This day is published, in a closely printed volume, price 12s. 6d. cloth, embellished with a view, of

KNOW

THE

HISTORY OF BRITISH COSTUME, Illustrated with numerons Engravings on wood, containing Parts 46 and 47.

On the 1st of July was published

THE PRINTING MACHINE, or COMPANION

TO THE LIBRARY, No. XI. Price 4d.

THE COMPANION TO THE NEWSPAPER, No. XX. Price 44.

The above two works are also issued in Monthly Parts, forming THE COMPANION TO THE LIBRARY AND THE NEWSPAPER, of which Part V., including the Printing Machine, Nos. X. and XI., and the Companion to the Newspaper, No. XX., is also this day issued. Seventy-two folio pages, price One Shilling, sewed.

London:-CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, Ludgate Street.

NATIONAL

GALLERY,

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF EMINENT ARTISTS: Comprising Painters, Sculptors, Engravers, and Architects, from the earliest period to the present time, interspersed with Original Anecdotes. To which is added an introduction, containing a Brief Account of the various Schools of Art. By JOHN GOULD.

NOTICES OF THE WORK.

"It is seldom that we meet with a work upon the arts and artists that is not written in a style so completely professional as to render it unpleasing and tedious to the unprofessional reader. The excellent book before ns is one of those few which atford gratification to every one. Mr. Gould appears to be one of those "active and sensible minds" whom Gessner speaks of, in laying down what is necessary to constitute a great artist, who, possessing a true feeling of the sublimest parts of art, appear to join an inflexible labour to an habitual meditation. His book is a delightful one to read; the introduction, nervously and elegantly written, explains the natures and characteristics of the various schools of painting, and gives a concise view of each, from the time of Cimabue, and the founding of the school of Florence, to the present time. To this department of the work are prefixed some valuable lessons in painting, which young artists with aspiring minds would do well to study. * In conclusion we recommend this useful, instructive, and entertaining work to our readers: as a book of reference it is invaluable, and the general reader will find in its pages much and profitable amusement."-Bell's New Weekly Messenger.

* • *

*

"This volume contains a well arranged selection of sketches of all the eminent painters, sculptors, engravers, and architects, that have adorned the world from its earliest periods: with the brief sketches are interspersed original anecdotes, and much useful information in reference to various schools of art. The work, from its brevity and judicious arrangement, forms a more intelligent and amusing book of reference than has yet appeared on the subject.”—Satirist.

"A little work which, amongst lovers of art, will be received with welcome, has just been published by Effingham Wilson, under the above title, and contains the essence of the voluminous publications, not only in our own, but in foreign languages, which have been dedicated to the biography of celebrated painters, sculptors, architects, and engravers. It is, in fact, an abridged and condensed dictionary of artists, occupying the space of a small sized but thick octavo, very convenient in point of dimensions, and, at the same time, abounding in information. Mr. Gould, its compiler, has acquitted himself of his task with much judgment; we should remark that he has brought his English notices down to the present day."-Morning Herald.

"This is a well-arranged, intelligent, and highly useful work. It forms one bulky but handsomely printed volume, and may be described as a biographical dictionary of painters, sculptors, engravers, and architects, from the earliest ages to the present time. The lives are preceded by a well-written essay on art, in which the origin of decorative architecture, painting, &c., is traced, the splendid triumphs of Greece and Rome are accurately described, and the revival of the fine arts is cleverly detailed. The whole work is interspersed with valuable and skilful critical remarks and amusing anecdotes. To the amatenr and the artist this work may be recommended as a serviceable guide and a safe authority."Weekly Dispatch.

"This is one of the most useful and most acceptable vols. that could have been produced. All previous Dictionaries of Painters, &c., have been too voluminous, and, though voluminous, incomplete and unsatisfactory; but Mr. Gould has here contrived to present us, in a portable form, with all that is really desirable for common purposes of reference and information. He is fairly entitled to the motto, multum in parvo; for, though his space is confined, his views are extensive. In an 'Introduction,' of nearly a hundred pages, we have a general view of the arts of painting, sculpture, and engraving, with an account of the different schools of painting, and of their most distinguished masters; to which is subjoined, 'an explanation of the technical terms, used either by artists or authors, on the subject of painting.' The body of the work is closely, but clearly, printed in double columns, the respective biographical sketches succeeding in alphabetical order, and to each sketch is annexed a reference to its authorities. The quantity of information thus displayed is truly surprising. Nor is the quality inferior to the quantity. We have carefully examined many of the articles, and found them to be ably execnted, distinguished by purity of taste, soundness and liberality of criticism. To every lover of the fine arts, Mr. Gould's volume is indispensable as a book of reference."-Court Journal.

The various

"This work has long been a desideratum. galleries and auctions of paintings continually brought under the public eye, the increasing numbres of collectors of paintings, and the spread of a more pure taste in all that concerns the appreciation of the higher department of art, render the above arrangement of all the information necessary to collectors, in the form of a pocket volume, a very advantageous addition to our modern list of publications. Any person visiting galleries for the purpose of purchasing, or of criticism, will find, by taking this volume in his pocket, an easy means of reference to the distinctive merits of the various artists, as well as to the nicer shades of distinction which characterise the various schools, either in colouring, design, or execution; and consequently will be enabled to form a tolerably correct estimate of the pecuniary value of the subject which he is to decide upon. The biographies of the varions artists appear to be very carefully and skilfully digested. Many of them are interesting, in point of mere amusement. They are preceded by a clever introductory treatise on the founders and characteristics of the various schools of painting, with a condensed disquisition on the progress of sculpture and architecture. With a view to the main object of this volume, as a guide to criticism or to purchase, the author has greatly contributed to its efficacy and utility, by adding an explanation of the technical terms used either by artists or authors, on the subject of painting; terms which, we fear, are too often used by cognoscenti as a means of mystifying the judgment of the uninitiated, and of monopolising the profitable secrets of virtuosism to their exclusive class."-Morning Advertiser.

