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of France that such is the fact. A Radical paper said that one of the manifestoes was like a family vault, large enough to bury the whole House of Bourbon. The last effort to form a fusion showed, it is true, that the breach between the two families was as wide as ever; but on the other hand, the Orleanist Princes ostentatiously proclaim that they are not pretenders to the throne. Their journal states that they will make no step towards the crown without the consent of the Comte de Chambord. This means that they would be very happy if he would abdicate. But he does not show the slightest disposition to betray the trust of Providence by handing the White Flag to a prince who would stain its purity with two ugly bars of red and blue. A more prosaic cause than loyalty prevents the Comte de Paris from becoming a pretender to the throne. He dare not offer to take it, because if he did he would split up the Royalist party, and destroy even his small chances. The Royalists are strong only so long as the Legitimists and the Orleanists act together, but they would be overpowered if they were to fight singly. The Comte de Paris, then, is no pretender, for the all-sufficient reason that he dare not be.

The most sensible of men have usually some craze, and that of the Comte de Paris is the form of political insanity which will be called Louis Philippism when the mad-doctors shall have had time to push their classifications into affairs of state. He is smitten with the belief that he can import the British Constitution whole. He and his party act as if they fancied the British Constitution to be kept in the Tower along with the crown jewels, or as if they thought that the Lord Chancellor took it home every night along with the great seal. They seem to fancy that they can lay the British Constitution on the table, make drawings of it, copy sections of it, form duplicates of it, and take them across the Channel in a carpet-bag. And they think that France would be forever cured of the pestilent stings of recurring revolutions if they could only set up the British Constitution, like another brazen serpent in the wilderness. That strange political superstition reminds us of a story which is told of some Japanese merchants who bought an English steamer, and had it sent to Yeddo, under the care of English engineers as well as sailors. The proud Japanese fancied, however, that they themselves could manage without the insolent foreigners, and so the engineers were dismissed. Away went the steamer on its trial trip, worked solely by native talent, and all seemed to go well, until the Japanese engineer came to the captain, and confessed with a long face that he could not stop the engines. Nothing could be done, then, but to port the helm, and make the steamer go round and round in the spacious harbor until the fires burnt low and the engines were out of breath. The Japanese had got the British Constitution, but they found it a tremendous white elephant, ungovernable without its British keeper. The Orleanists have been in precisely the same position, although they do not know it. During the reign of Louis Philippe, they had a thing that they fancied to be like the British Constitution, and it was entrusted to the most skilful of native engineers, in the person of M. Guizot. But M. Guizot could not stop the terrible machine, and unlike his Japanese brothers, he was too proud to confess that the cranks and the valves had become unmanageable, and that the oil which he intended to pour upon the hinges always got into the fire, and would blaze up with such a flame as to drive him out of the engine-room. So the ship went straight ahead and struck on the reef of revolution. M. Guizot and the Comte de Paris have never learned that, even if they could import the British Constitution, it would be worse than useless unless they could also import Englishmen. The British Constitution works admirably in England because the country is peopled by Englishmen, and because Englishmen have been made what they are by the political discipline of a thousand years.

And there is another difficulty that the Comte de Paris and his friends have never been able to see. There is no British Constitution to import. The British Constitution has never been seen by any human eye. The phrase sig

nifies merely the subtile, complex, and ever-shifting machinery by which the nation exercises its will. That machinery is never the same in two successive generations, or indeed in two successive years. A strong King, an imperious Prime Minister, a House of Commons lifted on the wave of popular enthusiasm, a House of Lords strengthened by momentary popularity, fervent political or religious convictions among the people, may at any moment change the political centre of gravity. What the text-books describe is not the Constitution, but merely the husk of power, and the husk is all that the Orleanists can import. But they might as well attempt to revive the monastic life of the fourteenth century by building a few abbeys, by copying the medieval architecture, and by exactly following the old monkish rules, as to give France the constitutional life of England by erecting a copy of the English constitutional machine. The mere fact that they believe in the possibility of such a feat betrays a fatal lack of that common-sense which is the basis of all real statesmanship. The Orleanist family have traded on their respectability, and it must be confessed that their lives have, on the whole, been almost oppressively decorous. Nothing worse was said of Louis Philippe than that he loved money. His sons and his grandsons have lived up to the standard of English respectability. Louis Philippe's court was pure, and so would be that of the Comte de Paris. A decorous tone has also been spread through the ranks of the Orleanist party. Speaking and acting like educated gentlemen, they seem to be paragons of propriety in comparison with the Bonapartists, whose press betray the swashbuckler tone of a hired bravo, whose oratory is as loud and bullying as the invectives of a barrack-room, and whose statesmen have the pushing insolence of intellectual lackeys, clad in their master's clothes, but ready to shrink into abject servility at the glance of a master's eyes. The Bonapartists are the rowdies of France. They are to France what the planters of Virginia were to the United States before the civil war, which forever broke the pride that was based on organized

crime.

