furious riot, in which Dulberry figures in all his glory: he harangues the mob from the inn window, whilst the horses are changing: and, a drunken man having laid himself across the middle of the street, he conjures them all to follow his example; for that "by Magna Charta every Englishman was entitled to stretch himself in the mud where and when he would; the bill of rights' said nothing to the contrary: and at his peril be it, if the magistrate presumed to drive over them." Dulberry is not much listened to: but the work proceeds: brick-bats begin to fly; the traces of the barouche are cut: the constables are attacked: the riot act is read; and the stern Alderman himself is alarmed, and disposed to treat. But Dulberry is again destined to be disappointed in his dearest hopes, and the Alderman again restored to his system of vigor, by the "hoofs of dragoons:" the scenes which follow, until the final consignment of the prisoner to a dungeon, showing considerable spirit in the selection of circumstances,we translate: In this crisis thinking it prudent to suspend his natural love of violence and domineering, the Alderman had resorted to gentler methods, and was most awkwardly playing the gracious conciliator, and amiably expostulating with an infuriated mob that would not listen to a syllable he said. Fortunately for him his security depended on arguments a little more efficacious. At this moment a trampling of horses was heard; words of command could be distinguished in military language; and amidst a general cry of "The red coats! the red coats!" a squadron of dragoons was seen advancing rapidly along the street. The mob gave way in a moment, and retired into the houses and side alleys. Just at this moment a bold fellow had knocked the wounded constable backwards, and was in the act of seizing firm hold of Bertram, -when the commanding officer rode up and with the flat of his sabre struck him so violently over the head and shoulders that he rolled into the mud, but retained however presence of mind enough to retire within a party of his friends. In a few minutes the officer had succeed ed in restoring order: he now took the prisoner from the carriage and mounted him behind a dragoon. His hands, which had hitherto been tied to his back, were for ments made,-the whole cavalcade aç The accident was this: a trooper had missed the line of the road, and I was in the act of driving his horse over a precipice which overhung the sea-coast; but the horse clung by his fore-feet, which had fortunately been rough-shod,* to a tablet of hanging rock which had fortunate * Rough-shod, in the original" beschlagen." The technical term, amongst the gentlemen of the stable-yard in England, is-" sharped." We doubt whether there is any classical term extant for this operation, so familiar to horsemen in frosty weather. ly been smooth-shod with an enamel of ice. His comrades immediate ly deliver the pendulous dragoon. But the shock had roused Bertram; and he is still further roused by the character of the road on which his eyes open from his brief slumber. A picturesque sketch of this, which closes the chapter and carries us just half-way through the novel, we shall extract: The road, as Bertram now became aware, wound upwards along the extreme edge of the rocky barrier which rose abruptly from the sea-coast. In the murky depths below he saw nothing but lights tossing up and down, gleaming at intervals, and then buried in sudden darkness-the lights probably of vessels driving before wind and weather in a heavy sea. The storm was now in its strength on the seaquarter. The clouds had parted before the wind; and a pale gleam of the moon suddenly betrayed to the prisoner the spectacle of a billowy sea below him, the iron barrier of rocky coast, and at some distance above him the gothic towers and turrets of an old castle running out as it were over the sea itself upon one of the bold prominences of the cliffs. The sharp lines of this aerial pile of building were boldly relieved upon the sky which now began to be overspread with moonlight. To this castle their route was obviously directed. But danger still threatened them: the road was narrow and steep; the wind blustered; and gusty squalls at intervals threatened to upset both horse and rider into the abyss. However the well-trained horses overcame all difficulties; at length the head of the troop reached the castle; and the foremost dragoon seizing a vast iron knocker struck the steel-plated gate so powerfully, that the echo on a more quiet night would have startled all the birds in the adjacent woods for two miles round. The ceremonies of reception are given; after which comes the scene which follows: Passing through a long and winding gate-way, feebly illuminated by two lanthorns, they stood at the edge of a deep abyss. It was apparently a chasm in the rock that had been turned to account by the original founder of the castle, as a natural and impassable moat; far beyond it rose a lofty wall studded with loop-holes and towers that necessarily overlooked and commanded the whole outer works through which they had passed. At a sig-, nal from the old man a draw-bridge was