The Project Gutenberg EBook of The International Magazine, Volume 2, No.
3, February, 1851, by Various

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Title: The International Magazine, Volume 2, No. 3, February, 1851

Author: Various

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THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE

Of Literature, Art, and Science.

Vol. II. NEW-YORK, FEBRUARY 1, 1851. No. III


Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved
to the end of the article.




THOMAS CHATTERTON.

[Illustration]


In the history of English literature there is no name that inspires a
profounder melancholy than that of the "marvellous boy" Chatterton, of
whom it must be said that in genius he surpassed any one who ever died
so young, and that in suffering he had larger experience than almost any
one who has lived to old age. Shelley says of him:

      "'Mid others of less note came one frail form,
        A phantom among men; companionless
      As the last cloud of an expiring storm,
        Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,
        Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness,
      Aclæon-like, and now he fled astray,
        With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness,
      And his own thoughts along that rugged way
    Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey."

And Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, Byron, Southey, Scott, Kirke White,
Landor, Montgomery, and others, have laid immortal flowers upon his
tomb, to make the heart ache that we did not live in time to save the
"sleepless soul" from "perishing in his pride."

Of the genius of poor Chatterton, Campbell says, "I would rather lean to
the utmost enthusiasm of his admirers, than to the cold opinion of those
who are afraid of being blinded to the defects of the poems attributed
to Rowley, by the veil of obsolete phraseology which is thrown over
them. If we look to the ballad of Sir Charles Bawdin, and translate it
into modern English, we shall find its strength and interest to have no
dependence on obsolete words. The inequality of his various productions
may be compared to the disproportions of the ungrown giant. His works
had nothing of the definite neatness of that precocious talent which
stops short in early maturity. His thirst for knowledge was that of a
being taught by instinct to lay up materials for the exercise of great
and undeveloped powers. Even in his favorite maxim, that a man by
abstinence and perseverance might accomplish whatever he pleased, may be
traced the indications of a genius which nature had meant to achieve
immortality. Tasso alone can be compared to him as a juvenile prodigy."

Mrs. S. C. HALL gives us, in her "Pilgrimages to English Shrines," in
the _Art Journal_, the following interesting sketches of scenes
connected with his history:--


THOMAS CHATTERTON.

CHATTERTON--poor Chatterton! We had been brooding sadly over his
fragment of a life, ending at seventeen--when ordinary lives begin--and
turning page after page of Horace Walpole's literary fooleries, to find
his explanations and apologies for want of feeling and sympathy, which
his flippant style, and heartless commentaries, illustrate to
perfection; and we closed, with an aching heart, the volumes of both the
parasite of genius, and him who was its mightiest creation and most
miserable victim:--

    "The marvellous boy who perished in his pride."

It was only natural for us to recall the many instances we have
ourselves known, during the past twenty years, or more, of sorrow and
distress among those who sought distinction in the thorny labyrinths of
literature;--those who

    ----"waged with Fortune an eternal war,
    Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
    And Poverty's unconquerable bar;"

and those who, after a brief struggle with untoward fate, left the
battle-field, to die, "unpitied and unknown!"

We have seen the career of a young literary man commenced with the first
grand requisite of all excellence worth achieving--ENTHUSIASM; high
notions of moral honor, and a warm devotedness to that "calling" which
lifts units to a pinnacle formed by the dry bones of hundreds slain. We
have seen that enthusiasm frozen by disappointment--that honor corrupted
by the contamination of dissipated men--that devotedness to THE CAUSE
fade away before the great want of nature--want of bread--which it had
failed to bestow. We have seen, ay, in one little year, the flashing eye
dimmed--the round cheek flattened--the bright, hopeful creature, who
went forth into the world--rejoicing like the sun to run his
course--dragged from the waters of our leaden Thames, a discolored
remnant of mortality--recognized only by the mother who looked to him
for all the world could give!

This is horrible--but it is a tragedy soon played out. There are
hundreds at this moment possessed of the _consciousness_ of power
without the _strength_ to use it. To such, a little help might lead to a
life of successful toil--perhaps the happiest life a man can lead. A
heritage of usefulness is one of peace to the last. We knew another
youth, of a more patient nature than he of whom we have just spoken. He
seemed never weary. We have witnessed his nightly toil; his daily labor;
the smiling patience with which he endured the sneers levelled, _only_
in English society, against "_mere_ literary men." We remember when, on
the first day of every month, he used to haunt the booksellers' shops to
look over the magazines, cast his eyes down the table of contents, just
to see if "his poem" or "his paper" had been inserted--then lay them
down one after another with a pale sickly smile, expressive of
disappointment, and turn away with a look of gentle endurance. The
insertion of a sonnet, for which perhaps he might receive seven
shillings, would set him dreaming again of literary immortality; and at
last the dream was realized by an accident, or rather, to speak
advisedly, by a good Providence. He became known--known at once--blazed
forth; something he had written attracted the town's attention, and
ladies in crowded drawing-rooms stood upon chairs to see that poor,
worn, pale man of letters: and magazines, and grave reviews, and
gayly-bound albums, all waited for his contributions--charge what he
pleased; and flushed with fame, and weighed down with money--money paid
for the very articles that had been rejected without one civil line of
courtesy--the great sustaining hope of his life was realized; he married
one as worn and pale with the world's toil, as himself--married--and
died within a month! The tide was too tardy in turning!

Who shall say how many men of genius have walked, like unhappy
Chatterton, through the valley of the shadow of death, and found no
guide, no consolation--no hope; if, the one GREAT HOPE had not been most
mercifully planted early in their hearts and minds?

It was with melancholy pleasure that, during the past summer, our
Pilgrimage was made to the places connected with the boy's memory, in
Bristol; first to Colston's school, in which he was educated;[1] next to
the dull district in which he was either born or passed his boyhood;
then to the Institution, where his "Will," a mad document, and other
memoranda connected with his memory, are preserved with a degree of
care, that seems--or is--a mockery, when contrasted with the worse than
indifference of the city to all that concerned him when alive; next to
the house of Master Canynge, and next to the monument (Redcliffe Church)
with which his name will be associated as long as one of its stones
remains upon another; chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies
through its long-drawn aisles; pondering sadly in the muniment-room,
where the cofres that suggested the forgeries, still lie rotting; and
gazing with mingled sorrow and surprise on the "Cenotaph to Chatterton,"
which now, taken to pieces, occupies the corner of a damp vault--

    "A solemn cenotaph to thee,
    Sweet Harper of time-shrouded minstrelsy!"

Ah! such books as we have been reading, and such memories as we have
been recalling, are, after all, unprofitable--a darkness without light.
We closed our eyes upon the world, which, in our momentary bitterness,
we likened to one great charnel-house, entombing all things glorious and
bright. We walked to the window; the rain was descending in
torrents--pour, pour; pattens clattered in the areas, and a solitary
postman made the street echo with his impatient knocks. A poor
organ-boy, whom we have long known, was moving, rather than walking, in
the centre; his hat flapped over his eyes by the rain, yet still he
turned the handle, and the damp music crawled forth: he paused opposite
our door, turned up the leaf of his hat, and looked upward; we missed
the family of white mice which usually crawled on the top of his organ:
poor child, he had sheltered them in his bosom; it was nothing more than
natural that he should do so, and the act was commonplace enough--but it
pleased us--it diminished our gloom. And we thought, if the great ones
of the land would but foster the talent that needs, and deserves,
protection from the storms of life, as that lonely boy sheltered the
creatures intrusted to his care, the world would be all the better. We
do not mean to insult the memory of such a genius as Chatterton by
saying that he required a PATRON--the very sound is linked with a
servility that degrades a noble nature; but we do say he sadly wanted a
FRIEND--some one who could have understood and appreciated his wonderful
intellectual gifts; and whose strength of mind and position in society
would have given power to direct and control the overleaping and
indomitable pride which ultimately destroyed "the Boy." His career
teaches a lesson of such rare value to all who seek distinction in any
sphere of life, that we would have it considered well--as a beacon to
warn from ruin.

    "Oh! what a tangled web we weave,
    When first we practise to deceive!"

Despite his marvellous talents, his industry, his knowledge, his
magnitude of mind, his glorious imagination, his bold satire, his
independence, his devotional love of his mother and sister--if he had
lived through a long age of prosperity, Chatterton could never have been
trusted, nor esteemed, _from his total want of truth_. His is the most
striking example upon record of the necessity for uprightness in word
and deed. Where a great end is to be achieved--there must be
consistency, a union between noble daring and noble deeds--there must be
Truth! No man has ever deviated from it without losing not only the
respect of the thinking, but even the confidence of the unwise.
Chatterton's earliest idea seems to have been how to deceive; and, were
it possible to laugh at youthful fraud, there would be something
irresistibly ludicrous in the lad bewildering the old pewterer, Burgum.
Imagine the fair-haired rosy boy, the brightness of his extraordinary
eyes increased by the covert mischief which urged him forward--fancy his
presenting himself to Master Burgum, who, dull as his own pewter, had
the ambition, which the cunning youth fostered, of being thought of an
"ancient family"--fancy Chatterton in his poor-school dress presenting
himself to this man, whose business, Chatterton's biographer, Mr. Dix,
tells us, was carried on in the house now occupied by Messrs. Sander,
Bristol Bridge,[2] and informing him that he had made a
discovery--presenting to him various documents, with a parchment
painting of the De Burgham arms, in proof of his royal descent from the
Conqueror.

[Illustration: BRISTOL BRIDGE.]

Mr. Dix assures us, "that never once doubting the validity of the
record, in which his own honors were so deeply implicated, he presented
the poor bluecoat-boy, who had been so fortunate in _finding_ so much,
and so assiduous in his endeavors to collect the remainder, with _five
shillings_!" Blush, Bristol, blush at this record of a citizen's
meanness; the paltry remuneration could have hardly tempted even so poor
a lad as Thomas Chatterton to continue his labors for the love of gain;
yet he furnished Burgum with further information, loving the indulgence
of his mystifying powers, and secretly satirizing the folly he duped.

It is quite impossible to trace back any circumstance which could, to
speak advisedly, have led to such a course of deception as was practised
by this boy; born of obscure parents, his father, a man of dissolute
habits, was sub-chanter of the Cathedral, and also master of the free
school in Pyle-street; this clever, but harsh, and dissolute man died in
August, 1752, and the poet was born on the 20th of the following
November.[3] Such a parent could not be a loss; he would have been, in
all human probability, as careless of his son as he was of his wife;
and, at all events, Chatterton had not the misery of early cruelty to
complain of, for he had a mother, tender and affectionate, although
totally unfit to guide and manage his wayward nature. Her first grief
with him arose, strange as it may seem, from his inaptitude for
learning--as a child he disdained A B C, and indulged himself with his
own thoughts. When nearly seven years old he "fell in love," to use his
mother's phrase, "with an illuminated French manuscript," and thus
learned his letters from the very sort of thing he spent his early days
in counterfeiting. His progress was wonderful, both as to rapidity and
extent, and his pride kept pace therewith. A friend, wishing to give the
boy and his sister a present of china-ware, asked him what device he
would choose to ornament his with. "Paint me," he said, "an angel with
wings and a trumpet, to trumpet my name over the world." Here was a
proof of innate ambition; if his mother had had an understanding mind,
this observation would have taught her to read his character. Such
ambition could have been directed,--and directed to noble deeds.

[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF CHATTERTON.]

[Illustration: CHATTERTON AS DOORKEEPER.]

He was admitted into the Blue Coat School, commonly called "Colston's
School,"[4] before he was eight years old, and his enthusiastic joy at
the prospect of learning so much, was damped by finding that, to quench
his thirst for knowledge, "there were not books enough." When he took in
rotation the post of doorkeeper at the school, he used to indulge
himself in making verses,[5] and his sister, who loved him tenderly,
presented him with a pocket-book, in which he wrote verses, and gave it
back to her the following year. There was nothing in this species of
tuition or companionship to create or foster either the imitations or
the satire he indulged in, he had neither correction nor assistance from
any one. Even before his apprenticeship to Mr. John Lambert, he felt he
was not appreciated or understood; perhaps no one ever _acted_ a greater
satire upon his own profession than this harsh attorney, who deemed his
apprentice on a level with his footboy. He must have been a man utterly
devoid of perception and feeling; his insulting contempt of what he
could not understand added considerably to the sarcastic bitterness of
Chatterton's nature, and it is easy to picture the boy's feelings when
his productions were torn by this tyrant and scattered on the office
floor! He has his reward. John Lambert, the scrivener, is only
remembered as the insulter of Thomas Chatterton![6]

[Illustration: TOMB OF CANYNGE.]

It is impossible not to pause at every page of this boy's brief but
eventful life, and lament that he had no friend; reading, as we do, by
the light of other days, we can see so many passages where judicious
counsel, given with the intelligent affection that would at once have
opened his heart, _must_ have saved him; his heart, once laid bare to
friendship, would have been purified by the air of truth; it was its
_closeness_ which infected his nature. And yet the scrivener considered
him a good apprentice. His industry was amazing; his frequent employment
was to copy precedents, and one volume, in his handwriting, which is
still extant, consists of three hundred and forty-four closely-written
folio pages. There was in that gloomy office an edition of Camden's
"Britannia," and, having borrowed from Mr. Green, a bookseller,
Speight's "Chaucer," he compiled therefrom an ingenious glossary, for
his own use, in two parts. "The first," Mr. Dix says, "contained old
words, with the modern English--the second, the modern English, with the
old words; this enabled him to turn modern English into old, as an
English and Latin dictionary enables the student to turn English into
Latin." How miserable it is, amongst these evidences of his industry and
genius, to find that all his ingenuity turned to the furtherance of a
fraud. He seems to have been morally dead to every thing like the
disgrace attending falsehood; for, when struggling afterwards in London
to appear prosperous while starving, he wrote home to Mr. Catcott, and
concludes his letter by stating that he intended going abroad as a
_surgeon_, adding, "Mr. Barrett has it in his power to assist me
greatly, by _his giving me a physical character_; I hope he will." He
seems to have had no idea that he was asking Mr. Barrett to do a
dishonest action.

But the grand fraud of his short life was boldly dared by this boy in
his sixteenth year. Why he should have ever descended to forge when he
felt the high pressure of genius so strong within him, is inexplicable.
Why, with his daring pride, he should have submitted to be considered a
transcriber, where he originated, is more than marvellous. The spell of
a benighting antiquity seemed around him; it might lead one to a belief
in "Gramarie"--that some fake spirit had issued forth from the "cofre of
Mr. Canynge,"[7] so long preserved in the room over the north porch of
this Bristol church of Redcliffe--a "_cofre_" secured by six keys, all
of which being lost or mislaid, the vestry ordered the "_cofre_" to be
opened; and not only "Canynge's _cofre_," but all the "_cofres_," in the
mysterious chamber: not from any love of antiquity, but because of the
hope of obtaining certain title-deeds supposed to be contained therein.
Well, these intelligent worthies, having found what concerned
themselves, took them away, leaving behind, _and open_, parchments and
documents which might have enriched our antiquarian literature beyond
all calculation.[8] Chatterton's father used to carry these parchments
away wholesale, and covered with the precious relics, bibles, and
school-books: most likely other officers of the church did the same.
After his death, his widow conveyed many of them, with her children and
furniture, to her new residence, and, woman-like, formed them into dolls
and thread-papers. In process of time, the child's attention being
aroused by the illuminated manuscripts, he conveyed every bit of
parchment he could find to a small den of a room in his mother's house,
which he called his own: and, when he grew a little older, set forth,
with considerable tact, in answer to all questions asked of him as to
how he obtained the poems and information, that he himself had searched
the old "_cofres_,"[9] and discovered the poems of the Monk Rowley.
Certainly he could not have had a better person to trumpet his discovery
than "a talkative fool" like Burgum, who was so proud of his pedigree as
to torment the officers of the Herald's College about his ancestors; and
he was not the only one imposed on by Chatterton's talent. His
simple-minded mother bore testimony to his joy at discovering those
"written parchments upon the covered books:" and, of course, each
discovery added to his antiquarian knowledge; for, though no trace
exists of the Monk Rowley's originals, there is little doubt that on
some of those parchments he found enough to set him thinking, and with
him to think and act was the same thing; indeed, there is one passage in
his poems bearing so fully upon the fraud, that we transcribe it. He is
writing of having discharged all his obligations to Mr. Catcott:--

    "If ever obligated to thy purse,
    _Rowley discharges all, my first chief curse!_
    For had I never known the antique lore,
    I ne'er had ventured from my peaceful shore,
    But, happy in my humble sphere, had moved
    Untroubled, unsuspected, unbeloved."[10]

[Illustration: MUNIMENT ROOM.]

A Mr. Rudhall[11] said that, when Chatterton wrote on a parchment, he
held it over a candle to give it the appearance of antiquity; and a Mr.
Gardener has recorded, that he once saw Chatterton rub a parchment over
with ochre, and afterwards rub it on the ground, saying, "that was the
way to antiquate it." This _exposé_ of Chatterton's craft is so at
variance with his usual caution that we can hardly credit it. A humble
woman, Mrs. Edkins, speaks of his spending all his holidays in the
little den of a room we have mentioned, where he _locked_ himself in,
and would remain the entire day without meals, returning with his hands
and face completely begrimed with dirt and charcoal; and she well
remembers his having a charcoal pounce-bag and parchment and letters on
a little deal table, and all over the ground was a litter of parchments;
and she and his mother at one time fancied he intended to discolor
himself and run away to the gipsies; but afterwards Mrs. Edkins believed
that he was laboring at the Rowley manuscripts, and she thought he got
himself bound to a lawyer that he might get at old law books. The
testimony she bears to his affectionate tenderness towards his mother
and sister is touching: while his pride led him to seek for notoriety
for himself, it was only to render his mother and sister comfortable
that he coveted wealth.

It is not our province to enter into the controversy as to whether the
MSS. were originals or forgeries: it would seem to be as undecided
to-day as it was three quarters of a century ago; the boy "died and made
no sign:" and the world has not been put in possession of any additional
facts by which the question might be determined: the balance of proof
appears in favor of those who contend they were the sole offspring of
his mind, suggested merely by ancient documents from which he could have
borrowed no idea except that of rude spelling; yet it is by no means
impossible that poems did actually exist, and came into his hands, which
he altered and interpolated, but which he did not create.

In aid of his plans, Chatterton first addressed himself to Dodsley, the
Pall Mall bookseller, once with smaller poems, and afterwards on behalf
of the greatest production of his genius--the tragedy of "Ella;" but the
booksellers of those days were not more intellectual than those at the
present: they devoured the small forgery of the great Horace Walpole,
"The Castle of Otranto," and rejected the magnificence of a nameless
composition. This man's neglect drove the young poet to the "Autocrat of
Strawberry Hill." In reply he at first received a polished letter. The
literary trifler was not aware of the poverty and low station of his
correspondent, and so was courteous; he is "grateful" and "singularly
obliged;" bowing, and perfumed, and polite. Other communications
followed. Walpole inquired--discovered the poet's situation; and _then_
he changed! The poor fond boy! how hard and bitter was the rebuff. How
little had he imagined that _the_ Walpole's soul was not, _by five
shillings_, as large as the Bristol pewterer's!--that he who was an
adept at literary imposition could have been so harsh to a
fellow-sinner! The volume of his works containing "Miscellanies of
Chatterton" is now before us. Hear to his indignant honesty! He declares
that "all the house of forgery are relations; and that though it be but
just to Chatterton's memory to say his poverty never made him claim
kindred with the richest, or more enriching branches, yet that his
ingenuity in counterfeiting styles, and I believe hands, might easily
have led him to those more facile imitations of prose--promissory
notes." The literal meaning of this paragraph stamps the littleness of
the man's mind. A slight--a very slight effort on his part might have
turned the current of the boy's thoughts, and saved him from misery and
death. We do not call Chatterton "his victim," because we do not think
him so; but he, or any one in his position, might have turned him from
the love of an unworthy notoriety to the pursuit of a laudable ambition.
Following in the world's track (which he was ever careful not to
outstep), when the boy was dead, Walpole bore eloquent testimony to his
genius. The words of praise he gives his memory are like golden grains
amid the chaffy _verbiage_ with which he defends himself. If he
perceived this at first, why not have come forward hand and heart, and
shouted him on to honest fortune? But, like all _clique kings_, he made
no general cause with literature; he only smiled on his individual
worshippers, who could applaud when he said, with cruel playfulness,
"that singing birds should not be too well fed!"

His master, Lambert, dismissed the youth from his service, because he
had reason to suppose he meditated self-destruction; and then he
proceeded to London. How buoyant and full of hope he was during his
probationary days there, his letters to his mother and sister testify;
his gifts, also, extracted from his necessities, are evidences of the
bent of his mind--fans and china--luxuries rather than necessaries; but
in this, it must be remembered, his judgment was in fault, not his
affections. In all things he was swayed and guided by his pride,--his
indomitable pride. The period, brief as it was, of his sojourn in the
great metropolis proved that Walpole, while he neglected him so cruelly,
understood him perfectly, when he said that "nothing in Chatterton could
be separated from Chatterton--that all he did was the effervescence of
ungovernable impulse, which, chameleon-like, imbibed the colours of all
it looked on it was Ossian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, or Smollett, or
Junius." His first letter to his mother is dated, April the 26th, 1770.
He terminated his own existence on the 24th of August in the same year.
He battled with the crowded world of London, and, what was in his case a
more dire enemy than the world, his overwhelming pride, for nearly four
months. Alas! how terrible are the reflections which these few weeks
suggest! Now borne aloft upon the billows of hope, sparkling in the
fitful brightness of a feverish sun, and then plunged into the slough of
despair, his proud, dark soul disclaiming all human participation in a
misery exaggerated by his own unbending pride. Let us not talk of
denying sympathy to persons who create their own miseries; they endure
agonies thrice told. The paltry remuneration he received for his
productions is recorded by himself. Among the items is one as
extraordinary as the indignant emotion it excites:--

    Received from Mr. Hamilton, for 16 songs,            10s. 6d.
    Of Mr. Hamilton, for "Candidus" and Foreign Journal   2s.!!

We are wearied for him of the world's dark sight: yet in the same book
is recorded that the same publisher owed him £10 19s. 6d.! This sum
might have saved him, but he was too proud to ask for money; too proud
to complain; too proud to accept the invitation of his acquaintances, or
his landlady, to dine or sup with them; and all too proud to hint, even
to his mother and sister, that he was any thing but prosperous. Ardent
as if he had been a son of the hot south, he had learned nothing of
patience or expediency. His first residence was at Mrs. Walmsley's, in
Shoreditch, but, doubtless, finding the lodging too expensive, he
removed to a Mr. Angell's, sac (or dress) maker, 4, Brook Street,
Holborn. This woman, who seems to have been of a gentle nature, finding
that for two days he had confined himself to his room, and gone without
sustenance, invited him to dine with her; but he was offended, and
assured her he was not hungry. It is quite impossible to account for
this uncalled for pride. It was his nature. Lord Byron said he was mad:
according to _his_ view of the case, all eccentricity is madness; but in
the case of unhappy Chatterton, that madness which arises from "hope
deferred," was unquestionably endured. Three days before his death,
pursuing, with a friend, the melancholy and speculative employment of
reading epitaphs in the churchyard of St. Pancras, absorbed by his own
reflections, he fell into a new-made grave. There was something akin to
the raven's croak, the death-fetch, the fading spectre, in this
foreboding accident: he smiled at it, and told his friend he felt the
sting of speedy dissolution:--

                  "Then black despair,
    The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
    Over the earth on which he moved alone."

At the age of seventeen years and nine months, his career ended; it was
shown that he had swallowed arsenic in water, and so--

    "perished in his pride!"

An inquest was held, and yet though Englishmen--men who could read and
write, and hear--who must have heard of the boy's talents, either as a
poet, a satirist, or a political writer--though these men were guided by
a coroner, one, of course, in a more elevated sphere than those who
usually determine the intentions of the departed soul--yet was there not
one--NOT ONE of them all--with sufficient veneration for the casket
which had contained the diamond--not one with enough of sympathy for the
widow's son--to wrap his body in a decent shroud, and kneel in Christian
piety by his grave!--not one to pause and think that, between genius and
madness,

    "What thin partitions do their bounds divide!"

In a letter from Southey to Mr. Britton (dated in 1810, to which we have
already referred, and which Mr. Britton kindly submitted to us with
various other correspondence on the subject), he says, "there can now be
no impropriety in mentioning what could not be said when the collected
edition of Chatterton's works was published,--that there was a taint of
insanity in his family. His sister was once confined; and this is a key
to the eccentricities of his life, and the deplorable rashness of his
death." Of this unhappy predisposition, indeed, he seems to have been
himself conscious, for "in his last will and testament," written in
April, 1770, before he quitted Bristol, when he seems to have meditated
suicide--although, from the mock-heroic style of the document his
serious design may be questioned,--he writes, "If I do a mad action, it
is conformable to every action of my life, which all savored of
insanity." His "sudden fits of weeping, for which no reason could be
assigned," when a mere child, were but the preludes to those gloomy
forebodings which haunted him when a boy. His mother had said, "she was
often apprehensive of his going mad."

And so,--the verdict having been pronounced, he was cast into
the burying-ground of Shoe Lane work-house--the paupers'
burying-ground,--the end, as far as his clayey tabernacle was concerned,
of all his dreamy greatness. When the ear was deaf to the worship of the
charmer, he received his meed of posthumous praise. Malone, Croft, Dr.
Knox, Wharton, Sherwin, Pye, Mrs. Cowley, Walter Scott, Haley,
Coleridge, Dermody, Wordsworth, Shelley, William Howitt, Keats, who
dedicated his "Endymion" to the memory of his fellow-genius; the burly
Johnson, whose praise seemed unintentional; the gentle and most
Christian poet, James Montgomery,--have each and all offered tributes to
his memory. Robert Southey, whose polished, strong and long unclouded
mind was a treasure-house of noble-thoughts, assisted Mr. Cottle in
providing for the poet's family by a collection of his works; and,
though last, not least, excellent John Britton has labored all his long
life to render justice to the poor boy's memory. To him, indeed, it was
mainly owing, that the cenotaph to which we have referred (and which now
lies mouldering in the Church vault), was erected in the graveyard of
Redcliffe Church, by subscription, of which the contributions of Bristol
were very small.[12]

Chatterton was another warning, not only

               "Against self-slaughter
    There is a prohibition so divine--"

but that no mortal should ever abandon Hope! for a reverend
gentleman,--who was, in all things, what, unhappily, Horace Walpole was
not,--had actually visited Bristol, to seek out and aid the boy while he
lay dead in London.

    "Beware of desperate steps; the darkest day,
    Live till to-morrow, will have passed away."

[Illustration: CHATTERTON'S MONUMENT.]

The knowledge of these facts cheered us as we set forth to the
neighborhood of Shoe-Lane to see the spot where he had been laid. Alas,
it is very hard to keep pace with the progress of London changes. After
various inquiries, we were told that Mr. Bentley's printing office
stands upon the ground of Shoe-Lane Workhouse. We ascended the steps
leading to this shifting emporium of letters, and found ourselves face
to face with a kind gentleman, who told us all he knew upon the subject,
which was, that the printing office stands--not upon the burying-ground
of Shoe-Lane Workhouse, where he had always understood Chatterton was
buried--but upon the church burial-ground. He showed us a very curious
basso-relievo, in cut-stone, of the Resurrection, which he assured us
had been "time out of mind" above the entrance to the Shoe-Lane
burying-place "over the way," and which is now the site of Farrington
Market. This, when "all the bones" were moved to the old graveyard in
Gray's Inn Road, had come "somehow" into Mr. Bentley's possession.

We were told also that Mr. Taylor, another printer, had lived, before
the workhouse was pulled down, where his office-window looked upon the
spot pointed out as the grave of Chatterton, and that a stone, "a rough
white stone," was remembered to have been "set in a wall" near the grave
with "Thomas Chatterton" and something else "scratched" into it.

We strayed back through the damp chill of the city's evening fog to the
market-place, hoping, even unconsciously, to stand beside the pit into
which the marvellous boy had been thrust; but we grew bewildered. And as
we stood upon the steps looking down upon the market--alone in feeling,
and unconscious of every thing but our own thoughts--St. Paul's bell
struck, full, loud, and clear; and, casting our eyes upward, we saw its
mighty dome through the murky atmosphere. We became still more "mazed,"
and fancied we were gazing upon the monument of Thomas Chatterton!

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Of Edward Colston, well and beautifully has William Howitt said,
"You cannot help feeling the grand beneficence of those wealthy
merchants, who, like Edward Colston, make their riches do their generous
will for ever; who become thereby the actual fathers of their native
cities to all generations; who roll off, every year of the world's
progress, some huge stone of anxiety from the hearts of poor widows; who
clear the way before the unfriended, but active and worthy lad; who put
forth their invisible hands from the heaven of their rest, and become
the genuine guardian angels of the orphan race for ever and ever:
raising from those who would otherwise have been outcasts and ignorant
laborers, aspiring and useful men; tradesmen of substance; merchants the
true enrichers of their country, and fathers of happy families. How
glorious is such a lot! how noble is such an appropriation of wealth!
how enviable is such a fame! And amongst such men there were few more
truly admirable than Edward Colston! He was worthy to have been lifted
by Chatterton, to the side of the magnificent Canynge, and one cannot
help wondering that he says so little about this great benefactor of his
city."

[2] Our engraving shows this house, and Bristol Bridge, both memorable
as being connected with the earliest of Chatterton's fabrications.
Bristol Bridge was finished in September, 1768, and in the October
following Chatterton sent to "Felix Farley's Bristol Journal," the
curiously detailed account of the ceremonial observances on opening the
ancient bridge at Bristol, 'taken from an Old Manuscript,' and which,
being his first printed forgery, led, by the attention it excited, to
the production of other work, and among them the Rowley Poems. At this
time he was in his 16th year; but some years before he had fabricated
Burgum's pedigree, and some poetry by a pretended ancestor of his, of
the alleged date of 1320, called "The Romaunte of the Knyghte." The
house where Burgum lived, and where Chatterton first tried his powers of
deception, is the central one of the three seen above the bridge in our
cut.

[3] The place of Chatterton's birth has been variously stated: Mr. Dix,
in his "Life of Chatterton," has mentioned _three_. His first being that
"he was born on the 29th of November, in the year 1752, in a house
situated on Redcliff Hill, behind the shop now (1837) occupied by Mr.
Hasell, grocer," and which has since been destroyed. But in the appendix
to his volume is a communication stating that Mrs. Newton (Chatterton's
married sister) left a daughter who "died in 1807, in the house where
Chatterton was born; I believe in the arch at Cathay," a street leading
from the church-yard to the river-side. But the most certain account
seems to be that of Mrs. Edkins (also printed by Dix) who "went to
school to Chatterton's father, and was present when the son was born, at
the Pyle School." Now, as Chatterton was born about three months after
his father's death, and he had been for some years master of the school,
it is unlikely that his wife would be removed from the house she
inhabited until after her confinement, "when," says Mrs. Edkins, "she
went to a house opposite the upper gate on Redcliff Hill." The house
appropriated to the master of Pyle Street School is shown in our
engraving, it is at the back of the school, which faces the street, and
is approached by an open passage on one side of it leading into a small
court-yard, beyond which is a little garden. Over the door is inserted a
stone, inscribed, "This house was erected by Giles Malpas, of St. Thomas
Parish, Gent., for the use of the master of this School, A. D. 1749."
The house has but two sitting rooms, one on each side of the door, that
to the right being the kitchen; and in one of them the dissolute father
of the Poet is said by Dix to have "often passed the whole night roaring
out catches, with some of the lowest rabble of the parish." He was
succeeded in the office of Schoolmaster by Edmond Chard, who held it for
five years; and he was followed in 1757 by Stephen Love, who was master
twenty-one years, and to whom Mrs. Chatterton first sent her son for
education; and who, "after exhausting the patience of his schoolmaster,
was sent back to his mother with the character of a stupid boy, and one
who was absolutely incapable of receiving instruction."

[4] This School, founded in 1708 by Edward Colston, Esq., is situated in
a street called St. Augustine's Back, behind the houses facing the
drawbridge. It is the mansion in which Queen Elizabeth was entertained
when she visited the city; and was purchased by Colston, because of its
applicability to his charitable purposes. Here the scholars are boarded,
lodged, and clothed, and are never permitted to be absent--except on
Saturdays and Saints' days, from one till seven. They are simply taught
reading, writing, and arithmetic. The school-room is on the first floor,
and runs along the entire front of the building; the bed-rooms are the
large airy rooms above. Behind the house is a paved yard for exercise.
Chatterton remained here about seven years.

[5] The gate seen at the side of Colston's School in our cut, is that by
which the school is entered; a narrow paved passage beside the house
conducts to the angle of the building, when you turn to the left, and so
reach the house by an open court-yard. In the corner of this angle,
commanding a view of the entrance to the school, and also of the outer
gate, is placed the doorkeeper's lodge delineated in our cut. It is a
small building of brick, covered with lead, about six feet in height. It
has within an iron seat, and an iron ledge for books. The windows are
unglazed; and in winter it must be singularly uncomfortable,
particularly as the occupant must traverse the length of the yard in all
weathers. It is said to be the intention of the authorities to remove
this little building; this is to be regretted, as it is almost the only
unchanged memorial of her poet-boy which Bristol possesses. It was
customary for the boys to take the office of doorkeeper in rotation for
the term of one week; and it was in Chatterton's twelfth year, when he
was doorkeeper, that he wrote here his first poem "On the Last Epiphany,
or Christ coming to Judgment."

[6] Lambert's first office was on St. John's Steps; but the unceasing
spirit of change, which has more or less destroyed all the Bristol
localities connected with Chatterton, has swept this one away; "the
Steps" have now been turned into a sloping ascent, and the old houses
removed or renovated. Shortly after he had entered Lambert's service,
his office was removed to Corn Street, and here, from the house
delineated in our cut, he dated his first communication to Horace
Walpole. It is immediately in front of the Exchange, and although the
lower part has been altered frequently within remembrance, the upper
part remains as when Lambert rented it. It may be noted, that the upper
floors of the adjacent houses are still devoted to lawyers' and
merchants' offices.

[7] The great Bristol merchant, William Canynge, jun., is buried in
Redcliffe Church, to which he was a great benefactor, as he was to the
city of Bristol generally. He entered the church to avoid a second
marriage, and was made Dean of the College of Westbury, which he had
rebuilt. There are two monuments to his memory in Redcliffe Church, both
of which are seen in our engraving. One is a raised altar tomb with an
enriched canopy; and upon the tomb lie the effigies of Canynge and his
wife in the costume of the fifteenth century. The other tomb is of
similar construction, and is believed to have been brought here from
Westbury College; it represents Canynge in his clerical robes, his head
supported by angels, and resting his feet on the figure of a Saracen.
Here Chatterton frequently ruminated; indeed, the whole church abounds
with memorials which call to mind the sources of his inspiration; near
the door is an effigy inscribed "Johannes Lamyngton," which gave name to
one of his forgeries. He was never weary of rambling in and about the
church, and all his early works originated here.

[8] The muniment-room is a large low-roofed apartment over the beautiful
north porch of Redcliffe Church, which was constructed by Canynge. It is
hexagonal, and lighted by narrow unglazed windows. The floor rests on
the groined stones of the porch, strong beams of oak forming its roof.
It is secured by two massive doors in the narrow passage leading from
the stairs into it. Here were preserved several large chests, and among
them _Canynge's cofre_; from which Chatterton assured the world he had
obtained the Rowley MSS.; and from which MSS. were carried away and
destroyed, but the old chests still remain. There are seven in all, and
they bear traces of great antiquity. Many have been strongly bound with
iron, but all are now in a state of decay. This lonely cheerless room,
strewn with antique fragments and suggestive of the boy-poet's
day-dreams, is certainly the most interesting relic in Bristol. Its
comfortless neglect is a true epitome of the life of him who first
shaped his course from his reveries within it.

[9] The house said to be that of Canynge is situated in Redcliffe
Street, not very far from the church. It is now occupied by a
bookseller, who uses the fine hall seen in our cut, as a storehouse for
his volumes. Chatterton frequently mentions this "house nempte the rodde
lodge;" and in Skelton's "Etchings of Bristol Antiquities" is an
engraving of this building, there called "Canynge's chapel or Masonic
Hall," showing the painting in the arch at the back, representing the
first person of the Trinity, supporting the crucified Saviour, angels at
each side censing, and others bearing shields. This was "the Rood" with
which Chatterton was familiar, and which induced him to give the name to
Canynge's house in his fabrications. This painting is now destroyed, but
we have restored it from Skelton's plate in our engraving.

[10] The monk Rowley was altogether an imaginary person conjured up by
Chatterton as a vehicle for his wonderful forgeries. He was described by
him as the intimate friend of Canynge, his constant companion, and a
collector of books and drawings for him. It has been well remarked, that
although it was _extraordinary_ for a lad to have written them in the
18th century, it was _impossible_ for a monk to have written them in the
15th. Indeed, it seems now both curious and amusing that his forgeries
should have deceived the learned. When Rowley talks of purchasing his
house "on a repayring lease for ninety-nine years." We at once smile,
and remember his fellow-forger Ireland's Shaksperian _Promissory_ note,
before such things were invented. Our fac-simile of the pretended
Rowley's writing is obtained from the very curious collection of
Chatterton's manuscripts in the British Museum. It is written at the
bottom of some drawings of monumental slabs and notes, stated to have
been "collected ande gotten for Mr. William Canynge, by mee, Thomas
Rowley." There are, however, other autographs of Rowley in the
collection, so entirely dissimilar in the formation of the letters, that
it might be expected to have induced a conviction of forgery. Many of
the manuscripts too are still more dissimilar; and the construction of
the letters totally unlike any of the period. Some are written on little
fragments not more than three inches square, the writing sometimes neat
and clean, at other times bad, rambling and unintelligible. The best is
the account of Canynge's feast, which has been engraved in fac-simile by
Strutt, to the edition of Rowley's Poems, 1777. The writing is generally
bolder than Barrett's fac-simile; and that gentleman, in endeavoring to
revive the faded ink, has greatly injured the originals, which are now
in some cases almost indistinguishable. The drawings of pretended
ancient coins and heraldry are absurdly inventive: and the
representations of buildings exactly such as a boy without knowledge of
drawing or architecture would fabricate; yet they imposed on Barrett who
engraved them for his history of Bristol. Many of his transcripts show
the shifts the poor boy was put to for paper; torn fragments and backs
of law bills are frequently employed. Among the rest is a collection of
extracts from Chaucer to aid him in the fabrication of his MSS. The
whole is exceedingly instructive and curious.

[11] This gentleman was the proprietor of the "Bristol Journal," to
which Chatterton sent his first forgery; and with whom he afterwards
became intimate.

[12] The cenotaph erected to Chatterton, in 1838, from a design by S. C.
Fripp, has now been removed; it stood close to the north porch, beside
the steps leading into it. One of the inscriptions, which he directs in
his will to be placed on his tomb, has been adopted. "To the Memory of
Thomas Chatterton. Reader, judge not, if thou art a Christian. Believe
that he shall be judged by a superior Power. To that Power alone is he
now answerable."




Authors and Books.


Of personalities, &c. a few words: Every man or woman coming before the
public voluntarily--especially every man or woman placing his or her
name upon the title of a book--submits so much of his or her being and
character to the general criticism. It is crime to make public use of
private conversation; it is crime, under most circumstances, to disclose
the secret of an anonymous authorship; it is crime in all cases to
invade any privacy, or comment on any purely personal matter, that has
not by the interested party been offered for the world's examination. If
any one publish a work of pure art, it is entirely inexcusable to
suggest any illustrations of it from his life or condition, unless by
his own express or implied permission. For example, if "The Princess,"
by Tennyson, had been printed anonymously by some notorious thief,
burglar, forger, or murderer, he would be as great a villain as the
author, who, in reviewing the poem, should in any manner whatever allude
to the author's sins. The extent to which this law may be applied can
easily be understood. To a gentleman the law itself is an instinct.
Personal rights are frequently violated by praise as well as by censure,
and sometimes applause is not in any degree less offensive than
denunciation, though commonly men will forgive even the most unskilful
and injudicious commendation. In both ways the writers of this country
are apt to err.

While we agree with the most fastidious, in asserting that inviolability
of one's individualism, not by himself submitted for public observation,
we contend for the right and duty of the utmost freedom in the
dissection of what is thus submitted. Public speech, public action,
public character, are adventures upon the sea of the world's opinion,
and they must brave its winds or be sunk or wrecked by them,--the
person, so far as he is not involved, meanwhile safely watching from the
shore for results.

In the most careful applications of this principle, it is inevitable
that wrong is done sometimes; but when the wrong is not personal, it is
for the most part susceptible of remedy. The author may challenge
investigation of his book, the artist of his picture, the officer of his
administration. If there has been unfair severity of criticism, they are
likely to gain by it in the end, for every critic must justify upon
challenge.

There is a distinction in the cases of the dead. The world in an
especial manner becomes the heir of a life which is abandoned by its
master. This has been held by the wise in all ages and all states of
society. The justice of the distinction is very apparent: An invasion of
the individualism of the living destroys, or to a greater or less extent
affects, the freedom, and so the right and wrong, of his conduct, while
the secrets of the dead are to the living only as logic.

There are very few men who are not more willing to praise than to blame.
The better portion of men prefer to hear the praises even of strangers.
Therefore censors are held to stricter account than eulogists. But a
natural love of justice is continually at war with feelings of personal
kindness. It is impossible to see insolent and vulgar pretension in
noisy triumph, while real and unobtrusive merit is neglected. When we
see a creature strutting in laurels that have been won by another, human
nature--much as it has been abused--prompts us to grasp them from
undeserving brows and place them where they will have a natural grace.
For trite examples, who would not rather elect Columbus than Americus to
the place of Name-Giver for this continent? who does not rejoice that
finally Hadley is proved a swindler of the fame of Godfrey, in the
matter of the quadrant? How many such wrongs do men daily hope to see
righted!

The writer of these paragraphs will never willingly violate the just
conditions of criticism. If he offers, as often is necessary,
conclusions rather than arguments, he will in no case withhold arguments
when conclusions are held to be unjust. The true value of every sort of
journalism, and of discussion also, is in its integrity much more than
in its ability. Integrity is violated as much by the suppression of
truth as by the suggestion of falsehood. In all cases that interest us
sufficiently, and which are legitimately before the public, we shall
write precisely as we think, without the slightest regard for
consequences.

       *       *       *       *       *

OERSTED, the great natural philosopher, has lately published at Leipzic,
under the title of _Der in Geist in der Natur_ (Spirit in Nature), a
collection of remarkable essays which he has written, at various times,
during a series of years. The purpose he has followed through his entire
scientific career, has, perhaps, its most complete expression in this
book. It is the demonstration of the same laws in physical nature as in
the higher spheres of the reason and intelligence. On the principle of
the essential unity of all things, he seeks not only to lay the
foundation of a universal science, but to afford some views of the
superstructure. The work contains eight distinct essays: the first, "The
Spiritual in the Corporeal," is in the form of a Dialogue, and aims at a
reconciliation of the conflicting modes of thought, by which the
universe is assumed to be essentially material, or essentially
spiritual; the second, "The Fountain," treats of the impressions of
beauty produced by the great, sublime, and powerful; the third considers
the relation to the imagination, of the apprehension of nature by the
understanding, and shows that it is only imperfect culture and ignorance
which can suppose any dissonance between the two. He shows that the
progress of science enriches, aggrandizes, and elevates the imagination.
The fourth essay is, perhaps, the most interesting of all. Its theme is,
"Superstition and Skepticism in their relation to Natural Science." The
notion that superstition is favorable to poesy, he dissipates with
masterly conclusiveness. The true realm of beauty is the realm of
reason. It is true that science deprives the poet of the use of sundry
unnatural conceptions, but while it more than compensates him by the
substitution of nobler ideas, it opens to him a new, affluent, and
little explored poetic world. "It can," he says, "not be charged as a
crime upon natural science, that it has destroyed materials hitherto
used by the poets. Such losses are of small consequence to the true
poet, but may, indeed, be painful to the many dabblers in the poetic
art, who think they have rendered the insignificant poetic by tricking
it out in gewgaws from the poetic armory of a vanished era." The fifth,
entitled, "The Existence of all things in the Domain of Reason," is the
profoundest and most significant of these essays, and more than the
others brings out in form as simple and popular as could be expected,
the fundamental idea of the author's system of thought. It asserts that
there is, throughout the universe, a radical unity between the laws of
beauty, and man's moral nature and intellectual powers, and that there
must therefore exist for the mind, a perfect community of nature and
analogy between different worlds, and a rational connection between all
thinking beings, not only of the earth, but of other planets and
systems. The final essay is on "The Culture of Science as the Exercise
of Religion," and is mainly an attempt to show that the very nature of
science requires its culture to be made a religion, and that _the good
which we ought to seek must be that which is imperishable in its truth_.

This work has been rapidly followed by two other publications of the
same author, intended to explain or defend the positions of their
predecessor. The first is called, "Natural Science in its Connection
with Poetic Art and Religion." It was written in reply to the criticism
of a learned and respected friend of the author, Bishop Mynster of
Seeland. The second has for its title, "Natural Science and the
Formation of the Intellect."

Oersted is now seventy-three years old. It is admirable to see a man of
such years and distinction in the world, putting forth the same grand
and elevated ideas that marked the generous enthusiasm of his youth. It
is only in the genial and unselfish pursuits of science that such
freshness of mind can be thus preserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW DRAMAS.--Among the new dramas of any value, produced in Germany,
_Herodes und Mariamne_, a five act tragedy, by Hebbel, deserves
particular mention. The persons are too numerous, and the action too
complicated, but there is great fire and energy in the general
treatment, and the gradual development of the interest of the story is
managed with skill. Herod, the ruler of Judea, is a tyrant by both
nature and position. He was appointed to his office by the Roman
triumvir Antony, who can turn him out or cut his head off at any moment,
and who is strongly inclined to follow the urgent solicitations of
Herod's many enemies. In order to secure himself, Herod has married
Mariamne, a descendant of the Jewish royal family, and is deeply in love
with her. The chief of his foes is Mariamne's mother; the Pharisees also
hate him for his notorious disregard of the Jewish religion. A
conspiracy is formed against him, at the head of which is the brother of
Mariamne. This brother is killed in consequence, and Herod is summoned
before the triumvir. Meanwhile, as soon as the murder was known,
Mariamne had refused to see her husband. But the evidences of his
attachment are still so convincing, and her admiration for the force of
his character so great, that she becomes reconciled to him. He is about
to leave her to appear before Antony, and asks if her love is great
enough for her to commit suicide, in case he should not return. Finally
he asks her to take an oath to that effect. But she refuses, saying that
such an oath would give him no pledge that he might not have already
from insight into her heart. He is not content with this, and before he
leaves, engages an assassin to kill her in case Antony should put him to
death. After his departure, Mariamne declares to her mother that in case
Herod perishes, she has determined to kill herself. The report arrives
that he has been executed; and the assassin appears; from his bearing
Mariamne guesses the truth, and draws from him a confession. Just as she
is in the deepest agitation at this discovery, the king appears, having
been acquitted by Antony. She meets him with coldness, and at once lets
him know that she has learned all. He puts to death the man, but at the
same time a suspicion arises in his mind that Mariamne has discovered
the secret by betraying her honor. Against this her pride will not allow
her to defend herself. A second trial soon arrives. Herod receives the
order--shortly before the battle of Actium--to go on a dangerous
military expedition for Antony. He now requires no oath, at which she
rejoices; for she still loves him, and forgives him for the past. But
she does not reveal herself to him. He misunderstands the joy which she
cannot conceal, as satisfaction at his departure, and charges a faithful
servant to put her to death in case he shall fall. The report of his
death is renewed, but the appointed assassin, revolted at his office,
discloses all to Mariamne. This drives her to despair. She is confident
that her husband will soon return, and determines that he shall be led
to put her to death unjustly. Accordingly she gives a splendid feast, as
she says, to celebrate the death of her husband. He comes and brings her
before a court, not for having rejoiced at his death, but for
infidelity, supposing that to be the only way in which she could have
discovered the secret of the assassin. She is condemned and executed,
but before dying, she reveals the whole mystery to a friend, who
afterwards informs Herod. The king devoured by rage and remorse and
driven to desperation, becomes merciless as a fury. It is at that
moment, that the three wise men from the East arrive, and inform him of
the birth of Christ; whereupon he orders the slaughter of the children.
One of the peculiarities of this tragedy, is the introduction of a
character, who takes no part in the action, but observes and
philosophizes upon it, somewhat after the manner of the old Greek
chorus. This innovation cannot be said to be successful; moreover there
is generally too much philosophizing and moralizing in the piece.

Another new German tragedy is called _Francisco da Rimini_, by Cornelius
Von der Heyse, but we know nothing more respecting it than is
communicated by the publisher's advertisement. The title is promising.

The French dramatists produce more comedies than tragedies. Indeed, in
the weekly notices which for the last few weeks our Parisian papers have
given of the new works brought out at the various theatres of Paris, we
have not observed one tragedy of importance enough for us to remark upon
it. But in the lighter range of comedy, the French playwrights are
unequalled and inexhaustible, as is proved by the constant transfer of
their productions into both the English and German languages. They do
not think it necessary to have a plot of much intricacy, or even of
great interest. The point and brilliancy of the dialogue, and the
perfection of the actors, render that a matter of subordinate
consequence. _The Two Eagles_, by Bayard and Bieville (these
partnerships are frequent among the dramatists of Paris), was brought
out at the _Théâtre Montansier_. Hippolyte Vidoux, clerk in a cap store
and lieutenant in the National Guards, is a charming fellow, and the
idol of the women in the whole quarter. He sings, jokes, and dances the
polka in every style. He is introduced into the salons of his superior
officer, Count Chamaral, but meets with no sort of success among the
marchionesses and duchesses. On the other hand, these ladies are dying
for the young Baron Albert, who dances the contra-dance with a mien of
languishing resignation worthy of a funeral. The Baron falls in love
with the daughter of a rich baker, but in vain. Here Hippolyte carries
off the honors and the heiress according to the French proverb, _the
eagle of one house is a turkey in another_. At the _Opera Comique_, a
piece in one act, _The Peasant_, by Alboize, music by Poisat is one of
the latest novelties. A proud and obstinate German Baron refuses his
daughter's hand to her lover, whose great merit nevertheless causes him
to be ennobled. Still the Baron refuses his daughter. "What!" he says,
"shall I marry my child to a new-baked nobleman?" But as good luck would
have it, the Emperor Joseph happens along in disguise, on one of his
excursions for relieving virtue and unmasking vice. The Baron receives
him, but has nothing to set before him. Hereupon a gardener furnishes a
deer, which saves the honor of the house. The Emperor is delighted with
the venison, and makes the donor sit down at the table. He is the father
of the suitor, and as he has thus had the honor to eat with the Emperor,
the Baron can say nothing more against the marriage. The good Emperor
blesses the happy pair, and sets off again to see if there are no more
comic operas in his dominions to which he can contribute a happy
denouement. At the _Théâtre des Variétés_ has been produced the _Ring of
Solomon_, in one act, by Henry Berthoud. The scene is laid in Holland,
in the winter, which affords an excellent opportunity to the
scene-painter and property-man. Threa, a poor and silly girl, is so
passionately in love with Hans, who has saved her from death, that she
climbs a wall to see him as he is going by. The wall tumbles down with
her, and among the fragments she finds the ring of Solomon, and puts it
on. At once she is surrounded by fairies, in the well-known ballet
costume, who carry her off into a Dutch paradise, where she also becomes
a fairy, and undergoes a remarkable improvement in her wits. But this
does not bring any change in her passion for Hans, and she prefers to be
unhappy with him to floating for ever through the aerial joys of
fairydom without him. Accordingly, she renounces the privilege conferred
on her by the ring, and is rewarded for so much virtue by passing
through a new transformation, after which she appears as a most lovely
peasantess, and marries Hans to the universal satisfaction.

