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"The address on the packet was in her handwriting, Mr. St. John," she whispered; "she wrote it yesterday, but a few hours before she died. She charged me to say that everything is there, except the ring, which has never been off her finger since you placed it there, and will be buried with her; and to tell you that she had been ever faithful to you; as in life, so unto death."

Mr. St. John listened, and nodded in reply, with the abstracted air of one who answers what he does not hear, touching unconsciously the breast-pocket of his coat, where lay the parcel. He then passed on, following in the wake of the crowd, who were making their way from the room and from the house.

"He is a fine young man though," exclaimed M. Durante, looking after St. John with eyes of admiration. "But he is very pale: he has scarcely recovered himself."

"To think that he should have dropped, short, at seeing a corpse, just as one might drop a stone, a fine, strong man like him!" responded a neighbouring chemist, who had stepped in to have a look at the reception. "Qu'ils sont drôles, ces Anglais, da!"






O WIND of the Mountain, Wind of the Mountain, hear!
I have a prayer to whisper in thine ear;—

Hush, pine-tree, hush! Be silent, sycamore!

Cease thy wild waving, ash-tree, old and hoar!

Flow softly, stream!-my voice is faint with fear

O Wind of the Mountain, Wind of the Mountain, hear!

In the far city, by the lowland shore,

Pale grows the cheek, so rosy-fresh of yore.

Woe for the child-the fair, blithe-hearted child

Once thy glad playmate on the breezy wild!

Hush, pine-tree, hush !-my voice is faint with fear

O Wind of the Mountain, Wind of the Mountain, hear!

Pale grows the cheek, and dim the sunny eyes,
And the voice falters, and the laughter dies.
Woe for the child! She pines, on that sad shore,
For the free hills and happy skies of yore.

Hush, river, hush!-my voice is faint with fear

O Wind of the Mountain, Wind of the Mountain, hear!

O Wind of the Mountain, thou art swift and strong-
Follow, for love's sake! though the way is long.
Follow, oh! follow, over hill and dale,

To the far city, in the lowland vale.

Hush, pine-tree, hush!—my voice is faint with fear-
O Wind of the Mountain, Wind of the Mountain, hear!

Kiss the sweet lips, and bid the laughter rise-
Flush the wan cheek, and brighten the dim eyes;
Sing songs of home, and soon, from grief and pain,
Win back thy playmate, blessed Wind, again!
Win back my darling-while away my fear-

O Wind of the Mountain, Wind of the Mountain, hear!




SIR AMORET, the Poet, sang, one day,
His lady's praise-a very earnest lay.
Sir Amoret sat beside his mistress' feet,
Singing, and when his ditty was complete
Looked for guerdon to her witching eyes,
In hope some loving look would be his prize.
But the fair Rosamond, with dainty smile,
Patted her lap-dog, Chloe, all the while,
And heedlessly, with pretty yea and nay,
Talked of the weather and the last new play.

On the morrow, poor Sir Amoret again
Sang forth his lady's praise-a fervent strain.
He wrote it down on paper smooth and neat,
And laid it lowly at the fair one's feet,
But presently returned, with eager ken,
Quite sure that he should reap his guerdon then.
Alas! there lay the page so deftly written,
Twirled in a ball t' amuse a favourite kitten!

Sir Amoret went into the deep wood's shade,
And "sang to the stillness"-and the greenwood made
Sweet answer to his harpings, tone for tone,
And sigh for sigh, and plaintive moan for moan,
Till, soothed and comforted, he tuned his strings,
And lightly laughed, and- -sang of other things.
Beware, dumb Oracles! look forth, and see
How Nature giveth guerdon, full and free,
To all her singers. Hark! the little stream
Goes chiming down the dell, and from their dream
Wakes up the grasses and long reeds, that lie,
Dew-pearled, but tremble and make swift reply.
Hark! how the South-wind murmurs through the pines
In the hot summer, when the day declines;

And how, through leaf and spray, steals answering speech,

Like the sea's surging o'er a sandy beach.

Hark! when the cloud gives forth its voice of wonder,

And rolls athwart the chasms its solemn thunder,

How echo, leaping from its torpor, fills

All the deep hollows of the eternal hills!

