« VorigeDoorgaan »
Lafleur; that they may not miss it the " rattling like a thousand devils" here is the card:
-all this applies to the present day. VARENNES,
The French carriages are good, but Hôtel de la Cour de France, horses, harness, and drivers just the à côté de la Poste aux Chevaux, same as before the Revolution. . MONTREUIL.
The place where “the dead ass" Sterne's Favourite llouse.
was found, though near Nampont, At this door the scene with the is not precisely specified. The postilbeggars occurred. This interesting | lion insisted that the descent about class is quite as numerous and as iin- half a league from Nampont was the portunate as in 1762; but the an- very spot; and for aught I know the cient politesse is gone. A traveller | fellow may be right. therefore, who should, in these days A¢ Amiens Lafleur went to the of refinement and universal civiliza- | inn of Madame de L***; and here tion, undertake a Sentimental Jour- too the celebrated letter was written. ney in France, may be certain that This is all that can be said of that he shall have as many of these peo- place. As I have already observed, ple to encounter; but the compound every adventure in the “ Sentimental of beggary and politeness which fill- Journey” is founded on fact; all the ed Yorick with such astonishment initials refer to real persons; and I has disappeared. The French men- || have every where found Sterne's dedicants are now as impudent as those scriptions accurate to the minutest of any other country.
particular. But here? Amiens was The journey from Nampont to always a considerable town; it conAmiens seems to have been written tained many large inns. As then we but yesterday, so fresh, so true, and know not in which of them our traso accurate is it in every respect. veller took up his quarters, neither Lafleur's boots—the wretched har- can we discover who Madame de ness, which required repairing at L*** actually was, it would be in every step—the perverseness of the vain to prolong our stay. We therepostillion-the shouting and bawl. || fore bid adieu both to Amiens and ing-the shaking of the pavement, the reader.
VILLAGE SKETCHES NEAR PARIS.
No. VIII. Thank heaven, we can now breathe , getables, which form a principal ar. 'again! Oh! what a luxury it is to ticle of food with all classes, are feel the air blow fresh and sweet up-scarce, dear, and tasteless. Melons on us after having languished for two and peaches the only fruits worth months under a burning sun, with | eating; and they are also dearenough, out a breath of air or a drop of rain | at least we think it an extravagant to mitigate its scorching rays! The price to give thirty sous a piece for drought has done incalculable da- | the one, and three halfpence each mage ; our fine crops of wheat and for the other. Our vineyards, the barley are absolutely burnt up. Ve- pride of the village, have also suffered from the common enemy, drought; || till now appeared to possess a superbut at least we comfort ourselves that natural power of knowing all that is our grapes, though few, will be fine. said or done or thought even in our All the common business of life has village. Nothing appeared to be se. been at a stand-still: to labour under cret to them; even the private conthe meridian sun was impossible; even versation of lovers, which they would the inornings and evenings were so not have revealed for the world, and oppressively sultry, that the stoutest the curtain lectures that discreet of our peasantry nearly sunk under | wives are quite sure have been heard their toil. Pleasure like business was only by their spouses, do some how suspended; walking, dancing, the or other find their way to the fontheatre, were no more thought of. taine: yet now a circumstance has In short, the only exertion we seem- happened, and close to their territoed capable of making was that of ries too, for which they cannot postalking; and it must be owned, that sibly account. The fact is, that the the drought had no effect upon our countess, whom in my first number tongues, for they went as nimbly as I slightly mentioned to my readers, ever. This is but ten days since, and || has just taken the little Savoyard, already the evenings are so cool, that who during some months past has some of us have indulged in the plied the trade of a chimney-sweeper luxury of a fire; and others would in our village, from his sooty profeshave done the såme, had we not lost sion, to place him in one which some the only sweep our village afforded, folks would think blacker still that and his place is not yet supplied. of the law. She has sent also for Our little Savoyard has been taken his widowed mother from Savoy, in from us in a manner which has sur order to settle her in a snug cottage prised all the gossips in the village: near the notary with whom she has till now, nothing has happened, in fixed the boy. It is the most natumy time at least, for which some in ral thing in the world for the coungenious soul or other could not as tess to do good; in fact, she seems to sign a motive; but this baffles all con exist for no other purpose: but there jecture: even the committee of laun was nothing to interest her in the dresses, who regularly meet at the fate of this child; she had never nofontaine to perform the double duty ticed him, never even spoken to him, of tearing the linen of their custom- till the day on which she took him ers (by that most destructive of all | under her protection. Can you processes, French washing), and de wonder then, dear reader, that the stroying their reputations, are, for gossips of our village, high and low, the first time, at a loss, to the asto are very angry with her for such an nishment of all who know their sa unaccountable piece of charity? I, gacity in matters of this description. and I only, am the depositary of the Woe to the he or the she who omits secret; and like a true woman I am to propitiate these dames de la les- dying to communicate it, but as it sive ! They are almost as dangerous must not even be whispered here, I to offend as the malignant fairies shall content myself with telling it to were of old; for, like them, they have you. Vol. VI. No. XXXIV.
