as to a horse, if I possessed such an animal, I'd | juniper-bark isn't bad coffee, and that commis. have given a dinner-party yesterday and eaten sary bread is not to be thought of 'lightly.' him. You look surprised, but when you see In this fashion did my comrade invite me to a little more of us here, you'll begin to think a meal, which, even with this preface, was fa that prison rations in the fleet yonder were lux-more miserable and scanty than I looked for. uries compared to what we have. No matter: you shall take share of my superabundance, and if I have little else to offer, I'll show you a view (TO BE CONTINUED.) MORBID IMPULSES. from my window, finer than any thing you "PLEASE, sir, it's seven o'clock, and here's ever looked on in your life, and with a seabreeze that would be glorious if it didn't make one hungry." While he thus rattled on, we reached the street, and there calling a couple of soldiers forward, he directed them to carry me along to his quarters, which lay in the upper town, on an elevated plateau that overlooked the city and the bay together. your hot wa'ar." I half awoke, reflected moodily on the unhappy destiny of early risers; and finally, after many turns and grunts, having decided upon defying all engagements and duties, I fell asleep once more. In an instant I was seated in the pit of Her Majesty's Theatre, gazing upon the curtain, and, in common with a large and brilliant audience, anxiously await- / ing its arising, and the appearance of Duprez. The curtain does rise; the orchestra are active; Duprez has bowed her thanks to an applauding concourse; and the opera is half concluded: when, just as the theatre is hushed into deathlike silence for the great aria which is to test Duprez's capacity and power, a mad impulse From the narrow lanes, flanked with tall, gloomy houses, and steep, ill-paved streets, exhibiting poverty and privation of every kind, we suddenly emerged into an open space of grass, at one side of which a handsome iron-railing stood, with a richly ornamented gate, gorgeously gilded. Within this was a garden and a fish-seizes hold of me. I have an intense desire to pond, surrounded with statues, and further on, a long, low villa, whose windows reached to the ground, and were shaded by a deep awning of striped blue and white canvas. Camelias, orange-trees, cactuses, and magnolias, abounded every where; tulips and hyacinths seemed to grow wild; and there was in the half-neglected look of the spot something of savage luxuriance that heightened the effect immensely. yell. I feel as if my life and my eternal happiness depend upon my emulating a wild Indian, or a London 'coster' boy. I look round on the audience; I see their solemn faces; I note the swelling bosom of the cantatrice, the rapt anxiety of the leader, and the dread silence of the whole assembly, and I speculate on the surprise and confusion a loud war-whoop yell would create; and though I foresee an ignominious expulsion, perhaps broken limbs and disgraceful exposure in the public prints, I can not resist in my stall, I raise a wild cry, such as a circus clown gives when he vaults into the arena, and ties himself up into a knot by way of introduction. I had not under-calculated the confusion, but I had under-calculated the indignation. In an instant all eyes are upon me-from the little piccolo-player in the corner of the orchestra, to the diamonded duchess in the private box; cries of "Shame! turn him out!" salute me on all sides; my neighbors seize me by the collar, and call for the police; and in five minutes, ashamed, bruised, and wretched, I am ejected into the Haymarket, and on my way to Bow-street. "This is my Paradise, Tiernay, only wanting an Eve to be perfect," said Latrobe, as he set me down beneath a spreading lime-tree. "Yon-the strange impulse; and throwing myself back der are your English friends; there they stretch away for miles beyond that point. That's the Monte Creto, you may have heard of; and there's the Bochetta. In that valley, to the left, the Austrian outposts are stationed; and from those two heights closer to the shore, they are gracious enough to salute us every evening after sunset, and even prolong the attention sometimes the whole night through. Turn your eyes in this direction, and you'll see the 'cornice' road, that leads to La Belle France, but of which we see as much from this spot as we are ever like to do. So much for the geography of our position, and now to look