Chapter VII: Letter II (2)

Amongst the tribes whose hospitality was shared by Captain Kennedy, the most powerful was that of Ouled-Macktar, whose chief, Ben Douda, is considered by the captain to afford a good type of the Arab chiefs in the pay of France. For a long period he acted as one of Abd-el-Kader’s lieutenants, but at a critical moment transferred his services to the French. His people had their possessions secured to them, and he himself received the appointment of Aga over the Arabs of the Little Desert, with an allowance of ten per cent on the tribute paid by the tribes under his jurisdiction. He is described as about fifty years of age, with handsome though harsh features of the true Arab cast. “What struck me most in his appearance, was the expression of deep cunning strongly marked in the lines that crossed his forehead, and in the downcast and furtive glances of the eye, observing every thing, yet seemingly inattentive.” The Aga is very wealthy, and lives in great luxury, comparatively to most of the Arabs. Captain Kennedy’s party reached his camp at a fortunate moment. The douar was in an unusual state of excitement, and great rejoicings were on foot in honour of the marriage of the Aga’s son. The wedding-feast, consisting of sheep roasted whole, stewed gazelle, cuscusoo, and other Bedouin delicacies, was succeeded by some very graceless dances. Whilst the latter proceeded, the men kept up an irregular fire of guns, pistols, and blunderbusses, presenting their weapons at each others’ breasts, and suddenly dropping the muzzle at the moment of pulling the trigger, so that the charge struck the ground. As might be anticipated, this dangerous sport did not terminate without an accident. One young savage omitted to sink his muzzle, and sent a blank cartridge into the hip of a comrade, knocking him over, burning his bournous, and causing an ugly, although not a dangerous wound. “The rest of the party did not seem to care much about it, and the wounded man’s wife, instead of looking after her husband, rushed up to the man who had shot him, and, assisted by some female friends, opened upon him a torrent of abuse, with such fluency of tongue and command of language, that, after endeavouring in vain to get in a word or two, he fairly turned tail and walked off.”

In the douar of the Abides tribe, Captain Kennedy fell in with a scorpion-eater. This was a disgusting-looking boy, who, being an idiot, was looked upon by the Arabs as a saint--deprivation of intellect constituting in their opinion a high claim to holiness. This urchin bolted, sting and all, a fine lively scorpion upwards of two inches long--the reptile writhing between his teeth as he deliberately crunched it. Our traveller had heard of such exploits, but had naturally been rather incredulous concerning the non-removal of the sting. In this case, however, he was perfectly satisfied that no deception was practised. The boy afterwards devoured another of the same dangerous species of vermin. He belonged to the religious sect of the Aisaoua, who claim the privilege of being proof against the venom of reptiles and the effects of fire. A most extraordinary account of a festival of this sect has been given by a French officer, of whose narrative Captain Kennedy supplies a translation. Fortunately he does not vouch for its veracity; so we may be permitted to disbelieve one half and doubt the rest. M. St Marie relates some marvels of a similar description, collected from an interpreter who had been a prisoner of Abd-el-Kader.

The general impression made on us by Captain Kennedy’s account of his visit to the Arab tribes, is, that the French have as yet done little or nothing towards securing the affections and improving the condition of the people they have subjugated. It must be acknowledged that they have had to do with an intractable race, and one difficult to conciliate. The old hatred and contempt of Mussulmans towards Christians has been preserved in full force in the deserts and mountains of Northern Africa. Centuries have done nothing to weaken it, or to cause the followers of Mahomet to look with liking, or even tolerance, upon the children of the Cross. The Christian is still a dog, and the son of a dog; and even when crouching before his power and intelligence, the Arab nurtures hopes of revenge, long deferred but never abandoned. The French regard their conquest as secure; and doubtless it may be rendered so by the maintenance of a powerful military establishment; but who can foretell the time when they will be enabled to withdraw even a portion of their present African army? Their doing so would be a signal for revolt amongst the chiefs now in their pay, amongst the tribes apparently most effectually humbled and subdued. Patience and vindictiveness are distinguishing traits of the Arab. He bides his time, but never loses sight of his object and of his revenge. “They do not forget,” says Count St Marie, speaking of the Arabs of the province of Oran, “that the Spaniards, weary of occupying a territory which cost them great sacrifices, and yielded them no advantages, abandoned their conquest after two centuries of possession. They foresee that, one day or other, they will be rid of the French, who have made as great a mistake as the Spaniards. The Arabs are animated by an innate spirit of pride and independence which nothing can subdue.” We venture no prophecies in this sense, but neither can we predict the day when Algeria, as a colony, will become other than an unproductive burden to its present possessors, or when it will repay them for the blood and treasure they so liberally expend upon it. They should beware of arguing too favourably from apparent calm and submission on the part of the natives. The ocean is often smoothest before a storm; the Arab most dangerous when apparently most tranquil. Like other Orientals, he starts in an instant from torpor and indolence into the fiercest activity. “The Arab,” says a German officer, whose narrative of adventure in Africa has recently been rendered into English, “lies whole days before his tent, wrapped in his bournous, and leaning his head on his hand. His horse stands ready saddled, listlessly hanging his head almost to the ground, and occasionally casting sympathising glances at his master. The African might then be supposed phlegmatic and passionless, but for the occasional flash of his wild dark eye, which gleams from under his bushy brows. His rest is like that of the Numidian lion, which, when satisfied, stretches itself beneath a shady palm-tree--but beware of waking him! Like the beasts of the desert and the forest, and like all nature in his own land, the Arab is hurried from one extreme to the other, from the deepest repose to the most restless activity. At the first sound of the tam-tam, his foot is in the stirrup, his hand on his rifle, and he is no longer the same man. He rides day and night, bears every privation, and braves every danger, in order to make prize of a sheep or ass, or of some enemy’s head. Such men as these are hard to conquer, and harder still to govern: were they united into one people, they would form a nation which would not only repulse the French, but bid defiance to the whole world. Unhappily for them, every tribe is at enmity with the rest; and this must ultimately lead to their destruction, for the French have already learned to match African against African.”

