certain of Goethe's very words and lines.—The
Frenchman has given to the music of Margaret a
purity, a passion, a despair, a repentance, and a
triumph, not to be over-estimated. The monologues
of Faust in his study and in her garden—the
death scene of Valentine, the tremendous
final encounter of Good and Evil in the dungeon—
have too few parallels in music of modern time,
and recal no older model. Neither do the
choruses of the revellers at the fair (with its
admirable waltz), nor of the soldiers returning home
(the last among the most stirring of marches ever
written), nor the grave, judicial, awe-striking
"Dies iræ" in the church, before the threatenings
of which the betrayed girl, heavy with the secret
of her shame, cowers in helpless awe and bitter
agony. Being thoroughly original, M. Gounod has
had to pay the price of entry into a world where
people prefer being reminded to being surprised;
but that his opera is the Faust opera, one which
will make it difficult for any musician to come to
approach the subject, is an assertion which few
open-minded persons will be found to dispute.
Those who follow the fashion, knowing little on
their own behalf, have the amplest excuse for
admiration, in a popularity as rapid as it has
been brilliant.

THE STORY OF GOVERNOR WALL.

Now, when the public eye looks out wistfully
to India, and broods over the sad tale of the
unhappy sergeant who was persecuted unto his
death—chafing at delay, and growling out a half
suspicion of unfair play, and authority sheltered
by other authority—it may not be unprofitable
to see how sternly an almost similar case was
dealt with some sixty years since.

There was a certain Wall, who came of a good
Dublin family, who was "connected with Lord
Seaforth" and the Irish nobility in various
directions. He had been sent into the army, and had
drifted away to India during the great native wars
of Lord Clive and others. He distinguished
himself at different periods, found his way to the
Havannah, was promoted there for marked
gallantry, and finally is discovered at the Island of
Goree about the year 1782, in the capacity of
one of those rough-and-ready rulers who were
at that time so useful to the Company that
employed them, and perhaps so necessary in dealing
with the half-savage tribes of the country.
He had with him a knot of Irish officers; one
Captain Lacy, Captain O'Shallaghan, a name of
a very pronounced nationality, and some more.
Under their command were some black soldiers,
about three hundred in number, who had lately
been showing signs of discontent in reference to
arrears of pay. In fact, one morning, a party of
them, headed by one Armstrong, came to the
governor, by way of deputation, to ask for a
settlement of their claims, certainly in a
respectful fashion, and even without their arms.
A proceeding which, however harmless under
other circumstances, might be considered as
highly significant under the special incidents
of that isolation and remoteness from home,
which was doubly distant in those days of what
Dr. Johnson called "tardy locomotion." The
governor's version, given long afterwards, was,
that the men were insolent, that there was a
desperate spirit of insubordination abroad, that
prisoners had been released from confinement,
and a bayonet actually held to his breast.

The morning passed by. But, as soon as
dinner was over, the blacks were paraded, and
the officers called together, Captain Lacy and
the officer with the outspeaking national name.
A gun-carriage was ordered forward, and
Armstrong directed to stand forth from the ranks.
He was instantly seized, tied up, and a gang of
blacks told off to execute the punishment. A
heavy piece of rope was found—the professional
"cat" having been mislaid—and upwards of
eight hundred lashes inflicted on the spot, the
blacks relieving each other in the odious duty
after spells of five-and-twenty lashes. It was
sworn that the governor took special interest in
the blows being dealt heavily, and called out
often to them, "Lay on, you black——, or I'll
lay on you myself! Cut him to the heart! Cut
his liver out!" and other coarse encouragement.
A doctor stood by, but never interfered. The
luckless Armstrong begged hard for mercy, but
was not "taken down" until the eight
hundredth stroke. He was then removed to
hospital, gradually sank, and died, as might be
expected after so terrible a punishment, in a day
or two. There was no question but that his
death came of that severe infliction.

It was long before the news drifted over to
England. The good old Indiaman, taking some
ten or twelve months to flounder across the
waters, would have borne the news slowly. And
then mysterious rumours of the soldier flogged
to death by his commander—coloured, too, by
the far-off Indian tints which then deepened
curiously every incident, whether of good or
evil—began to be whispered. Governor Wall
was, however, employed busily elsewhere. But
Captain Lacy and Captain Shallaghan came, and
no doubt told the story.

Then came Mr. Burke, and Mr. Sheridan, and
the famous Hastings Impeachment, and the
public mind was stirred up by histories of awful
atrocities, and nabobs and English satraps
fattened on blood and plunder. And in this favourable
temperament the name of Governor Wall
was being called out. But Governor Wall was
now lying ill of fever, and could not return. At
last actually twenty years rolled away since the
soldier was flogged to death, and it might
reasonably be thought the whole incident would
have been forgotten, when suddenly, in the year
eighteen hundred and two, Governor Wall
turned up in London, gave himself up, and
demanded trial. No doubt he merely wanted a
technical clearing of his name; just as officers who
are pretty well conscious of innocence, demand
courts-martial with loud pertinacity. Everything
was in his favour, and he might reasonably
look for an acquittal.