FOOTNOTES:
[23] A current is supposed to flow constantly from the Pacific through the North-West Passage into the Atlantic.
A PEASANT DUCHESS.
The Stamford Mercury gives an interesting account of the life and fortunes of a young woman of that neighborhood who rose to a high station by means of her personal attractions, and, after a checkered life, died in Italy a few weeks ago. She was the daughter of John Peele, a small farmer at Corringham, near Gainsborough, who eked out a somewhat declining livelihood by dealing in horses, &c., having previously been in better circumstances. Being an only daughter, and aware that she possessed no small share of rustic charms, she resolved to try her fortune in a higher sphere. She became a dressmaker in Gainsborough, and resided subsequently in Hull, and it is said as housemaid in a good family in London, where her attractions obtained for her the attentions of a person of rank, to whom she afterwards averred she was married; and she from that time occupied a position where her fortunes led her into contact with some of the highest classes. A few years afterwards she astonished her former companions by appearing with her carriage and livery servants in the character of chère amie to Mr. Fauntleroy, then a flourishing banker in London. The riches of the banker were of a doubtful character, however; some time afterward she was convicted of forgery, and paid the penalty with his life. Affected by the ruin, but not participating in the crime of Fauntleroy, she struggled bravely with fate, and generally maintained a fair appearance in society both in London and Paris. She shortly reappeared in her native county as Duchess of Palata. At this time the fortunes of her family had reduced them to be the occupants of a small cottage at Morton, and age rendering her father incapable of active exertion, he filled the humble office of rural postman. To her honor it should be recorded that she enabled her parents to pass the remainder of their days in comfort. Six or seven years ago she again visited her native place, a widow, his grace the Duke of Palata having paid the debt of nature. Her mother she left at Morton, paid the last duties to her father (somewhat ostentatiously), and volunteered her assistance to promote the advancement of her female relatives. Again, however, "a change came o'er the spirit of her dream;" and some three or four years ago the public journals announced her marriage to the son of an Irish clergyman of good family. In this character, accompanied by her niece as femme de chambre, but not by her husband, she once more visited Gainsborough and the scenes of her youth; after making her mother an allowance, she again departed for Italy, in good health; but death, which spares neither rank nor character, has closed the "last scene of all, in this strange eventful history."
The author of the "Nibelungenlied" is unknown, and, whether it be the work of one poet, of two, or twenty, is still a matter of doubt, among German critics. That the Nibelungenlied has been extensively interpolated, is, I believe, agreed on all hands; we may conclude as much, from having reason to believe that it was handed down for some time (how long, nobody knows for certain), by oral tradition, and what effect such a state of things may have on popular poetry, we may readily collect from what Bishop Percy and Sir Walter Scott have told us of the variations in the old ballads of England and Scotland. Lachmann attributes it to the thirteenth century.
Original Correspondence.
Paris, Dec. 2, 1850.
From time immemorial, no one knows why (for the legends which recount her history leave it doubtful whether she performed on any instrument), St. Cecilia has been chosen by musicians as their patron saint; and the musicians of Paris, on the approach of winter, always celebrate a mass, in music, to her honor, and for the benefit of the distressed members of their body. Not that they entertain any exaggerated idea of the consoling powers of the musical art, or hope to relieve the positive sufferings of poverty and destitution by any combination of sounds, no matter how harmonious; but this festival being held in the church of St. Eustache, the largest in Paris, and all lovers of music being so eager to gain admission, that the immense aisles of this grand old pile (which will contain five thousand persons), are always crowded to overflowing on these occasions, every one paying a franc for his admission: the sum thus gained, together with the collections taken up in the middle of the service, by the committee of ladies chosen for that purpose (who go round among the crowd, preceded by the beadle, and followed by two or three attendant gentlemen, carrying a little embroidered bag of a particular shape, used for that purpose, in which they receive the contributions of the benevolent), constitute a fund, from which many an unfortunate or superannuated brother of the tuneful craft obtains relief.
This vast building, with its lofty arches, is admirably calculated for the performance of grand religious compositions; the effect of the music being enhanced by the aspect of the building, and the accessories of sculpture, painting, and carving, which render this church one of the richest in the capital.
To obtain places on any occasion of the kind, it is necessary to go an hour or two in advance; and the gradual filling of the aisles is one of the most curious scenes which a stranger can contemplate. As there are no pews, each person, on entering, helps himself or herself to a chair, which he holds aloft over the heads of his already seated neighbors, as he slowly forces his way onward through their serried ranks, until he espies some unappropriated gap into which he can insinuate his chair and himself; the police and the beadles always taking care to keep a little pathway, just large enough to squeeze through, open all through the outer aisle that runs round the church. For the unfortunate people who form the walls of this pathway, the process of filling is a severe infliction; the uninterrupted stream of in-comers, forcing their way along with a ruthless disregard of the shoulders of those between whom they pass, is really, (especially when the in-comer happens to be a very stout man, or a very fat lady, enveloped in an unusual quantity of drapery,) almost overpowering. Every now and then the beadle comes along, rapping his silver-headed cane on the pavement, and crying, "Way, there! keep out of the path!" and escorting a party of privileged individuals for whom seats have been reserved; and, as the beadle is always tall and stout, and always forces his way through in defiance of apparent impossibilities, a chorus of murmurs accompanies his progress. The beadle is a very grand personage, and his appearance sufficiently indicates this fact. He wears a cocked hat, covered with silver lace, and decorated with nodding white plumes; a scarf of crimson velvet, stiff with embroidery in silver thread, covers the upper part of his person; black velvet smalls, fastened at the knee with silver buckles, white silk stockings and gloves, and enormous buckles in his polished shoes, complete his attire. He wears a massive silver chain round his neck; and a sword hangs at his side to strike terror into the hearts of all beholders. Besides the grand beadle, there are several minor ones, dressed in black, but wearing heavy silver chains; gens d'armes also are always present, and often soldiers, who mount guard, musket in hand, at all the doorways, and on the steps of the chancel.
When these sapient guardians of the peace perceive that as many have been admitted as can possibly be squeezed into the building, they shut the doors; and the process of distribution goes on until the mass is equalized throughout the edifice; a task of no small difficulty, as the portions of the building contiguous to the doors are always densely packed at an early period, so that the greater number have to pass through these crowded centres to gain the remoter parts of the church. Meantime people chat, and look about them, amusing themselves as they best can; and the sonorous edifice echoes with the footsteps of the moving mass. But at length the noise subsides; the "organ utters its voices," and a hush, intense, unbroken, falls on the vast assembly. The glorious music peals through the vaulted aisles, and swells upward to the arching roof, pervading every nook and corner of the fane; and so perfect is the stillness that one would think the winged notes the only living things within its precincts.
On Friday last this annual solemnity was celebrated as usual at St. Eustache; the mass, composed by Adam, a very noble and beautiful composition, was admirably executed by a choir of two hundred and fifty singers, and a band of one hundred musicians, including the whole orchestra of the Opera Comique, and the best performers from the Italian opera. The solos were sung by Mesdames Grimm and Couraud, and by Bassine and Chapuis, the latter being one of the best tenors in the city. Some of the quartettes, with accompaniments of harps and wind instruments, were indescribably beautiful.
The Archbishop of Paris made an elegant little address, in which he spoke of art in Pagan and in Christian days, and of its mission in the present; and winding up with an appeal to the liberality of his hearers on behalf of the charitable idea which had prompted this performance. The Archbishop is a man of mild and grave countenance, but his dress was very inharmonious. He wore a surplice of very rich lace, a cape of violet silk, and a scarf richly embroidered in gold, which was all very pretty, but his arms and hands were encased in sleeves, finished with gloves, of scarlet cloth, which showed through the lace sleeves of the surplice, and gave the hands a very frightful appearance. He wore a little round cap on the top of his head, a golden crucifix on his bosom, and an enormous gold ring on his right hand. He spoke very slowly, screaming rather than speaking, in order to make himself heard in the distant parts of the building. The service lasted two hours, and yielded several thousand francs.
The Duchess of Narbonne, famed for her benevolence, was so desirous to aid on this occasion, that though unable, on account of her great age, to go among the crowd making the guest, as it is termed, she held a bag at one of the great doors, adding to the sum she thus received, a thousand francs as her own contribution, and a hundred francs for her chair, for which the ordinary price is two sous.
The musicians are not alone in their preparations for winter. The shopkeepers are just beginning the periodic display which betokens the coming on of the holidays: and conspicuous among the novelties whose appearance thus indicate the approach of Christmas, is a new style of porcelain, of English invention, which imitates with great success the antique marble vases, pitchers, &c., of classic days. Many of these objects are of great beauty; the creamy hue of the ware itself, slightly translucent, the graceful simplicity of their forms, and the delicate mouldings of classical designs in bass-relief with which they are adorned, producing an admirable effect, highly creditable to English taste.
While modern art is thus successfully emulating the symmetrical achievements of ancient times, a relic of great interest, recalling the romantic age of Spanish history, has just been unexpectedly brought to light. Some workmen, employed in making repairs in the Guildhall of Burgos, in Spain, have recently discovered the tomb of the Cid, so renowned in ancient story; a tomb whose very existence was unknown. An old chest, long considered as mere rubbish, and on which stood the antique chair from which, in other days, the Counts of Castille gave judgment, having been opened through the curiosity of these workmen, was found to contain the remains of Don Rodrigo Campeador, and his wife Chimena, immortalized in ancient legend, in the verses of Guilhen de Castro, of Corneille, and in our own days, in the graceful writings of Mrs. Hemans. The remains of the renowned hero and his beautiful spouse are to be removed to the church of San Gadeo, where a suitable monument will be erected to their memory.
The following incident, connected with the two prevailing manias of the day, lapdogs and balloon-ascensions, is just now amusing the gay circles of this gossiping capital.
It seems that Madame de N., the accomplished and beautiful wife of a triple millionaire of the quartier St. Honore, equally renowned for the charms of her wit, and for the intensity of her passion for the barking pets so dear to Parisian hearts, had taken a violent fancy (shared by half Paris) to a certain tiny gray spaniel, the property of one of the most admired of the innumerable representatives of Albion at this time here congregated, the beautiful and distinguished Lady R., whose intimacy was assiduously cultivated by Madame de N., all for the love of the little gray spaniel.
Sylphide, the spaniel in question, was in sooth well calculated to make havoc in hearts susceptible to canine charms. Her glossy fur, combed, bathed, and perfumed every day with the utmost care, was of the most delicate mouse-color, and softer than silk; her lustrous eyes sparkled like jewels, and her expressive face, with the delicate drooping ears that adorned her graceful head, were the realization of the most ideal dream of little-doggish beauty; her tail was perfection; her slender legs, in their light electric movements, hardly touched the ground; and the dainty way in which she raised her charming little paws from the sidewalk, when, by some rare chance (attired in her newest paletot of the finest merino, lined with wadded silk, and trimmed with a rich braid, her neck encircled with a silver collar, whose burnished chain was attached to her mistress's waist), she honored the sidewalk with their pressure, was so irresistibly bewitching, that all the fair round arms of Paris opened spontaneously at the sight, as though to offer a nestling-place to the little beauty, and raise her from a contact unworthy of so peerless a creature.
Any price, no matter how exorbitant, that could have been asked for this little paragon, Madame de N. would very gladly have paid; but, unhappily, Sylphide was not to be sold: Lady R. was very fond of her, and never seemed to understand the various hints thrown out from time to time, with the utmost tact and delicacy, but still quite intelligibly, by Madame de N.; and all that the latter could do was to bring her utmost power of petting to bear on the subject of her adoration, trusting to some unlooked-for stroke of good fortune to aid her in the accomplishment of her heart's desire.
Sylphide was excessively fond of sugar-plums (in which she was a great connoisseur), and also of fresh brioche, crumbs of which she would eat, in the most charming manner, from the snowy hand of her admiring friend; and as the bonbonnière of Madame de N. was always well supplied with her favorite dainties, Sylphide, who, on her side, was not ungrateful, soon contracted a lively affection for Madame de N. and her bonbonnière.
