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 374 ridiculed and laughed at by every one, until he prays for death and dies of grief. A passage in Reinmar von Zweter (MS. 2. 145) undoubtedly refers to this, "unde het ich drier wünsche gewalt," as these very words appear in the story. Kirchbof gives the story in Wendunmut (1581, 1. 178, 179) as the spinning-girls told it to him in his youth. In ancient times St. Peter and St. Paul arrived late one evening in a village, and begged for shelter at one of the houses. But the man was avaricious, and the woman still more so; and they were roughly turned away. Hard by dwelt a poor man with many children, who took compassion on the two strangers, and sent word to them by his wife that they were to come to his house, and make a shift with anything God might give them. So they went into the small house, and slept there. Next morning when they were about to journey onwards, St. Paul said to St. Peter, "This good man has been kind to us, and has entertained us according to his means; we ought to show our gratitude to him." So Peter called the man and the woman, and gave them the power of wishing three times for whatsoever they liked, and they should have it. When the two Saints were gone, the two poor folks began to consider what they should wish for, and agreed that they would, in the first place, request of God that their poor little house and all it contained should immediately be burnt. Secondly, that a new one should stand in its place, in which as long as they lived they should never fail to have everything that they were in need of, whether it was food, drink, money, or furniture. These two wishes were instantly granted. Thirdly, they begged that after this life they might for ever be with God in the kingdom of Heaven. Every one in the village, but the miser, was surprised and delighted with this sudden change from poverty to riches. His wife said, "If any wind blows those two old men this way again, they ought to come to our house; we deserve a new house quite as much as those beggars." The man wished it too, but would take no trouble to bring it about. Not long afterwards when the rich man had driven away into the wood betimes with his men, Peter and Paul, again came to the village. The woman ran to them directly, and invited them into her house. The two Saints said that they did not want to pass the night there this time, so they did not need any lodging; but the woman pressed them to enter her house, and said that they must eat a mouthful with her, and then they would reach the end of their journey much more easily. They were obliged to accept her offer, for she let them have no peace. After the mid-day meal they thanked her, and said that if they came again they would recompense her for the two meals at the same time. The woman thought, "Those others only fed them once, and got a new! house for doing it: I am to feed them twice; that does not suit! me!" So she said, "My dear friends, if you want to give anything,


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Author talk:Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I am re-structuring the list of poems to reflect the contents of his collected poems.--Longfellow (talk) 10:08, 28 October 2010 (UTC)
 * I'm not sure how I feel about the small caps; in list form, it's somewhat hard to read. What are your thoughts? --Midnightdreary (talk) 13:05, 8 November 2010 (UTC)
 * I was just copying my source, but of course if it makes things easier for the user, I can change it.--Longfellow (talk) 17:39, 8 November 2010 (UTC)
 * Another minor note... I'm thinking that the dates should not be bolded (particularly looking at Evangeline on down, it's somewhat odd-looking). Also, we can bullet in all the book titles, then do a double bullet for the specific poems in each collection. Just some personal thoughts, anyway. --Midnightdreary (talk) 16:49, 2 December 2010 (UTC)
 * It looks all right to me, and I'm rather averse to excessive bullet pointing, but please do feel free to experiment.--Longfellow (talk) 17:49, 6 December 2010 (UTC)

Add link to
Add lini to article about Longfellow also on Wikisource

Littell's Living Age/Volume 1/Issue 1/H. W. Longfellow 2600:1700:D591:5F10:78DE:7FB:FC5D:384D 01:51, 29 November 2022 (UTC)
 * User:2600:1700:D591:5F10:78DE:7FB:FC5D:384D: It is already listed, under “Poems about Longfellow,” as “'H. W. Longfellow' in Littell's Living Age, 1 (1) (1844)”. TE(æ)A,ea. (talk) 02:22, 29 November 2022 (UTC)

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title: Author talk:Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


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 4 recalling the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with equanimity.

Be kind enough to inform my mother that I shall attend to her business to the best of my ability, and shall give her the earliest information about it. I have seen my aunt, and find that she is very far from being the disagreeable person our friends allege her to be. She is a lively, cheerful woman, with the best of hearts. I explained to her my mother's wrongs with regard to that part of her portion which has been withheld from her. She told me the motives and reasons of her own conduct, and the terms on which she is willing to give up the whole, and to do more than we have asked. In short, I cannot write further upon this subject at present; only assure my mother that all will go on well. And I have again observed, my dear friend, in this trifling affair, that misunderstandings and neglect occasion more mischief in the world than even malice and wickedness. At all events, the two latter are of less frequent occurrence.

In other respects I am very well off here. Solitude in this terrestrial paradise is a genial balm to my mind, and the young spring cheers with its bounteous promises my oftentimes misgiving heart. Every tree, every bush, is full of flowers; and one might wish himself transformed into a butterfly, to float about in this ocean of perfume, and find his whole existence in it.

The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an inexpressible beauty of nature. This induced the late Count M to lay out a garden on one of the sloping hills which here intersect each other with the most charming variety, and form the most lovely valleys. The garden is simple; and it is easy to perceive, even upon your first entrance, that the plan was not designed by a scientific gardener, but by a man who wished to give himself up here to the enjoyment of his own sensitive heart. Many a tear have


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abstained from attacking England since 1039, and had been rewarded for his fidelity by the grant of all the English land which lay to the west of the Dee (Domesday, p. 263 ; cf. Norm. Conq. ii. 399), now seems to have joined his forces with Swegen, son of Godwine, the earl of the southern border lands, in an expedition against the sons of Rhydderch (A.-S. Chron. sub an. 1046; cf. Ann. Cambr. sub an.) But in 1047 the nobles of Ystrad Towy and Dyved rose against their northern master and treacherously cut off 140 men of his household. In revenge Gruffydd laid waste all Ystrad Towy and Dyved. Two years later occurred a cruel ravaging of Deheubarth by the Irish allies of Gruffydd ab Rhydderch (Brut y Tywys. sub an. 1049; A.-S. Chron.; ) At last in 1055 Gruffydd slew his southern namesake, and thus became 'king of the Britons' and master of north and south alike.

In 1052 Gruffydd ravaged Herefordshire 'until he came nigh unto Leominster,' and 'on the same day on which thirteen years before Eadwine had been slain he slew many of the English as well as Frenchmen of the castle.' Soon after the death of the southern Gruffydd chance gave him an opportunity of inflicting a severe blow on the English. Ælfgar, son of Leofric, and brother of the Eadwine slain by Gruffydd in 1039, was now outlawed, and, having collected eighteen ships of northmen from Ireland, requested Gruffydd's co-operation in his war against King Edward and Harold. Gruffydd raised a great army from every part of Wales, and in combination with Ælfgar ravaged Archenfield, a district of Herefordshire, with a severity that was remembered so long afterwards as the time of the Domesday inquest. On 24 Oct., two miles from Hereford, the timid French Earl Ralph, King Edward's nephew, was driven into a disgraceful retreat before the motley army of the allies. The town was burnt, the minster plundered, and the castle razed. Gruffydd returned with a great booty (Brut y Tywys. sub an. 1054). Harold, son of Godwine, was now sent out to revenge the capture of Hereford, and Gruffydd did not venture on a pitched battle. He retreated into South Wales, and Harold did not venture beyond the district of Straddele in Herefordshire. Negotiations were now begun, and Gruffydd and Ælfgar met Harold at Billingsley in Shropshire, where peace was made and Ælfgar restored. As the result of Gruffydd's rebellion he lost the lands beyond the Dee, which Edward had previously given him.

Gruffydd had no intention of keeping peace, and now allied himself with a northman strangely described as 'Magnus, son of Harold king of Germany,' possibly a son of Harold Hardrada (, Norm. Conq. ii. 396). In the spring of 1056 the borders were again ravaged. Again the storm burst round Hereford, which Harold had restored, and where his chaplain, Leofgar, its newly made bishop, headed the resistance. But on 17 June Gruffydd won another great victory, and slew the warlike bishop, and Ælfnoth the sheriff besides. The English army was reduced to terrible straits, when Bishop Ealdred united with Leofric, Ælfgar's father, and Harold himself to pacify the victorious Welshman. Gruffydd 'swore oaths that he would be to King Edward a faithful and unbetraying underking.' An important result of Gruffydd's Mercian alliance was his marriage with Ealdgyth [see ], the beautiful daughter of Ælfgar, who, if a later French writer can be trusted, was devotedly attached to him (, in Chroniques Anglo-Norm. i. 178.) In 1058, when Ælfgar, now earl of the Mercians, was a second time outlawed, Gruffydd and a Norse fleet again succeeded in effecting his restoration by violence. Gruffydd now remained quiet until his father-in-law's death broke his last tie to England.

In 1062 Gruffydd again invaded the borders, and pushed his forces even beyond the Severn (Lives of Edward the Confessor, p. 425). At Christmas Harold was sent with a small force of Norsemen to repel him. Again Gruffydd shirked an encounter, and Harold penetrated to his castle of Rhuddlan in the vale of Clwyd. Gruffydd escaped with difficulty by sea, and Harold burnt his palace, ships, and stores. On 26 May 1063 Harold again invaded Wales, sailing with a fleet from Bristol, and circumnavigating a large part of the Welsh coast. Tostig joined his brother with a land force, which completed the subjection of the Welsh. Gruffydd's old tactics were no longer of avail against Harold's superior forces and strategy. For the whole summer Wales was harried and plundered, until the Welsh grew tired of Gruffydd, and denounced him as the author of their misfortunes. They drove him from his throne and declared him an exile. On 5 Aug. Gruffydd was slain by the treachery of his own men, 'by reason of the war which he waged with Harold the Earl' (A.-S. Chron.). 'His head was brought to Harold, and Harold brought it to the king, and his ship's head and the ornaments therewith.' His widow soon became the wife of Harold. His lands, shorn of considerable portions now incorporated with England, 'were given to his half-brothers, Bleddyn and Rhiwallon, sons of Cynvyn, his


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 Rh I already shed to the memory of its departed master in a summer-house which is now reduced to ruins, but was his favourite resort, and now is mine. I shall soon be master of the place. The gardener has become attached to me within the last few days, and he will lose nothing thereby.

