ELIZA COOK'S JOURNAL.

out at all. There must be some motive in the back-
ground. She pondered a long time, but could imagine
no solution of the enigma. She was very fond of money,
and the ten pound note occupied a prominent position in
her ruminations. However, we will not endeavour to
trace the workings of her mind, suffice it to say that the
child was handed over to dame Twelston later in the day,
The fact is the
and nothing said about it to any one.
discovery of the ten pound note, which had been im-
parted to the beadle's wife by Mrs. Sarvus's "help," had
touched the worthy functionary slightly in the same
fashion that the auriferousness of California touched
Brother Jonathan. Ten pounds and good clothes; the
parents of the child must be well off, they must be
gentle-folk anxious to hide their shame, but able and
willing to provide for the child. The circumstance of a
peculiar name being given to it, furthermore convinced
Mr. Twelston that it would be sought out one of these
days, when those who had befriended it would no doubt
be rewarded. So the beadle received the child into his
house, resolving to treat it with even more care and con-
sideration than if it had been his own.

had been kind to Tancred, and Tancred loved her, and accordingly lamented the bereavement very bitterly. She had taken delight and pride in the little fellow, had always placed and prepared his food with her own hands, kept him carefully clean and well dressed, nursed him patiently in illness, and cherished him by all such means as a simple and warm-hearted woman may. Sadly Tancred mourned for her; her fostering hand and voice and eye were missed so many countless times each day. Tears would stream down his plaintive face when others did for him the little kindly offices so long performed by her. No one loved him and cared for him as she did, and now it seemed that he was all alone in the world, with no tie anywhere. Beadle Twelston, it is true, was kind and condescending, but the honest man was too old and too much of a beadle to comprehend his young charge, and moreover who could have expected him to possess a heart tender as a woman's?

For some time, little Tancred had been a pupil in the National School at A-, and here first tasted some of the sorrows which pursue men through the world. His docility and aptitude, together, perhaps, with his very prepossessing appearance, soon won the regard of his The natural consequence of this was the jeateachers. lousy and enmity of his schoolmates, especially of those who, formerly at the head of the classes, had been successively displaced by him. These became his tormentors. All sorts of petty affronts and little wrongs were inflicted Watch-upon him. They perpetually wounded his feelings in school, and worried and tyrannized over him out of school. Tales were told around him of his being picked up in the street; he was accused of gaining the good-will of his masters by all sorts of trickery and meanness; and thus Tancred, too gentle and meek to resent or return ill-treatment, perfectly well disposed to all around him, docile and industrious, led, nevertheless, a very unhappy life.

The tale that there was a young stranger in beadle Twelston's house soon went the round of the village, and the official had something to do to show a calm and unruffled front to the world, amidst the buzzing that was But he withstood all in immediately raised around him. solemn scorn; the impertinences of the young folks as well as the peerings and wonderings of the old. man John was here the beadle's friend in need; that intelligent public servant had himself discovered the child, whose name was Tancred, and the beadle had forthwith adopted it. Rumour changed her song on hearing this tale, and began to guess at the little one's parentage, but failing of success, she pined, and died quietly away. III.-CHARITY SWEETER TO THE GIVER THAN TO THE RECEIVER.

But his cup was not yet full. Beadle Twelston, after dedicating eighteen months of widowhood to the memory of his first wife, got himself a second. Tancred was too young to note the rise and progress of such matters, and SO was very much surprised, when he returned from school one day, at being introduced to the new Mrs. TwelIt was true the beadle had been absent for a day ston. He or two, but this he attributed to the necessities of business, and was far from divining the real cause. now beheld a tall, bony woman, whose face, mien, and manner were pervaded by an expression of sternness, and Her he was bidden to regard as his new fosterself-will. A flutter of anxiety and terror seized the little mother. fellow as she laid her heavy masculine hand upon his head, and looked into his face with a laboured and uncouth semblance of affection.

