Chapter 15

“‘Lady Emily, to your chamber!’ said the Earl, with a stately air, rising; so did his daughter.

“‘My Lord!’ she exclaimed magnificently, her tall figure drawn up to its full height, and her lustrous eyes fixed unwavering upon his own. Neither spoke for a moment; and the Earl began, he knew not why, to feel great inward agitation, as he gazed at the erect figure of his silent and indignant daughter.

“‘My child!’ said he, at length, faintly, with a quivering lip; and extending his arms, he moved a step towards her; on which she sprang forward into his arms, throwing her own about his neck, and kissing his cheek passionately. His strong will for once had failed him; his full eyes overflowed, and a tear fell on his daughter’s forehead. She wept bitterly; for a while he spoke not, but gently led her to a couch, and sat down beside her.

“‘Oh, papa, papa!’ she murmured, ‘how I love you!’

“For a moment he answered not, struggling, and with partial success, to overcome the violence of his emotions. Then he spoke in a low deep tone—

“‘The voices of the dead are sounding in my ears, Emily! the tranquil dead! ’Tis said, my Emily,’ he paused for some moments, and his agitation was prodigious,—‘that stern was I to your sweet mother—’

“‘Oh, dear, dearest, best beloved by daughter, never!’ she cried vehemently, struggling to escape from his grasp, for beheld her rigidly while gazing at her with agonised eyes.

“‘And I now fearfully feel—I fear—that stern I was, as stern I have this day been to you. Forgive me, ye meek and blessed dead!‘—his quivering lips were, closed for a moment, as were his eyes. ‘Oh, Emily! she is looking at me through your eyes. Oh, how like!’he remarked, as if speaking to himself. Lady Emily covered her eyes, and buried her head in his bosom. ‘Do you, my Emily, forgive me?’

“‘Oh, papa! no, no; what have I to forgive? Every thing have I to love! my own, sweet papa! Much I fear that I may have done what a daughter ought not to have done! I have grieved and wounded a father that tenderly loved me—’

“‘Ay, my child, I do,’ he whispered tremulously, gently drawing her slender form nearer to his heart. ‘Emily,’ said he, after a while, ‘go, get me that Testament which you placed before me; oh, go, dear child!’ She still hung her head, and made no motion of going. ‘Go, get it me; bring it to me!’

“She rose without a word, and brought it to him; and while he silently read the verse to which she had directed his attention, she sat beside him, her hands clasped together, and her eyes timidly fixed on the ground.

“‘It was in love, and not presumption, my Emily, that you laid these awful words before me!’

“‘Indeed, my papa, it was,’ said she, bursting into tears.

“He appeared about to speak to her, when words evidently failed him suddenly. At length—‘And when that sweet soul’—he paused, ‘this morning whispered in my ear, did she know of this that you had done?’ Lady Emily could not speak. She bowed her head in acquiescence, and sobbed convulsively. Her father was fearfully agitated. ‘Wretch that I am!—I am not worthy of either of you!’ Lady Emily flung her arms round him fondly, and kissed him. ‘I am yielding to great weakness, my love,’ said he, after a while, with somewhat more of composure. ‘Yet, never shall I—never can I—forget this morning! I have long felt, and feared, that I was not made to be loved: I have seen it written in people’s faces. Yet can I love!’

“‘I know you can! I know you do, my own dear papa! Do you not believe that I love you? that Agnes loves you?’

“‘I do, my Emily—I do! Yet till this moment have I felt alone in life. In this vast pile, to me how gloomy and desolate! with these woods, so horrible, around me, I have been alone—utterly alone! And yet were you with me—you, my only daughter—who, I suppose, dared not tell me how much you loved me!’

“‘Oh, do not say so, papa! I knew your grief and suffering. They were too sacred to be touched—I wept for you, but in my own chamber!’

“‘You stand beside me as an angel, Emily!’ said the Earl fondly, ‘as you have ever been: yet I now feel as though my eyes had not really seen and known you!’”

