Crotchet Castle ....................................................................................................................................................1

Thomas Love Peacock.............................................................................................................................1

There's a dark lantern of the spirit, Which none see by but those who bear it, That makes them in the dark see

visions And hag themselves with apparitions, Find racks for their own minds, and vaunt Of their own misery

MATTHEW. Oh! it's your only fine humour, sir. Your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I am

melancholy myself, divers times, sir; and then do I no more but take pen and paper presently, and overflow

you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting. STEPHEN. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of

measure. MATTHEW. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study; it's at your service. STEPHEN. I thank

you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant you. Have you a stool there, to be melancholy upon? BEN JOHNSON,

Ay esleu gazouiller et siffler oye, comme dit le commun proverbe, entre les cygnes, plutoust que d'estre entre

tant de gentils po‘tes et faconds orateurs mut du tout estime. RABELAIS, Prol. L. 5 *

NIGHTMARE ABBEY, a venerable family mansion, in a highly picturesque state of semidilapidation,

pleasantly situated on a strip of dry land between the sea and the fens, at the verge of the county of Lincoln,

had the honour to be the seat of Christopher Glowry, Esquire. This gentleman was naturally of an

atrabilarious temperament, and much troubled with those phantoms of indigestion which are commonly

called 'blue devils.' He had been deceived in an early friendship: he had been crossed in love; and had offered

his hand, from pique, to a lady, who accepted it from interest, and who, in so doing, violently tore asunder the

bonds of a tried and youthful attachment. Her vanity was gratified by being the mistress of a very extensive,

if not very lively, establishment; but all the springs of her sympathies were frozen. Riches she possessed, but

that which enriches them, the participation of affection, was wanting. All that they could purchase for her

became indifferent to her, because that which they could not purchase, and which was more valuable than

themselves, she had, for their sake, thrown away. She discovered, when it was too late, that she had mistaken

the means for the endthat riches, rightly used, are instruments of happiness, but are not in themselves

happiness. In this wilful blight of her affections, she found them valueless as means: they had been the end to

which she had immolated all her affections, and were now the only end that remained to her. She did not

confess this to herself as a principle of action, but it operated through the medium of unconscious

selfdeception, and terminated in inveterate avarice. She laid on external things the blame of her mind's

internal disorder, and thus became by degrees an accomplished scold. She often went her daily rounds

through a series of deserted apartments, every creature in the house vanishing at the creak of her shoe, much

more at the sound of her voice, to which the nature of things affords no simile; for, as far as the voice of

woman, when attuned by gentleness and love, transcends all other sounds in harmony, so far does it surpass

all others in discord, when stretched into unnatural shrillness by anger and impatience. Mr Glowry used to

say that his house was no better than a spacious kennel, for every one in it led the life of a dog. Disappointed

both in love and in friendship, and looking upon human learning as vanity, he had come to a conclusion that

there was but one good thing in the world, videlicet, a good dinner; and this his parsimonious lady seldom

suffered him to enjoy: but, one morning, like Sir Leoline in Christabel, "he woke and found his lady dead," *

and remained a very consolate widower, with one small child. This only son and heir Mr Glowry had

christened Scythrop, from the name of a maternal ancestor, who had hanged himself one rainy day in a fit of

tćdium vitć, and had been eulogised by a coroner's jury in the comprehensive phrase of felo de se; on which

account, Mr Glowry held his memory in high honour, and made a punchbowl of his skull. When Scythrop

grew up, he was sent, as usual, to a public school, where a little learning was painfully beaten into him, and

from thence to the university, where it was carefully taken out of him; and he was sent home like a

wellthreshed ear of corn, with nothing in his head: having finished his education to the high satisfaction of

the master and fellows of his college, who had, in testimony of their approbation, presented him with a silver

fishslice, on which his name figured at the head of a laudatory inscription in some semibarbarous dialect of

AngloSaxonised Latin. His fellowstudents, however, who drove tandem and random in great perfection,

and were connoisseurs in good inns, had taught him to drink deep ere he departed. He had passed much of his

time with these choice spirits, and had seen the rays of the midnight lamp tremble on many a lengthening file

of empty bottles. He passed his vacations sometimes at Nightmare Abbey, sometimes in London, at the house

of his uncle, Mr Hilary, a very cheerful and elastic gentleman, who had married the sister of the melancholy

Mr Glowry. The company that frequented his house was the gayest of the gay. Scythrop danced with the

ladies and drank with the gentlemen, and was pronounced by both a very accomplished charming fellow, and

an honour to the university. At the house of Mr Hilary, Scythrop first saw the beautiful Miss Emily Girouette.

He fell in love; which is nothing new. He was favourably received; which is nothing strange. Mr Glowry and

Mr Girouette had a meeting on the occasion, and quarrelled about the terms of the bargain; which is neither

new nor strange. The lovers were torn asunder, weeping and vowing everlasting constancy; and, in three

weeks after this tragical event, the lady was led a smiling bride to the altar, by the Honourable Mr Lackwit;

which is neither strange nor new. Scythrop received this intelligence at Nightmare Abbey, and was half

distracted on the occasion. It was his first disappointment, and preyed deeply on his sensitive spirit. His

father, to comfort him, read him a Commentary on Ecclesiastes, which he had himself composed, and which

demonstrated incontrovertibly that all is vanity. He insisted particularly on the text, 'One man among a

thousand have I found, but a woman amongst all those have I not found.' 'How could he expect it,' said

Scythrop,' when the whole thousand were locked up in his seraglio? His experience is no precedent for a free

state of society like that in which we live.' 'Locked up or at large,' said Mr Glowry, 'the result is the same:

their minds are always locked up, and vanity and interest keep the key. I speak feelingly, Scythrop.' 'I am

sorry for it, sir,' said Scythrop. 'But how is it that their minds are locked up? The fault is in their artificial

education, which studiously models them into mere musical dolls, to be set out for sale in the great toyshop

of society.' 'To be sure,' said Mr Glowry, 'their education is not so well finished as yours has been; and your

idea of a musical doll is good. I bought one myself, but it was confoundedly out of tune; but, whatever be the

cause, Scythrop, the effect is certainly this, that one is pretty nearly as good as another, as far as any

judgment can be formed of them before marriage. It is only after marriage that they show their true qualities,

as I know by bitter experience. Marriage is, therefore, a lottery, and the less choice and selection a man

bestows on his ticket the better; for, if he has incurred considerable pains and expense to obtain a lucky

number, and his lucky number proves a blank, he experiences not a simple, but a complicated

disappointment; the loss of labour and money being superadded to the disappointment of drawing a blank,

which, constituting simply and entirely the grievance of him who has chosen his ticket at random, is, from its

simplicity, the more endurable.' This very excellent reasoning was thrown away upon Scythrop, who retired

to his tower as dismal and disconsolate as before. The tower which Scythrop inhabited stood at the

southeastern angle of the Abbey; and, on the southern side, the foot of the tower opened on a terrace, which

was called the garden, though nothing grew on it but ivy, and a few amphibious weeds. The southwestern

tower, which was ruinous and full of owls, might, with equal propriety, have been called the aviary. This

terrace or garden, or terracegarden, or gardenterrace (the reader may name it ad libitum), took in an

oblique view of the open sea, and fronted a long tract of level seacoast, and a fine monotony of fens and

windmills. The reader will judge, from what we have said, that this building was a sort of castellated abbey;

and it will probably, occur to him to inquire if it had been one of the strongholds of the ancient church

militant. Whether this was the case, or how far it had been indebted to the taste of Mr Glowry's ancestors for

any transmutations from its original state, are, unfortunately, circumstances not within the pale of our

knowledge. The northwestern tower contained the apartments of Mr Glowry. The moat at its base, and the

fens beyond, comprised the whole of his prospect. This moat surrounded the Abbey, and was in immediate

contact with the walls on every side but the south. The northeastern tower was appropriated to the

domestics, whom Mr Glowry always chose by one of two criterions,a long face, or a dismal name. His

butler was Raven; his steward was Crow; his valet was Skellet. Mr Glowry maintained that the valet was of

French extraction, and that his name was Squelette. His grooms were Mattock and Graves. On one occasion,

being in want of a footman, he received a letter from a person signing himself Diggory Deathshead, and lost

no time in securing this acquisition; but on Diggory's arrival, Mr Glowry was horrorstruck by the sight of a

round ruddy face, and a pair of laughing eyes. Deathshead was always grinning,not a ghastly smile, but

the grin of a comic mask; and disturbed the echoes of the hall with so much unhallowed laughter, that Mr

Glowry gave him his discharge. Diggory, however, had staid long enough to make conquests of all the old

gentleman's maids, and left him a flourishing colony of young Deathsheads to join chorus with the owls, that

had before been the exclusive choristers of Nightmare Abbey. The main body of the building was divided

into rooms of state, spacious apartments for feasting, and numerous bedrooms for visitors, who, however,

were few and far between. Family interests compelled Mr Glowry to receive occasional visits from Mr and

Mrs Hilary, who paid them from the same motive; and, as the lively gentleman on these occasions found few

conductors for his exuberant gaiety, he became like a doublecharged electric jar, which often exploded in

some burst of outrageous merriment to the signal discomposure of Mr Glowry's nerves. Another occasional

visitor, much more to Mr Glowry's taste, was Mr Flosky, a very lachrymose and morbid gentleman, of some

note in the literary world, but in his own estimation of much more merit than name. The part of his character

which recommended him to Mr Glowry, was his very fine sense of the grim and the tearful. No one could

relate a dismal story with so many minutić of supererogatory wretchedness. No one could call up a rawhead

and bloodybones with so many adjuncts and circumstances of ghastliness. Mystery was his mental element.

He lived in the midst of that visionary world in which nothing is but what is not. He dreamed with his eyes

open, and saw ghosts dancing round him at noontide. He had been in his youth an enthusiast for liberty, and

had hailed the dawn of the French Revolution as the promise of a day that was to banish war and slavery, and

every form of vice and misery, from the face of the earth. Because all this was not done, he deduced that

nothing was done; and from this deduction, according to his system of logic, he drew a conclusion that worse

than nothing was done; that the overthrow of the feudal fortresses of tyranny and superstition was the greatest

calamity that had ever befallen mankind; and that their only hope now was to rake the rubbish together, and

rebuild it without any of those loopholes by which the light had originally crept in. To qualify himself for a

coadjutor in this laudable task, he plunged into the central opacity of Kantian metaphysics, and lay perdu

several years in transcendental darkness, till the common daylight of common sense became intolerable to his

eyes. He called the sun an ignis fatuus; and exhorted all who would listen to his friendly voice, which were

about as many as called 'God save King Richard,' to shelter themselves from its delusive radiance in the

obscure haunt of Old Philosophy. This word Old had great charms for him. The good old times were always

on his lips; meaning the days when polemic theology was in its prime, and rival prelates beat the drum

ecclesiastic with Herculean vigour, till the one wound up his series of syllogisms with the very orthodox

conclusion of roasting the other. But the dearest friend of Mr Glowry, and his most welcome guest, was Mr

Toobad, the Manichćan Millenarian. The twelfth verse of the twelfth chapter of Revelations was always in

his mouth: 'Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come among you, having great

wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.' He maintained that the supreme dominion of the

world was, for wise purposes, given over for a while to the Evil Principle; and that this precise period of time,

commonly called the enlightened age, was the point of his plenitude of power. He used to add that by and by

he would be cast down, and a high and happy order of things succeed; but he never omitted the saving clause,

'Not in our time'; which last words were always echoed in doleful response by the sympathetic Mr Glowry.

Another and very frequent visitor, was the Reverend Mr Larynx, the vicar of Claydyke, a village about ten

miles distant;a good natured accommodating divine, who was always most obligingly ready to take a

dinner and a bed at the house of any country gentleman in distress for a companion. Nothing came amiss to

him,a game at billiards, at chess, at draughts, at backgammon, at piquet, or at all fours in a

tęteŕtęte,or any game on the cards, round, square, or triangular, in a party of any number exceeding

two. He would even dance among friends, rather than that a lady, even if she were on the wrong side of thirty,

should sit still for want of a partner. For a ride, a walk, or a sail, in the morning,a song after dinner, a

ghost story after supper,a bottle of port with the squire, or a cup of green tea with his lady,for all or

any of these, or for any thing else that was agreeable to any one else, consistently with the dye of his coat, the

Reverend Mr Larynx was at all times equally ready. When at Nightmare Abbey, he would condole with Mr

Glowry,drink Madeira with Scythrop,crack jokes with Mr Hilary,hand Mrs Hilary to the piano,

take charge of her fan and gloves, and turn over her music with surprising dexterity,quote Revelations

with Mr Toobad,and lament the good old times of feudal darkness with the transcendental Mr Flosky.

SHORTLY after the disastrous termination of Scythrop's passion for Miss Emily Girouette, Mr Glowry found

himself, much against his will, involved in a lawsuit, which compelled him to dance attendance on the High

Court of Chancery. Scythrop was left alone at Nightmare Abbey. He was a burnt child, and dreaded the fire

of female eyes. He wandered about the ample pile, or along the gardenterrace, with 'his cogitative faculties

immersed in cogibundity of cogitation.' The terrace terminated at the southwestern tower, which, as we have

said, was ruinous and full of owls. Here would Scythrop take his evening seat, on a fallen fragment of mossy

stone, with his back resting against the ruined wall,a thick canopy of ivy, with an owl in it, over his

head,and the Sorrows of Werter in his hand. He had some taste for romance reading before he went to the

university, where, we must confess, in justice to his college, he was cured of the love of reading in all its

shapes; and the cure would have been radical, if disappointment in love, and total solitude, had not conspired

to bring on a relapse. He began to devour romances and German tragedies, and, by the recommendation of

Mr Flosky, to pore over ponderous tomes of transcendental philosophy, which reconciled him to the labour of

studying them by their mystical jargon and necromantic imagery. In the congenial solitude of Nightmare

Abbey, the distempered ideas of metaphysical romance and romantic metaphysics had ample time and space

to germinate into a fertile crop of chimćras, which rapidly shot up into vigorous and abundant vegetation. He

now became troubled with the passion for reforming the world.* He built many castles in the air, and peopled

them with secret tribunals, and bands of illuminati, who were always the imaginary instruments of his

projected regeneration of the human species. As he intended to institute a perfect republic, he invested

himself with absolute sovereignty over these mystical dispensers of liberty. He slept with Horrid Mysteries

under his pillow, and dreamed of venerable eleutherarchs and ghastly confederates holding midnight

conventions in subterranean caves. He passed whole mornings in his study, immersed in gloomy reverie,

stalking about the room in his nightcap, which he pulled over his eyes like a cowl, and folding his striped

calico dressinggown about him like the mantle of a conspirator. 'Action,' thus he soliloquised, 'is the result

of opinion, and to newmodel opinion would be to newmodel society. Knowledge is power; it is in the

hands of a few, who employ it to mislead the many, for their own selfish purposes of aggrandisement and

appropriation. What if it were in the hands of a few who should employ it to lead the many? What if it were

universal, and the multitude were enlightened? No. The many must be always in leadingstrings; but let them

have wise and honest conductors. A few to think, and many to act; that is the only basis of perfect society. So

thought the ancient philosophers: they had their esoterical and exoterical doctrines. So thinks the sublime

Kant, who delivers his oracles in language which none but the initiated can comprehend. Such were the views

of those secret associations of illuminati, which were the terror of superstition and tyranny, and which,

carefully selecting wisdom and genius from the great wilderness of society, as the bee selects honey from the

flowers of the thorn and the nettle, bound all human excellence in a chain, which, if it had not been

prematurely broken, would have commanded opinion, and regenerated the world.' Scythrop proceeded to

meditate on the practicability of reviving a confederation of regenerators. To get a clear view of his own

ideas, and to feel the pulse of the wisdom and genius of the age, he wrote and published a treatise, in which

his meanings were carefully wrapt up in the monk's hood of transcendental technology, but filled with hints

of matter deep and dangerous, which he thought would set the whole nation in a ferment; and he awaited the

result in awful expectation, as a miner who has fired a train awaits the explosion of a rock. However, he

listened and heard nothing; for the explosion, if any ensued, was not sufficiently loud to shake a single leaf of

the ivy on the towers of Nightmare Abbey; and some months afterwards he received a letter from his

bookseller, informing him that only seven copies had been sold, and concluding with a polite request for the

balance. Scythrop did not despair. 'Seven copies,' he thought,' have been sold. Seven is a mystical number,

and the omen is good. Let me find the seven purchasers of my seven copies, and they shall be the seven

golden candlesticks with which I will illuminate the world.' Scythrop had a certain portion of mechanical

genius, which his romantic projects tended to develope. He constructed models of cells and recesses, sliding

panels and secret passages, that would have baffled the skill of the Parisian police. He took the opportunity of

his father's absence to smuggle a dumb carpenter into the Abbey, and between them they gave reality to one

of these models in Scythrop's tower. Scythrop foresaw that a great leader of human regeneration would be

involved in fearful dilemmas, and determined, for the benefit of mankind in general, to adopt all possible

precautions for the preservation of himself. The servants, even the women, had been tutored into silence.

