at once state 
 his opinion. ' ' When each of those present had 
 spoken, the king appeared still undecided. 
 
 The secret conference then dissolved, but the 
 matter had become a family affair, in which the 
 lives of Catharine and her sons were at stake, 
 and she was too determined a woman to let it 
 drop after having gone so far. In the evening, 
 about nine or ten o'clock, says Marguerite of 
 Valois, the bride of Henry of Navarre and 
 sister of the king, "she sent Marshal de Retz 
 privately to him, who represented that, as his 
 faithful servant, he could not conceal from him 
 the danger he was in if he were to abide by his 
 resolution to do justice on M. de Guise, because 
 it was necessary that he should know that the 
 attack upon the admiral was not M. de Guise's 
 doing alone, but that my brother Henry, after- 
 ward king of France, and the queen, my mother, 
 hai been concerned in it, which M. de Guise and 
 his friends would not fail to reveal, and which 
 would place his Majestj' in a position of great 
 danger and embarrassment." Toward midnight 
 Catharine again went down to the king, followed 
 by her son Henry, and four other councillors. 
 
 They found him more put out than ever. ' ' The 
 Guises, ' ' said the queen-mother, ' ' will denounce 
 you, together with me and your brother ; the 
 Huguenots will believe that you were in concert 
 with the party, and they will take the whole royal 
 family to task. War is inevitable. Better win a 
 battle in Paris, where we hold all the chiefs in 
 our clutches, than put it to hazard in the field." 
 ' ' After a struggle of an hour and a half, ' ' con- 
 tinues Marguerite of Valois, "the king, in a vio- 
 lent state of agitation, still hesitated, when the 
 queen-mother, fearing lest, if there were further 
 delay, all would be discovered, said to him, ' Per- 
 mit me and your brother, sir, to retire to some 
 other part of the kingdom.' Charles rose from 
 his seat : ' By God's death,' said he, 'since you 
 think proper to kill the admiral, I consent ; but 
 all the Huguenots in Paris as well, in order that 
 there remain not one to reproach me afterward. 
 Give the orders at once. ' ' ' And he went back 
 into his room. 
 
 The queen-mother, anxious to profit by the 
 permission thus wrung from the weak, vain and 
 cowardly king in a moment of heat and passion, 
 gave orders on the instant for the signal of 
 slaughter, which, according to previous arrange- 
 ment, was not to have been given until an hour 
 before daybreak. But she was afraid the king 
 might change his mind, as he actually did a few 
 hours later, and she, therefore, hastened to set the 
 machinery of massacre in motion before he could 
 have time to reflect. 
 
 The projectors of the outrage had hastily bur 
 carefully prepared for its execution, apportioning 
 out among themselves and their agents the dil- 
 ferent quarters of the city. The Guises had re- 
 served to themselves a special vengeance, in the 
 slaughter of Coligny, and as soon as the signal 
 was given they hastened to his house at the head 
 of a party of their followers. Awakened by the 
 noise around the house and the firing of arque- 
 buse shots in his court-yard, Coligny very well 
 understood what was going to happen. Hastily 
 springing out of bed and putting on his dressing- 
 gown, he stood leaning against the wall, as he 
 said to a Protestant clergyman named Merlin, 
 who was sitting up with him, "M. Merlin, say 
 me a prayer ; I commit my soul to my Saviour." 
 At this moment one of his officers rushed into the 
 room and exclaimed, " My lord, it is God calling 
 us ! " "I have long; been readv to die," said the 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 593 
 
 admiral, calmly, " but you, my friends, save your- 
 selves if it is still possible." All ran upstairs, 
 and most of them escaped by the roof, except a 
 German ser- 
 vant, who re- 
 mained with his 
 master, as little 
 concerned as if 
 nothing unusual 
 were taking 
 place. Two 
 men, inferior 
 servants of the 
 Guises, entered 
 first. One of 
 them, named 
 Behme, came 
 forward, saying, 
 "Art thou not 
 the admiral? " 
 ' ' Young man, ' ' 
 said C o 1 i g n y , 
 " thou comest 
 against a 
 wounded and 
 an aged man. 
 Thou' it not 
 shorten my life 
 much." Behme 
 instantly 
 plunged into his 
 stomach a huge 
 pointed boar- 
 spear, which he 
 carried in his 
 hand, and then 
 hastily with- 
 drawing it, 
 struck him over 
 the head with 
 the weapon. 
 Coligny fell, 
 crying out con- 
 temptuously, 
 "If it were but 
 a man ! " Others 
 came in and 
 struck him as 
 he lay upon the 
 
 floor At this moment the Duke of Guise shouted 
 from the court-yard, •'Behme, hast done?" '"Tis 
 38 
 
 all over, my lord," was the answer, and the mur- 
 derers threw the body out of the window, where 
 it remained for an instant upon the sill, either 
 
 DEATH OF COLIGNY. 
 
 accidentally or voluntarily, as of to defend a last 
 remnant of life. Then it fell heavily to the 
 
594 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 ground. The two infamous brothers who were 
 waiting for it turned over the corpse, wiped the 
 blood from the face, and said, "Faith, 'tis he, 
 sure enough." Some have said that the duke 
 gave it a kick in the face. A servant cut off the 
 head and took it to the queen-mother, the king, 
 and the Duke of Anjou, who were waiting in the 
 palace of the Louvre. 
 
 It will be seen from the foregoing account, 
 which we have adapted from the history of M. 
 Guizot, and which is no doubt a correct state- 
 ment ot the affair, that Catherine de Medici and 
 her son, the Duke of Anjou, afterwards Henry 
 III., were the real projectors of the Massacre of 
 St. Bartholomew, which they brought about from 
 motives of cowardice, love of power, and jealousy 
 of Coligny. 
 
 As usual with murderers and assassins, they 
 were seized with fright at the first sound of their 
 own crime. We will let the Duke of Anjou tell 
 the story in his own language: " After but two 
 hours' rest during the night, just as the day was 
 beginning to break, the king, the queen, my 
 mother, and I, went to the frontal of the Louvre, 
 adjoining the tennis-court, into a room which 
 looks upon the area of the stable-yard, to see the 
 commencement of the work. "We had not been 
 there long when, as we were weighing the issues 
 and the consequences of so great an enterprise, on 
 which, sooth to say, we had up to that time 
 scarcely bestowed a thought, we heard a pistol- 
 shot fired. I could not say in what spot, or 
 whether it knocked over anybody, but well know 
 that sound wounded all three of us so deeply in 
 spirit that it knocked over our senses and judg- 
 ment, stricken with terror and apprehension at 
 the great troubles which were then about to set 
 in. To prevent them, we sent a gentleman at 
 once and with all haste to M. de Guise, to tell him 
 and command him expressly from us to retire into 
 his quarters and to be careful to take no steps against 
 the admiral, this single command putting a stop 
 to even-thing else, because it had been determined 
 that in no spot in the city should any steps be 
 taken until, as a preliminary, the admiral had 
 been killed. But soon afterwards the gentleman 
 returning told us that M. de Guise had answered 
 him that the command came too late, that the 
 admiral was dead, and the work was begun 
 throughout the rest of the city. So we went back 
 to our original determination and let ourselves 
 
 follow the thread of the course of the enter- 
 prise. ' ' 
 
 This picture of these three infamous persons, 
 these vile birds of ill omen, these wretches in 
 human shape, listening to the sounds of cruelty 
 and murder which the)- had set in motion, and at 
 the same time trembling and cringing with base 
 and ignoble cowardice, is perhaps unsurpassed in 
 the literature of the world. 
 
 Once let loose upon the St. Bartholomew, the 
 Parisian populace was eager indeed, but not alone 
 in its eagerness for the work of massacre ; the 
 gentlemen of the court took part in it passion- 
 ately, from a spirit of vengeance, from religious 
 hatred, from the effects of smelling blood, and 
 from covetousness at the prospects of confiscations 
 at hand. The actual number slain will never be 
 known. There is in the account books of the 
 cemetery of the Innocents at Paris a grim and 
 ghastly entry of payment to the grave-diggers for 
 interring noo dead bodies that had been stranded 
 at the turns of the Seine ; while a well-known 
 author speaks of 4000 corpses that Charles IX. 
 might have seen floating down the river ; and the 
 corpses were not all thrown into the river. The 
 number of persons butchered throughout France 
 has been estimated as high as 100,000, and as 
 low as 10,000. The real number was probably 
 between 50,000 and 75,000. 
 