after your breakfast. You have, of course, heard that we do not revel in superfluities. Never was the boasted excellence of our national cookery more severely tested, for we have successively descended from cows and sheep to goats, horses, donkeys, dogs, occasionally experimenting on hides and shoe leather, till we ended by regarding a rat as a rarity, and deeming a mouse a delicacy of the season. As for vegetables, there would not have been a flowering plant in all Genoa, if tulip and ranunculus roots had not been bitter as aloes. These seem very inhospitable confessions, but I make them the more freely since I am about to treat you 'en Jourmet,' Come in now, and acknowledge that "Please, sir, it's nine o'clock now; and Mr. Biggs has been, sir; and he couldn't wait, sir; and he'll come again at two." I sit up in bed, rub my eyes, and awake to consciousness of two facts-namely, that I have not kept a very particular engagement, and that I have had a strange dream. I soon forgot the former, but the latter remains with me for a long time very vividly. It was a dream, I know; but still it was so true to what might have occurred, that I half fancy I shall recognize myself among the police intelligence in my daily paper; and when I have read the "Times" throughout, and find it was indeed a dream, the subject still haunts me, and I sit for a long time musing upon those singular morbid desires and impulses which all men more or less expe- erto undreamt of, as well as a musical tune per rience. vading all things. What are they? Do they belong strictly to the domain of physics or of metaphysics? How nearly are they allied to insanity? May there not be a species of spiritual intoxication created by immaterial alcohol, producing, through the medium of the mind, the same bodily absurdities as your fluid alcohol produces through the directer agency of the body itself? How far can they be urged as extenuating or even defending misdemeanors and crimes? To guide me in my speculations, I run over a few cases that I can call to mind at once. There is a general fact, that no sooner have you mounted to a great eminence, than a mysterious impulse urges you to cast yourself over into space, and perish. Nearly all people feel this; nearly all conquer it in this particular; but some do not: and there may be a great doubt as to whether all who have perished from the tops of the monuments have been truly suicides. Then, again, with water: when you see the clear river sleeping beneath-when you see the green waves dancing round the prowwhen you hear and see the roaring fury of a cataract do you not as surely feel a desire to leap into it, and be absorbed in oblivion? What is that impulse but a perpetual calenture ?-or may not the theory of calentures be all false, and the results they are reported to cause be in reality the results of morbid impulses? I have sat on the deck of a steamer, and looked upon the waters as they chafed under the perpetual scourging of the paddles; and I have been compelled to bind myself to the vessel by a rope, to prevent a victory to the morbid impulses that have come upon me. Are not Ulysses and the Sirens merely a poetic statement of this common feeling? But one of the most singular instances of morbid impulses in connection with material things, exists in the case of a young man who not very long ago visited a large iron manufactory. He stood opposite a huge hammer, and watched with great interest its perfectly regular strokes. At first it was beating immense lumps of crimson metal into thin, black sheets; but the supply becoming exhausted, at last it only descended on the polished anvil. Still the young man gazed intently on its motion; then he followed its strokes with a corresponding motion of his head; then his left arm moved to the same tune; and finally, he deliberately placed his fist upon the anvil, and in a second it was smitten to a jelly. The only explanation he could afford was that he felt an impulse to do it; that he knew he should be disabled; that he saw all the consequences in a misty kind of manner; but that he still felt a power within, above sense and reason-a morbid impulse, in fact, to which he succumbed, and by which he lost a good right hand. This incident suggests many things, besides proving the peculiar nature and power of morbid impulses: such things, for instance, as a law of sympathy on a scale hith But the action of morbid impulses and de sires is far from being confined to