Effingham Wilson, 88, Royal Exchange.

N;

The object of Le Caméléon will be t oinitiate the inhabitant of England into the tone, the forms, and the language of the higher classes of society in France; to make him familiar with their purest idioms and modes of expression; to advance him towards a perfect knowledge of the French people by the variety with which it will be stored; in short, to forward his studies by the most pleasing and efficacious means, and to assist his progress by examples which will enable him to arrive in a comparatively short time at as perfect a knowledge of the French language as he has of his own, and to speak it with fluency and elegance.

Le Caméléon will consist of everything which can instruct, interest, or aminse. Scientific, literary, and entertaining publications will furnish us with subjects. We shall be careful to purify them that the Journal may breathe the utmost purity of taste and morality. Nothing shall be wanting to render it worthy of the approbation of the public, and we trust that, in this respect, it will leave nothing to be desired; for it will be compiled with that zeal and care which can only be inspired by an ardent desire for the benefit of youth, and the hope of contributing to their instruction and amusement. We shall thus be enabled to obviate many difficulties; and not only to lessen the fatigue of both professors and pupils, but to diminish the expense (at all times considerable) to those parents who, either from inclination or necessity, undertake the education of their own children. Le Caméleon is therefore addressed to both sexes, to all ages, and to every class; its cheapness placing it within the reach of all.

"We are delighted to see any French periodical divested of politics. Our young friends will find Le Cameleon pleasant reading, and well adapted for cultivating their acquaintance with the language."-Lit. Gaz. June 28.

"Should it continue as it has commenced, it may safely be admitted into those families where the fear of the promiscu. ous literature of France has hitherto prevailed. The selections are judicious, and afford favourable specimens of the style of the best modern writers."-Spectator, July 5.

London: H. Hooper, 13, Pall-Mall East. Sold by R. Groombridge, Panyer-Alley, Paternoster-Row, and may be had of all Booksellers.

DR. BAILLIE'S "BREAKFAST BACON,

requires no cooking. It stands unrivalled in remedying Bile and Indigestion, for which it is now universally pre. scribed by the Faculty. It creates appetite, allays heartburn, subdues flatulency, and restores tone to the Stomach.

"Nothing can more effectually mitigate or dispel the sufferings of the patient. We have tried the experiment; the effect is perfect; and from the happy moment of commencing its habitual use we positively have not been conscious of wearing that too often tormenting piece of machinery a Stomach."Old England.

LAWSON and Co., Patentees, Upper St. Martin's Lane; SHERBORN and SAMS, Piccadilly; and all other respectable Italian Warehouses and Grocers in Town and Country.

In Packets, of 1s. and 2s. 6d. each, with printed directions.

In 2 vols. post 8vo., price 16s. cloth,

TUTTI FRUTTI. By the AUTHOR of the

"Tour of a German Prince." London: Printed for BACH and Co., 21, Soho Square; and sold by SIMPKIN and MARSHALL, Stationer's-hall-court, W. F. WAKEMAN, Dublin; T. CLARK, Edinburgh; and all Booksellers.

"The present work has more than ever convinced us of the Anthor's powers and merits, of his talent for picturesque, we might say, dramatic description; of his sensibility both to the beautiful, the noble and the ludicrous; the acuteness of his observations upon men and manners, Foreign Quarterly

Review.

"Those who remember the 'Tour of a German Prince,' will be delighted by a work conceived nearly in the same spirit We and executed with equal ability, by the same author. strongly recommend this book to general perusal in its English dress as one of the most pleasing works Germany has lately produced. The translation (by Edmund Spencer) is admirably executed."-The Town.

LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, 13, Pall Mall East. Sparrow, Printer, 11, Crane-court, Fleet-street.

TO OUR READERS.

Since the publication of the first number of our Journal, we have had a succession of letters from dif ferent quarters, recommending us to give up our page of Advertisements, as tending to do it less good than harm, and defacing the future volume. The reasons which existed for declining this advice, exist no longer; and we are accordingly happy to gratify our friends by giving up the page, and chatting with them to the last drop of our ink.

ENGLISH WOMEN VINDICATED. SLENDER, complaining of the masquerade trick that had been put on him at the close of the comedy, says that he had "married Anne Page" and "she was a great lubberly boy." Far better were a surprise of the reverse order, which should betray itself in some tone of voice, or sentiment, or other unlooked for emanation of womanhood, while we were thinking ourselves quietly receiving the visit of lubberly himself, or rather some ingenuous cousin of his; and of some such pleasure we have had a taste, if not in the shape of any Viola, or Julia, cr other such flattering palpability, yet in that of a fair correspondent; for we recollect well our Indicator friend "Old Boy," who sends us the following letter; but what if we have discovered meanwhile that “Old Boy" is no boy at all, nor man neither, but a pretty woman, and one that we think this a pretty occasion for unmasking; since in the hearts of the male sex, English women will find defenders enough; but few of themselves have the courage to come forward. Even our wouldbe "Old Boy" cannot do it but in disguise; which though a thing very well for her to assume, it is no less becoming in us, we think, on such an occasion, to take off, seeing that it gives the right, touching effect to that pretty petulance in her letter, and that half-laughing tone of ill-treatment, which some how has such a feminine breath in it, and must double the wish to be on ner side.

Wonderful is the effect produced in a letter by the tone in which we read it or suppose it written, and by the knowledge of its being male or female. The one before us would be a good "defiance" to Old Crony, were its signature true; but to know that it is written by a woman, gives it a new interest, and quite another sort of music. Cannot we see the face glow, and the dimples playing with a frown; and hear the light, breathing voice bespeaking the question in its favour? Does it not make "Old Crony" himself glad to be "defied to the uttermost?"