 All Europe, Catholic as well as Protestant, 
 cried out with horror at so terrible a massacre, 
 while the infamous authors of it did the best they 
 could to excuse themselves ; but history has set 
 the indelible mark of infamy upon them. Charles 
 meanly attempted to throw the blame upon his 
 late friend Coligny and the Guises. On the first 
 da} - of the massacre, about mid-da}-, his cowardly 
 fears being fully aroused, he ordered his officers 
 to " get on horseback, take with them all the 
 forces in the city, and keep their eyes open day 
 and night to put a stop to the said murder, pil- 
 lage and sedition arising because of the rivalry 
 between the houses of Guise and Chatillon, and 
 because they of Guise had been threatened by the 
 admiral's friends." On the'25th, two days after 
 the massacre, he wrote to all his agents at home 
 and abroad, affirming that "what had happened 
 at Paris had been done solely to prevent the exe- 
 cution of an accursed conspiracy which the admiral 
 and his allies had concocted against him, his 
 mother and his brothers. ' ' 
 
 • 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 595 
 
 But the avenging ghosts of his murdered sub- 
 jects rose up before his disordered vision and 
 would not let him rest. "His looks," wrote the 
 Venetian ambassador, a short time after the mas- 
 sacre, ' ' have become melancholy and sombre ; in 
 his conversation and audiences he does not look 
 the speaker in the face ; he droops his head, closes 
 his eyes, opens them all at once, and as if he 
 found the movement painful, closes them again 
 with no less suddenness. It is feared that the 
 demon of vengeance has possessed him. To tire 
 himself at any price is his object. He remains on 
 horseback for twelve or fourteen consecutive hours ; 
 and so he goes hunting and coursing through the 
 woods the same animal, the stag, for two or three 
 days, never stopping to eat. and never resting but 
 an instant during the night." Two years after 
 the massacre he was attacked by an inflammatory 
 malady which brought on a violent hemorrhage. 
 During his troubled sleep he was visited by hor- 
 rible dreams and bloody visions of St. Bartholo- 
 mew. He no longer retained in his room anybody 
 but two of his servants and his nurse, " of whom 
 he was very fond, although she was a Huguenot. 
 When she had lain down upon a chest and was 
 just beginning to doze, hearing the king moan- 
 ing, weeping and sighing, she went full gently 
 up to the bed: 'Ah! nurse, nurse,' said he, 
 ' what bloodshed and what murder ! Ah ! what 
 evil counsel have I followed ! Oh ! my God, for- 
 give me then arrd have mercy upon me, if it may 
 please Thee. I know not what hath come to me, 
 so bewildered and agitated do they make me. 
 What will be the end of it all ? What shall I do ? 
 I am lost ; I see it well ! ' " And thus he con- 
 tinued to rave until death released his troubled 
 soul. It is said that before his death the blood 
 oozed from his body through the pores of the 
 skin, and he died in the most horrible anguish 
 and terror. 
 
 Henry III. succeeded his brother as king of 
 France, and after a short and troubled reign, full 
 of bloodshed and unrest, he was murdered by a 
 monk, who obtained a private audience under the 
 pretence of delivering a secret dispatch. The 
 monk, seeing the king's attention taken up with 
 reading, drew a knife from his sleeve and drove it 
 into Henry's abdomen, below the navel, so deep 
 that he could not withdraw it, and left it sticking 
 in the wound. But the king, with great exertion, 
 drew it out, and struck the monk a blow with the 
 
 point of it on his left eyebrow, crying out, ' ' Ah ! 
 wicked monk! he has killed me; kill him!" 
 The guards who were near, hearing the cry, ran 
 quickly up, and instantly massacred the assassin, 
 who stretched out his arms against the wall, in 
 imitation of the crucifix, whilst the blows were 
 dealt him. Henry died that night in great 
 agony. 
 
 Catherine de Medici, the unnatural mother, the 
 inhuman woman, the prime instigator of St. Bar- 
 tholomew, died in neglect and obscurity a few 
 months after the death of her son Henry. 
 
 And thus perished the three persons who were 
 responsible for the most celebrated massacre that 
 has stained the pages of history ! 
 
 SOME CURIOUS HISTORICAL FACTS. 
 Old Laws Regarding Crippled and Deformed Rulers. 
 
 THERE were laws among many of the ancient 
 nations prohibiting the succession of a 
 crippled or deformed king to the throne ; but by 
 general consent such laws have long since fallen 
 into abeyance. The idea is, by some, traced to 
 the Jewish law, forbidding a person having a 
 physical blemish of any description to officiate at 
 the altar, but it is more likely due to the respect 
 entertained by all savage or half-civilized peoples 
 for manly strength, and the feeling that a de- 
 formed man is not a proper person to be a leader 
 of soldiers. It was therefore common among 
 conquerors, when kings were made captives, to 
 put out their eyes, cut off their thumbs, or in 
 some other way to mutilate the body in order 
 that they would never again be able to ascend the 
 throne. Several instances of this are recorded in 
 the Bible, as when the eyes of Zedekiah were put 
 out, a piece of cruelty that in later times was re 
 peated in Portugal, when several deposed kings 
 were thus rendered sightless to take from them 
 all hope of successful rebellion. To such an 
 extent was the notion carried that a Welsh prince 
 was once set aside from the succession because his 
 nose had been broken, and a Spanish prince be- 
 cause he stammered. 
 
 The renowned Sapor, of Persia, was called 
 ' ' Lord of the shoulders, ' ' on account of a pecu- 
 liarity in his method of mutilating his prisoners. 
 He first caused a hole to be pierced in their 
 shoulders, through which a strong cord was 
 passed, by means of which their shoulders were 
 dislocated and they were rendered helpless crip- 
 
596 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 pies for the remainder of their lives. The ancient 
 Jews were noted for their cruelty to their prisoners, 
 
 God. It was their custom to put out the eyes 
 of their prisoners, to saw their bodies asunder, to 
 
 drive over them 
 with s c y t h e d 
 chariots or sharp- 
 toothed harrows, 
 to mutilate them, 
 and to inflict 
 other cruel and 
 barbarous punish- 
 ments upon them. 
 Their fanatical 
 and fierce cruelty 
 to their enemies 
 was the principal 
 cause of their own 
 i 1 1 - tr e a t m e n t 
 when they them- 
 selves fell victims 
 to the vicissitudes 
 of war. 
 
 ANCIENT PERSIAN WARRIORS. 
 
 a singular 
 claimed to 
 
 fact when we consider that they 
 be the special and peculiar people of 
 
 Historic Stumbles. 
 Stumbling a t 
 the outset of any 
 important enter- 
 prise is regarded 
 as unlucky, for 
 the reason that 
 it is a mistake or 
 accident at the 
 very inception, 
 and few people 
 have any confi- 
 dence in the well- 
 known adage, 
 "A bad begin- 
 ning makes a 
 good ending." 
 Several historic 
 stumbles are re- 
 corded. Julius 
 Caesar stumbled 
 when landing on 
 the African coast ; 
 so did Scipio Af- 
 ricanus ; and each 
 had the tact to 
 turn the accident 
 to his own account by pretending that he fell 
 on purpose, and by seizing the earth with his 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 597 
 
 hands claimed thus to take more secure pos- 
 session. Napoleon stumbled when landing in 
 Egypt, and the fact was remembered after the 
 unlucky termination of that ill-advised enter- 
 prise ; but William I. of England also stumbled 
 when landing at Bulverhythe, and grasping a 
 stone in one hand and a fistful of grass in the 
 other, shouted, ' ' Thus do I seize this land. ' ' 
 
 soldiers, and the "Step- father of His Country' 
 by political opponents during his second term. 
 
 Origin of the Term "Pin-Money." 
 
 Pins were introduced into England by Catha- 
 rine, wife of Henry VIII., and, as then made, 
 were ornaments rather than articles of utility. 
 They were of brass, ivory, silver or gold, were 
 placed in the hair or on various parts of the cloth- 
 ing as articles of jewelry, and sometimes weighed 
 eight or ten ounces. The Spanish manufacturers 
 were allowed to sell them only during the Christ- 
 mas holidays, and it became the fashion for a 
 gentleman, at holiday seasons, to present the 
 ladies of his family with money to buy pins. On 
 account of their great cost, only the wealthy 
 could at first afford to buy them ; and even after 
 pins had become common and cheap, the prac- 
 tice of giving the money continued, and hence 
 the name. 
 
 Application of the Title, " Father of His Country." 
 
 The title, ' ' Father of His Country, ' ' was first 
 applied, according to one historian, to Cincin- 
 riatus, but there is much in the story altogether 
 mythical and uncertain. It was undoubtedly ap- 
 plied to Cicero, who lived from B. C. 106 to 43, 
 and broke up the Cataline conspiracy. It was 
 given to Julius Caesar after the Spanish rebellion, 
 to Augustus, to Cosmo de Medici, Andrea Doria 
 and other -distinguished men of different nations. 
 Louis XVI., Henry IV. and Louis XVIII., of 
 France, were styled "Father of the People," as 
 also was Christian III., of Denmark. The title, 
 "Father of His Country," was not the only one 
 bestowed on Washington. He was styled the 
 "American Fabius," from his cautious policy, 
 and from the fact that he never won a battle, but 
 wore out the enemj- by harassing campaigns. 
 Lord Byron, in his ode to Napoleon, styles Wash- 
 ington ' ' The Cincinnatus of the West. ' ' Vittorio 
 Alfieri, the Italian dramatist, called him the 
 "Deliverer of America." He was styled the 
 " Saviour of His Country " by the newspapers of 
 his own day. " Lovely Georgius" by the British 
 
 Modern. 
 
 What Were the " Middle Ages " ? 
 
 History is generally divided into three eras or 
 periods — the Ancient, Mediaeval (Middle Ages) 
 and Modern. In order that the boundary lines 
 may strike the eye, we will present the matter in 
 the form of a chart, as follows : 
 
 C From the beginning of the ~) Dawn of 
 Ancient. J human period to the downfall of I time to 
 (^ the Roman Empire in the West, j A. D. 476. 
 C From the fall of Rome to the ~) 476 
 Mediaaval • -j discovery of America by Co- I to 
 (^ lumbus. J 1492. 
 
 From the discovery of Ameri- "1 1492 
 ca to the present time. j onward. 
 
 This is the accepted form of division. A few 
 historians, however, think that the great migra- 
 tion of the Teutonic tribes, which began about 
 A. D. 375, or 100 years before the fall of Rome, 
 should mark the close of the ancient and the 
 opening of the mediaeval period. There are other 
 authorities who prefer to put the end of the 
 mediaeval and the beginning of the modern era 
 at the capture of Constantinople by the Turks in 
 1453, while there are still others who mark the 
 boundary line between the mediaeval and modern 
 eras at the disco very of printing by movable 
 types, which occurred between 1423 and 1436. 
 
 Paternoster Row. 
 