The gentle Lady Emily quits her father’s room with leave to speak again of Christian mercy, but with no further gain. Still there is time to save the unoffending, and it is not lost. When every hope seemed gone, impelled by an irresistible impulse, and fortified by an unwavering conviction of the prisoner’s innocence, Mr Hylton, on the Friday evening preceding the Monday fixed for Ayliffe’s execution, as a last resource, had, relying on the king’s well-known sternly independent character, written a letter to his Majesty, under cover to a nobleman then in London attending Parliament, and with whom Mr Hylton had been acquainted at college. Mr Hylton’s letter to the King was expressed in terms of grave eloquence. It set out with calling his Majesty’s attention to the execution, six months before, of a man for a crime of which three days afterwards he was demonstrated to have been innocent. Then the letter gave a moving picture of the exemplary life and character of the prisoner, and of his father; pointed to testimonials given in his favour at the trial; and added the writer’s own, together with the most solemn and strong conviction which could be expressed in language, that whoever might have been the perpetrator of this most atrocious murder, it was not the prisoner doomed to die on Monday. It then conjured his Majesty, by every consideration which could properly have weight with a sovereign intrusted with authority by Almighty God, to govern according to justice and mercy, to give his personal attention to the case then laid before him, and act thereon according to his Majesty’s own royal and element judgment. The letter suggested by heaven, written by heaven’s minister, and read by heaven’s intrusted servant, achieved its mission. The King read, and commuted the sentence of death to that of transportation. Upon the morning fixed for the execution a reprieve arrived, almost asthe doomed man was walking from his cell to the gallows.

The convict departs; his wife follows him; his child and father remain behind. The former is cared for by the daughter of the Earl of Milverstoke, the latter has still the abiding friendship and regard of Mr Hylton. Twenty years elapse. Perpetual banishment was Adam Ayliffe’s sentence, and he is still abroad. His misshapen child has given evidence of commanding abilities, and under another name has been sent, at Mr Hylton’s instigation, to the university of Cambridge, where he is maintained still at the charges of the sweet-hearted Lady Emily. We arrive at the season when the annual contest takes place in the university for its most honourable prizes. The dignity of Senior Wrangler is contested by a young nobleman and a humpbacked youth, of whom little or nothing is known. The rivals, representing as it were the aristocracy and the democracy of the ancient seat of learning, have no unworthy envyings, one against the other; they are friends and friendly co-labourers. The battle comes, the representative of the people is victorious: Viscount Alkmond—for it is he—the son of the murdered man, is beaten by Adam Ayliffe, the offspring of the supposed murderer. The Earl of Milverstoke lives to hear the news!

He lives to hear more! A man in a distant part of the country is executed for a robbery. Before he dies he makes a confession. His name is Jonas Handle. He tells the world, for the relief of his own soul, that he, and none but he, twenty years before, did kill and murder my Lord Milverstoke’s son, for which one Ayliffe was taken and condemned to die, but afterwards was transported, and is since possibly dead. He explains minutely how he proceeded to his work; who was his accomplice. He had determined to kill one Godbolt, the head keeper, and, mistaking the young lord for his intended victim, he struck him dead with the coulter of a plough, which coulter he thrust into the hole of a hollow tree hard by. The confession reaches Mr Hylton; the coulter of the plough is sought and found: the exiled innocent is recalled—returns: this also the Earl of Milverstoke lives to hear!

He lives to hear more! Mr Hylton has not suffered twenty years to elapse without appealing to the proud and uncrucified heart of the great Earl, who seemed to have forgotten, in the midst of his transitory splendour, that the great God of heaven himself became a humble man, the eternal pattern of humilitytoman on earth. The faithful minister knocked at the soul of the arrogant and overbearing lord, until he shook its hardness, and made it meet for heaven and its blessings. When he brought tidings of the murderer’s confession, he came to one who had heard from the same lips often before happier tidings, and promises bright with celestial splendour. In former days Mr Hylton had approached the Lord of Milverstoke as a meek martyr would have dared the violence of a savage beast; now he comes with his intelligence to one rendered, at the close of his long life, docile as a lamb. He speaks, and the Earl asks tremulously, and with many sighs, whether his reverend monitor tells him of the murderer’s death in judgment or in mercy.

