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INTERNATIONAL WEEKLY MISCELLANY

Of Literature, Art, and Science.

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Vol. I. NEW YORK, AUGUST 12, 1850. No. 7.

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WOMEN AND LITERATURE IN FRANCE.

From a sprightly letter from Paris to the _Cologne Gazette_, we
translate for _The International_ the following account of the
position of women in the French Republic, together with the
accompanying gossip concerning sundry ladies whose names have long
been quite prominently before the public:

"It is curious that the idea of the emancipation of women should have
originated in France, for there is no country in Europe where the
sex have so little reason to complain of their position as in this,
especially at Paris. Leaving out of view a certain paragraph of the
_Code Civile_--and that is nothing but a sentence in a law-book--and
looking closely into the features of women's life, we see that they
are not only queens who reign, but also ministers who govern.

"In France women are engaged in a large proportion of civil
employments, and may without hesitation devote themselves to art and
science. It is indeed astonishing to behold the interest with which
the beautiful sex here enter upon all branches of art and knowledge.

"The ateliers of the painters number quite as many female as male
students, and there are apparently more women than men who copy the
pictures in the Louvre. Nothing is more pleasing than to see these
gentle creatures, with their easels, sitting before a colossal Rubens
or a Madonna of Raphael. No difficulty alarms them, and prudery is not
allowed to give a voice in their choice of subjects.

"I have never yet attended a lecture, by either of the professors
here, but I have found some seats occupied by ladies. Even the
lectures of Michel Chevalier and Blanqui do not keep back the
eagerness of the charming Parisians in pursuit of science. That
Michelet and Edgar Quinet have numerous female disciples is
accordingly not difficult to believe.

"Go to a public session of the Academy, and you find the '_cercle_'
filled almost exclusively by ladies, and these laurel-crowned heads
have the delight of seeing their immortal works applauded by the
clapping of tenderest hands. In truth, the French savan is uncommonly
clear in the most abstract things; but it would be an interesting
question, whether the necessity of being not alone easily intelligible
but agreeable to the capacity of comprehension possessed by the
unschooled mind of woman, has not largely contributed to the facility
and charm which is peculiar to French scientific literature. Read
for example the discourse on Cabanis, pronounced by Mignet at the
last session. It would be impossible to write more charmingly, more
elegantly, more attractively, even upon a subject within the range
of the fine arts. The works, and especially the historical works, of
the French, are universally diffused. Popular histories, so-called
editions for the people, are here entirely unknown; everything that
is published is in a popular edition, and if as great and various care
were taken for the education of the people as in Germany, France would
in this respect be the first country in the world.

"With the increasing influence of monarchical ideas in certain
circles, the women seem to be returning to the traditions of monarchy,
and are throwing themselves into the business of making memoirs.
Hardly have George Sand's Confessions been announced, and already new
enterprises in the same line are set on foot. The European dancer,
who is perhaps more famous for making others dance to her music,
and who has enjoyed a monopoly of cultivated scandal, Lola Montes,
also intends to publish her memoirs. They will of course contain
an interesting fragment of German federal politics, and form a
contribution to German revolutionary literature. Lola herself is still
too beautiful to devote her own time to the writing. Accordingly, she
has resorted to the pen of M. Balzac. If Madame Balzac has nothing to
say against the necessary intimacy with the dangerous Spanish or Irish
or whatever woman--for Lola Montes is a second Homer--the reading
world may anticipate an interesting, chapter of life. No writer is
better fitted for such a work than so profound a man of the world, and
so keen a painter of character, as Balzac.

"The well-known actress, Mlle. Georges, who was in her prime during
the most remarkable epoch of the century, and was in relations
with the most prominent persons of the Empire, is also preparing a
narrative of her richly varied experiences. Perhaps these attractive
examples may induce Madame Girardin also to bestow her memoirs upon
us, and so the process can be repeated infinitely."

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AUTHORS AND BOOKS.

       *       *       *       *       *

Parke Godwin has just given to the public, through Mr. Putnam, a new
edition of the translation made by himself and some literary friends,
of Goethe's "Autobiography, or Truth and Poetry from My Life." In his
new preface Mr. Godwin exposes one of the most scandalous pieces of
literary imposition that we have ever read of. This translation, with
a few verbal alterations which mar its beauty and lessen its fidelity,
has been reprinted in "Bohn's Standard Library," in London, as an
original English version, in the making of which "the American was of
_occasional use_," &c. Mr. Godwin is one of our best German scholars,
and his discourse last winter on the character and genius of Goethe,
illustrated his thorough appreciation of the Shakspeare of the
Continent, and that affectionate sympathy which is so necessary to
the task of turning an author from one language into another. There
are very few books in modern literature more attractive or more
instructive to educated men than this Autobiography of Goethe, for
which we are indebted to him.

       *       *       *       *       *

John Randolph is the best subject for a biography, that our political
experience has yet furnished. Who that remembers the long and slender
man of iron, with his scarcely human scorn of nearly all things
beyond his "old Dominion," and his withering wit, never restrained
by any pity, and his passion for destroying all fabrics of policy or
reputation of which he was not himself the architect, but will read
with anticipations of keen interest the announcement of a life of
the eccentric yet great Virginian! Such a work, by the Hon. Hugh
A. Garland, is in the press of the Appletons. We know little of Mr.
Garland's capacities in this way, but if his book prove not the most
attractive in the historical literature of the year, the fault will
not be in its subject.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Scottish Booksellers have instituted a society for professional
objects under the title of the "Edinburgh Booksellers' Union." In
addition to business purposes, they propose to collect and preserve
books and pamphlets written by or relating to booksellers, printers,
engravers, or members of collateral professions,--rare editions of
other works--and generally articles connected with parties belonging
to the above professions, whether literary, professional, or personal.

       *       *       *       *       *

D'Israeli abandons himself now-a-days entirely to politics. "The
forehead high, and gleaming eye, and lip awry, of Benjamin D'Israeli,"
sung once by _Fraser_ are no longer seen before the title-pages of
"Wondrous Tales," but only before the Speaker. It is much referred to,
that in the recent parliamentary commemoration of Sir Robert Peel,
the Hebrew commoner kept silence; his long war of bitter sarcasm and
reproach on the defunct statesman was too freshly remembered. Peel
rarely exerted himself to more advantage than in his replies, to
D'Israeli, all noticeable for subdued disdain, conscious patriotism,
and argumentative completeness. For injustice experienced through
life, the meritorious dead are in a measure revenged by the
feelings of their accusers or detractors, when the latter retain the
sensibility which the grave usually excites, and especially amid such
a chorus of applause from all parties, and a whole people, as we have
now in England for Sir Robert Peel--the only man in the Empire, except
Wellington, who had a strictly personal authority.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Dickson, recently of the Medical Department of the New York
University, and whose ill-health induced the resignation of the chair
he held there, has returned to Charleston, and we observe that his
professional and other friends in that city greeted him with a public
dinner, on the 9th ult. Dr. Dickson we believe is one of the most
classically elegant writers upon medical science in the United States.
He ranks with Chapman and Oliver Wendell Holmes in the grace of
his periods as well as in the thoroughness of his learning and the
exactness and acuteness of his logic. Like Holmes, too, he is a poet,
and, generally, a very accomplished _litterateur_. We regret the loss
that New York sustains in his removal, but congratulate Charleston
upon the recovery of one of the best known and most loved attractions
of her society.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. John R. Bartlett's boundary commission will soon be upon the
field of its activity. We were pleased to see that Mr. Davis, of
Massachusetts, a few days ago presented in the Senate petitions
from Edward Everett, Jared Sparks, and others, and from the American
Academy of Arts and Sciences, at Boston, to the effect that it would
be of great public utility to attach to the boundary commission to
run the line between the United States and Mexico, a small corps of
persons well qualified to make researches in the various departments
of science.

       *       *       *       *       *

William C. Richards, the very clever and accomplished editor of the
_Southern Literary Gazette_ was the author of "Two Country Sonnets,"
contributed to a recent number of _The International_, which we
inadvertently credited to his brother, T. Addison Richards the
well-known and much esteemed landscape painter.

       *       *       *       *       *

MAJOR POUSSIN, so well-known for his long residence in this country
as an officer of engineers, and, more recently, as Minister of the
French republic,--which, intelligent men have no need to be assured,
he represented with uniform wisdom and manliness,--is now engaged
at Paris upon a new edition of his important book, _The Power and
Prospects of the United States_. We perceive that he has lately
published in the Republican journal _Le Credit_, a translation of the
American instructions to Mr. Mann, respecting Hungary. In his preface
to this document, Major Poussin pays the warmest compliments to the
feelings, measures and policy of our administration, with which he
contrasts, at the same time, those of the French Government. He
hopes a great deal for the Democratic cause in Europe from the _moral
influences_ of the United States.

       *       *       *       *       *

DR. JOHN W. FRANCIS, one of the most excellent men, as well as one of
the best physicians of New York, has received from Trinity College,
Hartford, the degree of Doctor of Laws. We praise the authorities of
Trinity for this judicious bestowal of its honors. Francis's career
of professional usefulness and variously successful intellectual
activity, are deserving such academical recognition. His genial love
of learning, large intelligence, ready appreciation of individual
merit, and that genuine love of country which has led him to the
carefullest and most comprehensive study of our general and particular
annals, and to the frequentest displays of the sources of its enduring
grandeur, constitute in him a character eminently entitled to our
affectionate admiration.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POEMS OF GRAY, in an edition of singular typographical and
pictorial beauty, are to be issued as one of the autumn gift-books
by Henry C. Baird, of Philadelphia. They are to be edited by the
tasteful and judicious critic, Professor Henry Reed, of the University
of Pennsylvania, to whom we were indebted for the best edition of
Wordsworth that appeared during the life of that poet. We have looked
over Professor Reed's life of Gray, and have seen proofs of the
admirable engravings with which the work will be embellished. It will
be dedicated to our American Moxon, JAMES T. FIELDS, as a souvenir.
we presume, of a visit to the grave of the bard, which the two young
booksellers made together during a recent tour in Europe. Mr. Baird
and Mr. Fields are of the small company of publishers, who, if it
please them, can write their own books. They have both given pleasant
evidence of abilities in this way.

       *       *       *       *       *

BURNS.--It appears from the Scotch papers that the house in
Burns-street, Dumfries, in which the bard of "Tam o'Shanter" and his
wife "bonnie Jean," lived and died, is about to come into the market
by way of public auction.

       *       *       *       *       *

"EUROPE, PAST AND PRESENT:" A comprehensive manual of European
Geography and History, derived from official and authentic sources,
and comprising not only an accurate geographical and statistical
description, but also a faithful and interesting history of all
European States; to which is appended a copious and carefully arranged
index, by Francis H. Ungewitter, LL.D.,--is a volume of some six
hundred pages, just published by Mr. Putnam. It has been prepared
with much well-directed labor, and will be found a valuable and
comprehensive manual of reference upon all questions relating to the
history, geographical position, and general statistics of the several
States of Europe.

       *       *       *       *       *

M. LIBRI, of whose conviction at Paris (_par contumace_, that is,
in default of appearance), of stealing books from public libraries,
we have given some account in _The International_, is warmly and it
appears to us successfully defended in the Athenæum, in which it is
alleged that there was not a particle of legal evidence against him.
M. Libri is, and was at the time of the appearance of the accusation
against him, a political exile in England.

       *       *       *       *       *

MAJOR RAWLINSON, F.R.S., has published a "Commentary on the Cuneiform
Inscriptions of Babylon and Assyria," including readings of the
inscriptions on the Nimroud Obelisk, discovered by Mr. Layard, and a
brief notice of the ancient kings of Nineveh and Babylon. It was read
before the Royal Asiatic Society.

       *       *       *       *       *

REV. DR. WISEMAN, author of the admirable work on the Connection
between Science and Religion, is to proceed to Rome toward the close
of the present month to receive the hat of a cardinal. It is many
years since any English Roman Catholic, resident in England, attained
this honor.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE OHIO HISTORICAL SOCIETY has published several interesting volumes,
of which the most important are those of Judge Burnett. An address, by
William D. Gallagher, its President, on the History and Resources of
the West and Northwest, has just been issued: and it has nearly ready
for publication a volume of Mr. Hildreth.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY AT VIENNA has been enriched by a very old Greek
manuscript on the Advent of Christ, composed by a bishop of the second
century, named Clement. This manuscript was discovered a short time
since by M. Waldeck, the philologist, at Constantinople.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. KEIGHTLEY's "History of Greece" has been translated into modern
Greek and published at Athens.

       *       *       *       *       *

GUIZOT's book on Democracy, has been prohibited in Austria, through
General Haynau's influence.

       *       *       *       *       *

WORDSWORTH'S POSTHUMOUS POEM, "The Prelude," is in the press of the
Appletons, by whose courtesy we are enabled to present the readers
of _The International_ with the fourth canto of it, before its
publication in England. The poem is a sort of autobiography in blank
verse, marked by all the characteristics of the poet--his original
vein of thought; his majestic, but sometimes diffuse, style of
speculation; his large sympathies with humanity, from its proudest
to its humblest forms. It will be read with great avidity by his
admirers--and there are few at this day who do not belong to that
class--as affording them a deeper insight into the mind of Wordsworth
than any of his other works. It is divided into several books, named
from the different situations or stages of the author's life, or the
subjects which at any period particularly engaged his attention. We
believe it will be more generally read than any poem of equal length
that has issued from the press in this age.

       *       *       *       *       *

Miss COOPER's "RURAL HOURS"[1] is everywhere commended as one of
the most charming pictures that have ever appeared of country life.
The books of the Howitts, delineating the same class of subjects
in England and Germany, are not to be compared to Miss Cooper's for
delicate painting or grace and correctness of diction. The Evening
Post observes:

    "This is one of the most delightful books we have lately
    taken up. It is a journal of daily observations made by an
    intelligent and highly educated lady, residing in a most
    beautiful part of the country, commencing with the spring of
    1848, and closing with the end of the winter of 1849. They
    almost wholly concern the occupations and objects of country
    life, and it is almost enough to make one in love with such a
    life to read its history so charmingly narrated. Every day has
    its little record in this volume,--the record of some rural
    employment, some note on the climate, some observation
    in natural history, or occasionally some trait of rural
    manners. The arrival and departure of the birds of passage
    is chronicled, the different stages of vegetation are noted,
    atmospheric changes and phenomena are described, and the
    various living inhabitants of the field and forest are made
    to furnish matter of entertainment for the reader. All this
    is done with great variety and exactness of knowledge, and
    without any parade of science. Descriptions of rural holidays
    and rural amusements are thrown in occasionally, to give a
    living interest to a picture which would otherwise become
    monotonous from its uniform quiet. The work is written in
    easy and flexible English, with occasional felicities of
    expression. It is ascribed, as we believe we have informed our
    readers, to a daughter of J. Fenimore Cooper. Our country is
    full of most interesting materials for a work of this sort;
    but we confess we hardly expected, at the present time, to see
    them collected and arranged by so skillful a hand."

[Footnote 1: RURAL HOURS: by a Lady, George P. Putnam, 155 Broadway.
1850.]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REV. SYDNEY SMITH's "Sketches of Modern Philosophy," remarks the
Tribune, "consist of a course of popular lectures on the subject,
delivered in the Royal Institution of London in the years 1804-5-6.
As a contribution to the science of which they profess to treat, their
claims to respect are very moderate. Indeed, no one would ridicule any
pretensions of that kind with more zeal than the author himself. The
manuscripts were left in an imperfect state, Sydney Smith probably
supposing that no call would ever be made for their publication.
They were written merely for popular effect, to be spoken before
a miscellaneous audience, in which any abstract topics of moral
philosophy would be the last to awaken an interest. The title of
the book is accordingly a misnomer. It would lead no one to suspect
the rich and diversified character of its contents. They present no
ambitious attempts at metaphysical disquisition. They are free from
dry technicalities of ethical speculation. They have no specimens of
logical hair-splitting, no pedantic array of barren definitions, no
subtle distinctions proceeding from an ingenious fancy, and without
any foundation in nature. On the contrary, we find in this volume a
series of lively, off-hand, dashing comments on men and manners, often
running into broad humor, and always marked with the pungent common
sense that never forsook the facetious divine. His remarks on the
conduct of the understanding, on literary habits, on the use and value
of books, and other themes of a similar character, are for the most
part instructive and practical as well as piquant, and on the whole,
the admirers of Sydney Smith will have no reason to regret the
publication of the volume."

       *       *       *       *       *

[FROM THE LONDON TIMES.]

BIOGRAPHY OF SIR ROBERT PEEL.

In the following brief narrative of the principal facts in the life of
the great statesman who has just been snatched from among us, we must
disclaim all intention of dealing with his biography in any searching
or ambitious spirit. The national loss is so great, the bereavement
is so sudden, that we cannot sit down calmly either to eulogize or
arraign the memory of the deceased. We cannot forget that it was not
a week ago we were occupied in recording and commenting upon his last
eloquent address to that assembly which had so often listened with
breathless attention to his statesmanlike expositions of policy. We
could do little else when the mournful intelligence reached us that
Sir Robert Peel was no more, than pen a few expressions of sorrow
and respect. Even now the following imperfect record of facts must
be accepted as a poor substitute for the biography of that great
Englishman whose loss will be felt almost as a private bereavement by
every family throughout the British Empire:--

Sir Robert Peel was in the 63d year of his age, having been born near
Bury, in Lancashire, on the 5th of February, 1788. His father was a
manufacturer on a grand scale, and a man of much natural ability, and
of almost unequaled opulence. Full of a desire to render his son and
probable successor worthy of the influence and the vast wealth which
he had to bestow, the first Sir Robert Peel took the utmost pains
personally with the early training of the future prime minister. He
retained his son under his own immediate superintendence until he
arrived at a sufficient age to be sent to Harrow. Lord Byron, his
contemporary at Harrow, was a better declaimer and a more amusing
actor, but in sound learning and laborious application to school
duties young Peel had no equal. He had scarcely completed his 16th
year when he left Harrow and became a gentleman commoner of Christ
Church, Oxford, where he took the degree of A.B., in 1808, with
unprecedented distinction.

The year 1809 saw him attain his majority, and take his seat in the
House of Commons as a member for Cashel, in Tipperary.

The first Sir Robert Peel had long been a member of the House of
Commons, and the early efforts of his son in that assembly were
regarded with considerable interest, not only on account of his
University reputation, but also because he was the son of such a
father. He did not, however, begin public life by staking his fame on
the results of one elaborate oration; on the contrary, he rose now and
then on comparatively unimportant occasions; made a few brief modest
remarks, stated a fact or two, explained a difficulty when he happened
to understand the matter in hand better than others, and then sat down
without taxing too severely the patience or good nature of an auditory
accustomed to great performances. Still in the second year of his
parliamentary course he ventured to make a set speech, when, at the
commencement of the session of 1810, he seconded the address in
reply to the King's speech. Thenceforward for nineteen years a more
highflying Tory than Mr. Peel was not to be found within the walls of
parliament. Lord Eldon applauded him as a young and valiant champion
of those abuses in the state which were then fondly called "the
institutions of the country." Lord Sidmouth regarded him as the
rightful political heir, and even the Duke of Cumberland patronized
Mr. Peel. He further became the favorite _eleve_ of Mr. Perceval, the
first lord of the treasury, and entered office as under-secretary
for the home department. He continued in the home department for two
years, not often speaking in parliament, but rather qualifying himself
for those prodigious labors in debate, in council, and in office,
which it has since been his lot to encounter and perform.