10. A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these sweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone, and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the bliss of souls like mine. I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my talents. I should be incapable of drawing a single stroke at the present moment; and yet I feel that I never was a greater artist than now. When, while the lovely valley teems with vapour around me, and the meridian sun strikes the upper surface of the impenetrable foliage of my trees, and but a few stray gleams steal into the inner sanctuary, I throw myself down among the tall grass by the trickling stream; and, as I lie close to the earth, a thousand unknown plants are noticed by me: when I hear the buzz of the little world among the stalks, and grow familiar with the countless indescribable forms of the insects and flies, then I feel the presence of the Almighty, who formed us in his own image, and the breath of that universal love which bears and sustains us, as it floats around us in an eternity of bliss; and then, my friend, when darkness overspreads my eyes, and heaven and earth seem to dwell in my soul and absorb its power, like the form of a beloved mistress,—then I often think with longing, Oh, would I could describe these conceptions, could impress upon paper all that is living so full and warm within me, that it might be the mirror of my soul, as my soul is the


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 6 mirror of the infinite God! O my friend—but it is too much for my strength—I sink under the weight of the splendour of these visions!

12. I know not whether some deceitful spirits haunt this spot, or whether it be the warm, celestial fancy in my own heart which makes everything around me seem like paradise. In front of the house is a fountain,—a fountain to which I am bound by a charm like Melusina and her sisters. Descending a gentle slope, you come to an arch, where, some twenty steps lower down, water of the clearest crystal gushes from the marble rock. The narrow wall which encloses it above, the tall trees which encircle the spot, and the coolness of the place itself,—everything imparts a pleasant but sublime impression. Not a day passes on which I do not spend an hour there. The young maidens come from the town to fetch water,—innocent and necessary employment, and formerly the occupation of the daughters of kings. As I take my rest there, the idea of the old patriarchal life is awakened around me. I see them, our old ancestors, how they formed their friendships and contracted alliances at the fountain-side; and I feel how fountains and streams were guarded by beneficent spirits. He who is a stranger to these sensations has never really enjoyed cool repose at the side of a fountain after the fatigue of a weary summer day.

13. You ask if you shall send me books. My dear friend, I beseech you, for the love of God, relieve me from such a yoke! I need no more to be guided, agitated, heated. My heart ferments sufficiently of itself. I want strains to lull me, and I find them to perfection in my Homer. Often do I strive to allay the burning


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Balfour, James (d.1583)


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 south of England. Rejecting the offer of his uncle, Sir Augustus West, to bring him up as a doctor, he entered the merchant service in 1850 on an Indian liner belonging to a relative. In 1855 he became first officer, but shortly afterwards was struck down by cholera and ordered to Australia for his health. He started sheep farming with a friend at Namoi, New South Wales, but, losing his partner suddenly, about 1859 removed to Liverpool, near Sydney. Here his farm was ruined by a flood about 1862. He was then for a short time employed under the government of New South Wales, but his health broke down again. He then undertook a botanising expedition among the islands of the Western Pacific. In 1864 he was wrecked on Samoa, then an island where the European was hardly known, and by his great swimming powers was the means of saving the crew. For eighteen months he lived on Samoa, and laid the foundation of his wide knowledge of the natives of the Western Pacific. In 1866 he was rescued by the Wesleyan missionary ship and taken to Fiji, where he obtained a post in the British consulate for Fiji and Tonga. In 1869 he became acting consul, and shortly afterwards his remarkable influence over the natives became manifest. Fiji had one of those quaint imitations of a parliamentary constitution which are still found in some of the Pacific Islands. Such a constitution is not always a success, and in 1872 that of Fiji went to pieces. In May 1872 the king, Thakombaw, saw that there was only one chance of safety, and called in Thurston to be chief secretary and minister for foreign affairs. This led immediately, in 1874, to the transfer of the islands to Great Britain, which had only a few years previously refused to accept them; the negotiations were conducted through Thurston, and on the accomplishment of the cession (October 1874) he became colonial secretary and auditor-general of the new crown colony. In 1877 the high commission for the Western Pacific was created, and in 1879 Thurston became the secretary to the high commissioner. In 1880 he acted as governor of Fiji, and at the end of the year went on a special commission to the Friendly islands in order to negotiate a treaty.

In October 1882 he was appointed deputy governor of Fiji, and in November 1883 consul-general for the Western Pacific. His varied duties required him to move constantly about the islands of those seas, and he established his reputation both with the natives and the European traders by the judgment and wisdom with which he treated the former, and the firmness with which he upheld the dignity of British jurisdiction. So great was his reputation with the natives that in 1883, when the great Fijian chief was dying, he installed Thurston as chief of all the Fijians.

In March 1885 Thurston came to England as British commissioner to the Anglo-German commission appointed for the purpose of discussing the question of land claims in Fiji and conflicting territorial claims in the South Seas. He showed a profound knowledge of the affairs of that part of the world, and he fittingly returned to Fiji as lieutenant-governor in 1886. He became governor and high commissioner of the Western Pacific in 1887.

In 1895 Thurston's health gave way, and he came to England on leave. Returning to his post in 1896, he died at Suva in February 1897. He became C.M.G. in 1880, and K.C.M.G. in 1887; he was a fellow of the Linnean and Geographical societies.

He married, first, about 1866, a French lady, Madame de Lavalatte; secondly, on 14 Jan. 1883, Amelia, daughter of John Berry of Albury, New South Wales, who, with three sons and two daughters, survived him. The British government granted Lady Thurston a civil list pension in consideration of her husband's services, and the government of Fiji a pension of 50l. to each of the five children during minority.

[Information given by Lady Thurston; Mennell's Dict. of Australasian Biography; Times, 9 Feb. 1897; Colonial Office List, 1896; Handbook to Fiji, 1886, p. 14; official information.]  THURTELL, JOHN (1794–1824), murderer, born in 1794, was son of Thomas Thurtell, an alderman and in 1824 mayor of Norwich, and was brought up with a view to entering his father's business; but after serving for two years as apprentice on the Bellona, under Captain John M'Kinlay, R.N., he became in 1814 a bombasin manufacturer on his own account. Having failed in Norwich, he proceeded to London about 1820, and sought notoriety in low sporting circles. Extremely muscular, he was a good amateur boxer, and was frequently seen as ‘second’ in public prize-fights. George Borrow met him once at North Walsham while acting in this capacity, and recorded his impressions in ‘Lavengro’ (chaps. xxiv. and xxvi.). He was also attracted by the stage, and used to imitate Edmund Kean. About 1822 he set up a tavern, called the Black Boy, in Long Acre. In June 1823 he and his brother Thomas recovered 2,000l. from the County Fire Office for damages done by fire to a


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 warehouse, the insurance company having unsuccessfully maintained before the court of common pleas that the premises were wilfully set on fire. With this windfall John Thurtell indulged to the full his passion for gambling. At Rexworthy's billiard-rooms in Spring Gardens and elsewhere he lost large sums to the most accomplished blacklegs and gamesters of the day. Among these was William Weare, of 2 Lyon's Inn, solicitor. Thurtell was especially exasperated against Weare, whom he charged with cheating him of 300l., by means of false cards, at blind hookey. A reconcilation was, however, patched up, and on Friday, 24 Oct. 1823, Weare consented to accompany Thurtell to the house of a friend named Probert, near Elstree, for a few days' shooting. Picking up Weare near Tyburn, Thurtell drove rapidly in his gig along the St. Albans road towards Elstree. When close to Probert's house in Gill's Hill Lane, Radlett, Thurtell produced a pistol and shot his companion. The latter managed to jump out of the gig, but Thurtell stunned him with the butt of the pistol, and finally cut his throat. The body was taken to Probert's the same evening, but was eventually thrown into a ‘green swamp’ some two miles distant. Suspicion was promptly aroused by the discovery of the pistol and other evidence of a recent struggle in Gill's Hill Lane, and the murderer's associates, Probert and Hunt, turned king's evidence upon Thurtell being arrested by George Ruthven of Bow Street at the Coach and Horses, Conduit Street, on 28 Oct. He was tried at Hertford before Sir James Alan Park [q. v.] on 6 and 7 Jan. 1824. The prisoner, who was stated to have been coached by Charles Phillips, made a long and powerful speech in his own defence, and the court from the judge downwards were sensibly affected by the ‘terrible earnestness’ of his closing appeal. But, apart from the evidence of his scoundrelly allies, the crime was so clumsily contrived, and the circumstantial evidence was so strong, that there could be no doubt as to the verdict. Thurtell, who made no confession and showed remarkable sangfroid, and whose last anxiety seemed to be to learn the result of ‘the mill between Spring and Langham,’ was hanged at Hertford on 9 Jan. 1824. He is said to have designed the gallows on which he was executed (a structure preserved at the exhibition of Mme. Tussaud). His body was dissected by Dr. Abernethy, and his skull is preserved at the Royal College of Surgeons.

The Gill's Hill tragedy, in spite of the vulgar brutality of its details, laid a powerful hold upon the popular imagination. Thurtell as a sporting man, who was thought to have been hardly used by fortune, was for the time almost a popular hero. Hazlitt spoke of the gigantic energy with which he impressed those who heard his rhetoric at the trial. Sir Walter Scott made a ‘variorum’ out of the numberless newspaper and chapbook accounts of the tragedy, and specially revelled in the four lines ascribed to Theodore Hook: They cut his throat from ear to ear, His brains they battered in, His name was Mr. William Weare, He dwelt in Lyon's Inn. When Scott left London for the north in May 1828 he ‘could not resist going out of his way to inspect the scene of the murder’ (for a vivid description of it, see, chap. lxxvi.). James Catnach [q. v.] is said to have made over 500l. by ballads recounting the circumstances of Thurtell's crime (, Life of Catnach, 1878). A number of the details of the murder were reproduced by Lytton in his account of the murder of Sir John Tyrrell in ‘Pelham’ (1828). Incidents of the trial are still held in remembrance, e.g. the concession of respectability by one witness to the man who ‘drove a gig’ (hence Carlyle's coinages, ‘gigmanship’ and ‘gigmanity’), and the answer by another to the question, ‘Was supper postponed?’ ‘No, it was pork.’ Some sketches of Probert's cottage and other spots connected with the murder were made by James Duffield Harding [q. v.], and the management of the Surrey Theatre announced a drama entitled ‘The Gamblers,’ to introduce the chief scenes of the Gill's Hill outrage, together with ‘the identical horse and gig’ (cf. Sydney Smith in the ‘Edinburgh Review’, xliii. 306).

