The Sun.
London, England, 1865-01-26 00:00:00

SPORTING INTEL 'LLIGENCE.

,Iwin. 4

BETTING AT MANCHESI 'ER—WEDNESDAY.
WATERLOO (COURSING ') CUP.
[OO to G agst Lord Uffington's nomination (offered)
20 to 1 agst Mr. Bland's nominatioo (taken freely)
20 to 1 agst Mr. J. Jardine's nomination (taken)
25 to 1 agst Mr. Haywood's nomination (taken)
33 to 1 agst Dr. Richardson's nomination (taken)
33 to 1 agst Mr. Jones's nomination (offered)
40 to 1 agst Mr. Randall's nomination (offered)
50 to 1 agst Mr. Gibson's nomination (taken)
66 to 1 agst Mr. Cunningham's nomination (taken)

TWO THOUSA.ND.
7 to 1 Nast Broomielaw (offered)
10 to 1 agst Zambezi (wanted)

THE DERBY.
6to 1 agst Liddington (wantAl)
100 to 11 agst Breadalbane (offered)
100 to 6 agst Chattanooga (offered, take 20 to 1)
25 to 1 agst Rifle (offered)
40 to 1 agst Longdown (taken)
45 to 1 agst The Buck (taken)

Funeral Oration by Victor Hugo•

T

(From the Guernsey Star.)

At the interment of Miss Emily de Putron, which
took place at the Foulon Cemetery on Thursday
last, M. Victor Hugo pronounced the following
oration over the grave

" Within a few weeks we have been occupied with two
sisters—the one we have married, and now we are burying
et madeofacultybelieve.
tl
ooi
efv see.e.
the other. Such is the perpetual agitation of life. Let us
loving. C IFu ra i t
Lhh
bow, my brethren, before inflexible destiny. And let us
bow with hope. Our eyes are made to weep, but they aro
the
edeetialrl tusaisnnoomtthfaeodrrgeeetxito
ststehaunffteeerin,
sbtphurinist itg springs from
also
unquietfrom
life, which is consoled by love, it is the heart which believes.
The son hopes to find again his father, the mother will not
consent to lose her child for ever. This revolt against an-
nihilation is the grandeur of man. Tho heart can never
orr. The flesh is a dream which fades away ! This trance,
were it the end of man, would take from our extistence
every sanction ; we cannot content ourselves with this
vapour—which is mere matter—we must have a certainty.
Whoever loves knows and feels that the props of man aro
not upon the earth. To love is to live after life. Withont
this faith, no deep gift of the heart were possible. To love,
which is the aim of man, would be his punishment. Para-
dise would be a hell. No !—be it declared aloud—the
loving creature demands the immortal creature. The heart
must have a soul. There is a heart in that coffin, and that
heart lives. At this very moment it listens to my words.
Emily de Putron was the gentle pride of a respectable
and patriarchal family. Her friends and neighbours
found enchantment in her grace, and pleasure in her
smile. Sho was like a full-blown flower of joy in
the house. From her birth every tenderness surrounded
her ; she grew up happy, and in receiving happiness she
dark-
ness ? No. It is we who are in darkness—she is in the
gave it. She is gone. Whither is she gone ?—into
dawning light. She is in the light, in the truth, in the
reality, in the recompense. These early dead who have
done no ill are the blessed of the grave, and their heads
rise gently from the tomb towards a mysterious crown.
Emily de Putron is gone to seek on high everlasting
serenity—the complement of an innocent existence. Youth
is gone to "eternity, beauty towards the ideal, the pearl
towards the ()dean, a spirit towards its God. Go, soul !
The marvel of this great celestial departure, which we call
death, is that those who thus depart still remain near
us. They are in a world of light, but they, as tender
witnesses, hover about our world of darkness. They are
over us and near us. Oh, whoever you may be who have
seen a beloved being sinking into the tomb, do not think
that it has left you. It is always near. It is beside you
more than ever. The beauty of death is its presence. In-
expressible presence of a soul which smiles upon our tear-
ful eyes ! The being that we mourn has disappeared but
has not departed. We no longer see its gentle face—but
we feel that we ara beneath its wings. The dead are in-
visible, but they are not absent. Let us be just to death.
Let us not be ungrateful to it. It is not, as has been said,
a ruin and a snare. It is an error to think that here, in
this darkness of the open grave, all is lost to us. Here
everything is found again. The grave is a place of res-
titution; here the soul resumes the infinite ; here it re-
covers its plenitude ; here it re-enters on possession of
all its mysterious nature ; it is set free from the body,
from want, from its burthen, from fatality. Death is
the greatest of liberties : it is also the farthest progress.
Death is a higher step for all who have lived upon the
height. Dazzling and holy ascension ! Every one receives
his increase. Everything is transfigured in the light, and
by the light. He who has been no more than virtuous on
earth becomes beauteous ; he who has only been beauteous
becomes sublime ; he who has only been sublime becomes
good. And now I, who am speaking, why am I here ?
What brings me to this grave ? By what right do I ad-
dress the dead ? Who am I ? Nothing! But lam wrong

