CHAPTER VII. KEVIN STREET
How this long, melancholy day wore on I cannot say. To me it was as gloomy in revery as in its own dismal aspect; the very sounds of mirth that issued from the cabin beneath grated harshly on my ear; and the merry strains of Darby’s pipes and the clear notes of his rich voice seemed like treachery from one who so lately had spoken in terms of heart-breathing emotion of his countrymen and their wrongs. While, therefore, my estimation for my companion suffered, my sorrow for the cause that demanded such sacrifices deepened at every moment, and I panted with eagerness for the moment when I might take my place among the bold defenders of my country, and openly dare our oppressors to the battle. All that M’Keown had told me of English tyranny and oppression was connected in my mind with the dreadful scene I had so lately been a witness to, and for the cause of which I looked no further than an act of simple hospitality. From this I wandered on to the thought of those brave allies who had deserted their career of Continental glory to share our almost hopeless fortunes here; and how I burned to know them, and learn from them something of a soldier’s ardor.
Night had fallen when the fitful flashing of lamps between the tall elms that lined the banks announced our approach to the capital. There is something dreadfully depressing in the aspect of a large city, to the poor, unfriended youth, who without house or home is starting upon his life’s journey. The stir, the movement, the onward tide of population, intent on pleasure or business, are things in which he has no part. The appearance of wealth humiliates, while the sight of poverty affrights him; and, while every one is animated by some purpose, he alone seems like a waif thrown on the shores of life, unclaimed, unlocked for. Thus did I feel among that busy crowd who now pressed to the deck, gathering together their luggage, and preparing for departure. Some home awaited each of these, – some hearth, some happy faces to greet their coming. But I had none of these. This was a sorrowful thought; and as I brooded over it, my head sank upon my knees, and I saw nothing of what was going forward about me.
“Tom,” whispered a low voice in my ear, – “Master Tom, don’t delay, my dear; let us slip out here. The soldiers want me to go with them to their billets, and I have promised; but I don’t mean to do it.”
I looked up. It was Darby, buttoned up in his coat, his pipes unfastened for the convenience of carriage.
“Slip out after me at the lock here; it ‘s so dark we ‘ll never be seen.”
Keeping my eye on him, I elbowed my way through the crowded deck, and sprang out just as the boat began her forward movement.
“Here we are, all safe!” said Darby, patting me on the shoulder. “And now that I ‘ve time to ask you, did you get your dinner, my child?”
“Oh yes; the captain brought me something to eat.”
“Come, that’s right, anyhow. Glory be to God! I ate heartily of some bacon and greens; though the blackguards – bad luck to them for the same! – made me eat an orange lily whole, afraid the greens, as they said, might injure me.”
“I wonder. Darby,” said I, “that you haven’t more firmness than to change this way at every moment.”
“Firmness, is it? Faix, it’s firm enough I’d be, and Stiff, too, if I did n’t. Sure it ‘s the only way now at all. Wait, my honey, till the time comes round for ourselves, and faix, you ‘ll never accuse me of coorting their favor; but now, at this moment, you perceive, we must do it to learn their plans. What do you think I got to-night? I learned all the signs the yeos have when they ‘re drinking together, and what they say at each sign. Thers ‘s a way they have of gripping the two little fingers together that I’ll not forget soon.”
For some time we walked on at a rapid pace, without exchanging more than an occasional word. At last we entered a narrow, ill-lighted street, which led from the canal harbor to one of the larger and wider thoroughfares.
“I almost forget the way here,” said Darby, stopping and looking about him.
At last, unable to solve the difficulty, he leaned over the half-door of a shop, and called out to a man within, “Can you tell where is Kevin Street?”
“No. 39?” said the man, after looking at him steadily for a moment.
Darby stroked down one side of his face with his hand slowly; a gesture immediately imitated by the other man.
“What do you know?” said Darby.
“I know ‘U,’” replied the man.
“And what more?”
“I know ‘N’”
“That ‘ill do,” said Darby, shaking hands with him cordially. “Now, tell me the way, for I have no time to spare.”
“Begorra! you ‘re in as great haste as if ye were Darby the Blast himself. Ye ‘ll come in and take a glass?”
Darby only laughed, and again excusing himself, he asked the way; which having learned, he wished his newly-made friend good-night, and we proceeded.
“They know you well hereabouts; by name, at least,” said I, when we had walked on a little.