Profound stillness reigned throughout and around the Abbey, except when the occasional shutting of a door

would peal in long reverberations through the galleries, or the heavy tread of the pensive butler would wake

the hollow echoes of the hall. Scythrop stalked about like the grand inquisitor, and the servants flitted past

him like familiars. In his evening meditations on the terrace, under the ivy of the ruined tower, the only

sounds that came to his ear were the rustling of the wind in the ivy, the plaintive voices of the feathered

choristers, the owls, the occasional striking of the Abbey clock, and the monotonous dash of the sea on its

low and level shore. In the mean time, he drank Madeira, and laid deep schemes for a thorough repair of the

MR GLOWRY returned from London with the loss of his lawsuit. Justice was with him, but the law was

against him. He found Scythrop in a mood most sympathetically tragic; and they vied with each other in

enlivening their cups by lamenting the depravity of this degenerate age, and occasionally interspersing divers

grim jokes about graves, worms, and epitaphs. Mr Glowry's friends, whom we have mentioned in the first

chapter, availed themselves of his return to pay him a simultaneous visit. At the same time arrived Scythrop's

friend and fellowcollegian, the Honourable Mr Listless. Mr Glowry had discovered this fashionable young

gentleman in London, 'stretched on the rack of a too easy chair,' and devoured with a gloomy and

misanthropical nil curo, and had pressed him so earnestly to take the benefit of the pure country air, at

Nightmare Abbey, that Mr Listless, finding it would give him more trouble to refuse than to comply,

summoned his French valet, Fatout, and told him he was going to Lincolnshire. On this simple hint, Fatout

went to work, and the imperials were packed, and the postchariot was at the door, without the Honourable

Mr Listless having said or thought another syllable on the subject. Mr and Mrs Hilary brought with them an

orphan niece, a daughter of Mr Glowry's youngest sister, who had made a runaway lovematch with an Irish

officer. The lady's fortune disappeared in the first year: love, by a natural consequence, disappeared in the

second: the Irishman himself, by a still more natural consequence, disappeared in the third. Mr Glowry had

allowed his sister an annuity, and she had lived in retirement with her only daughter, whom, at her death,

which had recently happened, she commended to the care of Mrs Hilary. Miss Marionetta Celestina O'Carroll

was a very blooming and accomplished young lady. Being a compound of the Allegro Vivace of the

O'Carrolls, and of the Andante Doloroso of the Glowries, she exhibited in her own character all the

diversities of an April sky. Her hair was light brown; her eyes hazel, and sparkling with a mild but fluctuating

light; her features regular; her lips full, and of equal size; and her person surpassingly graceful. She was a

proficient in music. Her conversation was sprightly, but always on subjects light in their nature and limited in

their interest: for moral sympathies, in any general sense, had no place in her mind. She had some coquetry,

and more caprice, liking and disliking almost in the same moment; pursuing an object with earnestness while

it seemed unattainable, and rejecting it when in her power as not worth the trouble of possession. Whether

she was touched with a penchant for her cousin Scythrop, or was merely curious to see what effect the tender

passion would have on so outr a person, she had not been three days in the Abbey before she threw out all

the lures of her beauty and accomplishments to make a prize of his heart. Scythrop proved an easy conquest.

The image of Miss Emily Girouette was already sufficiently dimmed by the power of philosophy and the

exercise of reason: for to these influences, or to any influence but the true one, are usually ascribed the mental

cures performed by the great physician Time. Scythrop's romantic dreams had indeed given him many pure

anticipated cognitions of combinations of beauty and intelligence, which, he had some misgivings, were not

exactly realised in his cousin Marionetta; but, in spite of these misgivings, he soon became distractedly in

love; which, when the young lady clearly perceived, she altered her tactics, and assumed as much coldness

and reserve as she had before shown ardent and ingenuous attachment. Scythrop was confounded at the

sudden change; but, instead of falling at her feet and requesting an explanation, he retreated to his tower,

muffled himself in his nightcap, seated himself in the president's chair of his imaginary secret tribunal,

summoned Marionetta with all terrible formalities, frightened her out of her wits, disclosed himself, and

clasped the beautiful penitent to his bosom. While he was acting this reveriein the moment in which the

awful president of the secret tribunal was throwing back his cowl and his mantle, and discovering himself to

the lovely culprit as her adoring and magnanimous lover, the door of the study opened, and the real

Marionetta appeared. The motives which had led her to the tower were a little penitence, a little concern, a

little affection, and a little fear as to what the sudden secession of Scythrop, occasioned by her sudden change

of manner, might portend. She had tapped several times unheard, and of course unanswered; and at length,

timidly and cautiously opening the door, she discovered him standing up before a black velvet chair, which

was mounted on an old oak table, in the act of throwing open his striped calico dressinggown, and flinging

away his nightcapwhich is what the French call an imposing attitude. Each stood a few moments fixed in

their respective placesthe lady in astonishment, and the gentleman in confusion. Marionetta was the first

to break silence. 'For heaven's sake,' said she, 'my dear Scythrop, what is the matter?' 'For heaven's sake,

indeed!' said Scythrop, springing from the table; 'for your sake, Marionetta, and you are my

heaven,distraction is the matter. I adore you, Marionetta, and your cruelty drives me mad.' He threw

himself at her knees, devoured her hand with kisses, and breathed a thousand vows in the most passionate

language of romance. Marionetta listened a long time in silence, till her lover had exhausted his eloquence

and paused for a reply. She then said, with a very arch look, 'I prithee deliver thyself like a man of this world.'

The levity of this quotation, and of the manner in which it was delivered, jarred so discordantly on the

highwrought enthusiasm of the romantic inamorato, that he sprang upon his feet, and beat his forehead with

his clenched fist. The young lady was terrified; and, deeming it expedient to soothe him, took one of his

hands in hers, placed the other hand on his shoulder, looked up in his face with a winning seriousness, and

said, in the tenderest possible tone, 'What would you have, Scythrop?' Scythrop was in heaven again. 'What

would I have? What but you, Marionetta? You, for the companion of my studies, the partner of my thoughts,

the auxiliary of my great designs for the emancipation of mankind.' 'I am afraid I should be but a poor

auxiliary, Scythrop. What would you have me do?' 'Do as Rosalia does with Carlos, divine Marionetta. Let us

each open a vein in the other's arm, mix our blood in a bowl, and drink it as a sacrament of love. Then we

shall see visions of transcendental illumination, and soar on the wings of ideas into the space of pure

intelligence.' Marionetta could not reply; she had not so strong a stomach as Rosalia, and turned sick at the

proposition. She disengaged herself suddenly from Scythrop, sprang through the door of the tower, and fled

with precipitation along the corridors. Scythrop pursued her, crying, 'Stop, stop, Marionettamy life, my

love!' and was gaining rapidly on her flight, when, at an illomened corner, where two corridors ended in an

angle, at the head of a staircase, he came into sudden and violent contact with Mr Toobad, and they both

plunged together to the foot of the stairs, like two billiardballs into one pocket. This gave the young lady

time to escape, and enclose herself in her chamber; while Mr Toobad, rising slowly, and rubbing his knees

and shoulders, said, 'You see, my dear Scythrop, in this little incident, one of the innumerable proofs of the

temporary supremacy of the devil; for what but a systematic design and concurrent contrivance of evil could

have made the angles of time and place coincide in our unfortunate persons at the head of this accursed

staircase?' Nothing else, certainly,' said Scythrop: 'you are perfectly in the right, Mr Toobad. Evil, and

mischief, and misery, and confusion, and vanity, and vexation of spirit, and death, and disease, and

assassination, and war, and poverty, and pestilence, and famine, and avarice, and selfishness, and rancour,

and jealousy, and spleen, and malevolence, and the disappointments of philanthropy, and the faithlessness of

friendship, and the crosses of loveall prove the accuracy of your views, and the truth of your system; and

it is not impossible that the infernal interruption of this fall downstairs may throw a colour of evil on the

whole of my future existence.' 'My dear boy,' said Mr Toobad, 'you have a fine eye for consequences.' So

saying, he embraced Scythrop, who retired, with a disconsolate step, to dress for dinner; while Mr Toobad

stalked across the hall, repeating, 'Woe to the inhabiters of the earth, and of the sea, for the devil is come

THE FLIGHT of Marionetta, and the pursuit of Scythrop, had been witnessed by Mr Glowry, who, in

consequence, narrowly observed his son and his niece in the evening; and, concluding from their manner, that

there was a better understanding between them than he wished to see, he determined on obtaining the next

morning from Scythrop a full and satisfactory explanation. He, therefore, shortly after breakfast, entered

Scythrop's tower, with a very grave face, and said, without ceremony or preface, 'So, sir, you are in love with

your cousin.' Scythrop, with as little hesitation, answered, 'Yes, sir.' 'That is candid, at least; and she is in love

with you.' 'I wish she were, sir.' 'You know she is, sir.' 'Indeed, sir, I do not.' 'But you hope she is.' 'I do, from

my soul.' 'Now that is very provoking, Scythrop, and very disappointing: I could not have supposed that you,

Scythrop Glowry, of Nightmare Abbey, would have been infatuated with such a dancing, laughing, singing,

thoughtless, careless, merryhearted thing, as Marionettain all respects the reverse of you and me. It is

very disappointing, Scythrop. And do you know, sir, that Marionetta has no fortune?' 'It is the more reason,

sir, that her husband should have one.' 'The more reason for her; but not for you. My wife had no fortune, and

I had no consolation in my calamity. And do you reflect, sir, what an enormous slice this lawsuit has cut out

of our family estate? we who used to be the greatest landed proprietors in Lincolnshire.' 'To be sure, sir, we

had more acres of fen than any man on this coast: but what are fens to love? What are dykes and windmills to

Marionetta?' 'And what, sir, is love to a windmill? Not grist, I am certain: besides, sir, I have made a choice

for you. I have made a choice for you, Scythrop. Beauty, genius, accomplishments, and a great fortune into

the bargain. Such a lovely, serious creature, in a fine state of high dissatisfaction with the world, and every

thing in it. Such a delightful surprise I had prepared for you. Sir, I have pledged my honour to the

contractthe honour of the Glowries of Nightmare Abbey: and now, sir, what is to be done?' 'Indeed, sir, I

cannot say. I claim, on this occasion, that liberty of action which is the conatal prerogative of every rational

being.' 'Liberty of action, sir? there is no such thing as liberty of action. We are all slaves and puppets of a

blind and unpathetic necessity.' 'Very true, sir; but liberty of action, between individuals, consists in their

being differently influenced, or modified, by the same universal necessity; so that the results are

unconsentaneous, and their respective necessitated volitions clash and fly off in a tangent.' 'Your logic is

good, sir: but you are aware, too, that one individual may be a medium of adhibiting to another a mode or

form of necessity, which may have more or less influence in the production of consentaneity; and, therefore,

sir, if you do not comply with my wishes in this instance (you have had your own way in every thing else), I

shall be under the necessity of disinheriting you, though I shall do it with tears in my eyes.' Having said these

words, he vanished suddenly, in the dread of Scythrop's logic. Mr Glowry immediately sought Mrs Hilary,

and communicated to her his views of the case in point. Mrs Hilary, as the phrase is, was as fond of

Marionetta as if she had been her own child: butthere is always a but on these occasionsshe could do

nothing for her in the way of fortune, as she had two hopeful sons, who were finishing their education at

Brazennose, and who would not like to encounter any diminution of their prospects, when they should be

brought out of the house of mental bondagei.e. the universityto the land flowing with milk and

honeyi.e. the west end of London. Mrs Hilary hinted to Marionetta, that propriety, and delicacy, and

decorum, and dignity, &c. &c. &c.,* would require them to leave the Abbey immediately. Marionetta

listened in silent submission, for she knew that her inheritance was passive obedience; but, when Scythrop,

who had watched the opportunity of Mrs Hilary's departure, entered, and, without speaking a word, threw

himself at her feet in a paroxysm of grief, the young lady, in equal silence and sorrow, threw her arms round

his neck and burst into tears. A very tender scene ensued, which the sympathetic susceptibilities of the

softhearted reader can more accurately imagine than we can delineate. But when Marionetta hinted that she

was to leave the Abbey immediately, Scythrop snatched from its repository his ancestor's skull, filled it with

Madeira, and presenting himself before Mr Glowry, threatened to drink off the contents if Mr Glowry did not

immediately promise that Marionetta should not be taken from the Abbey without her own consent. Mr

Glowry, who took the Madeira to be some deadly brewage, gave the required promise in dismal panic.

Scythrop returned to Marionetta with a joyful heart, and drank the Madeira by the way. Mr Glowry, during

his residence in London, had come to an agreement with his friend Mr Toobad, that a match between

Scythrop and Mr Toobad's daughter would be a very desirable occurrence. She was finishing her education in

a German convent, but Mr Toobad described her as being fully impressed with the truth of his Ahrimanic

philosophy, and being altogether as gloomy and antithalian a young lady as Mr Glowry himself could desire

for the future mistress of Nightmare Abbey. She had a great fortune in her own right, which was not, as we

have seen, without its weight in inducing Mr Glowry to set his heart upon her as his daughterinlaw that

was to be; he was therefore very much disturbed by Scythrop's untoward attachment to Marionetta. He

condoled on the occasion with Mr Toobad; who said, that he had been too long accustomed to the

intermeddling of the devil in all his affairs, to be astonished at this new trace of his cloven claw; but that he

hoped to outwit him yet, for he was sure there could be no comparison between his daughter and Marionetta

in the mind of any one who had a proper perception of the fact, that, the world being a great theatre of evil,

seriousness and solemnity are the characteristics of wisdom, and laughter and merriment make a human being

no better than a baboon. Mr Glowry comforted himself with this view of the subject, and urged Mr Toobad to

expedite his daughter's return from Germany. Mr Toobad said he was in daily expectation of her arrival in

London, and would set off immediately to meet her, that he might lose no time in bringing her to Nightmare

Abbey. 'Then,' he added, 'we shall see whether Thalia or Melpomenewhether the Allegra or the

Penserosawill carry off the symbol of victory.' 'There can be no doubt,' said Mr Glowry, 'which way the

scale will incline, or Scythrop is no true scion of the venerable stem of the Glowries.'

MARIONETTA felt secure of Scythrop's heart; and notwithstanding the difficulties that surrounded her, she

could not debar herself from the pleasure of tormenting her lover, whom she kept in a perpetual fever.