The constant hostilities amongst the tribes have doubtless facilitated their conquest; and the French still act upon the maxim of “_divide et impera_,” as the best means to retain what they have won. As yet little attention has been paid to more humane means of strengthening themselves in their new possessions, and to the civilisation of the natives. The chief plan proposed for the attainment of the latter object, has been to subject to the conscription all Arabs born since the occupation of the country by the French. It is very doubtful what may be the effect of this measure should it be carried out. Will it Frenchify the natives, and induce kindly feelings towards their conquerors, or render them more dogged and dangerous than before? They will, at any rate, acquire military knowledge, and an acquaintance with the European system of warfare, which, combined with the skill in arms and horsemanship they already possess, will render them doubly dangerous in case of a revolt. After their seven years’ service, they may perhaps think fit to join Abd-el-Kader, or any other leader then warring against the French. It is want of proper discipline that has rendered the Arab cavalry unable to compete successfully with that of France. They charge tumultuously and with little order, each man relying much upon himself individually, but doing little to aid the combined effect of the mass.

Might not conversion to Christianity be made a powerful lever for the civilisation of the tribes? They entertain a degree of respect for the Catholic priests scarcely inferior to that shown to their own marabouts. Abd-el-Kader has more than once released a prisoner, without ransom, at the prayer of the Bishop of Algiers. Near the last-named city, some French Jesuits have formed an establishment for the education, in the Christian faith, of young Arabs and Moors. There, as the author of “Algeria in 1845” informs us, a certain number of youths, after being baptized, are fed, clothed, lodged, and instructed in some trade. The French government pays little attention to this establishment, which is supported chiefly by charitable contributions. “It is, however, a great work of civilisation. The young pupils are hostages in the hands of the French. It is pretty certain that their fathers, brothers, and relations, will not join the rebels. When they leave this establishment, they will carry with them indelible feelings of gratitude. They will have an occupation, they will speak the French language, and will be of the same religion as their masters.”

Exclusive of the army, Frenchmen form less than half of the European population of Algeria. After them come Spaniards, who are very numerous; then Maltese and Italians; and finally, a small number of Germans, barely five per cent of the whole. The Spaniard, although often taxed with idleness and dislike to labour, here proves himself an industrious and valuable colonist; the Maltese travels from village to village with his little stock of merchandise; the German tills the ground. In the neighbourhood of Algiers, things have a very European aspect; and the Arabs themselves, from constant intercourse with the city, have lost much of their nationality. The appearance of a flourishing colony is, however, confined to this district. Little progress has as yet been made in rebuilding the other towns, although in most of them the work of improvement is begun, and the narrow dirty streets are being pulled down to make room for wider avenues and more commodious houses. In some of them the only buildings as yet erected are barracks and hospitals. The seaport town of Bona, bordering on the regency of Tunis, is an exception. In 1832 it was reduced to ruins by the troops of the Bey of Constantina, under command of Ben Aïssa. It is now rebuilding on the European plan. A large square, with a fountain, has been laid out in its centre, and several well-built streets are completed. The town already boasts of an opera, with an Italian company, who are assisted by amateurs, chiefly Germans, from the ranks of the foreign legion.