“That they do,” said Darby, proudly. “From Wexford to Belfast there ‘s few does n’t know me; and they ‘ll know more of me, av I ‘m right, before I die.”
This he spoke with more of determination than I ever heard him use previously.
“Here ‘s the street now; there ‘s the lamp, – that one with the two burners there. Faix, we ‘ve made good track since morning, anyhow.”
As he spoke we entered a narrow passage, through which the street lamp threw a dubious half-light. This conducted us to a small paved court, crossing which we arrived at the door of a large house. Darby knocked in a peculiar manner, and the door was speedily opened by a man who whispered something, to which M’Keown made answer in the same low tone.
“I ‘m glad to see you again,” said the man, louder, as he made way for him to pass.
I pushed forward to follow, when suddenly a strong arm was stretched across my breast, and a gruff voice asked, – “Who are you?”
Darby stepped back, and said something in his ear. The other replied, sturdily, in the negative; and although Darby, as it appeared, used every power of persuasion he possessed, the man was inexorable.
At last, when the temper of both appeared nearly giving way. Darby turned to me, and said, – “Wait for me a moment, Tom, where you are, and I ‘ll come for you.”
So saying, he disappeared, and the door closed at the same time, leaving me in darkness on the outside. My patience was not severely taxed; ere five minutes the door opened, and Darby, followed by another person, appeared.
“Mr. Burke,” said this latter, with the tone of voice that at once bespoke a gentleman, “I am proud to know you.” He grasped my hand warmly as he spoke, and shook it affectionately. “I esteem it an honor to be your sponsor here. Can you find your way after me? This place is never lighted; but I trust you ‘ll know it better ere long.”
Muttering some words of acknowledgment, I followed my unseen acquaintance along the dark corridor.
“There’s a step, here,” cried he; “and now mind the stairs.”
A long and winding flight conducted us to a landing, where a candle was burning in a tin sconce. Here my conductor turned round.
“Your Christian name is Thomas, I believe,” said he. At the same moment, as the light fell on me, he started suddenly back, with an air of mingled astonishment and chagrin. “Why, M’Keown, you told me – ” The rest of the sentence was lost in a whisper.
“It ‘s a disguise I made him wear,” said Darby. “He ‘d no chance of escaping the country without it.”
“I ‘m not speaking of that,” retorted the other, angrily.
“It is his age, I mean; he’s only a boy. How old are you, sir?” continued he, addressing me, but with far less courtesy than before.
“Old enough to live for my country; or die for it either, if need be,” said I, haughtily.
“Bravo, my darling!” cried the piper, slapping me on the shoulder with enthusiasm.
“That’s not exactly my question,” said the stranger, smiling good-naturedly; “I want to know your age.”
“I was fourteen in August,” said I.
“I had rather you could say twenty,” responded he, thoughtfully. “This is a sad mistake of yours, Darby. What dependence can be placed on a child like this? He’s only a child, after all.”
“He’s a child I’ll go bail for with my head,” said Darby.
“Your head has fully as much on it as it is fit to carry,” said the other, in a tone of rebuke. “Have you told him anything of the object and intentions of this Society? But of course you have revealed everything. Well, I ‘ll not be a party to this business. Young gentleman,” continued he, in a voice of earnest and impressive accent, “all I know of you is the few particulars this man has stated respecting your unfriended position, and the cruelty to which you fear to expose yourself in trusting to the guardianship of Mr. Basset. If these reasons have induced you, from recklessness and indifference, to risk your life, by association with men who are actuated by high and noble principles, then, I say, you shall not enter here. If, however, aware of the object and intentions of our Union, you are desirous to aid us, young though you be, I shall not refuse you.”
“That’s it,” interrupted Darby; “if you feel in your heart a friend to your country – ”
“Silence!” said the other, harshly; “let him decide for himself.”
“I neither know your intentions, nor even guess at them,” said I, frankly. “My destitution, and the poor prospect before me, make me, as you suppose, indifferent to what I embark in, provided that it be not dishonorable.
“It is not danger that will deter me, that ‘s all I can promise you.”
“I see,” said the stranger, “this is but another of your pranks, Mr. M’Keown; the young gentleman was to be kidnapped amongst us. One thing,” said he, turning to me, “I feel assured of, that anything you have witnessed here is safe within your keeping; and now we’ll not press the matter further. In a few days you can hear, and make up your mind on all these things; and as you are not otherwise provided, let us make you our guest in the mean while.”