In May, 1812, Mr. Perceval fell by the hand of an assassin, and the
composition of the ministry necessarily underwent a great change. The
result, so far as Mr. Peel was concerned, was, that he was appointed
Chief Secretary to the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. Mr. Peel had only
reached his 26th year when, in the month of September, 1812, the
duties of that anxious and laborious position were entrusted to his
hands. The legislative union was then but lately consummated, and the
demand for Catholic emancipation had given rise to an agitation of
only very recent date. But, in proportion to its novelty, so was its
vigor. Mr. Peel was, therefore, as the representative of the old tory
Protestant school, called upon to encounter a storm of unpopularity,
such as not even an Irish secretary has ever been exposed to. The
late Mr. O'Connell in various forms poured upon Mr. Peel a torrent
of invective which went beyond even his extraordinary performances
in the science of scolding. At length he received from Mr. Peel a
hostile message. Negotiations went on for three or four days, when
Mr. O'Connell was taken into custody and bound over to keep the peace
toward all his fellow-subjects in Ireland. Mr. Peel and his friend
immediately went to England, and subsequently proceeded to the
continent. Mr. O'Connell followed them to London, but the police were
active enough to bring him before the chief justice, when he entered
into recognizances to keep the peace toward all his majesty's
subjects; and so ended one of the few personal squabbles in which Mr.
Peel had ever been engaged. For six years he held the office of chief
secretary to the lord-lieutenant, at a time when the government was
conducted upon what might be called "anti-conciliation principles."
The opposite course was commenced by Mr. Peel's immediate successor,
Mr. Charles Grant, now Lord Glenelg.

That a chief secretary so circumstanced, struggling to sustain extreme
Orangeism in its dying agonies, should have been called upon to
encounter great toil and anxiety is a truth too obvious to need
illustration. That in these straits Mr. Peel acquitted himself with
infinite address was as readily acknowledged at that time as it has
ever been even in the zenith of his fame. He held office in that
country under three successive viceroys, the Duke of Richmond, Earl
Whitworth, and Earl Talbot, all of whom have long since passed away
from this life, their names and their deeds long forgotten. But the
history of their chief secretary happens not to have been composed
of such perishable materials, and we now approach one of the most
memorable passages of his eventful career. He was chairman of the
great bullion committee; but before he engaged in that stupendous task
he had resigned the chief secretaryship of Ireland. As a consequence
of the report of that committee, he took charge of and introduced the
bill for authorizing a return to cash payments which bears his name,
and which measure received the sanction of parliament in the year
1819. That measure brought upon Mr. Peel no slight or temporary odium.
The first Sir Robert Peel was then alive, and altogether differed from
his son as to the tendency of his measure. It was roundly asserted at
the time, and very faintly denied, that it rendered that gentleman a
more wealthy man, by something like half a million sterling, than he
had previously been. The deceased statesman, however, must, in common
justice, be acquitted of any sinister purpose.

This narrative now reaches the year 1820, when we have to relate the
only domestic event in the history of Sir Robert Peel which requires
notice. On the 8th of June, being then in the 33d year of his age,
he married Julia, daughter of General Sir John Floyd, who had then
attained the age of 25.

Two years afterward there was a lull in public affairs, which gave
somewhat the appearance of tranquillity. Lord Sidmouth was growing
old, he thought that his system was successful, and that at length he
might find repose. He considered it then consistent with his public
duty to consign to younger and stronger hands the seals of the home
department. He accepted a seat in the cabinet without office, and
continued to give his support to Lord Liverpool, his ancient political
chief. In permitting his mantle to fall upon Mr. Peel, he thought he
was assisting to invest with authority one whose views and policy were
as narrow as his own, and whose practise in carrying them out would
be not less rigid and uncompromising. But, like many others, he lived
long enough to be grievously disappointed by the subsequent career of
him whom the liberal party have since called "the great minister of
progress," and whom their opponents have not scrupled to designate
by appellations not to be repeated in these hours of sorrow and
bereavement. On the 17th of January, 1822, Mr. Peel was installed at
the head of the home department, where he remained undisturbed till
the political demise of Lord Liverpool in the spring of 1827. The most
distinguished man that has filled the chair of the House of Commons
in the present century was Charles Abbott, afterward Lord Colchester.
In the summer of 1817 he had completed sixteen years of hard service
in that eminent office, and he had represented the University for
eleven years. His valuable labors having been rewarded with a pension
and a peerage, he took his seat, full of years and honors, among
the hereditary legislators of the land, and left a vacancy in the
representation of his _alma mater_, which Mr. Peel above all living
men was deemed the most fitting person to occupy. At that time he was
an intense tory--or as the Irish called him, an Orange Protestant
of the deepest dye--one prepared to make any sacrifice for the
maintenance of church and state as established by the revolution of
1688. Who, therefore, so fit as he to represent the loyalty, learning,
and orthodoxy of Oxford? To have done so had been the object of Mr.
Canning's young ambition: but in 1817 he could not be so ungrateful to
Liverpool as to reject its representation even for the early object
of his parliamentary affections. Mr. Peel, therefore, was returned
without opposition, for that constituency which many consider the most
important in the land--with which he remained on the best possible
terms for twelve years. The question of the repeal of the penal
laws affecting the Roman Catholics, which severed so many political
connections, was, however, destined to separate Mr. Peel from Oxford.
In 1828 rumors of the coming change were rife, and many expedients
were devised to extract his opinions on the Catholic question. But
with the reserve which ever marked his character, left all curiosity
at fault. At last, the necessities of the government rendered further
concealment impossible, and out came the truth that he was no longer
an Orangeman. The ardent friends who had frequently supported
his Oxford elections, and the hot partisans who shouted "Peel and
Protestantism," at the Brunswick Clubs, reviled him for his defection
in no measured terms. On the 4th of February, 1829, he addressed a
letter to the vice-chancellor of Oxford, stating, in many well-turned
phrases, that the Catholic question must forthwith be adjusted, under
advice in which he concurred; and that, therefore, he considered
himself bound to resign that trust which the University had during so
many years confided to his hands. His resignation was accepted; but as
the avowed purpose of that important step was to give his constituents
an opportunity of pronouncing an opinion upon a change of policy,
he merely accepted the Chiltern Hundreds with the intention of
immediately becoming a candidate for that seat in parliament which he
had just vacated. At this election Mr. Peel was opposed by Sir Robert
Inglis, who was elected by 755 to 609. Mr. Peel was, therefore,
obliged to cast himself on the favor of Sir Manasseh Lopez, who
returned him for Westbury, in Wiltshire, which constituency he
continued to represent two years, until at the general election in
1830 he was chosen for Tamworth, in the representation for which he
continued for twenty years.

The main features of his official life still remain to be noticed.
With the exception of Lord Palmerston, no statesman of modern times
has spent so many years in the civil service of the crown. If no
account be taken of the short time he was engaged upon the bullion
committee in effecting the change in the currency, and in opposing for
a few months the ministries of Mr. Canning and Lord Goderich, it may
be stated that from 1810 to 1830 he formed part of the government, and
presided over it as a first minister in 1834-5, as well as from 1841
to 1846 inclusive. During the time that he held the office of home
secretary under Lord Liverpool he effected many important changes
in the administration of domestic affairs, and many legislative
improvements of a practical and comprehensive character. But his fame
as member of parliament was principally sustained at this period of
his life by the extensive and admirable alterations which he effected
in the criminal law. Romilly and Mackintosh had preceded him in the
great work of reforming and humanizing the code of England. For his
hand, however, was reserved the introduction of ameliorations which
they had long toiled and struggled for in vain. The ministry through
whose influence he was enabled to carry these reforms lost its chief
in Lord Liverpool during the early part of the year 1827. When Mr.
Canning undertook to form a government, Mr. Peel, the late Lord Eldon,
the Duke of Wellington, and other eminent tories of that day, threw up
office, and are said to have persecuted Mr. Canning with a degree of
rancor far outstripping the legitimate bounds of political hostility.
Lord George Bentinck said "they hounded to the death my illustrious
relative"; and the ardor of his subsequent opposition to Sir Robert
Peel evidently derived its intensity from a long cherished sense of
the injuries supposed to have been inflicted upon Mr. Canning. It
is the opinion of men not ill informed respecting the sentiments of
Canning, that he considered Peel as his true political successor--as a
statesman competent to the task of working out that large and liberal
policy which he fondly hoped the tories might, however tardily,
be induced to sanction. At all events, he is believed not to have
entertained toward Mr. Peel any personal hostility, and to have stated
during his short-lived tenure of office that that gentleman was the
only member of his party who had not treated him with ingratitude and
unkindness.

In January, 1828, the Wellington ministry took office and held it till
November, 1830. Mr. Peel's reputation suffered during this period
very rude shocks. He gave up, as already stated, his anti-Catholic
principles, lost the force of twenty years' consistency, and under
unheard-of disadvantages introduced the very measure he had spent so
many years in opposing. The debates on Catholic emancipation, which
preceded the great reform question, constitute a period in his life,
which, twenty years ago, every one would have considered its chief
and prominent feature. There can be no doubt that the course he then
adopted demanded greater moral courage than at any previous period
of his life he had been called upon to exercise. He believed himself
incontestibly in the right; he believed, with the Duke of Wellington,
that the danger of civil war was imminent, and that such an event
was immeasurably a greater evil than surrendering the constitution
of 1688. But he was called upon to snap asunder a parliamentary
connection of twelve years with a great university, in which the most
interesting period of his youth had been passed; to encounter the
reproaches of adherents whom he had often led in well-fought contests
against the advocates of what was termed "civil and religious
liberty;" to tell the world that the character of public men for
consistency, however precious, is not to be directly opposed to
the common weal; and to communicate to many the novel as well as
unpalatable truth that what they deemed "principle" must give way to
what he called "expediency."

When he ceased to be a minister of the crown, that general movement
throughout Europe which succeeded the deposition of the elder branch
of the Bourbons rendered parliamentary reform as unavoidable as two
years previously Catholic emancipation had been. He opposed this
change, no doubt with increased knowledge and matured talents, but
with impaired influence and few parliamentary followers. The history
of the reform debates will show that Sir Robert Peel made many
admirable speeches, which served to raise his reputation, but never
for a moment turned the tide of fortune against his adversaries, and
in the first session of the first reformed parliament he found himself
at the head of a party that in numbers little exceeded one hundred. As
soon as it was practicable he rallied his broken forces; either he or
some of his political friends gave them the name of "Conservatives,"
and it required but a short interval of reflection and observation
to prove to his sagacious intellect that the period of reaction was
at hand. Every engine of party organization was put into vigorous
activity, and before the summer of 1834 reached its close he was at
the head of a compact, powerful, and well-disciplined opposition. Such
a high impression of their vigor and efficiency had King William IV
received, that when, in November, Lord Althorp became a peer, and the
whigs therefore lost their leader to the House of Commons, his Majesty
sent in Italy to summon Sir Robert Peel to his councils, with a view
to the immediate formation of a conservative ministry. He accepted
this responsibility, though he thought the King had mistaken the
condition of the country and the chances of success which had awaited
his political friends. A new House of Commons was instantly called,
and for nearly three months Sir Robert Peel maintained a struggle
against the most formidable opposition that for nearly a century any
minister had been called to encounter. At no time did his command of
temper, his almost exhaustless resources of information, his vigorous
and comprehensive intellect appear to create such astonishment or draw
forth such unbounded admiration as in the early part of 1835. But,
after a well-fought contest he retired once more into the opposition
till the close of the second Melbourne Administration in 1841. It
was in April, 1835, that Lord Melbourne was restored to power, but
the continued enjoyment of office did not much promote the political
interests of his party, and from various causes the power of the
whigs began to decline. The commencement of a new reign gave them some
popularity, but in the new House of Commons, elected in consequence
of that event, the conservative party were evidently gaining strength;
still, after the failure of 1834-5, it was no easy task to dislodge an
existing ministry, and at the same time to be prepared with a cabinet
and a party competent to succeed them. Sir Robert Peel, therefore,
with characteristic caution, "bided his time", conducting the business
of opposition throughout the whole of this period with an ability and
success of which history affords few examples. He had accepted the
Reform Bill as the established law of England, and as the system upon
which the country was thenceforward to be governed. He was willing
to carry it out in its true spirit, but he would proceed no further.
He marshaled his opposition upon the principle of resistance to any
further organic changes, and he enlisted the majority of the peers
and nearly the whole of the country gentlemen of England in support
of the great principle of protection to British industry. The little
maneuvres and small political intrigues of the period are almost
forgotten, and the remembrance of them is scarcely worthy of revival.
It may, however, be mentioned, that in 1839 ministers, being left in
a minority, resigned, and Sir Robert Peel, when sent for by the Queen,
demanded that certain ladies in the household of her majesty,--the
near relatives of eminent whig politicians,--should be removed
from the personal service of the sovereign. As this was refused,
he abandoned for the time any attempt to form a government, and his
opponents remained in office till September, 1841. It was then Sir
Robert Peel became the first lord of the treasury, and the Duke of
Wellington, without office, accepted a seat in the cabinet, taking
the management of the House of Lords. His ministry was formed on
protectionist principles, but the close of its career was marked by
the adoption of free trade doctrines differing in the widest and most
liberal sense. Sir Robert Peel's sense of public duty impelled him
once more to incur the odium and obliquy which attended a fundamental
change of policy, and a repudiation of the political partizans
by whose ardent support a minister may have attained office and
authority. It was his fate to encounter more than any man ever did,
that hostility which such conduct, however necessary, never fails
to produce. This great change in our commercial policy, however
unavoidable, must be regarded as the proximate cause of his final
expulsion from office in July, 1846. His administration, however, had
been signalized by several measures of great political importance.
Among the earliest and most prominent of these were his financial
plans, the striking feature of which was an income-tax; greatly
extolled for the exemption it afforded from other burdens pressing
more severely on industry, but loudly condemned for its irregular and
unequal operation, a vice which has since rendered its contemplated
increase impossible.

Of the ministerial life of Sir Robert Peel little more remains to be
related except that which properly belongs rather to the history of
the country than to his individual biography. But it would be unjust
to the memory of one of the most sagacious statesman that England ever
produced to deny that his latest renunciation of political principles
required but two short years to attest the vital necessity of that
unqualified surrender. If the corn laws had been in existence at the
period when the political system of the continent was shaken to its
centre and dynasties crumbled into dust, a question would have been
left in the hands of the democratic party of England, the force of
which neither skill nor influence could then have evaded. Instead
of broken friendships, shattered reputations for consistency, or
diminished rents, the whole realm of England might have borne a
fearful share in that storm of wreck and revolution which had its
crisis in the 10th of April, 1848.

In the course of his long and eventful life many honors were conferred
upon Sir Robert Peel. Wherever he went, and almost at all times,
he attracted universal attention, and was always received with the
highest consideration. At the close of 1836 the University of Glasgow
elected him Lord Rector, and the conservatives of that city, in
January, 1837, invited him to a banquet at which three thousand
gentlemen assembled to do honor to their great political chief. But
this was only one among many occasions on which he was "the great
guest." Perhaps the most remarkable of these banquets was that given
to him in 1835 at Merchant Tailors' Hall by three hundred members of
the House of Commons. Many other circumstances might be related to
illustrate the high position which Sir Robert Peel occupied. Anecdotes
innumerable might be recorded to show the extraordinary influence in
Parliament which made him "the great commoner" of the age; for Sir
Robert Peel was not only a skillful and adroit debater, but by many
degrees the most able and one of the most eloquent men in either house
of parliament. Nothing could be more stately or imposing than the
long array of sounding periods in which he expounded his doctrines,
assailed his political adversaries, or vindicated his own policy. But
when the whole land laments his loss, when England mourns the untimely
fate of one of her noblest sons, the task of critical disquisition
upon literary attainments or public oratory possesses little
attraction. It may be left for calmer moments, and a more distant
time, to investigate with unforgiving justice the sources of his
errors, or to estimate the precise value of services which the
public is now disposed to regard with no other feelings than those of
unmingled gratitude.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

FROM THE ART-JOURNAL.

MEMORIES OF MISS JANE PORTER.

BY MRS. S.C. HALL.

The frequent observation of foreigners is, that in England we have
few "celebrated women." Perhaps they mean that we have few who are
"notorious;" but let us admit that in either case they are right; and
may we not express our belief in its being better for women and for
the community that such is the case. "Celebrity" rarely adds to the
happiness of a woman, and almost as rarely increases her usefulness.
The time and attention required to attain "celebrity," must, except
under very peculiar circumstances, interfere with the faithful
discharge of those feminine duties upon which the well-doing of
society depends, and which shed so pure a halo around our English
homes. Within these "homes" our heroes, statesmen, philosophers, men
of letters, men of genius, receive their first impressions, and the
_impetus_ to a faithful discharge of their after callings as Christian
subjects of the State.

There are few of such men who do not trace back their resolution,
their patriotism, their wisdom, their learning--the nourishment of
all their higher aspirations--to a wise, hopeful, loving-hearted
and faith-inspired Mother; one who believed in a son's destiny to be
great; it may be, impelled to such belief rather by instinct than by
reason: who cherished (we can find no better word) the "Hero-feeling"
of devotion to what was right; though it might have been unworldly;
and whose deep heart welled up perpetual love and patience toward the
overboiling faults and frequent stumblings of a hot youth, which she
felt would mellow into a fruitful manhood.

The strength and glory of England are in the keeping of the wives
and mothers of its men; and when we are questioned touching our
"celebrated women", we may in general terms refer to those who have
watched over, moulded, and inspired our "celebrated men".

Happy is the country where the laws of God and Nature are held in
reverence--where each sex fulfills its peculiar duties, and renders
its sphere a sanctuary! And surely such harmony is blessed by the
Almighty--for while other nations writhe in anarchy and poverty, our
own spreads wide her arms to receive all who seek protection or need
repose.