“‘In mercy, dear my Lord! in mercy!’ answered Mr Hylton, with a brightening countenance and a cheerful voice: ‘in you, spared to advanced age, I see before me only a monument of mercy and goodness! Had you continued till now, deaf to the teaching of His Holy Spirit—dead to His gracious influences—hateful, relentless, and vindictive—this which has now occurred would, to my poor thinking, have appeared to speak only in judgment, uttering condemnation in your ears, and sealing your eyes in judicial blindness! But you have been enabled to hear a still small voice, whose melting accents have pierced through your deaf ear, and broken a heart once obdurate in pride and hopelessly unforgiving. Plainly I speak, dear my Lord, for my mission I feel to be now no longer one of terror, but of consolation! It is awful, but awful in mercy only, and condescension!’”

The Earl is old; but there lives another still older, who must be visited without delay. The Saxon patriarch, who, when we first saw him, a man “of simple and stern character” clung to his Bible as to the rock upon which the poor of this world, the sorely beset and the heavily tried, can alonerepose in peace, and who referred simply, believingly, and lovingly to that sacred volume, as the cup of sorrow grew fuller and fuller, until at length it overflowed and could hold no more,—this aged man, Ayliffe the grandfather, still lives and owns the cottage which he never would give up. What is the Earl of Milverstoke to do, but to ask pardon from the gray hairs of the man whom the law so much offended, and he still more, by the cruel harshness of his once impenitent spirit? See how he totters to the unpolluted gate!

“Mr Hylton was moved almost to tears at the spectacle which was before his mind’s eye, of these two old men meeting for the first, and it might be for the only, time upon earth; and his offer to accompany his Lordship at once to the cottage, the Earl eagerly accepted, and they both took their departure. As the carriage approached, the Earl showed no little agitation at the prospect of the coming interview.

“‘Yonder,’ said Mr Hylton exultingly, ‘yonder is the humble place where dwells still, and but a little longer, one whom angels there have ministered to; with whom God hath there ever communion; and it is a hallowed spot!’

“The Earl spoke not; and in a few minutes’ time he was to be seen, supported by Mr Hylton and a servant, closely approaching the cottage door, another preceding him to announce his arrival, and standing uncovered outside the door as the Earl entered it; his lordly master himself uncovering, and bowing low as he stepped within, accompanied by Mr Hylton, who led him up to old Ayliffe, saying, ‘Adam, here comes one to speak with you—my Lord Milverstoke—who saith that he hath long, in heart, done to you and yours injustice; and hath come hither to tell you so.’ The Earl trembled on Mr Hylton’s arm while he said this, and stood uncovered, gazing with an air of reverence at the old man, who, when they entered, was sitting beside the fire, leaning on his staff beside a table, on which stood his old Bible, open, with his spectacles lying upon it, as though he had just laid them there. He rose slowly as Mr Hylton finished speaking.

“‘My Lord,’ said he solemnly, and standing more erectly than he had stood for years, ‘we be now both very old men, and God hath not spared us thus long for nothing.’

“‘Ay, Adam Ayliffe, indeed it is so! Will you forgive me and take my hand?’ said the Earl faintly, advancing his right hand.

“‘Ay, my Lord—ay, in the name of God! feeling that I have had somewhat to forgive! For a father am I, and a fatherwastthou, my Lord! Here, since it hath been asked for, is my hand, that never was withheld from man that kindly asked for it; and my heart goes out to thee with it! God bless thee, my Lord, in these thine old and feeble days—old and feeble are we both,and the grasshopper is a burthen to us.’

