Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

[ocr errors]

"Why here's my paper, sure enough,' said Mr. Thomas Jenkins. "Yes sir, I am the editor of this journal; but, sir, upon my soul-why, you use language în reference to it, I confess - I" Look here," said 1, dragging Mr. Jenkins by his collar to a position where the article which I have taken the trouble to copy above, stared him full in the face; "look here, sir, at its licentiousness. Did you write that article, sir? answer me that.' "What! that article? Let's see;' and he hummed over the conspicuous words" base assassin - alligator steam-boat-goes the whole hog-chas tisement - vile tool-cowardly falsehoods-ah! yes, I remember-ha, ha, ha! What! that's the way the wind blows, is it? Yes, sir, I certainly did write that; but, sir, I hope you don't remember these trifles! We, editors you know, are privileged to a little freedom of speech; hut, bless my soul, sir, I meant no harm. Why there is not a single human being, I do assure you, sir," laying his hand on his heart, "whom I respect more sincerely than I do you. I always respected you, ast every man must who knows you, butthis paragraph was written in a hasty moment. Perhaps I was a little warm ; but, that's the way we, editors, do these things; they give spirit to the paper. People always understand them; they mean nothing; but, if you were offended, 1 beg your pardon, and assure you it was unintentional " Although I did not admire Mr. Jenkins's style of giving spirit to his paper, I could not proceed after such an humble apology, and so we parted. From Dreams and Reveries of a Quiet Man.

feeling of humanity, that the earth"
groans under him as he walks." Now
Mr. Thomas Jenkins may be a very de-
cent name, but I never heard of it be-
fore. I was naturally very indignant,
and inwardly vowed that if I should
ever meet with the gentleman, I would
give him some slight testimonial of my
regard. One afternoon, I was waited
on by a little, diminutive dandy, with
a rattan and whiskers. He was pale
and consumptive-looking, and had that
kind of cough which reminds a man of
a quiet corner in a country church
yard, and makes him inclined to mora
lise. Yet a long collar protruding over
his chin, and the air of studied grace
with which he rapped his slender in-
struments of perambulation with his
rattan, taught the observer that while
the precarious personage before him
did remain on earth, it was his wish to
appear to every possible advantage.
66 Pray, sir," said he, taking off his hat,
and looking very amiable and interest
ing, "have I the honour of addressing
the editor of the -?" I am the editor,"
said I." I am very happy to know you,
sir," he said. "This is my first visit
to your city, and my friends have been
so kind as to furnish me with letters to
many of your citizens. Do me the fa-
vour to peruse this." He handed me a
letter, tapped his boots with his rattan,
yawned, and cast his eyes about, with
the air of a self-satisfied fop, while I
read the following:- Dear sir,-This
will make you acquaint with my excel-
lent, friend, Mr. Thomas Jenkins, edi-
tor of the, of this place. He is a gentle
man of education; and, I should esteem.
myself greatly obliged by any attentions
you may have it in your power to ren-
der him during his stay in your city.
Yours truly, P. B.' Why, you im-
pudent scoundrel," said I, as soon as my
surprise suffered me to speak, "how
dare you, sir, to presume to trust your
body within reach of one whom you
have so deeply insulted and aggrieved?"
I laid my hand on his collar, and paus-
ed at the expression of utter astonish-
ment which appeared in his face, as he
replied, Insulted! aggrieved! who?
I? My dear sir, I beg your pardon.
Some mistake, I presume. You have
mistaken the person; my name, as you
will perceive by the letter which you
hold in your hand - my name, sir, is
Jenkins-Mr. Jenkins-Mr. Thomas
Jenkins." I took down a file of his
paper. "Are you, sir," I asked, "the
editor of this infamous, coarse, brutal,
disgraceful, and licentious journal?

