Full text of "The War of Races in Hungary: A Review of De L'esprit Public en Hongrie, Etc. Par A. Degerando ..."

See other formats

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http: //books .google .com/I

y^t.s'Si'fM-t-^ ^'<- ^'y «*s-

Sat6aili Conege Iiiinacg

SiC/. t, t. ■ 4<'i'ni ■

UlUS-

^/Ce<rV«-«--<, 4/^5%^ c^-^™

1 s^/^i^f. /^d\

NORTH AMEBICAIN

REVIEW.

'■^T^ ^.S*WVlRy, 1850

. ^^ BOSTON:

CinOlLKS C. LlTl-LK A'*^ lAMF.a B It W J

LIS DON:

JOUK CDAPMAII.

I If trnuini.

•^ .'

'- . 6. ^- c^. c/, £. e . X 0-

...y.

f • ^. £e^-. ^ ^ . 2^. »^. P^. ^- ^^

^^ ^^::^ —

A LIST

LAW AND MISCELLANEOUS

BOOKS,

PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE

LITTLE AND BROWN,

(cHARLES C. LITTLE, JAMES BROWN, AND AUGUSTUS FLAGO,)

NO. 112, WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON.

Cbbdit — Six months from date of invoice.

JANUARY, MDCCCL.

(S^^*_t^ N^^s-T^-t^r x«-«J^ -^ ^>

LAW BOOKS,

PUBLISHED BY LITTLE & BROWN.

Abbot on Shipping, new edit, with Notes by Shee,

Story, and Perkins, royal 8vo $7 50

Allen on the Law of Mortga^s, 2 vols 8vo. (in preparation.)

American Jurist, New Series, 10 vols. 8vo. half law sheep 12 50

Angell on Common Carriers law sheep 5 50

Angell on Limitations, 2d edit. . . law sheep 5 50
Angeirs Rhode Island Reports, (parts 1 and 2,)

stitched . . .a part 75

Angell on Tide Waters 4 50

Angell on Watercourses, 4th edit, (in press.)

Angell and Ames on Corporations, 3d edit. law sheep 5 50

Arnauld's Marine Insurance and Average, 2 vols.

6?o law sheep 1 1 00

Binkershoek's Law of War, edited by Dnponceau law sheep 1 25

Bright on Husband and Wife, 2 vols. 8vo. law sheep 11 00

Brown ^s Chancery Reports, 4 vols . lixw sheep 10 00

Burge on the Law of Suretyship, 8vo. law sheep 3 75

Colby's Practice law sheep 4 00

Collyer on Partnership, new edit, by Perkins law sheep 5 50

Crabb on the Law of Real Property, 2 vols. 8vo. . 6 00
Cruise on Real Property, edited by Professor

Greenleaf, vol. 1. (vols; 2 and 3 in press.) law sheep 5 50
Curtis's Precedents in Equity, 8vo. (in press.)

Curtis on the Law of Patents, 8vo. . law sheep 5 00

Curtis's American Conveyancer . law sheep 1 00

Curtis's Law of Copyright law sheep 3 50

Curtis's Rights and Duties of Merchant Seamen law sheep 3 50
Cushing's Massachusetts Reports, (being a con-
tinuation of Metcalf's,) vol. 1. (in press.)
Danieli's Chancery Practice, from the 2d London

edit., with Notes by J. C. Perkins, 3 vols. law sheep 12 00

East's Reports, new edit. 16 vols, in 8 vols. law sheep 20 00

ymCIJOLATWH or lliraR!«l>K!fCV OF THB HUN-

.—The rtpretenUtiTef of the HiugviMi ea-
mblodoB OmMUi of April. 1849, mt Dobrteilu,
bote mMlMMmUy hall, \n% .in tho Piratci-
■iriK in Ofdtr to mako tho oiscailoiit and
off tUi grMtjNTOblom more folemn, aad^tbe
m Niteblo mr % Urge aadttory. 'Bennl
is of Ihe peonlo wore prteeni. The Dletator,
, rep o rtett toe iMt gwrioai ▼fotoriti of the
mn wiBy, and deolared, with emphaiiit Uiat
tlM ■Mmont for ehaklDg off the fetton by
10 nation bad been o p pioe i ed for three oentn-
plaoo Itwif among the great aatloni of
I, and to rid tbemielree of that djnaety
kid with peifidioaeaeei and otomal treaoheiy
Ity and magnaaimitj of the Ilancarian na-
ho Hnnganan people, who. In tboee great
>r liberty made f oeh boandleee iMrlfteea, the
iBgariMi army who, with the meet eablime
foollDgt, offend their Utoi for the lalTatlon
tlier-lMd, all tlieee Impoee on the repreeen-
f the nation the high aaty of taking meh r^*
. The fatherland, the world, God himielf
1 vi to do eo.

opoeltlone were then mbmltted by the Dleta-
ithy ae feUowi :

■Bgary with all lie legal prov ln eee and eonn-
Id bo proolalmed ae a fMltadependent and
' U whoee integrify and anity ooa

Tho dyoHty Habebnig, Iiorraln, whoee
r and perfl d lo m ac m took nparmeagalnet the

the

■parm
nadon, whleh tried to dMde the'eonntiy.
bo Ihe holy eonititntlOB, to prodnee hatred
e dillBNnl raeee, and wblon wae eren eo
laetomakonioofafbreignpowor, (Knmia)
r a whole nation,whieh In thle way hu torn in

lion, whieh hae Tiolarod

tnal treaty, thii iUthlem dynaety Habebnig-
ihonld bo depoeed fbrerer ae nuor In Hna-
aU iUkgal AoTineeeandooaBtrlee,diOBld
and baalihed forevor f^om all the territo-
nngaiy, and ihoold never be allowed the
if lumriaa eltiienihip. Thiebaniihmont
prooliiimed In the name of the whole Hon-

iMBa

hoHnagorlan naHon betogby aho|y nn-
right, eetfoabeietent, fkeo, and Independent,
Urn lie decided wlU, to keep poaee and
> with all nadone of tho world, for BO long, ae
■fa not violated, to hoop partoilarly peaee
fohin with thoee people who wore before
ih Hngary, ander theei^ofnlor, then with
boilHgTarkiih and Italian oonntrlee, and to
illtt and illieneii with them founded on
Aoiote.

fatqvoeyftem of goireinmont with ItepaitloB-
■U bo deUbeiatod and dooided by tho Nallo-
ibly. Until the new prineinlee of gvvToramont
ktod apoaaad aooe p tod, aFreddent,wMh r«-
liniitere, ehoohl be eleetod and Inroeted with
tiTO power* '

Commlttoe of throe memben, ehonld fii an- >
Dpnblieha maalflMtef tMe neolnttpn^ and

|f wtattTW €f llw pooffo uMiaonriy

w propodtlon of the Dictator, and gave
•aaetlon, and the ohoroh resonnded-.wlth
eehonte; teareof Joy gleamed in tluf eye*
le and thoumndi.

Ih propodtionoameeoon to difoiueioa,.'and
itatlYei.wlth unanimoui feelingi and de-
Ualmed Lewie Konuth, President, In
mof hii naihaken patrlotiem, and hie na-
iM o n oo of the whole Hungarian nation,
oa ontmstod with tho formation of a mi-

■ao day, the (Magnatenbef^hl) Benato,
pedlion of their Fr«ident, Porenr, aocep-
ova reeolntioni of Ae Uoiue of fiepreeen-
hoot fhrcher discnMionf unanimomiy and

>iibig le tho oempoeition of the minlitry of
ioMarian Goremment :— Lewie Koeiaih,
OiMimIr fiatheany. War ; Siemere. In-
Perenj, Jnetloe.; Dneohek, Finanoe ; H^y-
ion nd Polioe.

iA ibr tho Evening Post, by L. &.
31, a Hnigarian by birth.

QUANTTTTKR.

law sheep

5 00

3 and Marine

law sheep

3 00

law sheep

5 50

law sheep

4 50

o]9. . law sheep

16 50

3d edit. law sheep

5 00

ts, 4th edit, law sheep

5 00

)f Exchange,

law sheep

5 50

flict of Laws, ^

lau^heep

6 50

ititution . law sheep

3 00

iirisprudence,

- . laui sheep

11 00

'leadings, 4th V

law sheep

6 00

ership, royal

• law sheep

5 50

)ry Notes, royal 8vo.

5 50

law sheep

16 50

law sheep

2 50

B. 8vo.

' the Court of

, law sheep

4 50

if Florida law sheep

5 00

law sheep

7 50

, by R. J. Po-

nch, by L. S.

law sheep

2 50

• . . law sheep

1 50

8 vols, royal

law sheep 52 50

[SING,

Common Law
ine and Curtii,

vole. .

law theep

22 50
16 00

■tflU

l\^:^vsi

tHE TIMES AND THE FITZWILUAM

MEMORIAL.

The Time^ has foiriy lost its tem]^« It has been thrown
into a fit of ungOTernabla and unseemly passion, in consor
queuce^ as it would appear at first sight, of the publication of
a memorial which is said to have been drawn up by Earl
Fitzwilliam, and which has received the signatures of that noble- y^
man, of the Marquis of Northampton, the Earl of Zetland, \L
and about one hundred othor Peers and Members of Parlia- ^
ment This document, which is addressed to Lord John Rus-
sell and Lord Palmerston, will be fdtind in another column ;
and we suspect that an unprejudiced reader will with difficulty
detect in it " the impudent assumption and ridiculous object'^
which are courteously as well as modestly imputed by the
Times to an address proceeding from no inconsiderable por-
tion of the British Legislatuifia.

The argument by which the Times endeaTOurs to prove
that the Austrian Cabinet may justly resent a recommendisttion
from the British Government to adopt a milder course of
policy towards Hungary, fails altogether. When the Sove-
reign of these realms sliall have attempted to set aside the Z
U^JJI^ customs of England, by prodaiming a new oonsti-

lO
K)
10

Do.
Do.

Vesev
20
Wigr.

Amer

Amcr

l)V

A me
Banc

D
Bowe

Buck
Burkt
Colm;
Colm:
Colni
Colm
8v(

tution emanating from his sole authority ; when he shall
cause a prime minister to be tried by court-martial for con*
stnictive treason, founded on his conduct in Pariiament ;
when a king of England shall cause noble ladies to be flogged
in die market-place, and shall, moreover, call in foreign
troops to aid him in perpetrating such enormities, to the mani-
fest disturbance of the balance of power in Europe ; then we,
for our own part, shall assuredly not resist the interference
of foreign governments who may urge on the English mo-
narch a more t*^mpcrate line of conduct. We think that
such circumstances, in the language of I/)rd Fitzwilliam, will
permit, if they do not call for, such intervention.

We shall not follow the Times through the stale calumnies
which it casts fbr the twentieth time upon the fallen Hun-
garians.

Althou^ the trials of the leaders have been conducted
before courts-martial with close'! doors, and although the
Austrian Government is probably not more scrupulous in
getting up a case than the Prussian has shown itself in the
trial of Waldeck, evexy attempt to establish the complicity
of the Hungarians in the murder of Count Latour has proved
totally abortive. The murder of Count Lambert in Pesth,
like that of Count Latour in Vienna, was the act of a be-
trayed and infuriated populace. To punish such excesses,
committed bv a few ol»cure individuals, with the destruction
of a time-honoured constitution, wholesale executions, and
the oppression of an entire nation, would be absurd, if it
were not atrocious. As to the " murder " of Count Zichy,

he was tried for a military offence by a military tribunal.
Professing to serve the Hungarian Government, he secretly
conveyed the provisions destined for the Hungarian army to
the Austrian troops. For this breach of his military oath
and duty he was hanged by order of Gorgey. We believe
that his execution was the just reward of his treachery. But
if not, why does the author of it remain unpunished ? Why
doesGoigey go free at Klazchfurth, whilst Batthyany is shot
at Pesth ? The withdrawal of the Hungarian troops from
Italy, which the Times makes an article of impeachment
against Kossuth, was perfectly loyal, and in accordance with
the treaties which unite Hongaiy and Austria.

10
10

•0

'6
10

l«

iO
10

. fVf.5?^'*^*'' ? ^ suspect, the FitzwiUuim Memo-
nal irtucb hm dnvea ttie 7«iMf into an attack on the Hun-
g^rianfl and their friends in this countiy. fiseble in eyeiT'
thmg exeej^ ^tanntm alofpience. In the same number of
thpt joornal whaA contained the memorial, there appeared a
letter sisned " Alexander Asboth." omnfy #»«•*:.»«. t^LZlx

im-

covered that it has been most egregiooslj deceiYed and .op-
posed upon by its Austrian friends, and that the day of ex-
p«UT6 18 at hand. Like an expert debater who finds his
original case undermined and rapidly breaking down the
riiM endeavouKs to raise a nsw issoe, and abuses the' me-
monausfB in orfler to disguise its momnmtian o» »«^ nwL
unable to reply to Colonel Asbotib. "^

In our opipjon the Times has been yery much ill used by
its Austrian allies. No one, of course, hdving any intimate
acquaintanee with Hungary, would haTe trusted to statements
proeeedixig from Vienna, respecting CTents in that coutttiy ;
but the Times having apparently had no diiM; relations
with Hungaiy until after the conclusbn of the war, seems to
luKve trusted for infiMmation to Austrian diplomatists^ who
in return have mbst grievously abused the confidence reposed
in them. It strikes us that this course was no less im-
politic than perfidious. The Austrian opinions, which were
no doubt dexterously interwoven with the information fur-
nished, became widely disseminated ; and were believed to be
entertained by at least a considerable class in this couutzy
when they appeared in the columns of the Times, But
this privilege has been abused until it has become nearly
useless. It is beginning to be pretty well understood abroad
as well as at home, that the Times no mote correctly
represents public opinion in England respecting Hungaiy,
ttian it has faithfully recorded the events which have occurred
in the latter countzy. The Times may well complain with
'some warmth of the " liaugbty silence '* preserved by the
I Court of Vienna in the face of assertions so precise, so nu-
merooB, and so disgrscefnl as those which are daily brought
agsinst it The Olobe has cop^iared the proceedingi of the
^ I Sohwarztzepbeig Cabinet in Hungaxy with the career of Hrs
llamuQg. The panllel, as it 4»pean to us, hddk good to the
end. Mra Manning, like JPrince Schwnrtsenberg, preserved
" a han^ty silence." But it does not look well.

cloth

1 75

cloth

2 00

cloth

1 50

part

cloth

2 25

cloth

3 75

cloth I 50

cloth

t\rs'

-TVXllKf.

half mor.
sheep
cloth
cloth
cloth
cloth
cloth
stitched
cloth
cloth

ete cloth

cloth

sheep

boards.

sheep

"DTTCOTA

Totten's Naval Text Book, 1 vol. 8vo.

Trialof Jesus, 16mo stitched

Young's Chronicles of the Pilgrims, 2 vols. cloth

Very's Poems, 12mo boards

LONDON EDITIONS OF LAW BOOKS.

Bootees Suit at Law, 8vo law sheep

Bosanquet and Puller's Reports, 5 vols. 8vo. law sheep
Brady on Wills, 8vo. 4th edit

1 00
32 00

1 25

4 50

1 00

2 00
1 50
1 50

3 00
1 25
1 25

10 00
15 00

5 00
3 50
1 00
3 00

5 00

1 25

13 50

1 25

8 LITTLE AND BBOWN'S CATALOGUE

Burke's Celebrated Trials, Svo. • jAe^p 4 50
Clark and Finnellj's House of Lord's Cases, vol.

1, 8?o loards 9 00

Coke's Reports, by Thomas and Frazer, 6 vols.

8vo law sheep 20 00

Coke's Reports, Dublin edition, 7 vols. . half calf 12 00

Comyn's (Sir John), Reports, 2 vols. 8vo. . law sheep 5 50

Dyer's Reports, 3 vols. 8vo. • * . law sheep 7 50

Garde on Evidence, 12mo 1 00

Hale's History of the Common Law, 8vo. • law sheep 4 50

Hardwicke's Cases 3 75

Hawkinses Pleas of the Crown, by Gurwood, 2

vols, last edit law sheep 9 00

Hovenden on Frauds, 2 vols. 8vo. . law sheep 7 50

Howell's State Trials, 21 vols. 8vo. . . neat half calf 40 00

Jacobs's Law Grammar. . . . law sheep 1 75

Jones on Bailments, 8vo. last edit. . • law sheep 1 50

Lee on Abstracts law sheep 2 75

Leigh's Nisi Prius, 2 vols. 8vo. . . • law sheep 7 00

Lube's Equity Pleading, 8vo. . . law sheep 2 00

Matthews on Presumptive Evidence, . law sheep 4 50

Mitford's Chancery Pleading, 5th edit. 8vo. hoards 5 00

Montague on Set-Off. .... law sheep 2 75

Park's Law of Dower, 8vo. law sheep 2 00

Peake's Law of Evidence, 8vo. . . law sheep 2 25

Peere-Williams's Reports, 3 vols. . . law sheep 12 50
Petersdorff's Supplement to his Abridgment, 5

vols, royal 8vo hoards 25 00

Pitman on Principal and Surety, 8vo. • . • 1 50

Pritchard's Admiralty Digest, 8vo. . law sheep 5 50
Railway and Canal Cases, by Nicholl, Hare,

and Carron, 4 vols. 8vo. ... - law calf 28 00

Schoale's and Lefroy's Reports, 2 vols. 8vo. law sheep 10 00

Sheppard's Touchstone, 2 vols. 8vo. . law sheep 6 50

Starkie's Law of Evidence, 3 vols. 8vo. . . 12 00

Starkie on Pleading, 2 vols. 8vo. law sheep 4 50

Do. do. Slander, 2 vols. 8vo. law sheep 4 50

Stephen on Criminal Evidence. 8vo. law sheep 3 75

12 00

7 50

2 25

7 50

3 75

6 50

2 00

1 25

MnfomiAL DT Fatovb or Hviwabt.— Th« following momorlftl hM
been preeenied to Lord Jobn Ruaeell and Viscount Palmenton. It
!• signedi m will be fleen* bj memben of both honsee <^ Parliament,
holding Tariou shades of pabllc opinion :

" W«, the ondenigBed, denie to express to toot lordshipSi and throogh
^onr lordships to the rest of her Blajesty's confidential lenrants, the deep
interest wbiefa we hare taken in the contest which has been reoentl? carried
.on between the Hongarian nation and the Emneror of Aostria. Not less
deep is the interest which we now take in the nnal settlemen| of the ques-
tion at issue hotween them, and in the pennanent pacification of that great
country, Sincerelir attached to the liberties of our own eountiy* the final
estabiishment of which is due to the successful terminmtion of strugglestff sheep

_^_e_ .-■ ivii « iji ■• aa" • vw --

at issuA dionld be effected in a manner, and nm>n terms, satulmctory to the
Hungarian nation, not only for the sske of Hungary herself but because 10 sheep
we apprehend that a settlement unsatisfactory to the country will .r.^^
-Ttow the seed of renewed discontent, may lead to fresh local dis- " ^aeep
tnrbaaoesy and by the local disturbance of so large an element of
the Enrcpean srstem, may endanger the tranquillity of the whole-
The objects of the undersigned are, internal liberty — national independsto sheep
ence— European peace. For the attainment of these objects we trust the^ jl^m.
Qourt of Vienna will bear in mind that the satisfaction and contentment of*^ 8/ieep
Hungary will afford the greatest security. Considering, however, the^ sheep
means by which the authority of the House of Hapsburg has been re- •'^

established, the undersigned are of opinion that the occasion permits, eren
if it does not call for, the interrention of Great Britain, in counselling the
Austrian Gbyemment respecting the exercise of its restored executire
power. With respect to tne mode and opportunity of interfering, the un-
derngned offer no specific opinion, but we nope that her Majesty's GK>yem-
ment will not shrink firom suggesting to that of Austria, thi^ since re*
publican Pran^ has abolished capital punishments for political offences, it
will not be wise to allow a contrast to oe drawn unfsTOurable to the cle-
mency of monarchical ffoyemroents. (Signed) Fitswilliam, Northampton,
Zetland, Beaumont, Kinnaird, Hatherton, Conyngham, CKieford, Mont-
ford, Ducie, Radnor, R. M. Milnes, T. Townshend, Robert Pricey Harry
Vemey.T. S. Duncombe, T. Peironet Thompson, Thomas Wakley, John
Sadleir, Pierce Somerset Butler, William Soholefield, John Fergus, Robt.
A. Slaney, Thomas E. Heedlam, John Reynolds, E. K. Teni»on, Mich.
Sullivan, T. Chisholm Anste^, James Hey wood, Fr. Mowatt, Gho. Themp
son, John O'Brien, James Kershaw, Hennr Salwey, Joseph Locke, WiiL
Collins, William Pagan, Fr. P. Dunne, Nich. M. Power, Torrens M'Cul- 3 RkpoRTS entire
las^h, J.G. MarshaU, D. Jephson Norreys, S. Dawson Rawdon, James , . .' «.

Wyld, Sayile C. H. Ogle, Charles Pearson, Lawrence Heyworth, James ^^ sheep binding,
Clay, H. A. AKlionby, The O'Gormaa Mahon, B. M. Willcoz, William ^^^^
Pinney, A. E. Cockbum, Richard M. Fox, W. Sharman Crawford, Alex.
Hastie, W. J. Fox, J. Twitell Wawn, J. Pilkington, Pryse Loreden,
William Hntt, William Evans, Thomas Sidney, B. HaU, P. T. Locke
Kinir, J. Mamgor, iftMarahalL T. Twisden Hodges, John Williams, T.
A. Mitchell, Charles Cowan, Edward N. Buxton, Dudley ContU Stoart,
De Lacy Evans. Maurice Power, Wm. Ewart, R. Perfect, M. Forster, £.
H. Bunbury, Wm. Clay, G. W. Fitswilliam^ W. Lockyer Freestnn, T
Milner Gibeon.— November, 1849."

Tbi NinoATioir Laws ahd tbi GoyEBmurr. — A oorrespondeiMe

Meriyale, 3 Vols. .
Swanston, 3 Vols.
Wilson, 4 Parts
Jacob and Walker, 2 Vols.
Jacob, 1 Vol.

Rossell, A Vols., and Vol. V. Parts
1 and,2 ....
Russell and Mylne, 2 Vols.
Mylne and Keen, 3 Vols.
Mylne and Craig, 5 Vols. .
Craig and Phillips, 1 VoL .
Phillips, d Vols. .

56 & 57 Geo. III.
58 & 59 Geo. III.
58 & 59 Geo. III.
60 Geo. III. to 1 & 2 Geo. IV

2 & 3 Geo. IV.

6 to 9 Geo. IV.
10 Geo. IV. to 1 & 2 Will. IV.

3 to 6 Will. IV.
6 Will. IV to 4 & 5 Vic.

4 & 5 Vic. .

5 to 11 Vic.

$10.00
70.00

12.00
5.50

UTTLB AND BROWN'S CATALOGUE

AOUU' ooirsT.

Tamlyn, 1 Vol.
Keen, 9 Vols.
Beavao, 10 Vols.

9 Geo. IV. to 1 Will. IV.
6 Will. IV. to 1 Vic.
1 to 11 Vic. .

QUBBir'S MSMCJKm

Wilson, 3 Vob.
Blackstooe, W., 9 Vob. .
Barrow, 5 Vols.
Lofit, 1 Vol.
Cowper, 9 Vols.
Douglas, 9 Vols. .
Daroford and East, 8 Vols.
East, 16 Vols.
Maale and Selwyn, 6 Vols.
Bamewall and Alderson, 5 Vols. .
Bamewall and Cresswell, 10 Vols.
Bamewall and Adolphus, 5 Vols. •
Adolphus and Ellis, 12 Vols.
Adolphus and Ellis, New Series,
8 Vols. . . . .

16 to 96 Geo. 11.

1 to 10 Geo. III.

1 to 19 Geo. III.
19 to 14 Geo. III.
14 to 18 Geo. III.
19 to 95 Geo. III.
26 to 40 Geo. III.
41 to 53 Geo. III.
53 to 58 Geo. III.
58 Geo. III. to 1 & 9 Geo. IV

3 to 10 Geo. IV.
UGeo. IV. to4Will. IV.

4 Wm. IV. to 4 Vic.

4 to 8 & 9 Vie.

$10.00

16.00
94.00
15.00

Wilson, 3 Vols. .
Blackstone, W., 9 Vols. .
Blackstone, II., 2 Vols.
Bosanquet and Puller, 5 Vols.
Taunton, 8 Vols. .
Broderip and Bingham, 3 Vols.
Bingham, 10 Vols.
Bingham^s New Cases, 6 Vols.
Manning and Granger, 7 Vols.
Manning, Granger, and Scott, 4
Vols., . . . .

96 Geo. II. to 14 Geo. III.

1 to 90 Geo. III.
96 to 28 Geo. III.
36 to 47 Geo. III.
48 to 59 Geo. III.
59 Geo. III. to 1 & 9 Geo. IV

3 Geo. IV. to 4 Will. IV,

4 Will. IV, to 3 Vic.
3 to 8 Vic. .

8 to 11 Vic. .

$13.50
90.00

Holt's C. P., 1 Vol.
Gow's C. P., 1 Vol.
Peake, 9 Vols.

55 to 58 Geo. III.
58 to 59 Geo. III.
30 to 52 Geo. III.

I KMsalk M

fabllibadta
lanpntft tntoOtnnan:

• An ariftocritic ooCerie wms tbroied b
iecrotly condncted br Gdrrev Tbe p2aa ben
be known to the Gerenuaem. Tbis vu tbe
of thhi^ aftv tfaeTinoriei of Iuneffe.Wi
and Sazla At tbmt time, Cottnib
gary ttrong cnoo^ to oonqaer the Rsani
leait to pro ract the war nntH an hoa u rabig ;
ooold be tecinred to Hungary by Ae iaterrt
Karopean diplomacy. Gorgey only kaaw k
gain a victory, bat not to make nae of zt.
■eige of CoDwm ooight have been a aeoond
of Marengo, if Oorgey had fbOowed vp cha
with the Oaipar corps, wfaicfa he penatted to be
entirely idle. The General wai then eo
that Koatnth heiitated to
file iQpreme command; meaniime he
him fix- Minister of War,
the command to Bamjairicb. Bnt Gorgey de-
layed hia departnre from tbe camp, by all
of preteoiei, until the approach of die
On the arrival of the firat Raaiian eorpa the idea
of treating with them waa spread abroad by the
Uend8 of Gorgey. Tbe Euaiian xnterveBtian
finind Hungary ftilly equipped, and itiongv to
beet the Aostrian-Eiiaian army than it had been
igninat Ani tria akaie. An anny of 141,000 Hoopi
•ftho line, (brtreu^s in tho beat oonditioa and
wcQ provieioned, new battaTKoPt to leiniaca tbe
regiments, a reaerred foree of 19 regimaBti ot
earalxy all complete, mannfactnrea of anna and
powder in full activity, innameraUa boop hah -
theaa were the reaoorcea of Hnngary. With tfaoae
there were 140,000 Rniaiani, 60,000 Aotriaaa od
40,000 of JeUachicL'a men to be oonqoered. It waa
the plan to beat the hoatile cocpa ooa after another.
Koasnih agreed with GOrgey to let the BoiaiaBa
•nter without giving tiKm batde, to beat the
Anstrians and march to Vienna. In caaa of
defeat, the war waa to be tranatered to OaUida,
and if there waa any loaa on tbia aide* an incanrion
waa to be made through Steyermar into Italy,
retnming with the ItaUana and die Hongariana who
aerved in Radetaky'a army into Aoatria. Tbia
plan waa approved by Gorgay, but co a i platidy
frustrated by him in the ezccatkm. Tbe Govern-
niout diaplaced him, but he argaaiaed a military
ro^-olatioa, which compelled him to diaob^ die
Oovcrnment. Gorgoy now threw off the aaaak-—
At thia moment," aaya Koaanth, "I atood abac,
dcierted, powerleaa. Nothing waa laft to me bnt
tbe cboioe between banishment aod death. Aa a
^ patriot, a Chriatian, and a father of a family, I
'' -lioae die former. I thought it might be poaaiUa
itr'y diplomatic intervention to aecnre to n^y coaatry
roome degree of independent Ufa tat the fntara, I
gi^w tho power in England moat anited fcr tbia di-

^ ^ .m.
^. III.

■^^. ni. I J 3 *jrts. IT.

J 7 Geo. IV.

Geo. IV. lo 1 wii:. rv.

Will. IV. to 7 & 9 Vx.

$I2.M

>ra

diu;

•'4

ia
■A
4.
it

flfaca^if

tJaaaMa Irtegrfty

ifcawhakariha

thadaafata
binaU h a

it ii imaatid. ^ tUi

arepatibrthVr Iko
to djaetar the ratiaat tf
belnffaUctoJoiahv
with bar ehildna.
The aioriaa abeal the

wflUr. flat than
to

. Dmatic aid."
rs

7 • . doth
ols. royal 8?o.
' vols. 12mo.
Tols. 8to* • • •

• cloth
ratare, 2 vols, royal 8?o.
. halfcalf

tr^Oiv "tf tha

6 00
15 00
21 00

6 25

3 75

5 50

among the Haa-

ban|aa8.

LITTLE AND BBOWN'S CATALOQUE

Chambers's Juvenile Series, per toI.

Cicero's Life (Middletoii's) and Letters, royal 8?o.

Coleridge's Lectures on Shaknpeare, 2 vols. .

Corpus Poetarum Latinorum, royal 8vo.

Cresey^s Encyclopedia of Engineering, stoot 8to. .

Croker's Boswell's Johnson, royal 8?o.

Edinburgh Review, duarterly, per number .

Engineer and Machinist's Assistant, 2 vols. fol. half mar.

English Causes Celebres, square 16mo.

Euripides, Oxford edit, square 12mo. cloth. .

Farmer's Library, 2 vols, imperial 8vo. .

Fenn's Pastor Letters, 2 vols, square 16mo. .

Finlay's Modern Atlas, 8vo. . . half morocco

Do. Classical Atlas, 8vo half morocco

Fusses Roman Antiquities, 8vo

Gesenius's Hebrew Grammar. By Prof. Rodiger. 4to.
Gibbon's Rome, Milman^s edit. 6 vols. .

Glossary of Heraldry, 8vo

Guesses at Truth, 2 vols

G wilt's Encyclopaedia of Architecture .
Half Hours with Best Authors, 4 vols. .
Hallam's Constitutional History, 2 vols. 8vo. .

Do. Literature of Europe, 3 vols. 8vo. .

Do. Middle Ages, 3 vols. 8vo.
Hall's New General Atlas, folio, . . . half
Herscheli's Astronomy, 8vo.
Homeri Ilias, Oxford edit, square 12mo.
Horace, Milman's edit, illustrated,
Horatius, Oxford edit, square 12mo.
Johnson's Contributions to Scientific Agriculture,

Do. Elements of Ag. Chem.
Do. Lectures on Ag. Chem.
Do. Lime ......

Keats^s Poems, foolscap 8vo.

Kerr's Manual of Prayers ....

Knight's Cabinet Shakspeare, 12 vols. 16mo.
Laird of Logan. Scotch Anecdotes, .

russia
cloth

.
boards

cloth

350

3 50

450

18 00

3 50

1 00

20 00

1 00

6 50

1 76

3 00

1 50

4 00

12 50

3 76

2 50

12 00

500

5 00

7 50

20 00

4 00

1 25

650

1 25

4 50

1 25

I 25

6 00

At when the sun in darknees sets*

And night fklls on the earth,
Along the azure fields aboTe,

The stars of hearen oome forth ;
So, when the sun of Liberty

Grows dim to mortal eyes,
From out the gloom, like radiant stars,

The world's true heroes rise.

The men of human destiny.
Whom glorious dreams inspire ;

High-priests of Freedom, in whose souls
Is shrined the sacred fire.

The fire that through the wilderness,

In steadfast lustre gleams.
That on the future dim and dark,

Sheds its efifulgent beams.

Thus, oh Hungaria ! through the night

That wraps thee in its gloom.
Light iVom one burning soul streams forth,

A torch above thy tomb.

Thy tomb ! oh no — the mouldering shroud

The worm awhile must wear.
Ere, from its confines springing forth.

He wings the upper air.

Thy tomb \ then from its door ere long.

The stone shall roll away ;
Thou shalt come forth, and once again

Greet the new-risen day.
That day, that prayed and waited for

So long, shall surely rise,
As surely as to-morrow*s sun

Again shall greet our eyes.
What though, before the shape evoked.

The coward heart has quailed,
And when the hour, the moment came.

The recreant arm has failed ;

What though the apostate wields the tword

With fratricidal hand,
And the last Romans wander forth

In exile o*er the land ;
What though suspended o*er thee hangs

The Austrian's fflittering steel ;
What though thy heart is crushed beneath

The Imperial Cossack's heel.

Not to the swift is given the race,

The battle to the stronjr ;
Up to the listening ear of God

Is borne the mighty wrong.

From him the mandate has gone forth,

The Giant Power must ftifl ;
Oh, prophet ! read'st thou not the doom,

The writing on the wall ?

The slaves of power, the sword, the soourge.

The soaffola and the chain.
Awhile may claim their hecatombs

Of hero-martyrs slain.

But they that war with Tyranny
Still mightier weapons bear ; [liffht.

Winged, arrowy thoughts, that pierce Uke
Impalpable as air.

Thoughts that strike through the triple mail.
That spread and burn and glow.

More quenchless than that fire the Greek
Kained on his Moslem foe.

Rest, rest in peace, heroic shades !

Whose blood like water ran ;
For every crimson drop ye shed

Shall rise an armed man.

Rest, rest in peace, heroic hearts !

Who wander still pn earth ;
Thoughts, vour inunortal messengen.

Are on their missidn fortii.

Umi plotteers of Liberty,

Ismotble they thfonjg ;
JThfly BOftle and underaiuie the towesa

AjmI battlements olT wrong.

iShMak ! sages, poets, patriots, spsilf!

lANTITlJEB.

• •

•

876

nstry, d&o.,

■ •

•

1 60

orunii cnra

• •

•

7 6»

». • •

•

300

s. post 8?o.

■

10 00

relume .

•

3 75

Ts' Peace,

• •

•

4 60

■ •

•

1 00

fuLl morocco.

gilt

300

• •

•

1 00

full moroccoy

got

3 00

• ■

•

1 00

lit.

•

1 60

• •

•

6 00

• •

•

1 50

• •

■

360

Tie, 3 vols.

8va

5 60

■ ■

•

1 50

• •

•

1 Poetry, 3 vols.

morocco.

660

• •

•

1 26

• •

•

15 00

ated with

8vo.

•

25 00

vo.

•

8 00

. cloth

18 00

• •

half

calf

22 SO

Ifmor, or half Rua,

24 00

• • •

full

calf

26 00

• •

•

1 50

• •

•

1 60

is.

•

7 60

1 folio, half

ntoroeeo.

60 00

LITTLE AND BBOWN'fi CATALOGUE

Reid on Storms, royal 8?o 3 00

Rich's Companion to the Latin Dictionary and

Greek Lexicon, 8vo

Rickman's Gothic Architecture, 8?o. .
Freund's Latin-English Lexicon, by Riddle, 4ta .
Scott's Life, by Lockhart, 10 rols. post 8?o.
Do. Do. Narrative of, 2 toIs.
Do. Novels, 48 toIs. post 8vo.
Do. Do. 25 Tols. post 8vo.
Do. Poetical Works, 12 vols, post 8vo. .
Do. Do. Do. 6 vols, post 8vo. .
Do. Prose Works, 29 vols, post 8vo.
SchlegePs Lectures on the History of Literature
Scott's Readings, 3 vols. 12mo.
Sharpens Corresponding Atlas, royal 4to. half morocco,
Smith's, (Adam,) Wealth of Nations, by M'Cullock
Do. (William,) Dictionary of Greek and
Roman Antiquities, 2d edit, royal 8vo. sheep

Do. do. do. do. half calf

Do. do. do. of Greek and

Roman Biography, 3 vols, royal 8vo.
Do. do. do. do.

Do. do. Chronological Tables

Sophocles, Oxford edit, square 12mo. .
Soul, The, her Sorrows and her Aspirations .
Southey's Common Place Book, 8vo.
Stewart on the Human Mind, 8vo.
Thucydldes, 2 vols. Oxford edit., square 12mo.
Tracts for the Christian Seasons .
Tussar's Hundred Points of Husbandry
Watts's Divine and Moral Songs, 8vo. . . illustrated
Whistle-binkie, a collection of Scottish songs,

3 vols, in 1 . . • • . . •

Wills's Outlines of Analysis, 8vo

Young's Lectures on Natural Philosophy, 2 vols. 8vo. .
Xenophon. Opera Omnia, with Latin Translation,

10 vols, in 5 Tols., best Edinburgh edit. . cloth 5 00

half calf

5 00

8 50

10 00

4 50

36 00

20 00

12 00

6 00

21 00

1 25

2 50

12 00

3 75

5 00

5 50

15 00

16 50

1 25

1 00

3 00

2 50

1 25

1 00

1 50

5 00

OF BOOKS^ IN QUAiniTIES. 16

DICTIONARIES.
Spiers^s French Dictionary, royal 8v^. • * • • sheep 3 50

(The best French Dictionary. See p. 24.)

Boiste Dictionnaire Universal de la Langue francaise, 4to. 5 00
Boniface^s French Dictionary, 2 vols. 8vo. 11th

edit. . • . poper 4 00
Boyer^s French Dictionary, new edit, enlarged,

8vo half calf 2 60

Fleming and Tibbins's French-English and

English-French Dictionary, 2 vols, royal 4to. paper 10 00

The Same, 2 vols. 4to half calf 13 50

FlugePs German and English, and English and

German Dictionary, 2 vols. 8vo. last edit. • hoards 6 50

Grieb's German Dictionary, 2 vols, royal 8vo. • cloth 6 60

Dictionary of French Academy, 2 vols. 4to. paper 7 50

Supplement do. do. 4to. pa^er 7 00

MESSRS. DIDOT'S PUBLICATIONS.

L. & B. are agents for the sale, in this coantry, of the Pablieatlont of
Messrs. Didot Frkres, Paris, comprising neat editions in iSmo., with
portraits, of the following aathors.

CHEFS-D'GEUVRE DE LA LITTERATURE FRANfAISE.

GRAND IN- 18, LTgC PORTRAITS.

Price in paper, 62i cents, or in neat half calf, $ 1.00 per volume.

Voltaire. La Henriade et Poemes
choisis. 1 vol.

Th*&tre. 1 vol.

Contea, Satires, Bpitres, ete.

POBTES.

Malherbe, J.-B. Rousseaa, E. Le-

bran, 1 vol.
La Fontaine. Fables avec notes,

par M. Walckenaer (del'Institut).

1 vol.
Comeille, avec notes de Voltaire,

etc. 2 vols.
Racine. Th^tre coinplet. 1 vol.
Boileau. Poesies completes ; Cor-
respond ance avec Racine ; Trait^

dn Sublime. 1 vol.
Molidre, avec notes. 2 vol.
Regnard. Th^lUre, la Provengale

et Voyages. 1 vol.

1vol.

Florian, Fables, suivies des Poemes
de Ruth et de Tobie, etc., de Gal-
at^ et d'Estelle du Th^itre, et
d'un choix de Fables de Lamotte.
1vol.

PROSATEURS.

Pascal. Pens^es, suivies des Pen-
s6e8 de Nicole et du Trait6 de la
paix avec les hommes. 1 vol.

Pascal. Les Provinciales, pr^o6d^

- uaaie da Ohriaiiuiims.

- MtrtjTs. 1 vol.

1 Culanliiie, lieslurgcs, N. Lo-
aumirehai*. Tbtiiiic eonplet.

2»tiU Utt^ftttfte, 9. «prtt

CWw. n. Mti. CBnil. M) Wntm'wttn tMatiU,
; 1nl< ni» SouuniMn M Maignlitx iitdlin nnb ei<«i(
nlcii Hn vtnMin. Zn 3nfef( flb(T bit Qrrffinbfauna ojiur
AsnlKtution var jB Ignm, XarlltaU^ IQ«niNn unb bff ddnuir
ettiitr gral- Dii Stuutuiog urlmtt Xtmnaag biifn t£uj
nwi wn Upttin »l> Ui Biltuu Itnrt rittnu flalir^tn
9tcid}tS ail won Xaftblal an bit 6ffmi4if4c V«oanUi,

(■t Zili|li>{Tli«Bl6.g«ullxt, Ml f^ nHt iDti e*(ff(
k<l i|lfntl4if*ni 9t<n<u Klibn on ttetrirtiit ngif^Mreil
Mttn- Si( ff0(«bn bf{ 9>oIa »« ibiitfaUb flmttft.

— Z)1e f(b6nr ^rtf(bafr bib tSnffn bpn Xuritycra.
Gonntg bcf Saibait^ i|t am Ittoi bra Qawtn f^rtdti* Mt^mf

half ealf, $8.76 pet Tolame.
Uonard, Bonniid, Gilbert. Punj,
Flotiui, Cbioier, Lace oe Lao-
oival, Uillevoje, A. CUnier,eic.
S vols.

. M. Ch^er et Dacia, CEoviea.

1 vol.
Begnard et Deatonchea, CEoirea.

iTOl.

OBATBvaa CBBBTiiiMa.

CEuT res de F£ aelon, prMd Aet d ' u ne
nouTello lie de F^eloD pai M.
AtmtMania, et angmenlMa dea
Sainii, qui ne le trouvent eneore
dans kucuae iditioa. Fails. 3
Tol. orn^e du portrait de FAnoloo.

F^nelun, Chora-d'teovte. 1 to).

Maraillon, GQuTiaacompIdtea. Paiia.

2 Tol. de 750 pages chacua, ornia
du porinit de Maaaillon.

Bo urd alone, (DuTreB compl^tsi, te-
vuea et eoUaiiunnfea aar I'^dilion
lie 1707 du P. Brslonneau. 3 vol.

Boaauet, (EuTrea. 4to1. in-S, oroja
dn portrait de Boawiet.

LITTER A TEDSa KT POLYORArRia.

ChfcteBubriaiid, membra de I'Acad-
imie fran^ae, (£u vrea complite*.
5 vulumes, orn^ de 30 bellea
gTBTUTCB et cBTiea. fierniire
edition.

Voliaite, (EuTrea complirea, avee
lea nolea de toue lea cummenia-
teuts. Ceite ^diliun TenTenDB en
13 Tol. lea tl7 lol. de I'idit. de
IWiboii. 13 vol. otn6a de gnr.

Price in paper $ S.OO, or in

poiaic.

La Fontaine, CEuTrea compliisa,
Biec nne nouvelle notice aur aa
vie, et dea notee par M. Wajcfc-
ena&. 1 Tolume OTni du portiait
de la Fonlaine.

Moliire, CEtivtei compl^tea, pr^
Codies dea KUmoiree but aa vie,
el dea noles par ill. Aimi- Martin ;
accompagn^es dea nutea de Bret,
Auger, Almi-Mailin, etc. I toI.
orni du piirtnit de Moliii

Rarine, CEuvrea, completes, pre-
c^ies dee M^moirea aur aa fie
pat Loula Radne. 1 vol. ome dn
portrait de Racine.

CornRille, CEuvrea com pi ilea et
(Euvrea ehniaies de 'I humaa Cor-
naille, avec lea notea de Voltaire,
la Harpe, Marmnniel, Palisaot,
Nicot, baint-^vreniunl,etc. 3 vol-
umes orn^ du portrait de Pierre
Corneilla.

Boileau, (Euvres completes ; Mal-
herbe et J. B. Rousseau, accom-
pagn^B de notea. I vol. orni du
porlrail de Koileau.

Petita piii-tea Fran^ais, depuia Mal-
beibe juaqu' k n us jours, cun ten an I
Ricsn, Deahuuliires, Chaulieu,
Lafare, Seneci, Houdard-La-
motie, Piton, I-ouia Racine, Cres-
set, Bernard, Bernis, Saint-Lam-
bert, Harmunlel. Lebrun, Colar-
deau, Ducis, Dorat )a Uarpe,

LmU ANB brown's CATALOGUE

La Haipe* Cosrs ocmplel de litt^rm-
tare, avec le Tableaa de U Litii6-
ntare aa XVPsidele. par MM.
Chasles et St-Blaro GiranliD, et
le Tableau de la Litt^ratare da
XVIII* sitele, par Ch^nier. 3 toI.

Leaaffe, (EuTres, eoDteoant Gil-Blas,
le Biable Boiteuz, le Bachelier de
Salamaiiqae.Guaiiian d'Alfarache
et le Th6itre. 1 toI, orni de 7
grarares et portrait.

Voyaffe da jeane Anacharais en
Grice, pr^c^d^ des M^moires de
Barth^lemy sur aa Tie et sea ou-
▼rages, Merita par lui-m&ne. 1
groa Tol.

Madame de Suel^Holatein, OBaTiea
eompldtea, conteoant lea ouTragea
publi^a do TiTant de rautenr et
aeaoeavrea poathamea; avee por-
trait 3 TOl.

Beaumarcbaia, GSavrea compl^tM,
pxioM^ea d'une ootice aur aa vie
et aea oavragea, par M. Saiat-
Marc Giraidio. 1 toI. orn^ d*ua
portrait.

Beroardin de Saint-Pierre, GSavrea
eompldtea, revuea, annoito et
augment^ de la vie de Tauteur
par M. Aim^-Martio. 9 toI. avec
an tr^beaa portrait.

ENCYCLOPfiDIE MODERNE,
DicrnoxNAiRE abr£g£ des sciences des lettbes et

DBS ABTS.

(Voir pour lea noma dea Collaborateura, la plapart membres de Tlnatitut,

de rUniTerail^, etc., le grand Catalogue.)

Oavrage om^ de 350 planchea gra^
T^ea aur acier, deatin^ea k faciliter
rintelligence dea articlea aur la
Chirurgie,l*Anatomie, la Cbimie,
la Physique, rHiatoire naturelle,
la M^ullurgie. rAgriculture, PAa-
txonomie, la G^ugraphie, TAriih-
B^tique, la G^iii^irie, POptique,
la Perapeetive, la Peinture, la

Musique, 1* Architecture, le G^nie
civil, TArt militarie, lea Con-
atructiona nayales, la M<^canique,
lea Artaei M^iiera, etc. 3^ ^ition,
enti^rement refondoe et augmen-
ts de prds du double, publiee
aoua la direction de Bf. Ldon
Benier. Vola. 1 to 18, received ;
price a vol. $1.00.

BIBLIOTHEQUE DES AUTEURS GRECS,
mut lbs tbxtes, rktus ana lks muss., sont les plus nacTS et

LBS PLUS COUPLETS.

Avee la traduction latins revoe tr^s-eoignenaemeot et tr^s-eouvent nou-
▼elle, et lea index beaucoup plus completa que lea pr^c^ents.

Chaque vohune^ grand iii-8, 4 deux colonnes.

Homiie, d*apr^ la recension de G. | cliques. Poper^ 3 50. Ajf cif,
Diadorf, et Fragmenu dea Cy- I 4 50.

Deftth iik ilM iMikb is iMlrdiHilIi . .

I)eq>, deep may teem the mortftl giMui*
Tet tweeter than an infant'i brei^

Ii Honor's, on thai Md alone.

Where Kemth caU'd hb Spirite ibrtlf
Aloft fiom Bioaw*! hearing hwMt ;

Th^ qnelTd the South, Chcy shook the 5<vth«
Ihey 8udi[ hj ftaud mot streDgth nftest.

If F^wdom^ sacral fire liii quenchi,
S^glaad 1 wai it not bjtheef

Bre from snoh hands the sword was wrsndit
Thine waa the power to diield the free.

Busselh etewhile Bigfal raise their cnbI

Frond as the older of our land|
Altho' I find but in the beat

The cMhteldeiad glove of Sidaej'e' hiud.

4
it
n
a

fnfi

pak

H(d
Eschf

etli

1 *

6^
Eun|f

trac.

Fil

Frag I

les

des

4 (
Aristi

avec un Index tout nouveau, publ.
par Fr. DubDer. 1 toI. Paper,
4 00. Half elf '' '^

innn

Baeheltnaf ■MomlMrdbildran now. .

From higlier jouioe hergloxy springi^
Wheie ShiAespeaie erewna Southein|>tMi*a b«er

Ahove the reach or gaae of kiafls*

Biieellst wherel whsaet TowMmMf^

RmIimi the alttitr ti^ ma j plaae,
And eovevy wImd llmt twig shall <fie.

With phmaes ae dhrfc lu daifk Aigiaee.

DrifwChe dreer^phaatom Aen mj sight,

Koesnth f Bound oar wintsiT ifhore
Spread broad Ihj strong and heaHnj Hght*
And I wHI tMd tlieee weeds no-more.
I>eeember 2. Wause Sataoi IiAXIKMu

t i I I I I I i ■Upgjg^gagggB

le,

0.
il.
0.

on
>1.

•

ita

de
et
6a
u-

el,
S5.

»••*»••%« ,

Plutarque, Moralea, publ. ptr M.
DiiUner. 3 vol. Paper, 8 00.

eni

IS bien
!} colo-
nt pas
W.0 pre-

en, Ips

•nt Bu-

yia qui

com-

, mai-

VARXBTSS.

LES MiNisTRSs KN AUTRicuE. — Oq ^crit do Vionne (Autricbo). le
21 d^cembrp : c Depuis le mois de man 1848, Ics Etats autrichiens ont
U84 25 ministres, dunt 9 occupont actuellcment d'autren charges
(MM. Baumgartncr, Kubeck, Kolluwruth, Doblhoff, Somrnaruga, Fiquel-
mont. Cordon, Zanini ot Montecucco'.i); 4 sont rcntr6s dan* la vie pri-
vd«(MM. do Pillendorf, de Schwarze, Hornbostl et de Wessenberg);
4 sent en fuite (MM. Kossuth, Szmere, Horwuih ct Charles Batthyanyi);
3 ont il6 frapp^s d'ali^naiion nicntule (MM. de Stadion, Taare et Sz^-
chdnyi); 2 ont 6l6 exiles (MM. de Metlornich ot Sedlectzky); 1 a ei6
assassind (M. de Lalour), et 2 ont ete oxecui^s CMM. Chanyi et Louis
Batrhyanyi, dont le premier a 6ie pcndu et le second fasii^6). >

menla. pnhli6 p»t

M. Ch. Miiller. 2 vo

8 00. Half elf. 10 00.
Polybe, avec tons lea frapmenta. 1

fori volume en 2 parties. Paper,

4 75. Half elf 5 75.
Appien, texte et traduction de

i^Tdp^,! ''mfcifr i6 'y3&:^iJ*ime grec

aeul, en un volume.
Nouveau Testament, public par
Tischendorf, d6di6 k Mgr. rarch-
eveqne de Paris. Paper, 3 50.
Half elf 4 50.

DUCANGR GLOSSARIUM.

Glosaarinm mediae et infimae laiini-
tatia conditum a Carolo Dufreane
domino Ducange ; aucium a mon-
achia ordinis S. Benedini, cum
aupplementia integria D. P. Car-

penterii, et additamentia Adelan-
ffii et aiiorom, di^^easit G. A. L.
Henschel. 6 vols. 4to., contenant
le Glossaire complet. Very neai
half elf J net. 65 00.

IITTLB Ain> RROWN'S CATALOGUE

HERCULANEUM ET POMPEI.

Recaeil g^o^ral de peintores, bron-
xes, mosaiqaes, etc., d^cooTerts
josqa'a ce ioar, et reprodoits
d*apr^ tons lea oaTnges public

jtmqa'i prtent, arec mi texte
explicatif de M. Ban^. 8 toI.
in-Svo, cartoDD^, avec 700 pi.
net. 37 50.

STEPHEN'S THESAURUS.

Theaaurua Gnecae Linga« ab Hen-
rico Stephano coDaiructua. Post
editionem anglicam nofia addita-
mentia aaetam, ordineqoe alpha-
betico diffeatnnQf tertio edideront
C. Bened. Haae. GoUielmoa et

Ludof . Diodorf, aecondum eon-
apecturo Acaderoie regie inaerip-
tionmn et hamananini litteraram
die 39 maji 1839 approbatum. T.
I 4 y, in-fol. Very neat half elf,
net, 137 50.

GUIDE PITTORESQUE ET PORTATIF DU VOYAGEUR EN

FRANCE,

Contenant rindicatioo dea postes et
la description deaboarga, villages,
ch&teaux, etc. ; 3* ^ition ; orn^
d'une belle carte routi^re et de 30
gra?ures en taille-douoe ; aog-
meoti en 1844 dea itin^rairea et

dea tarifs dea cbemins de fer de
Rouen, Orl^na, Corbeil, Tbann,
etc., etc., et du prix des tranaports
par les bateaux k vapeur de la
aoci^t^ de Cologne. 1 vol. in* 19.
Cloth, net. 3 00.

MISCELLANEOUS FRENCH BOOKS,

Spier8*a Commercial Terma. Man-
ual of Commercial Terms in En-
glish and French, or Collection
in English and French of Terms
and Forms of Commerce in ge-
neral; of Banking, Book-Keep-
iug, The Customs, Finances, In-
surance, Commercial Law, etc. ;
with the names of Merchandise,
etc. ; Models of Checks, Invoices,
Bills of Exchange, Promissory
Notes, Receipts, Indorsements,
etc., followed by a series of Com-
mercial Lettera. By A. Spiers,
author of the French and English
Dictionary. 75 eta.

Picciola, par K. B. Saintaine. 19mo.

paper, 374 cts.
Thiers*8 Histoire du Consulat et de

TEmpire. 8 toIs., Idmo. paper.

8 00.
Fleury*s Histoire de la D^couverte

de I'Am^riqae, raconiee a la

Jeunease. ISmo. paper. 62 cts.
I Flenry's Histoire Grecque.
I 62 CIS.

paper.
12mo.

Le Siege de la Rochelle.

Paoer I 00.
Lea Veill^s du Chateau. 2 toIs.

12mo. Pilfer, 2 00.

SPANISH.

Don Quijote de la Maocha. 8?o. I Gil Blaa de Santilana. Sto. Paper.
Haif elf, giU, 2 00. I 1 50.

-Ida UJUiSiivuv^-^ |;m op^ v.si]i(t \^ IJu^'^D ui3q Jnp
qiia 35Cj ''iij 'aj-vt* iij.v^cT) i«.»§oitf wp iiis*,Tr.ini.f

UIJ

u)ij^iltfnhaa ii^ qun dbi'iiaSrj vap^ 9iq inu f\i^ (pi
u}ioai 'i)i4*uii 9)iv(|iitv^ a<t))in)q sup iiinmit

4U9q |}m 'uajttuojis )un ujquniig uauum (pi )i4>i4uti

'404 ui^rin i\{ »Pv;(i)ii9)i; p)ox^ ujijiq'in) liippai 'niq
•jg U9^nji9 ji,i{]g ' -uMucH uiipoitlijq JdDjquui^i) x^l7]
«;tn 3uui^ lui i<un8i;i}}Uv]g iiuia nlf ina^mvo^^j uaiju
}i) ij4Uji*q u3))oj 0^ 'upmiuvjna nf u 1 1 9 ) 1 p «}
'uic^ 1/^ jiijll 9 uittjtf #14 4)ij 'ui9 'ujn^<4 luajsm ;) 2^

uiqiM Ji){is *U90uuo}iiu ^xiniqiVi '"^q 2?i<)n(t
' 3 ^'^ liq ijuimnuiciuqj^ 214 qun ujutui«j jtooi^f^ q)ru
'90U139 squnjiP iJijjun ^(jpjunft^ injq *nn luqjiicq 'iqu
t i»09i}.iiu4}v^^'ionxqjij. 'n ujq Briiiua^', wo Jini^

*i^o4)^,'qun qiaqijii^ 'i»9iiq)3qix)
'il«?<l^ilPfe 'nuujiquijjsr'ijjqo^y 'liuiqriff, 'iJiifgg'

: iii3q99i)Pi^ *u:$ luq iiq 3101 oj '3l)v9 j^q utf
qnn Ui3qiit®'ipuu)i3)'{ us^ iiq U3^p<i nt qui) fnpi^

'U3qijm |9ijjj0
?uj:j3q <jjiaj 0iinuqiQ '3juw|3(5) 'i»Jtt|ffi *iw^ ^"8

'010)13113 '"^4 ^34 33yau3i2 uint Ovft Ann luluoj) u)3
>ni^4'']?i;n^{& ^M ui irniqsS *^| uaq qatcu ni 3 1 ) q
-t*niijj(i{).ijttu j:a a0)|n«4 99p}(i mj

q3i9( *30dS j)q 360J|jn)( m(^ *n)B

3iq ioa 3)jv4)]3frv) 3i^.u9)iat vq 'uiutaqjji} nt |Vj
-uiuii»Ji3$i' U3(piiu<jqc«30 uii 'aiiii f^ pqua^^g '
U3iJ4)DA 'uiqD]30uM |iuii3'i4 qui) 'g *^ li
irr^k »Po3 '«)3<l)3i£ i3q liqujg Ji3q «q3i|0xi

'^ J?) .;o_:v

i^3.isi) ^»^a^lo(J ui '1 3 j|3 3 {J P } n 3
'ur.llJOKTt ui oailryi wi^ijnsT 'doj ir '^

;3|ccj i\<pii3ig 'viiwv X, *fi

^•^aan3uqj^'' uq uwpmj 'Ji^>Q}CI*;\

• JJi'Jw Di'5 MiJ) OS 'I* » n I i *^ -QB

•piJvJ 3iP3iti>3jl'<^2" '3 1 a 3 1 3 '3)

134 «3sViictquy |.^nt

)3|0^ 3iVJ<t?3JV()^i UII

'uii3q^o<} *qo[£ i3q ftf3U3Q 'qag *^ uaq

'3C a)q)tqu3|io{S{ ani^fi *4ia)no
-natluc qun irjojj 9agffi(() -qag 71 ujq 0»

'4»9'C£ *^ *u ttttouiJii J^ *gB
*tt}3 ||u3q30i9 jiot u3qo| 'i4))ji4ii3o 8uttii9q4a|i
-90UO anil uiniiiqv(( m^q <}q '9unna|)ifl^ iij

*ttaq0q nl ^qu'qft
aiop3-ia|03i)2; ui}qui| qua^n^x Pl^^^ 4>" ^4
WZ% n' qtiailncj ?rq ? 1 a jj i j-u a 1 n wn J

•IlDft Ajjoag) : Sunn^iJJioa A^a

Munrlqviaq niu|
i inv aji3{\£( jaq}iai0 u) aiq 'ii)p4}ji0ttn |a]( lai

i 93ui|iid|OQ ofiS

apaqi^
I uaqoq q^in ua^iv^upiaa r.Y ^suia 4)au U3l)0]f
; !]« U3qi;q oj 'aqmcu u3uiuiau30inDanvi}ai$
; ijui a0viuo}(g «iu30uv0ij<; uir ^aS-auiiua|r}]g,

I *in0;uv3 9,BvaS : Oun^uD^ aaq nc

, ppm3j(; '1$ U9jia4d|Oiilit

' i3r.j)22*'i$ 23U3iqf;$}:a,^

uuvmixa^ '(Q; 0iiuiq]D-j$uO)]ti^iVto

laDiamjo^ *q9^ X9pn(p^ ani

mpqqjd^ *qoKB lajqij^anl

'^aac£ -(2 ovi}]| i3||

:n3uflji9((

t l»UM!i«A

««^

*^ui»\\^tkqti ^\^ ■*

ttntnieu^ctcit (cute in (r a di 1 r ^ a 1 1, ^crmittau^
ttbr, Sbema: ,,Urbfr toahxt ^eiMiitunq'' , ti
UttcttM, £|rma: „Za^^tot t>t^ %T^titn€, mil
}«mr ^ciuana^mc trr <ir)>lejien in ^aguc rtr."

D. «. d » T f <t.

finVlilitar? ^ad bci C^rn. ed»cnbal$ u. ^u^ mxU
telle 3 UbT rincn sL^crtrag baltrn. I^rma : ^^rl^c
IMfni gcMcrrt unt« unfnrc 3rit ^"

Sectaliftii^e Mtvoluttenefticr.

8ociaiijlcn aQcr ftattenrn »cibrn btcTmu ctn- j
|d«bcB {It )tt brr am '4. Sebiuar llbentd 8 Ubr bci .
fn ticvrc im Sbaflocaie ^otcl ftattfinbcnbcn !
a In JcbrHAtrctOiUtion ctnjnpiircn.
^p jBaI jrfl bcg'nnt mil bcm 'Ibant bu Icrait wb rn-
7 ft ait bet fNatfciaatrc. IRujir. Wcfan^c. dcdirbcn '
IVIqib %»^%t v:(|}cta na(b eincr bcilimmtcn /^(^orbnnng. .
jifCu Spmbclc bcr feritalcn 3t<cn : Iriangcl, rctbc '
'•CM nab Qanbcr, fo n>:e b:c 9}amrn mcbrcr Vfan- ,
bncn ftabcnfcM in b^n ^txicn iBicIcr foriltbi* altf :
^von^uftcn, Sbcmatf Tciin^rr, t5abruf, tcvii^ '
itc« dttbfft Cars, Sounrr unt anbcir, iDcrtci ben

* Mitl f^mncfcK.

I )fX^^ !9}u^ltctcr bcr Q[cmmiitce txsqtn lit Ercera-

* M#Mca. Die b c u t f ib ( n 3<i<un«en ncbmcn bte
^Mifnotc nncntgclblicb ouf . {^r. (fugcn ^irvrc il^cr-
^ iM«it He fte^cn bcr Vlu^U nnt jctcr Ibrt.ncbmcr
^iblt fiir bic ilinibctt bcc Xafd mil Sinfibiu| cinct
iqj^taMc Srin 56 0^10.

^ 2 C« vMib aiiTcittc bcf^immtc VniabI ten Itcfrtj au^«
^ ^ilbcii. &a an brr j^eicr X^cil ncbmcn Kift, rcTfc^c
jKbbabrt bci Scitcn.

ZldrtI iivb |H baben tm ;SbaI«pcarc ^elcl unb bci
CM MAlniciibartai Vh'tgUrbcrn bci (Kemmtluc :

C Qtnbmullcr, Xibicr, ^timifb,
m ^Mglcr, gftnHcT, rcDirrp,

* 0. bcSf. Stivnv. !Rfnctrtcr,iBa«lin.
^)t Sernicr, S?atrr unb £fhn, t^acft.

22|6frg, Hbrcnb^, tllrbcne,

'^ l^.Z.VtviitA^, g«citlinii> ^r. flrncU.

•9 Zuane 3trapr.

^<^ arrAngtrt ton ^tinviA ^ciitici^cr.
,M pro^rcmm: «

^1) Ciitcrtitrc ju Ocau be y.:n\^

Xi 2) Mfftfralfc, fBalier

. 3) ^olf far Clannettc

V voroctragcn 9on (rn* Trcf^er.

^ 4) 1RarT4

Sirtifcr Ii>ci1.

5) Cnvrrliirc lu gelva

6) trASMc tfvf Cccan SO^alirr
7} SntrabMdioB au^ ynritancr

*'8) BortaBa«9Dlra
9) QMObriOc

itc>rrfi4 12i ffcnt0 a ycrfcn.—tlBfanfl rracifrj
■ VagR** CiRCCftbaSe, »•. 101 -■ 5ln|ii»ww.4s. t

k S}il(clm Herrmann unc mUtim Xreft. (

Crofe Dorilfliiittg.
iiat«s ^en 18. ffebrncrlSSO

ttiea trHlMM 9alaitine ^ gtft

Afw rrtfrn j|IW/r «

I'cieibicu.
I'anner.
'2Bcbcr.

atciffigcr.

<Mnn4*l.
;Beauii.
Slcanf.
^traai* }

Samflag u. Eonnta; b. 16. u. 17. 8cbruar,

9(0. 17 nnb 19 Kortb iID>&ia« St.
Wu$if mi »ir gr»obnli(b# iroju tojli^f etnlabtt
16*) g. » ■ gjffcrt

an tie tifiiilfr'in ?>fw^2)crf.

S^erfammelt (Eu(b naibft^n 9Kittn>ofb ten 20. Scbri
l»T&ci0 S Ubr K iablrctO ale mc^iicb im ^aalc^ctf^i
^iambrantt, 170 t'fici £t.

Catf Crnir.iitee ttirb feincn (irttouii ^ur 9e^ta
tnnc fammtlic^cr ^Vitaticbrr tee (Snrcibce roilcgCB,

Om ^nfiTd^ bee Scmmtttcr*^
19f ) ^^crrmannHea^pcrn, lifibUr,

icuff(t»c? v£cnccrt

3acffDtt« i&ccmi tage,

?Jo. 119 ^icijUt St.,

ttatt, <Eamftaa/ )oiib icic ^etrcNIi(b metnlibn
Concert tiaiijinben kco;tt i(b aUc ^crrcn unb £aa
bcflictn cifilatc. ;l:t »ntc mi^ bcfteigif.en meinc ®i
Bcr auf bo^ ^rfte na untrrbaltcn cnb |u be»iribi
^intrtti frci. — ^nfang b llbr.

JES^ 3cccr. lag cbnc fi:;ina|)mc, tft mein Sal
bem yub!ifu!n grcf^net, unb trirc c« nic an Unrei^
tung fcticn.

Ttcttftad bcit 26. Jfebruar

fir.tetbcr

itotite SadteebitU bet fft. ^. Zut

tm Sbafcepearc rctel ftatt.

llnfangtlbenb^SnbT.

airuntr unt ^rfanrtc trr ^L^.tt^iictei ticic^ i^crei
iint bifim;: ;ur Ihtilnabm: '-iciriMittfl rinccla^en u
frnnru lidei^ m *\ in ^mvUnfi ncbmrn bci

r\ r a n ^ ^ e t e r, "24^ 2«iUiam »gt.

ifrui* 3ecbic I, 41 (i\\\f St.

2i>ilbelm ^^ r run b, 34 Tev ^t.
2Dir ma:lcn barauf autmcif'am, tag nur cine I
^immte 3(nj,Tb! Ii'cfci? abfCscbcn CfTlni nn^ let 5
ainn tc^ ^aUcc fcinc mebr i^. tffrmmrn ftnl.
2of£b*J lie 0[ c ni m i 1 1 c c,

Sicbcntcr ^^ibrc^ball

ber
flcb-Uen 5Kontag ten IS. Jcbrudr !S50

in lamman? tdU.

Xic (Sompdgnic Idbct bci^ialb t^u cbitient ^atlt i
tbrc ^teuntc unt bav rcfp. 'jpubuifnnt briltibO cin s
verfprtfbt I'bncu grtoi^, cinen t;cnu|rcicbc:i Sbcnb
9crf(baifen.

Xicfeie ^i fiir cinen ^c^in unb jsci ramen jtnb
ben unteT)et(bnetrn Sommitice * tlViiglifbcrn unb <
iPaiabcnb an bcr Ibiirc \u baben.

If apt. daiber, ^cfc oon ^cu^cn 2U unb Hern.
Ir Vfieut. yb. >£(ba»er, ©rfter St. 9lo. 12^.
2r ,, yb. Tcffir, 3tc St. 9to. 233.
^crg. Sarc9, SLMaiam St. 'Jio. 23^.

.. 3tcgltr, HvcnBC « 9{o. 69.
^Uiv. Veil. ViBlbcrrv Cf. 9to. 73.

„ taaftcT, l>««1ll»« €t. ^c. 145.
l?no. Oobn ricbl, 4!f €t. ^e. 568.
^# 9b. ter}og, ta»t« et. 9lo. 165.
./ fBiOiam diM, 3tc St. 9^0. 14^
.. ^aU\). RTiu>^tt.CL«xtf <St. 9<e«58.

t«

or BOOKS, IN QUANTITIES.

BAUDRY'S EUROPEAN LIBRARY.

IN PAPKR.

Alison's History of Europe. 10 vols.

Bjrron's Works. 7 vols, royal 8vo. beautifully prin

D'lsraeli Amenities of Literature. 2 vols. .

Do. Miscellanies of Literature. 2 vols.
Edinburgh Review, Selections from the, 6 vols.
Gibbon's Roman Empire. 8 vols.
Hallam^s Constitutional History. 3 vols.

Do. Literature of Europe. 4 vols.
Hume and Smollett's History of England. 10 vols
Ltingard's England. 8 vols.

Markham's History of England. 2 vols, post 8vo.
Moore's Poetical Works. 3 vols.
Scott's Poetical Works. 6 vols.

Da do. do. 1 vol. royal 8vo. .

Do. Life by Lockhart. 4 vols. 8vo.

7 50

itcd. 10 00

1 50

4 50

6 00

2 25

3 00

s. 7 50

6 00

3 00

2 50

4 50

3 00

®rfott! vttitu.

L. d& B. are agents for the sale of the publications of the
Claitadon Press, and will furnish them in such quantities aa may
be desired, at short notice. They keep constantly on hand a
general, assortment of the various Quartos, and Octavos, in the
beat styles of morocco and calf binding ; also the following vari-
eties of the cheaper qualities :

Medium 4 to.
Demy 4to.
Royal 8vo. Pica.

((

Small pica

((

Minion 8vo.
(i it

morocco gilt

((

(«

plain

gilt

plain

gilt
plain

13 50
10 00
6 50
6 00
3 50
3 00
2 50
2 00

AND brown's catalogue

Minion 24mo.

ti
it

Pearl 24mo.

<<
<<

roan

morocco blind

^' plain

" gilt
morocco gilt and clasps

roan

roan and clasps

imitation of Russia, clasps

medallion
medallion, clasps and comers

antique

1
1

1
1
1

00
25
37
50
75
37
42
62
50
62
25

Pearl 32mo. .
Diamond 48mo.

f[:e0tametit0.

arabesque

25
17

AT NET PRICES.

La Sainte Bible, d'apres la version revue par J. F. Ostervald.

Royal 8vo., half bound at . . * $1 75

The same, thick 12 mo, sheep 1 25

La Sainte Bible, traduite sur la vulgate par Le Maistre de Saci.

Royal 8vo sheep 1 75

Le Nouveau Testament, traduit sur la vulgate par Le Maistre

de Saci. Svo., half bound, 25

OF BOOKS, IN QUANTITIES. 23

lilTTIiE AND BROWN PUBLISH

THE MONTHLY LAW REPORTER.

The present volume, commencing with May, 1849, forms the
second of the new series, — and the twelfth of the entire work.
It is published on the first of every month, and sent by mail or
otherwise to every part of the United States. The editor is as-
sisted in his labors by the contributions of numerous distinguished
members of the profession, from all parts of the Union. The
Reporter is printed in a royal 8vo. form, and the numbers contain
alternately forty-eight and sixty pages each. Terms, three dollars
per annum.

THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW.

They have assumed the publication of this standard and valu-
able Quarterly, which will continue to be conducted with the
same ability which has characterized it from its commencement.
The work has now reached its one hundred and fortv-fifth num-

ber, upwards of thirty years having elapsed since its commence-
ment. Its character is therefore too well known to require an
extended notice.

It will, as heretofore, be published on the first of January, April,
July, and October, and forwarded by mail or otherwise to any
part of the United States. Each number contains at least two
hundred and sixty-four pages, well printed, on clear white paper.
Subscriptions may commence with any Number. Terms, $5,00
per annum. Having purchased the back stock of the Review,
the publishers can supply most of the earlier numbers, on applica-
tion. They have also for sale a few sets complete from the com-
mencement, G7 vols. 8vo., hlf elf.

24 LITTLE AND BROWN'S CATALOGUE OF BOOKS.

EDINBURGH REVIEW,

LONDON EDITION, AT A REDUCED PRICE.

They have recently effected an arrangement with the publishers
of the Edinburgh Review, by which they will receive each num-
ber simultaneously with its publication in England, and which
enables them to offer it to subscribers at the extremely low price
o{ four doUars per annum.

EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF

SPIERS'S FRENCH DICTIONARY.

From the London Examiner,

** At last we have a real French dictionary — a dictionary of the modem
French Unguasre, as it is actiially wriiten and spoken, compiled by a
scholar and man of taste ; and our French neighbors h»ve an English
dietionary, its counterpart, and its equal in value and utility. The plan
of M. SpieT8*8 dictionary was submitted to M. Guizftt in 1835, and the
work is the result of the labor of fourteen years \%-hi(rh have since elapsed .
It is every way worthy of the patient and persevering toil devoted to its
composition."

From the Boston Atlas,

•* One of the best and most convenient Dictionaries ever composed.''

From the Boston Evening Transcript.

'* This is the most comprehensive French Dictionary ever published in
this country.'*

From Thomas Shertcin, Esq., Principal of the English High School.

Messrs. Little & Brown. Gentlemen : Having examined the French
and English Dictionary of M. Spiers, published by yourselves and M.
Baudry, I unhesitatin^ily pronounce it the best work of the kind that I
have seen. By its copious vocabulary, exact definitions, exhibition of
idiomatic peculinrities, and use of 8ym't>ols, this dictionary will afford the
most important aid to the student of either languaj^e.

Very respectfully and truly yours, THO.MAS SHERWIN.

From George B, Emerson, Esq.

Messrs. Little & Brown. Gentlemen : I have examined Spiers*s
French and English Dictionary, and find it a very valuable work. It con-
tains a large number of words, and a vast number of phrases not contained
in any other Dictionary that 1 have seen, of the same convenient size ;
the significations are well arranged, and, by the judicious use of marks
and abbreviations, it is made very comprehensive, while it is not too large
for commodious use. GEO. B. EMERSON.

Boston, Oct. 24, 1849.

From Count De Laporte, latr Instructor of French at Harvard University.

Dear Sir — According to your desire, I have made a thorough exam-
ination of Spiers's Dictionary. 1 have found it complete in its vocabulary ;
the illustrations are numerous and well chosen ; old expressions, now
become obsolete, hn^e been omitted : and irregular verbs arc given with
the first person of their primitive tenses, so us to enable foreif^ners to read
French almost without the assistance either of a grammar or a teacher.
I am respectfully vours, Cte. DE LAPORTE.

Boston, Oct. 17, 1849.

8
8

n
m
.d

h
It

-f
t

T
\
)

QUARTSSLT RBVIEWEBS ON HUNGARIAN

AFFAIRS.

Opmioa is one thing, &et is another. Tastei difEbr mo-
Y«ibuJlj; and the writer on ** Peace Agitaton** hi the nit
Quart&kif, who iepredatee the atatemnanahip of Lord
PahneTBton and the mBtorical powen of Hacauky, maj, if it
80 pleaaea him, extol the homanity of Hf^nan, or the om*
aiatenOT of Iioid Bioq^iam. It mnat be oonfeaaed, however,
that there ia often a diveieity of opinion eren among
partizana of the aame cauae. The Emperor Nidholaa, it b
wdl known, pioadj attribntea the oy qrthro w of the Hon-
gariana to hia own " vdaaion,** in virtne wheraof he> the aaid
Emperor Nksholaa, as the Ticogeient of Pnrridence npon
earth, 18 called npon to trample underfoot all liberal tenden-
oiea in Eoiope ; whfle the aame event is aomewhat mors
heathaiEUi^y attributed bj the writer in the Quarterly to ibe
influence of '* the Goddeaa A^ydnit— ahe who pteridea over
ill-luck** — thia aame goddeaa, if we fidjow the train of
tlumg^ coiiectly, having cooaed Ite reveraea of Lombards,
Sidlums, and Hungariana, solely and simpHr for the purpose
of apiting the present British Minister for Foreign AiBun.

"^th reoard to matters rf foct we quite agree with the
writer in the Quarieriy that a great dee} of igppiiuice haa
been dimlayed in England ooDoenun^ ibnign, and moiia
ieuhny HuBgarian, a&ira. Bnt tins iyjowgwe haa been
ilayed, not as he would insinuate, in the public meetingi,
and by the friends qf the Hungarian cauae, but 1^ their
opponente both in the pivaa and in FailiameHt Peilima
the most disgraoeftd SKhihitioa of thia natnva was tie

Tech in the House of Commons of a near relative
a Tocy ez-Mimater for Foreign Affiiiis. "We mj
nothing of the feeling which prompted him to apply
the epithet of '*infiunfl|pa** to the naaie of Koaauth; bathe
might have sought for some elementaiy informatioB on tb«
snlgeot before he talked of 330,000 JBLqngarian Moffnff^,
md aaaerted ihdt the Hung(irian8 were fiyuing foe the pMr

[Pecembei^ 29^

servation of their andeot sjfllem, with all ita abuses, the
230,000 M^gnatea included.

The aama ignoEance(vwLar assumed, natural or wilful)
predominatea in the Quarterly article. The abuses of the
aaeiaiit Hunaariaa Oonatifaition aw est forth as being ila
essence ; and the Hungarians are represented as havina
taken up arma in order to perpetuate Aoee abuaea, instead
of (as was really the case; having had the atruj^le fofced
npatt< them by the Austrian Government, because they
bad reformed their Constitution and purified it of ita
abuses. Had they indeed been fif^tttig ia defence of
those abuses, they would probably have had on their side the
sympathies of many in this oonntiy who hanre been their
bitterest enemies. It was donbtlen a grosa snd moat un-
justifiable alraae that the Lords <rf Manon had the monopety
of meat and wine in the villages. In like manner we par-
haps mi^ think it a gross amwe that the eom lasrs shMild
have caused a monopoly of bread in this country : but it does
not foUow that eUhar &e Endish or ibe amient Hungarian
Constitntiop waa radioally and esaentiaOy datastaUe, and to
be done away withtbeoauae nah aboaas irare tolerated undec
it; and we trust ft iiitt be hiHg.eaaaaab a n^rafatfioiitty dot-
trine finds fovoor inUiia eeoatiy nith aiiy nlaaana, e»esft An
phfMaUbaee Ohnrtiite and Ae wiiteia in tibe OiMrtMJ^

^ea«Mte«iitfcrrftbivtUUii«nUait«>iaMii
M^ mliiMtkB Hmt thsH logd aboMi «•■« cvar aitigMal
in pnetiot. Be dow net itmm cf taUing w, &r i~*^Tfffli.
that Klthoo^ ths oofab ohn, nodw tha vin&tMd Coiwtih b
tntion, wM UgilW (WMnpt bom diteet IwFtiHfin. tewl eoi ''
goneral, jet there Lm bm inatanoes rf indindiMl nMubm
of thftt elw Tolnntuiljr renoandng tbair '■wnption. m4
■ubniitting to tuetioo : or llut in some naw the vholt
'■"'T "f iHilrri in ■ rmintT hlil Im-jnil ■ ratr npnti tTmnwlTw,
tot some pHtiealac pmpoae is the oonnl; MbukuatnUion, in>
Mead of l^ing it, aa the; migtit have done, v^ttt tha
peaatnta. That the ahtuea mentiODed in the Qitarttrlg did
not admit of anj palliattoa, we freelv allow; hot we pas-
tivelj itoj tha allegation that »bj of them waie renwrad,
dinettrorindinotlj, b^rPiimwAfettaniich. IJudrntnord
waa«CEiMted bj the untiling MvliMu of amhaMtiat Csuat
SritAwoTi, Count Loois Botthnnr, Eoaanth, Count Ladiabg
Tel^, and oAen of the Liberal partj ; WTonl ^ triuoi
held offioe in the mimirtiT of irinoh BtHmjtaj, Kbmth, md
Sitehaqji were the leadani.

Zt ia fijttuaate that soma neaniTe is afibrded bj Kbioh m ~
raaj judge ot die accuncj with which fbrogn afiain am
aented bj the Quortfriy. We have only to obawre how
ranoea at home, paasi ng under our tuj ejea, are dealt
with. All who bam paid anj attantion to the sulgaot muit By
know that the debate in the Hooae cf Commona on Aa
Hnngarifltt question, in which Lord PalmentMi made bii
ceMnted ^eooh, took plaoe on Satnrdi^ the Slat Jn^; sions
end that tha meetiiig at the London Taven, with Alderman ,:„_, :

fEBATnRE

Geo RGB

J tmupoaad and tnna6gmed. Tha meeting at the
a Tann is pcanded over by Jtx iMhingtan, and Iha

nd there an aobaequeutlj ■' le-eohoad " in la Revolut

Padinnent. Haw an we to ncoonnt tot *iaa?

euniihr a feeak tt the Goddese At^diia. the who pndd«

ant M4aak, Oat led the writei 0raa to oomnit himaeUf

I/the nviewor takea sooh liberiiaa with the prooaedinp at With no His-

the London Tarccn, what aoit ot utboatj most ha be ood- ient Natioos.

aidned fir the ttaoanadoBa of the Diet «t Feeth. Or is all

tUs defiatkn fimn the tmth n pwpooed aleif^ifrof-hand— «

pkns band, after the manner of the Jaauita? Waa Omn Axn L

anj intwtion to oonr^r an insinuatuin th^ Jjord FaUnamon . ..

waa influenced in his apeaoh hj ptpilaz olanum, pMonn ^.^^^ ^^

Howi

I d»M

thaj are not a little curious, eepenallj

tf Mundani maf have aaian,

" coming aa llMj do

intaniad t

to pne
f TClBein

th&t the people must not be permitted to haif • Uf *

iL- J--: 1 t — : «.:_ i g^^ fl^ oBnot bO pW-

fiir aoctmCT, ii
irvto 1M C

qianni oompooo o|tp»uoa! aqi'meqjpunoB a
rp JO emte impp p»iuaep neaq Miq jaoaiXpidme Bujyt
ood fnotninpmetp> iwyod epnapianco toe.po e'pMeiW
M 0} an nsnmtaatoid wp Jl iipneo pngpn pm nop
10 poind Snoi am naeaqaAWiiKnnvnisMpi^iL
BMxa«C iDMiai aip jo wpdumaww ra nma

■Xoftaajunie^
m p •iweanip wpw «© ft v^H^.I^ V

SfDlAB*

^11

nig -a a 5

IT COMTElfTS.

4. DiacoYeries in Australia in 1837-43. By J.
LoTT Stokes.

5. Jounial of an Overland Expedition in Australia
from Moretoo Bay to Port Essington. By Dr. Ludwig

LfilCBHAaDT.

6. Journal of an Expedition into the interior of
T^>pk:al Australia. ByLisin. Col. Sir P. Mitchell.

VII. Baitol's Discoursss 1D9

Piscourses on the Christian Spirit and Life. By
C. A. Barfol, Junior Minister of the West Church,
Boston.

VIII. r^RLiXGTo:c^s Mejcorials of Baetram . . . .210

Memorials of Johx Bartram and Humphry
3Iarshall, with Notices of their Botanical Contem-
poraries. Bv William Darlington, M. D , LL. D.,
\c.

IX. Lady Alice, or the New Una 225

Lady Alice; or the New Una. A Novel.

X. Db Tocqueville^s History of Louis XV. . . 238

Histoire Philosophique du Regne de Louis XV.
Par le Cowfte de Tocqueville.

XI. Critical Notice 255

Memoirs of the Life of William W'irt, Attorney
General of the United States. By John P. Kennedy.

New Publications Received 259

^« £dtftOtoti|}c ill Uugarn.

in iiniilaiic unt ijcanfrndj.
ii:. ■ maiin. am li. «(|)t. lUiy,

Hftr aimed , un<tiaillictice> :itaterlanl> i :
Ittn. e« fid nidit eurdi eir etarle w
(b», fenD«u Purrti sWmail) unb Wirtti
Hiflfi'it. - C pflS idi piij (rlfbm maS
idi^ fterbtn torf !

^ ' NORTH AMKK

nUtpia fluii luujj iipiu ,/il3 'ff %" wa»jai
■lijiwq ,,wuDUiJ;®" m Jjinfujojis jij pugj

Kpju jjijoi^eunimiBiJ j^a] juu qG Mftji*
jt<!)U)© ant uj)u)[)!J}jqn^ JiijUR ?iiniUi<)J^

itn^unqiK ,.u})oqija>};s^' tu]4 iiui iui^ -)i)in)4
<9Tip loont 'uii9p^D{g lui^jipdoiiu u}j>]} ui

Art. I. — Hwtory o/ 5
TicKNOR. New York_
vols, 8vo.

LiTEBABT history is ihj
writing. It 13, in some res
aod certainly, far the most !;
history we gather Trom p<^
amination of a comparati^^
the historian transfers, wir
1, to his t*

»9

■

tary as he plea

the books are the facts, a^ ■ ' JJ^^ ^^

cases, which are not to h'^_^^^^^^^^^^^_^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
reportof another ItUa- - -* hobf (i^a.^nuin. 6n« Slosfecr&^Il,
«tf '" h1 a all ^""'t " '"^' u"ft"tMJ.if. S(«hm, cm «a«r=

"ttTr^'ItoVltc. .«no.tic;.ciOri,ann.K- Un^ cr r.wb Un.
ment of a nation. It is ,„«( S""* f^'A" ^'"f^' '

be no history of books til! ^'Hiitlft f4i>n wfttt t^UtfttS Mil S'lden bf^

moreover, a critical knovVunb '*"If'f|f' ^<^^ "" Qninofit"^ »"* t« DifiatW
principles of taste, whicV fttrtf. 3*. bcm Slmbilion freniB in, WrilJ
and comparison of modo _ nii1)l bfg«ifr, wlt mart (lufetr ttm SSflUllaatf
product of an advanced ' unt In Swi&rit no((> tiniaa Ueben fapne, *](?_

.>tl

belt ibn bfin'19 cor TOonatfn unt ftilKOi »»■"'

Although criticism, i^.,( ttx\fi}U dii, mir ee aufritjitig ^ii (agrtl, icrati

and exemplified by the i|(,j^ tt.tt9<ii f« MtVl'tcn !J)!a(i!l fcrilK; i^ WH

VOL. LUX. — NO. ue-.ntn wflrMibm bann fine'JJatlti tilbai, tai^JoMrf

t.j(,[ aftr, tie Id) fdtaffe, iPfvM ar-*^ ™erte- fca*

2 Ticknor's History of Spanish Liieratttre. [Jan.

in direct literary history. Neither has it been cultivated by
all the nations of modem Europe. At least, in some of
them it has met with very limited success. In England, one
might have thought, fix)m the free scope given to the expres-
sion of opinion, it would have flourished beyond all other
countries. But Italy, and even Spain, with all the restraint
imposed on intellectual movement, have done more in this
way than the whole Anglo-Saxon race. The very freedom
with which the English could enter on the career of poliucal
action has not only withdrawn them from the more quiet pur-
suits of letters, but has given them a decided taste for descrip-
tions of those stirring scenes in which they or their fathers
have taken part. Hence the great preponderance with them,
as with us, of civil history over literary.

It may be further remarked, that the monastic institutions
of Roman catholic countries have been peculiarly favorable
to this, as to some other kinds of composition. The learned
inmates of the cloister have been content to solace their lei-
sure with those literary speculations and inquiries which had
no immediate connection with party excitement and the tur-
moils of the world. The best literary histories, from what-
ever cause, in Spain and in Italy, have been the work of
members of some one or other of the religious fraternities.

Still another reason of the attention given to this study in
most of those countries mayl>e found in the embarrassments
existing there to the general pursuit of science, which have
limited the powers to the more exclusive cultivation of works
of imagination, and those other productions of elegant litera-
ture that come most properly within the province of taste
and of literary criticism.

Yet in England, during the last generation, in which the
mind has been unusually active, if there have been few elabo-
rate works especially devoted to criticism, the electric fluid
has been imperceptibly carried off from a thousand minor
points, in the form of essays and periodical reviews, which
cover nearly the whole ground of literary inquiry, both for-
eign and domestic. The student who has the patience to
consult these scattered notices, if he cannot find a system
ready made to his hands, may digest one for himself by a
comparison of contradictory judgments on every topic under
review. Yet it may be doubted if the multitude of cross

■luiJn iiT i04im(5i ig ,11111 ipm nog ^
■(dno^j.n'nuDismj iitjju Qun ijJl^UUW'llJ W .
ij UUJ4— ili"iiPpJ'llJl''Ji'Iit'3i«"i)Jj u»B
iSflia ij^D uq) — 4}a(ii .ua iujjh w^uq uo
"«»Ifl; OtXl'nS Ifui sljiiKi: -IJA ."qD I^OiW 'wq '

. Jijuni ^ou am — iiij^joiu^fli® ^jpu uji

'pj uijjji n! 2001 'U3I1J4 JliiaJ UuitJ3ilJ))(; j'la
'^i|J<t$"»i .u iqpiipj 'ujiroi ujBPiibljB wv^
OOffOS iio>% HUOiffiooo'Ol CIP fluff -luUoilti.l
Muii)j; j(}]Ji$}»ilg aEiiotf j)j ujUit) (pi] ectioj

i}tp)x 9)ntt <pt) 'jiig jjuiJ i^tjf^ 'ujomo^ mn
llDqtuoinig iuiia uudiqj ()00'OC wu'Ji lim tiPK
ipoij -11111)1(1103 n? ujiiisii)4 jqjiiiwjj®, goa
mn 'Jnouiq luouioif (pou ipi) tiot 'UjSuim

■u«j)jn!puin? awtwiujE ?.uf p]puujiip ?,8j

M9!J I'JDJffi oOO'Oil— Oy J)"> "9" JfiPS u«iu
'n«ii!p\ ini 'uj]J}C^iiqi}ui4 u)]{ii>'@ 9^" '>'<!('
''P!"1|iq: 4<du JJitiiUIuj 9i}iis u^a UJ<1U);(J . '
>mii ^DU aun uinoii^ u)|i)4 ^>n ^i^^ uih-
'U}ma iim uqo uupi 'iti6uii4Jcia Jimui} iicQ ^'' <
iiilpau} (pnp lilnjc m drna '}ii'iowi Wi
■uojifiqc ^i"tii3 'Vinj Uuiitioj jjijij n! m()f
iiwDjiE oon'flS "Juijj ijui lUJffi a.ufl 'iqjf* Va
UP ivupQi UIJ4 (tun ejo^ uaa j^a uao ujctctnji

('.

it servo rathra

, the fact will
si fragment, no
England which
im's late work,
n," gives a gen-
ure of Europe
done so little in
■ Uy be expected
hbora. If they
t, it might pro-
no country has
biatorical invea-
id to Italy and
1 of Fraace, —
ly brought into
jsitive value in
), — Robertson,
of the highest
Utical annals of
'.irbon dynastiea.
iterest seems to

' Wc land. Two
le latter of espe-
for the first time
,!ula. And last,

-T rorks, has joined
Spanish cliarac-
lined only from
filh a long reai-

* more than one
i; and now the
work before us

the Peninsula.

to be found in
ve been chiefly
tmeots of letters.
Father Andres,
luropean science

" 'aJiEnftbEn. tceliit %nWn gem %xttW m 311'

km loilEii, nur urn fid) audj x^w^ntif '<»>m .
1 a»ana in iraniC tincc aitt oufnUAtn iu mflf.
i\r:^ »( atitn 3cC?rniatni frcunrli(ft ,ttB%

4 Tickoor's Buiwry of Spanish LUeraiwre. [Jan.

ind literature, left but a comparativdy small portion to his
own country. To his name may also be added that of Lam-
pillas, whose woik, howeyer, fix>m its rambling and its contro-
versial character, throws but a very partial and unsatisfactory
l^ance on the topics which he touches.

The only books on a similar plan, which coyer the same
ground with the one before us, are the histories of Bouterwdi
and Sismondi. The former was written as part of a great
plan for the illustration of European art and science since the
revival of learning, — projected by a literary association in
Gottingen. The plan, as is too often the case m such co-
partnerships, was very imperfectly executed. The best fiuits
of it were the twelve volumes of Bouterwek, on the elegant
literature of modem Europe. That of Spun occupies (me
of these volumes.

It is written with acuteness, perspicuity, and candor. Not-
withstanding the writer is perhaps too much under the influ-
ence of certain German theories then fashionable, his judg-
ments, in the main, are temperate and sound, and he is enti-
tled to great credit as the earliest pioneer in this untrodden
field of letters. The great defect in the book is the want of
proper materials on which to rest these judgments. Of this
the writer more than once complains. It is a capital defecti
not to be compensated by any talent or diligence in the au-
thor. For in this kind of writing, as we have said, books are
fkcts, the very stuff, out of which the history is to be made.

Bouterwek had command of the great library of Gottin-
gen. But it would not be safe to rely on any one library,
however large, for supplying all the materials for an extended
literary history. Above all this is true of Spanish literature.
The difficulty of making a literary collection in Spain is fiir
greater than in most other parts of Europe. The booksellers'
trade there is a very different affair from what it is in more
favored regions. The taste for reading is not, or, rather, has
not been, sufficiently active to create a demand for the repub-
lication always of even the best authors, the ancient editions
of whose works have become scarce and most difficult to be
procured. The impediment to a free expression of opinion
has condemned many more works to the silence of manuscript.
And these manuscripts are preserved, or, to say truth, buried,
in the collections of old familiesj or of public institutions.

f f

^^^W^^^

t?jl'1

-)I«t»« ituaiy qun Snn«i8jR; u)uj8i) «u»]

31113*0^4 Jfloq ^Jiml)!} ay "iJJiani nt'UJpwiuJ
H? liuniauDq»iHn ■"« lM^'"il>'*PJ'9' "'!'''"
1)4 lun '(ji jjctmnijieqij nV flfuiuiupsn s^jjl"'*

ilT"

■ fjlUdjt

nWit fcbt flcfjbtlid) flfrocftii lein."

