within his attribute) discovered that the
bodily cutting out of part of a column,
involved not only the loss of the reverse side to
the reader— which might very likely be only
a harmless narrative of " extraordinary
longevity in a cat," but also possibly
destroyed some matter favourable directly or
indirectly to the interests of Holy Russia—
thus cutting off the Czar's own nose, as
well as the baneful branches from the tree
of liberty. So, a new plan was adopted.
The heretical matter was " blacked " or
blocked out, by a succession of close
stampings with black ink upwards, downwards,
backwards, forwards, and diagonally,
—exactly as the grain of a steel plate for
mezzotiuto is raised by a "rocking tool"—
till every oifending cross to a t or dot to an i
was obliterated. The appearance of a
newspaper thus blocked out is very wonderful.
Sometimes a whole column becomes as dark
as Erebus; sometimes one paragraph in an
article of foreign intelligence will disappear;
sometimes two lines and a half in a critical
article on a purely literary subject, perhaps
three columns in length, will assume an
Ethiopian hue: sometimes one line in an
advertisement will be numbered with the
wonders of typography that were. The
immediate why and wherefore of all this, lies
with Cato the Censor. He is " Sir Oracle,"
and no literary dog dare bark at him.
Sometimes a few of the older Heydians [but
not Russians, you may be sure] banter
him playfully as to his morning's
corrections; ask him if he took too much
"ponche " over night, and, waking up in a
bad humour that morning, had gone to
work savagely with the blacking stamp— I
had nearly said bottle— or whether he had been
sent for by the Minister of Police and told
that he had been far too lenient lately, and
must stamp out several degrees more
rigorously in future? When bantered too
severely the fat man loses his temper, throws
over his dominoes, casts grim official glances
at his tormentors as though he would very
much like to be Cato the Censor of men as
well as words, and stamps out a few of the
Heydians for their insolence.

A remarkable and very puzzling peculiarity
in this absurd and useless system of censorship
is the fact that paragraphs positively rampant
in their democratic and throne-subversive
tendency are very frequently left untouched,
and are visible to the naked eye. Whether
this occurs through mere carelessness and
oversight on the fat man's part, or through
some deep and subtle design of the fat man's
superiors, to let certain things be known,
while others are to be enveloped in obscurity,
I am perfectly unable to state: but such is
the fact. Just before I left Russia the affairs
of Naples were beginning to attract attention.
The probability of a rupture between
the Western powers and the " Padrone assoluto"
of the Lazzaroui was being freely discussed.
The papers talked of the imminent
arrival of an allied squadron in the Neapolitan waters;
of the wrongs of Poerio; of the
ripeness of the people for revolt; of the
atrocities of the wretched Ferdinand, and his
soubriquet of " King Bomba; " of the
barbarities of the bastinade and the dungeons
of Caserta and Ischia. All this was left
untouched. I think, myself, that the Russian
Government in its dealings with newspapers
is much more afraid of ideas, than of facts.
It assumes it to be impossible for its reading
subjects to be ignorant of the moon's rotation;
but it does not wish them to know why
it rotates, or, at least, to speculate on this or
any other subject. Speculation might lead
to inquiries as to the why and the wherefore
of the Stick, the Police, Slavery, the
Passport system, non-representation, an
irresponsible government— nay, ultimately to
impertinent queries as to the cause and effect
of the high and mighty and omnipotent Czar
himself.

GONE BEFORE.

NELLY darling, Nelly darling, why this pallor on thy
cheek?
Quarters from the clock have sounded since I heard
my loved one speak;
Since I heard thy gentle voice, Nell, full an hour has
pass'd away,
Why those tears upon thy eyelids; why so silent,
Nelly, say?

Ah! too well I now remember: twelve months since,
this very day,
Darkness fell upon our dwelling, one we worshipp'd
turn'd to clay.
Long we mark'd his colour fading, long we mark'd
his eye grow dim,
Day by day the strength departing from each little
wasted limb.

Came at last the dreaded moment in the watches of
the night,
Back into the realms of Heav'n the infant spirit wing'd
its flight,
While the morning sun, uprising in a flood of golden
red,
Fell on two bereaved mourners, kneeling by a little
bed.

Brave were the broken words I utter'd, brave as
husband's words should be,
But the father's choking sorrow struggled hard to be
set free.
I talk'd to thee of resignation, strove my anguish to
conceal;
Said it was the common lot: that time at length the
wound would heal.

Nelly dearest, Nelly dearest, raise thy drooping head
again,
Sit not thus in speechless sorrow, there is balm to
soothe thy pain;