only for the completion of three or four pictures. But what is that? The frescoes of Michael Angelo are not imperishable, and the canvas of the divine Raphael must in time fall in pieces and decay; but the work of the mosaicist is imperishable. His pictures can never fade. The Pyramids of Egypt are not more lasting; and when all the years of his life have been dedicated to the perpetuation of such a work as the Transfiguration, or the St Peter Martyr, he feels, at least, that he has not lived in vain.' designed by Titian, and executed by the Zuccati, must be excepted from criticism, and allowed to rank with all but the very marvels of recent production. For these, unrivalled as they are in colour, delicacy, and fidelity, we must turn to the magnificent altarpieces, and the no less magnificent, though necessarily coarser decorations of the domes and ceilings of St Peter's. Here, bewildered at first, and unable to believe that they are other than they seem, we find the master-pieces of the renaissance reproduced on every side. Fresh and brilliant are they, as if removed but yesterday from the easel-changed into stone, as before the glance of Medusa-fadeless, perfect, indestructible by aught save fire. Here is the Trans-like-standing, as if in a dream, before the great figuration of Raphael, the St Michael of Guido, the St Francis and St Sebastian of Domenichino. Far above, peopling the circuit of the mighty dome, and filling the spandrels of the great arches, we see more mosaics, as delicate, apparently, as those above the altars, but constructed nevertheless upon a scale proportioned to their elevation. The cherubs up there are larger than Gog and Magog, and the pen in the hand of St Mark measures six feet in length. From St Peter's to the manufactory of mosaics in the Vatican is but a step, and no traveller should leave Rome without having visited it. Much as he may have admired the chefs-d'œuvre in the neighbouring cathedral, he can form but a poor conception of their value till he has witnessed with his own eyes the toilsome elaboration which they exact at the hands of the artist. It is no trade, this working of pictures in stone, and the mosaicist is no mere plodding mechanic. A refined judgment, an extensive knowledge of art, an eye trained to follow the minutest gradations of colour, and a full appreciation of the various schools, must guide the hand of the patient copyist, who thus invests the master-pieces of all time with something like an earthly immortality. To conquer the enormous difficulties of his profession, the mosaicist must first become, to all intents, an artist; and few who have witnessed the process would be disposed to deny his claim to the title. The substance from which the enamels are formed is a composition made with lead, iron, zinc, copper, and gold, and subjected to the heat of a furnace. The relative proportions of these metals vary with the colour required to be produced. The shades of colour | are developed by a greater or lesser degree of heat. It is a mistake to suppose that these enamels are nothing but opaque pieces of glass; they are purely metallic combinations, harder than stone, undefaceable by weather or time, and only to be affected by the action of fire. All along the great lines of shelves which cover the walls of the vast galleries from top to bottom, sorted in compartments, protected by wirework, like books in a library, and labelled numerically-each number standing for a colour or shade of a colour-are stored the slabs of composition, ready for use. They embrace every conceivable tint, beginning at pure white, and ending with black. Their number is twenty thousand. 'Nature,' we were told, in reply to our surprised inquiry, has more than twenty thousand colours. They are not sufficient even for art. We are frequently obliged to temper the enamel in a spirit-lamp, to produce the exact hue we require.' A man engaged in fitting some tiny morsels for the jagged edges of a rose-leaf, smiled at our remark on the tediousness of the work. 'The labour is nothing,' he said, 'so long as it is followed by success. The artist in mosaic is content if his work be only well done, since that which is well done is done for ever. He is sometimes occupied during ten, fifteen, or twenty years upon one large subject such, for instance, as the Communion of St Jerome. Sometimes the labour of his whole lifetime suffices The mosaic-worker was an enthusiast; but enthusiasm is not rare in Rome. We have seen quite unlearned men-soldiers, peasants, mechanics, and the master-pieces of the Vatican, and enjoying them to the full as keenly as the aristocratic amateurs who find their way in for a couple of pauls on the closed days. In the artist, this feeling is necessarily intensified proportionately to his knowledge. Perhaps it would not be going too far to suggest that this very enthusiasm has somewhat to do with the decline