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chising, and in superintending the instruction given in schools-all evince an awakened anxiety for religious improvement-all tend to assure us that we are not forsaken of God, but, we may humbly hope, are partaking of his favour and protection."

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And now we ask the ministers of of England, is such an Establishment to be destroyed? What has it done to merit the treatment which it has received at the hands of her majesty's advisers? But it is idle to ask those questions. All Sir Robert Peel's Irish measures indicate "a foregone conclusion." His policy in this country requires the discouragement of Protestantism, and the establishment of popery; and for this purpose measures, which may be described as of a penal character, have been taken against the one, while favours and advantages have been lavishly heaped upon the other. No frustration or disappointment which may attend his plans will ever cause him to take the manly course of saying, "I have erred; I find that even political ends are not to be answered by proscribing truth and I find that while patronising error. I have lost friends I have not conciliated enemies; and that the only fruit of concession to popery is a rapid increase of the advocates for a repeal of the Union." Sir Robert Peel is not the man from whom such a manly and honest retraction is to be expected. We have nothing to expect from him. Our hope-our only hope is be found in the honest, consistent Protestant people of this great empire. Will they suffer the Irish Church to be destroyed? If they do, we deliberately say, that their conduct will be characterised by a suicidal in

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fatuation. The overthrow of the Irish Church will be but the speedy precursor of the subversion of their own. Against the combination that will then be formed for its destruction-the Puseyism within, and the dissent and popery without they will look in vain for any human aid; and find, when it is too late, that had they but defended, as they ought to have done, the outwork of the Irish Establishment, when it was so cruelly abandoned, and so savagely assailed, they would not want in their hour of need, an available auxiliary, by whose aid they might bid defiance to all their enemies.

We conclude in the words of this mild and gracious prelate, of whose unpretending piety and unostentatious beneficence we may not trust ourselves to speak, but whose words will surely touch the hearts of every professor of true religion to whom they may be conveyed in the British empire:

"At my advanced time of life it may not be given me to see the day when the perils that surround the Irish church shall have disappeared, and the beams of temporal prosperity shine once more The clouds that now overhang upon it. and darken its worldly prospects may not be dispersed before my eyes are closed in death; but if it should be so, I shall, nevertheless, bless God that the church which I leave in earthly troubles and adversity, is in a state of spiritual health, and life, and order, and devotedness, such as, I believe, never adorned it in any former period of its history. These are favours bestowed on it by God's mercy and goodness. These are blessings which are not in the power of states to give or to take away. They are of higher value and nobler worth than any worldly prosperity."

THE CITIZEN OF PRAGUE.

Ir is not one of the least interesting features of this age of progress, that the vast facilities which its enterprise has created of intercommunication between the peoples of the earth is rapidly familiarizing each country with the arts and literature of others. Time was when a modern French or German novel was only seen in the boudoir of a blue stocking; now, space and time seem annihilated, and Eugene Sue, and Balzac, and Dumas, and George Sands, appear almost at the same moment in England as in France and Brussels. Through the medium of the very many clever tales which have issued from the pens of Miss Bremer and Andersen, we have become, as it were, indwellers in the social circles, and familiar with the domestic habits and national feelings of countries which heretofore we knew, as geographers and historians, but only imperfectly as brothers of a great social family.

While we speak of these books, we are naturally led to think of a lady, whose talents as a translator has, in a large degree, contributed to our enjoyment. We allude to the accomplished Mary Howitt, whose taste and learning has placed the foreign author and the British reader under equal obligations.

We have now before us her latest gift-a translation of "The Citizen of Prague." It is said we do not, however, vouch for the truth of the assertion-that the author of these very remarkable volumes, which, in the poverty of expression, we must be contented to call a novel, is a lady. This may well be. Its pages throughout abound with that intimate knowledge and most just appreciation of all the finer and subtler feelings of the heart-that vividness of colour and delicacy of touch, which seem to belong to a sex whose imaginative faculties, and almost instinctive power of appreciating human character, are indisputably greater than that of our sex.

