along its borders like the purple cloud which wraps the Samiel, the destroying pestilence, named by distinction the Plague, seems to have attracted special attention. That slight and sallow man, who had struggled, his life long, with sickness, whose face was as that of a hermit in a wilderness, who was slow of speech, and upon whose head had now fallen the snows of nearly threescore winters, marked that Samiel-cloud from afar. He saw it coming slowly, resistlessly on, strewing its way with pallid corpses, taking the smile from off the faces of the nations. He thought it possible that, by entering its shade he might learn the secret of its baneful energy, and save some of his fellow-creatures from its power. He thought he heard the voice of his God bidding him go; he looked calmly from his quiet island home toward Asia and the Ægean, and went. Other diseases were to meet him on the way, the lazar-houses of Europe were embraced in his enterprise, but the great Plague, like the monarch of the baleful host, was the ultimate, and gradually the principal foe with which the weak John Howard was to contend.

Passing over the previous stages of his journey, we find him, in the summer of 1786, in Constantinople. Here he visited the hospitals and lazarettos, every den and stronghold of the plague; as he entered, a pain smote him across the forehead, continuing for an hour after he left; his conductors drew back in fear, he saw what was oppressing to soul and sense; yet he never flinched, never abandoned that calm, heaven-lit look, which nought on earth could darken or abash, never stopped till his task was done.

This once accomplished, he prepared to return to Vienna. But he paused; a thought had struck him-he could not proceed. The prison-world he had entered solely as a visitor; in no other capacity was there a possibility of doing so. But was

not the case altered here? Was there not a way of learning the secrets of lazarettos more thorough than that of mere inspection and hearsay? There was, and Howard saw it. Yet the condition was stern. It was, that he should enter a lazaretto, and, confined himself, learn, beyond possibility of deception, the state and feelings of its inmates. The old man deliberately accepted the condition, and proceeded to enter a lazaretto. From Constantinople he sailed for Smyrna, chose there a vessel with a foul bill of health, and departed for Venice. On leaving the Morea, where the vessel took in water, they were borne down upon by a Tunisian pirate, and a fight ensued. To the astonishment of the crew, Howard stood by perfectly calm. At length the pirate seemed about to prevail. As a last resort, the Turks loaded their largest cannon to the muzzle with nails, spikes, and what destructive missiles could be found. Howard stepped forward, seeing, probably, that the men mismanaged the matter, and coolly pointed the gun on the enemy's deck; the volley burst out, carrying death among their crew, and, as the smoke rolled along the sea, the 'pirate was seen hoisting sail, and bearing away. The voyage proved long and stormy. For two months Howard was tossed about, alone in wild, dangerous weather; yet he bore a brave heart through it all :— "I well remember," he says, "I had a good night, when, one evening, my cabin-biscuits, &c., were floated with water; and thinking I should be some hours in drying it up, I went to bed to forget it."

Arriving at Venice, he found he had to spend two months in the lazaretto. He was first put into a loathsome room, "without table, chair, or bed," and swarming with vermin. He hired a person to cleanse it, and the operation occupied two days, yet it remained offensive; headache, caused by the tainted air and infected walls, perpetually tormented him, From his

first apartment he was, after some time, removed to another as bad as the former. Here, in the division of the apartment where he was to sleep, he was "almost surrounded with water," and found a dry spot on which to fix his bed only by kindling a large fire on the flags. Six days he remained in the new quarter. Once more he was removed, and this time there appeared a possibility of improvement. His new apartment was indeed unfurnished, filthy, and " as offensive as the sick wards of the worst hospitals." But the water and the vermin seem to have disappeared. The rooms, however, were full of contagion, for they had not been cleaned from time immemorial, and though Howard had been washed again and again with warm water, he found his appetite failing, and that a slow fever was beginning to fasten upon him. But he was on no theatrical mission, and would die at his post only when all remedy absolutely failed him; his stout English heart had never yet fainted; and here, again, we meet the difficulties of the theory touching his slow and shiftless dullness. With the aid of the English consul, he obtained brushes and lime; his attendantfor a consideration-assisted him in manufacturing whitewash; despite the prejudices of the observers, he rose up three hours before his guard, and commenced, along with his former assistant, to whitewash his apartment. He resolved to lock up his guard if he interfered; we are almost sorry the man did not, for most certainly Howard would have kept to his determination. He did not, however, and the only result was, that all who passed by looked with astonishment at the whitened and wholesome walls, where so many had been contented to pine and repine, with no attempt at cure.

The days in the Venice lazaretto rolled slowly on, wearisome, dismal, unvarying; Howard watched every thing, knew every thing, and felt the weariness he longed to relieve. His faith

failed not; with calm and easy feelings he looked forward to the term of his confinement. But suddenly there came a change: darker clouds than had ever yet cast their shadow over him took their course toward that dreary lazaretto. On the 11th of October, 1786, he received letters from England, with two pieces of information. The one was, that his son was following evil courses, and dashing wildly on in a path whose end, dimly indicated to the father, must be one of the deepest darkness: the other that a movement was proceeding in England, under high and promising auspices, for the erection of a monument to himself. Not hearing, at first, the worst concerning his son, he wrote home with deep sorrow, yet in hope. The proposal for a monument next required his attention. An English gentleman had formerly had an interview with Howard at Rome of an hour's length, and the result was an admiration on the part of the former which knew no bounds. On his return to England he had proposed, through the columns of the "Gentleman's Magazine," that a public monument should be erected to one whom he styled "the most truly glorious of human beings." The widespread and profound admiration for Howard which, ere this time, had sunk into the British mind, had thus found vent; at once the proposal had taken effect, and the movement was headed by certain noblemen. With astonishment it was heard that Howard wrote, absolutely refusing the honor, and alleging that its idea gave him exquisite pain. At first this was thought a graceful mode of acceptance, or at least a struggle of excessive modesty, easily to be overborne; but the fact was soon put beyond dispute. Even after long arguing and urging by intimate and honored friends, he decidedly and unalterably refused his consent. From the lazaretto of Venice, he wrote to his friend Mr. Smith of Bedford, rehearsing the directions he had given ere quitting Cardington

respecting his obsequies; his words were as follows, we copy them with no alteration and with no comment :

--

"(a) As to my burial, not to exceed ten pounds.

"(b) My tomb to be a plain slab of marble, placed under that of my dear Harriet's in Cardington Church, with this inscription :

Some time after, in grateful and courteous terms, he signified to his well-wishers in England, that his resolution was fixed, and that he would accept no public mark of approbation what

ever.

Let this fact be fully and calmly considered; and let it then be said whether what we have alleged regarding Howard's grand motive in his work, is other than the bare and faintlyexpressed truth. For himself he would have no glory. He accept honor from men, who was the weakest of instruments, and whose highest honor it was that he was worthy to be made an instrument at all in the hand of God! He stop to be crowned by men, whom the Almighty had honored with His high command, and permitted to give strength and comfort for Him! He listen to the applause of the nations, whom his inmost heart knew to be weak and unworthy, and whose most inspiring yet indestructible hope it was, that he might be numbered even among the least in the kingdom of heaven! The people seemed in loud acclaim to say, Thou hast brought us water out of the rock: Howard, with eager face, and outstretched hand, and heart pained to the quick, cried out, I have done nothing, I deserve nothing; God has done all.

Released from the lazaretto, and after spending a week in Venice, Howard proceeded by sea to Trieste, and thence to Vienna. During this time, the fever he had averted for a time