       *       *       *       *       *

GERMAN NOVELS.--The bookstores of Germany now swarm with new novels,
some of which we have already noticed. _Modern Titans: Little People in
a Great Epoch_, from the press of Bookhaus, seems to be written with the
express purpose of introducing all the notabilities of Berlin, Breslau
and Vienna, and is not successful. The name of the author is not given.
_Der Tannhausen_ treats of suicide, republicanism, the identity of God
and the universe, faith, skepticism, Christ, marriage, the emancipation
of woman, and whatsoever new-fangled and startling ideas and phrases the
author has met with in the activity of this busy age. This book is also
charged with outrageous personalities. _George Volker_, a Romance of the
year 1848, by Otto Müller, 3 vols., is of course, a revolutionary story.
The hero is so unfortunate as to be in love with two women at a time,
the one a country, and the other a peasant girl. He engages in the
Badian insurrection, is about to be arrested, and thereupon gets out of
all his difficulties by shooting himself. _Der Sohn des Volkes_, by
Leoni Schucking, takes its subject and plot from the French Revolution
and its influence on Germany. It is written with talent, and is
altogether in the interest of the aristocracy. _Der Bettler von James's
Park_ (the Beggar of James's Park), by Alexander Jung, is not
revolutionary but tragic and sentimental. At the same time, it is
didactic, and sets forth sundry ideas with reference to love, God, and
liberty. But the story deserves more than a line in these columns, were
it only as a literary curiosity. The hero is haunted by the notion that
a great misfortune will fall upon his family, whenever a travelling
dealer shall offer an _ecce homo_ for sale to any one of its members.
Unluckily, such a picture is offered to himself, and he almost loses his
wits at it. Hereupon he goes to see the young lady with whom he is in
love, and finds her dying. This quite upsets him, and he goes crazy,
and, in this condition, becomes a beggar in the London streets. At the
beginning, he is very lean, and is so well suited to this trade, that he
is even made a member of the beggars' guild. But ill luck still pursues
him; he becomes excessively fat, and gains a belly of most aldermanic
proportions. Here a lord takes him up as an object at once of study and
philanthropy, but not with sufficient interest in him to provide for his
support. Alms he gets none; next, he is turned out of the guild, and, at
last, is taken to a hospital, where he loses his flesh, and regains his
reason. Finally, after passing through a variety of other strange
experiences, he dies in tranquillity, wept by the same lord, and by the
lady he had himself supposed to be dead; but who, instead of this, had
become a nun in France. _Schnock_, a picture of life in the Netherlands,
is by Frederich Hebbel, a man of some distinction, as a dramatic writer,
as we have noticed elsewhere. The general idea of this book is borrowed
from Jean Paul's _Journey of the Chaplain Schmelzle_. The hero is a man
of weak and timid character, married to a woman of unsparing energy and
resolution. The style and execution of the work are clumsy, exaggerated
and abominable. _Handel und Wandel_ (Doings and Viewings), by
Hackländer, is worthy of all praise, as a faithful and vivid picture of
German rural and domestic life. The characters are all human, the action
simple and direct, and the tone healthy and agreeable. Hackländer is an
exception to the mass of modern German novelists, of whom, taking them
together, as may be judged from the brief remarks above, no great good
can be said.

_Ein Dunkles Loss_ (A Dark Destiny), by L. Bechstein, is a socialist
book, which, in the form of a novel, discusses questions relating to
art, not without genuine insight and original power of thought.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE COUNTESS HAHN-HAHN, the bravest and decidedly the cleverest of the
women who have written books of Oriental travel, and whose
"latitudinarian" novels constitute a remarkable portion of the recent
romantic literature of Germany, we perceive has entered a convent. The
_Ladies' Companion_ exclaims hereof:--

     "When will the wild and the restless learn self-distrust
     from the histories of kindred spirits? And, observing how
     the pendulum must vibrate (as in Madame Hahn-Hahn's case)
     from utter disdain of social laws, to the most superstitious
     form of association under authority--how, almost always, to
     defiance must succeed a desire for reconciliation. When will
     they become chary of pouring out their laments, their
     attacks, their complaints, seeing that similar protestations
     are almost certainly followed by after repentance and
     recantation!"

The Countess Hahn-Hahn unfortunately has but one eye, and she is
otherwise astonishingly ugly. So we may account for a very large
proportion of the eccentricities of the sex. Had she been in this
country she would have presided at the late Woman's Rights Convention.

       *       *       *       *       *

No modern man has been more written about than GOETHE, and the end of
books concerning him seems to be still distant. The last that we hear of
is called _Goethe's Dichterwerth_ (Value of Goethe as a Poet), written
by O. L. Hoffman, and published in the quaint old city of Nuremberg. It
treats first of the poet's relation to natural science, art and society:
next takes up the complaints of his antagonists; his poetic character;
his youthful productions; his lyrics; Götz von Berlichingen; the Sorrows
of Werter; the influence of Italy on his mature mind; Egmont; Iphigenia
at Tauris; Tasso; the influence of the French Revolution; his relations
with Schiller; his Ballads; Hermann and Dorothea; the Natural Daughter;
Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship; and finally the productions of his
mature years, as Wilhelm Meister's Wander-years, the Elective
Affinities, and Faust. The work forms a complete commentary on the works
of Goethe, and is written in the warmest spirit of admiration for his
genius and influence.

       *       *       *       *       *

HAGEN'S _Geschichte der Neuesten Zeit_ (History of Recent Times) is
worthy a place in the library of every historical student. It begins
with the downfall of Napoleon and is to come down to the present day.
The first volume has been published; it exhibits thorough mastery of the
materials, and great calmness and judgment in their use. The style is
clear, terse and graphic. The author, who is a professor of the
University of Heidelberg, is a decided republican.

       *       *       *       *       *

COTTA'S splendid illustrated edition of the Bible (Luther's version) is
now finished. It is perhaps the best Illustrated Bible ever published.
The typography and woodcuts are admirable. Of the latter there are
eighty, after original designs by Jäger, Overbeck, Schnorr, and others.

       *       *       *       *       *

FALLERMAYER, the distinguished German traveller, is about abandoning the
fruitless polemics which have gained him so many foes, to devote himself
to more useful labors. He himself desires to be at peace with all the
world, and the antagonists which his trenchant pen has so often
unsparingly scarified, need fear him no longer. He is about to complete
and print the third volume of his Oriental Impressions of Travel. This
is reason for rejoicing. Fallermayer is one of the most charming and
instructive of travel-writers.

       *       *       *       *       *

WALLON'S _Histoire de l'Esclavage dans l'Antiquite_, just published at
Paris, is a work of high value to those who wish to look into a branch
of history hitherto comparatively little cultivated, but destined to
attract the most profound attention. M. Wallon, who is one of the
candidates for the vacant seat in the French Academy, discusses in an
exhaustive manner the origin of slavery in the antique world, the
condition of bondmen in the various nations, and the gradual development
of the institution under all circumstances and in all countries. His
book is excellent for its manner, while in respect of matter the author
has drawn information from all accessible sources, and digested it with
judgment and impartiality. Thus he has produced a worthy contribution to
that great but yet unwritten work, so full of both tragic and epic
elements, the Annals of Labor. What a noble book might be made by some
competent writer who should grapple with the whole subject.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NARRATIVE of the United States South Sea Exploring Expedition, is
being translated into German, and published by Cotta of Stuttgard. The
second volume is just completed. Probably all the supplementary volumes,
as Hale's "Ethnology," and Pickering's "Races of Men," will follow.

       *       *       *       *       *

MISS BARBAULD'S "God in Nature" has been translated into German by
Thecla von Gaupert, and illustrated by that most fertile and charming of
designers, Louis Richter. The translation is made from the thirtieth
English edition, and the price put within the reach of the poorer
classes, at fifty cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

FREDERIC BODENSTEDT, the author of the successful book on the Wars of
the Circassians, has just published the conclusion of a new work, called
"A Thousand and One Days in the Orient."

       *       *       *       *       *

A COLLECTION OF HUNGARIAN MYTHICAL TRADITIONS AND FAIRY TALES, has
lately been published in German at Berlin, translated from the Magyar of
Erdily, by G. Stier.

       *       *       *       *       *

The first part of the third and last volume of HUMBOLDT'S Cosmos has
been published at Stuttgart. It is on the Fixed Stars, and makes a
pretty stout book.

       *       *       *       *       *

HUMBOLDT, having furnished for his friend, Dr. Klencke, materials for a
memoir of his life, such a work was announced at Berlin, and so great
was the interest excited by its advertisement, that before the first
edition was all printed a second one was commenced.

       *       *       *       *       *

DR. KARL AUGUST ESPE, who for many years has filled the post of editor
to Brockhaus's _Conversations-Lexicon_, the work which forms the basis
of the Encyclopedia Americana, died near Leipzic on the 25th November
last. He was a man of great acquirements and unwearied industry, and was
well known and esteemed in the literary and scientific circles of the
continent. He was born at Kühren, in 1804, and went to Leipzic in 1832.
Beside the great work above alluded to, he had charge of the annual
memoirs of the German Society for the study of the native language and
antiquities. Nearly two years ago he was attacked by a fit of apoplexy,
from the effect of which his mind did not recover. He has since been in
a lunatic asylum.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEANDER'S Church History is printed as far as the year 1294. He had
continued the work in manuscript up to the beginning of the fifteenth
century, so that Wiclif, Huss, and other important precursors of the
Reformation have found a place in it. This last volume of this great
work will shortly be printed. Neander's various posthumous works are of
remarkable value, though very few of them are in a finished state.
According to the _Methodist Quarterly_, always well informed upon such
matters, his exegetical Lectures upon the New Testament are of even
greater merit than his compositions in history. They are soon to be
published at Berlin, from notes taken by his students.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEANDER'S Practical Expositions of St. James and of St. Paul's Epistle
to the Philippians, are in process of translation by Mrs. H. C. Conant,
the wife of Professor Conant, of Hamilton, and one of the most
accomplished women in this country. A translation of Hagenbach's
_Kirchengeschichte des 18 und 19 Jahrhunderte_, may also be expected
from the same hand, and so will be done admirably.

       *       *       *       *       *

SCHLEIERMACHER'S "_Brief Outline of the Study of Theology_" has been
translated by Rev. W. Farrar, and published by Clark, of Edinburgh, in a
single duodecimo.

       *       *       *       *       *

DR. KARL ZIMMERMANN has edited and published, at Darmstadt, "The
Reformatory Writings of Martin Luther, in chronological order, with a
Biography of Luther," in four volumes.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two new volumes of _L'Encyclopédie du Dixneuvième Siècle_ have just
appeared at Paris. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, Becquerel, Buchez, Delescluze,
Michel Chevalier, Philarete Chasles, and other literary and scientific
notabilities are among the contributors.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HOUSE OF DIDOT, at Paris, have just issued a most interesting volume
of the great work they have for some time been publishing under the
title of _L'Univers Pittoresque_. This volume is occupied with Japan,
the Burman Empire, Siam, Anam, the Malay peninsula, and Ceylon. The
letter-press is furnished by Col. Jancigny, who was formerly aid-de-camp
to the King of Oude, and has a thorough personal acquaintance with the
countries in question. To show how great is the multitude of elephants
in Ceylon, Col. J. speaks of an English officer who resided there, and
who had with his own hand killed above two thousand of these monsters.
The book, like all the rest of the series, is illustrated by numerous
engravings. The series is to consist of forty-five volumes. Only one or
two are now wanting to complete it. It is intended to afford a complete
description of all the countries, nations, religions, customs, manners,
&c. of the world.

       *       *       *       *       *

M. NISARD has been elected a member of the Académie Française, in the
room of the late M. Droz. He is known to the public chiefly by his
translations of the Roman writers, poetical and prose, and by sundry
able critical papers in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_. Opposing candidates
were Beranger, Alfred Musset, Jules Janin, Dumas, and others. Another
vacancy was to be filled in January, and among the candidates were
President Bonaparte, and the Count Montalembert, who are certainly more
conspicuous in politics than in letters, though one did write a book on
gunnery, and the other one on Elizabeth of Hungary.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two collections of interesting and valuable official documents have just
been given to the Parisian public. One is called _Archives des Missions
Scientifiques et Littéraires_, and consists of the most remarkable
reports sent to the Government by travellers charged with scientific and
literary missions. The other is the _Bulletin des Comités Historiques_,
and embraces articles relative to history, science, literature,
archæology, and the fine arts. It is issued by the Committee of the
written Monuments of the History of France, and the Committee of Arts
and Monuments. The most eminent names of French science and literature
are among the contributors to these works.

       *       *       *       *       *

M. GINOUX, who was sent by Guizot on a scientific mission which required
him to traverse the globe, but who was recalled by the government of
General Cavaignac, has returned to Paris, having been absent several
years. He will soon publish the narrative of his travels, which have
been in Oceanica, Polynesia, Brazil, Patagonia, Chili, Bolivia, Peru,
Equador, New Grenada, Jamaica, Cuba, and the United States.

       *       *       *       *       *

BERANGER, at the last dates was, and for several weeks had been,
dangerously ill, at his house at Passy.

       *       *       *       *       *

VERON, the editor of the Paris _Constitutionnel_, is a transcendent
specimen of the voluptuary. He is a large, fleshy, sensual, though by no
means coarse-looking man, with the marks of high living and animal
enjoyment on all his features. He first made a fortune by selling a
quack medicine, after which he became proprietor of the
_Constitutionnel_. His paper is conducted on the quack medicine
principle, with a shrewd view to the profits, and represents the
ultra-conservative side on all public questions. Latterly Veron has made
an arrangement with Louis Napoleon, by which it has become in some sort
the special organ of that functionary. This has made the editor doubly
famous, and in consequence of the crowd desiring to see him which
surrounded the Café de Paris, where he had long dined regularly every
day, he has been compelled to abandon that elegant establishment, and
set up a table for himself. He has done this in a princely manner, and
from his position, and the Apicius-like dinners which he gives, finds no
difficulty in assembling at his daily banquets the élite of Parisian
_viveurs_. Among his guests are M. Roqueplan, of the opera; M. Scribe,
the dramatist; Jules Janin; M. Bertin, editor of the _Journal des
Débats_; M. Romieu, Mlle. Rachel, and Mlle. Brohan. In all some fifty
persons have a standing invitation, and come when they choose. Covers
are laid every day for twelve, and those who are there at the time,
which is six o'clock, take their places. At half-past eight the host
puts on his hat and departs, but the guests remain, and prolong the
festival at their pleasure. It is said that these dinners not only
combine every thing in the perfections of gastronomy, but that they are
equally piquant for the wit and brilliancy of the conversation that
attends them.

       *       *       *       *       *

EUGENE SUE is now a member of the French Assembly; but he still finds
time to labor for democracy and socialism with his pen. He has commenced
the publication in one of the journals of a new romance, called _La
bonne Aventure_. From a few chapters, it is evident that it will possess
the enthralling interest of most of his works, and will display his
varied and vast talent in the portraiture of character and the invention
of incident. He is as intent as ever Mr. Cooper was, upon making the
novel a teacher and illustrator of opinions.

       *       *       *       *       *

GEORGE SAND has completed a new drama, which, from the title, _Le
Famille du Charpentier_, we suspect to be taken out of her delightful
_Compagnon du Tour de France_. She appears to be following in the
footsteps of Dumas, in arranging her novels into plays. She has met with
a severe check in the refusal of the authorities to allow a play from
her pen to be produced at the Théâtre St. Martin, entitled "Claudia."
Every thing had been prepared for it, and considerable expense incurred,
when the Censor refused to grant a license.

       *       *       *       *       *

ALPHONSE KARR, the French novelist, published for the late holidays a
very successful book called _Voyage autour de mon jardin_ (Journey
around my garden). It is a prose poem in honor of nature and the joys
which nature gives to the heart. Prince SOLTIKOFF has also brought out
his travels in India and Prussia in a splendid style. One of the most
elegant and universally admired works of the season at Paris, is
_Aix-les-Bains_, by Amédée Achard, illustrated by Eugene Ginain.
Aix-les-Bains is a favorite watering place in Savoy, and this book is an
account of a summer passed there.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the number for the first of December, of the Paris _Revue des Deux
Mondes_, a writer introduces and dissects poems, unedited until now in
the _Romance_ tongue, of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Two new
publications from their collection of manuscripts, by the Toulouse
Academy of Floral Games, perfectly exhibit the state of the Romaunt
tongue and poetry from 1324 to 1496.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ is an amusing paper by HENRI BLAZE, on
_Verona and Marshal Radetzky_, where, among other matters, he touches
upon _Romeo and Juliet_. The house where Juliet was born, lived, and
loved, is now turned into a vast warehouse for merchandize by the
pitiless prosaism of Time.

       *       *       *       *       *

In Paris we see advertised _Lettres d'Amour_. The Author, M. Julien
Lemer, has the idea of collecting in one volume the most celebrated love
matters--the _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of tender correspondence--a style of
composition in which France has always been eminent.

       *       *       *       *       *

EDMOND TEXIER has written at Paris _L'Histoire des Jeraux, ou Biographie
des Journalistes,_ described as very piquant. Such a book would do in
this country.

       *       *       *       *       *

IDA VON DUERINGSFELD has published a new novel, _Antonio Foscarini_,
said to be entertaining, and to contain a good picture of Venetian life
in the fifteenth century.

       *       *       *       *       *

LAMARTINE has commenced in the _Siècle_ newspaper a new novel entitled
_Le Tailleur de Saint Pierre et Saint Point_.

       *       *       *       *       *

GARNIER DE CASSAGNAC has taken ground against Lamartine and his history,
in a work entitled _Histoire du Directoire_.

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW POET, John Charles Bristow, of whom no one ever heard before, has
come out in London with five thick volumes of his "Works."

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW HISTORY OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS has just been issued at Paris.

       *       *       *       *       *

The first volume of Sir Francis Palgrave's History of England, has just
been published in London.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AND PIUS IX.--The Jesuits' printing establishment at
Naples has lately issued a quarto volume of 773 pages, consisting of the
addresses and letters sent to the Sovereign Pontiff, from Catholic
prelates and eminent laymen within the past two years. There are 297
different letters. Among the names of lay writers may be mentioned
Montalembert, Charles Dupin, D'Arlincourt, Poujoulat and De Falloux. The
country which furnishes relatively the fewest documents to this
collection, strange to say, is Italy, owing no doubt to the confused
state of the country politically. Asia, America, and even Oceanica here
give proofs that the Church has a hold among their populations, and that
they have sympathies ready in her behalf. It is well known, too, that
their sympathies do not end in words merely, but were often, as in the
case of Mexico, splendidly and solidly evinced in behalf of the fugitive
Pius. Nothing could give a more striking idea of the great extent of
Catholicism and the influence of the Church, than this book. From the
Turkish empire it gives a letter of the Archbishop Primate of
Constantinople, one from the Armenian Church in the same city, one from
the Apostolic Vicar of Bosnia, the Armenian Patriarch of Celicia,
resident in Lebanon, the Archbishop of Laodicea, at Gazir in Lebanon,
the Syrian Patriarch of Aleppo, the Patriarch of the Melchitian Greeks,
and the Patriarch of Antioch. From distant Asia the Apostolic Vicars of
Pondicherry and Bombay, the Apostolic Vicar of Japan, resident on the
island of Hong Kong, and the Superior of the Catholic community of Agra,
in the Presidency of Calcutta, all have letters. North America furnishes
a good many; in the United States, the Archbishop of Baltimore leads the
list, in which the Bishops of Oregon and Natchez are included with
others. From Canada, the Archbishop of Quebec furnishes the principal
letter. Mexico is remarkable for the number of its addresses; besides
the Metropolitan Chapter of the Capital, the Bishops of Guadalaxara,
Michoacan, Yucatan, Sonora, Oaxaca and many others, are represented in
the book. The contributions from South America are few. The Archbishops
of Lima and Santiago, in Peru and Chili, and the Monastery of Merzé del
Cuzco alone furnish letters. From Brazil there is a letter of the
Archbishop of Bahia only. The addresses from Australia and Oceanica are
from the Archbishop of Sidney, and the Bishops of Melbourne and
Auckland.

       *       *       *       *       *

The History, Condition and Prospects of Hayti, have been largely and
ably discussed lately in the Paris _Revue des Deux Mondes_, and in the
New York _Tribune_. Of an article in the former publication, the first
thirty-three pages form an able survey of the history of Hayti since its
independence, and of the rule of Emperor Soulouque. Nowhere is there, in
the same compass, more of authentic information and acute remark upon
the subject.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNDER the title of _L'Architecture du Cinquieme au Seizieme Siècle et
les Arts qui en dependent_, M. JULES GAILHABAUD is now producing at
Paris a work of high value to the architect and antiquary. Many years
spent in travels and special studies, and an extensive collection of
interesting documents, qualify him beyond all contemporaries for such an
undertaking. He treats not merely the architecture of the middle ages,
but sculpture, mural painting, painting on glass, mosaic work, bronzes,
iron work, the furniture of churches, &c. The book is to be published in
fifteen parts, quarto, with engravings on steel, or colored lithographs.
Eight parts are already published, containing remarkable specimens of
the Carlovingian, Roman, and _Renaissance_ architecture, a Templars'
church, Moorish buildings, &c. The whole, when finished, will cost, at
Paris, from sixty to one hundred dollars, according to the kind of paper
on which the engravings are printed.

       *       *       *       *       *

AMONG the periodical publications of Italy, the _Rivista Italiana_, a
monthly review issued at Turin, occupies a high place. Its list of
writers includes Mancini, Balbo, d'Ayala, Carracciolo, Farini, &c.
Subjects of the first importance are treated with marked ability in its
pages. Its political tendencies are toward constitutional monarchy.

       *       *       *       *       *

A correspondent of the _Athenæum_ says that an extraordinary and
valuable collection of letters illustrative of the life, writings and
character of the poet Pope has just "turned unexpectedly up,"--and has
been secured by Mr. John Wilson Croker for his new edition of the poet's
works. The collection consists of a series of letters addressed by Pope
to his coadjutor Broome--of copies of Broome's replies--and of many
original letters from Fenton (Pope's other coadjutor in the Odyssey),
also addressed to Broome.

       *       *       *       *       *

LORD BROUGHAM gave notice some six months ago, of his intention to visit
the United States, during the present month of February, but if it is
true, as stated in the Liverpool _Albion_, that he has lost his sight
(partly in consequence of some painful bodily infirmity with which he
has some time been afflicted), he of course will not come.

       *       *       *       *       *

OF ALICE CAREY'S ballad entitled "Jessie Carol," printed in the last
number of the _International_, J. G. Whittier says, in the _Era_, that
"it has the rich tone and coloring and heart-reaching pathos and
tenderness of the fine old ballads of the early days of English
literature." Miss Carey is passing the winter in New-York, where a poem
by her is in press, which one of the most eminent and time-honored
literary men in America has declared to be, in all the best elements of
poetry, decidedly superior to any work yet published from the hand of a
woman.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. THERESE ADOLPHINE LOUISE ROBINSON, the wife of the distinguished
Professor and traveller, is best known in the literary world under the
name of _Talvi_, and is indisputably one of the most prominent of the
few profoundly learned and intellectual women of the age. She is the
daughter of the German savan, L. H. Jacob, who was long a Professor at
Halle, where she was born on the 26th of January, 1797. In 1806, her
father was called to a professorship at the Russian University of
Charkow. Here the family remained for five years, and the daughter,
though deprived of the advantages of a regular education, laid the
foundation of that acquaintance with the Slavonic languages and
literature, which she has since so profitably and honorably cultivated.
During this time she wrote her first poems, songs full of the girl's
longing for her German home, which the strange half Asiatic environment
of Southern Russia rendered by contrast only dearer and more attractive.
In 1811 her father was transferred to St. Petersburg, and there her
studies were necessarily confined to the modern languages. But her own
industry was intense and incessant; she devoted a great deal of time to
historical reading, and privately cultivated her poetic talent. Her mind
pursued the same direction, when, in 1816, her father returned to Halle,
where she first made herself mistress of the Latin. Though her friends
beset her to give some of her productions to the public, she long
resisted. Meanwhile she wrote several tales, which were published at
Halle in 1825, under the title of _Psyche_, with Talvi as the name of
the author. This pseudonym is composed of the initials of Mrs.
Robinson's maiden name. In 1822, she translated Walter Scott's
_Covenanters_ and _Black Dwarf_, under the name of Ernst Berthold. About
this time there fell into her hands a review, by Jacob Grimm, of the
collection of Servian popular songs, published by Mark Stephanowich.
This increased her interest in that literature to such a degree, that
she determined to learn the Servian language. Hence arose the
translation of _Popular Songs of the Servians_, which, with the aid of
some Servian friends, she brought out at Halle, in 1825-6, in two
volumes. In 1828, she became the wife of Professor Robinson, and after a
long journey with him in different parts of the old world, came to
America. Here she was for some time engaged in the study of the
aboriginal languages, and prepared a translation into German of
Pickering's Work on the Indian tongues of North America, which was
published at Leipzic, in 1834. At the same time, she wrote in English a
work entitled _Historical View of the Slavic Languages_, which was
published in this country, in 1834, and translated into German, by Karl
von Olberg, in 1837. This work gives evidence of most remarkable
literary attainments. In 1837 she again visited Europe with her husband
and children, and remained in Germany till 1840. During this time she
wrote and published at Leipzic, in German, an _Attempt at a Historical
Characterization of the Popular Songs of the Germanic Nations, with a
Review of the Songs of the extra-European Races_. This is a work of a
most comprehensive character, and fills up a deficiency which was
constantly becoming more apparent, in the direction opened by Herder. It
evinces an unprejudiced and catholic mind, a just, poetic, sensible,
clear and secure understanding, as well as the most extensive and
thorough acquirements. Before her return to America she also published,
in German, a small work on _The Falseness of the Songs of Ossian_. An
article from her pen, entitled _From the History of the First
Settlements in the United States_, published in 1845 in Rumei's
_Historiches Taschenbuch_, is also worthy of notice. In 1847 she brought
out at Leipzic, a historical work on the _Colonization of New England_,
which has received the deserved applause of all the German critics, and
which abundantly merits a translation into English. An elaborate
reviewal of it appeared lately in the "Bibliotheca Sacra," in which
justice was rendered to its character for research and judicious
handling. In 1849 she published in New-York, with a preface by Dr.
Robinson, a _Historical Review of the Languages and Literature of the
Slavic Nations; with a Sketch of their Popular Poetry_. It is in one
volume, from the press of Mr. Putnam, and it has been generally admitted
that there is not in any language so complete and attractive an epitome
of the literature and various idioms of the great Sclavonic Nations,
north and south. Last year Mrs. Robinson gave to the world (through the
Appletons) a novel, entitled _Heloise_, in which there are admirable
pictures of social life in one of the minor capitals of Germany, and a
very able one of the administration of the Russian government in the
Caucasian provinces, and of the nature of Caucasian warfare. The last
work (just published by the same house), is _Life's Discipline, a Tale
of the Civil Wars of Hungary_. As a tale it is to us more interesting
than _Heloise_, and it has no less freshness of incident, scenery and
character. Though Mrs. Robinson's distinction is for scholarship and
judgment, rather than for invention, these works entitle her to a very
high rank among the female novel writers.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. H. C. KNIGHT (we believe of Portsmouth in New-Hampshire) has just
given to the public a very interesting "New Memoir of Hannah More, or
Life in Hall and Cottage." It is a book of genuine merit, displaying in
a pleasing style the most striking scenes in the history of one of the
noblest of the women of England. (Published by M. W. Dodd.)

       *       *       *       *       *

PROFESSOR H. B. HACKETT, of the Trenton Theological Institution, has in
press a "Philological and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the
Apostles," which will be published in the spring. It will embrace
various critical discussions in an appendix.

       *       *       *       *       *

MADAME ANITA GEORGE, the authoress of the very clever books entitled
"Memoirs of the Queens of Spain" (recently published by Baker &
Scribner), is not, as some suppose, an American, though she began and
has thus far advanced upon her literary life in this country. She is a
native of Spain, and is the daughter of a French gentleman--an officer
of the Empire--who married there. Her early life was passed in Cuba,
where her father settled when she was about three years of age. In her
seventeenth year she was married to Mr. George, who is an Englishman.

When Mr. FENIMORE COOPER published his Life of Commodore Perry, which
the sober second thought of the people endorses as entirely candid and
just, we remember that it was urged by the Philadelphia critics (who
constitute a class, as much as the Philadelphia lawyers do), that even
if every thing he advanced were _true_, Mr. Cooper had no right to
disregard the "settled and satisfactory opinions of the country upon the
subject." We could never so appreciate as perfectly to admit the truth
of the canon in criticism here involved, and to this day we cannot help
agreeing with Gibbon, that "Truth is the first virtue of history." Mrs.
George seems to concur with Gibbon and Cooper, and disregarding the
poetry and romance woven about the name of Isabella the Catholic, has
painted her according to the documents, which by no means warranted the
common good report of her.

Queen Isabella, according to Mrs. George, owes to some agreeable
qualities, but most of all to her patronage of Columbus, oblivion of
remarkable faults, which were prolific of evil to Spain. She escaped at
the expense of her husband Ferdinand, who has been charged with her sins
as well as his own. She was not a person to yield to any one where her
power and rights were in question, so that in all matters concerning
home policy, she is at least entitled to an equal share of the
discredit; and in the establishment of the Inquisition, and the
persecution of the Jews and Moors, she stands alone. Ferdinand was
always disposed to put his religion behind his interest, and was urged
by his wife into measures of which he disapproved; sometimes, indeed,
she ordered or permitted persecutions of which he was altogether
ignorant. Beside the wickedness of these things, their impolicy was not
less conspicuous. The oppression of the Moors, and the expulsion of both
Moors and Jews, destroyed the mechanical and commercial industry of
Spain; the overthrow of the feudal power and privileges of the nobility,
and the establishment of despotism in the crown, checked the growth of
civil freedom, as the introduction of the Inquisition induced religious
bigotry, and withered mental independence and intellectual cultivation.
Nor is Mrs. George disposed to allow weight to the excuse, urged in
favor of Isabella upon such facts as undeniably tell against her. The
Spaniards of the age, she says, were not so bigoted; the Kings of
Aragon, supported by their subjects, had set the Popes at defiance; the
Cortes of Aragon and of Valencia resisted the introduction of the
Inquisition; some of the clergy, with Fray Francisco de Talavera
Archbishop of Granada at their head, were opposed to all persecution;
even the Pope remonstrated against some wholesale slaughter; and when
persecution had provoked an insurrection, Ferdinand himself was wroth.
Nor does the biographer even see an excuse in the Queen's conscience.
When religion or churchmen stood in the way of her power or interests,
they were blown aside. There is in these conclusions, something of the
woman and of the Spaniard, anxious to excuse in any way the historical
degradation and present weakness of Spain. If the Spaniards were really
enterprising and industrious, there seems no reason why they might not
have engaged in commerce, agriculture, and the useful arts, although the
Jews and Moors were expelled: the Jews were ousted from England long
before they were driven from Spain, yet the English got on in the
absence of the house of Israel. The destruction of the enormous power of
the nobility was absolutely necessary, not only to the establishment of
order, but almost to the existence of society itself. It could only be
brought about by throwing the power of the common people into the scale
of the crown; and so far as Ferdinand and Isabella were concerned, it
seems to have been a wise and politic measure. The real despotism of the
crown was established by Charles the Fifth, and he might not have been
able to effect it, had he been only King of Spain. For the religious
tyranny, cruelty, and want of faith of Isabella in violating
stipulations, Mrs. George is sparing in the quotation of authorities,
and she often rather asserts than narrates in the account of facts that
would prove the case. A strict analysis might also show that temporal
power was the object aimed at, and religion a disguise for ambition. We
think, however, that the case of relentless and cruel persecution is
established against Isabella the Catholic; and that it was aggravated by
the power which the priesthood exercised over her mind in things
indifferent or which agreed with her inclination. In the graces of
person and manner, and in suavity of temper towards her own party, or
those whom she wished to gain, Isabella of Castile far excelled her
granddaughter Mary of England. In tenacity of purpose, in obstinacy, and
in indifference to the misery arising from their orders, it is possible
they were more alike than the world has supposed. And Isabella might
have had a similar cognomen, had not the Spaniards continued as bloody
as her age and as bigoted as herself.

The style of Mrs. George is in the main very good; but occasional
defects in diction and in the structure of sentences, are matters of
course in a woman who writes in a foreign language. There are some
points in the Queen's history passed over too lightly, and the
narrative is not always continuous. Isabella's relations with Columbus,
are barely noticed, on the ground that they had already been so largely
illustrated by Irving and Prescott. Miss Pardoe, who has edited an
English impression of the book, has supplied its most obvious defects
induced by this consideration.

Mrs. George has just left this country for Madrid, and we have reasons
for believing that she will devote the remainder of her life to
literature. She has in contemplation two works, both relating to Spain,
which can hardly fail under her spirited and ingenious treatment of
being eminently attractive. Since she is no longer in America, we may
gratify curiosity by remarking that she is some years under thirty, and
is one of the most beautiful and brilliantly-talking women of the
present day.

       *       *       *       *       *

WE are gratified to learn that there is a prospect of the appearance of
the Memoirs and Inedited Works of our late eminent countryman HENRY
WHEATON, the ablest and faithfulest and worst-used diplomatic servant of
the United States in the present century. The last time this great man
visited New-York he passed several hours in our study, and we remember
that he said then that his Letters to the Secretary of the Smithsonian
Institute, his various Tracts, Reviews, Historical Essays, &c., which he
would wish to collect, would make some three or four volumes as large as
his work on "The Law of Nations." He had also nearly or quite finished a
new work on the History of the Northmen, being a translation and
improvement of his _Histoire des Peuples du Nord_, published in Paris,
which was an extension of the volume he contributed originally to the
Family Library, in 1831, upon the same subject. This important work was
advertised, we believe, before the death of Mr. Wheaton, to be published
in two octavos, by the Appletons, but it has not yet been printed.

       *       *       *       *       *

R. R. MADDEN'S "Infirmities of Genius," a very pleasant book, is in the
press of Mr. J. S. Redfield. Madden is an Irishman, and he first became
known to the public by his "Travels in Turkey," published about
twenty-five years ago. The "Infirmities of Genius" appeared in 1833, and
two American editions of the work have heretofore been printed. In 1835
Mr. Madden came to the United States, and in 1836-7-8-9, he filled the
office of Superintendent of Liberated Africans, and Commissioner of
Arbitration in the Mixed Court of Justice at Havana. His various
experiences and observations, during eight years of official and private
life in America, the West Indies, and Africa, led to the composition of
several tracts on the slave-trade, and a volume printed we think some
two years ago on "the Island of Cuba, its Resources, Progress, and
Prospects." The "Infirmities of Genius" is, in a literary point of view,
his best production; and it is likely to retain a place among the
contributions of the age to standard English literature.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REV. E. H. CHAPIN, whose effective elocution and brilliant rhetoric
attract crowds to his ordinary discourses at the Universalist Church in
Murray-street, has in the press of Mr. J. S. Redfield, a volume upon
"Womanhood, Illustrated by the Women of the New Testament"--not treating
of these characters in the offensive style of the small rhetoricians,
but rather in that of Emerson's Representative Men, presenting Martha as
a type of the women of society, &c. We believe we have not before
referred in these pages to the fact, that Mr. Chapin was commonly
regarded as by far the finest orator in the recent Peace Congress at
Frankfort, in which were a large number of men from several nations
eminent for eloquence.

       *       *       *       *       *

A DISCOVERY OF IMPORTANT HISTORICAL DOCUMENTS, according to a Chicago
paper, has recently been made among the manuscripts which were saved
from the pillage of the Jesuits' College in Quebec. "It is well known by
those familiar with the resources of early American history, that the
publication of the Jesuit Relations, which furnish so much of interest
in regard to the discovery and early exploration of the region bordering
on our northern lakes, was discontinued after the year 1672. Some were
known to have been written, but the manuscripts were supposed to be
lost. The Relations from 1672 to 1679 inclusive, have lately been
discovered, and among them a manuscript containing a full account of the
voyages of Father Marquette, and of the discovery by him of the
Mississippi river. It was undoubtedly this manuscript which furnished
Thevenot the text of his publication in 1687, of 'The voyages and
discoveries of Father Marquette and of the Sieur Joliet.' The latter
kept a journal and drew a map of their route, but his canoe was upset in
the falls of St. Louis, as he was descending the St. Lawrence in sight
of Montreal, and he lost them with the rest of his effects. What
increases the value of the present discovery is, that the original
narrative goes much more into detail than the one published by Thevenot.
The motive which prompted and the preparations which were made for the
expedition are fully described, and no difficulty is found in tracing
its route. There is also among the papers an autograph journal by
Marquette, of his last voyage from the 25th of October, 1674, to the 6th
of April, 1675, a month before his singular death, which occurred on the
eastern shore of Lake Michigan. Also, a chart of the Mississippi drawn
by himself, illustrating his travels. The one annexed to Thevenot's
account, above referred to, a copy of which is contained in the third
volume of Bancroft's History of the United States, is manifestly
incorrect, as there is a variance between the route of the Jesuit as
traced on his map, and that detailed in his text. The manuscript chart
now rescued from oblivion, reconciles all discrepancies, and constitutes
a most interesting historical relic."

       *       *       *       *       *

AMONG the publications of the past month, _A copious and critical
Latin-English Lexicon_, royal octavo, pp. 1663, from the press of the
Harpers, is especially deserving of praise. We congratulate Professors
Andrews and Turner on the honorable close to their long and arduous
labors. They have earned thanks of all beginning students and riper
scholars in the Latin tongue. These, and the advancement of sound
learning, are the only adequate rewards for labors so untiring and long
continued; so wearisome and beneficial. The highest and only just praise
of this admirable volume, would be given by a plain statement of its
merits, but these are too extensive and varied to be even catalogued
within brief limits--we can only touch upon a few of them. For a year
past we have had opportunity and occasion to examine parts of the work
as it was going on to completion, and to compare it with others of
similar design. We speak then advisedly when we say that it far
surpasses any such Lexicon hitherto in use among us, and should
supersede them all. Since the works of Forcellini, and Facciolati, and
Gesner, very great advances have been made in all departments of
classical Philology; many of the best results of these advances were
embodied in Freund's great Lexicon, the first volume of which was
published in 1834. But since then, and even since 1845, the date of the
last volume, the thirst for antiquarian research has slaked itself at
newly discovered sources. The present editors, to a discriminating
selection from all that the zeal and activity of others have gathered,
up to the latest time, have added valuable knowledge from their own
varied stores, and at last furnished to American students a work
superior in its kind to any that has preceded it here or abroad. It
combines in a remarkable degree the copiousness of a Thesaurus with the
brevity and convenience for ready reference of a school-dictionary.
Citations abundantly sufficient to meet the wants of ordinary readers
are given in full, while distinct references guide the more exacting
scholar over a much wider field of original authority. In this way space
is economized, and the book is made cheap without a sacrifice of
learning. Its first general merit is its singular correctness. In a
verification of the almost numberless passages quoted, and a correction
of time-honored blunders, committed by subordinates, but sanctioned by
names of great writers employing them; in a distrust of authority at
second-hand, and persistent fidelity to the cause of learning, we
recognize the diligence of Prof. W. W. Turner. Those who have never
tried this kind of work have but an inadequate idea of its demands on
the brain, and on the conscience too. _Reading through_ a dictionary is
an after-dinner pastime in comparison. The vocabulary is more extended
than in other lexicons. But the peculiar and highest merit of this work
appears in definitions, remarkable for clearness, fulness, and
distinction of the subtle shades of meaning. Colloquial, technical, and
other special uses of words, here receive their share of attention, and
are felicitously rendered or illustrated by corresponding English terms.
The arrangement is admirable. The words of the vocabulary are
distinguished by an appropriate type. The etymology, the primitive and
derivative, the general and special, the proper and tropical
significations of a word; its meaning before the courts, in the temples,
at the games, among the Roman mob or the Roman exquisites; its
anti-classical, golden-augustan, neo-degenerate or patristic use--all
this is given in a regular order, by changes of type and an ingenious
system of abbreviations, so that the whole origin, history, value and
application of any Latin word may be taken in, almost at a glance. The
amount of archaeological learning--compressed indeed but never obscured
by abridgment--scattered through these pages is immense. Finally there
is an appendix, containing the XII. Tables, and other specimens of
Archaic Latin; and another, giving a list of Italian and French words,
varied by euphonic changes from the Latin origin. There are also a
translation of Freund's original preface by Prof. Woolsey, and a modest
preface by Prof. Andrews, the editor in chief.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REV. F. W. SHELTON, minister of an out-of-the-way parish on Long
Island, and known in literature hitherto only by two or three wise
lectures which he addressed to the young men of his village, (though his
intimate friends have guessed all the while that his hand was in some of
the wittiest and most unique contributions to the _Knickerbocker_,) has
published during the last month one of the best specimens of allegory
furnished by this age. It is entitled "Salander," and has for its
subject the backbiting dragon sometimes called by similar name. It makes
a neat duodecimo, illustrated with wood cuts, and is published by Samuel
Hueston.

       *       *       *       *       *

PROFESSOR BUSH is editing and will soon publish (through J. S.
Redfield), the pious and ingenious Heinrich Stilling's celebrated
"Theory of Pneumatology." It is a remarkable book, and in this sea of
silliness about knocking spirits, &c., which in so remarkable a degree
has shown that the infidels who cannot receive the Bible, because it is
"incredible," are the most credulous fools in the world, the German
psychologist will command attention. Dr. Bush adds to the work a preface
and notes.

       *       *       *       *       *

MISS MARTINEAU and a Mr. Atkinson have just published a volume entitled
"Letters on Man's Nature and Development," in which they handle very
boldly the subjects of Mesmerism, Clairvoyance, Phrenology, &c. It is
altogether and avowedly materialistic.

       *       *       *       *       *

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL has written a satire upon "The Rappers,"--a
humorous and witty poem of a thousand lines or so, which will be out, we
believe in _Graham's Magazine_, during the month.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. HENRY C. PHILLIPS, once, we understand, a companion of the traveller
Catlin, proposes to publish from his note-book and portfolio, "Sites for
Cities, and Scenes of Beauty and Grandeur, to be made famous by the
Poets and Painters of Coming Ages: observed in a Pedestrian Journey
across the middle of the North American Continent, in 1850." This is a
good title, and such a book will be interesting a thousand years hence,
for its prophecies. Surveying the vast chain of mountains, which rises
midway between the oceans, a poetical Jesuit said, "They are in labor
with nations." Mr. Phillips might easily have fancied, as he pursued his
summer journey through the wilderness from Oregon and California, among
regions more lovely and magnificent than any that were seen by the
fathers of art, that of such sights should be born nobler works than
have yet been addressed to the senses or to the imagination; and it is
not improbable that many a London, and Moscow, and Berlin, and Paris,
will some time have their busy populations, where now the ground is
hidden by the falling leaves of forests, and trampled by wild horses and
buffaloes.

       *       *       *       *       *

ONE of the most eminent of the living English historians, lately
discovered, as he thought, that "Old Sam Adams" was a _defaulter_, and
that he was opposed to Washington; and not choosing to wait until the
exposure could be made in his forthcoming work, he communicated it to a
very distinguished American, by letter. Now this is all sheer nonsense.
It is not necessary to deny the justice of the suspicion that Samuel
Adams was unfriendly to Washington, and all the facts as to his conduct
as collector for his Majesty's port of Boston, are perfectly familiar to
our historical students. He did not indeed pay into the exchequer every
shilling with which he was _charged_: well understood circumstances
prevented the _collection_ of a large amount of duties; but whatever he
received was paid over, and his accounts were squared to a farthing.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. WILLIS--the best artist in words, we have now, perhaps--is preparing
a new volume for Baker & Scribner. His "People I have Met," "Life Here
and There," and other books published by that house, have sold
remarkably well--better, we are inclined to think, than any literary
works reprinted in America for a long time--though the public was
previously familiar with them under other forms and titles. This proves
that the popularity of Willis is genuine and _permanent_. In his way, he
is unrivalled,--in any way, he has among the authors of this country but
some half dozen peers.

       *       *       *       *       *

J. G. WHITTIER has commenced in _The National Era_ the publication of a
new prose work, entitled "My Summer with Dr. Singleterry." It will
probably be about as long as his admirable "Leaves from Margaret Smith's
Journal," which appeared first in the same paper.

       *       *       *       *       *

OF CHRISTMAS STORIES, the last season has been unusually prolific.
Thackeray published one called "The Kickleburys upon the Rhine;"
illustrated with fifteen of his own designs. Both the illustrations and
the story are liberally praised by the journals. The authoress of "Mary
Barton" published another, under the title of "Moreland Cottage," not,
like her former work, a story of social wrong, but of gentle domestic
life. At the same time it is, if we may judge by extracts in the papers,
marked by the admirable peculiarities of her writing. There were some
dozen others, most of which were by less distinguished writers.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LIFE OF CALVIN, from the German of Henry, by the Rev. Henry
Stebbing, is to be republished in this city immediately by Messrs.
Carter, and we purpose making its appearance an occasion for some
observations upon that extraordinary person, whose various and
astonishing learning and genius, exhibited in speculation, and affairs,
and wit--the small arms of his controversy, as terrible as the artillery
of his logic--and really gentle and altogether noble nature, present a
spectacle which, redeemed from sectarian prejudice and perverse
historical misrepresentation, challenges in the most eminent degree the
admiration of mankind.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE pleasantest book of travels forthcoming from an American press is
"Nile Notes of a Howadje," an anonymous record of a voyage upon the
Nile--not at all statistical or learned, but a diary, and sketches of
personal impressions, aiming to give the _picturesque_ of the country,
and not vexing the reader with the mooted Egyptian questions. We have
glanced over a few sheets of it, and are confident that if success
depends upon quality, it will prove one of the most successful books yet
published, upon a region which is illustrated by a larger amount of
literature than any other in the world. (Harpers, publishers.)

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUTNAM has just published a third and very much improved edition of
his excellent work, "The World's Progress." We have already expressed in
this magazine the opinion that "The World's Progress" is the most
interesting, valuable, and altogether indispensable manual of reference,
for the student or general reader, that has been published in this
country. It is a hand-book of facts, so perspicuously classified and
arranged, as to suit the necessities of persons of every degree of
intelligence, and so full, upon almost every sort of subjects, as to
serve the purposes of a universal manual. The new edition is augmented
by a supplement embracing the most recent statistics, etc.

       *       *       *       *       *

THREE eminent scholars and authors, Dr. Lushington, Mr. Falconer, and
Dr. Twiss, are appointed by the British government, arbitrators to
determine the boundary between the provinces of Canada and Nova Scotia,
which has for some years been in dispute.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FOURTH VOLUME OF MR. HILDRETH'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES, being
the first volume of the post-revolutionary history, will be published
immediately, we believe, by the Harpers. We look for an exceedingly
interesting book. Of the earlier volumes of the History, the London
_Spectator_ observes:--

     "The distinguishing literary characteristic of this history
     is a careful succinctness. The convenience of a summary
     notice of the gradual discovery of America, and the
     necessity of singly narrating the foundation of each
     separate colony, render any substantial novelty of plan in a
     history of the United States impossible, except upon some
     scheme where fitness should be sacrificed to fanciful
     strangeness. Mr. Hildreth has judiciously refrained from
     attempting any thing of the kind: but perhaps he has pushed
     the mere chronological arrangement to an excess, and given
     undue prominence to the discoveries and settlement of North
     America by foreigners, in proportion to the scale of his
     work. In the execution, Mr. Hildreth has carefully read and
     as carefully digested his various authorities, and presented
     the results of his studies succinctly, closely, and
     comprehensively. In many cases the compendious style is apt
     to fall into a vague generality, or the pith of the matter
     is liable to be missed; but such is not the case with Mr.
     Hildreth's. He states all that he sees, though he would see
     more if he possessed a loftier and imaginative mind. We know
     not his profession, but there is something lawyerlike in his
     work. One subject seems the same to him as another: it is
     not so much that he wants variety of power; as that he does
     not seem to feel the variety in nature. His book is as much
     a digest as a history. The parts in which Mr. Hildreth
     succeeds best are those that relate to the social and
     religious opinions and practices of the colonists. In fact,
     it is as a social history that it possesses character and
     value. The author's quiet unimpassioned style presents the
     strange peculiarities that obtained among the New England
     colonists till within little more than a generation of the
     Revolutionary war, and some traces of which still remain."

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE MEMORIAL, _written by friends of the late Mrs. Osgood_," to which
we have heretofore referred in these pages, is the most beautiful book
published in America during the season, and as an original literary
miscellany it surpasses any volume that ever appeared in the English
language. The _Albion_ says of it:

     "Seldom has a more graceful compliment been paid to the
     memory of departed worth, than is exhibited in this handsome
     volume, which is edited by Mrs. Mary E. Hewitt. It
     originated at a chance meeting of a literary coterie, soon
     after the death of the gifted and amiable woman in whose
     honor it has been put together. When the conversation turned
     upon the many claims which she possessed on the affections
     and the esteem of those present, it was resolved that a
     souvenir volume should be made up from their voluntary
     contributions, and that the profits arising from the sale
     should be devoted to erecting a monument over her grave, in
     the Cemetery of Mount Auburn, near Boston. Many writers of
     distinguished merit have engraved their names upon this
     preparatory tablet, not all being numbered amongst her
     friends and acquaintances, but all appreciating the many
     virtues of the deceased lady, and the kindly motives of her
     sorrowing friends. The table of contents shows indeed such a
     list of names as should insure the speedy attainment of the
     object in view. We can but mention half-a-dozen--Hawthorne,
     Willis, G. P. R. James, the Bishop of Jamaica, John Neal,
     Stoddard, Boker, G. P. Morris and Bayard Taylor, amongst the
     men, and Miss Lynch, Mrs. Whitman, Mrs. Oaksmith, Mrs.
     Sigourney, and the Editress to represent the sisterhood of
     authorship. An admirable likeness of Mrs. Osgood, from a
     portrait by her husband, serves as a frontispiece, and, with
     some charming vignettes on steel and other illustrations,
     enhances the value of this choice and creditable book."
     (Putnam, publisher.)

       *       *       *       *       *

FORTUNE-TELLING is as much in vogue as ever in Paris. A book, which is
said to have caused much observation, appeared there lately, which is
thus described in the correspondence of the London _Literary Gazette_:--

     "It consists of extracts from the voluminous writings of a
     poor _gentilhomme_ of Brittany, during a period of upwards
     of sixty years, and each extract is a prediction of some one
     of the great political convulsions which have occurred in
     this country during that time. Never was there a more
     correct _Vates_; but Cassandra herself was not more
     disregarded than he. The downfall and execution of Louis
     XVI., the horrors of the Terror, the power and overthrow of
     Napoleon, the revolution of 1830, and the republic of 1848,
     were all predicted years before they came to pass; but the
     poor prophet was set down as a madman by all his literary
     contemporaries, and during his lifetime not a single
     newspaper would consent to say any thing about his
     predictions. What is the most singular thing of all is, that
     he foretold (years ago, remember--when Louis Philippe was at
     the height of his power), that the proclamation of the
     republic would lead to the domination of a member of
     Napoleon's family, and so it has; though if any one only six
     months before Louis Napoleon's election had predicted the
     same thing, he would certainly have been set down as a
     lunatic. In consequence of this extraordinary foresight of
     our prophet, people have looked with no little concern to
     what he says for the future. And alas! they have met with
     nothing very consolatory. We are, it seems, on the brink of
     a fearful social crisis, the consequence of which will be
     the complete destruction of European society as at present
     constituted; and this destruction is only to be effected by
     the shedding of rivers of blood, and the weeping of oceans
     of tears!"

       *       *       *       *       *

WE are pleased to perceive that the writings of Hartley Coleridge are
soon to be collected and suitably published. Mr. Moxon advertises as in
press, his _Poems_, with a Memoir of his life, by his brother, the Rev.
Derwent Coleridge; _Essays and Marginalia_, in two volumes; and _Lives
of Distinguished Northerns_, a new edition, in two volumes.