The British Museum print-room has several engravings of Thurtell from sketches made during the trial.

[In addition to numerous chapbooks, there appeared in 1824 an ably written Narrative of the Dreadful Murder of Mr. Wm. Weare (247 pp. large 8vo), and Recollections of John Thurtell (many editions) by Pierce Egan the elder [q. v.], who had two interviews with the prisoner while under sentence of death. The Fatal Effects of Gambling exemplified in the Murder of William Weare (1824, 512 pp. 8vo.) has numerous illustrations. See also Gent. Mag. 1824, vol. i. passim; Morning Chronicle, 6 Nov. 1823; London Mag., Feb. 1824; Medical Adviser, 17 Jan. 1824 (phrenological observations); Jekyll's Corresp. p. 136; Lockhart's Life of Scott, chap. lxxvi.; Thornbury's Old Stories Retold, pp. 274 sq.; Fitzgerald's Chron. of Bow Street Police Office, 1888, ii. 127 sq.; Lamb's Letters, ed. Ainger, ii. 97; J. P. Collier's Old Man's Diary, 30 Sept. 1832; Nicholson's Autobiog.; Vizetelly's Glances Back, i. 10; Sala's Things I have seen, ii. 92; Thorne's Environs of London,


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mother's second husband, who became vassals both of Edward and Harold.

The memory of Gruffydd lived long in the songs and affections of his people. His defeat made possible the Norman conquest of South Wales. He is described as 'king of the Britons' by the native writers, and the English chronicler recognises that 'he was king over all the Welsh race.' 'He was,' says the 'Brut y Tywysogion,' 'the head and shield and defender of the Britons.' 'He and his father,' says the Gwentian chronicler, were the noblest princes that had been, until their time, in Wales; and the best for bravery and war, and for peace and for government, and for generosity and justice.'

Ordericus Vitalis (Hist. Eccl. iii. 119-20, ed. Le Prévost, whose note here is very wrong) says that Gruffydd left two children by Ealdgyth, Bleddyn, his successor, and a daughter named Nest. But Bleddyn was in all probability the son of Cynvyn, and Gruffydd's uterine brother, and was certainly not his son. Giraldus, however, agrees that he had a daughter Nest, who was the mother of Nest, the wife of Bernard [q. v.] of Neufmarché, the conqueror of Brecheiniog (Itinerarium Kambriæ in Op. vi. 28, Rolls Ser. ; cf., Norm. Conq. ii. 660, and William Rufus ii. 90). Gruffydd also left two other sons, Maredudd and Ithel, who perished in 1070, after an unsuccessful attempt to dethrone Bleddyn.

[Annales Cambriæ; Brut y Tywysogion (Rolls Ser.); Gwentian Brut y Tywysogion (Cambrian Archæological Association); Anglo-Saxon Chronicle; Florence of Worcester; Lives of Edward the Confessor (Rolls Ser.); Ordericus Vitalis, Hist. Eccl. ii. 119, 183, ed. Le Prévost (Société de l'Histoire de France); Freeman's Norman Conquest, vol. ii.]  GRUFFYDD LLYWELYN (d. 1244), Welsh prince, was the eldest son of Llewelyn ab Iorwerth, it is said, by Tangwstyl, daughter of Llywarch Goch (, History of Wales, p. 303). As early as 1221 he was acting as lord of the cantrev of Meirionydd and the cymmwd of Ardudwy. He was disloyal to his father Llewelyn, who thereupon invaded his country and was persuaded with difficulty to accept his submission (Brut y Tywysogion, p. 309). In 1223 Gruffydd was entrusted by Llewelyn with a numerous army to oppose William Marshall, earl of Pembroke, who had returned from Ireland to South Wales, and had taken Aberteivi and Carmarthen from Llewelyn. A battle was fought by Carmarthen with doubtful result, but lack of provisions immediately afterwards obliged Gruffydd to retire to the north. A little later Gruffydd again took arms and intercepted the earl at Carnwyllon(ib.) Afterwards, however, he seems to have quarrelled with his father again, and underwent six years' imprisonment. He was released in 1234 (ib.), and before long obtained the government of extensive regions in central Wales, including Arwystli, Kerry, Cyveiliog, Mawddwy, Mochnant, and Caereinion, as well as the cantrev of Lleyn (ib. ; but cf. Annales Cambriæ). His father was now old and paralysed, and Gruffydd attacked him with such vigour that Llewelyn was compelled to submit himself to the English (, Hist. Major, iii. 385). Davydd [q. v.], Llewelyn ab Iorwerth's son, by Joan, King John's bastard daughter, received early in 1238 the homage of the Welsh barons, and took all Gruffydd's dominions away from him except Lleyn. In 1239 Gruffydd was entrapped into a conference with his brother by the mediation of Richard, bishop of Bangor. Davydd seized and imprisoned him at Criciceth (Brut y Tywysogion, sub an. 1139; Annales Cambriæ;, iv. 8, wrongly makes Gruffydd's imprisonment to begin after Llewelyn's death).

The Bishop of Bangor excommunicated Davydd and went to England, where he persuaded King Henry to take up the cause of Gruffydd, whose friends promised a heavy tribute. On 12 Aug. 1241 Senena, Gruffydd's wife, made a convention with Henry at Shrewsbury (, iv. 316-18). Many of the Welsh magnates favoured his cause. Henry invaded Wales and Davydd was compelled to submit. He now handed over Gruffydd to Henry's custody, warning him that if he were released there would be more troubles in Wales. The question as to Gruffydd's claims was to be submitted to the king's judgment (Fœdera, i. 242-3).

Gruffydd was now sent to London (about 29 Sept. 1241) under the care of John of Lexington, and confined in the Tower, along with his son Owain and some other Welsh captives. He was, however, honourably treated. The government allowed half a mark a day for his support, and his wife Senena was allowed to visit him. He tried, however, to escape on the night of 1 March 1244, having made a rope from his linen, and broke his neck in the attempt, as he was a very tall and heavy man (, iv. 295-6). Of Gruffydd's sons Owain Goch (i.e. the Red) and Llewelyn [q. v.] became in 1246, on Davydd's death, joint princes of Wales. Davydd [q. v.], his youngest son, tried to maintain the principality after the death of Llewelyn.

Gruffydd's arms are emblazoned on the margin of the manuscript of the 'Historia


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Balfour, James (1600-1657)


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 clxvi These Norse Tales we may characterise as bold, out-spoken, and humorous, in the true sense of humour. In the midst of every difficulty and danger arises that old world of fable. He, and Warton, and Dunlop, and Price, too, did the dayswork of giants, in tracing out and classifying those tales and fables which had passed into the literature of the Aryan race. But, besides this old region, there is another new hemisphere of fiction which lies in the mouths and in the minds of the people. This new world of fable the Grimms discovered, and to them belongs the glory of having brought all its fruits and flowers to the light of day. This is why their names must ever be foremost in a work on Popular Tales, shining, as their names must ever shine, a bright double star over that new hemisphere. In more modern times, the earliest collection of popular tales is to be found in the Piacevoli Notte of John Francis Straparola of Caravaggio, near Milan, the first edition of which appeared at Venice in 1550. The book, which is shamefully indecent, even for that age, and which at last, in 1606, was placed in the Index Expurgatorius, contains stories from all sources, and amongst them nineteen genuine popular tales, which are not disfigured by the filth with which the rest of the volume is full. Straparola's work has been twice translated into German,—once at Vienna, 1791, and again by Schmidt in a more complete form, Märchen-Saal, Berlin, 1817. But a much more interesting Italian collection appeared at Naples in the next century. This was the Pentamerone of Giambattista Basile, who wrote in the Neapolitan dialect, and whose book appeared in 1637. This collection contains forty-eight tales, and is in tone, and keeping, and diction, one of the best that has ever appeared in any language. It has been repeatedly reprinted at Naples. It has been translated into German, and a portion of it, a year or two back, by


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 Rh Mighty, the great Gothic king, heard of Svanhild's beauty, he sent his son Eandver to woo her for him, but Bikki the False said to the youth, "Better far were this maiden for thee than for thy old father"; and the maiden and the prince thought it good advice. Then Bikki went and told the king, and Hermanaric bade them take and hang Randver at once. So on his way to the gallows, the prince took his hawk and plucked off all its feathers, and sent it to his father. But when his sire saw it, he knew at once that, as the hawk was featherless and unable to fly, so was his realm defenceless under an old and sonless king. Too late he sent to stop the hanging; his son was already dead. So one day as he rode back from hunting, he saw fair Svanhild washing her golden locks, and it came into his heart how there she sat, the cause of all his woe; and he and his men rode at her and over her, and their steeds trampled her to death. But when Gudrun heard this, she set on her three Niflung sons to avenge their sister. Byrnies and helms she gave them so true that no sword would bite on them. They were to steal on Hermanaric as he slept; Saurli was to cut off his hands, Hamdir his feet, and Erp his head. So as the three went along, the two asked Erp what help he would give them when they got to Hermanaric. "Such as hand lends to foot," he said. "No help at all," they cried; and passing from words to blows, and because their mother loved Erp best, they slew him. A little further on Saurli stumbled and fell forward, but saved himself with one hand, and said, "Here hand helps foot; better were it that Erp lived." So they came on Hermanaric as he slept, and Saurli hewed off his hands, and Hamdir his feet, but he awoke and called for his men.


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 xcvi Then said Hamdir—"Were Erp alive, the head would be off, and he couldn't call out." Then Hermanaric's men arose and took the twain, and when they found that no steel would touch them, an old one-eyed man gave them advice to stone them to death. Thus fell Saurli and Hamdir, and soon after Gudrun died too, and with her ends the Volsung and the Niflung tale.