Such was the position of affairs, when an incident occurred which produced a total estrangement between the two ladies. M. de S., a gentleman well known in the diplomatic circles, whom Madame de N. had long numbered among her conquests, fascinated by the charms of the fair islander, deserted his brilliant countrywoman, and ranged himself among the satellites of her rival. And by a curious coincidence, at the very time that M. de S. quitted thus abruptly the orbit of Madame de N., the Prince of ——, who had hitherto been one of the brightest luminaries in the train of Lady R., left her ladyship to lay his homage at the feet of the charming Parisian. But the acquisition of the Prince seems to have failed to console the latter for the loss of a knight who had so long worn her colors; and the defection of M. de S. drew from her an expression of resentment towards her rival, which the mutual friend to whom these angry feelings had been confided, lost no time in repeating to the object of her displeasure. But Lady R., so far from being affected by the indignation of Madame de N., merely replied, with a careless shrug of her handsome shoulders, "Mais, ma chère, she has really nothing to complain of; all the world knows that 'exchange is no robbery!'"
At this time a magnificent bracelet, the latest achievement of the wonder-working atèliers of Froment & Meurice, had been the object of Lady R.'s most violent desire; but her lord, who was subject to occasional attacks of a malady not uncommon to the husbands of beautiful and fashionable ladies, was just then suffering from an attack of jealousy so acute, that, to the despair of Lady R., he utterly refused to gratify her desire to become the possessor of this costly ornament; and the lady, after having vainly called to her aid all the force of her address, and all the charms of her eloquence, found herself obliged, though with a heavy heart, to renounce the idea of its acquisition.
Lady R.'s desire for this bracelet, and its disappointment, were no secret to Madame de N.; and on learning, from the gossiping confidant, the response made by her rival to her complaint, a sudden thought darted through her mind. "Chère amie," said she to the confidant, "I beg you to say to her ladyship, that, since such is her opinion, I hold her to the acceptance of the consequences of her maxim."
The confidant lost no time in delivering this message, to which Lady R., thinking only of her host of admirers, laughingly replied, that Madame de N. was quite at liberty to make any practical application of the principle that she pleased.
Within two hours from the reception of this challenge, the beautiful bracelet, inclosed in an elegant case, on whose lid the initials of Lady R., surrounded by her crest, were engraved in letters of gold, had passed from the jeweller's show-rooms to the boudoir of Madame de N., who thenceforth, by means of an espionage that followed every movement of her rival, kept her constantly in view. At length the tournament, to be followed by the balloon-ascension (held a week or two ago in the Champ de Mars), was announced to the great delight of the spectacle-loving public; and having learned that the fair Englishwoman was to be present in an open carriage, Madame de N. determined to avail herself of this occasion to execute her scheme.
Accordingly on the appointed day, the bracelet, in its elegant case, being placed in the carriage beside her, and the coachman duly instructed in the part he was to play, Madame de N., holding in her hand her bonbonnière, supplied with fresh crumbs of the most delicate brioche, followed, at short distance, the carriage of her rival to the Champ de Mars, and took her stand just in the rear of her ladyship's phaeton.
Lady R. was in excellent spirits, receiving the homage of a crowd of attendant cavaliers; Sylphide, to the unspeakable joy of Madame de N., being seated on the front seat nearest her carriage.
Madame de N. waited patiently through the various evolutions of the gorgeous scene; and, at its close, when the great balloon of M. Poitevin rose majestically from the field, surrounded by its graceful band of nymphs that seemed to float, self-sustained, in the air, their silver wands and wreaths of flowers shining in the light of the setting sun, when all eyes followed the aëronauts, and deafening acclamations rent the air, in less time than we take in recounting the movement, the carriage of Madame de N. advanced to the side of Lady R.'s; Sylphide, attracted by the well-known bonbonnière, leapt lightly into the outstretched arms of her friend; and Madame de N. depositing the morocco case on the very spot Sylphide had quitted, bowed gracefully to her rival, and drove rapidly away, before Lady R. had had time to comprehend what was passing.
Great was her ladyship's amazement, as may well be supposed; and great, for the first few moments, was also her indignation; but the mystery was soon explained; for, in opening the case, which occupied Sylphide's vacant place, and which was unmistakably intended for her, she perceived the rich bracelet she had so much wished for, and beside it, the card of Madame de N., on which was written, in pencil, these words, which contained the key of the enigma, "Exchange is no robbery."
A hearty laugh, which she tried in vain to repress, broke from the lips of the fair lady; much to the astonishment of the gentlemen who had witnessed the scene, and to whom, notwithstanding their eager inquiries, Lady R. very naturally declined giving any explanation of the affair.
I shall observe your instructions, to keep you advised of whatever occurs here in the middle of the world.
Stella.
Authors and Books.
The German book trade has, for some months, been fairly overwhelmed with books upon Hungary. We notice among the latest, "Flowers from Hungarian Battlefields," a collection of novelettes, with scenes drawn from real life in the late war, by Sajó, one of the most popular writers of Hungary. The stories are spirited and vivid. "Confessions of a Civilian," and "Confessions of a Soldier," are two books, of which the last named has been for some time before the public, and has excited attention by the thoroughness of its absolutist tendencies. The Civilian is the opposite of the Soldier, being a liberal of the first stamp. Both these writers, however, oppose the present Austrian ministry. A German translation of Horwath's "History of the Hungarians" is coming out at Pesth in numbers, and is welcomed by the German critics. This is regarded by the most competent judges as an excellent work. "János the Hero," a Romance of Hungarian Peasant Life, by Alexander Petöfy, one of the most popular Magyar writers, is spoken of as a most successful delineation of national peculiarities. "The Revolution and the Jews in Hungary," is an interesting chapter out of the history of the Hungarian Jews, by J. Eichorn. The fidelity of the Hebrews to the cause represented by Kossuth and his associates, and defended by the entire nation, is as well known as the extortions with which the butcher Haynau attempted to punish their patriotism. Rerum Hungaricum Monumenta is the last work of the lamented antiquarian Eudlicher, and is designed to open to the literary world the authentic sources of early Hungarian history. It is, in short, a most valuable collection of ancient documents relating to the origin of the Magyars, their first settlement in Hungary, and their history under the native princes of the race of Arpad. One of the best results of this work will be the provocation of other savans to similar investigations, which cannot fail to throw light on many obscure historical questions.
A very interesting work has just made its appearance at Leipsic, giving an intimate though by no means flattering account of the condition of the Polish Population in Gallicia. The peculiarities of this race of people are described as wild barbarism combined with elegant politeness, dreamy melancholy, and practical cunning. The author was in Gallicia before the peasants' insurrection in 1846. He narrates a variety of the most striking scenes, which though highly colored are apparently true in the main. Among other things he gives an account of a dinner-party to which he was invited, at the house of a nobleman. The house stood in the midst of a scattered mass of outbuildings, none of which bore the slightest appearance of neatness, order, or comfort. Every thing, in fact, has the appearance of neglect and decay. Many of the walls are supported by props to prevent them from tumbling. Around the doors the slightest rain produces a disgusting morass, while the general aspect of the whole reminds the beholder of Attila's wooden palace in Pannonia, where he heaped up the booty of a world, and received the ambassadors of Rome. When the writer reached the door, he found his host with some other gentlemen waiting to receive him. The company was numerous, and all, especially the ladies, expensively dressed, in the last Parisian fashion, with abundant jewelry and ornaments. The saloon in which they were received was large but low, the walls covered with dirty paper, the floor of rough boards, the furniture of all sorts and sizes, and nowhere a trace of art or refined taste. The conversation was carried on in French, and the ladies exhibited a thorough acquaintance with Paris matters, notabilities, and gossip generally. At the table the drinking was almost incredible, and the topic of conversation, the emancipation of Poland. Every word was aimed at the conversion of the German guest. The hard treatment of the serfs was spoken of as necessary, as they must be kept in complete subjection in order to be made useful in the great work. The festivity grew more and more ardent, till at last one of the gentlemen took a shoe off from a lady's foot, filled it with wine, and after drinking from it himself, passed it to the others, so that all could pledge the ladies from such a cup. The next morning the stranger saw by chance a sight of another kind, as he was taking a walk. Behind a wall a man lay on the earth; another held fast his head, and a third his feet, while a fourth stood over him with a whip, laying on with all his might. The lord stood by in his dressing-gown, smoking a long pipe, and coolly directing the procedure. The guest turned away from the spectacle, but was told by his servant that this was the tenth man who had undergone the same punishment that morning. The offence was, that they had not begun work at sunrise. Of course a peasantry so treated could have no affection for their masters. All the work was done in the worst manner, while the lord was plundered in every way by his servants. Of the supplies for the family, more than half were regularly stolen, there being no supervision in the household. The extravagance of the masters was boundless, and when they got out of money they resorted to the Jews, who had the whole commerce of the country in their hands, besides having mortgages on most of the estates.
This is the merest outline of a small portion of the book. It renders more intelligible the atrocities which took place in the insurrection of 1846, and which the Austrian Government permitted, if they did not foment.
One of the most remarkable philologists and travellers of the present day is the Hungarian Professor Reguly, a man as yet little known out of his own country and northern Europe. He has devoted himself a good deal to the exposition of the affinities between the Magyar and the Finnish languages, and his labors have impelled a number of learned Hungarians to the same study. In the year 1839 he left his country, and passed ten years in the north of Asia and Europe, mostly among the Finnish tribes of the Moguls, Ostiacks, Tsheremisses, Nordwins, &c., making himself familiar with their manners, customs, dialects, songs, and traditions, in order to attain a thorough personal acquaintance therewith. He also spent a long period in Kasan and St. Petersburgh, studying the other languages of Central Asia. His adventures during this time were, as may be supposed, remarkable. He suffered not only the privations and exposures inseparable from such an undertaking, but was also poorly supplied with money, and often in the greatest distress from that cause. Nothing but scientific enthusiasm carried him through, till he became acquainted with some Russian savans, and a Russian Councillor named Balugyanszky, who were of great assistance to him. He left his home a vigorous young man, and comes back broken down in strength and health. His investigations have related not only to philology, but to geography and ethnography. He has penetrated farther into the north of Asia than any previous traveller. On his return, at St. Petersburgh, he prepared, at the special request of the Geographical Society, a vast map of Northern Asia along the Ural Mountains, between 58 and 70 deg. north latitude, and 72 and 80 deg. east longitude, giving about five hundred localities. This map is made on the largest scale, containing sixteen large quarto sheets. The St. Petersburgh Gazette says of it, that it has proved Reguly to be the discoverer of a vast territory for Russia. He is now at Pesth, engaged in preparing for publication the fruits of his ten years' absence from home. He will treat of the languages of the European and Asiatic Finnish tribes, their grammar and vocabularies, with constant regard to the analogies of the Magyar tongue. By way of introduction he will first publish a special work, containing his philosophical views on the organism of language. After these philological treatises he will print a series of ethnographic works on the various races among which he has lived, with collections of their songs and traditions, and finally a detailed narrative of his travels, with a condensed account of their scientific results. The conclusion of his philological studies is briefly, that the Central-Asiatic, or as it might be called, the Ural-Altaic group of languages, is divided into six branches or families, namely, the language of the Mandshu Tartars, the Mongols, the Turkish-Tartar tribes, the Samoyedes, the Fins, and the Magyars. These families have however no nearer relation to each other than the individual tongues of the Indo-European group, as the Indian, the Romanic, German, Celtic, Slavic, and Persian languages. Still he regards the Magyar and Finnic languages as having greater mutual affinities than the others, though not to such a degree that one of these races of men can be supposed to be derived from the other. He rather supposes all of the races whose languages form the Central-Asiatic group to have sprung from an original race, which was probably Scythian.
The Austrian government has just set on foot an enterprise which promises to be of use to both Literature and Science. The plan is, to prepare and publish at the expense of the Imperial Treasury, a great work on the ethnography of the Empire, and all savans, teachers, artists, poets, of every race, are invited to furnish materials. It is designed to give a complete account of the origin, history, manners, language, character and condition of each of the many tribes and peoples included under the Austrian sceptre. This will be combined of course with descriptions of the country, scenery, climate, soil, minerals, and natural and industrial productions of each region. It is supposed that the whole will be completed in eight big volumes. It will be accompanied by a vast ethnographic map, which is now being prepared with great energy under the superintendence of the Minister of Commerce.
Karl Gutzkow is one of the most prolific and popular novel and playwrights now living in Germany. As to his last work, Die Ritter vom Geiste (The Knights of the Spirit), of which only the first volume has been published, the critics entertain the most contradictory opinions. Some exclaim at its great length, which indeed is rather terrific: there are to be nine books, and the first occupies the whole of the first volume. Others are charmed with the skill with which the details of the work are wrought up, and the great variety of persons who figure in the story. The author has certainly laid out all his strength in this book, which is designed to reproduce the present age in all the contradictions of its doctrines and the complexity of its tendencies. But instead of seizing these in some central and vital point, and setting them forth in a work whose very simplicity would conceal its depth from most readers, Gutzkow has adopted the easier and more clumsy method of multiplying his characters and complicating the actions of his drama. Thus it is hardly possible for it not to be tedious and a failure. But we can speak of it more fairly when it is farther advanced.
