Will it be just to tax the unfortunate farmers when they are compelled to become participators in crime, and to shelter the guilty for the purpose of obtaining that protection from outrages which the government are too negligent or too impotent to afford them? The plan which it is proposed to adopt, of recompensing those who suffer in person or property by a tax levied on the locality in which the crime was committed, has been long in operation,[11] and found to be utterly inefficacious. What is the use of an additional police force, when all the exertions of those men will be rendered ineffectual by the insufficiency of the laws which you refuse to strengthen? The guilty cannot be affected by taxation, for they hold no land; they cannot be punished by the ordinary laws, for they have established a system which baffles their operation; but once enact effective Law, and proclaim down the Association—show the people that you are determined to maintain social order and to suppress insubordination—then, but not till then, will you rally the good in defence of justice, and deter the guilty from the commission of crime.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Times, December 25, 1845.

[4] It is a curious fact, that the only witnesses whose testimony the Earl of Devon ventured to use in support of Lord Stanley's bill, were those of Mr Balfe, chairman of the "committee of grievances;" a discharged dragoon, who was contradicted in almost every statement he made by the most respectable persons on their oaths, and who was obliged to retract some voluntarily; and of Mr Byrne, of the value of whose opinion, or whose statements, we can form some estimate, from the following extract from the evidence of Nicholas Maher, Esq.

Appendix B., No. 1097.

He is asked, has he read a particular statement of Mr Byrne's? And his answer is:—"I have read the evidence, and I must just state that Mr Byrne is a person to whose evidence I would not give any weight."

[5]

IRELAND—LAND IS EXEMPT FROM

Assessed taxes, L4,204,855 Income tax, 5,158,470 Malt tax, 4,998,130 ————— L14,361,455

This is the net amount of those taxes. The gross amount which is levied off the people will be about fifteen millions and a half, or nearly one third of the total amount of the income of the country, towards which Ireland does not contribute a single shilling.

[6] According to the Government survey, Leitrim contains 375,992 acres; the valuation, including the houses of the gentry and shopkeepers, is L.120,000: add 25 per cent, or L.30,000, and we have the fair rent at L.150,000, or under eight shillings an acre.

[7] Mr Reade, an extensive landowner, and a gentleman who appears to be perfectly competent to form a correct opinion on the subject, laid before the commissioners, as the result of his own experience, the following statement:—

Comparative Valuation of the Barony of Carberry, co. Kildare, all situated between twenty and thirty miles of Dublin; with two canals passing through it, and consisting of 45,000 acres of good feeding and tillage land, with a similar quantity of equally good land, or nearly so, in England, Scotland, France, and Belgium, originally made in 1828, and since corrected:—

+ England. Scotland. Belgium. France. Ireland. + L s. d. L s. d. L s. d. L s. d. L s. d. Gross contents, 48,278 acres,} rent calculated on 42,000 } 55,650 0 0 75,600 0 0 55,650 0 0 41,938 0 0 31,500 0 0 acres, } (Taxation included.) Tithe and direct taxation, 17,955 0 0 0 0 0 7,481 0 0 5,962 0 0 0 0 0 Poor-rate, one half, 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 325 7 6 County Cess. 1s. 8d. in the } pound, on Mr Griffth's } 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2,266 13 4 valuation, } - Total, 73,605 0 0 75,600 0 0 63,131 0 0 47,900 0 0 34,092 0 10

Total to landlord, L.31,500 0 0 Deduct landlord's half, poor-rate, L.325 7 6 Rent-charge, 4d. in the pound, 563 6 0 ————- 888 13 6 —————- Total to landlord in Ireland, net, L.30,611 6 6 —————-

OBSERVATIONS.

The rent in Ireland was averaged, from personal knowledge and inquiry, at 25s. the Irish acre, equal to 15s. the statute acre. It has not varied essentially since 1828.

In Scotland, the rent was calculated at L.2, 5s. the Scotch acre, equal to L.1, 16s. the statute acre.

In England, the rent was calculated at L.1:6:6 per statute acre.

In Belgium, the rent-value of land is taken as equal to England. The taxation being considerably less than half that of England.

In France, the land is valued at one-fourth less than Belgium. The taxation bearing a near proportion in both countries.

The taxation in Ireland and Scotland is nearly on a par: rather heavier in Ireland.

Taxation in England, including tithes, 8s. 7d. per acre. I believe below the reality.

Government valuation of same land, exclusive of houses, L.25,843 0 0 — — — with houses, 27,208 0 0

[8] Speech at the Conciliation Hall, in reply to the charges of the Times Commissioner.

[9] The following letter, written by Sir David Roche to a Cork agitator of the name of Denny Lane, who accused him of having turned out three hundred families, and said his life had been five times attempted, will show the value which should be set on the assertions of such people, and the treatment which the very best Irish landlords receive:—

"I have bought out a few who were tenants-at-will, forgiving them large arrears of rent, and making them in every instance a present of their year's crop, stock, &c., and either finding them other farms, or giving them money to enable them to enter into other pursuits: such, sir, have been my transactions with the small number who have left my land, none of whom, I dare say, every charged me with harshness or injustice. As you have thought proper to turn public accuser, I beg to refer you to Mr Charles Seegrue, the only gentleman in Cork with whom I have had any transactions regarding tenants, and he will inform you on the determination of his interest in a large farm, how many of his under-tenants I dismissed, and what arrangements were made on that occasion. If I don't mistake, he will state that all were continued on their farms, and that the arrears of rent due, to have been compromised by me, and the tenants forgiven the amount, and a reduction of one-third made on their respective rents, besides building houses for all that required them, and for which no charge was made; and in every other place where I had any arrangements to make with tenants, that similar consideration had been shown; and although I have had large transactions connected with land in the counties of Limerick, Clare, and Kerry, in all of which counties the Devon Commission sat, you will not find a single instance of oppression, or any complaint having been made, much less to the extent of turning out three hundred families, which you have thought proper to charge me with. As to your assertion, that my life has been attempted five times within the last year, I can assure you that no attempt was ever made on my life before the last assizes, and then not for turning out a tenant, but because I refused to assist a tenant to turn out his brother's widow while her husband lay on his bed of death, hardly allowing the body to get cold, when he insisted that I should help him to add the widow's holding to his own."

[10] The Appendix to the 10th Report affords some curious and important information as to the classes in which destitution is to be found. The commissioners directed the clerks of the unions to furnish them with lists of the severest cases of destitution which were relieved in the different houses, and the occupations which they had previously followed, and accordingly 870 cases are given in the Appendix by them. It appears the number of males above fifteen years of age relieved in the quarter ending 9th April 1844, was only 11,224.

Of Peasants. Of Servants. Of Mendicants. Male labourers, 4599 Male servants, 585 Male, 1473 Female, 924 Female, 4653 Female, 3745 —— —— —— Total, 5523 Total, 5238 Total, 5218

Of farmers who had held, or were still in occupation of land, 79

Thus we see, that the number of servants and vagrants requiring relief, amounted to within three hundred of the numbers of the agricultural labourers, and that the number of those connected with the possession of land, and who had sought relief on account of termination of leases, non-payment of rent, expulsion because they were tenants-at-will, or temporary distress, amounted to the incredibly small number of seventy-nine.

We ought also to add, that in every instance in which a labouring man is stated in those reports to have entered the houses in a state of ill health, he was discharged at his own request when his health had been re-established. How are the assertions which we hear made every day to be reconciled with facts such as those?

[11] The only difference is that the power heretofore vested in and exercised by the Grand Juries, will, by this bill, be transferred to the Lord-Lieutenant.



THE MODERN PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.

THE FRAGMENT OF A DREAM.

CHAPTER I.

How SCAPEGRACE first made acquaintance with SCRIP.

As I walked through the wilderness of 'Change Alley, I lighted on a certain coffee-house, where there was a box in the corner, and, falling asleep therein, I dreamed a dream.

I dreamed, and behold I saw a man bearing a burden on his back, walking up and down the Alley in grievous plight; and ever and anon he put his hands into his breeches pockets, as if in search of something, but drew out nothing. Then he turned his pockets inside out, and cried—"Wo is me! what shall I do?"

And, as he turned his back to me, I saw his burden, which was large and heavy; and thereon was writ, in large characters, the word "Debt:" and drawing near, methought the bag was stuffed quite full of mortgages, bonds, bills, post-obits, and suchlike, wherewith he appeared to be weighed down even to the ground.

And, as he made his moan, and strove to unloose his burden from his back, behold another man came up to him, who also bare his burden upon his back; but, though it seemed larger and heavier than his fellow's, he wore a smiling countenance, and skipped along as lightly as if his pack had been filled with feathers; and, drawing near to the first man, he thus accosted him:—

"How now, neighbour SCAPEGRACE, wherefore so in the dumps? Thou seemest to have a sore struggle with thy load, which, sooth to say, seems a heavy one. Can I lend thee a helping hand?"

"In good faith, neighbour STAGMAN," answered Scapegrace, "so long as this burden sticks to my back, I shall have no peace or rest, by night or by day, for I know not how long I may be left at large; and men say that, even now, one Gripeman hath a writ out against me, at the suit of Mr Legality, and that I shall be hauled away to prison incontinently. Bail, as thou knowest, I can find none; for Easyman, who stood surety for me aforetime, is bankrupt, and thou, Stagman, hast not a penny in thy purse—if thou wert ever so much inclined to befriend me."

"Nay, not so fast, friend," replied Stagman; "matters have gone better with me of late than thou wouldst suppose; and perchance, if thou wilt listen to me, I can put thee on a way to get quit of this thy burden!—or, if thou wouldst rather do as I do, to fill thy pockets, keep thy burden still, and yet dance under it as lightly as if it were no burden at all."

"Of a truth," said Scapegrace, "I long to hear how these things may be."

"Know then," said Stagman, "that of late all the world have gone crazed after a new fashion of travelling, or rather flying, discovered by Mr Ironman, by means of which the traveller reacheth his journey's end ere he well knoweth that he hath begun it, smoking his pipe, or reading the newspaper all the way, as he skimmeth along over hills and valleys, sloughs and morasses."

"These be pleasant tidings," cried Scapegrace.

"And profitable likewise," answered Stagman, "for all that are concerned in these new highways; for now-a-days none will take the old roads, which are fast becoming full of ruts and pitfalls, fearful to behold, and all must soon resort per force to those made by Mr Ironman, who levieth a heavy toll on all passengers at various wicket-gates which he hath set up along the road. Now, as Ironman required some friends to assist him with money in making his roads, he hath formed various goodly companies, who lend him their money in the mean time, and share thereafter in the tolls levied from the pilgrims that use the road. If thou couldst but be joined to one of these companies, as I have been, thy burden might soon be lighter. And even now there is a new road about to be begun, which I doubt not would make thee rich in brief space, if thou wert but a sharer therein."