And here it is worth while to say, since some minds are so narrowly moulded as to be incapable of containing more than one idea, that because it Has seemed a duty to describe in its true light the old faith of our forefathers, it by no means follows that the same eyes are blind to the glorious beauty of Greek Mythology. That had the rare advantage of running its course free and unfettered until it fell rather by natural decay than before the weapon of a new belief. The Greeks were Atheists before they became Christian. Their faith had passed through every stage. We can contemplate it as it springs out of the dim mis-shapen symbol, during that phase when men's eyes are fixed more on meaning and reality than on beauty and form, we can mark how it gradually looks more to symmetry and shape, how it is transfigured in the Arts, until, under that pure air and bright sky, the glowing radiant figures of Apollo and Aphrodite, of Zeus and Athene,—of perfect man-worship and woman-worship,—stand out clear and round in the foreground against the misty distance of ancient times. Out of that misty distance the Norseman's faith never emerged. What that early phase of faith might have become, had it been once wedded to the Muses, and learned to cultivate the Arts, it is impossible to say. As it is, its career was cut short in


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 Rh fever of my blood; and you have never witnessed anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as my heart. But need I confess this to you, my dear friend, who have so often endured the anguish of witnessing my sudden transitions from sorrow to immoderate joy, and from sweet melancholy to violent passions? I treat my poor heart like a sick child, and gratify its every fancy. Do not mention this again: there are people who would censure me for it.

15. The common people of the place know me already, and love me, particularly the children. When at first I associated with them, and inquired in a friendly tone about their various trifles, some fancied that I wished to ridicule them, and turned from me in exceeding ill-humour. I did not allow that circumstance to grieve me: I only felt most keenly what I have often before observed. Persons who can claim a certain rank keep themselves coldly aloof from the common people, as though they feared to lose their importance by the contact; whilst wanton idlers, and such as are prone to bad joking, affect to descend to their level, only to make the poor people feel their impertinence all the more keenly.

I know very well that we are not all equal, nor can be so; but it is my opinion that he who avoids the common people, in order not to lose their respect, is as much to blame as a coward who hides himself from his enemy because he fears defeat.

The other day I went to the fountain, and found a young servant-girl, who had set her pitcher on the lowest step, and looked around to see if one of her companions was approaching to place it on her head. I ran down, and looked at her. "Shall I help you, pretty lass?" said I. She blushed deeply. "Oh, sir!" she exclaimed. "No ceremony!" I replied. She


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10 of his fellow men who may be suffering any kind of injustice—how do many millions of such men come to be a nation, in the first place? How is it that each of them comes to be stripped of all his natural, God-given rights, and to be incorporated, compressed, compacted, and consolidated into a mass with other men, whom he never saw; with whom he has no contract; and towards many of whom he has no sentiments but fear, hatred, or contempt? How does he become subjected to the control of men like himself, who, by nature, had no authority over him; but who command him to do this, and forbid him to do that, as if they were his sovereigns, and he their subject; and as if their wills and their interests were the only standards of his duties and his rights; and who compel him to submission under peril of confiscation, imprisonment, and death?

Clearly all this is the work of force, or fraud, or both.

By what right, then, did we become "a nation?" By what right do we continue to be "a nation?" And by what right do either the strongest, or the most numerous, party, now existing within the territorial limits, called "The United States," claim that there really is such "a nation" as the United States? Certainly they are bound to show the rightful existence of "a nation," before they can claim, on that ground, that they themselves have a right to control it; to seize, for their purposes, so much of every man's property within it, as they may choose; and, at their discretion, to compel any man to risk his own life, or take the lives of other men, for the maintenance of their power.

To speak of either their numbers, or their strength, is not to the purpose. The question is by what right does the nation exist? And by what right are so many atrocities committed by its authority? or for its preservation?

The answer to this question must certainly be, that at least such a nation exists by no right whatever.

We are, therefore, driven to the acknowledgment that nations and governments, if they can rightfully exist at all, can exist only by consent.

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 lxxx Take other African instances. How is it that the wandering Bechuanas got their story of "The Two Brothers," the ground-work of which is the same as "The Machandelboom" and "The Milk-white Doo," and where the incidents and even the words are almost the same? How is it that in some of its traits that Bechuana story embodies those of that earliest of all popular tales, recently published from an Egyptian Papyrus, coeval with the abode of the Israelites in Egypt? and how is it that that same Egyptian tale has other traits which remind us of the Dun Bull in "Katie Woodencloak," as well as incidents which are the germ of stories long since reduced to writing in Norse Sagas of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries? How is it that we still find among the Negroes in the West Indies a rich store of popular tales, and the Beast Epic in full bloom, brought with them from Africa to the islands of the West; and among those tales and traditions, how is it that we find a "Wishing Tree," the counterpart of that in a German popular tale, and "a little dirty scrub of a child," whom his sisters despise, but who is own brother to Boots in the Norse Tales, and like him outwits the Troll, spoils his substance, and saves his sisters? How is it that we find the good woman who washes the loathsome head rewarded, while the bad man who refuses to do that dirty work is punished for his pride; the very ground-work, nay the very words, that we meet in "Bushy Bride,"


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 xcviii him springs poetry and song; from her legend and tradition. Nor should it ever be forgotten that the footsteps of Providence are always onward, even when they seem taken in the dark, and that their rude faith was the first in which that veneration for women arose, which the Western nations may well claim as the brightest jewel in their crown of civilisation; that while she was a slave in the East, a toy to the Greeks, and a housewife to the Romans, she was a helpmeet to the Teuton, and that those stern warriors recognised something divine in her nature, and bowed before her clearer insight into heavenly mysteries. The worship of the Virgin Mary was gradually developed out of this conception of woman's character, and would have been a thing absurd and impossible had Christianity clung for ever to Eastern soil. And now to proceed, after thus turning aside to compare the mythology of the Greek with the faith of the Norseman. The mistake is to favour one or the other exclusively instead of respecting and admiring both; but it is a mistake which those only can fall into, whose souls are narrow and confined, who would say this thing and this person you shall love, and none other; this form and feature you shall worship and adore, and this alone; when in fact the whole promised land of thought and life lies before us at our feet, our nature encourages us to go in and possess it, and every step we make in this new world of knowledge brings us to fresh prospects of beauty, and to new pastures of delight.

Such were the gods, and such the heroes of the Norseman; who, like his own gods, went smiling to death under the weight of an inevitable destiny. But that fate never fell on their gods. Before this subjective mythological


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 Rh dream of the Norsemen could be fulfilled, the religious mist in which they walked was scattered by the sunbeams of Christianity. A new state and condition of society arose, and the creed which had satisfied a race of heathen warriors, who externally were at war with all the world, became in time an object of horror and aversion to the converted Christian. This is not the place to describe the long struggle between the new and the old faith in the North; how kings and queens became the foster-fathers and nursing-mothers of the Church; how the great chiefs, each a little king in himself, scorned and derided the whole scheme as altogether weak and effeminate; how the bulk of the people were sullen and suspicious, and often broke out into heathen mutiny; how kings rose and kings fell, just as they took one or the other side; and how, finally, after a contest which had lasted altogether more than three centuries, Denmark, Norway, Iceland, and Sweden—we run them over in the order of conversion—became faithful to Christianity, as preached by the missionaries of the Church of Rome. One fact, however, we must insist on, which might be inferred, indeed, both from the nature of the struggle itself, and the character of Rome; and that is, that throughout there was something in the process of conversion of the nature of a compromise—of what we may call the great principle of "give and take." In all Christian churches, indeed, and in none so much as the Church of Rome, nothing is so austere, so elevating, and so grand, as the uncompromising tone in which the great dogmas of the Faith are enunciated and proclaimed. Nothing is more magnificent, in short, than the theory of Christianity; but nothing is more mean


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 c and miserable than the time-serving way in which those dogmas are dragged down to the dull level of daily life, and that sublime theory reduced to ordinary practice. At Rome, it was true, that the Pope could congratulate the faithful that whole nations in the barbarous and frozen North had been added to the true fold, and that Odin's grim champions now universally believed in the gospel of peace and love. It is so easy to dispose of a doubtful struggle in a single sentence, and so tempting to believe it when once written. But in the North, the state of things, and the manner of proceeding, were entirely different. There the dogma was proclaimed, indeed; but the manner of preaching it was not in that mild spirit with which the Saviour rebuked the disciple when he said, "Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword." There the sword was used to bring converts to the font, and the baptism was often one rather of blood than of water. There the new converts perpetually relapsed, chased away the missionaries and the kings who sheltered them, and only yielded at last to the overwhelming weight of Christian opinion in the Western world. St. Olof, king and martyr, martyred in pitched battle by his mutinous allodial freemen, because he tried to drive rather than to lead them to the cross; and another Olof, greater than he, Olof Tryggvason, who fell in battle against the heathen Swedes, were men of blood rather than peace; but to them the introduction of the new faith into Norway is mainly owing. So also Charlemagne, at an earlier period, had dealt with the Saxons at the Main Bridge, when his ultimatum was, "Christianity or death." So also the first


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 Rh missionary to Iceland—who met, indeed, with a sorry reception—was followed about by a stout champion named Thangbrand, who, whenever there was what we should now call a missionary meeting, challenged any impugner of the new doctrines to mortal combat on the spot. No wonder that, after having killed several opponents in the little tour which he made with his missionary friend through the island, it became too hot to hold him, and he, and the missionary, and the new creed, were forced to take ship and sail back to Norway.

