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Putnam's monthly magazine of American literature, science and art. / Volume 2, Issue 7 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 698 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK9283-0002 /moa/putn/putn0002/

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Putnam's monthly magazine of American literature, science and art. / Volume 2, Issue 7 Emerson's magazine and Putnam's monthly G.P. Putnam & co. New York July 1853 0002 007
Putnam's monthly magazine of American literature, science and art. / Volume 2, Issue 7, miscellaneous front pages i-vi

PUTNAMS MONTHLY MAGAZINE OF YOL II. JULY TO DECEMBER, 1853. NEW-YORK: G. P. PUTNAM & 00., 10 PARK PLACE. LOM~ON: SAMPSON LOW, SON & CO. M.DCCO.UII. COr~[LL UN ~iF~StTY 4 ~h4( 7 ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by G. P. PUTNAM & CO., In the Clerks Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York. 3OHN F. TROW, FRINTER & STEREOTYPER, 49 Ann Street. PUBLISHERS NOTICE. TilE present number of Putnams Monthly completes the second volume, and the first year of its existence. In referring to the progress of the work so far, it is not worth while for the publishers to indulge in much self-glorification, or at least to do more than reiterate what was said at the close of the first volume; yet they have cause for honest congratulation in the successful estab- lishment of Putnams Monthly as a fixed fact. The character and extent of this success has been far beyond their most sanguine expec- tations. They have had the good fortune of enlisting in the enter- prise some of the ablest pens in the country; and they deem it a special cause for satisfaction, not only that among their regular con- tributors and earnest co-operators are included many of the most emi- nent and respected of our literary men of various positions and shades of religious and political opinionbut also that the general manage- ment of the Magazine, and the character of its contents, have been such as to meet the cordial approval of a large majority of the most judicious and intelligent readers. It is also pleasant to know, that while eminent and well-known writers have occupied a goodly portion of our pages, these pages have also been the means of introducing some younger writers of excellent promise, whose newly opened mines may doubtless yet produce as much pure metal as those which have been longer under contribution. Of the nine hundred and eighty articles which we have received, our two volumes could contain only about one in ten; and the most unge- nial part of our task has been that of declining papers of interest and ability, which would fill half a dozen magazines as large as ours. Our space, and not our will, has been the arbiter in many of these instan- ces. We would here return our cordial thanks to all those who have iv Publishers Notice. so zealously taken an interest in the plan and prospects of the Maga- zine; and to those who wish to make it a great deal better than it has been, we would say, Do so, by all means. Send us articles that are a great deal better, wiser, wittier, and every way more brilliant, and it shall go hard but they shall find a place and suitable reward. The literary resources of our Monthly, now so ample, will, in the coming year, be increased and elevated by all inducements in our power. With all its present general features, it is intended that the Magazine shall have new and varied attractions for all classes of its wide circle of readers. Each number will contain one or more enter- taining and instructive papers, ILLUSTRATED from original designs, when such illustrations can add any thing to the value or interest of the text. Popular information on matters connected with practical science, and the useful arts and manufactures, will form a special feature. A new and popular account of the public and private life of WASH- INGTON, by one of our best writers, illustrated by the graphic pencil of DARLEY, will be commenced in the January number. It is superfluous to repeat, that Putnams Monthly is not a partisan or sectarian organ, and never has been so. Topics of national and general interest, or relating to the public welfare, will be discussed when there is occasion, with freedom, but not, it is believed, with reck- less intentions, or from self-interested motives. It has never been intended to restrict this Magazine to a character purely literary, but rather to extend as widely as possible its field of view, passing over no genuine human interest, and especially no genu- ine national interest. With the particular measures of Party, and above all, with the private aims and motives of parties, we not only will not, but cannot have any thing to do; inclination and policy alike forbid it. But, on the other hand, no fear of misrepresentation or abuse will deter us from untrammelled investigation of any matter which may be deemed worthy of public attention. Whether this be done in a candid, honest, and impartial manner, or the contrary, our readers must judge. CONTENTS OF VOL. II. A Few Days in Yenice 60 American Association for the Advancement of Science 819 A Moosehead Journal 457 A Story without a Moral 81 Acadie and the Birthplace of Evangeline 140 Academies and Universities 169 A Day in the Carter Notch 672 Adventures on a Drift Log 157 American Ideal Woman 527 Art Manufactures: Porcelain 402 Avignon 445 Bartlehy the Scrivener, A Story of Wall Street 546, 009 Berne, The Celebration at 871 Characters in Bleak House 558 Camadeva 643 Carey, Henry C., Letter from 842 Carter Notch, A Day in 672 Cassiterology a Chapter on Money 498 Crucifix, The 481 Curicsities of Puritan History: Witchcraft 249 C& ystal Palace 101 Day Owls of North America 277 Dinner Time 25 Down the Street 678 Doctors 66 Dog, The Life of a, 542 EnDoRIAL NoTEs, I. American Literature. Cleoda and SunshineFern LeavesLife of ColeShills- bera RhymesHillarda Year en the ContinentTucker- nouns Life ef Greeneagh Clevernoek in England Niagara Falla Guide-BookCarey en the Slave Trade Herberta Game in ha SeasenPref. Smiths Political EcosemyBoehanan Reads Peema. . . . 102 Peetry ef the Vegetable WendDr. Waddella Review ef Uncle TomRankes Civil Law and Monarchy in France Coleridges VorhaBiegraphy of Dr. OlinProfessor Sillimans TravelsHeadleys New WorkThe Bihie in the Coasting House 225 Astronomical Joacnalllrookss German LyricsMillards Six Islontho in ItalySillimans Visit to EorepeFlagga City of the SeaMra. Childs Life of Isaac T. Hopper Salad for the SolitaryAlbert Smitho Story of Mont BlancAsthonsManual of reek LiteratoreHildreths Theory efPeliticaHawthoruosTanglewoodTalesThe ExilesLoreoso Benoni d45 Hears of Life, and other Poems, by Mrs. Whitman Williss Fan JottingsHeadleys Second Warwith Eng. landWaylauds Memoirs of JaduonThe Mad Cabin Liehers Civil LihertySimma EgeriaBeechers Con- ffict of the AgesSouthern QaarterlyReviewAddimns WorksNew Announcements sea Rastouls WritingsBanvards WebsterLife of Willis555 PishneyEliots Early Christians~OCallagass Does- mentary History of New-YorkHosmers Poems, Holi- day BooksJudge Edmonds en SpiritoalismTract sa GovernmentThe LoolPeincoFieldS City Architecture Dr. Hawks Peruvian AntiqaitiesSpooners Anec- dotes of PaintersGolden Dreams and Leaden Realities Schele do Veres Comparative PhilologyThe Bow in the CloudAnserican Aboriginal PnrtfolioWhittier5 Sabbath Scene 819 IL Esoglish Literature. Lord John Russells Memoirs of C. J. FoxW. Tyrone Powers Three Years ta ChinaDiary of TO. B. Baliul Fraok MerryweatherSingers New Edition of Shah,- pram Rushins Stones of Venice, vol. itChorleys Music is Germanyslob vol. of Grotes Greece. . 158 The Greville CorrespondenceThe Thistle nod Cedar of LebanonLondon Illustrated MaganineFrestier Lands of the Christian nod TurkThe Groat Sins of Great Cities Comtes Positive Philosophy 511 Macunlays History of EnglundThackorays The New- comes Autobiogrophie Sketches. . . . ill Miss Bremers Homes of the New World. . - 587 Combs Positive Philosophy, by Leweslleffmnns Cisron- toTes of CartaphilasGray and Masons Cerreapendon itliss Bunhurys Life in Sw-eden 851 ILL French and German Literature. Erasinshis SlavesVillaumerys BataillesMahsns Gail- lnume-le.TaeiturneFnther Venturas Rsison Philose- phiqueMeeders Paroisne Reformde do Strssbeurg Eugene Sues Jeanne et LouiseHenri Heineu Gods in ExileDo Lilles FoSmes Antique.Mueggesifomanees- Olehausen on the Mississippi ValleyStokers Sahina Ileisrichs Muler aller Zeiten and LauderHelfects Hose and HieronymusStifters Bunte SleineIbleycos Props- gandaEtne Verlorene SeeleHelles Ruebennucker In- dsstrieAuersperga Drama GeschichteBilder aus dem Leben Enulbachs Frescoes Schweglers Rttmtsche GeschichteSchmurdas Geographical Distribution of AnimalsGuders Jess Christi unter den TodlenMona- menla Germanise Hiutorieae,voli x.Jolowicn Polyglotle dcc Orientolisehen Potnie 101 History of the French Protestant RefugeesDelesaenls Photographic ReproduetionsPortraits dArtistesCho- pins Choix do Nouvelles RussesLettersof Charles XG. History of the Island of CyprusDupins Presidence do lAssemblde LegislativeReformers and Martyrs of SwitnerlasdAlphenso Eares RomassReligious Jour- ney is theOrientHistory of the Horse amosgall Nations Histo of the OperastBerlisSelectiossfrom Cubalia- tisMyaticiamHeyses Systenuoflpoken SonsudaPuruon of GrnesrodeEstheticQueslionsT.ei rsofHumboldt German StatistIcsFifty Years is th Hensispheres terman Proper NamesHistory of German Literature Riesss Doctrine of Frictional Electricity. . . tOd Dictionnaire RaisonnO do larehiteeture francaisoIdelle- ~ WorksEtudes histoniques Snr linfloesee do in Chanter, & e.L noun AntThealralo Histoire de lEglise do FrusreDussas Translation of EotobuePhysiologie ds DuelDocuments Histoniques sum Ia Comedie fr,sn- gaise Numonts Contributions to Italian History Schmidts Historyof German LiteratureGoltos Trave he EgyptMacarganSterub rgs Novels and Pictures-- sEsiheties of the UglyHistory of the Jacebins-Leipsie Editions of American WorkaWiehedes Ass dem Ss,dea Woldens Episodes from my Life. . . . 1d5 The Prizes of the French Ac emyCoussus Da Vram, da Contents of Volume II. Bean, et du BienGeorge Sands La FitteuleAvettane- das Don QuixoteWeddelts Voyage dane to Nord do Betivie Memoirs of the Baronne dOhorhirchInsur- rertion en ChineHistoire dos Luttoa et Rivalitf a entre lee Puissuncos Maritimes ella France,pendant Ia derniSre snoitih do XVIIe SiholeParonda Etudes sor Shakes- peareProfessorTetlkampfDie GesettichaftJesoThe book of the Canons and Decrees of the Councit of Trout Eckerta Die Polilik der Kirohe The Leipsic Moss- katotcgHefners Truohien der ChrisllichenMittetalters Detios on Cottiera ShahepeareBonsons Hospital in the Middle AgeaMiraheaus FssoysSanicrit-Gorman DictionaryWolfs Cancioneros, & c. Conslanliuo- pIe, the Bosphoros endihe Dardanolles Baomgartners new work Lufthlasen. 213 Abetard and HotoiseFesosnes IlfoeteceTales of the His- tory of France by CongaurSiatistics of Indostrysi Paris Bonnefosos Life of ColombosProsdhons Programme dnae PstiioeophieWortda Fairin ParisNew Work on the United StolesPromise and FolfilmentEarly Chris- tian Movements of ConstisntinopleDiary of Generat Pa- trick CordonLatin Hymns of the Middle AgesMono- script Dealers of the Middle AgesLeonard HaismBet- tins Von ArnimTesools in MenicoKodresnShetches from the Voodoo end BritlonyNicholos Lenans Loller to a Priced Ill Verons BoorgeotsItiers .Tos sal en ChineDo Soolcys for Mo le--Edgor A. Poe to FronceGoor e Ssods tee Mailers ScocoveeNeondors WorksWobors Ateeisen asd Socle Horse Dealing in Rossi. Frieslsodors Tkooeie doe WoetieeeRochonher0s Mysteries of Ike Dsy SoCe? cod Lssthe Heymanes LasoWiehodes Pess siso Toles. . . . . . . . 114 IV. .Afiscellaneoses. Scoelos el e e Sects espies 571 Romeo Do .9! ceo Ca adicsnee 228 Note from Honey C. Usroy 129 Nose frons Dr. Brewer 131 V. Moesics 112, 571, 6S9 VI. The Fine Arfe 115, 455, 574 Educational Institutions of New-York 1 Fish Hawks and Falcons 55 Fishing at the West 455 France, Early Poetry of 561 Gold Under Glit lot Gothic Style in the Fine Arts 191 Hamilton, (Sir Win.) Works 470 Hawaii, Life is ii In the Garden 560 Institutiono of Learning and Science (Uosefinued), 554 Inscription for the Back of a Bank-Note 550 Jack Lanterns Railroad Speculations 51 Jullien; The Orchestra 423 Keats, The Grave of 102 Keeping School in Texas 151 Letters of Parapidemus 12, 156 Letter from V. Le Ray do C umont 117 Letter from hiram Powers 154 Letter from henry C. Carey 342 Life in Hasvaii 17 London Rnockin0s 524 Mr. Os-Piers Folio Shakopere of 1652Its Most Pitessihle MS. Corrections 532 Medical Profession, 315 Mines-va Tattle, Summer Diary of 530 )tliss leeks Friend: A Novel in Ten Chapters (& ostcluded) 45 Mist Bremers Homes of the New World 668 Minuet and Polka, Moosehead Journal Music, 112 425, 571, 689 My Chateaux 657 New-York Church Architecture 235 Night Birds of North America 616 Odensee 469 Ode to Southern Italy 25 On the Gothic Style in the Fine Arts 191 Orchestra, The; Jullien 423 Orthodoxy versus Hoinceopathy 639 Our Crystal Palace 131 Our New President, 551, 445 Pacific Railroad 270, 500 Poets, Would Be 518 Potiphars in Paris 482 Powers, hiram, Letter from 154 Rsilroasi Speculations, Jack Lanterns 51 Rejected MSS 150 Retort Courteous 377 Reminiscences of an Ex-Jesuit, 214, 511, 418, 558, 664 Ronen 499 liussian Despotism and Ito Victims 182 Salt take and the New Saratona 260 Shakepere, The Text of 578, 532 Sketches in a Parisian Cafd 75, 439, 627 Smith, Alexander, Tile Poems of 94 Son0 652 Sonnet 150 Statistics aIld Speculations Concerning the Pacific Railroad 270 Story Without a Moral 81 The Grave of Keats 152 The Pacific Ilailroaol and How It is to be Built, - - 550 The Great Exhibition and its Visitors (11108- teofioooe) 577 The Enchanted Male 147 The Tree of Life 252, 254 The Early Poetry of France 561 The Retort Courteous 577 The Trolls Dau0hter.A Finnish Legend 649 The Old Mill 145 The Lovers 259 The Dooni of Would-Be Poets 518 The Gisost of a City 653 Tree of Life 252, 264 To Let 414 Tuloom 150 Venice, A Few Days in So Virginia: Least and Present 195 Visit to a Gold Chain Manufactory 216 What Impression Do We and Should We Make Abroad 541s Wensley 51, 155, 255, 457, 513, 593 Woman, The American Ideal 527 Works of Sir William Hamilton 470 Ti

Educational Institutions of New York 1-17

P UTNA MS MONTHLY. ~. ~1a~i~iuic of ~itrn~atiwe, ~CjC1Iff, aidr ~rt. VOL. 11.JULY 1853.NO. VII. EDUCATION AL INSTITUTIONS OF NEW-YORK. WE have not the least desire, in these me tumbler of water you have been drinking tropolitan sketches of ours, to emulate from. We never thanked any body for the achievements of the patent million insinuating that unmentionable horrors rna~~ nifrmn~ gentlemen, who glory in show- were daily becomin~ part and parcel of Ing serpent tadpoles. icthyosaurian mm- our vital circulation, which ruddy cheeks nows, and thousand-legged atoms. in the and clear eyes would otherwise have made voL. ii.i i~ ~w- x ()~K U niversity. 2 Aducational Institutions of New-York. [July us very comfortable about. But having once acquired this impertinent knowledge, we cannot but regard with grateful vene- ration that beneficent chemist to whose researches we owe a purifying agent, so potent that a few drops will precipitate every intrusive ingredient, and turn pu- tridity to crystalline freshness; or that other artistlet us not be suspected of a puff; since his name is Legionwho con- trives filters, diaphragmed or only perco- latin~, by means of which our Croton is placed beyond suspicion, let who will have bathed or thrown ci~ar-ends into the reser- voir. After what we have felt in duty bound to say of the almost fabulous neg- lects and abuses of our city government, it is with real relief that we take up a branch of our subject with which corrup- tion and selfishness have as yet had little to do, or at least have as yet been able to interfere but little. Thanks to the far- seeing wisdom of some who are gone and some who yet remain among us, there are purifying processes at work in New-York which, if inadequate in amount, are most benignant in operation, and which, if not themselves poisoned by quacks, or adulte- rated for dishonest gain, will, in time, work such salutary change in the vital current of our great city, that she niay yet be the glory of the earth in better things even than commerce and the arts. Our readers will agree with us that for the effectual defecation of the stream of human life in a great city, there is but one rectifying agentone infallible filterthe scHooL; and that the crowning merit of this God-given power is its applicability to the fountain-head; the divine chemistry by which it clears each drop as it springs from mother earth, all other reformatory influences bein ~ in comparison but as the straining out of an occasional gnat from the ocean. The school! who can estimate its importance? As we look at it in single specimens, it is often a clumsy piece of machinery enough; ill-fitted, of poor ma- terial. and with a blockhead or worse at the crank. But, viewed as a whole how can we say too much of it? The world has never before felt the need as we do and so has never seen such schools as ours, still less such as we shall yet have. The man who is one day to be our chief magis- trate is very probably running barefoot at this moment; he who is to command our armies may be just now giving a black eye to a comrade at the Five Points; a fu- ture chief justice is perhaps sweeping law- offices at sixpence a day, out of which sum he contrives to buy tobacco and whiskey. Shall we leave them where they are? Could we always be content with such education for our rulers? Would it be desirable that our future street-commissioners should be habitui~s of the gutters of to-day? Shall there be no intermediary cleansing stage between the fetid purliens of Prince-street and the glories of the Tea Room? Our social and political state, in this dizzy hour of sud- den wealth, might easily become like an Alhambra of golden domes and walls bla- zoned all over with holy sentences, whose foundations are sinking in a morass, even while its banners flout the skies. To go on adding glittering pinnacles, and mina- rets from whose airy heights the punctual muezzin calls five times a day to prayer, will not keep the gaping rents from roof or chamber, or prevent the goodly stones from toppling about the ears of careless inmates. But we are happily turning our attention to essentials, and aiming so to build as not hereafter to be ashamed. hope and Love have a word to say in our councils; Science and Order begin to be heard; Benevolence and Prudence have joined hands, for one work at least. There is no one subject (always excepting money- making) so interesting to our New-York ears, as the subject of Education. God bless the day when this can be said! To our minds eye, our noble city, when we look at her as the educatress of her myriad offspring, is a more majestic figure than that glorious Pallas Athenm, whose gleaming ivory and gold dazzled the eyes of the mariner far at sea as he looked towards the home of his pride and love. We love to think of her, seated between her rivers, opening her gener- ous arms to all the children of earth and saying, here is room enough, and knowledge for the asking. Be no longer the bond-slaves of ignorance, and vice her cruel sister. Wealth more than enough has been poured into my lap by the bounty of heaven and earth and as much of it as may be needed for your redemption shall be yours. Come up, come in crowds from whatever ignominy, contempt, and despair, into light and warmth, growth and good- ness. There is no poetry in this. The invitation is literally unlimited. There is nothingnot even color, the hedge of American liberality in most other cases that sets bounds to the grand office of edu- cation to all. Here is indeed something to be proud of; even Yankee boasting cannot go beyond the simple fact. It is by no means pretended that free schools are the new beneficence of to-day, or the peculiar privilege of New-York city. There is one free school in New-York that under the care of the Collegiate Dutch Reformed Churches, which has flourished for a hundred and fifty years; and the Vaudois had schools every where, which 1853.] Educational Institutions of New-York. the meanest of the people were allowed to attend, as far back as the twelfth cen- tury. But we claim for our city the pri- ority and pre-eminence in the establish- ment of schools wholly unconnected with any sectarian organization, so that no de- sic,n of proselyting; no shackle on free mind, free will, and free course in life; no oblic,ation, political or otherwise; no loss of caste hampers the gift, taking away with one hand what it seems to give with the other. The public school system be- gan, indeed, as a charity; it was at first (in 1802) the effort of a few charitable womenQuakers, almost of coursewho collected the ragged urchins of their neigh- borhood, in the eastern part of the city, and taught them in person, taking the duty week by week, in turn. The thing grew, like Jonahs gourd, and soon claimed the aid of the municipal and State govern- ments. This little one. which has bour- geoned broader and broader with the pros- pority all about it, embraces at this mo- ment nearly one-half of all the children under common-school instruction in this city. Its normal schools since their estah 3 lishment in 1835, have sent forth eleven hundred and fifty teachers. Several bene- volent citizens give a large share of their time and attention to this good work, and make its plans of operation the subject of continual study and improvement. One peculiarity, on which great stress is laid. is a system of exchanges with other school~ of the productions of the pupils in map- ping, drawing, & c., and a general school interchange of mineral specimens and other objects of interest. Communications from members of Congress. through whom these things were forwarded to distant States, speak warmly of the beneficial effects of the plan, in stimulating other schools. Each member of the State legislature has also been presented with a map of his county, in some cases embellished with marginal illustrations, representing geo- logical peculiarities of the locality, vege- table products, natural scenery, & c. From many country schools returns of minerals botanical preparations, & c., have been re- ceived, and the moral influence of this kindly system can hardly be over-appre- ciated. Fifth Ward Public Schuoi. After this pioneer institution comes that proper duty of the citizens at large. We of the Ward schools, established in 1842, reckon twenty~nine* Ward schools and partly in consequence of a general feeling four Ward primary schools, which, with that a voluntary body should not be al- the eighteen* schools of the Public School lowed to assume a function which is the Society, fifty-four primary schools of that * These numbers should properly be multipiled by three as the Male, Female and Primary Schools of each number, thou,h carried on in the same building, arc entirely Unconnected, do not communicate with each other, and make sep ate Reports to the Board of Education. 4 Educational Institutions of New-York. body and two public colored schools, are under the immediate control of the Board of Education. The intelligent observer can hardly find a fairer spectacle than one of these great schools in full operation. Pass through room after room, floor after floor, of the immense buildings they oc- cupy, you find every where order indus- try, animation, happiness. From the lit- tle toddlers that go gravely through the manual exercise of the infant school chantin~ their pretty hymns and clapping their little fat hands, to the tall fair girl and strong awkward boy of the highest rooms, all are busy, interested, hopeful. Fifteen to eighteen hundred children, and even more, are found in some of these great castles, and when, for purposes of exhibition or direction, as many as the chapel will hold are seen at one view it is a truly affectin_ siTht,a glad one for every true lover of American institutions, to see the velvet jacket and shining shoe approaching the rostrum side by side with patched knee and clumsy boot, on equal terms, with equal chances for im- provement and advance in life. Indeed, there is no city sight to which a New- Yorker should be so proud to invite a stranger as the Common Schools, whether of the class still under the care of the Public School Society, or of that more entirely the work of the Board of Educa- tion. The generous emulation hitherto exist- ing between these two organizations has worked so well, that one hardly knows whether to be glad or sorry that they are now to mer~e into one, the more private efibrts yielding to the necessity of the case in resi nin ~ its trust, that one soul may pervade the whole gigantic machinery. A bill has passed the State Senate and come to a third rea(ling in the House, which will transfer the property under the control of the Public School Society to the Board of Education, givin~ the for- mer at the same time the privilege of send- ing fifteen members to the Board, thereby increasing the number of members from forty (two for each Ward) to fifty-five. About one hundred thousand children at- tend these schools, and nearly half that number is the average daily attendance throughout the year. Can we say too much of the magnificence of such a pro- vision? But all has not yet been told. In or- der to give the highest degree of efilcien- cy to the Common School system, as well as to carry out and perfect its work, an institution has been devised, which, by one harmonious system of instruction, is calculated to perform the functions of the High School, the Academy, the Polytech [July nic School, and the College. This is the New-York Free Academy, established by the Board of Education in 1848; a semi- nary which, in the character, amount and value of the education imparted, is inferior to none of our colleges, while it educates the pupils practically, and qualifies them for the business of life. The requisites for admission are, 1. A residence in the city of New-York. 2. Thirteen years of age. 3. Having passed eighteen months at the Common Schools. 4. Being able to pass a good examina- tion in Spelling, Reading, Writing, Arith- metic, English Grammar, Geography, Ele- mentary Book-keeping, history of the United States, and Alnebra as far as sim- ple equations inclusive. The course of instruction is divided into thirteen departments, at the head of each of which is a Professor, aided by tutors. There are two full courses either of them equal in character, variety and extent to those of our most expensive colleges, re- sembling each other in all particulars, ex- cept that in the one the Latin and Greek languages are studied, while in the other French, Spanish, and German are substi- tuted. Each of these courses requires five years, but a student who desires it may pursue what is called a partial course, suiting the choice and amount of his studies to his prospects and intentions. The entire advantages of the institution. includin~ instruction, stationery, and use of library and apparatus, are freely offer- ed to all who are qualified as above men- tioned. No! we are inaccurate. Not to all. From this last-mentioned noble out- fit for duty, respectability, success and happiness in life, girls are excluded. For them the city thus far contents itself with providing the education of the Common School. But the time is not far distant, and enlightened heads and generous hearts are already on the alert to hasten the day, when that half of our citizens on whom devolves, by the decree of Nature and Providence so much of the civilizing pow- er, shall be as well fitted for their high and delicate office, as men for the more active and prominent part allotted to them. The question has already been started of a Free Academy for girls; and the open- ing of such an institution will be an era in the history of our country. It is our firm belief that those who are laboring for the Rights of Woman would obtain their object by a far shorter road, if they could be persuaded to concentrate the zeal and talent they possess on the great ark of Female Education, the true remedy for the wrongs of woman. The Academy building is situated in 1853.] Educatwnal institutions of New- York. 5 Lexington Avenue,at the corner of Twen- ty-third street. It is an imposing edifice, in both senses of the word, for it presents a fine general appearance, resembling in style the Town Halls of some of the Bel- gian cities, while on examination it is found to be like Nebuchadnezzars image, of various and not quite congruous materials. This peculiarity is, however, ceasing to be peculiar, as far as our country is concern- ed; after-thoughts of economy too often shearing the grandeur off our dashing plans, till the ~American order of archi- tecture, so often demanded, threatens to be characterized by patches and shams, rather than by any especial adaptedness to our growing wants. The structure in question cost, including site, furniture, library and apparatus. about one hundred thousand dollars, and the annual appro- priation for its support is twenty thousand. The students number five hundred, no class having as yet graduated. The first class finishes its five years course in July next. Three gold medals have already been founded by patriotic citizeus, as incen- tives to the aspirants at the Free Academy: one by Duncan C. Pell, for the greatest proficiency in general studies; one by Ed- win Burr, for the highest mathematical attainment; and one by Charles T. Crom- well, for first scholarship in history and Belles-Lettres. It is to be hoped so good an example will be followed, and especial- ly that prizes in money will be offered, in aid of meritorious students from the poorer classes, to whom even a small lift at the outset in life may be of great con- sequence. The Academy will, of course, have the power of bestowing the usual honors and degrees. There are many other schools drawing the whole or a part of their support from the public funds through the Board of Education. These are prescribed in the act, and are The New-York Orphan Asylum school, Bloomingdale. The Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum schools corner Fifth Avenue and Fifty- first-street, and corner Prince and Elm streets. The Roman Catholic half-Orphan Asy- lum school, 11th-street, near Seventh Av- enue. Free Academy. 6 Educational Institutions of New- York. ~July The Protestant Half-Orphan school Sixth Avenue, near 11th-street. The Mechanics Society school, 32 and 34 Crosby-street. The school for Juvenile Delinquents, House of Refuge. The Hamilton free school Fort Wash- ington. The school of the Leake and Watts Orphan House, Bloomingdale, between Ninth and Tenth Avenues, 111th-street. The Alms house schools. The school for Colored Orphans, Fifth Avenue, near 42d-street. The schools of the American Female Guardian Society. The schools of the Society for the promo- tion of education among colored children. It will be readily observable by this list that the intention of the law (Act of July 3d, 1851), which says No school shall be entitled to or receive any portion of the school moneys, in which the reli- gious doctrines or tenets of any particular Christian or other religious sect shall be taught, inculcated or practised, must be disregarded. Nor is the spirit of the law which cxprcssly denics to the Boa~d of Education the exercise of any discretion- ary power which shall result in exclud- ing the Bible without note or comment, or designating what version of it shall be used much more effective. All schools whose practices thus conflict with the spirit of the law, should of course be ex- cluded from participation in the public funds, since there are half-a-dozen large and influential sects quite as well entitled to sectarian teaching as those thus favor- ed, as indeed what sect is not, since num- bers are no test either of truth, sincerity or zeal? It is said the mode of nullifying the express intention of the law is some- what ingenious; it is at least bold. The children in the favored schools are in- structed according to law for the number of hours per diem required by the statute, after which the teaching of sectarian doc- trines proceeds as if the establishment were wholly unconnected with the State. This is certainly no better than an unwar- rantable evasion, in one clause of the law of the spirit of the rest; yet even more partiality is loudly demanded, although Columbia college. 1853.] Educational Institutions of New-York. the tendency would so evidently be the total destruction of that glorious system of common and universal education, which is the best trophy of our intelligence, the best security for our liberties, and the noblest offering we can make to Heaven and humanity, in acknowledgment of un- exampled prosperity and happiness. When we turn to our colleges, old Co- lumbia, of course, first presents herself to our thoughts, for she claims to be one of the few venerable relics of the olden time yet left within our ever-expanding borders. In 1746, when they did such things, mo- neys were raised by public lottery, for the encouragement of learning and towards the founding of a college. A liberal grant of land, on part of which the col- lege still stands, was made to the infant enterprise by Trinity Church, and this, with some other circumstances, aroused the jealousy of the watchful colonists, and excited a sturdy opposition to the under- takin,,. But a charter xvas at length ob- tained, and Kings College, as it was then called, came into legal existence in 1754. Additional funds were afterwards derived from private contributions (a grant of 24,000 acres of land in the northern part of the State having been annulled after the Revolution), and from the favor of his most gracious majesty king George the Third, from whom, says our author- ity, the Institution hath received great einolument. The same document, sup- posed to have been written by President Cooper, informs us that the college is situated about one hundred and fifty yards from the bank of the hudson River, which it overlooks, commanding from the emi- nence on which it stands, a most extensive and beautiful prospect of the opposite shore and country of New Jersey, & c. The locality would now be better describ- ed as bounded by College Place and Bar- clay, Murray, and Church streets (from the corner of which last street and Park Place our view is taken), and the river having moved a good deal farther oW and the space between having become consid- erable thickly-settled besides, the great- est attractions of the spot are the fine old gray college buildings themselves, and some magnificent old trees which still wave, green and musical, about the ven- erable walls. Further particulars of this grandmamma among our colleges may be found in the interesting historical sketch published by the Trustees in 1851 from which we have gathered our notice. That account brings us down from the first president of Kin~s, Dr. Johnson, to the last president of Columbia, Dr. King, of whom we heartily ejaculate (sturdy repub- lican though we be), Long may he reign! Columbia College is governed by a Board consisting of a President and Professors,the whole bein~, since 1789, under the supervi- sion of a self-replenishing Board of Trustees. who, of course, have control of the funds of the Institution. The college has at pre- sent 129 students exclusive of its large grammar school. It has a library of 16,000 volumes, much indebted for its ex- cellent arrangement to the late president, Dr. Moore (not deceased, as an adjective might seem to imply, but only retired). There is some talk (in whispers) of remov- ing the college up, or rather out of town, as a pecuniary speculation. Poetry for- bid! Shall there be nothing calm and quiet left in the seething mass of our him- siness domain? If the ima~ e were not too homely for the dignity of our subject, we would recommend the example of good housewives, who put a great clean stone into the midst of the meal-barrel in sum- mer, to keep it sweet. It would, in- deed, be a sore loss to the lower part of the town, and we denizens thereof see this so plainly, that we are not able to discern the more distant and problematical advan- tage of removing the ancient landmarks, and losing the prestige of respectable an- tiquity. At the worst, if our favorite green must be cut up, and done brown in the shape of stores, we shall be consol- ed and quieted by nothing less than seeing our own Park Place extended, in all it~ width and amplitude, to the North Riv er, that the prospect included in th original gift of the land to Columbia Col lege, may enure to us, as the natural suc cessors of those far-seeing friends to learn ing, whose objects it is our dearest aim ir life to further. The New-York University was incorpo- rated in 1831. The building it occupier was begun in 1833, and completed in 1836, one of the monuments of an idea but too prevalent heretofore in this country, that colleges are to be built not of men, but stones. The founders put all their means into a fine showy edifice: all their means and more, for there remains a debt of forty thousand dollars, after the great- est exertions on the part of the friends of the institution. It has, however, much to say for itself since only one similar institution among us has educated an equal number of students (455) durina the first twenty years of its operation, and of this large number one half have been educated gratuitously.~~ But imnfom- tunately, the prosperity as well as the popularity of such undertakings, is to be judged more from the paying than the gra- tuitous performances. The University building, an idealized affair of white mar- ble, buttressed and pinnacled like a stu 8 Educational Institations of New-York. [July dents dream of the Middle Ages, stands, lovely to the eye, on the eastern side of Washington Square. fine old trees waving before its win- dows. and the tall fountain adding the last grace of the academic grove ; but the halls, which would give con- venient room to six hundred ~tudents. echo to the steps of less than one hundred, and the place. with all its delicate beautylooks melancholy and deserted. The Medical Department of the University originated in 1n41. and at first occnpied the Stuyvesant Institute building. 659 Broadxvay, which was purchased at a cost of sixty-five thousand dollars. This was afterward sold for seventy-eight thou- sand, and a new one, sub- stantial and commodious if iiot elegant, costing seventy thousand, has been erected in Fourteenth street, be- tween Irving Place and N. Y. ~wuicai lollege, jn1rLeenLn-~LreeL. Third Avenue. This con- tains the Library. Museum of Natural His- tory, and Pathology, and the various hor Medical I)epartnicnt New-York University. rors that belong of right to the investiga- tion of the ills of this frail body of ours; and its precincts seem in no danger of lacking life and animation, if we may judge from the abundance of what Sam Weller irreverently calls young Sawboneses that swarm about its doors. In Thirteenth-street, between Third and Fourth Avenues scarce a block from the oth- er, stands the New-York Medical College, also a new and excellent building, on the site of the old Manhat- tan Reservoir, that Stern round tower of ether days, that used to challenge the curiosity of the passer-by, who was prone to imagine for it some romantic origin or destiny, as it loomed gracefully against the sum- mer sky, in contrast with the hard angles and perking chimneys that clustered about it. The college was chartered in 1850, and in the same yearnay, in less than one quarter of that year, the present building grew up though not otherwise par 9 Educational institutions of New- York. ticularly like the palace of Aladdin. That no alarming prognostics should be drawn from this so sudden growth we are assured, for the structure is based, in its whole extent, on a solid rock, a circumstance not left unimproved by Dr. Cox, in his opening address. We must suppose the control- hug body to feel pretty strong, when we read, in their circular for 1852, that one of the leading objects of the school is to in- troduce all the modern discoveries in the healing art, and another to save the world from having students turned out upon it with the avowed intention of practising Homceopathy. and other forms of quack- ery. Unfortunately, we outsiders have come to consider the line of distinction be- tween new discoveries in medicine and quackery. as too shadowy to be in- trusted for final settlement even to the New-York Medical College Quis cus- todet cu,stodes? One most commendable feature in the plan of this institution is the provision for the gratuitous admission of five Students of the Free Academy to its lectures, a graceful and becoming recognition of this splendid crown of our Common School system. We recommend the example to other institutions having scientific, literary or artistic advantages at their disposal. The Union Theological Seminary, found- ed January, 1836, is situated in Universi- ty Place, near Washington Square. This school is open to all denominations of Christians, but students must produce evidences of good standing in some evan- gelical church. The course of theologi- cal study occupies three years, and such facilities are offered to students in strait- ened circumstances, as to place the advan- tages of the institution within reach of every young man of tolerable abilities. The Union Seminary, besides numbering several distinguished clergymen among its professors, boasts the name of Edward Robinson, the first geographer of the day, and one of the most learned Jiebraists, as the occupant of its chair of Biblical litera- ture. The General Theological Seminary of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States. was first established by the General Convention, May, 1817, in 1853.] Union Theological Seminary, ~ 10 Educational Institutions of Yew-York. the city of New-York. In May, 1820, it was removed to New haven, Connecticut. In November, 1821, it was united with the Diocesan Theological Seminary of New-York, with mutual compromises, and was moved back to the city of New-York. Its present act of incorporation dates April 5, 1822. Its object is the education of students of divinity for the ministry of the Episcopal Church. It is permanently established in the State of New-York. It is governed by a board of trustees, of which the bishops are ex officio members, and to which every diocese contributes in proportion to the number of its clergy and the amount of its donations. The course of study is three years in Scripture, Church History, Doctrine, Polity, Pastoral Theo- logy, Evidences, Hebrew, & c. There are four professors, who have a house and ~1500 a year salary. The students in this years catalogue number 57. They come from 13 dioceses. They have a room and tuition free. The regular graduates number 417 and 250 besides have received instruction in the seminary. [July The chapel has two services, with preach- ing by the professors in turn on Sunday, and also daily morning and evening prayer. Large Sunday schools are gathered and taught by the students, and an afternoon church service, with an address, is held for the boy congregation. Each professor, in turn, is chaplain and dean. The property of the seminary has been contributed by subscriptions in various dioceses, and by personal donations and bequests. It consists, at present, of Chel- sea square, bounded by Ninth and Tenth avenues, and Twentieth and Twenty-first streets, being 64 lots, and the block next nearest the Hudson river, of which 32 lots are land, and 32 yet remain to be filled up; also of 20 lots or more, still farther out in the river, as far as the Bulk- head, with the water-front, all which mag- nificent donation was given by Clement C. Moore, LL.D., in all about 150 lots. The first block is appropriated for ever for the buildings of the Institution; the other lots and water privilege may be used for income purposes. On Chelsea square are the seminary buildings, two large stone Episcopal Seminary. 1853.] Educatwnal Institutions of New-York. 11 structures, 110 feet by 52, three stories, with basement, which cost about $60,000. Frederic Kohre, of South Carolina, who became a citizen of Pennsylvania, left by will $100,000, which, invested in Penn- sylvania 5 per cent. stock, gives the main present income of the Institution. Peter G. Stuyvesant endowed a Professorship of Church History with $25,000. There are endowed scholarships to the amount of $35,000. The endowed Library Fund is 6,000, most of which was given by Trinity Church, which also laid the foun- dation of its noble library, now of 12,000 volumes, by presenting books valued at $6,500. Last year the Society for Pro- moting Religion and Learning in the Dio- cese of New-York, gave the Seminary $3,144, which was expended for choice volumes of the late Dr. Jarviss library. There is also an endowed McVickar prize fund of 1,000. This constitutes the ex- isting property of the Institution. Besides the above, funds to the amount of $168,000 were contributed, which were expended upon the buildings and for the improve- ment of the estate, and to sustain the In- stitution during 30 years, when the in- come was inadequate. The General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen of the city of New-York, on the occasion of the renewal of their char- ter in 1811, took measures for the found- ing of schools for the children of indigent or deceased members of their body, and the institution thus commenced has grown to be an important feature in the educa- tion of the citys bone and sinew. Pay scholars are admitted, and form a large portion of the number, and the course of instruction pursued is essentially that of the public schools with some additions suggested by the taste and liberality of those who have charge of the matter. A late exhibition of these schools gave grati- fying proof of the intelligence and refine- ment by which this large class of our cit- izens is preparing to fill with usefulness and dignity their place in the society of the future. Among the important educational ef- forts of a gratuitous kind we must men- tion the schools connected with St. Georges Church under the care of the Rev. Dr. Tyng. The parish school of St. Georges is in fact a ragged school, having about one hundred scholars of a lower grade than usually attend the public schools. This has been in operation about twro years, and is supported by the contributions of the congregation. There is also a charity sewing school belonging to the church, where every Saturday, some 150 poor girls are taught to sew, by the ladies of the parish. This is a comparatively new form of beneficence, and may well be lauded for its direct and its reflex influ- ence. If every congregation in the city would do the same thing, a perceptible diminution of the mass of female vagrancy would soon take place. In addition to these excellent works, Dr. Tyngs church has a Sunday School numbering eleven hundred scholars. The school building as represented in the cut, is a good ex- ample of what a parish school-house should be,convenient and tasteful with- out extravagance. The ornamental cor- nice, as well as the walls, is of brick. The building adjoins the parsonage and church (St. Georges), and harmonizes well with those fine structures. The great school of the Rutgers In- stitute is a corporate institution, where high and various advantages are afforded at a rate much lower than is possible in schools of merely private enterprise. It was founded in 1838, expressly to secure to the large and increasing population in the eastern section of the city the requisite education for girls, which up to that time had necessarily been taught on the west- ern side. A fine granite building was erected in Madison-street, No. 264, con- taining all the rooms required for a day school of the largest and most comprehen- sive kind. Five hundred girls are here congregated, under the care and instruc- tion of a large corps of teachers, and the annual Exhibition draws together crowds of visitors to be entertained and gratified by the proficiency of the scholars in music, drawing, and whatever constitutes a course at once useful and ornamental. The gen- tlemen to whose original judgment, liber 12 Educational Institutions of New- York. al views and constant care we owe this great school for girls, deserve the thanks of the city, and especially of all mothers. It were invidious to attempt any indi- vidualizing notice of the multitude of strictly private schools for which our city is famed in all parts of the Union. They are to be found in every street, and their praise is abundantly sounded by parents far and near, who have chosen a metro- politan education for their sons and daugh- ters. Whatever may be thought of the superior healthfulness of country life in general, it must be allowed that while the city of New-York affords advantages, literary, scientific, artistic, social and moral that no isolated position can possess, its salubrity is most satisfactory, as the rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes that adorn our streets can testify. Such freshening cur- rents of air as our two mighty streams bring with them from the north and east and such sea-breezes as come up our bay from the tropics, leave little chance for malaria, except such as is wilfully and wickedly brought to our doors by the cor- poration, and even they cannot do us as much harm as they would were our natural advantages less compulsive. The country seems aware of this, for it sends us thou- sands of its darlings to educate and refine, and they often go home ruddier than they came. In these slight sketches of the literary resources of our city, we have necessarily passed unnoticed much that might have been said to illustrate them more com- pletely. This our limits required, and they equally forbid any length~ned dis- quisition upon the largeness of the provi- sion or its deficiencies. Enough has been said, however, to justify our assertion that taking into account our Common Schools New York appears no less glorious in this aspect than those in which the world is more apt to view her. This is as it should be. Let commerce increase and wealth be piled mountain high, provided only that letters and all the amenities and purifying powers they bring with them accompany this triumphal march of worldly prosper- ity. As a great, heterogeneous procession, however splendid in material or equip- ment, would, without its bands of music, be but a sordid huddle, each man jostling his neighbor to avoid the obstacles in the way, and treading on the kibes of him in front in his haste to reach the goal, so society, without the humanizing arts, must ever lack gentle manners, respect for rights, effective sympathies, and all power of character or harmonious action, even in the direction of its own dearest interests and efforts. A rich man without cultivation is a mere nugget, totally unfit for circula [July tion, and incapable of elegance till melted down and stamped or fashioned. The multitude of these now among us, is, very naturally under present circumstances, enormous; and unhappily, our citizens of this class are but too fond of beginning their education by travelling abroad; so that the blunders and vulgarities of American travellers are becoming a by- word on the continent of Europe; while at home it is commonly remarked that there is more bad grammar perpetrated in grand freestone houses than any where else in town. We must never be too proud of our pros- perity and progress while this is so; mere increase may be but fungus after all and though toadstools /ook exceedingly like mushrooms, they are deadly poison in the using. It is of n remarked, and with seeming sagacity, that it is vain to push these things; that the supply will keep pace with the demand, and would be but loss without it; but we submit that al- though the old proverb about taking a horse to water is beyond dispute, it is equally certain that if there be no water within his reach he cannot drink be he never so thirsty. We would provide streams every wherestreams with plea- sant sloping banks; cooling shades for the hours of heat, and dust, and fatigue, and golden sands that should sparkle to the far-off eye, so that curiosity and love of pleasure should minister to refreshment, beauty, and cleanness. Our men of wealth and business who are cultivated should see to this. It is not for them to sit re- tired in luxurious libraries, the peace and delight of which are due in no small mea- sure to the toils and enterprise of those outside, and render back no return of duty or gratitude to the community which has given them fortune and leisure. This is no longer the way to dignify wealth; it never was the way to hallow it. How many of the curses that have fallen upon rich mens children in this very city for the last thirty yearstoo well known by every observer who has resided here during that timewould have been averted, if the fathers had distributed a part of the money, which has blistered every finger it touched in means of instruction, improvement, and pleasure for the great public on which rich and poor are for ever mutually dependent! But this theme would soon run away with us, so strong are our convictions, so ardent our wishes and hopes for the future. We would not have touched upon it here but from the feeling that having set forth what has been done, it seemed incumbent to hint at what remains to he done, by Learning and the Arts, through the instru- mentality of their sworn servant, Wealth, 13 1853.] Educational Institutions of New- York. Astor for the solid and undying glory of this metropolis of the western worldthis new Rome, which seems not unlikcly to eclipse the old. The Libraries of New-York, which come naturally under the head of means of public instruction, can be considered only as the commencement of what is to be done in that line for this great metro- polis. They are thus far only respecta- ble, but they promise well. One prodi- gious hiatus there is, which we hear no talk of fillin0 that of a reference libra- ry, imperatively demanded by the neces- sities of American Literature and the Arts. Which of our millionnaires will im- mortalize himself by at least commmenc- in0 one? But why do we talk of com- mencing, merely? Are there not scores of men who owe their immense fortunes to the advantages afforded them by this commercial emporium, who have never voluntarily contributed one single thou- sand dollars to its improvement? Such should be ashamed to die without hav- ing returned at least a mite for the great gifts they have swallowed up, unthankful. Let a few of the more enlightened of them set the thing on foot, and head the sub- scription handsomely, and it is done though it would be still better done by one man, who should be his own execu- tor, trustee, director, and building com- mittee, and so save many expenses, and snake quick work. In extent and importance, the Astor Library claims the first place in our no- tice, though it is but youthful in com- parison with others. In magnificence of provisiou for the intellectual developTnent of the great public, the liberality of Mr. Astor is second only to that of the State. Four hundred thousand dollars is the original extent of his bequest, for the establishment of a public library in the city of New-York, erecting a suita- ble building, and supplying the same with books, maps, charts, models, draw- ings, paintings, engravings, casts, statues, furniture and other things pertaining to a library for general use, upon the most ample scale and liberal character. the said libary to be accessible at all reason- able hours, free of expense to persons re 14 Educational Institutions of New- York. [July sorting thereto. The Mayor of the city and the Chancellor of the State are trus- tees ex pf/icio, and Mr. Washington Ir- ving is the first President, supported by a board of well-known and much respect- ed names of this city. The building, which is at the present moment nearly ready for the reception of the books, ex- cept that prudence prescribes an extra drying of the work, which will defer the openin, of the Library until October next, is situated in Lafayette Place, very near Astor Place, a position particularly fortunate, as it respects quiet and acces- sibility. It is handsome and characteris- tic, and promises well for light and ven- tilation. The general effect of the inte- rior is at present rather finical and gau- dy, but the hooks will of course bring down the glare to a more literary tone. We rejoice in the prospect of one libra- ry wholly free, and trust it will be used without stint or measure by our citizens. lettered or otherwise. Mr. Cogswell, who has sole charge of the purchase of books, has the unan- imous voice as the best possible man for the office. One quality in particular, a rare one in such cases, he possesses in perfection certainly, that urbanity of manners, without which in its Superin- tendent, a public library is a Hesperian garden, whose fruit is safe from all but the bravest adventurers. Mr. Cogswell, besides the contribution of his stores of biblio,raphical knowledge, has been a benefactor to the library of a large amount of the sources whence it was acquired a thousand volumes in his own sp~cialit~, very valuable to all future collectors. and to the many future donors to the As- tor. The New-York Society Library has the merits of seniority and an established re- putation, but being very expensive, can never be an object of very great interest to the public at large. It originated in The Public Library of New-York founded in 1700. A relic of this origin is still preserved. The Society Library was founded in 1754. A building of some ar- chitectural importance for the day was erected in Nassau-street. near the present Post-office, but on the opposite side of the street, and the library maintained a dig- nified position there for some thirty years, daily visited by a number of portly, quiet gentlemen, literary and professional, who found within its walls the aristocratic se- clusion which Nassau-street would now hardly afford. When the growth and chanes of the city rendered a removal necessary, the Society built a handsome edifice at the corner of Broadway and Leo- nard-street, where it has long flourished, haunted still by many of its ancient fre- quenters. But inexorable commerce has not done treading on the heels of literature, and the venerable Societyis once more driven from its domicil, and temporarily housed in the Bible Building in Eighth-street, while another structure, to be built, ac- cording to the desire of its founders for the use and ornament of the city, shall be erected in University Place, near Union Square, a choice position for the purpose, and central as to the district inhabited by most of the subscribers. The property of the Society consists of a capital of $70,000 easily increasable, says a memorandum obligingly furnished us by Mr. Forbes, the librarian, to $100,000, by new shares, its annual income being besides about $5000 from the dues of the members. The books number about 41,000, a few of which are duplicates or mere literary lum- ber. The Historical Society Library contains about twelve thousand printed volumes, a large collection of pamphlets, maps and charts, and more than a thousand bound volumes of newspapers, besides medals, coins, busts, & c., illustrating the national history. The treasures of the Institution are, however, open only to members and persons introduced by members, so that strangers visiting the city can rarely avail themselves of its resources, without the expenditure of more time and trouble than they can afford. The Mercantile Library was instituted in 1820, by an association brought to- gether by a call from William Wood, Esq., its first President. In 1828 the merchants of New-York, on an appeal from the yet struggling enterprise, gave a sum of money large enough to provide the library with a place, they assuming at the same time a sort of control, through the Trustees. This has doubtless been beneficial in many respects. After some change, and several years occupancy of apartments in Clinton Hall, increasing prosperity has prompted an undertaking, partaking strongly of the spirit of the age. Selling Clinton hall for purposes to which it is now better adapted, the Soci- ety have purchased the Astor Place Opera House, which they will demolish, in order to erect a new and commodious edifice for the accommodation of the library. The down-town property has increased in value to such an extent, that this can be done with less extravagance than may be supposed, and the Trustees are willing to take upon themselves the responsibili- ty of running in debt for whatever the new building may cost over and above the $100,000 they receive for the old one 1853.] Educational Institutions of New- York. 15 in the certainty that the income of those parts of the building not occupied by the library, will soon extinguish their lia- bility. No good citizen can look with indiffer- ence on such an institution as this library, which is to all intents and purposes a free one to the youn~, men for whose special benefit it was intended, providing a large collection and ample variety of books (over 37,000 volumes), commodious and well-supplied reading rooms, and what- ever of interest and animation belongs to an active and prosperous organization, whose very business is calculated to de- velop mental resources, and lead its youth- ful members to think and act for them- selves and that for a purpose of noble utility. Honor to the kind, fatherly heart to whom the inception is due, that of William Wood, of Canandaigua, who seems to have lived a bachelor only to feel the more warmly that all the young and needy are his children. Here is a monument vast and expressive enough to satisfy the ambition of the proudest. Would there were more such! The privileges of this library are not exclusively confined to the members. Other subscribers are received at an an- nual cost of five dollars, and the income of the association is ~10000 per annum. The Mechanics Society has also its library and readin,-rooms (32 Crosby- street), established in 1820, for the bene- fit of apprentices, who are allowed, on certain conditions, the gratuitous use of books, and this privilege is extended to the widows and minor children of mem- bers. The number of volumes is over 15,000, but it is not so easy to appreciate the advantages of such an institution in our city, where temptations to dissipated evenin~. s are in so small measure coun- teracted by the provision of harmless, to say nothing of improving and civilizing amusements. If we could but once learn and believe how much better is prevention than cure, institutions like this would multiply and extend themselves, till li- braries, galleries, and museums of art would be not only within reach of all our youth, but be so placed and managed as to attract them irresistibly. Chronologically and in our arrange- ment, the last of our educational and benevolent institutions is that noble one which will owe its existence to the far- seeing and practical benevolence of one of our living men of business, Mr. PETER COOPER. The Peoples Union, as he proposes to call it, is to be devoted to the Moral, Intellectual and Physical im- provement, of his countrymen. A noble building, dedicated to Science and Art, is now in process of erection near A stor Place, at a cost, including the ground, of about ~300,00O: and when all the circum- stances of this munificent endowment are considered, it will be found to rank scarcely second even to that of Mr. Astor, in liberality and in the importance and grandeur of its results. The immediate outlay is nearly or quite as large, and this is more than likely to grow beyond the original limits, as the work proceeds. But well has it been said, that such a monument secures for its founder a fame more enduring than the pyramids. Our little picture of the building is da- guerreotyped from the drawin~ of the ar- chitect, Mr. F. A. PETERSEN. We borrow from a daily journal a description, which, Mr. Cooper informs us, is essentially cor- rect: The excavations have already been made, and the ceremony of laying the cor- ner-stone will take place in a short time. The building will cover an entire block, having a frontage on Third Avenue, of 195 feet, on Fourth Avenue, 155 feet, 143 feet on Eighth-street, and 86 feet on Seventh- street. It faces the new Bible house, and will be within a stones throw of the Astor library, the Mercantile library, and the rooms of various literary and scien- tific societies. Indeed this spot might label itself as the Nassau-street bookseller styled his premises the Moral Centre of the Intellectual World. The idea of Mr. COOPER of producing from the build- ing a revenue to meet the yearly expenses of professors, & c., and thereby render the institution self-sustaining, has been carried out with remarkable ability by the archi- tect,preserving the unity of effect and proportion of the building as a public structure, while affording the utmost convenience in a commercial point. The Union will be based on a remunerative substructure, which is calculated to bring in a large amount of revenue, and yet, in appearance, injures not the general effect of beauty and solidity. For this purpose, the basement is intended as a large public hail, 125 by 82 feet, and 21 feet high, having two wide entrances on Eighth- street, one on Third, and one on Fourth Avenue. This will be a very spacious lecture-room, and when all the entrances are thrown open, can be emptied in a minute. The first and second stories are intended for stores and offices. With the third story, then commences the Union; and in the elevation of this the public character of the building is admirably maintained. A lofty row of windows runs to the full hei~ht of the Exhibition Ilall and picture galleries, giv- ing, on the outside, an appearance of mag 16 Educational Institutions of New-York. [July nitude, very striking in effect. This story is appropriated to the Exhibition Room 30 feet high, and 125 x82. A large dome sheds light through a well 22 feet in diameter. The fourth story may be properly considered part of the third being a continuation of galleries, with alcoves, in tended for painting and sculp- ture. These galleries are so designed that pictures may be placed so as to obtain the required light. On the fifth story will be the lecture- room and library. One lecture room on Eighth-street side will be 52X52, the other 52X62 feet, and the library consists of five rooms communicating with each other and with both lecture-rooms freely. Con- nected with the smaller lecture-room is a room for physical experiments and instru- ments; and facing on the Third Avenue are five rooms intended to be rented to ar- tists. The income to be derived from the stores. lecture-hall, refectory, & c., it is ex- pected, will amount to about 25.000 to ~30,000 annually, which will be appro- priated in meeting the expenses and fur- therin~ the interests of the institution. The course of lectures as well as the li- brary and reading-rooms, are intended to be free. rhe details of the management are not yet fully matured; but Mr. Cooper has suggested that the following should be included in the Board of Directors. viz.: The Judge of the District Court of the United States, in New-York; three of the Judges of the Superior Court, the Mayor; the President of the Board of Education; President of the Chamber of Commerce; the oldest male member of Mr. Coopers family, and one Director to be elected each three years, by the editors of the daily and weekly newspapers of the city. Should this munificent project be car- ried out in its practical details, in the spirit of its design. who can set bdunds to its beneficial influence on Young New- York, and on our future rulers? Time Cooper Institute. 1853.] 17 LIFE IN HAWAII. THOUGH the Sandwich Islands abound I in scenes both novel and picturesque to the stranger; yet few of them, perhaps, strike him more forcibly, than the bust- ling appearance of the Hawaiian metropolis on a Saturday afternoon. The quiet and orderly little town of honolulu, usually dull and even drowsy in its aspect durin~,, the week, then suddenly wakes up, and throwing off the accumulated gravity and sedateness of the previous six days, leaps (like a happy urchin fresh from school) at once into holiday, and at the sanie time into the saddle. The trotter, the pacer, the hack, every thing in fact avail- able in the shape of a steed, is at once brought into requisition. Alas for the un- fortunate equestrian whom dinner or duty has detained on board his floating home later than usual this evenin,.,! not more unavailing was the cry of baffled Richard on the field of Bosworth, than must be his now for a horse! All the world and his wife. and his daughters too, seem to be on horseback, galloping about for very life. People of every caste and con- dition, from the stately Englishman on his sleek and well-appointed trotter, to the rol- licking, shouting Jack tar, revelling in the first burst of his twenty-four hours liber- VOL. ty. The tawny laundress of the morning, who, in the hideous island dishabille return- ed your linen (washed, as the buttons attest. not wisely but too well ), is scarcely to be recognized in the stylish Amazon, who mounted en cavalier, and rich in calico, dashes fearlessly past you in all the gor- geous colors of the rainbow. The adopt- ed Californian, affecting the Mexican in his spurs, lavish of beard, and with a Era Diavolo or first robber style of hat, vies in the race with the careless and lazy Kanaka, whilst the native having invested the greater portion of his weeks earnings in the glories of a horse- ride, and perfectly indifferent to the powers of the hack he bestrides, lashes and spurs the poor animal to his hearts content, and is for the time supremely happy. Have a care, where he comes, for the ordinary mishaps incidental to racing, are little regarded by him: as for being thrown, he rather likes it. And last not least, the fair American, in her becoming habit and on her well-trained palfrey, canters gracefully by, seeming, by very contrast, a hundred-fold more bewitch- ing, as she smilingly acknowledges your island salutation, Aloha! Let me re- mark, by the way, that few words in any

Life in Hawaii 17-23

1853.] 17 LIFE IN HAWAII. THOUGH the Sandwich Islands abound I in scenes both novel and picturesque to the stranger; yet few of them, perhaps, strike him more forcibly, than the bust- ling appearance of the Hawaiian metropolis on a Saturday afternoon. The quiet and orderly little town of honolulu, usually dull and even drowsy in its aspect durin~,, the week, then suddenly wakes up, and throwing off the accumulated gravity and sedateness of the previous six days, leaps (like a happy urchin fresh from school) at once into holiday, and at the sanie time into the saddle. The trotter, the pacer, the hack, every thing in fact avail- able in the shape of a steed, is at once brought into requisition. Alas for the un- fortunate equestrian whom dinner or duty has detained on board his floating home later than usual this evenin,.,! not more unavailing was the cry of baffled Richard on the field of Bosworth, than must be his now for a horse! All the world and his wife. and his daughters too, seem to be on horseback, galloping about for very life. People of every caste and con- dition, from the stately Englishman on his sleek and well-appointed trotter, to the rol- licking, shouting Jack tar, revelling in the first burst of his twenty-four hours liber- VOL. ty. The tawny laundress of the morning, who, in the hideous island dishabille return- ed your linen (washed, as the buttons attest. not wisely but too well ), is scarcely to be recognized in the stylish Amazon, who mounted en cavalier, and rich in calico, dashes fearlessly past you in all the gor- geous colors of the rainbow. The adopt- ed Californian, affecting the Mexican in his spurs, lavish of beard, and with a Era Diavolo or first robber style of hat, vies in the race with the careless and lazy Kanaka, whilst the native having invested the greater portion of his weeks earnings in the glories of a horse- ride, and perfectly indifferent to the powers of the hack he bestrides, lashes and spurs the poor animal to his hearts content, and is for the time supremely happy. Have a care, where he comes, for the ordinary mishaps incidental to racing, are little regarded by him: as for being thrown, he rather likes it. And last not least, the fair American, in her becoming habit and on her well-trained palfrey, canters gracefully by, seeming, by very contrast, a hundred-fold more bewitch- ing, as she smilingly acknowledges your island salutation, Aloha! Let me re- mark, by the way, that few words in any 18 Life in Hawaii. [July langua~e. possess the graceful softness of this constantly used greetin~. Aloha. Never harsh, even when uttered by the husky-voi cod Kanaka. charming when lisped hy the native girl, it becomes music itself on the lips of a pretty New Englander. The Polynesian dialect, like most aborigi- nal languages, is defective, and one word has to do the duty of many: for exam- pie. the monosyllable pan (pronounc- ed pow) signifies finished; inquire of a native concerning the illness of a member of his family. and pan suffices to con- vey to you, that the sickness has passed and health is restored: ~sk him how is the invalid? and pan sadly an- nounces that all is over. Thus aloha becomes a greeting, a blessing, or a fare- well as occasion requires, and serves to welcome the returning friend, or to whis- per a score of tender adieux to the parting lover. There are two favorite rides in the vicinity of honolulu; the one. most resorted to of a Saturday afternoon, leads past Punch bowl hill, through a spacious valley, lying immediately back of the town, and called the Nunaun. Ascending gradually for some seven miles. amidst numerous pretty villas (the resi- dences of the upper ten of Oahu), this road abruptly terminates, not xvindin~ away into a lane or dissolving into a foot- 1itli, but stopping short, leaving the rider standing on the brink of a perpendicular precipice, 1500 or 2000 feet deep, with a glorious panorama spread, like a map, be- neath him. of green hill, and gard en plain. and blue glittering ocean, worth a journey to the Islands to behold. here (we are told), the first Kamehamneha cornered an army of his rebellious subjects. and as they declined giving in, drove them relentlessly over the precipice. The other, and less frequented, ride, lies in an almost opposite direction: passin~ the Pa-ki residence and the Palace, the two ha.ndsomest houses of Oahu, the road issues upon a noble plain, over which a pleasant half-hours canter takes one to an Indian village in a charruing cluster of trees called Wy-ti-ti or the Cocoa-nut Grove. Rich as this island is in scenes that woo repose, there are none so charming and in- viting as this: for a mild flirtation or a quiet t~te4t-ti4e, this is a spot in a thousand. Soothed by the music of the waves as they wash the base of Diamond Head. towering aloft in all its boldness, the smooth turf for a seat, and the gentle trade-wind for a fan, a shade of romance will steal over the most unimaginative. and many a tale of love has been whispered. and many a little quarrel adjusted, and (I answer for myself) many a score of cigars puffed. which, but for this elysium. would have remained unwhispered, unadjusted, and unpuffed till IiOW. If you arc thirsty, a word from one of the primitively cos- tumed old gentlemen of the place. will Pa-U Hoiae. Ji~ I If It LQY to II uwan. start a dozen youngsters up the tapering trunks of the cocoanuts, and when the husk-covered roblet, brimful of the crate- ful beverage, meets the lips, one is corn- l)elle(I to admit that not even a cobbler or a julep, in all its iciness, is a more refresh- ing quencher. It was on a Saturday afternoon in the year 1832. that a merry party of us started forth to attend a luao or native feast, given by a chief who lived some miles fi em Honolulu. Passing the quarter of the town where Chinainen most do congre- gate, the Apongs, Washiurs, Sam-sings. IIo~)-sings, aud all the othei Sings who exhibit their names in staring English cal)itals to the drygoods purchasing public, we entered upon the open road, narrowly escaping a fall, by the sudden shying of our horses as we turned a corner, ~vheie an inrenious celestial was raising an enor- inous kite, shaped and painted like a girantic butterfly. The effect with which thse Chinamen, when manufaetuiing their paper birds, succeed in magnifx inc a blue- bottle or a butterfly, till it reminds one of the horrible monsters exhibited in a di-op of rain water, is as giote~qlie as it is mar- vellous. Clear of the town we had a glorious gallop before us; the (lay tine and bracingsuch a (lay as properly be- longed to this island climate, now admit- ted by travellers to be the finest iii the world. Away we canter ovei lie volcanic and hollow sounding grotuid. past bright green patches of the carefull v ten(le(l kalonow doffing our beavers some lady acquaintance, enjoying her aCer- noon drive in a low wagon, with her good tempered, easy-paced bay, Kanaka ser - vant before it in single harnesstheti acknowledging the salute of ~oine long- legged marine, jolting his very teeth out. on a raw-boned trotter. Away we go. J)ast Kanaka huts and American houses. half hidden by the feathery leaves of tropical trees, greeted with, Aloha 00/ o war! by well-dressed boatmen. thu prOl)rietOrs of the Led Lovers atel Som sits (i. e. Bed hovers .td Tom 1~its) favorite Whitehall shi4C of honolulu. Away we dash, past itus- tachiod Frenchmen, bearded and douse/i, gro tvling forth, Aloiulr pour la PuliW- er, with all the enrgy A Giroiidis~ going to execution ; past iiative girls in wreaths of flowers and streaming skirts. and native men carrying the everlasting -V. lit- e~c~-nt ti rust. 20 Lje in Hawaii. [July pig slung between them on a bamboo; for it is a fact, though I dont know why, that it always takes two natives to carry a pig, even if it be oniy a week old. After an hours pleasant ride, we brought up and dismounted at the hut of our enter- tainer, which, upon entering, we found greatly superior in size and accommoda- tion to any in the neighborhood of Hono- lulu. The party. some twenty in number, consisted entirely of natives, and all were busily en~aged in discussing the first course, viz. poi and raxv fish. The usual salutation at once introduced us to the assembled guests, and as, to use the words of one of our party, the wit- tles was up, we spread ourselves without ceremony upon the matted floor beside the provender prepared for us. The mo- dus edentis is decidedly uninviting to a stranger. A circle is formed round a cal- abash of poi, which is the kalo root soaked and pounded. and in appearance re- seinbles boiled Indian meal. Each lady or gentleman dips one finger (or two, ac- cordin to the consistency) into the pot- tage, and by a rapid and scientific twirl. conveys a ~oodly portion of it into the mouth. Occasionally varying the monot- ony of the proceeding with a raw fish. they manage in this way to despatch a quantity of the preparation. which, to the uninitiated, is perfectly astounding. When I first heheld an honest ~ al/on thus dis- posed of. I was inclined to think that, like Jack the Giant Killers ruse with the Welch giant, some other receptacle for food must be employed than that which nature had provided. As we had none of us hoped to accomplish much in the way of eating, we amused ourselves by watching the gusto with which raw fish was devoured by the young ladies; and as bloaters and anchovies hap- pened to be a particular weakness with many of our party, we were prevailed upon to take bribes here of the sardines, and taste the delicacy. One mouthful served to satisfy all our curiosity, and we were compelled to declare ourselves gor~ed with the dearest morsel of the feast. Baked meats, invitingly hot and smoking, and spread on soft green kolo leaves, were, after a little delay, brought into the hut an(l set before us; and when satisfied that the portion allotted to me Eating Vol. 1853.] Life in Hawaii. 21 was the rib of a veritable porker, and not a slice of the native gour- mands favorite dishbaked dog I managed to do some justice to our hosts good cheer. The docs. eaten by the Pd- anders are of a peculiar species. fed entirely upon vegetables, and as pampered and pet- ted as a ladys poodle. A recent writer speaks of having witnessed the alarm of a Honolulu mother at the approach of a runaway horse and how she at last caught up her canine darling in her arms, leaving her own little ones to take care of themselves. Yet this people seem to me incapable of much real attachment even for their brutes. A native woman, who lived near my quarters, had often astonished and amused me by the apparent care and af- fection which she lavished upon one of these little animals, till one day, attracted to the door by shouts of laughter, I was shocked to behold her exulting, with all the cruel glee of a savage, in the dying ~igonies of her petted favorite. Our strange repast concluded, we proceeded to make ourselves popular by distributing to the company a hatful of cigars, a most acceptable substitute for the filthy pipe, which upon these occasions is passed from inouth to mouth. And now the floor was cleared, and preparation made for the great feature of the evening,, viz., the He/ct-hula; and whilst the young la- dies proceeded to array themselves for the dance, we settled ourselves comfortably acainst the matted walls of the hut to witness it. The Hula-hula was formerly a savage rite, only performed at the solemn feasts and sacrifices of the Islanders; but as civil- ization h s gradually abolished old cus- toms and superstitions, it has degenerated into a mere exhibition, the moral effect of which being somewhat doubtful, its open performance has been very properly ta- booed. The dancers, with skirts of snow- white tappa. falling in marblelike folds from the waist. and abundantly orna- inented with leaves and flowers, ranged themselves in a line before us, and clap- pint their hands to~ether at regular in- tervals, began a low, wild chant, or chorus, not unmusical, and altogether dif- ferent in time and measure, from any thing I had ever heard before. The move- ments were confined almost entirely to the arms, which they thrcw about them in attitudes singularly striking and grace- ful; as t.he song grew louder and louder, the dancers became more violent and ex- cited in their gestures, and the dim, uncer- tain light of the hut, and the dusky forio~ of the savages, who, wrapped in their tappa cloaks, reclined in groups around us, combined to make up a scene not easy to be forgotten, and well worthy the days of good old Captain Cook. As I looked at the stately figures of some of the men, and pictured to myself the Isl- ander as he appeared in 1772 1 could not help contrasting his manly bearing then, with the spectacle he so often pi~- sents now, that he is civilized, (?) and has been made a really useful member of societv.[See p. 22.] We are told, however, that the legends related in these songs, are of a nature that will not bear translation, and it is hoped by all good citizens, that ere long, the lIe/a-hula will be numbered with the things that were. A ~entleman of our party, a Mr. C, was a capital musician, and amongst other accomplishments, was admitted to be a perfect marvel upon the banjo. Indeed. a few months before, when all other re- sources had failed him, he had, California- like, turned this talent to some account. and in more than one Pacific town. had won golden opinions from all sorts of peo- ple. The dance concluded, the ba jo (brought with us at our request) was. in obedience to his sienal handed in by his domestic. a mi~chiexous urchin of some twelve summers ~ho rejoiced in the nanie of Centipede an I who was, without exception, the best tempered and niost worthless little villun in honolulu. The natives are all passionately fond of music, and as Mr. C struck up a negro refrain, joe Huia-nuia. 22 IXfr ~n fJeioo. [July they at once ceased their chattering, and, with the 1 roadest of grins, gathered rounti him. But when ie began to rattle forth the spirited Mississippi Juha, introducin~ an occasional Hawaiian sea touce. as for example: \ soil md tai Kai ko (V( us dons tebacco ii lola r marce di don t you talk Ron ika. hard times1 Aloiii thor extravaoant dehoi Lu w no hounds and fur I oliiw tipou the floor h ii I t rues w a. passed I ooii iuouth to llit)ul ii xi tli shouts of approving lau%hter. files iti held suvs. When von have made a oud impression leave, and, the banjo per lorutuce concluded, we acted upon this ida ice anul prepared for our departure. () ii host with all the assembled guests. to liii ed us to the porch and whilst we iosiimed our ponchos and mounted 0111 horses began a shower of alohas and olber lulessings, which ~outintied to fhll no till we were out of sioht Phe iioht w iS pleasant and (as we emem I red afterwards) unusually d ii l~ and I he an cool and refresisin~ so galloping 1 apidlx towards 1-lonoluln we l)eoililed 1ic time ha- pleasantly conver~in~ about do xx ild uncouth scene xx e h uxi just left. ~ mile or two of tile journoy passed we ieounterJd a group of us tri es collreted ha the road-side, who si irprised us iiot a little by their strange and unaccountable behavior ; somethin~ unusual ha.d evi- dourly occurred to disturb them, for all lie men were much excited, and gesticu- 1Sb~. lating violently, and the women uttering the most dismal cries. It was, however, no affair of ours, so we pushed on home- wards; but ere we had accomplished a third of the distance, another group, in front of a hut, puzzled us by the same extraordinary conduct. Many conjectures were hazarded as to the isrobable cause of this commotion, but none seemed suffi- ciently reasonable to account for it; when the appearance of a third party behaving in the same insane manner, with the addi- tion of a little tearing of the hair. really alarmed us; and by the time we had readIed the suburbs of the town, and found that all the native houses we hlasse(1 were in an llproar, we were thoroughly confounded. And now it fiashed upon us all that perhaps the many rumors afloat, during the past week, of the fillibustering intentions of sonle of the San Francisco visitors, were not Ils groilutiless as we had nnag~ned ; somethiiii~ starthiun had evi- dently occurred to thus arouse and aifright the whole native populatIon of Oa- hiu ; a revolution a~t the very least. As if inspired with one wish we dashed on through the town, directing our course towards tile head- quarters of our Cal- ifornia acquaintan- ces. The windows were open and the curtains closely drawn, and us, with troubled looks, we pauced oiltsi(le the blood- tilirsty exelamna tion from within of Ill take the Auuq with a club fell liii. 1853.] Ode to Southern Italy. 23 ii~Oii our ears, as if to confirm our worst apprehensions: it was becoming treinen- doris. We gently lifted the window cur- tain. and were vastly relieved by discover- in~ that our friends in the room, instead of liatchin~ some dark and deadly plot against his majesty, were engaged in a mild and gentle game of euchre; and, at the same moment, the uplifted hand of a member of our party diverted our atten- tion to the blue vault above us, one glance at which served to solve the mystery: for lO! the moon in dim eclipse, disastrous twilight shed oer half the nation, and with fear of change perplexed monarchs.~ Riding as we had been, with the moon behind us. we had entirely forgotten the phenomenon of a nearly total eclipse, pre- (licted by the almanac for that evening, and the well-known belief of the super- stitious natives, that its occurrence por- tended the death of the king and dire calamity to the nation, immediately ex- plained the tumult and excitement we had witnessed. With roars of laughter at the admitted sell, it was at once decided that a description of our ground- less anxiety. would, if permitted to go abroad in the gossiping circles of Hono- lulu, make too ood a joke against us to be submitted to; so a solemn pledge of secrecy (to hold good durina our stay at the islands) was entered into by all ere we separated; and this compact ratified, I bade adieu to my comulsanions and pro- ceeded homewards, decidedly amused, and perfectly satisfied with what I had seen and heard at this, my first participation in a native dinner and soi;~e rlan~ente at the Sandwich Islands. ODE TO SOUTHERN ITALY. II OW I remember thee, Thou cleai Italian sea! The splendor of the skies That clothed thee with theirdyes; Thy purple rocks and eaves, Thy golden-brided waves, Ihv sun-illumined deeps, Thy rugged mountain steeps, nv summer airs, that fanned Mv cheek when on the sand I watched the distant sails Or when thy sweeping gales Tossed up the billows spray in thunder through the day. At night the burning cone, Whose mirrored blaze shot down Into the glassy dark, Where the tired fishers bark Lay moored in slumber deep, Under some rocky steep. The mornings steeped in haze, When the sun s early rays Robed all the sea-cliffs old In violet and gold, Till, mounting slowly higher, The broad diffusing fire Burned on the rip~)liiig sea, Where gliding tranquilly The eluiiiherin g waters oer, We viewed the changing shore; Or, gazing idly down, Saw sea-fruit red arid brown Sprouting among tine rocks; Or, where tine ocean mocks The sky that broods above, Watched the gay fishes move; hawaiian Amazon.

Ode to Southern Italy 23-25

1853.] Ode to Southern Italy. 23 ii~Oii our ears, as if to confirm our worst apprehensions: it was becoming treinen- doris. We gently lifted the window cur- tain. and were vastly relieved by discover- in~ that our friends in the room, instead of liatchin~ some dark and deadly plot against his majesty, were engaged in a mild and gentle game of euchre; and, at the same moment, the uplifted hand of a member of our party diverted our atten- tion to the blue vault above us, one glance at which served to solve the mystery: for lO! the moon in dim eclipse, disastrous twilight shed oer half the nation, and with fear of change perplexed monarchs.~ Riding as we had been, with the moon behind us. we had entirely forgotten the phenomenon of a nearly total eclipse, pre- (licted by the almanac for that evening, and the well-known belief of the super- stitious natives, that its occurrence por- tended the death of the king and dire calamity to the nation, immediately ex- plained the tumult and excitement we had witnessed. With roars of laughter at the admitted sell, it was at once decided that a description of our ground- less anxiety. would, if permitted to go abroad in the gossiping circles of Hono- lulu, make too ood a joke against us to be submitted to; so a solemn pledge of secrecy (to hold good durina our stay at the islands) was entered into by all ere we separated; and this compact ratified, I bade adieu to my comulsanions and pro- ceeded homewards, decidedly amused, and perfectly satisfied with what I had seen and heard at this, my first participation in a native dinner and soi;~e rlan~ente at the Sandwich Islands. ODE TO SOUTHERN ITALY. II OW I remember thee, Thou cleai Italian sea! The splendor of the skies That clothed thee with theirdyes; Thy purple rocks and eaves, Thy golden-brided waves, Ihv sun-illumined deeps, Thy rugged mountain steeps, nv summer airs, that fanned Mv cheek when on the sand I watched the distant sails Or when thy sweeping gales Tossed up the billows spray in thunder through the day. At night the burning cone, Whose mirrored blaze shot down Into the glassy dark, Where the tired fishers bark Lay moored in slumber deep, Under some rocky steep. The mornings steeped in haze, When the sun s early rays Robed all the sea-cliffs old In violet and gold, Till, mounting slowly higher, The broad diffusing fire Burned on the rip~)liiig sea, Where gliding tranquilly The eluiiiherin g waters oer, We viewed the changing shore; Or, gazing idly down, Saw sea-fruit red arid brown Sprouting among tine rocks; Or, where tine ocean mocks The sky that broods above, Watched the gay fishes move; hawaiian Amazon. Ode to Southern italy. Or, pushing our light skiff Beneath Capreas cliff, Entered the grotto weird, Whose sides and roof appeared Of a cerulean hue. The sea, phosphoric blue, Flashed with unearthly spark, Where daylight clove the dark; And we, within our boat, Pale as the forms that float In mystery for ever Across the Sty g ian river, Made echoes all around The sea-kings halls profound. How I remember you, Ye skies of deepest blue, Ye months without a cloud, Save when the sunset proud Oer purple Isehia warm~d, And all the air hun~ charmed, While sank the clear Greek day Oer Baite and Pompeii; Your moon, whose splendor strove To quench the stars of Jove, Royal, as when she shone On young Endymion. And ye, 0 shores divine, On whom celestial wine Was poured in days of eld, When high Olympus held Its court not far away, Oersunning the bright day! There green Sorrento teems With perfumes sweet as dreams, And still the stranger sees Fruit of Hcspeiides. There mountain side and field The purple vintage yield; Untouched by winters snows The myrtle and the rose, And red pomegranate flowers Oerpeep the walls and towers; There the oertopping pine Sketches its bold design Against the cloudless blue; And there, with sombre hue, The cypress old is seen, An obelisk of green. There, chained beneath the throne Of the earth-fire, whose cone With smoke oertrails the skies, The buried city lies. Her kingly halls lie bare, Her temples shine as fair As when, in Plinys days, Her poets wore their bays And flowers of summei wave Oer shaft and architrave. There, from Amalfis hills Flash down the sparkling rills; On bold Ravellos steep, The Moorish turrets sleep, Oerhanging oer the sea, Bring days of chivalry, And names that will not die, Back to the poets eye. There, on the Baian shore, Imperial wealth no more Gilding the coast and hills The lap of luxury fills. But with a pomp of flowers, And grapes iii trailing bowers, And many a ruined shrine, Oertopped with shrub and vine, Nature decay prevents, Fills up times rugged rents, And tints the faded page Of the bright Augustan age. There, down Salernos bay, In deserts far away, Over whose solitudes The dread malaria broods, No labor tills the land Only the fierce brigand, Or shepherd, wan and lean, Oer the wide plains is seen. Yet there, a lovely dream, Three Grecian temples gleam, Whose form and mellowed tone Rival the Parthenon. The Sybarite no more Comes hither to adore, With perfumed offering, The ocean god and kiiig. The deity is fled Long since, but, in his stead, The smiling sea is seen, The Done shafts between: And round the time-worn base Climb vines of tender grace, And I~ stums roses still The air with fragrance fill. O land of golden light, Where, too intensely bright, The day sits open-eyed; And all the pomp and pride Of summer centre deep To fix thy enchanted sleep! So beautiful thou art, We scarcely miss the heart That nobly should inspire Thy form with purer fire. 0, could thy children rise Noble, and free, and xvise, Shake off the unmanly trance Of slavish ignorance, Break from the deathlike might Of superstitions night, And live in harmony With sky, and earth, and sea! Then would a lovelier time See man with N ature rhyme; Then would be found a page Of the lost golden age. The world anew would learn How the exiled gods return, And music from the spheres, Familiared to our ears, Become the natural speech, Circling from each to each. 24 [July 1 8~3.] 25 DINNER-TIME Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Lii view the manners of the town, Peruse Lb, traders, gaze upon the buildings. Consedy of Erros& IN the warm afternoons of the early summer, it is my pleasure to stroll about the Washington Parade and along the Fifth Avenue, at the hour when the diners-out are hurrying toward the va- rious tables of the wealthy and refined. I gaze with placid deliuht upon the cheer- ful expanse of white waistcoat that illu- mines those streets at that hour, and mark the variety of emotions that swell beneath all that purity. A man going to dine out has a singtilar cheerfulness of aspect. Except for his gloves, which fit so well, and which he has carefully buttoned, that he may not make an awkward pause in the hall of his friends house, I am sure he would search his pocket for a cent to give the wan beggar at the corner. It is impossible just now, my dear woman; may God bless you! It is pleasant to consider that simple suit of black. If my man be a little youn~ and only lately cognizant of the rinors of the social law, he is slightly ner- vous at beiug seen in his dress suitbody coat and black trowsersbefore sunset. For in the last days of May the light lin- ~ers long over the freshly leaved trees in the parade, and lies warm along the ave- nue. All winter the sun has not been permitted to see dress-coats. They come out only with the stars, and fade, with ghosts, before the dawn. Except, haply, they be brou~ht homeward before break- fast in an early twilight of hackney-coach. Now, in the budding and bursting sum- mer the sun takes his revenge, and looks asiant over the tree-tops and the chim- neys upon the most unimpeachable gar- ments. A cat may look upon a king. I know my man at a distance. If I am chatting with the nursery maids around the fountain, I see him upon the broad walk of Washington Square, and detect him by the freshness of his move- inent, his springy gait. Then the white waistcoat flashes in the sun. Go on, happy youth. I exclaim aloud, to the great alarm of the nursery maids, who suppose me to be an innocent insane person, suffered to go at large, unattend- ed, go on, and be happy with fellow waistcoats over fragrant wines. It is hard to describe the pleasure I derive from this amiable spectacle of a man going out to dine. I, who ama quiet family man, and take a quiet family cut at four oclock; or, when I am detained down town by a false quantity in my figures,who run into Delmonicos and seek comfort in a cutlet, am rarely in- vited to dinner and have few white waist- coats. Indeed, my dear Prue (she is from New Hampshire) tells me that I have but one in the world, and I often want to confront my eager young friends as they bound along, and ask abruptly, What do you think of a man whom one white waistcoat suffices? By the time I have eaten my modest repast, it is the hour for the diners-out to appear. If the day is unusually soft and sunny, I hurry my simple meal a little~ that I may not lose any of my favorite spectacle. Then I saunter out. If you met me you would see that I also am clad in black. But black is my natural color, so that it begets no false theories concern- ing my intentions. Nobody, meeting me in full black, supposes that I am going to dine out. That sombre hue is profession- al with me. It belongs to bookkeepers as to clergymen, physicians and underta- kers. We wear it because we follow solemn callings. Saving mens bodies and souls, or keeping the machinery of busi- ness well wound, are such sad professions that it is becoming to drape dolefully those who adopt them. I wear a white cravat, too, but nobody supposes that it is in any danger of being stained by La- fitte. It is a limp cravat with a craven tie. It has none of the dazzling dash of the white that my young friends sport, or, I should say, sported; for the white cra- vat is now abandoned to the sombre pro- fessions of which I spoke. My young friends suspect that the flunkeys of the British nobleman wear such ties, and they have, there fore, discarded them. I am sorry to remark, also, an uneasiness, if not downright skepticism, about the white waistcoat. Will it extend to shirts? I ask myself with sorrow. But there is something pleasanter to contemplate during these quiet strolls of mine, than the men who are going to dine out, and that is, the women. They roll in carriages to the happy house which they shall honor, and I strain my eyes in at the window to see their cheerful faces as they pass. I have already dined upon beef and cabbage, probably, if it is boiled day. I am not expected at the ta- ble to which Aurelia is hastening, yet no guest there shall enjoy more than I enjoy, nor so much, if he considers the meats the best part of the dinner. The beauty