Without giving me time to reply, he led me downstairs again, and unlocking a room on the second floor, passed through several rooms, until he reached one comfortably fitted up like a study.
“You must be satisfied with a sofa here for to-night but to-morrow I will make you more comfortable.”
I threw my eyes over the well-filled bookshelf with delight, and was preparing to thank him for all his kindness to me, when he added, —
“I must leave you now, but we ‘ll meet to-morrow; so good-night. Come along, M’Keown; we shall want you presently.”
I would gladly have detained Darby to interrogate him about my new abode and its inhabitants; but he was obliged to obey, and I heard the door locked as they closed it on the outside, and shortly after the sounds of their feet died away, and I was left in silence.
Determined to con over, and if possible explain to myself, the mystery of my position, I drew my sofa towards the fire and sat down; but fatigue, stronger than all my curiosity, had the mastery, and I was soon sound asleep.
CHAPTER VIII. NO. 39, AND ITS FREQUENTERS
When my eyes opened the following morning, it was quite pardonable in me if I believed I was still dreaming. The room, which I had scarcely time to look at the previous evening, now appeared handsomely, almost richly furnished. Books in handsome bindings covered the shelves, prints in gilded frames occupied the walls, and a large mirror filled the space above the chimney. Various little articles of taste, in bronze and marble, were scattered about, and a silver tea equipage of antique pattern graced a small table near the fire. A pair of splendidly mounted pistols hung at one side of the chimney glass, and a gorgeously gilt sabre occupied the other.
While I took a patient survey of all these, and was deliberately examining myself as to how and when I had first made their acquaintance, a voice from an adjoining room, the door of which lay open, exclaimed, —
“Sacristi! quel mauvais temps!” and then broke out into a little French air, to which, after a minute, the singer appeared to move, in a kind of dancing measure. “Qui, c’est ça!” exclaimed he, in rapture, as he whirled round in a pirouette, overturning a dressing-table and its contents with a tremendous crash upon the floor.
I started up, and without thinking of what I was doing, rushed in.
“Ha! bonjour,” said he, gayly, stretching out two fingers of a hand almost concealed beneath a mass of rings. And then suddenly changing to English, which he spoke perfectly, saving with a foreign accent, – “How did you sleep? I suppose the tintamarre awoke you.”
I hastened to apologize for my intrusion; which he stopped at once by asking if I had passed a comfortable night, and had a great appetite for breakfast.
Assuring him of both facts, I retreated into the sitting room, where he followed me, laughing heartily at his mishap, which he confessed he had not patience to remedy. “And what ‘s worse,” added he; “I have no servant. But here ‘s some tea and coffee; let us chat while we eat.”
I drew over my chair at his invitation, and found myself – before half an hour went by – acted on by that strange magnetism which certain individuals possess, to detail to my new friend the principal events of my simple story, down to the very moment in which we sat opposite to each other. He listened to me with the greatest attention, occasionally interposing a question, or asking an explanation of something which he did not perfectly comprehend; and when I concluded, he paused for some minutes, and then, with a slight laugh, said: —
“You don’t know how you disappointed the people here. Your travelling companion had given them to understand that you were some other Burke, whose alliance they have been long desiring. In fact, they were certain of it; but,” said he, starting up hastily, “it is far better as it is. I suspect, my young friend, the way in which you have been entrapped. Don’t fear; we are perfectly safe here. I know all the hackneyed declamations about wrongs and slavery that are in vogue; and I know, too, how timidly they shrink from every enterprise by which their cause might be honorably, boldly asserted. I am myself another victim to the assumed patriotism of this party. I came over here two years since to take the command. A command, – but in what an army! An undisciplined rabble, without arms, without officers, without even clothes; their only notion of warfare, a midnight murder, or a reckless and indiscriminate slaughter. The result could not be doubtful, – utter defeat and discomfiture. My countrymen, disgusted at the scenes they witnessed, and ashamed of such confrerie; accepted the amnesty, and returned to France. I – ”
Here he hesitated, and blushed slightly; after which he resumed: —
“I yielded to a credulity for which there was neither reason nor excuse: I remained. Promises were made me, oaths were sworn, statements were produced to show how complete the organization of the insurgents really was, and to what purpose it might be turned. I drew up a plan of a campaign; corresponded with the different leaders; encouraged the wavering; restrained the headstrong; confirmed the hesitating; and, in fact, for fourteen months held them together, not only against their opponents, but their own more dangerous disunion. And the end is, – what think you? I only learned it yesterday, on my return from an excursion in the West which nearly cost me my life. I was concealed in a cabin in woman’s clothes – ”
“At Malone’s, in the Glen?”