But with all this there are traces of a vigour and force which, though by no means beyond womanly power, she cares but seldom to display or develope by exercise. And should the surmise respecting the authorship be correct, it will but serve to confirm us in the opinion, which we most religiously hold, that the female mind, in all intellectual capabilities, requires but to be educated up to its full powers to claim or exhibit its perfect equality with that of man.

The scene of the tale which we have just mentioned, is laid principally in Vienna and its vicinity, and occasionally in Prague. It is conversant with a period of great interestnamely, the time immediately succeeding the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, when the rights of the Empress Maria Theresa had, by the wisdom and skill of her ablest minister, the Count Von Kaunitz, been recognised and established. The plot of the story is well conceived and admirably wrought out; besides the principal characters, which, according to the inviolable canons of the romance, must in every novel stand prominently forward to engross the feelings and excite the attention, there is also abundance of bye-plotindeed, perhaps we may say too much, to satisfy the most omnivorous appetite for love, mystery, and marvel. But apart from all this, there will be found in the pages of "The Citizen of Prague" far better matter. The book is historical, and as such it is as instructive as entertaining. Replete with noble sentiments, conversant with great minds and great events, it teems with true and beautiful views of mankind—exhibiting, in just portraiture, the princely wisdom and high-minded love for her people which so remarkably distinguished one of Austria's most illustrious sovereigns, the political sagacity and enlarged views of one of the ablest statesmen of his day, the matured and sober philanthropy of a true patriot, the generous ardour of

* The Citizen of Prague. Translated by Mary Howitt. 3 vols. London, 1846.

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youthful loyalty, and the higher influences of woman in the councils of nations as in the orbit of domestic duties; and enables us, when we lay the work down, to feel we have been profitably as well as pleasantly employed. It is by no means our intention to forestal the enjoyment of the reader or the gains of the publisher, by giving a full sketch of the story before us. A certain Count Lacy, (not the distinguished general who, in conjunction with Daun and Loudon, during the seven years' war, rendered such important services to the cause of Austria, but yet a very interesting and loyal knight, and young and wealthy withal,) is what, in the conventional language of the circulating-library people, is to be called the hero. comes from Bohemia, with no other restriction upon his free-will than a prohibition, under the will of his uncle, against entering into any permanent or binding engagement or profession, with, as a set off, an injunction to enter into a very binding engagement with the grand-daughter of one Thomas Thyrnau, under penalty of forfeiting his fair Bohemian domains. Though this device may seem somewhat commonplace, it is yet explained in the sequel of the story upon principles and motives more rational than we expected, and forms by no means the least interesting exhibition of true generosity of spirit and greatness of mind. Be this as it may, one thing is, as might be expected, certain, the gallant, of course, is determined not to love on compulsion, though he has never seen the subject whom he is to love, and accordingly he takes an early opportunity to dispose of his heart in a different manner. A proud, selfish, and most extravagant old prince, Morani, has contrived to run out his property and health somewhat sooner than his life, but in his last days the piety and tenderness of a devoted daughter, by a thousand devices, contrive to sustain around him all the appearances of his former fortunes at the expense of her own means and health, and the sacrifice of her prime of life. This is the object of Count Von Lacy's admiration at first, and most ardent love eventually. We have, however, to make a disclosure which, we fear, will shock all novel-readers, of both sexes, who are still in their

teens. The Princess Morani ishow can we write the fatal monosyllable ?-old. But so it is-nay, the author takes a perilous yet most ostentatious pride in styling her "the old princess." What may be the exact age of an unmarried lady to entitle or condemn her so to be called, we protest on our manhood we know not. Certes, were we called on to assign the number of her years, we should unhesitatingly declare that no possible combination of any two figures would deprive a spinster of her claim to youth-nay, were our grandmother unmarried, we would expect her to bridle at any impeachment of her juvenility. Let this pass, however. The situation of a young and ardent man falling desperately that is, in a quiet yet most obstinate fashion-in love with an old maid, is as novel as it is difficult for an author to render interesting, and we are bound to admit that our author has exhibited the greatest skill in rendering the loves of the count and princess full of tender and genuine feeling; and we have seldom met a more lovely depiction of female excellence than the beggared, and sickly, and desolate, yet noble-minded and self-sacrificing woman that holds in the firmest bonds of respectful love an ardent and young man. Though returning his love with an ardour equal to his own, she yet, for his sake, resists a union which she deems unsuited to him. But we shall let the parties speak for themselves. hour is that of a summer eve,when De Lacy, at a tête a tête, presses his suit.