 This is the name of a street in London almost 
 under the shadow of St. Paul's Cathedral. It is 
 so called, according to antiquarians, from the fact 
 that 400 or 500 years ago the makers of rosaries 
 or pater nosters lived and had their shops there. 
 As education became general, religious books 
 were added to the stock-in-trade, and in course 
 of time the entire street was given up to pub- 
 lishers' and stationers' establishments. No 
 vehicles were formerly allowed to enter the street, 
 which, although in the midst of a great metro- 
 polis, was thus kept quiet, and even at present it 
 is not a general thoroughfare. Many of the 
 essayists and poets of a century ago mention it, 
 and not always in the most reverential terms. 
 As Paternoster Row was the publication centre, 
 so Grub Street, now Milton Street, so called not 
 from the poet, but from a wealthy builder, was 
 the headquarters of the writing fraternity. It 
 
598 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 was filled with houses of mean aspect and poor 
 interior, hence the name came to be applied to 
 trashj- and worthless productions. 
 
 Talented Fathers and Degenerate Sons. 
 It has often been noted that the sons of remark- 
 able men have generally been of humble abilities, 
 and numbers of instances might be cited from 
 history to prove the truth of the statement. 
 Henry II., of England, was an able man — his son 
 John was quite the contrary ; Edward II., a weak 
 prince, was son of the warlike and successful 
 Edward I. ; Richard II. was the son of the famous 
 Black Prince. In French history, the effeminate 
 Louis VIII. was the son of Philippe Auguste ; 
 Charles the Fool was son of Charles the Wise. 
 In Germain-, Henry VI. was the son of the great 
 Barbarossa. The sons of the philosophers were 
 almost uniformly obscure men ; the sons of the 
 poets are never heard of. Napoleon's son was 
 crushed by the weight of his father's fame. 
 Lord Chesterfield wrote his inimitable letters to a 
 youth who is not known outside of the pages of 
 that volume, and so on throughout history. On 
 the contrary, a few conspicuous examples have 
 occurred of a talented son equalling or exceeding 
 the achievements of his father. Alexander the 
 Great was son of Philip the Great ; Charlemagne 
 was son of Pepin ; and the Pitts, father and son, 
 were equally noted in British annals. In America 
 the dictum of Lord Bacon, that "great men have 
 no continuance," is verified in the cases of nearly 
 all our noted statesmen. Washington had no 
 children, and, so far as known, there is, with the 
 exception of the Adams family, no lineal descen- 
 dant of any of his contemporaries or of their great 
 successors, such as Webster, Clay, Calhoun and 
 Benton, now in public life. 
 
 Soap Among the Ancients. 
 The ancients had soap made from the lye of 
 ashes, and Pliny says the German soap was con- 
 sidered the best. A few years ago, a soap boiler's 
 shop was discovered in Pompeii, with some of the 
 soap, which, even after 1800 years' burial, had 
 not lost all its virtue. The price of soap in 
 Pliny's time was, however, very high, and the 
 Romans had a substitute for it in a certain root 
 brought from Africa, which made lather. A kind 
 of glutinous earth was used for cleansing pur- 
 
 poses, and fine sand rubbed on the body with the 
 hand was also employed. Soap is twice men- 
 tioned in the Bible, the first time by Jeremiah, 
 600 B. C, who says: "Though thou wash thee 
 with nitre and take thee much soap, yet thy ini- 
 quity is marked before me, saith the Lord God." 
 Malachi, 400 B. C, speaks of "fuller's soap," 
 both allusions showing the great antiquity of the 
 article. 
 
 The Don Quixote of the North. 
 Charles XII., of Sweden, was so called on 
 account of his headstrong, impetuous valor, 
 which was seldom restrained, either by consider- 
 ations of prudence or common sense. He was 
 constantly engaged in some crack-brained enter- 
 prise, and willing to venture on the most daring 
 and foolhardy expeditions. At Narva, with Sooo 
 Swedes, he stormed an intrenched Russian camp 
 where 50,000 men awaited his onset. His rash- 
 ness led to his defeat at Pultowa, and finally to 
 the downfall of Swedish power, for after his death 
 that kingdom, exhausted by his wars, was no 
 longer numbered among the principal nations of 
 Europe. 
 
 Meaning of " An Iota." 
 
 An iota is the smallest letter of the Greek 
 alphabet, corresponding favorably with our letter 
 i. It was derived from the Hebrew jod and the 
 Syriacjudk, and employed metaphorically to ex- 
 press the merest trifle. The expression, "not a 
 single iota," is one of the several metaphors 
 which have been used for ages, and, as above 
 mentioned, was derived from the alphabet, as 
 when alpha and omega, the first and last letters 
 of the Greeks, are employed to express the be- 
 ginning and the end, as in Rev. i. 2, where we 
 read : "I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the 
 last." And, again, as "One jot (jod) or one 
 tittle (point or dot ) shall in no wise pass from the 
 law." 
 
 Some curious examples of the use of letters as 
 metaphors may be found in the works of Light- 
 foot and Wetstein. We often hear of a person 
 having a "stigma upon him." A stigma was 
 formerly the branding iron used by the Greeks 
 for marking their criminals. It was in shape not 
 unlike a small figure five (5), and was usually 
 applied upon the forehead, cheek, or back of the 
 hand, where it would not fail to be noticed. The 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 599 
 
 Hebrews are said to have used their final letter, 
 tau, for a similar purpose. See Ezekiel ix. 4. 
 In the Talmud it is fabled that the Book of Deu- 
 teronomy came and prostrated itself before God 
 and said : 
 
 " O L,ord of the universe, Thou hast written in 
 me Thy law, but if a testament is defective in 
 some parts it is defective in all. Behold, Solomon 
 endeavors to root the letter jod out of me. 
 Neither shall he multiply wives." See Talmud 
 (Sanhed. xx. 2. Bible, Deut. xvii. 17). "Then," 
 says the Talmud, "the Holy Blessed God an- 
 swered, ' Solomon and a thousand such as he 
 shall perish, but the least letter shall not perish 
 out of thee. ' ' ' 
 
 False Christs. 
 
 Jesus predicted that many false Christs would 
 come after Him, especially "at the beginning of 
 the end," and He particularly warned His dis- 
 ciples against these impostors. For this reason 
 many devout persons believe, and have believed 
 during the whole period of the Christian era, 
 that the advent of these pretended Christs or 
 Saviours is one of the sure signs that the coming 
 of the real Messiah is near at hand ; others, 
 backed by the evidence of history, attacli but 
 little importance to the appearance of these im- 
 postors, preferring to treat them as deluded 
 fanatics, worthy only of a place in some insane 
 asylum. That there is no "sign" of anything 
 in these appearances, unless it is a sign of a soft 
 spot in the head of the impersonator, may be in- 
 ferred from the fact that not less than twenty-four 
 different persons presented themselves to the Jews 
 alone, claiming to be Christ returned, between the 
 time of the crucifixion and the year 1682. Many 
 of these "Messiahs" were defended by the Jews 
 at an enormous cost of both life and mone)'. 
 Especially is this true in the case of Coziba of 
 Barchocheba, one of the most popular of the false 
 Christs, who arose as the Messiah of the Jews in 
 the second century after the crucifixion of Jesus 
 (the Jews, of course, put Jesus down among the 
 false Christs), and in whose defence they lost over 
 600,000 men when the Romans made war upon 
 them in an attempt to put down the popular 
 delusion. In the sixtli century a remarkable 
 impostor appeared at Alexandria, in Egypt, 
 claiming to be Jesus of Nazareth returned to 
 earth. He showed scars in his hands and feet 
 
 where he said he had been nailed to the cross six 
 centuries before, and called upon the Egyptians 
 to follow him in a revengeful war against the 
 Jews. The chief ruler of Egypt became one of 
 the impostor's followers, and contributed an im- 
 mense army for the purpose of invading Palestine. 
 Everything was in readiness when the false Christ 
 took down with a fever, and soon died, just as a 
 common Egyptian would have done. 
 
 The tenth century was one prolific of false 
 Christs, not less than eight or ten so-called 
 " Messiahs" making their appearance and being 
 ministered to by a greater or less multitude of 
 deluded followers during that century. 
 
 From the beginning of the eleventh to the 
 opening of the seventeenth century but few false 
 Christs are recorded. The masses were becoming 
 more generally educated, and, therefore, less 
 likely to become followers of such blasphemers. 
 The extraordinary wiles of Mordecai, a German 
 Jew, who lived in 1682, gained him quite a repu- 
 tation as a Christ, but he was at last compelled to 
 flee for his life and end his days as an outcast. 
 Moses Charjorn Euzzatto, an Italian, born in 1707, 
 is said to have actually believed himself the pre- 
 dicted Messiah. He wrote a ' ' Newer Testament ' ' 
 and organized a church, but did not make any 
 considerable headway. He died in 1740, while 
 making efforts to prove his divine origin. 
 
 According to the Fremdenblatt, of Berlin, a false 
 Christ made his bow in Germany in August, 1872. 
 He called himself "Jekuthiel" (Chronicles vi. 
 18), King of Israel, and announced that he had 
 come to assume the throne of his empire as the 
 true Messiah. His manifesto, entitled, "To 
 Whom It May Concern," bore a seal which had 
 the crown of David on one side and a Scriptural 
 quotation on the other. He evidently found 
 but few disciples, as very little concerning him 
 ever appeared in the German papers. In 1SS0, 
 or thereabouts, the mountaineers of West Vir- 
 ginia attempted to create an excitement by pre- 
 tending to believe in the divinity of one of their 
 number. The year 18S8 gave Georgia a trio of 
 false Christs — a woman, a negro by the name of 
 Edward James, and a white man named Dupont 
 Bell. The woman's success in the miracle line 
 gained her a great reputation for a while. James 
 and Bell were both finally committed to the insane 
 asylum. 
 