The Algerine Jews attribute their first arrival in Africa to a miracle, of which we find the following version in Count St Marie’s book. In the year 1390, Simon-ben-Sinia, chief rabbi of Seville, and sixty of his co-religionists were imprisoned, and condemned to die, the object being to get possession of their wealth. On the eve of the day fixed for their execution, Simon drew the image of a ship on his prison wall. The drawing was miraculously changed into a real vessel, on board of which the prisoners embarked for Algiers, where they were kindly received by the Marabout Sidi Ben Yusef. This tradition is still an article of faith, even with the most enlightened of the Jews. In whatever manner they came, they have increased and multiplied, and now abound in all the towns of Algeria. Preserving the characteristics of their race, they differ little from their European brethren; or, if there be any difference, it is not much in their favour. Their moral condition is low; and although some honourable and honest men are found amongst them, the majority are of a very different stamp. They are charitable to their poor, and hospitable to their own people, and are generally well conducted; but their insatiable and inherent greed leads them into all sorts of disgraceful transactions. They have been immense gainers by the expulsion of the Deys, under whose rule they were subjected to much oppression and ill usage. “Their condition is now vastly ameliorated, and I have even heard complaints of their insolence; a very extraordinary charge against a race so tamed and broken in spirit. The French, I fear, can place but little reliance on their courage in occasions of danger.” The Jewish women, when young, are for the most part strikingly handsome; and the boys are models of beauty until the age of ten or eleven years, when their features grow coarse. Education is confined to the males.

The taming of savage animals is no uncommon amusement amongst the French in Algeria; and the most extraordinary and alarming pets are encountered not only in officers’ quarters but in ladies’ drawing-rooms. At Medeah, Captain Kennedy was introduced to a magnificent lion, the property of General Marey, Sultan by name, two years old, and of a most amiable and docile disposition. Sultan allowed himself to be examined and pulled about, and did not even exhibit anger, but some annoyance when an aide-de-camp puffed a cigar in his nostrils--a pleasantry which we are disposed to consider fool-hardy. The only thing that excited his ire was a Scotch plaid worn by Captain Kennedy. It was supposed that the hanging ends reminded him of an Arab bournous, to which he had shown great aversion, having probably been ill-treated in his infancy by the Arabs who caught him. Notwithstanding his good temper, the general intended to get rid of him, fearing that in the long run instinct might prove stronger than education. Besides the lion, General Marey had an unhappy-looking eagle, and a pair of beautiful gazelles. Count St Marie abounds in anecdotes of ferocious beasts in a state of civilisation. One of the first acquaintances he made in Algiers was a tame hyena, of most unamiable aspect, but who lived in touching amity with a little dog, and did the civil for lumps of sugar. At Bona, the count went to call upon some ladies, and, on opening the door, beheld a brace of lions walking about the room. He shut himself out with great precipitation, but was presently reassured by the fair proprietresses of these singular favourites. When he ventured into the saloon, and sat down, the lion laid his head upon his knee, and the lioness jumped on the divan beside her mistress. These brutes were seven years old. Lions are not very common in Algeria. Now and then they approach the douars, greatly to the alarm of the Arabs, who hasten to inform the French authorities, and a battue takes place. Accidents generally happen at these lion-hunts: Count St Marie affirms that there are always three or four lives lost, to say nothing of wounds and other serious injuries. Whilst passing the night in an Arab encampment at the entrance of the Bibans or Iron Gates--the scene of much hard fighting, and of a gallant exploit of the late Duke of Orleans--the count was roused, he informs us, in the dead of the night, “by a noise which appeared to me like a distant peal of thunder, repeated and prolonged by the mountain echoes. Gradually the noise became louder. The animals sprang from their resting-places, and the men, armed with muskets, rushed out of the tents. The oxen, grouped themselves together, and turned their horns to the enemy; the dogs were afraid even to bark. Presently the roaring became less frequent and more distant; and we found that we had been saved from the unwelcome visit of a lion, by the light of the burning brushwood on the neighbouring hills.” The boar and the jackal are more common and less dangerous objects of chase than the lion. Some of the rich colonists and many of the officers are ardent sportsmen. Two of the former have regular packs of hounds and studs of horses. Hares, rabbits, and red partridges are very common.

The horse has greatly degenerated in Algeria, owing chiefly to the neglect of the Arabs, who consider the choice of the dam to be alone important, and pay no attention to the qualities of the sire. The French government has recently established stables near Bona, with a view to the improvement of the breed; the stud is to consist of stallions only. There are to be similar establishments in the other two provinces. So great is the demand for the better class of horses, that the Arabs obtain very high prices for their stallions, which they willingly sell, but they will not part with the mares. Every year, therefore, it becomes more difficult to propagate a good breed. Officers have now been sent to Tunis to make purchases, at a limit of eighty ponds sterling for each horse. This price, Captain Kennedy says, ought to buy the best horses in the country. Although less numerous than formerly, splendid specimens of the Barbary Arab are still to be met with in Algeria. Captain Kennedy describes, in glowing terms, a magnificent charger belonging to General Marey, purchased by that officer at a high price, and after a long negotiation, from a wealthy chief in the south-west. M. St Marie says, that he knew a Morocco horse to perform fifty leagues in eleven hours, without turning a hair or showing a trace of the spur. Assuming him to speak of the common three-mile league, or even of the old French posting league, which was something less, this statement appears incredible. Thirteen miles and a half an hour! Dick Turpin himself, upon his fabulous mare, would have recoiled before such a pace sustained for such a time. The rate of marching of the Arabs, however, from Captain Kennedy’s evidence, is very rapid. The infantry do their fifteen or twenty leagues in the twenty-four hours--the cavalry from thirty to forty-five--the _meharies_ (so say the Arabs) from fifty to eighty. This is when the tribes are on the war-path, making razzias upon each other’s flocks and camps, when it may be supposed that they put on a little extra steam. The mehary is an inferior race of camel, with a small hump, and possessed of considerable strength and spirit, carrying a couple of men. It keeps up for the whole day at about the same speed as the ordinary trot of a horse. Its diet is herbs and date kernels. The horses of the Sahara thrive best upon dates and milk; few of them get barley; and they are sometimes reduced, when no other food is obtainable, to eat cooked meat.