       *       *       *       *       *

LAMARTINE receives for his _Histoire du Directoire_--the sequel of _The
Girondists_--at which he works from fourteen to sixteen hours every day,
only 12,000 francs, equal to about $2,400.

       *       *       *       *       *

AMONG the "books in press" advertised in London at the beginning of the
year, by Bentley, are _The Correspondence of Horace Walpole, Earl of
Orford, and the Rev. William Mason_, now first published from the
original MSS., and edited, with notes, by the Rev. J. Mitford, author of
"The Life of Gray." This work will contain the last series of Walpole's
unpublished letters. A _History of Greek and Roman Classical
Literature_, with an introduction on each of the languages, biographical
notices, and an account of the periods in which each principal author
lived and wrote, so far as literature was affected by such history, and
observations on the works themselves, by R. W. Browne, one of the
professors in King's College, London. And _The Literary Veteran_,
including sketches and anecdotes of the most distinguished literary
characters, from 1794 to 1849, by R. P. Gilles.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REV. HENRY T. CHEEVER has just published a volume entitled "The
Island World of the Pacific," (Harpers,) which for various personal
interest, fulness and accuracy of information, and right feeling, is to
be preferred to any book on the subject since the appearance of Cook's
Voyages. We know of no traveller in Polynesia who has had better
opportunities for observation than Mr. Cheever. His abilities as a
writer were illustrated by "The Whale and his Captors," published two or
three years ago. The style of the present performance is not at all
inferior, and it is especially commendable for a perspicuous
compactness. So much misrepresentation of the Sandwich and other Islands
has appeared lately, that we are glad of an opportunity to commend a
book so authoritative and satisfactory upon the whole subject.

       *       *       *       *       *

M. J. MOREAU of Paris, has completed a new version into French of the
_Imitatio Christi_, and has accompanied it with select passages from the
Fathers and other pious authors. The same writer has also published
under the title of _Le Philosophe Inconnu_, an essay on the ideas and
writings of the celebrated theosophist Saint-Martin. This remarkable
mystic, who in his lifetime was surrounded by so many disciples and
admirers, is now known only to the curious seekers among the dusty
shelves of libraries. M. Moreau attempts to show that his heresies
contained a spice of orthodoxy, and this he endeavors to develop for the
benefit of whom it may concern.

       *       *       *       *       *

BISHOP ONDERDONK of Pennsylvania is a person of large abilities; he is
one of the strongest writers of the Episcopal Church in the country; and
it is unjust that the unfortunate circumstances of his ecclesiastical
position should prevent the recognition of his merits as a scholar and
dialectician. We are pleased, therefore, that his friends have taken
measures for the publication of a collection of his _Theological Works_,
including sermons and Episcopal charges.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW GERMAN POEMS.--Louise von Plönnies has published two new books of
poetry, one under the title of _Neue Gedichte_ (New Poems), the other
_Oskar und Giaunetta_. They are spoken of as superior to her former
productions, and worthy of a most honorable place among the productions
of German poetesses. Oscar and Giaunetta is a love story in verse. The
purpose of the writer is to exhibit the masculine and feminine
principles, Thought and Beauty, as mutually completing each other in the
passion of love. The _Monates-Mährchen_ (Tales of the Month), by Gustar
von Mayem, are poems of another sort. Instead of sentimentality, the
stock in trade of this writer is patriotism and politics. His inspiring
thought is the unity of Germany and the national greatness which must
result therefrom. Unfortunately this thought does not find so welcome a
reception with statesmen as with poets.

       *       *       *       *       *

A PRODUCTION of the most indisputable German plodding and erudition is
the _Satzungen und Gebräuche des talmudisch-rabbinischen Judenthums_, by
Dr. I. F. Schröder, lately issued at Bremen. It gives a complete account
of the religious notions, doctrines, and usages of the Jews. To
theologians it is of high value for the light which it casts upon the
formation and institutions of the Christian Church. The author has
employed in its composition the writings of every sect, and has
condensed in it the result of a thorough study of the entire literature
relating to the Old Testament and the rabbinical writings. He writes
with the greatest impartiality, and in the interest of no particular
creed or tendency.

       *       *       *       *       *

M. ARAGO said lately in the Academy of Sciences, upon the suggestion of
some possibilities in aerostation, that a long time since the whole
subject had been treated in a masterly manner by Mousnier, a celebrated
member of the Academy of Sciences. His treatise had remained in
manuscript in the public library of Metz, and if it should be committed
to the press, it would prove to those who think they have discovered new
methods of aerial locomotion, that what is plausible and rational in
their ideas was already perfectly well known, expounded and appreciated,
in the last century.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE government of Naples constantly increases its list of prohibited
books. Among the works now excluded, Humboldt's Cosmos, Shakspeare,
Goldsmith, Heeren's Historical Treatises, Ovid, Lucian, Lucretius,
Sophocles, Suetonius, Paul de Kock, Victor Hugo, E. Girardin, G. Sand,
Lamartine, Valery's L'Italie, Goethe, Schiller, Thiers, A. Dumas,
Molière, all the German philosophers, and Henry Stephens's Greek
Dictionary.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ABBÉ LACORDAIRE has published an introduction to a work entitled _Le
Monde Occulte_--an exposition of the mysteries of magnetism, by means of
somnambulism.

       *       *       *       *       *

A BOOK which contains some excellent sketches relative to MAZZINI and
the Roman Republic, has been published at Bremen, with the title, _Des
Republikaner's Schwerdfahrt_, (The Republican's Sword-Pilgrimage). The
author is a German, Ernst Hang, who held a high post in the Roman army.
He is now in Asia Minor, where his work was written. It is eloquent
sometimes, and entertaining and sensible always. His remarks on the
mutual relations of Germany and Italy, are admitted to be sound and
judicious.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HON. CHARLES A. MURRAY, author of a volume of Travels in America,
and of three or four novels, is now the British Consul-General in Egypt,
and with his newly-married wife was to depart for Alexandria, to resume
his consular duties, towards the close of January.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE first volume of a most valuable and interesting work has just made
its appearance at Frankfort-on-the-Main. It is called _Geschichte der
Frauen_ (History of Woman), and is from the pen of G. Jung. The volume
now issued contains the history of the oppression of woman, and her
gradual self-emancipation down to the Christian era. It is written with
great talent, and comprehensive learning, but without pedantry. The
author believes that the emancipation of woman is not yet completed, and
she has a right to a free development of her faculties, and a perfectly
independent position in society. Two more volumes will complete the
work.




The Fine Arts.


RICHARD WAGNER, well known as an artist, has brought out at Leipzic a
book called _Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft_ (Art in the Future), which
excites a good deal of attention, and is soundly assailed by those who
dislike it. Wagner adopts the philosophical ideas of Feuerbach, and
treats his subject from that stand-point. Into modern art he pitches
with all the force of a genuine iconoclast. He says it is a sexless,
sterile product of dreams, not art, but merely manner, &c. With him art
must come out of the people, and be the apotheosis of the people. The
people are immortal and ever young. With the poets and novel-writers of
the day, Wagner has no more patience than with the artists. They are, he
thinks, dilettanti, sentimentalists, who coquet with the misery of the
masses, in order to serve the same up well spiced and warmed to their
luxurious and fashionable readers. The ideal and absolute in art he
finds in the drama, which is the sum and type of all other artistic
creations. But no drama yet produced satisfies him, and he tells the
reasons why without hesitation. Those who wish to be entertained and set
thinking by an author who is in earnest even when most paradoxical, may
look at Wagner's book with advantage.

       *       *       *       *       *

THORWALDSEN.--The Danish Government some time since sent Mr. Thiele, a
competent person, to Rome, for the purpose of collecting every thing
that could be obtained toward a history of the life and works of this
illustrious sculptor, whose early life is so obscure that even the date
and place of his birth are unknown, as well as the employment he made of
the first years that he was in Italy. Mr. Thiele has found a number of
casks in the cellars of the Tomati Palace at Rome, filled with letters,
addressed to Thorwaldsen, and among them a long and constant
correspondence between him and his mother, who lived part of the time in
Denmark and part of the time in Iceland, her native country. It seems
that Thorwaldsen had the habit of preserving his papers, even to the
most trifling, by flinging them confusedly into a cedar box in his room;
when that was full they were emptied into the casks where they have now
been found; these casks were not noticed when all the other contents of
the palace were removed to Copenhagen. Whatever is interesting in these
papers will, of course, be published. Mr. Thiele has also discovered in
the same cellar the model of a bas-relief by the same great artist,
representing the Muses dancing by Helicon. It will be added to the
collection of his works at Copenhagen.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE artist HEIDEL has published at Berlin a series of Eight
Illustrations to Goethe's Iphigenia. He aims in them to preserve unmixed
the spirit of antique art, and thus to prove that the Germans are the
true successors of the Greeks. The subjects of his designs are:--The
Fall of Tantalus; the Departure of Agamemnon; the Sacrifice of
Iphigenia; the Death of Agamemnon; the Death of Clytemnestræ; the Flight
of Orestes; the Meeting of Orestes and Iphigenia; and the Return of
Iphigenia. The designs are praised by the German critics. They say that
in beholding the Flight of Orestes, pursued by the Furies, who dare not
enter the sacred temple of Apollo where he seeks refuge, one imagines
that he hears the fearful chanting of a chorus of Æschylus.

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW ART called _Metallography_ has been discovered by Nicholas Zack, a
lithographer at Munich, by means of which designs that have hitherto
been engraved on wood can be put directly upon metal, and in such a
manner as to be printed from. The plate is prepared beforehand, and the
artist draws his design upon it with a pencil or a needle. Without any
further labor, by means of the preparation alone, the plate will be
ready for printing. Worn-out plates may be restored with very little
expense.

       *       *       *       *       *

A BOOKSELLER of Munich has published Albert Dürer's sketches from the
prayer-book of Emperor Maximilian I., with the original text, colored
initials, and an introduction. Price eight thalers, about $6,00.

       *       *       *       *       *

MORITZ RUGENDAS, a German artist, who has lately spent a considerable
time in Mexico and the countries of South America, is now engaged at
Munich, in arranging the pictures for which his journeys in those
countries furnished him the materials. A work of such magnitude has
never before been undertaken by any artist. He intends to treat each
country in a continuous series of views. The Mexican series is now
nearly completed, consisting of about 100 landscapes, in oil. It begins
with Vera Cruz, where the artist landed, and goes through the whole
country to the Pacific. First is the coast seen from the sea; next we
behold the coast with the sea as it appears inland; then we mount to the
plains, noticing the gradual change of the mountain formations, and the
vegetation, with views in every direction from each interesting point;
we pass through the great plateau, ascend the volcanoes and survey their
craters, and admire the beauty of the region about the city of Mexico.
From the city there are sketches of journeys in every direction, and at
last we traverse the palm forest of St. Jago, and stand upon the heights
whence the eye reaches to the Pacific. Every picturesque scene is
finished with the greatest care and with special regard to the natural
features of the landscape. Buildings and human figures are either
avoided altogether or used as merely subordinate. When Mexico is
completed, Rugendas will use in a similar manner the sketches he has
taken in other countries. It is not known whether his pictures will be
engraved or not. They will, we believe, become the property of the Royal
Pinakothek, at Munich.

       *       *       *       *       *

The painters at Vienna have formed an Art-Union, which is succeeding in
its first exhibition, which is now open. Some well-known artists of
Germany have sent pictures. Foltz, of Munich, has a landscape with a
flock of sheep; Zimmerman a landscape with effect of sunlight; Hülner,
of Düsseldorf, a boy reading the Bible to his mother, Vienna. Koeckoeck,
of Holland, has two landscapes. The artists of Vienna have also not been
backward. Among the names of the exhibitors we notice that of
Waldmüller, who is known in this country for his picture of the Children
leaving School, which was drawn a year since by one of the subscribers
to the International Art-Union, and was regarded as one of the chief
attractions of its collection.

       *       *       *       *       *

We hear from Berlin that KAULBACH has painted in miniature the Four
Evangelists, in a copy of Luther's translation of the New Testament,
which is destined for the World's Fair. The book is a folio; the leaves
are of vellum, and the printing is done in Gothic letters and in various
colored inks by four accomplished masters of calligraphy. These artists
have also ornamented their work with numerous vignettes. The book is now
being exhibited at the Royal Library in Berlin.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PRESCOTT, Mr. Ticknor, and other Boston gentlemen of high
cultivation and artistic taste, have prepared a memorial to Congress
that POWERS should be commissioned by government to put into marble his
statue of America. For less than twenty-five thousand dollars,
probably--for a sum not larger than that which was paid by the
government for the two specimens of commonplace by Mr. Persico, this
admirable production might be obtained in colossal size for the capitol.

       *       *       *       *       *

The GERMAN _Arch[=a]ologische Institut_, at Rome, celebrated the
birth-day of Winckelmann on the 13th of December. Dr. Emil Braun read an
essay on the two chief groups of the frieze of the Parthenon. These
groups have hitherto been supposed to represent the twelve gods of
Olympus; Dr. Braun attempted to show that they represent, in a double
point of view, the native heroes of Attica. The physical development of
the country is expressed in the genealogy of a royal race, beginning
with Cecrops and his wife Agraulia, continued in Cranaus and Amphictyon,
and finally passing into Erichthonius, the son of Atthis, and foster son
of Pandrosos. The social organization of the state begins with
Erechtheus, who is aided by his wife Praxithea, and his daughter Creusa.
He annexes Eleusis to Athens, the former being here represented by
Demeter and Triptolemus; finally Theseus with his friend Pirithous
completes the civil organization of Athens, and establishes it upon a
firm basis. Essays on subjects connected with antique art and history
were also read by Dr. L. Schmidt, Dr. H. Brunn, and Dr. W. Heuzen.

       *       *       *       *       *

The paintings of the Chapel of the Virgin in the Church of Nôtre Dame de
Lorette, a vast work, which has hitherto remained unknown to the public,
and which has been interrupted by the recent death of the painter, M.
Victor Orsel, are now attracting attention. M. Perrin, intrusted with
the execution of a similar chapel in the same edifice, will undertake
the pious task of terminating the work of a friend, with whom he had
lived on terms of the closest friendship, cemented by a community of
ideas and talent. Orsel was making rapid strides towards a great
reputation.

       *       *       *       *       *

We had occasion lately to notice in the _International_ the
illustrations of Hood's "Bridge of Sighs," by Mr. Ehninger. This young
artist has just published in a large quarto (through Putnam) a series of
Outline Illustrations of Washington Irving's "Dolph Heyliger," which are
an improvement upon his first performance. Many of the scenes are
admirably rendered. We believe Mr. Ehninger is now pursuing the study of
art abroad.

       *       *       *       *       *

The German sculptor, WOLFF, has added to, his many admirable works a
figure of _Paris_, which is much praised.




THE AUTHORESS OF "JANE EYRE," AND HER SISTERS.[13]


Miss Bronte has just published in London the literary remains of her
sisters, "Ellis" and "Acton Bell," with interesting sketches of their
histories, including some glimpses of her own. We copy a portion of the
reviewal of the work in the _Athenæum_:

The lifting of that veil which for a while concealed the authorship of
'Jane Eyre' and its sister-novels, excites in us no surprise. It seemed
evident from the first prose pages bearing the signatures of Currer,
Ellis, and Acton Bell, that these were _Rosalinds_--or a _Rosalind_--in
masquerade:--some doubt as to the plurality of persons being engendered
by a certain uniformity of local color and resemblance in choice of
subject, which might have arisen either from identity, or from joint
peculiarities of situation and of circumstance. It seemed no less
evident that the writers described from personal experience the wild and
rugged scenery of the northern parts of this kingdom; and no assertion
or disproval, no hypothesis or rumor, which obtained circulation after
the success of 'Jane Eyre,' could shake convictions that had been
gathered out of the books themselves. In similar cases, guessers are too
apt to raise plausible arguments on some point of detail,--forgetting
that this may have been thrown in _ex proposito_ to mislead the
bystander; and hence the most ingenious discoverers become so
pertinaciously deluded as to lose eye and ear for those less obvious
indications of general tone of style, color of incident, and form of
fable, on which more phlegmatic persons base measurement and comparison.
Whatever of truth there may or may not be generally in the above
remarks,--certain it is, that in the novels now in question instinct or
divination directed us aright. In the prefaces and notices before us, we
find that the Bells were three sisters:--two of whom are no longer
amongst the living. The survivor describes their home as--

     "A village parsonage, amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire
     and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is not grand--it
     is not romantic; it is scarcely striking. Long low moors,
     dark with heath, shut in little valleys, where a stream
     waters, here and there, a fringe of stunted copse. Mills and
     scattered cottages chase romance from these valleys; it is
     only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors,
     that Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot: and
     even if she finds it there, she must be a solitude-loving
     raven,--no gentle dove. If she demand beauty to inspire her,
     she must bring it inborn: these moors are too stern to yield
     any product so delicate. The eye of the gazer must itself
     brim with a 'purple light,' intense enough to perpetuate the
     brief flower-flush of August on the heather, or the rare
     sunset-smile of June; out of his heart must well the
     freshness that in later spring and early summer brightens
     the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes the starry
     flowers that spangle for a few weeks the pasture of the
     moor-sheep. Unless that light and freshness are innate and
     self-sustained, the drear prospect of a Yorkshire moor will
     be found as barren of poetic as of agricultural interest:
     where the love of wild nature is strong, the locality will
     perhaps be clung to with the more passionate constancy,
     because from the hill-lover's self comes half its charm."

Thus much of the scene:--now as to the story of the authorship of these
singular books:--

     "About five years ago, my two sisters and myself, after a
     somewhat prolonged period of separation, found ourselves
     reunited and at home. Resident in a remote district where
     education had made little progress, and where, consequently,
     there was no inducement to seek social intercourse beyond
     our own domestic circle, we were wholly dependent on
     ourselves and each other, on books and study, for the
     enjoyments and occupations of life. * * One day, in the
     autumn of 1845, I accidentally lighted on a MS. volume of
     verse in my sister Emily's handwriting. Of course, I was not
     surprised, knowing that she could and did write verse; I
     looked it over, and something more than surprise seized
     me,--a deep conviction that these were not common effusions,
     nor at all like the poetry women generally write. * *
     Meantime, my younger sister quietly produced some of her own
     compositions, intimating that since Emily's had given me
     pleasure, I might like to look at hers. I could not be a
     partial judge, yet I thought that these verses too had a
     sweet sincere pathos of their own. We had very early
     cherished the dream of one day becoming authors. This dream,
     never relinquished even when distance divided and absorbing
     tasks occupied us, now suddenly acquired strength and
     consistency: it took the character of a resolve. We agreed
     to arrange a small selection of our poems, and, if possible,
     get them printed. Averse to personal publicity, we veiled
     our own names under those of Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell;
     the ambiguous choice being dictated by a sort of
     conscientious scruple at assuming Christian names positively
     masculine, while we did not like to declare ourselves women,
     because--without at that time suspecting that our mode of
     writing and thinking was not what is called 'feminine'--we
     had a vague impression that authoresses are liable to be
     looked on with prejudice; we had noticed how critics
     sometimes use for their chastisement the weapon of
     personality, and for their reward, a flattery, which is not
     true praise. The bringing out of our little book was hard
     work. * * Ill-success failed to crush us: the mere effort to
     succeed had given a wonderful zest to existence; it must be
     pursued. We each set to work on a prose tale: Ellis Bell
     produced 'Wuthering Heights,' Acton Bell 'Agnes Grey,' and
     Currer Bell also wrote a narrative in one volume. These MSS.
     were perseveringly obtruded upon various publishers for the
     space of a year and a half; usually, their fate was an
     ignominious and abrupt dismissal. At last 'Wuthering
     Heights' and 'Agnes Grey,' were accepted on terms somewhat
     impoverishing to the two authors."

The MS. of a one-volume tale by Currer Bell had been thought by Messrs.
Smith & Elder so full of promise, that its writer was asked for a longer
story in a more saleable form.--

     "I was then just completing 'Jane Eyre,' at which I had been
     working while the one-volume tale was plodding its weary
     round in London: in three weeks I sent it off; friendly and
     skillful hands took it in. This was in the commencement of
     September, 1847; it came out before the close of October
     following, while 'Wuthering Heights' and 'Agnes Grey,' my
     sisters' works, which had already been in the press for
     months, still lingered under a different management. They
     appeared at last. Critics failed to do them justice."

The narrative may be best concluded in the writer's own words.

     "Neither Ellis nor Acton allowed herself for one moment to
     sink under want of encouragement; energy nerved the one, and
     endurance upheld the other. They were both prepared to try
     again; I would fain think that hope and the sense of power
     was yet strong within them. But a great change approached:
     affliction came in that shape which to anticipate, is dread;
     to look back on, grief. In the very heat and burden of the
     day, the laborers failed over their work. My sister Emily
     first declined. The details of her illness are deep-branded
     in my memory, but to dwell on them, either in thought or
     narrative, is not in my power. Never in all her life had she
     lingered over any task that lay before her, and she did not
     linger now. She sank rapidly. She made haste to leave us.
     Yet, while physically she perished, mentally she grew
     stronger than we had yet known her. Day by day, when I saw
     with what a front she met suffering, I looked on her with an
     anguish of wonder and love. I have seen nothing like it;
     but, indeed, I have never seen her parallel in any thing.
     Stronger than a man, simpler than a child, her nature stood
     alone. The awful point was, that, while full of ruth for
     others, on herself she had no pity; the spirit was
     inexorable to the flesh; from the trembling hand, the
     unnerved limbs, the faded eyes, the same service was exacted
     as they had rendered in health. To stand by and witness
     this, and not dare to remonstrate, was a pain no words can
     render. Two cruel months of hope and fear passed painfully
     by, and the day came at last when the terrors and pains of
     death were to be undergone by this treasure, which had grown
     dearer and dearer to our hearts as it wasted before our
     eyes. Towards the decline of that day, we had nothing of
     Emily but her mortal remains as consumption left them. She
     died December 19, 1848. We thought this enough; but we were
     utterly and presumptuously wrong. She was not buried ere
     Anne fell ill. She had not been committed to the grave a
     fortnight, before we received distinct intimation that it
     was necessary to prepare our minds to see the younger sister
     go after the elder. Accordingly, she followed in the same
     path with slower step, and with a patience that equalled the
     other's fortitude. I have said that she was religious, and
     it was by leaning on those Christian doctrines in which she
     firmly believed that she found support through her most
     painful journey. I witnessed their efficacy in her latest
     hour and greatest trial, and must bear my testimony to the
     calm triumph with which they brought her through. She died
     May 28, 1849. What more shall I say about them? I cannot and
     need not say much more. In externals, they were two
     unobtrusive women; a perfectly secluded life gave them
     retiring manners and habits."

Though the above particulars be little more than the filling-up of an
outline already clearly traced and constantly present whenever those
characteristic tales recurred to us,--by those who have held other ideas
with regard to the authorship of "Jane Eyre" they will be found at once
curious and interesting from the plain and earnest sincerity of the
writer. She subsequently enters on an analysis and discussion of
"Wuthering Heights" as a work of art;--in the closing paragraph of her
preface to that novel, insinuating an argument, if not a defence, the
urgency of which is not sufficiently admitted by the bulk of the world
of readers. Speaking of the fiendlike hero of her sister's work, she
says:--

     "Whether it is right or advisable to create beings like
     Heathcliff, I do not know: I scarcely think it is. But this
     I know; the writer who possesses the creative gift owns
     something of which he is not always master--something that
     at times strangely wills and works for itself. He may lay
     down rules and devise principles, and to rules and
     principles it will perhaps for years lie in subjection; and
     then, haply without any warning of revolt, there comes a
     time when it will no longer consent 'to harrow the valleys,
     or be bound with a band in the furrow'--when it 'laughs at
     the multitude of the city, and regards not the crying of the
     driver'--when, refusing absolutely to make ropes out of
     sea-sand any longer, it sets to work on statue-hewing, and
     you have a Pluto or a Jove, a Tisiphone or a Psyche, a
     Mermaid or a Madonna, as fate or inspiration directs. Be the
     work grim or glorious, dread or divine, you have little
     choice left but quiescent adoption. As for you--the nominal
     artist--your share in it has been to work passively under
     dictates you neither delivered nor could question--that
     would not be uttered at your prayer, nor suppressed nor
     changed at your caprice."

It might have been added, that to those whose experience of men and
manners is neither extensive nor various, the construction of a
self-consistent monster is easier than the delineation of an imperfect
or inconsistent reality--with all its fallings-short, its fitful
aspirations, its mixed enterprises, and its interrupted dreams. But we
must refrain from further speculation and illustration:--enough having
been given to justify our characterizing this volume, with its preface,
as a more than usually interesting contribution to the history of female
authorship in England.

Pertinently of these biographies, the _Athenæum_ remarks that "some of
the most daring and original have owed their parentage, not to defying
_Britomarts_, at war with society, who choose to make their literature
match with their lives,--not to brilliant women figuring in the world,
in whom every gift and faculty has been enriched, and whetted sharp, and
encouraged into creative utterance, by perpetual communication with the
most distinguished men of the time,--but to writers living retired lives
in retired places, stimulated to activity by no outward influence,
driven to confession by no history that demands apologetic parable or
subtle plea."

FOOTNOTES:

[13] _Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey._ By Ellis and Acton Bell. A new
Edition Revised, with a Biographical Notice of the Authors, a Selection
from their Literary Remains, and a Preface. By Currer Bell. Smith, Elder
& Co.




DAVIS ON THE LAST HALF CENTURY.[14]

ETHERIZATION.


In 1802, the late reverend and venerable DR. MILLER of New Jersey, then
an active minister of the Presbyterian church in this city, published
here, in two large octavo volumes, the First Part of _A Brief Retrospect
of the Eighteenth Century, containing a Sketch of the Revolutions and
Improvements in Science, Arts and Literature, during that Period_. Six
other volumes were contemplated, to cover grounds since occupied by the
great work upon the Eighteenth Century, by Dr. Schlosser, but they never
appeared. The facts embraced in Dr. Miller's Retrospect illustrated an
extraordinary and successful intellectual activity in the preceding
hundred years; but the fruits of investigation and reflection in that
time were less remarkable and important than those which have marked the
first half of the Nineteenth Century, of which the Rev. EMERSON DAVIS,
D.D., has attempted to give us a survey in a single duodecimo. Within
such brief limits completeness and fulness were out of the question, but
we had a right to ask a judicious selection of topics, and--however
brief and imperfect,--a careful and an honest statement of facts. We are
sorry to perceive that brevity is the only redeeming quality of Dr.
Davis's performance. It is altogether worthless, in almost every
respect, and unless it tempt some competent person to the composition of
an Account of the Progress of Society from 1800 to 1851, its appearance
will be a public misfortune, as well as a private disgrace. Perfectly to
justify this condemnation we will copy a single section--the one
treating of the discovery of

     "LETHEON, OR SULPHURIC ETHER, &c.

     "In the autumn of 1846, it was announced in the public
     journals that a dentist in Boston, W. T. G. Morton, had
     discovered a method of extracting teeth without pain. Dr.
     Morton, it seems, was satisfied that he could increase his
     business to any extent he pleased, if he could only discover
     a method by which he could extract and insert teeth without
     any pain to the patient. Having some knowledge of the fact
     that, by inhaling the vapor of ether, a state of
     insensibility could be produced, he applied to Dr. Charles
     T. Jackson to know if it could be done with safety. It
     occurred to him that it might produce such a degree of
     stupor that a tooth might be extracted without a
     consciousness of what was doing [_meaning_ being done]. On
     the 30th of September, 1846, he inhaled the vapor himself,
     and found that he remained in an unconscious state eight
     minutes. On the same day, he administered it with success to
     a man who called to have a tooth extracted. The man, on
     recovering his consciousness, did not know that any
     instrument had been applied to his tooth. On the 16th and
     17th of October, at the suggestion of Dr. Morton, ether was
     administered to two patients at the hospital, who were to
     have surgical operations performed. The experiment was
     successful. As soon as the fact was known, it was generally
     applauded by the newspapers as a wonderful discovery, and
     the question came up, To whom belongs the honor, and who
     shall reap the reward? Dr. Jackson, in a letter to M.
     Beaumont, published in Galignani's Messenger, in Paris,
     January, 1847, says, 'I request permission to communicate to
     the Academy, through you, a discovery which I have made, and
     which I regard as important to suffering humanity.' It
     appears that the idea of using ether to render a person
     insensible _to pain_, was original with Dr. Morton, and that
     Dr. Jackson did no more than give Dr. Morton some
     information respecting the nature of ether, and the best
     mode of inhaling it. But as Dr. Jackson was better known as
     a man of science, Dr. Morton consented to take the patent in
     the name of both, and Dr. Jackson sold out his share to Dr.
     Morton for ten per cent. of the income that might be derived
     from the sale of rights to use the discovery.

     "In February, 1847, another letter appeared in Galignani's
     Messenger, from Dr. H. Wells, of Hartford, Connecticut, in
     which he claimed to be the discoverer of the fact that the
     respiring of gas would produce insensibility to pain. Dr.
     Wells had been about the country for a few years previous,
     _lecturing upon gases_, and had often administered the
     exhilarating, or nitrous oxide, gas. There is _no evidence_
     that he ever administered ether. He might, in his
     experiments, have found that persons under the influence of
     the nitrous gas were insensible to pain, but he had no right
     to claim that he discovered that the vapor of ether would
     produce that effect. The French Academy, however, conferred
     rewards of merit upon both Jackson and Wells, and, in 1848,
     the American Congress awarded to Morton the honor of the
     discovery.

     "In 1847, several sharp articles appeared in the Boston
     papers, some favorable to Morton, and others to Jackson.
     Wells committed suicide that year, and nothing more was said
     respecting his claims. Some spicy pamphlets were written.
     The result has been that, under the shelter of the smoke of
     controversy, every one that chose has made use of the
     discovery without paying Morton for the right, and that he
     has been actually impoverished by the attention he gave to
     the subject."

This statement is a tissue of falsehood and absurdity. To deny to Dr.
Wells the _entire_ credit of this discovery, argues simply gross
ignorance or insolence. Whenever any matter deserving of historical
commemoration is submitted to controversy, and the evidence is not full
and absolute, and the decision is not unanimous or nearly so, the
historian must _himself_ enter into the investigation, and in his own
person pronounce judgment. Therefore Dr. Davis has no excuse for so
scandalous a misrepresentation of these events, in any communications or
suggestions by unknown parties. It was easy to be rightly informed, and
under such circumstances, ignorance is scarcely less criminal than
designed falsehood. In this case, the decision has plainly been in favor
of Dr. Wells, wherever there was authority of action. By means which we
do not care to state, but which are well known to us, Drs. Jackson and
Morton did indeed procure of the Academy of Sciences in Paris, a
recognition of their joint claims to be regarded as the discoverers of
etherization. The Academy of Sciences is not a fit tribunal. The Paris
Medical Society (of which the celebrated Chevalier Ricord is President)
is; and this society, after an elaborate investigation of the whole
subject, during which it listened to a speech of several hours by Mr.
Warren, the agent of Drs. Jackson and Morton, decided with the utmost
unanimity that Dr. Wells made the discovery, and awarded him therefor
the sum of 25,000 francs.

The statement that Dr. Wells "went about the country lecturing upon
gases," is characteristically false. He never delivered even one
lecture, upon any subject whatever, in his life. It is equally false
that "the American Congress awarded to Morton the credit of the
discovery." Congress has never made any decision or award at all in the
premises. A committee was hastily appointed, and it presented a report,
probably prepared in Boston. The friends of Dr. Wells were not advised
of any such attempt, and it was thought this report, with agreeing
resolutions, could be smuggled through the House. But a counter report
was immediately offered, nevertheless, and so the game stopped.

We cannot, in these pages, enter into any detail of the history of this
important discovery; but those who wish to investigate it, are referred
to a pamphlet lately issued at Hartford, entitled, "_Discovery by the
late Dr. Horace Wells of the Applicability of Nitrous Oxide Gas,
Sulphuric Ether, and other Vapors, in Surgical Operations, nearly two
years before the Patented Discovery of Drs. Charles T. Jackson and W. T.
G. Morton_." This pamphlet was prepared by Mr. Toucey, recently Attorney
General of the United States, and nothing can be more conclusive and
satisfactory, to a fair inquirer, than the evidence contained in it,
that Drs. Jackson and Morton had never even the slightest thought of any
thing like etherization, until Dr. Wells, some time after the discovery,
proceeded to Boston, in the hope that Dr. Morton (who was under especial
private obligations to him, and therefore was regarded by him as a
friend) would assist him in procuring for it larger publicity and
recognition. Poor Wells was only laughed at by these gentlemen, who, two
years afterward, claimed the discovery as their own!

How complete the discovery, and how successful the application of it,
will appear from the affidavit of Dr. Marcy. Mr. Toucey says:

     "Dr. E. E. Marcy, formerly of Hartford, now of the city of
     New-York, was present at the rooms of Dr. Wells, by his
     special request, to witness the operation upon Mr. F. C.
     Goodrich, and witnessed it with the strong sensations
     produced by a new and wonderful discovery upon a scientific
     observer. He says, not only was the extraction accomplished
     without pain, but the inhalation of the gas was effected
     without any of those indications of excitement, or attempts
     at muscular exertion, which do commonly obtain when the gas
     is administered _without a definite object or previous
     mental preparation_. 'By this experiment,' says Dr. Marcy,
     'two important, and, to myself, _entirely new facts_ were
     demonstrated: 1st. That the body could be rendered
     insensible to pain by the inhalation of a gas or vapor,
     capable of producing certain effects upon the organism. And
     2d. When such agents were administered, to a sufficient
     extent, for a definite object, and with a suitable
     impression being previously produced upon the mind, that no
     unusual mental excitement, or attempts at physical effort
     would follow the inhalation.

     "'Witnessing these wonderful phenomena, these new and
     astounding facts, the idea at once occurred to me whether
     there were not other substances analogous in effect to the
     gas, and which might be employed with more convenience and
     with equal efficacy and safety. Knowing that the inhalation
     of sulphuric-ether vapor gave rise to precisely the same
     effects as those of the gas, from numerous former trials
     with both these substances, I suggested to Dr. Wells, the
     employment of the vapor of rectified sulphuric ether--at the
     same time detailing to him its ordinary effects upon the
     economy, and the method of preparing the articles for use.
     Our first impression was, that it possessed all the
     anæsthetic properties of the nitrous oxyd, was equally safe,
     and could be prepared with less trouble, thus affording an
     article which was not expensive, and could always be kept at
     hand. At the same time, I told Dr. Wells that I would
     prepare some ether, and furnish him some of it to
     administer, and also make a trial of it myself, in a
     surgical case which I expected to operate upon in a few
     days. Not long after this conversation (to which allusion is
     made by Mr. Goodrich, in his affidavit) I administered the
     vapor of rectified sulphuric ether, in my office, to the
     young man above alluded to, and after he had been rendered
     insensible to pain, cut from his head an encysted tumor of
     about the size of an English walnut. The operation was
     entirely unattended with pain, and demonstrated to Dr. Wells
     and myself, in the most conclusive manner, the anæsthetic
     properties of ether vapor.'

     "We have narrated this important experiment in the language
     of Dr. Marcy, to whose affidavit we take leave to refer, as
     no part of it can, with any propriety or justice, be
     overlooked by any one who proposes to subject this matter to
     a searching examination. It shows the progress and the
     successful result of these inquiries and experiments of Dr.
     Wells, and of those skilful and liberal professional
     gentlemen who co-operated with him. It shows that the
     opinion was then entertained by Dr. Marcy, that the
     constituents of the gas were more nearly allied to the
     atmospheric air than were those of ether vapor--that the
     former was more agreeable and easy to inhale than the
     latter, and upon the whole was more safe and equally
     efficacious as an anæsthetic agent--and that this opinion
     was fully confirmed by numerous experiments subsequently
     made by Drs. Ellsworth, Beresford, Riggs, Terry, Wells and
     himself. It shows further, that _Dr. Wells visited Boston in
     1844, for the purpose of communicating his discovery to the
     faculty of that city, and that, on his return, he informed
     Dr. Marcy that he had communicated it to Dr. C. T. Jackson,
     and to Dr. Morton, and received from the former, and from
     other medical gentlemen of Boston, nothing but ridicule for
     his pains_."

We have no room for testimony. Mr. Toucey concludes his statement in the
following manner:--

     "More than a year and a half after Dr. Wells had personally
     made known to Dr. Jackson, and to Dr. Morton, his former
     pupil, the result of his experiments, more than one year
     after the announcement in the Boston _Medical and Surgical
     Journal_, published at their doors, we find Dr. Jackson and
     Dr. Morton confederating together, taking out a patent for
     this principle, and attempting ineffectually to appropriate
     it to their joint pecuniary benefit! Dr. Jackson as the
     philosopher, Dr. Morton as the operator! And shortly
     afterwards, differing in almost every thing else, agreeing
     nevertheless in one thing--each affirming of the other that
     he was not entitled to the merit of the discovery!

     "Such is a brief statement of the proof, by which the mere
     matter of fact is established, which induced the Legislature
     of Connecticut to hail the late Dr. Horace Wells as a public
     benefactor. With this accumulation of evidence on one side,
     bearing directly upon the point, and _nothing to countervail
     it on the other_, it is impossible to resist the conclusion
     that he was the fortunate author of this great discovery,
     unless one or the other of two propositions can be
     established, namely, either that such a paralysis of the
     nervous system as would render the subject insensible to
     pain during the process of extracting teeth, would not
     embrace the principle of it, or on the other hand, that
     nitrous oxyd gas is arbitrarily to be excluded from its
     proper place in a class of agents, all of which are nearly
     identical in their operation. And even if this difficult
     task could be accomplished, there would still remain another
     equally difficult to be encountered; because it has already
     been shown that Dr. Wells went beyond these limits, and that
     Dr. Marcy, in conjunction with him, subjected the use of
     sulphuric ether in a larger surgical operation, to the test
     of successful experiment. But either of the foregoing
     propositions would be too absurd to require a moment's
     consideration. The principle is as fully developed by the
     painless extraction of teeth, as by the painless amputation
     of a limb; by the successful use of nitrous oxyd gas, as of
     rectified sulphuric ether. In the language of Dr. Marcy:
     'The man who first discovered the fact that the inhalation
     of a gaseous substance would render the body insensible to
     pain under surgical operations, should be entitled to all
     the credit or emolument which may accrue from the use of any
     substances of this nature. This is the _principle_--this is
     the _fact_--this is the _discovery_. The mere substitution
     of ether vapor or any other article for the gas, no more
     entitles one to the claim of a _discovery_, than the
     substitution of coal for wood in generating steam, would
     entitle one to be called the discoverer of the powers of
     steam.'

     "It is unnecessary to pursue the subject further. It would
     be one of the greatest marvels of this wonderful age, if the
     world, with these facts before it, did not confirm the
     decision which it has already pronounced, and award to Dr.
     Wells the merit of a discovery, which will be remembered and
     appreciated as long as mankind shall be exposed to
     suffering, or have occasion to apply an antidote."

The section upon etherization, we presume, will serve as a specimen of
Dr. Davis's _History_ of the First Half of the Eighteenth Century.

FOOTNOTES:

[14] _The Half Century; or a History of changes that have taken place,
and events that have transpired, chiefly in the United States, between
1800 and 1850_; with an introduction by Mark Hopkins, D.D. By Emerson
Davis. D.D. Boston: Tappan & Whittenmore.




POPULAR LECTURES.


Thus far this season, there has been even more than the usual amount of
lecturing in our principal cities. The mania lasts longer than was
thought possible. The "phenomenon" has really become a feature of the
times. It absorbs a great share of the current literary enthusiasm--much
of which it has created, and will, it is to be feared, entirely satisfy.
Professor Pease, of the University of Vermont, in an essay upon the
subject, seeks to determine its import and value; to trace the feeling
which gives it birth to its source, and to determine as accurately as
possible the grounds of promise or of fear which it affords. "These
interpretations," he says, "vary between the widest extremes. On the one
side is heard the exulting shout of those who whirl unresistingly in the
vortex--'Does not wisdom cry and understanding put forth her voice?'
behold the 'progress of the species' and the 'march of mind!' And, on
the other side, the contemptuous murmur of those who will be overwhelmed
rather than gyrate against their will, they know not whither--'What
meaneth this bleating of the sheep in mine ears?'"

This mania for lectures, taken in connection with the prevailing
literary taste (of which it is in some sort an index), is regarded as
pointing, more or less directly, to a want of the human spirit--to its
cry--strong and importunate, though often stifled and but dimly felt,
for light--the light of science and of truth. Many feel this want only
as a _traditional_ need--one which their fathers before them have felt
and have taught them to feel--and _they_ are apt to be satisfied with a
traditional supply. Others ask for science because it will help them
make, or work, and perchance _become_ machines, whereby they may earn
bread: and oftentimes, says the writer, "does this mere irritability of
the coating of the stomach pass itself off as the waking up the life of
the soul, and the sublime and pure aspirations of the spirit, for high
and ultimate truths, pure as itself." Then, it is the fashion to be
learned, and the fops of literature, who must "follow the fashion," of
course, get wisdom as quickly and easily as possible. These are the main
features of that demand for science, which is now so clamorous. Mr.
Pease divides the lectures of the day into three classes; first those of
which the object is instruction, then those designed to amuse, and last,
those which profess to serve both these purposes; and he thinks it may
be said of all, that they have no _vital, form-giving, organific
principle_, running through them, developing properly each separate
part, and uniting them all by its own power.

In these discourses he says: "The carpenter is the actual model; for
like him the discourser cuts and fits his timber according to rules the
grounds of which it concerns not him to understand, with little labor
beyond that of hacking and hewing--materials being ever ready at his
hand: for the world is full of books as the forest is of trees and the
market of lumber. And this is done to instruct us; to build us up
inwardly; to administer food to our intellect; to nourish our souls; to
kindle the imagination and awaken to energetic action the living but
slumbering world within. But, alas! this inner world cannot be kindled
like a smouldering fire, by a basket of chips and a puff of wind! This
inner world is a world of spirits, which feed on thoughts full of truth
and living energy. And thought alone can kindle thought: and truth alone
can waken truth: not veracity, not fact, but truth vital,

        'Truth that wakes
    To perish never.'

This is the bread for which the soul is pining, and such are the husks
with which its calls are answered."

There is in this statement of the predominant character of our popular
lectures much that is true, as we could easily show by a definite
examination of the most popular discourses to which our audiences
listen. Every one can see that their aim is, not to announce great
truths, which are essential to the well-being of society, and the
instruction of the soul, but so to shape their sentences, so to point
their paragraphs, and to give such a turn to their expressions, as to
tickle most effectually the fancy of those who hear them, and to call
down that round of applause which tells them they have made a _hit_. Now
just so far as this is the case, popular lecturing not only seeks to
supply the place of the theatre, but actually becomes theatrical; and
lacking the essential worth and dignity of the drama, assumes its tricks
and shallow vanities.

Nevertheless, the author whom we have quoted sees in this fashion signs
of promise, for it signifies the existence and the struggling toward the
light, of the absolute want of the soul--which will soon rectify the
public taste, and teach men that pleasure lies only in the life-giving
and the true.

"In this," he says, "lives an abiding ground of hope and cheerful
confidence; for it teaches us that every human heart has those depths
and living powers in it, the healthful action of which is the true life
and well-being of the soul--and in none, we hope, are they forever
dormant; and no heart, we hope, is wholly closed. Light, though in rays
feeble and scattered, may shine in upon it, and it shall awake--for it
is not dead, but sleepeth.... The feeling of wants that lie deeper and
farther inward than the sensual appetites, must be supplied or
suppressed; and hence arise a struggle and conflict between the
antagonist principles of our being. Firm peace, and healthful, quiet
energy of soul, are the fruit of victory, and of victory only.
Therefore, though attended with a 'troubled sea of noises, and hoarse
disputes,' the contest, with its hubbub and vain clamor, is the door to
quietness and clear intelligence. Pedantry and pretension, quackery and
imposture, shall, in spite of themselves, conduct to their own exposure
and extinction; for a higher sway than ours guides all affairs, causing
even the wrath of man to praise Him, and making folly itself the guide
to wisdom. Hooker characterized his own times as 'full of tongue, and
weak of brain;' and Luther said to the same effect, of the preachers and
scholars of his day: 'If they were not permitted to prate and clatter
about it, they would burst with the greatness of their art and science,
so hot and eager are they to teach.' But the noise and dust having
subsided, there is left us, of those very times, works which men will
not willingly let die. Noise and smoke causeless do not come. There is a
force at bottom which will ultimately work itself clear, and produce
good and substantial fruits. There is a force somewhere, or no foam and
dust would rise: but there is little force in the foam and dust
themselves. And the immediate instruments are _only_ instruments,
working without knowledge what they do, like puppets, dancing and
swinging their arms, while far behind resides the force that works the
wires. All wonder bestowed upon _them_ is, most certainly, foolish
wonder. But there is no ground for discouragement, or for any but good
hopes, although ignorance and pretension stand in high places, and
vainly babble concerning things beautiful and profound. This uproar
comes only from the troubling of the stream--the foam and roar will not
continue always; the smooth plain lies below, along which it shall soon
flow, quietly, but strongly, murmuring sweet music. And for the
ambitious rainbows painted in the mists above, there shall be the sweet
reflection of earth and heaven from its calm bosom."




OLD TIMES IN NEW-YORK.


Governor William Livingston, of New Jersey, "poet, philosopher and
sage," in a letter written November 17th, 1744, gives the following
insight into life, as it then was, in New-York. He is describing a
"party:"

"The feast as usual was preceded by cards, and the company so numerous
that they filled two tables; after a few games, a magnificent supper
appeared in grand order and decorum--the frolic was closed up by ten
sunburnt virgins lately come from Columbus's Newfoundland, and sundry
other female exercises; besides a play of my own invention, which I have
not room enough to describe at present; however, kissing constitutes a
great part of its entertainment."

In 1759, Livingston's father died, and his funeral obsequies were
performed in all the pomp and attended with all the expense customary in
colonial times. These took place in New-York. The lower apartments of
most of the stores in Broad-street, where he resided, were thrown
open--a pipe of wine was spiced--there were eight pall-bearers, and to
each was presented a pair of gloves, a mourning ring, scarf and
handkerchief, and a spoon. These services were repeated at the manor,
his country-seat, and a handkerchief and pair of black gloves presented
to each of the tenants.




ROSSINI IN THE KITCHEN.


The last accounts of Rossini, if we are to credit the pleasant stories
told of him by the Parisian wit, Louis Huart, are highly characteristic
of the great _maestro_. The following _canard_ is one of the most
_veritable_ and amusing:--

"The newspapers announce that Rossini has shut himself up at Bologna
with the celebrated tenor Donzelli, and that they pass their days in
rehearsing a new opera, of which Rossini is finishing the score. After
the sea-serpent, I know of no story which returns more periodically than
the announcement of a new opera by Rossini. It is now fifteen years
since this pleasantry began to be invariably reproduced at the
commencement of every winter, and always with the same success. One
begins to meet in society a few Parisians who shrug their shoulders with
an air of incredulity when you speak to them of the sea-serpent, but no
one dares to evince the least skepticism touching the new opera of
Rossini. We received this morning a letter from our correspondent at
Bologna, and he furnishes us with details which explain the
announcements in the newspapers.

"Rossini is living in rather a retired way just now; and only receives
the regular visits of one person; there is an error, however, in the
orthography of the appellation of this visitor. Instead of Donzelli, he
is named Pastafrollo. He is no tenor! he is a cook! Rossini, in company
with Pastafrollo, is now busily occupied in endeavoring to discover a
new way of dressing turbot. Rossini has invented, up to the present day,
sixty-two different ways of dressing this fish, but he repeats to
whoever will listen to him, that he will not die content until he has
discovered a sixty-third method, which will satisfy him completely--then
he will divulge his secret, and have inscribed on the _cartes_ of all
the _restaurants_ in Europe--_turbot à la Rossini_. On that day, but
that day only, Rossini will make up his mind to open his piano and
compose a _cantata_ in honor of fish in general, and turbot in
particular. The passion of Rossini for cooking has been rendered more
ardent from the fact that the family of this illustrious personage do
all they can to cross him in it. The relatives and friends of Rossini
wish to make him believe that it is unworthy of a musician, and more
especially of a musician of his genius, to occupy himself with turbot;
but Rossini replies, history in hand, that a whole senate once devoted a
long sitting to find out what sauce would eat best with this fish.
Rossini's family do not consider themselves beaten as yet, and they have
organized a sort of _cordon sanitaire_ round the house of the composer,
to prevent the cooks from getting to him. Before this determination was
arrived at, Bologna overflowed with _chefs_, who arrived from every part
of Italy, to consult Rossini on the best methods to be employed in
dressing salmon, skate, carp, eels, and gudgeons.

"This furnishes us with an explanation of the reason why Pastafrollo was
forced to employ a stratagem in order to prevent his being stopped in
the hall by the family of Rossini. Pastafrollo arrived at Bologna, under
the name of Donzelli, and took care to have inscribed on his passport
_tenor_ instead of _cook_.

"We cannot conclude without giving expression to an earnest hope, that
the conferences established between Rossini and Pastafrollo may give
birth to the sixty-third mode of dressing turbot."




THE FIRST PEACE SOCIETY.


In an entertaining article on "The Abbé de Saint-Pierre," in the last
_Gentleman's Magazine_, there is this curious account of a "Peace
Society."

"The Abbé de Polignac took Saint Pierre with him to the Congress of
Utrecht. Witnessing all the difficulties which stood in the way of
reconciliation between the contending parties, Saint-Pierre conceived
that the truest benefit which could be conferred on mankind would be the
abolition of war. He at once proceeded to embody his idea, and published
in 1713, the year in which peace was concluded, his 'Projet de Paix
Perpetuelle,' in three volumes. The means by which he proposed that this
perpetual peace should be preserved was the formation of a senate to be
composed of all nations, and to be called _The European Diet_, and
before which princes should be bound to state their grievances and
demand redress. The Bishop of Fréjus, afterwards Cardinal de Fleury, to
whom Saint-Pierre communicated his plan, replied to him, 'You have
forgotten the most essential article, that of sending forth a troop of
missionaries to persuade the hearts of princes, and induce them to adopt
your views.' D'Alembert has made one or two just remarks on
Saint-Pierre's dream of universal peace, which are as applicable now as
they were a hundred years ago: 'The misfortune of those metaphysical
projects for the benefit of nations consists in supposing all princes
equitable and moderate, in attributing to men whose power is absolute,
and who have the perfect consciousness of their power, who are often
exceedingly unenlightened, and who live always in an atmosphere of
adulation and falsehood, dispositions which the force of law and the
fear of censure so rarely inspire even in private persons. Whosoever, in
forming enterprises for the happiness of humanity, does not take into
calculation the passions and vices of men, has imagined only a beautiful
chimera.' Rousseau thought that, even if Saint Pierre's project were
practicable, it would cause more evil all at once than it would prevent
during many ages."

The writer of this memoir of Saint Pierre presents the character of that
remarkable person in a more favorable light than that in which we have
been accustomed to regard it. The author of "Paul and Virginia" was very
likely a far better man than has been supposed.




EGYPT UNDER THE PHARAOHS.