Sometimes she would meet him with the most unqualified affection; sometimes with the most chilling

indifference; rousing him to anger by artificial coldnesssoftening him to love by eloquent

tendernessor inflaming him to jealousy by coquetting with the Honourable Mr Listless, who seemed,

under her magical influence, to burst into sudden life, like the bud of the evening primrose. Sometimes she

would sit by the piano, and listen with becoming attention to Scythrop's pathetic remonstrances; but, in the

most impassioned part of his oratory, she would convert all his ideas into a chaos, by striking up some Rondo

Allegro, and saying, 'Is it not pretty?' Scythrop would begin to storm; and she would answer him with,

or some similar facezia, till he would start away from her, and enclose himself in his tower, in an agony of

agitation, vowing to renounce her, and her whole sex, for ever; and returning to her presence at the summons

of the billet, which she never failed to send with many expressions of penitence and promises of amendment.

Scythrop's schemes for regenerating the world, and detecting his seven golden candlesticks, went on very

slowly in this fever of his spirit. Things proceeded in this train for several days; and Mr Glowry began to be

uneasy at receiving no intelligence from Mr Toobad; when one evening the latter rushed into the library,

where the family and the visitors were assembled, vociferating, 'The devil is come among you, having great

wrath!' He then drew Mr Glowry aside into another apartment, and after remaining some time together, they

reentered the library with faces of great dismay, but did not condescend to explain to any one the cause of

their discomfiture. The next morning, early, Mr Toobad departed. Mr Glowry sighed and groaned all day, and

said not a word to any one. Scythrop had quarrelled, as usual, with Marionetta, and was enclosed in his tower,

in a fit of morbid sensibility. Marionetta was comforting herself at the piano, with singing the airs of Nina

pazza per amore; and the Honourable Mr Listless was listening to the harmony, as he lay supine on the sofa,

with a book in his hand, into which he peeped at intervals. The Reverend Mr Larynx approached the sofa, and

Billiards! Really I should be very happy; but, in my present exhausted state, the exertion is too much for me.

I do not know when I have been equal to such an effort. (He rang the bell for his valet. Fatout entered.)

So it was. Seven months ago. You see, Mr Larynx; you see, sir. My nerves, Miss O'Carroll, my nerves are

shattered. I have been advised to try Bath. Some of the faculty recommend Cheltenham. I think of trying

both, as the seasons don't clash. The season, you know, Mr Larynxthe season, Miss O'Carrollthe

Most assuredly, Miss O'Carroll. For, however reasoners may dispute about the summum bonum, none of

them will deny that a very good dinner is a very good thing: and what is a good dinner without a good

appetite? and whence is a good appetite but from good health? Now, Cheltenham, Mr Listless, is famous for

The best piece of logic I ever heard, Mr Larynx; the very best, I assure you. I have thought very seriously of

Cheltenham: very seriously and profoundly. I thought of itlet me seewhen did I think of it? (He rang

again, and Fatout reappeared.) Fatout! when did I think of going to Cheltenham, and did not go?

So I should judge, indeed. He seems to serve you as a walking memory, and to be a living chronicle, not of

An excellent definition of the fellow, Miss O'Carroll, excellent, upon my honour. Ha! ha! he! Heigho!

A parcel was brought in for Mr Listless; it had been sent express. Fatout was summoned to unpack it; and it

proved to contain a new novel, and a new poem, both of which had long been anxiously expected by the

whole host of fashionable readers; and the last number of a popular Review, of which the editor and his

coadjutors were in high favour at court, and enjoyed ample pensions for their services to church and state. As

Fatout left the room, Mr Flosky entered, and curiously inspected the literary arrivals.

(Turning over the leaves.) 'Devilman, a novel.' Hm. Hatredrevengemisanthropyand quotations

from the Bible. Hm. This is the morbid anatomy of black bile.'Paul Jones, a poem.' Hm. I see how it is.

Paul Jones, an amiable enthusiastdisappointed in his affectionsturns pirate from ennui and

magnanimitycuts various masculine throats, wins various feminine heartsis hanged at the yardarm!

The catastrophe is very awkward, and very unpoetical.'The Downing Street Review.' Hm. First

articleAn Ode to the Red Book, by Roderick Sackbut, Esquire. Hm. His own poem reviewed by himself.

(Mr Flosky proceeded in silence to look over the other articles of the review; Marionetta inspected the novel,

For a young man of fashion and family, Mr Listless, you seem to be of a very studious turn.

Studious! You are pleased to be facetious, Mr Larynx. I hope you do not suspect me of being studious. I have

finished my education. But there are some fashionable books that one must read, because they are ingredients

of the talk of the day; otherwise, I am no fonder of books than I dare say you yourself are, Mr Larynx.

Why, sir, I cannot say that I am indeed particularly fond of books; yet neither can I say that I never do read. A

tale or a poem, now and then, to a circle of ladies over their work, is no very heterodox employment of the

vocal energy. And I must say, for myself, that few men have a more Joblike endurance of the eternally

recurring questions and answers that interweave themselves, on these occasions, with the crisis of an

I shall try your patience some rainy morning, Mr Larynx; and Mr Listless shall recommend us the very

You shall receive it, Miss O'Carroll, with all the gloss of novelty; fresh as a ripe greengage in all the

downiness of its bloom. A mailcoach copy from Edinburgh, forwarded express from London.

This rage for novelty is the bane of literature. Except my works and those of my particular friends, nothing is

good that is not as old as Jeremy Taylor: and, entre nous, the best parts of my friends' books were either

Sir, I reverence you. But I must say, modern books are very consolatory and congenial to my feelings. There

is, as it were, a delightful northeast wind, an intellectual blight breathing through them; a delicious

misanthropy and discontent, that demonstrates the nullity of virtue and energy, and puts me in good humour

Very true, sir. Modern literature is a northeast winda blight of the human soul. I take credit to myself

for having helped to make it so. The way to produce fine fruit is to blight the flower. You call this a paradox.

The conversation was interrupted by the reappearance of Mr Toobad, covered with mud. He just showed

himself at the door, muttered 'The devil is come among you!' and vanished. The road which connected

Nightmare Abbey with the civilised world, was artificially raised above the level of the fens, and ran through

them in a straight line as far as the eye could reach, with a ditch on each side, of which the water was

rendered invisible by the aquatic vegetation that covered the surface. Into one of these ditches the sudden

action of a shy horse, which took fright at a windmill, had precipitated the travelling chariot of Mr Toobad,

who had been reduced to the necessity of scrambling in dismal plight through the window. One of the wheels

was found to be broken; and Mr Toobad, leaving the postilion to get the chariot as well as he could to

Claydyke for the purpose of cleaning and repairing, had walked back to Nightmare Abbey, followed by his

servant with the imperial, and repeating all the way his favourite quotation from the Revelations.

MRTOOBAD had found his daughter Celinda in London, and after the first joy of meeting was over, told her

he had a husband ready for her. The young lady replied, very gravely, that she should take the liberty to

choose for herself. Mr Toobad said he saw the devil was determined to interfere with all his projects, but he

was resolved on his own part, not to have on his conscience the crime of passive obedience and

nonresistance to Lucifer, and therefore she should marry the person he had chosen for her. Miss Toobad

replied, tr s pos ment, she assuredly would not. 'Celinda, Celinda,' said Mr Toobad, 'you most assuredly

shall.''Have I not a fortune in my own right, sir?' said Celinda. 'The more is the pity,' said Mr Toobad:

'but I can find means, miss; I can find means. There are more ways than one of breaking in obstinate girls.'

They parted for the night with the expression of opposite resolutions, and in the morning the young lady's

chamber was found empty, and what was become of her Mr Toobad had no clue to conjecture. He continued

to investigate town and country in search of her; visiting and revisiting Nightmare Abbey at intervals, to

consult with his friend, Mr Glowry. Mr Glowry agreed with Mr Toobad that this was a very flagrant instance

of filial disobedience and rebellion; and Mr Toobad declared, that when he discovered the fugitive, she

should find that 'the devil was come unto her, having great wrath.' In the evening, the whole party met, as

usual, in the library. Marionetta sat at the harp; the Honourable Mr Listless sat by her and turned over her

music, though the exertion was almost too much for him. The Reverend Mr Larynx relieved him occasionally

in this delightful labour. Scythrop, tormented by the demon Jealousy, sat in the corner biting his lips and

fingers. Marionetta looked at him every now and then with a smile of most provoking good humour, which

he pretended not to see, and which only the more exasperated his troubled spirit. He took down a volume of

Dante, and pretended to be deeply interested in the Purgatorio, though he knew not a word he was reading, as

Marionetta was well aware; who, tripping across the room, peeped into his book, and said to him, 'I see you

are in the middle of Purgatory.''I am in the middle of hell,' said Scythrop furiously. 'Are you?' said she;

'then come across the room, and I will sing you the finale of Don Giovanni.' 'Let me alone,' said Scythrop.

Marionetta looked at him with a deprecating smile, and said, 'You unjust, cross creature, you.''Let me

alone,' said Scythrop, but much less emphatically than at first, and by no means wishing to be taken at his

word. Marionetta left him immediately, and returning to the harp, said, just loud enough for Scythrop to

hear'Did you ever read Dante, Mr Listless? Scythrop is reading Dante, and is just now in

Purgatory.''And I,' said the Honourable Mr Listless, 'am not reading Dante, and am just now in Paradise,'

You are very gallant, Mr Listless; and I dare say you are very fond of reading Dante.

I don' t know how it is, but Dante never came in my way till lately. I never had him in my collection, and if I

had had him I should not have read him. But I find he is growing fashionable, and I am afraid I must read him

I assure you, Miss O'Carroll, nevertill I came to Nightmare Abbey. I dare say it is very pleasant; but it

seems to give so much trouble that I fear the exertion would be too much for me.

Shall I teach you a compendious method of courtship, that will give you no trouble whatever?

You will confer on me an inexpressible obligation. I am all impatience to learn it.

Sit with your back to the lady and read Dante; only be sure to begin in the middle, and turn over three or four

pages at oncebackwards as well as forwards, and she will immediately perceive that you are desperately

(The Honourable Mr Listless sitting between Scythrop and Marionetta, and fixing all his attention on the

You are pleased to be facetious, Miss O'Carroll. The lady would infallibly conclude that I was the greatest

Far from it. She would say, perhaps, some people have odd methods of showing their affection.

(Joining them from another part of the room.) Did I not hear Mr Listless observe that Dante is becoming

I did hazard a remark to that effect, Mr Flosky, though I speak on such subjects with a consciousness of my

own nothingness, in the presence of so great a man as Mr Flosky. I know not what is the colour of Dante's

devils, but as he is certainly becoming fashionable I conclude they are blue; for the blue devils, as it seems to

The blue are, indeed, the staple commodity; but as they will not always be commanded, the black, red, and

grey may be admitted as substitutes. Tea, late dinners, and the French Revolution, have played the devil, Mr

Tea, late dinners, and the French Revolution. I cannot exactly see the connection of ideas.

I should be sorry if you could; I pity the man who can see the connection of his own ideas. Still more do I

pity him, the connection of whose ideas any other person can see. Sir, the great evil is, that there is too much

commonplace light in our moral and political literature; and light is a great enemy to mystery, and mystery is

a great friend to enthusiasm. Now the enthusiasm for abstract truth is an exceedingly fine thing, as long as the

truth, which is the object of the enthusiasm, is so completely abstract as to be altogether out of the reach of

the human faculties; and, in that sense, I have myself an enthusiasm for truth, but in no other, for the pleasure

of metaphysical investigation lies in the means, not in the end; and if the end could be found, the pleasure of

the means would cease. The mind, to be kept in health, must be kept in exercise. The proper exercise of the

mind is elaborate reasoning. Analytical reasoning is a base and mechanical process, which takes to pieces and

examines, bit by bit, the rude material of knowledge, and extracts therefrom a few hard and obstinate things

called facts, every thing in the shape of which I cordially hate. But synthetical reasoning, setting up as its goal

some unattainable abstraction, like an imaginary quantity in algebra, and commencing its course with taking

for granted some two assertions which cannot be proved, from the union of these two assumed truths

produces a third assumption, and so on in infinite series, to the unspeakable benefit of the human intellect.

The beauty of this process is, that at every step it strikes out into two branches, in a compound ratio of

ramification; so that you are perfectly sure of losing your way, and keeping your mind in perfect health, by

the perpetual exercise of an interminable quest; and for these reasons I have christened my eldest son

It is very certain, and much to be rejoiced at, that our literature is hagridden. Tea has shattered our nerves;

late dinners make us slaves of indigestion; the French Revolution has made us shrink from the name of

philosophy, and has destroyed, in the more refined part of the community (of which number I am one), all

enthusiasm for political liberty. That part of the reading public which shuns the solid food of reason for the

light diet of fiction, requires a perpetual adhibition of sauce piquante to the palate of its depraved

imagination. It lived upon ghosts, goblins, and skeletons (I and my friend Mr Sackbut served up a few of the

best), till even the devil himself, though magnified to the size of Mount Athos, became too base, common,

and popular,* for its surfeited appetite. The ghosts have therefore been laid, and the devil has been cast into

outer darkness, and now the delight of our spirits is to dwell on all the vices and blackest passions of our

nature, tricked out in a masquerade dress of heroism and disappointed benevolence; the whole secret of which

lies in forming combinations that contradict all our experience, and affixing the purple shred of some

particular virtue to that precise character, in which we should be most certain not to find it in the living world;

and making this single virtue not only redeem all the real and manifest vices of the character, but make them

actually pass for necessary adjuncts, and indispensable accompaniments and characteristics of the said virtue.

That is, because the devil is come among us, and finds it for his interest to destroy all our perceptions of the

I do not precisely enter into your meaning, Mr Flosky, and should be glad if you would make it a little more

One or two examples will do it, Miss O'Carroll. If I were to take all the mean and sordid qualities of a

moneydealing Jew, and tack on to them, as with a nail, the quality of extreme benevolence, I should have a

very decent hero for a modern novel; and should contribute my quota to the fashionable method of

administering a mass of vice, under a thin and unnatural covering of virtue, like a spider wrapt in a bit of gold

leaf, and administered as a wholesome pill. On the same principle, if a man knocks me down, and takes my

purse and watch by main force, I turn him to account, and set him forth in a tragedy as a dashing young

fellow, disinherited for his romantic generosity, and full of a most amiable hatred of the world in general, and

his own country in particular, and of a most enlightened and chivalrous affection for himself: then, with the

addition of a wild girl to fall in love with him, and a series of adventures in which they break all the Ten

Commandments in succession (always, you will observe, for some sublime motive, which must be carefully

analysed in its progress), I have as amiable a pair of tragic characters as ever issued from that new region of

the belles lettres, which I have called the Morbid Anatomy of Black Bile, and which is greatly to be admired

Which is about as well employed as the power of a hothouse would be in forcing up a nettle to the size of an

elm. If we go on in this way, we shall have a new art of poetry, of which one of the first rules will be: To

remember to forget that there are any such things as sunshine and music in the world.

It seems to be the case with us at present, or we should not have interrupted Miss O'Carroll's music with this

I should be most happy if Miss O'Carroll would remind us that there are yet both music and sunshine

In the voice and the smile of beauty. May I entreat the favour of(turning over the pages of music.)

Why are thy looks so blank, grey friar? Why are thy looks so blue? Thou seem'st more pale and lank, grey

Thy form was plump, and a light did shine In thy round and ruby face, Which showed an outward visible sign

Yet will I tell thee true, grey friar, I very well can see, That, if thy looks are blue, grey friar, 'Tis all for love

But breathe not thy vows to me, grey friar, Oh, breathe them not, I pray; For ill beseems in a reverend friar,

But, could'st thou think my heart to move With that pale and silent scowl, Know, he who would win a

Scythrop immediately replaced Dante on the shelf, and joined the circle round the beautiful singer.