Dinner Time 25-31

1 8~3.] 25 DINNER-TIME Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Lii view the manners of the town, Peruse Lb, traders, gaze upon the buildings. Consedy of Erros& IN the warm afternoons of the early summer, it is my pleasure to stroll about the Washington Parade and along the Fifth Avenue, at the hour when the diners-out are hurrying toward the va- rious tables of the wealthy and refined. I gaze with placid deliuht upon the cheer- ful expanse of white waistcoat that illu- mines those streets at that hour, and mark the variety of emotions that swell beneath all that purity. A man going to dine out has a singtilar cheerfulness of aspect. Except for his gloves, which fit so well, and which he has carefully buttoned, that he may not make an awkward pause in the hall of his friends house, I am sure he would search his pocket for a cent to give the wan beggar at the corner. It is impossible just now, my dear woman; may God bless you! It is pleasant to consider that simple suit of black. If my man be a little youn~ and only lately cognizant of the rinors of the social law, he is slightly ner- vous at beiug seen in his dress suitbody coat and black trowsersbefore sunset. For in the last days of May the light lin- ~ers long over the freshly leaved trees in the parade, and lies warm along the ave- nue. All winter the sun has not been permitted to see dress-coats. They come out only with the stars, and fade, with ghosts, before the dawn. Except, haply, they be brou~ht homeward before break- fast in an early twilight of hackney-coach. Now, in the budding and bursting sum- mer the sun takes his revenge, and looks asiant over the tree-tops and the chim- neys upon the most unimpeachable gar- ments. A cat may look upon a king. I know my man at a distance. If I am chatting with the nursery maids around the fountain, I see him upon the broad walk of Washington Square, and detect him by the freshness of his move- inent, his springy gait. Then the white waistcoat flashes in the sun. Go on, happy youth. I exclaim aloud, to the great alarm of the nursery maids, who suppose me to be an innocent insane person, suffered to go at large, unattend- ed, go on, and be happy with fellow waistcoats over fragrant wines. It is hard to describe the pleasure I derive from this amiable spectacle of a man going out to dine. I, who ama quiet family man, and take a quiet family cut at four oclock; or, when I am detained down town by a false quantity in my figures,who run into Delmonicos and seek comfort in a cutlet, am rarely in- vited to dinner and have few white waist- coats. Indeed, my dear Prue (she is from New Hampshire) tells me that I have but one in the world, and I often want to confront my eager young friends as they bound along, and ask abruptly, What do you think of a man whom one white waistcoat suffices? By the time I have eaten my modest repast, it is the hour for the diners-out to appear. If the day is unusually soft and sunny, I hurry my simple meal a little~ that I may not lose any of my favorite spectacle. Then I saunter out. If you met me you would see that I also am clad in black. But black is my natural color, so that it begets no false theories concern- ing my intentions. Nobody, meeting me in full black, supposes that I am going to dine out. That sombre hue is profession- al with me. It belongs to bookkeepers as to clergymen, physicians and underta- kers. We wear it because we follow solemn callings. Saving mens bodies and souls, or keeping the machinery of busi- ness well wound, are such sad professions that it is becoming to drape dolefully those who adopt them. I wear a white cravat, too, but nobody supposes that it is in any danger of being stained by La- fitte. It is a limp cravat with a craven tie. It has none of the dazzling dash of the white that my young friends sport, or, I should say, sported; for the white cra- vat is now abandoned to the sombre pro- fessions of which I spoke. My young friends suspect that the flunkeys of the British nobleman wear such ties, and they have, there fore, discarded them. I am sorry to remark, also, an uneasiness, if not downright skepticism, about the white waistcoat. Will it extend to shirts? I ask myself with sorrow. But there is something pleasanter to contemplate during these quiet strolls of mine, than the men who are going to dine out, and that is, the women. They roll in carriages to the happy house which they shall honor, and I strain my eyes in at the window to see their cheerful faces as they pass. I have already dined upon beef and cabbage, probably, if it is boiled day. I am not expected at the ta- ble to which Aurelia is hastening, yet no guest there shall enjoy more than I enjoy, nor so much, if he considers the meats the best part of the dinner. The beauty Dinner Time. of the beautiful Aurelia (if you please) I see and worship as she drives by. The vision of many beautiful Aurelias driving to dinner is the mirage of that pleasant journey of mine along the avenue. I do not envy the Persian poets, on those af- ternoons, nor lone to be an Arabian trav- eller. For I can walk that street, finer than any of which all the Ispahan archi- tects ever dreamed; and I can see sul- tanas as splendid as the enthusiastic and exaggcratin~ Orientals describe. But not only do I see and enjoy Aurelias beauty. I delight in her exquisite attire. In these warm days she does not wear so much as the lightest shawl. She is clad only in sprin~ sunshine. It glitters in the soft darkness of her hair. It touches the diamonds, the opals, the pearls, that cling to her arms, and neck, and fingers. They flash back again, and the gorgeous silks glisten, and the light laces flutter, until the stately Aurelia seems to me, in tremu- lous radiance, swimming by. I doubt whether you who are to have the inexpressible pleasure of dining with her, and even of sitting by her side, will enjoy more than I. For my pleasure is inexpressible, also. And it is in this greater than yours, that I see all the beautiful ones who are to dine at various tables. while you only see your own cir- cle; although that. I will not deny, is the most desirable of all. Beside, although my person is not present at your dinner, my fancy is. I see Aurelias carriage stop, and behold white-gloved servants opening wide doors. There is a brief glimpse of magnificence for the dull eyes of the loiterers outside; then the door closes. But my fancy went in with Aurelia. With her it looks at the vast mirror, and surveys her form at length in the Psyche- glass. It gives the final shake to the skirt, the last flirt to the embroidered handkerchief, carefully held, and adjusts the bouquet. complete as a tropic nestling in orange leaves. It descends with her. and marks the faint blush upon her cheek at the thought of her exceeding beauty; the consciousness of the most beautiful woman, that the most beautiful woman is entering the room. There is the momen- tary hush, the subdued greeting, the quick jance of the Aurelias who have arrived earlier, and who perceive in a moment the hopeless perfection of that attire; the courtly gaze of gentlemen, who feel th~ serenity of that beauty. All this my fancy surveys; my fancy, Aurelias invis- ible cavalier. You approach with hat in hand and the thumb of your left hand in your waist- coat pocket. You are polished and cool, and have an irreproachable repose of man- [July nor. [here are no improper wrinkles in your cravat; your shirt-bosom does not bulge; the trowsers are accurate about your admirable boot. But you look very stiff and brittle. You are a little bullied by your unexceptionable shirt-collar. which interdicts perfect freedom of move- ment in your head. You are elegant, undoubtedly, but it seems as if you might break and fall to pieces, like a porcelain vase, if you were roughly shaken. Now. here. I have the advantage of you. My fancy quietly surveying the scene. is sub- ject to none of these embarrassments. My fancy will not utter commonplaces. That will not say to the superb lady, who stands with her flowers, incarnate May. What a beautiful day, Miss Aurelia. That will not feel constrained to say something. when it has nothing to say; nor will it be obliged to smother all the pleasant thin~s that occur, because they would be too flattering to express. My fancy perpetually murmurs in Aurelias ear. Those flowers would not be fair in your hand, if you yourself were not fairer. That diamond necklace would be gaudy. if your eyes were not brighter. That queenly movement would be awkward, if your soul were not qucenlier. You could not say such things to Aurelia, although. if you are worthy to dine at her side, they are the very things you are longin~ to say. What insufferable stuff you are talking about the weather. and the opera, and Albonis delicious voice. and Newport, and Saratoga! They a~e all very pleasant subjects, but do you suppose Ixion talked Thessalian politics when he was admitted to dine with Juno? I ahuost begin to pity you, and to be- lieve that a scarcity of white waistcoats is true wisdom. For now dinner is an- nounced, and you, 0 rare felicity, are to hand down Aurelia. But you run the risk of tumbling her expansive skirt, and you have to drop your hat upon a chance chair, and w-onder, en passant, who will w-car it home, which is annoying. My fancy runs no such risk; is not at all so- licitomis about its hat, and glides by the side of Aurelia, stately as she. There! you stumble on the stair, and arc vexed at your own awkwardness. and are sure you saw the ghost of a smile glimmer along that superb face at your side. My fancy doesnt tumble down stairs, and what kind of looks it sees upon Aurelias face, are its own secret. Is it any better, now you are seated at table? Your companion eats little be- cause she wishes little. You eat little because you think it is elegant to do so. It is a shabby, second-hand elegance, like your brittle behavior. It is just as fool- 1 853.] ish for von to play with the vian(ls. when you onyOt to satisfY your healthy appetite ycueronsiy. as jt is ~for von. in the drawin~ room. to affect that cool indifference when you have real and noble interests. I grant on tint fine iminners. if you please. are hue ~irt But is not monotony the de 1 tion of xi ? Your manners, 0 happy on hxnqnefin~ with Juno. are Egyp I hex hax e no perspective no vail- I he h ix e no color, no shading. I icy are at on a dead level they are Ii it Non foi von are a man of sense, i~ e con~cions that those wonder il eves of Aurelia see straight thiough dl thix net n 01 k of elegant manners in 1 ich x on hax e entangled yourself and ti at cor1scbo,i~ness is uncomfortable for ot It i mother trick in the game for mu bc mu~e those eyes do not pry into fu~ x lion can they. since Aure doc~ n )t know of my existence? 1 iil s md ed she should remember the hi xt time [ saw her. It was only last ii in Mix I had dined, somewhat has tilx in consideration of the fine day and rn~ confidence that many would be xven(lIng dinnerwards that afternoon. I saw my Pine, comfortably en~aged in seatiug the trdwsers of Adoniram, our eld- est boyan economical care to xvhich my darlimn Pine is not unequal, even in these (lays and in this toxvnand then hurried toivard the avenue. It is never much thronged at that hour. The moment is saure(l to dinner. As I pause(1 at the cor- ncr of Txvelfthstreet, by the church, you re~neinber. I saxv an a~xple-woman, from whose stores I determined to finish my (lessert. which ha(i been imperfect at home. But. Inin(ifnl of meritorious ann economi- cal Pine. I xvas not the man to pay exor liitant prices for apples, awl xvhile still lia~clin~ with the wrinkled Eve who had tciupte(l me, I became suddenly aware of a carria~e approo hin~ md indeed dreidy I [ posed my eyes still munch 10 in ipple xx loeh I held in one hand xv: ile the o fbi ~rmsp~cl mx wilkimw stick (ti lie to mx mt nets of mliimei Inests as vonu~ xxoiiien to a passin~ wed(l1n(~ or old ons to a funeral) and beheld Xnmehm Old in thix kind of observation as I am thee ivas soine~hin~ so ~racmouslv aIIm ing iix the look that she cast upo is un conciohixlx a~ she xxould haxe cait it upon tile church. that fuinblin~ hastily for mv smxectacles to enjoy the boon more fnlly, I thouirhtlesslv advanced upon the apple- stand. and, in some indescribable manner, tripping. doxvn we all fell iIito the street old woman apples, baskets, stand. and I, ox promiscuous confusion. As I strug~led there, sonxexvhat bewildered, yet snificient ly self-possessed to look after the carriage1 27 I behin ld that beiutifnl xx omxi in loohin~ at us tlu ouo Ii tixe hick xx indoix (~ oix could not lxix e doixe it the intel lit) of y our shii t collai xvoixld hxxe mtii fried), and sinilin lulca~aixtl~r so that hcm going o oixnd thc coi ixer xx as like m ovutle sun- set so seemed she to disippear ux her own smihu~ or if yon choose mix xiew of the ipple difficulties like ramnboxx iftem a stoimix If tlxe beintiful Anrelia recalls that evemit she miiay kiioxv of iii) existence not othici xx ise. And even then, she knoxvs moe oull is a funny olti gentleman. xvhio, in his exerixess to look at her, tumbled ox ci aix aI)l)lewomixan. My f mc~ from that moment followed hei Iloxx kinateful I xvas to the xvrinkled Eves extom tion, and to the untoward tixInbic smixce it procured iOC tile sight of that snaile. 1 took my sxxeet revenge from that. For I knexv that the beamiti- flil Aurehia entered the house of her host avithi beamxiimxg eyes, and my famicy hiemud her sparkling story. You consider your- self happy because you are sitting by her and helpino her to a lady-finger, or a macaroon. fom xvhich she smiiiles. But 1 was her theme for ten iixortal uxinuxtes. She xvas my bard, my blithe historian. Shine was the Ilomer of my luckless Tro- jan fall. She set my mishap to munsic. in telling it. Think xvhat it is to have in- spired Urania; to have called a brighter beam into the eyes of Miranda, and do not thimik so muclm of passiixg Aurehia the mottoes, my dear young friemid. There was the advantage of not going to that dinner. Had I been invited. as you were, I should have pestemed Pine about the buttons on my white waistcoat, instead of leavimxg her placidly pieciixg adolescent trowsers. She would haxe been flustered. fearfmxl of bein~ too late, of tumbling thme garuxent, of soiling it, fearful of offending nie in some way, (ad- miiable xvomnan I) 1, in my natural un p~ tience, might have let drop a thiomijit- less xvord, which avould have been mm jxaug in hei heart and a tear in her eye, for weeks afterward. As I xvahked nervously up the avenue (for I am unaccustomed to prandial recreations), I should not have had that solacimig imae of quiet Prnic, and thie troxvsers, as tlxe background in the pictures of the gay figures I passed. making e cha. by contrast, fairer. I should have been xxondering what to say and do at tIme dinner. I should surely Ixave beemi very warm, and yet no~ have enjoyed the rich, axaning sunlight. Need I tell you that I shiotmld not have stopped for apples, but, instead of economnically tumbling into the street with apples and apple-women, whereby I merely remit my trowsers across 28 Dinner- Time. [July the knee, in a. manner that Prue can read- ily, and at little cost, repair, I should, beyond peradventure, have split a new dollar-pair of gloves in the effort of strain- in~ my large hands into them, which would, also, have caused me additional redness in the face, and renewed flutter- ing. Above all, I should not have seen Aurelia passing in her carriage, nor would she have smiled at me, nor charmed my memory with her radiance nor the circle at dinner with the sparkling Iliad of my woes. Then at the table, I should not have sat by her. You would have had that pleasure, I should have led out the maiden aunt from the country, and have talked poultry, when I talked at all. Au- relia would not have remarked me. After- ward, in describing the dinner to her vir- tuous parents, she would have concluded, and one gentleman, whom I didnt know. No, my polished friend, whose elegant repose of manner I yet greatly envy, I am content, if you are. How much bet- ter it was that I was not invited to that dinner, but was permitted by a kind fate to furnish a subject for Aurelias wit. There is one other advantage in sending your fancy to dinner, instead of going yourself. It is, that then the occasion re- mains wholly fair in your memory. You, who devote yourself to diniub out, and who are to be daily seen affably sitting down to such feasts, as I know mainly by l~ea~-sayby the report of waiters, guests, and others who were presentyou can- not escape the little things that spoil the picture, and which the fancy does not see. For instance, in handing you the potage a (a Bisque. at the very commencement of this dinner to-day, John, the waiter, who never did such a thing before, did, this time, suffer the plate to tip. so that a little of that rare 5OU~ dripped into your lapjust enough to spoil those trowsers, which is nothing to you, because you can buy a great many more trowsersbut which little event is inharmonious with the fine porcelain dinner service, with the fra~rant wines, the glittering glass, the beautiful guests, and the mood of umind suggested by all of these. There is, in fact, if you will pardon a free use of the vernacular, there is a grease-spot upon your remembrance of this dinner. Or, in the same way, and with the same kind of mental result, you can easily imn%ine the meats a little tough; a suspicion of smoke somewhere in the sauces; too much pep- per, perhaps, or too little salt; or there might be the graver dissonance of claret not properly attempered. or a choice Rhenish below the avera~,e mark, or the spilling of some of that old Arethusa Ma- deira. marvellous for its innumerable cii- cumnavigations of the globe, and for be- ing as dry as the conversation of the host. These things are not up to the high level of the dinner; for wherever Aurelia dines, all accessories should be as perfect in their kind as she, the principal, is in hers. That reminds me of a possible disso- nance worse than all. Suppose that soup had trickled down the unimaginable berihe of Aurelias dress (since it might have done so), instead of wasting itself upon your trowsers! Could even the irreproachable elec, an cc of your manners have contem- plated, unmoved, a grease-spot upon your remembrance of the peerless Aurelia? You smile, of course, and remind me that that ladys manners are so perfect that, if she drank poison, she would wipe her mouth after it as gracefully as ever. how much more, then, you say, in the case of such a sli~ht contre-tenips as spot- ting her dress, would she appear totally unmoved. So she would, undoubtedly. She would be, and look, as pure as ever; but, my young friend, her dress would not. Once. I dropped a pickled oyster in the lap of my Prue, who wore, on the occasion, her sea-green silk gown. I did not love my Prue the less; hut there cer- tainly was a very unhandsome spot upon her dress. And although I know my Prime to be spotless, yet whenever I recall that day, I see her in a spotted aown, and I would prefer never to have been obliged to think of her in such a garment. Can you not make the application to the case. very likely to happen, of some disfigure- ment of that exquisite toilette of Aurelias? In going down stairs, for instance, why should not heavy old Mr. Carbuncle, who is coming close behind with Mrs. Peon~-, botlm very eager for dinner, ti-cad upon tIme hem of that garment which my lips would grew pale to kiss? TIme august Aurelia, yieldin~ to natural laws. would be drawn suddenly backwarda very undihuified movementand the dress would be dila- pidated. There would be apolo~ies, and smiles, and forgiveness, and pinning up the pieces, nor would there be the faintest feeling of awkwardness or vexation in Aurelias mind. But to you, lookin~ on, and beneath all that pure show of waist coat, cursing old Carbuncles carelessness. this tearing of dresses and repair of the toilette is by no means a poetic and cheer- ful spectacle. Nay, the very impatience that it produces in yomir mind jars upon the harmony of tIme momemut. You will respond with proper n, that you are not so absurdly fastidiomms as to heed the little necessary drawbacks of social meetings, and that you have not much regard for the harmony of the 1853.] Dinner- Time. 29 occasion (which phrase, I fear, you will repeat in a sneering tone.) You will do very right in sayin~ this; and it is a re- mark to which I shall give all the pub- licity attainable in Putnams Monthly, and I do so because I heartily coincide in it. I hold a man to be very foolish who wil1 not eat a good dinner because the ~:e-cloth is not clean, or who cavils at the spots upon the sun. But still a man who does not apply his eye to a telescope or some kind of prepared medium, does not see those spots, while he has just as much light and heat as he who does. So it is with me. I walk in the avenue, and easily eat all the deli~htful dinners without see- in~ the spots upon the table-cloth, and behold all the beautiful Aurelias without swearing at old Carbuncle. I am the guest who, for the small price of invisi- bility, drinks only the best wines, and talks only with the most agreea1~le peo- p~e. That is something. I can tell you, for you might be asked to lead out old Mrs. Peony. My fancy slips in between you and Aurelia; sit you never so closely together. It not only hears what she says, but it perceives what she thinks and feels, it lies like a bee in her flowery thou~hts sucking all their honey. If there are unhandsome or unfeeling guests at table, it will not see them. It knows only the good and fair. As I stroll in the fading light and observe the stately houses, my fancy believes the host equal to his house, and the courtesy of his wife more ajeenble than her conservatory. It will not believe that the pictures on the wall and the statues in the corners shame the guests. It will not allow that they are less than noble. It hears them speak gently of error, and warmly of worth. It knows that they commend he- roism and devotion, and reprobate insin- cerity. My fancy is convinced that the guests are not only feasted upon the choicest fruits of every land and season, but are refreshed by a consciousness of greater loveliness and grace in human character. Now you, who actually go to the din- ner, may not entirely agree with the view my fancy takes of that entertainment. Is it not, therefore, rather your loss? or, to put it in another way, ought I to envy von the discovery that the guests are shamed by the statues and pictures; yes, and by the spoons and forks also, if they should chance neither to be so genu- ine nor so useful as those instruments? And worse than this, when your fancy wishes to enjoy the picture which mine forms of that dinner, it cannot do so, be- eause you have foolishly interpolated the fact between the dinner and your fan- cy. The reason that the Barmecide feast in the Arabian Nights was so delicious is, simply, that the fancy of a hungry man was excited to the last decree by the pre- tence of exquisite viands, and then, real viands, more exquisite than he fancied were brought to satisfy his appetite. My case is only the reverse of this. I eat my humble chop with my darling Pine, and then, with hunger satisfied, I sally forth to the ideal banquet, to dream of potted Phmnix and impossible Priies. Of course, by this time, it is late twi- light, and the spectacle I enjoyed is al- most over. But not quite, for as I re- turn slowly along the streets the windows are open, and only a thin haze of lace or muslin separates me from the Paradise within. I see the graceful cluster of girls hovering over the piano, and the quiet groups of the elders in easy chairs, around little tables. I cannot hear what is said, nor plainly see the faces. But some hoyden evening wind more daring than I, abruptly parts the cloud to look in and out conies a gush of light, music, and fra- grance, so that I shriiik away into the dark, that I may not seem, even by chance, to have invaded that privacy. Suddenly there is singing. It is Aurelia who does not cope with the Italian Prima Donna, nor sing indifferently to-night, what was sung superbly last evening at the opera. She has a stran 0e, low, s~~eet voice, as if she only sane in the twilight. It is the ballad of Allan Percy that she sings. There is no d~ inty applause of kid gloves, when it is ended but silence follows the singing, like a tear. Then you, my young friend, ascend into the drawing-room, and, after a little grace- ful gossip, retire; or you wait, possibly, to hand Anrelia into her carria~e, and to ar- range a waltz for to-morrow evening. She smiles. you how, and it is over. But it is not yet over with me. My fancy still fol- lows her, and like a prophetic dream, re- hearses her destiny. For, as the carriages roll away from the door into the darkness and I turn homewards, how can my fancy help rolling away also, into the dim future. watching her go down the years? Upon my way home I see her in a thousand new situations. My fancy says to mc, The beauty of this beautiful woman, is heavens stamp upon virtue. She will be equal to every chance that shall befall her, and she is so radiant and charming in the circle of prosperity only because she has that irresistible simplicity and fidelity of character which can also pluck the sting from adversity. Do you not see, you wan old bookkeeper in faded cravat, that in a 30 Dinner- Time. [J iIx poor mans house this superb Aurelia would be more stately than sculpture, more beautiful than painting, and more yracefnl than the fiimous vases. Would her husband regret the opera if she sang Allan Percy to him in the twilight ? Would he not feel richer than the Poets \Vhen his eyes rose from their jexvelled pages, to fall again dazzled by the splendor of his wifes beauty? At this point in my reflections I some- times run, rather violently, against a lamp post, and then proceed more sedately. It is vet earlx- when 1 reach home where my Prue awaits me. The children are asleep, and the trowsers mended. The ad- mirable woman is patient of my idiosyn cracies. and asks me if I have had a plea- sant walk, and if there were many fine (linners to-da. as if I had been expected at a (lOzen tables; then she even asks me if I have seen the beautiful Aurelia (for there is always some Aurelia), and in- quires what dress she wore to-day. I re- spond and dilate upon what I have seen. Pine listens, as the children listen to her fairy tales. We discuss the little stories that penetrate our retirement, of the great licople who actually dine out. Pine, with fine womanly instinct, declaies it a shame that Aurelia should smile for a monient upon yes. even upon you. my young friend of the irreproachable manners! I know- hini. says my simple Pine; I have watched his cold courtesy. his insincere devotion. I have seen him acting at the opera. much more adroitly than the sin~- ems. I have read his determination to marry Aurelia; and I shall not be sur- prised concludes my tender wife, sadly, if he wins her at last by tiring her out, or. by secluding her by his constant de- votion from the homage of other men; convmnces her that she had better marry him, since it is so dismal to live on unmar- ried. And so. my friend, at the moment when the bouquet mow oideied is armixing at Aurelias hous~ and ~he is ~mttmng l)ef(ire the glass w bile hiei maid am rin es the last flower in her hur mm d mrlmn~ Pine whom von will nex er he er of is sleeddmn~ w arm tears over y oum probmble union and I am sitting by adju~tmn~ my cravat mud incon tinentlv cleaimn~ my throat It is m ether a ridiculous bu.iness I allow, yet you will smile a it tenderly, rather than scornfully if on remember that it shows how closele linked w e human creatures are, without know in it. and that more hicarts than we dre em of, er~joy our hap- piness and shmre our sorrows. Thus I dine at ~I eat tables uninvited. and, unknown cone erse with the famous beauties. If Aurelme is at last engaged, (but who is ~vor~hy ?) she will, with even greater care, arrange that womlinous toilette. will teach that lace a fall more alluring. those gems a sweeter light. J3ut even then as she rolls to dinner in her carrmaye. dad t a hat she is fair, not for her own sake nor foi the worlds, but for that of a single youth (who I hope has not been smoking at the club all the morning), I, sauntering upon tIme sidewalk, see her pass. I ie~x homage to her bemnty, mud her lover cami (10 no mom-c ; aii(h if pci chain m my gal memits. which must stein quant to her, with their shining Knees end carefully brushed elbowsinc w lute cm mc at care- less, yet heiinmmw mneulit utuc e miiovenmemit as ~ put may stick mmnd in imic mm in to pale an apple. and not, 1 mope tins tmnie to fall into the streetshuomill remind her, in hem spring of youth. and beauty mmiil love, that there are age, amid care, and poxerty, also then, lierhaps, the good fortune of tIme mneetin~ is not wholly mine. For. 0 beautiful Aurehia, two of these things. at least, mnust comae even to you. There will be a tinie w-hmen you will imo longer go omit to dinner, or only very qnmi- etly. in the fammeily. I shrill be gomie thuen but other 01(1 bookkeepers in white cia vats, will inherit mmmv tastes, and saumitein on simirimnem aftem noons to see w Ii et I loved to see. Ihey will not p muse I fear. ime bum in~ apples to loom~ at the old lady iii venerable cmp who is m-olhin~ by in tIme cainnmaov Ihec will w orship mother Au india. I on w ill not me e a (11 emnommds nor opals any mom e omile one peum I upon youmm blueveined lmnoer your enomigemnent mimi. (li-ave eherymmecie mui(l mntiqum uted bemmux will hand on low mm to (11111mm arid thme group of 1cohmshmed c omithi w ho natheer am-oumid time yet ummebom mm ~um tIme of that day-, w ill look -it con ottmn~ qunetly nile on thee sofa mmmd ~Vv Shm must Ii inve beemi c-cry handsome iii hem timmie All this mmium-t be fom comesidem hioce- few c-ears 5mm e it w as oum- inan(lmeiothei- who was the belle b~ w hose side tIme he mmedsonme young mmmcmi lomeed to sit mmmd h~ inss expi-es sive mottoes N oni mme(lmmmotlmer was thee Aiim elm (if m Im ml f ceieturm- amno. muithmouighm you cammnot fucex her c 0ii~ Shie is in extricably im4socimted ma c ouim neirmul cvithm caps an(l uleik diesses N on mn believe Mary Ouccim of Scots 01 MII (xcvymm. or Cleopatm to heave been yoummo amiml bloomim ing, al theouohm they below to old mad demmul centuum mes lint not y ouim u amedmuotlmem-. Thimek of timose cc Imo -imall behmexe time sauce of youyou evhco to-day- are the vein-c flower of youth. Might I plead cvithm x-on, AumrehiaI, xe-ho would be too heappy to receive omee of tlmose ginacionshx- beammein~ heoevs that I see you bestow- upome young inca, ime passimeg.I ce-ommid 1853.] Jack Lanterns Railroad Speculations. 31 ask you to hear that thought with you, always, not to sadden your beamin~ smile, but to give it a more subtle grace. Wear in your summer garland this little leaf of rue. It will not be the skull at the feast, it will rather be the tender thoughtfulness in the face of the young Madonna. For the years pass like summer clouds. Aurelia. and the children of yesterday, are the wives and mothers of to-day. Even I do sometimes discover the mild eyes of my Prue fixed pensively upon my face, as if searching for the fresh bloom which she remembers there in the days, long ago, when we were young. She will never see it there again, any more than the flow- ers she held in her hand, in our old spring rambles. Yet the tear that slowly gath- ers as she gazes is not grief that the bloom has faded from my cheek, but the sweet consciousness that it can never fade from my heart; and a.s her eyes fall upon her work again, or the children climb her lap to hear the old fairy tales they already know by heart, my wife Pine is dearer to rue than the sweetheart of those days long ago. JACK LANTERNS RAILROAD SPECULATIONS. Y friend Jack Lantern. journeyman IT shoemaker. is a wight of in finite specu- lation. One finds many a homely philoso- l)her in the craft of Crispinus. This has been observed since the world was very young. In Eastern story the cobbler is prescript- ively pious, contented, and, in his small way, wise. You see him sitting in his door, stitching the rent shoeprayers hav- ing been duly said at sunrise and the fru- gal loaf eaten with thankfulnesssinging now, at his work, the Mohammedan Dun- dee. and favored by heaven with a shrewd- er insight into the eternal veracities than you prince cantering on his long-tailed mare to the sweets of the palace. Will not the eunuch there, with the ill-favored eountenance. cut off his serene head before sunset, and will not I, on the other hand, at night lay down my neck with the spinal marrow unviolated, no body think- ing it worth their while to lop oft my poor foolish noddle? Happy am 1, Allah and the Prophet be praised therefor! The Teutonic cordwainer receives not less from his patron, a modicum of this com- fortable wisdom; but his thoughts are sometimes of a graver cast. lie not un- frequently aspires to cobble the state, and would make amendments in its upper leather not alto~ether to the taste of those in authority. Hence the workshops of the Occidental cordwainer, it is complained, are too often the breeding-places of sedi- tious and of religious insurrections, ab- horrent to the portly and comfortable establishments. This may ~e the case in countries where the artisan is crushed by the burdens of tithe and tax; but, in our own land. one need not look far to find genuine types of the ancient and genial philosophers of the last. Turning away from the gaseous oracles of knowledge, I have sometimes stepped into a room tenanted by shoemakers, for the purpose of tastin~ wisdom, as, from an humble spring in a hill-side, one may sip as refreshing a draught as from Ilelicon itself. Tis a homely philosophy, it is true, but cheeringhome-brewed beer for homely folk to drink, and not. of course. to be compared with that high-bred and costly liquor formed from the juice of the grape, bedevilled with corrosive sublimate and cockroaches, which is the only proper drink of the nobility and gentry. here, on their benches, sit droning Thomas and chirruping Jeremy, tapping life away with a long hum, like the grasshoppers song in autumn. What is life, tap-tap, but a side of leather? What is man, tap-tap, but a shoe, squaretoed or peaked, tap-tap, according to the last you fit him to? I-low soon will he wear out and be cast into the undistinguishing gutterboot and shoe, pump and stoga, coming to that at last, and sailing down the muddy torrent, the clowns brogan jostling the queens slipper in that unseemly voyage! So they sit, rapping endlessly, but now and then looking up, and, with a quiet smile, stick- ing some little peg of wisdom, tap-tap, into your heart, which you wot not of till the pungent pricklin~ in your breast tells you what has been done to you. My friend, Jack Lantern, is scarcely a true grasshopper of this species. lie is silent when the whcczin~ cicadm of the bench drone their autumn song. He is rather like some insect of a lonely sort which waits till the bummers of the day have hid their heads in the roots of the grass, and when the moon is rising, utters his long, undulating monotone from the vine under your window. My friend loves to lie on a bench, puffing his evening pipe, one tallow-candle, the cobblers Hes- perus, glimmering. meanwhile, in the fir-

Jack Lantern's Railroad Speculations 31-35

1853.] Jack Lanterns Railroad Speculations. 31 ask you to hear that thought with you, always, not to sadden your beamin~ smile, but to give it a more subtle grace. Wear in your summer garland this little leaf of rue. It will not be the skull at the feast, it will rather be the tender thoughtfulness in the face of the young Madonna. For the years pass like summer clouds. Aurelia. and the children of yesterday, are the wives and mothers of to-day. Even I do sometimes discover the mild eyes of my Prue fixed pensively upon my face, as if searching for the fresh bloom which she remembers there in the days, long ago, when we were young. She will never see it there again, any more than the flow- ers she held in her hand, in our old spring rambles. Yet the tear that slowly gath- ers as she gazes is not grief that the bloom has faded from my cheek, but the sweet consciousness that it can never fade from my heart; and a.s her eyes fall upon her work again, or the children climb her lap to hear the old fairy tales they already know by heart, my wife Pine is dearer to rue than the sweetheart of those days long ago. JACK LANTERNS RAILROAD SPECULATIONS. Y friend Jack Lantern. journeyman IT shoemaker. is a wight of in finite specu- lation. One finds many a homely philoso- l)her in the craft of Crispinus. This has been observed since the world was very young. In Eastern story the cobbler is prescript- ively pious, contented, and, in his small way, wise. You see him sitting in his door, stitching the rent shoeprayers hav- ing been duly said at sunrise and the fru- gal loaf eaten with thankfulnesssinging now, at his work, the Mohammedan Dun- dee. and favored by heaven with a shrewd- er insight into the eternal veracities than you prince cantering on his long-tailed mare to the sweets of the palace. Will not the eunuch there, with the ill-favored eountenance. cut off his serene head before sunset, and will not I, on the other hand, at night lay down my neck with the spinal marrow unviolated, no body think- ing it worth their while to lop oft my poor foolish noddle? Happy am 1, Allah and the Prophet be praised therefor! The Teutonic cordwainer receives not less from his patron, a modicum of this com- fortable wisdom; but his thoughts are sometimes of a graver cast. lie not un- frequently aspires to cobble the state, and would make amendments in its upper leather not alto~ether to the taste of those in authority. Hence the workshops of the Occidental cordwainer, it is complained, are too often the breeding-places of sedi- tious and of religious insurrections, ab- horrent to the portly and comfortable establishments. This may ~e the case in countries where the artisan is crushed by the burdens of tithe and tax; but, in our own land. one need not look far to find genuine types of the ancient and genial philosophers of the last. Turning away from the gaseous oracles of knowledge, I have sometimes stepped into a room tenanted by shoemakers, for the purpose of tastin~ wisdom, as, from an humble spring in a hill-side, one may sip as refreshing a draught as from Ilelicon itself. Tis a homely philosophy, it is true, but cheeringhome-brewed beer for homely folk to drink, and not. of course. to be compared with that high-bred and costly liquor formed from the juice of the grape, bedevilled with corrosive sublimate and cockroaches, which is the only proper drink of the nobility and gentry. here, on their benches, sit droning Thomas and chirruping Jeremy, tapping life away with a long hum, like the grasshoppers song in autumn. What is life, tap-tap, but a side of leather? What is man, tap-tap, but a shoe, squaretoed or peaked, tap-tap, according to the last you fit him to? I-low soon will he wear out and be cast into the undistinguishing gutterboot and shoe, pump and stoga, coming to that at last, and sailing down the muddy torrent, the clowns brogan jostling the queens slipper in that unseemly voyage! So they sit, rapping endlessly, but now and then looking up, and, with a quiet smile, stick- ing some little peg of wisdom, tap-tap, into your heart, which you wot not of till the pungent pricklin~ in your breast tells you what has been done to you. My friend, Jack Lantern, is scarcely a true grasshopper of this species. lie is silent when the whcczin~ cicadm of the bench drone their autumn song. He is rather like some insect of a lonely sort which waits till the bummers of the day have hid their heads in the roots of the grass, and when the moon is rising, utters his long, undulating monotone from the vine under your window. My friend loves to lie on a bench, puffing his evening pipe, one tallow-candle, the cobblers Hes- perus, glimmering. meanwhile, in the fir- 32 Jack Lanterns Railroad Speculations. [July ther corner of th~ shop. With bolder speculation than his craft-fellows, he muses on empire, on man and his migra- tions. on the destiny of the nation, and such cosmical themes. Thus said he to me last evenino My friend, I think that our editors and statesmen have erred widely in their reasonings and conjectures founded on the proposed railroad to the Pacific, as a base of speculation. I think that one great fact, powerful to affect the destiny of the whole world, has failed to suggest itself to their minds, and yet to my eye it lies there palpable as a living coal in darkness. What is the state ? A body. What has a body? Brain, members, and form and through it one crimson river endlessly flows, irri~ating all districts with the red water of life, and ever returning to the fountain from which it gushed, to be again spouted into the channels that traverse the regions of thought, labor, and diges- tion. Our republic is a body without a hearta body in which the different or- gans have agreed to perform their func- tions without the aid of that mechanism which is in others the centre of life, the forcing-ram of circulation. The fingers said. Lo! how great is our cunning! Be- hold the ships we build, the cities we raise, the forests we overthrow! Shall we live obsequious to a throbbing pump under the ribs which the merest pin-prick will bring to ruin, and us with it? In like manner reasoned the others, and the result is a confederacy unheard of in ana- tomy, by which the fingers agree to work the brain to counsel, the eyes to see, the feet to walk, and all by joint energy and contrivance to keep the liquor of life flow- ing through its channels without the an- cient mechanism of valves and ventricles, which had before been the precarious guarantee of circulation. To leap a logical chasm here, which I do not think will repay the trouble of bridging, I assume, that in a body so con- stituted, the rapidity of the current of cir- culation must increase with the growth of the framethat if the current waxes tor- pid. or fails to keep pace with the expan- sion of the members the elements of in- stant debility appear, and ruin utter and speedy, will befall the body. This may perhaps be, in some measure, the case with the regularly organized body, but in that we have seen how long life will linger in the breast when the streams have be- come sluggish and theheart labors feebly at its task. The heartless body can have no old age. The fiery currents of youth, the vigorous streams of manhood, can animate it with a power and energy which are unknown to the other; but when de bility appears, death strikes. How long old Rome, sick unto death as it was, yet gave life to the almost benunibed body of which it was the heart. Consider, too, Constantinople, in our own time. Think of London, Paris, and the other veritable capitals of the world, how long they too might throb, and, throbbing, urge forward the torpid currents of life through the bo- dies of which they are the centre. But, not to tarry, I promulge my doctrine at once, and that is that at this time the great condition of the integrity of our republic is an increased impetus of intercommunication. I declare to you my conviction, that we are undone without we can obtain a rate of speed upon the rail at least twofold greater than the highest rate we now dare hope for. I speak the words of soberness, when I say that the minimum rate compatible with life is one hundred miles an hour. Yes; to the Lightning Express, through in thirty hours, from ocean to ocean, I look as to the second Washington. It has been a law of our progress that speed of loco- motion increases in geometrical ratio with expansion of territory. In John Adams time, we could better afford to be a week on the voyage from tide-water to Albany, than now four days from Cincinnati to New-York; and I tell you that even now, we might better be three days and three nights in the belly of a North River sloop than, in ten years, be as long on the road from San Francisco to the Atlantic, as we now are from Chicago to the metropolis. Remember that all republics heretofore could be girdled with a dozen miles of stone wall: whatever territory they had without were conquests, not integral parts of the state. Ours is the first imperial republic. Taking into account the limited devel- opment of our countrys resources, and the indifferent distances to be overcome, it must be admitted that our system of transit is, for the present, sufficiently ef- fective, or nearly so. We can get from the seaboard to the copper mines, or from the lakes to the Gulf coast, with ease enough to make the excursion in either case seem like a home jaunt, and not like a foreign journey. And when the lines of railway now in process of construction are completed, Jonathan can take the round of his premises in the cool of the morningstep from the factory to the wharf, then to the orchard then to the cotton plantation, then take a turn around the hemp and cotton farms, shoot a prai- rie hen in his preserves, and come back three shingles and a half before dinner- time. But, my friend, the shadows of a coming time already darken our pathway 1853.] Jack Lan terns Railroad Speculdions. Already editors ask, with no small per- plexity. in the midst of the general exulta- tion. What are we to do with a tier of Pacific States? What are we to do with cities in California, at Puget Sound, in the valley of the Columbia, and at the crc at Salt Lake? What are they to do with us? What are we to (10 when our cagie. like a hen with more hcart than feathers. undertakes to cover with her wings not only the offspring of her own lawful eggs, hut every broken-winged crow that flutters in the leaves, and every orphan quail that pipes from the furrows of the summer fallow? What are we to do when we have our Esquimaux to look after in one quarter, and our Mosquitos in another, when perhaps u-c are the guardian of the respectable Mr. Bull un- der a commission of lunacywhen that profoundest riddle since ~IEdipus. the Irish question, dismays the congressional brain and slays successive cabinets; and when the mines, fisheries, commerce, and agri- culture of a continent clamor for their re- spective necessities with worse confusion than all the pelicans of Lobos? What do? I reply: Do with sixty States what we now do with thirty. It is not the multiplicity or the diversity of the interests that would clamor in the ear of a legislature undertaking the functions of a federal con~ress for such an empire. that would render legislation hopeless; far from it. Place the first federal con- gre ss in the Capitol to-day, and the vast- ness of the interests demanding their re- gard. the Babylonish jargon of claims assailing their ears, would make them numb with idiocy! Nevertheless, our representatives, last winter, managed to get through the session, and thought they had a pretty good time too, yet were oum honorable friends greater than their pre- decessors? No. The boy grows to full stature, but finds that he wields his manly bone arid muscle even more easily than his boyish pulp. By and by he becomes a giant. and lo ! strength and wisdom are given him to manage his ponderous limbs even more dexterously than ever before. His fist flies agains5 the forehead of the bull, he outhugs Bruin, he puts a bit in the lions mouth, and routs Hydra with a cart-whip! But do you not see that this perfection of the giants powers comes from a simultaneous and proportionate growth of all the constituents of his ana- tomy? If arteries do not grow as well as muscles; if the blood do not rush in a more impetuous torrent among the vast thews of his full-grown frame than through his baby-pulp, your giant becomes an imbecile mountain of flesh, a mere Pick- wickian fat-boy. Therefore it is, in re- voL. cognition of this maw of development, and from a perception of the inadequacy of modern mechanical agents to attain the ends which we expect from our inter- oceanic railway, that I promulge my doc- trine of velocities. It is not I who am insane; it is you, who look to an engine of thirty tons weight running his forty miles an hour, on a couple of metallic straps, six feet apart, as the great agent of destiny to time modern world, who are beside yourself. I presume that when 1 ask you to imagine a track with a gauge of eighteen or twenty feet, or even wider stretching across the country in right lines, almost intem ruinable, that hardly deflect for mountains or streams, and, be- striding this, a carriage of dimensions pro- Imortionate to its beam, you would tell me that for such a monster I must apply to the machinists who equipped the road de- scribed in Hawthornes allegory of the Celestial Railway. But who are you that would set a limit to mechanical achievement? Who are you that dare jeer at the possibilities of mans ten fin- gers? Them~e goes Jasons ship, Argo fearfully venturing into the Fmmxine sea, and yon behold the Baltic. buried in the middle brine of time ocean, anon rising above the billows like a champion in bat- tle! I disdain to assure myself by a view of mans pusillanimity in past time. I disdain to remember how he has been frightemmed at each miew-found power, and how, at each new wonder w-orked by his skill, he would almost cmmt off his hand and east it from him, as though he were brought in danger of hell-fire by it! You must, at first glance, see how in- adequate the present scale of railway equipment will be to tIme requirements oi our continental road. You would make it the highway of nations? In time name of slow coaches, what can the na- tions do on a mere six-foot sheep-path and with a flock of little black engines tinkling across the prairies, like stray tea- kettles, to be thrown off the ti ack by every buffalo-calf that gets in the s is of the cow-catcher? All things eauoe, construction, engines, cars, and emboose- will be found ridicuiommsly mnmdec1uite. Hudsons ship answered an excell~m pur- pose in its day. Few vesseTh since Aro Navis have spread more immom Psi cans is. Binmt how can we expect to carry on the worlds commerce in such bottoms as the I-Ialf-Moon, or to fight its battles now with the two-deckers of Lord Howard of iEffinghamn? The world moves, man grows. I warn you, that before we have been long in our graves our sons will be flying across tIme country with machines which will compare with our present 34 Jack Lanterns Railroad Speculations. [July cocks-of-the-rail as the last ocean steamers with the second generation of North River day-boats. The time may be not yet, however. Very likely we shall make our first trip with a Norris engine, and wait half a century before the mammoth comes, shaking the earth with the impetus of his untold tons. But even this will have its sublimity. In the coming age of fastness it will command the respect of all but blockheads and snobs. These will think the tinkling steam-kettle that first points its timid nozzle toward the Pacific, fit game for their blackguard humor like the scullions of a Cunarder cracking their cockney jokes at Christoval of Genoa world-seekin1, in his caravel. But to the wise and great mind, scarce the Triton of Bahama. shouldering the Pintas prow in vain endeavor to avert the discovery, will be a sight more portentous than the ursine Oread of Cordillera rolling like a shaggy ball before the front of the first locomo- tive. and anon dropping in huge affliction and dismay, to the bottom of the em- bankment. Do you not see that with our Pacific railway a new scale of distances by rail must be learned by the world, and ma- chinery, & c., of commensurate capacity supplied? With the discoveries of the fourteenth century the world had to gauge its conception of distances by sea to a new scale. Twas no longer a trip to Cadiz, a journey to Venice, a sail to Amstdrdam or a voyage to Teneriffe; but a stretch to the great Western Ocean, or a voy- age to Zipangu, across deeps illimit- able and around the heels of new-found continents. In like manner we now ap- proach an age of long distances by rail, which will inevitably find for itself car- riages as far superior to those in which we now rattle our two or three hundred miles as the Collins steamers are to Vascos caravels. Think of a stupendous Indian way from the Rhine to the Ganges, or the grand trunk line from the Chinese shores through the axis of the Asia-Euro- pean continent! Yet to those are we coming. The same age that sees plough- shares made of swords will see cannons hammered into railroad iron, brigadiers promoted to brakemanships. Yes, sir, I do but speak the words of calm belief when I foretell to you a speed which will take you from New-York to San Francisco in t*enty-four hours, and that with less hazard, less noise, and great- er comfort than you are now hauled down to the metropolis by the Erie railroad corporation over a causeway of cracked iron and cows. In fact I presume that it is not want of skill or daring in our me- chanics that hinders us from seeing the coming horse in our own time, but mainly the lack of a path to put him on. I dare say that there is many a competent builder who, if there were given him a straight track of one hundred and twenty miles of such strength and construction as he would appoint, would undertake to make an engine able to run the whole dis- tance in an hour, and not a screw the worse for the race. And this is the true way in which man will learn to fly. I have no faith in his flying through the air. I do not he- hove that he will ever emulate the eagle or go hawking betwixt earth and sky. Indeed I do not wish him to. I would then have no more respect for my race than for a new species of crow or magpie. It would upset all established ideas, vio- late all proprietyin short, there would be nothing reasonable nor respectable in it. I would let fly with my fowling-piece into a flock of human high-flyers with quite as little compunction as into a bevy of quails. Tis not to be thought of. The earth is ours. Lets leave the air to the prince of it. If we fly, it will be as ostriches do, with our feet on the ground. That is all well enough. hurrah for the iron os- trich! outstripping horses, antelopes, and the wild ass, and running neck-and-neck with the tornado! I have told you what a high exulta- tion the rush of the railway train in the night produces in me. Not many nights ago I was aboard the express train a hun- dred miles below. on the Erie road. We were either behind time or had the super- intendent on board, or else the devil drove the machine, for we bowled along as though we had been shot out of a cannon. It was blacker than Egypt. You could hardly see your hand before your face; and yet we went roaring, rushing, scream- ing, up the valley of the Susquehanna occasionally passing a switch-tender with his white lights, then diving into the dark- ness ahead like a spectre. That was nuts to me, I can assure you. I could have rode to IDomdaniel so, and in fact, as I sat with my eyes closed, but my brain alive with fancies, I made it seeni as though we had left the w-orld behind us, and were driving headlong across some immense causeway with a gulf deep as Erebus on each side, and would by and by cross a brazen bridge, pass through a gateway, and roll into a city of red-hot iron hotels. and to a terminus of equally fearful front. But at that I roused myself, and shook off these fancies, arid thought I might as well turn my thoughts to something of practical use; and at that these things which I have been telling you, and a thou- sand others, came into my brain. And I 1853.] Fish-Hawks and Falcons. 35 was treated also to a sight of the iron mammoth! The sun was just rising above the roofs of New-York when I went to the Atlantic station of the trans-continen- tal railway. The engine was fired up, and stood on the track a few rods in ad- vance of the train. I walked around it. Aha! what a monster! It bestrode the tn-rail track with an axle of nineteen feet. The track was firm as steel, and this, with the guards and flanges of the wheels, rendered disaster almost impos- sible. You remember, in the Pilgrims Progress, an account of a cave in a hill- side, from which blew flame and volleys of live coals. Well, if you stood before that hole and saw this iron dragon march out of it, you would have thought it all right. But then, in the manager of this concern there was nothing to excite suspi- cion, for he was a light-haired young fel- low, with a quick, cool eye, and did not savor of Tartarus in the least respect. Ill not bore you with the details of the excursion. Enough to say that in a few moments we were under way. and, quickly rising to top speed, flew through the land like the tornado. Farms, villages, cities, rivers, lakes, flew past. There were no stoppages. By ingenious contrivances, passengers were caught up and launched off without checking the headway of the train. It was only at the Mississippi, rolling unbridged in primeval dignity through his course, that we paused. Then came the plains and the mountains, and before the twenty-fifth hour had ex- pired, the tumults of San Francisco sound- ed in my ears! That was my vision. I tell you it was a peep into the workshop of the Fates, where the models of things to come are made out of dream-stuff. Such was the discourse of my friend Jack Lantern, journeyman shoemaker, or rather the outline of it. I have barely touched the successive steps of his argument, if such it maybe called; but enough, doubt- less, is given to enable the friends of pro- gress to step with security upon the con- clusions which he reached, and to give him a peep at further conclusions which es- caped the eye of my friend. FISH-HAWKS AND FALCONS. WTERE we disposed, says the elo- TV quent Wilson, first pioneer in our wilderness of natural history. after the manner of some, to substitute, for plain matters of fact all the narratives, con- jectures, and fanciful theories of travellers voyagers, compilers, & c., relative to the history of the eagle; the volumes of these writers, from Aristotle down to his ad- mirer, the Count de Buffon, would fur- nish abundant materials for this purpose. But the author of the present work he continues, having now mounted his fa- vorite hobby, and prepared himself to ride atiltagainstthefamousFrenchnaturalist, toward whom he nourishes an almost lu- dicrous warmth of indignant animosity, as the inventor of the theory of American degeneration of species, and consequently a maligner of his adopted land but the author of the present work feels no ambition to excite surprise and astonish- ment at the expense of truth or to at- tempt to elevate and embellish his sub- ject beyond the plain realities of nature. On this account he cannot assent to the assertion, however eloquently made in the celebrated parallel drawn by the French naturalist, between the lion and the eagle, viz., that the eagle, like the lion, disdains the possession of that property which is not the fruit of his own industry, and rejects with contempt the prey which is not procured by his own exertion; since the very reverse of this is the case, in the conduct of the bald and sea eagle,* who, during the summer months, are the constant rob- bers and plunderers of the osprey, or fish-hawk, by whose industry alone, both are usually fed. Nor that though famished for want of prey, he disdains to feed on carrion, since we have ourselves seen the bald eagle, while seated on the carcass of a dead horse, keep a whole flock of vultures at a respectful distance, until he had fully sated his own appetite. The Count has taken great pains to ex- pose the ridiculous opinion of Pliny, who conceived that ospreys formed no separate race, and that they proceeded from the intermixture of different species of eagles, the young of which were not ospreys, only sea eagles, which sea eagles, says lie (Pliny), breed small vul- tures, which engender large vultures, that * J~ is here worthy of remark, that althou~h the two species, sea eagle, halistus albicala, and bald e ~le, /salftctus teucocepholua, are really distinct, the former is never to be found in America, being a purely European species, while the latter is common to the northern parts of both continents. wilson has hers confounded the young of the bald eagle, which does not acquire i full plumage until its sixth year, with the sea esgle of Europe.

Fish Hawks and Falcons 35-45

1853.] Fish-Hawks and Falcons. 35 was treated also to a sight of the iron mammoth! The sun was just rising above the roofs of New-York when I went to the Atlantic station of the trans-continen- tal railway. The engine was fired up, and stood on the track a few rods in ad- vance of the train. I walked around it. Aha! what a monster! It bestrode the tn-rail track with an axle of nineteen feet. The track was firm as steel, and this, with the guards and flanges of the wheels, rendered disaster almost impos- sible. You remember, in the Pilgrims Progress, an account of a cave in a hill- side, from which blew flame and volleys of live coals. Well, if you stood before that hole and saw this iron dragon march out of it, you would have thought it all right. But then, in the manager of this concern there was nothing to excite suspi- cion, for he was a light-haired young fel- low, with a quick, cool eye, and did not savor of Tartarus in the least respect. Ill not bore you with the details of the excursion. Enough to say that in a few moments we were under way. and, quickly rising to top speed, flew through the land like the tornado. Farms, villages, cities, rivers, lakes, flew past. There were no stoppages. By ingenious contrivances, passengers were caught up and launched off without checking the headway of the train. It was only at the Mississippi, rolling unbridged in primeval dignity through his course, that we paused. Then came the plains and the mountains, and before the twenty-fifth hour had ex- pired, the tumults of San Francisco sound- ed in my ears! That was my vision. I tell you it was a peep into the workshop of the Fates, where the models of things to come are made out of dream-stuff. Such was the discourse of my friend Jack Lantern, journeyman shoemaker, or rather the outline of it. I have barely touched the successive steps of his argument, if such it maybe called; but enough, doubt- less, is given to enable the friends of pro- gress to step with security upon the con- clusions which he reached, and to give him a peep at further conclusions which es- caped the eye of my friend. FISH-HAWKS AND FALCONS. WTERE we disposed, says the elo- TV quent Wilson, first pioneer in our wilderness of natural history. after the manner of some, to substitute, for plain matters of fact all the narratives, con- jectures, and fanciful theories of travellers voyagers, compilers, & c., relative to the history of the eagle; the volumes of these writers, from Aristotle down to his ad- mirer, the Count de Buffon, would fur- nish abundant materials for this purpose. But the author of the present work he continues, having now mounted his fa- vorite hobby, and prepared himself to ride atiltagainstthefamousFrenchnaturalist, toward whom he nourishes an almost lu- dicrous warmth of indignant animosity, as the inventor of the theory of American degeneration of species, and consequently a maligner of his adopted land but the author of the present work feels no ambition to excite surprise and astonish- ment at the expense of truth or to at- tempt to elevate and embellish his sub- ject beyond the plain realities of nature. On this account he cannot assent to the assertion, however eloquently made in the celebrated parallel drawn by the French naturalist, between the lion and the eagle, viz., that the eagle, like the lion, disdains the possession of that property which is not the fruit of his own industry, and rejects with contempt the prey which is not procured by his own exertion; since the very reverse of this is the case, in the conduct of the bald and sea eagle,* who, during the summer months, are the constant rob- bers and plunderers of the osprey, or fish-hawk, by whose industry alone, both are usually fed. Nor that though famished for want of prey, he disdains to feed on carrion, since we have ourselves seen the bald eagle, while seated on the carcass of a dead horse, keep a whole flock of vultures at a respectful distance, until he had fully sated his own appetite. The Count has taken great pains to ex- pose the ridiculous opinion of Pliny, who conceived that ospreys formed no separate race, and that they proceeded from the intermixture of different species of eagles, the young of which were not ospreys, only sea eagles, which sea eagles, says lie (Pliny), breed small vul- tures, which engender large vultures, that * J~ is here worthy of remark, that althou~h the two species, sea eagle, halistus albicala, and bald e ~le, /salftctus teucocepholua, are really distinct, the former is never to be found in America, being a purely European species, while the latter is common to the northern parts of both continents. wilson has hers confounded the young of the bald eagle, which does not acquire i full plumage until its sixth year, with the sea esgle of Europe. 36 Fish-IIauJcs and Falcons. [July have net the power of propagation. But while laboring to confute those absurdi- ties, the Count himself; in his belief of an occasional intercourse between the os- prey and the sea eagle, contradicts all actual observation and one of the most common and fixed laws of nature; for it may be safely asserted, that there is no habit more universal among the feathered race in their natural state, than that chastity of attachment which confines the amours of individuals to those of their own species only. I cannot, therefore avoid considering the opinion above al- luded to that the male osprey, by coup- ling with the female sea eagle, produces sea eagles; and that the female osprey, by pairing with the male sea eagle, gives birth to ospreys, or fish-hawks, as alto- gether unsupported by facts, and con- tradicted by the constant and universal habit of the whole feathered race, in their state of nature. One would say, nowadays, that to contradict fallacies so palpable, assertions so absurd is a mere waste of time. But it is scarcely so; for, even to this hour, in regard to facts of natural history, errors, almost top ridiculous for notice, do still prevail and are adhered to by persons who lack the power, or the op- portunity of ob~crvin~ with their own eyes, with a pertinacity, that becomes almost offensive when brought into action against the established truths of science. That distinguished and amiable natural- ist, Gilbert White, of Selborne, ~vhose charming work is still a text-book, and a rare example of what intelligent observa- tion, and simple record of natural facts, even within the bounds of a limited rural district, can efibet in behalf of science, has devoted much care, and many chap- ters of his unaffected volume, to contro- verting the belief then prevalent, and not yet entirely eradicated, that swallows hybernate, lying up in a torpid state during the winter months, in caves and hollow trees; nay, even as some asserted, and as the present writer has heard main- tained in the mud at the bottom of deep stagnant waters. Nay more, it is evi- dent from the method of the ~k-orthy rec- tors argument, that he is by no means confident of his facts himself; and is laboring scarcely less with a view to his own satisfaction, than to the convincing of his readers. Audubon has, in like manner, and with equal common sense, striven assiduously to convince disbelievers that the sora-rail emirrates, and neither burrows in the mud-banks, nor, according to the sapiency of the gunners on the Delaware, becomes a frog during the winter. This latter belief is limited, I believe, to the inhabitants of Salem and Gloucester counties of New Jersey, the very B~otia of the United States. But I have my- self been acquainted with at least twenty persons who insist that rail go down, as they express it, in the fall and treat with exceeding scorn any one who dis- putes their time-honored theory. No one, I presume, now believes that the barnacle-goose, a species not far remote from the bmant, is produced from a cer- tain shell-fish, or bivalve molluse as an oyster, a muscle, or the like, which is itself the product of a tree or shrub, the branches of which dipping in the salt water, engender and bear as a fruit the said bird-conceiving shell-fish. Yet an old writer, of undoubted ve- racity, so far as his lights admit, describes the whole process, and the periods of ripening or hatching from the mollusc into the sea-fowl, which he assures us occurs about Palm Sunday, the bivalve then opening and excluding the downy biped. And thus far he assures us he has himself witnessed the process. that he has seen the shells adhering to the pen- dent branches, alternately irrigated and left dry by the rising and falling of the tide, gaping open, and containing downy- covered animal substances, not differing much in form from embryo birds before they are excluded from the egg, which he took to be the immature young of that goose, which is called the barnacle. whereof the Roman Catholics are per- mitted to partake during Lent, because, although bearing the aspect of a fowl, it partaketh of the nature of a fish which it is in its origin. The worthy man had probably seen a dead and muouldy oyster, which had chanced to attach itself to the branches of a submerged bush, a constant habit of that singular shell-fish, as may he easily seen amon~ the mangrove-fringed inlets and islands of our Florida shore and the incipient putrescence of which he mistook for the growth of feathers. In what respect, however, is this opinion more absurd than the notion that the sora rail becomes ii frog, or that our honest and familiar fishhawk, who builds his nest, and rears his young. and plies his daily industry every where along our sea and river borders, doing no damage to our poultry-yard. our dove-cot, or our game preserve, in close companionship with our- selves, under our very eyes, a protected guest and welcome visitor, is engendered of a small vulture which is the oflispring of two species of eagles, and himself; im due season, engendereth great vulture~ which h ye no propagation. 1853.] Fish-Hawks and Falcons. At the very time, doubtless, when old Pliny in his day was writin~ this farrago of folly, much more, when the fanc~fhl and ingenious Count de Buffon was refinifig his crude theories into more arrant and hardly more plausible nonsense, with his theory of male and female ospreys as who should say the offspring of a mare and a jackass is a horse, that of a jenny and a stallion is a donkeyscores of fowlers and of fishermen knew the whole truth, down to the smallest minutim of the ospreys mode of nidification, period of incubation, number of young, and mode of rearing them, as well as they did of their own domestic poultry. In truth, the osprey, or fish-hawk, as he is universally termed on this side the Atlantic, is neither hawk nor eagle, but an intermediate link of creation between the two. And this fact, observed by the most ancient writers, and not to 1)0 denied by those who had better sources of illu- mination, has given rise to the theory I have noticed. For in those days, men of science could not conceive that it was their part to relate ~ hat nature is not why it is so, and to record facts as they are, not to invent theories, why they should be other than they are. He je in a word (and here I will bor- row an able note from the pen of Mr. T. M. Brewer, the editor of the latest edition of Wilson), the type of another aquatic group,i. e. other than that of the bald and sea eagle and a real fisher. It does not, like the sea eagles, though fond of fish, subsist solely on the plunder of others, but labors for itself in the most dexterous manner; and for this, the beau- tiful adaptation of its shape renders every assistance. The body is very strongly built. but is of rather a narrow and elon- gated shape; the head is less than the ordinary proportional dimensions and the wings are expansive, powerful, and sharp- pointed. The manner of seizing their prey is by soaring above the surface of the sea or lake, and when in sight of a fish, clos- ing the wings and darting, as it were by the weight of the body, which, in the de- scent, may be perceived to be directed by the motion of the tail. For this purpose, those parts which we have mentioned are finely framed, and for the remainder of the operation, the legs and feet are no less beautifully modelled. The thighs, instead of being clothed with finely lengthened plumes, as in most of the other falcons, which. when wet, would prove a gre~t incumbrance, are covered with a thick downy plumage; the torsi are short and very strong; the toes have the same ad- vantages, and underneath, at the junction of each joint, have a large protuberance, covered, as are the other parts of the sole, with a thick and strong array of hard, jagged scales, which are sufficient, by the rouuhness, to prevent any escape of their slippery prey, when it is once fairly clutched; the claws are also very strong and hooked, and are as round as a cylin- der, both a hove and beneath, which will insure an easy piercing, or quick retrac- tion from any body at which they may be struck. The outer toe is also capable of being turned either way, a most essential assistance in grasping. In striking their prey, they do not appear to dive deep; indeed, their feet, by which alone it is taken, could not then be brought into rapid action; but they are often concealed in the spray occasioned by their rapid descent. The size of the fish that they are able to hear away is very great, and sometimes exceeds their own weight. That of the female is little more than five pounds, and Mr. Audubon has figured his specimen with a weak-fish, sqaeteaque, of more than that weight, and our author, Wilson, mentions a shad that, when partly eaten, weighed more than six pounds. The osprey, panolion hulicetus, for into that genus was lie set apart by Sa- vigny, is common to the European and American continents, and is said by Mr. Brewer to exist in Australasia. in no sort differing from our bird. He is twenty-two inches in length, and five feet three inches in extent. His bill is deep black, with a pale blue cere. his crown, bind-head, and nape, are pure whitp, the forehead slightly dashed with brown. The neck and all the upper parts are dark chocolate brown and a black band passes from the bill through the eye to the lower neck. The wings are dark, the inner vanes of the quills and tail whit- ish, barred with brown; the tail lighter brown than the back, with eight black bars. The chin and all the lower parts pure white, except the thi6hs, which are dashed in front with pale brown. The legs and feet are pale blue, the claws black, the iris of the eye fiery orange yellow. The female is full two inches longer, and her general plumage dingier and less dis- tinct. This hawk, or water eagle, as he is generally termed in Scotland, may he readily distinguished at a great distance, when perched. by the peculiar horizontal position in which lie holds his body, the tail extended nearly in a right line with his shoulders, and his head but little ole vated. In this posture, during the season of nidification, he may be coiitinually seen, perched on the margin of his huge faggot-like nest, when on his return from his piscatery expeditions he brings back 88 his scaly prey to the patient partner of his toil, as she sits wearily, or perhaps I should say anxiously, brooding on her two or three large cream-colored eggs, splashed and daubed with Spanish brown. At this time she is cheered, perhaps, by the harsh chatter of the purple gralles or crow-blackbirds aniscalus versicolor, three or four pairs of which constantly build their nests and rear their broods, not only unmolested but tolerated strange companionshipas welcome guests by the puissant hawk, in the external in- terstices of her palisaded fortalice. When on the wing, he is no less easily distinguished from other hawks, by the manner in which he carries his legs stretched out behind him at length, not trussed up under him, as is their usual method; by the remarkable length and curvature of his wings, and by the easy curves in which he glides through the air, turning sometimes as if on a pivot, without the least apparent exertion, and without so much as flapping his wide ex- tended vans. The fish-hawks are migratory birds, returning to us of the Northern Atlantic coasts, early in the month of March. in very great numbers, and proceeding at once to repair and put in order their great nests, which they use year after year, so long as either of the oribinal builders sur- vive. and perhaps yet longer, for it is re- markable that, notwithstanding the affec- tion and constancy of these birds during life, no sooner is either of the pair lost, than the survivor immediately procures a new mate, and, of whichever sex it be, brings it in triumph home to the old ha- bitation. These nests consist, externally, of piles of great sticks, from one to two inches in diameter, and two or three feet in length, piled up to a height of four or five feet and often containing a cart-load of materi- als; these are consolidated with great sods of wet turg and lined with corn-stalks. sea-weed, and dry sea grasses, forming a pile of such weight and solidity that the heaviest winds rarely bring them down and if such an accident do occur, they are usually found broken into coherent masses, and not dissipated. It is a curious fact that, when a new nest is to be built, and a young pair to be provided for, con- gregations of twenty or thirty of these noble hawks will assemble on one tree, squealin~, and occasionally wheeling off into the air, and performing strange antics, shortly after which a new nest will be seen in progress of erection. They are mild, friendly, peaceable birds; and it is said that instances of wrong, robbery, and strife among themselves are [July almost unknown; while it is known that they never attack any smaller bird or animal, or make prey of any living thing, with the exception of fish, although their great powers both of wing and talon would easily enable them to do so. This proceeds, however, from no lack of personal courage; for, from the first moment of their arrival among us, they levy war upon their enemies, the bald eagles, acting in concert, being, as they are, the most sociable and gregarious of all the hawk family, and constantly, as Wilson avers, by dint of numbers and persever~ce, beat off the sluggard foe, and compel him to evacuate the district. It is also stated by Wilson, that so many as three hundred nests of this gallant bird of prey were to be found at one time o~rm Gardiners island, and that the consump- tion of their households amounted to six or seven hundred large fish per diem. I presume that the cultivation and set- tlement of that section of the country must materially have diminished those numbers; but no one can be familiar with the sea-coasts, without being aware that in a days sail inshore, or along the bays, and inlets, and river mouths, which every where indent our Jersey borders, you cannot fail to number ospreys nests by the score, situated, as if it were by choice, near to the fishermans cabin, and the sunny exposure where he spreads his nets to dry. They are often built within fifteen feet of the ground, and the birds perfectly familiarized and free from fear, through long impunity, give no more heed to the comings and goings of the family, who are their neighbors, or even of transicnt strangers, than do the domestic poultry of a farm-yard. The fishermen, it is said, greet them, on their arrival, as harbingers of the approach of shad and herrin~, in those great shoals which now, alas annually decreasing, visit the Atlantic seaboard. I have heard, also, that they regard the occurrence of an ospreys nest on a fir-tree. which they most affect, near to the homestead, as an omen of good, and consider, with a sort of superstitious awe, the possibility of disturbing the familiar and industrious bird by any insult or aggression. I know that to shoot at one or attempt to harry its nest, would be esteemed an injury and insult; and one who tried either would stand a fair chance of being punished accordingly. I like to see this feeling; the rather that it presents so noble and so clear a contrast to what I cannot avoid consider- ing one of the worst features of character in the white population of America indis- criminately, without distinction of race. Fish-Hawks and Falcons. 1863.1 Fish-Hawks and Falcc~ns. 39 nationality, section of country, language, or religion; I mean the wanton, useless, unthinking slaughter of all wild animals, those most useful to man equally with those most noxious; which has already been persisted in, within our own borders, until the deer, and the salmon, and the noble grouse are as utterly extinct as the mammoth and the dodo; and which, if persisted in for a much longer period, will make the woodcock and the snipe extinct also. In the instance before us, the conduct of our seaboard population, toward the osprey, has brought it to pass that this bird, in Europe the most lonely, solitary, and sequestered of its race, frequenting, in England, only a few of the rare wooded coasts of the four seas, as in Devonshire and part of Wales, and, in Scotland, a few of the most lovely and romantic spots of the Western Islands, is here the most fami- liar and abundant. In the British islands generallyit would be difficult at first sight to imagine whereforethe osprey is of rare occurrence, except in the peculiar districts which I havenamed; far rarer, though he is not often molested even there, than many of the varieties of hawk and falcon, which, though assiduously trapped, and shot, and slain per fas aut nefas, by game preservers, as being arrant game destroyers, are yet more frequent in the old settled parishes of that country, than ia the wilds of this. Probably, the true reason is the absence in those islands of large bodies of water suited to the pursuit of the fishing hawk; and, owing to the strict preservation of game, the greater abundance of those animals on which the true falcons feedwhence as the one species becomes rarer, the other becomes bolder, fiercer, and more frequent. This I know, that before leaving Europe for this country, having travelled my own country over pretty thoroughly, both on foot and on horseback, both with fishing rod and gun, I never saw an osprey, with the exception of a single pair wheeling and whooping about a ruin, which they had haunted immemorially on an island of Loch Lomond, while here I have seen hundreds, and learned to know their habits almost as of a barndoor chuckie. On the other band, having rambled and roved over the United States, from the Penobscot to the Potomac, from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the tributaries of Lake Superior, I can safely assert that I have seen more hawks, including every thing from the kite and buzzard to the merlin and the sparrow-hawk, in one week in Lincolnshire and Huntingdonshire, than in twenty years in America; and for this I know not how to account, but by the fact that the nature of this country suits the osprey, and that it is the only bird protected, not bylaw, but by what is much stronger than law in the United States, I mean popular feeling. While in England, although the falcons are pursued and hunted down without mercy, and for ed to rest in the rudest and remotest solitudes, yet they are so much favored by the abun- dance of food that they swarm in spite of slaughter. It is not one of the least curious and interesting points of natural history to observe, how birds, naturally and really identical, come to differ in habits, owing to difference of localities and circumstances. Here so far as I can learn by reading or inquiry, or know by my own observa- tion, the osprey never nests but in trees, and I will venture to say in nineteen cases out of twenty in pines or cedars, whereas in the British isles it never builds in a tree, when a chimney or the tower of an ancient ruin can be found in a congenial situation as in the Scottish highlands, which they most affect, is almost invariably the case. Saving this peculiarity, and the difference in his frequency and familiaritythe one the effect of natural circumstances, the other of acquired habitsthe fish-hawk of Ame- rica and the osprey of Europe are identi- cal; the Italians, in their figurative and expressive language, naming him the aquila pioinbina, the leaden eagle, from the manner in which he strikes the water, as described above, flashing down with closed wings like a leaden weight, dropped through the unresisting air, to bury itself in the resilient waters. So picturesquely has Wilson described his favorites motions and the manifestation of his instincts, thatl cannot refrain from quotin~ the passage entire; the rather that it is my object to compare it with another equally clever picture by another, scarcely inferior writer, Colquhoun of Luss, who bears like witness to the habitudes of the highland osprey. The flight of the fish-hawk, says the first, his mana~uvres while in search of fish, and his manner of seizing his prey, are deserving of particular notice. In leaving his nest, he usually flies direct till he comes to the sea, then sails around, in easy curving lines, turning sometimes in the air as on a pivot, apparently without the least exertion, rarely moving the wings, his legs extended in a straight line behind him, and his remarkable length and bend of wing distinguishing him from all other hawks. The height at which lie thus ele- gantly glides is various, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty, and two Imudred feet, sometimes much hi6her, all the while reconnoitring the face of the deep belew. 40 Fish-Hia wfis and Falcons. [July Suddenly he is seen to check his course. as if struck by a particular object, whicl~ hc secms to survey with such steadincss. that he appears fixed in air, flapping his wings. This object, however, he abandons, or rather the fish he had in his eye has disappeared, and he is again seen sailing round as before. Now his attention is a~ain arrested, and he descends with great rapidity; but ere he reaches the surface, shoots off on another curve, as if ashamed that a second victim has escaped him. He now sails at a short distance above the surface, and by a zigzag descent, and with- out seeming to dip his feet in the water seizes a fish, which after carrying a short distance he probably drops, or yields up to the bald eagle, and again ascends, by easy spiral circles, to the higher regions of the air, where he glides about in all the ease and majesty of his species. At once. from this sublime aerial height, he descends like a perpendicular torrent, plunging into the se~ with a loud rushing sound, and with the certainty of a rifle. In a few moments he emerges, bearing in his claws his struggling prey, which he always carries head foremost; and, havin~ risen a few feet above the surface, shakes himself a water spaniel would do, and directs his heavy and laborious flight directly for the land. If the wind blows hard, and his nest lie in the quarter from whence it comes, it is amusing to observe with what judgment and exertion he beats to wind- ward, not in a direct line, that is in the wands eye, but makin~ several successive tacks to gain his purpose. This will ap- pear more striking, when we consider the size of the fish, which he sometimes bears along. A shad was taken from a fish- hawk near Great Eggharbor, on which he had begun to regale himself, and of which he had already ate a considerable portion; the remainder weighed six pounds. An- other fish-hawk passed Mr. Beasleys. at the same place, with a large flounder in his ~rasp, which struggled and shook him so, that he dropped it on the shore. The flounder was picked up and served a whole family for dinner. It is singular that the hawk never descends to pick up a fish, which he drops either on land or water. There is a kind of abstemious dignity in this habit of the hawk, superior to the gluttonous voracity displayed by other birds of prey, particularly by the bald eagle, who5e piratical robberies committed on the present species have been already fully detailed in this history. The hawk, however, in his fishing pursuits, sometimes mistakes his mark or overrates his strength, by striking fish too large and powerful for him to manage, by whom he is sud- denly dragged wider; and though h. sometimes succeeds in extricating himself; after being taken three or four times down, yet oftener both parties perish. The bodies of a sturgeon, and several other large fish with a fish-hawk fast grappled in them, have, at different times, been found dead on the shore cast up by the waves. Many tales have been told in reference to this last occurrence; but it seems to me that they should be received at least cant rams sahis, and scarcely accepted, unless on the fullest and most precise au- thority. I do not mean to assert that such things are impossible, or so unlikely to take place as necessarily to be reject- ed; for I have heard instances from York- shire and Cumbriand alesmen.whom I per- sonally knew to be men of veracity, of the golden eagle swooping upon victims too large and ponderous to be carried oW which the bird was consequently obliged to abandon. If such accidents have oc- curred with one of these daring maraud- ers,it is certainly to be taken as prima fade evidence that it may occur with another; still I cannot readily believe in the probability of so great a miscalcula- tion on the part of the haxvk as the strik- ing of a sturgeon; nor in regard to the structure of his ch ws, so readily retract- ible, would one imagine that he should be- come so completely entangled as to be un- al)le to extricate himself; inasmuch as his aptitude to immersion would not favor the idea of his being so much confused as to lose his presence of mindwhich, by the way, animals, acting on what is called in- stinct, are much less wont to do than men, actuated by what we are pleased to call the superior faculty of reason. The notion that an osprey or eagle volunta- rily resigns his life, and submits to be drowned, whether from spite against the fish, or as sonic say from shame and dis- appointment at his failure. I dismiss as too preposterousnothing but a French- man, a ad a French cook at that. was ever known to commit suicide, because there was no fish for dinner; and. although I have read in Iloetry of scorpions girt with fire committingfelo de se with their own stings, and have heard gunners tell of wounded black-ducks holding on with their bills to the watergrass at the bottom until death should put an end simultane- ously to their own troubles and to the sportsmans hope of bagging them, I ra- ther incline to doubt the magnanimity of these alleged insect or volucrine Catos and hold to the opinion, that man is the only animal so fatuous as to be a self- killer. One thing only, it appears to me, ren- ders animals utterly reckless of self and 1853.] Fish-Hawks and Falcons. 41 re~ardless of life; and that is the natural OTOpyI7, or uncontrollable passion for pro- pagating their species, and protecting their young when produced, which rarely, if ever fails in the hrute creation; and which prompts the mocking-bird to fight no less gallantly in defence of its nest. against the rattlesnake, than the osprey or the eagle, against the human invader, who dares at- tempt his eyrie. In this particular, the gallantry of the fish-hawk is conspicuous; he has been known according to Mr. Gardiners report to Wilson, to fix his claws in the wool of a negros head, who was attempting to climb to his nestthis, by the way, is presumptive evidence against his being entangled by the talons in a fishs back, from which one would suppose extrication far more easyand an instance is record- ed of a male bird fighting so desperately as to be brought down by a blow of a stick held in the hand, and made a prison- er. I am aware of no instance of his being tamed, or trained to labor in his vocation, for the benefit of man; though taking in- to consideration the sociable nature and familiarity of this noble bird, I cannot doubt that he might be trained and do- mesticated as readily at least as his cousin- germans the true falcons, who are the wildest, fiercest, and boldest of birds in their natural state, as, when reduced to the control of man, they are the faithful- est and most affectionate. The following passage, from the Moor and Loch ,is curious, as exemplifying the identity of the European and American birds, and of their habits in some particu- lars; as well as the variation of the latter under circumstances requiring a different adaptation. The author, who is a genuine and tho- rough sportsman, appears to be not a little ashamed of the exploit he describes; which perhaps we should in charity attri- bute to his having been, as he says, at the time of its commission. a very young sportsman. I am not the less disposed to join in the regret of Mr. Colquhoun, if he was indeed, as he says, the cause of the desertion of that~ haunt, because I am well assured that these were the same pair of ospreys, to which I have made allusion above, as the only birds of that species which I ever saw in my native land; and because I remember them distinctly, as gliding and wheeling through the delicious summer evenin,~ air, in connection with the memory of dear friends departed, and lovely scenes never again to be beheld, as if they had passed before my eyes this very afternoon. The osprey. or water eagle, says he, frequents many of th~ highland lochs; a pair had their eyrie for many years on the top of a ruin, in a small island of Loch Lomond. I am sorry to say I was the means of their leaving that haunt, which they had occupied for gene- rations. It was their custom, when boat approached the island, to come out and meet it, always keeping at a most re- spectful distance, flying round in very wide circles until the boat left the place; when, having escorted it a considerable way, they would return and settle on the ruin. Aware of their habits, I went, when a very young sportsman, with a game- keeper, and having concealed myself be- hind the stump of an old tree, desired him to pull away in the boat. The ospreys, after following him the usual distance, r& . turned, and gradually narrowing their circles, the female, at last, came within fair distance ; I fired ,and shot her. Not content with this, the gamekeeper and I ascended the ruin, and finding in the nest nothin~ but a large sea-trout half eaten, we set it in a trap, and returning, after two or three hours found the male caught by the legs. They were a beautiful l)ail; the female, as in most birds of prey, being considerably the largest. The eggs of these ospreys had been regularly taken every year, amid yet they never forsook their e~ iie It was a beautiful sight to see them sail into our bay on a calm summers nioht md flviiig round it several times, su oop (log n iil)Oii a good-sized pike, and beai it mu v~ if it had been a minnow. I have been told, l)ut cannot ~ ouch for the truth of it, that thc~ bcvc another method of taking their picy in warm weather, when fish bask near the shore. They fix one claw in a weed or bush, and strike the other into the fish; but I never saw them attempt any other method of leistering ~ than that I have mentioned. When they see a fish, they immediately settle in the air, lower their flight and set- tie againthen strike down like a dart. They always seize their prey with their claws, the outer toes of which turn round a considerable way, which gives them a larger and a firmer grasp. Owls have also this power, to enable them to scenic with certainty their almost equally agile victims; while the fern-owl analogous to our night-hawk has the toe turned round like a parrots, to assist it in the difficult task of taking insects in the air. Rut if this were the case with the others. although it muight be an advantage in the first instance, it would very considerably weaken their hold when prey was struck. I remember seeing another pair of * Leisterina. is the Scottmsa term for taaing hs im~n especially, with tao ti~reo or five hiaed spear, 42 Fish-Hawks and Falcons. [July ospreys on Loch Menteith, that had their eyrie on the gnarled hranch of an old tree. They hecame so accustomed to the man who lets boats there, that the female never even left the nest when he landed on the island unless a stranger was with him. Once when he returned home after a short ab- sence. he saw one of them sitting on the tree making a kind of wailiun cry; ~ pcctin~ that all was not right, he rowed to the island, and found the female was missinc,, and the nest harried. They have never hatched there since; the male has heen frequently seen, but he has never found another mate. When they had young, they did not confine their depre- dations to Loch Menteith, hut used to go, in quest of prey, to the other loebs in the neighhorhood; and in the eveniuc, would fly down the glen, carrying a fish a foot lon~ in their claws. To harm animals so noble in all their characteristics, so human-like in many of them, the death of which can in no sort minister to the wants or even the luxu- ries of luau; the lives of which are not only wholly innocuous, hut tend in a high degree to the pleasure and edification of all well regulated minds, as adding the extra charm of beautiful life and motion to lovely natural scenery, and displaying the exquisite adaptation of all Gods creatures to their intended works and purposes, ap- pears to me the height of wantonness, of cruelty, and almost sacrilegious wicked- ness. There are hut two justifications for killing the innocent and happy creatures, which are as much His work, and which we have heen distinctly told are as much his care as we, who are so hold as to claim to he the Lords of creationthe one of these is their applicability to use as articles of food the other their utility, if rare or nondescript, for purposes of science. Where their flesh is worthless, and their forms and habits well-known and familiar, I cannot hut regard the slauc,hterinc, of them as mere cruelty; and cruelty, even to the heast that perish- eth. is crime. Keen sportsman as I am, and eac,er ~fl the chase, I can say safely that, since I was a mere boy, I have never killed bird or beast, unless it was of value for food of value as a specimen of natural history, or decidedly obnoxious, in some sort or other. to the human race. Before proceeding to say a few words about those gentlest and most gallant fowls of air, fowls of romance and chivalry, the genuine falcons, I cannot resist, al- though I have already borrowed some- what largely from Wilsons pictured pagestoo much, alas! neglected nowa- days. and known, I fear, to hut few even of Putnams readersI cannot resist. I say, but quote his beautiful verses; for the enthusiastic Scotsman was in truth, as well as figuratively, de facto, as well as dcjuro, a poet of nature; and they who love true poetry will find it unalloyed by any meretricious affectation in THE FISHERMANS HYMN. The Osprey sails abeve the sound; The geese are gene; ths gulls sre flying; The herring shoals swarm thick around; The nets are launched; the boats are plying. Yo, ho, my hearts l lets scek the deep, Raise hfrh the song, and cheerly wish her, Still, as the bending nets we sweep, God bless the Fish-hawk and the Fisher. She brings us fishshe brings us spring, Good times, fair weather, warmth and plenty; Fine store of shad, trout, herring, ling, Sheeps-head and drum, and eldwives dainty. Yo, ho, my Isearts! lets seek the deep, Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her, Still, as the bending nets we sweep, God bless the Fish-hawk and the Fisher. She rears her young on yonder tree; She leaves her faithful mate to mind em; Like us, for fish, she sails to sea, And, plun~in0, shows us where to find em. Yo, lie, my hearts I lets seek the deep, Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her, Still, as the bending nets we sweep, God bless the Fish-hawk and the Fisher. From this, which I must consider the gentlest, and in all its attributed, the noblest of the untamed fowls of the air. the transition is easy to those of its kin- dred, which are the most easily reclaimed, and which, whets reclaimed, have heen fa- mous from the earliest times as the most sagacious, the most tenacious of memory, and the most faithful to their masters of all the animal creation, not excepting even mans chosen friend and comrade,the more than half-reasoning dog. These are unquestionably the true fal- cons, capable of being trained to the pur- suit of birds far larger and more powerful than themselves, and to many of the small- er quadrupeds, and of thesethough the fact has only been admitted within a com- paratively recent datewe possess in the United States the three very choicest an 1 most valuable varieties. The peregrine falcon, duck-hawk or great - footed hawk, falco peregrinus. well known to all our fowlers, especially along the Jersey shores, and on the duck- haunted waters of the Chesapeake and Potomac, frequenting swampy woods. in the vicinity of great water-courses and lakes throughout the United States. and nesting in tall trees. The gyr falcon, falco islandicus com- paratively scarce, but ranging every where north of Canada, and nesting in almost inaccessible rocks and precipices. And lastly the ash-colored hawk, ctstur airicapillus, which, if not identical, as it probably is not, with the gray gos- hawk of Scottish border song, is at least 1853.] FishHawlcs and Falcons. 43 a closely allied variety, and, doubtless, as susceptible as its congener of gentle edu- cation. This bird inhabits all the northern parts of the continent, and though some- what rarer than the peregrine, is yet a well-known bird. I shot, some years since, a fine specimen of this bird, on the marshes in the vicinity of Pine-brook in New-Jersey, suspecting it to be the very goshawk, which it indeed closely resem- bles. It builds in high trees, and lays three eggs. It is not, assuredly, here my purpose to enter upon a long, and, to many readers, wearisome description of plumage and minute scientific distinctions between these three noble varieties; but, rather, to point out a few of the general characteris- tics, by which to discern these gallant birds from the more vulgar genera of kites. hawks, and buzzards; and then lightly to touch on the most distinguish- lug marks, as to color and the like, of the three birds before us, so as to enable the reader to recognize them at a glance; for I cannot but believe that the day will ar- rive when the princely sport of falconry will revive in this our western world. some portions of which are so admirably adapted to its pursuit. Speaking of the peregrine falcon, Mr. Brewer, whom I have quoted above, uses the following words, accurately descrip- tive both of the bird in question, and generally of the tribe of docile falcons: Among the falcouidm this bird will present that form best adapted for seizing the prey- in an open manner by the exer- cise of its own organs. Noble in their bearing and graceful in their carria~e, the falcons are as much distinguished from the vultures by their fine proportions, as those of the lion place him in the scale of creation above the gaunt, ravenous, grisly, yet dastard wolf. Placed, by their strong and powerful frames, far beyond them in all rapacious powers. they feed nearly ex- clusively on living prey, despising all upon which they have not themselves acted as executioners, and particularly any carrion, which has the least savor of beginning putrescence. For these pur- poses they are possessed of a compactly formed body, the neck comparatively short. and supported b~ muscles of more than ordinary strength; the feet and thighs remarkably powerful, and the wings of that true hirundine menu and texture which points out the greater development of their power. The prey is generally struck while upon the wing with a rapi(i swoop, and is at once borne oft; unless coumpletely above the weight of the assailer, when it is struck to the ground and despatched more at leisure. The peregrine is twenty inches in length and three feet eight inches in extent; the bill is blue, blackening toward the tip, the cere and legs rich corn yellow, the claws black, the brow is light-colored, the crown and cheeks, running off like munstachios. are black, as is the whole back down to the rump and tail; coverts ash gray with dusky bars, the wing coverts, scapulars, quills and tail, brownish black, curiously edged and mottled with light ferruginous. The breast and chin cinnamon yellow; the lower parts deep buff dropped with heart- shaped black spots; the sides broadly barred with the same color. The most strongly distinctive marks are the black cheek spots, and the great size of the large and puissant feet and claws. Like most other of its race, the peregrine falcon adheres to the same haunt for ma- ny generations, the survivor in case of ac- cident, always finding a new mate and re- turning to the old abode. It is not a common bird in England, and in the southern counties is extremely rare; its very name importing its foreign origin. In days of falconry this and the succeed- ing species were for the most part brought over from Norway, fetching enormous pri- ces, and not seldom figuring together with the alaus, or rough deer greyhounds of that time, as the most valuable portion of knights, nay, kings ransoms; but in all cases the value of the hawk was vastly superior to that of the hound. In Europe the peregrine breeds invaria- bly in the crags, and is said never to nest in trees. Time diversity of his habit here arises doubtless floin the comparatively level surface of the United States, and the absence generally speaking of precipitous cliffs along our shores and water-courses. which the peregrine haunts by choice, since he especially affects waterfowl as his favorite prey. On the Jersey shore and time vicinity of the great bays of the Ches peake and Dela- ware he would be hard set to find a rock whereon to pile his eyrie, and the north- ern regions he in some degree eschews, since that mimmute observer, Dr. Richard- son, found him exceeding rare in the fur countries. In Great Britain, the R ss Rock and the Isle of May in the Frith of Forth each possesses its pair, which have had their eyrie there so long that time memory of man runneth not to the contrary; and the Isle of Man is rich in these birds, whose ancestors many believe to have been fugitives from captivity, which once uministered to the sport emphatically of knights and noble. The peregrine usually seizes his prey in the air, singling out one devoted victim, 44 Fisk-Hawks and Falcons. [jJuly whether from a plump of ducks or a pack of partridges or grouse, which fly advcrse. screaming in agonies of terror at thc first whistic of his shrill resounding pinion, pouncing on it with the certainty and al most the speed of a rifle bullet, and crush- ing flesh and bone in the dreadful clutch of those inexorable talons, from which there is no escape. save when the trenchant beak gives the unerring coup de grace. That he sometimes however, which has been disputed, strikes his victim on the ground, Colquhoun of Luss shall once more stand forth a witness: When out breaking a youn~ dog up- on the Perthshire moor, I put up a grouse, which after flying some distance, was pur- sued by a blue falcon. The poor grouse, seeing it had no chance, dropped down in the heather, but it was too late, the hawk was directly above it. It immediately dighted, beat about in the heather for a minute. and presently the grouse fluttered out before it. I saw the chase for about ten yards when they ran behind a hillock and on my going up to the spot. the falcon rose and there lay the grouse decapitated. The gyr falcon, falco islandicus, is a much rarer bird than the last, and I have never seen a live specimen which I had an opportunity to examine with attention. it rarely breeds in the British Isles, I might I believe say never, and when met with occasionally, it is for the most part in the depth of some winters when he is Jriven in by stress of weather. In America he is found every where north of Canada up to the Arctic regions, restin~ in high cliffs and rocks. Even here I fimucy. however, that he is a rare bird, as in the course of a summers tour. some years since, along the north shores of Lake Huron and on the waters of Lake Superior, thounh I visited many places of the precise nature in which I might expect to find him. and was moreover particular- on the qai vice to procure ornithologi- cal specimens, I saw nothing that even esembled this beautiful bird, whilom the choicest darling of the falconers pride. his plumage is every where pure white, marked with slate grey arrow-headed spots, his cere and legs bright yellow. His length is twenty-two and a half inches his alar extent forty-nine. The female bird is something larger. This brings us to the gosbawk, the anly truly native English falcon of high degree, for the lanner and the martin though they were occasionally reclaimeQ were of small size and smaller account in the field. But the gay gosbawk was the companion of every gallant knight and gentle lady of the land, and to go abroad without the hawk on fist would have been held almost an avowal of de- ficiency of gentle blood. The true goshawk it is decided, by late authorities, that we have not; yet our black-capped hawk, or ash-colored fal- eon, as tar atricapillus, is acknowledged to resemble him so closely that none can tell the birds apart, save those of the deepest lore, and closest observation; for all purposes of falconry, the birds are in truth identical. He is twenty-one inches in length; his bill and core light blue; his legs feathered half the way down of a bright yellow; the crown of his head black; all his upper parts pale bluish gray, faintly tinged with brown; whole lower parts pure white, beautifully pencilled with transverse zigzag lines of dusky brown. These then are the world-famous fal- cons of old, which were accepted almost as bribes between crowned heads and which were cheaply valued literally at their weight in gold. To secure the young birds, in the first place, in their perilous and all but inaccessible eyries, was in the first place a work only to be achieved at imminent risk of life; and every successive step of rearing, nursing, training, till the falcon was perfect, re- quired such care, such close attention, sueh strict observance of rules and such thorough knowledge of the subject, com- bined with such self-command and con- trol of temper, that the falconers capable of managing, reclaiming and flying hawks in the field, were hardly less valuable than the birds themselves. The conse- quence of all this combined with the splen- dor which, in the middle ages, it was thought necessary to lavish upon all field sports, rendered it a sport possible only for the great and the wealthy, even if the sumptuary laws had not forbidden its en- joyment to any but those of noble birth. As a sport, however, it was assuredly the first and noblest of any; and we are told by those who had experienced both, and knew their every chance and change, that the glorious rally, the long, fierce pursuit, and the tumultuous heart-stirring music of the chase, was as nothing in re- gard of excitement to the short, sharp, fu- rious gallop, with slackened rein and eyes turned heavenward, when bird pursued bird through the boundless hunting-fields of air and the rash rider had only to trust his fortune, the firmness of his seat and the perfect training of the horse he be- strode, since with his eyes in air, strained to their utmost to keep the towering quar- ry and heaven-scaling hawk in view. he could see neither how to guide the coursers head, nor judge of the fences he was forced to take in his stroke, with 18534 scarcely an idea when or at what obsta- cle he was about to leap. To this it is, far more than to the care and science requisite, or to the lavish means demanded, that the decline of fal- conry in Europe must be attributed. The old countries have become so thickly in- closed, and so highly cultivated, even where the large fowls of game, such as herons. bitterns. cranes, and bustards, still aboundand they are now rare, and becoming rapidly extinctthat to attempt to ride across the country hoodwinked, as it were would be in truth an act of suicide, if it were possible; but is, in a word, impossible. The expense of keeping a cast or two of hawks, need not, in reality, be consid- erable; nothing to compare with that of maintaining a well-appointed pack of fox- hounds, nor a tenth part that of keeping up a racing stable, without the concomi- tants of bettin~ books and turf-losses. The care and trouble requisite are no greater than nine men out of ten lavish on some favorite hobby, and the expense mi,,,ht be limited to the keep and wages of one experienced servant as a falconer, whom it would probably in the first place be necessary to import from Germany. A few hundred dollars per annum would Miss Pecks Friend. 45 enable any western gentleman to com- mence the sport with imported servants and imported birds, and before half a dozen years had passed, there would be Americans enough to supply any possible demand, better skilled in the taking. training, reclaiming, and flying falcons. than any foreigners in the world, if we except the Arabs, and perhaps the Maro- nites. Plain lands of large extent, unbroken by fences and abounding in game, are the sole requisites to the prosecution of this innocent, invigorating, and delightful sport, and nowhere on earth are all these requisites so perfectly combined ns in our prairies of the West. The sand-hill crane would soar a loftier flight than ever flew the boldest heronshaw or bittern; the prairie- fowl and sharp-tailed arouse arc stronger on the wing, wilder and swifter than the best partridge that ever flushed from stubble-field or clover. The names of our ducks are million. The greyhound has become the hound of the chase on the prairie; the falcon, unless we prove sadly false prophets, will soon become more famous in the western world than he was ever in the days of prowest chivalry in Europe, Africa, or Araby. MISS PECKS FRIEND A NOVEL IN TEN CHAPTERS. [Concluded from page 629.] CHAPTER YL IN WHICH A RIVAL IS INTRODUCE). rp HE tournament to which the Pecks I~ and their guests were invited, was the talk not only of St. Judes, but of the neighboring parishes, and preparations on quite a brand scale were being made for its celebration by the originators of the f& e. It was agreed that the chief event of the day should come off at the Oaksan es- tate purchased by the father of the pres- sent owner of Cypress Hall, and the man- sion pulled down to consolidate the pro- perty. The fine old grove still flourished, however, and the sward under its branches was the favorite fete ground of the neigh- borhood: and there were galleries now raised and lists railed in. and tents pitch- ed, to accommodate the sylvan beauties, whose mantua-m kers in the city had their hands full of work and their heads of instructionsand to afford retirement between acts to the gallant knights, whose armor having been manufactured by an enterprising tinnmn under the inspection of a joint committee, had safely arrived, and only awaited the auspicious hour to be donned and dazzle all eyes. The Major learned these particulars of what he called the toonament. fron. Rutridge, and expressed his intense appre- ciation of the fun. By George! he said Id rather be in the galleries, though, or some other safe place, when you young fellows are poking and chasin~ one another. Poke your knight under the ribs, here and by George! if he dont double himself up, he must be less tick- lish than I am. Poke the deuce! Rutridge returned, laughing. Why, Major, its not to be a joust, but what was formerly called a carrousel, and nobody is expected to do more than carry off on his lance point, a ring suspended overhead. After the games are at an end. and the prizes awarded, we will open the ball in