“Yes; how did you know that?”
“I was there. I saw you captured and witnessed your escape.”
“Diantre! How near it was!”
He paused for a second, and I took the opportunity to recount to him the dreadful issue of the scene, with the burning of the cabin. He grew sickly pale as I related the circumstance; then flushing as quickly, he exclaimed, —
“We must look to this; these people must be taken care of, I ‘ll speak to Dalton; you know him?”
“No; I know not one here.”
“It was he who met you last night; he is a noble fellow. But stay; there ‘s a knock at the door.”
He approached the fireplace, and taking down the pistols which hung beside it, walked slowly towards the door.
“‘Tis Darby, sir, – Darby the Blast, coming to speak a word to Mister Burke,” said a voice from without.
The door was opened at once, and Darby entered. Making a deep reverence to the French officer, in whose presence he seemed by no means at his ease. Darby dropped his voice to its most humble cadence, and said, —
“Might I be so bould as to have a word with ye, Master Tom?”
There was something in the way this request was made that seemed to imply a desire for secrecy, – so, at least, the Frenchman understood it, – and turning hastily rounds he said, —
“Yes, to be sure. I ‘ll go into my dressing-room; there is nothing to prevent your speaking here.”
No sooner was the door closed, than Darby drew a chair close to me, and bending down his head, whispered, —
“Don’t trust him, – not from here to that window. They ‘re going to do it without him; Mahony told me so himself. But my name was not drawn, and I ‘m to be off to Kildare this evening. There ‘s a meeting of the boys at the Curragh, and I want you to come with me.”
The state of doubt and uncertainty which had harassed my mind for the last twenty-four hours was no longer tolerable; so I boldly asked M’Keown for an explanation as to the people in whose house I was, – their objects and plans, and how far I was myself involved in their designs.
In fewer words than I could convey it. Darby informed me that the house was the meeting place of the United Irishmen, who still cherished the hope of reviving the scenes of ‘98; that, conscious the failure before was attributable to their having taken the field as an army when they should have merely contented themselves with secret and indirect attacks, they had resolved to adopt a different tactique. It was, in fact, determined that every political opponent to their party should be marked, – himself, his family, and his property; that no opportunity was to be lost of injuring him or his, and, if need be, of taking away his life; that various measures were to be propounded to Parliament by their friends, to the maintenance of which threats were to be freely used to the Government members; and with respect to the great measure of the day, – the Union, – it was decided that on the night of the division a certain number of people should occupy the gallery above the Ministerial benches, armed with hand-grenades and other destructive missiles; that, on a signal given, these were to be thrown amongst them, scattering death and ruin on all sides.
“It will be seen, then,” said Darby, with a fiendish grin, “how the enemies of Ireland pay for their hatred of her! Maybe they ‘ll vote away their country after that!”
Whether it was the tone, the look, or the words that suddenly awoke me from my dreamy infatuation, I know not; but coming so soon after the Frenchman’s detail of the barbarism of the party, a thorough disgust seized me, and the atrocity of this wholesale murder lost nothing of its blackness from being linked with the cause of liberty.
With ready quickness, Darby saw what my impression was, and hastily remarked: —
“We ‘ll be all away out of this, Master Tom, you know, before that. We ‘ll be up in Kildare, where we ‘ll see the boys exercising and marching; that’s what ‘ill do your heart good to look at. But before we go, you ‘ll have to take the oath, for I’m answerable for you all this time with my own head; not that I care for that same, but others might mistrust ye.”
“Halloo!” cried the Frenchman, from within; “I hope you have finished your conference there, for you seem to forget there’s no fire in this room.”
“Yes, sir; and I beg a thousand pardons,” said Darby, servilely. “And Master Tom only wants to bid you goodby before he goes.”
“Goes! goes where? Are you so soon tired of me?” said he, in an accent of most winning sweetness.
“He’s obliged to be at the Curragh, at the meeting there,” said Darby, answering for me.
“What meeting? I never heard of it.”
“It ‘s a review, sir, of the throops, that ‘s to be by moonlight.”
“A review!” said the Frenchman, with a scornful laugh. “And do you call this midnight assembly of marauding savages a review?”