For many months beadle Twelston was heard to lament the "caddle" that reigned in his house, in consequence The child was of the introduction of little Tancred. always ailing, and as his foster parents had gained no experience in such matters, being blessed by no offspring of their own, their patience was sorely tried. On many occasions they had feared that the child would die, and their chance of benefit, which strangely enough they seemed to regard as a sure and certain result of its living, But when twelve months of I would then die with it. mewling and puling were passed, the young castaway began to gain strength, and to grow robust and hearty; a Still few months more and he was able to toddle about. a little while, and Time, the great worker of changes, laid his gentlest and kindest touch upon him, and The new Mrs. Twelston, indeed, had found favour in shaped and moulded him into a beautiful boy, straightly and lightly built, with soft blue eyes and light-brown the eyes of the beadle by her possession of a tolerable sum of money, scraped together by the parsimony of Doubtless an acquisitive and narrow dispohair. When he became old enough to think and to comprehend the people around him, an excellent disposition many years. was manifested in his behaviour, and later still there ap-sition had been sharpened by the idea that money might Be that as it may, it is peared the tokens of a ready and even acute intellect. be potent enough to counterbalance the disadvantages of The little fellow came to be regarded by all with peculiar an unprepossessing appearance. interest. Never once, by any chance, was he supposed doubtful whether she would ever have changed the name There was an of Baker for that of Twelston had not the sagacious to be a scion of the Twelston house. inborn refinement and sensitiveness about him which beadle discovered that she could bring something more shielded him from such mistakes. Every one loved and welcome than herself into his household. admired little Tancred. In all the child did and said there shone that certain nameless grace only to be found here and there in gentle and noble-hearted children: sweet, pure, and charming. Fancy need not travel far to taste the breath of heaven in such beings, still fresh from the hands of God. But alas! how soon the world rubs the bloom off the fruit!

Well, matters proceeded in a tolerably uniform fashion, until Tancred was ten years old, when Dame Twelston fell ill, and after a short period of suffering, died. She

It was soon remarked that Tancred did not seem to prosper under the régime to which he was submitted by his new guardian. He was not so nicely dressed as of old, not so clean and well ordered, nor did he look so happy. He appeared as if no care were taken of him, as And so it was, for the present Mrs. if he were left alone to look after himself, and not helped to do it at all. Twelston, having heard his history, scrupled not to denounce the silliness of her husband in adopting a foundling for the chance of getting something by it;

especially did she ridicule the simplicity of allowing Mrs. Sarvus to pocket the ten-pound note. Indeed, this latter fact clicited her most profound scorn, and so often did she twit the beadle thereupon that the worthy man rucfully repented having revealed it to her. Under these circumstances, it may be imagined that Tancred was obliged to endure a great deal. A miserly woman was watching over him, reckoning daily how much his keep cost her husband. Every drop he drank, and every bit he ate went to the account. Day by day her dislike for the boy appeared to gain strength; from sharpness and coldness sho advanced to downright harshness, and ere he had been under her influence many months, his cheeks grew pale, his eyes dim, his head drooped, and his heart was nearly broken.

IV. ANOTHER SCENE.

"Well, I got into the house through a broken window which looked over the fields behind; then, entering a room which commanded a view of the street, I waited and watched. It was a rough night, and the wind screamed through the old house. Several times I listened hard, thinking I heard the cries of the child amidst The very day that Beadle Twelston was married a it. At length I distinguished footsteps, and presently second time, a scene which had some influence upon the saw the light of a lantern. The watchman of the vilfortunes of Tancred occurred many thousand miles away. lage was approaching; I suppose the white flannel in That day, two English merchant vessels, trading to which the child was wrapped attracted his attention, for Lima, dropped anchor in the harbour of Callao, on the he stopped and examined the precious bundle. Another Peruvian coast. They were the Sylph of Liverpool, and individual came up and stopped also; they seemed much the Gipsy of Bristol. The Gipsy, after her business with concerned at their discovery, and with considerable the merchants of Lima had been concluded, was to sail for astonishment spelled and strove to pronounce the name England; the Sylph, after a similar consummation, was "Tancred," which I had written on a card and attached to proceed to San Francisco. to the little one-"

In the evening, several of the crews of the two ships went ashore. The heat during the day was excessive, but some hours before sunset it declined, and a gentle breeze sprang up, carrying out to sea the fragrance of the groves of plantains, citrons, palms, and oranges, which spread across the country, even from the verge of the brine. Beautiful are the evenings of the dry season in this latitude, and their glory is the more deeply felt when enjoyed amidst the majestic scenery around Callao,where the gorgeous sunset makes the broad Pacific ruddy as a sea of fire, and bathes mountain and forest, banana grove and Indian hut, in hues of purple, red, and gold.

