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the general began to unwind the chain, while we chuckled with delight. No sooner was the chain unwound than the bear clasped the general's portly form in his arms. In vain he struck him on the head with his stick. All his breath was crushed out of him. We all rushed to the rescue. Every one belabored the little animal, and at last he left hold of the general, who sank panting to the ground. We could not seize the chain, and off went the bear, through the flower-beds, to the house, scattering a group of ladies who were sitting on the terrace. The bear dashed through the hall door, dragging his chain after him, down the wide gallery, and straight into a china closet, with glass doors, which stood at the end of it. Then came crash! crash!! crash!!! All the establishment rushed to the rescue, and at last the bear was secured; but not until the closet had become the scene of dire disaster. It may be supposed that after this the bears were never tied to the trees, but were kept in durance vile. This may seem a somewhat unimportant incident to record, but it was a very amusing scene. How pleasant it was after the long weary hours of the House of Commons to find ourselves in such a cheerful house, where host and hostess only cared for the happiness of their guests! I remember Mr. Disraeli always posted down from Lon

Coningsby" to Mr. Henry Hope, he mentions that it was composed amid "the glades and galleries of Deepdene," where the party of Young England were ever warmly welcomed, and never was a spot where the youthful imagination could find a more genial home. It possessed all the charm that woodland and undulating ground and abundant flowers could bestow without; and within, every grace that the most cultivated taste and refinement could lavish upon it. An Italian style of building, which, if n precisely adapted to the climate, harmonized with the landscape. Happy days were passed there by the youthful party, who added, spite of the warning of Rasselas, to their present enjoyment the fond hopes of the future. There were many visitors to Deepdene, most of whom sympathized with the ambitions and aspirations of youth. One dear kind friend arrived there, with whom a pleasant incident is associated. General Sir Willoughby Cotton had returned from an important Indian command. He was a very grand, dignified officer, warm hearted, irascible, and was ready to resent any slight absence of due consideration. So much so, that the first day after his return, when the members of the Carlton pressed round to congratulate him on his arrival, among them was Mr. Quintin Dick, who slapped the general on the back, and said, "How are you, Wil-don. He considered there was no enjoyloughby?"

The general started, stared at him, and replied, "Pretty well, Mr. Richard." "Richard! why, you have forgotten, I am Dick!"


Yes, sir; but although you are familiar enough to call me Willoughby, I am not familiar enough to call you Dick!"

Mr. Henry Hope had been presented with two little bears, which were during the day tied to separate trees by long chains. These bears were constant objects of curiosity, and it was observed that the sure sign of their being out of temper was when they licked their paws. One morning they were evidently in a very bad humor, and we were all looking at them, when the general said, "Not any of you young fellows dare to unchain one of the bears."


'Why, you are a great officer and you won't do it," was the reply.

"You mean I dare not ?" said Sir Willoughby, very indignantly.

"No!" we exclaimed.

He took a short stick out of one of our hands, and went to the bear. The little brute licked his paws more and more as

ment equal to travelling in a comfortable carriage with a pair of good posters. How much was the charm of the travel enhanced, when it was to enjoy a period of repose in a house which possessed what a poet wrote every house should possess, the three L's light, life, and love!

It was on such occasions that Mr. Disraeli would tell us the tale of his early life, which really was the life of Vivian Grey. The Quarterly Review said:

No one can forget his first impressions on reading "Vivian Grey," and it may well be understood that those who enjoyed the privilege of listening to his tale of the dawn of that ambitious, grand, and crowded life, can never forget it. Like Napoleon, he achieved eminence, not only without any extraneous aid, but in spite of every disadvantage. He again, like Napoleon, had faith in himself. It is easy to preach the doctrine of humility; but more careers are sacrificed by men underrating than overrating themselves. He possessed the admirable quality of rising after failure defeat never crushed him. Like the fabled oak, he was strengthened by every blow. It is well known that his failure on the occasion of his first speech in the House

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in no way daunted him, and yet the failure | vaded the whole place; an extensive park would have broken most men. Henry invited to long strolls with our host, from Bulwer, afterwards Lord Dalling, told me whom we learnt much of interest connected that he drove with Disraeli from Gore with the topics of the day. At Bearwood House after this disappointment, and that there is a large sheet of water, which was he was in a most dejected state. Sheil the scene of a deeply affecting incident. said it was not a break down, it was a Mr. Walter's grandson was a most gracecrash down. A very short time elapsed ful thinker and writer. He had been on a before he addressed the House again, and voyage round the world, and rejoined his sat down amid cheers from all sides. It family two days before Christmas, and he was told of him- he never told it himself lost his life in a most noble effort to save - during his boyhood that he was asked the lives of others who had fallen in, and by Lord Melbourne: Well, what do you were struggling amongst the broken ice. intend to be?" and his ready reply was, It was a noble self-sacrifice. But what "Prime minister." These parties at the was most remarkable, he had but recently Deepdene succeeded his marriage, when been translating some German poems, he returned from a long Continental tour, in which were lines of solemn beauty, during which he was received with dis- strangely prophetictinction in every court and every society. By every account, in Paris he was the observed of all, the representatives of all parties and opinions paid homage to his intellect. He was on the most friendly terms with the king, with whom he was frequently closeted. Lord Brougham, who was at Paris at the same time, found himself eclipsed, and saw Disraeli's success with ill-concealed annoyance.