MR. KENRICK'S HISTORY.[15]


All nations turn to Egypt, as to the mother of civility, and the
Christian sees there the prison where are detained, until the end of the
world, the witnesses of truths which vindicate his religion. How much
the Holy Land is our country, appears from this, that to all Christians,
however remote the places where they live, the scenes about Jerusalem
are more familiar than those about the capital of his own nation; and
with Egypt we are scarcely less intimately, though much less perfectly,
acquainted. Within the last half century, great researches have been
made, by individual or national enterprise, into the poetry and
antiquities of Egypt, by the enterprise of travellers and the diligence
of archæologists, among whom England claims the names of Young,
Wilkinson, and Vyse. But comparatively few know what has been the result
of these researches. They lie scattered over a number of works in
different languages, beyond the reach even of the ordinary student, much
more of the general reader. Mr. Kenrick (of whose "Ancient Egypt under
the Pharaohs" we copy below the main portion of a reviewal in the London
_Times_) has undertaken the task of supplying a synopsis, and this task
he appears to us to have accomplished excellently well. Mr. Kenrick is a
very estimable as well as a very accomplished man. Like the great
majority of the abler historical, philosophical and religious writers of
England at this time, he is a _Dissenter_, which perhaps lessens
somewhat the warmth of the critic's commendations. We hope to see his
work, as well as that of Mr. Sharpe, relating to Egypt under the
Ptolemies, reproduced, by some of our own publishers. Of Mr. Kenrick,
the _Times_ says:--

"He commences with the land of Egypt. In the East great rivers are the
parents of civilized nations. A great river, which by its deposit forms
a long valley and a broad delta of rich alluvial soil in the midst of
deserts, was the parent, the nourisher, and the god of the oldest
civilized nation of the earth. The Nile is Egypt; the Egyptians were
those who lived below the cataracts and drank of the Nile. Above the
cataracts they pushed their arms into Ethiopia, and left there the
monuments of their dominion. To the west they were at once defended and
confined by a desert impassable to armies, but which the oasis rendered
passable to the caravan. On the north was an almost harborless sea. On
the east was another desert, through which roads led to the ports of the
Red Sea and the mines of Sinai. On the north-east the Arabian desert
formed an imperfect barrier. It was traversed by the hosts of Sesostris
and Sheshonk, of Nebuchadnezzar and Cambyses, and across its sands Egypt
communicated commercially and politically with the other seats of
ancient civilization which, broken by the recurring desert, formed an
irregular chain from Philistia to China.

"Of the singular productions of Egypt, the hippopotamus, the crocodile,
the ibis, the papyrus, we need not speak. There were few beasts of
chase, and the Egyptian conquerors did not begin like those of central
Asia by being mighty hunters. It was a land of corn, and of the vine, of
fruit trees, and all herbs. The nations sought its granaries in famine;
the Israelites in the wilderness thirsted for the cooling vegetables of
its gardens. Fish abounded in the Nile, waterfowl in the marshes. Nature
yielded freely, but perhaps for that very reason the mind of man was
less exercised and less active. And the unvarying landscape, the
unchanging sky, the small number and unpoetic or even grotesque forms of
the plants and animals, may partly account for the lack of imagination
evinced by the most formal and most stationary of nations, scarcely
excepting the Chinese.

"Who and whence were the Egyptians? This question Mr. Kenrick has to
ask, and, like others, to leave unanswered. This is the secret which the
grave of the Pharaohs will not yield. Physiology supplies no clue. The
mummy cases, the paintings and sculptures, depict a race short, slight,
with low foreheads, high cheek bones, long eyes, hair now crisp now
curled, and a complexion which the conventionality of the painter's art
makes to differ in men and women, but which probably was brown with a
tinge of red, dark compared with that of the Syrian, black compared with
that of the Greek. Thick lips are frequently seen, but they are supposed
to indicate intermarriage with Ethiopians. From the negro the Egyptians
were far removed, nor can they be connected with any other known race.
If we turn to language, a surer guide perhaps than physiology, we are
again completely baffled. The Coptic has been identified through many
etymologies with the old Egyptian; and of the Coptic, though it became a
dead language in the twelfth century, much literature remains. It is an
uncultivated and formal tongue, with monosyllabic roots and rude
inflexions totally different from the neighboring languages of Syria and
Arabia, totally opposite to the copious and polished Sanscrit. The last
fact at once severs Egypt from India, and destroys every presumption of
affinity that may arise from the presence in both countries of caste, of
animal worship, and of a religion derivable from a primitive adoration
of the powers of nature. The hypothesis of an Ethiopian origin sprang
from the notion, natural but untrue, that population would follow the
course of the descending river. And no tradition among the Egyptians
themselves told of a parent stock or of another land.

"Respecting the mighty works of Egypt, little mystery remains. The great
Pyramids had been rifled by the Caliphs, if not by earlier hands, and no
inscriptions have been found. But no doubt exists that they were the
sepulchres of the Kings of Memphis. The Queens and the "princes of
Noph" reposed in smaller pyramids beside the Kings. These mountains of
wasted masonry belong to the earliest ages of the Pharaonic monarchy,
before the time of the Sesostrian conquests, and therefore they bespeak
the toil and suffering, not of captives, but of native slaves. Before
them couches the Sphinx, hewn from the rock, to spare, as a Greek
inscription says, each spot of cultivable land. His riddle--for it is _a
male_--is read. He represents, perhaps portrays, the reigning King, and
the thick lips may indicate Ethiopian blood. The lion's body represents
the monarch's might--the human head his wisdom. The rock, from which the
figure is cut, broke the view of the Pyramids, and to convert it into
the Sphinx was a stroke of Egyptian genius. Pyramids were, in the
Pharaonic times, peculiar to Memphis. The countless tombs of Thebes are
excavated in the rocky face of the Libyan hills. Those of the Theban
Pharaohs stand apart, and we approach through a narrow gorge called the
"Gate of Kings." The paintings, sculptures, and inscriptions on these
tombs, literally the eternal _houses_ of the dead, are the Pompeii of
the Egyptian antiquary. At Thebes are the magnificent and temple-like
palaces of the greatest of the Pharaohs, the halls of their assemblies
and their counsels, the records of their wars and conquests. At Thebes,
too, is the Memnon, a mutilated statue of Amnoph, which never was vocal
except by trick or in imagination, and the Obelisks, whose form is
sufficiently explained, without obscenity or mystery, by the fancy for
monolithic monuments and the possession of large blocks of granite. The
remains of the Labyrinth do not enable us to pronounce whether its
twenty-seven halls were a burial-place for kings or crocodiles, or a
place of assembly for the provinces of Egypt.

"Very various and very extravagant notions have been formed of the
population of ancient Egypt. That it was dense may well be inferred from
the length of time through which it multiplied in a limited space, and
from that evident parsimony of land which drove tombs and monuments to
the rocks, and cities to the edge of the desert. Calculations based on
the number of cities, and on the number of men of military age, have
plausibly placed the sum at about five millions.

"Agriculture was the chief business of the Egyptians, and the chief
business of agriculture consisted in distributing and detaining, by
canals and dams, the precious waters of the Nile. The sheep and cattle
were numerous. A grandee of Eilytheia possessed one hundred and twenty
two cows and oxen, three hundred rams, twelve hundred goats, and fifteen
hundred swine. Lower Egypt contained the great pasture lands, and was
the abode of the herdsmen--a lawless race, and, _therefore_, an
abomination to their more civilized countrymen. The ass was the beast of
burden. The horse was bred for the war-chariot--that great attribute of
ancient power. The breed was small but fine and peculiar to the country.
They were kept in stables along the Nile, and hence they do not appear
in the landscapes. Horticulture was extensively and elaborately
practised, both for use and pleasure; and the Pharaohs, like Solomon,
'made them gardens and orchards, planted trees in them of all kinds of
fruit, and made them pools of water to water therewith the wood that
bringeth forth trees.'

"When forced to serve on shipboard by the enterprise of their own
Monarchs or by their Persian conquerors, the Egyptians appear not to
have made bad sailors. They fought well at Salamis. But their natural
tendency was to shun the sea, which they regarded as the element of the
Destroyer Typhon. Their navigation was on the Nile, which formed the
highway of their commerce, the path of their processions and their
pilgrimages, and their passage to the tomb. The river being thus the
universal road, and being moreover without bridges, must have swarmed
with boats of all descriptions--the heavy bari of the merchant, the
light papyrus or earthenware skiffs of the common people, and the
sumptuous barge of Royalty, whose golden pavilion, masts, and rudder,
fringed and embroidered sails, and sculptured prow, remind us of the
galley of Cleopatra. The caravans of surrounding nations visited Egypt
with their precious and fragrant merchandise to exchange for her corn
and manufactures. But the Egyptian trader appears seldom to have visited
other countries either by land or sea.

"The army was a warrior caste. Its might consisted in its chariots. No
mounted cavalry appear in any of the monuments. With this exception they
had every kind of force and every weapon known to ancient warfare. They
used the long bow and drew the arrow, like the English archers, to the
ear. Their armor was imperfect, and more often of quilting than of mail.
They had regular divisions, with standards, and regular camps. Their
sieges were unscientific, and their means of assault scaling ladders,
sapping hatchets, and long pikes brought up to the walls under a sort of
shed. Of their battles no definite notion can be formed. All is lost in
the King, whose gigantic figure, drawn by gigantic horses, crushes,
massacres, or grasps by the hair scores of his pigmy enemies, whose
hands after the victory are laid in heaps before him and counted by
attendant scribes. Thus it is that Rameses the Great and the other
Pharaohs are seen warring against the Assyrian, and Chaldean against the
Jew, the Edomite, the Ethiopian, and the 'nine bows' of Libya, and
assailing the 'fenced cities' of strange races that have long passed
away.

"In the lower parts of civilization and the mechanical arts, the
Egyptians had attained high perfection. Their machinery and tools appear
to have been defective, but the defect was supplied by skill of hand,
traditional and acquired, as it is among the Chinese. They were cunning
workmen in metals, in jewelry, in engravings, in enamel, in glass, in
porcelain, and in pottery. Their fine linen and embroidery were famous.
For their chariots Solomon gave 600 shekels of silver; and they
fashioned into a hundred articles of luxury the ivory of Africa, the
mahogany of India, and the cedar of Lebanon. As no specimens remain of
their domestic architecture, it is supposed rather than ascertained that
their houses were of a single story with a terraced roof. The rooms of
great men at least were richly and elegantly painted, and furnished with
tables, chairs, and couches, which have supplied models for the
upholstery of modern times.

"Architecture is the most material of the arts. It was the art in which
the Egyptians most excelled. They seem to have understood in some degree
the grandeur which results from proportion and arrangement, as well as
that which results from size. The profuse and elaborate sculpture with
which their temples are covered, does not mar their majesty. Their
heaviness is relieved by the glowing sun and the deep sky. But the
impression produced must always have been that of cost and power rather
than of art. Some changes of style are noticed. The golden age was that
of the Pharaohs of the 19th dynasty, when the power and greatness of the
nation were at the highest. More florid and less majestic forms mark the
era of the Ptolemies. But in this respect, as in others, the Egyptians
seem to have maintained their stationary character, and the remains of
Meroe, which are now known to be among the latest, have been taken for
the earliest of all the monuments.

"In sculpture the summit of manual skill was reached. But religion, the
mistress and tyrant of Egyptian art, prescribed for the images of the
gods her unalterable and often hideous forms, and the rules of an
hereditary craft, which fixed certain proportions for each part of the
statue, and gave the execution of the several parts to several workmen,
laid another chain on the genius of the artist. Painting seems not to
have advanced beyond the barbarous excellence of brilliant colors.
Drawing and design were monstrous, and the laws of perspective and even
of vision unknown or disregarded. Of music, we learn from Plato that it
was restricted to certain established tunes of approved moral tendency,
and the wayward Athenian thought all restraint wholesome as he saw that
some license was pernicious.

"If we pass to science, we shall find no reason for supposing that the
advances of modern times were anticipated by the mysterious wisdom of
the Egyptians. Something they must have known of astronomy to practise
astrology, to divide the ecliptic, and to effect the exact orientation
of the Pyramids. Some knowledge of chemistry is implied in their
manufacture of porcelain; some knowledge of physiology, pathology,
pharmaceutics and surgery, in their division of the medical art;
something of geometry in their measurement of land; and something of
mechanics in their enormous buildings and monuments. But their great
engines were multitudes of laborers, aided by such natural expedients as
the lever, the roller, and the inclined plane, which can scarcely be
called machines. In other sciences there is evidence of long and careful
observation, but nothing to prove an acquaintance with the _laws_ of
nature. Progress in the medical art was precluded by the necessity of
adhering to the precepts of the sacred books. Science was monopolized by
the priests; and it is said that by them the King was regularly sworn to
retain the old and unintercalated year. The want of decimal notation,
and the consequent clumsiness of the system of numeration, would go far
to preclude the improvement of arithmetic, or any science into which
calculation entered.

"Literature the Egyptians appear to have had none, except of the
monumental or sacred kind, including under the latter head the sacred
books of science. But the art of writing was practised by them, or at
least by the learned part of them, more extensively than by any
contemporary nation. Mr. Kenrick gives us a full history of the
interpretation of hieroglyphics, the key to which was first given by the
parallel inscriptions in hieroglyphic and Greek found on the famous
Rosetta stone, and metes to Young and Champollion their due shares in
that discovery, of which each uncandidly claimed the whole. The
hieroglyphics are now known to be of three kinds, all of which are
generally mingled in the same inscription--the pictorial, the
symbolical, and the phonetic. The pictorial hieroglyphic is the simple
picture of the thing signified. Symbolical hieroglyphics are, among
others, a crescent for a month, the maternal vulture for _maternity_,
the filial vulpanser for _son_, the bee for _a people obedient to their
king_, the bull for _strength_, the ostrich feather with its equal
filaments for _truth_, the lotus for Upper and the papyrus for Lower
Egypt. To these we may add the bird, which denotes a cycle of time (in
Coptic _phanech_), and about which such wild fables were received by the
credulity of Herodotus and by that of the Fathers. But the greater part
of the hieroglyphics are phonetic like our alphabet, and are being
slowly and precariously deciphered into the words of a language which is
identified with the ancient form of Coptic.

"The religion of the Egyptians must be gathered chiefly from the
sculptures and paintings. The religious inscriptions and funeral papyri
remain undeciphered. The account of Herodotus is rendered suspicious by
his solicitude to force the Pantheon of Egypt into a conformity with
that of Greece. The accounts of the later Greeks are tainted by their
philosophizing and mysticizing spirit. That the Egyptian theology
embodied no profound physical or metaphysical system is evident from the
fact that it was not formed at once, but by gradual addition and
development, and that it was to the last partly local. It appears to
have been, like the other religions of the Pagan world--of Greece and
Italy, of Phoenicia and India--a worship of the powers of nature
represented by great natural objects, such as the sun and moon, or by
forms bestial or human, which were selected as symbolical of their
attributes.

"On this groundwork imagination wrought, as among the Greeks, though to
a less extent and in a different way. We cannot tell how far the more
reflective minds may have advanced towards the conception of a single
God, either independent of or permeating the material world; but contact
with the philosophic Greeks in the age of the Ptolemies can hardly have
failed to lead to some speculations of this kind, and the accounts
derived from Greek sources of Egyptian mysticism, though false of early,
were no doubt, in part at least, true of later times. Amuna or Ammon
appears to have been nominally the chief of the gods. His attributes are
to some extent identified with those of the sun; but they are not easily
distinguished from the attributes of several subordinate deities. His
ram's head is still a mystery. Thoth was the god of intellect and
learning. His representatives were the ape and the ibis: the former, it
is supposed, because it approaches nearest in intellect to man; the
latter, because its black and white feather resemble, or may be imagined
to resemble, writing. The _popular_ divinity was Osiris, the god at once
of the Nile and the realms below. Typhon, the scorching wind of the
desert which dries up the waters of the Nile, was the antagonist and the
murderer of Osiris; and at a more advanced stage of religious
speculation the two may have represented the conflicting powers of Good
and Evil. Sacrifices were offered for the ordinary purposes--to
conciliate the favor of the gods, to requite their benefits, and to
avert their wrath. Typhonian, that is, red-haired men, were immolated
when they fell into the hands of the natives in honor of Osiris, whose
name is concealed in that of the fabled Busiris. That the practice of
offering human sacrifices is compatible with a high degree of
civilization we know from the examples of Greece, of Rome, and Mexico.
There were great gatherings in honor of the gods, in the nature of
pilgrimages or holy fairs, which were celebrated with festivity, with
noisy music, with illuminations, and with license. There were mysteries,
which were not, in Egypt at least, initiations into any thing different
from the popular religion; but merely representations--celebrated amidst
nocturnal gloom--of the sufferings of Osiris. If strangers in Egypt
underwent painful initiation, it was an initiation into the knowledge of
the priests, and not into their mysteries. The Egyptians believed in the
existence of the soul after death; they believed that it would be judged
in Amenthe by Osiris and his forty-two assessors, before whom it was
brought by Analis; they had an Elysium, surrounded by waters, where the
Osirian--that is, the happy dead--ploughed, sowed, reaped, and threshed,
as on earth--a singular want of fancy. Retributive pains, by fire and
steel, are also supposed to have been detected among the paintings. At
the same time they held and taught to the Greeks the doctrine of
metempsychosis. It is difficult to reconcile with either of these
notions their belief that the spirit dwelt in the body so long as the
body could be rescued from decay, and the reason which they give for
bestowing such prodigality of labor on their sepulchres--that the tomb
was man's eternal home. The darkness of uninterpreted hieroglyphics
still rests to a great extent on the religious creed and practices of
the Egyptians. But three things we think we can discern from the
information which Mr. Kenrick has collected:--1. That the Egyptian
religion was in all essential respects like the other religions of
Paganism, and traceable to the same sources; and consequently that
whatever may be Egypt's 'place in universal history,' she is not likely
to assume an extraordinarily important place in the history of theology,
or to affect, in any material respect, our views as to the origin of
religion. 2. That no connection is to be traced between the religion of
the Egyptians and the religion of the Hebrews. A more decided polytheism
than that of Egypt cannot be imagined. So far from recognizing any thing
like the _supremacy_ of a single Divine Being in their theological
system, we can scarcely even trace any thing answering to that primacy
of Jupiter which preserves at least a vestige of monotheism in the
religion of the Greeks. The rite of circumcision, which is supposed to
have been borrowed by one nation from the other, was not practised by
the Egyptians as a religious ceremony, nor upon infants, nor
universally. And it is remarkable that the belief in the conscious
existence of the soul and a retributive state after death--a doctrine
hardly to be lost when once imparted--seems to have been so prominent in
the one faith while it was so much the reverse of prominent in the
other. 3. That there was no connection between the mythology of Egypt
and that of Greece. Subtract what is common to all polytheistic systems,
and what is common to all systems of natural religions, and absolutely
no similarity remains. On the one side are forms of human beauty,
majesty, and passion, in which the original groundwork of nature-worship
is as much as possible concealed by the working of a plastic
imagination; on the other side are forms bestial or grotesque,
featureless and passionless, exhibiting nature-worship in one of its
lowest stages. But in every respect, in language, in physiognomy, in
mind, in political tendencies, in manners, as well as in religion, the
contrariety between the Egyptian and the Athenian is complete. There is
nothing on the other side except the vain pretensions of the priests of
Thebes, the credulity of Herodotus, and the wildest legends of the
mythical age; and we are surprised that so strict an ethnologist as Mr.
Kenrick should be inclined to admit even the general fact of an
Egyptian colonization.

"The most degrading part of the religion of the Egyptians was their
animal worship, which they carried to a higher pitch than any other
people, not excepting the Hindoos. Almost the whole animal and some part
of the vegetable kingdom enjoyed either a national or a local sanctity.
Gods it was said grew in the gardens. The most cogent reasons of policy
and the terrible name of Rome failed to save from death the Roman who
had killed a cat. Fancy had first assigned to each god his favorites or
symbols among beasts or plants. Then the beasts and plants themselves
were reverenced, and at last worshipped. Stately avenues of colossal
statues, magnificent porticoes and columned courts ushered the
awe-stricken devotee into the sacred presence of an ibis or an ape. The
highest object of this superstition, the bull Apis, was regarded as an
actual incarnation of Osiris. No rational account of such a system can
be given. The serpent cannot have been respected for its utility. The
ibis cannot have been honored as the destroyer of the sacred serpent.
Nothing divine can have been perceived in the beetle or the ape. The
connection between the god and the beast was originally the offspring of
a grotesque imagination, and priestcraft and the superstitious tendency
of the people did the rest.

"The political constitution of Egypt was based on caste. The privileged
castes were those of the warriors and the priests, who, with the
Pharaoh, held in fee all the land of Egypt. The Government was an
hereditary monarchy. When election was necessary the two privileged
castes chose from among their own numbers; the people enjoyed only the
right of acclamation. If the choice fell on a warrior, he was at once
received into the order and initiated into the wisdom of the priests.
Legislation was the prerogative of the King; but he was bound to rule
and judge according to the law. He was much in the hands of the priests,
who imposed strict rules upon his life, and by a daily homily made the
duties and virtues of sovereignty familiar, perhaps too familiar, to the
royal ear. The priests, in fact, were the lords of Egypt. Exclusively
possessed of science, and even of letters, numerous, wealthy, united, in
a single polity, a confined territory and an isolated people, unchecked
by any literary, philosophical, or foreign influence, they must have
exercised a dominion unrivalled by any priesthood in the history of the
world. The result was a land of temples, of deified apes and consecrated
onions, a literature of religious inscriptions and funeral scrolls, a
Government apparently mild and humane, an enduring polity and long
internal peace, and intense and stubborn nationality, a civilization
wonderful but low, which in every department, from the act of government
to the art of writing, appears to have remained as nearly as possible at
a fixed point for about two thousand years. The mummy, as it is the
characteristic product, is the fit emblem of ancient Egypt. Yet material
happiness appears to have been enjoyed. From sports, from caricatures,
from the fanciful decorations of their houses, from their use of music
as a daily recreation, we should judge that the Egyptians were not a
gloomy people; and that their social and political system aimed, though
imperfectly, at a high standard, may be inferred from the reverence,
however exaggerated, which was entertained for it by the Greeks.

"Egyptian history is the 'dynasties' of Manetho partly filled up and
illustrated, and in time it is to be hoped to be filled up and
illustrated still more from the monuments, paintings, and inscriptions.
For this, with its thirty dynasties, its twenty centuries, and its
chronological difficulties, still formidable though much reduced, we
must refer the reader entirely to Mr. Kenrick's second volume, of which
it occupies nearly the whole. The slight sketch above given indicates
the contents of what will be to the general reader the more interesting
part of the work. In conclusion, we once more cordially commend the
book. It displays not only the ordinary merits of a good synopsis, such
as clearness of style and of arrangement, but also a high power of
combination, and, where the author treats of philosophical questions, a
sound and sensible philosophy. On some points, perhaps, Mr. Kenrick
might have spoken with more authority had he personally visited Egypt,
and the imagination of his reader would be assisted by a well selected
volume of plates. We are glad to see that Syria and Phoenicia are to
form the subject of another publication by the same hand."

FOOTNOTES:

[15] _Ancient Egypt under the Pharaohs._ By John Kenrick, M. A. In two
volumes. London: B. Fellows.




CAMILLE DESMOULINS.


In an admirable life of Camille Desmoulins, recently published in Paris,
by M. Edmond Fleury, his summing up of the character of the _Vieux
Cordelier_, presents a type of some of the heroes of the revolution of
1848:--

"Such was Camille Desmoulins. I have traced his portrait without pity,
without hatred, I dare not say without passion. In him I wished to mark
the truest and most finished type of those _enfans perdus_ of anarchy
who, without ever attaining illustration in history, or serious
influence in a government, thirst after distinction and renown;
ambitious of credit and importance, scourges of their country, torment
of their relatives, traitors to their friends, their own executioners,
flambeaux that burn without light, vain and mediocre spirits consumed by
the most intense jealousy--presumptuous fools, irritated by their own
impotence, intrepid in a pamphlet and pusillanimous in action, they,
nevertheless, carried away by the flood which they have let loose,
stake, in this terrible game of revolutions, not only their lives, but
the honor of their posthumous fame."

How different the aspect of these fiends, as they are presented to us
"sicklied o'er" with the sentiment of a Lamartine!




THE BATTLE OF THE CHURCHES IN ENGLAND.


The _Westminster and Foreign Quarterly Review_, for January, 1851,
contains a great article on the controversies occasioned by the recent
movements of the Roman Catholics in Great Britain. It is very long
(making sixty pages), and very able. Reviewing the battle, from an
unusual, and to most people perhaps a not very accessible, point of
view, it throws a startling light on many matters forgotten or ignored
by the more immediate combatants. It may, therefore, be perused with
interest and advantage by partisans of every shade. Protestant and
Catholic will find their account in it, especially as helping them to
information of which they are greatly deficient--a knowledge of each
other's strong points, as well as their weak ones. There is much in the
views of the writer, with which we cannot ourselves concur; but we are
not insensible of the force and precision with which he has mapped out a
large part of the field, and given saliency to some of the great
principles at stake; which it is the natural tendency of discussions,
involving so much of the conventional and formulistic, calamitously to
obscure. The battle in the foreground may be about candlesticks,
surplices, and genuflexions. But there are involved many things
infinitely more vital, as the author of this "Battle of the Churches"
will be admitted to have illustrated with great success. Many ponderous
volumes might be named, which have not contributed a tenth part as much
to a clear understanding of the question, as this one article in the
_Westminster_. We have not space for a complete _résumé_ of it. We can
only present an extract or two. The following brings forward tendencies
too little noticed by the antagonists of the papacy:

"A true British Protestant, whose notions of "Popery" are limited to
what he hears from an evangelical curate or has seen at the opening of a
Jesuit church, looks on the whole system as an obsolete mummery; and no
more believes that men of sense can seriously adopt it, than that they
will be converted to the practice of eating their dinner with a
Chinaman's chop-sticks instead of the knife and fork. He pictures to
himself a number of celibate gentlemen, who glide through a sort of
minuet by candle-light around the altar, and worship the creature
instead of the Creator, and keep the Bible out of every body's way, and
make people easy about their sins: and he is positive that no one above
a "poor Irishman," can fail to see through such nonsense. Few even of
educated Englishmen have any suspicion of the depth and solidity of the
Catholic dogma, its wide and various adaptation to wants ineffaceable
from the human heart, its wonderful fusion of the supernatural into the
natural life, its vast resources for a powerful hold upon the
conscience. We doubt whether any single reformed church can present a
theory of religion comparable with it in comprehensiveness, in logical
coherence, in the well-guarded disposition of its parts. Into this
interior view, however, the popular polemics neither give nor have the
slightest insight: and hence it is a common error both to underrate the
natural power of the Romish scheme, and to mistake the quarter in which
it is most likely to be felt. It is not among the ignorant and vulgar,
but among the intellectual and imaginative--not by appeals to the senses
in worship, but by consistency and subtlety of thought--that in our days
converts will be made to the ancient church. We have receded far from
the Reformation by length of time; the management of the controversy has
degenerated: it has been debased by political passions, and turned upon
the grossest external features of the case; and when a thoughtful man,
accustomed to defer to historical authority, and competent to estimate
moral theories as a whole, is led to penetrate beneath the surface, he
is unprepared for the sight of so much speculative grandeur, and, if he
have been a mere Anglican or Lutheran, is perhaps astonished into the
conclusion, that the elder system has the advantage in philosophy and
antiquity alike. From this, among other causes, we incline to think that
the Roman Catholic reaction may proceed considerably further in this
country ere it receives any effectual check. The academical training and
the clerical teaching of the upper classes have not qualified them to
resist it. At the other end of society there are large masses who cannot
be considered inaccessible to any missionary influence, affectionately
and perseveringly applied. Not all men, in a crowded community, are
capable of the independence, the self-subsistence, without which
Protestantism sinks into personal anarchy. The class of weak, dependent
characters, that cannot stand alone in the struggle of life, are
unprovided for in the modern system of the world. The coöperative
theorist tries to take them up. But somehow or other he is usually a man
with whom, by a strange fatality, coöperation is impossible; intent on
uniting all men, yet himself not agreeing with any; with individuality
so intense and exclusive, that it produces all the effect of intolerant
self-will; and thus the very plans which by his hypothesis are
inevitable, are by his temper made impracticable. He appeals, however,
and successfully, to the uneasiness felt by the feeble in the strife and
pressure of the world; he fills the imagination with visions of repose
and sympathy; he awakens the craving for unity and incorporation in some
vast and sustaining society. And whence is this desire, disappointed of
its first promise, to obtain its satisfaction? Is it impossible that it
may accept proposals from the most ancient, the most august, the most
gigantic organization which the world has ever seen?--that it may take
refuge in a body which invests indigence with sanctity--which cares for
its members one by one--which has a real past instead of a fancied
future, and warms the mind with the coloring of rich traditions--which,
in providing for the poorest want of the moment, enrolls the disciple
in a commonwealth spread through all ages and both worlds! Whatever
socialistic tendency may be diffused through the English mind is not
unlikely, in spite of a promise diametrically opposite, to turn to the
advantage of the Catholic cause."

Here is another valuable contribution to the philosophy of this
controversy. There are few positions more relied on by Roman Catholics,
or more thoroughly unsound and fallacious, than the assertion that there
are no essential differences between the position of Roman Catholics and
of Protestants as regards the state and the English established church.

"If we had to deal simply with a form of worship and theology, there
would be no ground for distinguishing between the case of the Catholics
and that of the Dissenters." And practically perhaps, in the actual
condition of Europe, the question now in agitation might be permitted to
rest there. But, in fairness to the Protestant feeling, it should never
be forgotten that the Roman Catholic system presents a feature absent
from every other variety of nonconformity. It is not a religion only,
but a polity; and this in a very peculiar sense. Other systems also--as
the Presbyterian--include among their doctrines an opinion in favor of
some particular church government; which opinion, however, professing to
be derived from Scripture by use of private judgment, stands, in their
case, on the same footing with every other article of their creed. You
might differ from John Knox about synods, without prejudice to your
agreement in all else. But with the Romish church it is different. It is
not that her religion contains a polity; but that her polity contains
the whole religion. The truths she publishes exist only as in its
keeping, and rest only on its guarantee; and if you invalidate it, they
would vanish, like the promissory notes of a corporation whose charter
was proved false. Christianity, in her view, is not a doctrine,
productive of institutions through spontaneous action on individual
minds; but an institution, the perpetual source of doctrine for
individual obedience and trust. Revelation is not a mere communication
of truth, not a transitory visit from heaven to earth, ascertained by
human testimony, and fixed in historical records; but a continuous
incarnation of Deity, a permanent real presence of the Infinite in
certain selected persons and consecrated objects. The same divine
epiphany which began with the person of the Saviour has never since
abandoned the world: it exists, in all its awfulness and power, only
embodied no longer in a redeeming individual, but in a redeeming church.
The word of inspiration, the deed of miracle, the authority to condemn
and to forgive, remain as when Christ taught in the temple, walked on
the sea, denounced the Pharisee, and accepted the penitent. These
functions, as exercised by him, were only in their incipient stage; he
came,--to exemplify them indeed, but chiefly to incorporate them in a
body which should hold and transmit them to the end of time. From his
person they passed to the College of the Twelve, under the headship of
Peter; and thence, in perpetual apostleship, to the bishops and pastors,
ordained through legitimate hands, for the governance of disciples.
These officers are the sole depositaries, the authorized trustees of
divine grace; whose decision, whether they open or shut the gate of
mercy, is registered in heaven and is without appeal. Not that they can
play with this power, and dispose of it by arbitrary will. The media
through which it is to flow have been divinely appointed: its channels
are limited to certain physical substances and bodily acts or postures,
selected at first hand for the purpose:--water at one time, bread at
another, oil at a third, handling of the head at a fourth. But the
infusion of the supernatural efficacy into these "alvei" depends on an
act of the appointed official; through whom alone the divine matter--no
longer choked up--can have free currency into the persons of believers.
To this inheritance of miracle is added a stewardship of inspiration.
The episcopate is keeper of the Christian records: and as those records
are only the first germ of an undeveloped revelation, with the same body
is left the exclusive power of unfolding their significance, and
directing the growth and expansion of their ever fertile principles.
Whatever interpretation the hierarchy may put upon the Scriptures,
whatever doctrine or discipline they may announce as agreeable with the
mind of God, must be accepted as infallible and authoritative. The same
spirit of absolute truth which spoke in the living voice of Christ,
which guided the pen of evangelists, still prolongs itself in the
thought and counsels of bishops, and renders their collective decisions
binding as divine oracles. The people who form the obedient mass of the
Catholic body are not without a share of this miraculous light in the
soul; not indeed for the discernment of any new truth, but for the
apprehension of the old. The moment the disciple is incorporated in the
church, faith bursts into sight; he passes from opinion into knowledge;
he perceives the objects of his worship, and the truth of his creed,
with more than the certainty of sense; and as he bows before the altar,
or commits himself to the "Mother of God," the real presence and the
invisible world are as immediately with him as the breviary and the
crucifix. Through the whole Catholic atmosphere is diffused a
preternatural medium of _clairvoyance_, which at every touch of its
ritual vibrates into activity, and opens to adoring view mysteries hid
from minds without.[16]

"Now, with the spiritual aspects of this theory we are not here
concerned. Reason has no jurisdiction over the inspiration that
transcends it. But there is a humbler task to which the common intellect
is not incompetent. We may plant this system in a political community,
set it down beside the state, imagine it surrounded by families, and
schools, and municipalities, and parliaments, by the prison and the
court of justice; within the shadow of law and in the presence of
sovereignty; and we may ask how it will work amid these august symbols
of a nation's life, and how adjust itself in relation to them? Will it
leave them to their free development? Can it tranquilly coexist with
them, and be content to see them occupy the scope which English
traditions and English usage have secured for them? We are convinced it
cannot; that every step it may make is an encroachment upon wholesome
liberty; that it is innocent only where it is insignificant, and where
it is ascendant will neither part with power, nor use it well; and that
it must needs raise to the highest pitch the common vice of tyrannies
and of democracies--the relentless crushing of minorities."

The above are only two paragraphs out of a dozen we had marked, but they
will suffice to show the value of this very able and impartial essay.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] Adequate authority for these statements will be found in Dr.
Mochler's Symbolism, part i. chap. v., and in Newman's Lectures, iii. p.
66, and Lecture ix. passim.




KILLING OF SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL.


Among the new books in England is one entitled "Modern State Trials" by
William C. Townsend, in two octavos. In the _Times_ of the second of
January we find a reviewal of it, characteristically pungent. "Why Mr.
Townsend conceived it necessary to dignify his collection with the above
solemn title," says the critic, "we are at a loss to conjecture. Madame
Tussaud does not invite a curiosity-seeking public to her museum of
horrors by disguising the naked hideousness of her groups, or by lending
them a factitious grace which it is hardly their interest to borrow. The
publication is essentially popular, was meant for general perusal, is
made up of any thing but technical details, and gives nothing to, as it
receives nothing from, purely professional lore. A batch of interesting
trials is very commendable, and need not be afraid of occupying its own
ground. That of Courvoisier for the murder of Lord William Russel, of
the Wakefields for the abduction of Miss Turner, of Lord Cardigan for
shooting in a duel, and of John Ambrose Williams for a libel on the
Durham clergy, cannot by any stretch of fancy be converted into _state_
prosecutions, though they fairly enough find admittance into a book
which treats of our _causes celèbres_. The 'state' trials of the volume
before us are the ha'porth of bread to the gallons of sack. The
legitimate is paraded to call attention from the spurious, the vulgar is
to find respectability by walking arm in arm with the classical. There
was really no necessity for the 'sham.' A crooked stick on a heath has
its picturesqueness as well as the Corinthian column. We may be very
interesting rascals though we do not poke our walking-canes into the
face of majesty, or go out on a fool's errand against the Queen's lieges
with Mr. John Frost." The author's style is described as very
unsatisfactory, though full of pretension. He is "very bombastic, very
inexact, and strangely independent in the current of his thoughts and in
the arrangement of his words." But the _Times_ admits nevertheless the
interesting quality of the work, and in its own better language gives
the following _résumé_ of one of the most celebrated cases stated in
it:--

"Of all the trials contained in these volumes none have a more
melancholy interest, perhaps, than that of Mr. Stuart, who was tried on
the tenth of June, 1822, before the High Court of Justiciary at
Edinburgh, for killing Sir Alexander Boswell in a duel. Mr. Stuart was,
of course, acquitted. He had been the aggrieved party; he had found it
necessary to the vindication of his honor to call his unfortunate
antagonist to account; he had been forced, by the cruel exaction of
public opinion, to expose his life to the weapon of a man he had never
offended, and who, indeed, in his heart, bore his involuntary murderer
no malice; and public opinion, expressed in the verdict of a jury, knew
better than to sentence to death the wretched victim of its own brutal
and unwarrantable edicts. Fortunately for the interests of humanity, we
have at length reached a period when it becomes unnecessary to protest
vehemently against the iron rule of an authority more despotic than that
of absolute kings, and far more cruel and oppressive than the laws which
but a few years ago attached the penalty of death to the commission of
almost pardonable offences. Society, with the acquirement of other
useful knowledge, has learned to appreciate the iniquitous folly of
murder perpetrated in cold blood, without the slightest excuse. The
nation which above all the countries of the world takes credit for
adapting its laws to the requirements of a rapidly advancing
civilization, has had courage to inquire why the savage vestige of an
exploded system should still dishonor its history and interfere with its
social progress. Duelling, as part and parcel of the national manners,
has ceased in England. No doubt random shots will yet from time to time
be heard, and weakness in its despair will occasionally seek refuge in
cowardice, which it mistakes for valor; but the mind of the majority is
made up. Duelling henceforth must be the exception, not the rule. Public
opinion will harmonize with the law, and honor it. It will protect the
injured, and hand over the offenders to the legitimate consequences of
their own misdeeds. It will not call upon a man first to endure wrong,
and then to lay bare his breast to the bullet of his aggressors.

"Our fathers were less fortunate than ourselves in this respect. Their
dilemma was fearful. The law took no account of those delicate injuries
under which sensitive honor pines, though no bruise or wound appears to
indicate the mischief; and, in self-defence, refinement set up the
bloodiest code brutality under the guise of chivalry could imagine or
invent. A quiet gentleman, sitting from morning till night in his
library, interfering with the pleasures and pursuits of none, amiable in
every relation of life, a stanch friend, a fond husband, a devoted
father, as useful a member of society as you might find in a day's
journey, and obnoxious only to political opponents, who fear him more
than he dislikes them, is called a 'liar,' a 'coward,' and a 'heartless
ruffian.' He is nothing of the kind; he is proudly conscious of this
fact; his accusers do not even believe it; the world--that portion of it
in which he moves--is satisfied that he is a remarkable instance of
truth, of courage, and extreme tenderness of spirit. The revilers have
made a great mistake or committed a disgraceful outrage. In either case,
since they are not amenable to law, you would think they might safely be
left to acquire better information and improve their manners. Not a bit
of it. The quiet gentleman's enemies have aimed a blow at his
reputation. They are good shots--which unfortunately he is not--and now
they must aim another at his life; society 'allows it,' and society
'awards it.' The quiet gentleman makes his will, kisses his children,
shuts up his books, sighs, and 'goes out.' The quiet gentleman is
killed; a million men could not restore the life one man has taken.
Society is distressed beyond expression; so is the murderer, who is all
sorrow and tenderness for the departed. There is general weeping, and
great unavailing regret, and much commiseration for the widow: and then
a mock trial, and no end of speechifying, beautiful remorse on the part
of the survivor, lovelier tributes to the memory of deceased, a verdict
of not guilty, and a dismissal of the murderer and his accomplices into
the world, which is worthy of them as they are worthy of it. The picture
represents a common event of the time of George the Third. Let us
confess that, degenerate as we are, we have changed, in some respects,
for the better since those 'good old days!'"

"Let us also bear in mind the main cause of our improvement! It is due
to the majesty of law, to state that, had she been less faithful,
society would have grown more reckless. Public opinion and the law of
the country have had a hard fight for the mastery, and had the latter
given way but an inch, the former would have found us to-day in the
hands and at the mercy of the bullies. Judges have never hesitated to
declare that murder which juries by their verdicts have as perseveringly
regarded as justifiable homicide. In vain have eloquent counsel risen to
prove that the prisoner bore his antagonist no ill-will; that he did not
'wickedly and maliciously' challenge his victim to fight; that he had
recourse to the sole means within his power to right himself with the
world; that society would have branded him eternally for a coward had he
held back; that he took up his weapon in self-defence precisely as a man
levels his gun at the house-breaker or the midnight assassin;--the
expounder of the law has still been proof against sophistry which, once
accepted, must tend inevitably to social disorganization. The
_deliberate resolution_ to kill a fellow-creature has nothing to do with
self-defence. To destroy another in cold blood is murder in the sight of
the law, and can assume no other aspect. But what availed it that the
judge stood firm by the statute, when juries as pertinaciously backed
the sentiment of the world and refused the law permission to take its
course? It availed much. The unseemly conflict has been carried on until
at length civilization has become shocked by the spectacle. The effect
of the ever-recurring encounter is something worse than ridiculous. It
has taken years to bring us to our senses, but we are rational at last.
Public opinion exercises its good sense, and since it cannot bring the
law into harmony with its desperate folly, deems it expedient to shape
its own views in conformity with unbending law. To slay in a duel is to
commit murder, though men do not hang for the crime. To be a murderer
with benefit of clergy is but an odious and irksome privilege after all!

"Sir Alexander was the eldest son of Dr. Johnson's Boswell. The
inimitable biographer was fortunate in his offspring. His sons inherited
all the virtues of their father, and none of his foibles. The social
good humor, the cleverness, the appreciation of learning, the
joviality,--every good quality, in fact, of Bozzy was reflected in his
children, who had the sense to discern and avoid the frailties that had
rendered the sire ridiculous in his own day, and illustrious for all
time. James Boswell, the youngest son of the biographer, an accomplished
scholar, superintended several editions of his father's great work, and
was held in high esteem by his contemporaries. He was a Commissioner of
Bankrupts when he suddenly died in London, in the prime of life, on the
24th day of February, 1822. Sir Alexander, who had been created a
baronet in 1821, attended his brother's funeral in London, and returned
to Scotland to meet his own death immediately afterwards. Sir Walter
Scott, warmly attached to both, was, we are informed, much affected by
the unexpected death of the baronet, who had dined with the novelist
only two or three days before the catastrophe, and, as usual, had been
the life and soul of the party assembled. 'That evening,' writes Mr.
Lockhart, 'was, I think, the gayest I ever spent in Castle-street; and
though Charles Matthews was present and in his best force, poor
Boswell's songs, jokes and anecdotes had exhibited no symptom of
eclipse.' Four years afterwards Sir Walter dined in company with Charles
Matthews again. The event is commemorated by a singular and
characteristic entry in Scott's Diary. 'There have been odd
associations,' he writes, 'attending my two last meetings with Matthews.
The last time I saw him before yesterday evening, he dined with me in
company with poor Sir Alexander Boswell, who was killed within a week.
I never saw Sir Alexander more. The time before was in 1815, when John
Scott, of Gala, and I, were returning from France, and passed through
London, when we brought Matthews down as far as Leamington. Poor Byron
lunched, or rather made an early dinner with us at Long's, and a most
brilliant day we had of it. I never saw Byron so full of fun, frolic,
wit, and whim; he was as playful as a kitten. Well, I never saw him
again. So this man of mirth has brought me no luck.'

"Sir Alexander had made the final arrangements for his duel the very day
he dined with Sir Walter. The circumstance in no way interfered with the
flow of spirits of a man who had, indeed, invited a violent death by
nothing more criminal than an over indulgence of ill-directed mirth. The
details of the duel are of the usual kind. In the early part of 1821, a
newspaper called the _Beacon_, destined not to survive the year, was set
up in Edinburgh in the Tory interest. The object of the publication was
to counteract the effect of Radical doctrines, which were making great
way in the northern metropolis under favor of the agitation that had
been set up on behalf of Queen Caroline. Sir Walter Scott himself had
been consulted upon the propriety of establishing the journal, and had
offered with others to help it by a gift of money at starting. The
_Beacon_ served any purpose but that of directing the public mind in the
path desired. The management of the paper, with which by the way the law
officers of the Crown foolishly connected themselves, was in all
respects disastrous. The proprietors shrank from the responsibility
which the bitter invective and satire of the more youthful and
unscrupulous editors hourly accumulated on their shoulders; the articles
of the paper were made the subject of Parliamentary discussion; and to
avoid consequences which it was not difficult to anticipate, the
concern, which had opened with flying colors in January, was suddenly
and ignominiously shut up for ever in August.

"Glasgow took up the weapon which Edinburgh dropped. A newspaper
appeared in the former city as the avowed defender of the cause and
assailant of the persons previously upheld and attacked by the defunct
Edinburgh journal. The _Sentinel_, as the Glasgow paper was called,
would hold his ground though the _Beacon_ was put out. It is much easier
to bequeath hatred and rancor than to communicate talent and genius. The
_Sentinel_ was abusive and licentious enough, but it had little to
recommend it on the score of ability. The _Beacon_ had made a personal
attack upon Mr. Stuart, a gentleman connected with some leading Whig
families, and the _Sentinel_, in pursuance of its vocation, fastened
upon the same luckless gentleman. The libel of the Edinburgh journalist
had been arranged. Mr. Stuart found out its author, and libeller and
libelled were prevented from doing further mischief by being bound over
to keep the peace. To keep the peace, however, in those days was to be
wanting in the very first element of chivalry, and, accordingly, Mr.
Stuart was pronounced by the _Sentinel_ a 'bully,' a 'coward,' a
'dastard,' and a 'sulky poltroon.' Furthermore, he was 'a heartless
ruffian,' 'a white feather,' and 'afraid of lead.' To vindicate his
character Mr. Stuart raised an action of damages, and, curiously enough,
he was twitted in the very court of justice to which he appealed for
protection, for not having recourse to the hostile measure which in his
despair he at last adopted, and for pursuing which he was tried for his
life. Abuse went on in spite of the action of damages; Mr. Stuart
finally addressed himself to the agent for the printer of the newspaper,
and the agent gave up the manuscripts from which the libels had been
printed. Mr. Stuart went to Glasgow to inspect them. He discovered his
assailant. The author of the worst calumnies against him was Sir
Alexander Boswell, 'a gentleman with whom he was somewhat related, and
with whom he had never been but upon good terms.' Mr. Stuart appealed to
a friend. He called in the advice of the Earl of Roslyn, who obtained an
interview with Sir Alexander Boswell, to whom he submitted two
propositions. One was, that the baronet should deny that the calumnies
were his; the other, that Sir Alexander should confess that the libel
was but a poor joke, for which he was sorry. 'I will neither deny nor
make apology,' answered Sir Alexander.

"A duel was now a matter of course. Sir Alexander left a paper behind
him, confessing that the meeting was inevitable, and Mr. Stuart made all
his preparations for death. One stands amazed in the presence of such
horrible play, such terrific childishness. The parties met; they fired
together, and Sir Alexander fell. Boswell, who would not allow that he
had written a squib, proudly fired in the air; Mr. Stuart took no aim,
and yet killed his man. When the deed was done, the murderer, frantic,
and 'dissolved in all the tenderness of an infant,' reproached himself
with exquisite simplicity that he had not taken aim, '_for if he had, he
was certain he would have missed him!_' whilst the dying man expressed a
corresponding anxiety lest 'he had not made his fire in the air appear
so decided as he could have wished.' So men speak and act who take leave
of their reason to play the fool in the high court of honor! A line
tells the rest of the history. Sir Alexander is removed from the field
and taken to the house of a friend. Mr. Stuart flies to the house of his
friend, runs into a room, shuts the door, sits down in agony of mind,
and bursts into tears. In due time he is put on his trial for murder,
the jury unanimously find him _Not Guilty_, and Lord Chief Justice Clerk
congratulates him on the verdict, although five minutes before he had
deliberately stated that 'duels are but illustrious murders,' and that
'no false punctilio or notion of honor can vindicate an act which
terminates fatally to another fellow-creature.'"




THE LATE DR. TROOST.


We recently noticed the death of the excentric German professor, Dr.
Troost, of Tennessee. His passion for all animals of the serpent kind
was well known, and we find it illustrated in this anecdote, related by
Sir Charles Lyell:

"Every thing of the serpent kind he has a particular fancy for, and has
always a number of them--that he has tamed--in his pockets or under his
waistcoat. To loll back in his rocking-chair, to talk about geology, and
pat the head of a large snake, when twining itself about his neck, is to
him supreme felicity. Every year in the vacation he makes an excursion
to the hills, and I was told that, upon one of these occasions, being
taken up by the stage-coach, which had several members of Congress in it
going to Washington, the learned Doctor took his seat on the top with a
large basket, the lid of which was not over and above well secured. Near
to this basket sat a Baptist preacher on his way to a great public
immersion. His reverence, awakening from a reverie he had fallen into,
beheld to his unutterable horror two rattlesnakes raise their fearful
heads out of the basket, and immediately precipitated himself upon the
driver, who, almost knocked off his seat, no sooner became apprised of
the character of his ophidian outside passengers, than he jumped upon
the ground with the reins in his hands, and was followed instanter by
the preacher. The 'insides,' as soon as they learned what was going on,
immediately became outsides, and nobody was left but the Doctor and his
rattlesnakes on the top. But the Doctor, not entering into the general
alarm, quietly placed his greatcoat over the basket, and tied it down
with his handkerchief, which, when he had done, he said, 'Gendlemen,
only don't let dese poor dings pite you, and day won't hoort you.'"




MADAME DACIER.


The husband of this celebrated woman (Andre Dacier) was born at Castres
in 1651, and studied at Saumur, under Tanneguy le Fèvre, whose daughter
Anne he married in 1683. Both the husband and wife became eminent among
the classical scholars of the seventeenth century. They were employed
with others to comment upon and edit a series of the ancient authors,
for the Dauphin, which form the collection "Ad usum Delphini." Madame
Dacier's commentaries are considered as superior to those of her
husband. She edited "Callimachus," "Florus," "Aurelius Victor,"
"Etropius," and the history which goes by the name of "Dictys
Cretensis," all of which have been repeatedly reprinted, with her notes.
She published French translations of the "Amphitryon," "Rudens," and
"Lepidicus," of Plautus, with a good preface, of the comedies of
Terence, of the "Plutus," and "The Clouds," of Aristophanes, and of
Anacreon and Sappho. She also translated the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey,"
with a preface and notes. This led to a controversy between her and La
Motte, who had spoken slightingly of Homer. Madame Dacier wrote, in
1714, "Considérations sur les Causes de la Corruption du Goût," in which
she defended the cause of Homer with great vivacity, as she did also
against Father Hardouin, who had written an "Apology of Homer," which
was more a censure than an apology. The warmth, however, with which both
the Daciers resented any thing that was said against the ancient writers
was carried to the extreme, and had, at times, something ludicrous in
it. But Madame Dacier's enthusiasm was real, and unaccompanied by
pedantry or conceit. She died in 1820.




Original Poetry.


DUTY.

BY ALFRED B. STREET.

    In changeless green, and grasping close the rock,
      Up towers the mountain pine. The Winter blast
      May like an ocean surge be on it cast;
    Proud doth it stand, and stern defy the shock,
      Unchanged in verdure and unbroke in crest,
      Although wild throes may agitate its breast,
    And clinging closer when the storm is gone,
    Tired, but unbent upon its granite throne,
    Not always doth it wrestle with the storm!
      Skies smile; spring flowers make soft its iron roots;
    Its sturdy boughs are kissed by breezes warm;
      And birds gleam in and out with joyous flutes.
    Duty proves not its strength unless defied,
    But pleasure has it, too, bright as have hearts untried.


"SOUNDS FROM HOME."

BY ALICE B. NEAL.

    Last night I dreamed of thee, beloved!
      I held that tiny hand,--
    Encircled by my clasping arm
      Once more I saw thee stand,--
    The blush so faint, yet fairly traced,
      Rose to thy changing cheek--
    As when upon thy brows were placed
      Farewells I could not speak.

    Thine eyes were filled with softened light,
      But welcomes now I read,
    As to my heart, by love's fond sight.
      I gently drew thy head;
    And oh, so eloquent were they--
      So full of earnest truth,--
    I knew what fain thy heart would say,
      The promise of thy youth.

    I knew that thou hadst faithful been
      To vows of long ago:
    That speeding time, and changing scene,
      No change in thee could show,
    That absence had but bound thy love
      More firmly to its choice--
    It needed not one word to prove,
      One sound of thy loved voice.