Mttf tbun tSnnen inib tiitl}ls)etltai( baiie.rutil-
ic ttx W.a.m untct tw ^aSU \v6niUh. ^^b
icm 'Pwrce b(e Spovtu uhb ucrfiljiujiir.

Iirr armc lotJiad IjalK ^Hi, fix tt nad) i!m'
boH Fam, ulier fcinvii llitfaU Ila4^iu^cn^.'^. (£r
gttatbtt f[i)on iin moiau? te« JKumiuctia bcr
teictti junQtu I'eutt. bit fid) (i) tnnhi littleii,
unb ben Xa^ fbiti Scitiiu'cium nua ipu-tti auf
unbrflimmK ^cil bma«a3tf*otcu fnfecn. —
X>Dd), luatf litff fid) tbun ! ta^ (^Sdr i^ac fort,
unb fr fcaiit friiic ^u^Mt, wm imljfii 3t5u^
bei iiBf Bit »pur jti tomuiEn. f toeli'il' flwft
cin f^ebonfe in I'tim auf; rr btcit ftill.

, (jerlfuBug l>!iil.)

x«(ctirJiimnoffi'?'<fitintitmtT*Tflt:'!C[{ft|TW"ufir'na*
' I in (jarlnfliiiiijten Wpfcriun fycflCiwtbr Ui jiir
ajernictituna tlfiAldjini, realjthie ffiili^rp nilt

6 Ticknor's ESstcry of Spaniih UUroiun. [Jan.

ments by a moral standard, which they had entirely oyer-
looked in tb^ passion for the beaatifiil.

With all his merits, however, and the additional grace of a
warm and picturesqpie style, his woik, like that of Bouterwek,
must be admitted to affi^ only the outlines of the great pic-
ture, which they have left to other hands to fill up in detail,
and on a far more extended plan. To accomplish this great
task is the purpose of the volumes before us ; we are now to
inquire, with what result. But, before entering on the in*
quiry, we will give some account of the preparatory trainmg
of the writer, and the materials which he has brought to-
gether.

Mr. Ticknor, who now first comes before the worid in the
avowed character of an author, has long enjoyed a literaiy
reputation which few authors who have closed their career
might not envy. While quite a young man, he was appointed
to fill the chair of Modem Ldterature in Harvard College, on
the foundation of the late Samuel Eliot, a name to be hon-
ored by the scholar, not only for its generous patronage, but
for the important services it has rendered, and still renders to
the cause of letters. To prepare himself for this post, Mr*
Ticknor visited Europe, and passed several years there, to
study the languages and literatures of the diffiarent countries
on dieir own soil. A long time was passed in diligent study
at Gottingen. In Paris, he explored, under able teachers,
the difficult romance dialects, the medium of the beautiM
Provencal.

During bis residence in Spain, he perfected himself in the
Castilian, and established an intimacy with her most eminent
scholars, who aided him in the collection of rare books and
manuscripts, to which he assiduously devoted himself. - It is
a proof of the literary consideration which, even at that eariy
age, he had obtained in the society of Madrid, that he was
elected a corresponding member of the Royal Academy of
History. His acquisitions in the early literature of modem
Europe attracted the notice of Sir Walter Scott, who, in a
letter to SouthcgTi printed in Lockhart's life, speaks of his
young guest (Mr. Ticknor was then at Abbotsford) as <^ a
wondernil fellow for romantic lore.''

On his return home, Mr. Ticknor entered at once on his
jgad^nHf labors, and ddivered a series of lectures on the

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 7

Castilian aod French Uleratures, as well as on some porlioDS
of [he English, before successive classes, which he conliiiued
lo repeat, wiih the occasional variaiion of oral inslruclion,
during the fifteen years he remained at the University.

We welt remember the sensation produced on the first
delivery of these lectures, which served to break down the
barrier which bad so long confined the student lo a cooverse
with antiquity ; they opened to him a free range among those
great masters of modern literature who had hitherto been
veiled in the obscurity of a foreign idiom. The influence of
this instruction was soon visible in the higher education, as
well as tlie literary ardor showA by the graduates. So decided
was the impulse thus given to the popular sentiment, that
considerable apprehension was fe!t lest modem literature was
to receive a disproportionate share of attention in the scheme
of collegiate education.

After the lapse of Sfieen years so usefully employed, Mr.
Tickoor resigned liis ofSce, and, thus released from his aca-
demic labors, paid a second visit to Europe, where, in a
second residence of three years, he much enlarged the
amount and the value of bis literary collection. In the more
perfect completion of this he was greatly assisted by the pro-
fessor of Arabic in the University of Madrid, Don Pascual
de Gayangos, a scholar to whose literary sympathy and assist-
ance more than one American writer has been indebted, and
who to a profound knowledge of Oriental literature unites
one equally extensive in the European.

With these aids, and his own untiring efTorts, Mr. Ticknor
succeeded in bringing together a body of materials in print
and manuscript, for the illustration of the Castilian, such as,
probably, has no rival either in public or private collections.
This will be the more readily believed, when we find that
nearly every author employed in the composition of this great
work — with the exception of a faw for which he has made
ample acknowledgments — is to be found on his own shelves.
We are now to consider in what manner he has availed him-
self of this inestimable collection of materials.

The title of the book — the " History of Spanish Litera-
ture" — is intended lo comprehend all that relates to the
poetry of the country, its romances, and works of imagination
of every sort, its criticism and eloquence, — in short, what-

8 Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

ever can be brought under the head of elegant literature.
Even its chronicles and regular histories are included ; for,
though scientific in their import, they are still, in respect to
their style and their execution as woriu of art, brought into
the department of ornamental wriUng. In Spain, freedom
of thought, or, at least, the fiee expression of it, has been so
closely fettered that science, in its strictest sense, has made
little progress in that unhappy country, and a history of its
elegant literature is, more than in any other land, a general
history of its intellectual progress.

The work is divided into three great periods, having refe-
rence to time rather than to any philosophical arrangement.
Indeed, Spanish literature affi)rds less facilities for such an
arrangement than the literature of many other countries, as
that of England and of Italy, for example, where, firom dif-
ferent causes, there have been periods exhibiting literary
characteristics that stamp them with a peculiar physiognomy.
For example, in England we have the age of Elizabeth, the
age of Queen Anne, our own age. In Italy, the philosophi-
cal arrangement seems to correspond well enough with the
chronological. Thus, the Trecentisti, the Seicentisti, convey
ideas as distinct and as independent of each other as the
different schools of Italian art. But in Spain, literature is
too deeply tinctured at its fountain-head not to retain some-
what of the primitive coloring through thi* whole course of
its descent. Patriotism, chivalrous loyalty, religious zeal,
under whatever modification, and under whatever change of
circumstances, have constituted, as Mr. Ticknor has well
insisted, the enduring elements of the national literature.
And it is this obvious preponderance of these elements
throughout, which makes the distribution into separate masses
on any philosophical principle extremely difficult. A proof
of this is afforded by the arrangement now adopted by Mr.
Ticknor himself, in the limit assigned to his first period, which
is considerably shorter than that assigned to it in his original
Lectures. The alteration, as we shaU take occasion to notice
hereafter, b, in our judgment, a decided improvement.

The first great division embraces the whole time fix)m the
eariiest appearance of a written document in the Castilian to
the conmienceroent of the sixteenth century, the reign of
Charles the Fifth, — a period of nearly four centuries.

1850.] Ticknor's HUtoTy of Spanish Literature. 9

At the very outset, we are met by the remarkable Poem
of the Cid, that primitive epic, which, like the Nieblungen-
lied or the Iliad, stands as the traditional legend of an heroic
age, eshibiting all the lieshness and glow which belong to tlie
morning of a nation's existence. The name of the author,
as 13 often the case with those mernonaU of the olden lime,
when the writer thought less of himself than of his work, has
not come down to us. Even the date of its composition is
UDcertain, — probably before the year 1200; a century ear-
lier than the poem of Dante ; a century and a half before
Petrarch and Chaucer. The subject of it, as its name im-
ports, is, the achievements of the renowned Ruy Diaz de
Bivar — Ihe dd, the Campcador, " the lord, the champion,"
as he was fondly styled by his countrymen, as well as by his
Moorish foes, in commemoration of his prowess, chiefly dis-
played against the inGdel. The versification is (he fourteen-
syllable measure, artless, and exhibiting all the characteristics
of an unformed idiom, but, with its rough melody, well suited
to the expression of the warlike and stirring incidents in which
it abounds. It is impossible to peruse it without finding our-
selves carried back to the heroic age of Castile ; and we feel
that, in its simple and cordial portraiture of existing manners,
we get a more vivid impression of the feudal period than is
to be gathered from the more formal pages of the chronicler.
Heeren has pronounced that the poems of Homer were one
of the principal bonds which held the Grecian states together.
The assertion may seem extravagant ; but we can well under-
stand that a poem like that of the Cid, with all its defects as
a work of art, by its proud historic recollections of an heroic
age, should do much to nourish the principle of patriotism in
the bosoms of the people.

From the "Cid" Mr. Ticknor passes to the review of
several other poems of the thirteenth, and some of the four-
teenth century. They are usually of considerable length.
The Castilian muse, at the outset, seems to have delighted in
works of tongue haleine. Some of them are of a satirical
character, directing their shafts against the clergy, with an
independence which seems to have marked also the contem-
poraneous productions of other nations, but which, in Spain
at least, was rarely found at a later period. Others of these
venerable productions are tinged with tlie religious bigotry

10 Ticknor's Bistory of Spanish LUeraiure. [Jan.

which enters so largely into the best portions of the Castilian
literature.

One of the most remarkable poems of the period b the
Danza General, — the " Dance of Death." The subject is
not original with the Spaniards, and has been treated by the
bards of other nations in the elder time. It represents the
ghastly revels of the dread monarch, to which all are sum-
moned, of every degree, from the potentate to the peasant.

'^ It is founded on the well-known fiction, so oAen illustrated
both in painting and in verse during the Middle Ages, that all
men, of all conditions, are summoned to the Dance of Death ; a
kind of spiritual masquerade, in which the different ranks of
society, from the Pope to the young child, appear dancing with
the skeleton form of Death. In this Spanish version it is striking
and picturesque,: — more so, perhaps, than in any other, — the
ghastly nature of the subject being brought into a very lively
contrast with the festive tone of the verses, which frequently
recalls some of the better parts of those flowing stories that now
and then occur in the ^^ Mirror for Magistrates.'^

^^ The first seven stanzas of the Spcmish poem constitute a pro-
logue, in which Death issues his summons partly in his own per-
son, and partly in that of a preaching friar, ending thus : —

Come to the Dance of Death, all ye whose fate

By birth is mortal, be ye great or small ;
And wiiliog come, nor loitering, nor late,

Else force shall bring you strtiggUng to my thrall:

For since yon friar hath uttered loud his call
To penitence and godUness sincere.
He that delays must hope no waiting here ;

For still the cry is, Haste ! and, Haste to all !

^*' Death now proceeds, as in the old pictures and poems, to
summon, first, the Pope, then cardinals, kings, bishops, and so
on, down to day-laborers ; all of whom are forced to join his
mortal dance, though each first makes some remonstrance, that
indicates surprise, horror, or reluctance. The call to youth and
beauty is spirited : —

Bring to my dance, and bring without delay,
Those damsels twain, you see so bright and fair ;

They came, but came not in a wilUng way,
To list my chants (^ mortal grief and care :
Nor shall the flowers and roses fresh they wear,

Nor rich attire, avail their forms to save.

They strive in vain who strive a^^ainst the grave ;
It may not be ; my wedded bndes they are."

Another poem, of still higher pretensions, but, like the last,
sull in manuscript, is the Poema de Josi, — The << Poem of

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 11

Joseph." It is, probably, the work of one of those Spanish
Arabs who remaiaed under the CaslillaQ domination after the
great body of iheir countrymen had retreated. It is written
in the Castilian dialect, but in Arabic characters, as was not
very uncommon with tlie writings of the Moriscoes. The
story of Joseph is told, inoreovpr, conformably to llie version
of the Koran, instead of that of the Hebrew Scriptures.

The manner in which the Spanish and the Arabic races
were mingled together after the great invasion produced a
strange confusion in their languages. The Christians who
were content to dwell in their old places under the Moslem
rule, while they retained iheir own language, not unfrequently
Rdopted the alphabetical characters of their conquerors. Even
the coins struck by some of the ancient Castilian princes, as
they recovered their territory from the invaders, were stamped
with Arabic lettei-s. Not unfrequently, the archives and mu-
nicipal records of the Spanish cities, for a considerable time
after their restoration to their own princes, were also written
in Arabic characters. On the other hand, as the great inun-
dation gradually receded, the Moors who hngered behind un-
der the Spanish sway often adopted the language of iheir
conquerors, but retained iheir own written alphabet. In other
words, the Chrbtians kept their language and abandoned their
alphabetical characters; while the Moslems kept tlieir alpha-
betical characters and abandoned their language. The con-
trast is curious, and may, perhaps, be accounted for by the
fact, that the superiority conceded by the Spaniards to the
Arabic literature in this eariy period led the few scholars
among them to adopt, for their own compositions, the charac-
ters in which that literature was written. The Moriscoes, on
the other hand, did what was natural, when they retained
their peculiar writing, to which they had been accustomed in
the works of their countrymen, while they conformed to the
Castilian language, to which they had become accustomed in
daily intercourse with the Spaniard. However explained, the
fact is curious. But it is time we should return to the Span-
ish Arab poem.

We give the following translation of some of its verses by
Mr. Ticknor, with bis few prefatory remarks : —

" On the first night after die outrage, Jusuf, as ho is called in

12 T^cknor's Sstory of Spanish Liieraiwre. [Jan.

the poem, when traTelling along in chai^ of a negro, paases a
cemetery on a hill-side where his mother lies buried.

And when the negro heeded not, that guarded him behind,
From off the camel Josuf amog, on which he rode confined,
And hastened, with all speed, ms mother^ grave to find.
Where he knelt and pardon sought, to relieve his troubled mind.

He cried, « God's grace be with thee stiD, O Lady mother dear !
O mother, you would sorrow, if you looked upon me here ;
For my neck is bound with chains, and I live in grief and fear,
Like a traitor by my brethren sokl, like a captive to the spear.

** Thev have sold me ! they have said me ! though I never did them hum;
They nave torn me from my father, from his strong and living aim,
By art and cunning they enticed me^ and by fatsenood^s guilty chann,
And I go a base-bought captive, full of sonow and alarm.*'

But now the negro looked about, and knew that he was gone,
For no man coiud be seen, and the camel came alone ;
So be turned his sharpened ear, and caught the wailing tone.
Where Jusuf, by his mother's giave, lay making heavy moan.

And the negro hurried up, and gave him there a blow;
Soquickandcrael vnisit, that it instant laid him low ;
" A base-bom wretch/* he cried aloud, ** a base-born thief art thou :
Thy masten, when vre purchased thee, they toki us it waa so.'*

But Jusuf answered straight, ** Nor thief nor wretch am I ;

thee he."

And then afl night they travelled on, till dawned the coming day,
When the land was sore tormented with a whiriwind's funous sway ;
The sun grew dark at noon, their hearts sunk in dismay.
And thay knew not, wi\h their merchandise, to seek or make their way."

The manuscript of the piece, containing about 1200 verses,
though not entirely perfect, is in Mr. Ticknor's hands, with
its ong'mal Arabic characters converted into the Castilian.
He has saved it firom the chances of time bj printing it at
length in his appendix, accompanied bj the following com-
mendations, which, to one practised in the old Castilian lit-
erature, will probably not be thought beyond its deserts.

^^ There is little, as it seems to me, in the early narrative po-
etry of any modem nation better worth reading than this old Mo-
risco version of the story of Joseph. Parts of it overflow with
the tenderest natural affection ; other parts are deeply pathetic ;
and everywhere it bears the impress of the extraordinary state
of manners and society that gave it birth. From severed pas-
sages, it may be inferred that it was publicly recited ; and even
now, as we read it, we fall unconsciously into a long-drawn
chant, and seem to ^ear the voices of Arabian camel-drivers, or
of Spanish muleteers, as the Oriental or the romantic tone hap-

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 13

pens to prevail. I am acquaiatcd with nothing in ihe form of
the old metrical romance ibat is more altraciive, — iiolhing Ihat
is so peculiar, original, and separate from every thing clae of the
same class."

With these anonymous productions, Mr. Ticknor enters
into the consideration of others from an acknowledged source,
among wiiich are those of ilie Prince Don Juan Manuel and
Alfonso the Tenth, or Alfonso tLe Wise, as he is usually
termed. He was one of those rare men who seem to be
possessed of. an almost universal genius. His tastes would
have been better suited to a more refined period. He was,
unfortunately, so far m advance of his age that his age could
not fully profit by his knowledge. He was raised so far
above the general level of his time, that the light of his
genius, though it reached to distant generations, left his own
in a comparative obscurity. His great work was the code of
ihe iSVe(e Partidas, — little heeded in bis own day, though
destined to become the basis of Spanish jurisprudence both in
Ihe Old World and in the New.

Ailbnso caused the Bible, for th« 6r5t time, to be trans-
lated into the Castilian. He was an historian, and led the
way in the long line of Castilian writers in that department,
by his Cronica General. He aspired also to the laurel of
the Muses. His poetry is still extant in the Gallician dialect,
which, tbe monarch thought, might in the end be the culti-
vated dialect of his kingdom. The want of a settled capital,
or, to speak more correctly, the want of civilization, had left
the different elements of the language contending as it were
for the mastery. The result was still uncertain at the close
of the thirteenth century. Alfonso himself did, probably,
more than any other to settle it, by his prose compositions, —
by the Siete Partidas and his Chronicle, as well as by the
vernacular version of the Scriptures. The Gallician became
the basis of the language of the sister kingdom of Portugal,
and the generous dialect of Castile became, in Spain, the
language of the court and of literature.

Alfonso directed his attention also to mathematical science.
His astronomical observations are held in respect at tbe pres-
ent day. But, as Mariana sarcastically intimates, while he
was gazing at the stars he forgot tbe earth, and lost his king-
dom. His studbua temper was ill accommodated to the stir-

voL. Lxx, — HO. ue. 'i

14 Ticknor's Hisiory of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

rbg character of the times. He was driven from his throne
by his factious nobles ; and in a letter written not long before
his death, of which Mr. Ticknor gives a translation, the un-
happy roodarch pathetically deplores his fate and the ingrati-
tude of his subjects. Alfonso the Tenth seemed to have at
command every science but that which would have been of
more worth to him than all the rest, — the science of govern-
menu He died in exile, leaving behind him the reputation
of being the wisest fool in Christendom.

In glancing over the list of works which, finom. their anom-
alous character as well as their antiquity, are arranged by
Mr. Ticknor in one class, as introductory to his history, we
are struck with the great wealth of the period, — not great,
certainly, compared with that of an age of civilization, but as
compared with the productions of most other countries in this
portion of the Middle Ages. Much of this ancient lore,
which may be said to constitute the foundations of the na-
tional literature, has been but imperfectly known to the Span-
iards themselves ; and we have to acknowledge our obliga-
tions to Mr. Ticknor, not only for the diligence with which
he has brought it to light, but for the valuable commentaries,
in text and notes, which supply all that could reasonably be
demanded, both in a critical and bibliographical point of
view. To estimate the extent of this information, we must
compare it with what we have derived on the same subject
from his predecessors ; where the poverty of original materi-
als, as well as of means for illustrating those actually pos-
sessed, is apparent at a glance. Sismondi, with some art,
conceals this poverty, by making the most of the little 6nery
at his command. Thus his analysis of the Poem of the Cid,
which he had carefully read, together with his prose transla-
tion of no inconsiderable amount, covers a 6fth of what he
has to say on the whole period, embracing more than four
centuries. He has one fine bit of gold in his possession, and
he makes the most of it, by hammering it out into a superfi-
cial extent altogether disproportionate to its real value.

Our author distributes the productions which occupy the
greater part of the remainder of his first period into four great
classes : Ballads, Chronicles, Romances of Chivalry, and the
Drama. The mere enumeration suggests the idea of that
rude, romantic age, when the imagination, impatient to find

1850.] Ticknor'a HMlojy of Spanish Literature. 15

uiierance, breaks through the impediments of an uDforraed
dialed, or, rattier, converts it into an instrument for its pur-
poses. Before looliiog at the results, we must briefly notice
the circumstances under which they were effected.

The first occupants of the Peninsula who left abiding
traces of their peculiar civilization were the Romans. Six
tenths of the language now spoken are computed to be de-
rived from them. Then came the Visigoths, bringing with
them the peculiar institutions of the Teutonic races. And
lastly, after the lapse of three centuries, came the great Sar-
acen inundation, which covered the whole land up to the
northern mountains, and, as it slowly receded, left a fertili-
zing principle, that gave life to much that was good as well
as evil in the character and literature of the Spaniards, It
was near the commencement of the eighth century that the
great battle was fought, on the banks of the Guadalete, which
decided the fate of Roderic, the last of the Goths, and of his
monarchy. It was to the Goths — the Spaniards, as their
descendants were called — what the battle of Hastings was
to the English. The Arab conquerors rode over the country,
as completely its masters as were the Normans of Britain.
But they dealt more mercifully with the vanquished. The
Koran, tribute, or the sword, were the terms offered by the
victtjrs. Many were content to remain under Moslem rule,
in the tolerated enjoyment of their religion, and, to some ex-
tent, of their laws. Those of nobler metal withdrew to the
rocks of the Asturias ; and every muleteer or water-carrier,
who emigrates from this barren spot, glories in his birthplace
as of itself a patent of nobility.

Then came the struggle against the Saracen invaders, —
that long crusade to be carried on for centuries, — in which
the ultimate triumph of a handful of Christians over the large
and flourishing empire of the Moslems is the most glorious of
the triumphs of the cross upon record. But it was the work
of eight centuries. During the first of these, the Spaniards
scarcely ventured beyond their fastnesses. The conquerors
occupied the land, and settled in greatest strength over the
pleasant places of the south, so congenial with their own
voluptuous climate in the East. Then rose the empire of
Cordova, which, under the sway of the Omeyades, rivalled
in splendor and civilization the cahphate of Bagdad. Poetry,

16 Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature, [Jtn.

philosophy, tetters, everywhere flourished. Academies and
gymnasiums were founded, and Aristotle was expounded by
commentators who acquired a glory not inferior to that of the
Stagirite himself. This state of things continued after the
Cordovan empire had been broken into fragments, when Se-
ville, Murcia, Malaga, and the other cities which still flour-
ished among the ruins, continued to be centres of a civiliza^
tion that shone bright amidst the darkness of the Middle
Ages.

Meanwhile, the Spaniards, strong in their religion, their
Gothic institutions, and their poverty, had emerged from their
fastnesses in the north, and brought their victorious banner as
&r as the Douro. In three centuries more, they had ad-
vanced their line of conquest only to the Tagus. But their
progress, though slow, was irresistible, till at length the Mos-
lems, of all their proud possessions, retained only the petty
territory of Granada. On this little spot, however, they
made a stand for more than two centuries, and bade defiance
to the whole Christian power; while, at the same time,
though sunk in intellectual culture, they surpassed their best
days in the pomp of their architecture and in the magnificence
of living characteristic of the East. At the close of the
fifteenth century, this Arabian tale — the most splendid epi-
sode in the Mahometan annals — was brought to an en^ by
the fall of Granada before the arms of Ferdinand and Isa-
bella.

Such were the strange influences which acted on the Span-
ish character, and on the earliest development of its literature,
— influences so peculiar, that it is no wonder they should
have produced results to which no other part of Europe has
furnished a parallel. The Oriental and the European for
eight centuries brought into contact with one another ! — yet,
though brought into contact, too different in blood, laws, and
religion, ever to coalesce. Unlike the Saxons and Normans,
who, sprung from a common stock, with a common faith,
were gradually blended into one people ; in Spain, the con-
flicting elements could never mingle. No length of time
could give the Arab a right to Uie soil. He was still an
intruder. His only right was the right of the sword. He
held his domain on the condition of perpetual war, — the war
of race agamst race, of religion against religion. This was

1850,] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 17

the inheritance of the Spaniard, as well as of the Moslem,
for eight bundred years. What remarkable qualities was this
situation not calculated to call out! Loyally, heroism, the
patriotic feeling, and the loftier feeling of religious enthusiasm.
What wonder that the soldier of the cross should fancy that
the arm of Heaven was stretched out to protect him ? That
St. Jago should do battle for him, with his celestial chivalry ?
That miracles should cease to be miracles ? That supersti-
tion, in short, should be the element, ihe abiding element, of
the national character ? Yet this religious enthusiasm, in the
early ages, was tempered by charity towards a foe whom even
the Christian was compelled to respect for his superior civil-
ization. But, as the latter gained the ascendant, enthusiasm
was fanned by the crafty clergy into fanaticism. As the
Moslem scale became more and more depressed, fanaticism
rose to iniolemnce, and iniolerance ended in persecution when
the victor was converted into the victim. It is a humiliating
story, — more humiliating even to the oppressors than to the

The literature, all the while, with chameleon -like sensibility,
took the color of the times ; and it is for this reason that we
have always dwelt with greater satisfaction on the earlier
period of the national literature, rude though it be, with its
cordial, free, and high, romantic bearing, than on the later
period of its glory — brilliant in an intellectual point of view,
but in its moral aspect, dark and unrelenting.

Mr. Ticknor has been at much pams to unfold these pe-
culiarities of die Castitian character, in order to explain by
them the peculiarities of the literature, and indeed, to show
their reciprocal action on each other. He has devoted occa-
sional chapters to this subject, not the least interesting in his
volumes, making the history of the literature a running com-
mentary on that of the nation ; and thus furnishing curious
information to the political student, no less than to the student
of letters. His acute, and at the same lime accurate, obser-
vations, imbued with a spirit of sound philosophy, give the
work a separate value, and raise it above the ordinary province
of literary criticism,

But it is time that we should turn to ihe ballads, — or
romance*, as they are called in Spain, the first of the great
divisions already noticed. Nowhere does this popular min-

18 Ticknor's History of Spafdsh Literature. [Jan.

strelsjT flourish to the same extent as in Spain. The condition
of the country, which converted every peasant into a soldier,
and filled bis life with scenes of stirring and romantic incident,
may in part account for it. We have ballads of chivalry, of
the national history, of the Moorish wars, mere domestic bal*
lads, — in short, all the varieties of which such simple poetical
narratives are susceptible. The most attractive of these to
the Spaniards, doubtless, were those devoted to the national
heroes. The Cid here occupies a large space. His love,
his loyalty, his invincible prowess against the enemies of God,
are all celebrated in the iirank and cordial spirit of a primitive
age. They have been chronologically arranged into a regular
series, — as far as the date could be conjectured, — like the
Robin Hood ballads in England, so as to form a tolerably
complete narrative of his life. It is interesting to observe,
with what fondness the Spaniards are ever ready to turn to
their ancient hero, the very type of Castilian chivalry, and
linked by so many glorious recollections with the heroic age
of their country.

The following version of one of these ballads, by Mr.
Ticknor, will give a fair idea of the original. The time
chosen is the occasion of a summons made by the Cid to
Queen Urraca to surrender her castle, which held out against
the arms of the warrior's sovereign, Sancho the Brave.

Away ! away ! proud Roderic !

Castilian proud, away !
Bethink thee of that olden time,

That happy, honored day.
When, at Saint Jameses holy shrine.

Thy knighthood first was won ;
When Ferdinand, my royal sire,

Confessed thee for a son.
He gave thee then thy knightly arms,

My mother gave thy steed ;
TThy spurs were buckled by these hands,

That thou no grace might'st need.
And had not chance forbid the vow,

I thought with thee to wed ;
But Count Lozano's daughter fair

Thy happy bride was led.
With her came wealth, an ample store,

But power was mine, and state :

1850,] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 19

BroEtd lands are good, and have their grace,

But he that reigns is great.
Thy wife is well ; thy match was wise ;

Yel, Eoderic I ot ihy side
A vassal's daughter sits by thee,

And not a royal bride ! "
Our author has also given a pleasing version of the beauti-
ful romance of " Fonte frida, fonte frida," — " CooliHg
fountain, cooling fountain," — which we are glad lo see ren-
dered faithfully, instead of following iJie osample of Dr. Percy,
in his version of the One old ballad in a similar simple style,
"Rio verde, rio verde," which, we remember, he translates
by " Gentle river, gentle river," fitc. Indeed, to do justice
lo Mr. Ticknor's translations, we should have the text before
us. Nowhere do we recall so close fidelity to the original,
unless in Gary's Danle, Such fidelity does not always attain
the object of conveying the best idea of the original. But in
this bumble poetry it is eminently successful. To give these
itide gems a polish would be at once to change tlieir charac-
ter, and defeat the great object of our author, — to introduce
his readers to the peculiar culture of a primitive age.

A considerable difficulty presents itself in finding a suitable
measure for the English version of the romances. In the
original they are written in the eight-syllable line, witli tro-
chaic feet, instead of the iambics usually employed by ob.
But the real difficulty is in the peculiarity of the measure —
the asojiante, as it is called, in which the rhyme depends
solely on the conformity of vowel sounds, without reference
to the consonants, as in English verse. Thus the words dedo,
tiempo, viejos, are all good asonanies, taken at random from
one of these old ballads. An attempt has been made by
more than one clever writer to transplant them into English
verse. But it has had as little success as the attempt lo
naturalize the ancient hexameter, which neither the skill of
Southey nor of Longfellow will, probably, be able to effect.
The Spanish vowels have, for the most part, a clear and open
sound, which renders the melody of the versification suffi-
ciently sensible to the ear; while the middle station which it
occupies between the perfect rhyme and blank verse seems to
fit it, in an especial manner, for these simple narrative com-
positions. The same qualities have recommended it to the

30 Ticknor's HUtary of Spanish Literatute. [Jan.

dramatic writers of Spain as the best medium of poetical
dialogue, and, as such, it is habitually used by the great mas-
ters of the national theatre.

No class of these popular compositions have greater interest
than the Moorish romancesy afibrdmg glimpses of a state of
society in which the Oriental was strangely mingled with the
European. Some of them may have been written by the
Moriscoes, after the fall of Granada. They are redolent of
the beautiful land which gave them birth, — springing up like
wild-flowers amidst the ruins of the fallen capital. Mr. Tick-
nor has touched lightly on these in comparison with some of
the other varieties, perhaps because they have been more
freely criticized by preceding writers. Every lover of good
poetry is familiar with Mr. Lockhart's picturesque version of
these ballads, which has every merit but that of fidelity to
the original.

The production of the Spanish ballads is evidence of great
sensibility in the nation ; but it must also be referred to the
exciting scenes in which it was engaged. A similar cause
gave rise to the beautiful border minstrelsy of Scotland. But
the adventures of robber chieftains and roving outlaws excite
an interest of a very inferior order to that created by the great
contest for religion and independence which gave rise to the
Spanish ballads. This gives an ennoblmg principle to these
compositions, which raises them far above the popular min-
strelsy of every other country. It recommended them to the
more polished writers of a later period, under whose hands,
if they have lost something of their primitive simplicity, they
have been made to form a delightful portion of the national
literature. We cannot do better than to quote on thb the
eloquent remarks of our author.

'' Ballads, in the seventeenth century, had become the delight
of the whole Spanish people. The soldier solaced himself with
them in his tent, and the muleteer amidst the sierras ; the maiden
danced to them on the green, and the lover sang them for his
serenade ; they entered into the low orgies of thieves and vaga*
bonds, into the sumptuous entertainments of the luxurious nobU-
ity, and into the holiday services of the Church ; the blind beggar
chanted them to gather alms, and the puppet-showman gave them
in recitative to explain his exhibition ; they were a part of the
very foundation of the theatre, both secular and religious, and

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 13

pens to prevail. I am acquainted wiih nothing in the form of
the old metrical romance ilial is more altraclive, — nothing that
is so peculiar, original, and separate from every thing else of the
same class."

With these anonymous productions, Mr. Ticknor enters
into the consideration of others from an acknowledged source,
among which are those of tlie Prince Don Juan Manuel and
Alfonso the Tenth, or Alfonso the Wise, as he is usually
termed. He was one of those rare men who seem to be
possessed of. an almost universal genius. His tastes would
liave been better suited to a more refined period. He was,
unfortunately, so far in advance of his age that his age could
not fully profit by his knowledge. He was raised so far
above the general level of his time, that the light of his
genius, though it reached to distant generations, left his own
in a comparative obscurity. His great work was the code of
the Siele Partidas, — little heeded in his own day, though
destined to become the basis of Spanish jurisprudence both In
the Old World and in the IVew.

Alfonso caused the Bible, for tbe first time, to be trans*
lated into tbe Castilian. He was an historian, and led tbe
way in the long line of Castilian writers in that department,
by his Cronica General. He aspired also to the laurel of
tlie Muses. His poetry is still extant in the Galliclan dialect,
which, tbe monarch thought, might in tbe end be the culti-
vated dialect of his kingdom. The want of a settled capital,
or, to speak more correctly, the want of civilization, had left
the different eiemenis of the language contending as it were
for the mastery. The result was still uncertain at the close
of the thirteenth century. Alfonso hJmaelf did, probably,
more than any other to selde it, by his prose compositions, —
by the Siete Partidas and bis Chronicle, as well as by the
vernacular version of tbe Scriptures, Tbe Gailician became
tbe basis of ihe language of the sister kingdom of Portugal,
and the generous dialect of Castile became, in Spain, the
language of tbe court and of literature.

Alfonso directed his attention also to mathematical science.
His astronomical observations are held in respect at the pres-
ent day. But, as Mariana sarcastically intimates, while he
was gazing at the star^ he forgot the earth, and lost his king-
dom. His studious temper was ill accommodated to the stir-

TOL. LXX, NO. 146. 3

IS Ticknor's Bistary of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

the poem, when trayelling along in charge of a negro, passes a
cemetery on a hill-side where his mother lies huried.

And when the negro heeded not, that guarded him behind,
From off the camel Jusuf ^>rang^ on which he rode confined,
And hastened, with all meed, his nM>ther's grave to find.
Where he knelt and pardon sought, to relieve his troubled mind.

He cried, ** Gkxl's grace be with thee still, O Lady nK>ther dear !
O mother, yxxi would aonrow, if you looked upon me here ;
For my neck is bound with chains, and I live in grief and fear,
Like a traitor by my brethren sold, like a captive to the spear.

^ Thev have sold me ! they have s»ld me ! though I never did them hum;
They nave torn me from my father, firom his strong and living anu,
By aft and cunning they enticed nie. and by falsehood's guilty chaim,
And I go a baae4x>ught captive, fim of sorrow and alarm. '*

But now the negro looked about, and knew that he was gone,
For no man cotud be seen, and the camel came alone ;
So be turned his sharpened ear, and caught the vmling tone.
Where Jusuf, by his UHHher's grave, lay making heavy moan.

And the negro hurried up, and gave him there a blow;

So quick ai^ cruel was it, that it instant laid him low ;

" A base-bom wretch," he cricxl aloud, *' a base-bom thief art thou :

Thy masters, when we purchased thee, they told us it was so."

But Jusuf answered straight, ** Nor thief nor wretch am I ;
My mother's grave is this, and (ot pardon here 1 cry ;
I cry to AUah*^ power, and send mv prayer on high,
That, since I never wronged thee, nts curse may on thee Iw.**

And then all night they travelled on, till dawned the coming day,
When the land was sore tormented with a whirlwind's furious sway ;
The sun grew dark at noon, their hearts sunk in dismay.
And th»y knew not, with their merchandise, to seek or make their way.**

The manuscript of the piece, containing about 1200 irerseSy
though not entirely perfect, is in Mr. Ticknor's hands, with
its original Arabic characters converted into the Castilian.
He has saved it from the chances of time by printing it at
length in his appendix, accompanied by the following com-
mendations, which, to one practised in the old Castilian lit-
erature, will probably not be thought beyond its deserts.

** There is little, as it seems to me, in the early narrative po-
etry of any modem nation better worth reading than this old Mo-
naco version of the story of Joseph. Parts of it overflow with
the tenderest natural affection ; other parts are deeply pathetic ;
and everywhere it bears the impress of the extraordinary state
of manners and society that gave it birth. From several pas-
sages, it may be inferred that it was publicly recited ; and even
now, as we read it, we fall unconsciously into a long-drawn
chant, and seem to hear the voices of Arabian camel-drivers, or
of Spanish muleteers, as the Oriental or the romantic tone hap-

1850.] Ticknor's Hiitory of Spanish Literature. 23

off Uie impurities of an unformed vocabulary, rose, in ihe
reign of John the Second and of Ferdinand and Isabella, into
passages of positive eloquence. But we cannot do belter
than give the concluding remarks of our author on this rich
mine of literature, which he has now, for the first time, fully
explored and turned up to the pulilic gaze.

"As we close it up," he says, — speaking of an old chronicle he
has been criticizing, — " we should not forget, that the whole series,
exleudiug over full two hundred and fifty years, from the lime of
Alfonso the Wise to the accession of Charles the Fifth, and cover-
ing the New World as well as the Old, is unrivalled in richness, in
variety, and in picturesque and poetical elements. In truih, the
chronicles of no other nation can, on such points, be compared
to ihem ; not even the Portuguese, which approach the nearest
in original and early materials; nor the French, which, in Join-
ville and Froissart, make the highest claims in another direction.
For these old Spanish chronicles, whether they have their foun-
dations in truth or in fable, always strike farther down than those
of any other nation into the deep soil of the popular feeling and
character. The old Spanish loyally, the old Spanish religious faith,
as both were formed and nourished in ibe long periods of na-
tional trial and suffering, are consianlly coining out ; hardly less in
Columhus and his followers, or even amidst tlie atrocities of the
conquests in the New World, ihan in the half-miraculous accounts
of Ihe battles of Hazinas and Tolosa, or in the grand and glorious
drama of the fall of Granada. Indeed, wherever we go under
their leading, whether to the court of Tamerlane, or to that of
Saint Ferdinand, we find the heroic elements of the national
genius gathered around us ; and thus, in this vast, rich mass of
chronicles, containing such a body of antiquities, traditions, and
fables as has been offered to no other people, we are constantly
discovering, not only the materials from which were drawn a
multitude of the old Spanish ballads, plays, and romances, but
a mine which has been unceasingly wrought by the rest of Eu-
rope for similar purposes, and still remains unexhausted."

We now come to tlie Romances of Ciiivalry, to which the
transition is not difficult from the romantic chronicles we have
been considering. It was, perhaps, the romantic character
of these compositions, as well as of the popular minstrelsy of
the country, which supplied the wants of the Spaniards in
this way, and so long delayed the appearance of the true
Romance of Chivalry.

Long before it was seen in Spain, this kind of wTiting had

34 Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

made its appearance, in prose and verse, in other lands ; and
the tales of Arthur and the Round Table, and of Charle-
magne and his Peers, had beguiled the long evenings of our
Norman ancestors, and of their brethren on the other side of
the Channel. The first book of chivalry that was published
in Spain even then was not indigenous, but translated from a
Portuguese work, the Amadis de Gaula. But the Portu-
guese, according to the account of Mr. Ticknor, probably
perished with the library of a nobleman, in the great earth-
quake at Lisbon, in 1755 ; so that Mental van's Castilian
translation, published in Queen Isabella's reign, now takes
the place of the original. Of its merits as a translation who
can speak ? Its merits as a work of imagination, and, con-
sidering the age, its literary execution, are of a high order.

An English version of the book appeared early in the
present century, from the pen of Sou they, to whom Englbh
literature is indebted for more than one valuable contribution
of a similar kind. We well remember the delight with which,
in our early days, we pored over its fascinating pages, — the
bright scenes in which we revelled of Oriental mythology,
the beautiful portraiture which is held up of knightly courtesy
in the person of Amadis, and the feminine loveliness of Oriana«
It was an ideal world of beauty and magnificence, to which
the Southern imagination had given a far warmer coloring
than was to be found in the ruder conceptions of the Northern
minstrel. At a later period, we have read — tried to read —
the same story in the pages of Montalvan himself. But the
age of chivalry was gone.

The *' Amadis " touched the right spring m the Castilian
bosom, and its popularity was great and immediate. Edition
succeeded edition ; and, what was worse, a swarm of other
knight-errants soon came into the world, claiming kindred with
the Amadis. But few of them bore any resemblance to
their prototype, other than in their extravagance. Their
merits were summarily settled by the worthy curate in " Don
Quixote," who ordered most of them to the flames, declaring
that the good qualities of Amadis should not cloak the sins
of his posterity.

The tendency of these books was very mischievous.
They fostered the spirit of exaggeration, both in language
and sentiment, too natural to the Castilian. They debauched

1850.] Ticknor's Hiatory of SpanUk Literature. 25

ihe taste of the reader, while the voluptuous images, in which
most of them indulged, did no good lo his morals. They
encouraged, in fine, a wild spirit of knight-errantry, which
seemed to emulate the extravagance of the tales themselves.
Sober men wrote, preachers declaimed against them, but in
vain. The Cortes of 1553 presented a petition to the crown,
that the publication of such works might he prohibited, as
pernicious to society. Another petition of the same body,
in 1555, insists on this still more strongly, and in terms that,
coming, as they do, Irom so grave an assembly, can hardly be
read at the present day without a smile. Mr. Ticknor
notices both these legislative acts, in an extract which we
shall give. But be omits the words of the petition of 1555,
which dwells so piteously on the grievances of the nation ;
and which we will quote, as they may amuse the reader.
" iVIoreover," says the instrument, " we say that it is very
notorious what mischief has been done to young men and
maidens, and other persons, by the perusal of books full of
lies and vanities, like Amadis, and works of that description,
since young people especially, from their natural idleness,
resort to this kind of reading, and becoming enamoured of
passages of love or arms, or other nonsense which ihey find
set forth therein, when situations at all analogous offer, are
led to act much more extravagantly than they otherwise
would have done. And many times the daughter, when lier
mother has locked her up safely at home, amuses herself with
reading these books, which do her more hurt than she would
have received from going abroad. All which redounds, not
only to the dishonor of individuals, but to the great detriment
of conscience, by diverting the affections from holy,inie, and
Christian doctrine, to those wicked vanities, with which the
wits, as we have intimated, are completely bewildered. To
remedy this, we entreat your Majesty, that no book treating
of such matters be henceforth permitted to be read, that those
now printed be collected and burned, and that none be pub-
lished hereafter without special license ; by which measures
your Majesty will render great service to God, as well as to
these kingdoms," kc. &c.

But what neither the menaces of the pulpit nor the author-
ity of the law could effect, was brought about by the breath
of ridicule. —

VOL. LXH. — NO. H6. 3

96 Ticknor's HUtory of SpamMk LiieraiMrt. [Jan.

The feTer was at its hogfat wbeo Cerrantes sent his knig^-
enant into the world, to combat the phantoms of chirahj ;
and at one touch of his lance, they disappeared fcrercr.
From the day of the pablicatioo of the '^ Don Qnixole "
not a book of chivaky was ewer written in Spain. Tbeve is
no other such triumph recorded in the annals of genius.

We close these remarks with the following extract, whidi
shows the condition of society in Castile under the inflaenoe
of th^e romances.

'^ Spain, when the romances of chiraby first appeared, had hag
been peculiarly the land of knighthood. Tlie Mooiidi
which had made every geatleaian a soldier, necessarily
to this result ; and so did the fiee spirit of the communitieB, led
on as they were, during the next period, by barons, who lo^g
continued almost as independent in their castles as the king was
on his throne. Such a stale of things, in fiurt, is to be rpco g ni i r
ed as ^ back as the thiiteendi centunr, when the Partid»^ W
the most minute and pains-laking legislation, pronded far aoondi-
tioQ of aociety not ettsihr to be disdnguidied finom that set fatA
in the Amadis or the Pdmerin. The poem and hislaij of ^he
Gd bear witness jet earlier, indirecdy indeed, but werj ilnaglj^
to a sunilar sate of the country ; and so do many of the old bdi-
lads and odier records of the national feelings and traditions that
had come fiom the fouiteendi century.

■^Bot in the fifteenth, the chronicles are full of it, and eihilit it
in ionns she most graie and imposing. IXaLii^roos

of whiK^ the chief men of the dme, and ev&k the
Kwk part, occur coostanthr, and are recorded
the ■■iiwHUimff events of the age. At the passage of arms
Orboigos in tbe leign of John the Second, eighty knights, as we
haw seem, wcwe found ready to risk their lires for as fentawtic a
t&cDQn of failibLmiinr as is recorded in auT of the roman c e s of ^tt-
rauLnr : a foillhr of which ths was br no means the oohr
Xiar dad 'Saex oonfine their extniTagances to their own
la ihe suae re^m two Spanish knights went as fax as Burgun d y ^
ppafesBerily m search of adrentures, which they strangely min
^ed WS& a poSgiiniage to Jerusalem ; seeming to rq^ard bodi
as rrfu p pg esercnesL And as late as the time of Ferdmand and
tn^iUJllVm, Fcnniw&o dell Palgar, thetr wise secretary, gives as the
of aeiefal difliinguBhed noblemen, personally known ta
who bad g<Qne into fofc^ countries, ^ in order,"* as ha
SBf^ <^ ^ itrr the fai t iun c of arms with any caralier that

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 27

be pleased to adventure with them, and so gain honor for them-
selves, and the fame of valiant and bold knights for the gentle-
men of Castile.'

" A state of society like this was the natural result of the ex-
traordinary development which the insiilutioDs of chivalry had
then received in Spain. Some of it was suited to ibe age, and
salutary ; the rest was knight-errantry, and knight-errantry in its
wildest extravagance. When, however, the imagination a of men
were so excited aa to tolerate and maintain, in their daily life,
such manners and institutions as these, they would not fail to en-
joy the boldest and most free representations of a corresponding
state of society in works of romantic fiction. But they went far-
ther. Extravagant and even impossible as arc many of the ad-
ventures recorded in the books of chivalry, they still seemed so
little to exceed the absurdities frequently witnessed or told of
known and living men, that many persons look the romances
themselves to be true histories, and believed them. Thus, Mexia,
the trustworthy historiographer of Charles the Fifth, says, in
1545, when speaking of ' the Amadises, Liauartes, and Cla-
rions,' that ' their authors do waste their time and weary their
faculties in writing such hooks, which are read by all and be-
lieved by many. For,' he goes on, 'there be men who think
all these things really happened, just as they read or hear them,
though the greater part of the things themselves are sinful, pro-
fane, and unbecoming.' And Castillo, another chronicler, tells
us gravely, in 1587, that Philip the Second, when he married
Mary of England, only forty years earlier, promised, that, if
King Arthur should return to claim the throne, he would peace-
ably yield to that prince all his rights; thus implying, at least
in CMtillo himself, and probably in many of his readers, a full
faith in the stories of Arthur and his Round Table.

" Such credulity, it is true, now seems impossible, even. if we
suppose it was confined to a moderate number of intelligent per-
sons ; and hardly less so, when, as in the admirable sketch of
an easy faith in the stories of chivalry by the innkeeper and Ma-
rilomes in Don Quixote, we are shown that it extended to the
mass of the people. But before we refuse our assent to the state-
ments of such faithful chroniclers as Mexia, on the ground that
what they relate is impossible, we should recollect, thai, in the
age when they lived, men were in the habit of believing and aft-
serting every day things no less incredible than those recited Iq
the old romances. The Spanish Church then countenanced a
trust in miracles, as of constant recurrence, which required of
those who believed them more credulity than the fictions of chi-
valry ; and yet how few were found waoling in faith I And how

28 Ticknor's Uittory of Spanuh Literature. [Jan.

few doubted the tales that had come down to them of the im-
possible achievements of their fathers during the seven centuries
of their warfare against the Moors, or the glorious traditions of
all sorts, that still constitute the charm of their brave old chroni-
cles, though we now see at a glance that many of them are as
fabulous as any thing told of Palmerin or Launcelot !

** But whatever we may think of this belief in the romances of
chivalry, there is no question that in Spain, during the sixteenth
century, there prevailed a passion for them such as was never
known elsewhere. The proof of it comes to us from all sides.
The poetry of the country is full of it, from the romantic ballads
that still live in the memory of the people, up to the old plays
that have ceased to be acted and the old epics that have ceased
to be read. The national manners and the national dress, more
peculiar and picturesque than in other countries, long bore its
sure impress. The old laws, too, speak no less plainly. Indeed,
the passion for such fictions was so strong, and seemed so dan-
gerous, that in 1553 they were prohibited from being printed,
sold, or read in the American colonies ; and in 1555 the Cortes
earnestly asked that the same prohibition might be extended to
Spain itself, and that all the extant copies of romances of chivalry
might be publicly burned. And finally, half a century later, the
happiest work of the greatest genius Spain has produced bears
witness on every page to the prevalence of an absolute fanaticism
for books of chivalry, and b^omes at once the seal of their vast
popularity and the monument of their fate.'*

We can barely touch on the Drama, the last of the three
great divisions into which our author has thrown this period.
It is of little moment, for down to the close of the fifteenth
century, the Castilian drama afiforded small promise of the
brilliant fortunes that awaited it. It was bom under an
Italian sky. Almost its first lispings were at the vice-regal
court of Naples, and, under a foreign influence, it displayed
few of the national characteristics which afterwards marked
its career. Yet the germs of future excellence may be dis-
cerned in the compositions of Encina and Naharro ; and the
" Celestina," though not designed for the stage, had a literary
merit that was acknowledged throughout Europe.

Mr. Ticknor, as usual, accompanies his analysis with occa-
sional translations of the best passages from the ancient
masters. From one of these — a sort of dramatic eclogue,
by Gil Vicente — we extract the following spirited verses.
The scene represents Cassandra, the heroine of the piece, as

1850.] Ticknor'a HUtory of Spanish Literalure. 29

refusing all the solicitations of her family to change her state
of maideD freedom for married life.

" They say, ' 'T la time, go, marry 1 go 1 '
But I '11 no husband! not I ! no I
For I would live all carelessly.
Amidst these hills, a maiden free,
And never ask, nor anxious be.

Of wedded weal or woe.
Yet still they say, ' Go, marry ! go ! '
But 1 'II Qo husband ! not I ! no !
" So, mother, think not 1 shall wed,
And through a tiresome life be led,
Or use, in folly's ways instead,

What grace the heavens bestow.
Yet still iliey say, ' Go marry ! go ! '
But I 'II no husband ! not I ! no I
" The man has not been born, I ween.
Who as my husband shall be seen ;
And since what frequent tricks have been

Undoublingly 1 know.
In vain they say, ' Go marry ! go ! '
For 1 '11 no husband I not I ! no!"

She escapes to the woods, and her kinsmen, after in vain
striving to bring her back, come in dancing and singing as
madly as herself.

" She ia wild 1 She is wild I
Who shall speak lo the child f
On the hills pass her hours,
As B shepherdess free ;

She is fair as the flowers.
She is wild as the sea I
She is wild! She is wild!
Who shall speak to the child .'"

During the course of the period we have been considering
there runs another rich vein of literalure, [he beautiful Proven-
gal, — those lays of love and chivalry poured forth by the
Troubadours in the little coun of Provence, and afterwards
of Catalonia. During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,
when the voice of the minstrel was hardly heard in other
pans of Europe, the northern shores of the Mediterranean,
on either side of llie Pyrennees, were alive with song. But it
3*

30 TickBor's HiMtary •/ J^mmisk LUermtrnz. (Jaiu

w»s tbe radodr of a too eaii j spcing, to be
mider tbe wmtiy bread) of persecotkxu

Mr. Tx^Dor, wbo paid, wfaik in Europe, xnocb stte&t
to die Romance £alects, bas gireo a {deasiDg analysis of tUs
earir fitoature, a&er k bad fled from tbe stocms of peis ec * -
tioD to tbe sootb of Spam. But iew wffl care lo leaiB a
langoage wbich locks up a fiteratore tbat was ratber omt ot a
beafoti&il prooyse tban p etfama nce, — tbat preoBtoreiT per-
isbed aod 1^ no s^n. Aod yet k (5d leare sone sign of ks
eYyffepce. m tbe mfioeoce k exerted bocb oo Iiafiaa aadCas-

llns was pecaEarir ifisplajed at tbe coort of Jofas ibe
SecQod of C^Etile. wbo floori^ied towards tbe middle of die
fi&eeziih cexiioTT. Tbat prince gatbered around bira a cade
of mits and poirts. serend of tb^sn men of tbe bi^best rank ;
aztd die ioxeHectoal spim tbos exhibited sbows &e a bc^tt
sceak in tbe dawn of ibai bibber cinTrzanon wbicb rose opoo
Castile in ibe bepzsoanf of the foUowiig centarr. In this
bieraiy carcle iuEig Jobn hkz^self was a p n wwieitt figwe, car-
tg die verses of his losing subjects^ and occasioBaQj is-
Be of h^ owzL In tbe somewhat serere langia^
of Mr. Tickaor. -* be tisned to lecprs to aFoid tbe inporoa-
BoCT of hp^gir*?^ and to <n:atifT a cocstkoDooal iMUence."
T^iere was. k is trae. sooiediia^ rv5culous in Ektg Joiui s
Bost respecTahle tastes. rasiiidki£ us of d)e character of his
comeEsporarv. Reoe of Aujoo, Bat stfll k m-as s cfwtb i ng ,
ia dKj^e roorii times, to maiufet a reJish fcr mteHectual pleas-
ires : aDC k naai its ^ect. in weamng hi^ turbulent Dobtbtj
fraEB the iadol^eaoe of their coarser appedtes^

T^ same Sjeral tastes, with sdB better result, were diown
by bis caRgtar-er. d^ ilastnous Isabdbu tbe Catbo&. Noc
tbai any work of great preteBsaoos ibr its poebcal merks was
prc»dnceid. Tbe poetry of the age. indeed, was prectj
t2y iaiected wids the merecricious coocwts of tbe Pro-
TCB^ and the oid Casdlian verse. We must except from
nbs ffypo^c^ tbe - Copias ^ of Jorge Mannque. wbidi bav«
faa»d 30 wortky aa kaerpreter in Mr. LoBgfeUo«\ aad wbidi
v€hM do boHBr 19 any age. But the age of IsabeUa was m
Citsaie wbttL ibai of Pogpo m-as ki haty. Learned men
MTked tan aheotd. and Kx^k up thetf resideoce at tbe
\ii2Te scbobrs went abroad, aad fansus^ back tbe

1850.] Ticknor's Historif of Spatiuk Literature. 31

rich fruits of an educatioD in the most renowDed of the Ital-
ian universities. The result of this scholarship was the
preparation of dictionaiies, grammars, and various philological
works, which gave laws to the language, and subjected it to
a classic standard. Prixiting was introduced, and, under the
royal patronage, presses were put in active operation in vari-
ous cities of the kingdom. Thus, although no great work
was actually produced, a beneficent impulse was given to
letters, which trained up the scholar, and opened the way for
the brilliant cinlization of the reign of Charles the Fifth.
Our author has not paid the tribute to the reigu of Isabella
to which, in our judgment, it is entitled even in a literarj'
view. He has noticed with coiiimcndation the various efforts
made in it to introduce a more liberal scholarship, but has by
no means dwelt with tlie emphasis ihey deserve on the im-
portance of the results.

With the glorious rule of Ferdinand and Isabella closes the
long period from the middle of the twelfth to the beginning
of the sixteenth century, — a period which, if we except
Italy, has no rival in modem hisiory for the richness, variety,
and picturesque character of its literature. It is that portion
of the literature which seems to come spontaneously like the
vegetation of a virgin soil, that must lose something of its
natural freshness and perfume when brought under a more
elaborate cultivatiou. It is that portion which is most thor-
oughly enibued with the national spirit, unaffected by foreign
influences ; and the student who would fully comprehend the
genius of the Spaniards must lum to these pure and primitive
sources of their literary culture.

We cannot do better than close with the remarks in which
Mr. Ticknor briefly, but with his usual perspicuity, sums up
the actual achievements of the period.

" Poetry, or at least the love of poetry, made progress with the
great advancement of the nation under Ferdinand and Isabella ;
though the Insle of the court in whatever regarded Spanish litera-
ture continued low and false. Other circumatancea, too, favored
the great and beneficial change that was everywhere becoming
apparent. The language of Castile liad already asserted its su-
premacy, and, with the old Casiilian spirit and cultivation, it was
spreading into Andalusia and Aragon, and [ilanting itself amidst
the ruins of the Moorish power on the shores of the Mcditerra-

32 Ticknar's Ourny •/ Spmiti Litermtmn. [

take the forms of regular hialiHy.

as far as the ^Cefesdaa^ in prose, and the more stnctij

effintB of Torres Nabano m v^Kse. Roinaiice-wTitnig

height of its socceas. Aad the old baDad spirit — dfee tme

datioD of Spanish poetry — had r ec ei v e d a new hnpoiBe

richer materiab finxn die m c te tf^ in which all Cteadan Spaia

had borne a part anndBt the lannataina of Granada,

the wild tales of the fends and a df etme s of rtial

the walls of that deiroted dtj, Eierj thing,

a decided moremenl in the faqatm e of die

every thing ■ccmcd to frior and l a r l Tnilp iL^

The second great Jiihiu n fi n h i^es the hag
tween 1500 and 1700, occapied by the AostiBn djnjsty of
Spain. It coTers the goUcB age, as geBcnDy cwiidne J, of
Castilian Uterature ; tbu in which it snbmioed in
gree to the infloeooes of the a d r ancin g European
and which witnessed those great prodoctioas of
have had the widest repntaiion w4th ibreigneB ; the age of
Cervantes, of Lope de V^a, and of Caldoon. The eoadi*
tion of Spain itself was materiaEj changed. 1»***^^ of
being bemmed in by her moontaio-bamer, she bad
ber relations to every court in Eorope, and estabfidied
«npu^ in every quarter of the globe. E m erging kam
retired and solitary cooditkn, sbe now took the fast
among the states of Qnistendom, Her litentnre
took the impress of this change, bat not to the erieat — i
at least, not in the precise manner — it would hare doae, if
left to its natural and independent action. But, mhapfaiy
for the land, the great potter ot its oKxiarchs was
against their own people, and tbe people were assaDed,
over, through the very qualities which should hare entided
them to forbearance fiom their masters. Practising on
loyalty, their princes trampled on their ancient
and loyalty was degraded into an abject servility. Tlie
gious zeal of early days, which had carried them
through the Moorish struggle, turned, under the infloence of
the priests, into a sour fanaticism, which opened the way to
the Inquisition, — tbe most terrible engine of oppressaoo etcr
devised by man, — not so terrible ibr its operatioo on dK
body as on the mind. Under its banefiil influence.

1850.] Ticknor's Hitlory of Spanhh Literature. 33

tost its free and healthy action ; aod, however high rts pre-
tensions as a work of art, it becomes so degenerate in a moral
aspect, that it has far less to awaken our sympathies than (he
productions of an earlier (ime. From this circumstance, as
well as rrom that of its being much better known to the gen-
erality of scholars, we shall pass only in rapid reriew soow
of its most remarkable persons and productions. Belbre en-
teiing on this Geld, we will quote some important obsembons
of our author on the general prospects of the period be is to
discuss. Thus to allow coming events to cast their shadows
before is better suited to the purposes of the literary histonan,
(ban of the novelbt. His remarks on the Inquisition aie
striking.

" The resuhs of such eilraordioary traits in the italiotial char-
acter could not fail to be impressed upon the literature of any
country, and particularly upon a literature which, like thai of
Spain, had always been strongly marked by the popular temper-
ament and peculiarities. But the period was not one tn which
such traits could be produced with poetical eflect The aocieni
loyalty, which had once been so generous aa element in the
Spanish character and cultivation, was now infected whh the am-
bition of universal empire, and was lavished upon princes and
nobles who, like the later Philips and their ministen, were no-
worthy of its homage ; so that, in the Spanish histonans and epic
poets of this period, and even in more popular wrilen, E
Quevedo and Caldcron, we find a vainglorious admiialioa of tfa
country, and a poor flattery of royalt}- and rank, thai rennMb at
of the old Castitian pride and deference only by showing bow
both had lost their dignity. And so ii is with the ancient refigicm
feeling that was so nearly akin to this loyalty. The Chiwtian
spirit, which gave an air of duty to the wildesl forms of adven-
ture ihroughoul the country, during its long contest with the
power of misbelief, was now fallen away into a low and anxiona
bigotry, fierce and intolerant towards every thing that differed
from its own sharply defined faiih, and yet *o pervading and so
popular, thai the romances and tales of the broe are Ml of it,
and the national theatre, in more than one form, becomes its
strange and grotesque monument.

" Of course, the body of Spanish poetry and eloquent prose
produced during this interval — the earlier part of which was
the period of the greatest glory Spain ever enjoyed — was in-
juriously affected by so diseased a condition of the national char-
acter. That generous and manly spirit which is the breath of

34 Ticknor's J&tory of Spanish lAteratwre. [Jan.

intellectual life to any people was restrained and stifled. Some
departments of literature, such as forensic eloquence and elo-
quence of the pulpit, satirical poetry, and elegant didactic prose*
hardly appeared at all ; others, like epic poetry, were strangely
perverted and misdirected ; while yet others, like the drama, the
ballads, and the lighter forms of lyrical verse, seemed to grow
exuberant and lawless, from the very restraints imposed on the
rest ; restraints which, in foct, forced poetical genius into chan-
nels where it would otherwise have flowed much more scantily
and with much less luxuriant results.

" The books that were published during the whole period on
which we are now entering, and indeed for a century later, bore
everywhere marks of the subjection to which the press and those
who wrote for it were alike reduced. From the abject title-
pages and dedications of the authors themselves, through the
crowd of certificates collected from their friends to establish the
orthodoxy of works that were often as little connected with re-
ligion as fairy tales, down to the colophon, supplicating pardon
for any unconscious neglect of the authority of the Church or
any too free use of classical mythology, we are continually op-
pressed with painful proofs, not only how completely the human
mind was enslaved in Spain, but how grievously it had become
cramped and crippled by the chains it had so long worn.

*^ But we shall be greatly in error, if, as we notice these deep
marks and strange peculiarities in Spanish literature, we suppose
they were produced by the direct action either of the Inquisition
or of the civil government of the country, compressing, as if with
a physical power, the whole circle of society. This would have
been impossible. No nation would have submitted to it ; much
less so high-spirited and chivalrous a nation as the Spanish in the
reign of Chsurles the Fifth and in the greater part of that of Philip
the Second. This dark work was done earlier. Its foundations
were laid deep and sure in the old Castilian character. It was
the result of the excess and misdirection of that very Christian
zeal which fought so fervently and gloriously against the intru-
sion of Mohammedanism into Europe, and of that military loy-
alty which sustained the Spanish princes so faithfully through the
whole of that terrible contest ; — both of them high and ennobling
principles, which in Spain were more wrought into the popular
character than they ever were in any other country.

" Spanish submission to an unworthy despotism, and Spanish
bigotry, were, therefore, not the results of the Inquisition and the
modem appliances of a corrupting monarchy ; but the Inquisition
and the despotism were rather the results of a misdirection of the
old religious faith and loyalty. The civilization that recognized

1650.] Ticknor's Hutory of ^aniik lAieratttn. 35

auch elements presented, no doubt, roucb thai »

turesque, and ennobling ; but it wss not without lU d

for it failed to excite and cherish man;' of the mo _

qualities of our commoa nature, — those qualities which ue ^m-

duced in domestic life, and result io ibe culiivalioa of ibe aiu of

peace.

"As we proceed, therefore, we shall find, in the full develop-
ment of the Spanish character and literature, seeming cootradic-
tions, which can be reconciled odIt by looking back to the foonda-
tions on which they both rest. We shall find the InqaisitkiQ at
the height of its power, and a free and immoral drama ai ibe
height of its popularity, — Philip the Second and bis two imme-
diate successors governing the country with the Krefeal aod
moat jealous despotism, while Quevedo was writing his witty and
dangerous satires, and CervanteH bis genial and wise Don Qutz-
ote. But the more carefully we consider such a state of things,
the more we shall see that these are moral contradictions which
draw af^er them grave moral mi^hiefs. The Spanish nalioa
and the men of genius who illustrated iis best days, might be
light-hearted because they did not perceive the limits witliin
which they were confined, or did not, for a time, feel the resJraints
that were imposed upon them. What they gave up might be given
up with cheerful hearts, and not wiih a sense of diacooragemeDt and
degradation ; it might be done in the spirit of \aj^ty aod wiib
the fervor of religious zeal ; but it is not at all ibe leas triK thai
the hard limits were there, and that great sacrifice* of tbe best
elements of the national character must follow.

" Of this time gave abundant proof. Only a Utile more than
a century elapsed before the government that bad ibrealeoed tbe
world with a universal empire was hardly able to repel inrasion
from abroad, or maintain the allegiance of its own subiecls at
home. Life — the vigorous, poetical life which had been kindled
through the country in its ages of trial and adversity — was evi-
dently passing out of the whole Spanish character. As a people
they sunk away from being a first-rate power in Europe, till they
became one of altogether inferior importance and consideration ;
and then, drawing back haughtily behind their mountains, r^ected
all equal intercourse with the rest of the world, in a spirit almost
as exclusive and intolerant as that in which they had formerly re-
fused intercourse with their Arab conquerors, liie crude and gross
wealth poured in from their American posKssions sustained, in-
deed, for yet another century the forms of a miserable political
existence in their government ; but tbe earnest faith, the loyalty,
the dignity of the Spanish people were gone ; and little remained
in their place, but a weak subserviency to the unworthy n

36 Ticknor's History of Spaniih Literature. [Jan.

of the state, and a low, timid bigotry in whatever related to re-
ligion. The old enthusiasm, rarely directed by wisdom from the
first, and often misdirected afterwards, faded away ; and the
poetry of the country, which had always depended more on the
state of the popular feeling than any other poetry of modem
times, faded and failed with it''

The first thing that strikes us, at the very commeDcement
of this new period, is the attempt to subject the Castilian to
Italian forms of versification. This attempt, through the
perfect tact of Boscan, and the delicate genius of GarcDasso,
who rivalled in their own walks the greatest masters of Italian
verse, was eminently successful. It would, indeed, be won-
derful if the intimate relations now established between Spain
and Italy did not lead to a reciprocal influence of their litera-
tures on each other. The two languages, descended fipom the
same parent stock, the Latin, were nearest of kin to each
other, — in the relation, if we may so speak, of brother and
sister. The Castilian, with its deep Arabic gutturals, and its
clear, sonorous sounds, had the masculine character, which
assorted well with the more feminine graces of the Italian,
with its musical cadences and soft vowel terminations. The
transition from one language to the other was almost as natu-
ral as from the dialect of one province of a country to that
of its neighbor.

The revolution thus eflfected went far below the surface of
Spanish poetry. It is for this reason, that we are satisfied
that Mr. Ticknor has judged wisely, as we have before inti-
mated, in arranging the division lines of his two periods in
such a manner as to throw into the former that primitive por-
tion of the national literature which was untouched, at least
to any considerable extent, by a foreign influence.

Yet, in the compositions of this second period, it must be
admitted that by far the greater portion of what is really good
rests on the original basis of the national character, though
under the controlling influences of a riper age of civilization.
And foremost of the great writers of this national school we
find the author of << Don Quixote," whose fame seems now
to belong to Europe, as much as to the land that gave him
birth. Mr. Ticknor has given a very interesting notice of
the great writer and of his various compositions. The mate-

1850.] Ticknors History of Spanish Lileraiure, 37

rials for this are, for the most part, not very diflicull to be
procured ; for Cervantes is ihe author whom his countrymeD,
since his death, with a spirit very different from lliat of his
con temporaries, have most delighted to honor. Fortunately,
the Castilian romancer has supplied us with materials for his
own biography, which remind us of the lamentable poverty
under which we labor in all that relates to his contemporary,
Shakspeare. In Mr. Ticknor's biographical notice, the reader
will find some details probably not fatniliar to him, and a care-
ful discussion of those points over which still rests any cloud
of uncertainty.

He inquires into the grounds of the imputation of an un-
worthy jealousy having existed between Lope and his illustri-
ous rival, and we heartily concur with him in the general
results of his investigation.

" Concerning his relations with Lope de Vega there has been
much discussion to little purpose. Certain it is that Cervantes
oflen praises this great literary idol of hia age, and that four or .
five times Lope stoops from his pride of place and compliments
Cervanles, though never beyond the measure of praise he be-
stows on many whose claims were greaily inferior. But 'in his
stately flight, it is plain that he soared much above the author of
Don Quixote, to whose highest merits he seemed carefully to
avoid all homage ; and though I And no sufficient reason lo sup-
pose their relation to each other was marked by any peraonal
jealousy or ill-will, as has been sometimes supposed, yet I can
find no proof that it was either intimate or kindly. On the con-
trary, when we consider the good nature of Cervantes, which
made him praise to excess nearly all his other literary contempo-
raries, as well as the greatest of ihem oil, and when we allow
for the frequency of hyperbole in such praises at that time,
which prevented them from being what they would now be, we
may perceive an occasional coolness in his manner, when he
speaks of Lope, which shows, that, without overrating his own
merits and claims, he was not insensible to the diflerence in their
respective positions, or to the injustice towards himself implied
by it. Indeed, his whole tone, whenever he notices Lope, seems
to be marked with much personal dignity, and to be singularly
honorable lo him."

Mr. Ticknor, in a note to the above, states that he has
been able to 6nd only five passages in all Lope de Vega's
works where there is any mention of Cervantes, and not one

VOL. LXX. NO. 146, 4

36 Ticknor's Hut<ny of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

of these written after the appearance of the " Don Quixote/'
during its author's lifetime, — a signi6cant fact. One of the
passages to which our author refers, and which is from the
'^Laurel de Apolo," contains, he says, **a somewhat stiff
eulogy on Cervantes." We quote the origmal couplet, which
alludes to the injury inflicted on Cervantes' hand in the great
Battle of Lepanto.

** Porque se digm qoe ona mano herida
Podo dar 4 sa doefto etema Tida.*'

Which may be rendered,

The hand, though crippled in the slorions atrife,
Sufiioed to gain its lora eternal life.

We imagine that most who read the distich, — the Castilian,
not the English, — will be disposed to regard it as no in-
elegant, and certainly not a parsimonious, tribute from one
bard to another, — at least, if made in the lifetime of the
subject of it. Unfortunately, it was not written till some
fourteen years after the death of Cervantes, when he was
beyond the power of being pleased or profited by praise from
any quarter.

Mr. Ticknor closes the sketch of Cervantes with some
pertinent and touching reflections on the circumstances under
which hb great work was composed.

" The romance which he threw so carelessly from him, and
which, I am persuaded, he regarded rather as a bold effort to
break up the absurd taste of his time for the fancies of chivalry
than as any thing of more serious import, has been established
by an uninterrupted, and, it may be said, an unquestioned, success
ever since, both as the oldest classical specimen of romantic fie*
tion, and as one of the most rerosurkable monuments of modem
genius. But though this may be enough to fill the measure of
human fame and glory, it is not all to which Cervantes is entitled ;
for, if we would do him the justice that would have been dear-
est to his own spirit, and even if we would ourselves fully com-
prehend and enjoy the whole of his Don Quixote, we should, as
we read it, bear in mind, that this delightful romance was not
the result of a youthful exuberance of feeling and a happy ex-
ternal condition, nor composed in his best years, when the spirits
of its author were light and his hopes high ; but that — wiUi all
its unquenchable and irresistible humor, with its bright views of
the world, and its cheerful trust in goodness and virtue — it was
written in his old age, at the conclusion of a life neariy every step

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 39

of which had been marked with disappoioted ex pec tai ions, dis-
hearteniag struggles and sore calamities ; that he began it in a
prison, and that It was finished wheu he felt the hand of death
pressing heavy and cold upon his heart. If this be remeoibeted
as we read, we may feel, as we ought lo feet, what admiration
and reverence are due, not only to the living power of Don Quix-
ote, but to the character and genius of Cervanles."

The next name tliai meets us in tlie volume is that of
Lope de Vega Carpio, ihe idol of his generation, who
lived, in all the enjoyment of wealth and worldly honors, in
the same city, and, as some accounts state, in the same street,
where his illustrious rival was pining in poverty and neglect.
If posterity has reversed the judgment of their contempo-
raries, slill we cannot withhold our admiration at the inex-
haustible invention of Lope, and the miraculous facility of his
composition. His achievements in this way, perfectly well
authenticated, are yet such as lo stagger credibility. He
wrote, in all, about eighteen hundred regular dramas, and four
hundred autos — pieces of one act each. Besides this, he
composed, at leisure intervals, no less than twenty-one printed
volumes of miscellaneous poetry, including eleven narrative
and didactic poems of much length, in ottava rima, and seven
hundred sonnets, also in the Italian measure. His comedies,
amounting to between two and three thousand lines each,
were mostly rhymed, and interspersed with ballads, sonnets,
and different kinds of versification. Critics have sometimes
aroused themselves with computing the amount of matter
thus actually thrown otT by him in the course of his dramatic
career. The sura swells to twenty-one million, three hun-
dred thousand verses ! He lived to tte age of seventy-two,
and if we allow him to have employed fifty years — which
will not be far from the truth — in his theatrical compositions,
it will give an average of somelhiog like a play a week,
through the whole period, to say nothing of the epics, and
other miscellanies ! He tells us further, that, on one occasion,
he produced Qve entire plays in a fortnight. And his biogra-
phers assure us that, more than once, he turned off a whole
drama in twenty-four hours. These plays, it will be recol-
lected, with their stores of invention and fluent versification,
were the delight of all classes of his countrymen, and the
copious fountain of supply to half the theatres of Europe.

40 Ticknor's Uittary of Spaniih Literature, [Jan.

Well might Cervantes call him the ^^ motutruo de naturdlezaj*
— the " miracle of nature."

The vast popularity of Lope, and the unprecedented
amount of his labors, brought with them, as might be ex-
pected, a substantial recompense. This remuneration was of
the most honorable kind, for it was chiefly derived from the
public. It is said to have amounted to no less than a hundred
thousand ducats, — which, estimating the ducat at its probable
value of six or seven dollars of our day, has no parallel —
oty perhaps, not more than one — upon record.

Yet Lope did not refuse the patronage of the great. From
the Duke of Sessa he is said to have received, in the course
of his life, more than twenty thousand ducats. Another of
his noble patrons was the Duke of Alva ; not the terrible
duke of the Netherlands, but his grandson — a man of some
literary pretensions, hardly claimed for his great ancestor.
Yet with the latter he has been constantly confounded, by
Lord Holland, in his life of the poet, by Southey, after an ex-
amination of the matter, and lastly, though with some distrust,
by Nicholas Antonio, the learned Castilian biographer. Mr.
Ticknor shows, i)eyond a doubt, from a critical examination
of the subject, that they are all in error. The inquiry and
the result are cleariy stated in the notes, and are one among
the many evidences which these notes afford of the minute
and very accurate researches of our author into matters of
historicsd interest, that have baffled even the Castilian
scholars.

We remember meeting with something of a similar blunder
in Schlegel's Dramatic Lectures, where he speaks of the poet
Garcilasso de la Vega as descended from the Peruvian Incas,
and as having lost his life before Tunis. The fact is, that
the poet died at Nice, and that, too, some years before
the birth of the Inca Garcilasso, with whom Schlegel so
strangely confounds him. One should be charitable to such
errors, — though a dogmatic critic, like Schlegel, has as little
right as any to demand such charity, — for we well know
how difficult it b always to escape them, when, as in Castile,
die same name seems to descend, as an heirloom, from one
generation to another; if it be not, indeed, shared by more
dian one of the same generation. In the case of the Duke
of Alva, there was not even this apology.

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 41

Mr. Ticknor has traced the personal history of Lope de
Vega, so as to form a ruoning commentary on his literary.
It will be read with satisfaction, even by those who are
familiar with Lord Holland's agreeable hfe of tlie poet, since
the publication of which more ample researches have been
made into the condition of the Casiilian drama. Those who
are disposed to set too high a value on the advantages of
literary success may learn a lesson by seeing how ineffectual
it was to secure the happiness of that spoiled child of fortune,
We give our author's account of his latter days, when his
mind had become infected with the religious gloom which
has too often settled round the evening of life with the
fanatical Spaniard.

" But as his life drew lo a close, his religious feelings, min-
gled with a melancholy fanaticism, predominated more and more.
Much of his poetry composed ai this time expressed them ; and
at last they rose to such a height, that he was almost constantly
in a state of excited melancholy, or, as it was then beginning to
be called, of hypochondria. Early in the month of August, he
felt himself extremely weak, and suffered more than ever from
that sense of discouragement which was breaking down his
resources and strength. Hia thoughts, however, were so exclu-
sively occupied with his spiritual condition, that, even when thus
reduced, he continued to fast, and on one occasion went through
with a private discipline so cruel, that the walls of the. apartment
where it occurred were afterwards found sprinkled with his blood.
From this he never recovered. He was taken ill the same nighl;
and, after fulfilling the offices prescribed by his Church with the
most submissive devotion, — mourning that he had ever been
engaged in any occupations but such as were exclusively reli-
gious, — he died on the 25lh of August, 1635, nearly seventy-
three years old.

" The sensBlioD produced by his death was such as is rarely
witnessed even in the case of those upon whom depends the
welfare of nations. Tlie Duke of Sessa, who was bis especial
patron, and to whom he left his manuscripts, provided for the
funeral in a manner becoming his own wealth and rank. It
lasted nine days. The crowds that thronged lo it were immense.
Three bishops officiated, and the first nobles of the land attended
as mourners. Eulogies and poems followed on ail sides, and in
numbers all but incredible. Those written in Spain make one
considerable volume, and end with a drama in which his apothe-
osis was brought upon the public stage. Those written in Italy

42 Ticknor's History of S^^atdsh Literature. [Jan.

are hardly leas numerous, aod fill another. But more touching
than any of them was the prayer of that much-loved daughter
who had been shut up from the world fourteen years, that the
long funeral procession might pass by her convent and permit her
once more to look on the face she so tenderly venerated ; and
more solemn than any was the mourning of the multitude, from
whose dense mass audible sobs burst forth, as his remains slowly
descended from their sight into the house appointed for all
living."

Mr. Ticknor follows up hb biographical sketch of Lope
with an analysb of his plays, concluding the whole with a
masterly review of his qualities as a dramatic writer. The
discussion has a wider import than at first appears. For
Lope de Vega, although he built on the foundations of the
ancient drama, yet did this in such a manner as to settle the
forms of this department of literature forever for his countiy-
raen.

It would be interesting to compare the great Spanish
dramatist with Shakspeare, who flourished at the same period,
and who, in like manner, stamped his own character on the
national theatre. Both drew their fictions from every source
indiscriminately, and neither paid regard to probabilities of
chronology, geography, or scarcely history. Time, place, and
circumstance were of little moment in their eyes. Both built
their dramas on the romantic model, with its magic scenes of
joy and sorrow, in the display of which each was roaster in his
own way ; though the English poet could raise the tone of
sentiment to a moral grandeur, which the Castilian, with all
the tragic coloring of bis pencil, could never reach. Both
fitscinated their audiences by that sweet and natural flow of
language, that seemed to set itself to music as it was uttered.
But, however much alike in other pomts, there was one
dbtinguishing feature in each, which removed them and their
dramas far as the poles asunder.

Shakspeare's great object was the exhibition of character.
To this every thing was directed. Situation, dialogue, story,
— all were employed only to this great end. Thb was in per-
fect accordance with the taste of hb nation, as shown through
the whole of its literature, from Chaucer to Scott. Lope de
Vega, on the other hand, made so little account of character
that he reproduces the same leading personages, in hb diflbi^

1850.] Ticknor'a Hutory of Sfanuh Literature. 43

eni plays, over and over again, as If they dad been all cast
in the same mould. The galan, ilie dama, the gradoto, or
buSbon, recur as regularly as the clown in the old English
comedy, and their rdle is even more precisely deOned.

The paramount object with Lope was the intrigue — the
story. His plays were, what Mr. Ticknor well styles them,
dramatic novels. And this, as our author remarks, was
perfectly conformable to the prevalent spirit of Spanish lilera-
ture — clearly narrative — as shown in its long epics of the
twelfth and thirteenlh centuries, lis host of ballads, its gos-
siping chronicles, its chivalrous romaoces. The great purpose
of Lope was to excite and maintain an interest In the story.
" Keep the denouement in suspense," he says ; " if it be once
sunnised, your audience will turn their backs on you." He
frequently complicates his intrigues in such a manner that
only the closest attention can follow them. He cautions his
hearers to give this attention, especially at the outset.

Lope, with great tact, accommodated his theatre to the
prevailing taste of his countrymen. " Plautus and Terence,"
he says, " I throw into the fire when I begin (o write ; " —
thus showing that it was not by accident, hut on a settled
principle that he arranged the forms of his dramas. It is the
favorite principle of modem economists, that of consulting
the greatest happiness of the greatest number. Lope did so,
and was rewarded for it, not merely by the applause of the
million, but by that of every Spaniard, high and low, in the
country. In all this. Lope de Vega acted on strictly philo-
sophical principles. He conformed to the romantic, although
the distinction was not then properly understood ; and he
thought it necessary to defend his departure from the rules of
the ancients. But, In truth, such rules were not suited to the
genius and usages of the Spaniards, any more than of the
English ; and more than one experiment proved that they
would be as little tolerated by the one people as the other.

It is remarkable that the Spaniards, whose language rests
so broadly on the Latin, in the same manner as with the
French and the Italians, should have refused to rest their
literature, like them, on the classic models of antiquity, and
have chosen to conform to the romantic spirit of the more
northern nations of the Teutonic family. It was the para-
mount influence of the Gothic element in their character,

44 Ticknor^s Huimy of Spanisk HienUwre. [Jan.

coopentiiig with the peculiar, and most stimulating influences
of their eariy history.

We close our reinaiks on Lope de Vega with some excel-
lent reflections of our author on the rapidity of his composi-
tion, and showing to what extent his genius was reverenced
by his contemporaries.

** Lope de Vegans immediate success, as we have seen, was m
proportion to his rare powers and fiivorable opportunities. For
a long time, nobody else was willingly heard on the stage ; and
during the whole of the forty or fiffy years that he wrote f(» it,
he stood quite unapproached in general popularity. His unnum*
bered plays and farces, ill all the forms thkt were demanded by
the fiishioos of the age, or permitted by religious authority, filled
the theatres both of the capital and the proTinces ; and so ex-
traordinary was the impulse he gave to dramatic representations,
that, though there were only two companies of strolling players at
Madrid when be began, there were, about the period of his death,
no less than forty, comprehending nearly a thousand persons.

^ Abroad, too, his fame was hardly less remarkable. In Rome,
Naples, and Milan, his dramas were performed in their (Nriginal
language ; in France and Italy, his name was announced in order
to fill the theatres when no play of his was to be performed ; and
once eren, and probably of^ener, one of bis dramas was repre-
sented in the seraglio at Constantinople. But peihaps neither all
this popularity, nor yet the crowds that followed him in the
streets and gathered in the balconies to watch him as be passed
along, nor the name of Lope, that was given to whatever i
esteemed singularly good in its kind, is so striking a proof of
dramatic success, as the fact, so oden complained of by himself
and his friends, that multitudes of his plays were fraudulently
noted down as they were acted, and then printed for profit
throughout Spain ; and that multitudes of other plays appeared
under his name, and were represented all over the provinces,
that he bad never even heard of till they were published and
performed.

^^ A large income naturally followed such popularity, for his
plays were liberally paid for by the actors ; and he had patrons
of a munificence unknown in our days, and always undesirable.
But he was thrifUess and wasteful ; exceedingly charitable ; and,
in hospitality to his friends, prodigal. He was, therefore, almost
always embarrassed. At the end of his *• Jerusalem,^ printed as
early as 1609, he complains of the pressure of his domestic
a&irs ; and in his old age he addressed some verses, in the na*
ture of a petition, to the still more thrifUess Philip the Fourth,

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 45

asking the means of living for himself and daughter. After his
death, his poverty was /ully admitted by his executor; and yel,
considering the relative value of money, no poet, perhaps, ever
received bo large a compensation for his works.

" It should, however, be rememliered, that no other poet ever
wrote so much with popular effect. For, if we begin with his
dramatic compositions, which are the best of hia efforts, and go
down lo his epics, which, on ihe whole, are the worst, we shall
find the amount of what was received with favor, as it came from
the press, quite unparalleled. And when to this we are com-
pelled to add his own assurance, just before his death, that the
greater part of his works siill remained in manuscript, we pause
in astonishment, and, before we are abl»lo believe the account,
demand some explanation that will make it credible; — an ex-
planation which is the more important, because it is the key to
much of his personal character, as weil as of his poetical success.
And it is this. No poet of any considerable reputation ever had
a genius so nearly related to that of an improvisator, or ever in-
dulged his genius so freely in the spirit of improvisation. This
talent has always existed in the southern countries of Europe ;
and in Spain has, from the first, produced, in different ways, the
most extraordinary results. We owe to it the invention and per-
fection of the old ballads, which were originally improvisated
and then preserved by tradition ; and we owe to it the aegvidi-
Uas, the boleros, and all the other forms of popular poetry that
still esisl in Spain, and are daily poured forth by the fervent
imaginations of the uncultivated classes of the people, and sung
to the national music, that sometimes seems to fill the air by
nighl as the light of the sun docs by day.

" In ihe time of Lope de Vega, the passion for such impro-
visation had risen higher than it ever rose before, if it had not
spread out more widely. Actors were expected sometimes lo
improvisate on themes given to them by the audience. Extem-
poraneous dramas, with all the varieties of verse demanded by a
taste formed iotlie theatres, were not of rare occurrence, Philip
the Fourth, Lope's patron, had such performed in his presence,
and bore a part in them himself. And the famous Count de
Lemos, the viceroy of Naples, lo whom Cervantes was indebted
for so much kindness, kept, as an apanage to his viceroyalty, a
poetical court, of which the two Argenaolaa were the chief oma-
menla, and in which extemporaneous plays were acted with bril-
liant success.

" Lope de Vega's talent was undoubtedly of near kindred to
this genius of improvisation, and produced its extraordinary re-
sults by a similar process, and in the same spirit. He dictated

46 Ticknor's HUtary of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

yerse, we are told, with ease, more rapidly than an amanuensis
could take it down ; and wrote out an entire play in two days,
which could with difficulty be transcribed by a copyist in ihe
same time. He was not absolutely an improvisator, for his edu-
cation and position naturally led him to devote himself to written
composition, but he was continually on the borders of whatever
belongs to an improvisator's peculiar province ; was continually
showing, in his merits and defects, in his ease, grace, and sudden
resource, in his wildness and extravagance, in the happiness of his
versification and the prodigal abundance of his imagery, that a
very little more freedom, a very little more indulgence given to
his feelings and his fancy, would have made him at once and
entirely, not only an improvisator, but the most remarkable one
that ever lived.*'

We pass over the long array of dramatic writers who trod
closely in the footsteps of their great master, as well as a
lively notice of the satirist Quevedo, and come at once to
Calderon de la Barca, the great poet who divided with Lope
the empire of the Spanish stage.

Our author has given a fiill biography of this famous dra-
raaUst, to which we must refer the reader ; and we know of
no other history in Ekiglish where he can meet with it, at all.
Calderon lived in the reign of Philip the Fourth, which, ex-
tending fix)m 1621 to 1665, comprehends the roost flourishing
period of the Castilian theatre. The elegant tastes of .the
monarch, with his gay and gracious manners, formed a con-
trast to the austere temper of the other princes of the bouse
of Austria. He was not only the patron of the drama, but
a professor of the dramatic art, and indeed a performer. He
wrote plays himself, and acted them in his own palace. His
nobles, following his example, turned their saloons into thea-
tres ; and the great towns, and many of the smaller ones,
partaking of the enthusiasm of the court, had their own thea-
tres and companies of actors, which, altogether, amounted,
at one time, to no less than three hundred. One may under-
stand that it required no small amount of material to keep
such a vast machinery in motion.

At the head of this mighty apparatus was the poet Calde-
ron, the favorite of the court even more than Lope de
Vega, but not more than he the favorite of the nation. He
was fully entitled to this high distinction, if we are to receive
half that b said of him by the German critics, among whom

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spaniih Literature. 41

Schlege] particularly celebrates him as displaying the purest
model of the romantic ideal, the most perfect development
of the senlimenta of love, heroism, and religious devotion.
This exaggerated tone of eulogy calls forth the rebuke of Sia-
mondi, who was educated in a drSerenI school of criticism,
and whose historical pursuits led him to look below the sur-
face of things to their moral tendencies. By this standard,
Calderon has failed. And yet it seems to be a just standard,
even when criticizing a work by the rules of art ; for a disre-
gard of the obvious laws of morality is a violation of the
principles of taste, on which the beautifiil must rest. Not
that Calderon's plays are chargeable with licentiousness or
indecency to a greater extent than was common in the wri-
ters of the period. But they show a lamentable confusion of
ideas in regard to the first principles of morality, by entirely
coufounding the creed of the individual with his religion. A
conformity to the established creed is virtue, the departure
from it vice. It is impossible to conceive, without reading
his performances, to what revolting consequences this confu-
sion of the moral perceptions perpetually leads.

Yet Calderon should not incur the reproach of hypocrisy,
but that of fanaticism. He was the very dupe of supersti-
tion ; and the spirit of fanaticism he shares with the greater
part of his countrymen — even the most enlightened — of
that period. Hypocrisy may have been the sin of the Puri-
tan, but fanaticism was the sin of the Catholic Spaniard of
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The one quality
may be thought to reflect more tiiscredil on the heart, the
other on the head. The philosopher may speculate on their
comparative moral turpitude ; but the pages of history show
that fanaticism armed with power has been the most fruitful
parent of misery to mankind.

Calderon's drama turns on the most exaggerated principles
of honor, jealousy, and revenge, mingled with the highest
religious exaltation. Some of these sentiments, usually re-
ferred to the influence of the Arabs, Mr. Ticknor traces to
ihe ancient Gothic laws, which formed the basis of the early
Spanish jurisprudence. The passages he cites are pertinent,
and his theory is plausible ; yet, in the relations with woman,
we suspect much must still be allowed for the long contact
with the jealous Arabian.

48 Ticknor's HUtary of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

Calderon's characters and sentiments are formed, for the
most part, on a purely ideal standard. The incidents of his
plots are even more startling than those of Lope de Vega,
more nK)nstrous than the fictions of Dumas or Eugene Sue.
But hb thoughts are breathed forth in the intoxicating lan-
guage of passion, with all the glowing imagery of the Ikist,
and in tones of the richest melody of which the Castilian
tongue is capable.

Mr. Ticknor has enlivened his analysis of Calderon's dra-
ma with several translations, as usual, fix)m which we should
be glad to extract, but must content ourselves with the con-
cluding portion of his criticism, where he sums up the prom-
inent qualities of the bard.

^' Calderon neither effected nor attempted any great changes
in the forms of the drama. Two or three times, indeed, he pre-
pared dramas that were either wholly sung, or partly sung and
partly spoken ; but even these, in their structure, were no more
operas than his other plays, and were only a courtly luzoxy,
which it was attempted to introduce, in imitation of the genuine
opera just brought into France by Liouis the Fourteenth, with
whose court that of Spain was now intimately connected. But
this was all. Calderon has added to the stage no new form
of dramatic composition. Nor has he much modified those forms
which had been already arranged and settled by Liope de Vega.
But he has shown more technical exactness in combining his
incidents, and arranged every thing more skilfully for stage-efi!ect
He has given to the whole a new coloring, and in some respects,
a new physiognomy. His drama is more poetical in its tone and
tendencies, and has less the air of truth and reality, than that of
his great predecessor. In its more successful portions, — which
are rarely objectionable from their moral tone, — it seems almost
as if we were transported to another and more gorgeous world,
where the scenery is lighted up with unknown and preternatural
splendor, and where the motives and passions of the personages
that pass before us are so highly wrought, that we must have our
own feelings not a little stirred and excited before we can take an
earnest interest in what we witness or sympathize in its results.
But even in this he is successful. The buoyancy of life and
spirit that he has infused into the gayer divisions of his drama,
and the moving tenderness that pervades its graver and more
tragical portions, liA us unconsciously to the height where alone
his brilliant exhibitions can prevail with our imaginations,—
where alone we can be interested and deluded, when we find

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 49

ourselves in iho midal, not only of such a confuaion of ihe diflbr-
ent forms of Ihe drama, bul of such a confusion of the proper
limits of dramatic and lyrical poetry.

" To this clevnled tone, nnd to ihe constant effort necessary in
order to suHtain it, we owe much of what distinguishes Calderon
from his predecessors, and nearly all that is most individual and
characteristic in his separate merits and defects. It makes him
less easy, graceful, and natural than Lope. It imparts to his
style n mannerism, which, notwithstanding the marvellous rich-
ness and fluency of his versification, sometimes wearies and
sometimes offends us. It leads him to repeat from himself till
many of his personages become standing characters, and his he-
roes and their servants, his ladies and their confidants, his old
men and his buffoons, seem to bo produced, like the masked fig-
ures of the ancient theatre, to represent, with the same attributes
■nd in the same costume, the difTerent intrigues of his various
plots. It leads him, in short, to regard the whole of the Spanish
drama as a form, within whose limits his imagination may be
indulged without restraint ; and in which Greeks and Romans,
heathen divinities, and the supernatural fictions of Christian
tradition, may be all brought out in Spanish fashions and with
Spanish feelings, and led, through a succession of ingenious and
interesting adventures, to the catastrophes their stories happen
to require.