of modern art in Italy. The student of promise is sent hither by the heads of the great academy in which he has been trained-he loiters away his three years amid picturegalleries and ruins-he perhaps adds a few rambling sketches to his portfolio-it may be that he copies one or more of the great pictures; not to retain as life-long studies and memorials, but to sell to some suburban convent or chapel, for money to pay his reckoning at the Trattoria di Lepre. These are, too frequently, the only results of his journey. He has admired, but he has not worked. His genius is crushed by the contemplation of an excellence to which he is persuaded human prowess can never attain a second time. By the very generosity of his delight, by the very depth of his artistic faith, he is undone. But this is a digression. The manufactory of mosaics at the Vatican consists of several long galleries, opening out one after the other, and filled with busy workers. Each artist has a small table to himself, the design standing before him on an easel, a spirit-lamp, and a grindstone. The spirit-lamp, as we have already stated, is of use in the production of minute differences of colour; the grindstone is necessary for the better shaping of the little morsels of enamel, since these, although prepared for him up to a certain size by the workman, can only be curved to the purposes of his subject by the artist himself. We were shewn a box of brown enamels, as first cut by the workman, to be afterwards dealt out to the mosaicists. Some were as large as broad beans; some shaped into little flat sticks; some were mere threads, not much thicker than needles; and others, again, were minute cubes about the size of a pin's head. Great cases are placed here and there along the galleries, filled with models of the tints, to the full number of twenty thousand. These models are shaped and coloured like cakes of water-colour; and arranged in tiny square holes, something like the letters in a compositor's case. The process of forming the mosaic picture is very curious. A large slab of slaty calcareous stone is prepared for the back or groundwork, and cut away to a depth varying from the sixteenth to three-fourths of an inch, as the scale of the work may require. It is then filled in and levelled down with a soft composition, upon which the artist makes his outline. As he proceeds with his work, he cuts away the composition, and substitutes a thick yellow cement, into which the mosaic fragments are carefully imbedded. In the choice of these, the mosaicist proves himself a true artist. Through all the gradations and evanescent effects of colour, he has no guide but his eye, no resource but infinite patience and judgment. most valuable paintings are intrusted to him, as they are intrusted to the weavers at the manufactory of The CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL. Gobelin tapestries in Paris. In the first room, we were shewn a superb table about to be presented by the pope to Queen Christina of Spain, and a picture destined for the Emperor of the French. The original paintings, from which were executed the mosaics in the vaultings and domes of St Peter's, are all preserved at the manufactory; and the designs for the portraits of the popes at St Paul's beyond the Walls, hang round the rooms. Some notion of the value and delicacy of mosaic portraiture may be conveyed by the fact that, in a portrait of Pope Paul V., the face alone is said to contain no less than one million and a half of pieces. Pictures in stone-at least those produced at the pope's studios-are not purchaseable with money. They are made only for the pontiff and his palaces, for the basilicas of St Peter and St Paul's beyond the Walls, and for purposes connected with the papal Occasionally, some crowned head or government. eminent noble is so fortunate as to receive one from his holiness; but the honour is exceptional, and seldom conferred upon any but good Catholics. The finest Vatican mosaic ever produced is said to be a copy of Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper, now in the possession executed for of the emperor of Austria. It was Napoleon, when king of Italy, is of the same size as the original, cost between L.7000 and L.8000, and occupied ten artists during more than eight years. ornaments. engraved; and as the mosaicist proceeds, he cuts it Even more tedious, and not nearly so interesting, Totally different in style and material, but in some is the preparation of the pietro duro into which the cases even more valuable than the Vatican mosaics, mosaic is transferred when done. The pietro duro is are the gem mosaics of Florence. In the former, the generally chosen of a dark or black colour, and is colours are artificially produced by a composition of very fine, close-grained, and hard. On this, a piece are of white paper, delicately traced with the outline of The workman then