Darby’s face grew dark with rage, and for a second I thought he would have sprung on his assailant; but with a fawning, shrewd smile he lisped out, —
“It’s what they call it. Captain; sure the poor boys knows no better.”
“Are you going to this review?” said the Frenchman, with an ironical pronunciation of the word.
“I scarce know where to go, or what to do,” said I, in a tone of despairing sadness; “any certainty would be preferable to the doubts that harass me.”
“Stay with me,” said the Frenchman, interrupting me and laying his hand on my shoulder; “we shall be companions to each other. Your friend here knows I can teach you many things that may be useful to you hereafter; and perhaps, with all humility I may say, your stay will be as profitable as at the camp yonder.”
“I should not like to desert one who has been so kind to me as Darby; and if he wishes – ”
Before I could finish my sentence, the door was opened by a key from without, and Dalton, as he was called, stood amongst us.
“What, Darby!” said he, in a voice of something like emotion; “not gone yet! You know I forbid you coming up here; I suspected what you would be at. Come, lose no more time; we ‘ll take care of Mr. Burke for you.”
Darby hung his head sorrowfully, and left the room without speaking, followed by Dalton, whose voice I heard in a tone of anger as he descended the stairs.
There was a certain openness, an easy air of careless freedom, in the young Frenchman, which made me feel at home in his company almost the very moment of our acquaintance; and when he asked some questions about myself and my family, I hesitated not to tell him my entire history, with the causes which had first brought me into Darby’s society, and led me to imbibe his doctrines and opinions. He paused when I finished, and after reflecting for some minutes, he looked me gravely in the face, and said, —
“But you are aware of the place you are now in?”
“No,” said I; “further than the fact of my having enjoyed a capital night’s rest and eaten an excellent breakfast, I know nothing about it.”
A hearty burst of laughter from my companion followed this very candid acknowledgment on my part.
“Then, may I ask, what are your intentions for the future? Have you any?”
“At least one hundred,” said I, smiling; “but every one of them has about as many objections against it. I should like much, for instance, to be a soldier, – not in the English service though. I should like to belong to an army where neither birth nor fortune can make nor mar a man’s career. I should like, too, to be engaged in some great war of liberty, where with each victory we gained the voices of a liberated people would fall in blessings upon us. And then I should like to raise myself to high command by some great achievement.”
“And then,” said the Frenchman, interrupting, “to come back to Ireland, and cut off the head of this terrible Monsieur Basset. N’est-ce pas, Tom?”
I could not help joining in his laugh against myself; although in good truth I had felt better pleased if he had taken up my enthusiasm in a different mood.
“So much for mere dreaming!” said I, with half a sigh, as our laughter subsided.
“Not so,” said he, quickly, – “not so; all you said is far more attainable than you suspect. I have been in such a service myself. I won my ‘grade’ as officer at the point of my sword, when scarcely your age; and before I was fifteen, received this.”
He took down the sword that hung over the chimney as he said these words, and drawing it from the scabbard, pointed to the inscription, which in letters of gold adorned the blade, – “Rivoli,” “Arcole;” then turning the reverse, I read, – “Au Lieutenant Charles Gustave de Meudon, Troisième Cuirassiers.”
“This, then, is your name?” said I, repeating it half aloud.
“Yes,” replied he, as he drew himself up, and seemed struggling to repress a feeling of pride that sent the blood rushing to his cheek and brow.
“How I should like to be you!” was the wish that burst from me at that moment, and which I could not help uttering in words.
“Hélas, non!” said the Frenchman, sorrowfully, and turning away to conceal his agitation; “I have broken with fortune many a day since.”
The tone of bitter disappointment in which these words were spoken left no room for reply, and we were both silent.
Charles – for so I must now call him to my reader, as he compelled me to do so with himself – Charles was the first to speak.
“Not many months ago my thoughts were very like your own; but since then how many disappointments! how many reverses!”
He walked hurriedly up and down the room as he said this; then stopping suddenly before me, laid his hand on my shoulder, and with a voice of impressive earnestness said: —
“Be advised by me: join not with these people; do not embark with them in their enterprise. Their enterprise!” repeated he, scornfully: “they have none. The only men of action here are they with whom no man of honor, no soldier, could associate; their only daring, some deed of rapine and murder. No! liberty is not to be achieved by such hands as these. And the other, – the men of political wisdom, who prate about reform and the people’s rights, who would gladly see such as me adventure in the cause they do not care themselves to advocate, – they are all false alike. Give me,” cried he, with energy, and stamping his foot upon the ground, – “give me a demibrigade of ours, some squadrons of Milhaud’s cavalry, and trois bouches a feu to open the way before us. But why do I speak of this? Some midnight burning, some savage murder, some cowardly attack on unarmed and defenceless people, – these are our campaigns here. And shall I stain this blade in such a conflict?”