· The little Savoyard was employed time in learning them, and in placing on the morning of his good fortune him as far as I could out of the to sweep the chimney of the coun-| reach of similar temptations in future. tess's dressing-room, which commu- I went then directly to the cottage of nicates with her bed-chamber by a the old Savoyard with whom the glass door, through the thin muslin child lives, and which you know is curtain of which she observed the opposite to the fontaine ; there I boy enter with a servant, who, hav- found my little sweep breakfasting iny seen him mount the chimney, upon dry bread. “This is hard fare,' and placed a cloth against it to pre- said I to the old man; ' cannot you vent the soot from falling into the afford the child something better?' apartment, went away, without ob- 1 Better!' repeated he; 'ah! maserving the countess's purse, which | dam, he would be but too happy if she had through forgetfulness left on he was always sure to have as good; her dressing-table. Before the ser- but I am afraid that is not very likevant returned, the boy came down: |ly, if he continues to be so unlucky he looked round with an air of cu- as he has been this bout.'—' In what riosity; suddenly his eye fell upon respect?'— Why, madam, he is but the purse: he made a quick move- a poor sickly thing, and has been ment towards it, but drew back in- able to do so little, that instead of stantly, shuddering and with an air of having something to take home, as all affright. But the story will be hest our boys do, to assist their parents, told in the countess's own words. I he has hardly been able to keep him• “Hepaused some moments, always self; and what he is to do till next looking round in evident terror, and year, heaven knows, for I am sure stealing cautiously and upon tip-toe his poor widowed mother and he towards the table. Never in my life must both starve. Here the boy's did I reproach myself more bitterly tears began to flow, and my heart than for the carelessness with which yearned towards him at the sight of I had thrown temptation in the way them. The mystery was now exof this poor creature; and yet, by a || plained, and in learning the force of sentiment which I cannot define, I the temptation that had assailed him, remained motionless and silent. He I could not but admire the virtue was now close to the table; his little which extricated him from it. I put hand was extended towards the some questions to him, and they were purse; suddenly he stopped without answered in a manner that increased touching it, and turning quickly the interest I took in him. I found round, ran out of the room. Oh! that his mother had, when a child, what a weight did this flight take been taken by a French lady, in from my heart! The Savoyards are whose service she remained till the 80 remarkable for honesty on the death of her patroness, when she reone hand, and the struggle in the turned to her native mountains, to boy's mind had been so evident on cherish and support the old age of the other, that I felt convinced some her parents with the earnings of her peculiar circunstances must have in- industry. Losing them soon aftercited hiin to the commission of the wards, she married; but hardly had crime; and I determined to lose no she become a mother, when a sudden death deprived her of her hus- || him up in a manner which shewed band. During some years she strug- || that she, as well as himself, merited gled to procure a maintenance for a better fate, I have sent for her, to her child; sickness and poverty at enjoy the remainder of her days in length compelled her to send him witnessing the prosperity of her son; this year for the first time from her: for I have no doubt that the boy will he had the prospect of returning as do very well with his new master." penniless as he came, and, as the old "And the child, does he know Savoyard assured me, nearly broken- that you witnessed " .. hearted at the thought of what his “No, nor shall he ever know it. I mother would suffer.