metals; in the latter, only precious stones employed, and the various tints are formed by a careful the mosaic, is pasted down. adaptation of such gradations as the material affords. proceeds to cut away the stone for the reception of Amethyst, jasper, chalcedony, turquoise, yellow topaz, the mosaic, leaving the space for every tendril, thorn, almost inconceivable. When he has finished, coral, cornelian, agate, lapis lazuli, malachite, alabaster, petal, or jagged leaf, with an accuracy and patience and rich marbles, are transformed by the skill of the that mosaicist into the most admirable and elaborate repre- it is perfect to a hairbreadth; the mosaic is the sentations of flowers, fruit, arabesques, and heraldic same; they fit together with marvellous accuracy; The beautiful brooches of inlaid jaspers and it only remains for a third workman to unite which are occasionally to be seen in the cases of our them with mastic, to set them in a grounding of white best jewellers, are all from Florentine manufactories; cement, and to complete the solidity of the whole by and many persons will doubtless recollect the superb placing a slab of slate at the back. Excepting metal, table exhibited by M. Gaetano Bianchini at the there is nothing so hard of texture as the pietro duro. The point of a pin will make no impression on it, Exposition Universelle of Paris in the year 1855. even when rough; and it has to be cut by means of a fine steel wire, and worked down with emery and a wheel. Merely to cut the space for a scroll about three inches in length and one and a half in breadth, had employed one man for more than a week; and to prepare, the groundwork for the small bunch of flowers lately named, had taken sixteen days. But the greatest marvel of all awaited us at the table of a workman who was busily joining a mosaic into its ground work of pietro duro. The design represented a basket of flowers surrounded by arabesques. All was completed, with the exception of one tiny hole. This hole was left a little way above a beautiful blush-rose, and was somewhat less than the size of the queen's head on a sixpence. Being already much interested in the art, and desirous of comparing the process with that of the workers at the Vatican, we devoted a considerable portion of our brief Florentine visit to pilgrimages among the mosaic studios so plentifully scattered throughout that charming city. The most extensive, and perhaps the most famous of all these, belongs to the M. Bianchini just named; and as every studio is but a repetition of every other studio, a rapid résumé of what we there were very obligingly told and shewn, will suffice for all the rest. And here be it observed, by way of introduction, that M. Bianchini is not only a mosaic master, but that the energy, liberality, and success with which he has carried on and improved his art, has procured him honours and distinctions for which the noblest and wisest might here labour in vain and for ever. In the workshops of M. Bianchini, as in the Vatican, each workman has his own bench and table, and works separately. The process is very tedious, requiring the utmost possible nicety of hand and eye, and the tools are very small and delicate. We were shewn files and lapidary-wheels of lilliputian dimensions, and tiny saws like steel threads fitted on a bow. With these, the gems and the pietro duro, or stoneground, are sawn and shaped; for marbles and jaspers being, of course, very expensive when brilliant in colour, are only used in thin veneers, about one-eighth of an inch in thickness. Every mosaic is first made in a groundwork of soft gray stone, afterwards to be transferred into the pietro duro. On this soft stone the outline is carefully The master smiled at our expression of curiosity; and the workman, obedient to his glance, took from the box a morsel of mosaic, and fitted it to the hole. It was a tiny butterfly, wrought in emerald green, scarlet, azure, and gold, with purple peacock's eyes on the wings, and dark velvety shadings on the body. It fitted so exactly, even to the thread-like antennæ, that it was difficult to believe how space enough could remain for the cement. The workmen were all young, or in the prime of life. Several among them looked delicate, and some shook their heads sadly when questioned, and confessed that their sight was already slightly impaired. We afterwards learned that the employment was injurious not only to the eyes, but to the general health-that few Florentine mosaicists enjoyed a long tenure of life : and that the workmen engaged in the grand ducal manufactory are released from labour at sixty years of age, and comfortably pensioned off for the remainder of their lives. But there are yet other mosaics than these-the basso-rilievo mosaics of the Russians, for instance, such as all the world beheld in their famous department at the great exhibition of 1851. By some these are