"Whither goeth this road?" asked Scapegrace.

From the town of LITTLE-GO, by HAP-HAZARD, towards CENT-PER-CENT, and thence to the great city of ELDORADO," answered Stagman. "Thereafter, if the traffic answer, we contemplate a branch rail to UTOPIA."

"But methought," said Scapegrace, "that road of which thou speak'st was full of rocks, and deep pits, and swamps, and quagmires, and other frightfuls. I do remember me of a certain SLOUGH OF DESPOND, Wherein Sundry Travellers Were Bemired to purpose, and some hardly escaped with their lives."

"The Slough of Despond, quotha!" cried Stagman; "a certain man, called in the vulgar tongue a Contractor, undertakes to fill it up, and to lay a double line of rails, with sidings, across it in a fortnight."

"Truly, we live in strange times, neighbour," said Scrapegrace. "But then the HILL OF DIFFICULTY?"

"Is no difficulty after all," interrupted Stagman; "we pass right through the centre of it by a tunnel in two minutes, so that you need never know there was a hill there. The strata are all clay and sandstone, exceeding well fitted for boring."

"Then the VALLEY OF HUMILIATION, and the road which leads there-through?" asked Scapegrace.

"We go slap across it in the twinkling of a bedpost, by a handsome viaduct of thirty arches on the skew principle," said Stagman.

"Lo, you now!" said Scapegrace, marvelling—"Surely, however, the road is rugged and hilly?"

"Thou wouldst say, the gradients are bad; not so, there is none worse than one in the hundred—quite as good as the Caledonian."

"I know not that road," said Scrapegrace.

"So much the better for thee," answered Stagman gravely.

"But, neighbour, how do you contrive to carry your road through other men's grounds?" said Scapegrace.

"We promise to share the profits with them," said Stagman, "and so keep them quiet; or put them on the Provisional Committee, with power to audit their own accounts. Sometimes, no doubt, we are put to our shifts for a time, as was the case with Squire Despair of Doubting Castle, who opposed us on the standing orders, and threatened to throw us out in committee; but, as it ended in our buying Doubting Castle at his own price, and paying him handsomely for intersectional damage besides, he soon withdrew his opposition, and is now an active promoter of the line. Indeed, I know not any one who can give us further trouble, except it be old Pope, who says the road will ruin his villa, and be the death of any of his bulls that get upon the line; but as we know that he is as poor as a church rat, and will never show face in the committee, we mind him not, and, in truth, I have no doubt the committee will find the preamble proved."

"Find what?" enquired Scapegrace;—"methinks, Stagman, thou dealest in strange words, and usest a jargon hard to be understood of men."

"Find the preamble proved," answered Stagman; "which means we shall be empowered to make the road."

"I suppose then, neighbour," said Scapegrace, "there will be great resort of travellers to this same CENT-PER-CENT, and much toll levied thereat?"

"The passenger traffic, the prospectus says, will be enormous," answered Stagman; "and the minerals along the line are of course inexhaustible."

"But tell me, neighbour, is this same mode of travel as pleasant for the wayfarers as thou sayest?"

"Exceedingly pleasant for the survivors," answered Stagman. "Doubtless it sometimes happens that a carriage or two will run over a precipice, or the down-train from Little-go may run into the up-train from Hap-hazard, whereby some dozen lives may go amissing; but such accidents are unavoidable, and it is satisfactory to know that on these occasions there never yet has been the slightest blame imputable to any one concerned—the stoker being invariably a most respectable man, and the utmost attention paid to the signals."

"Nay now, neighbour Stagman," said Scapegrace; "all this is mighty comfortable and encouraging, and I long much to have share with thee in this same business."

"I know not," said Stagman, "whether that may be; for the way is narrow, and many there be that would go in thereat. But look you, neighbour, I have promised to do you service if I can, and I will tell you how to set about it. There is an ancient friend of mine, who hath stood me in good stead before now, his name is Mr Scrip; he hath holpen many a one in worse plight than thou art; so that by his aid, from being poor and needy, they have become well to do in the world in a short space. Let us go together to him; he dwelth in Paper Buildings hard by; it may be that he will stand thy friend, and help thee out of this thy difficulty."

So methought the men went both together, and, knocking at the door of Mr Scrip, they were shown into his apartment, which was all garnished with slips of paper, whereon were strange figures and characters written, which no man could read or understand. He wore a coat of many colours, the pockets of which appeared to be stuffed with papers, bearing the like figures; he was always looking either up or down, and he moved to and fro continually, as if he could not sit still in one place for a moment.

"Mr Scrip," said Stagman, "you must know here is a friend of mine who is presently sore bestead, and lacketh thine aid. He would fain have of thee some of those wonderful papers of thine, whereby so many have become so suddenly rich; and, for the sake of our old acquaintance, I pray you pleasure him in this matter."

Then methought Mr Scrip looked fixedly upon Scapegrace, and shook his head consumedly. "The applications," said he, "are so numerous, that the Provisional Committee have been compelled to decline many from the most respectable quarters, and in all cases greatly to restrict the amount allocated." But observing that Scapegrace appeared much discomfited at these words, he said, after a time—"Howbeit, as the man is a friend of thine, and this is the first time he hath come to me, I will for this once do for him according to his wish." So, putting his hand into his nether raiment, he pulled out certain slips of paper, and put them into Scapegrace's hand, saying—"Take these, and put them into the purse thou bearest with thee; they are called after my name: a fortnight hence thou wilt pay to me a deposit of twenty crowns thereon, but thereafter thou mayst sell them for ten times that sum."

"Alas," cried Scapegrace, "for now I am utterly undone! I have not a crown in the world, and how can I pay the deposit?"

"Nay, neighbour, have a good heart," cried Stagman, drawing him into a corner; "long before the fortnight comes, we shall have sold these papers to some other man, who will pay the twenty crowns for thee, and give thee a hundred beside for thy pains. At the worst, thou hast but to burn thy papers and be seen no more of men, which, if Gripeman should lay hold on thee, would happen in any wares. Take the papers, be of good comfort, thank Mr Scrip for his kindness, and tell him thou wilt call another day with the twenty crowns."

So Scapegrace took the papers, and they thanked Mr Scrip, and went their way.

CHAPTER II.

How Scapegrace, losing sight of Premium, was mocked at Vanity Fair.

And as they journeyed, methought the two men had much conversation together.

"Now, neighbour Scapegrace," said Stagman, "if thou wouldst sell this scrip of thine to advantage, we must betake ourselves to the great market at Vanity Fair, where all the fools in the world be gathered together, and not a few knaves besides. But the fair is a perfect maze, full of blind alleys, courts, and winding passages, among the which thou wouldst assuredly lose thy way if thou didst enter them without a guide; and with such confusion of wares in the shops and windows, that thou mightst walk about from morning to eventide without finding what thou wert in search of. I remember me well, that when I first resorted thither, I more than once went into the wrong shop, and bought many articles which turned out naught. Therefore must we get Interpreter to go along with us."

"Who is this same Interpreter?" asked Scapegrace.

"Interpreter," answered Stagman, "is a stockbroker, who knoweth all the ups and downs of the place, the abodes of sellers and customers, and the booths where the best bargains are to be had. He hath his living by directing travellers through the Fair, and showing them where to buy and sell to good purpose. For a small consideration he will go along with us, and help us in this business."

But Scapegrace, who had waxed foolhardy, replied—"Not so, friend Stagman. I fear not I shall find my way easily enough through the Fair, and bring my hogs to a good market without him, and save my money at the same time. Already, methinks, I feel the burden at my back lighter. Let us push on, I beseech thee, to our journey's end."

"Neighbour Scapegrace," said Stagman, "thou art somewhat rash in this matter, for Interpreter's fee is but a trifle; and I can tell thee, that if by mischance thou shouldst come to lose thy way in the Fair, thou mayst chance to be very roughly handled. There is always a scum of villains there on the outlook to decoy strangers, and, if they will not consent to be cheated, to flout and mock them with gibes and scurril jests. 'Twas but the other day they put Truepenny into the STOCKS, and kept him there till he thought he should never get out again; and he only did get out by parting with all the ready money he had. I pray thee, neighbour, take warning, and be advised."

As he spake, behold a third man came towards them from behind, and shortly overtook them.

"Whither so fast, neighbors?" said he.

"Nay, Mr Littlefaith," said Stagman, "we be all journeying, as I take it, the same road. We are bound for Vanity Fair; and, from that little bundle which I see in thy hand, it should seen thou art on the same errand. Is it not so?"

"It is even so," said Littlefaith. "I would fain turn a penny, like other men. Men say, in our village of Lovegain, that my neighbours, Plausible, and Saveall, and Worldly-wiseman, by their dealings at the fair have made a mint of money; and so would Obstinate, too, for that matter, if he had not asked too much for his wares, and so lost his market, and returned as he went. More fool he! I shall take the first good offer I get, I promise you."

"Well, now," said Scapegrace, joining in their talk, "since Littlefaith is going along with us to the Fair, surely we can do without Interpreter. Come, pluck up a good heart, and let us be jogging."

Then Stagman shook his head, and said nothing; but the three continued to walk on.

After a time said Stagman—"Since thou will not take Interpreter with thee, there is but one further advice which I can give. Not far from Vanity Fair dwelleth a certain man, called PREMIUM; but his house is not easily found, for he liveth next door to Discount, and many strangers, thinking to find the one, have landed at the door of the other. In truth, it is said there is a passage between their dwellings, and that the two play into each others hands; for oftentimes, when Premium see'th visitors coming, and liketh not their look—for he is a shy man, and easily frightened—he will disappear of a sudden, and send Discount to open the door to them, and to say he is gone out, and won't be home for a fortnight. This man Premium is almost always to be found hankering about the Fair; and so long as thou canst keep close upon him, thou art sure to go right. Follow in the direction he goeth: he will guide thee to a good customer; but having made thy market, bestir thyself, and go thy way quickly, lest evil overtake thee. But take care thou lose not sight of the man, for he often vanisheth when least expected; and shouldst thou fall into the hands of his neighbour, who is ever close behind him, then wert thou utterly undone."

And about mid-day, as they journeyed, they came in sight of the Fair, which was of goodly extent, with many lanes and alleys, through which great crowds were ever moving, and the din and hubbub of their voices, as they called out the names of their wares, was such, that at first the pilgrims were mightily confused. Littlefaith spake of turning back, but being encouraged of Stagman, he took heart again, and went on.

