The passengers were accordingly obliged to rest one night, as there was unfortunately no means of getting forward in the neighbourhood of their landing-place: but they met with such delightful entertainment, and there were so many pleasant people, that this served as a sort of adventure, and was the happy ligament to bind together two turtles who had some time lived in single blessedness, but who were wise enough and good enough to prefer what God, nature, and society declare to be infinitely preferable-holy matrimony; and our friend informs us that, in a fortnight after, they went to execution, or to confession, or benediction, &c. Proceeding on his journey, our friend Adolphus came at last safe to within about an hour's distance from the spot where the baronet's carriage would be waiting for the literati; and as accidents, like some of our passengers, are determined not to be single, however singular, whilst our gentleman and others were admiring a beautiful dell at some little distance from them, the straps gave way, and they were, fortunately, precipitated in the hedge, but not a bone broken, nor a groan heard. There was, however, assistance close at hand; and when they had finished their mutual recognitions and congratulations, they took their respective seats, and the coachman, enraged by the accident, drove furiously on to their destination, which they reached about the usual time, in perfect safety. Sir Thomas was himself in waiting, with his coachman's footman, and gave our hero a hearty reception. His coachman is a facsimile of the worthy baronet, and both have the shape and constitution of a porter. "When he speaks, thunder breaks." Sir Thomas was fond of furious driving, unfortunately for Mr. Adolphus, whose nerves had been already sufficiently shaken, and who was, like Henry Quatre, rather a timid rider, though a bold writer, and he was determined to give him a specimen of the superiority of his equipage and horses, and in a short time they arrived at the chateau, to the no small joy of our adven turer. The reader may judge of the surprise of Adolphus, when, on being introduced to Sir Thomas Winterbotham's family, he had to encounter no fewer than twelve grown-up women, who, though they differed in other respects, were perfectly agreed in oneand that was, to talk as long as ever their tongues could roll. A fter bidding him welcome in a hundred different polite fashions, they all began to express their surprise at his appearance and manners, as being such a contrast to what they had expected. But this will not apply to the hospitable family of the Winterbothams. Few characters occasion more idle specula As tion, both among the great and little vulgar, than authors. By some they are regarded with as much contempt, as they are by others with admiration; and it is remarkable with what greediness they attend to any little anecdotes which they can pick up concerning the life and conversation of the eminent literati. The author is, indeed, a kind of ideal king, of which people conceive very different notions. It was formerly supposed that he was the inmate of a garret, and his distinguishing apparel, a vast black coat, a dirty shirt, and darned stockings-a poor unfortunate, who was ever in want of all the necessaries, as well as conveniences, of life. But this opinion, which was then too well grounded, cannot now be allowed; at least, most of the literati, of superior education, and talent, and productions, can, if he pleases, obtain in many ways a respectable independency. Some, who are themselves the greatest oddities, regard him as a kind of amphibious creature-half-social, halfsavage; whilst others regard him as a creature superior to the rest of mortals, and endowed with something more than reason. One party, therefore, is surprised to find him square with other people, and another disappointed when they find him talk, and act, and fill the offices of life no better than any other common man. people are led frequently to judge of a man from his ordinary conversation, so it is common for them to form an idea of the author's disposition from the peculiar turn and colour of his writings: they expect a gloom to be spread over the face of a mathematician a controversial writer must be given to wrangling and disputeand they imagine that a satirist must be made up of spleen, envy, and ill-nature. But this criterion is by no means certain and determinate. We use the words of one of the illustrious tribe himself, who says "I know an author of a tragedy, who is the merriest man living; and one who has wrote a very witty comedy, though he will sit an hour in company without speaking a word. Lord Buck hurst is celebrated for being the best goodman, with the worst-natured muse;" Addison was remarkably shy and reserved in conversation. I remember I once fell into company with a painter, a poet, a divine, and a physician, who were no less famous for their wit and humour, than for their excellence in their several departments. After the usual common topics were discussed, the physician and the poet fell into a dispute