called cameo-mosaics, and we have heard them very aptly described as 'stone modellings done in relief,' which perfectly expresses the effect of their raised amethyst grapes, coral cherries, cornelian currants, and pebble plums. A curious, but agreeable, and comparatively inexpensive kind of glass mosaic, has of late been brought before the public. It is very adaptable to household ornamentation, and specimens of it will be remembered by all visitors to the former Crystal Palace. The Hindoos are said, however, to excel all other nations in the minute delicacy and elegance of their pietro duro mosaics. Lastly, we read of a curious and beautiful kind of feather-mosaic work, executed by the ancient Mexicans, long before the period of their subjection by the Spaniards. Clavigero relates in his history that birds of rich plumage were bred for this purpose, and that the feathers sold at high prices in the market according to the brilliancy of their hues. When any great mosaic was proposed, the artists assembled, and divided the work among them, having previously taken every precaution for insuring the correspondence of the various parts, and the ultimate unity of the whole. So exact were they, and so careful, that the mosaicist sometimes passed an entire day in the arrangement of a single feather. His process, though delicate and difficult, was simplicity itself, and consisted only in pasting the feathers upon pieces of cloth, in imitation of the pattern agreed upon. swallowed into sanguinary ruffians, I did not realise to its full extent the perilous predicament in which I was placed: very likely, a partly unconscious, and, so to speak, instinctive reliance for effective succour from Webbe, gave me hope and courage. I had seen him leave his place by M. le Maire, and push towards the centre of the room, and although my fascinated gaze, fixed upon the naval enseigne, had not followed his movements, an impression of his near presence and active resolute solicitude must, I doubt not, have remained upon my mind. Webbe was one of those men that, in situations of sudden danger, assume an irresistible ascendency over others, less, perhaps, by their natural force of character and acquired coolness of demeanour, than by an always more or less empirical assumption of unswerving confidence in their own genius or fortune, backed by the reality or reputation of past successes. It was that aspect of imperturbable superiority that I had seen impose upon the crew of L'Espiègle, who had confidence in their commander, though none in themselves apart from him. It is not, therefore, surprising that it unconsciously influenced and sustained me during Auguste Le Moine's denunciation of the English spy, and slayer of Le Renard's unfortunate commander, and the brief, but terrible scene which followed. Such a superstition could not for a moment support the calm scrutiny of reason; and during the hour or thereabout which elapsed between my breathless arrival at the Lion d'Or, and Captain Renaudin's appearance there, the folly of relying upon him to effectually shield me from the frightful penalty attached by the law of nations to the crime which, it would appear from young Le Moine's speech, I had unwittingly committed, was painfully clear to my mind. Webbe himself was excited-alarmed! He had succeeded in temporarily allaying the storm by solemnly asserting that Auguste Le Moine must have been misled by the casual view he had obtained of my features during a passing gleam of moonlight; that I was really the American he, Renaudin, had represented me to be, or he had himself been grossly deceived. 'I have promised to produce you before justice,' added Webbe, 'should there be a necessity for doing so; I, of course, remaining sole judge of that necessity -a mental reservation which will, it may be hoped, save you from walking in your own funeral procession, preparatory to the unpleasantness of serving as target to a platoon of French tirailleurs.' Enough, however, of mosaics. We have reached the end, or what, in consideration of prescribed usages, must be made the end of our article. Of so interesting and widely diffused an art, one might write a volume -of the associations connected with it, an unlimited number of volumes. Even thus, long trains of pleasant recollections start up around us, and with importunate temptations, strive to arrest our farewell. Once more we lose ourselves gazing upward into the golden glooms of the vaultings of St Mark's-once more we are gathering violets and wild crocuses amid the mosaic-strewn fields that formed in time past the floorings of hall and corridor in Hadrian's villa, under the pines of Tivoli-once more we tread the green solitudes of the baths of Caracalla, where the shadows fall solemnly on arch and tower, and the placid evening sunlight slants between. Here are some quiet sheep 'You do me gross injustice, young sir! Could I browsing