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BY HORACE G R E E L E Y.
PRICE ONE CENT.
THE [?EF-Y0RK TR!"l'\'E
Will be publ i?hed orrry nomine. (Sundays excepted.]
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13 A R N A Ii Y_ R U O G E.
2L Xcla tlS-'oth bo ?05.
There was a brief pause in the state-room of the Maypole,
as Mr. Haredale tried ihe lock to satisfy himself thai he had
shut the door securely, and, Striding up th? dark chamber
to where the screen inclosed a little patch of light and
warmth, presented himself, abruptly and in silence, before
the smiling truest.
If the two had no treuer sympathy is their inward
thoughts than in their outward bearing and appearance, the
meeting did not seem likely to prove a very calm or pleas?
ant one. With no great disparity between thrm in point
of years, they were, in every other respect, as unlike and
far removed from each other as two men could well be.
The one was soft-*poken, delicately made, precise, and ele?
gant; the other, a burly, square-built man, negligently
dressed, rough and abrupt in manner, stern, and, in his
present mood, forbidding both in look and speech. The one
preserved a calm Mid placid smile; the other, a distrustful
frown. The new-comer; indeed, appeared bent on show?
ing by his every tone and gesture his determined opposition
and ho.-tility to the man he had come to meet. The guest
who received him, on the other hand, seemed to feel that
the contrast between them was all in his favor, and to de?
rive a quiet exultation from it which put him more at his
case than ever.
" Haredale," said this gentleman, without the least ap?
pearance of embarrassment or reserve, "1 am very glad to
"Let us dispense with compliments. They are misplaced
between us," said the olher, waving his hand, " and say
plainly what we have to say. You have asked me to
meet you. I am here. Why do we stand face to face
"Still the same frank and sturdy character, I sec !"
?'Good or bad, sir. 1 am," returned the other, leaning his
arm upon the chimney-piece, and turning a haughty look
upon the oi'cupanljof the easy chair, "the man I used to
be. I have lost mrold likings or di.-likings; my memory
has not failed me a huir's-breadth. You ask me to give you
a meeting. I say, 1 am here."
"Dur meeting, Haredale," said Mr. Chester, tapping his
snuff-box, and following with a smile the impatient gesture
he had made?perhaps unconsciously?toward his sword,
"is one of conference and peace, 1 hope 7 "
" I have come here," returned the other, "at your de?
sire, holding myself hound to meet you, when and where
you would. 1 have not come to bandy pleasant speeches,
or hollow professions. You are a smooth man of the
world, sir, and at such play have me at a disadvantage.
The very last man on this earth with whom 1 would enter
the lists to combat with gentle compliments and masked
faces is Mr. Chester, I do assure you. I am not his match
at such weapons, and have reason to believe that few men
"You do me a great deal of honor, Haredale," returned
the other, most composedly, "and I thank you. 1 will he
frank with you?"
"I beg your pardon?will be what!"
" Frank?open?perfectly candid."
" Hah ! " cried Mr. Haredale, drawing in his breath with
a sarcastic smile. " But do n't let me interrupt you."
"So resolved am I to hold this course." returned the
other, lasting his wine with great deliberation, " that 1 have
determined not to quarrel with you, and not to be betrayed
into a warm expression or a hasty word."
"There again," said Mr. Haredale, "you will have me
at a great advantage. Yonr s?df-cominand?"
" Is not to be distrusted, when it will serve my purpose,
you would say "?rejoined the other,interrupting him with
the same complacency. "Granted. I allow it. And I
have a purpose to serve now. So have you. I am sure our
object is ihe same. Let us altain it like sensible men, who
have censed to be boys some time.?Do you drink 1 "
"With my friends." returned the other.
"At least," said Mr. Chester, "you will he seated 1"
" 1 will stand," returned Mr. Haredale impatiently, "on
this dismantled, beggared hearth, nnd not pollute it, fallen as
it is, with mockeries. Go on ! "
" You are wrong, Haredale," said the other, crossing his
lees, and smilmg as he held his glass up in the bright glow
of the lire. " You are really very wrong. The world is a
lively place enough, in which we must accommodate our?
selves to circumstances,sail with the stream as glibly as we
can, be content to take froth for substance, the surface for
the depth, the counterfeit for the real coirs. I wonder no
philosopher has ever established that our glebe itself is
hollow Jt should be, if Nature is consistent in her
" I'ow think it is, perhaps !"