    Yes, silent was that long embrace,
      Though tears flowed fast and free.
    As gazing down in that dear face,
      I read thy love for me;
    And thought of all the lonely hours
      When I had wildly yearned
    To press thee thus unto my heart,
      And feel my kiss returned.

    Those midnight hours! by sea and land!
      How heavily they sped!
    Sometimes upon a surf-beat strand
      My weary feet would tread,
    And when the stars looked calmly down
      From cloudless foreign skies--
    Their soft light seemed a radiance thrown
      From these pure, earnest eyes.

    'Twas but a dream! the light breeze swept
      Soft touches o'er my brow;
    The spray's cold kiss my lips had met,
      Oh, still afar art thou!
    'Twas but a dream! and yet I heard
      Thy murmured--"_Art_ thou come!"--
    Then woke, to feel my spirit stirred
      With these dear "sounds from home."




SCANDALOUS DANCES.

BROUGHT FROM FRENCH CASINOS TO AMERICAN PARLORS.


We have constantly reflected in our "good society" and "fashionable
world" every baseness and vulgarity that is invented _outre mer_,
particularly in Paris. One woman returns to smoke cigars, in a
magnificent home erected by a lucky mechanic or shopkeeper, as if such
an indecency had ever been tolerated among the well-born and well-bred
people of the social metropolis. Others, copying from their probable
associates abroad, introduce obscene dances, and other licentious
amusements, which for a season have baffled the police of foreign
cities, and boast of their superiority to "low prejudices." All the
travelled readers of the _International_, except clerks, agents,
_chevaliers d'industrie_, and fugitives from justice, know very well
that in all the world there is a show at least of moral where there is
real social elevation; that these abuses are not anywhere tolerated
among families which have kept their carriages for three generations.
But we proposed an introduction to a passage written from Paris to the
most aristocratic of the London magazines:--

"A new species of dancing, unknown to the Alberts, the Anatoles, the
Brocards, the Hullins, the Pauls, and the Noblets, has come into vogue
at the Jardin Mabille, and at the Grande Chaumière, situated on the
Boulevard du Mont Parnasse, not far from the Barrière d'Enfer. This
dance is called the _Cancan_ and the _Chahut_. It is unlike the waltz,
the gavotte, the country dance, the Scotch reel, the Spanish Cachucha,
the Hungarian mazurka; is far worse than jota Arragonese, or the most
lascivious of Spanish dances of Andalusia. You may remember that in the
early days of Charles X. the police of Paris attempted and succeeded in
putting down gross and immodest dances; but under the reign of Louis
Philippe the spirit of libertinage and _dégíngandage_, to use a French
term, again broke out among the class of _débardeurs_, and towards the
close of 1845 became terrific to behold. You, who know me well, are
aware that I am the last person in the world who would seek to put an
end to any innocent amusement, or who would contend that the French
people should not dance. They have always danced, and will always dance,
to the end of time. They danced under Saint Louis, under Henry IV.,
under Louis XIV., under Napoleon, and why should not they dance now?
There is no reason in the world why they should not dance, if in dancing
they do not shock public modesty, and offend against public decorum. In
the time of Louis XIV. there were public dances at the Moulin de
Javelle; in the time of Napoleon there were dances in the Rue Coquenard,
and at the Porcherons, near the Rue St. Lazar. In the time of Louis
XVIII. and Charles X. there were dances at the Jardin de Tivoli. But at
none of these were decency outraged or morality shocked. At Tivoli, the
national pastime was indulged with decency and decorum, and although the
price on entering was so low as fifteen sous with a ticket, and thirty
sous without a ticket, and albeit the dancers were chiefly of the
humbler classes, yet, I repeat, in 1827, 1828, and 1829, public decency
was not shocked. But from the _bal masqué_ of the Théâtre des Variétés
in 1831, when, towards the close of the evening the lights were put out,
and the _ronde infernale_ was commenced, obscene and disgusting dances
were becoming more and more common in Paris, and continued to make
progress till February, 1848. They had attained the most unenviable
notoriety in 1845, when at the Bal Mabille a dance was introduced called
"La Reine Pomare." Then there was the "Cancan Eccentrique," introduced
by a personage called "La Princesse de Mogador," a feigned name, as you
may suppose, assumed by some _fille perdue_. These dances, commenced at
the Chaumière and the Bal Mabille, were also introduced at the Bal
Montesquieu, at the Bal de la Cité d'Antin, and, if I mistake not, at
the Bal Valentino. The principal performers were students in law, in
medicine, in pharmacy, clerks, commis voyageurs, profligate tradesmen,
and lorettes, grisettes, _et filles de basse condition_.

"I must do the Provisional Government, so much abused, the justice to
say, that towards the close of 1848, when these disgusting dances were
again revived, the Gardiens de Paris interfered, and proceeded to clear
the room if they were persevered in. If this had been done in 1845 and
1846 by that austere minister, who so much boasted of his independence
and morality, events might have taken a different turn. But it is now
too late to speculate, and it is easy to be wise after the event. But M.
Guizot, his préfet de police, and the members of the Government, were
warned long before 1845-6 of the profound immorality and indecency of
these dances, and they made no effort to put a stop to them. It is
because these scandals are now in a course of revival that I advert to
this matter at such length. The subject is worthy the attention of M.
Carlier, the Préfet of Police, and of wiser heads than M. Carlier.
"_Selon qu'il est conduit_," said Richelieu, and he knew his nation
well; "_Selon qu'il est conduit le peuple Français est capable de
tout._" I am no enemy of innocent recreation, as you are well aware, or
of harmless, convivial, social, or saltatory enjoyment. But if
lasciviousness, obscenity, or _des saletés_ be tolerated in public
places, a blow is struck at the very foundations of society. I may not,
even in a letter, enter into a minute description of these dances.
Suffice it to say, they would not be endured in England, even by women
who had fallen from the paths of virtue, unless their minds and hearts
were wholly debauched. You see, after so much light gossip, I end with a
sermon--a sermon which the least strait-laced would preach under the
circumstances."




THEATRICAL CRITICISM.


The following dramatic bulletin which appeared in a Dublin newspaper on
the first appearance of the celebrated Mrs. Siddons in that city, is
quite as good a critique and as free from blunders, as some which have
appeared in our own journals more recently:--

"On Saturday, May 30, 1784, Mrs. Siddons, about whom all the world has
been talking, exposed her beautiful, adamantine, soft and lovely person
for the first time, at the Smock Alley Theatre, in the bewitching,
tearful, and all melting character of Isabella. From the repeated
panegyrics in the impartial London newspapers, we were taught to expect
the sight of a heavenly angel; but how were we supernaturally surprised
into the most awful joy at beholding a mortal goddess. The house was
crowded with hundreds more than it could hold--with thousands of
admiring spectators who went away without obtaining a sight. This
extraordinary phenomenon of tragic excellence! this star of Melpomene!
this comet of the stage! this sun in the firmament of the muses! this
moon of blank verse! this queen and princess of tears! this Donellan of
the poisoned bowl! this empress of the pistol and dagger! this chaos of
Shakspeare! this world of weeping clouds! this Terpsichore of the
curtains and scenes! this Proserpine of fire and earthquake! this
Katterfelto of wonders! exceeded expectation, went beyond belief, and
soared above all the natural powers of description! she was nature
itself! she was the most exquisite work of art! she was the very daisy,
primrose, tube rose, sweet-briar, furze blossom, gilliflower,
wall-flower, cauliflower and rosemary! in short she was a bouquet of
Parnassus. Where expectation was raised so high, it was thought she
would be injured by her appearance; but it was the audience who were
injured--several of them fainted before the curtain was drawn up.

"When she came to the scene of parting with her wedding ring, ah! what a
sight was there! The very fiddlers in the orchestra, albeit unused to
the melting mood, blubbered like hungry children crying for their bread
and butter; and when the bell rang for music between the acts, the tears
fell from the bassoon player's eyes in such plentiful showers that they
choked the finger stops; and making a spout of that instrument, poured
in such torrents on the first fiddler's book, that, not seeing the
overture was in two sharps, the leader of the band actually played in
one flat. But the sobs and sighs of the groaning audience, and the noise
of cork drawing from the smelling bottles, prevented the mistakes
between flats and sharps being discovered.

"One hundred and nine ladies fainted, forty-six went into fits, and
ninety-five had strong hysterics! The world will hardly credit the
truth, when they are told that fourteen children, five women, one
hundred tailors and six common councilmen were actually drowned in the
inundation of tears that flowed from the galleries, the slips and the
boxes, to increase the briny pond in the pit; the water was three feet
deep, and the people that were obliged to stand upon the benches, were,
in that position, up to their ankles in tears!

"An act of parliament against her playing any more, will certainly
pass."




THE FRENCH GENERALS OF TO-DAY.


A clever writer in _Fraser's Magazine_, dating at Paris, writes:--

"Of Changarnier I shall not say much. He is as taciturn as M. L. N.
Bonaparte, _et possede un grand talent pour le silence_. Changarnier is
a man of great nerve and energy, and is perfectly up to street warfare
and to the management of the unruly Parisian population. He is popular
with the soldiery and with the higher officers. As to his having any
decided political opinions to which he would become a martyr, I don't
believe a word of it. He wishes to preserve order, and to save France
from anarchy; but, apart from this, would be guided by his personal
interests. If royalty, hereditary or elective, become the order of the
day--not a very likely occurrence within two or three years--he would
adjust himself to the national arrangement on the best terms, and throw
his sword into the scale that kicked the beam. But if the game of a
president is to be played for in 1852 and 1856, Changarnier may put
forward his own pretensions, as, at heart, he has neither love nor
reverence for the Tenth of December. In the event of a war, however,
Changarnier is more likely to look to the highest command, in which he
might win the marshal's bâton, and thus become still more important,
personally, professionally, and politically. Military men, more
especially of the African school, seem to allow that Changarnier
possesses a rare combination of military qualities. Decision, energy,
bravery, and the _coup d'oeil_, he exhibits in the highest degree; but
he is, on the other hand, wholly without civil talents. He is no orator,
no speaker even, and seems to entertain as great a contempt for
_ideologues_ and deliberative assemblies as Napoleon himself. If
Changarnier were ever invested with supreme power, it would go hard, so
far as he was concerned, with the constitution and liberties of France."

There is in no country a more honorable, high-principled, and
conscientious soldier than Cavaignac. Of all the men produced by the
Revolution of 1848 (Lamartine and Dufaure were known as political men
before), Cavaignac appears the most single-minded, honorable, and
conscientious. Though a Republican _pur sang_, he yet rendered more
important services to order in June, 1848, than any one of the
Moderates, Royalists, or Burgraves, or generals of order, or than all of
them together. It is significant that Cavaignac has openly declared to
his friends--indeed, under his hand, that he will not support the
candidature of Louis Napoleon, should he present himself in 1852, or
become a party to any head of the Constitution.

Lamoricière is, as a man and as a general, of infinite talent, and of
brilliant courage. He is a good man of business, a brilliant speaker,
and certainly has carried himself as a public character with
independence and honor.

Bedeau is a general of very considerable literary and scientific
talents, and perhaps of higher attainments in his profession than any
other of the generals of the African school; but he is said to be
deficient in energy, and unresolved, and of late he seems to be less
thought of as a man of action than as an organizer and administrator. In
the event of a war, it is likely the four men I speak of will play
brilliant parts; and in civil affairs, it is possible, if not certain,
that a great part may be reserved for Cavaignac.




WILLIAM PENN AND MACAULAY.


We find in the London _Times_ a reviewal of Mr. Forster's "Observations
on the Charges made in Mr. Macaulay's History of England against the
Character of William Penn," and transfer it to these pages, as likely to
be not less interesting to Americans than to Englishmen, since Penn's
name is most intimately connected with the history of this country. The
book reviewed has been republished in New-York by Mr. John Wiley.

"Mr. Macaulay will not be likely to take offence at a comparison of his
history with Burnet's, and certainly in one particular point the two
productions have been attended with remarkably similar effects. The
number of historical writers and pamphleteers who were called into being
by the honest Bishop's account of his own times was astonishing. Every
chapter in his narrative created a literary antagonist, and the spirit
thus called into being was really instrumental, to a very considerable
extent, in changing the whole style and tone of English history. It is
too early to predict a precisely similar issue of Mr. Macaulay's labors;
but things are certainly tending that way. There have been more
discussions upon points of English history within the last twelve months
than have usually occurred in as many years. The social and political
condition of our ancestors, the motives of great acts, the characters of
great men, and the general course of our national life for the last
century and a half, have of late been perpetually brought before the
public, and seldom without instructive results. It is not, of course,
every joust which yields a respectable show, but Mr. Macaulay's shield
has been once or twice struck by antagonists who have shown a title to
the encounter, and one of these is now in the lists with the pamphlet
specified below.

"Mr. Forster's challenge is on behalf of the personal character and
political conduct of the famous William Penn--"the arch-Quaker," whom he
conceives Mr. Macaulay to have treated with an injustice which, if it
did not result from deliberate prejudice, was at all events chargeable
to unbecoming negligence of inquiry. The cause thus asserted he defends
in fifty pages of not unreasonable argument, and supports by the liberal
quotation of accepted authorities. Unfortunately, the character of the
controversy is such that it is almost impossible either to arbitrate
conclusively between the parties or to convey an adequate idea of their
respective positions. Mr. Macaulay's fashion of writing, too, makes
sadly against any minute or critical investigation of his resources or
his deductions. His habit is to throw off a single complete sketch of a
character or a transaction, and at the foot of it to quote altogether
the various authorities, from certain passages of which he derived the
warrant for his own several touches. By this means we are incapacitated
from closely following his observations, and we can only infer, with
greater or less probability, what particular portion of a particular
authority served for the foundation of any particular statement. To some
extent this method of proceeding is inseparable from Mr. Macaulay's
style, and its obvious disadvantage must be set off against that
brilliancy and effect of the general picture which commands such
universal admiration. Mr. Macaulay writes as it were from impressions.
He consults and peruses the original records of the times he is
describing, and out of the general deductions thus instinctively drawn
his conception is formed. We believe this to be the best way of arriving
at general truths, but it is a practice which greatly limits the
application of ordinary tests of accuracy. Indeed, in many portions of
Mr. Macaulay's history, a reader can do little more than compare his own
previous impressions of the facts and scenes described with the
impression of the writer who is describing them. Many of his
descriptions are compounded of such numerous and minute ingredients,
picked here and there from such a variety of quarters, that they can
only be verified by a similar process to that in which they originated.
A signal exemplification of our meaning will be found in his delineation
of the character and position of the English clergy before the
Revolution. We not only believe ourselves that this sketch is
substantially correct, but we would even venture to say that the
impressions of well-informed and unprejudiced minds as to the general
truth would, in a majority of cases, coincide with our own. Yet of this
we are perfectly certain--that it would not only be possible but easy to
collect so many particular examples of a contrary tendency as would
wholly bewilder the judgment of an ordinary reader. Mr. Macaulay, in
fact, can too frequently only be judged by those who have followed, at
however humble a distance, his own track of study. The temptations to
this kind of writing will be considerably weaker in the case of the
volumes which are yet to come, and we may there, perhaps, hope for a
little more severity of quotation. Yet in the portraitures of
individual characters these inducements will still remain, nor can they
be very easily, or indeed very properly, overlooked.

"It is not enough to say that the character of an historical personage
is to be drawn from the authentic record of his actions. No doubt it is
so; but there are a thousand minute and almost indefinable suggestions,
arising from the perusal of these actions with all their circumstances,
which will exercise a most material influence upon the judgment. The
motives, for instance, of an action, must be almost always matter of
surmise, and yet upon these surmises the conclusion will mainly depend.
It is to this cause we must attribute the contradiction which such
conclusions occasionally exhibit, as in the conflicting characters drawn
by various hands of Archbishop Cranmer, of General Monk, of James II.,
or, as in the case before us, of William Penn. Nevertheless, Mr. Forster
does supply us with some means of estimating the justice and accuracy of
Mr. Macaulay's decision; but as our limits preclude any thing like a
comparison of the two theories in detail, we must confine ourselves to
communicating a general idea of the disputed points in continuation and
illustration of what we have already premised.

"William Penn, the Quaker, as we need hardly state, passed the early
part of his life under heavy persecutions on account of his religious
opinions. In the resolute spirit of fortitude with which he sustained
these sufferings he gave utterance to many rigid and uncompromising
doctrines. Things then took a turn with him, and from a poor persecuted
pietist he became a close client of Royalty, and almost the chief of
court favorites in an age of favoritism. That some of his sayings and
doings in these two strangely-contrasted scenes of his life should be a
little contradictory is, to say the least, no matter of wonder. Mr.
Macaulay, accordingly, giving him full credit for religious principle,
but not much for strength of mind, depicts the stubborn and fanatical
Quaker of former days as having become in the reign of King James the
compliant and, though well-meaning, not over-scrupulous agent of a
monarch, whose designs were directed against the civil and religious
liberty of his people. Mr. Forster, on the other hand, would ascribe
Penn's appearance in these scenes exclusively to his good and charitable
intentions. He would represent him solely as a peacemaker (which is,
perhaps, not far from the truth), and he would exculpate him from all
motives except those of charity; attributing to him a thorough and
undisguised repugnance to the king's evil designs, and a resolution
simply to realize out of these evil doings the great and permanent
blessing of religious liberty for his countrymen at large.

"The first bone of contention is the participation of Penn in that
nefarious transaction by which the Royal Maids of Honor extorted ransoms
from the poor Taunton girls who had welcomed the arrival of Monmouth. It
seems that the chief, if not the sole authority for Mr. Macaulay's
remarks on this head is contained in a letter of Sunderland's, preserved
in the State-Paper office, and addressed to "Mr. Penne." Mr. Forster,
therefore, disputes the identity of the two persons. Now, we think that
very few people, after a careful exercise of their judgment, would doubt
either that this letter was addressed to Penn, or that another,
subsequently alluded to, was written by him. Still we admit that its
phraseology does not bear out all Mr. Macaulay's circumstantial details
of the transaction, and it certainly cannot be denied that his conduct
was, to say the least, _susceptible_ of an interpretation which should
have called rather for the approval than the censure of the historian.
The principal subject, however, of the controversy is the share taken by
William Penn in the dealings of James with the Fellows of Magdalen
College, Oxford. We feel it very difficult to give any sufficient
statement of this case, not only by reason of our narrow limits, but for
want of words so to express ourselves as not to assume what one or other
of the disputants deny. Yet Mr. Forster must not complain if we assert
that William Penn, in this as in other questionable transactions, was,
if not an agent of the king, at least a kind of go-between, and
generally with an inclination towards that conclusion which James
desired. Perhaps he often interfered because nobody else could interfere
so beneficially--this we are very willing to allow, but, to take the
case now before us, it surely cannot be gainsayed that in his mediation,
if Mr. Forster will accept the term, between the king and the college,
he really did wish that, with as little unpleasantness as might be, the
college should submit to the king. And even if we accept as not proved
the allegation that he directly tempted the Fellows to perjury, yet Mr.
Forster must not ask us to believe that Penn would not have been a great
deal better pleased if the Fellows had quietly dropped the consideration
of their oaths, and surrendered their foundation to the Papists without
further struggle.

"We suspect the truth to be, that Mr. Macaulay has somewhat exceeded his
specified warrants, not in the design, but in the coloring. We believe
that many of Penn's acts were strangely inconsistent, if rigorously
noted, with his principles as previously professed, but we doubt whether
they will bear quite such hard words as Mr. Macaulay has given them.
Nevertheless, to recur to an expression which we employed before, we are
persuaded that in a majority of cases the _general impression_ of an
unbiassed inquirer would be more nearly in accordance with Mr.
Macaulay's sketch than with that flattering and stainless portrait which
Mr. Forster, at the conclusion of his remarks, would fain have drawn.
Mr. Macaulay may have painted his story a little too highly. His faults
are less in his verbs and substantives than in his adjectives and his
adverbs. Penn never in all probability became such an obsequious and
pliant-principled courtier as he is represented in this history, but the
simple facts which are authentically recorded of his court-life preclude
any notion of the high-souled and spotless character which Mr. Forster
would fain depict."

The subjects discussed in this volume have been much handled by our own
writers, and in several cases with very decided ability. We incline to
the side of Mr. Forster, throughout. An attentive study of the life of
William Penn reveals to our view a character of singular purity, and in
nearly all respects admirably composed. The judgment of Macaulay we hold
in very little esteem. It was said of Voltaire that he would sacrifice
Christ for an epigram; it may be said of Macaulay that he would
sacrifice as liberally for an antithesis. He labors always for effect,
and it must be admitted that he has evinced very extraordinary abilities
for this end; he never fails in variety, contrast, or grouping; hence
his popularity, and the absence from his pictures of the highest
elements of history.

Although in State Papers and in the Transactions of Societies in this
country, there is a large amount of important historical material in
relation to Penn, we have no creditable memoir of him; which is
remarkable, considering the attractive interest of the subject, and the
jealousy which has been displayed in various quarters respecting every
thing affecting his reputation.




A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.[17]

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE

BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.

_Continued from Page 216._


CHAPTER X.

The two horsemen rode on their way. Neither spoke for several minutes.
Sir Philip Hastings pondering sternly on all that had passed, and his
younger companion gazing upon the scene around flooded with the
delicious rays of sunset, as if nothing had passed at all.

Sir Philip, as I have shown the reader, had a habit of brooding over any
thing which excited much interest in his breast--nay more, of extracting
from it, by a curious sort of alchemy, essence very different from its
apparent nature, sometimes bright, fine, and beneficial, and others dark
and maleficient. The whole of the transaction just past disturbed him
much; it puzzled him; it set his imagination running upon a thousand
tracks, and most of them wrong ones; and thought was not willing to be
called from her vagaries to deal with any other subject than that which
preoccupied her.

The young stranger, on the other hand, seemed one of those characters
which take all things much more lightly. In the moment of action, he had
shown skill, resolution, and energy enough, but as he sat there on his
horse's back, looking round at every point of any interest to an admirer
of nature with an easy, calm and unconcerned air, no one who saw him
could have conceived that he had been engaged the moment before in so
fierce though short a struggle. There was none of the heat of the
combatant or the triumph of the victor in his air or countenance, and
his placid and equable expression of face contrasted strongly with the
cloud which sat upon the brow of his companion.

"I beg your pardon, sir, for my gloomy silence," said Sir Philip
Hastings, at length, conscious that his demeanor was not very courteous,
"but this affair troubles me. Besides certain relations which it bears
to matters of private concernment, I am not satisfied as to how I should
deal with the ruffian we have suffered to depart so easily. His assault
upon myself I do not choose to treat harshly; but the man is a terror to
the country round, committing many an act to which the law awards a very
insufficient punishment, but with cunning sufficient to keep within that
line, the passage beyond which would enable society to purge itself of
such a stain upon it; how to deal with him, I say, embarrasses me
greatly. I have committed him two or three times to prison already; and
I am inclined to regret that I did not, on this occasion, when he was in
the very act of breaking the law, send my sword through him, and I
should have been well justified in doing so."

"Nay, sir, methinks that would have been too much," replied his
companion; "he has had a fall, which, if I judge rightly, will be a
sufficient punishment for his assault upon you. According to the very
_lex talionis_, he has had what he deserves. If he has nearly broke your
arm, I think I have nearly broken his back."

"It is not his punishment for any offence to myself, sir, I seek,"
replied the baronet; "it is a duty to society to free it from the load
of such a man whenever he himself affords the opportunity of doing so.
Herein the law would have justified me, but even had it not been so, I
can conceive many cases where it may be necessary for the benefit of our
country and society to go beyond what the law will justify, and to make
the law for the necessity."

"Brutus, and a few of his friends, did so," replied the young stranger
with a smile, "and we admire them very much for so doing, but I am
afraid we should hang them, nevertheless, if they were in a position to
try the thing over again. The illustration of the gibbet and the statue
might have more applications than one, for I sincerely believe, if we
could revive historical characters, we should almost in all cases erect
a gallows for those to whom we now raise a monument."

Sir Philip Hastings turned and looked at him attentively, and saw his
face was gay and smiling. "You take all these things very lightly, sir,"
he said.

"With a safe lightness," replied the stranger.

"Nay, with something more," rejoined his companion; "in your short
struggle with that ruffian, you sprang upon him, and overthrew him like
a lion, with a fierce activity which I can hardly imagine really calmed
down so soon."

"O yes it is, my dear sir," replied the stranger, "I am somewhat of a
stoic in all things. It is not necessary that rapidity of thought and
action, in a moment of emergency, should go one line beyond the
occasion, or sink one line deeper than the mere reason. The man who
suffers his heart to be fluttered, or his passions to be roused, by any
just action he is called upon to do, is not a philosopher. Understand
me, however; I do not at all pretend to be quite perfect in my
philosophy; but, at all events, I trust I schooled myself well enough
not to suffer a wrestling match with a contemptible animal like that, to
make my pulse beat a stroke quicker after the momentary effort is over."

Sir Philip Hastings was charmed with the reply; for though it was a view
of philosophy which he could not and did not follow, however much he
might agree to it, yet the course of reasoning and the sources of
argument were so much akin to those he usually sought, that he fancied
he had at length found a man quite after his own heart. He chose to
express no farther opinion upon the subject, however, till he had seen
more of his young companion; but that more he determined to see. In the
mean time he easily changed the conversation, saying, "You seemed to be
a very skilful and practised wrestler, sir."

"I was brought up in Cornwall," replied the other, "though not a Cornish
man, and having no affinity even with the Terse and the Tees--an Anglo
Saxon, I am proud to believe, for I look upon that race as the greatest
which the world has yet produced."

"What, superior to the Roman?" asked Sir Philip.

"Ay, even so," answered the stranger, "with as much energy, as much
resolution, less mobility, more perseverance, with many a quality which
the Roman did not possess. The Romans have left us many a fine lesson
which we are capable of practising as well as they, while we can add
much of which they had no notion."

"I should like much to discuss the subject with you more at large," said
Sir Philip Hastings, in reply; "but I know not whether we have time
sufficient to render it worth while to begin."

"I really hardly know, either," answered the young stranger; "for, in
the first place, I am unacquainted with the country, and in the next
place, I know not how far you are going. My course tends towards a small
town called Hartwell--or, as I suspect it ought to be, Hartswell,
probably from some fountain at which hart and hind used to come and
drink."

"I am going a little beyond it," replied Sir Philip Hastings, "so that
our journey will be for the next ten miles together;" and with this good
space of time before him, the baronet endeavored to bring his young
companion back to the subject which had been started, a very favorite
one with him at all times.

But the stranger seemed to have his hobbies as well as Sir Philip, and
having dashed into etymology in regard to Hartwell, he pursued it with
an avidity which excluded all other topics.

"I believe," he said, not in the least noticing Sir Philip's
dissertation on Roman virtues--"my own belief is, that there is not a
proper name in England, except a few intruded upon us by the Normans,
which might not easily be traced to accidental circumstances in the
history of the family or the place. Thus, in the case of Aylesbury, or
Eaglestown, from which it is derived, depend upon it the place has been
noted as a resort for eagles in old times, coming thither probably for
the ducks peculiar to that place. Bristol, in Anglo Saxon, meaning the
place of a bridge, is very easily traceable; and Costa, or Costaford,
meaning in Anglo Saxon the tempter's ford, evidently derives its name
from monk or maiden having met the enemy of man or womankind at that
place, and having had cause to rue the encounter. All the Hams, all the
Tons, and all the Sons, lead us at once to the origin of the name, to
say nothing of all the points of the compass, all the colors of the
rainbow, and every trade that the ingenuity of man has contrived to
invent."

In vain Sir Philip Hastings for the next half hour endeavored to bring
him back to what he considered more important questions. He had
evidently had enough of the Romans for the time being, and indulged
himself in a thousand fanciful speculations upon every other subject but
that, till Sir Philip, who at one time had rated his intellect very
highly, began to think him little better than a fool. Suddenly, however,
as if from a sense of courtesy rather than inclination, the young man
let his older companion have his way in the choice of subject, and in
his replies showed such depth of thought, such a thorough acquaintance
with history, and such precise and definite views, that once more the
baronet changed his opinion, and said to himself, "This is a fine and
noble intellect indeed, nearly spoiled by the infection of a corrupt and
frivolous world, but which might be reclaimed, if fortune would throw
him in the way of those whose principles have been fixed and tried."

He pondered upon the matter for some short time. It was now completely
dark, and the town to which the stranger was going distant not a quarter
of a mile. The little stars were looking out in the heavens, peering at
man's actions like bright-eyed spies at night; but the moon had not
risen, and the only light upon the path was reflected from the flashing,
dancing stream that ran along beside the road, seeming to gather up all
the strong rays from the air, and give them back again with interest.

"You are coming very near Hartwell," said Sir Philip, at length; "but it
is somewhat difficult to find from this road, and being but little out
of my way, I will accompany you thither, and follow the high road
onwards."

The stranger was about to express his thanks, but the Baronet stopped
him, saying, "Not in the least, my young friend. I am pleased with your
conversation, and should be glad to cultivate your acquaintance if
opportunity should serve. I am called Sir Philip Hastings, and shall be
glad to see you at any time, if you are passing near my house."

"I shall certainly wait upon you, Sir Philip, if I stay any time in this
county," replied the other. "That, however, is uncertain, for I come
here merely on a matter of business, which may be settled in a few
hours--indeed it ought to be so, for it seems to me very simple.
However, it may detain me much longer, and then I shall not fail to take
advantage of your kind permission."

He spoke gravely, and little more was said till they entered the small
town of Hartwell, about half through which a large gibbet-like bar was
seen projecting from the front of a house, suspending a large board,
upon which was painted a star. The light shining from the windows of an
opposite house fell upon the symbol, and the stranger, drawing in his
rein, said, "Here is my inn, and I will now wish you good night, with
many thanks, Sir Philip."

"Methinks it is I should thank you," replied the Baronet, "both for a
pleasant journey, and for the punishment you inflicted on the ruffian
Cutter."

"As for the first," said the stranger, "that has been more than repaid,
if indeed it deserved thanks at all; and as for the other, that was a
pleasure in itself. There is a great satisfaction to me in breaking down
the self-confidence of one of these burly bruisers."

As he spoke, he dismounted, again wishing Sir Philip good night, and the
latter rode on upon his way. His meditations, as he went, were
altogether upon the subject of the young stranger; for, as I have shown,
Sir Philip rarely suffered two ideas to get any strong grasp of his mind
at the same time. He revolved, and weighed, and dissected every thing
the young man had said, and the conclusion that he came to was even more
favorable than at first. He seemed a man after his own heart, with just
sufficient differences of opinion and diversities of character to make
the Baronet feel a hankering for some opportunity of moulding and
modelling him to his own standard of perfection. Who he could be, he
could not by any means divine. That he was a gentleman in manners and
character, there could be no doubt. That he was not rich, Sir Philip
argued from the fact of his not having chosen the best inn in the little
town, and he might also conclude that he was of no very distinguished
family, as he had not thought fit to mention his own name in return for
the Baronet's frank invitation.

Busy with these thoughts Sir Philip rode on but slowly, and took nearly
half an hour to reach the gates of Mrs. Hazleton's park, though they
stood only two miles' distance from the town. He arrived before them at
length, however, and rang the bell. The lodge-keeper opened them but
slowly, and putting his horse to a quicker pace, Sir Philip trotted up
the avenue towards the house. He had not reached it, however, when he
heard the sound of horses feet behind him, and, as he was dismounting at
the door, his companion of the way rode quickly up and sprang to the
ground, saying, with a laugh--

"I find, Sir Philip, that we are both to enjoy the same quarters
to-night, for, on my arrival at Hartwell, I did not expect to visit this
house till to-morrow morning. Mrs. Hazelton, however, has very kindly
had my baggage brought up from the inn, and therefore I have no choice
but to intrude upon her to-night."

As he spoke the doors of the house were thrown open, servants came forth
to take the horses, and the two gentlemen were ushered at once into Mrs.
Hazleton's receiving-room.


CHAPTER XI.

Mrs. Hazleton was looking as beautiful as she had been at
twenty--perhaps more so; for the few last years before the process of
decay commences, sometimes adds rather than detracts from woman's
loveliness. She was dressed with great skill and taste too; nay, even
with peculiar care. The hair, which had not yet even one silver thread
in its wavy mass, was so arranged as to hide, in some degree, that
height and width of forehead which gave almost too intellectual an
expression to her countenance--which, upon some occasions, rendered the
expression (for the features were all feminine) more that of a man than
that of a woman. Her dress was very simple in appearance though costly
in material; but it had been chosen and fitted by the nicest art, of
colors which best harmonized with her complexion, and in forms rather to
indicate beauties than to display them.

Thus attired, with grace and dignity in every motion, she advanced to
meet Sir Philip Hastings, frankly holding out her hand to him, and
beaming on him one of her most lustrous smiles. It was all thrown away
upon him indeed; but that did not matter. It had its effect in another
quarter. She then turned to the younger gentleman with a greater degree
of reserve in manner, but yet, as she spoke to him and welcomed him to
her house, the color deepened on her cheek with a blush that would not
have been lost to Sir Philip if he had been at all in the custom of
making use of them. They had evidently met before, but not often; and
her words, "Good evening, Mr. Marlow, I am glad to see you at my house
at length," were said in the tone of one who was really glad, but did
not wish to show it too plainly.

"You have come with my friend, Sir Philip Hastings," she added; "I did
not know you were acquainted."

"Nor were we, my dear madam, till this evening," replied the Baronet,
speaking for himself and his companion of the road, "till we met by
accident on the hill-side on our way hither. We had a somewhat
unpleasant encounter with a notorious personage of the name of Tom
Cutter, which brought us first into acquaintance; though, till you
uttered it, my young friend's name was unknown to me."

"Tom Cutter! is that the man who poaches all my game?" said the lady, in
a musing tone.

Nor was she musing of Tom Cutter, or the lost game, or of the sins and
iniquities of poaching; neither one or the other. The exclamation and
inquiry taken together were only one of those little half-unconscious
stratagems of human nature, by which we often seek to amuse the other
parties in conversation--and sometimes amuse our own outward man
too--while the little spirit within is busily occupied with some
question which we do not wish our interlocutors to have any thing to do
with. She was asking herself, in fact, what had been the conversation
with which Sir Philip Hastings and Mr. Marlow had beguiled the
way--whether they had talked of her--whether they had talked of her
affairs--and how she could best get some information on the subject
without seeming to seek it.

She soon had an opportunity of considering the matter more at leisure,
for Sir Philip Hastings, with some remark as to "dusty dresses not being
fit for ladies' drawing-rooms," retired for a time to the chamber
prepared for him. The fair lady of the house detained Mr. Marlow indeed
for a few minutes, talking with him in a pleasant and gentle tone, and
making her bright eyes do their best in the way of captivating. She
expressed regret that she had not seen him more frequently, and
expressed a hope, in very graceful terms, that even the painful
question, which those troublesome men of law had started between them,
might be a means of ripening their acquaintance into friendship.

The young gentleman replied with all gallantry, but with due discretion,
and then retired to his room to change his dress. He certainly was a
very good-looking young man; finely formed, and with a pleasing though
not regularly handsome countenance; and perhaps he left Mrs. Hazleton
other matters to meditate of than the topics of his conversation with
Sir Philip Hastings. Certain it is, that when the baronet returned very
shortly after, he found his beautiful hostess in a profound reverie,
from which his sudden entrance made her start with a bewildered look not
common to her.

"I am very glad to talk to you for a few moments alone, my dear friend,"
said Mrs. Hazleton, after a moment's pause. "This Mr. Marlow is the
gentleman who claims the very property on which you now stand;" and she
proceeded to give her hearer, partly by spontaneous explanations, partly
by answers to his questions, her own view of the case between herself
and Mr. Marlow; laboring hard and skilfully to prepossess the mind of
Sir Philip Hastings with a conviction of her rights as opposed to that
of her young guest.

"Do you mean to say, my dear madam," asked Sir Philip, "that he claims
the whole of this large property? That would be a heavy blow indeed."

"Oh, dear, no," replied the lady; "the great bulk of the property is
mine beyond all doubt, but the land on which this house stands, and
rather more than a thousand acres round it, was bought by my poor father
before I was born, I believe, as affording the most eligible site for a
mansion. He never liked the old house near your place, and built this
for himself. Mr. Marlow's lawyers now declare that his grand-uncle, who
sold the land to my father, had no power to sell it; that the property
was strictly entailed."

"That will be easily ascertained," said Sir Philip Hastings; "and I am
afraid, my dear madam, if that should prove the case, you will have no
remedy but to give up the property."

"But is not that very hard?" asked Mrs. Hazleton, "the Marlows certainly
had the money."

"That will make no difference," replied Sir Philip, musing; "this young
man's grand-uncle may have wronged your father; but he is not
responsible for the act, and I am very much afraid, moreover, that his
claim may not be limited to the property itself. Back rents, I suspect,
might be claimed."

"Ay, that is what my lawyer, Mr. Shanks, says," replied Mrs. Hazleton,
with a bewildered look; "he tells me that if Mr. Marlow is successful in
the suit, I shall have to pay the whole of the rents of the land. But
Shanks added that he was quite certain of beating him if we could retain
for our counsel Sargeant Tutham and Mr. Doubledo."

"Shanks is a rogue," said Sir Philip Hastings, in a calm, equable tone;
"and the two lawyers you have named bear the reputation of being learned
and unscrupulous men. The first point, my dear madam, is to ascertain
whether this young gentleman's claim is just, and then to deal with him
equitably, which, in the sense I affix to the term, may be somewhat
different from legal."

"I really do not know what to do," cried Mrs. Hazleton, with a slight
laugh, as if at her own perplexity. "I was never in such a situation in
my life;" and then she added, very rapidly and in a jocular tone, as if
she were afraid of pausing upon or giving force to any one word, "if my
poor father had been alive, he would have settled it all after his own
way soon enough. He was a great match-maker you know, Sir Philip, and he
would have proposed, in spite of all obstacles, a marriage between the
two parties, to settle the affair by matrimony instead of by law," and
she laughed again as if the very idea was ridiculous.

Unlearned Sir Philip thought so too, and most improperly replied, "The
difference of age would of course put that out of the question;" nor
when he had committed the indiscretion, did he perceive the red spot
which came upon Mrs. Hazleton's fair brow, and indicated sufficiently
enough the effect his words had produced. There was an ominous silent
pause, however, for a minute, and then the Baronet was the person to
resume the discourse in his usual calm, argumentative tone. "I do not
think," he said, "from Mr. Marlow's demeanor or conversation, that he is
likely to be very exacting in this matter. His claim, however, must be
looked to in the first place, before we admit any thing on your part. If
the property was really entailed, he has undoubtedly a right to it, both
in honesty and in law; but methinks there he might limit his claim if
his sense of real equity be strong; but the entail must be made
perfectly clear before you can admit so much as that."

"Well, well, sir," said Mrs. Hazleton, hastily, for she heard a step on
the outer stairs, "I will leave it entirely to you, Sir Philip, I am
sure you will take good care of my interests."

Sir Philip did not altogether like the word interests, and bowing his
head somewhat stiffly, he added, "and of your honor, my dear madam."

Mrs. Hazleton liked his words as little as he did hers, and she colored
highly. She made no reply, indeed, but his words that night were never
forgotten.

The next moment Mr. Marlow entered the room with a quiet, easy air,
evidently quite unconscious of having been the subject of conversation.
During the evening he paid every sort of polite attention to his fair
hostess, and undoubtedly showed signs and symptoms of thinking her a
very beautiful and charming woman. Whatever was her game, take my word
for it, reader, she played it skilfully, and the very fact of her
retiring early, at the very moment when she had made the most favorable
impression, leaving Sir Philip Hastings to entertain Mr. Marlow at
supper, was not without its calculation.

As soon as the lady was gone, Sir Philip turned to the topic of Mrs.
Hazleton's business with his young companion, and managed the matter
more skilfully than might have been expected. He simply told him that
Mrs. Hazleton had mentioned a claim made upon her estate by his lawyers,
and had thought it better to leave the investigation of the affair to
her friend, rather than to professional persons.

A frank good-humored smile came upon Mr. Marlow's face at once. "I am
not a rich man, Sir Philip," he said, "and make no professions of
generosity, but, at the same time, as my grand-uncle undoubtedly had
this money from Mrs. Hazleton's father, I should most likely never have
troubled her on the subject, but that this very estate is the original
seat of our family, on which we can trace our ancestors back through
many centuries. The property was undoubtedly entailed, my father and my
uncle were still living when it was sold, and performed no disentailing
act whatever. This is perfectly susceptible of proof, and though my
claim may put Mrs. Hazleton to some inconvenience, I am anxious to avoid
putting her to any pain. Now I have come down with a proposal which I
confidently trust you will think reasonable. Indeed, I expected to find
her lawyer here rather than an independent friend, and I was assured
that my proposal would be accepted immediately, by persons who judged of
my rights more sanely perhaps than I could."

"May I hear what the proposal is?" asked Sir Philip.

"Assuredly," replied Mr. Marlow, "it is this: that in the first place
Mrs. Hazleton should appoint some gentleman of honor, either at the bar
or not, as she may think fit, to investigate my claim, with myself or
some other gentleman on my part, with right to call in a third as umpire
between them. I then propose that if my claim should be distinctly
proved, Mrs. Hazleton should surrender to me the lands in question, I
repaying her the sum which my grand-uncle received, and--"

"Stay," said Sir Philip Hastings, "are you aware that the law would not
oblige you to do that?"

"Perfectly," replied Mr. Marlow, "and indeed I am not very sure that
equity would require it either, for I do not know that my father ever
received any benefit from the money paid to his uncle. He may have
received a part however, without my knowing it, for I would rather err
on the right side than on the wrong. I then propose that the rents of
the estate, as shown by the leases, and fair interest upon the value of
the ground surrounding this house, should be computed during the time
that it has been out of our possession, while on the other hand the
legal interest of the money paid for the property should be calculated
for the same period, the smaller sum deducted from the larger, and the
balance paid by me to Mrs. Hazleton or by Mrs. Hazleton to me, so as to
replace every thing in the same state as if this unfortunate sale had
never taken place."

Sir Philip Hastings mused without reply for more than one minute. That
is a long time to muse, and many may be the thoughts and feelings which
pass through the breast of man during that space. They were many in the
present instance; and it would not be very easy to separate or define
them. Sir Philip thought of all the law would have granted to the young
claimant under the circumstances of the case: the whole property, all
the back rents, every improvement that had been made, the splendid
mansion in which they were then standing, without the payment on his
part of a penny: he compared these legal rights with what he now
proposed, and he saw that he had indeed gone a great way on the generous
side of equity. There was something very fine and noble in this conduct,
something that harmonized well with his own heart and feelings. There
was no exaggeration, no romance about it: he spoke in the tone of a man
of business doing a right thing well considered, and the Baronet was
satisfied in every respect but one. Mrs. Hazleton's words I must not say
had created a suspicion, but had suggested the idea that other feelings
might be acting between her and his young companion, notwithstanding the
difference of age which he had so bluntly pointed out, and he resolved
to inquire farther.

In the mean time, however, Mr. Marlow somewhat misinterpreted his
silence, and he added, after waiting longer than was pleasant, "Of
course you understand, Sir Philip, that if two or three honest men
decide that my case is unfounded--although I know that cannot be the
case--I agree to drop it at once and renounce it for ever. My solicitors
and counsel in London judged the offer a fair one at least."

"And so do I," said Sir Philip Hastings, emphatically; "however, I must
speak with Mrs. Hazleton upon the subject, and express my opinion to
her. Pray, have you the papers regarding your claim with you?"

"I have attested copies," replied Mr. Marlow, "and I can bring them to
you in a moment. They are so unusually clear, and seem to put the matter
so completely beyond all doubt, that I brought them down to satisfy Mrs.
Hazleton and her solicitor, without farther trouble, that my demand at
least had some foundation in justice."

The papers were immediately brought, and sitting down deliberately, Sir
Philip Hastings went through them with his young friend, carefully
weighing every word. They left not even a doubt on his mind; they seemed
not to leave a chance even for the chicanery of the law, they were
clear, precise, and definite. And the generosity of the young man's
offer stood out even more conspicuously than before.

"For my part, I am completely satisfied," said Sir Philip Hastings, when
he had done the examination, "and I have no doubt that Mrs. Hazleton
will be so likewise. She is an excellent and amiable person, as well as
a very beautiful woman. Have you known her long? have you seen her
often?"

"Only once, and that about a year ago," replied Mr. Marlow; "she is
indeed very beautiful as you say--for a woman of her period of life
remarkably so; she puts me very much in mind of my mother, whom I in the
confidence of youthful affection used to call 'my everlasting.' I
recollect doing so only three days before the hand of death wrote upon
her brow the vanity of all such earthly thoughts."

Sir Philip Hastings was satisfied. There was nothing like passion there.
Unobservant as he was in most things, he was more clear-sighted in
regard to matters of love, than any other affection of the human mind.
He had himself loved deeply and intensely, and he had not forgotten it.

It was necessary, before any thing could be concluded, to wait for Mrs.
Hazleton's rising on the following morning; and, bidding Mr. Marlow good
night with a warm grasp of the hand, Sir Philip Hastings retired to his
room and passed nearly an hour in thought, pondering the character of
his new acquaintance, recalling every trait he had remarked, and every
word he had heard. It was a very satisfactory contemplation. He never
remembered to have met with one who seemed so entirely a being after his
own heart. There might be little flaws, little weaknesses perhaps, but
the confirming power of time and experience would, he thought,
strengthen all that was good, and counsel and example remedy all that
was weak or light.

"At all events," thought the Baronet, "his conduct on this occasion
shows a noble and equitable spirit. We shall see how Mrs. Hazleton meets
it to-morrow."

When that morrow came, he had to see the reverse of the picture, but it
must be reserved for another chapter.


CHAPTER XII.

Mrs. Hazleton was up in the morning early. She was at all times an early
riser, for she well knew what a special conservator of beauty is the
morning dew, but on this occasion certain feelings of impatience made
her a little earlier than usual. Besides, she knew that Sir Philip
Hastings was always a matutinal man, and would certainly be in the
library before she was down. Nor was she disappointed. There she found
the Baronet reaching up his hand to take down Livy, after having just
replaced Tacitus.

"It is a most extraordinary thing, my dear madam," said Sir Philip,
after the salutation of the morning, "and puzzles me more than I can
explain."

Mrs. Hazleton fancied that her friend had discovered some very knotty
point in the case with Mr. Marlow, and she rejoiced, for her object was
not to emulate but to entangle. Sir Philip, however, went on to put her
out of all patience by saying, "How the Romans, so sublimely virtuous at
one period of their history, could fall into so debased and corrupt a
state as we find described even by Sallust, and depicted in more
frightful colors still by the latter historians of the empire."

Mrs. Hazleton, as I have said, was out of all patience, and ladies in
that state sometimes have recourse to homely illustration. "Their virtue
got addled, I suppose," she replied, "by too long keeping. Virtue is an
egg that won't bear sitting upon--but now do tell me, Sir Philip, had
you any conversation with Mr. Marlow last night upon this troublesome
affair of mine?"

"I had, my dear madam," replied Sir Philip, with a very faint smile, for
Sir Philip could not well bear any jesting on the Romans. "I did not
only converse with Mr. Marlow on the subject, but I examined carefully
the papers he brought down with him, and perceived at once that you have
not the shadow of a title to the property in question."

Mrs. Hazleton's brow grew dark, and she replied in a somewhat sullen
tone, "You decided against me very rapidly, Sir Philip. I hope you did
not let Mr. Marlow see your strong prepossession--opinion I mean to
say--in his favor."

"Entirely," replied Sir Philip Hastings.

Mrs. Hazleton was silent, and gazed down upon the carpet as if she were
counting the threads of which it was composed, and finding the
calculation by no means satisfactory.

Sir Philip let her gaze on for some time, for he was not very easily
moved to compassion in cases where he saw dishonesty of purpose as well
as suffering. At length, however, he said, "My judgment is not binding
upon you in the least; I tell you simply, my dear madam, what is my
conclusion, and the law will tell you the same."

"We shall see," muttered Mrs. Hazleton between her teeth; but then
putting on a softer air she asked, "Tell me, Sir Philip, would you, if
you were in my situation, tamely give up a property which was honestly
bought and paid for, without making one struggle to retain it?"

"The moment I was convinced I had no legal right to it," replied Sir
Philip. "However, the law is still open to you, if you think it better
to resist; but before you take your determination, you had better hear
what Mr. Marlow proposes, and you will pardon me for expressing to you
what I did not express to him: an opinion that his proposal is founded
upon the noblest view of equity."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Hazleton, with her eyes brightening, "pray let me
hear this proposal."

Sir Philip explained it to her most distinctly, expecting that she would
be both surprised and pleased, and never doubted that she would accept
it instantly. Whether she was surprised or not, did not appear, but
pleased she certainly was not to any great extent, for she did not wish
the matter to be so soon concluded. She began to make objections
immediately. "The enormous expense of building this house has not been
taken into consideration at all, and it will be very necessary to have
the original papers examined before any thing is decided. There are two
sides to every question, my dear Sir Philip, and we cannot tell that
other papers may not be found, disentailing this estate before the sale
took place."

"This is impossible," answered Sir Philip Hastings, "if the papers
exhibited to me are genuine, for this young gentleman, on whom, as his
father's eldest son, the estate devolved by the entail, was not born
when the sale took place. By his act only could it be disentailed, and
as he was not born, he could perform no such act."

He pressed her hard in his cold way, and it galled her sorely.

"Perhaps they are not genuine," she said at length.

"They are all attested," replied Sir Philip, "and he himself proposes
that the originals should be examined as the basis of the whole
transaction."

"That is absolutely necessary," said Mrs. Hazleton, well satisfied to
put off decision even for a time. But Sir Philip would not leave her
even that advantage.

"I think," he said, "you must at once decide whether you accept his
proposal, on condition that the examination of the papers proves the
justice of his claim to the satisfaction of those you may appoint to
examine it. If there are any doubts and difficulties to be raised
afterwards, he might as well proceed by law at once."

"Then let him go to law," exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton with a flashing eye.
"If he do, I will defend every step to the utmost of my power."

"Incur enormous expense, give yourself infinite pain and mortification,
and ruin a fine estate by a spirit of unnecessary and unjust
resistance," added Sir Philip, in a calm and somewhat contemptuous tone.

"Really, Sir Philip, you press me too hard," exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton in
a tone of angry mortification, and, sitting down to the table, she
actually wept.

"I only press you for your own good," answered the Baronet, not at all
moved, "you are perhaps not aware that if this gentleman's claim is
just, and you resist it, the whole costs will fall upon you. All that
could be expected of him was to submit his claim to arbitration, but he
now does more; he proposes, if arbitration pronounce it just, to make
sacrifices of his legal rights to the amount of many thousand pounds. He
is not bound to refund one penny paid for this estate, he is entitled to
back rents for a considerable number of years, and yet he offers to
repay the money, and far from demanding the back rents, to make
compensation for any loss of interest that may have been sustained by
this investment. There are few men in England, let me tell you, who
would have made such a proposal, and if you refuse it you will never
have such another."

"Do not you think, Sir Philip," asked Mrs. Hazleton sharply, "that he
never would have made such a proposal if he had not known there was
something wrong about his title?"

Now there was something in this question which doubly provoked Sir
Philip Hastings. He never could endure a habit which some ladies have of
recurring continually to points previously disposed of, and covering the
reiteration by merely putting objections in a new form. Now the question
as to the validity of Mr. Marlow's title, he looked upon as entirely
disposed of by the proposal of investigation and arbitration. But there
was something more than this; the very question which the lady put
showed an incapacity for conceiving any generous motive, which
thoroughly disgusted him, and, turning with a quiet step to the window,
he looked down upon the lawn which spread far away between two ranges of
tall fine wood, glowing in the yellow sunshine of a dewy autumnal
morning. It was the most favorable thing he could have done for Mrs.
Hazleton. Even the finest and the strongest and the stoutest minds are
more frequently affected unconsciously by external things than any one
is aware of. The sweet influences or the irritating effects of fine or
bad weather, of beautiful or tame scenery, of small cares and petty
disappointments, of pleasant associations or unpleasant memories, nay of
a thousand accidental circumstances, and even fancies themselves, will
affect considerations totally distinct and apart, as the blue or yellow
panes of a stained glass window cast a melancholy hue or a yellow
splendor upon the statue and carvings of the cold gray stone.