Quick speech, and quick reply-no scorn, no chill
Indifference, no dead slumber-manifold
The voices, but each voice, in sympathy,
Yields to its kindred voice unchecked reply.
Beware, dumb Oracles!-when silence grew
In shrines of old, the votaries became few;
And Poets weary when they make their moan
To hearts of steel and deities of stone.






WE have already hinted at the intensity of political feeling in the last century, which carried partisanship from the coffee and chocolate-house to the theatre, and even the inner recesses of the lady's chamber, and induced the zealous beauty to proclaim her principles by the position of the patches of court-plaister on her face, and by the seat which she took at the playhouse.

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In the discussion of some question of state, fathers, Brutus-like, sacrificed their children, tradesmen neglected their business, and friends fought and slew each other. But, after all, the coffee-house was the arena of political discussion. Addison mentions "the inner parlour of the Grecian,' as the resort of a knot of furious politicians, who weighed every measure brought forward in parliament, canvassed every notice in the Gazette, and doubted the efficacy of every treaty that was signed. In 1724, we find the "Cocoa Tree," or "Ozinda's," distinguished as the resort of Tory politicians, and the "Saint James's" for its Whig frequenters. Towards the latter part of the century this rage was in nowise abated, for Goldsmith, in the "Citizen of the World," writes: "An Englishman, not satisfied with finding by his own prosperity the contending powers of Europe properly balanced, desires also to know the precise value of every weight in either scale. To gratify this curiosity, a leaf of political instruction is served up every morning with tea; when our politician has feasted upon this, he repairs to a coffee-house, in order to ruminate upon what he has read, and increase his collection; from thence he proceeds to the ordinary, inquires What news?' and treasuring up every requisition there, hunts about all the evening in quest of more, and carefully adds it to all the rest. Thus, at night, he returns home, full of the important advices of the day: when, lo! waking next morning, he finds the instructions of yesterday a collection of absurdity or palpable falsehood. This one would think a mortifying repulse in the pursuit of wisdom, yet our politician, no way discouraged, hunts on, in order to collect fresh materials, and in order to be again disappointed."

In the days of Swift we may find, from the very cautious character of his correspondence, and the equivocal and often hieroglyphical language of his friends in writing to him, as well as from frequent direct allusions to the fact, that the public post was not held sacred during these times of hot partisanship, but that the correspondence of parties supposed to be at all of different views from the government was repeatedly intercepted and opened. This system appears to have prevailed alike through the successive administrations of Godolphin, Oxford, Bolingbroke, and Walpole; discreditable and repulsive to our English feelings, it was, perhaps, tolerated more easily through the very intensity of the passion for politics, which disposed both parties to recognise the rule that all schemes were justifiable which led to the desired end in this trial of strength-the impeachment of the one or the other party's minister.

We must bear in mind that, throughout the century, there was a continual supply of food for this passion to feed upon. Twelve years had but elapsed at its commencement, since a revolution, entirely altering the dynasty, and settling the constitution on a surer religious and political basis, and which affected the destiny of the country so materially that it required some time to adjust matters on the footing which was deemed to be the safest to the nation, and still longer to reconcile men's minds to the new order of things-to soften down asperities, and to obliterate prejudices; people had hardly ascertained what reforms they were to expect what liberties were to be given to them. Then the death of two successive sovereigns without issue rendered another change in the line of monarchs inevitable, and the Hanoverian succession was at length fixed upon. This caused a protracted struggle between the old Stuart party, who saw a prospect of returning to power when Anne sat on the throne without issue and left it a legacy for contention, and the partisans of the new line, which, settled by arms in 1715, was again renewed with great energy in 1745. Another fruitful source of discussion was found in the continued foreign wars, and our being almost throughout the century involved in disputes with the neighbouring courts. The violent writings of Wilkes, Junius, and Sampson Perry, helped to keep the flame alive, and the greater efforts the government made to reduce it by adopting rigorous proceedings against those writers, the fiercer it burned-the attorney-general and the judges were merely pouring water upon burning oil. The dispute with our revolted colonies in America, and their subsequent successful struggle for independence, divided the nation into two parties; and, finally, the century closed upon a state of anarchy and confusion which, breaking out with the French Revolution, had spread epidemically over almost the entire continent, leaving it doubtful where or when it would be stemmed, and leaving England engaged in a vigorous attempt to restore the distribution of power which had been so wildly upset, for the better security and peace of Europe. This was a period well adapted to draw out great statesmen from among the heterogeneous mass collected in parliament, and Bolingbroke, Harley, Walpole, North, Chatham, Pitt, Burke, Fox, and Canning, were alternately thrown up on the surface of the troubled