Miss Peck's Friend: A Novel in Ten Chapters 45-60

18534 scarcely an idea when or at what obsta- cle he was about to leap. To this it is, far more than to the care and science requisite, or to the lavish means demanded, that the decline of fal- conry in Europe must be attributed. The old countries have become so thickly in- closed, and so highly cultivated, even where the large fowls of game, such as herons. bitterns. cranes, and bustards, still aboundand they are now rare, and becoming rapidly extinctthat to attempt to ride across the country hoodwinked, as it were would be in truth an act of suicide, if it were possible; but is, in a word, impossible. The expense of keeping a cast or two of hawks, need not, in reality, be consid- erable; nothing to compare with that of maintaining a well-appointed pack of fox- hounds, nor a tenth part that of keeping up a racing stable, without the concomi- tants of bettin~ books and turf-losses. The care and trouble requisite are no greater than nine men out of ten lavish on some favorite hobby, and the expense mi,,,ht be limited to the keep and wages of one experienced servant as a falconer, whom it would probably in the first place be necessary to import from Germany. A few hundred dollars per annum would Miss Pecks Friend. 45 enable any western gentleman to com- mence the sport with imported servants and imported birds, and before half a dozen years had passed, there would be Americans enough to supply any possible demand, better skilled in the taking. training, reclaiming, and flying falcons. than any foreigners in the world, if we except the Arabs, and perhaps the Maro- nites. Plain lands of large extent, unbroken by fences and abounding in game, are the sole requisites to the prosecution of this innocent, invigorating, and delightful sport, and nowhere on earth are all these requisites so perfectly combined ns in our prairies of the West. The sand-hill crane would soar a loftier flight than ever flew the boldest heronshaw or bittern; the prairie- fowl and sharp-tailed arouse arc stronger on the wing, wilder and swifter than the best partridge that ever flushed from stubble-field or clover. The names of our ducks are million. The greyhound has become the hound of the chase on the prairie; the falcon, unless we prove sadly false prophets, will soon become more famous in the western world than he was ever in the days of prowest chivalry in Europe, Africa, or Araby. MISS PECKS FRIEND A NOVEL IN TEN CHAPTERS. [Concluded from page 629.] CHAPTER YL IN WHICH A RIVAL IS INTRODUCE). rp HE tournament to which the Pecks I~ and their guests were invited, was the talk not only of St. Judes, but of the neighboring parishes, and preparations on quite a brand scale were being made for its celebration by the originators of the f& e. It was agreed that the chief event of the day should come off at the Oaksan es- tate purchased by the father of the pres- sent owner of Cypress Hall, and the man- sion pulled down to consolidate the pro- perty. The fine old grove still flourished, however, and the sward under its branches was the favorite fete ground of the neigh- borhood: and there were galleries now raised and lists railed in. and tents pitch- ed, to accommodate the sylvan beauties, whose mantua-m kers in the city had their hands full of work and their heads of instructionsand to afford retirement between acts to the gallant knights, whose armor having been manufactured by an enterprising tinnmn under the inspection of a joint committee, had safely arrived, and only awaited the auspicious hour to be donned and dazzle all eyes. The Major learned these particulars of what he called the toonament. fron. Rutridge, and expressed his intense appre- ciation of the fun. By George! he said Id rather be in the galleries, though, or some other safe place, when you young fellows are poking and chasin~ one another. Poke your knight under the ribs, here and by George! if he dont double himself up, he must be less tick- lish than I am. Poke the deuce! Rutridge returned, laughing. Why, Major, its not to be a joust, but what was formerly called a carrousel, and nobody is expected to do more than carry off on his lance point, a ring suspended overhead. After the games are at an end. and the prizes awarded, we will open the ball in 46 Miss Pecks Friend. [July the shade, on the lawn, and continue it as late as you please; and the Major was enlightened. To witness these games and dance at the subsequent fete champ~tre, St. James and St. Matthews lying contiguous, pro- mised numerous guests; and even St. Judes, Berkley, sent its representative to St. Judes, Santee, in the person of Miss EarlMiss Celeste Earlwho caine op- portunely to pay a lona promised visit to her friends at Cypress hall. She was charmed to find them all so gay; it was so very dull in St. Judes, Berkley, and without excitement of some sort it was quite a boreindeed, quite impossible to live: were her words. Of course when a young lady uses an expression of this sort it is not to be taken literally; it was not even what she honestly thought, for the less one wedded to gayety, thinks seriously of life and its uncertainties, the better for the preservation of peace of mind from day to day, and the easier to ignore the inevitable law referred to on the first page of this story. Miss Celeste is not our heroine, and she attempted no more than nine-tenths of her sex have in their allot- ted lifetimeand with about equal success. She danced and flirted, and dressed and was gay, without verbal hinderance; she was pretty and possessed of a little for- tunemore than enough for pin-money after marriageand it may be interesting to her contemporaries to learn, that Ma- dame Mere, who had been intrusted with the finishing of this young ladys educa- tion also took snuff on the occasion of a visit from Mrs. Earl, and affecting to con- sider, remarked: Ma foi, she islet me seeperhaps the very best pensionnaire I have, madame! A speech, however, with the same reflective interruption, she was in the habit of repeating to all the mothers who came to see what progress their daughters made in water-colors and the languages. Besides all which our heroine had beaux in abundance, and was petted and very nearly spoiled at home, and~think was really happyas happy as any of us with the sword of Damocles over our heads can be. Other people died oWas arule others had their day; but a time for Miss Celeste Earl, for pretty, gay, sprightly Celeste Earl, would never arrive. It was in sup- port of this maximwhich she never would have confessedthat at the end of each season, when the reign of bagatelle was over, and white gloves, satin slippers and chaperons, no longer took precedence of every-day subjects of interest, our heroine professed herself not in the least weary of dancing, flirting, and breakfast- ing next morning in bed; and when there were no more parties to attend kissed her aunts all round (dear maiden ladies to the last they had urged her attendance to spiritual matters and helped hook her ball dress), and took her seat in the carria~ e destined to convey her home again to Grange hall, usually with a cake box con- taining lunch, and a package of tracts on the front cushions, latest tokens of anital concern in her welfare. The arrival of Miss Celeste Earl at Cypress Hall infused fresh life into the members of that household; the young ladies, whose reserve made them appear rather quiet people in society, found them- selves inclined to forget of what high and haughty stock they came, in consulting their guests love of pleasure; and the old school Colonel himself brushed up his old school graceshe had been quite a famous beau in his dayand told his obsolete anecdotes with an air of even greater bonhommie than stateliness for the nonce. Mr. Edward too might have yielded to the kindly influence, for there was nothing flippant or capable of offending the nicest stickler for feminine propriety and good sense in Celestes conductand have for- gotten the Pecks to the lasting self-gratu- lation of his sisters. But how forget Miss Rosette? Mademoiselle, it is true, was neither so pretty nor so well informed as Miss Earl in reality; but Rutridge would have thought her twice as much so, had it occurred to him to draw any comparison. He was already in love with the one, and found neither time nor inclination to ascer- tain if the other were not better worth loving. He rather liked Miss Celeste on the whole, chatted with her when they met at table at Cypress Hall, where it was his habit to dine twice or thrice a week, and after that cared no more for her society, until brought together again in the same manner, or solicited by Iletty to escort them on horseback somewhere in the neighborhood, when, if not pre-engaged at Cornhill, he rode over punctually at the hour named. Celeste observed Mr. Edwards indiffer- ence, of course, and felt a little surprised perhaps that her charms were not ~nore esteemed; but vanity and jealousy were not among her frailties, and if Mr. Edward had spent his whole time at Ponpon, or with the Peeks, she would not have been at all piqued by the incivility. She was amused, however, by the frequent refer- ence to Coruhill in J{utridges conversa- tions, and surmised more than was appa- rent to the rest. Who lives at Cornhill? she asked one day of his sisters. The PecksMajor Peck and his fa. 1853.] ifiss Pecks Friend. 47 mily, iletty said; Madame Mere is on a visit there. The PecksI dont know them; Celeste returned; but I suppose there is a Miss Peck whom your brother finds Miss Peck! Hetty cried, lookin0 up from a book with a rather scornful stress on Amelias name. If he goes there often, it is only to make certain of Major P.s vote, you may be sure. And Celeste smiled and yielded the point, but enter- tained her own opinion of the affair, none the less. ChAPTER FIL IN WhICh, AT LAST, ThERE IS A GRAND PASSAGE OF ARMS, AND AN EXTRAORDINARY OCCURRENCE TAKES PLACE. TF the last chapter but one had not pre- pared the mind of the reflective reader for the event common observation might have ~d him to conjecture with Twitty, that nothing could be more likely than rain on a fdte dayespecially on a day devoted to amusements, dancing on the sward, dining off maroon tables, and the like, in the open air. But because the correspond- cut of the Transcript showed prescience above the other parties concerned, there was even less reason for the spiteful allu- siGn to that circumstance made by Miss Amelia in the first outbreak of disappoint- ment, when a short inspection of out-of- window ap arances left hope of nothing better than a cessation of the drizzle then and there obscuring the landscape. I knew how that fog last night would end, she said lachrymosely; I might as well have not put up my hair, for it will all come out before we reach the house, if we are able to go at all. I almost believe that stupid Mr. Twitty put a bad mouth on the day. Why, if it had not been for Mr. Twitty we would not have known what to do in this very case, Rosette answered, in better temper; and as for your curls, Ill show you how to loop them up. I think you will look better too with them in that way, than hanging down in strings. With which crumbs Miss Amy was consoled, and a scant and rather uncertain glimpse of blue sky ap- pearing before their toilettes were com- pleted, they tripped down to breakfast in fine spirits, and assuming to themselves as many other young ladies were doing in the parisha lions share of the days pleasure. The Major, of course, suspected nothing; ne was the most unsuspicious man alive apart from business relations, and saw only what was superficial. But it may be reasonably doubted whether a veteran like Madame Mere in affaires de c~ur, and from the very nature of her pursuits, skilled in the wiles and manouvres of the more youthful of Eves representatives. conjectured an inconsiderable part of the schemes meditated by the Daphn~ and Phillis of this Bucolic. It would be easier to say what Miss Amy did not conjecture than what she did; her castles in the air were always rose-colored by a rising sun, and most of her landscapes spanned by a bow of promiseCupids bow. If Rut- ridge had been the most fervent of lovers. and Miss Amelia the most difficult to win of her sex, the touching scenes she medi- tated, where our friend should fall on one knee and salute her graciously ex- tended hand or in rapturous accents reveal the love he had unavailingly concealed, and sue for encouragement could not have been more romantic or more gratifying to her self-love. Her sketches of this kind wero of course out of all character, and better suited to the era of paladins and passages-of-arms, than the time being, and Mr. Edwards characteristics whose closely trimmed beard became him better, perhaps, than would a fire-eating moustache. But a young lady just emerged from boarding- school, where a prohibition on novel-read- ing amounts to dead-letter, and simple by nature, is not to be wondered at for form- ing the most erroneous views of active life. The reflections of Mademoiselle Were quite of another cast. If Mr. Ilutridge really loved Amelia, and wished to ingra- tiate himself indirectly, as her friend seemed disposed to believe, she could not refuse his confidence, and indeed would gladly embrace an opportunity of hintina to him how uncalled for were his fears. But was it likely such a purpose existed elsewhere than in the imagination of her friend? and then she recalled with deep- ened color, the modulated voice in which our hero invariably addressed her, and much that he had said when they had chanced to be momentarily alone during the few past days. The reflections of Rutridge himself dif- fered little from those of these young ladies. while donning his mock armor in the pavilion appropriated to the use of the knights; and also, when prancing down the lists on his raven-black barb, in full view of the beauty of three parishes, and of Mademoiselle Bonair in particular. No doubt, he thought what a gallant figure he made, and worried the mouth of his mettlesome horse unnecessarily, to make it appear what a masterly rider he was, and to draw the eyes of a certain person upon hins, to the neglect of the other cavaliers. Properly speaking, there 48 Muss Pecks Friend. [July were no other eyes in the whole assembly whose business it was to take special note of our heros style of costume, since its very suggestion was to be found in the depth of his devotion to Mdle. Rosette his surcoat was rose-colored, which, with rosettes on the shoulders alone came near to giving the name in dumb show, and his shield. borne a pace behind by his squire, was adorned with a play upon words Froissart himself might not have despised to chronicle. Le bon chevalier. est le chevalier debonnair, was what the motto said, and Madame read it with the help of an eyeglass, and observed the bit of pennon depending from his lance as like Mademoiselles bonnet ribbons as money and perseverance could procure with a very grim countenance, and fre- quent appeals to the contents of the gift of the Countess her aunt. Rutridge havin~ no opera-glass, how- ever, or having eyes for no one but the occupant of the seat next to Madames. remained happily ignorant of the dissatis- faction apparent in that ladys demeanor. and went on his way rejoicing with such good heart and purpose, that he came off second bestthat is, dispJaced the ring, if he did not carry it quite offin the first course. when the heralds had dropped their avands. and cried. Laissez-aller! precisely as heralds did at real tourna- inents four centuries back. And Mademoi- selle was deflghted of course, and ap- plauded with the rest, and clapped her hands naorc vehemently at Mr. Edwards success than any others. And Miss Amy and herself exchanged glances and whis- pered remarks, which brought all the blondes blood into the region of her face and neck, and made her look very ani- mated and smiling. No. there are thirteen of them. Twittv said, overhearing a remark of Miss Amys, and setting her right; he had found, after some twenty minutes search, where the Pecks were seated, and succeeded in mak- mu his way to the back of their bench. if any one wus capable of affording infor- mation on the subject of the fute, it was the correspondent of the Transcript, who carried a little book and pencil in his vest pocket, which he produced at intervals to note down the incidents of the day. Most of us read his narrative when it appeared. and having once been written about, no- thing special need be said of the games here : it is not the first nor the only time in the progress of this drama that the cap and bells come to be sported in public, and the exigency of the plot does not re- quire much to be made of the event. Heres Mr. Twitty, Rosette cried, lookin6 round at the voice. Good morn- ing, Mr. Twitty; im sure you can tell us all we wish to know; and Mr. Augustus, enjoying a monopoly of the ladies, pre- sently instructed them in all the usages of the lists. That is the Knioht of Richland you- a der. with the yellow surcoat. Twit said: and the one next, with blue and silver housings, is the Knight of St. James Goose Creek; and the cavalier looking this way. and whom no doubt you recognize, the Knight of Ponpon, naeaninu our hero: and so went through the file, as they stood drawn up, preparatory to the final trial of skill. There were knights of parishes, and knights of estates, and knights with fancy titles of their own de- visin ~,, and there was a great show of tin and tinsel, and abundance of costly silks and embroidery besides. And who is Monsieur on the beautiful white horse, almost hidden under his pur- ple trappings? he does not seem to take part in the coursino Mdle. Bonair said. No, that is the Kingat-Arms, Au- gustus ansxvered. Aint the housings splendid? they almost sweep the ground; and holding his stirr~~p, observe, in Ori- ental costume, hishis Moor. The Moor was, perhaps, rather blacker in the face than Moors usually are, and was recog- nized by the Major, notwithstandin his striped drawers and turban, after a stare through Madames glass. By George! its the Hautairs coachman, William. he exclaimed aloud, and asked Twit If with one of his oily laurhs If hed ever heard before of a Moor named William! But now all eyes were attracted to the lists by the usual blast of trumpets, and the heralds crying Laissez-aller; there was a great deal of galloping about, and applauding. and excitement, and dust after which. lo! the Knight of Ponpon was declared to have won the prize. and the right of selecting the Queen of Beauty. The Knight of Ponpon rode slowly down the lists, with erected lance, cycing the gallery, and causing much speculation and palpitation of heart among the fair tenants of the seatswas the language of T~vits report; and no doubt Viator was rieht in his conjecture, for our hero, although not averse to the society of Mademoiselles, was not one of those universal adorers called ladies men; and who would be queen for the remainder of the day was not easy to determine. Miss Amelia Peck blushing scarlet, and all in a sweet tremor, of course felt confident of the approaching honor; Miss Rosette did not think of herself at ally and Madame took snuft and lent a wary eye to what was going on, and kept her suspicions to herself, it happened that inamediately below the 1853.] 3fiss Pecics Friend. 49 Pecks, in the front row, the party from Cypress hall occupied seats, and it was before these that our knight faced about, hesitated so long as half a minute perhaps, with his lance point quivering in air, and hit of ribbon of Mademoiselles pattcrn flutterin~ from it, and finally saluted seine one with the extremity. while numberless snowy necks were stretched to distinguish who the fortunate beauty might be. Why, surely he does not intend it for me, Miss Celeste Earl said, looking to- wards Jietty with surprise in her face, and feeling a great inclination to laugh at the oddity of the thing. And then she colored in spite of herselg and made a graceful inclination, in the midst of a storm of cheers, and might have observed that Mr. Edward, too, appeared ~reatly dis- composed, and was bitin~ his lip in a way evincing little happiness or self-applause, if her attention had not been drawn off by the gratulations of her host. Ned has an eye an artist mi~ht be proud of. By George! the fellow might have looked the country over, and made a worse choice, Ilutridge senior ejaculated, highly delight- ed, and leaning over to address Celeste. And her two friends echoed the sentiment, and seemed equally pleased, especially Miss Jietty, who saw in the choice a com- plete refutation, as she thought, of the surmise with which the last chapter con- cluded. But neither the Colonel, nor Miss Iletty, nor the queen of heauty elect would have experienced half the pleasure in the simple act performed by Mr. Edward, could they have know-n how it was brought about; and it may even be reasonably doubted whether, in the event of such knoxvledge, Miss Earl would have shown her sense of the courtesy in any other way than by an indignant glance ; for, if it is not a very Christian feeling, it is a very human one, to wish to play second fiddle to nobody. Madame Mere had not slept at her post, as has been just hinted, and saw where the lance would be likely to point but for her intervention. So Madame, at the critical moment when our hero wheeled his horse in front of their position, pr.o- fessed herself suddenly overcome by the heat, and bade Rosette, in French, search 2or her scent-bottle, which must have slipped out of her pocket, she said, un- der the benches; and while Mamselle was eagerly engaged in that duty, assisted by Twitty, Rutridge was sitting, baffled and blushing. and gnawing his lip, below; anti, furious at the delay and disappoint- ment, and casting his eyes a little lower, where sat his sisters guest, conferred on her, out of necessity and indifference, the honor intended for Miss Bonair. VOL. mm.4 And only to think, Amelias mamma exclaimed, on their way home in one of the carriages, Melys so fond of you, Mrs. Mere, she could hardly keep from crying when you felt overcome. ChAPTER VIII. IN wmcu THE BATTLE JIEGINS, AND TIlE STOaT GAINS IN INTEREST. Tux day had been shoxvery and bright by turns at the Oaks; not enough of the first to dampen the spirits or finery of either actors or spectators, but sufficient- ly wanting in sunshine to leave the sward unfit for the proposed f6te champ~tre. To Cypress hall, therefore, as the nearest and most conunodious mansion, the sup- plies were reconveyed, and the lamps hung among the trim groves of cedar and orange, and interspersed through the shrubbery in the rear of the house, wherever the gravel walks allowed pro- menading. Thq old-fashioned rooms look- ed their best with fresh bouquets in the vases, the holland covers off the drawing- room furniture, and the great chandelier lighted only on state occasionsre- splendent with wax tapers and visible from the carriage drive in front. Even Madame, who had seen the Bourbons and Paris, admired the effect, while descending from the Peck equipage, supported by the heir of the Manor. Eh bien, Monsieur, we are all here, Madame then s~ id, except Bijon and Amelias mamma who staid behind to al- low the major to gallant me, I believe. Mrs. Ps at home with a headache from eating too much cake at the toon. - ment this morning, the plain-spoken Major said, emerging in his turn from the interi or. Mademoiselle fbllowed, and lastly Miss Peck, to whom Rutridge, helping her out, was forced to offer his arm; and the Major having tucked that of the little brunette jocularly under his, our hero be~ged to escort the elder French lady, who however declined time honor, and fell back on her accredited beau. Par si bbte, Moesiema, she exclaim- ed, courtesying, when young folks get together I know very well whos de trop, a speech which ~ent blonde Amnelia blush- ing up the steps, and our hero, who per- ceived Madames policy ima time measure. too 1,ovoloed to exert himself to be agree- able. That m~de little difference to his partner, however who lmaving had her cry omit in the morning. and found time to sup- pose some sufficient reason for the Knight of Ponpomas choice, now hung upon his arm and listened to what words were gra- ciously allowed to escape his lips, with rapt delight; and so smiling and happy did she appear, and colored so often, and 50 Miss Pe,elcs Friend. [July bashfully smelt at her bouquet so much, that even Mr. Edward, who had eyes for only Mademoiselle, and was withal a modest enough young fellow, began to conjecture the truth, and to feel at first wonder and then vexation, and finally honest pity for his friend Twitty, and for the inexperienced simpleton on his arm. Confound it! he thought, glancing at Miss Amy, I dont recollect the least thin since our acquaintance began which might warrant such a construction; why, if I have not positively avoided her, ive done pretty much the sa~i~e,in showing decided liking for Miss ]3onairs society. This unlucky mistake she has fallen into thou~h, mustnt continue, or Ill be pre- sently stigmatized as a monster by all the females of the parish, and Miss Peck con- doled with and canonized. if the poor girl proves to be really in love, I must find some way of undeceiving her as gen- tly as I may. I cannot help pityin~ her too, in spite of her sillihess. for I know how I should feel to find Ilosettebut no, thats too unlikely to suppose. It was probably this reflection, which he drove from his thoughts, though, or as likely, the sympathy of a generous dispo- sition with unavoidable misfortunemis- fortune understand, to be incurred at his fiat; Jack Ketch shaking hands amica- hlv with the prisoner, before drawin~ the eCit ! which lent unusual modulation to the voice of our friend in his further small talk with Miss Amelia. And, alas! that young lady, unaware of the treacherous ground she was treading gayly, became more blindly enamored, and less solicitous to conceal her emotion, every moment; not that she did any thing in the least out- rageousogled Rutridge, or even fur- tively squeezed his hand,but there are so many ways, more imperative than op- tional with simple people, of displaying tender regard. that our hero began to feel disturbed. Theres Twitty, Miss Peck, he meditated exclaiming, dying for you and cruelly treated I niust say. And let me bicak it as humanely as circuin stances per mit I can t love you, indeed I could not e~ en if my whole heart were not occupied lxx our sweet friend yonder shall I mu and bring you a glass of water ? but r~ he put nothing of this sort into Ian na e nor even uttered aloud his wish th it the confounded quadrille was ove Mi s Arrielia construed his absence and silence into evideuces of grow- iiig passion. and pictured our heroshall we say it ?oniy awaitino a fitting op- portunity to fall on his knees and pro- pose with the usual accompaniment of romantic protestations. While this by-play s in progress, various events of more or less importance to the unity of this book, were transpiring in different parts of the room. 1\Jadame and Mademoiselle had been met on their entrance by Miss Ilutridge. and welcomed with the ease and absence of any thing like hauteur natural to a well-bred wo- man. Madame was grandly affableher interview with the father of our hero. hiimself as we know, an old school gen- tleman distinguished in his day for gal- lantry, was worth a ride from Cornhill to Cypress hall to witness; and whether it was that the old-time elaborate graces of the French lady, recalled incidents long pass- ed, and people whose tombstone pane- gyrics began to wax mouldy and hard to read, or that supposing Madanie by note and position less entitled to consideration than others in the ioonis, the urbane host chose to show most attention where less would have sufficedand that as much out of jealous regard, be it noted, for the self-respect of every guest who sat or eat in his house, as from the right royal con- viction that a liutridge, sir, may talk to whom he pleases, by George! and the man, sir, whoever he be becomes lifted to niy social level pending that interview certain it is that Madame Mere was won- derfully won on by the conversation and compliments of the lineal representative of the Governor, and smirked and com- plimented in turn; and when left enthron- ed upon the sofa, heaved a sigh of unu- sual volume and lapsed into a fit of run- sing. Yet Madame was not in love with the Lor(i of the Manorwidower thonob lie a was ;hier hey-day of life hind gone by forever, aiid when she sighed her glance rested not upon her host, but upon Ro- sette and her constant Edward who had but that moment escaped from the senti- mental blonde, and with a bright face, was in the act of offering Mademoiselle a flower from the vase at her elbow. The fingers of the young people came into momentary contact, and if the back of Mademoiselles head were only distin- guishable. the change in position of that. showed that her eyes were instantly raised to hiutridges and as quickly dropped. But our heros countenance was open to observation and easily read, and had it been the book this figure likens it to, xvould no doubt have contained iiothing but love verses; there was no mistaking the subdued fire in the eyes, the ear- nestness, the slight quiveriiig about the corners of thie handsome enough mouth, in saying some trifling compliment, h)er- haps. Madame nOtice(l and recognized cvery tIming, rubbed her nose impatiently, sighed, averted her glance, and considered 1853.11 fffrs Pecks Friend. 51 what a nobleman in deportment, what a fine old gentleman the senior of the house appeared, and how the major part of his estatea German principality in extent would fall to the portion of his son and heir, now conducting MIle. Rosette to the opposite room. ostensibly to turn over to- ~e ther the proof-plates of Audubon lying in their appropriate rack. I wish Madame said to herself and felt for her snuffhox, which she had taken the precaution to leave in her drawer at home. The search distracted her thoughts, or she chose to leave the aspi- ration unfinished even in the privacy of her breast; for she briskly engaged in conversation with a lady wearing a large comb and scant front hair, on the nei0h- boring ottoman. Were the pair over the portfolio in the corner really admirin~ the plumage of the birds and their life-likeness? Miss Amy would have sighed tenderly as often as she saw the likeness of a dove. Rutridge said, I wish very much to show you how pretty a summer-house my sisters have in the shrubberywhen the gravel dries. Would you like to see it? What a funny little bird! said Ma- demoiselle. I wish I had one of the kind to perch on my finger like my cana- ry. Yes, I should like very much to see the summer-house; is it like a ruin? Nomore American than that. Its a rustic shed completely overrun with roses. They are all in bloom nowthats why I wish you to see them. Is that whyreally and truly? Ro- sette mused but she said only Oh! softly, and drooped her pretty head more over the drawings. Mademoiselle our hero resumed after a little pause filled by observation of the sketches, you are so intimate with Miss Peck, I suppose you can tell better than any one. My friend Twitty there, is the most desperately enamored man lever sawI believe the poor fellow would go throu0h fire and water to gain his end he certainly would write any number of poems. Do you think he has the shadow of a chance? The shadow of a chance? Mademoi- selle murmured, looki% up with surprise and down a~ain with a slight increase of color. Yes, I mean is there much likelihood of his suit with Miss Peck prospering? Not much, I am afraid the brunette returned without any hesitation, but with her face still bent over the porfolio. Per- haps none, she added. at all events not now. Then Im very sorry for him ~~was ~he response; and there was a vague me- lancholya melancholy of sympathyin his voice that touched the little French heart near him. Are you in ~ she said almost tremulously would you feel no inclina- tion to laugh at Mr. Twitty for failure? People laugh always at the unsuccessful, you knowespecially in affairs of this sort. I know Edward replied and I mightyes, I might show as little con- cern perhaps, ifbut somebody approach- ed here, with a polite bow and smile Will Miss Bonair, he said, honor me this dance? Miss Bonair gave a half pro- mise, my dear fellow, which must excuse the intrusion. Oh certainly our hero returned with hypocritical good humor for he was wishing the speaker in Guinea; and Miss Bonair finding no excuse at hand for de- clininghad there been, out of compla- cence to our friend, we may suppose she would have given his company the pre- ference, independent of a little anxiety to hear him outrose from before the port- folio and accepting the arm of her partner elect, was led away to make a fourth couple in the next room. Rutridge ob- served the unaffected ease of the accept- ance, even the manner in which she took her perfumed handkerchief with the flower lie had given her from the adjacent table, in going, and the prettiness of the dimi- nutive hand, and how neatly gloved it was, resting on his rivals arm; from which ob- jects his eyes wandered to the quasi rival himselfrather cynically, it must be ad- mitted. What a confounded coxcomb Joynes has become !he has as many graces as a merry-andrew, was his criti- cism, although poor Joynes w~ s only giv- ing Mademoiselle a carnation to keep the one she had in countenance, and present- ed it with not one-half the grimaces that had accornp nied the first. Mr. Edward not only allowed Made- moiselle to be taken from him but failed to provide himself with any other partner until the quadrilles were complete. Hey not dancing ?a young fellow like you ought to be up in every fig~ire the Ma- jor encountered hi,n with, while skirting the circumference of a set, which of the four occupying the floor, it is scarcely worth while to mention. I was chatting pleasantly and neglect- ed making a choice, Rutridge answered smiling. Aba! and somebody stepped up and asked her to dance, quoth the Major rubbing his palms briskly. Me and my friend here xvouldnt have been cut out in that style in our day. Deuce take it! Ill be bound, sir, you might recall your cx- 52 Miss Pecks Friend. [July periences with much profit to this young gentleman. Ned has a fancy for doing as he likes generallyhe was a spoilt boy before he wore ~ was the easy enough an- swer of his friend, who being notorious- ly hot and testy, might have astonished the worthy merchant elsewhere than at Cypress Hall, by giving him to understand what he thought of his familiarity. Monsieur will find a vacant seat here if he is in search of one, was spoken be- hind him a little farther on; and our hero accordingly sat down by Madame. Its better to be next her than oppositeshe uses her eyes to too much pnrpose,~~ Rut- ridge reflected, making the best of the capture, and I believe Id rather be where I can see the sweet face yonder than on the other side, if nearer. Monsieur is absent, Madame uttered pleasantly, what accident can have left him hors du corniat U and Rutridge ex- plained; while conversing with the young lady a friend claimed her handtoo late to look elsewhere and so forth. Ab, Mr. Twitty is quite a Reynard but you should not grudge him his tri- umph, for see how he enjoys himself there. Mr. Edward glanced at the correspond- ent of the Transcript, who was making ex- tensive use of his lower limbs at the mo- ment, flourishing up this way and down that with an endeavor to appear uncon- cerned in front of three vis vis, of whom Miss Amelia was one. I have not been near Miss Peck for half an hour at least, he ansxvered with a half laugh. Madame laughed too. Mafoi, no, she said, I know that very well, I sent Mr. Joynes myself to look after flosette. Dancing is a healthy exercise for young people. What irreverent epithet our hero men- tally coupled with Madame thereupon. need not be mentioned here, althou~h Madame herself being a shi 3wd observer may have guessed pretty near the truth; he merely repliedsomething mere dryly than his wont perhapsreferring to the last ic- m k. Im glad you think so, Madame, for Mademoiselle promised just now to dance with ms the two next sets, by way of recompense for this. Queue saoruse, the old Frenchwo man rejoined with a shrug lick had more impatience in it than was usual with her, perhaps; and shocked the Major who had possessed himself of an empty chair on her right, by a running fire of sarcasm aimed at the company at large; they were all grandees to old Peck. Confound her tongue! the lover se- cretly ejaculated, leaning back in his chair with a dismal face. She manages to put me out of humor with myself if I listen to but six words. I cant account for it. And then the detestable way she has of hinting her disapproval of my attentions to her wardas if I cared a straw for her good will. Id rather possess it, to be sure. I believe I would have liked her very well, but for her intermeddlingand would have taken some pains to secure her consent; but does she suppose my inclination is to be entirely controlled by hers? Ii cant endure this anxiety longer, thats certain; and, by Jove! although its in my own houseor my fathers, which is much the sameI must learn if Ma- dames innuendoes point to any thing, or are entirely superfluous, and leave me free to push my suit. With these words our hero with the elasticity of a happy temperament, dismiss- ed the cloud from his brow and heart; but another reason may be assigned for the brightenin~ of his countenance, name- ly, that a certain piquant little figure was just then chassezin~ before him, and look- ed at hima brief instant, no morewith the same pathos in the eyes he bad no- ticed the day preceding. She is observing me, at least, was his construction; it was no accidental gknce. Perhaps she did not think to encounter mine so abruptly, but there was surely meanina of some kind in the look, independent of that. I wish I could read her mind, he thought, follow- ing the receding fairy with wistful eyes; and blushed from pleasure noticing only his flower in her handshe was smiling at the moment, and Joynes seemed mak- ing some remark. First, Mademoiselle laughed, and looked about apparently fo~ its matethen shook her head, and pulled out a petalit was like pulling at his heart-strings ! Then she assented to something, and gave the unlucky flower to Joynesyes, absolutely presented it with a little courtesy to that confounded coxcomb, Joynes, and poor Edward groan- ed in heart; but presently Joynes re- turned it, and she secured the treasure under her brooch, and our hero could have shaken hands with her partner, who was a deucedly gentlemanly fellow there- upon; moreover, he felt inclined to laugh at himself for being so moved by a trifling circumstance the moment before, and was in high spirits altogether. And then the fiddler in chief gave a final scrape of his bow and the quadrille sets dissolved and a voice at Rosettes elbow murmure(l, Would Mademoiselle like to look through tIme rest of the portfolio? and that gen- tlemanly fellow Joynes surrendered his charge accordingly. But whatever inclination Mademoiselle may have had to return to the drawings 1853.] Miss Pecks Friend. 53 and interrupted topic, the Fates OI)PO5Cd n the person of the lord of the Manor who at this juncture made an agreeable pro- posal to the company there assembled namely, that they should carry out the wginal plan ef the fete charnpCftre by ~uppin~ in the open air. The sun shone long enough to make the gravel in the shrubbery as dry as the carpet, under the trees. By George! he liked a frolic him- self sometimes, and he was for having the maroon tables his carpenters had pre- pared for the Oaks, set out of doors, and every one lending a hand in the decora- tion of the board, as if it had been a fete champ~tre from the hymning the fine old gentleman said and every body was of course delighted. Id like to take command of the re- cruits myself. their host answered a sug estion to that effect. but Im not act- ive enough. Theres Mr. Edward Jr., though, who know-s where every things to be nOt, and may be made generally useful. So Mr. Edward Jr. was soon on active duty, and except that he refresh- ed his eyes from time to time. while in- specting wine, and seeing to the unpack- m0 of the baskets brought from the Oaks, with the sight of Mademoiselle, on her knees with other damsels, upon a square of carpet spread in a by-path, compos wreaths and bouquets from a heap ~f fresh flowers in the midst, he might as well have been, as until lately he was. ~hvided from his angel by a wall of brick and mortar. Does any one suppose all the wiles and manmuvrings of Madame could avail in keeping those two young people apart, when the arrangements were completed and all taking their places at the table? Every body knows whom the ~ods wish to destroy they first affect with blind- ness; and our friends passion had so grown and spread abroad in his breast by this time, that the shadow of it in some measure darkened his discretion, and gave occasion to Rosettes mamma, more (han once to feel scandalized by his devo- tion. His senior also commented after this manner:1 hope that boy of mine wont carry his flirtation too far with the little actress, or whatever she is. By George! I must warn the fellow after sup- per to take care or shell be in love with him. and then theres only one course open to a gentlemanif hes a duke he must marry her. or forfeit his self-es- teem. And Miss lletty, whose position at ta- ble enabled her to observe what passed, which Miss Harriets, luckily, did not, entertained a like opinion, and took occa- sion to offer a little kindly advice to her brother. I know you dont mean any thing serious, she said, but dont you think you had better not make such a show of being devoted to Mademoiselle? Youre not a handsome fellow, Ned (sis- ters are so cmdid), but ire love you, and somebody else might be led to, and you would be sorry indeed if that were the end of your flirtation, Im sure. Would I? Mr. Edward responded with a short laub. who was both flat- tered and vexed by the speech; you should know better than to suppose me such a flirt as all that, Ilett. 1 thought you were pleased with Mademoiselle? So I amI think her a very amiable, well-behaved, little French girl. Hem! tittered our lovem~. Id like to know why. But Hetty cut short his ~rumblimg Poli, dont ask stupid ques tioiis, now, she sai(l, smiling, wait till these people go. Do go, now, and offer your arm to that disconsolate Miss Peek standing alone there. Why, Ive talked with her two mor- tal hours, already I poor Rutridge cried. But he went, nevertheless, and Amelias face was all blushes and smiles as they- turned down one of the lanes between walls of trimly cut olives. But alas for the woe-begone countenance which emerg- ed from the same green archway, some fifteen or twenty minutes later! it was not a triumphal arch she passed under now, but sub lmetstas: and Twittys arm it was she leaned on, although Mr. Ed- ward walked at her side. What had occurred meantime? Had her gay Lothario spoken with pointed- ness and tact enough to convince her of the folly of relying on his affection, and yet leave no opening for recrimination or blame to any soul but herself? Had her lifes young dream been dissipated like a whiff of morning mist? Who can tell: the hedge bordering the walk was dense enough to retain a whisper and the major part of the guests were rambling elsewhere through the extensive grounds. Moreover, if the above be the true explanation, shame alone would ev- er after restrain any inclination to divulge it, on the part of Miss P.; and Rutridge seldom talked of his experiences with the sex. Twitty knew most about this presumed episode, or improvised tra~ie scene in the drama of life; if he had not been be- hind the scenes, he had lifted one corner of the drop-curtain, which refuses to rise on the rest of our audience. When Rut- ridge, at his sisters dictation, offered his arm and society, Twitty had gone in search of Amelias scarf, and made his appear- ance after a protracted search for the ow~ Al7ss Pecks Friend. [July er, with it in his hand. Miss Peck was a~itated and Rutridge glum; even Twit could perceive that much, and put his own construction on it. lies been offering himself to her and has been jilted, he thought, with an odd, mixture of jealousy, wonder, and delight. But the last sensation prevailing, he was exceedingly chatty and agreeable, and had the field all to himself during the remainder of their walk, which termina- ted at the central plat of sward occupied by the tables, where our hero excused himself. By Jove! he said with a huge sense of relief; when fairly oW I wouldnt go throu~h such an ordeal again for all the old grocer is worth. It was a deuced delicate piece of diplomacy, and I think, on the whole, got through with credit. I feel equal to inditing a protocol, or out- manceuvring Madame herself. Madame, meantime, having taken due note of Mr. Edwards exodus with Ame- lia. and havin~ seen her Rosette in com- pany of other beauless young ladies, saun- tering through the greenhouse, had dis- missed her cares, and given herself up to gossip with an old acquaintance and pat- roness. But the party of whom Made- moiselle was one, did not long remain uni- ted; one or two rambled away in linked sweetness, talking secrets, of course; one or two botanized or climbed among the exotics; and Mademoiselle stole out alone, attracted by the prettiness of a little lake or pond near by, and skirting it, in time came to a rustic arbor, very secluded, very cool, and very like the description given of it by our hero. That enamored young gentleman him- self appeared almost immediately, to con- firm her conjecture; he had caught sight of the white muslin skirt, and recognized the airy little figure, at I know not what incredible distance. Isnt it a pretty place? he said. and are not these roses and honeysuckles delightful, Made- moiselle? They certainly were, to one of the occu- pants of the summer-house, sweeter, it might be, than he had ever known roses before; as odoriferous as he had always fancied them bordering the walks in Ma- dames grounds frequented by his Rosette. Love is such a magician ! Which of us has quite forgotten the days when we went gypsying. and who our Rosette was. and how she looked in that cottage bonnet and pink dress, emulating her blushes. Per- haps, as we glance back, we even marvel how such rare devotion caine to be in- spired by the insipid and now, alas! pas- s~e wearer of the pink dress of former days, still occupying the pew under the gallery to which we repaired with such Christian regularity on Sundays. Or we have our helpmate, who writes up our ac- counts, or copies our MSS., or sympathi- zes in our troubles, or in any or all ways, performs the part of an exemplary wife, and is loved as she deserves to be better and more faithfully, perhaps, than our boyish sweetheart; but it may chance in pleasant spring weather that the heart travels back a great way, and we recall the charm of that extravagant first love, and smell the very fragrance of the wild flowersit seemed to be evolved from her pink dress, we well remember !as we used to do. Happy he, who has need re- member no further than the companion watchin~ his countenance with fond eyes, and smilingly conscious if he muse of a pink dress evolvin bswcets, it must of ne- cessity be hers; from whom there is no- thing to hidenot even the canonized sweethearts he loved, three at a time, in schooldays, for she knows a month was an age for constancy with him then, and he has been constant to hershe has to count on her fingers how many years! Mademoiselle thought they were de- lightful too, or said as much. This was no very long step towards solvin~ the question each wished to propose, but Mr Edward passed the Rubicon at the next stride. Let me make you a bouquet all these flowers for one in exchangethe one under your brooch, Mademoiselle. You will throw it away soon, I dare say wont you give it to me? he said. Why, Monsieur presented it himself; it was never worn by Mlle Amy, the brunette cried with a little laugh, deter- mined to ignore every thing. Do you think I care for Miss Peck? do you really believe it? our friend said almost reproachfully; moreover he said it in a tone which must have carried more meaning than the words, for a red spot showed in Rosettes cheek. I thought it not unlikely she be- gan. But you doubted it sometimesI am almost sure you do now altogether. You must not talk soindeed you mustnt, Rosette said with sudden loss of color. Dont bid me remain silent, or my heart will be unable to sustain the weight, Rutridge cried eagerly, and with growing earnestness; hear me out, and forget this unseasonable time and place. I might have waited, and hoped every thing, but I can no longer endure the misgivings Ma- dames allusions cause. Do you know what I mean ?docs Madame jest at my ex- pense ~ Madame would not do so; oh receive her warning in time! she exclaimed hur 1853.] Miss Pecks Friend. 55 riedly, looking at Rutridge with a beseech- in~~ thee. Warning! poor RutridDe uttered in dismay, and his lips quivered in token of the struggle within. Do you not love Amelia? Try to do so at least: she will not be hard to win, Amelias friend faltered. Oh Mademoiselle you cannot convince me by such counsel you are blind to my passion. Only once in a lifetime can one love as I doand with ray whole soul I love only you. For two long years I have done so without your knowledge, without even the sanction of your ac- quaintance, and I dont ask now to be told you love me, but only to be given hope hope, without which life itself will be in- tolerable! I will do any thing, be any thing. go any where you wish; say you may love me, and may he mine at some day, and all the world cannot keep us apart, our hero cried, and in the fervor of this avowal, having taken both unre- sisting hands in his, Rosette without a syllable drew them from his ~rasp now, and hiding her face between the little white palms, sobbed aloud. All men better than savages are moved by a womans tearshow much more a lover. I have pained you by my vehe- menceheaven knows how undesigned- ly, he exclaimed in a voice of anguish. But Rosette raised her face at the words, that pretty face still wet with tears, and murmured: Dont say sodont think so! I have pained you deeply, and it is for me to be wretched. My heart aches to think I have ever unconsciously encouraDed your affectionsuch affection, too! I under- stand, I feel how great it is. Oh that you had never loved menever seen me whom you must see no more.~~ Then the worst I have imagined is true, our unhappy friend groaned out; oh leave nothin0 to doubt; remember all I have at stake, and tell me plainly what wall divides us. Can I not surmount it ?will time accomplish nothinD ?can I not overthrow it entirely? Hush ! I will tell you allit is not much, Mademoiselle made answer. Three years ago I was a child without protec- tion, without money or friends, flying from my native land; my last relative, a child still younger, died in my arms from a gunshot wound a little before, and my own life was threatened, or I thought it was. One day on my dreary journey to the coast, I encountered a fugitive also, who recognized me by my likeness to my mother, whom he had known. He took the tenderest care of me: he knew where Madame M~re lived, and bro%ht me safely to America, and then retraced his steps to Switzerland. there to await the proper time to return, as every French- man must, to the France from which he was exiled. Before he went, I pro- mised him my handsecretly, but with Madames knowled_acould I do ~ You promrnsed, but do you love him? You have not said you love hini, Rut- ridge pleaded, catching at any thing like hope. If you had met me before Oh Monsieur ! Rosette interrupted, sadly, he is txventy years my senior, but I love him, for he is very noble at heart. And it is wrong to ask what might have beenwe can never be more to each other than nownever, never She spoke the last words slowly and almost inaudibly: to Rutridge they were like the tollin~ of a funeral bell, and smote separately on his heart. Does she love me and hide it from herself? he thought hurriedly one moment, watching the tears trickle between the fingers clasp- ed tightly over her eyes; but the thought died away in the reverberation of the last solemn never. All was buried; there was a fresh gravethe first onewhere we all have occasion to make many before being carried out ourselves to be sepul- chred. And this was the reward of our heros constancy for tuo whole years! how ilet- ty would have laughed, and hlatty drawn up her head superbly, and his hot-headed sire stormed, to learn that an alliance with a Rutridge had been declined by a little French brunette ! But the brunette boasted to nobody of her triumph, and Mr. Edward kept his own counsel. ChAPTER IX. IN WHiCH ~IIE AUDiENCE ARE DIVIDED NETWEED TEAlIS AND LAUGHTER. RuTaIne ~, poor fellow, walked forth from the unlucky summer-house with a sense of utter misery, that communicated a dismal hue to every thing around. It was nothing to him that the moon already in the heavens gave promise of a light more suitable to lovers than the artificial glare of the lamps; that the lately eulogiz- ed roses and honeysuckles were as fra- grant as ever: it is questionable whether he even smelled them at all. Let us part heretwo such pale faces had better not be seen together,Made- moiselle said, with a very faint smile, a few paces from the arbor; and their a(lieiix were made on the spot, if with some constraint, at least with as much emotion as ever true lovers should. It muight have been five minutes, or less, after their choice of different paths, that our hero came unexpectedly upon Ma- 56 Miss Pecks Friend. danr~ s~so alone, and looking about her witn the ~erenity of a mind at ease. Per- haps it a as this contrast of calmness, or con~ciausness of his own unnerved con- ~it on oi the remembrance of Madames mtCiI~Aence, that caused him to turn off at r~ht angles into a bed of tulips, rather than encounter the ironical speeches of the old Frenchwoman; but whichever of the~~ was the motive, when the next alley va~a attained, he had changed his purpose and presented himself before the imper- turbable Prioress, at its juncture with the first. Me z~oici ! cried Madame. counter- feitin0 great dignity. So it was Mon- sieur who disappeared just now by the lime-tree yonder. May I ask where Mademoiselle Bonair is, since Monsieur has parted from Mademoiselle Peck? You are right, Madame, our unhappy friend replied, speaking perforce in short sentences. I was with Mademoiselle a moment ago near the pond. 111cm! in the summer-house? Rosettes mamma said, raising her eyebrows in token of dis- al)proval, and Rutridge inclined his head, paused, and then said with tolerable steadiness, I may never find the oppor- tenita ao~ain of telling you that I am sen- now of your kindness, Madame I ~hom ht it moroseness an hour ago. mink on for attempting to save me the ice- I have since sufibred. With which ~ned words and a chokii~ sensation in ~m, 0-mt the speaker bowed and strode llafoi! he has made Rosette tell him len ~ -ell-spoken, well-meaning young mm an and would not have made a bad nasbi-id it makes me feel for him like in o d fool as I am, Madame solilo- quized and applied the corner of her hand- o~m ef to her eyes, and shook her pen- sornpinre cap dolorously as she pursued hem amble. ~ ow as on the hoards, farce follows close upon tragedy. and the griefs of 11am- let are put out of mind by the mimicry of Yankee Hill; so in real life doe5 it now and then fall out that a sober thinker like Madame More is confronted by an appa- ritiou such as our literary friend Twitty presented on this especial occasion. Viators uncovered hair, generally well brushed and smooth enough, was much disordered, and twisted in two places, as from a half-matured purpose of tearing it out by the roots; his stock also (he al- ways wore a stock) was awry-, and his eyes frenzied; he was quite a savage ob- jectand so Madame exclaimed in French and desired to know what he umeant by gaspin~ in that way at a lady. Twit, however, had words for nobody; [July he had evidently encountered his ancient enemy without purpose or wish, and rid himself of her company so expeditiously that the question was lost upon him. That young man has stolen somethin ~ spoons from the tablespas 2 pas on va bien loin; Madame muttered with great gravity, and having watched the culprit out of sight, directed her observation to the alley from which he had emerged in such dreadful haste. No less a person than Miss Amelia Peck it was that ap- peared slowly advancing, her former dis- consolate looks greatly enhanced by a pair of rather red eyes. Parole (ihonneur! cried Madame. with the freedom of a late mistress, has that bate been offering himself to you, child? id like to see him try! Miss Amelia uttered vengefully, and immediately re- lapsed into tears. Pooh pooh! don~t spoil your complex- ion in that way. Madame returned im- patiently. If he said nothing, hes wiser than I gave him credit for! He insulted me, Amy said between sobs; she sobbed and spoke by the way in an undertone to avoid eavesdroppers. Hehetold me I wasin love with somebodyand that he would not rest till he had found out who it was. What he said was all false; and hes no gentleman! was Madames brief comment. Dry your eyes, Amelia, my dearand dont have people making reniarks when we enter the house. Its time to call round the carriage, if I can manage to find where the Major has gone to take his nap. Perhaps Miss Amelia, in the excitement of her feelings, had made out a rather stronger case than strict adherence to truth required. Mr. Augustus Twitty was so far from insulting or intending to insult her, that he paid, in his estimation. the highest compliment it was in the pow- er of manhow much more of a poet to pay a lady, in the offer of his namc and prospects; and about the time our proper hero was urging his suit in the arbor by the fish-pond, Viator was on his knee upon the flinty gravel, assailing the heart of Miss Peck, with the eloquence of one skilled in the use of the English tongue, and not unacquainted with French. But as if the misguided and infatuated Augustus were urged on by his evil genius, of all hours and days in the year he could have chosen for his purpose. the worst was certainly that in which Miss Amelias affections had been cruelly tramimpled upon; and that young lady, with the instinct of a feeble nature had accord- ingly turned upon Twitty, in place of her- 1853.] Miss Pecks Friend. 57 seig as the likely cause of all. She was sure he had wheedled Rutridge into ad- vancing his interests at the cost of his own; perhaps. she thought it more than likely he had appealed to his friends honor in his behalf. How she did despise him! she wished she had never taken his arm! When therefore Augustus, introducing the subject of his passion in a sequestered spot, fell upon his knees, unhappy Miss Peck was at once confirmed in her sus- picions. If you dont get up, sir. Ill call out for Major Peck ! she exclaimed at each break in his serpent speech, and turning very red in the face and neck, finally burst into tears. Oh, you you H she cried, losing momentary control over her indignation, and remnovin~ her handkerchief to dart a glance at poor Twitty, who remained kneeling. but looking aghast and dismay- ed. II hate you. I cant abide the sight of you. Id rather marry aaany body else! and turning her back on him, went away drying her eyes. On which occasion it was that poor Twit, awakening from a lon cherished dream, essayed to pluck out his hair by hand- fuls; after which demonstration, he rushed madly to the stables, ordered his horse saddled, with what words he could command, and galloped over to Ponpon, where his friend on his return found him shut up in his chamber. Mr. Edward, however, was sufficiently occupied with his own griefs to bestow little thought or Ian~uage on his guest, beyond an inquiry where he was, and if he wished any thing before going to bed; but he read next mornin_ a note left on the hall table, with no little wonder andeven in his then bitter moodwith something of the sym- pathy of fellowship. Twit said his prospects for life were blighted; fame would now be worthless to him; little had he foreseen the preci- pice yawning, and so forth; that he would probably sink into an early tomb and be forgotten; and finally asked forgiveness for his unceremonious departure; for he felt he would be unable to converse calmly with one who had so lately parted from HER, and who, he had reason to fear had (undesignedly) stood between him and happiness. A week after the above, the literary columns of the Transcript were headed with a poem entitled. The Early Doomed; and within a fortnight fol- lowed those touching stanzas copied (by request) into the mornin~ papers, To a False One. Rutridge read both produc- tions, and laughed somewhat scornfully. Poor Twitty, he said, he wont be in- urned quite as soon as his note foreboded. Indeed the poet of the Transcript had given over his purpose of exchanging his sprig of laurel for funereal cypress; he wrote verses and published them (gratu- itously) in various papers and magazines, and in time printed a volume of choice poems, from which he still entertains hopes of lasting fame. ChAPTER X. mx WHICH oca azzo snows hIMSELF A SIAN, AND ma SAD END OF MISS PECK S FRIEND IS aEcor.DED. TIME, the great consoler, poured wine and oil into the wounds of others also, of the personages of this history, who fell by the way. Miss Amelia Peck quar- relled, the night of the fete, with her friend and chumby which is meant, talked at her, for poor Rosette was too sad to be roused into retortingin a way that. coming to Madames ears, next mornings caused her to cut short the visit on the plea of business requiring their presence in the city. Amelia had little appetite, and looked very pale and languid for a month or six weeks; and the Major, with Isis usual want of tact, joked her about it. ascribing her low spirits solely to separa- tion from Mamselle Roseywith whom. it may be here mentioned. a reconciliation had been effected, Miss Peek having writ- ten a deeply penitent and inconsolable let- ter, to which an answer came by return of mail, kindly and affectionately worded. but declining a beseeching invitation to revisit Cornhill before summer. Nothing short of life and death would have tempt- ed the French girl into a recond journey to St. Judes; she spoke of her brief visit there to no one, and mused over the great events of the fete-day with a consciousness of duty performed, but who can say with what other mingled emotions. She had her briefs and crosses, as we all have. but she could not unburden her soul of them as Twitty did, to the subscribers of the Transcript. And what of the unlucky hero of this story? While sentimental Miss Peek was fancying herself in a decline; while Miss Pecks friend sat moping behind the walls of the priory, Goslington, with only Madame and Bijou for companions of the holydays; and the gifted Twitty breathed out his despair in dactyls and spondees for the daily press ; Isis unhappy friend constrained himself to endure in solitude the consequences of his ill-advised step, and galloped no niore, with or without hounds, along the road skirting Coruhill lie would have ridden leagues out of his way to ~void a sight of the cypress gate (funereal cypress to hirsi ) and stretch of venerable avenue, suggestive of what might have been pleasant memories, but were 58 Miss Pecks Friend. [Juiy now only bitter ones. lie kept himself much indoors, walked his hail with his hands in his pockets and head bowed de- jectedly on his breast, and sighed and smoked incessantly. his scat at the club, too, remained vacant; and when some of the hunting members of that amicable as- sociation. halted at his door on their re- turn from a splendid days sport, they found him poor company, and made a re- port accordingly at the subsequent dinner. Mr. Edwards reflections ran in this wise: lIe had not been befooled; it was no stale coquetry of which he had been the victim; no, at his own door alone could lie any charge of folly. Yet one thing disturbed him, by the reiterance of the conjecture, if nothing else; had she did she love him? To what other c& nse could he attribute the agitation and tears of the parting interview? She did not say that she loved, but only that she was engaged. Might not the result have been different if he had pleaded more earnestly and at greater length? By heavens! when he looked back to that scene in the summer-house, it appeared to him as brief and chilly (compared with what he might have uttered) as the transit of a train through a great tunnel; what was cis- ~lpine had become, on a sudden, trans- alpine, and the mountains towered be- tween. he scarce could relate how. But such doubts as these, of what might have been, were usually combated by the sad little face that rose up at the thought; that sad face so eloq,uent of a struggle with dutyanguish, perhapsand plead- ing for everlasting silence and separation. It was so hopeless a caseso desperately hopelesswas it not the part of the sound- est sense and philosophy (which are one) to wean his mind of the pang, if not of the tenderness; that he could never lose; to the latest day of his life he must carry the memory of one woman, and of her only, green in his heart. So our hero be- gan meditating how the first result could best be attained, and, while doing so, sighed less (if he smoked morebut a cigar is a great help, assuredly, to inedita- tion) and walked less with his chin upon his breast. The change in ilutridge was noticed in due time. and commented on at Cypress hall. What the deuce ails Ned? his father said one day at table. lie used to be here twice a week to dinner, and I believe its ten days since the fellow has put his foot in the house. lie came here this morning, and I thought he looked far from well, but lie would not admit it. Iletty replied. He only looks blase, harriet said, with a laugh. If his fit of blues continues much longer, I shouldnt wonder to hear of his preachin~ somewhere; hes as sol- emn as a parson now, and didnt even laugh at the number of flounces on my new dress from town, as I expected he would; and, what is more, he wears crape on his hat, and would not tell us who he is mourning for. Why, none of us have died lately- have we? the head of the family asked, somewhat frightened, and rode over that very afternoon to learn all about it. Why, Ned, youre looking like a ghost, sir! the senior cried, cycing him. hlettv said as much, and liatty thought you were turning parson because you did not notice her new gown. And what the deuce is the reason, sir, of your never giv- ing us the honor of your company at din- ner, nowadays ?and which one of us are you in weeds for, oh ? With a look at the hat Whos dead, Ned? No one is dead sir. Iits a whim of mine which I would rather keep to myself for the present, his son return- ed, turning very red in the face and look- ing extremely woc-be~one. And as for dining at Cypress hall sir; when ham cheerful enough to make nobody uncon~- fortable, I will take my usual seat. Poh! poh! one doesnt lose his cheer- fulness, like a foxs tail, without sometliin~ to show for it. I know your seci-et, sir (at which wor(ls our hero gave a percep- tible start.) Pooh ! Ned, Ive thought it over. an(l 1 dont see why you should be worried about that popinjay Gossimer. I dont believe he will get two dozen votes. Upon which Mr. Edward broke into a con- temptuous laugh. I care for Gossimers canvassing, sir! he said. And if his braces were likely to win over the parish, I do not think the loss of my seat would concern me so much as all that. You dont care whether you are re- turned to the legislature or notwhat the deuce ails the boy !the old gentleman ejaculated, elevating his bushy eyebrows. It is a good enough stepping-stone, was the rather nmoody answer; l)ut I do not believe much of a name is to be made by merely speechifying in the State Capitol, sir, and one cannot be earned any where with small effort. Name, sirby George! the repre- sentative of a great family ejaculated breathlessly. The first name in the country not good enough for you! Why what the 1) does the boy mean And our hei-o who had found omit the inefficiency of a great name in winnin~ a little French brunette, to say nothing of the consent of Madame (though in all this he may have argned erroneously), now gave words to convictions long held, which ~853.] Miss Pecks Friend. 59 ate events had only served to strengthen. The best name in the world could not ~maiu fiesh for ever, and the farther one receded from ones illustrious ancestors. the weaker must become ones influence by association with greatness on the pub tic mind, unless somethiur were done from time to time to revive the flaggin6 atten- tion of posterity; it would be a wonder, before long, if they even recollected when the Governor lived, or whether their name had been written among the signers of the Declaration. And I cannot think. sir, he ventured to add, getting on a for- bidden subject, our uncle John is likely to advance, or even keep stationary, the nonor of which we are justly proud. Why, neither Iletty nor Hatty will soon forget the mortification of being claimed by him ;n public atat a ~atc in the city. And, I beg pardon, sir, but the life you have led, and which you now recommend to me, if highly respectable and fully capable of maintaining dignity in ones parish, you will admit is not at all calculated to keep :he memory of our original services alive. I believe you are right, the senior re- 5ponded with a great sigh, and fell into a train of musing on the brevity of human greatness, quite unusual with him. 1-us seat in the saddle, too, as he rode home- ward, was less stately than customary, and it was not until near twenty-four nours had intervened that he settled into the consolatory belief that it was best to take the bull by the horns, by George I and Ned was such a clever fellow he might live yet to see him governor or ambassador somewhere, and the family name in every body mouth as in colonial times. Soon after w liich he surprised the sisters at snppei ha in account of his yesterdays discussion mud by prophecies of Mr. Ed- ward s oreatness, at which Miss Harriet rather sneered I think it more likely he will lower himself ha hm~ democratic views, she said supeibly I dont understand how our famila can neA exertion to keep it on the ummit It is perfectly ridiculous to sup- po a Ruti idoc ever occupying a second- ary po~itmon in society, a sentiment Tix itt~ xx ould have subscribed with entire faith Him attn made little comment; her rhouohts were hastily connecting events which b d occurred during the past umr weeV~ and it appeared quite marvel- ~ouo ~ae had not surmised the truth before. Poor fellow, he has wanted sym- pa thy sadly, I am sure, and feared to ask ,tslme reflected many times that night; and when the sun rose next morning, she was cantering her pony by a shGrt cut across the fields to Ponpon. Why, what brings you here so carly, Iletty? Rutridge asked while helping her off; and the pair sat to~ether on one of the lawn benches. But Miss Iletty, instead of replying, took one of Rutridges hands and pressed it very tenderly between hers and looked him wistfully in the face. Oh Edward! she said presently, why did you hear your grief alonewhy didnt you sharo it with me, brother? What grief? Edward stammered. with a miserable attempt, indeed, at appearing innocent. If I had thought for a moment you were in earnest, Iletty pursued, gently shaking her head, I would have told you I heard she was engaged. Now tell me what chance you have of winning Mademoiselles favoryou know I dont ask from curiosity. None !andand youre a noble girl, I-Jetty! our poor friend answered; and bowed his head upon his sisters shoulde~ and there, for any thing I know shed a few tears in secret. I will tell you the history of my love from first to last, Iletty, our hero said, raising his head after an interval; and let it be conceded, there is no reason for accounting him less a hero in the popular sense, for shedding a manly tear or two; no doubt Plato and howard (for example) wept in their times if Caligula and Sar- danapalus did not. The end of that history we all know. But that he got the better, in the end, of his discomfiture, and so far forgot his pri- vate griefs as to give his attention to pub- lic affairs and make a figure some time later in the political world, we who hare read reports of his speeches on the French Spoliation Bill, Foreign Interference and other great questions affecting the peace and prosperity of the commonwealth, may believe. Nay more, if the purport of a certain paragraph be recalled, which began, On Wednesday last by the lit. Rev. Dr. Surplice, Miss Celeste Ea but this is going beyond our limits. It is a history of Miss Peeks friend we have written, and with the only incident of public note in her hmmble life, must end. SWe, poor thing, never married. The events of those few days hind opened avounds not so easily cured as Tavittys. The Frenchmantxxenty years her senior, who resided in Switzerlandnever came back; he may have died abroad or proved inconstant, as other people have: and whether Madame was ever after justified in her conscience for havin~ stepped in to avert an unequal match, is a thing to be decided only by experienced mammas. Years after, when Miss Ilenrietta no I 00 A Few Days in Vienna. [July lone r Miss, but with a dau~hter old enough to be put to boardin~school, called for that purpose in the establish- ment under control of the Sisters of Mercy, wasnt it odd that she should stare as she did in the meek, pale face of the sister who attended her summons in the convent parlor, and end by kissing it very kindly. And oh, what a red little face that was, on the instant, under the hood which should have been a sign of the world forgotten! A FEW DAYS IN VIENNA. was just breaking, as a man in T~n~t~a ry frock, unlocked the doors of the car, and asked for our tickets to Vienna. Rubbing my eyes, and putting my head out of the window, I saw a glo- rious spire rising out of a wilderness of houses and trees. That, said an English gentleman who sat beside me, is the city of Vienna. And the glorious spire, which has just caught the sun while all the rest lies in darkness?~ Is the tower of St. Stephens, the noblest cathredal, in my estimation, in all Europe. We were all preparing to admire it. when the train shot into the station-house, shutting off the view. Do you think, inquired the same ~cntleman, that they will allow you to remain in the capital ? Why not? I responded with some surprise. They are just now rather shy of Eng- lish and Americans ,of the first because of the drubbing old ilaynan got in the Brewery, and of the second, since the magnificent reception they gave Kossuth. But what have we to do with either? Nothing perhaps! but let me tell you a short story. A few weeks since two young men from Boston, arrived in the city, and applied at the police for the customary aufem/ialtsc/iein, or permit of residence, which was refused, and they were told to quit within twenty-four hours. Why? they asked somewhat indignantly, when the official replied, That is our business. In vain they expostulated, assuring the worthy dignitaries that they were simple travellers, knowing nothing of politics at is ome or abroad, and caring less about them, and proffering the amplest references to friends to whom they had brought letters. All the satisfaction they could get was an order to go, which they did, on to Venice, where I met them and heard their consplaint. They seemed perfectly confounded by so singular a proceedina, and vented their spite on European despo- tisms generally in no measured terms. Now, what do you suppose was the reason why they were singled out for this mark of imperial disfavor? I cannot for the world conceive, said I. Why, their name was Perkins and the stupid a~,cnts of the police, fancying that they might be connected in some way with the Perkins of Barclay & Perkinss brewery, where the woman-whipper was taken by the beard, took this sublime revenge! I shouted with laughter until the neat and comfortable flacre into which we had flung ourselves was stopped at the ram- parts of the city. What does this mean? exclaimed my old comrade Bison, who seemed to be just awakeningwhen a gray, sleepy, dirty, tobacco-reeking old mihitaire poked his nose in at the window. and grunted something in German about passports and baggage. We alighted and entered a small house at the side of a gate that looked like a toll-house where another antiquated soldier or escaped con- vict was coolly unstrapping our trunks. Haben sie etwas estbares.any thing to eat? he asked, No! said Bison, when the thing was interpreted, wish I had! Any cigars? No again! Any letters? No, once more we replied. What is this then ? ~ he muttered, having turned the last shirt out of a port- manteau, and finding a small note at the bottom. Nothing but a letter of credit on Mudie & Co. of Venice, which we had no occasion to use. how! said the old mouser; that must be seen to, turning the paper over a dozen times, peering into it, smelling it. trying to read it, and finally carrying ii into an inner room where lie kept it ten minutes. Then another fellow came out and asked us where we were from, where we were going, what the letter meant whom ii was written to, w by it had not been used in Venice, and if not useQ why it had not been destroyed, and about a dozen other equally pertinent questions. We replied as patiently as we could, and then both of them retired for consultation once more into the inner room. After another ten minutes a third of their number caine

A Few Days in Venice 60-66

00 A Few Days in Vienna. [July lone r Miss, but with a dau~hter old enough to be put to boardin~school, called for that purpose in the establish- ment under control of the Sisters of Mercy, wasnt it odd that she should stare as she did in the meek, pale face of the sister who attended her summons in the convent parlor, and end by kissing it very kindly. And oh, what a red little face that was, on the instant, under the hood which should have been a sign of the world forgotten! A FEW DAYS IN VIENNA. was just breaking, as a man in T~n~t~a ry frock, unlocked the doors of the car, and asked for our tickets to Vienna. Rubbing my eyes, and putting my head out of the window, I saw a glo- rious spire rising out of a wilderness of houses and trees. That, said an English gentleman who sat beside me, is the city of Vienna. And the glorious spire, which has just caught the sun while all the rest lies in darkness?~ Is the tower of St. Stephens, the noblest cathredal, in my estimation, in all Europe. We were all preparing to admire it. when the train shot into the station-house, shutting off the view. Do you think, inquired the same ~cntleman, that they will allow you to remain in the capital ? Why not? I responded with some surprise. They are just now rather shy of Eng- lish and Americans ,of the first because of the drubbing old ilaynan got in the Brewery, and of the second, since the magnificent reception they gave Kossuth. But what have we to do with either? Nothing perhaps! but let me tell you a short story. A few weeks since two young men from Boston, arrived in the city, and applied at the police for the customary aufem/ialtsc/iein, or permit of residence, which was refused, and they were told to quit within twenty-four hours. Why? they asked somewhat indignantly, when the official replied, That is our business. In vain they expostulated, assuring the worthy dignitaries that they were simple travellers, knowing nothing of politics at is ome or abroad, and caring less about them, and proffering the amplest references to friends to whom they had brought letters. All the satisfaction they could get was an order to go, which they did, on to Venice, where I met them and heard their consplaint. They seemed perfectly confounded by so singular a proceedina, and vented their spite on European despo- tisms generally in no measured terms. Now, what do you suppose was the reason why they were singled out for this mark of imperial disfavor? I cannot for the world conceive, said I. Why, their name was Perkins and the stupid a~,cnts of the police, fancying that they might be connected in some way with the Perkins of Barclay & Perkinss brewery, where the woman-whipper was taken by the beard, took this sublime revenge! I shouted with laughter until the neat and comfortable flacre into which we had flung ourselves was stopped at the ram- parts of the city. What does this mean? exclaimed my old comrade Bison, who seemed to be just awakeningwhen a gray, sleepy, dirty, tobacco-reeking old mihitaire poked his nose in at the window. and grunted something in German about passports and baggage. We alighted and entered a small house at the side of a gate that looked like a toll-house where another antiquated soldier or escaped con- vict was coolly unstrapping our trunks. Haben sie etwas estbares.any thing to eat? he asked, No! said Bison, when the thing was interpreted, wish I had! Any cigars? No again! Any letters? No, once more we replied. What is this then ? ~ he muttered, having turned the last shirt out of a port- manteau, and finding a small note at the bottom. Nothing but a letter of credit on Mudie & Co. of Venice, which we had no occasion to use. how! said the old mouser; that must be seen to, turning the paper over a dozen times, peering into it, smelling it. trying to read it, and finally carrying ii into an inner room where lie kept it ten minutes. Then another fellow came out and asked us where we were from, where we were going, what the letter meant whom ii was written to, w by it had not been used in Venice, and if not useQ why it had not been destroyed, and about a dozen other equally pertinent questions. We replied as patiently as we could, and then both of them retired for consultation once more into the inner room. After another ten minutes a third of their number caine 1 81i3.] A Few Days in Vienna. 61 forth, asked us the same questions, look- m~ very dubious all the while, and examin- ing each word of the suspected document as if it was going to reveal some tremen- dons mystery. Finally he retired, and after detaining us some minutes more returned with the l)oor harmless letter sealed with the double eagle of Austria, and a charge of 19 kreut- zers. What the dl! I shouted, forced into a temporary profanity; nineteen areutzers for sealing a bit of waste paper, which you are welcome to ? Ah, but now, one of the fuglemen calmly remarked, you can carry it any where without further trouble! But we do not want it, said I, though we found it useless to talk, and so carried off the double-headed eagle as our first Aus- trian trophy. Our passports were kept to be delivered at the central police office, when the time should come for us to depart. We drove into the city, then through what appeared to be an numense circular park, then under a huge wall or bastion, and then into the city again, alighting at last at the Stadi London a not over comfortable hotel, as we after- wards found. What we bad taken for a park as we entered, was the public ground which surrounds the inner or old city, and is called the Glacis. Vienna, you know-, is constructed like a spiders web, with the streets radiating outward from a com- mon centre. The original walls have been turned into a broad promenade, be- yond which is a still broader open space, planted with trees; then the Forstadt or suburbs. much the most populous region finally the outer rampart, and then the open country. It forms thus two alter- cate iayers~ or circles of town and field and seen from above would probably re- semble one of those round targets at which the New-York militia shoot on their holiday excursions. The inner city is the most fashionable, but the outer the new- est and handsomest, and far the most de mrable residence for those who would live cheaply. But there is no part of either division which does not appear tidy and comfortable. While Bison was ordering the break- :ast, I took a stroll up one of the princi- pal thoroughfhres. There were no foot- paths, and each house had a picture of the business carried on within it, instead of a sign, while the streets were narrow and the buildings tall. All at once I merged upon a small square. in which stood one of the grandest objects that I ever saw. It was the old cathedral of St. Stephens, black with the time-stains of seven hundrect years, yet perfect in sym- metry, and of an infinite fulness of beau- ty. Its lofty tower, rising some five hundred feet from the ground, and wrought into endless turrets and pin- nacles, has been well compared to stately giant, hung with an army of fai- ries. As my eye wandered from point to point, amid an opulent variety of ever graceful forms, and then rose gradually, from point to point again, to the lofty spire, tipped with the silver light of the morning, this work seemed the embodi- ment of the purest aspiration that the human soul had ever sent up to God. It was an eternal prayer, and my spirit mounted w-ith it into the skies. Nor was the profound religions feeling broken, when I entered the interior, and found hundreds of working-men and women, with their implements ahout them, kneel- ing in adoration before the shrines. The early twilight; the deep shadow-s of a thousand projecting beams; the innu- merable figures of martyrs and saints, that in the obscurity appeared like the white-robed bciu~s of another sphere; and the profound silence filled me with an unutterable solemnity and awe. Men of reason often wonder at the tenacity with which the Catholic clings to his faith, but men of imagination never In the vaults under the church, into which I accidentally strayed,.through a long, gloomy corridor, are the tombs of emperors and nobles, and others of less note once, but equal now, that hax e lon~ since quitted the pomp of life. It is crowded from floor to ceiling with sarco- phagi and coffins some covered with in- scriptions, others surmounted by emblems of the ancient state of their occupants. and many huddled together in apparent confusion. But what impressed me more than all was an open or glass case, in which a leathery corpse, scarcely withered in the dry, warm air of the vault, and decorated with rings, jewels and fil- lets of gold, appeared to be grinning a ghastly smile at the vain memorials of his departed glory. It was a sight too revolting to dwell upon, and a burden of dark thoughts rolled away, as I came out into the garish day. ~Returned to the hotel, I discovered Bi- son laboring with a task w-hich had been set him by the Police, who left a brief printed document of questions for nis to answer and sign. It may gratify the curiosity of the reader, in 11101-c than one respect, to see how my friend disposed of his part of tile perforniance. so I copy the paper as near as I can remember: Quostion. What is your name? Aa& wer. Elihu Bison. E 132 A Few Days in Vienna. [July Oieeet. Wh re were you born S Ant. Nantucket. Qieest IX here (10 you reside? Ant. Cominuni- paw Quest IX here were von from last? Ant, lied Shier Qatst IX hero are you colon toS Ans. 11I and Malifu. 0 test H hat is your occupation? Ant. Whittier. Qssst Stow old are youi Ans. Threescoro anti i5,w,f How long do ysn wish to stay in Vienna? Is liii I can ect out of it. Oaest Slave von any friends in Vienna? Ant. As Cud Qntt IX uh is horn tis on tsp9 An 5 The t Low n Quit Di night, Jack line tin 1 thttk l)oO.~ slick 555, lingo mouth. tine coat is nh trw- hnirnn~ Panania hat striped a ser rn ii..~i boon But taud 1 n ear Lison these antis ers are ~~ac~1 s respectful to the ooverument I Not I alt as impertinent as the ques- tions thnv put to me a perfect stran ses Thox man- oneeou ou ti ouble No tia I ~o the Police ixvays nix e x oim tan cut, foe r honi s to quit and that I ju t obont as Ion as I xx ant to stay uuder their eufeunal cespotiam X\ eli I enlied 0/i aczos a 50Sf ~cot. ~ud o let us no don a t( I Oil met It xx as an excell it tuna1 a cli xx eshed Iowa ivith a flak of finlicious llunparian; hut it xva~ scarculs concluded hefore a most gentleman iuau at time next table handed us th~ I nudon Tioces, and hogan a conversation in En lish. We were hoth aicca with hus politeness, and learned a treat dciii f~ cm urn of the points of most uterest in the citx and how they could best he seen lie ox-cu offered to accom- cmx us in a stroll xx hich xxe declined necause xxe xxere unsailling to put his kindness to that stetch. Aim., you are Ensli.,hmnn lie rem5 rked. and like to o about alone No ni ienveutl Americans. \mcricans ho x on knoxv I am do bobted to 1 on sin- thatI have the uishost I enard for thu Americans. those noble anti prosoorons ropuhiicans I Per- haps. then x on hax o ~cen Kossuth xvho has lately finstoci in x Oi countrx ~ Seen bum cxci inc I Em on xx ho wa in ocotacien t heni in~ Ii, nation so hbor ally patrouized by en Yustuian sonti him ave. and tal in Ihe ndoiious patriot lix the haiid lie in the noblest ci o ture God ever nude I ~ speak loxx or re- sumed tho stiunti fon a on ~~now that wails hay ear a \ ienna and then nassed a stirruns oulcwiiim himotif upon tile eroat Mi a ar Indeed lie manifested so strong an intc~c in him a kin such a variety of questons accut his prospects, movements and espcc~allx our cxx n con- nection with Ii m th t I besan to suspect he must b a Huacrarian himself and when lie rose to depart gave him a cordial grip of the hand. Two days afterwards, when xve xx-ent to time Police office to get our passports, and permit to depart. we saw that idoimtica1 gentiemaim sitting at a desk in one of the inner rooms. n ~ is that ? I xxlmis- pored to time valet wimo accompanied tiS. Oh that. said line. is one of time officers here Which moans, intoi uptmtd Bison p roxvinr rod in time face an 1 xx tim an oath aspy! When xve sallied fostim ti e ut I m~monrmme, our instructions to the a a/e/ f/c p/ace won that line should take us to tue most attract- ive object in Vienna il//es dam x. shemut- od lie xxith true Austrian xix meity. and soon pointed to a lam tie ci don steno struc- ture that xve imaninid uminlit bn a groat picture gallery or penim mite xxiii of tue imperial palace. Bumt it xx-~m neither ii xxas the imperial stable aximeic some fmni humidred horses are kept icr timi piensimee of the Emperor atul their cxx n satistimc- tion; amid xxhmere, besides time state car- riages, all hedizemied xx mlii old amid crimn- coma, are the axie iumiti adumim atomi of time poptilace. Time lattir mntcresied mis littic limit tIme horses axore auiaong thu liit,m(lsOiti est creatures timat o~ e cx aix The xvore of all colors and of all nat cims Ar bians. Barbs, 1-lungarianit French I n hish. and Mexican eacim m a a broad clear stall by itself, ct)~uiomiely lmttoieel xx intl str xv, and xxith its IlilimmO Otto aimel pItIli gree painted on a post ii cm smelct 1 short, a nicre spieiidid stud cci e cam fully lodged, fed and prox tim. I xx ifha peocrmm~ and jockeys comuld not be hn~ nineil Tb stable xxas I rc~e ludac aimy xxiii x atoree anti well x-eutilated and the riu iseimientt in every mespect ameme such as nust lAys gixen time armanlest satiafmctucut to the oqnmm mmristccrac~ I saud is imaiichm to valit t oseush am lit porfectia ana cod xx ithm inam tinduin n ttl mn conscielmis treasomi timtmt the mini I ned unimeha b5ttei tim tim umaluixi of die oecplt \Viuick is str iaco iuatem i miptemi Bisoix seelian timat the. ii ii it I IltIl ~ms umiere- auiiiaaals to etime buit I Ci hose t.Im~ qumadrumpeds 1mm ii tiut atlvmnt so. tIm~mt axhile timex ni quote ums lustful as time lit pods, they aumisit ott up a exointioua in an emerteimex Yet, it is lint 1nst to sy tint time people of Vienima even tin isor artt tot baullv lodged Iliac axemadiws at Ii~ as tie pass cc the I ittem mm tii streets un me tin d shah by firceses xx mere timey live; e 1 the imoumems are large and palace liii o md mt xx ou1e sooiaa. fuoma timeim exttrnal It1tects thai none limit neim folks could affoed to 0m.( upy thorn. but time immyst ry is oxemfains d a 1853.] A hw i)o!/s in Vien~o. 63 entering any of the houses. They are built rOun(l a court in the Paris fashion, and divided into many apartments, so that each one is tenanted hy a large number of families. Joseph told us of one of those houses, which covers several acres of ground. contains 200 sel)arate domicils, and is occupied by about 500 difforent per- sons. In the suburb of Frieden there is another composed of 300 separate dwel- lino p1 mcc~ ~pro~choO by 81 different stairce.c~ and riviur ~he,tor to over 2000 humm. it m.rht 1)0 .npo~sed. especially in \moi ci xx hert ech man has his own reodene that ~ueli x arraneement was rather ci oxx du~ the mom nors ; but the tr ith i~ di t cheaper and more coin fortahk and quite a~ p. x ate as our own more a~q)trentl~ independent method. It pornnt~ OconOmiex in the u~e of fire, light, and nitchen work wholly out of the reach of our people. After the houses, the un penal jewels ~ere the most attractive curiosities in the stimatien of Joseph. who carried us to die chamber xvhcre they were deposited. He shoxved us a brilliant collection of crowns, sceptres. robes, precious stones and other regaliaamong the rest, those xvhich were said to have belonned to Char- ioinaeuo. together with a heap of sw ends, lox e~ oib~ eboos, & c., that lookel very in ii in e other old trinkets that one see~ ni oundance all over the continent But ax h~i e ix the iron-crow n of Sant Stephen 2 a~ed I, xvith the oiaxet sum plucutx , heueupon Joseph grinned and xx lx.~pered ti) Kossuth, the ro ue carrueui thit to the Laited States. Ihen cross mr ajinsela piously. lie continued But thor re tiongs far more precious He pointed at an 01(1 in a tooth, a bit of wood ~ornr links of a chain, and a boric, xx hich lie de-cribed as follows: This is a pa a of the tablecloth used at the Last S upuer; that is a tooth of John the Bap- vender -on see a piece of the true C o--- hue e. the aria-hone of good St. Anne mo the chains are these which held Saints Peter. Paul and John! At every word lie rolled up his eyes devoutly, in the most affecting manner. A small cru- cifix hard by, carved by the erratic old Benvenuto, appeared to me far more sa- cred than these relics, for there xvas a touch of the masters genius in every curve. The rest of the day xve passed amid coins. medals, antiquities. remus that he- caine as tedious as a~ny other xvilderness, and xve were glad to reliexe our miixds and stom. ohs hy a dinner at one of the caf6s, quite equal in its appointments to any in Paris. Indeed, let me ohserve by the way that they are capital feeders in Vien na, or, as a native said to nie shartly af- terxvards, as one of the highest commen- dations he could ive to his felloxys, Sie essen sic/i wok? in Wien, they e t them selves xx-ell in Viemina. I have said that those Museums xvcre a xvilderness, and yet, I fommd on gottin~ honie at night, that one of them, the Am bras, xvhere the ancient armor is kept, had made a distinct and deep impression upon me. It is as far superior to the Toxvcr in london, as the Toxvcr is to the New- Yoi-k Arsenal. having been collecting since the sixteenth eciatury, it is the most complete historical gallery, in Emmrope, filling seven large apartments, admirably arraiigcd and labelled, and abounding xvith objects of interest. A history of the Eu- ropean xvar system, from the foumitccnth mentury to time present time might be xvritten in the simple description of x hat it holds. The windoxvs were draped ivutli tat- tered banners taken in variocs x~ ar~, em en those of lie time of the Cu usades xx bile the xx-alls xvcrc covered xx-ith trophies hel- mets, sahin s and steel suits mour xvhuch tIme armor of Scanderber (see his life by Clemmient Moore of Ncmv YorL) anti a tomahaxyk of Momintezuana are conliicmmoaus. In one of the roomus n aui immense Anak in conaplete steel over eight feet hmh, xvithi proportional arms aiid leg xvhosc sxm-ord is as hug as a haandspike and who must haxe ben a tetiuble fehloax to encounter in a lam to hand ~ioht I dreamed all nirbt after secmur bus mon- stroims image of domnr btthe xvulh Scua dinavian giant who walloped imie over the Imead xx ith their cudgels and then brought me to life arain xvith a little of the sacred food to 1)0 xvahlopcd a second time, and so on ad iqfio i/em. Bison the rogue, had put on a red Tokmay uaiglit cap, anti snom ad under it hammdsomnely till morning. Well a id I to Bison, on iising from bed, the secomud 0 a~ of our sojourn now for the picture rallerucs What rahlcuacs lie muttered, cvi deraIl) diple ised xx ithi the smmrre~tion Oh don t ) oum hnoxc I I ho Ester hazy the Luebtenstem thi ~ hioi bom n thi Lmniborr thi liii i n hi tIme Iuuipem nO and si-tx four othiars I 47 mu xx e ~c them all in thu forenoon? he unquni ad xx u~h anxious sunildueit~ Posadda I u eTomided but thc,m ave ouoht to mmmi thron Ii them an the hack of a locomotixe There is thie 1stenhuazy sallery abut am hiueh consists of txvcnty five diffem-ent chambers each fulled xx-ith paintings, the Liahita ustein contains over COO pictures that ot the Archduke Charles, only 1 50 000 marravings. Enou~hu shomited the Exemplary, d 44 A Few Days in Vienna. [July I ~~t a I was breed to (teath with to m ltd~ Dax afirr di for six a e a draoovd fioin onc collection unt~ I hated the sioht of paint. P t} I couldn t tell a mood picture h a one and now I ant dl bad tin a rood one o lit certainly take a equint II i e one of the finest palaces n the world all he rejoinedjuniping from 4 ti I Ic he continued ; to say the Q I ii ix e to day a little adventure I tounte~s The bit r omot to know that rio Un- irred \m~r1can toes to Europe without U ax with tome countess, or be n o e with by onewhich is ti a era rtlnarv run of luck they seem to e 4o Whether they are travelling in anee. Italy. Germany or Russia, ire to have an cncountcr with Bison was no exception. lIe 4 a t one the evening previous at a box atre. and theugh he could not erd of any language but his own, man i ed to insinuate himself into the a ~ of the titled lady. until she had utented to an appointment for the next fteoon Some men have such t. king a a ma compaaion to his after- fa di cvories,I repaired to the galleries. ncedltss to say that before the day done I ax a more than half of Bisons amen The w tldcrne~s of pictures pro- o ~ nix confiner and not satisfction. a a a~ (1 tire in\ icuna could scarce- 1 4 the collee~ion of that metropolis. e brief daa at the Belvidere, it -muoneble to c cape rcmarkin6 its -ecilr w ealth in one line. Its Spanish c~ It tu d1 rt nt are extensive, but U ~ -c it tnt (among them an Ecce IT I, a1 not rich but it luxu Bill I Inch ~nd German masters. 11 ~ Duer was especially conspien- he found in fact nowhere else a mU ~aftct~on and justiflcd to me for ~b0 f~ s (iron ttie enthusiastic admiration ~ o ii. {011ox countr nien I7i~seli, of 1 r~ atical rhapsodies speaks of lr~ tr ia~eix enoush as a m.tn of Ingeun- 1. at of enu. lbs .. i1lrtvrdom C ~ a thounnl Christians. by Sapor, s a ant (in vhich the panter him If and e~ freud Pnlhrimca sac intro- 1 It c1 mnie.) xx ith all its re lo~ror~ is a a oi k of consummate ii tiox a fertilitarand resource I here fil malestv too n hi, tre itment ~i( lIe a i initx tiirrounded by taints, e m ta rs and a glorious company of f he elect whdo there is an exquisite mpUci~x trace and tenderness i a his Madonna and Child. If these are not works of genius, none were ever painted not eflual, doubtless to the deeds of the Italian masters of the sanie age, but full of an original life, bold in conception, strong in outline, and brilliant as well as delicate in color. Purer, like all the very greatest artists, like Leonardo, Michael Angelo, Raphael, & e .,had something of universal aptitude in him. and might have succeeded in sculp- ture and architecture, as well as in paint- ing. lIe wrote well, and his en graving was almost the best of its day, and quite as good as any that has been executed since. Certain critics, it is true, reproach him for that tendency- to the niystical and fantastic which appears in many of his works, but it was the conamon tendency of his age, an excess of the religious imagination. Besides, who can deny the wonderful ex- uberance and poetic elevation of his most allegorical labors? In the xxoodcuts illus- trative of the revelations of St. Jtiliri. for instance, how grand is that one xvhere the horsenien, with their wearions of ocath, are trampling doxvn the guilty inhabitants of the earthor that other, where the four angels of the Euphiates blast the hi h an(I mighty rulers, over xxhomu rush the lion-headed chargers, breathing forth fire Surely there is here more than in- genuity. There are two paintings in the Belvi- dere Palace that strike every bodyheads of an olal man and an old xvoman. by Den ncrexecuted xvith thorough atid minute accuracy, giving every wrinkle, hair, crack of the skin, so that thea seeni to be the actual rough flesh an(i hide of an- tiiie. But, are they great pictures ? Ac- cordin0 to those theorists who define art as the imitation of nature, they must lie for more faithful imitations could not be done in paint; and yet they are only curiosities. not gieat woiks of art. clearly upsetting the mutation tlacory. A head by Titian or Giorgione. not half so ixatural. is avoith a thousandi of thena, and will last in the adlmiration of mankind a tiaoiisand yeais longer. Denner s he ads ai e so like livint heads that at first y oti suppose they are, the deception is so coniplete bait, as soon as yoai (liscox-er that thea are a de- ception, they are deraded as xx orks of art, audi von look upon them xx ith con- tempt, as von do nixon ma other lie. Now nobody xxas ever elecelxe(l by the genuine works of ically gicat lisintdl 5 they xve~e not meant tel deceive, only to represent the artists conceptioia of tiuth anal beauty. and are therefore glorious for ever. No art is not an imitation of nataire. that is certain, if it xvere, a wax figuie would be a better specimen of it tim dt A Few Days in Vienna. most precious statue in the Vatican. or the rarest marvel of the Tribune at Flo- rence. Moreover. I should like to know of the partisans of the imitation theory, what thing in nature yonder old cathedral imitates, what the Concerto in C minor. by Beethoven, what the Midsummer Nights Dream of Shakspeare. or the Faust of Goethe? By the way, there is, in the Belvidere, a rood aaiutin~ from the Faust, by Schn6r, a modern German artist, depicting that profound and awful scene, where the stu- dent sits at the table, with his Nostra- damus and black-letter diagrams about and Mephistopheles, the gentleman olack, enters to relieve his doubts. Fausts face is pale and wan with thought, his fingers are clenched, his eyes wild, the lamp is burmn~ lOW in the socket, sparkles of electric iioht flash towards the infernal visitor from the instruments around, while his lee is full of malignant triumph. T he ~ do subject is capitally treated. slightl) stiff as the Germans are wont to be, but M ith oreat depth of feeling, and admii able tone One cannot, however, dwell long upon pictures in Vienna. it is so attractive out of doors. The walks along the bastions overlooking the gardens of the nobility, the lovely promenades of the Glacis, that broad belt of verdure encirclin~ the town, the Augarton, where such motley crowds of coffee-drinkers and smokers assemble. but above all, the noble drives and rambles through the Prater. a park of varied wood- land, stream, and meadow, several miles in extent are enough to tempt the dead out of their coffins in the Capuchin Church, into the open air It is in the afternoon that the Prater is unsui pa~ed e~ en by the Boulevards or Champs El~ sees of Paris, for then it swarms w itli the citizens, rich and poor; the noble in Ii s carriage, the mechanic with h5 fi mIs all mingling in a (lelight ful social equaltv that we look in vain for in our democi atic society. Different ranks are so cleaml~ defined that they are never afraid of jo t1mn~ each other, and you will see the Empc oi and his Court, in the midst of a pi omm~cuous crowd of the com- mono t sa orkmn men. But the Prater was not a ~ay scene when I was there; exceptmno in respect to the variety and brilliance of the costumes, the dazzle of the equmpaoes and the lively music of the band ~ll the ss orld took the air, but with a dm~satm~fied look. I asked Joseph the reascn of this and he said, The peo- ple are an~rs since 1848 they do not like thinga the~ are sullen, and will not now dance and sing On further inquiry, I found this to be the case: the people feel VOL ii 5 that they are oppressed, that they have been cheated of tlieii ,ohts, and that they cannot in honests ro~ume their old ruer- riment. Thea oo hen5 therefore, very doggedly, and ss itli a low rosvl. All the newspapei repoi ts about the popular en- thusiasm with hich the beardless Nero is received, are the merest fiummery. An ominous, brooding discontent is every where, waiting impatiently for the time of open rupture. One of the shopmen said to me, looking round all the while tL t no one should hear him. X hen we try it again, no Kossuth nor any body else will be able to stay our hands. Thus, the e. treme measures of the reaction have stung one of the liveliest, best-natured and enduring of all the populations of the Continent with a feverish desire of reven0e, and there is no love any more between the governors and the governed. A iigid des- potism is all that is possible now for the former, a suppresse(l but burning hatred all that is cherished by the latter. God shield the innocent when the battlecry rings again But wlsat of the social life of the upper classes? Alas, I can tell you nothing; for who but an Eurlish traveller in the United States can discover the nsysteries of the house in a three days sojourn? Yet my Red River companion Bison had some experience, a hich he ac quired through his acquaint ace with the Countess. The upshot of it wis jud ing by that specimen, and accoi dmno to a confession svhich he made a ss e~ k or tw o later, svhen we svere at Munich that th Vienisese are all ssvimsdlers. Would on believe it. lie remarkeel in Isis philosophic way, svith the sadness of repeutaimee in his fine bloodshot eye, that the Count- ess svas no countess at all, only a milliner woman, who cheated nse out of four hun- dred and sixty forms at cards, cost me almost as many more for presents and dinners, borrosved roy svatch xvhich she sold to a pawnbroker. and th cmi introduced me to a great six-footed Croat soldier who aiinounced himself as her husband and demanded sati~faction a ith broad swords ! And lsosv did von oct Oiiu of the ~crape? I told bins that it w is inset the habit of my nation to fight scito such sx eapons but that if he would r~o into a pris ale roon with a boxviehnd~ show m a specinion at the same time sshwh .Jamnes Bowie himself gave me once at Vicksburgit would give imie the highest pleasure to let out his liver, lie comprehended enough English to decline the proposal, and in return threatened to inform tIme police that I carried secret arms. Thereupon, flourishing the steel until I reached the 1853.1 (35 U 66 Doctors. ~July street, I made the best of my way towards the hotel. I may add that the Police called a few hours afterwards, but by that time Bi- son was away on the Danube. But let it not be supposed that I narrate this as an example of the usual courtesies of the imperial circles at Vienna. It is said that a considerable degree of cultivation and refinement prevails, and that on a clo- ser acquaintance one gets to liking the people, especially the women, who are not all as unprincipled as Bisons Countess. Indeed, young SPLAYFOOT, who spent a year there when his father was Charge, told me that it was a town of the most entire secular contentmentafter Paris the easiest place in the world to live in fine bachelor apartments, cheap and ex- cellent wines, dancing ad libitium, and nobody to make ill-natured remarks, Dcmmeawh if it isntawpew- fect Pawadise! For, consider, he went on to say, that most excellent institution, the Gebdranstalt, where any unfortunate woman, who does not care to have her little imprudences discovered, may retire for a fewmonths in the most impenetrable seclusion, not surrendering her name, even, and leavin~ the evidence of her guilt be- hind her, when she goes out, to the care of the State! Who will not confess that such a provision of government is de- cidedly paternal? The people, I have said, were sullen, de sertin0 the theatres, the ball-houses, the gardens, and refusing to dance even when they were piped to; and yet Vienna re- sounded with music all day and all night. From the charming S tyrian damsels, who wander about with their zitters, to the irn- penal military hands, an unbroken succes- sion of sweet sounds is heard. At the cafes, they make you frisky with Straus and at the concerts stir your soul with Beethoven. The clerks hum Mozart over their counters, and the fish-women sell trout to a humming accompaniment from lluimmel. Of course every body, male and female, ~ilays on the piano. and even the locomotives shriek with sonic reference to the diapason. In consequence of this universal addiction to music. the Vien- nese are more jealous of their musical repu- tation than of any thing else,much more than they are of their virtue, and more, too, than they are of their good eating, which is, however, a great point with them. You may abuse their cathedrals, their palaces, their galleries, their Empe- ror. their wines, their dinners, but not their music. In that they hold them- selves above not only the attainments, but the criticism of all the rest of the world. It is a pleasant consciousness, and I shall not attempt to deprive them of it. DO CTORS. Threw physic to the do~ aebeth. Friend of my life, which did not yen prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song. Pope. N the moving panoramas of cities are to I be seen certain vehicles of all degrees of locomotive beauty and convenience, frona the glossy and silver-knobbed car- riage with its prancing grays. to the bach- elonic looking sulky with its one gaunt horse, in which are seated gentlemen of a learned and professional aspect, usually wearlan spectacles, and always an air of intense respectability, or of contemplation and seriousness. They recognize nume- romis acquaintances as they pass with a peculiar smile and nod, and are usually accompanied by a little man-boy to hold the horse, as the French cook in the play defines a tigre. These mysterious personanes rejoice in the title of Doctor once a very distinctive appellation, but now as common as authorship and travel- line. A moralist, watching them glidin~ by amid fasl ionable equipages, crowded omnibuses, hasty pedestrians, and all the phenomena of life in a metropolis, would find a striking contrast between the rush- ing tide around, and the hushed rooms they enter. To how many their visit is the one daily event that breaks in upon the monotony of illness and confinement; how many eyes watch thetri with eager suspense, and listen to their opinion as the fiat of destiny ; how many feverishly ex- pect their coming, shrink from their polish- ed steel, rejoice in their cheering minis- trations or dread their long bills! The Doctor ! a word that stirs the cx- tremest moodsdespair and jollity!

