THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE (1~f iCitcrutur~7 ~trt7 an~ ~riurrc. Vol. IlL NEW-YORK, APRIL 1, l8~1. No. I. JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. ~~IIE eadei of the International have in the pI ice smono the foremost of tbe illustrious authors I above euoi a~ lug, from a Daguerreotype by of the e In each of the departments of ro- Brady toe be t poi trait ever published of an illus rnantic fiction in which he has written, he has had trious conntiymin of ours, who, as a novelist, take troops f imitators, and in not one of thens an him d)l n all, i~ entitled to precedence of every equ d Wiiting not from books, but from nature, other ow livmo With what amazing power, his de~ciiptions, incidents, and char cters are as 2xalani,~ Balzac in the Recee de Paris, has he fi esh as the ~elds of his trium his. His Harvey p painted nature! how all iiis pages glow with are- Birch, Leathei Stockino Long Tom Coffin, and ativa fire! Who is there writing Eiiglish among other heroes use betore the mind, each in his our contemporaries, if not of him, (if whom it can clearly defined sud peculiar lineaments, as strik- be said that he has a genius of the first order f in~ original creations as setual persons. His in- And the Eliabergle Review says, The empire of finitely vane (1 (lesci iptions of the ocean, ships ghid- the sea has been conceded to him by acclamation ; ing like beings of the air upon its surface, vast that, in the lonely desert or untrodden piaiiie, solitary wildarnesses, and ln(lead all his delinca- among the savage Indians or scarcely less savage tions of nature are instinct with the breathi Of po- settlers, all equally acknowledge his dominion. etry; he is both the Hoi sce Vernet and the Claude Within this circle none dares walk but he. And Lorraine of novelists and through all his works Christopher North, in the Nodes: lie writes like r are sentiments of oenume courtesy and honor, and a hero ! And beyond the limits of his own coun- an unobtrusive sud therefore more powerful as- ti-v. every where, the great critics assign him a sertion of natural rights and dignity. voL. inro. ii 2 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. WILLIAM COOPER, the emigrant ancestor of sequently, almost without an effort, to place him- JAMES FENIMORE COOPER, arrived in this country self at the head of all the writers who in any in 1679, and settled at Burlington, New Jersey. period have attempted the description of the sea He immediately took an active part in public he resigned his office, and on the first day of affairs, and his name appears in the list of mem- January, 1811, was married to Miss De Lancey, hers of the Colonial Legislature for 1681. In a sister of the present Bishop of the Diocese of 1687, or subsequent to the establishment of Penn Western New-York, and a descendant of one of at Philadelphia, he obtained a grant of land oppo- the oldest and most influential families in America. site the new city, extending several miles along Before removing to Cooperstown he resided a the margin of the Delaware and the tributary short time in Westchester, near New-York, and stream which has since borne the name of Coop- here he commenced his career as an author. His ers Creek. The branch of the family to which first book was Preceutson. It was undertaken the novelist belongs removed more than a century under circumstances purely accidental, and pub- since into Pennsylvania, in which state his father lished under great disadvantages. Its success was born. He married early, and while a young was moderate, though far from contemptible. It man established himself at a hamlet in Burlington is a ludicrous evidence of the value of critical county, New Jersey. which continues to be known opinion in this country, that Precaution was by his name, and afterward in the city of Burlina- thought to discover o much knowledge of Ea- ton. Having become possessed of extensive tracts gush society, as to raise a question whether its al- of land on the borde~ of Otsego Lake, in central leged author could have written it. More repu- New-York, he began the settlement of his estate tation for this sort of knowledge accrued to Mr. there in tile autumn of 1785, and in the following Cooper from Precaution than from his subsequent spring erected the first house in Cooperstown. real work on England. It was republished in From this time until 1790 Judge Cooper resided London, and passed for an English novel~ alternately at Cooperstown and Burlington, keep- The Spy followed. No one will dispute the lug up an establishment at both places. James success of Tile Spy. It was almost immediately Fenimore Cooper was born at Burlington on the republished in all parts of Europe. The novelty fifteenth of September, 1789, and in the succeed- of an American book of this character prob~ bly ing year was carried to the new home of his fain- contributed to give it circulation. It is worthy ily, of which he is nmv proprietor, of remark that all our own leading periodicals Judge Cooper being a member of the Congress, looked coldly upon it; though the country did which then held its sessions in Philadelphia, his not. The North American Reviewever unwil- family remained much of the time at Burlington, ling to do justice to Mr. Cooperhad a very ill- where our author, when but six years of age, com- natured notice of it, professing to place the New menced under a private tutor of some eminence England Tale far above it! In spite of such his classical education. In 1800 he became an in- shallow criticism, however, the book was umver- mate of the family of Rev. Thomas Ellison, Rec- sally popular. It was decidedly the best histori- tor of St. Peters, in Albany, who had fitted fir cal romance then written by an American; not the university three of his elder brothers, and on without faults, indeed, but with a fair p lot, clearly the death of that accomplished teacher was sent and strongly drawn characters, and~ exhibiting to New Haven, where he completed his prepara- great boldness and originality of conception. Its tory studies. He entered Yale College at the be- success was perhaps decisive of Mr. Coopers ca- ginnin~ of the second term of 1802. Among his reer, and it gave an extraordinary impulse to lit- classmates were John A. Collier, Judge Cushman, erature in the country. More than any thing that and the late Justice Sutherland of New-York, had before occurred, it roused the people from ludge Bissel of Connecticut, Colonel James Gads- their feeling of intellectual dependence. The den of Florida, and several others who afterwards popularity of The Spy has blen so universal, that became eminent in various professions. John C. there is scarcely a written language into which Calhoun was at the time a resident graduate, and it is not translated. In 1847 it appeared in Per- Judge William Jay of Bedford, who had been his sian at Ispahan. room-mate at Albany, entered the class below In 1823 appeared The Pioneers. This book him. The late James A. Hillhouse originally en- has passages of masterly description, and is as tered the same class with Mr. Cooper; there was fi-esh as a landscape from another world; but it very little difference in their ages, both having seems to me that it has always had a reputation been born in the same month, and both being much partly factitious. It is the poorest of the Lea- too young to be thrown into the arena of college ther Stocking tales, nor was its success either life. Hillhouse was judiciously withdrawn for this marked or spontaneous. Still, it was very well reason until the succeeding year, leaving Cooper received, though it was thought to be a proof that the youngest student in the college; he, however, the author was written out. With this book com- maintained a respectable position, and in the an- menced the absurdity of saying Mr. Cooper in- cient languages particularly had no superior in his troduced family traits and family history into his class, novels. How little of truth there is in this suppo- In 1805 he quitted the colle0e, and obtaining a sition Mr. Cooper has explained in his revised cdi- midshipmans warrant, entered the navy. His tion, published the present year. frank, generous, and daring nature made him a The Pilot succeeded. The success of The Pi- favorite, and admirably fitted him for the service, lot was at first a little doubtful in this country; in which he would unquestionably have obtained but En~land gave it a reputation which it still the highest honors had he not finally made choice maintains. It is due to Boston to say that its of the ease and quiet of the life of a private gen- popularity in the United States was first maui- tleman. After six years afloatsix years not un- fested there. I say due to Boston, not from con- profitably passed, since they gave him that know- siderations of merit in the book, hut because, for ledge of maritime affairs which enabled him sub- some reason, praise for Mr. Cooper, from New JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. England, has been so rare. The North America Review took credit to itself for magnanimity m saying some of his works had been rendered into French, when they were a part of every literature of Europe. America, it is often said, has no ori- ginal literature. Where can the model of The Pilot be found? I know of nothing which could have suggested it but the f~llo~v1ng fact, .7hicL was related to me in a conversation with Mr. Cooper. The Pirate had been published a short time before. Talking with the late Charles Wilkes, of New-York a man of taste and judgment our author heard extolled the universal know- ledge of Scott, and the sea portions of The Pirate cited as a proof. He laughed at the idea, as most seamen wonid, and the discussion ended by his promising to write a sea story which could be rekd by landsmen, while seamen should feel its truth. The Pilot was the fruit of that conversa- tion. It is one of the most remarkable novels of the time, and every where obtained instant and high applause. Lionel Lincoln followed. This was a second attempt to embody history in an American work of fiction. It failed, and perhaps justly; yet it contains one of the nicest delineations of charac- ter in Mr. Coopers works. I know of no instance in which the distinction between a maniac and an idiot is so admirably drawn; the setting was bad, however, and the picture was not examined. In 1 8~6 came The Last of the Mohicans. This book succeeded from the first, and all over Chris- tendom. It has strong parts and weak parts, but it was purely original, and originality always occu- pies the ground. In this respect itis like The Pilot. After the publication of The Last of TheMohi- cans, Mr. Cooper went to Europe, where his repu- tation was already well established as one of the greatest writers of romantic fiction which our age, more prolific in men of genius than any other, had produced. The first of his works after he left his native country was The Prairie, Its suc- cess every where was decided and immediate. By the French and English critics it has been deemed the best of his stories of Indian life. It has one leading fault, however, that of intro- ducing any character superior to the family of the squatter. Of this fault Mr. Cooper was himself aware before he finished the work; but as he wrote and printed simultaneously, it was not easy to correct it. In this book, notwithstanding, Nat- ty Bumpo is quite up to his mark, and is sur- passed only in The Pathfinder. The reputation of The Prairie, like that of The Pioneers, is in a large degree owing to the opinions of the re- views; it is always a fault in a book that ap- peals to human sympathies that it fails with the multitude. In what relates to taste, the multi- tude is of no ureat authority; but in all that is comiected with feeling, they are the highest; and for this simple reason, that as man becomes so- phisticated he deviates from nature, the only true source of all our sympathies. Our feeline,s are doubtless improved by refinement, and vice versa; but their roots are struck in the human heart, and what fails to touch the heart, in these partic- ulars, fails, while that which does touch it, suc- ceeds. The perfection of this sort of writing is that which pleases equally the head and the heart. The Red Rover followed The Prairie. Its suc- cess surpassed that of any of its predecessors. It was written and printed in Paris, and all in a few 3 months. Its merits and its reception prove the accuracy of those gentlemen who allege that Mr. Cooper never wrote a successful book after he left the United States. It is certainly a stronger work than The Pilot, though not without consider- able faults. The Wept of IVish-ton- Wish was the next novel. Th~i author I belicve regards thi:i and Lionel lin- coln as the poorest of his works. It met with no great success. The Water Witch succeeded, but is inferior to any of the other nautical tales. It was the first attempt by Mr. Cooperthe first by any author to lay the scene of a tale of witchcraft on the coast of America. It has more imagination than ammy other of Mr. Coopers works, but the blending of the real with the ideal was in some parts a little inconcrruous. The Water Witch was written in Italy and first printed in Germany. Of all Americans who ever visited Europe, Mr. Cooper contributed most to our countrys good reputation. His high character made him every where welcome; there was no circle, however aristocratic or distinguished, in which, if he ap- peared in it, he was not observed of all observers; and he had the somewhat singular merit of never forgetting that he was an American. ilalleck, in his admirable poem of Red Jacket, says well of him: Coovsa, whose name is with his countrys woven, First in her fields, her pioneer of mind, A we veer now in ether lends, has proven His lovefor the young lend he left behind. After having been in Europe about two years he published his Notions of the Americaiss, in which he endeavored to repel some of the hostile opinions of the other hemisphere, and to turn the tables on those who at that time most derided and calumniated us. It contained some unimportant errors, fi-om having booms written at a distance from necessary documentary materials, but was altogether as just as it was eloquent in vindication of our institutions, manners, and history. It shows how warm was his patriotisni; how fondly, while receivimig from strangers an homage withheld from him at home, he remembered the scenes of his first trials and triumphs, and how ready he was to sa- crifice personal popularity and profit in defence of his country. He was not only the first to defend and to praise America, but the first to whom appeals were made for information in regard to her by statesmen who felt an interest in our destiny. Following the re- volution of the Three Days, in Paris, a fierce con- troversy took place between the absolutists, the republicans, and the constitutionalists. Among the subjects introduced in the Chambers was the com- parative cheapness of our system of government; the absolutists asserting that the people of the United States paid more direct and indirect taxes than the French. La Fayette appealed to Mr. Cooper, who entered the arena, and though, from his peculiar position, at a heavy pecuniary loss, and the danger of incurring yet greater misfor- tunes, by a masterly exposi silenced at once the popular falsehoods. So in all places, circumstances, and times, he was the Asoericem in Europe, as jealous of his countrys reputation as Imis own. Immediately after, he published The Bravo, the success of which was very great: probably equal to that of The Red Rover. It is one of the best, if not the very best of the works Mr. Cooper had then written. Althou0h he selected a foreign scene on this occasion, no one of Isis works is more Ame 4 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. rican in its essential character. It was designed most shameless libellers that ever abused the hos- not only to extend the democratical principle pitality of nations. Altogether the ten volumes abroad, but to confirm his countrymen in the opi- which compose this series may be set down as the nion that nations cannot be governed by an hire- niost intelligent and philosophical books of travels 5ponsible minority without involving a train of which have been written by our countrymen. nearly intolerable abuses. It gave aristocracy The American Democrat, or Hints on the Social some hits, which aristocracy gave back again. The end Civil Relations of the United States of Ame- best notice which appeared of it was in the famous rica, was published in 1835. The design is stated Paris gazette entitled Figaro, before Figaro was to be, to make a commencement toward a more bought out by the French government. The just discrimination between truth and prejudice. change from the biting wit which characterized It is essentially a good book on the virtues and this periodical, to the grave sentiment of such an vices of American character. article, was really touching, and added an inde- For a considerable time Mr. Cooper had enter- ,cribable grace to the remarks. tamed an intention of writing The History of the The Heideamaser followed. It is impossible for Navy of the United States, and his early experi- one to understand this book who has not some ac- ence, his studies, his associations, and above all quaintance with the scenes and habits described, the peculiar felicity of his style when treating of It was not very successful. nautical affairs, warranted the expectation that his The Heads-even of Berne did much better. It is work would be a solid and brilliant contribution knferior to The Bravo, though not so clashin~, to to our historical literature. It appeared in two aristocracy. It met with very respectable success. octavo volumes in 1839, and reached a second edi- It was the last of Mr. Coopers novels written in tion in 1840, and a third in 1846.* The public Europe, and for some years the last of a political had no reason to be disappointed; great dill- liaracter. gence had been used in the collection of materials; The first work which Mr. Cooper published after every subject connected with the origin and growth isis return to the United States was A Letter to of our national marine had been carefully investi- his Uoaietryosee. They had yielded him but a gated, and the result was presented in the most he4tatino- applause until his praise came back authentic and attractive form. Yet a warm con- fi-om Europe; and when the tone of foreign anti- troversy soon arose respecting Mr. Coopers ac- elsin was changed, by acts and opinions of his count of the battle of Lake Erie, and in pamphlets, which should have banded the whole American reviews, and newspapers, attempts were made to press for his defence, he was assailed here in arti- show that he had done injustice to the American des which either echoed the tone, or were actual commander in that action. The multitude rarely translations of attacks upon him by foreigners. undertake particular investigations; and the at- The custom peculiar to this country of quoting tacks upon Mr. Cooper, conducted with a virulence the opinions of foreign nations by way of helping for which it would be difficult to find any cause in to make up its own estimate of the degree of meik the History, assuming the form of vindications of which belongs to its public men, is treated in this a brave and popular deceased officer, produced letter with caustic and just severity, and shown to an impression so deep and so general that he ~as be destructive of those sentiments of self-respect compelled to defend the obnoxious passages, which and of that manliness and independence of thought, lie did triumphiantly in a small volume entitled that nra necessary to render a people ~reat or a The Battle of Lake Erie, or Answers to Messrs. nation respectable: The controlling influence of Burgess, Deer, and Mackenzie, published in 1843, foreign ideas over our literature, fashions, and even and in the notes to the last edition of his Naval politics, are illustrated by the manner in which lie History. Those who read the whole controversy was himself treated, and by what he coiisiders the wijl perceive that Mr. Cooper was guided by the English doctrines which have been broached in authorities most entitled to the consideration of an the speeches of many of our statesmen. It is a historian, and that in his answers he has demon- frank and honest book, wldch was unnecessary as strated the correctness of his statements and opi- a vindication of Mr. Cooper, but was called for by nions; and they will perhaps be astonished that the existence of the abuse against which it was lie in the first place gave so little cause for dissa- chiefly directed, though it seems to have hind little tisfaction on the part of the friends of Commodore effect upon it. Of the political opinions it contains Perry. Besides the Naval History and the essays I have no more to say than that I do not believe to which it gave rise, Mr. Cooper 1i s published, in in their correctness. two volumes, The Lives of American Naval Offi- It was followed by The Monikins, a political cers, a work of the highest merit in its department, satire, whichi was a failure, every life being written with conciseness yet ful- The next publications of Mr. Cooper were his ness, and with great care in regard to facts; and Gleanings in Euro~se. Sketches in Snitzerland, in the Democratic Review has published an un- first and second series, each in two volumes, ap- answerable reply to the attacks upon the Amen- peared in 1 830, and none of his works contain can marine by James and other British historians. mmiore striking and vivid descriptions of nature, or The first novel published by Mr. Cooper after more agreeable views of character and manners. Isis return to the United States was Homeward It was followed by similar works on France, Italy, Bound. The two generic characters of the book, and England. All of these were well received, however truly they may represent individuals, notwithstanding an independence of tone which is have no resemblance to classes. There may be rarely popular, and some absurdities, as, for ax- Captain Trucks, and there certainly are Stead- ample. the imputations upon the American Fader- fast Dodges, but the officers of the American sb-tv, in the Sketches of Switzerland. The book Time first and second editions appeared in Philadelphia, in England excited most attention, and was re- nil ihe ihird in Coopersiown. It was reprinted in 1830 in iawed in that country with as much asperity as - onden, Paris, and Brussels; and an abridgment of it, if its own travellers were not proverbially thm~ ~y the anther, has been lar~ely introduced into common JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 5 merchant service are in no manner or degree in- ferior to Europeans of the same pursuits and grade; and with all the abuses of the freedom of the press here, our newspapers are not worse than those of Great. Britain in the qualities for which Mr. Cooper arraigns them. The opinions ex- pressed of New-York society in House as Found are identical with those in Notions of the Ameri- cans, a work almost as much abused for its praise of this country as was Home as Found for its cen- sure, and most men of refinement and large ob- servation seem disposed to admit their correct- ness. This is no doubt the cause of the feeling it excited, for a nation never gets in a passion at misrepresentation. It is a miserable country that cannot look down a falsehood, even from a native. The next novel was The Pathfinder. It is a common opinion that this work deserves success more than any Mr. Cooper has written. I have heard Mr. Cooper say that in his own judgment the claim lay between The Pathfinder and The Deerslayer, but for myself I confess a preference for the sea novels. Leather Stocking appears to more advantage in The Pathfinder than in any other book, and in Deerstayer next. In The Pathfinder we have him presented in the charac- ter of a lover, and brought in contact with such characters as he associates with in no other stages of his varied history, though they are hardly less favorites with the author. The scene of the novel being the great fresh water seas of the interior, sailors, Indians, and hunters, are so grouped to- gether, that every kind of novel-writing in which he has been most successful is combined in one complete fiction, one striking exhibition of his best powers. . Had it been written by some unknown author, probably the country would have hailed him as much superior to Mr. Cooper. Mercedes of Castile, a Romance of the Days of Columbus, came next. It may be set down as a failure. The necessity of following facts that had become familiar, and which had so lately possessed the novelty of fiction, was too much for any writer. The Deerslayer was written after Mercedes and The Pathfinder, and was very successfuL Hetty Hunter is perhaps the best female character Mr. Cooper has drawn, though her sister is generally preferred. The Deerslayer was the last itten of the Leather Stocking Tales, having come out in 1841, nineteen years after the appearance of The Pioneers in 1822. Arranged according to the order of events, The Deerslayer should be the first of this remarkable series, followed by The Last of the Mohicans, The Pathfinder, The Pio- neers, and The Prairie. The Two Admirals followed The Deerslayer. This book in some respects stands at the head of the nautical tales. Its fault is dealing with too important events to be thrown so deep into fiction; but this is a fault that may be pardoned in a ro- mance. Mr. Cooper has written nothing in de- scription, whether of sea or land, that surpasses either of the battle scenes of this work; especially that part of the first where the Frenchship is cap- rated. The Two Admirals appeared at an unfor- tuisate time, but it was nevertheless successfuL IVing-and- Wing, or Le Feu Follet, was pub- lished in 1842. The interest depends chiefly upon the manmnvres by which a French privateer es- capes capture by an English frigate. Some of its scenes are among Mr. Coopers best, but altogether it is inferior to several of his nautical novels. Wy ndotte, or the Nutted Knoll, in its general features resembles The Pathfinder and The Deer- slayer. The female characters are admirable, and but for the opinion, believed by some, from its frequent repetition, that Mr. Cooper is incapable of depicting a woman, Maud Meredith would be regarded as among the very first class of such portraitm~es. Next came the Autobiography of a Pock Handkerchief, in one volume. It is a story fashionable life in New-York, in some respects ~ - culiar among Mr. Coopers works, and was deci- dedly successful. It appeared originally in a monthly magazine, and was the first of his novels printed in this manner. Ned Myers, in one volume, which followed in the same year, is a genuine biography, though it was commonly regarded as a fiction. In the beginning of 1844 Mr. Cooper published Ashore and Afloat, and a few months ~ifterward Miles Wallingford, a sequel to that tale. They have the remarkable minuteness yet boldness of description, and dramatic skill of narration, which render the impressions he produces so deep and lasting. They were as widely read as any of his recent productions. The extraordinary state of things which f,r sev- eral years has disgraced a part of the state of New-York, where, with unblushing effrontery, the tenants of several large proprietors have re- fused to pay rents, and claimed, without a shatlow of right, to be absolute possessors of the soil, gave just occasion of alarm to the intelligent friends of our institutions; and this alarm increased, when it was observed that the ruffianism of the anti- renters, as they are styled, was looked upon by many persons of respectable social positions with undisguised approvaL Mr. Cooper addressed him- self to the exposure and correction of the evil, in a series of novels, purporting to be edited from the manuscripts of a family named Littlepage; and in the preface to the first of these, entitled Sotanstoc, a Taie of the (olony, published in 1845, announces his intention of treating it with the ut- most freedom, and declares his opinion, that the existence of true liberty among us, the perpetu- ity of our institutions, and the safety of public morals, are all dependent on putting down, whol- ly, absolutely, and unqualifiedly, the false and olishonest theories and statements that have been advanced in connection with this subject. Sa- tanstee presents a vivid picture of the early con- dition of colonial New-York. The time is from 1737 to the close of the memorable campaign in which the British were so signally defeated at Ti- conderoga. (Jhainbearer, the second of the series, tracing the family history through the Revolution, also appeared in 1845, and the last, The Red Skies, a story of the present day, in 1846. This book, says the author, in his preface, closes the series of the Littlepage manuscripts, which have been given to the world as containing a fair account (4 the comparative sacrifices of time, money, and la- bor, made respectively by the landlord nfl tl~ tenants, on a New-York estate, together with the manner in which usages and opinions are changing among us, and the causes of these changes. These books, in which t.he most important practi- cal truths are stated, illustrated and enforced, iii a manner equally familiar and powerful, weic re- ceived by the educated and right-minded with a degree of favor that showed the soundness of the 6 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. common mind beyond the crime-infected districts, and their influence will add to the evidences of the valne of the novel as a means of upholding principles in art, literature, morals, and politics. The (rater, or Velcans Peak, followed in 184~7. It is a story of the Pacific, embracing some of Mr. Coopers finest sea pictures, but altogether is not so interesting as the average of his nautical t les. Oak Openings, or the Bee-Hunter, came next. It has the merits characteristic of his Indian novels, masterly scene-painting, and decided indi- viduality in the persons introduced. Jack Tier, or the Florida Reef, appeared in 1848, and is one of the best of the sea stories. The chief character is a woman, deserted by a half smuggler, half buccaneer, whom she joins in the disguise of a sailor, and accompanies undis- covered during a cruise. In vividness of painting and dramatic interest it has rank with the Red Rover and The Pilot. The See Lions, or the Lost ,Seelers, was pub- lished in 1849. It deals to some extent in meta- physics, and its characters are for the most part of humble conditions. It has more of domestic life than any of the other nautical pieces. In the spring of 1850 came out The Ways of the Hoer, the last of this long series of more than thirty novels, and like the Littlepage MSS. it was devoted to the illustration of social and poli- tical evils, having for its main subject the consti- tution and office of juries. In other works Mr. Cooper appears as a conservative; in this as a de- structive. The book is ingenious and able, but has not been very successful. In 1850 Mr. Cooper came out for the first time as a dramatic writer, in a comedy performed at Burtons the~ tin in New-York. A want of prac- tice in writing for the stage prevented a perfect adaptation of his piece for this purpose, but it was conceded to be remarkable for wit and satirical humor. He has now in press a work illustrative of the social history and condition of New-York, which will be published during the summer by Mr. Putnam, who from time to time is giving to the public the previous works of Mr. Cooper, with his final revisions, and such notes and introductions as are necessary for the new generation of re~ ers. The Leather Stockin~ Tales, constituting one of the great works to be ranked hereafter with the chief masterpieces of prose fiction in the literature of the world, are among the volumes now printed. It cannot be denied that Mr. Cooper is person- ally unpopular, and the fact is suggestive of one of the chief evils in our social condition. In a previ- ous number of this magazine we have asserted the ability and eminently honorable character of a large class of American journals. The spirit of another class, also in many instances conducted with ability, is altogether bad and base; jealous, detracting, suspicions, delighting to deprave 1) traying a familiarity with low standards in mind and morals, and a consciousness habituated to in- terested views and sordid motives; degrading ev- ery thing that wears the appearance of greatness, sometimes by plain denial and insolent contempt, and sometimes by wretched inuendo and mingled lie and sophistry; effectually dissipating all the romance of character, and all the enthusiasm of life; hating 2i:mty, having no sympathies with good- ness, insensible to the very existence of honor as a spring of human conduct; treating patriotism and disinterestedness with an elaborate sneer, and receiving the suggestions of duty with a horse- laugh. There is a (litlerence not easily to be mis- taken between the lessening of men which is oc- casioned by the loftiness of the platform whence the observation is made, and that which is pro- duced by the malignant envy of the observer; be- tween the gloomy judicial ferocity of a Pope or a Tacitus, and the villain levity which revels in the contemplation of imputed faults, or that fiendish- ness of feeling which gloats and howls over the ruins of reputations which itself has stabbed. For a few years after Mr. Coopers return from Europe, he was repeatedly urged by his friends to put a stop to the libels of newspapers by an ap- peal to time law; but he declined. He perhaps supposed that the common sense of the people would sooner or later discover and right the wrong that was done to him by those ~vho, without the slightest justification, invaded the sacmedest priva- cies of his life for subjects of public observation. He finally decided, at the end of five years after his return, to appeal to the tribunals, in every case in which any thing not by himself submitted to public criticism, in his works, should be offen- sively treated, within the limits of the state of New-York. Some twenty suits were brought by him, and his course was amply vindicated by unanimous verdicts in his behalf. But the very conduct to which the press had compelled him was made cause of ungenerous prejudices. He has never objected to the widest latitude or cx- tremest severity in criticisms of his writings, but simply contended that the author should be let alone. With him, individually, the public had nothing to do. In the case of a public officer. slanders may be lived down, but a literary man, in his retirement, has no such means of vindica- tion; his only appeal is to the laws, and if they afford no protection in such cases, the name of law is contemptible. I enter here upon no discussion of the character of the late Commander Slidell Mackenzie, but ob- serve simply that no one can read Mr. Coopers volume upon the battle of Lake Erie and retain a very profound respect for that persons sagacity or sincerity. The proprietors of the copyright of Mr. Coopers abridged Naval History offered it, without his knowledge, to John C. Spencer, then Secretary of the State of New-York, for the school libraries of which that officer had the selection. Mr. Spencer replied with peculinr brevity that he would have nothing to do with such a partisan performance, but soon after directed the pur- chase of Commander Mackenzies Life of Commo- dore Perry, which was entirely and avowedly partisan, while Mr. Coopers book was rigidly im- partial. Commander Mackenzie returned the favor by hanging the Secretarys son. A circumstance connected with this event illustrates what we have said of obtaining justice from the newspapers. A month before Commander Mackenzies return to New-York in the Somers, Mr. Cooper sent to me, for publication in a mao~azine of which I was edi- a tor, an examination of certain statements in the Life of Perry; but aftei it was in type, hearing of the terrible mistake which Mackenzie had made, he chose to suffer a continuation of injustice rather than strike a fallen enemy, and so directed the suppression of his criticism. Nevertheless, as the statements in the Life of Perry very materially affected his own reputation, in the following year, JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. when the natural excitement against Mackenzie had nearly subsided, he gave his answer to the press, and was i ediately accused in a lead- ing journal of the country of having in its prepa- radon devoted himself; from the date of that per- son s misfortune, to his injury. The reader supposes, of course, that tIme slander was contra- dicted as generally as it had been circulated, and that justice was done to the forbearance and deli- cacy with which Mr. Cooper had acted in the mat- tcr; but to this day, neither the journal in which he was assailed, nor one in a hundred of those which repeated the falsehood, has stated these facts. Here is another instance: The late William L. Stone agreed with Mr. Cooper to submit a cer- tain matter of libel for amicable arbitration, agrecin,, in the event of a decision against bun, to pay Mr. Cooper two hundred dollars toward the expenses he must incur in attending to it. The affair attracted much attention. Before an ordinary court Mr. Cooper should have received ten thousand dollars; but he accepted the ver- dict crreed upon. the referees deciding without hesitation that he had been ~rossly onged by the publication of which he had complained. Af- ter the death of Mr. Stone one of the principal pa- pers of the city stated that his widow was poor, and had appealed to Mr. Coopers generosity for the re- mission of a fine, which could be of no importance to a gentleman of his liberal fortune, hut had been answered with a rude refusal. The state- ment was entirely and in all respects false, and it was indignantly contradicted upon the authority of President Wayland, the brother of Mrs. Stone but the editors who gave it currency have never retracted it, and it yet swells the tide of misera- hle defamation which makes up the had reputa- tions of 5(1 many of the purest of men. Numerous other instances might be quoted to show not only the injustice with which Mr. Cooper has been treat- ed, but the addiction of the press to libel, and its unwillingness to atone for wrongs it has itself in- flicted. It used to be the custom of the North Americea Review to speak of Mr. Coopers works as translat- ed into French, as if thus giving the highest existing evidence of their popularity, while there was not a language in Europe into which they did not all, after the publication of The Red Rover appear almost as soon as they were printed in London. He has been the chosen companion of the prince an(l the peasant, on the herders of the Vol~a the a Danube, and the Guadalquivir; by the Indus and the Ganges, the Paraguay and the Amazon; where the name even of Washington was never spoken, and our country is known only as the borne of Cooper. The world has living no other writer whose fame is so universaL Mr. Cooper has the faculty of giving to his pic- tures an astonishing reality. They are not mere transcripts of nature, though as such they would possess extraordinary merit, but actual creations, embodying the very spirit of intelligent and genial experience and observation. His Indians, notwith- standing all that has been written to the contrary, are no more inferior in fidelity than they are in poetical interest to those of his most successful imitators or rivals. His hunters and trappers have the same vividness and freshness, and in the whole realm of fiction there is nothing more actual, har- monious, and sustained. They evince not only the first order of inventive power, but a profound- ly philosophical study of the influences of situa- tion upon human character. He treads the deck with the conscious pride of home and domuiion: the aspects of the sea and sky, the terrors of the tornado, the excitement of the chase, the tumult of battle, fire, and wreck, are presented by him with a freedom and breadth of outliuc, a glow arimi strength of coloring and contrast, and a distinct- ness and truth of general and particular comicep- tion, that place him far in advance of all the other artists who have attempted with pen or pencil to paint the ocean. The same vigorous originality is stamped upon his miantical characters. The sailors of Smollett are as different in every respect as those of Eugene Sue and Marryat are inferior. He goes on board his ship with his own creations, disdaining all society and assistance hut that with which he is thus surrounded. Long Tom Coffin, Tom Tiller, Trysail, Bob Yarn, the boisterous Nightingale, the mutinous Nighthead, the fierce but honest Boltrope, and others who crowd upon our memories, as familiar as if we had ourselves been afloat with them, attest the triumph of this self-reliance. Amid when, as if to rebuke the charge of envy that he owed his successes to the novelty of his scenes and persons, he entered upon fields which for centuries had been illustrated by the first geniuses of Europe, his abounding power and inspiration were vindicated by that series of political novels ending with The Bravo, which have the same supremacy in their class that is held by The Pilot and The Red Rover among stories of the sea. It has been urged that his leading char- acters are essentially alike, having no difference but that which results from situation. But this opinion will not bear investigation. It evidently arose from the habit of clothing his heroes alike with an intense individuality, which under all cir- cumstances sustains the sympathy they at first awaken, without the aid of those accessories to which artists of less power are compelled to re- sort. Very few authors have added more than one original and striking character to the world of imagination; none has added more than Cooper; and his are all as distinct and actual as the per- sonages that stalk before us on the stage of history. To be American, without falling into American- ism, is the true task that is set before the native artist in literature, the accomplishment of which awaits the reward of the best approval in these times, and the promise of an enduring name. Some of our authors, fascinated very excusably with the faultless models of another age, have de- clined this condition, and have given us Specta- tors and Tattlers with false dates, and developed a style of composition of which the very merits imply an anachronism in the proportion of excel- lence. Others have understood the result to be attained better than the means of arriving at it. They have not considered the difference between those peculiarities in our society, manners, tem- pers, and tastes, which are genuine and charac- teristic, and those which are merely defects and errors upon the English system; they have ac- quired the force and gayety of liberty, but not the dignity of independence, and are only provincial, when they hoped to be national. Mr. Cooper has been more happy than any other writer in recon- ciling these repugnant qualities, and displaying the features, character, and tone of a great ra- tional style in letters, which, original and unimita- tive, is yet in harmony with the ancient models. S THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. STATUE OF JOHN C. CALHOUN, BY HIRAM POWERS. I ~HE above engraving of the statue of JOHN C. nently national, and of which she, as the intellec- CALHOUN is from a daguerreotype taken in tual and commercial metropolis of the whole Florence immediately after the work was corn- country, is the centre. For plastic art, Mr. Web- pleted, and therefore presents it as it came from ster may ho regarded as perhaps the dnest sub- the hand of the sculptor, unmutilated by the acci- ject in modern history, and the head which Thor- (louts to which it was subjected in consequence of waldsen thought. must be the artists ideal of the the wreck of the Elizabeth. The statue of Mr. head of Jove, when modelled to the size of life, Calimoun was contracted for, we believe, in 1845, in the fit proportions of such a statue as is pro- and completed in 1850. It is the first draped posed. would be more imposing timan any timing that. or historical full-length by Mr. Powers, and it has appeamed in mnurble simmce the days of Praxitiles. amply justifies the fame he had won in other This figure of Mr. Calimoun is considerably larger performances by the harmonious blending of such than that of time great senator. The face ms repre- particular excellences as he had exhibited in sepa- sented with simmgular fidelity as it appeared ten ration. It in(leod illustrates his capacities for years ago. The incommgruous blending of the Rn- the hi~ host range of histomical portraiture and man toga with the palmmmetto must be borne: civil- characterization, and will occasion regrets wher- izat.iomm i.~ not sufficiently advanced for the histori- similar subjects have in recent years been cal to be muuclm ro~amd a--or , . A imm art mmud ommr Wash- confided to other artists. We have hoard that ingtous, Hamiltomms, Wobsters, and Calhouns, must it is in contemplation to place in the park of all, hke Mm. Bootlm and Mr. Forrest, come befome us our own city a colossal figure of Mr. Webster, in t.he charactem of llrutus. With this exception by the same great sculptor. It is fit that while as to the design, every critic must admit the work Charleston glories in the possession of this coun- to be faultless; and Charleston may \vell be terfeit of her dead Aristides (for in the indefecti- proud of a monument to hem legislator, whicim il- He purity of his public and private life Mr. lustrates her taste while it reminds her of his pu- Calhoun was surpassed by no character in the rity, di~nity, and watchfiml care of her interests. temples of Grecian or Roman greatness), New- By the wreck of the ship Elizabeth, the left York should be able to point to a statue of the arm of the statue was broken off, and the frag- representative of those ideas which are most emi- ment has not been recovered.

S THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. STATUE OF JOHN C. CALHOUN, BY HIRAM POWERS. I ~HE above engraving of the statue of JOHN C. nently national, and of which she, as the intellec- CALHOUN is from a daguerreotype taken in tual and commercial metropolis of the whole Florence immediately after the work was corn- country, is the centre. For plastic art, Mr. Web- pleted, and therefore presents it as it came from ster may ho regarded as perhaps the dnest sub- the hand of the sculptor, unmutilated by the acci- ject in modern history, and the head which Thor- (louts to which it was subjected in consequence of waldsen thought. must be the artists ideal of the the wreck of the Elizabeth. The statue of Mr. head of Jove, when modelled to the size of life, Calimoun was contracted for, we believe, in 1845, in the fit proportions of such a statue as is pro- and completed in 1850. It is the first draped posed. would be more imposing timan any timing that. or historical full-length by Mr. Powers, and it has appeamed in mnurble simmce the days of Praxitiles. amply justifies the fame he had won in other This figure of Mr. Calimoun is considerably larger performances by the harmonious blending of such than that of time great senator. The face ms repre- particular excellences as he had exhibited in sepa- sented with simmgular fidelity as it appeared ten ration. It in(leod illustrates his capacities for years ago. The incommgruous blending of the Rn- the hi~ host range of histomical portraiture and man toga with the palmmmetto must be borne: civil- characterization, and will occasion regrets wher- izat.iomm i.~ not sufficiently advanced for the histori- similar subjects have in recent years been cal to be muuclm ro~amd a--or , . A imm art mmud ommr Wash- confided to other artists. We have hoard that ingtous, Hamiltomms, Wobsters, and Calhouns, must it is in contemplation to place in the park of all, hke Mm. Bootlm and Mr. Forrest, come befome us our own city a colossal figure of Mr. Webster, in t.he charactem of llrutus. With this exception by the same great sculptor. It is fit that while as to the design, every critic must admit the work Charleston glories in the possession of this coun- to be faultless; and Charleston may \vell be terfeit of her dead Aristides (for in the indefecti- proud of a monument to hem legislator, whicim il- He purity of his public and private life Mr. lustrates her taste while it reminds her of his pu- Calhoun was surpassed by no character in the rity, di~nity, and watchfiml care of her interests. temples of Grecian or Roman greatness), New- By the wreck of the ship Elizabeth, the left York should be able to point to a statue of the arm of the statue was broken off, and the frag- representative of those ideas which are most emi- ment has not been recovered. NELL UWYNNE. THE abox e picture is from Sir Peter Lelys poite ut, copied in the Memoirs of Grain- mont. Nell Gwynne has been the heroine of a dozen books in the last ten years, and a very interes~inrr woik respecting her life and times is now being published in The Gentle- mans 1f,oazsns We copy the following ar- ticle. uith i ~ illusti itions, from the Art Jour- an?. in w hicli it appears as one of Mrs. S. C. Halls PiVrimt~es to English Shrines.~~ There may be some who will object to the ap- plication of so honored a term to the dwelling of an actress of lost repute but surely that may be a shrine where consideration can be taught where mercy is to be learnedandthat which is greater than even faith and hopecharity! However agreeable may be the present, and we have no reason to complain of it in any way, there is inexhaustible delight in reverting to the past. We do not mean living over again our own days; for though, if we could pick and choose there are sundry portions of our lives we might desire to repeat, yet, beginning from the beginning, taking the bad and the good straight on, there can be few, men or women, who would willingly pass again through the whole of a gone- by career. And this, properly considered, is one of our greatest blessings; stifliun much of vain regret, and teaching us to look forward to the future. We have always had, if we may so call it, a domestic rambling propensity; a desire to see dwellings, not so much for their pictorial as their, so to say, personal celebrity: and some- times, as on our visit to Barley Wood, this long- ing comes upon us at the wrong season, when a cheerful fire at home would be a meet compan- ion. It is now six years agosix years, last monththat, pacing along Pall Mall, we paused, and turned to the left hand corner of St. James s Square, full of painful and un-English memories of the Asiatic court of the second Ch~ rles; the sovereign who hail endured adversity without dis- covering that sweet are its uses ; who had suf- fered tribulation ~vitl~outlearning mercy the king who makes us doubt if, as a people, we have aiiy claim to what is called national character for the change that came over England, within a few brief years, from gloomy fanaticism to reck- less license, is one of the marvels that give to his- tory the aspect of romance. We had been walk- ing round Whiteliall,* recalling the change that had swept away nearly all relics of the past in that quarter, and strolled so far out of our home- The appearance of Whitehail from ihe Thames in the reign of charles ii. may be seen in our woodcut. The beautiful Banqtieting-hosse ef lni~o Jones was crowded amon a heterogeneous macs af uiy buildings connected wiih the exigencies of the coon. Beside the houses, to the spectators left, was a large garden extentling to the river, with fosintains and parterres. A small ~arden also projected into the river in front of the buildings; and here Charles used to view the civic processions of the Lord Mayor, who on the day of his taking the oaths at Westminster, gene- rally gratified the sovereLo tod other sight-seers with a pageant on the Thames, in some degree adulatory of the monarch. The king resitted here so constantly, that the most striking pictures of his private manners are recorded to have happened at Whitehall, and for which the graphic pages of Pepys, Evelyn, and De Grammont may be con- sulted. Whitehall, indeed, has obtained its chief interest from its connection with the Stuarts. The Banqueting- house, erected by James I., in front of whicts his unfortu- nate son was executed ; the residence of Cromwell here in a quietude, stran,,eiy contrasted with the wild voluptuous- ness of the Restoration; the flight of James It., and his queens escape with her infant son by the water-gate, shown in our cut, closes the history of the Stuart family in this country as sovereigns; and the history also of the palace; for, on the iOth April, 1691, the greater part was burnt by a fire, which was succeeded by another in 1698, which de- stroyed nearly every building but the Banqueting-house, and Whitehall ceased to be the residence of royalty. NELL GWYNNE.