 The latest Messianic excitements have been 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 601 
 
 produced by Schweinfurth, of Rockfort, 111., who 
 claims that he is indeed the veritable Christ, and 
 has attracted to himself a considerable company 
 of deluded followers — and the expected appear- 
 ance of the Indian Messiah in the Rocky Moun- 
 tain regions, which led to the recent deplorable 
 and bloody massacre of a large number of men, 
 women and children belonging to the Sioux tribe. 
 The idea of a Messiah seems to be inherent in the 
 human race, and false Christs will doubtless con- 
 tinue to appear until all men learn to place reason 
 above superstition. 
 
 Origin of a Curious Custom. 
 Many persons have a custom of exclaiming 
 "God bless you," when in the presence of any 
 one who happens to sneeze ; and it is probable 
 that very few who use the expression know that 
 there is anything peculiar in its origin. A writer 
 in the Talmud explains this curious custom by 
 saying that, among his people, there was a tradi- 
 tion that before the flood a man never sneezed but 
 once ; the shock killed him ; but on special suppli- 
 cation by Noah the descendants of that patriarch 
 were allowed to sneeze as often as they pleased, 
 and, in memory of the change, the benediction 
 was always uttered. A more rational account of 
 the origin of so singular a practice is found in the 
 historical fact that in the early days of Athens a 
 species of plague prevailed and depopulated the 
 city. The first symptom of the distemper was a 
 fit of sneezing. When this began, the friends of 
 the afflicted part)- would offer prayer that the dis- 
 ease might not make its appearance. The prac- 
 tice of making a pious ej aculation continued after 
 the reason for its pronunciation had disappeared, 
 and, like man}- other superstitious practices, has 
 been kept up by persons who know neither reason 
 for it nor anything of its origin. 
 
 John as an Unlucky Name for a King. 
 
 John has been a proverbially unlucky name 
 for monarchs. John I. of the Eastern Empire 
 was poisoned by a servant ; John IV. was deposed 
 and had his eyes put out ; John V. ruled only in 
 name, and was constantly harassed by wars and 
 palace intrigues to assassinate him ; John VI. was 
 deposed and died ir a prison monasters'. The 
 Papal Johns were al' unfortunate ; three died in 
 prison ; one was captured by his enemies and sub- 
 
 jected to shameful indignities ; one was deposed 
 for sacrilege ; one was killed by the fall of a 
 building ; one died in exile and poverty. One of 
 the Swedish Johns was defeated in every expedi- 
 tion, another was driven out of the kingdom by his 
 subjects. John I. of France had a short and 
 disastrous reign ; John II. was taken prisoner 
 by the English, under the Black Prince, at the 
 battle of Poitiers, and passed many years in cap- 
 tivity. John of England had a singularly un- 
 happy reign, nor was John Baliol of Scotland 
 more fortunate. John Stuart of Scotland was so 
 much influenced by the superstition that, on as- 
 cending the throne, he changed his name to 
 Robert, but without result, for his reign was filled 
 with calamities for himself and his country. The 
 ancient belief in this singular superstition may 
 account for the British nation having had but 
 one monarch named John. 
 
 Dionysius's Ear. 
 Near Syracuse, in Sicily, there is a remarkable 
 cave, the work of human art and skill, which was 
 constructed by Dionysius, the Tyrant of Syracuse, 
 who died B. C. , 367. This queer excavation is 
 250 feet long by 80 high, and is shaped very like 
 a human ear. It was, in fact, a scientifically con- 
 structed whispering galler}-, wherein all sounds, 
 however faint, were reflected to a central cham- 
 ber. It is said that the tyrant put to death the 
 architect who designed and the workmen who ex- 
 cavated it, in order that its purpose might never 
 be known. In it he imprisoned suspected persons, 
 and in the central chamber passed whole days 
 listening to the conversation of the prisoners in 
 order to ascertain what conspiracies existed 
 against him. The prisoners were chained to 
 the floor at such points as were most favorable 
 for the reflection of their voices to the secret 
 chamber, and the staples with which their chains 
 were secured are still to be seen in the stone. 
 Although time has done much to injure the mar- 
 vellous contrivance, its powers of reflecting sound 
 are still so good that the lightest whisper may be 
 heard with great distinctness from the entrance to 
 the furthest recess. Its mysterious power was 
 not known until many years after the tyrant's 
 death, and his habit of spying on his prisoners 
 enabled him to reign for thirty-nine years and 
 thwart every plot against him. 
 
(502 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 Low Opinion of Woman in the Early Days of Christianity. 
 
 Before the Christian era woman was regarded 
 by most of the nations as a necessary evil. A 
 
 might dispense with his weak and useless com- 
 panion, who could neither fight nor take part in 
 the councils of the government. In the early 
 
 days of Chris- 
 tianity a belief 
 became preva- 
 ent among the 
 barbarous peo- 
 ple who adopted 
 the new faith 
 that womeii 
 were the special 
 messengers of 
 Satan and his 
 imps. This be- 
 lief was founded 
 upon several 
 reasons, which, 
 to the mediaeval 
 mind, were suf- 
 ficiently co- 
 gent. Woman, 
 through her 
 weakness in 
 submitting t o 
 the evils of the 
 tempter, was di- 
 rectly responsi- 
 ble for all the 
 evil in the 
 world, and 
 would, there- 
 fore, be natur- 
 ally selected by 
 Satan to carry 
 on the work 
 which she had 
 been instrumen- 
 tal in introdu- 
 cing. She was 
 practically un- 
 der the ban of 
 the Church. 
 Some of the 
 fathers doubted 
 w h e t h e r she 
 had a soul: 
 
 BATTLE OF POITIERS AND CAPTURE OF KING JOHN. Others, W ll i 1 e 
 
 celebrated Roman philosopher lamented that admitting this, affirmed her soul to be of different 
 
 nature had not supplied us with some other means 
 of propagating the human race, in order that man 
 
 quality and substance from the soul of man ; one 
 father taught that even if admitted to heaven, she 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 603 
 
 would be placed on a lower plane, and the text, 
 "In my Father's house are many mansions," was 
 quoted to prove that a separate dwelling would be 
 assigned for her use ; another called her the ' ' gate 
 of hell;" still another forbade her to comb her 
 hair or wash her face, lest thereby she should lead 
 men to sin. What more natural, therefore, than 
 that she should be selected by evil spirits as their 
 agent for mischief. L,ittle by little the theory 
 grew, until not only had the supposed fact of 
 woman's diabolical possession been fixed, but the 
 limitations of her power were clearly defined. 
 The woman possessed by Satan could do evil, but 
 not good, for when she attempted the latter the 
 devils stopped and chastised her. She could raise 
 storms, blight fields of grain, cause the death of 
 cattle, ruin the health of children, throw adults 
 into convulsions. She could make the most prom- 
 ising undertaking result in loss ; could cause the 
 merchant's ships to founder at sea, the king's 
 armies to lose their way on a march. But in 
 spite of all her power, which had been obtained 
 by the sale of her soul to Satan, he always cheated 
 her in the bargain, and although he perforce 
 obeyed her commands, as by contract bound to 
 do, he always contrived that she should remain 
 old, and poor, and miserable. 
 
 The Witch's Hammer. 
 
 During the famous witch delusion of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, and after the invention of the printing 
 press, a very large proportion of the literature of 
 the day was devoted to a consideration of this 
 subject. The Imperial Library at Berlin contains 
 over 16,000 separate works relating to witchcraft 
 that were issued during the sixteenth cen- 
 tury and the titles of nearly 20,000 more. 
 The countries of Europe were literally flooded 
 with this class of literature. The most celebrated 
 of all the publications on this subject was the 
 famous Malleus Malificarum, or "Witch's 'Ham- 
 mer, " a book which is said by a distinguished 
 writer to have caused more misery and bloodshed 
 than any other that ever came from human pen. 
 It was a text book of instruction in witch wis- 
 dom, composed by two German inquisitors, 
 Kramer and Sprengel, for their own use in witch- 
 hunting. 
 
 The "Hammer" taught the enemies of the 
 witches not only what to do, but how to do it. 
 The motto on its title page was " Not to believe 
 
 in witchcraft is the greatest of heresies, ' ' and after 
 this menacing declaration, faith in witchcraft was 
 not slow. The most minute directions were given 
 for finding a witch and for determining her guilt 
 when she had been found. After accusation she 
 was stripped naked and her body shaved to ascer- 
 tain whether there were any witch marks on 
 her person, for it was well understood that the 
 devil always sealed his servants with some myste- 
 rious mark which was insensitive to touch. A 
 scar, a burn, a mole, a wen, sent many a hapless 
 creature to the stake. Her eyes were blindfolded, 
 her flesh pricked with pins, and she required to 
 state the exact spot where she felt the pain ; if, 
 in the fright and embarrassment, she failed to do 
 so, she was deemed guilty. If she refused to con- 
 fess her guilt, she was inclosed in a sack and with 
 her hands and feet tied together, was flung into a 
 pond of standing water. If she sank, she was 
 only drowned, and was probably guilty, other- 
 wise God would have saved her from drowning ; 
 if she floated, the waters of baptism refused to re- 
 ceive her ; she was undoubtedly guilty, and was 
 taken out and burned. In case these tests failed, 
 she was put to various tortures, many of them 
 unspeakably cruel, to compel her to confess ; and 
 whether she did so or not there was for her no 
 escape. The judges were solemnly enjoined that 
 a witch was exempt from all ordinary rules of 
 evidence and beyond the reach of human com- 
 passion ; they were, therefore, to show her no 
 mercy. To denounce a witch was the most meri- 
 torious act that could be performed ; to speak in 
 behalf of one the most heinous crime. 
 
 The Neck Verse. 
 