.. would not have him humiliated in his " I asked what he had expected own eyes by the consciousness that to carry home to her. “Oh! a great the temptation, which God gave him deal,' replied he, with simplicity, || grace to resist, was known to any hu.
twelve or fifteen francs.'--'Well then man being. I am certain that, young you shall take her twenty.
as he is, his momentary. lapse from " I wish you could have seen his | virtue has been already the cause of face. Twenty francs! the thing seem- much anguish to him. I could see ed at first incredible; but when they self-accusation in his looks when were actually counted down upon the || I praised him for his filial piety; and table, the expression of the little when, with unconscious energy, he sooty rogue's gratitude became so I promised me that he would always affecting, that I could not resolve to be a good boy, I am certain that he part with him. I found that he could vowed internally never to deviate read and write, and he appeared to from the strictest probity." be so intelligent, that I thought it a What say my readers? Would pity to leave him in the abject sta- they have lectured the boy for his tion to which he was born. In short, || intended crime? or would they, like why should I conceal it? I fancied | his benefactress, have contented themthat Providence had destined me to selves with telling him to put his be the architect of his fortune. I trust in God, and fear nothing so took him to my house till I could long as he did his duty? I am inclindevise what was best to be done for led to think, that, to use the words of him; and finding, from his artless the “Spectator," much might be said prattle, that his mother had brought I on both sides.
MANNENIEN, DAUGHTER OF MATHRAFAEL:
A WELCH LEGEND. The prophecies of Merlin were || pointed heir of the great Gallileo, celebrated, not only by his country- was the translator. Vincenzo, who men, but they were held in venera- was in a considerable measure the intion throughout all Europe; their heritor of his father's genius, attractfame being diffused by a translation ed much attention by a variety of meinto the Tuscan dialect. Vincenzo chanical and musical inventions. He Gallileo, the natural son and ap- 1 fabricated a lute with such masterly
Ꭰ Ꭰ 2
skill, that, by his exquisite delicacy || were heaved amidst tempestuous of touch, he could, in deep and con- strife of elements, and the dark pertinuous sounds, prolong the chords fidy of foes, a sun of glory shall like the pipes of an organ. In the arise, and for ever blazon their name. essays upon natural experiments in The line of Owain Cyveiloc, the posthe Academy of Cimento, his father terity of Llewyllyn, shall be rememascribed to him the first application bered from generation to generation, of the pendulum to clocks, A. D. and the precursors of kings -hall 1640. Vincenzo was a person of re- | grace their banners with the ensigns markable literary attainments, and an of Cambria, taking from Wales a agreeable versifier. His translation high style for the inheritors of of the prophecies of Merlin- was crowns. Spirit of Thaliessan, rehighly popular upon the Continent. I joice! though thy descendants have In Wales, the faith in his predictions fallen beneath the steel of countless has still a firm hold upon the untu assailants, the memory of their verse tored mind.
shall endure in a renown extended “In turmoil and dangers,” saith over all the earth." Merlin, the wisest of men, “in alarms | Thus warbled Mannenien, the by day and horrors by night, the beautiful daughter of Mathrafael. bard-slayer is fated to live, and un- The prophetic song poured from her wept, unsung, shall he moulder to lips as she awoke from a sleep of unhonoured dust. Be it so, power seven times seven winters, bright in of justice! since the flowery green all the charms. of youth as when the herbage and the wintry snows have queen of Elfand rescued her from been reddened by the blood of those the destroyer, and laid her in slumthat with inspiriting harmony added | bers bearing the hue of death. new fire to the glowing souls of the She awakes, the blue lustre of the brave; and spreading a deathless re- heavens sparkles in her opening nown to generations unborn, must eyes, her cheeks resume the tints of excite their descendants to emulate dew-nurtured roses, her lips glow those mighty deeds. Overpowered with ruby polish; she speaks, and by ambushed hosts, and the victims the pearls of the East are less fair of treachery, ye lay mangled on your than her teeth; she stretches her Jovely vales; but the blood of op snowy arms, raises her head, and pressed valour hath cried in a voice shaking back her clustering tresses, of power to the throne of justice, she stands erect in matchless beauand the terrible avenger shall bare | ty. A voice unearthly calls her forth: his omnipotent arm. Woe, woe to the bloom fades from her visage; but the bard - slayers and their fading | she obeys the mandate, and the riftrace! The Lord Strange of Knock-ed cavern opens for her a passage, ing died childless, so likewise shall || slowly receding on either side, to reLord de Grey have no heir to his veal once more the existing world to usurped domains; and though the the daughter of Mathrafael. Her teachers of wisdom, the cheerers of couch of hazel-leaves disappears; a festive hours, the kindly soothers of sumptuous banquet fills the space; grief, the inspirers of warlike souls, | the moonbeams that feebly pierced breathe no more, and their last groans | the creviced vault are eclipsed by