It happened that one of the crew of the Gipsy separated from his companions after having been on shore an hour or two, and leaving them to enjoy themselves at the Posada, returned to the sea side, and there walked up and down, with folded arms and thoughtful mien. Presently, a party of the Sylph crew came rattling and laughing down to their boat, intending to row on board. On seeing the solitary promenader, one of them abruptly detached himself from the group, rushed towards him, and seizing his hand, shook it with most energetic heartiness.

"Charley, old boy! The devil, if it isn't old Charley." "And is't thee, Jack!" cried Charley, returning warmly the other's embrace, whilst both the young fellows' features were illuminated by an expression of the liveliest pleasure.

"Well, well! if this isn't funny!" cried Jack. "The first meeting since the days of chevy and cricket at school. Who'd have thought it? How d'ye come? Been here long, or just arrived? Come with the Gipsy? Where are ye going? When? Tell us, old fellow, your story." An hour after the two rejoined schoolmates, Charles Severn and John Beauchamp, were to be seen seated together upon a piece of wood, sustaining a close conversation.

"Oh, Jack! My heart was as near broken then as could be on this side of death!" said Charley, the younger of the twain, who might have numbered some twenty-five years, while his companion appeared to have seen about thirty. The tone of the speaker was low and sad, as that of one who recounts by-gone woes which have not yet lost their sting.

"Did you lose her for ever, then, Charley?" asked the other, with sympathetic interest.

"Yes; didn't I say so that she died, Jack?" continued

"Your label!" remarked Jack.

Just so," continued Charley. "Tancred is my own name, and is not a common one. If it happens that the boy has lived, and should be alive when I return to England, and I may be able to do something for him, the peculiarity of the name might be of great use in finding him out; and, seeing that he was taken to the workhouse, I trust it will be an easy matter."

"So, it seems you have some natural feelings, after all?" "I hope so."

"When do you think to be homeward bound?"

Not for some months; indeed, it may be a year before I am in England."

And, meanwhile, your youngster? But, however, it is useless to speculate. It is likely I shall be home at Salisbury in five or six months; can I do anything for you? A walk to A- -, one fine morning, would do me

no harm."

"Thank ye," answered Charley, a glow of delight suffusing his countenance; "if you would promise me I should be much easier in my mind."

"I'll promise, then!" said Jack, heartily.

"I try to console myself with the belief that a tenpound note which I tacked to the child-all I could scrape together, Jack-might have won it some consideration, if only as an carnest that its relatives might do something for it."

"Ay, ay! Why don't they do something for it? What do your father and mother say about it?"

"Why, if they had but shown a little mercy for a young man's failings," returned Charley, with some emotion, "my child would not have been consigned to a workhouse, nor should I have left home without a word, to take to the sea."

Well, well. Better days in store. Cheer up old fellow."

Thus the two continued talking for a long while. Their comrades had returned to their ships, save one, who had rowed ashore in the small boat of the Sylph. At length, he too came down from the Posada, and the three put off, and rowed leisurely away.