" In carrying out this theory of the Spanish drama, Calderon,
na we have seen, often succeeds, and ol^en fails. But when he
Buccecds, his success is sometimes of no common character.
He then seta before us only models of ideal beauty, perfection.
And splendor; — a world, he would have it, into which nothing
should enter but the highest elements of the national genius.
There, the fervid, yet grave, enthOsiasm of the old Castilian he-
roism ; the chivalrous adventures of modern, courtly honor;
the generous self-devotion of individual loyalty ; and that re-
served, but passionate love, which, in a state of society where it
was HO rigorously withdrawn from notice, became a kind of
unacknowledged religion of the heart ; — all seem to find their
appropriate home. And when he has once brought us into this
land of enchantment, whose glowing impossibihties his own
genius has created, and has called around him forms of such
grace and loveliness as those of Clara and Doiia Angela, or he-
roic forma like those of Tuzani, Mariamne, and Don Ferdinand,
then he has reached the highest point he ever attained, or ever
proposed to himself ; — he has set before us the grand show of
an idealized drama, resting on the poreat and noblest elements of
the Spanish national character, and one which, with all its un-

VOL. L3tX. NO. 116. 5

50 Ticknor's Hiitary of Spanish Liieraiure. [Jan.

questionable defects, is to be placed among the extraordinary
phenomena of modem poetry.^'

We shall not attempt to follow down the long 61e of dra-
matic writers who occupy the remainder of the period.
Their name is legion ; and we are filled with admiration, as
we reflect on the intrepid diligence with which our author
has waded through this amount of matter, and the fidelity
with which he has rendered to the respective writers literary
justice. We regret, however, that we have not space to
select, as we had intended, some part of his lively account of
the Spanish players, and of the condition of the stage. It b
collected firom various obscure sources, and contains many
curious particulars. They show that the Spanish theatre was
conducted in a manner so dissimilar from what exists in other
European nations as perfectly to vindicate its claims to origi-
nality.

It must not be supposed that the drama, though the great
natural diversion, was allowed to go on in Spain, any more
than in other countries, in an uninterrupted flow of prosperity.
It met with considerable opposition more than once in its
career ; and, on the representations of tlie clergy, at the close
of Philip the Second's reign, performances were wholly int^^
dieted, on the ground of their licentiousness. For two years
the theatre was closed. But, on the death of that gloomy
monarch, the drama, in obedience to the public voice, was
renewed in greater splendor than before. It was urged by
its friends that the theatre was required to pay a portion of
its proceeds to certain charitable institutions, and this made
all its performances in some sort an exercise of charity.
Lope de Vega also showed his address by bis Comedias de
Santos, under which pious name the life of some saint or
holy man was portrayed, which, however edifying in its close,
afibrded, too often, as great a display of profligacy in its
earlier portions as is to be found in any of the secular plays
of the capa y tspada. His experiment seems to have satis-
fied the consciences of the opponents of the drama, or at
least to have silenced their opposition. It reminds us of the
manner in which some among us, who seem to have regarded
the theatre with the antipathy entertained by our Puritan
fathers, have found their scruples vanish at witnessing these

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 51

exhibitions under the more reputable names of " AlhenEEum,"
"Museum," or " Lyceum."

Our author has paid due altention to the other varieties of
elegant literature which occupy iliis prolific period. We can
barely enumerate the titles. Epic poetry has not secured to
itself the same rank in Castile as in many other countries.
At the head stands the "Araucana" of ErcUla, which Vol-
taire appears to have preferred to " Paradise Lost " ! Yet
it is little more than a chronicle done into rhyme; and,
notwithstanding certain passages of energy and poetic elo-
quence, it is of more value as the historical record of an eye-
witness than as a work of literary art.

In Pastoral poetry the Spaniards have better specimens.
But they are specimens of an insipid kind of writing, not-
withstanding it has found favor with ihe Italians, to whom it
was introduced by a Spaniard — a Spaniard in descent — the
celebrated author of the "Arcadia."

In the higher walks of Lyrical composition they have been
more distinguished. The poetry of Herrera, in particular,
seems to equal, in its dithyranibic flow, the best models
of classic antiquity ; while ihe Muse of Luis de Leon is
filled with the genuine inspiralion of Christianity. Mr.
Ticknor has given a pleasing portrait of this gentle enthusiast,
whose life was consecrated to Heaven, and who preserved a
tranquillity of temper unruffled by all the trials of an unmerit-
ed persecution.

We cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of quoting a trans-
lation of one of his odes, as the last extract from our author.
The subject is, the feelings of the disciples on witnessing
the ascension of their Master.

" And dosl ihou, holy Shepherd, leave
Thine unproiecleJ flock alone,
Here, in this darksome vftte, to grieve.
While thou ascend'at thy glorious throne ?

" 0, where can they their hopes now turn,
Who never lived but on thy love f
Where resl ihe hearts for thee that burn,
When thou art lost in light above ?

" How shall those eyes now find repose
That turn, in vain, thy smile to see ?

5^ Tidoiar's Hutary afS^ftauMk Lkeraiurt. [^bau

Wbst can tiiey bear asfe moft&l woc%
Who lose tfay Yoice's melody ?

^ And who aiadl ]mf fab tranquil band
Upon tbe tranUed ocean's might ?

Wfao famiii the wind* by bis conunand ?

Wbo ffuis xm t^if—gfi tfais staiieaB nigbt?

"- Far Tmaa art gone I — tioit dond ao biigfaty
That beara tliee finm our love away,
Siiriiig^ QDwazii t"f jgn tne «'"*^'^"Tig i igtit'^

And lenses IB hexe to weep and pny !"

A pecnDar bisKh of CasdCai I ke t atur e is its Piove ih s ;
ttwoe exxacts of the pcipolar wisdom, — "^ short sentences
final loB^ expenence." as Ccnrantes pafalidy styles them.
Tliey have been gatiMved, maie than ooce, in Spain, into
priniRri CQDectiao&. One of these, in the last centoiy, cqi^>
lains oo less than twenty -fiwr thousand of these sayings !
And a laige number was still le& floating among the people;.
fc is evidence of extiacRvfinaiy sagacity in the nation, that its
fanmhiest classes should have made such a contiibution to its
lilEfatnre. Ther have an additional value with purists far
their iifiomatic richness of expiesnin, — like die rt&o6ofiof
the Florentine mob, which the Tuscan critics hold in v ene f»>
tion as die racy runnings fiom die dregs of die people.
These popular maxims may be rather compared to tbe cop-
per coin of the country, which has the widest circuladon of
any, and bears the true stamp of antiquity — not adulterated,
as is too often the case with the &ier metals.

The last department we shaQ notice is that of the Spanish
Tales — rich, various, and highly picturesque. One class —
the pkartsco tales — are those with which the worid has
become ^miliar m the specmi^i aflbrded by the '^ Gil Bias "
of Le Sage, an imitation — a rare occurrence — surpassmg
the origin^. This amusing class of fictions has found pecu-
liar &vor with the Spaniards, fitxn its lively sketches of char-
acter, and the contrast it deCgfats lo present of the pride and
the poverty of the tidalgo, Tet thb kind of satirical fictitMi
was invented by a man of rank, and one of the proudest of

his order.

Our retnarks have swelled to a much greater compass than
we had intended, owing to the importance of the work before

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 53

us, and the abundance of the topics, liitls familiar to the
English reader. We have no room, therefore, for further
discussioa of this second period, so fruitful in great names,
and pass over, though reluctantly, our author's criticism on
the historical writings of the age, in which he has penetrated
below the surface of their literary forms to the scientific prin-
ciples on which they were constructed.

Neuher can we pause on the last of the three great periods
into which our author has distributed the work, and which
extends from the accession of the Bourbon dynasty in 1700
to some way into the present century. The omission is of
the less consequence, from the lamentable decline of the lit-
erature, owing to the influence of French models, as well as
to the political decline of the nation under the last princes of
the Austrian dynasty. The circumstances which opened the
way both to this social and literary degeneracy are well por-
trayed by Mr, Ticknor, and his account will be read with
profit by the student of history.

We regret slill more that we can but barely allude to the
Appendix, which, in the eye of the Spanish critic, will form
not the least important portion of the work. Besides several
long poems, highly curious for their illustration of the ancient
literature, now for the first time printed from the original
manuscripts, we have, at the outset, a discussion of the ori-
gin and formation of the Castilian tongue, a truly valuable
philological contribution. The subject has too little general
attraction to allow its appearance in the body of the text ;
but those students who would obtain a thorough knowledge
of the Castilian and the elements of which it is compounded,
will do well to begin the perusal of the work with this elabo-
rate essay.

Neither have we room to say any thing of our author's
inquiry into the genuineness of two works which have much
engaged the attention of Castilian scholars, and both of which
he pronounces apocryphal. The manner in which the in-
quiry is conducted affords a fine specimen of literary criticism.
In one of these discussions occurs a fact worthy of note.
An ecclesiastic named Barrientos, of John the Second's
court, has been accused of delivering to the flames, on the
charge of necromancy, the hbrary of a scholar then lately
deceased, the famous marquis of Viltena. The good bishop,
5*

54 Tiduwf^s Butary •/ ^fmmiJk Litermimt. [Jan

from Ins own dme to the present, his sulfa wl under this
gfie i o u s imputation, which ranks hnn vith Omar. Mr.
Ticknor noir cites a manuscript letter of the bishop himself^
fisdnctlr explaining that it was hj the roral command that
thb litenrj amio iaji was celefarated. Thb incident b one
proof among many of the rare character of our author^s ma-
terials, and of the carefiil study which he has giien to them.

Spanish literature has been untQ now less thoroughlj
explored than the Uteiature of almost anj other European
nation. Everybod j has read ^ GD Bias," and, through this
foreign source, has got a good idea of the social concfition of
Spain, at the period to which it belongs ; and the social con-
ibion of that country b slower to change than that of any
other country. Ererybody has read ^ Don Quixote," and
thus formed, or been able to form, some estimate of the high
Talue of the Castilian literature. Yet the worid, for the
most part, seems to be content to take Montesquieu's witti*
cism for truth — that *' the Spaniards have produced one good
book, and the object of that was to laugh at all the rest."
All, bowerer, baTe not been so ignorant ; and mofe than one
cuiming adrenturer has found hb way into the pleasant field
of Castilian letters, and carried off materials of no little Talue
for the composition of hb own w orks. Such was Le Sage,
as shown in more than one of hb productions ; such, too, were
▼arious of the dramatic wTiters of France and other countries,
where the extent of the plunder can only be estimated by
those who have themselves delved in the rich mines of Span-
ish lore.

Mr. Ticknor has now, for the first time, folly surveyed the
ground, systematically arranged its various productions, and
explored their character and properties. In the dispoation
of hb immense mass of materials he has maintained the
most perfect order, so distributing them as to afford every
fiicflity for the comprehension of the student.

We are everywhere made conscious of the abundance,
not merely of these materials, — though one third of the
subjects brought under review, at least, are new to the
public, — but of the writer's intellectual resources. We feel
that we are supplied firom a reservoir that has been filled to
orerfiowing fiom the very fountains of the Muses ; which b,
moreover, fed fitnn other sources than those of the Castilian

1850.] Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. 55

llleralure. By his critical acquaintance with the literatures
of other nations, Mr. Ticknor has all the means ai command
for illustration and comparison. The extent of this various
knowledge may he gathered from his notes, even more than
from the test. A single glance at these will show on how
broad a foundation the narrative rests. They contain jlores
of personal anecdote, criticism, and literary speculation, that
might almost furnish materials for another work like the
present.

Mr. Ticknor's History is conducted in a truly philosophi-
cal spirit. Instead of presenting a barren record of books, —
which, like the catalogue of a gallery of paintings, is of com-
paratively little use to those who have not previously studied
them, — he illustrates the works by ihe personal history of iheir
authors, and this, again, by the history of the times in which
they lived ; affording, by ilie reciprocal action of one on the
other, a complete record of Spanish civilization, both social
and intellectual. It would be diflicult to find a work more
thoroughly penetrated with the true Casliltan spirit, or lo
which the general student, or the student of civil history,
may refer with no less advantage than one who is simply
interested in the progress of letters. A pertineni example of
this is in the account of Columbus, which contains passages
from the correspondence of that remarkable man, which,
even after all that has been written on the subject, — and so
well written, — throw important light on his character.

The lone of criticism in these volumes is temperate and
candid. We cannot but think Mr. Ticknor has prt^ied
largely by the former discussion of this subject in his aca-
demic lectures. Not that the present book hears much re-
semblance to those lectures, — certainly not more than must
necessarily occur in the discussion of the same subject by the
same mind, after a long interval of time. But this interval
has enabled him to review, and no doubt in some cases to
reverse his earlier judgments, and his present decisions come
before us as the ripe results of a long and patient meditation.
This gives them still higher authority.

We cannot conclude without some notice of the style, so
essential an element in a work of elegant literature. It is
clear, classical, and correct, with a sustained moral dignity
that not unfrequeotly rises to eloquence. But it is usually dia-

66 Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature. [Jan.

linguished by a calm, philosophical tenor, that is well suited
to the character of the subject It is especially free from any
tendency to mysticism, — from vagueness of expression, a
pretty sure indication of vague conceptions in the mind of
the author, which he b apt to dignify with the name of phi-
losophy.

In our criticism on Mr. Ticknor's labors, we may be
thought to have dwelt too exclusively on his merits. It may
be that we owe something to the contagion of his own gen-
erous and genial tone of criticism on others. Or it may be
that we feel more than common interest in a subject which
is not altogether new to us ; and it is only an acquaintance
with the subject that can enable one to estimate the diffi-
culties of its execution. Where we have had occasion to
differ from our author, we have freely stated it. But such
instances are few, and of no great moment. We consider
the work as one that does honor to English literature. It
cannot fail to attract much attention from European critics,
who are at all instructed in the topics which it discusses. We
predict with confidence that it will be speedily translated into
Castilian, and into German ; and that it must become the
standard work on Spanish literature, not only for those who
speak our own tongue, but for the Spaniards themselves.

We have still a word to add on the typographical execu-
tion of the book, not in reference to its mechanical beauty,
which is equal to that of any other that has come from the
Cambridge press, but in regard to its verbal accuracy. This
is not an easy matter in a work like the present, involving
such an amount of references in foreign languages, as well as
the publication of poems of considerable length from manu-
acript, and that, too, in the Castilian. We doubt if any sim*
ilar work of erudition has been executed by a foreign press
with greater accuracy. We do not doubt that it would not
have been so well executed, in this respect, by any other
press in this country.

1850.] Gammell's History of Baptist Missions.

Art. II. — A History of American. Baptist Missions in Atia,
Europe, and North America. By William Gammell,
A. M., Professor in Brown Universiiy. With Maps and
an Appendix. Boston : Gould, Kendall, &c LidcoId.
1849. 12tno. pp. 359.

This work was prepared by the request, and published un-
der the sanction of, " the Executive Commiltee of the Amer-
ican Baptist Missionary' Union ; " and it amply justifies their
choice of a hisloriographer. It is just what was to have been
expected from the high literary reputation of the accomplished
author. In point of style, it is chaste and elegant. It rejects
all rhetorical embellish men Is, and, where the narrative is
most exciting, its flow is siiy calm and dispassionate. The
writer seems to have eilher distrusted the language of emo-
tion as unfavorable to accuracy, or deemed it unworthy of a
subject of such intrinsic dignity and sacredness.

Professor Gammell deserves our high regard, also, for
the kindly spirit in which he has wrought out tliis monument
to ttie philanthropy of his denomination. We look in vain
for the language of bigotry, exclusiveness, or unkindness.
The most generous notice is uniformly taken of the missiona-
ries of other sects ; and the ashes of buried controversy are in
every instance left undisturbed. Nor is there any exaggera-
tion of the stubbornness and waywardness of the Pagans
among whom the missionaries labored ; hut they are always spo-
ken of lovingly and hopefully. In Gne, the book is eminently
a Christian one ; and higher praise than this we know not
how to give.

Were we to suggest any faults, they would be perhaps
chargeable upon the " Executive Committee," and nol upon
the author. He may have beeu limited to a certain size, or
within a certain cost. If not, the work ought to have been
larger, and the maps should have been at once more compre-
hensive and minute. The narrative is rather too closely
crowded with names, dates, and decisive incidents. We
should have been glad to see more of the interior and the by-
play of missionary life, and lo dwell more in detail upon the
personal biography of some of those martyr-spirits whose
public services are commemorated. This last deScieocy is

66 GammeU's HUiory of BapHst MinUnu. [Jan.

in part supplied by several interestmg memoirs of deceased
missionariesy and especially by the graceful and channing
Life of the second Mrs. Judson, by '' Fanny Forester/' alias
Mrs. Judson the third, who has contrived to interweave in her
narrative life-like sketches of the members of several of
the families conriected with the Burman mission.

The missionary enterprise b a type of Christian zeal, which
can never be wantmg in an era of religious intelligence and
activity. It slumbered only during the dark ages, and sprang
again into energy with the re-awakening of the civilized world.
It was the missionary spirit, wretchedly befogged and mis-
guided, yet smcere and fervent, which inspired the Cnisades,
fed their enormous waste of treasure, and sustained unflagging
courage in so many successive hosts of the soldiers of the
cross. Nor can we doubt that the Crusaders understood
Christianity as well, and were as thoroughly imbued with the
true principles of Christian propagandism, as the grave ci-
vilians and reverend divines of England and America, who
have rejoiced in the issue of the opium war in China as aus-
picious to the progress of the Gospel, or have looked upon
the victory of Palo Alto and the bombardment of Vera Cms
as signal triumphs of Protestantism.

As regards modem missions of a more pacific character,
the Romish church takes the precedence by a wide interval
of the combbed forces of Protestantism, both m priority of
time, in extensiveness of operations, in the outlay of money,
and in the number of devoted men who have made them-
selves either living or dying sacrifices to the cause. For this
several sufficient reasons may be assigned. For one or two
centuries after the Protestant Reformation, Great Britain was
but a second-rate maritime power compared with the Catho-
lic countries of the South of Europe, which, through their col-
onies and their unintermitted enterprises of exploration and
discovery, were brought into intimate connection with every
portion of the world then known or becoming known.
When, too, the Romish theory of conversion promised and
realized the most magnificent nominal results ; and, where
proselytes were to be made by the thousand, and new episco-
pal sees to be erected by the score, it would have been sur-
prising had not the zeal of all Catholic Christendom been
loused to its utmost measure of liberality and self-sacrifice.

1850.] Ganimell'3 Iliitory of Baptitt Mititnu. 59

The Romish church also had great vantage-ground for ma-
sionary operations in the cehbacy of its clergy, and in the
entire subserviency of the monastic orders to the Pope. Aaj
number of ecclesiastics could be detached at any momeBt
from and for any given post of sen-ice, could move on tlieir
distant missions without domestic impediments either to re-
tard their progress or to awaken home longings and regrets,
and could be sustained each for a small fraction of the ex-
pense at which a Protestant mission family could be sup-
ported. Add to all this the fact, thai for several centuries
the Catholic countries of Europe exceeded the Protestant 'm
wealth, and especially in convertible wealth, in a much greater
ratio than in population. But tlte Romish missions have left
only faint traces of themselves in the regions where they
have been most liberally sustained. There is mdeed much
to admire and reverence in the Christian heroism of the
Jesuit missionaries, who have, in thousands of instances, en-
countered death in its most fearful forms, offered themselves
as marks for savage archery, and hugged the cnicifix and joy-
ously chanted the Nunc dimiltu ai the stake. The Protest-
ant higotry, which would ignore the records of their almost
numberless martyrdoms, closes its eyes upon a history which
has not had its parallel since the days of the apostles. Nor
cai] we repress our ready and delightful credence to the
train of historical and circumsiantiai evidence, by which it
has been made more than probable that the territory of our
own country was the scene of the saintly Fenelon's first
labors in the cause of his divine Master. Yet when we find
Catholic Christians reckoned by hundreds of thousands in
the great empires of the East, and at one lime by thousands
b our own Western wilds, and then look in vain for any ves-
tiges of the refining and elevating influences of Christianity
on the soil hallowed by the blood of so many devoted labor-
ers, we cannot hut believe that the chief result has been an
outward conformity to the riles of the Church, as to a new
and more magnificent fonn of idolatrous worship. We find
that baptism, by whatever means eSecied, has made a living
convert, and that extreme unction, on whatever grounds per-
mitted, has constituted a Christian death. Nor can we believe
that one in a thousand of the nominaJ converts has had any
intelligent appreciation of the facts or doctrines of Cliristiao-

«0

Gammdrs Hutmnf «/ Btfiut

Ttj, bas beea guided lo die sp i utiiji vcx^np of
bs5 had fais saFi^e code of monk esse&tiiDy iimmMimI. Tbe
boBatj of Paganwm id tbe adnwssif of sev nies, and m &e
adofiDoii of Dew cibjects of worsinp, his been mSem^cad oalj
dooD^ trmnaeDt qiocbs of firnatirasm. Tbere was loaoi m
lint Rooxaii PandMon ior crery Destj ibat bad aa abs fx a
woc^pper ; and die same readj bo^atafity bas ia
tmes eneoded 'Hs embrace toibe Vkgrn Mary and the
wbere a ^HEXtnal &id^ coimected witb an ammdnd fife
pnrifipd wGc^np, would have won ooly bere aad iSbex^ a
taiy discijde.

We are prepared, tbeo, to anticipate fewer ostfiisWe ni-
om^ihs ID tbe path of tbe Protestant mssskataiy. And yd
diere is no qoarter of tbe world, to which Protestaats ba^v
cauied tbe fight of a pare fahh. in which tbey baFe aot
aoade some discernible impression, and \cSl resohs woriby of
p r ofou nd gratitDde and full of eDcoorageraeDt ior
efixts. In this 5eld the ElngBsb. Danes, and
commeDced their efibrts at neariv the same
the first mi^ooaiy sooetr among eac^ of these
bears daie witfain a iew years of die cn mmew ceme a t of &e
last ceoftaiy. Until widuD the present oentoiy tbe lior a r ia a
BfcdireD iktmsfaed, it is belieTed, the most wamaoas
tbe most socces&J masEaooanes. Their estahCsfaments
CSiristan colonies of enlighteDed and xeakms agiicahmists
and artisans, who connected with their rdigioos Tr m \m^
iastmctkm in the arts of life, and disused aiocmd them tbe
amexiiDes and chariti^ flowing from a pecaBaiiy Christiai
state of sodety. Their simple theology, their tender awl
kifing spirit, their cheerfbl endurance of penmy. prirMiaB,
affiction^ their scrapaloos integrity and unweaned kiod-
hare ncC indeed d^tinguished them from other Pioles l*
[issiooanes ; hot they hare been associated in such mua-
becs and e&ga^ed in such porsoits, as to manifest the entire
ciicle of Christian virtoes in common spheres of actrnty, and
ia die complicated relations of social and indostiial Yit ;
wfaSe tlie mere preacber as such is a man by himseU^ occspy-
iag ooestastly tbe posticm <^ an ambassador from die oppo-
flie puty. Witinn die last half centuiy, however, the Mo-
mwffinffw bare feDen into die backgroond in compaii-
widi die larger array of pi^ and leal, wbidi tbe w^di

1850,] Gammell's HUtory of Baptist MUsiom. 61

of the English and American churches has brought into the
field. Our present plan will not peniiit us the agreeable
task of reviewing the efforts made in other quarters, and we
shall confine ourselves to a sketch of the missions sustained
by the American Baptists.

Prior to 1810, ihera was in the United Slates no organiza-
tion for the support of foreign missions. During that year,
four young men, members of the Theological Institution ai
Andover, presenled to the General Association of Congrega-
tional Ministers in Massachusetts a document, in which they
offered iheir own services as missionaries to the heathen, and
requested advice and direction as to the best means of carry-
ing their benevolent designs into execution. The wriier and
first signer of this document was Adoniram Judson, who yet
lives, and may he long live, in unimpaired vigor of bodily
strength, mental energy, and devoledness to the cause to
which he consecrated the freshness of his youth. The con-
sequence of this communication was the formation of the
"American Board of Commissionei-s for Foreign Missions,"
under whose auspices three of these young men, with two
others of kindred spirit, sailed for Calcutta, with the Burman
Empire for their ultimate destination. During this voyage,
Messrs. Judson and Rice, in the course of their scriptural in-
vestigations, found themselves constrained lo alter their pre-
vious views as regards the ordinance of baptism, and were
shortly afterwards baptized at Serampore by Mr. Ward, of
the English Baptist Mission. They now found themselves,
not, as we trust, estranged from the sympathy, hut cut off
from the support, of those on whom they had placed Iheir re-
liance, and they appealed at once lo the Baptists in America
for the funds requisite to sustain them in their enterprise.
Tlieir appeal was warmly and graiefiilly received, as an
indication of Providence opening an important avenue of
Christian benevolence, and a Baptist Missionary organization
was at once formed, Mr. Rice having returned lo the Uni-
ted States, Mr. Judson was reinforced from lime to time by
tile arrival of new missionaries, as rapidly as the Society at
home was able to provide for their equipment and support.

Mr. Judson iiad, meanwhile, tixed his residence at Han-
goon, in the southern part of Burmah, and had diligently em-
ployed himself in the acquisition of the language, and in

VOL. Lxx, — no. 148. 6

62 Gammell's Histary of Baptist Musunu. [Jan.

becoming conversant with the habits and character of the
people. The language presented peculiar difficulties, from
the absence of any suitable apparatus for its study, and from
the few analogies which it bore to any of the Occidental lan-
guages with which he had been familiar. So soon as his
knowledge sufficed for the task, he prepared and printed a
tract containing a brief summary of Christian doctrine, and
commenced the great work of the translation of the Scrip-
tures, which was issued Crom the press in successive brochures^
While thus employed, he sought every opportunity of con-
versation with the Burmans ; and Mrs. Judson, and the other
ladies who afterwards joined the mission, took the women and
children under their special charge, and seem to have been, in
labor, endurance, and sacriBce, not one whit behind their
husbands. Every possible avenue of influence upon the na-
tives was opened. Schools of various grades were estab-
lished, social meetings instituted, public worship regularly
maintained, and places of conference kept daily open for the
reception of the inquiring and the distribution of portions of
the Scriptures and other religious writings. At frequent in-
tervals, the mis^onaries made excursions into the interior^
navigating dangerous streams, transporting their own luggage
across wearisome portages, penetrating pathless recesses of
the mountains, and encountering every form of degraded and
brutified humanity. With this incessant bodily fatigue and
exposure, were joined difficulties which could be overcome
only by the most resolute mental application and the most
determined eflbrt of self-concentration and recollection.
When they had mastered the Burman language proper, they
had indeed established a medium of oral and written communi-
cation with the more educated classes throughout the empire ;
but had hardly begun to bring themselves into intercourse with
the dwellers among the mountains and the villagers in the
remoter provinces. They found many different dialects in use,,
with few discernible analogies, and generally with no written
literature for their guidance ; and their only resource was to
bang, eye and ear intent, on th£ lips of the savage, to catch
the evanescent and often faintly articulated sounds of his jar-
gon, and then to seek out their approximate representatives
in alphabetic characters, which often needed to be multiplied
in order to express some constantly recurring guttural or nasal ^
the means of uttering which is denied to civilized man.

1850.] Gammell'3 History of Baptist Missions. 63

By this painful process have the elements of numerous dia-
lects been reduced to wriiing, employed in the translation of
the Scriptures, and comniitteJ to the press for the instruction
of savage tribes that never saw a book before. But so ardu-
ous is the effort of attention and imitation, by which an en-
tirely unfamiliar tongue is to be thus learned through the
senses alone, as often to impress iuefiaceable marks upon the
-countenance and manner of the missionary. It was our
happy fortune recently, at a literary festival, to sit at the side,
■ ve would gladly have sat at his feel,) of a missionary from
le East, who was revisiting the scenes of his youth after an
absence of twenty years. His face bears a truly Johannine
expression, nor do we ever expect to see more of meekness,
love, and devotion portrayed on himian features than ' we
beheld in his. But at the same time, there was an earned
fixedness of gaze, a micrometer look of the eye, and a direc-
tion of the vision solely to the lips of the speaker in conver-
sation, which showed how faithfully he had employed the
sense of sight with regard to the barbarisms perpetrated upon
the auditory nerve, while, whenever he broke silence, his lips
seemed first to put themselves in posture for some preposte-
rous feai of oral gymnastics, before they resolved themselves
in the easy flow of his mother tongue.

The following extract will give a succinct sketch of the
religion with which our missionaries found their ground pre-
occupied, — a system indurated by antiquity, commended to
its adherents by the absence of cruel riles and oppressive bur-
dens, and so entirely made up of postulates beyond the range
of human experience, that to refute its claims with an undis-
ciplined, can be hardly less difficuh, than to establish them
with a cultivated, mind.

"The religion of the Burmans is Buddhism, one of the most
ancient and wide-spread superstitions now existing on the earth,
and one which, in its various branches, holds beneath itn gloomy
away the minds of nearly half the human race. In Burraoh, it
arrays itself in a form imposing lo the imagination, and stimula-
ting to the hopes and fears of men, white it exercises over the
mind the power derived from immemorial existence, and from
the traditions and associations of a hundred generations.,. Buddh
is the general name for divinity ; but the religion lo which it lends
its name is a system of absolute atheiam. It teaches that there
ims been a succession of Buddhs, or incarnations of divinity.

64 Gammdl's Buimry of BofiUi Msaimu. [1

dMmgih widi long imertals be t mieqi tjhem, wbo, Avooglb TuiooB
tiusnugimlioos, IniTe altiinffd tbe hi^iest Bierit ci eveiy kmd
in pfeiioas stales of existence. Aooordiiig to the legends eon-
tuned in ihe sBcied books, tlie ksl Boddk vns Gnnduna, wlia
was bom in tbe serenth oentmy belbie Chnst, beca me Bnddh
wben tbirty-fire years of age, and contbiQed so foftr-fire 3reais,
after wbicb be passed into tbe stale of Nigimm^ wbicb by aome
is understood to mean qmescence, or eternal lepose, and by
otbers, aboolute annibilation- The next BodA is to apfwar in
aboot ten thousand j^earsfrom tbe departme of Gandama, —d^
^oogb tbe precise lime of bis appearance is not fixed, yet bin
stature and dimensions, and tbe outlines of bis pesson, are all
folly described in tbe sacred wridngs. In tbe long intertals
between tbe departure and appeaiance of the Boddhs, there is in
reality ix> liTing God, and this system thus presents to tbe ftith
of sis followers do conoeptioo of an eteinal being, or a great
Fu^ Csuse^ existing before tbe worlds were made, and destined
*!o exist when the worlds shall cease to be. It involTcs iimume*
table cootiadictions and childish absuidities ; yet it is rireied,
widi all tbe tenacity of an oriental &ith, upon the minds of
bmdieds of millions of immonal beings.

*^ Tbe piincipal objects of worship among the Burmans ai<e
images of Gaudama, which are roanu^Mrtured of difeent sixes
in great numbers, and for which the demand is so great that
marble, the principal material of which they are made, is not
allowed to be used for other purposes. These images are kept
in prira^e bouses^ or set up in tbe layats or public balls of ereiy
Tilfci^^ and attached to the pagodas or temples which are oecfted
in ooundess numbers in all parts of the empire. These structures
TaiT in sixe and arx:iuieciural pmportioDs aiMi appearance, hot
are for the most part solid masses of masonry, closed on ctoj
side, wiih their sinall intenor space filled with sacred treasures,
relics, and o&rings consecrated to tbe divinity. With their lolfy
spires or pointed minarets standing agairtst die sky, they consti-
tute the most fMomioent feature of every landscape ; they tower
hj above the dwellings of every city, and rise from every Muff
and hill in ail the inhabited parts of the country. Hany of
diem are beautilully decorated and covered with gih ^ from turret
to fiwmdation stooe,^ and, when seen at a distance^ they oAea
preamt an appearance of imposii^ magnificence. On some of
the pagodas are suspended small bells at difieient points, with
fiuB or sheets of iron attached to their tongues, so that when
■Mifved by a gentle breeie« they give forth a pleasant chime, and
seem to fill the air with mv^erious music Bodi temples and
images are regarded with great respect by the people, though
are formally consecrated to the purposes of woiahip.

1850.] Gainmell's Hutery of BapUst Mhsiviic. 65

" The priesthood is a very large anil regularly organized body,
and its members are initiated inlo the order with peculiar cere-
monies. The rules regulating ihe lives and conduct of the
priests are numerous and exact, though they are but imperfbclly
olieyed. The priests conduct no religious service at the zayata
or pagodas, and perform no rites of worship for the people.
Bound to celibacy, Uiey live together in kyoungs or inonasieries,
where tliey often occupy themselves in the gratuilous inslruclion
of such male children as are sent lo them for the purpose. They
wear a peculiar dress of yellow cloth, and are supported by cod-
iributions of rice and other articles of food, which they receive,
in their daily rounds, from the people. They attend funerals,
and frequently preach when requested and paid for the service ^
but their office is almost entirely a sinecure ; though, with all
their indolence and indifference, they undoubiedly exert a pow-
erful influence over the minds of the people, and render them
far less accessible than ihey would otherwise be to the truths of
the gospel as they are proclaimed by the missionaries.

" Though this religion imposes a multitude of ceremonies and
liuperstitious observaDces, it is remarkable for its entire want of
sympathy with any of the interests or Uie sufferings of humanity.
It makes the attainment of merit the great end of life, but this
merit consists in any thing rather than the charities and amenities
which belong to man's higher nature ; hence the instruction of
the igooranl, the relief of the poor, the consolalioo of the afflicted
and the sutTering, are not among the duties it enjoins. Its moral
code, however, sets forth the sins which are to be avoided in five
leading commandments: — 1. Thou shall not kill ; 2. Thou shall
not steal ; 3. Thou shalt not commit adultery; 4. Thou shait
not lie; 5. Thou shall not drink any into:ficaling li<]uor. These
prohibitions, so far as ihey entend, are sutlicieat of themselves to
exult Buddhism above many other false reiigions of the East ; but
il contains no positive precepts that are fitted lo raise and purify
the nature of man. Its conmiands and its prohibitions are alike
designed for selfish advantage ; they refer the doubling con-
science lo no sanctions of a superior being, and point ihe soul
oppressed with sin lo no ideals of excellence and holiness ; they
present ' nothing as the ultimate object of action but self; and
nothing for man's highest and holiest ambition, but QDoihilation.' "

Among the Burmans, the missionaries have, up to the pre-
seat lime, had little visible success, though undoubtedly they
have overcome the most serious initiaJ difficulties that ob-
structed their enterprise, and have established relations
tlirough which they can in {iiture have largely augmented
opportuoity and nearaess of access to the hearts and con-
6*

66 Gammeirs History of Baptist Missions. [Jan.

sciences of their bene6ciarie8. But there are scattered
through the mountains and forests of Burmah and Siam, a
politically inferior and depressed race, called the Karens,
or wild men, who have been found peculiariy accessible
to Christian instruction and influence. Their features and
language ally them to the Caucasian variety of our species.
Without priesthood or ritual, they believe in the unity of Grod
and in a retribution after death, and preserve, in the fonn of
rude legends, many traditions not unlike portions of scripture
history and prophecy. Among these legends were predic-
tions of a brighter day yet to dawn upon them, when •'* white
strangers from beyond the sea would come to teach them the
words of God, and raise them from their degradation/' They
can give no plausible account of their origin or history. It
is evident that they are not indigenous in their present resi-
dence, but are the descendants of either a fugitive or a cap-
tive race from some more western region. They are kept
by the Burmans, in part under heavy tribute, in part under
personal restraint and bondage ; and escape their exactions
only by leading a romantic life in tracts of country remote
fix>m the course of travel and difficult of access. Like all
subject races, they betray at present great inferiority to their
oppressors in point of mental and physical vigor, but at the
same time manifest in a much higher degree than they the
personal virtues of sobriety and industry, and the social qual-
ities of veracity, honesty, and good faith. Theory, of course,
has not been idle in constructing a supposititious history for
these unfathered foundlings of the nineteenth century. In
common with every race that has lost trace of its ancestry,
they have been repeatedly identifled with the ten tribes of
Israel, but by no strictly Hebrew peculiarities whatever, while
the entire absence of religious rites is diametrically opposed
to the hypothesis of their Israelitish descent. To us it seems
much more probable that they were once a Christian people,
made proselytes to the new faith before a magniGcent ritual
stood in the place of its simple and sublime doctrine, and
that for centuries of exile and servitude they have borne about
in their breasts the burden of their old church-hymns, and the
fragrance of the E^ter garlands that were laid upon the
graves of their fathers. Among these people, the mission-
aries have received the warmest and most cordial welcome,

1850.] Gammell's HUtory of Baptist MUsiont. 67

with hardly a rebuff or a single instance of coldness or indif-
ference. They seem lo have been in a wailing posture for the
revelation that had reached them; and ihe iruihs of Christ-
ianity came to them more like revived reminiscences of a pre-
existent stale, than like a system adapted to revolutionize
their former ideas and conceptions.

"Among the illustrations of thelrsingularsuBceplibility of moral
impressiona, Mr. Boardman relates an account of a book which
had been left at one of their villages twelve years before, by a
travelling Mussulman, who lold them it wafl sacred, and com-
manded them to worship it. The person to whose charge it was
delivered, though ignorant of its coutenls, wrapped it in folds of
muslin and enclosed it in a case, or basket, made of reeds covered
over with pilch. It was henceforth a deified booh, and an object of
religious veneration. The keeper of ii became a kind of sorcerer,
and all the people of his village firmly believed that a leacber
would at length c»>me and explain the contents of the mysterious
volume. When the arrival of Mr. Boardman was reported in
the village, the guardian of the deiJiecl book came with a chief of
the tribe to the mission house, to obtain his optuion respecting its
character. The missionary, after hearing their story and speak-
ing to them of the nature of Christianity, proposed that they
should return to the village and bring bim the book, that he might
judge of its contents. Accordingly, after several days, the sor-
cerer returned, attended by a numerous train, and bringing with
him the venerated volume. All seemed to anticipate Mr. Board-
man's opinion as decisive of its character, and were wrought to
a high pitch of expectation of ila announcement The sorcerer,
at bis request, stood before him, with the basket containing the
mysterious treasure at his feel. He carefully unrolled the mus-
lin and took from its folds an 'old, tattered, worn-out volume,'
which, creeping for ward, he reverently presented to the missionary.
It proved to be no other than the ' Book of Common Prayer and
the Psalms,' of an edition printed in Oxford. ' It la a good book,'
said Mr. Boardman ; ' it teaches that thpre is a God in Heaven,
whom alone we should worship. You have been ignorantly wor-
shipping this book ; that is not good. I will teach you lo wor-
ship the God whom the book reveals. Every Karen counte-
nance was alternately lighted up with smiles of joy, and cast
down with inward convictions of having erred in worshipping a
book instead of the God whom it reveals. 1 took the book of
Psalms in Burman, and read auch passages as seemed appropriate,
and having given a brief and easy explanution, engaged in prayer.
They stayed two days, and discovered considerable interest
in the instructions given them,' The aged sorcerer, on heariog

68 Grammell's History of Baptist Missions.^ [Jan.

Mr. Boardman's decision respecting the book, seemed readily to
perceive that his office was at end, and at the suggestion of one
of the native Christians, he disrobed himself of the fantastical
dress which he had been accustomed to wear, and gave up the
heavy cudgel or wand, which for twelve years he had borne as
the badge of his spiritual authority.^^

Mr. Bc^ardman, who is mentioned in the preceding extract,
devoted himself with peculiar zeal and perseverance to the
Karen department of the mission. Wherever he went, the
tidings of his progress preceded him, and in every village he
found deeply interested crowds awaiting his arrival. He
was, indeed, a picked man among that company of chosen
ones, endowed with a noble nature, enriched by a liberal
course of study, with tastes and capacities that would have
ensured him happiness and eminence in whatever sphere of
life he might have chosen. He had hardly become interested
in Christianity for its own sake and for his own sake, before
he conceived the purpose of abandoning the congenial pursuits
and flattering prospects that opened before him, and conse-
crating the residue of his days to a ministry of mercy in
whatever unevangelized country needed him the most. His
thoughts were directed to Bunnah chiefly by the death of
Colman, whose 6ne powers and burning zeal had given the
richest promise of usefulness in that region, but whom the
fever of the climate swept away on the very threshold of his
mission. Boardman at once determined to take up the ban-
ner that Colroan had dropped in dying, and seems from the
first to have had a clear presentiment, that his own term
of service could not much exceed that of his departed brother.
He carried with him the seeds of consumption, which ger^
minated beneath the tropical sun no less surely, though less
rapidly, than they would in the colder climate of New Eng-
land. As his disease became apparent, it only aroused him
to more earnest and vigorous eflfort. He traversed the Karen
wilds with fast wasting strength, and the rude natives felt the
majesty and beauty of h'ls entire self-surrender for their good.
Multitudes were won to the seemingly sincere profession of
his faith by his tender and touching exhibitions of the truth,
doubly eloquent and efficient as uttered from a pulpit so near
the grave. When he had lost the power of locomotion and
of self-help, he was still borne about on his Master's work,

1850.] Gammell's Hutory of Baptist Musions. 69

and gathered numerous audiences around bis couch to catcb
the few broken words of counsel and encouragement which
he could still offer, and to Join in those last prayers so soon to
be merged in the worship of heaven. His death was that of
the Christian hero on the field that he had won ; and we know
not where to look for more of moral grandeur, both In the
manifestation of character and in its environments, than in the
narrative of bis last day's work upon earth,

" His constitution was now rapidly yielding to the inroads of
the disease which had so long been consuming his strength, and
it was evident that his tabors were nearly at an end. The eager
Karens, fearing he might not be able to fulfil the promise he
had long ago made them, had built a zayat for his reception, and
offered to come to the city ond cany him in a litter on the journey,
in order that they might secure his presence among them. He
had just decided to yield to their pressing importunities, and to
spend the latest efibrt of his strength in making the visit, when
Mr, and Mrs. Mason arrived at Tavoy, as aujiiliaries to the mis-
sion. He knew, by a fatal intuition, that he had no time for de-
lay, and on the 31st of January, a few days after the arrival of
Mr. Mason, he set out upou the journey. He was borne in a cot,
on the shoulders of the Karens, and was accompanied by Mis.
Boardman and the newly arrived missionaries. At the end of
three days they reached the zayai, which stood on the margin
of a beautiful stream, at the foot of a range of mountains, whose
sloping sides were lined with the villages of the strange people
whom they had come to visit. More than a hundred were al-
ready assembled at the zayat, nearly half of whom were candi-
dates for baptism. Aided by Mr. Mason and the native Christians
who were present, he examined them in the history of their
Christian experience, and in the doctrines of the gospel. But
his strength was exhausted, and he could do no more. At the
close of the day, just as the sun was sinking behind tlie moun-
tains, his cot was placed at the river side, in the midst of the sol-
emn company that was gathered to witness the first baptism
which that ancient mountain -si ream had ever beheld. Thirty-
four native converts, whose examination had been approved,
were baptized by Mr. Mason. As he gazed in silent gratitude
upon the scene, he felt that his work was finished, his lasl pro-
mise to these scattered disciples was now fulGlled ; and he was
ready to depart in peace. He met ihem again at their evening
meal, and still rechning upon his couch, uttered to them a few
words of parting counsel and look leave of tbem forever.

" On the following morning the missionaries set out on theii

70 Gammell's History of Baptist Missions. [Jan.

return to Tavoy, hoping that he might survive the journey, and
die at last beneath his own roof. But the hope was disap-
pointed. Ere the second day had passed, his eyes were closed
upon the scenes of earth, and his spirit was in heaven with
God.

^' Thus ended the consecrated life of this noble-hearted and in-
trepid muiister of Christ. He lived to witness a glorious triumph
of the faith which he taught, and died as every missionary
might well wish to die, in the service of his Master, and sur-
rounded by those whom he had been instrumental in converting
from heathenism, and in reclaiming from barbarism. His tomb
is at Tavoy, in the midst of what was once a Buddhist grove, and
beneath the shadow of a ruined pagoda. It is covered by a
marble slab, placed there as a tribute of respect by three gentle-
men who at that time occupied the highest posts in the provincial
government, and inscribed with a simple epitaph, which points
the traveller who visits it to the Christian villages that skirt the
neighboring forests and mountains, as the true memorials of his
useful and devoted life." •

But Boardman was only one among a band of equally
heroic spirits. In not a few of its chapters Prof. Gammell's
unostentatious narrative rolls on with a more than epic ma-
jesty and a more than tragic interest. It belongs to an era of
Chnstian history, on which future generations will look back
as the heroic age of the Church, and which future poets may
commemorate with a far loftier inspiration than that with
which classic bards celebrated the times when men welcomed
demigods to their tables, and everywhere encountered •' ditis
permixtos heroas."

We have spoken admiringly of the dying missionary. We
know not how to express our reverence for his young widow,
a woman of tender sensibilities and cultivated tastes, left with
her infant boy, in a region of which her whole experience
had been one of incessant suffering, privation, and peril.
Who would not have bidden her seek the shortest passage to
the embrace of the friends at home, whose hearts and arms
were open to receive her? But she had learned the language

* The foUowing is the ioscnptioa referred to above.

^ Sacred to the memory of George D. Boardman, American Missionary to Bur-
mah. Born Feb. 8, 1801 — Died Feb. 11, 1831. His epitaph is written in Ute
adjoining forests. Ask in the Christian villages of yonder mountains — Who
taught you to abandon the worship of demons ? Who raised vou from vice to
morality ? Who brought you your Bibles, your Sabbaths, ana your words of
Prayer ? Let the reply be bis eulogy. A cruet eoronaJ'^

!S50.] Gammell's History of Baptist Missions. 71

of ihe country, had become intimate with its customs and
institutions, and had already won a large place in the affec-
tions of the Karens who had sought her husband's tuition ;
and she felt that this vantage-ground forbade her leaving the
field, and placed her under a sacred obligation to the poor
mountaineers whose tears had fallen with hers over the mis-
sionary's grave. She therefore assumed at once the full
charge of the station, established and superintended schools,
sal in the zayat. (or place of worship,) for the instruction of
novices in the faith, and at times conducted the public Sab-
hath services of large Karen congregations. She made fre-
quent tours in the wilderness, over rude mountain passes,
across perilous fords, and through the thickly matted under-
brush of the jungle. Her services failed not of their imme-
diate reward in the strong attachment to her of the whole
Karen population in her district, and in the rapid increase of
intelligence and steadfast converts to Christianity. At the
close of the year following that of her husband's death, the
church, of which a native teacher was the nominal pastor, but
she herself the virtual head, consisted of more than a hundred
members, many of whom attested their sincerity by walking
forty or fifty miles, and crossing swollen streams on trees that
they had first felled, in order to attend public worship.

Our mention of the Karens led us to anticipate, in the order
of time, the incidents connected with Boardman's death and
his widow's solitary labors. But we should do equal injustice
to our author and our readers, did we make no record of the
sufferings of Dr. Price, and Mr. and Mrs. Judson at Ava, the
capital of the Burman empire. They were endeavoring to
establish a missionary station in this place, under shelter of
the medical reputation of Dr. Price, who had been regarded
with marked favor hy the King and his court. Just at this
crisis of their affairs, war broke out between the Burman gov-
ernment and that of the British in Bengal, and the capture of
Rangoon spread consternation through the capital. The mis-
sionaries had been known to receive money from a certain
English resident, who had kindly officiated as their banker;
and the officers of the government, ignorant of the system of
exchange, inferred that this was secret service-money from the
English authorities. Hence the barbarous treatment described
in the following extract.

72 Gamroell's Hiitary of Baptist iUtmemi. [Jan.

** It wms OB the 8th of June, 1824, that a company of Bar-
Boans, headed hy an officer, and attended by a *• spotted-foced mb
of the prisoQ,^ came to the miasioo house, and, in the proaenoe
of Mrs. Judson, seized her husband and Dr. Price, and after
KifwJTTig them tight with cords, drove them away to the comt
booae. From this place, they were hurried, by order of the king,
widwot examination, to a loathsome dungeon known as ^ the dea:^
prwoiL,'* where along with the other foreigners they were con-
fined, each loaded with three pairs of fetters and fastened to a
kng pole, so as to be incapable of moring. Meanwhile, Mrs.
JwiBOB was sim up in her house, deprived of her furniture aai
ai SHSl of her artcks of property, and watched for seveiml dsjs
by as T**^***^^ gra^i to whose rapacious extortions and brafesi
ibe was constantly exposed, without being able to
asy exertioQ for the liberation of die prisoners, or the mit-
of i^»T cruel sentence. She, however, at length suc-
ceeded is addreasng a petition to the govenKH- of the city, wbo
kad ^e priaoners in charge. By a present of one hundred dol-
tD his sobordmale officer, their conditioQ was somewbat
and by die aawearied perserersDce of Mrs. Judsoo,
appeals to the syn^iathies of iht govcnor, ke
to iSBSfli her orcas i nnil persBissiQa to go to dbe
at ka^ to btnki for heiaelf a taonboo abed m tbe
ibe took np her abode, ia arder ikat ake mighf
for iht MT B ia i m . aad odii^wise ■ttrasstor to

* A: tbeeoc of nae ■Kaili&, diey were soddenhr ranoved from
A^ra It, Amarapxira, and thence to a wretobed place sereral miles
sevood. cafled Ooras-peB-k. wiiere it was arraniied tbal tiier
^hmuc vt pu: i6 deark ia die y r uuMu. of die pi^zab-woon, as a
oaiS of mitL \fki * m hamor a£ kis takiag coaaiaapd of anew amy
itf fife ttrvM"^^ mem aboat to laaRik agaiiBSt the Englii^ niB

bad keea raised from a km oem&axm to dK
of vwaopoe : ^ot in die kezg^ of bis p£>«^er^ just as be was
a: natTTX a: ^ke bead of die anay be bad mustered, be fell
OK. diassace^ was dsBrved widi treascm, and execoiec a: aa boards
wiuee- wm. tbe aiaraaTdied aj^^anhaTiaa of aE chksaes cf pecfile
m jLn^ He merj ^xecariaB saved die misskooaries &qib the

kift oDcared for ia *Ae
^efia' af Oij. pua ia. iSi die seatr a^waack af ibe

tosrad for Mr.

1350.] Gammetl's History of Baptist Missions. 73

SOD followed them from priaon to prison, beneath the darkness of
night and the burning aun of noon-day, bearing in her arms her
infant daughter, — the child of sorrow and misfortune, who was
born after the imprisonment of its father, — procuring for them
food which Burman policy never supplies lo prisoners, and per-
petually interceding for them with their successive keepers, with
the governor of the city, willi the kinsmen of the monarch, and
the members of the royal household. More than once the
queen's brother gave orders that they should be privately put lo
death ; but such was the influence which Mre. Judson possessed
over the mind of the governor, that he evaded the order each
time it was given, and assured her that for her sake he would
not execute her husband, even though he was obliged to execute
all the others. And when at last they were to be taken from
his jurisdiction and driven lo llie horrid prison-house of Oung-
pen-la, at the command of the pakah-woon, the old man
humanely summoned Mrs. Judson from the prison where he
had permitted her to go and sit with her husband, in order that
she might bo spared the pangs of a separation which he had
not the power to prevent. Iler own pen has traced, in lines
that will never be forgotten by those who read ihem, the affect-
ing history of the dismal days and nights of her husband's
captivity."

The Burman mission is now in a prosperous condition,
numbering twenty male and eighteen female missionaries from
America, one hundred and ten native teachers, more than
eighty of whom are Karens, and not less than sixty-five
hundred baptized communicants.

The American Baptists have also hopefully established
missionary stations in Siam, China, Assam, and among the
Teloogoos on the western coast of the Bay of Bengal. They
have furnished, too, llieir full proportion of victims for the pes-
tilential climate of Western Africa, where the resident of Cau-
casian descent must take liis life in his hand, and can hardly
expect to survive the process of acclimation. It was a nob'e
list of names that the Baptists furnished for the martyrol-
ogy of that inhospitable coast between 1821 and 1848;
and the surviving widows of men that perished there are now
awaiting arrangements for tiie renewal of the mission, to
revisit a Geld ripe for the harvest, but hitherto fatal to the
reapers,

In France, Germany, and Denmark, the Baptist Mission-
ary Union has of late years sustained missions of sympathy

VOL. LXX. NO, 141), 7

74 Grammell^s Buiory «/ Bofdgi Iftfgiiww. {Ism.

and aid ibr tbe few and feeble members of ibeir owb cqib-
BramoD, and of proseljtism among the accessible of odMr
denominatioiis. In ths more sectarian department of liieir
labors we may not, indeed, feel die same interest with wbid
we hare traced tb^ aggressions upon tbe ancient domain of
Paganism ; nor do we think that in the present cooditiaD of
the Pagan world, and with so much of beatbeniam
bearing of cfaurcb-beDs all OTer Christendom, it is yet
fat Protestant Chrisdan sects to institute measores of
conversion and reprisaL But tbe fitness of soch
once adnutted, we can speak in t^ms of unqualified appn^-
bation of tbe discretion, disinterestedness, and piety, widi
which these enterprises have been conducted by the Bapost
Board. They have also attempted, in common with other Pio-
testant denominations, to diffiise the knowledge of the Sci^-
tures and the influences of practical Christianity on tbe
inally Christian, but essentially Pagan, soil c^ Greece,
however, from various causes beyond th^ control,
efforts have been feeble, often interrupted, and attaDded as
yet with little promise of permanent finit.

Among the Aborigines of our own country, tbe Baptists
DOW have twelve missionary stations, and have perfarmed, k
is believed, their full part in the great woik c^ civiUsing
Christianizing the Cherokees, as well as in sustaining
ever there is of intelligence, sound moral principle, and
religious faith among tbe wasting remnants of the
Southern and Western tribes.

Before closing this review, we would offer our brief and
bomble plea in behalf of the missionary enterprise, and wxnU
answer some of the more plausible objections urged
tbe expenditure of so much treasure and tbe sacrifice of
many hves for results so remote and doubtfiiL We woidd
sabmit at the outset, that this objectioo comes ^ith ill
fiom a nation which has just squandered, in a needless
of aggression and conquest, more money than has been sj
for mis»onaiy labors from the beginning of tbe worid to die
present day, and has thrown away more lives that oagfat to
have been made and held precious, than the cause of rel^;kHi
has demanded fiT>m the days of the apostles downward.

The results have indeed seen>ed small as yet, compared
widi the outlay, and especially so in the great empires of die

1650.] GammeH's Hiitory of Baptist Missions. 75

East. But ought they to have seemed otherwise ? May
nol the labors already expended have been essential in lay-
ing beneath the tieep waters of ancient superstition the sunken
foundation, on which the churches of regenerated Asia are to
be Grmly built, and to rise in ample proportions, and in sub-
stantial beauty and magnificence? The religions of Asia
were the growth of times of no small intellectual culture and
acumen. Their sacred writings are of venerable antiquity,
and blend with their gorgeous and fantastic mythology the
most revered names of nionorchs, legislators, philosophers,
priests, and poets, who flourished when Germany was aa
unreclaimed forest, and Great Britain an undiscovered island.
Their dogmas are stereotyped in hereditary social distinctions,
laws, customs, and institutions, that have home sway more
centuries than the missionary stations on their sail have
counted years. The work of conversion is an entirely differ-
ent aSair on such ground from what It is among the fetich
worshippers of the Pacific Isles or of Southern Africa, where
there are no fixed traditions, or religious writings, or ancestral
prescriptions. The first work lo be wrought is the infusion
of a general skepticism as lo the established modes of faith ;
and this can be effected only by prolonged observation of the
practical and extended working of Christianity, of its superior
type of civihzation, of its miracles of art and skill, and above
all, of its humane and philanthropic spirit. Every mission
family must lielp create and diffuse this skepticism, which,
however, must be whispered from man to man and from vil-
lage lo village, and must gather force in secret, before it will
dare obtrude itself upon the public eye, and encounter the
scorn of the priesthood and the indignation of the ruling
powers. How fast this essential process may be now going
on, no mortal eye can judge ; but, so surely as divine wisdom
and human absurdity are placed side by side, and suffered
each to manifest its true aspect and produce its appropriate
results, the latter must lose, and the former gain, hold upon the
respect, esteem, and credence of tlie nations now unevangel-
ized.

Then, too, the creation of the retiuisite apparatus for suc-
cessful missionary efforts is necessarily the work of time.
Nowhere is the transaction beneath the unfinished walls of
Babel so little mythical as in Hindoostan, Burmah, and tbe

of Btipiiat Mwiiwi [^B.

ai^Bcent k2ii^«iaai& Almost evoy nwmniain , FaUey, and
wasexcomae. has its own separate language or cfialect ; and
tfae ^reat Aeni-4angnage9 of that region pn^er only an inad-
«f|DAie and donbcfiii means of intercoiuse widi die populatioo
berood die walls of die principal cides. The greater part
of die labor of post and present misskxiazies has been so
empioyed as to snooth die path of dieir amxeawM a> Gram-
mais and ^ocabalaries haTe been prepared^ and trandatioos
of die Scripcnres pobGshed^ in a large nomber of die nati¥e
toogues. These enterprises while in piug re ss make no cob-
v^erts ; but they are rendering the speedy coounonication and
wide diffiision of religions knowledge pracdcable and ea^.
The living voice can produce only scanty and evanescent
results compared widi die written Word. The mission scbods
are fast educating a race of readers, who will have tba
records of revelation in their hands, and will thus be able to
acquire that indmate knowledge of Christian truth and doty,
which preaching in an unfamiliar tongue, or duoogfa an
illiterate interpreter, can nev9 give. Meanwhile, there b no
system of propagaodism in behalf of the previously establidied
religious, and their cumbrous records are in the bands oolj
of the highly educated, and known only by vague tnufition
to the multitude.

But we would be willing, were it necessary, to stake the
missionary cause on the slow and imperfect success which it
has bad in the least propitious fields of labor. We attach
infinite value to every human soul : and. though we cannot
sympathize with the stem theology which condemns the
unevangelized to perdition for involuntary ignorance of tbe
truth, we cannot express our sense of the benefit conferred
on the man or woman, who has learned to lift the prayer of
&ith to the Supreme Father, to lean for pardon and accep-
tance on the love of Christ, to stand hopefolly by the grave-
side of the departed, to bear sorrow and sudering as tbe
benign appointment of an unslumbering Providence, and, in
dying, to look with un&ltering faith to a higher sphere of
being. And when we contemplate the agency, through a
thousand channels of benignant influence, of a ^gle Chris-
tianized Pagan, the house hallowed by prayer and made
radiant by the offices of love, the gendeness and courtesy
extended through the complicated relations of social life, tbe

1850.] Gammell's Hislori/ of Baptist Missions. 11

shining llirougb a narrower or wider circle of an example
conformed to the Divine pattern of the gospel, the self-multi-
plying power of goodness in all its forms and manifostations,
we have no tolerance for any low estimate or depreciating
regard of what has been accomplished under the least favor-
able circumstances, or in the least promising fields of mission-
ary labor.

But would not the same expenditure of money and effort
have borne surer and richer fruits at liome, among the desti-
tute of our cities, or among the unchrislianized denizens of
our frontier settlements r This question would have some
pertinence, could it be proved that foreign missions have been
prejudicial to the claims of domestic charily. But, in point
of fact, while the Pagans were left out of thought, only the
paltriest provision was made for llie spiritual wants of our own
fellow -citizens. The home missionary enterprise was simulta-
neous with the foreign ; and the verysects, and the very individ-
uals, who have been most liberal and zealous in the support of
the latter, have been the most earnest and self-denying in sus-
taining the former. Charity languishes not on account of the
multitude, but of the fewness, of its objects. The heart that
opens .towards one good cause is closed against none. The
liberal hand, that casts Its contribution intoonetreasury of God,
relaxes iis grasp whenever solicited in God's name. And,
were there no other argument in behalf of foreign missions,
we would plead for them on the score of the new spiritual life
ihey have infused into the churches that sustain them. To
take tlie world for iheir field enlarges and exalts their sym-
pathies, ennobles and enriches their devotional feelings, brings
them into closer communion of spirit with the world's Re-
deemer, and perfects theic consciousness of kindred with the
Universal Father,

Nor can we, so long as sects divide the Christian world,
sympathize with the objeciioo to foreign missions under a
sectarian name, expressed by a contemporary journal in a
notice of the book now under review. The broad Geld of
Paganism proffers an arena for a far more peaceful, tolerant,
and loving rivalry, than can be maintained itt Christendom.
There is room there for an amicable division like that between
Abraham and Lot, when the whole land was before them ;
and, as they occupy severally their scattered stations over the

78 T%e War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

vast domain, tbey can say, without a shadow of insincerity,
'^ Let there be no strife between us and you ; for we be
brethren." Numerous organizations can collect larger funds,
and manage them more judiciously, than could a great central
association, the responsibility of which was claimed by no
single denomination. Nor can we find in the history of
missions any beyond the slightest record of mutual jealousy
or animosity, or of any less Christian form of competition,
than that by which the different sects have endeavored to
*' provoke one another to love and to good works."

We have entire confidence in the ultimate success of the
missionary enterprise. Christianity triumphantly surmounted,
ages ago, far greater obstacles than now lie in the way of its
progress. Its whole empire has been wrested fix)m the grasp
of Paganism, as degraded, as inveterate, as stubborn, as the
forms with which it now contends. Because we believe it
the truth of God, revealed for man, and adapted in its form
of communication to the nature, faculties, and wants of man,
we doubt not that man under every mode of culture, may be
brought to the intelligent reception of its truths, the practice
of its duties, and the enjoyment of its hopes. We receive as
from divine inspiration the predictions of the Hebrew seers and
of the Christian apostle, which foretell the entire regeneratioD
of the human family, and cannot but believe that man will yet
rewrite in history the brightest pages of prophecy.

Art. in. — De F Esprit Publi^^jn^Mfngriey^^uis la
Revokuian Franpaise, Par A?^]Degeraj ji>$ " ^ttufe .

1848. 8vo. ^ TTt^^^c^ /|t^u^^w.

DuBiNG the past year, the attention of the civilized world
has been directed with lively interest towards the progress of
the war in Hungary. The spectacle of a gallant people
fighting single-handed for their independence against f^arfiil
odds, the gigantic powers of Russia and Austria, the ancient
champions of despotism, being strenuously exerted for months
in what appeared to be a vain attempt to crush them, was
enough to awaken the warmest sympathies of the lovers of

1850.] The War 6/ Races m Hungary. 79

freedom all over the globe. The accounts which reached us
from the distant scene of conflict were various and conflict-
ing, but on die whole so favorable to the cause of the insur-
gents, that when the news at last arrived of their final and
entire discomfiture, it excited as much disappointm(;nt as
regret. It was evideot that the preceding accounts of aston-
ishing victories gained by the Hungaiians over vastly superior
forces had been grossly exaggerated, even if they had not
been entire fabrications. The theatre of the struggle was
near the eastern confines of civilized Europe, and all the
intelligence wliich came to us from that distant region had
been filtered through German and French newspapers, and
colored by the various hopes and purposes of those who dis-
seminated the reports wirb the intent of affecting public opin-
ion by them, and of gaining sympalby and aid Ibr one or the
other of the contending parties. As we have rejoiced over
victories which had never been gained save in the excited
imaginations of those who reported them, it is worth while to
look a little more closely into the nature and causes of the
war, and to ascertain if the motives and aims of the bellige-
rents have not been as much misrepi-esenied as tlieir actions.
The Hungarian question is an intricate and difficult one ; but
as the decision of it is likely to have an important influence
upon the politics of Europe for a long period to come, an
attempt to render it more intelligible may bo useful and inter-
esting even on this side of the Allanlic. We depend fort \

I information chiefly on M. Degerando's book, and on a series llji,iW , i, i'
of excellent articles contributed by E. de Laogsdorff and H. II

I Desprez to the Revue rfes detix Mondei.

I Though the war in Hungary began as early as September,
1848, a Declaration of Independence was not adopted by the
Hungarian Diet till the middle of April, 1849. In the inter-
vening montiis, though much blood was shed and the contest
was waged with great exasperation on both sides, it had the
aspect of a civil war between different portions of the same
empire, the weight of imperial authority being thrown alter-
nately on either side, according as the vicissitudes of the
conflict caused the one or the other party to adopt a position
which was more favorable to the interests of the emperor.
Thus, Jellachich and his army were at first denounced by the
imperialists as rebels; and after the Sclavonic rebellion in

ao T&e fFmr •/ Bmca im Hgmgmrj. [Jan.

ILJiJiBw^a lad been cradled by the bombudment of Pngoe,
die Aiwanan musfaal Hnbowski commenced a campaign
against the frToreis of diat rebeUion in Croatia and Sdavonia
abo, while the Hongazians, acting on the side of the impeii-
afists, menaced the same coantties with inTaskw from the
WHth. Bat the Austzian cabinet soon faond that Jdlachich
was les to be dreaded than Kossnth, and diat the SclaToni-
VMS were dbpoied io be more lojal subjeds than the Mag-
jais. Bj a sodden diift of pobcj, theiefore, the Croats
were taken into CiTor, and their redoubtable Ban at the head
of his anny was commissioned by the emperor to pat down
the insanection in Hangaiy. Still the Hangaiians cfid not
declare thor independence of Austria till the young emperor
proclaimed a new and Teiy liberal constitution for all his
soljects, of wfaate¥er race, language, or province, in Mareh,
1849. In dib instrament it was fivmaDy declared, that ^ all
tribes haFe an equality of tights, and each tribe has an invio*
lable right to frtserrc amd foster iis maiiammliif ami 2n»>
gmagtJ^ The Hungarians proper, or the Magyars, had no
sooner heazd these words, than fiveseeing how popular they
woidd be with the Sclaixxiians, the Wallachians, and the
Sanons, to whom they secured emancipation from the sove-
reign sway and masterdom which the Magyais had exereisedj
over them km centuries, than they ibithwith declared theirj
own independence of Austria km the s^epiupose^qf n^in-i
ing these races in their ibnner state of s ubjecrion and depen d- 1
ence. The declaration which they issued^ consequently, was
not so much a declaration of their own independence, (already
amply secured by the concessions of the emperor a year be«
bt^ concegjons which made the conne ction^ of H
with Austria '~!t^jj_j^;YW"lti) ^ ^ prot^ agamst tfie inde-
pendence of Croatia and Sdavonia. Its object was not to
justify the rebellion of Hungaiy against Austria, but to accuse
Croatia of rebelling against Hungary, and to criminate the
emperor (or &Toring that rebellion. The Magyars assumed I
the position, therefixe, of a nation striving to impose or to I
continue the yoke upon the necks of their own dependents, |
instead of laboring to throw off a yoke from their own shoul-
ders. It suited the haughty and imperious spirit of this aris-
tocratic race to faring this accusation against their hereditaij
monaich of Ctvoring a set of rebels against their own soto-

1850.] Tht War of Races in Hungary. 81

reignty. Their complaint reminds us of the feudal barons
chiding tlieir king for emancipating the commons, and thus
erecting a barrier against the tyranny of the nobles.

A brief extract from the Hungarian Declaration of Inde-
pendence, dated at Debreczin, April 14th, 1849, will show
the true character of the quarrel between Uie two c

"Croatia and Sclavonia were chosen lo begin this rebellion,
because in those countrieti tlic inhuman policy of Prince Metler-
nich had, with a. view to ibe weakening of all parties, for years
cherished hatred against the Hungarian nation. By exciting in
every possible manner the most unrounded national jealousies,
and by employing the most disgraceful means, lie had succeeded
in inflaming a pariy with rage; although the Hungarians, far
from desiring lo oppress the Croatians, allowed ihe most unre-
strained development to the provincial inatilutions of Croatia, and
shared with their Croatian and Sclavonian brethren their political
rights, even going ihe length of sacrilicing some of llieir own
rights, by acknowledging special privileges and immunities in
those dependencies.

" The Ban revolted, therefore, in the name of the Emperor, and
rebelled openly against the King of Hungary, who is, however,
I one and the same person ; and he went so far eis lo decree the
separation of Croatia and Sclavonia from Hungary, with which
they had been united for eight hundre d yea rs, as well as to incor-
Iporale them wiiE""fiie~At]Stmn-Eiripire. Public opinion and
lundoubted facts threw the blame of these proceedings on the
Archduke Louis, uncle to the Emperor, on his brother, the Arch-
duke Francis Charles, and especially on the consort of the last-
named prince, the Arehduchess Sophia; and since the Ban in
this act of rebellion openly alleges that he acted as a faithful
subject of the Emperor, the ministry of Hungary requested their
sovereign by a public declaration lo wipe off the stigma which
these proceedings threw upon the family. At that moment
affairs were not prosperous for Austria in Italy; the Emperor,
therefore, did proclaim that the Ban and his associates were
guilty of high treason, and of exciting to rebellion. But while
publishing this edict, the Ban and his accomplices were covered
with favors at Court, and supplied for their enterprise with money,
arms, and ammunition. The Hvngariam, confiding in the royal
proclamation, and no) wishing to provoke a civil conflict, tlid not
hunt out those proscribed iraitora in their lair, and oitly aihpled
meamreafor checking any extension of the rebellion. But soon
afterward the inhabitants of South nimgary, of Servian race,
were excited to rebellion by precisely the same means.

82 Tke War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

^ These were also declared by the King to be rebels, but were,
aerertheless, like the others, supplied with moneys, arms, and
ammunition. The King^s commissioned officer and civil ser*
yants enlisted bands of robbers in the principality of Servia to
strengthen the rebels, and to aid them in massacring the peaceable
Hungarian and German inhabitants of the Banat The command
of these rebellious bodies was further intrusted to the rebel lead'
ers of the CroatiansJ*'*

The war in Hungary, then, on the part of the Magyars,
was neither a struggle for national independence, nor an
attempt to establish a republic on the wreck of their ancient
^monarchical and aristocratic institutions. Hungary is the
most aristocratic nation in Europe ; nowhere els e are the
distinctions and immunities of the nobles so strongly ma
or the nobles themselves so numerous in- comparison with the
; whole population, or the dividing lines between the privileged
1 and unprivileged classes preserved with so much care. The
fourth resolution appended to the Declaration of Independ- «
ence expressly provides, that <* the form of government to be j\
adopted for the future shall be fixed by the Diet of the nation,'' ||
in both branches of which the representatives of the titled ^
and untitled nobility have a great superiority of numbers, and
exercise undisputed control ; where, in fact, till within a few
years, the third estate, or the commons, were hardly repre- .
sen ted at» all ; and to which, even now, the peasants, who r
constitute four fifths of the population, do not send a single [l
representative. The resolution goes on to say, that '* until
this point shall be decided, on the basis of the ancient and
received principles which have been recognized for ages y [that
is, acknowledging the absolute supremacy of the Magyar race
in the country which they conquered, and where they have
been lords of the soil and the dominant nation for eight or
nine centuries,] the government of the united countries, their
possessions and dependencies, shall be conducted on the per-
sonal responsibility, and under the obligation to render an
account of all his acts, by Louis Kossuth." In short, a tem-
porary dictatorship was established, absolute power being
confided, not to a military commander, a course which the
pressing exigencies of the war might well have justified, —
but to a civilian, who was to exercise all the authority which,
in a republican insurrection, is usually delegated to a legisla-
tive assembly.

1850.] Tkt War of Races in Hungary. 83

The Croatians and other Sclavonians are not the only peo-
ple, who, in this singular Declaration of Independence, are
denounced as rebels. One of the charges specified in it
against the imperial government is, ihat "the traitorous com-
mander" in Transylvania "stirred up the JVallachian peas-
ants 10 take arms against their own constitutional rights, and,
aided by the rebellious Servian hordes, commenced a war of
Vandalism and extinction." Here, as in other passages, this
remarkable document bears less resemblance to the declara-
tion of a people who have risen in arms against their rulers
to vindicate their liberties, than to a manifeslo of those rulers
intended to censure and subdue such insurrection. It is an
appeal to the ancient institutions of the country ; a vindication
of the just authority of the governors over the governed ; a
reproof of rebellion. How the Hungarians could be engaged
in a contest at the same time with their hereditary sovereign
and with their own rebellious subjects, is the problem which
we seek to solve by investigating the former position of the
parties in respect to each other, and the circumstances out of
which the war arose,

Hungary, with a lerritory no larger than that of Virginia
and North Carolina united, has a papulation of about ten
millions and a half, made up of at least half a dozen distinct
races, who speak as many di^erent languages and dialects.
Among these, the Magyars, who are the dominant race, and
have long owned all the soil and held the whole political
power of the country in their hands, number about 4,200,<H>0.
The Sclavonians are rather more numerous, but are divided
into many distinct tribes, which inhabit different portions of
the country, and speak what was originally one language;
the several Sclavonic dialects have marked peculiarities, yet
do not differ so widely but that the different tribes can under-
stand each other. The Slowacks, who inhabit the nortli of
Hungary, and number about 2,200,000, seem most nearly
allied to the Czeclis of Bohemia, another Sclavonic tribe who
began the recent revolutionary movement in the disjointed
empire of Austria. The Rusniaks, a third Sclavonic tribe
are 300,000 in number. The inhabitants of Croatia, who
are of the Sclavonic race, number about 700,000 ; and there
are as many more of the Servians, of the same descent, who
live within the borders of Hungary. Add to the Magyars

84 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

and the Sclavonians about one million of Germans, another
million of Wallachians, 250,000 Jews, and a few thousand
Greeks, Armenians, and Gipsies, and you have the hetero-
geneous population of Hungary proper. The population of
Transylvania, which has long been a dependency of Hungary,
and was united with it in the recent war, consists of 260,000
Magyars, 260,000 Szeklers, a rude tribe allied to the Mag-
yars, 250,000 Germans, and 1,300,000 Wallachians. On
the Military Frontier, again, there are nearly 700,000 Croats,
200,000 Servians, 200,000 Germans, and 100,000 Wallacb-
ians. Taken in its largest sense, therefore, Hungary has a
population of about fourteen millions, of whom less than one
third are Magyars, rather more than a third are Sclavonians,
one sixth are Wallachians, and only one twelfth are Germans.
The prevailing languages, of course, are the Magyar, the
Sclavonic in all its dialects, the German, and the Wallachian,
no one of which has any affinity with another.

There is as great diversity of religious faith, as of language
and race, among this singular population. The Wallachians
are nearly all of the Greek church, more than half of them,
however, being schismatics. Most of the Sclavonians are
Romanists, and the Catholic is the established church in Cro-
atia, where no protestant can hold an office under govern-
ment. The Germans are chiefly Lutherans, and nearly half
of the Magyars are Calvinists. The Unitarian is one of the
three established churches of Transylvania, having been in-
troduced into that country by a queen of Poland in the six-
teenth century ; though the Wallachians fonn nearly two
thirds of the population of the duchy, their church, which b
the Greek, is only tolerated.

The dominant races, or " sovereign nations," as they call
themselves, have labored to render their supremacy as con-
spicuous as possible ; in their ordinary employments and in
military service, in the civil, political, and religious institutions
of the country, the dividing line between them and the
<< subject nations " is very broadly marked. This distinction,
so universal and conspicuous, having been acknowledged and
uncontested for centuries, has prevented any amalgamation of
the different races with each other ; and thus the Magyars,
the Wallachians, t he Saxo ns, and the Sclavonians have lived
for ages side by side, eaclT preserving their own language.

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 85

religion, occupation, liabiis, and all their natiooal characterise
lies as distinct and broadly separated from each other as they
were wheii the fortunes of war and the migrating propensities
of their ancestors first brouglit them in contact, and established
ihem on the same soil. The subject natioos, both Wallach-
ian aad Sclaronic, are a rude and uneducated people, who
have never been able to acquire the languages of their mas-
ters, which are fundamentally different frocn their own ; and
this circumstance alone has raised an iosuperable bar to inter-
course between them. They are also, for the most part, of
^a mild andui^jQljitious disposition, patient and laborious, and
^Tied to lEe cuSroms of their ancestors. They are
ihe aborigines of the country, the first possessors of the soil
upon which the Huns, the Turks, the Magjars, and the Ger-
mans have subse<]ueDtly established themselves by right of
conquest. Submission and inferiority have been enforced
upon them through so many generations, that tliey have be-
come the badges of their tribe; and it is only within a few
years that the idea of resistance, or the possibility of assert-
ing an equality of rights, has even occurred to them.

Here in America, where emigrants coming to us from all
the nations of Europe, and submitting themselves to the
crucible of our republican institutions, are fused in the course
of one or two generations into one homogeneous mass, dif-
ferent languages, temperaments, habits, and characters, all
blending together and disappearing almost as rapidly as the
gases sent out from a chemical laboratory are difliised and
lost in the great body of the outward atmosphere, we can
hardly believe it possible, that, in another country, several
distinct races should live side by side, crowded together within
a comparatively small territory, and still remain as distinct
from each other, and preserve all their original differences as
strongly marked, as when circumstances &rst brought them
together centuries ago. But it is so ; these broad difTerences
of race exist, and the feelings of rivalry and mutual hostility,
which so naturally result fitim them, must show themselves
when once the dominion of the foreign sovereign, the com-
mon master who originally held ihem all in equal subjection
and at peace with each other, b withdrawn, and national inde-
pendence allows full scope for the national tendencies to pro-
duce their appropriate effects, Hungary Js the eastern outpost

VOL. LXX. NO. 146. 8

86 m« War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

of civilized Europe ; its position made it the first stopping-
place in the migration of those hordes from central Asia, which
prostrated the Roman empire in the west, and afterwards so
often menaced the independence of the several kingdoms
which were established upon its ruins. It was therefore both
the eailiest and the latest sufferer from these incursions^
Attila pitched his tents here before he swept over the fairer
regions of Italy and Gaul ; in 1526, the last independent
king of Hungary was defeated and slain by the Turks in the
fatal battle of Mohacz, and the greater part of the country re-
mained subject to the Ottomans for a century and a half, till
the heroic John Sobieski accomplished its deliverance. From
that time it has remained subject to Austria, its union with
this empire being necessary for its protection against the
Turks, and essential for the freedom of its communication
with western Europe. Its perilous position, and the fipequent
wars of which it has been the theatre, have kept alive the
military spirit of its people, and preserved its military insti-
tutions in complete vitality. But its remoteness and isolation
have prevented it from sharing in the improvements of modem
times ; and its institutions, military, civil, and political, are
those of the Middle Ages. The Feudal System existed there
but yesterday in full vigor; all the land was held by the
nobles on condition of military service, and on failure of direct
heirs reverted to the crown. The peasants were serfs attached
to the soil, and could bring no suit against their feudal lord
except in his own manorial court, where the noble was
judge in his own cause. The distance between the vassal
and his lord was rendered more broad and impasslkble by the
fact that they belonged to different races, and spoke different
languages. The differences of employment and social posi-
tion contributed to perpetuate the distinctions of race ; the
Magyars, proud of their noble birth, would follow hardly any
profession but that of arms. And they scorned the foot
service ; a century or two ago, they served as knights and
mounted men-at-arms; now, they form the most splendid
cavalry in the worid, and leave the Croats and other Sclavo-
nians to fill the ranks of the infantry. The Szeklers, the
kindred in race of the Magyars, are bom soldiers ; more mde
and uncultivated than their splendid kinsmen in Hungary,
they are equally haughty, and more fierce and savage ; woe to

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 87

those who dare encounter tliem in ihe course of a civil war,
for even their tender mercies are cruet. When the passions
of the Magyars are not escited, however, their conduct is
neither overbearing nor tyrannical ; ihey have too much real
bravery, and are too high spirited and generous, for the one
or the other. The patient and Jaborious Wallachians and
Sclavonians have tilled the ground for them for centuries,
hardly conscious how firmly the yoke of servitude resled on
ib^ necks,

Hungary has been aptly compared to an old feudal castle,
with lis donjons and moais, its battlements and portcullis,
which the modern reformers wished to transform at once into
an elegant and convenient modern habitation. The first step N
necessary in so sweeping a reform was to level it with theil
ground; and those who bad made this rash attempt soon I
found iliat they had miscalculated the strength of the antique U
and massive pile. They succeeded only in pulling down some
of the outworks upon their own heads. Among these classes so
widely separated, among races that are foreign, and even hos-
tile, to each other, with different religions, ditferent tongues,
and different civilizations, it was vain to think of introducing
the modern ideas of democracy and equality ; and the Mag-
yars themselves have never attempted it.

The Magyars inhabit chiefly the central and eastern por-
tions of Hungary, having the Slowaeks on the north, the Wal-
lachians on the east, and the Croatians and oilier lllyro-Scla-
vonians on the south. The great estates of their titled >
nobles, or magnates, as they are called, extend over every i
portion of the country, as the other races, till quhe recently,
owned little or no land in Hungary proper, except in the free
cities, where the land had been freed by purchase, or released
from feudal obligalionsby the favor of the crown. It is esti-
mated by the latest statisticians, that the nobles, who are all
Magyars, number at least 600,000, including women and
children, so that one seventh part of tliis dominant race enjoy
tJie privileges of rank ; but the magnates do not exceed two
hundred in number, most of whoni own vast possessions.
The untitled nobility have the entire control of the lower
house, or second table, as it is called, in the general Diet,
this house being composed chiefly of represeniatives from the
county assemblies, and the affairs of ihe counties, (comitaU,)

88 TTie War of Races in Htaigary. [Jan.

of which there are about sixty in the kingdom, are regulated
exclusively by the Magyar nobles. Thus, as the magnates
form the great majority of the upper house, or first table,
the whole legislation of the kingdom is in the hands of the
nobility. All the Magyar nobles own land, which the poorest
of them are often obliged to cultivate with their own hands,
as any employment in commerce or the mechanic arts is con-
sidered derogatory to their rank, and they do not often engage
even in the learned professions. The Magyars who are not
noble form the higher class of the peasantry ; and though not
often rich, they have generally most of the necessaries, and
even the comforts of life, as the feudal burdens on their lands
are not excessive, and their tenant rights are often very val-
uable. Whether peasants or nobles, they pride themselves
on their race, and regard the Wallachians and Sclavonians as
their subjects, if not as inferior beings.

The Magyar language stands by itself, having no affinity
or relationship with any other language in Europe ; lingua
sine matre et soraribus. There are only two other languages
on the contment, the Biscayan or Basque, and the Finnish,
which are equally isolated ; some philologists have attempted to
trace an affinity between the Magyar and the Finnish, but
the prevailing opinion now is, that the resemblance between
them is too slight to afford sure grounds for believing that they
sprang originally from the same stock. The Hungarian is
said to be a noble language, having a great variety of verbal
infiexions, and abounding in majestic and sonorous expressions,
so that it is admirably adapted to the purposes of oratory ;
but it is of very limited use, having hardly any literature, and
only a few learned philologists, besides the Magyars them-
selves, are acquainted with it. This peculiar character of
their language alone is enough to point out the Magyars as
comparative strangers in the country which they inhabit and
own, its former possessors having been deprived of the soil
and reduced to servitude. Their attitude in this fair region
is still that of conquerors lording it over the ancient inhabi-
tants, who have never succeeded in shaking off the yoke
which was imposed on them nearly a thousand years ago.
Leaving aside for the present the changes which have been
made within the last ten years, it may be said that all the
political and civil institutions of the country were contrived

1850.] The War of Racei in Hungary. 89

exclusively for the beDefit of this dominant race, who form, be it /
remembered, less than a third pari of the population ; aod down
to the outbreak of the recent war, these institutions were exclu-
sively controlled and managed by them. The Magyar pea-
sants, it is true, had nothing to do wiib the direction of aifairs,
though their interests, so far as they came in coo6ict with those
of the Sclavonian and Wallachian peasants, were, of course,
protected by the great body of the Magyar nobility, who
owned all the land, and made all the laws. The guaranties
of Hungarian independence, so frequently alluded to in
speaking of the union of the country with Austria, were
nothing more than stipulations in favor of the privileges of
the nobles. The engagement to respect " the ancient con-
stitution " of the land, which was a part of the coronation oath
whenever a new emperor of Austria was crowned king of
Hungary at Buda, was simply a promise to do nothing to
disturb the domination of the Magyar race, and to respect
the rights and immunities of the nobles. That these immu-
nities were precious in the eyes of the nobles, and were
jealously guarded, we can well believe, inasmuch as they
secured to them entire exemption from taxation, all the bur-
dens of the slate being borne by the peasants,

So far was tins principle carried, that, down to 1840, the
nobles were not required to pay the ordinary toll on passing
the bridges which were erected for the public convenience.
" I shall never forget," writes M. de Langsdorff, " the impres-
sion I received when, on the bridge which crosses the Danube
at Pesth, I saw every peasant, every poor cultivator of the
ground, rudely stopped and compelled to pay toll both for
himself and for the meagre horses harnessed to his cart.
The tolls are heavy, amounting to a considerable sum for
these poor people; while the Magyar gentlemen, mounted
on fine horses, or seated in elegant carriages, passed and
repassed without payment, I had read, it is true, that the
Hungarian noble was exempted from all public con irJbu lions,
was subject to no personal tax, and that all burdens fell
on the peasants; but there is a great difference between the
mention in print of some old injustice of the laws, and the
immediate and irritating spectacle of a' social wrong. I felt
that I belonged to the party of the vanquished, and like them
1 offered to pay. But the toll-gatherer, perceiving thai I was

90 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

a stranger, refused my money, and told me that the tax was
intended only for the serfs. This exemption, it is true, was
a snuill affair, and tyranny has other practices that are far
more odious ; but from that time I was no more astonished
by the inequalities and anomalies which I witnessed during the
rest of my journey ; I had foreseen them all on the bridge at
Pesth."

As the bridge was built from the public funds, which are
supplied exclusively by taxation of the peasants, the injustice
of allowing the nobles to pass free is still more obvious. It
was one of the grand reforms effected by Count Szecheny,
that the Diet, in 1836, was induced to vote that the nobility
should be subject to toll on passing the fine suspended bridge
by which it had been resolved to supersede the floating one
at Pesth. The nobles deserve the more credit for this act,
for as they have the entire control of both tables of the Diet,
they were called upon to vote down one of the privileges of
their own order. Though the amount of the toll was insigni-
ficant, the passage of the law was acknowledged to be a
point of great importance, as it would sacrifice one of the
most cherished principles of the ancient constitution of the
country, — the exemption of the nobility from all public con-
tributions whatever. Count Szecheny had labored strenu-
ously to prepare the public mind for the change by the pam-
phlets which he had published on the subject ; and he took
the lead as a debater in the Diet in favor of the measure.
After the debate, opinions seemed so equally divided that the
Palatine, who presided, durst not declare that the bill had
passed in the usual way, by acclamation ; for the first time in
the history of a Hungarian Diet, and though there were great
doubts of the legality of such a course, the votes were
ordered to be counted, and, in a full house, a majority of six
were reported on the side of generosity and justice.

The present position of the Magyars in Hungary is very
much what that of the Normans in England was, for the first
century or two after the Conquest. Though William had
fair pretensions to the crown by right of birth — his title, in
fact was quite as good as that of Harold — he treated the
Saxons, after he had subdued them, as if his only claim to
their allegiance rested upon the sword. He exercised all the
rights of a conqueror according to the ideas of his own bar-

1850.] The fVar of Races in Hungary. 91

barons age ; and bis chivalrous but rapacious nobles, with
iheir greedy followers, eagerly seconded his designs. To
break the spirit of the conquered Saxons by the insulls as
much as by llie losses inflicted upon them, to proscribe their
language as well as to rob ihem of their estates, lo ridicule
their habits, and to brand them as an inferior and degraded
race, who were unfit to hold office and unworthy to bear arms,
was the setded policy of the earlier Norman kings. The
Norman French was the language of the court, the nobility,
and the parliament, of all legislative acts and legal proceed-
ings, from which, indeed, it has not entirely disappeared even
at the present day. The chief captains of the invading anny
became the great barons of the realm, who were afterwards
prompt enough to vindicate the privileges of iheir order
against the arbitrary will of the monarch, but who took very
little care of the liberties of the commonalty. But luckily
the Normans were not numerous In comparison with the whole
body of the Saxon population of England ; and as they had
to cross the channel to arrive at iheir new domain, they could
not always bring their wives and daughters with them. The
fair haired Saxon maidens did more towards the emancipation
of the English people than did their fathers and brothers, for
ibey soon began to lead captive their Norman conquerors.
In the course of a few generations, very little Norman blood
remained entirely pure in the island. A mixed race quickly
farmed a mised language, and the English compound soon
showed itself more generous and fertile ihan either the Nor-
man or the Saxon element uncombined. The conquerors
were like a mighty river rushing into the ocean with such
force as to drive back the waters of the deep, and preserve
its freshness some miles fi'om land ; but the contest is too
unequal, the force of the stream is soon spent, and its sweet
waters are Anally lost in the saltness of the multitudinous
waves.

Normandy sent forth a little army that was able to conquer
England, but was not numerous enough to possess it. Little
more than a century before the period of that invasion, the
Asiatic hive of nations had sent forth one of its great swarms
of Tartar breed, men, women, and children, carrying their
tents, rude household utensils, and pagan gods along with
them, to find fresh pastures for tlieir herds on the rich fields

92 J%e War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

of Europe. The fertile plain of central Hungary afforded
them their 6rst resting place ; the degenerate descendants of
Trajan's Roman legions, who now call themselves Roumam^
or Wallachians, and the ancient Sclavonic races, who were
probably the aborigines of the country, offered but a feeble
resistance to these fierce invaders. They were* either driven
into the fastnesses of the Carpathian mountains, or were
reduced to servitude, and compelled to till the lands which
were no longer their own. But the easy conquest of Hun-
gary did not satisfy the rapacious and warlike spirit of the
Magyars. Leaving a portion of their horde behind them,
the others passed on, and carried the terror of their arms far
into Germany and Italy, and even to the borders of Spain.
As their habits were nomadic, and they were exercised from
infancy in archery and horsemanship, they were able to make
annual incursions into the more civilized countries around
them, baffling their enemies by the swiftness of their move-
ments and the suddenness of their attacks, and bringing back
to their newly adopted land a rich booty fit>m the cities
which they had plundered and burnt. So much consterna-
tion did they create by these inroads, that the Christian
nations of that period regarded them as the Gog and Magog
of the Scriptures, the signs and forerunners of the end of the
world. But their power was at last broken by two severe
defeats which they received, in succession, from Henry the
Fowler and Otho the Great. The latter one was so over-
whehning, that it humbled the spirit of the nation, who
thenceforward kept within the limits of Hungary, where the
fertility of the soil, and the enjoyments procured for them by
the patient labor of the Sclavonians and Wallachians whom
they had reduced to servitude, gradually weaned them from
their fondness for hazardous excursions, and gave them a
taste for sedentary life and the arts of peace. But tliey
preserved their individuality as a race, because they had
brought their women and children with them from Asia, and
they scorned to intermarry with their subjects, whose language
was a mere jargon in their ears. Thus isolated from surround-
ing nations, the warlike and nomadic spirit of their ancestors
was kept alive in them, and on fit occasion it flamed forth as
of old. They no longer invaded other lands, but they forti-
fied their own mountain fastnesses, and for three centuries the

1850.] T/ie War of Races in Hungary. Q'S

iDtegrity of their territory was not violated by foes from
witbout.

Barbarian conquerors leave nothing to the vanquished;
the Magyars appropriated to themselves the whole of the
soil of Hungary, and their laws rendered it impossible that
any portion of it should ever be alienated from them. The
theory which they adopted was, that the whole territory
belonged to the king, as he was the only representative of
the entire nation ; in respect to its immediate occupation
and use, the ground was partitioned among ihem on strictly
military principles. The officers, or petty chieftains, down
to the lowest, received estates llie size of which was propor-
tioned to their rank and to the number of men whom they
had commanded ; these men, the common soldiers, with
their families, were to live upon the estates of their officere,
and by their labor, when they had not Sclavonian or Wal-
lachian serfs enough lo labor for them, to support both them-
selves and their former commanders. The descendants of
these otHcers, who seem lo have been very numerous, form
the present Hungarian nobility ; the Magj'ar peasants are
the offspring of the common soldiers, or privates. The title
of the crown is indefeasible ; the noble has only what is
called the right of possession, j'tu pottessionia, in bis estate ;
on the failure of his posterity — usually, on the failure of
the male hne only, but sometimes after both the male and
female lines are extinct, — the land reverts to the king.
Only the descendants of the person who first received the
estate can hold it in perpetuity ; they may dispose of it if
they please, but then the purchaser cannot hold it after this
family from whom he received it becomes extinct. The
crown can always reclaim the land, though it may have
changed hands several times, whenever it can be shown that
there are no heirs of the original possessor in being. So,
also, the purchaser cannot retain possession, if any heir of
the first owner, however remote, or at a day however dis-
tant from the time of transfer, chooses to refund the pur-
chase money with interest, and thus reclaim the estate.
Practically, therefore, land in Hungary is inalienable ; it
is loaded with a sort of double entail, — first, in favor of
the crown, secondly, in favor of the family of the first owner.
Any one may buy it, indeed, but he does so at a great risk ;

84 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

and the Sclavonians about one million of Germans, another
million of Wallachians, 250,000 Jews, and a few thousand
Greeks, Armenians, and Gipsies, and you have the hetero-
geneous population of Hungary proper. The population of
Transylvania, which has long been a dependency of Hungary,
and was united with it in the recent war, consists of 260,000
Magyars, 260,000 Szeklers, a rude tribe allied to the Mag-
yars, 250,000 Germans, and 1,300,000 Wallachians. On
the Military Frontier, again, there are nearly 700,000 Croats,
200,000 Servians, 200,000 Germans, and 100,000 Wallach-
ians. Taken in its largest sense, therefore, Hungary has a
population of about fourteen millions, of whom less than one
third are Magyars, rather more than a third are Sclavonians,
one sixth are Wallachians, and only one twelfth are Germans.
The prevailing languages, of course, are the Magyar, the
Sclavonic in all its dialects, the German, and the Wallachian,
no one of which has any affinity with another.