But if we have few "celebrated" women, few who, impelled either by
circumstances or the irrepressible restlessness of genius, go forth
amid the pitfalls of publicity, and battle with the world, either as
poets, or dramatists, or moralists, or mere tale-tellers in simple
prose--or, more dangerous still, "hold the mirror up to nature" on
the stage that mimics life--if we have but few, we have, and have
had _some_, of whom we are justly proud; women of such well-balanced
minds, that toil they ever so laboriously in their public and perilous
paths, their domestic and social duties have been fulfilled with as
diligent and faithful love as though the world had never been purified
and enriched by the treasures of their feminine wisdom; yet this
does not shake our belief, that despite the spotless and well-earned
reputations they enjoyed, the homage they received, (and it has its
charm,) and even the blessed consciousness of having contributed to
the healthful recreation, the improved morality, the diffusion of the
best sort of knowledge--the _woman_ would have been happier had she
continued enshrined in the privacy of domestic love and domestic duty.
She may not think this at the commencement of her career; and at its
termination, if she has lived sufficiently long to have descended,
even gracefully, from her pedestal, she may often recall the homage of
the _past_ to make up for its lack in the _present_. But so perfectly
is woman constituted for the cares, the affections, the duties--the
blessed duties of un-public life--that if she give nature way it will
whisper to her a text, that "celebrity never added to the happiness of
a true woman". She must look for her happiness to HOME. We would have
young women ponder over this, and watch carefully, ere the veil is
lifted, and the hard cruel eye of public criticism fixed upon them.
No profession is pastime; still less so now than ever, when so many
people are "clever", though so few are great. We would pray those
especially who direct their thoughts to literature, to think of what
they have to say, and why they wish to say it; and above all, to weigh
what they may expect from a capricious public, against the blessed
shelter and pure harmonies of private life.

But we have had some--and still have some--"celebrated" women, of whom
we have said "we may be justly proud". We have done pilgrimage to the
shrine of Lady Rachel Russell, who was so thoroughly "domestic", that
the Corinthian beauty of her character would never have been matter
of history, but for the wickedness of a bad king. We have recorded
the hours spent with Hannah More; the happy days passed with, and the
years invigorated by, the advice and influence of Maria Edgworth. We
might recall the stern and faithful puritanism of Maria Jane Jewsbury,
and the Old World devotion of the true and high-souled daughter of
Israel--Grace Aguilar. The mellow tones of Felicia Hemans' poetry
lingers still among all who appreciate the holy sympathies of religion
and virtue. We could dwell long and profitably on the enduring
patience and lifelong labor of Barbara Hofland, and steep a diamond in
tears to record the memories of L.E.L. We could,--alas! alas! barely
five and twenty years' acquaintance with literature and its ornaments,
and the brilliant catalogue is but a _Memento Mori_. Perhaps of all
this list, Maria Edgworth's life was the happiest: simply because she
was the most retired, the least exposed to the gaze and observation of
the world, the most occupied by loving duties toward the most united
circle of old and young we ever saw assembled in one happy home.

The very young have never, perhaps, read one of the tales of a lady
whose reputation as a novelist was in its zenith when Walter Scott
published his first novel. We desire to place a chaplet upon the grave
of a woman once "celebrated" all over the known world, yet who drew
all her happiness from the lovingness of home and friends, while her
life was as pure as her renown was extensive.

In our own childhood romance-reading was prohibited, but earnest
entreaty procured an exception in favor of the "Scottish Chiefs". It
was the bright summer, and we read it by moonlight, only disturbed
by the murmur of the distant ocean. We read it, crouched in the deep
recess of the nursery-window; we read it until moonlight and morning
met, and the breakfast-bell ringing out into the soft air from the
old gable, found us at the end of the fourth volume. Dear old times!
when it would have been deemed little less than sacrilege to crush a
respectable romance into a shilling volume, and our mammas considered
_only_ a five-volume story curtailed of its just proportions.

Sir William Wallace has never lost his heroic ascendancy over us,
and we have steadily resisted every temptation to open the "popular
edition" of the long-loved romance, lest what people will call "the
improved state of the human mind", might displace the sweet memory of
the mingled admiration and indignation that chased each other, while
we read and wept, without ever questioning the truth of the absorbing
narrative.

Yet the "Scottish Chiefs" scarcely achieved the popularity of
"Thaddeus of Warsaw"--the first romance originated by the active
brain and singularly constructive power of Jane Porter--produced at an
almost girlish age.

The hero of "Thaddeus of Warsaw" was really Kosciuszko, the beloved
pupil of George Washington, the grandest and purest patriot the modern
world has known. The enthusiastic girl was moved to its composition by
the stirring times in which she lived, and a personal observation
of and acquaintance with some of those brave men whose struggles for
liberty only ceased with their exile or their existence.

Miss Porter placed her standard of excellence on high ground, and--all
gentle-spirited as was her nature--it was firm and unflinching toward
what she believed the right and true. We must not therefore judge
her by the depressed state of "feeling" in these times, when its
demonstration is looked upon as artificial or affected. Toward the
termination of the last, and the commencement of the present century,
the world was roused into an interest and enthusiasm, which now we
can scarcely appreciate or account for; the sympathies of England were
awakened by the terrible revolutions of France and the desolation of
Poland; as a principle, we hated Napoleon, though he had neither act
nor part in the doings of the democrats; and the sea-songs of Dibdin,
which our youth _now_ would call uncouth and ungraceful rhymes, were
key-notes to public feeling; the English of that time were thoroughly
"awake"--the British Lion had not slumbered through a thirty years'
peace. We were a nation of soldiers, and sailors, and patriots;
not of mingled cotton-spinners, and railway speculators, and angry
protectionists. We do not say which state of things is best or worst,
we desire merely to account for what may be called the taste for
_heroic_ literature at that time, and the taste for--we really hardly
know what to call it--literature of the present, made up, as it
too generally is, of shreds and patches--bits of gold and bits of
tinsel--things written in a hurry, to be read in a hurry, and never
thought of afterward--suggestive rather than reflective, at the best:
and we must plead guilty to a too great proneness to underrate what
our fathers probably overrated.

At all events we must bear in mind, while reading or thinking over
Miss Porter's novels, that in her day, even the exaggeration
of enthusiasm was considered good tone and good taste. How this
enthusiasm was _fostered_, not subdued, can be gathered by the
author's ingenious preface to the, we believe, tenth edition of
"Thaddeus of Warsaw."

[Illustration]

This story brought her abundant honors, and rendered her society,
as well as the society of her sister and brother, sought for by all
who aimed at a reputation for taste and talent. Mrs. Porter, on her
husband's death, (he was the younger son of a well-connected Irish
family, born in Ireland, in or near Coleraine, we believe, and a major
in the Enniskillen Dragoons,) sought a residence for her family in
Edinburgh, where education and good society are attainable to persons
of moderate fortunes, if they are "well-born;" but the extraordinary
artistic skill of her son Robert required a wider field, and she
brought her children to London sooner than she had intended, that his
promising talents might be cultivated. We believe the greater part
of "Thaddeus of Warsaw" was written in London, either in St. Martin's
Lane, Newport Street, or Gerard Street, Soho, (for in these three
streets the family lived after their arrival in the metropolis);
though, as soon as Robert Ker Porter's abilities floated him on the
stream, his mother and sisters retired, in the brightness of their
fame and beauty, to the village of Thames Ditton, a residence they
loved to speak of as their "home." The actual labor of "Thaddeus"--her
first novel--must have been considerable: for testimony was frequently
borne to the fidelity of its localities, and Poles refused to believe
the author had not visited Poland; indeed, she had a happy power in
describing localities. It was on the publication of Miss Porter's two
first works in the German language that their author was honored by
being made a Lady of the Chapter of St. Joachim, and received the
gold cross of the order from Wurtemberg; but "The Scottish Chiefs" was
never so popular on the Continent as "Thaddeus of Warsaw", although
Napoleon honored it with an interdict, to prevent its circulation in
France. If Jane Porter owed her Polish inspirations so peculiarly
to the tone of the times in which she lived, she traces back, in
her introduction to the latest edition of "The Scottish Chiefs." her
enthusiasm in the cause of Sir William Wallace to the influence an
old "Scotch wife's" tales and ballads produced upon her mind while in
early childhood. She wandered amid what she describes as "beautiful
green banks," which rose in natural terraces behind her mothers house,
and where a cow and a few sheep occasionally fed. This house stood
alone, at the head of a little square, near the high school; the
distinguished Lord Elchies formerly lived in the house, which was very
ancient, and from those green banks it commanded a fine view of the
Firth of Forth. While gathering "_gowans_" or other wild-flowers for
her infant sister, (whom she loved more dearly than her life, during
the years they lived in most tender and affectionate companionship),
she frequently encountered this aged woman, with her knitting in her
hand; and she would speak to the eager and intelligent child of the
blessed quiet of the land, where the cattle were browsing without fear
of an enemy; and then she would talk of the awful times of the brave
Sir William Wallace, when he fought for Scotland, "against a cruel
tyrant; like unto them whom Abraham overcame when he recovered Lot,
with all his herds and flocks, from the proud foray of the robber
kings of the South," who, she never failed to add, "were all rightly
punished for oppressing the stranger in a foreign land! for the Lord
careth for the stranger." Miss Porter says that this woman never
omitted mingling pious allusions with her narrative. "Yet she was a
person of low degree, dressed in a coarse woollen gown, and a plain
_Mutch_ cap, clasped under the chin with a silver brooch, which her
father had worn at the battle of Culloden." Of course she filled with
tales of Sir William Wallace and the Bruce the listening ears of the
lovely Saxon child, who treasured them in her heart and brain, until
they fructified in after years into "The Scottish Chiefs." To these
two were added "The Pastor's Fireside," and a number of other tales
and romances. She contributed to several annuals and magazines, and
always took pains to keep up the reputation she had won, achieving
a large share of the popularity, to which, as an author, she never
looked for happiness. No one could be more alive to praise or more
grateful for attention, but the heart of a genuine, pure, loving
woman, beat within Jane Porter's bosom, and she was never drawn out of
her domestic circle by the flattery that has spoiled so many, men as
well as women. Her mind was admirably balanced by her home affections,
which remained unsullied and unshaken to the end of her days. She
had, in common with her three brothers and her charming sister, the
advantage of a wise and loving mother--a woman pious without cant, and
worldly-wise without being worldly. Mrs. Porter was born at Durham,
and when very young bestowed her hand and heart on Major Porter.
An old friend of the family assures us that two or three of their
children were born in Ireland, and that certainly Jane was amongst the
number. Although she left Ireland when in early youth, perhaps almost
an infant, she certainly must be considered Irish, as her father was
so both by birth and descent, and esteemed during his brief life as a
brave and generous gentleman. He died young, leaving his lovely widow
in straitened circumstances, having only her widow's pension to depend
on. The eldest son--afterward Colonel Porter--was sent to school by
his grandfather.

We have glanced briefly at Sir Robert Ker Porter's wonderful
talents, and Anna Maria, when in her twelfth year, rushed, as
Jane acknowledged, "prematurely into print." Of Anna Maria we knew
personally but very little, enough however to recall with a pleasant
memory her readiness in conversation and her bland and cheerful
manners. No two sisters could have been more different in bearing and
appearance; Maria was a delicate blonde, with a _riant_ face, and
an animated manner--we had said almost _peculiarly Irish_--rushing
at conclusions, where her more thoughtful and careful sister paused
to consider and calculate. The beauty of Jane was statuesque, her
deportment serious yet cheerful, a seriousness quite as natural as
her younger sister's gaiety; they both labored diligently, but Anna
Maria's labor was sport when compared to her eldest sister's careful
toil; Jane's mind was of a more lofty order, she was intense, and felt
more than she said, while Anna Maria often said more than she felt;
they were a delightful contrast, and yet the harmony between them was
complete; and one of the happiest days we ever spent, while trembling
on the threshold of literature, was with them at their pretty
road-side cottage in the village of Esher before the death of their
venerable and dearly beloved mother, whose rectitude and prudence had
both guided and sheltered their youth, and who lived to reap with
them the harvest of their industry and exertion. We remember the drive
there, and the anxiety as to how those very "clever ladies" would
look, and what they would say; we talked over the various letters
we had received from Jane, and thought of the cordial invitation to
their cottage--their "mother's cottage"--as they always called it. We
remember the old white friendly spaniel who looked at us with blinking
eyes, and preceded us up stairs; we remember the formal old-fashioned
courtesy of the venerable old lady, who was then nearly eighty--the
blue ribands and good-natured frankness of Anna Maria, and the noble
courtesy of Jane, who received visitors as if she granted an audience;
this manner was natural to her; it was only the manner of one whose
thoughts have dwelt more upon heroic deeds, and lived more with heroes
than with actual living men and women; the effect of this, however,
soon passed away, but not so the fascination which was in all she
said and did. Her voice was soft and musical, and her conversation
addressed to one person rather than to the company at large, while
Maria talked rapidly to every one, or _for_ every one who chose to
listen. How happily the hours passed!--we were shown some of those
extraordinary drawings of Sir Robert, who gained an artists reputation
before he was twenty, and attracted the attention of West and Shee[2]
in his mere boyhood. We heard all the interesting particulars of his
panoramic picture of the Storming of Seringapatam, which, the first
of its class, was known half over the world. We must not, however,
be misunderstood--there was neither personal nor family egotism in
the Porters; they invariably spoke of each other with the tenderest
affection--but unless the conversation was _forced_ by their
friends--they never mentioned their own, or each other's works, while
they were most ready to praise what was excellent in the works of
others; they spoke with pleasure of their sojourns in London; while
their mother said, it was much wiser and better for young ladies
who were not rich, to live quietly in the country, and escape the
temptations of luxury and display. At that time the "young ladies"
seemed to us certainly _not_ young: that was about two-and-twenty
years ago, and Jane Porter was seventy-five when she died. They talked
much of their previous dwelling at Thames Ditton, of the pleasant
neighborhood they enjoyed there, though their mother's health and
their own had much improved since their residence on Esher hill;
their little garden was bounded at the back by the beautiful park of
Claremont, and the front of the house overlooked the leading roads,
broken as they are by the village green, and some noble elms. The view
is crowned by the high trees of Esher Place; opening from the village
on that side of the brow of the hill. Jane pointed out the _locale_
of the proud Cardinal Wolsey's domain, inhabited during the days: of
his power over Henry VIII., and in their cloudy evening, when that
capricious monarch's favor changed to bitterest hate. It was the very
spot to foster her high romance, while she could at the same time
enjoy the sweets of that domestic converse she loved best of all.
We were prevented by the occupations and heart-beatings of our own
literary labors from repeating this visit; and in 1831, four years
after these well-remembered hours, the venerable mother of a family
so distinguished in literature and art, rendering their names known
and honored wherever art and letters flourish, was called HOME. The
sisters, who had resided ten years at Esher, left it, intending to
sojourn for a time with their second brother, Doctor Porter, (who
commenced his career as a surgeon in the navy) in Bristol; but within
a year the youngest, the light-spirited, bright-hearted Anna Maria
died; her sister was dreadfully shaken by her loss, and the letters
we received from her after this bereavement, though containing the
outpourings of a sorrowing spirit, were full of the certainty of
that re-union hereafter which became the hope of her life. She soon
resigned her cottage home at Esher, and found the affectionate welcome
she so well deserved in many homes, where friends vied with each
other to fill the void in her sensitive heart. She was of too wise
a nature, and too sympathizing a habit, to shut out new interests
and affections, but her _old ones_ never withered, nor were they
ever replaced; were the love of such a sister-friend--the watchful
tenderness and uncompromising love of a mother--ever "replaced," to a
lonely sister _or_ a bereaved daughter! Miss Porters pen had been laid
aside for some time, when suddenly she came before the world as the
editor of "Sir Edward Seward's Narrative", and set people hunting over
old atlases to find out the island where he resided. The whole was
a clever fiction; yet Miss Porter never confided its authorship, we
believe, beyond her family circle; perhaps the correspondence and
documents, which are in the hands of one of her kindest friends (her
executor), Mr. Shepherd, may throw some light upon a subject which the
"Quarterly" honored by an article. We think the editor certainly used
her pen as well as her judgment in the work, and we have imagined that
it might have been written by the family circle, more in sport than in
earnest, and then produced to serve a double purpose.

[Footnote 2: In his early days the President of the Royal Academy
painted a very striking portrait of Jane Porter, as "Miranda,"
and Harlowe painted her in the canoness dress of the order of St.
Joachim.]

After her sister's death Miss Jane Porter was afflicted with so
severe an illness, that we, in common with her other friends, thought
it impossible she could carry out her plan of journeying to St.
Petersburgh to visit her brother, Sir Robert Ker Porter, who had
been long united to a Russian princess, and was then a widower; her
strength was fearfully reduced; her once round figure become almost
spectral, and little beyond the placid and dignified expression of
her noble countenance remained to tell of her former beauty; but her
resolve was taken; she wished, she said, to see once more her youngest
and most beloved brother, so distinguished in several careers, almost
deemed incompatible,--as a painter, an author, a soldier, and a
diplomatist, and nothing could turn her from her purpose: she reached
St. Petersburgh in safety, and with apparently improved health, found
her brother as much courted and beloved there as in his own land,
and his daughter married to a Russian of high distinction. Sir Robert
longed to return to England. He did not complain of any illness, and
everything was arranged for their departure; his final visits were
paid, all but one to the Emperor, who had ever treated him as a
friend; the day before his intended journey he went to the palace, was
graciously received, and then drove home, but when the servant opened
the carriage-door at his own residence he was dead! One sorrow after
another pressed heavily upon her; yet she was still the same sweet,
gentle, holy-minded woman she had ever been, bending with Christian
faith to the will of the Almighty,--"biding her time".

How differently would she have "watched and waited" had she been
tainted by vanity, or fixed her soul on the mere triumphs of "literary
reputation". While firm to her own creed, she fully enjoyed the
success of those who scramble up--where she bore the standard to the
heights of Parnassus; she was never more happy than when introducing
some literary "Tyro" to those who could aid or advise a future career.
We can speak from experience of the warm interest she took in the
Hospital for the cure of Consumption, and the Governesses' Benevolent
Institution; during the progress of the latter, her health was
painfully feeble, yet she used her personal influence for its success,
and worked with her own hands for its bazaars. She was ever aiding
those who could not aid themselves; and all her thoughts, words, and
deeds, were evidence of her clear, powerful mind and kindly loving
heart; her appearance in the London _coteries_ was always hailed with
interest and pleasure; to the young she was especially affectionate;
but it was in the quiet mornings, or in the long twilight evenings
of summer, when visiting her cherished friends at Shirley Park, in
Kensington Square, or wherever she might be located for the time--it
was then that her former spirit revived, and she poured forth anecdote
and illustration, and the store of many years' observation, filtered
by experience and purified by that delightful faith to which she
held,--that "all things work together for good to them that love the
Lord". She held this in practice, even more than in theory; you saw
her chastened yet hopeful spirit beaming forth from her gentle eyes,
and her sweet smile can never be forgotten. The last time we saw her,
was about two years ago--in Bristol--at her brother's, Dr. Porter's,
house in Portland Square: then she could hardly stand without
assistance, yet she never complained of her own suffering or
feebleness, all her anxiety was about the brother--then dangerously
ill, and now the last of "his race." Major Porter, it will be
remembered, left five children, and these have left only one
descendant--the daughter of Sir Robert Ker Porter and the Russian
Princess whom he married, a young Russian lady, whose present name we
do not even know.

We did not think at our last leave-taking that Miss Porter's fragile
frame could have so long withstood the Power that takes away all we
hold most dear; but her spirit was at length summoned, after a few
days' total insensibility, on the 24th of May.