It is easy to understand the reason why the Republicans regard the Orleanists with a certain measure of respect, and the Bonapartists with mingled hatred and disgust. The Orleanists are respectable, but we repeat that they have traded on their character. Their Princes gave out that they would keep clear of all intrigues, and never seek to wear the crown unless the nation should offer it to them; and no doubt they would have been very glad to be wooed on such terms. But the nation has treated them with silent disdain, and the Legitimists have never forgiven Louis Philippe for proving false to Charles X. They have punished his calculating selfishness by jealously watching the Duc d'Aumale and by looking coldly on the Comte de Paris. Such adversity soon broke down the proud reserve of these Princes, and their house in the Rue Faubourg St. Honoré has notoriously been the centre of political intrigue. To the Republic they have been more dangerous than the Comte de Chambord himself, because they have been more subtle; and they have not, like him, the excuse of fanaticism. Their principles would not forbid them to aid in the organization of the Republic; and in truth, the Duc d'Aumale said in his election address that although he preferred an hereditary Monarchy, he would accept a Republic if it were the choice of France. They might have organized the Republic and made it stable if they had flung aside their wretched dynastic contention, and acted like patriots. Nay, they might have been the first citizens of the Republic if they had thus preferred their country to their little family cravings for the pomp of kingly state. But behind the rampart of their respectability they have preferred to weave a web of family intrigues. They are keeping France in a turmoil, although they could give her peace. All the respectability in the world cannot outweigh such an offence against the state; and we venture to predict that, among the personages who now influence the political forces of France, there are none that history will judge more severely than the able, lettered, decorous band of Princes who are represented by the Comte de Paris.

THE WHITE NILE.

IN speaking at the Royal Institution upon the subject of his late expedition, Sir Samuel Baker gives the following picturesque, but at the same time powerful, description of the White Nile :

I have stopped the slave trade, but the traffic may and will be resumed should European_commanders be withdrawn. Even should the White River remain pure, the slaves will be conveyed across the desert viâ Darfur and Kordofan. Large markets will be established to which the traders will concentrate from all parts of Africa to purchase slaves. These will be dispersed in gangs, and be distributed through all the slave-dealing countries of the East.

The governors of Egyptian provinces are to a man in favor of the slave trade; thus the prohibition of slavery is to them a mine of wealth. The law gives to them the power to seize and confiscate all slaves in the hands of dealers. Thus the arrival of a caravan with 500 slaves would be tantamount to a present of £1000 or more to the government official, who would receive a toll of £2 a head and let them pass free.

There is a simple method in attacking this great evil that would, I am convinced, be eminently successful. It is the European influence alone that will effectually suppress the slave trade; and this same influence will alone save Turkey and Egypt from irretrievable ruin.

In a former work, "The Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia," I fully exposed the depredations of the soldiery when employed as tax collectors in the Soudan. By over-taxation and pillage by officials the peasantry are literally eaten up. Thousands upon thousands have forsaken the country, and have commenced a life of brigandage as slave-hunters among the negro tribes. Nine years ago, when I was descending the Nile from Khartoum to Berber, a distance of 200 miles by river, the fertile soil on either bank was in the highest state of cultivation. This valuable extent of country was watered by 4000 sakyeers, or water-wheels. By day and night the irrigation was continued, and the discordant hum and creaking of the machines, if disturbing a night's rest, nevertheless assured the traveller that industry was wide awake, and that prosperity would be the reward of labor. When I returned to that same country in January, 1870, I looked for the past scene in vain.