"I should say," h? returned, sipping his wine, " there
could be no doubt about it. Well; we, in our trifling with
this jingling toy, have had the ill luck, to jostle and fall
out. We are not what the wurld calls friends ; out we are
as good and true and loving friends for all that, as nine out
of every ten of those on whom it bestows the title. You
have a niece, and I a son?a line lad, Haredale, but fool?
ish. They fail in love with each other, and form what this
same world calls an attachment ; meaning a something
fanciful and false like all the rest, which, if it took its own
free time, would break like any other bubble. But it may
not have its own free time?will not, if they are left alone
?and the question is, shall we two, because society calls
us enemies, stand aloof, and let them rush into each other's
arms, when, by approaching each other sensibly, as we
do now, we can prevent it, and part them ! "
" 1 love my niece," said Mr. Haredale, after a short si?
lence " It may sound strangely in vour ears, but I love
" Strangely, my good fellow ! " cried Mr. Chester, lazily
filling his glass again, and pulling out his toothpick. " Not
at all. 1 like Ned, too?or, as you say, love him?that s
the word among such near relations. 1 *m verv fond of
Ned. He's an amazingly good fellow, and a handsome
fellow?foolish and weak as yet ; thai's all. But ihe thing
is, Haredale?for I 'II be very frank, as 1 told you 1 would
*: first?independently of any dislike that you and I might 1
have to being related to each other, and independently- of
the religious differences between us?and.d-n it, that's
important?I couldn't afford n match of this description.
Ned and 1 could n't do it It's impossible."
"Curb your tongue, in God's name, il this conversation
is to last," retorttd Mr. Haredale, fiercely. " I have said I
love my niece. Do you think that, loving her, 1 would have
her tling her heart away on any man who had your blood
in his veins ?"
" You see," said the other, not at all disturbed, " the ad?
vantage of being so frank and open. Jnst what I was about
to add, upon my honor ! 1 am amazingly attached to Ned?
quite doat upon him, indeed?and even if we could afford
to throw ourselves away, that very objection would be
Suite insuperable. I wish you'd take some wine."
"Mark me," said Mr. Haredale, striding to the table, and
I denirc jou to untleratnuil the true pri
UILUI.I >?^IIUMI I ? .""".MIMIIII ,11 BUg
laying his hand upon it heavily. " If any man believes?
presume.- to think?that J. in word, or deed, or in tiie wild?
est dream, ever retained remotely the idea of Emma Hare
dale's favoring the suit of one who was akin to you?in any
way?I c-are not what?he lies. He lies, arid does me
grievous wrong, in the mere thought."
"Haredale," returned tho other, rocking himself to ?.nd
fro as in assent, and nodding at the fire, "it "s extremely
manly, and really very generous in you, to meet rue in this
' unreserved and nandsome way. Upon my word, those are
exactly my sentiments, only expressed with much more force
and power than I could use?you know my sluggish nature,
and will forgive me, I am sure."
"While l would restrain her from all correspondence
with your son, and sever their intercourse here, though it
\ sho i!d cause her death," said .Mr. Haredale, who had been
' pacingto and fro. " J would do it kindly and tenderly if I can.
I haw a tru.-t to discharge which my nature is not formed
:<? understand, and, lor this reason, the bare fact of there
being any love between them comes upon me to-night, al
| most for the (ir.-t time."
"I am more delighted than I can possibly tell yon." re?
joined Mr. Chester, with the utmost blandness, " to find my
I own impress,on so confirmed. You see the advantage of
our having met. We understand each other. We quite
agree. We have a most complete 2nd thorough explana
' lion, and we know what course to take.?Why don*t you
? taste your tenant's wine ? It's really very good."
" Pray who,"' said .Mr. Haredale, " have aided Emma, or
your son 1 Who are their go-betweens, and agents?do you
"All the good people hereabouts?the neighborhood in
general, I think," returned the other, with his most affable
smile. " The messenger I sent to you to-day foremost
among them all."
"The idiot 1 Barnaby."
" You are sutprised T I am glad of that, for I was rather
so myself. Yes. I wrung that from his mother's mouth?a
very decent sort of woman?from whom, indeed, I chiefly
learnt how serious tho matter had become, and determined
to ride out here to-day, and hold a parley with you on this
I neural ground. You 're stouter than you used to be, Hare
' dale, but you look extremely well."
" Our business, 1 presume, is nearly at an end," said Mr.
Haredale, with an expression of impatience h? was at no
pains to conceal. " Trust me, Mr. Chester, my niece shall
change from this time. 1 will appeal," he added iu a lower
tone, " to her woman's heart, her dignity, her pttde, her
" I shall do the same by Ned," said Mr. Chester, restor?
ing some errant faggots to their places in the grate with the
toe of his boot. " If there is anything real in the world, it
is those amazingly tine fVelings and those natvral obliga?
tion:! which must subsist between father an4 .-on. I shall
put it to him 011 every ground sf moral and religious feel?
ing. I shall represent to him that we cannot possibly afford
it?that 1 have always looked forward to his marrying well,
for a genteel provision for myself in the autumn of life?
that there are a great many clamorous dogs to pay, whose
j claims are perfectly just and right, and whs must be paid
; out of his wife's fortune. ]n short, that the very highest
and most honorable feelings of our nature, with every con?
sideration of filial duty and affection, and all that sort of
thing, imperatively demand that he should run away with
"And break her heart as speedily as possible ?" said
Mr. Haredale, drawing on hi.s glove.