But, in every coffee-house, from Saint James's to the Royal Exchange, and in every tavern in the City, there were rival statesmen who were settling the gravest affairs of the nation, under the soothing or inspiring effects (as the case might require) of tea, coffee, cocoa, chocolate, punch, or purl. Particular boxes in the coffee-house were allotted to little knots of these sage politicians, or a particular room allotted to a more influential club of them. Associations for the solving of great state problems sat nightly at every tavern, and energetically protested against, or warmly supported, the measures of the government. A hatter from Cheapside would come down to his club prepared to pay off the national debt, as he paid off his own debts-on paper: a Cornhill tailor, who was ignorant of his domestic duties, would find fault with duties imposed by the government: a cutler, who was a member of some loyal volunteer corps, would be prepared to show that some besieged general was entirely ignorant of the art of fortification or a man living by his wits, and who had no principle in himself, would come and spout by the hour together in opposition to a


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government measure, but only objected to it" on principle." A draper would deliver speeches by the yard, as conjurers vomit ribbons, or mine host himself called to their councils, would, perhaps, more concisely come to the pint❞—whilst a druggist, who was looked upon as the professional member of the club, would enter into an explanation of his scruples." Some of these clubs were of importance, and created a sensation in the political world; there was the "Jacobite Club," for the restoration of the exiled Stuarts-the "London Corresponding Society, united for a Reform of Parliament"-the "Constitutional Society," advocating the cause of the revolted colonies, or "plantations," in America the "Supporters of the Bill of Rights"-the "Society of the Friends of the Liberty of the Press," of which Sheridan was a member; and a host of others, which had some pretensions to importance and respectability.

The programme of the evening's discussion was frequently advertised in the public papers, when the club was understood to be a controversial or open debating club; but one or two specimens of these announcements will suffice:

"Society for Free Debate, Queen's Arms, Newgate-street.-The questions to be argued here this evening are as follows, viz. :- Are not the Severe Laws by which the Soldiery of England are governed, dangerous to British Liberty?' and Ought Great Britain to give up the Dependency of America, or Declare War with France?' The chair will be taken at eight o'clock.”—Gazetteer of October 24, 1778.

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The subjects announced for discussion at the Capel-court Debates, held in Bartholomew-lane every Monday evening (the admission to which was sixpence), were-"1788, August 4th. Between which Characters is the Resemblance most Striking, Mr. Pitt and Sir Robert Walpole, or Mr. Fox and Oliver Cromwell?'"-and, "August 11th. 'Which is the greatest Domestic Evil, a Drunken Husband or a Scolding Wife?" Here was variety of subject!

Fielding, in his Covent Garden Journal, Nos. 8 and 9, satirises the style and composition of these clubs, and the passion of the 'prentices and clerks, of whom they often consisted, for grasping questions beyond their scope, and gives a mock journal of the "Robinhoodians," in which patten-makers, shoemakers, tailors, barbers, weavers, and a boatswain's mate, are the orators.

At some of these meetings, held in obscure garrets, some miserable conspiracy against the government was seriously projected now and then, and when, on the information of one of the members, a picket of guards or a few constables were brought to break in upon their discussion, these valorous spirits would clamber hastily out at the trap-door, and, scampering over the tiles in their anxiety to escape, literally risk their lives in the service of their country. Debating societies, vulgarly dubbed Spouting Clubs," were much affected by the 'prentices and shop-boys of London; and Mr. Dickens, in his "Barnaby Rudge," has very happily sketched one of these deliberative assemblies and some of its prominent characters, at the time of the riots of '80.


That political feeling was wrought up to an immense pitch we have said enough to indicate, but we have yet to bring forward another and more striking instance, which shows that party feeling was displayed even over the grave, and that the challenges of faction were uttered by the

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