“‘Let me sit down, my friend,’ said the Earl gently. ‘I am feebler than thou; and be thou seated also!’ They both sat down opposite to each other, Mr Hylton looking on in silence. ‘God may forgive me (andmayHe, of His infinite mercy!)—thou, my fellow-creature, may’st forgive me; but I cannot forgive myself, when I am here looking at thee. Good Adam! what hast thou not gone through these twenty years!’ faltered the Earl.

“‘Ay, twenty years it is!’ echoed Ayliffe solemnly, sighing deeply, and looking with sorrowful dignity at the Earl. ‘Life hath, during these twenty years, been a long journey, through a country dark and lonesome; but yet, here is the lamp that hath shone ever blessedly beside me, or I must have stumbled, and missed my way for ever, and perished in the valley of the shadow of death!’ As he spoke, his eyes were fixed steadfastly on the Earl, and he placed his hand reverently upon the sacred volume beside him.

“‘Adam, God hath greatly humbled me, and mightily afflicted me!’ said the Earl; ‘I am not what I was!’

“‘The scourge thou doubtless didst need, my Lord, and it hath been heavily laid upon thee; yet it is in mercy to thee that thou art here, my good Lord!’ said Ayliffe, with an eye and in a tone of voice belonging only to one who spoke with authority. ‘It is in mercy, too,’ he continued, ‘to me, that I am here to receive and listen to thee! I, too, have been perverse and rebellious, yet have I been spared!—And art thou then, my Lord, in thy heart satisfied that my poor son hath indeed suffered wrongfully?’

“‘Good Adam,’ said the Earl sorrowfully, and yet with dignity, ‘I believenowthat thy son is innocent, and ought not to have suffered; yet God hath chosen that we should not see all things as He seeth them, Adam. The law, with which I had nought to do, went right as the law of men goeth; but, alas! as for me, what a spirit hath been shown by me towards thee and thine! Forgive me, Adam! There is one here that knowethmore against me’—the Earl turned towards Mr Hylton with a look of gloomy significance—‘than I dare tell thee, of mine own awful guiltiness before God.’

“‘He is merciful! he is merciful!’ said Ayliffe.

“‘Wilt thou give me a token of thy forgiveness of a spirit most bitter and inhuman?’ said the Earl presently. ‘If thy poor son Adam cometh home while I live, wilt thou speak with him that he forgive me my cruel heart towards him?—that he accept amends at my hands?’

“‘For amends, my Lord,’ said Ayliffe, ‘doubtless he will have none but those which God may provide for him; and my son hath no claim upon thee for human amends. His forgiveness I know that thou wilt have, for aught in which, my Lord, thou may’st have wronged him by uncharitableness; or he is not son of mine, and God hath afflicted him in vain.’

“Here Mr Hylton interposed, observing the Earl grow very faint, and rose to assist him to the door.

“‘Good day, friend Adam, good day,’ said Lord Milverstoke feebly, but cordially grasping the hand which Ayliffe tendered to him. ‘I will come hither again to see thee; but if I may not, wilt thou come yonder to me? Say yes, good Adam! for my days are fewer, I feel, than thine!’

“‘When thou canst not come to me, my good Lord, I will come to thee!’ said Ayliffe, sadly, following the Earl to the door, and gazing after him till he had driven away.”

That time came soon. The Earl grows ill; his end approaches. Exquisitely beautiful is the description of that end. Remembering the old man’s plighted word, the sick nobleman sends his servant to the cottage, and demands fulfilment of the promise given. The old man hears and trembles; but with a solemn countenance he gets his hat and stick, puts his Bible under his aged arm, and answers, “Ay, I will go with thee to my Lord.”

“When the Earl saw him it was about evening, and the sun was setting, and its declining rays shone softly into the room.

“‘Adam, see—it is going down!’ said Lord Milverstoke in a low tone, looking sadly at Adam, and pointing to the sun.