66

THE ANGRY CHILD.*

LITTLE Harriet M→ was between four and five years old; she was in many respects a very good little girl. She was obedient, very affectionate to her friends, and very obliging and kind; but she had a very violent temper. When any thing teazed or provoked her, she would get into a perfect transport of fury, and tear and strike whatever was in her way. One day her mamma was passing the nursery door, she heard a great noise within, and her little Harriet's voice speaking in a tone that made her sure she was bad; so she opened the door, and there she saw Harriet, with her little face swelled and distorted with rage, her curly hair all

*The above is from The Infant Aanual as extracted by the Literary Gazette.

torn into disorder, while with feet and hands she was kicking and striking with all her force at one of the servants and crying out, "I don't love you, Mary, I don't love you; I hate you." She stopped when she saw her mamma. What is the meaning of all this?" said Mrs M. to the servant. It is just this, ma'am," said the servant, "that Miss Harriet kept throwing water about the room, out of her little new jug; when I forbade her, she threw the water that was in the jug in my face, and when I attempted to take hold of her to carry her to you, as you desired, when she did wrong, she flew at me, and struck me, as you have seen.' Mrs. M. looked very grave, and lifting the sobbing Harriet in her arms, car ried her into her own room. She sat down with her on her lap, and remain ed quite silent till the angry sobs had almost ceased. She then placed her on her knees, and in a very solemn voice told her to repeat after her the following words: "Oh, my Heavenly Father, look down in mercy, with pardoning mercy, on my poor little silly wicked heart, at this moment throbbing with such dreadfully bad feelings as only the spirit of all evil could put into it: oh, my heavenly Father, drive away this bad spirit, help me with thy good spirit, and pardon me the evil I have done this day, for Christ Jesus' sake. Amen." Harriet trembled exceedingly; but she repeated the words after her mother, and, as she did so, in her heart she wished that God might hear them. Her mamma again placed her on her lap, and asked if her rage was away. Harriet answered in a soft voice, "Not quite, mamma; but its better." "Very well," said her mother, "until it is quite away, I shall tell you a story that I was told when I was young, and I hope it will make as deep an impression on your mind, my poor child, as it did on mine, and tend as effectually to make you try yourself to check your bad and furious temper." "Lord and Lady were very great and rich people. They had only one child, and it was a daughter. They were very, very fond of this child, and she was in truth a very fine little creature, very lively, and merry and affectionate, and exceedingly beautiful; but like you, Harriet, she had a bad, bad temper; like you, she got into transports of rage, when any thing vexed her, and, like you, would turn at, or strike whoever provoked her ; like you,' after every fit of rage she was grieved and ashamed of herself, and resolved

X

[ocr errors]

never to be so bad again; but the next temptation all that was forgotten, and she was as angry as ever. When she was just your age, her mamma had a little son-a sweet, sweet little tender baby. Here papa and mamma were glad, glad and little Eveline would have been glad too; but the servants very foolishly and wickedly teased and irritated her by telling her that papa and mamma would not care for her now, all their love and pleasure would be this little brother, and they never would mind her. Poor Eveline burst into a passion of tears, and cried bitterly. "You are a wicked woman to say so; mainma will always love me, I know she will, and I'll go this very moment and ask her, I will; and she darted out of the nursery, and flew to her mamma's room, the servant in the nursery calling after her, "Come, come, miss, you needn't go to your mamma's room; she won't see you now." Eveline burst open the door of her mamma's room, but was instantly caught hold of by a stranger woman she had never seen before. "My dear," said this person, 66 you cannot be allowed to see your mamma just now ;" she would have said more; she would have told Eveline that the reason she could not see her mamma then, was because she was sick, and must not be disturbed. But Eveline was too angry to listen; she screamed and kicked at the woman, who, finding her so unreasonable, lifted her by force out of the room, and carrying her into the nursery, put her down, and said to the servant there, as she was going away, "that she must prevent miss coming to her mamma's room. Eveline heard this, and it added to her rage; and then this wicked servant burst out a laughing, and said, "I told you that, miss; you see mamma dosan't love you now!" The poor child became mad with fury; she darted at the cradle where lay the poor little innocent new-born baby. The maid, whose duty it was to watch over it, was lying asleep upon her chair; and oh. Harriet, Harriet! like as you did to Mary just now, she struck it with all her forcestruck it on the little tender head-it gave one feeble struggling cry, and breathed no more." "Why, mamma, mamma," cried Harriet, bursting into tears, "why did it breathe no more?" "It was dead-killed by its own sister." "Oh, mamma, mamma! what a dreadful, what a wicked little giri! Oh mamma! I am not so wicked as her; 1 never killed a little baby," sobbed Har

