Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 131.djvu/379

 time; if the task were not finished, the child would get a "sting" from a "bat" (a sort of wooden battledore), or some strokes from a cane, or would be set up on a high stool to plait there, till the eyes grew dizzy, till the head swam, and there would be a sharp fall off; so it is good that plaiting-schools are no more, and it would be good if every evil from plaiting would disappear as thoroughly. This, though, cannot be. Coarse straws will always, more or less, take the skin off the plaiter's fingers as she plaits; dishonesty will always make necessary the "measuring-man," to pick out a "link" here and there at market-time, to measure it, and to burn it publicly in the market-place if it is deficient, hoist up on a high pole.

Perhaps, henceforth, if a plaiter should be met along the roads round about Hitchin, plaiting as she 'goes with her plait-ends away from her (not to her, as might be supposed), a few of these facts may be thought of pleasantly.

 

 From The Athenæum.

could scarcely be a more trivial book than this, and it may be doubted whether even the exceptional position of the Countess Voss in the very midst of a society of historical importance gives any, real value to her meagre jottings. But the faint titillation of pleasure which a reader experiences when a well-known historical character is introduced to him in the dress of everyday life is felt oftener in reading this book than in reading almost any book of the kind; and there is something so surprising in the length of time over which this insignificant diary extends, that the book becomes noticeable; almost every one will take it up with curiosity, even though the liveliest curiosity will soon be satiated by it, and therefore it is not surprising that it should have been very promptly translated.

To give a notion of the lapse of time which the book covers, it may be mentioned that the countess's father was wounded at Malplaquet, and that the countess herself outlived by a year the battle of Leipzig, though the interval between those battles is one hundred and four years. But the countess's own experience of some sort of public life was also immensely long. It is described in the title as covering sixty-nine years; but the countess could remember Mr. Carlyle's bear, Frederic William the First, who died in 1740, — that is, seventy-four years before her own life ended. The first incident in her public life is recorded in the Margravine of Baireuth's memoirs as follows: —


 * The young Pannewitz was as beautiful as an angel, but as resolute as she was fascinating; and when once the king met her on a staircase that led to the queen's apartments, where she could not avoid him, and ventured to try to kiss her, she defended herself against him with such a hearty box of the ears that those who stood at the bottom of the stairs could have no doubt of her good success.

After this début, the lady went through the whole of the long reign of Frederic the Great, survived his successor, Frederic William the Second, lived through the early and deceptively prosperous days of Frederic William the Third, witnessed the downfall of Jena and the peace of Tilsit, saw Prussia sink lower still, closed the eyes of Queen Louise, saw the Russian expedition pass through the country, taking possession of it in a way that showed that the fate of Prussia was involved in that of Russia, saw the tide turn, saw the levée en masse of Prussia and the creation of the Landwehr, received the news of Dennewitz, Katsbach, Leipzig, Craonne; and when she left the world, could feel that the second great trial of Prussia was over, her second great enemy — more formidable than Maria Theresa — crushed, and a new period of prosperity commenced. She saw, in fact, the whole rise of Prussia to the position of a great power, and during most of the time she was in the closest intercourse with the men who could have best explained to her all that was going on. Had she chosen to observe attentively all that passed before her, to reflect upon it, and write a careful history, her book might have been as interesting as Saint Simon's.

But the countess is the antipodes of Saint Simon. She observes nothing, and narrates nothing. If we were to call her reflections commonplace, we should convey too favorable an impression of them. Properly speaking, she makes no reflections, for we cannot call the mere exclamations, whether of joy or sorrow, with which she accompanies her items of news by so dignified a name. In like manner, she tells us nothing of the characters that are 