 The first verse of the fifty-first Psalm, reading 
 as follows: "Have mercy upon me, O God, ac- 
 cording to thy loving kindness ; according to the 
 multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my 
 transgressions," is called the "neck verse," for 
 the following reasons : Under the old English law 
 the clergy were exempt from civil jurisdiction, 
 and could be punished for crime or misdemeanor 
 only by the ecclesiastical courts, which were noted 
 for their leniency toward clerical offenders. This 
 provision was known by the technical name of 
 ' ' benefit of clergy. ' ' When a criminal claimed 
 the benefit of clergy, the verse above quoted was 
 used as a text. If the accused was able to read 
 the verse, his neck was safe, for no civil court 
 
604 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 could send him to the gallows. The law exempt- 
 ing clergy from civil penalties was established 
 during the reign of William Rufus, and continued 
 in force till about the middle of the seventeenth 
 century. It was often abused, for kindly disposed 
 clergymen would frequently teach persons un- 
 justly accused the verse in question, and even 
 render them assistance in repeating it in court, 
 but the abuse of the law was the natural result, 
 (i) of a change in public sentiment with regard 
 to the responsibility of the clergy ; (2) of the more 
 general diffusion of knowledge, so that an ability 
 to read was no longer regarded as an evidence of 
 having taken clerical orders. 
 
 Christmas. 
 
 The institution of this festival in commemora- 
 tion of the birth of the Saviour is attributed to 
 Pope Telespholus, who died about A. D. 13S. 
 The original meaning of the word is " Christ and 
 mass," and at first it was a movable holiday, like 
 Easter, and was celebrated by the Eastern 
 churches in April and May. In the fourth cen- 
 tury St. Cyril, of Jerusalem, obtained from Pope 
 Julius an order for an investigation to be made 
 concerning the day of Christ's nativity. The 
 result of the inquiry was an agreement upon the 
 25th of December, and the decision was univer- 
 sally accepted, although in the 'opinion of some 
 of the fathers there was no authentic proof of the 
 identification of the day. 
 
 The sun-worshippers among the old pagan na- 
 tions had a festival similar to our Christmas, 
 and many of its features were adopted by the 
 fathers of the primitive Church. The Romans 
 themselves were sun- worshippers, and continued 
 in their ancient faith until the adoption of Chris- 
 tianity as the state religion by Coristautine. It 
 was therefore quite natural that some of the cere- 
 monies of the old superstition should be engrafted 
 upon the new religion, especially when the con- 
 version of a large majority of the people was a 
 matter of state policy rather than a change of 
 heart or belief on the part of the pagan masses. 
 
 The shortest days of the year occur just before 
 Christmas, and at this season our savage ancfestors 
 thought that the sun had been overpowered or 
 conquered by the powers of darkness. But, after 
 a little, in spite of the power of the shadows, the 
 days began to lengthen, and the sun came out 
 victorious over his~enemies. When we remember 
 
 that our ancestors lived in caves and dens, and 
 that the) - possessed a degree of intelligence but 
 little above that of the fierce animals by which 
 they were surrounded, and with which they 
 waged perpetual war ; when we consider the 
 coid and gloomy winters through which they 
 passed, and the cloud and darkness and hun- 
 ger with which they were oppressed, we can 
 easily imagine how the}' rejoiced when the days 
 began to lengthen, and with what feelings of 
 gladness they greeted the rising sun as he spread 
 his warm and fructifying rays over the landscape, 
 melting the frozen rivers and lakes and clothing 
 the trees and the earth with a new mantle of 
 green. Really, we cannot blame them for wor- 
 shipping the sun. How their eyes gleamed ; how 
 their hearts throbbed ! The season of Christmas 
 was then associated with the return of life. It 
 was the promise of another spring, of plenty of 
 sunshine and joy. This period has been associated 
 for countless generations with the best sentiments, 
 with the best feelings of the human heart, and 
 no matter whether it has been appropriated by 
 some peculiar form of faith or not, there is the 
 same reason in nature for its celebration that 
 there was before man ever heard of the birth of 
 the Saviour. 
 
 According to tradition Christ was born about 
 the middle of the night, and since the sixth cen- 
 tury it has been the custom of the Catholic 
 Church to celebrate three masses, one at mid- 
 night, another at early dawn, and the third in the 
 morning. During the Middle Ages the festival 
 was observed by fantastic spectacles of dramatic 
 mysteries, performed by personages in grotesque 
 masks and singular costumes, which we see imi- 
 tated in our modern Mardi Gras festivals. The 
 bishops and lower clergy often joined with the 
 populace in their gay sports, while the songs were 
 enlivened with dances and by the music of tam- 
 bours, guitars, violins, and organs. During the 
 last days preceding Christmas it is still the custom 
 of the Calabrian minstrels of Italy to descend 
 from the mountains to Naples and Rome, saluting 
 the shrine of the Virgin Mary w T ith their wild 
 music, under the poetical idea of cheering and 
 comforting her until the birth of her Son. Among 
 the other revels of the Christmas season were the 
 famous feasts of fools and of asses, fully described 
 in another portion of this volume, and sometimes 
 called ' ' December liberties, ' ' in which everything 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 605 
 
 serious was burlesqued, inferiors mimicking their 
 superiors, great men playing fools, and all illus- 
 trating the proueness of man to occasionally re- 
 verse the order of society and ridicule its forms 
 and decencies. 
 
 In the Protestant districts of Germany and the 
 north of Europe, Christinas is frequently called 
 the " Children's Festival," and the occasion is 
 enlivened by the bestowal of presents through the 
 medium of the familiar Christmas-tree. The 
 custom formerly prevailed, and is still in vogue 
 in some of the villages of North German}-, of 
 sending all the presents to some one person, who, 
 clothed in a white robe with high buskins, and 
 wearing a mask and an enormous wig, went from 
 house to house, under the title of Knecht Rupert 
 (Rupert the servant), being received by the 
 parents at each house with great pomp and cere- 
 mony, whereupon he calls for the children, and 
 bestows the intended gifts upon them according 
 to the character which he receives from the 
 parents after severe inquiries. At the conclusion 
 of the festivals a more sombre scene ensues, during 
 which the mother takes occasion to say privately 
 to the daughters, and the father to the sons, what 
 has been observed most praiseworthy and what 
 most faulty in their conduct. 
 
 There is a singular old Swedish superstition, 
 preserved in the history of Olans, Archbishop of 
 Upsal, to the effect that at the Christmas festival 
 the men of the cold northern regions were suddenly 
 changed into wolves, and that a great multitude 
 of them went together at an appointed place 
 during the night, and raged so fiercely against 
 mankind and domestic animals, that the inhabi- 
 tants of that country suffered more from their at- 
 tacks than they ever did from natural wolves. The 
 superstition is a singular one, and there is no ex- 
 planation of the cause of its origin. 
 
 The practice of decking houses and churches 
 with evergreens at Christmas, is one of the many 
 customs that have come down to us from the an- 
 cient Druids, whose temples were in the woods 
 and whose priests wore chaplets of ivy and oak 
 leaves. It was believed that sylvan spirits might 
 flock to the evergreens and remain unharmed by 
 the frost until a milder season. 
 
 There is also an old superstition that on Christ- 
 mas Eve the oxen were always found on their 
 knees, in an attitude of devotion, and that after 
 changing from old to new style in computing 
 
 time, they continued to do this only on the eve of 
 old Christmas day. The superstition is derived 
 from the kneeling position assumed \sy cattle in 
 lying down, and from a tradition which prevailed 
 during mediaeval times, that an ox and an ass, 
 which were present at the nativity, fell upon their 
 knees in a suppliant posture, as shown in numer- 
 ous paintings of the 16th century. 
 
 Ships of the Ancients. 
 
 People of modern times are justly proud of the 
 wonderful and magnificent specimens of naval 
 architecture that crowd the great ports of the 
 world. If there is anything new under the sun, 
 a first-class ocean steamer, it is believed, is that 
 rarity. In our conceit we recall only the galleys 
 and triremes of the ancients, that scarce ever ven- 
 tured beyond the coast line, and the small barks 
 in which Columbus and those who followed him 
 conquered a new world and gave commerce its 
 greatest field. But the ancients built many goodly- 
 sized vessels, and made luxury a stud)- on 
 some of them. That much-controverted :raft, 
 the ark, is an example of bigness. Her carrying 
 capacity is estimated at about 15,000 tons, smaller, 
 it is true, than that of the Great Eastern, but 
 larger than any of our other modern ships. No 
 less an authority than Lindsay thinks that she was 
 simply a raft of stupendous size, having upon it a 
 structure resembling a huge warehouse. As no 
 means of propulsion were necessary, this descrip- 
 tion may be correct. The cargo, however, was 
 unique and probably the largest and most valu- 
 able ever carried. The description of the ark as 
 given in the Scriptures, makes the vessel about 
 450 feet in length, 75 feet in breadth, and 45 feet 
 in depth, proportions similar to those now in use 
 to-day for great vessels. But as the agnostic is 
 not sure that this life-boat of the human race ever 
 existed, and as the materialist is sure she never 
 was built, let us take as examples of big ancient 
 ships some other vessels vouched for upon the au- 
 thority of profane and not sacred writers. The 
 Egyptians, fond of large things and great dimen- 
 sions, made the largest tonnage vessels of ancient 
 times. Ptolemy (Philopater) would have appre- 
 ciated the Great Eastern. He was fond of build- 
 ing big boats. One of these is said to have been 
 420 feet long, 57 feet broad and 72 feet deep from 
 the highest point of the stern. This vessel had 
 four rudders, or what some would call steering 
 
