On the 9th of May 1502, Columbus again set sail from Cadiz on a fourth voyage of discovery. During this expedition, he touched at some parts of the South American continent, and also at some of the formerly discovered islands; but he failed in making any important discoveries, in consequence of the bad state of his vessels, which were old, and unfit for sailing. With a squadron reduced to a single vessel, he now returned to Spain, where he heard with regret of the death of his patron Isabella. This was a sad blow to his expectations of redress and remuneration. Ferdinand was jealous and ungrateful. He was weary of a man who had conferred so much glory on his kingdom, and unwilling to repay him with the honours and privileges his extraordinary services so richly merited. Columbus therefore sank into obscurity, and was reduced to such straitened circumstances, that, according to his own account, he had no place to repair to except an inn, and very frequently had not wherewithal to pay his reckoning. Disgusted and mortified by the base conduct of Ferdinand, exhausted with the hardships which he had suffered, and oppressed with infirmities, Columbus closed his life at Valladolid on the 20th of May 1506. He died with a composure of mind suitable to the magnanimity which distinguished his character, and with sentiments of piety becoming that supreme respect for religion which he manifested in every occurrence of his life.

Columbus experienced the fate of most great men-little esteemed during his life, but almost deified after his decease. Ferdinand, with a meanness which covers his memory with infamy, allowed this great man to pine and die, a victim of injustice and mortification; but no sooner was he dead, than he erected a splendid monument over his remains in one of the churches of Sevilla. The body of Columbus was not destined, however, to be indebted to Spain for even this posthumous honour; it was afterwards, according to the will of the deceased, transferred to St Domingo, and buried in the cathedral there; but on the cession of that island to the French in the year 1795, it was transferred to Havana, in the island of Cuba, where we hope it will rest in peace.

The discoveries of Columbus laid open a knowledge of what are now termed the West India Islands, and a small portion of the South American continent, which this great navigator, till the day of his death, believed to be a part of Asia or India. About ten years after his decease, the real character of America and its islands became known to European navigators; and by a casual circumstance, one of these adventurers, Amerigo Vespucci, a Florentine, had the honour of conferring the name America upon a division of the globe which ought, in justice, to have been called after the unfortunate COLUMBUS.

32

HE scene of our story opens in a pretty countryhouse near a village in France. The master of the mansion, the venerable M. Grandville, has called in Jacque Denoyer, his gardener, with whom he desired to have some conversation.

'Please to sit down, Jacque; take a chair,' said M. Grandville. 'I want to have a little chat with you. Sit down, I tell you.'

Jacque Denoyer seated himself near the door of the parlour where M. Grandville was breakfasting; he had a look of uneasiness, and a sudden blush gave a deeper colour to a face already embrowned by the sun.

"I am quite satisfied with you,' continued M. Grandville. 'If you go on the rest of the year as you have done this month of trial, I do not think we shall soon part with each other; as far at least as depends upon me. And now, Denoyer, are you quite satisfied here? Have you not too much to do? Can you manage both stable and garden?'

'Why not, sir?' replied Jacque Denoyer. "If I had ten times as much to do, I would not complain. Can I ever do enough for you, sir, who have saved from misery myself, my wife, and our three children?'

No. 90.

I

'One thing astonishes me, Jacque, and that is the extreme poverty in which I found you and your wife; and now that I am better acquainted with you, I am still more astonished at it. At first, I believed you to be indolent, or destitute of ability; but I find you intelligent, quick, willing, a good gardener, and an excellent groom. I have even perceived that you are not without industry; that you are ready to supply exigences which often occur in a country place. Besides, you are not a bad mechanic, and you even know how to read and write. How comes it, then, that in a country like this, where there are rich proprietors, manufactures of all kinds, marble quarries, and forges, in which any one who has hands may get employment-how comes it, then, that at your age you were destitute?"

The embarrassment of Jacque Denoyer visibly increased; he twisted and twirled his hat in his hands, without daring to raise his eyes; and it might have easily been guessed that he would have preferred being anywhere else than in M. Grandville's breakfast parlour.

'Jacque Denoyer,' said he, in a tone full of kindness, 'it is not as a master, it is as a friend I ask you these questions-it is as a man well convinced that it is never too late to endeavour at least to correct a defect or a vice which compromises both our own wellbeing and that of those who depend on us. Yes, my friend, let us have but the will, and we may at any age eradicate evil inclinations or pernicious habits. Come, speak openly. Tell me how you, who seem to be so clever a man, should be so very poor a one?"

Thus encouraged and spoken to by his master-a thing not unusual in France-Jacque commenced his story.

'I am the son of a decent, well-doing man, who followed the profession of a stone-carver in the town of Troyes. When still young, my father taught me a few things, and was quite pleased with my quickness of learning. M. Imbert, who was acquainted with my family, and who was the best architect in the town of Troyes, desired to see me on my father's report of me; and he said to him before me: "You must put this child to school; he will learn reading, writing, arithmetic, and drawing; when he is thoroughly instructed in them, I will take him to my office, and if he continues to shew talent, we will make a distinguished master-mason of him, or else an architect, as I am."