[ocr errors]

riet, as she hid her face in her mother's bosom, and clung to her neck. "My dear child," said Mrs. M. solemnly, "how dare you say you are not so wicked as Eveline? You are more wicked; and, but for the goodness of God to you, might have been at this moment as miserable. Were you not in as great a rage when I came to the nursery as she was? Were you not striking Mary with all your force, not one blow, but repeated blows and had Mary been like the object of Eveline's rage, a little baby, you would have killed her. It was only because she was bigger and stronger than yourself, that you did not actually do so; and only think for a moment on the difference between the provocation poor Eveline received, and that which you supposed Mary gave you. Indeed, Mary gave you noneyou were wrong, and she was right; whereas, no one can wonder Eveline was made angry by her wicked maid. Yet you may observe, that had she not got into such ungovernable rage as not to listen when she was spoken to by the person she saw in her mamma's room, she would then have heard, that it was from no change in her mamma's love that she had not seen her for several days, but because she was confined to bed," And, mamma, what did Eveline's poor mamma say to her for killing the baby?" "Eveline never again saw her dear and beautiful young mamma; she died that night of grief and horror on hearing that her sweet and lovely infant was murdered-and by whom." Oh, dear, oh dear mamma-was Eveline sorry?" My love, how can you ask such a question?" "But, mamma, how sorry was she? what way was she sorry enough ?" "Indeed, Harriet, it is not easy to know or to tell how she could be sorry enough. All I know is, that she lived to be a big lady she lived to be herself a mother-and in her whole life no one ever saw her smile." "And, mamma, was it a quite true story? it is so dreadful, mamma. Yes, my child, it is a quite true story that unfortunate child was the great-grandmother of the present Earl of E-1." "My dearest mamma," said Harriet, once more bursting into tears, let me go upon my knees again and pray to God to take away my bad temper, lest I too become so miserable." "Yes, my love, pray to him for that, and he will hear you and bless you; but also thank him for preserving you hitherto from the endless and incalcul able wretchedness so often produced by one fit of sinful rage."

[ocr errors]

re

66

[ocr errors]

This, we believe, is perfectly true. The unfortunate angry child was Anna, Countess of Livingston. She was also Countess of Crawford; and, in her right, her son succeeded to the Earldom of Errol. It was a smoothing-iron which, in her paroxysin of rage and terror, she snatched up and flung into the infant's cradle. A sad chance directed the blow, and the baby was murdered. No other child was ever born to the family; and the poor girl grew up, fully informed of the fatal deed by which she had attained so many deplorable honours. She was most amiable, and highly esteemed; but in all her life was never known to smile. When very young, she was married to the unfortunate William, Earl of Kilmarnock-beheaded in 1746--who, whatever might be the motives of his loyalty to his king, was most disloyal to his wife, being as bad a husband as it is possible to conceive. Notwithstanding this, his excellent, unhappy lady hurried to London, and made every possible effort to obtain his pardon. Her want of success is known.

[ocr errors]

DESCRIPTION OF A SPANISH INN.

WE are indebted for the following to the Memoires of Madame la Duchesse. d'Abrantes, as translated by the Athe

næum :

Let the reader imagine a hut of caly, divided into two or three holes, scarcely more than five feet high, which were termed rooms. And from each hole exhaled a dreadful stench. what

"Ah!" cried I, drawing back, a hovel! I can never sleep here! What a horrible house!"

"And yet I built it myself,' exclaimed a deep, sepulchral voice. It proceeded from a man near me, who held a lamp in his hand.'