things ma terial. Witness the occurrence of my dream, which, though a dream, was true in spirit. More speeches, writings, and actions of humanity have their result in morbid impulse than we have an idea of. Their territory stretches from the broadest farce to the deepest tragedy. I remember spending an evening at Mrs. Canta. loupe's, and being seized with an impulse to say a very insolent thing. Mrs. Cantaloupe is the daughter of a small pork butcher, who, having married the scapegrace younger son of a rich man, by a sudden sweeping away of elder brethren, found herself at the head of a mansion in Belgravia, and of an ancient family. This lady's pride of place, and contempt for all beneath her, exceeds any thing I have ever yet seen or heard of; and, one evening, when she was canvassing the claims of a few parvenu families in her usual tranchant and haughty manner, an impulse urged me to cry, at the top of my voice: "Madam, your father was a little pork-butcher-you know he was!" In vain I tried to forget the fact; in vain I held my hands over my mouth to prevent my shouting out these words. The more I struggled against it, the more powerful was the impulse; and I only escaped it by rushing headlong from the room and from the house. When I gained my own chambers, I was so thankful that I had avoided this gross impertinence that I could not sleep. This strange thralldom to a morbid prompting not unfrequently has its outlet in crimes of the deepest dye. When Lord Byron was sailing from Greece to Constantinople, he was observed to stand over the sleeping body of an Albanian, with a poniard in his hand; and, after a little time, to turn away muttering, "I should like to know how a man feels who has committed a murder!" There can be no doubt that Lord Byron, urged by a morbid impulse, was on the very eve of knowing what he desired; and not a few crimes have their origin in a similar manner. The facts exist; the evidence is here in superabundance; but what to do with it? Can a theory be made out? I sit and reflect. There are two contending parties in our constitution-mind and matter, spirit and body— which in their conflicts produce nearly all the ills that flesh is heir to. The body is the chief assailant, and generally gains the victory. Look how our writers are influenced by bile, by spleen, by indigestion; how families are ruined by bodily ailment sapping the mental energy of their heads. But the spirit takes its revenge in a guerilla war, which is incessantly kept up by these morbid impulses-an ambuscade of them is ever lurking to betray the too-confident body. Let the body be unguarded for an instant, and the spirit shoots forth its morbid impulse; and if the body be not very alert, over it goes into the sea, into the house-tops, or into the streets and jails. In most wars the country where the fighting takes place suffers most: in this case man is the battle-ground; and he must and will suffer so long as mind and matter, spirit and body, do not co-operate amicably-so long as they fight together, and are foes. Fortunately, the remedy can be seen. If the body do not aggress, the spirit will not seek revenge. If you keep the body from irritating, and perturbing, and stultifying the mind through its bile, its spleen, its indigestion, its brain, the mind will most certainly never injure, stultify, or kill the body by its mischievous guerilla tactics, by its little, active, imp-like agents-morbid impulses. We thus find that there is a deep truth in utilitarianism, after all-the rose-color romancings of chameleon writers. To make a man a clear-judging member of society, doing wise actions in the present moment, and saying wise and beautiful things for all time, a great indispensable is to see that the house that his spirit has received to dwell in be worthy the wants and capabilities of its noble occupant. Hence-Rat-tat-ta-tat! Please, sir, Mr. Biggs!" conform, ruefullie enow, and hung piteouslie on Soe we are going to lose not only Mr. Clement, but Mr. Gunnel! How sorrie we alle are! It seemeth he hath long been debating for and agaynst ye church, and at length finds his mind so stronglie set towards it, as he can keep out of it noe longer. Well! we shall lose a good master, and ye church will gayh a good servant. Drew will supplie his place, that is, according to his beste, but our worthy Welshman careth soe little for young people, and is so abstract from ye world about him, that we shall oft feel THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THO3 MORE.