Amongst the most determined enemies of the French in Africa, are to be enumerated the Kabyles, tribes dwelling in the ranges of the Lesser Atlas, from Tunis to Morocco. Of different race from the Arabs, they are believed to be the aboriginal inhabitants of Northern Africa. Secure in their wild valleys, they have ever preserved their independence. Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, Arabs, all failed to subdue them; and, although some of the tribes, whose territory is the least inaccessible, are now partially under the rule of the French, the maritime range, from the east of the Metidjah to Philippeville, remains unconquered. Their numbers are inconsiderable, roughly estimated at eighty thousand. This would give a fighting population of at most from sixteen to twenty thousand men; but that small force has been found efficient to preserve from foreign domination the almost impregnable fastnesses in which they dwell. Although the tribes wage frequent war amongst themselves, a common enemy unites them all. The attachment of the Kabyles to their country and tribe is remarkable. Like the Swiss, or the Spanish Galicians, they are accustomed to wander forth when young, and seek their fortune in other lands. Kabyle servants and labourers are found in all the towns and villages of Northern Africa. But if they learn that their tribe is threatened or at war, they abandon their situations, however advantageous, and hasten home, and to arms. They are very brave, but barbarously cruel, giving no quarter, and torturing their prisoners before cutting off their heads.

Their weapons are guns six or seven feet long, pistols, and yataghans, chiefly of their own manufacture, and the materials for which are found in their mountains, where they work mines of copper, lead, and iron. In their rude way, and considering the badness of their tools, they are tolerably ingenious. Amongst other things, they make counterfeit five-franc pieces, sufficiently well executed to take in the less knowing amongst the Arabs. Their industry is great, and, besides the valleys, they cultivate the steep mountain sides, forming terraces by means of walls, such as are seen in the vineyards on the Rhine and in Switzerland. Possessing few horses, they usually fight on foot; and in the plain, their untutored courage is unable to withstand the discipline of the French troops. Their charges are furious but disorderly; and when beaten back, they disperse to rally again at a distance. In the mountains, where the advantages of military organization have less weight, they are sturdy and dangerous foes, fighting on the guerilla plan, disputing each inch of ground, and disappearing from before their enemy only to fall with redoubled fierceness upon his flank or rear. No foreigners can penetrate into their country, and even Arabs run great risk amongst them. Not long ago, Captain Kennedy informs us, a party of Arab traders, suspected by the Kabyles of being in the French interest, were murdered to a man. Most of them understand and speak the Arabic, but they have also a language of their own, called the Shilla or Sherwia, whose derivation it has hitherto been impossible to discover. They profess Islamism, but mix up with it many superstitions of their ancestors, and ascribe certain virtues to the symbol of the cross, which they use as a talisman and tattoo upon their persons. “It would seem from this,” observes Captain Kennedy, “that at least the outward forms of the early Christians had at one period penetrated into the heart of their mountains.” That, however, like all that relates to the early history of the Kabyles, is enveloped in doubt and obscurity.

A barbarous practice, prevalent in Algeria before the French invasion, is still, Count St Marie tells us, adhered to by the Kabyles. The amputation of a limb, instead of being surgically performed, is effected by blow of a yataghan. The stump is then dipped into melted pitch, to stop the bleeding. The barber is the usual operator. Until the French came, regular physicians and surgeons were unknown in Algeria.

Besides the Zouaves already referred to, the French have raised various other corps expressly for African service. Conspicuous amongst these are two regiments of light cavalry, composed of picked men, and known as the “Chasseurs d’Afrique.” They are mounted on Arab horses; and in order to obtain a sufficient supply, each tribe has to furnish a horse as part of its yearly tribute. The arms of the Chasseurs are carbine, sabre, and pistols; their equipment is light; their uniform plain, and well suited to the nature of the service. Wherever engaged, they have greatly distinguished themselves, and are proportionably esteemed in the army of Africa. The reputation of the Spahis stands less high. These consist of four regiments of native cavalry, under the command of the Arab general Yussuf, whose history, as related by M. St Marie, is replete with romantic incident. It has been said that he is a native of the island of Elba, and was captured, when yet a child, by a Tunisian corsair. Sold to the Bey, he was placed as a slave in the seraglio, and there remained until an intrigue with his master’s daughter compelled him to seek safety on board a French brig, then about to join the fleet destined to attack Algiers. He made the first campaign as interpreter to the general-in-chief. His talents and heroic courage rapidly advanced him, and when the first regiment of Spahis was raised, he was appointed its colonel. Previously to that, he had rendered great services to the French, especially at Bona, when that town was attacked by Ben Aïssa. Landing from a brig of war with Captain d’Armandy and thirty sailors, he threw himself into the citadel, then garrisoned by the Turkish troops of Ibrahim, the former Bey of Constantina, who professed to hold the town for the French government, but had left his post. The Turks rose against their new leaders, and would have murdered them, but for the energy of Yussuf, who killed two ringleaders with his own hand, and then, heading the astounded mutineers, led them against the besiegers, who were totally defeated. The exterior of this dashing chief is exceedingly elegant and prepossessing. When at Paris he was called “_le beau Yussuf_,” and caused quite a _furore_, especially among the fair sex. His portrait may still be seen in the various print-shops, side by side with Lamoricière, Bugeaud, and the other “great guns” of the “_Armée d’Afrique_.”