To the Editor of the London Journal. Dear old Friend with a new Face, Your correspondent "Old Crony," seems as deficient in temper as in judgment, in his brusque remarks upon the dress and gait of our fair countrywomen; nor can it be allowed him that he has chosen the best place to study the finest specimens of English women, either as regards refinement in dress or bearing. The women who most frequent Bazaars and fashionable drapers, are generally the most vacant-minded and petty creatures in existence; who wander from one lounge to another, seeking to dispel the ennui which torments them, by any frivolous kill-time. I really loathe the sight of such places, and think they have done much mischief among the idle and ignorant part of my countrywomen. But to return to the subject, I maintain, in opposition to "Old Crony," that in no other country, can we see assembled together so much beauty and grace, good SPARROW, PRinter, crane-court.,

or

No. 20.

dressing, and elegance of carriage, as in our fashionable promenades, our brilliant assemblies, and still more in those delightful home parties, where sprightliness and intelligence combine, to give grace and fascination :-nothing parallel, 1 am sure, is to be found, in the celebrated Longchamps, or the gardens, of the Tuilleries at Paris, or in the Graben at Vienna, "under the Lindens" of Berlin, or in any of the numerous public gardens on the continent, wherever I have been; and I call upon all my brother and sister tourists to bear testimony with me on this mighty question; and furthermore, like a good and faithful champion in the cause of the fair dames and damsels of old England, I do defy " Old Crony" to the uttermost, more especially for his inhuman wish of screwing English faces on to French figures, which would be a fearful "dovetailing" of lovely faces, upon parchment skeletons; seeing, that the generality of French females are terribly deficient in that plumpness and roundness, which are usually considered desirable in womanhood.

I agree with you, dear Ci-devant Indicator, that French women are generally more respected, and are on more equal terms with the male sex than our country-women; but I must differ as to their reading more, or being better informed. It is true that in society they will bear their part well in general or political conversation; but when alone with a French woman, she would be grievously offended, if you chose any other subject than her own personal attractions, and did not conclude by making a tender "declaration." These are the eternal themes by which alone you can please the young and the old, the ugly and the pretty; and of this truth, many correspondent, will assure you, besides your old friend, admirer, and

July the 23d.

OLD BOY.

P. S.-In defending the dress of my countrywomen, I except the poorer and working orders. Every other nation has a peculiar and picturesque costume for theirs; ours is remarkable only for its sluttish, draggle-tailed appearance, at least in London in country-places the peasant's dress is comfortable, if not very piquant.

We suspect that in this as in most controversies, there is less real difference of opinion between the fair and unfair parties, than might be thought. Our fair correspondent gives up the bazaar and shophunting people, and those too, whose dresses are of the " poorer sort; and betwixt these classes, or rather including them, are to be found, we conceive, all the dresses and the walks, to which Old Crony would find himself objecting. The residue might prove its claims to a participation in the general refinement of Europe, without giving up a certain colouring of manners, as natural to it as the colour to its sky. And as to what is "delightful" and fascinating," do not all people make that for themselves, more or less, out of the amount of their own sympathy and imagination? and does not each nation, as we said before, think the elite of its own charmers the most charming? No parties are so delightful to our fair correspondent, as those in her own country. Is not this precisely what would be said by a cordial Frenchwoman, of French parties; by an Italian, of Italian; and so on? Custom itself is a good thing, if it is an innocent one. We feel easy in it, as in a form and mould to which we have grown; but when in addition to this easiness, we think of all the feelings with which we have coloured it, all the pleasure we have given and received, all our joys, sorrows, friendships, loves, and religions, we may conceive how difficult it is to give up the smallest and most superficial forms in which they appear, or to learn how to admit the superiority of any thing which is foreign to them.

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

sometimes be desirable in order to beget notice to a question; but undoubtedly, the way to persuade is to approve as much as one can; to maintain, by loving means, a loving attention. If we do not, we run a chance, instead of mending the mistakes of other people, of having our own cast in our teeth. See for instance what Old Crony has done for himself and his fair Frenchwomen with our correspondent, who does not deny perhaps that the French "middle classes" walk better "generally" speaking, than the English at least we find this no where surely stated or implied-but she avails herself of his error in using the word "figures" instead of "carriage," to taunt him with the want of plumpness and womanhood in the composition of his favourites, and accuse the universal French feminity of being "parchment skeletons!" Here is the comparative French thinness, and want of red and white, made the very worst of, because its panegyrist made the worst of the appearance of the other parties. For as to his compliment to their handsome faces, this, it seems, is not enough in these intellectual days.

"Mind, mind alone, (bear witness, earth and heaven!) The living fountain in itself contains Of beauteous and sublime!"

There must be soul from head to foot-evidence of thorough gracefulness and understanding; otherwise the ladies will have none of his good word. Well: here is the principle admitted on both sides. Let those who wish to see it thoroughly in action, set lovingly about the task. The loving will soonest persuade, and soonest become perfect. Had Crony, instead of exposing his "inhuman wish of screwing English faces on to French figures," observed, that the latter are better in spirit than in substance, and shown his anxiety to consult the feelings and enumerate the merits of his countrywomen, we suspect that no body would have been readier than his fair antagonist to do justice to what is attractive in her French sisterhood.