And as they gazed about them, and marvelled at the multitudes that were wandering up and down the rows, cheapening the wares, "Now are we in good-luck," cried Stagman; "for yonder, on the outskirts of the market, if I mistake not, is Mr Premium. Let us step up boldly to him at once and take his arm—for if we approach him timidly, he will disappear under one of the booths incontinently."

"But do you think we may venture?" said Littlefaith.

"Yea, verily," said Stagman; so, hurrying up to him, they laid hold of him gently, but with a firm grasp, and saluted him. He was a portly person, attired in a gold-coloured suit, and put on a smiling countenance when the pilgrims laid hold of him; but methought he looked about him on every side to see whether he could dodge away, and escape. Finding, however, that they clung to him tightly, he made as if he were much pleased to meet them, and returning their salutation—

"How now, old friend," said he to Stagman; "what wouldst thou have me to do?"

"Only to show us through the Fair," said Stagman. "These, my friends, are new to the place, and they would fain know how to sell their wares to the best bidder. I pray thee, go with us, for thou knowest all the outs and ins of this Babel."

So, keeping fast hold of Mr Premium's arm, they entered the Fair; and if at a distance they were confused with the clamour and din of the crowd, they were beyond measure astonished when they got into the thick of it. Here was French row, Dutch row, Belgian row, Irish row, English row, and Scotch row; the chief crowd, however, was in the English row, which was so choked up at times with buyers and sellers, that it was not possible to move along at all. But as most people were glad to make way for Premium, who was well known there and much respected, the pilgrims got along the rows better than they thought.

"What will you buy, worthy gentlemen—what will you buy?" exclaimed many voices as they passed.

"Buy any Pennsylvanians, gents?" said a man in the raiment of a Quaker.

"Heavy stock, heavy stock, Jonathan!" cried another.

"Buy my Mexicans—best Mexicans!" said a third.

"Would not take a present of them gratis," cried a fourth.

"Spanish three's reduced—who'll buy?" said a fifth.

"Reduced to nothing," said a sixth.

"Portuguese deferred annuities?" said a seventh.

"Deferred to the day of judgment," answered an eight.

"Glenmutchkins—guaranteed stock, 5 premium, ex div.," said a ninth.

"Won't do, Sauley," said a tenth—"won't do at any price."

And so on it went, all the dealers bawling and squabbling together, and trying to depreciate one another's wares.

But, in the meantime, a certain one came up to Littlefaith in the crowd, and seeing him in company with Premium, he asked him if he were inclined to sell his scrip.

Whereupon Littlefaith, turning round, saw that it was his old neighbour, Plausible, and answering, said, "Of a truth such was my errand hither, but what with the din and bustle about me, I doubt I shall never pluck up heart to find a purchaser."

"I fear, neighbour Littlefaith," said Plausible, "thou art in the right, and let me tell thee that same scrip of thine is little in favour here; howbeit, for the sake of old acquaintance, I would not have thee return empty—I will buy thy wares of thee. Thou canst not expect of me much profit, but here are twenty crowns, which will defray thy travelling charges—and leave thee a something over beside. Mayhap I may be able some time or other to find a purchaser. There is the money. Give me the scrip quickly; for I see a certain friend of mine, Mr By-ends, who beckoneth to me, and cannot wait."

Then did Littlefaith take the crowns, and give unto Plausible the scrip, which when he had put into his bosom, he smiled and hastened away. When Littlefaith came back to Stagman, he told him what he had done.

"Thou faint-hearted fool!" said Stagman, "knowest thou not thy wares were well worth a hundred crowns, which, I warrant thee, Plausible will make of them before the market is over. Out upon thee for a crazed coxcomb! get thee gone, and trouble us no more in this matter."

"Better is a bird in the hand than two in the bush," said Littlefaith; and so saying, he departed.

But while Stagman was thus gibing Littlefaith for throwing away his wares, suddenly Scapegrace uttered a cry, and said—

"Mercy on us, what hath become of Mr Premium! I only turned my head for a moment to look at yonder Prospectus of the Grand Equatorial and Tropical Junction, and, lo! he slips his arm from mine, and I saw him no more."

"Oh, woe is me!" cried Stagman; "what I foretold has come to pass, and now I fear a worse thing will yet befall us."

And, as he spake, behold there drew near a lean and ill-favoured person, clad in ragged and sad-coloured attire, whose doublet was much out at the elbows, and who looked ever towards the ground; and no sooner did Stagman see him drawing nigh, than he threw his scrip on the ground, and, hurrying through the crowd, he was seen no more. Then I knew that the man's name was DISCOUNT.

And when the men of the Fair saw that Premium was gone, and that Stagman had fled as Discount drew nigh, they seized upon Scapegrace, and began to flout him, at first with fair words and pretences, but at last more rudely and openly. "So, friend!" cried one, "you will buy nothing of us, it seems? Mayhap you have something to sell."

"I have in my scrip a few Eldorados, for which I expected a premium," answered Scapegrace.

"Don't you wish you may get it?" said the other sympathetically.

"Does your mother," said a third, with a look of sympathy—"your venerable mother, know that you are abroad at the Fair?"

"Perfectly well," answered Scapegrace; "it was mainly in consequence of her pecuniary distress that I came hither."

"Distress, indeed!" answered the other; "thou wouldst not have us believe that she has sold her mangle yet?"

"I said not that she had," replied Scapegrace; "but she would gladly have parted with it if she could."

"How are you off for soap?" said another in a compassionate tone.

"Very indifferently, friend," answered Scapegrace; "for my lodging has been but poorly supplied of late, and I think of changing it."

"Lodging, quotha! You shan't lodge here, Mr Ferguson, I promise you."

"My name is not Ferguson," said Scapegrace meekly; "neither have I the least intention of lodging here."

"What a shocking bad hat!" cried a voice from behind, and in a trice was Scapegrace's hat knocked over his eyes, and his pockets turned inside out; but finding nothing therein but scrip, they were enraged, and falling upon Scapegrace, they kicked, and cuffed, and hustled him up one row and down another, through this alley and across that court, till at last, being tired of mocking him, they cast him out of the Fair altogether, and shut the gate against him.



THE ILIAD OF HOMER—BOOK THE FIRST.

IN ENGLISH HEXAMETERS.

[The author of the version of the Last Book of the Iliad, in the Number for March, has been requested by the editor of this Magazine to give another specimen; and, as he happens to have the First Book completed, he is happy to comply.

In case any one unacquainted with the original, and familiar with Homer only through the brilliant rifacimento of Pope, should complain of the redundancies and repetitions which he meets here, let the writer remind him that the attempt is to render the ancient poet, not only in a measure framed on the basis of his own, but as nearly as possible with a literal fidelity. Moreover, be it remembered, that the poem was not composed for readers, but to be sung with the accompaniment of the harp in festive assemblies of wholly illiterate soldiers; and that, in all probability, the various speeches introduced were not all chanted by the main voice; but that brother minstrels from time to time relieved the master, as he himself describes the Muses at the Olympian banquet, "with sweet voice singing alternate."

The writer received from Messrs Blackwood, with the proof-sheet of the following contribution, two books of the Iliad, the second and the seventh, done in English hexameters, "by Launcellot Shadwell, formerly Fellow of St John's College, Cambridge," with the imprint of Mr Pickering, London, 1844. This gentleman is probably a son of the Vice-Chancellor of England, and, if so, has been trained in a good school of taste as well as scholarship. But whether his hexameters have been published, does not appear: the writer had not heard of them before; and he begs to thank Mr Shadwell for his polite attention.

LONDON, April 6th.]