A steamer and a diahbiah were awaiting me at Berber. As we steamed against the strong current for 200 miles to Khartoum I looked with astonishment and dismay upon the country. Now and then a tuft of neglected date palms might be seen; but the river banks, formerly verdant with heavy crops, had become a wilderness. Villages, once crowded, had entirely disappeared. The population was gone. The night, formerly discordant with the creaking of the water-wheels, was now silent as death. There was not a dog to howl for a lost master. The discord of a water-wheel would to my ears have been harmony. Industry had vanished; oppression had driven the inhabitants from the soil; the most fertile land on earth had been abandoned to hyenas. This was Egyptian rule, and I was on my path to conquer fresh lands for Egypt!

This terrible desolation was caused by the GovernorGeneral of the Soudan, who, although himself an honest man, was a fanatical Mohammedan, who left his territory to the sole care of God. He simply increased the taxes and trusted in Providence. In one year he sent to the delighted Khedive his master, at Cairo, more than £100,000 in dollars wrung from the poor peasantry of the Soudan. In the following year it was difficult to get change for a sovereign. It must be borne in mind that a tax suddenly imposed in the Soudan that would produce £100,000 surplus revenue, would be in real fact a tax of £200 000, as an equal amount is always extorted from the peasantry by the collectors.

The population of the richest portions of the Soudan thus abandoned the country, and the greater portion betook themselves to the slave trade of the White Nile, where in

their turn they might trample upon the rights of others; where, as they had been plundered, they could now plunder; where they could reap the harvest of another's labor, and where, undisturbed, they might indulge in the great enterprise of slave-hunting.

Having passed through the deserted country from Berber, I arrived at Khartoum. Nothing was ready for my expedition; but I found that the Governor-General had just prepared a squadron of eleven vessels, with several companies of regular troops, to form a settlement at the copper mines on the southern frontier of Darfur. This expedition had been placed under the command of a man named Kutchuk Ali, who was one of the most notorious ruffians and slave-traders of the White Nile. Thus, at the same time that the Khedive of Egypt had employed me to suppress the slave trade of the Nile, a government expedition had been entrusted to the command of a well-known slavehunter.

This was only one peculiarity in the policy of the Soudan authorities. The great outcry for money had caused an increase of taxation, which, as has been already shown, had caused the flight of large numbers of the population to the White Nile slave parties.

The Governor-General of the Soudan now bethought himself: "By what right do these people make fortunes in unknown lands beyond the Upper Nile?" It was easy to understand that they had no right. This was a golden opportunity for the Governor, who accordingly established a tax upon every trader to the White Nile, in the peculiar form of a lease. According to the position and importance of each trader, a lease was made out, by which the govern ment let to him for a certain term of years an undefined portion of Central Africa which did not belong to Egypt, and over which the Khedive had neither right nor authority. These leases enabled the traders, for the annual payment of several thousand pounds, to establish stations, and engage in their so-called trade in distant lands belonging to individual tribes, where no government was represented, and where an armed and organized Arab force would be able to commit any atrocity at discretion. There is no doubt that the actual wording of the lease was admirable, inculcating moral precepts, and warning adventurers against a participation in the slave trade; but if the Governor-General or any other authority should presume to declare himself ignorant that the real object of the enterprise was slave-hunting, he is simply stating that which is false.

SPONGE-FISHERIES.

SPONGES, to speak of them in a general way, are zoophytes, half-animal, half-vegetable. They grow on rocks in the sea, and fishing for them is a regular trade on the coast of Greece, Syria, the West Indies, and elsewhere. In some instances they are secured by diving, and in others by being pulled up by a pronged instrument. Some new and interesting information respecting the Syrian spongefisheries is condensed as follows in the Pall Mall Budget, from the commercial Report of a British vice-consul at Beyrout for 1873: "The total value of the sponges fished on the coast of Syria is from twenty to twenty-five thousand pounds. The production is, however, falling off through excessive fishing, and the consequent exhaustion of the fishery-grounds. About two hundred and fifty to three hundred boats are at present employed in this industry on the coast of Syria, manned by about fifteen hundred men. The centres of production are Tripoli, Ruad, Lattakia, and Batroun on the coast of Mount Lebanon. The best qualities are found in the neighborhood of Tripoli and Batroun; but the boats visit all parts of the coast, from Mount Carmel in the south, to Alexandretta in the north. The majority of the boats used are ordinary fishing-boats, three parts decked over, and carrying one mast with an ordinary lug-sail. They are from eighteen to thirty feet in length, and are manned by a crew of four