* our loss. Father hath promised Gonellus his LIBELLUS A MARGARETA MORE, QUINDECIM ANNOS NATA, CHELSELE INCEPTVS. "Nulla dies sine linea." interest with ye Cardinall. ENTERING, of the suddain, into Mercy's none of ye whole have fallen sick. chamber, I founde her all be-wept and waped, poring over an old kirtle of mother's she had bidden her re-line with buckram. Coulde not make out whether she were sick of her task, had had words with mother, or had some secret inquietation of her owne; but, as she is a girl of few words, I found I had best leave her alone after a caress and kind saying or two. We alle have our troubles. .... Trulie may I say soe. Here have they ta'en a fever of some low sorte in my house of refuge, and mother, fearing it may be ye sicknesse, will not have me goe neare it, lest I sd bring it home. Mercy, howbeit, hath besought her soe earnestlie to let her goe and nurse y sick, that mother hath granted her prayer, on condition she returneth not till ye fever bates, thus setting her life at lower value than Deare Mercy! I woulde fayn be her our owne. mate. We are alle mightie glad that Rupert Allington hath at lengthe zealouslie embraced y studdy of the law. 'Twas much to be feared at ye firste there was noe application in him, and though we all pitied him when father first broughte him home, a pillaged, portionlesse client, with none other to espouse his rightes, yet 'twas a pitie soone allied with contempt when we founde how emptie he was, caring for nought but archerie and skittles and the popinjaye out o' the house, and dicing and tables within, which father wd on noe excuse permitt. Soe he had to Continued from the June Number. I fell into disgrace for holding speech with Mercy over ye pales, but she is confident there is noe danger; the sick are doing well, and She sayth Gammer Gurney is as tender of her as if she were her daughter, and will let her doe noe vile or paynfull office, soe as she hath little to doe but read and pray for ye poor souls, and feed 'em with savourie messes, and they are alle so harmonious and full of cheer, as to be like birds in a nest. Mercy deserves theire blessings more than I. Were I a free agent, she sd not be alone now, and I hope ne'er to be withheld therefrom agayn. Busied with my flowers ye chief o' the forenoon, I was fayn to rest in the pavilion, when, entering therein, whom shoulde I stumble upon but William, layd at length on ye floor, with his arms under his head, and his book on yo ground. I was withdrawing brisklie enow, when he called out, "Don't goe away, since you are here," in a tone soe rough, soe unlike his usual key, as that I paused in a maze, and then saw that his eyes were red. He sprung to his feet and sayd, Meg, come and talk to me," and, taking my hand in his, stepped quicklie forthe without another word sayd, till we reached the elm-tree walk. I marvelled to see him soe moven, and expected to hear somewhat that shoulde displease me, scarce knowing what; however, I might have guest at it from then till now, without ever nearing ye truth. His first words were, "I wish Erasmus had ne'er crost ye thresholde; he has made me very unhappie;" then, seeing me stare, "Be not his council just now, dear Meg, but bind up, if thou canst, the wounds he has made.. ... There he some wounds, th<u knowest, though but of a cut finger or the like, that we can not well bind up for ourselves." I made answer, "I am a young and unskilled leech." He replyed, "But you have a quick wit, and patience, and kindnesse, and, for a woman, are not scant of learning." "Nay," I sayd, "but Mr. Gunnel—” "Gunnel would be the last to help me, "interrupts Will, “ nor can I speak to your father. He is alwaies too busie now besides-" .. "Father Francis," I put in. "Father Francis ?" repeats Will, with a shake o' the head and a ruefull smile, “dost thou think, Meg, he coulde answer me if I put to him Pi-I late's question, 'What is truth ?" " "We know alreadie," quoth I. Sayth Will, "What do we know ?" I paused, then made answer' reverentlie, "That Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life." "Yes," he exclaymed, clapping his hands together in a strange sort of passion; "that we doe know, blessed be God, and other foundation can or ought no man to lay than that is layd, which is Jesus Christ. But, Meg, is this the principle of our church ?" 