"Precept upon precept, line upon line, here a little, and there a little," was the motto of Rome in her dealings with the heathen Norsemen, and if she suited herself at first rather to their habits and temper than to those of more enlightened nations, she had an excuse in St. Paul's maxim of making herself "all things to all men." Thus, when a second attempt to Christianise Iceland proved more successful—for in the meantime, King Olof Tryggvason, a zealous Christian, had seized as hostages all the Icelanders of family and fame who happened to be in Norway, and thus worked on the feelings of the chiefs of those families at home, who in their turn bribed the law-man who presided over the Great Assembly to pronounce in favour of the new Faith—even then the adherents of the old religion were allowed to perform its rites in secret, and two old heathen practices only were expressly prohibited, the exposure of infants and the eating of horseflesh, for horses were sacred animals, and the heathen ate their flesh after they had been solemnly sacrificed to the gods. As a matter of fact, it is far easier to change a form of religion than to extirpate a faith. The first indeed


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 cii is no easy matter, as those students of history well know, who are acquainted with the tenacity with which a large proportion of the English nation clung to the Church of Rome, long after the State had declared for the Reformation. But to change the faith of a whole nation in block and bulk on the instant, was a thing contrary to the ordinary working of Providence, and unknown even in the days of miracles, though the days of miracles had long ceased when Rome advanced against the North. There it was more politic to raise a cross in the grove where the Sacred Tree had once stood, and to point to the sacred emblem which had supplanted the old object of national adoration, when the populace came at certain seasons with songs and dances to perform their heathen rites. Near the cross soon rose a church; and both were girt by a cemetery, the soil of which was doubly sacred as a heathen fane and a Christian sanctuary, and where alone the bodies of the faithful could repose in peace. But the songs and dances, and processions in the churchyard round the cross, continued long after Christianity had become dominant. So also the worship of wells and springs was christianised when it was found impossible to prevent it. Great churches arose over or near them, as at Walsingham, where an abbey, the holiest place in England, after the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury, threw its majestic shade over the heathen wishing-well, and the worshippers of Odin and the Nornir were gradually converted into votaries of the Virgin Mary. Such practices form a subject of constant remonstrance and reproof in the treatises and penitential epistles of medieval divines, and in some few


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Major' of Matthew Paris. They were 'quarterly or and gules with four lions passant counterchanged' (, vi. 473).

[Brut y Tywysogion; Annales Cambriæ; Matthew Paris's Historia Major; Annales Monastici, all in Rolls Series; Rymer's Fœdera, vol. i., Record edition.]  GRUFFYDD MADOG (d. 1269) generally called, Lord of Lower Powys, Powys Vadog, or Bromfield, was the son of Madog (d. 1236), who was the son of Gruffydd Maelor (d. 1191), perhaps the last Welsh chieftain, who is called a king by the Welsh chroniclers (Brut y Tywysogion, s. a. 1191). Gruffydd Maelor was himself the son of Madog (d. 1159), from whom Lower Powys derived the title of Powys Vadog, and Madog was the son of Maredudd, son of Bleddyn, son of Cynvyn, and brother of Cadwgan (d. 1112) [q. v.] Gruffydd's lands were so hemmed in by those of English marchers, that he had to be generally faithful to Henry III. He was one of the three Welsh princes who in 1244 refused to follow Davydd ab Llewelyn when he went to waragainst the English (ib.s.a.; cf.Annales Cambriæ, s. a.) Yet in 1241 his brothers had formed a conspiracy with Davydd.

Gruffydd found a stronger foe in Llewelyn ab Gruffydd [q. v.] In 1256 he was driven out of his territories, and his lands were ravaged (, Hist. Major, v. 597, ed. Luard). 'He was,' says Matthew Paris, 'a thorough Welshman in race and tongue, a powerful and generous man whose lands were of large extent and great richness' (ib. v. 613). At last in 1257 Gruffydd, who had got little help from his English allies, went over to Llewelyn, who rejoiced greatly at winning over so powerful a confederate (ib.v. 646). Next year he was one of the Welsh magnates who made a confederacy, with the Scottish nobles to make peace with the English by common consent (Fœdera, i. 370). In the peace concluded in 1267, through the mediation of Ottobon the legate, Gruffydd was appointed one of the referees to decide whether Llewelyn's provision for Davydd his brother was adequate (ib. i. 474). He died on 7 Dec. 1269, on which day his brother, Madog Vychan, also died. Both were buried in the abbey of Llanegwast, or Valle Crucis, in Yale, the favourite foundation of the house of Bromfield, whose rights Gruffydd had defended in 1247 against the sons of Jeuav, son of Maredudd. He married Emma, daughter of Henry of Audley, whom he endowed liberally from the revenues of his manors of Maelor Saesneg and Overton. After his death his sons confirmed these grants. Their names were Madog, Llewelyn, Owain, and Gruffydd. Of these Madog, the eldest, died in 1278, and in 1284 Edward II granted Gruffydd the lands of Yale. His son Madog was the great-grand-father of Owain of Glyndyvrdwy [see ].

[Brut y Tywysogion; Annales Cambriæ, Matthew Paris, Hist. Major, vol. v., all in Rolls Ser.; Rymer's Fœdera, vol. i., Record edit.; Calendarium Genealogicum, i. 260; Bridgeman's Princes of South Wales, pp. 250-2; Archæologia Cambrensis, 1st ser. iii. 228; Lloyd's Hist. of Powys Fadog, i. 168-72.]  GRUFFYDD RHYDDERCH (d. 1055), king of the South Welsh, was the son of Rhydderch, son of lestin, who in 1023 had assumed the government of the south after the death of Llewelyn ab Seisyll, and was killed by the Irish in 1033. The sons of Edwin, Hywel and Maredudd, then acquired the rule of South Wales, but Gruffydd and his brothers contested it with them, fighting in 1034 the battle of Hiraethwy. Caradog [q. v.], one of Gruffydd's brothers, was slain in 1035 in some contest with the English. In 1044 the death of Howel made Gruffydd and the other sons of Rhydderch the leaders of the South Welsh opposition to Gruffydd ab Llewelyn. In 1045 the Welsh chronicler complains of the deceit which the South Welsh Gruffydd and his brother Rhys perpetrated against Gruffydd ab Llewelyn. A great struggle now broke out between them, in the course of which nearly all Deheubarth was laid waste. Gruffydd ab Rhydderch was also much engaged in attacks on the English. In 1046 Earl Swegen seems to have joined the North Welsh Gruffydd in his attacks on him. In 1049 Gruffydd joined with thirty-six Irish pirate ships in an attack on the coasts of the lower Severn, and inflicted great loss on the English, at the head of whom was Bishop Ealdred ( sub an. 1049; Anglo-Saxon Chron. sub an. 1050; cf., Norm. Conq. ii. 110, and 571-3, note i.) In 1053 his brother Rhys became so troublesome that the witan decreed that he should be slain, 'and his head was brought to Gloucester on Twelfth-day eve.' At last in 1055 Gruffydd ab Rhydderch was slain by Gruffydd ab Llewelyn. He must have possessed unusual vigour of character to struggle so long both against the English and the North Welsh king. He left a son named Caradog, who in 1065 attacked the hunting-seat which Earl Harold was building at Portskewet in Gwent, slew the workmen, and ravaged the neighbourhood. He afterwards obtained for a short time some share in the sovereignty of Deheubarth.


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 Rh places and churches, even in England, such rites are still yearly celebrated.

So, too, again with the ancient gods. They were cast down from honour, but not from power. They lost their genial kindly influence as the protectors of men and the origin of all things good; but their existence was tolerated; they became powerful for ill, and degenerated into malignant demons. Thus the worshippers of Odin had supposed that at certain times and rare intervals the good powers shewed themselves in bodily shape to mortal eye, passing through the land in divine progress, bringing blessings in their train, and receiving in return the offerings and homage of their grateful votaries. But these were naturally only exceptional instances; on ordinary occasions the pious heathen recognised his gods sweeping through the air in cloud and storm, riding on the wings of the wind, and speaking in awful accents, as the tempest howled and roared, and the sea shook his white mane and crest. Nor did he fail to see them in the dust and din of battle, when Odin appeared with his terrible helm, succouring his own, striking fear into their foes, and turning the day in many a doubtful fight; or in the hurry and uproar of the chase, where the mighty huntsman on his swift steed, seen in glimpses among the trees, took up the hunt where weary mortals laid it down, outstripped them all, and brought the noble quarry to the ground. Looking up to the stars and heaven, they saw the footsteps of the gods


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 civ marked out in the bright path of the Milky Way; and in the Bear they hailed the war-chariot of the warrior's god. The great goddesses too, Frigga and Freyja, were thoroughly old-fashioned domestic divinities. They help women in their greatest need, they spin themselves, they teach the maids to spin, and punish them if the wool remains upon their spindle. They are kind, and good, and bright, for Holda, Bertha, are the epithets given to them. And so, too, this mythology which, in its aspect to the stranger and the external world, was so ruthless and terrible, when looked at from within and at home, was genial, and kindly, and hearty, and affords another proof that men, in all ages and climes, are not so bad as they seem; that after all, peace and not war is the proper state for man, and that a nation may make war on others and exist; but that unless it has peace within, and industry at home, it must perish from the face of the earth. But when Christianity came the whole character of this goodly array of divinities was soured and spoilt. Instead of the stately procession of the God, which the intensely sensuous eye of man in that early time connected with all the phenomena of nature, the people were led to believe in a ghastly grisly band of ghosts, who followed an infernal warrior or huntsman in hideous tumult through the midnight air. No doubt, as Grimm rightly remarks, the heathen had fondly fancied that the spirits of those who had gone to Odin followed him in his triumphant progress either visibly or invisibly; that they rode with him in the whirlwind, just as they followed him to battle, and feasted


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 Rh with him in Valhalla; but now the Christian belief, when it had degraded the mighty god into a demon huntsman, who pursued his nightly round in chase of human souls, saw in the train of the infernal master of the hunt only the spectres of suicides, drunkards, and ruffians; and, with all the uncharitableness of a dogmatic faith, the spirits of children who died unbaptized, whose hard fate had thrown them into such evil company. This was the way in which that widespread superstition arose, which sees in the phantoms of the clouds the shapes of the Wild Huntsman and his accursed crew, and hears, in spring and autumn nights, when sea-fowl take the wing to fly either south or north, the strange accents and uncouth yells with which the chase is pressed on in upper air. Thus, in Sweden it is still Odin who passes by; in Denmark it is King Waldemar's Hunt; in Norway it is Aaskereida, that is Asgard's Car; in Germany it is Wode, Woden, or Hackelberend, or Dieterich of Bern; in France it is Hellequin, or King Hugo, or Charles the Fifth, or, dropping a, name altogether, it is Le Grand Veneur who ranges at night through the Forest of Fontainebleau. Nor was England without her Wild Huntsman and his ghastly following. Gervase of Tilbury, in the twelfth century, could tell it of King Arthur, round whose mighty name the superstition settled itself, for he had heard from the foresters how, "on alternate days, about the full of the moon, one day at noon the next at midnight when the moon shone bright, a mighty train of hunters on horses was seen, with baying hounds and blast of horns; and when those hunters were asked of whose company and household they were, they replied 'of Arthur's.'" We


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11 IV.