Doctors 66-72

66 Doctors. ~July street, I made the best of my way towards the hotel. I may add that the Police called a few hours afterwards, but by that time Bi- son was away on the Danube. But let it not be supposed that I narrate this as an example of the usual courtesies of the imperial circles at Vienna. It is said that a considerable degree of cultivation and refinement prevails, and that on a clo- ser acquaintance one gets to liking the people, especially the women, who are not all as unprincipled as Bisons Countess. Indeed, young SPLAYFOOT, who spent a year there when his father was Charge, told me that it was a town of the most entire secular contentmentafter Paris the easiest place in the world to live in fine bachelor apartments, cheap and ex- cellent wines, dancing ad libitium, and nobody to make ill-natured remarks, Dcmmeawh if it isntawpew- fect Pawadise! For, consider, he went on to say, that most excellent institution, the Gebdranstalt, where any unfortunate woman, who does not care to have her little imprudences discovered, may retire for a fewmonths in the most impenetrable seclusion, not surrendering her name, even, and leavin~ the evidence of her guilt be- hind her, when she goes out, to the care of the State! Who will not confess that such a provision of government is de- cidedly paternal? The people, I have said, were sullen, de sertin0 the theatres, the ball-houses, the gardens, and refusing to dance even when they were piped to; and yet Vienna re- sounded with music all day and all night. From the charming S tyrian damsels, who wander about with their zitters, to the irn- penal military hands, an unbroken succes- sion of sweet sounds is heard. At the cafes, they make you frisky with Straus and at the concerts stir your soul with Beethoven. The clerks hum Mozart over their counters, and the fish-women sell trout to a humming accompaniment from lluimmel. Of course every body, male and female, ~ilays on the piano. and even the locomotives shriek with sonic reference to the diapason. In consequence of this universal addiction to music. the Vien- nese are more jealous of their musical repu- tation than of any thing else,much more than they are of their virtue, and more, too, than they are of their good eating, which is, however, a great point with them. You may abuse their cathedrals, their palaces, their galleries, their Empe- ror. their wines, their dinners, but not their music. In that they hold them- selves above not only the attainments, but the criticism of all the rest of the world. It is a pleasant consciousness, and I shall not attempt to deprive them of it. DO CTORS. Threw physic to the do~ aebeth. Friend of my life, which did not yen prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song. Pope. N the moving panoramas of cities are to I be seen certain vehicles of all degrees of locomotive beauty and convenience, frona the glossy and silver-knobbed car- riage with its prancing grays. to the bach- elonic looking sulky with its one gaunt horse, in which are seated gentlemen of a learned and professional aspect, usually wearlan spectacles, and always an air of intense respectability, or of contemplation and seriousness. They recognize nume- romis acquaintances as they pass with a peculiar smile and nod, and are usually accompanied by a little man-boy to hold the horse, as the French cook in the play defines a tigre. These mysterious personanes rejoice in the title of Doctor once a very distinctive appellation, but now as common as authorship and travel- line. A moralist, watching them glidin~ by amid fasl ionable equipages, crowded omnibuses, hasty pedestrians, and all the phenomena of life in a metropolis, would find a striking contrast between the rush- ing tide around, and the hushed rooms they enter. To how many their visit is the one daily event that breaks in upon the monotony of illness and confinement; how many eyes watch thetri with eager suspense, and listen to their opinion as the fiat of destiny ; how many feverishly ex- pect their coming, shrink from their polish- ed steel, rejoice in their cheering minis- trations or dread their long bills! The Doctor ! a word that stirs the cx- tremest moodsdespair and jollity! 1 Doctor8. Wi There is no profession which depends so much for its efficiency on personal traits as that of. medicine ; for the utility of technical knowledge here is derived from individual jndgment. tact and sym- pathy. In other words the physician has to deal with an unknown clement. Be- tween the specific ailrncnt and the remedy there are peculiarities of constitution, the influence of circumstances and the laws of natni e to be con idered; so that although the medical ~dx iser may be thoroughly versA in phx ~iology the materia medica, and the ~ mptorns of disease, if lie possess not thc di ci irninition. the observant skill, and thc reficetive power to apply his learnino x~ o.ely it is comparatively una- vaihno The ~uin of the divine and the attornes however impeded by obstacles, is reached by a mom e direct course; logic, eloquence and zeal unitcd to professional attainment, will insum e success in law aiid divinity ; but in ph~ sic certain other qualities in the man ai c rcquAte to give scope to the profc~sor hence we associ- ate a certain orio inality with the idea of a doctor; are apt to re sxd the vocation at the two extremes of superioi ity and pre- tension. and justly estimate the individuals of the class according to theim capacity of insi and their principles of action. rather than by their mere acquisitions or rank as teachers. The uncertainty of medi- cine, as a practical art, thus induces a stronger reliance on individual endow- ments than is tIme case in any other lib- eral pursuit. A philosophical history of the art of healiiig would be not less curious than suooestive. The absurd theories which checked its progress for centuries, the secrets hoarded by E~yptian priests, the union of medical knowledge with ancient systems of philosophy, the epoch of Galen, the Arabian and Salerno schools the re- forniation of Paracelsns. the brilliant dis- coveries which, at hon~ intervals, illumined the track of the science; and the enlight- ened principles now realizedif fully dis- cussed, would form an extraordinary chapter in the biography of man. St. Luke and the Good Samaritan are yet the favorite signs of apothecaries. con- firming the original charity of the art; and in the south of Europe, may still be seen over the barbers shops, the effigy of a human arm spouting blood from an open vein, an in(llcation of the once uni- versal custom of periodical depletion. It is now acknowledged that diverse climates require modified treatment of the same disease; that nervous susceptibility is far greater in one latitude than another, and that habits of life essentially individualize the constitution. Indeed, the widest dif ference exists in tIme relation of persons to the doctor; some never see him, and others must have a consultation upon tIme most trifling ailmentso great is the depen- dence which can be had upon nature, and so extreme both the faith and the skepticism which exists in regard to curative science. It would seeni indeed, as if the advance of science improved medical practice nega- tively, that is, by inducing what in politics has been called a masterly inactivity; and there is no doubt that no small degree of the success attending Ilahuemnauns the- ory is to be attributed to the comparative abstinence it inculcates in the use of re- medial agents. The fact is a significant one, as indicative of the want of positive science in the healing art; and tIme conse- quent wisdom of leaving to nature, as far as possible, the restorative process. In- deed, to assist nature is acknowledged by just observers, to be the only wise course; and this brings us to the inference that a good physician is necessarily a philoso- pher ; it is incumbent on him, of all men, to exercise the iiiductive faculty; lie must possess good causality, not only to reason justly on individual cases. but to apply tIme progress of science to the exi- gencies of disease. The comparatively slow accumulation of scientific truth in regard to the treat- ment of disease, is illustrated by the flict that not until the lapse of two thousand years after medicine had assumed the rank of a science, u rider the auspices of Ilippo crates, was the circulation of the blood discoveiedan era in its history. The fiery discussion of the efficacy of inocula- tion and its gradual introduction, is another significant evidence of the same general truth. But, in our own day, the rapid and valuable developments of chemistry have, in a measure, reversed tIme picture. Numerous alleviating and curative agents have been discovered; the gas of poisonous acids is found to eradicate, in many c ses, the most fatal diseases of the eye; heat, more penetmating than can be created by other means is eliminated from carbon in an aeriform state, passes through the cuticle, without leaving a mark on its sur- face, and restores aching nerves or ex- hausted vitality. Vegetable ,ind mineral substances are refined, analyzed and coin- bined with a skill never before imnagimmeul; opium yields morphine, and peruiviali bark quinine, and all the known salubrious elements are thus rendered infinitely sub- servient to the healin~ nit. Chloroform is one of the most beumeficent of these new agents; and has exorcised the demon of physical pain by a magical charm, without violating, in judicious hands, the integrity of nmiture. d 68 Doctors. [July There is a secret of curative art in whic~ consists the genius of healing; it is that union of sympathy with intelligence, and of moral energy with magnetic gifts, whereby the tides of life are swayed and one can minister to a mind diseased. Fortunate is the patient who is attended by one thus endowedbut such are usu- ally found out of the professional circle they are referees ordained by nature to settle the difficulties of inferior spirits; the arbiters recognized by instinct who soothe anger, reconcile doubt, amuse, ele- vate, and console by a kind of moral alchemy; and potent coadjutors are they to the material aids of merely technical physicians. Somewhat of this occult healing force might have been read in the serene countenance of Dr. Physic of Phila- delphia; it predominated in the benevolent founder of the Insane Asylum of Palermo, who learned from an attack of mental dis- order how to feel for, and minister to, those thus afflicted. The late Preissnitz of Graefenbcrg, seems to haye enjoyed the gift which is as truly natures indication of an aptitude for the art, as a sense of beauty in the poet. But this prii~ciple is caviare to the general. Medicine has lost much of its inherent dignity by the same element in modern times that has degraded art, letters, and so- cietythe spirit of trade. This agency encourages motives, justifies means, and leads to ends wholly at variance with high tone and with truth. The gentleman, the philosopher, the man of honor and with them tlr t keystone in the arch of charac- terself-respect, are wholly compromised in the process of sinking a liberal art into a common trade! In the economy of modern society, however, the physician has acquired a new influence; he has gain- ed upon the monopoly of the priest, for while the spirit of inquiry, by trenching on the mysterious prerogatives which super- stition once accorded, has retrenched the latters functions, the same agency, by ex- tending the domain ofscienee and rendering its claims popular,has enlarged the sphere of the other profession. To an extent, there- fore, never before known, the doctor fills the office of confessor; his xisits yield agreeable excitement to women with whom he gossips and sympathizes; admitted by the very exigency of the case to entire confi- dence often revered as a counsellor and friend, as well as relied on as a healer, not infrequently he becomes the oracle of a household. Privileges like these, when used with benevolence and integrity, are doubt- less honorable to both parties, and become occasions for the exercise of the noblest service and the highest sentiments of our nature; while, on the other hand, they are liable to the grossest abuse, where elevation of character and gentle manly in- stincts are wanting. Accordingly there has sprung into existence, in our day, a person- age best designated as the medical Jesuit; whose real vocation, as well as the process by which he acquires Supremacy, fully justifies the appellation. Like his religious prototype, he operates through the female branches, who, in their turn, control the heads of families; and the extent to which the domestic arrangements, the social re- lations, and even the opinions of individuals are thus regulated, is truly surprising. We believe the natural history of the doctor has not yet been written, but the classes are easily nomenclated; we have all known the humorous, tue urbane, tac oracular, the facetious, the brusque, the elegant, the shrewd, the exquisite the burly, the bold, and the fastidious; and the character of people may be inferred by their choice of each species. Those in whom taste predominates over intellect will select a physician for his agreeable personal qualities; while such as value essential traits, will compromise with the roughest exterior and the least flatterin~ address for the sake of genuine skill and a vigorous and honest mind. As a general rule, in large cities vanity seems to rule the selection; and it is a lamentable view of human nature to see the blind preference given to plausible but shallow men, whose smooth tongues or gallant air win them suifrages denied to good sense and candid intercourse. The most detestable genus is that we have described under the m me of medical Jesuits; next in annoyance are the precisians; the most harmless of the weaker order are the gossips; and there is often little to choose in point of risk to the house of life between the very timid and the dare-devils; in a great cxi gency the former, and in an ordinary case the latter are equally to be shunned. Like the portrait painter, electors are often the playthings of fortune in cities, where the arbitrary whims of fashion (lecree succe~s but in the eountl) theii true w 0) th is nun e al)t to find appi ecia tion end the indn iduelitmes of chn cetri havin~ flee scope quite original childi en of Apollo no the esult Ihe nune of Ilophins e~ still ineinoable in the regian wher he pvtctised as one of the btei u~ clique of w hicli Ilumaphi ics ID~x ight, and Barlow w ci e membei s Dr Osbomn of Sandwich Mas w ~ote th~ 1)01)111 mr n hal ing song yet in vogue among Nantuck- eters. Dr. Holyoke of Salem, is renowned as a beautiful instance of lon~evity; and the ~vit of Dr. Spring was proverbial in Boston. The best example of a medical philosopher, in our annals, is that of Dr. 1863.] Doctors. 69 Rush of Philadelphia; he reformed the sys tern of practice ; first treated yellow fever successfully, made climate a special study, and, like Burke, laid every one he encountered uuder contribution for facts. his life of seventy veers was passcd in erdent investigation. It is remarkable that the first martyr to American liberty was a physician; and before he fell, War- len eloquently avowed his principles, like Kdrner in Germany, rousing the spirit of his countrymen. and then consecrating his sentiments with his blood. Boylston, the ancestral portraits of whose family are among the best of Copleys American works, nearly fell a victim to public indig- nation for his zealous and intelligent ad- vocacy of inoculation, and natural sci- ence owes a debt to Barton, Morton and Do Kay, which is acknowledged both at home ~nd abroad. If b~ ~ ii tue of the philosophic intinct and liberd t~te~ the doctor is thus allied to belle~ lettre- he is allured into the domain of ~cience by a still more direct svmp tth~ To how many has the study of the mstem ia medica and the culling of snuples, pro ed the occasion of botanical resen en md hence, by an easy transi- tion of explom inn the entire field of natural science. Thus Davy wms beonilid into chemical investigation and \bem crombie lw the vestibule of ph) ~molooicd knon ledge sought the clue to mental philoso phy- ; while Spurzheinm mud Combo mm istered to a great chai ity by clemrly explaining to the mx e the nmturd laws of human n dl boin~ lit i-~ an evidence of the ~ammcity of the Russian Pet~i tWit he soujat an interview with Boerhaa e, for by these varied links of genel d utibt), the medical office enters into e~ er~ branch of social economy; and is oul) narrow ed and shorn of dignity by the 1 mited mien s or inadequate endow mente of its a otaries. Life-insurance and (luarmntine~ baa e become such grave inter- ests that thion h thena the responsibility of the pha ~ican to society is manifest to all ; that to individuals is only partially recognized. How Cowper and Byron suffered for wise medical advice, and what ameliorations in states of mind and moral conditions. have been induced by the now widely-extended knowledge of hygienic laws In literature the doctor figures with a genial dignity; he has affinities with cenius and m life estate in the kingdom of letters: witne Garths poem of The Dispensa- ry; \hcn ide s Pleasu~es of the linagi- nation \imstrongs Art of Ifealth; Cowlex ~ a er~ea Sprats Life of him, and Cux rio s of Burns; Beatties Minstrel ; Darwins Botanic Garden; Moores Travels in Italy; Zimmermans Soli- tude ; Goldsmiths Vicar and Village; Aikins Criticisms ; and Joanna Baillies gifted brother. In our own day, Moirs exquisite domestic lyrics, Levers Irish novels ; and in our own country the writ- ings of Drake, Mitchell. holmes, Bigelow. Francis, and others. Think of Arbuth- not beside Popes sick-bed, and the lat- ters apostrophe Friend of my life, which did not yon prolong, The world had wanied many an idle song Garth ministering to Johnson, an(1 Rush philosophizing with Dr. Franklin; Bells comments oii Art, Coldens letters to Liunmeus. and Thatchers Military Journal, are attractive proofs of that liberal ten- dency which leads the physician beyond the limits of his profession, into the field of philosophical research. We all have a kind of affection for Dr. Slop, who is the type of an almost obsolete class, as the doctor in Macbeth is. of the sapient pretender of all time. Sourhey took a wise advantage of the l)Opular idea of a Doctor, in the honhomnmnie and speculative phase of the character, when he gave the title to his last ramblin~, eru(lito. quaint, and charming production.. Men of letters accordingly are wont to fra- ternize with the best of the profession; and there has always been a reciprocal interchange between them both of affbc- tion and wit. Thus hlalleck tells us in Fanny In plysi(, we have Francis and MNeven, lamed for lore, heads short leeturen and Ion bitis: And Quarkenhoso and others, who from heaven Were raine(l opon no in a olenver of pills Theyd beat the (icatiliess Eseniapino hollow And make a starveling droggist of Apollo. It is a nervous process to underno the examination of a Parisian medical profes- sor of the first class. Auscultation was first introduced by one of themnLeennec, and diagnosis is their chief art. In their hands the stethoscope is a divinino rod. So reliable is their insight, that they scemem to read thee intermial organism as through a glass; and one feels cinder Louiss in- spection, as if eavaiting sentence. The laavs of disease have beeii thoroughly studied in the hospitals of Paris, and the philosophy of symptoms is there under- stood by the medical savans avith the certainty of a natural science, but the knowledge amid application of remedies is by no means advanced in equal propor- tion, Accordinaly the perfection of mo- dern skill in the art seems to result from an education in the French schools. com- bined with exl)erience in English practice; th6rough acquaintance avith physiology. and habits of acute observation and accim- rate deduction, are thus united to exccu Doctors. [July five tact ~nd ability. And similar eclectic traits of character are desirable in the physician, especially the union of solidity of mind with agreeableness of manner; for in no vocation is there so often de- manded the blending of the fort iter in re, with the sztaviter in modo. The absence of faith in positive remedies that obtains in Europe, is very striking to an American visitor, because it offers so absolute a contrast to the system pursued at home. I attended the funeral of a countryman. a few days after reachin~ Paris, and, on our way to Pore la Chaise, his case and treatment were fully discuss- ed; his disease was typhus fever: pre- vious to delirium he had designated a physician, a celebrated professor, who only prescribed gom.rne syrop. For a week I travelled with a Dominican friar who had so high a fever, that in America he would have been confined to his bed; he took no nourishment all the time, but a plate of thin soup once a day; and, when we reached our destination. he was conva- lescent. Abstinence and repose are appre- ciated on the continent as remedial agen- cies; butAhey are contrary to the genius of our people, who regard active enterprise as no less desirable in a doctor than a steamboat captain. The influence of the mind upon the body is. in some instances, so great, that it accounts for that identity of supersti- tion and medicine, which is one of the most remarkable traits in the history of the science. The unknown is the source of the marvellous, and the relation be- tween a disease and its cure is less obvi- ous to the common understanding, than that between the evidence and the ver- dict in a law case, or religious faith and its public ministration in the office of priest. The imagination has room to act, and the sense of wonder is naturally ex- cited. b-hen, by the agency of some drug, mechanical apparatus, or mystic rite, it is attempted to relieve human suffering and dispel infirmity. Hence the most enlight- ened minds are apt to yield to credulity in this sphere, much to the annoyance of the regular faculty who complain, with reason, that quackery, whether in the form of popular specifics or the per- son of a charlatan derives its main sup- port from men of civic and professional reputation. Think of Dr. Johnson in his infancy, being touched for King~ s Evil by Queen Anne, in accordance with a belief in its sovereign effieiency~ un- questioned for centuries. Sir Kenelm Digby was as much celebrated in hi~ day, for his recipe for a sympathetic powder, which he obtained from an Italian friar as for his beautiful wife or his naval vie- tory; and the good Bishop Berkelcygave as much zeal to the Treatise on the vir- tues of Tar-Water, as to that on the Im- materiality of the Universe. The memoirs of celebrated men aboend with physiological interest; their emi- nence brings out facts which serve to vin- dicate impressively the phases of medical experience, and the relation of the soul to its tabernacle. Maddens Infirmities of Geniusis a book which suggests an in- finite charity, as well as exposes the fatal effects of neglecting natural laws. Lord Byron used to declare that a dose of salts exhilarated him more than wine. Shelley was a devoted vyctarian. Cowper spoke from experience when he sang the praises of the cups, that cheer but not inebri- ate. Johnson wrote an elegy on Leven the apothecary, and had faith in the sanative quality of dried orange peel. Whdn Dr. Spurzhcim was first visited by the physicians in his last illness, he told them to allow for the habitual irre- gularity of his pulse, which had inter- mitted ever since the death of his wife. George Combe used to tell a capital story in his lectures, of the manner in which a pious Scotch lady made her grandson pass Sunday, whereby, while outwardly keep- ing Sunday holy, he violated all the rules of health. Two of the most character- istic books in British literature, are Greens poem of the Spleen, and Dr. Cheynes English Malady, and another is the history of the Gold-headed Cane, oi rather of the five doctors that successive- ly owned it. How unprofessional mcdi- cine is becoming, may be seen in current literature, when Dc Quinceys metaphysi- cal account of the effects of opium, and Bulwers fascinating plea for the Water- Cure, are ranked as light-reading. To the lover of the old English prose writers, there is no more endeared name than Sir Thomas Browne, and his I{eligio Medici, and quaint tracts, are among the choicest gifts for which philosophy is indebted to the profession; while the classical student can never forget his obli~ations to Dr. Middleton for time Life of Cicero. The vivacious Lady Montague is most grate- fully remembered for her philanthropic efforts in behalf of inoculation for small- pox; and our Brockden Brown has de- scribed the phenomena of an epidemic in one of his novels with more insight, though less horror, than Dc Foe. It is in pestilence and after battle that the doctor sometimes rises to the moral sublime in his disinterested arid unwearied devotion to others. It must however, be confessed that, notwithstanding these in- cidental laurels, the authority of the prow fession has so declined, the malade ima 1853.] Doctors. 11 ginaire8 so increased with civilization, and the privileges of the faculty been so en- croached upon by what is called pro- gress, that a doctor of the old school would scorn to tolerate the fallen dignity of a title that once rendered his inter- course with society oracular, and author- ized him, with impunity, to whip a King, as in the case of Dr. Willis and George the Third. There is a ce,tain analo~y, says an agreeable writer. between naval and medical men. Neither like to acknowl- edge the presence of dan~cr. On the other hand, each patients character as well as constitution makes a separate de- mand upon his sympathy; for in cases where fortitude and intelligence exist, per- fect frankness is due, and in instances of extreme sensibility it may prove fatal so that the most delicate consideration is often required to decide on the expedien- cy of enlightening the invalid. If it is folly to theorize in medicine, it is often sinful to flatter the imagination for the purpose of securing temporary ease. A physicians course, like that of men in all pursuits, is sometimes regulated by his con- sciousness, and he is apt to prescribe ac- cording to his own rather than his pa- tients nature; thus a fleshy doctor is in- clined to bleed and recommend generous diet; a nervous one affects mild anodynes; a vain one talks science, and thin, cold- blooded, specuk tive one, makes safe ex- periments in practice, and is habitually noncommittal in speech. Almost invaria- bly short-necked plethoric doctors enjoy freeing the vessels of others by copious depletion, and those more delicately or- ganized advocate fresh air and tonics; the one instinctively reasoning from the sur- plus, and the other from the inadequate vitality of which they re respectively con- scious. I knew a doctor who scarcely ever failed to prescribe an emetic, and his expression of countenance indicated chron- ic nausea. If the mental experience of a doctor naturally leads to philosophy, the moral tends to make him a philanthropist. lie is familiar with all the ills that flesh is heir to. The mystery of birth, the so- lernnity of death, the anxiety of disease, the devotion of faith, the agony of de- spair, are phases of life daily open to his view; and their contemplation, if there is in his nature a particle either of reflection or sensibility, must lead to a sense of hu- man brotherhood, excite the impulse of benevolence, and awaken the spirit of hu- manity. Warrens Diary of a Physi- cian gives us an inkling of what varieties of human experience are exposed to his gaze. Vigils at the couch of genius and beauty, full of the stern romance of reality, or imbued with tenderness and inspiration are recorded in his heart. He is admit- ted into sanctums where no other feet but those of kindred enter. lIe becomes the inevitable auditor and spectator where no other strander looks or listens. Hu- man nature, stripped of its conventional- ities, lies exposed before him; the secrets of conscience, the aspirations of intellect, the devotedness of love, all that exalts and all that debases the soul, he beholds in the hour of weakness, solitude, or dismay; and hard and unthinking must he be, if such lessons make no enduring impres- sion, and excite no comprehensive sym- pathies. Medicine enjoys no immunity from the spirit of the age. Who does not recognize in the popularity of Jlahnemnanns system the influence of the transcendental philos- ophy, a kind of visionary practice analo- gous to the vague terms of its disciples in literature; those little globules with the theoretical accompaniment catch the fancy; castor oil and the lancet arc matter-of- fact in comparison. And so with hydro- pathy. There is in our day what may be called a return-to-nature school. Words- worth is its expositor in poetry; Fourier in social life, and Turner in painting. The newly appreciated efficacy of water ac- cords with this principle. It is an ele- mental rnedicament, limpid as the style of Peter Bell, free from admixture as the in- dividual labor in a model community, and as directly caught from nature as the aerial perspective of Englands late scenic limner. Even what has been considered the inevitable resort to dissection in order to acquire anatomical knowledge, it is now pretended, has a substitute in clairvoy- ance. Somewhat of truth in this spiritual- izing tendency of science, there doubtless is, but Fact is the basis of positive knowl- edge, and the most unwarrantable of all experiments, with only imagination for a guide, are those involving human life. 12 [July LETTERS OF PAREPIDEMUS. NUMB R ONE. ~f Y DEAR Sia,I left this country as nearly as possible (next June, I be- lieve, will complete it), one quarter of a century back, to go to school. I was sent home, as they called itthat is, away from home, to the laud which my parents, and, I presume, yours also, long ago be- longed toto be educated. Does one get educated in twenty-five years, I wonder? The wisest of the seven wise men of Greece describes to us how that he Loch day grow older and learnt something new. And, since the something new may possi- bly contradict, and will assuredly modify the every thing not so new before it at what age may one consider ones self enti- tled, for example, to write letters in print to the Editor of a Magazine? At what figure does one attain ones real majority and ri~ht of speech? How soon may one venture to affirm any thing which every body else does not, already, know and believe? And, in the mean time, is there any good in talkiur merely to be assented to? Is it so agreeable an exercise on the part of the reader to express mentally to himself that assent? If agreeable, is it therefore useful? Were it not better done as others use? to follow the plough or the ledger, to find s Neacra in agri- culture, or an Amryllis in commerce? What boots it. with incessant care to tend the slighted bookmakers trade, and strictly meditate the thankless muse of Magazines? Will posterity know any thino of our miserably imper- fect, impotent fugitive verses, or contem- poraneity be none the worse for them? Are we not most likely corrupting the pure taste which would otherwise turn with a natural appetite to Shakspeare and Milton, to Addison and Goldsmith to Virgil and homer? Goethe, I have heard, said not long before his death, that had he known crc he began writing, how many good books there were in the world before, he would never have written a word. There is one thing, in deed, I think one might do, could one only believe that one could. No so certain a way of learning the merit of a yeat picture, as an attempt to copy it or represent something like it. And as we, if we look to it and take pains, may by our indifferent writing, learn to ppreciate the worth and merit of great writers, whom before we thought but lit- tie of, so it is also possible that our faith- ful, though small attempts, may help peo- ple to appreciate the great originals. Every new age has something new in it,takes up a new position; the view presented by the writers of an anterior ge is not readily seized, or adopted by those born in a later century. It may, I think, be one good work attainable to the efforts of the humble, modern littfrateur to ele- vate and direct to the noblest objects the tastes and enjoyments of his contempora- ries. lie holds a position common with them: he may avail himself of this for their edification. As the traveller who knows the country will show his less ex- perienced companion at each new stage, each further remove, under changed as- pects, the high mountain points they are retiring from; will point out the Mont Blanc whose shadow they stood in at Chamouni, in its full magnificent outline at Sallanches, and again, far distant, yet not less rose-tinged at sunset from Geneva, so the writers (that is, or should be,the more instructed readers) of each new cen- tury, may successively restore each suc- cessive generation to connection with the teachers of the past. Such is a possible function for a writer. Do twenty-five years educate one, I wonder, for this twenty-five years of the universal slov- enly habits of writing, speaking, hearing, thinking, remembering, which pervade our time? Twenty-live years have I spent in learnirio said the young man to the old. Return, said the sage, and spend another twenty-five irs un- learning. Each day grow older and unlearn somethiun is this to be our other reading of Solons maxim? Alas! it would seem there is need of it. We submit ourselves for instruction to teach- ers, and they teach us (or is it our awk- wardness that we learn from them) their faults and mistakes. Each new age and each new year has its new direction; and we go to the well-informed of the season before ours, to be put by them in the direction which, because right for their time is thercfoi e not quite riglit for ours. Upon the ~s iter in a boat, I sit and shetch ~s there we float; The scene 15 fur the stream is strong, I bketch it as xs e float along. The ~trcsm is strong, and as I sit And xiew the pictnre that we quit, It floss s nod floss oid bears the boat. And I sit sketchnig as we float. Still as we go, the things I see, Eon as I see them, cease to be,

Letters of Parapidemus 72-75

12 [July LETTERS OF PAREPIDEMUS. NUMB R ONE. ~f Y DEAR Sia,I left this country as nearly as possible (next June, I be- lieve, will complete it), one quarter of a century back, to go to school. I was sent home, as they called itthat is, away from home, to the laud which my parents, and, I presume, yours also, long ago be- longed toto be educated. Does one get educated in twenty-five years, I wonder? The wisest of the seven wise men of Greece describes to us how that he Loch day grow older and learnt something new. And, since the something new may possi- bly contradict, and will assuredly modify the every thing not so new before it at what age may one consider ones self enti- tled, for example, to write letters in print to the Editor of a Magazine? At what figure does one attain ones real majority and ri~ht of speech? How soon may one venture to affirm any thing which every body else does not, already, know and believe? And, in the mean time, is there any good in talkiur merely to be assented to? Is it so agreeable an exercise on the part of the reader to express mentally to himself that assent? If agreeable, is it therefore useful? Were it not better done as others use? to follow the plough or the ledger, to find s Neacra in agri- culture, or an Amryllis in commerce? What boots it. with incessant care to tend the slighted bookmakers trade, and strictly meditate the thankless muse of Magazines? Will posterity know any thino of our miserably imper- fect, impotent fugitive verses, or contem- poraneity be none the worse for them? Are we not most likely corrupting the pure taste which would otherwise turn with a natural appetite to Shakspeare and Milton, to Addison and Goldsmith to Virgil and homer? Goethe, I have heard, said not long before his death, that had he known crc he began writing, how many good books there were in the world before, he would never have written a word. There is one thing, in deed, I think one might do, could one only believe that one could. No so certain a way of learning the merit of a yeat picture, as an attempt to copy it or represent something like it. And as we, if we look to it and take pains, may by our indifferent writing, learn to ppreciate the worth and merit of great writers, whom before we thought but lit- tie of, so it is also possible that our faith- ful, though small attempts, may help peo- ple to appreciate the great originals. Every new age has something new in it,takes up a new position; the view presented by the writers of an anterior ge is not readily seized, or adopted by those born in a later century. It may, I think, be one good work attainable to the efforts of the humble, modern littfrateur to ele- vate and direct to the noblest objects the tastes and enjoyments of his contempora- ries. lie holds a position common with them: he may avail himself of this for their edification. As the traveller who knows the country will show his less ex- perienced companion at each new stage, each further remove, under changed as- pects, the high mountain points they are retiring from; will point out the Mont Blanc whose shadow they stood in at Chamouni, in its full magnificent outline at Sallanches, and again, far distant, yet not less rose-tinged at sunset from Geneva, so the writers (that is, or should be,the more instructed readers) of each new cen- tury, may successively restore each suc- cessive generation to connection with the teachers of the past. Such is a possible function for a writer. Do twenty-five years educate one, I wonder, for this twenty-five years of the universal slov- enly habits of writing, speaking, hearing, thinking, remembering, which pervade our time? Twenty-live years have I spent in learnirio said the young man to the old. Return, said the sage, and spend another twenty-five irs un- learning. Each day grow older and unlearn somethiun is this to be our other reading of Solons maxim? Alas! it would seem there is need of it. We submit ourselves for instruction to teach- ers, and they teach us (or is it our awk- wardness that we learn from them) their faults and mistakes. Each new age and each new year has its new direction; and we go to the well-informed of the season before ours, to be put by them in the direction which, because right for their time is thercfoi e not quite riglit for ours. Upon the ~s iter in a boat, I sit and shetch ~s there we float; The scene 15 fur the stream is strong, I bketch it as xs e float along. The ~trcsm is strong, and as I sit And xiew the pictnre that we quit, It floss s nod floss oid bears the boat. And I sit sketchnig as we float. Still as we go, the things I see, Eon as I see them, cease to be, 1 853.] Parepidernus. 73 The anales shift and uith the boat The whole perspectix e ~eems to float. Each pointed hewht each xx axy line, To new and other loiiux combine; Proportions clian~c anti colors lade, And all the landwape i~ rema(le. Depictedneither far uoi nen, And larger there and ~maller here, And partly 01(1 au(l pait~ ness Een I can ha dlx think it tine Yet still I look and otill I s~t Ad~ustinr. sisapino alteiin it And still the current bears the boat And me, still sketcliin as we float. Did I really read or only dream some- where that anecdote of an elderly painter, who, going over one day, with a friend of his youth, who had known him in his prime and promise, a series of his popular and most admired pieces, said mournfully, All these poor, unmeaning. ill-designed, half e~ ecuted things I have made to earn bread and time to do that, pointing to a chacte unfinished canvas at the end of the r on end that after all, is as bad as am of th in This also saith the preache N e core evil that I have seen undet the sun To 01 os~ old therefore, le~ rning and unleat nin is such the conclusion? Con- clusion or no conclusion, such, alas! ap- pears to be our inevitable lot, the fixed ordinance of the life we live. The cruel king Tarchetius gave his dau5hters a web to weave, tipon the cotnpletion of which he said they should get married; and what these involuntary Penelopes did in the daytime, servants by his orders undid at night. A hopeless and a weary work, indeed, especially for young people desir- ous to get married. Weaving and unweaving, learning and unlearning, learning painfully, painfully unlearning, under the orders of the cruel king Tarchetius. behold,are we to say, our life? Every new lesson, saith the Oriental proverb, is an other gray hair; and time will pluck out this also. And what saith the preacher? I, the preacher. was King over Israel in Jerusa- lem. And I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under the heavens; this sore travail bath God given to thee sons of men to be exercised therewith. Perchepeosa? Peosastdo siovecchia, said the young, unthinking Itidian, to the grave German sitting by him in the dili- gence, whose name was Goethe. Is it true? To spend uncountetl years of Isain Again, again, and yet arab, In isorkino out ha heart and brain The problem of our being here; To gather facts froiti far and near; Epon the naind t(i hold tlietu clear, And, knowing more may yet appear, Utito sines latest breath to fear The premature result to draw, Is this the object, end, aiad law And purpose of our being here? Nevertheless, to say something, to talk to ones fellow-creatures to relieve ones self by a little exchange of ideas, is there no good, is there no harm in that? Prove to the utmost thi6 imperfection of our views, our thoughts. our conclusions; yet you will not ht ye established the useless- ness of writing. Most true, indeed, by writing we ic lieve ourselves, we unlearn; it is the one best recipe for facilitatilig that needful process. Eacla day write something. and u slearn it so. Most true, indeed! The obseivations that we can make nothing of, the maxims that have ceased to be serviceable to us, our spent theories. otir discarded hypotheses, the wit that has beconie stale to us. the wisdom that has grown ftixte ~a ith us the imaginations that molest us thee ill-humors that fret us, our follies fancies fuisities; oh, happy relief away with them to the Magazine! Yes, methinks I see it ~o tbrouwh the long series of ages. The lb d is biat the scum of the miiad of Jiomet end PIttos dialogues the refuse of his thought ~X ho that reads the Odyssey perceives siot tliet it is an act of penitence for thu Ihito end feels not that, had the poet hixed, the Odyssey also, would have h id its Pdi- node? In the divine eloquence of Pltto there are intonations in wIne h I beai bun saying to me You know I don t quite mean all this. Alas! list rtie I has-c guise here 01(1 Ihere And made iiinvself a motley to the s icss is thee Creat Dramatists piofotinclext feel- ing about himself Isis domes his saviaws. his xxiitinos X ugil bede his iLneid be bui nt and xx hat xx e 1 e tel as h~ s is not ha elehiheiate word but th it of X inns and lucca \.s Lou 51 a it i-, s-nd in his old e~e smeiiled sedhy it the fere cut d151 iples ot the Social Contract the Linde, nd the .Juhie so doubt it not, did greeter than iRonssceu So felt Laphitch of his peintiiaes and Phidias of his semalptures. Michael An do, also, of his Pantheon suspended in the heavens. I)ante, from sonic stranoc region of thee Spiritual Sliaces, looks down, half scorn, half re mouse on thee worshippers of the Divine Comedt of his human spleen and bitter- ness Cerx antes laughs aloud to hear phi- losophici s discriminate the ptire reason in Don Quixote and the underst~ending in Sancho end Montaig ne with open eyes of more than mortal wonder repe- ts his Quc sfaisje? at the sight of grave wor- shippers ot his levities. May it not be true that when I quote fioin Milton, a shade of severe vexation darkens his spi- ritual features. and when I repeat the I 74 Parepidernus. [July wisdom of Ecelesiastes. an ethereal frown contracts the immortal forehead of the Preacher? You are feeding, oh you students of Greek and lovers of Latin, you that add to your German, French, and to your French, Italian and Spanish, you inquirers afar off into Persian and Sanscrit. you de- votees of Chaucer and votaries of Shak- speare and Miltonyou are feeding upon that precisely, which was tried by these wise men of old and found wanting. You stand picking up the dross, where those before you have carried away the gold; you are s wallowing as truth, what they put away from themexpressed, because it was false or insufficient. Or is this. peradventure. confined to our own weaker selves, our more impatient. irretentive. unthonghtful age? For, cer- tainly. my dear sir. what you and I and the x-oun ~ people read in any modern page is. in the manner afore stated, the thing that is not. Each striking new novel does but reveal a theory of life and action which its writer is anxious to be rid of; each enthusiastic address or oration is but that which its speaker is just beginning to feel disgusted with. Oh ! happy and happy again, and thrice happy relief to the writer; but to the reader ? Said the Tree to the Children how can you go and pick tip those dirty dead leaves I have thrown away? Said the Children to the Tree, Will you grow us any better next year? Said the Tree to the Children. What! are you positively going to put into your mouths those hor- rid things (fruit, do you call it?) that have fallen from my branches? Said the Childrca to the Tree. Why, they are very nice. Said the Tree then to itselg Suppose I were to restrain myself next spring, and not grow any leaves, and to suppress, ascetically, all tendencies to blos- som? Should I not then produce some- thing better? By all that is wise and moral, I will try. Said the Springtime six months after to the Tree, My dear Tree, that is out of the question. The Children came again the next fall, and the Tree made no remark. An illustration, however, is not the same thing as an argument; though some- times, indeed, it ma,~ ne better. It is a gan~e,in an~~ case, for two to play at. For it is also told of the Pheenix, that, havina reached its term of years, it proceeded to Arabia, and built up carefully its pyre of odoriferous combustibles, and sat down to expect the new birth. But when the fire began to kindle, and the odoriferous sticks crackled, the odors indeed were beautiful (ornithologists, however, are uncertain whether the Phnnix has any sense of smell), the flame meantime was most un- doubtedly painful in the extreme when it got within the feathers (the Phcenix there is no question has the sense of touch, The Phanix started up and exclaimed to itself, Oh! surely, surely, I am young again now ! Sit still, sit still, poor Phmnix; not till pain has deprived thee of the very sense of pain, not until thought anil self-consciousness are burnt out and out of theenot, by many pangs, yetis the new creature born in thee; with which exhortation the story concludes. And with which illustration, upon which side, my dear sir, is the truth, or the most of the truth? As the leaves are. so are the lives of men; and so also their writings? Shall we yield to the proniptings of Nature, and let the eager sap aspire forth in germination, and the leaflets open out, and display themselves, to fall from us dead and unconiely in No- vember? Or shall we burn slowly, in silence, that hereafter something better may be born of us? Qreien salse? ~Xras it the silence or the speech of pre- vious ages that formed the more perfect writers? Was Perugino necessary to Ra- phael, or had llapliael been more himself without him? Some function indeed, higher than that of mere self-relief we must coisceive of for the writer. To sum up the large experience of ages, to lay the finger on yet unobserved, or undiscovered phenomena of the Inner Universe, some- thing we can tletect of these in the spheric architecture of St. Peters, in the creative touches of the Tempest. Imperfect, no doubt, both this and that is; short of the better thing to comethe real thing that is. Yet not impotent, not wholly unavailina. In conclusion, will you let me offer you the last modern invocation to the Poetshall we say in modern phraseof the Future? Come, Poet, come No, I will trouble von onle with a few verses at the end. In vain I seem to caii, and yet Think not the lixin years foret Ages of heroes fought snd leN Thit bow r in the end iuiht tell 0 er rosellin en ritions at The iJorie column rose it at And thousand hearts on thoussod ears hid si asted 1 ibor, hopes and Otis, Knells inightei s and uiiiseanin tears, Lie En I nid s Sieskepeare saw or Lime, Tue pure puP etion ef hei dome Othes I doubt iiot if not a e Tue isne of our toils shiN see hsldren slIer is their ossis 1h5 ii irs eat tiist the I)esd line soxxii Ttie Dead, forgotten sad unknown. Let me sign myself, my dear sir (as we are all strangers and ~uilgrimns so myself in an especial sense), Your faithful naid ebhiged PAn nPtDEMtls. July.] 75 SKETChES IS A PARISIAN CAF~ IT is a strange so lit So strikin~ I re solved while sippin~ mi chocolat a (try it when -con oo to loitoni s) tb-it if the thron~ of omnibo e h ic~s and c ir riares allowed inc to i each nix ncict little chamber. hiehei up in the -in th in the no torions port-holc of the \stor 1Iou~e (what bachelor i~ there who ha~ not been damned to that a-cent mci cie~cent and those many-bed d d i oonis 7) Ii resolved 1 say, to jot down in irnpi eosions of the unmatched scenc w hich is acted on the narrow strip of a-phaltum p~ivement lying between the Chansoec. d ~ntin and the line Lafittethat strip of ground every body has read about all hope to tread the l3onlevard des It-diens That is Pan-i iro~d France. For the glory of the Palais lox al has depart- ed, as it faded an ax fi em its predecessors the Pont Neuf and the Place I{ovale: now the mici ocosm of Paris is the Boulevard des It~dien There the pnlse of that sin- gular thin c~dled Life in Paris heats hitth fex er pulse ~dl the year round; through this thick and perfect plate-glass window of Toi toni ~ draw voiii- chair closer that the ccii tin mu not obstrnct your view von ciii ob-i~rve and cast the horoscope of all Pu i~ W hat fortune-telling absurd? By the Witch of Endor, but Ill pin my faith on the cofibe grounds tossed by a cunning hand in a cup of Tortonis. You would be outwoefully out if you deemed these omens could be i-cad this first day you sat in tiuc comfortably stuff- ed velvet arm-chaii-. and rapped the mar- ble table to sciiiimon the waiter to the painfully irksome task of playing tEdipus to our Iirenchi (I tliiiik you called the laiuoaiiov i-on used this moi-ning to your p0 tei ) 2 No It is more difficult than tho Ladx Common Law, which (if my Lord Coke miii be ciedited) i-equines the vigils of txi ci ta a cii -~ of novitiate. The Lady Paric demund~ still lonoem- iiovitiate. The Iii ~-t dix you sat here. would lie like ~first a mmt to a cotton mill; all avocild be sti ano-e noise and w-ild comifusion. Con- versatioii wonld~ seem to your ear like the jabbering of the monkeys in the wire palace in the Gai-den of Plants; there would he no apparent distinction between the Attic elegance of tone arid diction of the poet. and the vulgar bi-utality of the An- vergnat water-carrier both would be French to you. If you kept a journal, the note of this day would be ~saxx- a reat many mustachioed men. struck with the number of soldiers and variety of uniforms, disappointed in the dress of the men and the beauty of. the ladies, not havin~ seen a pretty woman durimig the day. And that -would be all youd see! That all contained on that leaf of life ! That all that is visible, legible on this animated- page! A schoolboy might as well say he could read Demosthenes fariious oath, when he had succeeded in pinning an Emiglish definition to every Greek word. In six months, if yen had acquaintan- ces, you niighat learn that that gentleman in a snuff-colored suit, his hat throxvn far back on his high broad forehead, calm as the face is stern, and avithm the lines of sor- i-oxv about the mouth, his face fixed on the ground absorbed in deep thought, is named Guizot. You may have pointed out to you that short, thick, bow-legged, rolling gentleman, who avalks along the I3oiile- yard as if he ax ere giving chase to the man in seven-lenone boots his hat crushed ovei his eyes, which look so bright and full of fun, nuect companions to that nuisehmievous month, but fum ax hich features you avoulci set down M I Incus (thi it is his name) for the runiuer of, ome bankimig house.. These, who would 1)0 lions or stars any ivhmere else in tIme xx ide xx em ld are nobody here. A mob is always vuloir and uinnoticeable. and there is a mob of distinguished people always in P aims Any d~my betxveen three amid five oclock ~ oii c-ni see on time Bomihe yard des Italiens uumemburs of nearly all the Royal faumilies of Eni ope, the heroes of half a dozen diflem eat revolutions from as nimany different counti its, Pi-inces, War- riors. Poets Painters Sculptors, States- men Ihie othem day 1 saw Colonel Fremont begging a light froni tIme liospo- dar of Wallachmia, and neither knew avho the other avas. Thus latency of distinc- tion. only evoked by a (linnier invitation or a court-bail. avhmichi l~aris affords, makes it so charnuing a residence to all who bear honors buckled on thueim- bachc. Here the hei-o is a hero only to his valet de chmamnbre. If you knoxx- tIme faces of all these great nien. you hmaae only the Ic noavledge of the City Dii-ectom-y or of a valet de ehuarnbre,but you clommt know Paris. It is ax-ell avorth kmuoxving. It repays tIme pains expended oua it, for xx-hien you know it, tIme gilded cor- niced saloons, flue splendid caf6s, tIme lux- uriant restaurants, flue ch arming theatres, lose their -coverful attraction; you turn from the thick-mougeil skeleton with ~ longimig for tIme pure air, the beautiful country, flue familiar accents of Anglo- Saxon home, Anglo-Saxon purity, Anglo- Saxon virtue, Aug10 Saxon sincerity and, let me add, Amu~lo-Saxomu liberty. No city contains so many persons who

Sketches in a Parisian Cafe 75-81

July.] 75 SKETChES IS A PARISIAN CAF~ IT is a strange so lit So strikin~ I re solved while sippin~ mi chocolat a (try it when -con oo to loitoni s) tb-it if the thron~ of omnibo e h ic~s and c ir riares allowed inc to i each nix ncict little chamber. hiehei up in the -in th in the no torions port-holc of the \stor 1Iou~e (what bachelor i~ there who ha~ not been damned to that a-cent mci cie~cent and those many-bed d d i oonis 7) Ii resolved 1 say, to jot down in irnpi eosions of the unmatched scenc w hich is acted on the narrow strip of a-phaltum p~ivement lying between the Chansoec. d ~ntin and the line Lafittethat strip of ground every body has read about all hope to tread the l3onlevard des It-diens That is Pan-i iro~d France. For the glory of the Palais lox al has depart- ed, as it faded an ax fi em its predecessors the Pont Neuf and the Place I{ovale: now the mici ocosm of Paris is the Boulevard des It~dien There the pnlse of that sin- gular thin c~dled Life in Paris heats hitth fex er pulse ~dl the year round; through this thick and perfect plate-glass window of Toi toni ~ draw voiii- chair closer that the ccii tin mu not obstrnct your view von ciii ob-i~rve and cast the horoscope of all Pu i~ W hat fortune-telling absurd? By the Witch of Endor, but Ill pin my faith on the cofibe grounds tossed by a cunning hand in a cup of Tortonis. You would be outwoefully out if you deemed these omens could be i-cad this first day you sat in tiuc comfortably stuff- ed velvet arm-chaii-. and rapped the mar- ble table to sciiiimon the waiter to the painfully irksome task of playing tEdipus to our Iirenchi (I tliiiik you called the laiuoaiiov i-on used this moi-ning to your p0 tei ) 2 No It is more difficult than tho Ladx Common Law, which (if my Lord Coke miii be ciedited) i-equines the vigils of txi ci ta a cii -~ of novitiate. The Lady Paric demund~ still lonoem- iiovitiate. The Iii ~-t dix you sat here. would lie like ~first a mmt to a cotton mill; all avocild be sti ano-e noise and w-ild comifusion. Con- versatioii wonld~ seem to your ear like the jabbering of the monkeys in the wire palace in the Gai-den of Plants; there would he no apparent distinction between the Attic elegance of tone arid diction of the poet. and the vulgar bi-utality of the An- vergnat water-carrier both would be French to you. If you kept a journal, the note of this day would be ~saxx- a reat many mustachioed men. struck with the number of soldiers and variety of uniforms, disappointed in the dress of the men and the beauty of. the ladies, not havin~ seen a pretty woman durimig the day. And that -would be all youd see! That all contained on that leaf of life ! That all that is visible, legible on this animated- page! A schoolboy might as well say he could read Demosthenes fariious oath, when he had succeeded in pinning an Emiglish definition to every Greek word. In six months, if yen had acquaintan- ces, you niighat learn that that gentleman in a snuff-colored suit, his hat throxvn far back on his high broad forehead, calm as the face is stern, and avithm the lines of sor- i-oxv about the mouth, his face fixed on the ground absorbed in deep thought, is named Guizot. You may have pointed out to you that short, thick, bow-legged, rolling gentleman, who avalks along the I3oiile- yard as if he ax ere giving chase to the man in seven-lenone boots his hat crushed ovei his eyes, which look so bright and full of fun, nuect companions to that nuisehmievous month, but fum ax hich features you avoulci set down M I Incus (thi it is his name) for the runiuer of, ome bankimig house.. These, who would 1)0 lions or stars any ivhmere else in tIme xx ide xx em ld are nobody here. A mob is always vuloir and uinnoticeable. and there is a mob of distinguished people always in P aims Any d~my betxveen three amid five oclock ~ oii c-ni see on time Bomihe yard des Italiens uumemburs of nearly all the Royal faumilies of Eni ope, the heroes of half a dozen diflem eat revolutions from as nimany different counti its, Pi-inces, War- riors. Poets Painters Sculptors, States- men Ihie othem day 1 saw Colonel Fremont begging a light froni tIme liospo- dar of Wallachmia, and neither knew avho the other avas. Thus latency of distinc- tion. only evoked by a (linnier invitation or a court-bail. avhmichi l~aris affords, makes it so charnuing a residence to all who bear honors buckled on thueim- bachc. Here the hei-o is a hero only to his valet de chmamnbre. If you knoxx- tIme faces of all these great nien. you hmaae only the Ic noavledge of the City Dii-ectom-y or of a valet de ehuarnbre,but you clommt know Paris. It is ax-ell avorth kmuoxving. It repays tIme pains expended oua it, for xx-hien you know it, tIme gilded cor- niced saloons, flue splendid caf6s, tIme lux- uriant restaurants, flue ch arming theatres, lose their -coverful attraction; you turn from the thick-mougeil skeleton with ~ longimig for tIme pure air, the beautiful country, flue familiar accents of Anglo- Saxon home, Anglo-Saxon purity, Anglo- Saxon virtue, Aug10 Saxon sincerity and, let me add, Amu~lo-Saxomu liberty. No city contains so many persons who 0 Sketches in a Parisian C~af~. [July live by their wits. Stran ci ~ abound here, and with their accumulated sas mo long beforehand destined to defi a~ the pleas- ures of their visit to Pari~ then onoisnee of this world and their common ionomance of French. make them the icady p cv of acute sharpers. The usmoes of Paris furnish forth to the adroit adxentuier in- numerable opportunities of w ii~ohn~ him- self into the acquaintance of the person who occupied with him the same small table at the restaurant yesterday at din- ner, or his neirhbor in the caf~ in the morning. What heart could resist grati- tucle to the benefactor who gave intelli- gence to the stupid waiter that could not understand his own language as you pronounced it; to the beneficent guide who directed your inexperienced fingers through the wandering mazes of a bill of fare in twenty-four octavo pages, with a verbal appendix rolled out of the waiters mouth with infinitely greater dexterity than ever a mountebank poured forth ribbons. Their breasts apparently over- flow with the richest cream of human kindness ; they dissipate their charitable beneficences on the first coiner in broadcloth and patent leather boots. To these their good nature topples to weak ne~ there are no bounds to the services hex ~x ml perform tlieie is no office too ucan f m them there is no passion too tioi~ieehil for them to minister to. What od(ls ~remter value to those services is, they are condescensions of some titled person, x ococ rank, though not found in any book of heraldry, will be found in the amount abstracted from your credit at Greenes. Tn Paris every thing may be had for money. Do you wish strawberries on Christmas day, or peaches for New-Years dinner; would you have oysters in Au- gust, or cranberries in July? Chevet can furnish you. Pythiases and Damons can be hired by the hour. The Foundling Hospital will furnish at the shortest no- tice a family of all ages, all sizes, and both sexes. The Maison de Saint Penis has a fresh assortment of wives always on hand. Do von seek a fortune? M. St Foe nego- tiates rich marriages. ITe is as secret as the tomb. Are your feet awkward and gawky? Cellarius makes them nimble and spry. Can the hairs of your head be numbered by your vis-& -vis in advance ? there are incomparable oils here, which will conceal your pate beneath a tropical luxuri- ance of hirsute vegetation. There are men- machinesM. Faillet for examplewho will throw a raw Yankee into their back- parlor, and in sixty lessons, of one hour each turn him out a spruce French- man. familiar with Corneille, at home in Moliere. and with Lafontaine by heart. Surely you dont see all this from Tor- tonis xx indow 2 But on do if you can read what is be- fore you Xl Faillet disputes with le I)octeui ~lbem t for possession of the hol- low columim xx hich adorn the Boulevard, and would disimo ore conversation with ears polite. I his x aunts his practice and that his pills Cimevets cart continually pass- es to and fro with its driver, whose rubi- cund face is a perpetual letter of reconi mendation. Some New-Yorkers have compared the Boulevards to Broadway. I have nevei been able to iliscover more than one point of resemblancethe names of both thor ougbfares begiii with B. The houses cii the Boulevards are of yellow stone. thres stories higher than those on Broadxvav, surcharoed with gray iron netted b alconies piercemi xx mth lofty eoachxx a~ s the win- dows open like dooi mnstcad of being hung with xx eights time sti ect is macmdamnized, the sideux elks are covered xx ith asphmaltum the shops if those niches mum~ he called shcpsue but loxe or jess elm) or segar, or rii)boiis cm bonnet ci t uloi s shops, if they are not those shops di nified with time names of restuirant cm ale xx lucre tIme most impoitmut business of human life is carried on The litter are by far the most numerous them e is scam-cely one of them but is fumous Vt ho has not heard of the CalS An his cm Tortonis? Have not we all promised eur~elves to dine one day at the Cafe de P u is or Maison d Or? The thiong tIm it fills time ample side- walks is 5till less like time croxvd that forms a pu t of Bi c adxvay. There every face is evidently comisciomis that the Ex- change and Wall-street time near one end, Grace Church at time other end of Broad xvay, and the City iTall standin~ in the Park. Ilere it is patent on every flice that its possessor is virgin (the only virginity to be found in Paris) to red ink. three oclock and large red wafers; that lie nevem heard of Sunday except as a great ball day at 1{anelagh cm Asnieres; nor of constables anti pcimitentiinmes but in connection xvithm politic . . . somethii~gcf fenders. its a hard wcr(i he has not used since . . .. since since 1851. Can the oldest inhabitant of New York remember to have seen rustic chairs as thick on time flags of Brcadxvay as they noxv are on the asphmaltum here? or active xvaiters with their eternal vla and con- tinual posing of questions in subtraction to the mistress of time housea Mrs. Cas- sius in arithmetic though not in xveight. No Fourth of July ever assembles in Broadway the number and variety of uniforms for ever flitting along time Boule- vard. Did you, ever see a Jiussar xvith 1853.] S1cetche~ in a Parisicin (Jaf6. ~77 his double coat gracefully falling over his shoulder, and givin~ new relief to the rrchly and profusely braided uniform, ex- cept in a fancy ball at Newport? With you. where but on the stage are the stal- wart Cuirassiers to be seen with their thick armor protecting their breasts and backs? You have seen a Lancer, and a Carabineer, and a Heavy and a Light Dragoon, and an Artilleryman. but have you met the Guides (that aristocr tic compan all of whose members are obliged to speak two or three languages) in their showy uni- form, or those impertinent, insolent Prie- toriansthe Municipal Guard. Where, except on Monsieur Hackett-Mallets back, have you seen the uniform of the Invalid, whose eye fills at the mention of Napoleons name. Though that old frame is bowed double, it still holds a heart which glows with enthusiasm at the bare suggestion of Austerlitz, whose glorious sun dazzled him; of Fylan, whose snow benumbed him; of Jena, This wound I got there, please sir The City Fathers would abate as nui- sances those thin, graceful, tall, pretty ballet-girls (they call them rats from their wonderful agility of body, acquired by seven hours exercise in the dancing- room from their eighth year) ; and those impertinent. unsexed women, with foreheads of bronze and hearts like the nether millstone. who live in the vicinity of Notre Dame de Lorettelet us avoid polluting these pages with any physi- ology of these sirenssirens, alas! but in fascinations and dangers, for they die (when suicide dQes not prematurely end their abhorred life long) before their thirtieth year. and ~enerallv in their teens, on the miserable bed of some hospital. A dissecting table is their coffin; their requiem, the coarse jest of the brutal me- dical student. Ah from this easy chair I can under- ~tand the emotions which filled Xerxes eves with tears when seated in his state chariot on the summit of a hill, from whence lie could survey the inyriads of men he led towards Greece; he thought of all that hordenot one would exist after a brief hundred years. The throng which passes before these plate-glass win- dows, seems some great funeral proces- sion-vou are tempted to ask, is not the common cradle near the Place de la l3as- tille, and the grave near the Madeleine? The insignificance of life forcibly appear~ from the numbers of men, of women and of children, crushed beneath the iron heel of civilization; that man whose life is exhausted in picking up the segar-ends under the cafe tables; this woman, who begs your spare sons; that girl, whose soul and body are leprosied with vice. During the first hours one spends at these brilliant windows he is bewildered by the intrica- cy and novelty of the scene; the bright reflection from the ilded wall and silver- ed glass blinds his eyes. When they are accustomed to the brilliancy, lie bejns to distinguish the shades, mud involuntarily he closes the curtain. So come---a truce to my disquisitions on Paris! Let us take care that our cray- ons do not forget to animate the sketch by jotting down the conversations which fall on our ears, and introducing the events recorded in the papers. Waiter, bring me the papers See !M. Arago assures the Academy of Sciences that Mars has a depression at its two poles equal to ~- of its mass, that its inclination is 28 degrees, nearly the same as this earths, and co ~seqnent- ly (with the difference of being longer than ours, Mars year being nearly double our year), the seasons succeed in Mars in the same order as here. He says the two luminous spots near the poles are masses of ice and snow, and perceptibly diminish or increase as summer or winter reirns. The climate is generally more rigorous than with us (the line of perpetual snow extends to the 50th degree of latitude, the latitude of London), in consequence of the length of the year and its great dis- tance from the sun; its soil is of a red- dish ochre, and it has an atmosphere. M. Leverrier (the bitter rival and antagonist of M. Arago), from his new L bles of the movement of the sun, a~~cl the laborious studies which enabled him to prepare them, announces all previous tables to be full of errors, and his own not altogether exempt from them in consequence of th oscillation of the solar caused by masses yet unknown to us. lie thinks he shall be able in some years to describe planets and their orbits. which lie far away in space beyond mortal eye; and planets which shall rise on our limited horizon some thousands or niillions of years from this moment ! M. Vincent. of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles- Lettres, states that Crosthenes. from hav- ing observed that at noon and at the sol- stice the suns rays were vertical at Sycue. determined to measure, at the same periods of time, the length of the shadow of a vertical gnomon in the latitude of Alexandria (which was believed to be on the meridian), and so deduce the angle of the two verticals at the two stations; and knowing the length of the ~rc between these two Imlaces, he concluded a figure equivalent to that now admitted by as- tronomers as the true circumference of this globe. M. Dc La Rive almost per- U 78 Sketches in a Parisian Caf6. [Jui~ suaded the Academy that glaciers owe their origin to the cooling produced at the immersion of this globe, by the evaporation of thc waters which then covered it; and he demonstrated, by conclusive experi- ments, that this cooling is especially in- tense when the water which is evaporated, instead of being a uniqu~ liquid surface, is mixed with certain foreign substances, such as earth or sand, which are held in suspension. Do not omit to notice that M. Alvaro Reynoso has demonstrated to the satisfaction of this learned society, that the hydrogene of water acts as a real metal and forms a base of greater energy than soda potashall the mineral bases when exposed to an extreme degree of temperature. lie thinks the day is not distant when be can inan~facture gran- ite, porphyry and marble, in his labora- tory Where shall we ~o after dinner 1 Shall we go to see poor Bayards last piece? You know Bayard is dead after writing 224 dramatic pieces, all of which were successful, and sixty com- ruanded great success. lie died in the prime of life, fallin~ dead in his own ball- room shortly after the dispersal of his guests. lie was, next to M. Scribe (his uncle by marriage), the best vaudevillist we had ; his last vaudeville none but be could have composed; it is Boccaccios Tales dramatized! Do not let us waste the evening by seeing Mine. de Girardins Lady Tartuffe; although Rachel and Samson appear in it, their admirable tal- ents cannot give intellect to that balder- dash. What say you to the Italian Opera, where MIle. de Lagrange has won great success as an unrivalled cantatrice, over- coining difficulties the violin could not surmount; and Mile. Cruvelli ~valks the tragedy queen of song, and M. Napoleone Rossi inherits Lablaches mantle and paunch. This theatre is the most fashion- ab1e theabe in Paris. and, for the first time once the Liberty, Equality, Frater- nox of 1848, frightened the surprised box p opi metors of the Salle Ventadour, th fa hion sble world of Paris now dis l)lav there again their luxury, beauty, and ~race o i like gay, light, sparkling music, seek the Opera Cornique the company is excellent the theatre handsome. and very well lm4mted. They are now playing La tormneUs a new opera by M. Ambroise Thomas, the popular author of Le said and Le Songe dsoiv Nuit dEtd. Ma- dame Ugalde. MIle. Lefebvre, Mile. Du- prez. appear there alternately. I do not know a place of amusement where an evening may be passed so pleasantly. The Gymnase certainly cannot be re- commended now, as they are playim~ there a rather dull comedy by M. Emnile Angier, which turns on points somewhat similar to the Hunchback. If you can- not see Mine. Rose Cheri in any other piece, go by all means, an(1 enjoy the plea- sure her admirable talents invariably give. M. Ponsard, another of the hopes of France, gives a comedyI-Tonor and Wealth, at the Odeon, which is said to be successful, and has won him the rosette of officer of the Legion of honor. I must confess I have never felt interest in any of M. Ponsards ~vritings: be is too cold. The press has given us se eral charm-. ing books recently. 1 have rea(l none with more pleasure than the Politiqee de la Restauratioie en 1822 et 1823, by Count de Marcellus. Allow me to quote a new and characteristic anecdote about George IV. and Mr. Canning: There was a ball at the Palace; I was obliged to dance there the more gayly as my friends and brothers were fighting val- liantly in Spain; that is the diplomatic rule. Politicians who have had a con- ference in the morning, have always some rectification or new argument to make to each other at night. I was led off by the Minister (Canning). far from the ball- room (very much to my regret, I must acknowledge), and carried into the bay of a window, where George IV. saw us, and coining up, said :Ah! my dear Marcellus, things have changed very much since we met. You triumph in Spain. and 1 am glad of it. But it is said King Ferdinand has recalled as ministers at Cadiz, the men who deposed him. Thats a weakness I should never imitate. They wanted to give out that I was insane you, better than any one else, know when and why. But as I told Lord Liv- erpool just now, if my ministers should declare me mad, I might regain may good sense, but I would never take i)ack my ministers. Mr. Canning was listening, and very much embarrassed when the King turning tOwar(ls him said What are you tellino the young representative of France. Canning? Sire. I was vaunting the excellence of representative oovernment to him, and was, at the same time, ex- plaining the traraux forces of the Ilouse of Commons which are its & quences. As M. de Marcellus cannot et be an orator at borne. he is an auditor here I ~ interrupted the Kino ma dear Marcellus, that oui have been this year an auditor under very painful circumstan- ces. pity you sincerely for all you have been obliged to hear and nn(lergo. I am cert in that if your mouth had net been 1853.1 The Hunchback. 79 closed, and if Parliament would have heard you. you would have had an easy task to confute all you ~ ~ said I. . the sailor forgets the storm when the calm returns. True; but take care, and dont allow yourself to be daz- zled by our system of government, said to be so perfect. If it has advantages, it also has great inconveniencies. I have never forgotten what a King, a ho?nmnc desprit. said to rue about it : Your English government is good only to pro- tect adventurerst and to intimidate honest folks? What do you think of it. Canning ? As Mr. Canning, evidently embarrassed, stammered and hesitated, the King continued Therefore, for the good of the world, we should never wish any people to have our own institutions. What will pass here would prove a curse elsewhere; the earth has neither the same fruit on its surface, nor the same minerals in its interior. So it is with nations, and their customs and their character. Recol- lect what I say, my (lear Marcellus, it is my unalterable conviction. Without waiting for a reply George IV. turned his back on us, giving me a knowing glance and smile. Mr. Canning, completely dis- concerted, found some difficulty in regain- ing his sang-froid. lie pressed me earnest- ly by the arm, and said, bitterly Repre- sentative government is good for somethi% 1-us Majesty forgot to mention. Its minis- ters must bear without reply the epi- grammes of a~ King who endeavors thus to avenge his want of power. THE HUNCHBACK. I AM a cripple. Not one of you who gaze with indifference, or mere idle curiosity, on the chance deformities of your fellow-men, can conceive of half the painful consciousness those few words carry with them. There may be no phys- ical suffering, no great lack of agility or strength. no inconvenience; but the per- petually recurring sense of a marked dif- ference from the rest of mankind, a sense which every gesture of derision, every curious glance, or worse than allevery look of pity, serves to keep alive, requires an elevated philosophy, a serene stoicism, more difficult to assume than the steadfast endurance of acute bodily pain. When I was quite young, through the carelessness of a servant, I received a se- vere fall. For a while my life ~as despair- ed of. I was then an only child ; and all that parental care, aided by medical skill, could ciThet. was done to save me. how often have I wishedHeaven forgive me! that their efforts had been in vain. My first return to health, the dawning con- sciousness that succeeded a long delirium, the kind, anxious faces bent over me, float across my memory like a dim vision. The low, sweet music of my mothers voice seemed continually cautioning me to be stilland for days I lay quiet, anticipat- ]ng the pleasures of my first day out of doors; or counting seconds with the tall clock that stood opposite th~ foot of my bed. until I would fall asleep and dream it all over again. I cannot now distinguish which were my waking thoughts and which dreams. One day, when I felt that I hind got quite well, and they had left me alone, the idea occurred to me to get up and give them a pleasant surprise. When I at- tempted to rise, for the first time, I felt pain; and I noticed a strange protuber- ance about my shoulders. In an instant the whole truth flashed upon me. The tears of my parents, the commiseration expresse(l in the faces of friendstue anx- iety they had all vainly endeavored to hide froiri my childish apprehension were now interpreted. I was a hunch- back. Not by half so crooked as the man I had seen in the showno, no; not so awfully deformed as hebut nevertheless a hunchback. lt was lon~ before I re- covered from the mental depression which suecee(le(l the first consciousness of my condition. At first my feelings found vent in strange, incoherent blasphemy. I, who had always been mild and gentle, repelled even my niothers caresses with cursing, until I expected every momnent the earth would open up and swallow me. And, then, throng-li fear and exhaustion, I fell into a stupor of indifference to every thing around me. After my recovery. it was a great while before I ventured outside the house. I dreaded the jeers of my fo rmner playfel- lows; for I could only imagine myself a subject of sport to them. When the beamitiful suimimner days l)assed, oiie by one, * I have always suspected ibis King lmomme d. sprit miesignated by George 1W, was Louis XVIII. bi,useW. t That drealfiti eurd adventurer wounded Mr. c fling the mare, because it was nut new. It was the favorite epithet the Whigs cast on him. 4 80 The Hunchback. [JuI~ and I felt the soft air, and beheld the & een trees and bushes from the window of my room. I would resolve that on the morrow I would go out and enjoy it to the full; but, with the morning would return my, old fears; the distant shout and laughter of the school children brou~ht to me only an aching sense of loneliness and despair. My parents, I believe, un- derstood my sensitiveness, and judicious- ly forbore to urge me against my incli- nation. I cannot recollect that in all my life they ever once alluded to my misfor- tune. It was a temptin~, delicious June day, that I resolutcly picked up my satchel of books. and marched off to school. A good while I lin~ered at the door of the school- room, half-inclined to return home. At last I mustered up courage to go in, and quietly slipped to my accustomed place, unobserved by any one but the teacher. Tie came to mc and spoke a few words of welcome, made sonic kind inquiries, and then resumed his seat. I began to feel more at ease, and studied so hard that I entirely forgot myself till the little hell tinkled play-time. Then my dread returned s my ~choolfellows crowded iround me Rut T v is disappointed. They were kind too k nd I received their boi4erou~ ii elcome ith such a shrinking LIniditi t ixt they were all glad to leave u~ luLl run o if to their playexcept one, i li cli blue eyed girl whom 1 dreaded mo4 of al ii ho hid du ays been delirht- ed to t~i7u and irinoy meshe reinern- I) ri it well She liii ered behind the rest; and was so frank and gentle,so un- obtrusive in her good-natured attentions, that I was completely charmed out of my reserve; and gayV chatting with her when the rest came in. From that time I devoted myself to study with a zeal and perseverance that soon won inc a fair standin~ in the esti- mation of my teacher and schoolmates. I took a pleasure in history and bio~aphy especially in reading of ~ecat men who were afflicted with sonic bodily mualfor- inatlon. It gave me great delight to know that one of the Kinizs of England was humpbackedthough I did not ivish to be like him; he was too wickedand then there were club-footed poets, and lame orators and crippled generals without num- ber. I dreamed of the time when I should become great and astonish the world, and carry a high head on my crooked shoul- ders. Somehow or other, little Fanny w s always a good deal mixed up with these dreams. Now and then, bitter thoughts would conic crowding on my mind, in spite of all I could do to be cheerful. I was never so lively as before the accident befell me but sometimes my quiet, patient mood would give place to a gloomy melancholy; and I would sit for hours broodin over the past and looking despondingly towar(l the future. If interrupted, I would give way to violent outbursts of anger; and these were generally followed by extreme debility or positive illness. There was but one else besides my mother who could exert any influence over mc when in a refractory mood. To them I oive nearly all that has made life tolerable. At length the time came when I was to leave home; to break up old ties and old associations ; to plunge into a new life; with all the delicate sensibility of child- hood, to struggle with the world as a man. No one whose heart has grown callous with the chafing of active life can feel ivhat it is. for the first time, to see new scenes and new facca only, aiid meet with no look of sympathy wherever lie may turn. If I shied a few burning tears when I caught the last glimpse of my mothers form as she stood in the door waving me a final farewell, may I never be ashamed to own them. If I shed tears now when I reflect that that jimpse was the last I ever saw of her, or shall see on earth, they arc tears that fall like dcxv upon the thirsty soul. In my first intercourse with the world, my former timidity was changed into an asperity of manner and feeling that pre- vented me from making many friends. But I was honest, capable arid industrious. I gave satisfaction. With increasing proc- perity my temper grew inome genial. I have succeeded well iii life, and am con- tented. I have secured to myself that best of all stations in society, a respecta- ble mediocrity. With an affectionate wife and dutiful children, with friends whose steadfastness has been tmied thirou~b good and bad fortune, my share of happiness Is as large as usually fails to the lot of any mortal. Albeit, occasional adversity or sad remembrances may sonietimes cast a temporary gloom over my spirits, my complainings are turned to thankfulness, when I compare my own condition with that of others. There are thousands of straight - built, square - shouldered men. whom I have no meason to envy. 1853.] 81 A STORY WIThOUT A MORAL. CITAPTE~ I. HOW I CAME TO 00 TO WENSLEY. I BELIEVE I have a natural affinity (it may be only an elective one) for odd people. At any rate, allowing for my limited opportunities, it has been my hap to fall in with my share of them, du- ring the time past of my pilgrimage. And I began betimes. too. I dare say not many of my readers ever beard of the Reverend Adrian Bulkley, of Wensley in Massachusetts; and yet I will make bold to assure them that they have not had many acquaintances better worth know- ing than he. Or. if they have, their luck has been more than mine. It is a thou- sand pities that he had not fallen in the way of Charles Lamb or iDe Quincey. They. or Hawthorne, would have deli~ht- ed in making him immortal. But, for the lack of a sacred bard, he must needs be forgotten, like the heroes that lived before Agamemnon, and be as if he had never been. Possibly his name may yet be one of the household words of the lit- tle inland town over whieb he predomi- nated for so many years; and, perhaps, the genial eccentricities of his life and speech, may still make the staple of a wsnters tale round a farmers fireside there. But beyond these narrow bounds end the not much wider sphere of his clerical exchanges, he was but little known while he lived; and, even within them, his memory must, by the natural laws of decay, be gradually mouldering away, along with his dust in the Ministers Tomb, out of mens minds. So that it will not be many years before his name will sur- vive only in the homely annals of the Parish Records, on the tablet lately erect- ed by the Wensley Sewing Circle to the deceased ministers of the town, and in the Triennial Catalogue of harvard Col- loge. I well reniember my first sight of him, and well I may ; for it was connected with a little incident in my life, such as usually makes a deep impression on any ingenuous youth whom it befalls. Not to mince the matter, the government of the College, charged with my education, were misled by a train of untoward circum- stances to the conclusion that a residence of some months in a rural district, remote from the temptations incident to aca- demic life, would be at once beneficial to me, and of good example, by way of warn- ing, to the rest of the University. I need hardly say to any one who knew me at that time, or who enjoys that advantage now, that they were entirely mistaken voL. ii.6 and rested their conclusions upon very erroneous premises. The facts were these. There was at that time a sodality, or vol- untary association of youth for mutual improvement, the object of which was to combine abstract with practical science. Their purpose was to imitate, at a hum- ble distance, the example of the divine Socrates, and to call philosophy down from heaven to minister to the necessi- ties of man. They delighted in nicely observin0 the effects of fire, for instance, on certain animal and vegetable substan- ces. They curiously watched the chemi- cal changes resulting from the mixture of divers liquids, one with another. And they speculated profomnidly on the laws of pneumatics, whereby, through the agency of fire at the one end, and of a gen tle suction at the other, a desiccated veg- etable convolution could be returned to its original elements of air and earth in the form of smoke and ashes~ pulvis et umbra as Horace would have said had lie not died before the sight. This harmless, not to say praiseworthy fraternity, appropriately denominate themselves The I)eipnosophoi, or sup- per-philosophers, a term which very aptly described the practical nature of their scientific pursuits. It did sometimes hap- Ten to them, as it bath to the ardent fol- lowers of science in all times, that they pursued their investigations a little too far, and that, occasionally, the supper was rather too much for the philosophy. It -as the gloss of the rulers of the Univer- sity, that the night which was the imme- diate cause of my introduction to Mr. Bulkley was one of these exceptional oc- casions. I neither admit nor deny the imputation. It was affirmed on behalf of the prosecution, that songs of a lively character, interspersed with laughter of a vociferous nature, and an occasional shout of triumph, disturbed the stillness of the night. It did also happen that the windows of an unpopular tutor (since a very eminent literary and public man) were broken in a most emphatic and un- qualified manner, that particular night. But I defy the world to the proof that any of our party lied any thing to do with that. But suppose both these charges could have been substantiated,I appeal to every impar- tial mind whether any inference could be drawn from them to the disadvantage of young votaries of science, who could not refrain from seizing a favorable moment for testing the principles of acoustics, or were unable to resist an eminently tempt- ing opportunity to reduce to practice the

A Story without a Moral 81

1853.] 81 A STORY WIThOUT A MORAL. CITAPTE~ I. HOW I CAME TO 00 TO WENSLEY. I BELIEVE I have a natural affinity (it may be only an elective one) for odd people. At any rate, allowing for my limited opportunities, it has been my hap to fall in with my share of them, du- ring the time past of my pilgrimage. And I began betimes. too. I dare say not many of my readers ever beard of the Reverend Adrian Bulkley, of Wensley in Massachusetts; and yet I will make bold to assure them that they have not had many acquaintances better worth know- ing than he. Or. if they have, their luck has been more than mine. It is a thou- sand pities that he had not fallen in the way of Charles Lamb or iDe Quincey. They. or Hawthorne, would have deli~ht- ed in making him immortal. But, for the lack of a sacred bard, he must needs be forgotten, like the heroes that lived before Agamemnon, and be as if he had never been. Possibly his name may yet be one of the household words of the lit- tle inland town over whieb he predomi- nated for so many years; and, perhaps, the genial eccentricities of his life and speech, may still make the staple of a wsnters tale round a farmers fireside there. But beyond these narrow bounds end the not much wider sphere of his clerical exchanges, he was but little known while he lived; and, even within them, his memory must, by the natural laws of decay, be gradually mouldering away, along with his dust in the Ministers Tomb, out of mens minds. So that it will not be many years before his name will sur- vive only in the homely annals of the Parish Records, on the tablet lately erect- ed by the Wensley Sewing Circle to the deceased ministers of the town, and in the Triennial Catalogue of harvard Col- loge. I well reniember my first sight of him, and well I may ; for it was connected with a little incident in my life, such as usually makes a deep impression on any ingenuous youth whom it befalls. Not to mince the matter, the government of the College, charged with my education, were misled by a train of untoward circum- stances to the conclusion that a residence of some months in a rural district, remote from the temptations incident to aca- demic life, would be at once beneficial to me, and of good example, by way of warn- ing, to the rest of the University. I need hardly say to any one who knew me at that time, or who enjoys that advantage now, that they were entirely mistaken voL. ii.6 and rested their conclusions upon very erroneous premises. The facts were these. There was at that time a sodality, or vol- untary association of youth for mutual improvement, the object of which was to combine abstract with practical science. Their purpose was to imitate, at a hum- ble distance, the example of the divine Socrates, and to call philosophy down from heaven to minister to the necessi- ties of man. They delighted in nicely observin0 the effects of fire, for instance, on certain animal and vegetable substan- ces. They curiously watched the chemi- cal changes resulting from the mixture of divers liquids, one with another. And they speculated profomnidly on the laws of pneumatics, whereby, through the agency of fire at the one end, and of a gen tle suction at the other, a desiccated veg- etable convolution could be returned to its original elements of air and earth in the form of smoke and ashes~ pulvis et umbra as Horace would have said had lie not died before the sight. This harmless, not to say praiseworthy fraternity, appropriately denominate themselves The I)eipnosophoi, or sup- per-philosophers, a term which very aptly described the practical nature of their scientific pursuits. It did sometimes hap- Ten to them, as it bath to the ardent fol- lowers of science in all times, that they pursued their investigations a little too far, and that, occasionally, the supper was rather too much for the philosophy. It -as the gloss of the rulers of the Univer- sity, that the night which was the imme- diate cause of my introduction to Mr. Bulkley was one of these exceptional oc- casions. I neither admit nor deny the imputation. It was affirmed on behalf of the prosecution, that songs of a lively character, interspersed with laughter of a vociferous nature, and an occasional shout of triumph, disturbed the stillness of the night. It did also happen that the windows of an unpopular tutor (since a very eminent literary and public man) were broken in a most emphatic and un- qualified manner, that particular night. But I defy the world to the proof that any of our party lied any thing to do with that. But suppose both these charges could have been substantiated,I appeal to every impar- tial mind whether any inference could be drawn from them to the disadvantage of young votaries of science, who could not refrain from seizing a favorable moment for testing the principles of acoustics, or were unable to resist an eminently tempt- ing opportunity to reduce to practice the