" There NVd will act exactly as he pleases," returned the
: other, sipping his wine ; '* that 's entirely his affair. I
would not for the world interfere with my son, Haredale,
beyond a cettain point. The relationship between father
and son, you know, is positively quitw a holy kind of bond.
Hon'/ you let me persuade yoa to take one glass of wine ?
Weil ! as you please, as you please," he added, helping
'? Chester." said Mr. Haredale. after ti short silence, during
, which he had eyed his smiling face from time to lime intently,
?? you have the bead and heart of an e\il spirit in all matters
I of deception."
" Your health ! " <aid th? other, with a nod. ?? But I have
" If. now.' pursued Mr. Haredale. " we should find it diffi?
cult to separate these young people, and break off their inter
; course?if. for instance, you lind it difficult, on your side, w hat
! course do you intend to take .' "
" Nothing plainer, my good fellow, nothing easier." re?
turned the other, shrugging his shoulders and stretching him
1 self more comfortably bet?re the lire. ?? 1 shall then exert
those powers on which you flatter me so highly?though,
, upon my word. I don't deserve your compliments to their
full extent?anil resort to a few little trivial subterfuges for
rousing jealousy and resentment. You see' "
?' In short, justifying the means by the end, wo are, as a
last resource for tearing them asunder, to resort to treachery
and?and lying," >-aid Mr. Haredale.
" Oh. dear. no. Fie. tie ! " returned the other, relishing a
pinch of snuff extremely. " Not lying. Only a little manage?
ment, a little diplomacy, a little?intriguing, that'- the word."
'? i wish," sai.1 Mr. Haredale. moving to and fro. and stop?
ping, and mov ing on again, like one w ho w as ill at case, ?? that
? this could have been foreseen or prevented. But as ii has
gone so far, and it is necessary for us to act, it is of no use
shrinking or regretting. Well! I shall second your en?
deavors to the utmost of my power. There is one topic in
the whole wide range of human thoughts on which, wc both
I agree. We shall act in concert, but apart. Then: will be
no need. I hope, for us to meet again."
" Are von going ? " saiil Mr. Chester, rising with a grace?
ful indolence. " Let me light you dow n the stairs."
1 " Pray keep vour seat." returned the other, drvlv : 1
knew the way." So, waving his hand slightly, and putting
on his bat as he turned upon his heel, he went clanking out
as he had come, shut the door behind him. and tramped
down the echoing stairs.
" Poll! A very coarse animal, indeed 1 " said Mr. Chester,
composing himself in the easy chair again. " A rough brute,
ijuiie a human badger!
.lohn Willet and his friends, who had been listening in- j
' tently tor the clash of-words, or tiring of pistols in the great
room, and had indeed settled the order in which ihcy should
rush in when summoned?in which procession old John had
carefully arranged that he should bring up the rear?wore
very much astonished to see Mr. Haredale come down
without a scratch, call for his horse, and ride away thought?
fully at a footpace. After some cot sideraiioa, it w as decided
that he bad left the gentleman above, for dead, and bad
adopted this stratagem to divert suspicion or pursuit.
As this conclusion involved the necessity of their g-ing up
stairs forthwith, they were about to ascend in the order they
had agreed upon, when a smart ringing at the guest's bell. |
a, if he had pulled it vigorously, overthrew all their speeu- ;
hitions. and involved them ill great uncertainty ami doubt. (
At length Mr. Willet agreed to go up stairs himself, escorted '
by Hugh and Barnaby. as the strongest and stoutest fellow - '
?ii the premises, who were to make their appearance under
pretence of clearing away the glasses.
Under this protection, the brave and bread-faced John
boldly entered the room, half a foot in advance, and received
1 an order for a boot-jack without trembling. But when it was
brought, and he leant his sturdy shoulder to the gne^t. Mr.
Willet was observed to look very hard into his boots as he
pulled them off. and. by opening his eyes much wider than
usual, to appear to express-some surprise and disappoint?
ment at not finding them full of blood. He took occasion
too, to examine the gentleman as closely as he could, expeet
i ing to discover sundry loop-holes in his person, pierced by
his advcrsaiy's sword. Finding none, however, and ob
-erv ing in course of time that his guest was as cool and
unruffled, both in his dress and his temper, as he had been
all day, old John at last heaveJ a deep sigh, and began to
: think no duel had been fought that night.
"And now, Willet," said Mr. Chester, "if the room's
well aired, I '11 try the merits of that famous bed."