NELL UWYNNE. THE abox e picture is from Sir Peter Lelys poite ut, copied in the Memoirs of Grain- mont. Nell Gwynne has been the heroine of a dozen books in the last ten years, and a very interes~inrr woik respecting her life and times is now being published in The Gentle- mans 1f,oazsns We copy the following ar- ticle. uith i ~ illusti itions, from the Art Jour- an?. in w hicli it appears as one of Mrs. S. C. Halls PiVrimt~es to English Shrines.~~ There may be some who will object to the ap- plication of so honored a term to the dwelling of an actress of lost repute but surely that may be a shrine where consideration can be taught where mercy is to be learnedandthat which is greater than even faith and hopecharity! However agreeable may be the present, and we have no reason to complain of it in any way, there is inexhaustible delight in reverting to the past. We do not mean living over again our own days; for though, if we could pick and choose there are sundry portions of our lives we might desire to repeat, yet, beginning from the beginning, taking the bad and the good straight on, there can be few, men or women, who would willingly pass again through the whole of a gone- by career. And this, properly considered, is one of our greatest blessings; stifliun much of vain regret, and teaching us to look forward to the future. We have always had, if we may so call it, a domestic rambling propensity; a desire to see dwellings, not so much for their pictorial as their, so to say, personal celebrity: and some- times, as on our visit to Barley Wood, this long- ing comes upon us at the wrong season, when a cheerful fire at home would be a meet compan- ion. It is now six years agosix years, last monththat, pacing along Pall Mall, we paused, and turned to the left hand corner of St. James s Square, full of painful and un-English memories of the Asiatic court of the second Ch~ rles; the sovereign who hail endured adversity without dis- covering that sweet are its uses ; who had suf- fered tribulation ~vitl~outlearning mercy the king who makes us doubt if, as a people, we have aiiy claim to what is called national character for the change that came over England, within a few brief years, from gloomy fanaticism to reck- less license, is one of the marvels that give to his- tory the aspect of romance. We had been walk- ing round Whiteliall,* recalling the change that had swept away nearly all relics of the past in that quarter, and strolled so far out of our home- The appearance of Whitehail from ihe Thames in the reign of charles ii. may be seen in our woodcut. The beautiful Banqtieting-hosse ef lni~o Jones was crowded amon a heterogeneous macs af uiy buildings connected wiih the exigencies of the coon. Beside the houses, to the spectators left, was a large garden extentling to the river, with fosintains and parterres. A small ~arden also projected into the river in front of the buildings; and here Charles used to view the civic processions of the Lord Mayor, who on the day of his taking the oaths at Westminster, gene- rally gratified the sovereLo tod other sight-seers with a pageant on the Thames, in some degree adulatory of the monarch. The king resitted here so constantly, that the most striking pictures of his private manners are recorded to have happened at Whitehall, and for which the graphic pages of Pepys, Evelyn, and De Grammont may be con- sulted. Whitehall, indeed, has obtained its chief interest from its connection with the Stuarts. The Banqueting- house, erected by James I., in front of whicts his unfortu- nate son was executed ; the residence of Cromwell here in a quietude, stran,,eiy contrasted with the wild voluptuous- ness of the Restoration; the flight of James It., and his queens escape with her infant son by the water-gate, shown in our cut, closes the history of the Stuart family in this country as sovereigns; and the history also of the palace; for, on the iOth April, 1691, the greater part was burnt by a fire, which was succeeded by another in 1698, which de- stroyed nearly every building but the Banqueting-house, and Whitehall ceased to be the residence of royalty. NELL GWYNNE. THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. WHITEHALL. ward path to look at the house in Pall Mall (re- have been, when we are absolutely refreshed by cently removed from its place) which tradition turnin0 from them to the uneducated but frank- says was the dwelling of Nell Gwynne, besides hearted and generous womantainted as she i. her apartment at Whitehall, to which she was en- to all history by the worse than imperfections titled by virtue of her office as lady of the bed- arising out of her position, yet redeemed in a de- chamber to a most outraged queen. One of our gree, by virtues, which, in that profligate court. friends remembers supping in the back room on were entirely her own the ground-floor of th. t very house, the said room The scene in St. Jamess Park to which Evelyn being called the Mirror Chamber, because the refers, was an itadex to the age.a walls were panelled with looking~gIass.* There purchase of a new wi~, or a new rihand for his wife. This are others who affirm that iNelly lodged at the very littleness of detail has ottttle his Mentoirs the most ex- side of Pall Mall, because Evelyn gos- traordinary picture we possess of the times. Jie appears opposite to have heen a coarse hut shrewd man, and fully alive to sips of her leaning from her window, talking to the faults of his master. the king, who was lounging in St. Jamess Park, St Previous to the restoration of Citartes II. the park of thereby the propriety of many, who Jamess appears to have altracteti little attention, wounding to have heen left to the guidance of nature alone. Charles think vice only vice when it becomes notoriotts. seems to have Itad Versailles in view when he laid it out Evelyn in us centre from a sqttare pond which existed at its foot ful was always sadly perplexed by his faith- front Le Notres design. A lottg straight canal was formed and high devotion to Charles, the king, and near the horse Guards. Itows of elm and linte trees were his abhorrence of the vices of Charles, the man; planletl on each title tf it, an aviary was formed in that while Pepys jogged on, sometimes in the royal place still called the Birtl Ca~e Walk ; antI in the large space hetween this walk . od the canal, and nearest the Ab- seragio, sometimes at church, sttmetimes with nay hey, art extensive leroy for wild fowl was constructed, Lady Castlemaine, sometimes with Knip at the popularly termed Dttck Islantl, and of which the famous kings ho use, seeing. admiring, and repeating St Evremontl was appointed a salarieri governor. Cltarles, who was exceetlingly fond of walking, aeth who tired out his morality held in abeyance; and yet always, utany a courtier who tried to keep ttp with Itis quick pace, even to the kissiuw of Mistress Nelly, a sweet was rottianally seen here arstasing himself with tite hirds, 0 ~ play tag wtth the tlogo, or feetltrtg the dttcks. On the oppo. pretty soul, coatapanioned by his wife. If epys site side of the can. I, three broad walks were constructed was a curiosity, what must Madame Pepys have and shatled with trees, one for coaches, the other for walk- been !]- What must the court set of those days in~, and the central one for the game of Pall-Mall, an athletic exercise of whirh the king and the gentlemen of Nells town-hoase was in Pall Mall. Pennant says, the day were fond. The game consisted in driving a ball it was the first goad one on the left hand of St. Jamess through a ring at the extremity of the walic, which had a Square, as we enter from Pall Mall. The back-toom on narrow border of wood on eacit side of it Itt keep the ball the second floor was (within memory) entirely of looking- within bounds. The floor of this portion of Ilte park was glass, as was said to have been the ceiling. Overthe chim- marIe of mixed earth, coveretl with sea-sand and pow- ney waa her picture, and that of her sister was in a third dered shells, as at Versailles. The park was much secluded, room. At this house she died in 1691, and was pompous- except on this side, which was that only accessible to the ly interred in the parish of St. Martins-in-the-Fields. leav- public in general. There. Spring Gardens, with its bowlin~- in~ that parish a handsome sum yearly, that every Thurs- greens and gaming-tables, seduced the idle and dissipated, day evening there should be six meta etrtployed for the until the Mulberry Garden (which stooti on the site of space of sue hottr in rin,,ing, for which they were to have Carltoti Gardens) put forth its attractions; and which, as~ a roasted shoutder of mutton and ten shillings for beer. Evelyn says, became the only place of refreshment about Pepys was Secretary to the Admiralty, and it was he the town for persons of the best qrtality to be exceedingly who published, from the kings dictation, the minute and cheated at. The plays of the period a bound with intrigue interesting account of his escape from the Battle of Wor- and adventure carried on at hoth places. The Mall ceased rester, and adventures at Boscobel, and in the Royal to be the resort of royalty at the death of Charles, but it Oak. He kept a very minute and amusing diary, in which continued to be the fashionable promenade until the close he nelected not to enter the moat trivial matters, even the of the last century. 10 NELL GWYNNE. 11 Blessed as we are in the knowledge that no- where in En,,land are the (lomestic virtues better oaltivated or more truly flourishing than in our own pure and high-souled court, we are almost inclined to treat as a mythological fable, the his- tory of Whitehall durin~ the reign of Charles the Second. No one trait of the fathers hetter na- ture redeems that of the son. His life was indeed a sad epicures dream, and worse. He was not worthy even of the ear- fiest devotion which the poor orange-girl, of all his favorites, alone manifested to the last. Poor Nell the sympathy which every right- hinkin~ woman feels it a Christian duty to give to her and her class, far from extenuating vice, is only a call upon the virtuous to he more virtuous, and to the pure to he more pure. No one would plunge into crime, merely for the sake of being redeemed therefiom no one take the sin, who looked first at the shame, hideous and enduring as it must hehowever overshadowed hy the broad wings of mercy; the hum of the brand can never he effaced, however skilfully healed. And when the wit, the loveliness, the generosity, the fidelity of Madame Ellen, when the mem- ory of the well-spent evening of her checkered life, and the allo~vance we make for the early im pressions of a young creature, called upon to sing her first songs in a tavern, and sell oranges in the depraved and depraving saloon of the Kings House ;when all these aids are exerted to ex- cite our sympathy, we only accord the sentiment of pity to poor Nell Gwynne I While looking at the house said to have been inhahited by this fe2nrne desprit per le grace de Diese ! we vowed a pilgrimage to Sandford Ma- nor House, at Sandy End, Fulham,to the dwell- ing where there is no doubt she spent many sum- mer months. Near as it is to our own, we were doubtfid of the way, and determined to inquire of our opposite neighbor, who keeps the old Brompton tollbar. Sandford Manor House, repeated he, I nev- er heard tell of such a place in these parts. Whereabouts is it ? Exactly what we want to know. It is a very old dilapidated house, by the side of a little stream that runs into the Thames somewhere by Old Chelsea. I think you must have heard of it. It was once inhabited by the famous Nell Gwynne. I might almost as well have talked Hebrew to our neighbor, who seemed born to lay in wait for market-carts, and pounce upon them for toll. Old house! Nell Gwynne he again repeat- od, and something like an expression of life and you have only to go down Thistle Grove, into interest moved his features while he added- Its the Fulham roadstraight on. His is a low the Nell Gwynne publi& house youre after, Im house, maam his name in the windowyou tlduking; that was in Chelsea; but whether its cant pass it, for the birds and white mice. there now or not, is more than I can telL And is there no one left, we thought, to tell No, no, we answered, perhaps sharply, it is where the witty, light-hearted, true-hearted Nelly the house she lived in we want to seeSandford livedshe who was the friend of Dryden and Manor House. Lee, the favorite of Lord Buckhurst, the rival of Perhaps its the madhouse, he suggested. the Duchess of Cleveland, the protector of the sol- We walked on. Please, said a little rosy-faced diers of Englandthe one unselfish friend of the boy, it you want to find out any thing about selfish Charles l Is there no one in a district that f)ld houses, Hill, the rat-catcher, knows them all, once echoed with the praise of her charitiesno as he hunts up the rats and sparrows about; and one to tell where she resided, but Hill, the old 5ANDFORD MANOR HOUSE. 12 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. rat-catcher? We proceeded through the prettily- built, but gangrened-looking, cottages located in Thistle Grove, once called Brompton Heath, (or Marsh, we forget which,) until the sounds of traf- fic reminded us that we were in the Fuiham road. Presently the sharp voice of a starlin~, just above - us, attracted our attention. Poor Tom ! said the bird Torn !poor Tom! The old rat-catcher invited us to enter. He is a man of powerful frame, with a massive head, fringed round with an abundance of gray hair, with deep well-set eyes, and a quiet smile. Two sharp, bitter-looking, wiry-haired terriers began smelling, casting their sly eyes upwards, to see if we feared them or were friendly to their advan- ces, and, after a moment or two, seemed sufficient- ly satisfied with the scrutiny to warrant their wag- ging their short stumpy tails in rude welcome. The room was hung round with cages of the song- birds of En~,landsome content with their cap- tivity, others restless, and passing to and fro in front of the wires, eager for escape. Strong in- closures, containing both rats and ferrets, were ranged along the sides of the small room; the lat- ter, long, yellow, pink-eyed, and pink-nosed crea- tures, lithe as a willow wand, courting notice; while the rats, on the contrary, moved their whis- kers in defiance, and, with bright, black, determin- ed eyes, sat lumped up in the distant corners of their dens, ready to die game, if die they must. Gay-colored finches, the gold and the green, graced the window in little brown bob cages; while mice of all colors, from the burnt sienna-colored dor- mouse, who was more than half asleep within the skin of an apple which it had scooped out, to the amid~ white mouse, who was sitting composed- a progeny of thirteen young ones, attract- ed groups of little gazers, every now and then dis- persed by the larger terrier, who ran out amongst them, snarling and threatening, but doing them no harm. Come in, old chap; that will do, old fel- low, said his master, adding, I would not keep a do0 that would hurt any thing but a varmint. Oh, oh! Nells old house, he replied to our inquiries; Nell Gwynnes house at Sandy End, where runs the little river they deepened into a canalthe stream I mean that divides Chelsea from FulhamSandford Manor House! Ay, that I do, and Id match it against any house in the county for rats terrible placeI lost two fer- rets there, this time two years, and one of them was found tother side of the canal; it must have been a pleasant place in those days, when the king was making his private road through the Chelsea fields, and the stream was as clear as a thrushs eye, and birds of all sorts were so tamed by Madame Ellen, that theyd come when shed call them. Ah, a pretty woman might catch a king, but its only a kind one that could tame the wild birds of the air; I know that; Ill show you the way with pleasure. Poor Tom, sung out the starling. Your bird is calling you, we oh- served, after he had told his wife not to let the jay pick the splints off his broken leg, and we were leaving the door. Its not me hes calling, answered the old man, with a heavy sigh. Now thats a bit of nature, maam. A bird, Im think- ing, remembers longer than a Christian does. Poor Toms wife is married again, but the starling still calls for its master. Its hard to say, what they do or do not know; the bird often wrings my heart; but for all that, I could not part with him. At any other time we would have asked him the reason, but just then we were thinking more of Nell Gwynne than of our guide. We walked on, until we came to the Worlds End. It is nothing but a comnmn public-house now, observed our companion, who had not spoken again, except to his dog: but I remember when it was more than that; and, moreover, in Nells time, it was a place of great resort for noblemen nd fine ladiesa royal tea-garden, they say filled with the best of good company; they liked the country and the open air in those days. We continued silent, until at last our guide called Stop I so suddenly, as to make us start. Do you see that bank just under the arch of the bridge we stand on? The hardest days work I ever had was digging an old rat out of that bank. This is Sandy End; and that house opposite is Sandford Manor House.~ There was nothing in the sight of those green. grim walls to excite any feeling of romance. Yet positively our heart beat more rapidly than usual for a minute or two a way it has when we are at all interested. We turned down a lane seamed with ruts, by the side of a paling black with gas tar. We passed two or three exceedingly old houses, and one in particular with three window~ in front. It was evident that the paling had been run across the garden, which must have been very extensive. After waiting a few minutes for permission from the master of the gas-works, te whom the Manor House belonged, to enter, an el- derly man of respectable appearance opened the gate, and told us he resided there, and that the servant would show us all over the house. The rat-catcher commenced poking his stick into the various mounds of earth wherever there was the appearance of a hole, and his dogs became at once busy and animated. There was but one of the three walnut trees said to have been planted by royal hands, remaining, and that stood gnarled, and thick, and stunted, close to the present entrance bent it was, like a thing whose pleasantest days are gone, and which cares not how soon it may be gathered into the garner. A circular plot of thick green grass was directly opposite the hall door, and in its centre grew a young golden holly, some of the turf bomb cleared away from round its root. This was encircled by a fair gravel walk, leading to the house, which was entered through a rustic porch, covered with ivy; very old and rampant it was, and its deep heavy foliage, so densely green, had a pall-like look, as it rustled and sighed in the sharp keen air. It was flanked by two cypress trees, well-shaped and well-grown. Dank ivy and deep cypress where the living Nell would have twined roses and passion-flowers! You see the old door-way when under the porch; it is of no particular order, but massive and pointedthe The house at Sandy End has been altered within thc- last few years. The characteristic gables of the roof, which so well marked its age, aad display the taste of the period when it was constructed, are removed, and the house is so much modernized as to lose the greater part of its interest. and at first sight induce a doubt of its antiquity. The ex- tensive gardens still remain, and some very old houses be- side it, with a characteristic old wall bounding the Kings road, inclosing some venerable walnut trees. Three years ago, a pretty view of these old houses, with Nells in the back.ground, might have been obtained from the adjacent bridge over the brook; but now a large public-house tht Nell Gwynne, obstructs the view, a row of small Nell Gwynne cottages effectually block the path, and the pri- mitive character of the scene has passed away for ever. NELL GWYNNE. 13 STAIRCASE, SANOFORD MANOR HOUSE. hail is like the usual entrance to old-fashioned tamed her in our memories. Poor Nell ! we said country-houses, panelled with oak. The staircase aloud, poor, poor Nell I Please, if YOU will is very remarkable, as Mr. Fairholts sketch will only go on, I will show you her bed-room and show; broad twisted iron rods, of great thickness, dressing-room, thems little more than closets; but springing from the oak square pillars which flank this was her bed-room, and that, the madams the turnings, and assisting to support the flight dressing-room, said the servant, a little impatient above. The room on the right is large, the ceil- of delay. Both rooms were furnished, but cold ing low, the windows deep set in the thick walls, and gloomy; the floor of what the girl called her A very gentle-looking little maid was nursing a dressing-room was chippy and worm-eaten. And pretty white cat by the fire; her young fresh face there, persisted the servant, in that corner just and bright smile were like sunbeams in a tomb; by, if not in that little cupboard, the money was what did she there? We could fancy old withered found. What money ? The money the ma- crones in such a dwelling, rather than a fair tender dam, or some one about her, forgot, fifteen thou- child, and yet she looked so happy, and so full of sand good pounds, I am told; and a gentleman joy! The opposite room had been fitted up as a came here once, who told me he had some of the kitchen, and was clean and cold. We paced up coins that were discovered there. That must the stairs so often trodden by Nells small feet, be a mistake, we said. Oh, theres no knowing. when they descended briskly to meet the loung- Why should the gentleman tell a story ? We ing heavy foot-falls of her royal master, whom she saw the girl was determined we should believe loved for himself, and careless of her own future, her, contrary both to our knowledge and reason, as she was of her own person, cared more for the so we made no further observation, while she mut- honor of the indolent Charles, than ever he cared tered that she would just go and put her own for his own! In nature, in feeling, in all honors room straight a bit. We were left alone in Nells save the o e, how superior was the poor orange- dressing-chamber! Site never bestowed much girl to her rivals; they envied and slandered each time upon her toilet; and Burnet, who was par- other, disdaining no article to fix the fancy of the ticularly hard upon her at all times, says that, king, who desired nothing more than that they after her elevation, she continued to hang on should all live peaceably together, and was not her clothes with the same slovenly negligence ; able to comprehend why they did not agree when and, truly, Sir Peter Lely, would make it appear he endeavored to please them; they copied each that all the ladies of the court, however rich otherbut Nell resembled only herself. Instead the materials that composed their dresses, and well of going like the generality of her sex from bad assorted the colors, hung them full carelessly to worse, the more her opportunities of evil in- over their persons; nay, it would be difficult to creased, the better she became. The ladies of imagine how they could stand up without their the court swore, drank, and gambled; it was the dresses falling off; they certainly have a most un~ fashion to be coarse and vicious, and the more comfortable look.* However she dressed, she cer- coarse they were, the better they pleased the In the History of Costume in England, by the author of English Sultan; and if the poor orange-girl endea- these notes, it has been remarked that the freedom and vored to keep her lover by what bound him to looseness, as well as ease and elegance of female costume wonder? Her manners had at this period is to be attributed to the taste of Sir Peter Lely, others,wheres the rather than to that exhibited by the Beeuties of Charless their full taste of the time; but we look in vain court. It was to his tasfe, SB st was to that of a later artist, elsewhere for the generous bravery, the kind Sir Joshua Reynolds, that we are indebted for the freedom which characterized their treatment of the rigid and some- thonghts, the disinterested acts, which have re- what ungraceful costumes before them. Walpole, in his 14 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. tainly succeeded in winning, and even keeping, the fancy (for we may doubt if he had any affection for the ministers of his vices) of Charles until the end. And although Burnet was marvelously an- gry that at such a time the thought of such a creature should find its way into the mind when it was about to lay aside the draperies of royalty for the realities of eternityyet the only little passage in the life of the voluptuary that ever touched us was, his entreaty to his brother James, Not to let poor Nelly starve 1 We closed our eyes in reverie, and endeavored to picture the beauties upon whom the licentious king con- ferred a shameful immortality. Unfortunately the most powerful female influence in the Cabinet has generally been exercised by worthiess women; an argument, if one were needed, to prove that a woman is little tesApted to interfere with State affairs if her mind is untainted, and directed to the source of womans legitimate power. How loathsome was the Kings subjection to the abandoned vixen, my Lady Castlemaine! And yet how powerful must have been her beauty! Can we not, in fancy, see her now,stepping out of her carriage at Bartholomew Fair, whither she had gone to view the rare puppet-show of Pa- tient Grizzle, hissed when recognized by the hon- est mob; yet upon turning the light of her radiant and beautiful face towards them, they exchange their jibes and curses for admiration and hurras. Poor Nelly was no proficient in pen-craft, for she could only sign with the iitialsE. G. Until the publication of Mrs. Jamesons Beau- ties, there existed a popular fallacy, that every one of Sir Peter Lelys portaits, represented a wo- man of tainted reputation; this was any thing but true; however poisonous a malaria may be, there are always some who escape its influence, and the pure and high-souled Lady Ossory, and the noble Countess de Grammont would adorn even a court such as our own; we wish that Evelyn or Pepys had recorded how those ladies treated Nell, for they must have met her during their attendance on the outraged Queen, and hardly less insulted Duchess of York; they must have encountered her at Whitehall, and noted her dimpled cheeks, and small bright laughing eyes; and contrasted her unaffected child-like bearing, with the boisterous arrogance of the Duchess of Cleveland, and the cat-like cunning of the French courteza , (the Duchess of Portsmouth,) who could not with all her arts detach the sovereign from poor Nell, whose genuine wit, generosity of mind, as well as purer life, and careless buoyant humor, were re- liefs to the caprices and eternal French cabals, which troubled his unenergetic nature, in the gor- geous salon of the mdst extravagant of his favor- ites. From such women as Madame de Gram- mont and Lady Ossory the untitled actress could have met no offence; for women of high virtue are merciful; women who affect it, are not. We could fancy Nells silver laugh, passing along those damp walls of Sandford Manor House; we could imagine her leaning from that window, con ANOTHER vizw OF THE MANOR HOUSE. versing with, and rallying, her royal lover, who him, wisdom came not with years; considera- stands beneath, amid the flowers, once so bright tion never whipped the offending Adam out of and abundant, where only weeds and stinging himin his character there was no nettle, but thistles were to be seen this winter-time. As for there was no strawberry. What does he reply to her merrie rallying as she dallies with her look- Anecdotes of Painting, says, Lely supplied the want of taste with clinquesst; his nymphs trail fringes, and embroi- mg-glass? He leans his white and jewelled hand dery, through meadows and purlIng streams. Vandykes upon his hip, and, with a faded smile, listens to habits are those of the times; Lelys, a sort of fantastic her mingled love and reproof She talks of the night-gown fastened with a single pin. Lelys ladies are not old soldiers, and wonders why the builders pause unfrequently en mosque, and are hahited in the conventioml dresses adopted for goddesses in the court of Versailles. lfl the erection of the Hospital, for lack of cash, NELL GWYNNE. 15 when certain ladies sport new diamonds, and glit- ter in fair coaches; and he tells her he will take her, if she likes, from where she is, and give her the palace by the water-side, in exchange for her sweet words and sweeter smiles. She will none of this, but answers she would rather content her in the humblest house in his dominions, so that the soldiers who fought his battles should be worthily lodged in their old age. He repeats to her the last bit of Sedley, and diverts her with news of a new play, for well he knows those who once lived by the buskia love the buskin still :* and she listens, and is pleased, but returns to her first theme; and, provoked at last by an indifference she cannot an- derstand, she becomes bitter, and then Charles laughs at little pig-eyed Nelly. Ah, Nell, Nell ! he says, stroking, at the same time, the fair tresses that grace the head of a pretty boy, her son, you are like the fruit that will come of yonder trees, a rough and bitter outside, but a sweet and pleasant soul within. We composed our thoughts, or rather we arous- ed from those waking dreams in which all in- dulge sometimesmore or less. The house con- tains fourteen roomsand must have been plea- sant, long ago, as a retreat where poor Nell could bring her titled childrenwhom she doubtless loved with all the enthusiasm of her ardent na- ture. We crossed the garden, but could find no trace of the pond in which tradition reports Ma- dam Ellens mother to have been drowned. Not long ago, a very old woman resided in Chelsea, whose grandmother, it was said, was Nells stage- dresser; this was before old Ranelagh was built over, and when the site of Eaton Square was in- tersected by damp pathways and nursery-gar- dens. We entered the meadows at the back, to see how the house looked from thence, which greatly delighted the rat-catchers terriers. Modern improvement long spared this locali- ty. When we knew and loved it first, we could see the Thames from our windows in one direc- tion, and Kensington Gardens in another. But old houses, standing within their own park-li]co inclosures, and old trees and green fields, are nearly all gone.~ We used to have the nightin- gales in the elm-avenue leading to Hereford Lodge, but the os4 nightingale we had last spring was one who came from the FAR FORTH. Many hereafter will do pilgrimage -to her shrine with a far deeper feeling of respect, than, with all our charity, we can bestow upon Sandford Manor House. If the women of England could forget this pe- riod of our history, which, as Mrs. Jameson truly and beautifully observes, saw them degraded Nell appears to have first fixed the attention of the King by appeanng at the Kings Theatre in an Epilogue written for her by Dryden; who, taking a pique at the rival theatre, when Nokes, the famous comedian. ?iad appeared in a hat of large proportions, which mightily delighted the silly and volatile frequenters of the place, brought forward Nell in a hat as large as a coach-wheel, which gave her ahort figure so grotesque sn air, that the very actors laughed outright, snd the whole theatre was in convulsions of mer- iinient. His Majesty was nearly suffocated by the excess of his delight; and the ssdire manner of the actres8, her wit, nrcl,sess, and beauty, received additional zest by the extrav- seance of the broad-brimmed hat and wai~-belt in which Dryden had attired her, and which fixed her permanently in the memory of the merry Monarch. tm~rovement has extended far beyond Old Bromp- ton. T e little wooden house of the old rat-catcher has been swept away, and he is obliged to locate himself and his live stock in some back lane, where none but his friends can find him; and as he is disastrously poor, their number is very limited. from objects of adoration to- servants of pleasure, and gave the first blow to that chivalrous feeling with which their sex had hitherto been regarded, by levelling the distinction between the unblesn- ished matron and her who was the ready spoil of opportunity if this were possible, it might be well, like Claire, when she threw the pall over the perishing features of Julie, to exclaim Maudite soit lindigne main qul jasnais soulevera ce voile, but so it is not; and it becomes our duty to look on Charles, and those who were corrupted by his example and his influence, as plague-spots upon the fair brow of our beloved country. We should learn to speak of him, not as distinguished for gallantry, but as the monarch who reduced those he insulted by his love below the level of the poor Georgian slave, who knows no higher destiny than to glitter for a few short moons as the star of the harem. But if some of the women of that court were deeply degradedif the ter- magant and imperious Castlesnaine; the lovely and intriguing Denham; the coquettish, cold, and cunning Richmond; the innately-dissipated and unrestrainable Southesk; the equivocal Middle- ton; the rapacious, prodigal, and insinuating Que- rounilleare rendered infamous m our national history-.---let us not confound the innocent with the guilty. We can point out to our daughters, for admiration and example, the patient, affecfionate, and enduring Lady Northumberland, the beloved sister of Lady Rachel Russel; the beautiful Miss Hamilton; the peerless Lady Ossory; the match- less Jennings ;women passing through the or- deal of the Whitehall court, at such a time, with unstained repute, may be well believed to have possessed innate virtue and true feminine dignity. We have not classed Nell Gwynne among the court profligates; nor can we so describe her. She was most unfortanate, but not innately vi- cious; we may say so without danger to others. Neither the circumstances of her life or death hold out temptations to follow her example. She en- dured vexation and contumely enough, during the most brilliant period of her life, to embitter even a less sensitive spirit than hers. The deep and earnest love she bore the worthless king, must have been a sore scourge to her own heart. The very piety of her nature, overcome as it was by circiurtetances, and the lack of those vis-tues which, slow of growth, only attained strength during the last seven years of her life, and were not deemed unworthy the Chrisfian forbearance and even com- mendation of Doctor Tennison;* whose funeral sermon preached in memory of the poor orange- girl, proves that she must have suffered much from the reproofs of conscience, even when her sin to all appearance most revelled in its glory. The canker eat into the rosesoiled and marred its perfectnesschipped and wasted its beauty but could not destroy its perfume! That there must have been great good, and great fascination, in Nell Gwynne, is proved by the kind of memory m which her name is en- Then vicar of St. Martins, and afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. In that sermon he enlarged upon her be- nevolent qualities, her sincere penitence, and exemplary end. When, says Mrs. Jameson, this was afterwards men- tioned to Queen Mary, in the hope that it would injure him in her estimation, and be a bar to his preferment, And what then I answered she, hastily. I Isave heard as much; it is a sign that the poor unfortunate woman died p enitent; for, if I can read a mans heart through his looks, had she not mad. a pious and Christian end, the Doctor would never have been induced to speak well of her. I0 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. shrined. While we say Poor Nell 1 we shake our headsthe sigh and the smile mingle togeth- erwe regret and pity her. We wonder she was so goodwe sorrow at the impurity,not so much of the beset actress, as of her position. We know that, though fallen, she was not depraved. She was not avaricious, nor intriguing, nor ill- tempered, nor unjust. Her regard for literature (though she could hardly sign her own name) proved the uplooking of her better nature; and her charity was unbounded. Shall wereared and instructed in all righteous waysshall we show less charity to the memory of one who in her latter days rose out of the slough into which circumstancenot vicehad plunged her? Shall we be less charitable than the bishop who honored her memory and his own character by recording her benevolence, her penitence, her exemplary end? The good bishops testimony renders it needless that we point a moral. There was joy in heaven over one sinner that repented. Who but Onk can judge the heart? Let charity hold up her warning finger, often, when we think evil : and consideration, like an angel come, when harsh judgment dooms an erring sister. Above all, let us adopt the sentiment of the poet (and our pilgrimage to Sandford Manor House will not be in vain): If thy neighbor should sin, old Christoval said, Never, never, unmerciful be! For remember it is by the mercy of Cod, Thou art not as wicked as he! MARY WOLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY. THE daughter of William Godwiti and Mary Wolstonecraft, and wife of Percy Bysshe Shelley, died at the age of fifty-three, in Ches- ter Square, Pimlico, London, on the first day of February. What woman had ever before relations so illustrious! Daughter of Godwin and wife of Shelley! These few words un- fold a remarkable history, unparalleled, and unapproached in romantic dignity. In the dedication to her of the noble poem of The Revolt of Islam, Shelley says: They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, Of glorious parents, thou aspiring Child. I wonder notfor One then left this earth ~Vhooe life was like a setting planet mild, Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled Of its departing glory; still her fame Shines on thee, through the tempests dark and wild Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name. In the introduction to one of her novels, she herself says of her youth: It is not singular that, as the daughter bf two persons of distinguished literary celebrity, I should We have much yet to do for a class whom it is a shame to name, and that much must be done by womenby wo- men, themselves sans tache, sons reproche. It is not enough that we repeat our Saviours words, Go and sin no more : we must give the sinner a refuge to go to. Asy- lums calculated to receive such ought to be more sufficient- ly provided in England. One lady, as eminent for her rare mental powers as for her charity and great wealth, is now trying an experiment that does her infinite honor; she has set a noble example to others who are rich and ought to be considerate; safe in her high character, her eel -respect, and her virgin purity, she has provided shelter for many erring sisters,in mercy beguiling by gentle ways the wanderer back. Of all her numerous charities, this is the truest and best; like the fair Sabrina she has heard and answered the pray- ers of those who seek protection from the most terrible of all dangers. Listen! for dear honors sake ~Listenand save ! very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled; and my favorite pastime, during the hours given me for recreation, was to write stories. Still I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was the formation of castles in the airthe indulging in waking dreamsthe following up trains of thought, which had for their subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. My dreams were at once more fantastic and agree- able than my writings. In the latter I was a close imitatorrather doing as others had done, than putting down the suggestions of my own mind. What I wrote was intended at least for one other eyemy childhoods companion and friend; but my dreams were all my own; I ac- counted for them to nobody; they were my re- fuge when annoyedmy dearest pleasure when free. I lived principally in the country as a girl, and passed a considerable time in Scotland. I made occasional visits to the more picturesque parts; but my habitual residence was on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank and dreary on retrospection I call them: they were not so to me then. They were the eyry of freedom, and tho pleasant region where unheeded I could commune with the creatures of my fancy. I wrote thenbut in a most common- place style. . It was beneath the trees of the grounds belonging to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodless mountains near, that my true compositions, the airy flights of my imagina- tion, were born and fostered. I did not make my- self the heroine of my tales. Life appeared to me too common-place an affair as regarded my- self. I could not figure to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events would ever be my lot; but I was not confined to my own identity, and I could peoplethehourewith creations farmore inter- esting to me at that age, than my own sensations? Her connection with Shelley commenced in 1815, and she gives this account of the follow- ing year, in which she wrote her famous novel, Frankenstein: After this my life became busier, and reality stood in place of fiction. My husband, however, was from the first, very anxious that I should prove myself worthy of my parentage, and enrol myself on the page of fame: He was for ever inciting me to obtain literary reputation, which even on my own part I cared for then, though since I have become infinitely indifferent to it. At this time he desired that I should write, not so much with the idea that I could produce any thing wor- thy of notice, but that he might himself judge how far I possessed the promise of better things here- after. Still I did nothing. Travelling, and the cares of a family, occupied my time; and study, in the way of reading, or improving my ideas in cotnmunica~ion with his far more cultivated mind, was all of literary employment that engaged my attention. In the, summer of 1816, we visited~ Switzerland, and became the neighbors of Lord Byron. At first we spent our pleasant hours on the lake, or wandering on its shores: and Lord Byron, who was writing the third canto of Childe Harold, was the only one among us who put his thoughts upon paper. These, as he brought them successively to us, clothed in all the light and har- mony of poetry, seemed to stamp as divine the glories of heaven and earth, whose influences we partook with him. But it proved a wet, ungenia.l summer, and incessant rain often confined us for

I0 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. shrined. While we say Poor Nell 1 we shake our headsthe sigh and the smile mingle togeth- erwe regret and pity her. We wonder she was so goodwe sorrow at the impurity,not so much of the beset actress, as of her position. We know that, though fallen, she was not depraved. She was not avaricious, nor intriguing, nor ill- tempered, nor unjust. Her regard for literature (though she could hardly sign her own name) proved the uplooking of her better nature; and her charity was unbounded. Shall wereared and instructed in all righteous waysshall we show less charity to the memory of one who in her latter days rose out of the slough into which circumstancenot vicehad plunged her? Shall we be less charitable than the bishop who honored her memory and his own character by recording her benevolence, her penitence, her exemplary end? The good bishops testimony renders it needless that we point a moral. There was joy in heaven over one sinner that repented. Who but Onk can judge the heart? Let charity hold up her warning finger, often, when we think evil : and consideration, like an angel come, when harsh judgment dooms an erring sister. Above all, let us adopt the sentiment of the poet (and our pilgrimage to Sandford Manor House will not be in vain): If thy neighbor should sin, old Christoval said, Never, never, unmerciful be! For remember it is by the mercy of Cod, Thou art not as wicked as he! MARY WOLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY. THE daughter of William Godwiti and Mary Wolstonecraft, and wife of Percy Bysshe Shelley, died at the age of fifty-three, in Ches- ter Square, Pimlico, London, on the first day of February. What woman had ever before relations so illustrious! Daughter of Godwin and wife of Shelley! These few words un- fold a remarkable history, unparalleled, and unapproached in romantic dignity. In the dedication to her of the noble poem of The Revolt of Islam, Shelley says: They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, Of glorious parents, thou aspiring Child. I wonder notfor One then left this earth ~Vhooe life was like a setting planet mild, Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled Of its departing glory; still her fame Shines on thee, through the tempests dark and wild Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name. In the introduction to one of her novels, she herself says of her youth: It is not singular that, as the daughter bf two persons of distinguished literary celebrity, I should We have much yet to do for a class whom it is a shame to name, and that much must be done by womenby wo- men, themselves sans tache, sons reproche. It is not enough that we repeat our Saviours words, Go and sin no more : we must give the sinner a refuge to go to. Asy- lums calculated to receive such ought to be more sufficient- ly provided in England. One lady, as eminent for her rare mental powers as for her charity and great wealth, is now trying an experiment that does her infinite honor; she has set a noble example to others who are rich and ought to be considerate; safe in her high character, her eel -respect, and her virgin purity, she has provided shelter for many erring sisters,in mercy beguiling by gentle ways the wanderer back. Of all her numerous charities, this is the truest and best; like the fair Sabrina she has heard and answered the pray- ers of those who seek protection from the most terrible of all dangers. Listen! for dear honors sake ~Listenand save ! very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled; and my favorite pastime, during the hours given me for recreation, was to write stories. Still I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was the formation of castles in the airthe indulging in waking dreamsthe following up trains of thought, which had for their subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. My dreams were at once more fantastic and agree- able than my writings. In the latter I was a close imitatorrather doing as others had done, than putting down the suggestions of my own mind. What I wrote was intended at least for one other eyemy childhoods companion and friend; but my dreams were all my own; I ac- counted for them to nobody; they were my re- fuge when annoyedmy dearest pleasure when free. I lived principally in the country as a girl, and passed a considerable time in Scotland. I made occasional visits to the more picturesque parts; but my habitual residence was on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank and dreary on retrospection I call them: they were not so to me then. They were the eyry of freedom, and tho pleasant region where unheeded I could commune with the creatures of my fancy. I wrote thenbut in a most common- place style. . It was beneath the trees of the grounds belonging to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodless mountains near, that my true compositions, the airy flights of my imagina- tion, were born and fostered. I did not make my- self the heroine of my tales. Life appeared to me too common-place an affair as regarded my- self. I could not figure to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events would ever be my lot; but I was not confined to my own identity, and I could peoplethehourewith creations farmore inter- esting to me at that age, than my own sensations? Her connection with Shelley commenced in 1815, and she gives this account of the follow- ing year, in which she wrote her famous novel, Frankenstein: After this my life became busier, and reality stood in place of fiction. My husband, however, was from the first, very anxious that I should prove myself worthy of my parentage, and enrol myself on the page of fame: He was for ever inciting me to obtain literary reputation, which even on my own part I cared for then, though since I have become infinitely indifferent to it. At this time he desired that I should write, not so much with the idea that I could produce any thing wor- thy of notice, but that he might himself judge how far I possessed the promise of better things here- after. Still I did nothing. Travelling, and the cares of a family, occupied my time; and study, in the way of reading, or improving my ideas in cotnmunica~ion with his far more cultivated mind, was all of literary employment that engaged my attention. In the, summer of 1816, we visited~ Switzerland, and became the neighbors of Lord Byron. At first we spent our pleasant hours on the lake, or wandering on its shores: and Lord Byron, who was writing the third canto of Childe Harold, was the only one among us who put his thoughts upon paper. These, as he brought them successively to us, clothed in all the light and har- mony of poetry, seemed to stamp as divine the glories of heaven and earth, whose influences we partook with him. But it proved a wet, ungenia.l summer, and incessant rain often confined us for THE LATE MRS. SHELLEY. VT days to the house. Some volumes of ghost sto- continually reminded of the story of Columbus ries, translated from the German into French, fell and his egg. Invention consists in the capacity into our hands. There was the History of the of seizing on the capabilities of a subject, and in Inconstant Lover, who when he thought to clasp the power of moulding and fashioning ideas sug- the bride to whom he had pledged his vows, found gested to it. Many and long were the conversa- himself in the arms of the pale ghost of her whom tions between Lord Byron and Shelley, to which I he had deserted. There was the tale of the sinful was a devout but nearly silent listener. During founder of his race, whose miserable doom it was one of these, various philosophical doctrines were to bestow the kiss of death on all the younger sons discussed, and among others the nature of the of his fated honse, just when they reached the principle of life, and whether there was any prob- age of promise. His gigantic, shadowy form, ability of its ever being discovered and communi- clothed like the ghost in Hamlet, in complete ar- cated. They talked of the experiments of Dr. mor, but with the beaver up, wns seen at mid- Darwin (I speak not of what the Doctor really niolit, by the moons fitful beams, to advance did, or said that he did, but, as more to my pur- slowly along the gloomy avenue. The shape was pose, of what was then spoken of as having been lost beneath the shadow of the castle walls ; but done by him), who preserved a piece of vermi- soon a gate swung back, a step was heard, the celli in a glass case, till by some extraordinary door of the chamber opened, and he advanced to means it began to move with voluntary motion. the couch of the blooming youths, cradled in heal- Not thus, after all, would life be given. Perhaps thy sleep. Eternal sorrow sat upon his face as he a corpse would be re-animated ; galvanism had bent down and kissed the forehead of the boys, given token of such things : perhaps the com- who from that hour withered like flowers snapt ponent parts of a creature might be manufac- upon thc stalk. I have not seen these stories since tured, brought together, and endued with vital then ; but their incidents are as fresh in my mind warmth. Night waned upon this talk ; and even ns if I had read them yesterday. We will each the witching hour bad gone by, before we retized write a ghost story, said Lord Byron ; and his to rest. When I placed my head upon my nil- proposition was acceded to. There were four of low, I did not sleep, nor could I be said to think. us. The noble author began a tale, a fragment My imagination, unbidden, possessed and guided of which he printed at the end of his oem of me, gifting the successive images that arose in my Mazeppa. Shelley, more apt to em bify ideas mind with a vi~dness far beyond the usual bounds and sentiments in the radiance of brilliant imagery, of reverie. I sawwith shut eyes, but acute and in the music of the most melodious verse that mental visionI saw the pale student of unhal- adorns our language, than to invent the machinery lowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put of a story, commenced one founded on the experi- together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man ences of his early life. Poor Polidori had some stretched out, and then on the working of some terrible idea about a skull-headed lady, who was powerful engine, show signs of life, and stir with so punished for peeping through a key-hole-what an uneasy, half vital motion. Frightful must it to see I forget~~something very shocking and be ; for supremely frightful would be the effect of wrong of course ; but when she was reduced to a any human endeavor to mock the stupendous me- worse condition than the renowned Tom of,Cov- chanism of the Creator of the world. His success entry, he did not know what to do with her, and would terrify the artist ; he would rush away from was obliged to dispatch her to the tomb of the his odions handywork, horror-stricken. He would Capulets, the ouly place for which she was fitted. hope that, left to itself, the slight spark of life The illustrious poets also, annoyed by the plati- which he had communicated would fade ; that this tude of prose, speedily relinquished their uncon- thing, which had received such imperfect anima genial task. tion, would subside into dead matter ; and he I busied myself to think of a story,a story might sleep in the belief that the silence of the to rival those which had excited us ,to this task. grave would uench for ever the transient exis- One which would speak to the mysterious fears of tence of the hi eous corpse which he had looked our nature, and awaken thrilling horrorone to upon as the cradle of life. He sleeps ; but he is make the reader dread to look around, to curdle awakened ; he opens his eyes ; behold the horrid the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart. thing stands at his bedside, opening his curtains, If I did not accomplish these things, my ghost and looking on him with yellow, watery, but spec- story would be unworthy of its name. I thought ulative eyes. and ponderedvainly. I felt that blank incapa- I opened mine in terror. The idea so possess- bility of invention which is the greatest misery of ed my mind, that a thrill of fear ran through me, authorship, when dull Nothing replies to our aux- and I wished to exchange the ghastly image of ions invocations. Have you thought of a story ? my fancy for the realities around. I see them I wns asked each morning, and each morning I still ; the very room, the dark 1oarquet, the closed wns forced to reply with a mortifying negative. shutters, with the moonlight struggling through, Every thing must have a beginning, to speak in and the sense I had that the glassy lake and white Sanchean phrase ; and that beginning must be high Alps were beyond. I could no~ so easily get linked to something that went before. The Em- rid of my hideous phantom ; still it haunted me. does give the world an elephant to support it, I must try to think of something else. I recurred but they make the elephant stand upon a tortoise. to my ghost story,my tiresome unlucky ghost Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not story I 0 I if I could only contrive one which consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos ; would frighten my reader as I myself had been the materials must, in the first place, be afforded: frightened that night I Swift as light and as it can give form to dark, shapeless substances, but cheering was the idea that broke in upon me. I cannot bring into being the substance itself. In have found it I What terrified me will torrify all matters of discovery and invention, even of others ; and I need only describe the spectre which those that appertain to the imaginatioii, we are had h~unted my midnight pillow? On the mor 18 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. row I announced that I had thought of a story. I began that day with the words, It was on a dreary night of Nov ber, making only a trans- cript of the grim terrors of my waking dream. The next year Shelley and herself were in Buckinghamshire, where the great poet wrote The Revolt of Islam. In the spring of 1818, they quitted England for Italy, and their eldest child died in Rome. Soon after, they took a house near Leghornhalf way between the city and Monte Nero, where they remained during the summer. Our villa, she says, was situated in the midst of a podere; the peasants sang as they worked beneath our windows, during the heats of a very hot season, and at night the water-wheel creaked as the process of irrigation went on, and the fire-ifiesfiashed from among the myrtle hedges: nature was bright, sunshiny, and cheerful, or di- versified by storms of a majestic tenor, such as we had never before witnessed. The Cenci and several other poems were written here. The summer of 1818 they pass- ed at the Baths of Lucca, and in the autumn went to a villa belonging to Lord Byron, near Venice, whence they proceeded to Naples, where the winter was spent; after which they visited Florence, and in the fall of 1820 took up their residence at Pisa. The next year in JulyShelleys death occurred: he was drowned in the gulf of Lerici. The details must be familiar to all readers of literary his- tory. Mrs. Shelley wrote of the time: This mom thy gallant bark Sailed on a sunny sea, Tis noon, and tempests dark Have wrecked it on the lee. Ahwoe! Ahwoe! By spirits of the deep Thourt cradled on the billow, To thy eternal sleep. Thou sleepst upon Lhe shore Beside the knelling surge, And sea-nymphs evermore Shall sadly chant thy dirge. rhey come! they come, The spirits of the deep, While near thy sea-weed pillow My lonely watch I keep. From far across the sea I hear a loud lament, By echos voice for thee, From oceans caverns sent. 0 list! 0 list, The spirits of the deep; They raise a wait of sorrow, While I for ever weep. Mrs. Shelley returned to England, and for nearly twenty years supported herself by wri- ting. In the last ten yearsmore especially since 1844, when her son succeeded to the Shelley estatesshe had no need to write for money, and it is understood that she devoted the time to the c~mposition of Memoirs of ~Shelley. The Frankenstein, or Modern Prometheus, of Mrs. Shelley,a fearful and fantastic dream of geniuswas never very much read; it was one of those books made to be talked of; her Lodore was more easily apprehended; it is a love story, from every-day life, but written with remarkable boldness and directness, and a real appreciation of the nature of both wo- man and man. The hero of this novel i~ the son of a gentleman ennobled for his services in the American war, and some of the scenes are in New-York. The Last Man has for its hero her husband, whose character is delineated in it with singular delicacy, but the book is in the last degree improbable and gloomy, while abounding in scenes of beauty and intense in- terest. She wrote alse Perkin Warbeck, Falk- ner, Walpurga, and other novels, Journal in It- aly and Germany, and Lives of eminent French Writers, besides editing the Poems and the Let- ters of Shelleya labor which she performed judiciously, and with feeling and accuracy. Mrs. Shelleys son succeeded to his grand- fathers baronetcy on the 24th of April, 1844, and is the present Sir Percy Florence Shelley, Bart., of Castle Goring, in Sussex. REV. H. N. HUDSONS EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE. I Thas been known among his friends for sev- eral years that the Rev. HENRY N. HuDsoN was preparing for the press an edition of the works of Shakspeare. The office of a Shak- speare restorer and commentator at this time is one of the most ambitious in the republic of letters. More than any collection of works except the Holy Scriptur~esto which only they are second in dignity and importance among booksthe Works of Shakspeare demand for their fit illustration not only the most varied and profound scholarship but the most eminent qualities of mind and feeling. Mr. Hudson had vindicated his capacities for the noble ser- vice upon which he has entered in his Lectures upon Shakspeare, published about three years ago. The fame he then acquired will be in- creased by his present performance, of which, we understand, theinitial volume will in a few days be published by James Munroc & Co., of Boston, who will issue at short intervals the other ten, the last of which will embrace a Life of the Poet by the editor. Some of the main characteristics of this edition may be in- ferred from these paragraphs, which we are en- nbledto make from an early copy of the preface. The celebrated Chiswick edition, of which this is meant to be as near an imitation as the present state of Shaksperian literature renders desirable, was published in 1826, and has for some time been out of print. In size of volume, in type, style of execution, and adaptedness to the wants of both the scholar and the general reader, it pre- sented a combination of ad~antages possessed by no other edition at the time of its appearance. The text, however, abounds in corruptions intro- duced by preceding editors under the name of corrections. Of the number and nature of these corruptions no adequate idea. can be formed but I by a close comparison, line by line, and word by I word, with the original editions. The Chiswick edition, though perhaps the most popular that has yet been issued, has never, strange to say, been reprinted in this country. the advantages of that, without its defects, no For putting forth an American edition retaining apology, it is presumed, will be thought needful. How far those advantages are retained in the pre- sent edition, will appear upon a very slight corn-