Wensley 81-94

1853.] 81 A STORY WIThOUT A MORAL. CITAPTE~ I. HOW I CAME TO 00 TO WENSLEY. I BELIEVE I have a natural affinity (it may be only an elective one) for odd people. At any rate, allowing for my limited opportunities, it has been my hap to fall in with my share of them, du- ring the time past of my pilgrimage. And I began betimes. too. I dare say not many of my readers ever beard of the Reverend Adrian Bulkley, of Wensley in Massachusetts; and yet I will make bold to assure them that they have not had many acquaintances better worth know- ing than he. Or. if they have, their luck has been more than mine. It is a thou- sand pities that he had not fallen in the way of Charles Lamb or iDe Quincey. They. or Hawthorne, would have deli~ht- ed in making him immortal. But, for the lack of a sacred bard, he must needs be forgotten, like the heroes that lived before Agamemnon, and be as if he had never been. Possibly his name may yet be one of the household words of the lit- tle inland town over whieb he predomi- nated for so many years; and, perhaps, the genial eccentricities of his life and speech, may still make the staple of a wsnters tale round a farmers fireside there. But beyond these narrow bounds end the not much wider sphere of his clerical exchanges, he was but little known while he lived; and, even within them, his memory must, by the natural laws of decay, be gradually mouldering away, along with his dust in the Ministers Tomb, out of mens minds. So that it will not be many years before his name will sur- vive only in the homely annals of the Parish Records, on the tablet lately erect- ed by the Wensley Sewing Circle to the deceased ministers of the town, and in the Triennial Catalogue of harvard Col- loge. I well reniember my first sight of him, and well I may ; for it was connected with a little incident in my life, such as usually makes a deep impression on any ingenuous youth whom it befalls. Not to mince the matter, the government of the College, charged with my education, were misled by a train of untoward circum- stances to the conclusion that a residence of some months in a rural district, remote from the temptations incident to aca- demic life, would be at once beneficial to me, and of good example, by way of warn- ing, to the rest of the University. I need hardly say to any one who knew me at that time, or who enjoys that advantage now, that they were entirely mistaken voL. ii.6 and rested their conclusions upon very erroneous premises. The facts were these. There was at that time a sodality, or vol- untary association of youth for mutual improvement, the object of which was to combine abstract with practical science. Their purpose was to imitate, at a hum- ble distance, the example of the divine Socrates, and to call philosophy down from heaven to minister to the necessi- ties of man. They delighted in nicely observin0 the effects of fire, for instance, on certain animal and vegetable substan- ces. They curiously watched the chemi- cal changes resulting from the mixture of divers liquids, one with another. And they speculated profomnidly on the laws of pneumatics, whereby, through the agency of fire at the one end, and of a gen tle suction at the other, a desiccated veg- etable convolution could be returned to its original elements of air and earth in the form of smoke and ashes~ pulvis et umbra as Horace would have said had lie not died before the sight. This harmless, not to say praiseworthy fraternity, appropriately denominate themselves The I)eipnosophoi, or sup- per-philosophers, a term which very aptly described the practical nature of their scientific pursuits. It did sometimes hap- Ten to them, as it bath to the ardent fol- lowers of science in all times, that they pursued their investigations a little too far, and that, occasionally, the supper was rather too much for the philosophy. It -as the gloss of the rulers of the Univer- sity, that the night which was the imme- diate cause of my introduction to Mr. Bulkley was one of these exceptional oc- casions. I neither admit nor deny the imputation. It was affirmed on behalf of the prosecution, that songs of a lively character, interspersed with laughter of a vociferous nature, and an occasional shout of triumph, disturbed the stillness of the night. It did also happen that the windows of an unpopular tutor (since a very eminent literary and public man) were broken in a most emphatic and un- qualified manner, that particular night. But I defy the world to the proof that any of our party lied any thing to do with that. But suppose both these charges could have been substantiated,I appeal to every impar- tial mind whether any inference could be drawn from them to the disadvantage of young votaries of science, who could not refrain from seizing a favorable moment for testing the principles of acoustics, or were unable to resist an eminently tempt- ing opportunity to reduce to practice the 82 A Story Without a Mioral. [July laws of governin~ projectiles. These lib- eral views, unfortunately, did not in~pirc the proctors when they gave hot chase to our party, who, resorting to the laws regulating nmscular locomotion with great energy, all made their escape, with the exception of my unlucky self. But I, after practically experiencing the law of the resistance of matter by striking my foot against a stone, exemplified that of gravitation by measuring my length on my mother earth. Of course, there was no use of resist- ance or dis~uise, when the enemy had rue at such a deadly advantage. Wellington, Napoleon, General Taylor himself; would have surrendered under such circum- stances. I was seized and identified, and then ordered to go to my rooms. This was quite superfluous. as I had no inten- tion of going any where else. So I went thither, cursing my ill luck, and having a particularly ill opinion of supper-eating, combined with philosophy. Nor did this unfortunate conjunction rise in my esti- mation, when I was summoned before the colle~ e government in full conclave the next morning, to answer for the deeds done the ni~ht before. Ilonest old souls! Nbt one of them left! I hated some of them then, but I think tenderly and re- verentlv of them all now. Of course, I admitted what could not be denied, but resolutely refused to give any information that should implicate any one else. So I was thought to have got off very easily. when the President sent for rae soon after and read to me my credentials (then popu- larly known as my wallcing-ticlcet), stating that the government, in considera- tion of Oshornes having assisted at a festal entertainment on such a ni~ht, sen- tenced him to 1)0 suspended for nine months. to pass the same under the charge of the Rev. Adrian Bulkley, of Wensley. After a little advice, given in the kindly and friendly tone which has given him place in the hearts of all his academic sons. the President dismissed me with a merry twinkle in his eye. as if he did not regard me as a sinner ahove all others enjoining it upon me to leave town within an hour. having expected this, and having escaped much better than I had feared, a chum of mine drove me to Boston as fast as Reads best horse could carry us. IJere I reported my misfortune to roy guardian (having been an orphan since infancy), and, after receiving, like Don Juan. a lec- ture and some money, I took ray place on the top of the stage-coach which pass- ed through Wensley, on its way to hlaver- ford, ~nd found myself; about five oclock on a fine afternoon in June, whirling up to the door of Grimess tavern, well-re- nowned in all the region round about for flip, the loggerhead whereof never g~ew cold. Old Grimes (I beg his pardon, I m an Major Grimes) squinted a welcome to m~ out of his one eye, while his copper-nose glowed with anticipated hospitality, as he assiste(l me to descend from my elevation. But his hopes of immediate advantage from my advent were dampened, by my inquiring, as soon as I had complied with the custom of the time, and done my best to qualify the coachman for breaking the necks of the travellers I left behind me, by a stiff glass of toddy,hy my inquiring, I say, for the house of the Rev. Mr. Bulkley. Mr. Bulkley! repeated the Major, wiping his toddy-stick as he spoke, and laying it reverently aside for the next oc- casion, sure soon to recur. You are relation of his, perhaps, sir? None whatever, that I know of; was may curt response. Ab, only an acquaintance, then? persisted the gallant toddy-mixer. Never saw him in my life, said I. Only know him by reputation? sug- gested the Major. Never heard of his existence till this morning, I returned, rather snappishly hut for all that, I wish to see him, and shall be obliged to you if you will toll c where he lives. Oh, I understand, drawled out mine host, cocking his eye afresh at me with a~ indescribably knowing leer, which was also indescribably provoking, now I un- derstand it all. When did you leave Cambridge. sir? Caml)ridge he d d! said I, in my haste (I do not justify this summary dis- position of that ancient seat of learning, but historical accuracy compels me to re- cord that this was the precise formula I made use of). Ts it any business of yours, I should like to know, where I came from? What I want of you is to know where Im to go. Not the least business of mine in the world, responded ray interrogator, with tIme most quiet equanimity. still regard- ing me out of the corner of hi~ eye, with an expression in which fun and toddy seemed to he mixed, half and half; but I have directed several young gentlemen to priest Bulkleys in my timethough it is a good while since the last one. I know how they look, sir theres no mistakine em, and he chuckled till 1 felt inclined to close up the one organ he had left, for making such observations on the rising generation under difficulties. But re- straining my wrath, I contented myself with saying 1853.] A Story Without a Moral. I should like to know what the devil you have to do with my affairs, sir? If you can answer my question without any more impertinence, answer it; if not, I will try and find my way hy myself. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. replied the Yankee Boniface, I meant no offence. I know that young gentlemen will get into scrapes. sir. Though it seems to me that the beauty of a scholar is to keep out of the scrapes. sir. Not a bad ~rape, I hope. sir? Go to the devil ! I bounced out, in a towering passion. and at the same time bounced out of the tavern door to make my own way. But II soon heard the in- quiring Major hobbling after me for he was damaged in one leg as well as in his visual orb. I say, sir. he called out after me I say, sir. dont be mad with a fellow. I meant no harm. Why, Judge Waldo, and Parson Tisdale, and General Shaw, and half a dozen others I could tell you of, have been sent to the old priest since I have lived here, just as you are now nd nobody thinks any the worse of em for it. Halloa. sir. he exclaimed, seeing me only hurry on the faster to et out of the reach of the catalogue of my illustrious predecessors, Ii alloa. sir, you ant going the right way! youll bring up at old Pr. Fitchs. in Southileld, instead of priest Bulklcvs. the way youre going; but, per- haps. hed do just as ~vell. This brought me up standing, and I soon put my course about and returned to the tavern door, the Major talking all the while without stopping to draw breath, oi. even to spit. When at the door, sum- moning all the dionitv of incensed eighteen into my face, I said Now, sir. I will thank you to put me in my way, without any more words. Cant be done without em, sir, re- plied my imperturbable tormentor~must use em. unless I go along with you. Per- haps I had better. Tell me the way, if you can and be hanged to you, I exclaimed, in a rage. I want none of your company. Ive had enough of it already. 0, very well. replied the placable man of war, with perfect good humor, you will just keep straight on through the village till you come to the meeting bouse. aud the priests house is the third beyond it. on your left hand, just at the bead of the road. And why could you not have told me this an hour ago? said I, setting off at a round pace. the Major sending his wing- ed words after me as long as I was with- ,n hearing, and, I daresay, a good while longer. Youll find the parson at home, sir. I saw him ride by just before you came, and if his old horse hasnt fell to pieces, hes to home by this time. Ill take good care of your trunk, sir. The priest 11 send black Jasp after it for you. Hope youll give me a call, sir. Best of wine and spir- its. No such flip in the country sir, nor punch, neither. Priest Bulkley tries to keep his scholars away from me, but it~ of no use, sir. They will come. And so will you, I hope, sir, & c., & c., & c. And when I turned my head to trans- fix the loquacious sinner with a Parthian look of indignant contempt, I saw him laughing with all his might, as he halted bad to his dominions. I felt very much as if I should have liked to kill him, just then: but we became very good friends before long. Perhaps there was more danger of his killing me. So I passed on through the main street of the village, which, indeed, was no street at all, but a country road sprinkled with farm-houses, none of which seemed to have been built since the old French War, with fine old elms and button- wood trees in front of most of them. Nea the bridge which spanned the pretty lit- tle Quasheen which ran through th town, was the grocers shop, which also contained the post-office, from which flu- vorite retreat, and the bench in front ot it, stared forth whatever loungers the village could boast ; but, in sooth, they were not many, and were mostly made so by the potent spirits of which Major Grimes had boasted himself. But, in those days a certain allowance of topers was thought as necessary a result of the institutions of New England, in every town, as a due proportion of militia offi- cers or of church members. Just over the bridge on the other side of the way, under a spreadin~ chestnut tree, stood the village smithy, which was about the only other place that showed sihus of an- imation, with its gloomy forge, flying sparks. regular sharp strokes that made the anvil quiver, and with the farmers waiting with their horses and wagons for their turn of the Cyclopean art. Still, so rare was the sight of a stranger, that for a moment even the nvil had rest, and the weary lungs of the bellows ceased to fan, like the breath of a mischief-maker fires that were hot enou_h before into tenfold fury, while they all took a good look at me, and then, no doubt, discuss- 0(1 all the possibilities of my personal identity and antecedents, very munch, sub- stantially, as such phenomena are treat- ed in the bow-windows of English clubs, or the smoking-rooms of American ho- tels. 84 A Story Without a Moral. [July I soon came to the meeting-house, leav- in~ which on my left hand, I approach- ed, much faster than I liked, my desti- nation. The parsonage was full in sight of the meeting-house. ; but though. as the Major had informed me, there were hut two houses between them, it was a good third of a mile to it. The road taking a bend just there., the ministers had, appar- ently. taken it up as a good raking posi- tion, commanding the church and the green about it, and thus serving as a sort of outpost or tower of observation, a ppur- tenant to the walls of their Zion. I confess that I did not regard the edifice before me with any violent emotions of pleasure. To be delivered up for nine mortal months to :he tender mercies of a Calvinistic minister of the very straitest sect (for such I had ascertained him to be), scorned rather a severe retribution, for one night of sup- ping-philosophy. But it is in vain to con- tend with inexorable fate. I strode on, resolving to face mine with the best grace I could. But, as often happens, I found the frown which I had dreaded turn to a most attractive smile. For this ac- quaintance, thus forced upon me, and thus unpromisin in anticipation, proved one of the chiefe-it p~easures of a not too hap- py youth and ended in a friendship which lasted as lonc~ as his life, and which, cer tainle. was not buried with him. But I am now clo~c upon him, and will intro- duce him to the reader as soon as I have made hi0 acquaintance myself. A new ehapteix hoxx cx ci is time least comlihima nt ii can pa~ to eithcr party. CHAPTEIC IL TilE MINiSTEII AND iiIi MAN. Tnt parsonage xxa s merely a plain, nfl- p~mn e(l farm-house, some hundred and hftx emrs old. with its roof sloping to the roc ii 1 behind and overgrown with moss. Ihe i~t-i5 grew ~areen ~ to the broad door tone whi h xx dix idcd from the high- roa(l bx no fi nee The house was over- hxioxx ed by a m-ynifmcent olin, which had takcn root appxr~mmtly, before Colum ou~ Ii A boo mm to dro~ in of a western x-i-i~ no to the Jndmm of Marco Polo and ~ii Juhil Mmndnville On a rough seat vhs 0 in i m eon 1 t lix tree, sat a gentle- man xi re I kn xx ~t the first glance, must bc in - fite fem nine months, at least. As I approached near enonrh to f ive bim as sum acne tnxt nx~ x e~ t was meant for him, he xid a0ide the pipe xx-ith which he xvas oolaciin him-ief and rose to receive me. lie aivanced erect and a little formal, but xx 1th an air of one that had soon the xx ci 1 foi xx hich I was iiot prepared, s 1 nexy nothin~ of hm history. 11i dre-s, I am hound to say, bore no marks of in- ordinate care, and, possibly, might have been the better for a judicious application of needle and thread in some of its de- partments. But for all that, lie had em- inently the look of a gentleman of time old school. The hat xvhich he raised xvhen I approached was, I regrd to say, one of the profane round abominations which came in with the French Revolution, and which still deform the heads of the nineteenth century. And it was his own white hair (for he was then near seventy) that it covered. his cocked hat, not long relinquished, yet hung behind the study door, and his wig, which had anticipated his hat by some years in its flight from before the innovating spirit of the age, still stood in its box on the book-case to your right as you face the fireplace. his knee-breech- es, I rejoice to say, he lived in to the last, and for that matter, died in, too. Later in our acquaintance, when, irm spite of the difference in our ages, Yvo taiked with open heirt and tongue, Affeeliomate and iron A pair of friends Mr. Bulkley would sometimes assume for my edification these ancient symbols of clerical dignity, and, with his gold-headed cane in his hand, step as it were out of time middle of the last century, every inch a minister of a time when the New-England clergy wore, imideed, xvhat M. Kossuth wished the United States to becommie, a Poxver on Earth. Upon my introducing mnyscig and pre- senting the letters introductory xvith which my Alma Mater had favored me, be courteously welcomed mne to WTensley, and then glancing at the document, look- ed at me xvith coniic glance out of the corner of his eye, over his spectacles, which he had donned for the nonce, and said: A festive entertainment, elm? Thats what they call cm noxe, is it? Bad things, festive eiitertaimimnomxts, Mr. Os- borne ~ Oh, sir I interpolated, it was quite a mistake! a very innocent affair I assure you. No doubt, no ~ responded he, the college govcrnnment is subject to error like all human bodies ; and it is rather re- markable that they have happened to be mistaken in the case of every youn~ gen- tleman that they have ever sent to Inc. Quite mm Massacre of time Iminocents, I do assure you ! mind lie laughed so cordially. amid good-naturedly, that I could not help Jemnimiig him. For all that, sir, I replied, mine was mm very harmless business, as I believe 1853.1 A Story Without a .Aiforal. 85 you will allow when I tell you the par- ticulars; if, indeed, you consent to receive mc. It is a long time he said, since I have afforded a city of refuge to the ill- used sons of Mother Harvard,if she may not be rather entitled to be called step- mother, an injusta. norerca, you know, in such casesand I had about made up my mind to shut lip my sanctuary for 5ood. But may I ask if you are the son of the late 11cm Joseph Osborne of Bos- ton ? I have the honor to be Mr. Osbornes son, I answered, though he died before my remembrance. Of course, he must have, Mr. Bulk- ley continued, but you have a trick of his face that reminds me of him. As the country people say in these parts, you farer him decidedly. Yell knew my father then, sir ? I asked. Knew him! Why, my dear sir, he was my very old and very good friend. lie was a year before me in College; but, for all that, we were intimates of the closest description. Tcn thous~ nd pipes have we smoked together ! and he sigh- ed as his mind revertcd to those fleeting joys. But our friendship did not end in 5:00k if it bec~ in it, he continued, ~au with a melancholy kind of smile, it last- ed li.til he died, too soon for his friends and his country. though he had served both long and well. My heart warmed to the old m~u at hearing him thus speak of niy father, for whose memory I cherished the strongest admiration and reverence, and I began to feel a wish growing within me, that he might accept me as an abiding guest dur- ing my term of exile. So I said, I hope then, sir, you will not refuse to receive my fathers son under your roof. It would be a great satisfaction to me to live under the care of a friend of his, and I will endeavor to give you as lit- tle trouble as possible. It is not the trouble I am thinking of Mr. Osborne. he replied, but I doubt whether I can make you comfortable in my strange bachelor way of living. It suits me, but I am afraid that it may not suit a young gel~tleman like you. I was proceeding to assure him that he need give Wmseif no uneasiness on that score. when he interrupted me with Well, sir, you will stay with me to- night, at least, and to-morrow we will de- cide as to the rest of the time. here, Jasper, Jasper! he called out, clapping his hands as the Orientals do for lack of bells. And at the word Jasper appeared, is- suing from the front door. lie w ~s as black as ebony, and his bl. ekiiess was set oft by the perfect whiteness of his hair, which had scarcely a l)eicel)tible wave in it, and by the glitter of his teeth.. lie was a remark. bly handsome old man, for all his complexion. his features were more Caucasian than African, as usually seen, his nose straight though a little thicker than the Apollos, and his lips not larger than those of multitudes of men calling them- selves white. lie evidently came of comelier race, such ins travellers assure us exists in the interior of Africa, th. ii that furnished by the Guinea Coast, the Southern hive, from which have swarm- ed the involuntary immigrations of the negro race. lIe stood two or three inches over six feet in his stockings and was not at all bent by his threescore and ten years. lie stood firm and ci cet ass dting his orders. Jasper, said Mr. Bulkley you re- member Mr. Osborne. who lisod tu come here twenty years ago? Lawyer Osborne. of BoY on answer- ed Jasper, in ~ierGctly rood En lush who got off Pomp Jatfrey from being hanged in the year Three p M Thulk- ley nodded. Yes Yr I renue.nbel him This young gentleman proceele~ his master, indicating me with tI 4cm of his pipe, which he had resumed ~s hi: son, and will spend the ni lit here Proud to see you here, sir i eplued Jasper, still remaining perfeci ly erect, but bringing li~ his hand to the muuutul sa- lute in the most respectful mania a Take your wheelbarross J.u~pcr, after tea, and go and fetch Mr. Osbornes trunk from Grimess. You left it there, of course? turning to me. I assented, of course, ai id Jasper bent his whole body a few (legrees in token that he understood his orders. lie then faced to the right about anmi marched back to the parsonage. We followed him almost immediately and found him rearranging the te table to meet the rare emergency of comp uu I his sx as laid iii the study the oom on the left as you entered the fin IlL dooi and the only room ceeupuA b the niiiuister 1)y (lay (he slept in the one olupoite), innd was (lrawiiug oom and dunnm room as well. It desers A und~d to be called the library, for its uvalls were coxcued uuth a collection of books sin loch sin oiild be thuomight large, for a private one, even at this day of larger things. They were, like their master, of iuo very modern date or dress, but of sterling amid various meritgood substantial friends of all ages and of many climes. Latin Greek, hebrew, French and It han were there ood store. 86 zli Stor!/ JV~tHott a A/oral. [July aril PflOlisO (10 a to the cud of the last ~n ni Thin he stoppedfor, as he ~sii of Luvu~ as well as of making aul~ I ~re was no end. I remember he na ci hun d of I ord Byron, until I intro I a tol i~ scquaintanee. And 110 XX ould not l1la him then, in spite of my ho~ ish cndiu~, oin foi the Ilarolds Man- freds, Laras ConraOs end other aliases, under whwh it xx cs his lordships pie sure to disguise himself. But, down to his own time lie xx as thoroughly well read, and a di~eriminxting and entertain- In~ critic thou h ~omethin~ odd in his taste, as it xxas then ~ccounted oddity. Ii recollect he in t hi en ;ht me acquainted with old Bui ten end with Ben Jonson, and the earhev raintists. Jasper soon furnished forth an auxple New England tea, to which I xvas quite prepared to do an ample justice. But while I am discussing in imagination, the excellent johnnycake and rye-and-indian hread, and while Jasper waits upon us with the gravity and decorum of the but- ler of a duke, let me pause and dwell for a nxoment on the images of the txvo men, inseparable to my minds eye, as it glances hack at those happy days. Don Quixote and Sancho Pauza, Tom Jones and Part- ridge, Peregrine Pickle and Pipes, Roder- ick Random and Strap, Uncle Toby and Trim, are not more one and indivisihle, in the general mind of English readers, than are (with all reverence he it spoken !) the ~~everend Mr. Adrian Bulkley and Jasper, his man of all xx-ork. in mine. Maid of all work he might also he denominated; for 10 xx as both maid aiid man to the worthy minister and performed all feminine as well is xirile offices in the household and domain of his master. I do not knoxv hethei Jaspers cookin~, and sweeping, and hod making, xvould have conxe up to the hi lie t ideal of the more fanatical of the sect of the housekeepers. I am not quite sure xvhether I. myself, should relish tixeir results noxv, as I did thirty odd years ago, in the undiscriminating fresh- ness of eighteen. But they answered Mr. Buikleys purposes, and such being the case, I shall not stir the question of details, conceiving that they are none of the readers business. The faiier portion of my readers xvould have divined. hy this time, even if I had not inadvertently let the fact slip, a few paragraphs ago, that Mr. Bulkicy xvas a bachelor. But let them not condemn him too ~uminarilv oi too severely for this bh in ii in his character; for I believe there w as an excuse for it. the validity of hich tlicv should admit ; though I could never aet t the precise facts. as it xvas a subjLct to xvhich lie xvould hear no aIm sion. It is enough to say, that, accoidine to the unbroken tiadition of Wensley. he had an early and unhappy passion for the beautiful Miss Julia Mansfield, who was the toast of every mess-table during the siege of Boston. It was the old stoiy o Crabbes Patron over again, as far as I could gather, only that Mr. Bulkley was not so easily killed as poor poet John. lie caine into Mr. Mansfields family as tutor to his youngest son, Thomas (afterwards the Colonel Mansfield who was killed by a shell, in his tent, before Badajoz), soon after leaving college, and finding there the most lovely young woman in the pro- vmcegay, thoughtless, coquettish, and seventeenis it any xx-onder that he found his fate there too? lIe did not know that she was vain, cold-hearted, and selfish (perhaps he never knexv it), until the mis- chief xvas done. It was done, however, and poor Bulklcy had taken leave for ever of the unkind Julia and of his dream of happiness, and was finding xvhat consolation he might in the liursuit of divinity (a very different mistiness !) before the war broke out. At the evacuatiomi, Miss Julia accompanied her father (who, all the world krioxvs, was one of Goveinor Ilutcliinsons man- damns councillors) into exile; and she married, not long afterwards, Colonel Fer- guson, the Receiver-General of Jamaica. It ivas not a well-assorted marriage, and its history xvas not one that I care to re- cord. The lovers of old-world scandals can mouse out the details from the con- temporary chronicles of such matters for themselves, as I did, if th1ey must know theum. But the old Wensley people used to say that the minister was plunged into a deeper dejection by the nexvs, in the yeai eightyseven, of thie (luel in xvhich her husband shot Sir Jamacs Carlton, on hem account, near Spammishtoxvn, than oxen at that of her death, xvhich arrived soon af- tcrwamds. lie seemed to feel it as a per- sonal dishonor. It was a omuel iconoel sm that shot, xvliich broke in pieces the idol he had privily xvoishipped, in the seem-ct lilaces of his heart. fom so ninny melan- choly years. After Jasper had cleared axvay the tea- things. Mr. Bulkley and I sat by the xvindow and entered into a long conversa- tion, which I have not time to record though I remember a great deal of it. We bogami with the college and the latest nexvs thierefioux, including, of course, my own escaj)a(ie, which my nexx- Mentor did not seem to look Ol)Ofl as a crime of the blackest dye. lIe laughed merrily at the details I gave him of my adventure, xvhich I did unconsciously, with as much free- (loin as if I were talking xvith one of my 1853.] A Story Without a Moral. own contemporaries. There was that about this gentleman which put one at perfect ease with him on the first acquaint- ance, and there was nothing in his tone or manner which asserted his claims as a superior by virtue of age and experience. Of course, as in duty bound, he stood by the college government as touching the necessity of inflicting the discipline they did, havin~ had the misfortune to make the unlucki di cox cry. But he evidently ra- ther cottooed (to use a Eanny-Kembleism) to the Deipnosophoi, and would have thou ht it ood luck, and no great harm, if thex h ~d all escaped with a whole skin, even if ome of them should have done it with a foil on~. The temperance move- mcnt had not at that~ time, begun to play the ini~chicf with the old drinking usages of New England, and a slight convivial exuberance occasionally was looked upon as no very heinous offence, even by the graver classes of society. Mr. Bulkley belonged to a grave cl as of society, certainly, hut he was no very grave member of it, when he unbent him- self from the serious business of his pro- fession. A merrier man, within the limit of becoming mirth, one does not often talk withal in ones journey through this working-day world. I think he had the finest voice for a story (and, like most of his cloth at that time, he abounded in them) that I ever heard. It was as good fun as seeing Matthews to hear him tell one. And then his laugh! He did, in- deed, laugh the hearts laugh, before which no blue devils, however resolute, could hold their ground. From this latest piece of college history he made a transi- t,on to his own times, and told many piquant anecdotes concerning the customs of those times and the adventures of men afterwards famous. The hardest sort of drinking seemed to have been quite the general rule of his day, and his stories showed that sonic advaiices bad been made in refinement, at least between his time and miiie. The Deipnosophoi, I am nappy to say, could furnish rio l)arallels to some of the instances he related of the potatory achievements of our grandfa- thers. I had begun a paragraph to tell of some of them; but, on the whole, I be- lieve I will not draw their frailties from their dread abode. Let one brief speci- men, by no means one of the best, or the most characteristic, suffice. I remember poor Tom Frost, said be, whom you must have heard of. lie turned Democrat. and Jefferson sent him consul to Tripoli, where he died of the plague. I intimated that I had heard him mentioned, and Mr. Bulklcy contin- ued: I remember, one commencement day, he fell into the company of a set of jolly blades being, in general, a very steady-doing fellowand got most unde- niably and unequivocally drunk. It w~ a with some difficulty that he was put tc bed; but, at last, lie xv~ a fairly between the sheets, and we thought lie was dis- posed of for the night. But we had not been gone long, when we heard a heavy souiid in his chamber, and, Ii stening thii- ther, found that he bud fallen out of bed. After replacing him, one of his friends renioiistrated pretty sharply with him for giving us this new trouble. Why, Ill tell you how it was, fellows, said poor Tom, with drunken gravity, it was iiot my fault. I held on to the cursed bed as long as it could be done. For as soon as you had gone out, it began to whirl round one way, and then it spun rouiid the other and themi the head of the bed was lifted up to the ceiling, amid then the foot, and then it rocked froni one side to tIme other. like a raving-distracted cradle. And 1 held on to it like a good fellow; it couldnt shake inc out, let it do its worst; but when the dd thing turned upside down. the devil himself could hold on no longer. and no more could I I Aimd the minis- ter laughed his musical lauoh till all rang a again. Your friend, said I, certaiiily ful- filled the conditions laid down by an Eng- lish Cantab in Blackwood lately, who says that he thinks it most unfair and ungeqerous to call a ni n drunk, as long as he can hold on by the sheets. But if lie ivill persist in tumbling out of bed as fast as you put him in it, then tIme most candid must admit that it is mio abuse of imuiguage or of charity to pronounce him drunk. Mr. Buhkhey laughed, and the conver- sation took a new departure, and ranged far and wide over books and polities, and old-xvorld fammiily histories, until the late summer evening closed in about us. After it grew dark Jasper entered, holding one of his awn dips in his hand, with xvhieh he immade a sort of military salute to me, saying, Your trunk is in your chamber, sir, and then placiiig his candle on a stand near the opposite wimidow (for the study filled the entire breadth of the house, having windows on the two sides), and taking a large folio froni a lower shehg put on his heavy iron-bound spec- tacles, and set himself diligently to read it. It was evident from the perfect sun- phicity with which it was done, that it was nothing out of the common course of events; but it took all may scanty stock of good-breeding to conceal the astonish- ment I felt at such a phenomenon. had the ministers old hoise (which, like 88 A Story Without a Moral. [July Yoricks, was full brother to Rozinante, as far as similitude congenial could make him ) walked in from the stable and squatted himself on his haunches, like a Houyhnhm, beside me, I could not have been more taken aback. I fully assented to the general reputation which pronounc- ed parson Bulkley a very odd man. Poor .Jasper read with the help of his fore- finger, and with a laborious murmur of the lips, like one whose icading bad not come by Nature, but by hard work, after he was grown up; and I had a sus- picion that this lecture was rather for my edification than for his own, though when I discovered afterwards that it was a volume of Haklnyts Voyages he was en- countering. I was somewhat shaken in it. There was a comical expression in Mr. Bulkleys eye, too, which showed that he was not without the same surmise. We talked on without regardin~ Jaspers pre- sence, until nine oclock, when the minis- ter read a chapter in the Bible and prayed, according to the ancient custom of New England. After prayers, Jasper put up his book, and took himself ani his dip off to bed, making us a military salute at the door by way of good night. When he was gone, and Mr. Bulkley had lighted the pipe, which was to wind up the labors of the day, he said to me, I noticed that you were a little sur- prised at scein~ Jasper make himself so much at home here. I made a dubious sort of a bow, hardly knowing whether I should acknowledge such a feeling about a matter which was clearly none of my business. It was natural enough, he continued, that you should have wondered at it. Rut Jasper and I have slept too many years under the same tent, for me to mind having him in the same room with me when he has done his work. Under the same tent, sir U I re~ at- ed, interrogatively. Certainly, he replied, he has never left inc since he came to my rescue at Brandywine, when I was lying flat on the field with an ounce of lead in me, which for that matter, I carry about with inc still. The bayonet was raised that would have finished the business, bad not Jasper des- patched the grenadier that stood over me and carried me off on his back to the rear. So you served in the Revolutionary War sir U I exclaimed. Were you long in the service U Pretty well, he answered, smilin~ I began at Lexington and ended at York- town. I dont know that any one can say more than that. You see that old fire- lock he continued, pointing to a fowlin5- piece of formidable length and venerable age, which was crossed over the fireplace with a silver-hilted sword that was the gun with which I left parson Sanbornes study for LerUngton, on the morning of the 19th of April, and the old sword is one I picked up on the Boston road th.. day, and wore for the next seven years. In what capacity did you serve, sir? I inquired, a little bewildered by this new flood of ideas. Why, I began as chaplain, he re- plied, but as there was more need of the arm of flesh, and as there was an especial lack of educated men for officers, I took a commission from General Washington, and I eiided as a Captain, doing the duty of Brigade Major. My health was not good at that time. a~~d I thought a cam- paign would do me good, and being once in for it, I found it hard to break off, and so kept on to the end. And Jasper? I suggested. 0, Jasper was born the slave of Colo- nel Cuvler, of New Jersey, who eman- cipated him on his consentino to enlist, and afterwards employed him as his ser- vant, a soldier being allowed to every officer for that purpose. Colonel Cuyler dying of a fever consequent on the expo- sures of the campaign in the Jerseys, Jasper remained in the ranks, until he was taken by me. at his request, as my servant. It was of some advantage to him in the way of mounting gnar(l. and the regular drills, though he was still on the rolls and required to return to active duty, whenever in the neighborhood of the enemy.~~ And he has been with von ever since U I inquired. Ever since, he ~~1)hied ; and, now. I think it would be rather hard to oblige him to mope by himself in his kitchen, when he has done his days work. Ilis greatest pleasure is to sit in the corner of my fireplace in winter, and watch rue ns I read or write. ITo does not come so regularly in summer, but he comes when he pleases, and I think I should be a beast to deny so cheap a pleasure to my old companion in arms, and most faithful friend. At any rate, I do not in- tend doing so. Indeed, in my solitude. his presence in the long winter evenings, though not society. is human COmpaniOn- ship, and I am confident I am the better for it. I cordially expressed my concurrence of opinion on all these points, and then Mr. Bnlkley. knocking out the last ashes of his pipe (he never lapsed into the later heresy of cigars), laid it in its place, and proposed to show me the way to my chamber. Thins done, he shook hands 1853.1 A Story Without a Aforal. 8 with me as he bid me good night, and I .ay awake for some time after I had gone to bed. ruminating over the revolution which the last fifteen minutes had wrought in my first ideas of the Minister and his Man. CHAPTEIt III. TILE OBY AND ILLS BAUGILTE Prayer bell rung yet, Chancy? said I, gaping fearfully, the next mornin~, awakened by hearing somebody putting down my shoes by my bedside, and catch- ing a glimpse of a black face through my half-shut eyes; not the second bell, I hope! its Jasper, said that Its me, sir, worthy functionary, as he moved softly towards the door; the young college gentlemen always ask mc that the first morning, sir. We dont ring no bell, sir, hut master breakfasts at six and has prayers after~ ards. Its just five, now, sir. And the truth streamed in upon rae, with the sun through the uncurtained win- dows, that I was an exile from college, that this was Wensley and not Cambridge, and that the sable form which had just quietly vanished was a Revolutionary hero and not Charley Richmond, a cadet of an ancient family of color, which had served for several generations the wealth- :er sort of students in the capacity of what the English cantabs call a gyp and the Oxonians a scout, which Mr. Thacke- ray when he rolled the two single univer- sities into one as Oxbridge, also ainalg - mated into a Ski]). As I had one hour before me, there was no occasion for hurrying myself, so I lay still and revolved in my mind the current chapter of my history. A quarter of an Ilour was all that was thought necessary in those rood old days before shower-baths and hair-gloves for any bodys toilette, so I had time enough and to spare. Bless my soul, I must have a good hour and a half to get myself up for the day, now! These hygienic and physiological new lights have a great deal of other peoples time to answer for. I lay still, and as I lay, that mysterious home-sick feeling which always comes over me (II won- icr whether it does over other people), cUe first time I wake in a strange place, took full possession of me. I had left no home; my parents were both dead; I had neither brother nor sister; I hated college, or fancied I did, and had just as much business to be in Wensley as any where else, and yet I felt the strongest disposi- tion to cry at finding niyself there. And if I did actually cry, men do more unnian ly things than that, and pretend they are not ashamed of themselves, every day of their lives. Perhaps the excitement of finding myself in a new place, quickening the flow of my ideas, brought these facts, ~r the emotions they naturally excite. with a fresh shock to my mind, and surely they were enough to make any body cry. But T am no metaphysician, and shall make no attempt to puzzle other people by trying to explain what I do not under- stand myself. But such is the psycho- logical fact, whether it belongs to my special idiosyncrasy or not. I never felt the emotion more strongly than I did. years afterwards, the first mornin~ I opened my eyes in London, and casting them out of the window of my chamber on the roof of the Adelphi, saw the great dome of St. Pauls rising, as it were, out of a surging sea of fog, and heard the ceaseless rush and roar of life chafing in the channels far beneath me. It was a moment which I had been lookin a forward to for long years as the Christian pilgrim to that of the first glimpse of the Holy Sepulchre, or the Mussulman to the su- preme instant that gives him the vision of the Tomb of the Prophet. I had reached the Mecca of my mind, and yet I thought of every thing rather than of it. I have heard it said that when a man is drowning, the whole of his past life rushes before his dying eyes in an instan- taneous phantasmagoria. Well it seemed as if my plunge into the boiling occan o~ London worked the same miracle with me. The roar of its tide was in my e rs, but I heard it not. All of my past lifeespe- cially every sad and tender imagecame streaming through my mind in a flash of thought, and oppresseti me with a bitte~ pang of home-sickness, althouth, alas! I had no home. So it was, though I dont pretend to expound the philosophy of it. But, then, as it has nothing in l)articular to do with my story, it is of the 1cm consequence. But the bluest of devils cannot long withstand the genial influences of early sunlight and of youth,that early sun- light of life, God bless it! (though the benediction is quite superfluous, for Cod witt bless it, whether or no,)and mine vanished before their potent exorcism by the thac I was half dressed. And by the time my toilette was finished I felt no more longing to hear the cracked voice of the chapel bell, or the stamping to and flu over my head, aiid the scufihing of feet backwards and forwards in the entry and on the college stairs, the familiar sounds which I had yearned for when I firs# awoke; and was well content to accept in their stead the riotous vivacity of the A Story Without a Moral. [July birds, and the undertoned hum of the insects in the trees on both sides of my chamber. For it filled the entire breadth of the house, and it was not very broad, for all that, and had two windows on one side and one on the other the one behind ocen- pyin6 a deep cut into the sloping roof, and looking directly into the thick boughs of limetree, buzziub with insect life. The walls were plastered and whitewashed a thick beam ran lengthwise through the ceiling, and so queer was the shape of the room from the obliquities of the roof that it would have puzzled a better mathema- tician than I was to calculate its contents. There was a strip of carpet by the bed- side, the floor (the fa e of whose scenery was of a rather dung character) being otherwise bare. A few wooden chairs and a pine table made up the furniture. But what cared I for those things? God made us men before we made ourselves upholsterers, and I had not yet passed into the factitious, and out of the natural state. Well, Mr. Osborne, said Mr. Bulkley as we sat at breakfast~ do you like your quarters well enough to still wish to re- ,nain in them? I like both my quarters and my com- pany, sir, I replied, and should be very sorry should you determine not to take me. And that would be a pity he said, would it not be, Jasper? Jasper in- clined his assent. In fact, the minis- ter went on, Jasper has been interceding for you, and the prime-minister, you know, does what he likes at court, and I suppose I must let him have his way. I am ~restly indebted to him for his interest ~aid I bowin~ with mock ravi- ty towards Jas-ci and shall endea- vor to shon m~ self w orthy of his good opinion. The min ter ~rnued out his man took it all in perfectly ~ood thith. and with se- rious grace acknowiedbed my little speech with his mihtart sdutc, as he stood firm and erect behind hi~ misters chair. Jasper having given his sanction to your remaining, Mr. Bulkley resumed, and you continuing to wish it, after hav- ing a taste of our bachelors way of life, I suppose I may as well acknowledge to having no particular objection to it myself so we will consider that as arranged, if you please. And we shook hands across the table to close the barg~in. Though what he said about Jaspers consent was spoken jestiugh. y et I found afterwards dia.t it was lt~1 ~ true, that he would not have recen ed in h~d Jasper disliked the plan. As to day is $ t~i1ay. the minister proceeded, we ~i ill 4efcr our plans of study until Monday. Saturday is my working-day, and shall be your holiday. Perhaps you would like to bet a little ac- quainted with the Siberia to which yei, have bccn banished. Or you niay use my study just as if I were riot here, or establish yourself in your own chamber. as you like. We dine at twelve and drink tea at six, at which hour you will report yourself, if you please. After which Jasper brought the grew Bible, and we had prayers, which done, I whiled away the time as best I could with old books and cigars, and in sauntering round the premises in quest of amusement. which did not seem very easy to be found. till dinner time. After dinner, as the suP was a little muitiga ted by clouds, I set forth upon a voyage of discovery into the unknown regions round about. I passed through the village, where my apparition ab am caused a general suspension of labor aiid variation of idleness, as long as I was in sight. So I took myself out of sight. as speedily as possible, turning into the road to your right just after you have crossed the Quasheen, and winding along its banks. It was a most charming walk, solitary, shady, with glimpses of rich l)as- tures dotted with cattle by the water- side. There was no discordant jar of ma- chinery. The iiinocent little streani had not yet been compelled by the Genius of the Lamp or of the Ring, to help build the palaces of our New England Aladdins. It yet ran sparkling aiid dimpling to the sea. without having to buffet with mill-wheels. and to fling itself headlong, iii its flight. over injurious dams in impetuous water- falls. Cattle stood up to the middle in its. shady little bays, ducks led out their flo- tilla of ducklings upon its waters, and swallows dipped in it with none to mo- lest or make them afraid. It was a love- ly walk, as I said before. here and there along the road was a farm-house of the oldest description of New England rustic architecture; but not many of them. it seemed as if this little town were a nook which the tide of im- provement, as we are pleased to call it. had swept round and left it overlooked, in its haste, leaving it just as it was a centu- ry before. Nor was this effect diminished by a glance I got at a house having dcci- dedly the look of a gentlemans seat, off at my left. For such weic always sprin- kled over the face of the New Eng- land landscape. It was a square wooden house, having a ~orc1i in front with seats en either side, flaunting with honey- suckles, as I could see at that distance. with windows in the reef, and an orna mental balustrade rnnnii~g round it. The ground sloped up ~o the house, and being 1853.] A Story Without a Moral. 91 tine mowing land, had as lawnish a look as land can well have in our climate. A few aboriginal oaks stood singly here and there, and there were clusters of shrub- near the house, but apparently kept ~ow for the benefit of the prospect. Be- yond the house it seemed as if there was an old-fashioned avenue of elms running down the other side of the hill to parts unknown. I passed about a mile and a half farther, pondering as to who could be its inhabitants, but meeting no one of whom I could make the inquiry. But when I had gone, by my estima- tion, about three miles from the village, the clouds which had at first invited me to go out, now more strongly ur~ed me to go hack. They rolled up blacker and thicker, and seemed almost to touch the tops of the trees among which the road sometimes wound. There was evidently a thunder-shower altogether too near at hand for my advantage. So I set my face homewards, and made what speed I could, though with little hope of escape. I came, how-ever, in sight of the capital mansion and messuage (as an auctioneer might say) just described, before the criti- cal moment arrived. I hurried on still, and soon found there were other people tn haste besides me; for just then I heard the sound of hoofs behind me, and an eld- erly gentleman and a young lady on horseback galloped past me. As they passed, they gave a glance of surprise at me, and presently evidently reined up and had a brief exchange of xx-ords; or, rather, the gentleman mid something to his com- panion. and I could sec that the tassel of her ridine-cap waved an affirmative. He then turned his horses head towards me and, putting spurs to his side, pulled up before me in an instant. Young gentleman, said he, touching his hat as I raised mine there is a vio- ~ent shower at hand. Let me beg you to take shelter in my house there, indicat- inc, the capital mansion aforesaid with his riding-whip; pray do not hesitate, for I feel the first drops already. By striking across that field, you will be at the door nearly as soon as we. lie touched his hat again, and, wheeling round, galloped off, arid he and his com- panion were the next Xnstant, hid from my sight by a turn of the road. I was a bashful boy, and felt as awkwardly as inch animals are apt to do in an emergen- iy like this; but, still, I had a little rather not speil my best hat, and, moreover, the thing had a spice of adventure about it which could not but make it relishing. So I leaped the stone wall, and then set down my feet and ran to such good pur- pose, that I did actually reach the house before the pair dashed up, just as the rain was coming down in good earnest. As there was no time for ceremony, I stepped up, blushing like the morn, lifted the young lady off her horse and set her down safely under the porch. I had had some little practice in this line before, having often performed this office for , but, on the whole, it is no concern of yours who it was for. It is enough that I had had practice. The youn~ lady hastily bowed her thanks and, after giving her habit a good shake, hurried into the house. The gentleman. having given over the horses to the servant who ran up to t. ke them, now joined me and courteously in- vited inc to walk in. lIe was a man of mid- dle height and well proportioned, though of rather a slight figure. lIe n-as be- tween sixty and seventy, but as he n-ore powder it was not easy to tell to which extreme of the decade he inclined. Per- haps he was about half-way between the two. He had a cultivated and n-eli-bred voice as well as deportment,md his tones were more English than American in their modulations. And yet he (lid not look like an Englishman. Ilis face must have once been handsome, though time and perhaps sorrow had made their mark up- on it. This gave one the impression of a man that had suffered, and throu~h suf- fering had lived more than his years. lIe led me into a good-sized and well-fur- nished room on the right of the hall door, and, then, through an open arch by the further side of the fire-place into a larger back room, which appeared to be his li- brary, though his collection was not great. Here I found a wood-fire burning, though it was hot summer, but which, neverthe- less, was exceedingly acceptable to a (lamp stranger, like myself. Inviting me to be seated, and sitting don-n himself he said, pointing to the blaze, I trust you will find this whim of mine, as I find it is thought to be here- abouts not a had one, to-day. You re- member, perhaps, the Spanish proverb that nobody ever suffers from cold except a fool or a he~gar. And as I hope I am not quite a fool, and as I know that I am not absolutely a beggar, I am resolved to guard myself against the inclemency of your summers as n-ell as of your winters. My winters, thought I to myselg I should suppose they were as much yours as mine, my good sir. But I said. Many people, I believe, sir, would be glad to imitate your example, if they had but the strength of mind. lIe smiled and said, Indeed, it does require some resolution. I know I had to put forth a good deal before I could overcome the opposition of Mrs. Warner. 92 A Story Without a 3Ioral. [July my housekeeper. She would have put out all my fires on the first of May aud not allowed me another spark until the first of November, had I not raised an in- surrection in the house. Your victory seems to have been com- plete, sir, said T. 0, a perfcct Waterloo, my dear sir! he replied, and that, alt1~ough my undu- tiful child was inclined to side with the enemy. A diversion from my own camp, by Jove! his child, thought I, again, then she is his daughter! Well, its much better than bein~ his wife, but II said, I am sure, sir, I have reason to rejoice at your courage and success. And, I im- agine, the young lady herself would not be disposed to question your wisdom any more than your generalship, this after- noon. I daresay not, he rejoined, I wonder she has not come down yet. I think that she likes my fire as well as myselg in her heart, for I often find her nestling down by it in the mornings and evenings. Ju- piter! what a flash! And it was a flash, indeed, followed by an almost simultaneous crash of long-rat- tling thunder. We instinctively rose and approached the window but the dark- ness of the shower had settled down again over the landscape, almost as black as night, while the heavy drops fell like shot on the roof and pour down on all sides in sheets, the spouts being entirely une- qual to the occasion. That flash struck not far off, ob- served my host. I hope it has done my trees iio damage. Your hope comes too late, papa, said a voice behind us, for I saw one of the oaks on the lawn struck as I came down stairs. Not the Sachems Oak! exclaimed papa I had almost as lief have had the house struck as that. I believe not, she returned, but I could not tell certainly, it is so thick and dark. I think it was the next one to it. I will go and see, he said quickly, if this cvntlemnan will excuse roe. And without waiting to see whether I would or not, he hurried out of the room. I have had greater calamities befall me, since then, than bein~ left alone with a pretty woman. In fact, I have, long since, ceased to regard it as a misfortune at all. But at that particular juncture of my life, I would a little rather that papa had re- mained with us. I was getting on pretty well with him, and, with him to back me, I think I could have encountered this new form of dancer dth tolerable presence of mmu. And I must do the enemy the justice to say that she did not seem to have any particularly hostile designs to- war(ls me. She seated herself near the fire, but yet sideways to it and with her face turned round looking out of the win- dow at the storm without, with an ab- stracted look, as if she were thinking not much of that, and still less of poor me. I dont know whether her attitude, as I have described it, will appear to have been a graceful one to my readers; but if it do not, they may be assured it is entirely their fault, or mine. The attitude was perfect, and the more perfect because en- tirely unstudied and unconscious. And so she was handsome ? you will all say. Handsome! to be sure she was. Do you suppose I should be writing about her at this present, if she had not been? Currer Bell may broach and preach her damnable heresy of homely heroines, with pug noses and carroty hair if she please. The republic of letters has no established church, and if she can build up a sect on that foundation, she may. But I belong to the good 01(1 orthodox school. None of your Jane Pyres or Lucy Snowes for my money! To be sure, this is not a novel but a veracious history, and so I have nothing to do but to tell the simple truth. But I might have held my tongue, I suppose. There is a great deal of talk, nowadays, about womans rights, and, I am told, clever things are written about them on both sides. And then reverend gentlemen write treatises on The True Sphere of Woman, and Womans Mis- sion, The Duty of Woman, arid so on. Now, I am a practical philosopher, and never meddle with abstract discussions; but my private notion of the sphere, the mission, and the duty of woman is, that every woman ought to be handsome. Its a duty she owes to society. Thats my simple moral philosophy, and till sonic body can show a better, I shall stand by it. I think if you could have seen my hero- inefor the dullest reader must have dis- covered before this that we have found my heroine at lastyou would have ac- knowledged that she filled her sphere, fulfilled her mission, and perfornied her (lutyfor she was marvellouslv handsome. But I am not going to dye an inventory of her charms. Its of no use, arid I do not intend making a fool of myself by makina the attempt. All I shall say is. that her hair was of a tince very uncom- mon in America, an(l what I suppose poetical people mean when they talk about golden locks, and sunny tresses (not red, I vow and protest it was not red-- the most malicious rival could not have called it so), while her eyes and eyelashes were as near black as they could be, with- 1 S53~ A ~Story Without a Moral. 93 out actually being so. liar complexion w s the veritable peast de lys, as smooth and pure as the petal of a lily, and, though with the expression of perfect health, generally as colorless. But when passion or emotion did summon the blushing apparitions into her cheek, it was a sight, indeed, that Raphael might havc dreamed of. And as to her mouth and her teeth, if nature or art could have improved upon them. I should like to see the handiwork. Quivi due flIze son di perle elette, (he chiude e apre un belle e dolee labro. And I would go a good way to see a finer arm and hand and foot than hers. But I wont describe her. Only, I will say that the effect of the contrast of her dark eyes with her hair and skin, was as odd as it was fine. I have never seen niore than two or three of the kind in the course of a pretty extensive and careful study of the subject. I thought I must say something though I dare say she would not have missed it if I had not. and so I ventured to suggest I hope you are not afraid of thunder and lightning. Wlaat. I ? ~he exclaimed, starting from her reverie and turning towards me. Oh, no, indeed! I delight in them. Delight in thunder and lightning! I must say I could not sympathize with my fair friend in this taste. I have not learned to like those umipleasant explosions yet, ~nd had still less fancy for them then. But the horrid idea flashed into my mind that she might suspect as much. So turn- Inn- ~x ith as composed an air as ]i could command to a portrait which hung over the fireplmce hut which I could see but verx mdi tinetly in the gloom of the day and the ioom I said \. pom ti ait of your father, I presume ? po trut of papa! she replied, smihn md shaking her head. Oh, deai, no do 1 t on recognize it as that of his sate Mijesty 2 his 1 ite Majesty! Old Farmer George, whom B~ ron had just left practising the hundredth psalm. when his Vision of Judgment ended! whose only merit, ac- cording to the same infallible authority, was That household virtue, most uncommon, (if couslancy to a bad, u5ly woman What business had he here, in the heart of his revolted province? Who could these people be? Before I could ponder this problem farther, the master of the house came in, saying It was not the Sachems oak, my dear, but the old one I have been trying to per- suade myself to take down these two years. But the lightning has taken it into its own hands now, and has settled the question for ever. It is breaking away, however, and the shower is passing off to westward. I have not heard such thunder since that storm among the Ber- nese Alps. The Bernese Alps! Ilad they been there, too? I looked at them with new respect, for you will remember foreign travel was not as vulgar then as it has become since ! It was a distinction at that time, to have been abroad now, the distinction is to have staid at borne. We have beconie a match for the English in our migratory habits. James Smith, I believe it was, who said, a to their invasion of the continent, after it was first opened, that soon there would be a sight set up of an Englishmnman who had xot been to ionic ! I should think Mr. Bar- num might find it pay to add to his other curiosities an American who had not over- run Eu:cpe. Perhaps a still greater ciari- osity would be one who had brought something back with him worth bringing. This, however, gave us something to talk about, or, rather, for him to talk and for me to listen about. lIe talked like a man of sense and education and I should have been well content to have listened to Nm and to have looked at his daughter. for an indefinite time, She took no part in the conversation, except when appealed to by her father, but sat looking abstract- edly into the fire. I could not but feel that she was not thinking about me. In- deed, I could not flatter myself that she would ever thimik of me again after I had passed out of liar sight. I felt as young as David Copperfield, when time father of the eldest Miss Larkins asked hiirri how his school-fellows did. But, as we talked, the storni which had scowled oer the darkened landscape, passed away, and the radiant sian cx- tended his evening beam over it with fare- well sweet. I had no lonner any excuse. for staying. My host rang the bell, and an clderhy matron, whom I suspected to be time housekeeper, of whose leaning to the anti-Vulcanean theory I had heard, entered, briaging wine. After partaking of this then universal hospitality (for as yet temperance societies were not), I took my leave, with many grateful acknow- ledgmnents. The young lady rose, and graciously returned my parting bow, while her father accompanied me to tIme door. and wished me a pleasant walk. I passed on under the dripping trees. vocal with birds, and over the saturated turf which the slant sun glorified into beatific diamnonds and ermieralds, and through time clear, cool, mmmoist air, but thinking more of those whom I had left than of the sights and sounds about me. Nothing had escaped them which mdi 94 The Poems o/ Ale ancier Smith. [July atcd who or what they were. They had shown no curiosity as to my poor self, had asked no questions as to my name, borne, or business. They. evidently, only re- garded me in the light of a lad whom they had saved from a ducking, and should see no more. Who could they be? Of course I should pluck out the heart of the mys- tery when I reached the parsonage, for Mr. Bulklcy must know all about them. So I made what haste I could, and soon found myself at the worthy ministers door [To be continued.] THE POEMS OF ALEXANDER SMITH. ThERE seemed to be no reason why I people should read Poems by Alex- ander Smith (London, Bohn, and Boston Ticknor, Reed & Fields, 1853), more than poems by many other Smiths, Jones, and Johnsons. who annually melodize their emotions, and confide them to a patient public; but about the first of May, all the English papers came hurrying over the sea with a loud chorus of Eureka! Eureka! the coming man has arrived, and his name is Smith! here was food for a spring days thought. A prophet had really come out of Nazaretha Mr. Smith was about sitting down with Shakspeare and the stars. The Aubrey de Veres, and Coventry Patmores. and Monckton Milnes whose names seemed the very gifts of the muse to her favorites, were suddenly ox- tinguishe d by the plebeian from the north, and the newest and most noticeable man of the moment is Alexander Smith. The papers to which we have alluded flashed with sparks taken fiomn his pages. Alex- ander Smith caine riding down among the critics, like Sir Lancelot in the Lady of Shalott: The gemnw bridle glittered free, Like to some branch of stars we see hung in the golden galaxy, and tirralirra, tirralirra, sang Sir Lancelot Smith, while all the critics like Bacehanals. reeled singing after. And this p ~an burst from John Bull in the age of steam; from John Bull who had sneered, and scoffed, and laughed in suc- cession at all the men who have best il- lustrated his name and nation during the last [calf century; from John Bull who permitted Gifford, Jeffrey, Brougham, and Sydney Smith to gauge poetry for him, and sent Robert Burns to gauge beer. Let the Sniiths congratulate themselves that the reign of those men is past, or their Alexander would have been another vic- tim of that brilliant and inextinguishable laughter which has so long welcomed poetry in England. Did not Christopher North rail from the highlands at Alfred Tennyson? and did not Christopher Noith learn in a lightning-flash of satire that Al- fred Tennyson was a poet, and live to sce him this day chief of living poets? Who writes by Fate the critics shall not kill, Nor all the assassins in the great review, Who writes by luck, isis blood 50100 hack shall spill. Some ghostwhom a mnsqnito mnightren through. There is no doubt that Alexander Smith has received a more universal and flatt r- ing welcome tliaii was ever before award- ed to an English poet. lIe is reported to he a young man, about twenty-one or twenty-two years 01(1, who lives in C las- gow, and who, during a year or two past. has contributed pocacs to the London Leader and Critic. The editors of those papers occasionally called attention to the verses; but editorial finger-posts are not always heeded, nor even when they ar inscribed with the alluring words, to the realms of excellent poetry, is the travel- ler up and down the columns convinced that it will be worth Isis while to take that road. But when those excellent realms rise suddenly before him, gorgeous, odor- ous, palpitating with blowing foliaoe a: veined with flashing rivers, then he makes haste thither, not only to lie in the tran- quil shadow of noble trees, but inspired by the deeper desire of knowing if that fair country is worthily inhabited. The instinctive verdict of the English press has been qtiite tilianlmolis. Smith is adjudged guilty of poetry in the first degree. The Westminster Review for April, 1853, says of him: Alexander Smiths is a born singer a man of genius. not a musical echo of other singers. Tb London Examiner, a cool and shrewd critic, is most quiet of all in his praise. It allows him poetic, but waits to see if be be a poet. Reader, as we open this first book of young man to whom that praise is freely and fully awarded, for one breath of which so many noble, and talented, and earnest men have longed, we are retninded of the atiatist society in which the young bard hopes to take his place, inspired by the sublimest ambition of attaining that fame, ~Po~:~:sbyW. F. Cli hag. Second Series.

The Poems of Alexander Smith 94-101

94 The Poems o/ Ale ancier Smith. [July atcd who or what they were. They had shown no curiosity as to my poor self, had asked no questions as to my name, borne, or business. They. evidently, only re- garded me in the light of a lad whom they had saved from a ducking, and should see no more. Who could they be? Of course I should pluck out the heart of the mys- tery when I reached the parsonage, for Mr. Bulklcy must know all about them. So I made what haste I could, and soon found myself at the worthy ministers door [To be continued.] THE POEMS OF ALEXANDER SMITH. ThERE seemed to be no reason why I people should read Poems by Alex- ander Smith (London, Bohn, and Boston Ticknor, Reed & Fields, 1853), more than poems by many other Smiths, Jones, and Johnsons. who annually melodize their emotions, and confide them to a patient public; but about the first of May, all the English papers came hurrying over the sea with a loud chorus of Eureka! Eureka! the coming man has arrived, and his name is Smith! here was food for a spring days thought. A prophet had really come out of Nazaretha Mr. Smith was about sitting down with Shakspeare and the stars. The Aubrey de Veres, and Coventry Patmores. and Monckton Milnes whose names seemed the very gifts of the muse to her favorites, were suddenly ox- tinguishe d by the plebeian from the north, and the newest and most noticeable man of the moment is Alexander Smith. The papers to which we have alluded flashed with sparks taken fiomn his pages. Alex- ander Smith caine riding down among the critics, like Sir Lancelot in the Lady of Shalott: The gemnw bridle glittered free, Like to some branch of stars we see hung in the golden galaxy, and tirralirra, tirralirra, sang Sir Lancelot Smith, while all the critics like Bacehanals. reeled singing after. And this p ~an burst from John Bull in the age of steam; from John Bull who had sneered, and scoffed, and laughed in suc- cession at all the men who have best il- lustrated his name and nation during the last [calf century; from John Bull who permitted Gifford, Jeffrey, Brougham, and Sydney Smith to gauge poetry for him, and sent Robert Burns to gauge beer. Let the Sniiths congratulate themselves that the reign of those men is past, or their Alexander would have been another vic- tim of that brilliant and inextinguishable laughter which has so long welcomed poetry in England. Did not Christopher North rail from the highlands at Alfred Tennyson? and did not Christopher Noith learn in a lightning-flash of satire that Al- fred Tennyson was a poet, and live to sce him this day chief of living poets? Who writes by Fate the critics shall not kill, Nor all the assassins in the great review, Who writes by luck, isis blood 50100 hack shall spill. Some ghostwhom a mnsqnito mnightren through. There is no doubt that Alexander Smith has received a more universal and flatt r- ing welcome tliaii was ever before award- ed to an English poet. lIe is reported to he a young man, about twenty-one or twenty-two years 01(1, who lives in C las- gow, and who, during a year or two past. has contributed pocacs to the London Leader and Critic. The editors of those papers occasionally called attention to the verses; but editorial finger-posts are not always heeded, nor even when they ar inscribed with the alluring words, to the realms of excellent poetry, is the travel- ler up and down the columns convinced that it will be worth Isis while to take that road. But when those excellent realms rise suddenly before him, gorgeous, odor- ous, palpitating with blowing foliaoe a: veined with flashing rivers, then he makes haste thither, not only to lie in the tran- quil shadow of noble trees, but inspired by the deeper desire of knowing if that fair country is worthily inhabited. The instinctive verdict of the English press has been qtiite tilianlmolis. Smith is adjudged guilty of poetry in the first degree. The Westminster Review for April, 1853, says of him: Alexander Smiths is a born singer a man of genius. not a musical echo of other singers. Tb London Examiner, a cool and shrewd critic, is most quiet of all in his praise. It allows him poetic, but waits to see if be be a poet. Reader, as we open this first book of young man to whom that praise is freely and fully awarded, for one breath of which so many noble, and talented, and earnest men have longed, we are retninded of the atiatist society in which the young bard hopes to take his place, inspired by the sublimest ambition of attaining that fame, ~Po~:~:sbyW. F. Cli hag. Second Series. 1853.] The Poems of Alexander Smith. 95 of which we may say what Landor says of love: the muses themselves approach it with a tardy step, and with a low. and tremulous, and melancholy song. Every young lover of poetry has some- ~imcs wondered whether, if he had lived at the time when his favorites first appeared, ic would have instantly hailed and crowned them. He endeavors to divest his unagina- tion of the prestige of famous names, and to look impartially at the page that enchants him. So have lovers sought to look upon their mistresses. But, in both cases, it is the very caprice of passion; and the lover is only too glad to discover that he can- not he a critic. It is with kindred curi- osity that we open the contemporary re- views. What did the Edinburgh and Quarterly, what did the public feeling of England. say of Byron, and Wordsworth, of Shelley. and Keats; or, farther back, of Pope. Dryden, and the dramatists? Was there such unmistakable lustre in the dawn, that there could be no doubt of the day? So we wander through the l)iographies of the men themselves, to und what is said there about their recep- tion. And we search the lives of con- mporaries to the same end. Thus, in the Diary of Moore, there are no more interesting i-ecords than those of his first. often casual, encounter with men now famous. Moores ink-sketch of Words- worth represents an unamiable dinner- yuest. He finds Charles Lamb a man who perpetually miscarries with bad puns. lie concludes that, on the whole, Scott did not write the Waverley Novels. How earnestly we follow him, night by uioht as he reads Rob Roy to his d~ r- iinw Ecooc Ihe early notices of Keats and Teum ao of Lander and Beddocs the erowmn~ of bastards and the exile of -oyalt~ w e follow through a thousand ea with the closest interest. or the oueot,on that, ghostlike, haunts and xu hich by much reading we seek o lay ~a woe Lher there is no sign-manual of enius; whether there need be any doubt or hesitation between gold and gilt; whether, were he now living, Shakspeare would be as generally acknowledged as Martin Farquhar Tupper. Because, if our fathers entertained angels unawares. why may not we be doing the same thing at this moment? And there is a deeper significance in the l re ac universally expei-ienced, and to hugh we h~ e alluded. It is that the III of pod is the rarest and most -eplcndcnt cx cut in nature. He is her flow .r aiid success. The poet is a c ~ur~ pant and if lie requires a hundred for Its blooming, so he requires hem fe h s proper fame. For again, the poet is the nimble hero who dares to clasp the slender and fiery shape of Truth to his heart, and turn away in her embr all the dross that clogged it. He is, thei fore, spiritually discerned; and we, who come eating, and diimi king, and coat- ing our hearts with ever fresh layers of dross, may naturally suffer that to pas~ unseen which cosnetho without observation. Yet the air is softer when these spirit pass. Their near camp my spirit knows By signs gracious as rainbews. I, thencelbrward, and long after, Listen for their harp-like aughter, And carry in my heart, for clays, Peace that hailows rudest ways. It is, perhaps, fi-om secret wish excuse the want of perception of which we are conscious in ourselves, that we so eagerly turn to see whether other men have had it. It eases our consciences when they lere perplcied with claims that dazzle, but which we feel iriny be delusive, to discover that K Il the assassins plunged their ineffectual knives into the immortal breasts, and fashioned fames for those who are but as the men of Prome- theus, mere men of straw. It is. at once. comforting and humiliating. At most; we say, our errors have precedents. We are not the first blind men. If we are no better than our f thers, neither are we any worse. If Byron was pooh-poohed, and Wordsworth told it would not (10, and Tennyson mocked, auid Keats scoffed at, and Shelley roundly condemned, we may taLe heart if we are not quite sure of Alexander Smith ; or, indeed, with this crimson cahlo~ue before him, of bad be- ginnings that have no do immortal end- ings, may not the last young aspirant well pause, and tremble lest his fate be the reverse of theirs? Alexander Smiths volume consists of a long dramatic poem, three shortes- poems and eight sonnets. Whoever him read any of the many notices that have already appeared, has seen many of lois best things. Under the cumbrous title of Life-Drama fbe noet has thrown together his thou lots upon life, his yeario- ings for fame, and the outpourings of such passion as he has xx I i h is a very differ- ent passion fiom P at he tries to e. press in the persom of his di am a. The word drama has no eapecial ionificance loere. except as indicatiioo tuat the poem is of dramatic form It has no dramatic ac- tion, no devel opm ut in the proper sense. The poets so nes are strung upon a siender thread of story. Walter, the hero, is a youth consumed xxithi the pas- sionate ukusire of writing a great poem. lie meets a Lady in the forest. The Poems of Alexander Smith. Lady. Wouldat thou, too, be a Poet? Walter. Lady! ay! A passion has grown up to be a King, Poling my being with as fierce a sway As the mad son the prostrate desert a uds. And it is that. They proeced to converse of the subject and treatment of the poem, in a strain genuinely glowing and dazzling. The Lady asks: How wilt thou end it? Tlhlfer. Witis God and silence! When the areat. Universe subsides in God, Fan as a tuemeses foam subsides again Upon the wave that bears it, The Ladys answer is suggestive not only of a similar style in other poets, but of a similar thought. Why, thy plan Is wide and daring as a comets spoom! And doubtless twill contain the tale of earth By way of episode and anecdote. And thus we find in Beddoes (the Poems, posthumous atad collected, of Thomas Loveli Beddoes, 2 vols. London, 1851): Why whts the world and time? a fleeting thou5ht In the great naeditatin~ Universe, A brief parenthesis in chaos. Walter falls in love with the Lady. Were she plain IPight, id pack her with my stars. 5 5 5 * Ill write a tale Ibm whicla my passion runs Like honey-suckle through a hedge of June. An Alastor-like sketch follows, not so beautiftal and masterly as Alastor. it is more eager and crude. Shelleys lines, Titers was a Poet whose untimely tomb, and the fifteen or sixteen subsequent ones have a pensive perfection which irresisti- bly recurs as the reader encounters the similarity in Smith. Yet it is not an imi- tion. Let us acquit our poet at once of all kinds of larceny. His individuality and intellectual integrity are among his finest characteristics. The lovers meet again at sunset and there follows a passage full of the poets beauties, powers, and faults. Where yonder church Stands up to bees en as ii to interceale For stinpe hamlets scattered at its feet, saw the drearac~t swht. The sun was down, And all the B e~t a as pas ed with sullen fire. I cried, Beheld the ban en beach of bell At ebb of tade The Thost of one bright hssir conses fiona its gras a and stands befsre me now. Twas at at lose eat a lee_otantiuer day As we wets ~itlin en a on grassy slope, The sunset hooc before us like a dream That shakes a deataun in lass fiery lair; The etc sls weec standiuc retuad the settine sun I ate capana caves fantastac pinnacles citadels throtbite in their osan fierce hlat sail spu es that cune antI yeat lile sisires of flame, atiffs quiverma scala fire snesv and peaks Of teled omeon~ne~~ intl r(acks of fire ~ tilt and peiccO tare beaches crimson seas, 511 lla~c as nc budded ma that ciraclfel West, XII shook and trembled in umasteadf.mst hi ht Anti Item the centre blazed the angry aun Stern as the unlashed eye of God aglare Oer evening city with its boom of sin. Here is as audacious a grappling in words with the capricious sple dors of a thun- derous sunset, as any of Tuarners in colors. It is the unabashed intrepidity of youth squandering its strength. It is undenia- bly fine and faulty. It has the genuine ring of a poets lyre. But contrast with it the description of much the same effect by the most consummate of contemporary poetic artists, Alfred Tennyson. The in- delible image left upon the memory by the following, shows the ripeness and con- centration of mataire and thoughtful power: ihe arild tanrest that lives in avee Would dote atad psare eta yonder cloud That rises upavard alavays higher. And oussatral etratas at lasbatring breast, And topples rotand tite dreary West. A loomin~ bastion flingecl avitha fire. This is the ripeness which comes with the years that briun the philosoplaic mind and which will surely come to Alexander Smith, unless his epitaph should be that which Walter says the world uttered upon another poet: Poet lao asas not in tlte larcr souse: lie ceauld avrite pearls hiatt Ito euatald macver write A poent round and perfect as a star. In this sunset talk we discover that our poet has read the Poets. Walter says: Breezes aie blessing in old Cit. ucers verse, Twas here ave drank thteut. here for hours ave hun Oer the Cite pants and trembles of a line. So do true poet.s ever. They play aspen each others hearts, like lyres. here is Byron: Beside that avell I read tite mighty bard Wits clad himself wills beauty, genius, ascaith. Then flung hiusself sun lila cacti passion-pyre, And avas consunuech. The lovers have now reached a grove of heechies, where Walter hates a tale to read. This poem within the poem is the tuost finished and perfect pait of the volume. ~Te cannot quote, as we at-ould, or we should reprint it. A lady full of tropical prides and passions, has an a empty ach- ing in her heart, which no wealtia of lux- ury can satisfy. Her saveetest play- thing is an Indian pare. whom she calls her panther; of him she detnatids a song. He sings it. Tis of two lovers, matched like cymbals fine, Who, in a moment of lttxttri(tus bleoct, Their pale lips trembling itt tIe kiss of Gods, Made their lives wine-cups. amttl titen drank them oe. And dical aviths beings full-thoen like a rose. Site reavards her cash of inal by telling him of her coessiss-lover. lIe avood ins, leopard mine, I speared Itim wills a j St A aveek tite boy Lived in Isis sorross, like a castaract Umiseems, yet ssundimtg thro us shrouding m~ta But her lover must be 96 [July 1853.] The Poems of Alexander Smith One who can fel the very pulse o the time. * * * * * a non arm hold the. rearing world7 7iULc iao~y asks of tis true That he--rto ore. tangled in a ~oldeu smileY And tbe pan-c responds by a rapture about the induenco of beauty npo man. conoludono on i~h one of the symnootrieni ann rntonifi~c, imapes that so struck tiac first cratles of the uonm v~ ore. 5-nc I I yr n-i ---o- inS von thek as when 1 te. fin joy-sd men e.its nb-er on the. se.a, T p it~ ~5e lining heads L ~~nuc Of c~ rn t~ coab of md has not basked in t se Liop c of hm be-auty unmoved, a~ d do so a p s~an Ihe sodden emo- anus of the lady varysun through hate, an- or and noockino- scorn to-c uelicatdy touch 0 In th~ l-vt~er mood she erses sasporhly scot-niul ccc ---ni Ann then v-avu~ ~n n~ no f-sH8 roe ot {br her ps-u e he ~-nt iso e be tranoy tbe most suotie erapreesatoon of beautiful womm- eons o s en of I es ~ rent ncauv and it0 pow ci 1nd reps es~nt~ hot ide maontocont Cloo5yats-o mason-c droppino throurh sweet irresolution to vow of out ic Xi altos these, thc l~J Atm Iter cocK. tom th. old suoterfos-ce doe ito hiso ~f the pat-ce she the lade. 0 nv my ojont on lope. 0 louder climb F con hunt-v necti n te ~it - e. oP ojeix-. I ,e.~C liii Ii I cyeniib i-cony he.oacii The lady ohuddess res ~ ortal pangs faa she is bt~ro seA to a -ccli mnn. My Gcd Us hard! cafi -rest wins rome., I tie. rnc~ the. ~nmine.cs breath, H mi-C a alter says oe.kndc-c~ -oar-on- e- - ye t non i~rs n-cain fos-loon. lie et, a pen ot oral as too fred by his h-u~~ec~- mud a oudd ovbsoce youth and - oness con~o line lie next appears on on rca-Ore a noens of ye and sos - cdl o-r-eon - - ue.likespi- et, tin II os-to herr - a -c~o- I E~ ~t~Q C~OO5 tid th x tall -e cp ~ P lii u-i blic~b+eI horace ac- ~\ --lcd utoano in ca. Orn 555 Ma Pioopia-c ~u ic ino-t o my tnt-nt ib co wien my i ~Ct ii He still cheri-hen the isope to set this age to music The tie-at ~c no adv aces a little time1 and is sax oct xvsh May friends sit on a baicossy ovor tist an. Walter is hioppios and iso ness of Mr. XX nraoot~ asod isis dots- Os: Violet-. Mr. XXTliilioetss estate I cls ot description a~ sever Occurs od as tho dOt it. lie would scat-en occo-craize his own -a-)- perty, in this so otis Sea maine tint1 ti-sor osid soil a of otreano and cove., SOul --e. -u rn-ic cleP -is the. e.aiiliiti- 0-tin 5eassoo like a ineti-to tijiotib tite. nbsci--bitee its-I-I Wiad Stihowed jib-ens ci wit -. I - P ic -icabt~ Leo, Lute at bics( rct On en u-inmoSt I ito tnt ccii Len at in a ci .oeto come. cl-sc--itt-c Scout tie stirs The ~ae.-lish feson re not loss poots in ru cent Eno-lish poots~ thi a viao~ ord a ah at o5 t1so ~aoeth use a-sends go dons-n to Ml XX slmott a a noise of his nisesto co ci canoe befos o to tue noc-ic of ci e y onva thoughts and o oices and there X -al- ter falls strai ht in In o ovitho X solot, and Edo-card sisogs a ox onderful sosog Citioped iii tin or a soft arms the. as osld dads sle.e.~s, Asbeep its sites-itt-c ocaa its husiontitica lanas Wilt sabtut tin liiiii in Otp Ibi ti-c--n Step Lapbte.tlt fec en-cr the. white. b a~ tisd a - Walter foilonys ot st~a the tale 0 a Iboct, who goes noad defins Ood and doe. 1 c is ssatur Ily not a figure to the fines of Mi XI Inooti doo considers ita sth. 1oat \ io5ct -s of asootiser loonuld and foe - at- tioc a eabty of the ronoonco anlas ti C poet aborot doe persons of Isis tale at ci corn 00 Ot a so hiatt she susloects that he as its has o arid the Lady of the XX ood the Ises nine tad as the s-co-cl 000105 sloe sios prosagnas sorrow. Llnon so I ice.. a ictittlocti snirtotrol tale-i ji n b --a viti-ic at-hO ictitbe. itto miii id M- Stotitticit - it bpt tilts i a stikt-oc Oti Is inctase me. but I ottinot lilt usy Stead. I cc a re.tclte.P sale that -cl-i- Oscroict its i -- - itO sit I t t Ibte. wilier ut-s--n Anti stosa- a cIte-rico lctiis etted plisit--bed -edo, Oer ariticli a osow ilic 1 v it - ii ii - - Waiter sand Vsolct sit at susosat aspen a lawss and bc s epeats the stos y of hs~ lone for the Lady of the Wood bsot owcas SitS present felicity s s lies lit o this ~ passage: Ails dross hut live. That tmor---oy oou of Th-t Whtt asastde.ce.d ott-itt unit- --bi cite. listetti a- 55Pi be. as stinebi lout -a tti--sit-e. That creased the iitoest of a hinds I ho A thonsttnd ye.aco tto Walter blights has Vso1et A1tern as-c - soanderiag at sossht hoe s c-aches a i-ld-e.e C I sand niects then an outcast ovioom isa c treats to pray for him She is pp lIed by his wildness mood ha tails laer the story of Violets si-tame, and hens fais sh was: Her abort lifo As full of in - Ic as the. cross-dod Jittie. Of ott msfiillen orbs The in sponds with stern sadness, The Poems ef Alexander Smith. I pity her, not ynw Man trusts in God; lIe le eternaL iXeanan trusts in maci, And he is shifting sand2 Waiter coos on: She covered me With her wOd sorrow, as an April cloud Wish dsoc ilislievelletl tresses hides the hill On which hs heart is breakinic. lie rushes away. But in the next scene he returns to his home where he was born, and there expresses his resolution in enpv~ coneleeline ~x ith tn ima~ce xi hieh a noe corp ~d in hterxture I silt thron olf letid sod ~eleeO past Se ~c a canter Keanlin br his hi, x cv xx inds t niesi n irpue tics iii and Siosc 1 roes is ti us mitt 0. 1515 tool xnd inioblin sea ci iiipleted iiiiooii N~ titer si a tes his poem is acknoxe ledged a ~live as the Westmiiesle; acknowi- ci ca Xiexander Smith finds \ iolet en Shy renew their vosx s and cepeat Cho ~torx of tiseir suffeun~s and a do tee ace before inc and eat son~a, tis~ v tiser crowned or erowniess ashen I fall Out, 50 as Gods work is lone I x les~ned to prize the quiet hehtnine deed Not i1i i plaushrig thunder at its hees, otto men call fanie. Our in it m p We stand ii precious sunctoc, and beyond A bong day stretches to the very end. Let us now throw in a handful of peavls at random, and then proceed to judgment. The reader may well exclaim: Oh! lie was rich, And I rejoiced upon his chore (If pearls. This has 0randeur of thought as well as form. Unrest, Unrest! The passion-psutins, sea Wateles I ut s .1 1 beantx ii the. it linnrx soul 1 lie unquiet clouds ii. sail dissolve tlieii gather in a in inn Posit lit. medic mc hem s thioii Ii the blue. like l1ndies, ox sep the fire of earth; Heax n term us sari iDosvn comes the fraiilmc rain, We he ii the xx iii ci the remuni mliii xx cods In t isir ~ ~ use A iid this wreteiseil orb hun a net tie taite ot est a maci ic xx oild homoleis and sobbmr thionoli the deep siC goes; Xomn TIe feces c all atinru belle their hearts. Each man s as xseary of his life is I, The angiii ned eaithi hieva on the moona moon. And, often qtsoted, Our troubled a~e shah pa. is doth a day That leas Is ii xl crimson scitli the promise it the ills in r mu io x xx lileli ecen then horryin o ~p t~ xx oild s great sebe xshtli 1i5 t. Here is a shell for the next edition ~ Thalatt5 aTtic bridegroom tea Is levies xx liii tie aheic ixto xxedeld bride in the folneas em cia marmmv cv in sx i Ii aheho iteires a x o e iiOO fair alie looka ahen proud runs iis to ki 5 her A cons exit portrait N~ i-in soiled SnS ii5 benrill xx ith cc irs Bee ann id Sub icon odes eked an0 lan.~ The last lie is as true t p otu e of the northern, as Tennysons of the southern, autunan. Or red xxith spirted purple of the vatsY it is clear enough that there is no drama in all this. All the persons are Ossianic figures, vague and naisty. Yet the sun of genius certainly shines through them, and they float, like rainbows, along these pages. The poet expresses in such guises his fancies .nd feelings. Walter says the very splendid things that occur to Alex- ander Smith. lie is a lay-figure only, and so evidently nothing more, that the reader is not shocked at what would oth- erwise show Master Walter to be a vulgar seducer. The lady in the forest is a wraith, and Violet herself a shadow of Walter. The only dramatic entity in the whole poem is the mistress of my cub of md.. The book is no drama, therefore; then what is it? It is what the first work of a very young and very genuine poet is most likely to be, the exuberant expression of his passionate delight in the spectacle and the suggestion of nature. it is a rapturous ii~an of wonder and joy. The boy with all the seabtle susceptibilities to beauty and posver, to gloom and sorrow, that are the very points in which the poet differs from other men, dances about as in a gor- geous dream, a delightful delirium, and is content to shout aloud and rejoice. Like his own Edward he is hot to time ear-tips with ~reat thumps of heart5 and therefore his woids roil out of his mouth like lava, burning, and viscotis with thick richness. Ihe svealth, the redundancy, the extravagance, the storm of sitniles, time words that crack in strain- ing after the inexpressible, the want of thought, the manifold use of the same object for illustration, the cloying sweet- ness, the grotesqueness, the gorgeousness, the Shakspearian felicity,t the etic, but not poet,ahl these varying praises and condemnations otdy describe the man that Alexander Snaith seems to us to he: An April-tree achmose venueS-loaded hioimghs Promniwd to iutaimn a) les nbc I and red. his senst~ou~ness is tWit of the poetic organ zxt,on as it ippears in this a.gc. Keats hxs t md Shelley, mmd Tennyson. It drose 113 ron who xi as sensual rather than conscious (if we may oramc a distinc- tion), to cist IbIs Isoetbs t~ tIme Orient. and Moore tInkle d altec Aba his tinsel Lalla llookhi Coleridne his it in his Kubla Kban Words1 01 th oni), has it not; but it takes in him a peculiai form of uderness. and a human feeling for nature that it line in none of tise otlbers. Otir own young writers are strongly eb. ractei-ized by it, as was hinted in the review of the 98 [July 1 8fl3.] The Potrns of Alexander Smith. Homes of American Authors in an ear- lier number of this magazine. By his ex- treme sensuousness, therefore; by the cx- huisite delight he takes in voluptuous and geous description, Alexander Smith only reveals himself a-s a child of the time. hut it is quite his own manifestation of it. As an outburst of this passionate joy which the contemplation of the universe produces in the poet. his Life-Drama may be ranked with Keatss Endymion. Yet they are entirely different. Keatss is feminine and Smiths masculine. The latter betrays a holdno~ of ima~ery, and a sinewy, intellec- tual texture. of which Keats shows little trace until the Hyperion. The story in both is nothing. The poems are snug for the pleasure of singing. The hearts of the men leap up for they have seen a rainbow. Nor does it seem to us especially to re- call Festus, certainly not so strongly as Festus suggests Faust. The reader must remember that no work is absolutely original throughout. Certain forms and treatment become, in time, conventional, and artists conform to them. Raphael is full of Perugino and Massaccio; Shaks- peare smacks of Marlowe and the rest; awl f~ed5 upon foreign story. Yet Shaks- ~eai ian d itaphaclesque are terms of very l)i~ci~e ~1oiiit~cance. There i a certain maou~risom which may be mistaken for on ~nihh mcI in Tennysons first vol mu (1 SLO) this is evident. But if the reader will compare that volume with In iorcnu he will find that while the fevm~r s ~oinewhat ~rotesque with quaint (hut delicious) conceits, the thought stands, transparent and symmetrical, in the latter. To one who knew the younger poets of the day, Tennysons first volume was no newer, in scope and general form, than Alexander Smiths drama. We say thus much for those who are surprised not to find a startling novelty both in the Iii liner and matter, and spirit of his ~0 It is then in exuberant and individual exprwsion of exulting delight in the world aru tao li.~e the first songs of all young poets A hat more is it? It is fell of intellectual integrity, and it is in tint tu t the hope of the autumn npp1es juiced and red must be founded. men axe pleasant and cunning echoes of othei ~. Most of the youths who xv Ito cud print verses in these days, and Lx thur name is Legion, h~ve a genial an poetic temperament and an executive cu~ hut they do not produce poetry. They ppieuiate it, they love it, they have p01 u1. peie~ptmons, and an elegance and me 1neme it of nature that charm their as~ociates an. for a time delude a partial car P~t the rigorous world has no friends. It is not the praises of the news- papers, nor the smoothed visages of the Ii assassins, nor their anathemas and knives that inform a man whether he has touched with a thought or an emotion. the great mystery called the world. He knows that editors are human, and very much harassed, and that it may well happen lie is damned or deified to make out copy or point a paragraph. Fortu~- nately the world has no paragraphs to point; and remembering, with fatal pre- cision, all that has been said before, it allots fame to every man according to his own individual thought and cx rience, and his expression of them. In the poems before xis we find no for- ei~n taint. We do not perceive that the author has saturated his mind with the poetry of other men, so that his own storeM are drippings from their abundanoe. If we have noticed resemblances, they are such; they are indigenous, and not im- portations. lIe has liv humbly, we un- derstand, in Glasgow, over which city there is a sky, though very much smoke- blackened, and stars shine in it when poets look and the sum rises and the moon, and the river Clyde flows through the city. The sea is not far awayeven a poor man, with a stron~ desire that way, may get to the sea. If his heat has been to the ocean and back, it is within that little limit that our author has found the actual material of his illustration. He has read the poets ~s we have seen; yet he does not cram to write Persian poems, nor aflhet an erudition he does not possess, nor pine for a stately realm in which to set hi~ story. his fancy plays its games with certain figures. We ha~ said that they expressed a different passion from that he tries to make them express. We mean only, that it is his own mood, gloomy or gay, his oxvn sensibility, mel- dened or delighted by the world around him th1 t those fi~urcs express, and not any life of their own. The lady and her cub of hid, although, as we said, the most dramatic. are the dear dreams 01 a youth intoxicated with summer sunshine. The dreary tales of Walter, and the blight- 0(1 Violet are lint visionary forebodings of the same youth. as lie leans thou~htfullv-, and therefore doubtfully, towards the di ture. And all the imagery with which these pac~es slitter is drawn from the sea. sky, stars, sun, and moonthe old furn~- ture of nature to which we are all hei~. and the sole allowance made, we under , to Alexander Smith. - Thore are critics who complain of this, and who please themselves by enumerating in how many diffixrcnt shapes and I spects the sun, moon, stars, and sea masquerade along these pages. But to us this Cpu- 100 lence of imagery drawn from the same objects. is the most subtle proof of the po- etic apprehension th~t detects nature sym- pathizing with every evanescent mood. Moreover this tendency implies an habit- ual contemplation of the nrander objects and aspects of nature, which refers us to Shakspeare, Home, and the poets of the first order. We are not struck by any ~ nut of thought in this poetry. it is co e Wntiy the first run of the sclf-pi essed fi nit that we expect to find it hone like md dmost cloying. It is so satisfactos x and na~ural in its kind, that we feel no i oht to chal- lenge it, nor complain tWit it is noe some- thing else ~nd greater. Can any bi0her evidence be adduced of the universal im- pression of its genuineness, then its isumne diate reference by the critics to the loftiest standard ~ Czitics assert that Alexander Smith has not yet grappled with the real- ities of life, and that his experience has been thus far thin and superficialtb t they find no penetrating sadness iii his music, and do not rise from it chastened and bettered. But of the June roses that are just falling, did they ask more than roses? or of the May-blossoming trees the fruit that only autumn ripens? Do they not recognize that this poetry is but flow- ering, and that their cb im is unjust and impossible? Why exhort a singer to si- lence who can sing in this way, even if lie lxi not capable of every strain? lie says of his friend: Arid images lay thick ri eric tilk As sheila on ocean sands. And if they are now mainly descriptive, if they only copy in gorgeous ords the splendors he observes all around him, this, it seems to uh, is only a fault, like youth., that time ever hastens to correct; for it is hdly to be supposed th t o fir an or- nanizarmon as is here betrmy ed can nass lo~s~ untouched by everx ~ arm 5y of cx- vrenco; and surely here is pi oof enough tIm t tbe emotions of th~ t exuemience will be sdequstelv ~ If tl~e mom Win e the ~e u~ teat his poetry i neheates, ime will Imarel-- be spoiled by pram-v A senme so firie a ill not fail to see and anpreciame what is empeeior in others, and a list is merely teinpcor ry nd incidental in himself, lie revels now in luxury of power. Like an methalete, be leaps and flies. lie critics ~ied out in Endymion, that they were tangled in a mesh of aweets; th t, lil:c [Juy flies, they were drowning in hone Wretched stuff w s talked about John Keats. yet withiu the luxuriant pmnole of his first poem lay. half hidden, hot ri vealed, the fire of the Iivnerion and time pure flame of the odes. rime men of t m day did not entertain nor tolerate tIme iri certain guest. lie was incontinently turned out of doors; but he revealed his heavenly- plumane as he went. The other poems of our author confirm this general inapression. Aim Evening horse is foil, as a bursting rose-bud, of richness and beauty. Laely Barbcuq begins like Tennyson, but it is of another momdd. Time hues To hint some- bodys experience, if it be true that the author has none of his own. English poets, it seems. must all write sonnets, and Alex- ander Smith binds his little sheaf. They are beautiful, but they are haunted by echoes of Keats; enough, at least, to show how warm a sympathy he has with that poet. We could willingly quote, but we fear the reader has heard as much as he wishes, at present, of the new poet. Fortu- nately criticism will not make nor unmake him. Cautious readers a; ill doubt his dazzling page, and hay the book aside to see what comes next. The elders will sigh over the many blooming springs they have known, that doepened into no sum- mer, and shake skeptical heads over the force which they fear will waste itself in flowering. The sententious and superficial will niake short work of him and show him time door, the same, haplv, through which the great Reviews ushered the great poets into oblivion. Let us hope it will be that door. Let us believe that the Muses are not pining for Time spacious tinmes of grcat Elizabeth, l)ut love the last days as well, It is birch if poetry has run out just as our hero.; are I)eginninr. Let them at least be heard, and first (md bist) hear Alexander Smith once more Timers bias been aat clTloas of critic wit Oer Oh .0 ~ mmmi fader feelmi ax xes Nor rise an mcmi isomo e ground am ~ai P tiimmms Amid omi Omens to t~( de h mmmcmi a brooms am knit. Ye incus e c tie~0 s rum t o very fit Timey on a stoemim of ls inter simonid moe blown, Oer time aorid a eds to Limbo 5 Br is kmiorri, Ye men0 ic irmiacal timatbemme ttm iii mm me cimietmest arom to Sums ax mmcn I to And stromog as Life, mm sons rem cmmmaeimts ra~m Poesy-ward, like rivers Imi time mcii, Prit mmeaer reacim I. Oritic, tot tlmmmtm soul mciii Is iii omarn hail wilborit a kick friommi times. kind Death, khs cony, mine this wcm y one The Poems of Alexander Smith. 1853.] 10] GOLD UNDER GILT. R. EMERSON, in his essay upon The I Conservative, relates a le~ond of the Friar Bernard. in illustration of the truth that the best virtues are to he found in ad conditions of society. If the story were merely an apologue with the essayist, it has lately hecome a fact, which we are glad to record. This is the tradition. The father Bernard lamented, in his cell on Mount Cenis, the crimes of man- kind. and risin~ one morning before day from his bed of moss and dry leaves, he gnawed his roots and herries, drank of the spring, and set forth to no to Rome to reform the corruption of mankind. On his way he encountered many travellers, who greeted him courteously, and the cabins of the peasants and the castles of the i~ dx supplied his few wants. When he cam at last to Rome, his piety and go A wil easly introduced him to many fa-ihe f t rich, and on the first d. y he saw cad talked with o-entle mothers, with their babes at their hreasts, who to d him how much love they here their oh 1 lien and how they were perplexed in trim daily walo lest they should fail in thc.r duty to them. What! he said a d thjx o r ix emhroidered carpets, on mci lie floci n ith cunning sculpture, and ~,m ~1 ~~od and rich pictures, and piles of o~k~ about you? Look at our pie- tuv~s and hooks, they said, and we will Liii o ood Father, how we spent the lact ox cnn These are stories of godly chili en and holy families, and romantic sacflees ina(le in old or in recent times by great and not mean persons, and last evening our family was collected, and our husbands and brothers discoursed sadly on what we could save and give in the ha-I times Then came in the men, and they said, What cheer, brother? Does thy cotwent want aifts? Then the Friam~ Bernard xvent home sxviftly, with other thoughts than he brought. saying, This wax- of life is wrong, yet these Romans, wiionx Ii prayed God to destroy, are lovers, Lit me lox ei~ what can I ~ n(l this s the fact. as a friend ro- lates it I called last night upon my friend in the Fifth ~x enue. His house is stately and maniflcent. It abounds with every dcx ice of luani y. If not tasteful, it is rich if not e1e~ant, it is profuse in splen- dor X~ bile I sat gazing around me at the mirrors, and carpets, and curtains, and costly furniture, my friend entered, and cordialy welcomed me. Where have you been, so lon~? asked I; it must be many weeks since I have seen you. You ~ he answered, that we were absent upon a visit to cousin Charles for some time, and upon our return the doctor told us that two of the servants lay ill with the ship-fever, and that the children must be sent away immediately.. So we sent them to their nrandfathers in Connecticut, and my wife and I re- mained to take c~re of the servants. Did you know what a terrible disea~ it was? Yes, the doctor warned us. But we could not leave them when we knew how critical their situation was. It was hard to part with the children, and they cried bitterly at going knowing to what danger we were oxposod.~ And I know, answered I, for I haass b. d the ship-fever, and for two we& s lay utterly senseless like one dead. Both of the servants, continued my friend,were delirious for two weeks before they died, which increased our care. It is a very dreadful disease, and very hardly it bore upon my wife. But there was no one to assist us. All the other servants left, and we could ~et no nurses. Even the brothers and sisters fearing the conta0 ion, would not come into the house. We took 11 possible proc. utions. The beds were placed in the middle of our two largest rooms, and, by openin~ the folding-doors, we could throw them with the smaller one between into one lar e room. There is a passage from the ceiling of the middle room directly to the skylight in the roof; and by openin~ that and droppina the upper sashes of the windows of the rooms, we could ventilate the rooms perfectly. I see, said I, an(l they died ?~ They both died: and we buried them in tile Catholic Cemetery. Why, thought I. ~lancing at the painted walls and the glittering chande- liers, the sumptuous St. Nicholas and the squalid Five Points do not offer a more instructive contrast than this single-heart- ed heroism in the midst of this regal splendor? IJere was another deed for New-Ye. k to be proud of, Gilt sometimes covers gold.

