service. She had none left wherewith to concoct a rebuke for the Cool Captain. Considering the circumstances, Mr. Fullarton's laugh, and attempt at a jest on his own discomfiture, did him infinite credit. With the smothered expression that half escaped his lips as he fell to the rear, the chronicler has no earthly concern.

As the other two moved onwards, Royston spoke, his dark eyes glit tering scornfully

I wonder if women will ever get tired of deriding us, or we of ministering to their amusement ?

It

must have been a great satisfaction to Anne of Austria to see Richelieu dance that saraband. (But Mazarin paid her off for it. I am very glad that the Cardinal was avenged by the charlatan). Now, how could you allow the Shepherd to be so rash? Consider that he has a large and increasing family totally dependent on him for support. If I were Mrs. Fullarton, I would bring an action against you. It is a necessity that his successor should quote something; and he really did bring to my mind the description of the White Bull of Duncraggan, who started up-hill so vigorouslyBut steep and flinty was the road, And sharp the hurrying pikemen's goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row, A child might scatheless stroke his brow.' I shouldn't like to be the child, though,' he added, meditatively, with a backward glance at the object of his remarks, who indeed did present a very 'dissolving view.'

The tone and manner of his speaking showed how much, within the last few weeks, the relations of the two had altered: the scale was already wavering, and ere long might be foretold a change in the balance of power.

His beautiful companion shook her head till the soft curling plumes that nestled round her hat danced again; but the effect of the reproving gesture was quite spoilt by the laugh that followed it, suppressed though clear as a silver bell.

'I will not be made an accomplice in your irreverent comparisons; I don't admit the resemblance; if there were one, it was too bad of "the pikemen" not to be more considerate. You always try to impute

malicious motives to the most innocent. How could I guess that Mr. Fullarton would suffer so for his devotion to my interests? I will give you back your quotation in kind. See! if I were as mischievous as you insinuate

My loss may pay my folly's tax; I've broke my trusty battle-axe.' The ivory handle of her parasol (the same that had been rescued from Duchesne) chanced to be entangled in the bridle when the mule stumbled, and the jerk snapped the frail shaft in two. Keene took the fragment from her, and looked at it for an instant.

'Poor thing!' he said compassionately; so it was fated to be short-lived? It was hardly worth while saving it from the wrath of the sinner, if it was to be sacrificed so soon to the awkwardness of the saint.'

Not at all,' Cecil replied. "It was my fault, for being so heedless. But I cannot afford another

misadventure to-day. Will you take great care of me?'

Her soft caressing tones thrilled through Royston's veins till the blood mounted to his forehead; but he made no answer in words, only looking up earnestly into her face with his rare smile.

I have tried throughout to avoid inflicting on you a dialogue that does not bear in some way on the incidents of our tale; on this principle we will not record the conversation that occupied those two till they reached the crown of the pass. It was probably interesting to them, for it was long before either forgot a word that was spoken. But the imagination or the memory of the reader will doubtless fill up a better fancy-sketch than the one omitted here.

There was a general halt on the brow of the hill. Indeed the view was worth a pause. From below their feet the tract of low woodland rolled right down to the edge of the sea, like a broad tossing river, swelling into great billows of grey, or dark green, where the taller olives or fir-trees grew, and broken here and there with islets of manycoloured stone. With the rest, came up the Chaplain, who had recovered

But such is not the court before which we desire to protest against one of the greatest scandals that has ever disgraced any literature and language. Our appeal is to those who love to reflect, and are not content to repeat, and who dare to despise the noise of vulgar applause. With them, unless our optimism deceive us, the popularity of a great literary name will often breed suspicion rather than trust, and raise the presumption that the favoured one is neither prophet of wisdom nor teacher of truth. And they may, perhaps, be led to inquire whether the golden opinions so cheaply gained be other than sympathies of the baser sort, won from the weakness, ignorance, and folly of the age; whether, to the majority of minds, there be any unction so flattering as habitual staleness in thought tricked out with casual felicity of expression: whether, in short, a better appreciation of the stupid, the mediocre, and the deformed, might not help to the understanding of that law, hitherto so mysterious for us, which sends to a Course of Time more readers than to a Faery Queen, to a Proverbial Philosophy more buyers than to an In Memoriam, to a Talking Fish more visitors than to Raphael's

cartoons.

are

But here the avenues of doubt open out on every side, and there still curious questions in reserve-as, for instance, when the public pet has printed his thousands and his tens of thousands, are these wagon-loads of pabulum actually assimilated so as to come to form part and parcel of the mental tissues? or are they stored in a spare Mudie-stomach for future rumination, and even for future vomit? Also, what diagnosis of the state of public digestion is hence to be inferred? Is the general demand a natural appetite, or a diseased craving for impure food, or a fictitious hunger stimulated by well advised puffing?