There is as great diversity of rehgious faith, as of language
and race, among this singular population. The Wallachians
are nearly all of the Greek church, more than half of them,
however, being schismatics. Most of the Sclavonians are
Romanists, and the Catliolic is the established church in Cro-
atia, where no protestant can hold an office under govern-
ment. The Germans are chiefly Lutherans, and nearly half
of the Magyars are Calvinists. The Unitarian is one of the
three established churches of Transylvania, having been in-
troduced into that country by a queen of Poland in the six-
teenth century ; though the Wallachians form nearly two
thirds of the population of the duchy, their church, which is
the Greek, is only tolerated.

The dominant races, or " sovereign nations," as they call
themselves, have labored to render their supremacy as con-
spicuous as possible ; in their ordinary employments and in
military service, in the civil, political, and religious institutions
of the country, the dividing line between them and the
'^ subject nations " is very broadly marked. This distinction,
so universal and conspicuous, having been acknowledged and
uncontested for centuries, has prevented any amalgamation of j
the different races with each other ; and thus the Magyars, '
the Wallachians, t he Saxo ns, and the Sclavonians have lived
for ages side by side, eaclT preserving their own language,

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 85

religion, occupation, habits, and all their national cliaracleris-
tics as distinct and broadly separated from each other as ihey
were when llie fortunes of war and the migrating propensities
of their ancestors first brought them in contact, and established
iliem on the same soil. The subject nations, both Wallach-
ian and Sclavonic, are a rude and uneducated people, who
have never been able to acquire the languages of their mas-
ters, which are fundamentally different from tlieir own ; and
this circumstance alone has raised an insuperable bar to inter-
; between them. They are also, for the most part, of
a mild a n d un ^pi bi t ious disposition, patient and laborious, and
1 1 ached to tue~Cu3TDnis of their ancestors. They are
ilie aborigines of the country, the first possessors of the soil
upon which the Huns, the Turks, the Mag) ars, and the Ger-
mans have subsequently established themselves by right of
conquest. Submission and inferiority have been enforced
upon them through so many generations, that they have be-
come the badges of their tribe ; and it is only within a few-
years that the idea of resistance, or the possibility of assert-
ing an equality of rights, has even occurred to them.

Here in America, where emigrants coming to us from all
the nations of Europe, and submitting themselves to the
crucible of our republican institutions, are fused in the course
of one or two generations into one homogeneous mass, dif-
ferent languages, temperaments, habits, and characters, all
blending together and disappearing almost as rapidly as the
gases sent out from a chemical laboratory are diffused and
lost in the great body of the outward atmosphere, we can
hardly believe it possible, that, in another country, several
distinct races should live side by side, crowded together within
a comparatively small territory, and still remain as distinct
from each other, and preserve all their original differences as
strongly marked, as when circumstances first brought tiiem
together centuries ago. But il is so ; these broad differences
of race exist, and the feelings of rivalry and mutual hostility,
which so naturally result from them, must show themselves
when once the dominion of the foreign sovereign, the com-
mon master who originally held them all in equal subjection
and at peace with each other, is withdrawn, and national inde-
pendence allows fiill scope for the national tendencies to pro-
duce their appropriate effects. Hungary is the eastern outpost

VOL. LXX, — KO. 146. 8

86 Tke War of Races in Hungary. [Jan,

of civilized Europe ; its position made it the first stopping-
place in the migration of those hordes from central Asia, which
prostrated the Roman empire in the west, and afterwards so
often menaced the independence of the several kingdoms
which were establbhed upon its ruins. It was therefore both
the earliest and the latest sufferer from these incursions,
Attila pitched bis tents here before be swept over the fairer
regions of Italy and Gaul ; in 1526, the last independent
king of Hungary was defeated and slain by the Turks in the
fatal battle of Mohacz, and the greater part of the country re-
mained subject to the Ottomans for a century and a half, till
the heroic John Sobieski accomplished its deliverance. From
that time it has remained subject to Austria, its union with
this empire bemg necessary for its protection against the
Turks, and essential for the fi^edom of its communication
with western Europe. Its perilous position, and the fi^uent
wars of which it has been the theatre, have kept alive the
military spirit of its people, and preserved its military insti-
tutions in complete vitality. But its remoteness and isolation
have prevented it from sharing in the improvements of modem
times ; and its institutions, military, civil, and political, are
those of the Middle Ages. The Feudal System existed there
but yesterday in iiill vigor; all the land was held by the
nobles on condition of military service, and on failure of direct
heirs reverted to the crown. The peasants were serfs attached
to the soil, and could bring no suit against their feudal lord
except in his own manorial court, where the noble was
judge in his own cause. The distance between the vassal
and his lord was rendered more broad and impassMle by the
fact that they belonged to different races, and spoke different
languages. The differences of employment and social posi-
tion contributed to perpetuate the distinctions of race ; the
Magyars, proud of their noble birth, would follow hardly any
profession but that of arms. And they scorned the foot
service ; a cenUiry or two ago, they served as knights and
mounted men-at-arms; now, they form the most splendid
cavalry in the world, and leave the Croats and other Sclavo-
nians to fill the ranks of the infantry. The Szeklers, the
kindred in race of the Magyars, are bom soldiers ; more rude
and uncultivated than their splendid kinsmen in Hungary,
they are equally haughty, and more fierce and savage ; woe to

1850.] The War of Races m Hungary. 87

those who dare encounter them in the course of a civil war,
for even their tender mercies are cruel. When the passions
of the Magyars are not excited, however, iheir conduct is
neither overbearing nor tyrannical ; they have too much real
bravery, and are too high spirited and generous, for liie one
or the other. The patient and laborious WalSachians and
Sclavonians have tilled the ground for [hera for centuries,
iiardly conscious bow firmly the yoke of servitude rested on
their necks.

Hungary has been aptly compared to an old feudal castle,
with its donjons and moats, its battlements and portcullis,
which the modem reformers wished to transform at once into
an elegant and convenient modern habitation. The first step t
necessary in so sweeping a reform was lo level it with the U
ground j and those who had made this rash attempt soon
found that they had miscalculated the strength of the antique II
and massive pile. They succeeded only in pulling down some
of the outworksupon iheirown heads. Among these classes so
widely separated, among races that are foreign, and even hos-
tile, to each other, with different religions, different tongues,
and different civilizations, it was vain to think of introducing
the modern ideas of democracy and equality ; and the Mag-
yars themselves have never attempted it.

The Magyars inhabit chiefly the central and eastern por-
tions of Hungary, having the Slowacks on the north, the Wal-
lachians on the east, and the Croalians and other lllyro-Scla<
vonians on the south. The great estates of their tilled
nobles, or magnates, as they are called, extend over every
portion of the country, as the other races, till quite recently,
owned little or no land in Hungary proper, except in the free
cities, where the land had been freed by purchase, or released
from feudal obligations by the favor of the crown. It is esti-
mated by the latest statisticians, that the nobles, who are all
Magyars, number al least 600,000, including women and
<-hitdren, so that one seventh part of this dominant race enjoy
the privileges of rank ; but the magnates do not exceed two
hundred in number, most of whom own vast possessions.
The untitled nohiiity have the entire control of the lower
bouse, or second table, as it is called, in the general Diet,
this house being composed chiefly of representatives from the
county assemblies, and the affairs of the counties, (comilals,)

78 Tkt War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

vast domab, they can say, without a shadow of insincerity ,
" Let there be no strife between us and you ; for we be
brethren." Numerous organizations can collect larger funds,
and manage them more judiciously, than could a great central
association, the responsibility of which was claimed by no
single denomination. Nor can we find in the history of
missions any beyond the slightest record of mutual jealousy
or animosity, or of any less Christian form of competition,
than that by which the different sects have endeavored to
*^ provoke one another to love and to good works."

We have entire confidence in the ultimate success of the
missionary enterprise. Christianity triumphantly surmounted,
ages ago, far greater obstacles than now lie in the way of its
progress. Its whole empire has been wrested fix)m the grasp
of Paganism, as degraded, as inveterate, as stubborn, as the
forms with which it now contends. Because we believe it
the truth of God, revealed for man, and adapted in its form
of communication to the nature, faculties, and wants of man,
we doubt not that man under every mode of culture, may be
brought to the intelligent reception of its truths, the practice
of its duties, and the enjoyment of its hopes. We receive as
from divine inspiration the predictions of the Hebrew seers and
of the Christian apostle, which foretell the entire regeneration
of the human family, and cannot but believe that man will yet
rewrite in history the brightest pages of prophecy.

Art. ni. — De F Esprit PMi^^^gnJ^j^rie^ denuis la
Revolution Franpaise. Par\AT_DEGERANDa^^%fis.

1848. 8vo. ^ 77».vwc.^ /31^u^^w.

DuBiNG the past year, the attention of the civilized world
has been directed with lively interest towards the progress of
the war in Hungary. The spectacle of a gallant people
fighting single-handed for their independence against fearful
odds, the gigantic powers of Russia and Austria, the ancient
champions of despotism, being strenuously exerted for months
in what appeared to be a vain attempt to crush them, was
enough to awaken the wannest sympathies of the lovers of

1850.] The War t>/ Race> in Hungary. 79

freedom all over the globe. The accounts which reached us
from ihe distant scene of conflict were various and conflict-
ing, but on Uie whole so favorable to the cause of the insur-
gents, that when the news at last arrived of their 6nal and
entire discomfiture, it excited as much disappointment as
regret. It was evident that the preceding accounts of aston-
ishing victories gained by the Hungarians over vastly superior
forces had been grossly exaggerated, even if they had not
been entire fabrications. The theatre of the straggle was
near the eastern confines of civilized Europe, and all the
intelligence which came to us from that distant region had
been filtered through German and French newspapers, and
colored by the various hopes and purposes of those who dis-
seminated the reports with the intent of affecting public opin-
ion by them, and of gaining sympathy and aid for one or the
other of the contending parties. As we have rejoiced over
victories which had never been gained save in the excited
imaginations of those who reported them, it is worth while to
look a little more closely into tlie nature and causes of the
war, and to ascertain if the motives and aims of the bellige-
rents have not been as much misrepresented as their actions.
The Hungarian question is an intricate and difficult one ; but
as the decision of it is likely to have an important influence
upon the politics of Europe for a long period lo come, an
attempt to render it more intelligible may be useful and inter-
esting even on this side of the Atlantic, We depend fori \ ^ ^
information chiefly on M. Degerando's book, and on a series ; .-. 'i rvi?(-uVi^

I of excellent articles contributed by E. de Laugsdorff and H. ■ 'NJ

I Desprez to Ihe Revue des deux Mondes.

I Though the war in Hungary began as early as Septembefj
1848, a Declaration of independence was not adopted by the
Hungarian Diet till the middle of April, 1849. In the inter-
vening Hiaolhs, though much blood was shed and the contest
was waged with great exasperation on both sides, it had the
aspect of a civil war between different portions of the same
empire, the weight of imperial authority being thrown alter-
nately on either side, according as the vicissitudes of the
conflict caused the one or the other party to adopt a position
which was more favorable to tlie interests of the emperor.
Thus, Jellachich and his army were at first denounced by the
imperialists as rebels ; and after the Sclavonic rebellion iu

100 The War of Races m Hungary. [Jan.

of Croatia, and cut off by the Russians and the Turks from
the navigation of the Danube, Magyar-Hungary would be
like an isolated tree planted in a soil where there is no water,
the branches and foliage of which would wither in a single
season.

It was only the restless and domineering spirit of the
untitled Magyar nobility, aggressive and fiery in tempera-
ment, and panting not so much for absolute independence as
for entire control of the more patient, industrious, and unam-
bitious races, Sclavonians, Germans, and Wallachians, by
whom they are surrounded, which kindled the recent war,
and so conducted it as to arm every one of these races
agamst themselves ; and thus, in spite of their own match*
less bravery and enthusiasm, and the misplaced sympathy <^
the republican party throughout Europe and America, to
bring down upon their heads the united powers of Austria
and Russia, and finally to sink in the unequal struggle. Had
they begun by the abnegation of the enormous and unjust
privileges of their own order and the insolent supremacy of
their race; had they offered confederation and equality of
political rights to Croat and Slowack, Saxon and Wallach-
ian, their united strength might have dashed in pieces the
Austrian empire, and the Russian troops would never have
crossed their borders. But they aimed to procure dissimilar
and incompatible objects ; to retain the economical and
political advantages of a union with Austria, without submit-
ting to any control, or tendering any equivalent ; to be
admitted to all the privileges enjoyed by the Hereditary
States, without bearing any portion of their burdens ; to
vindicate their own independence against the empire, but
to crush the Croatians and Wallachians for daring to claim
independence of the Magyars ; to " hunt out those pro-
scribed traitors in their lair," to stifle " the rebellion in south
Hungary," to lay waste with fire and sword the Saxon col-
onies in Transylvania, and then evoke the indignation of
Europe against the interference of Russia, whose troops
entered Hermanstadt at the urgent entreaty of these Saxon
colonists, in order to save them from utter destruction by the
merciless Szeklers and Magyars.

We have said that the immediate cause of the Hungarian
Declaration of Independence was the publication, by the

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 101

youthful emperor of Austria, of a very liberal constitution for
all his subjects on tbe 4th of March, 1849. So bountiful
was this constitution in granting political privileges and secu-
rities to all Austrian subjects, without distinction, that the
Magyars had no ostensible ground to complain of it, except
that which is stated in tlieir declaration ; that it divided what
they call their territory " into five parts, separating Transyl-
vania, Croatia, Sclavonia, and Fiume from Hungary, and
creating at the same time a principality for the Servian
rebels," and thus "paralyzed the political existence of the
country." The justice even of this complaint is not very
obvious ; for Transylvania has always had a diet of her own,
Croatia and Sclavonia united also have one, and the degree
in which these diets depend on, or are subject to the Hun-
garian Diet, has never been accurately determined. The
Croatian Diet protests against any such dependence or sub-
jection whatever, and for very good reasons ; for it is permit-
ted to send but three delegates to the Diet at Pesth, which
is wholly controlled by the Magyar nobility. What power
would these ihi-ee delegates have to protect the interests of
the provinces which tliey represent, and which have an ex-
clusively Sctavonian population? It is evident tliat the
separation of these four provinces from Hungary, with which,
indeed, they have never been properly or rightfully united,
was absolutely necessary in order to carry out another article
of the new Austrian coustitution, which is the real object that
the Magyars protest against. This article is the one we have
already quoted, which secures an equality of rights to all the
different races of the empire, and guarantees to each the privi-
lege of retaining its own nationality and language. Other
articles declare, that " for all the races or nations of the empire
there is but one general Austrian citizenship ; " and that " in
no Crown-land shall there be any difl'erence between its
natives and those of another Crown-land, neither in the
administration of civil or criminal justice, nor in the ways and
manners of justice, nor in the distribution of the public bur-
dens." This is in tlie tme republican spirit of equality of
rights and political privileges ; and this was the law which
Austria decreed, and Magyar- Hungary repudiated. The
policy of Austria is evident enough; we grant her no credit
but for submitting frankly and without reserve to what had

102 !Z%« War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

become a political necessity. History furnishes many other
instances of a triangular contest between a despotic raonaich,
an arrogant nobility, and an exasperated people, in which die
crown made common cause with the people, granted all th^
demands, and thus gained power enough to crush the refractory
barons. Royalty is always more prompt to saciiGce its pre-
rogatives, than an aristocracy is to abandon its privileges ; for
the former hopes to retrieve at a future day the ground which
it has lost ; while the latter, if once depressed, can never rise.
But the Magyars found still more serious cause to complain
of the liberality of the new Austrian constitution. It provides
that the Upper House of the General Imperial Diet shall con-
sist of two members chosen by each of the provincial diets,
besides other persons chosen by the Imperial Diet itself,
enough to make the whole number one half as large as that
of the Lower House ; that is, it establishes an equal repre-
sentation of the several Crown-lands in this Upper House,
thus giving to Transylvania, Croatia and Sclavonia, and
Fiume with its territories, equal weight with Hungary, and
of course emancipating them from Hungarian domination.
The constitution of the Lower House in the Imperial Diet
is still more fatal to the lofty pretensions of the Magyars to
govern all other races and nationalities. '* The Lower House
proceeds from general and direct elections. The franchise
belongs to every Austrian citizen who is of age^^ and who
pays a moderate tax, which is not in any case to exceed
twenty florins, and may be as small as 6ve florins. This is
equal suffirage, and it certainly comes as near untoersa/ suflSrage
as any reasonable liberal could desire, considering how little
experience the subjects of Austria have had in managing
representative institutions. Under such a law, the 4,200,000
Magyars lose all control even of Hungary proper, which has
a population of 10,500,000 ; the reins pass at once from their
hands into those of the despised Sciavonians and Wallachians,
who, taken together, number over six millions. The Magyar
nobility, who number about 600,000, beheld themselves
reduced from a condition in which they had the entire con-
trol of public afliiirs to a level with the eight millions of
peasants. This proud aristocracy is absolutely crushed by
the genuine republicanism of the constitution. This was the
grievance which produced the Hungarian Declaration of Inde-

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 103

pendence, a Declaration put forth by a Diet constituted almost
exclusively of the Magyar nobility. Up to the 4th of March,
1849, the reunion of Hungary with Austria was possible, and
even probable, though open hostilities had existed between
them for nearly six months; but on that date, the new con-
stitution was issued, and the Magyar nobles immediately threw
away the scabbard, and declared that they fought for absolute
national independence.

That tliey might not be absolutely without allies in a con-
test which would evidently be a long and desperate one, and
as they could find no friends among the subject races in their
own countiy whom they had so long oppressed, they resolvedll
to make common cause with the ultra republicans of Vienna, I'l
and, indeed, of Germany and all Europe. It was this allianceU
which varnished over tlieir aristocratic purposes and tendencies \\
with a false appearance of democracy, and gained for them |\
tbo misdirected sympathies of the liberal parly in both herais- ' /
pberes. To one who has studied the history, character, and
condition of the Magyar race in Hungary, this alliance cer-
tainly appears one of the most preposterous that was ever
framed. It can be explained only on the principle so fre-
quently exemplified in the movements of political parties, that
extremes meet. The most striking feature in the Magyar
character is the chivalrous, haughty, and aristocratic spirit
which has been fostered by centuries of undisputed dominion
over the nations whom their ancestors conquered nearly a
thousand years ago, and by a continued struggle with the
house of Austria to preserve the exclusive privileges of their
order and their race. An intense feeling of nationality has
always directed iheir conduct. To appease their growing
discontent and gain their enthusiastic support, it was necessary
rather to flatter this prejudice of race than to serve their real
and material interests, Maria Theresa knew them well when
she appeared before the assembled Diet in deep mourning, but
with a helmet and plume on her head, a light sabre girded to
her side, and wuh her infant in her arms, threw herself upon
their generosity for support. The delighted assembly rose
hke one man, and clashing their sabres together, which these
warlike legislators always carry even to the halls of debate,
they uttered the memorable exclamation, Moriamur pro rege
nottro, Maria Thereto, The whole scene would have ap-

104 7%€ War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

peared theatrical and in bad taste to any other legislative body
in Europe ; but it was perfectly in character for the Magyars,
who have shown the same spirit on more recent occasions.

Even of late years, when ideas of progress and democratic
reform had pushed their way even into Hungary, the great
question at the Diet did not relate to the mode of embody-
ing these ideas into legislative acts, but to the doubt whether
the king, at the close of the session, would wear the Hungarian
surcoat or the Austrian royal mantle ; and whether he would
make his speech in Magyar or in German. The manner in
which the royal propositions were received, (the crown had
the initiative in all legislative acts,) depended much more on
the solution of these doubts than on the nature of the proposi-
tions themselves. " I still remember," says an eye witness,
^' the closing of the diet of 1840. The discussions had been
stormy, and the members were about to separate with angry
and resentful feelings. There were some at Vienna who coun-
selled vigorous and severe measures. But there was a surer
means of allaying the discontent. The emperor appeared in
the Magyar hussar uniform, and the empress and her ladies
bore the long white veil which the Magyar dames wear on
great festival occasions. The assembly, electriBed at the
sight, made the hall resound with their cries of joy and tri-
umph ; and at the first word pronounced by the emperor in the
Magyar language, the enthusiasm broke through all bounds,
and he was not permitted to finish the sentence which he had
learned with some difficulty."

This enthusiasm of character, coupled with some pictur-
esque peculiarities of dress and customs, is one great cause of
the favor with which the cause of the Magyars has been re-
ceived in Europe. The established mode of taking the vote
in the Diet has always been by acclamation, so that unanimity
was often supposed when it did not exist. A noble never ap-
pears in public without the long and trailing sabre peculiar to
hb race, which, as already observed, he carries even into the
legislative halls ; whence the proverbial saying among them,
" he has his arms, and he has his vote ; his vote is therefore
free.*' Assent was signified by clashing these sabres ; and
their late Palatine, the archduke Joseph, was noted for hb
quickness of ear and impartiality in determining ^hether
more sabres were clashed in the affirmative or the negative of

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 105

a question. In this instance, as in many others, we see thai
the Magyar pride of race and strong atlachment to ancestral
tisages liave brought down a rude custom of the Middle Ages
to modem times, in which il has no real significance, though
it gives to their proceedings a factitious air of unanimity and
chivalric feeling. The noted scene with Maria Theresa, for
instance, as it is usually reported in history, gives a wholly
false impression. The custom, indeed, has a historical mean-
ing ; it throws a broad light on the ancient constitution of the
Diet, which consisled of 80,000 mounted nobles assembled
OD the plain of Rakos to determine on war or peace, and ut-
tering aJl together the formidable cry, " To arras ! " — after
which no scrutiny of the vote was needed.

Again, the ordinary assemblage of the militia in Hungary,
to perform the military service required of them by the tenure
of their lands, is called the insurrection, a word which, as re-
peated by the historians, gives quite a false aspect to the occur-
rence. The splendid attire of the Hungarian soldiery, espe-
cially of the cavalr}', in which arm alone the nobles are bound
to serve, shows the rude and barbaric taste for magnificence
which has descended to ihem from tlieir Tartar ancestors, and
has been religiously cultivated aa a badge of their race. Yet
their dress is well designed for military purposes, as the im-
posing aspect of an army is often an element of its success ;
the Magyar bussar jacket, embroidered with gold and pearls,
has been copied in half the armies of Europe. One reason
of ibe lasting popularity of tlie late Palatine was, that he al-
ways wore the national dress, especially the attila, a sort of
tunic of cloth or black velvet, the name of which flatteis the
pride of the Magyars with tlie memory of thwr supposed an-
cient leader, and the mmte, a long surcoat or pelisse, trimmed
with fur. He also spoke with great fluency the Magyar lan-
guage, a rare accomphsbment for a native German, though no
officer of rank in Hungaiy would be tolerated who had not
acquired it. The nobles pay great attention to the physical
education of iheir children, accustoming them from a very
early age to all manly exercises, especially swimming and
borsemanship. The noted reformer, Count Szechenv, a mag-
nate of bigb rank and great wealth, la reported to be the best
swimiiier in Hungary ; a crowd often collected on the quay
at Pesth when tlie rumor was circulaled tbai be was about to
swim over tbe E>aaube.

106 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

Many of the characteristics of the Magyar race interest
the imagination and the feelings strongly in their favor ; but
the sober judgment of one who looks at them under all the
light derived from the improved civilization of the nineteenth
century cannot but condemn their position as a false one,
their mstitutions as antiquated, and their character and cus-
toms as little suited to promote their intellectual and material
well-being. The most intelligent among them have long
admitted the necessity of great reforms, and during the twenty
years which immediately preceded the recent war, many
beneficial changes were actually made, and the way was paved
for others of greater moment. The credit of these ameli-
orations is chiefly due to Count Szecheny, one of the noblest
and best reformers of whom any age or country can boast.
Having a princely fortune, an enterprising and generous dis-
position, and an intellect thoroughly cultivated by books and
foreign travel, joining the enthusiasm and the perseverance of
a reformer to ^e practical skill and tact of a statesman, and
being both an accomplished writer and an eloquent and prac-
tised debater, he has accomplished so much for his country that
she owes him a larger debt of gratitude than is due to all her
sovereigns and warriors united. His first enterprise, com-
menced twenty years since, was an attempt to improve the nav-
igation of the Danube, a work of immense importance, as we
have shown, to the prosperity of the country. The obstruc-
tions in the river were so great, that only large rafts and some
rude bateaux were sent down stream, to be broken up when
they had once arrived at the Black Sea. Szecheny built at his
own expense a light and stout boat in which he descended
the river himself, and ascertained that the rocks and rapids
were not so formidable as had been supposed. He then
organized a company for removing the greatest obstacles from
the bed of the stream, and placing a line of steamboats upon
it. The undertaking had complete success, and within one
year the boats were plying regularly from Ratisbon to Vienna,
and iirom Vienna to Constantinople. The enterprise excited
great enthusiasm in Hungary ; the Austrian government favor-
ed it, and contributed largely for its execution. Mettemich
himself was pleased, and became one of the first stock-
holders, though he laughed at the boasting of the Mao^vars
respecting it, " who thought they had invented the Danube."

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 107

This work made Szecheny very popular: but as yet his
countrymen regarded him only as an able engineer. He soon
showed himself, however, a politician and publicist of tha
highest rank, by a number of pamphlets published in quick
succession, advocating with great eloquence and ability some
important changes in the constitution of the state and the re-
lations between the peasants and the nobility. These pam-
phlets were the first productions of importance written, not
in Latin or German, but in the Magyar tongue. Szecheny
knew his countrymen well, and was aware how much favor
might be conciliated for his schemes by this innovation in
language. His arguments were directed chiefly against the
tithes, road-tax, duly -services, and other feudal burdens on
the land, and against the exemption of the nobility from tax-
ation. He proposed to redeem the tithes and the road-tax
by means of a national loan, after the example that had been
successfully set in several of the German stales. Following
up warmly in the Diet the schemes which he had broached
in his pamphlets, he soon had the satisfaction of finding him-
self at the head of a numerous and active party, both in the
legislature and the country at large, who eagerly seconded his
designs. The discussion was carried on with great spirit on
both sides, and the interest which it excited threw all other
subjects into the shade. " The old feudal edifice erected by
St. Stephen, fortified by Andreas II., besieged and breached
for three centuries by Austria, was to open its gates to a more
powerful assailant, the spirit of the age." The Diet of 1836
adopted several of Sz^cheny's proposed reforms ; other steps
in the same direction were taken by that of 1840; and the
discussion of others was interrupted only by the thunder of
the revolutions of Paris and Vienna, Among the many dis-
astrous consequences of those great convulsions, perhaps the
most lamentable of all was the interruption, the ruin, of
Szficheny's work of peaceful reform in Hungar)'.

The brilliant reputation which Szecheny acquired was
earned as much by his temperance, and his regard for justice
and the rights of all, as by the boldness of the changes that
he proposed. "I wish," he remarked, "to awaken my
countrymen so that they may walk, and not that they may
throw themselves out of the window." His popularity be-
came immense. His name was in every mouth, and the

108 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

counties vied with each other in sending him addresses of
congratulation and rights of citizenship. When he arrived
in any village, the peasants went out to meet him with music,
and called him their father and liberator. The Diet of
Transylvania sent him an entire gold pen several feet in length,
and the national academy, the circle of the nobility, and the
institute of the Hungarian language, at the same time, elected
him their president. His name was given to the first steam-
boat which glided down the lower Danube ; and in every
drawing room at Pesth, the stranger might see an engraving
in which Szecheny appeared in a sort of apotheosis surround-
ed by luminous clouds, while beneath Hungary was repre-
sented as coming out of chaos, and the Danube, covered by
vessels of all nations, flowed on majestically, not firetted by
rocks or rapids, towards the sea. It is afflicting to be oblig^
to add, that when, in 1848, Count Szecheny saw his great
work interrupted, his popularity overcast, his place usurped
by demagogues and radicals of the lowest stamp, and his
country wrapped in the flames of a civil war, the shock was
too great for his reason, and he made an attempt on his life.
He threw himself into the Danube, whence he was~ rescued
with difficulty, to be still preserved, let us hope, till he can
again reap his reward from the returning reason of his coun-
trymen.

It is much to the credit of the Austrian government, that
although Szecheny was the leader of the constitutional oppo-
sition in the Diet, it adopted nearly all his projects of reform,
and submitted them, under the form of royal propositions, to
be discussed by both houses. Strange to say, also, these
propositions were received with most favor in the upper house ;
many of the magnates, especially the younger ones, warmly
welcomed the new ideas of progress and social reform. " I
do not know any class of men," says Langsdorff, " who, by
their character, their liberality, and their devotion to the com-
mon good, merit more fully the high prerogatives they enjoy
than these Hungarian magnates. A noble and chivalrous
race, they are still worthy of the eulogy which Montesquieu
pronounced upon them; their valor amounts to heroism in
fight, their generosity to self-sacrifice so far as wealth b con-
cerned." In their voluntary contributions to benevolent and
national objects, they put to shame the munificence of the

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 109

rich in England. Thus, to the national academy established
in 1827, for the propagation and improvement of the Magyar
language, Count Szecheny gave $(30,000, Prince Baihiany
nearly as much. Count Karoly ^25,000, and the two Ester-
hazys about ^16,000. This object, it is true, is regarded
as one of vast interest and importance in Hungary, where at-
tachment to the Magyar language is considered the true mea-
sure of one's patriotism. Thus, a military school was founded
about twenty years ago, for the benefit of the children of
the poor nobility. The government approved tlie project,
and fram the liberal contributions of the magnates, a splendid
edifice was erected. Up to the last moment it had been taken
for granted, that in all the exercises of the instiruiion the
Magyar language alone would be used. But just as the
school was about to be opened, the government decided, ver)'
reasonably, that this would destroy all unity of action in the
imperial army, in which the words of command must neces-
sarily be given iu German. An order was consequently
issued, that the Magyar language should not be used in the
school; and the effect was that not a single pupil presented
himself for admission. To this day, the building, a large and
handsome structure, has remained unoccupied.

The opposition to Szechtny's plans proceeded chiefly from
the inferior or untitled nobility, who feared that the overthrow
of the ancient feudal constitution would also be the downfall
of the inordinate privileges and political influence of their
order. They were the only class who were benefited by the
retention of antiquated customs ; the magnates, with their
vast landed estates, and having the entire control of the upper
house in the Diet, would still be predominant in the stale,
even if their feudal privileges should be swept away. But
the lesser nobles, many of whom are quite poor, would have
no more power than the burghers of the free cities, or the
wealthier class of the emancipated peasants, if the historical
ground should be taken away from them, and the abuses and
inequalities of the feudal system abolished. The ancient
constitution of Hungary was made, as we have seen, solely
for the benefit of this class ; in their favor, for the protection
of their order, the Golden Bull of Andreas II, had been
issued. Hitherto every one of their number had called him-
self a member of the crown of Hungary ; be was a part of

VOL. LXK. NO. 146. 10

110 The War of Race* in Hungary. [Jan.

the sovereignty. Their idea of the constitution correspond-
ed perfectly to Rousseau's definition of the government of
Poland, " where the nobles are every thing, the burghers
nothing, and the peasants less than nothing." Their only
scheme of political conduct was to allow of no innovation in
the ancient customs of the Magyars, and to manifest constant
jealousy of the house of Austria, whose interests coincided
with those of the oppressed peasants and of the subject races
of the population, inasmuch as these ancient customs obstructed
the political influence of all three. It suited the untitled
nobles to declare, that they were contending for the ancient
liberties of Hungary, when in fact they were opposing the
emancipation of the peasants, and endeavoring to prevent the
subject Sclavonians and Wallachians from breaking their
chains.

It was natural, therefore, that while Sz^heny and the old
liberal party, the constitutional opposition in the Diet, were
gradually attracted towards the ministerialists because the
ministry favored their plans of social amelioration, a new and
more radical party should be formed behind them, whose poli-
tics consisted merely in inflexible resistance to the crown and
in opposition to Austrian influence on all occasions. Count
Batbiany was the first leader of this new party ; but their
course soon became too violent and excessive to be favored

^ by any magnate, and his influence was superseded by that of

II Paul Nagy and Kossuth, two radical deputies who had be-

Q 5>S ^^ ^^ I V\ come distinguished by their powers in debate. The latter of

these is not even a Magyar by birth, but a Magyarized
~^^ Slowack lawyer, who attended the Diet of 1836 in the very

humble capacity of secretary of one of its members. He
soon distinguished himself by publishing a manuscript journal
of the proceedings, (a printed one being prohibited by the
censorship,) which journal was actually copied by hand, and
circulated in considerable numbers through the country.
Some of his other publications transgressed the bounds of
law more openly, so that he was apprehended and imprison-
ed for a time. When released, his popularity having grown
through the persecution he had suffered, he was chosen a
deputy, and became of course a more flaming patriot than
ever. His extraordinary eloquence led captive the minds of
bis hearers, so that, after the revolution, he acquired the entire

1850.] The War of Races in Hmgari,. Ill

control of ihe Diet, and was finally appointed Supreme Dic-
tator of Hungary during the war. In fact, Kossuth's party,
ever since it was organized, has been endeavoring to effect a
complete separation of Hungary from Austria, the preserva-
tion of feudal privileges and the domination of the Magyar
race being of more importance in their eyes than the promo-
tion of the commercial and other material interests of the
country and the intellectual cultivation of its people. Sz6che-
ny and his friends, on the other hand, aware that Hungary
would be thrown into an isolated and semibarbarous positioD
if cut off from its present political connection with central
and western Europe, have aimed to secure the assistance of
Austria in developing the resources of the kingdom, adapting
its institutions to the spirit of the age, and diffusing intelli-
gence and refinement among its inhabitants. This party, and 1
the magnates generally, seem to have remained passive during
the late revolutionary war ; one of the Esterha^vs is the only /
titled noble w ho appears to have acted with the insurgents. '
~ The questi3n~t)f"1airgtiage has hart ni5l'¥" JfifluSice than
any other on the politics of Hungary for the last thirty years.
In a country where there was so great confusion of tongues,
it was absolutely necessary that some one language should be
chosen for a universal medium in matters of government and
legislation. The Latin has long been adopted for this pur-
pose, its use having come down from the Middle Ages, when
it was the general medium of learning throughout Europe, and
its preservation in Hungary so long after it was abandoned
elsewhere being due to the rivalry of different nationalities,
two or three of which have been offended by the selection of
any living language. The Latin was neutral ground, on which
the German, the Magyar, the Sclavonian, and the Walla-
chian could meet without cause of offence. Joseph II. of
Austria, a philosophical schemer who projected many excel-
lent reforms, but spoiled them all by an excessive love of
system and uniformity, and by a want of tact and discretion
in carrying them out, nearly caused a rebellion in Hungary by
undertaking to make the German language universal there;
he required it to be used in all public acts, in all schools and
seminaries of education, in civil offices, and in military com-
mand. The haughty Magyars had been already offended by
the contempt he had manifested for their peculiar institutions ;

Hf^

112 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

he had altered the organization of the comitats, or counties,
those little federal republics first established by St. Stephen ;
he had refused to be crowned king of Hungary, and had even
carried away the golden crown from Buda to Vienna ; he had
attempted to impose taxes on the nobles. These things they
had borne, though sulkily ; but when he attempted to sup-
plant their noble language by the hated German, the spirit of
the nation was effectually roused, and their resistance became
so menacing that he was obliged to revoke all his reforms,
and reestablish Magyarism throughout Hungary. As he was
not crowned at Buda, his acts were considered null, and they
do not now appear on the statute book of the kingdom.

The Magyars had thus vindicated the respect due to their
own vernacular tongue, but they were not willing to respect
the language and the national feeling of others. By con-
stantly pressing the Austrian government on this point ever
since 1800, they had at last succeeded in causing the Latin
to be supplanted by the Magyar language in the delibera-
tions of the Diet and in the acts of the government ; this
change was not consummated till 1844. The few Sclavo-
nians in the legislature were still allowed, as of necessity, to
address the assembly in Latin, and the government officials
sometimes spoke German, though they risked their popularity
by so doing. Having carried this point against the imperi-
alists, the Magyars attempted to impose their language upon
the subject races, and to oblige them to use it upon all occa-
sions. The schoolmasters and the clergy, in every province
and every village, though it might be inhabited exclusively
by Sclavonians and Wallacbians, were ordered to teach and
to preach only in the Magyar tongue. This law created great
irritation everywhere, but especially in Croatia. This pro-
vince is in the same situation with regard to Hungary, that
Hungary holds in respect to Austria. Together with its sister
province of Sclavonia, it has a diet of its own, which meets
at Agram, and is allowed to send three representatives to the
general Hungarian Diet at Presburg or Pesth. The chief of
these two provinces, who is styled the Ban of Croatia, holds
the same relative position that the Palatine does in Hungary ;
he is responsible directly to the emperor, is chosen by the
Croatian Diet, and claims to act independently of the Pala-
tine. The Croats were very willing to abandon the Latin

1850.] The liar of Racei in Hungary. 113

for the sake of their own language, but not for the purpose
of speaking the Magyar. They echoed back with one voice
the declaration of their Diet, nolumiu Magyarisan. The
national feeling was effectually roused on this subject, and the
Hungarian law was reprobated as holli insulting and injurious.
The Slowacks of the north of Hungary united with iheni in
resistance to the law ; and the Sclavonians generally were
attracted towards the emperor, and sought, by increasing the
influence of Austria, to erect for themselves a barrier against
the haughty dominion of the Magyars. Ever since 1830,
the deputies of Croatia in the Hungarian Diet have acted
with the Austrian ministry, and supported the propositions of
the Crown.

Croatia has been aptly called the Ireland of Hungary, and
M. Louis Gaj aspires to play the part of its O'Connell. He
began his career of agitation in 1835, striving to awaken the
national feelings of the Illyrians, and to stir up hostility to
the Magyars, the "Sasons" who for centuries have op-
pressed these honest "Celts." Hoping ultimately to make
Croatia wholly independent of Hungary, he began with the
simple project of defending the language and the local lib-
erties of his country against the encroachments and the cen-
tralizing spirit of the Magyars. His movements were at first
tolerated, and even countenanced, by Austria, who hoped to
find in the awakened energy and resolution of the Sclavonians
the means of holding the Hungarians in check, and a pretence
for refusing some of their increasing demands. But the agita-
tion throughout the Illyrian provinces, fanned by the skilful
proceedings of M. Gaj, had reached so great a height in 1845,
that the Austrian government deemed it necessary to adopt
some measures to stay its force. On occasion of a trifling
tumuli at the elections held in Agram, the Ban Haller ordered
the troops to 6re on the people, and a number of them were
killed ; among whom were some young men of respectable
families, devoted friends of the new movement. The whole
city immediately broke out in insurrection, and Haller, in order
to save his authority and his life, was obliged temporarily to
give up his oflice to M. Gaj, who alone had power to stay
the tempest.

The patriot leader was too politic to take this occasion for
breaking all tems with the Austrian government and engaging
10*

114 7%e War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

in a desperate war for independence ; though his countrymen
were unanimous, and their zeal was roused to the highest
pitch, he knew they would be overmatched by the power of
the empire and by the warlike spirit of the Magyars. He af-
fected, therefore, to represent the afiair to Metternich as the
result of a plot long meditated against the Illyrians, fonned
by the Ban Haller in concert with the Hungarians. Delighted
to have the matter put in this light, the Austrian minister at
once consented to recall Haller, to allow the patriot bbhop T)f
Agram to be elected temporary viceroy or Ban, and to relax
the censorship so far as to allow the circulation of certain
books, till then prohibited, among which was a very bold
history of all the Illyrian races, written in the national lan-
guage by M. Gaj himself. With these concessions, and some
others relating to the constitution of the Croatian Diet, the
Dlyrian agitator returned to Agram to denounce the Magyars
more violently than ever. He wished to obtain a military
leader for that movement of which he was himself the head,
and he found one in Baron Jellachich, a young colonel of the
troops on the military frontier, of simple manfiers and resolute
character, devoted to the welfare of Croatia and the advance-
ment of the Sclavonian race, and who has since shown con-
siderable ability as an orator and a diplomatist, no less than
as a soldier. The feelings of the Croatians, directed entirely
by M. Gaj, were soon manifested so strongly in favor of Jel-
lachich, that the Austrian ministry was forced to approve bis
election as Ban, which gave him the full control of the troops
in the province, and great influence over the Austrian Scla-
vonians everywhere.

The beginning of this agitation in the Illyrian provinces
may be traced back to the scheme developed and advocated
several years ago by M. Kollar, a Slowack poet, who pro-
posed to unite all the Sclavonians in Europe under one head,
and thus establish a new and powerful empire, which might
sway the destinies of the world. Panslavism was the name
given to this project, which has been received with so much
favor in Russia and other Sclavonic countries, as to create
serious jealousy and uneasiness in Germany. The Sclavonic
fiunily constitutes from one third to one half of the whole
population of Europe ; the Russians, Poles, Lithuanians, two
thirds of the Bohemians, one half of the Hungarians, the

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 115

Dalmatians, Croatians, Bosnians, Servians, and Bulgarians
are of tliis slock. The eastern half of Europe is peopled
by them, and were they united, they could subjugate the
whole continent. No other European race is one half as
numerous ; no one excels them in bravery, patience, and
fortitude, though they are deficient in enterprise and the
power of combination. Numerous instances go to show thai
their inlellect is susceptible of a high degree of cultivation ;
thbugh they have been for so many centuries in a servile and
depressed condition (hat their name, Slave, has become the
general denomination of those in servitude. The scheme of
uniting them inlo one empire is, of course, propounded in the
interest of Russia, which country would be the head of this
grand confederacy. M. Kollar is Russian in his politics,
though not, we believe, a Russian by birth ; and this fact has
probably caused his project to be received with less favor
than it seemed to deserve in Poland, Austria, and European
Turkey, though he has developed it with singular learning,
ingenuily, and eloquence. The recent war in Hungary has
done more than any event in the history of Europe during
the present century to make the realization of his scheme
appear possible, and even probable. For ihe first time, the
Russians have come into action as the allies of the Sclavonic
races south of the Danube, to assist them in crushing the
insolent dominion of a race of intruders who have ruled them
with a rod of iron while vindicating their own freedom and
independence against the pretensions of the house of Austria.
The quarrel between the Magyars and the Croatians has
brought out in strong relief the characteristics of the two races.
Brave, high-spirited, and imperious, the former treated the
complaints of their ancient subjects, as they consider them,
with scorn, and heaped new provocations on them just at the
moment when they were bringing upon themselves a desperate
couflict with Austria. More patient and politic, the Croa-
tians took measures to secure the aid both of the emperor and
of the Russians before they threw deGance in the teeth of the
Magyars. Kollar, Gaj, and Jellachich had skilfully excited
their national feelings, and they acted together with great
firmness and unanimity. They exposed very fully the in-
coDsbtency of the Magyars, who thought it natural and right
to enfranchise themselves from all foreign dominion, and to

116 7%e War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

reconquer their individuality as a nation and a race ; but wbo
were astonished and indignant, that the lUyrians and the
Wallachians living within the borders of Hungary should
experience the same desire and cherish the same hopes. The
Croatians held high and menacing language to compel the
emperor to espouse their quarrel. In a memorial addressed
to him before hostilities had broken out they exclaimed,
'^ Emperor, if you reject our prayers, we shall know how to
vindicate our liberty without you ; and we prefer to dTie
heroically, like a Sclavonian people, rather than to bear any
longer such a yoke as b imposed upon us by an Asiatic horde,
firom whom we have nothing good to receive or to learn.
Emperor, know that we prefer, if we must choose between
them, the knout of the Russians to the insolence of the
Magyars. We will not, on any terms, belong to the Magyars.
Remember that, if Croatia forms but a thirty-&fth part of your
empire, the Croatians constitute a third of your whole in-
fantry."

As a farther illustration of the spirit of the people at this
time, we give a translation of a Sclavonian song, written by
one of their patriots, which obtained great popularity through-
out the Illyrian provinces.

^^ Whoever is a Sclavonian and a hero, let him wave his banner
in the air ; let him gird on his sabre, and mount his fiery steed.
Forward, brothers ! God is with us, and the devils are our ene-
mies.

^^ See how the black and savage Tartar is treading our nation
and our language under foot. Let us resist before he prostrates
us. Forward, brothers ! Grod is with us, and the devils are our
enemies.

" Let the brave Sclavonian of the North and the Illyrian of the
South join hands at this festival. Behold already the gleam of
their lances, hear the sound of the trumpets and the thunder of
the cannon. Forward, brothers ! God is with us, and the devils
are our enemies.

^^ The time is come to wash ourselves in the blood of our
enemies. Let each one, then, strike down a head. Forward,
brothers ! Grod is with us, and the devils are our enemies."

The Sclavonians were not the only enemies within the
bosom of their country whom the Magyars provoked. The
Germans, who had founded cities in the interior, establishing

J850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 117

themselves as commercial and manufacturing colonisls in ihe
midst of this rude and warlike agricultural populalion, were
made to feel tbeir isolated position, and the arrogance of the
aristocratic masters of the soil around them. The lines of
separation between the heterogeneous races were preserved
with Jewish scrupulousness; each has retained its language,
features, dress, and occupation unchanged for centuries. The
situation of the Germans is most peculiar in tlie extreme
eastern and southeastern provinces, in Transylvania and the
Banal, Here they are surrounded by the rude and fierce
Szeklers, a race who are bom soldiers, allied in blood and
language to the Magyars, whom they preceded a century or
two in the occupation of the country. Their banner is in-
dicative of their character ; it bears a heart pierced through
and through with a sword. Amid this half-barbarous people,
in a rugged and mountainous country at the extreme limit of
European civilization towards the east, a colony from the
heart of Germany was established in the course of the twelfth
century ; and in spite of the disadvantages of their situation,
they have increased in numbers and wealth. Their blood is
still as pure as when they first left the fatherland ; their fresh
and smiling German faces, their fair hair and light complexion,
indicate their origin as clearly, as do their prudent and econom-
ical habits, and their dogged industry. These grave and
honest burghers are republicans by descent and in predilec-
tion ; they reject all aristocracy, and choose their magistrates
by universal suffrage. In many respects, they remind one of
the fiourishing commercial towns of the Middle Ages ; like
them, they are guarded with high walls and strong fortifica-
tions against the semi-barbarous people wiibout, who are all
warriors, and who are organized like a camp on the frontiers.
If need be, these flourishing citizens will fight stoutly in
defence of the walls which guard their shops and their homes.
The Magyars, Ihe Szeklers, and the Germans formed a
treaty at Torda in the fifteenth century, to divide Transyl-
vania between them, — the two former to do all the fighting,
and the latter to keep the cities and strongholds. They are
the three sovereign nations, as they call themselves, though
they number all together less than a million ; while the sub-
ject nations, most of whom are Wallachians, amount to a
million and a half. These had no part in the union of Torda,

118 TTie War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

which united the other three races, and therefore are allowed
no political or civil rights. They cannot elect their magis-
trates, nor fill public offices ; they are serfs, and cultivate the
fields of their masters. The Magyars, though so few in
number, helped themselves to three fourths of the soil of
Transylvania ; the north and the west, including Carlsbourg,
the capital, are theirs. The Germans, or Saxons as they are
here called, hold the flourishing cities of Cronstadt and Her-
manstadt, with the rich territory in the south, and the district
of Bistritz in the north. Their towns were originally fortified
not more against the Turks than against the Magyars ; and
they have just had renewed occasion to use them against
these foes, whose desperate valor, however, was not repelled
by them. Naturally attached to Germany and to republican
institutions, they saw with dismay, after the grand democratic
outbreak of 1848, that the Magyars were separating all
Hungary from Austria, with a view of preserving their own
aristocratic institutions, and lording it more imperiously than
ever over the other races that inhabited the land. They
inmiediately sent a delegate to the federative Congress at
Frankfort to ask for aid and protection ; but the theorists in
this distracted assembly had neither troops nor money to send
them, and they were left to their fate, — to the arrogance of
the Magyars whom they had oflfended by this step, and to
the ruthless hostility of the Szeklers. The following is an
extract from the address sent by the municipality of Her-
manstadt, on the 9th of June, 1848, through their delegate
to the Frankfort Assembly.

^^ Grerman brothers, seven centuries ago, a branch of the na-
tional tree, the gigantic oak of Germany, was planted in the
oriental valleys of the Carpathian mountains ; its extended roots
have penetrated to the soil of the fatherland, and continually
drawn nourishment from it The air and the light of Germany
have continued to warm and to cheer us. In the midst of the aris-
tocratic and feudal institutions of the other races which threaten to
stifle our civilization, we have remained German citizens. Yes,
brothers ; in spite of the local separation, we have preserved with
old Grerman fidelity the manners and the language of our com-
mon ancestors. At the moment when the European edifice is
everywhere crumbling into ruin, the legislator, like Archimedes,
needs a fixed point on which to rest and sustain the world. This
point has been found. Let the Grerman fatherland extend to

1850.] The War of Riices in Hungary. 119

every region where tlio Gernmn language is spoken. With our
whole heHrls wo will join you in causing our national airs lo re*
souad from the banks of tlie Vistula lo those of the Rhine. The
children have not forgotten their mother, the moiher has not for-
gotten her children. Generous voices have spoken in the impe-
rial city, in this very assembly, in favor of maintaining the rights
of Transylvanian Germany ; we wish, intleed, [hat our great and
powerful fatherland had used a bolder lone, and not restricted
itself to entreating the Utile nation of the Magyars, but had ordered
it lo respect the German nationality."

Ill this general turmoil, ihe Wallacliians, also, were moved
to demand a restoration of those rights, llie common rights of
humanity, of which they had been deprived for centuries.
Some of the younger members of tlie Greek clergy inspired
ihem with a generous ambition, and taught them to shake
impatiently the yoke of subjection antl helotism which had
so long weighed upon their necks. The example of their
brethren across the frontier, also, in the principalities of Mol-
davia and Wallachia, who had recently driven off some of
their petty local tyrants, had given ihem new ideas of freedom
and new hopes of ameliorating their situation by their own
efforts. In the last Diet which was held in Transylvania
before the revolution of 1848, the Wallachians had uttered
their cotnplaints, and asked at least a hearing for their cause.
It was sternly and stubbornly refused ; the three sovereign
nations agreed with each other on this point, if on no other,
that the subject race, which outnumbered them all three to-
gether, should not be admitted to an etjuality of rights with
themselves. The Saxon burghers in this respect showed no
more liberality than the Magyar magnates or the Szekler
nobles ; they would not violate the ancient constitution of the
duchy. The Austrian ministry hoped nothing from the efforts
of the Wallachians, and therefore did not befriend them.
The suppliants were rejected on all sides. Then the revo-
lution broke out, and they offered to serve ia the ranks of the
Magyars if these would proclaim tlieir emancipation. The
offer was contemptuously refused ; and in their despair, the
Wallachians joined that parly, the weakest one, whose pro-
fessions seemed most liberal, though their conduct belied their
words. They made commoil cause with the republican Ger-
mans, and contributed not a little to distract the attention and
divide the forces of the Magyar insurgents.

lao The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

The war in Hungary, then, was by no means so simple an
affiiir as most persons have imagined. It was not a com-
bined efhn of the whole people of a subjugated province
striving to regain their national independence. Hungary
never was conquered by Austria ; but she sought and contin-
ued the alliance as a means of protection against the Turks,
and of commercial and political union with central and west-
em Europe. It was not a republican movement, or the
rising of the lower classes in the state against the higher,
with a view of securing a more equal distribution of political
rights and social advantages. Republicanism was never
pretended by the Magyars, and is not even mentioned in
their Declaration of Independence. It was an attempt on
the part of the Magyar untitled nobility, 600,000 in number,
to preserve the ancient feudal constitution of the state, which
guarantied their aristocratic privileges and the dominion of
their race, against the liberal constitution granted by the
emperor of Austria, which destroyed all distinctions of rank
and race, and established the modem ideas of equal repre-
sentation, equal suffrage, the freedom of the press, and the
liberty of individuals, on the ruins of feudalism.

^ In the general melee that ensued, each party and race
fought on its own hook ; each formed alliances and sought,
support with a view only to the exigences of the moment,

' and without the slightest reference to the political and social
doctrines of those whose aid they invoked, and whose cause
they really subserved. The Magyars, aristocrats in a dou-
ble sense, both as an order and a race, and now in arms to
preserve their obsolete feudal institutions, made common
cause with the Red Republicans of Vienna, who, like their
brethren throughout Europe, aimed simply at the inversion of
the old order of things, and the utter destruction of all exist-
ing forms of society and government. The Croats and oth^
Sclavonians, democratic in their instincts and purposes, and
proscribed as rebels by both parties at the beginning of the
contest, fought gallantly to assist the emperor of Austria in
cmshing the insurgent nobility of Hungary. The republican
German burghers of Transylvania united themselves first
with the Wallachian serfs, whose petition for emancipation
they had just rejected, and then invited the Russians into the
country to protect them from the merciless hostility of the
Magyars and the Szeklers, who had been their unwavering

1850.] The War of Races in Hrmgnry. 121

allies for four centuries. Austria, the old champion of despo-
tism in southern Europe, having just crushed the last hopes
of the Italian liberals in Lonibardyand Piedmont, engage.i in
a crusade for the purpose of forcing a liberal constitution
upon feudal and aristocratic Hungary, and of destroying thai r . .

chivalrous nobility, whose enthusiastic bravery had more than Iff / *

once, within a century, saved the empire when menaced by // fc-^AiL'

the arras of coalized Europe. Russia- ag gr ^ iifiivp and selfish '
as her policy usually has been, lias acted wit h slrati^e mag-
nanimity and forbearan ce ; she entered Hungary only at the"
call, or under th^pretence, of humanity, to protect the help-
less Germans and Wallachians j her army crushed the insur- '
rection by one decisive blow, and then, although the country
was entirely in her power, and the Sclavonians, who form
nearly half of its population, would gladly have become her
subjects, she has quietly withdrawn her troops without making
any demand for the expenses of the war, or any stipulation
for her own territorial aggrandizement.

This statement of the case will take most persons in this \
country by surprise ; for deceived by t he prose diihvrambics o f I
Kossuth, by the romantic history, chivalrous daring, and the- '
alrical garb and manner of the Magyars, and by the prodigious
lies of the ultra republican press in Germany, which spread
a fresh report of the utter annihilation of the Austrian and
Russian armies once a fortnight, we had generally come to
believe, that the republican cause in Europe depended on the
success of the insurrection in Hungary, and that this cause
was almost sure to succeed from the unparalleled bravery
and activity of the Magyars. The newspapers here attacked
the American President with severity, because he did not
immediately recognize the independence of Hungary, and
send out a special minister to conclude an offensive and de-
fensive alliance with the gallant insurgents. It is true, that
we can never have any intercourse or connection with this
isolated country in the east of Europe, which has not a single
seaport, any more than with the Cham of Tartary ; but this
fact is of no importance in the eyes of those who believe
that the spirit of propagandism is the essence of republican
institutions. The Magyars, indeed, fought with great gal-
lantry; it was hardly possible to avoid sympathizing with a
people who struggled so bravely against immense odds. But

VOL. i,xx. — NO. UG. II

122 7%e War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

their cause was bad ; they sought to defend their antiquated
feudal institutions, and their unjust and excessive privileges as
an order and a race, against the incursion of the liberal ideas
and the reformatory spirit of the nineteenth century.

We can notice only very briefly a few incidents in
the history of the struggle which illustrate those peculiar-
ities in the internal condition of Hungary that we have
endeavored to point out. When the revolution of March
at Vienna, and the flight of Mettemich, had seemingly dis-
solved the Austrian empire, and left each of its componeot
parts to crystallize into new forms under its own internal
aflinities, as many distinct revolutionary movements were
made as there were diflferent races which had hitherto ac-
knowledged the authority of the emperor. The people of
Venice and Lombardy threw off all connection with Ger-
many, and sought a union with the Italian patriots through-
out the peninsula. The radical party in the Hungarian
Diet at once obtained the ascendency, and decreed that
Hungary in future should have an independent administra-
tion and a separate ministry, including even a department
for foreign affairs ; that is, it decided to retain all the advan-
tages, but to acknowledge none of the reciprocal obligations,
of its connection with Austria. Hard as these conditions
were, they were accepted without remonstrance by the ter-
rified and powerless imperial government. The two races
who form the population of Bohemia broke out into open
hostilities against each other ; the Czechs or Sclavonians,
numbering nearly three millions, sought to avenge them-
selves for the long subjection in which they had been held
by the Germans, who are hardly half as numerous. They
demanded, among other things, that the two races should be
admitted to an equality of political rights, and that all pub-
lic officers should be required to speak both languages. The
Emperor instantly granted all they asked, and the Ger-
mans of Bohemia consequently found, that the whole power
had passed into the hands of their rivals, who, intoxicated by
their sudden transition as a race from servitude to supremacy,
I were prepared to make the best use of their advantages.
I The Czechs of Moravia and Silesia joined the movement,
\ and a call was issued for a grand Pansclavonic congress, to
I meet at Prague on the 31st of May, to take measures for
establishing Sclavonic independence on a firm basis.

1850.J The War of Races in Hungary. 123

Meanwhile, the Croalians and other Sclavonians of the
south were not idle. The Ban Jellachich invited all the
Austro-Sclavonic countries to send delegates to a Diet to be
held at Agram, on the 5th of June ; he also opened commu-
nicaljons with Count Leo Thun, the leader of the Czech
party in Bohemia, and proposed to act in concert with him
in alt measures intended to promote the emancipation and
welfare of the race to which they hoth belonged. But the
headlong zeal of the Bohemian Sclavonians wellnigh made
shipwreck of the whole affair ; too eager to use and extend
their newly acquired liberty, they menaced and oppressed
their GermaD countrymen, and decided to ihrow off all con-
nection with Austria even before the day appointed for the
assemblage of their Congress. They established an inde-
pendent provisional government on the 29lh of May, so that
the terrified Bohemian Germans saw themselves deprived of
their last hope, the protection of the emperor. But the
ministry at Vienna denounced this provisional government,
and Prince Windischgriitz, then the Austrian governor of
Prague, encouraged by the German citizens who rallied
around him, took a firm stand in opposition to the revolu-
tionists, and eicposlulated with them on their mad proceed-
ings. The Sclavonians were roused to fury, and a mob of
them having beset his palace, a conflict ensued, and the
Princess Windischgratz was killed by a musket shot. The
bereaved husband still remonstrated with them in mild lan-
guage, but instead of listening to liim, lliey pressed forward
yet more eagerly, and attempted to seize him as a hostage.
The troops then interfered, and after a short but sharp con-
flict, the rioters were driven hack, and Windischgratz left
the city with his forces, and took post on the neighboring
heights. There he was soon joined by Count Mensdorff
with troops from Vienna, and as the insurgents continued
obstinate, he commenced bombarding the city on the 15ih of
June. In two days, the greater part of Prague was laid in
ashes, and the Czechs were compelled to surrender. Then,
of course, the Sclavonian congress and the provisional gov-
ernment were dissolved; and both races in Bohemia, ex-
hausted by the conflict and pained by the desolation it had
caused, resumed their allegiance to the emperor, and waited
for the gradual development of poLtical reform.

124 The War of Races in Hungary, [Jan.

During the short ascendency of the Czechs, they bad
induced or compelled the government at Vienna to admit

\ one of their leaders, Palazky, into the imperial ministry.

^ The pride of the Magyars took fire at this concession to the
Sclavonian race, and Count Bathiany, their envoy at Vienna,
remonstrated in strong terms against the measure, as it tended
to encourage the Slowacks, who were already in rebellion in
the north of Hungary. On the other hand, Jellachicb and
the Croatians supported Palazky. The emperor, who, in
the middle of May, had secretly left his capital and taken
refuge at Innspruck, temporized at first ; but as the conduct
of the Czechs at Prague grew more outrageous, he became
more hostile to the Sclavonian cause, and summoned the
Ban to meet him in the Tyrol, and to give an account of
his conduct. Jellachich not only refused, but attended the
Sclavonian Diet which he had called at Agram, where be
was formally elected Ban by that assembly, having hitherto
held his office by imperial appointment. The Emperor
then denounced him as a rebel, and ordered him to be de-
prived of all his offices and titles ; the Austrian Marshal
Hrabowsky, with a considerable body of troops, was sent to
enforce these commands by the invasion of Croatia and Scla-
vonia. The cities of Carlowitz and Neustadt were imme-
diately invested by the Marshal, and compelled to surrender,
the former after a severe bombardment.

The cause of the Sclavonians now seenjed hopeless, and
but for the politic conduct of Jellachich and his advisers,
their race would probably have been reduced to their former
political insignificance and subjection. Threatened by the
Magyars, and actually invaded by the Austrians, the insur-
rection of the Czechs being entirely suppressed, and that
of the Slowacks being too feeble and isolated to afford any
material aid to the Croatians, the cause was lost if the latter
could not effect a compromise with one of the parties now in
arms against them. The haughty and warlike Magyars
would make no terms with those whom they regarded as
their revolted subjects, whom they had ruled with absolute
dominion for eight centuries. A conference between Jel-
lachich and Bathiany at Vienna, in July, 1848, only showed
that the hostility of the two races was implacable. When
they separated, the latter exclaimed, '• We shall meet again

1850.) Tht War of Races in Hungary. 125

00 the Drave," ilie northern boundary of Croatia ; '' No,"
answered Jellachich, " but on the Daoube." The Ban
then proceeded to Inospruck, where he satisfied bis royal
master, that his countrymen would gladly cootintie their alle-
giance to the house of Austria, if they sliould be allowed to
retain their languaf^e, and to enjoy tbose rigbts which the
emperor had promised to all bis subjects. To contend
against lliem, he said, was only to assist the Magyars ; for if
subdued, they must become subjects of Hungary, which country
now retained only a nominal connection with the umpire.
The Magyars were the common enemies of the imperialists
and the Croatians ; ibey asserted their independence of ibe
former, while striving to rivet their chains upon the latter.
To adopt the cause of the Croatians would be to conciliate'
all the Sclavonians, who formed more than half of the popu-
lation of the empire ; while the Magyars numbered but little
over four millions, and were hated alike by Wallachians,
Germans, and Sclavonians, at tbe same lime that lliey were
disloyal to the emperor.

These reasons appearing conclusive, the emperor did not
hesitate at once to change sides, to unite the imperial forces
-with those whom he had jusf before denounced as rebels,
and to commission the Ban Jellachich himself, the chief
rebel, to put down the insurrection in Hungary. This
arrangement, however, was kept secret for a time, lo await
tbe resulls of negotiation with the Magyars. But this
haughty and imperious race waited for no compromise,
and their spirits only rose as the number of their enemies
increased. Their Diet voted an extraordinary contribution
of a hundred millions of florins, a levy of two hundred thou-
sand men, and an issue of two hundred millions of paper j
money. It was also proposed to recall the Hungarian regi- j
menls ihat were serving under Radetsky in Lombardy ; but I
Kossuth cried out, "Beware what you do! They are
Croats and Sclavonians whom you wish to recall." The |
old liberal party of tbe constiiolional opposition in the Diet,
led by such men as Szecheny and Deak, and even Bath-
iany, who was far more radical in his politics, protested
against these headlong proceedings, and recommended delay
and negotiation ; but the danger was imminent, the excite-
ment was intense, and as usual in such cases, the fanatics
11*

1 16 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

reconquer their individuality as a nation and a race ; but who
were astonished and indignant, that the Iliyrians and the
Wallachians living within the borders of Hungary should
experience the same desire and cherish the same hopes. The
Croatians held high and menacing language to compel the
emperor to espouse their quarrel. In a memorial addressed
to him before hostilities had broken out they exclaimed,
'' Emperor, if you reject our prayers, we shall know how to
vindicate our liberty without you ; and we prefer to die
heroically, like a Sclavonian people, rather than to bear any
longer such a yoke as is imposed upon us by an Asiatic horde,
ftom whom we have nothing good to receive or to learn.
Emperor, know that we prefer, if we must choose between
them, the knout of the Russians to the insolence of the
Magyars. We will not, on any terms, belong to the Magyars.
Remember that, if Croatia forms but a thirty-fifth part of your
empire, the Croatians constitute a third of your whole in-
fantry."

^^ Whoever is a Sclavonian and a hero, let him wave his banner
in the air ; let him gird on his sabre, and mount his fiery steed.
Forward, brothers ! God is with us, and the devils are our ene-
mies.

** See how the black and savage Tartar is treading our nation
and our language under foot. Let us resist before he prostrates
us. Forward, brothers ! God is with us, and the devils are our
enemies.

'* Let the brave Sclavonian of the North and the Ulyrian of the
South join hands at this festival. Behold already the gleam of
their lances, hear the sound of the trumpets and the thunder of
the cannon. Forward, brothers ! God is with us, and the devils
are our enemies.

*^ The time is come to wash ourselves in the blood of our
enemies. Let each one, then, strike down a head. Forward,
brothers ! God is with us, and the devils are our enemies.*^

The Sclavonians were not the only enemies within the
bosom of their country whom the Magyars provoked. The
Germans, who had founded cities in the interior, establishing

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 117

themselves as commercial and manufacturing colonists in the
midst of thb rude and warlike agricultural population, were
made to feel their isolated posilioo, and the arrogance of the
aristocratic masters of the soil around them. Tlie lines of
separation between the heterogeneous races were preserved
with Jewish scrupulousness ; each has retained its language,
features, dress, and occupation unchatii;ed for centuries. The
situation of ihe Germans is most peculiar in the extreme
eastern and southeastern provinces, in Transylvania and the
Banat. Here they are surrounded by the rude and fierce
Szeklers, a race who are bom soldiers, allied in blood and
language to the Magyars, whom they preceded a century or
two in the occupation of the country. Their banner is in-
dicative of their character ; it bears a heart pierced through
and through with a sword. Amid this half-barbarous people,
in a nigged and mountainous country at the extreme limit of
European civilization towards the east, a colony from the
heart of Germany was established in ihe course of the twelfth
century; and in spite of the disadvantages of their situation,
they have increased in numbers and wealth. Their blood is
still as pure as when they first left the fatherland ; their fresh
and smiling German faces, their fair hair and light complexion,
bdicale their origin as clearly, as do their prudent and econom-
ical habits, and their dogged industry. These grave and
honest burghers are republicans by descent and in predilec-
tion ; they reject all aristocracy, and choose their magistrates
by universal suffi^ge. In many respects, they remind one of
the flourishing commercial towns of the Middle Ages ; like
them, they are guarded with high walls and strong fortifica-
tions against the semi-barbarous people without, who are all
warriors, and who are organized like a camp on the frontiers.
If need be, these dourisbing citizens will fight stoutly in
defericeof the walls which guard their shops and thelrhomes.
The Magyars, the Szeklers, and the Germans formed a
treaty at Torda in the fifteenth century, to divide Transyl-
vania between them, — the two former to do all the fighting,
and the latter to keep the cities and strongholds. They are
the three sovereign nations, as they call themselves, tliough
they number all together less than a million ; while the sub-
ject nations, most of whom are Wallachians, amount to a
luillion and a half. These bad no part in the union of Torda,

118 Tke War of Races in Hungary, [Jan.

which united the other three races, and therefore are allowed
no political or civil rights. They cannot elect their magis-
trates, nor Gil public offices ; they are serfs, and cultivate the
fields of their masters. The Magyars, though so few in
number, helped themselves to three fourths of the soil of
Transylvania ; the north and the west, including Carlsbourg,
the capital, are theirs. The Germans, or Saxons as they are
here called, hold the fiourishing cities of Cronstadt and Her-
manstadt, with the rich territory in the south, and the district
of Bistritz in the north. Their towns were originally fortified
not more against the Turks than against the Magyars ; and
they have just had renewed occasion to use them against
these foes, whose desperate valor, however, was not repelled
by them. Naturally attached to Germany and to republican
institutions, they saw with dismay, after the grand democratic
outbreak of 1848, that the Magyars were separating all
Hungary from Austria, with a view of preserving their own
aristocratic institutions, and lording it more imperiously than
ever over the other races that inhabited the land. They
immediately sent a delegate to the federative Congress at
Frankfort to ask for aid and protection ; but the theorists in
this distracted assembly had neither troops nor money to send
them, and they were left to their fate, — to the arrogance of
the Magyars whom they bad oflfended by this step, and to
the ruthless hostility of the Szeklers. The following is an
extract from the address sent by the municipality of Her-
manstadt, on the 9th of June, 1848, through their delegate
to the Frankfort Assembly.

^' Grerman brothers, seven centuries ago, a branch of the na-
tional tree, the gigantic oak of Grermany, was planted in the
oriental valleys of the Carpathian mountains ; its extended roots
have penetrated to the soil of the fatherland, and continually
drawn nourishment from it The air and the light of (rermany
have continued to warm and to cheer us. In the midst of the aris-
tocratic and feudal institutions of the other races which threaten to
stifle our civilization, we have remained Grerman citizens. Yes,
brothers ; in spite of the local separation, we have preserved with
old Grerman fidelity the manners and the language of our com-
mon ancestors. At the moment when the European edifice is
everywhere crumbling into ruin, the legislator, like Archimedes,
needs a fixed point on which to rest and sustain the world. This
point has been found. Let the Grerman fatherland extend to

1850.] The War of R<ices in Hungary. 119

every region where the German language m spoken. With our
whole hearls we will join you in causing our nalional airs to re-
sound from the banksof the Visluin to those of the Rhine. The
children have not forgotten their mother, the moiher has not for-
gotten her children. Generous voices have spoken in the impe-
rial city, in this very assembly, in favor of maintaining the rights
of Transylvanian Germany ; we wish, indeed, (hat our great and
powerful fatherland had used a bolder tone, and not restricted
itself to entreating the little nation of the Magyars, but had ordered
it to respect the German nationality."

In this general turmoil, the Wallachlans, also, were moved
to demaod a restoration of those rights, the common rights of
humanity, of which they had been deprived for centuries.
Some of the younger members of the Greek clergy inspired
them with a generous ambition, and taught them to shake
impatiently the yoke of subjection and helotism which had
so long weighed upon thrir necks. The example of their
brethren across the frontier, also, in the principalities of Mol-
davia and Wallachia, who had recently driven off some of
their petty local tyrants, had given them new ideas of freedom
and new hopes of ameliorating their situation by their own
efforts. In the last Diet which was held in Transylvania
before the revolution of 1848, the Wallachians had uttered
their complaints, and asked at least a hearing for their cause.
It was sternly and stubbornly refused ; the three sovereign
nations agreed with each other on this point, if on no other,
that the subject race, which outnumbered them all three to-
gether, should not be admitted to an equality of rights with
themselves. The Saxon burghers in this respect showed no
more hberalily than the Magyar magnates or the Szekler
nobles ; they would not violate (he ancient constitution of the
duchy. The Austrian ministry hoped oothing from the efforts
of (he Wallachians, and therefore did not befriend them.
The suppliants were rejected on all sides. Then the revo-
lution broke out, and they offered to serve in the ranks of the
Magyars if these would proclaim their emancipation. The
offer was contemptuously refused ; and in their despair, the
Wallachians joined that party, the weakest one, whose pro-
fessions seemed most liberal, though their conduct belied their
words. They made conimofl cause with the republican Ger-
mans, and contributed not a little to distract the attention and
divide the forces of the Magyar insurgents.

130 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

guarantee to them their local liberties and their nationality.
Uniting his influence with that of Bern, for the Poles, being
themselves a Sclavonic race, were all anxious to unite their
Croatian and Slowack brethren with them in hostility to
Austria, he succeeded in causing the forces of the insurgents
to be denominated the Magyar-Sclavonic army. But this
was the whole concession which they were able to extort from
their allies. The Magyars were fighting to support the old
dominion of their race and the ancient constitution of Hun-
gary, which secured to them, though they were less than four
and a half millions in number, the entire control of a country
peopled by fourteen millions. To make terms with Jellachich
would be to give up the whole object of the war ; for the
union with Austria had never been felt by them as a burden,
and ever since the Vienna revolution of March, 1848, that
union had been merely nominal. With an independent Diet,
an independent ministry, and a Palatine elected by themselves,
they could dictate their own terms to the crippled and dis-
tracted empire ; and of their own accord, they had kept up for
six months an apparent connection with it, as both their political
and commercial interests would have suffered from an absolute
separation. The war had originated in September, in what
they called " the rebellion " of the Croatians, the Slowacks,
the Wallachians, and the Saxon colonists of Transylvania ;
and some time elapsed before Austria became fairly involved
in it by espousing the cause of " the rebels," hoping thereby
to regain a portion of her lost authority. Consequently, the
first object of the Magyars was to crush their internal foes ;
while the Polish exiles, their allies, sought only to avenge
their country's ancient wrongs by destroying the Austrian
empire, and even menacing the Czar. This division of pur-
pose caused a division also of the forces of the insurgents.
In the south and east, Bem and Dembinski commanded each
a separate partisan corps, a motley collection of exiles, de-
serters, and fugitives of whatever race ; for as these generals
had no antipathy to the other Hungarian races, they sought
to entice as many of them as possible to their own standards,
and to wage a war of extermination against those who con-
tinued to act with the enemy. The main body of the Mag-
yars, being thus protected in their rear and on their flanks
from the Sclavonic, Wallachian, and Saxon 'msurgents, were

1850.] The War of Racei in HuTigari/. 131

free to act under Gorgey, a general of iheir own race, against
ihe forces of the Austrians, whom they woAld probably have
ovennalched, if die impolitic and ruthless conduct of Bern ,
had not afforded a pretence for the emperor Nicholas to eoter i
into the conflict. \

We cannot follow in detail the history of the war, and can '
notice but briefly the circumstances which led to the most
important event in it, the intervention of Russia. Nowhere
was the outbreak of actual hostilities regarded with more dis-
may than in Transylvania. The unhappy Saxons and Wal-
laciiians found themselves exposed to the utmost fury of the
Magyars and Szeklers, white, by their isolated position in the
east, ihey were deprived of all hope of succor from Austria
and the west of Germany. The great central plain of Hun-
gary was occupied by the Magyar "insurrection," now de-
veloped to its full extent ; Jellacliich and his Creations in the
south had now enough to do to defend themselves. Central
Hungary is traversed by two great rivers, the Danube and the
Theiss, running from north to south, and (orming excellent suc-
cessive lines of defence. Far in the west, the imperialist army
had to cross this vast and defensible plain, admirably suited
for the operations of cavalry, in which the chief strength of
the Hungarians consisted, and to vanquish the whole Magyar
nation, before they could throw troops into Transylvania.
The first object of Kossuth was to put down with great se-
verity all opposition in this province, so that the Magyars
might be protected in their rear, and, if necessary, might
retreat safely in that quarter into a woody and mountainous
region. Bands of the fierce and warlike Szeklers were there-
fore sent out in all directions, who hunted the unarmed VVal-
lacbian peasants like wolves, and menaced the fortified cities
of the Saxons. Terror everywhere prevailed, as the Austrian
general Puchner, who commanded in the province, had only
a few troops, who could offer no serious defence. The grave
German burghers were unused to war, and the Wallachians
were an unarmed and undisciplined crowd.

But a hasty attempt was made to organize their means of
protection. A junto of government was formed, under the
presidency of Puchner, consisting of two deputies from the
Saxon cities, and the Greek bishop Schaguna, who, with a
rich merchant, named Argidau, represented the Wallachians.

132 The War of Races in Hungary, [Jan.

The district of Bistritz, in the north, was already in possession
of the enemy, and such forces as this junto could collect were
drawn together to cover Cronstadt and Hermanstadt in the
south. Against these cities, in January, 1849, General Bern,
who had left his coffin, advancd at the head of 10,000 men,
composed of Poles, Szeklers, Kossuth's hussars, and a few
Wallachians incorporated by compulsion with their enemies.
He marched rapidly through the duchy, ravaging and burning
on his way the Wallachian villages and Saxon settlements
in the upper country, and driving the few Austrian troops
towards Hermanstadt. Fugitives coming from every quarter,
and driving before them their wearied beasts and flocks,
sought refuge in this city ; looking back from its walls, they
could see the smoke of their burning villages, and fancy that
they heard the cries of the aged and the feeble, who bad
fallen on the road, and were now suffering all the extremities
of civil war from the savage Szeklers. As Bem's object was
to terrify the poor Wallachian peasants into inaction during
the war, and as their former degraded condition and their use
of a different language caused his men to regard them hardly
as human beings, though they were to be punished as run-
away and contumacious serfs, the atrocities committed by bis
army almost exceed belief. An English officer, who was
taken prisoner by him at Clausenburg, and detained for weeks
under a constantly repeated threat of being tried by a drum-
head court martial and shot, gives a vivid account of the
barbarity of his troops.

" At Marosvasarhely," he writes, " in the prison where I slept,
a Wallachian priest and his nephew were murdered at my side ;
the soldiers had been ordered to conduct them to Debreczin, but
they wished to save themselves this trouble. Six Saxons had the
same fate, and were shot down by the soldiers who had been
detailed to guard them. But few detachments of prisoners arrived
at their destination ; they were generally murdered in some defile.
On the morning of the 12th of March, while passing through the
last forest which separated us from the frontier, we suddenly
heard a volley of musketry ; a quarter of an hour afterwards, we
came to an opening in the woods, where I found the bodies, still
warm, of seventeen Wallachians. The Szeklers who had just
shot them joined my escort, and when asked if their prisoners
had given them any cause of complaint, ' No, truly,' answered
one of them ; ' but thank God, there are now alive seventeen Wal-
lachians less than there were yesterday.' "

1850.] 77i< War of Races in Hungary. 133

We may imagine how much constemalion was created by
the appearance of Bern's army before Hermansladt, the forti-
fications of which, once strong, were now quite incapable of
resisting an attack. The dismayed Saxons sent an urgent
request to General Luder, who commanded a small Russian
army in the neighboring principality, that he would hasten to
their protection. Bishop Schaguna and Professor Gottfried
hastened to Bucharest, that they might represent to the Rus-
sian commander the imminent peril in which the city was
placed. They urged that they were cut off from all com-
municaiion with the Austrian government, and in view of the
massacre of iheir countrymen and the pillage of their towns,
they appealed to the generosity of their neighbors to protect
them. They solicited a purely local intervention, as neither
govemmeni as yet had solicited or offered a more general
cooperation of their forces. Puchner at first refused to join
in this application, but 6nally sanctioned it when the peril
seemed more imminent. Common humanity, or the secret
orders of his government which might have anticipated this
coajuDCture of events, may have induced Luder to grant the
succor that was asked. At any rate, on the 1st of February, ,
General Engelhardt, at the head of 10,000 Russians, entered'
Transylvania, and occupied both Hermanstadt and Cronstadt. 1
The Austrian ministry were so far from being pleased at this '
event, that they despatched a courier with orders to prevent
the admission of the Russians; and when he came too late.
another was sent to urge them to withdraw. Elated by the
first rapid success of the imperialists, by the capture of Peslh
and tiie withdrawal of the Magyars to the line of the Theiss,
the Austrians thought they should be able to end the war
without foreign aid. But the desperate valor of the Hunga-
rians soon changed the current of events ; and when his
armies were driven back on all sides, and even Vienna was
menaced, the emperor himself was compelled to solicit tliat
aid which he had at first rebuked his subjects for asking.
One of the earliest reverses of fortune was caused by the
insufficiency of Engelhard t's detachment to protect the whole
Saxon district in the south of Transylvania.

When the Russians first entered Hermanstadt, Bem was
deceived by an exaggerated report of their strength, and he
retired into the mountains of the Szeklers. On leammg his

VOL. LXX. NO. 146. IS

134 The War of Races in Hungary. [Jan.

mistake, and that the Russian force was divided, he appeared
again before the city and offered battle, which was accepted
by Puchner and Engelhardt. The impetuosity of Bern's
troops, and a want of concert between the Austrians and
Russians, gave the honor of the day to the former, though the
Russians retreated in good order to Hermanstadt. But as
I they had found that their number was too small to effect any
thing important, and the coldness of the Austrian ministry
in respect to them had excited a natural resentment, they
determined the next day to evacuate the city and to leave
Transylvania. This determination threw the citizens into
despair, and the weaker part of the population resolved, as
the only mode of escaping the extremities of war, to remove
along with the Russians into Wallachia. A numerous train
of country vehicles of all sorts were hastily laden with tbeir
most precious effects, and a crowd of old men, women, and
children, some on foot, and some riding on the overladen
carts, prepared to go forth, under the escort of these for-
eigners, to exile and beggary, rather than to await their bar-
barous conquerors. It was still the depth of winter; the
roads were encumbered with ice and snow, and a narrow and
difficult de6le along the river Aluta was to be passed before
the fugitives could arrive at Kinien, the nearest village of
Wallachia. The pass was a famous one ; by this route, in
former years, war and pestilence had passed from Turkey
into Transylvania. After many alarms and much suffering,
the fugitives arrived at Kinien late at night, and were received
by the garrison of Russians and Turks with much hospitality.
The officers gave up their tents and their beds to the women
and children, the sick and the wounded received every atten-
tion, and all had leisure to reflect on the homes which they
had left, and the beggary that awaited them. The fate of
those who remained in Hermanstadt was pitiable indeed.
Bem gave up the city to the utmost license of his troops for
three whole days : those who were found bearing arms were
shot, and others, who had joined in the request to the Russian
commander, were brought before a council of war. The tenor
created by the inhuman conduct of Bem's army had the
desired effect ; he experienced no more opposition from the
inhabitants of Transylvania, and was able to extend his in-
cursions into the Banat, and to cooperate with the troops who
were acting against Jellachich.

1850.] The War of Races in Hungary. 135

The loss of Transylvania, and the recapture of Buda-
Pesth by the Magyars, with other reversals of fortune, hum-
bled ifae pride of the imperialists, and disposed them lo seek
chat intervention which they had but recently rejected. On ihe
other hand, the emperor Nicholas was anxious to retrieve the
credit of his army, which had suffered from the battle with
Beni, and the retreat from Hermanstadt. The terms of co-
operation being soon adjusted, the ablest marshal of the
Russian army entered Hungary ai the head of an imposing
force, and from that moment the issue of the contest was
really decided ; the gallantry of the Magyars might protract
the sti-uggle, but could give no hope of ultimate success.
They had provoked loo many enemies; of the half a dozen
races which make up the mixed population of tlie Austrian
empire, every one was hostile to ihem. Their pride and
Indomitable obstinacy prevented them from making any at-
tempt at conciliation ; and Gorgey, their last and ablest com-
mander, rather than unite bis troops with those of Dembinski,
who had made some concessions and promises to the Scla-
vonians, and thereby partially recruited his ranks from them,
preferred to surrender his whole array without conditions to the
Russians. The Magyars have fallen, and there are few to
lament their fate but the Red Republicans of France and
Germany, and the refugee Poles, who were their only foreign
allies. They have fallen in an unwise attempt to preserve
tlieir ancient feudal institutions, their supremacy as a race,
and their national independence against the reforms demanded
by the spirit of the age, against tlie equality of political rights
which could no longer be refused to their ancient subjects, and
against the union with Austria which is a necessity of their
geographical position,

Austria has sullied her victor)', — or rather her success,
for the battle was "really fought and won by the Sclavonians
and the Russians, — by her merciless treatment of the van-
quished. The blood of Balhiany and of fifty others will cry
out against her from the ground upon which she has poured
it in her reckless thirst of vengeance for the humiliation (hat
she has suffered. The execution of these men was no less
impolitic than cruel ; it has changed into gall the last drop
of affection for their ancient ally which may have lingered
in the hearts of the Hungarians. Henceforwaixl, this race,

136 Eliot's Histary of Roman Liberty, [Jan.

whenever an opportunity may offer, will be foremost among
the enemies of the house of Hapsburg. The gallantry with
which they had fought, whatever were the defects in their
cause, was enough, in the eyes of a generous enemy, to entitle
them to surrender with all the honors of war. Austria has
wrested the sword from them only to plunge it into their
bosoms ; and a constant sense of insecurity for the future, in
relation to this part of her dominions, once her bulwark
against all foreign foes, will be the appropriate punishment of
her cruelty. England committed the same crime or blunder,
we care not which it may be called, after suppressing the Irish
rebellion of 1798 ; and the consequence is, that Ireland has
been in a chronic state of rebellion ever since. When will
sovereigns learn, that mercy and magnanimity are the highest
attributes of human policy as well of divine law ?

Art. IV. — TTie Liberty of Rome : a History. With an
Historical Account of the Liberty of Ancient Nations.
By Samuel Eliot. New York : G. P. Putnam. 1849.
2 vols. 8vo.

Mr. Eliot proposes to write the History of Liberty in a
work of which the two volumes already published are but the
beginning. Aside from the execution of his plan, there is
something noticeable in the choice of the subject. It indicates
of itself views of the progress of humanity so far original and
just as to authorize the belief that they belong to no common
mind. For the history of liberty must be the central history
of mankind. Why, it may be asked, more than the history of
civil government, of social or political civilization, of science
or art, of philosophy, or, though last yet greatest, of religion ?
Because all of these are but subservient to the progress of
liberty ; they are all means to that end ; by its value are their
value, by its advancement are their progress and efficiency,
measured. But in saying this, we use the word liberty in a
very high sense.

Freedom in some degree is the gift of God to all men. It
'is his first gift to them ; the condition precedent of all gifts.

1850.] Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. 137

and the means througli wbicli all others are given. The first
and simplest form in which all men have it is in that per-
sonal free agency, against which, in most ages, a false philoso-
phy, and, in some, a false religion, hare contended with all the
weapons of sophistry ; and have always found these weapons
powerless before the irresistible and universal consciousness of
the human soul. This consciousness does not tell us where
oar freedom comes from ; but it tells us that we possess it,
and hold it inalienably. They who believe in God, who
truly believe in Him — for it is not a true ht' lief in Him
which denies to Him His essential attributes — may, by verj-
brief and decisive reasoning, be led to the conclusion, that
human life is derivative, given by Him and flowing from Him ;
and then the nexl conclusion is as easy, that we should he
parts of another, should have no individuality, should not be
ourselves, should not he men, if this life did not bear with it
from its source, and keep with it as an eternal companion,
this profound and unassailable conviction of free agency, of
personal being. Nor is this sense a delusion, for then it
would not be a gift worthy a God of truth. He makes it
true, by giving us free agency in fact. There is never a
moment when circumstances do not operate upon us, when
various motives do not cause, and various influences do not
affect, our conduct. But, at every moment, all these motives
and influences are powerless unless they can act upon and
through our own choice, our own will ; and the result to
which they tend is always our own act.

The freedom of no roan can he entirely destroyed without
desiroying him. But it may be checked, thwarted, controlled
in its exercise, in a greater or less degree. As it is so, in that
proportion are we the less, men. And, on the other hand,
we grow into the full stature of humanity as we grow into
the fulness and perfection of our freedom.

Thus, all pass through childhood ; and the great purpose of
childhood is the preparation for manhood. We see of this only
the little that is comprehended in what we call education. But
within all this a great work of expansion and development is
going on, and ihe result we call manhood. But in the begin-
ning of life we are under perpetual control, and in a condition
of perfect dependence. This is then necessary ; and the great
purpose for which all the influences of childhood and early
12"

138 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. [Jan.

life are gathered about it, is, to make this control and depend-
ence unnecessary ; to build us up into the capacity of free-
dom ; for this depends necessarily upon our ability to use our
freedom aright, because the good providence of God withholds
it when it would be only weakness, danger, and ruin. Xbe
child longs ardently to be a man, that he may then be bis
own master; for this is, to him, the ideal of happiness. The
man longs as ardently to escape from whatever bondage clings
about him ; for in his entire independence and freedom, he too
sees the promise of all happiness ; and thus they both bear
testimony to the truth, that freedom is the blessing whicb in-
cludes all others. But the maQ sees that the child asks for
that which he is not ready to receive ; and if he be wise and
truly kind, he withholds it, or measures it with careful adapta-
tion to the child's ripeness for the gift. God knows that tbe
man asks for that which he is not ready to receive, and be-
cause He is wise and kind. He also withholds or measures it.
But the man — still supposing him to be a wise and good
father — seeks to promote the maturity of the child; gives
him all the freedom which can be given with safety, and gives
it with the hope that every gift may become the means of
making another and a larger gift safe and possible And
our wisest and best Father in the same way deals with us all
through life, and through the unending life which begins only
on this side of death. For it is forever the one law of human
life and human progress, that He who made us seeks to make
us free, always more free, and is restrained only by the wisdom
which perfectly discerns the measure in which we may, if we
will, use this freedom for our own good ; and by the love
which always regards this limitation.

Nor is this any more true of the individual than of tbe
race. That, too, passes through its infancy and its child-
hood. And as the individual man grows gradually into
greater freedom, and so into the receptivity of always greater
gifts, which come when they can be received, so is it witb
the race. All things are intended and disposed by Provi-
dence for the progress of freedom. And this again is given
that it may bring to us the greater gifts which progressive
freedom shall make possible ; increase of knowledge, a bet-
ter social life, higher art, purer, more instructive, and more
mfluential religion.

1850.] Elioi's History of Raman Liberty. 139

For whai is freedom, if it be not the unrestrained ability
to possess, and to use as our own, and for our happiness, the
gifts of God ? Life is but the first of these ; and the con-
sciousness of individuality and free agency, and the hope
and effort lo enlarge and perfect these, are next in order and
in worth; and on these, as on a broad and deep and eternal
foundation, rest all the blessings which can be given to us
by infinite love. For this, knowledge comes forth from the
bosom of creation, and tells us of Him who in His laws
reveals Himself; and with it grows our command over
nature, and with it should grow our dominion over self;
and with both will grow our liberation from the oppression,
the suffering, the bondage which owe their being to igno-
rance or sin. For this, we are enabled to construct the
political and social fabrics, and the myriads of mutual rela-
tions which connect — it may be, with chains of steel, and
it may also be, wilh threads of golden light — all men with
all iheir fellows. For this comes art, lo stimulate and to
feed the love of beauty ; to awake imagination, and give to
it glimpses and suggestions of a perfection loo high and too
remote for reason yet to grasp and measure, but near enough
to kindle aspiration, endeavor, and hope. For art may be
only sensuous, and still most beautiful and most seductive;
hut it is false to its own purpose, or fails to reach it, when
it does not make us look upwards, and when it does not urge
us forwards. And for this too comes religion ; comes to
sanctify all ; to spread itself like an over-arching, all-embrac-
ing heaven, over all ; and lo convert all into the means of
progress, development, and ascent. And when all these
have accomplished iheir work ; or rather, in proportion as
the work is done, for revolving eternities will find it still
beginning, — man is Free. He is free lo receive life as it
flows from the Source of life redundant and unchecked ; free
to hold all his capacities, and use them and enjoy them as
his own ; free to recognize as the laws which he obeys the
truths of an infinite wisdom ; free to acknowledge no master
but the goodness of an infinile love. Far, very far, from us
and all of us, is this result ; and no efforts bom of pride, or
selfishness, or folly, or sin, will hasten its approach ; but
these evil things have no absolute dominion, and thitherward
are we tending, step by step, led by our Maker's hand. Hitb- •

140 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. [Jan.

erward, one and all ; but the race and the individual equally
under the condition, that we use the freedom that we have
aright, and io make it the glad parent of greater freedom.
And therefore in the history of man's freedom, shall we
always read the central history of man.

Mr. Eliot, if we understand him aright, has undertaken to
develop and illustrate the history of our race, by the his-
tory of freedom among its nations. To do this fully, and
with all the detail these topics might permit, would require
a work of almost boundless extent ; and in the volumes
before us, and those which are to follow, the author pro-
poses to do little more than sketch the outlines of his sub-
ject.

The history of liberty in Rome is prefaced by some chap-
ters upon the history of liberty in India, Egypt, Persia,
Greece, and Judea. It is difficult to pre-sent, in a brief space,
his views of the progress of freedom among these nations ;
but we will endeavor to do so. In India and Egypt, — for
they are so much alike in this respect that they may be con-
sidered together, — the master and the tyrant against whom
Liberty strove was superstition ; and the strife was ineffect-
ual. Mr. Eliot supposes an earlier condition of mankind, —
more free, more pure, and possessed of a peculiar civili-
zation of which few or no distinct traces have come down to
us. Before the beginning of authentic history, it had passed
away. And at this beginning, we find despotic sovereigns,
and a despotic priesthood, and these despotisms united for
mutual support, and using the superstition of the people as
the means of preserving their unlimited and oppressive sway.