beside the fallen pillars; yonder lies a huge foresee the fight off Sercq-your bellicose Quixotism fragment of vaulted ceiling, overgrown with weeds-the escape of Le Moine from Jersey-his presence and brambles, and shewing glimpses of mosaic work between the fluttering leaves. It was amid such sad and lofty scenes we learned to love Pictures in Stone; and we part from them, reader, with a sigh. KIRKE WEBBE, THE PRIVATEER CAPTAIN. CHAPTER VIII. I HAD been rather stunned than terrified by the calculated malignity of Auguste Le Moine during its elaborate enunciation. The stupid, stereotyped abuse of England-that common staple of continental scribes and spouters effectually muzzled in respect of their own rulers-together with the absurd imputations upon myself, added a feeling of disdain to the astonishment which held me dumb; and even when seized by the rude hands of convivial guests, suddenly transformed by his artful appeal, and the wine they had 'You talk jauntily, Mr Webbe, of a catastrophe more imminent than you care to admit, and to which your counsel has conducted me.' at the banquet to-day, and recognition of the Scout hero amongst the guests? It is, at all events, idle to bandy reproaches or complaints. What is done, is done. The future, not the past, demands earnest and careful consideration. I fear we have not seen the last of Auguste Le Moine.' 'My own fear! Strange, too, that he should recognise a face which no one but himself could have seen distinctly. It would almost seem to be the work of an avenging Nemesis.' 'To Old Nick with your Nemesis! There is nothing strange about it. Young Le Moine was wounded and lying upon the deck close by where his uncle fell; and his up-look would have a better view of your features than if he had been standing by your side. Moreover, you were recognised by more than one of the Scout's crew, who, from regard for me, they say, reinforced by a weightier consideration supplied by my son, agreed to keep the secret. They have done so, after a fashion, every man and boy belonging to the brig, being, I have no doubt, by this time in full possession of the fact as a profound secret. Little, however, will Harry reck of that so long as he continues to shine a bright particular star in Maria Wilson's eyes. foolish dallying with precious moments,' added Webbe. But this is "We have not, I repeat, seen the last of Auguste Le Moine, unless we can manage to throw him out of the hunt, and that, stanch blood-hound as he seems to be, will not, I think, be so difficult. L'Espiègle sails to-night at about twelve o'clock: she will creep round the French coast towards Havre de Grace, and you and I embark in her.' 'Havre de Grace!' I exclaimed with emotion; then I shall soon see my mother-father.' 'Not soon, Master Linwood. It is not impulsive, inconstant effort, but firm, patient endurance of the bloody spur, that will enable you to win the goal. When you embrace your mother, it must be with her husband's lost character, his renewed life in your hand. You should not wish it to be earlier.' "You touch the right chord with a skilful finger, Captain Webbe. What, then, do you mean by embarking for Havre de Grace?' 'I mean that L'Espiègle will sail ostensibly for that port. You and I shall be put on shore to-night near Granville, whence we shall leave by diligence for St Malo. Le Moine will be off at once, there can be no doubt, across country for Havre de Grace, where he will arrive much earlier than L'Espiègle possibly could, even supposing she did not, as she certainly will, put in at Cherbourg. By the time Le Moine has been able to ascertain, and act upon that fact, L'Espiègle will have again spread her white bosom to the gale; whither to wing her flight, upon what particular errand bound, will depend upon the providence that shapes the ends of privateers-the chance, namely, of a good prize. Meanwhile, William Linwood, seizing Time by the only lock that swiftly speeding potentate is said to wear, will have seen sweet Clémence de Bonnevilleascertained beyond question that she is truly the lost child of Mrs Waller-have reciprocated sympathies, confidences, sighs, wishes, hopes, vows with that most charming of damsels, and, aided by the bold privateer, have flown with her, and the blessings to you and yours, which make up her priceless dowry, to England, whence a bird of the air shall carry the glad tidings to the pining yet hopeful souls prisoned in Francehopeful because confident in the devotion of their son!' 'One word, Captain Webbe, if you please. You know that quince is a great improvement to apple-pie; but that apple-pie all quince is' 'A different thing altogether,' interrupted Webbe, with a gay laugh. True, true! The illustration is only less pertinent than venerable. In plain phrase, then, I believe that by the course I have indicated, we shall successfully dodge friend Le Moine till our little affair is concluded, adversely or happily, as fortune may determine; and your suspicious interesting self is safely restored to Great Britain and your grandmother. Ah, friend Cocquard!' he added quickly, 'you bring a message for me.' 