Dr. Neander's Library is advertised for sale by auction at Berlin, but our correspondent thinks it will be saved from the hammer by a private subscription, which will secure it to the University.
Karl Simrock has just brought out at Frankfort a new collection of German Popular Songs, not obsolete or artistic poems, but such as still live among the people, and are familiar to every class. "Among Volkslieder," he says in his preface, "I include only such as have proceeded directly from the people, and still bear the tokens of their origin, in their unsophisticated form, and simple, hearty language. The pieces of cultivated poets which have found access and become loved with the people, are reserved for a future collection of favorite German songs. The distinction here hinted at between the people's songs and popular songs is not generally understood. All previous collections have confused the two, and some even have not a single production of the people. For example, Des Knaben Wunderhorn, whose great merit must be recognized, contains antique poems which by no means issued from among the people." In another place he says: "The songs here collected and arranged have been newly written down, literally from the mouths of the people; and where they could not be procured in this way, have been corrected by comparison of all earlier versions. So that as they here stand, they are in a sort my own property." The work is spoken of by competent critics as perfectly successful. We believe that Simrock, who is perhaps better qualified for the undertaking than any other man in Germany, intends in a future edition to publish the melodies of the songs along with the words.
Belgian Literature is a standing joke with the authors of Paris, and not without reason, for the majority of the books printed by the publishers of Belgium, are pirated from their French neighbors. There is, however, such a thing as a Belgian literature, though it is not very extensive, and one of its chief ornaments is Professor Borgnel, of Liege, best known as the author of a Historie des Belges à la fin du dix-huilième Siècle, published some six years since, to which he is about to bring out an addition, carrying the history back to the beginning of the same century. He has also been occupied for several years with the history of the Flemish Provinces, under the domination of the Spaniards, and has a work on that subject in preparation. The Introduction to it appeared not long since among the Memoirs of the Brussels Academy, where it is entitled: Philippe I. et la Belgique. In treating a subject which the masterly pen of Schiller has already rendered familiar to the world, Prof. Borgnel does not attempt to imitate the ardent and splendid eloquence of that great poet and historian; Borgnel's merits are distinctness in his outlines, remarkable clearness of arrangement, perfect impartiality towards individuals and parties, and conscientious use of materials. Of these he has had a greater variety, including many manuscripts not before brought to light, than any previous writer.
Among the new books announced in London is Notes on North America, Agricultural, Social, and Economical, by J. F. W. Johnston, author of "Lectures on Agricultural Chemistry." We may anticipate something of value from a man of his studies and well earned reputation. Professor Johnston passed the greater portion of his time, while in America, in the British Provinces. He had been led to believe that they offered the most interesting field for his professional observation. When he came into New-England, New-York and Pennsylvania, he was continually surprised at the perfection and the success of our agriculture. He regretted only, that the mistake into which he had been led by British travellers, had detained him from the United States until the period of his absence from home was nearly expired. Professor Johnston's lectures in New-York were given under singular disadvantages, but the too small audiences who heard them were pleased and instructed. All who became acquainted with him were impressed with a belief of his candor and his talents. We hope to see immediately an edition of his book in this country.
In Geissen, Prof. Liebig, has published a Review of the Progress of Chemistry, Mineralogy, and Geology, in the year 1849. He has been assisted in its preparation by Professor Kopp and several other savans connected with the University at Giessen. It is marked by his usual completeness, breadth of scope, and exhaustive treatment of each particular subject. Liebig is now engaged in preparing a new series of Chemical Letters, which will be specially devoted to the growth of this science, in connection with the history of mental progress in general. Professor Knobel, of the same University, has also issued a work on the Genealogies of the Book of Genesis, which excites remark by the thoroughness of its historical investigations. Leopold Schmid's last work is on the Spirit of Catholicism, and also highly spoken of by both Catholic and Protestant writers. This author holds a high rank in the Catholic literature of Germany, and has been chosen Bishop of Mayence. Professor Hillebrand is occupied with a revision of his highly esteemed History of German national literature since Lessing. There seems to be no reason to fear that Giessen is doing less than its share toward keeping the ocean of German books up at a high-water mark.
Beranger, the veteran chansonier, is now occupying himself in writing biographies, anecdotes, criticisms, &c., of the public men with whom, in the course of his long career, he has been in contact. It is five years since he announced his intention of giving such a work to the public, and he thinks it will possess great historical value, while of his songs, which alone will convey his name to the last ages in which the language of France is spoken, he thinks but "indifferently well."
The house, at Paris, in which Eugene Sue laid some of the most exciting scenes of his "Wandering Jew," has lately been advertised for sale, and has been visited by crowds of curious loungers. It is known as the Hotel Serilly, and is situated at No. 5 Rue Neuve Saint François, in the quarter called the Marais. At the time the "Wandering Jew" was published, the street was often filled by groups of gazers at the strange old edifice, which had been so exactly described by the romancer, that no one could mistake it. Some even ventured to knock at the door and seek further information. They were received by a mysterious and taciturn old Hebrew, who looked as if he himself had charge of the great Rennepeal treasure, and three-quarters of the visitors went away convinced that they had seen the veritable Samuel himself. Now that the whole house has been thrown open to the public, there have been found under it vast sub-cellars extending under the large garden in the rear, and in these cellars are seven wells, partially filled up, but with walls of careful masonry, and other indications that they were of great depth and great utility. The opinion was at once set on foot by the explorers, that the millions of the treasure had been concealed in one of these wells. The fact is, that the house formerly belonged to a Protestant family which suffered extreme persecution after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and which doubtless found the subterranean passages extremely convenient. In the year 1791, it was inhabited by the revolutionist Carnot.
The Count de Tocqueville, a relative of the author of "Democracy in America," has just published a historical work on the Reign of Louis XVI. The writer, an old man almost sinking into the grave, enjoys the advantage of having himself witnessed and even shared in a part of the events he describes. He was intimate with Malasherbes, and personally devoted to the unfortunate Louis. Of his ability as a writer, a former work on the Reign of Louis XV. furnished proofs which are repeated in the present volume. Of course he does full justice to the amiable personal qualities of Marie Antoinette and her husband, without doing injustice to their faults. But he shows that after all what was charged upon them as political crime, was but the consequence of long-standing causes, over which they had no control, or even of measures of reform to which with the best intentions, they had given their consent. In speaking of the mission of Franklin at the French Court, M. de Tocqueville gives some interesting details. "At Paris," he says, "the zeal for the cause of the insurgents constantly increased. The women who exercised a great influence in the reign of Louis XVI., became passionate supporters of the Americans, and made aiding them a question of honor. The simple manners of their envoys,—their hair without powder, their citizens' dress, pleased by a sort of piquant novelty. All who approached Franklin were charmed by his wit. In him people venerated the founder of the liberty of a great nation, and even grew enthusiastic in behalf of that liberty." M. de Tocqueville shows however that the prime minister Maurepas only feared the Americans because he was embarrassed in his position, and thought to relieve himself by making war with England. But as there was no good reason for making such a war, the honesty of the King revolted at it. M. de Vergennes also said in the Council, that England would be much more weakened by a long war with her colonies, than by their loss. "But how," repeated all the women, "can we help embracing the cause of a people which sends us ambassadors without powder, and with shoe-strings, instead of buckles?" So weighty a reason turned the balance, and the war was declared. That war finished the ruin of the French monarchy, not only by inspiring the officers and soldiers sent to the United States with new ideas, but also by completing the exhaustion of its finances. With regard to the Revolution in which Louis XVI. lost his head, it is enough praise for our historian, that while he inclines always to the monarchical side, he is not altogether unjust to the popular virtues which shone with such rare brilliancy amid the gloom of that epoch.
The great work of J. G. Audubon and the Rev. Dr. Bachman, upon the "Viviparous Quadrupeds of North America," is much praised by those persons in Europe whose praise is of most value. The Athenaeum remarks that, hitherto, the mammalia of America have been known chiefly through descriptions by zoologists, in the Transactions of European Societies, and that no systematic attempt has been made to bring together into one connected view the very varied forms of animal life presented by this great continent, while these authors have not only used the materials which were at hand in the works of others, but have themselves observed with great diligence the habits of many of the creatures which they have described. "Their work is creditable to the United States, where a large number of subscribers have induced the authors to undertake it,—and a most valuable addition to our general natural-history literature." The geographical range within which the animals described in these pages are found is not that of the government of the United States merely; it comprehends Russian and British America, in fact, all the country which lies north of the tropics in the New World.
At the last Michaelmas Book Fair at Leipsic, the Catalogue contained the titles of 5,023 new works published in Germany since Easter. This is from twelve to fifteen hundred more than at any fair since the Revolution of 1848. A great number of these books are large and of remarkable merit, being in some sort, the accumulation of the more profound scientific labors of the past two years.
The Baroness Von Beck has just published in London two volumes of "Personal Adventures" in the Hungarian war. She is herself a Hungarian, and she saw her husband fall while cheering his men to defend a barricade at Vienna. In this book Kossuth is her hero, her prophet, her demigod; and she sacrifices all other celebrities without compunction at the altar of his greatness. Dembinsky she treats with manifest injustice; Gēorgey comes out on her pages as a very Mephistopheles. Klapka himself does not escape without animadversion. But without adopting her opinions, either of the man she blames or the subject she discusses, it cannot be denied that she has great cleverness, and a wonderful power of exciting and interesting the reader.
A valuable scientific periodical is the Geographisches Jahrbuch for the Communication of all the more important New Investigations, edited by the distinguished Berghaus, and published by Perthes of Gotha. The last number has an article by the editor on the system of "Mountains and Rivers of Africa," which differs altogether from what is laid down in the present maps. The author lays down the river Nile as flowing from the N'Yassi, and as connected with a great number of rivers in Dar Fur, Waday, and Fertil, with relation to which only the vaguest views have hitherto been entertained. The article shows, too, that the newly discovered lake N'Gami, in Southern Africa, has been long known under the name of Nampur. The same number of the Jahrbuch also contains an article from the pen of the late lamented Albert Gallatin, on the climate of North America. This article was written in English, and was translated into German for the Jahrbuch.
Berghaus has also lately issued a complete work of the highest interest, especially now that so much attention is every where paid to Ethnographic studies. Its title is Grundlinien der Ethnographie (Outlines of Ethnography). It is in two parts, and contains a universal tabular description of all the races of the globe, arranged ethnographically and geographically, and according to languages and dialects, with a comparative view of their manners, customs, and habits. No person who undertakes to investigate the origin of the human family and the mutual relations of its different members, can afford to be without this work. Published in Stuttgart.
Berthold Auerbach has just brought out a little volume of tales, which we may well infer from his previous performances are charmingly replete with grace, good humor, and a keen perception of whatever is peculiar to his subject. The title of the book is Deutsche Abende (German Evenings). It contains three stories: "Nice People," "What is Happiness?" and "The Son of the Forester." Published at Mannheim.
Baron Sternberg, a dilettante book-maker of Germany, who generally resides at Berlin, has just added a new romance, or rather the beginning of one, to his previous publications. It bears the promising, if not pretentious title, of The German Gil Blas (published at Bremen), and claims to be comic, as a matter of course. As a whole, the book is a failure. Though there are passages here and there which may be read with satisfaction, there is not enough unity and connection between the different parts, and the humor is generally but a thin potation. It must be said, however, that the absence of continuous interest is the fault of most comic novels, as well as poems. Even the matchless works of Jean Paul grow tedious by the endeavor to read much of them at a time, a fact which may be ascribed to the sentimentality and mere fantastics with which the kernels of his wit are overburdened. It is certain that no German humorous work can be compared with those great originals in that kind, Gil Blas and Don Quixote, or even with the much inferior works of Smollett and Dickens. Baron Sternberg's last effort forms no exception to this remark, and there is little hope that the second and concluding volume, whose appearance in Germany ought to be made by this time, will prove superior to the first. His "Royalists," an anti-democratic novel, which he had the courage to publish in the chaos of 1848, and which excited much attention, and a great deal of severe criticism, was far better.
