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.

MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN.

PART II.

My entertainer received me with more civility than I had expected. He was almost fashionably dressed; his grim features were smoothed into an elaborate smile; and he repeated his gratification at seeing me, in such variety of tones that I began to doubt the cordiality of my reception. But I could have no doubt of the elegance of the apartment into which I was shown. All was foreign, even to the flowers in the vases that filled the windows. A few bas-reliefs in the most finished style; a few alabasters as bright as if they had been brought at the moment from Carrara; a few paintings of the Italian masters, if not original and of the highest value, at least first-rate copies—caught the eye at once: the not too much, the not too little, that exact point which it requires so much skill to touch, showed that the eye of taste had been every where; and I again thought of the dungeon in the city, and asked myself whether it was possible that Mordecai could be the worker of the miracle.

Naturally making him some acknowledgment for his invitation, and saying some civil thing of his taste, he laughed, and said, "I have but little merit in the matter. All this is my daughter's. Moorfields is my house; this house is Mariamne's. As our origin and connexions are foreign, we make use of our opportunities to indulge ourselves in these foreign trifles. But we have a little 'réunion' of our neighbours this evening, and I must first make you known to the lady of the fête." He rang the bell.

"Neighbours!" said I; "all round me, as I came, seemed solitude; and yours is so beautiful, that I almost think society would injure its beauty."

"Well, well, Mr Marston, you shall see. But this I advise you, take care of your heart if you are susceptible."

A servant announced that his mistress would attend us in a few minutes, and I remained examining the pictures and the prospect; when a gay voice, and the opening of a door, made me turn round to pay my homage to the lady. I had made up my mind to see one of the stately figures and magnificent countenances which are often to be found in the higher orders of the daughters of Israel. I saw, on the contrary, one of the gayest countenances and lightest figures imaginable—the petit nez retroussé, and altogether much more the air of a pretty Parisian than one of the superb race of Zion. Her manner was as animated as her eyes, and with the ease of foreign life she entered into conversation; and in a few minutes we laughed and talked together, as if we had been acquaintances from our cradles.

The history of the house was simply, that "she hated town and loved the country; that she loved the sea better than the land, and loved society of her own selection better than society forced upon her.—On the sea-shore she found all that she liked, and escaped all that she hated. She therefore lived on the sea-shore.—She had persuaded her father to build that house, and they had furnished it according to their own recollections, and even their own whims.—Caprice was liberty, and liberty was essential to the enjoyment of every thing. Thus, she loved caprice, and laid herself open to the charge of being fantastic with those who did not understand her."

In this sportive way she ran on, saying all kinds of lively nothings; while we drank our coffee out of Saxon porcelain which would have shone on the table of a crowned head.

The windows were thrown open, and we sat enjoying the noblest of all scenes, a glorious sunset, to full advantage. The fragrance of the garden stole in, a "steam of rich distilled perfumes;" the son of the birds, in those faint and interrupted notes which come with such sweetness in the parting day; the distant hum of the village, and the low solemn sound of the waves subsiding on the beach, made a harmony of their own, perhaps more soothing and subduing than the most refined touches of human skill. We wanted nothing but an Italian moon to realize the loveliness of the scene in Belmont.

As I glanced on the little, superbly dressed Jewess, sitting between her father and myself, I thought of the possibilities to come.