That there are, and have always been, numbers of beautiful women in France as well as in England, and beautiful in figure too, and plump withal, no Antigallican, the most pious that ever existed, could take upon him to deny; though the praise conveyed by their word embonpoint (in good case,) which means "fleshy and fattish," (as the poet has it,) would imply, that the beauty is not apt to be of that order. The country of Diana de Poitiers, of Agnes Sorel, and of all the charmers of the reigns of Valois and the Bourbons, is not likely to lose its reputation in a hurry for "bevies of bright dames." Charming they were, that is certain, whether plump or not; at least in the eyes of the princes and wits that admired them; and French admiration must go for something, and have at least a geographical voice in the world, whatever Germany or Goethe himself may think of the matter. On the other hand, far are we from abusing all or any of the dear plump Germans, who have had graceful and loving souls, whether fifteen, like poor Margaret, or "fat, fair, and forty," like Madame Schroeder Devrient. We have been in love with them, time out of mind, in the novels of the good village pastor, the reverend and most amatory Augustus La Fontaine. The Peninsular and South American ladies, albeit beautiful walkers, and well-grounded in shape, are understood not to abound in plump figures; yet who shall doubt the abundance of their fascinations, that Brusque attacks-sharp and loud outcries-may has read what Cervantes and Camoens have said of

them, and what is said of their eyes and gait by all enamoured travellers? Is not Dorothea for ever sitting by the brook-side, beautiful, and bathing her feet, in the pages of the immortal Spaniard? And was not Inez de Castro taken out of the tomb, in order to have her very coffin crowned with a diadem; so triumphant was the memory of her love and beauty over death itself? Italian beauties are almost another word for Italian paintings, and for the muses of Ariosto and of song. And yet, admiring all these as we do, are we for that reason traitors to the beauties of our own country, or do we not rather the more admire the charmers that are nearest to us, and that perpetuate the train of living images of grace and affection, which runs through the whole existence of any loving observer, like a frieze across the temple of a cheerful religion.

And yet all this does not hinder us from wishing, that the generality of our countrywomen walked better and dressed better, and even looked a little less reserved and misgiving. A Frenchman is not bound to wish the generality of his countrywomen plumper, because be admires them for other beauties, or sees plumpness enough in his friends. A Spaniard may reasonably wish his a little more red and white, if it be only for the sake of their health; and if a jovial table-loving Viennese desired, after all, a little less plumpness in his adorable for the same reason (and in himself too), we should not quarrel with his theory, however it might object to his practice.

The handsomest female we ever beheld was at Turin; she was a maid-servant crossing a square. The most lady-like looking female in humble life was á French girl, the daughter of a small innkeeper. We heard one of her humble admirers speak of her as having the air d'une petite duchesse (of a little duchess). But the most charming face that ever furnished us with a vision for life, (and we have seen many) was one that suddenly turned round in a concert-room in England,- -an English girl's, radiant with truth and goodness. All expressions of that kind make us love them, and here was the height of material charmingness added. And we thought the figure equal to the face. We know not whether we could have loved it for ever, as some faces can be loved without being so perfect. Habit, and lovingkindness, and the knowledge of the heart and soul, could alone determine that. But if not, it was the divinest imposition we ever met with.

THE WEEK

From Wednesday the 13th to Tuesday the 19th o August.

THE word August deserves to have the accent taken off the first syllable, and thrown upon the second (August), not because the month was named after Augustus, (and yet he had a good deal of poetry in him too, considering he was a man of the world; his friend Virgil gives him even a redeeming link with the seasons) but because the month is truly an august month, increasing in splendour till it fills its orb, majestic, ample, of princely beneficence,clothed with harvest as with a garment, full-faced in heaven with its moon.

Spenser in his procession of the months, has painted him from a thick and lustrous palette :

The sixt was August, being rich arrayed
In garment all of gold, downe to the ground.

(How true the garment is made by the familiar words "all of gold," and with what a masterly feeling of power, luxuriance, and music, the accent is thrown on the word "down!" Let nobody read a great poet's verses either in a trivial or affected manner, but with earnest yet deliberate love, dwelling on every beauty as he goes-and pray let him very much respect his stops

In garment all of gold,-downe to the ground).

Yet rode he not, but led a lovely maid Forth by the lily hand, the which was crowned 1 With ears of corn, and full her hand was found.

Here is a presentation for you, beyond all the presentations at court, August, in his magnificent drapery of cloth of gold, issuing forth, and presenting to earth and skies his Maiden with the lily hand, the highest

bred of all the daughters of Heaven,-Justice. For so the poet continues :-

That was the righteous Virgin, which of old Liv'd here on earth, and plenty made abound; But after Wrong was lov'd, and Justice sold, She left th' unrighteous earth, and was to heav'n extoll'd.

Extolled; that is, in the learned literal sense, raised out of; taken away out of a sphere unworthy of her. (Ex, out of; and tollo, to lift. Readers of taste, to whom these etymologies are familiar as their alphabets, will know how to excuse them, for the sake of their less educated brethren). Many of Spenser's quaintest words are full of this learned beauty, triumphing over the difficulty of rhyme: nay, forcing the obstacle to yield it a double measure of significance, as we see in the instance before us; for the praise given to Justice

is here implied, as well as the fact of her apotheosis (being placed among the gods). She is, by means of one word extolled in the literal sense, raised up; and she is extolled in the metaphorical, praised and hymned.

And this word praised, reminds us by the way of one of the manuscript notes with which another learned poet, whose acquaintance we had the honor of making at Florence, (Mr. Landor) was kind enough to enrich our volumes of Spenser (for we get our friends to do such things for us, that we may read our books for ever in their company). Speaking of a poem by Sir Phillip Sidney on a lady, whom he was writing upon himself, Spenser says

No less praise-worthie Stella do I read (esteem) Though nought my praises of her needed are, Whom verse of noblest shepherd, lately dead, Hath prais'd and rais'd above each other starre. Upon which says Mr. Landor's note,-" Spenser seems not to have known, that praise and raise are the same-praise-upraise-extollere."