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or five men, one of whom is specially engaged for the purpose of hauling, while the rest are divers. In some cases, the men own their own boats, but generally they are hired for the season, which extends from June to the middle of October. No wages are paid; the remuneration consists in an equal share of the produce of the fishing. The profits of a good diver reach as high as forty pounds a season. Diving is practised from a very early age up to forty years, beyond which few are able to continue the pursuit. It does not appear, however, that the practice has any tendency to shorten life, although, as the diver approaches forty, he is less able to compete with his younger and more vigorous brother. The time during which a Syrian diver can remain under water depends, of course, on his age and training. Sixty seconds is reckoned good work, but there are rare instances of men who are able to stay below eighty seconds. The men on the coast, however, make extraordinary statements as to the length of time their best hands are able to remain under water, and gravely assert that eight and ten minutes are not impossibilities. The manner of diving is as follows: the diver, naked, of course, with an open net around his waist for the receptacle of his prizes, seizes with both hands an oblong white stone, to which is attached a rope, and plunges overboard. On arriving at the bottom, the stone is deposited at his feet, and keeping hold of the rope with one hand, the diver grasps and tears off the sponges within reach, which he deposits in his net. He then, by a series of jerks to the rope, gives the signal to those above, and is drawn up. In former years, the Syrian coast was much frequented by Greek divers from the islands of the Archipelago. Their number is now restricted to five or six boats annually, the skill of the Syrian, combined with his superior knowledge of the fishing-grounds, enabling him to compete successfully with his foreign opponent. Although they vary much in quality and size, sponges may be generally classified as-1. The fine white bell-shaped sponge, known as the 'toilet sponge; The large reddish variety, known as 'sponge de Vénise,' or bath-sponges;' 3. The coarse red sponge used for household purposes and cleaning. Two thirds of the produce of the Syrian coast are purchased by the native merchants, who send it to Europe for sale; while the remainder is purchased on the spot by French agents, who annually visit Syria for the purpose. France takes the bulk of the finest qualities, while the reddish and common sponges are sent to Germany and England. The revenue derived by government from this industry is a tenth of the value of the produce." The annual import of sponges from all countries into the United Kingdom amounts in value to about one hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds.

FOREIGN NOTES.

2.

A "MILK club" is to be established in Paris to promote sobriety. The association will probably degenerate into a milk-punch and become a success.

A NEW weekly literary paper has been issued in London. It is entitled Journal Général des Beaux Arts et des Arts Industriels. The special feature of the paper is its polyglot character, as it contains articles on all artistic topics, including music and the drama, in French, English, and German.

M. HENRY recently exhibited to the Biological Society of Paris photographs of hands of the upper classes of the Annamites characterized by the long finger-nails esteemed as a mark of gentility. One of the photographs represented nails 40 to 50 centimètres in length (15 to 20 inches!) and very curiously carved in fantastic patterns like some of the claws depicted in ancient illuminations. Notwithstanding their length these nails were not hypertrophied.

COUNT BLUCHER, son of the present prince of that name, and great-grandson of the renowned marshal, has addressed to Colonel Chesney an official letter of thanks, on behalf of himself and his father, in special acknowledgment of the attention paid by the English author, in his "Waterloo Lectures," to the elucidation of their ancestor's share in the success of the campaign of 1815, and more particularly of the recent vindication, in a new edition of the work, of Blucher's name from a charge of supposed carelessness in connection with the defeat of Ligny.

THE Belgian Government, conjointly with the town of Antwerp, are in treaty for the purchase of the house of the celebrated Antwerp printer Plantinus, with its contents, portraits, MSS., printing-press, wood-blocks, and books still belonging to the Moretus family. B. Moretus was the immediate successor of Plantin. Among the MSS. in this collection there are several which were brought away from All Souls College, Oxford, by one of the fellows who would not acknowledge the Royal Supremacy in matters spiritual. It is possible that these might be got back now; but when once the collection passes into the hands of the Government it would be impossible.

It is well known that the exploration of the French caves of the reindeer period has brought to light, within the last few years, abundant evidence of the existence of the arts of sculpture and engraving among the early stoneusing folk of Gaul. Our knowledge of the fine arts of these primitive people has recently been extended by the discovery of a prehistoric musical instrument. M. E. Piette has, indeed, found what he describes as "une flûte néolithique." This flute, which is formed of bone and pierced with two well-made holes, was discovered in a layer of charcoal and cinders in the cavern of Gourdan (HauteGaronne), where it was associated with flint implements of neolithic types. The cave was discovered by M. Piette in

1871.