Of that offensive analogue of the dirt and pebbles which the judicious hen introduces into her gizzard, therewith grinding down matters otherwise unmanageable for

*

her-of the functions and effects, we say, of puffing, there is an exhaustive analysis by Lord Macaulay in his review of the poems of Mr. Satan Montgomery. From the warnings there conveyed Sir A. Alison has not profited, since, as may be seen by whoever will consult the advertisements, he allows his nurses to swaddle him in eulogies which would be fulsome if applied to the greatest and wisest of his contemporaries. It pains us to find an author so careless of his own dignity as to consent that his works shall be served up after the manner of a quack nostrum; for though we hold Sir A. Alison's capacity and performance somewhat cheap, we certainly do rate it higher than a box of Parr's Life Pills or a bottle of Rowland's Macassar Oil.

Of such puffs characteristic specimens shall be forthcoming in the proper place; what concerns us next is suggested by a remark of a great writer: In all my poor historical investigations,' says Carlyle, it has been, and always is, one of the most primary wants to procure a bodily likeness of the personage inquired after.'*

In

obedience to this hint we have collated a Regent-street photograph of Sir A. Alison, with an engraved bust prefixed to one of the editions of his former History, and of his physical appearance we are bound to make most favourable mention. As our path must henceforth lie far enough from the flowers of compliment, we gladly indulge in this small amenity, to which, let us add, that such features, form, and presence by no means assist us to realize Sir A. Alison's favourite nightmare of the downfall of England and the degeneracy of her sons.

Extraneous sources tell us little more of this historian than of the authors of the Homeric poems or the Nibelungen Lied. He has, however, his periods of disturbance,' as when, by an inscrutable provision of the Tories, he is raised to the dignity of the Bloody Hand; or when, haud præter solitum, the inevitable appeal from

1859.]

some magisterial decision of his involves the Scottish law courts in an inextricable puzzle; or when, tempering the blow to the shorn lamb, he defends the ill-used directors of an Edinburgh and Glasgow bank, and crushes the paltry pleas of the beggarly and impatient shareholders. Fortunately for us, the present work affords intrinsic evidence on the author's relations to the men and events of his time. He has access to 'gilded saloons;' for the Earl of W- then Lord B.* has been at Possil House, the Duke of N' has given useful information, and Two ladies of high rank' have supplied an anecdote of Lamartine. In his acquaintance with literary stars, Sir A. Alison seems to have been less prosperous: it is a curious fact, vouched for by his own mouth, that his visits to or interviews with Byron, Scott, Jeffrey, Sir H. Davy, and others, were never repeated. From this a malicious reader may infer that those worthies found Sir A. Alison an awful bore, and acted accordingly: Tommy Moore, in fact, was positively rude, for he received his guest sub Jove frigido,' and rather than ask him in, spent a whole night in the Place Vendôme. Nor can we say much more for the manners of Sir E. Lytton, who has never proposed a second visit, although Sir A. Alison gives a detailed description of Knebworth, with dimensions and upholstery ad libitum. These pepakulia χελιδόνων carry one back to the time-fortunately a century distant -when, if their dedications tell the truth, books were usually published at the desire of an illustrious and right honourable friend.' Sir A. Alison however, though verdant, is not vulgar. His impertinences are, we think, unintentional, and he can speak of persons of quality in the tone of an independent gentleman.

But while Sir A. Alison's muse is neither a lickspittle nor a snob, she is a sluttish, slipshod wench, with ungartered stockings and uncombed locks, clad in tawdry patchwork and

on.

213

glittering with flashy gewgaws. A more untidy and more foolish virgin has never borrowed the crinoline of Clio. That this incorrigible dunce must needs remain an 'inheritor of unfulfilled renown,' might be guessed, à priori, from the character of some of the authorities she relies For although the skilled hand of historic alchemy may transmute base material into pure metal, it is at the price of long and weary toil with the crucible and the alembicby the exercise of an industry and an intelligence which are far enough from the laboratory of Sir A. Alison. We find, for instance, that men like Lamartine and Louis Blanc are quoted en bloc, and without suspicion or examination, as if they were the last court of appeal in matters of which it must obviously be impossible for them to speak without prejudice and passion. Then, works that never pretended to more than an interêt de circonstance, or to be anything but compilations at second or third hand, are taken as a substitute for those original authorities which it would have been far too much trouble to collect and collate; while a whole navy of canards cruise about this History in the shallows congenial to them.