N. N. T.

Sing, O Goddess! the wrath unblest of Peleian Achilleus, Whence the uncountable woes that were heapt on the host of Achaia; Whence many valorous spirits of heroes, untimely dissever'd, Down unto Hades were sent, and themselves to the dogs were a plunder And all fowls of the air; but the counsel of Zeus was accomplish'd: Even from the hour when at first were in fierceness of rivalry sunder'd Atreus' son, the Commander of Men, and the noble Achilleus. Who of the Godheads committed the twain in the strife of contention? Leto's offspring and Zeus'; who, in anger against Agamemnon, Issued the pestilence dire, and the leaguer was swept with destruction; For that the King had rejected, and spurn'd from the place in dishonour Chryses, the priest of the God, when he came to the warrior-galleys, Willing to rescue his daughter with plentiful gifts of redemption, Bearing the fillet divine in his hands of the Archer Apollo Twined on the sceptre of gold: and petition'd the host of Achaia, Foremost of all the Atreidae, the twain that were chief in dominion:— "Hear, ye Atreidae! and hear, ye Achaians, resplendent in armour! Be it vouchsaf'd unto you of the Gods who inhabit Olympus, Priamus' city to storm, and return to your dwellings in gladness! But now yield me my daughter belov'd, and accept of the ransom, Bearing respect to the offspring of Zeus, Far-darting Apollo." Then had it voice of approval from all the array of Achaians Duly to honour the priest and accept fair gifts of redemption; Only displeas'd in his mind was the King Agamemnon Atreides: Stern the rejection from him, and ungentle his word at the parting:— "Let me not see thee again, old man, at the station of galleys, Lingering wilfully now, nor returning among us hereafter, Lest neither sceptre of gold nor the wreath of the God may avail thee. Her will I never surrender, be sure, until age has attain'd her Far from the land of her birth, in our own habitation of Argos, Plying the task of her web and attending the couch of her master. Hence with thee! Stir me no more: the return to thy home were the safer." So did he speak; and the elder, in terror, obey'd the commandment. Silent he went on his way, where the sea-waves roar'd on the sand-beach, Till at a distance remote, when the voice of his strong supplication Call'd on Apollo the King, that was born of the ringleted Leto:— "Hear me, Protector divine, both of Chrysa and beautiful Killa, God of the silvery bow, over Tenedos mightily reigning! Smintheus! Hear, if my hand ever garnish'd thy glorious temple, Crowning the horns of the altar with beauty, and burning before thee Fatness of bulls or of goats: hear now, and fulfill my petition. Oh, let the Argives atone for my tears by the shafts of thy quiver!" So did he speak; and Apollo gave ear to the prayer of his servant. He from the peaks of Olympus descended, his bosom in anger, Bearing on shoulder the bow and the well-fenc'd girth of his quiver. Rattled the arrows therein on the back of the Deity wrathful, Step upon step as he moved; but he came like the darkness of Nightfall. Then did he seat him apart from the ships, and discharging an arrow, Fearful afar was the clang of the silvery bow of Apollo. Mules, at the first, were his aim, and the swiftness of dogs was arrested; But on themselves, right soon, with the sure-wing'd darts of destruction Smote he, and wide on the shore was the flame of continual death-fires. Nine days' space, on the leaguer the shafts of the Godhead were flying; Then, on the tenth, were the people convok'd by the noble Achilleus, Mov'd unto this, in his mind, by the Goddess majestical Hera, For she was griev'd in her heart at the sight of the dying Achaians. But when the host were conven'd, thus spake swift-footed Peleides:— "Wand'ring again is our doom, as it seems to my mind, Agamemnon! Home to escape as we may, unless death be the issue to welcome, Since not the battle alone, but the pestilence wastes the Achaians. Come, without witless delay, let some prophet or priest be consulted, Yea, or expounder of dreams, (for the dream, too, comes from Kronion,) Who may interpret the wrath unrelenting of Phoebus Apollo; Whether for forfeited vow we are plagu'd, or for hecatomb wanting: If peradventure by savour of lambs or of goats without blemish Anger divine may be sooth'd, and the pestilence turn'd from the people." He, having spoke, sat down; and arose Thestorian Calchas, Prophet supreme among all, in the secrets of augury foremost; He that to Ilion's borders conducted the ships of Achaia, Such was the lore of the Seer by the blessing of Phoebus Apollo. He, with the counsel of wisdom, arose in the midst to address them:— "Favour'd of Zens!" he began, "thou commandest me, noble Achilleus, Here to interpret the wrath of the King, Far-darting Apollo. That will I therefore declare; but vouchsafe me, and swear to confirm it, Promptness and constancy true in the word and the hand of protection; For when I utter the cause, unto anger, I know, will be kindled He that of Argos is lord and obey'd in the host of Achaia. Heavy the hand of a king when the humble provokes his resentment; Say that he masters his mood, and the day of offending be scatheless, Yet shall he nurture the wrath thenceforth, till he perfect the vengeance, Deep in his bosom within. Speak thou, if the will be to save me." This was the answer he had, without pause, from the noble Peleides:— "Speak with a confident heart whatsoever thy scrutiny reaches; For by Apollo I swear, by the Son of the Highest Kronion, None to whom thou shalt discover the truth of prophetical warning, Calling the Gods to attest—while I live, and mine eyes are undarken'd, None shall, for that revelation, lay hand of oppression upon thee; None of the Danaeids all that are camp'd by the station of galleys— Even if thou name Agamemnon, the first of the host in dominion." Then the unblamable Seer took heart, and bespake the Assembly:— "Neither for forfeited vow is he wroth, nor for hecatomb wanting; But for the sake of his priest, who, dishonour'd by King Agamemnon, Pray'd for his daughter in vain, and the gifts that he brought were rejected; Therefore, the Archer Divine has afflicted, and more will afflict us, Nor shall the weight of his hand be remov'd in the pestilence wasting, Not till the Dark-eyed Maid is restor'd to the love of her father, Free, without ransoming price—and a hecatomb holy to Chrysa Sent for atonement of wrong: peradventure we then may appease him." He, having spoke, sat down: and anon, in the midst of the princes, Rose the heroic Atreides, the wide-sway'd lord, Agamemnon: Troubled in visage he rose, for the heart with the blackness of anger Swell'd in the breast of the King, and his eyes had the blaze of the firebrand. First to the Seer did he turn, and austere was the scowl when he nam'd him: "Prophet of evils! to me never word of thy mouth has been grateful; Gladness it sheds ever more on thy spirit to prophesy mischief. Never had good its announcement from thee, its accomplishment never! Here, then, art thou, with thy sanctified lore, in the leaguer proclaiming All the afflictions we bear from the anger of Archer Apollo Only from this to have sprung, that I gave not the damsel Chryseis Back for the gifts that were brought:—for I valued her more than the ransom, Will'd her to stay in my home, and preferr'd her before Clytemnestra, Her that I wedded a maid—nor in aught would comparison harm her, Neither for form nor for face, nor for mind nor the skill of her fingers. Yet even so am I willing to yield her, if this be the better: Weal I desire for the people, and not their calamity lengthen'd. But on the instant make ready a guerdon for me, that of Argives I be not prizeless alone—methinks that of a truth were unseemly— All of ye witnessing this, that the prize I obtain'd is to leave me." Thus to him instantly answer'd the swift-footed noble Peleides:— "Foremost in fame, Agamemnon, in greediness, too, thou art foremost. Whence can a prize be assign'd by the generous host of Achaia? Nowhere known unto us is a treasure of common possessions: All that we took with a town was distributed right on the capture; Nor is it seemly for states to resume and collect their allotments. Render the maid to the God, and expect from the sons of Achaia Threefold recompense back, yea fourfold, soon as Kronion Grants us to waste and abolish the well-wall'd city of Troia." So the Peleides—and thus, in reply, said the King Agamemnon:— "Good as thou art in the dealings of battle, most noble Achilleus, Try not the engines of craft; to come over me thus is beyond thee. This the suggestion forsooth that, thyself being safe with thy booty, I shall sit down without mine! I am bid to surrender the damsel: This is the word—and 'tis well, if the generous host of Achaia Yield me a prize in her stead that is fair and affords me contentment; But if ye grant me not this, be it known, I will do myself justice— Seizing what Aias obtain'd, or despoiling the tent of Odysseus; Yea, peradventure, thine own—whatsoever the rage of the loser. These, of a surety, are things to be duly consider'd hereafter; Meantime, down to the deep let a black-hull'd galley be hauser'd, Oarsmen selected and rang'd, and the hecatomb stow'd for the temple— Mine be the care to accomplish the freight with the rosy Chryseis. Last, be some counsellor-chief for command of the galley appointed— Whether Idomeneus be it, or Aias, or noble Odysseus, Yea, or, Peleides, thyself, among terrible warriors foremost! So shall by thee be achiev'd the appeasing of Archer Apollo." Dark was the scowl of Achilles the rapid, as thus he made answer:— "Oh! thou in impudence clothed! O heart, that is ever on lucre! How can the words of thy mouth stir zeal in a single Achaian Either to march in thy train, or to stand in the fierceness of onset? Truly I came not, for one, out of hate for the spearmen of Troia, Hither to battle with them—neither feud nor offence was between us. Never Dardanian foray had plunder'd my beeves nor my horses, Never on Phthia descending, in Thessaly's bountiful borders, Ravag'd the fruits of the field—since betwixt there was many a barrier, Shadowy mountains enow, and the roaring expanses of ocean. Only to gratify thee, Dog-face! and avenge Menelaus, Mov'd us to war upon Troy; and with thee it is counted for nothing! Masterful menace instead that by thee my reward shall be ravish'd, Won with the sweat of my brow, and assign'd by the sons of Achaia! Truly my share of the booty was never with thine to be measur'd When the Achaians had sackt any populous town of the Troad: Only when shock upon shock the turmoil of the battle was raging, Greater the work of my hands; but whenever we reacht the division Far did thy portion surpass. Nor has grudging been mine or complaining: Weary with warring, and pleas'd with a little, I went to my galley. Homeward to Thessaly, now!—I shall profit, I think, by departing— Nor if I stay in dishonour, will heaping of plunder oppress thee." Thus on the instant replied the Commander of Men, Agamemnon:— "Flee, if to that thou be minded: expect not from me a petition Here for my service to stop. Beside thee I have some to befriend me Now and hereafter: in chief, the Olympian's counselling foresight. Hatefullest ever to me hast thou been of the kings of Achaia; Nothing delighted thee e'er but contention and battle and bloodshed; And if thy strength be unmatcht, it is due to the gift of a Godhead. Hence with thee!