One good thing reminds of another. In a little while, as our Journal proceeds, and we feel the first hurry and business part of it subside into a richer power of attending to it leisurely and luxuriously, we shall bring forth, to the reader's delight, stores of extracts from poems both of the living and the dead, which are too beautiful to have attained their full measure of popularity, it being necessary that readers themselves should increase both in number and knowledge, before the refinements intelligible to the few can be partaken by any thing like a multitude. But such a period is coming; and great names among us are kind enough to tell the London Journal that its pages are doing something towards hastening it. By and by, therefore, it will not be to a few scholars only that the charming Latin Idylls of Mr. Landor are known; for the English reader must be informed, that out of an early passion for the ancient languages and their poets, this gentleman has written much in Latin as well as English, having pitched himself both into the vales of Ovid and Theocritus, and actually lived in past ages with a present feeling, or in present ages with a past,-just as the reader chooses to understand the word present. Pan and the Nymphs are palpable, in his hearty verses :-Cupid hovers and threatens around him, with arch eyes, and honey in his sting. Delightful would it be to us, if we could immediately bring the reader acquainted with one of these Idylls, a combat between Pan and Cupid, in which the bearded god gets terribly the worst of it, the little rogue mounting and laughing on his wings. We think we must try if we cannot give him some notion of it in a translation. But first we must get our copy of the volume back, and it is at a distance. Can any body lend us one? We will undertake to be as careful of it as if it were a Phidian Venus, and return it in a few days to the owner.

Fortunately, meanwhile, we have Mr. Landor's English volume of Poems, and among these is an Idyll of an exquisite kind, which as we have touched upon the subject, and the poem has a fullness of beauty in it, congenial with that of the month,—at least an English August is in some respects hardly riper than the beginning of a southern summer,--we will here extract, for the reader's enjoyment. Never more beautifully met together the most luxuriant, material sympathy and a delicacy the most thoughtful and loving. To ourselves the poem possesses the

additional charm of relating to a spot we know well, our daily walk during many months, along paths and among sights consecrated by the loving memory of Boccaccio, his Valley of Ladies being beneath us, and Milton's "Top of Fiesole" over our heads. Mr. Landor himself has for some years resided at Fiesole, and the poem was doubtless written on an actual occasion,-one of the secrets of most true poems.

FSULAN IDYL.

Here, where precipitate Spring, with one light bound,
Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires;
And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,
Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,
And softer sighs, that know not what they want;
Under a wall, beneath an orange tree
Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones
Of sights in Fiesole right up above,
While I was gazing a few paces off,

Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,

At what they seem'd to shew me with their nods,

A gentle maid came down the garden steps
And gather'd the pure treasure in her lap.
I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth
To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,
(Such I believed it must be); for sweet scents
Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,
And nurse and pillow the dull memory,
That would let drop without them her best stores.
They bring me tales of youth and tones of love,
And 'tis and ever was my wish and way
To let all flowers live freely, and all die,
Whene'er their genius bids their souls depart,
Among their kindred in their native place.
I never pluckt the rose; the violet's head
Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank
And not reproached me; the ever-sacred cup
Of the pure lily hath between my hands
Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of gold.
I saw the light that made the glossy leaves
Most glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek
Warm'd by the eye intent on its pursuit;
I saw the foot, that, altho' half-erect
From its grey slipper, could not lift her up
To what she wanted: I held down a branch
And gathered her some blossoms, since their hour
Was come, and bees had wounded them, and flies
Of harder wing were working their way thro',
And scattering them in fragments under foot.
So crisp were some, they rattled unrevolved:
Others, ere broken off, fell into shells,
For such appear the petals when detached,
Unbending, brittle, lucid, white like snow,
And like snow not seen thro', by eye or sun:
Yet every one her gown received from me
Was fairer than the first-I thought not so,
But so she praised them to reward my care.
I said you find the largest.
This indeed,
Cried she, is large and sweet.

She held one forth,
Whether for me to look at or to take
She knew not, nor did I; but taking it
Would best have solved (and this she felt) her doubts.
I dared not touch it, for it seem'd a part
Of her own self; fresh, full, the most mature
Of blossoms, yet a blossom; with a touch
To fall, and yet unfallen.

She drew back
The boon she tendered, and then, finding not
The ribbon at her waist to fix it in,
Dropt it, as loth to drop it, on the rest.

ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.

THREE STORIES OF HUMAN VIRTUE.

We have put these interesting narratives together, because they are short, and because they strike the same harmonious note,-consideration for others. The second and third in particular (and we have attended to the rights of climax, and put the noblest last) are among the best instances of virtue, properly so called; that is to say, of moral force,-strength of purpose beneficently exercised. We make no apology for the homeliness of the scene in which the heroine makes her appearance. Rather ought we to apologise to her memory for thinking of apology; but sophistications are sometimes forced upon the mind of a journalist. Virtue can no more be sullied than the sunbeams, let her descend where she may. And as the divine poet says, in one of his variations upon a favourite sentiment,

"Entire affection scorneth nicer hands." The stories are taken from the work to which we have been so often indebted, and which has long been out of print,-the Lounger's Common Place Book.

* From Gebir, Count Julion, and other Poems. By Walter Savage Landor, Esq. 8vo. pp. 388. Moxon.

XXVII-SCHOOL-FRIENDSHIP REMEMBERED.

Sir Austin Nicnolas, was a judge under the protectorate of Cromwell, concerning whom the following circumstances are related. Having, while a boy at school, committed an offence, for which, as soon as it was known, flogging would be the inevitable punishment, his agitation, from a strong sense of shame or a peculiar delicacy of constitution, was so violent, that his schoolfellow, Wake, an intimate associate, and father of the Archbishop, remarked it with concern. Possessing stronger nerves and sensibility less exquisite, he told him that the discipline of the rod was a mere trifle, and insisted on taking on himself the fault, for which after a mutual struggle of friendship and generosity, he suffered a severe whipping.