But even in these ages, he Gnds evidence of wide, earn-
est, and enduring, but not successful, efforts after liberty ;
and he 6nds this chiefly in the principles and history of
Buddhism. This may be so ; and we are aware that Mr.
Eliot's opinion is supported by high authority. If we do
not misrecollect, Sir William Jones at one time held such
views ; but we believe that he afterwards abandoned them.
It is true, that nearly all we know of early and Indian Buddh-
ism comes from enemies who had conquered them, and is
doubtless misrepresented by their hatred and contempt. But,
except in its hostility to castes, we see no clear traces of princi-
ples of freedom. And the passages which may be quoted from

1850.] Eliot's History of Roman Libtrty. 141

Buddhist writers indicaiive of purer religion, may easily be
pariilleled from Braliminical writings ; and both logether
prove only that llie fading light of a brighter morning had
not wholly passed away ; that iradition had preserved some
recollections, which, in a few minds, revived into almost their
primitive puriiy and splendor. Buddhism was conquered in
India long ages ago; but it went abroad, and has remained
ever since, as a firmly rooled, if not dominant faith in
Japan, Thibet, China, Burmah, and Ceylon ; and we see
in none of these nations any proof of its favoring the pro-
gress of freedom. And if this be explained, as it sometimes
is, by supposing the early severance of its political from its
theological character, this very severance only shows their
slight connection. The theory of Ritter, that by their
migration to Thrace through Colchis, the Buddhists founded
the civilization of the Pelasgi, from whom the Greeks de-
rived the germs of all existing culture, was once received
with some favor, but is now abandoned.

But that such efforts, such struggles of nascent liberty,
there were, we have no doubt, whether the distinct evidence
is now within our reach or not. And so mankind advanced
into the possibility of that somewhat better state of thin^
which prevailed in Persia. Here, superstition is not a stem
and immutable master. Liberty was called to encounter
only the feebler and less deadly hostility of political oppres-
sion. And the law of castes had lost its power. The insti-
tutions of Persia favored individual progress ; men might
make their way upwards in society ; but the thought of
political freedom was not born. The history of the nation
is only the history of its rulers ; for the people were their
property, were mere incidents to ihera.

Not so is it in Greece. Here, for the first time, the peo-
ple are foremost. Here, the history of the nation is the his-
tory of its peoples, and not of its kings and rulers. That
men might be free, was conceded, at least as a possibility ;
not yet as a right; but freedom was henceforward to be
something which all might desire, and the fortunate might
win. The hope of it, the endeavor towards it, take part in
ah the conflicts of that history. If freedom itself was stifled
in these conflicts, it did not die and leave no sign. For
these very conflicts grew out of, and expressed, the rivalry of

142 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. [Jan.

newly awakened interests and rights, which, once aroused,
were to slumber no more.

Of the history of Judea, in this connection, it can only be
said, that its manifest purpose, implied indeed in the very
word theocracy, is to substitute the dominion of God for
the dominion of man, and, at the same time, to guard this
from degenerating into that thraldom of idolatrous supersti-
tion which had for ages enslaved the eastern world. If this
substitution were imperfect, if this guard were ineffectual, we
have here but one more of the innumerable instances in
which we see, that the cooperation of man with God is
needed to develop the full value of His gifts, and that this
cooperation, because it must be voluntary, may be withheld.
And we see, too, that when it is withheld, and because man
refuses to do his part, apparent failure and destruction fol-
low, then, even in the midst of this and through it all. Provi-
dence works out great and abiding results which pass over to
become the blessings of other members of the human family,
and dwell with man forever.

Then came Rome, the universal conqueror. And this
portentous history presents the three great questions, —
How did this race so conquer, Why were they permitted so
to conquer, and Why then decline, decay, and fall into such
unmitigated ruin. AH these questions, Mr. Eliot answers.

Over the infancy of Rome an impenetrable cloud still
rests, in despite of the labor, learning, and ingenuity which
have striven against it. Perhaps Mr. Eliot's view of the
myths of its early history is a reasonable one; and it cer-
tainly has this in its favor, that it stands about half way
between the extremes which would reject them altogether,
or admit them as literal statements of actual facts. Amid
this darkness, some things are seen with sufficient clearness
to justify reasoning from them. The Romans were from the
beginning warlike. Their rulers were not despots in the
eastern and earlier way of sovereignty. There were families
having great power, and perhaps the nation was at one time
composed of them. The kingly power was hedged round
by forms, by the distinct rights of large classes, and by
privileges which penetrated society, and imparted to all but
the slave a certain share of political power and liberty.
There was no grinding, debilitating superstition ; for this we

1850.] Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. !43

may say, although we cannot say what the religion of Rome
was. With all this, and as a trait of national character new
upon earth, there was an acknowledgment of the sovereignty
of law, and of law as the express will of the state, which
never died out in Rome, and which compelled the despotism,
which at last overwhelmed all rights and interests, to observe
with watchful and almost timid care all the forms and ex-
pressions which had once guarded llbrny. Such was the
beginning of Rome; and it was a good beginning for the
cause of freedom. Successful wars added captured nations
to their population. These were at first enslaved ; and ages
of conflict passed away, before the plebeians who represented
these conquered nations acquired an equal liberty with the
patricians who represented their conquerors. But these con-
flicts were conflicts for freedom, and the result was a con-
quest of freedom. And with freedom, the strength of the
state grew. Its force was more easily put forth, and less
easily resisted ; and its conquests widened, until the sound
of the Roman wars came hack to Rome only as a distant
echo.

The Romans had a work to do, and they did it well.
They had to acquire the largest freedom then possible ; and
to use tliis freedom, and the strength it gave, in the conquest
of the world. And the end was to be, that prostration of the
heathen world and all its energies, that humiliation of the
heathen mind and heart, which should make the spread of a
new revelation possible ; and therefore make the growth of a
new and higher freedom — the child of this new revelation —
also possible. Rome by her wide conquests made the world
Roman. And when her own liberty had become corrupted
into license, and then died, men fell as if there was no more
hope, as if all that men could try had been tried, and all
that men could do had been done, and it was all in vain.
Among the writers of imperial Rome, there is a pervading
expression of hopelessness, — stoical with some, and made
almost beautiful by the stern pride of a Tacitus, and with
many more putting on the aspect of utter indifference, or
believing, with the followers of Epicurus, that the only wisdom
left for man was to seek and enjoy the skilful and cuulious
luxtiry which took excellent care not to perish prematurely
of excess. The human mind and character were thus made

«^

144 Eliot's EBttary of Rowum Liberty. [Jan.

ready for new gifts ; ready, at least, not to oppose them with
an energy which might have been successful, not to choke
them by strong adverse growths of its own. Then was our
race as effectually prepared for a new dbpensation, as ever a
6eld — enriched by the decay of all to which it had formerly
given sustenance, ploughed to its very depths, and moistened
by tempests — was prepared to receive new seed. And theo
Christianity came down from Heaven.

The facts of the past are as meaningless as the letters of
a child's alphabet thrown at hazard on the floor, until a re-
cognition of providential government comes in to give them
order and signi6cance. Then they may arrange themselves
into words full of instruction. The belief in a divine govern-
ment implies a belief in a unity of purpose from the begin-
ning, and in the prevalence of laws which have always
regulated the development of humanity. Can we discover
these laws ? Not yet perhaps. The acknowledgment that
there are such laws, which lead towards a detenninate end, is
a great step forwards. And by grouping the facts of history,
and looking carefully into their analogies, we may discover the
laws of the science of history, as we do of other sciences.

Among these analogies is one which may at least be fancied
between the growth of the race and that of the individual.
When the biography of man shall be written — and until it
is, history will not be written — perhaps we shall know, that
periods analogous to infancy, childhood, youth, manhood,
belong to humanity in the mass, as to each one of them who
compose the mass. It is easy to fancy that we see its infancy
in that earliest period alluded to by Mr. Eliot, towards which
many traditions and some evidences point, when the golden
ago of the poets found upon earth nothing of the culture of
substMjuunt ages, and little of their crimes or sorrows, but
instead of these, a peace as calm as the smile of an infant.
Of that ago, history preserves nothing ; and the universal
recollection, which places it as a gate of pearl at the entrance
of every nation's history, is as dim and undeGned, as sweet
and pure, as the veiled memor}^ which sometimes brings back
to every man his own earliest years. Then, in the East,
where history begins, began the childhood of our race ; and
in its perfect and unreflecting obedience — for the thought of
|>ersonal freedom seems not to have existed — in the institu-

1850.) Eliot's Bistort/ of Roman Libertj/. 145

tion of castes, which would be appropriate and good for them
who were not ripe enough to he trusted with ihe choice of
their own employments ; — in their literature, forlhe literature
of eastern men comes to the nurseries and play-rooms of
Europe and finds a fitting home there ; — and in many par-
ticulars of their religion, philosophy, and social life, to which
we cannot pause even to allude, we may find much that be-
comes at once explicable and fitting, if we remeniher that we
are looking on the childhood of humanity.

Then may we fancy that in Greece we have reached its
youth. Mr. Eliot regards the love of the beautiful as the
distinguishing characteristic of that nation ; but it seems to us
a false ingenuity which would explain Sparta and Thermo-
pyl:e by a love of the beautiful. There are two passions of
youth, both vehement and irrepressible, — the love of the
beautiful and the love of combat. As yet untaught and
undisciplined, the love of beauty is only of that external
beauty which filled with the miracles of art that Athena of
which a fine thinker said, that religion there was only one
among the fine arts. And its love of combat was that love
of fighting for Its own sake which made Sparta a mere en-
campment, but could not make her a great conqueror.
Athens and Sparta were Greece, because they impersonated
these two great passions of untamed youth.

And then Alexander, who seems almost the incarnation of
the Grecian character, conquered the East. With him was
Aristotle, who conquered the eastern mind, and began that
system of exact and methodical Inquiry and knowledge,
which has never since permitted the old oriental subhmity
and obscurity to he what It once was, the religion , philosophy,
and poetry of mankind all in one.

And so was our race prepared for the coming of its man-
hood ; for Rome. There was an energy not less vigorous
than that of Greece, but strengthened by the foresight, the
persistence, and the guidance of the present by a steady look
to a far future, which are not the attributes of youth, and were
not of Greece. It went forth step by step, and in its centu-
ries conquered a dominion but little wider than Alexander
won in twelve years, but a dominion that lasted its centuries,
and slowly fell.

And here our fancy is exhausted, and this same analogy

VOL. LXX. MO. M6. 13

146 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty, [Jan.

fails, unless we look upon the feudal ages as the decline of
this period, and upon ourselves, who are witnessing the last
dying throes of feudal institutions, as living at the close of
one great cycle of humanity, or rather at the beginning of
another, which may also have its youth, its manhood, and its
decline. Thb fancy will be welcome to many, because it
tells us, that we constitute and are, as it were, the beginning
of an era ; and that in this country, man is to begin to live
anew. And national vanity will be flattered by remem-
bering the fact, which, however inexplicable, is at least as
undeniable, that from the beginning, the course of empire has
ever been westward. From the East to Greece, thence to
Rome, and thence to the western shores of an old worid.
where it waited until a new one should be discovered ; and
then, bounding over the ocean, the dominion of the world, or
the chief seat of those principles which are to be henceibith
sovereign Uiroughout the world, is to be establbhed in the
new home that is now limited in the east and west only by
the two great oceans of the globe. Then will it have com-
pleted its circuit, and at its next remove must return to the
place of its beginning. Very easy is it to indulge such fancies
as these ; still easier is it, to nurse the vanity and self^om-
placency for which such fancies are the fitting nutrimeDt.
Suppose them to be trtie, or to have some foundation of tnith ;
sup()o$e that with our nation a new era begins, character-
ized by the possession of a completed liberty ; of that bless-
ing for which blood and tears have freely flowed in all ages,
and which has ever stood before the eves of strusgling and
siinenng humanity, as the end (or which it ^^-as well to strive
and sutVor lo the last limit of endurance. — as the hope which
was great enough to sustain the courage of mankind through
peri>etual conflict, and to cheer them through the strife and
the pain of their pilgrimage. What then ? Why do we forget
that, before we learn how to use this blessin?. coming gener-
ations must pass through a new — perhaps a far more wasting
and desolate — series of efforts and of conflicts, of errors and
of punishnients. That liberty has come to mankind at last,
so large that it can be made no larger, is certain. That we are
unpre|>ared for it, that we are in danger of making enonnous
mistakes in relation to it, that we shall strive to make it the
slave of selfishness until bitter sufiering shall teach us and

1850.] Eliot's HUtori/ of Roman Lihtrly. 147

succeeding ages belter things by long and oft repeated admo-
nitions, seems now to thinking men, we believe, generally, at
least as certain.

Of the moral tone of Mr. Eliot's work we cannot speak too
highly. From the beginning to the end it is profoundly
religious ; but upon no page and in no sentence, is there a
word of cant. The very idea and purpose of the book were
inspired by a deep conviction of providential government, and
by a belief which is borne like a torch through the mazes of
the past, — that every occurrence was caused or permitted
for an end, and would reach us that end if our ears were open
to the lesson. There are those who will complain of the
author's enthusiasm ; that it never masters him, that strong
as it is, a stronger reason ever goes with it, and that it never
degenerates into wild phantasy, will not excuse it with sucll
readers, nor would we blame them very heartily ; for an honest
and earnest, yet rational, enthusiasm is so rare in these days,
that one may be pardoned wbo believes it impossible.

The learnuig employed in this work, gathered for it and
exhibited in it, is very remarkable. The notes show a very
wide reading, and a power of getting aid and illustration
from tile most improbable quarters. Before we read the work,
we observed the quantity of notes, and the variety of reference,
and a suspicion arose that there was some parade in this.
But it soon passed away. There is no display ; but in all
sincerity, the acquisitions of years of well-directed industry are
brought — fairly and without violence — into the service of
the writer. Indeed, in some of the notes, interesting topics
are touched too lightly, and apparently from the fear, that if
more were said, the author might seem to try to make the
most of them.

The great fault of tlie book is its obscurity ; and it is a
very great fault. It seems to arise from two causes. The
views and thoughts are often very original, and have not yet
been matured in the mind of the author. It Is unfortunate
for the book, that a part has been thus published prematurely ;
for we believe that if it had been kept until, through years of
study and investigation, the work had been finished, this begin-
ning would have been re-writien in the light of the whole. But
we are not sure that it is unfortunate for the author. He has
won a high place in the literature of our country. He has

148 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty, [Jan.

produced a work which implies a combination of uncommon
abilities, of great industry, and of a very singular capacity for
unfailing devotion to a great purpose. The approbation he
has received, and must receive, will sustain him. He will go
on, and complete his work ; of that, if he lives we have no
doubt ; and just as little, that every step which he takes will
be a step in advance.

But it is obscure for another reason ; and that is, a style
very faulty, or rather very often faulty, in this respect. It is
not direct enough ; it is often allusive and suggestive, precisely
where the author should speak most plainly — should labor
to speak plainly. There will be a series of facts and obser-
vations, intelligible enough, and then a paragraph summing up
the results, which it is hard to understand. Take, for instance,
the following paragraph, which we have not selected, but
found by opening the book almost at hazard. Others may
easily be pointed out more obscure, and many others far less
so ; and this would be plainer, if read in its proper connection ;
but as it is, it will serve to show our meaning :

" At the same time that the growth of society was helped by
the rivalry and activity amongst the nations of Greece, its natund
ofispring was conceived. The lower orders not only became of
consequence to the higher, but, as warfare continued and civiliza-
tion dilated, they rose, themselves, towards and to the higher,
while new classes were brought from hitherto silent shores to
cover the ocean upheaving with strength and hope. Hence-
forth the fitness of man for freedom was determined; and beings
trampled in the dust, above which they were supposed incapable
to lift their faces, much more their souls, were recognized as
having their portion, also, in humanity. It must be plainly added,
that these were results in their beginning only ; but the beginning
was the boon most desirable to mankind. The course of ancient
history brightens with increasing liberty ; yet liberty, though the
inspiration of progress, was, as we may see hereafter, the fore-
runner of that humiliation in which heathenism departed and
Christianity appeared." — Vol. I. p. 111.

There is often great beauty in a suggestive style ; but it is
when one thing, whether thought or fact, is presented with
perfect clearness, but the thing itself, or the manner of its
presentation, suggests many other things. But a suggestive
style is very bad, which only suggests. How few writers,
how very few readers, are aware of the potent charm of a

1850.] Elioi's History of Roman Liberty. 149

perfectly direct and transparent style. A vary large part of
Prescolt's fame, which seems now to be as well established
in England as at borne, rests upon his merit in this respect.
You do not stop to admire its brilliancy, or its force, or preci-
sion, or any other excellence; you do not stop at all; you
are borne along by the gentle current of his language, and
give yourself up to ibe pleasure of sucli progress. It is in-
deed so pleasant to glide along a clear stream which breaks
only into smiles, thai the happy voyager sometimes sees great
beauty in wliai is often but the very common scenery of
the banks. We do not of course mean that Prescott
thus seduces us Into undeserved admiration ; but we began
the figure — which is, after all, rather a poor one, — for the
purpose of saying, that be the beauty of the shores never so
great and never so new, one must be a passionate lover of the
picturestjue who can appreciate It fully, while bis course is
tortuous and interrupted, and sometimes he is compelled to
take the oar and work his passage. There are many sen-
tences in Mr. Elioi's book which we liave studied with some
diligence, and are now by no means sure that we understand
them.

And this is provoking, because it is so entirely his own
fault, or at least, a misfortune easily avoided. Indeed, it
lessens as you go on, and the last half of his second volume
is, in addition 10 its other merits, almost easy reading. But
we say it is entirely his own fault, because he labors under
nothing like disability in the matter of style. It is generally
rich, glowing, and impressive; and there are many passages,
and long ones too, of which the beauty is high and consum-
mate, and wholly unimpaired. But instead of talking more
about the style of this work, let us give our readers an oppor-
tunity to judge for themselves. And for this purpose, we
give them the closing chapter.

Before quoting it, however, let us sum up the opinions we
have somewhat discursively expressed. This work is sin-
gularly learned, full of original and important views and
valuable instructioD, perfect In its moral and religious tone,
and generally beautiful, sometimes extremely beautiful, in
style. But the thoughts are occasionally immature, and
five the uupression, that with all the author's zeal and industry
they have not yet been fully studied ; aad tlie work is marred
13*

150 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. [Jan.

by a prevailing obscurity which will impair, not merely its
popularity, but its usefulness. Indeed, it will never be a
favorite work with the many who love to read, but cannot
think ; but they who read that they may think, will use this
book, and prize it.

" The view from which our steps are bearing us away is such
as we may well be glad to leave. A few scattered palaces,
wherein we would not willingly look again, rise amongst a mass
of hovels, of which the doors are closed against us, upon a plain
grim with devastation and sterility. The cheerful voice of the
husbandman is changed to the outcry of the soldier or the wail
of the slave ; while the earth itself, as if saddened and speechless,
denies a place to the waving corn, and bears, it seems, no tree
or leaf to hear the murmurs of the wind. Above the plain, a
mountain, diademed with clouds, and barren as the fields beneath,
supports a single edifice, which, whether it be a residence or a
fortress, is equally magnificent and dreary. Here dwells the
master, and below him, on the plain, are the subjects of the
Roman Empire.

" The prospect to which we turn, at first, is not more gladsome.
Without a people, and, a few rare instances excepted, without a
ruler that deserves the name, the Empire appears to sink deeper
and deeper in the wickedness and feebleness it has inherited.
Years pass, and centuries ; and as they one by one depart from
Rome, her fortitude and hope are not only extinguished, but for-
gotten. The despotism of the Emperor is the judgment upon
the Empire. The hollowness of the Empire, like " an empty
urn," becomes fit for the " withered hands " of the Emperor by
whom it is held. And the onslaught of the barbarians, at last,
is the retribution to which the Emperor, the Empire, and the
parent Commonwealth have been long foredoomed. The glimp-
ses before or behind us, that we catch of Rome alone, are all
alike mournful.

" In every country and amongst every nation of the ancient
world, a marvellous progress from barbarism to comparative civ-
ilization or from servitude to comparative freedom had been
allowed to precede the decline to each appointed \i\ its turn. The
extent of this advancement was generally commensurate with the
degree of liberty existing amongst the various races engaged in
its production ; and the greatest development of knowledge and
of cultivation occurred in Greece, together with the greatest de-
velopment of liberty. A different phase appears to be observable
in Rome, under whose laws liberty attained to a greater stature
than in any other heathen state, without producing a corres-

1850.] Eliot's Hutortf of Roman Liberty. 151

ponding increase in the sciencea, ihe arts, or the comforts of
mankind. The same religion that had interposed itself like a
cloud between the freedom of other nations and the light from
Heaven hung thinnest above the seven liills ; and yet nowhere
was the liberty it always obscured so fatal to human works and
to human hopes as amongst the proud and finally Ihe lawless
conquerors who were trained at Rome.

" Here lies the moral of our history. In the great creation of
which we form a part, the process of animation and increase
is the result of mutual, though they be unconscious, services
amongst its members. The plant subsists upon the brealh of the
animal, and the animal seeks from the plant those exhalations
without which its own life would be iniolenible. It is one of the
thousand instances with which the world is filled to teach men
how to conduct themselves and how to employ their principles ;
and it may serve, at this moment, as an illustration of the truth,
that liberty is virtually servitude, unless It be so connected with
human powers as to minister to them and be ministered unto by
them in return. The iostilutions of ancient Rome secured to all
the citizens whom they acknowledged the amplest freedom in
that age possible ; yet freedom failed amongst them for want of
higher powers in Its possessors than those of conquerors and
rulers; while the institutions by which this liberty had been pro-
vided were bowed and broken by its courses of blood and des-
potism. The few, like the Gracchi and Cicero, whom it educated
to greater aspirations were not allowed to spread the learning they
acquired amongst men, much less to exercise ihc benevolence
they had received from their Creator.

" The wants of the Romans are as evident as their errors.
They not only lacked the powers, but the first necessities, of
humanity. To be free, they needed to be conscious of their
weakness as individuals, and, mortally speaking, as a nation ; a
consciousness which never came to the nation, and only to its
individual members in the day of their utter downfall. Even
had they been sooner humbled, a law of right and wrong would
stUI have failed them ; though in order lo be free, singly or col-
lectively, they required liberation from the vice and fortification
in the virtue of the world. This law, however, was never theirs ;
it neither rose with their early institutions nor arrived with their
later philosophy, except in pari ; and the part even which they
did obtain was lost before the beginning of the Empire. Without
this knowledge of right and wrong, there can be no true power ;
and without power,ftgain, there can bono real exercise of liberty.
There is a holiness of freedom yet to be attained in doing ' what-
soever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever
things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things

152 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. [Jan.

are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report ' ; and so doing
them, that the glory of Grod, which religion commands, may be
fulfilled by man through liberty.

^^ So far as humility amongst men was necessary for the pre-
paration of a truer freedom than could ever be known under
heathenism, the part of Rome, however dreadful, was yet sub-
lime. It was not to unite, to discipline, or to fortify humanity,
but to enervate, to loosen, and to scatter its forces, that the people
whose history we have read were allowed to conquer the earth
and were then themselves reduced to deep submission. Every
good labor of theirs that failed was, by reason of what we esteem
its failure, a step gained nearer to the end of the wellnigh uni-
versal evil that prevailed ; while every bad achievement that may
seem to us to have succeeded, temporarily or lastingly, with them
was equally, by reason of its success, a progress towards the
good of which the coming would have been longed and prayed
for, could it have been comprehended. Alike in the virtues and
in the vices of antiquity, we may read the progress towards its
humiliation. Yet, on the other hand, it must not seem, at the
last, that the disposition of the Romans or of mankind to sub-
mission was secured solely through the errors and the apparently
mefiectual toils which we have traced back to these times of old.
Desires too true to have been wasted, and strivings too humane
to have been unproductive, though all were overshadowed by
passing wrongs, still gleam as if in anticipation or in preparation
of the advancing day.

" At length, when it had been proved by ages of conflict and
loss that no lasting joy and no abiding truth could be procured
through the power, the freedom, or the faith of mankind, the
angels sang their song, in which the glory of God and the good-
will of men were together blended. The universe was wrapped
in momentary tranquillity, and ' peaceful was the night ' above
the manger at Bethlehem. We may believe, that, when the
morning came, the ignorance, the confusion, and the servitude
of humanity had left their darkest forms amongst the midnight
clouds. It was still, indeed, beyond the power of man to lay
hold securely of the charity and the regeneration that were
henceforth to be his law ; and the indefinable terrors of the
future, whether seen from the West or from the East, were not
at once to be dispelled. But before the death of the Emperor
Augustus, in the midst of his fallen subjects, the Business of The
Father had already been begun in the Temple at Jerusalem ;
and, near by The Son was increasing in wisdom and in stature
and in favor with God and man.

^^ The sea, as it were, upon which wave has pursued wave
through day and night, through years and centuries, before our

1850.] Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life. 153

eyes, is thus illumined with the approaching light which we
have beep waiting to behold. And as we stand upon the shore,
conscious of the spirit that has moved upon the face of the
waters, we may lil\ our eyes with more confiding faith to the
over-watching Heaven."

Abt. V. — Lecture) on Subjects connected with Literature
and Life. By Edwin P. Whipple, Author of " Essays
and Reviews." Boston : W. D. Ticknor fit Co. 1850.
12mo. pp. 218.

Mr, Whipple may now fairly be called the most popular
essayist in this country ; and he has substantial merits which
go far to justify ihe favor with which his wriliogs have been
received. To a large acquaintance with English literature,
a prompt and retentive memory, a lively fancy, and consider-
able wit, he joins the brisk and smart exuberance of style
which is the most agreeable quality of the essayist, and the
most essential to his success. His command of expression is
almost marvellous; he showers words upon the page with a
prodigality that astonishes the lean and bare scribblers who,
after painful search and with many coniorsions, clothe their
shivering thoughts in scant and inappropriate garments. He
revels in the abundance of his wealth, and changes his rich
costume so frequently and swiftly, that the reader begins to
think he is playing tricks with dress, or is substituting words
for thought. Yet the suspicion would be groundless. The
expression, though lavish and ornate, is almost mvanably
clear, pointed, and precise. Because he has a large store to
choose from, the word selected is just the appropriate word,
conveying the precise idea that the writer wishes to impart,
without distortion or indistinctness. Mr. Whipple's essays,
therefore, fomi easy and luxurious reading. We are not
obliged to pause and dwell upon a sentence before we can
delect its meaning, or discern its connection with what pre-
cedes and what follows In the train of thought.

The essayist does not aim at complete and elaborate inves-

154 Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life, [Jan.

ligations ; he touches upon many subjects, but exhausts none.
He has no excuse, therefore, for tiring the reader with wire-
drawn disquisitions, complex processes of argu mentation ,
painful collections of facts, or a mere farrago of other men's
ideas. He is at liberty to skip all that b tedious in the
exhibition of his theme, and all that he may suppose to be
familiarly known to most of his readers. He is bound not to
be dull, feeble, or common-place, but he is not obliged to be
methodical, far-reaching, or profound. He Is a gleaner on
the 6elds of thought, and is expected to bring into bam only
what the regular reapers have left behind them. Still he
must bring wheat, and not tares ; he must gather what the
husbandmen have overlooked, or what has dropped from their
wearied anns, not what they have intentionally left to decay.
We look to the quality, not the quantity, of the collection
that he has made, and are grateful to him for any addition,
however slight, that he may make to the sum of knowledge,
the means of entertainment, or the materials of thougbL
The aggregate of good done by many laborers in this depart-
ment of effort may be considerable ; English literature would
lose much of what is most entertaining and valuable in it, if
the productions of all the essayists were left out of the
account, or condemned to the flames. There are some
minds — Lord Bacon's and Dr. Johnson's, for instance,
judging the latter, however, only from his conversations —
the mere drippings of which are of more worth than the full
flow of other men's thoughts. We prize both the essays of
the former and the talk of the latter for the acuteness and
originality displayed in them, and never think of censuring
them for not looking at all sides of a subject, or not exhaust-
ing all that can be said upon it. It is often a greater maj^
of genius to be able to say something that is new and striking
upon a very trite theme, than to spread out a more novel topic
in all its breadth and variety.

These considerations, which in themselves are sufficiently
obvious, are very necessary to be kept in mind in passing
judgment upon such a volume as Mr. Whipple has just pub-
lished ; as we might otherwise unfairly accuse him of pre-
sumption in selecting ambitious but hackneyed topics for his
Lectures, or of superficiality in his mode of writing upon them.
Here is a little book of about 200 pages, which professes to

1850.) Whipple's lectures on Lilerature and Life. 155

treat of " subjects connected wilh Literature and Life,"
subjects which are subsequently specified as follows: — Au-
thors in their Relation to Life, Novels and Novelists, Wit
and Humor, the Ludicrous Side of Life, Genius, and Intel-
lectual Health and Disease, Volumes might be written upon
any one of these themes ; but we doubt whether they would
be hair as entertaining as these slight but spirited essays. Of
course, they are " Lectures" only in name, thai appellation
being given to them because they were written for the purpose
of delivery before a literary association in Boston, and also
before several of the lyceums in our country towns. The
miscellaneous character of the audiences to which they were
addressed made it necessary to treat familiar topics, and
imposed some restrictions upon the writer in regard both to
the selection of his materials and the characteristics of his
style. He could not wing a very lofty flight without passing
beyond the range of vision of at least a porlion of his hearers.
But he had also loo much good sense to hug the ground from
an affected desire of accommodating himself to their percep-
tions. He does not pay his audience the poor compliment of
telling them, by implication at least, that he is making an
effort to keep himself down to the level of their apprehen-
sions. Confiding in the general transparency of his style and
in the obviousness of the associations in his trains of thought.
he writes frankly and naturally, without any painful refer-
ence to the tastes or powers of his auditory. Some of
the literary criticisms interspersed in these Lectures relate to
books which most of his hearers probably had never seen ;
many of the allusions to facts in literary history could not
have stirred their recollections. And yet, the fact that these
performances were received wilh applause by such an audi-
ence as can be collected in any of our small villages, bears
honorable testimony both to the tact of the speaker and to
the general cultivalion of the people of New England.

The chief negative merit of these essays is the entire lack
of pretence and affectation. The writer is not bitten with a
pestilent desire of playing any other part than that for which
nature has designed him. He is neither a pedant, a senti-
mentalist, nor an enthusiast ; though he has the taste and
feelings of a poet, the gleams of a very rich fancy often
irradiating the substance of his prose, he does not 6y off into

15|S Whipple's Lectures an Literature and Life. [Jan.

rhapsodies, or die away in ecstacies. His vigorous common
sense and quick perception of the ludicrous guard him
effectually from such follies, and he launches some keen shafts
of ridicule against those who are guilty of them. He does
not belong to the modem school of political philanthropists,
and has no universal nostrum to recommend as a cure for all
the evils with which society is afflicted. He is not possessed by
one idea, but looks round the whole horizon of truth, and
welcomes the light which comes to him from any quarter.
There is a pervading air of kindliness and good nature in his
estimate both of books and men ; if a satirist, he is a playfiil
and benevolent one, and his laugh is genial, leaving no trace
of party prejudice or personal animosity. This negative
praise may not seem a high compliment either to his disposi-
tion or his talents ; but the faults of pretension, cant, and
savageness infect so much of the popular fugitive literature of
the present day, that it seems to us no small merit in an
author to be entirely free from them.

Of all the later English essayists, Mr. Whipple may most
properly be compared with Hazlitt, whom he closely resembles
except in this very point of his imperturbable good humor.
Hazlitt was a soured man, who had quarrelled with the world,
and was disposed to avenge hb supposed wrongs on every
person who crossed his path. He was a savage politician,
and many of his essays on public affairs show the concen-
trated energy of hate. But his perception of the beauties
of literature was as keen as his perception of personal wrong.
His taste was formed by diligent study of the writers of the
Elizabethan age, and his estimate of their merits, his expla-
nation of their peculiarities, manifested a degree of critical
insight and a power of metaphysical analysis which have sel-
dom been surpassed. Felicities of expression stud his page
as frequent as the stars in the evening sky. When he whcJly
forgets himself and his supposed injuries, he is delightful,
though he has none of the sly humor of Lamb, and but little
of the affectionateness and simplicity of Leigh Hunt. Mr.
Whipple reminds us of him at every turn, especially in his
fondness for the use of metaphysical terms in criticism. The
ordinary resources of the critical vocabulary are not enough
for these two writers ; they carry the analysis so far that they
are obliged to give the results in phraseology borrowed from

1850.] Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Lift, 157

another science. They are constaoily striving to fix evanes-
ceai beauties upon the page, to mark vanishing lines of dif-
ference, and to describe in words what can only be fell,
This detracts somewhat from the naturalness of iheir style,
though it does not injure its transparency; they are both loo
great masters of English idiom ever to drop the leading
thought in a mere fog of words. HazlJtt often wrote narra-
tive, and we wish Whipple would follow his example ; for
bis style now too frequently creams like sparkling, but very
light ale, which lacks body. Thought always lies beneath,
but it is often subtile and over-refined thought, or a playful
repetition of one idea, which is meant to tickle the reader's
fancy after it has satisfied the demands of his intellect.
Rapid, vigorous, and condensed narration is the best exercise-
ground for writers whose tendency is to be continually fencing
with words. The rigid demands of the story oblige them to
take the bultons off from iheir foils.

But it is time that we should give our readers a taste of
Mr. Whipple's quality; though there is less need of making
extracts in this case, as he has been a frequent and favored
contributor to our pages. On account of the bias that we
naturally feel from this circumstance, our readers may make
such deduction from the praise already bestowed as they may
think proper. The following lively and ingenious parallel
between wit and humor is very characteristic, and certainly
very good ; the lines which we have italicized are as witty
as any thing In Dr. Barrow's celebrated description of wit)
which is daringly quoted in the very lecture from which this
extract is taken.

" Wit was originally a general name for all the intellectual
powers, meaning the faculty which kens, perceives, knows,
understands ; it was gradually narrowed in ita signification la
express merely the resemblance between ideas ; and lastly, to
note thai resemblance when it occasioned ludicrous surprise.
It marries ideas, tying wide apart, hy a sudden jerk of the
understanding. Humor originally meant moisture, a significa-
tion it metaphorically retains, for it 'is the very juice of the mind,
oozing from the brain, and enriching and fertilizing wherever
it falls. Wit exists by antipathy ; Humor by sympathy. Wit
laughs at things ; Humor laughs with them. Wit lashes exter-
nal appearances, or cunningly exaggerates single foiblea into
character ; Humor glides into the heart of its object, looks lor-

VOL. LXX, NO. 1-16 14

158 Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life. [Jan.

ingly on the infirmities it detects, and represents the whole man.
Wit is abrupt, darting, scornful, and tosses its analogies in your
face ; Humor is slow and shy, insinuating its fun into your heart.
Wit is negative, analytical, destructive; Humor is creative.
The couplets of Pope are witty, but Sancho Panza is a humor-
ous creation. Wit, when earnest, has the earnestness of passion,
seeking to destroy ; Humor has the earnestness of afiection, and
would \\h up what is seemingly low into our charity and love.
Wit, bright, rapid and blasting as the lightning, flashes, strikes,
and vanishes, in an instant ; Humor, warm and all-embracing as
the sunshine, bathes its objects in a genial and abiding light.
Wit implies hatred or contempt of folly and crime, produces its
efl!ects by brisk shocks of surprise, uses the whip of scorpions
and the branding-iron, stabs, stings, pinches, tortures, goads,
teases, corrodes, undermines ; Humor implies a sure concep-
tion of the beautiful, the majestic, and the true, by whose light
it surveys and shapes their opposites. It is an humane influence,
softening with mirth the ragged inequalities of existence, promot-
ing tolerant views of life, bridging over the spaces which sepa-
rate the lofty from the lowly, the great from the humble. Old
Dr. Fuller^s remark, that a negro is * the image of Grod cut in
ebony ,^ is humorous ; Horace Smithes inversion of it, that the
taskmaster is ^the image of the devil cut in ivory,' is witty.
Wit can coexist with fierce and malignant passions ; but Humor
demands good feeling and fellow-feeling, feeling not merely for
what is above us, but for what is around and beneath us. When
Wit and Humor are commingled, the result is a genial sharpness,
dealing with its object somewhat as old Izaak Walton dealt with
the frog he used for bait, — running the hook neatly through his
mouth and out at his gills, and in so doing ^ using him as though
he loved him ! ' Sydney Smith and Shakspeare's Touchstone
are examples."

This is brilliantly said ; but while the writer accumulates
the points in regard to which wit differs from humor, we are
not sure that he hits with a sure aim, or even keeps con-
stantly in sight, the fundamental distinction between them,
upon which all their other differences depend. Humor, as it
seems to us, is continuous and consistent wit embodied in
character. Hence, wit sparkles, and humor flows. Falstaff
is a humorous character who says witty things ; Corporal
Nym, on the other hand, is a humorous creation, but he has
no wit at all. Wit gives a pleasing shock, but humor affi)rds
contmuous delight. Unexpectedness in the combination of
ideas is characteristic of both ; but in the case of humor, one

1850.] Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life. 159

of tlie related ideas is, so to speak, a fixed quantity, being
the character which is to be illusiraled. Witticisms have no
connection with each olher, so that a constant succession of
ihem maj tire ; they are like a bunch of India crackers all
fired off at once, one explosion being just like another in
regard to the effect produced. But every stroke of humor
has a relation to the character which is its object; all the
strokes are in keeping with each other, and all lend to make
the portrait more complete and lifelike. Uncle Toby's mer-
ciful treatment of the bluebottle Hy is a humorous illustralion
of the same benevolence and simplicity of heart which appear
in his conduct towards poor Le Fevre. Humor, consequently,
never tires ; the effect of successive strokes is cumulative,
not disjunctive. The wit of the characters in Sheridan's
comedies, for instance, telU like frequent blows from a ham-
mer, the effect constantly diminishing as the nail is driven
nearer home; but humor acts like gravity on a descending
weight, which moves faster and faster every instant. The
wit of Shakspeare's characters is all, to a certain extent, hu-
morous ; for it is all in keeping with the minds and hearts of
those who utier it. Rosalind's wit differs from Touchstone's
as plainly as the moralizing of Jacques from that of the
Duke. Humor is witty port rait- painting.

Mr. Whipple's description of irony is very much in his
manner, fanciful illustrations of the leading thought being
clustered together with a sort of comic rapidity and earnest-
ness.

" Irony is an insult conveyed in the form of a compliment;
insinuating the moat galling satire under the phraseology of pan-
egyric ; placing its victim naked an a. bed of briers and ihisdes,
thinly covered with rose-leaves ; adorning his brow wilh a croivn
of gold, which burns into his brain; teasing, and fretting, and
riddling him through and througli, with incessant discharges of
hot shot from a masked battery ; laying bare the most sensitive
and shrinking nerves of his mind, and then blandly touching
them with ice, or smilingly pricking them wilh needles. Wit,
in this form, cannot be withstood, even bj the hardest of heart
and the emptiest of head. It eats and rusts into its victim."

The extracts already made illustrate our essayist's command
of language and the peculiarities of his style ; but they are
JKit fair specimens of his power of thought, the sobriety and

160 Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life. [Jan.

correctness of his judgment, or his facile use of the rich
stores of English literature for the purposes of illustration and
ornament. It is partly his own fault, if these more substantial
merits of his writings have been sometimes overlooked, or
not clearly perceived, through the glitter and sparkle of his
sentences, and his frequent playfulness of manner. The last
Lecture in this volume, on Intellectual Health and Disease,
does more justice than the others to the higher qualities of his
mind ; we shall therefore make liberal quotations fix>m it,
though to be fairly appreciated, it must be read as a whole.
The leading idea of the essay, or the philosophy of mental
disease, is thus stated.

^* An analysis of our consciousness, or rather a contemplation
of the mysterious processes of our inward life, reveals no facul*
ties and no impulses which can be disconnected from our person-
ality. The mind is no collection of self-acting powers and pas-
sions, but a vital, indissoluble unit and person, capable, it is true,
of great variety of manifestation, but still in its nature a unit, not
an aggregate. For the purposes of science, or verbal conven-
ience, we may call its various operations by different names,
according as it perceives, feels, understands, or imagines ; but
the moment science breaks it up ipto a series of disconnected
parts, and considers each part by itself as a separate power, that
moment the living principle of mind is lost, and the result is an
anarchy of faculties. Fortunately, however, we cannot free our-
selves, by any craft of analysis, from personal pronouns. A
man who speaks or acts, instinctively mentions it as — / said, /
did. We do not say that Milton^s imagination wrote Paradise
Lost, but that Milton wrote it. There is no mental operation in
which the whole mind is not present ; nothing produced but by
the joint action of all its faculties, under the direction of its
central personality. This central principle of mind is spiritual
force, — capacity to cause, to create, to assimilate, to be. This
underlies all faculties ; interpenetrates, fuses, directs all faculties.
This thinks, this feels, this imagines, this worships ; this is what
glows with health, this is what is enfeebled and corrupted by dis-
ease. Call it what you please, — will, personality, individuality,
character, force of being ; but recognize it as the true spiritual
power which constitutes a living soul. This is the only peculiarity
which separates the impersonal existence of a vegetable from the
personal life of a man. The material universe is instinct with spirit-
ual existence, but only in man is it individualized into spiritual life.

*' This mind, this free spiritual force, cannot grow, cannot

1850.] Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life. 161

even exist, by itself. It can only grow by assimilating some-
tliing external lo itself, the very condition of mental life being
the exercise of power within on objects without. The form ana
superficial qualities of objects it perceives ; iheir life and spirit it
conceives. Only what ihe mind conceives, il assimilales and
draws into its own life; — intellectual conception indicating a
penetrating vision into the heart of things, through a Herce, firm
exertion of vital creative force. In this distinction between per-
ception and conception, we have a principle' which accounts for
the limited degree in which so many persons grow in intelli-
gence and character, in grace and grace less ness. Here, also, is
the distinction between assent and faith, theory and practice.
In the one case, opinions lie on the surface of the mind, mere
ohjccls, the truth of which it perceives, but which do not influ-
ence its will; in the other, ideas penetrate into the very sub-
stance of the mind, become one wiih il, and are springs of living
thought and action. For instance, yon may cram whole folios
of morality and divinity inlo Ihe heads of Dick Turpin and Cap-
tain Kidd, and both will cordially assent to their truth ; but the
captives of Dick's blunderbuss will still have to give up their
purses, and the prisoners of Kidd's piracy will still have lo walk
the plank. On the other hand, you may pour all varieties of
immoral opinions and images into the understanding of a pure
and high nature, and there they will remain, unassimilaied,
uncorrupting ; his mind, like that of Ion,

' Though Bbipes gf ill
M«y hover rouuJ iu siirfai*, glides in ligLi,
And lukcs DO sbailuw fnim IheiD.'

"'In accordance with the same principle, all knowledge, how-
ever imposing in its appearance, is hut superficial knowledge, if
it be merely the mind's furniture, not ihe mind's nutriment. It
must he transmuted into mind, as food is inlo blood, lo become
wisdom and power. .......

" If the mind thus grows by assimilating external objects, it is
plain that the character of the objects it assimilales will deter-
mine the form of its development, and its health or disease.
Mental health consists in the self-direction of menial power, in
the capacity lo perceive its own relations to objects and the rela-
lions of objecU to each other, and lo choose those which will
conduce to its enlargement and elevation. Disease occurs both
when it loses its self-direction, and lis self- distrust When it
loses ils self-di reel ion, it surrenders ilself to every outward
impression ; when it loses ils self-distrust, it surrenders itself to
every inward whim. In the one case, it loses all moral and
intellectual character, becomes unstrung, sentimental, dissolute,
14 #

152 Eliot's History of Roman Liberty. [Jan.

are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report ' ; and so doing
them, that the glory of Grod, which religion commands, may be
fulfilled by man through liberty.

" At length, when it had been proved by ages of conflict and
loss that no lasting joy and no abiding truth could be procured
through the power, the freedom, or the faith of mankind, the
angels sang their song, in which the glory of God and the good-
will of men were together blended. The universe was wrapped
in momentary tranquillity, and ^ peaceful was the night' above
the manger at Bethlehem. We may believe, that, when the
morning came, the ignorance, the confusion, and the servitude
of humanity had left their darkest forms amongst the midnight
clouds. It was still, indeed, beyond the power of man to lay
hold securely of the charity and the regeneration that were
henceforth to be his law ; and the indefinable terrors of the
future, whether seen from the West or from the East, were not
at once to be dispelled. But before the death of the Emperor
Augustus, in the midst of his fallen subjects, the Business of The
Father had already been begun in the Temple at Jerusalem ;
and, near by Th£ Son was increasing in wisdom and in stature
and in favor with God and man.

^* The sea, as it were, upon which wave has pursued wave
through day and night, through years and centuries, before our

1850.] Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life. 153

eyee, is ihus illumined with the approaching light which we
have been waiting to tiehold. And as we stand upon the shore,
conscious of the spirit that has moved upon the face of the
walecs, we may 1i(i our eyes with more confiding faith to the
over- watching Heaven."

Abt. V. — Lectures on Suhjects connected with Literature
and Life, By Edwin P. Whipple, Author of " Essays
and Reviews." Boston : W. D. Ticknor U Co. 1850.
12mo. pp. 218.

Mr. Whipple may now fairly be called the most popular
essayist in this country ; and he has subsiantial merits which
go far to justify the favor with which his writings have been
received. To a large acquaintance with English literature,
a prompt and retentive memory, a lively fancy, and consider-
able wit, he joins the brisk and smart exuberance of style
which is the most agreeable quality of the essayist, and the
most essential to his success. His command of expression is
almost marvellous ; he showers words upon the |>age with a
prodigality thai astonishes the lean and bare scribblers who,
af\er painful search and with many conlorsions, clothe their
shivering thoughts in scant and inappropriate garments. He
revels in the abundance of his wealth, and changes his rich
costume so frequently and swiftly, that the reader begins to
think he is playing tricks with dress, or is substituting words
for thought. Vet the suspicion would be groundless. The
expression, though lavish and ornate, is almost invariably
clear, pointed, and precise. Because he has a large store to
choose from, the word selected is just the appropriate word,
conveying the precise idea that the writer wishes to imparl,
without distortion or indistinctness. Mr. Whipple's essays,
therefore, form easy and luxurious reading. We are not
obliged to pause and dwell upon a sentence before we can
detect its meaning, or discern its connection with what pre-
cedes and what follows in the train of thought.

The essayist does not aim at complete and elaborate inves-

164 Whipple's Lectures on Literature and Life. [Jan.

the moment he ceased to rise above himself, he began to decay.
The strength at the heart of a nation, which keeps it alive, must
either grow or dwindle ; and, af^er a certain stage in its pro-
gress, it can only grow by assimilating moral and religious truth.
Moral corruption, which is the result of wilful energy, eats into
the very substance and core of intellectual life. Energy, it is
true, is requisite to all greatness of soul ; but the energy of
health, while it has the strength and fearlessness of Prometheus
chained to the rock, or Satan, bufieting the billows of fire, is also
meek, aspiring, and reverential. Its spirit is that of the stout old
martyr, who told the trembling brethren of the faith who clus-
tered around his funeral pyre, that if his soul was serene in its last
struggle with death, he would lif\ up his hands to them as a sign.
They watched, with tremulous eagerness, the fierce element, as
it swept along and over his withered frame, and, in the awful
agonies of that moment when he was encircled with fire, and
wholly hidden from their view, two thin hands quivered up
above fagot and flame, and closed in the form of prayer.

" In the Greek mind, the wilful element took the form of con-
ceit rather than pride, and it is therefore in the civilization of
Rome that we must seek for the best expression of the power
and the weakness of Satanic passion. The myth, which declares
its founders to have been suckled by a wolf, aptly symbolizes
that base of ferocity and iron will on which its colossal dominion
was raised. The Roman mind, if we look at it in relation to
its all-conquering courage and intelligence, had many sublime
qualities ; but pride, hard, fierce, remorseless, invulnerable pride
and contempt of right, was its ruling characteristic. It existed
just as long as it had power to crush opposition. But avarice,
licentiousness, efieminacy, the whole brood of the abject vices,
are sure at last to fasten on the conqueror, humbling his proud
will, and turning his strength into weakness. The heart of that
vast empire was ulcerated long before it fell. The sensuality
of a Mark Antony is a more frightful thing than the sensuality
of a savage ; and when self-abandonment thus succeeds to self-
worship, and men are literally given over to their lusts, a state
of society exists which, in its demoniacal contempt of restraint,
sets all description at defiance. The irruption of barbarian
energy into that worn-out empire, — the fierce horde of savages
that swept in a devouring flame over its plains and cities, — we
view with something of the grim satisfaction with which an old
Hebrew might have surveyed the engulfing of Pharaoh and his
host in the waters of the Red Sea.''

These are copious extracts; but we must borrow one
passage more, though fipom a different Lecture, to illustrate

1850.] Whipple's Lectwet on Literature and Ufe. 166

ihe writer's ready application of the materials both of civil
and literary history to the illustration of his subject.

" Satirical compositions, floating about among a people, have
more than once produced revolutions. They are sown as dra-
gon's teeth; they spring up armed men. The author of the
ballad of Lilliburlero boosled that he had rhymed King Jamea
the Second out of his dominions. England, under Charles II.,
was governed prelly equally by roues and wit-snappera. A joke
hazarded by rojral lips on a regal object has sometimes plunged
kingdoms into war ; for dull monarchs generally make their
repartees through the cannon's mouth. The biting jests of Fred-
erick (he Great on the Empress Elizabeth and Madame de Pom-
padour were instrumental in bringing down upon his dominions
ihe armies of Russia and France. The downfall of the French
monarchy was occasioned primarily by its becoming contempti-
ble through its vices. No government, whether evil or good,
can long exist aAer it has ceased to excite respect and begun to
excite hilarity. Ministers of stale have been repeatedly laughed
out of office. Where Scorn points its scoffing finger. Servility
itself may well be ashamed to fawn. In this connection, I trust
no one will consider me capable of making a political allusion,
or to be wanting in respect for the dead, if 1 refer in illustration
to a late administration of our own government, — I mean that
which retired on the fourth of March, 1845. Now, during that
administration measures of the utmost importance were com-
menced or consummated ; the country was more generally pros-
perou.s than it had been for years ; there were no spectacles of
gentlemen taking passage for France or Tenas, with bags of the
public gold in their valises; ihe esecutive power was felt in
every part of the land; and yel the whole thing was hailed with
a shout of laughter, ringing to the remotest villages of the east and
the west. Everybody laughed, and the only difference betweeo
its nominal supporters and its adversaries was, that whereas one
party laughed outright, the other laughed in their sleeves. No-
thing could have saved such an administration from downfall, for
whatever may have been its intrinsic merits, it was still consid-
ered not BO much a government as a gigantic joke."

166 A GUnqfse of Australia. [Jan.

Art. VL — 1. Two Expeditions into the Interior of South-
em Australia. By Capt. Charles Sturt. Second
Edition. London. 1834. 2 vols.

2. An Historical and Statistical Account of New South
WaleSy fyc. By John Dunmore Lang, D. D. Second
Edition. London. 1837. 2 vols.

3. Physical Description of New South Wales. By P. E.
Strzelecki. London. 1845.

4. Discoveries in Australia in 1837-43. By J. Lott
Stokes. London. 1846.

5. Journal of an Overland Eocpedition in Australia from
Moreton Bay to Port Essington. By Dr. Ludwig
Leichhardt. London. 1847.

6. Journal of an Expedition into the Interior of Tropical
Australia. By Lieut. Col. Sir P. Mitchell. London.
1848.

Since Pisistratus Caxton, his wild cousin, and speculative
uncle, thought it worth their while to seek their fortunes in
Australia, perhaps some review-readers may not he unwilling
to take a trip there too, especially if they can do it in their
arm chairs, and without bemg exposed to winds strong enough
to spoil a cigar, or disturb a quiet nap. In England, Austra-
lia is rather a pet topic, and books innumerable are published
in respect to it ; but few or none of them are reprinted on
this side of the Atlantic, and not many among us, unless from
some special cause, turn their studies toward the southern
land of wonders. Her egg-laying quadrupeds, black swans,
and marvels of all sorts, which, as Sidney Smith says, ren-
dered the latter half of Dr. Shaw's life miserable by their
oddities, and filled Sir Joseph Banks '' with mingled emotions
of distress and delight," are now old stories, familiar to every
child ; while the more serious problems of her agricultural
and commercial capabilities, her future political condition and
moral influence, have hardly attracted the eye of any one
who is not concerned in the immediate pressing, practical
problems of emigration. Indeed, we suspect many of those
on this side the water who have followed the fortunes of our
^< Anachronism," were forced to go to an Atlas to know

1850.] A Glimpse of Australia. 167

where the famous city of " Adelaide" was situated, and have
puzzled their brains not a little, endeavoring lo form, by the
help of Mr. Pisislratus Caxton's note, a clear conception of
what is meant by " the Wakefield."

As we have heretofore said little as lo this second New
World which, looked at from the right point of view, is " farther
west " even than Oregon or California, we embrace the pres-
ent moment, and Mr. Gaston's introduction, to enter, ex-
amine, and imperfectly describe il,

And first, let us get a clear idea, if we can, of its size.
Maps deceive us sadly. The wisest, even, scarce escape
the optical delusion of thinking that that country is large which
looks large on the map. As England, therefore, has com-
monly one sheet, at least, lo herself, and England's youngest
child. New Holland, only the comer of a sheet, we very
naturally think of our antarctic sister as but a little adair.
When wo look closely, however, the proportions of this young
land of the Anglo-Saxon change wonderfully. Should we
place her northern point, for example, on the northern point
of Maine, her southern would fall somewhere south of Cuba,
or in the latitude of the city of Mexico ; while longitudinally,
her eastern extremity being as far " down" as Cape Cod
itself, her western would not fall short of the new Mormon
settlement by the great Salt Lake, beyond llie Rocky
Mountains. Or if we compare her rounded, compact area
with our more scattered and outstretched domain, we shall
6nd that she numbers about as many raillion square miles as
we do, Texas, New Mexico, California, and all.* This, then,
is the land we propose to visit ; not a little, ouinaf-the-way
island, but truly a New World. Thinly peopled, poorly cul-
tivated, scarce known beyond the coast, it is true ; but when
as many years had elapsed after the settlement of Jamestown
as have passed since the founding of Sydney ,t namely, sixty-
one, the colony of South Carolina was not in existence. New
York had been but four years under the flag of England.
" Jamestown was but a place of a State-house, one church, and

o,) III. 323, 3:

t SoiDeliroes inomTBolly wrilten Sidney ; it wa« named sftaf Lord Sydney, See-
reun- of State {ot tbe Uutne Oepnrlineat, in 17ST. See CeJliiu, quoted tty Lang,

168 A Glimpse of AustraKa. [Jan.

eighteen bouses, occupied by about a dozen families ; " New
England did not number fifty-6ve thousand souls; ^'Befk-
shire (in Massachusetts) was a wilderness ; " ^' Lancaster and
Brook6eld solitary settlements of Christians in the desert," *
and not a white man, save the half-apocryphal De Soto, bad
seen the prairies, or struggled through the forests of the West.
Let the slow, eariy colonial growth of our own rapidly
growing land teach us not to despise the comparative feeble-
ness of Australia ; it is impossible, by their size merely, to
distinguish the new-bom oak from the most trivial weed of
the meadow.

And now, havmg a somewhat tangible notion of the extent
of this island-continent, let us briefly recall the story of its
discovery, its exploration, the facts brought to light by those
who have explored it, its colonial ups and downs, — locdc
into its present condition, — and thus try to realize this, to so
many of us, mere nominal thing, " New Holland."

In the king's library at the British museum is a chart by a
French draftsman, dated 1542, and probably the same re-
ferred to by Rear Admiral Bumey as drawn by Rotz, in
which a coast is laid down that would appear to be the shores
of Australia ; but we know nothing of the voyages upon which
this map was based. Sixty-four years later, in 1606, Pedro
Fernandez de Quiros and Lub Vaes de Torres, sailing fiom
Callao, in Peru, made a more or less complete examination of
the northern part of the great " Terra Australis Incognita ;"
and the latter, who was second in command, even discovered
the straits which bear his name. Nothing, however, came
from this Spanish discovery, except countless memorials from
the commanders to the king, praying him to colonize the new
Continent of the South ; to all which suggestions and en-
treaties the court turned a deaf ear, for Spain was then just
falling asleep, and, in the very year after the discoveries of
Quiros, at the very time he was penning his memorials, pro-
bably, lost the Moluccas t with their cloves and nutmegs
to the insatiable Dutch, and was nearly cut off by those busy-
bodies from all her colonies, east and west. Then came the
persevering Hollanders themselves upon the stage. The

• Banooft, U. 212, 92.

t The Moluccas belooged to Portugal, but Spain and Portugal were tbea uaitod.

1850.] A Glimpse of Australia. 169

Duyflien, a Dutch yacht, seems indeed lo have touched near
Cape York in 1605, bui it was by mere accident ; and those
who were in her knew not what ihey had seen, Bui ihe
labors of Dirk Harlog, in the giiod ship Endragt, extending
irom 1616 to 1622, were not labors wholly in the dark,
though still tl was [he "Great unknown south land" along
whose western shores Dirk Harlog sailed, and upon the
borders of whose bays he left memorials of his visits.* The
hero of Dutch discovery in regard to Australia, however,
inasmuch as he sailed round it, was Tasman, Abel Janez
Tasman, who, — sailing from Batavia in 1642, during the rule
of the excellent Anthony Van Diymen, — passed west and
south of New Holland ; discovered the land which bears the
name of ihe worthy governor ; and continuing beyond Aus-
Iralia, he brought up against, and made known to the world.
New Zealand. Finding but a murderous reception there, he
pursued his course norlhward. and after many perils, and
visiting many new and strange places, at last reached Java
again in safety. It would be no more than justice to the first
circumnavigator of the southern continent, should the name
"Tasmania" al last drive out the title of " Van Diemen's
Land," as at the present time it bids fair to do.

But the swarms from the Low Countries found nothing along
the dry and barren coasts of Australia lo tempt a settlement.
No spices, nor jewels, nor precious metals ; not even water
enough to make a canal possible. So the shores which were
visited by Hartog, and De Witt, and Nuyl, and Tasman
remained silent and desert as ever.

Al length, in 1688, England began lo bear her part in
Australian research, her representative being the well-born,
but, as we think in these times, not well-behaved, buccaneer,
William Darapier. This celebruied and successful navigator
made two visits to New Holland ; first, in the capacity of a
pirate or " privateer," (for so the fralemily called them-
selves,) and next as the commander of His Majesty's ship
Roebuck. His examinations were confined for the most part
to the west and northwest coasts, which he found by no
means inviting, neither soil nor inhabitants being such as to
win any one's affections. Of the people, he says, they "are

VUU. LXX. -

170 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

the miserablest people in the worid. The Hodmadods of
Monomatapa,* though a nasty people, yet for wealth are gen-
tlemen to these, who have no houses and skin-garments, sheep,

poultry, and fruits of the earth, ostrich eggs, &c

They have great bottle-noses, pretty full lips, and wide mouths.
They are long-visaged, and of a very unpleasant aspect,
having no one graceful feature in their faces.'' In most
respects, the accounts given by Dampier prove to be perfectly
correct ; he was a close observer, and had he fallen upon the
eastern instead of the western coast, the colonization of
Australia might have commenced more than half a century
earlier than it did. As it was, the voyages of the British
buccaneer effected no more than those of his Dutch prede-
cessors had done.

From that time until Cook began to unravel the mazes of
the Pacific and Australian seas. New Holland was left to
her bottle-nosed savages, — her Indians, as they were termed
down almost to our own days. In April, 1770, however, the
great circumnavigator approaching, not from the north or west,
as other discoverers had done, but iirom the east, came upon
a shore which was green, fertile, well-watered, and pleasant
of aspect. Anchoring in a harbor, the shores of which fur-
nished such treasures to the collections of Mr. Joseph Banks,
afterwards the world-renowned Sir Joseph, that the bay was
named Botany Bay, Cook began to make acquaintance with
tlie advantages of the neighboring country ; and coasting
thence northward, examined and named in succession inlet
after inlet, point after point. Of the north, west, and south
coasts he saw nothing, and of the eastern, south of Botany
Bay, learned no details. Nor was much added to his infor-
mation during his after- voyages, no other part of Australia
being examined, and only so much of Tasmania as left it still,
on the map, the southem extremity of its continental neighbor.

So stood geography, sixty-two years since, Alexander
Humboldt being at the time eighteen years of age, — when
the first body of convicts left England for Botany Bay. Let
us see how much it amounted to. New Holland, which in
those days of darkness included Van Diemen's Land, had been
sailed round, and its dimensions and shape pretty well ascer-
tained. Its western shore had been examined for a few miles

* East cout of Africa, beck of Moxainbique.

I860.] A Glimpse of Austrnlia. 171

inward, and found diirsly and inhospitable ; its eastern had
been sltirted, and its comparative ferlility and pleasantness
placed beyond doubt. The natives were known to be ex-
tremely uncivilized, but neither very warlike nor very cruel,
and appeared to be by no means numerous. No fruits or
vegetables of value had been discovered by the industry of
Banks and his companion^ ; and no animal worthy of notice
except the kaugaroo. The shores were clothed for the most
part with a sombre forest of evergreens, the mass of them
unknown elsewhere ; coral reefs skirted the coast in many
parts ; water was by no means abundant upon the whole,
and in the west was sadly wanting ; tlie power of the sun
was such as the torrid zone and Its vicinity might reasonably
be expected to feel ; and though hills and mounlains rose in
the distance, they did not seem to possess great iieighl, or
to promise valleys or table-lands of fertility among or beyond
them.

Meanwhile, England needed a new outlet for her criminal
population. America would receive ihem no more ; the
labors of Howard and of the Quakers had opened the eyes
of men to ihe horrors of European prisons ; the punishment
of death for trivial crunea was becoming every day more and
more offensive to the hearts and consciences of the masses,
In this stale of things, of growing crime and a growing indis-
position to use the old home remedies, how natural to go back
freely to the ancient constitutional depletive of transporta-
tion ;* and what land of exile so fitting as that lately visited
by Cook ? So, in the early spring of 1787. a fleet of eleven
sail mustered at Portsmouth to form the new colony of crim-
inals at the south : six transports, three store ships, a frigate,
and a tender ; the whole conveying six hundred male and
two hundred and fifty female convicts, together with some
two hundred and fifty soldiers, or rather marines, and forty of
their wives. Over the whole presided Capt, Arthur Phillip,
of the navy, who was to be first governor of New South
Wales. The fleet sailed May 13th, and reached Botany
Bay from the 19ih to the 20th of the following January.

It was not an uneventful lime. During the passage of that
fleet, "The Ohio Company," which first settled our great

■ DUuig Cram 3Dtb Elii., cfa, iv., A. D, li97.

172 A Glimpse of Austrcdia, [Jan.

Northwest, bought their lands of Congress ; the ordinance
that makes slavery impossible in that young empire was
framed by the dying confederation ; Washington and his
associates fashioned the constitution under which we live ;
while in Europe, the political caldron began to sinimer, —
the parliament of Paris was " transported " for refusing to
regbter the new taxes asked for by the court, and Phillippe
Egalite took open part against the king.

Into the details of Australian history we cannot, of course^
enter. But we may notice three leading sources of trouble
to the early inhabitants. The first was the proportion of the
criminal population ; proportion we say, for it was not in-
tended or attempted to make the colony a mere prison, a
larger jail. Free emigrants, men of means, and enterprise,
and character, were encouraged from the outset to seek in the
new settlement a field for investment and profitable labor.*
But no high tone of character, no proper spirit of industry,
no decency or moral purity even, could prevail in a colony
the vast mass of which consisted of the most idle and aban-
doned of mankind. For years, the settlers of Sydney, unmo-
lested by the natives, were dependent upon England for the
bread they eat, and more than once nearly starved to death ; f
while the pioneers in Ohio, who reached their camping ground
not quite three months after the Australians moored in Port
Jackson, raised their corn, their flax, their cotton even, spun
their thread and wove their cloth, — and all in the face of the
most formidable savages that the Anglo-Saxon has yet had
to deal with.| Nor has England learned, until within the last
few years, that her system of transporting the refuse of her
population will never answer, unless, even after all the re-
formation which can be effected before they go, they are made
so small a portion of the colony to which they migrate as to
receive its character, not give their character to it.

The second cause from which the young New Holland
nation suffered, aye, and yet suffers, was and is the want ofuHh-
men. It is a subject we cannot and need not dwell on ; but

• See letters of Gov. Phillip and Secretary Dundas od this subject. Lang, L
»to43. '

t Pur three years, said an old settler to Mr. Lang, I lived in the constant belief
that I nhouid »oine day perish with hunger. Lang, 1. 56.

I iljldreth*s Pioneer History, 392, &c.

1850.] A Glimpte of Ausiralia. 173

whoever knows any ihing of human nature, and especially of
convict nature, knows llial where masses of hardened men
are collected together, and women are rare, there is not a
vice which can, — we will not say brutalize, for the brutes
are pure and true to their natures, — but which can Yahoo
mankind, that is nol soon forthcoming.

The third cause of idleness, low tastes, low morals, and
slow progress in the realm of Botany Bay, was the unprece-
dented use of rum, which became at last the colonial cui^
rency, being the only thing universally desired.* During
Governor King's administration, " from 1800 to 1806," says
Dr. Lang,"t the population of New South Wales consisted
chiefly of those who sold mm, and those who drank it. Even
thechief constable of Sydney, whose business it was to repress
irregularity, had a license to promote it, under the Govern-
or's hand, by the sale of rum and other ardent liquors ; and
although the chief jailer was not exactly permitted to convert
His Majesty's jail into a grog-shop, he had a licensed house
in which he sold mm publicly on his own behalf, right oppo-
site the jail door. "J We must nol, however, leave it to be
inferred that Governor King was so munificent in his licenses
from mere love of mischief; the fact beinj,; that he was
trying a sort of homcEopaihic experiment. He found upon
his accession the'leaders of society, and especially the officers
of the military corps, the " New South Wales corps,"
which had been raised for the colony, engaged in a monopoly
of spirits that was immensely profitable, though immensely
pernicious ; and he was trying to dry up the streams of alco-
hol by diminishing the profits of those who dealt therein. He
had also in view the lessening of the influence of his Preto-
rians, who were rapidly becoming too strong for the civil
power, and whom be hoped to counterbalance by liie eman-
cipists ^ and freu settlers to whom he gave the cntric of the
mm traffic. He failed, however, in all points. The " New
South Wales Corps " lost none of the influence which it had
possessed, and mm remained, in spile of Governors and
clergy, strong measures and weak, prohibitions and licenses,
even more influential than the " Corps " ilsclf. Up to 1810,
said Captain Kemp of the Preiorians, at a trial in England,

• Lug, 1. as. t Id I. SI. t li- 1. 83. t Fr«d iwiivicu.

174 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

" the Governor, clergy, officers civil and military, all ranks
and descriptions of people, bartered spirits." " Every de-
scription of inhabitants," said, at the same trial, John Mac-
arthur, a leading merchant and paymaster of the ^^ Corps,"
" were under the necessity of paying for the necessaries of
life, for every article of consumption, in that sort of com-
modity which the people who had to sell were inclined to
take," namely, — rum. As to the military, this very John
Macarthur, and his friends of the body to which he was Pay-
master, deposed the successor of Governor King, Governor
Bligh, who was a strong opponent of the spirit trade. They
placed him in confinement, usurped the supreme power, turn-
ed out the old officers and put in new, and for a time were
masters of the colony. For this decided step, however, the
commander. Major Johnston, was cashiered, and the corps
ordered elsewhere.

We have said the Colony suffered from three great evils,
the abundance of criminals and rum, and the scarcity of
women. In a less degree it suffered then, and has, together
with other colonies, suffered since, from the infamous system
of nepotism, — if that word may be stretched so as to take in
favoritism toward relatives and connections when practised by
profane hands. The results of this system were well dis-
played in the events which led to the " whi^ey rebellion "
that overthrew Governor Bligh. That rebellion grew out of
the opposition of Macarthur &, Co. to the Governor ; but
sought an excuse in the character of the chief law officer of
the Colony, Richard Atkins, Judge Advocate, and under the
statutes of Parliament, President Judge. This man, the
relative of some one in power at home, and therefore thus
raised to authority and influence, was so utterly ignorant of
law. that he had to employ the only regularly bred attorney
in the colony, one who had been transported for peijur}'', to
do his professional work ; he was moreover a drunkard ; had
pronounced sentence of death, says Governor Bligh, when
intoxicated ; was irresolute, ^' his opinion floating and infirm,"
and wholly unable to keep a secret, however weighty.* Under
such circumstances, certainly not favorable, were laid the
foundations of the great antarctic Anglo-Saxon Empire.

• Uag, I. 113, 134, 150, 441.

1850.] A Glimpie of Amtralia. 175

Two decades of Australian history closed with the deposi-
tion of Govemer Bligh; a third opened and ended with a
ruler who has left his name to rivers and harbors, capes and
mountains, hospitals, jails, and roads, — Lachlan Mac(iuarie.
Upon his reign, which extended from 1809 to 1821, we must
dwell with more detail, as it was marked by the clear present-
ation of problems, geographical and social, which are not yet
wholly solved.

We will first state what these problems were, and how
they came to be presented; and afterwards attempt to show
in how far, and in what manner, tbey have as yet been
answered.

And, first, as to the geographical. The general outlines
of Australia, as we have said, had been ascertained before
the lime of Cook. That great sailor added to what had
been known before a running survey of the Eastern shore
north of Botany Bay. But when the convict-colony was
founded in 1788, no one knew that Tasmania was a separate
island, and the southern shores of Australia had never been
examined with any degree of thoroughness. In 1797, how-
ever, there came into the sphere of southern research one
who explored with such perseverance and wrote so ably, that
his name ought to be scientifically sanctified in the annals of
the Australian Academy, — Lieut. Flinders. As midshipman,
he, together with Surgeon Bass, in 1789, explored in small
and leaky boats the straits which bear the name of the ad-
venturous doctor ; and toward the close of the same year,
while Washington was consolidating our Union, and the ruler
of Britain's empire was unable to rule his own mind even,
and the court of France had gone crazy with royal banquets
and its people with king-conquering inobs, — just then, when
the women of Paris led Louis prisoner. Flinders and Bass
made themselves ready for the trip which, in a few weeks,
demonstrated the geographical independence of Tasmania.

But the career of Flinders did not end, it only commenced,
with the discovery of Tasmania's isolation ; this merit was
recognized by the powers at home, and in 1801, with John
Franklin, whose name, like a vast aurora borcalU, now fills
the world's horizon, as his subordinate, — he began the
survey of Australia's southern coast. During that survey, he
discovered the whole of what is now known as the South

176 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

Australian shore, Spencer Gulf, the Gulf of St. Vincent, and
Encounter Bay. And yet those discoveries were almost
unwelcome ; for the word had gone abroad, no one knew
whence, that a vast strait of the ocean passed from the great
Australian bight, the Gulf of Carpentaria ; and each voyager
hoped along that strait to find the Mexico or Peru of New
Holland. This strait vanished before our discoverer, and the
interior of the southern continent yet remained a mystery.
It was not, however, without a struggle that Flinders
abandoned the discovery of the reputed passage. In 1802,
renewed and strong, he sailed northward, and strove to find,
in the vast bay of Carpenter, some opening which would make
accessible the treasures of the interior ; but he found, we
regret to say, only mud, — infinite flats, and shallows, and bars,
and swamps, of mud. Many years passed, and that strange
interior was still unknown. The colony of New South Wales
had been, meanwhile, drunken with rum and convicts ; stag-
gering along from 1788 till 1813, and yet no one had been
able to penetrate the rugged and precipitous range of the
Blue Mountains, the highest peaks of which are less than
one hundred miles from Sydney. But at length, in 1813,
came a season of unusual drought. The pastures which
lay along the Hawkesbury, the Nepean, and their tributaries,
close to the original settlements, were dried up ; and as grazing
had become the chief occupation of many of the leading
agriculturists, it became a most important point to learn
what chance for cattle and sheep there was beyond the pre-
cipitous defiles which had thus far been the western limits of
the colony. Three gentlemen, one of them a barrister, un-
dertook to explore the passes of the hills. These passes, (if
such impassable ravines deserve the name,) are of the most
romantic and broken character.* The streams flow through
valleys bounded by walls of rock, a thousand or fifteen hundred
feet in heiglit ; Strzelecki * says, he was unable to extricate
himself and his men from them *^ until after days of incessant
fatigue, danger, and starvation." Mr. Dixon, the surveyor,
in attempting to reach Mount Hay, immediately west of Syd-
ney, was for four days bewildered in the labyrinth of gullies
through which flow the river Grose and its branches, and

• Fuge sn.

1850.] A Glimpse of Auatralia. ill

was at length thankful to escape from ihem alive, leaving the
mountain for sojue more fortunate explorer lo climb. Into
this wilderness of basalt and sandstone llie discoverers of the
inierior of Australia, urged by the thought of starving herds
and scant larders, trusted themselves. Before that lime, the
most successful attempt to pass the range had been made by
Mr. Caley, a botanist, who, having at length reached a point
where all around him rose naked masses of weather-stained
rock, while deep chasms yawned at intervals, turned back
to the abodes of civilized men in despair. But to fill an
herbarium is one thing, and to save one's life and property a
very different matter. The three travellers, accordingly, urged
by necessity, overcame the difficulties which had daunted the
botanist, and al\er great dangers and sufferings, reached the
streams flowing westward, which pointed or led them to a
country that seemed to their worn cattle and to themselves
a paradise.* A road was instantly commenced ; the whole
convict-labor of the colony was devoted to its completion ;
settlers with their flocks and herds crowded across the before
impassable barrier; Balhurst was founded in the valley of a
fine stream, named in honor of the governor, " Macquarie ; "
and a new era seemed opening upon the Anglo-Saxon in the
great island of the south.

The country beyond the Blue Mountains having been once
made known, an examination of it followed as a mailer of
course. Mr. Evans, who, as deputy of the colonial surveyor,
had constructed the road over the hills, was the first to carry
on the investigation, and discovered another westward -flowing
river, in size and appearance resembling the Macquarie, to
which was given the Governor's first name, Lachlan. But
where did these streams empty? Through what regions did
they run ? Were there not, somewhere on their banks, natives
more civilized than those which as yet had been seen ? Per-
haps towns, wealth, the Australian Mexico, for which all ad-
venturers had been looking ? To determine these various
matters, Mr. Oxiey, the surveyor-general, prepared, in 1817,

* Tbe twiol uoiH^rlunty oT bislorir in Mniill msKcrB allBcbea lo (hew firel ex-
plore™ ; Dr. Long mates one of thein, Lmraon, > nwpei'liiMe old selllcr ; Slurt
uyi be wu Liculenant in ilu^ lIMih n'giiii(-nl. Lang carries llieni, bdi! some cit-
tie with Ihecn, over Uie nioualuii!! ; Slurl says tbey 1uni«d back wli<;u in siglil of

176 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

to trace the Lachlan to its mouth. But, strange to say, as
he proceeded down its banks, it lessened and lessened, and
dwindled away, till all its waters were lost in flooded marshes
without end. The next year he tried the Macquarie, and
with no better success. It did not, like the African rivers,
dry up in deserts of sand, but was swallowed by what ap-
peared to be a vast, shallow lake, covered with reeds, which
made it impossible to examine its shores or learn its extent*
Disappointed and astonished, the examiner turned back with
the conviction, that the centre of Australia was a basin into
which its interior rivers flowed, and from which they found
no exit ; so that the dreams of wealth, of cities, even of fine
farms and countless herds, along the banks of the Macquarie
and Lachlan, were forced to disappear as mere castles in the
air. Nor was the experience of Mr. Oxley the sole ground of
faith in respect to these central waters. The natives, in their
hand-and-foot, mumbo-jumbo kind of talk, seemed to describe
them ; told how they were navigated by canoes, and imitated
the spouting of the whales that played in them. So strong
was the faith in this Mediterranean sea, that, for ten years, no
farther efibrt was made to solve the problem as to the nature
of the interior.

The western slope of the mountains, which rise not far
from the eastern coast, was explored by Oxley, Mechan,
Hume, and Allan Cunningham, the king's botanist. The
Argyle country was discovered, the heads of the Murray
were crossed, the region now known as Australia Felix was
traversed and its excellencies in part comprehended, while, to
<he north, partial surveys were made as far as Moreton Bay.
Capt. King, also, during the period between Oxley 's attempt
to trace the interior streams in 1817, and Sturt's in 1828,
began and completed his survey of the Australian shores, and
especially of the northern and western coasts. To these
voyages of King we shall have occasion to refer hereafter ;
but for the present, we wish to keep our attention and that of
our readers to the problem of the interior.

At length, in 1828, forty years after Sydney was founded,
a second expedition was sent to inquire into the condition of
that immense region in the centre of Australia, which had
baflied Oxley ten years before, but into which colonists were
perpetually pressing. The immediate motive for sending ex-

1850.] A Glimpse of Australia. 119

ptorere at that time was the exisience of a drought which,
commencing in 1826, had made new fields and streams the
one necessity of life ; and which also, it was supposed with
reason, must have changed the condition of the marshes that
had stopped the previous inquirers, even if it had not wholly
dried tlicm up. To the command of this hand of investiga-
tors was appointed Captain Sturt, the most successful upon
the whole, of Australian explorers. In 1828, Sturt and hvt
comrades followed the Macquarie to where it was lost, — not
in an interior sea, as Oxiey had supposed, but in a vast plain
covered with reeds and impassable by man, a plain alter-
nately submerged and sun-burnt. He also discovered be-
yond this plaiu a river, which he named, after the Governor
who then presided in New South Wales, the Darling. The
course of this river was southwest, but the little water it at
that time* contained was so impregnated with salt and alum
that it was impossible for the party to use it, aniJ ihey were
forced reluctantly to turn back. The Castlereagh, a stream
north of the Macijuarie, and flowing in nearly the same direc-
tion, northwest, was next examined and traced to the Dar-
ling. Thus much having, with great trouble and suffering,
been learned, Sturt the next year turned his steps more to
the southwest, in which direction ran the river through
whose channel the Macquarie, Castlereagh, and all other
sU'eams thereabouts, as the traveller was convinced, dis-
charged their waters. Striking the head of the Murrura-
bidgee, he traced that river lo its junction with the Murray,
followed their united waters to the union of a stream from
the northeast, by him supposed to be, and which proves to
be, the Darling, and thence pursued his way to Lake Alex-
andrina, (named after her present majesty, Victoria Alexan-
ilrina,) and across that shallow basin to the ocean.

These two expeditions served to demonstrate that no great
interior sea, such as had been imagined, existed in the south-
eastern comer of Australia ; for after all his travels, Stun
had only been able to determine, half by sight and half by
shrewd guesswork, the true outline of one corner of tlie con-
tinent. It was proved, pretty clearly, that the waters which
fell upon the western slope of the mountains, that extend

180 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

from Cape Howe to Moreton Bay, found their way through
vast plains, in a southwest direction, toward Encounter Bay,
or were lost by evaporation and absorption before they could
penetrate to the shore. It was also proved, that those plains
were by no means fertile, were ill-suited to tillage, were
wanting in water, and during any season of drought, — and
it was terribly apparent that droughts lasting through years
might be looked for, — would be uninhabitable. The rivers
were mountain streams, rising in a moment, inundating every
thing, laying vast tracts under water; then passing away,
and giving place to sand, and dust, and desolation. Our
western rivers are changeable enough ; tbe Ohio rises in its
flood from sixty-five to seventy feet ; at one season, it is a
torrent often a mile in width, and fit to bear navies ; at
another, it creeps along, a little '' creek '' that a man may
ford on horseback, and travellers upon the bank, (we speak
literal truth,) are annoyed and blinded by the sharp dust
which drives from the bed of the river. But the Ohio is
unchangeable compared with the streams of Australia. The
Hawkesworth, back of Sydney, rises ninety feet above low
water. The Macquarie is alternately deep enough to bear a
line-of-battle ship upon its bosom, and so shallow that the
fishes and frogs cannot live in it. One month, it is the Hud-
son in its strength and volume, and the next, a " dry-run."
To-day, you may faint upon its banks from thirst, because
between them all is waterless ; and to-night, be wakened by
a distant roar of crashing logs and breaking tree-tops, and
hurrying out may find a moving cataract, tossmg the spoil of
the forest before it, and filling the bed of the river in a mo-
ment with a torrent that you cannot pass.

Among such streams and with such a soil, in which, during
dry weather, a horse will sink above his fetlock at every
step,* tillage cannot flourish.f It is a land for flocks and
herds, which can journey to and fro with the change of sea-
sons ; much of it is almost valueless. In 1843, Sir Thomas
Mitchell stated before the legislative council, that in his be-
lief, of about eighteen million of acres as yet not granted
within the colony of New South Wales, five sevenths were

• See Start. II 64, 65, &c.

t Much may be doae for Australia by systematic irrigmtioD. See aooie sugges-
tions by btrzelecki, p. 443, dec.

1850.] A Glimpse of AuaCralia. 181

not worth sixpence an acre. So scant is the vegetation thai
from ten to twenty acres are allowed as grazing ground to a
bullock, and from three to seven for a sheep,*

The investigations by Sturt, therefore, while they served
to clear away the cloud which hung over the geography
of Australia's snutheastern corner, and gave an intelligible
character to the rivers of that region, added nothing to the
hopes of the colonists, gave no stimulus to speculation, and
caused no mass of emigrants to divert their course from
America to New Holland. And yet the Captain spoke
hopefully and strongly j* of the lands which lie upon the
lower banks of the Murray, and between thai stream and
St. Vincent's Gulf, and recommended there the formation of
an emigrant colony.^

But although the Captain's discoveries immediately, and
at once, caused no emigration to the regions he had jiassud
through and near, indirectly they were connected with one
of the four chief colonies of New Holland, — that of South
Australia; and as the principles upon which that colony was
based were promulgated in the same year in which Sturt
discovered the Murray, and as, besides., the steps for settling
Swan River in the west were commenced in that same event-
ful twelvemonth, 1829, wo think it but fair to leave our
geographical problem here for a while, and turn to the social
inquiries, which, as we have intimated, were more or less
clearly presenting themselves to the English world during
the rule of Lachlan Macquarie.

Those problems were,

1. Ought any future setlleinenls in Australia to be com-
posed, in whole or part, of criminals?

2. How ought the criminals sent to New South Wales, or
elsewhere, to be employed f

3. Should lands be granted or sold ? If sold, in what
manner, and at what price?

4. Is it desirable to concentrate the seitlemcnis, and if so,
how can it be done ?

These topics, mixed up with a vast amount of what was

iilwr 3QtU, IMS,

1868
ITooi
9ven (nil
t Stun
VOL.

■KilFmcnIf in Dmigl» J,
Slrarlecki, tS3, 370.
Jlnmgly ; he inuliis n spn
linn=c™l S«v«l. ii. p.
. 11. S30, S4S.

LM. — (fo. ue.

frmld'

,ue of
247,

• newi'piiper of Scpie

fiHy-Gve miles by bovi
It aJiuiild Luvc bten 2,1

182 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

merely personal and political, were brought prominently be-
fore the people of ErTgland by the accusations which the
Hon. H. Grey Bennet brought against Governor Macquarie ;
by the appointment of a Commissioner to visit New South
Wales, and by the report of that functionary, Mr. Bigge,
made in 1822.

In regard to the problem of future colonies, the effect of Aus-
tralian experience upon the best minds at home was decidedly-
adverse to mingling convicts with free settlers. Immorality ,
social aristocracy, bad culture, and unequal profits, were but
a few of the evils which were believed to flow from the sys-
tem that had been pursued at Sydney. All future colonies,
it was thought, ought to be merely penal settlements, larger
prisons, or should be free from the taint of the dungeon and
the gallows. The settlers of New South Wales, it is true,
and those of Tasmania at a later period, found convict labor
cheap and profitable ; but even at that early day, the mischief
which have since, for years at a time, put a stop to transpor-
tation were discerned by the keen-sighted.*

The second problem, how to employ the convicts sent to
Botany Bay and its dependencies, was less easily answered.
If Government employed them, as Macquarie had done, on
public works, a vast expense followed. If they were " as-
signed " to individuals, that is, made over as a sort of white
slaves, after the old fashion f which had been pursued- in
America in early days, though the master made money, and
though the convict, if well-behaved, gained great privileges,
yet the popular mind of England was likely to become dis-
pleased with this sort of servitude in those Wilberforcean
times. And if the convict were set firee, was it not saying to
the honest man in Great Britain, " you must pay for a passage
to our Australian empire ; " and to the rogue, <^ you shall go
there for nothing ? " Where was a fourth course to be dis-
covered ?

Up to the close of Macquarie's rule, the Government had
been the chief employer ; free settlers were scarce, and the
emancipists were poor and clung to the towns. After his time,
the " assignment " system gained in favor for a while, both

* ^g. Sydney Smith, Dr. Whateley, Bentham, and Bennet named above.

t See Bancroft, I. 187-8. Macauley's England, I. 602-3, (Harper's large editioa. )

1850.] A Glimpse of Auitralia. 183

at home and abroad, and New South Wales grew rich and
wiclced ; then it was denounced In Great Britain ; in 18-38, a
committee of Pariiatnent advised its discontinuance; and in
1840, it was abandoned. Sir Robert Peel and Lord Slan-
loy, having come into power, next commenced (in 1843)
an experiment in Van Diemen's land, which collected the
convicts, who were no longer sent lo Sydney, into gangs
under the superinlendenf:e of public officers; this was the
" probation" system.* It was found, however, worse, mora
demoralizing, and far more depopulating in its results, than
even its enemies had foretold. One twentieth of the fres
population of Tasmania left it in six months; thefts and
robberies by the Bushrangers, the escaped convicts, and those
whose time was out, prevailed to an extent that made all
men fear for life acid property eacii hour of the day and night ;f
vices which Sodom would have blushed at were as common
as the gangs were numerous ; and from 5,500 to 12,000 men
were stationed, in bodies of 200 and 300, from Southport,
all up through the interior, to the waters of the Mersey in the
north. This system, therefore, had in its turn to be modiiied
and further transportation to Tasmania abandoned ; and again
the problem came back, what shall we do with our trans-
ported convicts? At present, if we are rightly informed^
they all go through a course of punishment and discipline in
England to begin with, and then, as "exiles," with " tickets
of leave," which make them in substance freemen within
specified limits and during good behavior, go to the colony
appointed ; they can choose their own masters, make their
own bargains, and while they keep within bounds and conduct
properly, are like any other good citizens; if they stray or
misbehave, a summary proceeding by any magistrate may
bring them to their marrow-hones. Smch is the present half-
"iolution, for it is no more, of the second pioblera we have
slated.^

•A full accooat of ihiii *yelem u in the Ediabureb Review, tot July, IB1T,
page 133. American Edition.
t Crimea were Cioai bii to eight times a* nuineiinis s* in Englend.
tOiirlutett iDronaation i> [hrotigb tlie Grtide in <lie Edinbni^b Beview or July

( The vha
iviU be done i

ran»iiciriitiaD isjun lu

184 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

The third, as to the sale of lands, has proved even yet
harder to deal with ; in that early day, however, it attracted
comparatively little attention. When land was plenty and
free emigrants scarce, the royal representatives found it
convenient for all parties to make liberal gifts of His Majesty's
Australian territory, and accordingly, tracts varying in size
from ten thousand acres to fifty thousand were granted to
various individuals upon condition that they would employ a
certain number of convicts. But in 1829 commenced a
movement which was destined to change all this system of
gratuities, and substitute in its place one phase or other of
" the Wakefield.''

Mr. Wakefield's theory of colonization, if we comprehend
it aright, was substantially as follows: — The welfare of any
community depends very much upon such a division of labor
as shall fill every trade, profession, and employment with good
men, and not overload any of them. If land in any country
is so cheap that all are able to become freeholders, there will
be no laborers, no farm-hands, or mechanics ; a semi-barbarism
will follow ; no growth in wealth or civilization will take place,
and the country will be stationary or retrograde. If, therefore,
you would have a colony progressive and civilized, you must
put your lands so high as to keep a proper proportion of
the inhabitants in the labor-market seeking employment, and
yet not so high as to prevent as many from buying real estate
as can use it to advantage with the help of such laborers.
But still further, your colony cannot be supplied with laborers,
especially if far from homo, unless they are carried there free
of expense, or with but little expense, to themselves. If
then, England wishes Australia to grow in riches and good-
ness, let her, instead of giving lands to all who will employ a
few convicts, sell them at a fixed price, never taking less, and
in fixed quantities, never sellini; less ; and let her apj.ly the
revenue arising from these sales to the transportation of free,
honest laborers to the points where they are needed. In this
way, the labor-market of New Holland will be supplied ; the
expense of supplying working hands will be paid by the lands
of the colony ; no more land will be taken up than can be
worked to advantage ; population will be concentrated ; wealth
accumulate; knowledge and virtue advance; and the millen-
nium begin to dawn for this unhappy world of the antipodes,

1650.] A GUmpie of Amtralia. 185

to 3ay nothing of the relief England will feel when her paupers
are ihus ecoDomically provided for.

These views Mr. Wakefield gave to the world in his " Let-
tere from Sydney," in 1 829. They contained loo much com-
mon sense, and Great Brilain too many paupers, to fall dead
upon the public ear even during the political tumults of 1330 ;
and in that year a Society was formed to promote the scheme
he had suggested. In 1831, the Government adopted the
leading principles which were advocated by the Wakefield
school, and Lord Ripon, Secretary for the Colonies, forbade
all further grants by the Royal Governors, East and West,
instructing them to sell the royal lands at auction, at a mini-
mum price of five shillings (one dollar and a quarter) an
acre. Commissioners were also appointed to attend to the
subject of emigration, and every effort was made to induce
the starving laborers of England, Ireland, and Scotland to
betake themselves lo the plains of New South Wales, and
the banks of the St. Lawrence. These measures and these
efforts were not in vain ; llie number of emigrants to Sydney
increased, in eight years, from 800 yearly to 5,000 ; the sales
of land from 20,000 acres in 1832, lo 271,000 in 1835.

But the greatest achievement of the Wakefield system was
the founding of the colony of South Australia, near the mouth
of the Murray. No sooner was it understood that the minis-
try were disposed to adopt the new theory of colonization,
than efforts were made to secure a grant of those lauds lately
visited by Sturt,* as a field where that theory could be tried
with some degree of confidence; as the country was unin-
habited by whiles, and was sufficiently distant from New
South Wales and Tasmania to prevent much trouble from
stragglers. In 1831, accordingly, Lord Ripon was approach-
ed on the subject ; after much trouble, a charier was obtained
in 1834 ; and on the 28th of December, 1836, Governor
Hindmarsh anchored in St. Vincent's Bay. But before we
proceed to speak of South Australia, which commenced thus
at the close of 1836, we have several arrearages lo bring up ;
namely, — the fourth problem stated above, as lo the concentra-

*Tl»e prqeclors of South AuMralie (cem tohava adopted Slort'n error of "Mven
laaikHi acrcB " wilboul qu»lioa ; m 8 leller from Mr. Uorpbell in the lecond
anauBl nport of ll* Colonaalion C '— -— —

186 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

tion of settlers ; some items in the history of New South
Wales; the progress of inland discovery 4 and the foundation
of Western Australia on the banks of Swan River.

When the passage of the Blue Mountains opened the inte-
rior of the continent to settlers and squatters, and above all,
when the experience of a few dry seasons demonstrated the
need of vast pastures for tlieir flocks and herds, it was a
matter of course that the colonists be^jan to scatter them-
selves to far distant stations, wherever grass and water beck-
oned them. This dispersion was felt to be injurious to the
welfare of the community, and concentration became a
recognized desideratum soon after the time of Macquarie ;
but how to prevent the di<;persion was a question which none
could answer. Wakefield's scheme, it was hoped, would do
something, but could have no effect upon those who occu-
pied lands without authority ; police officers and prosecutions
were out of the question ; and many were almost forced
by the increasing price of real estate, — which was raised
by the rulers from one and a quarter to three, and then to
five and seven dollars an acre as the minimum,* — to seek the
wilderness, and become squatters on the royal domain. Some
who bear this by no means honorable or euphonious name
are wealthy ; some own herds of 25,000 cattle, and flocks
that number 60,000 head. Thus " the Wakefield," misap-
plied and caricatured, led to a result the opposite of what
was hoped for, — dispersion instead of concentration, barba-
rism in place of civilized society. Nor have some other gov-
ernmental measures been more wise ; for example, land is
sold to the settler at five dollars the acre, and not less ; but
if he refuses to buy, he may, if he dislikes squatting, take out
a license to pasture his sheep on the vast public commons,
and for this he pays a mere trifle, less than four cents an
acre.f

The fourth problem, accordingly, as to the concentration
of society in Australia, is, we may say, still unanswered.

Turning next to the second of our arrearages, the state of
things in New South Wales from 18*21 to 1836, during the
rule of Brisbane, Darling, and Bourke, we have, — in addi-

♦ In 1833 to 12 shillings; to 20 shillings jo l^^ii; Jiiid in »ome lotalilif.- to 30
•hillings.

tSee H^\^itt, 99, 213.