"The New Faith sought in Art," is the title of an anonymous little book lately issued at Paris, which, though not of great value, has more poetic originality of thought than is often found in printed pages. The author thinks that the time has gone by in which the subjects of art could properly be sought in the lives of saints and legends of the Church, and wishes to substitute for them the lives of artists and celebrated inventors, who have sprung from the bosom of the people. With this writer, every thing is democratic and popular. For him the people is alone King, and worthy of all honor. "Nothing," he says in one place, "is truer than the song of Beethoven. It is the song of life, the voice of truth, an infallible voice, which will create a world, and cause the old false world to crumble. Born of the people, the people sing in him, although they know him not." In painting, the heroes of the author are Ruysdael, Rembrandt, Claude-Lorraine, and Paul Potter.
The Poet Freiligrath has received orders to leave the village of Bilk, in the neighborhood of Dusseldorf; where he was residing, and to quit the Prussian territories. He will probably go back to England, where he passed some time in a counting-house or perhaps come to the United States, where he has several friends, to whom he has written of such an event as possible.
In African Discovery greater advances have been made in the last two years than before since the journeys of the brothers Lander. We mentioned in the last International that the American traveller, Dr. W. Mathews, had been heard of at Vienna, and we now learn that he has been very successful in the five years of his adventure in the northern and central parts of the continent. Letters received in Berlin from Drs. Barth and Overweg, contain information of their having accomplished the journey across the Great Desert, or Sahara, and of their arrival near the frontiers of the kingdom of Aīr or Asben, (Aīr is the modern Tuarick, and Asben the ancient Sudan name), the most powerful in that part of Africa after Bornou, and never explored by Europeans. On the 24th of August—the date of their last letter—they were at Taradshit, a small place in about 20° 30' N. latitude, and 9° 20' longitude E. of Greenwich. Among their discoveries are some of peculiar interest, one of which is of several curious and very ancient sculptures, apparently of Egyptian origin. The King of Prussia has, at the instance of the Chevalier Bunsen and Baron Alexander von Humboldt, augmented the funds of the two travellers by a grant of 1,000 thalers.
While Richardson, Barth and Overweg have penetrated the terra incognita of the north, Dr. Krapf and the Rev. Mr. Rebmann have explored the region described on the common maps as the "Great Southern Sahara," and found it to be fertile, healthy, abounding in mountains, valleys and rivers, and inhabited by a race altogether superior to that which occupies the Atlantic coast. Mr. Mansfield Parkyns is endeavoring to cross the country southward from the Nile to the river Gambia; Mr. Charles Johnson is travelling in Abysinnia; Baron von Müller is conducting an expedition up the White Nile; and the American missionaries and colonists are gradually extending their knowledge over the various settlements on the eastern coast of the continent.
The Prussian Expedition to Egypt, Denkmaeler aus Ægypten und Æthiopien nach den Zeichnungen der von Sr. Majestat dem Könige von Preussen Friedrich Wilhelm IV. nach diesen Ländern gesendeten, und in den Jahren 1842-45, ausgefuhrten wissenschaftlichen Expedition: Herausgegeben von Dr. R. Lepsius; published at the expense and under the guarantee of the Prussian Government, will be completed in eighty parts, or eight hundred plates. Most of the plates are printed with tints, and many in the colors of the originals. This work forms a necessary completion of the celebrated work of the French Expedition under Napoleon. Parts I. to X. are now advertised as ready for subscribers, in London, at three dollars and a half each.
A new work on Africa, by H. C. Grund, is advertised at Berlin.
Almanacs for popular use, offer a means much used in France for the propagation of political, social and religious doctrines. Every sect and party issues its Almanac, and some issue several, crammed to the brim with the peculiar notions whose dissemination is wished for. One of the most successful for the year 1851, is the Almanach des Opprimés (The Almanac of the Oppressed). In fact, it is aimed wholly at the Society of Jesuits, whose history it exposes in the blackest colors. It begins with the early life of Loyola, depicts his debaucheries, his ambition, the religious mechanism invented by his enthusiastic and fanatical genius, the flexibility of his morality, and goes on to give an account of the intrigues and crimes of his successors in various countries and times, with an analysis of their books, their missions and their miracles. Another of these publications is called the Almanach du Peuple, containing a very great variety of articles of substantial value. Among the contributors are, F. Arago, Quinet, Charras, Carnot, Girardin, George Sand, Pierre Leroux, Dumil Aeur, E. Lithe, Mazzini, and other republicans distinguished in the political, literary and scientific world. This Almanac had the honor last year of being seized by the Government, but on trial before a jury it was acquitted of the charge against it, of being dangerous to society, and provoking citizens to hate the republic and despise the authorities.
A critic in the Allegemeine Zeitung, in noticing "Ottomar, a Romance from the Present Time," the last novel from the pen of Madame Von Zöllner, takes occasion to give some hard hits at women's novels in general. "It always must and always will be a failure," he says, "when a woman attempts to form a just conception of masculine character, and to put her conception into language. Female writers always comb out smoothly the flaxen hair of their heroes, and dress them up in the frockcoat of innocence. They go into raptures over a sort of green enthusiasm, and a romantic fantasticality of virtue, such as we godless fellows are not guilty of possessing; and in this way they turn out automatons which resemble nothing in earth, heaven, or elsewhere." The critic however admits that Madame Zöllner, who is undoubtedly one of the best living German novel writers, possesses remarkable and peculiar merits. No other woman occupies so high a place with the German public, except it be Fanny Lewald. Madame Zöllner is praised for the pure moral tone of her writings.
One of the most accomplished writers in France—M. de Cormenin—and one of the most spirituel of that spirituel nation, said at Frankfort, "It is true that it is difficult to abolish war, but it is far more difficult to abolish death; and yet if people would take the same pains to avoid the one as they did to escape the other, they would certainly accomplish their object."
One of the most ardent and vigorous writers of Young France, Alphonse Esquiros, has brought out at Paris a new book called "The History of the Martyrs of Liberty." The author aims to follow the development of liberty in humanity; to expose the tie which unites ancient and modern society in historic solidarity; to determine the transformation of the doctrines, which, for a century past, have invaded the religious world under the name of philosophy, political economy, and socialism; to set forth the fertile sufferings which have brought about that double triumph of liberty in ideas and in facts, namely Christianity and the French Revolution; to indicate the questions yet undecided; and to call to their solution both the miseries of the laboring classes and the lights of science.
Whatever may be said of the more elaborate writings of George Sand, it is impossible for the most scrupulous critic to deny or resist the charm of her smaller works, such as the "Mosaic Workers," the "Devil's Love," and "Fadette." To these she has just added another, which is spoken of with the utmost delight by all who have read it, as a work of remarkable genius. It is intended for the use of children, and is called "The History of the veritable Gribonille." The text is accompanied by richly engraved illustrations, designed by Mr. Maurice Sand, the son, we believe, of the author. Why will not some American publisher give us a translation, with the original illustrations?
To the already immense literature of the French Revolution, we now have to signalize another addition, which is worth the attention of those who are not weary of books relating to that momentous epoch. It is a "Biography of Camille Desmoulins," by Ed. Fleury—an octavo volume, lately issued at Paris. The author discusses the history of this famous pamphleteer and revolutionary rhetorician, as an advocate defends a client before a jury.
The History of the Principles, Institutions and Laws of the French Revolution, from 1789 to 1800, is an anti-revolutionary work of elaborate character, and decided ability, published a few weeks since at Paris, by an anonymous author, who thinks he can do something toward getting the world right by rolling back some of its more recent gyrations.
A popular History of the French Revolution, from 1789 to 1799, written by Hippolite Magen, and lately published at Paris, in one volume, is having a great success among the laboring classes of Paris and other French cities. It is of course in favor of the Montangards.
A valuable manual for students of French history is M. Louis Tripier's collection of French Constitutions, since 1789, with the decrees of the Provisional Government of 1848. It has just been issued by Cotillon, at Paris.
Mirabeau, the great revolutionist, is the subject of a new work just published at Vienna, from the pen of Franz Ernst Pipitz, a native of that city, but now a teacher at the University of Zurich. It is in great part the result of original investigations, and in many particulars departs from the received biographies, while in others it casts a new light on facts previously known. The critics of Vienna speak in the highest terms of it, as worthy to be named along with the most brilliant French productions on the same subject. They are, however, bound to say the best thing possible for a book by a Viennese author, since they have but few to rejoice in.
The Memoirs of Massena, which have for some time been in course of publication at Paris, are at last completed, by the issue of the final volume, which contains the history of the campaign of 1810-11, in Portugal. No complete account of this campaign has ever before been published. The book also casts a great deal of light not merely on the history of the Marshal himself, but on the wars of Napoleon in general. It is founded on documents left by Massena, which have not before been published or consulted.
M. Cousin, who, after having exerted a more powerful influence in philosophy than any of his contemporaries, (though this influence was, in a large degree, secondary in its character), has recently been almost forgotten. We see by a paragraph in the Debats that he is collecting and editing all his various writings upon the subject of education. They will fill several volumes.
Another tribute to the memory of Louis Philippe, has just been offered by M. R. Paignon, who has collected and published a volume of the deceased King's thoughts and opinions on matters of State. This work exhibits the mental and political history of its subject in the best light, and has the merit of being arranged with care and fidelity.
M. Felix Pignory, of the Commission despatched by the French Government, in search of the tomb of Godfrey of Bouillon, has returned from Asia, and reports some curious discoveries relative to the object of the mission.
A new and enlarged edition of Zuinet's Genie des Religions has appeared at Paris.
The Political Maxims and the Private Thoughts of Frederick the Great is the title of a curious piece in the last number of Frazer's Magazine. It is unique as a sample of kingcraft; and every line supplies a proof of the candor, hypocrisy, unscrupulousness, sense of duty, courage, sensuality, and intellect, of the great Prussian, to whom are partially due the literary merits or demerits of the paper.
The new edition of the Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, contains besides many original pieces, her translation of the "Prometheus Bound," of Æschylus, never hitherto published, although, as she informs us, once privately circulated in another and less complete form. It bears no mark of a woman's hand: it is rugged, massive, and sublime, as befits the grand old fate drama which the genius of the Greek moulded out of the immortal agony of the beneficent Titan. From the new poems we select the following exquisite love sonnets, from a series scarcely inferior to those in which Shakspeare has given the history of his heart-life:
"I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The gray dust up, ... those laurels on thine head,
O my beloved, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand further off, then! Go.
"Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Never more
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore,
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes, the tears of two.
"Beloved, my beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow,
And saw no foot-print, heard the silence sink
No moment at they voice; ... but link by link
Went courting all my chains, as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand.... Why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder. Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,—nor ever call
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
"First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write,
And ever since it grew more clear and white;
How to world greetings ... quick with its 'Oh, list,'
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear there plainer to my sight
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half-missed,
Half falling on the hair. O, beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third, upon my lips was folded down,
In perfect purple state! Since when, indeed,
I have been proud, and said, 'My love, my own.'"
The candidateship between Lord Palmerston and the historian Alison for the office of Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow, resulted in a majority for the latter, on the gross poll, of 69. As, however, of the "four nations" into which the students were distributed, each of the candidates had two, the election should have been decided by the vote of the present Rector, Mr. Macaulay; but he declines the duty, and would not go to the university during the contest.
The Official Gazette announces that "the Queen has been pleased to appoint Alfred Tennyson, Esq., to be Poet Laureate in ordinary to her Majesty, in the room of William Wordsworth, Esq., deceased." There have been poorer poets than Tennyson among the laureates; but this appointment does not and ought not to give much satisfaction. Mr. Tennyson had already a pension from the government, and was in no need of the salary of this office, as one or two others, and as we conceive, greater poets, are; and it had been hoped that the queen would appoint to the place the greatest poet of her own sex who has lived in England—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
The original MS. of "Waverley,"—wholly in the handwriting of Sir Walter Scott,—the same which was sold in 1831 with the other MSS. of the series of novels and romances—has been presented to the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh, by Mr. James Hall, brother of the late Capt. Basil Hall. Several of the MSS. of Scott are in this country, having been sold here by Dr. Lardner, soon after his arrival here with Mrs. Heavyside.
Mr. Horace Mayhew, author of the metropolitan "Labor and the Poor" articles, has ceased to write for the London Morning Chronicle, the conductors of that journal wishing him to suppress, in his reports on the condition of the working classes, facts opposed to free trade. This appears to be characteristic of the advocates of that side.
D'Israeli has published an edition of his father's "Curiosities of Literature," with a "View of the Character and Writings of the Author." He is now engaged upon a Life of Lord William Bentinck, which he has undertaken at the request of the Duke of Portland. We do not think the author of the "Wondrous Tale of Alroy" will do very well in history.