Marionetta gave him a smile of approbation that fully restored his complacency, and they continued on the

best possible terms during the remainder of the evening. The Honourable Mr Listless turned over the leaves

with double alacrity, saying, 'You are severe upon invalids, Miss O'Carroll: to escape your satire, I must try to

A NEW visitor arrived at the Abbey, in the person of Mr Asterias, the ichthyologist. This gentleman had

passed his life in seeking the living wonders of the deep through the four quarters of the world; he had a

cabinet of stuffed and dried fishes, of shells, seaweeds, corals, and madrepores, that was the admiration and

envy of the Royal Society. He had penetrated into the watery den of the Sepia Octopus, disturbed the

conjugal happiness of that turtledove of the ocean, and come off victorious in a sanguinary conflict. He had

been becalmed in the tropical seas, and had watched, in eager expectation, though unhappily always in vain,

to see the colossal polypus rise from the water, and entwine its enormous arms round the masts and the

rigging. He maintained the origin of all things from water, and insisted that the polypodes were the first of

animated things, and that, from their round bodies and manyshooting arms, the Hindoos had taken their

gods, the most ancient of deities. But the chief object of his ambition, the end and aim of his researches, was

to discover a triton and a mermaid, the existence of which he most potently and implicitly believed, and was

prepared to demonstrate, a priori, a posteriori, a fortiori, synthetically and analytically, syllogistically and

inductively, by arguments deduced both from acknowledged facts and plausible hypotheses. A report that a

mermaid had been seen "sleeking her soft alluring locks"* on the seacoast of Lincolnshire, had brought him

in great haste from London, to pay a longpromised and oftenpostponed visit to his old acquaintance, Mr

Glowry. Mr Asterias was accompanied by his son, to whom he had given the name of Aquariusflattering

himself that he would, in the process of time, become a constellation among the stars of ichthyological

science. What charitable female had lent him the mould in which this son was cast, no one pretended to

know; and, as he never dropped the most distant allusion to Aquarius's mother, some of the wags of London

maintained that he had received the favours of a mermaid, and that the scientific perquisitions which kept him

always prowling about the seashore, were directed by the less philosophical motive of regaining his lost

love. Mr Asterias perlustrated the seacoast for several days, and reaped disappointment, but not despair.

One night, shortly after his arrival, he was sitting in one of the windows of the library, looking towards the

sea, when his attention was attracted by a figure which was moving near the edge of the surf, and which was

dimly visible through the moonless summer night. Its motions were irregular, like those of a person in a state

of indecision. It had extremely long hair, which floated in the wind. Whatever else it might be, it certainly

was not a fisherman. It might be a lady; but it was neither Mrs Hilary nor Miss O'Carroll, for they were both

in the library. It might be one of the female servants; but it had too much grace, and too striking an air of

habitual liberty, to render it probable. Besides, what should one of the female servants be doing there at this

hour, moving to and fro, as it seemed, without any visible purpose? It could scarcely be a stranger; for

Claydyke, the nearest village, was ten miles distant; and what female would come ten miles across the fens,

for no purpose but to hover over the surf under the walls of Nightmare Abbey? Might it not be a mermaid? It

was possibly a mermaid. It was probably a mermaid. It was very probably a mermaid. Nay, what else could it

be but a mermaid? It certainly was a mermaid. Mr Asterias stole out of the library on tiptoe, with his finger

on his lips, having beckoned Aquarius to follow him. The rest of the party was in great surprise at Mr

Asterias's movement, and some of them approached the window to see if the locality would tend to elucidate

the mystery. Presently they saw him and Aquarius cautiously stealing along on the other side of the moat, but

they saw nothing more; and Mr Asterias returning, told them, with accents of great disappointment, that he

had had a glimpse of a mermaid, but she had eluded him in the darkness, and was gone, he presumed, to sup

with some enamoured triton, in a submarine grotto. 'But, seriously, Mr Asterias,' said the Honourable Mr

Precisely. They are the oranoutangs of the sea. But I am persuaded that there are also complete sea men,

differing in no respect from us, but that they are stupid, and covered with scales; for, though our organisation

seems to exclude us essentially from the class of amphibious animals, yet anatomists well know that the

foramen ovale may remain open in an adult, and that respiration is, in that case, not necessary to life: and how

can it be otherwise explained that the Indian divers, employed in the pearl fishery, pass whole hours under the

water; and that the famous Swedish gardener of Troningholm lived a day and a half under the ice without

being drowned? A nereid, or mermaid, was taken in the year 1403 in a Dutch lake, and was in every respect

like a French woman, except that she did not speak. Towards the end of the seventeenth century, an English

ship, a hundred and fifty leagues from land, in the Greenland seas, discovered a flotilla of sixty or seventy

little skiffs, in each of which was a triton, or sea man: at the approach of the English vessel the whole of

them, seized with simultaneous fear, disappeared, skiffs and all, under the water, as if they had been a human

variety of the nautilus. The illustrious Don Feijoo has preserved an authentic and well attested story of a

young Spaniard, named Francis de la Vega, who, bathing with some of his friends in June, 1674, suddenly

dived under the sea and rose no more. His friends thought him drowned; they were plebeians and pious

Catholics; but a philosopher might very legitimately have drawn the same conclusion.

Five years afterwards, some fishermen near Cadiz found in their nets a triton, or sea man; they spoke to him

They had the gift of tongues by especial favour of their brother fisherman, Saint Peter.

They spoke to him in several languages, but he was as mute as a fish. They handed him over to some holy

friars, who exorcised him; but the devil was mute too. After some days he pronounced the name Lierganes. A

monk took him to that village. His mother and brothers recognised and embraced him; but he was as

insensible to their caresses as any other fish would have been. He had some scales on his body, which

dropped off by degrees; but his skin was as hard and rough as shagreen. He stayed at home nine years,

without recovering his speech or his reason: he then disappeared again; and one of his old acquaintance, some

years after, saw him pop his head out of the water near the coast of the Asturias. These facts were certified by

his brothers, and by Don Gaspardo de la Riba Aguero, Knight of Saint James, who lived near Lierganes, and

often had the pleasure of our triton's company to dinner.Pliny mentions an embassy of the Olyssiponians

to Tiberius, to give him intelligence of a triton which had been heard playing on its shell in a certain cave;

You astonish me. I have been much on the seashore, in the season, but I do not think I ever saw a mermaid.

(He rang, and summoned Fatout, who made his appearance halfseas over.) Fatout! did I ever see a

Mermaid! merrmmaid! Ah! merry maid! Oui, monsieur! Yes, sir, very many. I vish dere vas von or two

De odd fish! Ah, oui! I understand de phrase: ve have seen nothing else since ve left townma foi!

Non, monsieur: de cup too little. De fen be very unwholesome, and I drinkade ponch vid Raven de butler,

Oui, monsieur; I vil be as sober as de reverendissime pere Jean. I should be ver glad of de merry maid; but de

butler be de odd fish, and he swim in de bowl de ponch. Ah! ah! I do recollect de leetlea song:'About

fair maids, and about fair maids, and about my merry maids all.' (Fatout reeled out, singing.)

I am overwhelmed: I never saw the rascal in such a condition before. But will you allow me, Mr Asterias, to

inquire into the cui bono of all the pains and expense you have incurred to discover a mermaid? The cui bono,

sir, is the question I always take the liberty to ask when I see any one taking much trouble for any object. I

am myself a sort of Signor Pococurante, and should like to know if there be any thing better or pleasanter,

I have made many voyages, Mr Listless, to remote and barren shores: I have travelled over desert and

inhospitable lands: I have defied dangerI have endured fatigueI have submitted to privation. In the

midst of these I have experienced pleasures which I would not at any time have exchanged for that of existing

and doing nothing. I have known many evils, but I have never known the worst of all, which, as it seems to

me, are those which are comprehended in the inexhaustible varieties of ennui: spleen, chagrin, vapours, blue

devils, timekilling, discontent, misanthropy, and all their interminable train of fretfulness, querulousness,

suspicions, jealousies, and fears, which have alike infected society, and the literature of society; and which

would make an arctic ocean of the human mind, if the more humane pursuits of philosophy and science did

Surely not without reason, when pirates, highwaymen, and other varieties of the extensive genus Marauder,

are the only beau ideal of the active, as splenetic and railing misanthropy is of the speculative energy. A

gloomy brow and a tragical voice seem to have been of late the characteristics of fashionable manners: and a

morbid, withering, deadly, antisocial sirocco, loaded with moral and political despair, breathes through all the

groves and valleys of the modern Parnassus; while science moves on in the calm dignity of its course,

affording to youth delights equally pure and vivid to maturity, calm and grateful occupationto old age,

the most pleasing recollections and inexhaustible materials of agreeable and salutary reflection; and, while its

votary enjoys the disinterested pleasure of enlarging the intellect and increasing the comforts of society, he is

himself independent of the caprices of human intercourse and the accidents of human fortune. Nature is his

great and inexhaustible treasure. His days are always too short for his enjoyment: ennui is a stranger to his

door. At peace with the world and with his own mind, he suffices to himself, makes all around him happy,

and the close of his pleasing and beneficial existence is the evening of a beautiful day

Really I should like very well to lead such a life myself, but the exertion would be too much for me. Besides,

I have been at college. I contrive to get through my day by sinking the morning in bed, and killing the

evening in company; dressing and dining in the intermediate space, and stopping the chinks and crevices of

the few vacant moments that remain with a little easy reading. And that amiable discontent and antisociality

which you reprobate in our present drawingroomtable literature, I find, I do assure you, a very fine mental

tonic, which reconciles me to my favourite pursuit of doing nothing, by showing me that nobody is worth

But is there not in such compositions a kind of unconscious selfdetection, which seems to carry their own

antidote with them? For surely no one who cordially and truly either hates or despises the world will publish

There is a secret in all this, which I will elucidate with a dusky remark. According to Berkeley, the esse of

things is percipi. They exist as they are perceived. But, leaving for the present, as far as relates to the material

world, the materialists, hyloists, and antihyloists, to settle this point among them, which is indeed

A subtle question, raised among Those out o' their wits, and those i' the wrong:

for only we transcendentalists are in the right: we may very safely assert that the esse of happiness is percipi.

It exists as it is perceived. 'It is the mind that maketh well or ill.' The elements of pleasure and pain are every

where. The degree of happiness that any circumstances or objects can confer on us depends on the mental

disposition with which we approach them. If you consider what is meant by the common phrases, a happy

disposition and a discontented temper, you will perceive that the truth for which I am contending is

(Mr Flosky suddenly stopped: he found himself unintentionally trespassing within the limits of common

It is very true, a happy disposition finds materials of enjoyment every where. In the city, or the countryin

society, or in solitudein the theatre, or the forestin the hum of the multitude, or in the silence of the

mountains, are alike materials of reflection and elements of pleasure. It is one mode of pleasure to listen to

the music of 'Don Giovanni,' in a theatre glittering with light, and crowded with elegance and beauty: it is

another to glide at sunset over the bosom of a lonely lake, where no sound disturbs the silence but the motion

of the boat through the waters. A happy disposition derives pleasure from both, a discontented temper from

neither, but is always busy in detecting deficiencies, and feeding dissatisfaction with comparisons. The one

gathers all the flowers, the other all the nettles, in its path. The one has the faculty of enjoying every thing,

the other of enjoying nothing. The one realises all the pleasure of the present good; the other converts it into

pain, by pining after something better, which is only better because it is not present, and which, if it were

present, would not be enjoyed. These morbid spirits are in life what professed critics are in literature; they see

nothing but faults, because they are predetermined to shut their eyes to beauties. The critic does his utmost to

blight genius in its infancy; that which rises in spite of him he will not see; and then he complains of the

decline of literature. In like manner, these cankers of society complain of human nature and society, when

they have wilfully debarred themselves from all the good they contain, and done their utmost to blight their

own happiness and that of all around them. Misanthropy is sometimes the product of disappointed

benevolence; but it is more frequently the offspring of overweening and mortified vanity, quarrelling with the

'These remarks are rather uncharitable. There is great good in human nature, but it is at present

illconditioned. Ardent spirits cannot but be dissatisfied with things as they are; and, according to their views

of the probabilities of amelioration, they will rush into the extremes of either hope or despairof which the

first is enthusiasm, and the second misanthropy; but their sources in this case are the same, as the Severn and

'And there is salmon in both;' for the resemblance is about as close as that between Macedon and Monmouth.

MARIONETTA observed the next day a remarkable perturbation in Scythrop, for which she could not

imagine any probable cause. She was willing to believe at first that it had some transient and trifling source,

and would pass off in a day or two; but, contrary to this expectation, it daily increased. She was well aware

that Scythrop had a strong tendency to the love of mystery, for its own sake; that is to say, he would employ

mystery to serve a purpose, but would first choose his purpose by its capability of mystery. He seemed now

to have more mystery on his hands than the laws of the system allowed, and to wear his coat of darkness with

an air of great discomfort. All her little playful arts lost by degrees much of their power either to irritate or to

soothe; and the first perception of her diminished influence produced in her an immediate depression of

spirits, and a consequent sadness of demeanour, that rendered her very interesting to Mr Glowry; who, duly

considering the improbability of accomplishing his wishes with respect to Miss Toobad (which improbability

naturally increased in the diurnal ratio of that young lady's absence), began to reconcile himself by degrees to

the idea of Marionetta being his daughter. Marionetta made many ineffectual attempts to extract from

Scythrop the secret of his mystery; and, in despair of drawing it from himself, began to form hopes that she

might find a clue to it from Mr Flosky, who was Scythrop's dearest friend, and was more frequently than any

other person admitted to his solitary tower. Mr Flosky, however, had ceased to be visible in a morning He

was engaged in the composition of a dismal ballad; and, Marionetta's uneasiness overcoming her scruples of

decorum, she determined to seek him in the apartment which he had chosen for his study. She tapped at the

door, and at the sound 'Come in,' entered the apartment. It was noon, and the sun was shining in full

splendour, much to the annoyance of Mr Flosky, who had obviated the inconvenience by closing the shutters,

and drawing the windowcurtains. He was sitting at his table by the light of a solitary candle, with a pen in

one hand, and a muffineer in the other, with which he occasionally sprinkled salt on the wick, to make it burn

blue. He sate with "his eye in a fine frenzy rolling,"* and turned his inspired gaze on Marionetta as if she had

been the ghastly ladie of a magical vision; then placed his hand before his eyes, with an appearance of

manifest painshook his headwithdrew his handrubbed his eyes, like a waking manand said,

in a tone of ruefulness most jeremitaylorically pathetic, 'To what am I to attribute this very unexpected

I must apologise for intruding on you, Mr Flosky; but the interest which Iyoutake in my cousin

Pardon me, Miss O'Carroll; I do not take any interest in any person or thing on the face of the earth; which

sentiment, if you analyse it, you will find to be the quintessence of the most refined philanthropy.

I will take it for granted that it is so, Mr Flosky; I am not conversant with metaphysical subtleties, but

Subtleties! my dear Miss O'Carroll. I am sorry to find you participating in the vulgar error of the reading

public, to whom an unusual collocation of words, involving a juxtaposition of antiperistatical ideas,

Indeed, Mr Flosky, it suggests no such notion to me. I have sought you for the purpose of obtaining

The toutesti, the id est, the cioč, the c'est ŕ dire, the that is, my dear Miss O'Carroll, is not applicable in this

caseif you will permit me to take the liberty of saying so. Think is not synonymous with believefor

belief, in many most important particulars, results from the total absence, the absolute negation of thought,

and is thereby the sane and orthodox condition of mind; and thought and belief are both essentially different

from fancy, and fancy, again, is distinct from imagination. This distinction between fancy and imagination is

one of the most abstruse and important points of metaphysics. I have written seven hundred pages of promise

to elucidate it, which promise I shall keep as faithfully as the bank will its promise to pay.

