BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE
No. CCCXXXIII. JULY, 1843. VOL. LIV.
CONTENTS.
- MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN, PART II, 1.
- ENGLISH MUSIC AND ENGLISH MUSICIANS, 23.
- PHILHELLENIC DRINKING-SONG, BY B. SIMMONS, 41.
- THE PRAIRIE AND THE SWAMP, AN ADVENTURE IN LOUISIANA, 43.
- THE ARISTOCRACY OF ENGLAND, 51.
- JACK STUART'S BET ON THE DERBY, AND HOW HE PAID HIS LOSSES, 67.
- SCROPE ON SALMON FISHING, 80.
- THE WHIPPIAD, A SATIRICAL POEM, BY REGINALD HEBER, 100.
- CHARLES EDWARD AT VERSAILLES, 107.
- EARLY GREEK ROMANCES—THE ETHIOPICS OF HELIODORUS, 109.
- PAST AND PRESENT, BY CARLYLE, 121.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH, AND 22, PALL-MALL, LONDON.
1
MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN.
PART II.
Have I not heard the sea, puft up with wind,
Rage like all angry boar chafed with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in the pitched battle heard
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?"
SHAKSPEARE.
My entertainer received me withmore civility than I had expected.He was almost fashionably dressed;his grim features were smoothed intoan elaborate smile; and he repeatedhis gratification at seeing me, in suchvariety of tones that I began to doubtthe cordiality of my reception. ButI could have no doubt of the eleganceof the apartment into which I wasshown. All was foreign, even to theflowers in the vases that filled thewindows. A few bas-reliefs in themost finished style; a few alabastersas bright as if they had been broughtat the moment from Carrara; a fewpaintings of the Italian masters, if notoriginal and of the highest value, atleast first-rate copies—caught the eyeat once: the not too much, the nottoo little, that exact point which itrequires so much skill to touch, showedthat the eye of taste had beenevery where; and I again thought ofthe dungeon in the city, and askedmyself whether it was possible thatMordecai could be the worker of themiracle.
Naturally making him some acknowledgmentfor his invitation, and sayingsome civil thing of his taste, helaughed, and said, "I have but littlemerit in the matter. All this is mydaughter's. Moorfields is my house;this house is Mariamne's. As ourorigin and connexions are foreign,we make use of our opportunities toindulge ourselves in these foreigntrifles. But we have a little 'réunion'of our neighbours this evening, andI must first make you known to thelady of the fête." He rang the bell.
"Neighbours!" said I; "all roundme, as I came, seemed solitude; andyours is so beautiful, that I almostthink society would injure its bea