A fortuitous chain of events which often disperses school intimates and college chums into opposite quarters of the globe, guided Nicholas through politics and law, to a seat in the Court of Common Pleas, and confirmed him a friend to the powers that are. Wake, on the contrary, was a firm royalist and cavalier, whose zeal and activity rendering him highly obnoxious to his opponents, he was seized, tried for his life, and condemned at Salisbury, by his old acquaintance, Nicholas, who after a separation of sixand-twenty years, did not recollect Mr. Wake till he came to pass the fatal sentence; when the name catching his eye, a sudden conviction strengthened by a few leading questions, flashed on his mind, that the prisoner at the bar, whom he had just sentenced to an ignominious death, was no other than the fond friend of his juvenile hours, those hours which, whatever be the colours of our fate, we always contemplate with a sacred, a serious, and interesting pleaI need not describe the state of mind in which civil discord had not wholly obliterated gratitude and sympathy: he beheld with the most poignant emotion the forlorn situation of that faithful firm associate of his youth, who had undergone for him disgrace and stripes; he saw, on every side, the hell hounds of war, and the mastiffs of the law, waiting, with eager impatience, to drag the man he once loved to untimely death; he hurried from the bench precipitately, to conceal his feelings, and burst into

sure.

tears.

But friendship, like other virtues, required the speedy and effectual proof of exertion, or it would have been counteracted by the din of arms or the malevolence of party fury. After much opposition from the round-heads, whom Mr. Wake's behaviour had exasperated, a respite was granted, and Nicholas unwilling to risque a life he highly valued to the uncertainty of letters, and the dilatory tardiness of messengers, hurried immediately to London. rushed to the Protector, and would not quit him, till sorely against Oliver's will, he had obtained a pardon for his friend, against whom, from personal enmity or misrepresentation, Cromwell was peculiarly inveterate.

He

The fortunate Royalist, from inattention, a magnanimous or an affected contempt of death, was a stranger to the name and person of his judge, and knew not the powerful interposition in his favour. Nicholas, also, had reserved the precious, the important secret, in his own breast, till certain of success; least, by vainly exciting hope, he should only add new pains to misfortune. Returning without delay to Salisbury, he flew to the prison, gradually disclosed his name and office to Wake, and producing a pardon, the friends sunk into each other's arms,Nicholas overpowered by the bliss of conferring life and comfort on one, for whom he had early experienced the most disinteresting friendship,-Wake unexpectedly snatched from death by discovering, perhaps, the first friend he ever loved, in a party whom he had always considered as usurpers of lawful authority, as the wolves and tigers of his country.

XXVIII. THE DUTCHMAN AND HIS HORSE.

agitated state, could not be prevented from rushing in great quantities down his throat. In swimming with a heavy load, the appearance of a horse is singular; his forehead and nostrils are the only parts to be seen; in this perilous state the least check in his mouth is generally considered as fatal; and it was supposed that some of the half-drowned sailors, in the ardour of self-preservation, pulled the bridle inadvertently, for the noble creature, far superior to to the majority of bipeds who harrass and torment his species, suddenly disappeared with his master, sunk, and rose no more.

This affecting circumstance induced the Dutch East India Company to erect a monument to Voltemad's memory. They likewise ordered that such descendants or relations as he left, should be speedily provided for. Before this intelligence reached the Cape, his nephew, a corporal in the service, had solicited to succeed him in a little employment he

held in the menagerie, but being refused, retired in chagrin to a distant settlement, where he died, before news of the Directors' recommendations could reach him. While we lament Voltemad's fate, and the ungrateful treatment his relation experienced from the people at the Cape, a circumstance arises in our minds, which tends to render this misfortune still more aggravating. In his bold and successful attempt to reach the ship, if this benevolent man, instead of embarrassing himself with a hazardous burthen fatal to them all, had only brought the end of a long rope with him on shore, it might have been fixed to a cable, which with proper help might have been dragged on shore, and the whole ship's company saved without involving their benefactor and a noble animal in destruction.

XXIX.-HEROISM OF A MAID-SERVANT.

Catherine Vassent, the daughter of a French peasant, exhibited at the age of seventeen, and in the humble capacity of a menial, a proof of intrepid, persevering sympathy, which ranks her with the noblest of her sex.

A common sewer of considerable depth having been opened at Noyon for the purpose of repair, four men passing by, late in the evening, unfortunately fell in, no precautions having been taken to prevent so probable an accident. It was almost midnight before their situation was known, and besides the difficulty of procuring assistance at that unseasonable hour, every one present was intimidated from exposing himself to similar danger, by attempting to rescue these unfortunate wretches, who appeared already in a state of suffocation from the mephitic vapour.

Her neigh

Fearless or ignorant of danger, and irresistibly impelled by the cries of their wives and children who surrounded the spot, Catherine Vassent, a servant of the town, insisted on being lowered without delay into the noxious opening, and fastening a chord with which she had furnished herself previous to her descent, round two of their bodies assisted by those above, she restored them to life and their families; but, in descending a second time, her breath began to fail, and after effectually securing a chord to the body of a third man, she had sufficient presence of mind enough, in a fainting condition, to fix the rope firmly to her own hair, which hung in long and luxuriant curls round a full but well formed neck. bours, who felt no inclination to imitate her heroism, had willingly contributed such assistance as they could afford compatible with safety, and in pulling up as they thought the third man's body, were equally concerned and surprised to see the almost lifeless body of Catherine suspended by her hair, and swinging on the same cord. Fresh air with eau-de-vie soon restored this excellent girl; and I know not whether most to admire her generous fortitude in a third time exploring the pestilential cavern, which had almost proved fatal to her, or to execrate the dastardly meanness and selfish cowardice of the byestanders, for not sharing the glorious danger. In consequence of the delay produced by her indisposition, the fourth man was drawn up a lifeless and irrecoverable corpse.