As Sir Philip gazed forth upon the fair scene before his eyes, and
thought what a lovely spot it was, how calm, how peaceful, how
refreshing in its influence, he said to himself, "No wonder she is
unwilling to part with it."

Then again, there was a hare gambolling upon the lawn, at a distance of
about a hundred yards from the house, now scampering along and beating
up the dew from the morning grass, now crouched nearly flat so as hardly
to be seen among the tall green blades, then hopping quietly along with
an awkward, shuffling gait, or sitting up on its hind legs, with raised
ears, listening to some distant sound; but still as it resumed its
gambols, again going round and round, tracing upon the green sward a
labyrinth of meandering lines. Sir Philip watched it for several moments
with a faint smile, and then said to himself, "It is the beast's
nature--why not a woman's?"

Turning himself round he saw Mrs. Hazleton, sitting at the table with
her head leaning in a melancholy attitude upon her hand, and he replied
to her last words, though he had before fully made up his mind to give
them no answer whatever.

"The question in regard to title, my dear madam," he said, "is one which
is to be decided by others. Employ a competent person, and he will
insure, by full investigation, that your rights are maintained entire.
Your acceptance of Mr. Marlow's proposals contingent on the full
recognition of his claim, will be far from prejudicing your case, should
any flaw in your title be discovered. On the contrary, should the
decision of a point of law be required, it will put you well with the
court. By frankly doing so, you also meet him in the same spirit in
which I am sure he comes to you; and as I am certain he has a very high
sense of equity, I think he will be well inclined to enter into any
arrangement which may be for your convenience. From what he has said
himself, I do not believe he can afford to keep such an establishment as
is necessary for this house, and if you cling to it, as you may well do,
doubtless it may remain your habitation as long as you please at a very
moderate rent. Every other particular I think may be settled in the same
manner, if you will but show a spirit of conciliation, and----"

"I am sure I have done that," said Mrs. Hazleton, interrupting him.
"However, Sir Philip, I will leave it all to you. You must act for me in
this business. If you think it right, I will accept the proposal
conditionally as you mention, and the title can be examined fully
whenever we can fix upon the time and the person. All this is very hard
upon me, I do think; but I suppose I must submit with a good grace."

"It is certainly the best plan," replied Sir Philip; and while Mrs.
Hazleton retired to efface the traces of tears from her eyelids, the
Baronet walked into the drawing-room, where he was soon after joined by
Mr. Marlow. He merely told him, however, that he had conversed with the
lady of the house, and that she would give him her answer in person.
Now, whatever were Mrs. Hazleton's wishes or intentions, she certainly
was not well satisfied with the precise and rapid manner in which Sir
Philip brought matters of business to an end. His last words, however,
had afforded her a glimmering prospect of somewhat lengthy and frequent
communication between herself and Mr. Marlow, and one thing is certain,
that she did not at all desire the transaction between them to be
concluded too briefly. At the same time, it was not her object to appear
otherwise than in the most favorable light to his eyes; and
consequently, when she entered the drawing-room she held out her hand to
him with a gracious though somewhat melancholy smile, saying, "I have
had a long conversation with Sir Philip this morning, Mr. Marlow,
concerning the very painful business which brought you here. I agree at
once to your proposal in regard to the arbitration and the rest;" and
she then went on to speak of the whole business as if she had made not
the slightest resistance whatever, but had been struck at once by the
liberality of his proposals, and by the sense of equity which they
displayed. Sir Philip took little notice of all this; for he had fallen
into one of his fits of musing, and Mr. Marlow had quitted the room to
bring some of the papers for the purpose of showing them to Mrs.
Hazleton, before the Baronet awoke out of his reverie. The younger
gentleman returned a moment after, and he and Sir Philip and Mrs.
Hazleton were busily looking at a long list of certificates of births,
deaths and marriages, when the door opened, and Mr. Shanks, the
attorney, entered the room, booted, spurred, and dusty as if from a long
ride. He was a man to whom Sir Philip had a great objection; but he said
nothing, and the attorney with a tripping step advanced towards Mrs.
Hazleton.

The lady looked confused and annoyed, and in a hasty manner put back the
papers into Mr. Marlow's hand. But Mr. Shanks was one of the keen and
observing men of the world. He saw every thing about him as if he had
been one of those insects which have I do not know how many thousand
pair of lenses in each eye. He had no scruples or hesitation either; he
was all sight and all remark, and a lady of any kind was not at all the
person to inspire him with reverence.

He was, in short, all law, and loved nothing, respected nothing, but
law.

"Dear me, Mrs. Hazleton," he exclaimed, "I did not expect to find you so
engaged. These seem to be law papers--very dangerous, indeed, madam, for
unprofessional persons to meddle with such things. Permit me to look at
them;" and he held out his hand towards Mr. Marlow, as if expecting to
receive the papers without a word of remonstrance. But Mr. Marlow held
them back, saying, in a very calm, civil tone, "Excuse me, sir! We are
conversing over the matter in a friendly manner; and I shall show them
to a lawyer only at Mrs. Hazleton's request."

"Very improper--that is, I mean to say very unprofessional!" exclaimed
Mr. Shanks, "and let me say very hazardous too," rejoined the lawyer
abruptly; but Mrs. Hazleton herself interposed, saying in a marked tone
and with an air of dignity which did not always characterize her
demeanor towards her "right hand man," as she was accustomed sometimes
to designate Mr. Shanks, "We do not desire any interference at this
moment, my good sir. I appointed you at twelve o'clock. It is not yet
nine." "O I can see, I can see," replied Mr. Shanks, while Sir Philip
Hastings advanced a step or two, "his worship here never was a friend of
mine, and has no objection to take a job or two out of my hands at any
time."

"We have nothing to do with jobs, sir," said Sir Philip Hastings, in his
usual dry tone, "but at all events we do not wish you to make a job
where there is none."

"I must take the liberty, however, of warning that lady, sir," said Mr.
Shanks, with the pertinacity of a parrot, which he so greatly resembled,
"as her legal adviser, sir, that if----"

"That if she sends for an attorney, she wants him at the time she
appoints," interposed Sir Philip; "that was what you were about to say,
I suppose."

"Not at all, sir, not at all," exclaimed the lawyer; for very shrewd and
very oily lawyers will occasionally forget their caution and their
coolness when they see the prospect of a loss of fees before them. "I
was going to say no such thing. I was going to warn her not to meddle
with matters of business of which she can understand nothing, by the
advice of those who know less, and who may have jobs of their own to
settle while they are meddling with hers." "And I warn you to quit this
room, sir," said Sir Philip Hastings, a bright spot coming into his
usually pale cheek; "the lady has already expressed her opinion upon
your intrusion, and depend upon it, I will enforce mine."

"I shall do no such thing, sir, till I have fully----"

He said no more, for before he could conclude the sentence, the hand of
Sir Philip Hastings was upon his collar with the grasp of a giant, and
although he was a tall and somewhat powerful man, the Baronet dragged
him to the door in despite of his half-choking struggles, as a nurse
would haul along a baby, pulled him across the stone hall, and opening
the outer door with his left hand, shot him down the steps without any
ceremony; leaving him with his hands and knees upon the terrace.

This done, the Baronet returned into the house again, closing the door
behind him. He then paused in the hall for an instant, reproaching
himself for certain over-quick beatings of the heart, tranquillized his
whole look and demeanor, and then returning to the drawing-room, resumed
the conversation with Mrs. Hazleton, as if nothing had ever occurred to
interrupt it.


CHAPTER XIII.

Mrs. Hazleton was or affected to be a good deal flustered by the event
which had just taken place, but after a number of certain graceful
attitudes, assumed without the slightest appearance of affectation, she
recovered her calmness, and proceeded with the business in hand. That
business was soon terminated, so far as the full and entire acceptance
of Mr. Marlow's proposal went, and immediately after the conclusion of
breakfast, Sir Philip Hastings ordered his horses to depart. Mrs.
Hazleton fain would have detained him, for she foresaw that his going
might be a signal for Mr. Marlow's going also, and it was not a part of
her policy to assume the matronly character so distinctly as to invite
him to remain in her house alone. Sir Philip however was inexorable, and
returned to his own dwelling, renewing his invitation to his new
acquaintance.

Mrs. Hazleton bade him adieu, with the greatest appearance of
cordiality; but I am very much afraid, if one had possessed the power of
looking into her heart, one would have a picture very different from
that presented by her face. Sir Philip Hastings had said and done things
since he had entered her dwelling the night before, which Mrs. Hazleton
was not a woman to forget or forgive. He had thwarted her schemes, he
had mortified her vanity, he had wounded her pride; and she was one of
those women who bide their time, but have a strong tenacity of
resentments.

When he was gone, however, she played a new game with Mr. Marlow. She
insisted upon his remaining for the day, but with a fine sense of
external proprieties, she informed him that she expected a charming
elderly lady of her acquaintance to pass a few days with her, to whom
she should particularly like to introduce him.

This was false, be it remarked; but she immediately took measures to
make it true. Now, there is in every neighborhood more than one of that
class called good creatures. For this office, an abundant store of real
or assumed soft stupidity is required; but it is a somewhat difficult
part to play, for with this stupidity there must also be a considerable
portion of fine tact, to guard the performer against any of those
blunders into which good-natured people are continually plunging. Drill
and discipline are also necessary, in order to be always on the look out
for hints, to appreciate them properly, to comprehend that friends may
say one thing and mean another, and to ask no questions of any kind.
There were no less than three of these good creatures in this Mrs.
Hazleton's immediate neighborhood; and during a few moments' retreat to
her own little writing-room, she laid her finger upon her fair temple,
and thought them well over. Mrs. Winifred Edgeby was the first who
suggested herself to the mind of the fair lady. She had many of the
requisites. She dressed well, talked well, and had an air of style and
fashion about her; was perfectly innocuous, and skilful in divining the
purposes and wishes of a friend or patron; but there was an occasional
touch of subacrid humor about her which Mrs. Hazleton did not half like.
It gave an impression of seeing too clearly, of perceiving much more
than she pretended to perceive.

The second was Mrs. Warmington, a widow, not very rich, and not indeed
very refined; gay, talkative, somewhat boisterous, yet full of a sound
discretion in never committing herself or a friend. She had also much
experience, for she had been twice married, and twice a widow, and thus
had had her misfortunes. The third was a Miss Goodenough, the most
silent, quiet, stilly person in the world, moving about the house with
the step of a cat, and a face of infinite good nature to the whole human
race. She was to all appearance the pink of gentleness and weak good
nature; but her silence was invaluable.

After some consideration Mrs. Hazleton decided upon the widow, and
instantly dispatched a note with her own carriage, begging Mrs.
Warmington to come over immediately and spend a few days with her, as a
young gentleman had arrived upon a visit, and it would be indecorous to
entertain him alone.

Mrs. Warmington understood it all in an instant. She said to herself,
"Ho, ho! a young gentleman come to stay!--wanted a duenna! Matrimony in
the wind! Heigho! she must be six and thirty--six and thirty from two
and fifty leave sixteen points against me, and long odds. Well, well,--I
have had my share;" and Mrs. Warmington laughed aloud. However, she
would neither keep Mrs. Hazleton's carriage waiting, nor Mrs. Hazleton
herself in suspense, for there were various little comforts and
conveniences in the good will of that lady which Mrs. Warmington was
eager to cultivate. She had, too, a shrewd suspicion that the enmity of
Mrs. Hazleton might become a thing to be seriously dreaded; and
therefore, whichever side of the question she looked at, she saw reasons
for seeking the beautiful widow's good graces. Her maid was called, her
clothes packed up, and she entered the carriage and drove away, while in
the mean time Mrs. Hazleton had been expatiating to Mr. Marlow upon all
the high qualities and points of excellence in her friend Mrs.
Warmington. She was too skilful, moreover, to bring her good taste and
judgment into question with her young friend, by raising expectations
which might be disappointed. She therefore threw in insinuations of a
few faults and failings in dear Madam Warmington's manner and demeanor.
But then she said she was such a good creature at heart, that although
the very fastidious affected to censure, she herself forgot all little
blemishes in the inherent excellence of the person.

Moreover, upon the plea of looking at the ground which was the subject
of Mr. Marlow's claim, she led him out for a long, pleasant ramble
through the park. She took him amongst old hawthorn trees, through
groves of chestnuts by the banks of the stream, and along paths where
the warm sunshine played through the brown and yellow leaves above,
gilding their companions which had fallen earlier than themselves to the
sward below. It was a very lover-like walk indeed--one where nature
speaks to the heart, wakening sweet influences, and charming the spirit
up from hard and cold indifference. Mrs. Hazleton felt sure that Mr.
Marlow would not forget that walk, and she took care to impress it as
deeply as possible upon his memory. Nor did she want any of the means to
do so. Her mind was highly cultivated for the age in which she lived,
her taste fine, her information extensive. She could discourse of
foreign lands, of objects and scenes of deep interest, great beauty, and
rich associations,--of courts and cities far away, of music, painting,
flowers in other lands, of climates rich in sunshine and of genial
warmth; and through the whole she had the art to throw a sort of magic
glow from her own mind which brightened all she spoke of.

She was very charming that day, indeed, and Mr. Marlow felt the spell,
but he did not fall in love.

Now what was the object of using all these powers upon him? Was Mrs.
Hazleton a person very susceptible, or very covetous of the tender
passion? Since her return to England she had refused some half-dozen
very eligible offers from handsome, agreeable, estimable men, and the
world in general had set her down for a person as cold as a stone. It
might be so, but there are some stones which, when you heat them,
acquire intense fervor, and retain it longer than any other substance.
Every body in the world has his peculiarities, his whims, caprices,
crochets if you will. Mrs. Hazleton had gazed over the handsome, the
glittering and the gay, with the most perfect indifference. She had
listened to professions of love with a tranquil, easy balance power,
which weighed to a grain the advantages of matrimony and widowhood,
without suffering the dust of passion to give even a shake to the scale.
Before the preceding night she had only seen Mr. Marlow once, but the
moment she set eyes upon him--the moment she heard his voice, she had
said to herself, "If ever I marry again, that is the man." There is no
explaining these sympathetic attractions, impulses, or whatever they may
be called; but I think, from some observation of human nature, it will
be found that in those persons where they are the least frequent, they
are the most powerful and persevering when they do exist.

Not long after their first meeting, some intimation occurred of a claim
on the part of Mr. Marlow to a portion of the lady's property--that
portion that she loved best. The very idea of parting with it at all, of
being forced to give it up, was most painful and distressing to her. Yet
that made no difference whatever in her feelings towards Mr. Marlow.
Communications of various kinds took place between lawyers, and the
opposite counsel were as firm as a rock. Mrs. Hazleton thought it very
hard, very unjust, very wrong; but that changed not in the least her
feelings towards Mr. Marlow. Nay more, with that delicate art of
combination in which ladies are formed to excel, she conceived and
manipulated with great dexterity a scheme for bringing herself and Mr.
Marlow into frequent personal communication, and for causing somebody to
suggest to him a marriage with her own beautiful self, as the best mode
of settling the disputed claim.

O those fine and delicate threads of intrigue, how frail they are, and
how much depends upon every one of them, be it in the warp or the woof
of a scheme! We have seen that in this case, one of them gave way under
the rough handling of Sir Philip Hastings, and the whole fabric was in
imminent danger of running down and becoming nothing but a raveled
skein. Mrs. Hazleton was resolved that it should not be so, and now she
was busily engaged in the attempt to knot together the broken thread,
and to lay all the others straight and in right order again. This was
the secret of the whole matter.

She exerted all her charms, and could Waller but have seen her we should
have had such an account of the artillery of her eyes, the insidious
attack of her smile, and the whole host of powerful adversaries brought
to bear against the object of her assault in her gracefully moving form
and heaving bosom, that Saccharissa would have melted away like a wet
lump of sugar in the comparison.

Then again when she had produced an effect, and saw clear and distinctly
that he thought her lovely, and very charming too, she seemed to fall
into a pleasant sort of languid melancholy, which was even more charming
still. The brook was bubbling and murmuring at their feet, dashing clear
and bright over its stony bed, and changing the brown rock, the water
weed, or the leaf beneath, into gems by the magic of its own brightness.
The boughs were waving over head, covered with many-colored foliage, and
the sun, glancing through, not only enriched the tints above, but
checkered the mossy path along which they wandered like a chess-board of
brown and gold. Some of the late autumn birds uttered their short sweet
songs from the copse hard by, and the musical wind came sighing up from
the valley, as if nature had furnished Eolus with a harp. It was in
short quite a scene, and a moment for a widow to make love to a young
man. They were silent for some little time, and then Mrs. Hazleton said,
with her soft, sweet, round voice, "Is not all this very charming, Mr.
Marlow?"

Her tone was quite a sad one, but not with that sort of pleasant sadness
which often mingles with our happiest moments, giving them even a higher
zest, like the flattened notes when a fine piece of music passes gently
from the major into the minor key, but really sad, profoundly sad.

"Very charming, indeed," replied her young companion, looking round to
her face with some surprise.

"And what am I to do without it, when you turn me out of my house?" said
the lady, answering his glance with a melancholy smile.

"Turn you out of your house!" exclaimed Mr. Marlow; "I hope you do not
suppose, my dear madam, that I could dream of such a thing. Oh, no! I
would not for the world deprive such a scene of its brightest ornament.
Some arrangement can be easily effected, even if my claim should prove
satisfactory to those you appoint to investigate it, by which the
neighborhood will not be deprived of the happiness of your presence."

Mrs. Hazleton felt that she had made a great step, and as she well knew
that there was no chance of his proposing then and there, she resolved
not to risk losing ground by any farther advance, even while she secured
some present benefits from that which was gained. "Well, well," she
said, "Mr. Marlow, I am quite sure you are very kind and very generous,
and we can talk of that matter hereafter. Only there is one thing you
must promise me, which is, that in regard to any arrangements respecting
the house you will not leave them to be settled by cold lawyers or
colder friends, who cannot enter into my feelings in regard to this
place, or your own liberal and kindly feelings either. Let us settle it
some day between ourselves," she added, with a light laugh, "in a
tête-à-tête like this. I do not suppose you are afraid of being
overreached by me in a bargain. But now let us turn our steps back
towards the house, for I expect Mrs. Warmington early, and I must not be
absent when she arrives."

Mrs. Warmington was there already; for the tête-à-tête had lasted longer
than Mrs. Hazleton knew. However, Mrs. Hazleton's first task was to
inform her fair friend and counsellor of the cause of Mr. Marlow's being
there; her next to tell her that all had been settled as to the claim,
by that tiresome man Sir Philip Hastings, without what she considered
due deliberation, and that the only thing which remained to be arranged
was in regard to the house, respecting which Mrs. Hazleton communicated
a certain portion of her own inclinations, and of Mr. Marlow's kind view
of the matter.

Now, strange to say, this was the turning point of fate for Mrs.
Hazleton, Mr. Marlow, and most of the persons mentioned in this history.
It was then that Mrs. Warmington suggested a scheme which she thought
would suit her friend well.

"Why do you not offer him in exchange--for the time at all events--your
fine old house on the side of Hartwell--Hartwell Place? It is only seven
miles off. It is ready furnished to his hand, and must be worth a great
deal more than the bare walls of this. Besides it would be pleasant to
have him in the neighborhood."

Pause, Mrs. Hazleton! pause and meditate over all the consequences; for
be assured much depends upon these few simple words.

Mrs. Hazleton did pause--Mrs. Hazleton did meditate. She ran over in her
head the list of all the families in the neighborhood. In none of them
could she see a probable rival. There were plenty of married women, old
maids, young girls; but she saw nobody to fear, and with a proud
consciousness of her own beauty and worth, she took her resolution. That
very evening she proposed to Mr. Marlow what her friend had suggested.
It was accepted.

Mrs. Hazleton had made one miscalculation, and her fate and Mr. Marlow's
were decided.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by G. P. R.
James, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.




CHARLES MACKAY'S LAST POEMS.


We always read the poems of Charles Mackay, who, though not of the
highest class, even of the living poets of England, is yet earnest,
sensible, and good-hearted, and has always a point, and generally some
happy fancies, in his least considered pieces. He has published two
collections of short poems, one entitled "Voices from the Crowd," and
the other and last, "Egeria, or the Spirit of Nature," &c. from which we
take the following specimens:


    WHY THIS LONGING?

    Why this longing, clay-clad spirit?
      Why this fluttering of thy wings?
    Why this striving to discover
      Hidden and transcendent things?
    Be contented in thy prison,
      Thy captivity shall cease--
    Taste the good that smiles before thee;
      Restless spirit, be at peace!

    With the roar of wintry forests,
      With the thunder's crash and roll,
    With the rush of stormy water,
      Thou wouldst sympathize, O soul!
    Thou wouldst ask them mighty questions
      In a language of their own,
    Untranslatable to mortals,
      Yet not utterly unknown.

    Thou wouldst fathom Life and Being,
      Thou wouldst see through Birth and Death,
    Thou wouldst solve the eternal riddle--
      Thou a speck, a ray, a breath,
    Thou wouldst look at stars and systems,
      As if _thou_ couldst understand
    All the harmonies of Nature,
      Struck by an Almighty hand.

    With thy feeble logic, tracing
      Upward from effect to cause,
    Thou art foiled by Nature's barriers,
      And the limits of her laws.
    Be at peace, thou struggling spirit!
      Great Eternity denies
    The unfolding of its secrets
      In the circle of thine eyes.

    Be contented with thy freedom--
      Dawning is not perfect day;
    There are truths thou canst not fathom,
      Swaddled in thy robes of clay.
    Rest in hope that if thy circle
      Grow not wider here in Time,
    God's Eternity shall give thee
      Power of vision more sublime.

    Clogged and bedded in the darkness,
      Little germ abide thine hour,
    Thoul't expand in proper season,
      Into blossom, into flower.
    Humble faith alone becomes thee
      In the glooms where thou art lain:
    Bright is the appointed future;
      Wait--thou shalt not wait in vain.

    Cease thy struggling, feeble spirit!
      Fret not at thy prison bars;
    Never shall thy mortal pinions
      Make the circuit of the stars.
    Here on Earth are duties for thee,
      Suited to thine earthly scope;
    Seek them, thou Immortal Spirit--
      God is with thee--work in hope.


    YOU AND I.

    Who would scorn his humble fellow
      For the coat he wears?
    For the poverty he suffers?
      For his daily cares?
    Who would pass him in the footway
      With averted eye?
    Would you, brother? No--you would not.
      If you would--not _I_.

    Who, when vice or crime repentant,
      With a grief sincere
    Asked for pardon, would refuse it--
      More than heaven severe?
    Who to erring woman's sorrow
      Would with taunts reply?
    Would you, brother? No--you would not.
      If you would--not _I_.

    Who would say that all who differ
      From his sect must be
    Wicked sinners, heaven-rejected,
      Sunk in Error's sea,
    And consign them to perdition
      With a holy sigh?
    Would you, brother? No--you would not.
      If you would--not _I_.

    Who would say that six days' cheating,
      In the shop or mart,
    Might be rubbed by Sunday praying
      From the tainted heart,
    If the Sunday face were solemn,
      And the credit high?
    Would you, brother? No--you would not.
      If you would--not _I_.

    Who would say that Vice is Virtue
      In a hall of State?
    Or that rogues are not dishonest
      If they dine off plate?
    Who would say Success and Merit
      Ne'er part company?
    Would you, brother? No--you would not.
      If you would--not _I_.

    Who would give a cause his efforts
      When the cause is strong,
    But desert it on its failure,
      Whether right or wrong?
    Ever siding with the upmost,
      Letting downmost lie?
    Would you, brother? No--you would not.
      If you would--not _I_.

    Who would lend his arm to strengthen
      Warfare with the right?
    Who would give his pen to blacken
      Freedom's page of light?
    Who would lend his tongue to utter
      Praise of tyranny?
    Would you, brother? No--you would not.
      If you would--not _I_.

"A people among whom Charles Mackay is a popular writer," says the
Dublin University Magazine, "must possess largely the elements of
greatness and the reality of goodness."




THE COUNT MONTE-LEONE, OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY.[18]

TRANSLATED FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE FROM THE FRENCH OF H.
DE ST. GEORGES.

_Continued from page 229._


Second crime: A cold and deliberate attempt upon the life of Stenio
Salvatori, on the public square of _Torre-del-Greco_. The Count listened
to this harangue without emotion. "Bring in," said the judge, "both the
witnesses and the plaintiffs, for they have a double quality."

At this summons, a man of stern and moody aspect appeared, with his hair
and dress in great disorder. He was sustained by two others, and the
group paused at the foot of the balcony, where the judges sat.

"Your name?" said the Grand Judge, to the eldest of the three.

"Stenio Salvatori," said one.

"Your names?" asked the Grand Judge, of the other two.

"Raphael Salvatori--"

"Francesco Salvatori."

"You swear before God to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth."

"I swear," said each of them.

"Do you persist in your accusation against Count Monte-Leone?"

"I do," said they.

"The Count," continued Francesco, "presided over the _Venta_ at Pompeia,
where he was seen by my brothers and myself. In our presence he
administered the oath to two of the neophytes of the society. They
promised to contribute by every means in their power to the dethronement
of our well-beloved sovereign Fernando IV., and to destroy monarchy
forever in our country. The associates of the Count," added Raphael and
Francesco, "discovered us listening to them, and our energy and strength
alone preserved us from their poniards."

"And my energy and strength," said Stenio, with an accent of rage, as he
sprang unexpectedly from the bench on which he sat and pointed to
Monte-Leone, "were able to contend with difficulty against the iron hand
and poniard of this man." Then tearing up the cuff which hid his wound,
he showed the judges a deep and blood-stained stab. A feeling of horror
took possession of all the assembly. Every eye was fixed on Monte-Leone,
who seemed unconscious of the sentiment he inspired.

"The Count avenged himself on one of us, because we did our duty in
denouncing him," said Francesco Salvatori.

"He would have murdered us all had he been able," said Raphael.

"Stenio," resumed Francesco, "has atoned for all the family."

"And we ask," said Stenio, with a terrible voice, "we ask justice on the
assassin! We demand it of God, the king, and the judges."

The tall stature of Stenio, his pallor heightened by anger, and the
bloody arm he intentionally exposed, made such an impression on the
spectators that a murmur of approbation ran round the room. More
numerous voices, however, soon drowned it.

"Count Monte-Leone, have you prepared yourself to reply to these
accusations, or have you chosen a defender?"

"I have."

"Name him," said the Grand Judge.

"My defender is Stenio Salvatori, my accuser."

Nothing could exceed the surprise caused by these words, not only in the
minds of the three witnesses, but of the court and public.

"Count," said the Grand Judge, solemnly, "you must remember this
accusation is a solemn one; that you are accused of two crimes, the
punishment of which is known to you. Such an answer testifies your small
respect to this court, and must injure a cause which needs to be ably
defended."

"Signor," replied Monte-Leone, "it is because I recognize the great
importance of the cause, that I confide to this man the duty of
exonerating me from it. He alone can do so: his mouth alone, his lips,
will demonstrate my innocence. Stenio Salvatori says, he saw me preside
at the Venta of Pompeia."

"I did," said Stenio, rising again.

"He says I stabbed him at his threshold in the town of
_Torre-del-Greco_."

"I do," said Stenio.

"You see clearly, Signori," continued the Count, speaking to the court,
"that this man is establishing my case distinctly, as he saw me neither
at Pompeia nor at _Torre-del-Greco_. The day on which he, his brothers,
and the people of the latter town, say they saw me, I was imprisoned in
a cell of the Castle _Del Uovo_, an impenetrable prison whence it is
impossible for any human creature to escape, and whence none saw me go."

Bravos filled the hall. The Count was triumphing.

"Signori," said the Grand Judge, rising, "such applause is an insult to
the court, and if it be renewed, the trial will be continued with closed
doors." Silence was restored.

"Do not believe him," said Stenio, turning towards the auditors and
showing his bloody arm. "He was the person who wounded me."

"Justice shall be done," said the Grand Judge. "Signori, a series of
secret and minute inquiries instituted in the Castle _Del Uovo_, the
examination of the employers of the fortress and the confronting of the
gate-keeper, a man of known piety, and the head jailer, one of the most
severe and incorruptible of Naples, have been unable to show how the
Count Monte-Leone contrived to escape from prison. In the face of such
complete evidence of his having remained in the prison, in the face of
the report of the minister of police who visited the prison a few hours
after the commission of the crime at _Torre-del-Greco_, we could not
but recognize the innocence of the Count, and fancy that something had
led to a mistake in his person. A strange and providential circumstance
makes us doubt the innocence of the Count, and though the means of his
escape from the castle be unknown to us, we persist in thinking him
guilty as accused."

The interest and emotion of the audience was as great as it could be;
and the words of the Grand Judge were listened to with the most intense
anxiety. At that moment three hearts almost ceased to beat--that of the
veiled woman, that of the young man who had replied to her signal, and
that of Count Monte-Leone, though his features were unmoved.

"The Count," resumed the Grand Judge, "possesses a family jewel, a ring
of immense price, one of the _chef-d'oeuvres_ of Benvenuto Cellini.
This ring he rarely lays aside, as we learn from many witnesses, and a
secret superstition induces him always to wear it. Did he hide it from
the jailers at the time of his incarceration, or did he obtain
possession of it on his way to _Torre-del-Greco_? This has not as yet
been demonstrated: one thing, however, is certain, he lost this jewel in
his contest with Stenio Salvatori, who, having obtained possession of
it, placed it in the hands of his Excellency the Duke of Palma, as a
positive and incontestable evidence of the criminality of the Count.
This mute witness is here," said the Grand Judge, who as he spoke
exhibited a sparkling brilliant to the audience.

The judges took the emerald, and silently looked at it. When the Grand
Judge first spoke of the emerald, the Count was satisfied that he was
lost, and drops of icy sweat coursed down his cheeks. But yet his
courage and energy, even when he saw the emerald in the hands of the
judges, did not desert him, and he struggled against the new danger
which had beset him in so strange and unexpected a manner.

"This ring," said he, pointing to the emerald, "is a fortune in itself,
and may have been stolen from me."

The Grand Judge arose to reply, when an old man advanced toward the
tribunal, pushing aside all who opposed his passage, and in spite of the
resistance of the ushers and guards, reached the foot of the balcony on
which the judges sat. With tears and an excited voice he said:

"The ring has not been stolen! It has not left our jewel closet, and I
have brought it to the judges."

"Do not believe him," said the Salvatori, "he deceives you. This is the
Count's ring."

"Silence, impostors!" said the old man. "I learned yesterday, from
public rumor, the story of our ring being lost by Count Monte-Leone, the
intendant of whom I am, and I have brought the precious jewel hither to
confound our accusers."

Nothing could equal the effect produced by Giacomo's words. The court
itself participated in the surprise, and the Grand Judge, making the old
servant approach, took the jewel from his hand.

"Two rings!" said he, amazed; "two similar emeralds! Signori," said he,
speaking to the court, "this event again changes the face of this trial.
One of these jewels is evidently a copy of the other, such as the hand
of a great artist alone can produce. There was, however, never but one
Benvenuto in the world, and it will be easy to distinguish his work."

The words of the Grand Judge increased the agitation of the crowd. The
Count, whom his friends thought saved, lost by the discovery of the
emerald, and again restored by the testimony of Giacomo, became every
moment an object of new interest and more intense curiosity. If we must
use the word, pity for him increased. Every step taken seemed to bring
his head nearer to or to remove it farther from the executioner. Just
here this event interrupted the session of the court.

The judges retired to their room, the Salvatori to the witness chamber,
until the experts, whom the president had sent for, should come. The
interval between the acts, however, was filled by a touching episode
which deeply excited the audience. Giacomo, taking advantage of the
departure of the judges, hurried to his master, fell at his knees, and
covered his hand with kisses.

"Go back!--go back!" said the chief of the officers to Giacomo. "No one
is permitted to communicate with the accused."

Adding action to words, they seized the old man by the arm, and bore him
from his master.

Giacomo however found time to whisper to the Count, "You are saved."

The crowd was so touched by the affection of the old servant, that it
was near taking sides with him against the officers who had interfered.

The veiled lady stood motionless as a statue and watched the scene. So
abstracted and calm did she appear, that it might have been supposed her
eyes looked on while her mind was far away. Her eyes, animated by a
thousand sentiments, glittered beneath her veil. The young man to whom
she had made signals did not lose sight of her, and his whole soul
seemed enchained to the life presence and breath of this woman.

The experts came; the court resumed its sessions; the Salvatori entered.
The experts were three of the most skilful lapidaries of Naples, where
the art of engraving on stone had reached the greatest excellence. They
approached the bar. The president said:

"On your soul and conscience, and by Christ your Saviour, you swear to
tell the truth."

"We swear."

"Tell us which of these two rings is the work of Benvenuto Cellini."

"On my soul and conscience, and by Christ," said the first expert, after
a careful scrutiny, "this is the work of Benvenuto Cellini."

"And you, sir?" said the judge to the second.

"On my soul and conscience, and by Christ, this is the work of the great
master."

"And this ring," said the judge, "what is it?"

"This is but a copy, compared with the original, of trifling value and
fineness."

"Very well, Signori," said the Grand Judge, rising, and with a ring in
each hand. "This ring given me yesterday by the Duke of Palma, and by
him received from the Salvatori, is an imitation of Benvenuto Cellini's
great work. The real ring of the Monte-Leoni, the chef-d'oeuvre, an
heir-loom of the family, has just been brought us by an old servant of
that noble house."

The effect of the words of the Grand Judge was immense. He was silent,
and with the other judges consulted about the decree. A few moments
after, with his hand on his heart, the Grand Judge said:

"After having carefully sought for traces of the double crime of which
Count Monte-Leone is accused--after having heard the public accuser, the
proof is found most incomplete. It appears that all the facts are based
on the resemblance of Count Monte-Leone with some unknown person, in
relation to whose identity the Salvatori were mistaken. The court
declares the Count Monte-Leone innocent of the double crime imputed to
him, and orders that he be immediately released. As for you, the
brothers Salvatori," continued the Grand Judge, sternly, "your hatred to
the Count Monte-Leone is well known. We interpret your conduct in the
most favorable light, attributing it to mistake, and not to cowardly
revenge. If the counterfeit ring was fabricated at your instance, to
corroborate the accusations made against the Count, and justice should
become possessed of proofs of it, you would have to fear its rigor and
punishment. If there be severe laws for calumniators, those for
assassins are yet more stern. You would in that case have murdered Count
Monte-Leone."

The Salvatori were amazed. The rage of Stenio was irrepressible.

"Beautiful justice! Do we serve the king so faithfully for his justices
to treat us thus! I repeat again," said he with an accent so terrible
that it reached even Monte-Leone's heart, "the Count was at Pompeia. He
stabbed me. He is an assassin!"

He then left as he had entered, walking painfully, and leaning on the
arms of his brothers. When Stenio Salvatori, spoke thus, the Count had
withdrawn, and the noise in the hall prevented the judges from hearing
him. The tumult was as great as possible in the hall, which hitherto had
been so calm and silent. The public seemed to move, shout, and become
clamorous, as a recompense for the constraint which had been so long
enforced.

The beautiful woman in the recess, who had been so long impassible and
motionless, seemed to sympathize with the excited crowd, and lifting up
her noble form to its full height, as the Grand Judge spoke the last
words, she threw aside her veil, and lifted to heaven her eyes, full of
gratitude and joy. She then looked toward Monte-Leone with an expression
of the most passionate love, and immediately letting fall her veil, as
if to enwrap her sentiments in night, left the room. Quickly, however,
as she left, the first of the young men, whose conversation was detailed
in the early part of this chapter, had time to see her, and said to his
companion:

"Signor, indeed you are fortunate. The lady of whom we spoke not long
since, and whom you know so well, is the very spirit of beauty
incarnate, she is the most magnificent woman in the world. It is _La
Felina_."

"You think so?" said Taddeo Rovero, who had become yet paler when the
singer threw up her veil.

"Yes, I think so," said the first speaker, with a smile, "and I am also
sure you know so." He left.

In the mean time the friends and partisans of the Count surrounded him.
Among them were the chief nobles of Naples, for, as has been said
before, the cause of one of the order became that of all, and
Monte-Leone's success was a triumph to all the class. Amid a proud and
gallant escort, the Count left the _Castello Capuano_. Scarcely had he
left the door when enthusiastic cries were heard on all sides. The
people, who had been in the street since dawn, waited impatiently for
the result of the trial, for Monte-Leone was immensely popular. The
crowd from time to time heard the various incidents of the trial from
persons who had contrived to get into the hall. The rumors in favor of
Monte-Leone were received with shouts of joy, and those injurious to him
with cries and curses. The sentence was hailed as a priceless boon by
the crowd around the _Chateau Capuano_. The people are everywhere, it is
said, the same. The people of every country are doubtless impressionable
and easily excited. A kind of electricity pervades large bodies, and the
subtle fluid certainly is found everywhere. But among people of the
south, under the burning sun which scorches their brains, the Italians,
and especially the Neapolitans, in their public assemblies, attain a
degree of fanaticism and exaltation, of which the people of the north
have no idea. The eruptions of their own Vesuvius are the only things to
which the passions of their populace can be compared.

When the Count and his escort left the court-room, the people literally
rushed upon them. A thousand hands, not half so seemly as those which
already had clasped his own, were extended towards his. These strong and
sturdy hands seemed to promise him protection in case it should be
needful for him at any future time to seek it.

From this crowd of men with sternly marked features, shaded by hats of
gray felt, there fell on the Count's ear such words as, "_Two hands
pledged in friendship are but one!_" Venta of Castel la Marc.

"_A dagger for ten enemies!_" Venta of Capua.

"_Our right, silence, or death!_" Venta of Annunziata.

"_Eyes to watch, and a hand to strike!_" Venta of Pompeia.

To which the Count replied, by the word _Speranza_, accompanied by a
clasp of the hand and a significative glance.

"My friends," said a penetrating voice, "for heaven's sake give him air.
The poor man has need of air. We know you love him. He is the friend of
the people of Naples, all know, but he should not on that account be
stifled. By the miracle of San Januarius restore him to me, restore my
master to me, you may have him soon, but now he needs the care of old
Giacomo."

Giacomo took the Count's arm, and sought to remove him from the crowd
which surrounded him. The Count paid no attention to the old intendant.
For a time, he strove almost to cast him off, and stood looking
anxiously at a person he saw in the crowd, and whom like a swimmer he
sought to approach. This person was his friend Taddeo Rovero. The young
man sought in vain to approach the Count. The tide of living beings
seconded their wishes, and at last they rushed into the arms of each
other, forgetting, while thus enlocked, the world, their secret
thoughts, the past, and the present, and mingling together the tears of
friendship.

"Air, day, sunlight, motion, life, life itself I have found. They woke
up our existence; a dungeon is death--"

Again he threw himself into the arms of Taddeo, with an expression of
tenderness and happiness.

"Adieu, my friends," said he to the crowd. "Count Monte-Leone will never
forget these proofs of your sympathy, and you may rely on him, his arm,
his heart, his fortune, as he does on you."

Taking Taddeo by the arm, he hurried into a neighboring street,
accompanied at a little distance by Giacomo, who, as he panted after
them, cried out, "Too fast, too fast--what the devil can I do? My legs
are worn out--remember I came from the villa to _la Vicaria_ on foot to
bring your ring to the Grand Judge."

"My ring!"--then looking anxiously at Giacomo, and in a low tone, he
said:

"Are you sure it is my ring?"

"Yes, I swear to it by the blood of Christ and by your life."

"My friends," said the Count, "we have strange secrets to talk of when
we are in a safe place. And there the ear and lip must be close
together, so that not even the walls of the room in which we are shall
be struck by the sound of our accents. Wait for me at the Etruscan
villa. In two hours I will rejoin you."

"Why not go thither now?" asked Taddeo.

"Two hours hence I will tell you."

Without speaking a word, and without listening to Rovero's reply,
Monte-Leone put on a cloak the old intendant had brought and passed into
a labyrinth of passages, with the intricate windings of which his
political associations had made him familiar. An hour after the Count so
brusquely left Taddeo and the old intendant, he paused at the door of
one of the most ancient churches in Naples, an old pile, built in 1284,
and called _San Domenico Maggiore_. It is of vast size, built in the
Gothic style, and has a magnificent picture of Titiano, the Flagellation
of Caravaggio, and in the sacristy a glory by Solimené. But not to
contemplate them had Monte-Leone come to the church. A deeply-rooted
sentiment forced him, for a few moments, to pause beneath the old
portico before he entered the sanctuary.

Nothing is more touching, more poetical, and more mysterious, than the
old Christian temples, which like giants of stone have braved the
ravages of time and the hands of men. Generations, as they pass away,
worship beneath their arches, and the prayers of many centuries have
echoed in their walls, which are yet open to coming time.

The deep notes of the organ attracted the attention of Monte-Leone and
increased his excitement. He crossed the church, went down the nave, and
approached a lateral chapel where a taper was burning with a flickering
light. The Count entered the chapel. Those who had seen him amid the
brilliant society of Naples, or amid the awful judicial ordeal to which
he had just been subjected, and which he had undergone with such
coolness and audacity, would not have recognized the humble and
trembling man, who knelt before a sarcophagus of black marble surmounted
with the coronet and arms of the Monte-Leoni. The Count knelt at the
tomb of his father--his father, who was his religion and his faith. He
would have thought himself unworthy of his protection had he not gone
immediately on his release to worship those consecrated relics.
Prostrate at the monument he prayed with fervor. All the recent events
of his life occurred to him. And in the kind of hallucination caused by
prolonged meditation, awake as he was, he entered the realm of dreams.
He seemed to see two genii seeking, the one to drag him towards heaven
and the other towards the abyss. The genii were two females. They
recalled the features of two charming and beautiful women, whom he
remembered. One had the gentle and pale expression of Aminta; the other,
the more masculine and stately air of La Felina. The one which led him
heavenward was Aminta. The sound of the organ, the mysterious light
which pervaded the chapel, the religious effect of the whole scene,
exaggerated the excitement of the Count, and contributed to add to his
nervousness. Two mild melancholy voices, like those of angels praying
for the guilty, mingled with the organ's notes, and Monte-Leone fancied
that he heard in the distance the voices of departed souls. The blood
of Monte-Leone became chilled, for at that moment he asked his father to
reveal to him the future, and guide him in his perilous path. The song
of the dead seemed to reply to him. The Count, like other energetic and
brave men, like Cæsar and Napoleon, was very superstitious. We have seen
him brave death without trembling, though it came in the most terrible
form. He who had struggled against the waves of the sea, and confronted
the Grand Judge of Naples, grew pale when he heard the _de profundis_
chanted in an obscure church and by the side of a tomb. By a strange
fatality, nothing seemed wanting which could increase the sadness of
Monte-Leone. Just as he was about to leave the church the solitary light
was extinguished. The young man fancied this accident a declaration of
the will of God. Terror-stricken, he left the church, and did not regain
his consciousness until he stood in the portico of the old temple. In a
few moments he shook off his idle apprehensions, but the sombre scene
perpetually reacted upon him, as we shall see hereafter. It left a deep
trace upon his mind, and materially influenced his subsequent life.

Two hours after he left the church, the Count rode on the horse of one
of his friends to the Etruscan villa, which, as we have said, was on the
road to Castel la Marc. Giacomo was waiting at the door for him, and
taking a resinous torch, lighted his master to the strange room which we
described in the first part of this book. Things remained precisely as
they were on the night of the ball of San Carlo. The lights were
burning, the hangings displayed their richness, the Greek and Roman
couches were arrayed, and a magnificent supper was prepared. There were,
however, but two covers, one for the Count and the other for young
Rovero. By the side of the Count's plate lay the emerald of Benvenuto,
of which he had so miraculously regained possession.

"It is the emerald," said the Count. "Who brought it hither?"

"An officer of the court, from Signor San Angelo, the Grand Judge of
Naples."

Monte-Leone looked at it again, and said, "It is one of God's own
miracles."

"Not so," said Rovero, "it is one of Love's own;" and he gave the Count
the letter of La Felina.


VI.--DRAMA.

While the trial of Count Monte-Leone thus excited the whole city of
Naples, while Rovero under the influence of a thousand emotions heard
all its details, let us look back to what is going on in the villa at
Sorrento. The reader will excuse us, for thus transporting him from
place to place, for attempting to interest him in behalf of various
personages, joining or deserting them, as the plan of our story
requires.

The novelist is like the weaver, who keeps in his hand the various
threads of his woof, brings them together and apart, until the time when
his finished work rewards his toil. Like the weaver, we shall unite, day
by day, our threads, and gather them finally into one knot.

We left the Marquis of Maulear about to return to the villa, in search
of assistance for Scorpione, who had fainted. When people came to the
hut, the mute had regained his senses. He knelt before Aminta, who spoke
to him with vivacity. What she said we cannot tell, for when she was
interrupted she ceased. The eyes of Tonio were red, and he seemed to
have been shedding tears. The invalid was taken to the villa, and so the
matter seemed to end.

Maulear was not much engrossed by the suspicions he had previously
conceived of Tonio, because love for Aminta, supposing that such he
bore, did not seem formidable. His apprehensions found something far
more serious. Was the heart of her he loved unoccupied? The strange
episode of the lost veil had not yet been explained. Yielding to the
influence of passion, he had, when he saw the young girl, forgotten
every thing, and the sudden appearance of Scorpione, by rendering it
impossible for Aminta to answer him, complicated the matter yet more.

Just as Signora Rovero went towards the hut, where the Marquis had left
the mute in a state of insensibility, Aminta went to the villa,
preceding those who bore Tonio.

"I will not again trust you with our patient," said Aminta's mother. "He
always returns worse than when he goes."

"Right mother," said Aminta, "henceforth I will not take charge of
Tonio, for his new sufferings have, I am sure, taken away the little
sense he previously had."

Tonio, who heard what Aminta said, looked down and returned to his room,
glooming angrily at the Marquis as he passed.

"You are already one of us, Marquis, on account of the indiscreet
request of my son. But neither my daughter nor myself will complain of
the pleasure he has thus procured us. Now," continued she, "permit me to
show you the most precious treasure in our house."

Leading Maulear to a little boudoir, next her chamber, she drew aside a
curtain of black velvet, and exposed a noble portrait of a man the size
of life. "That is the portrait of my husband, of Aminta's father; of a
loyal and respected man, of an honest and influential minister."

Maulear was amazed at the appearance of the picture. The more he
examined it the more the features seemed to recall some one he had seen
before. His memory, however, was at fault, and left him in uncertainty.

"Strange," said he, to the widow of the minister. "It seems that I have
seen these features before. How can it be, though, that I ever met
Signor Rovero?"

"My husband has been dead two years, and was never in France."

"And I have been but six months in Italy. It is then impossible that we
ever met. The matter is surprising."

They returned to the drawing-room, where Maulear found the White Rose of
Sorrento either drawing or pretending to draw, as a means of concealing
her annoyance.

"Excuse me," said Signora Rovero to Maulear, "if I leave you for a time
with my daughter. I have some domestic matters to attend to, for
Aminta's birthday will in a few days be here, when we purpose a ball."

"A ball?" said Maulear.

"A ball; and Aminta and some of her young companions will compose the
orchestra. You, Marquis, will not, however, be forced to be present, for
my son had no intention to annoy you thus. It is enough for you to
protect us, but to dance would be too great a requisition."

"Is it, then, the Signorina's birthday?"

"Yes, or rather it is the birthday of my happiness. Thus it ever is with
mothers."

"It will then be mine also," said Maulear. "I am sorry her brother
cannot be present."

"Taddeo is fond of us," said the young girl in a low tone, with her eyes
downcast on her embroidery. "But he does not love us alone." Aminta
sighed with jealousy--and Signora Rovero left the room. Maulear drew
near Aminta.

"Signorina," said he, with emotion, "just now I opened my heart to you.
Will you punish me by silence, and not deign to tell me what I may fear
or hope?"

"Signor," said Aminta, "perhaps I am wrong to reply to you. Perhaps I
should ask you, in the first place, to speak to my mother of the
sentiments you entertain for me. But I will be frank with you. Our first
interview, my gratitude, my sincere esteem, control me. Besides, as you
have been informed, my education has not been that usual to my sex. I
will therefore describe to you my girlish ideas such us they are, such
as my early education inspired me with, such as reflection has
developed."

Maulear looked at her with great wonder. Where he had expected surprise
and embarrassment, he found calmness and reason. Still, the voice in
which these serious words were pronounced had, however, so great an
attraction and such melody, that the Marquis began again to hope.

"Different from most young persons of my age," said Aminta, "I am happy
in my present condition, contented with my mother and brother. I have
often inquired what qualities I would expect in my husband, and," said
she with a smile, "I have found them. Perhaps those qualities are
defects; for they must be my own I assure you. I have been so petted
that I can conceive of no happiness except in finding myself, with my
imperfections, ideas, and sentiments, mirrored in another."

"Then," said the Marquis, "no one can expect to please you, for who can
be like you, and be as precious as you are?"

"That may be an easier thing than you fancy," said Aminta, gayly.
"Hitherto I have, however, been unfortunate, for my suitors have been so
superior that their merit terrified me. I was afraid of the talents of
one, and of the mind of another. Besides, Marquis, let me tell you, that
I am a little foolish and exaggerated. I think there are two existences
in me, the one awake, and the other asleep. In the latter, there pass
such fancies before me, that I am often frightened at them. I sometimes
see the drama of life unrolled before me.--I am married and
unhappy--strange scenes take place around me, and he to whom my fate has
been confided, makes it sad and dreary as possible;--I am humiliated,
outraged, and betrayed, and am, too, so much afraid of marriage, that I
think I would refuse the hand of an angel were it offered me."

As she spoke, Aminta's features became sad, and her eyes glittered with
a sombre fire, like that of the Pythoness announcing the Delphic oracle.
Maulear was silent, and for a few moments said nothing. In the mean time
the young girl regained her presence of mind, and, ashamed of her
enthusiasm, sought to apologize for it.

"You will," said she, "laugh at my ridiculous whims. What, however, do
you expect of a poor child, raised like myself in solitude,
uncultivated, and from character and taste a dreamer? Such a creature
must indeed be strange to a Parisian. Perhaps, though you do not wish me
thus to speak to you, such a creature has made a deeper impression on
your imagination than on your heart. The terrible circumstances of our
meeting also, the romantic origin of our acquaintance, may lead you into
error in relation to sentiments which perhaps would be impotent, both
against the enticements of the world and against absence."

"Ah!" said Maulear, with chagrin, "if those sentiments were shared--if
he who experiences them were not indifferent to you, you, Signorina,
would have confidence in them."

"I desire nothing better than to be satisfied that such is the case,"
said she, with charming naïvete. "Time, however, is required for that,
and we have been acquainted only for a few days."

"Are years then required for us to love?" said Maulear. "For that a
word, a look, suffice."

"In France, perhaps," replied Aminta; "in your brilliant saloons, with
your gay countrymen, where all is so lively and spontaneous. Here
though, in a modest villa, hidden by the orange trees of Sorrento, a
young girl's heart is not disposed of so easily."

"Yes!" said Maulear, "our hearts are lost when we behold you."

"Marquis," said Aminta, "I do not know what the future reserves for us;
I however repeat that I will always be sincere with you. Do not to-day
ask me what I cannot give."

"What can you give me?" said Maulear in despair.