“‘How is thy soul with God?’ said the old man, with great solemnity.

“The Earl placed his hands together, and remained silent for some moments. Then he said, ‘I would it were, good Adam, as I believe thine is!’

“‘Nay, my good Lord, think only of thine own, not mine; I am sinful, and often of weak faith. But hast thou faith and hope?’

“‘I thank God, Adam, that I have some little! Before I was afflicted, I went astray! But I have sinned deeper than even thou thinkest, good soul!’

“‘But His mercy, to whom thou art going, is deeper than thy sins!’

“‘Oh, Adam! I have this day often thought that I could die more peacefully in thy little cottage than in this place!’

“‘So thy heart and soul be right, what signifies where thou diest?’

“‘Adam,’ said the Earl, gently, ‘thou speakest somewhat sternly to one with a broken spirit—but God bless thee! thy voice searcheth me! Wilt thou make me a promise, Adam?’ said the Earl, softly placing his hand in that of Ayliffe.

“‘Ay, my Lord, if I can perform it.’

“‘Wilt thou follow me to the grave? I would have followed thee, hadst thou gone first?‘

“‘I will!’ replied Adam, looking solemnly at the Earl.

“‘And now give me thy prayers, dear Adam! Pray for him that—is to come after me—for I go—and in peace—in peace—’

“Lady Alkmond, who was on the other side of the bed, observed a great change come suddenly over the Earl’s face, while Adam was opening the Bible and adjusting his glasses to read a Psalm. She hastened round, she leaned down and kissed the Earl’s forehead and cheek, grasped his thin fingers, and burst into weeping. But the Earl saw her not, nor heard her: he was no longer among the living!”

It need not be said that the Earl of Milverstoke does what justice he may to the falsely banished man and his family, by making such provision for them in his will, as his circumstances allow and his dignity requires. It need scarcely be mentioned that the close of the career of the Ayliffe family is as serene and happy, as it was stormy and disastrous in its beginning. They are notcompensatedfor long-suffering by the money of his lordship; but they are made toseethat the ways of God are unsearchable and past finding out, and that now, indeed, men see through a glass darkly, though hereafter they shall see face to face, and know even as they are known. Knowledge and consolation rightly understood, is cheaply purchased, though even with a life of trouble, such as Adam Ayliffe saw.

There remains but a word or two more to say concerning this history, and the tale is told. It has been hinted that Lord Alkmond quitted the banqueting room on the night of his murder on account of the discussion of a subject which seemed greatly to annoy him. That subject, as appears in the course of the story, wasDUELLING. Let the author explain the mystery. It might have had much to do with the tragical catastrophe. Explained, it has nothing to do with it whatever.