I assure you, Mr Flosky, I care no more about metaphysics than I do about the bank; and, if you will

Say not condescend! Know you not that you talk to the most humble of men, to one who has buckled on the

My cousin Scythrop has of late had an air of mystery about him, which gives me great uneasiness.

That is strange: nothing is so becoming to a man as an air of mystery Mystery is the very keystone of all that

is beautiful in poetry, all that is sacred in faith, and all that is recondite in transcendental psychology. I am

writing a ballad which is all mystery; it is 'such stuff as dreams are made of,' and is, indeed, stuff made of a

dream; for, last night I fell asleep as usual over my book, and had a vision of pure reason. I composed five

hundred lines in my sleep; so that, having had a dream of a ballad, I am now officiating as my own Peter

Quince, and making a ballad of my dream, and it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it has no bottom.

I see, Mr Flosky, you think my intrusion unseasonable, and are inclined to punish it, by talking nonsense to

me. (Mr Flosky gave a start at the word nonsense, which almost overturned the table.) I assure you, I would

not have intruded if I had not been very much interested in the question I wish to ask you.(Mr Flosky

listened in sullen dignity.)My cousin Scythrop seems to have some secret preying on his mind.(Mr

Flosky was silent.)He seems very unhappyMr FloskyPerhaps you are acquainted with the cause.

(Mr Flosky was still silent.)I only wish to knowMr Floskyif it is any thingthat could be

(after a pause) There are various ways of getting at secrets The most approved methods, as recommended

both theoretically and practically in philosophical novels, are eavesdropping at keyholes, picking the locks

of chests and desks, peeping into letters, steaming wafers, and insinuating hot wire under sealing wax; none

Surely, Mr Flosky, you cannot suspect me of wishing to adopt or encourage such base and contemptible arts.

Yet are they recommended, and with wellstrung reasons, by writers of gravity and note, as simple and easy

methods of studying character, and gratifying that laudable curiosity which aims at the knowledge of man.

I am as ignorant of this morality which you do not approve, as of the metaphysics which you do: I should be

glad to know by your means, what is the matter with my cousin; I do not like to see him unhappy, and I

Now I should rather suppose there is no reason for it: it is the fashion to be unhappy To have a reason for

being so would be exceedingly commonplace: to be so without any is the province of genius: the art of

being miserable for misery's sake, has been brought to great perfection in our days; and the ancient Odyssey,

which held forth a shining example of the endurance of real misfortune, will give place to a modern one,

setting out a more instructive picture of querulous impatience under imaginary evils.

It is impossible, my dear Miss O'Carroll I never gave a plain answer to a question in my life.

To say that I do not know, would be to say that I am ignorant of something; and God forbid, that a

transcendental metaphysician, who has pure anticipated cognitions of every thing, and carries the whole

science of geometry in his head without ever having looked into Euclid, should fall into so empirical an error

as to declare himself ignorant of any thing: to say that I do know, would be to pretend to positive and

circumstantial knowledge touching present matter of fact, which, when you consider the nature of evidence,

I see, Mr Flosky, that either you have no information, or are determined not to impart it; and I beg your

My dear Miss O'Carroll, it would have given me great pleasure to have said any thing that would have given

you pleasure; but if any person living could make report of having obtained any information on any subject

SCYTHROP grew every day more reserved, mysterious, and distrait; and gradually lengthened the duration

of his diurnal seclusions in his tower. Marionetta thought she perceived in all this very manifest symptoms of

a warm love cooling. It was seldom that she found herself alone with him in the morning, and, on these

occasions, if she was silent in the hope of his speaking first, not a syllable would he utter; if she spoke to him

indirectly, he assented monosyllabically; if she questioned him, his answers were brief, constrained, and

evasive. Still, though her spirits were depressed, her playfulness had not so totally forsaken her, but that it

illuminated at intervals the gloom of Nightmare Abbey; and if, on any occasion, she observed in Scythrop

tokens of unextinguished or returning passion, her love of tormenting her lover immediately got the better

both of her grief and her sympathy, though not of her curiosity, which Scythrop seemed determined not to

satisfy. This playfulness, however, was in a great measure artificial, and usually vanished with the irritable

Strephon, to whose annoyance it had been exerted. The Genius Loci, the tutela of Nightmare Abbey, the spirit

of black melancholy, began to set his seal on her pallescent countenance. Scythrop perceived the change,

found his tender sympathies awakened, and did his utmost to comfort the afflicted damsel, assuring her that

his seeming inattention had only proceeded from his being involved in a profound meditation on a very

hopeful scheme for the regeneration of human society. Marionetta called him ungrateful, cruel, coldhearted,

and accompanied her reproaches with many sobs and tears; poor Scythrop growing every moment more soft

and submissivetill, at length, he threw himself at her feet, and declared that no competition of beauty,

however dazzling, genius, however transcendent, talents, however cultivated, or philosophy, however

enlightened, should ever make him renounce his divine Marionetta. 'Competition!' thought Marionetta, and

suddenly, with an air of the most freezing indifference, she said, 'You are perfectly at liberty, sir, to do as you

please; I beg you will follow your own plans, without any reference to me.' Scythrop was confounded. What

was become of all her passion and her tears? Still kneeling, he kissed her hand with rueful timidity, and said,

in most pathetic accents, 'Do you not love me, Marionetta?' 'No,' said Marionetta, with a look of cold

composure: 'No.' Scythrop still looked up incredulously. 'No, I tell you.' 'Oh! very well, madam,' said

Scythrop, rising, 'if that is the case, there are those in the world' 'To be sure there are, sir;and do you

suppose I do not see through your designs, you ungenerous monster?' 'My designs? Marionetta!' 'Yes, your

designs, Scythrop. You have come here to cast me off, and artfully contrive that it should appear to be my

doing, and not yours, thinking to quiet your tender conscience with this pitiful stratagem. But do not suppose

that you are of so much consequence to me: do not suppose it: you are of no consequence to me at

allnone at all: therefore, leave me: I renounce you: leave me; why do you not leave me?' Scythrop

endeavoured to remonstrate, but without success. She reiterated her injunctions to him to leave her, till, in the

simplicity of his spirit, he was preparing to comply. When he had nearly reached the door, Marionetta said,

'Farewell.' Scythrop looked back. 'Farewell, Scythrop,' she repeated, 'you will never see me again.' 'Never see

you again, Marionetta?' 'I shall go from hence tomorrow, perhaps today; and before we meet again, one of

us will be married, and we might as well be dead, you know, Scythrop.' The sudden change of her voice in

the last few words, and the burst of tears that accompanied them, acted like electricity on the tenderhearted

youth; and, in another instant, a complete reconciliation was accomplished without the intervention of words.

There are, indeed, some learned casuists, who maintain that love has no language, and that all the

misunderstandings and dissensions of lovers arise from the fatal habit of employing words on a subject to

which words are inapplicable; that love, beginning with looks, that is to say, with the physiognomical

expression of congenial mental dispositions, tends through a regular gradation of signs and symbols of

affection, to that consummation which is most devoutly to be wished; and that it neither is necessary that

there should be, nor probable that there would be, a single word spoken from first to last between two

sympathetic spirits, were it not that the arbitrary institutions of society have raised, at every step of this very

simple process, so many complicated impediments and barriers in the shape of settlements and ceremonies,

parents and guardians, lawyers, Jewbrokers, and parsons, that many an adventurous knight (who, in order to

obtain the conquest of the Hesperian fruit, is obliged to fight his way through all these monsters), is either

repulsed at the onset, or vanquished before the achievement of his enterprise: and such a quantity of unnatural

talking is rendered inevitably necessary through all the stages of the progression, that the tender and volatile

spirit of love often takes flight on the pinions of some of the epea pteroenta, or winged words which are

pressed into his service in despite of himself. At this conjuncture, Mr Glowry entered, and sitting down near

them, said, 'I see how it is; and, as we are all sure to be miserable do what we may, there is no need of taking

pains to make one another more so; therefore, with God's blessing and mine, there'joining their hands as

he spoke. Scythrop was not exactly prepared for this decisive step; but he could only stammer out, 'Really,

sir, you are too good;' and Mr Glowry departed to bring Mr Hilary to ratify the act. Now, whatever truth there

may be in the theory of love and language, of which we have so recently spoken, certain it is, that during Mr

Glowry's absence, which lasted half an hour, not a single word was said by either Scythrop or Marionetta. Mr

Glowry returned with Mr Hilary, who was delighted at the prospect of so advantageous an establishment for

his orphan niece, of whom he considered himself in some manner the guardian, and nothing remained, as Mr

Glowry observed, but to fix the day. Marionetta blushed, and was silent. Scythrop was also silent for a time,

and at length hesitatingly said, 'My dear sir, your goodness overpowers me; but really you are so precipitate.'

Now, this remark, if the young lady had made it, would, whether she thought it or notfor sincerity is a

thing of no account on these occasions, nor indeed on any other, according to Mr Floskythis remark, if

the young lady had made it, would have been perfectly comme il faut; but, being made by the young

gentleman, it was toute autre chose, and was, indeed, in the eyes of his mistress, a most heinous and

irremissible offence. Marionetta was angry, very angry, but she concealed her anger, and said, calmly and

coldly, 'Certainly, you are much too precipitate, Mr Glowry. I assure you, sir, I have by no means made up

my mind; and, indeed, as far as I know it, it inclines the other way; but it will be quite time enough to think of

these matters seven years hence.' Before surprise permitted reply, the young lady had locked herself up in her

own apartment. 'Why, Scythrop,' said Mr Glowry, elongating his face exceedingly, 'the devil is come among

us sure enough, as Mr Toobad observes: I thought you and Marionetta were both of a mind.' 'So we are, I

believe, sir,' said Scythrop, gloomily, and stalked away to his tower. 'Mr Glowry,' said Mr Hilary, 'I do not

very well understand all this.' 'Whims, brother Hilary,' said Mr Glowry; 'some little foolish love quarrel,

nothing more. Whims, freaks, April showers. They will be blown over by tomorrow.' 'If not,' said Mr

Hilary, 'these April showers have made us April fools.' 'Ah!' said Mr Glowry, 'you are a happy man, and in all

your afflictions you can console yourself with a joke, let it be ever so bad, provided you crack it yourself. I

should be very happy to laugh with you, if it would give you any satisfaction; but, really, at present, my heart

ON THE evening on which Mr Asterias had caught a glimpse of a female figure on the seashore, which he

had translated into the visual sign of his interior cognition of a mermaid, Scythrop, retiring to his tower,

found his study preoccupied. A stranger, muffled in a cloak, was sitting at his table. Scythrop paused in

surprise. The stranger rose at his entrance, and looked at him intently a few minutes, in silence. The eyes of

the stranger alone were visible. All the rest of the figure was muffled and mantled in the folds of a black

cloak, which was raised, by the right hand, to the level of the eyes. This scrutiny being completed, the

stranger, dropping the cloak, said, 'I see, by your physiognomy, that you may be trusted;' and revealed to the

astonished Scythrop a female form and countenance of dazzling grace and beauty, with long flowing hair of

raven blackness, and large black eyes of almost oppressive brilliancy, which strikingly contrasted with a

complexion of snowy whiteness. Her dress was extremely elegant, but had an appearance of foreign fashion,

"I guess 'twas frightful there to see A lady so richly clad as she, Beautiful exceedingly." *

For, if it be terrible to one young lady to find another under a tree at midnight, it must, a fortiori, be much

more terrible to a young gentleman to find a young lady in his study at that hour. If the logical

consecutiveness of this conclusion be not manifest to my readers, I am sorry for their dulness, and must refer

them, for more ample elucidation, to a treatise which Mr Flosky intends to write, on the Categories of

Relation, which comprehend Substance and Accident, Cause and Effect, Action and Reaction. Scythrop,

therefore, either was or ought to have been frightened; at all events, he was astonished; and astonishment,

though not in itself fear, is nevertheless a good stage towards it, and is, indeed, as it were, the halfway house

between respect and terror, according to Mr Burke's graduated scale of the sublime. * 'You are surprised,'

said the lady; 'yet why should you be surprised? If you had met me in a drawing room, and I had been

introduced to you by an old woman, it would have been a matter of course: can the division of two or three

walls, and the absence of an unimportant personage, make the same object essentially different in the

perception of a philosopher?' 'Certainly not,' said Scythrop; 'but when any class of objects has habitually

presented itself to our perceptions in invariable conjunction with particular relations, then, on the sudden

appearance of one object of the class divested of those accompaniments, the essential difference of the

relation is, by an involuntary process, transferred to the object itself, which thus offers itself to our

perceptions with all the strangeness of novelty.' 'You are a philosopher,' said the lady, 'and a lover of liberty.

You are the author of a treatise, called "Philosophical Gas; or, a Project for a General Illumination of the

Human Mind."' 'I am,' said Scythrop, delighted at this first blossom of his renown. 'I am a stranger in this

country,' said the lady; 'I have been but a few days in it, yet I find myself immediately under the necessity of

seeking refuge from an atrocious persecution. I had no friend to whom I could apply; and, in the midst of my

difficulties, accident threw your pamphlet in my way. I saw that I had, at least, one kindred mind in this

nation, and determined to apply to you.' 'And what would you have me do?' said Scythrop, more and more

amazed, and not a little perplexed. 'I would have you,' said the young lady, 'assist me in finding some place of

retreat, where I can remain concealed from the indefatigable search that is being made for me. I have been so

nearly caught once or twice already, that I cannot confide any longer in my own ingenuity.' Doubtless,

thought Scythrop, this is one of my golden candlesticks. 'I have constructed,' said he, 'in this tower, an

entrance to a small suite of unknown apartments in the main building, which I defy any creature living to

detect. If you would like to remain there a day or two, till I can find you a more suitable concealment, you

may rely on the honour of a transcendental eleutherarch.' 'I rely on myself,' said the lady. 'I act as I please, go

where I please, and let the world say what it will. I am rich enough to set it at defiance. It is the tyrant of the

poor and the feeble, but the slave of those who are above the reach of its injury.' Scythrop ventured to inquire

the name of his fair protegee. 'What is a name?' said the lady: 'any name will serve the purpose of distinction.

Call me Stella. I see by your looks,' she added, 'that you think all this very strange. When you know me

better, your surprise will cease. I submit not to be an accomplice in my sex's slavery. I am, like yourself, a

lover of freedom, and I carry my theory into practice. They alone are subject to blind authority who have no

reliance on their own strength.' Stella took possession of the recondite apartments. Scythrop intended to find

her another asylum; but from day to day he postponed his intention, and by degrees forgot it. The young lady

reminded him of it from day to day, till she also forgot it. Scythrop was anxious to learn her history; but she

would add nothing to what she had already communicated, that she was shunning an atrocious persecution.

Scythrop thought of Lord C. and the Alien Act, and said, 'As you will not tell your name, I suppose it is in the

green bag.' Stella, not understanding what he meant, was silent; and Scythrop, translating silence into

acquiescence, concluded that he was sheltering an illuminee whom Lord S. suspected of an intention to take

the Tower, and set fire to the Bank: exploits, at least, as likely to be accomplished by the hands and eyes of a

young beauty, as by a drunken cobbler and doctor, armed with a pamphlet and an old stocking. Stella, in her

conversations with Scythrop, displayed a highly cultivated and energetic mind, full of impassioned schemes

of liberty, and impatience of masculine usurpation. She had a lively sense of all the oppressions that are done

under the sun; and the vivid pictures which her imagination presented to her of the numberless scenes of

injustice and misery which are being acted at every moment in every part of the inhabited world, gave an

habitual seriousness to her physiognomy, that made it seem as if a smile had never once hovered on her lips.