66 Yea, verily," I steadfastlie replied. "Then, how has it beene overlayd," he hurriedlie went on, 'with men's inventions! St. Paul speaks of a sacrifice once offered; we holde the host to be a continuall sacrifice. Holy writ telleth us where a tree falls it must lie; we are taughte that our prayers may, free souls from purgatorie. The word sayth, 'by faith ye are saved;' the church sayth we may be saved by our works. It is written 'The idols he shall utterly abolish;' we worship figures of gold and silver.. "Hold, hold," I sayd, "I dare not listen to this. you are wrong, you know you are wrong." "How and where," he sayth; "onlie tell me. I long to be put righte." "Our images are but symbols of our saints," I made answer; "tis onlie ye ignorant and unlearned that worship ye mere wood and stone." "But why worship saints at alle ?" persisted Will; "where's the warrant for it ?" I sayd, "Heaven has warranted it by sundrie and speciall miracles at divers times and places. I may say to you, Will, as Socrates to Agathon, 'You may easilie argue agaynst me, but you cannot argue agaynst the truth.'"' Ah, Meg, that is just such an answer as Father Francis mighte give-it solves noe difficultie. If, to alle human reason, they pull op posite ways, by which shall we abide? I know; am certain. 'Tu, Domine Jesu, es justitia mea!'"' He looked soe rapt, with claspt hands and upraysed eyes, as that I coulde not but look on him and hear him with solemnitie. At length I sayd, "If you know and are certayn, you have noe longer anie doubts for me to lay, and with your will, we will holde this discourse noe longer, for however moving and however considerable its subject matter may be, it approaches forbidden ground too nearlie for me to feel it safe, and I question whether it savoureth not of heresie. However, Will, I most heartilie pitie you, and will pray for you." "Do, Meg, do," he replyed, "and say nought to anie one of this matter." "Indeede I shall not, for I think 'twoulde bring you if not me into trouble, but, since thou hast soughte my counsel, Will, receive it now and take it.. He sayth, "What is it?" "To read less, pray more, fast, and use such discipline as our church recommends, and I question not this temptation will depart. Make a fayr triall." And soe, away from him, though he woulde fain have sayd more, and I have kept mine owne worde of praying for him full earnestlie, for it pitieth me to see him in such case. Poor Will, I never see him look grave now; nor heare him sighe, without thinking I know the cause of his secret discontentation. He hath, I believe, followed my council to ye letter, for though ye men's quarter of ye house is soe far aparte from ours, it hath come rounde to me through Barbara, who hath it from her brother, that Mr. Roper hath of late lien on ye ground, and used a knotted cord. As 'tis one of ye acts of mercy to relieve others, when we can, from satanic doubts and inquietations, I have been at some payns to make an abstracte of such passages from ye fathers, and such narratives of noted and undeniable miracles as cannot, I think, but carry conviction with them, and I hope they may minister to his soul's comfort. Tuesday, "And yet the apostle sayth," rejoyned Will, "that it contayns alle things necessarie to our Supped with my Lord Sands. Mother played salvation." mumchance with my lady, but father, who saith "Doubtlesse it doth, if we knew but where to he woulde rather feast a hundred poor men than find them," I replied. eat at one rich man's table, came not in till sayth a daughter shoulde doe, if her parent but spit in her face, i.e. sett on her some publick mark of contumely. Soe far from this, I even noted a silent look of scorn, which payned me, for of all the denunciations in Holy Writ, there is none more awfull to my mind than that which sayth, "The eye that mocketh at father or mother,” not alone the tongue, but e'en the eye, the young ravens of the valley shall pick it late, on plea of businesse. My lord tolde him [ nor lookt in the leaste ashamed, which Scripture the king had visitted him not long agone, and was soe well content with his manor as to wish it were his owne, for the singular fine ayr and pleasant growth of wood. In fine, wound up yo evening with musick. My lady hath a pair of fine toned clavichords, and a mandoline that stands five feet high; the largest in England, except that of the Lady Mary Dudley. The sound, indeed, is powerfull, but methinketh the instrument ungaynlie for a woman. Lord Sands sang us a new ballad, "The King's