"The 100m. sir," returned John, taking up a candle, ana
nudging Barnaby and Hugh to accompuny them, in case the 1
incfplc? of the C-overnuteit. I wi?h them rnrrirtl
EW-YOKK, HOXDAY. APRIL 26, 1S4
g-T.ilcnan should unexpectedly drop down taint or dead,
from some internal wound, "the room"s as warm a.- any
toa*t in a tankard. Baraaby, take you that other candle,
and go on before. Ila^h .' Follow up. sir. with the easy
In this order?and -till, in his earnest inspection, holding
hi- candle verv close to the guest: ami making him feel
extremely warm about the legs, now threatened to ?et his
wig on fire, and constantly begging hi- pardon with great
awkwardness and omhnrnia-mem?John led the party to the
bed-room, which was nearly as larce as the chamtar from
which they had come, and held., drawn out near the tiro for
warmth, a great old spectral bedstead, hunf with faded bro
cade. ami ornamented, at die top of each carved post, with a
plume of feathers that had once been white, 'out with dust
and age had now grown In ar-<-like and funeral.
?? Good night, my friends," said Mr. Chester w ith a sweet
? smile, seating himself, when he had surveyed the room from
end to ond, in the easy-chair which ids attendants wheeled
I before the tire. "Good night! Baraaby, my good fellow,
you -ay some prayers before vou go to bed, I hope ?
Btrnaby nodded. "He ha, some nonsense that he calls
bis prayers, .-ir." returned old John, officiously. " I'm afraid
there a 'nt much good in'cm."
" And Hugh f" said Mr. Chester, turning to him.
" Not I." he answered. " I know his"?pointing to Bar
naby?"they're well enough. He sing- ir. sometimes in the
straw. I listen."
?"He's quite a an,mal. sir." John whispered in hi* em
? with dignity. You '11 excuse him, I'm sure. If he has any
sou] at all. it must be such a very small one. that if don'l
signify what lie does or does n't in that way. Good night
The guest rejoined " God bless you!" w ith a fervor thai
i was quite affecting; and .lohn, beckoning his guards to g.
before. Lowed himseif out cf the room, and left his guest to hi?
res! in the Maypole's ancient bed.
iX!r The foregoing chapter concludes what is published ir
London as vol. II. of of " Master Humphrey's Clock," ;i
genera] title for such stories as Mr. Dickenschoeses to set
before the puHic in fascinating succession. The author ap?
pend, to it the follow ing Tkkface :
?? An author," -ays Fielding, in his introduction to 1 Tom
Jones.' " ought to consider himself, nor a- a gentleman whe
gives a private or eleemosynary treat, hut rather a> one who
keeps a public ordinary, at which all persons are welcome
for their money. Men who pay for what they eat. will in?
sist mi gratifying their palates, hewtrver nice and whimsical
these may prove; and if everything is not agreeable to their
ta-te. will challenge a right to Censure, to abuse, and tc
damn their dinner without control.
?? To prevent, therefore, givinc offHnce to their customer!
by any such disappointment, it hath been usual with the
honest and well-meaning host to provide a bill of fare, which
all persons may jicphc at their first entrance into the house:
anil having thence acquainted themselves with the entertain?
ment which they may expect, may either Stay and regale
themselves with what is provided for them, or may depart tc
some other ordinary better accommodated to their taste."
In the pre-ent instni. flic host or author, in opening his
new establishment, provided no bill of fare. Sensible of the
difficulties of such an undertaking in its infancy, he preferred
that it should make its own way. silently and gradually, 01
make no w ay at all. It hns made its way. and is doing ?urh
a thriving business that nothing remains for him but to add,
in the word.-of the good old civic ceremony, now that one
dish has been discussed and finished, nnd another smokes
' upon the hoard, thai he drink- to his guests in a loving cup,
anil bids them hearty welcome.
Decottshiic Tcrrarr. Lnnduti, 18-11.
BY THOMAS CARLVLB.
FROM HIS FIFTH LrCTCRE ON - Hr.R<#Ea AS! HF.RO WuRSHtr.'
It was a curious phenomenon, in the withered.unbelieving,
secondhand Eighteenth Century, that of a Hero starting up,
among the artificial pasteboard figures am! productions, in
the guise of Robert Burn-. Like a little well in the rocky
desert places,?like a sudden splendor of Heaven in the
? artificial Vauxhall! People knew not w hat to make of it.
Thev took it for a piece of the Vauxhall tire-work ; a!as. it
let itself be <i> taken, though struggling halt-blindly, as in
1 bitterness of death, against that I Perhaps no man had
such a false rccepdon from his fellow-men. Once more a
very wasteful life-drama was enacted under the sun.
The traeedy of Burn-'? life is known to all of you. Surely
we rnny say. if discrepancy between place held and place
. merited constitute perverseness of lot for u man. no lot could
? be more perverse than Burns's. Among those secondhand
' acting-figures. ?nimes for most part, of the Eighteenth Cen
t tury. once more a giant Original Man; one of those men
? who reach down to perennial Deeps, who take rank with the
Heroic among men : and he was born in a poor Ayrshire hut.