1850.] A Glimpse of Australia. 187

lion to ihe greater ingress of free emigrants, the popularity,
growtli, and deaih of the " assignment " system, and the
iniroduclion of Wakefield's plan, — to notice, 6rst, the spec-
ulative spirit which, in 1825-6, played the same game
with sheep and cattle In Auslnilin, that it was playing in
England with Joint Stock Companifs of all sorts, and liaa
since played with railroads and locomotives. Next, we
would refer to ihe constant growth of that social aristocracy,
which was inevitable in a community part convict and part
frei>. Many of the emancipists became wealthy as years
rolled by, but they remained as much a marked class as the
free blacks of Philadelphia or Boston. Efforts were made
to break down the wall of partition ; governors and philan-
thropists tried it, hut in vain. The shoemaker who bad
never seen the inside of a prison would no more ride in the
carriage of the emancipist millionaire, than a Virginia plan-
ter would marry his slave.

A third |)oint in the annals of Sydney and its dependent
cies is the continued power of rum. In the capital, there
has been a bar-room or liquor-store of some kind to about
every sixty inhabitants from 18:il till nearly the present
lime. To these stores the laborers from ihecountry, — una-
ble as they say to buy land at the hi<jli rates asked, and in
the large tracts (640 acres) prescribed under " the Wake-
field," and so having no motive lo save, — bring their earn-
ings, two and three hundred dollars nt a time, place them
in the landlord's hands, and with a request lo be helped till
the money is gone, and then lo be kicked out of doors, they
gather their friends and commence an Australian spree.

And now, having hinted at the social problems which
arose in the time of Macquarie, and at the partial solutions
that have been given them, we return to the geographical
investigations which have taken place since Sturt discovered
the Murray in 1629. During his sail dowji that river, the
Captain found, as we have slated, a stream entering from
the north which he thought was ilie Darling ; to determine
how this was, and what might be the diameter of the coun-
try along the latter stream, Mnjor Mitcliell, surveyor-general
of the Colony, wa'> sent, in 1835, lo examine the region from
which the great drought of 1828 had driven the former
explorers. During that year and the one succeeding, this

188 A Glin^e of Australia. [Jan.

gentleman traced the river in question from where Sturt had
left it to its junction with the Murray ; he also ascertained that
its valley, though by no means as fertile as that of the Nile,
was yet available for pasturage in ordinary seasons ; and dis-
covered several new native grasses. But the facts revealed
by Mitchell respecting the Darling were unimportant com-
pared with his examinations of the country about the heads
of the Murray, and southward to Port Phillip, a region so
fertile to eyes that had dwelt on the half-desert lands farther
north, that he named it Australia Felix. It is a country, he
says in his report of October 24, 1836, " more extensive
than Great Britain, equally rich in point of soil, and which
now lies ready for the plough in many parts, as if specially
prepared by the Creator for the industrious hands of Eng-
lishmen." Since that expedition, Mitchell, now Sir Thomas
and Lieutenant Colonel, has attempted to find a stream
which, flowing into the Gulf of Carpentaria, would open a
route from Sydney to the northern coast, and avoid the
difficult straits of Torres. He started upon his enterprise
in November, 1845, and succeeded in finding, as he thought,
the very stream he was in search ^f, which he named the
Victoria. He did not, however, prosecute the inquiry, but
returned to Sydney in January, 1847, and left his second in
command, Mr. Kennedy, to follow the Victoria through its
lower course. This he undertook to do, but soon found that
the river, instead of continuing to run northward, changed its
course and ran, growing shallower and smaller as it went
southwest, toward the as yet unknown centre of the conti-
nent.* From that point Kennedy turned back, and no one
thus far, we believe, has learned the fate of Mitchell's Vic-
toria, unless Dr. Leichhardt, who, a year ago last April, had
just left the neighborhood of Moreton Bay with the intention
of pursuing the course of the Victoria, and then penetrating
entirely across \p Swan River, — has been fortunate enough
to do so.

After Mitchell, no late investigator deserves more praise
than Dr. Leichhardt himself, and should he succeed in his
present enterprise, he will place himself foremost among the
Austral travellers. In his expedition of 1844—5, he suc-

* Kennedy's report is in the Atbeneum for June 10th, 1S4S, p. SSO.

1850.] A Glimpse of Auiiralia. 189

ceeded in going from Moreion Bay to u point on the eastern
shore of Carpenter's Bay, and thence, round the head of those
waters, to Port Essingion. In lliis joiiiney, he saw Jarge tracts
of fine land, and discovered a considerable slream, which he
nnmed after the Surveyor-General, MitclieM. Captain Stokes,
also, of lale years, between 1837 and 1843, has examined in
detail the shori!5 of the Gulf of Carpentaria, and also some
portion of the northern shores that King passed hy ; — the
result of which researches has been tlie finding of four river-
mouihs, that seem to promise a fine inland country upon the
banks ; these are llie Albert and Flinders, emptying into Car-
penter's Gulf; the Adelaide, opening inio Clarence Strait;
and another, Victoria, which pouR out its waters at the east-
em extremity of the inlet, the western end of which King
named Cambridge Gulf.

Less important, but not less interesting than the re-
searches of Mitchell, Leichhardi, or Stokes, have been those
of Eyre, and our friend Captain Stiirt, both of whom, start-
ing from Adelaide, have tried to penetrate the realms north of
that capital. Of their travels we have not seen any full ac-
counts, and can only say that Eyre learned ihe existence of
a vast horse-shoe lake, wlitch seems formerly to have com-
municated with Spencer Gulf, and would seem lo be the very
mediterranean sea to which the natives have referred from
time to time. All about jt, as we gather, was salt and barren.
Sturt went further northward, to about the 25tli parallel of
latitude, and there fmind also salt lagoons and dry runs.

Thus stands the geographical problem to-day ; as yet, no
one knows any thing worth speaking of in Eastern Australia
away from the sea-coast, and beyond the valley of the Mur-
ray and its tributaries, which reach, however, through some
ten degrees of longitude, and thirteen degrees of latitude,
from the tropic of Capricorn to the neighborhood of Cape
Howe ; an extent of country equal to that which lies between
Pittsburgh and the Mississippi, Luke Michigan and New
Orleans. On the north, west, and south, the shoros alone
have been visited by Europeans, if we except the neighbor-
hood of Swan River, and thence lo King George's Sound on
the south. To that colony we must now, for a few moments,
turn our attention.

The southwestern comer of Australia was, in all proba-

190 A GUmpie of Australia. [Jan.

bility, explored to some extent by the early Dutch oavigators ;
they at any rate sailed along its shores, and left their melliflu-
ous names as an inheritance ; Vlaming-land, LeeuwinJand,
and Nuyt's-land attest their presence to this day. But the
first examination of the Swan-river region, of which we have
any account, was made by the officers under Captain Baudio,
who, in the '^ Geographe," was engaged in surveying that
portion of New Holland about the same time that Flinders
was at work at his survey ; indeed, the two discoverers met
in Encounter Bay during April, 1802, and although France
and England were at war, exchanged visits, acted like men,
and left the name of the gulf to commen[K>rate sa sensible a
rencontre. The French are stated to have gone up the river
and along its banks for eighty miles, but no attempt, that we
know of, was ever made by the Emperor to take possession
of the realms which his officers had thus brought to lighu
Nor was any thing done by Britain, until Captain Stirling, who
followed the footsteps of the French in 1826, reported that
the lands bordering upon this western stream were fertile and
worthy of cultivation, and being so much more accessible from
Europe, would be found far more desirable than those of the
Hawkesworth and Macquarie. The British government,
acting upon his suggestions, in 1829, offered the temtory to
such settlers as would pay their own expenses out, and take
care of themselves when there, on, these terms: — whoever
would invest three pounds was to receive forty acres, and as
soon as he could prove that that amount, about thirty-seven
cents an acre, had been actually expended on the land, he
was to have a title in fee-simple ; and so for every three
pounds invested ; — provided, that if one fourth of any land
thus allotted was not brought into cultivation in three years,
there was to be an additional charge of sixpence on every
uncultivated acre ; and whatever remained wild at the end
of seven years was to revert to the Crown. Whoever took
out laboring hands, male or female, above ten years of age,
was to receive for each one two hundred acres of land in fee-
simple.

This was the second colony on the southern continent, it
will be remembered, and convicts were not to pollute it with
their presence. Sterling, who had opened the way, was
appointed the Governor of '^ Western Australia," and settlers

1850.] A Glimpst of Australia. 191

flocked to the new Canaan ; between June and December,
1829, twenty-five ships arrived at the mouth of the river.
But the up-and-down kind of progress, which seems to be
inseparable from the colonial condition, soon changed matters.
Off from the river banks the soil was poor ; rains came tD
torrents, and then droughts turned all to dust ; the thermoni-
eter stood at 105 in the shade ; * the harbor was objectioD-
able ; the river navigable by boats only about forty miles ;
and in short, men had hoped too much and had been disap-
pointed. Then all went down ; lands were abandoned after
money had been spent on them ; houses were given up half
built, in despair of tenants ; cultivation was neglected ; the
pendulum swung back, and Swan River was as much undeN
rated as it had been overrated. But pendulums swing both
ways, as we know ; so, in 1833, we find all flourishing again ;
grants of land, which the year before sold for twenty-five
pounds, worth a hundred, and rents netting ten per cent., from
the rage for sheep farming.f And so, from that day to this,
has West Australia risen and fallen ; at one time, men have
rushed from it as from a sinking ship, and then have clustered
to it again, like the wreckers round that same ship, when high
and dry on the beach. Of late years, since the wild grants
of land which were made in eariy days have ceased, and the
Wakefield selling system has ruled, matters have been regu-
larly and healthily progressive, in spite of the introduction
of convicts, who now, under the modified system that is in
operation, as we have stated above, are sent as laborers to
the Swan with their " tickets of leave," About six thousand
acres of land are now cultivated ; the vine and olive have
been introduced, and the enporialion of sandal-wood, which
is found some sixty miles inland, promises to open a profitable
trade with China. Coal has been discovered ; specimens of
mercurial ores have been met with ; and the mineral world
may come to the aid of Western Australia, as it has to that
of her southern and eastern sisters. The shore, (lowever, of
the west of New Holland is sadly unproductive and dry.
The expedition of Capt. George Gray, in 1840, Gum Shark

■ Breloa'i £icaraioiu, 30, 31 . Breum weal to Swbd River in Ihe auluii
t Lolwr of JaauBry 37tli, 1333, appended lo Sir Jame* SUriiug's Jouniali.

192 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

Bay to Perth, disclosed a region wbich none but an Aus-
tralian, who can live on " fragrant grubs " and raw roots,
could inhabit. In the interior, the lands are better ; well 6tted
in many parts for pasturage, and swarming already with half-
wild bullocks and unconquerable cows.*

The third colony of Australia in point of seniority, and the
second certainly, if not the first, in respect to wealth and
progress, is that of which we have already said a few words
in connection with ** the Wakefield." " South Australia "
was suggested in 1831, established by Parliament in 1834, and
settled at the close of 1836. But to follow its varying fates
fix)m that time to the present would require not so much an
article as a volume ; and we must refer all curious readers to
the works of Wilkinson, Stephens, Torrens, &c., and the
various reports made from time to time to Parliament, We
must notice, however, the main source of the adversity which
tried the founders of South Australia, and that of the pros-
perity which has since raised her to preeminence again. The
plan of the colony was this ; it was from the outset to support
itself; not, however, by the sale of lands, for all the proceeds
of the territorial sales were to be applied to emigration, in
accordance with Wakefield's principles, — but by borrowing
money to be repaid out of the future revenue ; this was one
peculiarity ; a second was, that the Governor, instead of being
sent out by the powers in England, in the usual way, was to
be appointed by a board of commissioners, residing in Lon-
don,t and named principally by the association which had
brought about the formation of the colony. The result of
these two peculiarities was a series of misunderstandings,
mismanagements, and reckless expenditures, which plunged
the colony in debt, perplexed and discouraged the settlers,
and held out such visions of high taxes in future as effectually
scai'ed away all cinigrants.J The expenses of the colonial
government, in 1839, rose to £140,000, with a revenue of
£20,000 ; an income one seventh of the outlay.

Such was the source of the troubles which, for a while.

• St*e Laudur's' atcounl of a cuw-liUDi, iu l.i^ " Cucliinuii, or Lile in a Ne^r
Country. '

t One comrni^ioner rc>ided in the Colony and overhxjkcd mutters.

t The land s;.lc> fill f.om 17,000 acres to 600 in one year. In 1842, Uie f^au-
gnnlM were ucH more liiuo 100 in uuinber.

1850.] A Glimpie of Avatralia. ~ 198

beset South Australia. But her ferille soil, her excellent
climate, one of the moat healthy in the world, and above
all, ihe discovery of immense mineral treasures, copper, lead,
iron, silver, gold even, have again made her popular and
prosperous. The copper mines are among the richest in the
world ; • and the iron is said to be remarkably pure. Agri-
culture is also flourishing in spite of tlie high minimum price
of public lands, which so long prevailed, five dollars an acre.f
Sixty thousand acres are actually cultivated, and three years
ago, 690,000 sheep and 38,000 cattle rejoiced in the luxuriant
pastures which stretch from Adelaide inward.

Upon the higher branches of the same river, which dis-
charges the waters of Southeastern Australia near Adelaide,
lie the pleasant and fertile lands of that happy region which
we have mentioned as having been partially explored by
Messrs. Hovel and Hume in 1624, and as having been more
fully surveyed by Mitchell in 1836. The " Port Phillip "
counlry, the southern [lorlion, poiitically, of New South
WaleSj is, next to South Australia, the most popular portion
of the southern continent ; and for agricultural purposes,
whether tillage or grazing, is the most popular and promising
of all. There has been, thus far, but one serious drawback,
apparently, to its prosperity ; although it is to be apprehended
that the existing system of transportation will prove injurious
in the end to Australia Fehx, which is receiving largely of
the "exiles," young and old ; — the drawback to which we
refer is the system of land-selling and renting. Under this
system, such high prices were asked Ibr land, and permits for
grazing granted so low, J that dispersion was inevitable, settlers
were discouraged, squatters became more numerous than ever,^

□ 1845-6 was Xt4l),(nO, or (700,000; ii

Tbe folljr o( sncb a price u well pul by Blnclecki, page 43B; iltequir
M, worth Ihirty-fuur dullun, lo feed a chwp worlh fi% or srvenly-fii
producing Iwo and a ball' puundi of woul^ The inlerwt bIoos wih
wool CMI eighty cenli a pound,

tdd hy govprnmeiil for 3,200 doUan
OB-'afs.' "M^. How

l£lMI)) but realed for 39 diillan a year ! See Howiu'i Imprcwiuna uf Ai
Felii, pp. 9S-213. Mr. Ho will wua a lutfcrer, Bud huimpreniuoa are very ua-
fawratM ; loo inui^b lo, we juJg«.

t In Oolober, 1843, Iherc were in New Soulh WaleB,S79 Bnaaliers" ilelion», wilh
a populBlion'oT SOO Boula, BDd conlainms 1J,T96 horses, 491JW0 homed CBlUe, ipd
1,000,800 sheep.

TOL. LXX, NO. H6. 17

194 A Glimpse of AtutraUa. [Jan.

and civilization was needlessly delayed. Nor was this all ;
the course pursued by the government led to speculatioos of
the most extravagant character, and these were followed by
almost universal bankruptcy. But this portion of New Hol-
land, like our own western country, which but a few years
since went through a similar series of revulsions, coDtains
the essential elements of prosperity, and must, at some future
time, bex^ome the most densely peopled part of the island that
has yet been entered. In 1847, indeed, the efiects of the
earlier convulsions had in a great degree passed away.*

One other point alone remains to be mentioned, — Northern
Australia, or the north province of New South Wales ; the
site of Port Essington and Victoria.

In J 8 13, Capt. King explored the strait which divides the
two islands, named by him Melville and Bathurst. As the
reports which he made proved the neighborhood to be well
suited for a settlement, and as the British ministry desired to
take formal possession of the coast which King had examined,
an expedition was sent out in 1824, under Capt. Bremer,
which founded a fort upon the western side of Melville Island,
and there commenced a colony. The fort was named Dun-
das, and the harbor Port Cockbum ; and one hundred and
twenty-six persons, of whom forty-five were convicts, were
left as the germ of the new province. This position, however,
was abandoned in 1828 for Raffles' Bay, on Coborg penin-
sula, near to Port Essington. The object of this change was
10 secure the trade with the Malays, who come in large num-
bers yearly to this coast to take the Trepang or Beche de
mer. This point was soon left uninhabited, however, in con-
sequence of the incompetence of the commanding officer,
and from that time till 1839, the northern coast was left to
the natives and the Malays. In the year last named, Capt.
Bremer, who had meantime become " Sir Gordon Bremer,"
was again commissioned to colonize the desert " Amheim-
land," and in due season founded at Port Essington the third
infant settlement of the north ; a settlement which, in so far
as we are informed, yet remains in an infantile state. Leich-
hardt found it, in 1845— 6, a mere military station.

And now we have briefly, dryly, most imperfectly, sketched

* See a letter in Dougla« Jerrold'» paper, October 14, 1848.

1850.] A Glimpse of Aus(raRa. 195

the hislory of discovery and coloaization in the great un-
known Southern land. We have seen U visited by the
Spanish, Dutch, and French, wiihoui an effort on the part of
either at colonization. We have pointed to the voyages of
Dampier, Cook, Flinders, King, and Stokes, under the au-
thority of Great Britain, by whose efforts the coast has been
gradually brought to light with great distinctness, although
not a year passes without some farther additions to the per-
fectness of the surveys thus made, and even to the discove-
ries of river-mouths of imporlance ; — as, for instance, the dis-
covery lately made, or certainly about to he made, of the
mouth of the river Boyne, which discharges its waters on the
«astem coast not far from the Tropic of Capricorn, proba-
bly into Harvey Bay. We have briefly reported the passage
of the Blue Mountains, the expeditions of Osley, Sturt,
Hume, Mitchell, Eyre, Siurt again, and Leichhardt, which
have made known to us the great valley of the Murray,
the Victoria of Central Australia, the coast of the north-
east, the region of the Austral Alps and Pyrenees, the slope
towards Bass's Straits, Lake Torrens, and the deserts which
lie between the gulfs of Spencer and Carpentaria, We have
mentioned, for we could do no more, the problems as to
convict labor, emigration, the price of land, and the disper-
sion of the settlers, which have arisen from time to time
into prominence in the progress of New South Wales more
especially, but which in sonje degree have been sources of
disquiet in Western and Southern Australia as well. We
have attempted to convey to our readers an idea of the fit-
ness of this New Holland world more particularly for graz-
ing; of the advantages for tillage that distinguish the south-
ern district of New South Wales, " Australia the Blessed " ;
of the metallic wealth of the " Wakefield" colony ; of the
comparative barrenness, as far as we yet know, of the west-
ern and northwestern shores; and of the regular progress
(hat is taking place in the region that reaches from Swan
River to King George's Sound, and which is nearly equal in
size to the State of Georgia, and about as far from the equa-
lor.

Two subjects alone remain for us to speak of, the geologi- -
cal and meteorological views which have been proposed to
account for the peculiar soil and condition of Central Aus-

196 A Glimpse of Australia. [Jan.

tralia, and the character and situation of the natives. Of
both we must speak very briefly.

A favorite theory for explaining the flatness, the barren-
ness, and the salt pools of the vast regions which stretch
from the western slope of the Blue Mountains and Australian
Alps to the eastern declivities of the Stanley range of hills
beyond the river Darling, has been its recent rise from the
ocean. According to this view, the fertile lands along the
eastern coast were not long since (in a geological estimate
of long and short) bounded on the west by a bay or gulf,
which stretched from the neighborhood of Adelaide, along the
course of the Darling, to the region beyond the marshes of
the Lachlan and M&cquarie, where those rivers make a de-
scent of 1,800 feet in from one to two hundred miles. As
the whole continent rose above the ocean level, the bottom
of this vast gulf became that plain which is now alternately
flooded and scorched to dust. Hence its barren character,
for as yet the influence of the, ocean salt is felt, and oulj
salsolaceous plants grow plentifully : and time has not jet
brought from the uplands that vegetable mould which b
essential to fertility ; indeed, the uplands have not much to
spare, for the evergreens that cover them aflbrd but a short
supply of leaves, and those fall so gradually as to lose most
of their enriching virtues from the absence of a proper fer-
mentation. When, in addition to this ocean origin of the inte-
rior, its flatness, the imperfect formation of its river channels,
the absence of vegetable mould, and the frequent droughts,
we consider the denuding effects of the floods which from
time to time sweep portions of it, — its want of fertility is
explained. But, according to this view, nature by these
very floods is preparing these plains for the habitation of
man ; she is deepening the river channels, is manuring the
soil, is changing the. worthless ocean bed into a land fit for
cultivation. Such, very briefly stated, is the view (as we
understand it,) of Sturt, of Mitchell, of M'CuUoch and
others.*

Another theory, and one to our mind far better supported
by facts, is ably stated, though in a somewhat scattered form,
by Strzelecki, who has done more to make New South Wales

♦ See M*Culloeh'ft Gazetteer, art. " Au^l^.|ia, " ^nd references there given.

1850.] A Glimpse of Australia. 197

and Tasmania scientifically intelligible than all other inquirers.
He has done so much, indeMf, ihat before s)>eaking of hii
views in relation to the subject before us, we must say a few
words of the Count himself. He is a Pole, exiled, or self-ex-
iled probably, because he would not renounce that nationality
which he estimates so well.* For twelve years previous to
1845, he was engaged in wandering through North and South
America, the West Indies, the South Sea islands, New Zea-
land, New South Wales, Van Diemen's land, the islands near
Java, China, Hindostan, Egypt, and Europe. Thai he did
not fail to use his eyes, his ears, and his mind, during
these varied travels, is amply proved by the work before us,
and by the extracts from his unpublished journals, which be
here and there gives by way of illustration. If these are
fair specimens of his manuscripts, no traveller since Humboldt
(if "since" is applicable to that wonderful man) so well de-
serves to have his writings published and Illustrated at large. f

Sirzelecki's view of New South Wales, — for of New
Holland as a whole no sane man would say any thing in our
present state of ignorance, — is this: the geology, or rather
the mineral character, of the rocks which prevail determines
the vegetation, the temperature, the moisture, and tile fertility
of that strange land, whose hghtnings even are so often thun-
derless.J

The rocks of New South Wales are excessively silicious;
the proportion of those containing more than sixty per cent,
of silex to those containing less being as four to one ; and
so far as the country west of the Blue Mountains is known,
this flinty formation almost universally prevails. Now the
soil formed by the disintegration of such rocks is very unfa-
vorable to vegetation, and especially to that kind of vegetation
which causes (Ae earth readily to imbibe moitture from the
air, and slowly to part unth it ; in other words, such a
soil, independent of rains, will always be dry, and rains will

" See lbs nule fniui bin Munuscripl JoutdbI, psgc 3S0.

t It was Slraetecki wtiu diwmeivd *' Cip|i'> lain)," bank or Cape Huwt?, a very
valuable retfiiHi, — lohimaliDcwtBral-lrap, (page 460, ) a» be had W wofW [bur wecta,
(^uig Ibrec luilea h i»y, and leaving every lluug, m order lu gel out!

1 Slrzelecki, 190; McC>ilIa:h'i OazelU-er, 313, (Am Ikl ) Lij{t.luiDg wiUiwtt
ihunder baa been witae»ed oa the Allnalic ; mea bdve beta Ifiited un luurd ship,
I DO MlHSr tmai aouoinpaaied lite etectruziiy ihau a liwa. Tbia
'jrof Ibeihip, a maaoT Ihu lof'- ' '

17*

198 A GUmpse of Australia. [Jan.

always run through it, or be shed by its surface. In addition
to this, it is found, that thesilicious soils absorb solar heat, but
do not retain it after the sun has passed away, a circurastance
uniformly connected with non-productiveness. The amount
of rain which falls in Australia was, for the years 1838 to
1842, both included, more than double that which falls in
London ; while the evaporation was not one third more. It
is not, therefore, a dry climate. Neither is it a hot one, upon
tile whole ; an average of three years does not sbow a sun^
mor heat above 90^, or an annual mean above 68°. The
peculiar character of New South Wales, in short, is not to be
traced to its climate, or its rains, although they fall unequally
and o(\en in torrents, so much as to its peculiar soil growing
out of the minerals which compose the mass of its rocks.
If this view be correct, nature must not be left to turn the
Macquarie into a Nile, but wise irrigation and wise planting
must cure what nature cannot ; and, after all, the time may
never come when the valley of the Darling and its tributaries
can be other than a thinly peopled, pastoral land.*

In reference to the aborigines of Australia, who are de-
creasing with truly frightful rapidity, Slrzelecki states, as a
fact based upon very extensive and varied observation among
the natives of America, the South Sea islanders, and Austra-
lians, that, by a law of nature, the aboriginal female, after hav-
ing once borne children to a European, is barren to men of her
own race.t In addition to this cause of decrease, the prev-
alence among the New Hollanders of the most poisonous
complaints, as attested by Sturt % and others, may be men-
tioned. Nor is there in the Australian nearly as much as in
the Iroquois, the Delaware, the Huron, and the Black-foot,
to make us regret this God-directed, — for such it seems to
be, — wasting away. Civilization and Christianity seem even
less adapted to him than to our own red man. The British
government, and especially the colony of South Australia,
have favored the natives as far as the while man in this cen-
tury can be expected to favor the brown. But it is all in
vain. The New Hollander. is not wanting in intelligence or
good feeling. He is kind, forbearing, not devoid of ingenuity.

• Strzelecki, from ooe eod to ibe other. f Ph^c 346.

I Sturt, II. 124, 126, 148.

1850.] Bartol's DUcouriet. 199

not unworthy of sympalhy ; but he can do more live where
ihe Anglo-Saxon once plants his fool, than his aboriginal
weeds can where the plough, and harrow, and hoe are at their
mission. The negro has a permanence ; he fits into the while,
and in one relation or another, the two can and do live to-
gether. But the North American Indian and the Australian
fill no crevice in tlie absorbing nature of the Caucasian ; tliey
cannot be slaves, they cannot be equals, of course they can-
not be masters ; and so, white might practically makes right,
tliey die, or their race is lost by admixture with the race of
their conquerors. It is not now, indeed, a question of right,
but a question of fact ; and before it can be made a questioD
of right in practice, the sufferers will be gone from earth.

And here we must close. This topic of the natives, taken
in connection with the aborigines of the Pacific islands and
Africa, we may return to again. We might also Gil another
article as long, though perhaps not as tedious, as this, with
sketches of Anglo- Australian life; hut we prefer to turn the
attention of such readers as may follow us thus far to some
of the various English works, which relate to this subject, —
especially lo those of Landor, Sidney, Howitt, Wilkinson,
and Westgarth.*

Art. VII. — DiacourstK on the Chrittian Spirit and lAfe,
By C. A. BiHTOL, Junior Minister of the West Church,
Boston: Crosby &- NicHols. 1850. lamo. pp.344.

In spite of the common prejudice upon the subject, we
maintain that theology, considered as a department of litera-
ture, is no more under the dominion of dulness than any
other department. Books, viewed a part from their subjects, may
be divided into two classes, and when subjected to analysis,
they exhibit widely di&'erent menial processes according as
they fall within one division or the other. The first class is
composed of works which proceed from self-acting minds,

200 Burtol's Diseomnts. [Jan.

gifted with a virid coneeptioo of the objects of thought ; the
other, of the productioos of mechanical minds, having do
conception of the spirit of things, but only a perception of
their forms and empirical relations. Books which fall under
the latter divi^on are as apt to be tiresome when they pass
under the name of poems or noTels, as when they take the
graver appellation of sermons ; and though capable of coo-
yeying information, they never succeed in communicating any
moral or mental energy. The di&rence between the two
classes b as radical as the diflkfeoce between organic life
and mechanical contrivance.

Now, theological works, Uke all otheis, are interesting or
duD, they fix or stupefy attention, according to the character
of the minds whence they proceed ; and it is no more appro-
priate to call Hooker, Taylor, South, or Bunyan tiresome,
than it would be to apply this epithet to Bacon, Shakspeare,
Milton, or Dryden. There is, it must be admitted, a great
difficulty in the way of the preacher, arising from the triteness
of hb topics as contrasted with the grandeur of his sphere of
thought ; and he will most certainly lack the power of pleasing
unless he resolutely seizes and vividly presents the all-impor-
tant and all-inclusive truths which are buried in our trite forms
of speech. In order that he may communicate the spiritual
life inherent in religious facts and ideas, he must possess a
strong and vivid conception, amounting to practical realization,
of spiritual things in their essential nature, and a power of
expression which pierces through the crust of woridliness and
touches the inmoest nerve of the moral being. But almost
every community has made an apotheosis of common sense,
and in regard to religious matters, has reduced the most awful
realities the mind can contemplate into neat and portable
propositions, destitute of all living force and influence, equally
self-evident and unmeaning, and which everybody theoreti-
cally assents to and practically disregards. This passage of
truths into trubms, thb conversion of spiritual facts into
spiritless abstractions, b the great crime for which mediocrity
is to be held responsible; and it fairly exceeds in turpitudJe
all the minor peccadilloes which it b common to lay to the
charge of genius. The clerg}'man b under the strongest
temptations to slide into these commonplace phrases and
opinions, — to pass off a series of wearisome moralities.

1850.] Bartol's Discourses. 201

undisputed dotiirines, and dead didactics for the Christian
religion, — and, therefore, though during his ministry, birth
preaches, and calamity preaches, and death preaches, he
never preaches. Compared with this smooth formality, fanat-
icism itself may be called wholesome, and we hardly know
of any check which can be given to the practice until dulness
is promoted from a misfortune into a sin. One curious result
of this substitution of religious maxims for religious life, is its
development in society of a peculiar form of mental rebel-
lion, the characteristic expression of which is an inversion of
truisms into paradoxes, a denial of all the conimonptaces of
morality and religion, and an escape from opinions tediously
true into opinions racily false. On no other principle than
that of reaction against dulness, can we account for the
custom which now obtains among certain metaphysical re-
formers and men of wit and displeasure about town, of
calling evil good and sin experience, of eliminating responsi-
bility and retribution from the system of life, and of consid-
ering all the excellence there is in society to be monopolized
by its outcasts.

The leading characteristic of the volume of sermons before
us is the comparative absence of all the cant phraseology
and formal rhetorical arrangement, which are so apt to vitiate
the compositions of the pulpit, and the continual presence of
a living and inspiring mind, which, while it conceives spiritual
things in the concrete, generally observes their mutual relations,
avoids apathy as well as fanaticism, and frequently presents
that fine combination of vitality with moderation which con-
stitutes repose. The sermons are in a high degree intellect-
ual. By this we do not mean that they indicate more
learning and logic than sensibility ; but that they exhibit that
union of reason and imagination which is the condition of
spiritual insight, as distinguished from mere spiritual feeling ;
emotions not being substituted for conceptions, but accompa-
nying or pervading them. In speaking of a great religious truth,
having its root and substance in the invisible realities of
another woriH, we have a right to demand that the preacher
should spiritually discern it, not as an opinion or proposition,
but as a fact ; assert its existence with as much confidence
as though it were perceptible to sense; see, feel, and believe
it; and in reference to its reality, record on bis page the

^2 Bartol's tHscourses. [Jan.

testimony of a witness, not the mere hearsay of a repeater
of another's contemplations. There are many sermons in
the present volume in which much of this *^ gift of genuine
insight '*' is displayed, and we could especially mention those
on Spiritual Peace, Faith the Substance and Evidence, The
Dead Speaking, Eternal Life, and The Spiritual Mind. In
these, a calm, clear, inward vision of spiritual facts is com-
bined with a quiet religious ecstacy awakened by their
contemplation ; and so intense is the realization, that the
diction at times becomes rhythmical, and discourse almost
melts into a rapturous hymn. The might as well as the
peace of Christian truths, their capacity equally to animate
and to tranquillize, are represented with lyrical beauty and
force, and the style loses all the formality of preaching, as
interrogations, exclamations, images, and illustrations flash up
from its even and melodious movement. The author seems
really to feel what deep and momentous truths lie entombed
in topics and maxims which appear to common minds hope-
lessly trite ; and if resurrection implies as much power as
creation, we are compelled to award the praise of vital
imagination to a mind which can thus call back the life
departed out of common forms, and animate them anew.

Connected with this clear inward vision of supersensual real-
ities, is the unconscious felicity with which the author associates
all the phenomena of nature and society with religious ideas
and sentiments, and views every thing in relation to God.
His mind is eminently interpretative, perceiving the spiritual
signi6cance of die meanest visible object, and solicitous to
assign it a place and a purpose in the Divine economy. This
is not merely an imaginative discernment of the life inherent
in all things, but a perception of the meaning and relations
of things considered as objects of religious contemplation,
and as having a practical bearing upon spiritual culture.
The author, as far as his perceptions extend, makes a transla-
tion of nature and character into the language of piety.
The hardest and most resisting materials melt at once into
religious signi6cance, and become occasions for cheerful
hope, as they pass through the crucible of his baptized imagi-
nation. We cannot detect a trace of that misanthropy,
either in statement or tone, which usually comes from a vivid
conception of the spiritual world as contrasted with the actual.

1850.] Bartol's Diicourses. 203

There Is enough of indignation at cruelty, iniquity, and base-
ness, enough of holy passion directed against bad passion ; but
no morbid hatred of imperfectioD, no scorn and contempt, none
of the language either of despair or sarcasm, no use of the
devil's weapons to overturn the devil's legions. It is much
easier to hate the sinner than to make tlie sinner hale his sin ;
and this abstinence from the luxury of invective and satire
would alone indicate depth of nature, even if the sermons did
not furnish other and sufficient proofs of it.

This tenderness, humility, and cheerful trust in God are
apt, in minds of great religious sensitiveness, tn degenerate
into mere amiability or weakness of heart, and interfere with
breadth and robustness of thinking. We do not perceive
that Mr. Bartol ever puts on the sentimentalist, or even the
mystic, in representing these finer qualities of Christian
faith. There are no two sermons in the volume more diverse
in their subjects than those entitled, Business and Religion,
and Death is Yours; but in each, the facts are fairly and
boldly met, without any yielding to expediency in the former
case, or to sentimentality in the latter; and both are excel-
lent for the sturdy piety with which Christian principles are
opposed to the strongest temptation and the most bewildering
fear to which mankind are subject. The discourse on death,
especially, is a very striking expression of spiritual faith.
There is something sublime in the mere statement of the
subject, in the courage with which the extreme case of mor-
tal agony is taken at the commencement, all moralizing
remoteness of thought discarded, and the seeming curse pro-
nounced a blessing in the full view of ihe pall and the coffin.
"Strange, indeed," he says, "if it were an evil, happening
universally, as it does, to intelligent creatures under the gov-
ernment of a benevolent God. No : Death is yours. I
would fain say it to you, my friends, not in the spirit of
melancholy, uncertain doubt, but of cheerful assurance and
hope. I come from the funeral company, froin the coffin and
the grave, to say it ; and many of you have come from ibe
burial of loved and pure ones to hear. Death is yours."

Besides this spirituality of vision, this view of all things in
relation to God and another world, Mr. Bartol is further
distinguished by force, clearness, and precision in the reflective
action of his nund. His general views of the subjects he

204 Bartol's Di$amrm. [Jan.

treats are broad and comprehensiFe, equally marked bjr
sagacity in the discerament of strong points and judgmeot in
limiting their applications. As his discourses are practical,
they exhibit, of course, no long trains of aigumentation, but
the arrangement of the matter ever indicates logical methcMl,
and he has much of that power of rapid intellectual analysb
by which arguments are condensed into statements. This is
well illustrated in the sermons on Human Nature, Now I
Know in Part, and Change and Growth. The reasoning in
these loses none of its force by its admirable compression.
Perhaps, however, the philosophical capacity of his intellect
b best displayed in those sermons in which he develops and
applies a principle after the deductive method. The finest
example of this in the book is the discourse entitled, Putting
on the Lord Jesus Christ, which is not only original in its
conception, but, if we mistake not, is a new contribution to
the metaphysics of theology. The Song of the Redeemed,
one of the mellowest and most melodious compositions in the
book, presents a singular combination of the lyrical and the
logical, — a principle being developed in a series of vivid |mc-
tures, addressing at once the reason, imagination, and heart.
Considered merely as a theological disquisition, the sermon
on '' Nature, Conscience, and Revelation as declaring God,
Duty, and Destiny," has very striking merits, the movement
of the thought being as sure and orderly, as the eloquence
which urges it on is rich and forcible.

.Another characteristic of this volume is the power with
which the author grasps the Christian sentiments and vir-
tues, penetrating as he does into their substance, and exhibi-
ting their reasonableness as well as their beauty and might.
These virtues and sentiments are too commonly expressed
with a distressing formality and an apologetic air, as though
the preacher himself considered them onl} proper for weak-
lings, and hesitated to thrust them impertinently upon men
who " know- the world." Mr. Bartol ever views them as
vital forces, pointing to the highest ideal of manliness. Hu-
mility, forbearance, forgiveness, love, meekness, veneration,
self-devotion, he treats as the most resolute, courageous, and
bracing of qualities ; and he probes to the core the weakness,
hollowness, cowardice, or unreasonableness of their opposites.
It is no little task thus to show the meanness and impotence

1850.] Bartol's Diacourtes. SMS

which are really at ihe foundation of sin, selfishness, and
the " pagan virtues " ; for they have an imposing march
and a valorous outside which are not without their effect
even upon the imaginations of the good. We have rarely
seen a more eloquent representation of a Christian excellence,
one written more closely to the heart of the subject, than
the sermon on Forbearance. " The undiscerning," he says,
"may mistake it for dulness, and want of becoming chivalry.
But to the all-seeing God there is beauty in such repose,
beyond the exploits of strength and bravery. In the finest
statues of ancient art, the last perfection is a calmness of
posture, seeming to embosom unbounded power,"

The style of pulpit discourses of the present day betrays
the influence of the established dictator of diction at our
colleges. There is a formal neatness and pharisaic precision
of expression common to most preachers who are rhetori-
cians by the grace of Dr. Blair, which appear to us ingen-
iously infelicitous as channels of spiritual thought and emo-
tion. We have seen many sermons, written by men who
fell warmty and conceived vividly, in which piety was
strangled in the process of putting it into sentences and
paragraphs. Style should follow, not determine, the action
of the mind ; and clearness of expression will be more likely
to spring from clear conceptions, than from following rules
which mangle the thought in ihe very act of setting it in
clear light. Mr. Bartoi's style is free from all blemishes of
smartness, crispiness, and merely mechanical precision; but
it offends occasionally in the opposite extreme of sedatoness,
fulness, and luxuriant excess of ornament and illuslmtion.
Its characteristic merit is a grave energy of movement,
which often rises into majesty, and never sinks into feeble-
ness, with little to disturb the harmony of its motion but a
too frequent use of interrogations. This form of speech,
from its snapping and trampling character, is felt at times as
a harsh intruder into the author's melodious paragraphs; but
in a majority of instances, it is almost concealed by the rich
and flowing drapery in which the author clothes it ; and there
are numerous sentences in which the reader hardly knows he
is committing himself to such a perilous companion, until he
obtains a distant view of the '■ little crooked thing that asks
questions," posted truculently at the end of the period. In

VOL. LXX, NO. 146. 18

206 Bartol's Di$cowr$t$. [Jan.

ooe great merit of a preacher's style, that of sbeddiog over
the composition a light caught from the stainless beauty of
the Christiao ideas it conveys, Mr. Bartol is commonly
successful ; but even the purity of this effect is lessened by
the bewildering abundance of images and comparisons wbicb
he pours over every page, until the thing illustrated is in
<)anger of being lost in the splendor of the illustrations. No-
thing but the firmness of his hold upon central principles
prevents his style from being, in this way, altogether ov^*-
loaded, losing all consistency of purpose, and becoming con-
fused and disjointed.

It is difficult to cull passages from the volume for quotation..
as there are no paragraphs deliberately eloquent, and set as
traps to catch the reader's admiration. The following may
be given as a specimen of the author's plain speaking : —

*'*' Are you nominal Christians or real Christians ? We are all
one or the other. Suppose the angel of God should descend,
and, breaking up the decent and orderly ranks as they now
appear, classify us ; how many would be on the one side, and
how many on the other ? — on your own conscience, my friend,
where would you be ? It is said that there are in Boston more
than twelve thousand communicants professing . their love for
Christ in the ordinance of his supper ? Are they all real Chris-
tians ? They would shake this city from the centre to the cir-
cumference, if they were. Not a sin, public or private, could
dare long to stand unabashed before their searching gaze and
spotless example. For virtue, religious character, is influential.
It is not to be altogether withstood, any more than gravitation or
the tides. A healing and reforming power will go out of it (for
this is God's ordination) wherever it moves. We talk of reform
and reformers. A good, virtuous, Christian character is the only
reni, effectual, lasting reformer in the world. And before twelve
thousand real Christians, these vile deceptions in trade, — these
social pollutions, the horror of which we are just beginning to
see, — these evil customs, that exist only by compliance and
sufferance, — these traps and temptations, now set without a blush
to take captive men's honor and virtue, would flee away with a
brand of intolerable ignominy from our sight. The existence of
bad habit and bold iniquity is, rightly viewed, a reproach to the
church; for, were the church really what it is in name, the habit
and the iniquity could not so quietly endure."

The sermon entitled, The Spiritual Mind, is one long strain
of devotional eloquence. The passages which more espe-

1850.] Bariol's Ducowaei. 207

cially refer lo tlie spiritual world, — " in which God presides,
and Christ iotercedes, and bands of elder and younger angels
minister," — are very grand and inspiring. We can only
extract a couple of paragraphs.

" But the spiritual mind, while opposed to what is carnal, com-
pleting what is moral, and discerning the significance of what ia
formal, has, of course, a positive and intrinsic quality of its own,
which we must go heyond all terms of negation and comparison
to set forth. To be spiriiually-minded, then, is lo have a sense,
B conviction, and inward knowledge of (he reality, Bolldily, and
permanent security of spiritual things. It is to believe and sec
that there is something more in God's universe than outwardly
appears; something more than this richly compounded order of
material elements, with all its beauty and lustre ; something be-
yond the sharply-defined glittering objects that crowd the land-
scape. It is to understand that day and nighl, seed-time and
harvest, summer and winter, are not the only facts possibly sub-
ject to the notice of the undying soul. It is lo be aware that
even the broad streets and mighty pathways which the astronomer
descries, laid out from globe to globej do not embrace the whole
or highest survey of God's creation. But beyond, within, or
above all, there verily is a scene, a society of lolly, intelligent
existence, where are brighter displays of God's nearness and
love; a company of immortals, escaped from this empire at
change; a circle of children in harmoniaus ranks about the infi-
nite Father, on whose forms, " vital in every part," death comes
not to lay his finger, and whose feet no sorrow or disappointment
can clog or trip, as they run in entlless pursuit of truth and
goodness.

'' The spiritual mind not only sees, as in cold vision, this inner
or upper world gloriously triumphing in its stability over the pass-
ing kingdom of earth and sense, but enters into relation with it,
feels surrounded by it, bows to it, and realizes an inspection from
the living firmament of its power. It repeats, indeed, in the
chambers of its own hidden life, ihe experience of the greal
spiritually-minded writer to the Hebrews, when, afler enumera-
ting a long list of ancient worthies, who had died in the faith
many centuries before, their names rising up like ranges of
mountains on the horizon of history, he represents them as aclu-
ally present, like the amphilheaire of witnesses at the Grecian
stadium, and says to hia feltow-behevera, ' Wherefore, seeing
we arc compassed about by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us
lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us,
and let ua run with patience the race that is set before us, looking

208 Bartol's ZHscounes. [Jan.

unto Jesus, the author aad finisher of our faith ; ^ a passage of
stirring power, which no literature out of the Bible can match.
And even such a holy, unseen environment the spiritually-
minded man walks in the midst of, or, with a forthrunning and
believing imagination, draws around him, and feels its potent
virtue. He beholds vividly beside him their bright examples ; for
they have fiaished the race before him. He hears them, from
their seats of bliss, with united cry cheer him on ; and his feet
gain swiftness in the way of all honor and well-doing. The rays
from their crowns of glory are concentrated from the whole can-
opy of heaven into the little earthly space over which he speeds
to do God^s bidding ; and he heeds not the ephemeral allurements
of earthly pleasure, or the side-lights of human fame.'^

In the sermon on Belshazzar's Feast, there is much pic-
turesque imagery and vivid description ; but perhaps the
roost striking exhibition of the author's power of painting
with words, is in The Song of the Redeemed. The principle
illustrated is that by which " toil, pain, and trial, however hard
and sharp and grievous in the experience, turn to comfort and
delight in the retrospect ; " and the following passage exquis-
itely pictures the sailor.

*^The same principle operates in the hardships of peaceful
life. The sailor has a like gladness from the dangers with which
he has been environed on the stormy deep. His rough and flinty
experience, too, melts in this crucible of inward recollection, by
some wondrous alchemy changed to gold. He would not lose
now from mind the rough winter, the perilous voyage, the tem-
pestuous Cape, in doubling which, the biting frost and the bitter
wind did their worst upon him, and his bark wellnigh foundered
in the trough of the sea. Not a hurricane, or season of scant
allowance, or exposure to deadly disease, would he part from.
Sweeter than the music of harps and organs, the breezes whistle
and the billows rage from afar ; and more beautiful than the calm
inland lake, reflecting the wood and the verdant hill-top near
which he was born, that foam still sparkles, and those breakers
swell and gleam, into which, as he clomb the giddy mast and
grasped the frozen rigging, he had wellnigh been plunged. The
gloomy patches of the scene charm him more than any spots of
sunshine. He interprets the almost intolerable accidents that
overtook him into a good and gracious Providence, and sings of
his calamity, privation, and fear."

We must close our extracts with one passage from a ser-

1650.] Bartol's Duamrie*. 209

moD replete with mediiative beauty and a still searching
pathos, entitled, The Record of the Year. It refers lo the
good ministries of sickness and death.

" I have seen too much ihe gracious work that sickness, with
all her sharp inslrumenlalitiea, does, lo wish to close my eyes on,
or pass alighiiy over, her entriea in the hook of life. She is the
uiigel who comes not alone and unatlend«d 10 ihe body and soul
of man. Herself dark, she comes with a bright retinue. Pa-
tience, resignation, spiritual thoughts of God and of futurily.coma
with her. Penitence, flying back over the past, yet the pardon-
ing mercy of the gospel flying with her, and shedding rays of
heaven on her mournful way ; resolution, pluming herself for a
belter course ; good affecliona to the Father above, and the
brethren around, oAen unfolding more strong and tender than
they had ever done before in health; — ihese are the attendant
spirits and close companions of sickness, to whose presence and
precious agency we can all testify. And so this page of our
record shall be to us no page of fell chance or dark misfortune,
but written with the finger of God, not in the train of outward
circumstances merely, but for enduring instruction, on the tables
of the heart. For as the moat blazing efiiilgence of heaven
sleeps within the black cloud, so in this lowering darkness and
eclipse of bodily sutTering oSXeu lies the very brilliance of a
spiritual and divine glory.

" God, my friends, by his Son Jesus Christ lifts up even this
burden of death. He lifts it up in the assurance that ihey are
not dead, though their mortal frames are dissolved ; that they are
not silent, tliough by our dull ears their voices are unheard.
They praise him still, though not in the faint tones of this our
humble worship. Their virtues live and grow, still sacred in his
care, though canonized in no human calendar. Nay, they are
not only themselves immortal, but they keep alive, or create, the
faith and sense of immortality in our hearts. They have made a.
path with their teet into the blessed land ; they have filled up and
bridged over with their hallowed dust the separating gulf from
time into eternity. To tlie meditative and prayerful soul, they
send back their appeal. Being dead in the body, they yet speaic
for truth and goodness with louder tone and more persuasive
pathos than when their words fell on our outward hearing. They
have gone, that they might awaken our virtue. They have gone,
that they might chill and discourage our worldly lusts. They
have gone, that, from their purer, spiritualized being they might
sanctify our motives, and touch with a thrilling and arousing,
18*

210 Darlington's Memorials of Bartram. [Jan.

though invisible, hand our better nature. Like the mysterious
stars, though with a warmer attraction, they lift and beckon
us up. The light still burns, the fountain flows, the music
sounds for us."

We have considered at some length this volume of sermons,
because it appears to us to have its foundation deep in
religious ideas and sentiments, to present much of the rich
substance of religious thought, to evince more than common
power in evolving the real soul of religion from religious
maxims, and to indicate a mind which, in the region of
spiritual meditation, moves with certainty and ease while it
moves with becoming humility and awe. As a contribution
to literature, we think it worthy of consideration for the beauty
of its style and the nourishing quality of its thoughts ; and
though we would speak less con6dently of it as a contribution
to theology, it certainly possesses some rare qualities, which
give it no mean station among the compositions of religious
and contemplative minds.

Art. VIII. — Memorials of John Bartram and Humphry
Marshall, with Notices of their Botanical Contempo-
raries. By William Darlington, M. D., LL. D.,
&c. Philadelphia: Lindsay & Blakiston. 1849. 8vo.
pp. 585.

The name of John Bartram stands first on the long list of
eminent men who have enwreathed their names with trophies
from our North American Flora. He was the earliest ex-
plorer of the botanical wonders of the New World, from the
then continuously wooded shores of Ontario and Cayuga to
the source of the San Juan in Florida. The meagre sketches
of bis life, which have appeared in encyclopedias and bio-
graphical dictionaries, have made his name but lightly known
to the public, though he has long been honored by the scien-
tific world as the patriarch of botany in America. He was
the contemporary of Linnaeus, who considered him the best
practical botanist of the age; and while monuments have

1850.] Darlington's Memorialt of Bartram. 211

been erected, medals struck, and memoirs written in commem-
oration of the Swedish naturalist, three quarters of a century
elapsed after the death of Bartram before he found a biogra-
pher. When standing under the splendid cypress planted by
the patriarch's own hands in the garden which, had it been
duly preserved, would he his best monument, we hoped that
some other memorial of him, equally interesting and more
generally known, might yet appear and keep his memory
green. This wish has now been fulfilled by the publication
of his correspondence in a far more perfect form than could
have been expected after the lapse of so many years. His
letters are quaint and characteristic, and are written with
delightful siniplicily and frankness; apart from their value as
contributions to the history of natural science in this country,
they throw more light upon the manners of the times and the
character of the man, than could be derived from any form-
ally prepared biography.

The Bartram and Marshall Memorial is a handsomely
printed octavo volume, with engraved illustrations representing
the houses of both botanists, fac-similes of their handwriting,
and the cup and gold medal that were presented to Barlram,
the former by Sir Hans Sloane, and the other by a society of
gentlemen at Edinburgh. It is edited by an enthusiastic
botanist, now nearly the Nestor of his brethren, who has
passed his life near the locality where these pioneers of Amer-
can botany lived and died. Dr. Darlington is already favor-
ably known to the public as the compiler of Reliquia
Boldwinianee, and of a Flora of his own town and county.
He has never lost sight of his favorite study amid the din and
bustle of the other avocations in which he has been actively
engaged ; and it is honorable to his feelings that he has given
so much time to commemorating the services of those who
preceded him in devotion to this delightful science.

It is well that these papers came into the hands of one so
able and desiraus to do honor to the memory of the writers
of them ; for if a few years more had passed, it seems that
the curious might have sought in vain for any relics of them.
The editor tells us that, —

" These ancient manuscripts were not only jumbled together in
a chaotic moss, but were generally much injured by time, and
many of them scarcely legible ; so that it required no little care

212 Darlingtoo's Memorials of Bartram, [Jan.

and patient perseverance, to decipher and arrange them. This
was especially the case with the letters from John Bartram to his
friends, of which letters he seems to have been in the habit of
retaining the original rough draughts. It is, in fact, too probable,
that if the opportunity thus kindly afibrded by Colonel Carr and
his lady had not been embraced, the portion of the correspond-
ence here preserved would, ere loag, have been scattered among
the various branches of the family, and the recovery of it ren-
dered wholly impracticable.^^

Dr. Darlington has performed his task with ability. The
biographical notes are interesting, and though shorter than
we could wish, are sufficiently explicit to give the reader a
fair knowledge of the character and station of the persons to
whom they relate. We think the harmony of the different
portions of the book would have been better preserved, if tbe
correspondence had been arranged in chronological order
throughout ; as it is, the letters which passed between Collin-
son and Bartram, extending from 1734 to 1768, are placed
first, and occupy about half of the volume. Bartram's other
correspondents were many of the most celebrated men of the
last century, among whom may be mentioned Gronovius,
Dillenius, Kalm, Sir Hans Sloane, Dr. Franklin, Dr. Fother-
gill, Miller, Catesby, and Wilson. We regret that none of Lin-
nsus's letters have been preserved in the collection, although
there are allusions to them by the other correspondents. Bar-
tram says, '^ Linnaeus hath sent me the second edition of his
CAaracteres Plantarum with a very loving letter, desiring my
correspondence, to furnish him with some natural curiosities of
our country. I hope by next ship to send him some." The
Swedish naturalist was delighted with the plants he received
firom America, and often regretted that he could never visit
this country, which then, in its vast unexplored regions, con-
tained such treasures of natural history ; and he imposed upon
all his friends who came hither the oblio^ation of sendin^: him
specimens.

John Bartram, the subject of these memoirs, was bom in
Darby, Pennsylvania, on the 23d of March, 1699. He was
the son of William Bartram, whose father, following the for-
tunes of William Penn, removed from Derbyshire, England,
in 1682. John Bartram inherited a farm near Darby from
his uncle, and was bred a husbandman ; but he evinced in

1850.] Darlington's Memoriab of Barfram. 213

early life an inclination for the study of physic and surgery,
and as his biographer relates, " he even acquired so much
knowledge in the practice of this latter science as to be very
useful, and in many instances to give great relief, lo his poorer
neighbors, who were unable to apply for medicine and assist-
ance to physicians of the city. It is extremely probable thai,
as most of his medicines were derived from the vegetable
kingdom, this circumstance might point out to him the neces-
sity of, and excite a desire for, the study of botany." He was
the first American who conceived the idea of establishing a
botanic garden, for which purpose, in 1728, he bought five
acres of land having a favorable soil and exposure, on the
banks of the Schuylkill, three miles from Philadelphia. Here
he built with his own hands a comfortable house of hewn
stone. This house and garden are still in existence, although
modern innovation threatens their destruction. A railroad
runs through the garden, and there is some danger that it will
be converted into a coal and lumber yard.

Of the five botanic gardens mentioned as established in the
United States before 1 806, two have wholly disappeared, and
only one, that at Cambridge, is still used for its original pur^
pose. Dr. Darlington observes, "the last named, now under
the skilful supervision of Professor A. Gray, is in a flour-
ishing condition, and bids fair, if supported by an adequate
endowment, to be a perennial monument of the liberality and
love of science of those who projected it." The adequate
endowment, of which it stands sadly in need, we hope may soon
be supplied. Three years ago, the greenhouse in the garden
had become so dilapidated from the want of funds for making
the necessary repairs, that the plants were taken out of it,
and distributed through the grounds. Some, too large to be
removed, were left to await the chance of being killed by the
cold ; among these was an enormous Camelia, fifty years old,
the first that was brought to this country. Last winter, a
small sum was spared from the funds to fit up temporarily one
of the compartments of the greenhouse ; but the whole build-
ing is so much out of repair, that it would be better economy
to erect a new one than to spend any more money upon the
old edifice. The garden is kept in as good order as the
trifling sum appropriated to it will admit ; but even now, with
the utmost frugality, the annual expenses exceed the interest

214 DarliQgton's Memorials of Bartram. [Jan.

of the fund. The establishment canDot support itself, be-
cause it cannot be devoted to any great extent to the cultiva-
tion of flowers for sale ; its objects are to bring together the
vegetable productions of our own country and of other lands,
to acclimate the foreign trees and shrubs which may prove use-
ful or ornamental, and to distribute abroad the most curious of
our indigenous plants. These purposes cannot be answered
without incurring considei*able expense ; and we know of no
worthier object to which the liberality of the patrons of
science can be directed, than to the restoration and support
of the garden at Cambridge.

But we return to the history of our botanical patriarch.
John Bartram, from the time he was ten years old, evinced
a great inclination for plants, and as he says in one of his
letters, he could recognize at sight all that he had once ob-
served, though he knew not their proper names, having had
no person or books to instruct him. He received the usual
education which in those days could be acquired in country
schools ; and he acquired also some knowledge of Greek and
Latin, though probably not much, as he requests Gronovius
to write to him in English, because he cannot easily make
out his Latin. He was about thirty years old when he laid
out his botanic garden, and filled it with the curious trees and
flowers he had found in his various excursions ; it soon at-
tracted the attention of many persons, who encouraged him
to persist in his labors. His particular friend, Joseph Breint-
nall, a merchant of Philadelphia, undertook to convey some
of his collections and observations on natural history to Peter
Collinson, in London, and thus laid the foundation of a friend-
ship and correspondence which continued for fifty years.
Bartram and Collinson both were Quakers, and both were
passionately fond of botanical pursuits ; the latter accumu-
lated a large fortune, and was rather generous in the use of
it, though his benevolence was somewhat tinctured by the
peculiar straitness and precision of his sect. He writes to
his American friend with a rather paternal and patronizing
air, but with great cordiality and (irankness. From a life of
Collinson, published in the University Magazine of 1795, we
extract the following : — " John Bartram may almost be said
to have been created an eminent naturalist by Mr. P. Col-
linson's assistance. He it was who first recommended to him

1850.] Darlington's Memorials of Bartram. 215

the colleclingof seeds, and afierwards aiding him in disposing
of tliem in (his country ; animated by his friend, Mr, Bartram
persevered in investigating the plants of America with inde-
fatigable labor, and with a success which rendered his name
illustrious."

At first, Bartram received from bis English patrons', in
return for his plants and seeds, presents of money, clothes,
and books ; but as their demands for new plants became
greater, and he was obliged to extend his excursions beyond
the district of Eastern Pennsylvania, Delaware, and the Jer-
seys, he very properly hinted to them that his journeys were
not pro6table to him, as his expenses in travelling were con-
siderable, and his farm was neglected in his absence. Col-
linson's reply is an amusing specimen of Broadbrim's dicta-
torial disposition in small things.

" As Lord Petre desired to see thy letters, tliey are al! there.
He admires ihy plain natumi way of writing, and thy observations
and descriptions of several plants. For want of them, I shall only
take noticeof thy proposal, in one of ihem, for an annual allowance
to encourage and enable thee to prosecute further discoveries.
Lord Petrb is very willing to contribute very handsomely toward*
it. He will give ten guineas, and we are in hopes to raise ten more.
This, we think, will enable thee to set apart a month, two, or
three, to make an excursion on the banks of the Schuylkill, to
trace il to lis fountain. But as so great an undertakin|t may re-
quire two or three years, and as many journeys, to elTect it, so
we must leave that wholly to thee. But we do expect, that af\er
harvest, and when the season is that all the seeds of trees and
shrubs are ripe, thou will set out ; and them that happen not to
be ripe when ihou goes, they may have aliained lo maturity
when thou comes back. We shall send thee paper for specimens
and writing, and a pocket compass, — expect ihee 'II keep a reg-
ular Journal of what occurs every day ; and an exact observation
of the course of the river, which, with a compass, thee may

" it will, we apprehend, be necessary to take a servant with
thee, and two horses for yourselves, and a spare one lo carry
linen, provisions, and all other necessaries. If the spare horse,
and the man's horse, had two panniers or large baskets on each
side, they will be very convenient to carry paper, lo lake speci-
mens by the way, and to bring back the seeds ; thee may make
a good many little, middling, and large paper bags to put the
seeds in ; and be sure have some good covering of skins over

216 Darlington's Memorials of Bartram. [Jan.

the baskets, to keep out the rain, dec. Take some boxes for
insects of all sorts, with the nets ; and on thy return, some par-
ticular plants, that thee most fancies, may be brought in the
baskets if there is room/^

An annual stipend of twenty guineas was finally promised,
and paid for a long series of years, the two other subscribers
being Philip Miller and the Duke of Richmond ; but Col-
linson often complains of the difficulty of obtaining the money
from "great folks." With this encouragement, Bartram
every year undertook long journeys for the benefit of his
foreign correspondents. He travelled over the Blue Ridge,
and explored Virginia ; he made various excursions through
New York, and several times climbed the Catskills ; he
crossed the Alleghanies, and traced the Monongahela and
Ohio for a great distance ; he visited the Carolinas twice ;
and, at the age of sixty-seven, being appointed botanist to
the King, he went to Florida, and ascended the river San
Juan for four hundred miles from its mouth. All these expe-
ditions in a wild and unsettled country were not unattended
with risk. He writes to a friend, " thee may suppose I am
often exposed to solitary and difficult travelling, beyond our
inhabitants, in passing over rivers, climbing over mountains
and precipices, amongst the rattlesnakes, and often obliged to
follow the track or path of wild beasts for my guide through
the desolate and gloomy thickets." And again, — " when I
am travelling on the mountains or in the valleys, I chiefly
search out the most desolate, craggy, dismal places I can
find, where no mortal ever trod ; — not that I naturally delight
in such solitudes, but entirely to observe the wonderful pro-
ductions of nature." It is evident that he richly earned his
twenty guineas. The following shows how modest his ex-
pectations were, and throws a fine light on his kindly and
simple disposition.

^^ I have received the nails, calico, Russia linen, and the clothes
for my boys ; all which are very good and well chosen, and give
great satisfaction. The only thing that gives me any uneasiness
is, that thee hath sent more than what is my due.

" Now, though oracles be ceased, and thee hath not the spirit
of divination, — yet according to our friend Doctor Witt, we
friends that love one another sincerely may, by an extraordinary
spirit of sympathy, not only know each other^s desires, but may

1850.] Darlington's MeittoriaU of Bartram. 217

have a spiritual conversation at great distances one Trom another.
Now, if this be truly ao, — if I love thee sincerely — and thy
love and friendship be so lo me — thee must have a spirilual
feeling and sense of what particular sorts of things will give
satisfaction; and doth not thy actions make it manifest? for,
what I send to thee for, thee hath chosen of just such sorts and
colors as 1 wanted. Nay, as my wife and 1 are one, bo she is
initiated into this spirilual union ; for thee has sent her a piece of
calico so directly to her mind, that she saith that if she had been
there herself, she could not have pleased her fanry better."

In the year 1743, Conrad Weiser, the general Indian in-
terpreter, was despatched by government to Onondaga, to
settle some difTerences with the Indians which originated in
a skirmish, in the wilds of Virginia, between some of the Six
Nations and the wliites. Bartram did not let this opportnnity
pass unimproved, and on the 3d of July, he started on horse-
back to join Weiser's parly, accompanied also by Lewis
Evans, a skilful physician of that period, who afterwards
published a map of the Middle States. Bartram's Journal
during this expedition was published hy his friends in London,
in 1751, without his knowledge; and we refer the curious
reader to it who is not satisfied with our slight sketch. The
Journal treats of the soil, climate, productions, and natural
curiosities of the rich hills and valleys of the interior of Penn-
sylvania. The course of the travellers lay through the vale
of Wiomic, or Wyoming, since so celebrated as the scene of
Campbell's poem, who doubtless gleaned material for his
descriptions of natural objects from this work. The journey
was not without its perils, for the route lay through the
heart of the wilderness occupied by the Indians, who were
not considered altogether friendly ; the pany were obliged to
sleepupontheground,toliveonlndianfare, and there was often
a scarcity even of that. They were so fortunate as to obtain
the services, as guides through the forest, of an Indian chief
and his son, who seem to have discharged the trust with
fidelity, as they were everywhere received with marks of honor
by the natives.

At one of the villages, a feast was given to Weiser in his
character of peacemaker ; on such solemn occasions, Indian
etiquette enjoins that every morsel be eaten. Weiser, not
being well, obtained permission to eal by proxy, and called

VOL. LXX. NO. 146, 19

SI 8 Darlington's Memorials of Bartram. [Jan.

in his compagnons de voyage to aid him ; but even their
united forces were not sufficient to dispose of the neck of
venison set before them, and one of them took up what was
left to throw it to the dog. But before he could accomplish
his design, an Indian seized it, and placing it on the fire, re-
ligiously covered it up with ashes. Bartram supposed this was
done to appease the god of the chase ; but it seems more
probable that, in the opinion of the savages, the food which had
once been touched by their guests became too sacred to be
applied to vile uses.

After a journey of nineteen days, the party reached Onon-
daga, where the council with the Six Nations was held, which
terminated amicably. Leaving Weiser to settle the diplomatic
afiairs, Bartram and his friend procured guides and continued
their journey to the trading post of Oswego, on Lake Ontario,
where they obtained provisions for their journey home. He
remarks that the waters of this lake had considerably dimin-
ished in the course of years, and offers several conjectures on
the cause of the phenomenon, which he finally leaves for
abler naturalists than himself to determine. The travellers
were kindly entertained by the traders and Indians at the
Castle, and were fully equipped for their journey home, which
they accomplished without difficulty.

The correspondence of Bartram and hb friends was inter-
rupted during the war of 1745, and some of their collections,
which had been sent by sea, were seized by the French and
Spanish cruisers. He writes to Gronovius, in December of
this year : —

*^ I have sent thee many curiosities in a box directed to thee ;
which I hope our worthy friend, Peter Collinson, will send to
thee according to my direction, — if the French and Spaniards
donU hinder him from the opportunity of obliging us. Indeed, it
is very discouraging to think that all my labor and charges may
very likely fall into such hands as will take no farther care of
them, than to heave them overboard into the sea, as I suppose they
did all that I sent last year, by the Queen of Hungaria. If I
could know that they fell into the hands of men of learning and
curiosity, I should be more easy about them. Though they are
what is commonly called our enemies, yet, if they make proper
use of what I have labored for, let them enjoy it with the blessing
of God.

^ I have sent a variety of the clay-cells, which the singing Waaps

1850.] Darlington's Memortala of Bar tram. 319

bviilt last summer ; but the wasps were gone, or dead, before thy
instructioDB came to my hands. 1 believe we have a great variety
of these kinds, I design, next summer, (tf my aSairs go on pretty
well,) to make a Gae eolleclion of insects and (ishes for thee."

In 1765, Collinson writes to his friend, " I have tlie plea-
sure to inform my good friend, that my repeated solicitiiliona
have not been in vain. For this day I received certain in-
telligence from our gracious king, that he had appointed thee
his botanist, with a salary of 50 pounds a year; ami in
pursuance thereof, I received thy first half year's payment of
the salary." In the autumn of thai year, Bartram set off for
Florida, going by sea to Carolina, and thence by land to St.
Augustine. Collinson speaks of this journey as dangerous,
and laments thai it was undertaken at so unfavorable a season,
for Bartram suffered much from seasickness and the "south-
ward fever." His son William took a fancy to settle in
Florida, a determination which cost his father much money
and caused him great uneasiness. Their voyage up the San
Juan was made in an open boat, and occupied nearly two
months. The journal kept during the expedition was sent to
London and published with notes by William Stork, M. D.,
who thus presents it to his readers: — "Mr. John Bartram, a
native of Pennsylvania, the author of this journal, is well
known and well respected in the learned world, as an able
naturalist ; his knowledge in botany recommended him to the
esteem and patronage of the great, and procured him the
honor of being botanist to His Majesty for both llie Floridas.
The usefulness of his journal, in making early known to the
world what are the natural productions of the country to
which it relates, is a sufficient proof of the usefulness of his
appointment."

Friend Collinson likens himself to " the Parson's barn which
refuses nothing;" others might class him with the horse-
leech's daughter, whose continual cry is. Give ! give ! Bar-
tram sometimes grows a little pettish under these repeated
calls, and says, " Do they think I can make new ones ? I
have sent them seeds of almost every tree and shrub from
Nova Scotia to Carolina ; very few are wanting, and from
the sea across the continent lo the lakes." " My correspond-
ents near London write to me as freely for Carolina plants,
as if they thought I could get them as easily as ihey do the

220 Darlington's Memorials of Bartram. [Jan.

plants in the European gardens ; that is, to walk at their
leisure along the alleys, and dig what they please out of the
beds, without the danger of life or limb." Collinsoh had a
perfectly boyish fancy for turtles, and is never weary of
sending for all the varieties of that class of animals, until he
finds that the fish in his pond were rapidly diminishing, and
at last discovers an enormous snapping turtle to be the depre-
dator, when he forthwith prohibits the importation of any
more* Yet the worthy Quaker expressed great delight when
the formidable creature was first sent to him.

^^ My SOD and I were both surprised at the sight of the great
Mud Turtle. It is really a formidable animal. He bit very
fierce at a stick. He had near bit my finger. Thy former de*
scription is very good, excepting his sharp hook at the point of its
bill, and his shell being very jagged or notched near his taiL It
made an uncouth noise, I can^t say barking ; but what a full-
grown one might do, I can^ say. It is really a curiosity, and
we are obliged to thee for sending it ; for we had no notion of
such an animal, for writers, in general, content themselves by
saying there ^s terrapins, or land and water turtles, &c.

*''' I wish BiLLT could get one of this size, and draw it, in its
natural dress ; but pray let the shell be well washed, that the
sutures of the shell may be well expressed. What eye it has,
we can^t well say, for they seem closed up, as if asleep.

** All the species of turtles, drawn as they come in your way,
with some account of them, would prove a new piece of natural
history, well worth knowing.

" The pretty Frog came safe and well, and very brisk : more of
these innocent creatures would not be amiss. But pray send no
more Mud Turtle. One is enough. The other Water Turtle is
a pretty species ; came very well."

Our countrymen travelling in England are often astonished
by the great number of American plants which adorn the
parks and gardens of the nobility, — plants considered rare
even here, and proving by their size and vigor, that they
must have been cultivated in English soil for many years.
But after reading the letters of Bartram to his English cor-
respondents, with the long list of seeds and plants constantly
sent over the Atlantic, it ceases to be a matter of wonder that,
in many gardens, a place is set apart as the American ground,
whither our native woods appear to have been transplanted
root and branch, from the magnificent White Pine to the

n man's

oulside ihaD his

pray go

very clean, neat,

Never t

niad lliy clothes :

1850.] Darlington's Memorials of Bartram. 291

delicate Linntea creeping at its foot. Plants and trees growing
widiin the borders of our own State can now be procured
from England at a clieaper rale, and with less risk, than from
their original locality. We receive the vegetable savages,
civilized by their sojourn abroad, and fitted to become very
ornamental, and (what cannot be said of all travellers) very
useful and contented, when returned to their native air.

These letters introduce us familiarly into the home and
private life of Barlram. Coilinson advises and corrects him
in regard to his reading, and even in the matter of dress.

" One thing I muat desire of ihee, and do insist that thee oblige
me llierein : that ihou make up that drugget clothes, to go to
Virginia in, and not appear to disgrace thyself or me ; for though
I should not ealeem thee the leas, to come lo me in what dress
thou will, — yet these Virginians are a very gentle, well-dressed
people — and look, perhaps, more h
inside. For these and other reasons
and handsomely dressed, lo Virginia.
I will send more another year."

Shortly afterwards, he writes again to say that he had sent
a parcel of seeds " to your proprietor, Thomas Penn. Dress
thyself neatly in ihy best habits, and wait on him for them ;
for I have in a particular manner recommended thee to him."
But the good Quaker forgets not to leach economy as well
as neatness.

" One thing I forgot lo mention before, and what very much
surprises me, to find thee, who art a philosopher, prouder than I
am. My cap, it is true, had a small hole or two on the border ;
but the lining was new. Instead of giving it away, 1 wish thee had
sent it me back again. It would have served mo two or three
yearS; lo have worn in the country, in rainy weather."

Bartram wishes his friend to buy Toiimefort's book for him,
which Coilinson is unwilling lo do on account of the cost,
and he even misquotes Scripture to reprove him for his prodi-
gality.

" I shall first take notice of ihy request to buy TonHNEFOBT.
I have inquired, and there are so many books, or parts, done, as
come lo fifty shillings. The first part may be got, perhaps, second-
hand ; but ihe others are not yet to be expected. Now 1 shall be
sofriendly to tell thee, 1 think this is loo much to lay out. Besides,
now ibee has got Pabkinson and Miller, I would not have thee
19*

222 Darlington's Memoriah of Bartram. [Jao.

puzzle thyself with others ; for they contain the ancient and modem
knowledge of Botany. Remember Solomon^s advice ; in read-
ing (?) of books, there is no end."

Bartram wittily replies ^' I take thy advice about books
very kindly, although I love such reading dearly ; and I
believe if Solomon had loved women less, and books more,
he would have been a wiser and happier man than he was."

The following enables us to picture to ourselves very
distinctly the Quaker botanist as he appeared when arrayed
in the clothes that were sent to him.

" In the trunk of the Library Company, thee Ml find a suit of
clothes for thyself. This may serve to protect thy outward man,
— being a drugget coat, black waistcoat, and shagg breeches.
And now, that thou may see that I am not thoughtless of thy
better part, I send thee R. Barclay^s Apology^ to replenish thy
inward man. So farewell. Success attend thee in all thy expe>
ditions."

Bartram's reply is quite characteristic, and does honor to

his feelings.

" 1 am greatly obliged to thee for thy necessary present of a
suit of clothes, which just came in the right time ; and Barclat^s
Apology / shall take care of for thy sake. It answers thy advice
much better than if thee had sent me one of Natural History, or
Botany, which 1 should have spent ten times the hours in reading
of, while I might have labored for the maintenance of my family.
Indeed, I have little respect to apologies and disputes about the
ceremonial parts of religion, which of\en introduce animosities,
confusion, and disorders in the mind — and sometimes body too : but,
dear Peter, let us worship the one Almighty Power, in sincerity
of heart, with resignation to His divine will, — doing to others as
we would have them do to us, if we were in their circumstances.
Living in love and innocency, we may die in hope.''

Bartram engraved with his own hands, on a stone in the
wall of his house, above the window of his own apartment,
where it may still be seen, the following lines : —

" *T 18 Grod alone, the AJiuighty Lordf
Tbe Holy One, by me adored."

In the selection of a distich for the door of his greenhouse,
he does not seem to have been equally fortunate ; since the
well known lines,

" Slave to DO sect, who takes no private road,
But kx)k8 through nature up to nature's God,"

1850.] DarlingtoD's Memorials of Bartram. 233

^ave offence to some of his staid Quaker brethren ; and there
Is a tradltiou, that this public avowal of the liberality of his
religious opinions caused him lo be " read out of meeting."

We have quoted liberally from this entertaining volume,
and find that we have no room left for extracts from the letters
of Bartram's numerous other correspondents besides Collinson.
Among them were many well known to fame, from Dr.
Franklin down to an honest savant, whose Yankee origin is
pretty clearly betrayed by the multifarious character of his
employments, as the editor says that "he invented the drill
plough, wrote a Dissertation on (he Prophecies, and published
a treatise on Inoculation for the Small Hos." We must find
space, however, for an extract from a very characteristic epis-
tle of Dr. Franklin's, dated at London, July 9, 1769; it
shows Poor Richard's peculiar vein of opinion very clearly,

" Although it may not now be suitable for you lo make such
wide excursions as heretofore, you mny yet be very useful to
youf country, and lo mankind, if you sit down quietly at home,
digest the knowledge you have acquired, compile and publish
the many observations you have made, and point out the advan-
tages thai may be drawn from the whole, in public undertakings,
or particular private practice.

" It is true, many people are fond of accounts of old buildings,
monuments, &c.; but there is a number, who would be much
better pleased with such accounts as you could afTord them ; and
for one, I confess, that if I could find in any Italian travels a
receipt for making Parmesan cheese, it would give me more
satisfaction than a transcript of any inscription from any old elone
whatever."

On the 22d of September, 1777, Bartram closed his eyes
upon the world whose natural beauties had so long engaged
his devout attention. His illness was short, and about half
an hour before he expired, he seemed to be in considerable
agony, and pronounced these words, " I want to die." One
of his granddaughters, who recollects him distinctly, says,
"Jie was exceedingly annoyed and agitated, (and she thinks
hb days were shortened,) by the approach of the royal army
after the battle of Brandywine. As that army had been
ravaging various portions of the revolted Colonies, he was
apprehensive it njighi also lay waste his darling garden, the
cnerishBd nuraling of almost half a century."

2S4 Darlington's Memorials of Bartram. [Jan.

The two journals to which we have already alluded are all
the writings of John Bartram which were given to the public,
excepting some articles on Natural History in the Philosophical
Transactions, between the years 1740 and 1750, and the notes
and appendix to the American edition of Short's Medicina
Britannicay published by B. Franklin and D. Hall.

His son, William, published his own travels in Carolina and
the Floridas at a much later date ; and the two Bartrams, as
the mantle of the father descended upon the son, are often
confounded. William, in his earlier years, led rather a roving
life, to the great scandal of his father's mentor, Collinson, who
constantly exhorts him to marry and settle, the good Quaker
being strongly impressed with the divine truth, that it is not
good for man to be alone. But William, satis6ed with his
pencil and specimens, lived and died a bachelor. He was
the friend and constant assistant of Wilson the ornithologist,
whose premature death science still deplores, and whose last
wish, so strangely disregarded, has become familiar to us in
the lines of M 'Lellan : —

" In some wild forest shade,
Uader sorae spreading oak or waving pine,
Or old elm festooned with the gadding vine,

Let me be laid."

After Mount Auburn was consecrated, some gentlemen ap-
plied to his only surviving relative in this country for leave to
remove his remains from under the brick Presbyterian church
in Philadelphia, where they were buried, to that beautiful
resting place for the dead. Bui his sister, with the feelings
of a true Scotch Presbyterian, replied ; " Ye shall not disturb
the bones of the dead ; let them aye rest in peace where the
prayer was first spoken over them."

The last hundred pages of this volume are devoted to the
life and correspondence of Humphrey Marshall. He was
bom in 1722, at West Bradford, Penn., his mother and the
mother of John Bartram being sisters. The editor remarks,
'* It is altogether probable that Humphry Marshall's taste
for horticulture and botany may have been awakened and
promoted by a familiar intercourse with his cousin John Bar-
tram, and by the attractions of that cousin's interesting garden.
Enjoying such privileges, he would at once catch the spirit,
and profit by the skill and experience, of his enthusiastic rela-

1850.] Lady Alice, or the ^/ew Una. 225

live." Marshall was apprenticed to a stonemason, whose
trade he followed for many years ; yet at the same time he
showed his love of plants by embellishing his father's farm
at the Forks of the Brandy wine. In 1773, he built his own
house, and planned and commenced the botanic garden at
Marshallton, which he filled with cunous plants, many of
which, especially the nohle oaks, pines, and magnolias, still
survive, although the garden from neglect has become a mere
wilderness. In 1780, Marshall began to prepare an account
of the forest trees and shrubs of this country, which was pub-
lished about five years afterwards, in a duodecimo volume of
about two hundred pages. This was the first truly indige-
nous botanical essay published in the western hemisphere ; it
was in advance of the times, for it excited little interest in
the community, and the publisher writes, "I have had ac-
counts from Trenton and New York, but there is not one
subscriber in either place ; they sell but slow, I think we
have not sold a dozen beside (hose to the subscribers." This
book, the expense of the publication of which Marshall was
obliged to defray for himself, was appreciated abroad^ and
translated into most of the languages of Europe.

In the latter part of his life, Marshall's eyesight was im-
paired hy a cataract, and the operation of couching was per-
formed with only partial success; but he was never entirely
blind, and to the last enjoyed walking about his garden and
examining the trees and plants. He died in 1801, aged 79.
We have not room to make any extracts from his correspon-
dence, although there are many interesting letters in it, par-
ticularly those written during the Revolution, which show the
state of feeling on both sides of the Atlantic.

Abt. IX, — Lady Alice ; vr the J^ew Una. A Novel. New
York : D. Appleton &; Co. 1849. 8vo. pp.152.

■' Of the bad preacher," says a recent writer, " it could
not be told Jrom his sermon, what age of the world he fell in ;

226 Lady AlicCy or the New Una. [Jan.

whether he had a father or a child ; whethe)* he was a free-
holder or a pauper ; whether he was a citizeo or a countiy-
man ; or any other fact of his biography." This senteoce
embodies a truth wellaigh universal. All the higher forms
of literature are indeed cosmopolitan in their currency and
their acceptance ; but it is because, with incontestable marks
of their birthplace, they are adopted to citizenship every-
where else. A sophomore's theme or a school-girPs lyric
suggests no reason why it should have been written in New
England rather than in Kamtschatka. Stupidity, sciolism, and
those ambitious forms of composition for which neither con-
sciousness nor experience fum'ishes material, are of no soil or
zone. The man, who lacks a heart, or who claps an extin-
guisher upon it when he writes, may succeed in denational-
izing himself. But not a strophe of the Hebrew poets could
have been written out of Palestine. Shakspeare by the
walls of Troy, and Milton in Pandemonium, are Englishmen
still ; and Dante no more sinks the Florentine in Purgatory
than in exile. The aroma of Scottish heather would have
belied the London imprint, had Bums made an anonymous
dibut under the auspices of a metropolitan publisher ; and,
had the Waverley novels first appeared in Boston, no American
would ever have been suspected of their authorship.

We regard it, therefore, as an equivocal compliment to the
Lady Alice, that, on its publication in England, it should
have been without question received, read, reviewed, ("highly
reviewed," we are told in an advertisement to the edition
before us,) as an English book. And, frequent as have been
the instances of literary " conveyance " with which we have
had reason to charge our trans- Atlantic brethren, we most
cordially enter for them the plea of " not guilty " in the
present instance. Had we not heard the author's name on
the most trustworthy testimony, we should distrust the strongest
array of title-page evidence to the cis-Atlantic origin of a
work, of which the author evidently deems his own father-
land " not worthy." We have looked through it in vain for a
single trace of American culture, sentiments, or sympa-
thies, — for a single recognition of the liberal ideas and
feelings as to religion, politics, or the distinctions of society,
which are supposed to pervade all classes and sects in our
republic. The only circumstance which might betray the

1850.] Lady Alice, or the Ngm Una. 227

secret of its authorship to an English crilic is the intense
orer'Working of the arislocratic and hierai'chical elements, the
more than homage, the utter pi'ostration of aonl ahke before
coronets and liveries, and the unreasoning adulation of invet-
erate absurdities and abuses which, lliough tolerated, have
grown intolerable in the land of their nativity.

The siory has its first scene laid in ihe luxurious valley of
Cava, between the Gulfs of Naples and Salerno, where
Augustus and Frederic CiifFord, Englishmen by birth, Roman-
isia in faith, have fixed their residence for a season. They
are possessed of ample wealth, and belong to a family which
dates its patent of nobility from the Norman conquest. And,
as regards pedigree, to avoid the necessity of farther detail,
we will say once for all, that an ancestral tree of at least eight
centuries' growth is an indispensable qualification, not only
for a prominent actor, but almost for an interlocutor or a mar-
plot, in this novel ; while, from the author's abhorrence for
the slightest plebeian stain, we cannot conceive of his charac-
ters as offshoots, however remote, from that primitive family
in which "Adam delved and Eve span." To return to our
Story, Frederic saves the life of a beautiful girl, who is bath-
ing a little apart from her companions ; and, at the moment of
her awakening to consciousness, they find themselves mutually
in love. He ascertains that she is Alice Stuart, youngest
daughter of the Duke of Lennox, himself originally a Pres-
byterian, but whose whole family, through ihe influence of his
second wife, are devotedly attached to that phasis of religious
belief and worship, which abjures the taint of Protestantism
and begs to be called Anglo-Catholic. Her elder sister,
Edith, a model of formalistic piety, has signalized herself by
a clandestine marriage, a subsequent elopement, and then a
wedding in full pomp ecclesiastic, having maintained her
principle unimpaired through the whole transaction ; for the
Eucharist has hallowed what else might have been folly, and
the confessional has at once smothered and sanctified the great
secret of her girlhood. The dearest hope of her household
circle is that Alice may grow up like her, and the maiden
gives the most ample promise of emulating in manifold excel-
lencies the sister whom she already surpasses in personal
beauty.

After their hydropathic experiences, Frederic and Ahce

228 Lady Alice, or the New Una. [Jan.

next meet and interchange greetings at the Cathedral service
in Milan ; and their unaccountable intimacy at a ball the
same evening obliges her to disclose to her mother the secret
of their first acquaintance. Her parents intend that she shall
many the Marquis of Wessex, a superannuated roue of
twenty-seven, whose leaden stupidity and stolid jealousy are
excessively annoying, till toward the close of the story, he
develops an heroic type of rascality, of which we were not
prepared to find him capable. This worthy is one of the
family party, in which Alice crosses the Alps. On this
journey, she is thrown by a series of accidents into close inti-
macy with a certain Countess de Schonberg, who purports to
be the wife of a distinguished continental diplomatist. Wessex
is led by this lady to profess a guilty passion for her, while
Alice's waiting-maid is so concealed, that she may see and
hear what passes, and report it to her mistress. She after-
wards relates to Alice the story of her life ; and the author
more than intimates that she thus, (and not unconsciously,) lays
upon Alice's shoulders the expiation of her own follies and
sins, so that an innocent person " paid the debt of personal
humiliation, social banishment, and soul-piercing shame, owed
by another." Nor is this vicarious expiation a mere fireak of
fortune, but '< the genuine idea which, in the contemplation of
faith, replaces the destiny that pursued the house of Atreus,"
and replaces it very much for the worse.

It seems that Madame de Schonberg was the second cousin
of the Cliffords, but by a mother and grandmother who had
not found it convenient to sanction their maternity by the
rights of wedlock. She herself has been an unwedded mo-
ther, and Augustus Clifford her partner in guilt, or more
properly her dupe. After the death of her child, and a va-
riety of adventures in which she seems to have been perpetually
dogged by a bad reputation, she had putherself in readiness to
marry Count Schonberg, an old man of seventy ; but, for
some reason which she declines explaining, she had changed
her mind ; yet, to spare his feelings, had consented to bear his
name and pass as his wife before the world. This disgusting
recital concluded, '^ Alice laughed outright," and said, ^' then
you are really an unmarried girl, like myself! "

The next important incident is the marriage of Augustus,
now Lord Beauchamp, in Venice, to a masked woman, who

1850.] Lady Alice, or the New Una. 229

invites liim to two successive nocturnal interviews in her
gondola, wiili the piiriiose, as she says, of asking him to
marry her; but whom he, captivated at first hearing, antici-
pates by proposing to ber. Immediately after the nuptial
ceremony, she, still unseen, leaves him, " it may be for years,"
as slie says; and, though a reader of the bluntest perception
sees at once through the sham, he does not know whom he
has married till after liie lapse of some months, and on the
very evening of the opportune deaili of Count Schcinberg,
whose Protean widow thenceforward appears as Lady Beau-
champ.

Prior to this fatal event, the iramatU persona are all
spending the fashionable season in London, and in their niu-
tual proximity the plot thickens. At a ball given at Lennox
house, to celebrate Alice's birthday, she invites Frederic to
waltz with lier, and then leads him to tlie conservatory for a
mutual declaration of love in full form. To discuss the
matter still farther, she takes him into the chapel, and there
tells him that she will not marry a Romanist, expounding to
him with rather more frankness than delicacy some of her
reasons, and for others referring him to her uncle, the Rev-
erend Herbert Courtenay. After parting with him, she falls
asleep on a sofa, and, on being awakened by a kiss from her
waiting maid, (transformed into a companion and fnend by
the discovery that she is half-sister of the apocryphal Madame
de Schiinberg,) she exclaims, "Frederic siill here!" Only
confidential persons, it is supposed, are present; yet this
piquant bit of scandal transpires thronuh the gay world, and
bnds its way into the public prints, leading shortly to the
discovery of the traitor in the persou of the butler Matson,
who is in fact the elder, though unacknowledged, brother of
VVessex, and plays a prominent part in the sequel of the
story. Meanwhile Wessex has abandoned the pursuit of
Alice, has become nfliunced to the sister of the Cliliords, and
is exposed as a false and woilhless man at the very ball at
his own house, given lor the express purpose of announcing
his matrimonial arrangements.

Herbert Courtenay now undertakes the conversion of Fred-
eric, who, finding that he can carry all his idols with him into
the Anglican church, is easily reconciled to the change, and
of course is cordially recognized as the future husband of Alice.

VOL. LXX. NO. J46. 20

230 Lady Alice, or the New Una. [Jan.

The Lennox family are now residing at their seat on the coast
of Devonsliire. An early day is assigned for the nuptials, —
the earlier, because Alice has almost become the victim of an
inexplicable plot for her abduction. In ,the very presence of
Frederic, she is soon afterwards really carried off in a boat,
which evades pursuit, and thence transferred to a yacht, which
stands out for the French coast, and is foundered at sea the
following night. No doubt remains that she has perished.

A few years after these events, the Clifibrds and Lord
Stratheme, Alice's brother, who is a suitor for the hand of
their sister Grace, are at Rome, and are attracted by a mag-
nificent picture of St. Cecilia, — the work of Fitzalan, a
young English artist, who now distances all competitors alike
in artistical fame and in those personal qualities which befit
and adorn a creative genius of the first order. Frederic buys
the picture, and contracts so close an intimacy with the
painter, as to take possession of an apartment adjacent to
his, and to become his inseparable companion except during
working hours and the time necessarily given to repose. On
Fitzalan's first introduction to the Clifford family circle, Grace
discovers that he is Alice in disguise ; and, being accidentally
prevented egress, he finds his way to her private apartment,
where he passes the greater part of the night, and narrates
the circumstances and sequel of the abduction. In this affair,
Wessex had been the principal, Matson the agent. Matson
had compelled her at once to put on boy's apparel, and was
attempting to force her to go through the marriage ceremony
with him under the auspices of an infamous priest in h^s
service, when the gale first struck the yacht, and threw her
on her beam ends. He had then consented to save her in
tlie boat, on her oath to retain her disguise, keep his secret,
and obey him in every thing but dishonor, till he released
her. Taken up by a ship after many days of exposure and
suffering, she had been consigned to the keeping and the per-
secution of Wessex, from which Matson had at length deliv-
ered her, and left her free to pursue the path to artistical
eminence, which she had so successfully trodden.

Fitzalan's sex remains unsuspected by the rest of the
family ; for Grace cannot persuade him, or her, to become
accessory to the violation of the sworn covenant with Matson.
But, by some strange caprice on the part of the captors, the

1850.] Lady Alice, or the New Una. 231

disguise is sometimes dropped, Frederic one day sees a
(eiiiale form sirangoly like Alice on horseback with Wessex,
and again faints at St. Peter's before a like apparition, pur-
porting to be a Russian princess, under the protection of her
uncle, Prince Michael Galitzin, — an d/ioa suitably sustained
by Matson. On the night after this, Alice has a private in-
terview with Matson, who gives her the alternative, to profess
Romanism and resume the Insignia of her rank and sex, or
to retain her masculine disguise and depart the next morning
for Naples, — a change of residence for which she has pre-
viously been bidden to prepare. She prefers Fitzalanbood to
aposlacy. She returns late. Frederic, aware of her intended
departure, has been awaiting her return, has fallen asleep in a
little terrace communicating with her apartment, and remains
there till she has retired for the night. As he passes through her
bedchamber the recognition takes place, and he posts himself as
sentinel over her remaining hours of repose, witli the avowed
purpose of not losing sight of her again till she is free and
his bride. When she next awakes he is delirious. His sleep
in the open air had induced " the malaria fever," and for
many days no hope is entertained of his recovery. Alice,
now in propria personA, watches perpetually by his bedside,
and, by administering certain prescriptions of his own, given
in a lucid interval, she saves a life which the most skilful
physicians profess themselves unable to rescue. While Fred-
eric lies at the point of death, Lord Stratherne wounds
Wessex In a duel. Wessex discharges his pistol, with fatal
aim, at his second. Baron Scbwartzthal, under which title the
ubiquitous Matson receives his deatli-wound. Wessex is not
fatally injured, but commits suicide by tearing off his band-
ages. Nothing now remains but the double marriage of Alice
Stuart and Grace Clifford, — " a ceremony such as has not
been witnessed in England, since the eariy and unspotted
reign of the sixth Edward, — such a service asCranmer was
wont to celebrate, which it would have gladdened the heart
of Ridley to witness, and which exhibited the puri6ed Church
of England as she was in the beauty and love of her espous-
als, before an adulterous tampering with the foreign reforma-
tion had led her to prevaricate in her fidelity to the Eternal
Bridegroom, and to hide under a bushel the hallowed light
which once burned so clear on the altars of the Lord,"

332 Lady AUcCy or the New Una. [Jan.

An author always furnishes, in his implied or avowed aim,
the true standard of judgment for his work. A literary pro-
duction should be criticized according to its kind, and with
reference to the ends which it was designed to answer. Had
the Lady Alice been thrown upon the public merely as an
amusing tale, we might have pronounced it heavy in some
parts, absurd in others, yet on the whole rather entertaining ;
or more probably, we should have said nothing about it. Had
it issued from an avowed disciple of the Eugene Sue school,
we should certainly have praised it as among the least bad of
its class. But it has all the marks and numbers of a religious
novel. There is no room for doubt that the author intended
it as an instrument of religious instruction, impression, and
proselytism. Of what religious system, then, is it to be
regarded as the type ? We reply, of no recognized or con-
ceivable form of Christianity ; and, in saying this, we have
the highest authority in the church of which the author is a
clergyman, and are assured that the sentiments of this book
are in general disavowed, abjured, and condemned by intelli-
gent and devout members of that very portion of the Epis-
copal body, with which, if with any, he would claim affinity.
The theology of this story in doctrine symbolizes closely with
the lowest type of fetichism, while in form it approaches the
dignity of art-worship. There is nothing in it, which would
indicate the existence of a spiritual divinity, or the possibility
of spiritual worship, — no recognition of our Saviour as an
object of faith, or as standing in any definite relation to the
human race as Teacher, Exemplar, or Redeemer, — no ac-
knowledgment of an unvarying standard of duty, whether in
the inward law or the written Word. We can name no classic
writer who did not anticipate much more of Christian sentiment
than our author seems to have apprehended. We could point
to unnumbered instances in which the nature, prerogative,
and obligations of the spiritual life are more adequately per-
ceived and more justly defined in connection with the ancient
mythology, than they are in the book now under review. It
makes a nearer approach indeed, to Romanism than to any other
modification of Christianity ; but it would be read with un-
roingled reprobation by an enlightened Romanist, while it
represents just about the modicum of religious apprehension
and Christian belief, which characterizes the most ignorant and
priest-ridden of our Hibernian immigrants.