The first Foreign Legion employed by the French in Africa was transferred to Spain in 1835, and there used up, almost to a man. Another has since been raised, composed of men of all countries--Poles, Belgians, Germans of every denomination, a few Spanish Carlists, and even two or three Englishmen; the legion, like most corps of the same kind, is remarkable for the reckless valour and bad moral character of its members. The Polish battalion is the best and most distinguished. The others are not to be trusted; and only a very severe system of punishments preserves something like discipline in their ranks, where adventurers, deserters, and escaped criminals are the staple commodity. Bad as they are, they are eclipsed by the condemned regiments, known by the slang name of “Les Zephyrs” These are punished men, considered ineligible to serve again in their former regiments, and who are put together on the principle of there being no danger of contagion where all are infected. A taught hand is kept over them; they are insubordinate in quarters, but dare-devils in the field. It will easily be imagined that the duties assigned to these convict battalions are neither the most agreeable nor the least perilous. At present, however, a detachment is employed on no unpleasant service, the care of a experimental military farm, near the camp of El Arrouch, in the district of Constantina. Here they cultivate a considerable tract of land, both farm and garden, breed cattle, and supply the colonists with seeds, fruit-trees, and so forth. Workshops are attached to the farm, for the manufacture of agricultural implements. The men who work as artisans receive three-pence, and the field labourers three halfpence, in addition to their daily pay. “Since the commencement of the experiment,” says Captain Kennedy, “the offences that have been committed bear but a small proportion to those that formerly occurred during a similar period in garrison.” In these days of reform in our military system, might not some hints be taken from such innovations as these? If employment is found to diminish crime amongst a troop of convicts, it might surely be expected to do as much in regiments to which no stigma is attached, and the vices of those members are often solely to be attributed to idleness and its concomitant temptations.

Of few men so largely talked of, and so justly celebrated, is so little positively known as of Abd-el-Kader. The contradictory accounts obtained from the tribes, the narratives of prisoners, who, from their very condition, were precluded from gathering other than partial and uncertain information, compose all the materials hitherto afforded for the history of this remarkable chieftain. Even his age is a matter of doubt, and has been variously stated, although it appears probable that he is now about forty years old. Seeing the great difficulty of obtaining authentic information, Captain Kennedy has abstained from nore than a brief reference to the Emir. At the period of his visit, Abd-el-Kader was not in the field, and his whereabout was very vaguely known--the French believing him to be “somewhere on the frontiers of Morocco.” In the absence, therefore, of trustworthy data, and of opportunities of personal observation, the captain says little on the subject. His reserve is unimitated by M. St Marie, who not only gives a detailed account of the Arab sultan, but prefixes to his book a portrait of that personage, with whom he claims to have had an interview. As regards the portrait, it may be as much like Abd-el-Kader as any other of the half-dozen we have met with, no two of which bore any similitude to each other. The account of the interview is rather marvellous. During his stay in the city of Algiers, M. St Marie went to breakfast with a young Belgian acquaintance, and found an Arab seated in his friend’s room, smoking a pipe. Refreshments were offered to the stranger, and, whilst he discussed them, the count had an opportunity of studying his countenance. He was struck with the dignity of his manner and deportment, and with his air of intellectual superiority, and was given to understand that he was sheik of a tribe friendly to the French. Breakfast over, the Arab departed. Two days afterwards, M. St Marie met his Belgian entertainer. “You were very fortunate the other day,” said the latter; “the Arab whom you saw, when breakfasting with me, was no other than the Emir himself.” And he proceeded to relate how Abd-el-Kader had entered the city with a party of peasants, carrying some chickens, which he sold in the marketplace, to prevent suspicion of his real character. He pledged his word to the truth of this statement, of whose accuracy the count appears satisfied. His readers will possibly be more incredulous. As a traveller’s story, the “yarn” may pass muster, and is, perhaps, not much out of place in the book where it is found. With it we conclude our notice of the rival “Algerias.” Those who desire further details of Bedouin douars and French encampments, of camels and Kabyles, razzias and the like, may seek and find them in the chronicle of the English captain, and the varied, but less authentic pages of the foreign count.

HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE AND LIVE IN IT.

NO. II.

We spent last Sunday at Figgins’s at Brixton, No. 2, Albert Terrace, Woodbine Lane. A hearty fellow: good glass of port: prime cigar: snug box in the garden: and a bus every five minutes at the end of the road: a regular A.1. place for a Sunday out, and home again in an hour and a half to our paradise at ----; but we are not going to give you our address, or we should be pestered to death with your visits. Suffice it to say that Figgins’s is a good specimen of a citizen’s villa _near_ London. Now, there are several kinds of villas: there is the villa near London, and the villa not near: there is the villa in a row, and the detached villa: there is your lodge, and your park, and your grange, and your cottage _ornée_; and best of all, in our opinion, there is--what is neither the one nor the other of all these--there is the plain old-fashioned country-house:--once a cottage, then a farm, then a gentleman’s house: irregular, odd, picturesque, unpretending, comfortable, and convenient. But Figgins’s is a new slap-up kind of affair; built within the last two years, and uniting in itself all the last improvements and the most recent elegancies. He has settled himself in a neighbourhood quite the genteelest of that genteel district: for, though merchants and men of yesterday, so to speak, the people of Albert Terrace show that they have respect for the good times of yore, and they admire the character of the fine old English gentleman: they pride themselves, moreover, on being a steady set of people, and they show their respect for things ancient even in the outward arrangements of their dwellings. Thus you enter each of the twenty little gardens surrounding each of the twenty little detached houses, through gates with Norman pillars at their sides, that would have done honour to Durham or Canterbury; while the wooden barriers themselves are none of your radical innovations on the Greek style, nor any of your old impious fox-hunting five-bars, but beautiful pieces of fretwork, copied from the stalls of Exeter Cathedral, painted so nicely in oak, and so well varnished, that Stump the painter must have out-stumped himself in their execution. Once within the gate, however, and the connecting wall--capped, we ought to have said, with a delicious Elizabethan cornice--all Gothic formality ends for the while; and you are lost in astonishment at the serpentine meanderings, the flowing lines, and the thousand attractions of the garden. An ill-natured friend, who went with us, took objection at the weeping ash, in the middle of the circular grass-plot in front of the door; but he altered his mind in the evening, when he found the chairs ranged under its sociable branches--and the Havannahs and sherry-coblers crowding the little table made to fit round the central stem. ’Twas a wrinkle that which he was not up to:--he was a Goth--a cockney. Figgins, though a Londoner, knows what’s what, in matters of that kind; and shows his good taste in such a practical combination of the _utile_ with the _dulce_. On either side of the house, the pathways ran off with the most mysterious windings among the rhododendrons and lilac bushes, and promised a glimpse of better things in the garden behind, when we should have passed through our host’s _atrium, aula, porticus_, and _viridarium_. Figgins’s house has its main body, or _corps de logis_, composed of two little bits of wings, and a wee little retiring centre--the former have their gables capped with the most elaborate “barge-boards,” as the architects term them, all fretwork and filigree, and swell out below into bay windows, with battlements at top big enough for Westminster Abbey. The centre has a narrow and exceedingly Gothic doorway, and one tiny bit of a window over it, through which no respectably-sized mortal has any chance of getting his head: and again over this is a goodly shield, large enough to contain the blazoned arms of all the Figginses. The builder has evidently gone upon the plan of making the most of his design in a small compass; but he has committed the absurdity first of allowing subsidiary parts to become principals, and then of making the ornaments more important than the spaces: thus the centre is squeezed to death like a nut in a pair of crackers, and battlements, boards, and shield “engross us whole,” by the obtrusiveness of their size and workmanship. Nevertheless, this façade, such as it is, struck us as beating Johnson’s house, in Paragon Place, all to nothing: there was something like the trace of an idea in it, there was an aim, or a pretension, at something: whereas the other is really nothing at all, and its appearance indicates absolute vacuity in the central cerebral regions of its inventor. Figgins has two good rooms on the ground floor, a lobby and staircase between them, to keep the peace between their occupants, three good bed-rooms on his first, and four very small ones up amongst his gables: add to which, that he boasts of what he calls his future dressing-room, but what his wife says is to be her boudoir--we forget where--but somewhere up the stairs. All this again is much better than the Paragon Place plan--it shows that men recover somewhat of their natural good sense when they get into country air.

Figgins has not got a great deal of room in his villa, it is true; but he and his nineteen neighbours are all suitably lodged; and when they all go up to the Bank every morning in the same omnibus, can congratulate themselves on emerging each from his own undivided territory; or when they all come down again in the afternoon, each in a different vehicle--(you never meet the same faces in the afternoon that you do in the morning trip: we know not why, but so it is, and the fact should be signalized to the Statistical Society)--they can each perambulate their own eighth of an acre with their hands under their coat-tails in solemn dignity; or their wife, while awaiting their arrival, and listening to the beef-steaks giving an extra fiz, wanders round and round again, or, like a Virgil’s crow,

“Secum sola magnâ spatiatur arenâ.”