—hence to thy home flee thou with thy ships and thy comrades! There over Myrmidons lord it; with me there is small estimation Either of thee or thy wrath; and take this for completing my menace: Since I am reft of Chryseis for pleasing of Phoebus Apollo, Now, in a ship of mine own, and with men of mine own for attendance, Her will I send; but anon will I go and, within thy pavilion, Seize on the rosy Briseis, thy guerdon—instructing thee clearly How I surpass thee in power, and that others beside may be cautious Neither to match them with me, or confront with the boldness of equals!" So did he speak: and the word had a sting; and the heart of Achilleus, Under the hair of his bosom, in tearing perplexity ponder'd, Whether unsheathing the sword from his thigh, to disperse interveners, Clearing the way at a swoop, and to strike at the life of Atreides, Or to control his resentment and master the fury within him. But as he struggled with thought and the burning confusion of impulse, Even as he mov'd in the scabbard his ponderous weapon, Athena Stood by, darting from heaven: for the white-arm'd Hera had sent her, She that had eyes on them both with a loving and equal concernment. Lighting behind him, she graspt at the thick fair curls of Peleides, Visible only to him, undiscover'd by all that surrounded. Fear on Achilleus fell, and he turn'd to her, instantly knowing Pallas Athena, for awful the eyes of the goddess apparent— And he address'd her, and these were the air-wing'd words that he utter'd. "Why hast thou come, O child of the AEgis-bearing Kronion? Is it to see me contemn'd by the insolent pride of Atreides? This do I promise beside, and thine eyes shall behold it accomplish'd, Here where he sits Agamemnon shall pay for his scorn with his life-blood." This was the answer to him of the blue-eyed Pallas Athena:— "Willing to temper thy mood, (if perchance thou be ready to listen,) Down from the heavens have I come at the call of majestical Hera, Her who has eyes on you both with a loving and equal concernment. Therefore from violence cease, nor persist in unsheathing the weapon: Wound him with words at thy pleasure—in that let it fall as it chances. Only of this be assur'd, for thyself shall behold it accomplish'd, Threefold yet shall the King in magnificent gifts of atonement Pay for the scorn of to-day; but restrain thee and yield to my warning." Thus, in reply to Athena, said instantly noble Achilleus:— "Me of a surety beseems it, O Goddess, to bend to thy counsel, Fierce as mine anger may be; it is wiser to keep the commandment. They that submit to the Gods shall be heard when they make supplication." Press'd on the silvery hilt as he spake was the weight of his right hand, Back to the scabbard returning the terrible blade; nor obedience He to Athena refus'd; and she sprang from his side to Olympus, Up to the mansion of Zeus, to rejoin the assembly of Godheads. Then did Achilles begin to reproach Agamemnon Atreides, Hotly with venomous words, for as yet unappeased was his anger:— "Bloated with wine! having eyes like a dog, but the heart of a she-deer! Never with harness on back to be first when the people were arming, Never in dark ambuscado to lie with the few and the fearless, Courage exalted thy soul; this seems to thee courtship of death-doom. Truly 'tis better by far in the wide-spread Danaeid leaguer Robbing of guerdon achiev'd whosoe'er contradicts thee in presence! People-devouring king! O fortunate captain of cowards— Else, Agamemnon, to-day would have witness'd the last of thine outrage! But I proclaim it before thee, and great is the oath that shall bind it— Now by this rod, which can never put forth or a twig or a leaflet, Since it was parted for aye from the root of its growth in the mountains, Never to germinate more, in the hour when the brass of the woodman Sever'd the bark and the sap: but the chiefs that administer judgment, Guarding the law of the Gods, as a sign to the sons of Achaia Bear it in hand:—upon this do I swear, and severe is the sanction! Rue for Achilles hereafter shall rise in the Danaeid leaguer:— Bitter the yearning shall be—nor in thee, howsoever afflicted, Succour be found at their need—but remorse shall be raging within thee, Tearing thy heart that by thee was the best of Achaians dishonour'd." Speaking he dash'd on the ground, in the midst of the people, his sceptre, Garnish'd with circles of gold; down sat thereafter Peleides. Opposite rose Agamemnon in wrath; but before he could open, Upsprang Nestor between them, the sweet-ton'd spokesman of Pylos: Sweeter the speech of his tongue in its flow than the sweetness of honey. Two generations complete of the blood of articulate mankind, Nurtur'd and rear'd in his view, unto death in their turn had been gather'd; Now he was king for a third in the bountiful region of Pylos. He, with beneficent thoughts, in the midst of them rose and address'd them:— "Woe to me! great is the grief that has come on the land of Achaia! Great of a surety for Priam the joy and the children of Priam! Ilion holds not a soul in her bounds but will leap into gladness, Soon as the tidings go forth that ye two are divided in anger, Foremost in council among us and foremost of all in the battle! Hear me while yet there is time: ye are both of ye younger than I am. I in the days that are past have in fellowship mingled with heroes Mightier even than you, yet among them I never was slighted. Never their like did I see, nor shall look on their equals hereafter— Such as Perithoeus was, or as Dryas the shepherd of people, Kaineus, Exadius too—the compeer of the bless'd, Polyphemus; AEgeus' glorious son, as a God in his countenance, Theseus. These of a truth were in might the supreme of the children of mankind; Mightiest they upon earth and with mightiest foes they contended, Centaurs nurs'd in the hills, whom in terrible ruin they trampled. These, the allies of my youth, when I first adventur'd from Pylos, Far from the Apian land, being call'd of themselves for a comrade. With them I fought as I could—but against them of earth's generation None is there breathing to-day that could stand in the tempest of battle; Yet they admitted me near and attended the words of my counsel. Hear too, ye, and be sway'd; for in yielding to counsel is wisdom. Neither do thou, though surpassing in station, lay hand on the damsel; Leave her, as giv'n at the first by the voice of the sons of Achaia. Nor let thy spirit, Peleides, excite thee to stand in contention, Scornfully facing the King:—for of all that inherit the sceptre He is the highest, and Zeus with pre-eminent glory adorns him. Be it, thy strength is the greater, thy birth from the womb of a Goddess, Still is his potency more because more are beneath his dominion. Thou, Agamemnon, give pause to thine anger; myself I entreat thee: Master the wrath, O King, that divides thee from noble Achilleus, Ever in murderous war great bulwark for all the Achaians." These were the answering words of the chief in the host, Agamemnon— "Verily, elder rever'd, there is grace in whatever thou speakest, But this man is resolv'd to be first over all and in all things; All to his dictating word must submit themselves—all to his kingship— He with his nod to command—which I think will have scanty approval. Might in his spear if there be by the gift of the Gods everlasting, Do they uphold him for that in the measureless railing of insult?" Him, with a sidelong glance, thus answer'd the noble Achilleus:— "Worthless I well might be call'd, of a surety, and cowardly caitiff, Yielded I all at a word whensoever it pleas'd thee to dictate. Such be thy lording with others, but not as to me, Agamemnon! Waste not thy masterful signs: they shall never command my obedience. This will I tell thee at once, let my fixt resolution be ponder'd— Never a hand will I lift to resist for the sake of the damsel, Neither on thee nor another—ye take what ye formerly granted! But of whatever besides I possess in the camp of the galleys, Nothing against my consent shall by thee or another be taken. Come now—try it thyself, that the test may for all be sufficient, Seeing how right from thy bosom the black blood streams on my spear-head." They, having battled it thus in the striving of proud contradiction, Rose and disperst the assembly of men at the ships of Achaia. Then to his tents and the line of his galleys, the noble Peleides Went with Menoetius' son and the rest of his comrades attending; While from the beach to the water, a galley surpassing in swiftness Drew Agamemnon the king, and selected a score for her oarsmen. Then in the depth of her hull was the hecatomb placed for Apollo, And he conducted himself to embark with them, rosy Chryseis; Lastly, to govern the voyage, ascended sagacious Odysseus; Then being rang'd in the galley they sail'd on the watery courses. But the Atreides commanded the people to purification, And when they all had been cleans'd, and the sea had receiv'd the pollutions, Hecatombs whole to Apollo of bulls and of goats without blemish Bled for the purified host, on the margin of harvestless ocean, Sending the savour to heaven in the wreaths of the smoke from the altar. Busied herein was the leaguer—yet not in the King Agamemnon Enmity ceas'd, nor the pride to fulfil what his anger had menaced. He to Talthybius now and Eurybates spake his commission, Heralds of royal command, ever near him in ministry watchful:— "Pass, ye twain, to the right to the tent of Peleian Achilleus, Enter and take with your hands, and conduct to me hither Briseis. If he refuses to yield her, myself will accomplish the seizure, Following swiftly with more, which may chance to embitter his grudging." Loth, they obey'd him; and pass'd by the rim of the harvestless ocean, On to the Myrmidon tents and the black-hull'd ship of Peleides. Near to his tent and his galley they found him seated; nor truly, Viewing the twain as they came, did the sight bring joy to Achilleus. Fearful were they meanwhile—and, in awe of the kingly Peleides, Halted in silence, nor spake to salute him, nor utter'd the message, But in his mind it was clearly discover'd; and thus he address'd them:— "Hail to ye, heralds! of Zeus and of men the ambassadors holy! Freely advance; ye are blameless before me; alone Agamemnon Guilty, that sends ye to me for demand of the damsel Briseis. Noble Patroclus, I pray thee bring forth and surrender the damsel Here to their guidance—but they—let the heralds themselves be my witness, Both before Gods ever-blest and the Earth's generation of mortals, Yea, and the insolent King.—If there ever arises hereafter Need of my presence to ward the disgrace of impending disaster Off from the rest—Yea, truly, the insolent raves to his ruin; Neither the past he recalls, nor has wisdom to judge for the future, Whence were salvation alone for his host in the war of the seaboard." So did he speak; and Patroclus, obeying the word of his comrade, From the pavilion within led forth Briseis the rosy, Yielding her up to the twain; and they turn'd again back by the galleys. Not with her will did the woman attend on their path; but Achilleus Sat by himself, as the tears roll'd down, and apart from his comrades, Hard by the surf-white beach, overlooking the blackness of ocean. There then, lifting his hands, to his mother he urg'd his petition:— "Since I was born of thee, mother, with fewness of days for my fore-doom, Surely Olympian Zeus, who is heard in the thunder of AEther, Owed me in honour to live; but to-day he decrees my abasement. Open contempt is my portion—for now wide-ruling Atreides Tramples upon me himself, and has seiz'd and possesses my guerdon." Thus amid tears did he speak, and the mother majestical heard him, Sitting afar in the deep by her father the Ancient of Ocean. Nimbly anon from the foam of the waves like a cloud she ascended, And she was near to him soon, and she sat by him where he lamented, Softly caress'd with her hand on his cheek, and address'd him and nam'd him:— "Why art thou weeping, my child? what has burthen'd thy soul with affliction? Speak to me, nothing conceal, that we both may have knowledge in fulness." Heavily groaning, to her thus answer'd the rapid Achilleus:— "Mother, already thou knowest, and why should it all be recounted? We in our progress assailing Aetion's hallowed city, Conquer'd and sack'd it, and hither conducted the plunder of Theba. Then when the sons of Achaia assembled to make the division, They to Atreides allotted for guerdon the comely Chryseis. But to the galleys anon of the brass-clad sons of Achaia, Journey'd in sorrow her father, the grayhair'd priest of Apollo, Eager to ransom the maiden, and bearing a bountiful ransom. Holding the fillet divine in his hands of the Archer Apollo, Twin'd on the sceptre of gold, he petition'd the host of Achaia— Foremost of all the Atreidae, the twain that are chief in dominion. Then had it audible greeting from all the array of Achaians Duly to honour the priest and accept fair gifts of redemption; Only displeased in his mind was the King Agamemnon Atreides— Stern the rejection from him and ungentle his word of dismissal. Wrathful the elder departed, and pray'd in his wrath to Apollo; Nor was the prayer unheard, for the priest was belov'd of the Godhead. Swiftly the arrow of death was discharg'd on the host of the Argives; More and yet more did he slay, for the terrible darts of his vengeance Spared not a spot of the camp; till at last, when the people were gather'd, Rose up a seer well skill'd and reveal'd the decree of the Archer. Foremost was I in exhorting to bend to the God for atonement— This the offence that enrag'd Agamemnon, who, instantly rising, Utter'd the menacing word which his insolence now has accomplish'd. Home at the last unto Chrysa the quick-eyed oarsmen of Argos. Now are conducting the maiden, with plentiful gifts for Apollo; But in the selfsame hour have his messengers left my pavilion, Leading Briseis away, my award from the host of Achaia. Therefore I call upon thee, if with thee be the power to assist me, Up to Olympus to go, and to supplicate Zeus for thine offspring, If, or by word or by deed, thou hast pleasur'd the heart of the Highest: And I have heard thee of old, full oft, in the halls of my father, Boast how of all the immortals thy ministry only avail'd him Then when the rest of the Gods were combin'd for his humiliation, Hera herself at the head, with Poseidon and Pallas Athena, All in conspiracy swearing to fetter the Lord of the Black Cloud; But thou, Goddess, approaching, wast able to rescue from bondage, Summoning swiftly to join thee, and leading to lofty Olympus, Him who is Briareus nam'd among men, by Immortals, AEgeon, Him of the hundred hands, who surpasses his father[12] in puissance; And by Kronion he sat in the pride of his glory rejoicing, Filling with terror the Blest; for they saw and desisted from binding. Sit by the side of the God, and remind him