The largest soul of all the British lands came among US in
the shape of a hard-handed Scottish Peasant. His Father.
.1 poor toiling man. tried various things; did not succeed in
any; was involved in continual difficulties. The Steward.
Factor as the Scotch call him. used to send letters and
threatening*, Burns -ays, - which threw us all into tears.'
The brave, hard-toiling, hard-suffering Father, hi- brave he?
roine of a wife; and those children, of whom Hoheit was
one! In this Harth, so wide otherwise, no shelter lor them.
I The letters ' threw us all into tears;' figure it. The brave
Father, I say always:?a si/en. Hero and Poet; with/ml
? whom the son had never l?.-en a .-peaking one! Burns's
Schoolmaster cam<- afterwards to London, learnt what good
society was ; but declares that in no meeting ?>f men did he
ever enjoy better discourse than at the hearth of this peasant.
? And his poor ' seven acres of nursery-ground,' n?-r the mise?
rable patch of clay-farm, nor anything lie tried to get a
living by, would prosper with him; he had a -ore unequal
' battle ail his days. But he stood to it valiantly ; a wise,
faithful, unconquerable man:?swallowing down how many
sore sufferings daily into silence: fighting like an unseen
Hero.?nobody publishing newspaper-paragraphs about his
nobleness ; voting pieces of [date to him .' However, he was
not lost; nothing is lost. Robert is there; the outcome of
him.?and indeed of many generations of such a- him.
I This Burns appeared under every disadvantage: unir.
structcd, ptxir. bom only to hard manual toil; and writing
when it came to that, in a rustic -pecial dialect, known only
to a small province of the country he lived in. Had he
written, even what he did write, in the general language of
Kngiand. I dotibt not tie had alreadv become universally re?
cognized as being, or capable to bo, one of our greatest men.
That he should have tempted so many to penetrate through
the rough husk of that dialect of his. is proof that th.-re lay
? something far from common w ithin it. He has gained a cer?
tain recognition, and is continuing to do so over all quarters
I of our wide Saxon world; wheresoever a Sax-m dialect is
spoken, it begins to be understood, by personal inspection ol
this and the other, that one of the most considerable Saxon
men of the Eighteenth Century was an Ayr-hire Peasant
named Robert Bum-. Yes. I will say. here too was a piece
of the nghl Saxon stuff; strong as the H arc-rock, rooted in
the depths of the w orld ;?rock, yet w ith wells of living soft?
ness in it! A wild impetuous whirlwind in passion and
faculty slumbered quiet there ; such heavenly tnclvdy dwell?
ing in the heart *f it. A noble rough genuineness: homely,
rustic, honest: true simplicity of strength: with its light?
ning-tin', with its soft dewy pity :?like the old Norse Thor,
tie- Peasant-god .'
Burn?'s brother Gilbert, a man of much sense and worth,
has told me that Robert, in his young days, in spite of their
hardship, was usually the gayest of speech: a fellow of in?
finite frolic. laughter, sense, and heart: far pleasanter to
hear there, stript cutting peats in the bog. or such like, than
he ever afterwards knew him. I can well believe it. This
ba-is of mirth ('fond zaillard.' as the old Marquis Miia
beau calls it. _) a primal element of sunshine and joy-fulness,
coupled with his other deep and earnest qualities, is one of
the zno-t atiractivc characteristics of Burns. A large fund
our?I n?k noihiu;' morf."-Uitsirev,
of Hope dwells in bim: spit*- ot" Iiis tragical history, be is
; not a mourning man. Ho shakes hi* sorrows gallantly
aside; bounds forth victorious over them. It is as the Ijon
shaking ' dew-drops from his mane;? as the swift-bounding
horse, that laughs at the shaking tit" the spear. But indeed,
Hope, Mirth, of th'- sort like Burns's, are they nut the out?
come of warm generous affection,?such'tis is the beginning
of ail t" every mar:.'
You would think it strange if I cailed Burns tho must
gifted British soul we had in all that century of his : and yet
: I believe the day is coming when there will be little danger
in -ayi-ic so. His writings, all that he did under such ob
' strucnons, are only a poor fragment of him. Professor
Stewart remarked very justly, what indeed is true of all
Poets got il for much, that hi- poetry was not any particular
faculty : hut the general result of a naturally vigorous origi?
nal mind expn -sing itself in that way. Burn-"- gifts, ex?
pressed in conversation, an' the theme of ail that ever heard
him. Ail kinds of gifts : from the gracefulest utterances of
courtesy, to tho highest tire of passionate speech; loud
floods of mirth, soft wailing- of affection, laconic emphasis.
clear piercing insight : all was in him. Witty duchi.s
I celebrate him as a man whose speech - led mem off their
feet." This is beautiful: but still more beautiful that which
Mr. Lockhart has recorded, which I have more than once
alluded to. how the waiters ami ostlers at inns would got out
. ot bed, and come crowding to hear this man speak! Wai
, tors and ostlers:?they t.Hi were men. and here was a man!