“Among several letters which come to the Castle shortly after the Earl’s sudden illness, was one marked ‘Immediate’ and ‘Private and Confidential,’ and bore outside the name of the Secretary of State. From this letter poor Lady Emily learnt the lamentable intelligence that her brother, the late Lord Alkmond had, when on the Continent, and shortly before his marriage, slain in a duel a Hungarian officer, whom, having challenged for some affront which had passed at dinner, he had run through the heart, and killed on the spot: the unfortunate officer leaving behind him, alas! a widow and several orphans, all of them reduced to beggary. The dispute which had led to these disastrous results, had been one of really a trivial nature, but magnified into importance by the young Lord’s quick and imperious temper, which had led him to dictate terms of apology so humiliating and offensive, that no one could submit to them. Wherefore the two met; and presently the Hungarian fell dead, his adversary’s rapier having passed clean through the heart. It was, however, an affair that had been managed with perfect propriety; with an exact observance of the rules of duelling! All had been done legitimately! Yet was itMURDER; an honourable, a right honourable, murder: murder as clear and glaring, before the Judge of all the earth, as that by which Lord Alkmond had himself fallen. When thus fearfully summoned away to his account, the young noble’s own hand was crimsoned with the blood which he had shed: and so went he into the awful presence of the Most High, whose voice had ever upon earth been sounding tremendous in his ears,—Where is thy brother? What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.Unhappy man! well might his heart have been heavy, when men expected it to be lightest! Well might his countenance darken, and his soul shudder within him, under the mortal throes of a guilty conscience! From his father’s splendid banqueting table he had been driven by remorse and horror; for his companions, unconscious that they were stabbing to the heart one who was present,WOULD TALKof duelling, and of one sanguinary duel in particular, that bore a ghastly resemblance to his own. Such poor amends as might be in his power to make, he had striven to offer to the miserable family whom he had bereaved, beggared, and desolated, to vindicate an honour which had never been for one instant really questioned, or compromised; and if ithadbeen tarnished, couldBLOODcleanse and brighten it? All the money that he could ordinarily obtain from the Earl, had from time to time been furnished by Lord Alkmond to the family of his victim. For them it was that he had importuned his father for a sum of money sufficient to make for them an ample and permanent provision. Only the day before that on which he had quitted London, to partake of the Christmas festivities, had he written an earnest letter to the person abroad with whom he had long communicated on the subject, assuring him that within a few weeks an ample and satisfactory final arrangement should be made. And he had resolved to make a last strenuous effort with the Earl; but whom, nevertheless, he dared not, except as a matter of dire necessity, tell the nature of his exigency. And why dared not the son tell his father? And why had that father shrunk, blighted, from the mention, by Captain Lutteridge and Mr Hylton, of the conversation which had driven his son out into the solitude where he was slain? Alas! it opened to Lord Milverstoke himself a very frightful retrospect; through the vista of years his anguished, terror-stricken eye settled upon a crimsoned gloom—

“Oh, Lord Milverstoke!—and then would echo in thy ears, also, those appalling sounds,—what hastTHOUdone?

“ForTHY—Honour! also, had been dyed in blood!”

We have told as well as we may, but very imperfectly as we feel, the story of “Now and Then.” It is not for us to advise the reader to get the volume and to read it for himself. For this he will, as he should, use his own discretion; but we will, as a faithful Mentor, and a long-tried friend, entreat him, grave, intelligent, and responsible Christian man as he is, should he peruse the volume, to consider well at its close the actual frame of mind in which the book has left him. We hold this to be the true testof all literary metal, whosoever be the coiner, wheresoever be the mint. If the solemn elements brought into the light and pleasant texture of this simple narrative, do not elevate the spirit and brace the heart of all but the thorough sceptic—whom nothing will elevate but liquor, and nothing brace but a good three-inch oak stick—we are content to be set down as the mere slavish flatterer of Mr Warren, and not as his calm and uninfluenced, though warm and devoted counsellor. The organs of public opinion in London have dwelt upon the contrast which “Now and Then” affords to the current literature of the day. We are not surprised at the impression these critics have received. Whether we regard the tendency and object of the story, its conception and execution, the style of the language, or the construction of the plot, we are bound to confess, that between this production and the heap of Christmas and other tales that drop uselessly, and worse than uselessly, into the world, there is all the difference of the bright, fresh, vigorous mountain air, and the thick fusty atmosphere of the lanes.

The current of piety that flows so equably on through the whole of the work, is lucid as a stream, polluted by no admixture of rank weeds or earthly dirt. It has been justly remarked, by the leading journal of the world, that “Now and Then” “is a vindication in beautiful prose of the ways of God to man.” Every actor in the history vindicates these ways: every fact as it arises does the same. The old Saxon Ayliffe, who, from his entrance till his exit, maintains the justice of God’s doings, and walks peacefully and unruffled over burning plough-shares, because he sublimely feels the practical influence of his faith, is one champion. Hylton, the indefatigable clergyman, doing good for his Master’s sake, reproving the high-born, sympathising with the lowly, preaching and acting reconciliation everywhere, is another champion. The Earl of Milverstoke is a champion too. If he be not, our soul has been moved in vain by the childlike piety and humble self-denial of his broken-hearted latter days.