"You may suppose, sir, how delighted my father was, and my mother also. I was the only one spared to them of ten children, and they caught eagerly at the thought of making a gentleman of me, like M. Imbert.

er I had attended school for about a month, the master began ptice of me. No sooner did I wish, than I learned. But ve myself any trouble, and I did as much business in as the others did for the four hours of school. But w that I was a genius, it was then indeed I took matters

easy. Yes, sir, the master, the neighbours, the gentlemen of the town who examined me, said so to my father; and the poor dear man did not know himself for joy at having a son a genius.

'Although I did not very clearly know what a genius was, I was a good deal puffed up with the idea of being one, and on that account took things easily at school, learning only now and then when in the humour, but in the main passing ahead of my schoolfellows. At the last public examination I went through before leaving school, I distinguished myself by my answering; and the master said to me: "You will get on, however little you may work."

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'M. Imbert, who was present at the examination, took me home with him according to promise, and thus was I most advantageously placed for making my way in the world. I was at first delighted at the thought of becoming an architect, so much the more as M. Imbert was goodness itself, and took great interest in me; but at the end of a year I had got enough of it. I felt a great desire to try something else. M. Imbert began to see my indifference, or rather my unwillingness to stick steadily to his business. He remonstrated and scolded in a way far from pleasant. 'Jacque," said he, "I am afraid you will never do any good-Jack-of-all-trades and master of none." Tired of this sort of dog-life, and with a mind to be a soldier, I was more than half-pleased when I was drawn by the conscription. My parents, as you may well believe, were greatly grieved at it; but so was not I. Ah, sir, at that time the uniform was so handsome! and I, a youngster, already saw myself a captain, colonel, general, and what not beside. I seemed as if I had nothing to do but to put my foot in the stirrup. There were a great many raw recruits like myself, but then I had received a better education than most of them.'

'Well, I hope you did your duty as a soldier?' observed M. Grandville.

II.

'You shall hear,' proceeded Denoyer. 'On entering the army, I soon found that all is not gold that glitters. It is one thing to idle about the streets in a gaudy uniform, and another to endure fatigue, wounds, and starvation. The Russian campaign was destined to give me a trial of soldiering. I passed three months with the dépôt of the regiment, which was quartered in the environs of Mayence, on this side of the Rhine. I was one of five or six hundred recruits who were drilled every day, and all day long. I knew my business as well in a fortnight as the oldest veteran; and our officers took notice of me already, and predicted that I should have epaulets at the end of the campaign. As I wrote a good hand, and spelt well, my sergeant-major intrusted me with his business, which I performed whilst he was amusing himself at Baden, on the other

side of the Rhine; and that obtained me some kindnesses on his part.

'At this time my passion for books was stronger than ever. As one was never out of my hand, I passed for a very learned man, which did not at all make me a favourite with my comrades, or even with our officers; for then, sir, people did not think so much of men of education as they do now. What is more, the Emperor himself, great man as he was, did not much like his soldiers to be readers. All he wanted was, to see them do his bidding; and he was furious at the notion of any one thinking for himself. Well, the order arrived for us to repair to Hamburg, to rejoin the Maréchal Davout, Prince of Eckmühl. Then we went through Prussia and Poland, and stood fire for the first time at Mohilev. Look, sir, one who has not seen a battle, and a battle like that, where nine of our cavalry regiments were cut in pieces, can scarcely estimate the truth of the Spanish proverb, "War is the feast of death." Surely it is the feast of wolves. I felt that day my blood boiling in my veins, and yet my courage was more in exercise in subsequent battles than on that day of Mohilev. Then I was like one drunk or mad, but afterwards I knew the danger.

'I will say nothing, sir, of our horrible retreat, nor of the passage of the Beresina. It has been related by others in their books much better than I could do it. Surely the horrors of that time were sufficient to open the eyes of those who think that to turn the earth into a slaughter-house, and men into butchers of each other, is heroism! If in every war the Chinese saying comes true-I long ago met with it in a book, when I didn't believe it; now I do-"The most brilliant victory is only the light of a conflagration, which the tears of suffering humanity slakes into a smoke, the faithful emblem of its miscalled glory"-if this be true of every war, what must be said of the horrors of this disastrous epoch, in which we had to contend at once with men and the elements-earth and heaven! There are still times, sir, when I start up in my sleep, when in my dreams I am again in the midst of these terrors. No words could place before you the sufferings, physical and moral, then endured. All social ties were broken. Hunger, devouring hunger, reduced us to the brutal instinct of self-preservation; while, like savages, the strongest despoiled the weakest. They rushed round the dying, and frequently waited not for their last breath; and if some preserved enough of good in them to consult their own safety without injuring others, yet their virtue, save in some few rare instances, went no further. Leader or comrade fell by our side, and we passed by him without moving a step out of our way, for fear of prolonging our journey, or even turning our head; for our beard and our hair were stiffened by the ice, and every motion was pain. Often have I seen real tears of blood flowing from eyes inflamed by the continual sight of the snow and the smoke of the bivouacs; and then the poor