We shall not preface our examination of Sir A. Alison's last and worst work by any historical or philosophical reflections of our own. We shall merely set down the results of a superficial skimming of a certain proportion of his pages. Whenever we have taken a random reading of his book we have stumbled on blunders which are, as we believe, unparalleled in modern literature. The field of these blunders extends in every possible direction, and we have attempted to classify our selection. When our readers have given us a hearing they will, we are certain, be of opinion that few persons amongst their acquaintance perpetrate, even in careless conversation, one tithe of the errors both of omission and commission which Sir A. Alison deliberately consigns to print as

the joint product of his books and brains. We regret to have to use such strong language about an author who, as we are informed, possesses many private titles to sympathy and esteem: but ours is a public duty, and we cannot effectually discharge it if we shirk the maxim of Shakspeare—

Be Kent unmannerly when Lear is mad.

We proceed at once to the consideration of two Chapters to which the author has challenged particular attention, and which he very justly calls Features.'

FRENCH.

To say that Sir A. Alison's knowledge of French is superficial, is a euphemism: his translations are so full of internal evidence on this score, that to compare them with their originals is a work of supererogation. As a sample of his treatment of words, we may take the following: La () organization de travail'; 'supplians' (second candidates,' as he says, zero, as we fear); emporte (!) comme une femme' ⚫ Cloistre de St. Meri', and 'Cloister de St. Méri', (for Cloitre). and even

Aidez toi et le ciel t'aidera.

Sir A. Alison speaks of the 'chaos of the human mind torn up from its ancient moorings,' and any one curious to realize this intellectual phase-may_read with profit the chapter on French literature from 1815 to 1852. It is impossible to dip into our author's pages without fancying oneself on the trail of some of the Earl of Malmesbury's model attachés, for the mere spelling is everywhere at fault.* It may sound incredible, but Augustin and Amedée Thierry are several timest twisted into Auguste and Amadée, while an imaginary work on the Princes of the Carlovingian Race,' is attributed to Amadéesuch being Sir A. Alison's approximation to the Recits des temps Merovingiens' of Augustin Thierry! Again, Amadée is eminently Christian in his ideas,' and has directed his powers to the illustration of the blessings which Christianity

Vol. iii. 616–618. Vol. iii. 642.

has conferred on mankind'-remarks equally applicable to the Navy List or Bell's Life, and fair samples of the temerity of an author who criticises books without previously ascertaining their names and subjects. Another devout' pair are Capefigue and Lamenais (minus an n): Capefigue, well known as the most ultra réactionnaire author of recent French literature, is stated to be tinged with ultra-liberal opinions,' and Lamenais, who refused the sacrament on his deathbed, is a 'sincere Catholic,' and has all the warmth of a true believer.'§

Victor Cousin's religious faith enjoys the peculiar property of being a reaction against the infidelity and sins of the Revolution, and at the same time a 'sort of dreamy rationalism.'

However that may be, it is notorious that this eminent man has dedicated a life to the study of morals and metaphysics, and that his various productions, tosay nothing of authors translated and edited, are no less voluminous than valuable. Ignoring the whole of these remarkable works, Sir A. Alison cites in their stead, and that incorrectly, a pièce d'occasion on a special matter, an absurdity which might, perhaps, be equalled by describing Gibbon as the author of the Antiquities of the House of Brunswick, or Rossini as the author of L'inganno felice. So with Cuvier. In vain did that great founder of the science of comparative anatomy publish his Histoire des Poissons, and even his Règne Animal, for our author's inscrutable wisdom speaks of him as 'disregarding the species of man and animals which are now to be found upon the earth.'||

But Sir A. Alison would be untrue to himself were he to catalogue the writers during and after the Restoration' without slipping in a few names belonging to another epoch. Accordingly a paragraph is given to Ginguéne, who was born in 1748 and died in 1816, and another to Delille.** who was born in 1738, and died in 1813. We are next informed that between 1815 and 1852 two poets only during § Ib. 637.

** Ib. 645.