Such conduct did not pass unnoticed; a procession of the corporation, and a solemn Te Deum were celebrated on the occasion; Catherine received the public thanks of the Duke of Orleans, the Bishop of Noyon, the town magistrates, and an emblamatic medal, with considerable pecuniary contributions, and a civic crown: to these were added the congratulations of her own heart, that inestimable reward of a benevolent mind.

Cornelius Voltemad, a Dutchman, and an inhabitant of the Cape of Good Hope, had an intrepid philanthrophy which impelled him to risque, and (as it unfortunately proved) to lose his own life in consequence of heroic efforts to save the lives of others. This generous purpose in a great degree he effected in the year 1773, when a Dutch ship was driven on shore in a storm near Table Bay, not far from the South River fort. Returning from a ride, the state of the vessel, and the cries of the crew, strongly interested him in their behalf. Though unable to swim, he provided himself with a rope, and being mounted on a powerful horse remarkably muscular in its form, plunged with the noble animal into the sea, which rolled in waves sufficiently tremendous to daunt a man of common fortitude. This worthy man, with his spirited horse, approached the ship's SPECIMENS OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS. side, near enough to enable the sailors to lay hold of the end of a cord, which he threw out to them; by this method, and their grasping the horse's tail, he was happy enough, after returning several times, to convey fourteen persons on shore.

But in the warmth of his benevolence, he appears not to have sufficiently attended to the prodigious and exhausting efforts of his horse, who in combating with the boisterous billows, and his accumulated burthens, was almost spent with fatigue, and debilitated by the quantity of sea-water, which in its present

ST. EVREMOND.

'His Portrait of the Duchess of Mazarin. MADAME DE MAZARIN was a niece of the Cardinal of that name, was separated from her husband, came over to England, and had a pension from Charles the Second, whom she had once hoped to marry. people have described her, as the reader might naturally suppose she would be described under these

Most

Which side is to

circumstances. The Marquis de St. Evremond, on the other hand, a brother refugee and pensioner, who "fell in love" with her in his old age, gives the following portrait of her perfections. be believed? Both, we suspect; that is to say, the lady was not without qualities, either natural or acquired, which in a better state of society would have done her honour, but which would have little satisfied, at that or any other time, the enquirics of patriots into pension-lists. Her perfections were most likely the product of St. Evremond's lively fancy.

He was a Frenchman, exiled for speaking too freely of the court of Louis the Fourteenth, and was what was understood in those days by the term philoso phical epicurean.

The passage is taken from the translation of his works published by Des Maizeaux.

"I return you again by a messenger the memoirs you were pleased to send me, fearing, lest if I should send them by the post, they might run the same hazard, and fall into the like inconveniences, which at first brought them to your hands. If things so curious and well worth the intercepting, were to be found every time the ministers of state think fit to open the pacquets, I should not much pity the clerks' trouble in executing their orders. You had reason to believe that after the manner I had spoken to you of Mad. Mazarin, I should be extremely glad to see her history. It speaks of her own genius, and is like herself all over. I have particularly observed twenty things in this relation, that none but herself could think, or express in the manner they are penned.

"Since you say you never saw her, I will satisfy your curiosity by endeavouring to give you a rough draught of her face, and shape of body.

"She is one of those lofty Roman beauties, no way like our baby-visaged and puppet-like faces of France; in whose composition nature alone triumphs over all the artificers of the coquets.

"The colour of her eyes has no name: it is neither blue nor grey, nor altogether black; but a mixture of all three, which participates of all the excellence which is found in them. They have the sweetness of the blue, the briskness of the grey, and, above all, the fire of the black. But what is more wonderful, you never saw any one more lovely, and generally more pleasant, and more apt to inflame, and yet more serious, more severe and steady, when her thoughts are taken up with any grave subject. They are so lively and so quick, that when she looks steadfastly upon any one, which she seldom does, they think she pierces their very souls, and sees into the very bottom of their hearts. They are large, and well slit, and even with the face; full of sprightly life and fire; and yet, with all these beauties, they have nothing of languishing or passionate; as if nature had maliciously contrived them only to give love and veneration, and be susceptible of none.

4

"Her mouth is neither wide nor very little; but the motion of her lips is very graceful and charming; and the strangest mouths and grimaces wonderfully become her, when she imitates those that make them. Her smiles would soften the hardest of hearts, and ease the heaviest sadness of mind. They do almost change the air of her face, which naturally is sublime and grave; and spreads over it a certain tincture of mildness and sweetness that cheers up those hearts which her charms had alarmed, and inspires them with that kind of unquiet gladness, which is next of kin to a tender inclination.

"So much for her mouth and eyes, which are the two chief parts of her face most expressive, and principally important to kindle a flame and create love. But [the rest are nothing less to be admired

and adored.

"Her nose, which, without doubt, is incomparably well turned, and of a just bigness, gives the rest of her countenance a curious, noble, and lofty air, which is infinitely taking. The tone of her voice is so harmonious and agreeable, that none can hear her speak without being insensibly moved. Her complexion is naturally most lively, and so delicately clear, that I cannot believe that any man who views it, can find fault with its not being somewhat whiter.

'The colour of her hair is shining black, but has nothing of harsh. To see how naturally the locks curl and into what fine buckles they twist themselves, as soon as they are let loose, would make us think, without much help of poetry, that they swell with pride, and, as it were, take a glory in the honour they have to shade so lovely a head. She has the finest turned face that ever limner fancied, or drew with pencil.