“But you will go back to France?” said I, endeavoring to say something that might rally him from his gloom.
“Never,” replied he, firmly, “never! I alone, of all my countrymen, maintained, that to leave the people here at such a crisis was unfair and unmanly. I alone believed in the representations that were made of extended organization, of high hopes, and ardent expectations. I accepted the command of their army. Their army! what a mockery! When others accepted the amnesty, I refused, and lived in concealment, my life hanging upon the chance of being captured. For fourteen months I have wandered from county to county, endeavoring to rally the spirit I had been taught to think only needed restraint to hold back its impetuous daring. I have spent money largely, for it was largely placed at my disposal; I have distributed places and promises; I have accepted every post where danger offered; and in return, I hoped that the hour was approaching when we should test the courage of our enemies by such an outbreak as would astonish Europe. And what think you has all ended in? But my cheek burns at the very thought! An intended attack on the Government Members of Parliament, – an act of base assassination, – a cowardly murder! And for what, too? – to prevent a political union with England I Have they forgotten that our cause was total rupture! independence! open enmity with England! But, c’est fini, I have given them my last resolve. Yesterday evening I told the delegates the only chance that, in my opinion, existed of their successfully asserting their own independence. I gave them the letters of French officers, high in command and station, concurring with my own views; and I have pledged myself to wait one month longer, – if they deem my plans worthy of acceptance, – to consider all the details, and arrange the mode of proceeding. If they refuse, then I leave Ireland forever within a week. In America, the cause I glory in is still triumphant; and there, no prestige of failure shall follow me to damp my own efforts, nor discourage the high hopes of such as trust me. But you, my poor boy, – and how have I forgotten you in all this sad history I – I will not suffer you to be misled by false representations and flattering offers. It may be the only consolation I shall carry with me from this land of anarchy and misfortune. But even that is something, – if I rescue one untried and uncorrupted heart from the misery of such associates. You shall be a soldier, – be my companion here while I stay. I ‘ll arrange everything for your comfort; we ‘ll read and talk together; and I will endeavor to repay the debt I owe to France, by sending back there one better than myself to guard her eagles.”
The tears ran fast down my cheeks as I heard these words; but not one syllable could I utter.
“You do not like my plan. Well – ”
Before he could conclude, I seized his hand with rapture within both of mine, and pressed it to my lips.
“It is a bargain, then,” said he, gayly. “And now let us lose no more time; let us remove this breakfast-table, and begin at once.”
Another table was soon drawn over to the fire, upon which a mass of books, maps, and plates were heaped by my companion, who seemed to act in the whole affair with all the delight of a schoolboy in some exploit of amusement.
“You are aware, Tom, that this place is a prison to me, and therefore I am not altogether disinterested in this proposal. You, however, can go out when you please; but until you understand the precautions necessary to prevent you from being traced here, it is better not to venture into the city.”
“I have no wish whatever to leave this,” said I, quickly, while I ranged my eye with delight over the pile of books before me, and thought of all the pleasure I was to draw from their perusal.
“You must tell me so three weeks hence, if you wish to flatter me,” replied Charles, as he drew over his chair, and pointed with his hand to another.
It needed not the pleasing and attractive power of my teacher to make my study the most captivating of all amusements. Military science, even in its gravest forms, had an interest for me such as no other pursuit could equal. In its vast range of collateral subjects, it opened an inexhaustible mine to stimulate industry and encourage research. The great wars of the world were the great episodes in history, wherein monarchs and princes were nothing, if not generals. With what delight, then, did I hang over the pages of Carnot and Jomini! With what an anxious heart would I read the narrative of a siege, where, against every disadvantage of numbers and munitions of war, some few resisted all the attacks of the adverse forces, with no other protection save that of consummate skill! With what enthusiasm did I hear of Charles the Twelfth, of Wallenstein, of the Prince Eugene! And how often-times did I ask myself in secret, Why had the world none such as these to boast of now? – till at last the name of Bonaparte burst from my companion’s lips, as, with a torrent of long-restrained devotion, he broke forth into an eloquent and impassioned account of the great general of his age!