The question, then, returns, What is implied in a government's resting on consent?

Manifestly this one thing (to say nothing of others) is necessarily implied in the idea of a government's resting on consent, viz: the separate, individual consent of every man who is required to contribute, either by taxation or personal service, to the support of the government. All this, or nothing, is necessarily implied, because one man's consent is just as necessary as any other man's. If, for example, A claims that his consent is necessary to the establishment or maintenance of government, he thereby necessarily admits that B's and every other man's are equally necessary; because B's and every other man's rights are just as good as his own. On the other hand, if he denies that B's or any other particular man's consent is necessary, he thereby necessarily admits that neither his own, nor any other man's is necessary; and that government need not be founded on consent at all.

There is, therefore, no alternative but to say, either that the separate, individual consent of every man, who is required to aid, in any way, in supporting the government, is necessary, or that the consent of no one is necessary.

Clearly this individual consent is indispensable to the idea of treason; for if a man has never consented or agreed to support a government, he breaks no faith in refusing to support it. And if he makes war upon it, he does so as an open enemy, and not as a traitor—that is, as a betrayer, or treacherous friend.

All this, or nothing, was necessarily implied in the Declaration made in 1776. If the necessity for consent, then announced, was a sound principle in favor of three millions of men, it was an equally sound one in favor of three men, or of one man. If the principle was a sound one in behalf of men living on a separate continent, it was an equally sound one in behalf of a man living on a separate farm, or in a separate house.

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 8 her head-gear, and I helped her. She thanked me, and ascended the steps.

17. I have made all sorts of acquaintances, but have as yet found no society. I know not what attraction I possess for the people, so many of them like me, and attach themselves to me; and then I feel sorry when the road we pursue together goes only a short distance. If you inquire what the people are like here, I must answer, "The same as everywhere." The human race is but a monotonous affair. Most of them labour the greater part of their time for mere subsistence; and the scanty portion of freedom which remains to them so troubles them that they use every exertion to get rid of it. Oh, the destiny of man!

But they are a right good sort of people. If I occasionally forget myself, and take part in the innocent pleasures which are not yet forbidden to the peasantry, and enjoy myself, for instance, with genuine freedom and sincerity, round a well-covered table, or arrange an excursion or a dance opportunely, and so forth, all this produces a good effect upon my disposition; only I must forget that there lie dormant within me so many other qualities which moulder uselessly, and which I am obliged to keep carefully concealed. Ah! this thought affects my spirits fearfully. And yet to be misunderstood is the fate of the like of us.

Alas, that the friend of my youth is gone! Alas, that I ever knew her! I might say to myself, "You are a dreamer to seek what is not to be found here below." But she has been mine. I have possessed that heart, that noble soul, in whose presence I seemed to be more than I really was, because I was all that I could be. Good heavens! did then a single power of my soul remain unexercised? In her presence could I


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12 Moreover, it was only as separate individuals, each acting for himself, and not as members of organized governments, that the three millions declared their consent to be necessary to their support of a government; and, at the same time, declared their dissent to the support of the British Crown. The governments, then existing in the Colonies, had no constitutional power, as governments, to declare the separation between England and America. On the contrary, those governments, as governments, were organized under charters from, and acknowledged allegiance to, the British Crown. Of course the British king never made it one of the chartered or constitutional powers of those governments, as governments to absolve the people from their allegiance to himself. So far, therefore, as the Colonial Legislatures acted as revolutionists, they acted only as so many individual revolutionists, and not as constitutional legislatures. And their representatives at Philadelphia, who first declared Independence, were, in the eye of the constitutional law of that day, simply a committee of Revolutionists, and in no sense constitutional authorities, or the representatives of constitutional authorities.

It was also, in the eye of the law, only as separate individuals, each acting for himself, and exercising simply his natural rights as an individual, that the people at large assented to, and ratified the Declaration.

It was also only as so many individuals, each acting for himself, and exercising simply his natural rights, that they revolutionized the constitutional character of their local governments, (so as to exclude the idea of allegiance to Great Britain); changing their forms only as and when their convenience dictated.

The whole Revolution, therefore, as a Revolution, was declared and accomplished by the people, acting separately as individuals, and exercising each his natural rights, and not by their governments in the exercise of their constitutional powers.

It was, therefore, as individuals, and only as individuals, each acting for himself alone, that they declared that their consent—that is, their individual consent, for each one could consent only

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13 for himself—was necessary to the creation or perpetuity of any government that they could rightfully be called on to support.

In the same way each declared, for himself, that his own will, pleasure, and discretion were the only authorities he had any occasion to consult, in determining whether he would any longer support the government under which he had always lived. And if this action of each individual were valid and rightful when he had so many other individuals to keep him company, it would have been, in the view of natural justice and right, equally valid and rightful, if he had taken the same step alone. He had the same natural right to take up arms alone to defend his own property against a single tax-gatherer, that he had to take up arms in company with three millions of others, to defend the property of all against an army of tax-gatherers.

Thus the whole Revolution turned upon, asserted, and, in theory, established, the right of each and every man, at his discretion, to release himself from the support of the government under which he had lived. And this principle was asserted, not as a right peculiar to themselves, or to that time, or as applicable only to the government then existing; but as a universal right of all men, at all times, and under all circumstances.

George the Third called our ancestors traitors for what they did at that time. But they were not traitors in fact, whatever he or his laws may have called them. They were not traitors in fact, because they betrayed nobody, and broke faith with nobody. They were his equals, owing him no allegiance, obedience, nor any other duty, except such as they owed to mankind at large. Their political relations with him had been purely voluntary. They had never pledged their faith to him that they would continue these relations any longer than it should please them to do so; and therefore they broke no faith in parting with him. They simply exercised their natural right of saying to him, and to the English people, that they were under no obligation to continue their political connexion with them, and that, for reasons of their own, they chose to dissolve it.

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14 What was true of our ancestors, is true of revolutionists in general. The monarchs and governments, from whom they choose to separate, attempt to stigmatize them as traitors. But they are not traitors in fact; inasmuch as they betray, and break faith with, no one. Having pledged no faith, they break none. They are simply men, who, for reasons of their own—whether good or bad, wise or unwise, is immaterial—choose to exercise their natural right of dissolving their connexion with the governments under which they have lived. In doing this, they no more commit the crime of treason—which necessarily implies treachery, deceit, breach of faith—than a man commits treason when he chooses to leave a church, or any other voluntary association, with which he has been connected.

This principle was a true one in 1776. It is a true one now. It is the only one on which any rightful government can rest. It is the one on which the Constitution itself professes to rest. If it does not really rest on that basis, it has no right to exist; and it is the duty of every man to raise his hand against it.

If the men of the Revolution designed to incorporate in the Constitution the absurd ideas of allegiance and treason, which they had once repudiated, against which they had fought, and by which the world had been enslaved, they thereby established for themselves an indisputable claim to the disgust and detestation of all mankind.

In subsequent numbers, the author hopes to show that, under the principle of individual consent, the little government that mankind need, is not only practicable, but natural and easy; and that the Constitution of the United States authorizes no government, except one depending wholly on voluntary support.

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 the same.' The work was dedicated to Bancroft, who had lately been made chancellor of the university of Oxford, and in the 'dedicatorie epistle' Boys speaks of his 'larger exposition of the Gospels and Epistles 'as shortly about to appear. It appeared accordingly next year in 4to, under the title of 'An Exposition of the Dominical Epistles and Gospels used in our English Liturgie throughout the whole yeere,' and was dedicated to his 'very dear uncle,' Sir John Boys of Canterbury. In his dedication Boys takes the opportunity of mentioning his obligations to Sir John and to Archbishop Whitgift for having watered what 'that vertuous and worthy knight ' had planted. The work supplied a great need and had a very large and rapid sale ; new editions followed one another in quick succession, and it would be a difficult task to draw up an exhaustive bibliographical account of Boys's publications.

Archbishop Bancroft died in November 1610, and Abbot was promoted to the primacy in the spring of 1611. Boys dedicated to him his next work, 'An Exposition of the Festival Epistles and Gospels used in our English Liturgie,' which, like its predecessors, was published in 4to, the first part in 1614, the second in the following year. Hitherto he had received but scant recognition of his services to the church, but preferment now began to fall upon him liberally. Abbot presented him with the sinecure rectory of Hollingbourne, then with the rectory of Monaghan in 1618, and finally, on the death of Dr. Fotherby, he was promoted by the king, James I, to the deanery of Canterbury, and installed on 3 May 1619. Meanwhile in 1616 he had put forth his 'Exposition of the proper Psalms used in our English Liturgie,' and dedicated it to Sir Thomas Wotton, son and heir of Edward, lord Wotton of Marleigh. In 1620 he was made a member of the high commission court, and in 1622 he collected his works into a folio volume, adding to those previously published five miscellaneous sermons which he calls lectures, and which are by no means good specimens of his method or his style. These were dedicated to Sir Dudley Digges of Chilham Castle, and appear to have been added for no other reason than to give occasion for paying a compliment to a Kentish magnate.