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"I am determined,' pursued the count, not to leave you, until I have gained your consent to our betrothal. I already possess what is dearest, most necessary; you cannot take back, and you will not be so cruel as to desire to take back, that which you have given me in your love. You cannot doubt mine; you know that it is founded upon your worth, and secured through the firmness of my character. What scruples are they with which you always delay my happiness, now when the necessity of revealing to the world our connexion

increases day by day, when the necessity for my protection and assistance even becomes more apparent.'

"Ah!' cried the princess, that it is which carries you away! you feel how miserable, how unhappy, how forlorn I am in the world, and compassion deceives you with regard to our connexion!'

"No, Claudia,' said the count firmly, not compassion, but the selfish feeling of not being able to live without you! My understanding, my heart, my way of thinking, are so interwoven with yours, that I scarcely know whether certain thoughts are yours or mine; and to separate us, is to unloose the most perfect union of soul which ever bound together human beings who were not united by the bands of relationship!'

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666 This I also feel,' stammered the princess, and, therefore, I have gone so far as to confess the weakness of my heart to you. But this sentiment does not yet demand a nearer connexion, for it would show the external inequality of our union. My age, my indifferent health, the want of every external charm -yes, and permit me to add, my poverty! Whence shall I gain the strength to despise these things?-to endure seeing your life, your future, endangered by them?"

The count continues to urge his suit, and uses every argument usual in such cases to overcome her scruples. Her resistance at length, not unnaturally, irritates him.

"It is enough, Claudia!' said the count, and started up almost with violence- I feel to what you refer; I have lived in vain at your side; you recall that testimony of your love which you were once wont to give me, and that voice which once pleaded for me in your heart has vanished!'

"He had risen and turned away from her. His eye gazed into the sun-lit garden which lay there with its drooping blossoms beneath the hot rays of the burning sun. Not a breeze stirred. Along the horizon floated a yellowish vapour, which indicated the glowing atmosphere. Only above the tree tops was seen the deep blue of heaven without a single cloudlet. The count had such a deep feeling for the beauty of nature, that under all circumstances he still retained an eye for it. Even now this mature and consummated picture of summer wrapped him in a soothing dream. A flock of pigeons now flew like glittering snow-flakes over the garden, and in the deep silence which reigned around, one heard the innume

rable buzzing insects which visited each leaf and flower. Nothing else moved near these agitated human beings, who, like the flowers before them, and prostrated by the glow of their feeling, bowed their heads in silent sorrow. The count heard by the rustling of her dress that the princess had risen. He turned himself quickly round.

"Lacy!' said she, in a scarcely audible voice, and extended her hand towards him with an indescribable expression of love and grief, Lacy, shall I be your fate?'

"If you wish that it should be a happy one,' cried he, seizing her hand with joy-beaming eyes.

"The princess answered nothing, but trembled so violently that he must support her, and now she was no longer alone! The man whom she loved with the fire of a youthful first love supported her failing strength, and her head rested upon his breast.'

Now

It requires little sagacity to see that this must eventuate in matrimony, the rather as her scruples have been overborne by her worthy confessor, whose zeal for the marriage of his spiritual daughter is as great as that of any country priest who remembers dues and dinners at the eve of Shrovetide; and so it does, but not until the young man has seen another who, without shaking the loyalty of his love, makes a strange and lasting impression both on his feelings and imagination. every fair reader sees with a glance who this is. Ay, it is even so, Magda, the grand-daughter of Thyrnau, though he knows it not. This is by far the finest effort of the author's imagination and genius; uniting in herself charms of the most opposite character, the picture is still one not incongruous, but in perfect keeping. Imperious and fitful, yet gentle and self-composed-schooled in the high-minded wisdom of her grandsire, yet yielding to all the sportive suggestions of a sprightly nature and a quick geniusand with all, and above all, possessing devotion of heart and simplicity of character-Magda is more the dream of the poet, such as would rise before the mind of Shakspeare or Scott, than the child of this every-day world of ours. Here is a beautiful sketch, though we may rarely, if ever, meet with the original.

