spared life and raised treasure.'16 So struck were the Spaniards with this side of Henry's character, so unlike that of Ferdinand, they speak of him in their despatches as a man of peace. What was most merciful in Henry was doubt less fostered by intercourse with the Queen, affectionately christened Elizabeth the Good. On the other hand, much of what was most sanguinary in the treatment of his subjects by Ferdinand is undoubt edly ascribable to Isabella, who, in fact, as in popular estimation, was his âme damnée. A striking chapter, altogether new to English readers, is that of Mr. Dixon descriptive of the manner in which the news of the death of Isabella was received by her subjects. While Pietro Martire was nibbing the pen which was to write elaborate and fulsome eulogy of the patron of the Inquisition, the people were raging around the palace in which lay the dying Queen, and shouting to one another The tyrant is about to die.' She will die and go to hell.' What speaks most for the respective character and policy of the two Kings is the condition in which they found and left the empires they obtained by conquest or inheritance. To the valour and energy of Ferdinand, no less than to his cunning, it is due that Spain attained the proportions it subsequently bore. His conquest of the Caliphate is the most splendid action in contemporary history, and the memory of it redeems his reign. His retention of Castile, to which, after the death of Isabella, he had no claim, and his conquest of Navarre show that he was shrewd, daring, and politic. Here, however, most that can justly be said in his favour ends. His early actions, such as summoning the Hermandad, were in a vein of true policy. These measures were carried out before he had

tasted the sweetness of money extorted from his subjects. From the moment he yielded to the influence of the Inquisition his character changed. The Spain he left at the close of his reign was compact and powerful. For purposes of offence it was the most formidable country in Europe. At its back was the wealth of the newly discovered continent of America, and its leaders, practised in combats with the Moors, were the first soldiers in Europe. The light of learning had, however, been trampled out. With the departure of the Jews, a strong blow had been struck at the finan cial and commercial prosperity of Spain, and the persecutions of the Inquisition had destroyed almost the vestiges of intellectual light. To this the subsequent defeat and decadence of Spain are largely to be attributed. The union of Spain with Germany was in a few years to give no faint hope of universal empire. But the policy of Ferdinand was to work its way for good and for evil; and the military power of Spain, unsupported by intellectual vigour, was to crumble away more rapidly than it had risen.

In England, meanwhile, under Henry, were sown the seeds of a policy destined to raise her to the position her rival was forced to abdicate. The merciful government of Henry enabled the nation to rest after its sufferings, and the prudent

monarch saw at the close of his reign the kingdom he had found in anarchy a power in Europe. In silence, though not quite in secret, meanwhile the intellectual movement which prepared England to receive the Reformation was proceeding. From the curious information supplied by a Venetian nobleman resident in England in the reign of Henry VII., we learn that while outward homage is paid to the forms of religion, discussions

6

upon its doctrines are common: 'Vi sono però molti che hanno diverse opinioni quanto alla religione.' 17 This information would, were it not supported by abundant evidence from other quarters, deserve credit on its own account as the testimony of an observer shrewd enough to notice that Englishmen would rather 'give five or six ducats to provide an entertainment for a person than a groat to assist him in any distress,' 18 and that the English are great lovers of themselves and of everything belonging to them; they think there are no other men than themselves, and no other world but England. Whenever they see a handsome foreigner, they say that he looks like an Englishman, and that it is a great pity that he should not be an Englishman.' To do justice to the wisdom, mercy, and policy of this reign, in which the whole subsequent grandeur of England takes root, demands a history and not an essay. It is singular that the defeat of Spain and the triumph of England should come as a result of the policy of the two monarchs. If the ambitious schemes of Ferdinand and the marriage he plotted for so keenly and so long laid the foundation of the claim to interference in English affairs which, strengthened by subsequent events, was to bring about the attack of the Armada, the

wise counsels of Henry fostered the intellectual vigour of the people, and established that attachment of Englishmen to the Crown which, scarcely broken by the persecutions in the reign of Mary, lasted out the generation of the Tudors, and contributed more than any other cause to the defeat of the Spanish invasion.

Mr. Dixon's book presents an animated picture of the contrast between Spain and England, and gives us, in picturesque and idiomatic English, the history of the epoch. In breadth of view and correctness of statementit is equally remarkable. Scarcely once through all the voluminous references extending over a field wide enough to frighten any but an undaunted reader, does the authority fail to warrant the dramatically expressed statement of a writer whose histories have the colour and attractiveness of fiction. The list of authorities at the end of the volume shows the range of exploration to have been so extensive as to vouch for the unwearying industry of the writer, and references to obscurest sources prove that the search is as exact as it is varied. As a work of scholarship, and as a bright and animated tableau of past history, this chronicle of Two Queens is equally remarkable.