dropped with a jarring sound over the chasm. Crossing this they entered a small court, surrounded by a large but shapeless pile of building, which gave little sign externally of much intercourse with the living world; here and there however from its small and lofty windows, sunk in the massy stone-work, a dull light was seen to twinkle; and, as far as the lanthorn would allow him to see, Bertram observed every where the marks of hoary antiquity. Here the officer quitted them, having first given some orders to the two dragoons in an under voice. The termination of their course was not yet reached. The warden opened, at the further end of the court, a little gate; through this, and by a narrow arched passage which the dragoons could only pass by stooping, they reached at length a kind of guard-room which through two holes pierced in the wall received some lightat this time but feebly dispensed by the moon. This room, it was clear, lay near to the sea-shore; for the wind without seemed as if it would shake the foundations of the walls. The old man searched anxiously in his bundle of keys and at length applied an old rusty key to the door-lock. Not without visible signs of anxiety he then proceeded to unlatch the door. But scarce had he half performed his work, when the storm spared him the other half by driving the door in upon him and stretching him at his length upon the floor. Below them at an immense depth lay the raging sea-luridly illuminated by the moon which looked out from the stormrent clouds. The surf sent upwards a deafening roar, although the raving of the wind seemed to struggle for the upper hand. This aerial gate led to a little cell which might not unjustly have been named the house of death. From the rocky wall, upon which the guard-room stoed, ran out at right angles into the sea a curtain of granite-so narrow that its utmost breadth hardly amounted to five feet, and resembling an artificial terrace or corridor that had been thrown by the bold architect across the awful abyss to a mighty pile of rock that rose like a column from the very middle of the waves. About a hundred feet from the shore this gallery terminated in a circular tower, which-if the connecting terrace had fallen in-would have look. ed like the work of a magician. This small corridor appeared the more dreadful, because the raging element below had long since forced a passage beneath it; and, the breach being continually widened by the equinoctial storms, it was at length so far undermined that it seemed to hang like an archway in the air; and the narrow cause The German "translator" adds in a note-"two English miles." A very necessary caution: for two German miles would have made the knocker equal to Tom of Lincoln, "So then that's the round house he must be carried to ?" "Aye," said the old man (who had now raised himself from the floor;) "desperate offenders are always lodged there." "By G-," replied the dragoon, "at Vittoria I rode down the whole line of a French battalion that was firing by platoons: there's not a pin to choose between such service as that and crossing such a d-d bridge in a gale of wind like this. Nothing but a miracle can save us." "What the h-ll!" said the other dragoon," this fellow is to be killed at any rate; so he's out of the risk: but must we run the hazard of our lives just to clap a fellow like him in prison? I'm as bold as another when I see reason: but I'll have some hire, I'll have value down, if I am to stand this risk." "Oh! it's impossible," cried the first constable "no man can stand up against the wind on such a devil's gallery: it has no banisters, you see.” "Shall we pitch the fellow down be low?" said the second constable. "I have nothing to say against it," replied one of the dragoons. “Nor I," said the other, "but then mind-we must tell no tales." "Oh! as to that, you know," said the first constable," we shall say the wind carried him out of our hands; and I sup pose there's no cock will crow against us when the job's done." "And besides it is no sin," observed the second; "for hang he must; that's settled; such a villain as him can do no less. So, as matters stand, I don't see but it will be doing him a good turn to toss him into the water.' Unanimous as they were in the plan, they differed about the execution; none choosing to lay hands on the prisoner first. And very seasonably a zealous friend to Bertram stepped forward in the person of the warden. He protested that, as the prisoner was confided to his care, he must and would inform against them unless they flung him down also. Under this dilemma, they chose rather to face again the perils of Vittoria. They fetched stout ropes, and fastened them about themselves and the extremity of the door-post. That done, the constables stepped out first, the old man in the centre, and after them the two dragoons taking the prisoner firmly under their arms. Some blasts of wind were terrifically violent; and Bertram, as he looked down upon the sea which raged on both sides below him, felt himself giddy; but the dragoons dragged him across. The old man had already opened the tower, and Bertram heard chains rattling. They led him down