We were haunted by the idea that the pretty cottage at Esher, where
we spent those happy hours, had been treated even as "Mrs. Porter's
Arcadia" at Thames Ditton--now altogether removed; and it was with a
melancholy pleasure we found it the other morning in nothing changed;
and it was almost impossible to believe that so many years had passed
since our last visit. While Mr. Fairholt was sketching the cottage, we
knocked at the door, and were kindly permitted by two gentle sisters,
who now inhabit it, to enter the little drawing-room and walk round
the garden: except that the drawing-room has been re-papered and
painted, and that there were no drawings and no flowers the room was
not in the least altered; yet to us it seemed like a sepulcher, and we
rejoiced to breathe the sweet air of the little garden, and listen to
a nightingale, whose melancholy cadence harmonized with our feelings.

"Whenever you are at Esher," said the devoted daughter, the last
time we conversed with her, "do visit my mother's tomb." We did so.
A cypress flourishes at the head of the grave; and the following
touching inscription is carved on the stone:--

    Here sleeps in Jesus a Christian widow, JANE PORTER. Obiit
    June 18th, 1831, ætat. 86; the beloved mother of W. Porter,
    M.D., of Sir Robert Ker Porter, and of Jane and Anna Maria
    Porter, who mourn in hope, humbly trusting to be born again
    with her unto the blessed kingdom of their Lord and Savior.
    Respect her grave, for she ministered to the poor.

       *       *       *       *       *




RECENT DEATHS.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. KIRBY, THE ENTOMOLOGIST.

The Rev. William Kirby, Rector of Barham, Suffolk, who died on the 4th
ult. in the ninety-first year of his age, with his faculties little
impaired, ranked as the father of Entomology in England; and to the
successful results of his labors may he chiefly attributed the advance
which has been made in this over other kindred departments of natural
history. His reputation is based not so much on the discoveries made
by him in the science as on the manner of its teaching. No man ever
approached the study of the works of nature with a purer or more
earnest zeal. His interpretation of the distinguishing characters of
insects for the purposes of classification has excited the warmest
approval of entomologists at home and abroad; while his agreeable
narrative of their wonderful transformations and habits, teeming with
analyses and anecdote, has a charm for almost every kind of reader.

Mr. Kirby's first work of particular note was the "Monographia Apum
Angliæ", in two volumes published half a century ago at Ipswich; to
which town he was much endeared, and in whose Museum, as President,
under the friendly auspices of its Secretary, Mr. George Ransome, he
took a lively interest. His admirable work on the Wild Bees of Great
Britain was composed from materials collected almost entirely by
himself,--and most of the plates were of his etching. Entomology was
at that time a comparatively new science in this country, and it is an
honorable proof of the correctness of the author's views that they are
still acknowledged to be genuine.

His further progress in entomology is abundantly marked by various
papers in the "Transactions of the Linnæan Society",--by the
entomological portion of the Bridgewater Treatise "On the History,
Habits, and Instincts of Animals,"--and by his descriptions, occupying
a quarto volume, of the insects of Sir John Richardson's "Fauna
Boreali-Americana." The name of Kirby will, however, be chiefly
remembered for the "Introduction on Entomology" written by him in
conjunction with Mr. Spence. In this work a vast amount of material,
acquired after many years' unremitting observation of the insect
world, is mingled together by two different but congenial minds in
the pleasant form of familiar letters. The charm, based on substantial
knowledge of the subject, which these letters impart, has caused
them to be studied with an interest never before excited by any work
on natural history,--and they have served for the model of many an
interesting and instructive volume. Whether William Kirby or William
Spence had the more meritorious share in the composition of these
Letters, has never been ascertained; for each, in the plenitude of his
esteem and love for the other, renounced all claim, in favor of his
coadjutor, to whatever portion of the matter might be most valued.

In addition to the honor of being President of the Museum of his
county town--in which there is an admirable portrait of him--Mr. Kirby
was Honorary President of the Entomological Society of London, Fellow
of the Royal, Linnæan, Geological, and Zoological Societies of the
same city, and corresponding member of several foreign societies.

       *       *       *       *       *

The death of REV. DR. GRAY, Professor of Oriental Languages in the
University of Glasgow, is reported in the Scotch papers.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FINE ARTS.

       *       *       *       *       *

One of the favorite painters of Paris is Ingres, renowned especially
for the beauty of his designs from the human figure, and the sweetness
of his coloring. Eight years ago he was commissioned by M. de Luynes,
who then wore the title of Duke--which, it must be said, he is
still called by, though the Republic frowns on such aristocratic
distinctions--to paint two historical pictures in fresco, for a
country-house near Paris. The subjects were left to the choice of
the artist, who was to have 100,000 francs (or £20,000) for the two
pictures, one quarter of which was paid him in advance. During these
eight years Mr. Ingres has begun various designs, and done his best
to satisfy himself in the planning and execution of the pictures; but
in vain did he blot out one design and labor long and earnestly upon
another--success still fled from his pencil. At last, after eight
years' fruitless exertion, he despaired, and going to M. de Luynes,
told him that he could not make the pictures. At the same time he
offered to return the £5,000; but M. de Luynes, one of the most
munificent gentlemen in France, refused to receive it. Madame Ingres,
however, arranged the difficulty. She remembered that during these
eight years her kitchen had been regularly supplied with vegetables
from M. de Luynes' garden, and these she insisted on paying for. "Very
well," said M. de Luynes, "if you will have it so, my gardener shall
bring you his bill." Accordingly, not long after, the gardener brought
a bill for twenty-five francs. "My friend," said Madame Ingres to him,
"you are mistaken in the amount: this is very natural, considering the
length of the time. I have a better memory: your master will find in
this envelope the exact sum." When M. de Luynes opened the envelope,
he found in it bills for twenty thousand francs.

       *       *       *       *       *

LESTER, BRADY & DAVIGNON's "_Gallery of Illustrious Americans_," is
very favorably noticed generally by the foreign critics. _The Art
Journal_ says of it: "This work is, as its title imports, of a
strictly national character, consisting of portraits and biographical
sketches of twenty-four of the most eminent of the citizens of the
Republic, since the death of Washington; beautifully lithographed from
daguerreotypes. Each number is devoted to a portrait and memoir, the
first being that of General Taylor (eleventh President of the United
States), the second, of John C. Calhoun. Certainly, we have never seen
more truthful copies of nature than these portraits; they carry in
them an indelible stamp of all that earnestness and power for which
our trans-Atlantic brethren have become famous, and are such heads as
Lavater would have delighted to look upon. They are, truly, speaking
likenesses, and impress all who see them with the certainty of their
accuracy, so self-evident is their character. We are always rejoiced
to notice a great nation doing honor to its great men; it is a noble
duty which when properly done honors all concerned therewith. We see
no reason to doubt that America may in this instance rank with the
greatest."

       *       *       *       *       *

DR. WAAGEN, so well known for his writings on Art, is at present in
England for the purpose of adding to his knowledge of the private
collection of pictures there, but principally to make himself
acquainted with ancient illuminated manuscripts in several British
collections.

       *       *       *       *       *

A MONUMENT IN HONOR OF COWPER, THE POET, is proposed to be erected in
Westminster Abbey, from a design by Marshall, the Sculptor, exhibited
at the Royal Academy in 1849.

       *       *       *       *       *


SUMMER VACATION.

THE FOURTH BOOK OF WORDSWORTH'S UNPUBLISHED POEM.[3]


  Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps
  Followed each other till a dreary moor
  Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top
  Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge,
  I overlooked the bed of Windermere,
  Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
  With exultation at my feet I saw
  Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays,
  A universe of Nature's fairest forms
  Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst,
  Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay.
  I bounded down the hill shouting amain
  For the old Ferryman; to the shout the rocks
  Replied, and when the Charon of the flood
  Had stayed his oars, and touched the jutting pier,
  I did not step into the well-known boat
  Without a cordial greeting. Thence with speed
  Up the familiar hill I took my way
  Toward that sweet Valley where I had been reared;
  'Twas but a shore hour's walk, ere veering round
  I saw the snow-white church upon her hill
  Sit like a throned Lady, sending out
  A gracious look all over her domain.
  You azure smoke betrays the lurking town;
  With eager footsteps I advance and reach
  The cottage threshold where my journey closed.
  Glad welcome had I, with some tear, perhaps,
  From my old Dame, so kind and motherly,
  While she perused me with a parent's pride.
  The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew
  Upon thy grave, good creature! While my heart
  Can beat never will I forget they name.
  Heaven's blessing be upon thee where thou liest
  After thy innocent and busy stir
  In narrow cares, thy little daily growth
  Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years,
  And more than eighty, of untroubled life,
  Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood
  Honored with little less than filial love.
  What joy was mine to see thee once again,
  Thee and they dwelling, and a crowd of things
  About its narrow precincts all beloved,
  And many of them seeming yet my own!
  Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts
  Have felt, and every man alive can guess?
  The rooms, the court, the garden were not left
  Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat
  Round the stone table under the dark pine,
  Friendly to studious or to festive hours;
  Nor that unruly child of mountain birth,
  The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed
  Within our garden, found himself at once,
  As if by trick insidious and unkind,
  Stripped of his voice and left to dimple down
  (Without an effort and without a will)
  A channel paved by man's officious care.
  I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again,
  And in the press of twenty thousand thought,
  "Ha," quoth I, "pretty prisoner, are you there!"
  Well might sarcastic Fancy then have whispered,
  "An emblem here behold of they own life;
  In its late course of even days with all
  Their smooth enthralment;" but the heart was full,
  Too full for that reproach. My aged Dame
  Walked proudly at my side: she guided me;
  I willing, nay--nay, wishing to be led.
  --The face of every neighbor whom I met
  Was like a volume to me; some were hailed
  Upon the road, some busy at their work,
  Unceremonious greetings interchanged
  With half the length of a long field between.
  Among my schoolfellows I scattered round
  Like recognitions, but with some constraint
  Attended, doubtless, with a little pride,
  But with more shame, for my habiliments,
  The transformation wrought by gay attire.
  Not less delighted did I take my place
  At our domestic table: and, dear Friend!
  In this endeavor simply to relate
  A Poet's history, may I leave untold
  The thankfulness with which I laid me down
  In my accustomed bed, more welcome now
  Perhaps than if it had been more desired
  Or been more often thought of with regret;
  That lowly bed whence I had heard the wind
  Roar and the rain beat hard, where I so oft
  Had lain awake on summer nights to watch
  The moon in splendor couched among the leaves
  Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood;
  Had watched her with fixed eyes while to and fro
  In the dark summit of the waving tree
  She rocked with every impulse of the breeze.
    Among the favorites whom it pleased me well
  To see again, was one by ancient right
  Our inmate, a rough terrier of the hills;
  By birth and call of nature pre-ordained
  To hunt the badger and unearth the fox
  Among the impervious crags, but having been
  From youth our own adopted, he had passed
  Into a gentler service. And when first
  The boyish spirit flagged, and day by day
  Along my veins I kindled with the stir,
  The fermentation, and the vernal heat
  Of poesy, affecting private shades
  Like a sick Lover, then this dog was used
  To watch me, an attendant and a friend,
  Obsequious to my steps early and late,
  Though often of such dilatory walk
  Tired, and uneasy at the halts I made.
  A hundred times when, roving high and low,
  I have been harassed with the toil of verse,
  Much pains and little progress, and at once
  Some lovely Image in the song rose up
  Full-formed, like Venus rising from the sea;
  Then have I darted forward to let loose
  My hand upon his back with stormy joy,
  Caressing him again and yet again.
  And when at evening on the public way
  I sauntered, like a river murmuring
  And talking to itself when all things else
  Are still, the creature trotted on before;
  Such was his custom; but whene'er he met
  A passenger approaching, he would turn
  To give me timely notice, and straightway,
  Grateful for that admonishment, I hushed
  My voice, composed my gait, and, with the air
  And mein of one whose thoughts are free, advanced
  To give and take a greeting that might save
  My name from piteous rumors, such as wait
  On men suspected to be crazed in brain.
    Those walks well worth to be prized and loved--
  Regretted!--that word, too, was on my tongue,
  But they were richly laden with all good,
  And cannot be remembered but with thanks
  And gratitude, and perfect joy of heart--
  Those walks in all their freshness now came back
  Like a returning Spring. When first I made
  Once more the circuit of our little lake,
  If ever happiness hath lodged with man,
  That day consummate happiness was mine,
  Wide-spreading, steady, calm, contemplative.
  The sun was set, or setting, when I left
  Our cottage door, and evening soon brought on
  A sober hour, not winning or serene,
  For cold and raw the air was, and untuned;
  But as a face we love is sweetest then
  When sorrow damps it, or, whatever look
  It chance to wear, is sweetest if the heart
  Have fullness in herself; even so with me
  It fared that evening. Gently did my soul
  Put off her veil, and, self-transmuted, stood
  Naked, as in the presence of her God.
  While on I walked, a comfort seemed to touch
  A heart that had not been disconsolate:
  Strength came where weakness was not known to be,
  At least not felt; and restoration came
  Like an intruder knocking at the door
  Of unacknowledged weariness. I took
  The balance, and with firm hand weighted myself.
  --Of that external scene which round me lay,
  Little, in this abstraction, did I see;
  Remembered less; but I had inward hopes
  And swellings of the spirit, was rapt and soothed,
  Conversed with promises, had glimmering views
  How life pervades the undecaying mind;
  How the immortal soul with God-like power
  Informs, creates, and thaws the deepest sleep
  That time can lay upon her; how on earth,
  Man, if he do but live within the light
  Of high endeavors, daily spreads abroad
  His being armed with strength that cannot fail
  Nor was there want of milder thoughts, of love
  Of innocence, and holiday repose;
  And more than pastoral quiet, 'mid the stir
  Of boldest projects, and a peaceful end
  At last, or glorious, by endurance won.
  Thus musing, in a wood I sat me down
  Alone, continuing there to muse: the slopes
  And heights meanwhile were slowly overspread
  With darkness, and before a rippling breeze
  The long lake lengthened out its hoary line,
  And in the sheltered coppice where I sat,
  Around me from among the hazel leaves,
  Now here, now there, moved by the straggling wind,
  Came ever and anon a breath-like sound,
  Quick as the pantings of the faithful dog,
  The off and on companion of my work;
  And such, at times, believing them to be,
  I turned my head to look if he were there;
  Then into solemn thought I passed once more.
    A freshness also found I at this time
  In human Life, the daily life of those
  Whose occupations really I loved;
  The peaceful scene oft filled me with surprise,
  Changed like a garden in the heat of spring
  After an eight days' absence. For (to omit
  The things which were the same and yet appeared
  Far otherwise) amid this rural solitude.
  A narrow Vale where each was known to all,
  'Twas not indifferent to a youthful mind
  To mark some sheltering bower or sunny nook,
  Where an old man had used to sit alone,
  Now vacant; pale-faced babes whom I had left
  In arms, now rosy prattlers at the feet
  Of a pleased grandame tottering up and down;
  And growing girls whose beauty, filched away
  With all its pleasant promises, was gone
  To deck some slighted playmate's homely cheek.
    Yes, I had something of a subtler sense,
  And often looking round was moved to smiles
  Such as a delicate work of humor breeds;
  I read, without design, the opinions, thoughts,
  Of those plain-living people now observed
  With clearer knowledge; with another eye
  I saw the quiet woodman in the woods,
  The shepherd roam the hills. With new delight,
  This chiefly, did I note my gray-haired Dame;
  Saw her go forth to church or other work
  Of state, equipped in monumental trim;
  Short velvet cloak, (her bonnet of the like,)
  A mantle such as Spanish Cavaliers
  Wore in old time. Her smooth domestic life,
  Affectionate without disquietude,
  Her talk, her business, pleased me; and no less
  Her clear though sallow stream of piety
  That ran on Sabbath days a fresher course;
  With thoughts unfelt till now I saw her read
  Her Bible on hot Sunday afternoons,
  And loved the book, when she had dropped asleep
  And made of it a pillow for her head.
    Nor less do I remember to have felt,
  Distinctly manifested at this time,
  A human-heartedness about my love
  For objects hitherto the absolute wealth
  Of my own private being and no more:
  Which I had loved even as a blessed spirit
  Or Angel, if he were to dwell on earth,
  Might love in individual happiness.
  But now there opened on me other thoughts
  Of change, congratulation or regret,
  A pensive feeling! It spread far and wide;
  The trees, the mountains shared it, and the brooks,
  The stars of heaven, now seen in their old haunts--
  White Sirius glittering o'er the southern crags,
  Orion with his belt, and those fair Seven,
  Acquaintances of every little child,
  And Jupiter, my own beloved star!
  Whatever shadings of mortality,
  Whatever imports from the world of death
  Had come among these objects heretofore,
  Were, in the main, of mood less tender: strong,
  Deep, gloomy were they, and severe: the scatterings
  Of awe or tremulous dread, that had given way
  In latter youth to yearnings of a love
  Enthusiastic, to delight and hope.
    As one who hangs down-bending from the side
  Of a slow-moving boat, upon the breast
  Of a still water, solacing himself
  With such discoveries as his eye can make
  Beneath him in the bottom of the deep,
  Sees many beauteous sights--weeds, fishes, flowers,
  Grots, pebbles, roots of trees, and fancies more,
  Yet often is perplexed and cannot part
  The shadow from the substance, rocks and sky
  Mountains and clouds, reflected in the depth
  Of the clear flood, from things which there abide
  In their true dwelling; now is crossed by gleam
  Of his own image, by a sunbeam now,
  And wavering motions sent he knows not whence,
  Impediments that make his task more sweet;
  Such pleasant office have we long pursued
  Incumbent o'er the surface of past time
  With like success, nor often have appeared
  Shapes fairer or less doubtfully discerned
  Than those to which the Tale, indulgent Friend!
  Would now direct thy notice. Yet in spite
  Of pleasure won, and knowledge not withheld,
  There was an inner falling off--I loved,
  Loved deeply all that had been loved before
  More deeply even than ever: but a swarm
  Of heady schemes jostling each other, gawds,
  And feast and dance, and public revelry,
  And sports and games (too grateful in themselves,
  Yet in themselves less grateful, I believe,
  Than as they were a badge glossy and fresh
  Of manliness and freedom) all conspired
  To lure my mind from firm habitual quest
  Of feeding pleasures, to depress the zeal
  And damp those yearnings which had once been mine--
  A wild, unworldly-minded youth, given up
  To his own eager thoughts. It would demand
  Some skill, and longer time than may be spared,
  To paint these vanities, and how they wrought
  In haunts where they, till now, had been unknown.
  It seemed the very garments that they wore
  Preyed on my strength, and stopped the quiet stream
  Of self-forgetfulness.
            Yes, that heartless chase
  Of trivial pleasures was a poor exchange
  For books and nature at that early age.
  'Tis true, some casual knowledge might be gained
  Of character or life; but at that time,
  Of manners put to school I took small note,
  And all my deeper passions lay elsewhere.
  Far better had it been to exalt the mind
  By solitary study, to uphold
  Intense desire through meditative peace;
  And yet, for chastisement of these regrets,
  The memory of one particular hour
  Doth here rise up against me. 'Mid a throng
  Of maids and youths, old men, and matrons staid,
  A medley of all tempers, I had passed
  The night in dancing, gayety, and mirth,
  With din of instruments and shuffling feet,
  And glancing forms, and tapers glittering,
  And unaimed prattle flying up and down;
  Spirits upon the stretch, and here and there
  Slight shocks of young love-liking interspersed,
  Whose transient pleasure mounted to the head,
  And tingled through the veins. Ere we retired
  The cock had crowed, and now the eastern sky
  Was kindling, not unseen, from humble copse
  And open field, through which the pathway wound,
  And homeward led my steps. Magnificent
  The morning rose, in memorable pomp,
  Glorious as e'er I had beheld--in front,
  The sea lay laughing at a distance; near,
  The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds,
  Grain-tinctured, drenched in Empyrean light;
  And in the meadows and the lower grounds
  Was all the sweetness of a common dawn--
  Dews, vapors, and the melody of birds,
  And laborers going forth to till the fields.
    Ah! need I say, dear Friend! that to the brim
  My heart was full; I made no vows, but vows
  Were then made for me; bond unknown to me
  Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly,
  A dedicated Spirit. On I walked
  In thankful blessedness, which yet survives.
    Strange rendezvous! My mind was at that time
  A parti-colored show of grave and gay,
  Solid and light, short-sighted and profound;
  Of inconsiderate habits and sedate,
  Consorting in one mansion unreproved.
  The worth I knew of powers that I possessed,
  Though slighted and too oft misused. Besides,
  That summer, swarming as it did with thoughts
  Transient and idle, lacked not intervals
  When Folly from the frown of fleeting Time
  Shrunk, and the mind experienced in herself
  Conformity as just as that of old
  To the end and written spirit of God's works,
  Whether held forth in Nature or in Man,
  Through pregnant vision, separate or conjoined.
    When from our better selves we have too long
  Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop,
  Sick of its business, of its pleasure tired,
  How gracious, how benign, is Solitude;
  How potent a mere image of her sway;
  Most potent when impressed upon the mind
  With an appropriate human centre--hermit,
  Deep in the bosom of the wilderness;
  Votary (in vast cathedral, where no foot
  Is treading, where no other face is seen)
  Kneeling at prayers; or watchman on the top
  Of lighthouse, beaten by Atlantic waves;
  Or as the soul of that great Power is met
  Sometimes embodied on a public road,
  When, for the night deserted, it assumes
  A character of quiet more profound
  Than pathless wastes.
            Once, when those summer months,
  Where flown, and autumn brought its annual show
  Of oars with oars contending, sails with sails,
  Upon Windander's spacious breast, it chanced
  That--after I had left a flower-decked room
  (Whose in-door pastime, lighted up, survived
  To a late hour), and spirits overwrought
  Were making night do penance for a day
  Spent in a round of strenuous idleness--
  My homeward course led up a long ascent,
  Where the road's watery surface, to the top
  Of that sharp rising, glittered to the moon
  And bore the semblance of another stream
  Stealing with silent lapse to join the brook
  That murmured in the vale. All else was still;
  No living thing appeared in earth or air,
  And, save the flowing water's peaceful voice,
  Sound there was none--but, lo! an uncouth shape,
  Shown by a sudden turning of the road,
  So near that, slipping back into the shade
  Of a thick hawthorn, I could mark him well,
  Myself unseen. He was of stature tall,
  A span above man's common measure, tall,
  Stiff, land, and upright; a more meager man
  Was never seen before by night or day.
  Long were his arms, pallid his hands; his mouth
  Looked ghastly in the moonlight: from behind,
  A mile-stone propped him; I could also ken
  That he was clothed in military garb.
  Though faded, yet entire. Companionless,
  No dog attending, by no staff sustained,
  He stood, and in his very dress appeared
  A desolation, a simplicity,
  To which the trappings of a gaudy world
  Make a strange back-ground. From his lips, ere long,
  Issued low muttered sounds, as if of pain
  Or some uneasy thought; yet still his form
  Kept the same awful steadiness--at his feet
  His shadow lay, and moved not. From self-blame
  Not wholly free, I watched him thus; at length
  Subduing my heart's specious cowardice,
  I left the shady nook where I had stood
  And hailed him. Slowly from his resting-place
  He rose, and with a lean and wasted arm
  In measured gesture lifted to his head
  Returned my salutation; then resumed
  His station as before: and when I asked
  His history, the veteran, in reply,
  Was neither slow nor eager; but, unmoved,
  And with a quiet, uncomplaining voice,
  A stately air of mild indifference,
  He told in few plain words a soldier's tale--
  That in the Tropic Islands he had served,
  Whence he had landed scarcely three weeks past;
  That on his landing he had been dismissed,
  And now was traveling toward his native home.
  This heard, I said, in pity, "Come with me."
  He stooped, and straightway from the ground took up,
  An oaken staff by me yet unobserved--
  A staff which must have dropt from his slack hand
  And lay till now neglected in the grass.
  Though weak his step and cautious, he appeared
  To travel without pain, and I beheld,
  With an astonishment but ill-suppressed,
  His ghostly figure moving at my side;
  Nor could I, while we journeyed thus, forbear
  To turn from present hardships to the past,
  And speak of war, battle, and pestilence,
  Sprinkling this talk with questions, better spared.
  On what he might himself have seen or felt
  He all the while was in demeanor calm.
  Concise in answer: solemn and sublime
  He might have seen, but that in all he said
  There was a strange half-absence, as of one
  Knowing too well the importance of his theme
  But feeling it no longer. Our discourse
  Soon ended, and together on we passed
  In silence through a wood gloomy and still.
  Up-turning, then, along an open field,
  We reached a cottage. At the door I knocked.
  And earnestly to charitable care
  Commended him as a poor friendless man,
  Belated and by sickness overcome.
  Assured that now the traveler would repose
  In comfort, I entreated that henceforth
  He would not linger in the public ways,
  But ask for timely furtherance and help
  Such as his state required. At this reproof,
  With the same ghastly mildness in his look,
  He said, "My trust is in the God of Heaven,
  And in the eye of him who passes me!"
    The cottage door was speedily unbarred,
  And now the soldier touched his hat once more
  With his lean hand, and in a faltering voice,
  Whose tone bespake reviving interests
  Till then unfelt, he thanked me; I returned
  The farewell blessing of the patient man,
  And so we parted. Back I cast a look,
  And lingered near the door a little space,
  Then sought with quiet heart my distant home.