1306 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 oars, as they were not fastened, each 45 feet long. 
 She carried 4000 rowers, besides 3000 marines, a 
 large body of servants under her decks, and stores 
 and provisions. Her oars were 57 feet long, and 
 the handles were weighted with lead. There 
 were 2000 rowers on a side, and it is supposed that 
 these were divided into five banks. That this ex- 
 traordiuarv vessel ever put to sea is doubted, but 
 
 stairs and gardens. Another great vessel, his- 
 torical by reason of its size, is one built by 
 Hiero, King of Syracuse. Her dimensions are 
 estimated to have been large from the descrip- 
 tion of her cargo and the number of her decks and 
 houses. She is supposed to have been sheathed 
 with lead, and made at least one successful voy- 
 age. A full description of her would read some- 
 
 
 ORECIAN SHIP OF TH 
 
 that she was launched and used at times, if only 
 for display, several historians are agreed. Another 
 "ship," the Thalamegus, built for one of the 
 Ptolemies, is said to have been 300 feet long, 40 
 feet broad and 60 feet deep. This was a far more 
 magnificent vessel than any previous one. An 
 Alexandrian historian, Callixenus, in describing 
 her, speaks of her having colonnades, marble 
 
 E HOMERIC PERIOD. 
 
 what like that of a Long Island Sound or Hudson 
 River steamboat. She had three entrances, the 
 lowest leading to the hold, the second to the eat- 
 ing rooms and the third appropriated to the sol- 
 diers. There were thirty rooms, each having four 
 couches for the soldiers ; there were fifteen couches 
 in the sailors' supper room, and there were three 
 more cabins, each having three couches. The 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 607 
 
 floors of all these rooms were laid in stone mosaic talents, all of which was in addition to the pro- 
 
 work. There was also a temple of cypress inlaid 
 with ivory and dedicated to Venus. The main- 
 mast was composed of a single tree, and the 
 vessel carried four wooden and eight iron 
 anchors. As a freight carrier she would rival 
 
 vision required for the crew." These are the 
 notably big vessels of ancient times, but the sup- 
 position is that as rulers, whether king or people, 
 were as emulous in those days as these, other big 
 craft were also built. From the foregoing de- 
 
 WAR SHIPS OF THE ANCIENTS. — 
 
 the largest of our ocean steamers. It is recorded 
 that one or two of the launches belonging to 
 her would sustain about eighty tons. This vessel 
 is said to have carried "60,000 measures of 
 corn, 10,000 jars of Sicilian salt fish, 20,000 
 talents' weight of wool, and of other cargo 20,000 
 
 (Copy of ancient engraving.) 
 
 scription the thought is suggested that the first 
 
 designers of our own river steamboats may have 
 
 heard of the Egyptian and Syracusan vessels and 
 
 taken a hint from them in building floating 
 
 palaces. 
 
 These ancient ships, when used for purposes of 
 
608 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS. AND THE 
 
 war, were armed with mechanical slings, cata- 
 pults, trebuchets, and other contrivances which 
 rendered them almost as destructive and formid- 
 able as a modern first-class ironclad. 
 
 GREEK FIRE. 
 
 THE first account we have of the use of this 
 compound as a destructive agent in warfare, 
 was during the siege of Constantinople by the 
 
 had the effect of increasing its inflammability. 
 Sand, urine, or vinegar were the only elements 
 that could dampen its fury-. 
 
 The secret of compounding and directing the 
 devouring flame of Greek Fire was imparted to 
 the Romans by a native of Heliopolis in S\-ria, 
 named Calinicus, who deserted from the service 
 of the Caliph to that, of the Christian Emperor. 
 This discovery or improvement of the military art 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF SHIPS BY GREEK FIRE. 
 
 Saracens, A. D. 673 — 679. It was the most fear- 
 fully destructive force ever employed in war, and 
 has been designated by the various names of ' ' wild 
 fire," "maritime fire," "wet fire," "fire rain," 
 etc., while the Chinese, with Oriental amplifica- 
 tion, applied to it the appropriate term of "the 
 cruel oil of fire." 
 
 Owing to its viscid nature it adhered to what- 
 ever it touched, and water, particularly sea-water. 
 
 was fortunately reserved for that distressful period 
 when the degenerate and emasculated Romans of 
 the Eastern Empire were incapable of contending 
 with the warlike enthusiasm and youthful vigor 
 of the Saracens. The secret of the composition 
 was lost soon after the invention of gunpowder 
 rendered its use no longer necessary or desirable, 
 but from the best information still attainable the 
 principal ingredient was naphtha, or liquid bitu- 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 609 
 
 men, a light, tenacious and inflammable oil, which 
 springs from the earth and hurts into flame as 
 soon as it comes in contact with the air. The 
 Syrian historian Michel gave the name of naphtha 
 to the newly-invented Greek Fire, and abundant 
 supplies of this material were obtainable in the 
 regions lying between the Tigris and the Caspian 
 Sea. The naphtha was mingled with sulphur and 
 the pitch that is extracted from evergreen firs, but 
 by what methods or in what proportions cannot 
 now be ascertained. The mixture produced a 
 thick smoke and a loud explosion, and from it 
 proceeded a fierce and obstinate flame, which not 
 only rose in perpendicular ascent, but likewise 
 burnt with equal vehemence in descent or lateral 
 progress. It was employed with equal effect by 
 sea and land, in battles or in sieges, and was 
 poured from the ramparts in large boilers, or 
 launched in red-hot balls of stone and iron, or 
 darted in arrows and javelins, twisted round with 
 flax and tow, which had deepl}- imbibed the in- 
 flammable substance. Huge bolts of timber, 
 saturated with the oil, were hurled into the ranks 
 of the enemy by means of an engine that acted 
 like a sling ; but the most common method was 
 to blow the unquenchable flame through large 
 tubes of copper, fancifully shaped into the mouths 
 of savage monsters, that seemed to vomit streams 
 of liquid and consuming fire, carrying terror and 
 dismay into the hearts of the stoutest warriors. 
 Nothing could resist its fury. Ancient writers 
 describe it as flying through the air like a winged 
 long-tailed dragon, about the thickness of a 
 hogshead, with the report of thunder and the 
 velocity of lightning. The darkness of night was 
 dispelled by the deadly illumination and fearful 
 and inevitable destruction followed in its wake. 
 Veteran soldiers who despised the swords and 
 lances of their enemy, fled in terror from the sight 
 and sound of this mysterious and horrible agent. 
 In the memorable siege of Constantinople, the 
 land forces of the Saracens were supported by a 
 fleet of eighteen hundred ships, whose masts, in 
 the florid language of the times, covered the waters 
 with a moving forest. This tremendous armada 
 proceeded on a smooth sea, and with a gentle gale, 
 toward the mouth of the Bosphorus, where, to 
 allure their confidence, the Roman commander 
 had caused the chain that usually guarded the 
 entrance to the harbor to be thrown aside ; but 
 while they hesitated whether the)- should seize 
 39 
 
 the opportunity or apprehend the snare, the min- 
 isters of destruction were at hand. The fire- 
 ships were launched against them, the brazen 
 monsters poured forth their torrents of consuming 
 fire, and the Arabs, their arms and vessels, were 
 involved in the quenchless flames. The disorderly 
 and terrified fugitives were dashed against each 
 other or overwhelmed in the burning waves, and 
 out of the splendid fleet of eighteen hundred 
 ships only five small galleys escaped to enter the 
 port of Alexandria and relate the frightful inci- 
 dents of the destruction of their companions. 
 
 The secret of the manufacture and use of Greek 
 Fire was preserved at Constantinople, as the palla- 
 dium of the state, for a period of more than four 
 hundred years. The fire-ships and other instru- 
 ments of its use were occasionally lent to the allies 
 of the Empire, but the secret of the combination 
 was never imparted to them. They were told 
 that the mystery of the Greek Fire had been re- 
 vealed by an angel to Coustantine the Great, with 
 a sacred injunction that this gift of heaven, this 
 special blessing of the Romans, should never be 
 communicated to any foreign nation ; that prince 
 and subject were alike bound to religious silence 
 under the temporal and spiritual penalties of 
 treason and sacrilege, and that the impious at- 
 tempt to reveal the mystery would provoke the 
 sudden and supernatural vengeance of the God 
 of the Christians. The awful mystery with which 
 it was encompassed, and the threat of super- 
 natural vengeance to be visited upon the head, 
 of any who might presumptuous^ reveal it, aug- 
 mented the respect and horror in which it was- 
 held by the barbarians, and restrained them for 
 centuries from all attempts at investigating this: 
 frightful instrument of death, which they regard- 
 ed as a special agent of divine vengeance. But 
 the secret was at length discovered or captured 
 by the Mahometans, and in the wars of the' 
 Crusades they retorted an invention, contrived 
 against themselves, on the heads of their Chris- 
 tian adversaries. 'j 
 
 LEGEND OF THE MOSQUE OF THE BLOODY 
 BAPTISM AT CAIRO. 
 