1 have heard much about his speech; but one of the best
tiling- I ever heard of it was. last year, tiom a venerable
gentleman long familiar with bim, that it was a speech dis?
tinguished by always having something in it. " lb* spoke
rather little than much." this old man fob! me ; " sat rather
silent iu those early days, as in the company of persivs
above him: and always when tie did ?poak. it was to throw
new light on the matter.*' I know not why any one should
ever speak otherw ise ??But if we look at his general force
of soul, hi- healthv robustness everv way, the rugged down
rightness, penetration, generous valor and manfulness that
was in bim,?where -hall we readily find a better gifted
Among the great men of the Eightconth Century, 1 some?
times feel as if Burns might be found to resemble Mirabeau
more than any other. They differ widely in vesture; yet
look ut them intrinsically. There is the same burlv. thick
necked strength ot body as of soul;?built, in both ca-cs.
on what tili- old .Marquis calls a fond gaillarJ. By nature,
by course of breeding, indeed by nation. Mirabeau has much
mori- of bluster; a noisy, forward, unresting man. But
the characteristic of Mirabeaif too i- veracity and sense,
power of true insight, superiority of vision. The thing that
he says is worth remembering. It i- a flash of insight into
some object or othei : so do both iiic-e men speak. The
same raging pa?ions ; capable too in both of manifesting
themselves as tin- tcndcrest noble affections. Wit, wild
laughter, energy, directness, sincerity : these were in both.
The types of the two men were not dissimilar. Burns too
could have governed, ibhated in National Assemblies; po
? liticized as few could. Alas, the courage which had to
exhibit itself in capture of smuggling schooners in the Sol
way rrith ; iu keeping silence over so much, where no good
speech, but only inarticulate rage was possible: this might
? have bellowed forth L"-hers de Brcze .im! the like, and made
itself risible to nil men. in mnnagiug of kingdoms, in ruling
of gteat. erer-mcmornble epochs ! But they said to him re?
provingly, his Official Superiors said, and wrote: 'You arc
| to work, not think.' Of youi thinking faculty, the greatest
in this laud, we have no need; you are to gtlOgC boor there;
for that only are yon wanted. Very notable;?and worth
mentioning, though we know what is to be said and an?
swered J As if Thought. Power of Thinking, were not, ut
all time-, in all places and situations of the world, precisely
the tiling that teas wanted. The fatal man. is he not always
1 the unthinking man, the man who cannot think and see; hut
i only grope, and hallucinate, and Mtwsec the nature of the
tiling he work.- with? He tnis.ee- it, mistakes it, as we
, say : takes it for one thing, and it is ai.other thing.?and
leaves him standing like a Futility there .' He is the fatRj
man : unutterably fatal, put in the high places of men.?
Why complain of this ? say some. Strength is mournfully
denied its arena; that was true from of old. Doubtless; and
the worse for the arena, say I! Complaining profit, little :
stating of the truth may profit. That a Europe, with its
French Revolution just breaking out. finds no need of a
Burn- except for guaging beer,?is a thing I, for one. cannot
rejoict at !?
I Once more we have to say here thai the t hief quality of
Barns is tiie sincerity of him. So in hi- Poetry, in bis Life.
? The Song he -ings is not of" fantasticalities; it is of a thing
felt, reallv there ; the prime merit of this, as of all iu him,
: and of his Life generally, is truth. The Life <>f Burns is
what we may call a great tragic sincerity. A sort of savage
sincerity,?not cruel, far from that: but wild, wrestling na?
ked with tii'- truth of things. In that sense, there i- some
: thing of the savage in all great men.
Hero-worship,?Odin. Burn- .' Well; these Men of Let?
ter, too w..-re not without a kind of Hero-worship: but what
, a strange condition has that got into now! The waiters and
Ostlers "f Scotch inn-, [trying about the door, eager to catch
I any word that fell from Burn-, were doing unconscious reve
i rence to the Heroic. Johnson had his Boswell for worship?
er. Rousseau had worshipers enough: princes calling on
him iu his mean garret ; the great, the beautiful doing reve?
rence to the poor moon-struck man. For himself a most
portentous contradiction; the two ends'of his life not to be
brought into harmony. He sits at the tables of grandees;
and ha-s to copy music for his living. He cannot even get
? his music copied : " By dint of dining out." says he, " I run
? the risk of dying by starvation at home." For his worship
? ers too a most questionable thing! If doing Hero-worship
well or badly be the tost of vital well-being or ill-la-ing to a
generation, can we say. that these generations are very first
rate .' And vet our .heroic Men of Letters do teach, govern,
are kin<:?. priests, or what you like to call them ; intrinsi?
cally then' is no preventing it by any means whatever. The
world Aas to obey him who thinks at-.d sees in tho world.