"She held a book with both her hands firmly upon her knee, as if

she would make herself certain of its presence, whilst her eye, full of deep thought, looked down into the little bubbling springs of the fountain. Neck and shoulders were bowed, her head drooped, and only the pure outline of her profile was visible, and her mouth slightly opened, showed the childlike listening of the lips-the mark of solitary thought.

"Her dress was wholly changed, and the Count was obliged still to observe her longer than he otherwise would, for he knew not at first if it were actually she. He then recollected that her dress was the costume of the citizen-maidens of Prague, which he often noticed with the remark, that, however, it might be made to consort with the taste of the wearer or her worldly circumstances, still, with all its changes, the principle of it continued to be charming in the highest degree. He thought that he had never seen it more beautiful than

now.

"A part of Magda's long, shining hair was bound up at the back of her head in a Grecian knot, over which was stretched a knot of strong gold thread, which with its rich contents rested upon the beautiful, slender neck. Close to this was placed the half-cap to which the whole grandeur of a citizen-maiden of Prague is accustomed to attach itself, and here, also, no doubt could be had regarding Magda's wealth. It was a flat stripe of a hand's-breadth of gold brocade, which was worked in the most costly manner with single flowers formed with precious stones, and ornamented with pearls and exquisite gold-work. In Magda's case this stripe of brocade which inclosed the head was placed close to the net, and was fastened by means of a band of pearls which crossed the temples with a golden clasp. Above

the ears the rich ends of the front hair was twined into a flat curl, and were stuck through and held fast by a golden pin. The long, heavy, golden ear-rings completed the head-dress. The dress was black; the boddice of strong silk worked with gold; from within rose a stiffened kerchief of the finest cambric, which was pinned together behind on the neck in very delicate folds. Over this was the open jacket which, in Magda's case, was made of black velvet lined with crimson damask. The narrow sleeves, which reached somewhat below the elbow, were trimmed with white lace, and the edge, like all the seams, was worked with gold. The skirt was heavy, black silk with gold eyelet holes; the stockings of black silk with red clocks, and the shoes of black velvet with golden heels and bril

liant buckles. Nor must a richly worked pocket be omitted, which, fastened by a costly golden buckle, hung down on one side.

But we must not further meddle with the secrets of the tale. Let us turn to other personages with whom every one is familiar. There are few characters in modern history more dramatic, more suited to the purposes of the novelist, than the Empress Maria Theresa. Like our own Elizabeth, she was a sovereign of consummate wisdom, of strong and masculine intellect, of enlarged views, and a spirit ever watching over and working out the weal of her people. Like her, too, she had a strong predisposition for intrigue, and a somewhat quick temper; but, unlike the virgin queen, she had all those domestic virtues and tenderest feelings, that made her as beloved in her exalted station as she would in an humble sphere. The one was a great queen, the other was that and something greater and better-an amiable woman. In the words of an accomplished writer"She combined private economy with public liberality, dignity with condescension, elevation of soul with humility of spirit, and the virtues of domestic life with the splendid qualities that grace a throne." Our author has made good use of a character so favourable for the purposes of the tale, and has given us many excellent scenes, in which the empress bears a prominent part as well in politics as in private affairs, exhibiting the strong points of her mind both as a sovereign and a woman. There is much spirit as well as fidelity in the following personal sketch of the empress :—

"She was in the full maturity of middle life, and the beauty which distinguished her bore especially the firm and strong expression of a noble, assured self-respect, lending to each feature a plastic repose and a purity of form which made one almost believe in the imperishableness of these charms. The fashion of the times presented none of the little graceful arts by means of which defects of form may be concealed by curls, or by the advantageous arrangement of different styles of head-dress. The empress, like all the ladies of that age, having her hair put back, left her whole countenance open to observation, whilst the high and arched curls upon

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