The Earl of Carlisle has recently given two lectures before the Tradesmen's Benevolent Society of Leeds, and the Mechanics' Institute of the same city, upon the Scenes, Institutions, and Characteristics of the United States, which he visited when Lord Morpeth.
Leigh Hunt has probably done a foolish thing in again becoming an editor. He is too old. We have, by the last steamer, "Leigh Hunt's Journal: a Miscellany for the Cultivation of the Memorable, the Progressive, and the Beautiful"—certainly a characteristic title.
A Posthumous work of Joseph Balmas,—(the celebrated Spanish priest, whose book on Catholicism and Protestantism has lately been translated, and published in Baltimore, and who perished prematurely in 1848), has just been published. It is entitled Escritos Posthumos, Poesias Posthumos, and contains prose and verse on science, literature, and politics.
The Death of the late Mrs. Bell Martin, at the Union Place Hotel, in this city, was briefly noticed in the last number of the International. It appears from a statement in the London Times that the vast estates known as the Connemara property, to which she had succeeded as the daughter and heiress of the late Mr. Thomas Martin, of Ballinahinch Castle, in Galway, was among the first brought into the new "Encumbered Estates Court," and has been for some months advertised for sale. The Dublin Evening Mail has the following remarks upon the melancholy history of Mrs. Martin, whose novel of "Julia Howard" must preserve for her a very distinguished rank among the literary women, of our time:
"The vicissitudes of life have seldom produced a sadder or more rapid reverse than that by which the fortunes of this excellent lady were darkened and overthrown. Born to a noble inheritance which extended over a territory far exceeding the domain of many a reigning German prince, her name was known throughout the United Kingdom as that of "the Irish heiress." Five years ago her expectancy was considered to be equivalent, over and above all encumbrances and liabilities, to a yearly income of 5,000l. Before two years of the interval had elapsed she found herself at the head of her patrimonial estates, without a shilling that she could call her own. The failure of the potato crop, the famine and pestilence which followed, the scourging laws enacted and enforced by an ignorant Legislature to redress the calamity, and the claims of money-lenders, swept every inch of property from under her feet. Her hopes and her prospects were for ever blighted. Her projects for the improvement of the wild district over which she had reigned as a sort of native sovereign were at an end; and she went forth from the roof of her fathers as a wanderer, without a home, and, as it would almost appear, without a friend. Never was hard fate less deserved; for her untiring and active benevolence had been devoted from her childhood to the comfort and relief of those who suffered, and her powerful and original mind was incessantly employed in devising means of moral and physical amelioration in the condition of the tenantry on her father's estates. She gave up her whole time to such pursuits, avoiding the haunts of fashion and those amusements which might be considered suitable to her age and place, that she might perform the various duties of physician, almoner, schoolmistress, and agricultural instructor. Her almost daily habit was to visit the poor and the sick in the remote recesses of that wild region, sometimes on foot—more frequently in her little boat, well provided with medicaments and food, which she impelled by the vigor of her own arm through the lakes which stretch along the foot of the mountains. How grievous it is to reflect that she should so soon have been driven across the ocean in search of a place to lay her head. The American editor intimates that the object of her voyage was to collect materials for literary works. We have no doubt that such was among her projects; for she was a very distinguished writer, and would by no means eat the bread of idleness or dependence; but there is reason to believe that it was a more stringent compulsion which obliged her, at an advanced period of the year, and in a peculiarly delicate situation, when even peasants remain on shore, to encounter the tedium and perils of a voyage in a sailing vessel. We have heard, in fact, from a quarter which ought to be correctly informed, that she was proceeding to the residence of a near relative of her father, with the intention of remaining there till some favorable change might come over the color of her life."
Our countrywoman, Mrs. Mowatt, has revised and partially rewritten her novels of "The Fortune Hunter," and "Evelyn, or the Heart Unmasked," and they have just been published in London. The Athenæum says of them:
"These tales give us a higher idea of Mrs. Mowatt's talents as an authoress, than her plays did. Taken in conjunction with those dramas, and with the pleasing powers as an actress displayed by the lady,—they not only establish a case of more than common versatility, but indicate that with labor and concentration, so gifted a person might have taken a high place, whether on the library shelf or on the stage. In another point of view, they are less agreeable. Alas, for those primitive souls, who with a perverse constancy may still wish to fancy America a vast New-England of simple manners and superior morals! The society which Mrs. Mowatt describes—whether in 'Evelyn,' which begins with a wedding out of Fleecer's boarding-house, or in 'The Fortune Hunter,' which opens with table-talk at Delmonico's—is as sophisticated as any society under which this wicked old world groans, and which our Sir E. Lytton and Mrs. Gore have satirized—or Balzac (to shame the French) has "shown up." Major Pendennis himself could hardly have produced anything more blasé in tone than some of the pictures of 'New-York Society' drawn by this American lady,—drawn, moreover, when the lady was young. Evelyn is married to a rich man, without her heart having any thing to say in the matter,—by a mother who is a superfine Mrs. Falcon:—and wretched mischief comes of it. Brainard, the fortune hunter, is a heartless and cynical illustration that a Broadway hunter can be as unblushingly mercenary, and as genteelly dishonorable as the veriest old Bond Street hack, bred up in the traditions of the Regency, who ever began life on nothing and a showy person—continued it on nothing and the reputation of fashion—and ended no one cares how or where. There are character, smartness and passion in both these tales—though a certain looseness of structure and incompleteness of style prevent us from being extreme in praising them, or from recommending them by quotation,—and though, as has been said, the tone and taste of the life which they describe must jar on the feelings of those who are unwilling to see the decrepitude of elderly civilization coming down upon a new country, ere its maturity has been reached—or even ere its youth has been sufficiently and steadily trained."
Mrs. Southworth, the authoress of "Retribution," "The Deserted Wife," &c., has a new novel in the press of the Appletons, entitled "Shannondale." Mrs. Southworth is the most popular of our female novelists, notwithstanding the doubtful morality of her works.
Charles Mackay, who, two or three years ago, passed some months in New-York, and who is known for his very candid and intelligent book upon the United States, entitled "The Western World," has gone to India, as an agent of the Manchester Chamber of Commerce, for the purpose of inquiring into the state and prospects of Indian cotton cultivation. Mr. Mackay has had experience in the collection of statistical information; he has lived long enough abroad to know that essential differences sometimes lurk beneath external resemblances in the social arrangements of two countries, and to be on his guard against the erroneous inferences to which ignorance of this fact leads. He is naturally acute, energetic, and cautious. For the difficult task of investigating and reporting upon the condition of an important branch of industry, and the circumstances which are likely to promote or retard its progress among a community so different from the English as that of India, he is probably as well fitted as any man who could have been selected. The foundation of the British Indian empire and the establishment of the United States as an independent nation, were contemporary events. The loss of her American colonies helped to concentrate the attention and exertions of England upon her Indian dominions. The progress made by British India since 1760, in civilization, material wealth, and intelligent enterprise, is barely perceptible; while the United States have expanded from a few obscure colonies into a nation second only to Great Britain in the value and extent of their commercial relations, second to none in intelligence and successful enterprise. The Anglo-Norman inhabitants of the "Old Thirteen" provinces have made the valley of the Mississippi, and the prairies beyond it, which little more than half a century ago were mere wastes, the thronged abodes of a vigorous and wealthy European population. They have done this without the aid of the aboriginal tribes, who have proved irreclaimably addicted to their nomade habits. The Anglo-Normans who rule British India have had to deal with a country thickly peopled with races far advanced in civilization, though of a peculiar character; yet, in every respect, the results of their efforts lag far behind those visible in America. To place the difference in a most striking point of view, it is only necessary to contrast the cotton produce and the mercantile marine of British India with those of the United States. There is actually a more fully-developed steam navigation between Panama and California than between Bombay and China. The causes of these results are plain enough to us, but to the English they are enigmas. The mission of Mr. Mackay will scarcely end in a revelation of the truth, that liberty and independence have kept healthy the blood in the vigorous limbs of the Americans, while trammels and vassalage have deadened the energies of the Indies; but it may have an important influence upon the question whether the East India Company's charter shall be renewed, and it certainly will develop much information interesting to the cotton-growers of the United States.
Mr. De Quincey is one of the greatest of the elder race of literary men now living in Great Britain, and we believe he is in no very affluent circumstances. The bestowal of a pension by the Government upon Mr. James Bailey, an editor of the classics, residing at Cambridge, on the ground of his "literary services," causes The Leader thus to refer to the author of "The Opium Eater"—
"Where is Thomas De Quincey's pension? Some may not regard him, as we do, the very greatest living master of the English language; some may think lightly of those fragmentary works and fugitive articles with which he has for more than thirty years enriched our literature; but, whatever may be the individual estimate of his services, one fact is patent, namely, that you cannot mention De Quincey in any circle of the British Islands, pretending to literary culture, but his name will sound familiar; in most it will awaken responses of gratitude for high pleasures bestowed, in none will it arouse indignation of high power to base uses. Now, this we call a clear case for national beneficence. He has done the state service, and they know it; but they will not reward it."
Apropos of pensions: Upon the whole, we have the best exchequer in the world, and to soldiers we have evinced no special lack of liberality. To give five hundred dollars a year to Mr. Audubon, R. H. Dana, Moses Stuart, Edward Robinson, H. R. Schoolcraft, James G. Percival, C. F. Hoffman, and some half dozen others, would be something toward an "honorable discharge" of the country's obligations in the premises, and probably no slight addition to the happiness of men who have added much to the real glory of the nation, while it would cost less than a morning's useless debate in Congress. In a recent letter to Lord Brougham, on a cognate subject, Savage Landor exclaims:
"Probably the time is not far distant when the arts and sciences, and even literary genius, may be deemed no less worthy of this distinction than the slaughter of a thousand men. But how, in the midst of our vast expenditure, spare so prodigious a sum as five hundred a year to six, and three hundred a year to six more!"
A Mr. Chubb has published in London, in a small volume, a paper which he read before the Institution of Civil Engineers, on the construction of locks and keys. It embraces a history of the lock and key from the earliest ages, illustrated profusely with wood cuts. It forms an instructive and entertaining essay; but we think Mr. Chubb might have learned something more of the subject in the lock factories of Newark and this city.
Mr. Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature has been translated into German, and is announced for publication by Brockhaus.
Mr. Dicken's "David Copperfield" is at length completed, and Mr. Wiley has published it in two handsome volumes, profusely illustrated. There is a variety of opinions among the critics as to its rank among the works of "Boz"; but it is not contended by any that it evinces a decay of his extraordinary and peculiar genius. We copy a paragraph which strikes us as just, from the Spectator:
"This story has less of London life and town-bred character than most of its predecessors; but what may thus be gained in variety is lost in raciness, breadth, and effect. The peculiar classes forced into existence by the hotbed of a great city, and owing a part of their gusto to town usage, may be narrow enough if compared with general nature, but they are broader than the singularities whom Mr. Dickens copies or invents as representatives of genteel country life, or human nature in general. In the mere style there is frequently an improvement—less effort and greater ease, with occasional touches of the felicity of Goldsmith; but we should have thought the work was likely to be less popular than many of the previous tales of Mr. Dickens, as well as rather more open to unfavorable criticism. Any prose fiction that is to take rank in the first class, must have what in epic poetry is called a fable,—some lesson of life embodied in a story that combines the utile and the dulce. This fable should not only please the reader by its succession of coherent events, and by the variety of its persons and fortunes, but should touch by appeals to the common kinship of humanity, and teach worldly conduct of ethical lessons by particular incidents, as well as by the general development. And when this end is attained, whether by design or instinct, technical rules are readily forgotten; even the great rule of unity of action can be dispensed with. It does not appear that Mr. Dickens has the critical training necessary to feel the importance of this principle, or a knowledge of life sufficiently deep and extensive to enable him to embody it unconsciously, as a well-chosen story will always compel an author to do. So far as David Copperfield appears designed with any other object than as a vehicle for writing a number of sketches, it would seem intended to trace the London career of an inexperienced young man, with infirmity of purpose, a dangerous friend, and no very experienced advisers. Any purpose of this kind is only prosecuted by snatches; "the theme" is constantly deserted, and matters are introduced that have no connection with the hero further than his being present at them, or their occurring to his acquaintance. In fact, from the time that David Copperfield emerges from boyhood, the interest in his adventures ceases, beyond that sort of feeling which many readers entertain of wishing to know 'how it ends.'"