'It is true, Monsieur le Capitaine,' replied the landlord of the Lion d'Or; 'and one that presses. I am enjoined to say that Monsieur Le Moine, who made so deplorable a mistake at the banquet, has ridden off on horseback, to invoke the aid of the military commandant. Fortunately,' added Cocquard, the commandant's domicile is full two leagues distant from Avranches; and Auguste Le Moine, it has been ascertained, did not finally determine upon seeking his intervention till about ten minutes since.' 'Thank you, my friend. Two leagues! He will not do that in much less than an hour; and should he find the commandant at home, another must elapse before they are here. Bah! it is nothing, after all. Vi-ve ce ju divin,' he added, breaking into the refrain of a drinking song, 'Parbleu, Monsieur le Capitaine Your health, exclaimed Webbe, which prompts rats to quit a "There is no instinct finer than that,' laughingly doomed ship. Bonaparte is done for, you may be sure! Seriously,' he added, there is no doubt whatever that that stupendous downcome cannot be long delayed. Well, the foundering of the empire will, I hope, afford me a plank of safety; to you, also, it may prove of service.' 'For Heaven's sake, in what way?' secution; if it should happen that he has not caught 'Why, of course, by ridding you of Le Moine's perand settled you by court-martial before then! The to act against the Usurper, as I find many persons are "Restoration" will not shoot English spies, employed already beginning to call Napoleon, though as yet under their breath.' based upon mature counsel, to proceed to St Malo, 'Is it not folly, then, rather than wise resolution before that now imminent Restoration is an accomplished fact?' Sicard, and all hope, consequently, of winning over 'Clémence, meanwhile, being married to Jacques ever! I think I told you before that the nearness of that ingenuous damsel to our side, passed away for the event which will open France to the English is a is the little memorandum: good! Take another glass, chief clement in Louise Féron's calculation.-Ah, here friend Cocquard, whilst my young friend I and disburse the amount.' he gathered up the money, which, having pouched, he for it, will not be swift of foot enough this time, to put Captain Renaudin, and left the apartment. 'Yes, especially to our insular notions. Cocquard, the moments pass. It is now just upon half-past eleven, and Le Moine, accompanied, have no doubt, by the commandant-that worthy soldier being anything but a friend of mine-must be now about upon his return. Baptiste will, however, be here in a very few minutes.' 'But why incur unnecessary risk by remaining here an instant longer?' 'I remain here so long, simply because I would not incur unnecessary risk. You do not, I hope, Linwood, deem me such a fool as to court danger for the mere purpose of braving it! I wish to give time for the streets to clear of the excited banquet-guests and their friends, who, when I came in, were discussing the for and against of Le Moine's accusation, in numerous groups, and with a decided leaning, I could hear plainly enough, to believe him rather than me. Numbers give confidence; and spite of Captain Jules Renaudin's reputation for daring, and a general belief that the crew of L'Espiègle would back him in anything, they might, had we attempted to walk down the street towards the landing-place, even half an hour ago, have made an effort to arrest us-you, certainly. La Grande Rue,' added Webbe, after an anxious look out of window, 'is much clearer, but even now- Ah, Baptiste, you are here at last, then!' To the exact moment, Captain Renaudin; it is precisely half-past eleven.' 'It is very well. Are the boat's crew placed as I directed?' 'Yes; but if I might take the liberty of offering an opinion, it would be prudent to gain the landing-steps by the narrow street to which we may pass from the back of the Lion d'Or.' 'Bah! Why, that is the way to the Corps de Garde!' 'Pardonnez. The way to the Corps de Garde is along La Grande Rue.' "That is your opinion, Baptiste; but on a moonlit night like this, I see further and more clearly than you do. Now, then, take the portmanteau Monsieur Cocquard will give you, and walk with it openly, deliberately, le front levé, down that same Grande Rue. We shall follow close behind.' 