Solemn was the loveliness of the hour and the scene. The stars of the tropics shone with liquid brilliancy in the clear blue heavens. The tranquil sea was like a mirror, and reflected in the depths of its softly heaving bosom every glory of the firmament. The Cordilleras

At one of the many sudden windings of the river, we were like to have met with an accident from a timberraft floating down stream before us. All was quiet below; nothing was heard save the rumble of the machinery, imparting that trembling sound throughout the steamer, which is one of the few désagrémens of this mode of voyaging; when suddenly, there was felt something like a shock and a grinding noise along the vessel's side. We rushed on deck, and there before us, and along side of us, lay on the dark river, an immense timber-raft, with a light here and there dancing along its surface. There was a terrible jabbering of "Deutsch" from the men on board our vessel, as well as from the crew of the raft. Either their lights had been insufficient,' or our steersman had not kept a good look-out ahead. Happily, however, no damage was done, and the raft was soon far in our wake, the lights upon it shining dim and feeble through the darkness of the night.

lies the lower pass of the Rhine, the Siebenbergen those kneeling figures at the foot of the cross, who stretching away far to the right, the Drachenfels as if seemed perfectly absorbed in their devotions, caused a guarding the pass like a huge outstretched lion; and on cold shudder to pervade my frame, and I turned away the left, above us, the castle of Rolandseck, the delicious profoundly impressed by the sight. I could not help green island of Nonnenwerth lying as if in the bottom feeling awed at the solemn exhibition. We again sought of the pass and shutting in the river against our fur- the steamer's deck, where sundry packages of goods from ther progress. But we shoot onward, skirt the island, Elberfeld were being taken on board; and in a short almost touching the boughs of the trees which droop time we were again steaming down the river in the into the water from its side, and we are once more into the dark. open country beyond, steaming straight ahead for Bonn. I wish Shelley had left us his impression of his boatsail down the Rhine. But perhaps we have a better reflection of it in some glowing passages in his "Revolt of Islam," descriptive of a sail for three days along a glorious river among mountains, than if he had left us his prose description of the voyage. In the preface to that poem, which he wrote at Marlow, immediately on his return to England, he says "I have sailed down mighty rivers, and seen the sun rise and set, and the stars come forth, while I have sailed day and night down a rapid stream among mountains." And in his "History of a Six Weeks' Tour," published by Mrs. Shelley, he says of this voyage : "We were carried down by a rapidly dangerous current, and saw on either side of us hills covered with vines and trees, craggy cliffs crowned by desolate towers, and wooded islands, where picturesque ruins peeped from behind the foliage, and cast the shadows of their forms on the troubled waters, which distorted without deforming them. We heard the songs of the vintagers, and, if surrounded by disgusting Germans, the sight was not so replete with enjoyment as I now fancy it to have been; yet memory, taking all the dark shades from the picture, presents this part of the Rhine to my remembrance as the loveliest paradise on earth." The last stanzas of the Twelfth Book of the "Revolt of Islam," contain Shelley's most vivid impressions of the beauties of the Rhine scenery; but they are too long for quotation here.

Below Bonn the romance of the Rhine ceases. Down to Cologne there is still the lovely landscape behind us, with the background of the Drachenfels; but below that city the river flows through a flat country, little beyond the banks being visible from the steamer's deck. We reached Cologne about six in the evening, and strolled into the city, taking a last look at the glorious cathedral in the twilight. The hotels were all brilliantly lit up, the streets were thronged, and music resounded from the dancing-houses.

The downward voyage to Dusseldorf in the late evening was very uninteresting; only mud banks, surmounted by grass and occasional trees, appeared along the river side; so we sat stewing below amidst smoking Germans, who puffed and meditated, with very small expenditure of words. It was quite dark when we reached Dusseldorf, which I will not pretend to describe. We strolled through the badly-lit streets, out to the further end of the town, but could see little. Half the inhabitants seemed already to have gone to bed, though it was but eight o'clock; and the remainder were all snug within doors, behind counters, or around firesides. As we returned to the river-side, through dark by-streets, some objects moving about under a glimmering light hung high up over some figure in a crypt, arrested my attention, and we approached them. As we drew near, we perceived two women shrouded in cloaks, and one man, kneeling on the stones, and uttering deep sighs and sobs from time to time. Looking up, I at once comprehended the meaning of the scene. A lamp, contained within a reflector, which hid the light itself from sight, threw its full glare upon the head and figure of a crucified Christ, the size of life, which was fixed high up in the crypt. The light, as it fell on the features of the image, brought out an indescribable expression of anguish; and the perfect quiet of the place, disturbed only by the occasional deep sighs of