—I am something. lam a proscript. Yesterday exiled by
violence—to-day a voluntary exile. A proscript is a van-
quished, a calumniated, a persecuted man, a man wounded
by fate and disinherited of his country ; a proscript is an
innocent man weighed down by a malediction. His bless-
ing ought to have virtue in it. I bless this grave. I bless
the noble and gracious being that lies there. In
the desert we find the oasis, in exile we meet
with souls. Emily de Putron has been one of the lovely
souls that we have met with. I come to pay her the debt
owing by a proscript whom she has consoled. I bless her
in the dark profound. In the name of the sorrows whereon
she gently beamed, in the name of the trials of destiny
which for her are ended, but which continue for us, in the
name of terrestrial things which once she hoped for, and of
celestial things which she now obtains, in the name of all she
loved, I bless this lifeless being. I bless her in her beauty,
in her youth, in her innocence, in her life, and in her death;

I bless her in her white sepulchral robe, in her home which
she has left desolate, in her coffin which her mother has
filled with flowers, and which God is about to fill with
stars."

The funeral service was performed, in French, by the
Rev. Mr. Nicolle, 'Wesleyan minister, in the presence of a
large concourse of persons whom the expectation of hear-
ing the eloquent poet had attracted.

The Botschafter of Vienna states that the last
Austrian despatch addressed to the Bavarian Go-
vernment relative to the views of Austria in the
question of the Duchies, has been received with
much favour at Munich. M, Von der Pfordten is
said to have declared himself well satisfied, and to
have expressed his gratitude for the attitude ob-
served by Austria in the negotiations with Prussia,
as also his confidence in the federal tendencies of the
Imperial Government. The same journal learns
from Dresden that the Saxon Cabinet has expressed
itself in similar language on the Austrian policy.
THE PERUVIAN EXPEDITION.—The Union and
America Peruvian war corvette remain in Plymouth
Sound, fitting out. Strenuous exertions are being made
by the loaders of the expedition to get the vessels effec-
tively manned. On Tuesday 16, and on Wednesday 43
men were shipped. The majority of these men are pro-
cured from London. The crew that have been previ-
ously shipped, it appears, have, however, been much
dissatisfied with their treatment on board. Mutinous
feelings have been exhibited, within the last few days,
and on Wednesday morning over 20 of the men formerly
shipped left and came ashore, refusing to continue in
the service.

AN AMERICAN COTILLION.—NOW
gO_tulvhpeyfur..l3almor
enlighten the uninitiated in the mysteries of a cotii-
tilion. It is a compound, complicated kind of dance,
evidently constructed from the elements and fragments of
freedom
theykia
ns likegt
they ey-
and
many other dances—a good deal of quadrille, a strong
taste of lancers, a flavour of polka and waltz ; the whole
highly seasoned with Indian war-dance. You never
stand still, neither can you lounge and talk sof!
hnt
honegsgt
to your partner. No ; it's real, bow-tide, dowur
had left off
dancing. I soon discovered why the
their
clothing.jack jackets a
jacket trained
a and 'tooonut gallantly. M '
cares and toils,
and red shirted like the rest
dwai runnerst
ccooautdl could not rullhe anuvnegs
ot ono
ad irt,e in,
g.
pantomime time. How m. i
anjut danced on. till the grey
never clearly remembere.d ,
partner was a gem,
Int 11:3hI:ofNye:ogtotieli endurancethle windows,
avf
ianagdgebooatlwt lhsteh:et
wAmgiirarmlhieen.(l- .
the
,htatini
that
dtt etoahllaidnt gst
the
wda with all its
behindew:mmveeiletød
couldVeek 'do in European'
morningt,
easterni,
Was
se rn e
evaehrl lilac:1:s:
pdtlhanerdhs.usbßaunt onced,
Wo3IEN
ihsanAdßo3niceElcmuo.r_e.—uOnsctile
ma
ar
to please
themselves, as in moreoncieveilisxcee
countries,
ad
ne girlsn jo y a
flirting,gs ccbh about
tolove-making, marrying
se-
ed,
and then only
and all is changed. From that time until she bears a chil. d,
she never speaks to any
in private. After she becomes a mother she may speak to her
mother-in-law first, and after the lapse of certain periods,
to her own mother, her sisters-in-law, and her own
sisters. She is always veiled, even in her own house; she
never speaks to male strangers, and she seldom or never
leaves the house. Her finery, jewellery, and ornaments
can be shown only to those of her own sex ; and in every
way her seclusion is as complete as that of the Turkish
women. On the other hand, the Armenian women seldom
downy hard work; they remain at home while their husbands
labour in the fields, and they enjoy, probably on account
of their acquaintance prior to marriage, much more
respect and confidence from their husbands than falls to
the share of the Turkish wife, who, moreover, has to
divide with two or three rivals the little affection or re-
spect which her husband deigns to bestow on her. As the
Armenian woman can only talk in her own house below
her breath, that none of her male relatives may hear what
she says, it follows that the consequence which usually re-
sults from the residence of so many women in one house,
incessant quarrelling, is quite avoided.—UsAer's Journey
from London to Persepolis.