JOSEPH KNIGHT.

18 lbid.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

The things themselves are neither rich nor

rare:

EVER

The wonder 's how the d-l they got there! VERY visitor to Paris is more or less accurately acquainted with the Morgue: there is, however, an institution analogous in character, which scarcely any foreigners, and comparatively few even of the inhabitants of Paris, know much about: it may be called the Morgue of things, and is termed the Fourrière. This by no means uninteresting depôt is a succursal of the Préfecture de Police, specially devoted to the harbouring and protection of all waifs and strays encumbering the streets of Paris et sa banlieue,' and is consequently stored with lost, mislaid, forsaken, and unclaimed property of every description. The mass of heterogeneous articles warehoused beneath its expansive roof furnishes, in its singular detail, an abundance of the most intricate suggestions. The Fourrière likewise receives stray animals of whatever kind. This unique magazine, situated in the Rue de Pontoise, is a solid structure of spacious dimensions, protected by a strong wall, and defended by two Gardes Municipaux. Moreover, a drapeau-the French are fond of these demonstrative attributes of power-faded and tattered, it is true, but still a drapeau, droops, rather than waves, above its entrance, and imparts to it an imposing cachet of officiality.

Its iron gates, closely boarded within, are opened only to the bearer of a permit, and admit the visitor into a yard, on one side of which is the dwelling, on the other the bureaux, of the Contrôleur: among the latter is a small chamber, serving as a petty court of justice in cab

FLEMISH INTERIORS.'

disputes; for, unless of a grave character, they are heard and settled here. It is in this office, therefore, that plaintiff and defendant undergo their examination, and learn the decision of the Préfecture. For the better administration of justice, in cases where it may become necessary to confront the parties, this room is so constructed as to admit of isolating them while establishing between them the required means of communication.

The centre compartment of the Fourrière may be called a coach or, rather, cart-house, and is of large proportions, roughly but substantially roofed. Within it are stowed stray and ownerless vehicles, for, strange to say, such are constantly found by the police in the Paris streets. It is by no means unusual for the driver of a cart, or the coachman of a street-carriage to turn into a wine-shop or cabaret, and there forget himself, leaving his vehicle standing at the door; and disreputable hackney-coach-men are frequently known to take their horse out of the shafts and sell him, abandoning their carriage in the middle. of the road, while they go off to the barrière to get drunk on the money. sequestrated here, we found cabs, hand-carts, trucks, barrows, and a solitary perambulator, representing the practical results of police surveillance.

Hither, too, every public carriage destined to ply for hire in the streets of Paris must be brought, to acquire the necessary licence, and to receive its number, in exchange for the prescribed fee of 70 centimes to the Contrôleur.

Among the vehicles in custody, we found a curiously con

·

structed phaeton, clumsy in shape and proportions, to which our guide pointed contemptuously, observing it was a Prussian machine,' left in the outskirts after the siege. We also noticed wheels and other portions of omnibuses, collected, as we learned, from the débris of barricades, after the streets were disencumbered of these obstacles; among other curiosities was a perfectly incomprehensible consignment of eight enormous barrels, the presence of which on the spot where they were discovered no one could explain: they were brought hither from a field outside the mur d'enceinte, and on being opened, proved to be closely packed with opal lampshades! They had stood here about fifteen months without being claimed. Above, is a broad, boarded gallery, following the walls and reached by a wide, roughly constructed stepladder. Having ascended it, we found ourselves in presence of the most inconceivable collection of chattels and properties-we cannot call them 'goods'-of every possible description. Incongruous, ill-conditioned, and worthless as they are, however, every object that composes this wonderful aggregate is labelled, numbered, and dated, as well as inscribed with a brief outline of what is known of its history: all these details are likewise entered in a register.