Mr. David Dudley Field, of this city, one of the three commissioners who prepared the amended Code of the State of New-York, abolishing the distinction in procedure between law and equity, being in England for a brief visit, was invited by the leading members of the Law Amendment Society to give some account of the great changes effected here in the administration of justice. He complied, and a meeting of the Society was summoned specially to hear him. The result is much remarked upon in nearly all the London journals. Mr. Field is a clear headed man, master of his subject, perspicuous in his rhetoric, and distinct in his elocution, so that our new constitution was most advantageously displayed before his learned and critical hearers. The Spectator says of the subject:
"The visit of Mr. Dudley Field to England, and his interesting statements to the members of our Law Amendment Society, are real events in the progress of law reform in this country. The injustice which the English people submit to in the revered name of Law, and in the sacred but in their case profaned name of Equity, is more enormous than the future historian will be able remotely to conceive. The keystone of the barbarous Gothic portal to Justice in our common-law procedure was struck out some twenty years ago, when the logical forms of legal contest were reduced to their now moderate number; other heavy blows have further undermined the ruin, and almost cleared away whatever was feudal in that portion of the edifice; and then came the raising of the new and noble portal of the County Courts. Still, in all but the most trivial litigation the delay and expense are such that justice can only be had at a percentage utterly disgraceful to a nation either honest or merely clearheaded and commercial. We still preserve a diversity of tribunals, to administer laws that ought not to be inharmonious; and we are prevented from making the laws harmonious by the difficulties of finding tribunals able to rule the concord and administer the whole field of law as a single empire. In this case, as in a multitude of others, our young relations across the Atlantic have done that which we only longed to do. In this rivalry of nations, far above all other rivalries, they have pushed development of institutions which they received from forefathers common to us both, to a more rapid perfection than we. Mr. Dudley Field is one of three men who framed a constitutional law for the State of New York, under which the courts of legal and equitable jurisdiction have been successfully merged; the enactment has succeeded in practical working; and the spectacle of "Equity swallowing up Law" has been so edifying to the citizens of his State, that three other States of the Union have resolved to enact, and four further States have appointed conferences to deliberate upon, a similar procedure. It is impossible—however narrow-minded lawyers may object—that what Americans find practicable and beneficial should be either impracticable or disadvantageous to Englishmen."
A second part of the "Historical Collections of Louisiana," by B. F. French, has been published by Mr. Putnam. It contains some interesting papers, among which are translations of an original letter of Hernando de Soto, on the Conquest of Florida, of a brief account of de Soto's memorable expedition to Florida, from a recently discovered manuscript by a writer named Biedma, and Hackluyt's translation of the longer narrative "by a gentleman of Elvas." It is to be followed, we understand, by a second volume.
Elihu Burritt is one of those people who are filled with the comfortable assurance of their own greatness. He seems always to regard the mob of men as very diminutive creatures, while his introverted glances are through a lens which reveals a character of qualities and proportions the most extraordinary. This is unfortunate. It renders Mr. Elihu Burritt, par excellence, the bore of his generation. He is really a person of very small abilities; of very little information, considering the opportunities presented by his travels; and the "learned blacksmith" has no learning at all. He had, indeed, an unusual facility in acquiring words, but he knows nothing of languages; not having in any a particle of scholarship; of the philosophy, even of his mother tongue, being as ignorant as the bellows-hand in his smithy at Worcester. But because of this not uncommon faculty of acquiring words—acquiring them as Zerah Colburn did a certain mastery of figures, without being able to comprehend any principle of mathematics—Mr. Everett, or some one else, advertised him as "learned," and ever since he has neglected his fit vocation to crowd himself into conspicuous places, all over Christendom; to blow continually his penny whistle in the ears of the little people called philanthropists; to speak and write in addresses and letters immense aggregations of ambitious platitudes, to pontiffs, emperors, kings, parliaments, etc., respecting their particular affairs, all of which addresses and letters are as cogent as the barkings sent by a lap-dog toward the moon, and receive from all sorts of people, except diminutives and impertinents whose profession is "philanthropy," just about as much consideration as Dian yields to the fast-yelping cur. It is all unfortunate, for poor Elihu Burritt will never be persuaded that he is a subject of derision only, instead of admiration; that men pause to regard him as a miracle of conceit and assurance rather than as a prophet; and that his commonplaces about "olive leaves," "calumets," "universal brotherhood," "fatherland," etc., have no more influence than the maudlin rigmarole of the madman whose preternatural force is lost in senility. It is time for Elihu Burritt to go back to his shop: the world wants a new fool.
John Mills, remembered by some unfortunate New-Yorkers as John St. Hugh Mills, has written half a dozen tolerable novels since he went home, and he is now publishing, in the United Service Magazine, a series of papers illustrative of his American travels, in which he illustrates his knowledge and veracity by certain anecdotes, which are described as having occurred on "the western prairies of Louisiana."
President Hitchcock, of Amherst College, who is capable of a very conclusive treatment of the subject, has in the press of Philips & Sampson, a work on the connection of Geology and Religion.
Dr. Latham's very important work on the "Varieties of Man," we are glad to hear is to be republished by the Appletons. Though much less voluminous than the work of Pritchard, and therefore less particular generally in its illustrations, it may be regarded as decidedly the most masterly and satisfactory production that has yet appeared in ethnology. The prospect of its republication affords us the more satisfaction, because the superficial and flippant infidelity of Dr. Robert Knox has been reproduced here by a respectable publishing house, and widely diffused. The "Races of Man," by Dr. Knox, is what is called a clever book; the Yankees might style it "smart;" but it is no more entitled to consideration as an exhibition of scholarship, intellectual strength, or fairness, than the rigmarole of the Millerite or the Mormon.
The Homœopathic Review and Quarterly Journal of Medical Science, is a new periodical, commencing with the year, of which the general character is indicated by the title. It is edited by Dr. Marcy, author of "The Homœopathic Theory and Practice," one of the most eminent scholars and successful practitioners of the new school; Dr. Herring, of Philadelphia, whose name is familiar to the students of German literature and science, and who was one of the most trusted friends of Hahnemann; and Dr. Metcalfe, who has been known as an able lawyer and ingenious critic, and who is regarded as a very accomplished physician. Under such direction, the Homœopathic Review can hardly fail of success. It will certainly, we think, commend the doctrines of the Hahnemannists to the favorable consideration of all thoughtful readers, and compel those who have been accustomed to deride the new principles to a courteous treatment of them. Mr. Radde is the publisher.
The cheapness of good books and good editions is one of the wonders of our time. American publishers have done much toward bringing literature into the homes of the poor, but the cheap books manufactured in this country have, for the most part, been badly printed, and in every respect so wretchedly put together, that they were hardly worth preserving after a first reading. The English are now competing vigorously for the popular market here, and mainly, through the house of Bangs & Brother of this city. Bohn and other great London publishers are supplying us with well printed, well bound, and excellently illustrated books, at prices altogether lower than those for which the American manufacturers have offered or can afford them. To sell such a book as Lodge's Portrait Gallery, in eight volumes, with all its finely engraved heads, for ten dollars, one must have the world for a market; and so with the long list of important writings in the compactly but correctly and elegantly printed volumes of Bohn's Standard Library—the best and cheapest popular series ever issued in any country.
Many very correct writers are very poor authors, and there are abundance of good books with imperfect rhetoric; yet we have a right to ask some attention to the details of style in a literary critic. Professor Henry Reed has a delicate appreciation in poetry, but his remarks are nearly always marred by verbal infelicities incompatible with a knowledge of literary art. Thus, within a few pages of his Memoir of Gray, just published, he says of Jacob Bryant, who has been dead a century, that "he has recorded;" that "Gray retained a high admiration of Dryden's poetry, as was strongly expressed," &c.; that an ode published in 1747, "being the first publication of his English verse" (meaning his first publication in English verse); that Gray could not "break through the circumspection of so contracted a system of metaphysics as that of Locke's;" that "it is apparent from what Gray has done" (as if Gray were now living, or present), &c. &c. &c. &c. &c., all through every thing he publishes. Such things in a professor of mathematics would attract no attention, but they will be observed in a "Professor of English Literature."
Mr. Bancroft is not, as we were led by some newspaper to state in the International, engaged in printing his History of the Revolution; and when he does give it to the press, it is by no means likely that he will have to leave New-York to find a publisher for it. The History of the Colonization of America—introductory to the History of the United States—has secured for Mr. Bancroft a place among the greatest historians; he has now the assurance that he is writing for other ages; and he will not endanger his fame, nor fail of the utmost perfection in his work, for any needless haste. This second part of his History will probably occupy five volumes; and although the story has been written by many hands, with more or less fulness and various degrees of justice, Mr. Bancroft will have studied it from beginning to end in the original materials, of which his collection is by far the best that has ever been made. If upon this field any one successfully competes with him for the historic wreath, he must come after him, and be guided by his light.
Henry R. Schoolcraft, LL. D., is occupied, as his official duties permit, in the composition of memoirs of his long and honorably distinguished life. His great work upon the History and Condition of the Indians, now in press, and to be published in some half-dozen splendid quarto volumes by Lippencott, Grambo & Co., of Philadelphia, will contain the fruits of his observations in that department which he has made so peculiarly his own, and upon which he will always be the chief and highest authority; but his personal adventures, and his reminiscences of his contemporaries, will form the subject of this additional performance.
Dr. Samuel Johnson, the father of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Connecticut, and the first President of King's College, now Columbia College, in New-York, was one of the most interesting characters in our social history. His abilities, learning, activity, and influence, entitle him to be ranked in the class of Franklin (who was his friend and correspondent, and who printed, at his press in Philadelphia, several of his works), as a promoter of the highest civilization in the colonies. Except the Memoirs of Franklin, we have hitherto had no more attractive specimen of biography than the book known as Dr. Chandler's Life of Dr. Johnson. Franklin's Memoirs, it is well known, never came before the public in the form in which they were written, until a few years ago, and it has lately been discovered that Dr. Johnson's had suffered a similar disadvantage. Dr. Johnson amused himself in his old age by writing recollections of his life and times, which, after his death, were placed in the hands of Dr. Chandler, who changed them from the first to the third person, omitted many particulars which he did not deem it expedient to publish, and added others which the modesty of Dr. Johnson had not allowed him to write. The book thus made by Dr. Chandler was printed by his son-in-law, the late Bishop Hobart, who probably was not aware of its origin. But Dr. Johnson's MS. has now been discovered, and it will immediately be given to the public, under the supervision of the Rev. Mr. Pitkin, of Connecticut, who is adding to it many notes and illustrative documents. It is very much to be regretted that so little of the extensive correspondence of Dr. Johnson with the chief persons of his time in the literary and the religious world abroad, has been preserved; but the book will contain numerous letters by his more eminent contemporaries which have not appeared elsewhere.
Somebody has made the "discovery" that General Charles Lee, of the revolutionary army, was not unwilling to be considered the author of "Junius;" and two or three of our contemporaries have been busy with the subject of the internal and other evidence in the case. These critics are about as wise as the editor of an evening paper who published one of the old Washington forgeries, lately, as an important historical document. It was "characteristic," that the chief wrote so familiarly to his wife of affairs! In the same way, the history of the Book of Mormon (originally composed as a religious novel by the Rev. Solomon Spaulding), appears as a curious and altogether new exposure! We shall not be surprised if the same journals advise us that Walter Scott wrote the Waverley Novels.
Emilie Girardin has a new book L'Abolition de la Misére, in which he proposes the entire abolition of suffering. He has "found the philosopher's stone."
Somebody is writing for the United Service, "Reminiscences of a Voyage to Canada," and we have looked into a couple of his chapters to see what sort of stuff, respecting America, is thus submitted to the officers of her Majesty's Army and Navy. The style of a fellow who talks of his "fellow countrymen" (not meaning, as the words do, persons who live with him in rural neighborhoods), is scarcely deserving of criticism; but the silliness of the falsehoods of this latest English traveller among us, may be referred to as illustrating the causes of the common prejudices in England against the United States. After describing his arrival at the Tremont House, in Boston, he says:
"A clerk [meaning our old friend Parker], dressed in the height of fashion, presided at the bar [meaning the office] at which we applied for rooms, wherein to perform our duties of the toilet. The one to which I was directed contained several beds without curtains, from which the occupants had evidently but a short time previously taken their departure. This was however a matter of indifference, as I imagined the apartment would have been entirely at my own disposal. In the course of a few minutes however, the door was opened, and in walked an individual, who, depositing a small carpet bag on the floor, commenced operations of a similar nature to those I myself was engaged in—not a word was at first exchanged between us; he eyed me critically, I returned the compliment, till at length I was favored with 'Stranger, I guess you are from Europe' (a strong accent on the last syllable), immediately followed by questions as to where I was going, what was my business, &c. This was somewhat amusing, so I informed my gentleman I was journeying to New-York, whereupon he told me I should see an 'almighty fine city.' His curiosity being next attracted by my portmanteau, which was lying open on a chair, he strode up and peered into it most attentively. Thinking I might as well follow his example, I did the same by his carpet bag; whereupon giving a grunt of dissatisfaction, he collected his valuables and soon after took himself off."
Thirty years ago, the Duke of Saxe Weimar published a western story of a coachman who said, "I am the gentleman what's to drive you." Our very original United Service tourist tells of a visit to Mount Auburn, and adds:
"Whilst driving back to the hotel I happened to remark, 'That is the man who drove us from the steamer in the morning.' Upon which 'Jehu' quickly replied, 'I reckon I'm the gentleman that drove you.' This information was received on our part with all the respect due to the elevated rank of our charioteer."
In a paragraph about luggage:
"The American trunk is a ponderous solid affair made of wood, secured with braces of iron, studded with brass or iron nails, and usually having the name or initials of the owner, and frequently the state of which he is a native, painted on it in large white letters. Owing to this custom, the traveller is liable to be addressed by any peculiarity appertaining to his trunk being affixed thereto. Thus a gentleman passing through the states, found himself designated as 'Mr. Air Tight,' because this simple term was marked on the outside of a tin-box, and no affirmations on his part could induce the bystanders to believe to the contrary. They 'reckoned it was on his box,' and that was sufficient."
Of the personal appearance of the Americans:
"To a stranger newly arrived from England, the absence of fresh complexions and of bright and cheerful faces among the male part of the creation is very striking. They are gaunt, sallow, cadaverous looking creatures; their general, far from prepossessing, appearance, in no way improved by the habit of wearing long, straight hair, combed entirely off the face, the bare throat, the never absent 'quid,' and that abominably nasty habit of constant expectoration."
And this trash is from one of the most reputable periodicals published in London—the one of all most especially addressed to gentlemen.
In the next number of his "Reminiscences" the author promises a sketch of the city of New-York, for which his authority will probably be Mrs. Trolloppe, Mr. Joseph Miller, and the last pick-pocket who went home to London.
The "Peace Congress," in which we have most faith—the only one that is likely to exert any very desirable influence, is that to assemble next year in Hyde Park. This will be a display of works rather than one of words; and apropos of its lingual character, which will show very conclusively that as yet "all the nations of the earth" are not "as one people," we find in The Leader this paragraph:
"The Exhibition of 1851, seems to promise a whole literature of its own. Journals are already established for the record of its proceedings. Useful information will be at a premium—unless there should happen to be a "glut;" while in the shape of translations and dialogue-books, every facility will be offered to foreigners. What a Babel it will be! How the English ear will be rasped by Slavonic and Teutonic gutturals, or distended by the breadth of Southern vowels. It will be a marvel if this incursion of barbarians do not very much affect the purity of our own tongue, and damage the tender susceptibility of the London ear, already so delicate that when an actor says—as it sometimes happens—"Donnar Elvirar is coming," the whole audience rises in a mass to protest against the outrages on taste. We are told the Athenians were also merciless critics in such matters. Nay, there is a famous anecdote perpetually cited as an illustration of Athenian delicacy in matters of pronunciation, that Theophrastus was known to be a foreigner even by a herbseller. People who wonder at every thing recorded of the Greeks, will regard us probably as reckless iconoclasts if we break that by a stone flung from common sense; but really, with the daily experience of Scotchmen and Irishmen before us, we must say the most wonderful part of the anecdote is, that it should have been recorded. Theophrastus came from Lesbos—if we remember rightly—and his pronunciation, therefore, naturally preserved some of the Lesbian flavor, as Carlyle's does that of Annandale. Would any critic compliment the cockney on delicacy of ear because it detects the accent of Carlyle, or Sheridan Knowles, to be other than its own true London accent? Yet, this is precisely what critics do with respect to the Athenians."
Milton, Burke, Mazzini, and Daniel Webster, present the most extraordinary examples of the harmonious and effective combination of political and literary genius, that have appeared in modern times. There have been and there are now many politicians who are eminent as authors: but these are preëminently great in both statesmanship and letters. Mazzini is now the chief apostle of republicanism in Europe, as Milton was in the time of the Protector. He devises and executes the schemes which promise advances of liberty and happiness, and he is equal to the defence with the pen of every thing he essays in affairs. "Young Italy," since it was put down by French bayonets, has had as little quarter from parasite writers as from patristic governors; but Mazzini has come to her defence with as vigorous a pen as that with which Milton vindicated the people of England against the hireling Salmasius, under similar circumstances. In another part of this number of the International, we have copied from the London Examiner a reviewal of Mazzini's work on the Italian revolution. We should be glad to see it criticised by Mr. Walsh also, or by Professor Bowen, in his North American Review.
Since Sir Francis Head went home from Canada, and finished the last edition of his "Bubbles" and "Travels," and the funny anathema of poor Mr. William Lyon Mackenzie, in the Times, he has been very quiet, except now and then, when he has given an explosive and amusing paper in the Quarterly. But now he has published a new book, on "The Defenceless State of Great Britain," in which, the Examiner says "he has made up for lost time." Says the critic, "It is calculated to rouse all the old women in the country. Such a fee-fa-fum of a book we never read. The Duke's letter to Sir John Burgoyne was nothing to it, and it beats even Lord Ellesmere hollow." The baronet thinks every thing portends a French invasion, and he advocates the largest "war footing."
The Rev. Dr. Bloomfield, whose edition of the Greek Testament is so well known in this country, has just published two volumes of additional Notes, critical, philological, and explanatory, in fulfilment of a promise made in the third edition of his New Testament, in 1839. This promise was, that he would make no further change in the notes to the New Testament, but reserve all additions for a separate supplementary work. That work, after the direct labor of eleven years, is now published; forming a companion to all the editions of Bloomfield's Greek Testament except the first two. The annotations relate to a critical examination of the readings of the text, with the reasons for that selected, philological notes on the meaning of words, and exegetical annotations on the verbal interpretations of passages.
Mr. Cooper has a new book in press which, in New-York, will produce a profounder sensation, than any he has yet written. It is entitled "The Men of Manhattan," and reveals the social condition of the city, past and present, as it is known only to the author of "The Littlepage Manuscripts." Mr. Cooper is a thorough New-Yorker; he is intimately acquainted with all the sources of her past and present and prospective greatness; and he has watched, with such emotions as none but a gentleman of the old school can feel, the infusion and gradual diffusion of those principles of plebeianism and ruffianism, from discontented improvidence, immigration, and other causes, which threaten to destroy whatever has justified the wisest pride; and to sink—not raise—all the mob of people to a common level. He has his whims, and though they have won for him little popularity, we regret that they are not shared more largely by the public, which will never appreciate his merits as a censor, until the best features of our civilization are quite obliterated.
Mr. Judd, the author of "Margaret," an original, indigenous, striking, and in many respects brilliant New-England story, and of "Philo," a crude, extravagant, ridiculous mass of versified verbiage, has lately published (through Phillips & Sampson, of Boston,) a new work entitled "Richard Edney, or the Governor's Family; a Rus-Urban Tale, simple and popular, yet cultured and noble, of morals, sentiment and life." It is worthy of the author of "Margaret." Though it evinces very little of the constructive faculty, it illustrates in every page a quick and intelligent observation, a happy talent for characterization, and great independence in speculation.
Mr. C. P. Castanis, formerly known in this country as an agreeable lecturer upon various subjects connected with Modern Greece, has just published (through Lippencott, Grambo & Co., of Philadelphia), a narrative of his captivity and escape during the massacre by the Turks on the Island of Scio, together with various adventures in Greece and America.
Mr. E. G. Squier, whose large work upon American antiquities, published by the Smithsonian Institute, made for him a most desirable reputation, is now engaged in the preparation of an elaborate work upon the remains of ancient civilization in Central America, to contain the results of investigations during his recent official residence there.
Nathaniel Hawthorne's new work, "The House of Seven Gables," is in the press of Ticknor, Reed & Fields, of Boston.
Miss Fenimore Cooper, whose beautiful work entitled "Rural Hours in America" has been so much and so justly applauded, has a new volume in the press of Putnam.
In the new novel of "Olive," republished by the Harpers, (which is much praised by the London critics), the heroine, who has a lofty, noble nature, full of poetic feeling and enthusiasm for art, determines to devote herself to its study, urged on by a desire of liquidating a debt contracted by her father. Apropos of the purpose of her life, and the sphere of her sex:
"She became an artist—not in a week, a month, a year. Art exacts of its votaries no less service than a lifetime. But in her girl's soul the right chord had been touched, which began to vibrate into noble music, the true seed had been sown, which day by day grew into a goodly plant. Vanbrugh had said truly, that genius is of no sex; and he had said likewise truly, that no woman can be an artist—that is, a great artist. The hierarchies of the soul's dominion belong only to man, and it is right they should. He it was whom God created first, let him take pre-eminence. But among those stars of lesser glory, which are given to lighten the nations, among sweet-voiced poets, earnest prose writers, who, by lofty truth that lies hid beneath legend and parable, purify the world, graceful painters and beautiful musicians, each brightening their generation with serene and holy lustre—among these, let woman shine! But her sphere is, and ever must be, bounded; because, however lofty her genius may be, it always dwells in a woman's breast. Nature, which gave to man the dominion of the intellect, gave to her that of the heart and affections. These bind her with everlasting links from which she cannot free herself,—nay, she would not if she could. Herein man has the advantage. He, strong in his might of intellect, can make it his all in all, his life's sole aim and guerdon. A Brutus, for that ambition which is misnamed patriotism, can trample on all human ties. A Michael Angelo can stand alone with his genius, and so go sternly down into a desolate old age. But there scarce ever lived the woman who would not rather sit meekly by her own hearth, with her husband at her side, and her children at her knee, than be the crowned Corinne of the Capitol.
"Thus woman, seeking to strive with man, is made feebler by the very spirit of love which in her own sphere is her chiefest strength. But sometimes chance, or circumstance, or wrong, sealing up her woman's nature, converts her into a self-dependant human soul. Instead of life's sweetness, she has before her life's greatness. The struggle passed, her genius may lift itself upward, expand and grow mighty; never so mighty as man's, but still great and glorious. Then, even while she walks over the world's rough pathway, heaven's glory may rest upon her up-turned brow, and she may become a light unto her generation."
Dautzenberg, a Flemish poet, has issued at Brussels a volume of small compositions, which, apart from freshness of fancy and beauty of thought, are remarkable for the correctness and smoothness of their form. The Flemish tongue is used by him with a lyrical success that would reflect honor on a writer in the more melodious dialects of Southern Europe. He has also licked that jaw-cracking tongue so far into shape, that it serves for regular hexameters.
Miss Strickland's Lives of the Queens Of England, republished by Lea & Blanchard of Philadelphia, in ten or twelve volumes, is a work of very great interest and value, for its illustrations of the higher and progressive British civilization. Her Lives of the Queens of Scotland, soon to be issued from the press of the Harpers, resembles generally her former work, by the success of which it was probably suggested, as much as by the desirableness of the biographies of the Northern Queens, as "adjuncts" to the lives of those of England. A good deal of matter was collected in reference to the later Queens of Scotland during the biographer's researches for the Queens of England; and this, augmented by further inquiries among public and private archives, especially among the muniment-chests of noble Scottish families, forms the materials of the present undertaking. The "lives" do not begin till the Tudor times, when the nearer relationship with England imparts a greater interest to the subject, not only from the closer communication between the courts, but from the prospects of the Scottish succession to the English crown.
John S. Dwight, of Boston, has recently delivered an admirable lecture before the Mercantile Library Association of this city, on "Operatic Music," illustrated by a critical examination of Rossini's Don Giovanni. Mr. Dwight's rare musical learning and accomplishments, his exquisite taste in art, and his remarkable felicity of expression, were displayed to singular advantage in this masterly lecture, and won the cordial applauses of the most appreciative critics in his large and highly intelligent audience.
A History of the Greek Revolution is soon to be given to the public by Baron Prokesh Osten, who for many years was Austrian ambassador at Athens, and who now fills the same office at Berlin. Of course his book will be published at Vienna.
A New Edition of the Complete Works Of Göethe, in thirty volumes (it would look much better and be far more convenient in fifteen), is advertised in Berlin. Two volumes are ready, and the whole are to be issued before the close of 1851.