Hunt's up," which father affected hugelie. I lacked spiritt to sue my lord for ye words, he being soe freespoken as alwaies to dash me; howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat thus. . . . "The hunt is up, the hunt is up, Harry our King has gone hunting The east is bright with morning lighte, And the merrie horn wakes up ye morn Beholde ye skies with golden dyes, -The rest hath escaped me, albeit I know 166 out." Sayth Lord Rutland to my father, in his acute sneering way, Ah, ah, Sir Thomas, Honores mutant mores.' "Not so, in faith, my lord," returns father, "but have a care lest we translate the proverb, and say, Honours change Manners." It served him right, and the jest is worth preserving, because 'twas not premeditate, as my lord's very likely was, but retorted at once and in self-defence. I don't believe honours have changed the Mores. As father told mother, there's the same face under the hood. 'Tis comique, too, the fulfilment of Erasmus his prophecy. Plato's year has not come rounde, but they have got father to court, and the king seems minded never to let him goe. For us, we have the same untamed spiritts and unconNow that Gunnel is gone, I take to heart strayned course of life as ever, neither lett nor that I profited not more by his teaching. Say- hindered in our daylie studdies, though we dress ing to Mercy, overnight, that methought she somewhat braver, and see more companie. missed not our good master, she made answer, Mother's head was a little turned, at first, by "Oh yes, I doe; how can I choose but miss him, the change and enlargment of the householde who taught me to be, to doe, and to suffer ?"... the acquisition of clerk of the kitchen, surAnd this with a light laugh, yet she lookt not merrie. ... Writing ye above, I was interrupted by shrill cries either of woman or boy, as of one in acute payn, and ran forthe of my chamber to learne ye cause. I met Bess coming hastilie out of ye garden, looking somewhat pale, and cried, "What is it?" She made answer, "Father is having Dick Halliwell beaten for some evil communication with Jack. 'Tis seldom or never he proceedeth to such extremities, soe the offence must needs have beene something pernicious; and, e'en as 'tis, father is standing by to see he is not smitten overmuch; ne'erthelesse, Giles lays the stripes on with a will." It turned me sick. I have somewhat of my mother in me, who was a tender and delicate woman, that woulde weepe to see a bird killed by a cat. I hate corporall punishments, and yet they've Scripture warrant. Father seldom hath recourse to 'em; and yet we feare as well as love him more than we doe mother, who, when she firste came among us, afore father had softened her down a little, used to hit righte and left. I mind me of her saying one day to her own daughter Daisy, "Your tucker is too low," and giving her a slap, mighte have beene hearde in Chelsea Reach. And there was the stamp of a greate red hand on Daisy's white shoulder all ye forenoon, but the worst of it was, that Daisy tooke it with perfect immoveabilitie, veyor of the dresser, yeoman of the pastrie, etc., but as father laughinglie tolde her, the increase of her cares soon steddied her witts, for she found she had twenty unthrifts to look after insteade of half-a-dozen. And the same with himself. His responsibilities are so increast, that he grutches at every hour the court steals from his family, and vows, now and then, he will leave off joking that the king may the sooner wearie of him. But this is onlie in jest, for he feels it is a power given him over lighter minds, which he may exert to usefull and high purpose. Onlie it keepeth him from needing Damocles his sword; he trusts not in the favour of princes nor in the voyce of the people, and keeps his soul as a weaned child. 'Tis much for us now to get an hour's leisure with him, and makes us feel what our olde privileges were when we knew 'em not. Still, I'm pleased without being over elated, at his having risen to his proper level. The king tooke us by surprise this morning: mother had scarce time to slip on her scarlett gown and coif, ere he was in ye house. His grace was mighty pleasant to all, and, at going, saluted all round, which Bessy took humourously, Daisy immoveablie, Mercy humblie, I distastefullie, and mother delightedlie. She calls him a fine man; he is indeede big enough, and like to become too big; with long slits of eyes that gaze freelie on all, as who shoulde say |