Before us, surrounded by a coarse matting, is a crazy mobilier, which, we learn on reading its ticket, has been standing here for about a twelvemonth; it was found in the Rue St. Victor, having been turned out of doors by the owner's landlord, who had for some time previously ceased to receive any rent from him. There were several such parcels, but the description of one will serve for all a deal table, minus a leg, its leaves hanging by part of a hinge; two or three heavy armchairs, with oval backs, covered in

torn and faded Utrecht velvet, the original hue of which few would be bold enough to determine; a cracked mirror in a broken frame; a couch which reminds us of Noah's ark; a clumsy wooden bedstead, with straw-stuffed mattress; rusty stewpans; cracked basins; spoutless jugs and handle-less cups; two or three lithographs, stained and torn, of battle-scenes-les gloires de la France'!-in blistered frames, once gilt, but now chipped, peeled, and cracked at the corners; broken china ornaments; a child's cradle; a battered modérateur lamp, &c. &c. Whence has it all come, and where are those who lived among these things? The official superscription tells only the brief and melancholy tale of its detention: there is nothing but our own imagination to help out the living history of its antecedents, full, no doubt, of strange adventure, and incidents that could not even be dreamed of out of Paris.

Farther on we come to a series of bundles-bundles of every sizę and description, containing, Heaven only knows what!-bundles sewn up in matting, corded up in drugget, tied up in a table-cover, in a blanket, a sheet, a brick-red pocket-handkerchief. Here we find a pair of steps and several ladders of various sizes; there, three glaziers' frames side by side, with their squares of glass on them the owners probably had set them down while they went on some errand of amusement, or possibly they may have been abandoned by some runaway apprentice; beyond is a heap of rotten, discoloured mattresses, taken, we are told, from the barricades in the Rue de Rivoli; near these, the stock-in-trade of an itinerant vendor of crockery, followed by a number of large battered tin milk-vessels; and then the counter of a wine-shop with all its lead fittings and brass taps; with it,' a bagatelle-board, its green baize

cover moth-eaten, torn, and stained, and few of its balls and cues still surviving; parcels of old books; portfolios of mildewed, blistered prints; files of old papers; broken musical instruments, a hand-organ, a stringless guitar, and a violin with the back unglued, probably the sole companion in misery of some wretched itinerant musician; old boots and old umbrellas, and at the extreme end four or five sacks of corn, proclaimed by the label they bear to have occupied the spot since the winter of the year 1869.

Doubtless many a melancholywho knows? perhaps many a romantic-history attaches to the miserable relics with which we are surrounded, and not a few are too obviously connected with misfortune, squalor, and crime. One little, worn and crumbling mobilier, the Contrôleur told us, was the property of a poor old fellow who had once carried on a respectable business, but the long illness of his wife, and his own discouragement after her death, together with the extravagant and heartless conduct of a grandson, had reduced him to such abject poverty that he found himself unable to continue in the humble domicile he had for many years occupied he consequently paid up his last trimestre, took a single room, and craved a corner for his furniture at the Fourrière, in the delusive hope of being able one day to pay the warehousing, and take it back; year after year, however, passed without bringing any prospect of this consummation, and meantime each component article was becoming more faded, more broken, and more worthless: the aged owner, not less broken and decrepit himself, still seemed to retain a feeling of attachment for these mute witnesses of his happier years, and was in the habit of creeping, from time to time, to the Fourrière to inspect his poor little property, and note its

caducity, which, as if by sympathy, kept pace with his own.

The Contrôleur, touched by the sad and silent perseverance with which he watched the mouldering remains of his former life, told him one day that if he liked to remove them he would remit the charge incurred, but the forlorn old man only looked up helplessly, and mournfully shook his head. At length his visits ceased altogether, and we could not but share the opinion expressed by the Contrôleur that his tottering steps would bring him hither no more.

From this gallery, on either side, open several lofts, in which is piled up and stowed away an endless amount of rubbish. One of these seemed to be devoted entirely to baskets of every shape, size, and destination; another to bottles; a third to planks and scaffold-poles, odd pieces of wood and timber, and

so on.

:

There does not appear to be any stipulated period for clearing out this heterogeneous mass of deposits their disposal-if not claimed within a certain time-depends on the will of the Préfet de Police, without whose directions they cannot be meddled with.

The stables and kennel are placed! respectively on either side of the central hangar we have described, and afford a spectacle of another order. In the former, three or four jaded hacks stand with dejected mien before their empty mangers, awaiting the issue of their fate; oxen, goats, sheep, asses, any cattlei indeed, straying or trespassing in the public highway are seized and impounded here to share their gloomy captivity. Occasionally, as we have said, a voiture de place is found standing in some street, forsaken by the driver; it is thereupon taken possession of by the police, and brought to the Fourrière: when the coachman, who is often only tempora