During the commotion on deck, we had heard a loud voice shouting out to the engineers below, in unmistakeable home dialect, "Stop her!" "Back her!" "Ease her!" and so on, the terms used on board the same kind of vessels at home. After the commotion had subsided, we moved up to the speaker, and addressed him. We found him to be a Scot, a native of Fife-now the principal engineer on board. He informed us that all the chief engineers of these boats were either English or Scotch, though the Germans were getting educated to the craft. But all the words of command used by them, whether the engineers were English or German, were the same, "Ease her!" Back her!" and so on, as at home. had worked a steamer on the Danube for some years; and before that, one on the Seine. He seemed to be of a roving nature, but he liked the Germans-pronouncing them to be "dacent cannie folk.'

He

The cold grey of morning dawned as we passed the little town of Rees, and about five we reached Emmerick. We walked through the streets of this clean little town, along which the sun was now shining, throwing long shadows on the ground. The boat lay at the wharf until some of the custom-house officers could be roused from their beds to examine the goods, and place their seals upon them before crossing the Prussian boundary-this being the last town of the Prussian dominions. The knaves must have snored soundly and lazily, for it was long before they came, and about three hours before they let us depart. It was a bright morning when we reached Lobith, the first village in the Dutch dominions, where we had to undergo the same Customhouse nuisance as at Emmerick. We waited until a fat fellow of a Dutchman could be knocked out of a sound snooze, and his vitality sufficiently wakened up to enable him to don his garments. He was very long about it. At last he came on board-a thorough Dutchman, worthy the honour of sitting for his country's portrait. He was slow, methodical, fat, good-humoured, stolid, and genuine Dutch all over-a veritable "Winky Boss." But he was very civil, did not touch the passengers' luggage, but only scrutinized with his half-awake eyes the large ugly seals placed over the cargo. And then away we went down the river-the Rhine no longer. As the rapid volume of water which forms the river Rhine descends into the flat, pancake-like country between Emmerick and the sea, it divides into a number of branches-the Issel, the Waal, the Leck, and the old Rhine, each of

ocean.

ELIZA COOK'S JOURNAL.

which is built up by embankments on its way to the house assuaging wretchedness, but, alas! not always But for this distribution of the Rhine into "doing good;" relieving present evils, but too often a number of branches through the flat country, devasta- leaving an increasing crop ever springing up under their ting inundations must inevitably take place during the footsteps; attended and rewarded by blessings, but Far different is the course of the latter winter months, when the surcharged waters come rolling doomed, probably, at length to feel that they have ill down from the distant Alps, through a wide range of coun- deserved them. try extending for not less than 900 miles. The branch of class: their life is spent in a laborious research into the river retaining the name of "Old Rhyn," as it flows remote and hidden causes-in a patient and painful anaAt lysis of the operation of principles from the misapplicathrough Holland, is the most insignificant of all. Utrecht it has shrunk to the dimensions of a canal; and, tion or forgetfulness of which our social disorders have as a sluggish, oozy canal, with no apparent current, shut sprung-in sowing seeds and elucidating laws that are to in by occasional gates, it makes its way to the sea, into destroy the evil at a distant date which they themselves which, at Catwyck, it is let by strong sea gates when the may never see, while sometimes its pressure may be tide is down. Thus the Rhine is positively built up in aggravated during the period which they do see. They are neither rewarded by the gratitude of those for whom many places above the level of the surrounding land, on they toil-since the benefits they confer are often blesits way through Holland! sings in disguise and in futurum-nor gratified by beholding the fruit of their benevolent exertions, for the harvest may not be ripe till all of them have passed away, and till most of them have been forgotten. Nay, more, they are misrepresented, misconstrued, accused of hardoften cursed and thwarted by the very men in whose service they have spent their strength. And while those who have chosen the simpler and easier path are reaping blessings, in return for the troubles they have ignorantly stimulated and perpetuated by relieving, these men-the martyrs of philanthropy-must find their consolation and support in unswerving adherence to true principles and unshrinking faith in final victory; and must seek their recompense, if they need one, in the tardy recognition of their virtues by a distant and a wiser time. While, therefore, the warm and ardent natures which can find no peace except in the free indulgence of their kindly impulses are worthy of all love, and even, amid all the mischief they create, of some admiration for their sacrifices and zeal-and while we fully admit that they also have a mission to fulfil-we cast in our lot with their more systematic fellow-labourers, who address themselves to the harder, rougher, more unthankful task of attacking the source rather than the symptoms-of eradicating social evils rather than alleviating them. - Edinburgh Review, Jan., 1851.