She was intimately conversant with the German language and literature; and Scythrop listened with delight to

her repetitions of her favourite passages from Schiller and Goethe, and to her encomiums on the sublime

Spartacus Weishaupt, the immortal founder of the sect of the Illuminati. Scythrop found that his soul had a

greater capacity of love than the image of Marionetta had filled. The form of Stella took possession of every

vacant corner of the cavity, and by degrees displaced that of Marionetta from many of the outworks of the

citadel; though the latter still held possession of the keep. He judged, from his new friend calling herself

Stella, that, if it were not her real name, she was an admirer of the principles of the German play from which

she had taken it, and took an opportunity of leading the conversation to that subject; but to his great surprise,

the lady spoke very ardently of the singleness and exclusiveness of love, and declared that the reign of

affection was one and indivisible; that it might be transferred, but could not be participated. 'If I ever love,'

said she, 'I shall do so without limit or restriction. I shall hold all difficulties light, all sacrifices cheap, all

obstacles gossamer. But for love so total, I shall claim a return as absolute. I will have no rival: whether more

or less favoured will be of little moment. I will be neither first nor secondI will be alone. The heart which

I shall possess I will possess entirely, or entirely renounce.' Scythrop did not dare to mention the name of

Marionetta; he trembled lest some unlucky accident should reveal it to Stella, though he scarcely knew what

result to wish or anticipate, and lived in the double fever of a perpetual dilemma. He could not dissemble to

himself that he was in love, at the same time, with two damsels of minds and habits as remote as the

antipodes. The scale of predilection always inclined to the fair one who happened to be present; but the

absent was never effectually outweighed, though the degrees of exaltation and depression varied according to

accidental variations in the outward and visible signs of the inward and spiritual graces of his respective

charmers. Passing and repassing several times a day from the company of the one to that of the other, he was

like a shuttlecock between two battledores, changing its direction as rapidly as the oscillations of a pendulum,

receiving many a hard knock on the cork of a sensitive heart, and flying from point to point on the feathers of

a supersublimated head. This was an awful state of things. He had now as much mystery about him as any

romantic transcendentalist or transcendental romancer could desire. He had his esoterical and his exoterical

love. He could not endure the thought of losing either of them, but he trembled when he imagined the

possibility that some fatal discovery might deprive him of both. The old proverb concerning two strings to a

bow gave him some gleams of comfort; but that concerning two stools occurred to him more frequently, and

covered his forehead with a cold perspiration. With Stella, he could indulge freely in all his romantic and

philosophical visions. He could build castles in the air, and she would pile towers and turrets on the

imaginary edifices. With Marionetta it was otherwise: she knew nothing of the world and society beyond the

sphere of her own experience. Her life was all music and sunshine, and she wondered what any one could see

to complain of in such a pleasant state of things. She loved Scythrop, she hardly knew why; indeed she was

not always sure that she loved him at all: she felt her fondness increase or diminish in an inverse ratio to his.

When she had manoeuvred him into a fever of passionate love, she often felt and always assumed

indifference: if she found that her coldness was contagious, and that Scythrop either was, or pretended to be,

as indifferent as herself, she would become doubly kind, and raise him again to that elevation from which she

had previously thrown him down. Thus, when his love was flowing, hers was ebbing: when his was ebbing,

hers was flowing. Now and then there were moments of level tide, when reciprocal affection seemed to

promise imperturbable harmony; but Scythrop could scarcely resign his spirit to the pleasing illusion, before

the pinnace of the lover's affections was caught in some eddy of the lady's caprice, and he was whirled away

from the shore of his hopes, without rudder or compass, into an ocean of mists and storms. It resulted, from

this system of conduct, that all that passed between Scythrop and Marionetta consisted in making and

unmaking love. He had no opportunity to take measure of her understanding by conversations on general

subjects, and on his favourite designs; and, being left in this respect to the exercise of indefinite conjecture,

he took it for granted, as most lovers would do in similar circumstances, that she had great natural talents,

which she wasted at present on trifles: but coquetry would end with marriage, and leave room for philosophy

to exert its influence on her mind. Stella had no coquetry, no disguise: she was an enthusiast in subjects of

general interest; and her conduct to Scythrop was always uniform, or rather showed a regular progression of

SCYTHROP, attending one day the summons to dinner, found in the drawingroom his friend Mr Cypress

the poet, whom he had known at college, and who was a great favourite of Mr Glowry. Mr Cypress said, he

was on the point of leaving England, but could not think of doing so without a farewelllook at Nightmare

Abbey and his respected friends, the moody Mr Glowry and the mysterious Mr Scythrop, the sublime Mr

Flosky and the pathetic Mr Listless; to all of whom, and the morbid hospitality of the melancholy dwelling in

which they were then assembled, he assured them he should always look back with as much affection as his

lacerated spirit could feel for any thing. The sympathetic condolence of their respective replies was cut short

by Raven's announcement of 'dinner on table.' The conversation that took place when the wine was in

circulation, and the ladies were withdrawn, we shall report with our usual scrupulous fidelity.

You are leaving England, Mr Cypress. There is a delightful melancholy in saying farewell to an old

acquaintance, when the chances are twenty to one against ever meeting again. A smiling bumper to a sad

It is the only symbol of perfect life. The inscription 'HIC NON BIBITUR' will suit nothing but a tombstone.

You will see many fine old ruins, Mr Cypress; crumbling pillars, and mossy wallsmany a onelegged

topsyturvymany a perforated Bacchus doing duty as a waterpipemany reminiscences of the ancient

world, which I hope was better worth living in than the modern; though, for myself, I care not a straw more

for one than the other, and would not go twenty miles to see any thing that either could show.

It is something to seek, Mr Glowry. The mind is restless, and must persist in seeking, though to find is to be

disappointed. Do you feel no aspirations towards the countries of Socrates and Cicero? No wish to wander

It is, indeed, much the same as if a lover should dig up the buried form of his mistress, and gaze upon relics

which are any thing but herself, to wander among a few mouldy ruins, that are only imperfect indexes to lost

volumes of glory, and meet at every step the more melancholy ruins of human naturea degenerate race of

stupid and shrivelled slaves, grovelling in the lowest depths of servility and superstition.

It is the fashion to go abroad. I have thought of it myself, but am hardly equal to the exertion. To be sure, a

little eccentricity and originality are allowable in some cases; and the most eccentric and original of all

I should have no pleasure in visiting countries that are past all hope of regeneration. There is great hope of

our own; and it seems to me that an Englishman, who, either by his station in society, or by his genius, or (as

in your instance, Mr Cypress,) by both, has the power of essentially serving his country in its arduous

struggle with its domestic enemies, yet forsakes his country, which is still so rich in hope, to dwell in others

which are only fertile in the ruins of memory, does what none of those ancients, whose fragmentary

Sir, I have quarrelled with my wife; and a man who has quarrelled with his wife is absolved from all duty to

his country. I have written an ode to tell the people as much, and they may take it as they list.

Do you suppose, if Brutus had quarrelled with his wife, he would have given it as a reason to Cassius for

having nothing to do with his enterprise? Or would Cassius have been satisfied with such an excuse?

Brutus was a senator; so is our dear friend: but the cases are different. Brutus had some hope of political

A Frenchman is born in harness, ready saddled, bitted, and bridled, for any tyrant to ride. He will fawn under

his rider one moment, and throw him and kick him to death the next; but another adventurer springs on his

back, and by dint of whip and spur on he goes as before. We may, without much vanity, hope better of

I have no hope for myself or for others. Our life is a false nature; it is not in the harmony of things; it is an

allblasting upas, whose root is earth, and whose leaves are the skies which rain their poisondews upon

mankind. We wither from our youth; we gasp with unslaked thirst for unattainable good; lured from the first

to the last by phantomslove, fame, ambition, avariceall idle, and all illone meteor of many names,

A most delightful speech, Mr Cypress. A most amiable and instructive philosophy. You have only to impress

its truth on the minds of all living men, and life will then, indeed, be the desert and the solitude; and I must do

you, myself, and our mutual friends, the justice to observe, that let society only give fair play at one and the

same time, as I flatter myself it is inclined to do, to your system of morals, and my system of metaphysics,

and Scythrop's system of politics, and Mr Listless's system of manners, and Mr Toobad's system of religion,

and the result will be as fine a mental chaos as even the immortal Kant himself could ever have hoped to see;

'Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice at:' I am one of those who cannot see the good that is to result

from all this mystifying and bluedevilling of society. The contrast it presents to the cheerful and solid

wisdom of antiquity is too forcible not to strike any one who has the least knowledge of classical literature.

To represent vice and misery as the necessary accompaniments of genius, is as mischievous as it is false, and

It is our calamity. The devil has come among us, and has begun by taking possession of all the cleverest

fellows. Yet, forsooth, this is the enlightened age. Marry, how? Did our ancestors go peeping about with dark

lanterns, and do we walk at our ease in broad sunshine? Where is the manifestation of our light? By what

symptoms do you recognise it? What are its signs, its tokens, its symptoms, its symbols, its categories, its

conditions? What is it, and why? How, where, when is it to be seen, felt, and understood? What do we see by

it which our ancestors saw not, and which at the same time is worth seeing? We see a hundred men hanged,

where they saw one. We see five hundred transported, where they saw one. We see five thousand in the

workhouse, when they saw one. We see scores of Bible Societies, where they saw none. We see paper, where

they saw gold. We see men in stays, where they saw men in armour. We see painted faces, where they saw

healthy ones. We see children perishing in manufactories, where they saw them flourishing in the fields. We

see prisons, where they saw castles. We see masters, where they saw representatives. In short, they saw true

The false knave, sir, is my honest friend; therefore, 1 beseech you, let him be countenanced. God forbid but a

'Good men and true' was their common term, like the kalos kagathos of the Athenians. It is so long since men

have been either good or true, that it is to be questioned which is most obsolete, the fact or the phraseology.

There is no worth nor beauty but in the mind's idea. Love sows the wind and reaps the whirlwind. Confusion,

thrice confounded, is the portion of him who rests even for an instant on that most brittle of reedsthe

affection of a human being. The sum of our social destiny is to inflict or to endure.

Rather to bear and forbear, Mr Cypressa maxim which you perhaps despise. Ideal beauty is not the mind's

creation: it is real beauty, refined and purified in the mind's alembic, from the alloy which always more or

less accompanies it in our mixed and imperfect nature. But still the gold exists in a very ample degree. To

expect too much is a disease in the expectant, for which human nature is not responsible; and, in the common

name of humanity, I protest against these false and mischievous ravings. To rail against humanity for not

being abstract perfection, and against human love for not realising all the splendid visions of the poets of

chivalry, is to rail at the summer for not being all sunshine, and at the rose for not being always in bloom.

Human love! Love is not an inhabitant of the earth. We worship him as the Athenians did their unknown

God: but broken hearts are the martyrs of his faith, and the eye shall never see the form which phantasy

paints, and which passion pursues through paths of delusive beauty, among flowers whose odours are

You talk like a Rosicrucian, who will love nothing but a sylph, who does not believe in the existence of a

The mind is diseased of its own beauty, and fevers into false creation. The forms which the sculptor's soul has

Permit me to discept. They are the mediums of common forms combined and arranged into a common

standard. The ideal beauty of the Helen of Zeuxis was the combined medium of the real beauty of the virgins

But to make ideal beauty the shadow in the water, and, like the dog in the fable, to throw away the substance

in catching at the shadow, is scarcely the characteristic of wisdom, whatever it may be of genius. To reconcile

man as he is to the world as it is, to preserve and improve all that is good, and destroy or alleviate all that is

evil, in physical and moral naturehave been the hope and aim of the greatest teachers and ornaments of

our species. I will say, too, that the highest wisdom and the highest genius have been invariably accompanied

with cheerfulness. We have sufficient proofs on record that Shakspeare and Socrates were the most festive of

companions. But now the little wisdom and genius we have seem to be entering into a conspiracy against

How can we be cheerful when we are surrounded by a reading public, that is growing too wise for its betters?

How can we be cheerful when our great general designs are crossed every moment by our little particular

No: a nice tragical ballad. The Norfolk Tragedy to the tune of the Hundredth Psalm.

There is a fever of the spirit, The brand of Cain's unresting doom, Which in the lone dark souls that bear it

Glows like the lamp in Tullia's tomb: Unlike that lamp, its subtle fire Burns, blasts, consumes its cell, the

heart, Till, one by one, hope, joy, desire, Like dreams of shadowy smoke depart.

When hope, love, life itself, are only Dustspectral memoriesdead and cold The unfed fire burns

bright and lonely, Like that undying lamp of old: And by that drear illumination, Till time its claybuilt home

Seamen three! What men be ye? Gotham's three wise men we be. Whither in your bowl so free? To rake the

moon from out the sea. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. And our ballast is oldwine; And your

Who art thou, so fast adrift? I am he they call Old Care. Here on board we will thee lift. No: I may not enter

there. Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree, In a bowl Care may not be; In a bowl Care may not be.

Fear ye not the waves that roll? No: in charmed bowl we swim. What the charm that floats the bowl? Water

may not pass the brim. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. And our ballast is old wine; And your

This catch was so well executed by the spirit and science of Mr Hilary, and the deep triune voice of the

reverend gentleman, that the whole party, in spite of themselves, caught the contagion, and joined in chorus at

Mr Cypress, having his ballast on board, stepped, the same evening, into his bowl, or travelling chariot, and

departed to rake seas and rivers, lakes and canals, for the moon of ideal beauty.

IT WAS the custom of the Honourable Mr Listless, on adjourning from the bottle to the ladies, to retire for a

few moments to make a second toilette, that he might present himself in becoming taste. Fatout, attending as

usual, appeared with a countenance of great dismay, and informed his master that he had just ascertained that

the abbey was haunted. Mr Hilary's gentlewoman, for whom Fatout had lately conceived a tendresse, had

been, as she expressed it, 'fritted out of her seventeen senses' the preceding night, as she was retiring to her

bedchamber, by a ghastly figure which she had met stalking along one of the galleries, wrapped in a white

shroud, with a bloody turban on its head. She had fainted away with fear; and, when she recovered, she found

herself in the dark, and the figure was gone. 'Sacrecochonbleu!' exclaimed Fatout, giving very

deliberate emphasis to every portion of his terrible oath 'I vould not meet de revenant, de

ghostnonnot for all de bowldeponch in de vorld.' 'Fatout,' said the Honourable Mr Listless, 'did I

ever see a ghost?' 'Jamais, monsieur, never.' 'Then I hope I never shall, for, in the present shattered state of

my nerves, I am afraid it would be too much for me. Thereloosen the lace of my stays a little, for really

this plebeian practice of eatingNot too looseconsider my shape. That will do. And I desire that you

bring me no more stories of ghosts; for, though I do not believe in such things, yet, when one is awake in the

night, one is apt, if one thinks of them, to have fancies that give one a kind of a chill, particularly if one opens

one's eyes suddenly on one's dressing gown, hanging in the moonlight, between the bed and the window.' The

Honourable Mr Listless, though he had prohibited Fatout from bringing him any more stories of ghosts, could

not help thinking of that which Fatout had already brought; and, as it was uppermost in his mind, when he

descended to the tea and coffee cups, and the rest of the company in the library, he almost involuntarily asked

Mr Flosky, whom he looked up to as a most oraculous personage, whether any story of any ghost that had

Sunt geminć somni portć. There are two gates through which ghosts find their way to the upper air: fraud

and selfdelusion. In the latter case, a ghost is a deceptio vis s, an ocular spectrum, an idea with the force of

a sensation. I have seen many ghosts myself. I dare say there are few in this company who have not seen a

We have such high authority for ghosts, that it is rank scepticism to disbelieve them. Job saw a ghost, which

came for the express purpose of asking a question, and did not wait for an answer.