"Hope," said Aminta, with a blush, "that is all--"

Signora Rovero entered. Rejection and obstacles could not but surprise a
man used as Maulear was to rapid triumphs and easy conquests. He was now
seriously in love, and passion had become a link of his life. Suffering
as he was from the uncertainty to which the reply of Aminta subjected
him, he could not but admire her prudence and modest reserve, which, as
it were, placed her heart beneath the ægis of reason. Besides, if, as
Madame de Stael says, the last idea of a woman is always centred in the
last word she utters, Aminta, by what she had last said, had delighted
Maulear. She had said "_Hope_."

During the next day and the next day after, Signora Rovero and her
daughter increased their attention to Maulear, lest he should become
weary of their solitude. This solitude to Maulear was elysium. A
pleasant intimacy grew up between Aminta and the Marquis, every hour
revealing a new grace to him, as he fancied the hour drew near when the
ice of her heart would melt, and she would find an image of her
sentiments in him. One circumstance, however, troubled Maulear, and
aroused his jealousy. Towards the end of the second day, he sat in the
saloon, leaning on his elbow, and looking with admiration through one of
the windows at the purple and magnificent Italian sun. Aminta did not
know that Maulear was in the saloon, and when she came in did not see
him. She had a letter in her hand. "_From him_," said she, as she
hastily unsealed it; "what does he say? _Dear_ Gaetano, he has not
forgotten me."

At the name Gaetano, Maulear turned around quickly, and under the
influence of much emotion, stood before her. She seemed a little
surprised and disconcerted, and hid the letter in her bosom. The words
died away on the Marquis's lips, and he asked no question. His original
distrust returned, and he resolved to watch. On that evening Maulear was
less gay and less entertaining than he had been on the previous one. He
observed that Aminta too was thoughtful. She has been unable, said he,
to read her letter, and that is the cause of her uneasiness. For a few
moments the young girl left the room, in which her mother and Maulear
were. She is reading the mysterious letter, said he to himself. Just
then it chanced that Signora Rovero spoke of Gaetano Brignoli, to whom
she paid the greatest compliments. Aminta returned with an expression
altogether changed. Her face was lit up with joy, as expressive and
animated as the tedium and thoughtfulness which marked it had been
profound. Maulear did not sympathize with her gayety, and she became
every moment more moody and sombre. Under the pretext of a headache, he
retired to his room. New thoughts assailed him. He looked out on the
terrace where he had seen the unknown form. He took the lace veil and
examined it as if he now saw it for the first time. Men are often cruel
to themselves, and find a secret pleasure in turning the knife in the
wound, and making their suffering severe as possible. To tell the truth,
when he thought of his conversation with Aminta, and analyzed its
phases, he was led by its elevation and frankness to blush at his
suspicions. After all, said he, the letter she received from Gaetano is
perhaps only a child's-play between them. It is but a secret between
brother and sister, such as often exists, and to which it is foolish to
attach any importance. Amid this excitement, sleep overtook him,
harassed as he was between hope and fear, good and evil.

The next day was Aminta's birthday. All in Signora Rovero's villa were
joyous. The gates of the garden were opened, and all were gathering
flowers. The young girls of Sorrento soon came to the villa, and offered
a magnificent chaplet of roses to _the White Rose_ of Sorrento. The
Marquis of Maulear added his congratulations to the others offered to
Aminta. An air of embarrassment, however, was evident in every remark,
and he could not forget the letter. Suddenly he saw Tonio. He was
approaching Aminta, who, when she saw him, hurried to meet him.

"Tonio, poor Tonio," said she, "my faithful companion and generous
preserver, have you also come to congratulate me on my birthday? You
have not forgotten me, but are come to say how you love me. You know how
grateful I am."

Two tears fell on the mute's brow which was humbled before her. Tonio
looked up, and his eyes expressed the languishing tenderness of which we
have hitherto spoken. One might read, in his glance, the effect of that
magnetic fascination exercised over him by Aminta. He seized her hand,
and kissed it so passionately that Aminta withdrew it at once. She
however veiled her action with a smile.

"Since," said she, "you are so well, my mother and I wish you henceforth
to be at liberty, and that you should have no domestic duty. You shall
be our chasseur, and supply us with game--for that is the only thing in
which you take pleasure."

A feeling of pride was legible on Tonio's features. He took Aminta's
hand again, and, as a token of gratitude, placed it on his heart. He
then looked proudly around on the peasants and servants, and finally
mingled with the crowd.

The day advanced, and the guests of Signora Rovero came to the villa.
Count Brignoli and Gaetano were not the last. Maulear could not restrain
an expression of mortification when he saw the latter, who, however,
looking on him as a family friend, treated him most cordially and
affectionately. Maulear at dinner sat next to the Signora Rovero. He
would have preferred the one usually given him, next to Aminta. He had,
however, one consolation. Aminta, seated at a distance from Gaetano,
could not maintain one of those private conversations with young
Brignoli, which made him so unhappy. Often during the meal he fancied
that he saw certain signals of intelligence between the young people,
who had not yet been able to speak together alone. What however had been
a doubt became a certainty when he saw Gaetano point to the garden, and
Aminta by a gesture of assent reply to him. He had no doubt there was an
understanding between Gaetano and Aminta. He knew their rendezvous. From
that time Maulear did not lose sight of them, and he suffered every
torture jealousy can inflict. The shock he received at the discovery was
so great, that he was unable even to reflect. He did not become offended
at the perfidy of Aminta, but was rather distressed by suffering, which
was as great in the physical point of view as it was in the moral.
Reason only returned with reflection.

About nine o'clock the ball commenced. At the instance of Aminta, two of
her young friends went to the piano, and Aminta, taking advantage of
certain orders she had to give, left the room. Gaetano had already gone.
The Marquis followed her. For a second he heard the light step, which
passed down the gallery, pause. The door of the vestibule however was
opened, and pointed out the route she had taken. He was afraid by
opening the door of betraying his presence, and therefore went into the
garden by another direction, and making a short detour, soon was able to
follow the direction he had seen Aminta take. Passing beneath a group of
trees which was near the house, Maulear, with an attentive ear, followed
stealthily as a deer the steps of the couple he tracked--though he could
not see. A demon had taken possession of Maulear's heart, and enkindled
it with rage. Certainly, within a few paces from him he heard a voice.
It was Aminta's. Another voice answered. It was Gaetano's.

"How I love you, dear Gaetano, for what you have told me."

"And how happy I am in your pleasure--"

"All then is understood?" said Aminta.

"All."

"We understand each other, and you will hide nothing from me?"

"Nothing."

"Your letter," said the young girl, "made me mad with joy."

"Dear Aminta--"

"Unless, indeed, my mother find out our secrets--"

"Fear not--the secret will be kept--tonight--"

"Yes, yes, to-night, certainly--"

"Rely then on me," said Gaetano.

Maulear heard a kiss. It struck on his ear like a dagger, and gave him
such pain, that a sigh burst from his lips.

"Some one overheard us," said Gaetano, "Go, go."

Aminta immediately disappeared. Before Gaetano had time to distinguish
Maulear in his place of concealment, the latter, become aware of the
ridiculous part he was playing, hid himself in the thicket, and with his
hair dishevelled, his features distorted, and his heart distressed,
hurried to the house and shut himself up in his own room. His despair
was indeed great; he fancied he had been laughed at by a coquette, while
he thought he had been the suitor of an innocent girl. Why did she not
tell me the truth yesterday, when I asked her? said he. Why did she not
avow her love of young Brignoli? She dared not confide it to me; because
she makes a mystery of it to her own mother. Why did she encourage me?
Why did she speak of hope? What unworthy plan, what improper calculation
influenced her? What part did she intend me to play in this drama of
treason?

The old idea of Maulear--that sad fancy that women are only to be
despised, and which he had conceived from women only worthy of that
estimate--took possession of him. He could not believe he was a victim
of mistake, or that the scene he had witnessed had any other motives
than guilty ones. Of what else could Gaetano and Aminta speak, than
love? An hour afterwards, Maulear returned to the drawing-room. His
toilette was irreproachable, and his face, though pale, was calm. One
would never have recognized in this elegant gentleman, so calm and
dignified, the person who, an hour before, had heard with such
excitement the conversation we have just described. Maulear had
reflected, and as soon as his first anger had passed away, had nearly
conceived an aversion for the young girl, whom he had almost adored the
evening before. Revenge, too, would be sweet. To accomplish this,
calmness, coldness, deliberation were required.

The excitement of the evening prevented the absence of the actors in
this scene from having been remarked; besides it was a ball for young
people, at which men of Maulear's age even were not expected to dance.
Gaetano, who was only eighteen, was the true Coryphoeus. Maulear
approached Aminta in the interval between two waltzes.

"You have a pleasant anniversary of your birthday," said he.

"A delicious one, Signor, I was never so happy."

At any other time the answer of Aminta would have delighted Maulear; now
he fancied she alluded to her love for Gaetano. This idea increased his
anger. Midnight came, and those of the guests who lived at a distance
remained at the villa: the others left. All soon became calm, and the
house quiet. One man alone watched, for his bosom was irritated by the
most exciting thoughts; by anger, despair, and jealousy. He was awake,
and wept bitterly over a passion, which it is true had existed but a few
days, but yet had taken deep root in his heart.

He was awake, and was indignant at the affront put on him. He was awake,
for he had sworn to be avenged. Thinking that he understood the meaning
of Gaetano's words, he did not doubt but that they had made a
_rendezvous_ for that very night. This rendezvous was not the first, for
Maulear knew the secret of the veil he had found on the terrace on the
first night he had passed at Sorrento. The veil belonged to Aminta, and
the flitting shadow he had seen was the lady's self. Her accomplice was
Gaetano. How could he doubt? Interrupted in their first intercourse by
Maulear, they expected on another occasion to be more fortunate. No,
cried he, that shall not be, they will find me between themselves and
happiness. I wish them to at least learn, that I am not their dupe. I
will cover her snowy brow with a blush, and avenge myself by disclosing
to her my knowledge of her secret. But how could he surprise them? Would
they dare to cross the terrace again? Perhaps, though, they can meet
nowhere else. If so, they will brave every thing, and in that case I
must not alarm them. The Marquis took the taper, which lighted his
chamber, and placed it in a back room, which opened on the interior
corridor of the house. Carefully opening the terrace window, he took
refuge behind a group of trees, exactly opposite his room. The clock of
Sorrento struck three--the night was clear and brilliant, and the sky
was strewn with diamond stars--the air was soft and warm. It was a night
for love and lovers.

To Maulear it was a night of agony and torture. All around was so calm
and tranquil that the slightest noise fell on his ear,--he soon heard a
door open. Maulear fixed his eyes on the point of the terrace from which
the sound proceeded--his whole existence seemed concentrated in the
single sense of sight. Something cloudlike, vapory and undefinable,
which seemed too ethereal for earth, gradually appeared at the extreme
end of the terrace. This mysterious figure seemed to glide, rather than
walk, towards the place where Maulear was concealed; it approached him
slowly, without motion or sound to betray its steps. Wrapped in long
white drapery, like a mantle of vapor, resembling those creations of
Ossian which formed often the clouds of evening; in short, one might
have believed that she had risen from the earth, and had come to
dissolve under the first rays of the sun, or of the moon. The phantom
disappeared for a few seconds, amidst a dark grove, which projected on
the terrace the lofty trunks of large forest trees--but when she emerged
from their shade, and re-entered that portion of the terrace light and
brilliant, she approached so near to Maulear, that he was enabled to
examine and recognize her.

This graceful and vapory phantom was Aminta. Maulear expected it, but he
felt not the less a distressing grief, in thus recognizing her. It
seemed to him that the last plank of the wreck had broken under his
feet, and that he had fallen into the depth of despair. But soon anger
smothered the last cry of a love now no longer felt--and Maulear rushed
in pursuit of Aminta, when he saw her, to his great surprise, stop
before the window of his apartment. Then reaching out her hand she
pushed open the door and entered the room, which was partially lighted
by the moon.

"What is she doing," said Maulear, with amazement, "what business has
she in this room?"

An idea struck him. My presentiment did not deceive me. The first time
she appeared on this terrace, she was coming to this room which was once
occupied by her lover Gaetano. Crossing the terrace rapidly, he glided
near the window with rage in his heart and his mind excited--for a
guilty project, which he would had he been cooler have repelled,
attacked him, with all its seductions. Without longer hesitation he
returned to his room, shut the terrace door, and looked in the dark for
Aminta. Aminta, however, sat at a window which the moon did not light,
and which opened on the court of the villa. She seemed to listen
anxiously to some distant noise, perceptible only to her ear. So great
was her preoccupation that she paid no attention to Maulear's entrance.
Surprised at this statue-like immobility, Maulear approached the young
girl.

"Silence, Marietta," said she, without looking around, "I promised to
see him go. He has kept his word, for I yet hear, in the distance, the
gallop of his horse. Bring the light and place it in the window. He
knows my room, in which we played so often when we were children, and
far down the road he will see it burning. My remembering him will please
him. He will see that, if he watches over me, I pray for him to bring me
good news to-morrow--Gaetano is so kind."

"Gaetano!" said Maulear, in spite of himself.

"Yes--yes, Gaetano," continued the young girl, "will watch over Taddeo
during this unfortunate trial, for I know all. But say nothing,
Marietta. Poor Taddeo--Gaetano has told me. His letter, yesterday,
comforted me. Taddeo is no longer compromised. Gaetano assured me. But
this evening in the park he confirmed all, and has promised to go to
Naples to be present at the trial."

Aminta at once became silent, and sitting in an arm-chair near the
window, appeared to sleep soundly, for the noise of her breathing was
alone heard. Maulear, erect, motionless, with an icy brow, neither saw
nor heard. A thousand confused ideas filled his mind. A revelation,
strange and unforeseen, put an end to his suffering and dissipated his
fears, by exhibiting the incomprehensible mystery under which he had
been. Aminta was sleeping. Her sleep was of that somnambulist character,
so common in this country of moral and physical excitement. While
dreaming, Aminta had told and taught him every thing. She was innocent
and pure. Yet in doubt, hesitating as the victim does, who when he
marches to punishment receives a pardon, wishing to convince himself of
the reality of all that passed, he went into the next room and came out
with the light. Directing the rays obliquely so that they fell on the
downcast lids of Aminta, he placed the lamp at some distance from her,
and saw what till then no man had ever seen. He saw this beautiful
creature in a night _negligé_, enveloped by clouds of white drapery,
which a troubled sleep had gracefully disarranged. He saw a charming
childlike foot half out of the slipper, glistening silvery in the light.
A prey at once to the greatest agitation and repentance at having
suspected her, Maulear fell on his knees. The motion thus made or some
other circumstance aroused her.

"Where am I?" said she, looking uncertainly around her; seeing Maulear
at her feet, she continued:

"A man here--with me--in my room--"

She sought to rise, but being yet under the influence of the half sleep,
sank again on her chair.

"Be silent, Signorina!" said Maulear, in a low tone.

"You! you! Signor," said Aminta, recognizing him and drawing back with
terror. "You at my feet, at night, for all is dark around us, and the
light is burning. But where am I? this room--it is the one in which I
promised Gaetano to place the light."

Passing her hand across her brow, to collect her ideas and wipe away her
doubts, she said:

"But this is not my room. I occupy one next to my mother.... Ah, I
remember; it was mine once, but it was given to the Marquis, to you,"
said she, blushing. She arose. "And this night-dress," said she, looking
at her disordered toilette, "in your presence--Signor," added she,
clasping her hands, "by your honor, I beseech you, tell me how I came
hither."

"When you slept," said the Marquis, seeking to calm her.

"As I slept?" repeated the young girl, "as I dreamed.--Ah, I see, this
sleep, this waking sleep to which I am often liable. Ah! mother, mother,
why did you not watch me?"

Concealing her face in her hands, she began to shed tears.

"Of what, Signorina, are you afraid? You are under the protection of my
faith, honor, and love."

"Signor, I am lost if any one finds me here. Let me return," said she,
attempting to go.

Just then a horrible cry was uttered out of doors. A mingling of the
lion's roar and wolf's howl, a very jackal's yell. It echoed through the
villa, and was repeated by all the groves and dells of Sorrento. It was
uttered on the terrace. Thither Aminta and Maulear looked, and saw a
hideous spectacle. The face of Scorpione, pale, and denoting both
ill-temper and sickness, was pressed against the closed window. He moved
to and fro, now rising up and then descending, as if he sought some
means to open the window and enter the room. His eyes, rendered more
glittering by hatred, cast glances of vengeance on Aminta and Maulear.
His long wiry fingers passed rapidly across the glass, which was the
only object that separated them.

Aminta yielding to terror, caused by the sight of the monster, without
any calculation or regard of any thing except the violence of Scorpione,
rushed into Maulear's arms in search of protection and aid.

"Right, right," said Maulear, "no danger shall befall you while enfolded
in these arms." Taking her then towards the door of the corridor, he
said: "Come, come, no danger can befall you here."

Scorpione, however, perceiving what Maulear was about to do, and seeing
him going towards the door, uttered a second cry more terrible than the
first. He broke the glass, and sought to reach the clasp which made the
window fast. In the mean time, Maulear had reached the other door, and
was about to escape. He, however, heard steps hurrying from every
direction down the corridor. The cries of Scorpione had awakened all the
house, and just as the wretch tore open the window and precipitated
himself into the chamber, relations, friends and guests of the house,
who had collected on the terrace and corridor, rushed in with him.
Signora Rovero was the last to come.

"My daughter!" cried she, running towards Aminta.

The poor tearful mother, not accusing that child whom her heart told her
was innocent, without anger on her lip or reproach in her eye, sought
only to shroud Aminta's form in the garments which scarcely sufficed to
cover it, and in a calm and confiding voice listened to the explanations
of Maulear. The collection of all of these people, aroused from their
sleep and grouped in the half-lighted room, was a strange
picture;--Signora Rovero holding her daughter in her arms, Maulear with
his hand lifted to heaven and protesting that Aminta was innocent,
Scorpione with his hands blood-stained by the broken glass, his hair
disheveled, his looks haggard, and his violence restrained by the
servants, who kept the beast from rushing on the Marquis.

"Signora," said Maulear, speaking to Aminta's mother, "on my life and
honor, I declare to you that this young woman came hither without her
own consent, and led by a blind chance."

Maulear was about to continue, when Aminta recovering her energy, said
with a voice full of emotion, but in a tone instinct with a pure and
chaste heart:

"You need not defend me, Marquis; it is useless to repel suspicion from
me. A young woman of my character and name, the daughter of the Rovero,
need not justify herself from the imputation of a crime, which she would
die rather than commit."

She could say no more, for her strength was exhausted, and the power of
her mind had consumed the artificial and nervous capacity of her body,
which was greatly overtasked. Aminta was ill. With her beautiful head
resting on her mother's shoulder, she was taken to her room. All
withdrew in silence.

On the features of some, however, especially of the young men whom
Aminta had rejected, an incredulousness of such virtue might have been
read. It was hard to conceive how she came to be at midnight in the room
of the Marquis of Maulear.

END OF BOOK III.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by Stringer
& Townsend, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New-York.




From Chambers' Papers for the People.

PUBLIC LIBRARIES.


We welcome the indications, now crowding upon us from every quarter,
that the people of this country are beginning to feel the importance of
taking active measures for the establishment and increase of public
libraries. Large collections of books, open for common use, are at once
the storehouses and the manufactories of learning and science; they
bring together the accumulated fruits of the experience, the research,
and the genius of other ages and distant nations, as well as of our own
time and land; and they create the taste, as well as furnish the
indispensable aids for the prosecution of literary and scientific effort
in every department. In great cities they qualify the exclusive spirit
of commercial and professional avocations, and encourage men to steal an
hour from the pursuit of gain, and devote it to the attempt to satisfy a
natural curiosity and to cultivate an elegant taste. Connected with
literary and academical institutions, they supply the means and multiply
the objects of study, and keep alive that enthusiasm in the cause of
letters without which nothing great or permanent can ever be
accomplished. Their establishment is a boon to all classes of society,
and all may find in them both recreation and employment; for as the poet
Crabbe says:--

    "Here come the grieved, a change of thought to find;--
    The curious here to feed a craving mind;
    Here the devout their peaceful temple choose;
    And here the poet meets his favoring muse."

The origin of libraries is involved in obscurity. According to some, the
distinction of having first made collections of writings belongs to the
Hebrews; but others ascribe this honor to the Egyptians. Osymandyas, one
of the ancient kings of Egypt, who flourished some 600 years after the
deluge, is said to have been the first who founded a library. The temple
in which he kept his books was dedicated at once to religion and
literature, and placed under the especial protection of the divinities,
with whose statues it was magnificently adorned. It was still further
embellished by a well-known inscription, for ever grateful to the votary
of literature: on the entrance was engraven, "The nourishment of the
soul," or, according to Diodorus, "The medicine of the mind." It
probably contained works of very remote antiquity, and also the books
accounted sacred by the Egyptians, all of which perished amidst the
destructive ravages which accompanied and followed the Persian invasion
under Cambyses. There was also, according to Eustathius and other
ancient authors, a fine library at Memphis, deposited in the Temple of
Phtha, from which Homer has been accused of having stolen both the
"Iliad" and the "Odyssey," and afterwards published them as his own.
From this charge, however, the bard has been vindicated by various
writers, and by different arguments.

But the most superb library of Egypt, perhaps of the ancient world, was
that of Alexandria. About the year 290 B. C., Ptolemy Soter, a learned
prince, founded an academy at Alexandria called the Museum, where there
assembled a society of learned men, devoted to the study of philosophy
and the sciences, and for whose use he formed a collection of books, the
number of which has been variously computed--by Epiphanius at 54,000,
and by Josephus at 200,000. His son, Ptolemy Philadelphus, an equally
liberal and enlightened prince, collected great numbers of books in the
Temple of Serapis, in addition to those accumulated by his father, and
at his death left in it upwards of 100,000 volumes. He had agents in
every part of Asia and of Greece, commissioned to search out and
purchase the rarest and most valuable writings; and among those he
procured were the works of Aristotle, and the Septuagint version of the
Jewish Scriptures, which was undertaken at the suggestion of Demetrius
Phalerius, his first librarian. The measures adopted by this monarch for
augmenting the Alexandrian Library were pursued by his successor,
Ptolemy Euergetes, with unscrupulous vigor. He caused all books imported
into Egypt by Greeks or other foreigners to be seized and sent to the
Museum, where they were transcribed by persons employed for the purpose;
and when this was done, the copies were delivered to the proprietors,
and the originals deposited in the library. He refused to supply the
famished Athenians with corn until they presented him with the original
manuscripts of Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; and in returning
elegant copies of these autographs, he allowed the owners to retain the
fifteen talents (more than £3000 sterling) which he had pledged with
them as a princely security. As the Museum, where the library was
originally founded, stood near the royal palace, in that quarter of the
city called Brucheion, all writings were at first deposited there; but
when this building had been completely occupied with books, to the
number of 400,000, a supplemental library was erected within the
Serapeion, or Temple of Serapis, and this gradually increased till it
contained about 300,000 volumes--making in both libraries a grand total
of 700,000 volumes.

The Alexandrian Library continued in all its splendor until the first
Alexandrian war, when, during the plunder of the city, the Brucheion
portion of the collection was accidentally destroyed by fire, owing to
the recklessness in the auxiliary troops. But the library of the
Serapeion still remained, and was augmented by subsequent donations,
particularly by that of the Pergamean Library of 200,000 volumes,[19]
presented by Mark Antony to Cleopatra, so that it soon equalled the
former, both in the number and in the value of its contents. At length,
after various revolutions under the Roman Emperors, during which the
collection was sometimes plundered and sometimes reëstablished, it was
utterly destroyed by the Saracens at the command of the Caliph Omar,
when they acquired possession of Alexandria in A. D. 642. Amrou, the
victorious general, was himself inclined to spare this inestimable
treasury of ancient science and learning, but the ignorant and fanatical
caliph, to whom he applied for instructions, ordered it to be destroyed.
"If," said he, "these writings of the Greeks agree with the Koran, they
are useless, and need not be preserved; if they disagree, they are
pernicious, and ought to be destroyed." The sentence of destruction was
executed with blind obedience. The volumes of parchment or papyrus were
distributed as fuel among the five thousand baths of the city; but such
was their incredible number, that it took six months to consume them.
This act of barbarism, recorded by Abulpharagius, is considered somewhat
doubtful by Gibbon, in consequence of its not being mentioned by
Eutychius and Almacin, two of the most ancient chroniclers. It seems
inconsistent, too, with the character of Amrou, as a poet and a man of
superior intelligence; but that the Alexandrian Library was thus
destroyed is a fact generally credited, and deeply deplored by
historians. Amrou, as a man of genius and learning, may have grieved at
the order of the caliph, while, as a loyal subject and faithful soldier,
he felt bound to obey.

Among the Greeks, as among other nations, the first library consisted
merely of archives, deposited, for the sake of preservation, in the
temples of the gods. Pisistratus, the tyrant of Athens, was the first
who established a public library in his native city, which, we need not
say, always took the lead in every thing relating to science and
literature in Greece. Here he deposited the works of Homer, which he had
collected together with great difficulty and at a very considerable
expense; and the Athenians themselves were at much pains to increase the
collection. The fortunes of this library were various and singular. It
was transported to Persia by Xerxes, brought back by Seleucus Nicator,
plundered by Sylla, and at last restored by the Emperor Hadrian. On the
invasion of the Roman Empire by the Goths, Greece was ravaged; and on
the sack of Athens, they had collected all the libraries, and were upon
the point of setting fire to this funeral pile of ancient learning, when
one of their chiefs interposed, and dissuaded them from their design,
observing, at the same time, that as long as the Greeks were addicted to
the study of books, they would never apply themselves to that of arms.

The first library established at Rome was that founded by Paulus
Emilius, in the year B. C. 167. Having subdued Perses, king of
Macedonia, he enriched the city of Rome with the library of the
conquered monarch, which was subsequently augmented by Sylla. On his
return from Asia, where he had successfully terminated the first war
against Mithridates, Sylla visited Athens, whence he took with him the
library of Apellicon the Teian, in which were the works of Aristotle and
Theophrastus. Lucullus, another conqueror of Mithridates, was not less
distinguished by his taste for books. The number of volumes in his
library was immense, and they were written in the most distinct and
elegant manner. But the use which he made of his collection was still
more honorable to that princely Roman than the acquisition or possession
of it. "It was a library," says Plutarch, "whose walls, galleries, and
cabinets were open to all visitors; and the ingenious Greeks, when at
leisure, resorted to this abode of the Muses, to hold literary
conversations, in which Lucullus himself loved to join." But although
both Sylla and Lucullus liberally gave public access to their literary
treasures, still their libraries can, in strictness, be considered as
only _private_ collections. Among the various projects which Julius
Cæsar had formed for the embellishment of Rome, was that of a _public_
library, which should contain the largest possible collection of Greek
and Latin works; and he had assigned to Varro the duty of selecting and
arranging them. But this design was frustrated by the assassination of
the dictator, and the establishment of public libraries did not take
place in Rome until the reign of Augustus.

The honor of having first established these valuable institutions is
ascribed by the elder Pliny to Asinius Pollio, who erected a public
library in the Court of Liberty, on the Aventine Hill. The credit which
he gained thereby was so great, that the emperors became ambitious to
illustrate their reigns by the foundation of libraries, many of which
they called after their own names. Augustus was himself an author, and
in one of those sumptuous buildings called _Thermoe_, ornamented with
porticoes, galleries, and statues, with shady walks and refreshing
baths, he testified his love of literature by adding a magnificent
library, which he fondly called by the name of his sister Octavia. The
Palatine Library, formed by the same emperor, in the Temple of Apollo,
became the haunt of the poets, as Horace, Juvenal, and Perseus have
commemorated. There were deposited the corrected books of the Sibyls;
and from two ancient inscriptions, quoted by Lipsius and Pitiscus, it
would seem that it consisted of two distinct collections--one Greek,
and the other Latin. This library having survived the various
revolutions of the Roman Empire, existed until the time of Gregory the
Great, whose mistaken zeal led him to order all the writings of the
ancients to be destroyed. The successors of Augustus, though they did
not equally encourage learning, were not altogether neglectful of its
interests. Suetonius informs us that Tiberius founded a library in the
new Temple of Apollo; and we learn from some incidental notices that he
instituted another, called the Tiberian, in his own house, consisting
chiefly of works relating to the empire and the acts of its sovereigns.
Vespasian, following the example of his predecessors, established a
library in the Temple of Peace, which he erected after the burning of
the city by order of Nero; and even Domitian, in the commencement of his
reign, restored at great expense the libraries which had been destroyed
by the conflagration, collecting copies of books from every quarter, and
sending persons to Alexandria to transcribe volumes in that celebrated
collection, or to correct copies which had been made elsewhere. But the
most magnificent of all the libraries founded by the sovereigns of
imperial Rome was that of the Emperor Ulpius Trajanus, from whom it was
denominated the Ulpian Library. It was erected in Trajan's Forum, but
afterwards removed to the Viminal Hill, to ornament the baths of
Diocletian. In this library were deposited the elephantine books,
written upon tablets of ivory, wherein were recorded the transactions of
the emperors, the proceedings of the senate and Roman magistrates, and
the affairs of the provinces. It has been conjectured that the Ulpian
Library consisted of both Greek and Latin works; and some authors
affirm, that Trajan commanded that all the books found in the cities he
had conquered should be immediately conveyed to Rome, in order to
increase his collection. The library of Domitian having been consumed by
lightning in the reign of Commodus, was not restored until the time of
Gordian, who rebuilt the edifice, and founded a new library, adding
thereto the collection of books bequeathed to him by Quintus Serenus
Samonicus, the physician, and amounting, it is said, to no fewer than
72,000 volumes.

In addition to the imperial libraries, there were others to which the
public had access in the principal cities and colonies of the empire.
Pliny mentions one which he had founded for the use of his countrymen;
and Vopiscus informs us that the Emperor Tacitus caused the historical
writings of his illustrious namesake to be deposited in the libraries.
The number of calcined volumes which have been excavated from the ruins
of Herculaneum and Pompeii would also seem to indicate that collections
of books were common in those cities. But the irruptions of the
barbarians, who overran and desolated the Western Empire, proved more
destructive to the interests of literature than either volcanoes or
earthquakes, and soon caused the disappearance of those libraries which,
during several centuries, had been multiplied in Italy. Those of the
East, however, escaped this devastating torrent; and both Alexandria and
Constantinople preserved their literary treasures, until their capture
by the Saracens and the Turks, who finally subverted the Eastern Empire.

When Constantine the Great made Byzantium the seat of his empire, he
decorated that city with splendid edifices, and called it after his own
name. Desirous to make reparation to the Christians for the injuries
they had suffered during the reign of his predecessor, he commanded the
most diligent search to be made after those books which Diocletian had
doomed to destruction; he caused transcripts to be made of such as had
escaped the fury of the pagan persecutor; and, having collected others
from various quarters, he formed the whole into a library at
Constantinople. At the death of Constantine, however, the number of
books in the imperial library was only 6900; but it was successively
enlarged by the Emperors Julian and Theodosius the younger, who
augmented it to 120,000 volumes. Of these more than half were burned
during the seventh century, by command of the Emperor Leo III., who thus
sought to destroy all the monuments that might be quoted in proof
respecting his opposition to the worship of images. In this library was
deposited the only authentic copy of the proceedings at the Council at
Nice; and it is also said to have contained the poems of Homer written
in gold letters, together with a magnificent copy of the Four Gospels,
bound in plates of gold, enriched with precious stones, all of which
perished in the conflagration. The convulsions which distracted the
lower empire were by no means favorable to the interests of literature.
In the eleventh century learning flourished for a short time during the
reign of Constantine Porphyrogennetus; and this emperor is said to have
employed many learned Greeks in collecting books, and forming a library,
the arrangement of which he himself superintended. But the final
subversion of the Eastern Empire, and the capture of Constantinople in
1453, dispersed the literati of Greece over western Europe, and placed
the literary remains of that capital at the mercy of the conqueror. The
imperial library, however, was preserved by the express command of
Mohammed, and continued, it is said, to be kept in some apartments of
the seraglio; but whether it was sacrificed in a fit of devotion by
Amurath IV., as is commonly supposed, or whether it was suffered to fall
into decay from ignorance and neglect, it is now certain that the
library of the sultan contains only Turkish and Arabic writings, and not
a single Greek or Latin manuscript of any importance.

Such is a brief survey of the most celebrated libraries of ancient
times. Before we proceed to describe those of modern days, we shall
offer a few remarks on the extent of ancient as compared with modern
collections of books. The National Library of Paris contains upwards of
824,000 volumes, and is the largest in existence. It will be easy to
prove that it is the largest that ever has existed.

The number of writers, and consequently of books, in the bright days of
Egypt, Greece, and Rome, could not have been very great. It must, on the
contrary, have been limited by various causes, which contributed
powerfully to retard the composition of new works, and prevent the
multiplication of new editions. In fact, the histories of cities and of
nations, together with descriptions of the earth, which have become
exhaustless sources for the writers of modern times, must have been but
sterile themes at a period in which history was confined within the
limits of a few centuries, and hardly a sixth part of the world now
known had been discovered. Add to these considerations the difficulties
of communication, by which the inhabitants of different countries, and
often those of different sections of the same country, were kept apart,
together with the number of arts and sciences which were either wholly
unknown, or confined within very narrow bounds, and it will become
evident, that for every thirty or forty authors of the present day,
ancient Europe could hardly have supported one or two.

Another circumstance which may be adduced in support of our proposition,
is the fact, that an increase in the number of readers leads to a
proportionate augmentation in the number of works prepared for their
gratification. We have every reason to suppose that the reading class of
the ancient world was small in comparison with that of the modern. Even
setting aside the circumstance of the narrow limits by which the
creative literature of ancient Europe was bounded--Greece and Rome being
almost the only nations whence new productions were derived--we shall
still be constrained to acknowledge the vast distance which separates
the creative literary power of modern from that of ancient times. Our
schools, which abound with such a variety of class-books upon every
subject, bear little or no resemblance to those of Greece and Rome; nor
can the text-books prepared for our universities be brought into
comparison with the oral instructions of the old philosophers. Passing
by, also, the subjects which have been opened to our research by the
discoveries of modern science, and confining our attention to the single
branch of philosophy, in the old sense of the word, which has always
been more or less studied and disputed upon since the days of the
earliest Greeks, we shall probably find that the productions of any one
modern school outnumber those of the whole body of Greek philosophers.
How much more would the balance lean towards the moderns were we to add
all the varieties of the French, German, English, and Scottish schools,
to say nothing of those whose tenacious subtleties have procured them
the name of schoolmen! If, going a step further, we consider that
reading, which the peculiar cast of modern civilization has classed
among the luxuries of life, is one of those luxuries, in the enjoyment
of which all classes come in for a share, we shall find here also a wide
distinction between ancient times and our own. During that epoch of
splendid decay, in which the immense wealth of the Roman senators was
found insufficient to satisfy the longings for new forms of stimulant
and of pleasure, their reading, as we are told by Ammianus Marcellinus,
a contemporary historian, was confined to the writings of Marius Maximus
and Juvenal. What would they not have given for a modern novel, or to
what unlimited extent would the imagination have poured forth its
fantastic creations, had the art of printing been at hand to keep pace
with the productive powers of the mind, and the cravings of a morbid
intellect? On every score, therefore, the numerical difference between
the intellectual wealth of ancient and of modern Europe must have been
decidedly in favor of the latter.

The high price of the materials for writing, and the difficulty of
procuring them, must also have been a great obstacle to the
multiplication of books. When copies could only be procured by the slow
and expensive process of transcription, it seems impossible to suppose
that a large number could have been usually prepared of any ordinary
work. Those of our readers who are aware that only about four hundred
and fifty copies of the celebrated _Princeps_ editions were struck off,
will readily assent to the correctness of this opinion. The barbarous
system of ancient warfare must have also caused the destruction of a
great many works, raised the price of others, and rendered extremely
difficult--not to say impossible--the accumulation of a very large
number in any one place. The difficulties which the bibliomaniacs of our
own times encounter in procuring copies of the editions of the fifteenth
century, and the extravagant prices at which some of them have been
sold, are enough to show how small a part of an entire edition has been
able to pass safely through the short space of four centuries. How few
copies, then, of a work written in the time of Alexander, could have
reached the age of Augustus or of Trajan! With facts like these before
us, how can we talk of libraries of 700,000 or 800,000 volumes in the
ancient world? When we find it so difficult at the present day, in spite
of the testimony of intelligent travellers, and of all the advantages we
possess for making our estimates, to ascertain the truth with regard to
the great libraries of modern Europe, how can we give credit to the
contradictory and exaggerated statements which were promulgated in ages
of the darkest ignorance concerning ancient Rome and Alexandria? "After
an attentive examination of this subject," says that eminent
bibliographer M. Balbi, "it seems to me improbable, if I should not
rather say impossible, that any library of ancient Europe, or of the
middle ages, could have contained more than 300,000 or 400,000 volumes."

But even allowing 700,000 volumes to the largest of the Alexandrian
libraries--that, namely, of which a great part was accidentally
destroyed during the wars of Julius Cæsar--allowing the same number to
the library of Tripoli, and to that of Cairo; and admitting that the
third library of Alexandria contained 600,000 volumes, and the Ulpian of
Rome, and the Cordovan founded by Al-Hakem, an equal number--it will
still be easy to show that the whole amount of one of these was not
equal to even a fifth part of a library composed of printed books.

Every one who has had any thing to do with publication, is well aware of
the great difference between the space occupied by the written and that
filled by the printed letters. It is well known that the volumes of
ancient libraries consisted of rolls, which generally were written only
on one side. Thus the written surface of one of these volumes would
correspond to but half the written surface of one of our books, of which
every page is covered with letters. A library, then, composed of 100,000
rolls, would contain no more matter than one of our libraries composed
of 50,000 manuscripts. It is well known, also, that a work was divided
into as many rolls as the books which it contained. Thus the Natural
History of Pliny, which in the _Princeps_ edition of Venice forms but
one folio volume, would, since it is divided into thirty-seven books,
have formed thirty-seven rolls or volumes. If it were possible to
compare elements of so different a nature, we should say that these
rolls might be compared to the sheets of our newspapers, or to the
numbers of our weekly serials. What would become of the great library of
Paris were we to suppose its 824,000 volumes in folio, quarto, &c., to
be but so many numbers of five or six sheets each? Yet this is the rule
by which we ought to estimate the literary wealth of the great libraries
of ancient times; and "hence," says M. Balbi, "notwithstanding the
imposing array of authorities which can be brought against us, we must
persist in believing that no library of antiquity, or of the middle
ages, can be considered as equivalent to a modern one of 100,000 or
110,000 volumes."

No one of the libraries of the first class now in existence dates beyond
the fifteenth century. The Vatican, the origin of which has been
frequently carried back to the days of St. Hilarius in 465, cannot with
any propriety be said to have deserved the name of library before the
reign of Pope Martin V., by whose order it was removed in 1417 from
Avignon to Rome. And even then a strict attention to exactitude would
require us to withhold from it this title until the period of its final
organization by Nicholas V. in 1447. It is difficult to speak with
certainty concerning the libraries, whether public or private, supposed
to have existed previous to the fifteenth century, both on account of
the doubtful authority and indefiniteness of the passages in which they
are mentioned, and the custom which so readily obtained in those dark
ages of dignifying with the name of library every petty collection of
insignificant codices. But many libraries of the fifteenth century being
in existence, and others having been preserved long enough to make them
the subject of historical inquiry before their dissolution, it becomes
easier to fix with satisfactory accuracy the date of their foundation.
We find, accordingly, that during the fifteenth century ten libraries
were formed: the Vatican at Rome, the Laurentian at Florence, the
Imperial of Vienna and Ratisbon, the University at Turin, the
Malatestiana at Cesena, the Marciana at Venice, the Bodleian at Oxford,
the University at Copenhagen, and the City at Frankfort on the Maine.
The Palatine of Heidelberg was founded in 1390, dispersed in 1623,
restored in 1652, and augmented in 1816.

The increase of the libraries of Europe has generally been slowly
progressive, although there have been periods of sudden augmentation in
nearly all of them. They began with a small number of manuscripts;
sometimes with a few, and often without any printed works. To these
gradual accessions were made from the different sources which have
always been more or less at the command of sovereigns and nobles. In
1455 the Vatican contained 5000 manuscripts. In 1685, after an interval
of more than two centuries, the number of its manuscripts had only risen
to 16,000, and that of the printed volumes did not exceed 25,000. In
1789, but little more than a century later, the number of manuscripts
had been doubled, and the printed volumes amounted to 40,000.

Far different was the progress of the Royal, or as it is now called, the
National Library of Paris. The origin of this institution is placed in
the year 1595--the date of its removal from Fontainebleau to Paris by
order of Henry IV. In 1660 it contained only 1435 printed volumes. In
the course of the following year this number was raised to 16,746, both
printed volumes and manuscripts. During the ensuing eight years the
library was nearly doubled; and before the close of the subsequent
century, it was supposed to have been augmented by upwards of 100,000
volumes.

In most cases the chief sources of these augmentations have been
individual legacies and the purchase of private collections. Private
libraries, as our readers are doubtless well aware, began to be formed
long before public ones were thought of. Like these, they have their
origin in the taste, or caprice, or necessities of their founders, and
are of more or less value, as one or the other of these motives has
presided over their formation. But when formed by private students with
a view to bring together all that has been written upon some single
branch of science, or by amateurs skilled in the principles of
bibliography, they become more satisfactory and complete than they could
possibly be made under any other circumstances. Few of them, however,
are preserved long after the death of the original collector; but
falling into the hands of heirs possessed of different tastes and
feelings, are either sold off by auction, or restored to the shelves of
the bookseller. It was by availing themselves of such opportunities that
the directors of the public libraries of Europe made their most
important acquisitions. This is, in short, the history of the Imperial
Library of Vienna; and it can hardly be necessary to add, that it was
thus that the rarest and most valuable portions of that collection were
brought together.[20] It was thus, also, that the Vatican acquired, some
twenty years ago, by the purchase of the library of Count Cicognara, a
body of materials illustrative of the history of the arts, which leaves
comparatively little to be wished for by the most diligent historian. It
can hardly be necessary to enlarge upon this subject. Every one who has
engaged, even in a small degree, in historical researches, must have
observed how soon he gets out of the track of common readers, and how
dark and difficult his way becomes, unless he chance to meet with some
guide among those who, confining their attention to a single branch of
study, have become familiar with, and gathered around them almost every
thing which can serve to throw light upon it. And when a public
institution has gone on through a long course of years adding to the
works derived from other sources these carefully chosen stores of the
learned, it is easy to conceive how much it must contribute, not merely
towards the gratification of literary curiosity, but to the actual
progress of literature.

From these general considerations respecting modern libraries, we
proceed to give some particulars which may serve to convey an idea of
the history, character, and contents of the principal book-collections
now in existence; and with this view, as well as for convenient
reference, we shall arrange them under the respective heads of British
Libraries, and Foreign Libraries.


BRITISH LIBRARIES.

1. _British Museum Library, London._--There is probably no other public
institution in Great Britain which is regarded with so great and general
interest as the British Museum. By the variety of its departments, this
splendid national depository of literature, and objects of natural
history and antiquities, meets in some way the particular taste of
almost every class of society. The department of Natural History, in its
three divisions of Zoology, Botany, and Mineralogy, contains a
collection of specimens unsurpassed, probably unequalled, in the world.
The department of antiquities is in some particulars unrivalled for the
number and value of the articles it contains. But the library is the
crowning glory of the whole. If, in respect to the number of volumes it
contains, it does not yet equal the National Library of Paris, the Royal
Library of Munich, or the Imperial Library of St. Petersburg--in almost
every other respect, such as the value and usefulness of the books, the
arrangements for their convenient and safe keeping, and, in fact, in
every matter pertaining to its internal arrangements, the library of the
British Museum, by the concurrent testimony of competent witnesses from
various countries, must take rank above all similar institutions in the
world. Well may the people of this country regard the Museum with pride
and pleasure. The liberal grants of parliament, and the munificent
bequests of individuals, are sure indications of a strong desire and
purpose to continue and extend its advantages.

Some idea of the magnitude of the Museum, and of its vast resources, may
be formed by considering that the buildings alone in which this great
collection is deposited have cost, since the year 1823, nearly £700,000;
and the whole expenditure for purchases, exclusive of the cost of the
buildings just named, is considerably more than £1,100,000. Besides this
liberal outlay by the British Government, there have been numerous
magnificent bequests from individuals. The acquisitions from private
munificence were estimated, for the twelve years preceding 1835, at not
less than £400,000. The latest considerable bequest was that of the
Right Hon. Thomas Grenville: his library, which he gave to the Museum
entire, was valued at £50,000. The annual receipts of the institution of
late years, from parliamentary grants and the interest of private
legacies, have been about £50,000. The number of visitors to the Museum
is immense. In the year 1848 they amounted to 897,985, being an average
of about 3000 visitors per day for every day the Museum is open. On
special occasions there have been as many as thirty thousand visitors on
a single day.

This noble institution may be said to have originated in the bequest of
Sir Hans Sloane, who, dying in 1752, left his immense collections of
every kind to the nation, on the condition of paying £20,000 in legacies
to different individuals; a sum considerably less than the intrinsic
value of the medals, coins, gems, and precious metals of his museum.
This bequest included a library of 50,000 volumes, among which were 3566
volumes of manuscripts in different languages; a herbarium of 334
volumes; other objects of natural history, to the number of
six-and-thirty or forty thousand, and the house at Chiswick, in which
the whole was deposited. The Harleian collection of manuscripts,
amounting to 7600 volumes, chiefly relating to the history of England,
and including, among many other curious documents, 40,000 ancient
charters and rolls, being about the same time offered for sale,
parliament voted a sum of £30,000, to be raised by lottery, and vested
in trustees, for the establishment of a National Museum. Of this money,
£20,000 were paid to the legatees of Sir Hans Sloane, £10,000 were given
for the Harleian Manuscripts, and £10,000 for Montague House as a
receptacle for the whole. Sloane's Museum was removed thither with the
consent of his trustees. In 1757, George II., by an instrument under the
great seal, added the library of the kings of England, the printed books
of which had been collected from the time of Henry VII., the manuscripts
from a much earlier date. This collection was very rich in the
prevailing literature of different periods, and it included, amongst
others, the libraries of Archbishop Cranmer, and of the celebrated
scholar Isaac Casaubon. His majesty annexed to his gift the privilege
which the royal library had acquired in the reign of Queen Anne, of
being supplied with a copy of every publication entered at Stationers'
Hall; and in 1759 the British Museum was opened to the public.[21]

The value of the library has been greatly enhanced by magnificent
donations, and by immense parliamentary purchases. In 1763, George III.
enriched it with a collection of pamphlets and periodical papers,
published in England between 1640 and 1660, and chiefly illustrative of
the civil wars in the time of Charles I., by whom the collection was
commenced. Among other valuable acquisitions may be mentioned Garrick's
collection of old English plays, Mr. Thomas Tyrwhitt's library, Sir
William Musgrave's collection of biography, the general library of the
Rev. C. M. Cracherode, the libraries of M. Ginguené, Baron de Moll, Dr.
Burney, and Sir R. C. Hoare; and above all, the bequest of Major Arthur
Edwards, who left to it his noble library, and £7000 as a fund for the
purchase of books. Four separate collections of tracts, illustrative of
the revolutionary history of France, have been purchased at different
times by the trustees, in the exercise of the powers with which they are
invested. One of these was the collection formed by the last president
of the parliament at Bretagne, at the commencement of the revolution;
two others extended generally throughout the whole revolutionary period;
and the fourth consisted of a collection of tracts, published during the
reign of the Hundred Days in 1815--forming altogether a body of
materials for the history of the revolution as complete in regard to
France as the collection of pamphlets and tracts already mentioned is
with respect to the civil wars of England in the time of Charles I.
Another feature of the Museum Library is its progressive collection of
newspapers, from the appearance of the first of these publications in
1588. Sir Hans Sloane had formed a great collection for his day. But to
this was added, in 1818, the Burney collection, purchased at the
estimated value of £1000; and since that period the Commissioners of
Stamps have continued regularly to forward to the Museum, copies of all
newspapers deposited by the publishers in their office.

In 1823, the Royal Library collected by George III. was presented to the
British nation by his successor George IV., and ordered by parliament to
be added to the library of the British Museum, but to be kept for ever
separate from the other books in that institution. The general plan of
its formation appears to have been determined on by George III., soon
after his accession to the throne; and the first extensive purchase made
for it was that of the library of Mr. Joseph Smith, British consul at
Venice, in 1762, for which his majesty paid about £10,000. In 1768 Mr.
(afterwards Sir Frederick) Barnard, the librarian, was despatched to the
continent by his majesty; and as the Jesuits' houses were then being
suppressed and their libraries sold throughout Europe, he was enabled to
purchase, upon the most advantageous terms, a great number of very
valuable books, including some very remarkable rarities, in France,
Italy, and Germany. Under the judicious directions of Mr. Barnard, the
entire collection was formed and arranged; it was enlarged during a
period of sixty years, by an annual expenditure of about £2000, and it
is in itself, perhaps, one of the most complete libraries of its extent
that was ever formed. It contains selections of the rarest kind,
particularly of scarce books which appeared in the first ages of the art
of printing. It is rich in early editions of the classics, in books from
the press of Caxton, in English history, and in Italian, French, and
Spanish literature; and there is likewise a very extensive collection of
geography and topography, and of the transactions of learned academies.
The number of books in this library is 65,250, exclusively of a very
numerous assortment of pamphlets; and it appears to have cost, in direct
outlay, about £130,000, but it is estimated as worth at least £200,000.

The nucleus of the department of manuscripts at the British Museum was
formed by the Harleian, Sloanean, and Cottonian collections. To these
George II. added, in 1757, the manuscripts of the ancient royal library
of England. Of these, one of the most remarkable is the "Codex
Alexandrinus;" a present from Cyril, patriarch of Constantinople, to
King Charles I. It is in four quarto volumes, written upon fine vellum,
probably between the fourth and sixth centuries, and is believed to be
the most ancient manuscript of the Greek Bible now extant. Many of the
other manuscripts came into the royal collection at the time when the
monastic institutions of Britain were destroyed; and some of them still
retain upon their spare leaves the honest and hearty anathemas which
the donors denounced against those who should alienate or remove the
respective volumes from the places in which they had been originally
deposited. This collection abounds in old scholastic divinity, and
possesses many volumes, embellished by the most expert illuminators of
different countries, in a succession of periods down to the sixteenth
century. In it are also preserved an assemblage of the domestic
music-books of Henry VIII., and the "Basilicon Doron" of James I. in his
own handwriting. The Cottonian collection, which was purchased for the
use of the public in 1701, and annexed by statute to the British Museum
in 1753, consists of 861 manuscript volumes, including "Madox's
Collections on the Exchequer," in ninety-four volumes, besides many
precious documents connected with our domestic and foreign history,
about the time of Elizabeth and James. It likewise contains numerous
registers of English monasteries; a rich collection of royal and other
original letters; and the manuscript called the "Durham Book," being a
copy of the Latin Gospels, with an interlinear Saxon gloss, written
about the year 800, illuminated in the most elaborate style of the
Anglo-Saxons, and believed to have once belonged to the venerable Bede.
The Harleian collection is still more miscellaneous, though historical
literature in all its branches forms one of its principal features. It
is particularly rich in heraldic and genealogical manuscripts; in
parliamentary and legal proceedings; in ancient records and abbey
registers; in manuscripts of the classics, amongst which is one of the
earliest known of Homer's "Odyssey;" in missals, antiphonars, and other
service-books of the Catholic Church; and in ancient English poetry. It
possesses two very early copies of the Latin Gospels, written in gold
letters; and also contains a large number of splendidly illuminated
manuscripts, besides an extensive mass of correspondence. It further
includes about three hundred manuscript Bibles or Biblical books, in
Hebrew, Chaldaic, Greek, Arabic, and Latin; nearly two hundred volumes
of writings of the fathers of the church; and a number of works on the
arts and sciences, among which is a tract on the steam-engine, with
plans, diagrams, and calculations by Sir Samuel Morland. The Sloanean
collection consists principally of manuscripts on natural history,
voyages and travels, on the arts, and especially on medicine.

