upon them; shrill blasts that sung in my ears, and filled me with sadness, and the recollection of happy hours, fleeting away, perhaps for ever! I was not sorry, when the bustle of our coming in dispelled these phantoms. The change, however, in point of scenery was not calculated to dissipate my gloom; for the first object in this world that presented itself was a vast expanse of sea, just visible by the gleamings of the moon, bathed in watery clouds; a chill air ruffled the waves. I went to shiver a few melancholy moments on the shore. How often did I try to wish away the reality of my separation from those I love, and attempt to persuade myself it was but a dream!

(From Dreams and Waking Thoughts.)

THE COURT OF THE QUEEN OF PORTUGAL

I WAS hardly up before the Grand Prior and Mr. Street were announced; the latter abusing kings, queens, and princes with all his might, and roaring after liberty and independence; the former complaining of fogs and damps.

As soon as the advocate for republicanism had taken his departure, we went by appointment to the archbishop confessor's, -and were immediately admitted into his sanctum sanctorum, a snug apartment communicating by a winding staircase with that of the Queen, and hung with bright, lively tapestry. A lay brother, fat, round, buffoonical, and to the full as coarse and vulgar as any carter or muleteer in Christendom, entertained us with some very amusing, though not the most decent, palace stories, till his patron came forth.

Those who expect to see the Grand Inquisitor of Portugal a doleful, meagre figure, with eyes of reproof and malediction, would be disappointed. A pleasanter or more honest countenance than that kind Heaven has blessed him with one has seldom the

pleasure of looking upon. He received me in the most open, cordial manner, and I have reason to think I am in mighty favour.

We talked about archbishops in England being married. "Pray," said the prelate, are not your archbishops strange fellows? consecrated in ale-houses, and good bottle companions? I have been told that mad-cap Lord Tyrawley was an archbishop

at home." You may imagine how much I laughed at this inconceivable nonsense; and though I cannot say, speaking of his right reverence, that "truths divine came mended from his tongue," it may be allowed, that nonsense itself became more conspicuously nonsensical, flowing from so revered a source.

Whilst we sat in the windows of the saloon, listening to a band of regimental music, we saw João Antonio de Castro, the ingenious mechanician, who invented the present method of lighting Lisbon, two or three solemn Dominicans, and a famous court fool in a tawdry gala suit, bedizened with mock orders, coming up the steps which lead to the great audience chamber, all together. "Ay, ay," said the lay brother, who is a shrewd, comical fellow, "behold a true picture of our customers! Three sorts of persons find their way most readily into this palace; men of superior abilities, buffoons, and saints; the first soon lose what cleverness they possessed, the saints become martyrs, and the buffoons alone prosper.

To all this the archbishop gave his assent by a very significant nod of the head, and being, as I have already told you, in a most gracious, communicative disposition, would not permit me to go away, when I rose to take leave of him.

No, no," said he, "don't think of quitting me yet awhile. Let us repair to the Hall of Swans, where all the court are waiting for me, and pray tell me then what you think of our great fidalgos."

Taking me by the tips of the fingers, he led me along through a number of shady rooms and dark passages to a private door, which opened from the Queen's presence-chamber, into a vast saloon, crowded, I really believe, by half the dignitaries of the kingdom here were bishops, heads of orders, secretaries of state, generals, lords of the bed-chamber, and courtiers of all denominations, as fine and as conspicuous as embroidered uniforms, stars, crosses, and gold keys could make them.

The astonishment of this group at our sudden apparition was truly laughable, and, indeed, no wonder; we must have appeared on the point of beginning a minuet-the portly archbishop in his monastic flowing drapery, spreading himself out like a turkey in full pride, and myself bowing and advancing in a sort of " pasgrave," blinking all the while like an owl in sunshine, thanks to my rapid transition from darkness to the most glaring daylight.

Down went half the party upon their knees, some with petitions

and some with memorials; those begging for places and promotions, and these for benedictions, of which my revered conductor was by no means prodigal. He seemed to treat all these eager demonstrations of fawning servility with the most contemptuous composure, and pushing through the crowd which divided respectfully to give us passage, beckoned the Viscount Ponte de Lima, the Marquis of Lavradio, the Count d'Obidos, and two or three of the lords in waiting, into a mean little room, not above twenty by fourteen.

After a deal of adulatory complimentation in a most subdued tone from the circle of courtiers, for which they got nothing in return but rebuffs and grunting, the archbishop drew his chair close to mine, and said with a very distinct and audible pronunciation, "My dear Englishman, these are all a parcel of flattering scoundrels; do not believe one word they say to you. Though they glitter like gold, mud is not meaner-I know them well. Here," continued he, holding up the flap of my coat, "is a proof of English prudence; this little button to secure the pocket is a precious contrivance, especially in grand company; do not leave it off, or adopt any of our fashions, or you will repent it."

This sally of wit was received with the most resigned complacency by those who had inspired it, and, staring with all my eyes, and listening with all my ears, I could hardly credit either upon seeing the most complaisant gesticulations, and hearing the most abject protestations of devoted attachment to his right reverence's sacred person from all the company.

(From Letters from Portugal.)

WILLIAM COBBETT

[William Cobbett was the son of a small farmer of Farnham, Surrey, and was born there in 1762. In 1784 he enlisted in the 54th regiment, spent a year at Chatham, and was sent with his regiment to Nova Scotia, rising to the rank of sergeant-major. He quitted the army in 1791, and married in February 1792. At this time he brought a charge against some of his officers, but instead of pressing it, went from England to France, and thence to Philadelphia, where he played the part of a vigorous champion of England, writing Observations on Priestley's Emigration (1794), A Bone to Gnaw for the Democrats, and the monthly paper Peter Porcupine (1795). Persecution drove him back to England (1800), and he was at first courted by Pitt's government. His first publications after his return, including the early numbers of the famous Political Register (begun 1802), were still "loyal." But soon after the renewal of the war his paper became (and remained) strongly radical, though never republican. was prosecuted for strictures on flogging in the army (1810), and imprisoned till 1812. The Register continued to appear, edited from prison. When Sidmouth's Six Acts made agitation dangerous, Cobbett withdrew to America, editing the Register in exile (1817-19). In 1819 he reappeared, bringing with him the bones of Paine, as the great assailant of paper money. Thenceforward he plied his pen unmolested. Returned for Oldham in 1832, he sat in Parliament, though hardly a power there, till his death in June 1835.]

He

Swift may have

COBBETT was, like Defoe, a born pamphleteer. been his model in style, as he himself hints. The habit of writing in short clear sentences mainly of Saxon diction was common to both. But Cobbett's style was in other respects entirely his own. His words flowed as easily as his thoughts. His anecdotes, and especially his epithets, clung to the memory. He made no pretence of profound learning. He dealt out facts and arguments closely within the range of the ideas and experience of ordinary Englishmen ; and he was a "popular writer" in the sense of one who wrote what all could understand. The naïveté of his egotism disarmed his critics. He rivalled Junius in the rich discursiveness of his vituperation. He had all the infallibility of a newspaper editor, without wearing the usual mask of one. A

VOL. IV

2 P

great many of the virtues which he claimed for himself seem really to have belonged to him. He is the model of a good husband; he never keeps his wife waiting; he goes home at once when a storm comes on because she is afraid of thunder; his attention to her in small things and great is unfailing. A political agitator in season and out of season, he has all the virtues of a respectable citizen. He has improved every opportunity; he has raised himself by pure patience, sobriety, and energy to a place of power without office, and to honourable recognition as a writer, with no teacher but himself. He has taught himself grammar, gardening, arithmetic, forestry, and farming. He loves the country, and writes charming descriptions of rural scenes and rural life. He brings back from America not only the bones of Paine, but the locust tree and Indian corn. He has taught his countrymen how to plait straw hats. He rises early. He is a lover of riding and coursing. He knows what to eat, drink, and avoid. He praises beer and detests tea, himself seldom drinking either, and smoking little, unless to gain other people's confidence. He cares little for music, and rarely quotes a poet. Hear him discourse on politics, you would believe it had been all his study. He is happy in knowing the exact causes of the distress of the country, and will be broiled on a gridiron if he is wrong. He knows (from Paine) that taxation and paper money are the root of untold evils. He abhors placehunters, boroughmongers, stock-jobbers, political economists, Scotchmen, Quakers, and Jews. He is earnest for the emancipation of the Catholics, but frowns on the repeal of the Test Act. He praises the Medieval Church, and hates Queen Elizabeth and the "wife-killer," as cordially as "Old George Rose" and Ellenborough. Yet he dissuades the Luddites from breaking machines, has great respect for the rights of property, and regards old England as, after all, the best of countries. If not on theology, he will at least deliver himself on morality; and he prints "sermons,” if not on the cardinal virtues, at least on the cardinal vices. He is a fairly sound churchman, little as it appears from many of his writings. Like other men who have been self-taught and self-made, he is most certain of his infallibility where he is most fallible. He made many mistakes in his judgment of events, policies, and persons; and in this respect he learned little wisdom with years. His proposal in the House of Commons that Peel should cease to be a Privy Councillor because of his