This man spoke French. I looked at him, and beheld a dreadful countenance. I was at first horror-struck, but I took courage and addressed him :

[ocr errors]

"Good God! how came you to leave your country to inhabit this savage desert ?" And I added, internally, This man must be an infamous villain, who has fed from the gallies-perhaps from the guillotine.'

And, in truth, all this was expressed in the dark, sinister, and murderous countenance of the host.

I determined not to sleep in the house myself, but, fearful that the confined air of a carriage might be prejudicial to my child, 1 selected the best room, had the window opened, juniper-berries

burned, and a brasero put into it, with the charcoal extinguished. Then leaving the child there with her nurse, I went with Junot back to the carriage, in which we passed the night.

I had then with me an Italian woman, the wife of my husband's first valet-dechambre, and who acted as my housekeeper. She was extremely pretty, very much attached to me, and I was very partial to her. She belonged to that race of good servants, now extinct. She would not remain in my daughter's carriage, in which she travelled, but preferred sleeping in one of the rooms of this horrible casa. Leaving, therefore, her husband to watch over the luggage, and keep the escort in order, she took up her quarters in the apartment next to my daughter's.

The latter had been asleep some time, when Madame Heldt entered the room, and appeared before Fanchette (the nurse) with a pale and horror-struck countenance. Fanchette, who was naturally no Bayard, trembled dreadfully on seeing the fright of her companion. My own maid had preferred sleeping in the carriage, therefore these two were alone.

"Madame Bergeret," said the housekeeper to Fanchette," there is a man under my bed who has been murdered."

Fanchette uttered a piercing cry. "Peace? for God's sake, hold your tongue! we shall share the same fate else. There is also a huge instrument of torture in the room."

Fanchette easily believed all this, and her faith would even have gone much further. She, however, determined to verify the fact, and, taking the lamp with a trembling hand, carried it into Madame Heldt's room, the latter having, in her terror, upset her own and extinguished it. Fanchette then looked under the houskeeper's bed. At first she saw only fresh straw chopped, such as is used in Spain. But on bringing the lamp down, she perceived the two naked feet of a man, and above them two legs which seemed to belong to a body.

The two women, dreadfully agitated, were very near falling by the side of the corpse. Fanchette, braver than her companion, perhaps because she had a greater responsibility, stated that they must leave the room and call for assistance. Madame Heldt then made her observe the instrument of torture, which was discovered next day to be a flail for thrashing corn. But Fanchette and the housekeeper only saw what their fears made them imagine, and that was of the most horrible kind.

how

"My God!" said Fanchette, shall we get out from this place! My lady was right. This man is a murderer."

"A murderer! He is rather the executioner of the village. Look here!" And Madame Heldt again pointed to the fatal instrument.

At length steps were heard under the window. It was Colonel Laborde, who was going his rounds. The night was fine, and in his uneasiness-for everybody was uneasy in this dreary placehe had preferred not to go to bed; but had taken up his bivouac upon two bundles of fresh straw which he quitted every now and then to see if all was safe. On hearing the noise of his cavalry boots upon the little stones with which the court was paved, Fanchette called to him. In an instant the brave and excellent young man was in Madame Heldt's room, when the first words he heard were corpse and murder. On perceiving the naked feet under the bed, and not having the same fear of a dead man as the women had, he pulled at the feet and dragged from the straw in which it was enveloped, the naked body of a man, who seemed to have died recently, but whose corpse exhibited no marks of violence. out however giving himself time to examine the state of the body, he told one of the women to call the master of the house. But the moment he had seized the dead man by the heels, both had run into the other room and taken their station near my my daughter's cradle, as if to ask protection from this dear child, whose beautiful head, covered with auburn tresses, rested upon one of her arms as she slept the sleep of angels. M. Laborde, unwilling to give the alarm, called one of the soldiers of the escort, then, taking the lamp he went to the kitchen where he found the host in a sound sleep upon the floor, near the remains of a fire round which the muleteers had supped.

With

"This man is not a murderer, at least, he has not been so to-night," thought M. Laborde; "but no matter, we must know what that corpse means."