A VERY interesting and instructive exhibition is now taking place in Paris, and attracts crowds. By means of a most artistic application of photo sculpture, the spectacle of Pompeii as it was eighteen centuries ago, and is now, is splendidly represented; the comparison is really curious; to complete the idea an eruption of Mount Vesuvius is exhibited, full of reality. It must have cost much study and labor to thus materially construct, as it were, a city and its life lost so many ages ago. The Forum appears as it must have been; the street of the Tombs; the tragic theatre; the amphitheatre, the temples and baths, the villas and mansions of historical citizens, etc. In thus promenading among those imposing monuments, you with difficulty can believe in the illusion.

THE difficulty of lighting railway carriages with gas has hitherto been found insurmountable- at least for journeys of great length. In the first place the ordinary gas reservoir was too cumbrous, and even if this defect had been met by pumping the gas into strong retorts under pressure, so as to carry it in a smaller space, the lighting power would have been considerably impaired. Herr Julias Pintsch, of Berlin, has now mastered the difficulty. He abandons coal gas altogether, and makes his gas from oil. He packs it in iron retorts at a pressure of 90 lbs. to the square inch, and supplies it to the lamps through an ingenious regulator. Some few of the Continental railways have already adopted this system of lighting. In England an experimental carriage has been fitted with it on the London and North Western Railway. The Engineer states iron in. thick, 5ft. 10in. long, and 1ft. 4 in. in diameter, that it carries gas enough in a receiver made of wrought

to run over 1000 miles.

APROPOS of the attempt to assassinate Prince Bismarck, a singular theory is advanced to the effect that excessive heat increases the homicidal tendency against which every man has sometimes to contend. In illustration of the theory, a patient professor of Breslau has brought together instances of some of the more celebrated cases of regicide,

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to show that they have generally been made in hte month of July. Thus, on the 12th of July, 1581, William of Orange was assassinated by Balthasar Gerard; on the 12th of July, 1764, the same fate befell Prince Ivan VI., son of Anne of Russia; 27th July, 1835, Fieschi fired his infernal machine against Louis-Philippe; 18th July, 1844, Fritz Scherck, a burgomaster of Storkov, fires two pistolshots at the King of Prussia, but without touching him; on the 20th July, 1846, another attempt was made on the life of Louis-Philippe; on the 5th July, 1853, occurred Orsini's memorable attack on Napoleon III.; and on the 14th July, 1861, Oscar Becker fired at King William of Prussia. This collocation of dates is certainly remarkable, but it would prove more if the statistics of the other months in the year were prepared with equal care.

THE uncertainty which has existed ever since the Geneva Arbitration as to whether the millennium has or has not arrived leads to much confusion, and occasionally to the most lamentable blunders even among the lower creation. An unfortunate cow in Scotland has just fallen a victim to one of these millennial bewilderments. The ill-fated animal, according to the account given by the Scotsman, belonged to a farmer at Balglass, near Lennoxtown, and was found dead on the grazing ground a few days ago. As it had seemed previously in a perfectly healthy condition, its owner had it opened, and the cause of its death was at once manifest. Inside the cow's stomach was ten pounds of lead all in small pieces. It had been in the habit of picking up on its grazing-ground portions of bullets shot against targets by the Campsie volunteer companies, who have their shooting range on the field it lately occupied. The cow had in fact thought that, the sword being converted into the ploughshare, bullets in like manner were converted into grass, and hence the fatal error which undermined its constitution and led to its premature decease. Cows will do well to remember that the time has not yet arrived when bullets may be safely taken as food.

THE threatened emigration of a whole population in consequence of an unpopular act committed by its government is a rare event in the history of nations, yet this terrible menace has lately been hurled at the head of the Porte by the inhabitants of the little island rock of Simi, in the Grecian Archipelago, who are in a frantic state of excitement owing to the proposed assimilation of the Sporades with the rest of the Turkish dominions by the introduction of the system of custom-houses and the abrogation of a privilege enjoyed by the islands since the days when they fell into the power of the Sultans. This immunity from import duties is indeed the last of a series of privileges that had been ratified by every Turkish sovereign since Soleyman I., but which have been gradually swept away one after another since 1869. The indignant Simiotes accordingly gave notice of their intention to pack up their things and move in a body to Greece, but, finding that the nerves of the Porte were not unstrung by this prospect, they have now wisely abandoned the idea, and, instead of shaking the dust off their feet and leaving their rocks and their fisheries, have sent three delegates to Constantinople to plead their cause with the government.

THERE used to be a legend prevalent that the ingenious Swiss, in order to suit the taste of the travelling English for the picturesque, were in the habit of placing stuffed chamois on points of rocks, where they looked quite wild and romantic from a valley with an opera-glass. The genuine chamois is by no means over-plentiful or abundant, and is not to be descried as easily or as often as cows in our pasture fields. A gentleman, however, just now advertises his "chamois preserves in the Tyrol," a phrase which sounds exceedingly promising to an cager or ambitious sportsman. It must be no slight undertaking to keep a chamois preserve, as the animal requires an extended range for movement, and it would not be a simple task to draw a ring fence round its haunts or to protect it from stray hunters, who are not accustomed to our system of guarding game with paid watchers. An intending stalker might first ask to be permitted to examine the ground; and indeed

at this season the same precaution might not be out of place with reference to all these announcements connected with moors, streams, hills, partridge privileges, and trained dogs. The chamois preserver, for example, could have no objection to this. He offers to throw in trout-fishing with chamois-hunting if he can only come across "a gentleman with means" to suit his book. There are, no doubt, a few fair trout streams in the Tyrol, but large bags of chamois have been rare of recent years, and it is perhaps therefore the more satisfactory to learn that the interesting creature is being cultivated like the pheasant for the gun.

AN unpleasant sensation has been created at Enos, in Roumelia, by the reappearance in the neighborhood of the renowned Thracian bandit, Petko, who, having retired from business as a brigand and entered into a partnership with a baker in Athens, has now relinquished baking and resumed brigandage as a profession. Petko is one of the most eminent ruffians in existence. He has not only committed innumerable crimes, but has a special partiality for murder. He takes quite a childish delight in killing a fellow-creature. He has been thrice captured, and thrice he has escaped. His partnership with the baker at Athens wâs, it is stated, dissolved owing to the baker, who is a steady, sober man, being annoyed at Petko's habits; for Petko (although he would not like it to be mentioned) has another weakness besides his love of murder - he "drinks.' Brandy and bloodshed are his darling vices, and this makes him rather difficult to get on with in matters of business. The baker therefore gave a little hint to the police as to his partner's antecedents, and poor Petko had to make a hurried retreat from Athens. Enos, having been the scene of his early exploits, had a peculiar charm for him, and he therefore revisited it with six companions after traversing unharmed Albania, Thessaly, and part of Thrace. Since his return he has as yet only robbed three men and murdered another, but it is expected that he will before long display all his former activity, unless compelled again to retire into private life. He has, however, many friends and admirers at Enos who feel for him in his misfortune, and are quite ready to lend him a helping hand.

ing note touching Shakespeare's birthplace: "As there THE London Academy contains the following interestwas no photograph buyable, giving a general view of Shakespeare's birth-town, Stratford-upon-Avon, Mr. Furnivall, on a late visit to the place, picked out the best view of the town, that from Rowley Bank, on the Welcombe Road (which turns at right angles from the Warwick Road in front of the Roman Catholic Chapel), and got the best local photographer, Mr. Ward, of Ely Street, to photograph it for him. The interest of the view from this point is, that it gives best the nestling of the town under its ranges of circling hills, and so best realizes the peace and quiet of distance is the range of Meon Hill, with its shoulder slantthe place where Shakespeare ended his days. In the left sky-line is continued by the broad back of Broadway, with ing sharply to the spire of the church; on the right, the its monument just seen on the horizon. Under this comes the line of Roomer Hill, and the tops of the elms that ring the church-yard, with a glint of the Avon below; while again under that come the houses of the town, sloping gently to the left, and met there by a fine dark row of trees that shuts the view in on that side. In the foreground is the slope of Rowley Bank, with its cornfields ready for harvest. Though the photograph gives but a poor idea of the quiet beauty of the scene-no green of the trees is there, no blue haze in the hollows, no gold-corn light on Roomer Hill-yet it serves to remind Shakespeare lovers of the picture that must often have given their poet delight. Mr. Ward has a commission to paint the view, and is willing to make duplicates of it and the photograph. Another, and in some respects finer, view of the town is got from the path at the top of Rowley Bank that runs into the Clopton Road. But, though this gives better the grand ranges of hills behind the town, it dwarfs the latter too much, and takes away the quiet, nestling look of the town which is such a happy feature of the Welcombe Road view."