Spectres appeared to the Egyptians during the darkness with which Moses covered Egypt. The witch of Endor

raised the ghost of Samuel. Moses and Elias appeared on Mount Tabor. An evil spirit was sent into the army

Saint Macarius interrogated a skull, which was found in the desert, and made it relate, in presence of several

witnesses, what was going forward in hell. Saint Martin of Tours, being jealous of a pretended martyr, who

was the rival saint of his neighbourhood, called up his ghost, and made him confess that he was damned.

Saint Germain, being on his travels, turned out of an inn a large party of ghosts, who had every night taken

Jolly ghosts, and no doubt all friars. A similar party took possession of the cellar of M. Swebach, the painter,

Pausanias relates, that the neighing of horses and the tumult of combatants were heard every night on the

field of Marathon: that those who went purposely to hear these sounds suffered severely for their curiosity;

I once saw a ghost myself, in my study, which is the last place where any one but a ghost would look for me.

I had not been into it for three months, and was going to consult Tillotson, when, on opening the door, I saw a

venerable figure in a flannel dressing gown, sitting in my armchair, and reading my Jeremy Taylor. It

vanished in a moment, and so did I; and what it was or what it wanted I have never been able to ascertain.

It was an idea with the force of a sensation. It is seldom that ghosts appeal to two senses at once; but, when I

was in Devonshire, the following story was well attested to me. A young woman, whose lover was at sea,

returning one evening over some solitary fields, saw her lover sitting on a stile over which she was to pass.

Her first emotions were surprise and joy, but there was a paleness and seriousness in his face that made them

give place to alarm. She advanced towards him, and he said to her, in a solemn voice, 'The eye that hath seen

me shall see me no more. Thine eye is upon me, but I am not.' And with these words he vanished; and on that

The whole party now drew round in a circle, and each related some ghostly anecdote, heedless of the flight of

time, till, in a pause of the conversation, they heard the hollow tongue of midnight sounding twelve.

All these anecdotes admit of solution on psychological principles. It is more easy for a soldier, a philosopher,

or even a saint, to be frightened at his own shadow, than for a dead man to come out of his grave. Medical

writers cite a thousand singular examples of the force of imagination. Persons of feeble, nervous, melancholy

temperament, exhausted by fever, by labour, or by spare diet, will readily conjure up, in the magic ring of

their own phantasy, spectres, gorgons, chimćras, and all the objects of their hatred and their love. We are

most of us like Don Quixote, to whom a windmill was a giant, and Dulcinea a magnificent princess: all more

or less the dupes of our own imagination, though we do not all go so far as to see ghosts, or to fancy

I can safely say I have seen too many ghosts myself to believe in their external existence. I have seen all

kinds of ghosts: black spirits and white, red spirits and grey. Some in the shapes of venerable old men, who

have met me in my rambles at noon; some of beautiful young women, who have peeped through my curtains

By no means, sir. You reflect upon my purity. Myself and my friends, particularly my friend Mr Sackbut, are

famous for our purity. No, sir, genuine untangible ghosts. I live in a world of ghosts. I see a ghost at this

Mr Flosky fixed his eyes on a door at the farther end of the library. The company looked in the same

direction. The door silently opened, and a ghastly figure, shrouded in white drapery, with the semblance of a

bloody turban on its head, entered and stalked slowly up the apartment. Mr Flosky, familiar as he was with

ghosts, was not prepared for this apparition, and made the best of his way out at the opposite door. Mrs Hilary

and Marionetta followed, screaming. The Honourable Mr Listless, by two turns of his body, rolled first off

the sofa and then under it. The Reverend Mr Larynx leaped up and fled with so much precipitation, that he

overturned the table on the foot of Mr Glowry. Mr Glowry roared with pain in the ear of Mr Toobad. Mr

Toobad's alarm so bewildered his senses, that, missing the door, he threw up one of the windows, jumped out

in his panic, and plunged over head and ears in the moat. Mr Asterias and his son, who were on the watch for

their mermaid, were attracted by the splashing, threw a net over him, and dragged him to land. Scythrop and

Mr Hilary meanwhile had hastened to his assistance, and, on arriving at the edge of the moat, followed by

several servants with ropes and torches, found Mr Asterias and Aquarius busy in endeavouring to extricate

Mr Toobad from the net, who was entangled in the meshes, and floundering with rage. Scythrop was lost in

amazement; but Mr Hilary saw, at one view, all the circumstances of the adventure, and burst into an

immoderate fit of laughter; on recovering from which, he said to Mr Asterias, 'You have caught an odd fish,

indeed.' Mr Toobad was highly exasperated at this unseasonable pleasantry; but Mr Hilary softened his anger,

by producing a knife, and cutting the Gordian knot of his reticular envelopment. 'You see,' said Mr Toobad,

'you see, gentlemen, in my unfortunate person proof upon proof of the present dominion of the devil in the

affairs of this world; and I have no doubt but that the apparition of this night was Apollyon himself in

disguise, sent for the express purpose of terrifying me into this complication of misadventures. The devil is

come among you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.'

MR GLOWRY was much surprised, on occasionally visiting Scythrop's tower, to find the door always

locked, and to be kept sometimes waiting many minutes for admission: during which he invariably heard a

heavy rolling sound like that of a ponderous mangle, or of a waggon on a weighing bridge, or of theatrical

thunder. He took little notice of this for some time; at length his curiosity was excited, and, one day, instead

of knocking at the door, as usual, the instant he reached it, he applied his ear to the keyhole, and like

Bottom, in the Midsummer Night's Dream, 'spied a voice,' which he guessed to be of the feminine gender,

and knew to be not Scythrop's, whose deeper tones he distinguished at intervals. Having attempted in vain to

catch a syllable of the discourse, he knocked violently at the door, and roared for immediate admission. The

voices ceased, the accustomed rolling sound was heard, the door opened, and Scythrop was discovered alone.

Mr Glowry looked round to every corner of the apartment, and then said, 'Where is the lady?' 'The lady, sir?'

said Scythrop. 'Yes, sir, the lady.' 'Sir, I do not understand you.' 'You don't, sir?' 'No, indeed, sir. There is no

lady here.' 'But, sir, this is not the only apartment in the tower, and I make no doubt there is a lady up stairs.'

'You are welcome to search, sir.' 'Yes, and while I am searching, she will slip out from some lurking place,

and make her escape.' 'You may lock this door, sir, and take the key with you.' 'But there is the terrace door:

she has escaped by the terrace.' 'The terrace, sir, has no other outlet, and the walls are too high for a lady to

jump down.' 'Well, sir, give me the key.' Mr Glowry took the key, searched every nook of the tower, and

returned. 'You are a fox, Scythrop, you are an exceedingly cunning fox, with that demure visage of yours.

What was that lumbering sound I heard before you opened the door?' 'Sound, sir?' 'Yes, sir, sound.' 'My dear

sir, I am not aware of any sound, except my great table, which I moved on rising to let you in.' 'The

table!let me see that. No, sir; not a tenth part heavy enough, not a tenth part.' 'But, sir, you do not

consider the laws of acoustics: a whisper becomes a peal of thunder in the focus of reverberation. Allow me

to explain this: sounds striking on concave surfaces are reflected from them, and, after reflection, converge to

points which are the foci of these surfaces. It follows, therefore, that the ear may be so placed in one, that it

shall hear a sound better than when situated nearer to the point of the first impulse: again, in the case of two

concave surfaces placed opposite to each other' 'Nonsense, sir. Don't tell me of foci. Pray, sir, will

concave surfaces produce two voices when nobody speaks? I heard two voices, and one was feminine;

feminine, sir: what say you to that?' 'Oh, sir, I perceive your mistake: I am writing a tragedy, and was acting

over a scene to myself. To convince you, I will give you a specimen; but you must first understand the plot. It

is a tragedy on the German model. The Great Mogul is in exile, and has taken lodgings at Kensington, with

his only daughter, the Princess Rantrorina, who takes in needlework, and keeps a day school. The princess is

discovered hemming a set of shirts for the parson of the parish: they are to be marked with a large R. Enter to

her the Great Mogul. A pause, during which they look at each other expressively. The princess changes

colour several times. The Mogul takes snuff in great agitation. Several grains are heard to fall on the stage.

His heart is seen to beat through his upper benjamin.THE MOGUL (with a mournful look at his left

shoe). 'My shoestring is broken.'THE PRINCESS (after an interval of melancholy reflection). 'I know

it.'THE MOGUL. 'My second shoestring! The first broke when I lost my empire: the second has broken

today. When will my poor heart break?'THE PRINCESS. 'Shoestrings, hearts, and empires!

Mysterious sympathy!' 'Nonsense, sir,' interrupted Mr Glowry. 'That is not at all like the voice I heard.' 'But,

sir,' said Scythrop, 'a keyhole may be so constructed as to act like an acoustic tube, and an acoustic tube, sir,

will modify sound in a very remarkable manner. Consider the construction of the ear, and the nature and

causes of sound. The external part of the ear is a cartilaginous funnel.' 'It wo'n't do, Scythrop. There is a girl

concealed in this tower, and find her I will. There are such things as sliding panels and secret closets.'He

sounded round the room with his cane, but detected no hollowness.'I have heard, sir,' he continued, 'that

during my absence, two years ago, you had a dumb carpenter closeted with you day after day. I did not dream

that you were laying contrivances for carrying on secret intrigues. Young men will have their way: I had my

way when I was a young man: but, sir, when your cousin Marionetta' Scythrop now saw that the affair

was growing serious. To have clapped his hand upon his father's mouth, to have entreated him to be silent,

would, in the first place, not have made him so; and, in the second, would have shown a dread of being

overheard by somebody. His only resource, therefore, was to try to drown Mr Glowry's voice; and, having no

other subject, he continued his description of the ear, raising his voice continually as Mr Glowry raised his.

'When your cousin Marionetta,' said Mr Glowry, 'whom you profess to lovewhom you profess to love,

sir' 'The internal canal of the ear,' said Scythrop, 'is partly bony and partly cartilaginous. This internal

canal is' 'Is actually in the house, sir; and, when you are so shortly to beas I expect' 'Closed at the

further end by the membrana tympani' 'Joined together in holy matrimony' 'Under which is carried a

branch of the fifth pair of nerves' 'I say, sir, when you are so shortly to be married to your cousin

Marionetta' 'The cavitas tympani' A loud noise was heard behind the bookcase, which, to the

astonishment of Mr Glowry, opened in the middle, and the massy compartments, with all their weight of

books, receding from each other in the manner of a theatrical scene, with a heavy rolling sound (which Mr

Glowry immediately recognised to be the same which had excited his curiosity,) disclosed an interior

apartment, in the entrance of which stood the beautiful Stella, who, stepping forward, exclaimed, 'Married! Is

he going to be married? The profligate!' 'Really, madam,' said Mr Glowry, 'I do not know what he is going to

do, or what I am going to do, or what any one is going to do; for all this is incomprehensible.' 'I can explain it

all,' said Scythrop, 'in a most satisfactory manner, if you will but have the goodness to leave us alone.' 'Pray,

sir, to which act of the tragedy of the Great Mogul does this incident belong?' 'I entreat you, my dear sir,

leave us alone.' Stella threw herself into a chair, and burst into a tempest of tears. Scythrop sat down by her,

and took her hand. She snatched her hand away, and turned her back upon him. He rose, sat down on the

other side, and took her other hand. She snatched it away, and turned from him again. Scythrop continued

entreating Mr Glowry to leave them alone; but the old gentleman was obstinate, and would not go. 'I suppose,

after all,' said Mr Glowry maliciously, 'it is only a phćnomenon in acoustics, and this young lady is a

reflection of sound from concave surfaces.' Some one tapped at the door: Mr Glowry opened it, and Mr

Hilary entered. He had been seeking Mr Glowry, and had traced him to Scythrop's tower. He stood a few

moments in silent surprise, and then addressed himself to Mr Glowry for an explanation. 'The explanation,'

said Mr Glowry, 'is very satisfactory. The Great Mogul has taken lodgings at Kensington, and the external

part of the ear is a cartilaginous funnel.' 'Mr Glowry, that is no explanation.' 'Mr Hilary, it is all I know about

the matter.' 'Sir, this pleasantry is very unseasonable. I perceive that my niece is sported with in a most

unjustifiable manner, and I shall see if she will be more successful in obtaining an intelligible answer.' And

he departed in search of Marionetta. Scythrop was now in a hopeless predicament. Mr Hilary made a hue and

cry in the abbey, and summoned his wife and Marionetta to Scythrop's apartment. The ladies, not knowing

what was the matter, hastened in great consternation. Mr Toobad saw them sweeping along the corridor, and

judging from their manner that the devil had manifested his wrath in some new shape, followed from pure

curiosity. Scythrop meanwhile vainly endeavoured to get rid of Mr Glowry and to pacify Stella. The latter

attempted to escape from the tower, declaring she would leave the abbey immediately, and he should never

see her or hear of her more. Scythrop held her hand and detained her by force, till Mr Hilary reappeared with

Mrs Hilary and Marionetta. Marionetta, seeing Scythrop grasping the hand of a strange beauty, fainted away

in the arms of her aunt. Scythrop flew to her assistance; and Stella with redoubled anger sprang towards the

door, but was intercepted in her intended flight by being caught in the arms of Mr Toobad, who exclaimed,

'Celinda!' 'Papa!' said the young lady disconsolately. 'The devil is come among you,' said Mr Toobad, 'how

came my daughter here?' 'Your daughter!' exclaimed Mr Glowry. 'Your daughter!' exclaimed Scythrop, and

Mr and Mrs Hilary. 'Yes,' said Mr Toobad, 'my daughter Celinda.' Marionetta opened her eyes and fixed them

on Celinda; Celinda in return fixed hers on Marionetta. They were at remote points of the apartment.

Scythrop was equidistant from both of them, central and motionless, like Mahomet's coffin. 'Mr Glowry,' said

Mr Toobad, 'can you tell by what means my daughter came here?' 'I know no more,' said Mr Glowry, 'than

the Great Mogul.' 'Mr Scythrop,' said Mr Toobad, 'how came my daughter here?' 'I did not know, sir, that the

lady was your daughter.' 'But how came she here?' 'By spontaneous locomotion,' said Scythrop, sullenly.

'Celinda,' said Mr Toobad, 'what does all this mean?' 'I really do not know, sir.' 'This is most unaccountable.

When I told you in London that I had chosen a husband for you, you thought proper to run away from him;

and now, to all appearance, you have run away to him.' 'How, sir! was that your choice?' 'Precisely; and if he

is yours too we shall be both of a mind, for the first time in our lives.' 'He is not my choice, sir. This lady has

a prior claim: I renounce him.' 'And I renounce him,' said Marionetta. Scythrop knew not what to do. He

could not attempt to conciliate the one without irreparably offending the other; and he was so fond of both,

that the idea of depriving himself for ever of the society of either was intolerable to him: he therefore

retreated into his stronghold, mystery; maintained an impenetrable silence; and contented himself with

stealing occasionally a deprecating glance at each of the objects of his idolatry. Mr Toobad and Mr Hilary, in

the mean time, were each insisting on an explanation from Mr Glowry, who they thought had been playing a

double game on this occasion. Mr Glowry was vainly endeavouring to persuade them of his innocence in the

whole transaction. Mrs Hilary was endeavouring to mediate between her husband and brother. The

Honourable Mr Listless, the Reverend Mr Larynx, Mr Flosky, Mr Asterias, and Aquarius, were attracted by

the tumult to the scene of action, and were appealed to severally and conjointly by the respective disputants.