When most the chill of death I dread, Chill like the sharp and bitter cold, Ere dawns in heaven the morning red. No family in the country have ever been more highly considered and more universally popular than Mr. Walter's. It was a sad blow when Mr. Walter, the friend of Young England, was unseated on petition. The committee had sat for I think five or Another country house where Young six weeks. At that time election petitions England were received with open arms were tried by committees of the House; was Mr. Walter's, at Bearwood. Mr. and so little confidence was there in the Walter possessed the majority of shares impartiality of our statesmen, that it was in the Times, and could therefore control customary to select an equal number from its politics. Most of the papers, even the each side and a chairman. It was felt opposition, were favorable to young men that, except in cases where difference of who at least possessed earnestness and opinions are quite impossible, the ultimate honorable ambition; but the Times and decision must rest with the chairman, who Morning Post took them under their spe- again rarely voted against his party; so, cial protection. The latter paper had not in general, when the chairman was known, at that date hoisted what the Times called the result of the petition was pretty cer"the red flag of the Foreign Office on the tain. Mr. Walter's case was very remarkbare poles of Protection; "it was the rec-able; for after the many weary days, no ognized organ of the upper circles of soci- evidence of bribery and corruption worth ety, and was conducted with remarkable anything in the opinion of the committee ability by Mr. Borthwick, a prominent had been brought forward, and there was member of the Young England party. a general feeling that the petition would His son, Sir Algernon Borthwick, has not only maintained the high reputation of the journal, but, under his admirable management, it is second to none in its widely extended influence and its high standard of merit. Many pleasant reunions we had in the sanctum of the Morning Post, when the questions of the day were discussed, with frequently very impracticable results. At the Times office we were given a small room, where we had all the advantage of early information and competent advisers. It was, however, at Bearwood, Mr. Walter's country seat, that we enjoyed the benefit of his sagacity and wide experiA spirit of kindness and peace per


be declared "frivolous and vexatious." It was Mr. Walter's own counsel who subsequently, from not having attended throughout the proceedings, suggested the weak points which the committee had overlooked, and which afforded a justification for half the committee to vote that the "preamble was proved," when the chairman gave the casting vote, which confirmed this view, so Mr. Walter was unseated.

Since the days of Coningsby there has not been so large a number of young men returned to Parliament as there is in the present, and in respect of age it might almost be called a Younger England.

Those members of Young England who | which we are familiar
have passed away, or the few survivors,
are many of them represented by the new
generation. These may now apply to
themselves the eloquent conclusion of

They stand on the threshold of public life. What will be their fate? Will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the great truths which they have embraced; or will their courage exhaust itself in the struggle, their generous impulses yield to the tawdry temptations of a low ambition; or will they remain brave and true, refuse to bow before shadows and worship phrases; sensible of the greatness of their position, recognize the greatness of their duties, denounce to a perplexed and disheartened world the frigid theories of a generalizing age? Will they believe in their own energies, and dare to be great?

Maga. I wish I had confidence enough to be able to say yes. But without being a laudator temporis acti, I feel more pleasure in your political recollections than a contemporary survey is calculated to afford. I hope you have still more reminiscences to relate of this period. I assure you they have excited a remarkable inter


A. When you next visit me after a month or two, I shall be glad to allow you to make some more drafts on my memory. But the clash of political warfare once more resounds, and the memories of the past must give place for a time to the actualities of the present.

From Blackwood's Magazine.

It is again our sad office to make such hasty memorial as time permits of one of the old friends and valued contributors, whose faithful support, when once enlisted in her band, has always been the pride of Maga. Lord Lamington, better remembered as Mr. Baillie Cochrane - one of the best-known figures in the brilliant and picturesque party; the chivalrous young enthusiasts who were known as "Young England" some fifty years ago-has at the close of a long and honorable career been taken away in the very act, so to speak, of making those graphic sketches of its earlier surroundings, the third of which opens this number; and it is a touching coincidence that it should appear within the very covers which enclose these our last words of recollection and farewell. Few living knew better the society-so different in many respects from that with

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with more authority of either the "dandies" or the statesmen of a time which, though still so near-scarcely as yet passed into the historic region-is so essentially changed.