On 12 June 1625 Henrietta Maria landed at Dover. Charles I saw her for the first time on the 13th, and next day the king attended service in Canterbury Cathedral, when Boys preached a sermon, which has been preserved. It is a poor performance, stilted and unreal as such sermons usually were ; but it has the merit of being short. Boys held the deanery of Canterbury for little more than six years, and died among his books, suddenly, in September 1625. There is a monument to him in the lady chapel of the cathedral. He left no children ; his widow died during the rebellion. Boys's works continued to be read and used very extensively till the troublous times set in ; but the dean was far too uncompromising an Anglican, and too unsparing in his denunciation of those whom he calls the novelists, to be regarded with any favour or toleration by presbyterians, or independents, or indeed by any who sympathised with the puritan theology. When he began to be almost forgotten in England, his works were translated into German and published at Strasburg in 1683, and again in two vols. 4to in 1685. It may safely be affirmed that no writer of the seventeenth century quotes so widely and so frequently from contemporary literature as Boys, and that not only from polemical or exegetical theology, but from the whole range of popular writers of the day. Bacon's 'Essays' and 'The Advancement of Learning,' Sandys's 'Travels,' Owen's, More's, and Parkhurst's 'Epigrams,' 'The Vision of Piers Plowman,' and Verstegan's 'Restitution,' with Boys's favourite book, Sylvester's translation of Du Bartas's 'Divine Weeks,' must have been bought as soon as they were published. Indeed Boys must have been one of the great book collectors of his time. Boys's works are full to overflowing of homely proverbs, of allusions to the manners and customs of the time, of curious words and expressions.

 BOYS, JOHN (1561-1644). [See .]  BOYS, JOHN (1614?–1661), translator of Virgil, was the son of John Boys (b. 1590) of Hoad Court, Blean, Kent, and nephew of, 1599-1677 [q. v.] His mother was Mary, daughter of Martin Fotherby, bishop of Salisbury. He was born about 1614. His grandfather, Thomas Boys (d.


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 1625), brother of the dean, [q. v.], inherited the estate of Hoad Court from his uncle, Sir John Boys, an eminent lawyer, who died without issue in 1612. On 24 Jan. 1659-1660 Boys presented to the mayor of Canterbury a declaration in favour of the assembly of a free parliament, drawn up by himself in behalf (as he asserted) 'of the nobility, gentry, ministry, and commonalty of the county of Kent.' But the declaration gave offence to the magistrates, and the author, as he explained in his 'Vindication of the Kentish Declaration,' only escaped imprisonment by retiring to a hiding-place. Several of his friends were less successful. In February 1659-60 he went to London with his kinsman,  [q. v.] of Bonnington, and presented to Monk, at Whitehall, a letter of thanks, drawn up by himself 'according to the order and advice of the gentlemen of East Kent.' He also prepared a speech for delivery to Charles II on his landing at Dover on 25 May 1660; but 'he was prevented therein by reason his majesty made no stay at all in that town,' and he therefore sent Charles a copy of it.

Boys chiefly prided himself on his classical attainments. In 1661 he published two translations from Virgil's 'Æneid.' The first is entitled, 'Æneas, his Descent into Hell: as it is inimitably described by the Prince of Poets in the Sixth of his Æneis,' London, 1661. The dedication is addressed to Sir Edward Hyde, and congratulates him on succeeding to the office of lord chancellor. His cousin, Charles Fotherby, and his friend, Thomas Philipott, contribute commendatory verses. The translation in heroic verse is of very mediocre character, and is followed by 181 pages of annotations. At their close Boys mentions that he has just heard of the death of Henry, duke of Gloucester (13 Sept. 1660), and proceeds to pen an elegy suggested by Virgil's lament for Marcellus. The volume concludes with 'certain pieces relating to the publick,' i.e. on the political matters referred to above, and with a congratulatory poem (dated Canterbury, 30 Sept. 1656) addressed to Boys's friend,, on the completion of his 'Dictionarium Saxonico-Latino-Anglicum.' Boys's second book is called 'Æneas, his Errours on his Voyage from Troy into Italy; an essay upon the Third Book of Virgil's "Æneis."' It is dedicated to Lord Cornbury, Clarendon's son. A translation of the third book of the 'Æneid' in heroic verse occupies fifty-one pages, and is followed by 'some few hasty reflections upon the precedent poem.' Boys's enthusiasm for Virgil is boundless, but his criticism is rather childish.

Boys married Anne, daughter of Dr. William Kingsley, archdeacon of Canterbury, by whom he had three sons—Thomas, who died without issue; John, a colonel in the army, who died 4 Sept. 1710; and Sir William Boys, M.D., who is stated to have died in 1744. Boys himself died in 1660-1, and was buried in the chancel of the church of Hoad.

 BOYS, JOHN (1607–1664), royalist military commander, was the eldest son and heir of Edward Boys of Bonnington, Kent, by Jane, daughter of Edward Sanders of Northborne. He was baptised at Chillendon, Kent, on 5 April 1607. In the civil war he became a captain in the royal army and governor of Donnington Castle in Berkshire. This castle, which is within a mile of Newbury, was garrisoned in 1643 for King Charles I, and commanded the road from Oxford to Newbury and the great road from London to Bath and the west. Boys, by the bravery with which he defended the castle during a long siege, showed himself well worthy of the trust reposed in him. It was first attacked by the parliamentary army, consisting of 3,000 horse and foot, under the command of Major-general Middleton, who attempted to take the castle by assault, but was repulsed with considerable loss. Middleton lost at least 300 officers and men in this fruitless attempt. Not long afterwards, on 29 Sept. 1644, Colonel Horton began a blockade, having raised a battery at the foot of the hill near Newbury, from which he plied the castle so incessantly during a period of twelve days that he reduced it to a heap of ruins, having beaten down three of the towers and a part of the wall. Nearly 1,000 great shot are said to have been expended during this time. Horton having received reinforcements sent a summons to the governor, who refused to listen to any terms. Soon afterwards the Earl of Manchester came to the siege with his army, but their united attempts proved unavailing; and after two or three days more of ineffectual battering the whole army rose up from before the walls and marched in different directions. When the king came to Newbury (21 Oct. 1644) he knighted the governor for his good services, made him colonel of the regiment which he had before commanded as lieutenant-colonel to Earl Rivers, the nominal governor of Donnington, and to his coat armour gave the augmentation of a crown imperial or, on a canton azure. During the second battle of Newbury Boys secured the


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lxviii, and confirmed by study and experience. It might be reasonably maintained that zeal for men or causes is an historian's marring, and that "reserve sympathy"—the principle of Thucydides—is the first lesson he has to learn. But without venturing on any generalization we must consider Gibbon's zealous distrust of zeal as an essential and most suggestive characteristic of the "Decline and Fall."


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 Rh not display, to its full extent, that mysterious feeling with which my heart embraces nature? Was not our intercourse a perpetual web of the finest emotions, of the keenest wit, the varieties of which, even in their very eccentricity, bore the stamp of genius? Alas! the few years by which she was my senior brought her to the grave before me. Never can I forget her firm mind or her heavenly patience.

A few days ago I met a certain young V——, a frank, open fellow, with a most pleasing countenance. He has just left the university, does not deem himself overwise, but believes he knows more than other people. He has worked hard, as I can perceive from many circumstances, and, in short, possesses a large stock of information. When he heard that I am drawing a good deal, and that I know Greek (two wonderful things for this part of the country), he came to see me, and displayed his whole store of learning, from Batteaux to Wood, from De Piles to Winkelmann: he assured me he had read through the first part of Sultzer's theory, and also possessed a manuscript of Heyne's work on the study of the antique. I allowed it all to pass.

I have become acquainted, also, with a very worthy person, the district judge, a frank and open-hearted man. I am told it is a most delightful thing to see him in the midst of his children, of whom he has nine. His eldest daughter especially is highly spoken of. He has invited me to go and see him, and I intend to do so on the first opportunity. He lives at one of the royal hunting-lodges, which can be reached from here in an hour and a half by walking, and which he obtained leave to inhabit after the loss of his wife, as it is so painful to him to reside in town and at the court. There have also come in my way a few other originals of a questionable sort, who are in all respects


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  GRUFFYDD RHYS (d. 1137), king or prince of South Wales (Deheubarth), was brought up in Ireland, where in his childhood he had fled with his kinsfolk after the defeat and death of his father, Rhys ab Tewdwr [q. v.], at the hands of Bernard of Neufmarché in 1093. On that fatal day 'fell the kingdom of the Britons,' and nearly all Rhys's old kingdom was seized by Norman adventurers. Nest, Rhys's daughter, became the bride of Gerald of Windsor, steward of Pembroke. When Gruffydd had grown up to manhood he became weary of exile and inactivity, and about 1113 he returned to Dyved. For two years he wandered about the country. His return seems to have inspired the conquered Welsh with the hope of regaining their liberty under his rule. It was 'represented that the minds of all the Britons were with him in contempt of the royal title of King Henry,' and after two years he was 'accused to the king' (Brut y Tywysogion, p. 119). His request for a part of his father's lands was refused ( ii. 69).

Gruffydd now escaped to North Wales and sought refuge with [q. v.], the king of Gwynedd. His brother Hywel, who had escaped maimed from the prison of Arnulf of Montgomery, went with him. Gruffydd ab Cynan treated them well at first, but was persuaded by Henry I to give up the fugitives. Gruffydd ab Rhys discovered his treachery, and managed to escape to the sanctuary of the church of Aberdaron in Lleyn, whence he returned to the south, where 'many foolish young men from every part joined him, being deceived by the desire of spoils or seeking to restore the British kingdom' (Brut y Tywysogion). He began a vigorous predatory warfare on the French and Flemish settlers in his father's realm. At first he was unsuccessful, but in the spring of 1116 his devastations became so great that they were recorded in the English chronicles ( ii. 68). He burnt Narberth Castle, which protected the Flemish district of Dyved from Welsh assaults, and soon after attacked the castle of Llandovery in the vale of Towy, but he only succeeded in burning the outworks. Soon afterwards he failed equally at 'a castle that was near Abertawe' (Swansea). But the smaller Welsh chieftains joined the French, and one of them, Owain ab Caradog, saved the tower of Carmarthen Castle from falling into his hands. Gruffydd then destroyed a castle in Gower, and became so formidable that 'William of London for fear of him left his castle (Kidwelly) and his riches.' Gruffydd was thence invited into Ceredigion, and after defeating the Flemings at Blaenporth Hodnant, marched northwards, destroyed the castle of Ralph, the steward of Earl Gilbert, at Peithyll, and marched against Aberystwith. Owain ab Cadwgan was now inspired by Henry I to put down 'the thief Gruffydd,' but he was slain by the Flemings. This failure seems to have secured Gruffydd a position in South Wales.