Her careless carriage is the cause that the proportion of her body, though straight and well framed, is nothing in comparison to what it has been in delicacy of shape. I say in comparison, for many would fancy themselves slender enough that were no bigger than she is. This makes her appear lower than she is, though, in truth, she is of as becoming a height as any woman can well be without being ridiculous.

"You shall see her for fifteen days together, in as many several head-dresses, without being able to distinguish which of them suits her face the best; and those

dresses which would make other women look like witches, wonderfully become her; so that no kind of head-gear is unbecoming when she wears it. The same thing is remarkable in her clothes and attire. You must see her lapped in a night-gown to judge with more exactness of it. And it is in this person alone that one truly may say, that Art, though never so cunningly used, can never equal Nature.

"I had almost forgot to speak of her neck, her arms, and hands; but, let it suffice, that they appear to have been made and fitted for the face. And, if we may judge by what we see of what we do not see, we may certainly conclude that her husband, after having been the happiest man, is now the unhappiest in the world. Thus she is made as to her body; and of her mind you may judge by what I am going to say.

"Being some time since at Rome, it was my chance to be speaking of her after the manner I heard her talked of at Paris, that she was a fine young lady, extremely handsome, but extravagantly giddy and inconsiderate, and goodnatured even to folly. An Italian that knew her, hearing me give her such a character, laughed at me after such a manner that I was much surprised at it, but would never let me know why, though I had very earnestly urged him to tell me his reason. As these people dive further into men's natures to learn their true and proper character than we do in France, so this adventure gave me a great curiosity to see her as I passed in my return from Rome to Chambery; though I had never much spoken to her in Paris, but by accident, yet she knew me by sight and by

name.

"I was at first surprised not to perceive in her at my coming that eagerness and excessive desire to hear news, which is ordinary to those that live at a distance from court, when they see any that comes from thence. She received me as unconcerned as the most indifferent woman of the country could do; and instead of breaking my head with questions about the people and affairs, which concerned herself, she entertained me only upon the account of my journey, and other like things, wherein none but myself was concerned. I thought myself bound in civility, to put her upon the discourse of her friends and relations in Rome and Paris, since she herself would not start the question. I found that subject was not unpleasing, by the attention she gave to what I said upon it. She spoke civilly of all people, and with a great deal of respect of her husband; but this discourse held no longer than I continued it. She rarely asked any questions, and those only which civility seemed to oblige her to.

"Neither could I mark in her either curiosity or inquisitiveness. Wondering at her cold indifference, I had the mind to put her upon the discourse of things I thought most sensible to her, but with the respect that was convenient, touching her fame and her fortune. But I could never hear from her the least complaint. Methought I read something of sadness in her countenance when her reputation was in debate; but of all other matters she seemed to think that blind goddess Fortune a fitter object of her contempt than of her anger. Several persons of quality, of both sexes, came in while I was there; and others, two or three gentlemen, who showed a great deal of wit.

"The ladies began to talk of the news of the town; though the Duchess took neither side's part, she discoursed with the same heat as others did. The subject of their conversation was a dispute that was betwixt two eminent men, which had divided the country in two parties. She entered upon all the particularities which were told of the causes of their division, and weighed every little circumstance with such nicety and insight, as if she had not had twenty millions for her portion. The gentlemen whom I before mentioned, turned the discourse upon another subject, whether she would or not, and talked of state affairs, as most worthy of her attention and contemplation. After every body had passed their verdict, she was obliged in complaisance to speak her's. Those that differed in opinion from her, vigorously urged their reasons: the dispute grew hot. She never defended her opinion but with reasons of which she made those that had not declared themselves against her, her judges. And I assure you, I never heard any speak so well and with so much submission. This is what I remarked in this my first visit; and what I have observed since is as followeth.

"It is not to be discerned of what humour she is ; and to speak properly, she has none at all: for every individual person that converses with her has cause to believe she is of his. She is not obstinately bent upon any thing, and it is astonishing to see her quit even those diversions she seems the most pleased with, as freely as if she were weary of them; whence it clearly appears that she is eagerly carried to no one thing, and shews, that this easiness of her temper and manners, does not proceed from levity or fickleness, but rather from a profound indifference for all those various fancies which trouble and disquiet the minds of most people.

"That sweetness and humanity, which, above all, adorn and grace her sex, appear even in her tumultuous pastimes. She is as much mistress of her temper upon the road, or a hunting, as in her closet.

The calmness and equality of her soul is proof against all those occasions which do unsettle and transport all others. She laughs at all those foolery amusements to which others abandon themselves. Some other women have done the same things that she does but she does them another way.

"All people converse in her house with a familiarity full of ease and respect, the which nevertheless would be to her very incommode and troublesome, if she were less good or less obliging. Though she be naturally very reserved and loves to be retired, yet most of all hours of the day are public hours with her. The most private recesses of her house are as open to those who frequent it, as the most common; and therefore it often happens, that people come even to her very closet-door, when she least expects any. Her domestics, who see none come that are not as much devoted to her as themselves, have insensibly used themselves to let all come in and go out with this kind of frankness and liberty.

"It is to be supposed she would have it so since they permit it, for she is the life and soul of her family; and her understanding, her civility, and her obliging ways are infused into those that compose it, proportionably as each one's capacity is fitted to imitate them There is no convent where they lead a more regular life than in her women's apartments, whither a page dare not approach upon pain of my lady's displeasure, which is something more terrible than the rod. And for the men, they live together with that peace and union, so much the more commendable, as it is the most rare, and seldom to be found in great men's houses.

"She alone, of all women, can play with her servants without lessening herself. