J * THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE, OF POLITICS, LITERATURE, ART, SCIENCE, BELLES LETTRES. PRESENTED — E 8 DEC 1943 Ttfcto Scries. JANUARY TO JUNE. VOL. XXIII. LONDON: SHERWOOD, GILBERT, AND PIPER, PATERNOSTER ROW ; W. F. WAKEMAN, DUBLIN ; GALIGNANI AND CO., PUBLIC LIBRARY, PARIS. 1837. INDEX. Page Approaching Session of Parlia- ment 6 Andre, Major, and General Ar- nold 26, 281 Acquavitaro of Longara ... 53 Armand Carrel, Memoir of . .129 Aber-Merlyn 289 Asmodeus and the Incognito 398, 514 ;B Brothers of Goschenen . . .144 Baden-Baden 236 Baron Court of Little Brought-in 362, 625 Chronicle of Events for 1836 . 107 Constantia, or the Importance of its occupation by the French . 229 City Sketches,— No. I., Starkes, Hookem, and Co 340 City Sketches,— No. II., Matri- monial Speculator . . . .456 Curiosities of Legal Experience 492 City Sketches,— No. III., The Meeting of Creditors . . . 572 D De Beranger, Life, &c. of . .241 Dobson Family, Travels of . .593 Page Extracts from the Note Book of Gregory Greathead, Esq. . . 256 Education a National Concern . 562 F Frazer and Grantley Berkeley . 56 French Poets and Novelists 524, 609 J Italy, its Ancient Grandeur, &c. 1 1 3 Illustrations of Idiom — Scotland 256 Jackson, Andrew, Life of . . 353 Jesuits, Origin of 40 Journal of Facts . . 445, 557, 668 K Keats' Poems . . . . 17, 186 L Literary Intelligence . . . .110 Lights and Shadows of London Life. Part I. ... 175, 262 Lucy Austin ....... 48 1 London in 1857 ..... 507 Little-Go, the 634 M Memoir of Baron Von Humboldt 1 Miseries of a Portrait Painter . 379 Ministry Mole Guizot . . . 392 Monthly Review of Literature, 81, 196, 307, 423, 533, 647 INDEX. N Page Notes of the Month, 104, 216, 334, 441, 552 O Oxford Bigotry & Oxford Studies 72 P poetry — Shanklin Chine, Isle of Wight 5 Lines Suggested by the En- graving of Lord Russell's Trial 24 Lines Addressed to a Northern Beauty 25 Sea Song 33 Night Voices 48 Bacchanalian Verses ... 55 Tory Lament 60 Vesuvius 69 Lines Addressed to a Distin- guished Artist .... 71 The Lyre 122 Imitation of one of the Songs ofDeBeranger . . . .128 To Time 142 LaBouteille 143 Reconciliation 158 Cupid's Blindness . . . .158 Ballad 195 Prayer 271 Sonnet . . . . . . .288 Lines on the Genius of Cole- ridge 361 The Mistake .378 The Maiden's Death . . .397 German Romance .... 407 Lines to Anna 411 Specimens of French Poetry, 489, 606 The Astronomer . . . 503 Poetry— Page To the Night Wind . . .532 French Song with an English Version 618 Original Poetry 633 Ode to the Four Great Epic Bards 645 Public Dinner 34 Philosophy, History of, No. IV. 63, 301 Present Monetary Troubles . .226 Passages from a Military Journal, Attack on a Spanish Convent 272 Progress of the Session . . . 338 Paul de Walberg 412 Pasta, Madame 591 Pinacotheca of Munich . . .619 Pleasing Moments of an Actor's Life 644 R Rector of Glasgow University, The New Lord 123 Reverie in Regent Street . . . 408 S Scenes in Spain, by a British Officer 9, 338 Student of Padua 14 Scott, Sir Walter, the Poet and the Novelist .... 450, 583 Segur, Count de, Life and Writ- ings of 466 T Theatrical Review, 99, 211, 325, 435, 548, 659 Tailor of Brummelton . . . 473 V Vatican Picture Gallery . . .159 Varieties . .221 THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. XXIIL JANUARY, 1837. No. 133. FREDERIC HENRY ALEXANDER, BARON VON HUMBOLDT, ONE of the most distinguished natural philosophers of our age, was born at Berlin, the 14th Sept. 1769. The excellent institutions of education by which the Prussian capital was even thus early distin- guished, and the easy circumstances of his family, afforded him every kind of instruction in science as well as in languages; and to every branch he applied himself with nearly equal zeal. He continued his studies with unremitted perseverance at the universities of Gottingen and Frankfort-on-the-Oder, and subsequently resided at Hambro', where he acquired the principles of commerce in the commercial academy of Bush. In 1790 he came to England in company with the famous traveller George Forster, traversing in that journey the countries along the Rhine and the Netherlands. Consulting his inclination he went to Freyberg in Saxony, where he studied mine- ralogy under the celebrated Werner, and at the same time made great attainments in botany. The knowledge he had acquired in mineralogy induced the king of Prussia in 1792 to appoint him a member of the Department of the Mines ; and soon afterwards he was sent to Barrenth as superintendent of the mines of that princi- pality. It was about this time, or shortly afterwards, that, consider- ing the easy circumstances in which he was placed by a considerable fortune, and consulting only his inclination for scientific researches, he conceived the plan of that long journey, which he afterwards executed, and which has rendered his name so illustrious all over the world. To prepare himself duly for that great undertaking, he JAN. 1837. B 2 Baron Von Humboldt, resigned his lucrative post in 1795, and travelled for three years in Italy, Switzerland, and France. In Paris he became acquainted with Aime Bonpland. Humboldt went to Madrid in 1798, carrying- with him a considerable collection of the best astronomical and physical instruments; and he succeeded in March 1799 in obtaining from the Spanish government the permission of visiting their colonies in America. The first step he took was to procure the assistance of Bonpland, as an able botanist, and they embarked at Coruna for America. The principal object of this expedition was to make numerous observations on the physical geography and geology, and to examine the natural history of those countries more extensively than had been done before. As he and his companion were well prepared for the execution of that object, the result of their labour has been greater than could reasonably have been expected. They first went to the island of Teneriffe, where, in the crater of the Peak de Teyde, they made some experiments respecting the composition of the atmos- pheric air, and examined the geological constitution of the Canary Islands. Hence they sailed to America, where they landed in the harbour of Cuman&, in the month of July. The remainder of that year, and part of the following, was employed in examining the coast and the mountainous portion of the present republic of Vene- zuela; and then they directed their steps southward, traversing the great plains which are drained by the Orinoco, and known by the name of Llanos. They advanced as far as San Carlos del Rio Negro, (1^ 54' N. Lat.) and decided in that route the long contested point of a natural union between the rivers Orinoco and Amazonas, by navigating the natural canal of Cassiquiare, which forms this union. They returned then by another road to Barcelona and Cumana; where they embarked again, and went to the Havannah, touching at San Domingo and Jamaica. For three months they occupied themselves with the examination of a great part of the island of Cuba, and in March 1801 they passed from the harbour of Batabano to the town of Cartagena. Hence they ascended the Ril de la Magdalena in a barge to Honda, from which place they went to Santa Fe de Bogota on the eastern range of the Andes. During three months in 1801 they examined the plain on which the capital of the republic of Nueva Granada, is built, and the mountains which enclose it, visiting the Salto de Tequendama and the natural Baron Von Humboldt. 3 bridges the Icononzo torrent. From Bogota they went to Car- ago on the Rio Cauca, repassing the Rio de la Magdalena, and traversing the central chain of the Andes by the famous quebrada, or mountain-pass, of Quindiu. Hence they proceeded up the Rio Cauca to the town of Popayan, where they visited the volcano of Purace. Departing from Popayan they ascended to the high valleys, enclosed by the double series of the high peaks of the Andes ; and there they travelled as it were on the back of those enormous moun- tain-passes from Popayan (2° 26' N. Lat.) to Loxa (4° S. Lat.), ex- amining the volcanoes of Pichincha, Antisana, and Tunguragua, and ascending the Nevado de Chimborazo, to the height of 19,306 feet, 3720 feet above the highest place which had been attained by Con- damine, and only 2282 feet below its highest summit. Between Loxa and Truxillo they three times traversed the highest ridge of the Andes, and visited the Pongo (cataract) of Rentema in the Amazonas river. Between Truxillo and Lima their route lay along the coast of the Pacific, and they left South America in the beginning of the year 1803, having remained there three years and a half. From Guayaquil they sailed to Acapulco, whence they ascended the table-land of Anahuac to the town of Mexico. They remained in Mexico nearly a year, visiting the famous mines of Real del Monte and Guanaxuato, and the still more famous volcano of lorullo, where Humboldt had an opportunity of making many observations respect- ing the origin of volcanoes. Returning from that volcano they ascended the Nevado de Toluca, and went thence again to Mexico, which town they left in January 1804. In their travel to the Gulf of Mexico, they determined the height of the Popocateptl and Itzaccihuatl, and mounted to the summit of the Coffre de Perote. In the month of February they left the port of Vera Cruz, and went to the Havannah, and hence to Philadelphia, from which place they returned to Europe in August 1804, after an absence of more than five years. After his return to Europe Humboldt settled at Paris, where he occupied himself with the arrangement and publication of his exten- sive collection of natural history, of which the botanical portion alone contained 6300 plants. He likewise published his observations on the countries which he had visited ; and in these especially he dis- played the extensive views which he had taken on the objects which fell under his observation. He did not limit his labour to a general B2 4 Baron Von Humboldt. description of the climate, productions, and physical face of the countries, but rested them on continual series of meteorological and hysometrical observations, to give to the whole a solid foundation. He measured, for instance, the elevation of not less than 453 places, which before his time in South America had only been done for 45 places. He added numerous astronomical observations, by which a considerable number of towns and villages were found to have been laid down very incorrectly in the ancient maps. He also reviewed the existing con- dition of society, both of the aborigines and the descendants of the European settlers, and examined a great number of monuments illustrative of the ancient state of civilization among several of the nations inhabiting the New Continent. Even their languages he subjected to examination. Subsequently to Humboldt's visit, these countries have been opened to the access of European travellers and have been visited by a great number of naturalists of all nations ; but it appears from their publications, that he has taken so complete a view of them and gathered so rich a harvest of facts, as to have left for his successors only'very scanty gleanings. He is frequently blamed on account of his bias for generalization, and for having from a few observations abstracted laws of nature, which can only be known when numerous observations have been made for many years together, and at places much more distant from one another than those which he visited. This blame is not quite without foundation ; but it must be acknowledged, that he was the first who enlarged upon the ideas of Pallas, and showed to what extent a traveller must carry his views, who wishes to give a complete description of a country and its relation to nature. The publication of his works on America, and the further pursuit of his scientific researches, occupied his time up to 1818, when he came to London, on purpose, as it was thought, to give his opinion respecting the political condition of the Spanish settlements on the New Continent; but nothing has publicly transpired on this affair. About this time he conceived the plan of visiting India and Thibet, and the king of Prussia granted him a considerable sum for the execution of this scheme, but he soon abandoned it. He subsequently devoted himself especially to geological researches, until 1822, when he accompanied the king of Prussia to Italy. In 1826 he returned from Paris to Berlin, where in the following year he delivered lectures on physical geography, which were attended by persons of Shanklin Chine, Isle of Wight. 5 the highest rank. In 1828 he presided at the meeting- of the learned men of Europe, which then assembled at Berlin, and he performed the office to the advantage of the sciences. His restless mind induced him in the following1 year to undertake another long travel through Siberia as far as the boundary of the Chinese empire. He went from Petersburg to Nishnei-Novogorod, and Kasan, and thence over Perm to the Uralian Mountains, and Yecaterinenburg. From this place he advanced to Tobolsk, and through the Steppe of Baraba to Bernoul, whence he visited the mines on the western extremity of the Altai Mountains, and the adjacent Chinese boundary. He re- turned through the Steppe of Ischim to the southern ranges of the Ural, and visiting the great salt-lake of Elton, he reached Astrakhan and the Caspian Sea. His route then lay through the wide steppes traversed by the Volga or Don to the ancient metropolis of Russia, and thence to Petersburg, after an absence of ten months. Up to this time nothing has been published respecting the observations he made in this journey, except his " Fragments Asiatiques," a work which contains little of what he himself observed, but some genen " and rather bold views on the physical and geological geograph of Asia. It is to be hoped that his personal observations will er long be published, furnishing, as may well be expected, a large ma of the most valuable information respecting countries whose geogr phy requires elucidation more than any on the surface of our globe SHANKLIN CHINE, ISLE OF WIGHT. [Lines written by MR. WARREN,* of the Inner Temple, during a residence at the Chine Cottage, in 1836.] THOU lovely fissure ! By what freak of Nature Were Shanklin's lofty cliffs asunder riven, And when ? — But Nature, if she dealt the blow So cruelly on the earth, looked after on With pity ; and the wound — incurable — Sorrowing she hid beneath an emerald robe Of beauteous ever-greens and gem-like flowers. Though thus with verdure clad, her ancient grief Shanklin forgetteth not, but sadly weeps ! Incessantly her tears, a crystal shower, Fall trickling down the Chine ; and they whose souls Know not of Shanklin's grief, come oft to view Her mimic waterfall! But not so I — Who silent stand amidst her vernal gloom, Mingling my tears with hers. * Author of " Passages from the Diary oft." late Physician." THE APPROACHING SESSION OF PARLIAMENT. THE Imperial Parliament will have resumed its labours, before another number of this periodical meets our reader's eye. Those who turn over the " Mirror of Parliament" for 1836, cannot avoid the remark, that little, — very little was done, though much, far too much was said during the six months that constituted last session. To what cause the inefficiency may be attributed, — whether to the obstructive manoeuvres of Lord Lyndhurst and his followers, or to the vacillating half-measure policy of the king's present ministers, it is of little use to discuss : but whether the one or the other be the true cause, both must be removed. The ministers cannot, it is quite certain, retain their seats ; unless they withdraw their opposition to the reformers, a body, whose nu- merical strength is daily increasing, and whose boldness is unflinch- ing, and will no longer be coaxed or sopped into silence. During the last session the Reformers were outwitted by the Whig ministry; but this session the Reformers all over the kingdom are determined that the ministry shall support them, or they will not support the ministry. It is more than probable that a dissolution will take place before Easter; but what benefit will thence result to ministers pur- suing a policy like the present? A new House of Commons would undoubtedly act more firmly and decidedly than the present. The Tories boast of the increase of their votes on the late registration returns : let them enjoy their delusion — time will show. But let Lord Melbourne's party seriously look to it. Where will they find constituents to return the men who will consent to serve the ministry without receiving a quid pro quo in the shape of fair play for the great questions of reform — peerage reform, and those other measures necessary for carrying into effect the declared intentions of the refon i bill ? Let them take warning from the sentiments expressed by the people of Leeds, Totness, Truro, East Cornwall, and North Devon ; and let them recollect that their expressed sentiments are quite in unison with those felt by the Electors of all the large and free towns 'n, England and Ireland. In fact Lord Melbourne and his colleagues have only one of two courses left to them, if they would retain their self-respec*s either to retire from the field before they The approaching Session of Parliament. 7 driven from it in disgrace, or to concede to their supporters those points in which they agree in their hearts, but which from silly pride they decline sanctioning, because they had not the boldness to be the originators. If the Prime Minister go down to Parliament and openly declare his opposition to the free discussion of Reform ques- tions, he will find that the present House of Commons will look coldly on him and show their opinions of him most unequivocally by their votes ; — and if he shall venture to appeal to the country, as very probably he may, the ejection of the Whiggish members and the return of unflinching Reformers in their stead will so alter the votes as to impose on him and his followers the necessity of a dis- graceful retirement. The Reformers have hitherto been staunch friends and supporters of the Ministry, and have throughout evinced more zeal for their interests than the scions of the Whig Aristocracy, who have so often and so injuriously to the cause preferred their pri- vate pleasures to their legislative duties. They will not desert the Ministers in the time of need, unless the Ministers desert themselves ; and they cannot do so more effectually than by opposing those very measures without which their own favourite Reform bill is but a half- finished structure, — like a noble edifice planned out and built, but left incomplete and unfurnished — a monument of architectural talent, but at the same time of human inconsistency, irresolution, and folly. But the Ministry will not so belie their own pledges, — so far com- promise their own honesty : — and we pass on to another and a no less important question. The obstructive party under the command of Lord Lyndhurst suc- ceeded during the last Session in throwing out jfive great national bills, or at least in emasculating them so far that their essentials were not retained, and the bills were rejected with merited contempt; — and these too, were bills that had passed the Commons with over. whelming majorities. Shall they be allowed to run their course during another Session ? We say yes : — for of the Peers as well as the Clergy, it may be truly said, — Quern Dens vult perdere, — prius dementit. All men's eyes are opening to the flagitiousness of their conduct, and every additional act of obstruction only hastens the moment either of Peerage ruin or Peerage reform. We are not destructives:— we wish to eradicate their faults, — to make them better, — to render them worthy of being the Peers — members of the true nobility — of the British Empire. To the Reformers how- 8 The approaching Session of Parliament. ever, and to the Commons' representatives, we do not advise a pas- sive expectation of the result. Measures must meanwhile be in progress for facilitating the accomplishment of so desirable an object. The Reformers in the House of Commons are not only a powerful but a talented body ; and in the present day a fair proportion of them possess the influence of rank and fortune. Their talented leaders will not, we hope, hesitate to bring forward this great ques- / tion and exhibit it, as it deserves, in the ensuing session. * If Minis- ters support them, or at least allow Peerage Reform to be considered an open question, all will be well. If the Lords obstruct their mea- sures again, let the Ministers tender their resignations ; for they may be sure that with the House of Commons at their back, they may offer them in security and gain additional powers from the Sovereign. But let them not create peers. This is but a sorry way of surmount- ing difficulties ; for it only increases the evil. Other measures for neutralizing lordly obstruction have been devised : — and the talents of a Molesworth, a Grote, and an O'Connell will point out to the country those methods which we have neither the room nor the ability to discuss. One word to the Reformers, — ere we close these very brief re- marks. We repeat to them the trite but very true saying : — UNITY is STRENGTH. Their forces must be concentrated, — must be em- ployed in that particular direction, where they shall be most effective. It is not our intention to disapprove of canvassing general questions on their broad principles ; but we well know that success is only certain, when the means used to ensure it are staked on one great and absorbing question. What then shall that question be ? Shall it be Peerage reform, — the Ballot, — Extended Suffrage, — Shortened Parliaments, — or Church-reform? — For all these questions are un- questionably important. The decision, we think, is not difficult. Peerage reform is a new question and can only be carried after a lengthened period of discussion and agitation : — the questions of Extended Suffrage and Shortened Parliaments are important, but of little use, so long as the power of unduly influencing votes re- mains,— so that these are at present only secondary questions : — and Church-reform is so certain and inevitable, that it would be waste of strength to employ it in gaining what must come of itself. In short — the grand question, on which the sincere advocates of Reform must concentrate their strength during the ensuing Session must be Scenes in Spain. 9 the BALLOT. That measure has been vilified and scouted by Whigs as well as Tories in time past ; and even a stripling may remember the time, when the support of that measure was attended with per- sonal danger. The times are changed. The Reform Act has passed ; and subsequent elections have proved, that bribery — direct and in- direct— is as possible at present, as it was, when the boroughs were represented by the nominees of the unreformed Peers. The Ballot, then, is not merely an important question; but its settlement as one of the laws of these realms is a necessary preliminary to every other reform. Grievances endured by the people can only be properly reformed by those, who properly represent their sentiments; and those sentiments cannot be properly represented, so long as the very least power is allowed to the land-owning Aristocracy of tampering with the votes and consciences of the people at large. Before a really and radically reformed House of Commons a Tory Peerage must either bow or bend. The question, then, is one of paramount importance. But, further, it is one that may be urged with every chance of success, — or, to say the least, with such power as to awe the opposition into speedy acquiescence with the measure ; because it is one which will engage the support of the largest number of the free and independent reformers of Great Britain. Let the great question for 1837, then, be the BALLOT — the BALLOT. SCENES IN SPAIN. BY AN OFFICER OF THE BRITISH LEGION. AFTER a day's heavy marching over a country one succession of moun- tains, without villages or habitations, and appearing desolate and barren, — towards the close of the day we descended into a more level tract of country, and as night approached, thickly wooded forests, and numerous rivulets gave evidence of increased fertility. Our men had for the last league or two been greatly distressed, and the brigade, mixed and con- fused, was every moment in hopes of hearing the welcome order to halt and bivouack in the forest ; for as yet, no sign of a village had been seen for some hours. The remainder of the Legion had branched off in different directions in the neighbourhood, by regiments and brigades. At length however, our impatience was gratified by the sight of a few straggling houses embosomed in the wood : and a few minutes after, we came in sight of the church, and another small cluster of houses, forming altogether one of the most picturesque little villages I had ever seen in Spain. It was situated in the midst of a forest, 10 Scenes in Spain. and intersected by numerous streamlets — through which the men waded, in their impatience to get into quarters, after a fatiguing march of more than thirty miles. The greater part of the men, as usual in such cases, were marched into the church ; just outside of which, in an adjoining shed, the main- guard was stationed. After seeing my company as comfortably settled as circumstances would admit of, and the rations of meat (cut from a miserable bullock not half an hour killed, and yet warm and quivering) served out, I turned my attention to my own case, and immediately set about seeking a "billet." I saw the principal part of the officers, exhausted and powerless, lying in little groups apart from the men, some rolled in their cloaks asleep under the trees, others superintend- ing the*lighting of fires and cooking of their rations by their servants ; but few exerting themselves in procuring better quarters than the canopy of heaven — the weather, indeed, was delightfully mild for the month of November, and more like what is called in America the " In- dian summer" than any we experience in England. I was gene- rally more careful in this respect ; and where there was any possibility of getting under a roof, no matter how humble, I spared neither time nor trouble in effecting it. The next morning, I had generally reason to congratulate myself on my attention to this particular, when, turn- ing out after a refreshing night's rest, I would behold my less provi- dent comrades stiff, cold, and damp, from exposure to the heavy dew of the morning. Upon this occasion I was, as usual, successful. The house I selected, had formerly been the habitation of some family of note ; as was evi- dent by the sculptured arms over the portal, and the extent and even elegance of the rooms — they were, however, totally bare offurniture, with the exception of beds in the alcoves, and a few cracked pucheros, or earthenware pipkins in the kitchen. A company of Chapelgorris* had taken possession of the chief part of the house, and were busily employed in the kitchen and in the courtyard, cooking their dinners. I managed however to secure a bed in one of the alcoves, and des- patched my servant to notify the same to a brother officer, with an invitation to share it with me. In a few minutes after, he returned, and with him my friend whom he had discovered, with his usual impro- vidence, wrapped in his cloak beneath a tree, quietly enjoying a cigar, and with great placidity awaiting the coming up of his servant, who had fallen out in the latter part of the march from fatigue. After giving plentiful directions to my lad relative to our expected dinner, and with strict injunctions to wake me when it was ready, I determined to follow the example of C., who, directly he caught sight of the bed, had tumbled in, and was already fast asleep. Unbutton- ing my shell jacket, and disencumbering myself of my sword and pistols, which I placed carefully alongside, I made preparations for turning in likewise. Happening, however, to cast a glance at the sheets, I drew back with a shudder of disgust — they appeared perfectly white at a little distance, though coarse and rough, but on a nearer inspection, * A species of Guerrilla or irregular troops on the side of the Queen, so called from their wearing red caps. Scenes in Spain. 11 literally covered with a disgusting species of vermin, of which the very name almost is unknown in England. Having no alternative, how- ever, between the bed or the floor, I carefully rolled my cloak around me, and throwing myself on the former in defiance of piojos, fleas, or other nocturnal annoyances, in a few minutes I was fast asleep. I had continued thus for some time, when I was aroused by a shout, which proceeded from above — listening for- a moment, I ascertained that it proceeded from a party of drunken chapelgorris carousing in the apartment above our heads — at the same time, I painfully dis- covered by my sensations that I had eaten nothing since the morning, and finding my drowsy companion still sound asleep by my side, I jumped up, and putting a pistol in my pocket by wray of precaution, I began to grope my way in the dark towards the door, in my progress to the kitchen. But a few steps from the bed, I stumbled over the prostrate form of my delinquent servant, as he lay extended on the floor. All my attempts to rouse him, accompanied by both kicks and cuffs, were unavailing. The poor fellow was actually stupified with fatigue ; and all I could elicit from him was, that he had put the pot containing our dinner on the fire, and then left it to its fate, while he, overcome by fatigue, had followed his master's example. With many curses " not loud but deep" at the desagrements of a soldier's life, I, at length, directed by the sound of voices, found the kitchen. Round a cheerful wood fire in the centre of the room, sat the patronaand her two daughters — while three or four chapelgorris were employed discussing the last relics of a feast, and occasionally bandying1 compliments with the girls, more lively than delicate in the allusions. These damsels were a fair specimen of the pais annas, of the northern provinces of Spain. Swarthy and coarse in their features, and not particularly cleanly in their persons, they had yet an air of natural grace about them that would not have disgraced a palace ; and their dark and brilliant eyes, shaded by long superb lashes, and raven hair neatly parted off the forehead, and hanging in a long plait behind, almost to their feet, together with the piquancy of their remarks, and the total absence of any bashfulness^ rendered them rather attractive in the eyes of us English, accustomed as we were to the greater reserve of our own happier countrywomen. The mother, less attractive than her daughters, exhibited in her countenance all that subdued expression of mournful resignation noticeable, so generally, in the people of the villages in this part of the country, exposed to the chances of the war, to the devastations of both parties. The country people of these provinces are, with few exceptions, Carlist ; and the males of the family were, at that time, absent in the ranks of the enemy. To return — I looked in vain for my puchero, but not a vestige of it was to be seen. Impatiently I questioned the patrona, but the unsatisfactory " No say," accompanied by a shrug expressive of her total ignorance, was all the answer I received. In this dilemma, I bethought myself of a small piece of salt junk that lay quietly en- sconced in a corner of my servant's knapsack, in reserve for an occa- sion like the present. In "a few minutes the tempting object, be- grimed with dust and pipeclay, was produced and forthwith thrust 1 2 Scenes in Spain. into a pot; and with restored equanimity I took my seat by the fire, and listened with some interest to the conversation of those around. The chapelgorris were fine banditti-looking fellows, dressed in red trowsers, loose grey frock coats, and the distinctive flat red caps. Instead of the pipeclayed cross-belts, so conspicuous a part of a re- gular soldier's equipment, they wore a black leathern girdle round the waist, in which were little tin receptacles for cartridges, and in the left side of which was stuck the bayonet. Their whole ap- pearance was striking in the extreme, and 1 thought, as the bright flashes of the fire threw its light upon their swarthy countenances, that the whole group might have formed no bad subject for the pencil of Salvator Rosa. These men are the Spahis and Delhis of the Spanish army — dreaded by the people for their marauding pro- pensities— they are looked upon with such dread by the Carlists that they, in common with the foreign auxiliaries, are expressly exempted from quarter, and if taken prisoners invariably put to death. De- spising the inefficiency and cowardice of their countrymen, and holding in thorough contempt the effeminacy of Spanish officers, they attached themselves greatly to the English from the moment of their arrival in the country ; and from observing the contrast be- tween them and their own superiors, had formed a high respect for the officers of the Legion. My friend C. soon after found his way into the kitchen ; and one of the chapelgorris produced a bota or leathern bottle, full of excel- lent wine, which as it circulated freely round, soon caused me to for- five him and his^companions the abstraction of our supper, which I ad internally taxed them with. Shortly after, all the latter retired to rest except one, who was engaged in an earnest conversation with thepatrona and one of her daughters. He was a slight-built man of about six and twenty, of a handsome and intellectual countenance, and an eye gleaming with fire and intelligence. He was pointing out to his auditors, in eloquent terms, the fearful consequences that would follow the success of Don Carlos. He dwelt on the wretched poverty at present existing in Spain, and attributed it all to the ig- norance of the people and the exactions of the monks — he spoke of the rapacity and immorality of the latter, and mentioned to us that he himself had been brought up for the church, and had studied at Salamanca till the breaking out of the civil war, when he had en- listed in a regiment of the line; but admiring the greater inde- pendence of a chapelgorri's life, he had deserted, and afterwards enrolled himself in El Pastor's brigade. A few months afterwards, when Espartero barbarously decimated that corps for the plunder of a church, he fell one of the victims — and an innocent one I be- lieve— to that inhuman decree. Although sufficiently interested with the conversation of our intel- ligent companion, we by no means neglected, all this time, our culinary operations — when an unexpected obstacle to the enjoyment of our repast presented itself, by the discovery that we were without a bit of bread — and meat without bread or vegetable, who ever heard of such a thing '? The patrona declared she had not a morsel in the house, when rny companion suggested that his servant, who Scenes in Spain. 13 was then probably with his company, was very likely better'supplied, and I, thinking I could find him sooner than my more nonchalant friend, forthwith, with that intention, set off in the direction of the little chapel, the station of the main-guard. Arrived there, I en- quired of the sentry where the company to which C. belonged was stationed ; and he directed me to some fires, distinctly visible at some distance in the forest, about five hundred yards to our right, in the neighbourhood of which he said the company of which I was in quest was bivouacked. Keeping the distant fires as a guide to steer by, I made a rather circuitous route in order to pass the streamlets at the most shallow parts, for, as I have before said, the whole forest was intersected by numerous rivulets that meandered in every direction. " Perseverance will overcome every obstacle,'' thought I, as with some trouble I arrived in the vicinity of the beacon fires; when I found to my vexation that they were descried, and had apparently been so for some hours, as the flickering light from the expiring embers cast an occasional flash around that served for a moment to illumine the sur- rounding gloom. Not a living object was in sight — not a house was to be seen in any direction — the will-o'-the-wisp fires that had guided me there showed no friendly light to direct me back, and the forest was as trackless as the wide ocean. — In a word, I had lost my way ! " Past two o'clock, and a serene morning" (as the old London watch- men used to cry), may be very agreeable, by way of a change, in the 'streets of the metropolis ; but far from pleasant in a Carlist forest, thought I, as with some anxiety I recollected that I was un- armed with the exception of a small gimcrack pistol, which I had providentially slipped into my breast-pocket on quitting the bed. There was, however, nothing to be done by staying where I was ; so on I went, certainly distancing the fires but not improving my position with regard to the village. After some time spent in this manner, to my surprise I heard, at no great distance, some one sing- ing, or rather shouting, at the top of his voice, a popular liberal air, and presently distinguished the words, " Tragala, tragala, Perro !'* as the drunken echoes reverberated through the silence of the forest. A moment after a chapelgorri, reeling from the effects of strong potations, made his appearance and staggered towards me. I hailed him in Spanish and asked him in what direction lay the village — his only reply was, " Drinke, drinke, Senor ; vino, vino !" accompanied with a drunken leer as, dangling a well-filled bota suspended from his neck, he again shouted out " Tragala, tragala 1" With a curse upon the fellow's head for his ill-timed mirth, I pro- ceeded onwards ; and for about half an hour, blundered on as before, every minute getting deeper and deeper into the recesses of the forest, till a very different object met my view. This was the appa- rition of two men whom, by their stealthy movements as they cau- tiously emerged into the more open space where I stood, I at once perceived to be paisannos. At no time a particularly agreeable sight, their appearance at such an hour and under such circumstances was any thing but satisfactory. I began to feel not a little nervous, as a glance around showed me the utter impossibility of escape. 14 The Student of Padua. Putting on, however, as indifferent an air as I could assume, and carelessly humming a tune, I cautiously cocked the pistol I held in my hand, and made up my mind to settle at least one of my anta- gonists, in case they showed any symptoms of attack. They looked at rne suspiciously as they approached, and then, apparently satisfied that I was otherwise protected, quietly passed on. A few minutes after I nearly stumbled over the body of a man, whom I at first took to be one of our own soldiers in a state of inebriation. On a nearer inspection, however, I discovered that it was the body of the ill-fated chapelgorri that I had so lately encountered. A horrible gash across the throat nearly severed the head from the body ; and the wine running out from the bung of the uncocked bota, mingling with the blood that issued from several stabs in the head, gurgled over the face and presented altogether a most horrid spectacle. With a shudder at the thought of what might have been my own fate, I pro- ceeded on, and at length heard the voice of the officer of the guard challenging an advanced sentry. Guided by the friendly sound, I soon found myself in safety. On my arrival at my own quarters I found that C., growing impatient at my prolonged absence, had, assisted by the more expert chapelgorri, instituted a search, and in a loft in a remote part of the house discovered a pile of bread sufficient to supply a whole regiment. The patrona was glad to compound for the expected loss of all by the sacrifice of one — and falling to, with a good appetite, not diminished on my part by my walk through the forest, we soon finished our supper and again sought repose — nor did we awake till the sound of a bugle, and the unwelcome notes, " Turn out the whole," summoned us to resume our long and toil- some march to Vitoria. THE STUDENT OF PADUA. THE courtesy of the author enables us to present our readers with an extract from an unpublished tragedy bearing the above title. It has only been printed, as is stated in the preface, for private circulation ; but we trust that it will at an early period be given to the public in a legitimate form. We are so unused of late years to meet with plays adapted for the closet as well as the stage, that we were no less surprised than pleased, on perusing this drama, to recognise in it the production of a superior and cultivated understanding. If men possessing the capabilities of the anonymous author of the *' Student of Padua" would write for the stage, we might again hope to see ballets and spectacles permanently expelled from the national theatres, and exiled to the congenial atmosphere of Astley's and Sadler's Wells. We have extracted a portion, not because we think it better than the rest, but simply that it is more easily separated from the adjoining matter in an intelligible form. The scene is laid in Venice ; but the satire is evidently levelled at the vices of a great metropolis not so far distant from home. Our readers will perceive that the author has^studied attentively the springs of human action, and is well acquainted with life not as it seems but is. The play is not without blemishes, but we have derived so much pleasure from its perusal, that we should be captious indeed if we complained of the few and trifling irregularities that detract from its exact symmetry. The Student of Padua. 15 SCENE. — A TAVERN, WITH TABLE AND GLASSES. Frederick St. Cyr, Angela, Antonio, and other Venetian Gentlemen. Fred. — A curse ! a curse upon your melancholy! Why should a man be overcome by bile T'expose his folly in the public ways, A sign for scorn ; and make our sad humanity A thing so odious and intolerable, That on the very beasts we look with envy ? Aug. — You argue right, an' we could save ourselves. Fred. — Zounds ! but if I should say you could not help Being cheerful, you would laugh at me. Then why Not rule our melancholy as our mirth ? Aug. — But Julian's fortunes are adrift — the tide Of destiny sets in upon his duty, Threat'ning to deluge it, and yet he clings Nobly, though sadly, to obedience. Fred. Bah ! Noble ? Ha ! ha ! a slave's nobility ! Ang. — To live, we must live in the world's opinion. Fred. — Life's a strange riddle, that some men do guess, But most relinquish — never understanding. Few, very few do guess it. These are call'd Men of the world. The many give it up — Are laugh'd at, cheated, cozen'd, and so die. Or living, live in vain attempts to solve Its mysteries — mistaking right for wrong ; Cavilling, carping, toiling, cursing, sinning A thousand ways against observances ; And waging universal war, to hold An inch, a hair-breadth of existence here. Enter Waiter. What, ho ! my Ganymede ! some nectar, boy ! Waiter. — More rum ? Fred. Oh ! Rum for such as we ? ye Gods ! Bacchus, Silenus ! thou immortal ass, That bore the immortal weight ! is't come to this, Men cannot judge our humours by our faces ? You are from England, and have served in Grub-street, Where poverty is still the poet's bride. Begone, you varlet ! bring me wine, with sparkles, Shall lift" my fancy to ambrosial bowers, Where dance the Houris in Mahomet's heaven. Nothing like wine ! nought like the generous grape ! 4ng. — You seem to think so. You are drinking deep. Fred.— Well, so is all the world ; of love or war, Or avarice, stupidity, or something ; What matter what, so long as worldly cares Die with the sparkles from our goblet's glory ! Ang.— You make the aim of living then to revel ? Fred. — I do ! and till I find a sober man, Why not ? Ant. I'm sober. Fred. Nay, now, you are drunk ! Drunk with your vanity, drunk with your griefs ; Drunk with a passion for your mistress ; drunk 4n#.— Enough, enough ! Angelo, art thou drunk ? 16 The Student of Padua. Fred. — Ay, with his paints, his hopes of fame or gain. The latter, if he take a friend's advice. Ant. — Nay, with the fame, an' he would be a man. Fred. — Back feather'd fame to heavy gold ? you're drunk I Angelo, heed not what the fellow says. He's drunk, mad drunk ! paint, Sir, for gold, gold, gold ! Paint portraits ; flattering, false, fair faces paint ! Make ugliness angelic ; tip the lie To nature ; you will starve upon the truth ! Ant. — Then what will Julian do with poetry? tYed. — Write his own epitaph, and die a beggar ! Ang. — He speaks of writing plays. Fred. He'll play the fool, then ! Sdeath ! worse and worse ! who listens to the play In Venice now ? Our senses, drunk with folly, Reel through the streets to gape at monstrous things, Spurned by our father's sober faculties ! Any. — A sermon from a sinner — how appropriate ! Fred. — Who oft'nest fall, best know the tripping place. I own I'm drunk, but I can waken sober, And with the morrow be a man again. Whereas this huge intoxicated city — Besotted with some stupid mummery, Until its wise men and its counsellors Distort their gravity with vile grimaces, And all our grey beards wag in approbation At th' antics of some foreign mountebank — Will wallow in its ignominy, till Some prophet voice rolls o'er its slumbering senses, And stirs them to their former majesty. Ang. — I wonder how your fellow-citizens Would hear this sweeping judgment of their virtues. Fred. — Like men who honour truth wherever spoken ! Let Julian make a drama of his life, It may want kings and queens, daggers and swords, Battles and bugles, and machinery ; Ay, that's the word — machinery, for show : But, if calamity in her rough garb — Grief as she is, naked, and every day Walking our mighty city — suffering — If truth, if nature, if unpainted scenes Of human life, in human words, have power To wet the eye or warm the soul of man, By heaven ! then let him write but what he's seen, Heard, played a part in, on this busy world, And, if it fail, I have not rightly read The human heart ; and that's my only book ! THE POEMS OF JOHN KEATS. IN metaphysics, the term soul is in all respects undefinable. Of a divine spark, animating- an inert and physical substance, superior to all trammels, and independent of change, decay, or death, no idea can be formed. The term " genius," if not equally undefinable, is more vague. It would rather denote the manifestations or the power of some highly endowed mind, than any distinctive mental faculty acting" without relation to another. It implies, in fact, the combined operation of several faculties, being their centre and guiding prin- ciple. If the effects of genius be considered, it will be found to display many modifications, varying in kind, but equally powerful in their individual attributes. Genius then may be called power, as independent of the human world as the soul is of the human frame, surviving even the last ruins of the perishable temple in which it was once enshrined. Of the various modifications presented by genius, the most noble, lasting, and imposing, is the poetic one. There can be no relation in this to any other; it stands alone on its self- exalted pinnacle ; it has been worshipped with love and gratitude by all successive gene- rations, for it is co-existent with creation itself, and as powerful for the future as the past. How wonderful to think, that a blind old man, writing nearly 3000 years ago, should yet be remembered ; that the last notes of his immortal lyre have never passed away, and that a modern world, already fast beginning to evolve elements of self-regeneration, cannot too much admire the manifestations of that old man's mind, even amidst the barbarism and darkness by which they were surrounded. Such are the grand effects of the poetic genius. We have said, that of itself the latter is a vague term, signifying rather the power- ful combination of several faculties] than the exercise of an individual one. These faculties analyzed, consist of " imagination, judgment, and memory." By the first term, is implied an unlimited range of invention from the highest efforts of originality to the not less pleas- ing gradations of what is termed fancy. The second is that great and sterling power, which gives symmetry, method, and arrange- ment, to the various creations of the other. The third is a most useful auxiliary to the first, by supplying it with the means of inven- tion from its never exhausted store. Thus, these three faculties, beautifully combined, make up the poetic genius. As far as the imagination and judgment are developed, and as closely as they go together, the last restraining the impulses of the first, and moulding them into use and beauty, so strong is the genius, and so far capable of being sustained in its loftiest and most novel conceptions. Memory cannot act independent of judgment, nor imagination of memory. Without a power of methodizing, Watts tells us this mental store- M.M.