1850.] Lady Alice, or the Neto Una. 233

It is sufGciently evident that the writer of this atory regards
the ritual of religion not only as imporiant, but as the only
thing important. If there are only wax-candies and holy
water, all is right. On a journey in Switzerland, performed
on iTiulcs, (he Lennox family are highly applauded for having
brought with ihem "lights, and crucifix, and chalice, and all
oilier decencies of worship ; " though on the Sunday when
these things were used, there must have been lacking on the
part of the heroine that prepared heart which we have been
wont to class among the " decencies of worship ; " for she had
sat up till midnight to finish Consuelo, which she had been
reading by her clerical uncle's special advice. Great stress
is laid on the "chanting" of praises and "intoning" of
prayers, and on the use of the greater part of the service in
Latin as " more edifying," — in fine, on whatever can detract
from the intelligibleness of Chrisliao worship, and transform
it into a mere perfunctory recitative with appropriate modu-
lations and genuflections. The leading personages of the
novel are kept from yielding to temptation, not by religious
faith or principle, but by the presence of influential symbols.
Alice's purity under her masculine attire is ascribed chiefly to
her keeping a crucifix on her bed, when she does not occupy
it in person. The power of the Eucharist is not that which
it exerts over the hearts of penitent and praying communi-
cants ; but whenever the sacrifice is offered, " aomewkere the
bonds of the afflicted are loosed, the strength of fainting
virtue is revived, or (for this glorious communication between
heaven and earth flies on the equal wings of mercy and judg-
ment) the wicked are suifered to fill up the measure of their
crimes, and seal themselves for perdition ; " — by which we
are to understand, that the celebration of the Eucharist is an
efficient means of evil influence in the community, rendering
the miasma of vice fouler and more deadly. What, then, are
we to think of the philanthropy of those who would have
this " sacrifice offered " daily on every altar ?

Another noteworthy feature of this book is the irreverent
flippancy with which things sacred and secular are constantly
intermingled. Thus, Edith's birthday is celebrated by a
"communion" and a ball ; and she invites her lover to the
former in the same loose, school-girl style of chit-chat, in which
we should expect her to talk about the latter. In the same chap-
20*

S34 LMiy Alicty or the New Uim, [Jan.

ter, there is an attempt made to establish in moalogj between
tbese two forms of the ^'joy of a mysterious commeaion-
tion," and to claim for dancing something of the sanctitj of
worship. We would quote the paragraph, did we suppose
that our readers could understand it better than wre do. No
inconsiderable portion of the courtship between Predetic and
Alice is perfonned in sundry churches and chapels, and €»o-
secrated emblems are repeatedly made the Yehicles of love-
passages. Thus, " at the benetier^ Frederic dipped the tip
of his fingers and offered them to his coropanioo. She
touched them with a smile." But the most ofiensiTe speci-
fication to be made under this head is when, oo tbe Sunday
in Switzerland already referred to, immediately after the per-
formance of divine service, Herbert Courtenay is told that
Alice has just finished Consuelo ; and he enters upoo a mono-
logue, of which that vile fiction and the Holy Supper fiifnisli
the double text and the blended theme.

Lady Alice and all the good personages in tbb norel
belong to the same school in theology with those Syrians,
who said, " Jehovah is God of the hills, but be is not God
of the valleys." Their religion changes with thdr residence.
Entire conformity to the worship of the country where they
happen to be is spoken of as a sacred duty. Alice, while in
Italy, complies with every portion of the Romish ritual, and
in the latter part of the story has a Romish priest for her
confessor, which may account for the morbid tenderness of
her conscience as regards her forced oath, and its unfeminine
supineness as to the amount of sufifering perpetuated for
others, and of moral exposure incurred by herself under her
unnatural disguise. She is ready to promise Matson never to
be present at any other than Rombh worship, except in
England, or on board a British ship. Indeed, long before she
had attained to man's estate, she is specially commended for
her habit of leaving the English chapel at Rome " inunedi-
ately after Even Song, without waiting for afternoon sermon,"
to attend Vespers at the Romish church hard by. It is tbb
pliancy of the Anglican religion which wins Frederic over to
its communion. In a letter announcing his conversion, he inti-
mates that there is much more of truth in the doctrine, and
fitness in the ritual, of the church which he leaves than in
that which he enters ; but he abjures Romanism solely

1850.] Ladi/ Mice, or the New Una. 235

because it does not suffer its disciple to coquet with Protest-
antism in a Protestant country.

Yet we ought not to deem lliis indifferentism a matter for
surprise. Our author endorses all the peculiariiies of Roman-
ism, except the universal jurisdiction of the. Pope. Latin
chants, holy water, candles, and crucifixes, are employed as
means of grace in those private chapels of the nobility, in
which alone "is realized that divine idea of visible and audi-
ble worship, which gathered the thoughts of Israel around the
ancient temple." The Eucharist is spoken of as a sacrifice,
and its celebration as the commutation of the elements into
the body and blood of Christ. The practice of auricular
confession is said to be necessary in order to restore the lost
dignity of the pastoral office in the English church. Herbert
Courlenay, the religious hero of the tale, calls the worship of
the virgin " a beautiful and poetical feature of medisval
Christianity with which he is not inclined to meddle," " a part
of natural piety." We are not skilled in raiment, wtiich
throughout this book is made of more consequence than doc-
trine; but if Courlenay and his six assistant chaplains at
Alice's wedding, did not devise their own dresses, their " chas-
uble and dalmatic of white silk and gold, albes of lace, like
bridal veils, and richly broidered sloles " must have been
borrowed from Rome. There is but one characteristic of
Romanism that we miss, — its spirit of humane and lender
regard for the poor and lowly. Our author makes religion a
perquisite of the aristocracy. Plebeian worship and pieiy are
beyond his conception ; and, while the New Testament
speaks of some difficulty on the part of the rich in entering
heaven, a plurality of estates and titles, with an infusion of
Plantagenet or Siuart blood, can alone give entrance to his
paradise.

But follies of this class are a slight blemish compared with
the thoroughly licentious character of the novel before us.
Our reading in this department of literature is, indeed, very
limited, both in extent and kind ; but we doubt whether, in the
whole of it, we have found so much that seems adapted to
minister to the lowest passions, and to justify the loosest style
of manners and opinions, as in this single volume. Every
opportunity for a voluptuous picture of personal charms is
eagerly embraced. The details of seduction and concubinage

236 Lady AUcty or the New Una. [Jan.

for three generations are described in Madame de Schonberg's
narrative with a minuteness of indecency, for which we know
not how to give expression to our abhorrence. The iromaco-
late Edith and Alice, too, are presented, the latter we can
hardly say how often, in circumstances utteriy revoltiDg to
delicacy ; and infinite merit is claimed for them, because they
can linger long on the border ground of vice, and at the last
moment escape unharmed. The author, in repeated instances,
attempts to reason away the prejudices of scrupulous moral-
ists on subjects connected with personal purity. The waltz
is his favorite dance, and, in describing it, he takes good care
to group around it every association of sensuality that can
appertain to it. Promiscuous public bathing of both sexes is
represented as offensive only to a taste not sufficiently catho-
lic ; and '' Clifford, who knew the customs of all countries,
and had reasoned on all with the calmness of philosophy,
thought not the worse of the modesty " of the Italian women
for their attachment to this custom. The use of the '^ nude
model " by artists is a favorite topic, to which the author often
recurs argumentatively, with the evident purpose of making
the imagined exigencies of art paramount to considerations of
intrinsic propriety, and of doing away the prudish prejudice
in favor of apparel ; for, " in the eye of art, clothes are only
drapery, and the artist sees, mentally, every one undressed, as
God sees us all." In accordance with the pervading spirit
of the tale, Alice's masculine attire is managed, not as a
mere emergency of the plot, but so as to make the most of
every exposure and liability connected with her disguise, and
to render its indelicacy gratuitously glaring and incongruous.
Nor are the outrages on morality confined to this one fa-
vorite department. When we consider the sacred profession
of the reputed author, we cannot repress our indignation at
the apology for duelling conveyed in the paragraph, which,
that we may not be suspected of unfairness, we quote entire.

" Whether the removal of one of the grave responsibilities
which have hitherto attached to the actions of the higher classes in
Christendom, can take place without endangering a principle that
has hitherto separated the Grothic civilization from that of the East,
and of pagan antiquity — the principle, namely, that the individual,
though subject to the state, is never resolved into it — merits the
consideration of moralists and students of the higher politics.

1850.] Lady Alice, or the New Una. 237

The reconcilifttion of Ihe law of cliivniry wilh the law of Chrislian
love, is so liltle difficult that Ihey may In-deed be said so tu oppose
OS mutually to sustain each other — that is to soy, ihey are, as it
were, the polar ma ni festal ions of one living principle, now ex-
hibiting itself as meekness, and now as self-denying courage ;
here showing the lamblike nature, and here the lion heurt ;
prompting, in the same individual, forgiveness of injuries and
generosity to foes, and resistance to oppression, the defence of
the oppressed. And, willtoui confounding in this vindication of
the knightly character (trndliional though now it b^,) any apology
for the false code of honor and the miserable custom of modem
duelling, it may be affirmed, unhesitatingly, that God gave not
men swords in tain, and that he meam them to be so used as lo se-
cure the awful seriousness of our life in this world, militant from
the beginning to the end." pp. 149, 150.

The style of the " Lady Alice " is ambitious and gorgeous,
yet marvellously free from sustained rhetorical merit of any
kind. It would be impossible to quote from it a single gem-
like sentence, or a paragraph which exhibits peculiar felicity
of thought, conception, or expression. The richest pas-
sages remind us of the forms and lines of the kaleido-
scope ; and are made imposing by the accumutalion and
juxtaposition of -cheap and paltry gaudinesses. The descrip-
tions of architecture and painting, which are very numerous,
are confused and incongruous, in no instance presenting a
clear and symmetrical conception of the object, but over-
whelming ihe fancy by minute and often incompatible details.

But we have already given the work more space iban it
merits. We have extended our jurisdiction over it, not for
its worth, but for its pretending worihlessness, and to enter
our solemn protest against the intrusion upon English litera-
ture, under tlie garb of religious purism, of the vilest forms
and worst features of modern French fiction, of which the
flood that of late set in upon us is just beginning to ebb.
The Lady Alice is the " New Una." In the name of decency
let her remain " Una," and be the Prima to no successor of
her kiih and kin.

238 De TocqneTiUe's Butory of Lomia XV. [Jmb.

Akt. X. — Histoire PhUowopkiqmt dm Regme de Lomu
XV, Par le Cokpte de Toc<(ijetii.lk. Paris:
D'Amyot- 1847, 2 vols. 8fo.

The Count de TocqueviUe b, we believe, the fiither of
M. de Tocqueville, the distia^isbed writo* oo Democncj m
America, and recently the Minister of Foreign Affiiiis in the
French Republic. We learn from the preface to this histoiy,
that it is written by one in the decline of life, ^rhose sympa-
thies are w\ib the piinciples and institutions of a fenner age,
with an order of things that has almost wholly passed away.
The history its^ b an epitaph engraved oo the tomb of
monarchy in France, — an epitaph written, not indeed to
eulogize the departed, but to pomt out the enofs and the
crimes which dimmed the glory of n>3riJty , and finally hioagfat
down its grandeur and power to the dust. The author has
evidently formed lus style and sentiments upon those of
Tacitus, and labors eflbctually to give a gloomy and tiagic
interest to his narrative. He b a Christian moralist, and hb
task is to describe sin and its consequences. - He deplores the
h\\ of the monarchy, but he shows that it was the inevitable
result of the dissoluteness, corruption, and impiety, the wastefiil
and indorious character of the rei^ of Loub XV. The
results were slow in unfolding thenisdves ; but few of them
were visible during the lifetime of the depraved naonarch.
Still tliere v^*as a <^enenJ foreboding that such a state of thinss
could not last, that a crisb ^^as at hand, when so rotten a
social edifice could no longer sustain itself, but with a fearfiil
crash would plunge into ruin. It b reported that Loub him-
self said, ^^ this thing will last as long as I shall ; my successor
may get out of it as he can." He did " get out of it " by
the way of the scaffold. Voltaire was still more explicit : —
<* All around me, they are sowing the seeds of a revolution,
which will inevitably happen, though I shall not have the
pleasure of beholding it. The French are late in coming to
their object, but they arrive at last. The light has gradually
diffused itself so far, that an explosion will take place on the
first opportunity, and then there will be a fine hubbub. The
young folks are lucky ; they will see great things." The

1850.] De Tocqueville's Historr/ of Louis XV. 239

remark was characteristic ; the old mocking infidel hugs him-
self at the prospect of (lie completion of his work. The
National Convention did well to install his image with all the
honors in their pantheon, just as they were beginning the
excesses of the Reign of Terror.

The Count de Tocqueville calls his work a philosophical
history, as his object is to trace the connection of cause and
effect between tlie errors and the crimes of the period which
he describes, and the fearful scenes of the revolution which
ibilowed it. He reflects the light of subsequent events upon
the reign of Louis XV., and thus determines its true charac-
ter and influence. The contemporary historian is a mere
chronicler, who can only describe scenes and narrate events,
without any clear perception of their consequences. Posterity
alone can read the whole lesson, for in their eyes alone the
tree is known by its fruits. This is the true idea of the
philosophy of liislory, — lo develop the consequences of
actions, and to point out the bearings of events upon each
other ; for in this manner, the great laws of political economy
and morality are shown to be exemplified in iiistory, and the
ways of God with man are justified.

There is a spurious philosophy of the subject, much in
vogue with historians of the present day, which is a mere
development of the doctrine of fatalism ; it teaches, that
men are not responsible for their conduct, as they act only
under an overruling necessity, which controls the whole course
of events, the human agents in them being merely uncon-
scious puppets, and the issues of things being determined by
fatcwiihout regard either to their strivings, their merit!', or
their crimes. Philosophers of this school waste no words
upon the moral character of the events which they narrate ;
they survey with equal composure the unmerited sufferings of
a Louis XVI., and the crimes of his murderers. The actors
in history are estimated by tlie quantity, not the quality, of
the effects produced by them ; the power which ihey exercised,
instead of the moral or immoral use which they made of it, is
the standard by which they are judged. Viewed in this
manner, Mirabeau towers over Lafayette, and Bailly appears
insignificant by the side of Danton. Cariyle is almost the
only English historian of this class; while Thiers, Michelel,
Mignet, Lamartine, and a host of others, are its representatives

240 De Tocqueville's Histofy of Lomis XV. [Jan.

in France. Picturesque narrative, exaggerated desciiptioo,
startling contrasts, and a pointed and epigrammatic style are
the qualities upon which such writers depend for success.
They aim only at immediate effect, and 'care notfaing about
tracing actions to their causes and coosequeoces, if thej can
only hurry the reader away by the brilliancy of their coioriDg,
and by the absorbing interest of their narratiTc History is
thus degraded to a level with fiction ; it ceases to instinct,
and labors only to astonish or amuse. It borrows the Fivid
colors of romance, and the imagination is invoked to supply
the deficiencies of the story, and to fill up the pictoie. By
thus gradually losing a strict regard for truth, it ceases to be
trustworthy as a whole, and no longer aflbrds even the ma-
terials for instruction. Lamartine's History of the Girondists,
apart from its moral taint, its affected and sentim^ital style,
and its utter disregard of the requ'isitions of humanity and
justice, is a mere historical romance ; minute particulars and
long conversations are reported in it which could not by any
possibility have come to the knowledge of the narrator. Ko
authorities are cited, and no credit can be given to the writer^s
blank assertion, that he has had access to unpublished docu-
ments and original sources of information, of which he may
perhaps give some account at a future day. We cannot
allow the evidence of historical events to depend upon M.
Lamartine's reputation for carefulness and veracity. We seek
more direct testimony, more definite citations of proof.

The shortest method of characterizing the Count de Tocque-
ville's work is to say, that in style and sentiment, in the
opinions avowed, and the mode of narrating the facts, in all
the essential qualities of a history, it is the very opposite of
the class of books just described. It is addressed to a different
class of readers ; it is an appeal to the thoughtful, cultivated,
and religious student of human a&irs ; to the philosophical
statesman and the earnest and patient seeker after truth. He
has none of the artifices of style, the affected smartness and
exaggerated manner, or the appeals to national vanity and the
flattery of popular prejudices, by which such writers as Mich-
elet and Lamartine have sought to gain the applause of the
multitude. His manner is rather formed upon that of Tacitus
and Montesquieu ; it is concise, sententious, sometimes abrupt,
and shows more of the spirit of the philosophical moralist

1850.] De Tocqueville's History of Louts XV. 941

than of the suitor for popular favor. Far from pandering to
the diseased appetite for national glory, which is the most
salient trait of French characler, he labors to reprove and
subdue it, by exhibiiiug the decline of monarchy in France
as leading to the extinction of the political influence of the
country and the loss of its power and renown. In his eyes,
the glory of France culminated under Louis XIV., and then
passed rapidly through all the stages of decay, till it was lost
in the horrors of the first Revoluilon. The saturnalia which
then prevailed, the destruction of the monarchy, the nobility,
and ibe church, and the triumph of irretigion and Jacobinism,
was the just punishment of the disorders and wickedness of
the court and the people under Louis XV. This is the grand
but gloomy moral of his work, which the writer inculcates
with ihe fervid indignation of an ancient prophet. He ap-
pears sincerely attached to the Roman Catholic church and
to the cause of royalty ; and he regards the decayed condition
of religion in France and the extinction of the sentiment of loy-
alty as the greatest misfortunes which could befall his country-
men. He engages in no labored defence of his opinions against
the democratic spirit of his age ; he merely narrates the facts
from his own point of view, and leaves it for others to view
them under a different aspect, if they can. The lesson that
he draws from thetn is a stem and sad one, like that which
was uttered by the miserable Phlegyas from the darkness of
his place of punishment : —

It is a little singular that, while the son has gained so much
distinction as the philosophical observer and analyst of the
spirit of democracy and the progress of democratic institu-
tions, the father should have occupied himself with tracing
the last tines of the history of royally, and expounding the
causes of its decay. Both are men of marked abilities and
cultivated tastes; they are quick and accurate observers, and
their speculations are both original and profound. Their
writings are addressed to thinkers, and are not designed to
please the multitude. Tbey come nearer to the English than
to the French school of philosophy ; though the son shows
something of the fondness for rapid and sweeping generaliza-
tions which has usually characterized the speculations of his

VOL. LXX. NO. 146. 31

242 De Tocqueville's ERttary of Lams XV. [Jao.

couDtryroeD. But neither of them indulges in the vagiie
and sentimental declamations, the tinsel ornaments, the appeab
to popular prejudices, and the shallow profundity of such wri-
ters as LamartJne and Cousin. With them, rhetoric never
assumes the place of logic, and their weight of thought seeks
no aid from brilliancy of expression. If afiectatioo b ever
visible in their writings, it is when they attempt to philoso-
phize on too slight occasions, and seek to render some Teiy
profound reason for that the cause of which lies upon the
surface. The son, we believe, has never attempted to write
history ; and the father certainly does not excel as m Dsnator
of events or a delineator of characters, though he gives a
very clear, neat, and concise summary of facts, and arranges
his materials with admirable method. His work will be a
classic in French history long after the more showy produc-
tions of many of his contemporaries are forgotten.

We give an extract from the preface, that shows with great
clearness the purpose which the writer has had in view, and
the general character of his work.

** When the tomb received the remains of Louis XV., the old
French monarchy was interred in it along with him. Tlie acts
of this king, his faults and his vices, gave a great impulse to the
movement which was urging the nation forward to a uew order
of things. The principles both of religious belief and political
opinion uaderwent a severe investigation ; and when, guided by
fiilse lights, men strove eagerly to annihilate all religious faith,
did they not thereby exalt human pride beyond all limit?

^^ The philosophical inquiry into the causes, which, during a
great part of the eighteenth century, prepared the minds of peo-
ple for the great revolution which marked the end of it, is worthy
of our serious attention. 1 have undertaken it with the more ardor,
because it appears to me that hitherto it has been hardly com-
menced. In order to understand the origin of the prodigious
.changes which have taken place in our day, it is a useful, I
may say almost a necessary, condition to have seen something of
the old regime^ and thus to be able to compare the causes with
the efiects which they have produced. After a revolution which
has reversed so many fortunes, and kindled so many passions, old
age is not a bad period in which to write the history of the times
that are not yet remote from our own ; the years, as they accu-
mulate, complete our knowledge of the human heart. Having
become a stranger to the affairs that agitate the world, the writer
looks upon them dispassionately; the rude shock of events has

1850.] Da T»jc(juevilie's History of Louu XV. 243

worn away his prejudices ; and in taking the pon, he has no
other atlroction ihan the truth, no other object thao to instruct
mankind.

"The book which I offer to the public ia not a melaphyaical
work. In it the facts are narrated in detail ; but I have endeav-
ored to group them in such a. manner that their consequeoces may
be very obvious."

Monarcliy never seemed more firmly established tlian it was
in France at the death of Louis XIV. In spite of the reverses
which clouded the later days of the Great Monarch's career,
the people had been dazzled by the factitious splendors of his
reign, and by his absorption of all the powers of government
into himself. He had scattered all obstacles to the unlimited
domination of the crown ; he had exiled the Huguenots, had
forced the great nobles to become supple courtiers, had com-
pelled the parliaments to be merely the declaratory organs of
his will and pleasure, and had caused nearly every country in
Europe to tremble at the success of his arms. His noted
boast, Fclat, c'esl moi, was a truth which his people were as
proud to acknowledge, as he was to utter; they had learned
lo identify the national glory with the absolute dominion and
personal renown of the king. They were as proud of the
despotism of the monarch as the English were of tlie freedom
of the people. Louis XIV. had given unity to the kingdom
of France, and had gilded it over with foreign conquests and
alliances, with the glory of lelters and the arts, and with every
form and attribute of splendor at home. The national vanity
was satisfied, and the French people have never asked for any
thing more.

Unfortunately, the crown passed from the head of Louis to
that of an infant; and the dying monarch himself, as if a long
minority were not fraught wltii hazards enough for royalty,
increased the danger by attempting to extend bis power
beyond the limits of his own life, and to regulate the manner
in which France should be governed till his great grandson
should come of age. His will directed that a council of
regency should he established, of which the Duke of Orleans
should be the head, though he should have but one vote in it,
and of which two of his natural children, whom he had legiti-
mated, were to be members. This delegation of royal power
to a numerous committee, instead of an individual, would

5244 De Tocqueville's History of Louis XFl [Jan.

have been fatal to the promptness and energy of the ^ovem-
ment, and was consequently so unpopular, that the Duke of
Orleans easily persuaded the parliament to set the will aside,
and to appoint him sole regent. This step was perhaps
necessary for the tranquillity of the kingdom ; but it had the
effect to persuade the people, that there existed in the state a
power which was above the throne, and which had authority
to annul the expressed wish of the king. It was so far unfa-
vorable to royalty. It had a similar, though not an equal,
effect with the act of the British parliament which, after the
revolution of 1688, altered the succession to the throne.

The Regent Duke of Orleans was an abler statesman than
Charles II. of England, whom in other respects he greatly
resembled. He was a good-natured, indolent debauchee,
riotous and extravagant in his pleasures, but having sense
enough to prevent his boon companions and his mistresses
from exercising any influence over him in matters of state.
He was attached to peace, because he dreaded the troubles
and expenses of a war ; he loved to see France quiet and
prosperous, both because he was naturally amiable and kind-
hearted, and because the tranquillity of the kingdom allowed
him more leisure for his private amusements. But he was
careless and prodigal, and his facile disposition yielded to the
importunity of suitors what his better judgment denied. The
finances consequently fell into great disorder, and as the Re-
gent had an inquiring and speculative turn of mind, and was
fond of experiments, chemistry or alchemy being one of his
private amusements, he naturally lent a ready ear to the wild
financial projects of John Law.

This was the age of commercial bubbles and stockjobbing ;
the temporary success of the Mississippi scheme in France
favored the inflation of the South Sea bubble in England, and
the explosion which soon followed spread almost universal
bankruptcy through the two kingdoms, and ruined the rep-
utations as well as the fortunes of many of their leading
statesmen and nobles. And the governments did not escape;
the impoverished and exasperated people imputed all the
blame to their rulers, who, in truth, had only shared the
delusion with themselves. The practical talents and finan-
cial sagacity of Sir Robert Walpole broke the force of the
blow in England ; warned by him, the ministry did not get

1850.] De Tocqueville's Hutory of Louit XV. 245

deeply implicated in the aSair, and the Bank of England
stood eniirely aloof. But in France, Law's schemes were
adopted at an early day by the Regent, and the wliole force
of the government was eserled to carry them through. The
sufferers, consequently, had a right to impute their ruin in
some degree to the state, and to look to it for indemnification
and for the punishment of the guilty. The Duke was both
too good-natured and too just to punish when he had himself
been an accomplice in the crime, if It was one ; lor the more
lenient will call it nothing but insanity. He protected Law,
or allowed him to escape, and bore with his usual thoughtless
indifference the reproaches which were showered upon his
administration. The lustre of the crown which be repre-
sented had been stained by Ills meddling at all in such trans-
actions; and after the bubble burst, his refusal or inability to
relieve the sufferers covered it with ignominy. The thirst
for gain, when it rises to fever height, levels all distinctions
of rank; during the prevalence of the mania, princes of the
blood, nobles, ladies of rank, ministers of stale and the
church, had mingled with the crowd in the Rue Quincanipoix,
and chaffered eagerly with stockjobbers and swindlers. The
material advantages of wealth came to be prized more highly
than the factitious differences resting on prescription, or created
by the favor of the crown. Hereditary rank and inherited
honors lost ground in public estimation ; opulent bankers
began to vie with the proudest nobles, not only in the sump-
tuousness of their style of hving, but in direct influence at
court. As the power of the aristocracy declined, that of the
crown, which was dependent upon it, was also diminished;
the people ceased to respect their rulers, and the prestige
of ibe monarchy in their eyes was gradually effaced.

The gross and dissolute conduct of the Regent and his
court, moreover, did much to wean the affections of the nation
from the constituted authorities of the state, and to prepare
the way for the fall of royalty. Every form of vice and
impiety was practised by them without restraint and without
concealment. The libertinism of Louis XIV. and his court-
iers was veiled by the strictness of etiquette and by a decent
regard for the forms of morality and religion, even after their
spirit had departed. Under this covering, it might truly be
said that " vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its groas-
, 21»

846 De Tocqueville's History of Louis XV. [Jan.

ness." The Duke of Orleans rudely tore down this veil, for
he was by nature no hypocrite, and his frank and affable dis-
position was impatient of the restraints of etiquette. He
threw open to the public gaze the penetralia of royalty, and
exposed every act of debauchery and excess by which they
were profaned. 1%e gross and shameless violation of all the
laws of morals and decency soon created weariness and dis-
gust ; ordinary pleasures, common vices, ceased to allure or to
charm, and the means of stimulating the jaded appetites were
eagerly sought in the refinements and extravagancies of de-
bauch. Those who had ceased to respect themselves had
no fear of the judgment of others, and the publicity of their
wickedness increased their enjoyment of it, and inspired them
with an ambition to startle the multitude by fresh enormities.
The orgies of the Regent and his low companions, bis mis-
tresses and his daughters, were so frequent and shameless
that men ceased to wonder at them ; and the habit of re-
garding vice with callous indifference was soon established
even among those whose temperaments did not incline to
licentiousness, or who were shielded by avarice or ambition
from other and more degrading vices. As is usual when the
debasing influences proceed from a licentious court, the upper
classes of society were the first corrupted ; the middle ranks
as yet preserved their purity of life, and therefore could not
fail to regard with disgust and abhorrence the practices of
their superiors.

Foremost in these licentious courses and most abandoned
in his profligacy was the instructor and prime minister of the
Regent, the infamous Cardinal Dubois. This wretch, of low
origin, being the son of a poor apothecary, was endowed with
consummate tact, activity, shrewdness, and matchless effront-
ery. Hypocrisy was the only vice that could not be imputed
to him ; he paraded the scandals of his life with as much
pride as other men show in displaying their virtues. Having
first corrupted the mind of his princely pupil by instruction
in every species of wickedness, and made himself necessary
to him both in the conduct of state affairs and in the procure-
ment of pleasures, he demanded as the price of his services
to be elevated to the highest honors of the church. While
he had yet a wife, before he had taken priest's orders, or made
any effort to conceal the turpitude of his life, be was nomi-

1850.] De Tocqueviile's HUiory of Louis XV. 247

nated by his shameless master lo be the successor of the
saintly Fenelon in the archbishopric of Cambrai. This was
an insult to religion, and the archbishop of Paris, resenting it
as such, nobly refused to consecrate him. More supple
bishops, among whom we grieve to find the illustrious Massil-
lon, were persuaded to assist at the ceremony ; and the newly
constiluled archbishop immediately began his intrigues to obtain
a cardinal's hat. The diplomacy of France, as he was now
minister of foreign affairs, was conducted by him for some
years solely with a view to this end; and lie at length suc-
ceeded, though the life of Pope Innocent III, is said to have
been shortened by the remorse which he felt for having elevated
Dubois to this dignity. Bui the French clergy were not
ashamed to prostrate themselves before the new cardinal, who
was now prime minister of the kingdom. In one of their
assemblies, which took place in 1723, he was unanimously
chosen their president ; and thus the " severity of Christianity
bowed down before the splendor of the dignities with which
successful vice had clothed itself." Religion itself received
a fatal blow through the dishonor of its ministers; and the
people were encouraged to doubl or despise all that ihey
had hitherto held most sacred.

The opportunity being so favorable, the champions of infi-
delity began to distinguish themselves by the boldness and
rancor with which they assailed the faith of the common
people. Their doctrines were no longer insinuated with some
reserve, but were openly avowed, and defended with all the
arms of sophistry and ridicule. Impiety became the fashion ;
it was vulgar to preserve any respect either for morality or
Christianity. To undermine the doctrines of natural religion
and to mock at revelation was the shortest and easiest mode
of obtaining the appellation of a philosopher. But the glory
of emancipating one's own mind from the prejudices of the
age would he imperfect if the freedom were not shared with
Others, as the teacher's fame is often measured by the number
of his disciples. Hence the free thinkers and free livers
showed themselves as eager to make proselytes to their
opinions, and converts to their mode of life, as if they had been
partisans of opposing sects in religion. The clergy, who
should have resisted their attacks, were wholly occupied with
the miserable disputes between the Jesuits and (he Jansenists,

248 De TocquevUle's History of Louis XV. [Jan.

a controversy which paralyzed the efibrts of Catholicism in
France for more than a century. The powers of the civil
magistrate, the terrors of the law, were directed rather against
heretics than unbelievers ; the writings of Voltaire and the
earlier productions of Montesquieu remained unanswered,
while the press teemed with confutations of Amaud and
Quesnel. Cardinal Noailles was persecuted, while Cardinal
Dubois held the highest office in the kinc:dom.

o o

The Regency foreshadowed the character of the reign
which it introduced ; it was the evening that ushered in the
night. Louis XV. had all the faults of the Duke of Orleans
without any of his virtues. He was an indolent, feeble, and
selfish voluptuary, without energy enough to become a tyrant,
and without the firmness of purpose and belief which is the
only redeeming quality of the bigot« Hb vices were of that
mean and scandalous character on which indignation seems
wasted ; the meanest of his subjects could only despise them.
No thought for the honor of his throne or the happiness of
his people seems ever to have disturbed him in the midst of
his debaucheries. He was incapable of real attachment even
to the companions and ministers of his pleasures ; be tolerated
them only because they catered skilfully to his appetites, and
surrendered into their hands the reins of government only
because he had not spirit and energy enough to retain them
in his own grasp. His listless temperament and feeble intel*
lect sought nothing but repose and sensual gratification.
During the whole of his long reign, the destinies of France
were swayed entirely by the abandoned females who were
successively raised to the post of the king's mistress. Most of
these women came from so low a condition in life, that they
did not represent any party or interest in the state, and never
became connected with one ; their influence, consequently,
was not exerted with a steady purpose of raising or depressing
one of the dominant factions at court, or of favoring one line
of policy in preference to another. It was directed exclusively
by the caprice of the moment, a view to the favorite's imme-
diate advantage, or by her personal preferences or dislikes.
The king disappeared behind his mistress. The history of
Louis XV. is a history of the successive reigns of Madame
de Mailiy, the Duchess de Chateauroux, Madame de Pompa-
dour, and Madame du Barri.

1850.] De Tocqueville's Bittori/ o-f Louis XV. 249

An administration so conducted could not but be produc-
tive of tumult and disorder at home, and of defeat and dis-
grace in its foreign relations. The policy of tlie Regent, as
we have seen, liad been pacific ; a cordial understanding
existed between him and the English mioistry, represented
successively by Stanhope and Walpole, both of whom were
eager to preserve peace in Europe, as the surest means of
strengthening the house of Hanover in its yet insecure posses-
sion of the British throne. A short and unnatural war with
Spain, that grew out of the frantic projects of Alberoni and
the foolish conspiracy of Cellamare, was ihe only contest in
which France was engaged under ihe Duke of Orleans.
The influence of Fleury, bishop of Frejus, then became
predominant in the kingdom, and fortunately he was like his
predecessor in the love of peace. He had been the king's
tutor during the minority, and was accused of favoring the
natural timidity, irresolution, and indolence of Louis, in order
to keep hiJn in a stale of perpetual tutelage. However this
may be, the king seemed to think it was quite right that his
sagacious old insiructor should become bis first minister, and
in fact should govern France without interference or control
for the remainder of his life, which was prolonged far beyond
the period usually allollcd to man. He made a wise and
temperate use of his power, almost the only charges brought
against him being the artifices through which he acquired and
retained his station. Thus, he chose a mistress for the king
with the same coolness with which he had just before selected
a wife for him, his only object being to find one whose gentle
end unambitious character promised to give no (rouble to the
administration. Maria Leceinska was a mild and uncom-
plaining wife, and Madame deMailly, the king's first mistress,
was probably the only one who loved him for his own sake,
and was content to share his afieclion without grasping at his
power. Fleury was prudent, shrewd, simple in his tastes, and
economical in the management of the finances ; and his admin-
istration, on the whole, was the most prosperous portion of
his sovereign's reign. But he had no generous impulses, no
regard for the honor of the king, or the glory of ihe kingdom.
He did nothing to retrieve the reputation of the monarchy,
which had been tarnished by the excesses of the Regency
and by the virtual bankniptcy of the govemment. Despising

240 De Tocqueville's History of Louis XV. [Jan.

in France. Picturesque narrative, exaggerated description,
startling contrasts, and a pointed and epigrammatic style are
the qualities upon which such writers depend for success.
They aim only at immediate effect, and 'care nothing about
tracing actions to their causes and consequences, if they can
only hurry the reader away by the brilliancy of their coloriDgy
and by the absorbing interest of their narrative. History is
thus degraded to a level with fiction ; it ceases to instruct,
and labors only to astonish or amuse. It borrows the vivid
colors of romance, and the imagination is invoked to supply
the deficiencies of the story, and to fill up the picture. By
thus gradually losing a strict regard for truth, it ceases to be
trustworthy as a whole, and no longer affords even the ma-
terials for instruction. Lamartine's History of the Girondists,
apart from its moral taint, its affected and sentimental style,
and its utter disregard of the requisitions of humanity and
justice, is a mere historical romance ; minute particulars and
long conversations are reported in it which could not by any
possibility have come to the knowledge of the narrator. No
authorities are cited, and no credit can be given to the writer's
blank assertion, that he has had access to unpublished docu-
ments and original sources of information, of which he may
perhaps give some account at a future day. We canDot
allow the evidence of historical events to depend upon M.
Lamartine's reputation for carefulness and veracity. We seek
more direct testimony, more definite citations of proof.

The shortest method of characterizing the Count de Tocque-
ville's work is to say, that in style and sentiment, in the
opinions avowed, and the mode of narrating the facts, in all
the essential qualities of a history, it is the very opposite of
the class of books just described. It is addressed to a different
class of readers ; it is an appeal to the thoughtful, cultivated,
and religious student of human affairs ; to the philosophical
statesman and the earnest and patient seeker after truth. He
has none of the artifices of style, the affected smartness and
exaggerated manner, or the appeals to national vanity and the
flattery of popular prejudices, by which such writers as Mich-
elet and Lamartine have sought to gain the applause of the
multitude. His manner is rather formed upon that of Tacitus
and Montesquieu ; it is concise, sententious, sometimes abrupt,
and shows more of the spirit of the philosophical moralist

1850.] Da Tocqueville's Hutory of Louis XV. 241

than of ihe suitor for popular favor. Far from pandering to
the diseased appetite for national glory, which is the most
salient trait of French character, he labors to reprove and
subdue it, b; exhibiting the decline of monarchy in France
as leading to the estinction of the political influence of the
country and the loss of its power and renown. In his eyes,
the glory of France culminated under Louis XIV., and then
passed rapidly through all ihe stages of decay, till it was lost
in the horrors of the first Revolution. The saturnalia which
then prevailed, Ihe destruction of the monarchy, the nobility,
and ihe church, and the triumph of irreligion and Jacobinism,
was the just punishment of the disorders and wickedness of
the court and the people under Louis XV. This is the grand
hut gloomy moral of his work, which the writer inculcates
with the fervid indignation of an ancient prophet. He ap-
pears sincerely allached to the Roman Catholic church and
to Ihe cause of royalty ; and he regards the decayed condition
of religion in France and the extinction of the sentiment of loy-
alty as the greatest misfortunes which could befall his country-
men. He engages in no labored defence of his opinions against
the democratic spirit of his age ; he merely narrates the facta
from his own point of view, and leaves it for others to view
them under a different aspect, if they can. The lesson that
he draws from them is a stem and sad one, like that which
was uttered by the miserable Phlegyas from the darkness of
his place of punishment : —

" Discito jualiiiam nionlti, el non lemoere divos."

It is a little singular thai, while the son has gained so much
distinction as the philosophical observer and analyst of the
spirit of democracy and the progress of democratic institu-
tions, the father should have occupied himself with tracing
the last lines of the history of royalty, and expoundmg the
causes of its decay. Both are men of marked abilities and
cultivated tastes ; they are quick and accurate observers, and
their speculations are both original and profound. Their
writings are addressed to thinkers, and are not designed to
please the multittide. They come nearer to the English than
to the French school of philosophy ; though the son shows
something of the fondness for rapid and sweeping generaliza-
tions which has usually characterized the speculations of his

TOL. LXX. NO. 146. 21

242 De Tocqueville's History of Louis XV. [Jan.

couDtryroen. But neither of them indulges in the vague
and sentimental declamations, the tinsel ornaments, the appeals
to popular prejudices, and the shallow profundity of such wri-
ters as Lamartine and Cousin. With them, rhetoric never
assumes the place of logic, and their weight of thought seeks
no aid from brilliancy of expression. If affectatioD is ever
visible in their writings, it is when they attempt to philoso-
phize on too slight occasions, and seek to render some veij
profound reason for that the cause of which lies upon the
surface. The son, we believe, has never attempted to write
history ; and the father certainly does not excel as a narrator
of events or a delineator of characters, though he gives a
very clear, neat, and concise summary of facts, and arranges
his materials with admirable method. His woi^ will be a
classic in French history long after the more showy produc-
tions of many of his contemporaries are forgotten.

We give an extract from the preface, that shows with great
clearness the purpose which the writer has had in view, and
the general character of his work.

** When the tomb received the remains of Louis XV., the old
French monarchy was interred in it along with him. The acts
of this king, his faults and his vices, gave a great impulse to the
movement which was urging the nation forward to a new order
of things. The principles both of religious belief and political
opinion underwent a severe investigation ; and when, guided by
fiilse lights, men strove eagerly to annihilate all religious faith,
did they not thereby exalt human pride beyond all limit?

" The philosophical inquiry into the causes, which, during a
great part of the eighteenth century, prepared the minds of peo-
ple for the great revolution which marked the end of it, is worthy
of our serious attention. 1 have undertaken it with the more ardor,
because it appears to me that hitherto it has been hardly com-
menced. In order to understand the origin of the prodigious
.changes which have taken place in our day, it is a useful, I
may say almost a necessary, condition to have seen something of
the old regime^ and thus to be able to compare the causes with
the efiects which they have produced. Afler a revolution which
has reversed so many fortunes, and kindled so many passions, old
age is not a bad period in which to write the history of the times
that are not yet remote from our own ; the years, as they accu-
mulate, complete our knowledge of the human heart. Having
become a stranger to the affairs that agitate the world, the writer
looks upon them dispassionately; the rude shock of events has

1850.] De TocqueviUe's HUtory of Louit XV. 243

worn away hie prejudices; and in taking the pen, he has no
other attraction than tlie truth, no other object than 1o instruct
mankind.

" The book which I offer to the public is not a metaphysical
work. In it the facts are narrated in detail ; but 1 have endeav-
ored to group them in such a maDner that their consequences may
be very obvious,"

Monarcliy never seemed more firmly established than it was
in France at the death of Louis XIV. In spite of the reverses
which clouded the later days of the Great Monarch's career,
the people had been dazzled by the factitious splendors of his
reign, and by his absorption of all the powers of government
into himself. He had scattered all obstacles to the unlimited
domination of the crown ; he had exiled the Huguenots, had
forced the great nobles to become supple courtiers, had com-
pelled the parliaments to be merely the declaratory organs of
his will and pleasure, and had caused Dearly every country in
Europe to tremble at the success of his arms. His noted
boast, Veiat, c'est moi, was a truth which his people were as
proud to acknowledge, as he was to utter; they had learned
to identify the national glory with the absolute dominion and
personal renown of the king. They were as proud of the
despotism of the monarch as the English were of tlie freedom
of the people. Louis XIV. had given unity to the kingdom
of France, and had gilded it over with foreign conquests and
alliances, with the glory of letters and (he arts, and with every
form and attribute of splendor at home. The national vanity
was satisfied, and the French people have never asked for any
thing more.

Unfortunately, the crown passed from the head of Louis to
that of an infant ; and the dying monarch himself, as if a long
minority were not fraught with hazards enough for royalty,
increased the danger by attempting to extend his power
beyond the limits of his own life, and lo regulate the manner
in which France should be governed till his great grandson
should come of age. His will directed that a council of
regency should he established, of which the Duke of Orleans
should be the head, though he should have but one vote in it,
and of which two of his natural children, whom he had legiti-
mated, were to be members. This delegation of royal power
to a numerous committee, instead of an individual, would

254 De Tocquerille's Mttory of Lomt XV. [Jan.

different view of the revolution that began in 1789 from that
which has long been common among bis countiyoien. In bis
eyes, it was the inevitable and deplorable conclusion of a long
course of national disaster and crime. It was a grand cihivuI-
sion which engulfed alike the monarchy, the nobility, and
the church, — the punishment which aU had mnited and
brought upon themselves by persistence in licentiousness,
frivolity, and impiety. The people of Fraiice were no
longer proud of their goveramenl, tbey were even <Usgusted
with it, and were strongly desirous of a change; but die
ground of their discontent was not political oppresskxi or
religious persecution. They were tbemselres nearly as moch
demoralized as their rulers, and though weary of an iaglorious
despotism, they had no rational desire or concepbon of free-
dom. Accordingly, when the evils of the state had reached
a crisis, and could no longer be endured, the people became
frantic, and tore down the whole ediSce of the coostitntiaa
and the laws, without any distinct conception of what was to
be erected in its place. The king, tlie nolil^ -, m-l (!ip ciergy
became alike the objects of their insacf furj, which was
restrained by no prudential regard for their own welfare, no
idea of political principle, and no sense of religious obligatioa.
They had no definite object in view, such as guided iIjo e^rts
of the English patriots in the rebellion against Charles I., and
in the revolution of 1688. The freedom \hiiicb tbey vindi-
cated for themselves, at the cost of so much blood and treas-
ure, was gladly relinquished only fifteen years afterwards,
when the people almost wilh one voice made Napoleon
emperor with absolute power. Three and a half miUic»s of
votes were given in favor of this change, and only about
twenly-five hundred were opposed to it. The remaik of
the hislorian is perfectly just, that there is no other example
recorded in the annals of the world of so unanimous an appro-
bation of the foundation of a dynasty, no instance of a nation
so joyfully taking refuge in the stillness of despotism.

dec It
ofev

lurefc

, "I VOOO'B J" ln«fl am jo anpiiaj snj) jo wji^ni oqj, ■i»iiun|[
io) iMiq» japoin [Wi)jnaii9< m jo fuaoiTiBiitiviis iDjsioMna sqi pn

•Tp ipTa noiianina in •■Suipimq-mraj jo noiusJa sqi oo p«pii»dz»
•"lH'^'/OOt'l JO ra™ "n "1» Saiw» 'imneiraiq-aioq Mi» nuttl
psuKiai uaaq nq uupiimigui ay — : lasawanDtmint 3uuta[|<>) *m
(ittvfuea ,iaiuid^ ^i^Oi a<t^— '>*0Q Ki looHog trtai/iaoiaeY

-OD suoS SniqaMn sqi paij

smpiwiDn m wodud o} ipvai '^nenjd uepKn SMJ jo Xvm aSni

'■naddv II 'nn aisqiH 'q)itap lun^n v paip „ noi^uunainap „

^ pa's 'puBq ra Kaoianq sqi q^ui paasoitl a^j Xov ipw loa p^oa

nuoii(Hinb»j aq« (Bqi oiSmiu db n* -jsaaitaq ■aBirapn*))!! sqj, -iij

Uptn pan sanpiud SAinii •>] do;i90)oiiI j-oj oinisj ■ pnviuap (H) ptn

'spwi sai) iiqnS< „ caaiOA Jtsqi dn Sanjij „ jo aiodjiid aqi joj 'JCsp

-nojf ao pajauniu piojia^^ jo ^qiiki aq.) jo tiBtuai»a}uj sq) 'uoif

-jiinbu 0} lasnunj— ^'iHUHoTHaoDiia ., iBinottotiofii aauioMV '

-)ua]ia ajqwapiBDiui ■ o^ 'BAiisauinoQ pin Siqu '^lUS

•qi ^q puv 'anuauvj jg pint 'piopiio^ 'ruiDifinmiiDQ 'ajto^ijin

'iicTigq«gspj<yj ^qpAoSiBii qaiqn 'fvpje^ga^joj'siaug 'f JH '^^isqa

qSiq aq^ fq pauDniiuiu 'iniqn([ ;o i^unoo aqi Joj )«q) m aotiiBinbii

•iqc^naiud qsam aqq ;iiq : psiutnw arc (fjuaddi^ jf> Snip;^ <IT''>M

sq) 3u!pa[3ni} •ai^mioii jaqjQ iiOTOudojd a8nj jsqgo pin 'fann^

JO iooiitq aqt in avv^ peS«(mu-[pii pini jm « aanasaod oqn

'qjvg JO sinbiB)] aqt jo auimnaiudai aqi m\i '■ unatn^ t*°°l''3

.' jaqiuam fjniiaa paWH aip "inxjug -^ -j; ""02 *1l -' uramliiori-aoi*

'aiuomaiig pjoq 1 lasaajnaji f funoa aqj 'sicumog^ pjo^ jd aoijieinbu

aq) mojj Smniru am aanivu aq} jng •Sj^uaS [ooi aqi jo i(iD9«t

mq) aioDi p'lm* :pira[Mi joj Jimaioag.iBpnx) iiJanuoj '»i»ani 'a iH

iXainqg BiHa]{ aqg ! uaqmani iCiQi>'>0 ^) Ji* auo 'Btpaq 'j 'D ^

: /au^ii(g pav iaLuaa[3 ipiorj fq panSii ai uoiintnbaj aqj; ■^iut qi^

aqi ■fitu Aipsanx Joj jijaqa q8iq eqt fq pauainod uaaq nq traqSttnon

JO <inno3 oqj, -aopoitvid jo i^Aiiai aq) JOj Suflsaa ui anora

-imun luuj mj an Ci]us3 qsijj aqi iHqi aiioqi )»j aiq^ -uoiiinnbu

aqi uSn faa p;p 'uoiaudoid oqi iiSusiun i[uu laaq^iq aqi SniLl

-nsao uaDia[iiu9 iar[io pm '«auuvg jo 'M^og in '. wiv^a oAgaualxv

XWA JO jaiuio aqt pui 'ajHowiu i^unao aqi jo aoo 'uvSjojh tnSMO

JH 'AionraidiuBj, pio^ 'piojdoig juoi 'n«ouno3 pjoq : ijunoa aqi ja

iC[uo aqj, -laiiaj -f iji '£uaqB qSiq aqi jo fauspiojd aqi japm
'iqijooBiuoajifspuoiino poiqmaare pioj la^ jo ijtmoa aq^ -witat
paanpai'iCrmajS ptn iqSu-iaviiai Joj ptrauiap eqi Snjiiaia uqunj
|]i1B Jo Jsilmip uiviiaa inoqiTJt no pauns aq louma uoiwilA 'VH
ivqi pm 'wajBdoq i\ia^^n ai luaiuijadxa aqi ivtji >iJ^aq naqi in pMint
-uoa aq lanm Jaqi qSaoqi^i ■juamauni aiqi ni \yaz luajiad'dv qipu
Sutuiaf ai« tpiaipuei aqj, *^mii Jnimoa aqi pui inaaajd aqi u}
psig Man gSnjiaaiu iiumia [iiaAag — 'houtudv ismomoiiawi oej^

a M V 1 H a I

..-indiii I

luinq JO imBuinnaa sin inq Joiqioa
tniHt ton -lodi aiooui iiqi noij

m iiwnip JO pm aa
*qi pm noMS P-
nnuD nqipuDHi

tDimndai iiq
^"U 11!* 'ig
mq « oopuiKi
11 q»9j 0) «|«g Diaij

ID H«ed aqi ■uaqiKj i.q o) pwaqwa naoq nq Mwjiaqii ^ " - .,

ur XiquumDon ossq nq A«p i«a o< uHMi imp — jaiaod fuoai « £|md

■u pa^fjo.u iaqi quiqJi qiia jaaod »qi fti 'eanipiqii^B (

jCq auop ttm nq^^ jaqwauiDj [|* innm o\\ 'idana pun

■Ml

256 Kennedy's Life of Wirt. [Jan.

he certainly would not have deemed the larger portion of them
important enough to be placed before the public. They are the
careless efiusions of a few leisure minutes of the day, when he
sought relief from the irksome perusal or inditing of legal docu-
ments by scribbling nonsense to an old associate. The followiDg
is a fair specimen, though a short one, of the epistolaiy trifling of
which Mr. Wirt was very fond, and by the aid of which his
biography has been swelled to the compass of two large octavo
volumes.

** My ink was rather too thick to write with pleasoie, so I have thi—cwi
it, and mended my pen ; — and nuw, sir, here *8 at yoa.

** Why yes, sir, as you say, it is a pleasant thing to lead the life of a
eoanty coart lawyer ; but yet (as one of Congrefe s wittol squires said,
when his gaardian bally suffered himself to be kicked, and called it
pleasant) * it is a pleasure I would as soon be withoat.' Yet I doabC
not that your sum of bappiuess is as great, if nut greater, than if yoa
were a *■ general court lawyer,' as the phrase osed to be

'* Those same rHums that yoa speak of. — My God ! Does sot a bisb,
at such times, live as much m a minute as, in ordinary times, he does m.
an hour or a day ! These are the breexes of which poets and otatass
sing and say, that they shake the atmosphere of life, and keep U
stagnation and pestUence. I know that your life would be in no
of stagnation or pestilence, even if yon were to live forever at
yet, 1 imagine that there is no man, huwoYer happy in the cixele of lus
ianuly, who does not find himself made moie cuusciuos of that hspft-
ness, and his feelings of enjoyment ouickened by these oceaaiooal sep-
arations. This is the way in which 1 rec«)ncile myself to them; siiiee,
although not a county court lawyer, at this /treseni, I am doomed to
these separations as well as you.

*' As to the labor and fatigue which yoa undergo, — look at the health
which you derive from it, and the consequent clearness of brain, and
capacity for happiness. Besides, mark the majestic obesity which yoa
exhibit, in spite of all your exercise, and consider * what a thing yoa
would be if you were bloated,' as Falstaff'says, — by inactivity."

We object further to the very lengthy quotations from Mr. Wirt^s
speeches on the trial of Aaron Burr, one remarkable passage in
which is familiar to every school-boy in the land, and to copious
extracts from a political pamphlet, that was written for a temporary
purpose, and has very properly been forgotten.

And now, having discharged our conscience as reviewers br
reprehending in very plain terms a most pernicious practice in
biography, we are free to express our obligations to Mr. Kennedy
for what is, on the whole, an excellent memoir of his friend, alike
candid, faithful, and elegant The materials appear to have been
collected with great care, from a variety of sources, and they
throw ample light upon the whole history and character of the
person to whom they relate. Mr. Wirt's abilities as an advocate,
a lawyer, and an author, are set forth with fulness and discnnu*

opii
ofa

THEEXAM_INER

it coul.1 noVbegot out when «anted,wWd. i^^the ~mm.

fate of boato <ni a long voyage. ^*^ "" Jw "Lift
.^uiate for safety which seamen »«^anably negl^t hgj

2 boau. They hate ?'>°'^8j'gS; ~ fuS luX »
cided preference for having tlieir «»» ~ '""^t^.. :__ed=
, , otherwL in such a ?tate » to P«ent the ^alj^ ^^^
«p, ments to launching >n caseof nwd ^ '« ^

g". got out. the davhs to be^^d «^d^B8^^^^

Jjl^ Ld when the boat is^t^toth^^^ ^

for the'hOJ^fflJUUiPfauipdeni, bat for iho Jeffriw Mid the Stnl^mb of
the dayf

If such unworthy dcniali of the host qualitiei of Englishmen are to be
«zcaied by the prevalence of panic, and by the arenion which every com-
iii«Kially*deTeloped community entertain! of disorder, how are we to ae-
CQunt for the rancour which ponues the fallen cause, the foul calumnies
gathered from the vile sinks ot Uie police, to be pelted at the head of the
patriots in exile and distress?

Vt^e do not think that there is to be found in the annals of any press,
BBch leu of the English, an example of vbdictivoness so ungenerous,
calumnies so personal and so foul, slanaer so wanton, and rancour so un-
manly, as that which has marked the communications of the * Times* from
fUenna, and which has even crept into the leading artieleaof that joomal,
ifipeating the unfortunate members of the Hungarian emiffration. We
liave beard of the ' Satirist,' and the penalties to which its editor was inb-
jected for speculating in attacks on private chancter. We bear nav and
then much virtuous indignation against the Ueanoa aad pmnaUtiai of tha
American press. But wo declare never to have met in either or any of
these or^B the scurrility and slanden with which Kosnth haa Men
aMBJlad in the cohimns of the '^Times,' and not only Koesath, bat youg
and innocent females of the moat spotless liCe and reputation, who ware
merely guilty of the crime of flying from the whip. of the Austrian execu-
tsoner. It » plain enough that the Austrian military police, baulked of its

a, and unable to have the satialaetion of tying up Iffadame Dembinaki
e triangle in order to administer to a young creature of eighteen some
hnndred lauies — this police consoles itself for the cUsappointmeut by raking
»tlie meet inftunous liee throodh its amnis, and ponnng them forth upon
tSt English paUic, to the oedmous and sallied columns of the * Times.'

The well-known aathor of the ' Revelations of Russia,' however, in his
letter published in our columns on the 1st of January, has done justice by
thoee calumnies. It was scarcely to be expected bv the writer who slan*
dared Koasoth from the Danube and itom Vienna, inat an eye-witness of
all that passed in these regions would be here in London, tiood fortune
enabled us at once to giro a refutation of his calumnies.

With respect to tha other stories that the Austrian police have laked up
fitf him out of their wchives agpunat Koasath, we, of coorae, cannot be pre-
pared with such a specific answer. But they are snfficiently refnted by the
Bigh character whien Koasoth bore, not only with tha pnblle and popular
.•part/, bqt with the Hungarian magnater, wlio oft*liaMB|»rapesed to endow
nim with fortune and estates, raers which Kossuth invariably refused.
After a long and unchecked control over tha r eso n rees of so rich a countiy
aa Hungary, with millions sterling at his disposal, Kosnth has retired
penniless from the land ; and the diests of treasure with which the cater*
ers for the ' Times ' supplied him have dwindled^ by the testimony of an
Ens^ishman who accompanied his flight, into a pair of saddle-bags !

Tne name and the snade of Kossudi, however, still disquiets A
tyranny: and well it may, for one scrap of the President's handwriting is
obeyed liko a sacred Firman at this moment throughout Hungary, and
•van his paperononoy, though it be felony to keep it, is still bought up by
Ike Jews for reselling to tha Magym. The aim of Austria is, however, to
iiyare by oalunmy a character whose greatness and purity they dread ;
and we blusfi to find an EoKlish journal making itself, even unwittingly
in this, the catspaw of the vileet motivea of the ^nlert men.

Of Kossuth's character and Kossuth's greatness there can be bnt one
opinion. If ever an individual's name was legitimately identified with a
nation's cause, it is Kossuth's. We say this even withaat referanee to the
isolation in which the pUows and platoon hava VA Vmu '^■^i^^ mi b^
niably his sagndty which forewaraea, \ui a\oqA«a«a v\!^ ^wijg ^'^y _^
XK^\9ir»»iy energy and tnandal geaiw, viVicVi «WbS«"^, •■"t '^^'!KEISN
l^nt for Bnssttu w*r,*- ^ attugjSU wYkwevn \i \» wSwwii»l ^^^T T^^tStIa

•9 -^^ » •« •*

258 Kennedy's lift of Wirt. [Ian.

a favorite with all from his winning manners and sportive humor,
he participated with keen enjoyment in all the pranks of his young
associates at the bar, and in the festive meetings of the neighbor*
hood, and was for a time in imminent peril of becoming a vicdm
to dissipation and excess. But an early marriage saved him firom
the snares of the tempter, and supplied a motive for the exertion
of the brilliant talents with which he was endowed. He aooo
became distinguished as an eloquent advocate, and slowly laid the
foundations of his fame as a sound lawyer. His companionable
qualities secured for him a large circle of friends, and bosineflB
flowed in apace.

Mr. Kennedy has given many pleasant sketches of the leading
members of the bar, the distinguished politicians, and ^ the firat
families of Virginia,^^ at this epoch, which was about the oooi-
mencement of the present century. He does not wliolly aToid
the temptation of painting them in too flattering colors ; liTing in
the immediate vicinity, and writing about a generation that has
not yet wholly passed away, many of whom, probably, were his
own early friends, it was natural that he should be more eager to
praise than to discriminate. Excessive laudation is the great vice
of contemporary biography ; it is favorable to the first success of
a book, but lessens its chance of going down with honor to pos-
terity. Distance in space produces about the same effect on the
judgment as the lapse of time ; and, under the cold climate of
New England, we may be excused for thinking that our author
has showered his compliments rather too freely to make them of
much value.

We cannot follow the story of Mr. Wirt's rapid and brilliant
success at the bar. At the early age of thirty-five, he was
employed for the government on the important case of Aaron
Burros trial for treason ; and though some of the oldest and most
eminent lawyers in the United States were his associates, he
equalled, if he did not surpass, them all in the display of forensic
talent. A severe taste might condemn his speeches as too rhetori-
cal and ambitious, and his flights of imagination as too frequent,
for the sober purposes of legal discussion ; but he showed also so
much argumentative power, knowledge of law, and sagacity in
the conduct of the case, as to win the grave approbation of the
bench, no less than the applause of the bar, and the shouts of the
multitude. The distinction which he acquired in this cause
attended him through life, and was fully justified by his subse-
quent efibrts. The politicians endeavored to make a prize of
him ; he was once chosen, almost without his knowledge, to the
legislature of Virginia, and Mr. Jefierson urged him strongly to
enter Congress. But fortunately, he had little taste for the wrang-

Bcprise de« relations (llploinatlques entre la
Perie ci la Russle.

Leiliflerenij larco-nisse eat eofin termini. Lo 31 lificembre,
' ? Tiloff, ftmbBHSiiileur mo»covite s'est rendu clien Ic grBnii-

pour reaouer afRciellemenl ses relatione ovec le Divaa, AI.||^^^H^F^

Stunner, mitiislie d'AuIricbe,B commis nne fsute ..

I &on coRegae : il «e tient encore h Vdcan, attendant des iiis-
trucltuns de mu gouvernrniRiit, «ur dcs puinis de dSlail <|ii'il dc
perviendia ^videmment pM il emporter, sajourd'hai snrtout qn'i]
'- trouve aeo] et piivC de I'npimi dc la Rassie.

Auk termcB de Vaccord <'6nnilif, les (Qjets riiBWB qui ae aont
T^fug!^ sur le temtoire oiluman, api^s les slfaires de Hongr]e,
'out aeula obliges do ]p rjn liter, avec passeports tores, franfais,
nelaia, etc., selon le pa^a oii il leur sera permta d'aller.
Lf8 eajeta rnsaes t|ai r^idaieot en Tungnie fi nn litre qnelcon-
que avant ces afliiires, coniinBeranc fi y render sans antrea con-
ditiona que cellea fjQ'il plaira i, la Pone de filer.

Quant anx siijeca de I'mie et I'autre puissance qui le sont faitt
ugulmanB.la Purte s'oblige de veitler k ce qn'ils ne puissent rien
Ltreprendre crmire la s^curit6 dee deux Elata : mais ils D'anroot
BQIre residence que celle qn'il lui plaira ded^igtier. SuivantiuM
irreBpondance anglsise, Bern et dauze autre potonais seraieot
peudant except^ de relte meaure et devraient €tte iDlemts anr
1 point d^aign^.

La difficult^ qui arr^te encore nne conclusion semblafile avec
I'Anttiche, *e ratteche ^ la question d'intemement. La Porto en
eflec consent b. eloigner de la fronti^re no certain nombre de t£fu-
gi^ d^igo6i nominativement (34, dit-on, en tdte desqaels figure
Kosaotb) : tnais t'Aalricbe voudrait maintedr cette liete oDTerie,
avec facultfi d'y ajouter tela autrea tioicH qn'il lui conviendrail.
£lle cedera sans cul doute 5 ciin tour,

I L'AuIricbe et la Ruasie. dit i propos de re d^noaemect nne
:orreapcindance, avaient c«mpt6 sans la France el I'Angleterre ;
tiles avaient comp(4 aans I'opinion publiqae, qui a'est r£voll6e
:ontre leurs exigenres ; ellea avaient nigme conpl^ sans la Tur<
luie, qu'elle* avaient [rouvSe toDJourn si facile, ei dfibounaire ea
ait de concessiona avant le minist^re de la r6forme. Taut de
pr^lentioat anperbea ont^t^ r^dnites purement et aimpleraent an
droit de la Turquie. Rien de plus, rien de moins.i

Dicuna ntannnnna que, daiu ropioion g^n^ralo, lea concessinnB
■ilea par la Hnstie en ccfte circonstance laissent cbez elle nne
rriere-pena^e de revanche et de rancune. La nouvelle ds pnv
hain depart des escadres anglaiae et franfaise a tailed une vlve
ensaiion. bien qnR lout enic termine et '|ne leur pr^ience poroieee
d£tormai* inutile dans le Levant.

< L« gJD^nO Aup

.clt..[M.C

nnin

g. ecril

snleli

onrirr, apiai avok

0uiiti oMmbk, 6

rivenli leu

mcni q

ue la pi^acnce dn

floitr* ■'«! plui Dit.

li>Hna4i(igi>nl

MoMo-VoEachie. hu

. noiit ct

airamcni >n«m<

i 1b MBVUBliDIl da

li.lm-Lin»i>, *r qu'il faudra pr

ut-*

^^ dan

deux

moil, ftiire revenir

pt flotlei pour ubi*

ir r*vm:«.l

on d

e. Hrin

ipauiti.

danubienn.*.

• La raoiliti avtc

laqutlla le i

•bii

ride a

i»t.Pii

ribouig * BMBpli

gauierBsmcnt

™i Aupiek

> RuMi

d«.ir.

«T«d«fc,«;^f"

f„pri.^re

Kai.

« qti».

iun moldo-nUi^u*

On lit dans le Dail^-NfiM :

I'dffuifC

Nous avmia le plaisir d'annoncer que la femne de Kussnih
eat parvenne h B'enfuir de la Hongrie, et qo'elle est arrir^e \
Bctr-'ade, d'uo elle doit aller h Shumla pour r^joindre son mari.

I Ubds quelquea jours, lee r^fugi^s i[ui sont h Scbomla qaitte-
roBfrcctterille pour BO rendre h Kutaya, lieu de leur residence.
On pense f|Qe c'esl Ahmcd-Efltudi qnj reglera lenr depart en se
renaantdans les principnntfis.i

NEW PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED.

Clarence, or a Tale of Our Own Times. By Miss C. M. Sedgwick.
Author's Revised Edition. New York : George P. Putnam. 1849.
12mo. pp. 515.

The Neighbours, a Story of Every Day Life. By Fredrika Bremer.
Translated from the Swedish by Mary Howitt Author's Edition, with
a New Preface. New York : G. P. Putnam. 1850. l2mo. pp. 439.

Half Hours with the Best Authors ; selected and arranged, with short
Biographical and Critical Notices. By Charles Knight. Vols. III. A
IV. New York : John Wiley. 1849. 12rao.

The Miscellaneous Works of Oliver Goldsmith, including a Varietj
of Pieces now first collected. By James Prior. In Four Volumee.
Vol. I. New York : G. P. Putnam. 1850. l2mo. pp. 586.

Poems by Robert Browning. A New Edition. Boston : Hcknory
Reed & Fields. 1850. 2 vols. 12mo.

The Poetical and Prose Writings of Charles Sprague. New aad
Revised Edition. Boston : Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1850. l2iiio.

p.205.

Memoirs of the Life of William Wirt, Attorney General of the Uni-
ted States. By John P. Kennedy. Philadelphia : Lea & Blaochard.
1849. 2 vols. 8vo.

The History of England, from the Invasion of Julius Cssar to the
Abdication of James II., 1688. By David Hume, Esq. To which is
prefixed a Short Account of his Life, written by himself. A New
Edition, with the Author's Last Corrections and Improvements; to
which is added a Complete Index of the Whole Work. Vols III.,
IV. & V. Bo9t<»n : Phillips, Sampson k Co. 1849. 12mo.

The Monuments of Egypt ; or, Egypt a Witness for the Bible. By
Francis L. Hawks, D. D., LL. D. With Notes of a Voyage up the
Nile, by an American. New York: G. P. Putnam. 1850. 8vo.
pp 256 & 162.

History of the French Revolution of 1848. By A. de Lamartine.
Translated by Francis A. Durivage and William S. Chase. Hoeton :
Phillips, Sampson & Co. 1849. 12mo. pp. 245 & 270.

Greenwood Leaves ; a Collection of Sketches and Letters. By Grace
Greenwood. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1850. 12mo. pp.
406.

Windings of the River of the Water of Life, m the Development,
Discipline, and Fruits of Faith. By George B. Cheever, D. D. New
York: John Wiley. 1849. 12mo. pp. 384.

Nino PubUcatiom Received. 361

Orations and Occaaional Diacourees, by George W. Bethone, D. D.
New York : G. P. Patnam. 1850. 12mo. pp. 438.

The Canton Chinese, or the American's Sojourn in the Celestial
Empire. By Osmond Tifiany, Jr. 1850. 12mo. pp.271.

History of the Sie^e of Boston, and of the BatUes of Lexington,
Concord, and Bunker Hill ; also, an Acconntof Bunker Hill Monoment ;
with IllustratiTe Documents. By Richard Frothingham, Jr. Boston :
Little & Brown. 1849. 8to. pp. 420.

Journals of the Re?. Thomas Smith and the Rev. Samuel Deane,
Pastors of the first Church in Portland ; with Notes and Biographical
Notices, and a Summary History of Portland. By William Willis.
Portland : Joseph S. Bailey. 1849. 8vo. pp. 483.

The Poetical Works of William Motherwell ; with a Memoir by
James M'Conechy, Esq. Third Edition, greatly enlarged. Glasgow :
David Robertson. 1849. 16mo. pp.433.

The Laird of Logan ; or Anecdotes and Tales Illostrative of the Wit
and Humor of Scotland. Seventh Thousand. Glasgow : David Ro-
bertson. 1845. I6mo. pp. 628.

Whistle-Binkie : a Collection of Songs for the Social Circle. Glas-
gow : David Robertson. 1846. 24mo. pp. 640.

Songs for the Nnrsery. Glasgow. David Robertson. 1846. 12mo.
pp. 128.

Elements of Moral Science. By Francis Way land, D. D., President
of Brown University. Abridged, and adapted to the Use of Schools
and Academies, by the Author. Twenty-sixth Thousand, Revised.
Boston : Gould, Kendall & Lincoln. 1849. 18mo. pp. 212.

Exercises in Greek Prose Composition, adapted to the First Book of
Xenophon's Anabasis. By James R. Boise, Professor of Greek in
Brown University. New York : D. Appleton & Co. 1850. 12mo.
pp. 185.

The Old World, or Scenes and Cities in Foreign Lands. By William
Furniss. Accompanied with a Map and Illustrations. New York : D.
Appleton & Co. 1850. 12mo. pp. 290.

Quotations of Humor, Wit, and Wisdom. Boston : Nathaniel Deal^
bom. 1849. l8mo. pp. 280.

The Practical French Teacher ; or a New Method of learning to
write, read, and speak the French Language. By Norman Pinney,
A. M. New York : Huntington & Savage. 1849. 12mo. pp. 400.

Boston Notions; being an Authentic and Concise Account of *' that
Village " from 1630 to 1837. By Nathaniel Dearborn. Boston : Natha-
niel Dearborn. 1848. 16mo. pp. 426.

Reviews and Essays. By £. G. Holland. Boston : Crosby & Ni-
chols. 1849. 12mo. pp. 400.

Success in Life. The Merchant. By Mrs. L. C. Tuthill. New
York : G. P. Putnam. 1850. 12mo. pp. 188.

Family Pictures from the Bible. By Mrs. Ellet, Author of '* Women
of the Revolution." New York : G. P. Putnam. 1849. 12mo. pp.
223.

The Progressive French Reader ; suited to the Gradual Advancement
of Learners generally, and especially adapted to the New Method ; with
Notes and a liexicon. By Norman Pinney, A. M. New York : Hun-
tington & Savage. 1850. 12mo. pp. 277.

^ISL

1850.] JSew Publications Received. 263

Poems by John G. Saxe. Boston : Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1849.
12mo. pp. 130.

The Uiad of Homer, translated into English Blank Verse. By Wil-
liam Cowper. Edited by Robert Sou they, LL. D. With Notes by
M. A. D wight, Author of Grecian and Roman Mythology. New
York : G. P. Putnam. 1850. 12mo. pp. 617.

Saint Leger, or the Threads of Life. New York : G. P. Putnam.
1850. ISmo. pp. 384.

The King of the Hurons. By the Author of " The First of the Knick-
erbockers.'* New York : G. P. Putnam. 1850. 12mo. pp. 319.

Mahomet and his Successors. By Washington Irving. New York :
G.P.Putnam. 1850. 12mo. pp.373. •

The Seaside and the Fireside. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Boston : Ticknor, Reed, & Fields. 1850. 12mo. pp. 141.

The Birds of Aristophanes ; with Notes, and a Metrical Table. By
C. C. Felton, Eliot Professor of Greek Literature in Harvard College.
Cambridge : John Bartlett. 1849. 12mo. pp. 228.

A Statistical View of the Principal Public Libraries of Europe and
America. By Edward Edwards, Esq., of the British Museum. Third
Iklition. London. 1949. 4to. pp. 48.

Discourse on History as a Branch of the National Literature ; deliv-
ered before the Belles Lettres Societv of Dickinson College. By Job
R. Tyson, an Honorary Member. Philadelphia : T. K. & P. G. Col-
lins. 1849. 8vo. pp. 63.

'wm

IRNING EDITION— TUESDAY ^^"S^^si^thn^-^,^

rrnm tb> Londiw TIom. Not

'"T Ml III I rtWll

itSBIlliU* fluS

n«DtBe«lC«tb*lT|H ...

tbt bit df Ui (n*t tTpmiM 0/
rtnnla IImV. lb* KUa-x tuc* .f ib
ttoDlntbaMBt.BtDaoa nruniitaiii'
111. W>l*Nh. tE« bMd (Dd Bbl* nfai
1(1> BtulJ alilht bwiiUkib luUsa.
tb* Bat Mdltiaof inStBt iM plsetl
■^aa Ua M^ ind tunb ■ turaa of <

Wmvlit igaiBit hiM u pnTc« ibi. . ,

illCUltalUtlTtlDDlpaB Kstui* icmtDtt Mo. that

• •Bale, t'

I. rnlikt, Id lb« Dmit A

I'tMuloi. Thry niw ban
■■■uiMnbli (rfMH bi
VI of Tnud^.ofib UU

v^.,... „.„J;.«Bi. viu tub idtb M-

■■*>di*|i*lte Ifan •emlUBplaMan «( tbM •arutn*)
ciuAn. AllKbobki* riM fUskndCiMn'iMtal.
Inllffltr lu Dt. BMtl.thaAwliteBUIbUtu. iilU(»|
b" •Meil} Aaitite It BD* abn* Ei«lud n> l«D
I*'ai ifo- nd" tb* BCtt bl(Citud aBaHdl.UeAatd
uaMi<« tbal(*iinlu»«ithl IbTHi Df UuhUh-
«(»« . S»b U Ibt •OHt c( tb* polls* of MMMiSob
■»««li*J.Hau.lhat Auiila la ■«. tbaBkeaslsn
a*4 B ball bablad ika iHt of £b»m 1b ilMlIiaibn.
I'll laBd tt aan plnuon tL* Bvlta ol wbuc eaMtal
«BCi«ia*Uj eonnd bIUx pltwdi < t amj bomUs
*MBi*t>aai. bM rnnti iUmll itaa Uod of tit Boit
crviJ Bbdt^vvdjaplilt, at tpBaa tb*mcaiBff*BjBBtvaBd

IhU liMJUBf MA.ABiblB ib< tdtBdj Ol MlaMl

— Kiivio«!>n M

nuiBinaiul Aii:t

■»j=jl ..nW**i>» i'ladafanWoJi't I B »» 'tnoooo m*Jtw ma jaaaimSaoiB
•"'Vt^.'J!i"f.2BTf"W^S"S^'&S?^^ i Bt-«Hl>"«"'™««'tl'"«'n''l S"!""!"!

'"T '^S-t^t"*

■•»ifig'»i«raiVi-»'n'i

nil w«i '"«»i«»i»"M8-»"

Lb* TRia l« ta oBtBB

Ml(o ' tf lata eI"« Ibl* (TlblBl, r^

iv-»li«,im, fiu«Ma»it.D<irt

II la aiaud l]i*t Oi^i-uclin '

rvtuUBUa^if, i«Bi-uuri<:c that

.!»»111 b>l*I!(a.'dlilUU;BUfa ,... _ „ „__ ,

lvl*aaEaFvU*Bi>li>f>^bI l&o IBIM aatll lUif ««« I

B*B i» »«odjod imt jej !•= leiaofl »v ™»q» ^w
I amomimiBB:) iniB fomx Atuia«;ai)*t UMtlpBMl^
' tnttnaMimnm 'l|aflI»1»taiK'"^-l*»»V*

■qi iiqi p>iiuBig!N>uiB'>nntn**»"i"n|l*4 CI

iqi (apiaimt tin lia«|p«( 11 ai ■«»PI«"»lPft«l »«i
■pqa Ml /pmpatgsi ram !!»• 01 o»ii«D;M»l-p »^i.'^

■Bi»i9r»''^i"ii-''

■aeug nqtoinvaffipHOWdBtiii put 'ainj vt adBijis
._._ , — 'aJiimbJ

•Br»M B'HJo^a'S BofliiBaiia tTl»'«Be|m

Adams (Rev. Ji's) .— Clf menlB o( Moral PhiloKi-

[rfiy. Hoy, 8>0, cUilll *l. fo. a1 30. N. V. 1837.

Adntiis's IlliislrBlcil and DcKripUvp Guicl« lo the
WbIcfIhi PIu— of Eulud. Jtiina. eMli, Maii and
WDodeali. M cu. I^nd. IM».

jEKhiliiTragmdiatei Edilione Thorn. Sli

9 ihe Siody of

B Prisoner of Btile

A New Collection of BnigmnB. Chamdes, Trana
Animal Biognphr ; consisling of siagnlgr iiu

[]. IPW,

.'\ riBiey'i New Bslh Gniile, lUuelniled bf Cmik-
'Imtik ud WUliluu. ISaw. cioUi. Wi»U'»U. tl.

Lflod. I«0,

Anihnn (Cha's A.)— Pilgnmage la Treves, &.c.

r^mo. cloUi. 9DcI>. N. Y. mi.

Arcliteologle Chr^tienne ou Precis de I'Hisloire
ilai ModumaDli Rsligieiu. Ci.fivo. niujili. t»an.

.'\rialoile. — A New TranBlnlinn of llie Nicaraa-
cUmEtlilauf AriioUi. e*u. kalTsloih. SI 3U.

oiTHd, lam.

-Arrian's Vo^ge ronod ihe Eaiine See. Trans-
lated. 4(0. luudi, Mkix uc] Fills. HMftSSD.

OifDiil. leos.

Barku-oods of Canada ; wjlli an Aecount of ihe
""""" ° '°'°'* '"^ lj.od.lMfl.

Bflpliwery (The) ; or. the Way of Elernal Life.
><•<>. ilDih. 83 TJ. no 19 IS. Oirord. 1810.

Rarhsm (W.)— Dcierlptimu of Niagara ; wlected
fiDOi ruloiii TtatilJiin, wllh ariiliitl Ad.llttoiu. 8vii.
clolb. Plata. SS.rMtim. Giaioanil.

n.'nitle (James)— Foeiical Worka of; wiih a

l^utnnm'B ■lllfmninbtr Catiilcgur.

CHEAP LIST OF VALUABLE BOOKS.

ENGLISH AND AMERICAN.

Many of which are offered at on^-lialf the ori-jimil pvuu:.
By G. p. PUTNAM, 155 Broadway, N. Y.,

ImpoHer for Iha Trada and Fablia laiUlntldna*

As thera are but single copies of most of tho books, early oriier
are desirable.

Beman (W.)— On the Hialory and An of Warm"

..uail. IHi
Biographies of Eminent Men in Llteraiurr, Arts,

anil Anna, (nmt Ibr TIllrliiDlb CnlBiy. 4vDh l-Jiim
okiili, ?onni\A. |a« L^od.

BleaaiiiKton [CounlFSa of).— The Confeuiona of
■ n FJd«Kj Lad;, i;.. B™. olMh. « tHadlhllr «i|r*Ted

Blind Girl (The). Dnd other Poema. By Frs
Jane CroAy, ■ paatl si lbs Xow-Yotli iMtHarion fur (hr
BUaJ. I3BID. claili, ma: N. Y. Iftl*.

Book of the PoeiB. from Chaoocr to Besttie.

Hvo. vIoLh. BapxIaK. »1. TuF C^. Uail IHli.

Bouraaie (M. TAbtx J. J.)— Du SymboliBme dans
....... ._ .^ Cr 4iu, n,ao gilL HalM

TOSF.. MUt.

of Nnpulvon Buonoparic.

,.w„. „,v. "■ .»,.,-ii. *!. I««id, two.

Boame (VincenlV — Poelicnl Worka, Latin anil

Eafliib, U!liu.el«h. TSsla. Cvnbnitfii. isa.

Bradford's Wondaia of the Heavens : being a
Pnpnlw Vtew of AfiTDiMi)', isolDdiaf • ftlJ IllaUnUon
ul'il»}1aaliaalHnorir.allM'<iu. «s. balf b«tiB.I. Fla.
plaia.. VM,h<». Boioa, IMS.

Bradahaw's Journal: a Miscellany of Lltrriimrc
Si^iaac*, and AH. Boj-aJ Sio. oJoU.. Plats 1150.
Und. I««3.

Bremer (F,)— The H Fnmily.Traliminn, Ax-

^l tad Aaoa. and oUiai Wh. T.na.lMd bi M.ij Ho*-
iU. avoU, |P..I»vo. olaib. 86 M, mi ti! jl).

LoihI. IMi.
BritiBh Atmnnnc and CompanJon, for )&45 anil
IMS. 3 vol.. Una. cloth. «l 3S. for » ■<>. aaeh.

Uad. IMS.

Browne (Sir Tho's)— Worka of; including liia
anpnbiialivd Con«jHmd*iica and \ M^muiF. Edilvd tiy
t^uDOB WiJkiD. Lain paHr, i vab. ixixl 6*0. clotti.
Psmiut. fll. LuaJ. IBM.

Bums (J abei).— Sketches of Scnnona designed
Rw Spoolal OaaUiOB., ian.ii.olMli, (1 .Vh, t-jod, 18«.

Butler (Mrs.)— A Yeiir of Confiolnlion. s.oh.

|U>I Svo. cloUu en, ror 83- l^aii- IM?.

Buttman (P.) — Greek Grammar, for ihe use of

aohooh. Bvo. .bM|>, »1. ruiion. ISBO.

Byion'B (Lord) Giuour and Bride of Abydos

Itma. ahMh. (Ill leirti, 30 eu. Lunl. IMS.

tnm cmmtmaiamm^e.-ApnM In Brka

Ike Hanaarlaa Bath— ■■■

Ithu bMn iiid Ihit tbs Befnjvea Iut.

cen kiidly rmiTsd waioag ihn UoilBDia.

MlairiHg eitrsn fmm ths Inrtbnntung nnml

'Hifktriociirr Ma^oiimt (bonduitl? p

. Tbaoc
In CcnutB3tiDi>plo i

'- Ab the HongAriani hmd, Aod atill Iiata, d»dj
ij^pKihiien la the Vnited Btitrt, 1 thoo^ it
DiKbC bs uTHiUs U laini bow Ibey coald tuiit
iiem. YmOiaie noidet oT Ihediitreu wbich po-
litical iToablea have bran^ht upoD thaaa poor pno-
•Is. UaDyoT Iboia here ve man of famiW aod
fcnuse in tbeir oirn load : *iu1, aitliovgk .Vuiiml-
■an charity amd hmrroience putt CktuUnd^jm to
littliai.'faTktyoffen bat few rsKrnrcM bj wbich
V cau procora a aubaiateDca- -Tha officer aud
'•otdiFT haTfl fxuid homa iri'l aarrice in Tark-
boB(a«, but mts; arc Mill houteleu. I prg-

.IM, for which Ihey bars h itrong prodileerlon
e 'Appear is to the philuiiUropic in ftTocirf'tha

, _ itie»l refugoea at CointaotinnpU by ■ comraiUer

of themoatrnpFctabU merchanta rsaideat (hero.

It ii tnoaUIsd imm the Journal Jt Cotulanliitcpli

oTIhatMiofNinsmbar:
' II natm iba •aiansi orcanniMiwi of iba praatai dajr,

dlMnaautwaalantinailT Mi bj ib* oeUiSs] nfiueai

ta lUl so^, An maw an ib* Mwta of tfcoa* win ir*

-—- ID i&.amn euwioni of

List of Valuable Bookt.
I in 1 Detciipiion and HiMory of Vfgetohle .■'i

'Han.; lotdialbr AM-andiElkiiiic-lioEcln r.-> T:
w, aiir] Piaiii. ISma. ch.ih. fi3 di.

ihe Dmiuii (M. Conilf (fc TnevV— fci>'m*!»
i;. j oi«). *i»i'.»iio. |i>r*r. !i:*i. foife;'- r=

,„]„ Diary of thf Lif^ niid Time* of Cror^

Msn

li.lto'acc u

V,'„

.i-c-

Tai'.

Ry the a

i«h. (4 a..

Jil;..r of .be li

The

..< R

AnnoMi Bi

Dpr.-.phj

: '.'.-:

Ihincan (W.) — Select OniioDt of Cici
Sr<DM. rio.-lab. (ITS. , <ii

Duncan CJ)— The Dutef of Normandj

It ;Tlie) — Principally viewed i

Evniigiles (Lei) de Notre Seigneur Ji^mtC^ifL
f>cl« 8 Marihirv. S. Mut. 9. 1.nc. S. Jrai. T».w> 1
•lcL«MaulRd*t^«F' B«f . «» M nor. (ill. V^tt

r»n^ -.«
Traeedy by J. W, Goeihe. Fir '.I

rian.uinlinioEntlbbVnie. |-.iaH>.«Ji. SI. U,ai ■.•ii.
FirUle (J. U-l— Mfnio'ts of. by William Sa ■-

''TfafX^'^iip^aalllbiifeirhDaanaaru iir opvnin u
— --«loa uf ^ood dved*, fcf whamrr tb«f ma^ I
lo (Kt* ; uul Ld thia iJief bvlicva bet b« IdcIbJi

; t'inlay (G ] — Greece under the Romnns. a iJiF:c:>

^.utreii J*). 13 vols. Svo. hi ta.t. bi;
,or KuaiiiVE Poems. liJnio. b.fii. 3'i3

iiarlerly Review. 35 vo!s, -v.>. ii'irs^
—The Bight of ihc ti.iirJ fia'r- .:

, 8l-J3.ft:

., Y. 1-

n Kairy Talcs and FopuJar Siohes ; u !i>; J
■ .(ir.nu'rlliL'rhtl. TiiiKlainl In Eil^-ar Tailtv. ii.t.-
nlviiU by l«rt«fv CmikfhaBk. i;ijrto. chMh. ~#i ^

vnis (^I. P. ^— Adas de Zoologir in l.'oi^«::ioD

' Gidde's ^W.)— Book of Sundry Drauclirs ; Pr.n-

\^- 1 «ll*om. wrtk^'.buoal'by SUry'Blijw,' -V.'h- "t
'""■■ "^- I riaie., «( M Ini. Iftr.

■■"— Moriini I Giily ^W. S.)— ViRilwuiM airf bi* Tiiws. ««-

I.'biT'"l>M*"' I **■ *"'*'"'■•*'■''"■ l-JBl 1^

^' I Ginbome (Thos ) — Inqoiriesintothe Dnttctorihi

' raihufTW' '■"'"•'" *^'- '->"''■ •■lo'b. pH "IS"- 3I">- I-""-" '-*'■

nl!ir'i'ani'|Xi'!i i'lB''iKiii.'i' 'ei'-ii.'"" '"rsBiiiii, ITU. j Gliddon's E^piinn Arcbaiology. ^vl•. clci
Heimis C. — TheCiJ. AshoriChronicle.foond-' ^\-'^.^ „. „ ,.. , ^^- ]^-

•4 OB ihc nili rvMrT Di' fr-un li^u ciwh I'll- I GoldfDiilh — Miscellancool n orks oT Olirei

Land. I^lii. | Guldnilh. I-Jna. cMh. [ill aad fiK edfn. t) 5H
(<e Qnincy 'M. Q.) — An I:Ii*ay on llic

il.i' F.ihI. aii.l tbr llnn< of lautauaa ia Ibi

->K ur caK a«al. KU. Im

Putnam's Cheap List of Valuable Books.

Graftnn'8 Speeches; to which are added his
Letter on the Union, and a Memoir by his Son. 8vo. cth.
portrait. 3I 75. Lond. 1847.

Gray (\V.)— An Historical Sketch of the Origin

of English Prose Literature, and of its Progress till the
Rei^n of James 1st. 8vo. cloth. $1. OxI'urd 1835.

Green (Gen. Thos. T.) — Journal of the Texnn
Exp(>dition against Mier; Imprisonment of tho Author and
Reflection<i on Texas. Mexico, and the United States.
8vo hf calf neat, plates. $1 75. N. Y. lfM5.

Greenleaf (M.) — A Statistical view of the Dis-
trict of Maine : Especially with Reference to the Value and
Iro{X)rtance of its Interior. 8vo. bds (scarce). $1.

Boston, le^

Griswold's Female Poets of America, roynl 8vo.
cloth, plates. Phila. 184U.

Gurney (J. J.) — Winter in the West Indies.
I«mo. cloth. 81 25 for 75cts. Lond. l*m.

Halliwell's Letters Illustrative of the Progress of
Science in England. 8vo. paper. 75cts Lond. 1811

Hamilton (W.) — Hand Book or Concise Diction-
ary of Terms used in the Arts and Sciences. I'imo bcLs.
$2 50 for SI 7.-). Lond. 1825.

Hawes (B.) — Tales of the North American In-
dians. l*2m:i. cloth, plate. $175 for $1. Lond. 1844.

Hawkins (G.) — Historical Notices of the Mis-
sions of the Church of Elngland. 8vo. cloth. $2 75 for
$3. Lond. 1845.

Head's (Sir E.) — Hand-Book of Painting ; or
the History of the Spaniih and French SchooU of Painting.
12mo. clofh. S-2 87. Lond. 1818.

Heber's (Reginald) — Poetical works. 12mo. cih.
37ct8. Phila. 1841.

Heber (R.) — Narrative of a Journey through the
Upper Provinces of India. 3 vols. 12mo. calf neat, marbled
leaver. S5 for $.3 50. Lund. Ir^.

Hengstenberg (Dr G. W.) — Dissertation on the
Genuineness of the Pentatenoh ; Translated by Ryland.
2 vols. 8vo. cloth. $G Edio. 1847.

Hetherington (Rev. W. M.) — History of Rome,
post 8vo. map. fl 87 for $1 25. Eilin. 1839.

Higgins (W. M.) — The Entertaining Philosopher ;
a Familiar Explanation of the mo«t intcrettinf Phenomena
of Natural and Exjierimental Philosophy. 12mo. cloth. $3.
for 91. Lond. 1844.

Hooker (W. J.) — Journal of Botany ; being a
Second Feries of the Botanical Miscellany. 4 , vols. 8vo.
cloth, portraits and plates. $12 for $4 50. Lond Mi34.

Hooper's (Lucy) — Poetical Works j Complete in
one vol. 8vo. cloth. $2. N. Y. 1848.

Hopkins (T. H.) — Sixteen Lectures on the
Cau8e«. Principles, and Retails of the British Reformation.
12mo. cloth. 87 cti Phila. 1844.

Hough (Rev. J.) — Sermons and Charges ; with

Memoir by W. Russell. 8vo. bds. $1. Oxford, 1821.

Howell's (James) Epistole Ho-Eliana ; Familiar
Letters Domestic and Forejgn. 8vo. old calf, frontispiece.
$1 50. Lond. 1737.

Humphrey's (H. N.) Art of Illumination and
Mistal Paintin;; ; a Guide to Modem Illuminaton. !2mo.
plates, plain and illuminated, as 8{iecimen». $5. Lond. 1849.

Hunt's Life of Sir H. Palliser, Admiral of the
White. 8vo. cloth, portrait. $4 50 for 91 50. Lond. 1844.

Hutchinson (Thomas) — History of the Province
of Maa^achusetu Uay from 1749 to 1774. 8vo. bds. $3.

Lond. 1828.

Hutton's Life of William Hutton. ^n- i2mo. paper.

50cts. Lond. IMI.

Hyacinth O'Gara ; Honor Delaney, Irish Priests
and English Landlords. 12mo cloth. 75cts. Dublin, 1829.

Imaginations and Imitations, by Hope. Cr. 8vo. cloth.
$2 for $1. Lond. 1848.

Imitations of Celebrated Authors ; or Imaginary
Rejected Articles. Cr. 8vo. cloth. 75 eta. Lond. 1844.

Inchbald (.Mrs.)— The British Theatre, or a Collec-
tion of Plays which are acted at Theatres Royal, Drury
Lane &c. 12 vols. iSmo. doth. 96l Lond.

Insect Changes ; The Child's First Book of Ento-
molo<;y. Sq. bds. Illustrated with colored dosijiriu. 91 63
for $125. liond. 1847.

Irving (W.) — A^Tour on the Prairies. J2mo. bds.

50 cts Phila. 1835.

James (G. P. R.) — Corse de Leon ; or the Bri-
gand. 8vo. pa|)er. 50cts. Pari^, 1841.

Jesse (E.) — Favorite Haunts and Rural Studies ;
including Visit* to Spots of Interest in tlie Vicinity of
Windsor and Eton. Post 8vo. (utpcr, woodcuts. 75 cts.
pub. at $3. Lond. 1847.