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Mr. Baillie Cochrane had one of those discursive minds and independent char. acters which it is difficult to break into the steady jog-trot of party work; but he was never a man to be overlooked, and his cultured intelligence and knowledge of foreign life gave him considerable influence in the discussions affecting European evolutions, in which, frequently, he did not take the popular side. Such a man always more or less a spectator, although often a vigorous actor in public life has frequently better opportunities of seeing the game than those who are completely involved in it, and his memory was richly furnished with all the most important incidents and personages of the last half-century. It is always a drawback to such reminiscences when written, that the author is obliged perforce to leave out him. self-in this case a large and imposing figure, counting for a great deal in the ever-shifting and brilliant crowd.

Had there not been so many other scenes in which he was known and prominent, Lord Lamington's appearances in literature would no doubt have attracted greater notice. He was the author of a novel and of some essays in poetry which secured considerable attention; and we have ourselves had the advantage of a number of able historical and political sketches from his pen. Our readers will remember among these the careful study of "Elizabeth de Valois," as well as various slighter efforts. The interest and distinction of the last work from his pen -"In the Days of the Dandies". so full of intimate knowledge of men and events, and reproducing, with so much animation and power, the atmosphere and peculiarities of an epoch which is concluded, have received universal acknowledgment; no doubt gratifying to him-anonymous as they were in his last days; as well as very pleasing to ourselves, whose pages he had chosen as the medium of their publication.

Another man of note and ripe experience has thus passed away from among us, as the greater part of his generation has already passed away. The country is poorer in the cessation on earth of every such manly voice and cultivated intelligence; but the memory of her worthy sons is in itself an inheritance which can. not pass away.


From The National Review. A DIALOGUE WITH A MUMMY.*


dead. What means this precious caterwauling? Are ye puffed up because his Majesty the czar did come to look at you? and think ye that ye are no longer

Chorus of Mummies in the Laboratory to conform to nature's laws? Sure, 'twas

of Frederick Ruysch.t

O Death I alone immortal, unto whom
Every created thing must come, in thee
Our disembodied natures now repose;
Joyless, indeed, but, at the least, secure
From all the woes of life. Profoundest night
Obscures our torpid and bewildered sense;
All hope and all desire in us are dead;
But so alike is every grief and fear;
While the void æons, gliding slowly by,
Have neither tedium nor charm for us.
We once did live; but now the memory
Of life is paled within us, faint and blurred
As a child's waking image of some dream,
Or terrifying phantom of the night.
What were we- what was that unjoyful state
Which, living, we called life-ay, what?
It looms upon our apprehension now,
Like some dim problem of mysterious scope,
Even as Death unto the living looms;
And even as man's puny senses shrink
From death while yet he lives, just even so
Our disembodied spirits now recoil
From the bare thought of life's brief fevered


Joyless, indeed, but now at last assured
Joy is denied alike to quick and dead.

Ruysch (outside his laboratory, peering through the chinks of the door). Zounds! Who has taught music to these long-dead mummies, that they carol thus in the middle of the night, like so many cocks? By my faith, I am e'en in a cold sweat, and am within an ace of being more dead than they are. I little thought I had preserved them from corruption only that they might thus revive, and chill my blood. For all my vaunted philosophy, I quake from head to foot. Curse the foul fiend who ever tempted me to keep such horrors in my house! In sooth, I know not what to do. If I leave them shut up here, how know I but they may burst the door, or issue through the key-hole, and stalk to my bedside. As for calling for help for fear of dead corpses, I may not think of it. Come, let me pluck up courage, and try if I can frighten them.

(He enters the laboratory.) How now, my sons! what merry jest is this? Pray bear in mind that you are

This translation, by Major-General Maxwell, is authorized by the Società Successori le Monnier of Florence, publishers and sole proprietors of the original edition of the works of Leopardi.

t Frederick Ruysch, celebrated professor of anatomy at Amsterdam in the seventeenth century; famous, inter alia, for his collection of anatomical prepara tions, comprising certain entire cadavers, preserved on a system of his own invention and commonly called Ruysch's mummies.

but a jest. Nay, if you have really come to life again, I congratulate you from my heart; only, in that case, I must frankly tell you we must part; for though I could afford to keep you so long as you remained dead, I am not rich enough to feed you as live men; so you will have to pack. If, indeed, there be such things as vampires, and if you be of that sort, you may e'en go and suck somebody else's blood, for, sure, I am not minded to let ye suck mine; though I was willing enough to fill your veins with yonder artificial substitute you wot of. In one word, then, if ye be content to lie still and hold your peace, as heretofore, we'll still be friends, and ye shall lack for nothing reasonable in my poor house; if not, I tell you plain I'll take this door bolt, and pound you into worse than mummies.