The world can alter the manner of" that; can either have it
hie.-id continuous summer sunshine, or as unbles-ed black
thunder and tornado,?with unspeakable difference of profit
for the world! The manner of it is very alterable; the
matter and fact of it not. by any powder untb r tin- sky.
Light: or. failing that, lightning: the world can take its
choice. Not w hether we call an Odin god, prophet, priest
or what we call him: but whether we believe the word be
tells us: there it all lies If it be a true word, wo shall
have to believe it; believing it. we shall have to do it.
What name or welcome we give him or it. is a point that
concerns ourselves mainly. It, the new Truth, new- deeper
revealing of the Secret of this Universe, is verily of the na?
ture of a message from on high; and must and will have
My last remark is on that notablest pha?i? of Burns's his?
tory, his vi.it to Edinburgh. Often it seems to ?ie as if his
demeanor there were the highest proof he gave of what a
fund of worth and genuine manhood was iu him. It we
think of it. a few heavier burdens could be laid on the
strengh of a man. So sudden ; all common Lionism, which
ruins innumerable men. was as nothing to this. It is as it
Napoleon had been made a King of. not gradually, but at ;
once from the Artillery Lieutenancy in the Regiment La ,
Fere. Burns, still only in his twenty-seventh year. :- no j
longer even a ploughman ; he is flying to the West ladies to
escape disgrace and a jail. This month he is a ruined peas?
ant, his wage? seven pounds a vear, and these gene trom j
him : next month he is in the 'blaze of rank and beauty,
handing down jewelled Duchesses to dinner: tue cynosure
of all eve, ! Adversity is sometimes hart upon a man : but
for one man who can stand prosperity, th-rc are a hundred
that will stand adversitv. 1 admire much the way m which
Burn, met all this. Perhaps no man one could jsoint our.
was ever so sorely tried, and so little forgot himself. Tran?
quil unnstonished: not abashed, not inflated, neither awk?
wardness nor affectation : he feels that/ie there is the man
Robert Bums ; that the ' rank is but the guinea-stamp '?' that
the cek-brit* is but the candle-light, which will show tckal
O F F I C E N O. 3 0 A NN-S'T.
VOL. I. SO. 11.
man is, not in the least make him a better or other man!
I Ala.-, it may readily, :mir>, 1?. u.k to it. make him a tr-orse:
man : a wretched inflated windbag?inflated till ho burst
und become a dead hon; for whom, an some onje has said,
? there is no resurrection o( the body;' worse than a living
j dog! Hums i? admirable here.
Ami yet, alas, as I haw observed elsewhere, these Lions
i hunter-, wen' the ruin and tlcath of Burns, h was sliov that
? rendered it impossible for him to live! They gathered
round him in Iii? farm; hindered his industry; n.> place was
remote enough from them. He could net get his Lionista
fbrgotten, honesdy a* bo was disposed to do so. He falls
i into discontents, into miseries, faults; the world gettingeva
more desolate for him : health, character, peace of mind, all
gone;?solitary caough now. It is tragical to think of!
These men came but to sec him; it was out of no sympathy
? with him. nor no hatred to him. They came to get a little
amusement: they got their nmusement:?and the Hero's life
went for it!
Richter says, in the Island of Sumatra there is a kind o?
? Light-chafers.' l uge Fire-flies, which people stick upon
spits, ami illuminate the ways with at night. Person* of
condition can thus travel with a pleasant radiance, which
they much admire. Great honor to the Fire-flics! But?
LATER FROM EUROPE.
The srenm ship Great Western, Capt. Hosken, left Liv?
erpool on the 8th , -? and arrived here on Saturday the
-1th, thus making tile passage in 1(3 days. She made a very
stormy passage ei,countering frequent fields of ice. and in
\ some instances get tin; clear of them with no little difficulty
The greatest anxiety was felt in consequence of the non
arrival of the President. She had been out 27 days. In
| ?urnnrr which at first was readily effected at 5. could on the
7th. scarcely be obtained at 30 per cent. Thr most pro?
bable conjecture i?. that she h.is been forced to put into tho
W'esi Indie- for n fresh supply of coal as was the Liverpool
steamer in the winter of 18.1!).
Nothing of political interest has recently taken place.