18 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. row I announced that I had thought of a story. I began that day with the words, It was on a dreary night of Nov ber, making only a trans- cript of the grim terrors of my waking dream. The next year Shelley and herself were in Buckinghamshire, where the great poet wrote The Revolt of Islam. In the spring of 1818, they quitted England for Italy, and their eldest child died in Rome. Soon after, they took a house near Leghornhalf way between the city and Monte Nero, where they remained during the summer. Our villa, she says, was situated in the midst of a podere; the peasants sang as they worked beneath our windows, during the heats of a very hot season, and at night the water-wheel creaked as the process of irrigation went on, and the fire-ifiesfiashed from among the myrtle hedges: nature was bright, sunshiny, and cheerful, or di- versified by storms of a majestic tenor, such as we had never before witnessed. The Cenci and several other poems were written here. The summer of 1818 they pass- ed at the Baths of Lucca, and in the autumn went to a villa belonging to Lord Byron, near Venice, whence they proceeded to Naples, where the winter was spent; after which they visited Florence, and in the fall of 1820 took up their residence at Pisa. The next year in JulyShelleys death occurred: he was drowned in the gulf of Lerici. The details must be familiar to all readers of literary his- tory. Mrs. Shelley wrote of the time: This mom thy gallant bark Sailed on a sunny sea, Tis noon, and tempests dark Have wrecked it on the lee. Ahwoe! Ahwoe! By spirits of the deep Thourt cradled on the billow, To thy eternal sleep. Thou sleepst upon Lhe shore Beside the knelling surge, And sea-nymphs evermore Shall sadly chant thy dirge. rhey come! they come, The spirits of the deep, While near thy sea-weed pillow My lonely watch I keep. From far across the sea I hear a loud lament, By echos voice for thee, From oceans caverns sent. 0 list! 0 list, The spirits of the deep; They raise a wait of sorrow, While I for ever weep. Mrs. Shelley returned to England, and for nearly twenty years supported herself by wri- ting. In the last ten yearsmore especially since 1844, when her son succeeded to the Shelley estatesshe had no need to write for money, and it is understood that she devoted the time to the c~mposition of Memoirs of ~Shelley. The Frankenstein, or Modern Prometheus, of Mrs. Shelley,a fearful and fantastic dream of geniuswas never very much read; it was one of those books made to be talked of; her Lodore was more easily apprehended; it is a love story, from every-day life, but written with remarkable boldness and directness, and a real appreciation of the nature of both wo- man and man. The hero of this novel i~ the son of a gentleman ennobled for his services in the American war, and some of the scenes are in New-York. The Last Man has for its hero her husband, whose character is delineated in it with singular delicacy, but the book is in the last degree improbable and gloomy, while abounding in scenes of beauty and intense in- terest. She wrote alse Perkin Warbeck, Falk- ner, Walpurga, and other novels, Journal in It- aly and Germany, and Lives of eminent French Writers, besides editing the Poems and the Let- ters of Shelleya labor which she performed judiciously, and with feeling and accuracy. Mrs. Shelleys son succeeded to his grand- fathers baronetcy on the 24th of April, 1844, and is the present Sir Percy Florence Shelley, Bart., of Castle Goring, in Sussex. REV. H. N. HUDSONS EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE. I Thas been known among his friends for sev- eral years that the Rev. HENRY N. HuDsoN was preparing for the press an edition of the works of Shakspeare. The office of a Shak- speare restorer and commentator at this time is one of the most ambitious in the republic of letters. More than any collection of works except the Holy Scriptur~esto which only they are second in dignity and importance among booksthe Works of Shakspeare demand for their fit illustration not only the most varied and profound scholarship but the most eminent qualities of mind and feeling. Mr. Hudson had vindicated his capacities for the noble ser- vice upon which he has entered in his Lectures upon Shakspeare, published about three years ago. The fame he then acquired will be in- creased by his present performance, of which, we understand, theinitial volume will in a few days be published by James Munroc & Co., of Boston, who will issue at short intervals the other ten, the last of which will embrace a Life of the Poet by the editor. Some of the main characteristics of this edition may be in- ferred from these paragraphs, which we are en- nbledto make from an early copy of the preface. The celebrated Chiswick edition, of which this is meant to be as near an imitation as the present state of Shaksperian literature renders desirable, was published in 1826, and has for some time been out of print. In size of volume, in type, style of execution, and adaptedness to the wants of both the scholar and the general reader, it pre- sented a combination of ad~antages possessed by no other edition at the time of its appearance. The text, however, abounds in corruptions intro- duced by preceding editors under the name of corrections. Of the number and nature of these corruptions no adequate idea. can be formed but I by a close comparison, line by line, and word by I word, with the original editions. The Chiswick edition, though perhaps the most popular that has yet been issued, has never, strange to say, been reprinted in this country. the advantages of that, without its defects, no For putting forth an American edition retaining apology, it is presumed, will be thought needful. How far those advantages are retained in the pre- sent edition, will appear upon a very slight corn- THE STONES OF VENICE. 19 parison: how far those defects have been re- moved, we may be allowed to say that no little study and examination will be required to the I forming of a right judgment. In all of the plays, I the chief, and in many of them the only, basis and standard whereby to ascertain the true text, is the folio of 1623. In our preparing of copy we have this continually open before us, at the same time availing ourselves of whatsoever aid is to be drawn from earlier impressions, in case of such plays as were published during the authors life. So that, if a thorough revisal of every line, every word, every letter, and every point, with a con- tinual reference to the original copies, be a rea- sonable ground of confidence, then we can confi- dently assure the reader that he will here find the genuine text of Shakspeare. The process of purification has been rendered much more laborious, and therefore much more necessary, by the mode in which it was for a long time customary to edit the poets works. This mode is well exemplified in the case of Malone and Steevens, who, carrying on their editorial la- bors simultaneously, seem to have vied with each other which should most eurich his edition with textual emendations. Both of them had been very good editors, but for the unwarrantable lib- erty which they not only took, but gloried in tak- mg, with the text of their author; and, even as it was, they undoubtedly rendered much valuable service. And the same work~ though not always in so great a degree, has been carried on by many others: sometimes the alleged corrections of seve- ral editors have been brought together, that the various advantages of them all might be combined and presented in one. Thus corruptions of the text have accumulated, each successive editor adding his own to those of his predecessors. Ma- ny of these so-called improvements were thrown out by the cditor of the Chiswick edition; but no decisive steps in the way of a return to the origi- nal text were taken till within a very limited period. Knight, Coffier, Verplanck, and Halli- well, to all of whom this edition is under great ob- ligations, have pretty effectually put a stop to the old mode of Shaksperian editing; nor is there much reason to apprehend that any one will at present venture upon a revival of it. Of the editions hitherto published in America, Mr. Verplancks is the only one, so far as we know, that is at all free from the accumulated emendations of preceding editors. Adopting, in the main, the text of Mr. Corner, hebronght to the work, however, his own excellent taste and judg- ment, wherein he as far surpasses the English ed- itor as he necessarily falls short of him in such ex- ternal advantages as the libraries, public and pri- vate, of England alone can supply. And Mr. Col- liers text is indeed remarkably pure: nor, per- haps, can any other man of modern times be named, to whom Shaksperian literature is, on the whole, so largely indebted. How much he has done, need not be dwelt upon here, as the results thereof will be found scattered all through this edition. Yet it seems not a little questionable whether both he and Knight have not fallen into a serious error; though it must be confessed that such error, if it be one, is on the right side, inas- much as their fidelity to the original texi~ extends to the adopting, sometimes of probable, sometimes of palpable, or nearly palpable misprints. In these Mr. Verplanck has judiciously devinted from his English model, and his fine judgment appears to equal advantage in what he adopts and in what he rejects. Of his critical remarks it is enough at present to express the belief, that in this depart- ment he has no rival in this country, and will not soon be beaten. Further acknowledgments, both to him and to the other three editors named, will be duly and cheerfully made, as the occasions for them shall arise In the Introductions our leading purpose is to gather up all the historical information that has yet been made accessible, concerning the times when th,e several plays were written and first acted, and the sources whence the plots and ma- terials of them were taken. It will be seen that in the history of the poets plays, the indefatiga- ble labors of Mr. Coffler and others, often.resulting in important discoveries, have wrought changes amounting almost to a total revolution, since the Chiswick edition was published. And we dwell the more upon what Shakspeare seems to have tak~h from preceding writers, because it ex hibits him, where we like most to consider him, as holding his unrivalled inventive powers subordi- nate to the higher principles of art. Besides, if Shakspeare be the most original of writers, he is also one of the greatest of borrowers; and as few authors have appropriated so freely from others, so none can better afford to have his obligations in this kind made known? .... THE STONES OF VENICERELIGION, GLORY, AND ART. ~I R. JOHN RUSKIN, the Oxford Stu- dent, whose Modern Painters and Seren Lamps of Architecture have made for him the best fame in the literature of art, has just corn.. pleted the most remarkable of his works, The Stones of Venice, and from advance sheets of it (for which we are indebted to Mr. John Wiley, his American publisher), we present some of his preliminary and more general observations, indicating his great argument that THE DECLINE OF THE POLITICAL PROSPERITY OF VENICE WAS COINCIDENT WITH THAT OF HER DOMESTIC AND INDIVIDUAL RELIGION. Popular as the previous works of Mr. Ruskin have been, we cannot doubt that this splendid performance will be the most read and most admired of all. Since the first dominion of men was asserted over the ocean, three thrones, of mark beyond all others, have been set upon its sands: the thrones of Tyre, Venice, and England. Of the First of these great powers only the memory remains; of the Second, the ruin; the Third, which inherits their greatness, if it forget their example, may be led through prouder eminence to less pitied de- struction. The exaltation, the sin, and the punish- ment of Tyre have been recorded for us, in per- haps the most touching words ever uttered by the Prophets of Israel against the cities of the stranger. But we read them as a lovely song; and close our ears to the sternness of their warning: for the very depth of the Fall of Tyre has blinded us to its reality, and we forget, as we wateh the bleach- ing of the rocks between the sunshine and the sea, that they were once as in Eden, the garden of God. Her successor, like her in perfection of beauty, though less in endurance of dominion, is still left for our beholding in the final period of

THE STONES OF VENICE. 19 parison: how far those defects have been re- moved, we may be allowed to say that no little study and examination will be required to the I forming of a right judgment. In all of the plays, I the chief, and in many of them the only, basis and standard whereby to ascertain the true text, is the folio of 1623. In our preparing of copy we have this continually open before us, at the same time availing ourselves of whatsoever aid is to be drawn from earlier impressions, in case of such plays as were published during the authors life. So that, if a thorough revisal of every line, every word, every letter, and every point, with a con- tinual reference to the original copies, be a rea- sonable ground of confidence, then we can confi- dently assure the reader that he will here find the genuine text of Shakspeare. The process of purification has been rendered much more laborious, and therefore much more necessary, by the mode in which it was for a long time customary to edit the poets works. This mode is well exemplified in the case of Malone and Steevens, who, carrying on their editorial la- bors simultaneously, seem to have vied with each other which should most eurich his edition with textual emendations. Both of them had been very good editors, but for the unwarrantable lib- erty which they not only took, but gloried in tak- mg, with the text of their author; and, even as it was, they undoubtedly rendered much valuable service. And the same work~ though not always in so great a degree, has been carried on by many others: sometimes the alleged corrections of seve- ral editors have been brought together, that the various advantages of them all might be combined and presented in one. Thus corruptions of the text have accumulated, each successive editor adding his own to those of his predecessors. Ma- ny of these so-called improvements were thrown out by the cditor of the Chiswick edition; but no decisive steps in the way of a return to the origi- nal text were taken till within a very limited period. Knight, Coffier, Verplanck, and Halli- well, to all of whom this edition is under great ob- ligations, have pretty effectually put a stop to the old mode of Shaksperian editing; nor is there much reason to apprehend that any one will at present venture upon a revival of it. Of the editions hitherto published in America, Mr. Verplancks is the only one, so far as we know, that is at all free from the accumulated emendations of preceding editors. Adopting, in the main, the text of Mr. Corner, hebronght to the work, however, his own excellent taste and judg- ment, wherein he as far surpasses the English ed- itor as he necessarily falls short of him in such ex- ternal advantages as the libraries, public and pri- vate, of England alone can supply. And Mr. Col- liers text is indeed remarkably pure: nor, per- haps, can any other man of modern times be named, to whom Shaksperian literature is, on the whole, so largely indebted. How much he has done, need not be dwelt upon here, as the results thereof will be found scattered all through this edition. Yet it seems not a little questionable whether both he and Knight have not fallen into a serious error; though it must be confessed that such error, if it be one, is on the right side, inas- much as their fidelity to the original texi~ extends to the adopting, sometimes of probable, sometimes of palpable, or nearly palpable misprints. In these Mr. Verplanck has judiciously devinted from his English model, and his fine judgment appears to equal advantage in what he adopts and in what he rejects. Of his critical remarks it is enough at present to express the belief, that in this depart- ment he has no rival in this country, and will not soon be beaten. Further acknowledgments, both to him and to the other three editors named, will be duly and cheerfully made, as the occasions for them shall arise In the Introductions our leading purpose is to gather up all the historical information that has yet been made accessible, concerning the times when th,e several plays were written and first acted, and the sources whence the plots and ma- terials of them were taken. It will be seen that in the history of the poets plays, the indefatiga- ble labors of Mr. Coffler and others, often.resulting in important discoveries, have wrought changes amounting almost to a total revolution, since the Chiswick edition was published. And we dwell the more upon what Shakspeare seems to have tak~h from preceding writers, because it ex hibits him, where we like most to consider him, as holding his unrivalled inventive powers subordi- nate to the higher principles of art. Besides, if Shakspeare be the most original of writers, he is also one of the greatest of borrowers; and as few authors have appropriated so freely from others, so none can better afford to have his obligations in this kind made known? .... THE STONES OF VENICERELIGION, GLORY, AND ART. ~I R. JOHN RUSKIN, the Oxford Stu- dent, whose Modern Painters and Seren Lamps of Architecture have made for him the best fame in the literature of art, has just corn.. pleted the most remarkable of his works, The Stones of Venice, and from advance sheets of it (for which we are indebted to Mr. John Wiley, his American publisher), we present some of his preliminary and more general observations, indicating his great argument that THE DECLINE OF THE POLITICAL PROSPERITY OF VENICE WAS COINCIDENT WITH THAT OF HER DOMESTIC AND INDIVIDUAL RELIGION. Popular as the previous works of Mr. Ruskin have been, we cannot doubt that this splendid performance will be the most read and most admired of all. Since the first dominion of men was asserted over the ocean, three thrones, of mark beyond all others, have been set upon its sands: the thrones of Tyre, Venice, and England. Of the First of these great powers only the memory remains; of the Second, the ruin; the Third, which inherits their greatness, if it forget their example, may be led through prouder eminence to less pitied de- struction. The exaltation, the sin, and the punish- ment of Tyre have been recorded for us, in per- haps the most touching words ever uttered by the Prophets of Israel against the cities of the stranger. But we read them as a lovely song; and close our ears to the sternness of their warning: for the very depth of the Fall of Tyre has blinded us to its reality, and we forget, as we wateh the bleach- ing of the rocks between the sunshine and the sea, that they were once as in Eden, the garden of God. Her successor, like her in perfection of beauty, though less in endurance of dominion, is still left for our beholding in the final period of 20 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. her decline: a ghost upon the sands of the sea, so weakso quiet,so bereft of all but her loveli- ness, that we might well doubt, as we watched her faint reflection in the mirage of the lagoon, which was the City, and which the Shadow. I would endeavor to trace the lines of this image before it be for ever lost, and to record, as far as I may, the warning which seems to me to be ut- tered by every one of the fast-gaining waves, that beat, like passing bells, against the STONES or VENICE. It would be difficult to overrate the value of the lessons which might be derived from a faith- ful study of the history of this strange and mighty city: a history which, in spite of the labor of countless chroniclers, remains in vague and dis- putable outline,barred with brightness and shade, like the far away edge of her own ocean, where the surf and the sandbank are mingled with the sky. The inquiries in which we have to engage will hardly render this outline clearer, but their results will, in some degree, alter ies aspect; and, so far as they bear upon it at all, they pos- sess an interest of a far higher kind than that usually belonging to architectural investigations. I may, perhaps, in the outset, and in few words, enable the general reader to form a clearer idea of the importance of every existing expression of Venetian character through Venetian art, and of the breadth of interest which the true history of Venice embraces, than he is likely to have gleaned from the current fables of her mystery or mag- nificence. Venice is usually conceived as an oligarchy: she was so during a period less than the half of her existence, and that including the days of her decline; and it is one of the first questions need- ing severe examination, whether that decline was owing in any wise to the change in the form of her government, or altogether, as assuredly in great part, to changes in the character of the persons of whom it was composed. The state of Venice existed Thirteen Hundred and Seventy- six years, from the first establishment of a consu- lar government on the island of the Rialto, to the moment when the General-in-chief of the French army of Italy pronounced the Venetian republic a thing of the past. Of this period, Two Hundred and Seventy-six years were passed in a nominal subjection to the cities of old Venetia, especially to Padua, and in an agitated form of democracy, of which the executive appears to have been in- trusted to tribunes, chosen, one by the inhabitants of each of the principal islands. For six hundred years, during which the power of Venice was continually on the increase, her government was an elective monarchy, her King or doge possess- ing, in early times at least, as much independent anthority as any other European severeign, but an authority gradually subjected to limitation, and shortened almost daily of its prerogatives, while it increased in a spectral and incapable magnifi. cence. The final government of the nobles, under ~he image of a king, lasted for five hundred years, during which Venice reaped the fruits of her former energies, consumed them,and expired. Let the reader therefore conceive the exist- ence of the Venetian state as broadly divided into two periods: the first of nine hundred, the second of five hundred years, the separation being marked by what was called the Serrar del Con- siglio; that is to say, the final and absolute clis tinction of the nobles from the commonalty, and the establishment of the government in their hands, to the exclusion alike of the influence of the people on the one side, and the authority of the doge on the other. Then the first period, of nine hundred years, presents us with the most interest- ing spectable of a people struggling out of anar- chy into order and power; and then governed, for the most part, by the worthiest and noblest man whom they could find among them, called their Doge or Leader, with an aristocracy gradually and resolutely forming itself around him, out of which, and at last by which, he was chosen; an aristocracy owing its origin to the accidental numbers, influence, and wealth, of some among the families of the fugitives from the older Ve- netia, and gradually organizing itself; by its unity and heroism, into a separate body. This first period includes the Rise of Venice, her noblest achievements, and the circumstances which deter- mined her character and position among European powers; and within its range, as might have been anticipated, we find the names of all her hero princes,of Pietro Urseolo, Ordalafo Falier, Do- menico Michieli, Sebastiano Ziani, and Enrico Dan- dolo. The second period opens with a hundred and twenty years, the most eventful in the career of Venicethe central struggle of her lifestained with her darkest crime, the murder of Carrara disturbed by her most dangerous internal sedltion, the conspiracy of Falieroppressed by her most fatal war, the war of Chiozzaand distinguished by the glory of her two noblest citizens (for in this period the heroism of her citizens replaces that of her monarchs), Vittor Pisani and Carlo Zeno. I date the commencement of the Fall of Venice from the death of Carlo Zeno, 8th May, 1418; the visible commencement from that of another of her noblest and wisest children, the Doge Tomaso Mocenigo, who expired five years later. The reign of Foscari followed, gloomy with pestilence and war; a war in which large acqui- sitions of territory were made by subtle or fortu- nate policy in Lombardy, and disgrace, significant as irreparable, sustained in the battles on the Po at Cremona, and in the marshes at Caravaggio. In .1454, Venice, the first of the states of Christen- dom, humiliated herself to the Turk: in the same year was established the Inquisition of State, and from this period her government takes the per- fidious and mysterious form under which it is usually conceived. In 147I, the great Turkish invasion spread terror to the shores of the la- goons; and in 1508, the league of Cambrai marks the period usually assigned as the commencement of the decline of the Venetian power; the com- mercial prosperity of Venice in the close of the fifteenth century blinding her historians to the previous evidence of the diminution of her internal strength. Now there is apparently a significative coin- cidence between the establishment of the aristo- cratic and oligarchical powers, and the diminution of the prosperity of the state. But this is the very question at issue; and it appears to me quite un- determined by any historian, or determined by each in accordance with his own prejudices. It is a triple question: first, whether the oligarchy es- tablished by the efforts of individual ambition was the cause, in its subsequent operation, of the Fall of Venice; or (secondly) whether the establish. THE STONES OF VENICE: ment of the oligarchy itself be not the sign and evidence rather than the cause, of national ener- vation; or (lastly) whether; as I rather think, the history of Venice might not be written almost without reference to the construction of her senate or the prerogatives of her Doge. It is the history of a people eminently at unity in itseW, descend- ants of Roman race, long disciplined by adversity, and compelled by its position either to live nobly or to perish :for a thousand years they fought for life; for three hundred they invited death: their battle was rewarded, and their call was heard. Throughout her career, the victories of Ve- nice, and, at many periods of it, her safety, were purchased by individual heroism; and the man who exalted or saved her was sometimes (oftenest) her king, sometimes a noble, sometimes a citizen. To him no matter, nor to her: the real question is, not so much what names they bore, or with what powers they were intrusted, as how they were trained, how they were made masters of them- selves, servants of their country, patient of dis- tress, impatient of dishonor; and what was the true reason of the change from the time when she could find saviours among those whom she had cast into prison, to that when the voices of her own children commanded her to sign covenant with Death. The evidence which I shall be able to deduce from the arts of Venice will be both frequent and irrefragable, that the decline of political prosperity was exactly coincident with that of domestic and individual religion. I say domestic and indivi- dual; forand this is the second point which I wish the reader to keep in mindthe most curious phenomenon in all Venetian history is the vitality of religion in private life, and its deadness in pub- lic policy. Amidst the enthusiasm, chivalry, or fanaticism of the other states of Europe, Venice stands, from first to last, like a masked statue; her coldness impenetrable, her exertion only aroused by the touch of a secret spring. That spring was her commercial interest,this the one motive of all her important political acts, or en- during national animosities. She could forgive in- sults to her honor, but never rivalship in her commerce; she calculated the glory of her con- quests by their value, and estimated their justice by their facility. The fame of success remains, when the motives of attempt are forgotten; and the casual reader of her history may perhaps be surprised to be reminded, that the expedition which was commanded by the noblest of her princes, and whose results added most to her military glory, was one in which while all Europe around her was wasted by the fire of its devotion, she first calculated the highest price she could ex- act from its piety for the armament she furnished, and then, for the advancement of her own private interests, at once broke her faith and betrayed hc~r religion. And yet, in the midst of this national crimi- iality, we shall be struck again and again by the evidences of the most noble individual feeling. The tears of iDandolo were not shed in hypocrisy, though they could not blind him to the import- ance of the conquest of Zara. The habit of assign- ing to religion a direct influence over all his own actions, and all the affairs of his own daily life, is remarkable in every great Venetian during the times of the prosperity of the state; nor are in- stances wanting in which the private feeling of the citizens reaches the sphere of their policy, and even becomes the guide of its course where the scales of expediency are doubtfully balanced. I sincerely trust that the inquirer would be disap- pointed who should endeavor to trace any more immediate reasons for their adoption of the cause of Alexander III. against Barbarossa, than the piety which was excited by the character of their suppliant, and the noble pride which was pro- voked by the insolence of the emperor. But the heart of Venice is shown ouly in her hastiest coun- sels; her worldly spirit recovers the ascendency whenever she has time to calculate the probabili- ties of advantage, or when they are sufilcienfly distinct to need no calculation; and the entire subjection of private piety to national policy is not only remarkable throughout the almost end- less series of treacheries and tyrannies by which her empire was enlarged and maintained, but sym- bolized by a very singular circumstance in the building of the city itself. I am aware of no other city of Europe in which its cathedral was not the principal feature. But the principal church in Venice was the chapel attached to the palace of her prince, and called the Chiesa Ducale. The patriarchal church, inconsiderable in size and mean in decoration, stands on the outermost islet of the Venetian group, and its name, as well as its site, is probably unknown to the greater number of tra- vellers passing hastily through the city. Nor is it less worthy of remark, that the two most im- portant temples of Venice, next to the ducal chapel, owe their size and magnificence, not to na- tional effort, but to the energy of the Franciscan and Dominican monks, supported by the vast or- ganization of those great societies on the mainland of Italy, and countenanced by the most pious, and perhaps also, in his generation, the most wise, of all the princes of Venice, who now rests beneath the roof of one of those very temples, and whose life is not satirized by the images of the Virtues which a Tuscan sculptor has placed s~round his tomb. There are, therefore, two strange and solemn lights in which we have to regard almost every scene in the fitful history of the Rivo Alto. We find, on the one hand, a deep and constant tone of individual religion characterizing the lives of the citizens of Venice in her greatness; we find this spirit influencing them in all the familiar and immediate concerns of life, giving a peculiar dig- nity to the conduct even of their commercial traus- actions, and confessed by them with a simplicity of faith that may well put to shame the hesitation with which a man of the world at present admits (even if it be so in reality) that religious feeling has any influence over the minor branches of his conduct. And we find as the natural cousequence of all this, a healthy serenity of mind and energy of will expressed in all their actions, and a habit of heroism which never fails them, even when the immediate motive of action ceases to be praise- worthy. With the fulness of this spirit the pros- perity of the state is exactly correspondent, and with its failure her decline, and that with a close- ness and precision which it will be one of the col- lateral objects of the following essay to demon- strate from such accidental evidence as the field of its inquiry presents. And, thus far, all is na- tural and simple. But the stopping short of this religious faith when it appears likely to influence 22 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. national action, correspondent as it is, and that I forked battlements for the javelin and the bow, most strikingly, with several characteristics ofthe the sands of Venice never sank under the weight temper of our present English legislature, is a sub- of a war tower, and her roof terraces were wreath- ject, morally and politically, of the most curious ed with Arabian imagery, of golden globes sus- interest and complicated difficulty; one, however, pended on the leaves of lilies. which the range of my present inquiry wili not These, then, appear to me to be the points of permit me to approach, and for the treatment of chief general interest in the character and fate of which I must he content to furnish materials in the Venetian people. I would next endeavor to the light I may be able to throw upon the private give the reader some idea of the manner in which tendencies of the Venetian character. the testimony of art bears upon these ques There is, however, another most interesting tions, and of the aspect which the arts themselves feature in the policy of Venice, which a Romanist assume when they are regarded in their true con- would gladly assign as the reason of its irreligion; nection with the history of the state: 1st. Receive namely, the magnificent and successful struggle the witness of painting. It will be remembered which she maintained against the temporal autho- that I put the commencement of the Fall of Ve- rity of the Church of Rome. It is true that, in nice as far hack as 1418. Now, John Bellini was a rapid survey of her career, the eye is at first born in 1423, and Titian in 1480. John Bellini, arrested by the strange drama to which I have and his brother Gentile, two years older than he, already alluded, closed by that ever memorable close the line of the sacred painters of Venice. scene in the portico of St. Marks, the central ex- But the most solemn spirit of religious faith ani- pression in most mens thoughts of the unendura- mates their works to the last. There is no reli- ble elevation of the pontifical power; it is true gion in any work of Titians: there is not even that the proudest thoughts of Venice, as well as the smallest evidence of religious temper or sym- the insignia of her prince, and the form of her chief pathies either in himself or in those for whom he festival, recorded the service thus rendered to the painted. His larger sacred subjects are merely Roman Church. But the enduring sentiment of themes for the exhibition of pictorial rhetoric, years more than balanced the enthusiasm of a mo- composition and color. His minor works are gen- ment; and the bull of Clement V., which excom- enerally made subordinate to purposes of portrait- municated the Venetians and ~ieir doge, likening ure. The Madonna in the church of the Fran is them to Dathan, Abiram, Absalom, and Lucifer, a mere lay figure, introduced to form a link of is a stronger evidence of the great tendencies connection between the portraits of various mem- of the Venetian government than the umbrella hers of the Pesaro family who surround her. of the doge or the ring of the Adriatic. The hu- Now this is not merely because John Bellii was miliation of Francesco Dandolo blotted out the a religious man and Titian was not. Titian and shame of Barbarossa, and the total exclusion of Bellini are each true representatives of the school ecclesiastics from all share in the councils of of painters contemporary with them; and the dif- Venice becmne an enduring mark of her know- ference in their artistic feeling is a consequence ledge of the spirit of the Church of Rome, and of not so much of difference in their own natural her defiance of it. To this exclusion of papal in- characters as in their early education: Bellini was fluence from her councils the Romanist will at- brought up in faith, Titian in formalism. Between tribute their irreligion, and the Protestant their the years of their births the vital religion of Ve- success. The first may be silenced by a refer- nice had expired. ence to the character of the policy of the Vatican The vital religion, observe, not the formaL itself; and the second by his own shame, when he Outward observance was as strict as ever; and reflects that the English Legislature sacrificed their doge and senator still were painted, in almost principles to expose themselves to the very danger every important instance, kneeling before the Ma- which the Venetian senate sacrificed theirs toavoid. donna or St Mark; a confession of fnith made ~ One more circumstance remains to be noted universal by the pure gold of the Venetian se- respecting the Venetian government, the singular quin. But observe the great picture of Titians, in unity of the families composing it,unity far the ducal palace, of the Doge Antonio Grimani from sincere or perfect, but still admirable when kneeling before Faith: there is a curious lesson in contrasted with the fiery feuds, the almost daily it The figure ofFaith is a coarse portrait of one revolutions, the restless succession of families and of Titians least graceful female models: Faith had parties in power, which fill the annals of the other become carnal. The eye is first caught by the states of Italy. That rivalship should sometimes flash of the Doges armor; The heart of Venice be ended by the dagger, or enmity conducted to was in her wars, not in her worship. The mind its ends under the mask of law, could not but he of Tintoret, incomparably more deep and serious anticipated where the fierce Italian spirit was than that of Titian, casts the solemnity of its own subjected to so severe a restraint: it is much that tone over the sacred subjects which it approaches, jealousy appears usually commingled with illegiti- and sometimes forgets itself into devotion; but mate ambition, and that, for every instance in the principle of treatmeAt is altogether the same which private passion sought its gratification as Titians: absolute subordination of the religious through public danger, there are a thousand in subject to purposes of decoration or portraiture. which it was sacrificed to the public advantage. The evidence might be accumulated a thousand- Venice may well call upon us to note with rever- fold from the works of Veronese, and of every ence, that of all the towers which are still seen succeeding painter,that the fifteenth century rising like a branchless forest from her islands, had taken away the religious heart of Venice. there is but one whose office was other than that Such is the evidence of painting. To give a of summoning to prayer, and that one was a general idea of that of architecture: Phillipe de watchtower only: from first to last, while the Commynes, writing of his entry into Venice in palaces of the other cities of Italy were lifted into 1495, observed instantly the distinction between sullen fortitudes of rampart, and fringed with the elder palaces and those built within this last CONTRASTED PORTRAITS OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. 28 hundred years; which all have their fronts of white marble brought from Istria, a hundred miles away, and besides, many a large piece of porphyry and serpentine upon their fronts. There had indeed come a change over Ve- netian architecture in the fifteenth century; and a change of some importance to us moderns: we English owe to it our St. Pauls Cathedral, and Europe in general owes to it the utter de- gradation or destruction of her schools of archi- tecture, never since revived. .... The Rationalist kept the arts and cast aside the religion. This rationalistic art is the art coni- monly called Renaissance, marked by a return to pagan systems, not to adopt them and hallow them for Christianity, but to rank itself under them as an imitator and pupiL In Painting it is headed by Giulio Romano and Nicolo Poussin; in Architec- ture, by Sansovino and Palladjo. Instant degradation followed in every direc- tion,a floodof folly and hypocrisy. Mythologies ill understood at first, then perverted into feeble sensualities, take the place of the representations of Christian subjects, which had become blasphe- mous under the treatment of men like the Caracci. Gods without power, satyrs without rusticity, nymphs without innocence, men without humanity, gather into idiot groups upon the polluted canvas, and scenic affectations encumber the streets with preposterous marble. Lower and lower declines the level of abusedintellect; the base school of land- scape gradually usurps the place of the historical painting,which had sunk into prurient pedantry, the Alsatian sublimities of Salvator, the confection- ary idealities of Claude, the dull manufacture of Gaspar and Canaletto, south of the Alps, and on the north the patient devotion of besotted lives to de- lineation of bricks and fogs, fat cattle and ditch- water. And thus Christianity and morality, cour- age, and intellect, and art all crumbling together into one wreck, we are hurried on to the fall of Italy, the revolution in France, and the condition of art in England (saved by her Protestantism from severer penalty) in the time of George II. I have not written in vain if I have here- tofore done any thing towards diminishing the re- putation of the Renaissance landscape painting. But the harm which has been done by Claude and the Poussins is as nothing when compared to the mischief effected by Palladio, Scamozzi, and San- sovino. Claude and the Poussins were weak men, and have had no serious influence on the general mind. There is little harm in their works being purchased at high prices: their real influence is very slight, and they may be left without grave indignation to their poor mission of furnishing drawing-rooms and assisting strandedconversatioiv Not so the Renaissance architecture. Raised at once into all the magnificence of which it was ca- pable by Michael Angelo, then taken up by men of real intellect and imagination, such as Scamoz- zi, Sansovino, Inigo Jones, and Wren, it is impos- sible to estimate the extent of its influence on the European mind; and that the more, because few persons are concerned with painting, and, of those few, the larger number regard it with slight atten- tion; but all men are concerned with architecture, and have at some time of their lives serious busi- ness with it. It does not much matter that an in- dividual loses two or three hundred pounds in buy- ing a bad picture, but it is to be regretted that a nation should lose two or three hundred thousand in raising a ridiculous building. Nor is it merely wasted wealth or distempered conception which we have to regret in this Renaissance architecture: but we shall find in it partly the root, partly the expression, of certain dominant evils of modern timesover-sophistication and ignorant classical- ism; the one destroying the healthfulness of gen- eral society, the other rendering our schools and universities useless to a large number of the men who pass through them. Now Venice, as she was once the most reli- gious, was in her fall the most corrupt, of Euro- pean states; and as she was in her strength the centre of the pure currents of Christian architec- ture, so she is in her decline the source of the Re- naissance. It was the originality and splendor of the palaces of Viceuza and Venice which gave this school its eminence in the eyes of Europe; and the dying city, magnificent in her dissipation, and graceful in her follies, obtained wider worship in her decrepitude than in her youth, and sank from the midst of her admirers into the grave. It is in Venice, therefore, and in Venice only, that effectual blows can be struck at this pestilent art of the Renaissance. Destroy its claims to admi- ration there, and it can assert them nowhere else. CONTRASTED PORTRAITS OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. IN the last number of The International we quoted the remarks of Lord Holland upon the character of the wife of Louis XVI. The sketch presented by the noble author has been the subject of much and various criticism. The London Times says: The virtue of the unfortunate consort of a most unhappy monarch is without a flaw. Enini- ty, hatred, and every evil passion, have done their worst to palliate murder and to blacken innocence, but the ineradicable spot caunot be fixed to the fair fame of this true woman. Faultless she wes not. We are under no obligsdion to vindicate her imprudent, wilful, and fatal interference with public questions in which she bad no concern; we say nothing of her ignornnce of the high matters of state into which her uninformed zeal conducted her, to the bitter cost of herself and of those she loved dearest on earth; but of her purity, her up- rightness, her beneficence, her devotion, her sweet, playful, happy disposition, in the midst of those~ home endearments, which were to her the true occupatie~i and charm of life, there cannot exist a dowbt. Misfortune fell upon her house. to streigtheu her love and to confirm her piety. persecution, imprisonment, calamity that has never been surpassed, and a dreadful end, which, in its bitterness, has seldom been equalled, found and left her, a meek but perfect heroine. One historian has told us, that as an affectionate daughter and a faithful wife, she preserved in the two most corrupted courts of Europe the simpli- city and affections of domestic life. It is suffi- cient to add, that she ascended the scaffold enjoin- ing her children to a scrupulous discharge of duty, to forgive her murderers, to forget her wrongs; and that her last words on earth were directed to the beloved husband who had preceded her, whose spirit she was eager to rejoin, yet whose bed, if we are to believe my Lord Holland, she had oftener than once defiled. And The Times intimates elsewhere that

CONTRASTED PORTRAITS OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. 28 hundred years; which all have their fronts of white marble brought from Istria, a hundred miles away, and besides, many a large piece of porphyry and serpentine upon their fronts. There had indeed come a change over Ve- netian architecture in the fifteenth century; and a change of some importance to us moderns: we English owe to it our St. Pauls Cathedral, and Europe in general owes to it the utter de- gradation or destruction of her schools of archi- tecture, never since revived. .... The Rationalist kept the arts and cast aside the religion. This rationalistic art is the art coni- monly called Renaissance, marked by a return to pagan systems, not to adopt them and hallow them for Christianity, but to rank itself under them as an imitator and pupiL In Painting it is headed by Giulio Romano and Nicolo Poussin; in Architec- ture, by Sansovino and Palladjo. Instant degradation followed in every direc- tion,a floodof folly and hypocrisy. Mythologies ill understood at first, then perverted into feeble sensualities, take the place of the representations of Christian subjects, which had become blasphe- mous under the treatment of men like the Caracci. Gods without power, satyrs without rusticity, nymphs without innocence, men without humanity, gather into idiot groups upon the polluted canvas, and scenic affectations encumber the streets with preposterous marble. Lower and lower declines the level of abusedintellect; the base school of land- scape gradually usurps the place of the historical painting,which had sunk into prurient pedantry, the Alsatian sublimities of Salvator, the confection- ary idealities of Claude, the dull manufacture of Gaspar and Canaletto, south of the Alps, and on the north the patient devotion of besotted lives to de- lineation of bricks and fogs, fat cattle and ditch- water. And thus Christianity and morality, cour- age, and intellect, and art all crumbling together into one wreck, we are hurried on to the fall of Italy, the revolution in France, and the condition of art in England (saved by her Protestantism from severer penalty) in the time of George II. I have not written in vain if I have here- tofore done any thing towards diminishing the re- putation of the Renaissance landscape painting. But the harm which has been done by Claude and the Poussins is as nothing when compared to the mischief effected by Palladio, Scamozzi, and San- sovino. Claude and the Poussins were weak men, and have had no serious influence on the general mind. There is little harm in their works being purchased at high prices: their real influence is very slight, and they may be left without grave indignation to their poor mission of furnishing drawing-rooms and assisting strandedconversatioiv Not so the Renaissance architecture. Raised at once into all the magnificence of which it was ca- pable by Michael Angelo, then taken up by men of real intellect and imagination, such as Scamoz- zi, Sansovino, Inigo Jones, and Wren, it is impos- sible to estimate the extent of its influence on the European mind; and that the more, because few persons are concerned with painting, and, of those few, the larger number regard it with slight atten- tion; but all men are concerned with architecture, and have at some time of their lives serious busi- ness with it. It does not much matter that an in- dividual loses two or three hundred pounds in buy- ing a bad picture, but it is to be regretted that a nation should lose two or three hundred thousand in raising a ridiculous building. Nor is it merely wasted wealth or distempered conception which we have to regret in this Renaissance architecture: but we shall find in it partly the root, partly the expression, of certain dominant evils of modern timesover-sophistication and ignorant classical- ism; the one destroying the healthfulness of gen- eral society, the other rendering our schools and universities useless to a large number of the men who pass through them. Now Venice, as she was once the most reli- gious, was in her fall the most corrupt, of Euro- pean states; and as she was in her strength the centre of the pure currents of Christian architec- ture, so she is in her decline the source of the Re- naissance. It was the originality and splendor of the palaces of Viceuza and Venice which gave this school its eminence in the eyes of Europe; and the dying city, magnificent in her dissipation, and graceful in her follies, obtained wider worship in her decrepitude than in her youth, and sank from the midst of her admirers into the grave. It is in Venice, therefore, and in Venice only, that effectual blows can be struck at this pestilent art of the Renaissance. Destroy its claims to admi- ration there, and it can assert them nowhere else. CONTRASTED PORTRAITS OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. IN the last number of The International we quoted the remarks of Lord Holland upon the character of the wife of Louis XVI. The sketch presented by the noble author has been the subject of much and various criticism. The London Times says: The virtue of the unfortunate consort of a most unhappy monarch is without a flaw. Enini- ty, hatred, and every evil passion, have done their worst to palliate murder and to blacken innocence, but the ineradicable spot caunot be fixed to the fair fame of this true woman. Faultless she wes not. We are under no obligsdion to vindicate her imprudent, wilful, and fatal interference with public questions in which she bad no concern; we say nothing of her ignornnce of the high matters of state into which her uninformed zeal conducted her, to the bitter cost of herself and of those she loved dearest on earth; but of her purity, her up- rightness, her beneficence, her devotion, her sweet, playful, happy disposition, in the midst of those~ home endearments, which were to her the true occupatie~i and charm of life, there cannot exist a dowbt. Misfortune fell upon her house. to streigtheu her love and to confirm her piety. persecution, imprisonment, calamity that has never been surpassed, and a dreadful end, which, in its bitterness, has seldom been equalled, found and left her, a meek but perfect heroine. One historian has told us, that as an affectionate daughter and a faithful wife, she preserved in the two most corrupted courts of Europe the simpli- city and affections of domestic life. It is suffi- cient to add, that she ascended the scaffold enjoin- ing her children to a scrupulous discharge of duty, to forgive her murderers, to forget her wrongs; and that her last words on earth were directed to the beloved husband who had preceded her, whose spirit she was eager to rejoin, yet whose bed, if we are to believe my Lord Holland, she had oftener than once defiled. And The Times intimates elsewhere that 24 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. Lord Holland is alone among reputable au- thors in condemning the Queen. How Tue Times regards THOMAS JEFFERSON, we cannot tell, but certainly it is claimed by our democ- racy that he was a witness with a character. Jefferson says of Marie Antoinette: The King was now become a passive machine in the hands of the National Assembly, and had he been left to himselg he would have willingly acquiesced in whatever they should devise as best for the nation. A wise constitution would have been formed, hereditary in his line, himself placed at its head, with powers so large, as to enable him to do all the good of his station, and so limited, as to restrain him from its abuse. This he would have faithfully administered, and more than this, I do not believe, he ever wished. But he had a Queen of absolute sway over his weak mind, and timid virtue, and of a character, the reverse of his in all points. This angel, as gaudily painted in the rhapsodies of Burke, with some smartness of fancy, but no sound sense, was proud, disdainful of restraint, indignant at all obstacles to her will, eager in the pursuit of pleasure, and firm enough to hold to her desires, or perish in their wreck. Her inordinate gambling and dissipations, with those of the Count dArtois, and others of her clique, had been a sensible item in the exhaustion of the treasury, which called into action the re- forming hand of the nation; and her opposition to it, her inflexible perverseness, and dauntless spirit, led herself to the guillotine, drew the King on with her, and plunged the world into crimes and calamities which will for ever stain the pages of modern history. I have ever believed, that had there been no Queen, there would have been no revolution. No force would have been provoked, nor exercised. The King would have gone hand in hand with the wisdom of his sounder counsel- lors, who, guided by the increased lights of the age, wished only, with the same pace, to advance the principles of their social constitution. The deed which closed the mortal course of these sove- reigns, I shall neither approve nor condemn. I am not prepared to say, that the first magistrate of a nation cannot commit treason against his country, or is unamenable to its punishment; nor yet, that where there is no written law, no regu- lated tribunal, there is not a law in our hearts, and a power in our hands, given for righteous employment in maintaining right, and redressing wrong. Of those who judged the King, many thought him wilfully criminal; many, that his ex- istence would keep the nation in perpetual con- flict with the horde of Kings, who would war against a regcneration which might come home to themselves, and that it were better that one should die than all. I should not have voted with this portion of the le~islature. I should have shut up the Queen in a convent, putting harm out of her power, and placed the King in his station, investing him with limited powers, which, I verily believe, he would have honestly exercised, according to the measure of his understanding. In this way, no void would have been created, courting the usur- pation of a military adventurer, nor occasion given for those enormities which demoralized the nations of the world, and destroyed, and is yet to destroy, millions and millions of its inhabitants. A majority of the French authors of the time agree with Mr. Jefferson. HINDOSTANEE NEWSPAPERS: THE FLY- INf~ SHEETS OF BENARES. O NE of the most successful applications of lithographyis in the reproduction of the Hin- dostanee or Persian writing, used in India. It is too irregular and complicated to be repre- sented by ordinary types. Accordingly litho- graphic printing establishments have been set up in the principal cities of India, where Origi- nal works, translations of the ancient tongues of Asia or the modern ones of Europe, as well as newspapers are published. Calcutta, Serampore, Lakhnau, Madras, Bombay, Pou~ nah, were the first cities to have these printing offices, but since then a great number have been established in the north-west provinces, where the Hindostanee is the sole language employed. A year since that part of the country contained twenty-eight offices, which in 1849 produced a hundred and forty-one difie- rent works, while the number of journals was twenty-six, which, with those printed in other provinces, makes about fifty in the native dia- lect, in all Hindostan. XVithin the last year, new establishments and new periodicals haye been commenced. At Benares, the ancient seat of Hindoo learning, where the Brahmins used to resort to study their language and read the vedas and shasters, a new journal is called the & iirin-i Hind (The Flying Sheets of India), making the sixth in that city. It is edited by two Hindoo literati, BhaYrav Pra~d and Har- ban Lal, who had before attempted a purely scientific publication under the title of Mirdt Ulalum (Mirror of the Sciences), which has been stopped. The new paper, of which only three numbers have come to our notice, is pub- lished twice a month, each number having eight pages of small octavo size. The pages are in double columns. The subscription is eight anas, or twenty-five cents a month, or six roupies, or three dollars a year. The paper is divided into two parts, the first literary and scientific, the second devoted to political and miscellaneous intelligence. The first number commences with a rhapsody in verse upon eloquence, by the celebrated national poet Ha~an, of which the following is the Internationals~ transla- tion: Give me to taste, 0 Song, the sweet beverage of eloquence, that precious art which opens the gate of diction. I dream night and day of the benefits of that noble talent. What other can be conipared with it? The sage who knows how to appreciate it, puts forth all his efforts for its ac- quisition. It is eloquence which gives celebrity to persons of merit. The brave ought to esteem elo- quence, for it immortalizes the names of heroes. It is through the science of speaking well that the noble actions of antiquity have come down to us; the language of the ccdam has perpetuated re- markable deeds. What would have become of the names of Rustam, Cyrus, and Afraciab, if elo- quence had not preserved their memory like the recital of a remote dream?. It is by the pearls of elocution that the sweet relations between distant friends are preserved. The study of this sublime art is like a market always filled with buyers. It

24 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. Lord Holland is alone among reputable au- thors in condemning the Queen. How Tue Times regards THOMAS JEFFERSON, we cannot tell, but certainly it is claimed by our democ- racy that he was a witness with a character. Jefferson says of Marie Antoinette: The King was now become a passive machine in the hands of the National Assembly, and had he been left to himselg he would have willingly acquiesced in whatever they should devise as best for the nation. A wise constitution would have been formed, hereditary in his line, himself placed at its head, with powers so large, as to enable him to do all the good of his station, and so limited, as to restrain him from its abuse. This he would have faithfully administered, and more than this, I do not believe, he ever wished. But he had a Queen of absolute sway over his weak mind, and timid virtue, and of a character, the reverse of his in all points. This angel, as gaudily painted in the rhapsodies of Burke, with some smartness of fancy, but no sound sense, was proud, disdainful of restraint, indignant at all obstacles to her will, eager in the pursuit of pleasure, and firm enough to hold to her desires, or perish in their wreck. Her inordinate gambling and dissipations, with those of the Count dArtois, and others of her clique, had been a sensible item in the exhaustion of the treasury, which called into action the re- forming hand of the nation; and her opposition to it, her inflexible perverseness, and dauntless spirit, led herself to the guillotine, drew the King on with her, and plunged the world into crimes and calamities which will for ever stain the pages of modern history. I have ever believed, that had there been no Queen, there would have been no revolution. No force would have been provoked, nor exercised. The King would have gone hand in hand with the wisdom of his sounder counsel- lors, who, guided by the increased lights of the age, wished only, with the same pace, to advance the principles of their social constitution. The deed which closed the mortal course of these sove- reigns, I shall neither approve nor condemn. I am not prepared to say, that the first magistrate of a nation cannot commit treason against his country, or is unamenable to its punishment; nor yet, that where there is no written law, no regu- lated tribunal, there is not a law in our hearts, and a power in our hands, given for righteous employment in maintaining right, and redressing wrong. Of those who judged the King, many thought him wilfully criminal; many, that his ex- istence would keep the nation in perpetual con- flict with the horde of Kings, who would war against a regcneration which might come home to themselves, and that it were better that one should die than all. I should not have voted with this portion of the le~islature. I should have shut up the Queen in a convent, putting harm out of her power, and placed the King in his station, investing him with limited powers, which, I verily believe, he would have honestly exercised, according to the measure of his understanding. In this way, no void would have been created, courting the usur- pation of a military adventurer, nor occasion given for those enormities which demoralized the nations of the world, and destroyed, and is yet to destroy, millions and millions of its inhabitants. A majority of the French authors of the time agree with Mr. Jefferson. HINDOSTANEE NEWSPAPERS: THE FLY- INf~ SHEETS OF BENARES. O NE of the most successful applications of lithographyis in the reproduction of the Hin- dostanee or Persian writing, used in India. It is too irregular and complicated to be repre- sented by ordinary types. Accordingly litho- graphic printing establishments have been set up in the principal cities of India, where Origi- nal works, translations of the ancient tongues of Asia or the modern ones of Europe, as well as newspapers are published. Calcutta, Serampore, Lakhnau, Madras, Bombay, Pou~ nah, were the first cities to have these printing offices, but since then a great number have been established in the north-west provinces, where the Hindostanee is the sole language employed. A year since that part of the country contained twenty-eight offices, which in 1849 produced a hundred and forty-one difie- rent works, while the number of journals was twenty-six, which, with those printed in other provinces, makes about fifty in the native dia- lect, in all Hindostan. XVithin the last year, new establishments and new periodicals haye been commenced. At Benares, the ancient seat of Hindoo learning, where the Brahmins used to resort to study their language and read the vedas and shasters, a new journal is called the & iirin-i Hind (The Flying Sheets of India), making the sixth in that city. It is edited by two Hindoo literati, BhaYrav Pra~d and Har- ban Lal, who had before attempted a purely scientific publication under the title of Mirdt Ulalum (Mirror of the Sciences), which has been stopped. The new paper, of which only three numbers have come to our notice, is pub- lished twice a month, each number having eight pages of small octavo size. The pages are in double columns. The subscription is eight anas, or twenty-five cents a month, or six roupies, or three dollars a year. The paper is divided into two parts, the first literary and scientific, the second devoted to political and miscellaneous intelligence. The first number commences with a rhapsody in verse upon eloquence, by the celebrated national poet Ha~an, of which the following is the Internationals~ transla- tion: Give me to taste, 0 Song, the sweet beverage of eloquence, that precious art which opens the gate of diction. I dream night and day of the benefits of that noble talent. What other can be conipared with it? The sage who knows how to appreciate it, puts forth all his efforts for its ac- quisition. It is eloquence which gives celebrity to persons of merit. The brave ought to esteem elo- quence, for it immortalizes the names of heroes. It is through the science of speaking well that the noble actions of antiquity have come down to us; the language of the ccdam has perpetuated re- markable deeds. What would have become of the names of Rustam, Cyrus, and Afraciab, if elo- quence had not preserved their memory like the recital of a remote dream?. It is by the pearls of elocution that the sweet relations between distant friends are preserved. The study of this sublime art is like a market always filled with buyers. It ORIGINAL POETRY. 25 will remain in the world as long as the ear shall be sensible to harmony, or the heart to persua- sion- This is followed by a sort of prospectus, elegantly written, of course with the oriental ornaments of alliteration and antithesis, in which the editors proclaim the usefulness of instruction to the cause of religion and mo- rdity. These are the ends they have in view in the publication of the new journal, and they appeal to those who approve of their purposes to encourage rather than criticise their efforts. To prove how much easier it is to criticise than to do well the thing criticised, they cite the well known fable of the miller, his son and the ass. In publishing a new periodical, they con- aider that they are merely supplying a want of the public, which desires to be informed as to to passing events, new discoveries in science, the proceedings in lawsuits, & e. This journal will interest all classes of readers, not only people in easy circumstances who live on their income, but merchants and mechanics, who will find in it intelligence of which they stand in need. Those who find in it articles not in their line, are advised not to be vexed thereat, but to reflect that they may be agreeable and useful to others, and that a journal ought to contain the greatest possible variety. For the rest, the editors will thankfully receive such in- formation and suggestions as their friends may choose to give them. Their prospectus con- cludes with a panegyric on the English gov- ~rnment, for favoring education among the natives, saying that not only speculative, but practical knowledge is necessary, as says the poet-philosopher Saadi: Though thou hast knowledge, if thou dost not apply the same, thou art of no more value than the ignorant; thou art like an ass laden with books. Next they give a table of the chain of human knowledge, by way of programme of the sub- jects which will be likely to be discussed in the journal. This is followed by political and miscellaneous news from Persia, Cabul, Bom- bay, Aoude, and Caicutta, and other provinces. Under the last head is a statement of the pre- sent population of the capital of British India, as follows: Europeans, . . . 6,433 Other Asiatits, . 15,342 Georgians, . . . 4,615 Ilindoos 274,335 Armentass, . . . 892 Mussulmans, . 110,918 Chinese, . . . 847 -____ Total 413,182 The second number opens with an article of above five columns, on the inconvenience of not knowing what is taking place, or of know- ing it imperfectly, followed by a second article of two columns on astronomy, and the dis- covery of planets, by way of introduction to an account of the discovery of Parthenope, which took place at Naples the 10th of May last. This is followed by news and advertise- ments of new books, published from the print- ing office of the paper. In the third number there is in the news department an article on the marvellous news from Europe, in which the editors speak of the scientific progress of the Europeans, and the astonishing discoveries which daily occur among them. In this connec- tion they mention a singular experiment tried by a geologist of Stockholm. This savant having found a frog living after having been six or seven years in the ground, without air or food, concluded that men might live in that way for hundreds of years. Accordingly he solicited and obtained from the government~ permission to try it for twenty-five years on a woman aged twenty. This piece of informa- tion is given with satisfaction, and the editors refer to the fact that some years since a faquir appeared at the court of Runjeet Singh, ask- ing to be buried for several days, which was done. When the time arrived he was disin- terred, as much alive as ever. The editors add, that although many Englishmen saw this, they had not believed it, but that this intelligence from Stockholm ought to convince them. The same number contains some remarks on the Ambassador of Nepaul, who was then in Eu- rope. The following is our translation of this article: Jung Bahadur, has thought best to visit Paris, the capital of France, before returning to Indin. The first Indian who visited Paris was R~m Mo- han Roy, who was succeeded by Dwark6nath Thakur and others. But these were not true Hin- duos, of the good school, for they were of the sect of R~m Mohan [who established a sort of philo- sophic religion under the name of Brahma-Sablod, or the Reunion of Deists]. General Jung Ba- hadur, Kunwar, Rdndji, and his brothers are then in reality, the first orthodox Hindoos who have honored Europe with their presence. We do not know how these personages can have followed the prescriptions of the schastars in their passage across the ocean, but we learn by the news from Europe, that they have not taken a single meal with the English, and have neither eaten nor drank with them, though this does not render it certain that they have been free from fault in other respects. It is said beside, that in order to repair every thing, when the Ambassador returns to Nepaul, the King will cast water upon him and thus will purify his pabitra [Brahaminic insignia]. Should this arrangement take place and be adopt- ed in other parts of Hindostan, we can believe that many Hindoos of every class will go to feast their eyes with the marvels of Europe. ~Thtigitud ~ndn~. MUSIC. BY ALFRED B. STREET. li/ruslc, how strange her power! her varied strains lYt Thrill with a magic spell the human heart. She wakens memorybrigt~tens hopethe pains, The joys of being at her bidding start. Now to her trumpet-call the spirit leaps; Now to her brooding, tender tones it iveeps. Sweet music! is she portion of that breath With which the worlds were bornon which they wheel! One of lost Edens tones, eluding death, To make man what is best within him feel l Keep open his else sealed up depths of heart, And wake to active life the better part Of his mixed nature, being thus the tie That links us to our God, and draws us toward the sky!