[Footnote 3: In the press of Appleton & Co.]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE IVORY MINE:

A TALE OF THE FROZEN SEA.

       *       *       *       *       *

VI.--THE IVORY MINE.

The end of so perilous and novel a journey, which must necessarily,
under the most favorable circumstances, have produced more honor
than profit, was attained; and yet the success of the adventure was
doubtful. The season was still too cold for any search for fossil
ivory, and the first serious duty was the erection of a winter
residence. Fortunately there was an ample supply of logs of wood, some
half-rotten, some green, lying under the snow on the shores of the bay
into which the river poured, and which had been deposited there by
the currents and waves. A regular pile, too, was found, which had been
laid up by some of the provident natives of New Siberia, who, like
the Esquimaux, live in the snow. Under this was a large supply of
frozen fish, which was taken without ceremony, the party being near
starvation. Of course Sakalar and Ivan intended replacing the hoard,
if possible, in the short summer.

Wood was made the groundwork of the winter hut which was to be
erected, but snow and ice formed by far the larger portion of the
building materials. So hard and compact did the whole mass become when
finished, and lined with bear-skins and other furs, that a huge lamp
sufficed for warmth during the day and night, and the cooking was
done in a small shed by the side. The dogs were now set to shift for
themselves as to cover, and were soon buried in the snow. They were
placed on short allowance, now they had no work to do, for no one yet
knew what were the resources of this wild place.

As soon as the more immediate duties connected with a camp had been
completed, the whole party occupied themselves with preparing traps
for foxes, and in other hunting details. A hole was broken in the
ice in the bay, and this the Kolimsk men watched with assiduity for
seals. One or two rewarded their efforts, but no fish were taken.
Sakalar and Ivan, after a day or two of repose, started with some
carefully-selected dogs in search of game, and soon found that the
great white bear took up his quarters even in that northern latitude.
They succeeded in killing several, which the dogs dragged home.

About ten days after their arrival in the great island, Sakalar, who
was always the first to be moving, roused his comrades round him just
as a party of a dozen strange men appeared in the distance. They were
short, stout fellows, with long lances in their hands, and by their
dress very much resembled the Esquimaux. Their attitude was menacing
in the extreme, and by the advice of Sakalar, a general volley was
fired over their heads. The invaders halted, looked confusedly around,
and then ran away. Firearms retained. therefore, all their pristine
qualities with these savages.

"They will return," said Sakalar, moodily; "they did the same when
I was here before, and then came back and killed my friend at night.
Sakalar escaped."

Counsel was now held, and it was determined, after due deliberation,
that strict watch should be kept at all hours, while much was
necessarily trusted to the dogs. All day one of the party was on the
lookout, while at night the hut had its entrance well barred. Several
days, however, were thus passed without molestation, and then Sakalar
took the Kolimsk men out to hunt, and left Ivan and Kolina together.
The young man had learned the value of his half-savage friend: her
devotion to her father and the party generally was unbounded. She
murmured neither at privations nor at sufferings, and kept up the
courage of Ivan by painting in glowing terms all his brilliant future.
She seemed to have laid aside her personal feelings, and to look on
him only as one doing battle with fortune in the hope of earning the
hand of the rich widow of Yakoutsk. But Ivan was much disposed to
gloomy fits; he supposed himself forgotten, and slighted, and looked
on the time of his probation as interminable. It was in this mood that
one day he was roused from his fit by a challenge from Kolina to go
and see if the seals had come up to breathe at the hole which every
morning was freshly broken in the ice. Ivan assented, and away they
went gaily down to the bay. No seals were there, and after a short
stay they returned toward the hut, recalled by the distant howling
of the dogs. But as they came near, they could see no sign of men or
animals, though the sensible brutes still whined under the shelter
of their snow-heaps. Ivan, much surprised, raised the curtain of the
door, his gun in hand, expecting to find that some animal was inside.
The lamp was out, and the hut in total darkness. Before Ivan could
recover his upright position, four men leaped on him, and he was a
prisoner.

Kolina drew back, and cocked her gun; but the natives, satisfied
with their present prey, formed round Ivan in a compact body, tied
his hands, and bade him walk. Their looks were sufficiently wild
and menacing to make him move, especially as he recognized them
as belonging to the warlike party of the Tchouktchas--a tribe of
Siberians who wander about the Polar Seas in search of game, who cross
Behring's Straits in skin-boats, and who probably are the only persons
who by their temporary sojourn in New Siberia, have caused some to
suppose it inhabited. Kolina stood uncertain what to do, but in a few
minutes she roused four of the dogs, and followed. Ivan bawled to her
to go back, but the girl paid no attention to his request, determined,
as it seemed, to know his fate.

The savages hurried Ivan along as rapidly as they could; and soon
entered a deep and narrow ravine, which about the middle parted into
two. The narrowest path was selected, and the dwelling of the natives
soon reached. It was a cavern, the narrow entrance of which they
crawled through; Ivan followed the leader, and soon found himself in
a large and wonderful cave. It was by nature divided into several
compartments, and contained a party of twenty men, as many or more
women, and numerous children. It was warmed in two ways--by wood-fires
and grease-lamps, and by a bubbling semi-sulphurous spring, that
rushed up through a narrow hole, and then fell away into a deep well,
that carried its warm waters to mingle with the icy sea. The acrid
smoke escaped by holes in the roof. Ivan, his arms and legs bound, was
thrust into a separate compartment filled with furs, and formed by a
projection of the rock and the skin-boats which this primitive race
employed to cross the most stormy seas. He was almost stunned; he lay
for a while without thought or motion. Gradually he recovered, and
gazed around; all was night, save above, where by a narrow orifice
he saw the smoke which hung in clouds around the roof escaping.
He expected death. He knew the savage race he was among, who hated
interference with their hunting-grounds, and whose fish he and his
party had taken. What, therefore, was his surprise, when from the
summit of the roof, he heard a gentle voice whispering in soft accents
his own name. His ears must, he thought, deceive him. The hubbub close
at hand was terrible. A dispute was going on. Men, women. and children
all joined, and yet he had heard the word "Ivan." "Kolina," he
replied, in equally low but clear tones. As he spoke a knife rolled
near him. But he could not touch it. Then a dark form filled the
orifice about a dozen feet above his head, and something moved down
among projecting stones, and then Kolina stood by him. In an instant
Ivan was free, and an axe in his hand. The exit was before them. Steps
were cut in the rock, to ascend to the upper entrance, near which Ivan
had been placed without fear, because tied. But a rush was heard, and
the friends had only time to throw themselves deeper into the cave,
when four men rushed in, knife in hand, to immolate the victim. Such
had been the decision come to after the debate.

The lamps revealed the escape of the fugitive. A wild cry drew all the
men together, and then up they scampered along the rugged projections,
and the barking of the dogs as they fled showed that they were in hot
and eager chase. Ivan and Kolina lost no time. They advanced boldly,
knife and hatchet in hand, sprang amid the terrified women, darted
across their horrid cavern, and before one of them had recovered from
her fright, were in the open air. On they ran in the gloom for some
distance, when they suddenly heard muttering voices. Down they sank
behind the first large stone, concealing themselves as well as they
could in the snow. The party moved slowly on toward them.

"I can trace their tracks still," said Sakalar, in a low deep tone.
"On, while they are alive, or at least for vengeance!"

"Friends!" cried Ivan.

"Father!" said Kolina, and in an instant the whole party were united.
Five words were enough to determine Sakalar. The whole body rushed
back, entered the cavern, and found themselves masters of it without
a struggle. The women and children attempted no resistance. As soon
as they were placed in a corner, under the guard of the Kolimsk men,
a council was held. Sakalar, as the most experienced, decided what
was to be done. He knew the value of threats: one of the women was
released, and bade go tell the men what had occurred. She was to add
the offer of a treaty of peace, to which, if both parties agreed,
the women were to be given up on the one side, and the hut and its
contents on the other. But the victors announced their intention
of taking four of the best-looking boys as hostages, to be returned
whenever they were convinced of the good faith of the Tchouktchas. The
envoy soon returned, agreeing to everything. They had not gone near
the hut, fearing an ambuscade. The four boys were at once selected,
and the belligerents separated.

Sakalar made the little fellows run before, and thus the hut was
regained. An inner cabin was erected for the prisoners, and the dogs
placed over them as spies. But as the boys understood Sakalar to mean
that the dogs were to eat them if they stirred, they remained still
enough, and made no attempt to run away.

A hasty meal was now cooked, and after its conclusion Ivan related
the events of the day, warmly dilating on the devotion and courage of
Kolina, who, with the keenness of a Yakouta, had found out his prison
by the smoke, and had seen him on the ground despite the gloom.
Sakalar then explained how, on his return, he had been terribly
alarmed, and had followed the trail on the snow. After mutual
congratulations the whole party went to sleep.

The next morning early, the mothers came humbly with provisions for
their children. They received some trifling presents and were sent
away in delight. About midday the whole tribe presented themselves
unarmed, within a short distance of the hut, and offered a traffic.
They brought a great quantity of fish, which they wanted to exchange
for tobacco. Sakalar, who spoke their language freely, first gave them
a roll, letting them understand it was in payment of the fish taken
without leave. This at once dissipated all feelings of hostility, and
solid peace was insured. So satisfied was Sakalar of their sincerity,
that he at once released the captives.

From that day the two parties were one, and all thoughts of war were
completely at an end. A vast deal of bloodshed had been prevented by a
few concessions on both sides. The same result might indeed have been
come to by killing half of each little tribe, but it is doubtful if
the peace would have been as satisfactory to the survivors.

       *       *       *       *       *

VII.--THE SUMMER AND AUTUMN.

Occupied with the chase, with bartering, and with conversing with
their new friends, the summer gradually came around. The snow melted,
the hills became a series of cascades, in every direction water
poured toward the sea. But the hut remained solid and firm, a little
earth only being cast over the snow. Flocks of ducks and geese soon
appeared, a slight vegetation was visible, and the sea was in motion.
But what principally drew all eyes were the vast heaps of fossil ivory
exposed to view on the banks of the stream, laid bare more and more
every year by the torrents of spring. A few days sufficed to collect
a heap greater than they could take away on the sledges in a dozen
journeys. Ivan gazed at his treasure in mute despair. Were all that
at Yakoutsk, he was the richest merchant in Siberia; but to take it
thither seemed impossible. But in stepped the adventurous Tchouktchas.
They offered, for a stipulated sum in tobacco and other valuables, to
land a large portion of the ivory at a certain spot on the shores of
Siberia, by means of their boats. Ivan, though again surprised at the
daring of these wild men, accepted the proposal, and engaged to give
them his whole stock. The matter was then settled, and our adventurers
and their new friends dispersed to their summer avocations.

These consisted in fishing and hunting, and repairing boats and
sledges. Their canoes were made of skins and whalebone, and bits of
wood; but they were large, and capable of sustaining great weight.
They proposed to start as soon as the ice was broken up, and to brave
all the dangers of so fearful a navigation. They were used to impel
themselves along in every open space, and to take shelter on icebergs
from danger. When one of these icy mountains went in the right
direction, they stuck to it; but at others they paddled away, amid
dangers of which they seemed wholly unconscious.

A month was taken up in fishing, in drying the fish, or in putting
it in holes where there was eternal frost. An immense stock was laid
in: and then one morning the Tchouktchas took their departure, and
the adventurers remained alone. Their hut was broken up, and all made
ready for their second journey. The sledges were enlarged, to bear
the heaviest possible load at starting. A few days' overloading were
not minded, as the provisions would soon decrease. Still not half so
much could be taken as they wished, and yet Ivan had nearly a ton of
ivory, and thirty tons was the greatest produce of any one year in all
Siberia.

But the sledges were ready long before the sea was so. The interval
was spent in continued hunting, to prevent any consumption of the
traveling store. All were heartily tired, long before it was over,
of a day nearly as long as two English months. Soon the winter set in
with intense rigor; the sea ceased to toss and heave; the icebergs and
fields moved more and more slowly; at last ocean and land were blended
into one--the night of a month came, and the sun was seen no more.

The dogs were now roused up; the sledges harnessed; and the instant
the sea was firm enough to sustain them, the party started. Sakalar's
intention was to try forced marches in a straight line. Fortune
favored them. Not an accident occurred for days. At first they did not
move exactly in the same direction as when they came, but they soon
found traces of their previous journey, proving that a plain of ice
had been forced away at least fifty miles during the thaw.

The road was now again rugged and difficult, firing was getting
scarce, the dogs were devouring the fish with rapidity, and only one
half the ocean-journey was over. But on they pushed with desperate
energy, each eye once more keenly on the look-out for game. Every one
drove his team in sullen silence, for all were on short allowance, and
all were hungry. They sat on what was to them more valuable than gold,
and yet they had not what was necessary for subsistence. The dogs were
urged every day to the utmost limits of their strength. But so much
space had been taken up by the ivory, that at last there remained
neither food nor fuel. None knew at what distance they were from the
shore, and their position seemed desperate. There were even whispers
of killing some of the dogs; and Sakalar and Ivan were upbraided for
the avarice which had brought them to such straits.