of this, and entreat him, Grasping his knees, if perchance it may please him to succour the Trojans, Granting them back on the galleys to trample the sons of Achaia, Scatter'd in dread, till they all have contentment enough of their Captain— Yea, till Atreides himself, Agamemnon, the chief in dominion, Rues the infatuate pride that dishonour'd the best of Achaians." Sad was the mother at hearing, and thus amid weeping she answer'd:— "Woe to me! why did I bear thee, my child, in an hour of misfortune? Would I could see thee nor harm'd by injustice nor yielding to sadness, Here by the ships, since the days of thy doom are the few and the fleeting! Woe to me! both to a death premature and a sorrowful lifetime Thee, in the darkness of Fate, did I bear in the house of thy father! Surely thy word will I carry to thunder-delighting Kronion, Up unto snowy Olympus, and prayer may prevail for persuasion. Thou meanwhile for a season lie still by the Myrmidon galleys, Hating the Danaeid host, and abstaining entirely from battle. Yesterday forth-far'd Zeus to a feast with the AEthiops blameless, Far over ocean's stream, and the rest of the Gods in attendance; Twelve are the signified days ere again he returns to Olympus. Instantly then will I pass to the brass-built dome of the Highest, There will I cling to his knees, and I think he will hear my petition." So having said she departed, and left him to sit as aforetime, Bitterness swelling his breast at the thought of the slender Briseis Forcefully torn from his side. Meanwhile ever-prudent Odysseus Safe into Chrysa had come with the hecatomb vow'd to Apollo. They, when at last they arrived in the spacious recess of the harbour, Furl'd with alertness their sail, and bestow'd in the depth of the galley, Loosen'd the ropes from the mast, and depress'd it to fix in the mast-hold, Push'd with their oars to the landing, and anchor'd and fasten'd the hausers; Then with the hecatomb laden, the mariners stept on the sea-beach. Lastly, Chryseis was led by Odysseus himself from the galley, Straight to the altar of Phoebus, and placed in the hand of her father. "Take her, O Chryses," he said; "I am sent by the King Agamemnon, Charg'd to restore her to thee, with a hecatomb fair for Apollo, Vow'd on behalf of the host, if perchance it may work our atonement, Press'd with afflictions severe by the far-shot darts of the Godhead." So did he speak, and deliver'd the daughter belov'd to her father: Glad was the old man's heart to receive her. And now the Achaians, Ranging the hecatomb goodly around the magnificent altar, Cleansed with water their hands, and besprinkled the victims with barley. Lifting his hands in the midst, then Chryses made supplication:— "Hear me, Protector divine both of Chrysa and beautiful Killa, God of the silvery bow, over Tenedos mightily reigning— Hear me, if ever before there was favour to crown my petition. Greatly to honour thy priest, hast thou humbled the host of Achaia; Now I beseech thee to hear, and again let my prayer be accepted— Hence be the pestilence stay'd that is wasting the Danaeid leaguer!" So did he speak in his prayer, nor regardless was Phoebus Apollo; Also the Danaeids pray'd, and again they besprinkled with barley; Then were the necks turn'd back, and they slaughter'd the victims, and skinn'd them. And when the bones of the thighs were extracted, and wrapt in the fatness Doubled upon them around, and the raw flesh added in fragments, Over the split wood then did the old man burn them, and black wine Pour'd, while with five-prong'd forks, at his side, were the youthful attendants. But when the bones and the fat they had burn'd, and had tasted the entrails, All that remain'd was divided and fix'd on the spits of the striplings, Roasted with skill at the fire, and in readiness moved from the altar: Then was the labour complete, and the banquet prepared for the people, And they were banqueted all, nor had one to complain of his portion. But when of meat and of drink the desire from them all had departed, Duly the goblets were mantled with wine by the youths of the temple, Handed in order to all, and the round of libation accomplish'd. Then through the livelong day the Achaians, in melody gracious, Chanted the paean divine to the glory of Phoebus Apollo, Hymning the might of the King; and the voice of the harmony pleased him. Then, when the sun went down, and the darkness around them was gather'd, All to the haven departed, and slept on the beach by their hausers; Till as the roseate Eos, the daughter of Morning, ascended, Back was their voyage ordain'd to the wide-spread host of Achaia. Fair was the breeze that attended their going from Phoebus Apollo; Upward they hoisted the mast, and the white sail spread to receive it; Full on the canvass it smote, and the dark-blue swell of the waters Echo'd around at their coming, and groan'd to the plunge of the galley, Onward advancing apace, as it sever'd the path of the billows. But when the course had been run, and the galley arriv'd at the leaguer, High on the sands of the beach was it hawl'd, and secur'd with the staybeams, And they dispers'd on the shore, and return'd to the tents of their kinsmen. Gloomily wrapt in his wrath, still sat by the strand of the galleys High-born Peleus' son: unappeas'd was the rapid Achilleus. Neither 'mid chieftains again to the honour-conferring assembly, Nor to the battle he came; but his heart was consuming in fierceness, There where he rested aloof, for he yearn'd for the charge and the war-shout. But when his wrath had endur'd to the twelfth resurrection of morning, Back to Olympus return'd over ocean the blessed Immortals, All the attendance of Zeus: nor had then the command of Peleides Pass'd from the mind of his mother, but rising anon from the sea-wave, She, at the dawning of day, to the great heaven went and Olympus. Far from the rest of the Gods, wide-seeing Kronion was seated, Lone on the loftiest peak of the manifold-crested Olympus. Silently Thetis approach'd him and sate by his side; and the Goddess, Grasping his knees with her left, and caressing his chin with the right hand, Earnestly lifted her voice, and petition'd the King Everlasting:— "Father! if ever of old I was helpful to thee among Godheads, Either in word or in deed, let the boon that I crave be conceded— Honour deny not to him whom I bore to mortality fore-doom'd Earliest far of mankind; for the Sov'reign of men, Agamemnon, Basely dishonours my son, and has seiz'd and possesses his guerdon. Lift him to honour thyself, O Zeus, All-wise of Olympus! Strengthen the hand of the Trojans for victory, till the Achaians Honour the worth of my son, and exalt him with worshipful increase." So did she speak: nor to her did the high Cloud-gatherer answer. Long in his silence he sat; but as first by his knees she had held him, So did she earnestly cling, and repeated anew her petition:— "Grant me the pledge of thy word, and confirm with the nod of acceptance, Else let refusal be spoken, (for fear cannot dwell with the Highest,)— Give me to know of a truth that with thee I am last of the Godheads." Vex'd was the spirit of Zeus, as at last he made answer to Thetis:— "Plagueful indeed is the hour which to strife and contention with Hera Sees me committed by thee, and her words of reproach are a torment; Ever, when cause there is none, she upbraids me before the Immortals, Saying I favour the Trojans, and succour the press of their battle. Quickly depart from me now, lest thy coming be noted of Hera; Go, and the care be with me henceforth till it all is accomplish'd. See now, here will I nod with my head, to complete thy reliance,— Since in the circle of Gods Everlasting, whenever I yield it, This is the mightiest sign; for a clear irrepealable purpose Waits an accomplishment sure, when the nod of my head is the token." So did he speak, and, at pausing, he sign'd with his shadowy eyebrows, And the ambrosial curls from the Head Everlasting were shaken, And at the nod of the King deep-trembled the lofty Olympus. They from their communing parted; and she, on the instant descending, Plung'd to the depth of the sea from the height of resplendent Olympus. Zeus to his mansion return'd; and the company all of the Godheads Rose at their Father's approach from their seats, nor did any adventure Sitting his aspect to meet, but they all stood up at his coming. Thus on his throne did he seat him; but not unobservant had Hera Been, while in secret he spake with the child of the Ancient of Ocean; Now with the words of reproach she was ready, and turn'd to Kronion:— "Crafty and close! what God has been with thee in privacy plotting? Ever it pleases thee well to be working apart and in darkness, Willingly never to me has a word of thy counsel been open'd." Instantly thus by the Father of Gods and of Men was she answer'd:— "Hera, indulge not the hope to be partner in each of my counsels; Wife as thou art, there are some it can never be thine to discover. That which is fit for thine ear of the things I have settled in purpose, None or of Gods or of Men shall in that be partaker before thee; But whensoever my will is apart from the Gods to determine, Cease from a prying unmeet, nor with rash curiosity question." Haughtily glancing on Zeus, thus answer'd majestical Hera:— "Oh, ever dark and austere! What a word hast thou utter'd, Kronion! When was it ever my custom to pry or torment with a question? Only it now is my fear that the white-footed daughter of Nereus, Thetis, has led thee astray with the craft of her secret persuasion: Early she sat by thy side, and was grasping thy knees in entreaty— Nor did she leave thee, I think, without pledge of revenge for Achilleus, And of destruction anon and of woe at the Danaeid galleys." Thus to the Goddess again spake Cloud-compelling Kronion:— "Pestilent! Ever the spy! not a motion is safe from thy peering! Yet shall it profit thee nothing, unless to estrange and remove me Further away from thy love, which perchance may have worse for its upshot. Now, if it be as thou say'st, thou hast strengthen'd the zeal of my purpose. Hear me, and seat thee in silence, nor vain be the word of my warning, Lest were the Gods of Olympus united, it nothing avail thee, Shrinking before my approach, and the hand irresistible lifted." So did he speak, and in fear was the heart of majestical Hera; Silent before him she sat amid bitterness curbing her spirit. Griev'd in the mansion of Zeus thereat were the heavenly Godheads; Then in the midst of them all the artificer famous, Hephaestus, Spake with a kindly intent toward white-armed Hera, his mother:— "Plagueful to me is the sight, and already it passes endurance! Sure it is folly that thus ye should strive and contend about mortals Till there is tumult in heaven, nor the least satisfaction awaits us, Banqueting wholly forgot, and the pestilent rivalry upmost! This my advice to my mother, and wise though she be, let her hear it. Kindly approaching his throne, let her promise our Father obedience, Never to vex him again, and disturb the enjoyment of meal-time. If the Olympian Lord of the Thunder be minded against us, Down from our seats go we, for in might he surpasses us wholly. Come, if with softness of speech thou remove the Olympian's anger, Grace is at hand for us all, and returning benignity cheers us." So said Hephaestus, and sprang from his place, and a plentiful goblet Reach'd to the hand of his mother, and thus, as she took it, address'd her:— "Patience! my mother! whatever the smart, be it borne with submission. Dear as thou art to my soul, let it never be mine to behold thee Under his chastising hand, for, however my will might incline me, Service were none—the Olympian's grasp is not easy to strive with. Once on a time my resistance avail'd not, when seizing me tightly, Here by the foot, I was hurl'd sheer down from the heavenly threshold! Down through the livelong day was I borne from the dawn to the sunset, Till upon Lemnos I fell, and but little of breath was remaining, When of the Sintian men I was kindly received at my falling." So did he speak, and with smiles was he heard by majestical Hera, And from the hand of her son with a smile she accepted the goblet; Then to the rest of the Gods, from the right of the circle beginning, Pass'd he the cup, ever pouring the nectar divine from the pitcher: But in the Gods ever-blest there was stirr'd an unquenchable laughter, Seeing Hephaestus advance in his ministry round the assembly. Thus through the livelong day till the sun into ocean descended, Feasted the Gods, nor to any was wanting his share of the banquet, Nor of the beautiful harp that was touch'd by the hand of Apollo, Nor of the song of the Muses with sweet voice singing alternate. But when the glorious light of the sun had gone down into darkness, All to their dwellings departed, desiring the softness of slumber— Each to the separate dome, in the skill of his prudent contrivance Rear'd by the halting Hephaestus, artificer fam'd of the Godheads. Zeus, the Olympian Lord of the Thunder, also retiring, Pass'd to the couch where of old to the sweetness of sleep he resign'd him; This he ascended and slept: and beside him was Hera the Gold-throned.