ORIGINAL POETRY. 25 will remain in the world as long as the ear shall be sensible to harmony, or the heart to persua- sion- This is followed by a sort of prospectus, elegantly written, of course with the oriental ornaments of alliteration and antithesis, in which the editors proclaim the usefulness of instruction to the cause of religion and mo- rdity. These are the ends they have in view in the publication of the new journal, and they appeal to those who approve of their purposes to encourage rather than criticise their efforts. To prove how much easier it is to criticise than to do well the thing criticised, they cite the well known fable of the miller, his son and the ass. In publishing a new periodical, they con- aider that they are merely supplying a want of the public, which desires to be informed as to to passing events, new discoveries in science, the proceedings in lawsuits, & e. This journal will interest all classes of readers, not only people in easy circumstances who live on their income, but merchants and mechanics, who will find in it intelligence of which they stand in need. Those who find in it articles not in their line, are advised not to be vexed thereat, but to reflect that they may be agreeable and useful to others, and that a journal ought to contain the greatest possible variety. For the rest, the editors will thankfully receive such in- formation and suggestions as their friends may choose to give them. Their prospectus con- cludes with a panegyric on the English gov- ~rnment, for favoring education among the natives, saying that not only speculative, but practical knowledge is necessary, as says the poet-philosopher Saadi: Though thou hast knowledge, if thou dost not apply the same, thou art of no more value than the ignorant; thou art like an ass laden with books. Next they give a table of the chain of human knowledge, by way of programme of the sub- jects which will be likely to be discussed in the journal. This is followed by political and miscellaneous news from Persia, Cabul, Bom- bay, Aoude, and Caicutta, and other provinces. Under the last head is a statement of the pre- sent population of the capital of British India, as follows: Europeans, . . . 6,433 Other Asiatits, . 15,342 Georgians, . . . 4,615 Ilindoos 274,335 Armentass, . . . 892 Mussulmans, . 110,918 Chinese, . . . 847 -____ Total 413,182 The second number opens with an article of above five columns, on the inconvenience of not knowing what is taking place, or of know- ing it imperfectly, followed by a second article of two columns on astronomy, and the dis- covery of planets, by way of introduction to an account of the discovery of Parthenope, which took place at Naples the 10th of May last. This is followed by news and advertise- ments of new books, published from the print- ing office of the paper. In the third number there is in the news department an article on the marvellous news from Europe, in which the editors speak of the scientific progress of the Europeans, and the astonishing discoveries which daily occur among them. In this connec- tion they mention a singular experiment tried by a geologist of Stockholm. This savant having found a frog living after having been six or seven years in the ground, without air or food, concluded that men might live in that way for hundreds of years. Accordingly he solicited and obtained from the government~ permission to try it for twenty-five years on a woman aged twenty. This piece of informa- tion is given with satisfaction, and the editors refer to the fact that some years since a faquir appeared at the court of Runjeet Singh, ask- ing to be buried for several days, which was done. When the time arrived he was disin- terred, as much alive as ever. The editors add, that although many Englishmen saw this, they had not believed it, but that this intelligence from Stockholm ought to convince them. The same number contains some remarks on the Ambassador of Nepaul, who was then in Eu- rope. The following is our translation of this article: Jung Bahadur, has thought best to visit Paris, the capital of France, before returning to Indin. The first Indian who visited Paris was R~m Mo- han Roy, who was succeeded by Dwark6nath Thakur and others. But these were not true Hin- duos, of the good school, for they were of the sect of R~m Mohan [who established a sort of philo- sophic religion under the name of Brahma-Sablod, or the Reunion of Deists]. General Jung Ba- hadur, Kunwar, Rdndji, and his brothers are then in reality, the first orthodox Hindoos who have honored Europe with their presence. We do not know how these personages can have followed the prescriptions of the schastars in their passage across the ocean, but we learn by the news from Europe, that they have not taken a single meal with the English, and have neither eaten nor drank with them, though this does not render it certain that they have been free from fault in other respects. It is said beside, that in order to repair every thing, when the Ambassador returns to Nepaul, the King will cast water upon him and thus will purify his pabitra [Brahaminic insignia]. Should this arrangement take place and be adopt- ed in other parts of Hindostan, we can believe that many Hindoos of every class will go to feast their eyes with the marvels of Europe. ~Thtigitud ~ndn~. MUSIC. BY ALFRED B. STREET. li/ruslc, how strange her power! her varied strains lYt Thrill with a magic spell the human heart. She wakens memorybrigt~tens hopethe pains, The joys of being at her bidding start. Now to her trumpet-call the spirit leaps; Now to her brooding, tender tones it iveeps. Sweet music! is she portion of that breath With which the worlds were bornon which they wheel! One of lost Edens tones, eluding death, To make man what is best within him feel l Keep open his else sealed up depths of heart, And wake to active life the better part Of his mixed nature, being thus the tie That links us to our God, and draws us toward the sky! 26 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. Ta a late number of the Archives for Scien- 4/ic Information Concerning Russia, a Rus- sian publication, are some interesting facts upon the colonization of Siberia, and its pre- sent population. It seems that that country began to be settled in the reign of the Czar Alexis Michaclowich, who issued a law re- quiring murderers, after suffering corporeal punishment and three years imprisonment, to be sent to the frontier cities, among which the towns of Siberia were then included. Indeed, under the Empress Elizabeth Petrowna (1741 1761), the whole of Southern Siberia was called the Ukraine. The beginning of regular transportation to Siberia was made by the Czar Theodore Alexeiwich, who ordered in 1679 that malefactors should be sent with their families to settle in Siberia. About this time many serfs escaped to Siberia from ser- vice in Europe, and stringent measures were adopted to reclaim the fugitives, and prevent such an offence from being repeated and con- tinued. In 1760 a ukase was issued permit- ting landlords and communes to send to Sibe- ria, and have entered as recruits, all persons guilty of offences of any kind or degree. In 1822 another ukase allowed the crown serfs of the provinces of Great Russia to emigrate to Siberia, where they became free, a privilege which they still enjoy. The main part of the present inhabitants of the country is composed of the descendants of these coPonists and ex- iles, of the banished Strelitzes, and of the cap- tured Swedes and Poles. The varied habits, customs, creeds, ideas, costumes, and dialects of these motley races have by long contact with each other become reduced to something like unity. The former exfreme rudeness of the people has ~dso of late years undergone a great improvement from the influence of new-coin- ers. Still, however, Siberia is socially any thing but a tolerable country, even in comparison with Russia, and vices which in enlightened lands would be thought monstrous, are not occasions of any astonishment or special re- mark to the mass of the inhabitants. A woiu~ by WILLIAM HUMBOLDT, just pub- lished at Breslau, excites a good deal of atten- tion in Germany. It is called Notions toward an attempt to define the Bou aries of the Ac- tivity of the State. It was written many years ago, at the time when the author was in- timate with Schiller,who took an interest in its preparation, but other engagements pre- vented its being finished. It is now published exactly from the original manuscript, under the editorial care of Dr. Edward Caner. Its doctrinal starting point is found in the nature and destiny of the individual. Its philosophy is essentially that of Kant and Fichte, and is of course liberal in its tendencies, though by no means satisfactory to the democracy of the present day. THE Journal of the Russian Ministry for the Enlightenment of the People, for December last, reports a statement made by Mr. Kauwe- lin to the Russian Geographical Society in the previous September. The Society had re- ceived, by way of reply to an appeal it had is- sued, more than five hundred communications, from various parts of the empire, in relation to the Selavonic portion of the people. These documents, as he said, contain a mass of val- uable information, not only as to ethuography, but also as to Russian archuology and history. He showed by several examples how ancient local myths and traditions reached back into remote antiquity. He proposed the publica- tion of the entire mass of documents, because they enrich history with vivid recollections of the most ancient ante-historic life-experience of which the traditions of the non-Sclavonic portion of Europe have preserved only obscure intimations and vague traces. HERTZ, of Berlin, has just published a book which we think can hardly fail of a speedy reproduction in both English and French. Its title is Erinnerungen aus Paris (Recollections of Paris) 18171848. It is written by a Ger- man lady, who passed these eventful years, or most of them, in the French capital, and here narrates, in a lively and genial style, her ob- servations and experiences. She was con- nected with the haute finance, moved among the lords of the exchange and their followers, and being endowed by nature with remarkable penetration, taste for art, no aversion to poli~. tics, and a genial social faculty, she knew all the more prominent personages of the time in public affairs, society, art, science, and money- making, and brings them before her readers with great success. Louis XVIII. and the members of his family, Talleyrand, Decazes, Courier, Constant, Humboldt, Cuvier, Ma- dame Tallien, De Stacl, Delphine Gay, Gerard, Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn, Liszt, are among the actors whom she introduces in most real and living proportions. Here is a charming speci- men of her skill in portraiture. She is speak- ing of Madame Tallien, then Princess of Chi- may, whom she saw in 1818: She was then some forty years old. Her age could to some extent be arrived at, for it was known that in 1794 she was scarcely twenty, and her full person, inclining to stoutness, showed that the first bloom of youth was gone, but it would be difficult again to find beauty so well pre- served, or to meet with a more imposing ap- pearance. Tall, commanding, radiant, she re- called the historic beauties of antiquity. So one would imagine Ariadne, Dido, Cleopatra; a perfect bust, shoulders2 and arms; white as an ~nimated statue, regular features, flashing eyes, pearly teeth, hair of raven blackness, hers was a mien, speech, and movement, which ravished every beholder. Had we space we might give some longer translations from this interesting volume, for which our readers would thank us, but we must forbear.

26 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. Ta a late number of the Archives for Scien- 4/ic Information Concerning Russia, a Rus- sian publication, are some interesting facts upon the colonization of Siberia, and its pre- sent population. It seems that that country began to be settled in the reign of the Czar Alexis Michaclowich, who issued a law re- quiring murderers, after suffering corporeal punishment and three years imprisonment, to be sent to the frontier cities, among which the towns of Siberia were then included. Indeed, under the Empress Elizabeth Petrowna (1741 1761), the whole of Southern Siberia was called the Ukraine. The beginning of regular transportation to Siberia was made by the Czar Theodore Alexeiwich, who ordered in 1679 that malefactors should be sent with their families to settle in Siberia. About this time many serfs escaped to Siberia from ser- vice in Europe, and stringent measures were adopted to reclaim the fugitives, and prevent such an offence from being repeated and con- tinued. In 1760 a ukase was issued permit- ting landlords and communes to send to Sibe- ria, and have entered as recruits, all persons guilty of offences of any kind or degree. In 1822 another ukase allowed the crown serfs of the provinces of Great Russia to emigrate to Siberia, where they became free, a privilege which they still enjoy. The main part of the present inhabitants of the country is composed of the descendants of these coPonists and ex- iles, of the banished Strelitzes, and of the cap- tured Swedes and Poles. The varied habits, customs, creeds, ideas, costumes, and dialects of these motley races have by long contact with each other become reduced to something like unity. The former exfreme rudeness of the people has ~dso of late years undergone a great improvement from the influence of new-coin- ers. Still, however, Siberia is socially any thing but a tolerable country, even in comparison with Russia, and vices which in enlightened lands would be thought monstrous, are not occasions of any astonishment or special re- mark to the mass of the inhabitants. A woiu~ by WILLIAM HUMBOLDT, just pub- lished at Breslau, excites a good deal of atten- tion in Germany. It is called Notions toward an attempt to define the Bou aries of the Ac- tivity of the State. It was written many years ago, at the time when the author was in- timate with Schiller,who took an interest in its preparation, but other engagements pre- vented its being finished. It is now published exactly from the original manuscript, under the editorial care of Dr. Edward Caner. Its doctrinal starting point is found in the nature and destiny of the individual. Its philosophy is essentially that of Kant and Fichte, and is of course liberal in its tendencies, though by no means satisfactory to the democracy of the present day. THE Journal of the Russian Ministry for the Enlightenment of the People, for December last, reports a statement made by Mr. Kauwe- lin to the Russian Geographical Society in the previous September. The Society had re- ceived, by way of reply to an appeal it had is- sued, more than five hundred communications, from various parts of the empire, in relation to the Selavonic portion of the people. These documents, as he said, contain a mass of val- uable information, not only as to ethuography, but also as to Russian archuology and history. He showed by several examples how ancient local myths and traditions reached back into remote antiquity. He proposed the publica- tion of the entire mass of documents, because they enrich history with vivid recollections of the most ancient ante-historic life-experience of which the traditions of the non-Sclavonic portion of Europe have preserved only obscure intimations and vague traces. HERTZ, of Berlin, has just published a book which we think can hardly fail of a speedy reproduction in both English and French. Its title is Erinnerungen aus Paris (Recollections of Paris) 18171848. It is written by a Ger- man lady, who passed these eventful years, or most of them, in the French capital, and here narrates, in a lively and genial style, her ob- servations and experiences. She was con- nected with the haute finance, moved among the lords of the exchange and their followers, and being endowed by nature with remarkable penetration, taste for art, no aversion to poli~. tics, and a genial social faculty, she knew all the more prominent personages of the time in public affairs, society, art, science, and money- making, and brings them before her readers with great success. Louis XVIII. and the members of his family, Talleyrand, Decazes, Courier, Constant, Humboldt, Cuvier, Ma- dame Tallien, De Stacl, Delphine Gay, Gerard, Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn, Liszt, are among the actors whom she introduces in most real and living proportions. Here is a charming speci- men of her skill in portraiture. She is speak- ing of Madame Tallien, then Princess of Chi- may, whom she saw in 1818: She was then some forty years old. Her age could to some extent be arrived at, for it was known that in 1794 she was scarcely twenty, and her full person, inclining to stoutness, showed that the first bloom of youth was gone, but it would be difficult again to find beauty so well pre- served, or to meet with a more imposing ap- pearance. Tall, commanding, radiant, she re- called the historic beauties of antiquity. So one would imagine Ariadne, Dido, Cleopatra; a perfect bust, shoulders2 and arms; white as an ~nimated statue, regular features, flashing eyes, pearly teeth, hair of raven blackness, hers was a mien, speech, and movement, which ravished every beholder. Had we space we might give some longer translations from this interesting volume, for which our readers would thank us, but we must forbear. AUTHORS AND BOOKS. THE LATEST GERMAN NovELs.Theodore Miigge, who is somewhat known in this country through Dr. Furnesss translation of his novel on Toussaint LOuverture, has published at Ensleben Kirtig Jacobs Letzte Tage (the Last Days of King James), a historical romance, with the English James II. for its hero. The principal characters, that of the King, of Jef- freys, and William of Orange, are drawn suc- cessfully. The critics complain, however, that it lacks continuous interest, and a continuous and connected plot. To understand it, one must have a history of the period at hand to refer to. Miigge is not a great romancer, even for Germany. In politics he is one of those democrats who would yet have a heredi- tary chief at the head of the government. Glimp- ses of this tendency appear in this novel. Ar- nold Ruge has also spent a portion of his en- forced leisure (he is an exile at London) in writing a romance called the Demokrat, which he has published in Germany, along with some previous similar productions, under the title of Revolutions-N avellen. It is full of Ruges keen, logical talent, and on-rushing energy, but is deficient in esthetic beauty and interest. He never forgets the Hegelian dialectics even when he writes novels. Clemens Metternich, and Ludwig Kossuth, by Siegmund Kolisch, is a skilfully done but not great production. Uffo Horn has a new series of tales, which he calls Aus orei Iahrhunderten (From three Centuries.) They are stories of 1690, 1766, and 1844, and are worth reading. Horn seizes with success upon the features of an epoch, but is not so good in depicting individual character. The Freischaren Noveilen (Free- corp Novels) of W. Hamm, are stories of modern warlike life, and are written with point and spirit. Stifter has published the sixth volume of his Studien, which, to those who know this charming off-shoot of the disappear- ing romantic school, it is high praise to say, is as good as any of the former volumes, if not better. Stifter always keeps himself remote from the agitations of the time, and sings his song, and weaves his still and lovely enchant- meats, as if they were not. This new vol- ume contains a complete romance, the Zwei & hwestern (Two Sisters), which cannot be read without touching the inmost heart, while it 4elights the fancy. Spindler has a humor- ous novel, whose hero, a travelling clerk or bagman, meets with a variety of amusing ad- ventures. Like many other books of the comical order, it is tedious when taken in large doses. The reader, at first amused, soon lays it down. Caroline von G6hren ap- pears with a series of Novellen, which receive no great commendation. The Ostergabe (Easter Gift), by Prederica Bremer, which has just appeared in Germany, is spoken of as her best production. It contains pictures of north- ern life, and of those domestic influences which Miss Bremer so delights to glorify. The Ges- sammelte Erzahlungen (Collected Tales) of W. G. von Horn, lately published at Frankfort, are worth the attention of those whose novel reading is not confined to our own language. The style is clear and pleasing, and the char- acters full of truth and naturalness. The Ers- ahlungenaus demVolksleben der Schwerz (Tales of Popular Life in Switzerland) by leremias Gotthelf, also deserves a respectful mention. Gotthelf is a religions moralist, who sets forth the doctrines of virtue, religious trust in God, and the blessed influence of domestic life, in a pleasing and effective manner. DR. ScHAFFNERS Geschichte der Rechtsve?fas- sung Frankreichs ( History of French Law), just published, is noticed with high praise by the Frankfort Oberpostamts Zeitung. The work has just been completed by the publica- tion of the fourth volume, which only confirms the reputation which the earlier portions gained for the author among the jurists of all Europe. Dr. Schaffner, with equal learning and per- spicacity, sets forth the relation of French law, and the changes it has undergone, to the his-. tory of the political institutions of the country. In this respect the work interests a much wider publis than is ordinarily addressed by a juridical treatise. It opens with an account of the conflict between the elements of Roman and German law in France. Then it exposes the establish-. ment of the feudal aristocracy and its contests with the power of the Church; next, the cul- mination of the royal authority, based on a bu- reaucratic administration, its final fall into the hands of the triumphant revolution, and its subjection to the various powers that have sue.. ceeded each other within the last sixty years. The fourth and last volume contains the history of the Constitution, of Law, and of the adminis- tration from the revolution of 1789 to the re- volution of 1848. Dr. Schaffner exhibits in this volume no admiration for the various at- tempts to re-create the State according to ab- stract theories; he goes altogether for moderate progress, gradual reform, and keeping up the relation betweev~ the present and the past. THE fate of BORPLAND, the eminent traveller and naturalist, is a topic of discussion in Ger- many. It seems that in a speech made in the Senate of Brazil, in August last, Count Abran- tes said that Bonpland, after being released from his eighteen years detention in Paraguay, had so far lost the habits and tastes of civiliza- tion that he had settled in a remote corner of Brazil, near Alegrete, in the province of Ri~ Grande da Sol, where he got his living by keep- ing a small shop and selling tobacco, & c., and that he avoided all mention of his former scien- tific labors and reputation. It seems, however, that Bonpland still maintains a correspondence on scientific subjects with his old friend Hiun- boldt, which exhibits no falling off either in his tendencies or powers. On the other hand, some suppose that he does not return to Europe because he has taken an Indian wife, and finds himself happier in the wilderness in her company. 28 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. AN official Russian account of operations in Hungary during 1849 has been published at Berlin, in two volumes. It is by a colonel of the general staff, and gives a detailed narrative of the entire doings of the Russian forces in that memorable campaign. It casts a full light upon the differences between Paskie- wich and Haynau, and accuses the latter, ap- parently not without reason, of the grossest mismanagement. Even his famous march to Szegedin, which has passed for as brilliant and well-planned as it was a successful ma- nmuvre, is not spared. Of course, as regards matters of detail, this writer varies largely from previous statements of the Austrians. THE second volume of Biilaus Secret His- tory and Mysterious Individuals has just been published by Brockhaus at Leipzic. The first volume was published at the beginning of last year, and has been made known to American readers by an interesting review of it in Black- ,u,ood~s Magazine, accompanied by copious ex- tracts. It is undeniable that Professor Billan has had access to materials unknown to pre- vious writers, which he has used with lauda- ble conscientiousness, to clear up many ob- scure points in history, and to explain the mo- tives of many persons whose actions have been wondered at but not understood. A WORK of some pretensions has just been published at Stuttgart, with the title, Italiens Zukunft (Italys Future), by FR. K6LLE, who gives in it the fruit of seventeen years re- sidence in the country he treats of. He begins with the original elements composing the Ro- manic Naticns, and goes on to consider the state of the country at the time of the Revolu- tion, the doings of the French, the Restoration, the cities, commerce and navigation, the nobles, the peasantry, the Church, monastical religious orders, the Jesuits, possibility of Church re- form, foreign influence, intellectual and scien- tific activity, Mazzini, prospects in case of a future revolution, & c. A GERMAN translation of selections from the works of Dr. CHANNING is being published at Berlin. There are to be fifteen small volumes, of which six or seven have already appeared. The Grenzboten does not think much of the author, but classes him with Schleiremacher and his school. It says that Dr. Channing was a special favorite with women, which it seems not to intend for a compliment. M. FLOURENS, one of the perpetual secreta- ries of the French Academy of Science, has published at Paris a collection of elegant and valuable essays. They comprise a disserta- tion on George Cuvier, one on Fontenelle, who is said to have best succeeded in casting on the sciences the light of philosophy, and an examination of phrenology, which M. Flon- rens discusses in the spirit of a disciple of Descartes and Leibnitz. JACQUES ARAGO, author of Souvenirs dun Aveugle (A Voyage Round the World), & c., and brother of the astronomer and ex-minister, is one of the most remarkable characters of Paris. He is stone blind, and has been so for years; and yet he placed himself at the head of a band of gold seekers, and conducted them to California. Recently he returned to Paris, with little goldindeed, with none at allbut in his voyage lie met some extraordinary ad- ventures, and is about to communicate theta to the public in a volume. Jacques Arago is eminent in Paris not more for his abilities as a man of letters than for his fastidiousness, de- votion, and success as a rout. If Love is some- times blind, he is keen-sighted for the sightless Arago, who boasts of having loved and been loved by the most beautiful women of France. THE military history of the Napoleonic pe- riod has received a new contribution in the War of 1806 and 1807, just published at Ber- lin, by Col. Hdpfner, in two volumes. It is prepared from documents in the Prussian ar- chives, and illustrated with maps and plans of battles. Not only does it add to our previous stock of information as to the military opera- tions in Germany during these eventful years, but it serves at the same time as a history of the dissolution of that state which Frederic the Great erected with such labor and persever- ance. We have here, in short, a picture of the downfall of the old Prussian military-system. A NEW work on FRENCH HISTORY during the middle ages is La France au temps des Groisades, by M. Vaublanc, which has lately made its appearance at Paris, in four hand- some octavo volumes. It is the fruit of long and conscientious researches, and is written in a style of seductive elegance. The author is no dry chronicler, or plodding statician, but an artist, fully alive to the picturesqueness of his topic. He carries his reader with him into the time and the scenes he describes, and makes him a participant in the romantic and adventurous life of the period. His book is thus as entertaining as it is instructive. A CONvENIENT book of reference for those who deal with the more recondite and interest- ing questions of history is the Statistique des Peuplesde lAntiquiti, by M. Morean de Jonn~s, just published at Paris. It is a work of great erudition and even originality. All sorts of facts as to the social condition of the Egyptians, Hebrews, Greeks, Romans, and Gauls, may be gathered from it. Another new work of a similar character is entitled Du Probleme de Ia Mis& e et de sa solution cites tous les Peuples Anciens et Mo~ernes, by M. Morean Christophe. Two volumes only have been published; a third is to follow. Price $1 50 a volume. A TRANSLATION of MCULLOCHS Principles of Political Economy has appeared at Paris, in four vols. 8vo. The translator is M. A. Planche. AUTHORS AND DOORS. Louis VIARDOT has published in Paris a Hisloire des Arabes et des Mores dEspagne. The excellent translator of Don Qui.xote ought to produce a striking work on this subject. The Count ALBERT DE CIacoTaT, too, has published a new edition of his Histoire des iliores Mudejiares et des Morisques; ou des Arabes dEspagne sous la domination des Chr~- liens. Few topics in history have been until recently so much neglected as that of the Moorish races in Europe, and a good deal of what has appeared on the subject has been put together rather with a view to romantic ef- fect than with a proper respect for the respon- sibility of the historian; though all Spanish history, Christian or Saracen, so abounds in romantic interest that there is less excuse, as less necessity, for outstepping the limits of truth, or giving undue prominence to the pa- thetic and marvellous. From this defect of most of his predecessors, the work of the Count de Circourt is in a great measure free. He has made a dexterous nnd conscientious use of the materials within his reach, and pro- duced a work which unites to an unusual de- gree popularity of style with matter of great novelty and interest. There are few specta- cles in modern times more attractive, or hith- erto more imperfectly understood, than the condition of the Spanish Moors, from the time when they became a subject race, until their final expulsion from Europe in 1610. The reason why more attention has not been given to this subject, must be looked for in the fact that the expelled people were Mahometans, and that they took refuge in Africa, not in Europe. They had not, as the Protestants of France had, an England, Holland, and Ger- many to sympathize with and shelter theta; though, taking it with all its consequences, the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes was not a more important event in history, or more preg- nant with injury to the power that enforced it, than the expulsion of the Moors from Sp~iin. In folly and perversity the last transaction has pre-eminence. Louis XIV. revoked the Edict of Nantes, when he and his empire were at the summit of their power; but Philip Ill. chose the luckless moment for expatriating the most energetic and industrious of the inhabi- tants of Spain, when the virtual acknowledg- inent of the independence of the Dutch, and the concession to them of free trade to India, now assailed the prestige of Spanish suprem- acy in Europe, and the commerce of Portugal, at that time subject to Spain. From that hour the Peninsula declined with unexampled ra- pidity; and though, in course of time, the pro- gress of decay became less marked, it was not finally arrested until two centuries after, when the invasion of Napoleon re-awakened Spanish energies, and freed them from the trammels which had impeded their development. Two centuries of degradation are a heavy penalty for a nation to pay for pride and intolerance; though not heavier than Spanish perfidy and cruelty to the Moors most richly deserved. In vOL 111.NO. i.3 accordance with his design of treating of the Moors as a subject race, the Count de Circourt has given only a brief summary of their early history when they were ascendant in Spain. With the rise of the Christian and decline .f the Mahometan power, the subject is more minutely, but still succinctly treated, the four centuries from the capture of Toledo to that of Granada being comprised in the first vol- ume. The two remaining volumes are occu- pied exclusively with the historyof the Moors from the overthrow of Grenada to their final expulsion from Spain. The various efforts made to convert and control them, and their struggles to regain their independence and preserve their faith, are copiously treated, but a subject so peculiar and hitherto so unjustly neglected, needed early discussion. We know not where the character of that worst species of oppression, where the antagonism of race is aggravated by differences of creed, can be so advantageously studied as in this portion of Spanish history. Nor is the early history~ when the Moors, still a powerful people, were treated with comparative consideration by their antagonists, deficient in traits of the highest interest, and lessons which oppressors of th~ present day would do well to lay to heart. We observe that M. de Circourt agrees very nearly with Madame Anita George (whose views upon the subject we recently noticed in The International) respecting Queen Isabella. He says: The Spaniards speak only with enthusiasm of this Princess. They place her in the rank of their best monarchs, and history, adopting the popular judgment, has given her the title of Great. If we consider merely the grandeur of the fabric she erected, the appellation will appear merited; if its solidity had been taken into consideration, her reputation must have suffered. Nations in general make more account of talents than of the use that has been made of them. They reserve for princes favored by fortune the homage which they ought to pay to good and honest princes, who have ex- ercised paternal rule. They deify him who knowi how to subjugate them. Thus it happens in all countries thatthe king who has established absolute monarchy is styled the great king. But it hap- pens often that such founders have built up the present at the expense of the future. In Spain absolute monarchy sent forth for a time a formida- ble lustre, and then came suddenly a protracted period of progressive decay, which ended in the revolutions of which we have been witnesses. Barrcn glory, shameful prostration, interminable and possibly fruitless revolution, are all the work of Isabella. This is very different from the estimate of Mr. Prescott, but perhaps more just. In his forthcoming Memoirs of the Reign of Philip the & cond, Mr. Prescott will have to trace the results of Spanish policy toward the Moors. We shall compare his views with those ot MM. Circourt and Viardot. M. DE VILLEMERQIJE hastranslated the PeA v~w des Bardes Bretms du VI. Sieicle, and the book is praised by the French critics. 30 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINR Louis PrnLIrrEs last apology for his policy as King of the French has just made its ap- pearance at Paris, and justly excites attention. It is a pamphlet written by M. Edward be- moine, and bears the title of Labdication du roi Louis Philippe racconteti par lui m6me. It is the report of a series of conversations which M. Lemoine had with the deceased King during the month of October, 1849, and which he was authorized to give to the world after his death. The writer gives every thing in the words of Louis Philippe, as they were uttered either in reply to questions or spontaneously in reference to the topics under discussion. The exiled monarch defends his conduct in every particular with ingenuity and force, dwelling especially on his abdication, on his refusal to yield to the opposition and admit the demanded~ reform, which brought on the revo- lution, on his abandoning Paris with so little effort at resistance, on his peace policy, and on the Spanish marriages. He denies emphati- eally that he or his family had thought of or undertaken any conspiracy with a view to re- covering the throne. His children, he said, had been taught that when their country spoke they must obey, and that the duty of a patriot was to be ready, whatever she might command. This they had understood, and in all cases practised. Accordingly they had always been, and always would be strangers to intrigues. As for his persistence in keeping the Guizot ministry, that was commanded by every con- stitutional principle. That ministry had a ma- jority in the Chambers as large even as that whhih overthrew Charles X.; how then should the King interfere against this majority? Be- sides, had not what happened since February demonstrated that he was right? The policy of every government since June, 1848, had resembled, as nearly as could be conceived, the very policy of the ministry so much and so unjustly complained of. Guizot had in fact promised reform. He had said that the instant the Chambers should yote against him he would retire, and the first measure of his successors would be reform. As for himself, said Louis Philippe, he had understood that this was only a pretext. Re- form would be the entrance on power of the opposition, the entrance of the opposition would be war, would be the beginning of the end. Accordingly he had determined to abdicate as ~oon as the opposition assumed the reins of government; for he no longer would be him- self supported by public opinion. The want of this support it was which finally caused him to abandon the throne without resistance. He could not have kept it without civil war. For this he had always felt an insurmountable hor- ror, and hehad never regretted that in Febru- ary Marshal Bugeaud had so soon ordered the firing to stop. Besides, nobody advised him to defend himself, but the contrary. He had then nothing to do but to follow the example of his ministers who had abdicated, of his friends who had abdicated, of the national guard who had abdicated, of the public con- science which had abdicated. He did not take this step till after the universal abdication. But if he had fought and lost, and died fighting, who could tell the horrors that would have ensued? Or if he had triumphed, all France would have exclaimed against him as sangui. nary and selfish, a bad prince, a scourge to the nation,and ere many months a new insurrection would have made an end. Victory would have been more disastrous than exile. He had done well to abdicate, and were the crisis to recur, he would not act otherwise. He had aban- doned power (of which he was accused of be- ing so greedy) as soon as he understood that he could no longer hold it to the advantage of his country. As for the charge of avarice, that was abun- dantly disproved by the publication of the man- ner in which he had employed the civil list, and by the fact that he was covered with debts. He had spent like a King without counting, and now that he had to pay he was obliged to borrow. And it is rather curious, said he, that the furniture employed in the festivals of the Republican President of the Assembly is my personal property, and that the horses and car- riages of which so free use has been made, had been paid for from my own purse. This however, was a trifle not worth speaking of. If he had suffered from falsehoods printed in the journals, print had however done him justice in giving to the world his private let- ters. These had set right his private charac- ter as well as his public policy. He only wished that those papers had all been pub- lished, and published more widely. They did more for the glorification of his policy than the speeches of his most eloquent ministers. They proved that his had never been a policy of peace at any price. He had besieged Ant- werp without the consent of England; he had sent an army to Ancona, though Metternich had declared that a Frenchman in Italy would be war in Europe. His government had al- ways acted boldly and firmly, and had been respected. Why, only a few weeks before February, the great powers of Europe had asked of France to settle with her alone, and without consulting England, some of the questions which might compromise the equi- librium of Europe. Such was the considera- tion in which France was then held. As to the Spanish marriages, that w~s all done in the interest of France, and not, as had been charged, of his dynasty. If the latter were the thing he had aimed at, would he have re- fused the crown of Belgium, or of Greece, or of Portugal, for Nemours? Would he have refus- ed the hand of Isabella for Aumale or Montpen- sier? No; he merely sought to render his country independent of England, and not her dupe. The enhente cordiale in the hands of Lord Palmerston was becoming treacherous. He recollected the saying of Metternich, that the alliance of France and England was use- ful, like the alliance of man and horse. He AUTHORS AND BOOKS. 81 determined to be the man, and by those mar- riages accomplished it. There was already a Cobourg in Belgium, one in England, and one in Portugal; could France allow another to be set up in Spaia So far the conversations of Louis Philippe relate to matters of his own history. From this he was led to speak briefly of Charles X., and things preceding the downfall of that prince. For this we must re- fer our readers to the pamphlet itself, which will doubtless be imported by some of our booksellers, if not soon translated into En- glish and published entire. It cannot be read without interest. We give its substance above, without thinking it necessary to criti- cise any of the statements of the exiled prince. M. ATJDIN, a French historian, whose histo- ries of Leo X., Luther, Calvin, and Henry VIII., are known to those who have sought an acquaintance with the Catholic view of those personages and their times, died on the 21st February, in his carriage, near Avignon. He was returning to Paris from Rome, where he had been to finish a new work, and to recover his health, which intense devotion to study had undermined. His expectations were not realized, and he returned to his own country to expire before reaching his home. At Mar- seilles, where he landed, the physicians dis- suaded him from attempting to go further, but he refused to be guided by their advice. The works of Audin have been much read in this country. They are singularly unscrupulous. THE Imperial Academy of Sciences at Vi- enna has just published an essay by the emi- nent Spanish scholar Ferdinand Wolf, which justly excites attention in the learned circles of Europe. It is on a collection of Spanish romances which exists in manuscript in the library of the University at Prague. Among these are many which are found in no other collection, and have hitherto remained un- known. Some of them, relating to the Cid, are very remarkable. They make a hundred romances discovered by Wolf, whose former collection (Rosa de Romances), published in 1846, and whose work on the romance-poetry of the Spaniards, are known to all students of that kind of literature. A HEW weekly journal, under the title of Le Bien-Etre Universel (The Universal Well- Being), appeared at Paris on the 24th Febru- ary. It advocates Girardins idea of the abo- lition of taxes, and the support of the govern- ment by the assumption by the latter of the whole business of insurance. Among the contributors are Victor lingo, Eugene Sue, Francois Vidal, E. Quinet, Alphonse Esquiros, and Eugene Pelletan. It is published in quar- to form, of the largest size permitted by the law, at $1 20 a year, and furnishes, in addi- tion to its political and economical articles, a full summary of news, political, commercial, literary, and miscellaneous. THE Revue Briltanique has some interest- ing facts as to the English book trade. It says: The great booksellers, like Longman & Murray, must be encouraged by the result of the speculations ventured on by the book- sellers of Paris. Is it not wonderful that ar- ticles from reviews, which one would suppose would lose their interest in the course of time, and which have been circulated in the Edinburgh or Quarterly to the extent of ten thousand or twelve thousand copies, should be sold in reprints at a high price, and live through two, three, or even six editions l The articles of Macaulay are going through the sixth edition, although the book costs a pound sterling. Of Macaulays History of England Longman has sold between 20,000 and 30,000 copies, and Thirlwalls and Grotes Histories of Greece, though they have not the same imme- diate, exciting interest, sell well, notwithstand- ing they are so long. Mures and Talfourds Histories of Greek literature are put forth in new editions. The reviews, instead of injur- ing the sale of solid works, increase it. Oc- casional books, like travels, biographies, & c., naturally have their public interest, but most of them are sold at half price withiti three months of their appearance. At Lon- don there are circulating libraries which lend out books, not only in the city itself, but all over England: the railroads have extended their business very greatly. In order to sat- isfy as many customers as possible, they buy some works by hundreds. For instance, sueh a circulating library has two hundred copies of Macaulays History, a hundred of Layards Nineveh, a hundred of Cummings hunting ad~. ventures, and so on. When the first excite- ment about a book is over, these extra copies are put into handsome binding and disposed of for half price. The system of cheap pub- lishing has not yet much affected the circiilat.. ing libraries in England, while in this country it has destroyed them. Books can be bought here now for the former cost of reading them. A BOOK worthy of all commendation is the Histoire des Protestants de France, from the Reformation to the present time, by M. G. de Felice, published at Paris. The author treats his subject with all that peculiar talent which renders French historians always interesting and instructive. He is clear, forcible, judi- cious, and profound, without pedantry or sec- tarian zeal. The action of his story is dra- matic, the delineation of his characters as glowing as it is just, and his sympathie~ so true and generous, and at the same time so tolerant, that the reader follows him atten- tively from the beginning to the end. The Huguenots were worthy of such a historian, for though persecuted for their opinions, they never ceased to love their country, or to wish to live at peace with their enemies and serve her. Rarely has a body of men produced no- bler characters. This book fills a vacuum in French history. THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. MODERN GREEK LITERATURE is by no means so wild and imperfect as might be ex- pected from a nation in such a chaotic and un- cultivated condition. The people of Greece are hardly more civilized than the Servians, the Dalmatians, or any other of the half-sav- age tribes that inhabit the south-eastern cor- ner of Europe, but the influence exercised by the antique glory of the land still remains to develop among them a degree of artistic pow- er and beauty unknown to their neighbors. And little as Greece has gained generally from the introduction of German royalty and German office-holders, it has no doubt profited by the greater attention thus excited toward the works of the mighty poets who stand alone and unharmed after all else that their times produced has fallen into ruin. Thus, since the incoming of the Bavarians there has been growing up a disposition in favor of the early literature, and against the newer and less elegant forms of the modern language. The purification of the latter, and its restora- tion to something like the old classical perfec- tIon, the abandonment of rhyme, which is the universal form of the proper new Greek verse, and even the employment of the ancient my- thological expressions, are the characteristic aims of some of the most gifted of living Hel- lene writers. In this way there are two dis- tinct classes of cotemporaneous literature to be found in the Peninsula; the one consists of these somewhat reactionary and romantic lovers of the past, the other of the fresh, native products of the people, independent as far as possible of antiquity, and altogether unaffected by learned studies. The latter is mainly ly- ric in its character, and has often a wild beau- ty, which is none the less attractive because it is purely natural. These songs deal more with nature than those of the Sclavonic tribes, with which Mrs. Robinson has made us so well acquainted. The brooks, the hills, the sky, the birds, appear in them, and for hu- man interest, some adventurous Klepht, some fighting and dying robber, is brought upon the scene. The best of the Roinaic literature is no doubt the dramatic. This is natural, for the Greeks are still a representative and dramatic people. Until comparatively lately the poets confined themselves, if not to modern sub- jects, at least to the modern genius of their language. Their dramas were written in rhyme, and with a total disregard of the an- tique principles of rhythm. Quantity was sup- planted by following the accents, and the ex- terior of the piece was more that of a French play than like the drama of any other nation. The specimen of this style most accessible to American students is the Aspasia of Rizos, published in Boston some twenty years ago, a tragedy, by the way, well worth reading. Rut latterly, the antique tendency prevailing, plays are written in the old measures, and with~ all the old machinery. this is in fact a revo- lutionary proceeding, but we hope may not be without its use, for Greece is not now rich enough to make useless experiments. One of these plays has been translated into German, and thus made accessible to those of the read- ers of that language whose studies have not reached into the musical Romaic. It is called The Wedding of Kuirulis, an Aristophanic Comedy, by Alexandros Rhisos Rhangawis. The form used by the great Athenian satir- ist is perfectly reproduced, and an original and hearty wit is not wanting. The Aristophanic dress is justified by the poet in some lines which we thus render into the rudeness of English: Though he trimeters boldly arranges together, and aaapnsts weaves with each other, T is not weakness in words that compels him, nor fear at the rhymes double ringing; In spans he can syllables harness with skill, as a fledgling should do of the muses, And where thoughts and poetic ideas there are none, words can heap up in tct and 4EL, But mid the verdure of laurels eternally green, andby Cas- talys ever pure fountains, There found he all broken and voiceless the pipe that, in rage at these poets profaning, At these now-a-d y sons of Marsyas, the nohle old Muse had flung from her. The subject and story of this comedy are drawn from the actual life of the people. Spyros, a tavern-keeper in Athens, has promised his daugh- ter Anthusia to Kutrulis, a rich tailor. The young ladys notions are however above tailors; her hus- band must wear epaulettes and orders. If Ku- trulis wants herhand, he must become minister. He despairs at first, but as others have become minis- ters, there is a chance for him. Accordingly, the needful intrigues and solicitations are set on foot. The strophe of the chorus by the sovereign public is too characteristic and too Attic for us not to try to render it, though perhaps only the few who have dipped in the well of the antique drama can ap- preciate it: 0 muse of the billiard room, Thou that from mochas odor-pouring steam, And from the ringlets, white-curling from pipes on high Thine inspiration drawest, of venal sort l Heres a new minister must be appointed now. Up and strike the praising striogs l Up, 0 muse of the mobs grace, Put ferib in the rosy pages of newspapers Dithyrambic articles! The hero praise aloud l To succeed in his ambition, Kutrulis must choose a party with which to identify himself. Ac- cordingly the Russian, the British and the French parties, the three into which Greek public men are divided, are introduced, and each urges the reasons why he should become its partisan. This gives the poet an admirable opportunity for the use of satire, which he improves excellently. Ku- trulis pledges himself to each of these candidates for his support, but mean while his friends have spread the report that he has actually been ap- pointed minister. Now the swarm of office-seek- ers and speculators of all sorts come to solicit his favor and exhibit their own corruption. This part of the drama is treated with keen effect. While the report of his appointment is believed by him- self and others, Kutrulis marries the scheming Anthusia, who presently wakes from her illusion to find that she is only a tailors wife after all. She declares that by way of revenge she will compel her husband to give her a new dress every week, and the piece ends to the amusement of every body. 8$ AUTHORS AND BOOKS. M. PLANCRE, the oldest Professor and the most learned Grecian at Paris, has just issued the first number of a Dictionnaire du Style poltique dans la Langue Grecque. This dic- tionary is in fact a concordance of Greek, Latin, and French poetry. It offers a complete and curious illustration of the origin and growth of figurative words and phrases, and of their trans- fer from one language to another. The word anchor, for instance, was one of the earliest among the Greeks, a marine people, to take on a metaphorical sense. We see this even in Pindar, who speaks of his heroes as casting anchor on the summit of happiness. M. Planche follows this typical use of the word in Virgil, in Ovid, and in Racine, the last of whom says in the Pleaders: Natheless, gentlemen, The anchor of your goodness us assures. To the curious student of words and their internal senses this Dictionary is evidently a book worth having. M. ELLiS REGNAULT has undertaken to con- tinue the Dacc Ans of Louis BLANC, in the shape of liHistoire de Huit Ans 184048. Few works had ever so powerful an influence as Blancs Ten Years. The events of the eight years of which Regnault proposes ahistory were in no inconsiderable degree fruits of this work. MR. HALLAM, on the 13th of February, sent a letter to the Society of Antiquaries, in Lon- don, announcing in consequence of his recent bereavement, he wished at the next anniversa- ry to relinquish the office of Vice-President, which he had filled for the last thirty years; having been a member of the Society for more than half a century, and having during that period contributed many papers to its transac- tions. A resolution was proposed by Mr. Payne Collier, seconded by Mr. Bruce, express- ive of respect for Mr. Hallam, sincere sym- pathy with his afflictions, and sorrow at his retirement. In a subsequent letter, Mr. Hal- lam stated that he should continue to be a mem- ber of the Society. GENERAL Sin WILLIAM NAIIER has pub. lished a new edition of his History of the War in the Peninsulathe best military history in the English languageand in his new preface he states