If Figgins had but insisted on having the back of his residence plastered and painted to look more natural than stone, the same as the front--or, better still, if his ambition could have contented itself with the plain unsophisticated original brick, we should say nothing against his taste--’tis peculiar certainly, but he’s better off than Johnson.

On the opposite side of Woodbine Lane, some wretch of a builder is going to cut off the view of the Albert Terrace people all over the narrow field, as far as the brick kilns, by erecting a row of contiguous dwellings some three or four storeys high, besides garrets, and they are to be in the last Attic style imported. One word is enough for them: the man who knowingly and voluntarily goes out of town to live in a house in a row, like those lines of things in the Clapham Road or at Hammersmith, deserves to be sent with his house to “eternal smash;” he is an animal below the range of æsthetics, and is not worth remonstrating with.

One of these next days, when we take our hebdomadal excursion, we intend going to see old Lady de Courtain at Lowlands Abbey, near ----; you can get to it in about twenty minutes by the Great Western. It is no abbey in reality, you know; there never was any Foundation on the spot further than what Sam Curtain, when he was an upholsterer in Finsbury, and before he got knighted, had laid down in the swampy meadow which he purchased, and thus bequeathed to his widow: but it’s all the same; it looks like an abbey;--that is to say, there are plenty of turrets, and the windows have all labels over their heads, and there are two Gothic conservatories, and two Gothic lodges at each of the two Gothic gates; and there is a sham ruin at the end of the “Lake:” and if this is not as good as a real abbey, we should like to know what is. Old Lady de Courtain was perfectly justified in Normanizing her name and her house:--why should she not? she had plenty of money: had she been a man, she could have bought a seat for half a dozen boroughs, and might even have gone a step higher; but, as it is, she has married her eldest daughter to the eldest son of Sir Thomas Humbug, a new Whig baronet; and she calls her house as she pleases. We applaud the old lady’s spirit; she has two other daughters still on the stocks, and she gives good dinners; we shall certainly go and patronize her. Comfort for comfort, we are not quite sure but that we had rather take up our quarters with John Bold, Esq., at Hazel House, on the top of the hill opposite. It is quite a different-looking mansion, and yet the rooms are laid out nearly on the same plan: in the one all is Gothic, in the other all is classic: one is be-fretted, and be-pinnacled, and be-shafted, and be-buttressed; but the other has a good plain Tuscan portico, like St Paul’s in Covent-Garden--plain windows wide and high, at enormous distances from each other--sober chimney-pots, that look as if they were really meant to be smoked, and not a single gimcrack or fanciful device any where about the building. It’s only a brick house plastered, after all; but it has a certain air of ease and comfort and respectability about it, that corresponds to a nicety with the character of its worthy inmate. If the door were wide enough, you might turn a coach and pair in the dining-room; there is a good, wide, low-stepped staircase; you may come down it four-a-breast, and four steps at a time, if you like--and if it were well behaved so to do, but it isn’t; and your bedroom would make two of Figgins’s drawing-rooms, lobby and all. The house always looks to us as if it would last longer than Lady de Courtain’s; and so we think it will; just as we doubt not but that honest John Bold’s dirty acres will be all in their proper places when Lady de C.’s three per cents shall be down at forty-two again, and her houses in the city shall be left empty by their bankrupt tenants. They live, too, in a very different way, and in widely distinct circles: at the Abbey you meet many an ex-civic notoriety, and many a rising hope of Lombard Street: it is a perpetual succession of dinners, dances, and picnics: at the House you are sure to be introduced to some sober-faced, top-booted, elderly gentleman or other, and to one or two rotund black-skirted individuals; and you find a good horse at your service every morning, or the keeper is ready for you in proper time and season; and sometimes the county member calls in, or a quorum of neighbouring magistrates sit there in solemn conclave. One is the house of to-day, the other of yesterday: one keeps up the reminiscences of the town, and of a peculiar part of the town, rather too strongly; the other actually smells of the country, and, though so near the metropolis, has nothing with it in common. Their owners, when they go to town, live, one in the Regent Park, the other in Park Lane.