—No. l. C J 8 Poems of John Keats. house might be filled with "large possessions, but no true riches:" and without the store itself, the same author says, "the mind of man would be but a poor destitute naked being, with an everlasting blank spread over it, except the fleeting ideas of the present moment." But whatever may be the use and nobleness of its two auxiliaries, imagination is the chief attribute of poetic genius. In every one of its varied shapes this faculty is neither to be acquired or communi- cated. The judgment in all instances, if properly cultivated, ripens and matures; habits of thought, even in ordinary minds, make them capable of drawing accurate conclusions from given premises, and of correctly analyzing what is only perceived. Moreover, the judgment owes its highest efficiency to the imagination. The two faculties may be said to rise together ; the latter sustaining and being guided by the former; if there were no buoyant impulse to raise it, judgment would sleep itself away in the performance of those ordinary duties of existence, which it is well known tend rather to debase than to improve the mind. Memory also may, it is said, be acquired and assisted by practice, in a way that shows it not to be a primitive feature of the human mind ; but imagination cannot be. If a nega- tive argument be allowed, let us enquire what mankind would be without this faculty ? Its influence is unquestioned. Was there no invention, there would be no improvement. If conception was limited by the objects daily and hourly presenting themselves, and nothing were practised but what had obtained a tried experience, there would be nothing new in discovery or theory, and a mental stagnation must follow. What but the consciousness of his own wondrous powers supplied him by an ever active imagination, could have prompted the author of " Paradise Lost" to a subject far above all human creation, deriving no assistance nor inspiration from human feelings or the influence of human affections; a subject in fact, from which, if left alone to act, the judgment, in its strongest hour, must have shrunk dazzled and bewildered ! Imagination then is the day-spring of every improvement in the wide realms of beauty and of use. Without it, much that is noble in human nature, — much that harmonizes, refines, and sublimates, — that gives to patriotism a glow, and to affection a charm, — that imparts sublimity to religion, sanctity to virtue, and purity to thought, would be lost for ever! Without it, dull reality would make the loveliest objects of creation nothing more than the most ordinary ; observance would be bounded and soon satiated ; experience would rise like a phantasm in every corner of the visible world, to mock the eye and check the desires of knowledge, while the successive generations of mankind would live and perish without leaving any further traces behind them, or displaying any other modifications of divine intellect, than the brute creation itself. " The imagination of a boy," said John Keats, whose poems we purpose examining, " is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy, but there is a space of life between, when the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted." This observation is strictly correct. It has been remarked, that even children display the imaginative powers, Poems of John Keats. ] 9 before ever their minds have received any deep impression ; and therefore how pure and primitive it must be ! But if the mental world has, in its first existence, sufficient vitality to put forth so sweet a flower of early promise, it must be recollected that year after year, other impulses than those derived merely from the contemplation of external objects, like fresh seeds, are dropped into it, the fruit of which again given forth makes the parent soil an Eden or a wilderness. Moreover, the imagination has to contend with its own strength. So active an impulse requires controul; and if judgment be not at hand or possess not a corresponding degree of vigour, its efforts may have the downfall of Icarus, or its ambition become " thick-sighted." But judgment, we have seen, matures ; whatever the primitive poetic impulse, the judgment cannot equal it, till after due experience ; whence it follows, that in the intervening space spoken of by Keats, conception and execution do not go toge- ther, and sublimity falls into extravagance or something worse. It was at this period, so dangerous to an imagination of surpassing power, that the works of the above young poet, whose life and death nave been so beautifully imaged by Shelley under the title of Adonais, were written. It may here be necessary to state, that John Keats, over whose early grave the Muse has planted her willow, was of humble birth ; his knowledge was self-acquired ; his brief career almost friendless ; his frame naturally weak and failing. Like Chatterton, he possessed the most sanguine yearnings after future renown; but, unlike him, he could not defy the malice of his enemies with an appearance of pride, however deep and painful were his secret emotions. Keats was a meek and sensitive being ; his spirit, conscious of power, and struggling to develope it, was greater than the body where it was placed ; the aspirings of the former were continually fettered and clogged by the weakness of the latter; and when evil days came upon it, overborne by difficulties, weary with sadness, and crushed down by the weight of hostile criticism, con- sumption finally completed what disappointment had fatally begun. The "Endymion," of which so much has been said, is a poem, which any candid reviewer must have spoken of in terms rather of admira- tion than dispraise. As an imaginative production, it is of the highest order. Every where it contains glimpses of great beauty peeping forth amidst the extraneous matter with which it is overlaid, and vainly con- trolled by an ill-selected cumbrous metre. If there were wanting no other proof of Keats's genius, the "Endymion" would be enough. The subject of this poem is allegorical, and purely abstractive ; the mythological fable of the amour of Endymion with Diana, has fur- nished its theme, and amidst the shade of groves, by the bank of rippling rivers, near gushing fountains, and in sweet retreats when the luxuriant wild flowers have closed their beautiful bells in sleep, surrounded by the fabled creations of antiquity, Endymion pours forth his lajs to the chaste empress of his love! Is there, we would ask, no poetry in a theme like this? Strange it is that any reviewer should have quite closed his ear to the freshness of its melodies, and only sought for a harsh or jarring note, when he might have found C2 20 Poems of John Keats. many a true one. The following portion of an ode to Pan from this poem is very graphic and classical: — "O thou, whose mighty palace roof doth hang From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death, Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness ! Who lovest to see the hamadryads drop Their ruffled locks, where meeting hazels darken, And through whole solemn hours dost sit and hearken The dreary melody of bedded reeds, In desolate places where dank moisture breeds The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowths. Bethink thee, how melancholy loth Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx ; do thou now, By thy love's milky brow, By all the trembling mazes that she ran, Hear us, great Pan!" What vivid description is there here! it would almost seem that we heard the " dreary melody" so harmonizing to the thoughts ; so indicative of solitude and melancholy. But we will quote further ; the third stanza is perhaps even finer : — " Oh, Hearkener to the loud clapping shears, While ever and anon to his shorn peers A ram goes bleating : winder of the horn, When snouting wild-boars routing tender corn : Anger our huntsmen : breather round our farms To keep off mildews, and all weather harms Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds That come aswooning over hollow grounds^ And wither drearily on barren moors; Dread opener of the mysterious doors Leading to universal knowledge : see, Great son of Dryope, The many that are come to pay their vows With leaves about their brows.'* This last line is happy and expressive. It will be found that Keats possessed, in an eminent degree, the art of illustrating, by simple words, the varied and gorgeous images of his fancy. This is true poetry ; the more the expression or feeling is thrown into the small- est compass, the stronger is the proof of genius. It is also to be remarked, that Keats entered fully into the spirit of mythology. He was deeply imbued with that classical and refined taste, which gave a guardian genius to every sweet spot of the earth, and peopled the woods, streams, and fountains, with ideal beings of grace and beauty. In the above stanzas, we have all the mystery attached by the ancients to their impersonation of Pan, expressed in a style purely classic, and what can give a better notion of the festivities of that roystering prince of good fellows, Bacchus, than the following? it is a picture in itself: — Pvems of John Keats. 21 ** Within his car aloft, young Bacchus stood, Trifling his ivy dart in dancing mood, With sidelong laughing : — * * * * * And near him rode Silenus on his ass, Pelted with flowers as he on did pass, Tipsily quaffing." But let us continue the scene ; here follows a right joyous Baccha- nalian song1, not without the poetry and the taste which, even in their wildest creations, was never forgotten by the ancients : — '* Whence came ye, merry damsels, whence came ye ? So many, and so many, and such glee, Why have ye left your bowers desolate, Your lutes and gentler fate ? We follow Bacchus ! Bacchus on the wing . , A conquering ! Bacchus, young Bacchus ! good or ill betide, We dance before him through kingdoms wide ; Come hither, lady fair, and joined be To our wild minstrelsy ! *' Whence came ye, jolly satyrs ! whence came ye, So many, and so many, and such glee ? Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left Your nuts in oak-tree cleft? For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree, For wine we left our heath, and yellow blooms, And cold mushrooms!" With lyrical compositions like these ; with graphic illustrations show- ing great force of imagination, though disfigured by the pedantries of the Leigh Hunt school ; and with a most sensitive perception throughout of the ideal, clothed in ever varying garbs of beauty, the poem of Endymion abounds. As a whole composition it is a failure, but one betraying no ordinary poetic genius. Could indeed a perfect work have been expected from a young poet, when the subject, a fabulous abstraction, required the utmost judgment and skill in its execution! Of the same abstractive nature is another poem by Keats, called "Hyperion," whicfrhas been compared to one of the vast skeletons of antediluvian creation. It is certainly a splendid frag- ment; and if not as original, does not in different portions of it fall far short of the loftiness of description which we find in " Paradise Lost." The subject of "Hyperion" is laid in the primeval heathen world, where Saturn has been cast from his throne, and the Titans lay vanquished and chained : its opening is as follows: — " Deep in the shady sadness of a vale, Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat grey-hair'd Saturn quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair !" All these lines are poetic, and convey by their simplicity a better idea of the sublime, than could any labour of thought or diction ; but to continue them :— r 22 Poems of John Keats. "Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there ; Not so much life, as on a summer's day, Robs not one light seed from the feathery grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest; A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more By reason of his fallen divinity, Spreading a shade — the Naiad 'mid her reeds Press' d her cold finger close unto her lips!" Such was the lair of Saturn, hurled down from his throne and seek- ing in the majesty of silence and solitude a fit asylum for hi» departed greatness. But although the old man was fallen from his high career ; his right hand nerveless, listless, dead, unsceptred, — " While his bow'd head seem'd listening to the earth, His ancient mother !" All consolation was not to be denied him. The picture therefore presented is not without a direct appeal to human sympathies. There is a certain charm (if the term may be used) in fallen great- ness which peculiarly affects a sensitive or imaginative mind. Like the columns of a ruined temple, proud and perfect once but noble still, although the ivy twines around their shattered fragments, and wild flowers spring beneath them. The contemplation of wrecked majesty calls up emotions in which the memories of the past are as faintly, yet beautifully blended. Besides, the human mind rises with adversity ; for the height and pomp of power is intoxication to it, and what in prosperity might have been arrogance, in misfortune may become a patient and admirable self-endurance. But touching in- deed is the portraiture of fallen greatness, when its darker shades are relieved by the brighter tints of fidelity, constant to the last; and this was to be the consolation of Saturn ; let us continue our quota- tions : — " It seemM no force could wake him from his place, But there came one, who with a kindred hand Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not. She was a goddess of the infant world, By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height ; she would have ta'en Achilles by the hair and bent his neck, Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel : Her face was large as that of Memphian Sphinx Presented haply in a palace court, Where sages look'd to Egypt for their lore. But oh ! how unlike marble was that face How beautiful! if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than beauty's self. # * # # * One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain ; The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear, Leaning, with parted lips some words she spoke : — " Poems of John Keats. 23 It will be observed, that throughout this admirable description there is no labour whatever. The thoughts flow from the poet's pen calmly and naturally ; yet every one has its own place. But what does this divinity say to the fallen monarch? — '* Saturn, look up ; though wherefore, poor old king? I have no comfort for thee, no, not one : I cannot say, * Oh wherefore sleepest thou ?' For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a god i * * * * * Saturn, sleep on : oh thoughtless, why did I Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude ? Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes ? Saturn, sleep on, while at thy feet I weep." How beautiful is fidelity ! All other attachments but this partake more or less of worldliness, or grow feebler in their decline. Friendship is too often a social compact, based upon self-interest, but forgotten when the links of a mutual advantage are torn asunder. Parental attach- ments lose much of their first tenderness and strength in advancing years, and are gradually obliterated when absence has removed the objects of them. Even love itself, so worshipped, so deified, without which life would become a wilderness, and the heart an aching vo;d, is never so pure, because devoid of all selfishness, as when it becomes fidelity. And fidelity in distress ! what a proof is it of spiritual devo- tion! superior to all other considerations, unfettered by conventional bonds, unextinguished by poverty, captivity, or pain, and rising higher and firmer in its passive courage, as the breath of misfortune falls heaviest upon it! This noble attachment makes a moralist in love with human nature. For the example of one Malesherbes pleading a persecuted monarch's cause before a set of maniacs, already sharpening the knife for his destruction, or of one Edgeworth, following that monarch to the death, and, in the midst of his savage murderers, calmly offering him the last consolations of religion ; for such an example, who would not pardon all the weakness, and selfish- ness, and vice, of his fellow-creatures? And thus Keats's impersona- tion of fidelity strikes in this instance to the heart. But to return to the picture ; the following is very beautiful : — " As when upon a tranced summer-night, Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream and so dream all night without a stir Save from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies off As if the ebbing air had but one wave ; So came these words, and went : the while in tears She bent her fair large forehead to the ground, Just where her fallen hair might be outspread A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet !" Here we shall pause for the present. The remainder of " Hyperion" is an unconnected fragment, apparently intended as the opening of a longer poem, which, if we may judge from the quotations we hava 24 Lines suggested by the Engraving of Lord W. Russell's Trial. given, would have been a decided improvement on the "Endymion/' But "Hyperion" was never finished, the promise of the young poet was nipped in the bud ; the unnatural and uncalled for hostility shown towards his first work, damped his efforts, and chilled an imagination sensitively alive to injury or contumely. He has left behind him some other minor poems (which we shall consider in our next), of surpassing excellence, to exemplify the truth of his own melancholy maxim : — " There never lived a mortal man, who bent His appetite beyond his natural sphere But starv'd and died !" LINES SUGGESTED BY THE ENGRAVING OF LORD WILLIAM RUSSELL'S TRIAL. WHEN England wept aloud ; and her first hame Had lost its freshness in the sickly hue Of a consuming grief, that fed and fed Upon her matron cheek ; when none were near Nor dar'd if near, to raise her drooping head, Or pluck the fetters from her wasted limbs ; In that sad hour of his country's need, By cruel tyrants trampled, Russell rose : Her tears were his : her dream of better days _, Reflecting long past glories, but deep-dy'd, With indignation for her present fate, Were Russell's too : he at that trying hour Was true as steel : faJse friends and open foes, The treacherous and the fierce, could never daunt His bold yet generous soul : noble he stood When all around was base ; and when the times, Corrupt by in-born vice, required his blood To baptize freedom struggling in its birth, He gave the patriot pledge ! See, there he stands Sustained in holy courage at the bar Of mis-named justice ; whose unvalued seals A tyrant's hate hath crush'd unto the earth ; Mark yonder judges, worthy of the trust By Pilate not abused ! mark too* a man With legal finger uprais'd in the act Of noting down some thought, on whose stem brow Is seated vengeance ; and by the side of them See twelve base men, who deem'd of little worth And yielded up unto a tyrant's will The bulwark of their rights so shamelessly. That history frowns upon the recreant deed. And where are Russell's friends ? in this sad chance, This crisis of his fortunes, when the storm * The violent and inhuman Jeffries, who was at that time serjeant-at-law, and con- ducted the case for the prosecution. Lines addressed to a Northern Beauty. 25 Of blighting power hath prepar'd to nip His prouder hopes, hath he no kindred heart To feel, and dare, and die, as he would die ? Yes ! he has more than this ; a wife's true heart, The quenchless spirit of a woman's love, Is mirror 'd deeply in the fix'd, fond gaze Of yonder lady, who hath learnt to take A secretary's part for her dear lord, And will not leave him now, though all the world. With twice a thousand arms, should strive to tear That loving heart from his ! Still is her look Tender, and trustful, sweetly dash'd with grief, Bent on her admir'd lord ; the raven locks That cluster thickly o'er her brow of snow, Are parted back to catch his faintest word, And see the spirit of a noble pride, That not the fear of his impending doom Can wholly chase away, wreathes her full lip ! And this is woman's love : in that acute gaze Is feeling's depth and strength ; oh ! now methinkg The mist of earthly hopes hath pass'd away From her entranced sight, and that her soul In the empyrean of a brighter space Than this sad scene, is plumed to meet her lord's. Alas, when freedom's altar is uprear'd And men stand round with dark and lowering frowns, Half shrinking from the shrine, and half prepar'd To cast it once more down ; 'tis a sad chance That holy blood must consecrate a rite Which gives redemption to a future age: Yet is its offering bless'd : a patriot's death Illumes the dreary past, and casts a ray O'er the dim aspect of forthcoming time. W. G. T. LINES ADDRESSED TO A NORTHERN BEAUTY. COLD is thine aspect in every look, As the sleepy stream of a winter brook. Cold are the glances that shoot from thine eye, As the iceberg that floats the dark whale ship by. Cold are the accents that dwell on thy lips (Though sweet as the dew that the honey-bird sips, Or the perfume that rises in summer showers, Washed from the bloom of a thousand flowers). Thy words are as passionless and chaste As the moonbeam that falls on the midnight waste- Like the frost-wind that blows from the chilly pole, Seems the essence of thy inmost soul. Though spotless thy name, and thy beauty as bright As the mid-day beams of the sun's pure light, I would not for Fortunatus's purse Be shackled to thee for better for worse. ( 26 ) MAJOR ANDRE AND GENERAL ARNOLD, By J. STIRLING COYNE. IT was in the morning of a clear day in January 1779, that the hitherto peaceful village of Morristown in New Jersey became the theatre of a strange and imposing solemnity,-— the trial by court- martial of the brave and talented, but unprincipled, American General Arnold, on charges of acts of extortion, rapine, and injus- tice, committed during his recent military command in Philadelphia, preferred against him by the executive council of that city. The virtuous hero of America's new-born independence had been directed by Congress to investigate the numerous allegations made by the irritated inhabitants of Pennsylvania against Arnold, and it was in pursuance of these instructions that Washington, assisted by the dis- creetest of the bold hearts and unwarped minds by whom he was surrounded, had summoned Arnold before a court composed of his fellow-officers to reply to these accusations, which the accused loudly asserted had no foundation but in the malicious envy of his prose- cutors. Vainly had Arnold employed every artifice of intrigue or persua- sion to set aside the proceedings against him, or to bias the members of the court in his favour — the inflexible integrity of the commander- in-chief, and the no less stubborn honesty of the republican officers, baffled his ingenuity. Finding himself foiled in his subterfuges, he concentrated all his powerful energies and abilities for a bold defence, and relying on his natural effrontery and the fame which his intre- pidity as a soldier had earned, he threw himself desperately into the breach and awaited with seeming confidence the public ordeal which was to purify his impugned character, or send him forth in the eyes of his country a disgraced and fallen man. A day was at length fixed on for the court-martial, and the place selected for the proceedings, as already stated, was the then infant settlement of Morristown, upon whose neighbouring savannah might be seen the white tents of the republican army glistening on the green sward like pearls upon an Emir's robe. At every instant groups of men, whose thoughtful countenances witnessed the im- portance of the subject which engrossed their thoughts, and whose garb, half military, half civilian, marked the double profession of the citizen-soldiery — might be seen hurrying towards the unostentatious edifice which served the simple inhabitants as a town-hall and court of justice. " It can never beT said a young and high-spirited-looking soldier, eagerly addressing an aged comrade as they bent their steps towards the general point of attraction on that day, — " It can never be, Jacob ! " he repeated, jerking his rifle with an impatient gesture on his shoulder, and checking his rapid pace which had brought him a few steps in advance of his more staid companion, " that Arnold — the brave and gallant Arnold — he who has carved his path to fame Major Andrt and General Arnold. 27 and honour by his sword — could ever sink so low. Impossible ! — the soldier who has fought his country's battles so nobly, would perish rather than tarnish the laurels he has so daringly gathered. Fore- most in every danger, sharing every privation with the meanest pri- vate in his corps, Arnold lives but in the affections of his fellow- soldiers ; glory was his object and war his sport. Tell me, Jacob, is it in pursuits like these that men become sordid and avaricious, or that the proud spirit learns the grovelling arts of a cheating dealer ? " " Your enthusiasm outruns your judgment, Richard," replied the old man seriously : " I grant you, Arnold is brave ; but it is the bravery of animal instinct. He would have fought as gallantly amongst a horde of mercenaries as in the consecrated ranks of freedom ; — his passion is the thirst of gold ; — to that, and to an ostentatious disposi- tion, all his errors are owing ; — for these he would brave perils greater than he has yet done, and to these he has sacrificed his fair fame, the honest approval of his own heart, and — the patriot's incense — the ap- plause of his grateful country." " Jacob, you have outlived your best feelings, age has jaundiced your views, and you judge of men — " " By realities, not appearances, boy. Arnold I have marked throughout his dazzling career, and I have seen in him the soldier of fortune, impatient for wealth which he could only attain by unjust means : — depend on it that this inquiry will terminate fatally for his character : his oppressions, his exactions, and the gross prostitution of his authority, to enrich himself and his abandoned accomplices while he held command in Philadelphia, are too notorious to be suc- cessfully denied." " We shall see," replied the young soldier confidently, as, fol- lowed by his companion, he forced a passage through the crowd of idlers that thronged the porch of the hall of justice. The appearance and arrangement of the interior of the court was simple in the extreme. At a plain deal table, formed of a few rough- hewn boards, sat some ten or a dozen of those semi-military men, whose shrewd, resolute, but unimaginative countenances might have been taken as models for a group of the predial warriors of Rome's early day sitting in council. Distinguished from his fellow-soldiers only by holding his place at the head of the table, and by the superior dignity of his mien, sat Washington ; his clear, searching eye bent upon a witness who was under examination, and to whom he occasionally put questions in that calm impressive tone which extracted truth from unwilling lips, as the prophet's rod compelled the pure stream from the reluctant rock. Throughout the dense assemblage that witnessed the proceedings with intense interest, not a sound was to be heard except at those points of the evidence at which some act of profligacy or oppression was brought home to the prisoner, — then, a murmur of indignation infringed, for an instant, the strict decorum of the court. Alone, unmoved, and unabashed by the accumulated evidences of his guilt, Arnold stood at the lower end of the table, his arms folded across his breast, almost contemptuously regarding his numerous 28 Major Andre and General Arnold. accusers. By many persons in the court this haughty air of defiance was mistaken for the proud consciousness of rectitude, and despite their reason they still remained incredulous of his guilt, nor was this impression weakened when called upon by the president for his de- fence— he drew up his commanding figure to its full height, and addressed his judges in a flow of natural eloquence, rendered more irresistible by a pale cheek and emaciated frame, which every one present knew to be the effects of the severe wounds he had received at the memorable siege of Quebec, where his gallantry and courage had been the theme of general admiration. So adroitly did Arnold extenuate the offences that had been proved against him, so ingeniously did he impeach the credit of the witnesses against him, and so strongly did he urge his attachment to his country and her liberties, that even his judges began to waver in their belief of his guilt. " I am accused," said he in concluding his defence, " of having idly squandered my fortune. If I have lavished my little patrimony it was as our best citizens ha've done, — in the defence of our country — it was for her aggrandizement I impove- rished myself, — to this charge I freely plead guilty. I am accused, too, of having abused my authority in Philadelphia, of having oppressed the honest citizens of the republic for the purpose of en- riching myself. If this part of the charge be true, I stand confessed, in the presence of this honourable court, the vilest of men, and the blood I have spilled in the defence of my country will be insufficient to obliterate the foul stain. On the honour of a soldier and a gentle- man, I declare to soldiers and gentlemen, that the charge is false." Arnold bowed to the court, and was silent ; but so powerful an effect had his youth, his military fame, his noble figure, and his graceful eloquence upon the hearers, that the majority of them were ready to pronounce him innocent by acclamation. The cool, reflec- tive mind of Washington was not, however, to be carried away by the false glitter of a gilded exterior, or the deceptive light of specious sophistry : he had maturely weighed the evidence wnich had been brought before him, and though he mourned that a brave man should have tarnished his achievements, he could not shut his eyes on the conviction that Arnold was guilty of the acts imputed to him. The court was now cleared in order that the members might de- liberate in private on the verdict which they were about to pro- nounce ; and, during the brief period occupied in this deliberation, many were the speculations of the auditors, now assembled in the street, as to the result of the trial, but none were more opposed or more resolute in their conflicting opinions than the two soldiers, whom we have already witnessed taking such different views of Arnold's character. They were standing beneath the plain portico of the court-house, the elder leaning against one of the pillars, list- ening composedly to his youthful companion, who was addressing him in an animated strain. " I repeat, Jacob, he is as guiltless as I am, notwithstanding the hard swearing of his accusers. Did you mark his scornful smile when he spoke of the pitiful envy of his foes, and his proud eye how it lightened, and his cheek how it flushed, when he spoke of the battles Major Andre and General Arnold. 29 of his country ? Ah, Jacob ! I would give my rifle, and that I love nearly as well as my life, that I was at this moment fighting by his side, as I once was when we drove Burgoyne and his army before us like frighted deer." " Doubtless, General Arnold is a brave soldier, but — " * " Aye, but what?" interrupted the ardent republican. " I cannot think him guiltless, — and I will never trust the expres- sion of Washington's eye if he does not think as I do — " A sudden rush towards the door, which had again been thrown open to admit the public, precluded any further observation, and the disputants, borne along by the living stream, entered the court at the moment Washington had risen to deliver the sentence. The court was hushed into a profound silence, and every eye was fixed in mute expectation upon the commanding figure of the Pre- sident. A more than usual degree of that disciplined severity, which the character of the times and the nature of the great struggle in which he was vitally engaged had impressed upon his benignant countenance, darkened his brow as he pronounced, in a distinct but mournful voice, the verdict of "Guilty" upon the confounded Ar- nold. Burning with rage and shame, the culprit replied not to the unfeigned regret which Washington expressed for the disgrace of so gallant an officer, nor to the hope he offered him that his future conduct might regain him the lost esteem of his country ; — but casting a look of scowling defiance upon his judges, he strode with a firm step and dauntless air through the crowd, that, viewing him only as the hero of Quebec, and dazzled by the lustre of his daring courage and his personal endowments, opened respectfully as he passed from the court. But the daring front which villany presents to public observation is often only a mask to conceal 'the writhings of internal anguish and remorse. Arnold returned home, and there in the privacy of his chamber, where no scornful eye could triumph over his fallen state, he abandoned himself to all the transports of despair. He felt himself degraded, shorn of the halo of virtuous fame which had en- circled his name, and which, now that it was lost to him, he prized above every other earthly good. Even the tender endearments of his young and beloved wife failed to sooth the tempest of his soul, her words of consolation fell heedlessly upon his ear, he lay crushed and writhing but impenitent in his guilt. At length his wife ventured distantly to hint that a country which had rewarded his services with ignominy, deserved at his hands only eternal hatred and deep vengeance. He listened attentively to her arguments, and though he replied not to them, it was evident that they sank into his mind. It was on one of these occasions, when discours- ing on the ever-galling theme of Arnold's disgrace, and while his wife was insisting more earnestly than usual on the justice of her husband adopting any attainable means of revenge on his enemies, that Ar- nold, who had been gloomily sitting with his face buried between his hands, suddenly raised his head, and looking earnestly in his wife's face said, "Revenge is sweet, but how, Beatrice, can I obtain it? My foes are numerous and powerful — " 30 Major And/ '6 and Gtneral Arnold. "By abandoning the cause that abandons its friends," she replied. The secret chord in Arnold's bosom, which he had not dared himself to touch, was struck — he felt it thrill through every nerve. " Would you have me brand myself with the odious Yiame of trai- tor?" asked Arnold, laying a grating emphasis on the word. " That," she replied, is the epithet already applied to you by the King's party. We call the English tyrants, they denounce us as traitors and rebels, and I confess with no slight show of reason." " Beatrice, I grant that men may honourably espouse opposite parties even in civil warfare, but to desert my friends — to betray my country — to cast away even the remnant of my former glory — it is the thought of this that o'ermasters my revenge." " Why," exclaimed his wife impatiently, " do you speak of friends and country '£ have they not trampled upon you, and cast you off like a vile reptile ? — And you hesitate to bestow your services where riches and honours await to recompense them." " Leave me, dearest Beatrice," exclaimed the agitated man, sinking into a chair. " I cannot at this moment determine on so momentous a step. It is — it is disgrace, but the accursed brand has been already set upon my brow ; what matters it now if the characters be changed — " His wife perceiving that the insidious poison of her counsel was working to her wishes, left him to his own meditations. During that entire night the ex-general paced his apartment without interruption, and the fierce conflict between his passions and his reason might be surmised from the inequality of his movements. At one moment he was heard slowly striding from one end of the apartment to the other, then he would stop, remain motionless for a minute, and re- commence with a step as rapid as if he were leading his troops to a victorious assault. The following morning, when Arnold entered the breakfast-room where his wife and her sister were seated, his haggard countenance and the disorder of his dress, about which he was ever neat almost to foppishness, told that his night had been passed in any thing but bodily or mental rest. His cheek was ghastly pale, but his eye burned with unusual fire ; his wife turned upon him a look of inquiring mean- ing— he understood its import — and replied to her mute interrogatory in a voice to which a forced calmness gave a harsh grating tone : — " Beatrice — you are right — my resolution is taken." His wife did not attempt to thank him by words, but, taking his hand, pressed it to herlips and her heart. Her sister Mary — a beauti- ful girl of eighteen — was a silent but not uninterested spectator of this scene ; a flush of sudden joy overspread her fine features, and she was forced to turn aside to hide the pleasurable emotions that agitated her." From that moment Arnold became at heart a traitor. To explain the causes that worked upon his already wavering principles and set the seal to his perfidy we must take our readers back from the regular train of the events that we are about relating. Before the unhappy differences which separated for ever two countries linked by more than common ties of friendship, when the too harshly coerced child flung off the galling yoke of paternal tyranny, and Major AndrS and General Arnold. 31 America proclaimed in the face of applauding nations the maturity of her strength and the assumption of her independence, — Arnold had become attached to a lovely girl, the daughter of a gentleman in Philadelphia, whose family, of high English extraction, regarded the land of their fathers with almost enthusiastic veneration. England was in their eyes unequalled in the arts of peace, and unrivalled in the trade of war. It was from the bosom of one of these England- worshipping families that Arnold chose the partner of his future life. Ardently beloved by her husband, Beatrice returned his affection with the full devotion of her woman's heart ; and when, at the commencement of hostilities between England and America, she beheld her husband embrace the cause of freedom with the enthusiasm and self-devotion which dis- tinguished his early career, she did so with poignant but silent regret. She loved him too tenderly, and felt too proud of her young hero's military renown, to damp his spirit by reproaches, or to endea- vour by feminine artifice to turn him aside from the path he had chosen j but the very strength of her attachment to her husband made her the more anxiously desire to see him converted to those political opinions which she had imbibed in her earliest youth, and which she had been taught to believe comprehended every virtuous and honour- able sentiment that man should cherish or defend. Another reason also contributed powerfully to make Mrs. Arnold and her sister the secret partizans of the royal cause. A considerable time before the marriage of Beatrice with Arnold, a young English officer named Andre, quartered at Philadelphia, had become intimate at their father's house. With a naturally fine figure and intelligent countenance, there was a calm dignity, softened by the blandest courtesy, in the bearing and disposition of the young Englishman, which at once won his way to the heart of all who knew him ; nor did the reputation he had gained for exploits of chivalric courage and romantic adventure lessen the favourable effect his personal endowments had produced in the minds of the Philadelphian fair ones. But to the charms of the gentle Mary alone was reserved the triumph of bringing the young soldier to her feet. Alas! that tears and misery should be too often the bitter penalty of that short-lived triumph. A mutual passion soon sprung up in the bosoms of Andre" and Mary, but the narrow circumstances of the lovers — Mary was portionless, and the fortune of Andre consisted in his captain's com- mission and his good sword — forbade their union until Andrews rank would be such as might enable him to maintain a wife. While the attached pair were thus patiently awaiting the tardy accomplishment of their hopes, the gathering storm of civil warfare — for such might the contest which was then waged between America and the parent country be called — burst forth with uncontrollable violence, severing in its ruthless course the bonds of friendship, and scattering desola- tion and discord in its terrible path. Let us not, in lamenting the horrors of an exterminating intestinal struggle, be understood as endeavouring to stigmatize the brave men who resisted oppression to the death : the crime and the disgrace lie not upon them, but upon the heads of those who forced them to convert the axe and the 3$ Major Andre and General Arnold. ploughshare into weapons of destruction, and beside their peaceful hearthstones in the sight of their parents, their wives, and their child- ren, to battle for that liberty which was dearer to them than life itself. Few hearts, whom the unfortunate circumstances of the times threw into opposite sides in this unnatural conflict, felt more keenly the blow which separated them than did those of Andre and Mary ; the young officer was obliged instantly to march with the English troops against the republicans, while his betrothed bride remained behind with her sister, under the protection of her brother-in-law, Arnold, who, in the very outset of the war, had become distinguished for his daring courage, and had been promoted by Washington to a post of considerable importance in the American army. It was in the exercise of his duties in this situation, that his bound- less extravagance led him into the commission of those acts of oppression and rapacity for which we have already beheld him degraded and deprived of his military command by the virtuous Washington. From that day forth he nourished the most implacable hostility to the cause which he had heretofore so ardently espoused, and it required but little persuasion on the part of Beatrice, who had long sighed for this revolution in Arnold's mind, to induce him to resolve on betraying that cause the moment he could do so effectually. Hardly had Arnold quitted the breakfast parlour, after com- municating to Beatrice, in the brief sentence we have recorded, his altered sentiments, than Mary, throwing herself upon her sister's bosom, gave vent to the fulness of her heart in a torrent of tears. " Now," exclaimed she, "we shall be all happy; Arnold will, I foresee, abandon those detestable republicans, he will join the king's army — and then — oh! joy — to meet my brave Andre." '* My dear Mary," replied Beatrice, " the prospect of your happi- ness fills my heart with the purest pleasure ; but not even for that, not for the gratification of my own long-cherished hopes, would I urge him to the step he is about to take, did I not feel that the un- hallowed cause in which he has lavished his blood can never prosper, that the arm of divine wrath is raised against those bold rebels who dare, in the face of heaven, array themselves against their anointed king and the ancient laws of their father land." The weeping Mary looked in her sister's countenance, beaming with enthusiasm, but she attempted not to interrupt her. " Think you, Mary," she continued, " that I am unaware of the sus- picion upon one hand, and detestation on the other, with which the man is regarded who deserts the banner under which he has once fought? Think you that I did not glory in Arnold's fame, and mourn his disgrace? but knowing that the former was gained at the sacrifice of his loyalty, and the latter was the requital bestowed upon himlby an ungrateful country, I bless the Providence that has made them instruments in drawing him from the ranks of disaffection. I know Arnold's disposition, his resolution is irrevocably fixed to quit the republican army, and I am much mistaken in his temper if he do not make his return to his allegiance a matter of more importance to the interests of England than it at present appears to us." t Sea Song. 33 "Sister, you speak like a staunch royalist; but 1 — I feel like a mere woman," replied Mary pleadingly. " Ah, you little fool! that Andre of yours has run away with your senses as well as your loyalty ; but come, don't look silly, we shall recover them both when 'the king1 shall have his own again.'" Thus saying, the delighted wife of Arnold, drawing her sister's arm through her own, quitted the breakfast parlour. (To be continued.') A GENUINE SEA-SONG. [MosT of our readers are no doubt acquainted with the salt-water effusions of Dibdin, which, if they are not true specimens of nautical inspiration, at least pass current for such among landsmen. We are, however, fortunate enough to have it in our power to embellish our pages with a genuine effusion of the maritime Muse, which we believe, up to the present time, has been handed down like the songs of the ancient rhapsodists, only by memory. If the poetry be not very refined, it may nevertheless claim the merit of being perfectly original, and if the rhymes are not very accurate, the want of internal evidence of a delicate perception in such matters will be readily excused in the homely verses of a sailor. We will not add any further comment, but at once in- troduce a song which has many hundreds of times been sung around the galley fires of our men-of-war, and which we took down from the lips of a naval officer who had often joined in the chorus when he wore a midshipman's jacket.] Farewell and adieu, you fair Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu, you fair ladies of Spain, For we've received orders to sail for old England, And we hope in a short time to see you again. We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors, We'll rant and we'll roar all o'er the salt sea, Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England, From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues. We hove our ship to, all for to get soundings, We hove our ship to, and soundings got we ; We brailed up the spanker and unstowed the anchor, And with the wind at sou'-west up channel sailed we. We'll rant and we'll roar, &c. The first land we made was call-ed the Dodman, The Ramhead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight, Then pass-ed by Beachy Head fairly and Dungeness, Until we came to off the Nor' Foreland light. We'll rant and we'll roar, &c. Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor, All in the Downs that night for to ride ; Then it's stand by your stoppers, let go the shank painter. Hale up your clue garnets, stick out tacks and sheets. We'll rant and we'll roar, &c. JAN. 1S37. P A PUBLIC DINNER. Ouu taste does not often conduct us to great public dinners: the reason does not concern the world in general. Possibly we do not like the principle of these affairs : perhaps we do not like the dinners, — but tfimporte; suffice it that such things are matter of novelty and curiosity to us : — they may be such also to some of our readers. It happened that we lately received a ticket of admission to a grand commemorative festival at the celebrated Stonemasons' Arms, or some such place (our memory is not exact in names), *' tickets one guinea, wine included," for the benefit of a Charity. Curious to see how these things are managed in these our later days, we attended at the place and day appointed. On arriving at the hospitable portals, we found them surrounded by a talking host of men, women, and children, who seemed to take great interest in the persons of those going in to dine. In fact, hap- pening to turn round on the elevated steps of the doorway to take a view of the assembled multitude, it (not the doorway but the crowd) showed very manifest symptoms of a desire to shout and make an uproar in our honour ; enthusiasm, indeed, flung one hat up into the air, which, had we been its owner, we should have been loth to see take so prominent a position. Upon enquiry of one of the many bustling gentlemen who hung about the entrance in white stockings and nursing a white towel under their arms, what might be the reason of this large congregation of the lieges, he replied, shaking his napkin with a knowing air, *' Oh, Sir, there is a grand dinner here to-day, as being the hanniversary of the foundation of the ' East London Dental Institution for drawing the Teeth of the Poor without a letter of recommendation ; ' arid them's some of the hobjects com'd to see their governors and benefactors." Rejoiced at the idea that we were about to eat and to drink for the benefit of the teeth of the poor people about Crutched Friars, Shoreditch, and Crucifix Lane, we desired to be shown immediately to the room where this admi- rable institution met. Like angels upon the ladder in Jacob's dream, waiters with smoking dishes were hurrying up and down the broad and dusty flight of stairs by which we ascended. On our way, we could not but reflect on the probability that our out-of-door friends, having tasted some of the pains of this tooth-extracting institution, might perhaps like to participate in its enjoyments and turn their renovated jaws to an useful and entertaining purpose. We were ushered into a large and somewhat gloomy room adjoin- ing great hall, having deposed our ticket at the entrance and taken up an order for a bottle of wine in exchange. In this room, some walking up and down, others ranged at its sides, were a set of melancholy -looking individuals, whom we at first took for a large body of undertakers; but, upon enquiry if there was not some mistake, we found all to be correct, and that the gentlemen were only waiting for their dinner. In a short time it might be perceived that these waiters for the A Public Dinner. 35 dinner were becoming impatient. Anxious eyes were turned towards the stewards, who, decorated with blue sashes and carrying wands in their hands, bore no distant likeness to mutes. These gentlemen were constantly passing to and fro from the dining-room (the tables of which were hidden from sight by a screen), the door being kept carefully locked by an important little gentleman, who was indulged with a .longer wand and a broader sash than any body else, and who, we were informed, was the director of the Charity. Never were men so envied as these privileged ones, till, in an unhappy hour, an habitue of the hall happened to whisper that " the stewards had dined toge- ther already." The said stewards were evidently ruined for the evening in the estimation of the other gentlemen present. We said that the assembled company was getting impatient : men were seen drumming upon their knees, and looking anxiously at the door ; those who had friends, took them by the arm walked up and down and pretended to talk ; those who were friendless, like ourselves, lounged about with their hands behind them nestled beneath their coat-tails : all of us read over in turns, three times at least, the inscription on the flag of the Institution, and admired the crowns, laurel wreaths, and little deities, with which it was deco- rated : one man alone was happy enough to have secured a piece of orange-peel, which he amused himself with kicking from one end of the room to the other; a curious augury, by the way, of the merits of the dessert. Mark that little punchy man with a small red face, who has just plunged into the room as if he expected to be last at table. See how he looks about him, surprised to find that he is in time. Now he is calculating the distance between himself and the dining-room door! Having sopped the perspiration from his brow, he has time to think what an old fool he was for hurrying. He does think so, and he is quite right. He looks at his watch, then at his ticket. There was some disparity between the two statements, as usual. The punchy gentleman waxes wroth, and begins to think that people should keep to their time in these matters. "Waiter !" said a pale-faced man, with a stoop and a small voice, " waiter, if I am not mistaken, dinner was to have been on table at half-past five, and now it 's six ! — positively it's six ! " "Yes, Sir!" said the man, ** and so it was on table; — and there it is now ! Oh law no, Sir, you are not a bit mistaken : we are only a-waiting for the chairman." "Chairman indeed, chairman — pray who is the chairman'? " said another fidgetty gentleman, who had listened to the above colloquy, addressing the room ; and then adding, in a lower tone, when the room did not reply, "It's to be hoped that this chairman will get cold as well as the dinner, any how ! " While these matters passed, our short squab friend had quitted ihe position which he had occupied near the entrance, but, upon looking towards the crowd now assembled round the dining-room door, I perceived him standing tip-toe behind two very tall men, and en- deavouring to catch a glimpse of the haven of his desires. D 2 36 A Public Dinner. A slight ferment among the blue sashes and staves ensued, and a loud voice makes itself heard : " Gentlemen will now please to walk in to dinner1." There was no need of the man bawling- out so loud : a whisper to the same effect would have circulated like elec- tricity. A general buzz in the room, however, acknowledged the tidings; and we all proceeded to walk mas desired, except those who were carried in by the crowd, among whom we observed the little man, who came late. Working our way to the upper end of the tables, we were preparing to take our seat at what appeared a con- venient spot, when a card on the convert told us that the place was engaged. Upon this conjuncture we looked around : the punchy man was seated opposite, and apparently smiling at our ignorance. " The vocalists sit there ! " he said, " Come round here ; this is a famous place!" and he pointed to a chair near him. We took his advice and our seat; and after another pause, enlivened by the efforts of two drums, three horns, as many bassoons, and a clarionet, to entertain the company, our worthy Chairman at last marched into the room, supported by his Vice and followed by a host of committee- men and stewards. Dinner commenced : the covers were removed. Great excite- ment prevailed. The cry for plates, dishes, glasses, knives, forks, soups, and double-stout, was deafening. Wings of poultry flew about as if alive, corks were drawing with the regularity of platoon-firing. His must indeed have been an abstracted appetite who could eat in such a scene. The efforts we made at this critical juncture to rally our senses and to observe what was going on were prodigious,"and, we trust, praiseworthy; but withal they were unsuccessful. A few loose scraps were all we could gather. The conversation was at first very animated, — so much so indeed, that six men within our own hearing committed the same new joke upon the occasion : — " Tongues are going very fast; those who want any should look sharp!" Here was one man taking a bird's-eye view of the whole table, and fixing on a dish of poultry at the further end. His plenipotentiary takes ten minutes about the affair, mistakes his errand, and brings some- thing else. Another embassy succeeds, and the result, — a drum-stick and a picked breast-bone. " How long have you sported epaulets, Thompson?" said some one to our little fat figure of a man. " What do you mean, — ha, what's this? — white — grease — butter — melted butter — best coat — damnation ! Waiter, how dare you spill melted butter over me ? "— " Me ! Sir — first time I 've been this way; but I'll enquire who it was that really done it : — sure to let you know, Sir." — " Never mind, Thompson," said his friend, " have new arm put in — only twelve shillings — fun, Sir, sport !" — " Fun ! " said the indig- nant Thompson, " perhaps you would like a tureen-full of such fun ! — And now — who's took my wine?" — "Your wine, Sir, — eh, ten thousand pardons — really — mistake — your wine for mine. Will you do me the favour to help yourself from my bottle ? " and the delin- quent, by way of enforcing his invitation, carefully held his wine just one inch out of the ill-starred Thompson's reach. A Public Dinner. 37 " Waiter/" said a young- man in green spectacles, and a mouth drawn round like a bow, " Waitar ! you call this a pigeon-pie?" — " Yes, Sir." " Well then, bring me some beef-steak pie, perhaps I shall find some pigeon in that." In another part of the room, a loud voice enquired, " Is there any gentleman here of the name of O"1 Shaughnessy ? " A pause ensued. " Who is it wants the jontleman ? " at last en- quired a voice sweetened with a rich brogue. "A middle-aged lady and three small children." " Oh — there is no such jontleman here, I assure you," said the same voice, " and ye may tell her I say so." " What name shall I give as my authority, Sir," enquired the waiter, amidst the laughter of the assembly. " Why, by St. Patrick, who should it be even but Carrick O'Shaugh — botheration — get out with ye, Mr. Waitre ! "— the rest of the dialogue, if any, was drowned in the roars of the table. When the cloth was cleared, four gentlemen opposite to us — the vocalists — had the goodness to sing grace for the company in a Latin hymn. " Gen'maii — CHARGE y'r GLASSES ! " shouted the toastmaster in a voice which paled the cheek of our little chairman, and made the chandeliers quiver and the candles gutter. Then came " THE KING ! " and then three-times-three, attended with fresh quivering and guttering. Then was sung our national hymn, the first verse by a little boy standing on a chair, with curly hair and fat cheeks, and shouting and shrieking,' and looking^ like a cherub in a jacket and frill. " And what are you going to give us now, gentlemen ? " enquired Thompson of the singers, after the health of the Queen had been drank. But the singers did not condescend to reply, except by an expressive hint to him to be quiet, and, after pitching their voices, the whole party struck up the glee, "Sleep, gentle lady!" — but what affinity the song had to the preceding toast, we could not divine — for what man would be bold enough or blind enough to serenade our Gracious Queen ? Mr. Dulcet, the gentleman who led in the foregoing u chant," as Thompson called it, was a man of some five-and-forty years, with a good-tempered face, closed eye, and his hair gathered up in a point over the centre of his forehead. Dulcet, as he informed us, had dined>t two o'clock with Mrs. D. and the children off boiled mutton ; consequently he had had nothing to do during dinner but to look on and talk. The presence of fatty Thompson, who appeared to be an old chum of his, seemed to recall some gloomy thoughts to the mind of Mr. Dulcet; and there was the curious spectacle of a man, whose occupation it was to amuse, sentimentalizing over his wine, with a face as long and mirth-inspiring as a tomb-stone. His theme was the flight of time : he could not away with the thought that he had known the fat man with the red face and semi-bald head when he wore pinafores. As we looked on and laughed, Dulcet in turn gratified us with the observation that " our turn would come round." This gentleman's songs partook of the temper of his mind; especially 38 A Public Dinner. to enliven us, he sang " John Anderson my Jo," and beautifully he sang it, with that true Scotch accent, more rare even than precious — " John Ainderson, my Jo — Jin — Whan we were first aquint," etc. The gentleman seated next to Dulcet was Mr. Fitzgorge, a handsome but wild-looking man, with a throat like Taurus, and an organ of extraordinary powers. He was not the man who had lost his voice " a-singing of anthems." It was pleasant to see the bon-hommie with which Fitz knocked down every speaker in turn, with the little silver snuff-box which he seemed to carry for the purpose of saving his knuckles. It was pleasant, too, to see the unaffected admiration with which he listened to the beautiful ballad-singing of his rival Dulcet, and the pains he took to keep the waiters quiet while the singing was going on. By the influence of his eye he transfixed one individual in the centre of the room, still as Lot's wife, from the beginning of a song to its close, and even frowned into peace an unhappy old gentleman who was too loudly discussing a knotty ques- tion with a dry biscuit. But this anxiety to keep " order for the vocalists" was a virtue which he had participated in with others ; all liked to have fair play for their exhibitions ; but it must be owned that they allowed us all to talk as much as we liked best, during the speeches, and, indeed, they not only permitted the indulgence, but were good enough to talk and laugh themselves, solely to encourage others. About half an hour after dinner, dessert was put upon the table ; that is, to every eight persons, a dish of six yellow olives, ditto of four biscuits, half-a-dozen oranges, and " a miscellaneous lot'y of figs, prunes, almonds, and raisins ; the figs looking like a composition of dirty sugar and soft soap, and the prunes being certainly cut out of leather. Be that as it may, five minutes saw the total discomfiture of the dessert, such as it was, soft soap, hard leather, and the whole six briny olives included. The health of the chairman having been drank, Mr. Chairman fot on his legs (it was yet early in the evening), and emphatically eclared, in a very small voice, that this was the happiest day of his life. At the same time he must declare himself the most unhappy man alive at being unable to return thanks in a manner worthy of the high honour they had done him. fle could assure them that the remembrance of that evening would never be wiped off, — expunged, he would say — from the tablet of his memory. He should think of it again and again, he should tell it to his children ; and his children, if they liked, might tell it to theirs ; and thus would it be handed down, encased and casketed, like a precious gem, in the bosoms of his pos- terity's posterity (loud cries of Hear I reiterated raps of the silver snuff-box). He would dis-bosom himself, he would tell them the fact! he had lost much in the service of their Society — much (but he would not boast) — and above all, he had sacrificed his precious health ; but while he could meet them and hear their animated greetings, their good wishes for his prosperity and health, he should not regret A Public Dinner. 39 the loss of either? Never — never — never! (Loudcheering/which con- tinued some time ; at the end of which Mr. Chairman, to the disap- pointment of his audience, still kept on his legs ) He would now advert to the subject nearest to their hearts — the CHARITY ! (Hear, hear, rap, rap !) He would hazard a general assertion ; — that of no other branch of the art of healing were the results so practically beneficial to humanity as that of the dentist. (Great excitement ; Thompson, whose eyes had long been closed, opened one.) There was an honesty and plain-dealing in their mode of proceeding, which might be looked for in vain among the medical profession generally. They had no means of living upon an aching tooth ; they could not obtain a life-interest in a set of masticators. If there was roguery and humbug in the profession of medicine, and he did not stand there to deny it, the blame certainly did not lie with them. Let him be understood. " Far be it from me," he continued, " to cast a slur upon that science which, after our own, I have always most revered. I honour medicine, and I love its professors!" Mr. Chairman con- tinued to speak at some length, and closed his eloquent discourse by proposing the health of the ladies who had honoured them with their presence that day. All eyes were now turned to the ladies, and as many as could do so conveniently, stood up to do honour to the toast. Little Thompson, grasping the table firmly with one hand, got up, turned himself unfortunately the wrong way, and stood simpering and winking at the drums and trumpets in the opposite gallery. " Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!" cried the little man, when the toast was given, and swing- ing his glass, which he had forgotten to empty, round his head, he lodged its contents safely in the face of his neighbour, who was cast- ing sheep's eyes through his spectacles at some damsel in the distance. In playful reference to the Charity somebody now proposed "The grinders of the poor!" a sentiment that was vehemently opposed by Thompson, on the ground that they had had Conservative toasts enough. The proposer explained, and the " grinders" were drank, amidst loud applause, but not altogether to the satisfaction of Mr. Thompson, who was in that state when men are given to " extreme opinions." Mr. Chairman now prepared to leave the chair; many of his friends had already left theirs without ceremony, having suddenly disappeared under the table. Thompson's red face was more flagrant than ever, and we left him in the vain attempt to direct the neck of an empty bottle to the mouth of his glass ; while his neighbour was inveterately pouring out his wine upon a glass which some wag had turned upside down. Of the pale-faced man with the stoop, no vestige was to be seen, save his boots, which had taken the vacant place on their master's chair. EGOMET. ( 40 ) THE ORIGIN OF THE JESUITS ; Including some Account of their Rise and Progress from the Foundation of the Order by Ignatius de Loyola in 1528, to his death in 1556. IGNATIUS DE LOYOLA, the founder of the celebrated Order of Je- suits, was a Spaniard of noble family, and the youngest of eleven children. He was born in the castle of Loyola, in Guipuscoa, whence he took his surname. He was designed for an office at court ; but he early quitted his employment of a page in disgust, and en- tered upon the more arduous duties of a military life.* He served under the duke de Najova with great credit, and acquired a repu- tation for courage and military conduct. His character at this time was that of a fierce and licentious soldier. How far it was altered by circumstances we shall see in the course of our narrative. In the year J521, when Pampeluna was besieged by the French, he had the command of the citadel, which he defended with great ob- stinacy, until he was disabled by a shot, which broke his right leg and severely injured the groin of the left.t The garrison having sur- rendered at discretion, he fell into the hands of the French, who treated him with kindness, and sent him home, as soon as he was fit to be moved. During the progress of a tedious cure a Life of the Saints fell into his hands, which he read with avidity ; and so strong was the impression made on his mind by the account of their suffer- ings in the cause of Christianity, as to inspire him with the project of emulating their celebrity. The Jesuits assert that he was favoured with visions, — that the Vir- gin Mary appeared to him with the infant Jesus in her arms, and ad- monished him to institute an order in his honour, promising him that she would be a most indulgent mother and careful assistant of him and his associates. Other visions, and numerous miracles attributed to him, might be transcribed ; but they are altogether too absurd to merit any notice in history. Though we cannot give any credit to these fables, it by no means follows that we are to charge Loyola with hypocrisy. An ardent mind wrought up to a high degree of enthusiasm and fettered by the want of education might be I so strongly impressed with the creations of its own fancy as to be unable to distinguish them from reality. And such it is but charitable_to sup- pose was that of Loyola. During some time after his recovery he led an austere life, se* parating himself from the world, and renouncing its vanities and temptations, in order that he might more entirely devote his time to the services of religion. But even now his warlike spirit was not entirely subdued ; for having had a dispute with a Moor who ventured to doubt the immaculacy of the Virgin after the birth of Jesus, he regretted having suffered the blasphemer to escape, and pursued him in order to exact his life as the forfeit of his incredulity. Loyola was * Helyot Histoire des Ordres Religieux, Chap. 89, t Hospinianus Historia Jesuitiea, Chap. I. The Origin of the Jesuits. 4 1 debarred this indulgence of his military propensities only by his not overtaking the object of his displeasure.* In the year 1523 he undertook a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and, having visited the sacred places around Jerusalem, he formed a de- sign of taking up his abode there and devoting himself to the con- version of the infidels. Having been, however, dissuaded from this new project, he returned to Spain and commenced a course of school learning at Barcelona. A large portion of his time was spent in at- tending the sick, begging from the rich, and exhorting the poor. But the extraordinary mode of life that he adopted caused him to be thrown into prison twice and to undergo an examination by the inquisitors. The obstacles he met with in his own country to the dissemination of his peculiar doctrines of religion induced him to resort to Paris, where he arrived in the year 1528. Here he set about making con- verts with better success than he had met with in Spain. His first disciples were Peter Le Fevre and Francis Xavier. These were fol- lowed by James Lainez, Alfonso Salmeron, Nicholas Bobadilla, and Simon Rodriguez. After a time they were joined by three more, — namely, Claudius Le Joy, John Cadur, and Brouet.f On the day of the Assumption, in the year 1534, he proceeded with these disciples to the church of Mont Martre ; and there, having confessed and taken the sacrament, they bound themselves by a vow to renounce the world, to live in perpetual poverty and celibacy, and at an appointed time to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the purpose of converting the infidels to Christianity ; and if this project should not be attended with success, they offered their services to the Pope for the conver- sion of heretics, whose numbers and zeal began to be formidable to the holy see.]: It may not be altogether unworthy of remark, that Luther wrote his " Treatise against Monastic Vows,'' and publicly renounced his own at the diet of Worms, about the same period that Loyola con- secrated himself to God in the church of Mont Serrat, and wrote at Mauresa his" Spiritual Exercises," on which were afterwards formed the rules of the order he founded. Thus while one light was pro- duced, which shed^its influence over a large portion of Europe and il- lumined the darkness in which mankind had been held by the Romish church, a pillar was yet added to support its mass of superstitious ob- servances and extravagant doctrines. Having arrived at Rome, and finding the obstacles to their visiting Jersualem greater than even the enthusiasm which excited them could induce them to encounter, and being desirous that their union should be established on some more permanent footing, they at last determined on the institution of an Order. Being all collected in the same place, they proceeded to form a set of rules, to obey which they made a formal vow. These were, that in addition to the usual oaths of poverty and chastity, they should promise perpetual obedience to one of their number elected by themselves as chief of their order, and furnished with the most ample power over them, and to whom they * Baillet, on the authority of Maffoeus, as quoted by Poynder. t Hospinian. Chap. I. £ Ibid. 42 The Origin of the Jesuits. agreed to yield the same unqualified submission as though he were Christ himself. They were to promote the interests of the Catholic faith by every means in their power, — by public preaching and pri- vate exhortation : — they were to divest their speech of the ornaments of eloquence, and to use a simple evangelical language for pointing out the beauty and rewards of virtue and the deformities and punish- ment of vice : — and all they did was to be done with a view to the glory of God and the maintenance of his true worship. After some faint opposition on his part they elected Ignatius their chief, under the title of general ; and he was commissioned to propose these resolutions to the Pope for his sanction, and afterwards to draw up a more extensive code of laws and regulations founded on these principlesr and adapted to the usages of the society. Ignatius sub- mitted these rules to the Pope for his approbation, who referred them to three Cardinals for examination. The chief of these was Bartholomew Guidiccioni, who not only opposed the new institution with his utmost endeavours, but wrote a book in which its dangerous tendency was ably set forth* This op- position for some time delayed the consent of the Pope, Paul III. ; but it by no means diminished the vigilance or slackened the exer- tions of Ignatius and his disciples. The scruples of the Pope were at length overcome by an additional vow made by the professors for the new order, — obedience to the sovereign Pontiff. In their petition to Paul they promised " to fight under his standard, to be his soldiers as they were those of God, and to obey him in all things."* This' was too flattering to be rejected at a time, when the holy see was in extreme need of able and zealous advocates devoted to its will and seeking aggrandisement from the maintenance of its su- preme authority. In defiance of the protest of the Cardinals, a bull was issued on the 27th of September, 1540, confirming the institution, with this restriction, that their numbers should be limited to sixty. On Friday, the 27th of April, 1541, Loyola, and such of his com- panions as were at Rome, took their solemn vows at the church of St. Paul, outside of the town — the vow of obedience to the Pope being made by Loyola only, in his own name, for himself and his disciples, which he, was fully competent to do in' his capacity of general and especial keeper of their consciences. This was the first recognised institution of the famous " Society of Jesus,''E the best regulated as well as the most extensive of all the monastic orders, and from whose exertions mankind have derived great benefits, as they have also received! much injury. And it perhaps may be doubted, whether the knowledge they so widely diffused, though in its first stage calculated only to advance their own particular interests and the papal power, has not mainly contributed in its growth to remove blindness from the eyes of nations and to awaken them to a sense of their town rights, — to free them from the bond- age of ecclesiastical despotism, and the accompanying evil of civil tyranny. We must attribute their very rapid progress partly to the favour * Foynder's History, Chap. 1. The Origin of the Jesuits. 43 shown them by the Pope, but chiefly to their own unremitting assi- duity. The following list, extracted from Poynder's " History of the Je- suits," will give some idea of their immense increase of wealth and numbers within a comparatively short period : — In 1540 their number was 10. In 1545 they had 10 houses. In 1549 they had 20 houses and 2 provinces — one in Spain, and one in Portugal. In 1556, at the death of Loyola, 12 large provinces. In 1608, Ribadeneira reckons 29 provinces, 2 vice-provinces, 21 houses of profession, 293 colleges, 33 houses of probation, 93 other residences, and 10,581 Jesuits. In 1629 there are enumerated in the catalogue at Rome, 35 pro- vinces, 2 vice-provinces, 33 houses of profession, 578 col- leges, 48 houses of probation, 88 seminaries, 160 resi- dences, 106 missions, and 17,655 Jesuits, of whom 7870 were priests. In 1710, according to Father Jouvency, they had 24 houses of pro- fession, 59 of probation, 340 residences, 612 colleges, of which 80 were in France, 200 missions, 157 seminaries and boarding houses, and 19,998 Jesuits.* Loyola was on intimate terms with Mascarenhas, the ambassador from Portugal to the papal court : — he is even said to have been his confessor. However that may be, the Jesuits were very early no- ticed in Portugal ; and John III. obtained a brief of legation to the Indies for Xavier, who departed thither on his mission in 1541, while Rodriguez was detained at the Portuguese court. He here acquired so much influence, that in the following year the king founded the first college of Jesuits at Coimbra. In the year 1543 there were 25 inmates, and Rodriguez wrote that their number was intended to be raised to 100. By this time the society was composed of 80 mem- bers, scattered abroad in different countries ; and as this number ex- ceeded that permitted by the Pope in his first bull, a fresh applica- tion was made by Loyola, which met with success. His Holiness issued another bull in March 1543, by which their numbers were freed from limitation ; and in the same year he gave them the church of St. Andrew of Phraeta, where they laid the foundations of their house of profession, which was habitable the year after. Following the example of John of Portugal, many towns of Spain, Italy, Germany, and the low countries, demanded of Loyola some of his disciples, and offered him colleges. In France alone, where they had their origin, they were not encouraged. This may be accounted for by the war between Francis I. and Charles V.; for the French monarch would not feel any desire to advance an order with a Spaniard at its head, and whose members were for the most part the subjects of his formidable rival. This however did not hinder many Frenchmen from travelling to Rome, there [to join themselves to Loyola. Among these was one * Poynder's History, p. 379. . 44 T/ie Origin of the Jesuits. William Postel, a native of Barenton in Normandy, a man of consi- derable talents and extraordinary acquirements. He took the vows in 1545, but shortly after promulgated some doctrines inimical to the Catholic faith, for which he was expelled by Loyola from the so- ciety.* This so gratified the Pontiff, that he appointed Salmeron and Lainez to assist in his name with his legates at the Council of Trent, whither also Le Jay went as theologian to the bishop of Augsburg. They)succeeded so well in the performance of the task devolving upon them, that they were appointed to compare the errors of the heretics with the scriptures and the writings of the Fathers. f The efforts of the Jesuits to establish themselves in France did not meet with the same success as in Italy. In the year 1545 there were thirteen in the college of Lombards. They did not, however, openly declare the sect, to which they belonged until the year 1549, when Father Viole their principal finding the duties of their order incom- patible with those required of them by the college, withdrew himself and his associates from it, and claimed the protection of William Du- prat, bishop of Clermont, and a natural son of the famous Cardinal Duprat. He gave them an asylum in his Hotel de Clermont, and at his death left them a large legacy. By the assistance of the Cardinal of Lorraine they obtained, in 1550, letters patent from Henry II. of France, by which they were permitted to have a college at Paris, and to establish themselves in his kingdom. These letters, however, the parliament refused to register; but the king persuaded by the Car- dinal of Lorraine and the commissioners he had appointed to examine the Institutes of the Jesuits, issued letters a second time, which he commanded the parliament to register, jvnthout regarding the re- monstrances of their procureur-general. Urged by the commands they had received, the parliament gave an arret on the 3d of August, 1554, to the effect that, as the affairs of the Jesuits were matters connected with religion, the bulls should be submitted to the consideration of the bishop of Paris and the doctors of the Sorbonne, and that these should render an account of them to the court. Eustache du Bellai, bishop of Paris, was altogether opposed to their establishment, and pronounced that " these bulls contained many things which appeared to him utterly contrary to reason, and such as ought not to be received [or tolerated in the Christian religion." He called the title'of the society " an arrogant name, as if they would represent themselves as alone constituting the church ;" and he said moreover, " that in spite of their vows of poverty, they held and dis- posed of ecclesiastical dignities, — that they would not submit to be corrected by bishops, — and that they usurped the rights of those who have the cure of Lsouls, those of the bishops, and even of the Pope himself, whom especially they had vowed to obey, and to go whither- soever he might send them, while their superior might recal those whom the Pope had sent on any mission, and that they had obtained exemption from the public services of religion." He concludes, * Helyot, Chap. 60. t Ibid. The Origin of the Jesuits. 45 " Finally, let the parliament consider that all innovations are dangerous, and that from these in particular many unforeseen and unexpected dangers must arise."* The faculty of Theology gave their opinion in the following words, on the 1st of December, 1554 : — " This new society, which gives itself the extraordinary and un- heard of appellation of 'The Company of Jesus/ which receives in- discriminately and with so great laxity all sorts of persons, — however wicked, lawless, and infamous they may be, — which in no way differs from the secular priests either in habit or in tonsure, having neither choir, nor fasts, nor silence imposed on them, nor any of those cere- monies which distinguish and maintain the other religious orders ; this society, to which so many privileges have been granted con- cerning the administration of penance and the Eucharist, the giving instruction to the prejudice of the ordinaries and the hierarchi- cal and other religious orders, even also of princes and lords temporal, against the privileges of the universities, and indeed to the great oppression of the people ; this society appears to us contrary to the honour of the monarchical profession — seems to weaken the' public honest and pious exercise of virtues, ,abstinence, alms, and austerity. It is very fit to cause apostacy ; it takes away the jurisdiction of the bishops, unjustly deprives lords, both temporal and spiritual, of their rights: — it cannot but cause troubles and dissensions, quarrels, complaints, disputes, jealousies, and schisms. "All these things, and many others, being diligently examined and considered, this society seems to us very dangerous in all that concerns the faith, inimical to the peace of the church, likely to de- stroy the monachical state, and created more for the destruction than the edification of the faithful."f " (Signed) Beno'it, Courcelles, Maillard, De Mouchi, Perizonius, Ari, Inquisitor of the Faith, de Feire Syndic." Such was the famous decree of the Sorbonne against the Jesuits. Some of the Jesuits, scandalized at this attack upon their order^ were desirous of replying to it, and refuting or endeavouring to re- fute the gross calumnies which they asserted were contained in it. But Loyola, with more prudence, fearing lest this might increase the obloquy in which they were held, by enraging their opponents, re- fused his permission, assuring them that notwithstanding the obstacles offered in France, they would be ultimately established there, and that too in great celebrity. The decree of the Sorbonne met with universal approbation in France ; and finding himself authorized by the concurrence of others, as well as his own opinion, the bishop of Paris interdicted them from all their functions. His example was followed by all the other It might be expected that their courage would have given way under their overwhelming opposition ; but Pasquier Brouet, who had * Histoire des Religieux de la Compagnie de Jesus, Liv. iii. t Ibid. 46 The Origin of the Jesuits. been placed by Ignatius at the head of the French Jesuits, not only braved the storm, but even had the audacity to remain in Paris, re- tiring with his companions to the quarter of St. Germain, which they pretended was out of the jurisdiction of the bishop. Here they con- tinued to perform their exercises in the abbey. The prior was pressed to dismiss them; but he was too well pleased at having such an opportunity of vindicating the rights of his church to be persuaded to put them away. They remained here therefore, quietly waiting for any turn of the tide, which, if taken good advantage of, might lead to as brilliant successes as those they had to boast of in Italy. In Spain, John Silic, archbishop of Toledo, declared that the Je- suits interfered with the rights of the bishoprick by giving sacraments in all places. It so happened that the college of Jesuits at Alcala was in his diocese. He interdicted them on their refusal to obey his re- quisition of silence from their preaching; and he fulminated a sentence of excommunication against all such as should confess to them. Finally, he forbade the curates and religious of his whole diocese to allow a Jesuit to preach or say mass in their churches.* This was only a continuation of the opposition they had already met with in Spain. In 1548 Melchior Cano, a Dominican friar, a celebrated theologian and distinguished for his learning, treated them as impostors and the emissaries of the Antichrist. Such was the influence he possessed at Salamanca, that they not only lost the con- fidence of the great, but even of the common people. The youth of the town were no longer committed to their charge for the purposes of education; and they were at last driven from Salamanca by the joint efforts of the magistrates and the university as a corrupt race. ' The society indeed, seemed likely to have sunk into decay and oblivion in Spain except for the exertions of Bartholomew Torus (afterwards bishop of the Canaries) and the ^countenance shown them by the Holy Inquisition. t In the year 1555 they were compelled to quit Saragossa also. But here their own violent conduct, and not the principles they inculcated on their disciples, was the immediate cause of their expulsion. Pre- suming on the privilege granted them by the Pope to build their churches wherever they pleased, and to consecrate them themselves, they had seized on a piece of land belonging to the Augustines, and despite of their remonstrances, (which they treated'as disobedience to the Holy See), proceeded to erect their chapel and say mass in it without applying to the ordinary. The grand vicar of the archbishop ef Saragossa, finding them deaf to his admonitions, excommunicated them, and placed them under an interdict until they should depart from the city. They found means, however, to return under the pa- tronage of Joan, mother of the emperor Charles V.J Towards the end of the life of Ignatius he made great efforts to establish his order in the low countries. He sent Ribadeneira to Philip LI. at Antwerp, proposing as a reason why he should favour their establishment, the essential service they should render to the * Helyot, Chap. 60. f Ibid. J Poynder, Chap. 3. The Origin of the Jesuits. 47 world at large, and his dominions in particular, by checking the pro- gress of the Lutheran heresy, which was fast spreading itself over Flanders. He, however, could be only persuaded to submit their written request to the Council of Flanders, who unanimously opposed their establishment.* Their success in Italy was, however, so great as to compensate for the checks and rebuffs they met with elsewhere. They had houses and colleges founded in Rome, Loretto, Naples, Florence, Bologna, Venice, Modena, &c., and were daily increasing in numbers and growing in power. They had met with some slight annoyance from the Pope himself in 1553, he having conceived that the Jesuits of Spain were ranged with Charles V. in opposition to himself. But these difficulties being removed, during the remainder of his pontifi- cate and that of Marcellus II. (which only lasted for three weeks), they enjoyed an undisturbed tranquillity. At the accession of Car- dinal Caraffa, who took the name of Paul IV., they were in some fear that he might gratify his desire of revenge on Loyola, who had hin- dered him in his design of founding the order of Theatins. They were not, however, visited with any immediate sign of his anger, t On the 31st of July, 1556, died Ignatius de Loyola, aged 65 years, having renounced the world for thirty-five years. His death took place sixteen years after the foundation of the society, during which comparatively short space of time he had seen it augmented to an extent scarcely credible, and arrived at a pitch of power, which seemed prophetic of the influence it was hereafter to exercise over the destinies of the world. He was interred in the church of the house of profession at Rome ; whence his body was thirty years after transferred to the church built for them by Cardinal Farnese. In per- son he was rather below than above the middle size, of a dark com- plexion, and bald-headed, — his eyes sunken, but full of fire, — his fore- head broad, — his nose aquiline. He was lame from the effects of the wounds he received at Pampeluna ; but this defect was scarcely dis- tinguishable in his gait from the pains he was at to conceal it.J In considering the character of this celebrated man, we shall find much to admire, as well as much to blame. The dangers and priva- tions he underwent in the course of his change from a fiery soldier to the general of a monastic order are certainly proofs of his sincerity : for the dangers he met with were of his own seeking, and such that he could not expect to derive any worldly advantage from encounter- ing; and the sufferings he endured fromjoluntary privation of the ne- cessaries and comforts of existence, were* such as materially injured his constitution and embittered his life bythe effects of the diseases that he had incurred. The reputation he had acquired in his military profession, previous to his renouncing the world, was by no means contemptible. The power acquired by the Jesuits in the issue, the length of time during which they retained their influence, the immense wealth they acquired, and the extension of their numbers, all serve to prove the stability and soundness of the rules and regulations by which they * Poynder, Chap. 3. t Helyot, Chap. 60. J Histoire des Religieux, &c., Livre iii. 48 The Night-Voices. were governed. These, however they may since have been altered and improved, were composed by Loyola ; and we must add the praise of a clear and vigorous understanding to the lofty enthusiasm and un- shrinking fortitude which have been already attributed to him. Whe- ther a good or evil use was made of their influence, or rather whether the good resulting from their machinations and efforts for aggran- disement predominated over the evil produced by their inordinate ambition, is a matter not here to be considered. But to Loyola, at least, we must award the distinction of greatness, if we refuse him the higher merit of virtue. THE NIGHT-VOICES. THE night lies heavily on wood and wold, Dark as the burden of an untold crime On man's stained bosom. Sounds of earth are still ; But thou, wild Fancy, on the soul enthroned, With dreams, the heart-deceivers, girding thee, In the wide void of thy mysterious hall Art silent never. When the weary day Shuts the huge volume of its written cares, And the tired thoughts make holiday, — 'tis sweet, 'Mid the old quiet woods, thy fitting shrine, To turn the worship of the heart to thee. Night's voices are awaking : from the lone, Elf-haunted cavern, hark, their stilly call ! The winds are lulled by those sweet whisperings ; The wearied flowers, earth's rainbows, lay them down With folded leaves in clusters ; phantom mists sGlide by with noiseless step ; and now the moon Comes forth, and like some gentle spirit, fond And faithful to a mortal trust, sheds down On the earth's beautiful and languid things, The love which forms her being ; while the stars, The gentle stars, in playful mockery send Their beams to glisten o'er the sinuous paths Of the sea-shore, like dancing spirits, crowned With white wreaths woven of the diamond spray. Voices are floating round me. — I could dream For ever in this solitude, and give Words to their sweet communion. Now a flower Starts, half-awakened by the dew's cold kiss, And the soft rustling of those silken leaves Makes a low sudden music. Hark, they sing : — " Sister, wake thee ; o'er thy cheek Dews — not of night — are stealing ; Thy soft breast heaves with terror; speak, What pang art thou concealing ? •*' A tear, as when the morning grieves, Did on thine eyelid glister ; 'Tis wiped off with my velvet leaves, Awake : — art dreaming, sister I" T/tc Night-Voices.. Was't sleep ? a royal shape there stood Beside my rest, but now, — The spirit fair that decks the wood, That paints the blossomed bough. Her crown was gone, — her white brow bare ; And, free from braid or fold. Floated afar her glittering hair Like flakes of sunset's gold. She stood beside me ; sleep dispersed As mist beneath her eye ; Then from her faded lips there burst A low and mournful cry. And it was like the mandrake's shriek, When the hot blight burneth him ; For the fierce death- fever flushed her cheek, And her bright, bright eye was dim. Her voice was sweet in its disdain, Like the springlet's under tune ; Like a whispering gush of honied rain On the thirsting leaves of June. " Thou art," it said, " a little flower, — Thy home a desert spot ; Fain would thy parent earth devour The form she loveth not. " Flower, I am called to die : — 'tis well, For the summer's breath doth sear- Now am I seeking leaf and bell To dress me for my bier. "They heed me not; my children love The gay green earth too well : They joy to gaze on the skies above, And to dive in the secret dell, — " To paint the slope of the fairy mound, And toy with the robber-bee . I may not pass alone — uncrowned — Wilt rise — and go with me ?" Sister, that little flower, unknown. Unprized by living thing — Of all earth's gems, that flower alone Was the wreath of the dying spring. There was a murmur of embracing leaves, And with a dewy kiss the flowers lay down And slept again ; the glow-worm left the nook Where he had crept — the^curming evesdropper — To listen what the whispering flowers might say. The distant ocean, like a wayward child, Had moaned himself to slumber; and the wood Was silent, till another voice awoke With a low mournful cadence, whose sad strain A nightingale, a silly mocking thing, Learned from a weeping lover, as he sate JAN. 1837. E 50 The Night-Voices. In the rich twilight of the greenwood, when His love put on the mask of poesy, Because he feared its aspect might affright That lovely thing it worshipped. Thus it ran : — I send thee flowers ; and marvel not that they Are so soon withered ; their rich scent and hue Have, like ourselves, but one brief tearful day — Children of sunshine, and the starry dew. Some bright with death, some with deep passion pale, Poor silent mourners, I will tell their tale. This rose was gathered in her twilight dream Because she dreamed of a forbidden heaven ; This lily, jealous of the diamond gleam Of fairy tears, which not to her were given, Recked not of blight when she her bosom bared ; — Oh, judge them not, for I their crime have shared. This shade-born violet saw how bright ones basked In noon-tide glories, to herself denied ; She envied them, and of the sunshine asked One only kiss — but of its sweetness died ; Though just her doom may be, I scarce can blame Her tender fault : — who would not do the same ? This heartVease, when from out his leafy screen, In pleading tones, the night's lone chorister Prayed to his scornful love—arose unseen, And deemed, vain thing, that sweet voice sang for her. Entranced, she bowed her blushing leaves, and this Neglected weeper died of too much bliss. Sweet, take these flowers, love's martyrs — do not spurn Their humble moral, for their crimes atone Themselves. Of all the scorpion thoughts which turn Their stings on their own bosoms, love alone Can need no judgment on its weakness sent — For in itself is its worst punishment. We will forgive thy discontented song, Thou lonely bird ; for ever thou hast been In love with sorrow. Yet the crowded paths Of yonder world enough of witness have To prove thy moral true. Behold ! a change Hath shadowed o'er the dreamy wilderness ; Beneath, the pale flowers lift their drooping heads With a quick tremulous motion, and remain Fixed as in sudden dread ; above, the stars Break into gazing groups, and pallid stand Like gay young dancers in some festal hour, When death hath stol'n upon their revelry. The clouded air grows thick with flitting forms, Like heralds that prepare the wondrous way Of some mysterious pageant. Hark ! the voice, Whose deep pervading sound hath fettered thus All living things, like spirit forced to hear The fearful muttering of a master-spelU The Night-Voices. 51 It is mine hour ; prepare ye now my dim and shadowy train ! Abroad I come — the ancient one — the child of chaos' reign. The earth grows silent at my step, and o'er the restless sea The wildest billows cease their strife, and bow, like slaves, to me. I walk beneath the moonlight dim, with Night, my starry bride ; And nought may stay our silent course as o'er the earth we glide ; I speak, and Echo slumbers still within her haunted grot ; I tread the dry and fallen leaf— it moves and murmurs not. Dreams are my ministers that make the human heart a toy ; My music is the secret strings of grief and hope and joy ; Palace and hut alike are mine, — nor is the silent tomb A lonely house ; — I too am there until the day of doom. Man feels my presence, yet would fain my influence deny ; His stricken conscience bends beneath the burden of mine eye ; My hand is on his soul, and when its deadliest passions wake, Do I not joy to bind them down with chains no force can break ? Beside the couch of innocence I stand with peace and love ; I catch the infant's sinless prayer, and waft its voice above. The world moves on — its minions fall — its bright things fade ; — but / Live on, unchanged and undecayed, — my name is Mystery. That sound hath wandered on to other lands, Perchance to other worlds, — but leaving still Upon its track a lingering oracle To those whose feet grow weary in life's ways, That this wide earth no single spot affords Of true and perfect loneliness. Once more, Bright gleams, like ghosts of Nature's weeping born, Creep upwards stealthily ; from bower and dell I see them gliding ; breezy harpings sound ; I hear the music of immortal tongues, Low hymning sounds of voices summoning As to some joyous tryst — " Away, away !" Away — We have bent o'er the couch of the dying day ; We have breathed on the sunflower's aching eye ; We have fettered the earth with the sunset's dye ; A thousand colours are mingling there ; Voices are rife in the moonlit air ; We have watched the reluctant lily close ; We have bowed to slumber the weeping rose ; We have filled her heart with a dream of May—- Away, sweet sisters, away, away ! A voice of solemn dole Is shed, like guilt, on the sinner's soul ; His ear is dinned with a ceaseless cry, His gaze is met by an unknown eye; The day is too bright, and the night too grim ; They have no season of rest for him. Power that tortures, and cannot bless ; Sorrow without its holiness ; Hopes that the fevered heart betray, Haunt him, like vengeance — away, away ! 52 The Night-Voices. A song of peace I hear, — A song of affection, calm and clear. The full eye dimmed with its hallowed joy, A mother bends o'er her sleeping boy ; She has murmured her nightly prayer. There shall no dark thing hover there ; Blight shall not canker the budding flower, For the world's worst poison has lost its power In the light of that fond affection's ray — Trusting and fervent — away, away ! Swift o'er the shining foam A bark is bounding in triumph home ; Many a weary day and night Her prow hath striven with the tempest's might ; She has brought back the spoil of the deep green sea. Hark to the voices of infant glee '. Hail to those kindly looks of light ; Love shall sit at their feast to-night : — Virtue shall prompt them when they pray — Away, sweet sisters — away, away! The tasks we love are done ; Many a heart to its home has gone : — We have taken the weight from the captive's chain ; We have closed the eyelid of grief and pain : — Sorrow, and falsehood, and harrowing fear, These have no power in our calmer sphere. Ours are all blessings the twilight brings, Gentle and soothing — all beautiful things, Unseen in the glare of the garish day — Away, sweet sisters — away, away ! Above, in silver light, Hangs the rich robe of our mistress, Night. Stars are whispering round her throne Tales of the world they are gazing upon, — Calm as the mantling clouds above. Look, how she bends to the earth in love ! While the pale Moon, wrapt in her glowing pall, Changes her tears to gold as they fall. All things rejoice in that gentle sway; Let us not linger — away, away ! And a bright sweep of white and glistening wings Shed round a sudden glory, as they burst Through the thick roof of intertwining boughs, And floated in the moonlight. They are gone — The airy messengers, with many gifts Which are of heaven — rest to the wailing breeze, And life and beauty to the fainting flower ; And messages of peace to human hearts, To stand, perchance, betwixt them and despair. O, for such fair companionship — to trace Beyond the sounds of grief, or sense of guile, Those heavenward footsteps. — Hold ! a chilling cloud Enwraps my soaring soul ; around me rise The moonlight, and the woodlands, and the shore — I have been dreaming — To the world again. ( 53 ) THE ACQUAVITARO OF LONGARA. ROME, 1518. THE immortal names'of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle possess such an intrinsic fascinating charm, that whatever relates to them cannot but be interesting. Those who are acquainted with the memoirs of those two geniuses of modern Italy, must know that a great emula- tion, nay, a glorious rivalry for pre-eminence, existed between them. It is matter of history that when Buonarroti was painting his wonderful a fresco works in the Sixtine chapel of the Vatican, nobody was allowed to enter into that place with the exception of David de Volterra and Sebastian del Piornbo. Raffaelle,. who had already studied Michael Angelo's Cartoons at Florence, was very anxious to have a sight of the a frescos of his rival, which were reported as truly extraordinary, both with regard to the design and the grandeur. He spoke therefore of his wish to Monsignor Bambo, who was then the secretary of state of LeoX., and I consequently the most powerful personage of Rome after the Pope. To obtain for his favourite artist the opportunity of admiring and of studying the majestic colossal Sybils and Prophets which Michael Angelo had already completed, Bambo one day, having met with Buonarroti on the stairs of the Vatican, spoke to him rather with authority, and almost with rudeness ; when the incomparable artist, resenting the insult, without much ceremony gave a slap in the face to Monsignor ; and then to avoid being arrested for that sacrilegious transgression, he left Rome almost instanter, and retreated to Florence, there to wait for the result of his assault. During Michael Angelo's absence Raffaelle had every opportunity of studying in the Sixtine chapel, and derived much profit by his study, the proof of which is that from that epoch he began to enlarge the size of his already beautiful angelic figures. Michael Angelo, however, having been not only forgiven, but also most earnestly entreated by the Pope to return to his immortal work, complied with his Holiness's request, and having been informed of what had happened during his absence from Rome, became more than ever angry with Bambo, and never forgot the stratagem of that prelate — so much so, that when Buonarroti many years after this painted his Last Judgment, he placed amongst the damned in hell Bambo, who was then the Cardinal of state, by which the latter was so much offended that he applied to the Pope to obtain redress, but his Holiness said : " Cardinal, I am very sorry that I cannot be of use to you. Michael Angelo has placed you in hell, and you know that the Vicar of Christ has no power there : — consequently remain where you are, — certain however, of a damned immortality. But to return to our Brandy Merchant. The family of Alexander Farnese, who afterwards was elevated to the dignity of Pontiff as Paul III., was not only one of the most noble, but certainly the most ambitious, and the wealthiest of Italy. Cardinal Farnese, therefore, wished to possess all that was grand and unrivalled. Michael Angelo 54 The Acquuvitaro of Longara. had erected for him the renowned Palazzo Farnese, which for gran- deur, style of architecture, and beauty of design, and elegance, does not yield to the finest buildings of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Just opposite to this immense edifice, on the other side of the Tiber, Alexander caused to be erected a smaller palace, which is called the Farnesina; and he obtained from Raffaelle that it should be entirely adorned with a frescos of his invention and execution. Raf- faelle, however, stipulated with the Cardinal, that during all the time that was necessary to perfect his paintings at the Farnesina, with the exception of Giulio Romano, Garsfalo, and Raffaellino, his pupils, and of the Cardinal Bambo, and Castiglione, nobody else should be admitted in that villa; and the Cardinal promised that RafFaelle's wishes would be strictly fulfilled. After RafFaelle had been working at the Farnesina nearly two years, through the reports of Cardinal Bambo and of Giulio Romano and Garsfalo, who assisted their master in painting the less difficult parts of his beautiful compositions, all Rome began to speak with admiration of the almost unparalleled beauty and elegance of the a frescos with which RafFaelle had already adorned the walls and ceilings of that villa. The fabulous story of Love and Psyche was described as one of his finest compositions: — the Banquet of the Gods was represented as a masterpiece : — the Triumph of Galatea was said to be so admirably conceived, designed, and painted, that it surpassed every other work of RafFaelle. All the artists, therefore, and all the admirers of the beau ideal in the fine arts, were very anxiously waiting for the epoch, when they might be admitted to view and admire the prodigies of the genius of RafFaelle. As it may be easily conceived, these reports were often repeated in the presence of Michael Angelo*; and that extraordinary architect, sculptor, painter, and poet, could not brook the obstacles placed in his way to prevent him from judging by himself, whether the great eulogies so generally and so lavishly heaped on his rival in painting were truly well deserved. Through Giulio Romano and Garsfalo, Daniel de Voltarra, the favourite pupil of Buonarroti, was informed that RafFaelle could not complete his a frescos of the Farnesina before another year. Michael Angelo having known this, and being deter- mined to satisfy his ardent wish of getting admittance into the Far- nesina, hit on the expedient of making use of some stratagem, and hoped to succeed under the menial appearance of a common brandy merchant. It was not very difficult for him to obtain, with a few scudi, from the ordinary brandy merchant, who walked every morning through the Longara, every information with regard to the masons and other workmen who were employed at the Farnesina, and also the permission of usurping for one morning alone his trade on that quarter. In fact, having soon procured a complete second-hand dress of a common brandy merchant, and the usual stock of that profession, on the 15th of March, 1518, Michael Angelo, very early in the morning, began to cry very loud near the gate of the Farne- sina, " Acquavita, acquavitaro !" The Roman masons, and all workmen in general, are very fond of Bacchanalian Verses. 55 taking a glass of acquavita early in the morning, and consequently the acquavitaro was soon called, and engaged to enter into the court, which Michael Angelo had no sooner reached, than, putting upon a bench the whole of his stock, he requested the masons to let him see the ground floor, which had been almost entirely painted. As no one could suspect that Buonarroti was concealed under that accoutre- ment, he immediately obtained his request, and thus hastily viewed all that Raffaelle had painted. Having arrived where the mytho- logical history of Galatea, Acis, and Polyphemus is represented, he found that only three sides of that apartment had been already painted, but the fourth was prepared for the immediate use of Raf- faelle, who that very day was to begin to paint on it the Death of Acis. Michael Angelo mounted on the scaffold erected near the wall, and, with a charcoal, sketched on the proposed intonaco an enormous beautiful head, to show to Raffaelle, that not only he had been there, but that he thought that the style of his a fresco was not grandioso. Having done this, the mock acquavitaro left the Farnesina without even thinking of his merchandise. The same day Raffaelle went about noon to the Farnesina, accom- panied by his Farnarina, whom he has there immortalized under the figures of the graceful Goddess of Love, of the innocent Psyche, and of the charming Galatea. Scarcely had he entered into the apart- ment where he was to work, than casting his eyes over the prepared wall, he soon perceived the colossal head which Michael Angelo had there sketched ; and this unexpected visit and critique of his rival, so much hurt his feelings, that, notwithstanding the pressing solicita- tions and entreaties of the family of Farnese, and of his patron, and proud Cardinal Bambo, Raffaelle would not complete the painting of that room. Buonarroti's wonderful gigantic head is still preserved with great care under a glass ; and it continues to be admired by all the artists and connoisseurs who visit the Farnesina as an extraordinary con- trast of style compared with the beautiful but diminutive pattern of the angelic figures of Raffaelle. BACCHANALIAN VERSES. OH ! could we but find Such chains as would bind The vigorous limbs of old Time, We might talk then with truth Of the blessings of youth, And a century pass in our prime. But since we now no longer may Look forward to a distant day, There's not a moment to be lost, boys. We'll push about the ruddy wine, While song and jest and toast combine Of our short span to make the most, boys. MR. ERASER VERSUS MR. GRANTLEY BERKELEY. THE details of this case having- already met the eye of the public through the medium of the papers of the day, we will but briefly re- capitulate them here, in order that our readers may the better be en- abled to follow us in the comments we are about making upon it. Mr. Grantley Berkeley had written a novel called " Berkeley Cas- tle," a review of which was published in " Fraser's Magazine" on the 1st of August last. The criticism was unusually severe and pungent, and allusions were made in it to circumstances affecting Mr. Berke- ley's family, which that gentleman deemed personally offensive and insulting ; and, acting under this impression, he proceeded, on the 3d of August, to the shop of Mr. Fraser, in Regent Street, accompanied by his brother and another unknown individual, and there com- mitted a violent assault upon Mr. Fraser by cutting him in a dread- ful manner over the head, face, and hands, with a heavy horsewhip, while his two companions kept guard at the door to prevent the in- terference of the passengers in the street whom Mr. Fraser's cries had collected round the door. The natural, and indeed unavoidable consequence upon this viola- lation of the law was an action for damages brought by Mr. Fraser against the Messrs. Berkeley, which was tried in the Court of Ex- chequer, on the 3d of last month, before the Chief Baron and a special jury. The damages were laid at 6000/. Considerable elo- quence and legal acumen were displayed by Messrs. Erie and Thesi- ger, the leading counsel for the plaintiff and the defendant ; and a deep interest was manifested throughout the trial by a densely crowded auditory, amongst whom we recognised several literary characters, and one or two at least of our distinguished female writers. After an investigation, which lasted nearly six hours, Lord Abinger charged the jury in a luminous speech, which completely dis- entangled the case from the difficulties with which the ingenious casuistry of the opposing advocates had encumbered it. He laid down the law clearly on those points which involved legal questions, sum- med up the evidence with admirable precision, and left it to the jury to decide the amount of damages to which Mr. Fraser was entitled for the assault committed upon him by the defendants, and how far the publication of the libel complained of should mitigate those da- mages. After a few minutes' consultation the jury returned a verdict for the plaintiff — Damages 100/. Before pronouncing an opinion on the adequacy of these damages to the offence, it will be necessary to examine the merits of the case minutely ; to view it in all its phases, — to weigh between the provoca- tion on the one hand and the assault on the other, — and to decide without permitting our prejudicies or our sympathies to bias us in favor of either. To do this fairly, we must not limit ourselves to the mere matter at issue between Mr. Berkeley and Mr. Fraser, — we must not only admit the libel contained in the review as a palliation of the assault; but we must try how far the reviewer was at liberty in,. Mr. Frascr versus Mr. Berkeley. 57 the discussion of an author's work to introduce into his criticism remarks or strictures reflecting on the honour of the writer or his fa- mily, and calculated to wound his feelings in the most sensitive point. First, let us examine the merits of Mr. Berkeley's book, and con- trast it with the review upon it. '* Berkeley Castle," as'our readers most probably are aware, purports to be a historical romance relat- ing the achievments of the Berkeley family during that ev entful period of English history, when the contending houses of York and Lancaster rallied around their respective standards the brave and noble of the land. And here we dissent altogether from the opinion expressed by the critic of this species of writing. He says, "What awfully bad taste it is in Mr. Grantley Berkeley to write a book with such a title ! What would be thought of Lord Prudhoe if he were to sit down and give us a book upon Alnwick ? We should say it was very absurd indeed." We should say, that if he possessed sufficient talent to do so, he would be conferring a benefit on mankind by transmitting to posterity the noble deeds of the house of Percy. Can the man who deliberately traces out and perpetuates the virtues of his ancestry be wicked or degenerate ? Would he not blush to call forth from the tomb of oblivion the good actions of his forefathers in contrast with his own baseness ? Is it likely that he would, by blazoning the valour of his progenitors, proclaim his own pusillanimity? Certainly not. The effect would be to stimulate him to emulate the actions, that exalted the great and good men of his family. For this reason we are partial to family histories : and we agree with Johnson, that " like the imagines majorum of the ancients they excite to virtue ;" and we only wish that those who really have blood would be more careful to trace and ascertain its course. But the case is widely different, when a man takes up his pen to record the delinquencies or follies of his family, — when he occupies three volumes with the details of the adulterous amours of one of his ancestors, — when we find the hero of his book, Herbert Reardon, act the heroic part of a go-between for Sir Mau- rice Berkeley and Isabel Mead, a married woman, and one too whom he is described as having loved and sought to marry, — when we find in the same book a bed-room scene elaborately described be- tween a certain waiting woman and a Mr. Hugh Mull, while an un- fortunate groom is concealed under the bed — when, in short, we dis- cover throughout these volumes passages and descriptions of a cha- racter that no female could read without contamination, we cannot hesitate in agreeing with the reviewer in Fraser^s that the book " is a bestiality towards the ladies of England, and should be flung forth from the literature of our country." If Mr. Berkeley in eulogizing his own family degrades the cha- racter of the females of England, has not his reviewer a right — nay, is he not compelled by every sentiment that prompts men to generous and devoted acts to vindicate and rescue the character of his country- women from the foul slander of their traducer ? Is he not justified in flinging back on the calumniator the calumny that he has heaped upon them, and exposing to the world those blemishes in his own lineage which he so liberally exhibits in the pers-ons of the ladies of Bristol, one of whom he describes as making an acquaintance with a gentleman 58 Mr. Fraser versus Mr. Berkeley. walking down the street, and admitting him the same evening clandes- tinely into her brother's house. We speak not of the insults he offers to the merchants of Bristol. Any member of the noble house of Berke- ley may, if it so please him, write an immoral book — he may ridi- cule honest men and scoff at virtuous women ; but will any independ- ent mind condemn a reviewer who asks him the question — Is your boasted family immaculate ? Is it superior in honesty or virtue to those persons whom you affect to despise ? Have the heroes and he- roines of your romance no counterparts in your own castle? Will he be censured, if from the pages of history he bring down authen- ticated facts derogatory to the purity or nobility of the writers' fa- mily to place in juxta-position with the foul libels he has heaped on the ladies of England ? This is precisely the state of the case. It stands in legal phraseology thus : — "Mr. Grantley Berkeley and his family versus the Females of England." And is not the man who in their defence has had the courage to step beyond the bounds of le- gitimate criticism to chastise the offender entitled to their thanks and gratitude rather than their censure ? We admit, that in no other case but one similar to the present should a critic dare to invade the pri- vacy of domestic life. But here is a history of the Berkeley family ; and, as the counsel for the plaintiff justly remarked, "If Mr. Berke- ley made his novel a species of family biography, a sort of pedestal of fame on which he might exalt himself, he ought to be reminded of circumstances connected with that family which might have escaped his memory. Personal anecdotes are related every day in works is- suing from the press, — some of them by no means calculated to exalt the character of the families they relate to. Yet we hear of no assaults on the publishers or writers of them. " Oh !' cries one, " they are deemed matter of history, and cannot be personally offensive." Now weshould'be glad to ascertain the precise point, at which hi story ^termi- nates arid slander begins. In which of those divisions does a man's grandfather stand ? Or is he to be placed in a debateable land, to be shifted into either territory at the pleasure of his descendants? Admitting, however, that the animus of the review was directed against the author rather than his writings, — admitting that the re- viewer, in vindicating female purity from the taint of the defamer, quitted his legitimate track and assailed the offender in his private character, — admitting that he published facts which, although they had already been the subject of public judicial investigation, should not have been repeated, and admitting that Mr. Berkeley, writhing under the aspersions cast upon the fame of his family, did, in a moment of excitement, inflict personal chastisement upon the author of the galling criticism, we might, sympathizing with his irritated feelings, have allowed the provocation in some sort as a justification of the offence. But with all these broad admissions granted to Mr. Berkeley, we cannot discover a single point, upon which he can rest a well-grounded defence of his assault on Mr. Fraser. It is almost notorious, that the proprietor or publisher of magazines and other periodical works of literature is rarely the editor of them ; that is an office completely distinct from the mercantile management of the concern. The editor's province is to examine, and receive or reject Mr. Fraser versus Mr. Berkeley. 59 such contributions as may be offered him for insertion in the work he superintends; arid he is responsible that nothing of an objectionable character be admitted into it. Should an article of a libellous nature be notwithstanding published, the writer or the editor in the first instance ought to be looked to, and if he be not forthcoming the onus lies on the publisher to afford to the injured party satisfaction or redress. But it would be extremely unjust to make the publisher responsible for the contents of every work which he vends, and with the contents of which he may be totally unacquainted, even after it has been exposed on his counter for sale. It is not his business ; — he traffics in books merely as articles of commerce : but as he derives a profit in their sale, he is, in the eye of the law, properly regarded as a particeps criminis in any slander they may propagate. This security is necessary to protect society against anonymous irresponsible writers ; and therefore the publisher is held accountable for the works that he sends to the world, in precisely the same way that the endorser of a bill of exchange becomes liable if the manufacturers of that bill — the drawer and accepter — allow it to be dishonoured. The first step then to be taken by Mr. Berkeley, ought to have been, as the Chief Baron remarked in his charge to the jury, "to diligently seek out the author" of the offensive article, and at his hands demand reparation. But what does he ? Three days after the publication of the review he goes to Mr. Fraser's shop, aided by his brother and an individual whose name has not transpired, inflicts on a highly respectable citizen in the peaceable exercise of his busi- ness, a brutal and violent assault, from the effects of which he had not at the time of the trial perfectly recovered. If we consider the time that elapsed between the publication of the alleged libel and the assault, it will afford pregnant proof that it was coolly premeditated. And when we further contrast the physical powers of Mr. Berkeley with those of Mr. Fraser, the one a large muscular man, the other a person of small stature and slender frame — the former assisted and cheered on to his heartless work by two companions — the latter alone — unprotected — unarmed — prostrate and bleeding beneath the re- peated blows of his merciless antagonist, we cannot help thinking, that the amount of damages awarded Mr. Fraser was disproportion- ately small. They were either inadequate or absurd. — Inadequate, if the jury believed that Mr. Fraser had been made to pay the pe- nalty of an act which the real author was prepared, — if called upon — to avow and defend. Inadequate, — if they intended the miserable sum of one hundred pounds as a proper compensation for the outraged feelings, and severe injuries sustained in the person of the plaintiff; and absurd if they imagined, by the infliction of such a paltry fine upon a man moving in the high sphere and possessing the large for- tune of Mr. Berkeley, — that they marked their honest and fearless reprobation of a deliberate breach of the laws of honour — of man- kind, and of their country. ( 60 ) THE TORY LAMENT, On CHRISTMAS CAROL FOR 1836-7. " FLOW, sorrow, flow ;" a flood of grief, In tears for all our glories Now withering fast beyond belief, " The deluge" of the" Tories. For oh ! what fearful spectres rise To blast our backward gaze ; If onward we but cast our eyes, What phantoms dread amaze ! In five long years (ah ! long to us) Of hated Whig misrule, What direful changes spring to curse A nation once our fool ! These ministers of wrath divine, Loos'd for a people's sin, How long, oh ! Lord, can'st thou incline Their wicked way to win ? First GAME LAWS fell ; eight hundred years Our ancestry had wove Around preserves of pheasants, hares, Their fond exclusive love : Landowners — peers (how vainly !) wept Their rural rights' decay, For one fell statute fiercely swept Full fifty laws away.* Now partridges, and hares to boot, Nay ! pheasants, grouse, and all, Th' unqualified profanely shoot, Or buy at "dealer's" stall. My manton, now, in grief replaced, Shall slumber in its case, Oh ! never shall it be disgraced By such plebeian chase. Next boroughs went ; aloud the cry REFORM they blindly raise, And parliaments insane reply An echo in its praise ; The sober Isle's sobriety At that grim word is scared, And " frighted from propriety" The peers e'en disappeared. Sarum, as ancient as her hill, And Gatton are destroyed, Bold Radicals their wicked will O'er all the land enjoyed, * 1 and 2 Will. IV. c. 32. The Tory Lament. 61 Till scarce (on such destruction bent) A quiet place is known, Where still his seat in parliament A man can call his own. Then SLAVES were freed ; and, though the game Be freely bought and sold, No longer can the African Be 'chang'd " for love or gold ;" Now men in ebony no more By men in white are chained, Although 'tis clear God's image e'er In ink should be disdained. The Company's decrees supreme No longer rule the East, Nor planters' care of blacks the theme Of good men in the West ; America, and Asia too, Must own the hated sway, Above their will this power new E'en lords of slaves obey. New victims yet, our strongholds stormed Yield to the monster will, E'en CORPORATIONS are reformed, And debtors plead their BILL ; The church now tottering to her fall, The MARRIAGE ACT appears, And couples matrimonial (Without her) binds in pairs. Another year the BALLOT-BOX May votes plebeian mate, And no man know the orthodox Upon his own estate ; The Duke no more his maxim deal To each (his merit known), " Let every man do as he will With that which is his own." In short, I know but one thing left Of all our ancient boasts, Of every privilege bereft, We dine, and drink our toasts. May Orangemen in Erin rise To save the falling State, And king O'Connell seek the skies — A halter be his fate 1 Long life to glorious Cumberland ! May Carlos rule in Spain ! And Miguelites in number land On Portugal's fair main ! Success to good queen Adelaide ! Convert our gracious King ! And Heaven preserve the Royal Maid Beneath our Tory wing ! Encombe, Christmas-day, 1836. ( 62 ) HISTORY OF ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY.— No. IV. (Continued from page 574J SECOND PERIOD. SOCRATES. WE have now arrived at the commencement of what may be consi- dered the aera of the regeneration of philosophy. Hitherto its prin- ciples had been for the most part veiled in mystic language, or com- municated only to a chosen few under the seal of secrecy, so that whatever advantages might be derived from the knowledge of its precepts were confined to those few and not shared by the bulk of mankind. Another prominent evil which resulted from the watch- fulness with which its doctrines were hidden from the multitude was, that designing men availed themselves of the power they derived from it for nefarious purposes, by false and specious reasoning con- verting its most valuable dogmas into instruments of wrong instead of pillars of virtue. One of the most important services rendered by Socrates to the world at large consists in the studious care, with which he divested philosophy of the mystic garments in which its fair proportions had before his time been enveloped. In many cases, and especially among the Sophists, disputes or differences of opinion had arisen from pecu- liar acceptations of the same terms, these terms being allegorical, and therefore admitting of more than one interpretation. Socrates, — by a judicious and critical examination of the meaning, import, and tendency of the terms employed to express particular ideas, by re- jecting all factitious ornaments of style, the gaudy and fascinating language of poetic imagery, and the mystery of symbolic formulae, and so leaving the plain unencumbered sense of his words to express his meaning without the remotest chance of misapprehension, — se- cured future disputants from this inconvenience. The mathematical accuracy of diction which he employed in his discourse rendered his precepts intelligible to the least enlightened of his hearers; and the plain sound sense of his reasoning made his in- struction palatable to all whom nature had endowed with a compe- tent share of understanding. This, however, is the smallest of his merits. To have stripped the mask from the features of sophistry and shown the worthlessness of the tinsel of mysticism when com- pared with the sterling metal of truth and light, was no inconsiderable point gained : but this was only the first step towards the reforms ef- fected by the great Athenian in the rotten state of philosophic morality. He soared at a far higher pitch above the ordinary level of mankind. This change effected provided him only with tools for his labour. His grand project was on a far more extensive scale. It was no less than to weed the whole field of philosophy, and restore it to that sound and healthy state in which only it can be of essential service to the interests of the community. History of Philosophy. 63 The reforms undertaken and carried into effect by Socrates may be classed under three heads : — First. — He sifted the errors which had crept into philosophy to their very source, and not only laid bare the distortions which de- formed her symmetry, but explained their causes. Second. — He re-directed the human intelligence to the fountain heads of truth, there to dip in her waters for the precious draughts of knowledge. Third. — He pointed out by what process that knowledge might be best and most surely obtained. In considering the first of the three heads under which we have classed his reforms, — we must observe, that philosophers had hitherto indulged in scientific speculations without any immediate or prospec- tive object but the satisfaction of a curious and enquiring spirit. It was enough for them to have erected a plausible scheme and con- nected its different parts so artificially as to give it the semblance of an harmonious system, without stopping to consider, if that system rested on an unimpeachable chain of reasoning or would be the pa- rent of any art of practical utility in advancing the interests of man- kind in general. If they produced a fascinating speculation to .feed the greedy imaginations of visionaries, their end was answered. It was, on the contrary, the distinguishing characteristic of the phi- losophy of Socrates that practical utility was its immediate and indis- pensable object. He would not allow the discussion, much less the propagation, of a theory which did not propose to itself some mea- sures in its application conducive to the welfare of the human race His predecessors in the philosophic schools had made knowledge the instrument of their personal aggrandisement or enrichment ; but he constantly promulgated in his doctrine, that it had but one legiti- mate end — the diffusion of knowledge ; for he urged that by making men more enlightened you make them better; — if you make them better, you make them more happy. The passion for creating fresh systems had induced a neglect of the proper limits of science, and urged many to soar, or endeavour to soar, into regions utterly inaccessible to the limited scope of human intelligence. Socrates, in allusion to this ridiculous grasping at sha- dows untenable, drew distinctions between two kinds of ignorance : the one, acknowledging its deficiencies, may be amended ; inasmuch as that very consciousness of failing generates a desire of knowledge ; the other, a presumptuous ignorance which deceives itself with the idea that it knows that which it knows not, and being unaware of its weak points, is not susceptible of improvement. It must not, however, be denied that Socrates, in his eagerness to inculcate the superiority of practical utility over unfruitful theory, carried his dislike of speculative philosophy to far too high a pitch,—— inasmuch as he included in his sweeping condemnation the study of pure mathematics and mathematics as applied to physics.* In its infancy, no science, no branch of knowledge can bear good fruit. It is only when it has grown to maturity, or at least adoles- * See Memorabilia, lib. iv. chap. 7. 64 History of Philosophy. cence, that it can produce beneficial results ; and if every theory were nipped in the bud, because no immediate advantage was to be derived from its study, the advancement of arts and manufactures must needs cease ; at least in so far as they depend on the aid of science. For many years astronomy may have been a toy for the minds of speculators to play with. Deprive us now of the benefits we derive in our present state of civilization from its cultivation ; and we should at once be thrown half way back to a condition of barbarism. But the excessive redundancy of theories which were then continually brought forward by new aspirants to honour in the kingdom of philo- sophy, and the frequent instability of the grounds on which those the- ories rested for support, may be urged as a justification of the suspi- cion with which Socrates regarded the idea of abstraction in phi- losophy. The moral science, however, which Socrates professed to encou- rage was a sufficiently comprehensive term ; for it included within its limits all that appertains to the amelioration of the condition of man and his happiness regarded as asocial being. Truth, goodness, and beauty, are the never-failing attributes which are to be sought for in a man, who, according to the Socratic system, was to be set up as a model for imitation. Secondly. — Socrates was not satisfied with laying bare the errors and fallacies of the ideal systems which had been formed by his pre- decessors, and proving that the existing theories were unsubstantial, vague, and untrue ; he laboured earnestly and effectively to impress on the minds of his disciples the necessity of abandoning all previously acquired ideas, and trusting to their own industry and ingenuity for the deduction of great moral truths from first principles. It is true that this mode of reasoning is not applicable to mathematical or physical science, for there the discoveries and experience of our predecessors are so many steps of vantage ground gained, which raise us on an eminence whence we may take a wider survey of the field of our search, and thus have a better chance of discovering the object we are in quest of. But this mode of reasoning would apply even here, if the previous discoveries of former geometers and philosophers were proved to be the results of wrongly directed enquiries. If the rules or data derived from the experience of former observers turned out to be erroneous, if it appeared that their judgment had been mis- directed by ignorance or false notions, it would then become neces- sary at once to divest ourselves of all preconceived ideas and preju- dices, and having endeavoured to establish a correct base of opera- tions laid down from true and exact data, to erect a superstructure on so sure a foundation and of such strong materials as would be enabled to withstand every attack, and alike, to set at defiance the regular assaults of sound argument and the insidious blows of ingenious sophistry. Such was the opinion and practice of Socrates with regard to moral cultivation. He stripped the gorgeous bowers of philosophy of the gaudy foliage, in which folly and fancy had clothed them; and having exposed the naked limbs of truth, he again dressed them in the sober and substantial garments of reason and common sense. Thirdly. — Having proved the fallacy of the then existing systems of History of Philosophy. 65 philosophy, arid pointed out the sources from which true wisdom was to be derived, he next set ahout instructing his disciples in the course they were to pursue in order to obtain the earliest and mostabundan* harvest from the seed which he had shown contained the ger*"" °* true knowledge. His mode ofcomrnunicating information w^ not how- ever uniform ; but there is one distinguishing characte^1]6 m **\s "1S~ courses, namely, that he always took upon himself *Ae ofllce of mtfr- rogator, feigning in the first instance ignoran^ °* the subject which he wished and intended to explain. In th*> course of these interroga- tions, by the help of leading questions, Ae contrived to keep his inter- locutor on the road which would u^mately lead him to truth, and unravelled insensibly the clue to ^e labyrinth of difficulties through which his path lay. He endeavoured to elicit the knowledge he meant to impart from the reason and intelligence of the pupil rather than at once communicat* the requisite information, so as to encourage the practice of meditp^on rather than of memory,— to induce them to rely on their *wn powers of thought rather than lean else- where for support. Thus he instructed his pupils to cultivate their reflective families, and taught them how to build up systems for themselvf* rather than to trust to any axioms of morality or wisdom, which Ae might supply to their memories for their intellectual im- pro* ement« To propose questions of such a nature, and in such an order as to give rise to that train of reasoning which would produce the answers he desired, was a problem, the solution of which required no little in- genuity ; and he appears to have availed himself of three different modes of arranging his queries for this purpose. First. — A method of analysis very similar to that employed in geometry ; namely, the assumption of the truth of an hypothesis as a starting point, and thence, by regular steps of reasoning, deducing a manifest truth or absurdity (as the case may require) for the verifica- tion of the original assertion, or proceeding from a well-known and generally received axiom as a basis, by the proper application of which you prove the stability of the superstructure you have raised. Secondly. — The second mode is that generally recognised as the method of induction, consisting in the separation of abstract ideas or facts from the concrete groups in which they are found united, and arranging them in classes under those heads of general truth or law to which they may be attached as illustrations or examples. This appears to have been a favourite method with Socrates, as it is per- haps more frequently employed than any other in his discourses. Thirdly. — The third method employed is not unlike a chemical ana- lysis; the process followed being that of taking to pieces a complex idea and examining the weight and value of each individual element so as to acquire accurate notions of the nature of the compound. We shall, perhaps, better illustrate our division by giving one ex- ample of each mode of reasoning. The first, or geometrical analysis, is avowedly employed in the Menon of Plato, in which the philoso- pher himself announces his intention of proceeding after the manner of geometers. The point under discussion is, whether virtue can be taught ; which question he considers amenable to the laws of mathe- JAN. 1837. F 66 History of Philosophy. matical demonstration. He first states the nature of an hypothesis, giving- an example. He then assumes in the present case, that " If -'irtue is a science, it can be taught.' It remains for him to prove, that ^.irtue is or is not a science ; which done, he falls back on his original proposition and deduces its truth or falsehood from his hy- pothetical rea.^^ The steps of the proof are too long to be given here, but as the i».r»de of arguing intended to be pursued is previously stated, there can be nurloubt as to the method employed. We know of no better Cample of the method of induction em- ployed by Socrates, than his conversation with Euthydemus on the gratitude due from man to the Bivinity.* It must be observed that Socrates speaks of Gods ; but no or« can suppose for a moment that the sound judgment and enlightened understanding of the great Athenian can have been burthened with \he incubus of heathen poly- theism. We therefore shall make him speax as no doubt he thought, of the divine providence as a single essence ol benevolence emanat- ing from the unity of the Godhead. The dialogu* with Euthydemus is briefly as follows. " Have you ever thought of the care with which God lias provided for the wants of man ? Do you know, that we require iVe light of day which has been given us 1" " Yes, for else we should be as the blind." " And the night has been given as a season of rest, a favour eh, titled to our gratitude. The sun too by day, and the stars by night, afford us the means of dividing the hours, and the moon furnishes us with a measure of time by her periodic revolution. It is God, who has given us the earth adapted to bring forth fruits in due season, not only for our necessities but our luxury, — and water too in abundance to fertilize the soil, to sweeten our food, and quench our thirst, — and fire to defend us from cold, to lighten our darkness, and to assist in the prosecution of the mechanical arts, — and the air too, the breath of life, which, by its motion, enables us to cross the seas. To man he has given senses adapted for his perception and enjoy- ment of the other blessings that have been granted him, and reason that he may judge of his happiness, and memory that he may recollect what he has enjoyed, and speech that he may converse with his fellows, receiving and communicating knowledge and pro- fiting by the experience of others. To be convinced of the existence of a benevolent providence it is not requisite to see the divine form ; for we see not the thunder, yet we are satisfied of its reality from the effects it produces, and we have sensible proof by our percep- tions of the wind, yet we behold it not. The mind too in this respect shares the attributes of the Deity; for we are conscious of its posses- sion by the power it exerts, though we have no physical demonstra- tion of its presence.'* We will illustrate the third method by a short example, that we may not trespass too long on the patience of our readers. The Athenian sage thus examines the nature of wisdom. f * Xenophon's Memorabilia, Book iv., Chapter 3. t Memorabilia, Book iv. Chapter 6. History of Philosophy. 67 " Men appear wise from their knowledge, not from their ignorance > therefore knowledge is wisdom. But no man can know all things; therefore no man can be in all respects wise. He therefore is wise, who knows that which he professes." We cannot better wind up our account of the mode of instruction adopted by Socrates, than by citing a brief summary of his doctrines from the Greek of Themistius, quoted by M. Stapfer in his volume, " De Philosophid Socratis" and translated by M. Degerando, in his admirable work on the Ancient Philosophy. " Before the time of Socrates, almost all philosophers were occupied in considering the universe, the form of the earth, and the place it occupies in that universe, and the mode of reproduction of the animal and vegetable kingdom. Socrates did not think the mind of man capable of attaining this knowledge, or at least, that the search after it would turn him from more practically useful enquiries. He was the first to investigate the means, by which a man may become virtuous and honest, and to show him how the germs of virtue may be developed — the seeds of vice be stifled at their birth. But he is still further distinguished from the other philosophers of antiquity in the openness, with which he delivered his precepts, — not |>in secret to a chosen body of disciples, but to all the world in the most public and fre*- quented places of resort." Such were in short the methods employed by the master of Plato, and Xenophon, to inculcate the great moral truths which he wished to disseminate among men. Thus he combated the specious reasonings of the Sophists, and pursuing an opposite plan to that of his predeces- sors sought to render abstruse and difficult points clear and intelligi- ble to ordinary capacities, as they on the contrary had endeavoured to mystify and obscure the simplest ideas by an incomprehensible jargon. He appears to have had no object in view but the good of mankind. To administer to the happiness and well-being of his fellow- men, was the first and only object of his ambition. Wealth or high station he coveted not, — luxury he despised* As far as mere human intelligence without the aid of divine wisdom can advance on the road to perfection, he advanced. He was happy, for his mind was contented ; and " a contented mind is a continual feast.0 He was happy ; for his happiness consisted in promoting the well-being of his fellows, and in contributing to the amelioration of social nature. He was happy ; for he practised as he preached, the excellencies of vir- tue and morality. Such goodness would in itself have excited the envy of the ill- directed minds of some men ; but he had raised up a formidable body of enemies in the Sophists, whose fallacies he had refuted, whos^ doctrines he had disproved, and whose mysteries lie had unveiled. He was not only reviled by these persecutors, but held up to the con- tempt of his countrymen in the witty but licentious verses of Aristo- phanes. Nor did their hatred stop here. The offence was too grave to be so easily effaced from their memories. The arrows of his ridi- cule were too sharply pointed not to rankle in their wounds. His blood only would satisfy them: — and thus by the malevolence of a party, the just and wise Socrates was cruelly and wantonly murdered. He died as F2 68 History of Philosophy. he had lived, sealing in his last moments the truth of his doctrines by the equanimity and firmness with which he met his fate. From his time we may date the regeneration of philosophy and the practice of systematic morality and virtue. In many of the schools that sprung from the seed he had sown, his doctrines were perverted, but in his instructions are to be found the germs of true knowledge. With him originated all that is worth preserving except as a matter of curiosity, in the philosophy of the Ancients. Before we proceed to examine the merits of his great disciple Plato, we will draw the reader's attention to the schools, which imme- diately profited by the instructions of Socrates. The Cynics founded by Antisthenes, and the Cyrenaics by Aristippus, are two of the best known among these ; though but few records of their doctrines re- main to us. Each of these philosophers considered human happiness to be the great end of knowledge : but each pointed out a different road by which to arrive at it. Antisthenes, of an austere disposition, and indignant at the corrupt manners of the times regarding voluptu- pusness and effeminacy as the source of the disorders which afflicted society, formed the most rigid notions of virtue, and made it consist in a mastery over the passions, a persevering endurance of pains and privations, and a contempt of the luxuries and pleasures of civilized life. Aristippus, of a softer nature, thought happiness the foundation of virtue,|but made that happiness to consist in a due enjoyment of the pleasures which Providence has placed within our reach. Both had attended to the precepts of Socrates ; but each had deduced his own conclusions, and as we have seen, they were of a different, nay, of an opposite character. Of the Eretriac school of Elis we know little more than the name; but at Megara Euclid endeavoured to engraft the method of So- crates on the traditionary lore of his predecessors, and preserving those^'ancient principles to present them under anew form, by the help of the exact and mathematical diction that he employed. But Plato has the honour of being the first who employed the powerful engines which had been prepared for his use, with due effect; and, the ground having been cleared of the rubbish that encumbered it, the proper limits assigned, the position marked out, and the materials furnished by the labours of his instructor, he raised an edifice corresponding to the designs of the projector, and honourable to the skill of the archi- tect. We must, however, defer our examination of the principles of the Platonic philosophy till the appearance of the ensuing number. ( To be continued. ) VESUVIUS.* FAIR rose the sun o'er mountain, plain, and sea, As youthful Time burst from Eternity, Chasing with magic wand chaotic night, And speaking darkness into living light. 'Twas nature's infant morn, and loveliness Played on each feature, every look was bliss. Nought spake of discord ; peace triumphant reigned ; Her shining garments yet with blood unstained. Nature rejoiced, the circling sun looked down, And smiled upon a face all glorious as his own : Far o'er the world his kindly rays were shed, From morn's dim curtain to his ocean bed, Soothing the rigours of the Arctic waste. While softly beaming on the glassy breast Of seas, bright sparkling round their sunny Isles, Where summer ever reigns and ever smiles. Wide through his circuit, Sol no clime surveyed So loved by Heaven — in beauty so arrayed, — As thy broad fields, Hesperia, land divine ! Pride of the world ! proud home of Priam's line ! O'er thee full many an age of victory Has shed its lustre, whilst thou yet wert free : Yes ! farthest ocean wafted on its wave The captive Kings of Earth, the suppliant brave, To grace the triumph of Jove-nurtured Rome, And tell the world her conquerors had come. *Tis ours to sing no wars of mortal men, The laurel'd brow, the shout that rung again : — We sing the war of elements, — not waves, Nor rushing winds, which in his vaulted caves Old ^Eolus could hold, or bid them speed, Swift as the current of the winged steed. We sing the fires that subterraneous burn, Unquenched by time, deep in the mighty urn ; Which rising o'er the stilly midland sea, Proclaims destruction 'mid life's ecstacy. Ere yet with gods immortal men had striven And blooming nature praised the gifts of Heaven, Beauteous the shore around the crater lay, Heedless that Jove had marked it as the prey Of his bright thunderbolt, and doomed afar The ruined earth to tell his power in war. Yes ! ages long have rolled above these plains ; But still their ancient barrenness remains. The tide that lashed those sullen rocks of yore, And told wild fables to the poet hoar, Still laves Phlegraean fields, and whispers still In Fancy's ear the boding tale of ill. * These verses, written by a talented youth in the Edinburgh Academy, we copy with much pleasure from the Rector's Report of that excellent Institution. Our read- ers will agree with us that this poem is — to say the least — one of very high promise. 70 Vesuvius. Once fair the scene,— but discord long concealed, From age to age his fiery wrath revealed, Scathing the verdure of its pristine bloom, And vailing beauty 'neath dark ruin's gloom. Where now the bounteous fields, the gladsome bowers. That erst beguiled Italians infant hours? And hast thou then, proud vision, sped away Nor left a lingering trace to tell thy day, To speak the mirth that flushed thy countenance, Ere yet it blanch'd at Jove*s death- dooming glance ? The verdant robes that mantled thee of yore Are changed for ever for that sterile shore, O'er which, as on the tomb where loved ones sleep, Fresh flowers are scattered by the friends that weep ; Fond nature strews her tender ornaments, And bids them bloom amid thy rude ascents. Nor distant far the birdless lake reclines, Where Silence sits enthroned, and rock combines With rock, and waters dark through caverns roam, — The dismal portals of Old Pluto's home. E'en now, as from the height one looks along, And marks the fabled streams, renowned in song. Slow stealing on their melancholy way, Trembling to wake the echoes of the day ; He sighs to think the shady grove is gone, The forest deep — the golden branch that shone In gloomy Tartarus — a palm of peace To Proserpine, fair donor of release 1 When the bold hero from the realms of light, To find his father, sought the realms of night ^ Fearing nor gnome, nor spirit of the dead, Through regions sunless, desolate, he sped. — But lost is fable where high reason sways. We ask thyself the tale of other days : Proud mount of wonders ! thou who spak'st in ire. And pour'd on harass'd cities floods of fire ; Now tell thy tale in peace ; — yes, silently Reveal the truth, — the truth that's hid in thee. The record of the past is opening wide, As mortal hands roll back the lava tide Along the fields, that thousand years agone Look'd up and blessed bright Phoebus as he shone. See yonder towers and crested walls arise, Where column'd grandeur meets the wondering eyes I A stately city sleeps ; — bright morn returns ; — It slumbers still, and yet life's taper burns. Ah no ! 'tis but the semblance ; yet no art Of man was e'er so perfect. Mark each part, Each feature, attitude, and say if Time Can name a single work, howe'er sublime, Whose power could rival this ? — No ! painters yield ; The statue is a block ; — proud Egypt's shield Of spices lends but feeble aid : 'Tis thine To shelter safe, and bid them shine, Bright as of yore, — the Courtly Hall, — the street Where merchants mingle and gay nobles meet. Mighty magician ! thou but speak*st the word. And straightway to earth's centre it is heard j Lines to a Distinguished Artist. 71 Thence rush the living waves of liquid fire, And toss them high in many an awful spire. Far o'er the crater's mouth the dark'ning cloud Reflects the lurid light, — befitting shroud Of nature's agonies, — unheard-of woe ! The burning deluge sweeps to vales below ; It seeks the city full of living men, They look, — they sleep, — ah ! ne'er to wake again. The hand of art still holds the instrument Of labour. The sage in narrow cell is pent. Safe in his triple walls a miser stood, Gazing on gold, yet anxious was his mood. He feared the loss of what before him lay, Of hoped-for riches dreaded the delay. Oh, vision sad ! want riots upon wealth, Nor hoarded treasure gives the bliss of health. From yonder lofty porch a trembler hies :— Vain ! vain thy speed ! Hope's promises are lies, What — though attendant maidens bear thy train, Can youth and beauty evermore remain ! Around are scattered all the gems of art. Those costly pledges of a loving heart ; They sparkle still, their lustre cannot die ; But whither fled the gladsome beaming eye ? It shines no more on earth ! A form is seen, How changed, alas ! from what it once had been ! Thousands of years have swept time's troubled sea, Still thou preserv'st thy dread identity. Proud Mount of wonders ! shade of centuries ! Unveil the store that yet within thee lies : Unroll to man the records of an age Which faintly lives in old tradition's page ; True to thy trust, all- guileless, silent, grave. Time's rich memorials from oblivion save. Then shall thy thrilling praise the deed prolong, Her trumpet Fame shall lend — the bard his song ; And ages distant, as thy tale is old, Shall still repeat the story thou hast told. WM. NAPIER. LINES ADDRESSED TO A DISTINGUISHED ARTIST. TITLES are " airy nothings," some will cry : Alai ! how few the proverb can deny ! Yet, we will answer, as pertains to thee ! Thy name — thy genius, will immortal be While light and shadow last ; and, with delight We hail our Wilkie with new honours bright, A worthy, gentle-hearted British knight ! Scotland, with pride, thy ancestry may claim, While happy England treasures up thy fame In works that live and breathe, with nature rife, The faithful transcripts all of human life ! These are thy proud achievements, and to you, So skilled in the pictorial and the true, Renown, and title, were but tributes due. OXFORD BIGOTRY AND OXFORD STUDIES. THE year, at whose close we have just arrived, has been distinguished in the academic annals of Oxford by a religious persecution of the greatest malignity, a persecution dictated by the same hideous ran- cour that dragged Latimer, Ridley, and the other church-worthies to the stake, and which is only less cruel, because the improved feelings of modern society have thrown insurmountable difficulties in the way of such malignants. The persecution of Dr. Hampden, we repeat, is one of the greatest malignity ; and we question whether in the annals of Anthony & Wood, dreary as they are, there will be found a case, in which flagrant injustice and oppression are so disgracefully remarkable. Had Dr. Hampden been a man unknown to the public, who had offended the ears of orthodoxy by the setting forth of here- tical views in the university pulpit, or had he, as an examining master in the schools, aroused suspicions of his theological unsoundness, a fair plea of justification for administering public reproof or still further for ejection might easily have been made, and would have been re- ceived as the painful but necessary act of an ecclesiastical university. This, however, is not the case. Dr. Hampden is no novus homo, no virgin candidate for the honours of the university and the church. After having taken the highest honours which Alma-mater can bestow on the candidates for the degree, he was elected Fellow of Oriel College, an honour which all Oxford men agree in esteeming very highly. The " Metropolitana" and " Britannica" claim him as the writer of several of their most talented articles; and his own published works attest his high and enviable acquirements. But to* proceed with his" academic distinctions, — in 1830 he was appointed classical examiner, and those who were undergraduates at that time or subsequently can testify to his high accomplishments as a scholar, and no less so to the admirable tact with which he was able to elicit the latent knowledge of the candidates. In 1832 Mr. Hampden was the Bampton lecturer; and he chose as his subject "The influence of the ancient philosophy upon the doctrines of the Christian church," one quite congenial to the mind of a man, who united to a familiar acquaintance with the Fathers a profound knowledge of the Aristo- telian school of philosophy. The lectures were of too abstruse a cha- racter to draw very large audiences; but he regularly commanded the attendance of the intellectual majority in the University. Now was the time for remonstrance, if any ; but no : — the heads of houses followed the Bedells quietly in and quietly out of St. Mary's : the ser- mons were printed in due time, and four long years elapsed, before the venerable sticklers for orthodoxy could pluck up courage to make a charge against the Bampton lecturer. The reward of Mr. Hamp- den's heterodoxy was two-fold. In 1833 the aged chancellor, no doubt influenced by the recommendations of the Hebdomadal meeting, appointed him Principal of St. Mary's Hall, and shortly afterwards he received the doctorate. In the following year he was appointed to the chair of] moral philosophy (in the room of Mr. Mills) by fauv Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. 73 heads of houses and the two proctors. Now, mark : — both these appointments were subsequent to the promulgation of the obnoxious " lecture," and of another work on a similar subject, the " Philoso- phical Evidences." Down to the year 1834, then, all was right, all couleur de rose for the unfortunate person selected as the object of academic persecu- tion ; but during that year Dr. Hampden was guilty of a most hein- ous crime, that made him obnoxious to several of his colleagues : he actually ventured to breathe a sentiment of liberality towards Dis- senters, and to suggest certain measures with a view to the admission of Dissenters as members of the University ; and in the contest of 1835, he warmly advocated a measure substituting declaration of agreement with the doctrines of the Church of England for the sub- scription to the Thirty-nine Articles. Here, and here only, is, in reality, Dr. Hampden's offence; and we sincerely hope that he may find in the strength of the ecclesiastical law some defence against those who are ostensibly religious opponents, but in reality his invete- rate political foes. The Whig government selected Dr. Hampden as the successor of the late amiable and eminently Christian professor, Dr. Burton ;* and certain are we, that, if they had looked all round Oxford, they could not have found a person better qualified as a man of learning, piety, and orthodoxy, than the present occupant of the chair. Who of his enemies, of the whole formidable array of eighty-one, would venture to enter the lists with the modest, calm, but unflinching object of their rabid revilements ? The opinion of one who has more than once subscribed to the arti- cles in the convocation-house, and has devoted his best energies to the study of theology (the queen of all the sciences) during five or six years, might perhaps be admitted by our unprejudiced readers ; hu£ as that is our own, let that pass. We could, if the confidence of private society allowed the liberty, cite the opinion of above twenty beneficed clergymen within the circle of our acquaintance, (men not less orthodox than the tight-laced Dr. Gilbert and the dogmatical Mr. Vaughan Thomas, and not less truly religious than Dr. Pusey and Mr. Newman,) who hold the Hampden persecution in abhorrence, because they consider the charge of rationalism to be a mere cloak for political hostility : — and we say without fear of contradiction, that the whole body of non-conformist clergy, a large majority of whom agree in all the doctrines of the church and show to it a bright ex- ample of ministerial zeal and usefulness, are thoroughly disgusted with the ungenerous and untrue accusation, and the shabby manner in which it has been supported. If the case against Dr. Hampden had been fairly conducted, and if the damnatory evidence from his works had not been tampered with, but allowed to be fairly canvassed by the judges before condemna- tion, we could not have objected to a condemning verdict from an unprejudiced and competent jury. But who are his accusers, who * The writer of this article attended three or four courses of the professor's pri- vate lectures ; and he feels it his duty to testify to the very high character, both as a professor and a Christian, which Dr. Burton bore in Oxford. 74 Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. are the jury that pronounce the verdict and pass the sentence? They are the same party, nay, the same individuals and their followers ; and they all breathe the same rancorous haired to every feeling of liberality and Christian love. FIVE came forward as the professor's individual accusers, and seventy-Jive sanctioned the accusation by their votes : how many more than eighty were concerned in this precious work of trial and condemnation, the associates of the FIVE will be best bale to tell. Dr. Hampden's Inaugural Discourse was' all that his best friends could have wished,— all that could have been required to disarm the hostility of noble foes,— all that was necessary to show the falsehood of the accusations made against him. It proved his orthodoxy beyond a doubt; but it proved more, namely, that he possessed the wisdom of the serpent united with the simplicity and gentleness of the dove. He would not concede to the angry threats of enemies his belief in the original uncorrupted Christian faith; but he was willing to acknowledge himself as a very humble servant — not of the University, but of a Master in Heaven. Those who were present on this solemn occasion, (and who then in Oxford was not, whom the doors would admit?) will, we think, never forget the calm but impas- sioned eloquence of the professor, in making his triumphant defence against the charges of his accusers. The junior members of the University from that day forward became friends instead of foes ; all impartial men were convinced of the defendant's innocence ; the credit of the accusers was shaken; and the affair might have been consigned as matter of past history to the care of Dr. Phillimore or Dr. Bliss for their next edition of the Annals of the University. But no : the business was not ended. His enemies were only baffled, not beaten ; and they only retired from the attack to renew it at a more favourable season. We do not purpose to tire our readers with a detail of all the vari- ous phases that this persecution has assumed during ten months. The last proctors refused to be made the tools of faction, and hence their victim was allowed a short reprieve. The new proctors came into office, and hostilities recommenced. Every insult that'the University can offer to its professor has been heaped on him. The last and per- haps the most daring is that by the vice-chancellor, in refusing testi- monials to the Brasenose men who attend the Regius-professor's lectures. This act of Dr. Gilbert and the seniority will do much more mischief to the college than benefit to the church : it will simply deter men from entering, and cause its present members to withdraw to other societies. Leaving the legality of the transaction quite out of the question, we think that the principal, as the originator of this notable scheme, has placed himself in a very awkward position, — as respects the bishops of the Church of England. He will not give testimonials to such as attend the Regius-professor; — they will not, — cannot, — nay, dare not ordain without the professor's certificate : — what will be the result? Simply this, — that the bishops will alto- gether pass over Dr. Gilbert and his subordinates and receive in lieu of the College testimony that of two beneficed clergymen in favour of the candidate's learning, piety and orthodoxy. What the influence Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. 75 of the renowned Dr. Hodgson the late principal might have been with the bishops under Tory domination, those who knew his power in the University as well as in his own college "can best tell : — but the mantle of Hodgson has not fallen on his vice-principal, nor are the bishops able or willing to second the movements of academic bigotry, as they might have been in years past. The days for such things are past, — never to return. Oxford doctors may, — if it so pleases them, — go on working their poor spite against all that are not as tight-laced in high-church bigotry as themselves ; — they may denominate church- reform as spoliation : — they may term every dissent from their own dissenting communion, the sin of Jeroboam. Letitbeso. Itisnotwon- derful that those, who in the sixteenth century imprisoned and put to death the reformers — and those who a century and a half later were bitter foes to the Protestant succession, should be succeeded in the nine- teenth century by men, who cling with insane fondness to every anti- quated usage and financial abuse in the church which renders it odious in the eyes of all — except those interested in the maintenance of its vicious system. Quern Deus vult perdereprius dementit. A day of reckoning is at hand. Those who are honestly engaged in the gradual and judicious correction of abuses in church and state will not forget Oxford, — will not fail to make it fully available as a place of education for the Clergy and the Laity, even if it should be necessary in pursuance of their duty to remove those from power, who have the means of re- tarding or hindering the work of reform. From the above observations it may be fairly concluded, that Ox- ford is struggling for a position as an ecclesiastical authority, which neither her own intrinsic merits nor the spirit of the times will allow her to maintain, Oxford, however, is not a mere theological semi- nary : it is a great and powerful establishment for national education —for the education of the influential classes of the British community : and although the church has contrived — as the monks did before them — to ensure for itself the monopoly of the college riches, it will not be out of place in an article devoted to the University of Oxford to consider its merits as an institution for educating the laity. It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers, that several articles have appeared during the last twenty-five years in the " Edinburgh Review," most severely lashing the abuses of the Oxford system. We have no intention to enlist ourselves in the forces of so virulent a foe of Alma-mater as the Edinburgh reviewer ; but we shall freely avail ourselves of his indisputably accurate knowledge of the University history, — while we endeavour to show, how its character as an edu- cational establishment has been deteriorated by a departure from the Laudian statutes. In Anthony £ Wood's " Historia etAntiquitates Uni- versitatis Oxoniensis" (Ed. 1674, p. 342) we read, — " Velle Carolum constabat, ut Sodalitiorum omnium Prasfecti adscriptis nominibus pro- fiterentur se codicem ilium tamquam veram regiminis et obsequii norrnam amplecti ; utque eodem de statutishisce atque olim de veteri- bus iis observandis ac tuendis juramento obstringerentur." If the authorities of this Jacobite university had testified their love of the Stuarts by a strict obedience to his injunctions, we should have been ble to say, that the first Charles had at least done one goodthing, 76 Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. in reforming the abuses of Oxford. The merit of bringing about an efficient reform must belong to a king of the Hanoverian dynasty. Such a reform may perhaps be less palatable to the college authorities than that introduced by Laud two centuries ago. In what condition is the University of Oxford at present, and to whom almost exclusively is the work of education confided ? The following remarks are intended to throw some light on this question and to show that the present system of instruction is not the most effi- cient that, considering the means and wealth of the different collegiate establishments, — might be fairly demanded from them by the English nation. It is scarcely necessary at this stage of the enquiry to remind any of our readers, that an University degree was originally nothing more than a licence to teach in the particular faculty, in which the degree was taken, — imposing also an obligation to teach during a certain period and to receive certain fees for such instruction. From the thirteenth to the sixteenth century the University was ruled and taught by the graduates at large,—" all of whom had an equal right of teach- ing publicly the subjects competent to his faculty and to the rank of his degree ;" and accommodation was furnished for the numerous teachers who once exercised their legal vocation in the schools. Oxford, — which has now only one set of schools, — had formerly nearly on the site of the present schools above forty sets of schools or rooms, in which the masters received their pupils. The change from the above system was gradual. The period of the obligation to teach was first shortened ; and subsequently the actual practice of instruction during statutory regency was wholly dispensed with. A set of voluntary regents — men competent to teach — were left to carry on the business of instruction ; but they in their turn were first rivalled and then supplanted by salaried teachers, readers, or professors, who engaged, for a stipulated salary derived partly from endowment — partly from fees levied on the graduates, to deliver lectures to the undergraduates without fees from them.* Attendance on them — once voluntary — became obligatory by statue considerably anterior to the Laudian code. Archbishop Laud, indeed, found a system in operation that needed but little change. The charter of 1636 ratified the old system ; and it continues to this day as the system recognised by the University, although it has been long abolished and rendered void by the encroachments of the endowed societies that reside in Oxford. The only use of the public schools, at present, is for the examinations prior to the first degree in arts and for various exercises necessary to the higher degrees. The right of examination for the degree in arts still resides in the University :-~butit is not now exer- * The system during the fifteenth century reminds us of the modern Universities of Germany, — where the teachers are divided into three classes, — 1. Professores ordi- wanY— the official salaried teachers and governors of the Universities. 2. Professores extraordinarii, licensed [ teachers wholly paid by students — acting either as jsuper- numeraries or giving instruction in subjects not taught by the first-mentioned class. Out of the second class the first is generally chosen. 3. Professores privatim do- centcs, licensed to give private instruction, but not to lecture to classes of students in, the University. Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. 77 cised by the masters generally, as prior to 1808, but by certain masters appointed by the ruling officers of the University. The education, so far as the professors are concerned, is a dead letter — a nonentity. A regular attendance during four years on eleven public readers is by statute necessary for the B. A. degree. By successive dispensa- tions such attendance was first partially and then wholly remitted ; and the University may now be truly said not to have any system of instruction whatever, — the Colleges having by the gradual encroach- ment of wealthy power taken the whole business into their own hands. The general history of the Halls and Colleges in Oxford is thus concisely but well given in Mr. Maiden's valuable little Treatise on the Origin of Universities. " Collegiate foundations were established in Oxford at a very early period. University and Baliol Colleges were founded before the end of the reign of Henry III. ; Merlon College in the reign of Edward I.; and Oriel College in that of Edward II. The motive for these foundations was to give the scholars facilities for obtaining lodgings, to relieve the indigent from some portion of their expenses, and to provide more effectually for disci- pline by introducing into the University a species of domestic super- intendence. But the number of colleges, in which provision was made by endowment for the pecuniary benefit of their members, was nothing in comparison with the number of halls or inns (hospitia) in which the students lived chiefly at their own expense, and which merely furnished cheap and convenient lodging and the supervision of a respectable tutor or principal, who was responsible to the Uni- versity for the good conduct of his pupils. In the early part of the fourteenth century, at the commencement of the reign of Edward II., the number of halls is said to have been about 300, while the colleges were only three. For the establishment of these halls nothing more was necessary than that a certain number of scholars should agree to live together, aud find a doctor or master of their own choice, to act as their principal, and that they should hire a house, and find caution for a year's rent. The chancellor or vice-chancellor could not refuse to sanction the establishment, and admit, the principal to his office. In general the halls were held only upon lease ; but by privileges similar to those which have been noticed in foreign Universities, the rent of the halls was fixed every five years by the tutors ; and scholars could not be ejected by the proprietors from a building once occu- pied by them, so long as they punctually paid the stipulated rent. The halls were always subject to be visited and regulated by the Uni- versity authorities. The causes which diminished the number of stu- dents in the University diminished the number of halls, though the num- ber of endowed colleges gradually increased. At the commencement of the fifteenth century the students were decreasing, while the colleges had increased to seven. In the early part of the sixteenth century the number of halls had fallen to fifty-five, while the endowed col- leges amounted to twelve. In 1546 there were only eight inhabited halls ; and five years after the historian remarks that the ancient halls were either desolate, or were become receptacles of poor reli- gious people turned out of their cloisters. In these circumstances the halls lost their value as property to the owners, and several were 78 Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. bought up at a low rate by the colleges. The old colleges thus ex- tended their buildings. Before this period they had rarely, if ever, admitted any pupils who were not members upon their foundations, and provided for by endowments : — but now they began to take in pupils who were not on their foundation ; and the diminution of the number of students in the University made it possible for them to receive almost all. Six new colleges were founded in the seven- teenth century, partly, it may reasonably be concluded, in conse- quence of the little cost with which sites for them could be pur- chased. Since that period, one college has been founded (Wadham in 1610, or soon after); and three of the eight surviving halls changed by endowment into colleges, of which however one is since extinct. It cannot be questioned, that one reason of the decay of the halls and the increase "of the colleges was the more effectual superintendence and tuition which was supplied in the colleges in consequence of the number of graduates who were members of them. In later times, since the tuition of the colleges has supplanted the public instruction of the University delivered by professors and public lecturers, it is absolutely necessary to the existence of the halls to have tutors in addition to their principals. But besides the natural operation of these causes, there has been a piece of University legisla- tion, by which the monopoly of the colleges has been hitherto secured against any revival of the halls. When the all-powerful earl of Leices- ter was chancellor of the University, about 1570, he obtained from the University the absolute right of nominating the principals of all halls (except St. Edmund Hall, which is attached to Queen's College), and consequently in effect a veto upon the institution of new halls ; and this right is now vested by statute in his successors. The col- leges, which had then'begun to exercise great influence in the Uni- versity, had clearly an interested motive in procuring this concession ; and since that time no new hall has been opened.'' The endowed establishment gained a still greater accession of in- fluence by the enactments of the fifteenth century, which made it compulsory on the students of the University to become members of some college or hall, and oy the regulations of Leicester and Laud, which not only compelled residence in colleges, but made it necessary to enter under a particular tutor therein resident. Such tutor, how- ever, was a person of very subordinate authority, — a moral guardian rather than a professed teacher,— one whose duty it was not to teach the whole round of the sciences so much as to imbue his pupils with good principles, to institute them in the rudiments of religion and the doctrine of the Thirty-nine Articles, and to make them conformable to the statutory regulations in matters of external appearance. But the grand step was gained ;— and a new system was set in operation that gradually took place of the professorial system, which soon ceased to exist except in theory. Bye-statutes after bye-statutes have first permitted relaxed attendance, and at length dispensed with it altogether; so that at the present day any attendance whatever on any of the professors' lectures is merely voluntary ; — and out of twenty-eight professors only twelve lecture at all. It is true that Dr. Cardwell's and Dr. Buckland's lectures are well attended ; but Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. 79 neither can be said to form any portion of the University system of instruction. The professor has become " the shadow of his former self:" — the chair, no longer the teacher's seat, has been turned into an otium cum dignitate to be enjoyed by men of moderate learn- ing and good interest : — and the titles, * schola Grammatices,' — « schola Musica,' &c., above the school doors surprise and mislead the visitor, while they only excite the ridicule of the members and point retro- spectively to the brighter days of the University. The college tutor has taken the place of the professor ; and the wretched college lectures are substituted for the effective instruction of the public schools. This tutor is chosen from among the fellows : and owing to the. constitutions of most of the colleges, whose fellow- ships are very closely tied up, it may so happen that not a single fel- low is competent to perform the duties of a tutor : — nay, it is not always that the most competent man among the fellows is appointed to the office, — for owing to the lucrativeness of the situation it not unfrequently happens, that the oldest and most influential keeps it in his own hands. As the Edinburgh reviewer justly remarks, " merit is in general the accident not the principle of their appointment; and we might always expect on the common doctrine of probabilities, that among the multitude of college tutors there should be a few known to the world for ability and erudition.' The college tutors amount to between forty and fifty; and certain are we that out of this large list we could not select six names known to the learned world of our country for ability and erudition. And with respect to the style in which the college instruction is given, — what Oxford man will ven- ture to assert that it is otherwise than quite discreditable to the whole body of tutors? That some of the tutors in Baliol, Exeter, and Oriel colleges display an honourable zeal in their vocations, we doubt not ; but these are only the exceptions, which prove the truth of our asser- tion. How unsatisfactory is the way in which during a short hour one hundred — two hundred — nay, sometimes three hundred lines of a Greek play are skimmed over by a tutor with his class; — and how utterly insufficient for the purposes of the ordinary non-reading un- dergraduate are these slovenly lectures ! To this practice, indeed, may be traced the general character of Oxford scholarship as elegant, diffuse, and unsound. The college tutor urges the student on through a vast quantity of work in a short time, and the public examiner ren- ders superficial reading obligatory by the requirement of a great number of books from the candidates for honourable distinction. The lectures, besides, are not given with a view to the University exami- nation ; and so well is this understood, that it is not unusual for the tutors to allow the men for a term before responsions, and a term, sometimes two, before the examination — exemption from the duty of attending their lectures. In fact, these lectures, in a large propor- tion of cases, are considered, and justly considered by reading men as a tax and a misemploymentof time. Their chief use seems to be — to give a certain employment to those undergraduates who would not work at all without some sort of surveillance. The University examination in ordinary cases is passed by men, whose attainments are inferior (except in Divinity) to fifth-form boys 80 Oxford Bigotry and Oxford Studies. at Eton, and not superior- to those of any boy of respectable ability in the higher classes of any well-conducted seminary in the country ; while the Examination of honour-men (which, strange to say, is quite distinct from that of the rest both at Oxford and Cambridge) requires a quantity of reading, which, if properly performed, would occupy not three — but thirteen years, and would fairly entitle the patient student to a rank scarcely inferior to that of a Person or an Elmsley. It is certain that none, but a man of talent can pass such an examina- tion ; and it is truly an honour to be in the first class. But there is good reason to doubt whether the habits of reading acquired during the period of probation are such as are likely to form sound and critical scholars. In fact, as a proof of this assertion, Oxford does not possess at present more than one member, whose scholarship has gained for him a national reputation. There are indeed, many highly accomplished and gentlemanly scholars; but severe scholar- ship is almost unknown. The classical studies of Cambridge are much better conducted and are a truer test of ability and genius. The University, we have seen, insists on a certain amount of Icnowledge as necessary for the junior degree ; and the colleges pro- fess to give instruction by means of their tutors in the subjects of ex- amination, but fail to perform their duty. The professors furnish no means of instruction whatever; and thus the willing student is com- pelled to pursue his studies alone or to procure the assistance of a private teacher at a heavy additional expense. A considerable num- ber of talented young men gain a handsome competence by furnish- ing such instruction, which would be quite unnecessary, if the tutor's duties were efficiently performed. A stranger can form a very faint notion of the abuses arising out of the tutorial system : — only those who have resided for a considerable time both as undergraduates and graduates, can adequately conceive their amount. Whether the want of zealous activity among the tutors is attributable to the vicious mode of their appointment or to other causes, we have neither the space nor wish to discuss. The system altogether is bad, and must be reformed. It may not be able, as Mr. Baden Powell — one of its Professors — remarks, to reform itself; and foreign interference may be necessary to reform its bad government and to correct its many acknowledged abuses. A Royal Commission under William IV. may be less popular than one under Charles I. : but it is not less ne- cessary ; and, if judiciously performed, it will at least be more effective. MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. LAW. Select Extracts from Blackstone's Commentaries, with a Glossary, Questions, and Notes, by S. Warren, Esq., F.R.S., of the Inner Temple. 8vo. Maxwell, Bell Yard, Lincoln's Inn. THE volume before us consists of extracts from Blackstone's Commentaries, carefully divested of technicalities and such portions as might not be fit for the eyes of very young readers and otherwise adapted for the purposes of education. Mr. Warren, at whose suggestion and under whose superintendence these extracts have been made, is the author of a very interesting and ingenious work entitled " A Popular and Practical Introduction to Law Studies," in which is to be found the recommendation which caused this analysis to be undertaken. The immediate object of this abridgment is to supply a manual, which shall contain all the necessary information on those laws by which we are protected and restrained, which we may be called upon to enforce with regard to others, and the limits marked down which we may not transgress,— whose functions we may in the ordinary course of life be obliged to exercise and the due ad- ministration of which is the safeguard of that liberty we all boast of and prize. It is in fact a history of the rise, progress, and present state of the con- stitution, which every Englishman is bound to be acquainted with, if he desires to discharge well and efficiently his duties as a citizen. Men seldom will, and children never ought to attempt to make themselves proficients in the entire work, which however excellent must necessarily be in many parts dull and obscure to those who read for information and not to acquire exact professional knowledge. But here in one small volume you have a digest of all that is generally useful in the Commentaries ; and a more entertaining book independently of its usefulness is not frequently met with. It is generally admitted that Blackstone's style as an author is so pure and ex- cellent, that he has imparted interest to the most uninteresting subjects, and here we have the bright parts of a bright whole. The extracts have been very judiciously made and comprise all that is desirable ; and we strongly recom- mend all parents to provide their children with it, and to read it themselves (if they be not previously acquainted with the subject), and all schoolmasters to adopt it as a class-book. RELIGION. Miraculous and Internal Evidences of the Christian Revelation. By T. Chalmers, D.D. 2 vols. post 8vo. Collins. Glasgow. Or the many talented metaphysicians which the two last centuries have pro- duced, Mr. Hume was undoubtedly the subtlest and most acute, if not the most solid and profound. These talents he unfortunately abused by employ- ing them as weapons in an unceasing warfare against revealed religion ; and certainly Saladin himself could not have battled more stoutly against the armies of Christendom, than did David Hume against the advocates of Chris- tianity. The free-thinkers before his time, with less subtlety and compre- hensiveness of mind, had confined their scepticism to the historic facts on which the religion is based, and had restricted their scurrilous and blasphe- mous abuse to the holy precincts : but Hume, taking up fresh ground, enlarged JAN. 1837. G 82 Monthly Review of Literature. the field of discussion, and made it co-extensive with material and moral nature. The doctrines of consciousness, causation, and probability were succes- sively handled by him, and with such masterly dexterity in a bad cause, as to shake the belief of many of the weaker and more shallow adherents to the Christian faith. The appearance of his Essays was the tocsin for a literary crusade ; and the country was inundated with books and pamphlets, of most of which even the names have perished. .Douglas, Paley, Campbell, and Brown, have won an abiding reputation, as the illustrious champions of the faith ; but in later years we have had no original thinker engaged advanta- geously in this cause, unless we except Dr. Chalmers, of whose excellent work we propose to give a very brief analysis. Paley's work on the Evidences has received in this country a sanction, which its intrinsic merits do not deserve, and for which we can only account from the author's academic and ecclesiastical connexions. That the work is characterized by that sagacity of thought, that clearness and transparency of style so characteristic of Dr. Paley, we will not deny ; but it is equally true, that in originality of plan and in profound reflexion on the faculties them- selves, it is entirely deficient. In fact, Paley's book is efficient only as a weapon to attack the outworks of the unbelievers. By his puny arms their strong-holds still remain impregnable. Well then may the writer of such a work be called by the sober-minded and deep-thinking examiner of Christian evidences, the unsatisfactory Paley! To this failing, indeed, of his mind and to the influence of his weak writings on academic taste, we may fairly ascribe a general debility in the argumentative productions of the English church writers on the Evidences since his day. We cannot do better than illustrate our opinion by the contrast drawn by Dr. Chalmers between the English and Scottish writers on the Evidences. " The treatment which Mr. Hume's argument has met with in the two countries of England and Scotland, is strikingly in unison with the genius of the respective people. The savans of our nation have certainly a greater taste^ and inclination for the reflex process, while it is more the property of our southern neighbours to enter, vigorously and immediately, and with all that instinctive confidence wherewith nature has endowed us, on the business of the direct one. Our general tendency is to date our argument from a higher point than the English do, to reason for example about reasoning, before we proceed to reason about the matter on hand. Nay, we are apt to be so far misled, as to think that we should thoroughly comprehend the nature and pro- perties of the instrument of ratiocination, before we proceed to the use of it. We must do this, it is thought, else we do not begin at the beginning, though in fact this were just such a beginning as that of the labourer, who should imagine that ere he enters with the spade in his hand on the work of digging, he must first have computed the powers of its wedge, or ascertained the specific weight and cohesion of its materials. There is upon an infinity of subjects, much intellectual labour that may be most prosperously gone through, without any anterior examination on our part of the intellectual faculty. Our dispo- sition in many a question, is to move a previous question which must be first settled, ere we hold ourselves in a condition for starting fair with the one immediately before us. The English again, to borrow another phrase from their own parliamentary language, are for proceeding to the order of the day ; and they are not deceived in the result just because nature has not deceived them, nor has she given original principles to her children for the purpose of leading them astray. They are like men set forth on the survey of a land- scape, and who proceed immediately to the business of seeing ; whereas the others, ere they shall have any dealing with the objects of vision, must have settled their account with the, instrument of vision, so that while the former are looking broadly and confidently outwards on the scene of observation, the latter are speculating on the organ and its retina, or have their thoughts in- tently fastened on that point whence the optic nerve issues from its primitive Monthly Review of Literature. 83 obscurity among the convolutions of the brain. Now this is what our friends in the south seem to have no patience for. Their characteristic is not subtlety of discrimination on the powers and principles of the mind, but often admi- rable soundness and sagacity in the direct application of their powers to the practical object of coming to a right judgment on all important questions. Dr. Paley stands forth in full dimensions as an exemplar of this class. Strong and healthful in his faculties, he turns them to the immediate business before him without one reflex look at the faculties themselves. He bestows on the argument of Hume a few touches of his sagacity^but soon flings it as if in distaste or intolerance away from him. We hold this to have been the general reception of it in our sister kingdom; — and while taken in grave and philosophic style by Campbell, and Brown, and Murray, and Cook, and Somerville, and the Edinburgh Reviewers, it seems to have made comparatively little impres- sion on the best authors of England — on Penrose for example, who bestows on it but a slight and cursory notice, and Le Bas, who almost thinks it enough to have barely characterized it as a wretched fallacy. " Paley concludes his preparatory considerations to his book on the Eviden- ces with the following short practical answer to Hume's essay : — ' But the short consideration which, independently of every other, convinces me that there is no solid foundation in Mr. Hume's conclusion is the following. When a theorem is proposed to a mathematician, the first thing he does with it is to try it upon a simple case ; and if it produce a false result, he is sure that there must be some mistake in the demonstration. Now to proceed in this way with what may be called Mr. Hume's theorem : If twelve men whose probity and good sense I had long known, should seriously and circumstan- tially relate to me an account of a miracle wrought before their eyes, and in which it was impossible that they should be deceived, — if the governor of the country, hearing a rumour of this account, should call these men into his presence, and offer them a short proposal, either to confess the imposture, or submit to be tied up to a gibbet, — if they should refuse with one voice to acknowledge that there existed any falsehood or imposture in the case,— if this threat were communicated to them separately, yet with no different effect, — if it was at last executed,— if I myself saw them, one after another, consenting to be racked, burnt, or strangled, rather than give up the truth of their account, — still, if Mr. Hume's rule be my guide, I am not to believe them. Now I un- dertake to say that there is not a sceptic in the world who would not believe them, or who would defend such incredulity.' There is something nationally characteristic in their respective treatments of the same subject by the Scottish Hume and the English Paley. It exhibits a contest between sound sense and subtle metaphysics. Paley is quite right in his concluding deliver- ance. The falsehood of the twelve men, in the circumstances and with the characteristics which he ascribes to them, would be more improbable than all the miracles put together of the New Testament. It is a correct judgment that he gives ; but he declines to state the principles of the judgment. Nor is it necessary in ten thousand instances, that a man should be able to assign the principles of his judgment, in order to make that judgment a sound and unex- ceptionable l,one. There is many a right intellectual process undergone by those, who never once reflect upon the process nor attempt the description of it. The direct process is one thing ; the reflex view of it is another. Paley sees most instantly and vividly the falsehood of Hume's theorem in a parti- cular case ; and this satisfies him of a mistake in the demonstration. But this is a different thing from undertaking to show the fallacy of the demon- stration on its own general principles, as different as were the refutation of a mathematical proposition by the measurement of a figure constructed in the terms of that proposition from the general and logical refutation of it grounded on the import of the terms themselves. This is certainly a desirable thing to be done ; and all we have to say at present is, that this is what Paley has failed to accomplish." G 2 84 Monthly Review of Literature. Dr. Chalmers in his work on the Evidences at once "takes the bull by the horns/' selects the strongest antagonist in the enemy's ranks, grapples with him unhesitatingly, and shows a skill with his weapon at least equal to that of his wily opponent. The first points discussed are thosf most controverted by Mr. Hume, and which, if not cleared up, oppose a fatal obstacle to the admission of every succeeding truth, — namely, the cognizance which the mind takes of its own operations, our belief in the constancy of nature and the value of human testimony in proof of miracles. These occupy a hundred and fifty pages. Then follows an investigation of the miraculous and historical evidence in favour of Christianity, in which the principles of historical testi- mony are laid down with remarkable clearness ; and we cannot help alluding very favourably to one chapter, in which the secure and impregnable character of the historical argument is most satisfactorily demonstrated. The third book unfolds, 1. The internal evidences derivable from the consistency of Scripture with itself, — 2. The moral evidence founded on the purity of Chris- tian ethics, — 3. The experimental evidence as based on the communion between God and the soul of the believer. The two latter topics are left almost un- touched by Paley : the last has been ably handled by Dr. Bird Sumner, the Bishop of Chester. The fourth division of Dr. Chalmers' book treats on the establishment of the Scripture Canon ; and the work concludes with an in- vestigation of that very important and difficult subject, Inspiration, on which the author appears to hold firm and decided opinions in favour of the Bible as an inspired book, " for all the purposes of a revelation, perfect in its language as well as perfect in its doctrine," and yet without maintaining those dog- matical and intolerant notions common to the school of plenary and verbal inspiration. Thus briefly have we spoken of Dr. Chalmers' book, not without an attentive perusal and we may say with some previous knowledge of the subject — an attain- ment not usually deemed necessary by reviewers. Dr. Chalmers deserves respect, as much for his Christian usefulness as his great powers of intellect ; and we sincerely congratulate the Christian public on this valuable addition to the evidential department of sacred literature. MEDICAL SCIENCE. A Series of Twenty Plates, illustrating- the Causes'of Displacement in the Various Fractures of the Bones of the Extremities. By G. W. HIND. Second Edition. Taylor and Walton. IT becomes almost an act of supererogation in the reviewer to direct the attention of his readers to the beauty and utility of a work for which a second edition has been so soon called. The fact sufficiently proves the es- timation in which it is held, and the rapidly increasing favour which it is acquiring with the public. And truly no recent work on Surgery is more deserving. To the student the work is invaluable ; nor will he do justice to his studies in London without making it a prominent feature in his working library. The plans are admirably designed and beautifully executed. They speak their meaning plainly and distinctly and convey in themselves all the information that the student can desire. Every conscientious practitioner particularly in the country should provide himself with this useful volume, if he regards his reputation as a surgeon or the sufferings of his patient. Such a guide pos- sesses great advantages over the dry uninteresting description, loaded with useless detail : — the surgeon sees the accident, which he is suddenly called to remedy, placed artificially before his eyes, divested of the complication of outward form and confused textures ; — he sees the fractured ends of the bones torn from their position, and the new position which they assume ; he traces the cause of their new direction and is enabled at once efficiently to ap- Monthly Review of Literature. 85 ply his remedial measures, thereby fortifying his own proceedings with con- fidence and ensuring instantaneous and certain comfort to his patient. We would strongly recommend this work to clergymen and benevolent in- dividuals in the country, who are occasionally required in the absence of the surgeon to afford assistance in cases of severe accident. With these plates at hand, they will be enabled at least to give ease to the sufferer, till the surgeon can be obtained. The descriptive matter which accompanies the plates is well and clearly written. The arrangement which the author has adopted also deserves no- tice : — his first enquiry is into the cause of the fracture, — next into the appear- ances that the limb assumes, — then as to the cause of the displacement. In the latter question is particularly involved the application of the plates, which display the moving powers that distort the broken ends of the bones, and therefore point to the means necessary to restrain those actions. Lastly, follows the treatment, which is simple and efficient. The new edition is enriched by a number of vignette wood-cuts, which de- lineate the external form of the limb in the various accidents. We conclude our notice by recommending this work to the attention of our readers, assuring them that it is entitled to a conspicuous place on their select shelves by the side of Dr. Quain's anatomical plates. Magazine of Health. By W. H. Robertson, M. D. No. 11. Tilt. The practising physician, having completed his first volume of " Health" and recovered from a violent attack of the " gout," has at length thrown off the veil of incognito, that he might reap the blushing honours of an unblushing author- ship. We suspect, that we are not wholly unacquainted with the author, and if we mistake not the Doctor is one of those useful practising physicians of modern Athens, with whom embryo graduates so much interest themselves, before they venture upon the fiery ordeal of the dread examiners. We could have wished, that Dr. Robertson had confined himself to the professed object of his magazine, " the enlightenment of men's minds on a subject which is only second in importance to that of religion, to oppose quackery and its parent, ignorance," &c. But in the very number, in which these fine-sounding intentions are trumpeted forth, we see the learned Doctor most indecorously flirting with the young folks of the self-same " parent ig- norance," of which he so speaks above. From the very top of the pigmy pin- nacle of his magazine he is handing round to the wondering crowd, like the Charlatan of a Venetian carnival, his marvellous pills — pills No. 1. strongest, pills No. 2. milder, pills No. 3. excessively mild — all for nothing (their full value by the way), " if you only buy my book." This the prudent author may call " enlightening me'n's minds," but we can see no distinction between such " practising" and bare-faced quackery, which provides one medicine for all diseases and all conditions of disease. Does Dr. Robertson contend, that one hat must fit all mankind ; or that the same wine shall be always palatable, the same food always healthful ? We hope to see the Doctor rally from so disagreeable a malady as that from which his late effusions spring. Is the philosophy of medicine so barren, that he must expose the secrets of his pill-factory ? Oh Doctor ! swallow this little pill No. 3. We assure you, and we are certain ourselves, that your strength and solid substance will be improved. Dr. Robertson, moreover, owes some feelings of delicacy to his profession. He is a member of a cultivated class of men, and has no right to risk their credit in a frolicsome game of pills with the public, to infringe the bounds of reason and integrity, by persuading simple credulous folks, that disease is so little important as to admit of being trifled with by excessively mild pills Does he forget that physical disease brings mental weakness, — that the sick are not capable of judging for themselves, — that their anxious relatives are no more capable than are they, — that the whole resource in the hour of pain and suffer- 86 Monthly Review of Literature. ing is the calm and experienced practioner? He can command disease-, when disease stands undisguised ; but, if some cheap " Magazine of Health" shall have infused its poison into the minds of the public, woe to the un- happy sick. We trust the " Magazine of Health" will remember our warning of last month in her gambols for 1837. The Fallacy of the Art of Physic as taught in the Schools, with the Development of New and Important Principles of Practice. By Samuel Dickson, M. D. Cheltenham. Longman and Co. QUACKERY most vile 1 most contemptible ! in how many disgusting shapes wilt thou disclose thyself to the instructed eye? Let us make any of our readers the judge of the above title; let him but poise the "vain inglorious boast" in the fair balance of reason :— he will then infer, what we have proved in the examination of this bare-faced placard, that it is a tissue " of dreamy vagaries of hallucination." Shades of Galen, Hippocrates, Haller, Cullen, the Hunters, Baillie, and of Laennec, — shades of all that have been most eminent in your profession, — rest in peace j for the breath of the reviler shall not move the tender blade that springs around your tombs. But tremble ; ye mottled groups of Homaeopathists and Hygeists ; ye grubbers in the folly and weakness of mankind, kneel before the banner of legitimate medicine. Fever, — Fever, is the only malady, to which man is subject ; and this one, in the first instance, has no relation to organic change as a cause. Dance and be gfad, ye consumptives, ye gouty, ye dispeptic ; for the army hath yielded up its modern Esculapius, and, for the mortality caused by many bloody wars, has sent this omnibus healer to the world. But to re- flect calmly, — if it be possible upon such impertinence. Our author displays occasionally too much modesty. He says " how far in proposing it (the one malady) we are entitled to the merit of originality," &c. We would beg to as- sure him, that none will venture to dispute his originality. He is the true, the only original, the real Simon Pure ; and Morison himself would not dispute his right to the laurels. We should waste both time and space in handling so foul a subject any longer. Suffice it to say that the sooner the author shall buy up all the copies of his physic, and make therewith a fierce bonfire to outshine his blushes, the sooner will the cause of honesty and humanity be vindicated. That he may wish to cut out the regular and more conspicuous practitioners of Chel- tenham we doubt not, and that he can make professions of impossibilities to the world we see; — but we would hint to him that an ephemeral fame, having its source in vain boasting ignorance, is not the surest way of obtaining the confidence of a reasoning and independent public. Treatise on the Structure of the Ear and on Deafness. By A. W. WEBSTER. Published for the Author. THE author of this treatise reminds us in his opening page of a maxim which we have always practised in our reviews : " In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend." This latter clause cannot apply to Mr. Webster, for he hath compassed, in as far as he is able, the one end which he proposed to himself in writing this. book, viz., the puffing of a certain instrument of his invention, consisting of a tube or assemblage of tubes, and called by him otaphone. We most sincerely wish our ingenious and creative author a ready sale for his " otaphones," and trust that our readers will wish so too ; we would only reprove him for a little presumption in his introduction which we think too juvenile. First, Let him read Arnott's " Physics," or Roget's " Bridgewater Monthly Review of Literature. 87 Treatise." We could name several more books j but he may think them too old, and he will find that there are some " works written on the Ear calculated to convey useful and correct information" even to our author. Secondly, his new anatomical division, which only differs from the 'generally received ar- rangement in placing an external part — the mentus in the same description with an internal part — the tympanum, is, to say the least, not very profound. We congratulate him on one point, his delineation of Mrs. Mozart's son's ear. Depend on it the ladies will all have an otaphone, if for no other pur- pose than to ascertain how far they may hope to rival Mozart. Report upon the Existing System of Public Medical Relief in Ire- land. By the late Sir DAVID BARRY, M.D. and J. R. CORRIE, M. D. Groombridge. THIS report is ably drawn up, and written in a plain simple style, that con- vinces us of its perfect truth and fidelity. We regret that abuses so great as those described in this pamphlet are permitted to exist. Their existence points eloquently to a defective political as well as medical government. Me- dical aid, it appears, is the only species of public relief which is afforded to the the poor Irish ; and out of this relief are emanating the most grievous wrongs. Alas ! poor Ireland ! If thy doctor prove untrue, thou hast lost thine only friend ! .Can any system of public relief be expected to succeed, when the first defect pointed out by the examiners is the following : — " The total omission on the part of the legislature of all provision for an efficient superintendence or control being exercised by properly qualified persons, whether over the working of the whole system or over that of its subordinate machinery." To all such as would know how the poor live1- and how far their comforts are provided for, we earnestly recommend a perusal of this report. It is ac- companied by suggestions for the improvement of charitable institutions. Let us hope for the cause of charity and religion, that the suggestions will be canvassed, and some step taken to improve the condition of those suffering wretches, who even in the most despairing poverty are still our fellow- creatures and have a right to our best sympathies. ALMANACS. Comic Almanac, 1837. Charles Tilt, Fleet Street. ELIZABETH was thought to have deserved a reputation for wisdom, because she chose wise ministers ; and by the same rule Charles Tilt must be ac- counted a wit, for he chooses witty authors.— Witness his " Comic Almanac." The name of George Cruikshank is identified with fun; andRigdum Funnidos, who supplies the letter-press, is a worthy coadjutor. Among the illustrations we would especially designate as excellent " St. Valentine's Day/' " The Re- turn from the Races," " The Fancy Fair," and " The Cockney Sportsmen." In the second, the turnpike man talcing a sight at the swelFwho loses his ticket and pays toll twice over, and the two dandies in the*third are inimitable. All however are very good, and we are scarcely entitled to select one illustra- tion as superior to its neighbours. A novel feature in this year's publication consists in the caricatures en silhouette which adorn the almanac pages. These alone are worth the price of the book. The remarkable occurrences attached to the dates are in many instances sufficiently apt ; for example — on "April 29th Thrashing commences in London. Macready thrashes Bunn, but gets nothing but chaff November 5th. Gunpowder Plot. Guy Vaux blows up the House of Lords." But the odd pages between the months contain the cream of the jests, and from them are derived the subjects of the illustrations. We shall 88 Monthly Review of Literature. indulge our readers with a few extracts, and if they want a full meal of laugh- ter refer them to the book itself, which we can assure them will be found not " a plum here and pudding there," but all plum and no pudding. We shall first introduce to our readers a short extract from the letter of Thomas Gardener to Sally Cook, which, if not equal to the letters of Win. Jenkins in Humphry Clinker, is the nearest approach we have seen for some time past to the inimitable drolleries of Smollett. " Deer saly, my place hear is verry cumfuttabl, but i am verry uncumfuttabl in it on acount of my Bean in sich a tendar pashun with Yew. O luv, luv ! i am grew as thin as a lath and hav found out wot it is not to hav cuk for a swete hart. Our under ous made is verry fond on me but wats the use of ous mades, won carnt heat brumes and skrubbin brushs. O saly saly ! yew wood ardly"no me lam as week as a kittin, i can scarce andl my Spade & its al Hoe- ing to yew. i set ours & ours in the forsing ous doing nothink but thinking of yewr perty face, & i offen think ow appy we mite be with yewr 2 underd pound as yewr Grand muther left yew, & yewr 50 pound in the saveing bank, & my 5 pound as Jorge Hawl the squir's futman as is gone away ows nie. We mite take a Publik ous, the Pig & wissle for instants, & get a gud bisnes & be as appy as the day is lung. Saly luv wat do yew say to me, let me no your mind, but rimmember wat i sed about the Publik is strickly Privet. " Deer saly, i carnt abuse my noo mastr & missus, at least not at pressent, they ar uncomon kind to me & so is al the fammaly. The 2 former blungs to a Lmean sowsiaty & to ear em tawk about Bottany is rely quite Transport- ing. We ad the annywal sho the uther day wich is cunducktid in the most aprovd maner namely giving prises to al the supskribers, which gives gennaral sattisfaxion and advarnses sciance. It tuk place in the town all on wensdy last for Pinks Dailys and settera, on wich okashun master was brote in Furs't mule, & missus Furst fireball, & i beg to anounce in the veggytibl line i was juged to be the Bigest cabbige head out of 40. The sowsiaty has dun a gud deal of gud hear abouts in regard of kichin gardn stuff, namely redishs so larg as not to be told from carets, & peas like Led bulits boath wich is nothink in cumparryson of their turnups wich they hav at last suckseeded in growin em so big & ollow as is gud for nothink but litle bys to make Jack a lantans off. The sowsiaty increses annywaly evry ear, and oposishun is got to sich a hite as you woodent bleav. The uther day 1 poor felow, Bean bete in his Carrots axualy went ome & cut his Carrotid hartary. Another grate ad varntidge is the onnerrery members dining togather after the sho & eting up al the Best frute, by wich in Coarse they no wear to aply to annother time wen they want anny. The rest is sold to pay xpences. Allso it is a verry gud thing for the markit gardners, anny I of woom by paying 2 shilin entrants & sending in a 5 shillin dish of veggytibles stands a charnse of winning a £ crown prise." For a specimen of the pleasures of a visit to the Derby we have the fol- lowing : — " Ticket, Sir ? got a ticket ? No, I've lost it. A shilling then. A shilling I've paid you once to-day. — Oh yes, I suppose so : the old tale : but it won't do : that's what all you sporting gentlemen say. " Hinsolent feller ! I'll have you up before your betters. Come, Sir, you musn't stop up the way. Well, I'll pay you again; but, oh Lord! some- body's stole my purse ! good gracious, what shall I do ! — I suppose I must leave my watch, and call for it to-morrow. Oh ruination ! blow'd if that isn't gone too ! " Get on there, will you ? — Well, stop a moment. Will anybody lend me a shilling ? No ? here then, take my hat : — But if I don't show you up in Bell's Life in London next Sunday morning, my name's not Timothy Flat." We close our gleanings with a school boy's letter, which we give en- Monthly Review of Literature. 89 tire, and which we suspect from its characteristic fidelity to be not fictitious but genuine. Let master Sly speak for himself. " Dear Dick— I copied my school letter to Farther and Mother ten times be- fore one was good enough, and while the teacher is putting the capitals and flourishes in 1 shall slip this off on the sly. Our examination was yesterday and the table was covered with books and things bound in gilt and silk for prizes but were all put away again and none of us got none only they awarded Master Key a new fourpenny bit for his essay on Locke because his friends live next door and little Coombe got the tooth ake so they would not let him try his experiments on vital air which was very scurvy. It didn't come to my turn so I did not get a prize but as the company was to stop tea I put the cat in the water butt which they clean it out in the holidays and they will be sure to find her and we were all treated with tea and I did not like to refuse as they might have suspext something, Last night we had a stocking and bolster fight after we went to bed and I fougt a little lad with a big bolster his name is Bill Barnacle and I knocked his eye out with a stone in my stocking but no body knows who did it because we were all in the dark so I could not see no harm in it. Dear Dick send me directly ypur Wattses Hyms to show for I burnt mine and a lump of cobblers wax for the masters chair on breaking up day and some small shot to pepper the people with my quill gun and eighteen pence in coppers to shy at the windows as we ride through the villiage and make it one and ninepence for there's a good many as Ive a spite against and if farther wont give it you ask mother and say its for yourself and meet me at the Elephant and Castle and if there's room on the coach you can get up for I want to give you some crackers to let off as soon as we get home while they are all a Kissing of me. Your affectionate brother, TIMOTHY SLY." British Almanac and Companion of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 183?. C. Knight. Statistical Account of the British Empire. By J. R. M'CuLLocn, assisted by numerous Contributors. 2 thick 8vo. volumes. C. Knight. IT is almost a work of supererogation to speak favourably of the British Al- manac of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. If that Society merits but little praise for some of the multifarious books that it has ushered into the world, for this at least its members have fairly earned the warm thanks and gratulations of all classes of his Majesty's subjects. The Stationers' Company, who till 1829 enjoyed by prescription the mo- nopoly of the Almanacs, thought that they might foist on the public any rubbish, any absurdity, however puerile ; and hence it was that the learned Francis Moore so long exercised an astrological influence over the minds of thousands, who would have laughed to scorn such villanous trash, proceed- ing from a less renowned and less time-established author. The Society broke the spell of the enchanter and unmasked his tricks and frauds ; the ill-fated conjuror's trade was ruined ; and we believe that he is now defunct, having left his name as the heading for a very curious chapter in the intel- lectual history of the English people. The fear of an interloper roused the Company to some exertion ; anu in 1830, driven to improve by mere slavish necessity, that Corporation published the Englishman's Almanac, to which on the repeal of the Stamp duty by the Whig government (at the instance of many influential members of the above-named Society) they added numerous other year-books of very considerable merit. But it must never be forgotten to whom the praise of such reforms is due, not at all to them, but wholly to the firm determination of Lord Brougham and his colleagues in promoting literary reform. The Almanac of 1837 is, on the whole, the best of any that 90 Monthly Review of Literature. we have seen for general purposes, both as respects the choice of matter and the arrangement, and appears to contain more than the Almanacs of previous years. The Companion for 1837 is, as usual, replete with most useful information of a very varied character, and more especially Statistics. We may mention, however, as being especially valuable, Mr. Lubbock's second paper on the Tides ; the early history of Astronomy ; occultations of planets and fixed stars by the moon ; remarks on the registration and marriage acts ; account of different railways of Great Britain, &c. &c. The Companions, of which there are now eight, contain altogether a large mass of scientific and statistical knowledge whose accuracy is unimpeachable. To such as cannot afford the more expensive and more systematic works of Mr. M'Culloch, his Dictionary, as well as his lately published ' Statistics of the British Empire/ we recommend this collection of Companions to the Almanac. ' The Statistics ' of Mr. M'Culloch is a valuable addition to modern litera- ture. The names of his co-operators ensure the respectability of the work. We have read some of the articles, those more particularly on the geography and geology of the country, and can speak favourably and with competence. The other parts appear to be equally well got up : indeed it has seldom been our lot to examine a book of this kind that has so much pleased us. Its Editor has been long justly regarded as a sound economist, capable of ad- vising and directing the state-economy of the country ; and we trust thatfour present government will as soon as possible adopt his advice on the subject of free trade in one department at least, manufactures and manufacturing materials. Mr. M'Culloch's book should be the vade-mecum of every parliament-man in the kingdom, of every manufacturer, every merchant, every man of wealth, — nay, of kevery British subject that can afford it and understand it when bought. It is not a book of pretence and show, made for the present hour only : it is one whose value will be more felt as time enables its readers to perceive the truth of the author's observations and predictions. British Annual, and Epitome of the Progress of Science. By Robert D. Thomson, M. D. Bailliere. THE British Annual as a work of constant reference should find a place upon the library table of every man who possesses a taste for science. This little volume is extremely well got up, and abounds in the most interesting and valuable information. An epitome of modern discovery has long been a de- sideratum in the scientific world. The undertaking was a task of no ordi- nary labour ; and those who could the most have wished it shrunk from the difficulties of the attempt. We therefore feel ourselves personally indebted to Dr. Thomson and offer him our cordial gratulations on the successful manner in which he has performed this act of kindness to society, assuring him that it has not been for a long time our pleasant duty to peruse a work so amply stored with extensive learning and profound research. The Annual opens with an almanac for 1837, enriched with elaborate calculations of the sun's declinations, moon's phases, and planetary con- junctions. Next follows a succession of useful things, such as a list of the principal ob- servatories in the world ; height of mountains and mountain passes, and in- habited places ; lowest limit of snow in different latitudes ; weights, measures, and coins throughout the world, ancient and modern ; comparison of the Centi- grade, Fahrenheit and Reaumer's thermometers ; tables for calculating the heights of mountains by barometric observations ; table of specific gravities,, atomic weights, universities of Europe and America. The last contains the annual income of the different professors in the Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aber- deen, and Paris universities, with a short abstract of the curriculum and fees of the student. The learned societies of London, Statistics, and a variety of other Monthly Review of Literature. 91 topics equally useful, are successfully treated. The articles which refer more immediately to modern discovery are, The recent progress of optical science by the Rev. Baden Powell, M. A., which includes mathematical optics, phy- sical optics, with an excellent account of the undulatory theory ; M. Cauchy's theory ; dispersion of light ; the new views of Kelland, Sir D. Brewster's spectra, Wheatstone's spectra of electric light, and a variety of opinions and experiments by other able men. The next paper is one on visible vibration illustrated with wood-cuts. Recent progress of astronomy, by W. S. B. Woolhouse, Esq. History of magnetical discovery, by Thomas Stephens Da- vies, Esq., is an excellent article introducing the reader to the history of the Mariner's compass ; the names and tradition of the magnet throughout the world ; knowledge of the compass and magnet among the Chinese, &c. The work concludes with a comprehensive and able history of the recent progress of vegetable chemistry by the Editor. Our readers will perceive by the above abstract, that we have not said too much, when we adjudge the palm of distinguished excellence to the British Annual. And in these days it may not be considered a secondary feature in its favour that its price, three-and-sixpence, is extremely small ; and as it is within the reach, should be in the possession of every one. TRAVELS. Pedestres' Tour of 1347 Miles through Wales and England. 2 vols. 8vo. Saunders and Otley, THE author of this book (which is a reprint from the " Metropolitan") has chosen to appear under a strange guise, denominating himself Pedestres and his stick Clavileno Woodenpeg ; and as may be readily imagined, the strange conceit of his title leaf is carried out by an equally strange style in the sub- sequent pages. Pedestres evidently has taken Sterne as his model ; and, if his aim were to infuse wit, humour, and eccentricity in his writings, he could not have selected a better original. But unfortunately he has endeavoured to imitate closely an inimitable author, and the consequence is that every para- graph provokes comparisons unfavourable to himself. Sterne was a man sui generis. His wit was natural, his eccentricity fitted well and sat easy upon him ; and his genius was of the highest order. His mode of writing is peculiarly his own, and it necessarily follows, that if any man endeavours to imitate him, even though he possess equal ability, his pro- duction is not only a copj^, but a copy that any one can at first sight perceive to be such. Now Pedestres, though evidently the master of considerable powers of drollery, is neither equal to, nor nearly equal to, the author of " Tristram Shandy ;" and as he has chosen to stretch his notes on a Shandean frame, their intrinsic merit is detracted from by what we suspect, the writer considered to be a most attractive form. He should have recollected that none of the suitors of Penelope could draw the bow of Ulysses, and not have exposed himself to a comparison which he ought to have felt would be very much to his disadvantage. Not only is the rambling disjointed mode of telling a story which was adopted by Sterne, made use of, but he actually gives a direct and acknowledged imitation of the celebrated "Death of Lefevre from Tristram Shandy" — heu quantum mutatus ab illo — and he sacrifices de- cency in several passages most grossly. It was said of Sterne that his inde- cency was that of a baby in petticoats sprawling on the floor, which could be offensive to no one, not cursed with an extra stock of prudery. Without entering into the merits of this question, we will venture to affirm, that what- ever other points of Sterne's writings are worthy of imitation, these at least should be carefully eschewed. Yet Pedestres' tour contains some passages most grossly violating every canon of delicacy and propriety. We will only call the attention of the reader to the 327th page of the first volume for con- firmation of our accusation, and then pass on to other matters. 92 Monthly Review of Literature. Embedded in a mire of unintelligible nonsense, there are in these volumes many amusing anecdotes, and though it be somewhat irksome to wade through the mire in order to pluck the flowers, yet we think they are worth gathering even at the expense of such inconvenience. We give an extract, not because we think it the best story in the book, but we find it best adapted to our purpose, that is to say, most easily detached from the surrounding mould in which it is enveloped. It is part of the description of a schoolboy's frolic in the dungeon of the castle of Tiverton, which the actors in the scene we are about to give had determined to examine, for the purpose of clearing up some mysteries which tradition has attached to the ruins. The vein of pedantry which will be found in the portion we give pervades the whole work, but if that were the only fault it might be excused without any great stretch- of charity. " Wherever there is a castle of any antiquity, and which is known to have experienced the vicissitudes of fortune, fertile brains, a love for the marvellous, or the power of superstition, generally create some mysterious legends respect- ing it, which are to be found in the mouths of the inhabitants in the vicinity. The most usual and favourite place of security (in romance) is undoubtedly a dungeon or subterranean passage : — what castle is without it somewhere (though no one can find it ?) — and who is it that has ever been to Tiverton and has not heard of the ' dungeon/ that passes from the castle the whole way under the] town ? To resort thither with half a dozen candles ' to explore/ has often been the frolic of a holiday afternoon among schoolboys. I re- member when I was about twelve years of age, and at the time forming one of a large body of rebellious subjects, who groaned under the despotic and harsh government of that tyrannical sceptre (as all boys fancy), the ferula, that some five or six of us formed the design of making a visit to the dungeon, under the sweet persuasion that our antiquarian search and research could not but be attended by such success and discovery, as would shed more light on certain obscure passages in events of by- gone ages than had ever been en- kindled by the laborious pens of all the historians that ever wielded a goose- quill. The conditions and items of the bill of enforcement we need not dwell upon. "The second item, however, tended towards me, in the imposition of a tax or forfeit : but no tax placed on humanity was ever levied with such faciMty and good will. The law enforced that I should find candles, tinder-box, and matches, and that I should steal them from the cook, for it was sagaciously perceived that, as my home was nearer to the scene of action than the resi- dences of any of the others, there would be the greatest advantages arising from the enactment of such a clause as this second article compelled. And as to the matter of stealing what we wanted, of course / could do that as well as any,body else : there was no objection to it whatever, either on their parts or on mine : — it was fair and just, and nothing was so longed for as to convert unsubstantial words into actual and accomplished deeds. True it was, the cook shortly found herself minus candles, tinder-box, and all the et ceteras, and nine points of the law very soon confirmed that manoeuvre. " We set off, giving tongue lustily, like a pack of hounds on full scent, making our way through Saint Peter's churchyard, up the path opposite the richly-carved facade of John Greenway's chapel. " ' What a funny ship that is/ said Gradus, a boy about ten years old, as he pointed with his candle towards the sculptured figures on the upper part of the chapel, ' I never saw such a clumsy one in my life/ " " Yes," answered Ille-ego, who claimed seniority over us all, " I suppose 'tis like what they used to build in former days : there is a boat alongside of her, and they seem to be lowering a cask by a rope — " " And there's one man on the stern," cried Hic-haec-hoc, interrupting Ille-ego, "did you ever see such a great high stern? — not a bit like Cur- wood's boats: — see, there's a man pulling a fish out of the water." Monthly Review of Literature. 93 "And his line's as thick as a rope," said A-B-C, who was our youngest volunteer, and at the bottom of the lowest form in school. "Ah! and there's another ship," rejoined Hic-hasc-hoe, "oh, and a good many more : — and what are those men doing ? — but the nose of one of them has been knocked off, and the nose of the other has been rubbed quite flat." "There's a man up there," said A-B-C, "with a long stick in his hand: — I wonder if 'tis a fishing-rod — but it's got no reel." A hearty peal burst forth from all sides, at the expense of the simplicity of A-B-C. The whiles they laughed a gleam of sunshine struck across the chapel, and unconsciously drew their attention upon two ancient dials. " Almost three o'clock," said Gradus, perceiving the shadow fell over that figure. " Come, come along then," rejoined Hic-hsec-hoc, catching hold of his neighbour's arm to pull him away. 'V Nesciunt reverti,' " said Ille-ego, reading the inscription on one of the dials. On arrivng at the destined spot, there arose a call for ammunition and stores. Pockets, hats, coat sleeves, and holes cut to get between the lining and cloth of trowsers (where pockets were not long enough) were pregnant with candles, matches, tinder, and potatoes to make candlesticks of. There was a most prolific birth. POETRY AND FICTION. The Purgatorio of Dante, — translated by J. C. Wright, M. A. 8vo. Longman. THE man who"would attempt to translate Dante must be either a consum- mate Italian scholar and a poet of no ordinary capacities, or else an ignorant and totally unexperienced pretender. Those who have translated prose can tellsomewhat of the difficulty of rendering the thoughts expressed in one language in the symbols of another ; but none, except a poetic translator, can form any idea of the almost insurmountable obstacles that present themselves to his success in transferring the imaginative portraits to a foreign canvass. The difficulties under which the translator of Dante labours, as compared with those encountered by other translators, are as mountains to mole-hills. Who was Dante ? A man, with whose poetic genius perhaps four minds only — and those minds entirely different in character — in the whole history of this world's literature can bear any comparison. But besides this he lived at a time, when the Italian language, although formed — as ours was in the time of Wickliffe and Chaucer — had not entirely got rid of its barbarisms resulting from nearly five centuries of foreign depredation. The language may be said to have been in its transition state, differing much more from that of the later poets and dramatists of Italy than the style of Rowley and Spencer differs from that of Otway and Pope. Dante, again, was a most abstruse thinker, who revelled in thought and in imagery that none can understand, far less transfer, with- out intense study. We might easily state other reasons for the opinion enter- tained by us of the difficulty of the task undertaken by the translator of Dante, but enough. The author of the " Divina Commedia" is not and never will be a popular author, any more than the much- praised but little -read poet of Paradise is with us. Very — very few Italians understand Dante ; and very few English- men understand or can bear to read Milton. The crack passages of both are lauded to the skies ; but where is the man, English or Italian, except he be an enthusiast, who has sought out and duly appreciated the flowers to be found throughout these magnificent productions ? What wonder then, if a transla- tion should fail of being popular, nay, should burden the shelves of the book- seller for many a long month or year? Dante, however, has not lacked translators. Fairfax and the author of the " Oceana" were the first to venture 94 Monthly Review of Literature. on the difficult task ; and in a later age Boyd and Hay ley tried their wings ill these poetic flights ; but alas, their names as translators are only known as coupled with their disgrace. Coleridge understood Dante ; and he could have performed the task which has been left for a later generation. The latest translators of Dante are Gary and Wright. Mr. Gary is an erudite Italian scholar ; — he has understood his author— and he has succeeded in transferring some portion at least of the original spirit into his version ; but he made a fatal mistake in imitating a Miltonian model, in disguising the breathing rhythm of Dante's terza rima under the formal solemnity of the blank-verse. Mr. Wright, the translator of the " Inferno" and the " Purgatorio," has sur- mounted the difficulties, or rather, has cut the Gordian knot by modifying the metre without really altering its character. This difference between Gary's and Wright's version constitutes the superiority of the latter over the former. We have taken some pains, by strict comparisons with the original, to ascer- tain the merit of Gary ; and certainly in correctness, minute correctness of translation, and in gravity of style, he is at least equal, if not superior, to his younger rival. But we look over Gary's version in vain for the spirit, energy, and harmony that Mr. Wright has succeeded in transfusing into that which now lies on our table. The Paradise is yet to be translated ; but we caution Mr. Wright against supposing, that (as the translator of Dante) he will ever become popular. Dante will ever be "caviare to the multitude." The Forsaken, a Tale. In 2 vols. post 8vo. Whittaker. IN private life we may act on the principle, that — as by trying to please all we please nobody — we ought to please ourselves. But with authors, and especi- ally novel-writers, this doctrine will not pass current : for they themselves are the very last persons to be pleased, the first and most important being the fickle-minded and capricious public, for whom they cater. Has any of our fair readers ever contributed to the annoyance and vexation of a portrait- painter, by finding faults and suggesting improvements in the "likeness" ol her lover with all the freedom and impertinence of sheer ignorance of the fine arts? Such is the common treatment of painters by their sitters and friends ; and such, we will venture to say, is also the uncivil treatment with which many unlucky wights of "' novelists" get at the hands of reviewers, and through them of the public. We heard it said the other day by a modern scribbler, whose work, very lately published, has been unmercifully criticised every where, except by the paid advertising notices in the Chronicle, that he liked the reviewers' abuse as well as their praise, as both served to circulate the book. God save the mark! Who after this will say with lago in the play, — " Good name in man or woman, dear my lord. Is the immediate jewel of their souls, &c., — " especially if instead of making them " poor indeed" such evil report contri- buted to fill the author's pocket ? Where then is the value of criticism, if its exercise produces exactly the reverse of its intended effects ? The fault is not ours; if the public, like children, will do the forbidden thing and buy the book which the reviewer conscientiously disapproves and condemns, his con- science is clear : with them rests the responsibility of supporting a bad cause. Let the reviewer do his duty fairly and without bias : and then, why voyue la galore. " The Forsaken" is a book that has been most unsparingly abused by our contemporaries, many of whom we are sure from their remarks, have not taken the trouble to read the volumes through. Whether our opinion is worth any thing we do not pretend to say j but having read the tale from one end to the other, we must say that we see no cause for the out-pourings of wrath so liberally bestowed on the ill-starred author. Not having the most remote connexion with the author, not even so much as to know his name, we fear Monthly Review of Literature. 95 not the charge of partiality ; and so we shall proceed to give a brief account of the tale, and, in conclusion, to add some few remarks on its merit. Alice Beauclerk — the heroine of the tale — deprived by death of her protect- ress and the representative of her unknown parents, finds a temporary refuge in the secluded abode of a retired Irish counsellor, a Mr. O'Grady, where she becomes acquainted with a young nobleman — Lord Portland — the son of the Marquis of Cornwall, who in the company of his tutor visits the house. Of course, quite naturally, the young coronet and the heroine fall desperately in love with each other. Meanwhile letters reach Alice from a certain Lady Arlingham, who, in the exercise of guardianship, enjoins her removal into the family of one Mr. Darby Dudley, an Irish agent of her ladyship. The lovers are just allowed fairly to understand each other, when the lady is torn from her dreamy bliss by the uncivil violence of as great a brute as the mephitic bogs of the Emerald isle can be supposed to produce. Leaving him, — his darling Dudley Grove — dear girls — and neat knocker, for an extract at the close, and taxing our reader's imagination for a conception of the many annoy- ances to which Alice was subject in this elegant family, we carry her forward to the day that brought Lord Portland to the " Grove." The meeting of the lovers is conclusive of their future fate : — " Alice, will you pity me ?" said the lover. " I will," said the lady. What depended on that fatal answer the sequel must disclose. Lord Portland returns to town and discovers the state of his affections to his imperious mother, the intimate friend of Alice's guar- dian, Lady Arlingham. The result is, that Alice's destinies are changed, and from the retirement of Dudley Grove she is introduced to the glare of London fashionable society ; Lord Portland, under a vow of absence from his beloved, goes abroad with a diplomatic appointment. Alice's considerate guardian, however, doubtless to protect her ward from the inconvenience of a lengthened travel, selects for her as a compaynon de voyage, an amiable Hibernian of large fortune and most unexceptionable descent, Sir Leopold Lindorf. The young protegee is received with every demonstration of favour by the ladies Corn- wall and Arlingham ; and by their intrigues she is forced against the current of her affections into an engagement with the Irish baronet. The false intel- ligence propagated by her hollow friends, of the marriage of Portland with the ambassador's daughter, Lady Leonora Saville, facilitates the efforts of the intriguantes, to place Alice quite out of the reach of Portland : and at last she gives way and becomes the wife of the vain, silly, and wine-bibbing Sir Leo- pold Lindorf. The true lover returns a day or two too late, and learns from his cruel mother the true position of affairs. Months elapse, and the new- married couple return from Ireland to London. Portland, not known by the baronet as a quondam inamorato of his lady, is introduced to the house ; and an opportunity thus presented for a renewal of the lovers' intercourse is eagerly seized, which intercourse is stopped only by the strong remonstrances of the beloved and virtuous lady-guardians. The same excellent ladies prevail on Alice to urge the nuptials of Portland with Lady Leonora Saville, and thus herself to effect an eternal separation from her lover. She consents, and Portland marries. But, alas, his heart is broken "for love of Alice Gray," and very soon after he sinks into a consumption. The baronet meanwhile with his lady had in due season returned to the ancient domain of the Lin- dorfs, and visited among other esteemed friends, the Dudley's of Dudley Grove. Here, alas, the silly, stubby, little baronet, died of a drunken apoplexy; — and behold Alice once more free, — a widow. Her days of mourning were spent among her old friends the O'Gradys, in whose house she is again destined to meet the being who in the same place years before enchained her affections. A travelling invalid with his friends and attendants, weather- bound by the snow, request the shelter of Mr. O'Gradys hospitable roof, no other than the fast-sinking Lord Portland, who arrives only in time to receive the soothing consolations of Alice's society, and to die in her beloved arms. The hour of mourning proves to be that also of discovery and exposure. The 96 Monthly Review of Literature. unrighteous deeds of Lady Cornwall and Lady Arlingham are brought to light too late. By the evidence of Lady Arlingham, corroborated by that of a nurse, it appears that she (Lady Arlingham) was the friend and companion of Lady Cornwall, with whom she lived, and that while residing there, Lord Cornwall intrigued with her. The two friends proved enceintes together ; and the only alternative allowed by the marchioness to her fallen friend is condi- tional, namely, that in case of Lady Arlingham's child being a son, and the other a daughter, the one should be substituted for the other, and made heir to the title and entail. Lord Portland is the son of Lady Arlingham ; Alice the rightful heiress of such property as do not descend with the title to the next male heir of the family. Lady Cornwall dies insane : the partner of her guilt repents, and turns with truth from the error of her ways ; and the lady Alice Lindorf, chastened by suffering, becomes the able and willing dispenser of the benefits which it is the privilege of wealth to bestow on the needy. Such is the story somewhat prosily told. It is improbable, some say ; but we need only look to the reports of the Appeals Court of the House of Lords, to discover that cases more shocking have occurred among the nobility. Whether the exhibition of moral depravity be promotive of virtue, it is not needful here to decide ; but there is nothing in the tale so horrid that its match has not been and cannot be found in real life.* In " The Forsaken" there is much dark and intense passion ; but its expres- sion is confined to those periods of confidential intercourse in which alone it would be allowable. The fault of the book lies not — as we think — so much in the improbability of the events and the unnatural grouping of horrors in the story, as in the awkward and unskilful way in which the frame- work has been put together. If more space had been taken for clearly working out the more obscure parts of the tale, a work would have been introduced, perhaps not more indicative of the writer's talents, but at any rate more pleasing to the public. After so long a notice, we can hardly be expected to give an extract ; but we subjoin one to prove that the author is not destitute of comic talent. The Dudleys are very well drawn, perhaps from originals. The dinner given to Portland is far from badly told. "Dinner was announced, and for the first time Lord Portland had the honour of being presented to Mrs. Dudley, who, with her face inflamed from the kitchen-fire, where she had been stationed to inspect the progress of dinner, her person decorated in bright scarlet satin, and her head enveloped in a bag- wig crowned with a yellow hat and white feathers, welcomed the young nobleman, if not with elegance, at least with warmth. She was seated at the head of her table on the entrance of her guests, as she did not wish to entrust Patrick or Peg with the adjustment of the dishes, and had remained watching and directing, as also for the purpose of cooling herself, as the day had been most excessively warm and close, and the kitchen broiling, from the numerous fires in Mr. Dudley's improved self-cooking kitchen-range. " ' Glad, my lord, to see your lordship at Dudley Grove,' said the lady. * What will you have, white or brown soup, my lord ?' "'Neither, thank you, ma'am.' * It has been said by a respectable reviewer that the exhibition of strong passion should be confined to the characters of humble life, because the wheels of life are too well oiled in a high state of civilization, to admit of the burning feelings of Othello or of Lear. It may be that the polish of society will moderate the expression of the passions; but cer- tainly, if ample scope and room enough be given for their development, if the stirring events that swell the heart and agitate its latent emotions occur, no trammels of society will curb the wildest extravagance of passion. If such a doctrine were true, tragedy must resign her gorgeous state, and be banished to the cottages of the poor and unedu- cated. Away with the silly notion ! It is the semblance, the pretended experience of an unreal emotion, that constitutes melo-drama. The really felt passions of love, revenge, or pity, must ever form the essence of tragedy. Monthly Review of Literature. 97 ' **' Neither! why bless and save me, that is odd! for Mr. Dudley always takes soup, particularly when I make it.' " ' I have not the least doubt of its being excellent, ma'am, but I never take soup.' " ' Then I won't press you, my lord. There is chickens and bacon, there is minced-veal and tongue, there is fish and beef coming in : call for wha' you please, my lord.' " ' Thank you, ma'am ; I will trouble Miss Beauclerk for some chicken.' "•' Miss Beauclerk, honey, can you cut up a chicken?' " ' I will try, ma'am.' " ' If you can't, Hope will ; she carves elegant.' " ' Miss Beauclerk, permit Miss Hope Dudley to carve ; I shall be most happy to be helped by so fine a lady.' " ' Your politeness, my lord, is only equalled by your condescension,' said Mr. Dudley, as he took the chicken himself and cut it up. " ' My lord, there is bottled beer and draught beer, there is bottled cider and draught cider, there is spruce-beer and porter : call for what you like,' said Mrs. Dudley, with a bone of chicken in her hand, which she was picking. " ' I will take some cider, thank you, ma'am.' " ' Which cider, my lord ?' "'Which you please, ma'am.' " 'Then, Patrick, help Lord Portland to some draught cider. I don't think, Mr. Dudley, the new plan in bottling that cask of cider answered ; it turned quite black and sour.' '"Have patience, Mrs. Dudley; I engage it will clear and sweeten yet/ replied Mr. Dudley crossly to his better half, who, busily engaged in forcing Lord Portland to eat of every thing at table, did not seem to mind him. " ' Do you ever eat tripes, my lord ?' " ' Never, ma'am.' *' ' For if you did, I could recommend that dish of 'em. Mr. Dudley doats upon tripes and cow-heel.' " ' Does he ? I believe they are very good for those who like them.' " ' They are, though I hear they isn't a company dish now.' " ' Really, ma'am, I cannot say.' " ' Indeed. I didn't believe whoever it was told me, for I know the king, George the Third, was uncommon fond of 'em.' "'I never remember to have heard of his majesty's professing such ? fancy,' said the earl, with a smile. " ' Now, didn't you ? why then, indeed, it is a positive fact/ " ' Very possibly, ma'am. Miss Beauclerk, allow me the honour of taking wine with you.' " ' But, my lord, is it possible you never heard of his majesty's liking tripe and cow-heel ?' said Mrs. Dudley again. " ' Never, 'pon my honour ; I assure you, ma'am, I never heard it.' " ' Well, as a proof of it, my brother, Mr. Cormick (he was the great Mr. Cormick of Dublin — I am sure you often heard of him, my lord), went to pay a visit to the king one morning (for my brother was uncommon intimate with the king), and after a good deal of chat on one thing or another, he said, * Mr. Cormick,' says he, ' did you seen the queen to-day ?' ' No, please your majesty,' says he ; upon which the king opened the door of an inner room, and called the queen. She came out with a pack of cards in her hand, and started back when she saw a stranger, as she supposed. * Oh, never mind, my dear !' says the king ; ' 'tis only Casey and I* (for my brother's name was Casby, and his intimates always called him Casey). 'How do you do, Mr, Cormick ?' says the queen, shaking hands with him ; ' won't you take a glass of wine this morning?' 'No, I thank you,' says Casey. ' Do,' says she; ' 'tis in the room.' ' I'd rather not,' says he ; for he was as abstemious a man as ever lived. ' Well,' says she, ' I am sorry for it, and sorrv, too, that I can't JAN. 1837. H 98 Monthly Reviezo of Literature. ask you to dinner, as it is washing-day, and George and I doat upon tripe and cow-heel ; so, to save trouble, we get that early/ " ' What nonsense, Mrs. Dudley, you always talk,' said her husband, en- raged at her thus exposing her ignorance, and her brother, the great Mr. Cormick's habit of lying; ' I wonder you can believe such stuff.' " ' Indeed, Darby, dear, it is no stuff at all, for Casey — ' " ' Damn Casey,' replied Mr. Dudley, stung to the quick by the visible inclination to laugh which he saw upon Lord Portland's handsome counte- nance. ' My lord, try this Madeira ; I think you will like it ; it is, I flatter myself, prime.' " Dinner proceeded, and was ended, and to the great relief of Alice, Mrs. Dudley arose to depart, and the gentlemen were left to themselves. When arrived in the drawing-room, the ladies were loud, we might almost say, uproarious, in the praises of Lord Portland. He was voted beautiful, talented, accomplished, fascinating, and every other term that could be applied to his various merits. His condescension was commented upon, and in the excite- ment of the discussion, Mrs. Dudley happily escaped a rebuke which she had dreaded from her daughters, concerning the unlucky story about the king and tripes." The Merchant's Daughter. By the author of " The Heiress." 3 vols. post 8vo. Bentley. THE business of the reviewer at this time of the year, when all the publishers are firing off their pop-guns to astonish the public, becomes one of absolute slavery. To look down the list of recent and forthcoming publications is itself a work taking up some minutes : — what then must be that of cutting the leaves, conning their contents, and dressing up their tit-bits for the readers' pleasure ? But what a goodly list of novels meets our eye ! Heigh ho ! If they be only like the far greater portion of last year's supply, we absolutely dread the task of wading through rubbish which contains so few pearls of value. What would Fielding or Richardson think of the boasted taste of the nineteenth century, if they knew how little is needed in authors to secure public praise and patronage, if they knew with what assurance the professional scribbler and the literary dame of fashion count on receiving for a three months' job in three volumes with lots of balaam — a cool three hundred, or perchance the double. These are the days for novelists. Of the value of modern novels as reckoned in gold we have said enough : — of their value as works of literature we may be allowed to differ from the commercial speculator : and so we say without more ado that nine-tenths of them are mere trash, available for no higher purpose than conveying errone- ous notions respecting the habits of people of fashion, cherishing the prurient fancies of female passion, and teaching fabulous history to boarding-school misses and their governesses. What pleasure is it to find a green spot in the desert ! How delightful is it to find merit, real and high merit, where one expects none. It is not un- usual to see notices, laudatory notices in the papers of works, whose real merits are absolutely contemptible ; and therefore we were not surprised to see " The Merchant's Daughter" favourably spoken of. Still we thought it right, in consequence of such praise, to procure and read the volumes in ques- tion : and glad we are, that leisure was permitted for their deliberate perusal ; for seldom have we read a work displaying so much knowledge of the human mind as the book now on the table." Its author — depend on it — is a very shrewd observer of men and manners. We have no space for an analysis of the story : — the following is a very brief outline. A rich, vain, and title-loving merchant has a beautiful daugh- ter, who in the early period of her father's career forms a childish affection for a youth who is in due time introduced by her father into his business, and Theatrical Review. 99 admitted to unreserved confidence. Affection between the youth and the daughter ripens into love; but the high principle of the former forbids him from availing himself of an alliance so much above him and below her deserts. He consequently performs a vow of banishment. The blind and unsuspecting father, eager for connexion with nobility, courts the intimacy of an unprin- cipled scion of the Upper House of legislature, and favours his solicitation of his daughter's love. The development of this titled scamp's misconduct forms an integral portion of the story ; but the most interesting scenes of the novel are those in which the vicissitudes of the merchant's life are portrayed, scenes drawn with a truth and power that rank the author among the best of his contemporaries. The merchant — to shorten a long story — is deceived by his (noble-by-descent) intended son-in-law, swindled by him at gambling of 70,OOOZ. and repaid as an act of generosity ; and he is robbed to a still greater amount by an unprincipled partner, who finally escapes unpunished. To the banished — the high-minded Walter Gordon is destined the great pleasure of restoring the harassed merchant (Mr. Lyle) to prosperity and credit ; and to him also is allotted the well-deserved honour of an alliance with the noble-minded daughter of the Fairport merchant. There are many bye- plots in this dra- matic novel ; but it is quite impossible to notice them further. There are many passages in these volumes that might well be extracted. We instance, merely to show that we have not forgotten them, the scamp Clavellon's entree to Atherton, — the two dinners at Atherton, — the meeting of Gordon and Dunrayne just before the departure of the former for the Con- tinent,— Gordon's capture of the delinquent partner Sawyer, — Mr. Lyle's conduct under commercial pressures, and his gratitude for the proffered assist- ance of his truest friends : — these and many others we could cite full of sentiment and real life, that, in our humble opinion at least, prove the author to be a man of imagination and mental observation, far greater than the ma- jority of his contemporaries. The tone of morality advocated by the author of " Pelham" will never meet with our approbation ; but his perception of character cannot be doubted. The author of " The Merchant's Daughter" may at least claim the second prize among his contemporaries in this latter respect. THEATRICAL REVIEW. DRTTRY LANE. November 29^.— " The Wrecker's Daughter," by J. S. Knowles. We cannot say that we did not enjoy Mr. Knowles's new play, for we never laughed so much at a tragedy before in our lives, — not that we attribute our incongruous risibility to the drama, considered as a literary production, but to the manner in which it was per- itsmed. Our critical duties are at present confined to a notice of representation at the theatre. The plot is of too complicated a nature to admit of a description at once brief and intelligible : — we will, however, try to give in a few words a sketch of the most import- ant incidents. — A Cornwall wrecker, known by the name of " Black Norris," not satisfied with appropriating such valuables as are floated on shore from the wrecks, murders the half-drowned seamen who are washed to the strand, in order to spoil them of the wealth they may have about their persons. Such a murder he perpetrates with the knife H2 100 Theatrical Review. of *' Robert," another wrecker, whose daughter is witness of the foul deed ; and, having lately parted with her father at that spot, she sup- poses him to be the criminal. " Robert's" knife has been found in the body, and this fact, with the addition of other circumstantial evidence, and his daughter's testimony, are sufficient to convict him. " Black Norris" offers to prove her father innocent, but demands as a price her hand in marriage. To save her father from the gibbet, she con- sents, though with reluctance and horror. By some unaccountable means " Robert's" liberation is effected, and *' Norris" claims the performance of" Marian's'' promise. The marriage is happily pre- vented from taking place by the appearance of " Wolf," an accom- plice in the murder, at the altar, before which the ceremony is about to take place. Remorse has deprived him of his senses, and he con- fesses their joint crime, to the discomfiture of the villain, who stabs him, and the delight of " Marian," who is restored to a lover returned from sea in good time to be present at the closing scene. Such is an imperfect outline of the improbable plot. We now turn to the dra- matis persona3. Knowles himself filled the part of the father. For his claims as an author we have a high respect, though we attribute not a little of the great popularity of his earlier dramas to Mac ready's personation of the principal characters. His genius gave a higher stamp to those productions than their intrinsic merits, though consi- derable, entitled them to receive. Without his invaluable aid to sup- port their character they would probably have met with a transient success, and then have been consigned to oblivion, like many other works displaying both talent and industry. But Mr. Knowles, who, with a pardonable vanity, conceives himself the fittest person to em- body his own conceptions, had he been the original representative of Virginius and William Tell would have drawn down on his own plays, immediate and irrevocable condemnation. A remarkably strong brogue, and a convulsive twitching of the countenance under excite- ment (though these last may, perchance, be attempts at expression) wholly unfit him for the higher walks of histrionic art ; and he has in his mode of utterance a bonhommie, a "how-d'ye-do" " very-well- I-thank-you" kind of style, which gives a burlesque tone to the most serious and affecting sentiments. In fact, we consider that Mr. Knowles, if he had a more youthful and active double to go through the leaping and tumbling, would make an inimitable pantaloon in our Christmas mummeries. It is really distressing that a man of ac- knowledged ability as an author should be weak enough to thrust himself into a profession for which nature and art have totally unfitted him. Miss Huddart played with much spirit, especially in the scene with " Norris," where he offers her father's life as the price of her consent to wed him ; and in the last act, where, half insane, in the extremity of her wretchedness, she recounts her fearful dream, the audience were electrified, or as nearly so as they have been of late years by actors of tragedy. Warde was excellent, especially in the scene with *' Wolf,'' in the third act, where they go over the mi- nutia of the murder, and " Norris" discovers the victim to be his own father. Cooper played the sailor-lover, — a part in which he did not seem at home, and in which he accoutred himself in a strange ano- Theatrical Review: 101 malous dress, with a queer straw hat stuck on one side of his head, for all the world like a bee-hive hung on a nail. Of the rest of the cha- racters we have nothing to say. December 1st. — The " Devil on Two Sticks." This ballet is said to be founded on Le Sage's romance called " Le Diable Boiteux." This is so far true that " Cleophas," a student, sets free a lame imp imprisoned in a bottle, who, in gratitude, assists him in his search after pleasure. After leaving the magician's chamber, the ballet de- serts the novel and takes its own course. Then follow many enter- taining scenes, in which " Cleophas" wooes in succession an opera- dancer, a widow, and a country girl, which last carries him off in the closing scene. The second act contains the cream of the ballet, in which we are introduced to the dancing academy, where " Asmo- deus'' replaces the ballet-master and superintends the practice, much to the discomfiture of the corps dansant, as may readily be supposed. There follows a scene which represents a theatre, at the back of which the audience are supposed to be sitting, so that they have a view of the reverse of both scenes and actors, the back part of the stage representing a crowded theatre, the mimic audience of which applaud or hiss according to the most received rules. " Cleophas" was represented by a smart, good-looking Frenchman, who did full justice to the part of the hair-brained student. Wieland was inimi- tably funny in the " Devil," and danced a mock pas-seul, the droll- ery of which was irresistible. Duvernay was all that could be wished ; her pantomime was expressive, without being over-acted ; and in a pas-de-deux with Miss Ballin she acquitted herself with a grace and dexterity unequalled by any save Tan this world so assimilated in morals to the great father of lies as to delude themselves with the notion that all their fellow- creatures are or may be ex- pected to be equally unprincipled with themselves. That such an one is the Emperor Nicholas let the following story show. Lord Durham, say some of the Tory journals, has been invested with a Russian order and with the Greek order of St. Saviour : and the slanderous " Portfolio," to improve on the story as well as to show forth its own high principles, insinuates that the Ambassador highly deserved both the above distinctions at the EMPEROR'S hands. The above report, — as the "Portfolio" with a small remnant of prin- ciple acknowledges, — is an error. We feel inclined to believe that the whole is a malicious lie fabricated by the united energy of the rabid Tories and the soi disant juste milieu, both of whom would like nothing better than the over- throw of the Melbourne administration and the downfal of liberal politics both at home and abroad. We doubt not for a single moment that the arch- tyrant of the North did actually try to corrupt the English Ambassador by the proffer of the highest Russian distinctions, thinking doubtless, that his intended victim was fully within his grasp. The fowler, however, does not always catch his bird; — and so the snare of the Czar failed in its purpose. Lord Durham needs no defender. In his diplomatic character he has done more to stem the progress of Russian despotism than all his predecessors have done since the peace of 1815. Let the wretched and degraded Tory faction look to their own deeds and sit in fear of disclosures that their own despairing mad- ness may render necessary. MATERIALS FOR MELODRAMA. — We remember some years since, that a certain leading newspaper, during the recess, was in the habit of treating its readers to a series of frightful French murders which (it was strange, certainly) Notes of the Month. 105 always occurred at that period of the year. It was a wonder to us at -the time that we never saw these sanguinary proceedings turned to dramatic ac- count by our modern authors, who, however, prefer probably " stealing their brooms ready made." We submit, nevertheless, that a great genius, Mr. Fitzball for instance, might have discovered in these veritable narratives materials for many a drama of " appalling," or " exciting/' or " intense " interest. For example, what can be more adaptable (to coin a word) than the following pretty horror upon which our eyes lighted the other morning ? It is a perfect gem in its way, and reminds us of the " old masters," who did these things for the especial service of the " Morning Herald," at the time we spoke of. " M. B — — , the son of an honest and moderately rich proprietor of Hen- merstoff, a village near Metz, had for some time quitted his home and com- menced a dissolute mode of life. Under different pretexts he had at first obtained money from home, but as his misconduct could not be long con- cealed from his parents, he received from them strong letters of remonstrance, which served only to excite his vengeful passions. Having been informed that his sister was on the point of marriage, he returned home last week ac- companied by one of his debauched companions, named Schilter. The next day the two companions in vice visited the assembled family, B armed with a pistol, which he immediately levelled at his father. The unfortunate parent endeavoured to avoid the parricide's aim, but was dragged from amongst the rest of the company by Schilter. The persons present speedily fled, and the wretched father, seeing the fatal weapon pointed at him, made a last effort at the moment of its discharge, and sheltered himself behind his son's accomplice, who received the ball, and fell mortally wounded. The son was immediately arrested. — Galignani." Does the reader mark the poetical justice of the whole affair, — the skilful arranging of the denouement, — the fine grouping in the last scene ? We must not omit to mention, and this we have on unquestionable au- thority, that as the guilty son was being dragged from the apartment, he encountered an elderly lady who was at that moment approaching with the bride-cake, when stung with sudden^ remorse he fell into her arms, exclaim- ing, " My Grandmother 1' , A BAD HAND. — It is said of a certain Irish Peer that he writes so bad a hand that his franks, being generally illegible, are generally mis-sent ; and that if they happen to be legible they are deemed to be forgeries, and charged in double or treble postage, as the case may be. — Morning Paper. How convenient is the " it is said " of the furnishing undertaker of para- graphs when an aged jest is to be told of a certain Irish lord, where certainty by the bye is as sure as the truth of the anecdote. " It is said," he who runs may read ; but he who reads must not run into the error of believing all he reads. Truly, we should be sorry to frank the on-dits of our worthy para- grapher, " but they should be deemed to be forgeries. MALIBRAN. — Poor Malibran's remains are now in London, having been brought from Manchester by Mad. Garcia her mother, accompanied by her younger sister, Mile. Garcia, of whose talents report speaks highly. What a world ! to see these near relatives at the Opera Buffa on Thursday evening ; and think on the unburied dead ! The sense aches at it. — Literary Gazette." It happens rather unfortunately for the writer of this brief but affecting comment on the present state of the moral world, that on the Thursday morning " these near relatives " sailed for Antwerp with the body of the lamented vocalist. We also must indulge in a reflection, What a world ! containing so many liars, and so many credulous people to print and believe their fabrications. ; GRICI'S MARRIAGE. — When we first heard of the fair Grisi's application 106 Notes of the Month. for a divorce or annulment of her marriage, we, simple mortals as we are, classed her among some others of the corps dramatique, whose matrimonial miscarriages have now become quite notorious. How surprised were we to find that her object in the late proceedings was to confirm, not to dissolve the liaison ! Certainly in this country such a course would not of course lead to so felicitous a result. This liaison, now so happily rendered indissoluble, has been already crowned with a pledge of affection ; but such a gift has been dearly bought at the price of her voice. Report though may be " a mighty great liar." ARISTOCRATIC MENDICITY. — It is a very usual thing for the wealthy no- bility to increase their riches by securing the public alms in the shape of a snug sinecure or pension ; but it is not usual for these titled mendicants to desert their offspring, and leave them without a maintenance, at the mercy of strangers in a strange land, and then allow them to be settled on a chari- table fund. The following, whose truth we have no reason to doubt, speaks for itself. Blush, thou titled barbarian, whoever thou art ; and hide thy dis- grace by lasting banishment from a land that disowns thee as a member of its peerage. " Much interest has been excited at Liege by a young English lady of great beauty and accomplishment, who has been abandoned by her father, Lord , to the charity of the proprietors of a 'pension,' where she was placed by his Lordship three years past. The Noble Earl having neglected to pay for his daughter's maintenance for the last two years, and having taken no notice of repeated applications, the unfortunate girl, who is little more than sixteen, was menaced with being turned adrift. But the king of Bel- gium having been applied to, his Majesty, with that goodness which charac- terizes him, referred the subject to the Minister of the Interior, who has directed a sum to be paid for the education of Lord 's daughter out of the charitable fund." NEW-FASHIONED OMNIBUS. — A new-fashioned omnibus is about to be started, in which the company are to sit back to back in a seat running along the centre." — Morning Chronicle. In this era of fast-travelling inventions, it is not surprising that alterations and improvements should be made in the popular London conveyances yclept Omnibuses. We poor unimaginative creatures have made many a peregrina- tion in these wooden conveniences from the ' far west' to All-max in the east, without ever perceiving that they had any fault except that of not allowing ' ample room and verge enough' for the sitting members of humanity. We may — who cannot ?— plead guilty^to having ogled a pretty girl on the opposite side, and at a respectful distance, in a well-stuffed omnibus ; and on the other hand, as an offset for the aforesaid pleasure, we have occasionally been stuck down vis-a-vis to a crabbed old gentleman, whom we would have given a guinea to have cut rather than have met. Some gentleman, no doubt im- pelled by nerves more sensitive than our own (and, thank God, we lose this silly nervousness daily), has conceived the humane design of preventing people from blushing in each other's faces. Fine ladies, foppish gentlemen, and shy debtors ought to present the inventor of the new dos-a-dos Omnibus with a service of plate. How desirable for the Harlequin administration that owned Lord Stanley and Sir J. Graham as its members, would it have been, if such an omnibus had then been in existence ! Principle and no Principle might have travelled cheek by jowl together, or back to back, as occasion might require, without the latter incurring the reproaches of the men dis- posed to act up to the spirit as well as the letter of the pledges made at their entrance into office. Thank God, this cannot now happen. ( 107 ) CHRONICLE OF EVENTS FOR 1836. January 1, 1836. Marriage, by proxy, of Ferdinand Augustus, Duke of Saxe- Coburg, to Donna Maria, Queen of Por- tugal. At the beginning of the year, Sir Charles Pepys, M.P., and Master of the Rolls, was created Lord Cottenham, and received ihe seals of office as Lord Chancellor. Henry Bickersteth, Esq., was created Lord Langdale, and appointed Master of the Rolls. About the same time pensions were granted by Lord Melbourne to Mr.Banim, author of " Tales of the O'Hara Family," of 150/. a-year, and to Mr. B. Thorpe, the translator of Rask's Anglo-Saxon Gram- mar (since dead), of 100/. a-year. Lord Melbourne also directed 150/. to be paid out of the Royal Bounty Fund to the widow of the Ettrick Shepherd. 29. Lord Stowell, elder brother of the Earl of Eldon, died at Early Court, Read- ing, in his 91st year. 30. The trial of Fieschi, the person who fired the " Infernal Machine," and his accomplices, commenced this day before the Chamber of Peers at Paris. After a long trial, the prisoners received their sentences on the 15th February. Three of them were guillotined on the 19th. A fourth was condemned to twenty years' im- prisonment. February 2. Died, at Rome, Madame Maria Laetitia Bonaparte, mother of the Emperor Napoleon. She was born at Ajaccio, Corsica, August 24th, 1750. 4. Parliament was opened by the King in person. — Death of Sir William Cell, at Na- ples, aged 59. 8. A message from the President of the United States to Congress announced the acceptance of the mediation of Great Britain ;in the quarrel between France and the United States respecting the non- payment of American claims. 20. The Rev. Dr. Hampden gazetted as Regius Professor of Divinity at Oxford, in the room of Dr. Burton, deceased. His appointment created considerable excite- ment at Oxford, his theological opinions having been asserted not to be orthodox. 22. Announcement of a new French ministry, of which M. Thiers was the head, as President of the Council, and Minister of the Interior. March 22. Lord John Hay, the Com- mander of the British squadron stationed off the northern coast of Spain, intimated to General Cordova (the Spanish Com- mander-in-Chief acting against Don Car- los) that he had received orders from the British Government to aid the operations of the Spanish army on that part of the coast. April 5. The " Moniteur" stated that the new arrangement entered into between the French and English Postmasters- General was signed in Paris, on the 29th of March, by the French Minister of Foreign Affairs and Lord Granville. 7. Death of William Godwin, aged 81, author of "Political Justice," " Caleb Williams," "History of the Common- wealth," &c. 16. A duel was fought between Senors Isturitz and Mendizabal at Madrid, in consequence of altercation in the Chamber of Procuradores. No harm was done, and Senor Isturitz retracted certain expres- sions deemed offensive by Mendizabal. 24. Death of M. Firmin Didot, the ce- lebrated Parisian printer, member of the Chamber of Deputies, &c., &c. May 15. M. Mendizabal, Prime Minis- ter of Spain, having required the Queen Regent's sanction of the dismissal, which was refused, of Generals Quesada, Espe- lata, and San Roman, in consequence of alleged inactivity in the civil war, resigned, along with his colleagues, and next day M. Isturitz was made head of a new ministry. 2i. The experimental expedition under Colonel Chesney, despatched by thejBritish Government, for ascertaining the practica- bility of steam-communication with India by the Euphrates, met with a severe ac- cident. The two steam -boats were sud- denly caught in a violent hurricane, and, before they could be moored on the bank of the river, one of them was upset, and 21 individuals perished. 28. The House of Assembly of Upper Canada dissolved by Sir Francis Head, in consequence of the measures which it adopted in stopping the usual grants or supplies. June 1 . A meeting of the friends of Mr. O'Connell was held at the Crown and Anchor, for the purpose of setting on foot a subscription to pay his expenses in de- fending his seat for Dublin. Nearly 3000/. were subscribed at the meeting. The sub- scription ultimately reached nearly 9000/. 20. Death of the Abbe Sieyes, at Paris, aged 88. 108 Chronicle of Events. 21. Captain Back sailed from Chatham in command of His Majesty's ship Terror, on an exploring expedition to Wager River. 22. Trial in the Court of Common Pleas, in which Lord Melbourne was defendant, and Mr. Norton, one of the police magis- trates of the metropolis, plaintiff. The trial related to alleged criminalities be- tween Lord Melbourne and Mrs. Norton. The jury, without hesitation, found a ver- dict for the defendant. 23. Death of James Mill, the historian of British India, and the political economist. 25. Louis Alibaud fired at the King of the French, with a walking-stick gun, as the King was passing in his carriage from the Tuileries. No injury was done, the ball lodging in the roof of the carriage. Alibaud was tried by the Court of Peers on the 8th of July> and guillotined on the llth. 30. Death of James Madison, one of the leading men of the United States in the infancy of the republic. He succeeded Jefferson in the presidency. July 24. Armand Carrel, editor of the K National," and one of the political writers who were conspicuous in the Revolution at Paris in 1830, killed in a duel with the editor of " La Presse." His remains received a public funeral, at which men of such opposite sentiments asChateaubriand, Arago,Lafitte,and Beranger, were present. 25. On the evening of the festival of St. Jago, the patron of Malaga, after the day had been spent in festivity, the national guard of Malaga revolted, and put to death their governors. The Spanish Constitu- tion of 1812 was afterwards proclaimed. The Constitution was also proclaimed in Cadiz, Seville, and other towns. 28. Death of N.M.Rothschild, the lead- ing stock-broker of Europe, at Frauckfort His remains were brought to London for interment in the Jews' burial-ground Whitechapel-road . August 3. Considerable excitement in Madrid, in consequence of the intelligence respecting the proclaiming of the Consti- tution of 1812 in Malaga, Cadiz, &c Madrid declared in a state of siege. Ge- neral Quesada, the captain-general o Madrid, gave assurances to the Queen Regent, who was residing at St. Ildefonso that he would answer for the tranquillity of the capital. 12. The regiment of provincial militia doing duty at St. Ildefonso broke out into a sudden insurrection, demanding thi Constitution of 1812. They forced them selves into the apartments of the Queen Regent, in spite of the remonstrances o he French and English ambassadors, and )btained her acceptance of the Consti- ution. This produced a revolution at Madrid. Isturitz, the prime minister, made his escape, reached Lisbon, and from hence proceeded to England. General Quesada was taken by the populace about ;hree miles from Madrid, and put to death n a savage manner. Ultimately the Con- stitution was proclaimed by the Queen Elegent, subject to the revision of the fortes ; and a new ministry was formed, at :he head of which was placed M. Cala- ;rava, as president of the council, and M. Vlendizabal was appointed minister of i nance. 22. The annual meeting of the " British Association for the Advancement of Science" commenced at Bristol. The Marquis of Lansdowne, who was to have presided, was prevented by the illness and death of his eldest son, the Earl of Kerry. The chair of the meeting was filled by the Marquis of Northampton, and upwards of 1300 scientific and literary characters were present during the week's proceedings. September 7 . Formation of a new French ministry in the room of M. Thiers and his colleagues, who had resigned in conse- quence of Louis Philippe's refusal to com- ply with the ex-minister's interpretation of the obligations of the Quadruple Treaty and to send a force into Spain. M. Mole was made president of the council, and M. Guizot minister of public instruction. 9. Sudden outbreak at Lisbon, and de- mand made of assent to the Portuguese Constitution of 1820. The queen, Donna Maria, accepted the Constitution, and the revolution was got over without blood- shed. But the change has not been cor- dially acquiesced in. A number of the peers protested against it, the husband of the Queen resigned his military command, and there are various indications of rest- lessness in Lisbon. A British naval squadron is stationed in the Tagus. 22. Opening of the Session of the pro- vincial Parliament of Lower Canada, by the Earl of Gosford, the Governor-in- Chief. It was shortly afterwards dis- solved, in consequence of the spirit of op- position manifested by the members. 23. Madame Malibran de Beriot, the ce- lebrated singer, who had been taken ill on the 14th, during one of her performances at the Manchester musical festival, died this day, aged twenty- eight. 26. The duke de Montebello, French ambassador in Switzerland, delivered to the Federal Diet an official note, inti- mating that all relations, diplomatic and commercial, were suspended, until satis- Chronicle of Events. 109 faction were made by Switzerland to France for an alleged affront — the tardi- ness which Switzerland displayed in the expulsion of certain refugees, and also in the manner in which the Swiss Diet took up an affair connected with the apprehen- sion and confessions of a spy, who impli- cated the French ambassador as his em- ployer. October 1. A vigorous assault was made on the lines of General Evans at St. Se- bastian by the Carlists. Both parties fought with bravery. The Carlists were repulsed, after suffering severely. The loss of the Anglo-Spanish force was 376 men and thirty-seven officers, killed and wounded. General Evans was slightly wounded. 17. The extraordinary Diet of Switzer- land assembled, and, after a lengthened sitting, finally adopted conciliatory mea- sures with respect to the differences be- tween France and Switzerland. 19. Thomas Drummond, Esq., Under Secretary of Stale in Ireland, Colonel JohnFoxBurgoyne,PeterBarlow, professor of Mathematics at the Military Academy at Woolwich, and Richard Griffith, Esq.,, were appointed his Majesty's Commission- ers for considering and reporting upon a general system of railways in Ireland ; — also, C. S. Lefevre, Esq., Lieutenant- Colonel Rowan, and Edwin Chadwick, Esq., Commissioners for the purpose of inquiring and reporting upon the best means of establishing a constabulary force or rural police for England and Wales. — A meeting was held in London, Charles Lushington, Esq., M.P., in the chair, for the purpose of forming a Church- Rate Abolition Society, whose object is to effect the entire abolition of church-rates, without any charge upon the Consolidated Fund or land-tax ; and to introduce the S'inciple of upholding the expenses of ivine worship, either by pew-rents, vo- luntary contributions of the congregations, or by payments out of Queen Anne's Bounty. 20. A meeting held^ at the Mansion House, to consider the propriety of erect- ing some testimonial to the Duke of Wel- lington for the aid he has afforded in carry- ing forward the improvements connected with London Bridge, and also in promot- ing the erection of the new bridge. 24. The Cortes of Spain opened by the Queen Regent. In her speech she alluded to the modifications of the Constitution of 1812, which would be submitted to their consideration. 29. A foolish attempt at insurrection in the city of Strasburg, by Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, a nephew of the deceased em- peror, aided by two officers and some pri- vates, which was instantly suppressed by the arrest of the parties. The prince has been since shipped off to America by the French Government. 30. An attempt at a revolution made by a brigadier and 14 privates of the first regi- ment of French huzzars, stationed at Ven- dome. The parties were instantly arrested. A vacancy in the Irish Court of Ex- chequer, caused by the death of Baron Sir William Smith, filled up by the appoint- ment of the Attorney-General, the Right Hon. Michael O'Loghlen. He is the first Catholic that has sat on the bench in Ire- land since the Revolution. Nov. 6. Charles X., the ex-king of France,. died at Goritz, or Gratz, in Hun- gary, aged 82. 7. A large balloon, which had for some time previously been exhibited in ascents from Vauxhall Gardens, started on an ex- perimental voyage to the continent, having three individuals in the car, and, after hav- ing been 18 hours in the air, descended at Wielburg, in the duchy of Nassau. 8. An attempt was made at Lisbon to produce a counter-revolution against the Constitution of 1812, but was immediately suppressed. In a conflict in the streets nine or ten persons were killed, among whom was Senor Augustino Freire, one of the cleverest men of his party. Nov. 4. Mrs. Mary Flaherty trans- ferred £5000 three and a half per cents, to the trustees of the London University (now University College) for the promotion of echication in that establishment. 15. The Agricultural Bank of Ireland stopped payment. There are 5000 part- ners in it ; and its liabilities are stated to be £800,000, that is, about double its paid-up capital. 16. Sir Robert Peel was elected Lord- Rector of Glasgow University. The votes were, for Sir R. Peel, 316 ; for Sir. J. Campbell, 221. 21. The government gave notice, that all outstanding Exchequer Bills from this date forward, shall bear interest of 2£ per £100 per day. 28, 29. A tremendous gale was felt in the south of England, but especially in and about London. The damage done to buildings, &c;, cannot be reckoned at less than £30,000 or £40,000. The loss at Lloyd's was greater than that sustained by the great November gale of 1820. 30. Proclamation issued for the meet- ing of Parliament on the 31st of January. 1837. Dec. 1. The charter of the New Metro- politan University sent by Lord J. Russell to the Earl of Burlington, its Chancellor. no Literary Intelligence. Mr Lubbock is appointed the first Vice Chancellor ; and the names of thirty-five distinguished men of learning and science are enrolled as the fellows constituting the Senatus Academicus. The most celebrated are Lord Brougham, the Bishop of Dur- ham, Prof. Airy, Dr. Dalton, Mr. Fara- day, Mr. Sheepshanks, and Mr. Connop Thirlwall. The degrees to be conferred are specified, viz., B. A., M. A., B. LL., LL. D., M. B., M. D. Dec. 3. Trial of Fraser (the publisher of " Fraser's Magazine") versus Mr. Grantley Berkeley fora brutal assault. Damages 100/. 14th. News received of Marshal Clau- sel's defeat in Africa. Disgrace of Mar- shal Clausel, and cowardice of General De Rigny. Dec. 19. The remains of Madame Malibran de Beriot disinterred at Man- chester and conveyed to Laecken near Brussels. This step had met with great opposition from the clergy of Manchester. Dec. 23. Charles Kemble,— the last of his race as actors, — took his leave of the stage, — as Benedick in " Much ado about nothing." As a comedian he was un- rivalled ; and his loss will be severely felt. His first appearance in London was in 1794. LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. GLASGOW MECHANICS' INSTITUTE. — We are happy to be able to give authentic details of this establishment, which is effecting much benefit to the good town of Glasgow. The Glasgow Mechanics' Institution has now completed its thirteenth Session, and, in accordance with the requirements of its constitution, it be- comes the duty of those who have been entrusted with its direction to bring before its Members the history of its progress during the past year. Political Economy. — Dr. Birkbeck kindly procured for the use of the In- stitution the manuscript of a course of thirteen lectures on Political Economy. Phrenology. — Dr. William Weir, during the months of September and October, gave a course of twenty-one lectures on Phrenology. Natural Philosophy and Chemistry. — The lectures on these subjects were delivered by Mr. David Mackie and Mr. Hugo Reid. The lectures on Na- tural Philosophy were delivered by Mr. Mackie on the Tuesday evenings, and those on Chemistry by Mr. Reid on Friday evenings. Physiology applied to Health. — Dr. J. R. Wood, who had previously lec- tured to the Institution on Anatomy and Physiology, delivered this Session a course of twenty- six lectures on the application of these sciences to the preservation of health. Art of Design. — The usefulness of Mechanics' Institutions may be greatly increased, especially in manufacturing districts, by having attached to them a class for elementary instruction in drawing. Glasgow is obliged to draw on foreign taste, for which she makes heavy pecuniary contributions. The dis- advantage has been long felt and quietly acquiesced in, because the French have been supposed to possess advantages, both natural and acquired, against which, it has been alleged, it were vain to contend. With the view of for- warding this desirable object, the President and several other gentlemen sub- scribed a fund, which enabled the Committee to make an arrangement with Mr. H. L. Vanden Houten, to give six months' elementary instruction in drawing, as applicable to the art of design, to twelve students, who were se- lected from the classes according to the proof they exhibited of possessing a natural taste for the art. The library continues to increase both by purchase and donation ; and it now contains above 4000 volumes. During the last six months, 8190 volumes have been issued to 445 readers, being an increase of 47 readers and 412 vo- lumes above the corresponding period of last year. From the statement of the Income and Expenditure which will be laid be- fore the meeting, it will be observed that the liberality of our fellow-citizens has considerably increased the annual subscriptions and donations. The liberality of the friends of the Institution has this year offered a larger amount of prizes than usual. ( 111 ) NEW PUBLICATIONS. Dr. Lingard is preparing for the press a new edition of his " History of England," to be published in Monthly Volumes, at 5s. each, illustrated with beautiful engravings. The author has given the work a thorough revision, and proves his facts in every instance by references to additional authorities. The entire work will not exceed twelve volumes. The labour given to the preparation of this edition having of course occupied largely his time and thoughts,, the public may now hope, on its completion, that a continuation to the work will be begun. A History of England from the time of the last James, written with the original views, lucid narrative, and great industry of Dr. Lingard, would be a national object. Preparing for publication, in one volume, 8vo., price 21s., to be published by subscription, for the benefit of his Widow, the " Poetical Works of the late Thomas Pringls," to which will be prefixed, an enlarged Memoir, and a Portrait of the Author. E. Moxon : — Smith and Elder. " The OrchideaceEe of Mexico and Guatemala." By James Bateman, Esq. Dr. Lindley's " Sertum Orchideum," No. 1. (Specimen Number.} " Ladies' Botany." Volume the Second ; with numerous Plates. By Dr. Lindley. This Volume will complete the Work. fex-.The Hon. and Rev. William Herbert's New Work on " Amaryllidacese," illustrated by numerous Plates, with a Treatise on Hybrid Vegetables sub- joined, is to be published early in January, 1837. " Geology of Scripture." — New and conclusive Natural Demonstrations both of the Fact and Period of the Mosaic Deluge, and of its having been the only event of the kind that has ever occurred upon the Earth, by George Fairholme, Esq., illustrated by numerous Wood-cuts, &c., executed in the best manner, will be published in January, in 1 vol. 8vo. " The Fossil Flora of Great Britain." By Dr. Lindley and W. Hutton, Esq., F.G.S. Part I. of Volume 3, with forty Plates. Dr. Lindley's " Botanical Register, or, Ornamental Flower Garden and Shrubbery, for 1836," being Volume the Ninth. Royal 8vo. 96 Plates. Mr. Forbes's New Work on Horticulture, " Horticultural Tour through Germany, Belgium, and France, in 1836. By James Forbes, F.H.S., &c., Author of " Hortus Woburnensis, or, the Gardens and Grounds of Woburn Abbey." "The British and Foreign Review, or, European Quarterly Journal," No. VII. "What Next? or, the Peers and the Third Session of the Reformed Parliament." " Russia. In answer to a Manchester Manufacturer." " Right of Primogeniture Examined." By a Younger Brother. In immediate preparation, "A History of British Birds," in 2 vols., by Mr. Yarrell, and " A History of British Reptiles," in 1 vol., by Mr. Bell. These works, with the " British Fishes" now complete, and " British Quadru- peds" now in course of publication, will complete a uniform series of the " Vertebrate Animals of Great Britain" in 6 vols. Mr. W. Jones, Author of the " History of the Waldenses," has in the press a Volume of Sermons, which, it is expected, will make its appearance on the 1st of March. In the press, " A Supplement to the London Catalogue of Books," con- taining the Books published in London since December 1834 to the end of December 1836, with their Sizes, Prices, and Publishers' Names. Speedily will be published, the First Part of an entirely new work, entitled " Mechanics of Fluids," comprising Hydrodynamics and Hydraulic Archi- tecture, illustrated by Practical Examples and numerous Engravings in Wood and Copper-plates. "The Transactions of the Institute of British Architects." 4to. Plates. Neale and Williams. s H S o PQ I 10 8 oT^ 2 -* 2 3 co~ •rfs^,. .«-.A«S' -a s a s fail **? 2S ~-""-2 2 § - - 2 N-" a a . CO . 2 : ; • ; i * : -s- ' £ £ L.- ffi SO 'fl ed.2, CQ Weed-, a J5- i r 8J S » 5 II « ll ! wvavTa avveroiffiv, that have a voice for those, but for those alone, that have been initiated in these delight- ful mysteries. Let me however attempt to bring from the examples of public life a practical confirmation of the truth of these maxims, and the wisdom of these exhortations. I ask you simply to pass in succession the names of those •who have stood most conspicuous in the great arena of public competition, and to compare the proportion borne to the total number by those who have been eminent for classical acquirements." The Lord Rector here alluded at considerable length to the pur- suits of Fox and Pitt, as contrasted with those of Walpole ; and we think that the conclusion thence drawn was not altogether liberal. With respect to classical studies in general, we are not so confident of their utility as the right honourable baronet; although we have gone through the same academic discipline as himself. We proceed to the peroration, which is quite unexceptionable and may be classed among the chef-d'ceuvres of our literature. " I have detained you at great length. I am well aware that the observations I have addressed to you have nothing of novelty to recommend them, — that the truths to which I have adverted are so obvious that they scarcely require the aid of reasoning to enforce them. But they are truths of vital importance, and it too frequently happens that the ready assent which we give to them has not the practical influence on our conduct which it ought to have. If it had, how many of us would have been spared the painful retrospect — that retros- pect which you may avert, but which we cannot, of opportunities lost, time misspent, habits of indolence or negligence become inveterate. 128 Imitated from one of the Songs of Berenger. " Hitherto I have referred exclusively to the considerations of worldly advan- tage and worldly fame, as encouragements to early and continued exertion. We have seen how powerful they were in animating the ambitious spirit of the Roman orator. Not one of the motives by which he was stimulated is wanting to you. His field for competition was not more ample — the reward of success was not more splendid. You have a country as much endeared to you by proud recollections. You have institutions, civil and religious, standing in equal need of your solicitude, infinitely more worthy of your defence. " But for you there are incitements to labour, to zeal in the cause of know- ledge and of virtue, infinitely beyond any which could have animated the ex- ertions of Cicero. You have the express command cf God to improve the faculties which distinguish you from the beasts that perish. You have the awful knowledge, that of the use or neglect of those faculties a solemn ac- count must be rendered. You have the assurance of an immortality different from that of worldly fame. "By every motive which can influence a reflecting and responsible being, "a being of a large discourse looking before and after," by the memory of the distinguished men who have shed a lustre on these walls, by regard for your own success and happiness in this life, by the fear of future discredit, by the. hope of lasting fame — by all these considerations do I conjure you, while you have yet time, before the evil day shall yet come, while your minds are yet flexible, to form them on the models which are the nearest to perfection. Sursum corda! By motives yet more urgent, by higher and purer aspirations, by the duty of obedience to the will of God, by the awful account you will have to render, not merely of moral actions, but of faculties entrusted to you for improvement — by all these high arguments do I conjure you, so ' to num- ber your days that you may apply your hearts unto wisdom' — unto that wisdom which, directing your ambition to the noble end of benefiting man- kind, and teaching you humble reliance on the merits of our Redeemer, may support you 'in the time of your tribulation,' may admonish you 'in the time of your wealth/ and ' in the hour of death and in the day of judgment,' may comfort you with the hope of deliverance." IMITATED FROM PART OF ONE OF THE SONGS OF DE BERENGER. Is it my love, in her tight-lacing bodice, Taps at my door at the close of the day ? Fal lal la ! 'tis Fortune's blind goddess ; Fal lal la ! and there she may stay. Friends are around us, our pleasure enhancing ; We want but of Fanny's dark eye the bright ray, That shines like a sunbeam o'er summer waves dancing — Fortune may pass on her wearisome way. Is it* my love, &c. She offers us pearls, she offers us rubies, We'd turn from such baubles a thousand times told, And leave all her baits to the crack-pated boobies Who fancy the tinsel of fortune is gold. Is it my love, &c. How they crowd round her ! Is it not folly, boys ? Greedy for riches — the miserly drove. 'Tis pleasanter far to be cheated, my jolly boys, Believe me it is, by the girls that we love. Is it my love, &c. \ \ :• ( 129 ) MEMOIR OF ARMAND CARREL. IN a recent number of our Magazine we gave a slight sketch of this illustrious Frenchman, while contrasting his principle with the want of principle exhibited by another of his countrymen, M, Thiers. We now give a more enlarged memoir of him, which we believe will be ac- ceptable to our readers; for the bonds of reciprocal attachment, which happily nowconnect the two greatest and most enlightened countries in Europe, are so strong, that the inhabitants of Britain can feel a real and deep interest in the history, andjsympathize with the fate, of one of the purest of the patriots, and the greatest political writeraof France. Arniand Carrel, the subject of our memoir, was born at Rouen on the 8th of May, 1800. His father was a respectable merchant or linen-draper of that town, and he originally designed his son to succeed him in his business; but, fortunately for the cause of free- dom, the bold and determined character which Armand exhibited at an early period of life, and the predilection he evinced for a military life, induced the father to give way to the natural disposition of his son; and Carrel was accordingly sent to the military college of St. Cyr. Here he soon distinguished himself amongst his companions, not so much by excelling them in the mathematical exercises, as by the superiority of his compositions, especially military harangues and declamations in the cause of freedom. Even at this early period he evinced the bold and indomitable nature of his character, which could never bear an insult. The general who was at the head of the school, and whose opinions were but little in unison with those of Carrel, having one clay reproached him by saying that with such dispositions as he showed, he ought to have remained at home and shouldered the yard-measure of his father, Carrel sternly replied, " General, if ever I take a yard-measure in my hand it shall not be to measure calico." For this daring* reply, which was construed, and perhaps justly so, into a threat of applying the rod against the head of his superior, an attempt was made to expel him from college; and the expulsion would undoubtedly have taken place had not Carrel transmitted a report of the whole affair to the minister of war, who, seeing that he had only resented an insult most unwarrantably offered him, interfered in his behalf, so that he remained at St. Cyr until the usual period of the termination of his education. But his situation at the school during the interval was rendered exceedingly disagreeable by his triumph on this occasion. He was the constant object of oppression on the part of the general and inferior officers; and the indomitable obstinacy with which he passively resisted it, caused him, on his leaving the college, to be reported to the minister of war as a dangerous and discontented youth. Notwithstanding this, Carrel was shortly afterwards appointed to a sub-lieutenancy or ensigncy in the 29th regiment of the line, and in 1821 was stationed with a corps at Neuf-Brisac, where he was engaged in what was called the conspiracy of Befort. This subject is involved in considerable obscurity. It was one of those numerous FEB. 1837. K 130 Memoir of Armand Carrel. ebullitions oF discontent which then showed themselves in many directions against the French government. The military, disgusted with the disposition shown by the court to place matters on the same foundation as in the ancient regime before the revolution, were deeply engaged in it, and especially Carrel's regiment, which was stationed partly at Befort and partly at Neuf*Brisac. The object of the conspiracy was to demand a redress of grievances, and the plan adopted was to rise in both of these towns at the same time ; but the majority of the officers at the latter place, where there was only a battalion of the regiment, refused to move, until they received intelligence of the revolt of the chief body at the former. Carrel accordingly, who entered warmly into the plot, volunteered with a friend to go to Befort to procure this information. He set out at midnight disguised in plain clothes, and arrived there at the moment when the conspiracy proved abortive, having been quelled at its out- break by the government. He immediately retraced his steps, and returned to Neuf-Brisac so quickly, that he appeared in his uniform at parade next morning without its being suspected by the authori- ties that he had passed the night upon the road. He thus saved his brother-officers from committing themselves; and although the government, which had received information that a nocturnal com- munication had taken place between the two towns, made the strictest inquiries to discover the agents of it, Carrel's youth and apparent carelessness placed him beyond suspicion. The secret, however, seems afterwards to have been found out ; and this, along with some letter exposing the misconduct of the military com- mander at Marseilles, to which the 29th had been removed, rendered Carrel's situation so irksome, and so completely excluded all hopes of promotion, that he resigned his commission in the French service. Shortly after his retirement from the French army, an event oc- curred, which again called Carrel into military service and had the deepest influence on his future career. Spain, which had long been groaning under the tyrannical misrule of Ferdinand " the beloved," made an effort to throw off its chains; and in 1823 the Constitution of 1812, which is now triumphant, was proclaimed by Mina and some of the other devoted friends of liberty in that country. In this noble attempt for freedom Carrel warmly sympathized ; but he did not, like many others, confine himself to mere sympathy; for he resolved to enter hand as well as heart in the cause, and accordingly embarked at Marseilles, in March 1823, for Barcelona, where he joined the Legion Liberate Etrangere, or Foreign Liberal Legion, which had been raised to assist the constitutional forces in Spain. Carrel enrolled himself in this brigade merely as an ensign ; for he did not, like many others who joined it, attempt to give himself any adventitious rank, but entered in the same station which he had held in the French service. But the time for the triumph of constitutional principles had not yet arrived ; and the cause which, (now that it is indomitable,) is in 1836 apparently hailed by the governments of England and France, was in 1823 received with no friendly feeling by the former, and with open opposition by the latter. Some friends of freedom in Memoir ofArmand Carrel. 131 England, indeed, then gave Mina and his heroic followers all the support which resolutions at public meetings could convey ; but the government of the country lent them no assistance, while that of France sent an army to put them down. The noble efforts of the Spanish constitutionalists were thus checked in the bud, and every vestige of freedom again disappeared from their unfortunate country. Tyranny, however, was not re-established without a struggle, in which the Legion Liberate Etrangere fully bore its share. But all the heroic efforts of Mina and of this brigade were unavailing; and the Legion, after two sanguinary engagements at Barcelona and Llera with the French troops, were obliged to capitulate on the field of battle, after having there lost two-thirds of its number. In these engagements Carrel especially distinguished himself, exhibit- ing a far higher degree of military knowledge than most of those who had assumed ranks superior to his own ; and it was not until all the French, who formed part of the Legion, had been included in the capitulation on the same terms as the other foreigners and Spaniards, that he consented to lay down his sword. The principal terms of this capitulation were, — that the troops should be prisoners-of-war, their officers retaining all the baggage which they were possessed of previous to the action ; those who were foreigners were to be treated in the same way as the Spanish constitutional forces, to whom an amnesty had been granted, while the general of the French troops especially undertook to obtain from his king pardon for all the Frenchmen who were in the Legion. This capitulation, as far as it related to its subjects, was afterwards shamefully broken by the French government, which not only refused to ratify the terms of its general, but ordered Carrel and the rest of his countrymen to be tried by a court-martial for carrying arms against France ! — for such was the designation which the ministry gave to the conduct of men whose only crime was supporting the cause of liberty in another country, and who had the misfortune to be obliged by their duty, and the improper intervention of the French government, to draw their swords against their own countrymen. The proceedings of this court-martial were marked by that gross injustice and oppression, by which trials of this description, and indeed of every other, were then, and are still, characterized in France. In that country the judges, instead of being the dignified and impartial dispensers of justice, degrade themselves by insulting and browbeating their prisoners. Their conduct more resembles that of a counsel for the prosecution than of an upright judge. They appear to be the mere minions of the government; and were equally so on the occasion of the court-martial on Carrel and his comrades in the days of Louis XVIII., as'they were in the more recent civil trials of Fieschi with his associates, and Alibaud, for their attempts on the life of Louis Philippe. We mention together the subjects of these different trials, not because they have the slightest connexion with each other, — (for Carrel committed no crime), while the offences of the others were of the deepest dye. Still less do we allude to it with the view of palliating the atrocious conduct of the assassins ; but we are of opinion, and we feel assured that every Englishman K 2 132 Memoir of Armand Carrel. will concur in it, that the overbearing conduct of the President of the court at the trial of these wretches, was as inconsistent with justice, as was that of the court-martial before which Carrel was tried : a specimen of which we subjoin : — President. — It appears from a muster-roll found among the Spanish papers, a copy of which I now hand you, that you have served as an officer in a legion denominated the Legion Liberate Etrangere. How comes it that you, as a French officer, could so far forget yourself as to act as a traitor to your king by serving in the rank of rebels ? Carrel. — I have not forgotten myself as a French officer, having ceased to hold that situation since the 7th of March, 1823 ; and my departure for Spain was subsequent to that period. It was as a French citizen, that I entered into the Spanish service, and my opinions led me to support a cause which I did not consider in the light of a rebel one. Besides, hostilities against it had not then com- menced on the part of France. President. — It appears, from a document which I lay before you, that you were taken with arms in your hands at Llera. In your quality of French citizen you could not bear arms against France without rendering yourself guilty of the greatest crime. Carrel. — I was not taken with arms in my hands; but I laid them down in consequence of the surrender of the corps to which I belonged. As to the second part of your question, my being under arms against the French was the unfortunate result of the opinions which I stated to have led me into Spain. It would be idle to cite farther a course of examination, which was marked only by injustice and insult to the object of it. Carrel re- pelled these with all the consciousness of honour and the dignity of innocence. The defence he made was so able,—- especially while insisting on the faith of the capitulation and the circumstance of his having retired from the French service before entering the Spanish, — that the court, in spite of its prepossessions, felt itself bound by the constitution to declare its incompetence to take cognizance of the accusation. Carrel would thus have been acquitted, had not an order been sent down by government, directing the court to declare itself competent and to pronounce sentence of death upon the pri- soners. These arbitrary commands were, to the disgrace of French justice, carried into effect. The former declaration was rescinded ; and Carrel and his associates received sentence of death. He pro- tested against this atrocious conduct, not so much he said on his own account, as on that of the unfortunate men, of whom he was the representative; and at the same time he appealed to the superior Court of Revision. While this appeal was pending, (and it was purposely protracted by the government, which was aware that it must terminate against them,) Carrel and his comrades were confined in the prison of Per- pignan, and subjected to the most rigorous oppression and cruelty. The sufferings which they endured are thus described in an elegant statement, which he drew up in behalf of his fellow-prisoners and delivered to the medical officers for presentation to the authorities. Memoir of Armand Carrel. 133 "During," said he, "the eight months that the officers in confine- ment at Perpignan have occupied a dark and unwholesome cell, the only request which they have made to the medical attendants and those of the police, has been, that they might be allowed the air necessary for the preservation of their health and have as much light admitted into their room as would remove its present appear- ance of a dungeon. No notice however has been taken of this application, nor has redress been obtained. Finding that they could not succeed in having their apartment rendered more habitable, they next applied to be allowed to remain in the open air for two hours a day : this also was refused. They continue to have only an hour in the twenty-four allowed them ; and even this indulgence is often denied them through the caprice of the jailer or on the plea of bad weather. At the time when the heat of the weather began to render their prison dreadful, they were again obliged to apply for the ne- cessary alterations in their cell; as, in order to breathe the air, they had to stand, one at a time, at the small opening which admitted the light; and their application was again refused. These details may appear trifling to those who are living in liberty and ease ; but they are important to those that suffer. All that they now hope is, that, as sentinels have lately been placed on the terrace during the whole day, they may be allowed to go out twice during the twenty-four hours, and that the time when this liberty is granted them may be so arranged, that they may not be exposed to a transition from the damp of their dungeon to the fervent heat of the sun. An hour before their morning meal and another before their evening would be convenient, as it would not interfere with the duty of their guards; but even this small indulgence has been denied them on the pretext, that it would interfere with the occupations of the jailer." The situation of the prisoners was shortly afterwards considerably alleviated by the benevolence of an inhabitant of Perpignan, who not only liberally supplied them from his own purse with many necessaries of which they stood in need, but also opened a correspondence with their friends with the view of obtaining their release. The influence thus exerted was so powerful, chiefly it is supposed through the in- terposition of the Baron de Damas, the French general who signed the capitulation, and whose good opinion Carrel, at an earlier period of his life, had'acquired, that a proposal was soon after made by the agents of government, offering to release the prisoners — provided]they supplicated the clemency of the king as deserters. This offer was embraced by many of them ; but Carrel, feeling that it involved his honour, rejected it with disdain. He was accordingly removed from his prison at Perpignan to another at Toulouse, and subjected to even harsher treatment, and, — what he felt still more, — to grosser indignities. He was thrown into the common gaol of the town, and lodged in the same apartment with the felons and most abandoned characters. But even here the innate dignity of his nature protected him ; and retiring to a corner of the cell he passed his time in perusing the few books he had brought with him from France, his privacy being respected even by the lawless ruffians by whom he was surrounded. Carrel indeed possessed the secret of keeping 134 Memoir of Armand Carrel. intrusive familiarity at a distance, and he soon made his abandoned fellow-prisoners feel that, though an inmate of the same cell with them, he was not their associate. Thus left alone with the small library which his poverty had enabled him to bring with him origi- nally from France, and which, though he had lost all his other pro- perty, he had contrived to preserve amid his various vicissitudes, he unconsciously laid the foundation of that knowledge and of those resources with which he was so soon to astonish the world. His soli- tude was less irksome than could be supposed, if we may judge by the following affecting extract of a letter of his at this time, written to a friend when he was transferred to Toulouse, to await the deci- sion of the Court of Revision to which he had appealed. " When it was necessary that I should be removed to Toulouse, General Rottemburg demurred in granting me a favour which is not usually denied even to the greatest criminals, namely, the privi- lege of being conveyed at my own expense ; and had it not been for the intercession of some of the most distinguished inhabitants of Perpignari, I should have been conducted from brigade to brigade loaded with irons. At Toulouse, rigours before unknown were en- dured by me ; but after eight days' suffering, a change took place in the conduct of General Barbat, who commanded there ; he re- lented ; and my situation has since been supportable and even happy ; since sad experience has taught me, that it is happiness to see the sun and inhale an atmosphere fit for breathing." The time now approached, when the fate of Carrel and the few of his associates who like him had preferred death to dishonour, was to be determined. The government had on one pretext or another always postponed the reference of the appeal to the Court of Revision; but, as the affair could no longer be protracted, this court was at last commanded to meet for the purpose of hearing it. The trial of Carrel came on first; as it was intended to make an example of him, in consequence of his having refused to receive a pardon on condi- tion of confessing himself a deserter, — a monstrous falsehood and humiliation to which he would not for a moment listen. He was also himself anxious on this account, that he should be tried first; and he had expressed a hope, that his death might be considered as an atone- ment for his companions in misfortune. But the trial was not destined to havejso gloomy a termination. The high Court of Revi- sion was composed of officers who would not sacrifice their sense of justice even to the wishes or the dictates of the government ; and Carrel made such a splendid defence, that the tribunal without a moment's hesitation pronounced his acquittal, the very gens-tfarmes who guarded him being so led away by his eloquence that they threw down their arms to applaud him. This latter circumstance affected Carrel deeply ; and it may be doubted whether among all the tributes of applause which were afterwards paid to his eloquence by men of far higher rank, he cherished any half so cordially, as the rude and almost involuntary acclamations of these unsophisticated soldiers. The trial of the other prisoners was not proceeded with. The great essay of the government to render a court of justice but a mockery, and its officers the minions of their will, had been directed against Memoir of Armand Carrel. 135 Carrel, and had signally failed. After having been unable to bring down the eagle, they could not stoop to aim at the falcons ; and the other prisoners were thus discharged without a trial. Carrel on being dismissed from the prison of Toulouse found him- self at once thrown almost friendless upon a world which had hitherto been so unfriendly to him, and was in great perplexity what course to pursue for his future support. His former profession of arms, as far as it regarded the French service, was closed against him ; and the revolution in Spain having been quashed, there was no other field for the exertion of those military men, who like himself had retired from the French army in disgust, excepting that afforded by joining the standard of Ypsilanti in Greece, or of Bolivar in America. Many of the old officer, who had been discharged from the army or had voluntarily quitted on the downfal of their general, Napoleon, had, finding themselves unable to convert their swords into plough- shares after being so long inured to the excitement of war, entered these services, and there found that cherished freedom and equality which had prevailed under their emperor, but which now no longer cha- racterized the regime of Louis XVIII. Carrel deeply sympathized in these feelings and it is probable that he would have joined his expatriated countrymen on one or other of these fields, had he not been dissuaded from such a course by the advocate, who had assisted him on his trial. This gentleman, (whose name was Isambert,) had not failed to observe, that the young ex-officer possessed abilities of too high an order to be thrown away in a camp. He therefore per- suaded him to go to Paris, and gave him introductions to Lafitte and some other of his friends in that city. On Carrel's arrival in Paris it was first proposed to place him in a commercial house ; but this pro- ject was given up in consequence of his predilections for the bar, which again in its turn was abandoned, because it was found that Carrel, though eminently qualified for it — for he was as ready and eloquent in speech as in his writings — had not undergone the preli- minary course of education which was necessary; and before he could do so, several years must elapse, during which he would be wholly unprovided for. He therefore resolved to give himself up to literature; and with this view he became the secretary of Augustin Thierry, the celebrated historian. This eminent and equally amiable man, who had lost his sight from his devotion to study, derived great assistance from Carrel, whom he employed upon his works. Ob- serving the greatness of his talents and the goodness of his heart, Thierry loved him as a friend, and Carrel in return revered him, whom he fondly called his master, and who was the only person whom he ever acknowledged by that name. He did not however long remain in this situation, for he was too great a genius himself to pass his time in writing to the dictates of another ; and some original works, in which he was now engaged, rendered it necessary that he should devote the whole of his time to their completion. These works were a Summary of the History of Scotland and also of that of Modern Greece, — with contributions to the "Revue Francaise," a publication of considerable merit, which contained the germs of those opinions and that political spirit which afterwards appeared in the 136 Memoir of Armand Carrel. " National." He about this time also deeply studied the history of England ; and the impressions which this made upon him only served to increase his ardent thirst for freedom. His political opinions thus exhibited themselves more openly than ever in the " History of the Counter-revolution in England," which he published shortly after- wards. In this work, which is marked by great ability, profound thought, and forcible reasoning eloquently expressed, he endeavoured, as he states, to avoid instituting any comparison between the Stuarts and the Bourbons. But in spite of this, the feelings of the author burst out, and it may easily be seen that he both anticipated and wished, that the fate of the two families might be the same. But it was the "NATIONAL," which appeared towards the end of the reign of the elder branch of the house of Bourbon, which has ren- dered the name of Armand Carrel so celebrated, and which will convey it to immortality. This journal, and its comprehensive name, were projected by himself, and established by his own efforts and those of Thiers and Mignet, who were editors conjointly with him; each of the three taking the entire control for six months at a time. The politics of the journal thus appeared to be of different shades ; being openly republican under Carrel's management ; while the object of Thiers seemed to be confined to the overthrow of the system of the Bourbons, and the expulsion of the elder branch of the family in favour of the Duke of Orleans. Mignet merely re-echoed the opinions of Thiers. This policy afterwards procured the two latter the situations of ministers in the first cabinet of Louis Philippe, and to this alone Thiers owes his present elevation. A similar offer it is understood was made to Carrel ; but his integrity was greater, and he refused to sacrifice his principles for place, with the same devotion which had formerly prompted him to reject an offer of life at the expense of his honour. Carrel may be regarded as the first mover of the revolution of July ; for on the morning, when the " Moniteur" appeared with the celebrated ordinances which cost Charles X. his throne, he hurried to the office of his journal, and before noon of the same day had published an address to his countrymen in which the following spirited passage occurs : — " The ministry of the 8th of August have not considered it their duty to be guided by the Chamber; they wish to have the opinion of the Electoral Colleges. They have seen that they could not fail to succumb before the laws ; and they there- fore would recall those laws which, for the last fifteen years, France has been accustomed to practise, to respect, and to cherish. The three ordinances which follow appeared in the * Moniteur' of this morning. There is no necessity for comment upon them. France is again entering upon a career, from which for the last fifteen years she had believed herself to be happily extricated; and she is again falling into a revolution, brought on by the government itself. Thrown, in spite of herself, out of the pale of the law, she is threat- ened with never being able to enter it again, except through fresh storms. It is at least a consolation for France to be able to say, that she has committed no crime, — that her conduct for the last year has not deserved the severe measures, which are now to be adopted Memoir of Armand Carrel. 137 against her. Justice is on her side ; and from this conviction she may derive the courage necessary for persevering in the defence of her rights. The ministry demanded a chamber from the country ; and this chamber has been freely and regularly nominated. It expressed the opinions of France. It ought to have been assembled on the 3d of August. It alone is empowered to grant the budget of 1831. What remains for France to do, is to refuse the impost. The cham- ber, which has to-day been dissolved, has done its duty, the electors have done theirs. The press, which henceforth cannot openly serve the cause of liberty, has also performed all that could be expected from it. It now remains for the tax-payers to protect the cause of the laws. The future is entrusted to the individual energy of the citizens." After the revolution of July Carrel became chief editor of the "National/' — Thiersjand Mignet having left it to join the ministry of Louis Philippe. The journal which had hitherto been influenced by the narrower opinions of the two latter, now became more free and democratic than ever. Thiers had indeed attempted to maintain his influence over it, and had even tried to convert it into a ministerial organ; but the other proprietors would not allow this, and Carrel was installed into the place of sole editor. The paper henceforth became, as it were, a reflection of himself ; and the reputation of both increased in proportion as he gave vent to the originality of his views and the boldness of his opinions. The best writings of Carrel are to be found in the numbers of the " National" from this period to his death ; and it is to be regretted that no selection has yet been pub- lished ; for though many of them were written on subjects of tem- porary interest, yet the greater number are worthy of being handed down to posterity, on account of their admirable principles and the 'matchless vigour of their style. No political writer indeed has perhaps ever appeared so thoroughly qualified for the duty as Carrel was. To the perspicuity of Cobbett, he united the boldness of Junius, — with this difference, that in him there was none of that wavering which characterized the former, while he would have scorned to have shielded himself under the mask of the latter.* What he wrote was the genuine expression of his mind; and he was always ready, not only to avow it openly, but to defend it with his life ; as the melancholy occasion of his death has proved. His style, without any artifice or labour, was a masterpiece of facility, always full and flowing as his imagination, which was ready and inexhaustible. In his compositions, if we do not observe the care of the author in retouching and correcting his sentences, we find instead, a vigorous inspiration, which gives animation, form, and colour, to every subject. Carrel was in every sense of the word an eloquent man. The occupation which he had embraced prevented him from showing his powers as an orator; but he never for a moment hesitated or showed the least difficulty in selecting his language ; and those noble thoughts and splendid sentences which appear so profound and so * Our correspondent forgets, that Junins wrote in days when the open statement of such opinions would have entailed on their holders imprisonment and death. It is quite unnecessary to cite any instances of George the Third's policy. 138 Memoir of Armand Carrel. perfect, in the " National," were either written currente calamo, or dictated in an uninterrupted stream. In this respect he resembled our Johnson, whose gorgeous sentences, however laboured they may appear, were composed with almost all the rapidity of thought. The language was natural to the man. He could express himself in no other; and he spoke in this magnificent strain with the same readi- ness as ordinary men make use of common phraseology. It may be interesting here to extract a few lines from a preface which Carrel prefixed to an edition of the works of Paul Courier, and which may now with much propriety be applied to himself. "The life of an author," he says, "remarkable for the great origi- nality of his ideas, is the best commentary on his writings; it is the explanation, in fact, the history, as it may be termed, of his talents. This is the more especially true, when the observation attaches to one who in his younger days has not chosen literature as a profession ; and whose imagination, at the period when the mind is most active and lively, has not been weakened by the circumscribed space of the four walls of a study, or restrained by the narrow sphere of literary coteries. If at the present day there exist few writers, whose history we are desirous of knowing, after having read their works, it is because there are few of them who impress us with any very striking decision of character, or who evince themselves as men tried, drawn out, and finished, by the various proofs and numerous vicissitudes of life." Such were Carrel's words in writing of another literary man, and and we may say — " Mutato nomine de se fabula narratur", for his writings were a true personification of himself. The " Na- tional," as soon as it was left solely under his control, acquired a reputation greater perhaps than any other had hitherto possessed ; for even those, who did not coincide in the boldness of his views and his ardent bursts for universal freedom, could not fail to admire the sincerity of the man and the glowing language in which he gave utterance to the impulses of his heart. When politics became lan- guid or warm discussions cooled, Carrel felt his influence diminish ; and then he launched some minor point of argument, with which his better judgment told him it was not worth his while to identify himself. But when any event occurred either at home or abroad to rouse him — when there was a calamity to ward off, when there was infamy to brand, perfidy to unmask, and, above all, when there was danger to incite him, he burst out again in all his strength, seized his pen— a weapon with which he never failed to hit the mark — openly attacked, and carried on the war with equal courage, vigour, and ability. On such occasions, and in the stirring times in which he lived they occurred almost daily, the laws which fettered the press were utterly disregarded by him, and seemed only to rouse his daring to defiance. The ministry, in which his former and more facile colleagues held office, had in vain attempted to seduce his stern in- tegrity, and dreaded to stir up his wrath by a prosecution. They therefore confined themselves to persecuting the minions of the press, while, through fear, they allowed the great Triton to pursue his career free and uncontrolled. But this forbearance was not what Memoir of Armand Carrel. 1 39 Carrel desired. He generously determined to take up the cause of his feebler and oppressed brethren, and with this view he thus boldly threw down the gauntlet to Casimir Perier, the head of the cabinet. " The minister believes, that his illegal^ conduct is not dangerous, because it oppresses only a small number of the citizens. He de- ceives himself; and, despite his fierceness, he will find, that a single man, convinced of his rights, and resolved to maintain them by all the means which his courage may dictate, is not easily overcome. Is there not one among those writers who have become the objects of the hatred of t\\e juste milieu, that will stand up in defence of his rights and oppose force by force, devoting himself to the chances of the unequal combat? Be it so. There are men connected with the press who cannot be provoked with impunity, and who will not be carried alive to St. Pelagic, if they have vowed that the majesty of the law shall not be violated in their persons with impunity. It is easy to kill, by means of fifty men, one man who resists ; but does the government believe, that this can happen twice without endangering the existing order of things ? Does it believe that, if a writer, whose only crime is, that he thinks differently from the ministry, and who in every other respect is a commendable citizen, were assassinated by day or by night in his own house while resisting an illegal arrest, those who ordered the assassination would be safe long?" This powerful article was signed by Carrel's name ; and though he thus hurled defiance so fiercely, and openly threatened to oppose force to force, still the government did not venture to arrest him. A prosecution was commenced, but was almost immediately aban- doned, M. Perier declaring that it was done without his orders. Carrel thus had obtained a complete triumph, and, what he valued more, gained his point; for the writers in the journals were not afterwards arrested, until they had been subjected to prosecution, and found guilty. Carrel bore no resemblance to those cowardly miscreants some- times found amongst journalists, who, skulking under the ob- scurity of a mask and a native garret, will pander, by their base falsehoods, to the depraved taste of the vulgar, and calumniate the character of a man without having the courage to give him the only redress that can be offered. No! Carrel, when he attacked, boldly identified himself with his writings, and was equally ready to maintain his position by his sword as by his pen. Though the vigour of his style rendered it easily distinguishable from that of any other man, yet often he considered even this slight veil too obscure, and, throwing it aside, subscribed his articles with his name ; thus nobly offering defiance to power, and, at the same time, the means of re- paration to all who might conceive themselves personally injured by his assault. This manly trait in his character brings us to the concluding scene of his brief but glorious career. But we must first shortly allude to one or two interesting events that occurred in the interval. In 1834 Carrel visited London and remained there for some time, collecting information relative to the English revolutions, and other subjects connected with the history of England, on which it was his intention 140 Memoir of Armand Carrel. to write. During his stay in Britain a proces was carrying on against the " National" for some of his philippics upon the government ; which, having now become more consolidated, had at last ventured, upon much more trivial grounds, upon that prosecution which he had for- merly dared it to in such terms of defiance. Carrel's absence at this period was not, as has been supposed, owing to his desire to escape imprisonment in France ; for he returned to Paris in time to be present at the trial, and as usual made a splendid defence. The trial took, place before the Chamber of Peers ; and during the course of it a striking circumstance occurred. Carrel having in the course of his speech mentioned the name of Marshal Ney, all at once stopped short and added : " At this name I stop, out of respect to his glorious and unfortunate memory. It is not for me to say whether it would be more easy to legalize the sentence of his death, than to revise the iniquitous one which the peers pronounced. To-day the judges have more need to be re-established than their victim." At these words the President rose and said, "Defendant, you are speaking before the Chamber of Peers, and some of the judges of Marshal Ney are here. Take care: to state that the judges have more need of being re-established than the victim, is an expression which may be consi- dered as an offence. I wish you to remember that the commission which I have the honour of reading to you, can take cognizance of your words as well as of the article, for which you are here respon- sible." Carrel instantly replied with vehemence, "If any of the members who voted for the death of Marshal Ney are now present, and feel wounded by my words, let them make a proposition against me, let them denounce me at this bar, and I shall appear. I shall be proud to be the first man of the generation of 1830 to protest here, in the name of indignant France, against that abominable assassination/' The brave veteran General Excelmans upon this started up, and, led away by enthusiasm aud deep conviction, cried, "Yes, the condemnation of Ney was a judicial assassination; I my- self say so." Carrel's defence on this occasion, though most able, was not suc- cessful. He was sentenced to a heavy fine and imprisonment in St. Pelagic. During his confinement here he employed himself in pre- paratory studies for his History of England, and also for a Life of Napoleon, which it is deeply to be regretted his premature death scarcely allowed him to begin. Writing to a friend from his prison he observed, " I have all the patience here, which you could wish me, for I consider my suffering as but small in the midst of such great public calamities." On his discharge from St. Pelagie he resumed writing for the "National" with,'if possible, greatervigour than ever ; and the govern- ment of Louis Philippe seeing that prosecution only rendered him more formidable, again attempted to seduce him into their service. A prefecture, or lieutenancy, of one of the leading departments of the country was offered to him ; but it was declined without a mo- ment's hesitation. He still maintained his military taste, and, alluding to this circumstance, he used laughingly to say, " If they had offered me the command of a regiment, they might have succeeded." Memoir of A r man d Carrel. 141 We now approach the termination of Carrel's life, which was prematurely closed in his 36th year — a period when the vigour and fire of their respective characters were about to be improved, by being1 tempered by the experience of advancing age. The boldness with which Carrel wrote, the openness with which he made his attacks, and the readiness with which he was always prepared to give redress in person for the injuries which his pen might inflict, had already engaged him in several duels. The first of these in which he was concerned was occasioned by an article of Thiers', in the early days of the "National," against another journal, the editor of which sent a challenge, which was refused by Thiers. Carrel, considering that the honour of the "National" was thus compromised, 'volunteered to go in his stead. He accordingly met his adversaryjand slightly wounded him with a pistol. The next encounter was incurred in an equally chivalrous manner in 1833, on the occasion of the Duchess de Berry's concealment in the chateau of Blay. Numerous plaisant cries on this subject had appeared in a satirical French paper called the " Corsaire," the editor of which had been wounded in a rencontre in which Carrel acted as his second ; but the Carlists, not being satisfied with this reparation, had renewed their menaces. Carrel upon this announced, that these fire-eaters would find at the office of the " National" as many adversaries as they desired. A list often names was immediately sent him, from which he selected that of a gentleman of the name of Roux, to whom he was a perfect stranger. In the duel which followed they fought with swords, and both were wounded — Roux in two parts of the arm, and Carrel dangerously in the belly. His life was for a considerable time in peril, and the interest which his illness excited was great. The numerous inquiries made at his residence by men of all parties, and the letters he received from individuals of every rank, proved the high estimation in which he was held by his countrymen. The last of these encounters in which he was engaged was des- tined to have a more fatal termination. His adversary on this occasion was an obscure journalist, called Girardin, whose name, like that of the man who, in his ambition to be remembered by pos- terity, set fire to the temple of Diana at Ephesus, will only be remem- bered by the destruction of the noble frame which he so prematurely effected. This person's object seems to have been to emerge from his natural obscurity by seeking a quarrel with Carrel, whose bold and chivalrous character afforded him but too much facility for such an encounter. They met, and Carrel was mortally wounded by a pistol shot. After lingering in agony for some days he died, deeply lamented, — not only by his countrymen, but by all the friends of freedom, and admirers of genius and principle, through- out the world, D. W. J. ( 142 ) TO TIME. MARK yonder village churchyard tower With moss and lichens overgrown ; — A choicer emblem of thy power, Old Time! could not be shown. Without, — full many a tombstone see Beside the churchyard's narrow ways, That lift themselves in type of thee, Pale Sexton of past days ! Within, — a rope of many a thread Intwin'd with curious craft is there, And see a bell, whose hollow head Is pillowed by the air. That bell is thine, and thine the string, Wherewith the hopes of man are twin'd ; And ever doth thy right hand ring That emblem of the mind ! And ever doth a knell go forth From yonder tower, rung by thee, To warn the proud ones of the earth That pride must cease to be ! From hour to hour, from day to day, Who doth not hear that weary knell, In deep unchanging echoes, say One solemn word — Farewell! Farewell — to childhood's merry years, When cherub beauty danced along, Devoid of grief — unknown to tears, And mirthful in its own sweet song ! Farewell — to the gay dreams of youth, The sunny visions Hope prepares : When life hath still the bloom of truth, Untainted by the blight of cares ! Farewell — to manhood's prouder prime, Or virgin beauty's roseate grace; (The tender link'd with the sublime, In man's terrestrial dwelling-place). And with these changes, so farewell To all the blessings each had brought : — The love of those we lov'd to tell Our nearest wish, our dearest thought, — The friendly sympathetic glow Of bosoms kindling like our own, With impulses gone long ago, Or rashly cropt, or wrongly sown ! French Song. 143 Ring on, old Time! — this tale is trite, For years it has been still the same, Since this world woke in liquid light, And praised its Maker's name ! Still death and thou in mutual skill] Have trodden down the fairest flower, And changed, where ye have dar'd not kill Its freshness every hour. Thy brother Death,— well, — be it so ; — In yonder churchyard where ye stand, The one with whetted scythe to mow, The other with the shaking sand, Your triumphs and your end I see : The first are written by the past, On wrecks of poor mortality ; The future hath the last. LA BOUTEILLE. Sous un ombrage languissant Un fol amant reve a sa belle. Rien n'est plus triste assurement, Si par hazard elle est cruelle. Nous ne voulons ni ennui ni chagrin: Bannissons les amours — donnez nous du bon vin. Pendant toute la nuit je veille Accompagne de ma bouteille. C'est le devoir djun bon soldat Gaiment sur le champ de bataille, Toujours sans crainte marcher au combat, Et chercher 1'honneur sous la mitraille. Etre vaincu — c'est un profond chagrin : — Adieu done la gloire ; donnez nous du bon vin. Pendant toute la nuit je veille Accompagne de ma bouteille. A' la cour le solliciteur, Une beaute a sa toilette, Dans son cabinet le penseur, Dans ses grimaces la coquette, Perdent leur temps : nous boirons du bon vin ; Car c'est le seul moyen de chasser le chagrin. Pendant toute la nuit je veille Accompagne de ma bouteille. r 144 THE BROTHERS OF GOSCHENEN. " Die endolo i! Turpin — lo dico auche io." Oil. Fur. passim. ONE cold evening, late in the autumn of 1831, 1 happened lo be the sole occupier of the long Sala, as they in compliment called it, appro- priated to travellers in the inn of Tortona. I had left my luggage at Milan lo be forwarded to Florence by the diligence, that I might thereby avoid the hourly annoyance of frontier custom-houses on the route from Genoa to Leghorn. I myself, fulVof the delightful remi- niscences of pedestrianism in Switzerland, marched one fine morning out of the gates of Milan with blouse and knapsack on my pilgrimage to Genoa the proud. By the way, I was soon weary of walking through Lombardy, and found the long causeway, the flat rice-field, and the straight line of mulberries, a very different matter from the winding mountain path and its ever-varying panorama of rock and waterfall, and glacier and snow-peak. However, there I was at Tortona, basking before a huge heap of glowing embers and blazing billets on the hearth, that expanded their length and breadth under the huge projecting chimney. Of the room, as I said before, I was the sole occupier ; my chair resting on its hinder legs against the long vacant table, while the blaze of the wood fire overcoming the flicker- ing light of the tall earthen lamp, cast a huge shapeless spectral shadow of myself over the whitewashed wall and cieling. I was tired, weary, disappointed with rny pedestrian experiences. The wind whistled chilly without, and every now and then came down with a sudden angry gust, and the rain pattered angrily against the win- dow. Little Flaminia, the dark-eyed, laughing, gossiping daughter of my landlady, had vanished with the remains of my supper, and I was left alone. No, not quite alone ; for stretched at his length on the square tiles before the fire lay my rough black-and-tan terrier, Weazle, turning occasionally first one side and then another to the genial glow. I felt melancholy. " Egad I'll have a bit of Tasso," said I to myself,— '• I left off at Canto 8." Lifting my knapsack, and tossing aside shirts and stockings, pistols and shoes, I clutched in the corner my " Bibliotheca Portabile del Viaggiatore." I got through four lines; and as I lingered syllable by syllable over — " E 1'alba uscia della raagion celeste Con la fronte di rose e co'pie d'oro," the book dropped on my knee, and, fixing my eyes on the out- line of a burly toper with a flaming red nose that glowed among the embers, I thought of the Aurora of Guido on the cieling of the Palazzo Raspigliari ; and then I thought of the little cell I had lately seen at Ferrara, dark, and damp, and cold — where, as the storytells, The Brothers of Goschemn. 145 what I had read had been written, and I grew more and more me- lancholy as I thought of it. " Hang it, this will never do," said I, bringing the four legs of my chair to the same level, — " I'll go to the kitchen." Eccomi then ; there I was in a trice, chatting Polyglot with la Signorina Flaminia and her equally lively half-sister Beatrice. They had both been some years in France, and had acquired the art of speaking gras to perfection. Of this they were evidently a little vain, and wandered every now and then out of the clear liquid in- tonations of their own dear tongue into the nasal twang of Paris. Altogether, however, they were two charming dear souls. They asked in the simplicity of their little hearts whether there were olives and figs in my cold country, and what part of England Ireland was in ; and all about my Lord Vilainton, and what I had got in my knapsack, and whether I was married or single, while they shook their clustering curls so provoking in my face as I disowned the soft impeachment, that I could have kissed the darling rogues in spite of the presence of their good-natured fat mamma, but for the* old Ca- puchin who was taking his evening meal for God's sake in the chim- ney corner, and who every now and then lifted his great dark eyes from his bouilli and brown bread to scan the proceedings of the young folks. He was a man beyond^the middle age, but had the look of bear- ing his years well. His form was spare, but muscular. The stripe of short unshaven hair that encircled his head was interrupted over his large forehead, which showed, in spite of the tonsure, the gloss of natural baldness ; and I could not help remarking the lady-like smallness of his hands and feet, browned as they were by constant ex- posure to every change of weather. Gradually, I know not how, he slid into the conversation. One casual observation introduced an- other, and at last at ten o'clock the good-night of our landlady and her daughters interrupted a lively dispute on the wines of Italy and their merits as compared with the produce of the transalpine vine. I was beginning to be pleased with my companion. There was a shrewd self-possession in his dark eye ; and the quick decided movement of his lip, partially covered as it was with a dark beard not too large to hide the expression of the mouth, a soft mellowness in his voice (that most prepossessing of personal attributes), and a grace in the slight action that he used in speaking, that would Jnot have been out of place either in the bustle of the active world or the elegance of the salon, but seemed to suit but little with the garb of the idle mendi- cant and the lazy friar. But, as I said, our hostess bade us good-night. " Buona notte,'' said I. " Benedicite," said the Capuchin. " Speaking of the wine," said he, resuming his discourse, " La Signora Teresa has some splendid Montepulciano." " Signora Teresa !" shouted I, as she closed the door, " a flask of Montepulciano ; and perhaps it would be as well to leave another, with a morsel of salame and one or two sardignes on the table yonder." "Montepulciano!" said the Capuchin, as the hostess closed the FEB. 1837, L 146 The Brothers of Goschenen.' door, throwing himself back in his chair and turning the soles of his rough sandals to the fire. " Montepulciano d'ogni vino e il re. " Crown him, vassals loyal ; Let his sceptre royal Be the wine tree's stem — And many a drooping cluster, With its greeny lustre, Bind his diadem." And his soft manly voice warbled back lingeringly over the refrain, which I have endeavoured to translate — " And many a drooping cluster, With its greeny lustre, Bind his diadem." " Ha, good Padre/'said I, " you at least do not seem to be of the opinion that the seven deadly sins are lurking in this little flask/' " No," said he, " neither in the savoury dish nor the racy wine cup. It is a proverb of your country that God sends meat and the devil sends cooks. God gives the grape, and the devil te aches us how to make wine of it. Corpo di Bacco — the man who would denounce these, only because he likes them and was made to like them, deserves neither the one nor the other. He might as well close up his win- dows with stone and lime, lest he should enjoy the glorious sun, or shut his eyes when he goes out, lest he should see the spring flowers." " Spoken like a true epicure," said I. " And a good Christian, I trust," said the Capuchin. " Nay, I doubt it not," said I. " I think with you, that there is not a whit more virtue in a boiled potato than in pate des Alouettes aux truffes, — in spring water than in Montepulciano ; — that is, in modera- tion. But — " "To be sure — in moderation. Let a man consult his stomach, however, and he will not need to regulate his table by his Breviary." " But I was going to say," added I, " that this is hardly consistent with your peculiar profession. Pates and wine-flasks seem quite as likely to lead to luxury as a shirt or a pair of stockings." " True — true," said he, mournfully, as he glanced at his robe of brown serge with its knotted hempen girdle, and his bare feet appear- ing through the open sandals. u True !" and he sighed deeply. There was a long pause, and I regretted the levity which had prompted my remark. " Why I am what I am, my good Sir," he said at last, turning to- wards me with a melancholy smile, "would be a long tale to tell, and I have not the heart to begin it. Let us change the subject. I have seen much in these forty years ; and as I have sung you a "song, I will tell you a story about the valley of the Reuss you mentioned lately, should you feel inclined to listen." I readily acquiesced, although curious to know something about the personal history of my evening acquaintance. I saw I had some- how or other hurt the feelings of the old man, and as his mode of dashing off on another scent showed by its very abruptness a deter- mination not to permit the conversation to relate to himself, I merely filled the glasses, and inclined my head in token of assent, while the Capuchin proceeded. The Brothers of Goschenen. 147 "It is many many years since the circumstances I am going- to relate occurred. I was about two-and-twenty, when I happened, in the course of wanderings which have been pretty widely extended, to be constrained to demand the hospitality for a day or two of the brethren of our little establishment at Realp. It was late one sum- mer evening that I approached Goschenen, on my journey down the valley. A peasant, who was hastening in the direction of our little convent, met me about half a mile from the village, and informed me he was on the way to procure from some of our order resident at Realp spiritual consolation for Karl Easier, whose cottage he pointed out to me at some little distance among the trees. I hastily accom- panied him thither. " On the way I learned briefly the history of him whose death-bed I was now to witness. He had inherited a considerable patrimony from his father (considerable at least for a Swiss peasant), and for- tune had smiled on his endeavours to increase it — fickle and desultory as they were. The herds of old Basler were always the fattest au