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had gone.


not be the result? Mrs. Carnagie soon came running in. Captain Chard

“ Emma- _” Susan stopped. She sat down on an ottoman, and almost gasped for breath: twenty sentences rose to her lips, and none seemed appropriate. "Emma, you are too much with Captain Chard," she uttered at length.

Mrs. Carnagie took the words with uncommon coolness. “ Has Mr. Carnagie been helping you to that opinion ?"

“For shame, Emma! No. But you have been wilfully blinding him. You have told him that Captain Chard's object in coming here so much was to see me.” “ Did he tell you

that?" “ Yes—believing it. I did not undeceive him then: I thought I must speak to you first. Emma, if you do not alter your plan of conduct, you will be lost.” “ Thank

you for warning me," replied Mrs. Carnagie, with a mocking smile.

“Oh, Emma!" cried Susan, imploringly raising her hands,“ have you forgotten that you are your mother's daughter-our sister-the wife of Charles Carnagie? You must alter. You cannot think to-to disgrace her memory; to bring shame upon us, and him!”

Why, Susan, what has taken you to-night? I should think you have caught the fever we spoke of. Who says I am going to disgrace “ You will inevitably lose your good name: if you go on as you

have latterly been doing, lapsing into familiarity with other men and deceiving your husband, you

will deserve to lose it. Halt on your course while you are safe, and while you hold your husband's good opinion and the world's favour. Emma! if you would but turn to Mr. Carnagie with affection, he would turn to you."

“ I will not turn to him,” she passionately interrupted; “ for the love I once bore him has changed to hate. Do not look at me like that; I tell

you it has! I HATE Charles Carnagie.”
She snatched up a light as she spoke, and left the room.

Susan was very unhappy, and lay awake half the night. On the following morning Mr. Carnagie was no better, but he dressed and went into the town. Susan asked whether that was prudent. Oh, there was nothing like exertion to shake off a touch of the fever, was his reply, and it was the last day of Chard's stay.

Captain Chard rode up in the course of the day to take leave, and Mrs. Carnagie came down to receive him, but she had not previously joined her sister ; afraid, Susan supposed, of a recurrence to the last night's topic. They dined alone, Susan and her sister, Mr. Carnagie having said he should not be home for it: only monosyllables passed between them. Afterwards, Susan was surprised at seeing the carriage brought round, and Emma came down in a silk evening dress. There was a party at the Lettsoms'.

Are you going out this evening !" she exclaimed, unable to prevent a shade of reproach in her tone. " Suppose your husband should come home ill: he seemed very unwell this morning.”

“ Ill! when he has been in the town all day! He is making himself comfortable at the mess, that is what he is doing. Good-by, Susan.”


As Susan stood in the verandah, she saw Ruth take down her mistress's bonnet and cloak, and place them in the carriage. What was that for? Could Emma be going to return home on foot ? She leaned forward and asked her. No, was Mrs. Carnagie's answer; she was to return in Mrs. Jacobson's carriage.

Mr. Carnagie arrived soon after her departure, in a hired conveyance. He was much worse, but thought it was only through pelting about in the heat. He asked where Emma was, would not have a doctor fetched, but went to his chamber. In the morning, just before the hour for rising, one of the black women came to Susan's room, and said Mr. Carnagie was in a raging fever.

Susan started up in a fright. Was Mrs. Carnagie with him? Or which room was she in?

Mrs. Carnagie had not come home, was the servant's answer. “How shameful!” murmured Susan, as she hastily dressed herself; and her husband in this state !"

She sent off for the doctor, and then went to Ruth's apartment. Ruth was not in it. The bed had not been slept in. Susan was bewildered.

Mr. Carnagie was indeed in a raging fever, and calling out in his delirium. His wife must be got there instantly. Susan asked Jicko, as the black man who drove was usually called, what his mistress had said to him-whether he thought she might be still at the Lettsoms', or sleeping at Mrs. Jacobson's.

Jicko had no idea upon the point. Poor Jicko, in a planter's house, would have been flogged every day for stupidity. So Jicko and the carriage were despatched to both places. He came back and said Mrs. Carnagie was at neither.

Susan could make out nothing. She thought the shortest plan would be to go herself, and bring Emma. She entered the carriage, and told Jicko to drive to Mrs. Lettsom's.

As they were going along, one of the officers, who was riding home from early duty, came cantering up to the carriage.

“How is Carnagie?” he asked, taking off his hat. “Has the fever laid hold of him? We feared it had, when we sent him home last night.”

"I fear so," replied Susan. “ He is delirious."

“ Ah!--we thought that would be it. It is very unfortunate that Mrs. Carnagie should have been called to England just now-should have had to leave him at the moment of his illness."

“ Called to England !” faltered Susan.

“ I was on the ship last night with Chard, when she and her maid came on board. It is lucky, however, that Chard should be going ; he will take care of her over. They have had a nice time for getting off : the captain made sail with morning light. Does your sister make a long stay, Miss Chase ?"

Susan never knew what she answered. In another minute there was a vision of a young officer re-covering his head, and riding off, while she was left, sick and speechless, in the carriage. She had presence of mind to order it to be turned home again, and she fell back in it in utter agony.

What a situation it was for her! Left alone in Mr. Carnagie's house ; he in the delirium of a dangerous fever, and her sister, his wife, sailed for England with Captain Chard!





I HAVE for some time past laid aside my sketches of Germany; and this will probably be the last. I do not regret that a few of them were preserved; they supplied me with contributions to former volumes of the New Monthly; and one or two of them have been translated into the language of the country which they were intended to describe. They have also a history of their own. Should some future editor of Disraeli's “ Essay on the Literary Character” add a chapter on The Errors of Authorship, the brief record of these sketches might furnish a paragraph. It had been my good fortune to make the acquaintance of a great publisher, the proprietor of a celebrated Review; and he did me the honour of suggesting that I should become one of its contributors, by writing an article on Germany. He, not unnaturally, thought that there could scarcely be a higher object of ambition. Though I am not aware that he had himself ever written a page which had appeared in print, beyond one or two of the letters in some literary controversy, he looked upon his favourite periodical with the parental fondness of an author rather than with the dry business-like regards of a publisher; and, among his most intimate friends, it was held to be his firm belief that one of the great objects for which the world had been created was the publication of the Review. I was sensible, therefore, of the distinction he was about to confer. But he had very candidly informed me that there was a decision beyond his own. He had an editor, who was represented to me by several of my friends as the most tyrannical of literary despots; and especially addicted to the habit of altering and modifying—of using the hand-saw instead of the pruning-knife-which Southey so piteously complained of in Gifford, and which I myself hold in utter abhorrence. If I am feeble, I would rather have my own feebleness than another man's strength. My prejudices in this respect had been so excited by the tales I heard, that I very foolishly preferred making a separate volume of my sketches, and declined for once the opportunity of being enrolled amongst the contributors to the Review. Its publisher was still disposed to favour my wishes : but I had made a grave mistake ; obstacles intervened; I became impatient; the little volume was locked up in an old oak cabinet,

Fill’d with the many products of the pen,

Some day to be arranged--but Heav'n knows when, and was only brought out for destruction ; with the exception of the few pages that have appeared in the New Monthly.

My first visit to Germany was from Italy; and, to the imagination at least, it

was an unfavourable mode of approach. It was a transition from the flower-garden to the kitchen-garden; from the sparkling fountain to the dull reservoir ; from poetry to prose. The time also was unfortunately chosen: politics were then in a disturbed state, and the cholera had reappeared in Vienna.

It used formerly to be one of the consequences of a revolution amongst


the French that they were anxious to extend its benefits to every other nation: "they were not satisfied with being free themselves, but wanted to make everybody else free." Canning's Elegy on Jean Bon St. André is a witty record of the operation of this feeling. It still existed; and it was a system of proselytism to which the Emperor of Austria was as much opposed as the Dey of Tunis himself,

Who played such a prank

On a Frenchman of rank

And strangled him while he prated. The police were more than usually upon the alert. I had never previously had to appear before them in person ; but at Vienna I was summoned to the office of the chief secretary, and I have often made a less amusing visit upon a more promising invitation. He received me very courteously, and desiring me to take a seat by the table at which he was writing, commenced a conversation de omnibus rebus in very excellent English. He spoke of England and of Italy, of routes and recollections, of authors and of artists, apparently without an object; but at the end of twenty minutes I found that there was scarcely a circumstance of my life with which he had not made himself acquainted. He was one of those of whom it has been said “il saisit vos paroles au passage, et l'on voit qu'il en tire une induction.My place of birth, my position, the time I had resided at different cities, and my occupations there, were drawn from me as mere episodes. I had not thought it possible that so offensive a duty could have been so dexterously and agreeably performed.

And the object of your visit?” he continued, as he, at last, proceeded to fill up my ticket of residence.

“Say amusement."

An answer that briefly describes the domestic policy of every despotic government; and, above all, of Austria. Amuse yourself; revel to licentiousness; all this is permitted, even at Milan; but beware of curiosity: it might pry into forbidden places.

And now," said he, presenting me with the ticket, “ this will enable you to remain at Vienna, or to visit its beautiful environs. To-morrow, perhaps, you will send me your banker's guarantee for your good conduct. A requisition that seemed to indicate a discouraging want of confidence after so pleasant a conversation; but the request was customary, and my compliance with it terminated my intercourse with this insinuating secretary of police.

It is unnecessary to describe Vienna.

One of our first arrangements, after establishing ourselves at an hotel immediately opposite the Raiserliche, Königliche, offentliche Borse (Anglicè, the Exchange), was to engage a valet who could assist our then state of ignorance by translating French into German. It was evidently a mistaken notion that French was generally spoken in the Austrian capital. In the higher classes it was about as much used as by the same classes in England; but, amongst the shopkeepers, we found Italian of more frequent assistance. Many of the Vienna tradesmen were from Lombardy, Venice, or Trieste.

The comfort, and even information of a traveller must often depend, to some extent, upon his valet de place: and ours, unfortunately, was both ignorant and dishonest. He was, also, so much afraid of being carried off by the cholera, in the midst of his iniquities, that we had great difficulty in making him accompany us into some of the faubourgs; or, indeed, into any suspicious quarters. Whether the day were fair or foul—and it must be confessed that we had too many of the latter—his constant salutation was, “Monsieur ! bour auchourtvi, il n'est bas le tems bour aller à Schönbrun.And, with his consent, we should never have approached it.

But, with all these discouragements, there were few objects of curiosity in Vienna that we did not see. We were shown by a Capuchin the coffins of the Cæsars; and at the church of the Augusting we saw Canova's ex. quisite monument to Maria Christina. There was something impressive in being ushered by the holy friar into the dark and damp vaults where the imperial family have their resting place. The taper gleamed upon his pale, bearded visage, as he explained to us in Latin very much like Italian, the names and eras of departed royalty, or dwelt upon some remarkable incident in their lives or deaths. He spoke of about eightytwo in all; some of them below monuments of bronze and silver or gold, and others laid in large bronze coffins. Of Canova's work it has been said that the design was originally intended for a monument which the countrymen of Titian proposed to erect to his memory in the church of the Cordeliers at Venice, where he is buried. But poverty, or some of the causes which so often lead to poverty in Italy, frustrated their intentions. The grouping and general arrangement were afterwards adopted for the monument at Vienna ; and that intended for Titian was erected, near the grave of the painter, to the memory of Canova himself, who died in more fortunate times, or was honoured by more wealthy admirers. The names of both have more lasting records ; but it is a curious contrast, in the distribution of posthumous honours, to see, in the same church, the splendid sepulchre of the one, and the plain, dark slab, unornamented except by the quaint inscription which tells us of the other

Qui giace il gran Tiziano de' Vecelli,

Émulator de Zeusi e degli Apelli. I shall not trench further


the Handbook. Though the time we had chosen for our visit to Vienna was unfortunate in other respects, it gave us an opportunity of witnessing the procession of the Fête Dieu, one of the few public ceremonies which were here ventured upon. We saw it from the drawing-room of the Countess N., by whom its arrangements were obligingly explained.

It was an imposing spectacle ; but not so splendid as the same ceremony at Paris in the time of Charles X. The streets were lined by soldiers, and covered over with planks strewn with flowers. The Host was borne, as usual, under a rich canopy: one of the archdukes and soine other members of the imperial family followed on foot; there were several nobles and knights, and long lines of the clergy and friars bearing the banners and ensigns of their faith. But one of the most striking parts of the procession consisted of the horsemen of the Hungarian Guard, a body of about sixty of the young noblemen of Hungary, Transylvania, and Croatia, whom it is the emperor's policy to attach to his



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