 CT ULTAN HASSAN, wishing to see the world, 
 vP and lay aside for a time the anxieties and 
 cares of royalty, committed the charge of his- 
 kingdom to his favorite minister, and taking with 
 him a large amount of treasure in money and: 
 
(6io) 
 
 THE MOSO.UE OF THE BLOODY BAPTISM. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 611 
 
 jewels, visited several foreign countries in the 
 character of a wealthy merchant. Pleased with 
 his tour, and becoming interested in the occupa- 
 tion he had assumed as a disguise, he was absent 
 much longer than he originally intended, and in 
 the course of a few years greatly increased his 
 already large stock of wealth. His protracted 
 absence, however, proved a temptation too strong 
 for the virtue of the viceroy, who, gradually form- 
 ing for himself a party among the leading men 
 of the country, at length communicated to the 
 common people the intelligence that Sultan Has- 
 san was no more, and quietly seated himself on 
 the vacant throne. Sultan Hassan returning 
 shortly afterwards from his pilgrimage, and, for- 
 tunately for himself, still in disguise, learned, as 
 he approached his capital, the news of his own 
 death and the usurpation of his minister ; finding, 
 on further inquiry, the party of the usurper to be 
 too strong to render an immediate disclosure pru- 
 dent, he preserved his incognito, and soon became 
 known in Cairo as the wealthiest of her mer- 
 chants ; nor did it excite any surprise when he 
 announced his pious intention of devoting a por- 
 tion of his gains to the erection of a spacious 
 mosque. The work proceeded rapidly under the 
 spur of the great merchant's gold, and, on its 
 completion, he solicited the honor of the sultan's 
 presence at the ceremony of naming it. Antici- 
 pating the gratification of hearing his own name 
 bestowed upon it, the usurper accepted the invi- 
 tation, and at the appointed hour the building 
 was filled by him and his most attached adher- 
 ents. The ceremonies had duly proceeded to the 
 time when it became necessary to give the name. 
 The chief Moolah, turning to the supposed mer- 
 chant, inquired what should be its name? " Call 
 it," he replied, "the mosque of Sultan Hassan." 
 All started at the mention of this name ; and the 
 questioner, as though not believing he could have 
 heard aright, or to afford an opportunity of cor- 
 recting what might be a mistake, repeated his 
 demand. " Call it," again cried he, " the mosque 
 of me, Sultan Hassan ;" and throwing off his 
 disguise, the legitimate sultan stood revealed be- 
 fore his traitorous servant. He 4iad no time for 
 reflection : simultaneously with the discovery, 
 numerous trap-doors, leading to extensive vaults, 
 which had been prepared for the purpose, were 
 flung open, and a multitude of armed men issu- 
 ing from them, terminated at once the reign and 
 
 life of the usurper. His followers were mingled 
 in the slaughter, and Sultan Hassan was once 
 more in possession of the throne of his fathers. 
 
 MANNERS IN NEW YORK IN THE DUTCH 
 TIMES. 
 
 BY WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 THE houses of the higher class were general) j 
 constructed of wood, excepting the gab'e 
 end, which was of small black and yellow Dutc h 
 bricks, and always faced on the street ; as oir 
 ancestors, like their descendants, were very mu,:h 
 given to outward show, and were noted for 
 putting the best leg foremost. The house was 
 always furnished with abundance of large doors 
 and small windows on every floor ; the date of its 
 erection was curiously designated by iron figures 
 on the front ; and on the top of the roof was 
 perched a fierce little weathercock, to let the 
 famil}' into the important secret which wa} r the 
 wind blew. These, like the weathercocks on 
 the tops of our steeples, pointed so many dif- 
 ferent ways, that every man could have a wind 
 to his mind ; and you would have thought old 
 iEolus had set all his bags of wind adrift, pell- 
 mell, to gambol about this wind}' metropolis ; the 
 most stanch and loyal citizens, however, always 
 went according to the weathercock on the top 
 of the governor's house, which was certainly the 
 most correct, as he had a trusty servant employed 
 every morning to climb up and point it which- 
 ever way the wind blew. 
 
 In those good days of simplicity and sunshine, 
 a passion for cleanliness was the leading principle 
 in domestic economy, and the universal test of 
 an able housewife ; a character which formed the 
 utmost ambition of our unenlightened grand- 
 mothers. The front door was never opened except 
 on marriages, funerals, New-Year's days, the 
 festival of St. Nicholas, or some such great occa- 
 sion. It was ornamented with a gorgeous brass 
 knocker curiously wrought, sometimes into the 
 device of a dog, and sometimes of a lion's head ; 
 and was daily burnished with such religious zeal, 
 that it was ofttimes worn out by the very precau- 
 tions taken for its preservation. The whole house 
 was constantly in a state of inundation, under the 
 discipline of mops, and brooms, and scrubbing- 
 brushes ; and the good housewives of those days 
 were a kind of amphibious animal, delighting 
 
612 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 exceedingly to be dabbling in water, insomuch 
 that a historian of the day gravel}- tells us, that 
 man}- of his townswomen grew to have webbed 
 fingers like unto a duck ; and some of them, he 
 had little doubt, could the matter be examined 
 into, would be found to have the tails of mer- 
 maids ; but this I look upon to be a mere sport 
 
 THE BURGHER. 
 
 of fancy, or, what is worse, a wilful misrepresen- 
 tation. 
 
 The grand parlor was the sanctum sanctorum, 
 where the passion for cleaning was indulged with- 
 out control. In this sacred apartment no one was 
 permitted to enter excepting the mistress and her 
 confidential maid, who visited it once a week for 
 the purpose of giving it a thorough cleaning, and 
 
 putting things to rights, always taking the pre- 
 caution of leaving their shoes at the door, and 
 entering devoutly in their stocking feet. After 
 scrubbing the floor, sprinkling it with fine white 
 sand, which was curiously stroked into angles, 
 and curves, and rhomboids, with a broom, after 
 washing the windows, rubbing and polishing the 
 furniture, and putting a 
 new bunch of evergreens 
 in the fireplace, the win- 
 dow-shutters were again 
 closed to keep out the 
 flies, and the room care- 
 fully locked up until the 
 revolution of time brought 
 round the weekly cleaning 
 day. 
 
 As to the family, they 
 always entered in at the 
 gate, and most generally 
 lived in the kitchen. To 
 have seen a numerous 
 household assembled 
 around the fire, one would 
 have imagined that he 
 was transported back to 
 those happy days of pri- 
 meval simplicity which 
 float before our imagina- 
 tions like golden visions. 
 The fireplaces were of a 
 truly patriarchal magni- 
 tude, where the whole 
 family, old and young, 
 master and servant, black 
 and white, nay, even the 
 very cat and dog, enjoyed 
 a community of privilege, 
 and had each a prescrip- 
 tive right to a corner. 
 Here the old burgher 
 would sit in perfect si- 
 lence, puffing his pipe, 
 looking in the fire with half-shut eyes, and 
 thinking of nothing for hours together ; the goede 
 vrouw on the opposite side would employ herself 
 diligently in spinning her yarn or knitting stock- 
 ings. The young folks would crowd around the 
 hearth listening with breathless attention to some 
 old crone of a negro who was the oracle of the 
 family, and who, perched like a raven in a corner 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 613 
 
 of the chimney, would croak forth for a long 
 winter afternoon a ' string of incredible stories 
 about New England witches, grisly ghosts, horses 
 without heads, and hairbreadth escapes and bloody 
 encounters among the Indians. 
 
 In those happy days a well-regulated family al- 
 ways rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and 
 went to bed at sundown. Dinner was invariably 
 a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed 
 incontestable symptoms of disapprobation and 
 uneasiness at being surprised by a visit from a 
 neighbor on such occasions. But though our 
 worthy ancestors were thus singularly averse to 
 giving dinners, yet they kept up the social bonds 
 of intimacy by occasional banquetings, called tea- 
 parties. 
 
 As this is the first introduction of those delec- 
 table orgies, which have since become so fashion- 
 able in this city, I am conscious my fair readers 
 will be very curious to receive information on the 
 subject. Sorry am I that there will be but little 
 in my description calculated to excite their ad- 
 miration. I can neither delight them with 
 accounts of suffocating crowds, nor brilliant 
 drawing-rooms, nor towering feathers, nor spark- 
 ling diamonds, nor immeasurable trains. I can 
 detail no choice anecdotes of scandal, for in those 
 primitive times the simple folk were either too 
 stupid or too good-natured to pull each other's 
 characters to pieces ; nor can I furnish any whim- 
 sical anecdotes of brag ; how one lady cheated, 
 or another bounced into a passion ; for as yet 
 there was no junto of dulcet old dowagers who 
 met to win each other's money and lose their own 
 tempers at a card-table. 
 
 These fashionable parties were generally con- 
 fined to the higher classes, or noblesse — that is to 
 say, such as kept their own cows and drove their 
 own wagons. The company commonly assem- 
 bled at three o'clock, and went away about six, 
 unless it was in winter time, when the fashionable 
 hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might 
 get home before dark. I do not find that they 
 ever treated their company to iced creams, jellies, 
 or syllabubs, or regaled them with musty al- 
 monds, mouldy raisins, or sour oranges, as is 
 often done in the present age of refinement. Our 
 ancestors were fond of more sturdy substantial 
 fare. The tea-table was crowned with a huge 
 earthen dish well stored with slices of fat pork, 
 fried brown, cut up into morsels, and swimming 
 
 in gravy. The company being seated around the 
 genial board, and each furnished with a fork, 
 evinced their dexterity in launching at the fattest 
 pieces of this mighty dish, in much the same 
 manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or our 
 Indians spear salmon in the lakes. Sometimes 
 the table was graced with immense apple-pies, or 
 saucers full of preserved peaches and pears ; but 
 it was always sure to boast of an enormous dish 
 of balls of sweetened dough fried in hog's fat, 
 and called dough-nuts, or oly koeks ; a delicious 
 kind of cake, at present scarce known in this city, 
 excepting in genuine Dutch families. 
 
 The tea was served out of a majestic delft tea- 
 pot ornamented with paintings of fat little Dutch 
 shepherds and shepherdesses, tending pigs — with 
 boats sailing in the air, and houses built in the 
 clouds, and sundry other ingenious Dutch fan- 
 tasies. The beaux distinguished themselves by 
 their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a 
 huge copper tea-kettle, which would have made 
 the pigmy macaronies of these degenerate days 
 sweat merely to look at it. To sweeten the bever- 
 age, a lump of sugar was laid beside each cup, 
 and the company alternately nibbled and sipped 
 with great decorum, until an improvement was 
 introduced by a shrewd and economic old lady, 
 which was, to suspend a large lump directly over 
 the tea-table by a string from the ceiling, so that 
 it could be swung from mouth to mouth — an in- 
 genious expedient, which is still kept up by some 
 families in Albany, but which prevails, without 
 exception, in Communipaw, Bergen, Flat-Bush, 
 and all our uncontaminated Dutch villages. 
 