Gold Under Gilt 101-102

1853.] 10] GOLD UNDER GILT. R. EMERSON, in his essay upon The I Conservative, relates a le~ond of the Friar Bernard. in illustration of the truth that the best virtues are to he found in ad conditions of society. If the story were merely an apologue with the essayist, it has lately hecome a fact, which we are glad to record. This is the tradition. The father Bernard lamented, in his cell on Mount Cenis, the crimes of man- kind. and risin~ one morning before day from his bed of moss and dry leaves, he gnawed his roots and herries, drank of the spring, and set forth to no to Rome to reform the corruption of mankind. On his way he encountered many travellers, who greeted him courteously, and the cabins of the peasants and the castles of the i~ dx supplied his few wants. When he cam at last to Rome, his piety and go A wil easly introduced him to many fa-ihe f t rich, and on the first d. y he saw cad talked with o-entle mothers, with their babes at their hreasts, who to d him how much love they here their oh 1 lien and how they were perplexed in trim daily walo lest they should fail in thc.r duty to them. What! he said a d thjx o r ix emhroidered carpets, on mci lie floci n ith cunning sculpture, and ~,m ~1 ~~od and rich pictures, and piles of o~k~ about you? Look at our pie- tuv~s and hooks, they said, and we will Liii o ood Father, how we spent the lact ox cnn These are stories of godly chili en and holy families, and romantic sacflees ina(le in old or in recent times by great and not mean persons, and last evening our family was collected, and our husbands and brothers discoursed sadly on what we could save and give in the ha-I times Then came in the men, and they said, What cheer, brother? Does thy cotwent want aifts? Then the Friam~ Bernard xvent home sxviftly, with other thoughts than he brought. saying, This wax- of life is wrong, yet these Romans, wiionx Ii prayed God to destroy, are lovers, Lit me lox ei~ what can I ~ n(l this s the fact. as a friend ro- lates it I called last night upon my friend in the Fifth ~x enue. His house is stately and maniflcent. It abounds with every dcx ice of luani y. If not tasteful, it is rich if not e1e~ant, it is profuse in splen- dor X~ bile I sat gazing around me at the mirrors, and carpets, and curtains, and costly furniture, my friend entered, and cordialy welcomed me. Where have you been, so lon~? asked I; it must be many weeks since I have seen you. You ~ he answered, that we were absent upon a visit to cousin Charles for some time, and upon our return the doctor told us that two of the servants lay ill with the ship-fever, and that the children must be sent away immediately.. So we sent them to their nrandfathers in Connecticut, and my wife and I re- mained to take c~re of the servants. Did you know what a terrible disea~ it was? Yes, the doctor warned us. But we could not leave them when we knew how critical their situation was. It was hard to part with the children, and they cried bitterly at going knowing to what danger we were oxposod.~ And I know, answered I, for I haass b. d the ship-fever, and for two we& s lay utterly senseless like one dead. Both of the servants, continued my friend,were delirious for two weeks before they died, which increased our care. It is a very dreadful disease, and very hardly it bore upon my wife. But there was no one to assist us. All the other servants left, and we could ~et no nurses. Even the brothers and sisters fearing the conta0 ion, would not come into the house. We took 11 possible proc. utions. The beds were placed in the middle of our two largest rooms, and, by openin~ the folding-doors, we could throw them with the smaller one between into one lar e room. There is a passage from the ceiling of the middle room directly to the skylight in the roof; and by openin~ that and droppina the upper sashes of the windows of the rooms, we could ventilate the rooms perfectly. I see, said I, an(l they died ?~ They both died: and we buried them in tile Catholic Cemetery. Why, thought I. ~lancing at the painted walls and the glittering chande- liers, the sumptuous St. Nicholas and the squalid Five Points do not offer a more instructive contrast than this single-heart- ed heroism in the midst of this regal splendor? IJere was another deed for New-Ye. k to be proud of, Gilt sometimes covers gold. 1O~? [July Editorial NotesAnzerican Literature. THE GRAVE OF KEATS. B UT one rude stone for him whose song Revived the Grecians plastic ease, Till men and maidens danced along In youth perpetual on his frieze! Where lies that mould of senses fine Men knew as Keats a while ago? We cannot trace a single sign Of all that made his joy below. There are no trees to talk of him Who knew their hushes and their swell; Where myriad leaves in forest dim Build up their cloudy citadels. No mystic signalled passion-flowers Spread their flat discs, while buds more fair Swing like great bells, in frail green towers To toll away the summer air. Oh, mother earth, thy sides he bound With far-off Venus ampler zone, With statelier sons thy landscape crowned, Whose chiming voices matched thine own! Oh, mother earth, what hast thou brought This tender frame that loved thee well? Harsh grass and we s alone are wrought On his low graves uneven swell. lioarE, March 26th, 15.51. EDITORIAL NOTES. LITERATURE. AiTEaTeAN. Clouds and Sunshine is a volume of 254 pages by the author of Musings of an Invalid, Fancies of a Whimsical Alan, and Fun and Earnest, published by John S. Taylor. The first of these books passed, we believe, to a fourth edition, but the others have not been received with the same favor. They indicate in the author good observation and a sense of humor, and his pertinacity in publishing shows that he is determined to speak until the public will hear. That he has much to tell we are not sure. his works have each the substance of a good article. The joke of Fun and Ear- nest, for instance, is good, but a book full of it is wearisome. And in Clouds and .Sunshine, there is no progression, and the last page is the echo of the first. The book consists of a series of conversations upon human life and destiny, in which three persons take part, one representing faith, another speculation, and a third scepticism. They have each a fair hear- ing, and state their views with fluency and copious illustration. But the read- er goes out of the book as he advanced through it, with high respect for the en- thusiastic faith of A, and the philosoph- ical moderation of C, and the sad indiffer- ence of B. He will hardly be converted to any of their views: that among them which suits his own temperament will still be cherished. For the author of Glouds and Sunshine kno~x s, as well as anyone, that when a man is skeptical and thought- ful like B, or curiously critical, like C, he is never more than amused with the soaring enthusiasm of A. Vigorous as- sertion of faith does not reason the mind into belief and the arguments adduced are mer~ly those of observation, which minds of a certain stamp (and they the very ones of the book) are sure to consid- ci and fluid wanting, at the outset of their speculations. The book, therefore, must be essentially unsatisfactory to those who would be at all interested in it. Such themes are not to be dashed off in a

The Grave of Keats 102

1O~? [July Editorial NotesAnzerican Literature. THE GRAVE OF KEATS. B UT one rude stone for him whose song Revived the Grecians plastic ease, Till men and maidens danced along In youth perpetual on his frieze! Where lies that mould of senses fine Men knew as Keats a while ago? We cannot trace a single sign Of all that made his joy below. There are no trees to talk of him Who knew their hushes and their swell; Where myriad leaves in forest dim Build up their cloudy citadels. No mystic signalled passion-flowers Spread their flat discs, while buds more fair Swing like great bells, in frail green towers To toll away the summer air. Oh, mother earth, thy sides he bound With far-off Venus ampler zone, With statelier sons thy landscape crowned, Whose chiming voices matched thine own! Oh, mother earth, what hast thou brought This tender frame that loved thee well? Harsh grass and we s alone are wrought On his low graves uneven swell. lioarE, March 26th, 15.51. EDITORIAL NOTES. LITERATURE. AiTEaTeAN. Clouds and Sunshine is a volume of 254 pages by the author of Musings of an Invalid, Fancies of a Whimsical Alan, and Fun and Earnest, published by John S. Taylor. The first of these books passed, we believe, to a fourth edition, but the others have not been received with the same favor. They indicate in the author good observation and a sense of humor, and his pertinacity in publishing shows that he is determined to speak until the public will hear. That he has much to tell we are not sure. his works have each the substance of a good article. The joke of Fun and Ear- nest, for instance, is good, but a book full of it is wearisome. And in Clouds and .Sunshine, there is no progression, and the last page is the echo of the first. The book consists of a series of conversations upon human life and destiny, in which three persons take part, one representing faith, another speculation, and a third scepticism. They have each a fair hear- ing, and state their views with fluency and copious illustration. But the read- er goes out of the book as he advanced through it, with high respect for the en- thusiastic faith of A, and the philosoph- ical moderation of C, and the sad indiffer- ence of B. He will hardly be converted to any of their views: that among them which suits his own temperament will still be cherished. For the author of Glouds and Sunshine kno~x s, as well as anyone, that when a man is skeptical and thought- ful like B, or curiously critical, like C, he is never more than amused with the soaring enthusiasm of A. Vigorous as- sertion of faith does not reason the mind into belief and the arguments adduced are mer~ly those of observation, which minds of a certain stamp (and they the very ones of the book) are sure to consid- ci and fluid wanting, at the outset of their speculations. The book, therefore, must be essentially unsatisfactory to those who would be at all interested in it. Such themes are not to be dashed off in a

Clouds and Sunshine American Literature 102-103

1O~? [July Editorial NotesAnzerican Literature. THE GRAVE OF KEATS. B UT one rude stone for him whose song Revived the Grecians plastic ease, Till men and maidens danced along In youth perpetual on his frieze! Where lies that mould of senses fine Men knew as Keats a while ago? We cannot trace a single sign Of all that made his joy below. There are no trees to talk of him Who knew their hushes and their swell; Where myriad leaves in forest dim Build up their cloudy citadels. No mystic signalled passion-flowers Spread their flat discs, while buds more fair Swing like great bells, in frail green towers To toll away the summer air. Oh, mother earth, thy sides he bound With far-off Venus ampler zone, With statelier sons thy landscape crowned, Whose chiming voices matched thine own! Oh, mother earth, what hast thou brought This tender frame that loved thee well? Harsh grass and we s alone are wrought On his low graves uneven swell. lioarE, March 26th, 15.51. EDITORIAL NOTES. LITERATURE. AiTEaTeAN. Clouds and Sunshine is a volume of 254 pages by the author of Musings of an Invalid, Fancies of a Whimsical Alan, and Fun and Earnest, published by John S. Taylor. The first of these books passed, we believe, to a fourth edition, but the others have not been received with the same favor. They indicate in the author good observation and a sense of humor, and his pertinacity in publishing shows that he is determined to speak until the public will hear. That he has much to tell we are not sure. his works have each the substance of a good article. The joke of Fun and Ear- nest, for instance, is good, but a book full of it is wearisome. And in Clouds and .Sunshine, there is no progression, and the last page is the echo of the first. The book consists of a series of conversations upon human life and destiny, in which three persons take part, one representing faith, another speculation, and a third scepticism. They have each a fair hear- ing, and state their views with fluency and copious illustration. But the read- er goes out of the book as he advanced through it, with high respect for the en- thusiastic faith of A, and the philosoph- ical moderation of C, and the sad indiffer- ence of B. He will hardly be converted to any of their views: that among them which suits his own temperament will still be cherished. For the author of Glouds and Sunshine kno~x s, as well as anyone, that when a man is skeptical and thought- ful like B, or curiously critical, like C, he is never more than amused with the soaring enthusiasm of A. Vigorous as- sertion of faith does not reason the mind into belief and the arguments adduced are mer~ly those of observation, which minds of a certain stamp (and they the very ones of the book) are sure to consid- ci and fluid wanting, at the outset of their speculations. The book, therefore, must be essentially unsatisfactory to those who would be at all interested in it. Such themes are not to be dashed off in a 1853.] Editceial NotesAmerican Literature. 103 hurry. They are the deepest anxieties of the most thoughtful men. and it is a pity to play with them. We by no means wish to insinuate that our author is flip-. pant. He is far from that. All his books reveal a quiet earnestness of feeling and purpose which is more attractive than the forms into which he throws it. But in the present instance, the quality of the treatment is not such as to justify the at- tempt of so profound a theme, unless, in- deed no more is meant than a sparkling presentation of the most obvious specula- tions. has not the author forgotten the necessary literary care which is essential to literary success? If he would a little more thoughtfully consider the form and the management of his subjects, and take care that haste is not too evident through- out, we are very sure he would be grat- ified with greater success than he has yet achieved. Fern Leares from Fannys Port- folio, is the fanciful title of a bulky col- lection of short and spirited pieces of writ- ing, which have been contributed during the past few years, to various weekly papers of not much literary character. They are acute, crisp, sprightly, knowing, and, though sometimes rude, evince much gen- nine and original talent, a keen power of ob- servation, lively fancy, and humorous, as well as pathetic sensibilities. But they are not all of equal merit, for while there is great delicacy and tenderness in the Still Small Voice, Widows Trials, All Well, & c., there are certain bold, mas- euline expressions, in others, that we should be glad to see chastened. One of the pleasantest books of the month that we have read, is the L~k and Works of Thomas Cole, by the Rev. L. L. NOBLE. It is made up mainly of the letters of Mr. Cole to his friends, but abounds in interest, especially the part relati% to the early struggles of the artist for subsistence and fame. Mr. Cole, it appears, was born in England, and came to this country in the ei~hteenth year of his age, not in his infancy, as it has been supposed; and the records of genius do not furnish an instance of a more persist- ent battle with vicissitudes and vertv than the history of his early career at the West. and in Philadelphia, includin~ his first year in New-York. But he was vic- torious finally over all obstacles, and rose to the rank of the first landscape painter of the United States. Mr. Noble has exe- cuted his part of the work with fidelity and judgment, with a profound love of the singularly pure and gentle character of the artist, and a due appreciation of his works. His remarks about art we should not, perhaps, always agree with, though they have the merit of kindliness and sin- cerity. But this is a book that demands a larger notice than we can give it here, and we reserve it for further remarks next month. Rhymes with reason and udth- out, by P. B. SHILLABER, have nearly all ec them appeared in the newspapers, where they have run the rounds which is some proof of their popularity. Some few of them are in a serious vein, and exhibit good poetical powers on the part of the author; but the greater part of them are droll, either ludicrous imitations or funny tales, and provoke no little mirth. The portrait of the writer in front makes him look more like a preacher than a wit. It is said that Mr. GEORGE S. TIlL- LARn, of Boston, has a work in press, which will be called A Year OR the Con- tinent. It will give the observations and thoughts of the author during a resi- dence in Europe, and will be, of course, well written and instructive. Mr. ilillard is a man of nice and extensive culture, who uses language with remarkable pr& - cision and elegance, and never allows a sentence to escape him which cannot pass the ordeal of the most refined criticism. We anticipate the appearance of his work with the ~reatest pleasure. A Life of Greenou~ h, the eminent sculptor, the pioneer amona our American artists in the same line, prepared by H. T. TUCKERMAN,a devotee of his art, and warm admirer of the man will shortly be published. We have read enough of the proof-sheets to warrant us in sayin~ that the work will be one of rare value and interest. Apart from his merits as an artist, Mr. Greenough was an extensive traveller and well-informed scholar; an entertaining talker, and true man; and out of these characteristics a skilful biojapher cannot fail to get rich materials for instruction and entertain- ment. Miss ALICE CAREys Ciovernook has appeared, we perceive, in five differ- ent editions in England, and is well spoken of by the critics. Some of the foreign pirates have had the decency to offer her a small sum for the republication, but the others, like our own book-purveyors, have not said even thankye. If there be a future place of retribution, as the theo- logians assure us, and men are punished accordin~ to the wrongs they have inflict- ed on other men what a sad fate awaits those who have fared sumptuously every day on the brains of poor authors! A good Guide-book for Niagara Falls is a desideratum. Those that we have are wretched, giving no real infor- mation, and abounding in trashy senti

Fern Leaves American Literature 103

1853.] Editceial NotesAmerican Literature. 103 hurry. They are the deepest anxieties of the most thoughtful men. and it is a pity to play with them. We by no means wish to insinuate that our author is flip-. pant. He is far from that. All his books reveal a quiet earnestness of feeling and purpose which is more attractive than the forms into which he throws it. But in the present instance, the quality of the treatment is not such as to justify the at- tempt of so profound a theme, unless, in- deed no more is meant than a sparkling presentation of the most obvious specula- tions. has not the author forgotten the necessary literary care which is essential to literary success? If he would a little more thoughtfully consider the form and the management of his subjects, and take care that haste is not too evident through- out, we are very sure he would be grat- ified with greater success than he has yet achieved. Fern Leares from Fannys Port- folio, is the fanciful title of a bulky col- lection of short and spirited pieces of writ- ing, which have been contributed during the past few years, to various weekly papers of not much literary character. They are acute, crisp, sprightly, knowing, and, though sometimes rude, evince much gen- nine and original talent, a keen power of ob- servation, lively fancy, and humorous, as well as pathetic sensibilities. But they are not all of equal merit, for while there is great delicacy and tenderness in the Still Small Voice, Widows Trials, All Well, & c., there are certain bold, mas- euline expressions, in others, that we should be glad to see chastened. One of the pleasantest books of the month that we have read, is the L~k and Works of Thomas Cole, by the Rev. L. L. NOBLE. It is made up mainly of the letters of Mr. Cole to his friends, but abounds in interest, especially the part relati% to the early struggles of the artist for subsistence and fame. Mr. Cole, it appears, was born in England, and came to this country in the ei~hteenth year of his age, not in his infancy, as it has been supposed; and the records of genius do not furnish an instance of a more persist- ent battle with vicissitudes and vertv than the history of his early career at the West. and in Philadelphia, includin~ his first year in New-York. But he was vic- torious finally over all obstacles, and rose to the rank of the first landscape painter of the United States. Mr. Noble has exe- cuted his part of the work with fidelity and judgment, with a profound love of the singularly pure and gentle character of the artist, and a due appreciation of his works. His remarks about art we should not, perhaps, always agree with, though they have the merit of kindliness and sin- cerity. But this is a book that demands a larger notice than we can give it here, and we reserve it for further remarks next month. Rhymes with reason and udth- out, by P. B. SHILLABER, have nearly all ec them appeared in the newspapers, where they have run the rounds which is some proof of their popularity. Some few of them are in a serious vein, and exhibit good poetical powers on the part of the author; but the greater part of them are droll, either ludicrous imitations or funny tales, and provoke no little mirth. The portrait of the writer in front makes him look more like a preacher than a wit. It is said that Mr. GEORGE S. TIlL- LARn, of Boston, has a work in press, which will be called A Year OR the Con- tinent. It will give the observations and thoughts of the author during a resi- dence in Europe, and will be, of course, well written and instructive. Mr. ilillard is a man of nice and extensive culture, who uses language with remarkable pr& - cision and elegance, and never allows a sentence to escape him which cannot pass the ordeal of the most refined criticism. We anticipate the appearance of his work with the ~reatest pleasure. A Life of Greenou~ h, the eminent sculptor, the pioneer amona our American artists in the same line, prepared by H. T. TUCKERMAN,a devotee of his art, and warm admirer of the man will shortly be published. We have read enough of the proof-sheets to warrant us in sayin~ that the work will be one of rare value and interest. Apart from his merits as an artist, Mr. Greenough was an extensive traveller and well-informed scholar; an entertaining talker, and true man; and out of these characteristics a skilful biojapher cannot fail to get rich materials for instruction and entertain- ment. Miss ALICE CAREys Ciovernook has appeared, we perceive, in five differ- ent editions in England, and is well spoken of by the critics. Some of the foreign pirates have had the decency to offer her a small sum for the republication, but the others, like our own book-purveyors, have not said even thankye. If there be a future place of retribution, as the theo- logians assure us, and men are punished accordin~ to the wrongs they have inflict- ed on other men what a sad fate awaits those who have fared sumptuously every day on the brains of poor authors! A good Guide-book for Niagara Falls is a desideratum. Those that we have are wretched, giving no real infor- mation, and abounding in trashy senti

Life of Cole American Literature 103

1853.] Editceial NotesAmerican Literature. 103 hurry. They are the deepest anxieties of the most thoughtful men. and it is a pity to play with them. We by no means wish to insinuate that our author is flip-. pant. He is far from that. All his books reveal a quiet earnestness of feeling and purpose which is more attractive than the forms into which he throws it. But in the present instance, the quality of the treatment is not such as to justify the at- tempt of so profound a theme, unless, in- deed no more is meant than a sparkling presentation of the most obvious specula- tions. has not the author forgotten the necessary literary care which is essential to literary success? If he would a little more thoughtfully consider the form and the management of his subjects, and take care that haste is not too evident through- out, we are very sure he would be grat- ified with greater success than he has yet achieved. Fern Leares from Fannys Port- folio, is the fanciful title of a bulky col- lection of short and spirited pieces of writ- ing, which have been contributed during the past few years, to various weekly papers of not much literary character. They are acute, crisp, sprightly, knowing, and, though sometimes rude, evince much gen- nine and original talent, a keen power of ob- servation, lively fancy, and humorous, as well as pathetic sensibilities. But they are not all of equal merit, for while there is great delicacy and tenderness in the Still Small Voice, Widows Trials, All Well, & c., there are certain bold, mas- euline expressions, in others, that we should be glad to see chastened. One of the pleasantest books of the month that we have read, is the L~k and Works of Thomas Cole, by the Rev. L. L. NOBLE. It is made up mainly of the letters of Mr. Cole to his friends, but abounds in interest, especially the part relati% to the early struggles of the artist for subsistence and fame. Mr. Cole, it appears, was born in England, and came to this country in the ei~hteenth year of his age, not in his infancy, as it has been supposed; and the records of genius do not furnish an instance of a more persist- ent battle with vicissitudes and vertv than the history of his early career at the West. and in Philadelphia, includin~ his first year in New-York. But he was vic- torious finally over all obstacles, and rose to the rank of the first landscape painter of the United States. Mr. Noble has exe- cuted his part of the work with fidelity and judgment, with a profound love of the singularly pure and gentle character of the artist, and a due appreciation of his works. His remarks about art we should not, perhaps, always agree with, though they have the merit of kindliness and sin- cerity. But this is a book that demands a larger notice than we can give it here, and we reserve it for further remarks next month. Rhymes with reason and udth- out, by P. B. SHILLABER, have nearly all ec them appeared in the newspapers, where they have run the rounds which is some proof of their popularity. Some few of them are in a serious vein, and exhibit good poetical powers on the part of the author; but the greater part of them are droll, either ludicrous imitations or funny tales, and provoke no little mirth. The portrait of the writer in front makes him look more like a preacher than a wit. It is said that Mr. GEORGE S. TIlL- LARn, of Boston, has a work in press, which will be called A Year OR the Con- tinent. It will give the observations and thoughts of the author during a resi- dence in Europe, and will be, of course, well written and instructive. Mr. ilillard is a man of nice and extensive culture, who uses language with remarkable pr& - cision and elegance, and never allows a sentence to escape him which cannot pass the ordeal of the most refined criticism. We anticipate the appearance of his work with the ~reatest pleasure. A Life of Greenou~ h, the eminent sculptor, the pioneer amona our American artists in the same line, prepared by H. T. TUCKERMAN,a devotee of his art, and warm admirer of the man will shortly be published. We have read enough of the proof-sheets to warrant us in sayin~ that the work will be one of rare value and interest. Apart from his merits as an artist, Mr. Greenough was an extensive traveller and well-informed scholar; an entertaining talker, and true man; and out of these characteristics a skilful biojapher cannot fail to get rich materials for instruction and entertain- ment. Miss ALICE CAREys Ciovernook has appeared, we perceive, in five differ- ent editions in England, and is well spoken of by the critics. Some of the foreign pirates have had the decency to offer her a small sum for the republication, but the others, like our own book-purveyors, have not said even thankye. If there be a future place of retribution, as the theo- logians assure us, and men are punished accordin~ to the wrongs they have inflict- ed on other men what a sad fate awaits those who have fared sumptuously every day on the brains of poor authors! A good Guide-book for Niagara Falls is a desideratum. Those that we have are wretched, giving no real infor- mation, and abounding in trashy senti

Shillaber's Rhymes American Literature 103

1853.] Editceial NotesAmerican Literature. 103 hurry. They are the deepest anxieties of the most thoughtful men. and it is a pity to play with them. We by no means wish to insinuate that our author is flip-. pant. He is far from that. All his books reveal a quiet earnestness of feeling and purpose which is more attractive than the forms into which he throws it. But in the present instance, the quality of the treatment is not such as to justify the at- tempt of so profound a theme, unless, in- deed no more is meant than a sparkling presentation of the most obvious specula- tions. has not the author forgotten the necessary literary care which is essential to literary success? If he would a little more thoughtfully consider the form and the management of his subjects, and take care that haste is not too evident through- out, we are very sure he would be grat- ified with greater success than he has yet achieved. Fern Leares from Fannys Port- folio, is the fanciful title of a bulky col- lection of short and spirited pieces of writ- ing, which have been contributed during the past few years, to various weekly papers of not much literary character. They are acute, crisp, sprightly, knowing, and, though sometimes rude, evince much gen- nine and original talent, a keen power of ob- servation, lively fancy, and humorous, as well as pathetic sensibilities. But they are not all of equal merit, for while there is great delicacy and tenderness in the Still Small Voice, Widows Trials, All Well, & c., there are certain bold, mas- euline expressions, in others, that we should be glad to see chastened. One of the pleasantest books of the month that we have read, is the L~k and Works of Thomas Cole, by the Rev. L. L. NOBLE. It is made up mainly of the letters of Mr. Cole to his friends, but abounds in interest, especially the part relati% to the early struggles of the artist for subsistence and fame. Mr. Cole, it appears, was born in England, and came to this country in the ei~hteenth year of his age, not in his infancy, as it has been supposed; and the records of genius do not furnish an instance of a more persist- ent battle with vicissitudes and vertv than the history of his early career at the West. and in Philadelphia, includin~ his first year in New-York. But he was vic- torious finally over all obstacles, and rose to the rank of the first landscape painter of the United States. Mr. Noble has exe- cuted his part of the work with fidelity and judgment, with a profound love of the singularly pure and gentle character of the artist, and a due appreciation of his works. His remarks about art we should not, perhaps, always agree with, though they have the merit of kindliness and sin- cerity. But this is a book that demands a larger notice than we can give it here, and we reserve it for further remarks next month. Rhymes with reason and udth- out, by P. B. SHILLABER, have nearly all ec them appeared in the newspapers, where they have run the rounds which is some proof of their popularity. Some few of them are in a serious vein, and exhibit good poetical powers on the part of the author; but the greater part of them are droll, either ludicrous imitations or funny tales, and provoke no little mirth. The portrait of the writer in front makes him look more like a preacher than a wit. It is said that Mr. GEORGE S. TIlL- LARn, of Boston, has a work in press, which will be called A Year OR the Con- tinent. It will give the observations and thoughts of the author during a resi- dence in Europe, and will be, of course, well written and instructive. Mr. ilillard is a man of nice and extensive culture, who uses language with remarkable pr& - cision and elegance, and never allows a sentence to escape him which cannot pass the ordeal of the most refined criticism. We anticipate the appearance of his work with the ~reatest pleasure. A Life of Greenou~ h, the eminent sculptor, the pioneer amona our American artists in the same line, prepared by H. T. TUCKERMAN,a devotee of his art, and warm admirer of the man will shortly be published. We have read enough of the proof-sheets to warrant us in sayin~ that the work will be one of rare value and interest. Apart from his merits as an artist, Mr. Greenough was an extensive traveller and well-informed scholar; an entertaining talker, and true man; and out of these characteristics a skilful biojapher cannot fail to get rich materials for instruction and entertain- ment. Miss ALICE CAREys Ciovernook has appeared, we perceive, in five differ- ent editions in England, and is well spoken of by the critics. Some of the foreign pirates have had the decency to offer her a small sum for the republication, but the others, like our own book-purveyors, have not said even thankye. If there be a future place of retribution, as the theo- logians assure us, and men are punished accordin~ to the wrongs they have inflict- ed on other men what a sad fate awaits those who have fared sumptuously every day on the brains of poor authors! A good Guide-book for Niagara Falls is a desideratum. Those that we have are wretched, giving no real infor- mation, and abounding in trashy senti

Hillard's Year on the Continent American Literature 103

1853.] Editceial NotesAmerican Literature. 103 hurry. They are the deepest anxieties of the most thoughtful men. and it is a pity to play with them. We by no means wish to insinuate that our author is flip-. pant. He is far from that. All his books reveal a quiet earnestness of feeling and purpose which is more attractive than the forms into which he throws it. But in the present instance, the quality of the treatment is not such as to justify the at- tempt of so profound a theme, unless, in- deed no more is meant than a sparkling presentation of the most obvious specula- tions. has not the author forgotten the necessary literary care which is essential to literary success? If he would a little more thoughtfully consider the form and the management of his subjects, and take care that haste is not too evident through- out, we are very sure he would be grat- ified with greater success than he has yet achieved. Fern Leares from Fannys Port- folio, is the fanciful title of a bulky col- lection of short and spirited pieces of writ- ing, which have been contributed during the past few years, to various weekly papers of not much literary character. They are acute, crisp, sprightly, knowing, and, though sometimes rude, evince much gen- nine and original talent, a keen power of ob- servation, lively fancy, and humorous, as well as pathetic sensibilities. But they are not all of equal merit, for while there is great delicacy and tenderness in the Still Small Voice, Widows Trials, All Well, & c., there are certain bold, mas- euline expressions, in others, that we should be glad to see chastened. One of the pleasantest books of the month that we have read, is the L~k and Works of Thomas Cole, by the Rev. L. L. NOBLE. It is made up mainly of the letters of Mr. Cole to his friends, but abounds in interest, especially the part relati% to the early struggles of the artist for subsistence and fame. Mr. Cole, it appears, was born in England, and came to this country in the ei~hteenth year of his age, not in his infancy, as it has been supposed; and the records of genius do not furnish an instance of a more persist- ent battle with vicissitudes and vertv than the history of his early career at the West. and in Philadelphia, includin~ his first year in New-York. But he was vic- torious finally over all obstacles, and rose to the rank of the first landscape painter of the United States. Mr. Noble has exe- cuted his part of the work with fidelity and judgment, with a profound love of the singularly pure and gentle character of the artist, and a due appreciation of his works. His remarks about art we should not, perhaps, always agree with, though they have the merit of kindliness and sin- cerity. But this is a book that demands a larger notice than we can give it here, and we reserve it for further remarks next month. Rhymes with reason and udth- out, by P. B. SHILLABER, have nearly all ec them appeared in the newspapers, where they have run the rounds which is some proof of their popularity. Some few of them are in a serious vein, and exhibit good poetical powers on the part of the author; but the greater part of them are droll, either ludicrous imitations or funny tales, and provoke no little mirth. The portrait of the writer in front makes him look more like a preacher than a wit. It is said that Mr. GEORGE S. TIlL- LARn, of Boston, has a work in press, which will be called A Year OR the Con- tinent. It will give the observations and thoughts of the author during a resi- dence in Europe, and will be, of course, well written and instructive. Mr. ilillard is a man of nice and extensive culture, who uses language with remarkable pr& - cision and elegance, and never allows a sentence to escape him which cannot pass the ordeal of the most refined criticism. We anticipate the appearance of his work with the ~reatest pleasure. A Life of Greenou~ h, the eminent sculptor, the pioneer amona our American artists in the same line, prepared by H. T. TUCKERMAN,a devotee of his art, and warm admirer of the man will shortly be published. We have read enough of the proof-sheets to warrant us in sayin~ that the work will be one of rare value and interest. Apart from his merits as an artist, Mr. Greenough was an extensive traveller and well-informed scholar; an entertaining talker, and true man; and out of these characteristics a skilful biojapher cannot fail to get rich materials for instruction and entertain- ment. Miss ALICE CAREys Ciovernook has appeared, we perceive, in five differ- ent editions in England, and is well spoken of by the critics. Some of the foreign pirates have had the decency to offer her a small sum for the republication, but the others, like our own book-purveyors, have not said even thankye. If there be a future place of retribution, as the theo- logians assure us, and men are punished accordin~ to the wrongs they have inflict- ed on other men what a sad fate awaits those who have fared sumptuously every day on the brains of poor authors! A good Guide-book for Niagara Falls is a desideratum. Those that we have are wretched, giving no real infor- mation, and abounding in trashy senti

Tuckerman's Life of Greenough American Literature 103

1853.] Editceial NotesAmerican Literature. 103 hurry. They are the deepest anxieties of the most thoughtful men. and it is a pity to play with them. We by no means wish to insinuate that our author is flip-. pant. He is far from that. All his books reveal a quiet earnestness of feeling and purpose which is more attractive than the forms into which he throws it. But in the present instance, the quality of the treatment is not such as to justify the at- tempt of so profound a theme, unless, in- deed no more is meant than a sparkling presentation of the most obvious specula- tions. has not the author forgotten the necessary literary care which is essential to literary success? If he would a little more thoughtfully consider the form and the management of his subjects, and take care that haste is not too evident through- out, we are very sure he would be grat- ified with greater success than he has yet achieved. Fern Leares from Fannys Port- folio, is the fanciful title of a bulky col- lection of short and spirited pieces of writ- ing, which have been contributed during the past few years, to various weekly papers of not much literary character. They are acute, crisp, sprightly, knowing, and, though sometimes rude, evince much gen- nine and original talent, a keen power of ob- servation, lively fancy, and humorous, as well as pathetic sensibilities. But they are not all of equal merit, for while there is great delicacy and tenderness in the Still Small Voice, Widows Trials, All Well, & c., there are certain bold, mas- euline expressions, in others, that we should be glad to see chastened. One of the pleasantest books of the month that we have read, is the L~k and Works of Thomas Cole, by the Rev. L. L. NOBLE. It is made up mainly of the letters of Mr. Cole to his friends, but abounds in interest, especially the part relati% to the early struggles of the artist for subsistence and fame. Mr. Cole, it appears, was born in England, and came to this country in the ei~hteenth year of his age, not in his infancy, as it has been supposed; and the records of genius do not furnish an instance of a more persist- ent battle with vicissitudes and vertv than the history of his early career at the West. and in Philadelphia, includin~ his first year in New-York. But he was vic- torious finally over all obstacles, and rose to the rank of the first landscape painter of the United States. Mr. Noble has exe- cuted his part of the work with fidelity and judgment, with a profound love of the singularly pure and gentle character of the artist, and a due appreciation of his works. His remarks about art we should not, perhaps, always agree with, though they have the merit of kindliness and sin- cerity. But this is a book that demands a larger notice than we can give it here, and we reserve it for further remarks next month. Rhymes with reason and udth- out, by P. B. SHILLABER, have nearly all ec them appeared in the newspapers, where they have run the rounds which is some proof of their popularity. Some few of them are in a serious vein, and exhibit good poetical powers on the part of the author; but the greater part of them are droll, either ludicrous imitations or funny tales, and provoke no little mirth. The portrait of the writer in front makes him look more like a preacher than a wit. It is said that Mr. GEORGE S. TIlL- LARn, of Boston, has a work in press, which will be called A Year OR the Con- tinent. It will give the observations and thoughts of the author during a resi- dence in Europe, and will be, of course, well written and instructive. Mr. ilillard is a man of nice and extensive culture, who uses language with remarkable pr& - cision and elegance, and never allows a sentence to escape him which cannot pass the ordeal of the most refined criticism. We anticipate the appearance of his work with the ~reatest pleasure. A Life of Greenou~ h, the eminent sculptor, the pioneer amona our American artists in the same line, prepared by H. T. TUCKERMAN,a devotee of his art, and warm admirer of the man will shortly be published. We have read enough of the proof-sheets to warrant us in sayin~ that the work will be one of rare value and interest. Apart from his merits as an artist, Mr. Greenough was an extensive traveller and well-informed scholar; an entertaining talker, and true man; and out of these characteristics a skilful biojapher cannot fail to get rich materials for instruction and entertain- ment. Miss ALICE CAREys Ciovernook has appeared, we perceive, in five differ- ent editions in England, and is well spoken of by the critics. Some of the foreign pirates have had the decency to offer her a small sum for the republication, but the others, like our own book-purveyors, have not said even thankye. If there be a future place of retribution, as the theo- logians assure us, and men are punished accordin~ to the wrongs they have inflict- ed on other men what a sad fate awaits those who have fared sumptuously every day on the brains of poor authors! A good Guide-book for Niagara Falls is a desideratum. Those that we have are wretched, giving no real infor- mation, and abounding in trashy senti

"Clovernook" in England American Literature 103-104

1853.] Editceial NotesAmerican Literature. 103 hurry. They are the deepest anxieties of the most thoughtful men. and it is a pity to play with them. We by no means wish to insinuate that our author is flip-. pant. He is far from that. All his books reveal a quiet earnestness of feeling and purpose which is more attractive than the forms into which he throws it. But in the present instance, the quality of the treatment is not such as to justify the at- tempt of so profound a theme, unless, in- deed no more is meant than a sparkling presentation of the most obvious specula- tions. has not the author forgotten the necessary literary care which is essential to literary success? If he would a little more thoughtfully consider the form and the management of his subjects, and take care that haste is not too evident through- out, we are very sure he would be grat- ified with greater success than he has yet achieved. Fern Leares from Fannys Port- folio, is the fanciful title of a bulky col- lection of short and spirited pieces of writ- ing, which have been contributed during the past few years, to various weekly papers of not much literary character. They are acute, crisp, sprightly, knowing, and, though sometimes rude, evince much gen- nine and original talent, a keen power of ob- servation, lively fancy, and humorous, as well as pathetic sensibilities. But they are not all of equal merit, for while there is great delicacy and tenderness in the Still Small Voice, Widows Trials, All Well, & c., there are certain bold, mas- euline expressions, in others, that we should be glad to see chastened. One of the pleasantest books of the month that we have read, is the L~k and Works of Thomas Cole, by the Rev. L. L. NOBLE. It is made up mainly of the letters of Mr. Cole to his friends, but abounds in interest, especially the part relati% to the early struggles of the artist for subsistence and fame. Mr. Cole, it appears, was born in England, and came to this country in the ei~hteenth year of his age, not in his infancy, as it has been supposed; and the records of genius do not furnish an instance of a more persist- ent battle with vicissitudes and vertv than the history of his early career at the West. and in Philadelphia, includin~ his first year in New-York. But he was vic- torious finally over all obstacles, and rose to the rank of the first landscape painter of the United States. Mr. Noble has exe- cuted his part of the work with fidelity and judgment, with a profound love of the singularly pure and gentle character of the artist, and a due appreciation of his works. His remarks about art we should not, perhaps, always agree with, though they have the merit of kindliness and sin- cerity. But this is a book that demands a larger notice than we can give it here, and we reserve it for further remarks next month. Rhymes with reason and udth- out, by P. B. SHILLABER, have nearly all ec them appeared in the newspapers, where they have run the rounds which is some proof of their popularity. Some few of them are in a serious vein, and exhibit good poetical powers on the part of the author; but the greater part of them are droll, either ludicrous imitations or funny tales, and provoke no little mirth. The portrait of the writer in front makes him look more like a preacher than a wit. It is said that Mr. GEORGE S. TIlL- LARn, of Boston, has a work in press, which will be called A Year OR the Con- tinent. It will give the observations and thoughts of the author during a resi- dence in Europe, and will be, of course, well written and instructive. Mr. ilillard is a man of nice and extensive culture, who uses language with remarkable pr& - cision and elegance, and never allows a sentence to escape him which cannot pass the ordeal of the most refined criticism. We anticipate the appearance of his work with the ~reatest pleasure. A Life of Greenou~ h, the eminent sculptor, the pioneer amona our American artists in the same line, prepared by H. T. TUCKERMAN,a devotee of his art, and warm admirer of the man will shortly be published. We have read enough of the proof-sheets to warrant us in sayin~ that the work will be one of rare value and interest. Apart from his merits as an artist, Mr. Greenough was an extensive traveller and well-informed scholar; an entertaining talker, and true man; and out of these characteristics a skilful biojapher cannot fail to get rich materials for instruction and entertain- ment. Miss ALICE CAREys Ciovernook has appeared, we perceive, in five differ- ent editions in England, and is well spoken of by the critics. Some of the foreign pirates have had the decency to offer her a small sum for the republication, but the others, like our own book-purveyors, have not said even thankye. If there be a future place of retribution, as the theo- logians assure us, and men are punished accordin~ to the wrongs they have inflict- ed on other men what a sad fate awaits those who have fared sumptuously every day on the brains of poor authors! A good Guide-book for Niagara Falls is a desideratum. Those that we have are wretched, giving no real infor- mation, and abounding in trashy senti L04 Edilorial NotesAmericcn~ Literature. [July ment. A mere collection of thc really good things that have been written about the Falls, prose and poetry, including in the former the scientific discussions of Lvell and others, would mect with a per- ennial sale. Why do not some of our Young writers, who are wasting their time on making very bad verses, set to work compiling so useful a volume as the one we indicate would be,if finished with any judgment or taste. A chapter of the odd things that have been said of the Falls, of which the lion. Mr. IIOLLEY1 of Nia~ara, has his memory full, might upply a divertin~ appendix. The Slave Trade, Domestic and Foreign, by HENRY C. CAREY, is a work of elaborate pretensions, designed to show that slavery and the slave-trade are not confined to the Negro race or to the Soothe~ n States of the American Union, but that they prevail, under certain con- (litiOus. in all nations and at 11 times. It is. in other words. an application of the au- hex s views of political economy to the aTeatest of social anomalies, wherein he ttempts to demonstrate that it can only e ci adicated from society hy the adop- ~n of more enlightened principlo~ than o~e upheld by BAcardo, Malthus, and t xwi~h school of Politico-Economical ccuhtor~ generally. The British svs- ox Lx cc Trade he regards as the main ~ of the national degeneration of Por- key, India and Ireland. and he ne that the same system, applied to the L nited States. will lead to the same results His illustrations of these posi- tions are numerous, pertinent, and some- times striking; but, without controvert- ing Mr. Careys doctrines here, we are compelled to say that he lacks conciseness in his method of presenting thens to the public. We admit the importance of his funda- mental statement, in refutation of the Rent theory of Ricardo. that the first oc- cupiers of lands take that which is the Ve.t fertile in itself. because it simply oounPi to this, that men will cultivate th~ ~nd they can get at, and not that ~ is hid in the forest, or buried in asses, but we do not estimate the cince of that fact at the value which Mi trey attaches to it. We do not beix e twt he can build a complete sys- tem of telence upon it. and although the failure to see this truth on the part of mo- dern Di ~t~b economists, was a fatal over- ~ht YItiRt~ng their ~vhole scheme, the recoomtxo,i of it is not the attainaxent of alt I. nec tedge. Mr. Carey, therefore, con i( ts theta of a mischievous error, bu~ he his not, at least so far as we see, estao- xed an allcomprehen:ive piinciple. Game in its Season, is the appetiz- in,, title of a new work by H. W. HER- BRaT, just published hy Scribner. Mr. Herbert is so well-known a writer on the subject of game and field-sports, that it is quite unnecessary to commend a work of his on these subjects to the reading pub- lic. lie is the only author of reputation in the New World, who has made sport- in~ his speciality; and it required his Enjish birth and family antecedents, to qualify him properly for his mission. Sporting, with an American, must, of ne- cessity, he either a business or an inciden- tal amusement. It can only be a study where there are families to om labor is an indignity, and who roust seek for health-preserving exercis in the use of the gun and the angle. Many of the articles in the volume had before appeared in other publications, but they are now col- lected for the first time and published together. Mr. herbert is a lively, mimer- ons, and picturesque writer, and his es- says upon birds and fishes have always interested us much more thaux his stories of knights ad ladies. But we do not deny his talent, or his success, as a xomancer. lie is more at home when abroad. than on his natix e soil and Pikes to our birds and fishes as kindly is though they had been his companions in infancy. A Manual of I~olitical Economy, by E. PrsamixE SMiTil, m on attemi)t to render he l)i inciples of the author of the Past, Present aad ihtcre more clear to the pepul r mind and in that respect. is an important aiix hay to time work of the master. It is xx iitten with animation amid perspicacity, but is almost too abstract to be called a Manual, which iniplies some thin more elementary, an(i it is Ixervaxied by the mistaken ssnmptien throughout, that Political E6onomy is a Science. The former defect is merely one of form, but the latter is one of substance. Yet near- ly all the writers on the suitlect fall into the same mistake. Political Economy, ~s it has been heretofore treated, is macrely a part of time natural history of society, or it may called, a mere acemimulatien of facts and speculations, without mactx con- sistency or connection, amid quite destitu~ of scientific principles. Every ixew writer upon it has some new view to expound, or at least undertakes to overthrom the views of those who preceded him, amid no two writers are agreed on even the funda- mental points. The reason is, that Politi- cal Economy, which is only a branch in a much larger and deeper inquirythe science of societyhas been treated as a thing complete in itself; just as if a moan should try to reach the science of human Physiology, by studying the physiologi

Niagara Falls Guide-Book American Literature 104

L04 Edilorial NotesAmericcn~ Literature. [July ment. A mere collection of thc really good things that have been written about the Falls, prose and poetry, including in the former the scientific discussions of Lvell and others, would mect with a per- ennial sale. Why do not some of our Young writers, who are wasting their time on making very bad verses, set to work compiling so useful a volume as the one we indicate would be,if finished with any judgment or taste. A chapter of the odd things that have been said of the Falls, of which the lion. Mr. IIOLLEY1 of Nia~ara, has his memory full, might upply a divertin~ appendix. The Slave Trade, Domestic and Foreign, by HENRY C. CAREY, is a work of elaborate pretensions, designed to show that slavery and the slave-trade are not confined to the Negro race or to the Soothe~ n States of the American Union, but that they prevail, under certain con- (litiOus. in all nations and at 11 times. It is. in other words. an application of the au- hex s views of political economy to the aTeatest of social anomalies, wherein he ttempts to demonstrate that it can only e ci adicated from society hy the adop- ~n of more enlightened principlo~ than o~e upheld by BAcardo, Malthus, and t xwi~h school of Politico-Economical ccuhtor~ generally. The British svs- ox Lx cc Trade he regards as the main ~ of the national degeneration of Por- key, India and Ireland. and he ne that the same system, applied to the L nited States. will lead to the same results His illustrations of these posi- tions are numerous, pertinent, and some- times striking; but, without controvert- ing Mr. Careys doctrines here, we are compelled to say that he lacks conciseness in his method of presenting thens to the public. We admit the importance of his funda- mental statement, in refutation of the Rent theory of Ricardo. that the first oc- cupiers of lands take that which is the Ve.t fertile in itself. because it simply oounPi to this, that men will cultivate th~ ~nd they can get at, and not that ~ is hid in the forest, or buried in asses, but we do not estimate the cince of that fact at the value which Mi trey attaches to it. We do not beix e twt he can build a complete sys- tem of telence upon it. and although the failure to see this truth on the part of mo- dern Di ~t~b economists, was a fatal over- ~ht YItiRt~ng their ~vhole scheme, the recoomtxo,i of it is not the attainaxent of alt I. nec tedge. Mr. Carey, therefore, con i( ts theta of a mischievous error, bu~ he his not, at least so far as we see, estao- xed an allcomprehen:ive piinciple. Game in its Season, is the appetiz- in,, title of a new work by H. W. HER- BRaT, just published hy Scribner. Mr. Herbert is so well-known a writer on the subject of game and field-sports, that it is quite unnecessary to commend a work of his on these subjects to the reading pub- lic. lie is the only author of reputation in the New World, who has made sport- in~ his speciality; and it required his Enjish birth and family antecedents, to qualify him properly for his mission. Sporting, with an American, must, of ne- cessity, he either a business or an inciden- tal amusement. It can only be a study where there are families to om labor is an indignity, and who roust seek for health-preserving exercis in the use of the gun and the angle. Many of the articles in the volume had before appeared in other publications, but they are now col- lected for the first time and published together. Mr. herbert is a lively, mimer- ons, and picturesque writer, and his es- says upon birds and fishes have always interested us much more thaux his stories of knights ad ladies. But we do not deny his talent, or his success, as a xomancer. lie is more at home when abroad. than on his natix e soil and Pikes to our birds and fishes as kindly is though they had been his companions in infancy. A Manual of I~olitical Economy, by E. PrsamixE SMiTil, m on attemi)t to render he l)i inciples of the author of the Past, Present aad ihtcre more clear to the pepul r mind and in that respect. is an important aiix hay to time work of the master. It is xx iitten with animation amid perspicacity, but is almost too abstract to be called a Manual, which iniplies some thin more elementary, an(i it is Ixervaxied by the mistaken ssnmptien throughout, that Political E6onomy is a Science. The former defect is merely one of form, but the latter is one of substance. Yet near- ly all the writers on the suitlect fall into the same mistake. Political Economy, ~s it has been heretofore treated, is macrely a part of time natural history of society, or it may called, a mere acemimulatien of facts and speculations, without mactx con- sistency or connection, amid quite destitu~ of scientific principles. Every ixew writer upon it has some new view to expound, or at least undertakes to overthrom the views of those who preceded him, amid no two writers are agreed on even the funda- mental points. The reason is, that Politi- cal Economy, which is only a branch in a much larger and deeper inquirythe science of societyhas been treated as a thing complete in itself; just as if a moan should try to reach the science of human Physiology, by studying the physiologi

Carey on the Slave Trade American Literature 104

L04 Edilorial NotesAmericcn~ Literature. [July ment. A mere collection of thc really good things that have been written about the Falls, prose and poetry, including in the former the scientific discussions of Lvell and others, would mect with a per- ennial sale. Why do not some of our Young writers, who are wasting their time on making very bad verses, set to work compiling so useful a volume as the one we indicate would be,if finished with any judgment or taste. A chapter of the odd things that have been said of the Falls, of which the lion. Mr. IIOLLEY1 of Nia~ara, has his memory full, might upply a divertin~ appendix. The Slave Trade, Domestic and Foreign, by HENRY C. CAREY, is a work of elaborate pretensions, designed to show that slavery and the slave-trade are not confined to the Negro race or to the Soothe~ n States of the American Union, but that they prevail, under certain con- (litiOus. in all nations and at 11 times. It is. in other words. an application of the au- hex s views of political economy to the aTeatest of social anomalies, wherein he ttempts to demonstrate that it can only e ci adicated from society hy the adop- ~n of more enlightened principlo~ than o~e upheld by BAcardo, Malthus, and t xwi~h school of Politico-Economical ccuhtor~ generally. The British svs- ox Lx cc Trade he regards as the main ~ of the national degeneration of Por- key, India and Ireland. and he ne that the same system, applied to the L nited States. will lead to the same results His illustrations of these posi- tions are numerous, pertinent, and some- times striking; but, without controvert- ing Mr. Careys doctrines here, we are compelled to say that he lacks conciseness in his method of presenting thens to the public. We admit the importance of his funda- mental statement, in refutation of the Rent theory of Ricardo. that the first oc- cupiers of lands take that which is the Ve.t fertile in itself. because it simply oounPi to this, that men will cultivate th~ ~nd they can get at, and not that ~ is hid in the forest, or buried in asses, but we do not estimate the cince of that fact at the value which Mi trey attaches to it. We do not beix e twt he can build a complete sys- tem of telence upon it. and although the failure to see this truth on the part of mo- dern Di ~t~b economists, was a fatal over- ~ht YItiRt~ng their ~vhole scheme, the recoomtxo,i of it is not the attainaxent of alt I. nec tedge. Mr. Carey, therefore, con i( ts theta of a mischievous error, bu~ he his not, at least so far as we see, estao- xed an allcomprehen:ive piinciple. Game in its Season, is the appetiz- in,, title of a new work by H. W. HER- BRaT, just published hy Scribner. Mr. Herbert is so well-known a writer on the subject of game and field-sports, that it is quite unnecessary to commend a work of his on these subjects to the reading pub- lic. lie is the only author of reputation in the New World, who has made sport- in~ his speciality; and it required his Enjish birth and family antecedents, to qualify him properly for his mission. Sporting, with an American, must, of ne- cessity, he either a business or an inciden- tal amusement. It can only be a study where there are families to om labor is an indignity, and who roust seek for health-preserving exercis in the use of the gun and the angle. Many of the articles in the volume had before appeared in other publications, but they are now col- lected for the first time and published together. Mr. herbert is a lively, mimer- ons, and picturesque writer, and his es- says upon birds and fishes have always interested us much more thaux his stories of knights ad ladies. But we do not deny his talent, or his success, as a xomancer. lie is more at home when abroad. than on his natix e soil and Pikes to our birds and fishes as kindly is though they had been his companions in infancy. A Manual of I~olitical Economy, by E. PrsamixE SMiTil, m on attemi)t to render he l)i inciples of the author of the Past, Present aad ihtcre more clear to the pepul r mind and in that respect. is an important aiix hay to time work of the master. It is xx iitten with animation amid perspicacity, but is almost too abstract to be called a Manual, which iniplies some thin more elementary, an(i it is Ixervaxied by the mistaken ssnmptien throughout, that Political E6onomy is a Science. The former defect is merely one of form, but the latter is one of substance. Yet near- ly all the writers on the suitlect fall into the same mistake. Political Economy, ~s it has been heretofore treated, is macrely a part of time natural history of society, or it may called, a mere acemimulatien of facts and speculations, without mactx con- sistency or connection, amid quite destitu~ of scientific principles. Every ixew writer upon it has some new view to expound, or at least undertakes to overthrom the views of those who preceded him, amid no two writers are agreed on even the funda- mental points. The reason is, that Politi- cal Economy, which is only a branch in a much larger and deeper inquirythe science of societyhas been treated as a thing complete in itself; just as if a moan should try to reach the science of human Physiology, by studying the physiologi

Herbert's Game in its Season American Literature 104

L04 Edilorial NotesAmericcn~ Literature. [July ment. A mere collection of thc really good things that have been written about the Falls, prose and poetry, including in the former the scientific discussions of Lvell and others, would mect with a per- ennial sale. Why do not some of our Young writers, who are wasting their time on making very bad verses, set to work compiling so useful a volume as the one we indicate would be,if finished with any judgment or taste. A chapter of the odd things that have been said of the Falls, of which the lion. Mr. IIOLLEY1 of Nia~ara, has his memory full, might upply a divertin~ appendix. The Slave Trade, Domestic and Foreign, by HENRY C. CAREY, is a work of elaborate pretensions, designed to show that slavery and the slave-trade are not confined to the Negro race or to the Soothe~ n States of the American Union, but that they prevail, under certain con- (litiOus. in all nations and at 11 times. It is. in other words. an application of the au- hex s views of political economy to the aTeatest of social anomalies, wherein he ttempts to demonstrate that it can only e ci adicated from society hy the adop- ~n of more enlightened principlo~ than o~e upheld by BAcardo, Malthus, and t xwi~h school of Politico-Economical ccuhtor~ generally. The British svs- ox Lx cc Trade he regards as the main ~ of the national degeneration of Por- key, India and Ireland. and he ne that the same system, applied to the L nited States. will lead to the same results His illustrations of these posi- tions are numerous, pertinent, and some- times striking; but, without controvert- ing Mr. Careys doctrines here, we are compelled to say that he lacks conciseness in his method of presenting thens to the public. We admit the importance of his funda- mental statement, in refutation of the Rent theory of Ricardo. that the first oc- cupiers of lands take that which is the Ve.t fertile in itself. because it simply oounPi to this, that men will cultivate th~ ~nd they can get at, and not that ~ is hid in the forest, or buried in asses, but we do not estimate the cince of that fact at the value which Mi trey attaches to it. We do not beix e twt he can build a complete sys- tem of telence upon it. and although the failure to see this truth on the part of mo- dern Di ~t~b economists, was a fatal over- ~ht YItiRt~ng their ~vhole scheme, the recoomtxo,i of it is not the attainaxent of alt I. nec tedge. Mr. Carey, therefore, con i( ts theta of a mischievous error, bu~ he his not, at least so far as we see, estao- xed an allcomprehen:ive piinciple. Game in its Season, is the appetiz- in,, title of a new work by H. W. HER- BRaT, just published hy Scribner. Mr. Herbert is so well-known a writer on the subject of game and field-sports, that it is quite unnecessary to commend a work of his on these subjects to the reading pub- lic. lie is the only author of reputation in the New World, who has made sport- in~ his speciality; and it required his Enjish birth and family antecedents, to qualify him properly for his mission. Sporting, with an American, must, of ne- cessity, he either a business or an inciden- tal amusement. It can only be a study where there are families to om labor is an indignity, and who roust seek for health-preserving exercis in the use of the gun and the angle. Many of the articles in the volume had before appeared in other publications, but they are now col- lected for the first time and published together. Mr. herbert is a lively, mimer- ons, and picturesque writer, and his es- says upon birds and fishes have always interested us much more thaux his stories of knights ad ladies. But we do not deny his talent, or his success, as a xomancer. lie is more at home when abroad. than on his natix e soil and Pikes to our birds and fishes as kindly is though they had been his companions in infancy. A Manual of I~olitical Economy, by E. PrsamixE SMiTil, m on attemi)t to render he l)i inciples of the author of the Past, Present aad ihtcre more clear to the pepul r mind and in that respect. is an important aiix hay to time work of the master. It is xx iitten with animation amid perspicacity, but is almost too abstract to be called a Manual, which iniplies some thin more elementary, an(i it is Ixervaxied by the mistaken ssnmptien throughout, that Political E6onomy is a Science. The former defect is merely one of form, but the latter is one of substance. Yet near- ly all the writers on the suitlect fall into the same mistake. Political Economy, ~s it has been heretofore treated, is macrely a part of time natural history of society, or it may called, a mere acemimulatien of facts and speculations, without mactx con- sistency or connection, amid quite destitu~ of scientific principles. Every ixew writer upon it has some new view to expound, or at least undertakes to overthrom the views of those who preceded him, amid no two writers are agreed on even the funda- mental points. The reason is, that Politi- cal Economy, which is only a branch in a much larger and deeper inquirythe science of societyhas been treated as a thing complete in itself; just as if a moan should try to reach the science of human Physiology, by studying the physiologi

Prof. Smith's Political Economy American Literature 104-105

L04 Edilorial NotesAmericcn~ Literature. [July ment. A mere collection of thc really good things that have been written about the Falls, prose and poetry, including in the former the scientific discussions of Lvell and others, would mect with a per- ennial sale. Why do not some of our Young writers, who are wasting their time on making very bad verses, set to work compiling so useful a volume as the one we indicate would be,if finished with any judgment or taste. A chapter of the odd things that have been said of the Falls, of which the lion. Mr. IIOLLEY1 of Nia~ara, has his memory full, might upply a divertin~ appendix. The Slave Trade, Domestic and Foreign, by HENRY C. CAREY, is a work of elaborate pretensions, designed to show that slavery and the slave-trade are not confined to the Negro race or to the Soothe~ n States of the American Union, but that they prevail, under certain con- (litiOus. in all nations and at 11 times. It is. in other words. an application of the au- hex s views of political economy to the aTeatest of social anomalies, wherein he ttempts to demonstrate that it can only e ci adicated from society hy the adop- ~n of more enlightened principlo~ than o~e upheld by BAcardo, Malthus, and t xwi~h school of Politico-Economical ccuhtor~ generally. The British svs- ox Lx cc Trade he regards as the main ~ of the national degeneration of Por- key, India and Ireland. and he ne that the same system, applied to the L nited States. will lead to the same results His illustrations of these posi- tions are numerous, pertinent, and some- times striking; but, without controvert- ing Mr. Careys doctrines here, we are compelled to say that he lacks conciseness in his method of presenting thens to the public. We admit the importance of his funda- mental statement, in refutation of the Rent theory of Ricardo. that the first oc- cupiers of lands take that which is the Ve.t fertile in itself. because it simply oounPi to this, that men will cultivate th~ ~nd they can get at, and not that ~ is hid in the forest, or buried in asses, but we do not estimate the cince of that fact at the value which Mi trey attaches to it. We do not beix e twt he can build a complete sys- tem of telence upon it. and although the failure to see this truth on the part of mo- dern Di ~t~b economists, was a fatal over- ~ht YItiRt~ng their ~vhole scheme, the recoomtxo,i of it is not the attainaxent of alt I. nec tedge. Mr. Carey, therefore, con i( ts theta of a mischievous error, bu~ he his not, at least so far as we see, estao- xed an allcomprehen:ive piinciple. Game in its Season, is the appetiz- in,, title of a new work by H. W. HER- BRaT, just published hy Scribner. Mr. Herbert is so well-known a writer on the subject of game and field-sports, that it is quite unnecessary to commend a work of his on these subjects to the reading pub- lic. lie is the only author of reputation in the New World, who has made sport- in~ his speciality; and it required his Enjish birth and family antecedents, to qualify him properly for his mission. Sporting, with an American, must, of ne- cessity, he either a business or an inciden- tal amusement. It can only be a study where there are families to om labor is an indignity, and who roust seek for health-preserving exercis in the use of the gun and the angle. Many of the articles in the volume had before appeared in other publications, but they are now col- lected for the first time and published together. Mr. herbert is a lively, mimer- ons, and picturesque writer, and his es- says upon birds and fishes have always interested us much more thaux his stories of knights ad ladies. But we do not deny his talent, or his success, as a xomancer. lie is more at home when abroad. than on his natix e soil and Pikes to our birds and fishes as kindly is though they had been his companions in infancy. A Manual of I~olitical Economy, by E. PrsamixE SMiTil, m on attemi)t to render he l)i inciples of the author of the Past, Present aad ihtcre more clear to the pepul r mind and in that respect. is an important aiix hay to time work of the master. It is xx iitten with animation amid perspicacity, but is almost too abstract to be called a Manual, which iniplies some thin more elementary, an(i it is Ixervaxied by the mistaken ssnmptien throughout, that Political E6onomy is a Science. The former defect is merely one of form, but the latter is one of substance. Yet near- ly all the writers on the suitlect fall into the same mistake. Political Economy, ~s it has been heretofore treated, is macrely a part of time natural history of society, or it may called, a mere acemimulatien of facts and speculations, without mactx con- sistency or connection, amid quite destitu~ of scientific principles. Every ixew writer upon it has some new view to expound, or at least undertakes to overthrom the views of those who preceded him, amid no two writers are agreed on even the funda- mental points. The reason is, that Politi- cal Economy, which is only a branch in a much larger and deeper inquirythe science of societyhas been treated as a thing complete in itself; just as if a moan should try to reach the science of human Physiology, by studying the physiologi 1858.1 Editorial ATotes~4merican Literature. 105 cal facts of a single human arm; or as if. he liculd attempt to construct a system of navig~tion without knowin~ i~stronomy. He may discover in tlvt way, doubtless, many highly instructive and interesting fbcts. but he will never attain to what is worthy of the name of SCIENCE. We should advise such writers as Mr. Carey or Mr. Smith. then, to turn their atten- tion to this larger field, to see whether they will not be able to obtain from it a more fruitful harvesn We have had only time before going to press to glance at a volume which will be published before our next number is issued, by Mr. A. hart. PhiladelphiaPoems by Thomas Buchanan Read; a new and enlar~ed editiou. Mr. Read our readers will remember. is the poet men tioned in the 2VOPL~I Briti~h Review as the \rner,cau bud of most promise. Mr. Covent~y Patmoic (w no ~ understood to be t e u bhor of that ii ti ~ hich, boxy ever n t) Mi V ad ~i ~ir c~uiarlv aud fooli~hx mmci ~t in ie~Qeeu of our other pOeL% and e~peci vox of those whom he most iourously condemned), preibrred Read LO Lx ant and La gfello ~, and quoted ~cx oral er~ s of i 1ch music and picturc~que deLc~iptiou, to sustaiu his judoment XX e cau non oal~ note our oleasure m fu~din~ ti~o~e qnal~ties charac- temi~nc of tne a o x ne of ~5C pages, which lies beiore n~ ~lhe pocum are all, pro- perly speakiu~ son~s with tne exception of to o ni imatme fi ao ments and the Sculp- fors Funeral whien ax is oim~mally pub- lished in our column tnci are expres- ~ion~ of a mood poetic pictures of scene- ry, or quiet ballads. That there is any qualita peculma to Mr. Read, as there is to 13m a an~ mud I ongfelloav, and which is iinmedmite v recoonizable as his, our rapid glance does nob tssure us. That it is a volume f all of tender, and delicate, and pathete muLme that Mr. Read is richly endoxa ed ax itn poetic sensibility and an instinctive el~auce of expression, is clear enou h to the most cursory attention. His verses, however, hardly burn with passion. nor are they enriched with strik- mx thought. An authors fragments, however melodious and sincere to his own experience, must be expressive of a very general sentiment, before they can com- manl that kind of interest and attention which allows the name of poet to be warded to him. In a preceding article upon the poems of Alexander Smith it ill be seen that all the faults which may be so easily found with him are forbiven, in virtue of that intellectual inte~rity which assures the thoughtful reader that what Alexander Smith writes, Alexan- der Smith individually thinks and feels, and that it chances to be thought and feeling in which the world sympathizes. Mr. Read is, beyond doubt, as sincere i~ his thou~ht and feeling. But lie has evi- dently read and loved many of the most eminent of modern poets, and their influ- ence smells sweet alon6 his pages. It is not enough that a man has the poetic sense, he must have, also, a hand as stern to blot what springs from a factitious and accidental mood, as it is sure to record his own inspirations. Even those who can- not do it, may be able to see that it must be done. There is no such thing as ca- joling fame, or forcing reputation. No men know it so avell as those who, like Mr. Read, have already appeared at the bar of public jmidgnment. And no man knows better than one who, like Mr. Read, has consecrated his life and talent to poetry, how audacious is the aim to rank among the Poets. In the degree that a man truly honors the great fames, and perceives that while a myriad men talk, only one man says something that the ages echowill he require that his own talent be closely l)um~od, and his own avork most sternly criticized. Any other and inferior aim is hrrdiy worth serious consideration. If an author wishes to rhyme pleasantly, and entertain his friends with happy fancies, let the critic pass on, and lease the plea- sure party in peace. But if; as we sus- peat is the case with Mr. Read and the majority of young writers, the ambition and the aim are as lofty as they should be, then none will hail more willingly the most severeso it be genial, and respect- ful, and thoughtfulconsideration of their efforts. All this we say, not in condem- nation of the present volume of which we are not, as yet, sufficient masters; but because the aroma of the volume, so to say, suggested that, in case of an ex- tended review of Mr. Reads writings, it might be found that, tried by the severest standard, they failed to make a character- istic mark upon the literature of the time and at a time when it is so easy to write and print, and when that much bewritten- about thing, American Literature, is yet nascent, it is better both for writers and readers that only the indigenous and healthy shoots encouraged. At such a time, also, the duty of the critic becomes graver and more important. He must, to a certain degree, select for the reader and he should do it in such a manner that both author and reader feel that he is just to them. But we will not longer use Mr. Reads comely volume as a text from which to preach truths that maybe singularly inapposite to its contents; and the reader will forgive us the tediousness

Buchanon Read's Poems American Literature 105-106

1858.1 Editorial ATotes~4merican Literature. 105 cal facts of a single human arm; or as if. he liculd attempt to construct a system of navig~tion without knowin~ i~stronomy. He may discover in tlvt way, doubtless, many highly instructive and interesting fbcts. but he will never attain to what is worthy of the name of SCIENCE. We should advise such writers as Mr. Carey or Mr. Smith. then, to turn their atten- tion to this larger field, to see whether they will not be able to obtain from it a more fruitful harvesn We have had only time before going to press to glance at a volume which will be published before our next number is issued, by Mr. A. hart. PhiladelphiaPoems by Thomas Buchanan Read; a new and enlar~ed editiou. Mr. Read our readers will remember. is the poet men tioned in the 2VOPL~I Briti~h Review as the \rner,cau bud of most promise. Mr. Covent~y Patmoic (w no ~ understood to be t e u bhor of that ii ti ~ hich, boxy ever n t) Mi V ad ~i ~ir c~uiarlv aud fooli~hx mmci ~t in ie~Qeeu of our other pOeL% and e~peci vox of those whom he most iourously condemned), preibrred Read LO Lx ant and La gfello ~, and quoted ~cx oral er~ s of i 1ch music and picturc~que deLc~iptiou, to sustaiu his judoment XX e cau non oal~ note our oleasure m fu~din~ ti~o~e qnal~ties charac- temi~nc of tne a o x ne of ~5C pages, which lies beiore n~ ~lhe pocum are all, pro- perly speakiu~ son~s with tne exception of to o ni imatme fi ao ments and the Sculp- fors Funeral whien ax is oim~mally pub- lished in our column tnci are expres- ~ion~ of a mood poetic pictures of scene- ry, or quiet ballads. That there is any qualita peculma to Mr. Read, as there is to 13m a an~ mud I ongfelloav, and which is iinmedmite v recoonizable as his, our rapid glance does nob tssure us. That it is a volume f all of tender, and delicate, and pathete muLme that Mr. Read is richly endoxa ed ax itn poetic sensibility and an instinctive el~auce of expression, is clear enou h to the most cursory attention. His verses, however, hardly burn with passion. nor are they enriched with strik- mx thought. An authors fragments, however melodious and sincere to his own experience, must be expressive of a very general sentiment, before they can com- manl that kind of interest and attention which allows the name of poet to be warded to him. In a preceding article upon the poems of Alexander Smith it ill be seen that all the faults which may be so easily found with him are forbiven, in virtue of that intellectual inte~rity which assures the thoughtful reader that what Alexander Smith writes, Alexan- der Smith individually thinks and feels, and that it chances to be thought and feeling in which the world sympathizes. Mr. Read is, beyond doubt, as sincere i~ his thou~ht and feeling. But lie has evi- dently read and loved many of the most eminent of modern poets, and their influ- ence smells sweet alon6 his pages. It is not enough that a man has the poetic sense, he must have, also, a hand as stern to blot what springs from a factitious and accidental mood, as it is sure to record his own inspirations. Even those who can- not do it, may be able to see that it must be done. There is no such thing as ca- joling fame, or forcing reputation. No men know it so avell as those who, like Mr. Read, have already appeared at the bar of public jmidgnment. And no man knows better than one who, like Mr. Read, has consecrated his life and talent to poetry, how audacious is the aim to rank among the Poets. In the degree that a man truly honors the great fames, and perceives that while a myriad men talk, only one man says something that the ages echowill he require that his own talent be closely l)um~od, and his own avork most sternly criticized. Any other and inferior aim is hrrdiy worth serious consideration. If an author wishes to rhyme pleasantly, and entertain his friends with happy fancies, let the critic pass on, and lease the plea- sure party in peace. But if; as we sus- peat is the case with Mr. Read and the majority of young writers, the ambition and the aim are as lofty as they should be, then none will hail more willingly the most severeso it be genial, and respect- ful, and thoughtfulconsideration of their efforts. All this we say, not in condem- nation of the present volume of which we are not, as yet, sufficient masters; but because the aroma of the volume, so to say, suggested that, in case of an ex- tended review of Mr. Reads writings, it might be found that, tried by the severest standard, they failed to make a character- istic mark upon the literature of the time and at a time when it is so easy to write and print, and when that much bewritten- about thing, American Literature, is yet nascent, it is better both for writers and readers that only the indigenous and healthy shoots encouraged. At such a time, also, the duty of the critic becomes graver and more important. He must, to a certain degree, select for the reader and he should do it in such a manner that both author and reader feel that he is just to them. But we will not longer use Mr. Reads comely volume as a text from which to preach truths that maybe singularly inapposite to its contents; and the reader will forgive us the tediousness Editorial NotesEnglish Literature. we have bestowed upon him, for the sake of these glancing and ringin~ verses of our author. We shall not be surprised if they awaken the desire to ramble farther in a garden where such flowers hiow. A GLIMPSE OF LOVE. She came as comes the summer wind, A gust of beauty to my heart; Then swept away, but left behind Emotions which shall not deparL Unher fled she came and went, Like music in the silent niTht Which, when the burthened air is spent, Bequeaths to memory its delight ~ Or. like the sudden April bow, That spans the violet-wakina rain; She bade those blessed flowers to graw Which may not fall or fade again. Far sweeter than all things moat sweet, And fairer than all things most fair, She came and passed with footsteps fleet, A shining wonder in the air. ENGLIsH.Lord JOHN RUSsELLS Me- morials of Charles James Fo add nothing, perhaps, to our knowledge of their subject, nor to our estimate of his qualities as an orator and a man, and yet they are so full and authentic, that they must he regarded as a valuable contribu- tion to literature. Fox was one of the few extraordinary men of his day,one who divided with Pitt, Burke, and Sheridan the attention of the British public, at the most interesting period of British history, and who, next to Burke, has left behind him the highest reputation for oratorical ability. A reckless spendthrift in his youth, and addicted to vice almost up to the hour of his death, the wonder is how he achieved, and maintained, the position he held in the British Parliament, in the face of such opponents as he had. But we learn from these memorials that he was a diligent studentwe may say a thorough and profound studentin the intervals of his dissipation, with an intense passion for knowledge, and an iron determination to exhaust all subjects that he took in hand. It was, then, this combination of learning, accomplishment and energy, with lively susceptibilities and generous character, that gave him such power over his contem- poraries, that induced those to court him who despised his follies, and even won the love of the stern and upright Burke, as well as that of the dissolute and unprin- cipled Sheridan. For Fox was clearly a man of genius,not of the same exalted o7der as Burke, but more so than Sheri- dan, and infinitely more so than Pitt. In many respects he appears to have resem- bled our own Henry Clay, gifted with the same magnificent natural ~endowmen but, though superior in his culture infe- rior in dignity and elevationof character. Like Clay, too, he should have been heard rather than read, for his peculiar power was i his personal qualities. Recollections of a three years resi- dence in China, by W. TYHONE POWER. recalls to the minds of American readers, one of their pleasantest acquaintanc e the late celebrated actor. The writer of the work before us is a son of his, who after pere~rinating over Spain, Morocco, Egypt, China, Australia and New Zealand has given us the journals of his nomadic life. As he did not rush throueh the places he visited, but sojourned in them for some time his observations are full of truth and life. A rare fire runs through Isis vivid and su~gestive pages, which also abound in curious information. Having had some specimens of Chinese theatricals amon6 ourselves lately, it is appropriate to extract Mr. Powers estimate of drama- tic Art in China. The drama In China is at a very low ebb. It is still in the strolling state: such as it nahaht have been when Thespis and his company declaimed Itoin a wagon, or rather, such as it was in the aniddle ages, when mysteries were perforused in the open streets and squares for public edification. A wealthy citizen, or, sometimes, the parish or municipality, lire a conapany of strollers, who erect their sta~e across a thoroughfare, with little respect for th Isublic ri~ht of way. The entertainer nd his friends occupy seats in front of the stage, and the tag- and bobtail stand in the rear. The actors are mere boys, who are dressed in robes of silk and satin, rich with embroidery, but much tarnished and rumpled. The subject of the play is usually taken from the life of some hero of mythology or history of Chin~ and the plot is constructed with an atisution to the unities of the drama, that would have charmed a critic of the French school. The narrative be5ins with the earliest events of the heros existenesa carrying them on in uninter- rupted duluess to his apotheosis. The play usually kes some hours, and some of them, I have been in- formed, some days. Tic ojouling and posturing are varied by recitative singing in a thrill contralto key; and every scene begins and ends ax ith banging of gongs and sqncalin~ of pipex eec sionally varied by the explosion of crackers ax hen the inlciest becomes thrilling, and some great eacul is enacloped in the noise and smoke, being left, in other icapects, to the ima~ination of tie audience There are some dramas as hiach treat of the loves of the heroes, in which little is left to the Imagina- tion, aithou~h the dialo no is cairicil on in a lofty rant avhich never descends to cismueda much lesa to farce. With such taste, it ma not sum ~smm.ing list this species of anmusement is net in much icicle, sinS that its professors should be classed as mid tie mosintebminks and vagabonds, to aviosse ranks they properly belong. There are no isioral lessons to be learnt from tie Chinese drama: it immeulcates in good principles, nor does it Isold the mirror up to nature. ]3utleenerv, coarse ribaldry, and exaggerated passion. are lix chief characteristics; one cannot ax-nuder at the bay esteem in which it is held. Music is not more advanced. All time singing is In an unnatural falsetto key, pitcbcd as high as isossi his, so that any thing more hideous and ludicrous than the sounds produced can scarcely be linautned. A tom cat caterarauhing on tie pantiles is tic nearest approach I knoav to the vocal music of this refined nation. They frequenhly accompany tie voice avith a kind of a bun, tie scraping of which is suflicieiit ~ put one s teeth on ed e A lute avith avirs strings and a very asury tone is sometimes used for the sam purpose The mnstrunsent, however, that is to be heard on all measmono is a sort of pipe, very much ressmnblmn0 time baspipe in tone. The annex vs card avers all of a very similar character, d were sung in short cadences, ahternat 106 [July

Lord John Russell's Memoirs of C. J. Fox English Literature 106

Editorial NotesEnglish Literature. we have bestowed upon him, for the sake of these glancing and ringin~ verses of our author. We shall not be surprised if they awaken the desire to ramble farther in a garden where such flowers hiow. A GLIMPSE OF LOVE. She came as comes the summer wind, A gust of beauty to my heart; Then swept away, but left behind Emotions which shall not deparL Unher fled she came and went, Like music in the silent niTht Which, when the burthened air is spent, Bequeaths to memory its delight ~ Or. like the sudden April bow, That spans the violet-wakina rain; She bade those blessed flowers to graw Which may not fall or fade again. Far sweeter than all things moat sweet, And fairer than all things most fair, She came and passed with footsteps fleet, A shining wonder in the air. ENGLIsH.Lord JOHN RUSsELLS Me- morials of Charles James Fo add nothing, perhaps, to our knowledge of their subject, nor to our estimate of his qualities as an orator and a man, and yet they are so full and authentic, that they must he regarded as a valuable contribu- tion to literature. Fox was one of the few extraordinary men of his day,one who divided with Pitt, Burke, and Sheridan the attention of the British public, at the most interesting period of British history, and who, next to Burke, has left behind him the highest reputation for oratorical ability. A reckless spendthrift in his youth, and addicted to vice almost up to the hour of his death, the wonder is how he achieved, and maintained, the position he held in the British Parliament, in the face of such opponents as he had. But we learn from these memorials that he was a diligent studentwe may say a thorough and profound studentin the intervals of his dissipation, with an intense passion for knowledge, and an iron determination to exhaust all subjects that he took in hand. It was, then, this combination of learning, accomplishment and energy, with lively susceptibilities and generous character, that gave him such power over his contem- poraries, that induced those to court him who despised his follies, and even won the love of the stern and upright Burke, as well as that of the dissolute and unprin- cipled Sheridan. For Fox was clearly a man of genius,not of the same exalted o7der as Burke, but more so than Sheri- dan, and infinitely more so than Pitt. In many respects he appears to have resem- bled our own Henry Clay, gifted with the same magnificent natural ~endowmen but, though superior in his culture infe- rior in dignity and elevationof character. Like Clay, too, he should have been heard rather than read, for his peculiar power was i his personal qualities. Recollections of a three years resi- dence in China, by W. TYHONE POWER. recalls to the minds of American readers, one of their pleasantest acquaintanc e the late celebrated actor. The writer of the work before us is a son of his, who after pere~rinating over Spain, Morocco, Egypt, China, Australia and New Zealand has given us the journals of his nomadic life. As he did not rush throueh the places he visited, but sojourned in them for some time his observations are full of truth and life. A rare fire runs through Isis vivid and su~gestive pages, which also abound in curious information. Having had some specimens of Chinese theatricals amon6 ourselves lately, it is appropriate to extract Mr. Powers estimate of drama- tic Art in China. The drama In China is at a very low ebb. It is still in the strolling state: such as it nahaht have been when Thespis and his company declaimed Itoin a wagon, or rather, such as it was in the aniddle ages, when mysteries were perforused in the open streets and squares for public edification. A wealthy citizen, or, sometimes, the parish or municipality, lire a conapany of strollers, who erect their sta~e across a thoroughfare, with little respect for th Isublic ri~ht of way. The entertainer nd his friends occupy seats in front of the stage, and the tag- and bobtail stand in the rear. The actors are mere boys, who are dressed in robes of silk and satin, rich with embroidery, but much tarnished and rumpled. The subject of the play is usually taken from the life of some hero of mythology or history of Chin~ and the plot is constructed with an atisution to the unities of the drama, that would have charmed a critic of the French school. The narrative be5ins with the earliest events of the heros existenesa carrying them on in uninter- rupted duluess to his apotheosis. The play usually kes some hours, and some of them, I have been in- formed, some days. Tic ojouling and posturing are varied by recitative singing in a thrill contralto key; and every scene begins and ends ax ith banging of gongs and sqncalin~ of pipex eec sionally varied by the explosion of crackers ax hen the inlciest becomes thrilling, and some great eacul is enacloped in the noise and smoke, being left, in other icapects, to the ima~ination of tie audience There are some dramas as hiach treat of the loves of the heroes, in which little is left to the Imagina- tion, aithou~h the dialo no is cairicil on in a lofty rant avhich never descends to cismueda much lesa to farce. With such taste, it ma not sum ~smm.ing list this species of anmusement is net in much icicle, sinS that its professors should be classed as mid tie mosintebminks and vagabonds, to aviosse ranks they properly belong. There are no isioral lessons to be learnt from tie Chinese drama: it immeulcates in good principles, nor does it Isold the mirror up to nature. ]3utleenerv, coarse ribaldry, and exaggerated passion. are lix chief characteristics; one cannot ax-nuder at the bay esteem in which it is held. Music is not more advanced. All time singing is In an unnatural falsetto key, pitcbcd as high as isossi his, so that any thing more hideous and ludicrous than the sounds produced can scarcely be linautned. A tom cat caterarauhing on tie pantiles is tic nearest approach I knoav to the vocal music of this refined nation. They frequenhly accompany tie voice avith a kind of a bun, tie scraping of which is suflicieiit ~ put one s teeth on ed e A lute avith avirs strings and a very asury tone is sometimes used for the sam purpose The mnstrunsent, however, that is to be heard on all measmono is a sort of pipe, very much ressmnblmn0 time baspipe in tone. The annex vs card avers all of a very similar character, d were sung in short cadences, ahternat 106 [July

W. Tyrone Power's Three Years in China English Literature 106-107

Editorial NotesEnglish Literature. we have bestowed upon him, for the sake of these glancing and ringin~ verses of our author. We shall not be surprised if they awaken the desire to ramble farther in a garden where such flowers hiow. A GLIMPSE OF LOVE. She came as comes the summer wind, A gust of beauty to my heart; Then swept away, but left behind Emotions which shall not deparL Unher fled she came and went, Like music in the silent niTht Which, when the burthened air is spent, Bequeaths to memory its delight ~ Or. like the sudden April bow, That spans the violet-wakina rain; She bade those blessed flowers to graw Which may not fall or fade again. Far sweeter than all things moat sweet, And fairer than all things most fair, She came and passed with footsteps fleet, A shining wonder in the air. ENGLIsH.Lord JOHN RUSsELLS Me- morials of Charles James Fo add nothing, perhaps, to our knowledge of their subject, nor to our estimate of his qualities as an orator and a man, and yet they are so full and authentic, that they must he regarded as a valuable contribu- tion to literature. Fox was one of the few extraordinary men of his day,one who divided with Pitt, Burke, and Sheridan the attention of the British public, at the most interesting period of British history, and who, next to Burke, has left behind him the highest reputation for oratorical ability. A reckless spendthrift in his youth, and addicted to vice almost up to the hour of his death, the wonder is how he achieved, and maintained, the position he held in the British Parliament, in the face of such opponents as he had. But we learn from these memorials that he was a diligent studentwe may say a thorough and profound studentin the intervals of his dissipation, with an intense passion for knowledge, and an iron determination to exhaust all subjects that he took in hand. It was, then, this combination of learning, accomplishment and energy, with lively susceptibilities and generous character, that gave him such power over his contem- poraries, that induced those to court him who despised his follies, and even won the love of the stern and upright Burke, as well as that of the dissolute and unprin- cipled Sheridan. For Fox was clearly a man of genius,not of the same exalted o7der as Burke, but more so than Sheri- dan, and infinitely more so than Pitt. In many respects he appears to have resem- bled our own Henry Clay, gifted with the same magnificent natural ~endowmen but, though superior in his culture infe- rior in dignity and elevationof character. Like Clay, too, he should have been heard rather than read, for his peculiar power was i his personal qualities. Recollections of a three years resi- dence in China, by W. TYHONE POWER. recalls to the minds of American readers, one of their pleasantest acquaintanc e the late celebrated actor. The writer of the work before us is a son of his, who after pere~rinating over Spain, Morocco, Egypt, China, Australia and New Zealand has given us the journals of his nomadic life. As he did not rush throueh the places he visited, but sojourned in them for some time his observations are full of truth and life. A rare fire runs through Isis vivid and su~gestive pages, which also abound in curious information. Having had some specimens of Chinese theatricals amon6 ourselves lately, it is appropriate to extract Mr. Powers estimate of drama- tic Art in China. The drama In China is at a very low ebb. It is still in the strolling state: such as it nahaht have been when Thespis and his company declaimed Itoin a wagon, or rather, such as it was in the aniddle ages, when mysteries were perforused in the open streets and squares for public edification. A wealthy citizen, or, sometimes, the parish or municipality, lire a conapany of strollers, who erect their sta~e across a thoroughfare, with little respect for th Isublic ri~ht of way. The entertainer nd his friends occupy seats in front of the stage, and the tag- and bobtail stand in the rear. The actors are mere boys, who are dressed in robes of silk and satin, rich with embroidery, but much tarnished and rumpled. The subject of the play is usually taken from the life of some hero of mythology or history of Chin~ and the plot is constructed with an atisution to the unities of the drama, that would have charmed a critic of the French school. The narrative be5ins with the earliest events of the heros existenesa carrying them on in uninter- rupted duluess to his apotheosis. The play usually kes some hours, and some of them, I have been in- formed, some days. Tic ojouling and posturing are varied by recitative singing in a thrill contralto key; and every scene begins and ends ax ith banging of gongs and sqncalin~ of pipex eec sionally varied by the explosion of crackers ax hen the inlciest becomes thrilling, and some great eacul is enacloped in the noise and smoke, being left, in other icapects, to the ima~ination of tie audience There are some dramas as hiach treat of the loves of the heroes, in which little is left to the Imagina- tion, aithou~h the dialo no is cairicil on in a lofty rant avhich never descends to cismueda much lesa to farce. With such taste, it ma not sum ~smm.ing list this species of anmusement is net in much icicle, sinS that its professors should be classed as mid tie mosintebminks and vagabonds, to aviosse ranks they properly belong. There are no isioral lessons to be learnt from tie Chinese drama: it immeulcates in good principles, nor does it Isold the mirror up to nature. ]3utleenerv, coarse ribaldry, and exaggerated passion. are lix chief characteristics; one cannot ax-nuder at the bay esteem in which it is held. Music is not more advanced. All time singing is In an unnatural falsetto key, pitcbcd as high as isossi his, so that any thing more hideous and ludicrous than the sounds produced can scarcely be linautned. A tom cat caterarauhing on tie pantiles is tic nearest approach I knoav to the vocal music of this refined nation. They frequenhly accompany tie voice avith a kind of a bun, tie scraping of which is suflicieiit ~ put one s teeth on ed e A lute avith avirs strings and a very asury tone is sometimes used for the sam purpose The mnstrunsent, however, that is to be heard on all measmono is a sort of pipe, very much ressmnblmn0 time baspipe in tone. The annex vs card avers all of a very similar character, d were sung in short cadences, ahternat 106 [July 1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

Diary of M. B. Baliol English Literature 107

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

Frank Merryweather English Literature 107

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

Singer's New Edition of Shakespeare English Literature 107

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

Ruskin's Stones of Venice, vol. ii English Literature 107

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

Chorley's Music in Germany English Literature 107

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

11th vol. of Grote's Greece English Literature 107

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

Krasinski's Slaves French and German Literature 107

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their

Villaumery's Batailles French and German Literature 107-108

1853.] Editorial NotesFrenxh Literature. 1o~ ing with the symphony, reminding me a-ery much uf the Spanish segaidilla, as it is heard screeched by the inuieteers in the mountain paths of Andalusi only that while the muleteer screeches, the China- man howls in a way that would excite the sympathy of a whole kennel of hounds, compelling them to join in an obligato chorus. Chinese poetry is on a par with the music. It either delights in namby-pamby sentimentality, or puerile conceits. Graceful metaphor, subtle allegory, warmth of sentiment, a picturesque feeling for the sutiss of nature, are all utterly unknown; while plays-upon-words, and a studied arrangement of phrases, delight the most fastidious critics, and sat- i.sfy their tastes. Two new novels have made their debut in London, during the month, and the spirited critic of the Leader disposes of theln in short metre. He says of the first, The Diary of Martha Bethune Baliot, is a book of considerable mer- it and dune lecture agrtiable, but we do not consider it a good novel, nor would the idler think it very exciting. The diary form is used up, and was never a very artistic form. We were pleased. therefore, to find this diarist speed- ily forgetful of the minute details with waich she opened, and setting herself de- liberately to the narration of her story. The characters do not stand out with any traces of creative power, but they are cleverly drawn, nevertheless. The story is not new, but it is readable; and the writing is throughout that of a cultivated, elegant mind. What we miss is the originality both of observation and repro- duction which would make us feel that the book was dealing with realities. A class of readers not yet glutted on the sweets of a circulating library may find interest and excitement in JIrank Merryweat her, by II. G. AINSLEE YouNG, as we happen to know in one case at least; but for ourselves not even a stern sense of duty has had the power to make us continue this very twice-told tale; therefore we leave it with no more precise indication than is furnished in that fac+ We observe that Mr. Colliers new book of Emendations to Shakspeare, which has been the most curious and interesting contribution to literature during the last year, is stoutly challenged by Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, who has taken the field with the text of ~Sha1espeare vindicated fionr the interpolations and corruptions advocated by John Payne Collier, Esq., in his notes and emendations. The name of Mr. Samuel Weller Singer, however amusingly it may strike the rapid reader, is one well known to the Shakspearian student. And should any infidel imagine ot~ierwise, he will hurry to recant when he learns that the same gentleman is pre- parin~ a new edition of Shakspeare in ten volumes, to appear monthly. Mr. RusamEs second volume of The Stones of Venice is announced for this month. It will be illustrated from the authors own designs. Few announce- ments will be more grateful to the sincere and thoughtful student of art, who rejoices that if it is not given to the Saxon race to paint the best pictures, and rear the most majestic buildings, it is allotted to a Saxon to utter the wisest, wittiest, and profound- est criticisms upon art and artists. There has hitherto scarcely beennot forgetting Goethe, Lessing, Fuseli, or Sir Joshua Reynoldsany criticism of art that could justly claim to be worthy the theme. HENRy F. ChoRE xv, the accomplish- ed and admirable musical critic of the Lon- don Atheneurn, has in press a work on music in Germany, that cannot fail to be full of good gossip, and valuable instruc- tion, and generous appreciation. Mr. Chorley has stron0 preferences and dis- likes; but his criticisms are mainly just and sympathetic. We are sorry that he is no lover of Jenny Linds; for her career in Germany, and some notice of her present life in Dresden, would be singu- larly apposite and agreeable. Gaorxs History of Greece has reached its eleventh volume, and one more will complete it. It will probably take place as the most accurate and copious work upon the subject, and will hardly be displaced by any successor. It is a fame that Mr. Grote has worthily earned, and, we trust, may long live to enjoy It is not a little, as a London contemporary remarks. to finish such a work in such an age, and with such peers and rivals in the historic realm. Mr. Grote (our readers may not know, but it may very materially affect the Homeric reputation with those to whom his history will be final autho- rity) adopts the German saran Wolfs theory of the Iliad and Odyssey, and supposes them to be traditional ballads, and not the work of a single man. This is, perhaps, the most generally and popu- larly interesting novelty in his trea ent of his great subject. FaxNclt.Count VALENTINE KmtAsIN- snms Histoire religieuse des Peuples Slaves, originally published in English has appeared in French, in two distinct translations, one at Geneva and one at Paris. It is an able elaborate and con- scientious book. The best part of it is that describing the Protestant revolt of Moravia and Bohemia, with the bloody tragedies of the Hussite war. In all re- ligious hist6ry there are few chapters more tragic and thrilling. Military men,and we know how abundant they are in this country,as well as students of history, will find their 108 Editorial NotesFrench Literature. [July advantage in reading Count BONET Xia- LAUMERYS Paralliie It istorique des prin- cipales Battailles do Terre et de 111cr (historical parallel of great Land and Sea Battles). It gives a clear narrative of every famous fight. marine or terrene. from the he~innin~ of things down to the ci teenth century. with an engraved plan to render the whole intelligible. Guillawoze-le-Taciturne et Les Pays Bas (William the Taciturn and the Netherlands). hy M. Euc NE MAtSON, is an admirable history of one of the heroes in the great Dutch struggle for indepen- dence from Spanish tyranny. M. Mahon announces his intention of writing the history of the entire epoch, under the title of Les Pays Bas ass xvii & ~cle. Father VENTURA has published at Paris. under the title of La liaison phi- losopisique et la liaison cat holique, (Philosophical Reason and Catholic Rea- son), a series of discourses on the philoso- phy of religion, originally delivered in 1851. The doctrine of the Father is that the natural understanding without the light of revelation must lead to scepticism and nnbelief and that the mere philoso- phic reason and Catholic reason are op- posed to each other. The philosophizing portion of the French Catholics deny the justice of this position. In their view the religious reason transcends the natural reason, but does not contradict it. A good deal o~ discussion has grown out of the book, which is written in a style of fervid yet reflective eloquence. A noteworthy hook is M. MoEnaRs ATotice historique sur la paroissc rjor- ,nfe do Strasbourg. The first pastor of the reformed parish at Strasburg was Calvin. whose relation to it will lend to this history an interest for many minds, which it would not otherwise possess. .Jeanue et Louise is a new tale hy EUGENE SUE, free from the moral blem- ishes of his former works, hut equally des- titute of the hold incidents and agreeably improbable complications which rendered them attractive. This is a republican book, directed against Napoleon and his despotism. but as a literary production it is inferior. HENRI HEINE opens his recent essay. The Gods in Exile, with an illustration of literary conscientiousness and mental delusion, as instructive as it is witty, which we make no apology for transfer- ring into the English language, and into the pares of our Monthly. A singular trade is that of a writer! One has luck in it, another has not ;but the most unfortunate of authors is, be- yond contradiction, my poor friend He i Kitzler, Bachelor of Letters at Gdttingen. In all that city, no other man is so learned, so rich in ideas, so in- dustrious as he, and yet not the smallest production of his pen has ever appeared at the literary fair of Leipzic. Stiefel, the old librarian could not help laughing when- ever Henri Kitzler caine to ask him for a hook, saying, he had need of it to finish a work which he was engaged on. You will be engaged on it long enough, old Stiefel would murmur, as he climbed the classical ladder to the highest shelves of the library. M. Kitzler generally passed for a simpleton, but in fact, he was simply an honest man. Nobody knew the true reason why he never published a book, and I only discovered it by accident as I was one evening lighting my csndle by his for he lodged in the room next to mine. lIe had just finished his great work called The Magnificence of Christi- andy; but far from appearing satisfied with it, he looked at the manuscript with a melancholy air. Your name, I exclaimed, will now at last figure on the catalogue of the books, that have appeared at the Leipzie fair? 0 no! he replied with a deep sigh, I must compel myself to fling this work in the fire like the others. Then he confided to me his terrible secret. Whenever he wrote a work he was struck with a ~ reat misfortune. After having exhausted all the evidence in favor of his thesis. he believed it to be his duty to develope equally all the objections that mi~ht be adduced by an adversary. Ac- cor(llngly from that point of view be sought out and brought up the most sub- tle arguments, which taking hold of his mind unconsciously, gradually mo(lified his ideas, so that finally he arrived at convictions diametrically opposed to his former opinions and then he was honest enough to burn the laurel of literary glory, on the altar of truth, that is to say, bravely to throw his manuscript into the fire. This was the reason why he sighed so deeply in thinking of the book in which he had demonstrated the magnificence of Christianity. I have, he said, filled twenty baskets with extracts f~ em the fathers of the church. I have passed whole nights bent over a table studying the Acts of the Apo~tles, while in your room you were drinking punch or singing gaudeasnrss igitur. I have paid Vander- hioch & Iiuprecht, the booksellers, thirty- eight hard dollars, hardly earned, for the tlmeolo~ical pamphlets needed for my work, when, with that money I might have bad the most beautiful meerselmaum. I bav~ toiled ~verely for two years, two precious