He pushed the man rudely with his foot, and on his awaking, held a pistol to his head. The poor wretch thought his last hour was come, and uttered the most doleful cries.

"Peace?" said M. Laborde," or I will blow your brains out, What is it I see in one of the bed-rooms, thou atrocious murderer!"

"Good God! Sir, I am no murderer," said the man, falling on his

[merged small][ocr errors]

"M. Laborde looked sternly at him, and the poor man, though with the air and face of a determined villain, was so frightened that he could scarcely tell his story. It seems that one of his ploughboys had died that morning, and was to be buried next day. . Our arrival had caused the removal of the corpse, because the room in which it lay was one of the best in the house. If the ambassador or his lady had done me the honour to sleep in my house, said the man, I would have had the body removed in a sheet without its being perceived. But, as only one of their attendants occupied the room, I thought that the remains of poor Garcia under the bed, would not be in her way, more particularly as she appeared so much fatigued, that I thought she would not perceive the body. It seems I was mistaken. But, colonel, if I had committed a murder, 1 certainly should not have put any one to sleep in that room, until I had made every trace of it disappear.

He was right; M. Laborde inquired who would answer for his respectability; and he referred to the priest and the Sangrado of the village.

"Lock me up till the morning, Sir, if you think I have not told you the truth, and then I shall be able to prove my innocence."

No sooner said than done; and the poor man was locked in one of his own dark rooms. Two soldiers were then despatched to put the body upon the bed it had previously occupied; and M. Laborde advised the two women to carry my daughter to the carriage, as the ploughboy might have died of an infectious disease, the yellow fever being then at Cadiz. Next morning I thanked M. Laborde for this kind thought; but Junot had no intention of thanking the host, whom he swore he would send to the other world after the ploughboy. The poor wretch had hid himself, fearful of encountering the anger of the great lord as he termed

Junot.

"I am no great lord, thou villain!" said Junot; but I am a father, and a humane master. And I cannot conceive how you could have thought of making two women and a child-and my child too-sleep in a room, not only impregnated with the fetid and pestilential air

of a dangerous disease but containing also the corpse of one who had fallen ä victim to that disease!!

Junot's anger rose so high that he was about to seize the poor fellow by the throat, when the priest and the village doctor arrived. They certified that the neighbourhood of the corpse was not dangerous. The ploughboy had died of pleurisy. The priest had administered the extreme unction to him; and as for the doctor, if there were murder in the case, it concerned him more than any one else.

Table Talk.

STONE-EATER.

In 1760, was brought to Avignon, a true lithophagus, or stone-eater. He not only swallowed flints of an inch and a half long, a full inch broad, and half an inch thick ;~ but such stones as he could reduce to

powder, such as marble, pebbles, &c., he made into paste, which was to him a most agreeable and wholesome food. A recent writer says, I examined this: man, with all the attention possibly could, I found his gullet very large, his teeth exceedingly strong, his saliva very corrosive, and his stomach lower than ordinary, which imputed to the vast number of flints he had swallowed, being about five and twenty, one day with another. Upon interrogating his keeper, he told me the following particulars: "This stone-eater," says he,

[ocr errors]

He will drink

was found three years ago in a northern uninhabited island, by some of the crew of a Dutch ship. Since I have had him, I make him eat raw flesh with his stones; I could never get him to swallow bread. water, wine, and brandy; which lastliquor gives him infinite pleasure. He sleeps at least twelve hours in a day, sitting on the ground with one knee over the other, and his chin resting on his right knee. He smokes almost all the time he is not asleep, or is not eat ing. The flints he has swallowed he voids some what corroded and diminished in weight, the rest of his excrements resembles mortar.

CAPTURE OF A BRIGAND. My friend Mr. W., a merchant of Naples, was travelling with a Swiss merchant, and had nearly reached the city of Capua, which is about 14 miles from Naples, when his carriage was suddenly stopped. It was night, but a beautiful moon-the moon of Naples; which, as the witty Marchese Carracioli used to say, was worth a London sun, illuminated the scene,

« AnteriorContinua »