 At these primitive tea-parties the utmost pro- 
 priety and dignity of deportment prevailed. No 
 flirting nor coquetting — no gambling of old ladies, 
 nor hoyden chattering and romping of young 
 ones — no self-satisfied struttings of wealthy gentle- 
 men with their brains in their pockets ; nor amus- 
 ing conceits and monkey divertisements of smart 
 young gentlemen with no brains at all. On the 
 contrary, the young ladies seated themselves 
 demurely in their rush-bottomed chairs, and knit 
 their own woollen stockings ; nor ever opened 
 their lips, excepting to say yah Mynheer or yah 
 ya Vrouw to any question that was asked them ; 
 behaving in all things like decent well-educated 
 damsels. As to the gentlemen, each of them 
 tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed lost in 
 contemplation of the blue and white tiles with 
 
614 
 
 THE WONDERFUL, THE CURIOUS, AND THE 
 
 which the fireplaces were decorated ; wherein 
 sundry passages of Scripture were piously por- 
 trayed : Tobit and his dog figured to great advan- 
 tage ; Haman swung conspicuously on his gibbet ; 
 and Jonah appeared most manfully bouncing out 
 of the whale, like Harlequin through a barrel 
 of fire. 
 
 The parties broke up without noise and without 
 confusion. They were carried home by their 
 own carriages — that is to say, by the vehicles 
 nature had provided them, excepting such of the 
 wealthy as could aford to keep a wagon. The 
 gentlemen gallantly attended their fair ones to 
 their respective abodes, and took leave of them 
 with a hearty smack at the door ; which, as it was 
 an established piece of etiquette, done in perfect 
 simplicity and honesty of heart, occasioned no 
 scandal at that time, nor should it at the present 
 — if our great-grandfathers approved of the cus- 
 tom, it would argue a great want of reverence in 
 their descendants to say a word against it. 
 
 SAD HISTORY OF THE WIVES OF THE 
 BONAPARTES. 
 
 GUGENIE MARIE DE MONTIJO, wife of 
 Louis Napoleon, was born at Grenada, 
 Spain, May 5, 1826, just five years after the death 
 of Napoleon I. at Saint Helena. This date, doubly 
 historic for the Napoleonic dynasty by the death 
 of the first Emperor and the birth of the last Em- 
 press, has suggested to a French writer some in- 
 teresting reflections upon the women who have 
 become the wives of the Bonapartes. Not one of 
 these wives was continuously happy, for their pass- 
 ing moments of splendor and joy were expiated 
 by cruel reverses. Other Queens have not been 
 spared, but it seems as though a sort of fatality 
 weighed upon the Bonapartes. 
 
 Of the five sons of Charles Bonaparte and L,e- 
 titia Ramolino, Joseph, the eldest, married Julia 
 Clary, daughter of a rich tradesman of Marseilles. 
 In May, 180S, Joseph was made King of Spain in 
 spite of himself, and started unwillingly for his 
 kingdom, where he was received by his subjects 
 with unequivocal demonstrations of extreme dis- 
 like. After coming to grief with the downfall of 
 his powerful brother, Joseph wandered with his 
 wife about the two worlds, and finally died at 
 Florence, Italy, leaving a widow, old, isolated 
 and proscribed. 
 
 Josephine's fate was still more sorrowful, for 
 she had the bitter chagrin of seeing during five 
 years a foreigner occupy her place at the side of 
 the man she had so fondly loved. Maria Louisa, 
 of Austria, who became Empress after Josephine 
 had been sacrificed, suffered cruelly in her pride, 
 if not in her tenderness, in falling from the dizzy 
 heights where an extraordinary genius had raised 
 her, to the narrow prison of a petty and humilia- 
 ting principality. 
 
 Lucien Bonaparte married, in 1794, an obscure 
 girl named Christine Boyer, by whom he had two 
 sons, and, after her death, in 1S02, Alexandrine 
 Jouberthon, the divorced wife of a stockbroker. 
 Napoleon was furious, and it was a long while be- 
 fore he forgave his brother for marrying a com- 
 moner when he had dreamed of forming royal al- 
 liances for his relatives. Alexandrine was beau- 
 tiful and ambitious, and hoped by her marriage to 
 eventually wear a crown. Lucien's calm and un- 
 aspiring nature deprived her of this gratification, 
 and she died in oblivion at Sinigaglia, Italy, in 
 1S55, perceiving in the distance the rays of a 
 dawning empire in which she had no place. 
 
 The fourth son, Louis, was married against his 
 will to Hortense Beauharnais, daughter of the 
 Empress Josephine by her first husband. To avoid 
 this marriage he ran away to Prussia, and believed 
 he had escaped the peril a second time by joining 
 the expedition to Portugal. But Napoleon had 
 set his heart upon this match, and Louis was 
 finally obliged to yield to the despotic will of the 
 master. If the union was an ill-starred one for 
 Louis, it also ended badly for Hortense. Sepa- 
 rated from her husband in 1S07, she was obliged, 
 three years later, at the marriage ceremony of Na- 
 poleon I. and Maria Louisa, to sustain with the 
 other Queens of her family the mantle of the new 
 Empress, who had succeeded her own mother in 
 Napoleon's affections. When the allies entered 
 Paris she was banished from France, and died in 
 exile at the chateau of Arenberg. 
 
 Jerome, the younger son, married in 1803 
 Elizabeth Patersou, of Baltimore, and incurred 
 Napoleon's wrath the same as Lucien had done. 
 But not having Lucien's strength of character he 
 quickly abandoned his young wife, and obeyed 
 all the commands of his powerful brother. Miss 
 Patterson was beautiful and as ambitious as Alex- 
 andrine Jouberthon, and the disappointment at 
 seeing her marriage treated as naught by the First 
 
BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 615 
 
 Consul, and afterward annulled by the Council of to a great age, she always bore the secret suffer- 
 State, cast a blight over her whole life. All the ing of a victim of despotic power. Catherine of 
 
 JOSEPHINE IN HER YOUTH. 
 
 flattery and attentions that she received from the Wurtemberg, whom Jerome took as his second 
 highest nobility in Europe after the Emperor's wife, was only for an instant Queen of Westpha- 
 downfall never consoled her. Although she lived lia, a kingdom that Napoleon had carved out of 
 
(6x6) 
 
 EUGENIB IN HER GIRiHOOD. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD'S HISTORY. 
 
 617 
 
 Ms conquests in Germany, as a wedding gift for 
 his obedient brother. Dethroned in 1813, exiled 
 and reduced to comparative indigence, Catherine 
 wandered with her husband through Austria, 
 Italy and" Switzerland, dying at Lausanne thirty 
 years before her fickle companion, who soon con- 
 soled himself with a morganatic wife. 
 
 The two living examples of the fatality which 
 seems to weigh upon the women whose fortunes 
 have been linked, either by affection or interest, 
 to the Bonapartes, are not less tragical than the 
 others. First in point of years and position is the 
 ex-Empress Eugenie, who, notwithstanding her 
 undoubted nobility, was looked upon almost as an 
 adventuress when she came to Paris with her 
 mother from Madrid, where she had failed to at- 
 tract any special notice. Her beauty alone capti- 
 vated Prince Louis Napoleon, who, against all 
 the protests of his political advisers, made her his 
 ■consort after the coup d'etat. For thirteen years 
 the life of the Empress was a series of triumphs. 
 It seemed as though the golden dream would never 
 end, when, suddenly, all her hopes were swept 
 away with the rapidity and remorselessness of a 
 thunderbolt. Obliged to quit her adopted country 
 by the aid»of the court dentist, she has since 
 passed her life in keeping up a semblance of roy- 
 alty, first at Chiselhurst and now at Farnborough, 
 and in wandering from the English mists to the 
 Mediterranean sun, always mourning over the loss 
 of her former greatness and the void made in 
 her declining widowhood by the death of her 
 only son. 
 
 If she occasionally visits Paris incognita, she 
 never has the courage to remain long in a capital 
 where at every step she meets visions of her 
 
 former splendor and not a few reminders of her 
 terrible downfall. 
 
 The Princess Clotilda has never occupied a 
 throne, but her life was associated with a Bona- 
 parte who always hoped that his turn to rule 
 France would eventually come. There is no rea- 
 son to suppose that her existence would have been 
 happier had the political fortunes of her husband 
 raised her to a higher position. Her marriage 
 with Prince Jerome, son of the ex-King of West- 
 phalia, was a political bargain, the price of which 
 was Italian unification by French arms. Sold by 
 her father when almost a child, sacrificed by her 
 country, deceived and offended by a libidinous 
 husband, the princess was constantly wounded 
 and disdained at a frivolous court where her sim- 
 ple virtues formed a striking contrast not only to 
 those of her husband but to those of the butterflies 
 that hovered about the more brilliant but less 
 straight-laced Empress Eugenie. Obliged by the 
 notorious misconduct of Prince Jerome to live 
 apart from him, the Princess Clotilda retired to 
 the old chateau of Moncalieri, near Turin, where 
 she has resided for the past twenty years. Dur- 
 ing this time she saw her husband rarely, but 
 when he was taken ill at Rome she did not hesi- 
 tate to go to his bedside and show an admirable 
 devotion to the end. For all this zeal she had 
 the supreme sorrow of finding that she was in- 
 sulted in the prince's testament, and disinherited 
 of property that he owed in great part to the lib- 
 erality of her father and her brother. The Prin- 
 cess Clotilda, who was married when she was 16, 
 is now (1891) 48 years old, but her sorrows have 
 long ago whitened her once blonde hair and givep 
 her a prematurely aged look. 
 
,