In th>< House of Commons on the 6th, the case of McLko?
was brought up by Mr. Hl'mk. who gave notice that he
should move for copies of the correspondence on this sub
i ject. The following debate ensued :
Viscount Fa r.merston -aid that the next motion on the
paper was one of the Ihm. member for Kilkennoy. relating
to tho differences at present existing between this country
nnd the government of the United States, and to the arrest
oi McLeod. He put it to his honorable friend whether ai
tin- present moment he would think it necessary to bring
thi> question under the consideration of the house. For his
part be did not see the expediency of bringing forward dj
question at the present mom.'nr. (Hear.)
He trusted that there existed, on the part both of the go
eminent of the United States ami that of this country, i
anxious desire to bring this matter tu .tu amicable and sali
factory tertnination. (Hear, hear.) These matters hade
cited a strong feeling both at this side of the Atlantic at
the other, and whilst ihcse matters were the subject of com?
munication between the two government*, any thing like rt
discussion of their details could only tend to delay, perhaps
to defeat the abject, not only of Ins honorable friend, but that
of the English government and of the government of tho
United States. (Hear, hear.) He hop. d, therefore, his
lion, friend would postpone his motion. (Hear, hear.)
Mr. Hump said no person was more nnxinus to see rola
' tions of friend-hip maintained between this country and the
j United States, lie was opposed to war of any kind, but a
war with the United State- would he a most ?nnatural war.
I (Hear, hear.) After what had been stated by the noble
; lord, be bad no objection to postpone his motion.
There was a rumor at London on the 5th, received by
I way of St. Petersburg!!, of the settlement of the Chinese dif?
ficulties. It was not confirmed, however, by subsequent arri?
vals, and was'generally discredited. The overland mail was
hourly expected when the Great Western sailed.
The official account of the British revenue for the years
I and quarter- ending respectively on the 5th of April, 1841
: and loll, have been published. They exhibit, on the whole
year, a decrease of ??'l)ri,28(.i; and upon tin; quarter, ?70,
514. The principal sources of revenue which exhibit a dimi?
nution are th'- customs and the post office. The deficiency
m the c-ustouis I- ?301,043 oi: the year, and ?54,115 on the
quarter. The decrease of the post office revenue on the year
, realises the worst anticipations that had been formed re?
specting it; it .amounts to the enormous ?tu? of ?8.Tl.00O.
The deficiency on the last quarter, however, OS c.,i..*.ured
; with the corresponding quarter of last year, when the fuur
penny rate wa- in operation, is only ?37,000.
France.?The Courier Francois of the 5th says?'It
seems certain that M. Guizot has offered the mediation of
France to terminate tin? differences existing between Great
? Britain avd the United State-.' No reliable authority is
; given, however, for this statement.
The Fortifications of Paris were still progressing. The
Presse says that, independent <?f the troops of the line,
30,000 laborer- are to he employed in c arry ing on the works.
There w as talk of dissolving the Chambers.
The Chamber of Deputies has been occupied with a motion
to diminish the number of public functionaries in that body.
' The w hole number of Deputies does not much exceed -100;
j of these. 17.- are functionaries more or less dependent on the
j bounty of the crown.
[CF A late London paper says that the boy Jones, who
has been several times found in the chamber of .Queen Vie
? toria. declares that he can at any time make his way into
? th- Palace, and 'hat his only object, was curiosity. He says
that he had no felonious intention, but that some one had
told him that it he could get into the Palace and could hear
' the men and women talk, hr could write a book and make
his fortune. It was afterward discovered that the boy had
; previously visited Her Majesty's larder, as, at the time ho
' was disturbed, be was feasting himself with cold meat at
p. ? i'oes, which he had conveyed up stairs in a white, haa
Fatal A fray.?A man from the south, named Wilfaa
Emmens! *bo has been in dii? city -everal weeks, went tod
Theatre ia-t night, and after leaving that place, went to &.?
I boardin"^house of Mr. Jame- Carleton, in Richmond street,
where he was acquainted, On going into the house, being
;, .upp, ied somewhat intoxicated, he made an assault on
; Mr..Carleton's wife. One of the children ran out into the
i -treet and called for help, and a young man named Charles
Reed, in the employ of Mr. John Wright, in Ann street, as
a hack driver, came in and succeeded in getting Emmona
away from Mr*, i 'ru-leton. He then followed Reed into the
street, attacked him. and a scuttle ensued, during w hich Em
avms stubbed him with abowie knife in the ultdomen, liter?
ally cutting hin: open, so that his intestines carr.c through the
wound. Reed succeeded in reaching his boarding house,
(Mrs. Reed's, in Ann street.) which was but a few steps
di-tant. He was placed on a bed nn?r medical aid wa*
called, but no hopes are entertained of bis recovery.
Emmen? w-v- toon afterward- arrested by the watchmen,
and this morning v. as brought before the Police Court,
a here he underwent a short examination, and was then fsTly
committed for a further examination oh Wednesday next, as
it is probable that Reed will tot survive till that time, and
j in case of h:? death, Finmocs will be indicted for murder.