that he is indebted to Lady Napier, his wife, not only for the arrangement and trans- lation of an enormous pile of official corres- pondence, written in three languages, but for that which is far more extraordinary, the elu- cidation of the secret ciphers of Jerome Bona- parte and others. IN a recent number of The International we printed a poem by Charles Mackay, entitled Why this Longing? without observing that it was a plagiarism from a much finer poem by Harriet Winslow List, of Portland, which may be found in The Female Poets of America, page 354. A DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE of the books and pamphlets educed by the reinstitution of the Roman Catholic Hierarchy in England, would be a very entertaining work. It is astonishing how active the English become in pamphleteering when any such engrossing subject comes before the people or the parlia- ment. The Duke of Sussex carefully pre- served every thing in this shape that was printed during the discussion of Catholi& Emancipation, and after his death we purchas- ed his collection, which amounted to about seventy thick volumes, and includes autograph certificates of presentation from Peter Plim- ley, and perhaps a hundred other combat- ants. The present discussions will be not less voluminous, and it promises to be vastly more entertaining. The matter of the holy chair of St. Peter, with the Mohammedan inscription, upon which the zerd antique Lady Morgan has published two or three letters as witty and pungent as ever came from the pen of an Irish- woman, will afford pleasant material for the last chapter of her ladyships memoirs. War- ren, the author of Ten Thousand a Year, Dr. Twiss, the biographer of Eldon, Dr. George Croly, the poet, Walter Savage Landor, and Sheridan Knowles, the dramatist, are among the more famous of the disputants on the Protestant side. The author of Virginius professes to review Archbishop Wisemans lectures on Transubstantiation, and the Lite- rary Gazette says he thoroughly demolishes that dogma, which, however, no one supposes that any Romanist of education and common sense believes. It is understood on all hand~ that whatever defence or explanation is offer. ed, is only for the sake of affording plausible apology to the vulgar for a dogma which the infallibility of the church requirest6 be na- changeabfy retained. The reply of the phi- losophical churchman, populus zult decipi et decipiatur, is that which many a priest would give if privately pressed on the subject. The Literary Gazette makes a very common but very absurd mistake, for whichno Roman Catho- lic would thank him. The church does main- tain the doctrine, and the most philosophical churchman would be dealt with in a very sum- mary manner if he should publicly deny it. The Literary Gazette adds that Knowles dis- plays complete mastery of the principles and familiarity with the details of the controversy,~~ which we can scarcely believe upon the Ga- zettes testimony until it evinces for itself a lit- tie more knowledge of the matter. The only one of these works that has been reprinted in this country is Landors, which we receive from Ticknor,Reed & Fields, of Boston R. H. HORNE, the dramatist, and author of Orion,upon which his best reputation is like- ly to resthas just published in London The Dreamer and the Worker, in two volumes. Mr. ROEBUCK, the radical member of Parlia- ment, is continuing his History of the Whigs. g4 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. IT is not be denied that Miss MARTINEATJ is one of the cleverest women of our time; deaf- ness and ugliness have induced her to culti- vate to the utmost degree her intellectual fac- ulties, and several of her books are illustrations of a mind even masculine in its power and ac- tivity; but the constitutional feebleness, way- wnrdness, and wilfulness of woman is never- theless not unfrequently evinced by her, and as she grows older the infirmities of her nature are more and more conspicuous; vexed with neglect, without the kindly influences of home or friendship, without the consolations or hopes of religion, she seems now ambitious of atten- tion only, and willing to sacrifice every thing womanly or respectable to attract to herself the eyes of the worldthe last thing, in her case, one would think desirable. In the book she has just publishedLetters on Mans Na- ture and Development, by Harriet Martineau and H. G. Atkinsonshe avows the most pos- itive and shameless atheism: Christians have had little regard for Pagan deitiesshe will have as little for theirs! The sun rose yester- day; the fishes still swim in the sea; all the world goes on as before; but she cares not a fig for any deities, Christian or paganand dont believe a word of the immortality of the soul! In this new book, of which she is the chief author, the interlocutors place implicit credence in all the phenomena of mesmerism, and they cannot believe there is any thing in mans be- ing or existence or conscience beyond what the senses reach, beyond what the scalpel discloses in the brain. They trace acts and motions ?nd even inclinations to the brain, and deny ~ha~ there is or can be any thing in contact which can influence it. Cerebrum et pra~terea nihil is their motto. The book is the apotheo- sis of that lump of marrow and fibre. And yet this brain, which is so jealously guarded from any spiritual or immaterial influence, is declared to be completely under the direction of any man or woman who may pass a hand, with faith, backwards and forwards over the skull. The extremities of the bodythe fin- gerssend forth and radiate certain electric, or galvanic, or invisible influences, and thus one has full power over anothers organization and volition! But as to any influence beyond the sensible world, that Miss Martinean stoutly denies. The following passage is not an unin- teresting specimen of this Coolish production: I observed that under the influence of mes- merism some patients would spontaneously place their hand, or rather the ends of their fingers, on that part of the brain in action; and these were persons wholly ignorant of phrenology. In some cases the hand would pass very rapidly from part to part, as the organs became excited. If the habit of action was encouraged, they would fol- low every combination with precision: and if one hand would not do they would use both to cover distant parts in action at the same time. I was delighted with their effects; but did not consider them very extraordinary, because I had been ac- customed to observe the same phenomena, in a lesser degree, in the ordinary or normal condition. I know some, who on any excitement of their love of approbation, will rub their hand over the organ immediately. Others, I have observed, when ir- ritated, pass the hand over destructiveness. I have observed others hold their hand over the re- gion of the attachments, as they gazed on the ob- ject of t.heir affections. I have watched the poet inspired to write with the fingers pressing on the region of ideality, and those listening to music leaning upon the elbow, with the fingers pressing on the organ of music; and I catch myself per- forming these actions continually, as if I were a puppet moved by strings. You will observe, be- sides, how the head follows the excited organ. The proud man throws his head back; the fine man carries his head erect; vanity draws the head on one side, with the hat on the opposite side; the intellect presses the head forward; the affections throw it back on the shoulders; and so with the rest. THE Right Honorable Sir JOHN CAM lion- HOU5E is created a peer with the title of Baron Broughton de Gyfford, in the county of Wilts. His fame in literature has long been lost, in England, in his reputation as a politician; but in this country we know him only as rather a clever man of letters. His most noticeable works that we remember, are, A Journey through Albania, in 1809, Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, The State of Literature in Italy, and two volumes entitled Letters from Paris during the last Reign of Napoleon. His lordship must be in the vicin- ity of seventy-five years of age. OF Jusrus there is still another book though many good libraries contain not so many volumes as have been written upon the subjectand the journals have almost every month some new contributions to the mystery, increasing the accumulation by which the face of the author is hidden. The last work is en- titled Fac-simile Autograph Letters of Junius, Lord Chesterfield and Mrs. C. Dayrolles, show- ing that the wife of Mr. Solomon Dayrolles was the amanuensis employed in copying the letters of Junius for the printer; with a Post- script to the first Essay on Junius and his Works: by William Cramp, author of The Philosophy of Language.~ Tux Passions of the Human Soul, by Charles Fourier, translated from the French by the Rev. John Reynell Morell, with critical anno- tations, a biography of Fourier, and a general introduction, by Hugh Doherty, has been pub- lished by Baliere of London (and of Fulton- street, New-York),in two octavos. This is one of Fouriers greatest works, and the attention given to his principles of society in this country will secure for it many readers here. THOMAS COLLEY GHATTAN, the author of Highways and By-ways, Jacqueline of Holland, & c., and a few years ago, British Consul at Boston, is coming to this country to give lec- tures. He will not be very successful. AUTHORS AND BOORS. THE POEMS OF ALARIC A. WATTS, lately published in London, in a very sumptuous edi- tion,though some of the plates have an old- ish lookare much commended in nearly all the reviews, and civilly treated even by Fraser, who once described Watts as a fellow of some talent in writing verses on children dying of colic, and a skill in putting together fiddle-fad- dIe fooleries, which look pretty in print; in other respects of an unwashed appearance; no particular principles, with well-bitten nails, and a great genius for back-biting. Watts some twenty years since had a controversy with Robert Montgomery who wrote Satan, in such a manner as very much to please his hero (a difficult task in biography), and one of the sub- jects of protracted and sharp discussion con- cerned the names of the disputants. Watts maintained that the author of Hell, Woman, Satan, & c., was the son of a clown at Bath, named Gomery; and in return Montgomery, who, allowing that as Watts was the lawfully begotten son of a respectable nightman of the name of Joseph Watts, he had a fair title to the patronymic, denied that he had any claim to the gothic appellation of Alaric. The man~s name, said Montgomery, is Andrew. This was a great while ago, and the quarrels of the time are happily forgotten. Watts is now fifty-seven years old, and age has sobered him, and given him inerease of taste, both as to scandal and to writing verses. There are some extremely pretty things in this book (which may be found at Putnams). THE STOWE MSS., including the unpublish- ed diaries and correspondence of George Gren- ville, have been bought by Mr. Murray. The diary reveals, it is said, the secret movements of Lord Butes administration, the private his- tories of Wilkes and Lord Chatham, and the features of the early madness of George III.; while the correspondence exhihits Wilkes in a new light, and reveals (what the Stowe pa- pers were expected to reveal) something of moment about Junius. The whole will form about four volumes, and will appear among the next winters novelties. THE copyrights, steel plates, wood-cuts, ste- reotype plates, & c. of Walter Scotts works, and of his life, by Lockhart, were to be sold in Lon- don, by auction, on the 26th March. This pro- perty belonged to the late Mr. Cadell of Edin- burgh. The copyright of Waverly has five years more to run, and that of the works gen- erally does not terminate for twenty years. This is the largest eopyright property ever sold. MR. LAYARDS fund having been exhausted, a subscription was lately set on foot for him in London, and its success we hope will ena- ble him to prosecute his investigations with renewed vigor. He has, we hear, entirely re- covered from his late indisposition, and needs but a supply of money to recommence his operations with renewed vigor. HENRY ALFORD, a very pleasing poet, a pro- found scholar, and most excellent man, is at the present time vicar of Wymeswold, in Lei- cestershire, England. He was born in London in 1810, and in 1832 graduated at Trinity Cal.. lege, Cambridge, of which he was afterwards Fellow. In 1836 he was married to his cousin, to whom are written some of his most charming effusions. At Easter in 1844 they lost one of their four children, and the bereavement seems to have induced the composition of many piecea full of tenderness and of remarkable beauty, which appear in the collection of his poems~ In 1841 he was elected one of the lecturers in the University of Cambridge, and he is now, we believe, Examiner in Moral and Intellectual Philosophy and Logic in the University of Lon don. He has published, besides his poetical works, which appeared in two volumes, souls years since, several volumes of sermons, a work entitled Chapters on the Poets of Ancient Greece, written for the Nottingham mechanics; a ye- lume of University Lectures; a work intended as a regular course of exercises in classical composition; and the Greek Testament, with a critically revised text, digest of various readings~ & c., in which he has displayed sound learning and judgment. He is also editor of a ver~ complete collection of the Works of Donne, published some years ago at Oxford. Tha great labor of his life, however, centres in hia edition of the Greek Testament, the first volume of which only, containing the four Gospels, has appeared. He is now working hard, eight or ten hours a day, in his theological researches, which promise a liberal harvest. We under- stand that he has in contemplation a poem .c~t~ considerable length, the composition of which is to be the pleasant solace of his declining years. Mr. Alfords minor poems have withis a few years been very popular in America, and won for their author the warm friendship an4 sympathy of many who will probably never know him personally. His pure domestic feel- ing, and hearty appreciation of whatever is most genial and hopeful in human nature, entitle hinz to the distinction he enjoys of being one of the truest poets of the heart. IN a sketch of the artist ANDREW WILSomS who died in Edinburgh two years ago~ the Art Journal gives the following postseript ~f a letter from Sir David Wilkie to Wilson~ MADRID, Dec. 24tAb, 1821.. Mv DEAR Sxa,Having been employed by our mutual friend, Mr. Wilkie, to copy the above, I can- not let the opportunity pass unimproved of speak- ing a word in my own name, and to call t~ your mind the pleasant hours we occasionaUy passed together many years since. Let me enpress~ my dear sir, my great pleasnre in thus reuewir~, af:~ ter so long an interval, our acquaintance. You, of course, if you can recollect any thir~ of me~ can only remember me as a raw,inexpeuieiEed young- ster, while you were already a man, valuahie for information, acquirements, and weight of clkarac- ter. With great regard, my dear sir, believe me, truly yours, WASHINGTON IRVING. M THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. Ma. ALISON, the historian, at a recent meet- ing of the Glasgow section of the Architec- tural Institute of Scotland, delivered an address in which he reviewed the state and progress of architecture, and its general influence on the mind and on the progress of civilization, from the period when it first became identified with Art to the present time. Tn.x diet of Denmark has just voted to three poets of that nation a yearly pension of 1,000 thalers each. Two of them were H. Herz and Puludan Muller; the name of the third we do not know. Tun book of the month in New-York has been Lavengro (published by Putnam and by the Harpers in large editions.) Its success was a consequence of the fame won by the author in his Bible in Spain, & c., and of a eJever trickery in advertising. Generally, we believe, it has disappointed. We agree very nearly about. it with the London Leader, that It is worth reading, but not worth re-reading. A certain freshness of scene, with real vigor of style, makes you canter pleasantly enough through the volumes; but when the journey is over you Iind yourself arrived Nowhere. It is not truth, it is not fiction; neither biography nor romance; not even romantic biography; but three volumes of sketches without a purpose, of narratives with- out an aim. Mr. Borrow has hit the English taste by his union of the clerical and scholarly with what we may call manly blaelcguardilm. His sympathies are all with the blackguards. Not with the ragged noudescripts of the streets, but the poetic vagabonds of the fieldsthe Rommany Uhalsthe Gipsies, who are as great in horse- taming as Hector of old, and great in the art of self-defence as any Greek before the walls of Troynot to mention other peculiarities in respect of property and its conveyance which they share with the Greeksthe Gipsies in shortwho are vag- abonds in the tree wandering sense of the tcrm. JAMES T. FIELDS has in press a new edition of his Poems, embracing the pieces which he has written since the edition of 1849. Mr. Field~s has a just sense of poetical art; his compositions are happily conceived, and uni- formly executed with the most careful elabora- tion. A few days ago we saw a letter from Miss Mitford, addressed to a friend in this country, in which he is referred to as one of the living clhssics of our tongue. We per- ceive that he is to be the next anniversary poet of the Phi Beta Kappa at Harvard. W. G. SIMMs has published at Charleston a fine poem entitled The City of the Silent, writ- ten for the occasion of the consecration of a cemetery near that city. It flows in natural harmony, and in thought as well as in manner has an appropriate dignity. We wonder that there has appeared no complete collection of the poems of Mr. Simms, which fill at least a dozen volumes, nearly all of which are now out of print. Some of his pieces have re- markable merit. NILE NOTEs BY A HOWADJI, is not a book of travel, but the book of a traveller. The traveller is obviously a very charming and ve- racious otie, but after all, the landscape and the persons, scenes, and manners he describes are so idealized by him as to have lost much of their natural identity, and put on the somewhat artifi- cial look of museum specimens. However, the Notes are not, therefore, to us the less, but all the more, readable, because we have abundance of mere books of travel, and scarcely any travel- ler worth remarking. Mr. Kinglake, the author of Eothen, to be sure, was a host in himself. And Mr. Thackeray, in his Journeyfrom Cheap- side to Cairo, proved himself a fit companion of that gentleman. But a certain sneering hu- mor, a certain mephistophelian irony, in these persons, prevent one from feeling entirely at ease with them, or believing, in fact, in their com- plete sincerity. It is not so with the author of Nile Notes, than whom a June breeze is not more bland, and moonlight not less gairish or oppressive. This conviction, indeed, strikes us in a very peculiar manner as we read, that no more genial nature ever penetrated that dis- mal and incredible East, to avouch the eternal freshness of man against the decay of nature and the mutability of institutions. An actually weird effect is produced by the sight of this plump and rosy Christian pervading the graves of dead empires, and thinking democracy amidst the listening ghosts of the Pharaohs. Did these solemn empires, did these absolute and strut- ting monarchs mistake their grandeur, and exist after all only that this modern democrat might laugh and live a life devoid of care? Such is the lesson of the book. It is sweeter to know the freshness and kindly nature that penned it; it is sweeter to feel the grnceful and humane fancies that baptize every page of it, than to remember whole lineages of buried empires, or recognize whole pyramids of absolute and dis- solved Pharaohs. The book is a mine of beau~ tiful descriptions, and of sentences which tickle your inmost midriff with delight. (Harpers.) WE have been surprised lately at several long discussions in the New-York Historical Society of the question whether copies, ex- tracts, or abstracts of the MS$. and otherhis- torical documents in the Societys collections might be published without the Societys spe- cial permission. We do not know who intre- duced the prohibitory proposition, but it is in the last degree ridiculous; there cannot be said in its support one syllable of reason; that it has been entertained so long is discreditable to the Society. The prima object of the So- ciety is the collection and preservation of the materials of history: the more numerous the multiplication of copies, the more certain the probabilities of their preservation. A private collector may for obvious reasons hoard his treasures, and wish for the destruction of all copies of them; but the considerations which govern him are the last that should influence a historical society under similar cireurastanees. 3,r AUTHORS AND BOOK& FARNY WRIGHT, some dozen years ago, en- tered into a sort of limited partnership with one of Robert Owens old New-Harmony as- sociates, and has since been known as Frances Wright DArusmont. They lived together a few months, but women grow old, and these infidel philosophers are very apt to live accord- ing to their liberties; Madame resided in Paris, Monsieur in Cincinnati: Madame wanted more money than Monsieur would allow, and she returned, and is now before the courts of Ohio with a plea (of eighty thousand words) for pro- perty held by DArusmont, which she says is hers. We know little of the merits of the case, but if there is to be domestic unhappiness, we are content that she should be a sufferer, whose whole career has been a warfare upon the institutions which define the true position, and guard the best interests of her sex. It is more than thirty years since Fanny Wright wrote her Views of Society and Manners in America. The brilliant woman who lectured to crowds in the old Park Theatre, against de- cency, is old now, and an atheist old woman, desolate, is rather a pitiable object. EDWARD T. CHANNING, a brother of the Rev. Dr. William Ellery Channing, and for thirty years Professor of Rhetoric in Harvard College, has resigned his place, and his resig- nation is one of the weightiest misfortunes that has befallen this school for some time. Pro- fessor Channings fitness for the professorship of English literature was shown in hi~ admi- rable article upon the Poetry of Moore, in the North Amerix~ar& Review for 1817. He has written much and well in criticism, and is per- haps equally familiar with both Latin and English literature. His lectures, described as eminently rich, suggestive, and practical, we hope will be given to the press. It is intimated that Mr. George Hillard will be his successor in the college, aadwe know of no man so young who could more nearly fill his place. PUBLIC LIBRARIES, is the title of a very interesting article in the February number of The international, erroneously credited to Chamberss Papers for the People. The Edin- burgh publisher, it seems, took two articles from the North American Review, cut them in pieces and transposed the sentences, prefixed a few remarks of his own, added a few words at the end of his Mosaic, and issued this Paper for the People as an original contribution to bibliothecal literature, without a word as to its real authorship or the sources whence it was derived. Such things are often done, and if Messrs. Chambers always evince as much sagacity in their appropriations, their readers will have abundant cause to be grateful. The articles in the North American Review were written by Mr. George Livermore, a Boston merchant, who has the accomplishments of a Roscoc, and who as a bibliographer is ~carce- ly surpassed in knowledge or judgment by any contemporary. FENELON, the Archbishop of Cambray, it was proved to the satisfaction of somebody, who read a paper upon the subject before the New.. York Historical Society, a year or two ago, was once a missionary in America. But Mr. Poore, while in Paris for the collection of documents illustrative of the history of Massachusetts, in- vestinated the matter, with his customary saga- city and diligence, and a communication by him to The International most satisfactorily shows that the supposition was entirely wrong. The Fenelon who was in this country was tried at Quebec, in a case of which the famous La Salle was one of the witnesses, and of which the process verbal is now in the Archives de lAm6- rique, in Paris; and the Archbishop was at the time of the trial certainly in France. MR. S. G. GOODRICH, of whose works we recently gave a reviewal, will sail in a few days for Paris, where he will immediately enter up- on the duties of the consulship to which he has been appointed by the President. This will be pleasant news for American travellers in Eu- rope. Mr. Walsh has never been very liberal of attentions to his countrymen unless their position was such as to render their society an object of his ambition. Mr. Goodrich himself recently passed several months in Paris, bearing letters to the consul, who in all the time offered him not even a recognition. He will be apt to. pay more regard to the letter which Mr. Good- rich be.ars from the Secretary of State. MAJOR RICHARDSONS Wacousta, or the Pro. phecy, is a powerfully written novel, originally printed twenty years ago, and lately republish- ed by Dewitt & Davenport. The descriptions are graphic, and the incidents dramatic, but the plot is in some respects defective. The pro- phecies which have such influence over the race of Dc Holdimars should have been pro.. nounced in his infancy, and not only a few days before the terrible results attributed to it; the introduction of the race at Holdimars execution, is injudicious; and the circumstan- ces under which Wacousta finds Valletort and Clara his auditors not well contrived. But~ altogether the book is one of the best we have illustrating Indian life. Major Richardson is a Biltish American; his father was an officer in Simeocs famous regiment; other members of his family held places of distinction in the civil or military service; and he was himself a witness of some of the most remarkable scenes in our frontier military history, and was made a prisoner by the United States troops at the battle of the Thames, where Tccumseh was killednot by Colonel Johnson, very cer- tainly. Major Richardson subsequently served in Spain, and resided several years in Paris, where he wrote Ecart~, a very brilliant novel, of which we are soon to have a new edition. A later work from his hand, which we need not name, is more creditable to his abilities than to his taste or discretion; but Waeousta and Ecart~ are worthy ofthebestmo.stersifl romantieficlion. 38 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINK THE subject of American Antiquities has been very much neglected by American wri- ters. Even the remains of an ancient and high civilization which are scattered so profusely all through Mexico and Central America hav& hitherto been illustrated almost exclusively by foreigners, and the most complete and mag- nificent publication respecting them that will ever have been made is that of Lord Kings- borough. Recently, however, our own coun- try has furnished an antiquary of indefatigable industry, great perseverance and sagacity, in Mr. E. G. Squier, who was lately Charg~ d~- Affaires of the United States to the Republic of Central America, and is ROW engaged in print- ing several works which he has completed, in this city. The splendid volume by Mr. Squier which was published two years ago by the Smithsonian Institution, upon the Antiquities of the Valley of the Mississippi, illustrates his abilities, and is a pledge of the value of his new performances. The first of his forth- coming volumes will, like that, be issued by the Smithsonian Institution, and it will consti- tute a quarto of some two hundred pages, with more than ninety engravings, under the title of Aboriginal Monuments of New- York, compris- ing the results of Original Surveys and Ex- plorations, with an Appendix. This is now, we believe, on the eve of publication. A second volume is entitled, The Serpent Sym- bol, and the Worship of the Reciprocal Princi~. ple, in America. It. contains, also, extended incidental illustrations of the religious systems of the American aborigines, and of the sym- bolical character of the ancient monuments in the United States. It will form a large octavo of two hundred and fifty pages, with sixty- three engravings, and will be published by Mr. Putnam. The first of these works, constituting part of the second volume of the Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge, may be regarded as a continuation of the authors Ancient Monu- ments of the Mississippi Valley, forming the first volume of those contributions. It gives a succinct account of the aboriginal remains of the state of New-York, which were thor- oughly investigated by the author, under the joint auspices of the Smithsonian Institution and the New-York Historical Society, in 1848. It strips the subject of all the absurd hypotheses and conjectures with which it has been involved by speculative and fanciful minds, and gives us a new and full statement of facts, from which there is no difficulty in getting at correct results. The appendix, which forms quite half of the volume, is devoted to the consideration of several of the more in- teresting questions stated in connection with the subject of our antiquities generally, and has a closer relation to the previously pub- lished volume than to the present memoir. The rationali of symbolism is very elaborately deduced from an analysis of the primitive re- ligious structures of the Greeks, and applied, as we think, with entire success, to the elucida tion of the origin and purposes of a large part of the monumental remains in the western United States. Indeed this whole work is de- pendent on, and illustrative of, the other, which must be imperfectly understood without it. The same is true of the second work~ on the Serpent Symbol, etc., which, however, is chiefly devoted to inquiries into the philosophy and religion of the aboriginal American na- tions, and the relations which they sustained to the primitive systems of the other conti- nent. The principal inquiry is, how far the identities which, in these respects, confessedly existed between the early nations of both worlds, may be regarded as derivative, or the result of like conditions and common mental and moral constitutions. These are radical questions, which must be decided before we can, with safety, attempt any generalizations on the subject of the origin of the American race, which has so long occupied speculative minds. Mr. Squier, in this volume, has brought together a vast number of new and interesting facts, demonstrating the existence of some of the most abstract oriental doctrines in Ameri- ca, illustrated by precisely identical or analo- gous symbols; but he does not admit that they were derivative, without first subjecting them to a rigid analysis, in order to ascertain if they may not have originated on the spot where they were found, by a natural and al- most inevitable process. The work, therefore, is essentially critical, and may be regarded as initiatory to the investigation of these sub- jects, on a new and more philosophical sys- tem. It is the first of a series, under the gen- eral title of American Arcisuological Re- searches, of which, it is announced in the advertisement, The Arch~ology and Eth- nology of Central America, and The Mexi- can Calendar, will form the second and third volumes. Besides these works, Mr. Squier has now in press, Nicaragua: Its Condition, Resources, and Prospects; being a Narrative of a Resi- dence in that Country, and containing also chapters illustrative of its Geography, Topogra~ phy, History, Social and Political Condition, Antiquities, 4~c., illustrated by Maps and Engravings. This cannot fail of being a book of much interest and value. We are confident that it will be worth mere than all the hundred other volumes that have been printed upon the subjects which it will em- brace. Mr. Squier, while Chargei dAffaires to Central America, and Minister to Nicaragua, enjoyed extraordinary opportunities, in his re- lations with the chief persons of those coun- tries and his frequent tours of observation, for obtaining full and accurate information, and the general justness of his apprehensions respect- ing affairs may be relied upon. THE REV. DR. SCHROEDER has in press a History of Constantine the Great, in which we shall have his views of the Church in the fourth century. AUTHORS AND BOOKS. Ma. CHARLES ASTOR BRISTED, whose clever not to be moved by any thing; (a variety of sketches of American Society we have copied American much overlooked by strangers, but ex- into the International as they have appeared isting in great perfection, both here and at the in the successive numbers of Frasers Maga- south;) the beau of the second set, dressy, vul- zrne, has addressed the following letter to Mr. gar and good natured; these and others I have endeavored to depict. Now, as every class is Willis, upon an intimation in the Borne Journal made up of individuals, every character represent- that under the name of Carl Benson he des- ing a class must resemble some of the individuals cribed himself: in it, in some particulars; but if you undertook to Mv DEAR Sin :Several intimations to the attach to each single character one and the same above effect have already reached me, but now living representative, you would soon find each of for the first time from a source deserving notice. them, like Mrs. Malaprops Cerherus, three gen- Allow me to deny, in toto, any intention of de- tiemen at once, if not many more; and should scribing myself under the name of Henry Benson. one of your country readers, anxious to put Were I disposed to attempt self-glorification, it the right names to them, addressnot one, but would be under a very different sort of character. five or sixof his town correspondents, he would Here I should, in strictness, stop; but, as you have get answers about as harmonious as if he had con- done me the honor to speak favorably of certain suited the same number of German commentators papers in Fraser, perhaps you will permit me to on the meaning of a disputed passage in a Greek intrude on your time (and your readers, if you tragedian. Some of the personages are purely think it worth while), so far as to explain whet fancifulfor instance, Mr. Harrisonsuch a man (not whom) Mr. Benson is meant for. as never did exist, but I imagine might very well The said papers (ten in all, of which four still exist, among us. But, as the development of these remain in the editors hands), were originally head- characters is still in manuscript, it would be pre- ed, The Upper Ten Thousand, as representing mature to say more of them. life and manners in a particular set, which title the Yet one word. The sketches were written editor saw fit to alter into Sketches of American entirely for the English market, so to speak, with- Societynot with my approbation, as it was out any expectation of their being generally read claiming for them more than they contained, or or republished here. This will account for their professed to contain. Harry Benson, the thread containing many things which must seem very fiat employed to hang them together, is a sort of fash- and common-place to an American readersuch ionable heroa quadratus homo, according to the as descriptions of sulkies and trotting-wagons, how Upper Ten conception of one; a young man people dress, and what they eat for dinner, etc.; who, starting with a handsome person and fair which are nevertheless not necessardy umuter- natural abilities, adds to these the advantages of esting to an Englishman who has iot seen this inherited wealth, a llberal education, and foreign country. Excuse me for trespassihg thus far on traveL He possesses much general information, your patience, and belleve me, dear sir, yours very and practical dexterity in applying it, great world- truly, C. A. BRIsTED. knowledge and aplomb, financial shrewdness,readi- nessincomposition~speakshalf~a~dozenlanguiLge5 BEnJAnIN SILLIMAn, LL.D. and his son Ben.. dabbles in literature, in business, in every thing but jamin Silliman, junior, of Yale College, sailed politicstalks metaphysics one minute, and dances a few days ago for Europe, for the purpose a polka the nextin short, knows a little of every chiefly of making a geological exploration of thing, with a knack of reproducing it effectively; the central and southern portion of that conti.- moreover, is a man of moral purity, deference to nent. After visiting the volcanic regions of women and hospitality to strangers, which I take central France, they will make the tour of to be the three characteristic virtues of a New- Italy, visiting Vesuvius and Etna, and will re- York gentleman. On the other hand, he has the turn to England in time to attend the meeting faults of his class strongly markedintense fop- of the British Academy of Sciences, at Ipswich, pery in dress, general Sybaritism of living, a gre at in July. They will next visit Switzerland and deal of Jack-Brag-ism and show-off, mythological and indiscreet habits of conversation, a pernicious the Alp8, and return home in the autumn. custom of sneering at every body and every thing inconsistent blending of early Puritan and ac: TnE second volume of The Works of John quired Continental habits, occasional fits of reck- Adams, we understand, has been very well re- lessness breaking through the routine of a worldly- ceived by the book-buyers. It is frequently prudent life. The character is so evidently a type observed of it, that it vindicates the title of ita even if it were not designated as such in so eminent author and subject to a higher distine- many words, more than oncethat it is surprising tion than has commonly been awarded to him it should ever have been attributed to an individ- in our day. It certainly is one of the most in- ualabove all, to one who is never at home but teresting biographies of the revolutionary pen- in two placesoutside of a horse and inside of ~ od that we have read. The third and fourth library. Most of the other characters are sim~i- volumes will be published by Little & Brown larly typesthat is to say, they represent certmn about the beginning of May. styles and varieties of men. The fast boy of Young America (from whose diary Pensez-y gave THE CA~SARS, by De Quincy, is the last you a leaf last summer), whose great idea of life is dancing, eating supper after dancing, and gamb- of the works by that great author issued by ling after eating supper; the older exquisite, with- Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, who promise us in out fortune enough to hurry brilliantly on, who their beautiful typography all that the Opium makes general gallantly his amusement and occu- Eater has written. The Ctesars is a very pation; the silent man, blazi before thirty, and remarkable book. 40 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. OF THE EDITION OF THE WRITINGS OF WASH- INGTON, by JARED SPARKS, we published some years ago in the Philadelphia Nor/h American an opinion which was amply vindicated by cita- tions and comparisons, and more recently, in the International for last December, we sub- stantially repeated our judgment in the follow- ing words, in reply to some observations on the subject in the Paris Journal des Debats: But the omissions by Mr. Sparkssometimes from carelessness, sometimes frota ignorance, and sometimes from an indisposition to revive memo- ries of old fcuds, or to cover with disgrace names which should be dishonored, and his occasional verbal alterations of Washingtons letters, prevent satisfaction with his edition of Washington. Since then an able and ingenious writer in the Evening Post has criticised the labors of Mr. Sparks in the same manner, and in a se- cond paper conclusively replied to his defend- ers. We profess thoroughly to understand this, matter; we have carefully compared the original letters of Washington, as they are pre- served in the Department of State, in the Charleston Library, the New-York Historical Societys Library, and in numerous other pub- lic and private collections, and we have come to the conclusion that instead of having done any service to American History by his edi- tions of Morris, Franklin, and Washington, Mr. Sparks has done positive and scarcely re- parable injury; since by his incomplete, inac- curate and iijndicious publications, he has pre- vented the preparation of such as are neces- sary for the illustration of the characters of these persons and the general history of their times. We shall not at present enter into any particulars for the vindication of our dissent from the very common estimation of the char- acter of Mr. Sparks as a historian; but we may gratify some students in our history by stating that A Complete Collection of the Writ- ings of Washington, chronologically arranged, and amply illustrated with Introductions, Notes, 4.c., is in hand, and will be published with all convenient expedition. It will embrace about twice as much matter as the edition by Sparks, but will be much more compactly printed. It would have appeared before the present time, but for an absurd misapprehension in regard to certain assumed copyrights, which one of our most eminent justices, and several lawyers of the highest distinction, have declared null and impossible. MR. Is~ic C. PRAY is the author of a beau- tiful volume on the eve of publication, on the History of the Musical Drama. One hundred and sixty pages are devoted to Parodi and the Opera. Mr. Pray is a capital critic in this department; he has been many years famil- iar with the various schools of musical art, and at home behind the scenes in the great opera houses of Europe: so that probably no wri- ter in America has more ample material for such a work as he has undertaken. He proposes a se- ries of some half-dozen volumes on the subject. MR. FREDERIC SAUNDERS, an industrious literary antiquary, is publishing in the Met ho- dist Quarterly Review and the Christian Re- corder, a series of pleasant reminiscences of the great lights of the church in England, in the last generation. Among his papers that have appeared are entertaining sketches of Edward Irving and Dr. Chalmers. THE DUTY OF A BIOGRAPHER, is very justly described by a writer on this subject in the last Democratic Review. They certainly managed these things better in the days of king Cheops, but biographies would still be written truthfully and to some purpose if there were more honesty in criticismif the mob of people who fancy they may themselves sometimes be heroes of such writing, did not for their prospective safety denounce every post-mortem exhibition of infirmities; or if to the creatures most largely endowed with the means of hearing, slavering were not more easy than dissection. ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF JAMES BOTELLO. WRITTEN FOR THE INTEaNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE BY w. 5. MAYO, M. D. AUTHOR OF RALOOLAR, ETC. author who has been accustomed to with the startling and the marvellous in the way of incident and adventure, nothing can be more amusing than the confident opinions of critics and readers as to the improbability, and frequently the impossibility, of particular scenes which~ often happen to be faithful descriptions of actual occurrences. In this manner several passages from Kaloolah and The Berber have been indicated by some of my many good natured and liberal critics in this country and in England, as taxing a little too strongly the credulity of readers. Among such passages, the escape, in the first pages of the iBerber, of the young Englishman, by jumping overboard in the bay of Cadiz, and hiding himself in the darkness of the night beneath the overhanging stern of his boat, has been particularly pointed out. Now, if this was pure invention, it might be safely left to a jury of yankee boatmen or Spanish barqueros to decide whether the inci- dent was not in the highest degree probable and natural; but beingliterally founded in fact, it is perhaps unnecessary to make any such appeal. There may be, however, a few unad- venturous souls who will still persist in their doubts a~s to the probability of the incident. For the especial benefit of such I will relate the true story of a boat adventure, which in every way is a thousand times more strange andincredible than any of the wildest inventions of the wildest romance. The voyage of Vasco di Gama around the Cape of Good Hope into the Indian Ocean, was the beginning of a complete revolution in the trade of Europe and the East. This trade, which, following the expensive route of Egypt and the Red Sea, had been for a long time in the hands of the Venetians and Genoese, sud- denly turned itself into the, new and cheap

40 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. OF THE EDITION OF THE WRITINGS OF WASH- INGTON, by JARED SPARKS, we published some years ago in the Philadelphia Nor/h American an opinion which was amply vindicated by cita- tions and comparisons, and more recently, in the International for last December, we sub- stantially repeated our judgment in the follow- ing words, in reply to some observations on the subject in the Paris Journal des Debats: But the omissions by Mr. Sparkssometimes from carelessness, sometimes frota ignorance, and sometimes from an indisposition to revive memo- ries of old fcuds, or to cover with disgrace names which should be dishonored, and his occasional verbal alterations of Washingtons letters, prevent satisfaction with his edition of Washington. Since then an able and ingenious writer in the Evening Post has criticised the labors of Mr. Sparks in the same manner, and in a se- cond paper conclusively replied to his defend- ers. We profess thoroughly to understand this, matter; we have carefully compared the original letters of Washington, as they are pre- served in the Department of State, in the Charleston Library, the New-York Historical Societys Library, and in numerous other pub- lic and private collections, and we have come to the conclusion that instead of having done any service to American History by his edi- tions of Morris, Franklin, and Washington, Mr. Sparks has done positive and scarcely re- parable injury; since by his incomplete, inac- curate and iijndicious publications, he has pre- vented the preparation of such as are neces- sary for the illustration of the characters of these persons and the general history of their times. We shall not at present enter into any particulars for the vindication of our dissent from the very common estimation of the char- acter of Mr. Sparks as a historian; but we may gratify some students in our history by stating that A Complete Collection of the Writ- ings of Washington, chronologically arranged, and amply illustrated with Introductions, Notes, 4.c., is in hand, and will be published with all convenient expedition. It will embrace about twice as much matter as the edition by Sparks, but will be much more compactly printed. It would have appeared before the present time, but for an absurd misapprehension in regard to certain assumed copyrights, which one of our most eminent justices, and several lawyers of the highest distinction, have declared null and impossible. MR. Is~ic C. PRAY is the author of a beau- tiful volume on the eve of publication, on the History of the Musical Drama. One hundred and sixty pages are devoted to Parodi and the Opera. Mr. Pray is a capital critic in this department; he has been many years famil- iar with the various schools of musical art, and at home behind the scenes in the great opera houses of Europe: so that probably no wri- ter in America has more ample material for such a work as he has undertaken. He proposes a se- ries of some half-dozen volumes on the subject. MR. FREDERIC SAUNDERS, an industrious literary antiquary, is publishing in the Met ho- dist Quarterly Review and the Christian Re- corder, a series of pleasant reminiscences of the great lights of the church in England, in the last generation. Among his papers that have appeared are entertaining sketches of Edward Irving and Dr. Chalmers. THE DUTY OF A BIOGRAPHER, is very justly described by a writer on this subject in the last Democratic Review. They certainly managed these things better in the days of king Cheops, but biographies would still be written truthfully and to some purpose if there were more honesty in criticismif the mob of people who fancy they may themselves sometimes be heroes of such writing, did not for their prospective safety denounce every post-mortem exhibition of infirmities; or if to the creatures most largely endowed with the means of hearing, slavering were not more easy than dissection. ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF JAMES BOTELLO. WRITTEN FOR THE INTEaNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE BY w. 5. MAYO, M. D. AUTHOR OF RALOOLAR, ETC. author who has been accustomed to with the startling and the marvellous in the way of incident and adventure, nothing can be more amusing than the confident opinions of critics and readers as to the improbability, and frequently the impossibility, of particular scenes which~ often happen to be faithful descriptions of actual occurrences. In this manner several passages from Kaloolah and The Berber have been indicated by some of my many good natured and liberal critics in this country and in England, as taxing a little too strongly the credulity of readers. Among such passages, the escape, in the first pages of the iBerber, of the young Englishman, by jumping overboard in the bay of Cadiz, and hiding himself in the darkness of the night beneath the overhanging stern of his boat, has been particularly pointed out. Now, if this was pure invention, it might be safely left to a jury of yankee boatmen or Spanish barqueros to decide whether the inci- dent was not in the highest degree probable and natural; but beingliterally founded in fact, it is perhaps unnecessary to make any such appeal. There may be, however, a few unad- venturous souls who will still persist in their doubts a~s to the probability of the incident. For the especial benefit of such I will relate the true story of a boat adventure, which in every way is a thousand times more strange andincredible than any of the wildest inventions of the wildest romance. The voyage of Vasco di Gama around the Cape of Good Hope into the Indian Ocean, was the beginning of a complete revolution in the trade of Europe and the East. This trade, which, following the expensive route of Egypt and the Red Sea, had been for a long time in the hands of the Venetians and Genoese, sud- denly turned itself into the, new and cheap ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF JAMES BOTELLO. channel opened by the enterprise of the Por- tuguese. The merchants of Genoa and Ven- ice found themselves unexpectedly cut off from their accustomed sources of wealth, while a tide of affluence rolled into the mouth of the Tagus, and Lisbon became the commercial mart of the world. The success of the Portuguese gave a new impulse to the spirit of enterprise which had already been excited among the maritime na- tions of Europe by the discoveries of Colurn- bus, and efforts to divert a portion of the gold- en current soon began to be made. The Span- iards, debarred from following the direct route of the Portuguese, by their own exclusive pre- tensions in the west, and the consequent deci- sion of the Pope, granting to them the sole right of exploration beyond a certain line of longitude to the west, and confining the Por- tuguese to the east, had, under the guidance of the adventurous Magellan, found a westerly route to the Indies. The English were busy with several schemes for a short cut to the north-west. The Dutch were beginning to give signs of a determination, despite the Popes decision, to follow the route by the Cape of Good Hope. As may be imagined, these move- ments aroused the jealousy of the court and merchants of Lisbon. They trembled lest their commercial monopoly should be encroach- ed upon, and every care was taken to keep the rest of Europe in ignorance of the details of the trade, and of the discoveries and conquests of their agents in the East. Of course nothing could be more injurious to a Portuguese of the time than to be sus- pected of a design to aid with advice or infor- mation the schemes of foreign rivals. Unluck- ily for James Botello such a suspicion lighted upon him. It was rumored that he was dis- posed to sell his services to the French. He was known to be a gentleman of parts, well acquainted with the Easthaving served with credit under the immediate successors of Vasco de Gamaand as competent as any one to lead the Frenchman into the Indian Ocean, and to initiate him into the mysteries of the trade. The suspicion, however, could not have been very strong, and probably had no real founda- tion in truth, or else more stringent measures than appear to have been used would have been adopted by an unscrupulous court to prevent his carrying his designs into execution. The rumor, however, had its effect; and Bo- tello soon found that his influence at court was gone, and that he had become an object of jeal- ous observation. Anxious to give the lie to this calumny, and to regain the favor of his sovereign, John III, Botello embarked as a volunteer in the fleet which was taking out to Calicut the new vice- roy, Dc Cunna. Upon the arrival of this fleet, the operations of the Portuguese, both military and commercial, were carried on with renewed vigor; and in all these Botello bore his part, but without being able wholly to remove the suspicions with which he was sensible his 41 actions were still watched by his superiors. A favorite project of the Portuguese one that had been pursued with energy and by every means of diplomacy or warwas the estab- lishment of a fort in Din, a town situated at the mouth of the Gulf of Cambaya. Several times the capture of the place had been at- tempted by force, but without success. Even the great Albuquerque had been foiled in a furious attack. Failing in this, the Portuguese repeatedly endeavored to getpermission to erect a fort for the protection of their trade, by per- suasion or artifice. It had become an ohject of the most ardent desire, as well with the king and court at home, as with the viceroys and their officers in the East. It happened now in the year 1534, that Ba- dur, king of Cambaya, was sorely pressed by his enemy the Great Mogulso much so, that he was compelled to call in the assistance of his other enemy, the Portuguese. The price of this assistance was to be permission to erect and garrison a fort at Diu. Badur hesitated; he knew that if the Portuguese were allowed a fort, they would soon be masters of the whole town; but his necessities were urgent, and he finally acceded to the demand. Dc Cunna rushed to Diu; a treaty was speedily conclu- ded with ~adurthe fort was planned, and its erection commenced with vigor. No one better than Botello knew how pleas- ed King John would be with the news. He resolved to be the bearer of the good tidings, and thus to restore himself to the royal favor. His plan was a bold and daring one; in fact, considering the known dangers of the sea, and the then imperfect state of navigation, it must have seemed almost hopeless; but he suffered no doubts or apprehensions to prevent him from carrying it into immediate effect. In or- der to conceal his design, he gave out that he was going on a boat excursion up the Gulf of Cambaya, to visit the court of the now friendly Badur. Two young soldiers, of inferior de- gree, named Juan de Sousa and Alfonzo Belem, readily consented to accompany him. The boat selected for the voyage was a small affair something like a modern jolly boat, though of rather greater beam in proportion to its other dimensions; its length was sixteen feet, its breadth nine feet. Four Moorish slaves from Melenda, on the coast of Africa, were selected to work the boat, while two native servants, having Portuguese blood in their veins, com- pleted the crew. Botellos preparations for the voyage were soon made; and waiting only to secure a copy of the treaty with Badur, and plans of the fort which had been commenced, he ordered the short mast, with its tapering lateen yard, to be raised, and the sail trimmed close to the breeze blowing into the roadstead of Diu. But in~ stead of turning up along the northern coast of the Gulf of Cambaya, he directed the bow of his little bark boldly out to sea. His companions knew but little of naviga- tion; but they knew enough to know that a 42 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. south-westerly course was hardly the one on which to reach Cambaya. To the remonstrances of Juan and Alfouzo, Botello simply replied that he preferred sailing south with the wind, to rowing north against it; and they would find the course he had chosen the safest and shortest in the end. In this way they sailed for three days. On the morning of the fourth, Botello found that it would be impossible for him longer to turn a deaf ear to the mutterings of discontent among his crew. It was high time for an ex- planation of his plans; and trusting to his elo- quence and influence, he proceeded to unfold his design. Imagine the astonishment and dismay de- picted in the countenances of the servants and sailors when he told them that he purposed making the long and dangerous voyage to Lis- bon in the miserable little boat in which they had embarked. But as he went on comment- ing upon the feasibility of the project, discuss- ing the real dangers of such voyage, and ridiculing the imaginary, and dilating upon the honors and rewards which they would win by being the first bearers of the tidings they car- fled, a change from dismay to hope and confi- dence took place in the minds of all Ilis hearers, excepting the African sailors, who did not much relish the idea of so long a voyage to Christian lands. They, however, were slaves and infi- dels, and their opposition was not much heeded. To every objection Botello had a plausible reply. He confidently asserted his knowledge of a safe route, and of his ability to preserve their little craft amid all the dangers of the sea. But may wenot be forestalled in our news, after all, demanded Alfouzo, by the vessels from Calicut ? No fear of that, replied Botello. The news from Diu will not reach Calicut for a month, and then it will be too late in the mon- soon to dispatch a vessel, even if one were ready. Besides, I have certain information that the viceroy has determined that no dispatches shall be sent home until he can announce the completion of the fort. I like not this new route you propose,~~ said Juan. Why leave the usual course to Melenda l Because we should be in danger of exciting the suspicions of our brethren who now garri- son the forts of Melenda, Zanzabar, and Mo- zambique, and perhaps be detained. No, we will take a more direct coursestrike the coast of Africa below Sofalo, and then follow the shore around the Cape of Good Hope. And what are we to do for provisions and water, in the mean time ? Of provisions we have a store that will last until we reach land, when we can obtain sup- plies from the natives; as to water, we must go at once upon the shortest possible allowance, and daily pray for rainSt. Francis will aid us. I can show you some thing that will set your minds easy upon that point. Botello produced a box from beneath the stern sheets, and opening it, took out with an air of reverence a leaden image of the saint. See this, he exclaimed, in a tone of exul- tation. It was modelled from the portrait recognized by the aged Moor. Have you not heard of the miracle ltrue, you were not at Calicut. Know, then, that a few months since, a native of India was presented to the viceroy, whose reputed age amounted to three hundred years. His story was, that in early youth he encountered an aged man lingering upon the banks of a stream which he was anxious to pass. The youth tendered the support of his strong shoulders, and bore him across the water. As a reward for the service, the old man bade the youth to live until they should meet again. And thus had he lived, until a few months since he was presented to De Cunna, when he at once recognized in a~ por- trait of St. Francis the holy man whom he had carried across the stream. This image was modelled from that portrait; it was blessed by the pious convert in whose person was per- formed the miracle. Our voyage must be pros- perous with this on board. The sight of an image taken from a portrait acknowledged to be the saint himself, removed all doubt. And what Botellos arguments and persuasions might have failed to accomplish, was easily effected by the little image of lead. A heretic might, perhaps, have questioned the saints power over the physical phenomena of the sea, but he could not have denied his moral influence over the minds of the adventurous voyageurs who confided in him. No hesitation remained, except in the minds of the four slaves, who, having been forcibly converted from the errors of Mohammed, were yet somewhat weak in the true faith. It was this want of faith that led to one of the most lamentable events of the voyage. They had been out more than a month with- out having had sight of land, and not even a distant sail had lighted up the dismal loneliness of the ocean. It must be recollected what a solitude was the vast surface of the Indian and Pacific seas in those days. Beside the Por- tuguese fleets that followed each other at long and regular intervals, Christian commerce there was none, while Arabian trade was small in amount, and confined to certain narrow chan- nels. The Moorish slaves had never before been so long in the open sea, and their fears increased as day after day the little boat bore them farther to the south. The provisions were also, by this time, nearly exhausted, and the daily allowance of water proved barely suffi- cient to moisten their parched lips. The slaves, after taking counsel among themselves, de- manded that the course of the boat should be arrested. And which way would you go ? asked Botello. Back to Diul It would take three months to reach the port, and long ere that we should starve. Let us steer, then, directly for the African coast. Melenda must be our nearest port. ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF JAMES BOTELLO. Never! returned the resolute Botello. I will run no risk of having our voyage frustrated by the jealousy of my old enemy, Alfouzo Peristrello, who has command at that station. Courage for a few days more, and we shall see land. There are isles hereaway that you will deem fit residences for the blessed saints such fruits! such flowers ! The promises of Botello had influence with all of his companions excepting the Moors, whose muttered discontent sudderdy assumed a fierce and menacing aspect. Luckily, Botello was as wary as he was brave. Itwasin the middle of the nightthat, stretched upon the midship thwart of the boat, he noticed a movement among the Moors, who occupied the bow. One of them moved stealthily towards him, and bending over him, cautiously sought the hilt of his dagger; but before he could draw it, the grasp of Botello was upon his throat, and he was hurled to the bottom of the boat. With a shout, the other Moors seized the boat. hooks and stretchers, and rushed upon Botello; but Juan and Alfonzo were upon the alert, and, drawing their long daggers, rushed to his de- fence. Never was there a more desperate con- ffict than on that starlit night, in that frail boat, that floated a feeble, solitary speck of humanity on the bosom of the vast Indian sea. The conflict was desperate, but it was soon over. The Portuguese of those days were other men than their degenerate descendants of the present age; and, besides, the slaves were overmatched both in arms and numbers. Three were slain outright, and the fourth driven overboard. One of the Portuguese servants was killed; thus diminishing the number of the voyag~iurs more than one-halfa lucky circum- stance, without which, mostprobably,the whole would have perished. For a week longer the little bark stood on its course, when a violent storm threatened a melancholy termination to the voyage. The wind, however, was accompanied by rain, and Botello kept up the spirits of his friends by at- tributing the storm to St. Francis, who had sent it expressly to save them from dying by thirst. It would have been perhaps more easy to believe in the saints agency in the matter had there been less wind; for in addition to the danger of being ingulfed by the heavy sea, their clothing, which they spread to collect the rain, was so deluged with salt spray as to make the water exceedingly brackish. Bad as it was, however, it served to maintain life until they reached a little rocky, uninhabited island in the channel of Mozambiquc. It was with some difficulty that a landing place was found. Upon ascending the rocks, a few scattered palms exhibited the only ap- pearance of vegetation. Their chief neces- sityfresh waterhowever, was foundin abun- dance, standing in the hollows of the rocky surface, where it had been deposited by the re- cent storm. Several kinds of wild fowl showed themselves in abundance, and so tame as to suffer themselves to be caught without any trouble; while crowding the little sandy inlets were thousands of the finest turtle. At this spot Botello and his companions rested for a week; which was spent in caulk- ing and repairing their boat and sail, drying and salting the flesh of fowl and turtle, and in filling every available vessel with the precious fluid so liberally furnished by their patron St. Francis. A succession of storms followed their de- parture, and tossed ther~ about here and there for so many days, that their reckoning became exceedingly confused. Botello, however, was an accomplished navigator, and his sailor in- stinct stood him in good stead. Upon return- ing fair weather he conjectured that he was abreast of Cape Corientes, and the bow of the boat was directed, due east, for the African coast. Calms followed storms. The oars were got out, and day after day the clumsy boat was pulled through the long rolling swell of the glassy sea. Still no sight of land. Their pro- visions were getting short againtheir water was reduced to the lowest possible allowance, and the labor of the oar was rapidly exhaust- ing their strength. The image of St. Francis was hourly appealed to. Sometunes his aid was implored in most humble prayerssome- times demanded with the wildest imprecations and threats. One day Botello seized the little St. Francis, and whirling him on high, threat- ened to throw him into the sea, unless he in- stantly granted a sight of land; no land showed itself, and the saint was reverentially replaced in his box. But he was not to rest there long in quiet. The next day the ingenious Botello announced to his sinking compamons that he had a plan to compel the saint to terms. The image was produced from its box, a cord was fastened around itsneck, and it was then thrown overboard. Down went his leaden saintship into the depths of the ocean. And there he shall remain, exclaimed Botello, until he sends us land or rain. An hour had not ex- pired when a faint bluish haze in the eastern horizon attracted all eyes. A favorable breeze springing up, the sail was hoisted, and as the boal moved under its influence, the haze grew in consistency and size. Land was in sight. The reader may perhaps smile with contempt at the superstitious faith of Botello and com- panions in the connection between this happy land-fall and their ingenious compulsion of the saints miraculous power; but it may be ques- tioned whether there was not good ground for their beliefat least as good ground as there is for faith in any of the facts of animal mag- netism, clairvoyance, and spiritual rappings. The land proved to be a point in Lagoa Bay a familiar object to Botello. Upon going ashore, a party 6f natives received him, with whom friendly relations were soon established, and from wfmom provisions and water were readily obtained. A few days served to recruit the exhausted strength of the party, when ta- king again to their boat, they coasted along the 44 TIlE INTERNATIO~{AL MAGAZINE. shore, landing at frequent intervals, until they reached the dreaded Cape of Storms, as the southern point of Africa was called by its first discoverer, Bartholomew Diaz. The Cape did not belie its reputation. From the summit of Table Mountain, and the sur- rounding high lands, it sent down a gust that drove the unfortunate voyag~urs away from the land a long distance to the south-west; and many weary and despairing days were pass- ed before they were able to make the harbor of Saldahana. Here the chief necessity of life fresh waterwas found in abundance, and a supply of provisions obtained, consisting chief- ly of the dried flesh of seals, with which. the harbor was filled. A few orange and lemon- trees, planted by the early Portuguese discov- erers, were loaded with fruit, and afforded a grateful and effectual means of removing the symptoms of scurvy which were beginning to appear. Saldahana being a resting place for the out- ward bound Portuguese fleets, Botello made his stay as short as possible, lest he should be intercepted and turned back by some newly appointed and jealous viceroy. For the same reason he avoided several points on the coast of western Africa where his countrymen had stationskeeping well out to sea and from the mouth of the Congo, and steering a direct course aerO~s the Gulf of Guinea He knew that if a Portuguese admiral had sailed at the appointed time, he must be somewhere in that Gulf, and that his tall barks would hug the shore, creeping from headland to headland slowly and cautiously. The energetic Botello and his companions had encountered too many dangers to be frightened at the perils of a run across the Gulf, and the resolution was adopt- ed to give the Portuguese fleet, by the aid of St. Francis, the go-by in the open sea. The run was successfully achieved; not, however, without many weary days at the oar, and many an appeal to St. Francis for favor- ing winds, and for aid in the sudden tornadoes which frequently threatened to ingulf them. Cape de Verd was reached; the barren shore of the great desert was passed, xvith but a single stoppage in the Rio del Ouroa slender arm of the sea setting up a few miles into the sands of Sahara. Here a few dates and some barley cakes were purchased of a family of wandering Arabs; and again putting to sea, the shores of Morocco were cautio~Isly coasted. Without further adventure, but not without further suffering, and labor, and danger, the short remaining distance was passed. The head of the Straits of Gibraltarthe headlands of Spain-the southern point of Algarve, suc- cessively came in sight; and then the smiling mouth of the golden Tagus greeted their long- ing eyes. And thus was happily finished this wonder- ful voyagea voyage which, if performed in the present day, with all the means and appli- ances of navigation, would excite the adminv. tioo of the world, but whieh,.under the cireum stances of the age, the prejudices and ignorance of the voyag~urs, and the imperfect state of maritime science, may truly be considered the most astonishing upon record. It must be ob- served, too, that this was no involuntary boat expeditionno desperate alternative of some foundering ships crewbut the deliberate, carefully considered project of an experienced sailor; and that the hardihood evinced in its conception was surpassed by the resolution, perseverance, and skill, with which it was con- ducted to its end. The presence of Botello was soon known to his friends; and the rumor spread through the city that an Indian fleet had arrived off the mouth .of the Tagus. It reached the court, so that upon his application for an audience of the king, he found no detention except from the curiosity of the courtiers and ministers; which, however, he resolutely refused to sat- isfy, until he had communicated his news to the royal ear. Botello exhibited his copy of the convention with Badur, king of Cambaya, and the plans of the fort which was being erected at Diii, and related the history of his adventurous voyage. King John freely expressed his as- tonishment and delight, and calling around him the members of his household, familiarly questioned Botello as to all the little details of his voyage. There was a pause in the conversation. Bo- tello threw himself upon his knees. There is one point, he exclaimed, upon which your majesty has not condescended to question me. What is tix t l demanded the king. My reasons, replied Botello, for under- taking this long and hazardous voyage. Your majesty knows, or at least many of your ma- jestys enemies know, that I am one not oyer cautious in confronting danger, either by sea or land; but I should never have had the courage to make myself the bearer of tidings however important, as I have done, without some rea- son other than the desire of astonishing the world by a feat which by many will be pro- nounced simply fool-hardy. Your majesty will believe meI had another and a better reason. And that reason was The favor of my sovereign, and the remo- val ef the undeserved suspicions with which my motives and feelings had been visited. Rise, replied the king, extending his hand, and smiling graciously. Our suspicions were of the slightest. We will take some fitting opportunity of showing~ that they are gone for ever. The courtiers overwhelmed Botello and his companions with congratulations. The king accompanied him to see the boat, and upon dis- missing him, renewed his assurances of favor and rewardassurances which Botello found were destined never to be realized. The next day a change had come over the royal coun- tenance the jealousy of trade had been aroused. It would be a terrible blow to the commercial monopoly, already threatened from A STORY WITHOUT A NAME. so many quarters, to have it known that the voyage from the EastIndies had been perform- ed in an open boat. Botello was informed that, for reasons of state, his boat must be destroy- ed, but that he himself should ever continue to enjoy the favorable opinion of his sovereign. As an earnest of the royal favor, which was some day to exhibit itself more openly, he was appointed to an office of no great consequence, and which had also the disadvantage attached to it of a residence in the interior of the country. Once installed, he found that he was little better than a prisoner for life. His movements were closely watehed by the officials around him; his communications with the capital cut off, and to all his remonstrances and petitions the only reply was that the kings service re- quired his continual residence in his department. Botello was not a man to quietly submit to such unjust restraint; but unluckily his health began to fail. His body found itself unable to withstand the chafings and struggles of his energetic and adventurous spirit under the mor- tifications and disappointments of his position; the fears and suspicions of the court of Lisbon were soon removed by his death. His boat had been burnedhis companions had been sent back to India, and it was not long before the fact of his extraordinary voyage had passed from the public mind. A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.* WRITTZN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE BY G. I. K. JAMES, ESQ. Co,ztinuedfrem page 494, vol. II. CHAPTER xviii. IT was long ere Emily H~astings slept. There lwasabrightmoonlight;butshesatnotup by the window, looking out at the moon in love-loin guise. No, she laid her down in bed, as soon as the toilet of the night was concluded, and having left the window-shut- ters open, the light of the sweet, calm bright- ener of the night poured in ,a long, tranquil ray across the floor. She watehed it, with her head resting on her hand for a long time. Her fancy was very busy with it, as by slow degrees it moved its place, now lying like a silver carpet by her bedside, now crossing the floor far away, and painting the opposite wall. Her thoughts then returned to other things, and whether she would or not, Marlow took a share in them. She remembered things that he had said, his looks came back to her mind, she seemed to converse with him again, run- ning over in thought all that had passed in the morning. She was no castle-builder; there were no schemes, plans, designs, in her mind; no airy structures of future happiness employed fancy as their architect. She was happy in her own heart; and imagination, like a bee, extracted sweetness from the flowers of the present. Sweet Emily, how beautiful she looked, as Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, ~by G. P. R. James, in the Clerke Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New-York. vOL. IILNO i.4 she lay there, and made a night-life for her- self in the world of her own thoughts! She could not sleep, she knew not why. Indeed, she did not wish or try to sleep. She never did when sleep did not come naturally; but always remained calmly waiting for the soother, till slumber dropped uncalled and stilly upon her eyelids. One hourtwo hoursthe moonbeam had retired far into a corner of the room, the household was all still; there was no sound but the barking of a distant farm-dog, such a long way off, that it reached the ear more like an echo than a sound, and the crowing of a cock, not much more near. Suddenly, her door opened, and a figure en- tered, bearing a small night-lamp. Emily start- ed, and gazed. She was not much given to fear, and she uttered not a sound; for which command over herself she was very thankful, when, in the tall, graceful form before her, she recognized Mrs. Hazleton. She was dressed merely as she had risen from her bed: her rich black hair bound up under her snowy cap, her long nightgown trailing on the ground, and her feet bare. Yet she looked perhaps more beautiful than in jewels and er- mine. Her eyes were not fixed and motion- less, though there was a certain sort of dead- ness in them. Neither were her Wovements stiff and mechanical, as we often see in the representations of somnambulism on the stage. On the contrary, they were free and graceful. She looked neither like Mrs. Siddons nor any other who ever acted what she really was. Those who have seen the state know better. She was walking in her sleep, however: that strange act of a life apart from waking life that mystery of mysteries, when the soul seems severed from all things on earth but the body which it inhabitswhen the mir4 sleeps, but the spirit wakeswhen the animal and the spiritual live together, yet the intellec- tual lies dead for the time. Emily comprehended her condition at once, and waited and watched, having heard that it is dangerous to wake suddenly a person in such a state. Mrs. Hazleton walked on peat her bed towards a door at the other side of the room, but stopped opposite the toilet-ta- ble, took up a ribbon that was lying on it, and held it in her hand for a moment. I hate him ! she said aloud; but strangle himoh, no! That would not do. It would leave a blue mark. I hate him, and her too! They cant help itthey must fall intQ tI)0 trap. Emily rose quietly from her bed, and ~4- vancing with a soft step, took Mrs. Hazlet~n~s hand gently. She made no resistance, only gazing at her with a look not utterly devoid of meaning. A strange world ! she said, where people must live with those they hate I and suffered Emily to lead her to- wards the door. She showed some reluc- tance to pass it, however, and turned slowly towards the other door. Her beautiful yogug

A STORY WITHOUT A NAME. so many quarters, to have it known that the voyage from the EastIndies had been perform- ed in an open boat. Botello was informed that, for reasons of state, his boat must be destroy- ed, but that he himself should ever continue to enjoy the favorable opinion of his sovereign. As an earnest of the royal favor, which was some day to exhibit itself more openly, he was appointed to an office of no great consequence, and which had also the disadvantage attached to it of a residence in the interior of the country. Once installed, he found that he was little better than a prisoner for life. His movements were closely watehed by the officials around him; his communications with the capital cut off, and to all his remonstrances and petitions the only reply was that the kings service re- quired his continual residence in his department. Botello was not a man to quietly submit to such unjust restraint; but unluckily his health began to fail. His body found itself unable to withstand the chafings and struggles of his energetic and adventurous spirit under the mor- tifications and disappointments of his position; the fears and suspicions of the court of Lisbon were soon removed by his death. His boat had been burnedhis companions had been sent back to India, and it was not long before the fact of his extraordinary voyage had passed from the public mind. A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.* WRITTZN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE BY G. I. K. JAMES, ESQ. Co,ztinuedfrem page 494, vol. II. CHAPTER xviii. IT was long ere Emily H~astings slept. There lwasabrightmoonlight;butshesatnotup by the window, looking out at the moon in love-loin guise. No, she laid her down in bed, as soon as the toilet of the night was concluded, and having left the window-shut- ters open, the light of the sweet, calm bright- ener of the night poured in ,a long, tranquil ray across the floor. She watehed it, with her head resting on her hand for a long time. Her fancy was very busy with it, as by slow degrees it moved its place, now lying like a silver carpet by her bedside, now crossing the floor far away, and painting the opposite wall. Her thoughts then returned to other things, and whether she would or not, Marlow took a share in them. She remembered things that he had said, his looks came back to her mind, she seemed to converse with him again, run- ning over in thought all that had passed in the morning. She was no castle-builder; there were no schemes, plans, designs, in her mind; no airy structures of future happiness employed fancy as their architect. She was happy in her own heart; and imagination, like a bee, extracted sweetness from the flowers of the present. Sweet Emily, how beautiful she looked, as Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, ~by G. P. R. James, in the Clerke Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New-York. vOL. IILNO i.4 she lay there, and made a night-life for her- self in the world of her own thoughts! She could not sleep, she knew not why. Indeed, she did not wish or try to sleep. She never did when sleep did not come naturally; but always remained calmly waiting for the soother, till slumber dropped uncalled and stilly upon her eyelids. One hourtwo hoursthe moonbeam had retired far into a corner of the room, the household was all still; there was no sound but the barking of a distant farm-dog, such a long way off, that it reached the ear more like an echo than a sound, and the crowing of a cock, not much more near. Suddenly, her door opened, and a figure en- tered, bearing a small night-lamp. Emily start- ed, and gazed. She was not much given to fear, and she uttered not a sound; for which command over herself she was very thankful, when, in the tall, graceful form before her, she recognized Mrs. Hazleton. She was dressed merely as she had risen from her bed: her rich black hair bound up under her snowy cap, her long nightgown trailing on the ground, and her feet bare. Yet she looked perhaps more beautiful than in jewels and er- mine. Her eyes were not fixed and motion- less, though there was a certain sort of dead- ness in them. Neither were her Wovements stiff and mechanical, as we often see in the representations of somnambulism on the stage. On the contrary, they were free and graceful. She looked neither like Mrs. Siddons nor any other who ever acted what she really was. Those who have seen the state know better. She was walking in her sleep, however: that strange act of a life apart from waking life that mystery of mysteries, when the soul seems severed from all things on earth but the body which it inhabitswhen the mir4 sleeps, but the spirit wakeswhen the animal and the spiritual live together, yet the intellec- tual lies dead for the time. Emily comprehended her condition at once, and waited and watched, having heard that it is dangerous to wake suddenly a person in such a state. Mrs. Hazleton walked on peat her bed towards a door at the other side of the room, but stopped opposite the toilet-ta- ble, took up a ribbon that was lying on it, and held it in her hand for a moment. I hate him ! she said aloud; but strangle himoh, no! That would not do. It would leave a blue mark. I hate him, and her too! They cant help itthey must fall intQ tI)0 trap. Emily rose quietly from her bed, and ~4- vancing with a soft step, took Mrs. Hazlet~n~s hand gently. She made no resistance, only gazing at her with a look not utterly devoid of meaning. A strange world ! she said, where people must live with those they hate I and suffered Emily to lead her to- wards the door. She showed some reluc- tance to pass it, however, and turned slowly towards the other door. Her beautiful yogug 48 THE II~ITERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. guide led her thither, and opened it; then went on through the neighboring room, which was vacant, Mrs. Liazleton saying, as they passed the large bed canopied with velvet, My mother died thereah, me ! The next door opened into the corridor; but Emily knew not where her hostess slept, till per- ceiving a light streaming out upon the floor from a room near the end, she guided Mrs. Hazletons steps thither, rightly judging that it must be the chamber she had just left. There she quietly induced her to go to bed again, taking the lamp from her hand, and bending down her sweet, innocent face, gave her a gentle kiss. Asp I, said Mrs. Hazleton, turning away; but Emily remained with her for several min- utes, till the eyes closed, the breathing became calm and regular, and natural sleep succeeded to the strange state into which she had fallen. Then returning to her own room, Emily once more sought her bed; but though the moonlight had now departed, she was farther from sleep than ever. Mrs. Hazletons words still rang in her cars. She thought them very strange; but yet she had heardit was indeed a common Buperstition in those daysthat people talk- big in their sleep expressed feelings exactly the reverse of those which they really enter- tained; and her good, bright heart was glad to believe. She would not for the world have thought that the fair form, and gentle, dignified manners of her friend could shroud feelings so fierce and vindictive as those Which had breathed forth in the utterance of that one word, hate. It seemed to her impossi- ble that Mrs. Hazleton could hate any thing, and she resolved to believe so still. But yet the words rang in her ears, as I have said. She had been somewhat agitated and alarmed, too, though less than many might have, been, and more than an hour passed before her sweci; eyes closed. On the morning of the following day, Em- ily was somewhat late at breakfast; and she found Mrs. Hazleton down, and looking bright and beautiful as the morning. It was evident that she had not even the faintest recollection of what had occurred in the nightthat it was a portion of her life apart, between which and waking existence there was no communi- cation open. Emily determined to take no no- tice of her sleep-walking; and she was wise, for I have always found, that to be informed of their strange peculiarity leaves an awful and painful impression on the real somnambu- listsa feeling of being unlike the rest of human beings, of having a sort of preternatu- ral existence, over which their human reason can hold no control. They fear themselves they fear their own actsperhaps their own words, when the power is gone from that fa- miliar mind, which is more or less the servant, if not the slave, of will, and when the whole mixed being, flesh, and mind, and spirit, is un- der the sole government of that darkest, least known, most mysterious personage of the threethe soul. Mrs. Haxleton scolded her jestingly for late rising, and asked if she was always such a lie-abed. Emily replied that she was not, but usually very matutinal in her habits. But the truth is, dear Mrs. Hazleton, she added, I did not sleep well last night. Indeed, said her fair hostess, with a gay smile; who were you thinking of to keep your young eyes opea l Of you, answered Emily, simply; and Mrs. Haxleton asked no more questions; for, perhaps, she did not wish Emily to think of her too much. Immediately after breakfast the carriage was ordered for a long drive. I will give you so large a dose of moun- tain air, said Mrs. Haxleton, that it shall ia- sure you a better nights rest than any nar- cotic could procure, Emily. We will go and visit Ellendon Castle, far in the wilds, some sixteen miles hence. Emily was well pleased with the prospect, and they set out together, both apparently equally prepared to enjoy every thing they met with. The drive was a long one in point of time, for not only were the carriages more cumbrous and heavy in those days, but the road continued ascending nearly the whole way. Sometimes, indeed, a short run down into a gentle valley released the horses from the continual tug on the collar, but it was very brief, and the ascent commenced almost immediately. Beautiful views over the sce- nery round presented themselves at every turn; and Emily, who had all the spirit of a painter in her heart, looked forth from the window enchanted. Mrs. Haxletoa marked her enjoyment with great satisfaction; for either by study or intu- ition she had a deep knowledge of the springs and sources of human emotions, and she knew well that one enthusiasm always disposes to another. Nay, more, she knew that whatever is associated in the mind with pleasant scenes is usually pleasing, and she had plotted the meeting between Emily and him she intended to be her lover with considerable pains to produce that effect. Nature seemed to have been a sharer in her schemes. The day could not have been better chosen. There was the light fresh air, the few floating clouds, the merry dancing gleams upon hill and dale, a light, momentary shower of large, jewel-like drops, the fragment of a broken rainbow painting the distant verge of heaven. At length the summit of the hills was reached; and Mrs. Hazleton told her sweet companion to look out there, ordering the car- riage at the same time to stop. It was indeed a scene well worthy of the gaze. Far spread- ing out beneath the eye lay a wide basin in the hills, walled in, as it were, by those tall summits, here and there broken by a crag. The ground sloped gently down from the spot at which the carriage paused, s6that the whole expanse was open to the eye, and over the A STORY WITHOUT A NAME. 47 short brown herbage, through which a purple gleam from the yet unbiossomed heath shone out, the lights and shades seemed sporting in mad glee. All was indeed solitary, unculti- vated, and even barren, except where, in the very centre of the wide hollow, appeared a number of trees, not grouped together in a wood, but scattered over a considerable space of ground, as if the remnants of some old deer-park, and over their tall tops rose up the ruined keep of some ancient stronghold of races passed away, with here and there another tower or pinnacle appearing, and long lines of grassy mounds, greener than the rest of the landscape, glancing between the stems of the older trees, or bearing up in picturesque con- fusion their own growth of wild, fantastic, seedling ashes. By the name of the spot, Ellendon, which means strong-hill, I believe it is more than pi~o- bable that the Anglo-Saxons had here some forta before the conquest; but the ruin which now presented itself to the eyes of Emily and Mrs. Hazleton was evidently of a later date and of Norman construction. Here, probably, some proud baron of the times of Henry, Stephen, or Matilda, had built his nest on high, perchance to overawe the Saxon churls around him, perhaps to set at de- fiance the royal power itself. Here the merry chase had swept the hills; here revelry and pa- geantry had checkered a life of fierce strife and haughty oppression. Such scenes, at least such thoughts, presented themselves to the imaginative mind of Emily, like the dreamy gleams that skimmed in gold and purple before her eyes; but the effect of any strong feeling, whether of enjoyment or of grief, was always to make her silent; and she gazed without ut- tering a word. Mrs. Hazleton, however, understood some points in her character, and by the long fixed look from beneath the dark sweeping lashes of her eye, by the faint sweet smile that gently curled her young, beautiful lip, and by the sort of gasping sigh after she had gazed breathless for some moments, she knew how intense was that gentle creatures delight in a scene, which to many an eye would have offered no pecu- liar charm. She would not suffer it to lose any of its first effect, and after a brief pause ordered the carriage to drive on. Still Emily continued to look onwards out of the carriage-window, and as the road turned in the descent, the castle and the ancient trees grouped themselves dif- ferently every minute. At length, as they came nearer, she said, turning to Mrs. Hazleton, There seems to be a man standing at the very highest point of the old keep.~~ He must be bold indeed, replied her com- panion, looking out also. When you come close to it, dear Emily, you will see that it requires the foot of a goat and the heart of a lion to climliup there over the rough, disjoint- ed, tottering stones. Good Heaven, I hope he will not fall 1 Emily closed her eyes. It is very foolish, she said. Oh, men hLive pleasure in such feats of daring, answered Mrs. Hazleton, which we women cannot understand. He is coming down again as steadily as if he were treading a ball-room. I wish that tree were out of the way.~, In two or three minutes the carriage passed between two rows of old and somewhat de- cayed oaks, and stopped between the fine gate of the castle, covered with ivy, and rugged with the work of Times too artistic hand, and a building which, if it did not detract from the picturesque beauty of the scene, certainly de- prived it of all romance. There, just opposite the entrance, stood a small house, built appar- ently of stones stolen from the ruins, and bear- ing on a pole projecting from the front a large blue sign-board, on which was rudely painted in yellow, the figure of what we now call a French horn, while~ underneath appeared a long inscription to the following effect: John Buttercro~s, at the sign of the Bugle Horn, sells wine and aqua vitae, and good lodgings to man and horse. N. B. Donkeys to be found within. Emily laughed, and in an instant came down to common earth. Mrs. Hazleton wished both John Buttererosa and his sign in one fire or another; though she could not help owning that such a house in so remote a place might be a great convenience to visitors like herself. She took the matter quietly, however, returning Emilys gay look with one somewhat rueful, and saying, Ah, dear girl, all very mundane and unromantic, but depend upon it the house has proved a blessing often to poor wanderers in bleak weather over these wild hills; and we our- selves may find it not so unpleasant by and by when Paul has spread our luncheon in the parlor, and we look out of its little casement at the old ruin there. Thus saying, she alighted from the carriage, gave some orders to her servants, and to an hostler who was walking up and down a re- markably beautiful horse, which seemed to have been ridden hard, and then leaning on Emilys arm, walked up the slope towards the gate. Barbican and outer walls were gonefallen long ago into the ditch, and covered with the all-receiving earth and a green coat of turf. You could but tell were they lay, by the un- dulations of the ground, and the grassy liil- lock here and there. The great gate still stood firm, however, with its two tall towers, stand- ing like giant wardens to guard the entrance. There were the machicolated parapets, the long loopholes mantled with ivy, the outalop- ing basement, against which the battering ram might have long played in vain, the family es- cutel~eon with the arms crumbled from it, the porteullis itself showing its iron teeth above the travellers head. It was the most perfect part of the building; and when the two ladies 48 THE INTER1{ATIQ~AL MAG~AZLNE. entered the great court the scene of ruin was more complete. Many a tower had fallen, leav- 1mg large gaps in the inner wall; the chapel with only one beautiful window left, and the fragments of two others, showing where the fine line had run, lay mouldering on the right, and at some distance in front appeared the tall majestic keep, the lower rooms of which were in tolerable preservation, though the roof had fallen in to the second story, and the airy summit had lost its symmetry by the destruc- tion of two entire sides. Short green turf covered the whole court, except where some mass of stone, more recently fallen than others, still stood out bare and gray; but a crop of brambles and nettles bristled up near the cha- pel, and here and there a tree had planted it- self on the tottering ruins of the walls. Mrs. Hazleton walked straight towards the entrance of the keep along a little path suffi- ciently well worn to show that the castle had frequent visitors, and was within a few steps of the doorway, when a figure issued forth which to say sooth did not at all surprise her to be- hold. She gave a little start, however, saying in a low tone to Emily, That must be our climbing friend whose neck we thought in such peril a short time since. The gentlemanfor such estate was mdi- ~ated by his dress, which was dark and sober, but well made and costlytook a step or two slowly forward, verging a little to the side as if to let two ladies pass whom he did not know; but then suddenly he stopped, gazed for an instant with a well assumed look of surprise and inquiry, and then hurried rapidly towards them, raising his hat not ungracefully, while Mrs. Hazleton exclaimed, Ah, how for- 1~unate! Here is a friend who doubtless can tell us all about the rains. At the same moment Emily recognized the young man whom she had found accidentally wounded in her fathers park. CHAPTER XIX. LET me introduce Mr. Ayliffe to you, Emi- ly, said Mrs. Hazleton; but you seem to know each other already. Is it so I have seen this gentleman before, replied her young companion, but did not know his name. I hope you have quite recovered from your wound? Quite, I thank you, Miss Hastings, replied John Ayliffe, in a quiet and respectful tone; but then he added, the interest you kindly showed on the occasion, I believe did much to cure me. Too much, and too soon ! thought Mrs. Hazleton, as she remarked a slight flush pass over Emilys cheek, to which her reply gave interpretation. Every one, I suppose, would feel the same interest, answered the beautiful girl, in suf- fering such as you seemed to endure when I accidentally met you in the park. Shall we go on into the Castle ? The last words were addressed to Mrs. Ha- zleton, who immediately assented, but asked Mr. Ayliffe to act as their guide, and, at the very first opportunity, whispered to him, not too quick. He seemed to comprehend in a moment what she meant: and during the rest of the ramble round the ruins behaved himself with a good deal of discretion. His conversation could not be said to be agreeable to Emily; for there was little in it either to amuse or in- terest. His stores of information were very limitedat least upon subjects which she her- self was conversant; and although he endea- vored to give it, every now and then, a poetical turn, the attempt was not very successful. On the whole, however, he did tolerably well till after the luncheon at the inn, to which Mrs. Hazleton invited him, when he began to enter- tain his two fair companions with an account of a rat hunt, which surprised Emily not a lit- tle, and drew, almost instantly, from Mrs. Ha-. zleton a monitory gesture. The young man lpoked confused, and broke off, suddenly, with an embarrassed laugh, say- ing, Oh! I forgot, such exploits are not very fit for ladies ears; and, to say the truth, I do not much like them myself when there is any thing better to do. I should think that something better might always be found, replied Mrs. Hazleton, gravely, taking to her own lips the reproof which she knew was in Emilys heart; but, I dare say, you were a boy when this happened? Oh, quite a boy, he said, quite a boy. I have other things to think of now. But the impression was made, and it was not favorable. With keen acuteness Mrs. Hazle- ton watched every look, and every turn of the conversation; and seeing that the course of things had begun ill for her purposes, she very soon proposed to order the carringe and return; resolving to take, as it were, a fresh start on the following day. She did not then ask young Ayliffe to dine at her house, as she had, at first, intended; but was well pleased, nowithstand- ing, to see him mount his horse in order to accompany them on the way back; for she had remarked that his horsemanship was excellent, and well knew that skill in manly exercises is always a strong recommendation in a woman s eyes. Nor was this all: decidedly handsome in person, John Aylilfe had, nevertheless, a cer- tain commonnot exactly vulgarair, when on his feet, which was lost as soon as he was in the saddle. There, with a perfect scat, and upright, dashing carriage, managing a fierce, wild horse with complete mastery, he appeared to the greatest advantage. All his horseman- ship was thrown away upon Emily. ~Lf she had been asked by any one, she would have admitted, at once, that he was a very hand- some man, and a good and graceful rider; but she never asked herself whether he was or not; and, indeed, did not think about it at all. One thing, however, she did think, and that was not what Mrs. Hazieton desired. She thought him a coarse and vulgar-minded young A STO1~Y WITHOUT A NAME. 49 man; and she wondered how a woman of such She was rewarded for her endurance, for refinement as Mrs. Hazieton could be pleased when it had lasted well nigh as long as she with his society. There was at the end of that could bear it, the drawing-room door opened, day only one impression in his favor, which and Mr. Marlow appeared. His eyes instantly was produced by an undefinable resemblance fixed upon Emily with that young man sitting to her father, evanescent, but ever returning, by her side; and a feeling, strange and painful, There was no one feature like: the coloring came upon him. But the next instant the was different: the hair, eyes, beard, all dis- bright, glad, natural, unchecked look of satis.. similar. He was much handsomer than Sir faction, with which she rose to greet him, Philip Hastings ever had been; but ever and swept every doubt-making jealousy away. anon there eame a glance of the eye, or a curl Very different was the look of Mrs. Hazle- of the lip; a family expression which was fa- ton. For an instanta single instantthe miliar and pleasant to her. John Ay]iffe ac- same black shadow, which I have mentioned companied the carriage to the gate of Mrs. once before, came across her brow, the same Hazletons park; and there the lady beckoned lightning flashed from her eye. But both pass- him up, and in a kind, half jesting tone, bade ed away in a moment; and the feelings which him keep himself disengaged the next day, as produced them were again hidden in her heart. she might want him. They were bitter enough; for she had read,with He promised to obey, and rode away; but the clear eyesight of jealousy, all that Mar.. Mrs. Hazieton never mentioned his name again lows look of surprise and annoyanceall that during the evening, which passed over in quiet Emilys look of joy and reliefbetrayed. conversation, with little reference to the events They might not yet call themselves lovers of the morning. they might not even be conscious that Before she went to bed, however, Mrs. Ha- they were so; but that they were and would zleton wrote a somewhat long epistle to John be, from that moment, Mrs. Hazleton had no Ayliffe, full of very important hints for his doubt. The conviction had come upon her, conduct the next day, and ending with an in- not exactly gradually, but by fits, as it were junction to burn the letter as soon as he had first a doubt, and then a fear, and then a cer- read it. This done, she retired to rest; and tainty that one, and then that both loved. that night, what with free mountain air and If it were so, she knew that her present exercise, she and Emily both slept soundly. plans must fail; but yet she pursued them with The next morning, however, she felt, or affect- an eagerness very different than beforea wild, ed to feel, fatigue; and put off another expe- rash, almost frantic eagerness. There was a dition which had been proposed. chance, she thought, of driving Emily into the Noon had hardly arrived, when Mr. Ayliffe arms of John Ayliffe, with no love for him, and presented himself, to receive her commands he love for another; and there was a bitter sort said, and there he remained, invited to stay to of satisfaction in the very idea. Fears for her dinner, not much to Emilys satisfaction; but, father she always hoped might operate, where at length, she remembered that she had letters no other inducement could have power, and to write, and, seated at a table in the window, such means she resolved to bring into play at went on covering sheets of paper, with a rapid once, without waiting for the dull, long process hand, for more than an hour; while John of drilling Ayliffe into gentlemanly carriage, Ayliffe seated himself by Emilys embroidery or winning for him some way in Emilys re- frame, and labored to efface the bad impression gard. To force her to marry him, hating rather of the day before, by a very different strain of than loving him, would be a mighty gratifica~- conversation. He spoke of many things more tion, and for it Mrs. Hazleton resolved at once suited to her tastes and habits than those which to strike; but she knew that hypocrisy was he had previously noticed, and spoke not alto- needed more than ever; and therefore it was gether amiss. But yet, there was something that ~ie brow was smoothed, the eye calmed forced in it all. It was as if he were reading in a moment. sentences out of a book, and, in truth, it is To Marlow, during his visit, she was cour- probable he was repeating a lesson. teous and civil enough, but still so far cold as Emily did not know what to do. She would to give him no encouragement to stay long. have given the world to be freed from his so- She kept watch too upon all that passed, not ciety; to have gone out and enjoyed her own only between him and Emily, but between him thoughts amongst woods and flowers; or even and John Ayliffe; for a quarrel between them, to have sat quietly in her own room alone, which she thought likely, was not what she feeling the summer air, and looking at the glo- desired. But there was no danger of such a rious sky. To seek that refuge, however, she result. Marlow treated the young man with a thought would be rude; and to go out to walk cold and distant politenessa proud civility, in the park would, she doubted not, induce which left him no pretence for offence, and y~t him to follow. She sat still, therefore, with silenced and abashed him completely., During marvellous patience, answering briefly when the whole visit, till towards its close, the con- an answer was required; but never speaking trast between the two men was so marked and in reply with any of that free pouring forth of strong, so disadvantageous to him whom Mr~ heart and mindwhich ean onlytake placewhere Hazleton sought to favor, that she would have sympathy is strong. - given much to have had Ayliffe away from 50 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. such a damaging companion. At length she could endure it no longer, and contrived to send him to seek for some flowers which she pretended to want, and which she knew he would not readily find in her gardens. Before he returned, Marlow was gone; and Emily, soon after, retired to her own room, leaving the youth and Mrs. Hazieton together. The three met again at dinner, and, for once, a subject was brought up, by accident, or de- signwhich, I know notthat gave John Ay- life an opportunity of setting himself in a somewhat better light. Every one has some amenitysome sweeter, gentler spot in the character. He had a great love for flowersa passion for them; and it brought forth the small, very small portion of the poetry of the heart which had been assigned to him by na- ture. It was flowers then that Mrs. Hazieton talked of, and he soon joined in discussing their beauties, with a thorough knowledge ot; and feeling for his subject. Emily was some- what surprised, and, with natural kindness, felt glad to find some topic where she could con- verse with him at ease. The change of her manner encouraged him, and he went on, for once, wisely keeping to a subject on which he was at home, and which seemed so well to please. Mrs. Hazieton helped him greatly with a skill and rapidity which few could have dis- played, always guiding the conversation back to the well chosen theme, whenever it was lost for an instant. At length, when the impression was most favorable, John Ayliffe rose to goI know not whether he did so at a sign from Mrs. Hazie- ton; but I think he did. Few men quit a room gracefullyit is a difficult evolution and he, certainly, did not. But Emilys eyes were in a different direction, and to say the truth, although he had seemed to her more agreeable that evening than he had been be- fore, she thought too little of him at all to re- mark how he quitted the room, even if her eyes had been upon him. From time to time, indeed, some of the strange vague words which he had used when she had seen him in the park, had recurred to her mind with an unpleasant impressiot?