Mahon's Guillaume-le-Taciturne French and German Literature 108

108 Editorial NotesFrench Literature. [July advantage in reading Count BONET Xia- LAUMERYS Paralliie It istorique des prin- cipales Battailles do Terre et de 111cr (historical parallel of great Land and Sea Battles). It gives a clear narrative of every famous fight. marine or terrene. from the he~innin~ of things down to the ci teenth century. with an engraved plan to render the whole intelligible. Guillawoze-le-Taciturne et Les Pays Bas (William the Taciturn and the Netherlands). hy M. Euc NE MAtSON, is an admirable history of one of the heroes in the great Dutch struggle for indepen- dence from Spanish tyranny. M. Mahon announces his intention of writing the history of the entire epoch, under the title of Les Pays Bas ass xvii & ~cle. Father VENTURA has published at Paris. under the title of La liaison phi- losopisique et la liaison cat holique, (Philosophical Reason and Catholic Rea- son), a series of discourses on the philoso- phy of religion, originally delivered in 1851. The doctrine of the Father is that the natural understanding without the light of revelation must lead to scepticism and nnbelief and that the mere philoso- phic reason and Catholic reason are op- posed to each other. The philosophizing portion of the French Catholics deny the justice of this position. In their view the religious reason transcends the natural reason, but does not contradict it. A good deal o~ discussion has grown out of the book, which is written in a style of fervid yet reflective eloquence. A noteworthy hook is M. MoEnaRs ATotice historique sur la paroissc rjor- ,nfe do Strasbourg. The first pastor of the reformed parish at Strasburg was Calvin. whose relation to it will lend to this history an interest for many minds, which it would not otherwise possess. .Jeanue et Louise is a new tale hy EUGENE SUE, free from the moral blem- ishes of his former works, hut equally des- titute of the hold incidents and agreeably improbable complications which rendered them attractive. This is a republican book, directed against Napoleon and his despotism. but as a literary production it is inferior. HENRI HEINE opens his recent essay. The Gods in Exile, with an illustration of literary conscientiousness and mental delusion, as instructive as it is witty, which we make no apology for transfer- ring into the English language, and into the pares of our Monthly. A singular trade is that of a writer! One has luck in it, another has not ;but the most unfortunate of authors is, be- yond contradiction, my poor friend He i Kitzler, Bachelor of Letters at Gdttingen. In all that city, no other man is so learned, so rich in ideas, so in- dustrious as he, and yet not the smallest production of his pen has ever appeared at the literary fair of Leipzic. Stiefel, the old librarian could not help laughing when- ever Henri Kitzler caine to ask him for a hook, saying, he had need of it to finish a work which he was engaged on. You will be engaged on it long enough, old Stiefel would murmur, as he climbed the classical ladder to the highest shelves of the library. M. Kitzler generally passed for a simpleton, but in fact, he was simply an honest man. Nobody knew the true reason why he never published a book, and I only discovered it by accident as I was one evening lighting my csndle by his for he lodged in the room next to mine. lIe had just finished his great work called The Magnificence of Christi- andy; but far from appearing satisfied with it, he looked at the manuscript with a melancholy air. Your name, I exclaimed, will now at last figure on the catalogue of the books, that have appeared at the Leipzie fair? 0 no! he replied with a deep sigh, I must compel myself to fling this work in the fire like the others. Then he confided to me his terrible secret. Whenever he wrote a work he was struck with a ~ reat misfortune. After having exhausted all the evidence in favor of his thesis. he believed it to be his duty to develope equally all the objections that mi~ht be adduced by an adversary. Ac- cor(llngly from that point of view be sought out and brought up the most sub- tle arguments, which taking hold of his mind unconsciously, gradually mo(lified his ideas, so that finally he arrived at convictions diametrically opposed to his former opinions and then he was honest enough to burn the laurel of literary glory, on the altar of truth, that is to say, bravely to throw his manuscript into the fire. This was the reason why he sighed so deeply in thinking of the book in which he had demonstrated the magnificence of Christianity. I have, he said, filled twenty baskets with extracts f~ em the fathers of the church. I have passed whole nights bent over a table studying the Acts of the Apo~tles, while in your room you were drinking punch or singing gaudeasnrss igitur. I have paid Vander- hioch & Iiuprecht, the booksellers, thirty- eight hard dollars, hardly earned, for the tlmeolo~ical pamphlets needed for my work, when, with that money I might have bad the most beautiful meerselmaum. I bav~ toiled ~verely for two years, two precious

Father Ventura's Raison Philosophique French and German Literature 108

108 Editorial NotesFrench Literature. [July advantage in reading Count BONET Xia- LAUMERYS Paralliie It istorique des prin- cipales Battailles do Terre et de 111cr (historical parallel of great Land and Sea Battles). It gives a clear narrative of every famous fight. marine or terrene. from the he~innin~ of things down to the ci teenth century. with an engraved plan to render the whole intelligible. Guillawoze-le-Taciturne et Les Pays Bas (William the Taciturn and the Netherlands). hy M. Euc NE MAtSON, is an admirable history of one of the heroes in the great Dutch struggle for indepen- dence from Spanish tyranny. M. Mahon announces his intention of writing the history of the entire epoch, under the title of Les Pays Bas ass xvii & ~cle. Father VENTURA has published at Paris. under the title of La liaison phi- losopisique et la liaison cat holique, (Philosophical Reason and Catholic Rea- son), a series of discourses on the philoso- phy of religion, originally delivered in 1851. The doctrine of the Father is that the natural understanding without the light of revelation must lead to scepticism and nnbelief and that the mere philoso- phic reason and Catholic reason are op- posed to each other. The philosophizing portion of the French Catholics deny the justice of this position. In their view the religious reason transcends the natural reason, but does not contradict it. A good deal o~ discussion has grown out of the book, which is written in a style of fervid yet reflective eloquence. A noteworthy hook is M. MoEnaRs ATotice historique sur la paroissc rjor- ,nfe do Strasbourg. The first pastor of the reformed parish at Strasburg was Calvin. whose relation to it will lend to this history an interest for many minds, which it would not otherwise possess. .Jeanue et Louise is a new tale hy EUGENE SUE, free from the moral blem- ishes of his former works, hut equally des- titute of the hold incidents and agreeably improbable complications which rendered them attractive. This is a republican book, directed against Napoleon and his despotism. but as a literary production it is inferior. HENRI HEINE opens his recent essay. The Gods in Exile, with an illustration of literary conscientiousness and mental delusion, as instructive as it is witty, which we make no apology for transfer- ring into the English language, and into the pares of our Monthly. A singular trade is that of a writer! One has luck in it, another has not ;but the most unfortunate of authors is, be- yond contradiction, my poor friend He i Kitzler, Bachelor of Letters at Gdttingen. In all that city, no other man is so learned, so rich in ideas, so in- dustrious as he, and yet not the smallest production of his pen has ever appeared at the literary fair of Leipzic. Stiefel, the old librarian could not help laughing when- ever Henri Kitzler caine to ask him for a hook, saying, he had need of it to finish a work which he was engaged on. You will be engaged on it long enough, old Stiefel would murmur, as he climbed the classical ladder to the highest shelves of the library. M. Kitzler generally passed for a simpleton, but in fact, he was simply an honest man. Nobody knew the true reason why he never published a book, and I only discovered it by accident as I was one evening lighting my csndle by his for he lodged in the room next to mine. lIe had just finished his great work called The Magnificence of Christi- andy; but far from appearing satisfied with it, he looked at the manuscript with a melancholy air. Your name, I exclaimed, will now at last figure on the catalogue of the books, that have appeared at the Leipzie fair? 0 no! he replied with a deep sigh, I must compel myself to fling this work in the fire like the others. Then he confided to me his terrible secret. Whenever he wrote a work he was struck with a ~ reat misfortune. After having exhausted all the evidence in favor of his thesis. he believed it to be his duty to develope equally all the objections that mi~ht be adduced by an adversary. Ac- cor(llngly from that point of view be sought out and brought up the most sub- tle arguments, which taking hold of his mind unconsciously, gradually mo(lified his ideas, so that finally he arrived at convictions diametrically opposed to his former opinions and then he was honest enough to burn the laurel of literary glory, on the altar of truth, that is to say, bravely to throw his manuscript into the fire. This was the reason why he sighed so deeply in thinking of the book in which he had demonstrated the magnificence of Christianity. I have, he said, filled twenty baskets with extracts f~ em the fathers of the church. I have passed whole nights bent over a table studying the Acts of the Apo~tles, while in your room you were drinking punch or singing gaudeasnrss igitur. I have paid Vander- hioch & Iiuprecht, the booksellers, thirty- eight hard dollars, hardly earned, for the tlmeolo~ical pamphlets needed for my work, when, with that money I might have bad the most beautiful meerselmaum. I bav~ toiled ~verely for two years, two precious

Moeder's Paroisse Reformee de Strasbourg French and German Literature 108

108 Editorial NotesFrench Literature. [July advantage in reading Count BONET Xia- LAUMERYS Paralliie It istorique des prin- cipales Battailles do Terre et de 111cr (historical parallel of great Land and Sea Battles). It gives a clear narrative of every famous fight. marine or terrene. from the he~innin~ of things down to the ci teenth century. with an engraved plan to render the whole intelligible. Guillawoze-le-Taciturne et Les Pays Bas (William the Taciturn and the Netherlands). hy M. Euc NE MAtSON, is an admirable history of one of the heroes in the great Dutch struggle for indepen- dence from Spanish tyranny. M. Mahon announces his intention of writing the history of the entire epoch, under the title of Les Pays Bas ass xvii & ~cle. Father VENTURA has published at Paris. under the title of La liaison phi- losopisique et la liaison cat holique, (Philosophical Reason and Catholic Rea- son), a series of discourses on the philoso- phy of religion, originally delivered in 1851. The doctrine of the Father is that the natural understanding without the light of revelation must lead to scepticism and nnbelief and that the mere philoso- phic reason and Catholic reason are op- posed to each other. The philosophizing portion of the French Catholics deny the justice of this position. In their view the religious reason transcends the natural reason, but does not contradict it. A good deal o~ discussion has grown out of the book, which is written in a style of fervid yet reflective eloquence. A noteworthy hook is M. MoEnaRs ATotice historique sur la paroissc rjor- ,nfe do Strasbourg. The first pastor of the reformed parish at Strasburg was Calvin. whose relation to it will lend to this history an interest for many minds, which it would not otherwise possess. .Jeanue et Louise is a new tale hy EUGENE SUE, free from the moral blem- ishes of his former works, hut equally des- titute of the hold incidents and agreeably improbable complications which rendered them attractive. This is a republican book, directed against Napoleon and his despotism. but as a literary production it is inferior. HENRI HEINE opens his recent essay. The Gods in Exile, with an illustration of literary conscientiousness and mental delusion, as instructive as it is witty, which we make no apology for transfer- ring into the English language, and into the pares of our Monthly. A singular trade is that of a writer! One has luck in it, another has not ;but the most unfortunate of authors is, be- yond contradiction, my poor friend He i Kitzler, Bachelor of Letters at Gdttingen. In all that city, no other man is so learned, so rich in ideas, so in- dustrious as he, and yet not the smallest production of his pen has ever appeared at the literary fair of Leipzic. Stiefel, the old librarian could not help laughing when- ever Henri Kitzler caine to ask him for a hook, saying, he had need of it to finish a work which he was engaged on. You will be engaged on it long enough, old Stiefel would murmur, as he climbed the classical ladder to the highest shelves of the library. M. Kitzler generally passed for a simpleton, but in fact, he was simply an honest man. Nobody knew the true reason why he never published a book, and I only discovered it by accident as I was one evening lighting my csndle by his for he lodged in the room next to mine. lIe had just finished his great work called The Magnificence of Christi- andy; but far from appearing satisfied with it, he looked at the manuscript with a melancholy air. Your name, I exclaimed, will now at last figure on the catalogue of the books, that have appeared at the Leipzie fair? 0 no! he replied with a deep sigh, I must compel myself to fling this work in the fire like the others. Then he confided to me his terrible secret. Whenever he wrote a work he was struck with a ~ reat misfortune. After having exhausted all the evidence in favor of his thesis. he believed it to be his duty to develope equally all the objections that mi~ht be adduced by an adversary. Ac- cor(llngly from that point of view be sought out and brought up the most sub- tle arguments, which taking hold of his mind unconsciously, gradually mo(lified his ideas, so that finally he arrived at convictions diametrically opposed to his former opinions and then he was honest enough to burn the laurel of literary glory, on the altar of truth, that is to say, bravely to throw his manuscript into the fire. This was the reason why he sighed so deeply in thinking of the book in which he had demonstrated the magnificence of Christianity. I have, he said, filled twenty baskets with extracts f~ em the fathers of the church. I have passed whole nights bent over a table studying the Acts of the Apo~tles, while in your room you were drinking punch or singing gaudeasnrss igitur. I have paid Vander- hioch & Iiuprecht, the booksellers, thirty- eight hard dollars, hardly earned, for the tlmeolo~ical pamphlets needed for my work, when, with that money I might have bad the most beautiful meerselmaum. I bav~ toiled ~verely for two years, two precious

Eugene Sue's Jeanne et Louise French and German Literature 108

108 Editorial NotesFrench Literature. [July advantage in reading Count BONET Xia- LAUMERYS Paralliie It istorique des prin- cipales Battailles do Terre et de 111cr (historical parallel of great Land and Sea Battles). It gives a clear narrative of every famous fight. marine or terrene. from the he~innin~ of things down to the ci teenth century. with an engraved plan to render the whole intelligible. Guillawoze-le-Taciturne et Les Pays Bas (William the Taciturn and the Netherlands). hy M. Euc NE MAtSON, is an admirable history of one of the heroes in the great Dutch struggle for indepen- dence from Spanish tyranny. M. Mahon announces his intention of writing the history of the entire epoch, under the title of Les Pays Bas ass xvii & ~cle. Father VENTURA has published at Paris. under the title of La liaison phi- losopisique et la liaison cat holique, (Philosophical Reason and Catholic Rea- son), a series of discourses on the philoso- phy of religion, originally delivered in 1851. The doctrine of the Father is that the natural understanding without the light of revelation must lead to scepticism and nnbelief and that the mere philoso- phic reason and Catholic reason are op- posed to each other. The philosophizing portion of the French Catholics deny the justice of this position. In their view the religious reason transcends the natural reason, but does not contradict it. A good deal o~ discussion has grown out of the book, which is written in a style of fervid yet reflective eloquence. A noteworthy hook is M. MoEnaRs ATotice historique sur la paroissc rjor- ,nfe do Strasbourg. The first pastor of the reformed parish at Strasburg was Calvin. whose relation to it will lend to this history an interest for many minds, which it would not otherwise possess. .Jeanue et Louise is a new tale hy EUGENE SUE, free from the moral blem- ishes of his former works, hut equally des- titute of the hold incidents and agreeably improbable complications which rendered them attractive. This is a republican book, directed against Napoleon and his despotism. but as a literary production it is inferior. HENRI HEINE opens his recent essay. The Gods in Exile, with an illustration of literary conscientiousness and mental delusion, as instructive as it is witty, which we make no apology for transfer- ring into the English language, and into the pares of our Monthly. A singular trade is that of a writer! One has luck in it, another has not ;but the most unfortunate of authors is, be- yond contradiction, my poor friend He i Kitzler, Bachelor of Letters at Gdttingen. In all that city, no other man is so learned, so rich in ideas, so in- dustrious as he, and yet not the smallest production of his pen has ever appeared at the literary fair of Leipzic. Stiefel, the old librarian could not help laughing when- ever Henri Kitzler caine to ask him for a hook, saying, he had need of it to finish a work which he was engaged on. You will be engaged on it long enough, old Stiefel would murmur, as he climbed the classical ladder to the highest shelves of the library. M. Kitzler generally passed for a simpleton, but in fact, he was simply an honest man. Nobody knew the true reason why he never published a book, and I only discovered it by accident as I was one evening lighting my csndle by his for he lodged in the room next to mine. lIe had just finished his great work called The Magnificence of Christi- andy; but far from appearing satisfied with it, he looked at the manuscript with a melancholy air. Your name, I exclaimed, will now at last figure on the catalogue of the books, that have appeared at the Leipzie fair? 0 no! he replied with a deep sigh, I must compel myself to fling this work in the fire like the others. Then he confided to me his terrible secret. Whenever he wrote a work he was struck with a ~ reat misfortune. After having exhausted all the evidence in favor of his thesis. he believed it to be his duty to develope equally all the objections that mi~ht be adduced by an adversary. Ac- cor(llngly from that point of view be sought out and brought up the most sub- tle arguments, which taking hold of his mind unconsciously, gradually mo(lified his ideas, so that finally he arrived at convictions diametrically opposed to his former opinions and then he was honest enough to burn the laurel of literary glory, on the altar of truth, that is to say, bravely to throw his manuscript into the fire. This was the reason why he sighed so deeply in thinking of the book in which he had demonstrated the magnificence of Christianity. I have, he said, filled twenty baskets with extracts f~ em the fathers of the church. I have passed whole nights bent over a table studying the Acts of the Apo~tles, while in your room you were drinking punch or singing gaudeasnrss igitur. I have paid Vander- hioch & Iiuprecht, the booksellers, thirty- eight hard dollars, hardly earned, for the tlmeolo~ical pamphlets needed for my work, when, with that money I might have bad the most beautiful meerselmaum. I bav~ toiled ~verely for two years, two precious

Henri Heine's Gods in Exile French and German Literature 108-110

108 Editorial NotesFrench Literature. [July advantage in reading Count BONET Xia- LAUMERYS Paralliie It istorique des prin- cipales Battailles do Terre et de 111cr (historical parallel of great Land and Sea Battles). It gives a clear narrative of every famous fight. marine or terrene. from the he~innin~ of things down to the ci teenth century. with an engraved plan to render the whole intelligible. Guillawoze-le-Taciturne et Les Pays Bas (William the Taciturn and the Netherlands). hy M. Euc NE MAtSON, is an admirable history of one of the heroes in the great Dutch struggle for indepen- dence from Spanish tyranny. M. Mahon announces his intention of writing the history of the entire epoch, under the title of Les Pays Bas ass xvii & ~cle. Father VENTURA has published at Paris. under the title of La liaison phi- losopisique et la liaison cat holique, (Philosophical Reason and Catholic Rea- son), a series of discourses on the philoso- phy of religion, originally delivered in 1851. The doctrine of the Father is that the natural understanding without the light of revelation must lead to scepticism and nnbelief and that the mere philoso- phic reason and Catholic reason are op- posed to each other. The philosophizing portion of the French Catholics deny the justice of this position. In their view the religious reason transcends the natural reason, but does not contradict it. A good deal o~ discussion has grown out of the book, which is written in a style of fervid yet reflective eloquence. A noteworthy hook is M. MoEnaRs ATotice historique sur la paroissc rjor- ,nfe do Strasbourg. The first pastor of the reformed parish at Strasburg was Calvin. whose relation to it will lend to this history an interest for many minds, which it would not otherwise possess. .Jeanue et Louise is a new tale hy EUGENE SUE, free from the moral blem- ishes of his former works, hut equally des- titute of the hold incidents and agreeably improbable complications which rendered them attractive. This is a republican book, directed against Napoleon and his despotism. but as a literary production it is inferior. HENRI HEINE opens his recent essay. The Gods in Exile, with an illustration of literary conscientiousness and mental delusion, as instructive as it is witty, which we make no apology for transfer- ring into the English language, and into the pares of our Monthly. A singular trade is that of a writer! One has luck in it, another has not ;but the most unfortunate of authors is, be- yond contradiction, my poor friend He i Kitzler, Bachelor of Letters at Gdttingen. In all that city, no other man is so learned, so rich in ideas, so in- dustrious as he, and yet not the smallest production of his pen has ever appeared at the literary fair of Leipzic. Stiefel, the old librarian could not help laughing when- ever Henri Kitzler caine to ask him for a hook, saying, he had need of it to finish a work which he was engaged on. You will be engaged on it long enough, old Stiefel would murmur, as he climbed the classical ladder to the highest shelves of the library. M. Kitzler generally passed for a simpleton, but in fact, he was simply an honest man. Nobody knew the true reason why he never published a book, and I only discovered it by accident as I was one evening lighting my csndle by his for he lodged in the room next to mine. lIe had just finished his great work called The Magnificence of Christi- andy; but far from appearing satisfied with it, he looked at the manuscript with a melancholy air. Your name, I exclaimed, will now at last figure on the catalogue of the books, that have appeared at the Leipzie fair? 0 no! he replied with a deep sigh, I must compel myself to fling this work in the fire like the others. Then he confided to me his terrible secret. Whenever he wrote a work he was struck with a ~ reat misfortune. After having exhausted all the evidence in favor of his thesis. he believed it to be his duty to develope equally all the objections that mi~ht be adduced by an adversary. Ac- cor(llngly from that point of view be sought out and brought up the most sub- tle arguments, which taking hold of his mind unconsciously, gradually mo(lified his ideas, so that finally he arrived at convictions diametrically opposed to his former opinions and then he was honest enough to burn the laurel of literary glory, on the altar of truth, that is to say, bravely to throw his manuscript into the fire. This was the reason why he sighed so deeply in thinking of the book in which he had demonstrated the magnificence of Christianity. I have, he said, filled twenty baskets with extracts f~ em the fathers of the church. I have passed whole nights bent over a table studying the Acts of the Apo~tles, while in your room you were drinking punch or singing gaudeasnrss igitur. I have paid Vander- hioch & Iiuprecht, the booksellers, thirty- eight hard dollars, hardly earned, for the tlmeolo~ical pamphlets needed for my work, when, with that money I might have bad the most beautiful meerselmaum. I bav~ toiled ~verely for two years, two precious 1853.] Editorial Notes French Literature. 109 years of my life, and all to make inyseifri- diculcus, and to cast down my eyes like a detected liar when Madame Blank, the wife of the Aulic C1ouncillor asks me, When will your Magn~,ficeoce of Christianity appear? Alas! the book is finished, continued the poor man, and without doubt my work would please the public, for in it Ii have glorified the triumph of Christianity over Paganism, and demon- strated from that fact that truth and reason always get the better of f lsehood and error; but unlucky mortal that I am, I know that the contrary is the case, that falsehood and error . Silence! I exclaimed, justly alarm- ed at what he was about to say; Silence! do you presume, blind as you are, to de- grade what is most sublime, and to dark- en the light itself? Even if you should deny the miracles of the Gospel, you can- not deny that its triumph xvan a miracle. A little band of simple men, penetrating victoriously into the Roman world in spite of sages and police, with no other weapon than a word. But what a word! Worm-eaten paganism fell in ruins at the voice of these strangers, men and women, who announced to the old world a new celestial kingdom, and who feared neither the claws of the most ferocious beasts, nor the knives of executioners still more fero- cious, nor the sword, nor fire, for they had with them both sword and fire, the sword and fire of God! That sword cut down the decayia0 foliage and dead branches of the tree of life, and saved it from putrefaction. That fire revived its frozen trunk, and fresh leavc~ and per- fumed flowers put forth on its renewed branches. In all the spectacles offered by history, there is nothing so grand, nothin0 so imposing, as the commefice- mont of Christianity, its struggles and its complete triumph! I pronounced these words with rather more solemnity, be- cause having drunk that evening a good de 1 of Limbeck beer, my voice had become more sonorous. Henri Kitzler was not the least touched by this discourse. My brother, he answered with a painful and ironic smile, dont take so much trouble, foi~ what you say has been more profoundly studied and better exposed by me than you could do it. I have described in this manuscript, and in the liveliest colors the corrupt and abjcet epoch of Paganism. I can even flatter myself that in the boldness of my strokes I rival the best works of the fathers of the Church. I have shown how the Greeks and the fiomans were sunk in debauchery, seduced by the ex- ample of their divinities, who, if we were to judge them by the vices they were ac en ed of would hardly be worthy to pass for men. 1 have irrevocably shown that the first of the gods, Jupiter himself, would deserve according to the p nal code of hanover, the galleys a thousand times, if not the gibbet. Then, by way of contrast, I have paraphr sed the doctrine and maxims of the Gospel, and proved that the first Christians, following the example of their divine Master, never practised or tau~ht any thing but the purest morality, notwithstanding the contempt and perse- cution to which they were subjected. The best part of my work is that in which full of a noble zeal, I represent Christi- anity contending in the lists with Pagan- ism, and like a new David. overthrowing this second Goliath. But alas! this con- flict nox appears to my mind under a strange aspect. All my love, oil my en- thusiasm for my work was extinguished, as soon as I began to reflect on the causes to which the adversaries of the Gospel attribute its triumph. By an unlucky chance, several modern writers and among them Edward Gibbon fell into my hands. While not too friendly to the Gospels vetories, they arc still less edified by the virtues of those con(juciing Christians who at a later epoch, in default of spiritu~ 1 we pons, had recourse to temporal lire and sword. Shall I confess it? 1 have myself finished by feeling a profane sympathy for the remains of Paganism, for those splendid temples and beautiful statues, which before the birth of Christ belonged not to a dead religion, but to art, which is eternal. One d~ y, as I was rummaging in the library, the tears came to my eves in reading the defense of the Greek temples by Libanius. In the most affecting terms the old liellene conjured the barbarian devotees to spare those precious works with which the plastic genius of the Greeks had adorned the world. Useless prayer ! The flowers of humanitys spring-time, those monuments of a period which will never bloom again, perished for ever under the blows of destructive zeal. No! exclaimed my leamned friend, continuing his oration, I will never asso ciate myselg by the publication of this work, with such a wrong. No; I shall burn it as I have bumned so many others. O ye statues of beauty, broken statues! O ye manes of dead gods, beloved shades that people the heaven of lioctry, you I invoke! Accept the expiatory offerine, it is to you I sacrifice this book! And Henri Kitzler cast his manuscri t into the flames that crackled in the fire- place, and in a moment, a heap of cinders was all that remained of the Ma~ nijicence of Olmiristianity. A counterpart to the extract from 110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

De Lille's Poemes Antique French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Muegge's Romances French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Olshausen on the Mississippi Valley French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Stober's Sabina French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Heinrich's Maler aller Zeiten und Lander French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Helfert's Husa and Hieronymus French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Stifter's Bunte Steine French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Meyer's Propaganda French and German Literature 110

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature.

Eine Verlorene Seele French and German Literature 110-111

110 hENRI IIEINI2, which we give above, may be found in the newly published Poernes Antiques, by LE COXTE DR LISLE, in which heathenism is the subject of a serious and, in a poetical point of view, tolerably suc- cessful glorification. GERMAN.TIIEoDoRE MUEGGE, who is known in this country through a transla- tion of his romance of Toussaint L On- verture, from the elegant and graceful pen of Rev. Mr. Furness of Philadelphia, has lately added two novels to the catalogue of his productions. Of these, the first Der Majoratsherr, is an attack upon the law of primogeniture, the title signi- fying the owner of an estate to which be- longs the privile~e of always descending to the oldest son of its proprietor. It is an interesting tale enough to read, pleas- antly written, rapid and simple in its ac- tion, but without any great depth or power. The second, Weihnachtsabend (Christmas Eve), is still inferior. Its object is. to bring into discredit the police system of espionage prevailing in Germany, but its plot is complicated and improbable, and only the fluent and vivid style of the au- thor assures it any popularity. The truth is, as we have often had occasion to ob- serve that German novel writing is just now at a very low mark. The ma0 itude of the German emi- gration to this country is indicated by the number of books written with a special view to furnishing information to Germans intending to leave the old world for the new. One of the newest of them is from the pen of THEODOR OL 5IIAU5EN~ of St. Louis, Mo., and is published at Kiel, the first part only having as yet made its appear- ance. It treats of the Mississippi val- ley, its extent, its soils, climates, products population, and its relations to other parts of the continent. An introductory chap- ter gives some lucid explanations as to the political contests and party divisions of the United States, in which Mr. Olshausen declares himself a Freesoiler, and prophe- sies that the future will belon0 to that party. The descriptive and statistical parts of his book are lively and well ar- ranged. Whoever wishes to read and to trans- late a volume of readable stories, is com- mended to STOBERs Sabina die Bleiche- rin (Sabina, the Bleacher). Though written ostensibly for the poor, they have a fund of sense, fancy. and heart, which will make them welcome every where. Mr. F. 0. HEIRRIcH has be0un the serial publication of a work entitled Le- ben und Werice der berijehintesten Metier alter Zeitcn und Ldnder (Lives and Werks of the most famous Painters of all [July Ages and Nations). The history of indi- vidual artists is arran0ed according to the schools and nations to which they belong, and at the end an alphabetical index will indicate the place where each artists biog- raphy is to be looked for. Huss und Hieronyrnus (iluss and Hieronymus), by ALEX. HELP RT, is a valuable contribution to the history of the Bohemian reformers life and times. Though written from a Catholic point of view, it does justice to the high qualities of iluss, and furnishes a variety of hith- erto unknown official documents relating to him and to the epoch in which he lived and labored. Among the more recent names of German literature, none has more endear- ed itself to the lovers of fresh, poetic na- ture, and delicate yet hearty sympathies, than that of ADALBERT STIFTER. The first work which drew public attention was his Studien, published in four or five successive volumes in as many years. It is a collection of simple tales, full of feel- ing, full of a charming naivete of senti- ment and written in a style than which the mountain brooks do not flow more limpidly, or unaffectedly. Two volumes more have just come into our hands, en- titled Bunte Steine, eine Festgesclmenk (Many Colored Stones, a Gift Book). They were written for children, and con- tain many local allusions which adapt them particularly for children in Germany, but with a little alteration they would capti- vate the old as well as young any where. They are transparent little narratives of childish adventures and life, but told with a natural art which makes you wonder at the interest they excite. Each tale is named after some stone, as granite, quart; or chalk, and begins with a reference to some association which connects the story with the mineral. A charming book for American use might be made out of them by a skilful translator. In the present active controversy be- tween Catholicism and Protestantism the advocates of the latter may find their ac- count in reading Prof. ~ work which is entitled Die Propaganda, ihre Provinzen Und ihr Recht (The Pro- paganda, its Provinces and its Laws), of which the second and concluding volume hasjust been published at Gdttingen. It is a learned and very able book by a zealous Protestant. As a storehouse of historical facts it especially deserves to be consulted. Ejue Verlorene Seele (A lost Soul) is a novel by AURA you Scnucwr- KRULL~ the IiOThI de plume of a young lady who makes in it a rather successful liter- ary debut. The tale is too lon0 (4 vols.) Editorial Notes German Literature. 1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Holle's Ruebenzucker Industrie French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Auersperg's Drama Geschichte French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Bilder aus dem Leben French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Kaulbach's Frescoes French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Schwegler's Romische Geschichte French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Schmarda's Geographical Distribution of Animals French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Guder's Jesu Christi unter den Todten French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Monumenta Germaniae Historicae, vol. x French and German Literature 111

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci.

Jolowicz Polyglotte der Orientalischen Poesie French and German Literature 111-112

1853.1 Editorial NotesGerman Literature. 111 and its plot too complicated, but it mdi- eates a great deal of talent. Statisticians and Economists will find a convenient aid in Dr. HOLLES Uebersichts-Karte der Zxcker Produc- tion der cozen Erde und der Ritben- zucleer Industrie. It consists of two large tables giving the facts and fi~ures with reference to the worlds production of sugar. and especially of beet sugar. Dcc Grosse I)raoia der fiieschichte (The great Drama of History) by Count E. ACERSPEEG is an attempt to write his- tory by parallels and contrasts between prominent individuals, nations and periods. Thus Ilenry VIII. of Enjand and Joseph II. of Austria form the theme of one chap- ter and Nero and Henri IV. of France of another. The author writes with great enthusiasm and love for his work, but we eaimot admire the confusion of times characters and ideas which he must leave in the minds of all but the most expe- rienced readers. However, we have as yet but one part of his book: eleven other parts are to follow. Of Danish literature we have hardly any specimens in the English language, but in German there are many. One of these, recently issued, deserves special commendation, and may even be named among the best productions of modern novel-writine. We refer to Bilder aus dam Leben (Pictures from Life), translat- ed from the second edition of the original, by MARIE PAWn, and published at Leipzig. It is a small book containing several tales, offending occasionally by too much senti- mentality, but abounding in admirable I)ictures of character, and in the art of enchaining the reader to the end. We advise any unemployed litt6rat ur, who knows Danish to set about an English version. In Denmark no other rca ~t book is more popular. Duneker, the Berlin publisher, is bringing out in magnificent style, the Fres- coes of KAULBAcH on the Staircase of the New Museum in that City. Not only the leading pictures, like the Battle of the Huns and the Destruction of Jerusalem, will no included in it, but every subordinate ioure. the frieze and the various orna- ments. The plates are en~ raved on steel and accompanied by letter-press explana- tions in French, German, and English. There are to be ten p~ rts in all, eAch con- tainin~ three or four engravings, and varying m price from 10 to 16 Prussian thalers each. We have seen the first part and commend it as one of the most beautiful productions of the day. An excellent digest of the modern in- vesti~ations on lioman History may be found in the I?dintsche Geschichte of Dr. SeJIWEGLER, whose first volume has just appeared at Tiibingen. Not only the re- sults of Niebuhrs studies, but all that has been since accomplished in this obscure and difficult sphere, is here given with judg- ment and clearness, and with all a Ger- mans erudition. The Geographical distribution of ani- mals is the subject of an elaborate work published at Vienna by Prof. ScITMARDA. It is divided into three books; the first of which treats of tile natural causes, such, as light, heat, food and climate, which govern the distribution of animals; in the second, of continental ~nimals; and in the third, of those produced or found on the islands of the ocean. The work is writ- ten with equal lucidity and learning, and is interesting alike to the professional and lay reader. Guiinzas Lehre VOU der Erschei- flung Jests Christi unter den Todten. (Doctrine of the appearance of Christ among tile dead), which has appeared at Berne. deserves the attention of theologians and biblical students. It treats at le%th upon the dogma of the descent of Christ into Hades, showing that it is taught in the New Testament as a fact of actual occur- rence; then the author narrat~ its history as held in the church, and expounded by commentators and critics, and finally ho examines the dogmn itself; and gives his own explanation of its meaning. In this connection he gives some curious specula- tions on the tie which unites the soul and the body. His opinion is that a soul with- out a body is impossible; by this, however, he does not mean that the spirit is always incarnate in a material organization, but that it possesses an inner body; not subject to change, a form independent of substance. Accordingly, as here the soul has an earthly body, so after death it at- tains a sort of transitional one, and after the last judgment the saved finally put on the true spiritual body, and reign in eternal bliss. The tenth volume of the Monumenta Germaniae Ilistoriccte has appeared with contributions by Pertz, Waitz, K~pke and other scholars whose studies ar~ specially devoted to this great work, th object of which is to render accessible to students all authentic sources of German history, such as public documents old chronicles annals and so forth. The pre- sent volume relates to the period of the Frankish Emperors. In the greater attention now paid to Asiatic matters thin Polyiotte der Orientalisclmen Poesie (Polyglot of Ori- ental Poetry), by Dr. II. Joaowrcz, now publishing serially, is a welcome book. It is to give us in good GermaM, speci. 112 Editorial NotesMusic. [July mens of the poetry of every race of On- ental~, including not only the cultivated Syrians undoes, Armenians, Arab ians, and Hebrews, hut also the Per- sians, Javanese, Kalmucks, Kurds, Malays and other sorts of savages. The selection is evidently made with taste and judg- ment, and as for the translations we may well rely upon the learning of the author. MUSIC. Not only are our singin~ birds flyin~ away, but their cage is destroyed. The pretty perch of the opera, in Astor Place, where so many pleasant singers lit for a se son, and cheered a winter, is failing, if not quite fallen. It is all over in Astor Place. Severe libraries impend over that tuneful urove. Hopes and happy meet- ings. sweet throbs and flirtations, evanes- cent as the moon under which they budded and bloomed; romantic opera upon the stage, and the more romantic opera in the boxes, nor less tunefulthey are all over, so far as Astor Place is concerned. 0 Temporal 0 Musical Euterpe and Polyhymnia yield to Clio and the graver muses. Poor Terpsichore never had a chance there. But she flies also. Erato loved of levers, has gone out of the Eighth- street door, has returned to heaven, per- hapsa new Astnna,by way of Dr. Forbes spire! Opera houses change. and we with thorn. Have we any venerable ruins amen0 us? the romantic soul asks with a sigh. And finding none, the said soul is fain to seize upon the best goin0some old brewery released from beer, and its site consecrated to beneficence, or some Astor Place opera house, six years old, and already crumbling before increased per cents, edax rerum. It is not easy to behold, unmoved, the fall of pleasant places. Even where the asso- ciation is vague, it still consecrates the spot; and it appears more strongly in de- cline and decay. They are the tender heats that draw out the lines written upon the heart, so lightly we did not know they were there, until they revealed them- selves, indelible. There have been few opera houses of so brief a date as ours, yet, not in many have there been enjoy- ments more sincere or more affectiom tely remembered. It was a very small house. It was necessarily select; for the real lovers of Italian opera are not many, and as an imported luxury, it naturally fell to the sh e of the consumers of luxuries. It was a pretty house, with its crimson couches, and its small open boxes, and its hanging second tier, and the gold open- work of the galie~y. The arrangement was not inconvenient. The seats in the parquette were especially comfortable, and it was so small and social tb t every body could see his neighbor, as at a ball, and every last new mode from Paris, every bewitching caprice of head-dress, every delicate hand, ann, and airy coiffure b~ its fair chance of observation admira- tion, and envy. There,too, was seen the pretty pageant of fashion; there were be- held the dukes and duchcsse~, the mar- quisses and marchionesses, the many counts and countesses of New-York. Like mere men and women, they smiled be- nignly, and honored the Muses who de- ployed their servants for their pleasure. Thither could the dreaming democrat re- pair, and fortify his faith with the con- templation of these choice products of his country: thither the poet, and forget Ophelia, Perdita, and Desdemona. But not to press a badinage, (for was it not a play house?) there was, in truth, no pleasantor resort than the old opera house. ~f~0 speculation itself was amus- ing, indeed, to any one who had the slightest experience of opera houses. To suppose that, with the constant coremuni- cation between the old world and the new, the opera public of New-York would not be familiar with the quality of London and Paris open , and, being so familiar, to ima- gino that they would be content with any thing less, was charmin~ to a asivo ob- server. And further, to suppose that with- out government aid, and at comparatively small prices, the Astor Place house could possibly take enough money to pay ihe best talent. even if it wore nightly crowded. was an additional evidence that the battl is not to the strong, nor the race to the swift, nor sensible investment always to the shrewdest. hence resulted, of course, those melancholy efforts to pass gilt for gold. I-hence the apotheosis of mediocrity at Astor Place. Hence the long line of princesses whose feet would not fit the slipper of success for which Cinderella never c~ me. Hence the vanquishments. the struggles, the reductione, the changes, the unparalleled splendors, the asters ishing successes, the regardless of ex- pense, which always flicker as dead lights around the announcements of cx- pmninng enterprises. hence the final flat- tening out, the unstruggling decay and extinction of the undertaking. Ilene proof the I 4, that the secret of opera support in this country was not discover I in Astor Place. Three managers have reigned in Astor Place. Sanquinico and Patti opened tl~ doors in the season of 18478, and intro- duced an admiring public to Si0nor Truffi. The adminiub public was charmed, bat the managers were not comnuousated, so finally exemtut Messrs. Saucuirico a d

Music Music 112-115

112 Editorial NotesMusic. [July mens of the poetry of every race of On- ental~, including not only the cultivated Syrians undoes, Armenians, Arab ians, and Hebrews, hut also the Per- sians, Javanese, Kalmucks, Kurds, Malays and other sorts of savages. The selection is evidently made with taste and judg- ment, and as for the translations we may well rely upon the learning of the author. MUSIC. Not only are our singin~ birds flyin~ away, but their cage is destroyed. The pretty perch of the opera, in Astor Place, where so many pleasant singers lit for a se son, and cheered a winter, is failing, if not quite fallen. It is all over in Astor Place. Severe libraries impend over that tuneful urove. Hopes and happy meet- ings. sweet throbs and flirtations, evanes- cent as the moon under which they budded and bloomed; romantic opera upon the stage, and the more romantic opera in the boxes, nor less tunefulthey are all over, so far as Astor Place is concerned. 0 Temporal 0 Musical Euterpe and Polyhymnia yield to Clio and the graver muses. Poor Terpsichore never had a chance there. But she flies also. Erato loved of levers, has gone out of the Eighth- street door, has returned to heaven, per- hapsa new Astnna,by way of Dr. Forbes spire! Opera houses change. and we with thorn. Have we any venerable ruins amen0 us? the romantic soul asks with a sigh. And finding none, the said soul is fain to seize upon the best goin0some old brewery released from beer, and its site consecrated to beneficence, or some Astor Place opera house, six years old, and already crumbling before increased per cents, edax rerum. It is not easy to behold, unmoved, the fall of pleasant places. Even where the asso- ciation is vague, it still consecrates the spot; and it appears more strongly in de- cline and decay. They are the tender heats that draw out the lines written upon the heart, so lightly we did not know they were there, until they revealed them- selves, indelible. There have been few opera houses of so brief a date as ours, yet, not in many have there been enjoy- ments more sincere or more affectiom tely remembered. It was a very small house. It was necessarily select; for the real lovers of Italian opera are not many, and as an imported luxury, it naturally fell to the sh e of the consumers of luxuries. It was a pretty house, with its crimson couches, and its small open boxes, and its hanging second tier, and the gold open- work of the galie~y. The arrangement was not inconvenient. The seats in the parquette were especially comfortable, and it was so small and social tb t every body could see his neighbor, as at a ball, and every last new mode from Paris, every bewitching caprice of head-dress, every delicate hand, ann, and airy coiffure b~ its fair chance of observation admira- tion, and envy. There,too, was seen the pretty pageant of fashion; there were be- held the dukes and duchcsse~, the mar- quisses and marchionesses, the many counts and countesses of New-York. Like mere men and women, they smiled be- nignly, and honored the Muses who de- ployed their servants for their pleasure. Thither could the dreaming democrat re- pair, and fortify his faith with the con- templation of these choice products of his country: thither the poet, and forget Ophelia, Perdita, and Desdemona. But not to press a badinage, (for was it not a play house?) there was, in truth, no pleasantor resort than the old opera house. ~f~0 speculation itself was amus- ing, indeed, to any one who had the slightest experience of opera houses. To suppose that, with the constant coremuni- cation between the old world and the new, the opera public of New-York would not be familiar with the quality of London and Paris open , and, being so familiar, to ima- gino that they would be content with any thing less, was charmin~ to a asivo ob- server. And further, to suppose that with- out government aid, and at comparatively small prices, the Astor Place house could possibly take enough money to pay ihe best talent. even if it wore nightly crowded. was an additional evidence that the battl is not to the strong, nor the race to the swift, nor sensible investment always to the shrewdest. hence resulted, of course, those melancholy efforts to pass gilt for gold. I-hence the apotheosis of mediocrity at Astor Place. Hence the long line of princesses whose feet would not fit the slipper of success for which Cinderella never c~ me. Hence the vanquishments. the struggles, the reductione, the changes, the unparalleled splendors, the asters ishing successes, the regardless of ex- pense, which always flicker as dead lights around the announcements of cx- pmninng enterprises. hence the final flat- tening out, the unstruggling decay and extinction of the undertaking. Ilene proof the I 4, that the secret of opera support in this country was not discover I in Astor Place. Three managers have reigned in Astor Place. Sanquinico and Patti opened tl~ doors in the season of 18478, and intro- duced an admiring public to Si0nor Truffi. The adminiub public was charmed, bat the managers were not comnuousated, so finally exemtut Messrs. Saucuirico a d 1853.] Editorial AotesMew. 113 Patti. and Mr. Fry reigned in their stead. With his name and that of his brother is associated much of our best musical ex- perience. History records with delight the munificence of this reibn. Madame Laborde, a sine er of fame in Paris, and in the height of her fame, was allured to Astor Place by the enterprising manager. But his sway was brief. His throne crumbled beneath him, and after great losses, and a most heroic endeavor e it Manager Fry. Handsome Max Maretzek succeeded Mr. Fry. Through many a tryin~ change swept the valiant director, who had been prime minister in the pre- ceding reignhoping against hope, and tyin~ his cravat with unerring precision. There was a rumor that in the early days of his power (the regency of this gorgeous George of Astor Place), he actu- ally gave the town a new fashion of tie in neckeloths, and many a levelled lorgnette of beauty could not get over the conductor to feast upon the primo tenore. The Ma- retzek era, which was much the longest and most illustrious of all is illuminated by the names of Steffanon~, Bosio, Parodi, and Bertucca. Truffi also appeared at intervals, but only to prove the fickleness of the public heart, and to sigh, as Pico and Borghese had sighed in rememberin~ Palmos and Chambers-street, over thin houses and cold applause. Yet it is not to be doubted that the golden age of Astor Place was, as usual, in the begin- nin and that Truffi and Benedetti were more heartily admired than any of their successors. Benedetti, a young Italian, who knew little music, but whose voice was very tender, is the favorite figure of memory, and he is remembered with the more generosity. because an insidious cli- mate, or some other fell enemy of all his graces, robbed him of his voice and us of our pleasure. He made an effort to retrieve his fortunes, but Clio erases the record with a tear. It is not our purpose to follow in detail the flickering fortunes of the Astor Place house. That, in connection with copious reminiscences of the musical history of New-York, will be done soon and at length, in these pages. But we cannot forget to mention Salvi, the agreeable tenor, always much overrated; Bettini; Marini, the basso profondo; Beneventano, the burly baritone, always ready, willing, and happyalways enjoying the occa- sion of which he was an ornament more than any one else; and Signora Pattis II Segreto. Can the impartial muse omit Biscacciantis clock-work stockings in La Sonnambzda, or little Fortis bootecs, in every thing? or the first night of Parodis Norma,Parodi who had been voL. inS singing only second parts in London, a fact known to most of the habitu~s, yet who was expected to develop into a re- splendent prima donna by the magic of Astor Place? How sad was that failure! How the singer dwindled and dwindled in estimation! How good her Lucrezia was! How very bad every thing else! How she starred, one melancholy summer, through the interior towns; and slipped back to Europe no one knows precisely when nor how! To our own fancy Stef- fanone was much the best singer ever heard in that house. Indolent, luxurious Bacehic Steffanone, with the airy veil over her voice~ which, like delicate dra- pery around a statue, made it only the lovelier! Her Alice in Robert le Diable was the best thing we ever saw upon our operatic stage. It was so full, so simple, yet so appreciative and rich. Ilow sad it was, when she lay clinging to the cross and defying Mumbo-Jumbo Marini who disfigured or presented Bertram, to think that she was presently going to glide away into the mysterious wood and swig beer behind the scenes! o Temporal 0 St~fl~tnone! What stories the profane told of her. They even hinted snif! Then there was Bosio, frail and flower-like. She was the lady. She did every thing with an elegant naivet~ that was admirable when not out of place, which it was in Zerlina, one of her prettiest parts. It was a grace- ful, and gay, and charming thing to hear Bosio and to see her; and we young America loved the very front seats of the parquette that we might worship our divinity at ease, and show to our other and more domestic divinities in the boxes and balconies that we had all kinds of acquaintances and were surchar~ed with marvellous experiences. It was the way of the world. We could not help it. If Bosio glanced our way, why, perhaps she remembered that bouquet, that bonbon- niare. Que s~ais-je? Why shouldnt we have Ia bonne ]brtune? And so the little world of Astor Place rolled on: in the boxes flirtation, on the stage indifferent singing and tremendous feuds, in the treasury a doleful raven sit- ting over the door, and the funds flit- ting, flitting, evermore. The lively au- dience luxurious upon crimson velvet, lost their hearts; the actors their tempers, and the managers their money. Opera night took its place in the calendar of Fashion. Balls were stayed and post- poned. Rendezvous were given in the immemorial theatre of rendezvousthe opera-box. Reminiscences of foreign life glittered through the evenings talk. No wight fresh from San Carlo, or La Scala~ 114 Editorial NotesMusic. [July or the Grand Opera, or her Majestys, dared to breathe dissent. He was puffed up, conceited, silly: it was a pity he is spoiled, if he failed to surren- der to the Goddess of the Astor Place hour~ to those stockings. to that bodice, to the bootees,while the figure of Grisi stood imperial in his memory, and Tam- burini, Mario, Lablache, and Ronconi surrounded her. They were right, those fair tyrants of the hour and true wisdom was submission. It could not last. Irresistible steam was instructing us, every week, and when Jenny Lind came, the rainbow bubble exploded. When we had once familiarly heard a great singer in her prime, it was all over with the lesser birds. Astor Place drooped in the two last seasons. The splendor of the Lind career had daz- zled and withered it. One evening of Jenny at Tripler Hall and the next of Parodi at the opera house! Human na- ture is elastic. But there is a point! John, said the epicure to his servant if you cant get cake, get smelts! Alas! why are we not all of the epicurean mind? why could we not turn from our cake to our smelts? from the Hesperidian fruit to our bitter-sweetinbs? It was not the least success of that great artists visit to this country, that she corrected our standard.. Alboni has just left us; not, we fear, in a mood more friendly than that of Dickens when he went home. This could not have been six years ago. Fancy the audience that hung charmed upon Truffi (who was, we allow, a charming singer), suffering such an opera as Alboni recently gave us, to pass un- supported by enthusiasm, as that opera undoubtedly did pass! It is inconceiva- ble. And yet much ~f the reason may be found, we are convinced, in the wider experience we now have, an experience which embraces Jenny Lind and her bril- liant career. Our musical history records no event so memorable, and, memo for this, that it settles our eperatic future. We shall not submit to ~ny thing but the best: and, more than that, we shall claim to have our stamp of fame pass current. Why should not New-York make musical fames as well as London and Paris? In the nature of things it must do so because we shall, every year, be more ready and willing to pay the highest possible sums that singers may demand. The apprecia- tion of whatever is genuine in art seems to us not at all wanting in this metropolis. There is much less knowledge of the con- ventional, and of the scientific. But the experience of a few years sufficiently demonstrates that excellence is recognized here, and is labelled at its value. Con- sider Sontags career, for instance. How just is the verdict of our public upon her! She is recognized as an elegant and ac- complished countess, and a very careful, conscientious, and elaborately cultivated singer, but without that power of genius which alone secures the bi~,hest success. So, too, with Alboni, whose voice, alone, however beautiful could not lead the cities captive after curiosity was satisfied. In fact the intelligent American opinion of these two sin~ers is quite as just and discriminating as that of any foreign country. Nor should it be forgotten that, although Alboni was so unwise as to trust herself to inadequate support she individually sang as well and acted very much better than she has ever found it necessary to do in Europe. The truth is, that, accustomed as we are to actuality, our habit of mind is more adapted to sep- arate what is genuinely, from what is factitiously, excellent in art. We are not seduced by terms and traditions. We are truer than foreigners to the instinct of art which asserts that there can be no life without soul and that a bright ma- chine, however cunningly devised and moved, is not the equal of a living form, however rude. A Frenchman, for instance, would critically lean toward the Magda- len en grande tenue, rather than to the Madonna sans chic. Paris is the cap- ital of show, the emporium of expression of all kinds, from the language of the di- plomat down to the shoe of a grisette. It loves the appearance, but the essence may go hang. And this principle pervades the French mind in every department, to that degree, that an artistic success in Paris, of whatever kind, is no evidence that there is any genius in the matter. But we intended a chapter of regretful reminiscence, not of philosophyand have wandered far from the doors of our tem- ple. Yet very lately we passed them, and stopping to consider a bill posted upon the wall, found, not the announcement of another brilliant triumph, but of an auction. The red flag of dispersion hung, it did not wave, from a window. Its scant, mean proportions, and its drooping state, are too true a symbol of the Fate that had entered and occupied the house. The manager Maretzek had abdicated, and flown to tie his cravat in a sunnier clime. His kingdom was left desolate. No heir succeeded, but the auctioneer stepped in, and sat upon his throne, as the Goths sat down in the Forum. There were a few miserable effects exposed for sale in the bewildered daylight that haunted the building; some chairs, sofas, and cushions, lamus. railings, the very debris of departed 1853.] Editorial NotesFine Arts. 115 luxury. The curtain was half drawn up, a Ilight of temporary steps was con- structed from the parquette to the stage. A few solemn spectres sat where kings and queens, and the mighty of the earth had trod their little hour,the spectres seemed not to remember their grandeurs. Four, said one Five said another, and seats, whose memories, could they be written, publishers would swarm to secure, were knocked off (meet fate for opera- seats!) for a song. We saw a huge mass of rough boards and pierced canvas leaniun anainst the wall at the back of the stage. We approached and read (for thou canst read )Palazzo Borgia! leaning up against the wall for very shame and sorrow; povero Palazzo IJorgia! We passed afterward and saw other sights. How often have you, intelligent reader who are a close student and sly observer of manners, stood in the not spacious passage, and watched the clouds of beauty as they floated down the stairs in soft splendors of opera-cloaks, and sighed, as they faded into night, through the door. Yet there were carriages there, an eager press of wheels, a throng of admir- ing non-opera-goers, who marked the un- imaginable flounces and the magnificence of the nobility. Happy carriages! you cried to yourself; could I be but one of your cushions! In the place of those flashing equipages, those omnivorous omnibuses (or omnibi, as the intelligent critic chooses), we saw a single wagon of the kind called, shack- ly, and a horse whose fortunes had manifestly long since shared those of the opera house, and were utterly decayed. This melancholy pageant bore away a little miscellaneous lumber, not comely to view. And so in a shackly wagon, by a lean and spavined horse, was drawn away the last relic of that long festival of pleasure which reigned at Astor Place. For, however fine and spacious the new opera-house may be, whatever triumphs may grace its stage and whatever beauty its boxes~ the little building now gone is the seat of a hundred soft and sweet asso- ciations, which, every year growing by dis- tance fairer, can never be supplanted by a later experience. To Astor Place many a belle, still beautiful~ will recur~ when she is beautiful no longer, and recall the whispered nothings that are immortal in a memory, whence so many more recent and more real~ speeches will have faded for ever. The little groups of grace and loveliness that overflowed those little boxes with sunny merriment, and divided with the triumphant singer on the stage, the delight of many who could only look from beyond, like peasants upon a royal festival, are scattered from that place for ever, now, like the rose-leaves of the last summer in the garden. The last note is sung, the last light extinguished, the cur- tainis dropped, and the house dropping. No more Edrardos are to die swan-deaths, tunefully; no more Normas to wave their silver sickles and reap wide harvests of ap- plause; no more five act operas of Mey- erbeer are to enchant us,Mcyerbeer, who was the favorite of those radiant boxes, because of the very five acts that gave four oases of conversation in the long tract of music. The belles of Astor Place will rise in other forms in the new house. Thank Heaven! the belle never dies, and there is always a boxful of grace and beauty. But how much con- versation of the new house will be remi- niscence of the old. How many lustrous eyes will behold in the new sphere, the entrance of quiet family men, who no longer circulate between the acts, and who are remembered as the Adonises, the Chevalier Bayards, the Sir Philip Sidneys and Sir Walter Raleighs of Astor Place. Those lustrous eyes will moisten as they remember. Who would not have been a nobleman in Astor Place, to have shaded with sweet mist those eyes! Yet,tender eyes! Bayard and Sir Philip also, do not recall in their days that apparition of a quiet family man at your side, nor that plain gold ring upon the third finger! Opera houses mutantur et nos in illis! The impatient reader naturally chafes at our sentimental reveries. Is it then so strange that they date from a theatre? No, no! let us have our epilogue in our own way. In the twilight the half-open windows gaping upon Eighth-street are ghastly. It is easy to see more in the old shell than rafters and plaster, and to hear even sadder music in its desolation than the dying bravura of an opera. Ejinito, Don Pasquale. Exeunt omnes! All tile worlds a sta~e, And all the men and women merely players. FINE ARTS. All fine art productions, just now, tend towards the Crystal Palace in Reservoir Square; but one great work, that should have been sent there has been arrested on its passage to Greenwood Cemetery, and. by the gracious permission of our Com- mon Council, has been stared at in front of the City Ilall the past month, by small knots of idlers, who have been rather puz- zled to know what to make of it. But we fear that Mr. Browne will not gain much popular reputation by his colossal statue of De Witt Clinton. A taste for olive-colored statuary must be acquired,

The Fine Arts The Fine Arts 115-117

1853.] Editorial NotesFine Arts. 115 luxury. The curtain was half drawn up, a Ilight of temporary steps was con- structed from the parquette to the stage. A few solemn spectres sat where kings and queens, and the mighty of the earth had trod their little hour,the spectres seemed not to remember their grandeurs. Four, said one Five said another, and seats, whose memories, could they be written, publishers would swarm to secure, were knocked off (meet fate for opera- seats!) for a song. We saw a huge mass of rough boards and pierced canvas leaniun anainst the wall at the back of the stage. We approached and read (for thou canst read )Palazzo Borgia! leaning up against the wall for very shame and sorrow; povero Palazzo IJorgia! We passed afterward and saw other sights. How often have you, intelligent reader who are a close student and sly observer of manners, stood in the not spacious passage, and watched the clouds of beauty as they floated down the stairs in soft splendors of opera-cloaks, and sighed, as they faded into night, through the door. Yet there were carriages there, an eager press of wheels, a throng of admir- ing non-opera-goers, who marked the un- imaginable flounces and the magnificence of the nobility. Happy carriages! you cried to yourself; could I be but one of your cushions! In the place of those flashing equipages, those omnivorous omnibuses (or omnibi, as the intelligent critic chooses), we saw a single wagon of the kind called, shack- ly, and a horse whose fortunes had manifestly long since shared those of the opera house, and were utterly decayed. This melancholy pageant bore away a little miscellaneous lumber, not comely to view. And so in a shackly wagon, by a lean and spavined horse, was drawn away the last relic of that long festival of pleasure which reigned at Astor Place. For, however fine and spacious the new opera-house may be, whatever triumphs may grace its stage and whatever beauty its boxes~ the little building now gone is the seat of a hundred soft and sweet asso- ciations, which, every year growing by dis- tance fairer, can never be supplanted by a later experience. To Astor Place many a belle, still beautiful~ will recur~ when she is beautiful no longer, and recall the whispered nothings that are immortal in a memory, whence so many more recent and more real~ speeches will have faded for ever. The little groups of grace and loveliness that overflowed those little boxes with sunny merriment, and divided with the triumphant singer on the stage, the delight of many who could only look from beyond, like peasants upon a royal festival, are scattered from that place for ever, now, like the rose-leaves of the last summer in the garden. The last note is sung, the last light extinguished, the cur- tainis dropped, and the house dropping. No more Edrardos are to die swan-deaths, tunefully; no more Normas to wave their silver sickles and reap wide harvests of ap- plause; no more five act operas of Mey- erbeer are to enchant us,Mcyerbeer, who was the favorite of those radiant boxes, because of the very five acts that gave four oases of conversation in the long tract of music. The belles of Astor Place will rise in other forms in the new house. Thank Heaven! the belle never dies, and there is always a boxful of grace and beauty. But how much con- versation of the new house will be remi- niscence of the old. How many lustrous eyes will behold in the new sphere, the entrance of quiet family men, who no longer circulate between the acts, and who are remembered as the Adonises, the Chevalier Bayards, the Sir Philip Sidneys and Sir Walter Raleighs of Astor Place. Those lustrous eyes will moisten as they remember. Who would not have been a nobleman in Astor Place, to have shaded with sweet mist those eyes! Yet,tender eyes! Bayard and Sir Philip also, do not recall in their days that apparition of a quiet family man at your side, nor that plain gold ring upon the third finger! Opera houses mutantur et nos in illis! The impatient reader naturally chafes at our sentimental reveries. Is it then so strange that they date from a theatre? No, no! let us have our epilogue in our own way. In the twilight the half-open windows gaping upon Eighth-street are ghastly. It is easy to see more in the old shell than rafters and plaster, and to hear even sadder music in its desolation than the dying bravura of an opera. Ejinito, Don Pasquale. Exeunt omnes! All tile worlds a sta~e, And all the men and women merely players. FINE ARTS. All fine art productions, just now, tend towards the Crystal Palace in Reservoir Square; but one great work, that should have been sent there has been arrested on its passage to Greenwood Cemetery, and. by the gracious permission of our Com- mon Council, has been stared at in front of the City Ilall the past month, by small knots of idlers, who have been rather puz- zled to know what to make of it. But we fear that Mr. Browne will not gain much popular reputation by his colossal statue of De Witt Clinton. A taste for olive-colored statuary must be acquired, 116 like the taste for olives, and our popula- tion have not been accustomed to the sight of bronze images ten feet high. placed on tall pedestals in our public high- ways. They naturally ask, as they stare, what it all means. The statue of De Witt Clinton was executed by Mr. Browne, for an association of gentlemen, at a cost, as we have understood, of fifteen thousand dollars; and it is to be placed over the grave of the illustrious statesman in Greenwood Cemetery. So that it can hardly be regarded as a public monument, in honor of a great man. As a work of art, it has neither striking merits, nor glaring defects; but it has been very sharply criticized, and the unhappy artist has been blamed for not making it more in conformity with his critics standard of excellence. But, considerin~ the difficulties which the artist had to contend with, the want of sympathy on the part of those for whom he worked and the immoderate expectations of the inexperienced, who ex- pect to be struck dumb with astonishment by a great work, we think he has been successful. lie had good portraits and good busts to aid him in giving the like- ness of a man whose features are almost as familiar to our public as those of Wash- ington, and the modern cloak gave him opportunities for draping the figure, which he has tolerably well improved. But the great difficulty he had to encounter, and which no skill, invention, or genius could overcome was in the thing itself. A co- lossal statue is a monstrosity, which no artist of true instincts would ever attempt to model, except as a subordinate decora- tion to a greater structure. Placing a statue ten feet high on a pedestal of eight, is not, to be sure, quite equal in absurdity to placing a statue on a column one hun- dred and twenty feet high, like that of Washington in Baltimore, or that of Na- poleon in the Place Vend6me, or of Nel- son in Trafalgar Square. The Greeks, whose instincts in art are still the wonder of the world, were never guilty of such absurdities. The highest honor they could bestow upon a hero was to give him a life-size statue. And what could tran- scend that ? Or what could be so grate- ful to a people as a faithful representation of their benefactor. There is no man for whose memory the people of New-York cherish more grateful feelings than De Witt Clinton, and a statue which should present him as he walked among us, when he was devoting his mighty talents to the public good, would be hailed with delight by those who are reapin~ the rich harvest of his beneficent genius. But it is impos- sible for the popular heart to throb grate- [July fully t the sight of a bronze figure ten fcet high, placed above their heads, so that they can only see the foreshortening of the calves of his legs, as they look up at it, unless they stand so far off that his features lose their familiar distinctness in the distance. But our soil is not favorable to the growth of statuary and monuments. We have other and better methods of honoring our great men, than by erecting bronze statues, or marble monuments to their memory. We name towns, cities, moun- tains, rivers, colleges and ships after them; we embalm their memories in poems and orations, and make honorable mention of them in histories. So there is no need of setting up effigies of them in our high- ways, or of inscribing their great deeds on obclisks or columns. The repeated at- tempts that have been made to erect monu- ments to Washington, and others of our public benefactors, and which have all ended in nothing, show that the popular instincts revolt at such devices. More than thirty years ago an association was formed in this city, for the purpose of erecting a monument to the memory of Washington, and evcry means devised to interest the people in the undertaking; but still the monument remains unbuilt. Some eight years ago an association was formed, comprising some of our wealthiest men, with William B. Astor at their head, whose object was a monument in honor of Henry Clay. But Mr. Clays sole monument is the memory of his public services. Our great city is full of the evidences of public spirit, of prosperity and wealth but it contains not a single statue or monument of any kind, erected by the people in honor of a public bene- factor. There are a few marble busts in the City Hall, of eminent practitioners of our bar, which are only seen by those whose business, or misfortunes, call them to the court rooms of that building; there is the remnant of a headless marble statue of the elder Pitt, standing on the corner of Franklin-street and West Broadway, the only remnant left in the city, by the way, of ante-revolutionary times; and these are all we have to exhibit or boast of in the shape of monumental statuary. There was once a marble statue of Alexander hamilton, which stood in the old Mer- chants Exchan~e. But that was destroyed in the great fire. There is to be, we believe, an equestrian statue of Washing- ton, placed in Union Square, which would have been the joint production of Green- ough and II. K. Browne, if the former artist had lived. Our wealth in marbles and bronzes is soon-told. There was to Editorial NotesFine Arts. 1853.1 Letter from V. Le Ray de C~haumont. 117 be a statue of Cooper the novelistat least there was an association formed for that object, but we have not recently heard any thing of it, and we imagine it has gone the way of all New-York monuments. To lie in cold abstraction, and be forgotten. The most effectual method of putting an end to monumental enterprises appears to be to intrust them to an association of wealthy nentlemen. It is only three years since Sir Robert Peel was killed, and already we have read accounts in English periodicals of the inauguration of at least a dozen statues and monuments to his memory, in different towns of Great Britain. It was only a week or two since that the legislature of Massachusetts re- fused, by a considerable majority, to vote an appropriation for a monument in honor of Daniel Webster. No American hero could say with Nelson, Westminster Abbey or a peerage, for those are not the kind of rewards which we pay off our obli~ations to public men with. They must be content to have a town called after theni. THE FINE AnTs ix THE CRYSTAL PALACE.NOt the least interesting, or valuable, of the works contributed to our New-York Exhibition of the Industry of all Nations, which, by way of shortness is called the Crystal Palace will be the works of Genius which come under the head of Fine Arts. Among the sculptures and statuary which have been reccived, are the original Ganymede of Thorwald- sen, and casts from that great artists celebrated colossal group of Christ and the twelve apostles wrhich were modelled for the Church in Copenhagen; the famous bronze Amazon, by Kiss; Montis Veiled Statue, which excited so much attention in the London Exhibition; the Baron Marochettis Washington; about one hun- dred groups and statues from Tuscany and Sardinia. Among the works of our own sculptors are the Eve, the Fisher Boy, the Proserpine and the Greek Slave, by Powers, the largest number of his works that have been exhibited to~ether. Among the pictures, are some of great historic interest, including, we understand, Winterhalters picture of the Queen, Prince Albert, the infant Prince Arthur, and the Duke of Wellington, which has been sent by Queen Victoria. The school of Dusseldorff sends a large number of paintings, nearly seventy, among which is a very large canvas, by Ilassenclever, called the Working-Mens Petition in which the figures are all of life size. The same artist, who stands at the head of his school, also sends another paintin~, called The Watchman. LETTER FROM V. LE RAY DR CIJAUMONT. [THE following letter from M. V. Le Ray de Chaurnont was accidentally omitted ia our last number. We publish it cheerfully, as an act of justice to the memory of the writers father, respecting whom we have abundant similar testimony from other sources, all tending to show the high character of that gentleman for integrity, intelligence, and large-minded philanthropy. The allusion to him by the Rev. Mr. hanson, in his coin- munication on the Bourbon Problem, was, as he informs us, founded on information which he now l)resunles to be erroneous, especially in respect to the principal point ob- jected to by his son, and he is therefore anxious that the correction should be properly made. The reference to M. Le Ray (whose life, of itselg is of historic interest), was merely an hypothesis, having no necessary bearing on the main theory of Mr. Hansons letter, the chief object of which was to state what had been communicated to him as fact, for the purpose of eliciting further information on the very curious question at issue. Mr. Hanson also informs us that his belief in the truth of the theory which he has published remains unchanged; that it is much strengthened by the additional evidence obtained in New Orleans and elsewhere, which, with further investigations in regard to certain affidavits, & c., he proposes shortly to publish in a collected form; and he pre- sumes that his silence in regard to certain uneourteous and unjust newspaper paragraphs,

Letter from V. Le Ray de Chaumont 117-120

1853.1 Letter from V. Le Ray de C~haumont. 117 be a statue of Cooper the novelistat least there was an association formed for that object, but we have not recently heard any thing of it, and we imagine it has gone the way of all New-York monuments. To lie in cold abstraction, and be forgotten. The most effectual method of putting an end to monumental enterprises appears to be to intrust them to an association of wealthy nentlemen. It is only three years since Sir Robert Peel was killed, and already we have read accounts in English periodicals of the inauguration of at least a dozen statues and monuments to his memory, in different towns of Great Britain. It was only a week or two since that the legislature of Massachusetts re- fused, by a considerable majority, to vote an appropriation for a monument in honor of Daniel Webster. No American hero could say with Nelson, Westminster Abbey or a peerage, for those are not the kind of rewards which we pay off our obli~ations to public men with. They must be content to have a town called after theni. THE FINE AnTs ix THE CRYSTAL PALACE.NOt the least interesting, or valuable, of the works contributed to our New-York Exhibition of the Industry of all Nations, which, by way of shortness is called the Crystal Palace will be the works of Genius which come under the head of Fine Arts. Among the sculptures and statuary which have been reccived, are the original Ganymede of Thorwald- sen, and casts from that great artists celebrated colossal group of Christ and the twelve apostles wrhich were modelled for the Church in Copenhagen; the famous bronze Amazon, by Kiss; Montis Veiled Statue, which excited so much attention in the London Exhibition; the Baron Marochettis Washington; about one hun- dred groups and statues from Tuscany and Sardinia. Among the works of our own sculptors are the Eve, the Fisher Boy, the Proserpine and the Greek Slave, by Powers, the largest number of his works that have been exhibited to~ether. Among the pictures, are some of great historic interest, including, we understand, Winterhalters picture of the Queen, Prince Albert, the infant Prince Arthur, and the Duke of Wellington, which has been sent by Queen Victoria. The school of Dusseldorff sends a large number of paintings, nearly seventy, among which is a very large canvas, by Ilassenclever, called the Working-Mens Petition in which the figures are all of life size. The same artist, who stands at the head of his school, also sends another paintin~, called The Watchman. LETTER FROM V. LE RAY DR CIJAUMONT. [THE following letter from M. V. Le Ray de Chaurnont was accidentally omitted ia our last number. We publish it cheerfully, as an act of justice to the memory of the writers father, respecting whom we have abundant similar testimony from other sources, all tending to show the high character of that gentleman for integrity, intelligence, and large-minded philanthropy. The allusion to him by the Rev. Mr. hanson, in his coin- munication on the Bourbon Problem, was, as he informs us, founded on information which he now l)resunles to be erroneous, especially in respect to the principal point ob- jected to by his son, and he is therefore anxious that the correction should be properly made. The reference to M. Le Ray (whose life, of itselg is of historic interest), was merely an hypothesis, having no necessary bearing on the main theory of Mr. Hansons letter, the chief object of which was to state what had been communicated to him as fact, for the purpose of eliciting further information on the very curious question at issue. Mr. Hanson also informs us that his belief in the truth of the theory which he has published remains unchanged; that it is much strengthened by the additional evidence obtained in New Orleans and elsewhere, which, with further investigations in regard to certain affidavits, & c., he proposes shortly to publish in a collected form; and he pre- sumes that his silence in regard to certain uneourteous and unjust newspaper paragraphs, 118 Letter from V Le Ray de Uhaumont. [July will not be misinterpreted by any fair-minded and intelligent person who has taken aa interest in this very curious problem. It is proper that we should, in this connection, acknowledge the receipt of a long com- munication from Montreal, taking a view of the matter entirely opposite to that of Mr. Hanson, and giving affidavits from the reputed mother of Mr. Williams, and two old Indians at Canghnawaga, to the effect that the Indian, Mrs. Williams, and not Marie Antoinette, was the mother of Rev. Eleazer Williams. Tue first of these affidavits has already been published in the papers; its value will be better tested when the facts con- nected with it shall be made known. It is to be presumed that the object of the investi- gators on either side is simply to show the truth in regard to a theory which has excited such an unusual and unexpected amount of public curiosity.Eniroa.] PARIs, April 1st, 18~3. find in your number for February, in an article entitled, Have we a Bourbon several assertions respecting my father, almost all of which are incorrect, and one calumnious. It is on account of this last only that I trouble you with the present communication, for the others, in themselves, would not be worth noticing. Besides, by a strange coincidence, several of those facts have a bearing upon the subject only by their very incorrectness. I may resume, and answer them as follows I. My father went to America in P794, 5, or 6, (95 is the year of Louis XYII.s death.) Answer. He first went to America in P785, and was in France from 11790 to 1802. II. lie settled at Posse, St. Lawrence Co., (in the vicinity of the place where MrAVil- hams was reared.) Assi. He never settled, lived, or resided in any place in St. Lawrence County. III. lIe returned to France in 1832, at the accession of Louis Philippe. A as. He finally returned to France in 32; but that was two years after the accession of Lonis Philippe. IV. He had much to do with the Indians. Ans. He never had any thing to do with the Indians. V. He mixed himself up a great deal with polities. Ans. lie never mixed iii politics. The most respectable inca of the times in New-York knew it, and all Jefferson County can testify to it. He never voted. VI. He was accused of plotting with the Indians against the Government of the United States. Ans. This is the calumny to which I alluded above, and which is already answered, since he had no dealings of any kind with the Indians. But, to be more explicit, and although I ought to spurn such an accusation, I say lie never plotted against the U. S., as I hope to prove hereafter, so far as a negative can be proved; and moreover, I will not, of course, assert that lie never was accused of it, since a clergyman has taken it up on himself to affirm it, but I say that I ace perfectly satisfied he never was. The strange mis- takes which the writer to whom I answer makes, not only with regard to my father, but to public events, explains bow he should have fallen into so gross an error. \TII. He knew, according to Genets testimony, of the Dauphin being in Western New- York. Ans. The same courtesy leads me not to contradict the statements of Mr. Genet (who is here called French minister in 1818), but I will say this :lst. My father had too many opportunities of knowing the truth, and had too much judgment to believe in the exist- ence of Louis XVII. 2d. If he had had even the slightest idea of thieve being a plausible pretender in America, he would have mentioned it to mc, his most intimate confidant since 1807, when we went together to the U. Sto me who was associated with all his labors, all his pains, all his joys, even when we seere separated~ for then we corresponded daily, by means of a diary. VIIL He was, from every thing which the writer can ascertain of 1dm, the very- man 1853.] Letter from V. Le Ray de Chaumont. 119 to be mixed up in an affair of this kind, and there is every probability that, on his return to France, he communicated with Louis Philippe. Ans. He never had any communication with Louis Philippe, direct or indirect, verbal or written. He never went to the Tuileries while Louis Philippe was there. As to whae man my father was, the sequel will show. IX. In 1817, Real and Regnault de St. Jean dAugely were in America together, and in conference with Le Ray do Chaumont, and there is every reason to suspect, from the peculiarities of the onse, that their visit to this country had some reference to the Dauphin. Ans. The visit of these persons to America was an exile, as every body knows. My father and Regnault exchanged, in New-York, two or three visits of politeness. Count Real bought lands of my father, settled in our neighborhood, and we had frequent and very interesting intercourse with him; but I never heard the slightest mention of Louis XVIL made by him, and I can say of him what I said above of my father, respecting his belief in the existence of that unfortunate Prince. X. He (daring his residence in St. Lawrence Go.) spoke to Mr. Williams about M. Ferrier, who had married an Indian woman, and said that they both believed the Dauphin to be living in America. Ans. My father spoke to me of M. Ferrier, on account of his having married a squaw, and of his living with her on Oneida Lake, which lay near our road to New-York. This is the first hint I have that the poor gentleman had such a weighty secret upon his mind and important trust confided to him. I will add one word to the writer of the article. If ho had had the opportunity, and had taken the pains, of inquiring of almost any of the sons of the most respectable people in Philadelphia and New-York (and other parts), in the first half of this century (for the fathers are almost all gone), he would have spoken differently of my father. And if lie had known that he was the friend of Benj. Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Robert Morris, Alex. Hamilton, John Q. Adams, Gouv. Morris, James Kent, Chancellor Livingston, hyde do Neuville, General Scott, General Brown, & c., he would have paused before saying lie was accused of being a traitor. There is one man whose testimony, among all others, will, I presume, be most valuable to the reverend writer, and who may tell him something about my father, and that is the man whom I have been happy to see promoted to the head of the Episcopal Church in New-York. Now, sir, so far I may have some claim upon your justice to insert my letter. What follows is not so necessary to my answers; but it confirms it in its main point, and I hope it will have the merit of being interesting to your renders. Few of them lenow that my grandfather was the earliest friend of America in France, and those to whom we have mentioned it have shown such kind feelings on the subject, that I have no doubt the fol- lowing brief statement will be acceptable My grandfather had occupied important offices in France, had frequent intercourse with the Court of Louis XVI., had personal relations with the king and his brother. He was possessor of a large fortune. his friend and neighbor, the Due do Chsuiscul, being about forming a ministry, offered him a seat in the cabinet, as Minister of Finances. But his attention and sympathies were then turned toward America. lie resolved to live a private individual, in order to assist the American Commissioners, who could not yet be officially received, and be an intermediary between them and the government. He had an hotel at Passy, near Paris, at the end of a park, and at the other end a house, which he lent to the Commissioners. There were written Dr. Franklins letters, dated Passy. This eminent man became intimate in the family, and gave the first lessons of English to my father. My grandfather, not content with the part lie was acting, sent large supplies to America; at one time a shipload of powder to Boston, directing his agent, Mr. Holker, the French Consul-General, to claim no payment unless the Americans were successful; at another time clothing Lafayettes army, & o. & c. lIe continued to be an intermediary between the French Government and the American Commissioners in all difficult occa- sions, and even when others offered, when it was necessary for him to act personally, lie devoted to the American cause his fortune and his name. It is thus that lie directed, Letter from V. Le Ray de Chaurncmt. 120 [July alone, the armament and operations of five vessels of war, which, under Paul Jones, were destined to important operations against the English; which adverse winds alone pre- vented from being successful. France furnished the funds, America the men and the flag. A person enjoying the fullest confidence of both governments was necessary, to whom unlimited powers could be given. My grandfather was chose i, and acquitted himself of that very delicate trust with his usual ability, and to the satis~action of both govern- ments. Captain Jones, alone, made some complaint, at one time, which he afterwards recalled. The accounts of the large advances thus made could not be settled by Mr. IJolkcr, because of the different currencies of the Provinces, the depreciation of the paper, & c. and, in 1785, my father, then 25 years of age, was sent to arrange affairs. He was him- self detained by those difficulties till 1790, when he returned to France. During that time, Count de La Forest, Consul-General of France, and Gouverneur Morris, advised his making purchases of wild lands, in the State of New-York, and the latter particularly joined largely with him in those purchases. This was the origin of his affairs in America, and the cause of his journeys and sojourn there. He had found, in P790, his father in the most painful situation, for want of the American accounts, which were necessary to set- tle those he had with the French Government; and the final result of all those events was the loss of his large fortune, saving an acknowledged debt of the Revolutionary Government, which was of no avail to him. in February, 1794, my father was commissioned by Gouverneur Morris, then American Minister in Fiance, to go and negotiate a treaty of peace and commei-ce with the Dey of Algiers; but the events of the Revolution prevented him from going further than Switzerland. He was obliged to return to Paris, to save his father, who was in prison, and threatened with the guillotine, as an emigr6, though he had never quitted his chateau of Chaumont. My father made a visit to America from 1802 to 1804; but it was only in 1807 that he went there to settle. lie built a plain frame house in the town of Le Roy, county of Jefferson, the only dwelling he ever owned in America. From that time he de- voted himself to the settlement of his lands and to the improvement of agriculture. lie founded the Jefferson County Agricultural Society, the second established in the State, and was the active and zealous president of it. lie became, afterwards, President of the State Agricultural Society; and, even after his return to France, he never lost sight of, and contributed, as far as in his power, to the welfare of his adopted country. Those services, his enlarged views, his upright and liberal treatment of his numerous settlers, his extensive improvements in roads, mills, factories, & c., raised him to the rank of a public benefactor. I am, respectfully, sir, your obedient servant, V. LE RAY DE CHAUMONT. Editor of Putnams Monthly, New-York. Copy of a Letter frees the lion. Air. Aires, Minister to France, to V. Le Ray de Chaumont dated Paris, 28th March, 1853. Mv DEAR Sia I have read, with great pleasure, your excellent and most conclusive reply to the article in Putnams Magazine. I avail myself of the opportunity to return you the exceedingly interesting P~l)OP5 you were kind enough to communicate to me, many months ago, relative ho your illustrious grandfather and the great times in which he lived. I have read them all with the deepest interest, and with a profound and grateful sense of the important and noble services your honored ancestor rendered to the cause of American Independence in the feebleness of its infancy and its time of greatest need and peril. Accept, I pray you, my dear sir, the assurances of my cordial esteem and coasideration. (Signed,) W. C. RIVES.