"See!" said the old hunter suddenly, with a delighted smile, pointing
toward the south.

The whole party looked eagerly. A thick column of smoke rose in the
air at no very considerable distance. This was the signal agreed on
with the Tchouktchas, who were to camp where there was plenty of wood.

Every hand was raised to urge on the dogs to this point, and at last,
from the summit of a hill of ice they saw the shore and the blaze of
the fire. The wind was toward them, and the atmosphere heavy. The dogs
smelled the distant camp, and darted almost recklessly forward. At
last they sank near to the Tchouktcha huts, panting and exhausted.

Their allies of the spring were true; they gave them food, of
which both man and beast ate greedily, and then sought repose. The
Tchouktchas had then formed their journey with wonderful success and
rapidity, and had found time to lay in a pretty fair stock of fish.
This they freely shared with Ivan and his party, and were delighted
when he abandoned to them all his tobacco and rum, and part of his
tea.

The Tchouktchas had been four years absent in their wanderings, and
were eager to get home once more to the land of the reindeer, and to
their friends. They were perhaps the greatest travelers of a tribe
noted for its facility of locomotion. And so, with warm expressions
of esteem and friendship on both sides, the two parties separated--the
men of the east making their way on foot, toward the Straits of
Behring.

       *       *       *       *       *

VIII.--THE VOYAGE HOME.

Under considerable disadvantages did Sakalar, Ivan, and their friends
prepare for the conclusion of their journey. Their provisions were
very scanty, and their only hope of replenishing their stores was on
the banks of the Vchivaya River, which being in some places pretty
rapid might not be frozen over. Sakalar and his friends determined to
strike out in a straight line. Part of the ivory had to be concealed
and abandoned, to be fetched another time; but as their stock of
provisions was so small, they were able to take the principal part. It
had been resolved, after some debate, to make in a direct line for the
Vchivaya river, and thence to Vijnei-Kolimsk. The road was of a most
difficult, and, in part, unknown character; but it was imperative to
move in as straight a direction as possible. Time was the great enemy
they had to contend with, because their provisions were sufficient for
a limited period only.

The country was at first level enough, and the dogs, after their
rest, made sufficiently rapid progress. At night they had reached the
commencement of a hilly region, while in the distance could be seen
pretty lofty mountains. According to a plan decided on from the first,
the human members of the party were placed at once on short allowance,
while the dogs received as much food as could be reasonably given.
At early dawn the tent was struck, and the dogs were impelled along
the banks of a small river completely frozen. Indeed, after a short
distance, it was taken as the smoothest path. But at the end of a
dozen miles they found themselves in a narrow gorge between two
hills; at the foot of a once foaming cataract, now hard frozen. It
was necessary to retreat some miles, and gain the land once more. The
only path which was now found practicable was along the bottom of some
pretty steep rocks. But the track got narrower and narrower, until the
dogs were drawing along the edge of a terrific precipice with not four
feet of holding. All alighted, and led the dogs, for a false step was
death. Fortunately the path became no narrower, and in one place it
widened out and made a sort of hollow. Here a bitter blast, almost
strong enough to cast them from their feet, checked further progress,
and on that naked spot, under a projecting mass of stone, without
fire, did the whole party halt. Men and dogs huddled together for
warmth, and all dined on raw and frozen fish. A few hours of sleep,
however, were snatched; and then, as the storm abated, they again
advanced. The descent was soon reached, and led into a vast plain
without tree or bush. A range of snow-clad hills lay before them, and
through a narrow gully between two mountains was the only practicable
pathway. But all hearts were gladdened by the welcome sight of some
_argali_, or Siberian sheep, on the slope of a hill. These animals are
the only winter game, bears, and wolves excepted. Kolina was left with
the dogs, and the rest started after the animals, which were pawing in
the snow for some moss or half-frozen herbs. Every caution was used
to approach them against the wind, and a general volley soon sent them
scampering away to the mountain-tops, leaving three behind.

But Ivan saw that he had wounded another, and away he went in chase.
The animal ascended a hill, and then halted. But seeing a man coming
quickly after him, it turned and fled down the opposite side. Ivan was
instantly after him. The descent was steep, but the hunter saw only
the argili, and darted down. He slid rather than ran with fearful
rapidity, and passed the sheep by, seeking to check himself too late.
A tremendous gulf was before him, and his eyes caught an instant
glance of a deep distant valley. Then he saw no more until he found
himself lying still. He had sunk, on the very brink of the precipice,
into a deep snow bank formed by some projecting rock, and had only
thus been saved from instant death. Deeply grateful, Ivan crept
cautiously up the hill-side, though not without his prize, and
rejoined his companions.

The road now offered innumerable difficulties, it was rough and
uneven--now hard, now soft. They made but slow progress for the next
three days, while their provisions began to draw to an end. They had
at least a dozen days more before them. All agreed that they were now
in the very worst difficulty they had been in. That evening they dined
on the last meal of mutton and fish; they were at the foot of a lofty
hill, which they determined to ascend while strength was left. The
dogs were urged up the steep ascent, and after two hours' toil, they
reached the summit. It was a table-land, bleak and miserable, and the
wind was too severe to permit camping. On they pushed, and camped a
little way down its sides.

The next morning the dogs had no food, while the men had nothing but
large draughts of warm tea. But it was impossible to stop. Away they
hurried, after deciding that, if nothing turned up the next morning,
two or three of the dogs must be killed to save the rest. Little was
the ground they got over, with hungry beasts and starving men, and
all were glad to halt near a few dried larches. Men and dogs eyed each
other suspiciously, The animals, sixty-four in number, had they not
been educated to fear man, would have soon settled the matter. But
there they lay, panting and faint--to start up suddenly with a fearful
howl. A bear was on them. Sakalar fired, and then in rushed the dogs,
savage and fierce. It was worse than useless, it was dangerous, for
the human beings of the party to seek to share this windfall. It was
enough that the dogs had found something to appease their hunger.

Sakalar, however, knew that his faint and weary companions could not
move the next day if tea alone were their sustenance that night. He
accordingly put in practice one of the devices of his woodcraft. The
youngest of the larches was cut down, and the coarse outside bark was
taken off. Then every atom of the soft bark was peeled off the tree,
and being broken into small pieces, was cast into the boiling pot,
already full of water. The quantity was great, and made a thick
substance. Round this the whole party collected, eager for the moment
when they could fall to. But Sakalar was cool and methodical even in
that terrible hour. He took a spoon, and quietly skimmed the pot,
to take away the resin that rose to the surface. Then gradually the
bark melted away, and presently the pot was filled by a thick paste,
and looked not unlike glue. All gladly ate, and found it nutritive,
pleasant, and warm. They felt satisfied when the meal was over, and
were glad to observe that the dogs returned to the camp completely
satisfied also, which, under the circumstances, was matter of great
gratification.

In the morning, after another mess of larch-bark soup, and after a
little tea, the adventurers again advanced on their journey. They were
now in an arid, bleak, and terrible plain of vast extent. Not a tree,
not a shrub, not an elevation was to be seen. Starvation was again
staring them in the face, and no man knew when this dreadful plain
would end. That night the whole party cowered in their tent without
fire, content to chew a few tea-leaves preserved from the last meal.
Serious thoughts were now entertained of abandoning their wealth in
that wild region. But as none pressed the matter very hardly, the
ledges were harnessed again next morning, and the dogs driven on. But
man and beast were at the last gasp, and not ten miles were traversed
that day, the end of which brought them to a large river, on the
borders of which were some trees. Being wide and rapid, it was not
frozen, and there was still hope, The seine was drawn from a sledge,
and taken into the water. It was fastened from one side to another of
a narrow gut, and there left. It was of no avail examining it until
morning, for the fish only come out at night.

There was not a man of the party who had his exact sense about him,
while the dogs lay panting on the snow, their tongues hanging out,
their eyes glaring with almost savage fury. The trees round the bank
were large and dry, and not one had an atom of soft bark on it. All
the resource they had was to drink huge draughts of tea, and then
seek sleep. Sakalar set the example, and the Kolimsk men, to whom such
scenes were not new, followed his advice; but Ivan walked up and down
before the tent. A huge fire had been made, which was amply fed by the
wood of the river bank, and it blazed on high, showing in bold relief
the features of the scene. Ivan gazed vacantly at everything; but he
saw not the dark and glancing river--he saw not the bleak plain of
snow--his eyes looked not on the romantic picture of the tent and its
bivouac-fire: his thoughts were on one thing alone. He it was who
had brought them to that pass, and on his head rested all the misery
endured by man and beast, and, worst of all, by the good and devoted
Kolina.

There she sat, too, on the ground, wrapped in her warm clothes, her
eyes, fixed on the crackling logs. Of what was she thinking? Whatever
occupied her mind, it was soon chased away by the sudden speech
of Ivan. "Kolina," said he, in a tone which borrowed a little of
intensity from the state of mind in which hunger had placed all of
them, "canst thou ever forgive me?"

"What?" replied the young girl softly.

"My having brought you here to die, far away from your native hills?"

"Kolina cares little for herself," said the Yakouta maiden, rising and
speaking perhaps a little wildly; "let her father escape, and she is
willing to lie near the tombs of the old people on the borders of the
icy sea."

"But Ivan had hoped to see for Kolina many bright, happy days; for
Ivan would have made her father rich, and Kolina would have been the
richest unmarried girl in the plain of Miouré!"

"And would riches make Kolina happy?" said she sadly.

"Young girl of the Yakouta, hearken to me! Let Ivan live or die this
hour; Ivan is a fool. He left home and comfort to cross the icy seas
in search of wealth, and to gain happiness; but if he had only had
eyes, he would have stopped at Miouré. There he saw a girl, lively as
the heaven-fire in the north, good, generous, kind; and she was an old
friend, and might have loved Ivan; but the man of Yakoutsk was blind,
and told her of his passion for a selfish widow, and the Yakouta
maiden never thought of Ivan but as a brother!"

"What means Ivan?" asked Kolina, trembling with emotion.

"Ivan has long meant, when he came to the yourte of Sakalar, to lay
his wealth at his feet, and beg of his old friend to give him his
child: but Ivan now fears that he may die, and wishes to know what
would have been the answer of Kolina?"

"But Maria Vorotinska?" urged the girl, who seemed dreaming.

"Has long been forgotten. How could I not love my old playmate and
friend! Kolina--Kolina, listen to Ivan! Forget his love for the widow
of Yakoutsk, and Ivan will stay in the plain of Vchivaya and die."

"Kolina is very proud," whispered the girl, sitting down on a log near
the fire, and speaking in a low tone; "and Kolina thinks yet that the
friend of her father has forgotten himself. But if he be not wild, if
the sufferings of the journey have not made him say that which is not,
Kolina would be very happy."

"Be plain, girl of Miouré--maiden of the Yakouta tribe! and play not
with the heart of a man. Can Kolina take Ivan as her husband?"

A frank and happy reply gave the Yakoutsk merchant all the
satisfaction he could wish; and then followed several hours of those
sweet and delightful explanations which never end between young lovers
when first they have acknowledged their mutual affection. They had
hitherto concealed so much, that there was much to tell; and Ivan
and Kolina, who for nearly three years had lived together, with a bar
between their deep but concealed affection, seemed to have no end of
words. Ivan had begun to find his feelings change from the very hour
Sakalar's daughter volunteered to accompany him, but it was only in
the cave of New Siberia that his heart had been completely won.

So short, and quiet, and sweet were the hours, that the time of rest
passed by without the thought of sleep. Suddenly, however, they were
roused to a sense of their situation, and leaving their wearied and
exhausted companions still asleep, they moved with doubt and dread to
the water's side. Life was now doubly dear to both, and their fancy
painted the coming forth of an empty net as the termination of all
hope. But the net came heavily and slowly to land. It was full of
fish. They were on the well-stocked Vchivaya. More than three hundred
fish, small and great, were drawn on shore; and then they recast the
net.

"Up, man and beast!" thundered Ivan, as, after selecting two dozen of
the finest, he abandoned the rest to the dogs.

The animals, faint and weary, greedily seized on the food given them,
while Sakalar and the Kolimsk men could scarcely believe their senses.
The hot coals were at once brought into requisition, and the party
were soon regaling themselves on a splendid meal of tea and broiled
fish. I should alarm my readers did I record the quantities eaten. An
hour later, every individual was a changed being, but most of all the
lovers. Despite their want of rest, they looked fresher than any of
the party. It was determined to camp at least twenty hours more in
that spot; and the Kolimsk men declared that the river must be the
Vchivaya, they could draw the seine all day, for the river was deep,
its waters warmer than others, and its abundance of fish such as to
border on the fabulous. They went accordingly down to the side of
the stream, and then the happy Kolina gave free vent to her joy.
She burst out into a song of her native land, and gave way to some
demonstrations of delight, the result of her earlier education, that
astonished Sakalar. But when he heard that during that dreadful night
he had found a son, Sakalar himself almost lost his reason. The old
man loved Ivan almost as much as his own child, and when he saw the
youth in his yourte on his hunting trips, had formed some project of
the kind now brought about; but the confessions of Ivan on his last
visit to Miouré had driven all such thoughts away.

"Art in earnest, Ivan?" said he, after a pause of some duration.

"In earnest!" exclaimed Ivan, laughing; "why, I fancy the young men of
Miouré will find me so, if they seek to question my right to Kolina!"

Kolina smiled, and looked happy; and the old hunter heartily blessed
his children, adding that the proudest, dearest hope of his heart was
now within probable realization.

The predictions of the Kolimsk men were realized. The river gave them
as much fish as they needed for their journey home; and as now Sakalar
knew his way, there was little fear for the future. An ample stock was
piled on the sledges, the dogs had unlimited feeding for two days, and
then away they sped toward an upper part of the river, which, being
broad and shallow, was no doubt frozen on the surface. They found it
as they expected, and even discovered that the river was gradually
freezing all the way down. But little caring for this now, on they
went, and after considerable fatigue and some delay, arrived at
Kolimsk, to the utter astonishment of all the inhabitants, who had
long given them up for lost.

Great rejoicings took place. The friends of the three Kolimsk men
gave a grand festival, in which the rum, and tobacco, and tea, which
had been left at the place for payment for their journey, played
a conspicuous part. Then, as it was necessary to remain here some
time, while the ivory was brought from a deposit near the sea,
Ivan and Kolina were married. Neither of them seemed to credit the
circumstance, even when fast tied by the Russian church. It had come
so suddenly, so unexpectedly on both, that their heads could not quite
make the affair out. But they were married in right down earnest, and
Kolina was a proud and happy woman. The enormous mass of ivory brought
to Kolimsk excited the attention of a distinguished exile, who drew
up a statement in Ivan's name, and prepared it for transmission to the
White Czar, as the emperor is called in these parts.

When summer came, the young couple, with Sakalar and a caravan of
merchants, started for Yakoutsk, Ivan being by far the richest and
most important member of the party. After a single day's halt at
Miouré, on they went to the town, and made their triumphal entry in
September. Ivan found Maria Vorotinska a wife and mother, and his
vanity was not much wounded by the falsehood. The _ci-devant_ widow
was a little astonished at Ivan's return, and particularly at his
treasure of ivory: but she received his wife with politeness, a little
tempered by her sense of her own superiority to a savage, as she
designated Kolina to her friends in a whisper. But Kolina was so
gentle, so pretty, so good, so cheerful, so happy, that she found her
party at once, and the two ladies became rival leaders of the fashion.

This lasted until the next year, when a messenger from the capital
brought a letter to Ivan from the emperor himself, thanking him for
his narrative, sending him a rich present, his warm approval, and the
office of first civil magistrate in the city of Yakoutsk. This turned
the scales wholly on one side, and Maria bowed low to Kolina. But
Kolina had no feelings of the parvenu, and she was always a general
favorite. Ivan accepted with pride his sovereign's favor, and by
dint of assiduity, soon learned to be a useful magistrate. He always
remained a good husband, a good father, and a good son, for he made
the heart of old Sakalar glad. He never regretted his journey: he
always declared he owed to it wealth and happiness, a high position in
society, and an admirable wife. Great rejoicings took place many years
after in Yakoutsk, at the marriage of the son of Maria, united to
the daughter of Ivan, and from the first unto the last, none of the
parties concerned ever had reason to mourn over the perilous journey
in search of the Ivory Mine.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the information of the non-scientific, it may be necessary to
mention that the ivory alluded to in the preceding tale, is derived
from the tusks of the mammoth, or fossil elephant of the geologist.
The remains of this gigantic quadruped are found all over the northern
hemisphere, from the 40th to the 75th degree of latitude: but most
abundantly in the region which lies between the mountains of Central
Asia and the shores and islands of the Frozen Sea. So profusely do
they exist in this region, that the tusks have for more than a century
constituted an important article of traffic--furnishing a large
proportion of the ivory required by the carver and turner. The remains
lie imbedded in the upper tertiary clays and gravels; and these, by
exposure to the river-currents, to the waves of the sea, and other
erosive agencies, are frequently swept away during the thaws of
summer, leaving tusks and bones in masses, and occasionally even
entire skeletons, in a wonderful state of preservation. The most
perfect specimen yet obtained, and from the study of which the
zoologist has been enabled to arrive at an accurate knowledge of the
structure and habits of the mammoth, is that discovered by a Tungusian
fisherman, near the mouth of the river Lena, in the summer of 1799.

Being in the habit of collecting tusks among the debris of the
gravel-cliffs, (for it is generally at a considerable elevation in the
cliffs and river banks that the remains occur,) he observed a strange
shapeless mass projecting from an ice-bank some fifty or sixty feet
above the river; during next summer's thaw he saw the same object,
rather more disengaged from amongst the ice; in 1801 he could
distinctly perceive the tusk and flank of an immense animal; and in
1803, in consequence of an earlier and more powerful thaw, the huge
carcase became entirely disengaged, and fell on the sandbank beneath.
In the spring of the following year the fisherman cut off the tusks,
which he sold for fifty rubles (£7, 10s.;) and two years afterward,
our countryman, Mr. Adams, visited the spot, and gives the following
account of the extraordinary phenomenon:

"At this time I found the mammoth still in the same place, but
altogether mutilated. The discoverer was contented with his profit
for the tusks, and the Yakoutski of the neighborhood had cut off
the flesh, with which they fed their dogs. During the scarcity, wild
beasts, such as white bears, wolves, wolverines, and foxes, also
fed upon it, and the traces of their footsteps were seen around. The
skeleton, almost entirely cleared of its flesh, remained whole, with
the exception of a foreleg. The head was covered with a dry skin;
one of the ears, well preserved, was furnished with a tuft of hair.
All these parts have necessarily been injured in transporting them a
distance of 7,330 miles, (to the Imperial museum of St. Petersburgh,)
but the eyes have been preserved, and the pupil of one can still be
distinguished. The mammoth was a male, with a long mane on the neck.
The tail and proboscis were not preserved. The skin, of which I
possess three-fourths, is of a dark-gray color, covered with a reddish
wool and black hairs: but the dampness of the spot where it had lain
so long had in some degree destroyed the hair. The entire carcase,
of which I collected the bones on the spot, was nine feet four inches
high, and sixteen feet four inches long, without including the tusks,
which measured nine feet six inches along the curve. The distance from
the base or root of the tusk to the point is three feet seven inches.
The two tusks together weighed three hundred and sixty pounds, English
weight, and the head alone four hundred and fourteen pounds. The skin
was of such weight that it required ten persons to transport it to
the shore; and after having cleared the ground, upward of thirty-six
pounds of hair were collected, which the white bears had trodden while
devouring the flesh."