There is one thing more to note, and then we have done. We have said, at the commencement of this article, that there are certain folks in London and the provinces, who, thinking themselves remarkably fine fellows, and quite above the cant of religion and all that sort of thing, will pooh, pooh the noble tendency of “Now and Then,” and talk about “stupid old times,” “superstition,” “humbug,” and the necessity of going a-head in these enlightened days, whereby they mean going to the devil headlong, though they know it not. These worthies, however, will do something more than pooh, pooh. They will retire to their tap-rooms, and fill their little souls with gin in sheer envy and disgust. Mr Warren, in the delineation of the Ayliffe family, has beaten the bilious discontented democrats on their own ground. He has taken for his hero a man of the people, but he has sustained the heroism with ample justice to all the world besides. Although the author of “Nature’s Aristocracy,” and “The Godlike Bricklayer,” may be a paragon of benevolence, yet he has not all the benevolence which this huge world of benevolence contains. We will not venture to hint that there lives a human being better than himself, but perhaps there live a few nearly, if not quite as good.

Mr Warren does justice to the masses: but he is much too honest and too upright—being himself one of the masses—to uphold their privileges at the sacrifice of other men’s lawful and just rights. He does not do it; and the English people, who love fair play, will honour him for his work.

We honour him too, and cordially shake him by the hand! He has not done worse than Maga expected from his industry and genius. Had he done worse, by our immortality! much as we love him, much as he has done for us, and we for him, much as we have done together, he should have felt the force of her frown, and been tapped—gently, perhaps, for the first offence—with the crutch that, ere now, with a blow has dealt death to the charlatan and impostor.

Printed by William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh.

Footnotes

1.Causes Célébres et Intéressantes, byFrançois Gayot de Pitaval. Paris: 1734.

2.Neuer Pitaval.Leipzig: 1842-6.

3.He beguiled his leisure by a metrical translation of, and commentary on, the Indian poem,Gita Gowinda.

4.Merkwürdige Criminalrechtsfälle.Erfurt, 1808-11. A third edition appeared in 1839, under the title ofMerkwürdige Verbrechen.

5.The office of knacker (Schinder, Abdecker), in recent times often united with that of public executioner, was formerly exercised by his knaves and subordinates, (German,henkersknechte; French,Valets de Bourreau) and was held especially infamous.

6.The Earl of Angus was succeeded in the Provostship of Edinburgh by Alexander, Lord Home, Great Chamberlain of Scotland, in 1514.

7.“From the cannonade at Valmy may be dated the commencement of the career of victory which carried their armies to Vienna and the Kremlin.”—Alison’sHistory of Europe, vol. iii. p. 210.

8.Thoughts on British Guiana.By a Planter.2dEdition. Demerara, 1847.

9.“The first chapter of this ‘Diary’—The Early Struggles—was offered by me successively to the conductors of three leading Magazines in London, and rejected as ‘unsuitable for their pages’ and ‘not likely to interest the public.’ In despair, I bethought myself of the great Northern Magazine. I remember taking my packet to Mr Cadell’s, in the Strand, with a sad suspicion that I should never see or hear any thing more of it; but at the close of the month I received a letter from Mr Blackwood, informing me that he had inserted the chapter, and begging me to make arrangements for immediately proceeding regularly with the series. It expressed his cordial approval of the first chapter, and predicted that I was likely to produce a series of papers well suited for his Magazine, and calculated to interest the public.”—Extract from Preface to the Fifth Edition of theDiary of a Late Physician.

Transcriber’s Notes:Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.Typographical errors were silently corrected.Spelling and hyphenation were made consistent when a predominant form was found in this book; otherwise it was not changed.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.

Typographical errors were silently corrected.

Spelling and hyphenation were made consistent when a predominant form was found in this book; otherwise it was not changed.

Back to Index Next