N. N. T.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] Poseidon=Neptune.



PROSPECTUS.

It is proposed to establish a new Society or Association, under the style and title of the "Fogie Club."

To the myriads of railway adventures that of late years have on every side invited the lovers of gain or of gambling, and that now seem abandoned with the same desperate eagerness with which they were embraced, the Fogie Club will form a remarkable contrast. But it has recommendations of its own, which may compensate for others of which it cannot boast. It does not seek to promote rapid locomotion; but it presents a terminus of quiet and creditable rest. It does not promise dividends; but it does not contemplate calls. The stock is not expected to rise; but neither is it likely to fall. A solvent and sagacious public will judge on which side the advantage lies.

The meaning of the term "Fogie" is rather to be furnished by description than by definition. But we may bestow a few words on the lexico-graphical learning connected with the word.

Dr Jamieson, an authority every way entitled to attention on such a subject, gives a double signification of Fogie:—"1. A term used to denote an invalid or garrison soldier. 2. A man pithless and infirm from advanced age." He derives it, with his usual accuracy and acuteness, from the Suio-Gothic, in which the word "fogde," he tells us, meant "formerly one who had the charge of a garrison, but is now much declined in its meaning, as being applied to stewards, beadles," &c. The worthy doctor seems unconscious of the aid he might have derived from the fact, that the foreign term Fogde, or Vogt, is a corruption of the Latin advocatus; but he struggles with a laudable and natural feeling to maintain the dignity of the Fogie, as originally indicating among ourselves some important officer, such as the governor of a garrison, and we trust that further research may bring to light some confirmation of that conjecture. Indeed it may be observed, that there are instances among us where Fogies are in use to be termed Governors. But we are bound to say, that there are other linguists who refer the word to a less elevated source—some connecting it with the term fog or foggage, meaning a second grass or aftermath, not quite so rich or nourishing as the first growth; others, pointing at a kind of inferior bee, which receives the name of Foggie from its finding its nest among fog or moss; and others uncivilly insinuating that the Latin fucus, a drone, is the origin of the appellation.

While we protest against a supposed acquiescence in these more derogatory etymologies, we feel that it would be improper and premature at this stage to attempt the solution of so important a question as that at which we have thus glanced, and of which the elaborate discussion may form one of the earliest subjects for a prize essay to be proposed by the Club, and will doubtless fill many a learned page of the Fogie Transactions.

The character of the Fogie admits of less doubt than his etymology. It belongs confessedly to one of the most amiable and interesting classes of the species. It sets before us an individual, possessed at one time at least of respectable talents, generally developed at an early period of life, but of which the meridian splendour has now softened into the more tolerable radiance of declining day. The light is nearly alike, but the heat is considerably less. We still, perhaps, see in the Fogie the same imposing features of the face, the same dignity of gesture and attitude, and even a larger disc of body than before. The very voice often is much what it was, and the manner is almost unchanged. But when we carefully attend to the matter of what is said, we begin to perceive a difference. A certain pleasing irrelevancy, an interesting tendency to parenthesis, a longing, lingering look cast back on the events of former times, in preference to the passing topics of the day, and a pardonable increase in the use of the first person singular, become from time to time progressively conspicuous. Nothing can be more instructive, abstractly speaking, then the maxims which fall from the Fogie's lips; but, somehow or other, they often appear as having less immediate bearing on the matter in hand than we should have expected; and we labour under occasional impressions of having met with some of them before, either in Scripture, or in that valuable code of morality which the writing-master proposes to youth as the pattern of their imitation. "I have sometimes observed," he will say, "that vicious intercourse has a tendency to undermine good morals;" and he illustrates his position by the fate of an early friend, who went to the dogs from keeping bad company. Or again, "It may be safely affirmed," he observes, "that a conciliatory reply will frequently allay irritation in an angry assailant;" and he entertains us with a really good story of a choleric old gentleman who challenged him once for poaching on his grounds, but who was gradually talked over till he asked him to dinner. If our friend has been a wit in his youth, the propensity to jocularity still survives; but the jests are generally such as you meet with in the very earliest editions of Mr Joseph Miller, though, for the sake of variety, they are often ascribed to the late facetious Mr Joseph Jekyll, or Mr Henry Erskine, or to some other of the Fogie's early contemporaries, if indeed the Fogie himself is not the hero of the tale.

It is unnecessary to say that the Fogie is always an amiable and almost always a happy person. "Happiness," says the judicious Paley, "is found with the purring cat no less than with the playful kitten; in the arm-chair of dozing age, as well as in either the sprightliness of the dance, or the animation of the chase." The Fogie is generally attached in moderation to the pleasures of the table, and is a Conservative and Protectionist in his politics; though, since the introduction of Sir Robert Peel's last measure, several of the class have been rubbing up their Adam Smith, and quoting some of the enlightened maxims of free-trade which they used to hear at the Speculative Society, or in some other arena of juvenile discussion.

It is a proud thing to remember that the delineation of the Fogie has employed the genius of the greatest poets. The character of Nestor in the Iliad must be regarded as one of the masterpieces of the Homeric gallery. The eloquent drivel that distils from his tongue, the length and general inapplicability of his narratives, the judicious and imposing triteness of his counsels, the vigorous imbecility of his exhortations—all reveal the heroic Fogie in proportions suitable to the other colossal figures with which he is surrounded. In Polonius, again, Shakspeare has given us a different form of the species, equally perfect in its kind. The tenderness of the old man's heart, the sagacity of his discoveries, the self-pleasing estimate of his own importance, and the sounding vacuity of his moral maxims, afford a model by which, in all time coming, the courtly or paternal Fogie may regulate his life and conversation, though, we trust, he may generally meet with a happier termination to his career than that of the luckless father of Ophelia. Another great master, pursuing a course of his own, has made a more ambitious attempt to elevate the Fogie's poetical position, and has been eminently successful. We allude to the immortal Virgil, whose hero, the pious AEneas, may be considered as a perfect Fogie, developed with a rare precocity of power, so as to afford an illustration of the important truth, that, though Fogyism generally waits for old age, its maturity is not servilely dependent upon the progress of years, but in some fortunate natures—pauci quos aequus amavit Jupiter—may be brought to perfection at almost any period of life.

But, after all that has been done, there is something yet to do. The Fogiad is still to be written; and we trust soon to see it successfully accomplished by a member of the Club.

The science of self-knowledge is one of those acquirements which the Fogie, like the rest of mankind, loudly commends, but rarely possesses or practises. A few of the tribe, from habits of philosophical analysis, are partially cognizant of their intellectual condition, and will frankly come forward and enrol themselves in the Club. A good many others, aware that they are suspected of an approach to Fogyism, will think to disarm the suspicion by a pretended show of candour in joining our ranks, hoping, no doubt, to be rejected as not yet qualified. But we must intimate to such parties that their stratagem will be unsuccessful, and that they will be written down Fogies as requested, and duly found guilty, in terms of their own confession. The greater number of Fogies, however, with that modesty which often attends merit, are wholly unconscious of their real proficiency in this great mystery, and are not likely to give us their countenance of their own accord. This consideration will lead to a peculiarity in the constitution of the Club, which is intended to embrace not only the Fogies who apply for admission, but all of any note who possess the qualification, whether they apply or not. Correspondents will be established in every considerable town, and travellers on every important circuit, who will not fail to report to us the earliest appearance of confirmed Fogyism in every district. Many, indeed, of those who, in reading this article, are chuckling at the reflection it may be supposed to throw upon their neighbours, are already down in our list. Our Society, in this way, will be composed of two compartments—a Voluntary and an Involuntary; or, if we may be allowed the expression, a Visible and an Invisible club—the one embracing avowed Fogies, who boldly claim the privileges of their order, and the other the whole body of unconscious Fogyism throughout the world. Every where it may be held certain, that to be a reputed member of the Club, on whatever footing, will be a sure passport to respect and reverence.

Persons of diffident temperaments, who are doubtful of their qualifications, or disturbed in their minds as to their intellectual state, are encouraged to submit their case to consideration, and will be enabled to meet with the chaplain of the Club, who will administer to them such ghostly counsel as circumstances may require. In no instance, it may be mentioned, will any applicant be rejected; as, in the worst event, his claims will merely be superseded till a future day.

It may be satisfactory to learn that the promoters of the Club are in treaty for purchasing the advowson of the perpetual curacy of Humdrum cum Haverill, to which the chaplain will ex officio be presented. Candidates for the appointment are invited to apply early, as the clerical portion of the Club list is rapidly filling up, and the chaplainship can only be held by a member.

It is proposed, as soon as possible, to establish in the metropolis a spacious edifice for the reception of Fogies, conducted on the principle of the British and Foreign Institute, or of such other of the clubs as may be preferred.

Hobbyhorses will be dispersed throughout the various parts of this building, suitable to the several tastes and equestrian habits of individual Fogies. Fogies in a more advanced stage of development, will find provided for them the playthings, pinafores, and other paraphernalia of their first childhood. In a special apartment, to be called the "Nursery," the cradle (or crib) of reposing age will be rocked successfully by skilful nurses or experienced Fogies, instructed on the Mainzerian system in the most soporific lullabies.

On a future occasion, a list of the Provisional Committee will be published. It may be mentioned, that the offices of Preses and Vice-Preses are not at present to be filled up, as it is expected that they will eventually be conferred on His Grace the Duke of Wellington and Christopher North, Esq., though we regret to say that our latest accounts give us no assurance that these distinguished persons are likely very soon to join us.