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Putnam's monthly magazine of American literature, science and art. / Volume 2, Issue 8 Emerson's magazine and Putnam's monthly G.P. Putnam & co. New York August 1853 0002 008
Crystal Palace 121-130

PUTNAMS MONTHLY. ~ 1~ga~i~~~ iif ~itc~txrre, ~vi~i cc, a~a~ ~rt. VOL. 11.AUGUST 1853.NO. VIII. OUR CRYSTAL PALACE. (~ NE of the most fruitful days that we U passed in London, not long since, was a day of remarkable contrasts. The morn- ing we spent amid the memorials of Westminster Abbey, and the afternoon in the aisles of the crystal Palace. Thus, the past and the present, in two of their most significant emblems, were before us, and we have no desire ever to forget, though we may never be able to describe the trains of thought which they sug- gested. Westminster Abbey was black with the stains of time: its pavements were worn with many footfalls: the dust of ages covered its heavy walls, and lay thick upon the roofs; and it rose amid the green trees and the garish modern build- in~s like some huge spectre of a former day, sullen and gloomy with the remem- brance of glories that had passed away. In the interior, the tombs of poets, war- riors and statesmen filled the melancholy chapels; the banners of a perished nobility, once the pride of England, hung waveless in the air; and our thoughts, as we walked among them, were dark, solemn, and sorrowful. The generations of a thousand years had come and gone since its foundations were laid; it had seen the vast and innumerable changes of English civilization,its battles, its successes, its agonies, its intrigues, its toil, its splendors, its woes,and now, of all the busy workers in those scenes only the marble effigies, or the dust of their coffins, remained. A wei,,ht of melancholy fell from the heart, therefore, when the musing visitor retraced his steps to the fresh and open air. But the Crystal Palace, to which a few minutes walk brought uslight, graceful and transparent, seemed rather like an exhalation of the dawn, than a build- ing made with hands. It looked not at VOL. ii.9 first as of the earth, earthybut as or the air, etherealonly separated from it by the thinnest film of materialityand yet, on a closer view, it was found sub- stantial, vast, and endurable. Buoyant as a bubble in its appearance it needed only to be touched, to awaken the pro- foundest convictions of its reality and strength. Those firm iron pillars, and those compact and riveted joints, binding and supporting its immeasurable faGades of glass, were the marriage of power with heauty, and more than any other structure that ~we ever saw, impressed us with a sense of mans infinite ingenuity. It is easy to understand how the massive stone cathedrals of the old world have been laboriously reared by the toils of many generations of people, but there was some- thing that struck one as miraculous, in the mighty palace of glass,as if the fairies and the giants had combined to surpass the greatest work of man and to present him an edifice which should be as delicate as 4he web of the spider, when morning hangs it with dew, and yet as massive as the caves whore the Cyclops forged the bolts of Zeus. The Crystal Palace was the first origi- nal piece of architecture in modern times. It was new alike in its materials, and in its mode and style of construction, as well as in the purpose for which it was de- signed. The accomplished architect who revealed it to the world did not borrow his idea from the tombs of Egypt, nor the palaces of Assyria, nor the temples of Greece, nor the amphitheatres of Rome, nor the mosques of Constantinople, nor the pagodas of China nor the cathedrals of Germany. It was not fashioned ac- cording to any of the recognized orders of classic art: it did not. like the wretched imitators, who designed the new houses of 2 Our Crystal Palace. [August Parliament and the Smithsonian Institute, seek to appropriate a structure of the fifteenth century to the uses of the nine- teenth: but, though of a len~th greater than that of any building that had been before attempted, and covering a larger area than the Karnac, the Pyramids, or St. Petersit was entirely novel, because perfectly adapted to its ends. Mr. Ruskin a writer of great penetration and learning, had just demonstrated that nothing in which iron was largely used, nothing which was the work of machinery and not of the direct manipulation of man, could be properly called architecture, when Pax- ton, the gardener, reared in the centre of Hyde Park this cosmopolitan castle of in- dustry, made of molten sand and cast iron, to refute and put to shame the pedantry of the schools. It was not architectural oh no! but all the world admired the perfect symmetry of its proportions its graceful outlines, its brilliant effect its imposing grandeur, and its incomparable fitness. l3ut the chief glory of the Crystal Pal- ace was the object for which it had been erectedan exhibition of the work of the world. It invited out of all nations, the men of cunning hand and wonderful skill, to bring their products to~ether, and to show the heights and the depths to which their practical arts had been car- ried. It said to mankind, let us take an inventory of the great and useful things that we have achieved; let us see how Lar humanity has advanced in the con- ~iuest of nature; what means it has for bringing the treasures of the earth from its d- rk bowels; by what processes it chains the elements; how it converts the stone, and the metal, and the tough fibre of plants, into shelter, and food, and cloth- ing; how it fashions the coarse wool of ani- mals into fabrics of exquisite beauty; how it moulds the flexible steel into keen and lished blades ;in short, how it extorts its secrets from every department of na- ture, giving will and animation to dumb material thin~s, trampling upon the might of the seas, annihilating space, and steal- me, the very rainbow of Ileaven, to spread its brilliant and glorious colors over all. The first of May, 1851, then, which saw the consecration of the Crystal Palace saw also the apotheosis of labor. The mighty multitude of all tongues and cos- tumes, which it brought toe,ether,with its gay embroidery of queens, princes, and nobles,were gathered to celebrate the in- auguration of Art. There had been be- fore in the history of our race, other vast assemblages of men, but never before an assemblage like that! In all the pomp sad variety of oriental processions, of Grecian festivals, of Roman gladiatorial shows, of German imperial coronations, of medi val tournaments, or Fields of the Cloth of Gold, or Vienna Congresses; there was none to compare in dignity, gran- deur and significance, with the opening of the Worlds Fair. For they but signal- ized the triumph of individuals, the prow- ess of warriors, the pride and selfishness of despots, the barbaric splendors of a court; while this was a palace reared in the inter- ests of all Humanity, a solemn and mag- nificent recognition of the supremacy of the People, a universal homage to the utility, the excellence, and the power of industry, skill, and genius. Well might the Queen of the most civilized of Europea natiow be proud of the task of initiating the dis- play, and well might the Church, through its most honored prelates, commend it,in earnest prayer, to the smiles and bless- ings of God. It is very natural that the success of the Great Exhibition should beget a num- ber of minor repetitions, that Ireland, France, and the United States should be stimulated by it into a distant rivalry, and that the great fact of the practicability of these cosmopolitan reunions should grow into an almost annual occurrence. For, though the London Exposition was complete in itself,which completeness, by the way, was one of its most remark- able traits,there is no reason to be found in its immense superiority and perfection. why similar expositions should not be at- tempted on a less imposing scale. l3ccause the wondrous Ag-ave Americana blooms but once in a hundred years, shall we dis- courage the blossoms that ornament our hedges every spring, or the thousand flowers that wave so gracefully in the summer fields? Our own Association for the Exhibi- tion of the Industry of all Nations, in New-York, deserves, then, the kindest regards of the public, and in devoting a few pages to the history of its rise and progress, and to the thoughts which the Fair now open supplies, we conceive that we are lending our aid to an enterprise of great promise and general good. This project was begun as a private speculation and has thus far been con- ducted by private hands; but it has re- ceived such direct and ample countenance from the governments of both the State and Nation, and is so largely accepted by public opinion, that it may now be treated as a public work, one in which the honor and pride of the whole community are con- cerned, and which, as a failure or a suc- cess, will reflect disgrace or credit upon the American people. At the same time it should not be forgotten, in any estimate 1853.1 Our Crystal Palace. 123 that may be formed of its results that ~he private nature of its origin has thrown l)eculiar difficulties in the way of its pro- gress. has not always attracted to it the confidence which any work undertaken by the government is apt to receive, and has excited local and personal jealousies which a State enterprise never awakens. By these considerations, therefore, the discredit of a failure is lessened, while the merit of a clear success is enhanced. It was on the 11th of March, 1852, that the State of New-York granted a charter to the company of gentlemen who had taken this matter in hand. They were empowered to purchase and occupy their real estate to erect their building, to in- vite the competition of nations, to award prizes, and to do whatever else was essen- tial to the execution of their main design. Some little opposition had to be encoun- tered in the outset, hut on the 17th of the same month, the body was organized by the appointment of THEODORE SEDGWJcK as President, and WILLIAM WHETTEN as Secretary. A circular of the objects of the company was immediately issued, ac- companied by a call for subscriptions to the stock, and, though the investments of capital were gradual, the shares rose very soon to nearly double their original value. The Federal Government was in- duced to lend its co-operation and support, ~o far as it could consistently with the limits of its functions; the municipal authorities expressed a warm interest in the scheme, and the a~ ents of the foreign powers were liberal in their exertions to procure the favorable reception of the cabinets and people of Europe. But that power. which. in the United States, is per- baps more influential than any other, the public Press, lent its instant and earnest aid to the work, and thus all the auspices were rendered unusually propitious. The city government havin~ granted the site of Reservoir Square, to the uses of ~he Association, steps were immediately taken to procure an adequate plan for the building. But here the most serious dif- ficulties were met. It was desirable, in- deed peremptory, that the structure should be one of combined glass and iron: but iron construction on a large scale, had never yet been attempted in the United States. The problem for the architects therefore. was, considering the nature of the ground, the material to be used, and the purpose sought, to contrive an edifice which should answer every condition. Sir JOSEPH PAXTON, the pioneer of the modern art, furnished a design of singular beauty. but it was unsuited to the locality; the late and much lamented DoWNING offered another of remarkable ingenuity, but the materials to be employed on it had been precluded by the grant from the city; Ma. EIDLITz, Ma. BOGAaDUS, Ma. ADAMS, all skilful and competent men, presented others; yet the choice of the Board, after mature consideration, fell upon a sketch submitted by Messrs. CARSTENSEN and GHnEammmsrEn, and we think no one, after looking at the finished structure, will regret the selection of the committee. It seems to possess every requisite, is strong, spacious, and grace- ful, and does an infinite credit both to the original designers and to the workmen by whom it has been executed. In its general appearance, as well as the materials employed, the building resembles the Crystal Palace of Hyde Park, but in the details of its construction it departs sufficiently from its prototype to make it quite a new and interesting object. Its rnotiv, as the Germans would say, is that of a Greek cross, surmounted by a dome at the intersection. The length of each diameter of the cross, according to the official description, is 365 feet 5 inches, and the width of its arms is 149 feet 5 inches. In length, therefore, it corre- sponds, undesignedly we presume, with the number of days in the year, just as the English palace corresponded in length with the number of years of the Christian era. But, although the form is that of the cross, the outline of the ground plan is more nearly a regular octagon. By ingeniously filling up the triangular inter- vals between the arms of the cross, with a lean-to of one story, 24 feet in height, the space of the floors has been greatly enlarged, and the most available use made of almost every inch of the site. The slight architectural defect, which this arrangement occasions, in diminishing the perspective of the interior, is amply com- pensated by the substantial advantage of more room. The slender but graceful columns of the interior divide it into two principal naves. each 41 feet and 5 inches wide, leaving at the centre, just under the magnificent dome, a noble octagonal space, 100 feet in diameter, which is appropriately occupied by the colossal equestrian statue of Washington, by the Baron 1\Iarochetti, while the sides of the octagon are devoted to the Amazon of Professor Kiss, and other grand pieces of statuary. But the columns still further divide the aisles and the triangular intervals into squar 5 and half-square compartments, of 27 feet each on the side, whilst the aisles themselves are covered with galleries of their own width, to which a multitude of broad stairs conduct the visitor. The naves are carried above the roofs of the galleries to 124 Our Crystal Palace. [August admit light, and are spanned by 16 semi- circular arches of cast iron 40 feet 9 inches in diameter, and placed at a dis- tance of 27 feet from each other. Our practical readers will take an interest in these additional statistics of the struc- ture: The number of cast-iron columns upon the ground floor is 190; they are 21 feet high above the floor, octagonal, and 8 inches in diameter; the thickness of the sides varies from half an inch to one inch. The cast-iron girders, 3 feet wide of which the longest are 26 feet and 4 inches and those of wrought-iron, 40 feet and 9 inches long, are indicated by the dotted lines. The first tier of girders sustain the floors of the galleries, and brace the structure in all directions. They are united to the columns by connecting pieces 3 feet 4 inches high, which have the same octago- nal shape as the columns, and flanges and lugs to be bolted together. The number of girders in the first tier is 252. The second story contains 148 columns, 17 feet and 7 inches high, which rest on those below them, and have the same shape. They receive a second series of girders numbering 160, which support the roofs of the aisles. They also receive the semicircular arches of the naves. All the roofs are supported upon arches or upon girders, by means of wrought-iron inverted trusses which receive the angle- iron purlins of the rafters: the latter are made of strips of wood inclosed between iron sides. The roofs are uniformly con- structed of boards matched together, and covered with tin. The dome noble and beautiful in its proportions, is the chief architectural feature of the building. Its diameter is 100 feet, and its height to the springing line is nearly 70 feet, and to the crown of the arch 123 feet. It is the largest, as well as almost the only dome hitherto erected in the United States. To our Un- travelled countrymen it may be an in- structive example of the beauty and fine architectural effect of which this structure is capable, although its dimensions are trivial when compared with the majestic domes of the Pantheon or St. Peters, or those other wonderful erections of classic and medi~eval times when architecture was a passion, and united with religious enthusiasm to produce the triumphs of the art. The dome is supported by 24 columns which rise beyond the second story, and to a height of 62 feet above the principal floor. The system of wrought- iron trusses which connects them together at the top, and is supported by them, forms two concentric polygons, each of 16 sides. They receive a cast-iron bed-plate to which the cast-iron shoes for the ribs of the dome are bolted. The latter are 32 in number. They are constructed of two curves of double angle-iron, securely con- nected together by trellis-work. The re- quisite steadiness is secured by tie-rods. which brace them both vertically and horizontally. At the top, the ribs are bolted to a horizontal ring of wrought and cast iron, which has a diameter of 20 feet in the clear, and is surmounted by the lantern. As in the other roofs of th building, the dome is cased with matched deal and tin sheathing. Light is communi- cated to the interior through the lantern and also in part from the sides, which are pierced for 32 ornamental windows. These should have been glazed with stained glass, representing the arms of the Union and its several States; they would have formed no inconsiderable part of the inte- rior decoration. The external walls of the building are constructed of cast-iron framing and panel work, into which are inserted the sashe of the windows and the louvers for venti- lation. The glass is one-eighth of an inch thick, and was manufactured at the Jackson Glass Works N. Y., and after- wards enamelled by Cooper & Belcher, of Camptown, N. J. The enamel with which the whole of it is covered, is laid upon the glass with a brush and after drying, is subjected to the intense heat of a kiln, by which the coating is vitri- fied, and rendered as durable as the glass itself. It produces an effect similar to that of ground glass, being translucent, but not transparent. The suns rays, dif- fused by passina through it, yield an agreeable light, and arc deprived of that intensity of heat and glare which belong to them in this climate. In the absenc of a similar precaution in the Crystal Pa- lace of Hyde Park, whose roofs as well as walls were inclosed with transparent glass, it was found necessary to cover the interior of the building with canvas. At each angle of the building there is an octagonal tower, 5 feet in diameter and 76 feet in height. They contain winding stairways, which lead to the galleries and roofs, and are intended for the use of the officers and employees of the Association. The flooring of the gal- leries is made of closely matched planks, while those forming the floor of the first story arc separated by narrow intervals, in the same manner and for the same purpose as in the London building. Over each of the principal entrance halls, the galleries open upon balconies, which af- ford ample space for placing flowers, vases, and statues for decoration. Above the balconies the ends of the naves are adorn- 1853.] Our Crystal Palace~ 125 ed with large fan-lights, corresponding to the semicircular arches within. On each side of the entrances there are ticket offices, and, adjacent to them, rooms are provided for the officers of the Associa- tion, telegraph, & c. The rapid and unexpected increase of the applications of exhibitors induced the Association to erect a large addition to the building already described. It con- sists of two parts, of one and two stories respectively, and occupies the entire space between the main buildin~ and the Reser- voir. Its length is 451 feet and 5 inches, and its extreme width is 75 feet. It is designed for the reception of machinery in motion. the cabinets of milling and mine- ralogy, and the refreshment rooms with their necessary offices. The second story, which is 21 feet wide, and extends the whole length, is entirely devoted to the exhibition of pictures and statuary. It is lighted from a sky-light, 419 feet long, and 8 feet and 6 inches wide. THE DEcoRATIoNs of the building were intrusted to HENRy GREENOUGH, Esq., of Cambridge, brother of the lamented sculptor of the same name. Mr. Green- ough has made Art his study, and, in its pursuit, has resided lon~ in Italy. As he has promised to unfold the general prin- ciples and details of his present work in an essay to be published in an early num- ber of the Illustrated REcoRD, we will state at present only a few facts. The leading idea in the plan of decora- tion has been to bring out the beautiful construction of the buildingto decorate construction rather than to construct de- coration. To do this, and at the same time to preserve a general harmony of Sect, dave Mr. Greenough ample op- portunity to display his knowledge of the resources of his art. The result is surprisingly beautiful. The decoration was commenced only on the 27th of April, as soon as the progress of the construction would permit. The colors employed on the exterior and interior are mixed in oil the base being the white lead manufactured by the Belleville Co. The exterior presents the appearance of a building constructed of a brilliant bronze, of which, all the purely ornamental parts are of gold. The interior has a prevailing tone of buff or rich cream-color, which is given to all the cast-iron constructive work. This color is relieved by a moderate and judi- cious use of the three positive colors, red, blue, and yellow, in their several tints of vermilion, garnet, sky-blue and orange, (certain parts of the ornamental work being gilt), to accord with this arrange- ment of colors employed in the decora tion of the ceilings. The only exceptions to the use of oil colors are the ceiling of the AmeTrican lean-to and the dome; these decorations are executed on canvas, and attached to the roof covering these parts. The effect of the interior of the dome is superb. The rays from a golden sun, at the centre descend between the latticed ribs into a soft heaven of azure. The building is supplied with gas and water in every part. The gas is desinned for the use of the police in protecting the property by night, but is so arranged, that should it be deemed expedient to open the building in the evenings, there will be ample light. The water is acces- sible at numerous points, which are provi- ded with conveniences for drinking, and also for the attachment of hose in case of fire. The whole quantity of iron employed in the construction amounts to 1,800 tons; of which 300 tons are wrought, and 1,500 tons cast-iron. The quantity of glass is 15,000 panes, or 55,000 square feet. The quantity of wood used amounts to 750,000 feet, board measure. Such is the buildinginferior to the ori- ginal Crystal Palace in size and imposing effect, but superior to it, all confess, in light and graceful proportions. A capital mis- take was made by the Directors in ac- cepting Reservoir Square as the locality, because its nearness to the massive granite walls of the Reservoir dwarf and crush its fine dimensions and because the un - appropriated neighborhood has allowed of the erection, in the immediate vicinity, of a multitude of mammoth shanties but in spite of these drawbacks, no one can approach the edifice, and, especially can no one enter it, without a feeling of strong and grateful pride in the skill and enter- prise by which it has been built. We confess that, in the outset, our own senti- ment in regard to the plan was one, not entirely of incredulity, but yet o~ doubt and semi-distrust. We knew the energy of our men of capital; we were aware, too, of the skill of our mechanics ; but we were not ignorant, at the same time, of the thoughtless and characteristic haste with which we are apt to run into new schemes and to undertake what it is be- yond our capacity to accomplish. When it became certain, therefore, that the time for the exhibition must be postponed, we almost regretted that another year had not been set apart for the laborious duties of preparation. But when, at last, the proper hour came, when we saw the stately columns planted, and the crystal walls made fast, and the mighty dome suspended, our hearts broke forth in spontaneous gushes of gratulation and delight. Our exuectations had been more 126 Our Crystal Palace. [August than surpassed, and we experienced a pang of shame that we had ever indulged even a temporary doubt of the energies and talent of our countrymen. At the time we are compelled to write, the contributions to the Fair have not been finally arranged, so that we must postpone to a future occasion, any criti- cisms or comparisons that the display may suggest. But we have seen enough of it to warrant us in expressing our high admiration of its variety and excellence. All the leading nations of the world are munificently represented. The mother- country,for such we are ever proud to call Englandanimated by the example of her illustrious Queen and Prince, has been generous in her offerings of the solid wares of Manchester, Birmingham and Leeds, which have long given her the first position in the industrial world; France, who surpasses her in elaborate design and exquisite finish, parades her Gobelin tapestries, her beautiful porcelain of S~vres, her exquisite jewelry and her unequalled silks; Belgium and Germany are scarcely behind in the display of ele- gant fabrics; Turkey still maintains her supremacy in those peculiarly rich and delicate textures which have made the works of the oriental looms and hands a proverb throughout the earth; while Italy, retaining her ancient devotion to the fine arts has almost filled the building with the splendors of sculpture and paint- ing. Of these things, however, we intend to speak hereafter in detail. Yet we cannot dismiss the topic without signifying our astonishment at the extent, diversity, and general merit of the Fine Arts department, in which we think the present almost equals the great model exhibition of London. Besides the gigantic statue of Washington, by Marochetti, and the famous Amazon of Kiss, and the Web- ster of Carew, every niche and corner of the edifice have their appropriate marble complement. Venuses, Dianas, Joves, Cupids, Psyches and Apollos are strewn every where with true Italian profusion, and lend a graceful aid to the more prac- tical contributions. Nor are the paintings of both ancient and modern schools scat- tered with a more sparing hand. From the Head of an Angel,~~ by Raphael to the full-length portrait of His Majesty Victor Emanuel II. there are many admirable specimens of the genius of Italyonly rivalled in number if not in worth, by the contributions of the Dussel- dorf school, where sixty-two eminent ex- amples of their style constitute a leading attraction. Our own country makes no pretensions in the higher departments of the Fine Arts, and willingly allows the foreigner to carry off the honors of the exhibition in this kind; but in the different spheres of the practical and useful, she may hold up her head amon~ the worthiest, proud of the attainments she has made durin~, the brief period of her existence. Deficient in some respects in originality of design, as well as completeness of finish, there is yet, in others, a degree of perfection that strikes us with surprise. In agricultural im- plements, in many kinds of machinery, and in cabinet and other wood-work, our working-men manifest an ingenuity and skill that will amaze those who have not before observed their products. But, without dwelling upon any com- parisons now, let us remark that what- ever may be the ultimate judgment as to our achievements in ornamental art it is obvious that in all shows of this kind we appear at a disadvantage. We do so, for the reason, that the industry which best illustrates our national life, which is best fitted to declare what we have done and what we are, is on a too gigantic scale to appear even in a crystal palace. It can- not be crowded into a glass case, nor put up in a bandbox. Yachts like the North Star, steamboats like the Francis Skiddy, clipper ships like the Flying Cloud, hotels like the St. Nicholas, canals like the Erie, the thirteen thousand miles of railroad, the endless reaches of the electric tele- graph, these are the objects to which our practical talent has been heretofore main- ly directed, and cannot be shown in Ex- positions, and will not, of course, be ap- preciated in models. No; the stranger who would learn the nature and value of our industry, must count the number of acres that have been redeemed from the wilderness in sixty years, the bushels of grain that are reaped from them the cities and towns that have been built upon them, the vast highways that con- nect them the steam marine that furrows the rivers, the lakes, and the oceans, the children that have been educated and the hosts of starving emigrants that have been fed and clothed and made rich! Let him take his position on a spur of the Alleghanies, and sweep with the telescope of his fancy the populous plains that stretch from the Atlantic to the Missis- sippi; let him mark how towns are rising every where, as if they rose by thought and not by careful human hands ; let him see every stream crowded with ves- sels, and every distant shore bearing the footmarks of our commerce; let him be- hold the measureless fields rich with har- vests and the cattle on a thousand hills, and the smoke of engines curling above every hamlet ; and then as he reflects 1853.] Our Crystal Palace. 127 that it is almost within the memory of man when a trackless forest covered the continent, and only savage men and savage beasts enjoyed the prodigal bounties of nature, he will get some adequate idea of what American industry and American energy have achieved. At the same time let us add, that we have no thought of depreciating, by this strain of remark, our successes in the more ele- gant and decorative departments of Art; much less have we any desire to question the utility of such exhibitions as those of the Crystal Palace. On the contrary, we have a confidence that all Americans will look with grateful pride to the evidences of progress which this display furnishes, while we anticipate other lasting and ex- tensive benefits from the event. Could our men of enterprise travel abroad for years, or be sent to the workshops of the old world for instruction, as the scions of our richer families are sent to its universi- ties; could the ingenious working man pass at his leisure from London to Paris, from Paris to Brussels, from Brussels to Vienna, from Vienna to Berlin, study- ing the processes and improvements of industry, as the young artist studies the pictures of the world-renowned mas- ters, there might not, perhaps, be any need of these international unions; but as he has neither the time nor the means for such an investigation, he must supply its place by the opportunities of a Worlds Fair. As Mahomet cannot go to the mountain, the mountain must come to Mahomet,the Exposition will serve in- stead of travel, and bring the wonders of human labor to his door. Indeed, Professor Whewell, in his Lec- ture on the results of the Exhibition, ela- borating this thought, contends that it would be quite impossible by any activity of travel, to reap such rich harvests of in- struction as are to be gained from a dili- gent survey of a universal exposition. He says, that a traveller, passing from land to land, mi~,ht see a wonderful collection of the works of man in many different countries, and combining all these in his thoughts, have in his mind a representa- tion of the whole progress of human art and industry up to the last moment, and a picture of the place which each nation at that moment occupied in the line of progress. But what time, what labor, what perseverance,~~ he asks, what ac- cess to great and powerful men in every land, what happiness of opportunity, would be implied in the completion of such a survey! A life would scarcely suffice for it; a man could scarcely be found who would achieve it, with all ap- pliances and means which wealth and power could give. He must, like the philosophers of ancient days, spend all his years of vigor in travelling; must roam in the varied regions of India; watch the artisan in the streets of the towns of Chi- na; dive into the mines of Norway and Mexico; live a life in the workshops of England, France, and Germany; and trace the western tide of industry and art as it spreads over the valley of the Mississippi. And when lie had done all this, and how- ever carefully he had done it, yet how de- fective must it be at least in one point! how Lar must it be from a sirnultaneows view of the condition of the whole globe as to material arts! Dunn0 the time that he has been movin,, from place place, the face of the world has been rapidly changing. When he saw Tunis it was a barbarous state; now that he has to make up his account, it is the first which asks for a leading place among the civilized communities of the industrial world. When he visited the plains of Iowa and Wisconsin, they were wild prai- ries; they are now the fields from which the cereal harvest is swept by the latest improved reaping machine. When he was at the antipodes, the naked sava,, offered the only specimen of art in hi. rude club and frail canoe; now there is there a port whose lofty ships carry re- gularly to European markets multiplied forms of native produce and manufactures. Even if his picture be complete as to sur- face, what anachronisms must there be in it! How much that expresses not the general view of the earth, but the acci- dental peculiarities of the travellers per- sonal narrative! And then, how dim must be the images of the thing seen ma- ny years ago compared with that which is present to the eye! How impossible to compare the one with the otherthe ob- ject now seen in age with a similar object remembered in youth! And after all, when we have assumed such a traveller such a one as never has beenthe Ulysses of modern timesseeing the ci- ties of many men, and knowing their mindsseeing the workshops of all na- tions, and knowing their artswe have but one such. His knowledge is only his. lie cannot, in any clear or effective man- ner, communicate any large portion of it to others. It exists only for himit penishe~ with him. And now let us, in the license of epical imagination, suppose such a Ulys- ses-much-seeing, much-wandering, much- enduringto conic to some island of Ca- lypso, some well-inhabited city, under t rule of powerful and benignant, but plainly, he must believe, superhuman influences, and there to find that image of the world and its arts, which he had vainly tried to 128 Our Crystal Palace. [August build up in his mind, exhibited before his bodily eye in a vast crystal frame ;true in every minutest thread and hue, from the sparkle of the diamond to the mighty bulk of the colossus; true to that which be- lon~s to every part of the earth; and this, with the effects which the arts produce, not at the intervals of the travellers wea- iy journey, hut every where at the present hour. And, further, let him see the whole population of the landthousands upon thousands, millions upon millions stream- ing to his sight, gazing their fill, day after day, at this wonderful vision, inviting the men of neighboring and of distant lands to gaze with them; looking at the ob- jects, not like a fairy picture in the dis- tant clouds, but close at hand; compar- ing, judging, scrutinizing the treasures produced by the all-bounteous earth and the indomitable efforts of man, from pole to pole, and from east to west; or, as he would learn more truly to measure, from east to east again. When we have sup- posed such a vision, do we not seem to have gone beyond Quicquid Grecia mendax, Audit in historia; all the wonders of that wondrous ancient Odyssean tale? And yet, in making such a supposition, have we not been exactly describing that which we have seen with- in these few months? Have not we our- selves made part of the population of such a charmed isle,of the crowds which have ~azed on such a magic spectacle? There may be some exaggeration in this view, if we apply it to any transient exhibition, and yet we can easily imagine how a permanent exhibition of the past and present results of practical art might rival in brilliance, and perhaps surpass in usefulness the most celebrated galleries of the Fine Arts. There are, we know, at the Louvre, the Belvidere, the Pinacotek, the Pitti Palace, the Vatican, and many other places in Europe, the most complete and beautiful collections of the works of painters and sculptors, illustrating the artistic development of all nations, and the peculiarities of all ages and schools. The artist who desires to inform himself; not only of the present state, but of the history of art, finds there, arranged in ample and well-lighted rooms, and in chronological order, specimens of almost every master from Praxitiles to Powers, or from Apelles to Turner; and thus, by the study of the originals, or most faithful copies, he ac- quires a profound and discriminating knowledge of all that human genius has accomplished in that department, and, if he be a man of native force and talent, is led to an inference of what remains to be done. In other words, the library of his profession is open before him: the secrets of his predecessors stand revealed , their errors and their triumphs,but whether errors or triumphs, the glorious inspiration of their example prompts him to the task of emulation. It is true, that when this opulence of performance is first unfolded to his aching vision,when he finds him- self in the presence of the Transfiguration of Raphael, or the Assumption of Titian, or the Night and Morning of Michael Angelo,when he bows in mutest rever- ence and awe beneath the exhaustless ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, or wonders whether any hand less potent than the Divine hand could have rounded the dome of St. Peters, or sent up the aspirin~ shafts of the cathedral at Colognehe is smitten, in the consciousness of his own feeble powers, with a sense of blank and utter despair. But when, on a longer investi- gation,and this is the value of these great galleries,he compares the first timid, trembling, almost abortive efforts of art with its marvellous later glories; when he sees by what gradual and gentle transi- tions it passed, from age to age, from master to master, from nation to nation; when he beholds the stiff; ungainly, awkward, perspectiveless, colorless daubs of the forerunners of Giotto and Cimabue slowly transformed into the correct out- lines, the graceful figures the harmonious groups, the suggestive chiaroscuro the magical color of Guido, and Domenichino. and Corregio, and Raphaelhe begins to feel that he too may become a painter, and that there are no miracles in art which his genius may not, by patient study and energetic effort, accomplish. But why should this kind of instruction and incitement he confined to the Fine Arts exclusively? Why may we not have~ schools of design, in the useful branches of Art, equal in their way to those in the more ornamental and elevated? Why should not our young mechanics, whose labors contribute so much to the decora- tion as well as the enjoyment of social life, have similar available opportunities with our young painters and sculptors, or our young scholars, lawyers and divines? Surely their functions are quite as impor- tant to the progress and refinement of society, as those of many an attorney, or other professional man! Surely, we have need in this country, of every thing that may adorn, chasten, exalt and beautify our existence, so that we ought to extend every appliance and facility that is likely to raise the standard of excellence among those who contribute to the physical means of civilization. There is in Paris an institution which very nearly fulfils the requisites which 1853.] Oar Crystal Palace. 12t~ we are here ur~,ing, and to which we can- not but ascribe much of that superiority in elegant art which has so long charac- terized the French. We refer to the Conservato~re des Arts et Metiers situ- ated,if we remember rightly, in one of the out of the way streets, and not so often visited by strangers as the Louvre or Ver- sailles, but full of interest and value to the native working-men and students. It is a kind of repository of machines, imple- ments, drawings, engines, apparatus, and models of buildings, designed to show in the most direct and familiar manner the whole course of mechanical improvement, its past history of industry and its present condition, and as a consequence, its pros- pects for the future. The several spacious apartments into which it is divided, are crowded with models of inventions and manufactures. In one you find smelting furnaces, from the earliest to the latest made; in another, the weights and mea- sures of all nations; in a third, agricultu- ral tools from the rude Chinese plough to the best American reaping machine; and in others again, architectural plans, looms for weavin~,, locomotives, ventilators, chemical substances, dye-woods, musical instruments, cabinet-ware, & c., & c., in quite indescribable variety. Do you wish to learn the real history of human contri- vance, in respect to the application of steam for instance; you will there find specimens of every engine,from the earliest rudebegin- niugs of Watt, to the powerful and perfect railroad engine of Stevenson; or would you investigate the gradual growth of the spinning jenny and the throstle, you will there see models of them, from the infan- tile ingenuities of the Chinese, to the splen- did combinations af Jacquard and Dan- forth. In fact, an observant walk through any room of this establishment will teach you more in an hour than could be learn- from books in a month. Connected, too, with the more practical departments, are ample provisions for sci- entific instruction; for, every Sunday, and several evenings during the week, regular courses of lectures by the most eminent, scientific men that can be em- ployed by the government, are delivered gratuitously to large audiences of working- men, who take delight in attending, be- cause the means of such thorough instruc- tion are at hand, and because they find the knowledge acquired in this way of such direct and valuable use in their vo- cations. Indeed, we were told, nor was it difficult to observe for ourselves, that the classes who were in the habit of avail- ing themselves of the privileges of the school, were among the most intelligent, thrifty, and respectable of all classes of French society. With the exception of the few professional men, and persons re- lated to the wealthier families, they were among the most cultivated people to be met, and exercised a prodigious influence for good upon general society. The Conservatoire is in some respects incomplete, and does not entirely corre- spond to our ideal of an industrial museum and school; but it is an embryo, a pro- phecy, of what is yet to be done of that permanent exposition to which, we hope, our Crystal Palaces are destined to lead. Could an annual display of the actual products of industry be added to its ac- cumulations of models, & c., could the periodical Fair be engrafted upon the per- manent repository, it would more nearly approach the objects at which our re- marks now aim. We should like, there- fore, to see our Astors, Coopers, and Grinnells,we use these names to indi- cate a class,lay the foundations in this city of a sort of perpetual Worlds Fair an institution that should combine the advantages of the Paris Conservatory of Trades with those of an expositionto which our mechanics might resort, to pre- vent the misapplication of ingenuity, of which we have melancholy evidences in the Patent Office, to be animated to higher perfection in design and execution, and to place themselves on a level with the best workmen of any nation or age. 130 [August TULOOM. ON the coast of Yucatan, As untenanted of man As a castle under ban, By a doom, For the deeds of bloody hours, Overgrown with tropic bowers, Stand the Teocallis towers Of Tuloom. One of these is fair to sight, Where it pinnacles a height, And the breakers blossom white As they boom, And split beneath the walls, And an ocean murmur falls Through the melancholy halls Of Tuloom. On the summit as you stand, All the ocean and the land Stretch away on either hand; But the plume Of the palm is overhead, And the grass bencath your tread Is the monumental bed Of Tuloom. All the grandeur of the woods, And the greatness of the floods, And the sky that overbroods, Dress a tomb, Where the stucco drops away, And the bat avoids the day, In the chambers of decay In Tuloom. They are battlements of death When the breezes hold their breath. Down a hundred feet beneath, In the flume Of the sea, as still as glass, You can see the fishes pass By the promontory mass Of Tuloom. Towards the forest is displayed, On the terrace, a fa~ade With devices overlaid And the bloom Of the vine of sculpture led Oer the soffit overhead Was a fancy of the dead Of Tuloom. Here are corridors, and there, From the terrace, goes a stair, And the way is broad and fair To the room

Tuloom 130-131

130 [August TULOOM. ON the coast of Yucatan, As untenanted of man As a castle under ban, By a doom, For the deeds of bloody hours, Overgrown with tropic bowers, Stand the Teocallis towers Of Tuloom. One of these is fair to sight, Where it pinnacles a height, And the breakers blossom white As they boom, And split beneath the walls, And an ocean murmur falls Through the melancholy halls Of Tuloom. On the summit as you stand, All the ocean and the land Stretch away on either hand; But the plume Of the palm is overhead, And the grass bencath your tread Is the monumental bed Of Tuloom. All the grandeur of the woods, And the greatness of the floods, And the sky that overbroods, Dress a tomb, Where the stucco drops away, And the bat avoids the day, In the chambers of decay In Tuloom. They are battlements of death When the breezes hold their breath. Down a hundred feet beneath, In the flume Of the sea, as still as glass, You can see the fishes pass By the promontory mass Of Tuloom. Towards the forest is displayed, On the terrace, a fa~ade With devices overlaid And the bloom Of the vine of sculpture led Oer the soffit overhead Was a fancy of the dead Of Tuloom. Here are corridors, and there, From the terrace, goes a stair, And the way is broad and fair To the room 1853.3 Tuloom. Where the inner altar stands, And the mortars tempered sands Bear the print of human hands In Tuloom. er the sunny ocean swell The canbas, running well Towards the isle of Cozume1, Cleave the spume On they run, and never halt Where the shimmer from the salt Makes a twinkle in the vault Of Tuloom. When the night is wild and dark, And a roar is in the park, And the lightning, to its mark, Cuts the gloom, All the region, on the sight, Rushes upward from the night, In a thunder-crash of light Oer Tuloom. 0! could such a flash recall All the flamens to their hall, All the idols on the wall, In the fume Of the Indian sacrifice All the lifted hands and eyes, All the laughters and the cries Of Tuloom. All the kings in feathered pride, All the people like a tide And the voices of the bride And the groom! But alas! the prickly pear, And the owlets of the air, And the lizards make a lair Of Tuloom. We are tenants on the strand Of the same mysterious land Must the shores that we command Reassume Their primeval forest hum And the future pilgrim come Unto monuments as dumb As Tuloom? Tis a secret of the clime And a mystery sublime, Too obscure in coming time To presume; But the snake, amid the grass, Hisses at us as we pass, And we sigh, alas! alas! In Tuloom. I .::?i

Our Crystal Palace 131-138

1853.3 Tuloom. Where the inner altar stands, And the mortars tempered sands Bear the print of human hands In Tuloom. er the sunny ocean swell The canbas, running well Towards the isle of Cozume1, Cleave the spume On they run, and never halt Where the shimmer from the salt Makes a twinkle in the vault Of Tuloom. When the night is wild and dark, And a roar is in the park, And the lightning, to its mark, Cuts the gloom, All the region, on the sight, Rushes upward from the night, In a thunder-crash of light Oer Tuloom. 0! could such a flash recall All the flamens to their hall, All the idols on the wall, In the fume Of the Indian sacrifice All the lifted hands and eyes, All the laughters and the cries Of Tuloom. All the kings in feathered pride, All the people like a tide And the voices of the bride And the groom! But alas! the prickly pear, And the owlets of the air, And the lizards make a lair Of Tuloom. We are tenants on the strand Of the same mysterious land Must the shores that we command Reassume Their primeval forest hum And the future pilgrim come Unto monuments as dumb As Tuloom? Tis a secret of the clime And a mystery sublime, Too obscure in coming time To presume; But the snake, amid the grass, Hisses at us as we pass, And we sigh, alas! alas! In Tuloom. I .::?i 132 [August CURIOSITIES OF PURITAN IIISTORY. THE character of the settlers of New- I England has been so frequently and so fully discussed, that it would he useless at this day to attempt to change the opinions of the reading public. The Puri- tan had no negative traits: there was much to admire, somewhat to condemn, but nothing upon which the mind could be in doubt. The Quaker, who was whipped at the carts tail, or swung from the gallows, and the Anabaptist to whom banishment was a welcome escape from the pillory and the stocks, could not be expected to leave to their descendants any extraordinary veneration for the men who had so sternly swept them out as chaff from the Lords threshing-floor. So, too, the churchmen, English or Catholic who have never found this grim antagonist disposed either to give or take quarter the Cavalier, and the votary of pleasure, with whom the Puritan is the type of fanaticism, the foe of chivalry and the disenchanter of romance these, from natural constitution and education, are blind to all but the gloomy traits of his character, and regard him as either a cruel, bigoted tyrant, or a selfish, calcu- lating hypocrite. But those who appre- ciate the value of the institutions which the Puritan founded, will not be disposed to condemn his illiberality without weigh- ing also his merits. The town meetings, pure democracies; the free schools; the independent churches; the spirit of ready sacrifice of individual interests to the public welfare; the habits of industry and fru~ality,all of which not only made national independence possible, but neces- sarily led to itthese were of Puritan growth. No other branch of the race, from which we sprung, possessed these ideas, or so fully exemplified these virtues. The progress of liberal ideas among suc- ceeding generations, has served to render their bigotry and intolerance somewhat obsolete; let us hope that their inflexible integrity may not also go out of fashion. Remembering, then, what great prin- ciples the fathers of New England estab- lished their children may peruse without anger the record of their faults. That record shows nothing that sprung from duplicity, cowardice, frivolity, or pampered appetite; none that were infected with these vices, could claim fellowship in a commonwealth established on a purely religious basis. The faults of the domi- nant class were the result of their theology; wholly absorbed in spiritual things, and deeming every worldly interest as worth- less in comparison, they considered it the first duty of the state to enforce conformity to the Divine law. The men with whom revelation was such a vivid and ever-pre- sent reality, could not let heedless souls rush upon destruction while there was power to stay them. The New Testament did not appear to inspire these enthusiasts with such an ecstatic fervor as did the bold imagery of the Prophets. They pre- ferred to turn backwards, to catch the far- off brightness of the bush that burned but was not consumed and to stand awe- struck in view of the lurid grandeur of Sinai rather than to look upon the milder radiance that encircled the head of the Son of Man. But the spirit of Force which ever attended Judaism has been overcome; though it will be long before the traces of its career will be obliterated. But we set forth with no intention of writing a disquisition. We wished to preface the fragments to be presented with a few words to show that it is not to ex- pose the Puritan to ridicule, or to furnish his enemies with arrows from his own quiver, that we gather any memorials of his errors. The Curiosities have been literally copied from the MS. Records of the General Court of Massachusetts. At the outset we beg our readers to understand that we do not design to make any ac- curate classification of subjects; nor do we pretend to enter into any very thorough investigation of particular topics; still less to attempt to bring forward new ideas. The great wains have passed over this earliest field of American history, and gathered its golden sheaves; it is our purpose only to glean what we choose from what has been overlooked or re- jected. From the intense and pervading senti- ment of religious veneration, the clergy were by far the most influential class. Though not nominally in office, they really constituted an upper house, from whose judgment no appeal could be taken. Many instances occur where doubtful points of constitutional law, as, for instance, the construction of obscure clauses in the colonial charter, were formally referred to the teaching elders for exposition. as to a supreme court. At the annual election in May 1637, when a difficulty arose be- tween two parties that threatened to end in anarchy~ Mr. Wilson, a prominent minister, got upon the bough of a tree (the meeting being in the open air), and by his eloquence induced the people to proceed with the business of the day. As a necessary result of this controlling in- Curiosities of Puritan History. fluence, the laws against blasphemy, Sabbath breaking, want of respect to ministers and church ordinances and kindred offences, were sufficiently severe. Like Paul, the priest magnified his office; and the audacious wiuht who ventured to cast opprobrium on the anointed, could not hope to escape unpunished. The following are taken from among a multi- tude of similar instances iforasmuch as ye open contempt of Gods word and messeagr s thereof is ye desolating sian of civill states & churches, & yt ye ~raching of ye word by those whom God doth send is ye cheife ordinary meanes or- dained of God for ye converting, edifying and saving ye soules of ye elect * * * * * It is therefore ordred & decreed, yt if any christian, so called, wihin y5 ju- risdiction shall contemptuously behave him- selfe toward ye word pr cached, or ye mes- sengrs thereof; * * * or, like a sonn of Corals, cast upon his true doctrine or him- selfe any reproach, to ye dishonor of ye Lord Jesus who hath sect him, & to ye dispagnit of yt his holy ordinance, ma- king Gods wayes contemptible & ridien- yt evry such son or ~sons * * * shall for ye first scandole be convented and re~ ved openly by ye matrets; * * * and if a second time they break forth into ye like contemptuous carriages, either to pay 51. to ye publicke treasury, or to stand two houres openly upon a block, 4 foote high, on a lecture day, wh a pa~ fixed on his breast, wh this: A WANTON GOSPEL- LER, written in capitall lettr 5; yt others may fear & be ashamed of breaking out into the like wickednessVoL 2. 156. 1646. We should think such a discipline might be an excellent corrective for the prevail- ing levity and irreligion of our own times. Imagine the block, 4 foote high, yet standing by the Old South Church, and the modern scofibr, infidel or reformer doing penance thereon, in view of the throngs of Washington street! Mr. Ambros Marten for calling the church Covenant a stinking Carryon & a humane invention, & saying bee wondered at gods patience, feared it would end in the sharpe, & said the ministers did de- throne christ & set up themselves; he was fined 101. & counselled to go to Mr. Mather to bee instructed by himVol. 1. 240. 1638. The various phrases by which men have endeavored to express the idea of gradual diminution, will all have to yield to that of ending in the sharpe. It must be allowed that the sturdy heretic spoke good idiomatic Saxon. There was a refined cruelty in his sentence, however salutary it might prove in the end; to send him for instruction to Mr. Mather, the very chief of the class whom he con- sidered as so many Satans claiming fealty, was a severe trial to his conscience; the stocks or bilboes would have been merci- ful in comparison. Mr. John Haule bound himself in 201. for his servant, John Burrows, that bee shall not seduce any man, nor move questions to that end, nor question wh any other, except wth the magistrates or teaching elders. VoL 1. 232. 1638. It would seem that John had been quite successful among unstable souls but was henceforth to content himself in trying his artillery upon the impregnable fortresses of the rulers temporal and spiritual. Truly a hopeless business. The next case is somewhat more severe; few on these or any other records are more so. Whereas the Court and Jury did not agree in Crosmans Case, who is now a pris- onor for blasphemy, and so it Necessaryli Coming to this Court to be determined, the Court on a full hearinge of the Case uppon the evidence given in, doe Order & deter- mine as follows: vizi, that the sd Crosman be severely whipt in open market place, & Imediately after to be burnt in his forehead with the letter: B: and after to be banished for ever out of 0r Jurisdiction.VoL 2. 328. 1651. A Scarlet Letter one would not wish to wear! Steven Greensmyth for affirming that all the mirs (except Mr. Cotton, Mr. Wheel- right & bee thought Mr. Hooker), did teach a Covenant of works, was for a time Coin- ited to the marshall, & after enloyned to make acknowledgment, * * * and was fined 401. and standeth bound in 1001. till this bee doneVoL 1. 187. 1636. The Cor te thinke it convenient yt order be given to ye Auditor to send 12 gallons of sack & 6 gallons of white wine, as a small testimony of ye Corts respect, to yt revrend Assembly of Eldrs at Cambridge.vol. 2. 66. 1644. Thi~j was the Assembly that formed the famous Cambridge Platform. We should be pleased to see such a testimony of respect offered in our day. Fancy GEN- ERAL WILSON or COLON L ScHouL ~a pro- posing to send a desnijohn by way of com- pliment to one of the annual gatherings of white neckeloths assembled at the Marl- boro Chapel or the Melodeon! Apropos to wine, there is a curious order concerning its sale to Indians, which may be inserted here. The Court apprhending yt it is not fit to deprive ye Indians of any lawfull tom- fort web God aloweth to all men by ye use of wine, do ordr yt it shalbe ]awfull for all such as are or shalbe alowed license to retaile wines, to sell also to ye Indians so 1853.1 133 134 Curiosities of Puritan History. [August much as may be fit, for their ncedfull use or refreshingVol. 2. 66. 1644. But religion did not claim the exclusive veneration of the age. Such pains were not taken to support one section of the arch alone; rising from the same plane, the State inclined in equal curve toward the Church. and, meeting it, gave and re- ceived support. The Magistracy was sur- rounded with an outward state that now seems impossible in an elective govern- ment. The very halberdiers, who pre- ceded the Governor on public occasions, were more reverenced than the Governor himself is now. Merchants and men of wealth were not the important personages they have since become. The aristocracy of birth was not extinct; the aristocracy of wealth had not arisen. The Lawyers, who have managed latterly to engross nearly all the places of honor or profit, were then rather more moderately es- tcemed. It seems indeed to have been a matter of special reproach to one of the early magnates that he had been an At- turney. It is ordered that Thomas Dexter ~halbe set in the bilbowse, disfranchized & ifined XLl., for speakeing re~ehfu1l & seditious words n~ninst the Gounit here established, & findeiug fault to dyvrs wth the acts of the Court, saycing this captious goumt will bring all to naught, adding, that the best of them was but an Atturney. VoL 1. 96. 1632. It is ordered that John Lee shalbe whipt & ifined, for calling Mr. Ludlowe false heart- ed knave, and hard-hearted knave, heavy ffriend.Vol. 1. 111. 1634. It is ordered that John Lee shalbe whipt and ffyned XLl. for speakeing re~chfully of the Gonar, saycing, bee was but a Law- ers clerke, & what understanding hadd bee more than himselfe l also, taxeing the Court for makeing lawes to pick mens purses, as also for abusing a mayde of the Gounr, pre- tending love in the way of marriage, when himselfe professes bee intended none, as also for intiseing her to goe with him into the come feild.VoL 1. 133. 1634. John seems to have been ambitious of filling a whole criminals calendar alone. However venial his rage against ye wor- shipfull matrat~~~ may have been, yet, in view of his perfidy to the mayde whose ear he beguiled, we must deem him most justly punished. Capt. John Stone for his outrage com- itted in confronting authority, abuseing Mr. Ludlowe both in words and behavour, as- salting him, and calling him a inst as is ifined Cl. & ij~hibited comeing within this Pattent wihont leave from the Goumt, under the peaalty of Death.VoL 1. 103. 1633. We should have felt some sympathy for the Captain under his fine (equivalent to at least $1500. now), had it not been for the very poor pun in which he vented his anger; but Just-ass no, tis tolera- ble and not to be endured. It is ordered that Ensigne Jenaison shal be ifyned the some of XXl., for up- braydeing the Court with Ininstice, utter- ing theis ~Vords, I pray god deliver moe from this Court, professing bee hadd wayt- ed from Court to court, & could not have instice done himVol. 1. 133. 1634. We suspect that if all the weary suitors in modern courts were called to account for similar ebullitions of impatience, their Honors, the Judges, would have plenty to do. It is ordred yt Edmo Bridges, for his neglect of shooing Mr. Symonds horse (when he was to come to Cor to,) should be required by warrant f1.0m this Corte to an- swore this complaint & his neglect to further publike service, at ye next County Co~te, & c.VoL 2. 170. 1647. Richrd Cluffe, for saying, shall I pay 12d. for the fragments wch the g~randiury roages have left? hoe was hound to his good behavior. & fined three pounds, sixe shillings & eight po~~co wch was discount- ed by Mr. Itohrt Saltonstall, upon account. J\Tol 1. 284. 1640. The laws forbade innkeepers chargin~ more than twelve pence for a meal; so, of course, they never charged less. It would appear that Cluffe was so unfortu- nate as to come to dinner after the Grand Jury; and, finding the fragments alto- gether unsatisfactory, demurred to the landlords bill. He might have come ofi~ easily if he had expressed himself circum- spectly, for the Puritan did not dislike the spirit that resisted imposition; but to al- loxv the Grand Jury to be called roages, was not to be thought of Thomas Starr, being accused for speak- ing against the order of Court about swine, and the same ~ved that lice said the law was against gods law, and bee would not obey it so lice was comited, and en- ioyaed to acknowledg his fault the 14th, at the gear all Court, and was fined 201., and to give security for his fine, or pay the same before his releasenientVoL 1. 215. 1637. 0. 5. The higher law is here plumply avowed, and the fugitive swine law trampled upon. The doctrine of the harmony of law with ethics is as old as the race. Each age imagines the conflicts which arise be- tween its idea of the Right and the exist- ing institutions and laws, to be new, and that great principles are for ever settled in the encounter. But, truly, we move in a circle; and, notwithstanding the substan 1853.] Curiosities of Puritan History. 185 tial progress of civilization, there is still a sense in which it may be said. there is no- thing new under the sun. The philoso- pher of a century hence will puzzle over some of the problems of to-day, precisely as though Emerson, Fourier, Parker and Brownson had never existed. The Magistrates of the Bay received no compensation for many years; never more than enough to pay travelling expenses. Tea Rooms, Contingent Expenses, and other plausible modes of covering appro- priations for personal comforts, bad not then been invented. They did not know how to derive revenue from the sale of ferry slips, for the only profitable ferry right was given to aid the infant college at Cambridge. They could not expect a percentage on land sales, for to the settler, The world was all before him where to choose. They took nothing from paving contracts, for if the stumps were dug isp, and the boulders rolled out of the road, it was all the hard-working pioneers could accom- plish. Even then some towns were sharp- ly enjoined to mend their ways many times before they obeyed. But, after six- teen years~ service, the members of the Court ventured to ask in foro conscien- tke for reasonable pay; and they inti- mated that it was nothing less than the religious duty of the governed. We in- sert the application of the Deputies, simi- lar to that of the Magistrates, made at the same session; and only regret that neither were of any avail. The people, doubtless, thought the honor of office to be its proper and sufficient reward. It is ordred that it shall & may be law- full for y0 Deputies of this bowee to aduise & consultt wh theiro Elders & ffreemen, whoe ore desired to take it into serious con- sidera~on, whether God doe not expect that all ye inhabitants of this Colony alowe, as to tlseire meg, soc to all other yt are called to Country service, ~por~onable alowance & mayntenance answerable to theire s~uall places & imploymt~, annually or otherwise, & uppon Wt grounds; & they are further de- sired to send in their thoughts & determi- na~ons in wrighteinge at ye next genall Courte.Yol. 3. 1644. In criminal proceedings the Court exer- cised unlimited power. From blasphemy and heresy down to petty larceny or breaches of the sumptuary laws, every of- fence was dealt with; and where positive statutes were wanting, the laws of Moses were ready to supply the deficiency. Oft- en the prisoner, against whom a case could not be clearly made out, was either pun- ished for an offence of a minor grade, or dismissed under bonds, or with a repri- mand. Thus Katherine Cornish, found suspicious of incontinency was seriously admonished to take hecd.VoL 1. 225. 1638. And Thoma.s Owen, about the same year, though acquitted of adultery, of which the punishment was death, was nevertiseless believed to be culpable, and was made to sit two hours under the gal- lows with his paramour by his side, and a roape around his neck. Wearing a ~paper,~~ as the records generally express it, was a very common punishment. John Davies for his grosse offenees in attempting lewdnes wth divers woomen, was sentenced to bee severely whiped both heare and at Ipawieb, & to weare the letter V upon his breast upon his uppermost gar- ment untill the court do discharge him. Vol. 1. 238. 1638. 0. S. iobte Cobs is ffined Vi. & enioyned to stand -myth a white shecte of pa49 on isis back wherein A DRUNKARD shal be written in greate lres & to stand therewth soc long as the Court thinks meete, for abueein~ him- selfe shamefully wth drinke * * * * & otlir misdcmneanrs.~Vol. 1. 102. 1633. This sentence, as n-might have been ex- pected, produced only a temporary effect; for, but a short time after, we find him again before the Court, when the follow- ing order was passed. It is ordered tisat Robte Cobs, for drun- kenes by hisn comitted att Iboxhury, shalbe disfranehized, weare about his neeke & so to hange upon his outward garmtm, a D made of redd death & sctt upon wlsite, to contynue this for a yeare, and not to leave it of att any tyme when bee eomes amongst company, under penalty, & c.Vol. 1. 108. 1633. One Richard Wilson, a servant, for theft was sentenced to three years addi- tional service, and to wear a T upon his outer garment. Sometimes the punishments were yet more whimsical. Witness the following, upon one of the officers of the Fort. It is ordered that Scicant Perkins shall carry 40 turfs to the ffort, as a pnnishmt for drusikenes by him comitted.Vol. 1. 103. 1633. Edward Palmer, for his extortion, take- ing 1. 13s. Z d. for time plank wood work of Boston stocks, is fined 51. & censured to be set an houre its time stocksVol. 1. 250. 1639. One feels a sort of satisfaction in this sentence; For tis the sport, to have the engineer Hoist with his own petard. The common penalty for swearing or railing was puttimtg the offenders tongue in a cleft stick; a very painful as well a~ humiliating punishment.Thus: 136 curiosities of Puritan History. [August Elisabeth, the wife of Thomas Aplegate, was censured to stand wh her tongue in a cleft stick, for swearing, railing and revile- ingVol. 1. 178. 1636. Robert Shorthose, for swearing by the blond of God, was sentenced to have his tongue put into a cleft stick, and to stand so by the space of haulfe an houre.Vol. 1. 118. 1636. It is to be lamented that modern inno- vations have rendered it so difficult to visit medical quackery with the punish- ment it deserves. The newspapers are so burdened with the advertisements of drug- mongers. that a foreigner might reason- ably suppose that Americans breakfast upon pills, take lotions instead of baths, bitters for juleps, and after dinner fortify against indigestion with pepsin. Our fathers, good men, did not let empirics throw children into epilepsy, nor sell mo- lasses-and-water for sarsaparilla, with im- punity; e. g. Nich: Knopp is fyned Vi., for takeing upon him to cure the scurvey by a water of noe worth nor value, which he solde att a very dear rate, to be imprisoned till hee pay his ifyne or give securytie for it, or els to be whipped, and shalbe lyable to any mans accon of whome bee hath receaued money for the sd. water.Vol. 1. 67. 1630. The distinctions in society, as before in- timated were somewhat broadly marked. At a later period, it was customary in every congregation to have the seats in the meeting-house assigned once a year to the people according to their rank; this was termed seating the meeting. Ma- gistrates and others in official station the military, and persons of good families or estates, were scrupulously designated by their appropriate titles. XX7~e insert some of the names of the officers chosen in 1646; a random specimen. John Winthrop, sen. Esqr, Gounr Thomas Dudley, Esqr, Dept Gounr John Endecott, Esqr, Assistant. Herbert Pelbam, Esqr, Assistant. Increase Nowell, gent, Assistant and Se- cretary. Win. Pinchon, gent, Assistant. Mr. Rich: Russell, Treasurer. Capt. Win. Hauthorne is chosen speaker of the howse of Deputs for this session. voL 3. 63. 1646. The names of HAWTHORNE and Pvu- CISON will be at once linked together in the readers mind. The ancestor of our most gifted novelist, and the founder of the family whose name is preserved in the House of Seven Gables, could hardly have dreamed of the tie that has since joined them so indissolubly. The appellation Mr. though not the highest, was still a very respectable one. A curious instance occurs where the de- privation of this prefix was considered a sufficient punishment for theft; while the accessories, who were of the lower class, having neither dignity to lose, nor money to atone for their crime, had to submit their backs to the constables whip. Though it has been printed before, (Hutchinsons Hist. Mass.,) it may not be amiss to insert it here. ~It is ordered that Josias Plastowe shall (for stealing 4 basketts of come from the Indians) returne them 8 basketts againe, be ifined Vi. and hereafter to be called by the name of Josias, and not Mr. as formly hee used to be, and that Willam Buckland and Tho: Andrewe shialbe whipped for being necessary to the same offence. Vol. 1. 83. 1631. The most respectful term which could be applied to the untitled was Good- man, or Goodwife ;~~in the latter gen - crally abbreviated to Goody,very sug- gestive of red cloaks, broom-handles, and other appliances of witchcraft. Thus: Gooddy ifinch was censured to bee se- verely whiped to morrow, and so kept in prison.Vol. 1. 282. 1640. A variety of admonitions, sentences, & c.. are given, to illustrate more fully the mi- nute surveillance exercised in regard to morals and manners. John Stone and his wife were admonish- ed to make biger bread, and to take heede of offending by makeing too little bread hereafter.Vol. 1. 265. 1639. Wilhi: Wake was counselled to go whom to his wife, and upon his 5~mise so to do, his repentance and testimony of his good behavior hee was discharged.Vol. 1. 294. 1640. Richird Ilollingsworth, for prophaning the saboth in travelling, was censured to bee set in the stocks upon a lecture day at Salem.Vol. 1. 237. 1637. Benjamin 1-lubberd was also solemly admonished of his failing for being in com- pany wth James Browne and the rest, and often drinking of the strong water bottle w~ h them, and not re~ving them.VoL1. 198. 1637. James Davies, for his unquietness wthi his wife, was enioyncd to appear at the next Court of AssistantsVol. 1. 282. 1640. Thomas Makepeace, because of his no- vile disposition, was informed, wee were weary of him unlesse he reforme.Vol. 1 240. 1638. Ezekiel Holhiman, appearing upon sumons, because bee did not freqnent the publike assemblycs, and for seduceing many, bee was referd by the Court to the minis- ters for convictioii.Vol. 1. 216. 1637. The Court, with commendable liberali- ty, were unwillin0 that a forsaken woman should always remain in widowhood. In 185B.] Curiosities of Puritan History. 137 the following instance, one would think the period quite ion~ enoun h. Mr is Dorothy Pester, whose husband went into England some teu yeares since, and was never to this day heard o~ uppon her petition to this Court, bath liberty granted her to marry when God by his ~vi- deuce shall afford her an Oppertunitie. Vol. 3. 352. 1652. Whether the patient Dorothy ever found her Oppertunitie the records do aet tell. Daniel Fairfield, a notorious offender against morality, was most severely, and (if mutilation were ever justifiable) most justly punished by whipping, slitting his lose. & c. He likewise wore a rope two or three feet long round his neck for seve- ral years. His wife, with a forgiving af- fection which even the wretched hushand must have wondered at, petitioned the Court, session after session, for permission to drop the ignominious badge and, at last, hating been successful in that, she asked and obtained leave to emigrate. This is the answer of the Ceurt: Upon the petition of Elisa: ifairefeild, it is gianted that her husband, she & their children [may] depart out of this Jurisdic- tion unto such other parts of the world as it shall please God to dispose.YoL 2. 232~ 1649. The curtness of this license would in- dicate that the magistrates were quite as well pleased with the departure as the heart-sick woman herself The extreme severity with which the laws were executed at first seems to have relaxed somewhat about 1653. Among the more zealous religionists, the lamenta- tions for the decline of piety were loud and frequent. At length the General Court took up the matter, and referred the whole subject of the dissoluteness of the times to a special committee, with in- structions to present a plan for thorough reformation. A long report was made by the committee, and is now on file, Mass. Archives, vol. 10., fol. 338. 1654. It recommends reform under fourteen distinct heads. The preamble re ds thus: Concearning many Evel is growing ~imongst us of sundry kinds, we conceauc ye Lord calls us to soleme and serious ho- milhiation, yt cuells may be discoucred and pt vented, ye lord therm appearing eying the many snercycs wee bane reccued, and our unsutableness thereunto. Among the subjects specially mention- ed, are, Fasts, public and private, more liberal support of the Ministry, a house of Correction for the idle and dissolute punishment of aggressive heretics, pirates, slanderers, and the improvement of schools. VOL. sr.10 Three items of the proposed great refor- mation we subjoin: 8. Wheras much Grieff lycth on ye spirits of many godly, & much dishonor redounds unto God, by sleepinesse of 7~isons, in ye publique ordinances of Christ, wee concenue it meet from this Court bee declared, yt It is ye duty of such ~sons, who, while ye ordinances of Christ are dispensing, shal sit neere such l~sons, to awaken yin, and, In case they shal bee offended, to Admonish ym priuntly. If, notwithstanding, they shall ~sist therm 4j~versely, yfl to Coin- plague of ym to ye magistrat or commis- siour or Townsmen of yt Towne, who are sharply to admonish yin. This order to bee pobhiquely posted In some open place of ye meetiaghouse byye Constable of yt Towne. 9. That, In all Elections wherein ifree- men and non ffmeemen a oat, Its coucenued meet yin, wheseas Scotch seruants, Irish, negers, and ~hoas nudes one and twenty years have hmbemt~ to aoate, yt ifreemen who undergoc all ~e huidens of this Coin- aveith should bane a double voate. 10. This Cou-t considering ye Cruel and malignant ~puut at Is tue from tyme to tyme been manifest in y Isisli Nation amiast y English, doe hereby declare thyr ~hibitioa of any Irish men, women or childrens being brought Into this Jurisdic- tion & c. At a later period, ax-hen a series of cala- mities overtook the Colony, communica- tions came in from the country expressing very great concern at what were con- sidered evident marks of the Divine dis- pleasure. Whereupon a committee was formally appoiutcd to consider the sub- ject, and to inquire into the causes of Gods wrath! The matter is too lou0 and wordy to be quoted here. It has been imagine(l by some that the Puritans, fl-em their stern treatment of idleness and vice, avere deficient in charity to the poor. But this avas far from the fact. The unfortunate avhether from sickness or accident, never applied to the Court for aid in vain. The benefetions of that day were in far greater proportion to the slender resources of the colony, than are our boasted charities to the immense wealth we h ye accumulated. Nor were the recipients of charity herded like animals or criminals, and left to die without the presence of a friend to cheer the last moments of life. The order fol- lowing, of which there are many parallels, will show the fact we have stated, as well as the simplicity of the times: It avas ordered thn.t Alexander Beck should have 24 bushels of come for Mary Joanes for the tinie Isast, & for the time to come, a boshmehl of come a weeke, & to have tavo blankets & a rug to keepe her warme.YoL 1. 29 1640. 138 Letters of Parepiclernus. [August Corn in 1640 was worth 4s. sterling, equal to nearly ~2 50 now. The following order contains the first notice of witchcraft upon the records of the General Court, although some faint foreshadowing of its terrible career was observed at Springfield a year or two previous. The Corte desire the Course wch hath been taken in England for discoury of witches, by watching them a certaine time: It is orderd tIe. t the best & surest way may be forthwh be put in practice, to be- ~in this night if it may be, being tlse 18th. of the 3rd ~ [May,] & that tlse husband may be confined to a private roome, & be also then -atchcd.Vol. 2. 203. 1648. A further account of this remarkable superstition, as well as many other topics, must be reserved for another article. LETTERS OF PAREPIDEMUS MJMBER Two. I Y DE .ut SinDo people in general, upon this side of the great water, read Ilonier? Virgil, I know~,in some parts of the Union, is a ladys book; nor is there, I think, any ancient author that better deserves the honor. But the mans book, Homer? It is not every boy that learns Greek; and not all who learn Greek read through the whole forty-eight books of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Is Pope much studied? I should fancy not: and, in- deed, though one is glad to be~ r any one say that he has, in the past tense, read th t ingenious composition, it is not easy to bid acy one, in the future, go and read it. And, if not Pope, whom can we re- commend? Chapman is barbarous. dis- sonant, obsolete. incorrect. Iu Ilobbes there are two ~ood lines, well known. but they cannot be repeated too often And like a star upon her bosom, 10,5 Ills beautiful sod shining golden wad. (They are of Astyanax in the arms of his mother; and how that first of English prosaists was inspired with them remains a problem to all generations.) Cowper, who could read. however much enjoined to it? In short there neither is. nor has been, nor in all probability ever will be any thing like a translation. And the whole Anglo-Saxon world of the future will, it is greatly to be feared, go forth upon its way, clearing forests, building clippers, weaving calicoes, and nuexing Mexicos, accomplishing its natural mans- fest destiny, and subsiding into its primi- tive aboriginal ignorance. Accomplishing our manifest destiny! to be, that is, the hewers of wood and drawers of water to the human race in general; and then peradventure, when the wood has all been hewn, and the water drawn, to cease to exist, to be effaced from the earth we have subdued Fear no more the beat of the sun, Nor the furious winters rages, Thou thine earthly task bast done, Homeward none, and taca thy wages. To cease to exist, to vanish, to give place. in short, to some nobler kind of men, in whose melodious and flexible form of speech the old homer will ha e a chance of reappearing unimpaired, or possibly some new homer singing the wrath of another Achilles and the wanderings of wiser Ulysses. Fiat voluntas! Let us go forward to our manifest destiny with content, or at least resignation, and bravely fill up the trench which our nobler successors may thus be able to pass. In the mean time, various attempts in Blackwoods Magazine, and elsewhere, have been made in the last few years at rendering homer isa modern English hexameter verse. We venture to pro- nounce them unsuccessful. It 15 not an easy thing to make readable English hexa- meters at 11; not an easy thing even in the freedom of original composition, but very hard one, indeed, amid the restric- tions of faithful translation. Mr. Long- fellow has gained, and has charmed, has instructed in some degree, and attuned the ears of his countrymen and country- women (in literature we may be allowed to say), upon both sides of the Atlantie, to the flow and cadence of this hitherto un- liccepts ble measure. Yet, the success of Evan0ehine was owing, not more, we think, to the authors practised skill in versilica tion than to his judgment isa the choice of his material. E en his powers, we believe, would fail to obtain~ wide popu- larity for a translation even from a language so nearly akin to our own as the German. In Greek, where gramnaar, inflection, in- tonation, idiom, habit, character, and genius are all snost alien, the task is very much more hopeless. Moreover, in another point, it may be right to turn the Louise of Voss. and the herman and Dorothca of Goethe into corresponding modern so-called hsexa- meters. If tlac verse is clumsy in our

Letters of Parapidemus 138-140

138 Letters of Parepiclernus. [August Corn in 1640 was worth 4s. sterling, equal to nearly ~2 50 now. The following order contains the first notice of witchcraft upon the records of the General Court, although some faint foreshadowing of its terrible career was observed at Springfield a year or two previous. The Corte desire the Course wch hath been taken in England for discoury of witches, by watching them a certaine time: It is orderd tIe. t the best & surest way may be forthwh be put in practice, to be- ~in this night if it may be, being tlse 18th. of the 3rd ~ [May,] & that tlse husband may be confined to a private roome, & be also then -atchcd.Vol. 2. 203. 1648. A further account of this remarkable superstition, as well as many other topics, must be reserved for another article. LETTERS OF PAREPIDEMUS MJMBER Two. I Y DE .ut SinDo people in general, upon this side of the great water, read Ilonier? Virgil, I know~,in some parts of the Union, is a ladys book; nor is there, I think, any ancient author that better deserves the honor. But the mans book, Homer? It is not every boy that learns Greek; and not all who learn Greek read through the whole forty-eight books of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Is Pope much studied? I should fancy not: and, in- deed, though one is glad to be~ r any one say that he has, in the past tense, read th t ingenious composition, it is not easy to bid acy one, in the future, go and read it. And, if not Pope, whom can we re- commend? Chapman is barbarous. dis- sonant, obsolete. incorrect. Iu Ilobbes there are two ~ood lines, well known. but they cannot be repeated too often And like a star upon her bosom, 10,5 Ills beautiful sod shining golden wad. (They are of Astyanax in the arms of his mother; and how that first of English prosaists was inspired with them remains a problem to all generations.) Cowper, who could read. however much enjoined to it? In short there neither is. nor has been, nor in all probability ever will be any thing like a translation. And the whole Anglo-Saxon world of the future will, it is greatly to be feared, go forth upon its way, clearing forests, building clippers, weaving calicoes, and nuexing Mexicos, accomplishing its natural mans- fest destiny, and subsiding into its primi- tive aboriginal ignorance. Accomplishing our manifest destiny! to be, that is, the hewers of wood and drawers of water to the human race in general; and then peradventure, when the wood has all been hewn, and the water drawn, to cease to exist, to be effaced from the earth we have subdued Fear no more the beat of the sun, Nor the furious winters rages, Thou thine earthly task bast done, Homeward none, and taca thy wages. To cease to exist, to vanish, to give place. in short, to some nobler kind of men, in whose melodious and flexible form of speech the old homer will ha e a chance of reappearing unimpaired, or possibly some new homer singing the wrath of another Achilles and the wanderings of wiser Ulysses. Fiat voluntas! Let us go forward to our manifest destiny with content, or at least resignation, and bravely fill up the trench which our nobler successors may thus be able to pass. In the mean time, various attempts in Blackwoods Magazine, and elsewhere, have been made in the last few years at rendering homer isa modern English hexameter verse. We venture to pro- nounce them unsuccessful. It 15 not an easy thing to make readable English hexa- meters at 11; not an easy thing even in the freedom of original composition, but very hard one, indeed, amid the restric- tions of faithful translation. Mr. Long- fellow has gained, and has charmed, has instructed in some degree, and attuned the ears of his countrymen and country- women (in literature we may be allowed to say), upon both sides of the Atlantie, to the flow and cadence of this hitherto un- liccepts ble measure. Yet, the success of Evan0ehine was owing, not more, we think, to the authors practised skill in versilica tion than to his judgment isa the choice of his material. E en his powers, we believe, would fail to obtain~ wide popu- larity for a translation even from a language so nearly akin to our own as the German. In Greek, where gramnaar, inflection, in- tonation, idiom, habit, character, and genius are all snost alien, the task is very much more hopeless. Moreover, in another point, it may be right to turn the Louise of Voss. and the herman and Dorothca of Goethe into corresponding modern so-called hsexa- meters. If tlac verse is clumsy in our 1853.] Letters of Parepidemus. 139 renderine. so was it to begin with in the original. If no high degree of elegance is attained, no high degree of elegance was there to he lost. But in Greek there seems really hardly a reason for selecting this in preference to some readier, more native and popular form of verse. Certainly the easy flowin11 couplets of Chaucer. the melodious blank verse of Shakspeare. or some improved variety of ballad metre. such as Mr. Frere used in translating the Cid would be. on the whole, not less like the original music of the Iliad and Odyssey than that which we listen to with pleasure in Evangeline, and read without much trouble in the Herman and Dorothea. Homers round- ing line, and Virgils smooth verse, were both of them (after more puzzling about it than the matter deserves. I have con- vinced myself) totally unlike those len ~th~- strag6 hug, irregular, uncertai uslipsof prose mesziree which we find it so hard to measure, so easy to read in half-a-dozen ways, without any assurance of the right one, and which, since the days of Voss. the Gothic nations consider analogous to classic hexameter. Lend me, if you can spare them for a moment or two, my dear sir. your ears. and tell mc. honor bright, is cetrienere omnes. intentique era renebant the same thing as Hab in (len Markt 110(1 die Strasse doch nicht so cmnsarn geseben. Were I to interpolate in a smooth passage of Evangeline a verse from the Georgics or the A~neid. would they go together? Is the follolving a metrical sequence: Thos, in the ancient time the emooth Vir~ilian verees Feli on the listening ear of the Roman princes and people. Ut belli si~ nm Lanrenti Tnrnns ab arco. There is one line, one exam plo of the smooth Virgilian verses, which perhaps Mr. Longfellow would have allowed him- self to case, and his readers consciated to accept. as real hexameter. Spar~ens humida mella soporiferumqne papaver. might, perhaps. have been no more ob- jected to than Tons lee Bourgeois de charrres et le carillon de lion- kerqne. Yet even this most exceptionable form, with its special aim at expressing, by an adap- tation of sound to sense, the Scattering of liqnid honeys and soporiferons peppy. isa model of condensation, brevity, smooth- ness, and siettetc, compared with that sprawling bit of rhythmical prose into which I have turned it. But, we are going to be learned, my dear sir; so I release your kind ears, and beg you will no longer trouble either yourself or thembut, some one, I fore- see, of the numerous well-instructed future readers of this private correspondence will interpose with his or her oljcction, aiad will tell me, You iead your Latin verse wrongly-, you dont put the stress upon the ictus.you should pronounce Virgil like Evangeline. Evangeline is the true hexameter; in Virgil the colloquial accent hich you follow was lost in the accent of verse. The Romans of old read it not Ut bdlli sign sin Lasirdoti Tfmrnus ab firco, but Ut beili si~nfmm. O dear! and can you, courteous and well- instructed reader, positively read your Georgics or LEneid in that way? 1)o you, as a habit, seau as you go along? Do you not feel it very awkward must not the Iloanans al o b so f It it rat/er awk- ward, to pass so contin~ illy and violently from the ordinars to the sing-song accen- tuation? Aiad if as I think you must allow, there was some ~svkwardness in it, why is it that Vii ~ml and the other good versifiers, so constantly piefer that form of verse in when this ass I svardness most appears? 1\ Spiirgens hfmmida nail oporifermoqee papiver, where there is no such (lifticuity, a rare form, and Ut h~~lli signum, svhere there is, a comnion and f vorite one? Do you know? I shall venture to assert that in the Latin language, the system of accen- tuation was this, which enjoined the awk- wardness yosa complain of; the separation, in general, of the colloquial and the metri- cal accent, the veiny opposite of that which we observe. svho, unless the two coincide. think the verse bad. Enoogh of this, however. Return, AIphe~is, the dread voice is pastcome back, my dear sir, we will talk no niore prosodyonly just allos me to recite to you a fccv verses of meta- phrase, as they used to sa\r, from the Odyssey; constructed as nearly as may be upon the ancient principle; qunistity, so far as, in our forward-rushing, consonant- crushing, Anglo-savage enunciationlong and short can in any kind be detected quantity attended to in time first place, and care also bestosved. in time second, to have the natural accents very frequently laid upon syllables svhich the nsetrical readine depresses. The aged Nestor, sitting among Isis sons at Pylos, is telling Telemachus, who has come from Ithaca to ask tidings of his father, how, after the taking of Troy, the imusolence ansi violence of the Achnians called down upon them the displeasure of the Father of the Gods and the stern blu& 140 Acadie, and the Birth-Place of Evangeline. [August eyed virgin, his daughter. Agamemnon and Menelaus, flushed with wine, quar- relled openly in an assembly held at sunset, which broke up in disorder and tumult the leaders, some of them. stay- ing behind to please Agamemnon others. drawing down their ships without delay and sailing off with Ulysses, came as far as Tenedos, and then turned again back. But I, says Nester But I, with my SThTb in a bedy, the whole that obeyed inc Fled, well pei ccix sn~ that xx iath wan rioin~ a~ainst us, Tvdidcs also fled xx iix me his company calling; Later, upon t c.~ fulloxed the yellow Menebino In Lesbos foind ox d~ a~-n~tliere ef the len~ voyage, were we to ~xi~ to xx it b this side of the rocky clis Making far P~yiie s e China being kept to tho lar- buxard Or to the for ~do cv~- alon~ by the xvindyMimanw. Will thl~ sort of thing please the modern ear? It is to he feared not. It is too late a day in this nineteenth century to introduce ne~ principle, however good. into modern Enrounan verse. We must be content perhaps, in this, as in other and higher m~ tters, to take things as we find them, and make the host we can of them. You. I dare say, my dear sir, though per- haps no ~reat lover of he~ameters at all will prefer to roy labored Ilomerics the rough on I re-if An 10-savage lines that follow. Tlxoy rend~r tbe prayer of Achilles when he s cechnue out Patroclus with the Myrmidonh to be the victory of the Trojans. I)oixonPan, Pcx~ic- x up in heaven above us, King of nod a the stormy auxl cuxid, xvhere thy ScM ~xl t e- Barefoot. than a. uxut ir feet, wheec ixed ix the earth tx ix xxi his Once xvhen L Lxikre, thou gayest me all my peOn tiavest i5i5 11(1110 onul e tly afflicted the host of Aclia Even so nosy too Zenx foul my prayer and petition; I sin ~nyselfstxyisg he-c olone in the midst of my xesse Bat I am sendin uiy friend, and the Myruddon peotik Thu t hiiia Into the hattie 0 u X ide-Seir, accord to lihem lionusi Strengthen, embolden ti e heart in his breast; that Ilectoi us day may See xvlietlicr my conipaiiioia has skill of his oxvn for the hxttlc Or is mx incibi only xx lien I too ester the onset. And xvhen the nai~ht of his lisuxi shall have driven tix xxxr from the galleys, Then let him come back safe to nie by the side of my veexels Uialinrt bmmnsmni me home my arms and all my companions So in his pisyci lac spoke; and the Zeus, the Coun- selluxi heord hun Granted him half Ins desire; but li-If the Father deixied lilIn Grautexi laina that his friend should drive the xvar and the onset Back finns the galleys; denied him. his safe return from the battle. 1-lere, in a milder mood, the poet for the conclusion of his first hook, describes the easy inion gods. So the live-Ion7 day they thus xvcre unto the sunset Feasting; neither did heart lack over a portion of banquet Nor lark exer the l~me sareet-toned, in the hand of Apudlo Nor the nauses, in tuna singing saveetly avith beauti- ful xoices But as soon as the shinimar light of the sun had de- wended They, to lay tiseum doxvn, xvent every one to his chaniher wixere for exch one -a Ixouse the far-famed worker xx itli botls lx xnds Eveux Itephwstnx li-id made xvitli the skill of his un- deistxiadiix Zeus also to his hod the Olympian flasher ofliglitning, Where lie xvtis xvont before, ashen sluInber saveet exiuxe upon bun Tidther guxixe-tip oxas sleeping, tlxe xvlxite-armned ITeera beside him, The best translations of Ilomer into this verse which I am acquainted with are those by Mr. Lockhart and Dr. Ilaw- trey in the little oblong-quarto collection of English Ilexameters. Yet after all At any rate My dear sir home ix x chxtpter, avhxichi, be it for better (ur xx one is From heiminmn to end about Ixexauxeter verses; Could thxcy but jmix7he a little, tsvere better, iserhiaps; but lb trouble Really is cninhlesu xxi hiumatimag for rhymes that have all tia be (hxauhuhe Adieux, liii lhc next linac, xvhxen either in prose or mix ihiyiiue I Ilaply in xy Omid soinethiima0 better to gossip about in a lettei In thc meanax hue nay dear Cli, till wrhtin7 a7ain may bexcemn us I am, your faithiol, obhi7ed, and obedient, PAREPIDEMUS. ACADIE AND THE BIRTH-PLACE OF EVANGELINE. FOR some time I had been possessed with a stron~ desire to visit Nova Scotia. Of this province, less perhups is known than of any other in British America, so that this of itself was sufficient to awaken curiosity. But the pages of Evangeline which I had lately pernsed threw a new interest around Acadie. Ah. thought I. Evangeline no longer dwells in her ceaceful holne; those simple-hearted pea- sants have departed, anti every trace of theam has, without doubt, been effaced. But yet there remains the land which they reclaimed frotn the sea, and from the forest; their old haunts may still attract the traveller, and aroxand the beautiful spot which they inhabited, sonic charms still may himmger. I will visit this land, said I and see time home of the tender and lovely Evangeline.

Acadie and the Birthplace of Evangeline 140-145

140 Acadie, and the Birth-Place of Evangeline. [August eyed virgin, his daughter. Agamemnon and Menelaus, flushed with wine, quar- relled openly in an assembly held at sunset, which broke up in disorder and tumult the leaders, some of them. stay- ing behind to please Agamemnon others. drawing down their ships without delay and sailing off with Ulysses, came as far as Tenedos, and then turned again back. But I, says Nester But I, with my SThTb in a bedy, the whole that obeyed inc Fled, well pei ccix sn~ that xx iath wan rioin~ a~ainst us, Tvdidcs also fled xx iix me his company calling; Later, upon t c.~ fulloxed the yellow Menebino In Lesbos foind ox d~ a~-n~tliere ef the len~ voyage, were we to ~xi~ to xx it b this side of the rocky clis Making far P~yiie s e China being kept to tho lar- buxard Or to the for ~do cv~- alon~ by the xvindyMimanw. Will thl~ sort of thing please the modern ear? It is to he feared not. It is too late a day in this nineteenth century to introduce ne~ principle, however good. into modern Enrounan verse. We must be content perhaps, in this, as in other and higher m~ tters, to take things as we find them, and make the host we can of them. You. I dare say, my dear sir, though per- haps no ~reat lover of he~ameters at all will prefer to roy labored Ilomerics the rough on I re-if An 10-savage lines that follow. Tlxoy rend~r tbe prayer of Achilles when he s cechnue out Patroclus with the Myrmidonh to be the victory of the Trojans. I)oixonPan, Pcx~ic- x up in heaven above us, King of nod a the stormy auxl cuxid, xvhere thy ScM ~xl t e- Barefoot. than a. uxut ir feet, wheec ixed ix the earth tx ix xxi his Once xvhen L Lxikre, thou gayest me all my peOn tiavest i5i5 11(1110 onul e tly afflicted the host of Aclia Even so nosy too Zenx foul my prayer and petition; I sin ~nyselfstxyisg he-c olone in the midst of my xesse Bat I am sendin uiy friend, and the Myruddon peotik Thu t hiiia Into the hattie 0 u X ide-Seir, accord to lihem lionusi Strengthen, embolden ti e heart in his breast; that Ilectoi us day may See xvlietlicr my conipaiiioia has skill of his oxvn for the hxttlc Or is mx incibi only xx lien I too ester the onset. And xvhen the nai~ht of his lisuxi shall have driven tix xxxr from the galleys, Then let him come back safe to nie by the side of my veexels Uialinrt bmmnsmni me home my arms and all my companions So in his pisyci lac spoke; and the Zeus, the Coun- selluxi heord hun Granted him half Ins desire; but li-If the Father deixied lilIn Grautexi laina that his friend should drive the xvar and the onset Back finns the galleys; denied him. his safe return from the battle. 1-lere, in a milder mood, the poet for the conclusion of his first hook, describes the easy inion gods. So the live-Ion7 day they thus xvcre unto the sunset Feasting; neither did heart lack over a portion of banquet Nor lark exer the l~me sareet-toned, in the hand of Apudlo Nor the nauses, in tuna singing saveetly avith beauti- ful xoices But as soon as the shinimar light of the sun had de- wended They, to lay tiseum doxvn, xvent every one to his chaniher wixere for exch one -a Ixouse the far-famed worker xx itli botls lx xnds Eveux Itephwstnx li-id made xvitli the skill of his un- deistxiadiix Zeus also to his hod the Olympian flasher ofliglitning, Where lie xvtis xvont before, ashen sluInber saveet exiuxe upon bun Tidther guxixe-tip oxas sleeping, tlxe xvlxite-armned ITeera beside him, The best translations of Ilomer into this verse which I am acquainted with are those by Mr. Lockhart and Dr. Ilaw- trey in the little oblong-quarto collection of English Ilexameters. Yet after all At any rate My dear sir home ix x chxtpter, avhxichi, be it for better (ur xx one is From heiminmn to end about Ixexauxeter verses; Could thxcy but jmix7he a little, tsvere better, iserhiaps; but lb trouble Really is cninhlesu xxi hiumatimag for rhymes that have all tia be (hxauhuhe Adieux, liii lhc next linac, xvhxen either in prose or mix ihiyiiue I Ilaply in xy Omid soinethiima0 better to gossip about in a lettei In thc meanax hue nay dear Cli, till wrhtin7 a7ain may bexcemn us I am, your faithiol, obhi7ed, and obedient, PAREPIDEMUS. ACADIE AND THE BIRTH-PLACE OF EVANGELINE. FOR some time I had been possessed with a stron~ desire to visit Nova Scotia. Of this province, less perhups is known than of any other in British America, so that this of itself was sufficient to awaken curiosity. But the pages of Evangeline which I had lately pernsed threw a new interest around Acadie. Ah. thought I. Evangeline no longer dwells in her ceaceful holne; those simple-hearted pea- sants have departed, anti every trace of theam has, without doubt, been effaced. But yet there remains the land which they reclaimed frotn the sea, and from the forest; their old haunts may still attract the traveller, and aroxand the beautiful spot which they inhabited, sonic charms still may himmger. I will visit this land, said I and see time home of the tender and lovely Evangeline. 1853.1 Acadie, and the Birth-Place of Evanqeline. 141 Full of these thoughts, I left Boston, and when I arrived at St. John, the blue shores of the other province, just visible above the horizon, drew me on with a stronger attraction. After spending three days in this city, I left for the town of Digby on the other side of the bay. The distance was only forty miles, but the steamer in which it was my luck to em- bark, was so inconceivably slow, that eight hours were consumed on the passage. How would Americans endure this rate of speed? But after all, I thought, as I looked around on the Provincials who were my fellow-passengers, it seems fast enough for them. They were reclining lazily on the seats of the npper deck, and many had gone below to their berths. Although they were all large and healthy men, vet they seemed listless and dull, displayin~ none of that unwearied activi- ty which always characterizes a citizen of our republic. The ennui which reigned supreme, presently seized upon me also, and after making desperate attempts to rid myself of it. I was finally compelled to succumb to its power. Sad and misera- ble I walked forward, and lighting a cigar, cave myself np to gloomy reflections. Guess youve never been down East afore, mister, said a sharp, cracked voice behind me. It was not a particularly ~irthful remark, but my melancholy van- ished at once, and a kind fellow-feeling came over me; for turning round, I recog- nized a fellow-countryman. Reader, have von ever seen a Down East captain? If not, let me advise you to go at once in search of one, for he is an origi- nal. You will not have to travel far to find bun. Go to the wharves at Boston or New-York. go to any seaport town, and von will see one. In fact, go where you will, east or west north or soutl~ to the wilds of Oregon, or the islands of the Pa- cific. and you will probably see him eve- rywhere before you. The one before me was a type of his class. He seemed to have dressed himself in his holiday garb. his beaver was of the fashion of the last a0e. He had a frill shirt, whose collar turned over a glaring red and yellow cot- ton handkerchief, an extremely tight pair of pantaloons, a blue coat with brass but- tons, the collar of which braced his head behind, and to crown all, a calf-skin vest. Ilavin,, entered into conversation with him. I found that he was born in Eastport, and that his wife lived in Yarmouth, N. S. lie had not seen her for three years. was on his way there now, and almost broke his pipe by letting it fall on the deck, while he gave a yell of delight at the thought of soon seein~ his Mehita- bel. A darn lazy set of fellows, them Pro- vincials, said he, they aint got the pro- per stuff in them. See them goin oft to their hammocks instead of stayin on deck like men. ihe)ll never make nothin. Theyre too lazy. Do you know much about the prov- inces? said I. Wal a little. I lived in Yarmouth three years axter I married, and got tired to death of the place. so I had to go. But its a beautiful country; why, law bless you, Ive seen some of the finest orchards and fields of corn thar that you could think of; and Jerusalem! 5ieh medders! They have fish continewally swimmin around them, wantin so much to he caubht, that they go up in millions into the rivers, and what do these people do? Precious little. They dont desarve the country. Theyre lazy I let him run on thus for some time. and found ranch esemblance between his sayings and those of the great Samuel Slick. Do you think they will ever be an- nexed? I dont know. If they wur to be, the conntry in ten years would be all overrun with Yankees, and before the Provincials knew it their water powers and best lands would be put to some profit. And the villages, which are the thunderinest pooty places you ever see, would soon look a lit- tle lively. Ah well, Captain, they have not yet had time to develope themselves; wait a few years, and things will be different. Wait a few years! I guess well have to wait till eternity then. I bet my pipe a6in a tenpenny nail, that theyll never become any thin till they get some Yan- kees among them. The wust of the busi- ness is to see how they look down on us Yankees? Look down on us Be shoor they do! One Provincial thinks himself as good, and a trifle better than two Yankees. I swow, Job himself would be riled to hear them. I haint no patience with them, and their talk about their old families, and loyalty, andbut blame it, my pipes out. Good day, Mis- ter. The harbor of Digby is formed by the widening of the Annapolis River, which at this place has the appearance of a large lake. Here the river rushes into the bay, having burst its way through cliffs 1000 feet in height. This opening goes by the name of Digby Gut. It is a wild and sublime chasm in a chain of mountains, which seem to have been torn asunder by some convulsion of nature. So deep is the cleft, that in some places no bottom has 142 Accrdie, and the Birth-Place of Evangeline. [August ever been reached with the sounding lead. At the base of a hill facing the water, and looking up the river, lies the town of Dig by, appearing beautifully from the water, with its houses half hidden among trees. Multitudes of cherry-trees grow here; in- deed, it may be said, that in no place in the world do cherries grow with greater profusion, or attain a greater degree of perfection than in Digby. There were also plum and peach trees and great numbers of apple-trees coxeird with their beautiful blossoms. Tim stieets were clean and neat, sheltei en in many places by shady trees. From the summit of the hill behind the town, the e~ e an ht roam over an enchanting lands~ap~ from where, beneath the gazer, Digbx 1a5 embosomed among trees, along a fe1 tile coast broken by the outlets of small rivrs to where, twenty miles away. the spires and church towers of Annapolis rose. The w~ ter be- fore is always dotted with vessels, and from the lofty rocky bank on the right, you may occasionally hear a deep roaring sound, as some hu~e pine-tree thunders down the side of the mountain into the water below. I was delighted with this lovely town. But though I loved the quiet of this little spot, yet there seemed a sad want of energy and busy action. Every one was idle and listless. And there was another circumstance yet more surprising. Numbers of those beautiful ladies, for which Nova Scotia is still fa- mous. mm~ht be seen riding and promena- ding, but no young men were there to at- tend to them. Where were they? I could not help inquiring. Oh, theyre all gone off to the States was the answer, and this was always the reply to such a question. The States seems to be the only country in which the Nova Scotia youth think themselves able to prosper. But so beautiful was the country around me, so fertile the soil, so pleasing the manners of the people with whom I became acquainted, that I could not im- agine what motives could induce one who was born here to leave his lovely home. Why can they not be as success- ful in this new country as in ours? The government is almost the same. The people are of the same race, their manners and customs are precisely the same. The resources, whether mineral or vegetable, are unbounded. Myriads of fish inhabit these waters. Forests of ship-timber crow on these hills. Then, good hea- vens! why should a youth, with energy enough to succeed in another land, aban- don his more attractive home, when there are so many ways in which one may with safety invest either capital or industry. I left iDigby after a stay of about a week, during which time I had roamed through all those enchanting spots which are scattered around it in such profusion. Ah, thought I, as I sat beneath the shade of sonic lofty elms, fanned by the unceasing sea-breeze, if ~dl Nova Scotia resembles this place, how beautiful a land must it be! If I3igby were in the United States how thronged would be its quiet streets! With its beauties, and advan- tages for sea-bathing, which cannot be surpassed, in a short time it would be the most frequented watering-place in all America.~~ Annapolis is a town of about the same size as Dighy. It was founded by the French, and in their time, under the name of Port Royal, was the capital of the pro- vince. The town is very beautiful and the country in its immediate vicinity is in a high state of cultivation, but there is nothing here of so striking a nature as the landscape at iDighy. As 1 was m haste to see the birth-place of Evangehine, I soon left. There wore no railroads here, and for this I was not sorry; for to me a leisurely traveller, it was more pleasant to ride slowly, and see the country, than to be borne onward like the wind amid smoke, dust, and cinders. A coach was my conveyance, and, while riding along, I fancied myself living one hundred years ago, for every thing was this much behind the present age. The country beyond Annapolis is exceedingly rough. Such heaps of stones and rocks. such wildness and desolation, such obstacles in the way of cultivation, I never saw, except in the State of Rhode island; but there the barrenness is that of the desert, while here it extends for but a few miles, and its ruggedness is that of a mountainous country. A little old geiitlenian was sitting be- side mc. Suddenly lie spoke Dis mus be a ver strong laud to bear de vate of such be~ stones, Monsieur; lie, lie, he! I started and turned round iii horror. Looking closely at him, I recognized him as a Frenchman a native of the province. whom I had seen in the hotel at Dighy it few days previously. And have the Acadians, the honest, unsophisticated Aca dians. fallen so low? Will the descendant of those oppressed but noble-hearted men make a pun? Twas too true. But. after all, Ii felt an involuntary respect for him an affection for him and his race. I thought of the gentle Acadienne, Evange- line, and forgave his observation. Entering into conversation with him I found him to be well-informed about Nova Scotian politics; a relation of his was a member of the Provincial Parliament. Party strife, he informed me, ran very 1853.] Acadie, and the Birth-Place of Evangeline. 143 hi0h in this province during the time of election; relations often became so em- bittered toward one another, that they never after became friends. In many parts, one party never would think of speaking to the opposite side. I was much surprised to hear of such virulence and ill-feeling among these unenergetic and quiet people. My companion informed me, however, that on the question of politics the Nova Scotians were always most excitable. We stopped for half an hour at the pretty village of Bridgetown, and after leaving it, found that the country became more fertile as we advanced. There were hosts of beautiful places, called by such names as Eden, Paradise,~~ and they were worthy of them. The road, though long, was not monotonous. Sometimes it went for many miles through a thick forest, then coming to the top of some hill, beautiful and well-cultivated plain would meet the eye. At other ti. es long rows of willows and poplars lined the road on either side. There were many large orchards, which we continually passed, some of which consisted of several thou- sand trees. Toward evening we appproached a beautifully situated and attractive village, called Kentville, which, after changing horses, we at once left, and rattlcd onward to Horton. This is the present name of the country where Evangeline lived. It is only seven miles from Kentville,so that we speedily arrived there. Here was the end of my journey, and leaping from the tiresome coach, I entered a little inn, not intending to visit any place until the mor- row. The Rev. Edward Barrell and I had belonged to the same class at Harvard seven or eight years before. He was the only representative of the provinces at the college, and stoutly did he stand up for his native land. To hear him, you would imagine the Lower Provinces. and especi- ally Nova Scotia, to be a second Eden, a land of promise, the garden of the world. Although I believed his statements to be somewhat colored by patriotism, yet I could not help thinkin~, that there must be something uncommon in this country, even if one half of what he said were true. He had been pastor of a church in Horton for three years, and here I expected to find him. Calling upon him, the next day, I met with a most warm reception. His house stood at a little distance from the road, with large shadowy trees before it, and on the left was an apple-orchard, whose trees were covered with delicious blos- soms. Flowers of many kinds grew in a garden on the ri0ht, and behind, the eye wandered down a long extent of dike land, xvhich spread away, intersected with rivers, and glowing in the freshness of its new vegetation. Wait a little while, said my friend, and I will take you to some beautiful spots, . ud I think you will acknowledge that you would find it a dif- ficult task to produce places in New Eng- land to equal them in loveliness. I did not reply, but smiled at the un- diminished prid of country which my friend evinced. We walked out after dinner, and went up the road along which the village is built. Loud rows of poplars and willows grew on either side, cooling us by their shade. A hill lay before us, upon which stood a handsome edifice in an unfinished state, a college, I believe. We ascended it, and, after arriving at the top, turned and looked back. I was astonished at the prospect. The village stretched. long the foryround beneath us, its houses peeping out from surrounding groves and orchards. Farther in lay the dike lands, extending for a great distance, its level surface broken in one place by an island, which rose up covered with trees. Farther away lay the Basin of Minas, with its blue waters hemmed in by lofty rocky shores, and from out its midst rose boldly upward a towering cliff called I3lomidon. This cliff is formed by the abrupt termina- tion of a chain of hills which extend along nearly the whole western shore of the province. How do you like that? said my companion. Surpassingly beautiful! I had never expected so much. But all the dike landhow came it here? Who reclaim- ed it from the water? It was the work of the early Acadian settlers, and all this part of the province was originally cultivated by them; you may often meet with the ruins of their houses in places now worn out by lou0 cultivation. The ruins of their houses? Yes, there is one a little way behind you. We turned, and after walkin0 about one hundred yards, came to a small hol- low in the ground, which looked as if it bad once been the cellar & a house. Around it were many bricks and stones. It was at the extremity of a small clear- ing, which had been made long a0o in these woods. In a small gully at a short distance a brook bubbled and gushed forth, tumbling, as it flowed alon0, over rocks and fallen trees. The woods encir- cled us on three sides. Apple-trees were there which seemed to have been planted 144 Acaclie, and the Birth-Place of JlAangeline. ~August a hundred years ago. It was a beauti- ful spot. Could not this have been your home, Evangeline? Might not this soil have been pressed by your feet, and these trees planted by your hands? I re- clined on the grass. From the surround- ing woods a thousand birds were singing, and beneath me the brook uttered no less pleasing music. There was enchantment here! Have you such places ~s this in New England? said my friend. This aroused me. Like thisit is very beautiful, butwhy yes, of course we have. Come on a little farther, and we may see some other places. Here, follow this way, we will make a rush through the woods. A path lay before us, along which we passed. It had been trodden by many feet, and every obstruction bad been re- moved. We came to another brook some- what larder than the first. Small camps had been reared along its banks by the students of the college below. These woods were delightful: above they were filled with birds, and below grew myriads of wild flowers, such as linears and others to me utterly unknown. We came out at length into a road and walked for a half mile or so, but the scenery- grew rather tame. ~~There on earth are we going to? I t last exclaimed. Be patient, you will see in a short time, cried he. Something better than New Eng- land? You shall judge. We had been slowly ascending ever since we left the village. The summit at last lay before us; we still walked on and at last came to where there was a de- scent. Here a new scene opened upon us, different from that which had before ap- peared. The hill went abruptly down for a great distance, and opposite arose others more lofty. A lovely valley lay beneath, through which flowed a river in a winding course, whose banks were lined with green willows and poplars. Look- ing up the valley to the right, the river was lost amid trees and bushes. Looking down, it appeared at times through the branches of elms and willows, until at , takino~ a turn, it became lost to view. What in the world is the name of this place? I enthusiastically inquired of my friend, who stood gazing with a confi- dent smile. What a charming spot! and here it lies hidden completely from the world unknown and unvisited. This is the valley of the Gaspereaux. Once seen, it is not soon forgotten. But it has one fault, which it holds in common with many other beautiful places. The inhabitants are ignorant, and indolent. When you come closer, these houses will appear less romantic, and those irre~ular fences will appear hideous. We descend- ed, and if from the summit the prospect was charming, nothing was lost ns we de- scended the mountain, until we drew near the village, and then truly the charm was broken. Dirt an(l filth were every where. Every thing showed carelessness and indo lence. Pigs ran rampant through a mud- dy lane, which I suppose was called a road; and the bridge which crossed the river seemed hourly in danger of falling in. Ignorance a.nd sttipidity dwelt upon the expressionless countenances which met my eyes. We have nothing like this in New Enjand, said I to my now silent com- panion. My friends servant had brought his carriage here, and waited our arrival. We jumped in, and rode down along th river. rrhe fields gradually wore a better appearance, and the houses began to ap- pear neater; the road, too, became better, and was lined with trees on either side. Many orchards were here, and gardens filled with peach and plum trees. We came at length to the Gaspereaux s mouth. There was the place where the English ships lay; and here too,~ thought perhaps on this very spot, stood the poor exiles. What a si~ht must it have been when the poor defenceless Acadians were compelled to leave a home like ths ! They were rudely torn away from the paradise where they dwelt in simplicity and inno- cence. They were snatched from these their green fields, a ad from the fertile meadows which their own hands bad so laboriously cultivated; and while their houses were burnt to the ground, they were scattered all over America. We turned away from the place, and rode back to the village. The valley of t~ie Gaspereaux seemed yet more beauti- ful by twilight. Countless fireflies spar- kl through the woods, before, behind, and around us. The lowing of cattle re- turning home, and the tinkling of bells from flocks and herds, the bleating of sheep, and the noise of the rushing river, added to the enchantment of the scene. We looked down again from the top of the hill. Beautiful valley! why should such shiftless and ignorant people inhabit thee? My American feelings came strongly over me. If this were the United States, I thonght,and I thought aloud, If this were the United States, what a glorious place would this valley become! Those dirty houses would soon 1853.] The Mill. 145 be torn down, and beautiful dwellings erected. Yes, and if this were the United States, replied my incorrigible friend, every tree would be cut down. Those cottages, which, when seen from a distance, are so romantic, would give place to unsightly two-story houses, and cotton factories would line the banks of this lovely river. On the following day my friend told me that there was one place to which I must go, for in his opinion it was the gem of Aca- dia. We rode toward the village of Lower Horton, which was about four miles away. The scenery along the road was very fine. and the country was in a good state of cultivation. We ascended a hill which lay in the way. On arriving at the sum- mit, I gazed around, and the scene which met my view was such as baffles all de- scription. Beneath us lay a broad ex- panse of dike land, waving with luxuri- ant ve~etation, intersected by roads, and winding streams, whose banks were adorned in many places by groves and long rows of trees. On one side the plain was protected from the water by a lone island which arose,a natural dike. through the green groves of which peeped forth white cottages and barns. In the distance the blue Basin of Minas ap- peared, encircled with its lofty rugged cliffs, among which the ever-present Blom- mon towered highest. I turned away, unable to express my admiration. But this was not all. Glancing down the hill there appeared another scene, which I had not before noticed. In the valley lay the village of Lower Horton; the small and comfortable houses, so old-fashioned, and yet so attractive in their appearance, were built along the road, the neat gardens which lay before them being shaded by spreading elms and tall poplars. The sun shone brightly down upon this lovely val- ley. A rustic picture was there. Some old men sat smoking their pipes b