'Linwood,' said Webbe, 'do as I do: take a cigar, and smoke it as we walk along. We must shew no sign of fear or hesitation: to do so would be as fatal as following Baptiste's advice, which would have insured our immediate arrest. A bold, confident front will be our best safeguard. In case of the worst, we must, with the aid of a score of my brave Espiègles, who have been carefully distributed to that end, fight our way to the boat as we best may. Come along!' Courage begets courage, and I walked down the steep, ill-paved street, and past groups of sullen, observant men-awaiting, it seemed, the return of Le Moine with the commandant-whose scowling visages were distinctly visible in the cold, bright moonlight, with more of real, as well as simulated coolness than I had hoped for. The assumption of easy, careless confidence by Webbe was consummate, as acting, and, it was plain, imposed much more upon the suspicious, menacing, but irresolute lookers-on, than his sailors, who, scattered here and there, picked each other up, as it were, as we passed along, and without apparent purpose, formed at last a respectable flank-guard. Nevertheless, the bayonets of the Corps de Garde, past which lay our way, though we were on the opposite side of the street, disquieted, I could perceive, even Webbe, and, to my utter astonishment, he coolly crossed over, taking me with him, shook hands with the officer there, and having ascertained that he had no commands for Havre de Grace, bade him a friendly farewell, and we went on our way slowly, deliberately, as before. For a while, that is to say, for I cannot deny that our pace was perceptibly accelerated as we neared the boat, and became conscious, without looking back, that the crowd was gathering thickly behind, and beginning to lash themselves into action by cries of 'Traître!' Espion!'' Chien d'Anglais !' and the like holiday and lady terms. The head of the narrow landing-steps being at last reached, Webbe faced abruptly about, confronting, and for a moment silencing the angry crowd, passing me at the same instant down the steps. The boat's crew quickly followed, then Webbe suddenly turned, and scarcely touching the steps, it seemed, sprang into the boat, which as instantly shoved off, amidst a roar of rage from the mob, who appeared to have, at one and the same moment, arrived at a conviction that it was their right and duty to arrest the supposed spy and traitor, and of the impossibility of doing so. With what a tumultuous throb the checked, fluttering pulse renewed its beatings as the consciousness of safety rushed, as in a flood of glowing_rapture, through every artery and vein ! That safety was absolute. The commandant, with 20,000 men, could not have stayed the progress of our boat towards L'Espiègle, and the fine breeze blowing would carry that vessel herself in less than half an hour beyond range of the best telescope in Avranches! 'That walk, Linwood,' remarked Webbe, coming aft, and taking charge of the tiller, 'was more trying to the nerves than a battle.' 'Much more so, as far as my slight experience of battle goes. One fear troubled me,' I added, which you do not appear to have entertained. It was, that your French crew might not have been to be depended upon, in such a case, to act against Frenchmen.' "Fiddlestick! My gallant Espiègles are cosmopolites, whose patrie is the whole earth, with especial regard, however, to that portion thereof likely to furnish them with the most comfortable berths. An expansive idea that, don't you think?' Expansive humbug, you mean!' 'No, I don't. You may not have a soul above bunting, but these fellows have. Above consideration, I mean, of the mode in which blue, white, and red, or any other coloured bunting, may be arranged; whether diagonally, as in St George's cross, or in three perpendicular strips, as in the tricolor. I have before observed, Linwood, that you are a person of limited geographical ideas.' 'Stuff! Rubbish! At all events, you yourself must be a person of very limited geographical ideas, or you would not the other day have so long hesitated at firing upon St George's ensign, as to place your own life in peril!' 'Weakness, my young friend-human weakness! He is a good divine, remarks the lady in the play, who follows his own teaching. Most extraordinarily good I should say, an example of the kind never having come under my observation. By the by, Linwood,' added Webbe, 'I will tell you, some of these days, when we have a leisure half-hour to ourselves, how it happened that I became Captain Jules Renaudin: you will find that, strictly speaking, I had no choice but to exchange for that name the one in which my godfathers and godmothers, simple souls! promised and vowed I should renounce the devil and all his works Peak oars! The boat has way enough!' In two minutes, we were upon the deck of L'Espiègle; and three hours afterwards, I, Captain Renaudin, and Baptiste had been landed upon the French coast above half a league eastward of Granville, and but a short distance from a cottage in which, when at home, Baptiste lived with his wife, a sharp, black-eyed Granvillaise. Before leaving by diligence on the third day from our landing, I was metamorphosed into Jean Le Gros, a French youth, of Gravelines in the Pas de Calais, |