Restoration of St. Bartholomew Church,
Smithfield.

A decided step has at length been taken towards
the restoration of the church of St. Bartholomew
the Great in Smithfield, and yesterday a number
of architects and other persons interested in the
important and interesting work, which has just been
commenced, availed themselves of the opportunity
now afforded of inspecting all that remains of
the old edifice. Some time since a committee was
formed for the purpose of rescuing this fine old
church from the disgraceful condition into which it
had been suffered to fall, for making it in some re-
spects worthy of the memory of its founder, as well
as a safe and appropriate place of public worship.
There is certainly no church in the metropolis which
has more interesting associations. All that now re-
mains of the fine old priory church of St. Barthole-
mew is a choir of imposing appearance, and in a
style of which but few specimens at present exist in
this country, viz., the Romanesque. Now that the
interior is stripped of pews and pulpit, and nothing
but the ruinous-looking walls remain, the visitor
has an opportunity of minutely examining the de-
tails and noticing the general effect of the noble
choir. The history of the church is interesting. Its
founder was Rahere, the Court minstrel ; also the
founder of the Hospital of St.'Bartholemew. Dug-
dale's " Monasticon " gives the following account of
the origin of the noble church, priory, and hospital :
"In the reign of Henry-I. there was a man named Ra-
here, sprung and born from low lineage, and who, when
he attained the flower of youth, began to haunt the house-
holds of noblemen and the palaces of princes ; where, under
every elbow of them, he spread their cushions with japes

and flattering; delicately anointing their eyes by this
manner to draw to him their friendships. Such was the
youthful life of Rahere. But with years came wisdom and
repentance. He would go to Rome, and there seek rends-
sion of his sins. He did so. At the foot of the shrine of
the Apostles Peter and Paul he poured out his lamentations,
but, to his inexpressible pain, God, he thought, refused to
hear him. He fell sick, and then he shed out, as water,
his heart in the sight of God ; the fountains of his nature,
to the very depths, were broken up ; he wept bitter tears.
At last dawned a new life upon the penitent man. He
vowed, if God would grant him health to return to his
own country, he would make an hospital in recreation of
poor men, and minister to their necessities to the best of
his power. With returning health to the mind not unna-
turally came health to the body. And now more and more
grew upon him the love of the great work he had deter-
mined to perform. Visions, as he believed, were vouchsafed
to him for his guidance. On a certain night he saw one
full of dread and sweetness. He fancied himself to be borne
up on high by a certain winged beast, and when from his
great elevation he sought to look down he beheld a horri-
ble pit, deeper than any man might attain to see the bottom
of, opening as it seemed to receive him. He trembled, and
great cries proceeded from his mouth. Then to his comfort
there appeared a certain man, having all the majesty of a
king of great beauty, and ' 0 man,' said he, what and how
much service shouldst thou give to him that in so great a
peril hath brought help to thee ?' Rahere answered,
' Whatever be of heart, and right diligently, should I give
in recompense to my deliverer.' Then said the celestial
visitant, lam Bartholomew, the apostle of Jesus Christ,
that come to succour thee in thine anguish, and to open to
thee the sweet mysteries of heaven. Know me surely by
the will and commandment of the Holy Trinity, and the
common favour of the celestial court and council, to have
chosen a place in the suburbs of London, at Smithfield,
where, in my name, thou shalt form a church."'
How zealously Rahere set to work to build the
hospital and found the priory is a tale that has oft-
times been told ; how he feigned idiocy, and at-
tracted to the spottherabble of London, who helped
to clear the ground, and who brought wood and
stone from all parts ; and how, when all was ready
to his hand he made known his real purpose, are
told in the monkish legends of the time. The lo-
cality in the time of the First Henry was by no
means a favoured one, and the old historian tells
that " The place before its clearing pretended to
no hope of goodness. Right unclean it was, and
in a marsh, dungy' and fenny, with water at most
time abounding, while the only dry portion was occu-
pied by the gallows for the execution of criminals."
When the great work was completed Rahere was the
first prior ; and a charter was given, which recites
Know ye that I have granted, and by my char-
ter confirmed, to the church of Bartholomew, and
to Rahere the prior, and to the poor of the hospital
of the same church, that they be free from all
earthly servitude, power, and subjection. As any
church in all England is free, so shall this be free,
and with all lands acquired or to be acquired. I
will maintain and lefend it as free as my Crown
against all men. I also deliver Prior Rahere from
all charges and claims whatsoever, and let none
presume to usurp any dominion in the place." The
poor jester thus built himself an everlasting name,
and his monument still stands in the church which
he founded amid a chaos of ruin caused by the
neglect of those who had benefited so much by his
zealous labours.
It is scarcely possible to imagine a state of things
more disgraceful than that which has allowed the
church to become the ruin which it now presents.
There is a beautiful early English gateway leading
to the church from Smithfield. It was in all proba-
bility the entrance to the cloister, or inner close.
Above the arched gateway there is a wretched-look-
ing brick house, and built into the side of the arch
is a miserable little shop, which has the imposing
title of " The City Halfpenny Shaving Saloon."
The entrance to the church itself is by steep de-
scending stairs; the external level has been raised