The morning was now advanced, the sun fairly risen, but no cry nor joyous song, no flight of birds nor bleating of sheep, saluted the new-born day. As we approached further into the country, passing Arnheim and a few other comfortable little towns along the Waal (which stream we threaded), there appeared windmills, comfortable farm-ness of heart by a misconceiving generation, and too houses, plenty of green pastures, numerous rows of stately poplar trees, and abundant evidences of peaceful, quiet There were no industry, without a particle of romance. longer any old castles, and not a single ruin. Everything was in use, the river was turned into canals stretching away on all sides, the wind was set to work to drive the busy mills, and not an inch of ground but seemed to be Ponderous boats were drawn turned to careful account. along the stream by teams of horses on the banks, behind them a peasant, whip on shoulder, looking neither at the boat, the river, nor the cattle, but plodding steadily on. The river, yellow with the slime of its banks, flowed patiently towards the expectant ocean. Yet the silent repose of creatures and things in Holland, is not without a certain poetry of its own; there is space and silence over that great expanse of green pasture; and where these are, whether in the sandy desert or the verdant meadow, poetry finds a place. Then, to have rescued this land from the very ocean's grasp, is to have done something-it argues power, industry, and resolute determination on the part of the conquerors of the sea, even the plodding, perseverant Dutch.

eye.

At last the

CHARACTER-BORN MEN.

As the day waned, and we proceeded onwards, the There is a class of men, individuals of which appear at same succession of scenes presented themselves. Boats, cattle, canals, windmills, boors driving home from market long intervals, so eminently endowed with insight and on tall jolting gigs, snug little cottages and farm-houses, virtue, that they have been unanimously saluted as divine, the housewives' bright-scoured utensils set out in rows and who seem to be an accumulation of that power we consider. Divine persons are character born, or, to after their day's work was done; little pleasure houses overhanging the canals, each with its motto "Lust en rust," borrow a phrase from Napoleon, they are victory orga"Ruimsight," and such like, painted over it; such was the nized. They are usually received with ill-will, because succession of objects that met the river expanded, buildings along the river-banks became they are new, and because they set a bound to the exlast divine person. Nature never rhymes her children, more numerous and conspicuous, signs of wealth and aggeration that has been made of the personality of the commerce were frequent on all sides; and then, at a turn fancy a resemblance to some historical person, and preof the river, while the red sun was sinking down in the nor makes two men alike. When we see a great man, we west, almost close under it, and deeply reflected in the dict the sequel of his character and fortune, a result glowing waters, the lofty towers of the St. Lawrence which he is sure to disappoint. None will ever solve the Character problem of his character according to our prejudice, but Kerk of Rotterdam, and the spacious range of houses only in his own high unprecedented way. along the Boompjes, came boldly into sight. wants room; must not be crowded on by persons, nor be be judged from glimpses got in the press of affairs or on few occasions. It needs perspective, as a great building. -Emerson.

And here ended our short excursion up and down the

Rhine.

TWO CLASSES OF PHILANTHROPISTS.

There are two classes of philanthropists-the feelers
and the thinkers, the impulsive and the systematic-
those who devote themselves to the relief or the mitiga-
tion of existing misery, and those, who, with a longer
patience, a deeper insight, and a wider vision, endeavour
to prevent its recurrence and perpetuation by an investi-
The former, in imi-
gation and eradication of its causes.
tation as they imagine of their master, go from house to