Since then, other carcases of elephants have been discovered, in
a greater or less degree of preservation; as also the remains of
rhinoceroses, mastodons, and allied pachyderms--the mammoth more
abundantly in the old world, the mastodon in the new. In every case
these animals differ from existing species: are of more gigantic
dimensions; and, judging from their natural coverings of thick-set
curly-crisped wool and strong hair, upward of a foot in length, were
fitted to live, if not in a boreal, at least in a coldly-temperate
region. Indeed, there is proof positive of the then more milder
climate of these regions in the discovery of pine and birch-trunks
where no vegetation now flourishes; and further, in the fact that
fragments of pine-leaves, birch-twigs, and other northern plants, have
been detected between the grinders and within the stomachs of these
animals. We have thus evidence, that at the close of the tertiary,
and shortly after the commencement of the current epoch, the northern
hemisphere enjoyed a much milder climate; that it was the abode of
huge pachyderms now extinct; that a different distribution of sea
and land prevailed; and that on a new distribution or sea and land,
accompanied also by a different relative level, these animals died
away, leaving their remains imbedded in the clays, gravels, and other
alluvial deposits, where, under the antiseptic influence of an almost
eternal frost, many of them have been preserved as entire as at the
fatal moment they sank under the rigors of external conditions no
longer fitted for their existence. It has been attempted by some to
prove the adaptability of these animals to the present conditions
of the northern hemisphere; but so untenable in every phase is this
opinion, that it would be sheer waste of time and space to attempt its
refutation. That they may have migrated northward and southward with
the seasons is more than probable, though it has been stated that the
remains diminish in size the farther north they are found; but that
numerous herds of such huge animals should have existed in these
regions at all, and that for thousands of years, presupposes an
exuberant arboreal vegetation, and the necessary degree of climate for
its growth and development. It has been mentioned that the mastodon
and mammoth seem to have attained their meridian toward the close of
the tertiary epoch, and that a few may have lived even in the current
era; but it is more probable that the commencement of existing
conditions was the proximate cause of their extinction, and that not
a solitary specimen ever lived to be the contemporary of man.

       *       *       *       *       *

[FROM FRASER'S MAGAZINE.]

ENGLISH HEXAMETERS.

BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

  Askest thou if in my youth I have mounted, as others have mounted,
  Galloping Hexameter, Pentameter cantering after,
  English by dam and by sire; bit, bridle, and saddlery, English;
  English the girths and the shoes; all English from snaffle to crupper;
  Everything English around, excepting the tune of the jockey?
  Latin and Greek, it is true, I have often attach'd to my phaeton
  Early in life, and sometimes have I ordered them out in its evening,
  Dusting the linings, and pleas'd to have found them unworn and untarnisht.
  Idle! but Idleness looks never better than close upon sunset.
  Seldom my goosequill, of goose from Germany, fatted in England,
  (Frolicksome though I have been) have I tried on Hexameter, knowing
  Latin and Greek are alone its languages. We have a measure
  Fashion'd by Milton's own hand, a fuller, a deeper, a louder.
  Germans may flounder at will over consonant, vowel, and liquid,
  Liquid and vowel but one to a dozen of consonants, ending
  Each with a verb at the tail, tail heavy as African ram's tail,
  Spenser and Shakspeare had each his own harmony; each an enchanter
  Wanting no aid from without. _Chevy Chase_ had delighted their fathers,
  Though of a different strain from the song on the _Wrath of Achilles_.
  Southey was fain to pour forth his exuberant stream over regions
  Near and remote: his command was absolute; every subject,
  Little or great, he controll'd; in language, variety, fancy,
  Richer than all his compeers and wanton but once in dominion;
  'Twas when he left the full well that for ages had run by his homestead,
  Pushing the brambles aside which encumber'd another up higher,
  Letting his bucket go down, and hearing it bump in descending,
  Grating against the loose stones 'til it came but half-full from the bottom.
  Others abstain'd from the task. Scott wander'd at large over Scotland;
  Reckless of Roman and Greek, he chanted the _Lay of the Minstrel_
  Better than ever before any minstrel in chamber had chanted.
  Never on mountain or wild hath echo so cheerfully sounded,
  Never did monarch bestow such glorious meeds upon knighthood,
  Never had monarch the power, liberality, justice, discretion.
  Byron liked new-papered rooms, and pull'd down old wainscot of cedar;
  Bright-color'd prints he preferr'd to the graver cartoons of a Raphael,
  Sailor and Turk (with a sack,) to Eginate and Parthenon marbles,
  Splendid the palace he rais'd--the gin-palace in Poesy's purlieus;
  Soft the divan on the sides, with spittoons for the qualmish and queesy.
  Wordsworth, well pleas'd with himself, cared little for modern or ancient.
  His was the moor and the tarn, the recess in the mountain, the woodland
  Scatter'd with trees far and wide, trees never too solemn or lofty,
  Never entangled with plants overrunning the villager's foot-path.
  Equable was he and plain, but wandering a little in wisdom,
  Sometimes flying from blood and sometimes pouring it freely.
  Yet he was English at heart. If his words were too many; if Fancy's
  Furniture lookt rather scant in a whitewasht homely apartment;
  If in his rural designs there is sameness and tameness; if often
  Feebleness is there for breadth; if his pencil wants rounding and pointing;
  Few of this age or the last stand out on the like elevation.
  There is a sheepfold he rais'd which my memory loves to revisit,
  Sheepfold whose wall shall endure when there is not a stone of the palace.
  Still there are walking on earth many poets whom ages hereafter
  Will be more willing to praise than they are to praise one another:
  Some do I know, but I fear, as is meet, to recount or report them,
  For, be whatever the name that is foremost, the next will run over,
  Trampling and rolling in dust his excellent friend the precursor.
  Peace be with all! but afar be ambition to follow the Roman,
  Led by the German, uncomb'd, and jigging in dactyl and spondee,
  Lumbering shapeless jackboots which nothing can polish or supple.
  Much as old metres delight me, 'tis only where first they were nurtured,
  In their own clime, their own speech: than pamper them here I would rather
  Tie up my Pegasus tight to the scanty-fed rack of a sonnet.

       *       *       *       *       *

[FROM HOUSEHOLD WORDS.]

A MIGHTIER HUNTER THAN NIMROD.

A great deal has been said about the prowess of Nimrod, in connection
with the chase, from the days of him of Babylon to those of the late
Mr. Apperley of Shropshire; but we question whether, among all the
sporting characters mentioned in ancient or modern story, there ever
was so mighty a hunter as the gentleman whose sporting calendar
now lies before us.[4] The annals of the chase, so far as we are
acquainted with them, supply no such instances of familiar intimacy
with lions, elephants, hippopotami, rhinoceroses, serpents,
crocodiles, and other furious animals, with which the human species
in general is not very forward in cultivating an acquaintance.

[Footnote 4: A Hunter's Life in South Africa. By R. Gordon Cumming,
Esq., of Altyre.]

Mr. Cumming had exhausted the deer-forests of his native Scotland;
he had sighed for the rolling prairies and rocky mountains of the Far
West, and was tied down to military routine as a mounted rifleman in
the Cape Colony; when he determined to resign his commission into the
hands of Government, and himself to the delights of hunting amid the
untrodden plains and forests of South Africa. Having provided himself
with wagons to travel and live in, with bullocks to draw them, and
with a host of attendants; a sufficiency of arms, horses, dogs, and
ammunition, he set out from Graham's-Town in October, 1843. From that
period his hunting adventures extended over five years, during which
time he penetrated from various points and in various directions from
his starting-place in lat. 33 down to lat. 20, and passed through
districts upon which no European foot ever before trod; regions where
the wildest of wild animals abound--nothing less serving Mr. Cumming's
ardent purpose.

A lion story in the early part of his book will introduce this
fearless hunter-author to our readers better than the most elaborate
dissection of his character. He is approaching Colesberg, the
northernmost military station belonging to the Cape Colony. He is on
a trusty steed, which he calls also "Colesberg." Two of his attendants
on horseback are with him. "Suddenly," says the author, "I observed
a number of vultures seated on the plain about a quarter of a mile
ahead of us, and close beside them stood a huge lioness, consuming
a blesblok which she had killed. She was assisted in her repast by
about a dozen jackals, which were feasting along with her in the most
friendly and confidential manner. Directing my followers' attention to
the spot, I remarked, 'I see the lion;' to which they replied, 'Whar?
whar? Yah! Almagtig! dat is he;' and instantly reining in their steeds
and wheeling about, they pressed their heels to their horses' sides,
and were preparing to betake themselves to flight. I asked them what
they were going to do? To which they answered, 'We have not yet placed
caps on our rifles.' This was true; but while this short conversation
was passing, the lioness had observed us. Raising her full round
face, she overhauled us for a few seconds, and then set off at a smart
canter toward a range of mountains some miles to the northward; the
whole troop of jackals also started off in another direction; there
was therefore no time to think of caps. The first move was to bring
her to bay, and not a second was to be lost. Spurring my good and
lively steed, and shouting to my men to follow, I flew across the
plain, and, being fortunately mounted on Colesberg, the flower of
my stud, I gained upon her at every stride. This was to me a joyful
moment, and I at once made up my mind that she or I must die. The
lioness soon after suddenly pulled up, and sat on her haunches like
a dog, with her back toward me, not even deigning to look round. She
then appeared to say to herself, 'Does this fellow know who he is
after?' Having thus sat for half a minute, as if involved in thought,
she sprang to her feet, and facing about, stood looking at me for a
few seconds, moving her tail slowly from side to side, showing her
teeth and growling fiercely. She next made a short run forward, making
a loud, rumbling noise like thunder. This she did to intimidate
me; but finding that I did not flinch an inch, nor seem to heed her
hostile demonstrations, she quietly stretched out her massive arms,
and lay down on the grass. My Hottentots now coming up, we all three
dismounted, and drawing our rifles from their holsters, we looked to
see if the powder was up in the nipples, and put on our caps. While
this was doing, the lioness sat up, and showed evident symptoms of
uneasiness. She looked first at us, and then behind her, as if to see
if the coast were clear; after which she made a short run toward us,
uttering her deep-drawn murderous growls. Having secured the three
horses to one another by their rheims, we led them on as if we
intended to pass her, in the hope of obtaining a broadside; but this
she carefully avoided to expose, presenting only her full front. I had
given Stofolus my Moore rifle, with orders to shoot her if she should
spring upon me, but on no account to fire before me. Kleinboy was to
stand ready to hand me my Purdey rifle, in case the two-grooved Dixon
should not prove sufficient. My men as yet had been steady, but
they were in a precious stew, their faces having assumed a ghastly
paleness; and I had a painful feeling that I could place no reliance
on them. Now, then, for it, neck or nothing! She is within sixty yards
of us, and she keeps advancing. We turned the horses' tails to her.
I knelt on one side, and taking a steady aim at her breast, let fly.
The ball cracked loudly on her tawny hide, and crippled her in the
shoulder; upon which she charged with an appalling roar, and in
the twinkling of an eye she was in the midst of us. At this moment
Stofolus'a rifle exploded in his hand, and Kleinboy, whom I had
ordered to stand ready by me, danced about like a duck in a gale of
wind. The lioness sprang upon Colesberg, and fearfully lacerated his
ribs and haunches with her horrid teeth and claws. The worst wound was
on his haunch, which exhibited a sickening, yawning gash, more than
twelve inches long, almost laying bare the very bone. I was very
cool and steady, and did not feel in the least degree nervous, having
fortunately great confidence in my own shooting; but I must confess,
when the whole affair was over, I felt that it was a very awful
situation, and attended with extreme peril, as I had no friend with
me on whom I could rely. When the lioness sprang on Colesberg, I
stood out from the horses, ready with my second barrel for the first
chance she should give me of a clear shot. This she quickly did; for,
seemingly satisfied with the revenge she had now taken, she quitted
Colesberg, and slewing her tail to one side, trotted sulkily past
within a few paces of me, taking one step to the left. I pitched my
rifle to my shoulder, and in another second the lioness was stretched
on the plain a lifeless corpse."

This is, however, but a harmless adventure compared with a subsequent
escapade--not with one, but with six lions. It was the hunter's habit
to lay wait near the drinking-places of these animals, concealed in a
hole dug for the purpose. In such a place on the occasion in question,
Mr. Cumming--having left one of three rhinoceroses he had previously
killed as a bait--ensconsed himself. Such a savage festival as that
which introduced the adventure, has never before, we believe, been
introduced through the medium of the softest English and the finest
hot-pressed paper to the notice of the civilized public. "Soon after
twilight," the author relates, "I went down to my hole with Kleinboy
and two natives, who lay concealed in another hole, with Wolf and
Boxer ready to slip, in the event of wounding a lion. On reaching
the water I looked toward the carcase of the rhinoceros, and, to
my astonishment, I beheld the ground alive with large creatures,
as though a troop of zebras were approaching the fountain to drink.
Kleinboy remarked to me that a troop of zebras were standing on the
height. I answered, 'Yes,' but I knew very well that zebras would not
be capering around the carcase of a rhinoceros. I quickly arranged my
blankets, pillow, and guns in the hole, and then lay down to feast my
eyes on the interesting sight before me. It was bright moonlight, as
clear as I need wish, and within one night of being full moon. There
were six large lions, about twelve or fifteen hyenas, and from twenty
to thirty jackals, feasting on and around the carcases of the three
rhinoceroses. The lions feasted peacefully, but the hyenas and jackals
fought over every mouthful, and chased one another round and round
the carcases, growling, laughing, screeching, chattering, and howling
without any intermission. The hyenas did not seem afraid of the lions,
although they always gave way before them; for I observed that they
followed them in the most disrespectful manner, and stood laughing,
one or two on either side, when any lions came after their comrades to
examine pieces of skin or bones which they were dragging away. I had
lain watching this banquet for about three hours, in the strong hope
that, when the lions had feasted, they would come and drink. Two black
and two white rhinoceroses had made their appearance, but, scared by
the smell of the blood, they had made off. At length the lions seemed
satisfied. They all walked about with their heads up, and seemed to
be thinking about the water; and in two minutes one of them turned his
face toward me, and came on; he was immediately followed by a second
lion, and in half a minute by the remaining four. It was a decided
and general move, they were all coming to drink right bang in my face,
within fifteen yards of me."

The hunters were presently discovered. "An old lioness, who seemed to
take the lead, had detected me, and, with her head high and her eyes
fixed full upon me she was coming slowly round the corner of the
little vley to cultivate further my acquaintance! This unfortunate
coincidence put a stop at once to all further contemplation. I
thought; in my haste, that it was perhaps most prudent to shoot
this lioness, especially as none of the others had noticed me. I
accordingly moved my arm and covered her; she saw me move and halted,
exposing a full broadside. I fired; the ball entered one shoulder, and
passed out behind the other. She bounded forward with repeated growls,
and was followed by her five comrades all enveloped in a cloud of
dust; nor did they atop until they had reached the cover behind
me, except one old gentleman, who halted and looked back for a few
seconds, when I fired, but the ball went high. I listened anxiously
for some sound to denote the approaching end of the lioness; nor
listened in vain. I heard her growling and stationary, as if dying. In
one minute her comrades crossed the vley a little below me, and made
toward the rhinoceros. I then slipped Wolf and Boxer on her scent,
and, following them into the cover, I found her lying dead."

Mr. Cumming's adventures with elephants are no less thrilling. He had
selected for the aim of his murderous rifle two huge female elephants
from a herd. "Two of the troop had walked slowly past at about sixty
yards, and the one which I had selected was feeding with two others
on a thorny tree before me. My hand was now as steady as the rock on
which it rested, so, taking a deliberate aim, I let fly at her head, a
little behind the eye. She got it hard and sharp, just where I aimed,
but it did not seem to affect her much. Uttering a loud cry, she
wheeled about, when I gave her the second ball, close behind the
shoulder. All the elephants uttered a strange rumbling noise, and made
off in a line to the northward at a brisk ambling pace, their huge
fanlike ears flapping in the ratio of their speed. I did not wait to
load, but ran back to the hillock to obtain a view. On gaining its
summit, the guides pointed out the elephants; they were standing in
a grove of shady trees, but the wounded one was some distance behind
with another elephant, doubtless its particular friend, who was
endeavoring to assist it. These elephants had probably never before
heard the report of a gun; and having neither seen nor smelt me, they
were unaware of the presence of man, and did not seem inclined to go
any further. Presently my men hove in sight, bringing the dogs; and
when these came up, I waited some time before commencing the attack,
that the dogs and horses might recover their wind. We then rode slowly
toward the elephants, and had advanced within two hundred yards of
them, when, the ground being open, they observed us, and made off
in an easterly direction; but the wounded one immediately dropped
astern, and next moment she was surrounded by the dogs, which, barking
angrily, seemed to engross her attention. Having placed myself between
her and the retreating troop, I dismounted to fire, within forty
yards of her, in open ground. Colesberg was extremely afraid of the
elephants, and gave me much trouble, jerking my arm when I tried to
fire. At length I let fly; but, on endeavoring to regain my saddle.
Colesberg declined to allow me to mount; and when I tried to lead him,
and run for it, he only backed toward the wounded elephant. At this
moment I heard another elephant close behind: and on looking about I
beheld the 'friend,' with uplifted trunk, charging down upon me at top
speed, shrilly trumpeting, and following an old black pointer named
Schwart, that was perfectly deaf, and trotted along before the enraged
elephant quite unaware of what was behind him. I felt certain that
she would have either me or my horse. I, however, determined not to
relinquish my steed, but to hold on by the bridle. My men, who of
course kept at a safe distance, stood aghast with their mouths open,
and for a few seconds my position was certainly not an enviable
one. Fortunately, however, the dogs took off the attention of the
elephants; and, just us they were upon me I managed to spring into the
saddle, where I was safe. As I turned my back to mount, the elephants
were so very near, that I really expected to feel one of their
trunks lay hold of me. I rode up to Kleinboy for my double-barrelled
two-grooved rifle; he and Isaac were pale and almost speechless with
fright. Returning to the charge, I was soon once more alongside,
and, firing from the saddle, I sent another brace of bullets into the
wounded elephant. Colesberg was extremely unsteady, and destroyed the
correctness of my aim. The 'friend' now seemed resolved to do some
mischief, and charged me furiously, pursuing me to a distance of
several hundred yards. I therefore deemed it proper to give her
a gentle hint to act less officiously, and so, having loaded, I
approached within thirty yards, and gave it her sharp, right and left,
behind the shoulder; upon which she at once made off with drooping
trunk, evidently with a mortal wound. Two more shots finished her; on
receiving them she tossed her trunk up and down two or three times,
and falling on her broadside against a thorny tree, which yielded like
grass before her enormous weight, she uttered a deep hoarse cry and
expired."