nearly 12 feet by the mass of decaying human re-
mains. Inside the church, as well as outside, dead
bodies were crowded together without any pretence
of decency, until the whole was a mass of corrup-
tion. The pauper burial ground was on the north
side of the church, where a wretched Golgotha of a
few square yards was built, and encroached upon
by a number of wretched-looking buildings, upon
which the dirty and dilapidated windows of the
houses in Cloth-fair opened. The whole interior
was miserably damp and Gold ; dry rot and
mildew bore uninterrupted sway over the
place. The triforium of the church has
been taken possession of as private property,
the chambers which were built out of it were
destroyed by fire in 1830, and have not since been
restored. The eastern part has been converted into
a fringe warehouse and manufactory ; a schoolroom
has been formed out of a part of the north side.
Across
the semi-circular end of the choir, or apse, of
the church, a straight wall was introduced inthe 15th
century, against which the wooden reredos is now
placed. A few feet eastward of this is a brick wall,
with two arches recessed in the outer face, and a
moulding introduced over them in imitation of early
English work, but executed in brick and plaster, and
now sadly dilapidated. The dark space between these
two walls has long been called Purgatory, because it
was used as a " bone house." The wall above has
been rebuilt in the vilest modern brickwork. The
portions of the cloister which remained until 1834
had long been used as a stable, and the gallery over it
was converted into a wretchedly unwholesome dwel-
hug. The transepts of the church were destroyed
by fire in 1830. The tower of the church is of brick
of the most hideous description. One bay of the nave
alone remains, but this is valuable as affording evi-
dence that it was built in the Norman period, and
in order to support the central tower. There is a
fine monuratnt in the church to its founder, Rahere.
It ix in the early English style beautifully executed ;
its
fretted canopy, niches, and finials are manipu-
lated with
rare ability. The figure of Rahere is re-
cumbent on the tomb--he is attended by saints and
angels, a kneeling monk
in his hand lies open at
at his side, and the Bible
at the 51st chapter of Isaiah ;
an angel at his feet bears a shield and coronet, and
on the edge of the slabs ' the inscription to the me-
mory of Rahere, the
first canon and
looking tomb
and first prior of
the church. Another imposing
stands on the opposite aid tithat of Sir Walter
Mildmay, founder of Emmanuel
College, Cam-
bridge, and Chancellor of the
Exchequer
o to Queen
ofneL too the
London,
Elizabeth. Another of the tombs is
memory of Roger Walton, Bishop
the prelate of whom Fuller said that ,4
he
w not,ls so
lon,
jaw-fallen by over-fasting that he could eat
much when brought unto him." Dr. Francis
Anthony, " the discoverer and user of a medi-
cine drawn from gold aurum potabile," also
lies here. And there is a modest tablet to the
memory of Capt. John Nullett, mariner, 1600—
" Desirous hither to resort,
Because this parish was his port."
The crypt of the church is a very interesting feature
in c onnexion with the building, and there is a tradi-