four o'clock in the morning of the appointed day. This was rather an early time for a formal visit to an emperor; but the Turks have not yet been taught the advantages which arise from reversing the order of those natural rules by which many of their customs are governed; hence, they commence business with the rising sun, dine and sup at early hours, and retire to rest soon after sunset, taking occasionally a nap in the middle of a summer's day, when the extreme heat of the season inclines the body to repose and the mind to indolence.

We were then in the early part of June; and as the distance from the Seraglio, and the formalities we should be required to go through on our way thither, were considered likely to take up much time, it had been deemed necessary that we should be ready to start at daybreak.

So great was the anxiety among the English not to miss being present at this celebrated ceremony, that many did not go to bed on the preceding night, for fear of over-sleeping themselves.

The important day dawned at last, and at half-past three the great gates of the palace were thrown open. The extensive grounds which surround the building were soon filled with a crowd of servants, grooms, and a number of horses saddled in the English and Turkish fashion. Along the front avenue, three companies of a regiment of Janissaries, who were to act as an extra-guard of honour, took their station, as well as twenty-four marines of the Salcette. An officer of rank, acting as under-master of the ceremonies at the Seraglio, arrived on horseback, for the purpose of conducting the Ambassador. He was followed by ten subaltern officers also mounted, and by four Arab grooms, who led as many horses richly caparisoned, sent to his Excellency as a pre

sent from the Sultan.

The suburb of Pera, which foreigners of all nations have chosen for their town residence, is situated on an eminence, and is the continuation of several streets, each about a mile and a half in length, leading to various parts of the quays that border the harbour of Constantinople. The British palace is at the furthest extremity of it; and neither the distance to the place where we were to cross the harbour, nor the dignity of the Ambassador, could admit of his going to it on such an occasion on foot. Carriages have not yet come into use in this Eastern capital, at least for men; and, moreover, as it is customary among the Turks to perform their visits of ceremony on horseback, this was the mode chosen by his Excellency. A regular procession was to be formed on leaving the palace; the order of it had been settled by the Ambassador, and made known to the persons concerned by a written list, which was circulated among them on their assembling at the palace. The Secretary of Legation having the character of Minister Plenipotentiary, in which capacity he was to succeed Mr. Adair, had been designated in the list, as the person who should ride next to the Ambassador in the procession, and after him, Lord Byron and the Consul-general.

Whilst most of us were lounging about the numerous suite of lofty apartments, waiting for the word of departure, I observed Lord Byron. take up the list of the procession in a careless manner, and almost immediately after throw it on the table, and walk hastily to the next room. Here Mr. Adair was standing; and Lord Byron, whom I had followed, went up to him and spoke in a manner which evidently im

plied a reference to the paper he had just seen. As neither his Lordship nor his Excellency showed any wish that their conversation should remain unheard, I approached them near enough to become soon convinced that my suspicions relative to the subject of it had been correct. Lord Byron expressed surprise that, as a peer of the realm, his name should not have been put in the list next to the Ambassador's. Mr. Adair assured him, that, by the arrangements made, nothing like disrespect to his Lordship was intended to be conveyed; but he begged leave to inform him, that the place next to himself on this occasion belonged to Mr. Stratford Canning, the Secretary of Embassy, and could be assigned to no one else. Lord Byron replied with some warmth, that he did not coincide with his (Mr. A.'s) view of the matter, and that, rather than conform to it, he would altogether relinquish the pleasure of accompanying him. To this Mr. Adair rejoined, in a tone of cold civility, that his Lordship was, of course, at liberty to act as he thought proper; whereupon Lord Byron wished his Excellency a good morning, and hastily left the palace.

This altercation, which was speedily known to all the English then at the palace, gave rise to a good deal of debate among them, opinions being divided as to the right of a peer to precedence on an official occasion, in which he was not a functionary. No doubt, however, should have existed on the subject, a peerage entitling the possessor to no particular precedence at a foreign court, when unaccompanied with the investment of actual authority there. When the Duke of Wellington, Lord Clancarty, and Lord Castlereagh as British Minister of Foreign Affairs, went to the Congress of Vienna, they were formally introduced at the Austrian court by the English Ambassador accredited to the court, who in all court ceremonies took precedence of them. The ceremony of the audience I must reserve for my next paper.

RECORDS OF WOMAN.-NO. VIII.

Joan of Arc, in Rheims.

THAT was a joyous day in Rheims of old,
When peal on peal of mighty music roll'd
Forth from her throng'd Cathedral; while around
A multitude, whose billows made no sound,
Chain'd to a hush of wonder, though elate
With victory, listen'd to their temple's gate.
-And what was done within?-Within, the light,
Through the rich gloom of storied windows flowing,
Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight,

The chivalry of France, their proud heads bowing
In martial vassalage! While 'midst that ring,
And shadow'd by ancestral tombs, a king
Received his birthright's crown. For this, the hymn
Swell'd out like rushing waters, and the day
With the sweet censer's misty breath grew dim,
As through long aisles it floated o'er th' array
Of arms and sweeping states. But who, alone
And unapproach'd, beside the altar-stone,

With the white banner, forth like sunshine streaming,
And the gold helm, through clouds of fragrance gleaming,

Silent and radiant stood?-The helm was raised,
And the fair face reveal'd, that upward gazed
Intensely worshipping: a still, clear face,
Youthful, but brightly solemn! Woman's cheek
And brow were there in deep devotion meek,
Yet glorified with Inspiration's trace

On their pure paleness; while, enthroned above,
The pictured Virgin, with her smile of love,
Seem'd bending o'er her votaress. That slight form!
Was that the leader through the battle storm?

Had the soft light in that adoring eye

Guided the warrior where the swords flash'd high?
'Twas so, even so!-and thou, the shepherd's child,
Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild!

Never before, and never since that hour,

Hath woman, mantled with victorious power,

Stood forth as thou beside the shrine didst stand,
Holy, amidst the knighthood of the land,
And beautiful with joy and with renown,

Lift thy white banner o'er the olden crown,
Ransom'd for France by thee!

The rites are done!
Now let the dome with trumpet-notes be shaken,
And bid the echoes of the tombs awaken ;
And come thou forth, that Heaven's rejoicing sun
May give thee welcome from thine own blue skies,
Daughter of victory!-A triumphant strain,
A proud rich stream of warlike melodies,
Gush'd through the portals of the antique fane,
And forth she came. Then rose a nation's sound-
Oh! what a power to bid the quick heart bound,
The wind bears onwards with the stormy cheer
Man gives to Glory on her high career!

Is there indeed such power?-far deeper dwells
In one kind household voice, to reach the cells

Whence happiness flows forth!-The shouts that fill'd
The hollow heaven tempestuously were still'd

One moment; and in that brief pause, the tone,

As of a breeze that o'er her home had blown,

Sank on the bright maid's heart." Joanne!"-Who spoke
Like those whose childhood with her childhood grew
Under one roof?" Joanne !"-That murmur broke
With sounds of weeping forth !—She turn'd,—she knew
Beside her, mark'd from all the thousands there,

In the calm beauty of his silver hair,

The stately shepherd; and the youth, whose joy
From his dark eye flash'd proudly; and the boy,
The youngest born, that ever loved her best:
-"Father! and ye, my brothers !"*-On the breast
Of that grey sire she sank-and swiftly back,

Ev'n in an instant, to their native track

"Jeanne d'Arc avait eu la joie de voir à Chalons quelques amis de son enfance. Une joie plus ineffable encore l'attendait à Rheims, au sein de son triomphe Jacques d'Arc, son Père, y se trouva, aussitôt que les troupes de Charles sept y furent entrées ; et comme les deux frères de notre héroine l'avaient accompagnés, elle se vit, pour un instant, au milieu de sa famille, dans les bras d'un Père vertueux, auquel cette vertueuse fille se plut à renvoyer ces hommages d'estime dont elle étoit entouréc."-Almanach de Gotha.

Her free thoughts flow'd.-She saw the pomp no more-
The plumes, the banners!-to her cabin-door,
And to the Fairy's fountain in the glade*.
Where her young sisters by her side had play'd,
And to her hamlet's chapel, where it rose
Hallowing the forest unto deep repose,
Her spirit turn'd. The very wood-note, sung
In early spring-time by the bird which dwelt
Where o'er her father's roof the beech-leaves hung,
Was in her heart, a music heard and felt,
Winning her back to Nature. She unbound
The helm of many battles from her head,

And, with her bright locks bow'd to sweep the ground,
Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said,-
"Bless me, my Father, bless me! and with thee,
To the still cabin and the beechen tree,

Let me return!"

Oh! never did thine eye
Through the green haunts of happy infancy
Wander again, Joanne! Too much of fame
Had shed its radiance on thy peasant-name;
And bought alone by gifts beyond all price,
The trusting heart's repose, the Paradise
Of home with all its loves, doth Fate allow
The crown of glory unto woman's brow.

THE HAMPTON COURT BEAUTIES.†

MISS PITT, afterwards MRS. SCROOP.-Of this fair and gentle-looking creature, nothing is known but the name or rather names; it does not appear that a Miss Pitt, or a Mrs. Scroop, was attached to the Court of Mary in any ostensible capacity, so that her claim to be admitted into the gallery of Beauties seems to have rested on her charms only. She is here represented in a garden, washing her hands in a fountain which gushes from a lion's mouth; the colouring has much sweetness and delicacy, and the drapery more lightness than in most of the others. The landscape is too dark; perhaps designedly so it was a wellknown practice of Sir Godfrey Kneller, to sacrifice the general effect of his pictures, in order to bring out the head--a trick of art unworthy a great painter.

The COUNTESS OF RANELAGH.-Lady Margaret Cecil, daughter of James Earl of Salisbury, and wife of Richard Jones, last Earl of Ranelagh. Mr. Noble, in his Continuation of Granger's History, has fallen into a strange mistake concerning this Countess of Ranelagh, which will probably be corrected in a future edition. He has confounded her with her mother-in-law and predecessor in the title, Catherine Boyle, daughter of the great Earl of Cork, and sister of the more celebrated Robert Boyle, the philosopher and chemist. The old Countess of Ranelagh, as she was styled in those days, was in all respects

A tree and fountain near Domremi, the native village of Joanne d'Arc, were believed to be haunted by fairies, and were much frequented by the young girls of the neighbouring hamlets, who often suspended wreaths of flowers from the branches of the tree, which was a beech of remarkable size and beauty.

+ Continued from page 278.

one of the most extraordinary and accomplished women of the age in which she lived, emulating her father and brother in talents, in virtue, and in her long and prosperous life. She died very old in 1691; it is therefore impossible that she could have been included in the Gallery of Beauties, which was not begun till some time afterwards. Though a distinguished woman to the last moment of her existence, her beauty belonged to another reign, and a distant period.

The young and lovely Countess of Ranelagh, whose portrait we are now considering, was married, first to Lord Stawel, and afterwards at the age of nineteen, to the Earl of Ranelagh, who was then near sixty, but still

Frisky and juvenile, curly and gay,"

possessing to the last his fine person, his eccentricities, his wit, and his high animal spirits. Lady Ranelagh appears to have been a dazzling and disdainful beauty, and is addressed by her poetical adorers in terms of the humblest deprecation. Lord Lansdown celebrates her, in his "Progress of Beauty," in the most hyperbolical strain of compliment.

"Fain would my muse to Cecil bend her flight,

But turns astonish'd from the dazzling light,
Nor dares attempt to climb the steepy height, &c."

"Climbing a height" is much of a piece with "Cupid and his Galaxy ;" but, as some poor subjects have been embalmed in the "lucid amber" of beautiful verse, so here the beauty of the subjects may be allowed, in return, to absolve the poverty of the verse.

The husband of this beautiful Countess was a man of wit and pleasure in the Court of Charles the Second, and as such he figures in the Memoirs of De Grammont, under the name of Richard Jones.* "He had," says Burnet, "great parts and as great vices, and was capable of all affairs even in the midst of a loose run of pleasure and great riot:" he captivated Charles by his brilliant powers of conversation; pleased James by his dexterity in business; and was favoured by William as a useful political agent. He designed and built for himself a beautiful house at Chelsea, and laid out the gardens with exquisite taste. After the death of his daughter Lady Catherine Jones, this domain fell into the hands of speculators, and was opened as a place of public entertainment and tea-gardens, under the well-known name of Ranelagh. The rotunda, the finest concert-room in Europe, together with the house and gardens, were destroyed about eighteen years ago: the site is now built over, and not a vestige remains of the magnificent taste of Lord Ranelagh and of the gay scenes where our grand-mammas, gorgeous in hoops and brocades, and head-dresses three stories high, swam round the circle, or flirted and sipped tea-scenes which Evelina and Cecilia and Clarissa rendered, in some sort, classic ground. One universal waste of brick and mortar covers all.

This portrait of the Countess of Ranelagh is mentioned by Horace Walpole as one of the finest pictures ever painted by Kneller. The figure

* He rivalled Montagu, and shared with De Grammont in the good graces of the beautiful Mrs. Middleton.-See The Windsor Beauties.