W. G. Simms, LL. D., is referred to in the Southern Literary Gazette as having delivered in Charleston lately an elaborate poem entitled "The City of the Silent," on the occasion of the consecration of a beautiful rural cemetery near that city.
Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes is writing a biographical sketch of the late Dr. Parkman, to form a part of a work called "The Benefactors of the Medical School of Harvard University," of which the poet is himself one of the professors.
Pierre Dupont, the Parisian Socialist poet, has lately issued a new book containing six songs that have not before been published. Dupont is as much a favorite with the people as Beranger, and though he does not equal the latter in originality of fancy and gayety of spirit, he even excels him in revolutionary point and enthusiasm. His songs are heard in every workshop and at every popular banquet, their words and music are universally familiar, and when the clubs were permitted, each meeting was opened and closed with a song of Dupont's, the whole audience joining in the chorus. This was done instinctively and without previous arrangement. It often happened, too, that after some orator had delivered an ardent speech, Dupont would appear at the tribune with a new song which he had composed on the inspiration of the moment. Now each new political event is sure of a response from this poet; one of his late productions is the Chant du Vote (vote song), in which he denounces the attempt of the Government to destroy universal suffrage. Perhaps his most powerful production is the Marsellaise of Hunger; the hold this has taken on the public may be judged from the fact, that when at the theatre of the Porte St. Martin a piece was performed, called Misery, founded on incidents in the Irish famine, when the curtain went down at the end of the first act, the beholders spontaneously set up this song. So in the same theatre, when the piece representing the downfall of Rome was performed (this piece afterwards became famous through its prohibition by the Government), one of the spectators in the pit began the chorus of Dupont's Soldier's Song:
"Les peuples sont pour nous des freres
Et les tyrans des ennemis,"
the whole house joined in, and the performance had to be interrupted till the song was ended. The Chant des Transportés wherever it is heard moves the people to tears and indignation. The Peasant's Song prophecies the time when independent industry shall render the earth blooming with fertility, and the corn and wine shall "be free as warmth in summer weather." While the majority of his poems are political and social, some of them are full of love and appreciation of outward nature. In one, the Romance of the Poplar, this sentiment is finely combined with the spirit of liberty.
Arago's great work, which was some time since announced in the International, is now nearly complete and will soon be given to the public. The scientific and literary world of Europe expect it with impatience. It is said even that Alexander von Humboldt intends to be its translator into German, but this is not probable. It is also rumored that the author gives an appendix in which he for the moment abandons science for politics, in order to pay off some of the attacks he has suffered from Proudhon. Our own opinion is that he had better stick to his trade and leave Proudhon alone.
Charles Sumner has published (through Ticknor, Reed & Fields of Boston,) two volumes of his "Orations and Addresses." Mr. Sumner is a scholar of the finest and rarest capacities and accomplishments. He is of the school of Everett, but has more earnestness, and consequently more compactness of expression, and more force. He enters heartily into all the 'progressive' movements of the day, and is of many the intellectual leader. His bravery is equal to every emergency into which he may be led by a search after truth, and to all combats he brings arms of the truest metal and most exquisite polish. There are in New-England many more fervid and powerful orators, but we know of none whose orations are delivered with a more pleasing eloquence. We have not leisure now to review Mr. Sumner's volumes; but if among our readers there are any who desire to see displayed the "very form and spirit" of the new age, we commend them to "The True Grandeur of Nations," and the other discourses, speeches, and essays, here published.
"The Manhattaner in New-Orleans" is the title of a small volume, from the press of J. S. Redfield, which was written by an accomplished New-York lawyer who had resided some time in the Crescent City. It is a very graphic and delightful picture of the social life of the metropolis of the South; betraying a quick insight, a genial appreciation of what is manly, and fairness in regard to every thing. We have had need of such a book, for hitherto we northerners have generally known less of our southern neighbors than even Professor Bowen knew of the Hungarians, before Mrs. Putnam enlightened him. We are sorry that Mr. Hall, to whom we are indebted for "The Manhattaner in New-Orleans," intimates that it is the last book for the preparation of which he will ever have withdrawn his attention from the law.
"Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Margaret Fuller d'Ossoli and George Sand," is the title of an article in which the characters and genius of these three remarkable women is discussed, in the last number of The Palladium, a new English monthly.
Ike Marvel's "Reveries of a Bachelor," (printed by Baker & Scribner), appears to be the "book of the season." All the critics praise it as one of the choicest specimens of half-romance and half-essay, that has appeared in our time. But for ourselves—we have not read it.
The subject of "Junius" is again discussed in "Junius and his Works, Compared with the character and Writings of the Earl of Chesterfield," by W. Cramp, just published in London.
Parke Godwin's beautiful story of "Vala," suggested by the career of Jenny Lind, has been issued in a luxurious quarto, by Putnam.
The Fine Arts.
Gift from the Bavarian Artists To King Louis.—The artists and artisans of Munich have combined to make to ex-King Louis of Bavaria a gift such as monarchs have not often received. It consists of a writing-desk and album. The desk is of oak varnished, adorned with rich carving, and with locks and the Bavarian arms in gilt bronze enamel. The carving contains the most charming figures representing the various arts and trades. The album is bound in crimson velvet, the clasps and ornaments of gilt bronze. On the outside is a medallion, designed by Widnmann, set in brilliants, representing King Louis surrounded by artists. A smaller medallion stands in each corner, one representing architects with plans and models by Hautman; sculptors and bronze workers with the statue of Bavaria, by Halbig; historic painters by Esseling; and landscape and genre painters by Widnmann. Between the two upper medallions is a rich ornament with the arms of the four tribes of Bavaria in enamel, and the inscription "Louis I. King of Bavaria:" between the lower medallions is a similar ornament with "The German Artists, A. D. 1850." All the ornaments are in the old German style of the fifteenth century. In the Album are 177 sheets, each containing a contribution from some artist. The title-page is by Esseling. Kaulbach has a drawing of unusual freshness and beauty, representing the King calling to new life, at Rome, the neglected art of Germany. But we have not space to speak of the works of individual artists in this remarkable collection. It is enough to say that every distinguished painter and sculptor in Germany is represented in it.
Charles Eastlake has been chosen President of the Royal Academy, and the Queen has made him a knight. Sir Charles Eastlake is in some respects a great painter, and he has produced many works which evince very remarkable talents. Among the few pictures by him which evince genius, is that owned by Mr. Henry Carey Baird, of Philadelphia, of "Hagar and Ishmael." He has done something in literature, and from his own account of himself we quote, that, like Haydon, he was born at Plymouth, a soil congenial to art, for in its environs was also the birth-place of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Like Rembrandt, Reynolds, and so many before them, Eastlake showed an early aversion to the Latin Grammar. He fled the Charter-house school; and a glimpse of Haydon's picture of "The Dentatus," which was at that period exhibited at Plymouth, made him a painter. After studying in the Academy two years, under Fuseli, he produced "The Raising of Jairus's Daughter." This won him a patron, in Mr. Harman, by whom he was commissioned to make studies of the miracles of art, at that time collected in the Louvre by Napoleon. Here also Lawrence, Haydon, Wilkie, and we believe Allston also, came at this time to study. In the Louvre Eastlake made his first acquaintance with the wonders of Roman art. But the pleasant task of copying these old masters was relinquished on the sudden return of Napoleon from Elba. At a not much later period, the fallen hero became himself the subject of his pencil. Eastlake made a sketch of the ex-Emperor as he appeared from the gangway of the Bellerophon, when at anchor in Plymouth roads, interesting as the last delineation of a noble visage, then untinged with chagrin. In 1817 and 1819 he visited Italy and Greece, rather stirring up their living treasures than measuring antiquity with the inch rule of the archæologist. Nor yet did Eastlake confine himself to the external forms of art and nature; he then laid the foundation of that intimate knowledge of the arts, be they called formative, architectural, plastic, or pictorial, the able elucidation of which renders his writings so valuable. Thus, whilst all the technical skill of ancient colorists is found in his style of painting, all the principles on which Dutch and Venetian masters proceeded are found in his writings. Those who reflect on the unceasing labors of the Secretary of the Fine Art Commission, will be rather inclined to believe that the title of President was alone wanting to render Eastlake the legitimate leader of art in England. We need only mention his translation of Göethe's "Theory of Colors," the "Notes to Kugler," and the "Materials for a History of Oil Painting."
New Picture by Kaulbach. The King of Bavaria has ordered from Kaulbach a picture some twenty feet high, to represent the Apotheosis of a Good Prince. The lucky potentate is to be painted rising from the tomb, and conducted up to heaven by attending angels, where the Saviour, enthroned between the cherubim of Power and Justice, receives him with open arms. The purple mantle and crown, the signs and adornments of earthly might, sink from the transfigured monarch upon the tomb, around which the Seven Works of Mercy bear witness for him, while the Seven Deadly Sins lie under the earth asleep and in chains. The idea of the composition was suggested by the King. Kaulbach has advanced so far with its execution that the cartoon is nearly completed.
The Royal Russian Porcelain Manufactory, at Berlin, is known over the world for the elegance and excellence of its productions; most of the porcelain transparencies which are so common in all countries, and so much admired, are from this source. An honorary council has just been named to have the supervision of the artistic department of the institution. Among its members, are the eminent painter Cornelius, the sculptor Rauch, and the architect Huler.
Mr. Healey, according to a letter by Mr. Walsh in the Journal of Commerce, is proceeding rapidly in Paris with his picture of the American Senate, during the debate so famous for the passages between Mr. Webster and Col. Hayne. Mr. Healey is said to be a very worthy person, and it is to be regretted that his skill and genius are not equal to his morals, in which case we might not despair of his producing a work not altogether unworthy of this subject. Some accident introduced Mr. Healey to the late King of the French, who gave him various orders, the reception of which was so noticed in the journals as to be of the greatest possible advantage to him. He was suddenly elevated in the common opinion to the condition of the first rank of artists. But he is really a painter of very ordinary capacities. We have probably some hundreds who are very much superior to him. It is impossible to point to even one portrait by him that is remarkable for any excellence; and all his fame rests, rather than upon his productions, upon his having received orders from Louis Philippe. We remember the general surprise with which groups of his portraits, displayed in the rotunda of the capitol, were viewed by critics. The "study" of Daniel Webster, upon whose every feature God has set the visible stamp of greatness, was among them, and it looked like the prim keeper of the accounts in a respectable grocery-store. So of all the rest. Men sat to him from deference to the wishes of the King, but every body felt that he was not an artist. Accidents and newspapers may confer a transient reputation, but they can endow no one with abilities; and to espouse the cause of newspapers against the cause of nature is a grievous wrong, in the end, to both newspapers and nature.
An elegant work of much value to the students of modern art has lately appeared at Berlin, under the title of Rimische Studien (Roman Studies), from the pen of Von Kestner, a diplomatist by profession. The author, who by the way is a son of the famous Charlotte, the heroine of Göethe's "Werther," dwells with the utmost partiality on these German artists, who have developed their talents by long and intimate acquaintance with Roman art, and who are now at work in the fatherland. To the productions of "Cornelius," he devotes a great deal of space. The special purpose of the work, as the author says in his preface, is to glorify Germany in the great creations of its artists.
The Philharmonic Society of Paris, at one of its recent concerts, gave a piece of original Russian music, called the "Song of the Cherubim," by Bortniansky, a composer who has written a good deal for the Imperial Chapel at St. Petersburg. It is a chorus without accompaniment, and is spoken of by the critics as most original and striking, in fact unlike any thing familiar to Western or Southern ears. We can easily conceive of a peculiar style of music being produced from the bosom of the Greek Church. Those who have heard the melancholy and touching, half-barbaric music usually employed in its ritual, will not be surprised that out of it there should arise a quite new order of compositions.
The Göethe's Inheritance—an extensive collection of models, engravings, sculptures, carvings, gems, minerals, fossils, original drawings, &c., collected by the great poet,—is to be sold at Weimar, for the benefit of his heirs, two grandsons. A catalogue raisonnée has been published by Fromman, at Jena, and it makes a very interesting book. It is suggested in the Art-Journal for December, that if the collection were distributed in separate lots, in America, or England, or Germany, the heirs would realize three or four times as much as they will by a single sale for the whole, which they have determined upon. Letters upon the subject may be addressed to Baron Walther Von Goethe, at Vienna.
The author of the following remarks on Art-Unions, is an eminent artist, whose name has never been associated with any discussions of these Institutions, or with any controversies connected with them, and he has not, we believe, since the foundation of the first Art-Union in America, had any production of his own in the market.