The chroniclers make no further mention of Gruffydd for several years, and when he reappears he is in possession of a portion of land which the king had given him (Brut y Tywysogion, p. 153). The weak authority of the 'Gwentian Brut' (p. 106) says that in 1121 (probably 1124) he was made by Henry free lord of 'the vale of Towy, the cantrev of Penwedig in Ceredigion, the cantrevs of Caerwedros, Cantrevbychan, Caethinog, Caeo, Myves nydd, and other lands,' but that 'the king saw the boundaries were undefined, which furnished him with a pretext to complain of Gruffydd's acts.' But the statement of Giraldus Cambrensis, who was the grandson of Gruffydd's sister, is more probable that in the days of Henry I Gruffydd was only 'lord of a single cymmwd, that of Kaoc in Cantrevmawr.' This seems to be the district of Caio in the modern Carmarthenshire, among the hills dividing the valleys of the Towy and the Teivi (Itin. Kambr. in Op. vi. 34, with the editor's note). Gruffydd abated nothing of his claims, and Giraldus tells how the very wild fowl of Llangorse Lake testified that he was the rightful prince of South Wales (ib. pp. 34-5). In 1122 Gruffydd killed Gruffydd the son of Trahaiarn (Brut y Tywysogion, sub an. 1120). In 1127 Gruffydd was expelled from his modest lordship 'after he had been undeservedly accused by the French' (ib. sub an. 1124; Ann. Cambr. sub an. 1127). He again sought refuge in Ireland (Ann. Cambr.), but seems soon to have returned, and was probably lurking amidst the dense forests of Cantrevmawr, the great hiding-place of the South Welsh (, Op. vi. 80), when the death of Henry I and the weak rule of King Stephen inspired the Welsh to make a great attempt to recover their freedom. Gruffydd was now again in close alliance with Gruffydd ab Cynan and his warlike sons, and had married Gwenllian, eldest daughter of the North Welsh king. In January 1136 a great Welsh host poured into Gower, and on 15 April Richard Fitzgislebert was slain by them. Gruffydd hurried


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 Rh ; but others also are objects of envy, who dignify their paltry employments, and sometimes even their passions, with pompous titles, representing them to mankind as gigantic achievements performed for their welfare and glory. But the man who humbly acknowledges the vanity of all this, who observes with what pleasure the thriving citizen converts his little garden into a paradise, and how patiently even the poor man pursues his weary way under his burden, and how all wish equally to behold the light of the sun a little longer,—yes, such a man is at peace, and creates his own world within himself; and he is also happy, because he is a man. And then, however limited his sphere, he still preserves in his bosom the sweet feeling of liberty, and knows that he can quit his prison whenever he likes.

26. You know of old my ways of settling anywhere, of selecting a little cottage in some cosy spot, and of putting up in it with every inconvenience. Here, too, I have discovered such a snug, comfortable place, which possesses peculiar charms for me.

About a league from the town is a place called Walheim. It is delightfully situated on the side of a hill; and, by proceeding along one of the footpaths which lead out of the village, you can have a view of the whole valley. A good old woman lives there, who keeps a small inn. She sells wine, beer, and coffee, and is cheerful and pleasant notwithstanding her age. The chief charm of this spot consists in two linden-trees, spreading their enormous branches over the little green before the church, which is entirely surrounded by peasants' cottages, barns, and homesteads.


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 NO. II.

I.

says:

 * "We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."

The meaning of this is simply: We, the people of the United States, acting freely and voluntarily as individuals, consent and agree that we will cooperate with each other in sustaining such a government as is provided for in this Constitution.

The necessity for the consent of "the people" is implied in this declaration. ''The whole authority of the Constitution rests upon it. If they did not consent, it was of no validity. Of course it had no validity, except as between those who actually consented''. No one's consent could be presumed against him, without his actual consent being given, any more than in the case of any other contract to pay money, or render service. And to make it binding upon any one, his signature, or other positive evidence of consent, was as necessary as in the case of any other contract. If the instrument meant to say that any of "the people of the United States" would be bound by it, who

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 12 I have seldom seen a place so retired and peaceable; and there often have my table and chair brought out from the little inn, and drink my coffee there, and read my Homer. Accident brought me to the spot one fine afternoon, and I found it perfectly deserted. Everybody was in the fields except a little boy about four years of age, who was sitting on the ground, and held between his knees a child about six months old: he pressed it to his bosom with both arms, which thus formed a sort of arm-chair; and, notwithstanding the liveliness which sparkled in its black eyes, it remained perfectly still. The sight charmed me. I sat down upon a plough opposite, and sketched with great delight this little picture of brotherly tenderness. I added the neighbouring hedge, the barn-door, and some broken cart-wheels, just as they happened to lie; and I found in about an hour that I had made a very correct and interesting drawing, without putting in the slightest thing of my own. This confirmed me in my resolution of adhering, for the future, entirely to nature. She alone is inexhaustible, and capable of forming the greatest masters. Much may be alleged in favour of rules, as much may be likewise advanced in favour of the laws of society: an artist formed upon them will never produce anything absolutely bad or disgusting; as a man who observes the laws, and obeys decorum, can never be an absolutely intolerable neighbour, nor a decided villain: but yet, say what you will of rules, they destroy the genuine feeling of nature, as well as its true expression. Do not tell me "that this is too hard, that they only restrain and prune superfluous branches, etc." My good friend, I will illustrate this by an analogy. These things resemble love. A warm-hearted youth becomes strongly attached to a maiden: he spends every hour of the day in her company, wears out his health, and lavishes his fortune, to afford continual proof that he is wholly devoted to her. Then


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 Rh comes a man of the world, a man of place and respectability, and addresses him thus: "My good young friend, love is natural; but you must love within bounds. Divide your time: devote a portion to business, and give the hours of recreation to your mistress. Calculate your fortune; and out of the superfluity you may make her a present, only not too often,—on her birthday, and such occasions." Pursuing this advice, he may become a useful member of society, and I should advise every prince to give him an appointment; but it is all up with his love, and with his genius if he be an artist. O my friend! why is it that the torrent of genius so seldom bursts forth, so seldom rolls in full-flowing stream, overwhelming your astounded soul? Because, on either side of this stream, cold and respectable persons have taken up their abodes, and, forsooth, their summer-houses and tulip-beds would suffer from the torrent; wherefore they dig trenches, and raise embankments betimes, in order to avert the impending danger.

27. I find I have fallen into raptures, declamation, and similes, and have forgotten, in consequence, to tell you what became of the children. Absorbed in my artistic contemplations, which I briefly described in my letter of yesterday, I continued sitting on the plough for two hours. Toward evening a young woman, with a basket on her arm, came running toward the children, who had not moved all that time. She exclaimed from a distance, "You are a good boy, Philip!" She gave me greeting: I returned it, rose, and approached her. I inquired if she were the mother of those pretty children. "Yes," she said; and, giving the eldest a piece of bread, she took the little one in her arms and kissed it with a mother's tenderness. "I left my child in Philip's care," she said, "whilst I went into the town


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 14 with my eldest boy to buy some wheaten bread, some sugar, and an earthen pot." I saw the various articles in the basket, from which the cover had fallen. "I shall make some broth to-night for my little Hans (which was the name of the youngest): that wild fellow, the big one, broke my pot yesterday, whilst he was scrambling with Philip for what remained of the contents." I inquired for the eldest; and she had scarcely time to tell me that he was driving a couple of geese home from the meadow, when he ran up, and handed Philip an osier-twig. I talked a little longer with the woman, and found that she was the daughter of the schoolmaster, and that her husband was gone on a journey into Switzerland for some money a relation had left him. "They wanted to cheat him," she said, "and would not answer his letters; so he is gone there himself. I hope he has met with no accident, as I have heard nothing of him since his departure." I left the woman with regret, giving each of the children a kreutzer, with an additional one for the youngest, to buy some wheaten bread for his broth when she went to town next; and so we parted.

I assure you, my dear friend, when my thoughts are all in tumult, the sight of such a creature as this tranquillises my disturbed mind. She moves in a happy thoughtlessness within the confined circle of her existence; she supplies her wants from day to day; and, when she sees the leaves fall, they raise no other idea in her mind than that winter is approaching.

Since that time I have gone out there frequently. The children have become quite famillar with me; and each gets a lump of sugar when I drink my coffee, and they share my milk and bread and butter in the evening. They always receive their kreutzer on Sundays, for the good woman has orders to give it to them when I do not go there after evening service.

They are quite at home with me, tell me everything;


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 Rh and I am particularly amused with observing their tempers, and the simplicity of their behaviour, when some of the other village children are assembled with them.

It has given me a deal of trouble to satisfy the anxiety of the mother, lest (as she says) "they should inconvenience the gentleman."

30. What I have lately said of painting is equally true with respect to poetry. It is only necessary for us to know what is really excellent, and venture to give it expression; and that is saying much in few words. To-day I have had a scene, which, if literally related, would make the most beautiful idyl in the world. But why should I talk of poetry and scenes and idyls? Can we never take pleasure in nature without having recourse to art?

If you expect anything grand or magnificent from this introduction, you will be sadly mistaken. It relates merely to a peasant-lad, who has excited in me the warmest interest. As usual, I shall tell my story badly; and you, as usual, will think me extravagant. It is Walheim once more—always Walheim—which produces these wonderful phenomena.

A party had assembled outside the house under the linden-trees, to drink coffee. The company did not exactly please me; and, under one pretext or another, I lingered behind.

A peasant came from an adjoining house, and set to work arranging some part of the same plough which I had lately sketched. His appearance pleased me; and I spoke to him, inquired about his circumstances, made his acquaintance, and, as is my wont with persons of that class, was soon admitted into his confidence. He said he was in the service of a young widow, who set great store by him. He spoke so much of his mistress,