Johnston's (Charles) Travels in Southern Abys-
sinia. &o. ^2 voli. 8vo. cloth. 3^^ for $3. Lond. 1844.

Junius's Letters ; Woodfall's Edition. 2 vol*. l'2mo.
sheep. $1 75. Lond.

Kinnear (G. G.) — Cairo, Petra and Damascus in
l>f39. Cr. 8vo. $:< for 50 cts. Lond. 1845.

Knight's Penny Magazine. Post 8vo. hf mor. gilt
backs, woodcuts. 81 wO for $1. Lond.

Knight's Volume of Varieties. Idmo. cth. 38 cis.

Lond. 1844.

Kohlrausch's History of Germany from the Ear-
liest Period to the Present Time. 8vo. cloth. $1 75. Lond.

Labaume (E.) — A History of the Invasion of
Russia by Napuleun Bonaparte. l'2rao. cloth. 75 cts.

Lond. 1844,

Laborde (M. L. de) — Journey through Arabia
Petr.Ta to Mount Sinai ; and the excavated City of Petra.
8vo. cloth, plates. So for $3. Lond. I83>j.

La Fontaine CEuvres Completes de,avec les notes
de Tous les Commentateurs et des Notices Hiktoriqaei en
tdto de chaque ouvraf^e. G vols. 8vo. hf calf neat, portrait
and numerous plates. $12. Paris lS26.

La Harpe's Abrige de L'Histoire Generale des
Voyages. 21 vols, hf mor. nncnt, with an atlas in folio.
830. Pari*. 18\20.

Laing (Sam'l) — National Distress, its Causes and

Remedie*, (the Atlas Prize Estay for XlUO). 8vo. cloth.
50 cU. Lond. 1844.

Lane (B. W.)- — Selections from the Koran ;
Commonly called in Eni^land the Koran with an Inter-
woven Commentary. 8vo. cloth. $3 for $150. Lond. 1843.

Lectures, Essays and Discussions, Literary and
Scientitio ; or Journal of the Proceedingi of the Philoma-
thic Institution. 4 vols. 8 vo- cloth. $4. Lond. 18*26.

Lee /'Sam'l) — Lexicon : Chaldee, Hebrew, and
English. 8vo. cloth. $2 50. Lond. 1844.

Lee (E.) — Continental Travel, with an Appendix
on the Influence of Climate, &c. 8vo. cloth, plates. %l.

Lond. 1848.

Legends of Rubezahl, translated from the German
of Musant. 12mo. bds. plates. 75 uta. Lond. 1845.

Lewis (Mrs. S. A.) — Records of the Heart.
12mo. bds. 75 cts. N. Y. 1844.

Lewis (M. G.)— Journal of a West ludia Proprie-
tor, kept dnnng a Residence in the Island of Jamaica. 8to.
bds. 95 for 81. Lond. 18M.

Library of Anecdotes, Remarkable Saying
Witticisms. &o. l3hio. cloth. 75 cU. Lond. 1839.

Life of Sir Thomas Gresham. ISmo. cloth. 38 cts.

Lond. 1845.

Life of Sir Thomas Lawrence. 2 vols. 8vo.
cloth, portrait. $3. Lond. 1831.

Liturgical Services and Occasional Forms of
Prayer set forth in the Reign of Queen Elisabeth ; Edited
by Rev W. K. Clay. 8vo. cloth. $3 50. Cambridge, 1847.

Livy (T.) — History of Rome ; Translated by
George Baker. 6 vols. 8vo. sheep. $4. Phila. 1833.

London Anecdotes, of the Electric Telegraph,
Popular Aathors, Inventors and Discoverers ; Pictures and
Painters. 2 vols. l8mo. cloth, very pretty neat volumos.
81 50. L(md. 1848.

Loudon's Botany for Ladies. V2mo. paper, wood-
cnts. 75 cts. Lond. 184S.

Lympfield and its Environs ; being a Series of
Views with Deicn^lkoiA. ftv^. t^'Q>>2sv^^«MtK. V< V*j».^.>SS^

I taumaw B«tw«« U

HBKgarlNi ttrntaf

ib4 Uanaml Tajlar*

I ScTcnlof tbrHungBriBnrBfugves, Fx-Goreraot
' Uihiiu^ Col. Pngay, M^or CeaenI DomboDt^r,
; Cdubi Wa.», Cu|il. ObwcU, Theodore L'jhui uid ,
■ C«pi. WaiM, w*r* pre«EWd to Gen. Taylor, on i
I tbe 16ih iiiti. Tlie foBowiDE is the ipeech offi- -
Coveinvi I'iluii on ihe occuioa, uid re|>ly ot ,]
' Grp. Tsylor:—

ts UUBld

. eblci

i> Ufo, tk

at In «liBm, b> lb*

epljlomjlttUi.tluti

1 »*B:«a-inn't«i«™ mjij«« •• i

Ll-H t blUd SMttI, DullDE T' -I

iH|l( fcrllkiir.ro rt*|li hsTB
:.)• <r tt< llBLUiKn ttut vid
^■B Ibf*. d Ibli talon. Vbmit-i,

wnflMnntbit

obi* tM TllilEt
ntafac* lb* r" '
mon IdtBitu*

>d IB (h* br;<l '

ttntieti cf Lvir^rsa Bi

lucfwdrd Is (MnUbfaUi

to >^coD* l»r lt»a! '

r»'t.ti.' Mi'W-ra

, I?.r.

•hijii

tB-llIUlllBr. R»T. I IrB-'l-JMnU&I

ucb cr tI.Dli»Tl^bip-w4lrtnl*I~t*J,
.tio[tor«hPlrpH-ilei»Wili»ii«i* ■

IB h.-* '^ Tniib. Ptjle. mJ Imj

eoribaH.

\vt tuTe aliudy bren obHic
uU ol [jBpaikr Iccin }ou
BontlDBi ind FCclFUrf. ■■
bare Tlid irlOi ueh <

IDl wlib il

■cMb ttan IL »□; fail r> ibtt an but
Wsil^ Wi ram.hliUr.prooptfd I
mHHntofcoiiIlalwrleo— —•-•
rtpailBiita you. and ihroi

(dhnilElMilSUtti. Ibr _._ ,

ijiictaDdailmtTaUca. Vr rrtildasL Irpln'r
ciiii for jiuiitll aadln joui^-tHtaL'j avt.n i

Ibi rtr.' UiBF. t - Fot our^flT*!, aad all
rtiFTB ifco Bar fi^UKw B) bithti. nadfi

ll'n Id iL> 1.I»i d^i ■bic&IHvlnv
iLvitiid upcn II Ai a tvtbit nii.-f
lluijarliiD |<wv1<. ud ialbcnuaaf.1 ii
U; i.i:r.iiTir CD <ht bumcf lUfltivi
tl<<u, iLi |<Kliati(n>iliibiK«bLUtlDfi
Btl«i>,>Edp('r.cigauru|wciiJlT. Wei
nU>)rtbr)i;bdtbaAliaBitg. I'ibkiu
ali*IoiMid>T Dsnilm nrtlijoIlttWi
loBf Oor bapi-liiMBatttriiT '-

raipoi

„

a pr.-

srfi"

"i'^ld

■vffi

a-j

(f -.b*

B(i*-

ib'!

; blUrr II'M

Pnley (W.)~Snioral Theology, wiih N.^t«, ?J
IlEBrr Idiil Itiou;)iini aad Sii fblrio Be^t. I -i^
IrinD. tl-.fSf<KSl. L«iJ. l-ti

Palmer'B Feiiiaglotl DictionBrr of the ^^rzi
PWMum, Nuinl Hbutj. <u. ''to. ;.«.

Pansnnd its lliatorical Scene*, w-ith an aa-.'^:

Comedie*. IJac
Pen and Ink Sketches of Poets. Pi-eavhcn xai

' Lou.! 1-4^

Penny Mngaxine, toI. for 1&4I, unii ^(i pan-

IlK>w1.'4i-»li4.0BlK<unj. fr.'3l lrf=.

Ppople's (The) JoDTnsl. i^dii'd by John Sauajr?

4™l..m)»lf«. Itolli. fill. «J 1U^«^H^J «,-,. :i:.
I Hv^ f:!!!!™.^^ SJ I" 85 l^OJ 1-*.

Percy (Thw.)— Reliiiuei of Ancient L.-;ji
I p.«i.y. >'to. ■.Mb. 8-J li l-onJ IHl

. Peler Wilkins, ihe Life and Adrentures ■;.— A

la tbt»Jv}ibtDieltlWruar> good tirtui.-. ilr.wcsila'

Uvle OUT ICit.Bcmpufd TlLii t^tkn' We, t^tEtJ-.'m

Bivat IcBjtljinj toJjtJ icgrtut lbnna«pii-Jy and lu • "., " " ,"_■ ' 'J

__._.... .T . _. .._. ,1.,,^^ ». I pi|,|,aoptiy of Cominon &•

I1V oontltit In liiatf a neat LuniV.le ayptal n i-b

(MBl'Bi'd E.-.wrnmtutt.l iDnv 1 Dl:el:£tatei 1 j fB

b>b[«>«t>'l UflCKlOn wlib lllB!iBbUBl»F(.:-.^.ln

■ Dainti Bbkli Lb*r maj d«m piop.r.ln aid« to ob-

UtB ibe libciBilin of Kottalh and u allUi Itilrv.

ttfosttr. that tbtj nay bn abla ti rpni.tu tb«» Il -li-

(•bl> iboita BEd to b>C"Bspsrtaktn In all and >i •17

b(l:B^JBLle^ B-ajb* Btani.dtoui ^ 1 b»( 1-ai., un

Sw "llKMth%I.*i5d*bJV 1c!."oS1i^mUt° v' '^"m^

!ll>

iillibtttT. &:i. l'ntldt'Bt.pItaleI»all«wBi*tb*bfa(ir

• 1 handlD« to ycu. gu lU) M»-<na. tba pcnxnt 1«(ttf

BI i»tre*>ip;l.o. ami a^•c.p: ilie Mw-tiion U ibB
unalin trM'-cKn-K »bli nr-rt UnmllBieMBBtlMd

•y

lvlut>l*llfBlIi»flB.l^«lliii>»i:aud*!>'||BU«.

all hi- M'MiM. BallaiU. kc. u vol.. I-Jmo. nir.

•ij. jui.««n.;i. I'll... 1'

Mullen ,&.ml.!— The Pilgrim of Beauty.

the

Co!lli.-"r-. HaUolb. aiidaili.i I'lHiu. P(o. .'lull..

ejIi

t(T Ihr Pron
JliliiiBn
Piviure lUble .The), ur • Pictorial Hbioiy »:'-.b<

CUd and Sf w T»»l»iii»BI.. l#io, cloili. wilh lU rj;,;:m
li.Hi.l.) ManiEandWnlil!. »)». Lie..

Pittin (T ;— A Slululical View of the Comniene
ofThe r.. 9.01 Aivni* '•""■'^'■j^-,„„ i^y

Poetaram Scenicornm Gnrcoruiii,.£M'hyii, &^pht>
I'In. r.uriuidr-.*! Ainl>i|>l>>BH "1 ROBuuBi. >'•. lAi :j4.
R<.)J i^u. cUh. el. OiOB-l-W.

Pope (A^— The Fiietiral Worka of Alexander

; iChos )— The McrchBDt, Ship Own*

ml Hi-4nry of Mnnkeyi. Opneauni?. and

• (R.) — Epitome of Pbanntceutiril Che-
tiy. iLc. l&iM. bdi. •lAiiJO. L«J. l-.iL

latn (Clia>J —An lliitorical, Political, sn-f

Kirr^ llev. K.)— lli-n

» of the Lite and Ad-

Putnam's Cheap List of Valuable Books.

Prior's Life of Oliver Goldsmith ; from a variety
of original M>arcet. 3 voh. 8vo. cloth. Portrait. S3 fiO.

Loud. li!<30.

PruB (Mtirle D.) — Histoire des Reines de France.
3 vi.U. 8\o. doth. Portrmit. $^, for $3. liOndre*. ItMG.

Puckle (James). — The Club ; or, a Gmy Cap for

a (ireen Head. &.C. l:!mo. cloth. Woodcat*. $1.

I<ond. 1>^.

Qu^'rard (T M.) — La Frnnce, Littcraire ou Dic-
tiunnairv nibliotheqoe det Bavun!<, ni»ti)hens et (>ens de
L«Ure». «cc. 8 voU. 8%o. paper. §.'». Pari*, I8"J7.

Reeves. — The Progress of Romance ; with Re-
markf on the poo^l and had Cflt'dt of it. &c. 'i vols in I,
13mo. halt* bound. (3 5U. Scarce. Colchester, 17K3.

Relzsch's Outlines to Shakspeare's Merry Wives
of Windior. Ohlon^ 4U>. 13 plate*. 9>. Tr .^.

I>eipe.ic, 1844.

Richnrdson's Geology for Beginners. Thick 13ino.
cloth. Niunerous woixlcnt^. $^ 'J.**. Jjond. IBit>.

Richter i J. P. F.)— Flower, Fruit, and Thorn
Pteci-y. Trannlated. 3^-oU. l'2mo. cloth. SI '^^.

Lond. 1^14.

Ride on Ilorwback to Florence, through France
and K wit /e: land ; in a Serici of Letters. '2 voU. rr. Hvo.
cloth. $5. lor $-.'. Lond. lr*4-J

Ridley Seldon ; or, the Way to Keep I-icnt. A
Talo for The Time*. By A. Howard. l2mo. cloth. SI -'>.
for T.'i ci». Lond. lr'4.'».

Rohcrts R.) — House Servants* Direetory, &c.
75 *U. Boston, li*^.

Roby (T. ) — r^even Weeks in Belgium, Switzer-
land. L«»iid>arfly, Pieilmont. Savoy, 6n-. 'i voU. I'Jnio.
gn>en nior. ^di and gilt leaves, ^.l .Kl, for $3 .'jO.

Und. 1^4-^.

Rogers 'John). — The Vegetable Cultivator, &.c.
Vimo. cloth. ^Z for $1 *i5. Lond. ltM3.

Rush (R.J — Memoranda of a Residence at the
Court oi lx>ndon; comjirisin); Incident-', olficial and |iiT-
■onal. from IrTJ to IH-io. Hvo! cloth. SI 'Hi-

Phila. 1H15.

Sabbath (The) ; or, nn Examination of the Six
Textst coiiimnnlv adduced from the New Te.-tauient in
Proof of a Christian Sabbath, bvo. cloth. $2 .V).

Lond. 1^40.

Sacred Biography of the Principal Characters of
tliu Old and New Te»tain«nta. cvo. cloth, fnj.

I^ind. 1845.

Saint-Simon (Due de) — Memoires Coinpleies et
Auth»*nti<{ue% du. Par le Martjuiii de Saint-Simon. 40
vuU. in :ni. 1-imo. half calf. neat. 9'<!5. Parii. le<4U.

Sands (R. C.) — The Writings of. in Prose and \
VerM>. 'i voU t^\o. cloth. Portrait. $3. for ^i. .K).

N. Y. i.-*;l-).
Scoresby (Rev. W.) — American Foctories and !

liieir Female 0|ierative4. l«nio. cloth. 75 ctt. for 37 «-t«.

I^nd. 1(^.>.

Self-Sacrifice ; or, tlie Chancellor's Chaplain. '
P2m-i. cloth. $i. for 81 ^3. I^nd. 1H41.

Select British Poets.
$1.

4 vol*. r.*nio.

cloth. Portrailj.
l^nd. IKJH.

Shelley's :P. B ) Essays and Letters from Abroad.
Tranklation* and Fra^menLs. roy. bvo. pafier. SI '^) for
$1. I.«nd. m45.

Shuttleworth's (R.) Manual for the Assistance of
Ma;;iotrat> «, &c. -''vo. bd». 73 cti. IjOnJ. 184.'}.

Sidney (Hon. Hen.) — Diary of the Times of
Charles tlu- Se(*ond. "i vol*. Hvo iwrtrait. 9^ for $4.

Und. 1H43.

Simpson'(llev. R ) — Banner of the Covenant ; or
Historical Notice* of Mmc of the Scottiih Martyr*. I'imo.
cloth. $1. E<fin. 1M7.

Smith's (Adam) Wealth of Nations ; with a Me-
moir of the Anthor. Pimo. cloth. %\. Aberdeen, Jt^le*.

Songs of the Press and other Poems Relative to
the Art of PrintMi and Pnnting. 13mo. dotb. $1.

Lond. 1845.

Steinmetz (A.) — A Voice in Ramah, or Lament
of tlie Poor African ; a Poem in five Canto*. ISmo.
cloth. 81 75 for Si. Lond. 184S.

Stephanas Byzantintis cum Annotationibus Hol-

Ktenii Iterkleii el De I*ineco. 4 vol*, thick 8vo. bd«. (4 50.

Lipsof, lH2.*i.

Stevenson (A.) — History of the Church of Scot-
laud. &c. ^vo. cloth. $1 25. £din. 1844.

Stone (S.) — Dictionaire Classique Fran^ais-An-
{;lai» et Ang]ai«-Francaiji. 8vo. paper. $1 5(>.

Pari* 1844.

Stookes (A.) — The Mother's Medical Instructor,
&.C. IHmo. cloth, gilt. .10 cl«. liOnd.

Strong (F.) — Greece a.«* a Kingdom ; or a Statia-
tiral De»crijition of that Country. Cr. BvOi cloth. 84 50
for 82 50. Lond. lMi2

Strathey's (Ed.) Shakspeare's Hamlet; an At-

temjil til finil the Key to aCircat Moral Problem by Metho-
dical AnalvM* of the Play. Hvo. bda. 81 50. I^nil. 1>^.

Talbot (H. F.)— The Pencil of Nature. Pt. 1. 4to.
jilates. $3 for $2. Lond. \M\,

Taylor's ( W. R.) — History of Christianity. l2mo.
cloth. 8175. Lund. 1814.

Thayer (Tho. B.) — Christianity against Infidelityj
or the Truth of theUotipel History. 50 eta. Boston, 183B.

Thiers' (M ) History of the French Revolution ;
traudlated. *2 voU. l3nio. cloth. 8"^ 50. Lond. 1846.

Thompson (E. P.) — Note Book of a Naturalist.

Po«t f^vo. cloth. 81 50 Lond. 1845.

Thom's (W. J.) Book of the Court ; Exhibiting

the History, Duties and Privileges of the Several Rank* of
the £n(;li«h Gentry and Nubdity. Cr. 8vo cloth. 84 for
8'i. Loud 1844.

Thomson, BloomBeld and Kirke White's Poetical
Work*; comjilete in one Volume, l&uo. clnth. |H>rlraitt.
81. Lond. 18-17.

Tinipson (Rev. Tho.) — British Female Biography,
or iSelect .Memiiirs of Pri%ate Lailie«. ISmo. rJoih. 75ctt.

Lond. 184A.

Timpson's (Rev. T.) Memoirs of Mrs. Fry.

l^mo. cloth, portrait. 75 ct». Lund. 1847.

Titmarsh (M. A.) — Comic Tales and Sketches.
2 vol*. |)Ost 8vo. platei by the Author. $5 for 8*2.

Lond 1841.

Tucker (Col. T. M.) — Life and Naval Memoirs
of Lonl Nclf4>n. 8vo. cloth, |K>rtrait and wood cntii 81 ^>

Lond.

Tapper's (M. F.) An Author's Mind ; Heart, a
Social Novel; and Tiie Twin*, a Domestic Novel. 3vola.
l-.'mo. cloth. 8*'! ^'> (pub'd ^). Lond. 1cm, 4.

Tyler (Sam'I) — Robert Burns as a Poet and at a
.Man. l*2mo. cloth. 75 cts. N. Y. IMS.

Van Schaack (H.) — Life of Peter Van Schaack

Durin'; tin* devolution, aud bii Exile in Enffland. 8va
cloth., portrait. 81 50. M. Y. ItMJ.

Veuillot (L.) — Rome and Lorette. 8vo. roan gilt,

with |)late«. 8.' 50. Toon. lr<J5.

Voyages and Travels b/ Cnpt. Boeii Hall, Hon.
11. Kilio and Thumatf Prin^le. Roy. tfvo. cloth. 8^175
for8i'<25. Lond. \^W.

Waagen (Dr.) — Peter Paul Rubens; His Life and
CeniUk. Tranklate«l by R. R. Xoel. »(|. rtvo. cloth. 8'^ for
81 ;U. I'ond. lt<40.

Wieland's (C. M.) Sammtliche Wcrke Herausf^e-
felien \on T. (;. (Jrabner. T* rob. am. 4to. hf bd. %'ii^
for 8H. LxH|i.iK. I8-:4.

MISCELLANEOUS. , Book*.

GALWirni kokoan KoaBura. — Thb Ifttir luf been tMtttmd c c - i

br Oolonel Aiboth to tk. ' Tlii« : ' - 8b, - Your pH>er, of «"y f ^J*).^^ ^nkes of E^^^
«^ch only mocamuUUd nnmben oooidooaUy mdi u. owiteiiw''*^ _'^^^^' **„ K.n .» . i^
unfounded impuUtione on the Hungarian nftigMt, snd in p«ti«il»r "^ I-^i.7»iT;l;LT:.l? :, 'I '=
«B Oie Ute President CJoTemor of Hungwy. k» kaTing been, during S^[ i^li^.VJLth. ,«rtr;;i- Va.-^ ^'
■ereial months, and up to the present time, Attiched to, and nerer I^^nvi ]r44.

•qpanted from, the penon of H. Kossuth, and as being peihrn aair.) — Hiatorical and PostbczoB
cognizant as himself of his prirate transactioiis and a&its, 1 am i Time, -j voU. t\o. v\o\h ^\.
Miabled circumstantiallj to refute the charges to which you have P>>'!^ i^-

mttempted to give currency. Being the only person, beside Count *a qos extant Rocensui! ScL-^f:-
Oasimir Baithyani, who accompanied him when he retired from Arad, ^'om. 8H fiir 9 1-2. i^i ^>^:x . \Hi
J consider myself so far implicated in your general remarks as to feel
entitled to claim the insertion in your oolunms of the facts which
constitute that refutation. On the 13th of September IL Kossuth, .
baring conditionally delegated the powers of gOTemment, with which •
lie had be«i inrested by Sie Diet, to Georgey, quitted Arad. He had
then 1,000 ducats (less than 500L) in his possession. At llaria-radna
mt were met by M. Duschek. the Finance llinister, who asked his
instructions as to the disposal of 90 cwt. of gold and rilver ingots,
Tilued at 5.000,000 florins, nearly 500,0001 of your English money,
v. Kossuth had then due to him upwards of 88,000 florins^ being two

nonths* arears of the salary awarded to him by the Diet The State —A Memoir of Ganpowiler : ::
ims at the same time indebted to Count Casimir Batthyani in nearly »»» prinnpJef both oi* a. >ia;i=\^-.-.
ibefuU amount of hU salary since he had been Minister, besides P^"* ,. ,^ ^*-*'?' *'".
42,000 florins advanced to the Treasutr out of hisferivate purse. M. «»ccarlia. 1 8mo. ha ! r^ ci j . j
Xossuth sent this treasure back untoudbed to Arad for public purposes, t'"'^ *

ordering M. Duscbek only to pay OTcr out of the arrears due to him as )— The Marty re of svirw*.

I^«sident«GoTemor 5,000 florins to the account of his mother. The ^ ''^"' '^'

the Pr;ac:paj

ihan half by the time he reached the Turkish frontier; and this sum, \ Lives of Men of L«'t>r9 ud

together with a small trayelling bag, was all the property with which jhed in the Time of G«orz« iir Biml
iM late President-QoYemor of Hungary entered Wlddin. As to the ^ t^ lor 93 50. Laid jr4i.'

crown of Hungary, it was sealed up by a committee of the Diet, and Sketches of State«ni^ vho
deliTered into the charge of the responsible Minister, who duly pro- bw of Geors* III. Rotij rr.. c ^^.
Tided for its safety. I can solemnly aver, to the best of my belief and **^ ^^*- ^^■

lEBOwledgiet that the President-Qoyemor nerer saw it m his life •^Shakspeare's Autob:oi:n;ri nl
SPhese, Sir, are
of honour,
wittingly or

paced. To the correspondent or correspondents— your authority— !"' "'^'*' r:an*ior. r

1 cannot even extend the benefit of this altcmatire indulgence. I J^"** ^^ Ancient Ciii-s.
cannot believe that their calumnies were forged even atPesthor, . . ''*^""* ^**'.

Vienna* because Kossuth's Austrian enemies would assuredly have ^'^ *" Alfliciion. l^m; :.±-
framed some scandal more plausible than a charge of which his whole ^ ^ '^

BliB had been a glaring refutation. Everybody in Hungary knows that '^""'"^ Progress. \^,\v\ c ri
X. Kossuth's disregard of his personal interests induced several pro-*"'''*^' "V"'* '""^ ''^'

(lietorB and magnates to propose, even before he was yet a member of <^^ Families of Em^:^ nJ, S-:?:-
ihe Diet, endowing him with considerable esUtes. Everybody knows "' *'''" J--^*°'i>n»* ^'»- !•-'' : ;•*'
Ihat M. Kossuth refused this honourable testimonial, as well as, on all *^*^: — Narrative of iht- Lo« c:
other ocearions, the frequent offers made by his political admirers and '"™® '^^'***''- *?*'* *' *^*'- *■'' ° *'^'
ftiends to compensate the injury to his private ^Ikirs occasioned by Tlie) — A Popular Di^tst of \i*
flieezdoaive dedication of his time and talent to the public interests. ^^- '^^^'^^ ^**'*^ '^''''^ ^-
Iht Pteliamentary transactions of a more recent period show with how rr*, • ^ ^f / ""l''* ^ ** '
amch difficulty he was induced, as Prtsident^vernor of Hungary, to ,,^r "*" ^^j '"'^ "-''*
accept the salary of 200,000 florins voted to him by the Diet: and T' r .u r 1 1!"' '
tte whole of Hungary is aware how large-how incp^riderably lar^e ^^^^..^^..t. ^."^ ^' LT>:"
1 may venture to remark — was the proportion of this salarv spent In t> 1 . r^ . * . 1 ■ %-
diarities. I am a soldier, not a penman, Sir. and can therefore only T,, ^ ^''""l Aotue. .i- .a .N -. v-.
€Ul 00 your anonymous informant or informuits to come forth,that I ur mnrin. ». >t ^ ;.ui.;r. . ■;,

1,000 ducats which H. Kossuth took with him from Arad had been ^ Synopsis of
diminished by various expenses, mostly of a public nature, to leaa ^ ^^'^ **"'* M.thema?i

may fling by name the falsehood in their teeth. At the same time
you must understand that, as I am yielding to a purely personal im*
false, the publication of this letter can form no impeaiment to such

Tatiicaux, Prujfi*. vie. 4io -'j.*:.

•Early French Poets. A Sene»
.*ino. cl th «j

the Ki»*M Kxercrsr.

your obedient servant, Alexahdis Asbotb, taentenant-Colond, '^'rVriilno. iX fl ^T 'i"'.i,j"l''«*<' *
Adjutant-Generaltotheex-President-OovemoroflHungaiy.— Widdin, • Ki Buscupic. Translate 1 It

*^' *• .--.—. ,.-. ?o»l ^vo. cloth. Ponm:. (i .iii

Borrow (i — The Zinrali.oran Accouiir of the r'i>-.>.^.- «« n u. r-u- 1 . '*?"' ''^*"

<;.,-- .n Spain. IJn.o. ciuih. $1 Th). 1x>„.i. ,k»i Chnpteis OH Flowers, ^X Chnr otte h.i«t«ia.

' I"Jni.». cloth. UootlcaU. 91 jU for fl. I^m : IMJ

BowriniT!, John;— Aiiripni Poetry ami Ro- Chnpone i^Mrs.)— Letiere on I he Improvement ct*
muatf, or -ii'Mti. t.'T.t'yo.d. fWi. §1. Loiul. li^il. [ th« Mind. l^mo. doth. Mcts. Lond. l*Ii

Putnam's Cheap List of Valuable Books.

Christian Evidences ; by Watson, Paley, Jenyn,

T^slie, Chandler, Lyttleton, Campbell, Sherlock and
' Wetit. with Prefatory Remarks by the Rev. J. S. Memes.
roy. 8vo. cloth. $3. Lond. 1837.

Clement Loriiner; or the Book with the Iron
Cla^pa. ISmo. cloth. lUiutrated by George Croikchank in
hU best style. $2 for fl. Lond. 1849.

Common Prayer (The Book of) — Illuminated
and Illustrated with engravinKi from the works of the great
Masters ; in one vol. 8vo. cloth. $10 for f G. Lond. 1845.

Curiosities of Glass Making ; by Apsley PeJlat.
small 4to. cloth. Illostrated with colored plates and en-
gravings. $3 50. Lund. 1849.

Constant (Ben.) — Cours de Politique Constilution-
elle et Prec^dd d'ane Introdnction Par M. J. P. Pa^s.
Roy. Hvo. paper. Braxelles, 1837.

Gattermole (Rev. R.) — The Literature of the
Cbnrch of England. 2 vols. 8yo. cloth. $3 Lond. 1844.

Costello (L. S.) — Specimens of the Early Poetry
of Francf. from the Time of the Tronbadoors and Trouve-
les to the Rei^n of (lenri Q,uBtre. Illuiirated with illumi-
nated engraving!) on vellum paper. l3mo. cloth. 93 75
for $-2. Lond. 1835.

Comte (M. Ach.)— The Book of Birds; Edited
and Abridged from the Text of BnfTon. Illustrated by 150
De»igns by Victor Adam. Roy 8vo. cloth, colored plates.
•6 for $3. Lond. J841.

Chronicles of the Reasons, or the Progress of the
Year. 4 vols. 13mo. cloth. $3. Lond. 1844.

Cobbett (W.) — French Grammar, or Plain In-
structions for the Learning of French. IBmo. cloth. 50
cts. N. Y.1848.

Coddington (Henry) — A Treatise on the Reflex-
ioB and Refraction of Light. 8vo. bds. $3. Cam. 18J0.

Comic English Grammar. A New and Face-
tious Introduction to the English Tongue. ISmo. cloth.
WoodcnU. 75 cu. Lond. 1840.

Conybeare (W. D.) — Examination of the Writ-
ings of the Christian Fathers, during the Ante Nicene
Period. (Bampton Lectures.) Bvo. cloth. $3.

Oxford, 1839.

Court Etiquette. A Guide to Intercourse with
Royal and Titled Persons, to Drawing Rooms, &c. ISmo.
cloth, gilt. Frontispiece. $1 25. Lond. 1849.

Croker (T. C.) — Popular Songs of Ireland.
Post 8vo. cloth. $1 50. Lond. 1839.

Crewqnill, (A.) — Tutor's Assistant, or Comic
Fgures of Arithmetic. 13mo. doth. Woodcuts. $1.

Lond. 1843.

Cuvier and Zoology. A Popular Biography.
l2mo. cloth. G3 cU. Lond. 1844.

Demosthenes ex Recensione Gulielmi DuindoHii
4 vols. 8vo. cloth. $11 50. Oxonii, 1846.

De Lolme's (T. L.) Rise and Progress of the
English Constitution ; with an Historical and Legal Intro-
duction and Notes by A. J. Stephens. 2 vols. Hvo. cloth.
$4 for 93. Lond. 1848.

Dumas (M. J.) — Memoirs de Chimie. 8vo. paper.
$2 for 91. Paris, 1843.

Dante's La Divina Comedia con vita di Dante
da Giovanni Boccacio. 12mo. cloth. $1. Paris, 1844.

De Foe's Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe

of York, Mariner. Sq. cr. 8vo. cloth. Illutitrated with
Stothard's Plates. $2 25. * Lond. 1845.

Edinburgh Review; Nos. 160, 165, 159, 156,
1G7, J54. 155, 16(3, 160, 159. 5o cU each Lond.

Foster (John) — Contributions, Biographical, Li-
terary and Philosophical, to the Eclectic Review. 2 vols.
8vo. cloth. $7. Lond. 1844.

JForeign Quarterly Review ; Nob. 54, 55, 59, 53,
63, 64, 61 , 56, 60. V^ cts per No. Lond. 1841-43.

Fcnclon's Pious Thoughts concerning the Know-
ledge and Love of God. Transhited. ]2mo. cloth. SO
•iT N. Y 1844.

Family Joe Miller. A Drawing Room Jest
Book. 12mo. cloth, silt. 9137. Lond. 1843.

Foster (B. F.)— Penmanship Theoretical and

Practical, Illustrated and Explained. 12mo. uloth. ulates.
75 cU. Boston, 1843.

Galloway (W. B ) — The Gate of Prophecy ; being
the Revelation of Jesus Christ by St. John. &.c. 3 vols.
8vo. cloth, tff. Lond. 1846.

Gaspey (Thos.) — Life and Times of the Good
Lord Cobham. 2 vols, post 8vo. cluth. $0 for $2.

Loud. 1844.

Gisborne (Thos.) — An Inquiry into the Duties of
the Female Sex. 18mo. cloth. 37 cU. Lond. 1827.

Greig (John). — The Flower Grower's Instructor.
12mo. clolh. 50 cts. I^nd.

Gresley's (Rev. W.) Siege of Litchfield. i2mo.
half mor. $1. Lond.

Griffin (VV. N.) — A Treatise on Optics Svo. bds.
$2. . Cambridge, 18i42.

Grossi's (Thomaso) Marco Visconti. Translated
from the Italian. 12mo. half mor. neat. $125.

Lond. 1845.

Gryll's (Rev. Tho's). — Sermons preached in the
Cathedral Church of St. Peter, Exeter ; with n Biographi
cal Sketch of the Author, by Rev. J. Punnett. 8vo. clotbt
93. Lond. 1845.

Hairby (James). — Rambles in Normandy, sq. 8vo.
cloth. Fine woodcuts. 95 for $3 50. Lond. 1816.

Halliwell's (T. O.) Popular Rhymes and Nursery
Tales. 12mo. cloth. $1 50. Lond. 1849.

Hansard's Pocket Peerage. i2mo. cloth. $i 50.

Lond. 1845.

Hawker (R.) — Sixteen Sermons on the Divinity

of Christ, and the Deity, and Opcratioiu of the Holy
Spirit. 18mo. cloth. 50 cts. Lond. 1845.

Heat : its Sources, Influence, and Results. Sq.
Ibmo. doth gilt. fl. Lond. 1841.

Hervey's (James) Meditations and Contempla-
tions. 12mo. half mor. gilt top. Portrait, f I 25.

Lond. 1840.

History of the French Revolution. i2mo. cloth.
$1. Jjond.

History of the United States. 2 vols. 12mo. doth.
Vignettes. 92 50. Lond. 1830.

Hogarth Moralized. By the late Rev. Dr. Trus-
ter. With an Introductory Essay, by John Major. 8vo.
cloth. Numerous plates. $3 25. Lond. 1841.

Holly Grange: a Tale. By Madame E. de K — .
12mo. cloth. Plates. $1. Lond. 1844.

Hopkins (Dr. T. H.) — Sixteen Lectures on the
British Reformation. l2mo. cloch. 75 cU. Phila. 1844.

Homer's Iliad and Odyssey. Translated 6y A.
Pope. 2 vols. 18mo. cloth*. ^. Lond.

Houston (Mrs.) — Texas and the Gulf of Mexico ;
or. Yachting in the New Worid. 2 vols, post 8vo. paper.
•6. PortraiU and illustrations. $1 50. Lond. 1&14.

Howitt's Journal of Literature and Popular Pro-
gress. Imp. 8vo. cloth. 75 cts. Lond. 1847.

Hunter (James). — The Improved Scotch Swing
Plough ; with practical Illustrations. 8vo. cloth. Plates.
$1 50. Ed in. 1843.

Hutton (Cha's). — The Compendious Measurer;
being a Treatise on Mensuration and Practical Geometry.
11th ed. by SamM Maynard. 12mo. slieep. ^1 50.

Lond. 1837.

Jay (W.) — Morning Exercises for the Closet, for
every Day in the Year. 12mo. cloth. $1. N. Y. 1845.

Jones (S.) — A New Biographical Dictionary.
l8mo. roan, f I 25. Lond. 1840.

Joe Miller's Complete Jest Book. Thick i8rao. docb.
Frontispiece and vignette. 63 cts. Lond. 1840.

Johnston (T. F. W.) — Contributions to Scientific

Agriculture. 8vo. eloth. $1 75.

Johnston (John). — A Manual of Natural Philoso-
phy. 12mo. sheep. Woodcuts. 87 cts. Phila. 1846.

Jewish Manual (The) ; or. Practical Information
in Jewish and Modem Cookery. l2mo. cloth. $1 50.

Putnam's Cheap List of Valuable Books.

_ _ „ , ^ New Ymk, Dm M, 1840.

To LADiaL4ua Ujhazt, late Oorernor of Comora

DcAm Sib:— I ATmll mjwir of the eArliait momeat, o«
■17 rcturateg knlth, to addretf joa, ioMMaoh m Ik
was not in my power to meet joa, aad greet joa «a
yonr arriTa), m 1 bad greatly deelred. Thinigh I •■.
tielpate that enoh a meeting would be a pleasara,/«t
it would glT« oooaeion to feelinge of a eaddvnlng na-
ture, for I oannot ^Tirmore banleh the refleotlon that
you wa« 00 ree^ntly wrestling with the eneBiee of
liberty In yonr own native Hungary; that you was aa
reofntly batUlog with the tyrant'f power; and that ■•
recently in yoor last great, ead extremitj. jon waa
driT»>n with whirlwind yidenee from tnost or your ba-
lored ftienda and home.

But yon have this confolation. that In eeeblng a fa-
fng^ from fuoh eoene«, you have a . length, reaobed a
land where libexty llTeii and dwelle; where the reryeoU
ppome the tyrant's tread, and the oppreofor'a arm baa
no power to harm. You may now exclaim. O. Libert/ !
Lert* is thy home ! This is truly the asylum of the oa •
preMed.

^'9 take p U a wae in astnring yov that we eymp»-
thite with yon. We welcome you. the whole Amerleaa
people wvleome you , and we moit «luct*rely and heartiJiy
iDTite J ou to a full participation of all thd bleMsingt «f
lib«-riy and indvpendence wbicb we ourMlTes eigej.

Ours is an extentSed and wide spread oountry. aB4
in the delifthtfnl rtgiona that lie towards the a«ittlag
sun, thf re la spaee and verge enough not only for oa
but the tried mllllona whom you havd l«ft behind.
I There they may enjoy alltbe blesslnga of freedom, witk
, ntne te molest or make afraid; there they may po>aesa
iH-antifnl flelda and forests in pfrp«tual peace and
bappinees and there they and their drf^cendAutn uay
fill the nweet ralleys wi'.h the songs of liberty tlU agpa
hare mingled their mtmorlea with those of the jual
and of the tn^.

Allow me now, through yon. to offrr to your Me»4i
and etimpanlons in mi- tort one. my deepest sfmpathleay
and at the same time to olteer tb*- ai witb the proi>peat
of a apetdy and happy realiaatioa of all their hijtas
and aBtlolpatioas undrr the tree iiutitutiona and lava

I of tbair newly ebwen vountry
1 iiiL vikh treat respect, your rary obedient serr't,
CALKBS. WJODHJLL
Mayor of theeity of New Vork.

The foBawlBf tatwer has been handfd te tht Mayor
byL. B. Brdaach: —

Nxw Yoax, January, 1850.
To Hon Calkr 8 WooDHrui ,

.Mayur of tha olty of New York.

SiB : Tbe Irtendly w*«lc(ime.arl..lQg from the fullnesi
of a noble heart, wbicb you ao kindiy sent to oj dear
ocmrades of the Hungarian emlgra i >n and mjsolf,
haM moTed our warmest feelings. You have ponrad
balm into the wounds inflioted by w«titea t>raQny.

It excites one of the bit(«re<*t emotions of cbe hnaaa
heart tr> be forcf^d to leare the graves of our ance^tera
and all the monnnieat« i^f a uatiunal existence that haa
rntfurf d tor a tbou»ai.d yearn; but. if tbere ii any am^
tion which can equal tne love aud fond memory of
one's country, it 14 the warm feeling ot gratitude for
proofs of sympathy.

YcuT kind letcer has awakened nucli a feeling in it*
foil force in uiy companion-; .nni myiifif

We know how to honor tb>..4«i frinudljr expresMoufl
which have their origin in thf? n iblenese of our soul,
awa procMd fr'^'m a man who h%a been cb'-ti^en bv tha
cotUdfDoe of tbe cl»isena of the first city in the Union
tob4> tbeir ebl«^f ma glut rate.

Axky wordii of ^ratuude that I could utter would ha
but po(»r Interjireters of our fruHog*, aud 1 can only
saT that your letter will er«-r remain In i>ur memoriea.

We bave indeed been driven by a wild tempi-at f ^om
cnr unhappy country, but after the storm, more fw>
tunate than many a poor mariner, wu Vnd onrBeiTea
not merely oa a shortt of Mtf*- ty but in a harea of bra-
Iherly fiiendehtpand hosptta i;y.

Vfm eame blcher inspirH| with warm admiration for
the free and rrasd inetitutrona >'f tM< );lonoui country
- a country, as >'-u ti*!! us. who«4> fi>rtiie plains eaaatiU
fntI>i^h rocm inr oountlea* million*; aod as we wnl not
spare our strength to ob'Ain, by a labori-iai lif^. that
iode|»end**nce which is the dr^t want of man. we have
« nly a etkaerfol future before ns and wi> aU Join la tba
ery- Allan's tiue ounutiy ia thac where freedom ii !

I aa bear' lly rejoiced to learn thatyuur h»\ltb U
reiitii^Mnnd I take tbe occasion to rit|uen ^on toap-
polatvnnie »h«n I uay have the orpf^rtuoUy ol ev
pfesalVmy rticardln person; with tht* %j4^iiran^j ef
•biafc, meantime. I remain yonr obedient se-v at

LVDISLIUS W/HA^f.
blr«Bd la the naat »nd behalf •( bif ro^? » > —

Vew-
Ui.

natic

nde-

<».

Jind.
f48.

M4.

Rus-

44.

Dd.

ndix

latcs.

55.

13.

017,
III,

^vo.

Ho-

39.

voU.
Id.

Procter (Col.)— The Higtory of Italy froT ::*
Fall of the Western Empiie. Roy. &to. clorh $. '

Philosophical Magazine; Nos. 176. 14^, UL^.3*-
IM.5. 132. 131. 130. <?«t'. 87. 93. 96. 101. ini. ]...i ,
1(17. 108. MO. 110. 111. 112. 114, 113, Ilti. 117, 1 W- 1 Ji -
4, .*», 6 and 1 18. 25 cu each. U*. .

Quarterly Review; Nos. 146. 144, 13*'., 'X
141,145,134.151,135. 37.S; cl* per No. L-.n-i lNi-+4

Regent Classics, l^mo. bds. per vol. 5*.i .:-i
ValfHas .Maximnr Locanni. t?ilia« Iia1ii.-i:'t Pii*..
3 voLi. Quinta* (^'urtiiiii. Hvneca Tragedia . • x\i xii.
Plinins Jr Catalln*, Tibnllut et Propertiu>. S:.x::c..

L.fL.1 :-i

Reynard the Fox : TTie most DelectaSie Hiuit
of. 12mo. cloth. 63ci». Ijond. K.'

Royal Society (The) and Sir Joseph Ba-^
l-Jmo. cloih. G3cts. Looi 1'>U

Sacred Offering (The). 18nio. cloth, 5i' c.*.

Siege of Derry ; a Tale of the Revoiutior. .
Charlotte Elizabeth. 12mo. cloth. 75ct«. N V. :s;

Sherlock (Dr. R.) — Practical Christian vv >

Ir'mo. cloth. $1 50. Oifor:. :*W

Sineaton and Lighthouses. 12iiio. cloth . 'o :Xi

Smyth's (W.) Evidences of Christianity, irsic

mor. gilt. $!l for 92. *■• Lot J. .'^

Stebhing (Rev. H.)— Hir->ry of the Ci-riu
nma • church. 2 voU. 12mo. cloth, Tifnett*. fi I.^ui.. Iv?.
• ■"■ Sturnis' Reflections on the works of Goii ;-j Li*
Providence throughout all Natniw. Thick 1-co. ^ *.:.
75 ct«. Lob i I ST.

145.

i2mo. Thayer (Tho. B.)— Christianity against Fct i^::?

gent
ond.

l2ino. cloth. 50 ctt.

Thompson's (E. P.) Note Book of a NauraJis:
.. l2mo. cloth. $1 50. Lot t-Hl

;fmo,

.*46. I Three Courses and a Dessert ; the Decoratj lOsbf
George Crnik^hank. Cr. dro. hf mor. plates. $: .V

Twiss (H.)— Public and Private Life oi L :i

Cliaoctllor Klilon ; with8eleotion» frum hi* Corr>--«.> .•■.i*t.*.
2 voU.jKMt 8 vo. hfct* neat, portrait. 95 LouJ i^"-

.larly
>nd.

2mo.
M4.

Phiz.
W5.

127,

M3.

^htful.

If4l.

wood

Ir44.

Meces
. cloili.

I'^Ji.

struc-

Sl.
Irll.

n the

Thompson (Rev. E.) — Popular Lectures oa :h*
Cliurch of r.n;:lanil and tlie Church of 1m. in^. P -• -. v
cloth. 81 50. 1^^7.c !*»:,

Taylor (Dr. A.) — Curative Influence cf the Ci-
matv of Tan and tlie Mineral Waters ol' ih>.- rv>>««.
Po.'«t t>vo. cloth. $1. L- I..: :si

The Westminster Review; Nos. To, 77. 7*J. ti*.
HI, 7t), 74. 70. 73. 71». 71. 37\ct«cacii. lA>n.J. lM;-lt

Useful Arts Employed in the Production iM' F.-».-J

I2iiiii. cloth. 75 rt*. Ix>r . .-♦A

Empliiyed in the Prodactioii os" C;.':;*

in;:. l2mo. olotli. 75 cts. I^d.j i*HA.

Walker's (E.) Cribbage Player's Text HW

1 -mo. cloth. $1. lA>n.J l^".

Wurdlaw's (R.) National Church EIstal>ll^h:l:t"-.L-

bvo. K\riniine«l. .'I'vo. cli>lh. §i ftir9l. La'OU. l-.-S*.

^^'-- , Weil Dr. GO— The Bible, The Koran, and T::^
tions. Taimud ; or I!iblicalLi-i;«ndi. 12nio. cloth, v.'iorft!

^1>'. IrfHiO W-A

■liina, Weinholi (Dr.)^ — Seven Lectures on S'lnnamra-

:ivin<;i( I liMn : translated bv J. C Colquhon. 12iiio t>.i> ^I if
M\. I for SI. r.,|,n |-4i

Prnc- I Willmoit (R. A.)— Pictures of Chri«ti3n LiJc
iM5. l2nio. cKith. 75cti>. L^-diI iMl

y and Year Book of Facts for 1849. IShno. cloth, r*^r-
1H43. ' trait. 315Ufor9I. I^»nd 1:^*

1 Book.5, in ever}' Doprtmont of Literature, is now in
supplied gratis on application.

[

e
e

i-
r

49B

]

«till CO'
and CO!
and Lc
and Pi
pal cit-

Pai

advert
onion*
appre<

An
den.
proim

•R 01

Enco

L080!

to Bee
waidl

pum

and,
8i

line lettre de Klapka— Int^i^rM 4e Kossuth.

Le Times, organe du torysme anglais, a laiic6 dans ces der-
niers terns ^ di verses reprises de graves accnaations contte lea
Hongrois. La d6faite ne les a pas mis h Tabri de la calomnie: la
cniaut6 des hcros Maggyares et la probity da cbef illastre qui les
inspiraient, ont 6ie tour-^-tour mis en question. Le vaillant d6-
fensear de Comorn, le g^n^ral Klapka, s*e8t charg^ de faire jas-
tice de la premiere assertion ; voici la lettre qu*il a adress^e au
Times :

c Monsieur, M. Charlea Heinzen, qai. dib»on, est un radical allemand,
a recemment pr^tendu, dana une lettre uccueillie par voire feuillo si r^-
pandue, que let Ilongrou acaicnt pendu et fiuilU iUs milliers de riactiori'
nairea.

c Je n'aurais paa aonge a repliquer u cettc asfertion de M. Heinr.en,
si VOU9 n'uvicz fait de sa lettre et d'une autre coiDmunication pott^rieure
de la mdine personne, I'objet d'un premier article dans le Timet d'au-
jourd'hui. Cette circonatance m'engage a en appeler a voas-mdme en
^aveur de ma noble et mallieureuse patrie, et d'une cause qui est rest(§o
pure, et que n'a point souill^e une inutile effusion de sang.

s Si M. Heinzen veut diie que nos soldata onttue des milliers de Icurs
enn'Mnis autrichicns et russes dans un combat loyal, dans les rctranche-
men4 dc& fortoresses et sur les champs de bataille que vous connaissez,
ii a dit vrai, mais il s'est mal expIi({U^.

I Si, au (^ontruire, M. Heinzen veut dire que des ad versa ires de nutre
cause ont et6 fusiil^s ou pcndus pur voic do iiersecution publique ou pri-
vcc ; s'il veut dire que nous avons poursuivi et tu^ des hummes pour
leurs opinions politiques, je repousse avcc indignation une accusation
qui, si 9^lc no impose pas sur la pluit gro8»iere ignorance des fails, de-
note, permcttez-K^oi dc lc dire, une situation d'esprit que je m'abstiens
do qualifier.

< Sans doute, nous avons cu a deplorer quelques exces isoles. Dans
i|uclques ditttricts niixtes, les Hongrois ont 6l6 persecuteurs et (|uelquc-
fois nusd) persecutes. Mais ccs exces ont loMJours etc s^verement repri-
m^s pur no:« autorit^s civiles et militaires.

c Pendant la gueire, nous avonH fait des roilliers de prisonniers, dont
Qucun n'a et6 pendu. Meme quand les Autrirhient eurent fait ex^cuter
r;uelque8 Hongrois tomhcs entre leurs mains, nous dedaigndmes d'iraiter
leurs cruautes, bienqu'alurs deux generaux, quiuzc officiersdVtat-major,
trois cents oiBcicrs et quinze mille soldats fussent en noire pouvoir et
v^cussent a nus depcns. Aucun de cos priftonniers n'a eu & le plaindre
dc mauvais traiiemens de noire part.

< Duns leq dernicres somaincs du si^ge de Cormorn, qunnd d6j& uof
chefs claient prisonniers des Autrichiens, et quo quelques-uns araieut
^t^ fusilleet a Arad, le^ Hongrois de la forteretse firent prisonnier le
prince dc Cobourg-Cohary, ne Hongrois et ofRcier dans Tarm^e autri- %
chienne.

« Le prince aynnt fait observer qu'une detention dans I'intericur do la _
furleiesse ruineraii a jamais su same, on le remit en liberie, lai Hongrois
el officicr autrichien, et on lui permit de retourner 4 Vienne au sein de
sa funiille.

t VoilA ce que j'avais a repondre aoix aF»ertions dc M. Charles Hein-
zen, qui, ])ar sa conduileen ces derniers temps, s'est acquis des litres
inconie«iable.s a la reconraisaancc du prince Schwarlzemberg.

suis, etc..

c Ginfral Klapka.s

c
r

^Uo/^

Allmd Onoxuns of tbx Huvoabiins^ — Qeneral KbtpkiTEari?-
ggqaad a letter to the editor of the ' Times/ on the sabject of a state-
ment latelv made by M. Heinzen, that " the Hannriaiu had hanged
and shot thoufands of Beaetionariei.*' General JOapJuk anerts tibat
if this statement means that any opponents of the Hnngarian cause I
unere mther shot or hanged by means of private or public penaeation — '
if it means to say that the Htingarians were guiliy of proaeeating and
Jdlling people for their poUtioil opinions* he ^ves an iadimant
denial to die charge. In the course of the war, he adds, theUun-
sariaas made thousands of prisoners, but none of them were dther
Saamd ov shot, and if the Austrians executed some Himgarians who
ibll into their hands th^ scorned to imitate that cruelij. though u^
wwds of 300 officers and 15,000 Austrian privates wvra liTing <m thnr
naonrcoa. General Kli^ka says in coaclusion : In the vaiy last week of
the siege of Gomom. when our chiefs were already prifoneBB in the
Itends of the Austrians, and when some of them were shot at Arad,
iha Hungarians from. the fortress captured ?rinoeGol)W%<MbMrs^ihN
aafcive of Hungaiy and a major in the iLusknan axm^. Qna. VS^A^tft-'' ^
JiBiaiiooi of the Prince that to be « cank^ve m Comom ^vraraX^ Vrnr'
XDSKnaUy niio hii healthy thia native of llxmg;sz^»ia^^«D' ^^^^^^*^\
^Omr, wii allowed to go at large, and to TeawnluatiaBDSli e^x\«DM«.

Tli

»*To
tender 8
•pleuK

"Th

The
c

"Th
author t
the worl

The

leDt, fou-

Oi.

TV li auu tfAoiavtMJvi a^wCij L/Ay III the yeftr.
EDITED BY^. C. RICHARDS*

In a ver>' neat volume. 32mo, cloth.

Xf*accnuition penonnelle k Kossath a et6 r61av6e aveclieaa-
conp d*6nergie par le lieotenant-colonel Alexandre Aabotb, aide-
de-camp de Tancien dicutear. Get officier ^crit de Widdia au
joarnal anglais :

c MoDiicur, voire journal contient, daD» plutieun de act Bumdroi. daa
accusations non fondees contra le* r^fugies hongraia en general, et con-
tra M. Kossuth en particulier.

I Commo attache depuis plusicurs mois et encore aujourd*hui m£me i.
la person ne' de M. Kostaiu, et connaiisant aniri bien qae Ini-mAme tea
actes et ses relations, je suis a memo de refuter point par poiM lea ac-
cuiatioai auxquelles Toes aTet voolu denner coon.

c Le 13 septembre, M. Kossuth quitta Arad, apres avoir d^I^gai ce«-
ditinnnollrment au general Ga rgey leM ponvoirs dont la Diete I'avait
invest!. l) avatt alori en sa possession 1,(K)0 di)cats( 12,000 fr. enviroe).
A Mariadna, nous rencontrAmes le miaistie des finance^ M. Duieheck,
qui demanda au president ses instructions ponr disposer de 90 qaiataux
(I'or et d'argent represetitant 5 millions do florins (13 aiilli^ns de fieaee
environ).

c II etait du alors a M. Kossuth 33,600 florins sur son tnitemeot.
L'Etut, au ineme moment, devait an cumte Batihianyt qui accuropagnait
M. Kossuth, tout son traitcment, en outre des 42,000 florins qu'il avail
avnnc^s lui-mdmo au Tr^sor.

t M. Kos<iuth n'en envojra pns rooins & Arad leTr^sor intactt donnent
srulemcnt a Dusrheck I'ordre dc payer, sur I'arri6r6 qui lui ^tail dA,
o.UUO florins a sa more.

f Lea 1,000 darats que M. Kossuth avail emport^ d'Armd ootaerri A
payer diflerentes d^penses, priucipalemenl d^int^iet gdn^ral, et il ne lei
en restait pas lu moili^ quaod il jiassa la frunliere turoue ; cetle
avec une petite malle. est le teul bien qui rcstAt A I ex-pr^aidi
venieur de la Hungrie, A son entr^o A Widdin.

c Quant d la couronne de Hongrie, elle a eti plac6c sousle sceeq d*aii
comitd de la Diete el remise a un ministre charge, sttus sa respontabi-
lite dc la mettre en lieu sur. Je puis ajouter qn'il eat A ma connaia«ace,
personnelle, que, de sa vie, le president gonvemeur n'a vn ce prMeax
insigne.

c Tels sont, Monnienr, las faiu que i*afl5rme sur ma parole de gentil-
homme. Us sonl de nature A d^tmire Ioa calomnies auxquelles voua a-
vez ouvert vos colonnes.

X Tout le monde sait, en Hongrie, que le d^int^rsssement personnel
de M. Kossuth avail ddcidA un grand nombre des magnats de la DiAte,
lorsqu'il en etait encore simple membre, A lui offrir un riche domaine, et
tout ie monde sait que cette offre honorable a ete repouss^e par lui,
aussi bien que lous les efforts du memo genre faits pour rindemnlter du
sacrifice perpetuel qu'il faisaii A i'interel public, de ses inter6ts propria
et de ceuK de sa famiile.

I On a su publiquement, par los comptes-rendus des travaux de la
Diete, qu*on ne le d^cida qu'avec peine a accepter, commo president
gouverneur de la Hongrie, un traitement de 200,000 florins, et tonte 1&
Hungrio sait que la plus grande partie de ce traiiement a toujoun ^t^
employee en bonnes rruvres.

f Soldat et non ^crivain, je ne puis que trailer de meniOBgct lea ia-
funnatioim que vous avez re9ues ; il resteraA M. Koasnth, A son arriv^
prochaiii'* en Angleterre, u voni demander, par les voies legale*, la r6-
panili'ju due tl koii caracierc pour les calomnien donl \uus vous £tes feit
I'^diteur respousable.s

Am^rimn Historical and Literary Curioeities.

Containing fac-similea of many memorials of the Revolntionary Period— of
Letters, Autographs, Portraits: also of Drawings and Letters by persons
active ot that time ; witli the Lives of several eminent Btatcmen, Legisla-
tors, Divines, and Philosophers concerned therein ; with divers other mar*
vellous and curious things, worthy of being treasured up. In one vol. 4to.
half morocco. Price. gG.OO.

I Tu lilt KlitOT uf Ikt D,iUy Alrtrtittr,—

Sir: — It u toniewbal Kinarlinble, ibnt on anpnlt-

I (lulivvnid lou Miiull aadivnce ip ■ neigbbnring limn,
I hJuiuIU enll Torlh ti^heiiicul ceiHurr rrotn Ibttn) nr fiior
I n( the daily ui:w*|Nipi'ra in Bunion, — c«n«nre wbkh
I hnit ut hd luki'n ttiu form at jpDt* |>erann*l iibiuKand
1 ri'|ir','iliil upypiil* til thv |iulillc III witlidtiw ilmir tun-
< tiiti-iii'i! nnd *un|iiiit fruiii a purfon whu h wiAiH-Rted
' i>riiiivin| inwarJinl *rrj abnoiKiuii ilaetriiii-. Nnt ■
: M-tiii-iirii of till' l«ctniv liiii)i>l iippuand in piiat;
iiul irrti an ubulnct of it ha* liritii r«|Mn<Hl for Ibe
(iro'i. 1 huti! iliitliciil n'.-uuHiA r»r bulicving lliat not
I iHii' 111' till- npWii|a|Mr 'Jilim »'Ih> bave ■t(eiii|>ti-d lo
■ IhiM ii «)i hi [Hibliit Mpn<balinii wji* prcH-nt dnrin; iti
I iIl'Iiiit}, or bjH iinj diriH-l konwludga of wliul llie
l.ii'iurvr Kiiid. ?iiiihin> i* knnuii abont ii oxrvpi a
' v.'igiii: innmr liinl h mnlaiiied KUuli nn nrmiiiil at
' llun^fnrr, and iirtlK* ciMraclFr nf IW jNHiulflliiin, ;ia lu
"ri'iiili'r II dunlilful wbi'llHT IIh- latit ■ninitii'lii>n in
' il;:it cuuiitry w criiiiliHrtii he rall.il a war fur frH-

wbi-lb-r till- rijlit whk »h>ilt/ on thr khIi- id* -r J|^

>, lb» .tlii^nr

I'tiilur llieui circniiii'tancei, I cannot nnderslsnil
wbnt lius btunpbt niti before ihe HwfDi uibumil »f the
llonliiii n<-wiiji.'i|».'i> fur judgmenl. In ihiarane, iIiitc
ate ii»nt: uf Ibu luual iiruleBCM by wbich nuniv |iub-
tii: jniiraBl) aumipl tu jiulir}' Ibeir coana pBrNinulUit:*
and rudu uirasiiui uf utbur peopli-'i priralit nfliiiM. —
1 uiii nol, in (In! conmiini auDM uribat phraiw, a "[nb-
lic ninni"! huUnupablicolTici', liavn never held umi,
UHvi-r bixn a randidute rurone^aiid dn nal wivb I'vur to
In-n randidatc. 1 am niil uven ucilizen orilu»l<in,bw
an bumble iniiabhuulufCaaibrUgu, where 1 daiiiiihe
pritdi-ge of lUiiiK nnlniile vt tbu JDrbilirlion of Itw
TiarilUr, Ui'i ChniiiHsjt, nnd tlia TVun.r-riji/.—
||u\nig dmie wliat wad aaketl i<t iiia a* a Tavur, nod
rpRi'ivi-d a« a fiivor, by m; own fiii-ndaand nti^lilwra,
till' uuiiie* uf uHiiy of whom, did I (eel dl libErty lo
iiicnliiM iImiii, wi'inid cmniiMnil nnivennl rifpi^,
Bud vvbi> u(e i-i-cluinly couipetenl lo nniiu^ their
u»R HtraiTH, and furni tbrii imn opiniiHU, [ imd mjr-
|iH-ir ludely and vinleiiliy aaiailediBipiinani) again,
in wnna ol lln- liinum nHt»pa|im, nnd acrucpd in
iliiiist leniHi, "uf bliia[4iemi)f llie cubm uf l.ibrrly
.p«W of -■ -■-"-- -'—:--

uiifuir eiip.lTinl it lunLiini-d
iilriri-d ihi- furl* with iiiiprupi-r DMldecupl
iiurli rbar|i> i-i-uUI bi- madp, bfi^imr iiij
lurkiinviinj! W'luil tin -

uf ilie

i-ruftbH \iinh Ainurioiin Ki'-
1. it will uiiji'inally prrpinil,
i-n wiii(i>ii wiiha VKW luik-

.iilibr adiUi'i

Niw ()>« char^i bmuglil pji;!^;^!^^,, ;,;i ^".Hlwi beiaoiH crime', unwurlhy

i-jui|H-i.i[ - yfa vltizraor llw enlighleneil counlrri where iha

''" "" pri-ivii free, an.! everv man in ailibarlyti) rpmk

and 111 wiilo what lie Ibibka-yfl i> aloioil imunnatad,

lliat I am a dMi{Hi>M!il enilHfty uf Analria ur Uuh'm,

hitRd by Uw dsKpiilie ijriA^ uf tliiwe '

y.rl»rr wrn. l!ul Ib-v du bm.w. for ihey Imve -U " ™u ' ^b^U^,^, if, ihS Vniled »u
I laili-J ti. Ibe fan. llml ifM wlwle will MM Bp|.-«r « fj ^,.„^„„ 5bi.!«o™« rel.iled eicluwvely lo tbe hirtory
nud iioblic airiiirn uf a cimntry uo ihe eaatem roafini'a
of I'iviliwd i:umiic. with wbiMo iahabiiunta Iha .

- 1 rii^n iwiinle liavu bad DO political or cnuiniercBil

ituicr. Adjihw, I iiadaappoaed, WBi !
- - -- — ■--' — . rc»|Kiclin|t lh~ '
I Ihe iiernVUi

SL »!■<■ iiiau- 111 me. abuut twu mi"™""

J. . r .1 I .L- I. an tree In iiif m auii eai-ic^ku vi.

,,. d.r„iuM ..r lb., t.jcru,, n lb.. Il.„„i.„„ui„™.ie,„f^e Magyar,

d 1.1 lure l».r"ie lliat .»t.lut,..n m H,i^,.,[,Hri, b^imti.**. aefie would be with regard I

-■a*..!!. 1 ba.1 fre-iaenlly de.-lK.ed • ,„ ,^^ ,^,^„( ^^^^^^ „^ Reniaiii, or the modern |

. ji^t.anmy taMm im.I Mail*. cbirwKo. 'llii, opinino .nigtadilTer from tbe r "-- '

I Fur thm.- i>era>iim« uf public T n,.iiu7( uB.in lh.i ^uliji'i'f" ' '' ^ "■"' '

in ■inreri'ritU'dn'Veralr'.'iiueiln lo L. ''.. ™ K'

. itHlaiilti«lb

•Ijr,

rilwa-tep-
Icnllv ill ob-

rid s.

■dfiii

with [icopFr ei
!!>[ iIh: fiicla and arRi
' , if it bi knntn ilint Xb
tun wrdenonncsN j
.iLe publii' veiijlPir
' " publmblni U

I! are won In bepubli-'hed.be-
noa tin rnlerlaining it. ur in- j
' upon hi' hiud fur iT '

1 only c.

ui.>i> lb.; Willi. ui.-n or-iitulific ..r lilMrary ^ ,|,i„k-,j- publinblnii U i. ' Sly .-.•wilanta ui

,«lui livid III llii' uiilii.dit.tc*iRinity, (<■ do ^y.,,^
.ui-ririb'upiairt. To lhi« I aoawer.-;!. liiat I 1^3.
* litlvd for •■iirh n». . . .. ."

,lfaiDg;bul that I had

hicii ihey leat. hul ihey I
'o prevent me from pub- |

^ . . , ., • . , ,.:...—ii r. ,„^ n»_ ... the fnetn; that i>. (hey

n nir. |H-rlu|M • pu|inlar aadwiH-e mi|lit h. i^

'iili.ig liihe:ira^i«i ofit read tollmm. in-"u„r^njed a,i.ldaignIceftiloiiiniona, and'iliey aek
■. liHlimal.^ v.ry dwtmclly. that H ,^ j^^Hblic (o dmiruy my proptm- in order lo prevent

.inJr..iiln..li-i.iir,.|npr.-Bareau>imi«;Dunna.i™a i|,i*. ,,,,it,i.in. nn-, b.-ruro Ihev h

jii>l I'niiKWd a li.ii.-»> arlK-le. in. whieha giMwIdg^ ,, ,|„. r„cti and drguHM^nl* ™ whiihi

1.1 l.il -r jinl 11 '. »n.-b liaii been rxpr ndea, and aa it .. „H,|i,. „„ app,.al tu tbi. public lopci

...riMinnl iiini ti IWI baU >pf&.?sniuw and very ui- ^1 iuj,m;{ eitbir the ..piiiHwanr the I

It cvenlK in llDngii(y,\i liirli

w iiublie (o divlmy uiv propertv ii
.e ihrni ti-llin" wliat my real opini<

.rtiisii.. -I. .i|.p.«.-.l 1.1 iIh- prevailing iiiipn.M..n« of .j uu|,|i,j,in, tlui-evi.lance'by "'"^'"'"'y """"Pl'""^
..tb.- iiubli.- npuii til.- .UI.J.-PI. "yl^*!"** 1 1»« "'>™r .i A^,i,i. j, iiu, ij,.„ vrhieh Ihew Benllemi '

I hndabirrdlbu iinn-

-1^. wilK fe uiHuJ (itiiiii^ly pTH*
III.- Maicy'iri. :im] hllv .■<i|H'gi-
■'j|>*r Wu-i B» linDuTiible bh wn*
niir iiwn incmiimMe atrngqli- r.w
il uf uiy fri^uda caB tnucb.rnmi

[■.tare, but if ihey
■ Hdiil.l ri'ad n )iarl ..lit nn any i.veniniwbKn (bey

r.iiil.l nol pr.ivi.1 i.- -ailalile ..rpifislnr eiit.-rtain-

iiieiil. Il wu« iircvcdinsly annuniicwl, and .in Hid Hp-
.n.iiil.'d eveniDg, i.bnni liiree werkH kince,iin niiu*B.-iU
Iv l.iijp* aiul i.-F|i.'i-tnt>li- .ludiutu-i- listened lu m.' with
■in iiiurbnppHrenI BllHiiiHin and inleveet, dial I wua
i;iduuvd tu (leiipum uihiii llwir kilidneM fnr hiilfan
iiiiur l..'yi.iMl tbe u-iBal lime; and when I broke olT
with an apulii^iy, M'teinl gi'nlb'iiien caiiii! U. me to
i-wim-n « iialiia f.'sivt (/ml I InJ (Kit continued foi an

(Im lib.'r(y uT i.piiii«ii and <ir tint pmi is

'1 b.- Ti.inn-'-i/.l iiJ Sjlutddy evening laal, >|ieakin(! |

nf Ibe HUbicriljerii tu tin Norlh AmariMii Keview, ■

\,trni,trtw-

»«:>•- lit, mill.' inH|>|inu' »lilM]<lirniln( iben.UirutLi- j

!*.> far a'« my own Intcreila arp concerned, aelf-re- |

ipn-t nnnhl pri^reni uie from taking any nniipe of an '

allnrlc M iiidecenl ami outrageoui at ihu; i( may >

wif.-ly he left f.ir the ponmianity in fmn (heir own :

npinu.n nl il. For thin reaaon, when twn prevnoa j
arti'-te* of a aimilar riciracter appeared in the lyan-

trri/H, and two niore in the Tratlllrr, I paawd !
[ibeiii ever with lilent conteiu^. V.«X -«w. V»-

B, *ill eirJo.

IpoaibUiMBBirdihiiiBrraii] injorj. TntB tht u.
UoM ef RT iwntriiel with ttinn, .nr ^em or nig to
tUtobKriptiaii liiloF (ha Nonfa Amerbai - '
■Ipraeniaw] fur Mine y«n to com
■ivd/ tflcct Mean. Lhlla & Broun, in\
rrom tbfl work remiiaLng fiinl. The iMliDnbor
rowed bj the Trantcripl finm the Trartlltr, ib«t
the patronige or ihe mark u rolling nff, it ntwolnielt
Bnlnie; on Ihc EOBlmry, ii hai beenMeadilv/thouli
ilowlj. increoatng ever nnce 1 became iti editof ; tii
II oerer increasRl more rapidly Ihun dnring the pree-
eai™r,«l ihe befinmng of which Iha ediiionwi,
MiHiderablj cnfnrgwl, aod opeciilly dnrinir the lut
Tew weekL [f th«e new.paper edtlon wrihed to
■hethBr the Reriew ought Id bedenoqnted
IhB opiniani of ila editor were hoalile to Ro-
publicanuiD, [hey might eeeiiy here utiiJipd Ihem-
eelvei; the iniiterial. for foroiing a JDd|nient were
qnite copnne and aceeMible. For tha whole eonlenn
or the twelve otUto Tolamet of ihe Rcriew which
bare appwred aince ! bscin* ita aditar, I am fairly
»»I»»«W«_i^«t « ToBrih put oT tbM conlnii era
ofin^owD King. For ibANT lbrae-roiinha,~lhe i"

public Ks i^Bbied la ■ i^B i;.> ..r ^-.-.v...

which contaBawnj of i
AiiiericaB l|Etare and

Preecoti. SpaTka. NoiTon, H'ajland, ihe two Pe«-

bodji, FohoB. Hillard, Peirce, Seblne, Lowell and

tV hippie. '11)0 lopica conaidr^ied in Lha work daring

thu period aretolerabl^rmiirellaneauilhecontribfllora

and Ihe edilor bare bed ■oowlbing lo aav upon many

tnniiera connected with Ihe hiMoftnrihiaeoantrTaDd

lhpeharaclerofiuinnilalion«,^ecullriecainpaml

witblbe hiilory aod poiilv or luanj ueiioai uf £ii-

">pc- From a dtlig>'nl eolblion of Iheee mileriale,

pretty ehrewd ^aeea mav be tbrmed whelher Ihe

liuir 11 a Kupntiiiean or au Abwietiel. a blaaphenier

■ ■ Chriiiiiin. The Cliroaotyfi may perfappa

■member Ha article in the very lam nDiiiher nn

Kren':h Ideas of Deinocracv and a Commanity

of Goods," which hue been Vehemrntiv aonilrd in

ili;il paper, not becaoieil wai nnii-re public Ui in lone,

but berau«u it altackcd the docltinei et meialiain.

If he would bwk rartlier, he nin? coikuIi an nrlicls

«n Ihe "recent Kevniuiioni in Kurope," published in

July, leJU, dndaeericnr mlher elaborala sirlides,

tbul appeared in \Hi^ and IfllS, on Ihe Social

Cnndition of llogUnd and Ireland, as alTected by ibe

laws regnliting ih« d»acent of pi — ■■ - ^

lliought, Wnl Iheie liil nienlion

nninifetl mutfa sOvi^lion for ihe di
right in rvsivel cvi-n Vi Wve iiiherilanrit of wvnlll!. '
However lliii niaj hi, lliev riilainlv evince iiu lark
iipnlliy with lb.- proli>lnry e\*i* of the Knelish

-*■ laliim. .Utile 7'i-uiii^ri/'/, uf ^iaiur-

. -..,».. ,.i,ilinttli.; airuoions seiilimeuU »hich
lUnliuivi 111 nie In nHutinn lu iln- war in Hungni

f5^t^» andllqoe .talo.. sablfliq.. M.L

A jwinal which appean snly once fn three gMida

icannot oden discBM TMent arenia whiia tbeir lataM

» fresh. Ilia justly ««pecied lo make np for limit.

enenejbyilM tbomoghnese and amplLlade i>f k:1

diM-DWims as ihe writers in it hjive leiicre lo nrem-

and bytba care and mearch employed in the Tm^.

uf ttii: opmiuDs which are Gaally eiprevJ in il

all Hit anticipala the pohlicalioa r.f the aiiiclr r.i

War ill riongsry, nor alter one sentence in ili:l

ton orit which waa n-ad lo the CambridF> L»-e.

It shall be published preci«.lv s. ii ws. Wh-i

ier*d, It being alresdy in the hanl< uf the pr;i,i.

r.!r ihal pnrpw. Tho.e who du uot wish M «j.i

u appearance, or lo read it when puIilHh J cin

iy loTestigaie the subjecl fur thetiiselrva; nod I

Id advue them to do ao before Eipendiur iIk kibU:

nnljroriheir rr/JuWiran sjmpathii-s upon the cjm^

of Ibe Ilungnriaa Magrars, the most Bri,.tarra%

ic iBCB in bumpe, every aerenih man anwu

leidaj, Iho fundal system eiisieU in full si^r

and in lis iiioal odious form; iheir 6)10,000 nobU

owned sll Ihn lauds, end made all" tbe laws Th-

p™.l«uioflhi.racein llsogarr has be-n. for nise

ceiiHrJai, what lhal of tho .\ormani in tiiuland wat

, for Ihe fini cenWry iiflcr the Couqne.i Thev Turin

, k»- than h=,lfof the populaiion o? Hunpry 'prnpe-.

''?(■"?■ T^ ""%"''"*■*'' "" >l"F«™le« P™tio'c«

. r^rJo-;'^"""' *"■■ *" '■'"" i""^"" •■>

^ cuunu the Sclavoniana, wfao alone outnumber !),<

t Mngyara-ihe Wallacliians snd ihe Gtrman. « iib a

. money crowd of Armenian.. (;ip,i„, and Jew,

,mnkeapthereiiiaii»derorihisaUungelv helerivae-

00. populBiioa The lata war commenced irTb-

'" X" "uAa" r ^'■'■?"'= '"'*'• "«• ""llacbi.

0f»iu.t Ibe «i.tMrnlic\°4T»"!'^h^ "had'JnW

hem wilh arod of iron ftrcent.rici. and wlh^r ,ote

.')'"J'_ r°"'*' "' '■»•" '"»'. "hen Ihe dommio'n .-f

■ign, Ihe eniprmr uf .\a»-

■ Mung^rUn

iinTored a

md'iririi IH

sralinn of Independence ii .,..™, „.,

port, in a fierce denuociatioa of the Croa
lan, and Wallachnn i-«tt/i.
le question as lo the merits of ihii rebellion
- '-"Teditcntsed: ' "

Tho «

>d dilliri:
of Hu"!

prorcmenis eRecleil in the feudal iiiMilnitoi
fU'y by Ihe Duhlo Sicdieny snd hia at«
^ZlTu- '?«•/"<' ^y "« "volnlionist, who
clottLed the reins of power after ihat periud, einnoi
delermmed in Bich brief apace as « aftrded bi
"jwapupur. LpoB iheaa ttiattera I have endeav-
wedlolhiowanine ligLl lo the article wh.ch {a,
be" Milrangely denounced, before anv portiooTf
Its contrnt. was known. Peibaps a portion of ihe

r.- -no fceepii^ wilh Ihe whole tone" nf my '•mind * P'.'' 1^''' "C* *" """"'gM" oBoagb to waU till il ii
nd wrilmp," I may h-. aicn-M Cir refetring lo ilie P"""*™ Before tliej make ap iheir minda upoa the
fan, that nuariy alluf what I have puNiaiied besides «'■'*• ""urgos that hove been pnftiiea aninai „
what is included, in Iho N. A. Review, bs. been ■:„?''^"t"V'" ^'."""V''""''" "'"'='■''■''•'''" "'""'-J
devoledloadefenCBof.Vatural and Revialed Beli- -• ■ -^ TruiW/er, the Ciro^ofupr, and the rrn„
gl-ti agaiiKI the lateit assialli of infidel ily. ■ ."'".• *™""" "'*"dil»f of the .North Auiaricsn Re-

'^•«>e of ynnr rcidi-TK. !<ir, nuy be inclined to nsk ."*"'"'[*■ ."O^snl to ibe prineipira of Am erica ii
bvlhi.iim^,wha(po«ibieconneclion lli.re cnn be " C" "''<;"'""". »ud a blasphemer cf the tiud ,Lo

helween m, privuto alliii™, and the m.nl. ..r l.uK. '- ""''" '

of Ihe Ilunif^rian iniurgenti. I erho the nue.lion,

"I where to hmk «ac an answer lu it but |

'wspapers whieK first branj^htlheae and |
utliir e^U4lly rclevoot m.lwi* iuo JuibipMiliou. 1
im Ino old u revicwir, sir, lo oliject lo ihe ulniost
»,^™l?,. '■''''"'■"' "■■"'■"•' "P™ "iy l>.«ifc, piiiiiphli.-l.
Hhich « fiiriy oir-reil |„ Hh uublir u> .,u.Jl.., fcn |,y

Rcspe^lfully y.

FRANCIS BOWEN.

■^^Wa*ed, befflrathu crilic had any

*■. «)0>^ AuKi vague ruinur, or \a

T afaioal urivale ch:iracler npua

Ti.i ^ harahi-r mode

Putnam's Cheap List of Valuable Books.

Prioi^s Life of Oliver Goldsmith ; from a variety
of original soorces. 2 Tob. 8vo. doth. Portrait. S3 50.

Lond. 1839.

Pru8 (Murle D.) — Histoire dea Reines de France.
3 vols. 8vo. cloth. Portrmit. $5, for $3. Londres, 1846.

Puckle (James). — The Club ; or, a Gray Cap for
a Green Head, &;c. ISmo. cluth. Woodcuts. SI.

Lond. lt<34.

Qa^rard (T M.) — La France, Litteraire ou Dic-

tionnaire Bibliolheqae d«s Savans, IlikturMns, et Gens de
Lettres, Ace. 8 vols. 8vo. paper. $.*». Paris, ]827.

Reeves. — The Progress of Romance ; with Re-
marks on the good and bad Effects of it, &c. 2 vols in I,
13mo. half bound. S3 5U. Scarce. Colchester, 17815.

Retzsch's Outlines to Shakspeare's Merry Wives
of Windsor. Oblong 4to. 13 plates. S^, for S3.

I<eipsic, 1844.

Richardson's Geology for Beginners. Thick 13ino.
oloth. Niuneroai woodcuts. $3 35. Lond. 1846.

Richter (J. P. F.)— Flower, Fruit, and Thorn
Pjeces. Translated. 5!*vo)s. 12mo. cloth. Si ^)*

Lond. 1844.

Ride on Hori*eback to Florence, through France
and Switzerland ; in a Series of Letters. 2 vols. or. Hvo.
cloth. S-"), for S^. Lond. 1^12

Ridley Seldon ; or, the Way to Keep Lent. A
Tale for the Times. By A. Howard. l2ino. cloth. SI 35.
for 75 cts. Lond. 1845.

Roberts (R.) — House Servants* Directory, &-c.
75 cti. Boston, 1828.

Roby (T.) — Seven Weeks in Belgium, Switzer-
land, I^mbardy, Piedmont, Savoy, ice. 2 vols. 12rao.
green mor. gilt and gilt leaves. $5 50, for S3 5().

lA)nd. 184.S.

Rogers f John). — The Vegetable Cultivator, &.c.
13mo. cli>fh. S3 for SI 25. Lond. 1843.

Rush (R.) — Memoranda of a Residf*nce at the
Court of Ijondon ; comprising Incidents, official and per-
sonal, from 1819 to 1825. 8vu. cloth. SI ^•

Phila. 1845.

Sobbath (The) ; or, an Examination of the Six
Texts commonly adduced from the New Testament in
Proof of a Christian Sabbath. 6vo. cloth. S2 50.

Lond. 1840.

Sacred Biography of the Principal Characters of
the Old and New Testaments. 8vo. cloth. S3.

Lond. 1845.

Saint-Simon (Due de) — Memoires Completes et

Aothentiquen du. Par le Marquis de Saint-Simon. 40
vols, in 3U. J2mo. half calf. neat. S35. Paris, 1840.

Sands (R. C.)— The Writings of, in Prose and
Verse. 3 vols. 8vo. cloth. Portrait. S3, for S2 50.

N. Y. 1835.

Scoresby (Rev. W.) — American Factories and
their Female Operatives. l2mo. cloth. 75 cts. for 37 ct«.

Lond. 1845.

Self-Sacrifice ; or, the Chancellor's Chaplain.
13mo. cloth. S2. for SI 35. Lond. 1844.

Select British Poets. 4 voU. i2mo. cloth. Portraiu.
$4. Lond. 1838.

Shelley's (P. B ) Essays and Letters from Abroad.
Translations and Fragments, roy. 8vu. pajwr. SI 50 for
$1. Lond. 1845.

Shuttleworth's (R.) Manual for the Assistance of
Magistrate*, &c. J^vo. bds. 75 cts. Lond. 1845.

Sidney (Hon. Hen.) — Diary of the Times of
Charles the Second. 3 vols. 8vo. portrait. S^ for S4.

Lond. 1843.

3impson'(Rev. R ) — Banner of the Covenant ; or
Ilikturical Notices of some of the Scottish Martyrs. l2mo.
doth. SI. E^in. 1847.

Smith's (Adam) Wealth of Nations ; with a Me-
moir of the Aathor. ]3mo. cloth. SI < Aberdeen, 1848.

Songs of the Press and other Poems Relative to
the Art of Printen and Printing. ISmo. cloth. SI •

Lond. 1845.

Steinmetz (A.) — A Voice in Ramah, or Lament
of the Po4tr African ; a Poem in five Cantos. ISmo.
cloth. SI 75 for $1. Lond. 1843.

Stephanos Byzantintis com Annotationibus Hoi-
stenii Berkleii et De Pineco. 4 vols, thick 8vo. bds. S4 50.

Lipsa;, 1835.

Stevenson (A.) — History of the Church of Scot-
land, &c. 8vo. cloth. SI 35. Edin. 1844.

Stone (S.) — Dictionaire Classique Fran^aitf-An-
glals et Anglan-Francais. 8vo. paper. SI 50.

Paris 1844.

Stoekes (A.) — The Mother's Medical Instructor,
&c. 18mo. cloth, gilt. 50 cts. Lond.

Strong (F.) — Greece as a Kingdom ; or a Statis-
tical Description uf that Country. Cr. 8voi cloth. S4 50
for S3 50. Lond. 1843

Strachey's (Ed.) Shakspeare's Hamlet; an At-
tempt to find the Key to a Great Moral Problem by Metho-
dical Analysis of the Play. 8vo. bds. Si 50. Lond. 1848.

Talbot (H. F.)— The Pencil of Nature. Pt. 1. 4to.
plates. S3 lor S3. Lond. 1844.

Taylor's (W. R.)— History of Christianity. ISmo.
cloth. SI '5. Lond. 1844.

Thayer (Tho. B.) — Christianity against Infidelitf^
or the Troth of theGosiiel History. 50 cU. Boston, 1836.

Thiers' (M ) History of the French Revolution ;
translated. 3 vols. 13mo. cloth. S3 50. Lond. 1846.

Thompson (E. P.) — Note Book of a Naturalist.
Post 8vo. cluth. SI 50 Lond. 1845.

Thom's (W. J.) Book of the Court ; Exhibiting

the History, Duties and Privilej^of the Several Ranks of
the English Gentry and Nubility. Cr. 8vo cloth. Si for
S3. Lond 1844.

Thomson, Bloomfield and Kirke White's Poetical
Works; complete in one Volume. 13wo. cluth. portraits.
Si. Lond. 1847.

Timpson (Rev. Tho.) — British Female Biography,
or Select Memoirs of Private Ladies. ISmo. cloih. 75 cts.

Lond. 1846.

Timpson's (Rev. T.) Memoirs of Mrs. Fry.
13mo. cloth, portrait. 75 cts. Lond. 1817.

Titmarsh (M. A.) — Comic Tales and Sketches.
3 vols, post 8vo. plates by the Author. S5 for S3.

Lond 1841.

Tucker (Col. T. M.)— Life and Naval Memoirs
of Lord Nelson. 8vo. doth, portrait and wood cuts SI 35.

Lond.

Tupper's (M. F.) An Author's Mind ; Heart, a
Social Novel ; and The Twins, a Domestic Novel. 3 vol*.
l3mo. cloth, ti 35 (pab'd SH). Lond. 1841, 4.

Tyler (Sam'l) — Robert Burns as a Poet and as a
Man. lUmo. cloth. 75 cU. N. T. 1848.

Van Schaack (H.)— Life of Peter Van Schaack
During the Revolution, and his Exile in England. 8vo.
cloth., |M>rtrait. SI M. N. Y. 1843.

Veuillot (L.) — Rome and Lorette. 8vo. roan gilt,
with plates. S<2 50. Tours, 1835.

Voyages and Travels b/ Capt. Basil Hall, Hon.
H. Klli> and Thomas Prtngle. Roy. 8vo. cloth. S3 75
for S<! 35. Lond. 1840.

Waagen (Dr.) — Peter Paul Rubens ; His Life and

Genius. Translated by R. R. Noel. sq. 8vo. cloth, ^i for
Si 35. Lond. 184a

Wieland's (C. M.) Sammtliche Werke Herausge-
gelien voQ T. G. Gmbner. 37 vols. sm. 4to. hf bd. S'^
for S14. Leiptie. 1^34.

(?K-rx-*y

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW

MAT U BAD or TBI nUiOWSKO M>nK«n.U«B«.

eumiT. J. Bakfi-J.
H. HAHFSHtRE. PoirMinirTH, J. 0^. «i*r 4^ Sm.— OoOTM^v, J. F- Bnmm. -

DoVKa Uld GlUT KaIU, £. ./. UmIB. - EKMIi 0«Fa« TIUlB.

Vermont — B.»TTii»o«o,JW«pAafce». — Brra-.;yirrft-f, IP BT Pi-ct

Sn.
CO-WBCTlCtlT. 1«

NEW rOBK- N«w

■w B^riK, i. A. StaBbf.-

^1 — A . .

BAirmu

/■'

-C*»«"liA"ici. Claiid.

vs. — LiTTi» J'iUJ, i: -'

NEWJBRSET. Tji

PSNNSVLVANU. — !--ii-...-i;.iu-^. C^ri, 4- iti-
Coot.

auRVLAKH— B.i.T««<fc .V Wife**..- ^. KS

OHIO. CiKciaXAn,

4- Co.
KESTt'CKT-

ILUNdlR
ALABAMA-

MtSSIsslPI'I--

fcOOIMANA — -««• U.i.i.««,i; O, fl

MI8SOURL 9t Lmia, J. J. BaitsO.

MICHIOA.H. l)i,Tt.i,T,^. /. Hrn**.

DISTRICT OF COLUUBU. W«««.won)S.

NiiVA sr.rru _ h.,,, ,., f:, (/. niOo-.

Jfu-r^-Xr^' tifj. Av. ^^-.•

> «-^t*^ <7H-r7t-*y

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW

tut BX BAD W m rCLLOWatB MOKMLUUa.

MAINE. P<aTt.i.nB,B.C Andn»i.~Bxjtvim,Saa*nnmai O, Buglet. ~tUi-

UwuL, J<Wtn.SmM>f-a. — ADanTa.JSbMnO'hiaa. — Oauixu, lf3(L»> /'abncT —
EuTPOBT, J. iMA tt-

N. HAMPSHIRE,- — P<.»T..i.iimi, J. •: Fbtla- ^ Sm.—Coveo'ha, J. f. Btwmm.-
Dort\ gnil GaiiT Palu, R. •/. lane. — Euac, Btorgt llUrn.

VEKMOMT. — a«»Tti«»«o,A«pASl««. — n9»ia««Tol«, W W Pni

aiA88ACnr.SETT3. Sai.**, a. (Wipj*; Chfdl fVff-'- — >■ '- "-

(Mf— t'LiiuiDni, IT. SuAip. — Woanrru Tudir ^^ Rvgj
CViwn.J'CV — ««wn«.ro»», Cfc«rf» Toier — N»jirTC« i
J ^. 4- C A£tnu.— TAUKKia, ^. O. /Hntar. — AmoVD, -i
LooBLi. IF. O. 0aAer.

CO.fNECTTCUT. N«w

— M.OBIATOWK, D. fijfW..

KF.W rCiRK ««■ Vo««, C. .S F: ■ ,1 J- ( , ,',

ff'wsCf — T»or, H«rt <fr ./enr*. — Al.

— C*st»DiKDA. Oj^ur.Wi"ir,— '1
Mn. — LmiB Falu, £, A/. Gri^byf -

NEW JBBSEr. T««To», P. /

MAitn.AND, BAtTTMMs, X. OitlimaKi J K. SmM.

NIBWIIKU. NoMflLI.'. L.4,.'' j/,l,V ■i:..,i;:-~r,

uicswcao, ffcd«T( (rnt.
' iCkUBfe— P»TE<t.l>ii>,J'

KOKTH CAROLINA

— F»»«n«viu,«, Jo*n l; .
SOUTH C^BOIXNA.

I OHIO.- — CiscuniATi,

KENTTCKT-
{ roAT. ir^,.im H
TESNE.S.MCK—
ItlJNOlS-
AUABAUA.-
MISSISSU'H.-
irUL'lSIA.NA-

MlSSOtJ ai. St Lo*«. J. J. a

mclUOAS. OiTAan, J. I- aefTiet

WSTBICT OF COl-rMBlA. Wa«ik«ov,

NOVASC'TTIA !!,;,;v.,K, G.fUfer.

u, A. /f. .U)tty.-UAaTTOAi>,/f-/I. ttoxtCbrif 4- a I

NOBTH AMERICAN REVIEW

■AT U HAD or TBS

■OOnSLUftS.

■i- O. —AvavwTA,.Edaard i^niw.— OAmviXEa, WStHam Palmn: —

- PoinjaoDm, J.9^. /Wtr ^ SMi.— Co)"enBU, y F. Drmm.—
; K. J. Imio.— Ksmr, Oeerg^ IfUeit-

■Li'jj Cbfe* /Twte.— CAMBBiiKit, John Bart.
': :iekiT 3r Ituggtet. — SroiNOMaLD, JHRrioM,

-N»I1TUC«I!T, Geo. ir.JSlKT.- AmiCUT,

RlIOUli^JiiLAM','

-J-iiuV

wgtU. HMfify. — NivfORT.J!/. V. CranifMi ^

CONNECTTCUT. Kiw B.tw, d. «. W»lftsr,-H*>Tro«D, W, R. II%oi(«*d #■ 0»-

— Minot»Tnwn,ft, 0dmci.

WKW KOBK. Nr» y..«ii, C .V fVoiii. <(• Co.- ja,n. irJ, „

llttoiK -Toov, i/..n * Jon« -AL»»r.v. II', C, /jH;^ -Rncn.-

•an. — LiTTi-B FjiLM. K. .U'i'ijSni'. — l^>u(.lll(IIPe;B, IK Hlii-n.—

NEW JERSEY. ^Tbks-tob, D. flnftm. — Pii««»oK, fianMtt 4- HVirrf
PENNSYLVANIA. r-iwuBi.»iii«,G«y 4-iiirt( J. «.ftiB«*.-PitTiii.i =.. '

MAR7I..\Nll n.LTi^i...... ,V ir'-lmaii, .1 E, 5mrtt.

■ r., J. W. Oanitolplt + Co. - Ki.... ,

I ■ — OnAnuom'TiLLK, C /'. JOc' i

..■i, Kan i(- a,. I

It, Tanttr,'!- Ougitm.

GBORGIA.-

OHIO. CinCIRHltTI,,

4-OI.

KENTOCKT—
roBT, niUiam tKwtf.
TENNESSEE — --^i«IIVTLa.I, W. Tfiierry.
U-fJ.NOIS^
ALABAMA- -
MISSISSIPI'I.C.

liOUISIANA. Nbw OnLXAns,!/, B.Steete.

MISSOUSI. »r Utris, J. J. UaltaJL

MICHiaAN. Drroorr, J. /. flnrfct-

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA - ^
NOVA SCOTIA. " - -

3 ^u44 051 104

vi.' A

wi.

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "The War of Races in Hungary: A Review of De L'esprit Public en Hongrie, Etc. Par A. Degerando ..."

See other formats