~ and she had puzzled herself with the question of what could be their meaning; but she soon dismissed the subject, resolving to seek some information from Mrs. Hazleton, who seemed to know the young man so well. On the preceding night, that lady had avoid- ed all mention of him; but that was not the case now. She spoke of him, almost as soon as he was gone, in a tone of some compas- sion, alluding vaguely and mysteriously to misfortunes and disadvantages under which he had labored, and saying, that it was marvel- bus to see how much strength of mind, and natural high qualities, could effect against ad- verse circumstances. This called forth from *~mily the inquiry which she had meditated, and although she could not recollect exactly the words John Ayliffe had used, she detailed, with sufficient accuracy, all that had taken place between herself and him; and the strange allusion he had made to Sir Philip Hastings. Mrs. Hazleton gazed at her for a moment or two after she had done speaking, with a look expressive of anxious concern. I trust, my dear Emily, she said, at length, that you did not repel him at all harshly. I have had much sad experience of tho~ world, and I know that in youth we are too apt to touch hardly and rashly, things that for our own best interests, as well as for good feel- ings sake, we ought to deal with tenderly. I do not think that I spoke harshly, re- plied Emily, thoughtfully; I told him that any thing he had to say must be said to my father; but I do not believe I spoke even that unkindly. I am glad to hear itvery glad ; replied Mrs. Hazleton, with much emphasis; and then, after a short pause, she added, Yet I do not know that your fatherexcellent, noble- minded, just and genetous as he iswas the person best fitted to judge and act in the mat.. ter which John Ayliffe might have to speak of. Indeed! exclaimed Emily, becoming more and more surprised, and in some degree alarm- ed, this is very strange, dear Mrs. Hazleton. You seem to know more of this matter; pray explain it all to me. I may well hear from you, what would be improper for me to listen to from him. He has a kindly heart, said Mrs. Hazle.. ton, thoughtfully, and more forbearance than I ever knew in one so young; but it cannot last for ever; and when he is of age, which will be in a few days, he must act; and I trust will act kindly and gentlyI am sure he will, if nothing occurs to irritate a bold and de- cided character. But act how l inquired Emily, eagerly; you forget, dear Mrs. Hazleton, that I am quite in the dark in this matter. I dare say that he is all that you say; but I will own that neither his manners generally, nor his de- meanor on that occasion, led me to think very well of him, or to believe that he was of a for- bearing or gentle nature. He has faults, said Mrs. Hazleton, dryly; oh yes, he has faults, but thcy are those of manner, more than heart or characterfaults produced by circumstances which may be changed by circumstanceswhich would never have existed, had he had, earlier, one judicious, kind, and experienced friend to counsel and direct him. They are disappearing rapidly, and, if ever he should fall under the influences of a generous and noble spirit, will vanish altogether. She was preparing the way, skilfully excit- ing, as she saw, some interest in Emily, and yet producing some alarm. But still you do not explain, said the beautiful girl, anxiously; do not, dear Mrs. Hazleton, keep me longer in suspense. A STORY WITHOUT A NAMR 51 I cannotI ought not, Emily, to explain all to you, replied the lady, it would be a long and painful story; but this I may tell you, and after that, ask me no more. That young man has your fathers fortunes and his fate entirely in his hands. He has forborne long. Heaven grant that his forbearance may still endure. She ceased, and after one glance at Emilys face, she cast down her eyes, and seemed to fall into thought. Emily gazed up towards the sky, as if seek- ing counsel there, and then, bursting into tears, hurriedly quitted the room. CHAPTER XX. EMu~xs night was not peaceful. The very idea that her fathers fate was in the power of any other man, was, in itself, trouble enough; but in the present case there was more. Why, or wherefore, she knew not; but there was something told her that, in spite of all Mrs. Hazletons commendations, and the fair por- trait she had so elaborately drawn, John Ay- life was not a man to use power mercifully. She tried eagerly to discover what had cre- ated this impression: she thought of every look and every word which she had seen upon the young mans countenance, or heard from his lips; and she fixed at length more upon the menacing scowl which she had marked upon his brow in the cottage, than even upon the menacing language which he had held when her fathers name was mentioned. Sleep visited not her eyes for many an hour, and when at length her eyes closed through fatigue, it was restless and dreamful. She fancied she saw John Ayliffe holding Sir Philip on the ground, trying to strangle him. She strove to scream for help, but her lips seemed paralyzed, and there was no sound. That strange anguish of sleepthe anguish of impotent strong willof powerless passion of effort without effect, was upon her, and soon burst the bonds of slumber. It would have been impossible to endure it long. All must have felt that it is greater than any mor- tal agony; and that if he could endure more than a moment, like a treacherous enemy it would slay us in our sleep. She awoke unrefreshed, and rose pale and sad. I cannot say that Mrs. Hazleton, when she beheld Emilys changed look, felt any great compunction. If she had no great de- sire to torture, which I will not pretend to say, she did not at all object to see her victim suffer; but Emilys pale cheek and distressed look afforded indications still more satisfac- tory; which Mrs. Hazleton remarked with the satisfaction of a philosopher watehing a suc- cessful experiment. They showed that the pre- paration she had made for what was coming, was evei~ more effectual than she had expect- ed, and so the abstract pleasure of inflicting pain on one she hated, was increased by the certainty of success. Emily said littlereferred not at all to the subject of her thoughts, but dwelt upon it pondered in silence. To one who knew her she might have seemed sullen, sulky; but it was merely that one of those fits of deep intense communion with the inner things of the heart those abstracted rambles through the mazy wilderness of thought, which sometimes fell upon her, was upon her now. At these times it was very difficult to draw her spirit forth into the waking world againto rouse her to the things about her life. It seemed as if her soul was absent far away, and that the mere animal life of the body remained. Great events might have passed before her eyes, without her knowing aught of them. On all former occasions but one, these reve- riesfor so I must call themhad been of a lighter and more pleasant nature. In them it had seemed as if her young spirit had been tempted away from the household paths of thought, far into tangled wilds where it had lost itselftempted, like other children, by the mere pleasure of the rambleled oa to catch a butterfly, or chase the rainbow. Feel- ingpassion, had not mingled with the dream at all, and consequently there had been no suffering. I am not sure that on other occa- sions, when such absent fits fell upon her, Emily Hastings was not more joyous, more full of pure delight, than when, in a gay and sparkling mood, she moved her fatjiers won- der at what he thought light frivolity. But now it was all bitter: the labyrinth was dark as well as intricate, and the thorns tore her as she groped for some path across the wilder- ness. Before it had lasted very longbefore it had at all reached its conclusionand as she had sat at the window of the drawing-room, gazing out upon the sky without seeing either white cloud or blue, Sir Philip Hastings him- self, on a short journey for some magisterial purpose, entered the room, spoke a few words to Mrs. Hazleton, and then turned to his daughter. Had he been half an hour later, Emily would have cast her arms round his neck and told him all; but as it was, she re- mained self-involved, even in his presence ainiwered indeed mechanicallyspoke words of affection with an absent air, and let the mind still run on upon the path which it had chosen. Sir Philip had no time to stay till this fit was past, and Mrs. Hazleton was glad to get rid of him civilly before any other act of the drama began. But his daughters mood did not escape Sir Philips eyes. I have said that for her he was full of observation, though he often read the results wrongly; and now he marked Emi- lys mood with doubt, and not with pleasure. What can this mean l he asked himself, can any thing have gone wrong? It is strange, very strange. Perhaps her mother was right after all, and it might have been better to take her to the capital. Thus thinking, Sir Philip himself fell into a 62 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. reverie, not at all unlike that in which he had found his daughter. Yet he understood not here, and pondered upon it as something strange and inextricable. In the mean time, Emily thought on, till at length Mrs. Hazleton reminded her that they were to go that day to the Waterfall. She rose mechanically, sought her room, dressed, and gazed from the windoW. I~t is wonderful, however, how small a thing will sometimes take the mind, as it were, by the hand, and lead it back out of shadow into sunshine. From the lawn below the window a light bird sprang up into the air, quivered upon its twinkling wings, uttered a note or two, and then soared higher, and each moment as it rose up, up, into the sky, the song, like a spirit heavenward bound, grew stronger and more strong, and flooded the air with melody. Emily watched it as it rose, listened to it as it sang. Its upward flight seemed to carry her spirit above the dark things on which it brooded; its thrilling voice to waken her to cheerful life again. There is a high holiness in a larks song; and hard must be the heart, and strong and corrupt, that does not raise the voice and join with it in its praise to God. When she went down again into the draw- ing-room, she was quite a different being, and Mrs. Hazleton marvelled what could have hap~ pened so to change her. Had she been told that it was a larks song, she would have laugh- ed the speaker to scorn. She was not one to feel it. I will not pause upon the journey of the morning, nor describe the beautiful fall of the river that they visited, or tell how it fell rush- ing over the precipice, or how the rocks dash- ed it into diamond sparkles, or how rainbows bannered the conflict of the waters, and boughs waved over the struggling stream like plumes. It was a sweet and pleasant sight, and full of meditation; and Mrs. Hazleton, judging per- haps of others by herself, imagined that it would produce in the mind of Emily those softening influences which teach the heart to yield readily to the harder things of life. There is, perhaps, not a more beautiful, nor a more frequently applicable allegory than that of the famous Amreeta Cup I know not whether devised by Southey, or borrowed by him from the rich store of instructive fable hidden in oriental tradition. It is long, long, since I read it; but yet every word is remem- bered whenever I see the different effect which scenes, circumstances, and events produce upon different characters. It is shown by the poet that the cup of divine wine gave life and im- mortality, and excellence superhuman, and bliss beyond belief, to the pure heart; but to the dark, earthly, and evil, brought death, destruc- tion, and despair. We may extend the lesson a little, and see in the Amreeta wine, the spirit of God pervading all his works, but produc- ing in those who see and taste an effect, for good or evil, according to the nature of the re- cipient. The strong, powerful, self-willed, pas sionate character of Mrs. Hazleton, found, in the calm meditative fall of the cataract, in the ever shifting play of the wild waters, and in the watchful stillness of the air around, a soft- ening, enfeebling influence. The gentle char- acter of Emily turned from the scene with a heart raised rather than depressed, a spirit bet- ter prepared to combat with evil and with sor- row, full of love and trust in God, and a confi- dence strong beyond the strength of this world. There is a voice of prophecy in waterfalls, and mountains, and lakes, and streams, and sunny lands, and clouds, and storms, and bright sunsets, and the face of nature every where, which tells the destiny, not of one, but of many, and at all events, foreshows the unuttera- ble mercy reserved for those who trust. It is a prophecy and an exhortation too. The words are, Be holy, and be happy ! The God who speaks is true and glorious. Be true and inherit glory. Emily had been cheerful as they went. As they returned she was calm and firm. Readily she joined in any conversation. Seldom did she fall into any absent fit of thought, and the effect of that days drive was any thing but what Mrs. Hazleton expected or wished. When they returned to the house, a letter was delivered to Emily Hastings, with which, the seal unbroken, she retired to her own room. The hand was unknown to her, but with a sort of prescience something more than natural, she divined at once from whom it came, and saw that the difficult struggle had commenced. An hour or two before, the very thought would have dismayed her. Now the effect was but small. She had no suspicion of the plans against her; no idea whatever that people might be using her as a toolthat there was any inter- est contrary to her own, in the conduct or management of others. But yet she turned the key in the door before she commenced the perusal of the letter, which was to the follow- ing effect: I know not, said the writer, in a happier style than perhaps might have been expected, how to prevail upon your goodness to pardon all I am going to say, knowing that nothing short of the circumstances in which I am plac.. ed, could excuse my approaching you even in thought. I have long known you, though you have known me only for a few short hours. I have watched you often from childhood up to womanhood, and there has been growing upon me from very early years a strong attachment, a deep affection, a powerfuloverpowering... ardent love, which nothing can ever extinguish. Need I tell you that the last few days would have increased that love had increase been possible. All this, however, I know is no justification of my venturing to raise my thoughts to you still less of my venturing to express these feel- ings boldly; butithas been an excuse to my- self, and in some degree to others, for abstain- ing hitherto from that which my best interests, A STORY WITHO1ZtT A NAME. 53 a mothers fame, and my own rights, required. The time has now come when I can no longer remain silent; when I must throw upon you the responsibility of an important choice; when I am forced to tell you how deeply, how devo- tedly, I love you, in order that you may say whether you will take the only means of sav- ing me from the most painful task I ever un- dertook, by conferring on me the greatest bless- ing that woman ever gave to man; or, on the other hand, will drive me to a task repugnant to all my feelings, but just, necessary, inevita- ble, in case of your refusal. Let me explain, however, that I am your cousinthe son of your fathers elder brother by a private mar- riage with a peasant girl of this county. The whole case is perfectly clear, and I have proof positive of the marriage in my hands. From fear of a lawsuit, and from the pressure of great poverty, my mother was induced to sa- crifice her rights after her husbands early death, still to conceal her marriage, to bear even sneers and shame, and to live upon a pit- tance allowed to her by her husbands father, and secured to her by him after his own death, when she was entitled to honor, and birth, and distinction by the law of the land. One of her objects, doubtless, was to se- cure to herself and her son a moderate com- petence, as the late Sir John Hastings, my grandfather and yours, had the power of leav- ing all his estates to any one he pleased, the entaiL having ended with himself. For this she sacrificed her rights, her name, her fame, and you will find, if you look into your grand- fathers will, that he took especial care that no infraction of the contract between him and her father should give cause for the assertion of her rights. Two or three mysterious clauses in that will will show you at once, if you read them, that the whole tale I tell you is correct, and that Sir John Hastings, on the one hand, paid largely, and on the other threatennd stern- ly, in order to conceal the marriage of his eld- est son, and transmit the title to the second. But my mother could not bar me of my rights: she could endure unmerited shame for pecu- niary advantages, if she pleased; but she could not entail shame upon me; and were it in the power of any one to deprive me of that which Sir John Hastings left mc, or to shut me out from the succession to his whole estates, to whichfrom the fear of disclosing his great secrethe did not put any bar in his will that would have been at once an acknowledgment of my legitimacy, I would still sacrifice all, and stand alone, friendless and portionless in the world, rather than leave my mothers fame and my own birth unvindicated. This is one of the strongest desires, the most overpower- ing impulses of my heart; and neither you nor any one could expect me to resist it. But there is yet a stronger stillnot an impulse, but a passion, and to that every thing must yield. It is love; and whatever may be the difference which you see between yourself and me, however inferior I may feel myself to you in all those qualities which I myself the most admire, still, I feel myself justified in placing the case clearly before youin telling you how truly, how sincerely, how ardently I love you, and in asking you whether you will deiga to favor my suit even now as I stand, to save me the pain and grief of contending with the father of her I love, the anguish of stripping him of the property he so well uses, and of the rank which he adorns; or will leave me to establish my rights, to take my just name and station, and then, when no longer appear- ing humble and unknown, to plead my cause with no less humility than I do at present. That I shall do so then, as now, rest as- suredthat I would do so if the rank and station to which I have a right were a princi- pality, do not doubt; but I would fain, if it were possible, avoid infficting any pain upon your father. I know not how he may bear the loss of station and of fortuneI know not what effect the struggles of a court of law, and inevitable defeat may produce. Only ac- quninted with him by general repute, I cannot tell what may be the effect of mortification and the loss of all he has hitherto enjoyed. He has the reputation of a good, a just, and a ~vise man, somewhat vehement in feeling, somewhat proud of his position. You must judge him, rather than I; but, I beseech you, consider him in this matter. At any time, and at all times, my kwe will be the samenothing can change me nothing can alter or affect the deep love I bear you. When casting from me the cloud which had hung upon my birth, when assuming the rank and taking possession of the property that is my own, I shall still love you as de- votedly as everstill as earnestly seek your hand. But oh! how I long to avoid all the pangs, the mischances, the anxieties to every one, the ill feeling, the contention, the animo- sity, which must ever follow such a struggle as that between your father ~nd myselfoh, howI long to owe every thing to you, even the station, even the property, even the fair name that is my own by right! Nay, more, far more, to owe you guidance and direction to owe you support and instruction4o owe you all that may improve, and purify, and ele- vate me. Oh, Emily, dear cousin, let me be your debtor in all things. You who first gave me the thought of rising above fate, and making myself worthy of the high fortunes which I have long known awaited me, perfect your work, redeem me for ever from all that is un- worthy, save me from bitter regrets, and your father from disappointment, sorrow, and pov- erty, and render me all that I long to be. Yours, and forever, JOHN HASTINGS. Very well done, Mrs. Hazleton !but some- ~vhat too well done. There was a difference, a difference so striking, so unaccountable, be- tween the style of this letter, both in thought and eomposition~ andthe ordinary styleand man- 54 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE ners of John Ayliffe, that it could not fail to strike the eyes of Emily. For a moment she felt a little confusednot undecided. There was no hesitation, no doubt, as to her own conduct. For an instant it crossed her mind that this young man had deeper, finer feelings in his nature than appeared upon the surface that his manner might be more in fault than his nature. But there were things in the let- ter itself which she did not likethat, with- out any labored analysis or deep-searching cri- ticism, brought to her mind the conviction that the words, the arguments, the induce- ments employed were those of art rather than of feelingthat the mingling of threats to- wards htr father, however veiled, with profes- sions of love towards herself, was in itself un- generousthat the objects and the means were not so high-toned as the professions that there was something sordid, base, igno- ble in the whole proceeding. It required no careful thought to arrive at such a conclusion no second readingand her mind was made up at once. The deep reverie into which she had fallen ia the morning had done her goodit had dis- entangled thought, and left the heart and judgment clear. The fair, natural scene she had passed through since, the intercourse with Gods works, had done her still more good refreshed, and strengthened, and elevated the spirit; and after a very brief pause she drew the table towards her, sat down, and wrote. As she did write, she thought of her father, and she believed from her heart that the words she used were those which he would wish her to employ. They were to the following effect: Sir: Your letter, as you may suppose, has o~casioned me great pain, and the more so, as I am compelled to say, not only that I can- not return your affection now, but can hold out no hope to you of ever returning it. I am obliged to speak decidedly, as I should consider myself most base if I could for one moment trifle with feelings such as those which you express. In regard to your claims upon my fa- thers estates, and to the rank which he be- lieves himself to hold by just right, I can form no judgment; and could have wished that they had never been mentioned to me before they had been made known to him. I never in my life knew my father do an unjust or ungenerous thing, and I am quite sure that if convinced another had a just title to all that he possesses on earth, he would strip himself of it as readily as he would of a soiled garment. My father would disdain to hold for an hour the rightful property of an- other. You have therefore only to lay your reasons before him, and you may be sure that they will have just consideration and yourself full justice. I trust that you will do so soon, as to give the first intelligence of such claims would be too painful a task for Your faithful servant, EMILY HASTINGS. She read her letter over twice, and was satisfied with it. Sealing it carefully, she gave it to her own maid for despatch, and then paused for a moment, giving way to some temporary curiosity as to who could have aided in the composition of the letter she had received, for John Ayliffes alone she could not and would not believe it to be. She cast such thoughts from her very speed- ily, however, and, strange to say, her heart seemed lightened now that the moment of trial had come and gone, now that a turning- point in her fate seemed to have passed. Mrs. Hazleton was surprised to see her re- enter the drawing-room with a look of relief. She saw that the matter was decided, but she was too wise to conclude that it was decided according to her wishes. CHAPTER XXL MARLOW reasoned with his own heart. For the first time in his life it had proved rebel- lious. It would have its own way. It would give no account of its conduct,why it had beat so, why it had thrilled so, why it had ex- perienced so many changes of feeling when he saw John Ayliffe sitting beside Emily Has- tings, and when Emily Hastings had risen with so joyous a smile to greet himit would not explain at all. And now he argued the point with it systematically, with a determina- tion to get to the bottom of the matter one way or another. He asked it, as if it had been a separate individual, if it was in love with Emily Hastings. The question was too direct, and the heart said it rather thought not. Was it quite sure? he asked again. The heart was silent, and seemed to be consider- ing. Was it jealous? he inquired. Oh dear no, not in the least. Then why did1 it go on in such a strange, capricious, unaccountable way, when a good- looking, vulgar young man was seen sitting beside Emily? The heart said it could not tell; that it was its nature to do so. Marlow was not to be put off. He was determined to know more, and he argued, If it be your nature to do so, you of course do the same when you see other young men sit- ting by other young women. The heart was puzzled, and did not reply; and then Marlow begged a definite answer to this ques- tion. If you were to hear to-morrow that Emily Hastings is going to be married to this youth, or to any other man, young or old, what would you do then ? Break 1 said the heart, and Marlow asked no more questions. Knowing how dangerous it is to enter into such interrogations on horse- back, when the pulse is accelerated and the nervous system all in a flutter, he had waited till he got into his own dwelling, and seated himself in his chair, that he might deal with the rebellious spirit in his breast stately, and calmly likewise; but as he came to the end A STORY WITHOUT A NAME. 55 of the conversation, he rose up, resolving to order a fresh horse, and ride instantly away, to confer with Sir Philip Hastings. In so do- ing he looked round the room. It was not very well or very fully furnished. The last proprietor before Mrs. Hazleton had not been very fond of books, and had never thought of a library. When Marlow brought his own books down he had ordered some cases to be made by a country carpenter, which fitted but did not much ornament the room. They gave it a raw, desolate aspect, and made him, by a natural projection of thought, think ill of the accommodation of the whole house, as soon as he began to entertain the idea of Emily Hastings ever becoming its mistress. Then he went on to ask himself, What have I to offer for the treasure of her hand? What have I to offer but the hand of a very sim- ple, undistinguished country gentlemanquite, quite unworthy of her? What have I to of- fer Sir Philip Hastings as an alliance worthy of even his consideration ?A good, unstain- ed name; but no rank, and a fortune not above mediocrity. Marry! a fitting mntch for the heiress of the Hastings and Marshall fam- ilies. He gazed around him, and his heart fell. A little boy, with a pair of wings on his shoulders, and the end of a bow peeping up near his neck, stood close behind Marlow, and whispered in his ear, Never mind all thatonly try. And Marlow resolved he would try; but yet he hesitated how to do so. Should he go himself to Sir Philip? But he feared a re- buff. Should he write? No, that was cow- ardly. Should he tell his love to Emily first, and strive to win her affections, crc he breath- ed to her father? No, that would be dishon- est, if he had a doubt of her fathers consent. At length he made up his mind to go in per- son to Sir Philip, but the discussion and the consideration had been so long that it was too lat~ to ride over that night, and the jour- ney was put off till the following day. That day, as early as possible, he set out. He called it as early as possible, and it was early for a visit; but the moment one fears. a rebuff from any lady one grows marvellously punc- tilious. When his horse was brought round he began to fancy that he should be too soon for Sir Philip, and he had the horse walked up and down for half an hour. What would he have given for that half hour, when, on reaching Sir Philips door, he found that Emilys father had gpne out, and was not expected back till late in the day. Angry with himself, and a good deal disap- pointed, he returned to his home, which, some- how, looked far less cheerful than usual. He could take no pleasure in his books, or in his pictures, and even thought was unpleas- ant to him, for under the influence of expec- tation it became but a calculation of chances, for which he had but scanty data. One thing, indeed, he learned from the passing of that evening, which was, that home and home hap- piness was lost to him henceforth without Emily Hastings. The following day saw him early in the saddle, and riding away as if some beast of the chase were before him. Indeed, man~~ love, when it is worth any thing, has always a smack of the hunter in it. He cared not for highlands or bypathshedges and ditches of- fered small impediments. Straight across the country he went, till he approached the end of his journey; but then he suddenly pulled in his rein, and began to ask himself if he was a madman. He was passing over the Mar- shall property at the time, the inheritance of Emilys mother, and the thought of all that she was heir to cooled his ardor with doubt and apprehension. He would have given one half of all that he possessed that she had been a peasant-girl, that he might have lived with her upon the other. Then he began to think of all that he should say to Sir Philip Hastings, and how he should say it; and he felt very uneasy in his mind. Then he was angry with himself for his own sensations, and tried philosophy and scolded his own heart. But philosophy and scolding had no effect; and then cantering easily through the park, he stopped at the gate of the house and dismounted. Sir Philip was in this time; and Marlow was ushered into the little room where he sat in the morning, with the library hard by, that he might have his books at hand. But Sir Philip was not reading now; on the contrary, he was in a fit of thought; and, if one might judge by the contraction of his brow, and the drawing down of the corners of his lips, it was not a very pleasant one. Marlow fancied that he had come at an in- auspicious moment, and the first words of Sfr Philip, though kind and friendly, were not at all harmonious with the feeling of love in his young visitors heart. Welcome, my young friend, he said, look- ing up. I have been thinking this morning over the laws and habits of different nations, ancient and modern; and would fain satisfy myself if I am right in the conclusion that we, in this land, leave too little free action to indi- vidual judgment. No man, we say, must take law in his own hands; yet how often do we break this rulehow often are we compelled to break it. If you, with a gun in your hand, saw a man at fifty or sixty paces about to murder a child or a woman, without any means of stopping the blow except by using your weapon, what would you do ? Shoot him on the spot, replied Marlowat once, and then added, if I were quite certain of his intention. Of courseof course, replied Sir Philip. And yet, my good friend, if you did so with- out witnessessupposing the child too young to testify, or the woman sleeping at whom the blow was aimedyou would be hung for your just, wise, charitable act. 56 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZI1~E. Perhap8 so, said Marlow, abruptly; but I would do it, nevertheless. Right, right, replied Sir Philip, rising and shaking his hand; rights and like yourself! There are eases when, with a clear conscious- ness of the rectitude of our purpose, and a strong confidence in the justice of our judg- ment, we must step over all human laws, be the result to ourselves what it may. Do you remember a manone Cutterto whom you taught a severe lesson on the very first day I had the pleasure of knowing you? I should have been undoubtedly justified, morally, and perhaps even legally also, in sending my sword through his body, when he attacked me that day. Had I done so I should have saved a valuable human life, spared the world the spectacle of a great crime, and preserved an excellent husband and father to his wife and children. That very man has murdered the game-keeper of the Earl of Selby; and being called to the spot yesterday, I had to commit him for that crime, upon evidence which left not a doubt of his guilt. I spared him when he assaulted me from a weak and unworthy feeling of compassion, although I knew the mans character, and dimly foresaw his career. I have regretted it since; but never so much as yesterday. This, of course, is no parallel ease to that which I just now proposed; but the one led my mind to the other. Did the wretehed man admit his guilt ? asked Marlow. He did not, and could not deny it, an- swered Sir Philip; during the examination he maintained a hard, sullen silence; and only said, when [ordered his committal, that I ought not to be so hard upon him for that offence, as it was the best service he could have done me; for that he had silenced a man whose word could strip me of all I possessed. What could he mean ? asked Marlow, eagerly. Nay, I know not, replied Sir Philip, in an indifferent tone; crushed vipers often turn to bite. The man he killed was the son of the former sexton herean honest, good creature too, for whom I obtained his place; his mur- derer a reckless villain, on whose word there is no dependence. Let us give no thought to it. He has held some such language before; but it never produced a fear that my property would be lost, or even diminished. We do not hold our fee simples on the tenure of a rogues good pleasurewhy do you smile ? For what will seem at first sight a strange, unnatural reason for a friend to give, Sir Phil- ip, replied Marlow, determined not to lose the opportunity; for your own sake and for your countrys, I am bound to hope that your property may never be lost or diminished; but every selfish feeling would induce me to wish it were less than it is. Sir Philip Jiasfings was no reader of rid- dles, and he looked puzzled; but Marlow walked frankly round and took him by the hand, saying, I have not judged it right, Sir Philip, to remain one day after I discovered what are my feelings towards your daughter, without informing you fully of their nature, that you may at once decide upon your future demeanor towards one to whom you have hitherto shown much kindness, and who would on no account abuse it. I was not at all aware of how this passion had grown upon me, till the day before yesterday, when I saw your daughter at Mrs. Hazletons, and some accidental circumstance revealed to me the state of my own heart. Sir Philip looked as if surprised; but after a moments thought, he inquired, And what says Emily, my young friend ? She says nothing, Sir Philip, replied Mar- low; for neither by word nor look, as far as I know, have I betrayed my own feelings to- wards her. I would not, between us, do so, till I had given you an opportunity of deciding, unfettered by any consideration for her, wheth- er you would permit me to pursue my suit or not. Sir Philip was in a reasoning mood that day, and he tortured Marlow by asking, And would you always think it necessary, Marlow, to obtain a parents consent, before you en- deavored to gain the affection of a girl you loved ? Not always, replied the young man; but I should think it always necessary to violate no confidence, Sir Philip. You have been kind to metrusted mehad no doubt of me; and to say one word to Emily which might thwart your plans or meet your disapproval, would be to show myself unworthy of your esteem or her affection. Sir Philip mused, and then said, as if speak- ing to himself, I had some idea this might turn out so, but not so soon. I fancy, how- ever, he continued, addressing Marlow, that you must have betrayed your feelings more than you thought, my young friend; for yes- terday I found Emily in a strange, thoughtful, abstracted mood, showing that some strong feelings were busy at her heart. Some other cause, said Marlow quickly; I cannot even flatter myself that she was thinking of me. When I saw her the day be- fore, there was a young man sitting with her and Mrs. HazletonJohn Ayliffe, I think, is his nameand I will own I thought his pres- ence seemed to annoy her. John Ayliffe at Mrs. Hazletons 1 ex- claimed Sir Philip, his br9w growing very dark; John Ayliffe in my daughters society! Well might the poor child look thoughtful and yet why should she? She knows nothing of his history. What is he like, Marlow how does he bear himself? He is certainly handsome, with fine fen. tures and a good figure, replied Marlow; indeed, it struck me that there was some resemblance between him and yourself; but there is a want I cannot well define in his ap- pearance, Sir Philipin his airin his carriage, whether still or in motion, which fixes upon HF~RBERT KNOWLES~ 5T him what I am accustomed to call a class-mark, and that not of the best. Depend upon it, however, that it was annoyance at being brought into society which she disliked that affected your daughter as you have mentioned. My love for her she is, and must be, ignorant of; for I stayed there but a few minutes; and before that day, I saw it not myself. And now, Sir Philip, what say you to my suit? May Ias some of your words lead me to hopemay I pursue that suit and strive to win your dear daughters love ? Of course, replied Sir Philip, of course. A vague fancy has long been floating in my brain, that it might be so some day. She is too young to marry yet; and it will be sad to part with her when the time does come; but you have my consent to seek her affection if she can give it you. She must herself decide. Have you considered fully, asked Marlow, that I have neither fortune nor rank to offer her, that I am by no means Sir Philip waved his hand almost impatient- ly. What skills it talking of rank or wealth? he said. You are a gentleman by birth, educa- tion, manners. You have easy competence. My Emily will desire no more for herself, and I can desire no more for her. You will en- deavor, I know, to make her happy, and will sueceed, because you love her. As for myself, were I to choose out of all the men I know, you would be the man. Fortune is a good adjunct; but it is no essential. I do not prom- ise her to you. That she must do; but if she says she will give you her hand, it shall be yours.~~ Marlow thanked him, with joy such as may be conceived; but Sir Philips thoughts re- verted at once to his daughters situation at Mrs. Hazletons. She must stay there no longer, Marlow, he said; I will send for her home without delay. Then you will have plenty of opportunity for the telling of your own tale to her ear, and seeing how you may speed with her; but, at all events, she must stay no longer in a house where she can meet with John Ayliffe. Mrs. Hazleton makes me marvela woman so proudso refined ! It is but justice to say, replied Marlow, thoughtfully, that I have some vague recol- lection of Mrs. Hazleton having intimated that they met that young gentleman by chance upon some expedition of pleasure. But had I not better communicate my hopes and wishes to Lady Hastings, my dear sir ? Thatis not needful, replied Emilys father, somewhat sternly; I promise her to you, if she herself consents. My good wife will not oppose my wishes or my daughters happiness; nor do I suffer opposition upon occasions of importance. I will tell Lady Hastings my determination myself. Marlow was too wise to say another word, but agreed to come on the following day to dine and sleep at the hall, and took his leave for the time. It was not, indeed, without some satisfaction that he heard Sir Philip or- der a horse to be saddled and a man to prepare to carry a letter to Mrs. Hazleton; for doubts were rapidly possessing themselves of his mind not in regard to Emilybut in reference to Mrs. Hazleton herself. The letter was dispatched immediately after his departure, recalling Emily to her fathers house, and announcing that the carriage would be sent for her early on the following morning. That done, Sir Philip repaired to his wifes drawing-room, and informed her that he had given his consent to his young friend Marlows suit to their daughter. His tone was one that admitted no reply, and Lady Hastings made none; but she entered her protest quite a~ well, by falling into a violent fit of hysterics. HERBERT KNOWLES. X17\7E recently printed in the International ateresting account of the marvel- lous boy Chatterton, who perished in his pride, and the memoirs of Southey recall to us the almost as unfortunate Herbert Knowles, who died in 1817. Knowles was a poor boy of the humblest origin, without father or moth- er, yet with abilities sufficient to excite the at- tention of strangers, who subscribed 201. a year towards his education, upon condition that his friends should furnish 301. more. The boy was sent to Richmond School, Yorkshire, pre- paratory to his proceeding as a sizer to St. Johns, but when he quitted school the friends were unable to advance another sixpence on his account. To help himself, Herbert Knowles wrote a poem, sent it to Southey with a. history of his case, and asked permis- sion to dedicate it to the Laureate. Southey, finding the poem brimful of power and of promise, made inquiries of the schoolmaster, and received the highest character of the youth. He then answered the application of KnoWles, entreated him to avoid present publication, and promised to do something better than receive his dedication. He subscribed at once 101. per annum towards the failing 301., and procured similar subscriptions from Mr. Rogers and the late Lord Spencer. Herbert Knowles, re- ceiving the news of his good fortune, wrote to his protector a letter remarkable for much more than the gratitude which pervaded every line. He remembered that Kirke White had gone to the university countenanced and sup-~ ported by patrons, and that to pay back the debt he owed them he wrought day and night until his delicate frame gave way, and his life became the penalty of his devotion. Herbert Knowles felt that he could not make the same desperate efforts, and deemed it his first duty to say so. I will not deceive, he writes in his touching anxiety. Far be it from me to foster expectations which I feel I cannot gratify. Two years ago I came to Richmond totally ignorant of classi- cal and mathematical literature. Out of that time, during three months and two long vaca- tions, I have made but a retrograde course. If I enter into competition for university honors

HF~RBERT KNOWLES~ 5T him what I am accustomed to call a class-mark, and that not of the best. Depend upon it, however, that it was annoyance at being brought into society which she disliked that affected your daughter as you have mentioned. My love for her she is, and must be, ignorant of; for I stayed there but a few minutes; and before that day, I saw it not myself. And now, Sir Philip, what say you to my suit? May Ias some of your words lead me to hopemay I pursue that suit and strive to win your dear daughters love ? Of course, replied Sir Philip, of course. A vague fancy has long been floating in my brain, that it might be so some day. She is too young to marry yet; and it will be sad to part with her when the time does come; but you have my consent to seek her affection if she can give it you. She must herself decide. Have you considered fully, asked Marlow, that I have neither fortune nor rank to offer her, that I am by no means Sir Philip waved his hand almost impatient- ly. What skills it talking of rank or wealth? he said. You are a gentleman by birth, educa- tion, manners. You have easy competence. My Emily will desire no more for herself, and I can desire no more for her. You will en- deavor, I know, to make her happy, and will sueceed, because you love her. As for myself, were I to choose out of all the men I know, you would be the man. Fortune is a good adjunct; but it is no essential. I do not prom- ise her to you. That she must do; but if she says she will give you her hand, it shall be yours.~~ Marlow thanked him, with joy such as may be conceived; but Sir Philips thoughts re- verted at once to his daughters situation at Mrs. Hazletons. She must stay there no longer, Marlow, he said; I will send for her home without delay. Then you will have plenty of opportunity for the telling of your own tale to her ear, and seeing how you may speed with her; but, at all events, she must stay no longer in a house where she can meet with John Ayliffe. Mrs. Hazleton makes me marvela woman so proudso refined ! It is but justice to say, replied Marlow, thoughtfully, that I have some vague recol- lection of Mrs. Hazleton having intimated that they met that young gentleman by chance upon some expedition of pleasure. But had I not better communicate my hopes and wishes to Lady Hastings, my dear sir ? Thatis not needful, replied Emilys father, somewhat sternly; I promise her to you, if she herself consents. My good wife will not oppose my wishes or my daughters happiness; nor do I suffer opposition upon occasions of importance. I will tell Lady Hastings my determination myself. Marlow was too wise to say another word, but agreed to come on the following day to dine and sleep at the hall, and took his leave for the time. It was not, indeed, without some satisfaction that he heard Sir Philip or- der a horse to be saddled and a man to prepare to carry a letter to Mrs. Hazleton; for doubts were rapidly possessing themselves of his mind not in regard to Emilybut in reference to Mrs. Hazleton herself. The letter was dispatched immediately after his departure, recalling Emily to her fathers house, and announcing that the carriage would be sent for her early on the following morning. That done, Sir Philip repaired to his wifes drawing-room, and informed her that he had given his consent to his young friend Marlows suit to their daughter. His tone was one that admitted no reply, and Lady Hastings made none; but she entered her protest quite a~ well, by falling into a violent fit of hysterics. HERBERT KNOWLES. X17\7E recently printed in the International ateresting account of the marvel- lous boy Chatterton, who perished in his pride, and the memoirs of Southey recall to us the almost as unfortunate Herbert Knowles, who died in 1817. Knowles was a poor boy of the humblest origin, without father or moth- er, yet with abilities sufficient to excite the at- tention of strangers, who subscribed 201. a year towards his education, upon condition that his friends should furnish 301. more. The boy was sent to Richmond School, Yorkshire, pre- paratory to his proceeding as a sizer to St. Johns, but when he quitted school the friends were unable to advance another sixpence on his account. To help himself, Herbert Knowles wrote a poem, sent it to Southey with a. history of his case, and asked permis- sion to dedicate it to the Laureate. Southey, finding the poem brimful of power and of promise, made inquiries of the schoolmaster, and received the highest character of the youth. He then answered the application of KnoWles, entreated him to avoid present publication, and promised to do something better than receive his dedication. He subscribed at once 101. per annum towards the failing 301., and procured similar subscriptions from Mr. Rogers and the late Lord Spencer. Herbert Knowles, re- ceiving the news of his good fortune, wrote to his protector a letter remarkable for much more than the gratitude which pervaded every line. He remembered that Kirke White had gone to the university countenanced and sup-~ ported by patrons, and that to pay back the debt he owed them he wrought day and night until his delicate frame gave way, and his life became the penalty of his devotion. Herbert Knowles felt that he could not make the same desperate efforts, and deemed it his first duty to say so. I will not deceive, he writes in his touching anxiety. Far be it from me to foster expectations which I feel I cannot gratify. Two years ago I came to Richmond totally ignorant of classi- cal and mathematical literature. Out of that time, during three months and two long vaca- tions, I have made but a retrograde course. If I enter into competition for university honors 58 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. I shall kill myself. Could I twine, to gratify my friends, a laurel with the cypress I would not repine; but to sacrifice the little inward peace which the wreck of passion has left be- hind, and relinquish every hope of future ex- cellence and future usefulness in one wild and unavailing pursuit, were indeed a madmans act, and worthy of a madmans fate. The poor fellow promised to do what he could, assured his friends that he would not be idle, and that if he could not reflect upon them any extraordinary credit, he would cer- tainly do them no disgrace. Herbert Knowles had taken an accurate measure of his strength and capabilities, and soon gave proof that he spoke at the bidding of no uncertain monitor within him. Two months after his letter to Southey he was laid in his grave. The fire consumed the lamp even faster than the trem- bling lad suspected. A poem by him, The Three Tabernacles, though perhaps familiar to most of our read- ers, is so beautiful that we reprint it here: THE THREE TABERNACLES. Methinks it is good to be here, If thou wilt let us buildbut for whom Nor Elias nor Moses appear; But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb. Shall we build to Ambition? Ah l no: Aifrighted, he shrinketh away; For see, they would pin him below To a small narrow cave; and, begirt with cold clay, TG the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. To Beauty? Ah! no: she forgets The charms that she wielded before; Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. Shall we build to the purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside; And heres neither dress nor adomment allowed, But the long winding-sheet, and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? Alas! tis in vain: Who hid, in their tums hav~been hid; The treasures are squandered again; And here, in the grave, are all metals forbid, But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin-lid. To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh and the jeer? Ahl here isa plentiful board, But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here. Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah l no: they have withered and died, Or fled with thespirit above. Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve; Nor a sob, nor a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve: l sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, or fear; Peace, peace, is the watchword, the only one here. Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah l no: for his empire is known, And here there are tophies enow; Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone, Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith. which insures it fulfilled; And the third to the Lamb of the Great Sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. There are in his works several other pieces not less remarkable for the best qualities of poetry; and they all appear to be the echoes of genuine feeling. THE COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. TRANSLATHO FOR THE INTERNATIONAL M6NTHLY MAGA ZINE FROM THE FRENCH OF H. 05 ST. GEORGES. Continuedfrom poge fill, vol. II. PART SECONDBOOK FIRST. THE DUCHESS. O N the very day on which the marriage had een celebrated at the town of Sorrento, a man descended from a carriage that, from the dust on its wheels, seemed to have travelled far, at the town of Ceprano, situated on the frontier of the Roman States and the kingdom of Naples. People call Ceprano a city; it is, however, in fact, only a large town of the Abruzzi, very ugly and very dirty, to which leads one of the worst and most romantic roads in Italy. Ceprano would scarcely merit the travellers notice, but for many curiosities which it contains, worthy of particular atten- tion. These curiosities are neither the charms of nature, for the scenery is without interest, nor palaces, nor monuments. They are neither archeologic nor artistic, but the greatest of earthly raritiescuriosities of humanity. The women of Ceprano are, perhaps, the most beau- tiful in Italy. Their stature, their regular and noble features, their magnificent black hair, twined around their charming faces, a graceful carriage, truly antique, their picturesque cos- tume, partaking of the characters of both mod- ern Greece and Italy, form the most admirable and pleasant combination. The women of Ce- prano display, also, a peculiar coquetry, by their graceful and bold air; they carry on their heads etruscan amphorte, in which, like Rachel, they bring water from the spring. At the fountain, therefore, strangers assemble to admire these nymphs. The traveller of whom we speak had gone thither, according to the well estab- lished custom, while his horses were being changed. He had, however, been preceded by another man, whose strange appearAnce soon attracted attention. The latter was about sixty years of age, of middle height, and well made. He had been handsome, if one could judge from the purity of the lines of his features, which time had not entirely effaced. His coiffure alone would have made him ap- pear whimsical and ridiculous, had not his head been noble and distinguished. He wore pow- der; and locks such as once were known as a laille de j eon, were on each side of his face. A cloak o light silk was buttoned over his breast, so as to conceal a blue coat on which a cross of Saint Louis rested, being nuspended to a broad blue ribbon. Sitting between two of the prettiest girls of Ceprano, he talked to them in an Italian, very little of which they understood; for his patois called forth from the volatile creatures ~bursts of laughter. Bah 1 said he in French; this is the con- sequence of not studying foreign tongues. I cannot turn the indigenes to profit. Pity, too, when they are beautiful as these are. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by Stringer & Townsend, in the Clerks Office of the Dis- trict Court of the United States for the Southem District of New-York.