Further particulars may be learned by application to Messrs Grandam and Garrulous, Cripplegate, or any other sharebrokers in London or the provinces; to whom also communications (prepaid) may be sent of the names and private history of illustrious Fogies, with likenesses of their persons, or any other information calculated to promote the interests of the Club.



TRUTH AND BEAUTY.

Beauty and Truth, in Heaven's congenial clime, Inseparate seen beside the Almighty throne, Together sprung, before the birth of time, From God's own glory, while he dwelt alone;— These, when creation made its wonders known, Were sent to mortals, that their mingling powers Might lead and lure us to ethereal bowers.

But our perverse condition here below Oft sees them severed, or in conflict met: Oh, sad divorce! the well-spring of our woe, When Truth and Beauty thus their bond forget, And Heaven's high law is at defiance set! 'Tis this that Good of half its force disarms, And gives to Evil all its direst charms.

See Truth with harsh Austerity allied, Or clad in cynic garb of sordid hue: See him with Tyranny's fell tools supplied, The rack, the fagot, or the torturing screw, Or girt with Bigotry's besotted crew: What wonder, thus beheld, his looks should move Our scorn or hatred, rather than our love?

See Beauty, too, in league with Vice and Shame, And lending all her light to gild a lie; Crowning with laureate-wreaths an impious name, Or lulling us with Siren minstrelsy To false repose when peril most is nigh; Decking things vile or vain with colours rare, Till what is false and foul seems good and fair.

Hence are our hearts bewilder'd in their choice, And hence our feet from Virtue led astray: Truth calls imperious with repulsive voice To follow on a steep and rugged way; While Beauty beckons us along a gay And flowery path, that leads, with treacherous slope, To gulfs remote from happiness or hope.

Who will bring back the world's unblemish'd youth When these two wander'd ever hand in hand; When Truth was Beauty, Beauty too was Truth, So link'd together with unbroken band, That they were one; and Man, at their command, Tasted of sweets that never knew alloy, And trod the path of Duty and of Joy?

Chiefly the Poet's power may work the change: His heavenly gift, impell'd by holy zeal, O'er Truth's exhaustless stores may brightly range, And all their native loveliness reveal; Nor e'er, except where Truth has set his seal, Suffer one gleam of Beauty's grace to shine, But in resistless force their lights combine.



THE CAMPAIGN OF THE SUTLEJ.

Of the whole wonderful annals of our Indian Empire, the campaign of the Sutlej will form the most extraordinary, the most brilliant, the most complete, and yet the briefest chapter. It is an imperishable trophy, not less to the magnanimity of British policy, than to the resistlessness of British valour. The matchless gallantry, felicity, and rapidity of the military operations against a formidable foe of desperate bravery and overpowering numbers, through a tremendous struggle and terrific carnage—the blaze of four mighty and decisive victories won in six weeks—proudly seal our prowess in arms. The spotless justice of the cause; the admirable temper of its management; the almost fastidious forbearance which unsheathed the sword only under the stern compulsion of most wanton aggression; and the generous moderation which has swayed the flush of triumph—nobly attest our wisdom in government. The character of a glorious warrior may fitly express the character of a glorious war, which has been sans peur et sans reproche. To record in our pages memorable deeds which have added lustre even to the dazzling renown of Britain, would be at any time, but at present, we conceive, is peculiarly, a duty. The cordiality of the public interest in these important events dwindles and shrinks, like paper in the fire, before the intensity of that more domestic sympathy which has been every where awakened by individual calamities. The frightful cost at which we have purchased success, may be heard and seen in the wail and the gloom round a multitude of hearths. No dauntless courage was more conspicuous,—alas! no gallant life-blood was poured out more copiously,—than that of the sons of Scotland. The eternal sunshine of glory which irradiates the memory of the fallen brave, may be yet too fierce a light for the aching eye of grief to read by; but we thought that a simple consecutive recital of the recent exploits of our army in India would be unwelcome to none. Designedly we mean to write nothing more than a narrative; and, in doing so, to use, as far as it is possible, the very words of the official reports of those distinguished men, who leave us sometimes in doubt whether the pen or the sword is the more potent weapon in their hands. A few reflections and remarks will probably inweave themselves with the tissue of the story, just because such things cannot be told or heard without a quickening of the pulse, a glow upon the cheek, a beating in the heart. Otherwise we shall attempt to be "such an honest chronicler as Griffith." It is indispensable, however, not only to preface the details of the campaign with a concise description of the condition of the disordered and degraded people whom our enmity and vengeance smote so heavily; but likewise to explain, with some degree of minuteness, the views and purposes which, from first to last, influenced our Indian government in its conduct of these delicate, and ultimately momentous transactions, in order fully to appreciate the union of moderation and energy which, under the auspices of Sir Henry Hardinge as governor-general of India, and Sir Hugh Gough as commander o the army of the Sutlej, has satisfied the world that right and might were equally on the side of Britain.

Since the death, in 1839, of the famous Runjeet Singh, when the sacred waters of the Ganges received the ashes of the greatest of the Sikhs, it is impossible for language to exaggerate the anarchy, the depravity, the misery of the Punjaub. Tigers, and wolves, and apes, have been the successors of the "Old Lion." The predominant spirit of that energetic and sagacious ruler bridled the licentious turbulence which for the last seven years has rioted in the unrestrained indulgence of all abominable vices, and in the daily perpetration of the most atrocious crimes. Five Maharajahs in this brief period, "all murdered," have been sacrificed to the ambition of profligate courtiers, or the rapacity of a debauched soldiery. Kurruck Singh, the son of Runjeet Singh, and the inheritor of an overflowing treasury and a disciplined and numerous army, was an uneducated idiot, and easily induced to frown upon his father's able favourite, the Rajah Dhyan Singh, and to invest his own confidential adviser, the Sirdar Cheyk Singh, with the authority, if not the title, of his prime-minister. But the humiliated Rajah found the ready means of revenge in the family of his incapable sovereign. The Prince Noo Nehal Singh lent a willing ear to the tempting suggestions of a counsellor who only echoed the inordinate desires of his own ambition. At midnight, in the private apartment and at the feet of the Maharajah, the Sirdar Cheyk Singh was assassinated by his rival. The murder of the favourite was rapidly followed by the deposition of Kurruck Singh, and the elevation to the throne of the prince, his son. The court of Lahore was now convulsed by dark intrigues, and debased by brutal sensuality. The ineradicable spirit of hatred against every thing British, vented itself harmlessly in the bravadoes of the tyrant; but was more dangerously inflamed among many of the native powers of India, by the secret diffusion of a project for a general and simultaneous insurrection. A double mystery of villany saved us, probably, at that time from the shocks and horrors of war in which we have been recently involved. The deposed Kurruck Singh suddenly expired—a victim, it was whispered, to the insidious efficacy of slow and deadly poison, intermingled, as his son knew, in small quantities every day with his food. The lightning-flash of retribution descended. On the return from the funeral of Kurruck, the elephant which bore the parricidal majesty of Noo Nehal Singh pushed against the brick-work of the palace-gates, when the whole fabric fell with a crash, and so dreadfully fractured the skull of the Maharajah that he never spoke afterwards, and died in a few hours.

The power or the policy of Dhyan Singh then bestowed the perilous gift of this bloody sceptre upon Prince Shere, a reputed son of Runjeet, Singh. His legitimacy was immediately denounced, and his government opposed by the mother of his predecessor, who actively assumed, and for three or four months conducted, the regency of the state. The capricious attachment of the army, however, to the cause of Shere Singh turned the current of fortune; and the Queen-Mother might seem to have laid aside the incumbrance of her royal apparel, to be more easily strangled by her own slave girls. The accession of Shere Singh opened the floodgates of irretrievable disorder; for the troops, to whom he owed his success, and on whose venal steadiness the stability of his sway depended, conscious from their position, that, however insolently exorbitant in their demands, they were able to throw the weight of their swords into the scale, clamoured for an increase of their pay, and the dismissal of all the officers who were obnoxious to them. The refusal of their imperious request had a result we are fortunately not obliged to depict; nor, without a shudder, can we barely allude to it. The ruffian and remorseless violence of lawless banditti occupied and ravaged the city and the plain. The story of their plunder of Lahore is rendered hideous by every outrage that humanity can suffer, and by a promiscuous carnage, for which the ferocity of unreasoning animals might pant, but which the untiring fury of the wildest of brutes, the human savage, alone could protract beyond satiety. The finger of their murderous rage pointed to every assailable European officer, of whom some were assassinated, some very narrowly escaped. Months rolled on under the terrible dominion of these uncontrollable miscreants, while the length and the breadth of the land were scourged by their cruelty, polluted by their lust, and desolated by their rapine. The pestilence was partially arrested by a glut of gold. A treasure of many lacs of rupees being intercepted on its way to Lahore, enriched and mollified its captors. But at last, gorged with slaughter, and surfeited with excess, they modified their claims within limits to which the government intimated its willingness to accede. The incurable evil was consummated. Henceforward the army has been its own master, and the master of the government and the country. A transitory mirage of internal tranquillity and subordination refreshed the Punjaub; the fiery elements of discord and ruin smouldered unextinguishably behind it, awaiting the necessity or the opportunity of a fresh eruption. The volcano was not permitted to slumber. Shere Singh, liberated from the imminent oppression of the soldiery, plunged headlong into a slough of detestable debauchery. But in our annals his memory must survive,

"Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes."

Influenced by what good genius, or by what prescient timidity, it may be difficult to discover, he was true to the British interest, and remained obstinately deaf to the seductive animosity of the Sikh council, which was prone to take advantage of the disasters in Caubul, and to attack the avenging army of Sir George Pollock in its passage to Peshawer. Loyalty to England was little less than an act of treason to the Sikh chieftains and the Sikh soldiery, which, added to the Maharajah's total neglect of public business, accelerated a fatal conspiracy by his brother-in-law Ajeet Singh, and Dhyan Singh, "the close contriver of all harms." Shere Singh, being invited to inspect his brother-in-law's cavalry at a short distance from Lahore, was there shot by Ajeet. The assassin, riding quietly back to the city, met on the way the carriage of Dhyan Singh, dismounted, and, seating himself beside his accomplice in guilt, stabbed him to the heart. Now came confusion worse confounded. The nobles were divided; while the troops, as their inclinations or their hopes of pillage prompted them, flocked to the conflicting standards. Ajeet, after murdering the whole of the late Maharajah's family, including an infant one day old, fortified himself in the citadel of Lahore, from which he was dislodged to be immediately beheaded by Heera Singh, the son of the Rajah Dhyan Singh.