Mummy (speaks). Be not enraged. I vow to you we are all stone dead, without your pounding us.

Ruysch. Well, then, explain this whim into song? which even now possessed ye, to break out

tolled, it marked the first of those grand Mummy. Even now, when midnight algebraic cycles whereof the ancients wrote; when, for the first time since the universe began, 'tis given to the dead to speak and not to us alone, but to all the dead-to all, wherever they may lie; in every tomb, deep in the bottom of the sea, beneath the snows of the pole, or the sands of Sahara; whether stretched beneath the open sky, or buried in the bosom of the earth-all, all the dead this midnight chanted with us the hymn you heard but


will they continue thus to sing or speak? Ruysch. Ay, truly! But, say, how long

'tis their privilege to speak for one sole Mummy. Their hymn is ended. Now quarter of a mortal hour. Then must they return to silence, till the next of these vast cycles shall return.

disturb my rest a second time; meanwhile, Ruysch. If this be so, I trow ye'll not enjoy your short-lived chat, while I stand here aside and listen to you. Fain would I hear your talk; I'll not disturb ye.

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Ruysch. I deeply grieve to hear it; for methinks it had been passing curious to hear your colloquy, an ye had license for it.

Mummy. 'Tis not permitted unto us to | tion of the faculty of sense which dulls, speak, save only in reply to queries from and lastly kills, the very power to feel a living man. The uninterrogated dead, how could this process of extinction be a when once he has sung yon hymn, is thing of pain? I say, again, when condumb. sciousness itself is lulled in dissolution, no bitterness can be. Why, look ye, even they who die of painful maladies, when death draws nigh, are seen calm and quiescent, proving that in them the vital power, vanishing at the touch of death, is no more capable of pain; thus pain and fear themselves are dead before death comes. Tell this from us to all who think to suffer in the hour of death.

Mummy. Even had it been so, 'tis little you'd have gleaned; for, know, we have nought to speak of.

Ruysch. Ay, but a thousand questions crowd upon my brain concerning mysteries which I would learn of you. The time allotted you for speech is short; come tell - tell me, in a word, what your sensation was in the dread point of death. How felt you then?


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Ruysch. Marry, now I marvel not to hear you speak or sing, if ye perceived not even when ye died

Così colui, del colpo non accorto,
Andava combattendo, ed era morto,

as the song says. And yet, methinks, as
touching this affair of death, the like of
you must know more than is known to us
who have not yet died. Come, now, be
plain; felt ye no anguish at the point of

Mummy. I tell thee once again I was not conscious of it.

Ruysch. Yet, of a truth, the bitterness of death, the anguish of its very sentiment, is held of all. Mummy. Death is no thing of sense or sentiment nay, 'tis its very opposite; where no feeling is, no bitterness can be. Ruysch. And yet all men, in every time -ay, even the Epicurean sect-have held that death, in its very essence, hath a bitter pang.

Mummy. The living think so, but they err. Ask us, and we reply: If man cannot perceive the point at which his vital force is but suspended for a time by sleep or syncope, how should he note the point at which that force is quenched forever? Nay, more; how could a sense of aught be felt at death, which is itself the extinc- |

Ruysch. Such reasonings may suit the cold materialist, but never those who hold far other doctrines of the nature of the soul, as I have ever done, and all the more shall do, now that I have heard the dead both speak and sing. For, inasmuch as death is the parting of the soul and body, we may not think that these two essences, conjoined and welded into one, can e'er be severed without some dread and unimaginable shock.

Mummy. Say, then, are body and soul linked into one by any nerve or fibrous tissue which must be snapped when the soul takes its flight; or is the soul some actual portion of the body, which then is violently rent away? See you not that the soul quits the body only because it may no longer dwell there its fleshly tenement is wrecked-and not because of any shock or violence, which tears it from its seat? Here is no violence at all. And tell me think you, that when it first finds place within the body at the time men call birth - think you the soul then feels its entrance into life; or has perception of its new attachment to the body? Think you it notes the new-formed union? Why, then, at death should it needs note the separation from its clay companion? Nay, be well assured that even as the entrance into life is gentle and unperceived, so will the parting be.

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Ruysch. Then what is death, if it contain no pain?

Mummy. 'Tis rather pleasure; know that death, like slumber, comes not in an instant, but by slow and imperceptible gradations. True, these gradations vary with the variety of the causes which occa. sion death; but when it comes, death, like its sister sleep,* brings nor pain nor pleasure; but unconsciousness alone. Before it comes, it steeps the senses in a lethargy

the sister of death. See the celebrated episode of
Respectful apologies to Homer for making sleep
Hera and Sleep, Iliad, xiv., 231, etc.
Ενθ' Ὕπνῳ ξύμβλητο, κασιγνήτῳ θανάτοιο, etc.

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