In 1807 the collection of manuscripts formed by the first Marquis of
Lansdowne was added to these libraries, having been purchased by
parliament for £4925. It consists of 1352 volumes, of which 114 are Lord
Burleigh's state papers, 46 Sir Julius Cæsar's collections respecting
the reigns of Elizabeth and James I., and 108 the historical collections
of Bishop Kennet. Other valuable collections are the classical
manuscripts of Dr. Charles Burney, the Oriental manuscripts collected by
Messrs. Rich and Hull, and the Egyptian papyri presented by Sir J. G.
Wilkinson. It would be endless, however, to enumerate these treasures;
we have indicated enough to convince our readers that the library of the
British Museum is worthy of the nation to which it belongs.

2. _Bodleian Library, Oxford._--This institution, so called from the
name of its illustrious founder, was established towards the close of
the reign of Elizabeth by Sir Thomas Bodley, who, having become
disgusted with some court intrigues, resigned all his employments about
the year 1597, and resolved to spend the remainder of his life in a
private station. Having thought of various plans to render himself
useful, he says, "I concluded at the last to set up my staff at the
library door in Oxon, being thoroughly persuaded that in my solitude and
surcease from the commonwealth affairs, I could not busy myself to
better purpose than by reducing that place, which then in every part lay
ruined and waste, to the public use of students. For the effecting
whereof I found myself furnished in a competent proportion of such four
kinds of aids, as, unless I had them all, there was no hope of good
success. For without some kind of knowledge, as well in the learned and
modern tongues as in sundry other sorts of scholastical literature;
without some purse-ability to go through with the charge; without great
store of honorable friends to further the design; and without special
good leisure to follow such a work, it could but have proved a vain
attempt and inconsiderate." Having set himself this task--"a task," as
his friend Camden justly says, "that would have suited the character of
a crowned head"--Bodley despatched from London a letter to the
vice-chancellor, offering not only to restore the building, but to
provide a fund for the purchase of books, and the maintenance of proper
officers. This offer being thankfully accepted, he commenced his
undertaking by presenting to the library a large collection of books
purchased on the continent, and valued at £10,000. He also collected
1294 rare manuscripts, which were afterwards increased to 6818,
independently of 1898 in the Ashmolean Museum. Other collections and
contributions were also, by his example and persuasion, presented to the
new library; and the additions thus made soon swelled to such an amount
that the old building was no longer sufficient to contain them. The
edifice was accordingly enlarged; and Bodley thus had the proud
satisfaction of seeing Oxford possessed, by his means, of such a library
as might well bear comparison with the proudest in continental Europe.
It would require a volume to contain an enumeration of the many
important additions which have been made to this library by its numerous
benefactors, or to admit even a sketch of its ample contents in almost
every branch of literature and science. The Oriental manuscripts are the
rarest and most beautiful to be found in any European collection; and
the first editions of the classics, procured from the Pinelli and
Crevenna libraries, rival those of Vienna. In a word, it is exceedingly
rich in many departments in which most other libraries are deficient,
and it forms altogether one of the noblest collections of which any
university can boast.

3. _University Library, Cambridge._--This is a library of considerable
extent, and contains much that is valuable or curious both in the
department of printed books and in that of manuscripts. The printed
books comprise a fine series of _editiones principes_ of the classics,
and a very large proportion of the productions of Caxton's press. Among
the manuscripts contained in it are the celebrated manuscript of the
four Gospels and Acts of the Apostles, known by the name of the _Codex
Bezæ_, which was presented to the university by that distinguished
reformer; Magna Charta, written on vellum; and a Koran upon cotton paper
superbly executed. In the library of Trinity College, Cambridge, there
are several exceedingly interesting literary curiosities; amongst
others, some manuscripts in the handwriting of Milton, consisting of the
original copy of the "Masque of Comus," several plans of "Paradise
Lost," and the poems of "Lycidas," "Arcades," and others; and also Sir
Isaac Newton's copy of his "Principia," with his manuscript notes, and
his letters to Roger Coles.

4. _Advocates' Library, Edinburgh._--This library was founded in 1682,
at the instance of Sir George Mackenzie of Rosehaugh, who was at that
time Dean of Faculty, and the plan was carried into execution on a small
scale, by a fund which had been formed out of the fines of members. It
was originally intended that it should consist merely of the works of
lawyers, and of such other books as were calculated to advance the study
of jurisprudence; it now comprehends, in a greater or less degree,
almost every branch of science, philosophy, jurisprudence, literature,
and the arts. Its collection of historical works is very complete. Among
the curiosities shown to visitors are a manuscript Bible of St. Jerome's
translation, believed to have been written in the eleventh century, and
known to have been used as the conventual copy of the Scriptures in the
Abbey of Dunfermline; a copy of the first printed Bible, in two volumes,
from the press of Faust and Guttenberg; the original Solemn League and
Covenant, drawn up in 1580; and six copies of the Covenant of 1638.
Among other manuscripts in the collection are the whole of the
celebrated Wodrow Manuscripts, relating to the ecclesiastical history of
Scotland, and the chartularies of many of the ancient religious houses.
For its extent, no less than for the liberal principles upon which it is
conducted, this deserves the name of the National Library of Scotland.

5. _Trinity College Library, Dublin._--This library owed its
establishment to a very curious incident. In the year 1603, the
Spaniards were defeated by the English at the battle of Kinsale;
determined to commemorate their victory by some permanent monument, the
soldiers collected among themselves the sum of £1800, which they agreed
to apply to the purchase of books for a public library, to be founded in
the then infant institution of Trinity College. This sum was placed in
the hands of the celebrated Dr. Usher, who immediately proceeded to
London, and there purchased the books necessary for the purpose. It is a
remarkable coincidence, that Usher, while occupied in purchasing these
books, met in London Sir Thomas Bodley engaged in similar business, with
a view to the establishment of his famous library at Oxford. From this
commencement, the library of Trinity College was, at different periods,
increased by many valuable donations, including that of Usher's own
collection, consisting of 10,000 volumes, until at length its growing
magnitude requiring a corresponding increase of accommodation, the
present library-hall, a magnificent apartment of stately dimensions, was
erected in the year 1732. Since that time numerous additions have been
made to the library: amongst others, that of the library of the
Pensionary Fagel, in 20,000 volumes, and the valuable classical and
Italian books which had belonged to Mr. Quin; so that, altogether, the
library of Trinity College now forms one of the first order, at least in
this country.

The five libraries thus briefly described are the principal ones in the
United Kingdom, and they are all entitled to receive a copy of every new
work on its publication; so that they are continually on the increase,
and enabled to keep pace with the activity of the press. Of the numerous
other libraries in this country we have no space to give a detailed
account, and must therefore content ourselves with merely indicating the
names of the more extensive ones. In London are the libraries of the
Royal Society and the Royal Institution; Sion College Library;
Archbishop Tenison's Library; and Dr. Williams's Library, belonging to
the Dissenters. The Lambeth Library of the Archbishop of Canterbury is
exceedingly rich in ecclesiastical history and biblical literature. At
Oxford and Cambridge, all the different colleges have libraries more or
less extensive and valuable. Chetham's Library at Manchester is also
worthy of mention. The library of the Writers to the Signet at Edinburgh
is an excellent and valuable miscellaneous collection of books in
science, law, history, geography, statistics, antiquities, literature,
and the arts. Finally, the Scotch universities of Edinburgh, Glasgow,
St. Andrews, and Aberdeen, all possess academical libraries of
considerable size, and which are steadily on the increase. Many of the
above receive an annual grant of money from government, as a
compensation for the withdrawal of the privilege of receiving copies of
every book published in the kingdom. All such, at least, ought to be
thrown open to the public, and doubtless soon will be.


FOREIGN LIBRARIES.

1. _National Library, Paris._--This library is justly considered as the
finest in Europe. It was commenced under the reign of King John, who
possessed only _ten_ volumes, to which 900 were added by Charles V.,
many of them superbly illuminated by John of Bruges, the best artist in
miniatures of that time. Under Francis I. it had increased to 1890
volumes, and under Louis XIII. to 16,746. In 1684 it possessed 50,542
volumes; in 1775 it amounted to above 150,000; and by 1790 it had
increased to about 200,000. At present it contains 824,000 volumes of
printed books, and 80,000 manuscripts. It is divided into four
departments:--1. Printed books; 2. Manuscripts, charters, and diplomas;
3. Coins, medals, engraved stones, and other antique monuments; and 4.
Engravings, including geographical charts and plans. Of the contents of
this magnificent, nay, matchless collection, it would far exceed our
limits to give any details, or even to enumerate its choicest articles.
It is rich in every branch and department, unique in some, scarcely
surpassed in any, and unrivalled in all taken together. Of books printed
on vellum it contains at once the finest and most extensive collection
in the world.

2. _Arsenal Library, Paris._--This library, founded by the Marquis de
Paulmy, formerly ambassador of France in Poland, was in 1781 acquired by
the Count d'Artois, who united to it nearly the whole of the library of
the Duke de la Valliere. It possesses the most complete collection
extant of romances, since their origin in modern literature; of
theatrical pieces or dramas, from the epoch of the Moralities and
Mysteries; and of French poetry since the commencement of the sixteenth
century. It is less rich in other branches, but it has all works of
importance, and in particular contains historical collections which are
not to be found elsewhere.

3. _Library of Ste Genevieve, Paris._--The foundation of this library
dates as early as the year 1624, when Cardinal de Rochefoucauld, having
reformed the Abbey of Sainte-Genevieve, made it a present of 600
volumes. At present it contains 160,000 printed volumes and 2000
manuscripts. In it may be found all the academical collections, and a
complete set of Aldines; it is particularly rich in historical works;
and its most remarkable manuscripts are Greek and Oriental. Its
typographical collections of the fifteenth century are not more valuable
for their number than the high state of preservation in which they are
found. This library is open of an evening, and is much resorted to by
students, and men of the operative classes.

4. _Mazarin Library, Paris._--This library, as its name denotes, was
instituted by Cardinal Mazarin. The formation of it was intrusted to the
learned Gabriel Naudé, who, having first selected all that suited his
purpose in the booksellers' shops in Paris, travelled into Holland,
Italy, Germany, and England, where the letters of recommendation of
which he was the bearer enabled him to collect many very rare and
curious works. Cardinal Mazarin, by his will, bequeathed it to the
college which he founded, and in 1688 it was made public. It is
remarkable for a great number of collections containing detached pieces
and small treatises, which date as far back as the fifteenth century,
and exist nowhere else; nor has any other library so complete a body of
the ancient books of law, theology, medicine, and the physical and
mathematical sciences. It also possesses a most precious collection of
the Lutheran or Protestant authors. In one of the halls are placed
models in relief of the Pelasgic monuments of Italy and Greece; in
another is a terrestrial globe, eighteen feet in diameter, formed of
plates of copper, and executed by order of Louis XVI.; but this
instrument, which is unique in Europe, is unfortunately unfinished,
being destitute of several requisite circles.

5. _National Library, Madrid._--This "is one of the many institutions
which awaken the admiration of the stranger in Spain, as being at
variance with the pervading decay." According to Mr. Ford, "it is rich
in Spanish literature, especially theology and topography, and has been
much increased numerically since the suppression of the convents; but
good modern books are needed." It contains many valuable Greek, Latin,
and Arabic manuscripts, and unedited works, chiefly Spanish. _The
Monetario_, or cabinet of medals, is arranged in an elegant and
beautiful apartment, and contains an unrivalled collection of Celtic,
Phoenician, Greek, Roman, Gothic, Arabic, and modern coins and medals,
in excellent preservation. The library is open to all, at least as far
as the printed books are concerned.

6. _Vatican Library, Rome._--Among the libraries of Italy, that of the
Vatican at Rome stands preëminent, not more for its grandeur and
magnificence, than for the inestimable treasures with which it is
enriched. It was originated about the year 465 by Pope Hilary, and has
been augmented by succeeding pontiffs, and by various princes, until it
reached its present extent and value. Our space will not permit us to
give any thing like a detailed account of its treasures; but we condense
from Sir George Head's admirable work on Rome the following description
of the grand saloon of the library:--"The principal chamber of the
library appears to be 179 feet long by 51 broad. The ceiling is
remarkable for presenting to the eye the appearance of a uniform
extensive surface, as if it were a beautifully broad elliptical vault,
though in fact it consists of a double range of groined arches that,
springing on each side from the walls, and blending together in the
middle, are supported on a row of six pillars planted in a line on the
ground. These pillars are contrived, accordingly, of an oblong shape, so
extremely narrow that, planted as they are longitudinally, and
encompassed by large rectangular mahogany bookcases to serve as
pedestals, they occupy but an inconsiderable space in the apartment when
viewed edgewise by a spectator standing at the entrance, and from their
form effectually counteract the appearance of weight, that would
certainly otherwise be produced by the double vaulting. Moreover, while
the lines of curvature slide as it were thus gently and harmoniously
into the outline of the pillars, the transition of surface is the less
perceptible, owing to the whole of the vault and pillars being painted
in a uniform delicate pattern of arabesque, by Zuccari, as it is
affirmed; but at all events, in figures of plants and flowers, almost as
light and exquisite as the paintings on a china teacup, and thrown into
relief by the prevalence of a clear white ground; so that an appearance
is produced of airiness and space to all intents and purposes as
effective as if the ceiling were really contained within the span of a
single elliptical arch. Along the base of the ceiling is a cornice of
stucco, ornamented with a light pattern in white and gold; and
underneath, upon the upper portion of the walls, are six windows on each
side; and the remainder of the surface is covered with paintings by
several different artists, one of which represents Sixtus V. receiving
from his architect, Dominico Fontana, the plan of the present library.
The lower portion of the walls is entirely occupied by closed bookcases,
composed of panels of wood painted in arabesque on a ground of white and
slate color, and surrounded by gilded mouldings; which receptacles bear
no sort of affinity in appearance to ordinary library furniture, and
thoroughly conceal from public view the valuable manuscripts they
contain. No books, in fact, are to be seen in the whole chamber, and
particularly the rectangular bookcases above referred to, that serve the
purpose of pedestals, from the middle of which each pillar supporting
the ceiling and resting on the ground below rise, as the pier of a
bridge from its ceisson, rather resemble ornamental buffets upon whose
tabular surface vases and other splendid objects of art and antiquity
are arranged in order.

"With regard to the principal objects worthy of observation there are,
in the first place, two very magnificent tables, both alike, placed in
the middle of the room in a corresponding position to one another,
between the first and second pillar at each extremity. Each is composed
of an enormously thick and very highly polished slab of red Oriental
granite, supported by six bronze figures of slaves as large as life.
Such being the appropriation of two of the intercolumnial spaces, a
third is occupied by a low column of Cipollino marble, serving as a
pedestal to support a splendid and very large vase of Sevres china,
which was presented by the Emperor Napoleon to Pius VII. In a fourth
intercolumnial space is to be seen, supported on a pedestal of
Cipollino, whose base appears to be a sort of alabaster marked with
different shades of olive-green, a square tazza of malachite, presented
to Gregory XVI. by the Crown-Prince of Russia, after his visit to Rome
in 1838. In the fifth intercolumnial space are a magnificent pair of
candelabra of Sevres china, brought by Pius VII. from Paris, and also a
splendid vase of the same material presented to his holiness by Charles
X. There is also to be observed, placed at the extremity of the room, on
the right-hand side near the wall, a spirally fluted column of Oriental
alabaster, which was discovered near the church of St. Eusebio, on the
Esquiline; and suspended against the wall, not far distant, is a curious
old Russian calendar painted on wood.

"The bookcases being continually locked, as above stated, permission is
nevertheless granted to those visitors who may be desirous of consulting
the books and manuscripts, on making application to the
cardinal-librarian or his assistants; but the privilege is merely
nominal, in consequence of the extremely imperfect state of the
catalogue; and in point of fact the multitudinous volumes on the shelves
may be compared to a mine, unexplored and unexplorable; whence only a
few particular objects, considered the staple curiosities of the region,
and consequently continually had recourse to by the visitors, are
extracted. The volumes in question consist principally of a
splendidly-illuminated Bible of the sixth century; the most ancient
version of the Septuagint; the earliest Greek version of the New
Testament; the 'Assertio Septem Sacramentorum,' written by Henry
VIII.--a royal literary effort in defence of the seven Roman Catholic
sacraments that procured the title of Defender of the Faith for the
author, which descended to the Protestant monarchs of England; and a
most curious and authentic collection of original correspondence between
Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn. The 'Assertio Septem Sacramentorum' is a
good thick octavo volume, written in Latin, and printed in the year
1501, in London, on vellum. The type is clear, with a broad margin, and
at the beginning is the original presentation addressed to Leo X., as
follows, subscribed by the royal autograph--

    'Anglorum Rex Henricus Leo Decime mittit
      Hoc opus, et fidei testis et amicitiæ.'

The whole work--in the preface of which the writer descants on his
humble talents and his modesty--would seem, as far as I was able to
judge by turning over the pages hastily, to be composed in a remarkably
clear style, and to abound with naïve phrases and genuine expressions of
the king himself, wrought into the mass and substance of a prolix
theological dissertation, that no doubt was prepared and digested for
the purpose by the divines of the period. With regard to the
correspondence with Anne Boleyn, which places the royal author
altogether in a different point of view before the public, the latter
consists of a considerable number of original letters, of which those
written by the king are for the most part in French and the remainder in
English, and those of Anne Boleyn written all in French. The documents
are all in excellent preservation, and the handwriting perfectly
legible; from the difference of the character at the period in question,
and owing to the abbreviations, somewhat difficult to decipher; not so
much so, however, but that even an unpractised person, with sufficient
time and leisure, might make them out without much difficulty. Visitors
are relieved from the labor of the experiment; and fair copies, made in
a clear round hand, are placed, each copy side by side with the
original, and all are stitched together in a portfolio, where they may
be perused with the utmost facility. The letters, which to those
inclined to ponder on the anatomy of the human heart afford a melancholy
moral, are chiefly remarkable for the boisterous eager tone of the
king's passion towards his lady-love, which, expressed in terms that
would hardly be considered proper now-a-days, verges on the grotesque."

7. _Casanata Library, Rome._--This library, founded by Cardinal Girolamo
Casanata in the year 1700, is said to contain a greater number of
printed books exclusively, in contradistinction to manuscripts, than any
other in Rome, not excepting the Vatican. "The library," says Sir George
Head, "is a very beautifully-proportioned chamber, upwards of fifty feet
in breadth, and long in proportion, with an elliptically-vaulted
ceiling, along the base of which are a series of acute-angled arched
spaces containing windows that throw an admirable light on the
apartment, which is whitewashed most brilliantly. The books are ranged
all round the room on open shelves, with a communication to those of the
upper row by a pensile gallery that surrounds the whole periphery. At
the extremity of the room is a white marble statue, by Le Gros, of
Cardinal Casanata, the founder, elevated with remarkably good effect on
a pedestal of dark-colored Brazil-wood, very highly polished, and
surmounted by a splendid frontispiece, supported on two pair of fluted
Corinthian columns, all of the same material. The door of the room at
the entrance is also surmounted by a frontispiece and columns of
Brazil-wood, similar to the preceding. The librarian, a Dominican friar,
dressed in the habit of his order, and seated in an easy-chair in the
middle of the room at his desk of office, attends there continually, and
is exceedingly kind and attentive to the applications of strangers who
wish to read books in the library, though his good intentions are of
little avail, from the want of a proper catalogue."

8. _Laurentian Library, Florence._--This institution was commenced by
Cosmo de Medici, the father of a line of princes whose name and age are
almost synonymous with the restoration of learning. Naturally fond of
literature, and anxious to save from destruction the precious remains of
classical antiquity, he laid injunctions on all his friends and
correspondents, as well as on the missionaries who travelled into remote
countries, to search for and procure ancient manuscripts in every
language and on every subject. He availed himself of the services of all
the learned men of his time; and the situation of the Eastern empire,
then daily falling into ruins by the repeated attacks of the Turks,
afforded him an opportunity of obtaining many inestimable works in the
Hebrew, Greek, Chaldaic, Arabic, and Indian languages. From these
beginnings arose the celebrated library of the Medici, which, after
having been the constant object of the solicitude of its founder, was
after his death further enriched by the attention of his descendants,
and particularly of his grandson Lorenzo; and after various vicissitudes
of fortune, and frequent and considerable additions, has been preserved
to the present day--the noblest monument which its princely founders
have left of the glory of their line.

9. _Magliabecchian Library, Florence._--Antonio Magliabecchi, from being
a servant to a dealer in vegetables, raised himself to the honorable
office of librarian to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and became one of the
most eminent literary characters of his time. The force of natural
talent overcame all the disadvantages of the humble condition in which
he had been born, and placed him in a situation to make his name known
and respected. But he endeavored to deserve still better of his
countrymen, by presenting them, shortly before his death in 1714, with
his large and valuable collection of books, together with the remainder
of his fortune, as a fund for its support. This constituted the
foundation of the Magliabecchian Library, which, by the subsequent
donations of several benefactors, and the bounty of some of the grand
dukes of Florence, has been so much increased both in number and value
that it may now vie with some of the most considerable collections in
Europe.

10. _Imperial Library, Vienna._--This collection is perhaps inferior
only to that of the Vatican, and the National Library at Paris, for the
rarity and value of its contents. It was founded by the Emperor
Frederick III., who spared no expense to enrich it with printed books as
well as manuscripts in every language. By the munificence of succeeding
emperors, numerous important and valuable accessions were made to the
collection; amongst which may be mentioned the large and interesting
library of Prince Eugene, and a considerable portion of the Buda
Library, founded by Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary. The Imperial
Library occupies eight spacious apartments, and a ninth is appropriated
to a very valuable collection of medals and other curiosities. Besides
the cabinet of medals, there is also attached to the library a superb
collection of engravings, consisting of 473 large folio volumes, 510
volumes of different sizes, and 215 folio cartoons. The collection of
music contains upwards of 6000 volumes, theoretical and practical; and
that of autographs exceeds 8000 pieces, classed under the heads of
monarchs and princes, ministers and statesmen, poets, philosophers, and
men of learning or science, generals and renowned warriors, artists,
musicians, and others.

11. _Royal Library, Munich._--This is the most extensive collection in
Germany. It was founded in 1550, and is very complete in all its
departments. The ancient manuscripts relative to the art of music amount
to a great number, and are exceedingly curious.

12. _University Library, Gottingen._--The library attached to the
University of Gottingen contains 360,000 printed volumes, and 3000
volumes of manuscripts. But its extent is its least recommendation, for
it is not only the most complete among those of the universities, but
there are very few royal or public collections in Germany which can
rival it in real utility; and if not in Germany, where else? It is not
rich in manuscripts, and many libraries surpass it in typographical
rarities, but none contains so great a number of really useful books in
almost every branch of human knowledge. This library is mainly indebted
for the preëminence it has obtained to the labors and exertions of the
illustrious Heyne. In the year in which he came to Gottingen as second
librarian, the entire control of the library was committed to him, and
he became chief. From this moment commenced at once its extension and
its improvement. When Heyne went to Gottingen, it already possessed a
library of from 50,000 to 60,000 volumes; at his decease it had
increased, according to the most moderate computation, to upwards of
200,000 volumes. Nor was this all. At the commencement of his
librarianship entire departments of learning were wholly wanting; at its
close, not only were these deficiencies supplied, but the library had
become proportionally rich in every department, and, in point of
completeness, unrivalled. Fortunately, Heyne's place has been filled by
worthy successors, and the reputation of the collection is still as
great as ever.

13. _Royal Library, Dresden._--The king of Saxony's library at Dresden
contains 300,000 volumes of printed books, and 2800 volumes of
manuscripts. The valuable library that formerly belonged to Count Beurau
forms part of this noble collection, which is most complete in general
history, and in Greek and Latin classic authors. Amongst the printed
books are some of the rarest specimens of early typography, including
600 of the Aldine editions, and many on vellum, besides a copy of the
first edition of the "Orlando Furioso," printed by Mazocco, "coll'
assistenza dell'autore," in 1516, and other rarities. In the department
of manuscripts are a Mexican manuscript, written on human skin,
containing, according to Thevenot, a calendar, with some fragments of
the history of the Incas; the original manuscript of the "Reveries" of
Marshal Saxe, bearing at the end that he had composed this work in
thirteen nights during a fever, and completed it in December 1733; a
fine copy of the Koran, taken from a Turk by a Saxon officer at the last
siege of Vienna, and said to have formerly belonged to Bajazet II.; and
a Greek manuscript of the Epistles of St. Paul of the eleventh century.
An extensive collection of antiquities is preserved in twelve apartments
under the library, below which are eighteen vaulted cellars, stored with
a vast quantity of valuable porcelain, partly of foreign and partly of
Dresden manufacture.

14. _Royal Library, Berlin._--This collection includes works upon almost
all the sciences, and in nearly all languages. Among the manuscripts are
several Egyptian deeds, written on papyrus, in the demotic or enchorial
character. These are very curious, and _fac similes_ of some of them
have been published by Professor Kosegarten in his valuable work on the
"Ancient Literature of the Egyptians."

15. _University Library, Leyden._--This library was founded by William
I., Prince of Orange, and is justly celebrated throughout Europe for the
many valuable specimens of Greek and Oriental literature with which it
abounds. To it Joseph Scaliger bequeathed his fine collection of Hebrew
books; and it was further enriched by the learned Golius, on his return
from the East, with many Arabic, Turkish, Persian, and Chaldaic
manuscripts. In addition to these it received the collections of
Holmanns, and particularly those of Isaac Vossius and Ruhuken--the
former containing a number of valuable manuscripts, supposed to have
once belonged to Christina, queen of Sweden; and the latter an almost
entire series of classical authors, with a collection of manuscripts,
perhaps unique, amongst which are copies of several that were consumed
by fire in the Abbey of St. Germain-des-Prés.

16. _Imperial Library, St. Petersburg._--Russia is indebted for this
splendid collection to an act of robbery and spoliation. In 1795, when
Russia triumphed over the independence of Poland, the victorious
general, Suwaroff, unceremoniously seized the Zaluski Library, of nearly
300,000 volumes, had it packed up in all haste and dispatched to St.
Petersburg. There it formed the basis of the present Imperial Library,
which, but for that stolen collection, instead of now ranking in the
first class of European libraries, would scarcely have been entitled to
a place in the third.

17. _Libraries of Constantinople._--This city possesses thirty-two
public libraries, all varying in extent, but more or less celebrated for
the number and value of their manuscripts, which are neatly bound in
red, green, or black morocco. The Mohammedans have a peculiar method of
indorsing, placing, and preserving their books. Each volume, besides
being bound in morocco, is preserved from dust in a case of the same
material; and on it, as well as on the edges of the leaves, the title is
written in large and legible characters. The books are placed, one upon
another, in presses ornamented with trellis-work, and are disposed along
the wall, or in the four corners of the library. All these collections
are open to the public throughout the year, excepting on Tuesdays and
Fridays: the librarians are as polite and attentive as Turks can be to
those whom curiosity or love of study attract thither: and every one is
at liberty not merely to peruse, but to make extracts from the books,
and even to transcribe them entirely, provided this be done within the
walls of the library. Theology, including the Koran and commentators
thereon, jurisprudence, medicine, ethics, and history, are the sciences
chiefly cultivated by the Osmanlis. The books are all written with the
greatest care on the finest vellum, the text of each page is inclosed in
a highly-ornamented and gilt framework, the beginning of each chapter or
section is splendidly illuminated, and the value of the manuscripts
varies in proportion to the beauty of the characters.

We here terminate our rapid survey of the principal libraries of Europe.
Small, however, would be the interest which one should feel for these
magnificent establishments were they designed solely for the benefit of
a few individuals, or of any favored class. They would still be splendid
monuments of the productive powers of the human mind, and of the taste
or learning of their founders; but they would have no claims to that
unbounded admiration with which we now regard them. There is a
republican liberality in the management of the great libraries of the
continent of Europe which is well worthy of our imitation. In these
alone is the great invention of printing carried out to its full extent,
by the free communication of all its productions to every class of
society. No introduction, no recommendation, no securities are required;
but the stranger and the native are admitted, upon equal terms, to the
full enjoyment of all the advantages which the uncontrolled use of books
can afford. As this mode of accommodating, or rather of meeting the
wants of the public, is the real object of these institutions, they are
provided with librarians, who, under different titles corresponding to
the duties imposed upon them, receive from government regular salaries
proportioned to their rank and to the services which they perform. To
these the immediate superintendence of the library is wholly intrusted,
and at a stated hour of every day in the week, except of such as are set
apart for public or religious festivals, they open the library to the
public. There, undisturbed, and supplied with every thing the collection
contains that can aid him in his studies, the scholar may pass several
hours of every day without any expense, and with no other care than that
natural attention to the books he uses, which every one capable of
appreciating the full value of such privileges will readily give. Nor do
his facilities cease here. The time during which the libraries remain
open may be insufficient for profound and extensive researches, and the
writer who has to trace his facts through a great variety of works, and
to examine the unpublished documents to be found in public libraries
alone, would be obliged to sacrifice a large portion of every day if his
studies were regulated by the usual hours of these institutions. For
such persons, a proper recommendation can hardly fail to procure the
use, at their own houses, of the works they may need. In this manner the
door is thrown open to every one who wishes to enter, and science placed
within reach of all who court her favors.

This is as it should be; and it is therefore with great pleasure that we
have observed symptoms of improvement in this respect originating in our
legislature. In March, 1849, a select committee was appointed by the
House of Commons, on the motion of Mr. William Ewart, to report on the
best means of "extending the establishment of libraries freely open to
the public, especially in large towns, in Great Britain and Ireland."
This committee consisted of fifteen members--namely, Mr. Ewart, Viscount
Ebrington, Mr. D'Israeli, Sir Harry Verney, Mr. Charteris, Mr. Bunbury,
Mr. G. A. Hamilton, Mr. Brotherton, Mr. Monckton Milnes, the Lord
Advocate (Mr. Rutherford), Mr. Thicknesse, Sir John Walsh, Mr.
Mackinnon, Mr. Kershaw, and Mr. Wyld. These gentlemen seem to have
entered upon their labors with zeal, and to have performed their duty
with thoroughness and fidelity. They held numerous sessions, and
examined a large number of witnesses. The particulars of these
examinations have been printed in full, and form a rather bulky
blue-book, in which the report of the committee occupies only twelve
pages, while the minutes of evidence, tables, &c., fill over three
hundred. The committee appear to have felt that it was only necessary to
lay before parliament and the public the facts concerning the present
condition and wants of the public libraries of this country, in order to
insure the supply of all deficiencies.

After presenting a brief view of the principal libraries in the various
countries of Europe, with a more particular account of the present
condition of those in Great Britain, showing that the English are far
behind their continental brethren in this respect, the committee thus
express their conviction--"Whatever may be our disappointment at the
rarity of public libraries in the United Kingdom, we feel satisfaction
in stating that the uniform current of the evidence tends to prove the
increased qualifications of the people to appreciate and enjoy such
institutions. Testimony, showing a great improvement in the national
habits and manners, is abundantly given in the evidence taken by the
committee. That they would be still further improved by the
establishment of public libraries, it needs not even the high authority
and ample evidence of the witnesses who appeared before the committee to
demonstrate."

Frequent and favorable allusions are made in the report and the minutes
of evidence to the numerous popular libraries in this country for
district schools, factories, &c. These, we are aware, are of the
greatest value; but these alone are not sufficient. The establishment of
even a hundred thousand small village or district-school libraries would
not supersede the necessity of a certain number of large and
comprehensive ones. These little collections are much alike, each
containing nearly the same books as every other. The committee of
parliament appear to understand this. "It is evident," they say, "that
there should be in all countries libraries of two sorts; libraries of
deposit and research, and libraries devoted to the general reading and
circulation of books. Libraries of deposit should contain, if possible,
almost every book that ever has existed. The most insignificant tract,
the most trifling essay, a sermon, a newspaper, or a song, may afford an
illustration of manners or opinions elucidatory of the past, and throw a
faithful though feeble light on the pathway of the future historian. In
such libraries nothing should be rejected. Not but that libraries of
deposit and of general reading may (as in the case of the British
Museum) be combined. But though such combination is possible, and may be
desirable, the distinction which we have drawn should never be
forgotten."

The first, and apparently, in the estimation of the committee, the most
important witness, was Edward Edwards, Esq., an assistant in the
department of printed books in the British Museum. The minutes of his
evidence alone cover between sixty and seventy of the closely-printed
folio pages accompanying the report; and besides this, he has furnished
various statistical tables, occupying fifty pages, and a series of
twelve maps. In one of these maps it is his purpose to exhibit, by
various shades, the relative provision of books in public libraries in
the principal states of Europe, as compared with their respective
populations; and in the others, the local situation of the public
libraries in some of the principal cities is indicated. The evidence of
Mr. Edwards has been severely commented upon in the London papers and
elsewhere, and some inaccuracies in his tables, of greater or less
magnitude, have been pointed out. We might, perhaps, by a particular
examination of every word and figure, add something to the list of
errata. But we think that those persons who are most familiar with the
difficulty of obtaining exact statistical details, will not wonder that
an error should here and there be found. We have looked over the
evidence and the tables with considerable care, and think them, on the
whole, highly creditable to the author. It is evident, however, from the
general tenor of his testimony, that Mr. Edwards presses rather too
strongly the point respecting the condition of England, compared with
that of the countries on the continent, as to the number and
accessibility of their public libraries. His enthusiasm on the subject,
arising probably from a laudable desire to have his own country take a
higher rank in respect to libraries than she now holds, has led him, we
think, to overlook or undervalue some of the advantages which she
already possesses. But his facts and figures are in the main to be
relied upon; and we shall make use of them as sufficiently accurate to
give our readers a general view of the present bibliothecal condition of
the principal countries of Europe.

On Mr. Edwards's map of Europe we find the smaller German states to be
represented with the lightest lines, indicating the highest rank, and
Great Britain with the darkest or lowest. He states the provision of
books in libraries publicly accessible, as compared with the population,
to be as follows:--In Saxony, for every 100 inhabitants there are 417
books; in Denmark, 412; in Bavaria, 339; in Tuscany, 261; in Prussia,
200; in Austria, 167; in France, 129; in Belgium, 95; whilst in Great
Britain there are only 53 to every 100 inhabitants.

In the following tables, the libraries containing fewer than 10,000
volumes each (of which there are, in France alone, at least seventy or
eighty) are not taken into the account:--

France       has 107 public libraries, containing 4,000,000 vols.
Prussia       "   44       "                "     2,400,000  "
Austria       "   48       "                "     2,400,000  "
Great Britain "   33       "                "     1,771,000  "
Bavaria       "   17       "                "     1,267,000  "
Denmark       "    5       "                "       645,000  "
Saxony        "    6       "                "       554,000  "
Belgium       "   14       "                "       538,000  "
Tuscany       "    9       "                "       411,000  "

Taking the capital cities, we find the following results:--

Paris        has   9 public libraries, containing 1,474,000 vols.
Munich        "    2       "                "       800,000  "
Copenhagen    "    3       "                "       557,000  "
Berlin        "    2       "                "       530,000  "
London        "    4       "                "       490,500  "
Vienna        "    3       "                "       453,000  "
Dresden       "    4       "                "       340,500  "
Florence      "    6       "                "       318,000  "
Milan         "    2       "                "       230,000  "
Brussels      "    2       "                "       143,500  "

Arranging these libraries according to their extent, or number of
printed books, they would stand as follows:--

                              Printed Books. Manuscripts.
Paris (1), National Library,      824,000     80,000 vols.
Munich, Royal Library,            600,000     22,000  "
St. Petersburg, Imperial Library, 446,000     20,650  "
London, British Museum,           435,000     31,000  "
Copenhagen, Royal Library,        412,000      3,000  "
Berlin, Royal Library,            410,000      5,000  "
Vienna, Imperial Library,         313,000     16,000  "
Dresden, Royal Library,           300,000      2,800  "
Wolfenbuttel, Ducal Library,      200,000      4,580  "
Madrid, National Library,         200,000      2,500  "
Stuttgard, Royal Library,         187,000      3,300  "
Paris (2), Arsenal Library,       180,000      6,000  "
Milan, Brera Library,             170,000      1,000  "
Darmstadt, Grand Ducal Library,   150,000      4,000  "
Paris (3), St. Genevieve Library, 150,000      2,000  "
Florence, Magliabecchian Library, 150,000     12,000  "
Naples, Royal Library,            150,000      3,000  "
Edinburgh, Advocates' Library,    148,000      2,000  "
Brussels, Royal Library,          133,500     18,000  "
Rome (1), Casanata Library,       120,000      4,500  "
Hague, Royal Library,             100,000      2,000  "
Paris (4), Mazarin Library,       100,000      4,000  "
Rome (2), Vatican Library,        100,000     24,000  "
Parma, Ducal Library,             100,000             "

The chief university libraries may be ranked in the following order:--

                              Printed Books. Manuscripts.
Gottingen, University Library,    360,000      3,000 vols.
Breslau, University Library,      250,000      2,300  "
Oxford, Bodleian Library,         220,000     21,000  "
Tubingen, University Library,     200,000      1,900  "
Munich, University Library,       200,000      2,000  "
Heidelberg, University Library,   200,000      1,800  "
Cambridge, University Library,    166,000      3,163  "
Bologna, University Library,      150,000        400  "
Prague, University Library,       130,000      4,000  "
Vienna, University Library,       115,000             "
Leipsic, University Library,      112,000      2,500  "
Copenhagen, University Library,   110,000             "
Turin, University Library,        110,000      2,000  "
Louvain, University Library,      105,000        246  "
Dublin, Trinity College Library,  104,239      1,512  "
Upsal, University Library,        100,000      5,000  "
Erlangen, University Library,     100,000      1,000  "
Edinburgh, University Library,     90,354        310  "

The largest libraries in Great Britain are those of the

                              Printed Books. Manuscripts.
British Museum, London,           435,000     31,000  "
Bodleian, Oxford,                 220,000     21,000  "
University, Cambridge,            166,724      3,163  "
Advocates', Edinburgh,            148,000      2,000  "
Trinity College, Dublin,          104,239      1,512  "

There are in the United States of America at least 81 libraries of 5000
volumes and upwards each, to which the public, more or less
restrictedly, have access, and of these 49 are immediately connected
with colleges or public schools. The aggregate number of volumes in
these collections is about 980,413. We subjoin the contents of a few of
the largest:--

Harvard College Library,            72,000 vols.
Philadelphia and Loganian Library,  60,000  "
Boston Athenæum,                    50,000  "
Library of Congress,                50,000  "
New York Society Library,           32,000  "
Mercantile Library, New-York,       32,000  "
Georgetown College,                 25,000  "
Brown University,                   24,000  "
New-York State Library,             24,000  "
Yale College,                       21,000  "

America will, however, soon possess a library worthy of its character as
a great nation. The Astor Library, now in the course of formation, owes
its existence to the munificence of John Jacob Astor, who died on the
29th of March, 1848, leaving by his will the sum of 400,000 dollars for
the establishment of a public library in the city of New-York.
Seventy-five thousand dollars were to be appropriated to the erection of
a suitable building, and 120,000 dollars to the purchase of books as a
nucleus. The smallest number of books which the trustees consider it
safe to estimate as a basis for enlargement is 100,000 volumes. The
Astor Library will probably, when first formed, contain a larger number
and a better selection of books than any other in the United States.
With the generous provision which the founder has made for its increase,
together with the liberal donations which will undoubtedly be made to
this as the chief library in the country, it is likely to grow rapidly,
till it will take rank with the large libraries of the old world. Under
the direction of an enlightened and judicious Board of Trustees, with
Washington Irving for president, and Dr. Cogswell for superintendent of
the institution, there is every reason to believe that the desire so
warmly expressed at the conclusion of their report will be fulfilled:
"That the Astor Library may soon become, as a depository of the
treasures of literature and science, what the city possessing it is
rapidly becoming in commerce and wealth."

The second witness examined by the committee was M. Guizot. In the
distinguished positions which he has filled as minister of public
instruction and prime minister in France, his attention has been turned
to the public libraries of that country. While in office he ordered an
inspection of those institutions, and the French government now has
complete and exact documents relative to the number of public libraries,
and the number of books in each. These institutions are accessible to
the public in every way for reading, and to a great extent for borrowing
books. Some of them receive direct grants from the government towards
their support; while others, in the provincial towns, are supported by
municipal funds; and to the latter the government distributes copies of
costly works, for the publication of which it in general subscribes
liberally. M. Guizot attributes the happiest results to this system. He
says--"There are two good results: the first is, a general regard in the
mind of the public for learning, for literature, and for books. That
complete accessibility to the libraries gives to every one, learned or
unlearned, a general feeling of good-will for learning and for
knowledge; and then the second result is, that the means for acquiring
knowledge are given to those persons who are able to employ them."

His Excellency M. Van de Weyer, the Belgian ambassador, was next
examined. He testified that the public libraries in his own country were
numerous, large, and easily accessible to all who desire to make use of
them. He attributes the best results to the literary character of his
country from this privilege of free access to their large collections of
books. He thinks the people are better prepared than is generally
supposed to appreciate works of a high character. He seems to think it
unwise to attempt to popularize science and literature by printing
inferior books, written expressly for common and uneducated people. The
government subscribe for a number of copies of nearly every valuable
work published, by which means they encourage the progress of
literature, and are enabled to enrich many of the public collections.
"The government have sometimes, within a space of twenty years, spent
some £10,000 or £12,000 in favor of libraries. I take this opportunity
of stating also, that though the Chamber only votes a grant of 65,000 or
70,000 francs for the Royal Public Library of Brussels, whenever there
is some large sale going on, there is always a special grant made to the
library. Lately one of the most curious private libraries had been
advertised for sale; a catalogue had been printed in six volumes; the
government immediately came forward, bought the whole of the collection
for £13,000 or £14,000, and made it an addition to the Royal Library in
Brussels; they did the same thing at Ghent; I believe that the library
that they bought at Ghent consisted of about 20,000 volumes, and in
Brussels about 60,000 or 70,000 volumes." Our own government would do
well to imitate this example more frequently than it has hitherto done.

Passing by several witnesses whose evidence we should be glad to notice
did our limits permit, we come to George Dawson, Esquire, who as a
lecturer, has had opportunities of becoming acquainted with the
condition, the feelings and the wants of the working-classes in the
manufacturing towns both in England and Scotland. He testifies that
libraries to some extent have already been formed in those places, and
that there is a very general desire among the working-people to avail
themselves of more and better books. They can appreciate the best
authors. Political and historical subjects interest them most, but the
higher class of poetry is also read by them. Milton is much read. Mr.
Dawson says, "Shakspeare is known by heart almost. I could produce men
who could be cross-examined upon any play." The contrast between the
manufacturing and the farming districts in respect to the intelligence
of the people and their desire for improvement is very great. Speaking
of one of the agricultural districts, Mr. Dawson says, "I have heard of
a parish in Norfolk where a woman was the parish clerk, because there
was not a man in the parish who could read or write!"

Henry Stevens, Esq., formerly librarian of one of the libraries
connected with Yale College, gave some valuable information respecting
the present state of public libraries in the United States. He says:
"The public libraries of the United States are small but very numerous.
We have but two containing above 50,000 volumes, while there are nine
above 20,000, forty-three above 10,000, more than a hundred above 5000
volumes, and thousands of smaller ones. The want of large public
consulting libraries, like those of Europe, is much felt." The chief
readers in these libraries are the working-classes, and persons who are
engaged in active business through the day. Works on physical science,
history, biography, and of a superior class, are those chiefly read by
them; and Mr. Stevens stated, that when he came to England, he could not
help being struck by the "little reading that there is among the
laboring and business classes" of this country as compared with the
United States. This is succinctly explained by Mr. Dawson, who says:
"The quantity of people who cannot read and write in this country is a
very great hinderance to the demand for books. We have _eight millions_
who cannot write yet!" Mr. Edwards, in his evidence, also points to the
same deficiency of elementary education, "In addition," he says, "to the
positive want of schooling on the part of large numbers of the
population who are now growing up, those who do get some partial
education, habitually neglect to improve what they get from the want of
cultivating a taste for reading. Unless good books are made accessible
to the people, this is very likely to continue to be a cause--even where
education by Sunday schools, and other efforts of that kind, have been
brought within the reach of a considerable number of the population--why
the good effects of education have not been continued in after life."

The committee very justly place much value on the opinions and
suggestions of M. Libri. The thorough knowledge which that eminent
bibliographer possesses of all matters pertaining to the condition and
wants of public libraries, as well as of the needs of literary men,
renders his remarks worthy of careful consideration. In a letter
addressed to Mr. Ewart, the chairman of the committee, he develops his
views at some length, and shows the necessity of having in great
countries libraries "in which one may expect to find, as far as it is
possible, all books which learned men--men who occupy themselves upon
any subject whatever, and who cultivate one of the branches of human
knowledge--may require to consult. Of these there is nothing useless,
nothing ought to be neglected; the most insignificant in appearance,
those which on their publication have attracted the least attention,
sometimes become the source of valuable and unexpected information." It
is in the fragments, now so rare and precious, of some alphabets--of
some small grammars published for the use of schools about the middle of
the fifteenth century--or in the letters distributed in Germany by the
religious bodies commissioned to collect alms, that bibliographers now
seek to discover the first processes employed by the inventors of
xylography and typography. It is in a forgotten collection of
indifferent plates, published at Venice by Faush Verantio towards the
end of the sixteenth century, that an engineer, who interests himself in
the history of the mechanical arts, might find the first diagrams of
iron suspension-bridges.

Nothing should be neglected; nothing is useless to whoever wishes
thoroughly to study a subject. An astronomer, who desires to study the
motions peculiar to certain stars, requires to consult all the old books
of astronomy, and even of astrology, which appear the most replete with
error. A chemist, a man who is engaged in the industrial arts, may still
consult with profit certain works on alchemy, and even on magic. A
legislator, a jurisconsult, needs sometimes to be acquainted with the
laws, the ordinances, which derive their origin from the most barbarous
ages; but it is particularly for the biographer, for the historian, that
it is necessary to prepare the largest field of inquiry, to amass the
greatest quantity of materials. This is not only true as regards past
times, but we ought to prepare the materials for future students.
Historical facts which appear the least important, the most
insignificant anecdotes, registered in a pamphlet, mentioned in a
placard or in a song, nay be connected at a later period in an
unforeseen manner with events which acquire great importance, or with
men who are distinguished in history by their genius, by their sudden
elevation, or even by their crimes. We are not born celebrated--men
become so; and when we desire to trace the history of those who have
attained it, the inquirer is often obliged to pursue his researches in
their most humble beginnings. Who would have imagined that the obscure
author of a small pamphlet, "Le Souper de Beaucaire," would subsequently
become the Emperor Napoleon? and that to write fully the life of the
execrable Marat, one ought to have the very insignificant essays on
physics that he published before the Revolution? Nothing is too
unimportant for whoever wishes thoroughly to study the literary or
scientific history of a country, or for one who undertakes to trace the
intellectual progress of eminent minds, or to inform himself in detail
of the changes which have taken place in the institutions and in the
manners of a nation. Without speaking of the commentaries or
considerable additions which have been introduced in the various
reprints of an author, the successive editions of the same work which
appear to resemble each other the most, are often distinguished from
each other by peculiarities worthy of much attention. It has been well
said, that a public library should contain all those works which are too
costly, too voluminous, or of _too little value_ in the common
estimation to be found elsewhere, down even to the smallest tracts. An
old almanac, or a forgotten street-ballad, has sometimes enabled the
historian to verify or correct some important point which would
otherwise have remained in dispute.

With a brief extract from the evidence of one other witness we must
close our notice of the Report on Public Libraries. Charles Meyer, Esq.,
German secretary to his Royal Highness Prince Albert, had given
attention to the public libraries of Germany, having resided several
years in Gotha, Hamburg, Leipsic, and Munich. He had perused the
principal part of the evidence which had been given by Mr. Edwards upon
this subject, and found all that he stated to be quite correct. Dr.
Meyer thinks the existence of the numerous and valuable libraries of
Germany has given the literary men of that country an advantage over
the literary men of England. "It has saved a great number of our
German learned men," he says, "from the danger of becoming
_autodidactoi_--self-taught. I think that is one essential point of
difference that is visible in comparing the general character of the
instruction in this country with that on the continent: there are in
this country a great number of self-taught people, who think according
to their own views, without any reference to previous scientific works.
They make sometimes very great discoveries; but sometimes they find that
they have wasted their labor upon subjects already known, which have
been written upon by a great number of people before them; but as they
have no access to libraries, it is impossible for them to get acquainted
with the literature of that branch upon which they treat."

From the preceding quotations, it is evident that, in the opinion of the
Parliamentary Committee, and of the witnesses examined by it, there
exists in this country at once a great deficiency of public libraries
and a pressing necessity for their establishment. Our people are and
will be readers. They are generally prepared to make a good use of books
of a higher order than those offered to them in so cheap and attractive
a form by our enterprising publishers. Now, either their energies will
be wasted in a desultory course of reading, by which they will gain only
a superficial knowledge of almost every conceivable subject, or they
must be furnished with the means, which they are so well prepared to use
to advantage, of going to the bottom of whatever subject interests them,
and having exhausted the wisdom of past generations, of adding to the
stock of general knowledge from the results of their own thoughts and
experience.

The necessity for the establishment of large collections of books,
freely open to the public--of institutions in which, as Ovid well
expresses it,

    "Quæque viri docto veteres cepere novique
    Pectore, lecturis inspicienda patent"--

is, we imagine, unquestioned and unquestionable. The question now
arises, How are these libraries to be constituted? On this point it will
not be expected that we should dilate at length. At the present time the
best books on all subjects are to be purchased at a moderate rate; and
in the formation of new libraries, attention should first be paid to the
supply of works most generally in demand. It will neither be wise nor
just to the public to purchase, at the outset, rare and curious works:
when a sufficient supply of really useful and generally read
publications has been obtained, it will be quite time enough to think of
indulging the bibliomania. But there is one subject on which this taste
may advantageously be indulged--and that is, every town in which a
public library is established should take care to collect all works
relating to its local or municipal history. A selection of the best
books on bibliography should also be possessed by each. These are to the
librarian and the literary man what the compass is to the mariner, or
the tools of his trade to the artisan.

But we must hasten to a conclusion. As a pendent to the Report of the
Parliamentary Committee, Mr. Ewart brought forward a bill for the
establishment of libraries and museums in country towns. This bill has
now received the sanction of the legislature; its operation is, however,
limited to boroughs whose population exceeds 10,000; and before it can
be carried into effect, a public meeting of rate-payers must be called,
and the consent of two-thirds of those present obtained. Liverpool was
the first to profit by this act: other towns have followed her example;
and we trust that ere long, in all the considerable towns throughout the
length and breadth of this land, public libraries and museums will be
established. The subject is one that cannot be long neglected. It will
go on gaining upon public attention, until seen by all in its true
light, and in all its bearings. Then the connection between a sound
literature and the means used for its formation will be felt; then the
numerous and immediate advantages of such a form of encouragement, as
the establishment of these institutions, will be clearly seen and fully
understood; and the rich harvest of glory which our future scholars will
reap in every branch of study must convince even the most incredulous,
that literature asks no favors and seeks no aid for which she does not
repay the giver with a tenfold increase.

FOOTNOTES:

[19] The library of Pergamos was founded by King Eumenes, and enlarged
by his successor Attalus. It soon became so extensive that the
Ptolemies, afraid that it would speedily rival their own collection at
Alexandria, issued an edict forbidding the exportation of papyrus; but
this prohibition, so far from attaining the unworthy object for which it
was destined, proved rather beneficial; for the Pergameans, having
exhausted their stock of papyrus, set their wits to work, and invented
parchment (_charta Pergamena_) as a substitute.

[20] One of the most remarkable