Another acquaintance of ours--and this we will say that we are proud of being known to him--dwells in an old-fashioned gloomy house at Petersham. It is a respectable old gentleman in a brown coat, black shorts, white waistcoat, and a pigtail; and is a member of the Royal Society as well as of the Society of Antiquarians. The house in question suits him, and he suits the house; it was built in the time of that impudent intriguing Dutchman who came over here and drove out his uncle and _beau-père_; and it accordingly possesses all the heavy dignity of the Dutch houses of that period. The windows are pedimented and cased with mouldings; they are lofty and sufficiently numerous; the doorway has two cherubs flying, with cabbages and roses round the shell that hangs over it; and the lawns are still cut square, and have queer-shaped beds and parterres. There is something dignified and solemn in the very bricks of the mansion, wearing as they do a more regular and sombre hue of red than the dusty-looking things of the present day; and when you once get into the spacious rooms, all floored and pannelled with oak, you feel a glow of veneration for olden times--though not for _those_ times--that you cannot define, but which is nevertheless excessively pleasing. While sitting in the well-stored library of this mansion, you expect to see Addison walking in at the one door, and Swift at another; and you are not quite sure but that you may have to meet Bolingbroke at dinner, and take a glass of wine with Prior or Pope. There are numberless large cupboards all over the place; you could sit inside any of the fireplaces, if the modern grates were, as we wish them, removed: and as for opening or slamming a door in a hurry, it is not to be done; they are too heavy; no such impertinences can ever be tolerated in such a residence. And then our friend himself--we could tell you such a deal about him, but we are writing about houses, not men--you must go and get introduced to him yourself. Let it be put down in your pocket memoranda, whenever you hear of a house of this kind to let, either take it yourself or recommend somebody else whom you have a regard for to do so. It is not a handsome, stylish kind of house; but it is one of the right sort to live in.

Very little is to be said in blame, much in praise, of the majority of English country gentlemen’s houses; if atrocities of taste be committed any where, it is principally near the metropolis, where people are only half-and-half rural, or rather are of that _rus-in-urbe_ kind, that is in its essence thoroughly cockney. There is every variety of mansion throughout the land, every combination of style, and more often the absence of all style at all; and in most cases the houses, at least the better kind of them, are evidently made to suit the purposes of the dweller rather than the architect. This ought to be the true rule of building for all dwellings, except in the cases of those aristocratic palaces or _châteaux_ where the public character of the owner requires a sacrifice of private convenience to public dignity. Houses that are constructed in accordance with the requirements of those that are to live in them, and that are suited to the exigencies of their ground and situation, are sure to please longer, and to gratify the taste of a greater number of persons, than those which are the mere embodyings of an architect’s portfolio. This, however, requires that the principles of the architect should be allowed to vary from the strict proportions of the classic styles;--or rather, that he should be allowed to copy the styles of civil architecture, whether of Greece or Rome, or of ancient Europe. The fault hitherto has been, that designers of houses have taken all their ideas, models, and measurements from the religious rather than the civil buildings of antiquity; and that they have thought the capitals of the Jupiter Stator more suited to an English gentleman’s residence than the capricious yet elegant decorations of a villa at Pompeii. In the same way, until very lately, those who call themselves “Gothic Architects” have been putting into houses windows from all the cathedrals and monasteries of the country, but have seldom thought of copying the more suitable details of the many mansions and castellated houses that still exist. Better sense and better taste are now beginning to prevail, and we observe excellent houses rising around us. Of these, by far the larger proportion are in the styles of the Middle Ages; and for this reason, that the architects who practise in those styles have a wider field to range in for their models, and have also more thoroughly emancipated themselves from their former professional thraldom. There is also a very decided reaction in the public taste in favour of the arts of the Middle Ages, or rather let us say, in favour of a style of national architecture;--and as the Greek and Roman styles have little to connect them with the historical associations of an Englishman’s mind, they have fallen into comparative disfavour. For one purely classic house now erected, there are three or four Gothic. The worst of it is, however, that from the low state into which architecture had fallen by the beginning of the present century, and even for some time afterwards, there has been no sufficient space and opportunity for creating a number of good architects adequate to meet the demands of the public; and hence, the greatest barbarisms are being daily perpetrated, even with the best intentions of doing the correct thing, both on the part of the man who orders a building, and of him who builds. Architecture is a science not to be acquired in a day, nor by inspiration;--nor will the existence of one eminent man in that profession immediately cause a hundred others of the same stamp to rise up around him. On the contrary, it requires a long course of scientific study, and of actual scientific practice; it demands that a great quantity of traditionary precepts be kept up, and handed down from master to pupil through many generations of students and practitioners: it requires the accumulation of an enormous number of good instances and examples; and in most cases it is to be polished by long foreign travel. Now, all this cannot be accomplished in an impromptu, off-hand manner: the profession of architecture requires to be raised and kept up at a certain height of excellence through many long years: it is like the profession of medicine, of law, or the study of all scientific matters: when once the school of architecture declines, the practice of it declines in the same ratio, and the resuscitation of it becomes a work of considerable time. Such a regenerating of architecture is going on amongst us: comparatively more money is now laid out on buildings than at any preceding period for the last hundred years: our architects are becoming more scientific and more accomplished: the profession is occupying a higher rank than it has lately done; and we may, therefore, hope for an increasing proportion of satisfactory results. If only the public eye be cultivated and refined in a similar degree, we may reasonably expect that some beautiful and notable works will be executed.

Not, however, to launch forth into the wide question of architectural fitness and beauty, we will confine our observations to two special topics; one concerning the ornamentation of architectural objects, the other concerning the materials used in private dwellings.