58 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. I shall kill myself. Could I twine, to gratify my friends, a laurel with the cypress I would not repine; but to sacrifice the little inward peace which the wreck of passion has left be- hind, and relinquish every hope of future ex- cellence and future usefulness in one wild and unavailing pursuit, were indeed a madmans act, and worthy of a madmans fate. The poor fellow promised to do what he could, assured his friends that he would not be idle, and that if he could not reflect upon them any extraordinary credit, he would cer- tainly do them no disgrace. Herbert Knowles had taken an accurate measure of his strength and capabilities, and soon gave proof that he spoke at the bidding of no uncertain monitor within him. Two months after his letter to Southey he was laid in his grave. The fire consumed the lamp even faster than the trem- bling lad suspected. A poem by him, The Three Tabernacles, though perhaps familiar to most of our read- ers, is so beautiful that we reprint it here: THE THREE TABERNACLES. Methinks it is good to be here, If thou wilt let us buildbut for whom Nor Elias nor Moses appear; But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb. Shall we build to Ambition? Ah l no: Aifrighted, he shrinketh away; For see, they would pin him below To a small narrow cave; and, begirt with cold clay, TG the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. To Beauty? Ah! no: she forgets The charms that she wielded before; Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. Shall we build to the purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside; And heres neither dress nor adomment allowed, But the long winding-sheet, and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? Alas! tis in vain: Who hid, in their tums hav~been hid; The treasures are squandered again; And here, in the grave, are all metals forbid, But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin-lid. To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh and the jeer? Ahl here isa plentiful board, But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here. Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah l no: they have withered and died, Or fled with thespirit above. Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve; Nor a sob, nor a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve: l sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, or fear; Peace, peace, is the watchword, the only one here. Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah l no: for his empire is known, And here there are tophies enow; Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone, Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith. which insures it fulfilled; And the third to the Lamb of the Great Sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. There are in his works several other pieces not less remarkable for the best qualities of poetry; and they all appear to be the echoes of genuine feeling. THE COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. TRANSLATHO FOR THE INTERNATIONAL M6NTHLY MAGA ZINE FROM THE FRENCH OF H. 05 ST. GEORGES. Continuedfrom poge fill, vol. II. PART SECONDBOOK FIRST. THE DUCHESS. O N the very day on which the marriage had een celebrated at the town of Sorrento, a man descended from a carriage that, from the dust on its wheels, seemed to have travelled far, at the town of Ceprano, situated on the frontier of the Roman States and the kingdom of Naples. People call Ceprano a city; it is, however, in fact, only a large town of the Abruzzi, very ugly and very dirty, to which leads one of the worst and most romantic roads in Italy. Ceprano would scarcely merit the travellers notice, but for many curiosities which it contains, worthy of particular atten- tion. These curiosities are neither the charms of nature, for the scenery is without interest, nor palaces, nor monuments. They are neither archeologic nor artistic, but the greatest of earthly raritiescuriosities of humanity. The women of Ceprano are, perhaps, the most beau- tiful in Italy. Their stature, their regular and noble features, their magnificent black hair, twined around their charming faces, a graceful carriage, truly antique, their picturesque cos- tume, partaking of the characters of both mod- ern Greece and Italy, form the most admirable and pleasant combination. The women of Ce- prano display, also, a peculiar coquetry, by their graceful and bold air; they carry on their heads etruscan amphorte, in which, like Rachel, they bring water from the spring. At the fountain, therefore, strangers assemble to admire these nymphs. The traveller of whom we speak had gone thither, according to the well estab- lished custom, while his horses were being changed. He had, however, been preceded by another man, whose strange appearAnce soon attracted attention. The latter was about sixty years of age, of middle height, and well made. He had been handsome, if one could judge from the purity of the lines of his features, which time had not entirely effaced. His coiffure alone would have made him ap- pear whimsical and ridiculous, had not his head been noble and distinguished. He wore pow- der; and locks such as once were known as a laille de j eon, were on each side of his face. A cloak o light silk was buttoned over his breast, so as to conceal a blue coat on which a cross of Saint Louis rested, being nuspended to a broad blue ribbon. Sitting between two of the prettiest girls of Ceprano, he talked to them in an Italian, very little of which they understood; for his patois called forth from the volatile creatures ~bursts of laughter. Bah 1 said he in French; this is the con- sequence of not studying foreign tongues. I cannot turn the indigenes to profit. Pity, too, when they are beautiful as these are. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by Stringer & Townsend, in the Clerks Office of the Dis- trict Court of the United States for the Southem District of New-York. COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. 59 Signor, may I be your interpreter ? said the last corner, who had heard only the latter portion of the old mans words. Thanks, Signor, said he; heaven has sent you to the aid of a barbarian who was piti- lessly murdering the mother tongue of Tasso. Formerly, continued he, pantomime answer- ed to talk with women as well as language; now, however, I must explain myself in an- other manner. I cannot, therefore, ask you to be the interpreter of my request of these girls! What, Signor, did you ask them ? said he. Nothing, but permission to write two signs on my tablets. A habit I imported from Lon- don, a peculiar kind of statistics to introduce some variety into the tedious stories travellers spin. I indicate the region through which I pass by a single phrase or word which recalls to me what they have most agreeable to the heart, mind, or senses. See, said he, taking a rich pocket-book on which was a prince s coronet in gold, all Italy will occupy but two pages. Florence? Flowers arc! museums. Bologna? Hams. Milan? La scala. Leg- horn? Nothing. Rome? Every thing. Et catera. I wished to write Ceprano? kisses: to prove that here I touched the lips of the two prettiest women of Italy. If that is all, said the person to whom the old man spoke, and for the purpose of advocating so useful a cause, said she, with a laugh, I will procure you the pleasure you desire.~~ -~ Indeed, Signor, I do not know how I can recompense you for such a service. Signor, I deserve no recompense from you, as I merely advancQ the art of travelling, which through your exertions is about to be- come so attractive Signorine, said he to the beautiful girls of Ceprano, in the pure Roman dialect; an old mans kiss always brings prosperity to the youthful; and this, Signor, he pointed to the old man with powdered hair, wishes you to be happy. The two young girls, with the most natural grace possible, offered their brows to the old man, who kissed Them paternally as possible. I thank you, sir, said he to his interpreter. I am indebted solely for this chapter to your politeness, and can express my pleasure only by dedicating it to you. To do so, how- ever, it is necessary that I should know your name Write then, Ceprano, dedicated to Count Monte-Leone. But, Signor, shall not I know the name of the author of a work so interest- ing as that to which I have contributed ? The name of the writer who is indebted tQ you for the best chapter of his book, is the Prince de Maulear. The Count made a brusque movement of surprise, and saluting the Prince coldly, left him. A quarter of an hour after, two car- riages in ~lifferent directions left Ceprano. Monte-Leones took the road to Rome, the Prince de Maulears that to Naples. The for- mer, however, did not go to Rome; for, when he had come to the foot of a wooded moun- tain, he left the carriage, and accompanied by a man in a long cloak, who had hitherto sat in the carriage, Monte-Leone went into a thick underwood, and proceeding up a rocky path almost to the top of the mountain, went to the little town of Frenona, which is on the very brow. The night was near at hand, and the trees with their leaves, too early for the season, increased the darkness of the moun- tain path. Suddenly, at a distance of two hundred feet from them, a bright and sparkling light was seen approaching Monte-Leone and his companion. The Count uttered a sharp whistle, and the light went to the middle of the wood, and hurried like a will-o-the-wisp., towards the travellers. The light was a torch, borne by a man, dressed as a peasant and wrapped in a large cloak, which suffered noth- ing but his two sparkling eyes to be seen, which were scarcely less brilliant than the torch. Buon Giovno, Signor Pignana, s~iid the Count to the new comer; you see I have kept the appointment at San Paolo. The brothors await your excellency, said Pignana, bowing to the ground; be pleased to follow me. I have come hither to do so, said the Count. The three men continued to ascend the mountain, and after a while turned to the right and stopped in front of an old building par- tially in ruins. Following a path around the ruin, they came to the place where the wall was highest, and stopped in front of a door. Pignana pulled a rope. A bell sounded, and the door was opened by a man in the costume Pignana wore. The three then crossed a long paved court, and through a vestibule entered a corridor leading into a vast hall, which had been the refectory of the monastery of San Paolo. A few torches lit up the room; around a table in the centre of which were thirty men all dressed like those we have described. They arose when Monte-Leone entered, and bowed with respect. The Count took his seat and spoke thus: You desired, Signori, to see me once more among you, and to accede to your wish I have braved every danger; for you know that Rome and Naples make common cause against us. For a long time I have wished to see you, and been anxious to ascertain your views, by put- ting, as your supreme chief, two questions to you. Speak, Monsignore, said the Carbonari. Have the Vente of all Italy, said the Count, those of Rome, Venice, Milan, Parma, Vero- na, Turin, and the other principal cities of Italy, the chiefs of which I see here, ever doubted me No, Monsignore; but they have feared lest being a victim to the unhappy fate which has befallen you, it might be your intention to leave us. 4 60 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. And betray you, Signori, said the Count, with bitterness; sell you like a spy and in- former ? Never I said all the company; Monte- Leone can be no spy. Thank you, Signori, for the good opinion you have of me, said the Count in an ironical tone; why then did you demand that foolish manifestation in the theatre of San Carlo? Do you not see that I have given you sufficient pledges by risking my life at the Venta of Pompeia, where I, who had every gratification that fortune could bestow on me, risked every thing by declaring myself your chief? Let me tell you, Signori, two powerful motives led memy convictions and my fathers blood, which yet calls to me for vengeance. The fol- lowing is my second question :Do the Vente of Italy promise to obey my orders without giving any to me? Monsignore, you in this demand perfect submission ! Perfect, Signori; I will make my demand more explicit. I demand obedience, to act by 4 my orders, and never without them; to think as I do, and to be the body of an association of which I am the soul. The Carbonari were silent. Decide! said the Count, taking out his watch. I had but two hours to devote to you, to settle all, and only a few minutes re main. - The Carbonari consulted together. Their conversation was animated as possible. The Count looked again at his watch, and all turn- ed towards him. Your excellency, said the one who seemed to be the most important, may rely on our faith, conscience, and trust in you. We would, though, think we exceeded our pow- ers, and implicate the brothers who have con- fided in us too deeply, if we were to consent to be passive, as you wish us and the Italian Vente to become. Then there is nothing more to be said, Signori, and Monte-Leone arose. Perhaps I have confided too implicitly in my audacity, resolution, and the power over myself, which never has deserted me. I deceived myself, perhaps, when too proudly I fancied I could inspire you with confidence equal to my own. I thought by risking life, fortune, and all, I won the right to hold the dice myself. But you do not think thus, and I submit. Faith- ful to my oaths, and to our principles, I am always ready to keep and to defend them. Act- ing, henceforth, alone, I shall do as I please, and be accountable to myself alone. Now, Signori, adieu! I shall leave Italy, and perhaps Europe, in search of a country, the institutions of which recognize the true principles of na- tional happiness. Wherever, though, I may be, I will be mute as to your secrets, and de- voted to your principles. You had just now a chief in Count Montc-Leone. He is so no more, but is still your brother. Bowing to them with that noble dignity which he never laid aside, he bade the man who had accompanied him to take a torch and lead the way. Monte-Leone descended the mountain at Frepinond, and regained the car- riage that waited for him, in which he proceed- ed to the Eternal City. Wounded at what, when he remembered how much he had done, seemed ingratitude, he said to himself, Henceforth Monte-Leone commandshe can- not obey. About evening, on the night after the Venta at San ,Paola, the Count got out of his car- riage, and, as his sadness increased as he left Naples, sought to revive himself by walking. He walked through Ferentino, a little town of the Roman States, and as he passed by the church he heard the sound of the organ. Monte-Leone had a heart piously inclined, and~ the sentiment of religion was always aroused by the sight of the church. He went into the church, which was briliantly lighted. A few of the faithful here and there prayed; the half tints of the light on the walls giving them the appearance of statues on tombs. Before the principal altar two persons knelt. A priest was about to unite their fate. Monte-Leone ap- proached the altar, kit the seclusion of the po- sition of the couple as they bent to the ground before the priest, who was blessing them, made it impossible for him to distinguish their fea- tures. A strange curiosity took possession of him, for this was evidently no ordinary vil- lage marriage. The rich dress of the young woman, the noble air of the young man to whom she was about to be married, all an- nounced one of those secret unions not con- tracted beneath the vaulted arches of a cathe- dral, but in the oratory of some palace, or the chapel of some secluded hamlet. The cere- mony was over, and the newly married couple left the altar and walked down the naive to the door of the church of Ferentino, where a magnificent carriage was waiting. Just as they were about leaving the church, the bride lifted up her veil and saw a man standing near the vase of holy water. The light of the lamp fell directly on his face. The young woman, astonished, trembling and confused, felt her strength give way, and could scarcely sup- press an exclamation of agony. She saw Count Monte-Leone. He also had recog- nized in the bridegroom the Duke of Palma, minister of police of Naples. In the new duchess he had also recognized the prima- donna of San Carlo da Felina. Thus the two angels, which in his ecstatic vision at his fathers tomb the Count had seen, and who appeared to contend for himAminta and La Felinathe two women, one of whom he adored, while he was himself adored byithe other, were no longer free. Aminta had married from duty, La Felina from reason. 11.THE FATHER. EIGHT days after the meeting of the Prince de Maulear and Count Monte-Leone at Ce- prano, a post-chaise, accompanied bya kind of COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. 61 travelling forge, entered Naples by the Roman road, and after having crossed the city at a rapid rate, the postillions cracking their whips the while, stopped at the French embassy. The powdered head of the old man appeared at the window of the chaise, and the Swiss of the embassy replied, in execrable French, to a question put to him thus: Monsieur, the Marquis de Maulear does not stop in t~ embassy. His apartments were too small br two. The Swiss, enchanted by this reply, which he thought eminently witty, bowedto the tra- veller, and was about to return to his chair, when the old man again called him: But, my fine fellow, said he to the Hel- vetian, you have not yet told me where the Marquis does live. The Marquis de Maulear, said the Swiss, is in the palace of Cellamare, where he rent- ed a pavilion near the gardens of the Villa- Reale. To the palace Cellamare, said the travel- ler to the postillion; and the latter drove off at a gallop. After about five minutes the same powder- ed head appeared at the door, and the travel- ler said, Hollo! postillion, stop; do you hear, rascal; pull up. What does your excellency, sir ? asked the postillion. Take my excellency to the best Hotel in Naples.~ The best is hi Vittorict, between the bay and Villa Reale. The postillion lied, for le Crocelle was bet- ter; but at Ia Vittoria they received two pias- tres a piece for travellers, and at le Crocelle got nothing. The Vittoria, then, was the best hotel in Naples for postillions, but not for travellers. The apartments of the Marquis de Maulear, the witty Swiss had told him, were too small for two; and this information had induced him thus suddenly to change his plan. The traveller thought the Marquis might have yielded to some tender influence, and contract- ed a quasi morganatique marriage as a pre- lude to more serious ties. If that be so, said the stranger, it would be wrong to go to the Marquiss house. I do not wish to sur- prise him by a simple visit which would not have the effect of a solemn interview.~~ The chaise stopped at la Vitioria. Two servants and an intendant came to the car- riage, and the postillion received eight pins- tres for his human freight. The Marquis de Maulear had really taken his young wife to the palace of Cellamare, a portion of which was rented to wehlthy stangers a few days after his marriage. The Marquis had acted decidedly in writing to his father that he had married without consulting him. Henceforth it was of no importance whether the world knew it or not; besides, the Signora Rovero and Aminta, having thought that the Prince had authorized his son to marry whomsoever he pleased, secrecy would not have seemed vOL. iIi.KO. I.5 proper or justifiable. The Marquis, who grew every day more in love, and whose, ardor con- tinually increased as he discovered new quali- ties to adore in the young heart confided to him, sought to expel the terrors which he ap- prehended would result from his fathers sur- prise, but was unable to satisfy himself that the latter would not be completely enraged. The Marquis possessed an honorable fortune from his deceased mother. He therefore was not at all disturbed, in a pecuniary point of view, in relation to Amintas fate. The distress, the humiliation to which his young wife would be exposed, should she be repelled by his father and fa~ily, made him tremble whenever that idea presented itself to his mind. Aminta had perceived these clouds occasionally on the brow of her husband, but had attributed it to his apprehensions that she did not love him as much as he adored her. She had striven to restore his confidence; and with that gentle voice, never heard by any one without erfmo- tion, said, Henri, I was frank with you, when before marriage my heart asked time to re- turn all the passion you felt. I know I love you now, and was wrong to be so timid; for, added she, I deprived myself of happiness by delay. Maulear clasped her in his arms and forgot his troubles, as all do who love and are loved. One morning, about ten oclock, he had left her to go to the French embassy, whither he was called by important business. The young Marquise had gone into the garden of Celia- mare, and sat beneath an arbor of jasmin, reading her favorite poet Tasso. Love of Maulear now interpreted these passionate mys- teries, which hitherto she had not understood. Her soul, illumined by the flame enkindled in it, did not admire, as it formerly did, the form and gentle harmony of the poem alone. The meaning of the verses touched her heart, and she seemed for the first time to open this book, which is so filled with burning inspira- tions. The tenderness of Manlear had begun to dissipate the sad presentiments which had so long agitated her: she felt arising in her a gentle return of that deep affection she had in- spired; and though she had been alone but two hours, it seemed to her that the Marquis had been absent a much longer time. Look- ing in the direction she expected Henri to come, she examined the burning horizon be- yond the avenue of plane-trees beneath which she sat, until she saw a human form coming down it. The person who advanced walked slowly, and looked around him carefully, as if he was in search of something. For a while he examined curiously the hedge on the principal alley; nor, until he stood within ~ few paces of Aminta, did he see that this white figure was a woman; its graceful immobility having made him fancy it a statue. The stran- ger bowed to her politely as possible, and spoke to her with an air half way between re- spect and familiarity, impertinence and consi- deratkin. Amiata arose and recognized him, 82 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. and as she did so, exhibiting a constraint and embarrassment she could not account for. The person who had spoken to Aminta was dressed so strangely, that the young woman was struck by it. Having been accustomed to all the fashions of the epoch, to the elegance of the young men who visited her mothers house, to the good taste of the Marquis de Maulear, she had never seen such a costume as that of the stranger. A coat of Prussian blue, with a straight collar and large wide skirts, enveloped a thin, delicate frame. A waistcoat of white silk, cut square in front, with t~wo immense pockets, from one of which hung a watch, with an immense chain a~id mul- titude of seals, beating against breeches of buff eassimer, the legs of which were inserted in vast boots. A rich frill of English point lace, with ruffles to match, gave an air of magnificence to this toilet; the whole being surmounted with a powdered head-dress with open wings, like thbse of a sea-gull in a desperate storm. The result of all this toilette was such, that no one felt inclined to laugh, or even if the inclination arose, the noble air of which we have spoken soon repressed it. Aminta felt as Count Monte-Leone had at Ceprano, when the latter made the acquaintance of the Prince de Mau- lear, whom our readers have beyond doubt re- cognized. Excuse me, beautiful lady, for thus dis- turbing your reveries, said the Prince, bowing again to Aminta, but I am come to visit the Marquis de Maulear, who must return ere long, as one of his servants told me. I however learned, that in addition to the pleasure of roaming through this paradise, I would find Madame. I could not resist the pleasure of presenting you my homage. In the manner the Prince pronounced the word Madame, there was a shadow of fine irony, which Aminta could not but observe. She blushed slightly, for she thought the stranger alluded to her recent marriage; and though shocked at his familiarity, Aminta was satisfied with replying politely, that she would be happy if the visitor would remain until the Marquis de Maulear should return with he.r. Tne Prince sat on a rustic chair, which Aminta offered him, and said, as he looked at her with admiration, The Marquis may stay away as long as he pleases; and while with you I will not complain. But, Signor, said Aminta, something of importance has brought you hither. No, said the visitor, I come merely to see the Marquis; and to do so have travelled the four hundred leagues between Paris and Naples. Nothing more Ah, Signor, said Aminta, delighted, then you love him l Devotedly, continued the Prince, though I suspect him rather of ingratitude. Do not be afraid, added he; I believe him to be an ingrate in friendship, but not in love. Madame (and he looked anxiously at her) has every charm to prevent his being so Any person less delicately organized than Amintn, and less impressionable, would have had no suspicion of the elegant abandon which was the foundation of this compliment. By means of her instinct, however, she had guessed that there was a kind of contempt of bon ton in what was said to her, altogether unbecom.. ing in a conversation with a person of her rank and station. She replied, then, that ~he thought she had sufficient claims on the Mar- quiss love for him never to forget them. that if such a misfortune should befall her, she would find in her heart and conscience no rea- son for reproaching herself, and would be able to support indifference, and be bold enough to pardon it. Very well, very well, said the Prince gayly. Pretty women are always generous; they, however, are least worthy of commendation on that account, when they resemble you. Signor, said Aminta to the Prince, I know not to whom I have the honor to speak. You have, however, told me you come from France, and I will thank you to tell me if men are volatile there, as I have heard. Signora, I do not think I slander my coun- trymen, when I say their hearts are not easily fixed for a long time. Were they more faith- ful, they would not, perhaps, be so amiable. In my time, for instance, marriage was an affair of business. One married to be married, to have ~in heir, to regulate ones household. That was all. If a man loved his wife three or six months it was superb. A year of con- stancy became ridiculous and vulgar. Then the lady would fall in love, and the husband conceived a friendship for the courtier, mous-. quetaire, or abb, whom the lady patronized. The husband did not fall in love; he only looked for amusements. Sometimes chance afforded him what he needed, or he went to the opera, where the nymphs of music and dancing took charge of his superfluous funds. People talked of him for two days, and then he was forgotten. Thus gently and pleasant- ly the husband and wife floated down the stream of time; each keeping close to a bank, and shaking hands whenever the currents brought them together. In the business of life they were always as considerate as possi- ble of each other, and shed some honest tears when death separated them. Sometimes in old age, when both were wearied by passion, and satiated with love, they recounted to each other their wild adventures, m sailors tell their stories of shipwrecks and the perils of their voyages. But, continued the Prince, as there are exceptions to all rules, the excep- tions were the kindly-disposed and well-regu- lated households, which were spoken of and laughed at. Happiness, however, avenged them. Thus, beautiful lady, people lived in other times. They do not live thus now All this I own, said Aminta, interests me deeply. The devil I said the Prince, aside, and under the impression that he was in the pros. COUNT ~IONTE-LEONE OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. 63 ence of the irregular passion of his son, Does not morganaticism suffice l Under this hypothesis, which made him smile with pity, he resolved to cut the foolish hope short at the roots. In our days all is changedwomen are saints and husbands are angelsand the two are riveted together for all time. The wife is constant, the husband faithful; or, if ~he con- trary be the case, the matter is hushed up and concealed. If public morality is satisfied, the lovers are not the losers. It is also said that unhappy marriages now are the exceptions. The chief difference is, though, that now men do before marriage what they used to do af- terwards. If one finds a pleasant woman, said he, approaching Aminta, ~ like you, beau- tiful, intelJigent, and I venture to say also full of talent, as you arewe swear we love her, a~A are really sincere. Reason, how- ever, in the guise of matrimony, hurries to sound the knell of love. At the first peal, it escapes, and whither The beauty ~ve adore first weeps, and then finds consolation, or rather suffers herself to be consoled. Then, opening her wings like the butterfly, she hur- ries to find the pleasure she calls and expects. The tone, rather than the language, of this conversation terrified and amazed Aminta. The Prince observed this. Did she love him re~lly ? he said; and touched with this idea, he added All that I say, madame, is a general re- mark, the application of which I make to no one, least of all to yourself. Signor, said Aminta, rising, I do not understand you. Certainly, said the Prince, you do not understand that one who loves you should cease to do so. That is what I had the honor to tell you just now. The Marquis, though, is very young and inexperienced. He believes in love, as men of twenty-five usually do. This explains to me the apparent rigidness of his words, and unveils the mystery of his pre- tended wisdom. I do not, however, wish to make a person so charming as you are despe- rate; and perhaps I do you a great favor in warning you against future dangers and mis- chances. Signor, said Amii~t~ trembling with emo- tion, I cannot guess why you speak to me thus; but I perceive that you do not know me. The Prince said, with a smile, I speak to a charming woman, to one of earths angels, whom some lucky mortals meet with, and who by their tenderness reveal all the plea- sures and joys promised to the faithful by the houris of divine Providence. Signor, said Aminta, looking at the Prince with an expression in which both indignation and contempt were visible, unused as I am to such language, though I scarcely under- stand it, my reason and good sense tell me you would speak thus only to the mistress of the Marquis de Maulear. True, said the Prince, and I speak now to the most charming mistress imaginable. Me! do you speak thus to me, Signor ? said the young woman, with a painful accent. And you thought ? Who then are you, madame? asked the old man, with surprise and terror at Amintas tone. Who is she, monsieur ? said the Marquis, coming from a neighboring alley, where, pale and terrified, he had for some time been listen- ing to this conversation, she is my wife, the Marquise de Maulear ! Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of the Prince he could not have been more surprised. The blood left his face, and he supported him- self against the back of his chair. Henri, said Aminta, tell this man again that he has dared to insult your wife! Tell him I am yours in Gods eyes, and that he has doubly outraged me in the fact that his words fell from the lips of age. Say to him, that a gentleman, if such he is, should not utter such things until assured they were neither an in- sult nor an outrage to her who heard them. Aminta, said the Marquis, the person of whom you speak thus is Be silent, monsieur,* interrupted the Prince, looking sternly at his son, madame has not offended me, though I have her. Ma- dame, said he, accept my apology for a fault caused by the Marquis alone. The name you bear is entitled to the respect of all, especially to mine. I will be the last to forget it. Be pleased to leave the Marquis de Maulear and myself together for a few moments. What I have to say none must listen to. Do not be afraid, added he, when he saw the hesitation with which Aminta left; I am no foe of the Marquis, and besides, the only weapon of old men is the tongue. Our conversation will not be long, and I will then leave the Marquis to you for ever. Henri made a motion, the purport of which was to beseech Aminta to go. Taking a la- teral alley, she disappeared. Monsieur, said the Prince, you should know that my name should not be pronounced in the presence of that young woman, espe- cially after the error which your silence has led me into in relation to her. The Prince continued, So you are married ? Yes, monsieur, said Maulear, trembling like a criminal in the presence of the judge. Contrary to my orders, and without my consent, continued the Prince. Father, if any excuse be possible, you will find it in the person I have selected. I do not ask for justification, monsieur, but for excuse. How long did you reflect on this union before you contracted it l A month, said the Marquis. A month is a short time to reflect on a As the conversations in the rest of this book are sug. posed to be sometimes in French and sometimes in Englis the translator will render the terms of courtesy now by sig- nor, signora, and signorina, and again by monsieur, saG- dame, and mademoiselle. 64 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. life of remorse and regret. You know I never will forgive you. Never, monsieur ? asked Maulear, bow- ing respectfully before his father. God him- self pardoas. I am not God, monsieur, and have neither his goodness nor his mercy. Hearken to me, and let none of my words be lost, as they are the last I shall ever speak to you. I have not concealed my principles, which were pro- bably not firm enough in relation to morals and virtue. In these principles the people of the century in which I was born lived. I was, perhaps, badly educated, but so were all nobles then; and if they preserved their loy- alty and honor, were faithful to their kings, and died for them,if they did honor to their family, and fought well, they were forgiven for other faults. Philosophy and the progress of the age have rectified all this: whether they have improved the state of things the future must decide. I am too old to retrace my steps, and have the faults, and perhaps the virtues, of my century. There is one thing true, certain ideas I never will abandon, among which are my opinions about marriage. All this you think hehind the spirit of the age, and perhaps ridiculous; but I intend to ex- press myself fully, that you may not expect me ever to alter my opinion about your con- duct. For four centuries, monsieur, there has not been a single mesalliance in my family. The Dukes of Salluce, the Princes of Maulear, from whom we are sprung, were never mar- ried but with the noblest families of the world those of Francethat is the only safety for me, that was the only marriage for you. I was willing to receive as a daughter-in-law only a French woman, of noble bloodnoble as our own. This you say is a prejudiceso it may be, monsieur, but it is a prejudice I will not lay aside. I was never a rigorous father to you, and I contemplated using only one of my paternal rights, that of bringing about a marriage for you to suit myself You acted for yourself, monsieur, and must continue to do so. Adieu! Henceforth the Marquis de Maulear has no father, and the Prince no son. The old man arose with cold and haughty dignity, preparing to leave. Father, do not leave me thusfor the sake of my mother, whom you loved, pause. The Prince walked away. For the sake of your father, whom you adored ! The Prince did not pause. Well, said the Marquis, in despair, and just then he saw Aminta at the end of the al- lay, I prefer to abandon the nobility of the Maulears, which produces such obduracy, for the virtues and talent of a Rovero. The old man had scarcely heard the last word, than he turned around and said to his son: Rovero! did you say Rovero? the minister of Murat ~ There is his daughter, said Henri, point~. ing to Aminta. The countenance of the Prince lost its icy coldness, and assumed an expression of deep tenderness. Drawing near to Aminta, with tears in hi~ eyes, he said, The daughter of Rovero ? and with increasing agitation, Are you the daughter of Rovero ? Looking at her for a few moments in silence, his coni-itenance assumed an indefinable ex- pression, and seemed to read in the counte- nance of the young girl an infinitude of memo- ries and dreams. Finally, completely carried away by a feeling he could not control, he folded Aminta in his arms and clasped her to his bosom. IlLTHE MAN WITH THE MASK. PARIS, that great theatre on which, for fifty years, so much sublime and commonplace re- publicanism, so many monarchic, imperial, con- stitutional, and other dramas had been re~re- sentedParis, about the end of 1818, two years after the occurrence of the events de- scribed in the last chapter, presented a strange aspect, over which we will cast a retrospective glance for the purpose of making our story Louis XVIII. reigned perhaps a little more absolutely than the charter permitted. By the aggregation of power, kings and kingdoms al- most always fall; and this king, who wished to govern with the restrictions on power which he had himself yielded to France, found him- self in endless controversy, from the errors of his friends, his family, and his minister. Mon- sieur * was in the opposition, and with him were all the malcontents of the realm. Mon.. szeur had his creatures, and his ministers in casfi, all ready to consecrate their services to the good of the country. These were the only men, said the Prince, who could rescue the restoration from the factions in arms against it. At the head of this ministry was the Count Jules de Polignac, the favorite of the ex-comte dArtois. Next to Polignac came M. de Vi- trolles, famous for his intellect and his devo- tion to the royal family, M. de Grosbois, and others, who had made progress in the graces and confidence of the Prince. Tile King at that time exhibited a decided favoritism to a certain statesman of merit and worth, the rapid fortune of whom, however, had made many persons jealous and had excited much hatred. The star of M. de Blacus, which till then had been so brilliant, began to grow pale. From these palace intrigues, from these divisions of families, arose in public affairs a species of perpetual controversy which impeded the pro- gress of the ship of state. In the mean time, parties taking advantage of this discontent, excited every bad passion, and silently under- mined the soil preparing the explosion which ultimately destroyed this feeble and disunited monarchy. The great parties were divided and subdivided into many factions opposed to each The Comie dArtois, afierwards Charles X. COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. 65 other, but, as will be seen hereafter, all striving Emperor of Russia to grant them a constitu- to overturn the existing order of things tional King, chosen elsewhere than from the though in the end each purposed the triumph elder branch of the Bourbons. A man named of his own cause when a general chase should Schellstein, who had been a kind of enlisting have ensued. The French nation, though agent to the conspirators, informed M. Angles, strong, great and powerful when its parts are chief of police, of their plan and intentions, united, xvas then composed of royalists frank- and by a sentence given July 7, 1516, Pleig- ly devoted to the government of the restora- ner, Carbonneau, and Tolleron, were sentenced tion of ultra royalists, more so even than the to have their hands cut off and to be beheaded. King himselfand who wished.the country to Three days after the sentence was executed. retrace its steps to principles, which good Finally, in 1818, a third conspiracy was point- sense, time, healthy reason, and especially the ed out to the notice of the police. This con- revolutionary tempest, had most painfully re- spiracy had a more exalted character than the futed. Next came the Bonapartists, who seeing preceding ones, for it included the ultra-royal- themselves disinherited by a peaceful govern- ists, that is to say the nobles, generals, peers, ment, and deprived of the prospects of glory they and high functionaries of France. had deemed their own, regretted sincerely the The Morning Chronicle, June 27 1818, pub- man of victory and his triumphs. Next came lished at London the,following : There was the liberals, a portion of whom were sincerely a report at Paris, that a conspiracy had been devoted to political progress, for which the discovered at Saint Cloud, embracing many of country was not yet preparedand, finally, the ultra-royalist party. The King would ab- the Jacobins, old relics of 1793, who sought dicate, and be replaced by Monsieur. to precipitate France into that abyss of horror, The Times, on the 2d July, said The the very trace of which the wonderful genius plan of the conspiracy is known. Should the of Napoleon had effaced. All these opinions, King abdicate, the conspirators have resolved advocated by intelligent and capable men, of to treat him like Paul I. The~fol1owing is gifted minds, but also of turbulent and dan- the list of ministers :General Canuel, of gerous spirits, to whom agitation is the nat- war; M. de Chateaubriand, of foreign affairs; ural elementall these were secretly busy, M. Bruges, of the navy; NI. Villele, of the- watching their opportunity to burst upon the interior; M. de Labourdonnaie, of the police; public attention. Paris, the head of the great General Donadieu, commandant of Paris. All French body, was all the time happy as possi- this was announced with an appearance of ble, and seemed calm and flourishing. It was truth; for all the persons named belonged to like those men with a smiling face, a calm and the opposition to the King and his favorite. cold icy exterior, but who nurse violent pas- When, however, facts were sought for, and sions and bitter animosities. The police at that the proof was pointed out, all the edifice time was under the control of a minister who crumbled away, and there remained only a few was young and active, but who was often led malcontents, but no rebels were to be found. astray; just as greyhounds, who, when almost The sentence of the Royal Court of Paris, given overrunning their quarry, catch a glimpse of November 3d following, declared Generals other prey. The multiplied and contradictory Cannel and Donadieu, MM. de Rieux, de Son- devices of the factions, therefore, led the p0- gis, de Chapdelaine, de Romilly, and Joannis, lice and its agents into difficulties of which the are released and declared innocent. They criminals always contrived to take advantage, had been imprisoned forty days. This affair For two years, plot followed plot, almost un- produced a most painful sensation in France, interruptedly; Bonapartist, liberal, ultra-royal- and the minister of police was reproached with ist plots followed each other; that of Didier great imprudence, which made many new ene- was the first. His object was to confide the mies to the government, and did not add to Kingly office to a Lieutenant-General, to the its security. Th~ fact was, the true criminals Duke of Orleans. Didier sought for his con- had, been overlooked; and, like the worms federates among the men, whom a kind of fa- which eat away the interior of a beautiful naticism yet attached to the exile of Saint- fruit without changing its form and color, Helena; among the old soldiers of the valley they more skilfully and adroitly attacked the of the Loire, and that crowd of imperial agents very heart of society when it seemed most whom the restoration had stripped of honor secure and safe. The perfidious worm which and employment. He promised good titles, was eating away at the heart of France, as it orders, to all, and seduced many. The plot had long done those of the other European failed from its own impotence, for the police monarchies, was Carbonarism. As we said in had little to do with it. Another affair, the our first chapters, the existence of this power consequences of which to those concerned in was scarcely suspected, while in secret, by its it were great, gave increasca activity to the ramifications, it ruled Europe. police, and diverted it from the only circum- A man of mind and energy, but whose mild - stances which could unfold to it the true ene- and almost effeminate manners cqncealed vigor mies of the government of Louis XVIIL This and perseverance, NI. H, at that time under affair was known as the Society of Patriots of the direction of NI. Angles, supervised the 1816, and had as its chiefs Pleigner, Carbom. political police of the kingdom. M. H was neau, and Tolleron. They intended to ask the always aware of the extent of the operations 66 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE~ of the various factions, and probably was the only man in France really alarmed at the influ- ence which Carbonarism exerted in France and the neighboring states. Often he had made communications to the prefect, another minis- ter, who paid attention to known parties- and attached but little importance to this new foe, which was, however, the most terrible of ~dl, and proposed to itself the object of destroying, at any risk, and received into its bosom all the operatives of this work, whatsoever might be their opinions. M. H had no evidence in relation to this terrible organization, nor did he know where it met. Towards the end of February, 1819, M. H received a letter sealed in black, and with the impression on the wax of an auger piercing the globe. The strange seal did not escape his notice. The direction was, All. H, for himself alone, confidential. The superior of the political police read the letter, which was as follows Monsieur,A man who can do the state great service wishes to have an interview with you, and requests that you will grant him a moments conversation to-morrow evening at nine-ocloek, in your cabinet. He will be masked. He begs you to permit him to keep his mask until he shall be satisfied that he is seen by no one else. Should the strangeness of this request not permit you to accept it, place a lighted taper in your window opening on the quai des Orfevres and no one will come. The writer knows that he addresses a man of courage and honor, who never is terrified by mere forms when he looks for important re- sults. It is also known that this man, though protected by wise precautions, made necessary by the grave circumstances in which he is often placed, would be incapable of taking an advan- tage of thosewho come to him frankly and truly. M. H reflected long on this letter. He hesitated not, because he was used to confi- dences made in terms and in manner as strange. But the conditions of the mask, so contrary to French habit, almost, in spite of himself, annoyed and troubled him. He, however, be- gan to be inspired with the confidence which the man evidently felt himself. He therefore decided to receive him, and gave orders, that should the masked man present himself he should be admitted into his cabinet. M. H only took a few measures of prudence, and after having examined the locks and charges of his pistols, which he always wore, and as- sured himself that the sound of a bell on his table would be heard at once by the attendants, waited attentively for the hour of the inter- view. The clock of the Palais Royal struck nine, when he was told that a masked man wished to speak to him. A few minuted after the visitoi~ was introduced. He was tall and wrapped in a brown cloak, which he threw off when he had reached the room. He wore a costume half way between a tradesmans and prosperous workmans. What do you wish, Monsieur ~ asked M. H, who was sitting in his chair. I Without replying, the stranger, who was standing, pointed to two glass doors on each side of one through which he had entered, be- hind which were full silk curtains. M. H understood him, and afer a moments hesita- tion, decided, and clapped -his Ii nds thrice. This was probably a signal well understood, for soon after a slight noise was herd in each of the rooms, and the silk curtains were slightly agitated. Then rising, M. H open- ed the two doors and shut two external ones, which doubtless communicated with two other rooms. Thank you, sir, said the mask, you will not regret your confidence. These words were pronounced with a deci- dedly foreign air. The man took off his mask, and M. H examined his features. His physiognomy was that of the south; his ex- pression dark, and his long black hair hung over his face, and rested on his shoulders. The eyes of this man were sad and deep; and glittering beneath his dark brows, added to the ferocity of his expression. He was silent for some time, and then said, in a calm voice, to the chief of police: I come, Monsienr, to propose a contract to you, which, when you have heard it, you can either accept or reject. An immense volcano undermines Paris; a con- spiracy, or rather an immense association is about to be formed. They are not isolated enemies, scattered in small numbers, but a yast family of men, here and every where, in every mans house, and perhaps in the very bureau of the police. Among them are mil- lions of iron-hearted and iron-nerved men, among whom are the mechanic, the day labor- er, soldiers of every arm, the financier, the ad- vocate, artist, the scholar, and the priest every rank and condition is represented. At their head are nobles, lords, and princes; and they wish to accomplish in France what they bave already done in the rest of Europe. First, they seek to abolish royalty, and to be.. stow on the people free and unlimited liberty. Their secret assemblies are called Vente. The associationis called Garbonczrism, and its mein bers Carbonari. M. H sprang up from his chair. Of the plot which he had been so anxious to discover, and of which he had but a vague knowledge, he was now at last to obtain a clue. In a tone exhibiting the most lively curiosity, he bade the man go on. The mask took a seat; he felt that henceforth he might treat with M. H as an equal. I am, said he, with a smile full of venom, but an unworthy member of this important society, and come to treat with you, therefore, not in my own name - In the name of whom, then, do you come ?, There is, said the mask, a man in Paris of high rank, of noble birth, and of great for- tune, who, by means of his position and con- nections, which I cannot reveal, knows, and henceforth will know, all the secrets, all the plans of the Carbonari, from the obscure acts COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. 8~I of the humblest of the brothers, to the orders given to the Vente by the supreme chiefs And this man is willing to surrender his infamous associates to us 1 said 14. H. He will; but in consideration of this im- inense sacrifice, he demands certain things which I am charged to communicate to you. Tell me, said Mi. H, what he asks. We will talk of that hereafter. I, how- ever, propose to you an honest bargain, and you will not be called on to pay the price until the service shall have been performed. I therefore come to ask you not for a reward, but for one word. A word l A. word, a promise, and an oath. If it be compatible with my duties. Certainly ! said the stranger. We con- spirators are honest people enough, but we are prudent, and used to secrecy. We never make revelations without exacting a double Lecurity. That of honor! And displaying the dagger as the certain reward of treachery. Stop, sir! said 14. H, rising, and evi- dently enraged at the daring of the stranger. You forget where you are; no one but my- self makes threats here; assume, therefore, another tone; for sorry as I should be not to avail myself of your offers, I must, if you per- sist, terminate our interview at once. But, continued he, what is required of me I have told youan oath. Here it is. You will swear on this, and he took a crucifix from his bosom, that neither in person, nor otherwise, will you ever attempt to discover the person in behalf of whom I treat. You will swear that when you have been informed of the facts which I shall point out to you, when you shall have received proof of the culpability of certain men, you will cause them to be arrested and give them no clue to, and make no reve- lation of, the means by which you acquired your information. But how will the man who is to furnish this information treat with us Through me alone, said the stranger, and I will allow you to be ignorant of no- thing. In a few wordsI will be his inter- preterthe soul of his body, the action of his thought. Here, continued he, again present- ing the crucifix to 14. H, an oath for such services is not too much to ask. You do not often get information at so cheap a rate. The form of the oath will doubtless appear strange to you, but I am a native of a land where oaths are taken on the cross alone.~~ So be it, said M. H, who, as he listened to the man,reflected on the small importance of the conditions imposed on him, which did not demand that he should act against the Vente or associations, until there was no doubt of their guilt. So he it; I accept. I swear that I will never seek to ascertain of whom you are the agent, whether in person or through others. He placed his hand on the crucifix. Rely then on himrely on me, said the stranger. Why do you not speak now 1 said M. H. Because it is necessary to give the fruit time to ripen before uegaher it, said the mysterious stranger; and bowing to Mi. H, he left. Well, said the chief of the political po- lice, when he was alone, the bargain I have made is not a rare one. Informers always have scruples at first, especially when they are men of rank ;when those of the mati of whom the agent speaks are dissipated, or when by his wants and vices he is forced to draw directly oi our chest, his shame will pass away, and his name will be enrolled on the list of our spies like those of Mi. X., the Baron de W, the Advocate V, the Ex- consul R, and the Countess of Fu. This man is, then, taken in three words, what we. call a Srx ma SOcIETY. iY.THE AMBASSADRESS. Os the twenfieth of June, 1818, six months befQre the occurrence of the scene we have de- scribed in the preceding chapter, the greatest excitement was exhibited in a magnificent ho- tel in the Faubourg Saint-Honorti. The prin- cipal entrance of this hotel, or the Faubouig, was occupied by a crowd of workmen, who were busy in arranging a multitude of flower vases, from the court-gate to the door of the hotel. Upholsterc~s and florists crowded the vestibule, the stairway, and the antechambers with their flowers and carpets. The interior of the rooms on the ground floor presented a scene of a different kind of disorder. A pell.. mella crowd of men and women were tack- ing down and sowing rich and sumptuous stuffs on the floors. The rooms of the lower floor of the hotel opened on one of the gar.. dens surrounding the Champs-Elysies towards the Faubourg St. Honor~. An immense ball- room was constructed in the garden. This ball-room was united to the house by richly dressed doors, cut into the windows, and, with the ground floor, formed one immense suite. The garden at this period of the year contri- buted in no small degree to the pleasures of the festival. The curtains at the doors of this hall could at any time be lifted up so as to permit access to this oasis of verdure. One might have thought a magic ring had trans.. ported to this corner of Paris, all the riches of the vegetation of southern climes, and might have, in imagination, strayed beneath the jas- mm bowers, amid the roses and orange-groves of Italy, so delicious was the perfume which filled this garden. Its peculiar physiognomy and design, its form, manner, and even the statues, the majority of which were chef-d- crurres of Italian art, all proved some foreign taste had presided over its construction, and that this taste had been the passion of some elegant and distinguished man. But now this paradise had passed into the possession of a charming woman and admira~ 68 THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. ble artiste. This hotel belonged to the beau- the triumphs of which disgusted and offended tiful Felina, the Italian queen of song, who her because she regretted having ever experi- had deigned to descend from a throne to be enced them. These were the reasons or rca- the Duchess of Palma. The lofty brow which sonings which led La Felina to act as she did. had borne so proudly the diadem of Semiramis We shall see, at a later period, that she and Junia, wore now a duchesss coronet. This achieved her purpose. was a great self-deprecation; for Europe con- The Duke of Palma having secretly married tamed a thousand duchesses, and but one Fe- La Felirta in the town of Ferentino, the day lina. Worse still, many duchesses would not Monte-Leone recognized him, took his beautiful recognize La Felina as one of the number. She, wife to a villa he possessed on the lago di Corn was a duchess by chance; a duchess not by the and after sojourning there a few days, went to grace of God, but by the grace of talent and Naples and foi~ced the King to accept his resig- beauty. Observe, too, that this version was nation as minister of police. The Duke was the most favorable, the most, amiable and p0- dissatisfied with Naples, for no one would for- lite. It was the one adopted by the intelligent, give him for marrying the Prima-Donna. The philosophic and sensible duchesses of the em- two then came to Paris after a brief mission, pire. The true duchesses, those of other days, during which the Duke had been obliged to who could not understand how any one could leaveher alone at the lago di Como. There wear a ducal coronet without having at least they purchased the hotel of which we have three centuries of nobility, made use of all the spoken, and prepared to receive the court, and grape of their artillery to annihilate the singing exhibit all the aristocratic luxury with which woman. It was whispered, but loudly enough the Duke of Palma was so familiar. One cir- to be heard by half a dozen persons, that La cumstance, however, which had been entirely Felina, arming herself with that rigidity she unforc~een, wrecked all their hopes. The kept for the Duke of Palma alone, displaying best s5ciety of Paris, which is so lenient to all her charms, and envying the title and for- some eccentricities, yet so rigid in its exaction tune of the noble Neapolitan, had refused to of obedience to certain prejudicesthe society surrender her heart without her hand ;that to which, from rank and position, the Duke of the poor Duke, entwined in the nets of this Palma belonged, was rebellious. Among the modern Circe, wearied of the many love-scrapes nobles of the restoration there were a few cx- which he had undergone, made up his mind, as ceptions, and though the persons who ventured he could not become a lover, to become a hus- to the Dukes were perfectly well received band. This delightful theme was so decorated though they praised in the highest degree the by the rich imaginations of the ladies of the graces and exquisite haut-ton of the Duchess, Faubourg Saint-Germain, that it could scarcely their example was not followed, and the hotel be recognized beneath the inlaying of the rich remained silent and empty. The Duke and anecdotes to which it gave occasion; but which Duchess lived alone, buried in a magnificent lacked only three essentials of meritgood tomb. The cause of this neglect of the invi- sense, justice, and truth. As far as relates to tations of the ex-minister may be easily divined. good sense, we will say that the Duchess of The Duke had married La Felina, the singer, Palma was far richer than her husband. Her about whom there had been, and yet were, so talent had long procured her a brilliant in- many reports. The beautiful artiste was much come; and to renounce the stage, at the height wounded by this general neglect, not because.. of her reputation and glory, when every note she regretted the world and its pleasures, but she uttered was worth a doubk5on. was to re- on account of other impressions which had ject vast wealth, the source of which was hdr haunted her since she had lived alone at Co- voice and talent. Good sense would not jus- mo. The affi~ont, however, recoiled on her tify the reproach of cupidity; truth and justice husband, and her deep, resolute soul bitterly would equally have rejected the charge. resented it. La Felina was an Italian, and La Felina, far from wishing to lead the those of that nation who rccch~ nffr~nts avenge Duke astrayfar from wishing, as was said, to them. She was not long at a loss. Her yen- make her fortune by marrying him, had long geance, however, could not easily be attained, rejected the hand of the Neapolitan minister of for she had to do with a rich and powerful police when the most powerful reasons would society, which had, as it were, formed a coali- have induced her to accept it. She married tion to insult a woman, by rejecting her with the Duke only because of the deep and irre- disdain and contempt. pressible passion which animated her heart for The renown of La Felina as a singer had the Count Monte-Leone. She knew the Count long excited the curiosity of Paris. Her ad- loved Aminta; she knew that, when at liberty, mirable voice, her dramatic talent, her won- he would marry the sister of Taddeo. Anx- derful beauty, made the great artiste to be ious to contend with herself by creating new envied in every theatre in Europe. By a weapons to oppose the passion which devoured strange caprice, or an exaggerated distrust of her, anxious to build up a new barrier between her powers, the great artiste had always re- the Count and herself, and to prepare a de- fused~to sing in the capital, though kell aware fence for her own heart, she accepted the hand that there alone great artistic talent is bap.. of the Duke of Palma as a rampart of duty, tized. Amazed at the national. glory, she had and, as it were, forcibly to leave a profession, never asked this sacrifice of French cognos COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY. 89 ceriti. Great, therefore, was the emotion of the various drawing-rooms, when it was said that a great concert would be given by the Duke of Palma, and that his Duchess La Fe- lina would sing. The concert was for the benefit of some interesting charity; and hu- manity was a pretext to the high Parisian so- ciety not to visit La Felina, but to perform a great duty. How though could invitations be had? There was great difficulty, for the invi- tations were most limited in number. . It is always the case in Paris, that as obstacles in- crease, the desire to overcome them also is multiplied. This was exemplified in the case of the concert It was, however, strange that the very hotels where the ducal artiste had been worst treated, where her advances had been worst received, were those to whichthe invitations came first. Here and there some affronts given by the noble Italians who were the intimate friends of the Duke of Palma, but they were all submitted to, so anxious was the world to enjoy the long-desired but unex- pected pleasure of hearing La Felina. This took place many months before the entertainments, the preparations for which we described at the commencement of this chap- ter. On the day appointed for the concert, a long file of carriages filled up the whole Fan- bourg St. Honor~, and stopped at the door of the hotel of the Duke of Palma. The Duchess sat in her most remote drawing-room, dressed with extreme simplicity, beautiful without adornment, and waited for the guests, whom an usher at the door of the first drawing-room annouheed. As each one saluted her, she arose, and thanked them for their visit. This reception, far from gratifying the majority of her guests, seemed to offend them. They fan- cied they had met on neutral ground, in a room appropriated to charity, and not to wait on a lady who did the honors of her own house. The latter, however, was the case. Multiplying her cares for and attention to her guests, appearing to notice neither the cold politeness of the one nor the rudeness of the other, the Duchess increased her amiability and politeness to all who approached her. The ice was broken. The men could not re- sist her charms, and many women followed their example. The dazzling luxury of the hotel, the admirable pictures, the majestic beauty of the Duchess, produced such an ef- fect on this society, composed of the most il- lustrious persons of Paris, and of all who were famous at the epoch, that the success of La Felina was complete. The great feature of the entertainment was impatiently waited for. The concert which the Duchess had announc- ed did not begin, and it was growing late. The artistes, it was said, had not yet come, and all were as impatient as possible, when an ex- cellent orchestra was heard. A few young people, forgetting why they had come, and ut- terly reckless of the opposition they would give rise to, hurried to the great ball-room, and whil- ed away the time before the concert in dimcing. About midnight a report was circulated among the guests that the Duchess was fa- tigued at the reception of so many persons, and the habitues said that her efforts to make her guests happy had been so great that she would not sing, and the entertainment would conclude with a ball. Nothing could equal the vexation and anger which appeared on certain f ~es, and which were augmented by the fact that La Felina made no apology, but in the kindest terms thanked them for the pleasure she had received from them, and which she feared she could not enjoy again for a long time, her health demanding the most complete solitude. Thus Felina turned a concert into a ball, and forced all Paris to visit her. The next day the journals said: Yester- day the Duke and Duchess of Palma gave the most magnificent entertainment of the year. The i~lite of the faubourg Saint-Ger- main and the c~ipital were assembled, and all retired delighted with the reception extended to them by the illustrious strangers. The Duke sent ten thousand francs to the poor of his arrondissement, to make up a subscription which could not otherwise be completed. A few months after, the Duke was appoint- ed ambassador of Naples to the court of France, and in honor of his sovereigns birth- day prepared the magnificent entertainment which created such disorder in the faubcurg St. Honor(~. The new position of the Duke of Palma, his diplomatic character, and the rumor of the beauty and elegance of the Duch- ess had silenced all comphdnts, and all now were anxious to be received at the Neapolitan, Embassy. A circumstance, however, of which the~ world was entirely ignorant, had within a few months made an altogether different woman of the Duchess, who had previously been gay and happy. An air of sadness reigned over her features, and her eyes assumed not unfre- quently a wild glare, which could be remoVed only by tears. Some unknown sorrow had made great inroads even upon her beauty. Always kind and considerate to the Duke and those who surrounded her, she yet seemed to fulfil her requisitions of duty alone in coii~ply- ing with the observances of her rank. She seemed anxious to seclude, herself from the world, and to seek to drown her grief in the solitude she had formerly avoided. Whether sorrow had assumed too deep an empire over her heart, or from some other cause, all were struck at the change so suddenly worked in her moral organization and in her beauty. Far, however, from making any opposition to this splendid entertainment, or exhibiting any indifference to its preparations, all were sur- prised to see the Duchess devote herself to it so fully. Nothing escaped her care; her re- fined taste neglected nothing which couldeon- tribute to the brilliancy of thS entertainment. The Duke, delighted at the apparent revival of the Duchesss taste for theplei~sures of th~c ~1o THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. world, which she had long disdained, aided her with all his power, and spared no expense to gratify her. The invitations were nume- rous, and on this occasion there were no re- fusals; for the most noble persons were anx- ious to be entertained by the Neapolitan min- ister. The Duke hesitated only in relation to one of the many persons who were to be in- vited. This person was the Count Monte- Leone. The secretary who had been directed to prepare the list of persons to be invited had according to custom put down his name among the noble and distinguished Neapolitans who had called at the embassy of their coun. try in Paris. The Duchess saw the list, and said nothing. The Duke hesitated for a long timenot that he had the least suspicion of the Duchesss sentiments towards Monte-Le- one: he had attributed the presence of La Felina at the etruscan house to the conse- quence of an abortive masked-ball pleasantry. besides, at the time of the arrest there were three other men in the house, and the ex-min- ister had almost forgotten the affair. The Count, in spite of his acquittal, was known to be an enemy of the government, and he doubt- ed if it was proper to receive him at the em- bassy. One consideration alone prevented the Duke from erasing his name from the listit was that the Count would not wish to appear at the embassy, and the Duke would th~is be spared the necessity of showing any rudeness to him. The day came at last. The interior of the hotel was really fairy-like, and the rooms on the ground floor joined with the garden ball-room presented one of those ma- gical pictures of which poets dream, but which men rarely see. The arts, luxury, comfort, opulence, and taste, all were united to produce a spectacle, which, lighted by a thousand lamps, spoke both to the mind and senses, and re- called one of those splendid palaces of The Thousand and One Nights, of which we have read, but which none will see. On that day the Duchess seemed to have regained all her dazzling beauty. An observ- er might however have asked if the animation of this lady was not derived from a kind of fe- verish agitation, evident in the brilliancy of her eyes and deep red of her lips, rather than from expectation of pleasure or joy at the re- alization of the plans she had marked out for herself. Nine oclock struck when the first guests were introduced. A crowd soon fol- lowed them, and the most distinguished names were heard in the saloons. The Duke dHar- court! the Vicompte and Mlle. Marie dHar- court! the Prince de Maulear! the Marquis and Marquise de Maulear! Signor Taddeo Rovero! Ii Conte MONTE-LEONE! CoanEGlo, the illustrious painter, is said to have been born and bred, and to have lived and died in extreme poverty. It is stated that he came to his death at the early age of forty, from the fatigue of carrying home a load of halfpence paid for on~ of his immortal works. TRANSFORMATION. BY THE LATE MRS. SHELLEY. Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenchd with a woful agony, which forced i~ie to begin my tale, And then it set me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns; And till my ghastly tale is told This heart within me burns. coLBRsDOEs ANOSENT MARINER. I HAVE heard it said, that, when any strange, lsupernatural, and necromantic adventure has occurred to a human being, that being, however desirous he may be to conceal the same, feels at certain periods toin up, as it were, by an intel- lectual earthquake, and is forced to bare the in- ner depths of his spirit to another. I am a wit- ness of the truth of this. I have dearly sworn to myself never to reveal to human ears the hor- rors to which I once, in excess of fiendly pride, delivered myself over. The holy man who heard my confession, and reconciled me to the church, is dead. None knows that once Why should it not be thus? Why tell a tale of impious tempting of Providence, and soul-subduing humiliation? Why? answer me, ye who are wise in the secrets of human na- ture! I only know that so it is; and in spite of strong resolvesof a pride that too much masters meof shame, and even of fear, so to render myself odious to my speciesI must speak. Genoa! my birth-placeproud city! look- ing upon the blue ~vaves of the Mediterranean seadost thou remember me in my boyhood, when thy cliffs and promontories, thy bright sky and gay vineyards, were my world? Happy time! when to the young heart the narrow- bounded universe, which leaves, by its very limitation, free scope to the imagination, en- chains our physical energies, and, sole period in our lives, innocence and enjoyment are uni- ted. Yet, who can look back to childhood, and not remember its sorrows and its harrowing fears? I was born with the most imperious, haughty, tameless spirit,with which ever mor- tal was gifted. I quniled before my father only; and he, generous and noble, but capricious and tyrannical, at once fostered and checked the wild impetuosity of my character, making obedience necessary, but inspiring no respect for the mo- tives which guided his commands. To be a man, free, independent; or, in better words, insolent and domineering, was the hope and prayer of my rebel heart. My father had one friend, a wealthy Ge- noese noble, who, in a political tumult, was suddenly sentenced to banishment, and his property confiscated. The Marchese Torella went into exile alone. Like my father, he was a widower: he had one child, the almost in- fant Juliet, who was left under my fathers guardianship. I should certainly have been an unkind master to the lovely girl, but that I was forced by my position to become her pro~ tector. A variety of childish incidents all tended to one point,to make Juliet see in me a rock of refuge;. I ~ her, one, who must~

~1o THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. world, which she had long disdained, aided her with all his power, and spared no expense to gratify her. The invitations were nume- rous, and on this occasion there were no re- fusals; for the most noble persons were anx- ious to be entertained by the Neapolitan min- ister. The Duke hesitated only in relation to one of the many persons who were to be in- vited. This person was the Count Monte- Leone. The secretary who had been directed to prepare the list of persons to be invited had according to custom put down his name among the noble and distinguished Neapolitans who had called at the embassy of their coun. try in Paris. The Duchess saw the list, and said nothing. The Duke hesitated for a long timenot that he had the least suspicion of the Duchesss sentiments towards Monte-Le- one: he had attributed the presence of La Felina at the etruscan house to the conse- quence of an abortive masked-ball pleasantry. besides, at the time of the arrest there were three other men in the house, and the ex-min- ister had almost forgotten the affair. The Count, in spite of his acquittal, was kn