several steps, cut the ropes in two which confined him, but in their stead put heavy and rusty fetters about his feet and swollen hands. The five agents of police then remounted the steps; the door was shut; and the sound of bolts, locks, and chains, announced to the prisoner that he was left to his own solitary thoughts. This, by the way, is somewhat of a libel upon human nature: if four men could with so much levity dispose of a prisoner to whom they had no enmity, what becomes of those prisoners to whom they have a national hatred? British dragoons besides are not usually suspected of declining any service on the plea of danger; which, great as it was, did not (as the reader soon finds) deter a timid young lady from crossing the same gallery on the same night. Bertram has fallen asleep, and is dreaming of spring and green fields; when he is suddenly wakened by the dreary astonishment he perceives a dim light howling of the wintry wind: to his in his cell, and a young lady wrapt up in furs standing at a little distance; her he recognizes as the same whose beauty and touching expression of grief had drawn all eyes on St. David's day. She, who believes him to be Nicholas, and has not light enough to discover her error, comes to return a letter of frantic passion which she had lately received from that lawless person-to furnish him with money-and to conjure him to think of her no more, and to use the means of escape which she will do her best to put in his way. Before he has time to answer, she opens the door where an officer appears waiting to conduct her across the bridge, and vanishes. To this officer, Sir Charles Davenant, she confides her distress and her wishes. Sir Charles has too much honour to betray her, but declines to interpose between the gallows and one whom he thinks so well fitted to adorn it. In her anguish she addresses herself to her own maid, an amiable girl, who calls upon her lover to assist. He who has deep obligations and attachment to Nicholas would have needed no such stimulus to such a service: but he happens secretly to know that the prisoner is not Nicholas. Mr. Bertram therefore stands a fair chance for a long confinement: but is delivered in consequence of a scene which would be very effective in a melodrama. For this the way is paved by a previous scene of high "fun." Dulberry has taken it into his head to stroll up to the castle gate: his usual Jeremiades about "Castlereagh's hussars," "Manchester massacres," and "hoofs of dragoons" are not likely to recommend him to the present garrison: the dragoons issue, and get to all sorts of pleasant games with the poor reformer. They form a ring, and send round this shining light of politics from hand to hand like so many lauradnpopot. Dulberry's piercing invocations of the "Habeas Corpus Act" alarm the castle, and Sir Morgan himself issues on the battlements above. And now 66 great deeds would have ensued" we were in hopes,-the two bores having at length met as for a solemn engagement. But this engagement is short. Each however has time to launch his respective piece of insanity at the other. Dulberry from below lodges his complaint against the dragoons, adding that they had tossed his white hat into the sea-and had also violated the Great Charter by preventing him from drowning himself. Upon which the baronet from above replies that he had no objection to his drowning himself, none at all, but will never allow that a ragged Manchester radical shall pollute the water at his castle gates which had been hallowed by so many of his illustrious ancestors, who had there been used to precipitate themselves or their great Saxon prisoners. He therefore approves what the dragoons had done. Dulberry rejoins by accusing Sir Morgan of high treason upon a certain statute of the Second of Queen Elizabeth made in behalf of "those of the reformed faith" which he applies to the benefit of the Manchester reformers. All present are scandalized at such language addressed to the old Walladmor on his own castle walls: both dragoons, and Sir Morgan's household, join in snowballing Dulberry, and a scene of uproarious fun succeeds: every soul in the castle has issued to witness or partake in these "high jinks" with Dulberry: it is dusk: the castlegates are left unguarded; and a stranger muffled up in a cloak slips in to a long saloon where he finds Sir Morgan alone. Sir Morgan, seeing a dusky figure standing in silence, is at first disposed to take it for the ghost of Rhees ap Meredith: but the stranger explains that he comes to vindicate the innocence of Bertram, and to demand his liberation, for that he is not the true Nicholas, however strikingly he resembles him. "But what vouchers," Sir Morgan asks, "can he give for all this; what security?" "Security!-You would have security? Well, you shall. Do you remember that time, when the great Dutch ship was cruizing off the coast, and the landing of the crew was nightly expected?" "I remember it well; for at that time I had beset the coast with faithful followers: and once or twice I watched myself all night through." "True: and on the 29th of September you were lying upon your arms behind in the uniform of a sea-fencible joined you: Arthur's pillar. About midnight a man and you may remember some conversation you had with him?" Had Sir M. Walladmor been addicted to trembling, he would now have trembled: with earnest gaze, and outstretched arms, he listened without speaking to the stranger, who continued: You talked together, until the moon was setting; and then, when the work was done-Sir Morfired: and in the twinkling of an eye up gan-when the work was done, a shot was sprang the sea-fencible, as I do nowand he cried aloud, as I do now, Farewell! Sir Morgan Walladmor!" And so saying the stranger threw open his cloak, discovering underneath a dírk and a brace of pistols; and at the same time, with an impressive gesture, he raised his cap from his head. upon the old man and with an aspect, in which some defiance was blended with a deep sorrow that could not be mistaken, he turned away slowly with the words "Farewell!-Gladly, Sir Morgan, I would offer you my hand: but that in this world is not to be: a Walladmor does not give his hand to an outlaw!" Sir Morgan was confounded: he looked on whilst the bold offender with tranquil steps moved down the whole length of the saloon, opened the folding doors, and vanished. Sir Morgan was still numbering the steps of the departing visitor, as he descended the great stair-case: and the last echo had reached his ear from the remote windings of the castle chambers, whilst he was yet unresolved what course he should pursuc. Bertram is now set at liberty; becomes the guest and favourite of Sir Morgan and Nicholas is no more heard of for some months. At length spring comes on, and Nicholas is again on the scene. He suspects that Bertram is making love to Miss Walladmor; becomes more frantic than ever from jealousy; writes a letter to Bertram, and tells him that-if that were true-it would cancel a thousandfold all obligations to him; and finally, having now a staunch party of smuggling lads under him, meditates an attack on Walladmor Castle. Sir Morgan has this intention betrayed to him whilst he is on a sea excursion: he returns hastily; is in some danger of a seafight; and in a heavy gale of wind, which comes on at dusk, loses one of his boats. Miss Walladmor's maid perishes in spite of the fearless exertions of her lover to save her-(by the bye, having so few young women in his novel, the author should have been more careful of them): but Miss Walladmor herself is saved by Bertram which enables us to make a classical allusion to Tooke's Pantheon; viz. that as Antæus recovered strength in his 'turn-up' with - Hercules by touching his mother earth, so doth Mr. Bertram, whose vocation otherwise is not heroism, never fail to resume his courage and generosity when he is fairly drenched in salt water. has taken place in his absence, through Sir Morgan finds that an attack some error in the information of Nicholas, and has been defeated. A second attack is known to be meditated in a few hours. But, on this same evening, Nicholas falls in with and engages a body of dragoons commanded by Sir Charles Davenant. The action is sharp and bloody; but Sir Charles defeats him, and almost annihilates his party. The consequence is that about midnight Nicholas presents himself at the gate of Walladmor castle-knocks-is admitted-walks into the midst of Sir Morgan's guests banqueting in the great hall, and in a robber-Moor-like scene- the groupes and attitudes of which are well studied for effect-surrenders himself, as a man now without hope and careless of life. Next comes down a special commission to try him: the morning is come all the world are flocking to his trial: the judge has robed: the court is set: the jury are sworn: there is not room left for a bodkin to be wedged into the crowd: smugglers even and pirates have ventured into the audience; and Captain le Harnois himself has risen from the dead, and is supposed to be in court. At this point the author takes upon him to quiz some of our English foibles: Betting goes on in open court: 15 to 1 are offered that Nicholas does not "show the white feather," and various odds upon other contingencies. How the indictment is laid, we are not very clearly informed: but from the speeches of counsel it is manifest that some case of treason (whether Cato-street is not said) is the main count. The counsel for the prisoner, who is called "Master Pritchard,' "makes a very long speech; so long-that, if any * In general the author is better read in Hollinshed, &c. than in books of more modern costume. By the way, Master P. quotes Eschylus: and we observe that the author approves of this on the ground that it tended to throw dust in the eyes of the court-" not one of whom, as ill-natured Leumund asserts (der böse Leumund), understood a word of what he was saying." We know not Mr. Leumund (i. e. English reader, Mr. Sneer,) For Mrs. Candor his sister; nor much desire to know him; but we suppose he has read some story of Parson Adams and Æschylus. Things are changed however since then : amongst other improvements in England since the days of Parson Adams, we observe that Swedish turnips have improved-Welsh geography has improved-and Greek has |