Mr. Cumming's exploits in the water are no less exciting than his land
adventures. Here is an account of his victory over a hippopotamus, on
the banks of the Limpopo river, near the northernmost extremity of his
journeyings.

"There were four of them, three cows and an old bull; they stood in
the middle of the river, and though alarmed, did not appear aware of
the extent of the impending danger. I took the sea-cow next me, and
with my first ball I gave her a mortal wound, knocking loose a great
plate on the top of her skull. She at once commenced plunging round
and round, and then occasionally remained still, sitting for a few
minutes on the same spot. On hearing the report of my rifle two of
the others took up stream, and the fourth dashed down the river; they
trotted along, like oxen, at a smart pace as long as the water was
shallow. I was now in a state of very great anxiety about my wounded
sea-cow, for I feared that she would get down into deep water, and
be lost like the last one; her struggles were still carrying her
down stream, and the water was becoming deeper. To settle the matter
I accordingly fired a second shot from the bank, which, entering
the roof of her skull, passed out through her eye; she then, kept
continually splashing round and round in a circle in the middle of the
river. I had great fears of the crocodiles, and I did not know that
the sea-cow might not attack me. My anxiety to secure her, however,
overcame all hesitation; so, divesting myself of my leathers, and
armed with a sharp knife. I dashed into the water, which at first took
me up to my arm-pits, but in the middle was shallower. As I approached
Behemoth her eye looked very wicked. I halted for a moment, ready to
dive under the water if she attacked me, but she was stunned, and did
not know what she was doing; so, running in upon her, and seizing
her short tail, I attempted to incline her course to land. It was
extraordinary what enormous strength she still had in the water. I
could not guide her in the slightest, and she continued to splash, and
plunge, and blow, and make her circular course, carrying me along with
her as if I was a fly on her tail. Finding her tail gave me but a poor
hold, as the only means of securing my prey, I took out my knife, and
cutting two deep parallel incisions through the skin on her rump, and
lifting this skin from the flesh, so that I could get in my two hands,
I made use of this as a handle; and after some desperate hard work,
sometimes pushing and sometimes pulling, the sea-cow continuing her
circular course all the time and I holding on at her rump like grim
Death, eventually I succeeded in bringing this gigantic and most
powerful animal to the bank. Here the Bushman, quickly brought me a
stout buffalo-rheim from my horse's neck, which I passed through the
opening in the thick skin, and moored Behemoth to a tree. I then took
my rifle, and sent a ball through the center of her head, and she was
numbered with the dead." There is nothing in "Waterton's Wanderings,"
or in the "Adventures of Baron Munchausen" more startling than this
"Waltz with a Hippopotamus!"

In the all-wise disposition of events, it is perhaps ordained that
wild animals should be subdued by man to his use at the expense
of such tortures as those described in the work before us. Mere
amusement, therefore, is too light a motive for dealing such wounds
and death Mr. Cumming owns to; but he had other motives,--besides a
considerable profit he has reaped in trophies, ivory, fur, &c., he has
made in his book some valuable contributions to the natural history of
the animals he wounded and slew.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE FOR AUGUST

MANUELA.

A BALLAD OF CALIFORNIA.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

  From the doorway, Manuela, in the sheeny April morn,
  Southward looks, along the valley, over leagues of gleaming corn;
  Where the mountain's misty rampart like the wall of Eden towers,
  And the isles of oak are sleeping on a painted sea of flowers.
  All the air is full of music, for the winter rains are o'er,
  And the noisy magpies chatter from the budding sycamore;
  Blithely frisk unnumbered squirrels, over all the grassy slope;
  Where the airy summits brighten, nimbly leaps the antelope.
  Gentle eyes of Manuela! tell me wherefore do ye rest
  On the oaks' enchanted islands and the flowery ocean's breast?
  Tell me wherefore down the valley, ye have traced the highway's mark
  Far beyond the belts of timber, to the mountain-shadows dark?
  Ah, the fragrant bay may blossom, and the sprouting verdure shine
  With the tears of amber dropping from the tassels of the pine.
  And the morning's breath of balsam lightly brush her sunny cheek--
  Little recketh Manuela of the tales of Spring they speak.
  When the Summer's burning solstice on the mountain-harvests glowed,
  She had watched a gallant horseman riding down the valley road;
  Many times she saw him turning, looking back with parting thrills,
  Till amid her tears she lost him, in the shadow of the hills.
  Ere the cloudless moons were over, he had passed the Desert's sand.
  Crossed the rushing Colorada and the dark Apache Land,
  And his laden mules were driven, when the time of rains began.
  With the traders of Chihuaha, to the Fair of San Juan.
  Therefore watches Manuela--therefore lightly doth she start,
  When the sound of distant footsteps seems the beating of her heart;
  Not a wind the green oak rustles or the redwood branches stirs,
  But she hears the silver jingle of his ringing bit and spurs.
  Often, out the hazy distance, come the horsemen, day by day,
  But they come not as Bernardo--she can see it, far away;
  Well she knows the airy gallop of his mettled _alazan_,[5]
  Light as any antelope upon the Hills of Gavilan.
  She would know him mid a thousand, by his free and gallant air;
  By the featly-knit sarape,[6] such as wealthy traders wear;
  By his broidered calzoneros[7] and his saddle, gaily spread,
  With its cantle rimmed with silver, and its horn a lion's head.
  None like he the light riata[8] on the maddened bull can throw;
  None amid the mountain-canons, track like he the stealthy doe;
  And at all the Mission festals, few indeed the revelers are
  Who can dance with him the jota, touch with him the gay guitar.
  He has said to Manuela, and the echoes linger still
  In the cloisters of her bosom, with a secret, tender thrill,
  When the hay again has blossomed, and the valley stands in corn,
  Shall the bells of Santa Clara usher in the wedding morn.
  He has pictured the procession, all in holyday attire,
  And the laugh and look of gladness, when they see the distant spire;
  Then their love shall kindle newly, and the world be doubly fair,
  In the cool delicious crystal of the summer morning air.
  Tender eyes of Manuela! what has dimmed your lustrous beam?
  'Tis a tear that falls to glitter on the casket of her dream.
  Ah, the eye of love must brighten, if its watches would be true,
  For the star is falsely mirrored in the rose's drop of dew!
  But her eager eyes rekindle, and her breathless bosom stills,
  As she sees a horseman moving in the shadow of the hills;
  Now in love and fond thanksgiving they may loose their pearly tides--
  'Tis the alazan that gallops, 'tis Bernardo's self that rides!

[Footnote 5: In California horses are named according to their color.
An _alazan_ is a sorrel--a color generally preferred, as denoting
speed and mettle.]

[Footnote 6: The sarape is a knit blanket of many gay colors, worn
over the shoulders by an opening in the center, through which the head
is thrust.]

[Footnote 7: Calzoneros are trowsers, generally made of blue cloth
or velvet, richly embroidered, and worn over an under pair of white
linen. They are slashed up the outside of each leg, for greater
convenience in riding, and studded with rows of silver buttons.]

[Footnote 8: The lariat, or riata, as it is indifferently called in
California and Mexico, is precisely the same as the lasso of South
America.]

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM FRASER'S MAGAZINE FOR JULY.

LEDRU ROLLIN.

Ledru Rollin is now in his forty-fourth or forty-fifth year,
having been born in 1806 or 1807. He is the grandson of the famous
_Prestidigateur_, or Conjurer Comus, who, about four or five-and-forty
years ago, was in the acme of his fame. During the Consulate, and a
considerable portion of the Empire, Comus traveled from one department
of France to the other, and is even known to have extended his
journeys beyond the Rhine and the Moselle on one side, and beyond the
Rhône and Garonne on the other. Of all the conjurers of his day he was
the most famous and the most successful, always, of course, excepting
that Corsican conjurer who ruled for so many years the destinies
of France. From those who have seen that famous trickster, we
have learned that the Charleses, the Alexanders, even the Robert
Houdins, were children compared with the magical wonder-worker of
the past generation. The fame of Comus was enormous, and his gains
proportionate; and when he had shuffled off this mortal coil it
was found he had left to his descendants a very ample--indeed, for
France, a very large fortune. Of the descendants in a right line, his
grandson, Ledru Rollin, was his favorite, and to him the old man left
the bulk of his fortune, which, during the minority of Ledru Rollin,
grew to a sum amounting to nearly, if not fully, £4,000 per annum.

The scholastic education of the young man who was to inherit this
considerable fortune, was nearly completed during the reign of
Louis XVIII., and shortly after Charles X. ascended the throne _il
commençait à faire sur droit_, as they phrase it in the _pays Latin_.
Neither during the reign of Louis XVIII., nor indeed now, unless in
the exact and physical sciences, does Paris afford a very solid and
substantial education. Though the Roman poets and historians are
tolerably well studied and taught, yet little attention is paid to
Greek literature. The physical and exact sciences are unquestionably
admirably taught at the Polytechnique and other schools; but neither
at the College of St. Barbe, nor of Henry IV., can a pupil be so well
grounded in the rudiments and humanities as in our grammar and public
schools. A studious, pains-taking, and docile youth, will, no doubt,
learn a great deal, no matter where he has been placed in pupilage;
but we have heard from a contemporary of M. Rollin, that he was not
particularly distinguished either for his industry or his docility in
early life. The earliest days of the reign of Charles X. saw M. Ledru
Rollin an _étudiant en droit_ in Paris. Though the schools of law
had been re-established during the Consulate pretty much after the
fashion in which they existed in the time of Louis the XIV., yet the
application of the _alumni_ was fitful and desultory, and perhaps
there were no two classes in France, at the commencement of 1825. who
were more imbued with the Voltarian philosophy and the doctrines and
principles of Rousseau, than the _élèves_ of the schools of law and
medicine.

Under a king so sceptical and voluptuous, so much of a _philosophie_
and _phyrronéste_, as Louis XVIII., such tendencies were likely to
spread themselves through all ranks of society--to permeate from
the very highest to the very lowest classes: and not all the lately
acquired asceticism of the monarch, his successor, nor all the
efforts of the Jesuits could restrain or control the tendencies of
the _étudiants en droit_. What the law-students were antecedently and
subsequent to 1825, we know from the _Physiologie de l'Homme de Loi_;
and it is not to be supposed that M. Ledru Rollin, with more ample
pecuniary means at command, very much differed from his fellows.
After undergoing a three years' course of study, M. Rollin obtained
a diploma as a _licencié en droit_, and commenced his career as
_stagiare_ somewhere about the end of 1826 or the beginning of 1827.
Toward the close of 1829, or in the first months of 1830, he was, we
believe, placed on the roll of advocates; so that he was called to
the bar, or, as they say in France, received an advocate, in his
twenty-second or twenty-third year.

The first years of an advocate, even in France, are generally passed
in as enforced an idleness as in England. Clients come not to consult
the greenhorn of the last term; nor does any _avoué_ among our
neighbors, any more than any attorney among ourselves, fancy that an
old head is to be found on young shoulders. The years 1830 and 1831
were not marked by any oratorical effort of the author of the _Decline
of England_; nor was it till 1832 that, being then one of the youngest
of the bar of Paris, he prepared and signed an opinion against the
placing of Paris in a state of siege consequent on the insurrections
of June. Two years after he prepared a memoir; or _factum_, on
the affair of the Rue Transonain, and defended Dupoty, accused
of _complicité morale_, a monstrous doctrine invented by the
Attorney-General Hebert. From 1834 to 1841 he appeared as counsel in
nearly all the cases of _émeute_ or conspiracy where the individuals
prosecuted were Republicans, or _quasi_-Republicans. Meanwhile, he
had become the proprietor and _rédacteur en chef_ of the _Reforme_
newspaper, a political journal of an ultra-Liberal--indeed of a
Republican--complexion, which was then called of extreme opinions, as
he had previously been editor of a legal newspaper called _Journal
du Palais_. _La Reforme_ had been originally conducted by Godefroy
Cavaignac, the brother of the general, who continued editor till the
period of the fatal illness which preceded his death. The defense
of Dupoty, tried and sentenced under the ministry of Thiers to five
years' imprisonment, as a regicide, because a letter was found open
in the letter-box of the paper of which he was editor, addressed to
him by a man said to be implicated in the conspiracy of Quenisset,
naturally brought M. Rollin into contact with many of the writers in
_La Reforme_; and these persons, among others Guinard Arago, Etienne
Arago, and Flocon, induced him to embark some portion of his fortune
in the paper. From one step he was led on to another, and ultimately
became one of the chief--indeed, if not the chief proprietor. The
speculation was far from successful in a pecuniary sense, but M.
Rollin, in furtherance of his opinions, continued for some years to
disburse considerable sums in the support of the journal. By this he
no doubt increased his popularity and his credit with the Republican
party, but it cannot be denied that he very materially injured his
private fortune. In the earlier portion of his career, M. Rollin was,
it is known, not indisposed to seek a seat in the Chamber, under the
auspices of M. Barrot, but subsequently to his connection with the
_Reforme_, he had himself become thoroughly known to the extreme party
in the departments, and on the death of Gamier Pagès the elder, was
elected in 1841 for Le Mans, in La Sarthe.

In addressing the electors, after his return, M. Rollin delivered
a speech much more Republican than Monarchical. For this he was
sentenced to four months' imprisonment, but the sentence was appealed
against and annulled on a technical ground, and the honorable member
was ultimately acquitted by the Cour d'Assizes of Angers.

The parliamentary _début_ of M. Rollin took place in 1842. His first
speech was delivered on the subject of the secret-service money.
The elocution was easy and flowing, the manner oratorical, the style
somewhat turgid and bombastic. But in the course of the session M.
Rollin improved, and his discourse on the modification of the criminal
law, on other legal subjects, and on railways, were more sober
specimens of style. In 1843 and 1844 M. Rollin frequently spoke; but
though his speeches were a good deal talked of outside the walls of
the Chamber, they produced little effect within it. Nevertheless,
it was plain to every candid observer that he possessed many of the
requisites of the orator--a good voice, a copious flow of words,
considerable energy and enthusiasm, a sanguine temperament and jovial
and generous disposition. In the sessions of 1845-46, M. Rollin took
a still more prominent part. His purse, his house in the Rue Tournon,
his counsels and advice, were all placed at the service of the
men of the movement; and by the beginning of 1847 he seemed to be
acknowledged by the extreme party as its most conspicuous and popular
member. Such indeed was his position when the electoral reform
banquets, on a large scale, began to take place in the autumn of 1847.
These banquets, promoted and forwarded by the principal members of the
opposition to serve the cause of electoral reform, were looked on
by M. Rollin and his friends in another light. While Odillon Barrot,
Duvergier d'Haurunne, and others, sought by means of them to produce
an enlarged constituency, the member for Sarthe looked not merely to
functional, but to organic reform--not merely to an enlargement of
the constituency, but to a change in the form of the government. The
desire of Barrot was _à la vérité à la sincerité des institutions
conquises en Juillet_ 1830; whereas the desire of Rollin was, _à
l'amélioration des classes laborieuses_; the one was willing to go
on with the dynasty of Louis Philippe and the Constitution of July
improved by diffusion and extension of the franchise, the other
looked to a democratic and social republic. The result is now known.
It is not here our purpose to go over the events of the Revolution
of February 1848, but we may be permitted to observe, that the
combinations by which that event was effected were ramified and
extensive, and were long silently and secretly in motion.

The personal history of M. Rollin, since February 1848, is well-known
and patent to all the world. He was the _ame damnée_ of the
Provisional Government--the man whose extreme opinions, intemperate
circulars, and vehement patronage of persons professing the political
creed of Robespierre--indisposed all moderate men to rally around the
new system. It was in covering Ledru Rollin with the shield of his
popularity that Lamartine lost his own, and that he ceased to be the
political idol of a people of whom he must ever be regarded as one
of the literary glories and illustrations. On the dissolution of
the Provisional Government, Ledru Rollin constituted himself one of
the leaders of the movement party. In ready powers of speech and in
popularity no man stood higher; but he did not possess the power of
restraining his followers or of holding them in hand, and the result
was, that instead of being their leader he became their instrument.
Fond of applause, ambitious of distinction, timid by nature, destitute
of pluck, and of that rarer virtue moral courage, Ledru Rollin,
to avoid the imputation of faint-heartedness, put himself in the
foreground, but the measures of his followers being ill-taken, the
plot in which he was mixed up egregiously failed, and he is now in
consequence an exile in England.

       *       *       *       *       *

GENERAL GARIBALDI.

MR. FILIPANTE gives the following notice of this Italian revolutionary
leader in a communication to the _Evening Post_. "His exertions in
behalf of the liberal movement in Italy have been indefatigable. As
active as he was courageous, he was among the first to take up arms
against Austrian tyranny, and the last to lay them down. Even when the
triumvirate at Rome had been overthrown, and the most ardent spirits
despaired of the republic, Garibaldi and his noble band of soldiers
refused to yield; they maintained a vigorous resistance to the last,
and only quitted the ground when the cause was so far gone that their
own success would have been of no general advantage.

"The General is about forty years of age. He was in early life an
officer in the Sardinian service, but, engaging in an unsuccessful
revolt against the government of Charles Albert, he was compelled to
leave his native land. He fled to Montevideo, where he fought with
distinction in the wars against Rosas. At the breaking out of the late
revolution he returned. His military capacities being well known, he
was entrusted with a command; and throughout the war his services were
most efficient. He defeated the allied troops of Austria, France,
and Naples, in several battles; his name, in fact, became a terror,
and when the republic fell, and he was compelled to retire to the
Appenines, the invaders felt that his return would be more formidable
than any other event.

"From Italy he went to Morocco, where he has since lived. But his
friends, desiring that his great energies should be actively employed,
have offered him the command of a merchant ship, which he has
accepted. He will, therefore, hereafter be engaged in the peaceful
pursuits of commerce, unless his country should again require his
exertions."

       *       *       *       *       *

CRIME, IN ENGLAND AND FRANCE.

In recent discussions of the effects of education upon morals, the
relative conditions of Great Britain and France in this respect
have often been referred to. The following paragraph shows that the
statistics in the case have not been well understood:

"In a recent sitting of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences,
M. Leon Faucher, the representative, read a paper on the state of
crime in England; and some of the journals have taken advantage
of this to institute a comparison with returns of the criminality
of France, recently published by the Government--the result being
anything but flattering to England. But M. Faucher, the Academy, the
newspapers, and almost everybody else in France, seems to be entirely
ignorant that it is impossible to institute a comparison between the
amount of crime in England and the amount of crime in France, inasmuch
as crimes are not the same in both countries. Thus, for example, it
is a felony in England to steal a pair of shoes, the offender is sent
before the Court of Assize, and his offense counts in the official
returns as a "crime;" in France, on the contrary, a petty theft is
considered a _délit_, or simple offense, is punished by a police
magistrate, and figures in the returns as an "offense." With
respect to murders, too, the English have only two general names for
killing--murder or manslaughter--but the French have nearly a dozen
categories of killing, of which what the English call murder forms
only one. It is the same, in short, with almost every species of
crime."