concerning predestination; the divine smoked his pipe quietly without putting in a word, while the painter and myself formed a privy council for the good of the nation. Thus, were it possible to conjure up the spirits of the and most eminent wits in former ages, and put them together, they would perhaps appear to be very dull company. Virgil and Addison would probably sit staring at each other without opening their mouths; Horace and Steele would, perhaps, join in commendation of the liquor; and Swift would, in all likelihood, divert himself with sucking his fingers, drawing figures in the wine spilt upon the table, or twirling the cork-screw round his finger. Adolphus, who was a rather quiet, modest, retiring gentleman, felt anything but at home or comfortable, to come thus under the surveillance of so many ladies, who kept on proposing such observations and questions as the following, expecting a clever essay in every great reply:-"Where is your library?" "Can you travel without it?" "I should have thought it would have followed you like a faithful, fond, petted dog does his squire." "Tell me the newest fashions in literature, and I will tell you, Mr. Adolphus, the newest fashions in dress." "Do you admire blue stockings? for, if so, you and our sister, whom papa styles our governess, will be on most intimate terms." "Tell us who are the most popular publishers, and we will tell you who are the most fashionable mantua makers." Mr. Adolphus, already tired by the journey and its adventures, was glad to be allowed to go to bed very early; and there we will at present leave him, inscribing on his door the words of the poet: "To thou, Oh gentle sleep, alone By thee our joys are heightened shown, The nymph, whose hand, by fraud or force, By thee obtaining a divorce, In her own choice is blessed." (To be continued.) THE EARL OF LEICESTER AND MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. In prince Labanoff's collection of letters, lately published, we find one relative to a visit which Mary had received from Leicester the favourite of queen Elizabeth. It gives powerful evidence of the keen and crafty mind of the royal sufferer. Addressing the archbishop of Glasgow, July 12, 1577, she says, "the principal subject that I have now to communicate to you is Leicester's journey to the baths of Buxton, where he has been very honourably received by my host, lord Shrewsbury. Many have viewed the matter with great jealousy, suspicion, and mistrust. For my part, after having sounded in the best way I could, I have learned that he has travelled hither to discover the intentions of the no bility respecting the marriage which he aspires to contract with this queen, which everybody believes to have been long contracted between them, and of which they themselves speak more freely than may by chance prove advantageous. But besides knowing well that I would reluctantly consent to such a measure, he has been careful to assure me through a third party as well of this queen's affection as of his own, even in regard to my claims of succession to the English throne. And to please me in this respect he has very coldly received the earl of Huntingdon, his brother-inlaw, who came hither to visit him, and only allowed him to remain half a day. I need not communicate many other discourses and proposals to the same purpose made to me, from which I can only gather that Leicester is anxious to maintain and preserve his favour in the present reign and to secure it in the next; I have only given that faith to his words which his dissembling conduct justified. I beg of you to tell this to Morgan, Lygon, and others who may otherwise conceive some mistrust. Lord Burleigh (Cecil) having conceived some suspicion of this journey, came down to a house he has in this neighbourhood, designing to proceed onwards to the Baths, and as I believe to efface and overturn everything which he apprehends that the other, his mortal enemy, can have negotiated to his disadvantage, especially in my behalf. But he has been countermanded, and has not been able to obtain leave of absence. Lord Sussex has declared openly against Leicester, and threatens to take his life by fair means or foul if the queen refuses to permit a duel. There are several in the kingdom with the same feelings; factions and parties being so violent that foreign princes never had a fairer opportunity of securing themselves against the injuries which they suffer from these quarters. Such a result is infinitely dreaded by the people here, especially if peace be concluded here, as they are assured that it is in Flanders, suspecting that, should there be a cordial understanding between the kings of France and Spain, and that I should be on their side, I could injure them very much. This makes them court me more sedulously than usual, and labour to secure my friendship. The said Leicester has advised me to write in my justification to this queen, and give her notice if I was in any way sought by Don John of Austria without her knowledge and consent; further advising me to contrive that the sovereigns of Christendom should with one accord present a demand for my liberation or better treatment; in which latter point, at the least, he trusted that I should succeed. My brief reply was, that when the queen would manifest her good feeling by facts and kind treatment, I would endeavour more and more to satisfy her by the same sincerity with which I have ever conducted myself towards her; but that I had been so often deceived by her promises-especially when she induced me to lay down my arms in Scotland, and knew her officers and principal servants to be so badly disposed towards me, it was difficult for me to hope better from the future than the past; that if foreign princes felt any resentment for wrongs or injuries, I could neither hinder them nor aid them, particularly as I had been deprived of the means of writing to them; and that if this queen wished me so much good as he pretended, she might accomplish it without their intervention, so as to leave me obliged to her alone." It was about seven years after this that Mary wrote a letter to Elizabeth, impeaching her personal purity in the most unequiVocal manner. That letter, we find, still exists, and is preserved in Hatfield House. Prince Labanoff is of opinion that it was never sent, or, at all events, that it never reached the hand of Elizabeth. ARMIN, OR THE CIVILISED ROMANS AND THE BARBARIANS OF GERMANY. The widely-extended empire of England dooms her to frequent experiences of the manners and passions of untaught, uncivilised man, such as he was found in many parts of Europe eighteen centuries ago. Lately the affairs of New Zealand have been painfully pressed on the attention of the legislature and the nation. A fearful catastrophe is to be dreaded, we hope it may be averted, in that quarter. Some of our orators talk very fluently of the necessity which may arise for our extirpating the original owners of the soil, and of the right which civilised man has to take from uncivilised man the ground which he cannot cultivate. In most parts of the globe, now, as since the birth of time, the law of the strong is likely to prevail, but, occasionally, its course has been interrupted by the throbbing energies of despair. The cases we hope are by no means parallel, but the philanthropic statesmen, who think it so easy, as well as so proper, to massacre poor savages for defending their native land, might do well to refresh their memories by reading how it fared with the Romans when dealing with the ancient barbarians of Germany. Apart from the moral it conveys, the tale as related by Luden is not without interest. The Roman yoke had been newly im posed on a subjugated world, when Quin tilius Varus was instructed to introduce the customary forms of Romanal administration. In consequence, he left two legions under his nephew to guard the passage of the Rhine, and secure his communications with Gaul, and advanced with three of Rome's best legions, six cohorts, three squadrons of cavalry, and a number of Gallic auxiliaries, in all 50,000 men, from the Rhine to the Lippe. In the country of the Cheruscans, upon the left bank of the Weser, he fixed a stationary camp, where he sat in prætorian dignity, issuing edicts of civil administration, imposing tributes, ordering contributions, investigating and judging the disputes of Germans with Romans or amongst themselves, according to foreign laws, pronouncing sentence in a foreign tongue, and inflicting corporal punishments undreamt of by the free natives, whom he was thus bending to the yoke. This failed not to exasperate a gallant race. And among the men who most deeply felt the misfortune pressing upon their country was a youth named Armin. He was the son of Segimer, a Cheruscan prince, and when he placed himself at the head of his nation, he was twenty-five years of age. The beauty of his person, the strength of his arm, the keenness of his faculties, have been extolled by his enemies; they acknowledge that the fire of genius flashed from his eyes and animated his features. He had long been in the service of Rome, perhaps during the expedition of Tiberius. now sojourned in the Roman camp, as the leader of one of the auxiliary bands which the Cheruscans were bound to supply. Rome had honoured him with the rights of citizenship, and with equestrian rank. Varus prefered him above all his fellow countrymen, and with him, for his sake, his father Segimer. It was the esteem which genius, energy, and activity must always meet with. In this youth the barbarian disappeared to the Roman eye, and only the distinguished man was seen. He Segestes, another Cheruscan prince, was reconciled to the Roman yoke. He had been honoured with the rights of citizenship, but was jealous of Armin's superiority, and sought by calumnious accusations to ruin him in the opinion of Varus. Varus rejected the information of Segestes, and continued to confide in Armin. The insurrection of a distant German nation first disturbed Varus. He broke up his camp, and summoning the German princes to accompany him, marched against the insurgents. Considering himself in a friendly, or rather a subject land, he marched without the order or discipline requisite in the neighbourhood of an ene my. The legions moved at a distance from each other, separated and encum bered by their baggage, by women, chil dren, and a crowd of other unwarlike and unarmed persons, who had gathered around the stationary camp, and would not be left behind. When the adjacent states beheld the advance of the army, then the long suppressed rage burst forth. The cry of freedom rang from community to community, the cry of vengeance from district to district. The whole German people, as far as the tidings spread, rose like one man. Every where the Roman soldiers were surprised, every where the Roman citizens slain, and from all sides the Landsturm came forward to surround the Roman army. So universal was the indignation, that Sigismund, the son of Segestes, who had been sent by his father to serve at the altar of the Roman deities beyond the Rhine, tore off his sacerdotal fillet at the voice of his country, and hurried back toj oin his struggling brethren. Not Segestes himself remained unmoved the torrent hurried him onwards with his people, despite his previous blindness, despite his envy and hatred of Armin. Meanwhile the Romans leisurely pursued their march down the Weser, sensible only to the difficulties of the way, unconscious of the circle of woe that was rapidly closing around them. Varus, upon the first report of opposition from his German auxiliaries, issued a summons to the ringleaders, either because his delu sion was still undissolved, or, what more likely, because he judged needful to maintain a show of unalterable constancy. But the distress grew, the danger came nearer. The paths were already obstructed with large trees: the gods, favouring the pious enterprise, sent tempests and deluges of rain; the dis comfort and shivering of the chilled body rapidly increased the anxiety rising upon the mind; and the shaken spirits were further harassed by ghastly apparitions in heaven and upon earth. Bloody passages already occurred between the Romans and the German auxiliaries accompanying the army. Varus, now aware of his danger, still affected unconsciousness, treating all as mere ordinary squabbles, and issuing useless orders for their suppression. The various evils continued to augment, while the army reached the defiles and quagmires of the Teutoberg forest. Then did Armin stand forward with his Cheruscans. His known character, or evident abilities and energies, procured him the chief command; and he felt that the embarrassment of the situation of the Romans rendered this the moment to effect their destruction. The troops of Varus, weakened by repeated attacks, wearied by the forest, the wind, and the rain, and perhaps not less exhausted by hunger than by their growing is it anxiety, saw each day draw to a close without bringing them nearer to the end of their troubles. They at length attempted to fortify the camp they had pitched upon, but their strength and courage proved unequal even to this work of habitual discipline. The wonted fortifications, however deep the sense of their necessity, remained unfinished. But Armin did not assault the open camp during the night. His Germans likewise required rest, the enemy could not escape; and a nocturnal engagement might be hazardous from the mode of warfare of his countrymen, and from the total want of order amongst their hastily assembled masses. When, on the following morning, the Roman army, discouraged or hopeless, broke up from its encampment, the projected attack began on all sides. Armin, stationing himself upon an eminence whence he could overlook the field, directed the efforts of his men by words and gesture, by shout and exhortation, and directed the shock of the wedge to the point where he foresaw that it would fall most destructively. A fearful battle! The Romans in gloomy despair, fought for the last of earthly possessions, life; the Germans in joyous expectation for the first of blessings, liberty; both with the utmost exertion of which human nature is capable. On the one side the moan of suffering, the yell of agony; on the other, the battle song, the shout of triumph; both mingling in the splash of pouring rain, and the howling of tempestuous winds! Varus was wounded. Overpowered by the pain of his wound, unmaned by the sense of calamity, discovering no chance of preservation, but perceiving in himself hereditary courage sufficient to brave death, he with his own hand plunged his sword into his breast, thus at once escaping from the sight of inevitable misery, and from the just revenge of an enemy intoxicated with success. Many followed this example of despair; many lost all recollection in the terror of impending death; few were energetic enough for the resolve to seek for death in battle. Cejonius, one of the camp-prefects, would have purchased life by surrender, but his colleague Eggius prevented such a disgrace. Both fell honourably. Vala Numonius, Varus's legate, attempted to fly with the cavalry, but destruction overtook the fugitives. A very few accidentally escaped the common lot. At last, the multitude, deprived of their commanders, and rendered indifferent, when life is death by long exertion and suffering, allowed themselves to be cut down without resistance. And now, when a hostile weapon was no longer seen, the slaughter ceased, the defenceless were made prisoners. Then did the inspired warriors send up from the ensanguined field an infinite shout of victory, a thanksgiving to the patron gods of their native land, a signal of recovered liberty to their wives and fathers. "When the first burst of passion, of rage, and revenge, of joy and rapture, uncontrolable in the intoxication of victory had subsided, Armin raised his voice amidst the sons of freedom. As in the hour of pressure he was the leader, so in the hour of victory he was the orator of his nation. What had been gained was now to be preserved. Cheruscans and Bructeri, Marsi and Chatti had fought the great fight in common. But it was a mere impulse of patriotism, irresistible in anxiety and danger, that, like blind chance, had drawn them together. Nothing was accomplished, if every state, every warrior should now go their several ways to enjoy the booty, to employ the thrales obtained in the fight. What had originated in accident was to be maintained by reason. In this sense, over the corses of slaughtered foes, in the fair and proud moment of victory, spoke Armin of the German nation, of a German country. He found open ears and minds, and thus became the founder of a great confederation for common defence against a common enemy, now doubly to be dreaded after such a disgrace. Armin himself became the head of the confederation, because, in the battle he had earned the highest meed of glory, because he governed men and things with the most potent genius. Armin sent the head of Varus to Marobod. It was a token by which Marobod might learn that if his formidable position had enabled him with inactive might to preserve the German name untainted in the south, every spot had now been washed away in the north by battle and victory; that fame and power were great here as there; and that henceforward it would be proper to act in one sense, in one alliance. We know not what Armin said to Marobod; we know not what Marobod answered to Armin. But the token was understood. Marobod transmitted the head to Tiberius. The Romans might perceive that there existed one great German confederation, extending from the Danube to the ocean." A melancholy and fatal strife ensued. In New Zealand it is perhaps not to be feared that a native Armin will soon appear. We, however, must not forget that preparations for resisting the intruders seem to have been set on foot, with much more system than could have been looked for from savages; and it is to be borne in mind that once, at least, the New Zealander has seen the English yield in battle to the prowess of his countrymen. CHAPTER IV.-EXPECTATION. By a singular coincidence of thought, Adrienne desired, as well as Djalma, to be dressed in the same manner as when the first interview in the house in the Rue Blanche took place. With her habitual tact she chose for the place of her interview, the grand saloon of the Hotel de Cardoville, which was hung with several family portraits. It is easier to conceive than to describe the varied emotions which agitated the heart of Adrienne, as the hour appointed for the interview approached. Their meeting had hitherto been prevented by so many painful obstacles, and Adrienne knew her enemies to be so vigilant, so active, and so perfidious, that she could not reconcile herself to the certainty of that happiness. She looked almost every minute at the clock. At last the hour struck. She thought that Djalma, from reserve, did not come exactly at the time appointed, and far from blaming his discretion she approved of it; but when a quarter of an hour had elapsed, she became restless, and went to the door of the saloon to listen. No sound of his arrival was to be heard. No longer able to surpress her rising tears, and clinging to a last hope, she, after striving to compose herself in order that she might not betray her emotion, rang the bell. A servant appeared. 66 André," said his mistress, "tell Hebé to give you my smelling bottle, which I left in my chamber, and bring it here." André was about to leave the apartment to execute the order, which Adrienne had only given that she might put a question, the importance of which she wished to conceal from the servants, when his mistress demanded, with an air of indifference-"Is this clock right?" André drew out his watch and replied, "Yes, mademoiselle, it is half-past three by the clock of the Tuilleries;" then he added, "I forgot to tell you, mademoiselle, that Marshal Simon called an hour ago, but as you had given orders to admit no one but the prince, he was told you were engaged." "Quite right," said Adrienne. André then left the saloon; all was again silent; but the anxiety of Adrienne became painful in the extreme, and, casting a look of anguish on one of the portraits, |