HECUBA BESEECHES AGAMEMNON TO AVENGE

HER SON.

[EURIPIDES, Hecuba, 774–833.]

Now, for the cause for which I clasp thy knees,
Listen, and if thou deemest that my wrongs
Are justly borne, I bear and am content;
But else, O King! avenge me of the man,
This wickedest of hosts, who neither fears
The nether world, nor upper, and hath wrought
The wickedest of deeds; for many a time
He sat among my guests and ever stood
First of my friends, and so received my son
In wardship, with provision as was meet,
And slew him, aye! and having slain, denied
Due burial rites, but cast him on the waves.
For me I am a slave, and doubtless weak;
Yes- but the gods are strong, and strong is law,
Which sways the gods, for verily of law
Comes faith in gods that rule us, and the sense
By which we live, dividing right from wrong.
Shall law appeal to thee, and be contemned?
Shall he who slays the guest, who robs the shrine,
Escape unpunished? Nay, for then would be
No justice anywhere in human things.

Far be such baseness from thee! yield me, King,
The suppliant's need of pity; stand apart,
As stands a painter, and regard me well,
And know what woes are mine. But yesterday
I was a queen; I am thy slave to-day:
I had a noble offspring; see me now
Childless and old no fatherland, no friends -
Surely the wretchedest of mortal things.

[Agamemnon seems to be about to depart.

Unhappy that I am! where wilt thou go ?
I seem to speak but vainly, woe is me!
O foolish mortals, why do we pursue,
Careful, as duty bids, all arts beside,

But this one art - Persuasion - though it be
Sole lord of men, desire not with desire
E'en at a price to learn, and so to sway

All hearts to what we would, and gain our end?
Who after me can hope for happy days?
So many sons I had, and all are gone,
And I am borne away in shameful guise,
A captive of the spear, and see the smoke
Rising above this city of my birth.

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Listen again. Thou seest this dead child;
Pay him due honor, 'tis to thine own kin
Honor is paid. One word is lacking yet.
Oh! that there dwelt within these arms a voice
(The work of art, Dædalean or divine),

These hands, and these white hairs, and weary feet,
All should together cling about thy knees

With tears, with all imaginable speech.

O Lord! chief light of Hellas, hear, and reach

A hand of helping to my helpless age,
Aye, though I be as nothing, reach it forth.

Still should the good man serve the cause of Right,
And to ill-doers work continual ill.

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II.

Once from the brows of Might,
Leapt with a cry to light
Pallas the Forefighter;

Then straight to strive with her
She called the Lord of Sea
In royal rivalry

For Athens, the Supreme of things,
The company of crownless kings.
A splendid strife the Queen began,
In that her kingdom making man
Not less than equal her own line
Inhabiting the hill divine.

Ah Fate, how short a span
Gavest thou then to god and godlike man!
The impious fury of the stormblasts now
Sweeps unrebuked across Olympus' brow;

The fair Forefighter in the strife

For light and grace and glorious life
They sought and found not; she and hers
Had yielded to the troublous years;

No more they walked with men, heaven's high interpreters.

III.

Yet, o'er the gulf of wreck and pain,
How softly strange there rose again,
Against the darkness dimly seen,
Another face, another queen,

The Maiden Mother, in whose eyes
The smile of God reflected lies;
Who saw around her gracious feet
The maddening waves of warfare meet,
And stretching forth her fingers fair
Upon the hushed and wondering air
Shed round her, for man's yearning sight,
A space of splendor in the night.
Are her sweet feet not stayed?
Nay, she is also gone, the Mother-maid':
And with her all the gracious company
That made it hope to live, and joy to die.
The Lord is from the altar gone,
His golden lamp is dust o'erthrown,
The pealing organ's ancient voice
Hath wandered to an empty noise,

And all the angel heads and purple wings are flown.

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