Multitudinous questions, and answers en masse, composed a charivari, to which the genius of Rossini alone

could have given a suitable accompaniment, and which was only terminated by Mrs Hilary and Mr Toobad

retreating with the captive damsels. The whole, party followed, with the exception of Scythrop, who threw

himself into his armchair, crossed his left foot over his right knee, placed the hollow of his left hand on the

interior ancle of his left leg, rested his right elbow on the elbow of the chair, placed the ball of his right thumb

against his right temple, curved the forefinger along the upper part of his forehead, rested the point of the

middle finger on the bridge of his nose, and the points of the two others on the lower part of the palm, fixed

his eyes intently on the veins in the back of his left hand, and sat in this position like the immoveable

Theseus, who, as is well known to many who have not been at college, and to some few who have, sedet

ćternumque sedebit. We hope the admirers of the minutić in poetry and romance will appreciate this

SCYTHROP was still in this position when Raven entered to announce that dinner was on table. 'I cannot

come,' said Scythrop. Raven sighed. 'Something is the matter,' said Raven: 'but man is born to trouble.' 'Leave

me,' said Scythrop: 'go, and croak elsewhere.' 'Thus it is,' said Raven. 'Fiveandtwenty years have I lived in

Nightmare Abbey, and now all the reward of my affection isGo, and croak elsewhere. I have danced you

on my knee, and fed you with marrow.' 'Good Raven,' said Scythrop, 'I entreat you to leave me.' 'Shall I bring

your dinner here?' said Raven. 'A boiled fowl and a glass of Madeira are prescribed by the faculty in cases of

low spirits. But you had better join the party: it is very much reduced already.' 'Reduced! how?' 'The

Honourable Mr Listless is gone. He declared that, what with family quarrels in the morning, and ghosts at

night, he could get neither sleep nor peace; and that the agitation was too much for his nerves: though Mr

Glowry assured him that the ghost was only poor Crow walking in his sleep, and that the shroud and bloody

turban were a sheet and a red nightcap.' 'Well, sir?' 'The Reverend Mr Larynx has been called off on duty, to

marry or bury (I don't know which) some unfortunate person or persons, at Claydyke: but man is born to

trouble!' 'Is that all?' 'No. Mr Toobad is gone too, and a strange lady with him.' 'Gone!' 'Gone. And Mr and

Mrs Hilary, and Miss O'Carroll: they are all gone. There is nobody left but Mr Asterias and his son, and they

are going tonight.' 'Then I have lost them both.' 'Won't you come to dinner?' 'No.' 'Shall I bring your dinner

here?' 'Yes.' 'What will you have?' 'A pint of port and a pistol.' 'A pistol!' 'And a pint of port. I will make my

exit like Werter. Go. Stay. Did Miss O'Carroll say any thing?' 'No.' 'Did Miss Toobad say any thing?' 'The

strange lady? No.' 'Did either of them cry?' 'No.' 'What did they do?' 'Nothing.' 'What did Mr Toobad say?'

'He said, fifty times over, the devil was come among us.' 'And they are gone?' 'Yes; and the dinner is getting

cold. There is a time for every thing under the sun. You may as well dine first, and be miserable afterwards.'

'True, Raven. There is something in that. I will take your advice: therefore, bring me' 'The port and the

pistol?' 'No; the boiled fowl and Madeira.' Scythrop had dined, and was sipping his Madeira alone, immersed

in melancholy musing, when Mr Glowry entered, followed by Raven, who, having placed an additional glass

and set a chair for Mr Glowry, withdrew. Mr Glowry sat down opposite Scythrop. After a pause, during

which each filled and drank in silence, Mr Glowry said, 'So, sir, you have played your cards well. I proposed

Miss Toobad to you: you refused her. Mr Toobad proposed you to her: she refused you. You fell in love with

Marionetta, and were going to poison yourself, because, from pure fatherly regard to your temporal interests,

I withheld my consent. When, at length, I offered you my consent, you told me I was too precipitate. And,

after all, I find you and Miss Toobad living together in the same tower, and behaving in every respect like

two plighted lovers. Now, sir, if there be any rational solution of all this absurdity, I shall be very much

obliged to you for a small glimmering of information.' 'The solution, sir, is of little moment; but I will leave it

in writing for your satisfaction. The crisis of my fate is come: the world is a stage, and my direction is exit.'

'Do not talk so, sir;do not talk so, Scythrop. What would you have?' 'I would have my love.' 'And pray,

sir, who is your love?' 'CelindaMarionettaeitherboth.' 'Both! That may do very well in a German

tragedy; and the Great Mogul might have found it very feasible in his lodgings at Kensington; but it will not

do in Lincolnshire. Will you have Miss Toobad?' 'Yes.' 'And renounce Marionetta?' 'No.' 'But you must

renounce one.' 'I cannot.' 'And you cannot have both. What is to be done?' 'I must shoot myself.' 'Don't talk

so, Scythrop. Be rational, my dear Scythrop. Consider, and make a cool, calm choice, and I will exert myself

in your behalf.' 'Why should I choose, sir? Both have renounced *me*: I have no hope of either.' 'Tell me

which you will have, and I will plead your cause irresistibly.' 'Well, sir,I will haveno, sir, I cannot

renounce either. I cannot choose either. I am doomed to be the victim of eternal disappointments; and I have

no resource but a pistol.' 'ScythropScythrop;if one of them should come to youwhat then?' 'That,

sir, might alter the case: but that cannot be.' 'It can be, Scythrop; it will be: I promise you it will be. Have but

a little patiencebut a week's patience; and it shall be. 'A week, sir, is an age: but, to oblige you, as a last

act of filial duty, I will live another week. It is now Thursday evening, twentyfive minutes past seven. At

this hour and minute, on Thursday next, love and fate shall smile on me, or I will drink my last pint of port in

this world.' Mr Glowry ordered his travelling chariot, and departed from the abbey.

THE DAY after Mr Glowry's departure was one of incessant rain, and Scythrop repented of the promise he

had given. The next day was one of bright sunshine: he sat on the terrace, read a tragedy of Sophocles, and

was not sorry, when Raven announced dinner, to find himself alive. On the third evening, the wind blew, and

the rain beat, and the owl flapped against his windows; and he put a new flint in his pistol. On the fourth day,

the sun shone again; and he locked the pistol up in a drawer, where he left it undisturbed, till the morning of

the eventful Thursday, when he ascended the turret with a telescope, and spied anxiously along the road that

crossed the fens from Claydyke: but nothing appeared on it. He watched in this manner from ten A.M. till

Raven summoned him to dinner at five; when he stationed Crow at the telescope, and descended to his own

funeralfeast. He left open the communications between the tower and turret, and called aloud at intervals to

Crow,'Crow, Crow, is any thing coming?' Crow answered, 'The wind blows, and the windmills turn, but I

see nothing coming;' and, at every answer, Scythrop found the necessity of raising his spirits with a bumper.

After dinner, he gave Raven his watch to set by the abbey clock. Raven brought it, Scythrop placed it on the

table, and Raven departed. Scythrop called again to Crow; and Crow, who had fallen asleep, answered

mechanically, 'I see nothing coming.' Scythrop laid his pistol between his watch and his bottle. The

hourhand passed the VII.the minutehand moved on;it was within three minutes of the appointed

time. Scythrop called again to Crow: Crow answered as before. Scythrop rang the bell: Raven appeared.

'Raven,' said Scythrop, 'the clock is too fast.' 'No, indeed,' said Raven, who knew nothing of Scythrop's

intentions; 'if any thing, it is too slow.' 'Villain!' said Scythrop, pointing the pistol at him; 'it is too fast.'

'Yesyestoo fast, I meant,' said Raven, in manifest fear. 'How much too fast?' said Scythrop. 'As much

as you please,' said Raven. 'How much, I say?' said Scythrop, pointing the pistol again. 'An hour, a full hour,

sir,' said the terrified butler. 'Put back my watch,' said Scythrop. Raven, with trembling hand, was putting

back the watch, when the rattle of wheels was heard in the court; and Scythrop, springing down the stairs by

three steps together, was at the door in sufficient time to have handed either of the young ladies from the

carriage, if she had happened to be in it; but Mr Glowry was alone. 'I rejoice to see you,' said Mr Glowry;' I

was fearful of being too late, for I waited till the last moment in the hope of accomplishing my promise; but

all my endeavours have been vain, as these letters will show.' Scythrop impatiently broke the seals. The

Almost a stranger in England, I fled from parental tyranny, and the dread of an arbitrary marriage, to the

protection of a stranger and a philosopher, whom I expected to find something better than, or at least

something different from, the rest of his worthless species. Could I, after what has occurred, have expected

nothing more from you than the commonplace impertinence of sending your father to treat with me, and

with mine, for me? I should be a little moved in your favour, if I could believe you capable of carrying into

effect the resolutions which your father says you have taken, in the event of my proving inflexible; though I

doubt not you will execute them, as far as relates to the pint of wine, twice over, at least. I wish you much

happiness with Miss O'Carroll. I shall always cherish a grateful recollection of Nightmare Abbey, for having

been the means of introducing me to a true transcendentalist; and, though he is a little older than myself,

which is all one in Germany, I shall very soon have the pleasure of subscribing myself CELINDA FLOSKY.

I hope, my dear cousin, that you will not be angry with me, but that you will always think of me as a sincere

friend, who will always feel interested in your welfare; I am sure you love Miss Toobad much better than me,

and I wish you much happiness with her. Mr Listless assures me that people do not kill themselves for love

nowadays, though it is still the fashion to talk about it. I shall, in a very short time, change my name and

situation, and shall always be happy to see you in Berkeley Square, when, to the unalterable designation of

Scythrop tore both the letters to atoms, and railed in good set terms against the fickleness of women. 'Calm

yourself, my dear Scythrop,' said Mr Glowry; 'there are yet maidens in England.' 'Very true, sir,' said

Scythrop. 'And the next time,' said Mr Glowry, 'have but one string to your bow.' 'Very good advice, sir,' said

Scythrop. 'And, besides,' said Mr Glowry, 'the fatal time is past, for it is now almost eight.' 'Then that villain,

Raven,' said Scythrop, 'deceived me when he said that the clock was too fast; but, as you observe very justly,

the time has gone by, and I have just reflected that these repeated crosses in love qualify me to take a very

advanced degree in misanthropy; and there is, therefore, good hope that I may make a figure in the world. But

I shall ring for the rascal Raven, and admonish him.' Raven appeared. Scythrop looked at him very fiercely

two or three minutes; and Raven, still remembering the pistol, stood quaking in mute apprehension, till

Scythrop, pointing significantly towards the diningroom, said, 'Bring some Madeira.'

[All notes are Peacock's except those within square brackets (which Informal added). Informal apologises for

[* A composite of: Hudibras Part I, Canto i, 50506; Part III, canto iii, 1920; and Satire upon the Weakness

Chapter I [* "I have elected to chirrup, and cackle as a Goose among Swans, as the Proverb hath it, rather

than be esteemed dumb among so many gentle Poets and eloquent Orators." (from W. F. Smith's

[* "Christabel," by S.T. Coleridge was first published (together with Kubla Khan and The Pains of Sleep) in

Each matin bell, the baron saith, Knells us back to a world of death. These words Sir Leoline first said, When

he rose and found his lady dead: These words Sir Leoline will say Many a morn to his dying day! (33237)]

A corruption of Filosky, quasi Philoskios, a lover, or sectator, of shadows. [This character partly

[* This character is based on John Frank Newton, who also provides the model for Mr Ramsbottom in

Crotchet Castle and some characteristics of Mr Escot in Headlong Hall. In his Memoirs of Percy Bysshe

He was an estimable man and an agreeable companion, and he was not the less amusing that he was the

absolute impersonation of a single theory, or rather of two single theories rolled into one. He held that all

diseases and all aberrations, moral and physical, had their origin in the use of animal food and of fermented

and spirituous liquors; that the universal adoption of a diet of roots, fruits, and distilled* water, would restore

the golden age of universal health, purity, and peace; that this most ancient and sublime morality was

mystically inculcated in the most ancient Zodiac, which was that of Dendera; that this Zodiac was divided

into two hemispheres, the upper hemisphere being the realm of Oromazes or the principle of good, the lower

that of Ahrimanes or the principle of evil; that each of these hemispheres was again divided into two

compartments, and that the four lines of division radiating from the centre were the prototype of the Christian

cross. The two compartments of Oromazes were those of Uranus or Brahma the Creator, and of Saturn or

Veishnu the Preserver. The two compartments of Ahrimanes were those of Jupiter or Seva the Destroyer, and

of Apollo or Krishna the Restorer. The great moral doctrine was thus symbolized in the Zodiacal signs:In

the first compartment, Taurus the Bull, having in the ancient Zodiac a torch in his mouth, was the type of

eternal light. Cancer the Crab was the type of celestial matter, sleeping under the allcovering water, on

which Brahma floated in a lotusflower for millions of ages. From the union, typified by Gemini, of light and

celestial matter, issued in the second compartment Leo, Primogenial Love, mounted on the back of a Lion,

who produced the pure and perfect nature of things in Virgo, and Libra the Balance denoted the coincidence

of the ecliptic with the equator, and the equality of man's happy existence. In the third compartment, the first

entrance of evil into the system was typified by the change of celestial into terrestrial matterCancer into

Scorpio. Under this evil influence man became a hunter, Sagittarius the Archer, and pursued the wild

animals, typified by Capricorn. Then, with animal food and cookery, came death into the world, and all our

woe. But in the fourth compartment, Dhanwantari or Ćsculapius, Aquarius the Waterman, arose from the

sea, typified by Pisces the Fish, with a jug of pure water and a bunch of fruit, and brought back the period of

universal happiness under Aries the Ram, whose benignant ascendancy was the golden fleece of the

Argonauts, and the true talisman of Oromazes. He saw the Zodiac in everything. I was walking with him one

day on a common near Bracknell, when we came on a publichouse which had the sign of the Horseshoes.

They were four on the sign, and he immediately determined that this number had been handed down from

remote antiquity as representative of the compartments of the Zodiac. He stepped into the publichouse, and

said to the landlord, "Your sign is the Horseshoes?""Yes, sir." "This sign has always four

Horseshoes?""Why mostly, sir." "Not always?""I think I have seen three." "I cannot divide the

Zodiac into three. But it is mostly four. Do you know why it is mostly four?""Why, sir, I suppose

because a horse has four legs." He bounced out in great indignation, and as soon as I joined him, he said to

me, "Did you ever see such a fool?" From H. F. B. BrettSmith (ed.),Peacock's Memoirs of Shelley, London

(1909), pp. 3032. * He held that water in its natural state was full of noxious impurities, which were only to

Chapter IV * We are not masters of the whole vocabulary. See any novel by any literary lady.

Chapter V [* "Hush, hush; softly, softly; let us not make confusion" from Rossini's Barber of Seville Act II.]

Chapter X [* S.T. Coleridge, Christabel, Part I. 6668; "a far countree," is from ibid., 225; the unfortunate

occurrence of a young lady finding another under a tree at midnight, in the following sentence, is found in

There must be some mistake in this, for the whole honourable band of gentlemenpensioners has

resolved unanimously, that Mr. Burke was a very sublime person, particularly after he had prostituted

his own soul, and betrayed his country and mankind, for 1200l. a year: yet he does not appear to have

been a very terrible personage, and certainly went off with a very small portion of human respect,

though he contrived to excite, in a great degree, the astonishment of all honest men. Our immaculate

laureate [Southey] (who gives us to understand that, if he had not been purified by holy matrimony

into a mystical type, he would have died a virgin,) is another sublime gentleman of the same genus:

he very much astonished some persons when he sold his birthright for a pot of sack; but not even his

Sosia has a grain of respect for him, though, doubtless, he thinks his name very terrible to the enemy,

when he flourishes his criticopoeticopolitical tomahawk, and sets up his Indian yell for the blood of

his old friends: but, at best, he is a mere political scarecrow, a man of straw, ridiculous to all who

know of what material he is made; and to none more so, than to those who have stuffed him, and set

him up, as the Priapus of the garden of the golden apples of corruption. [See Edmund Burke, A

Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful London (1757) for a

[Nightmare Abbey was first published in 1818, and lightly revised in 1837 by the author. See Peacock's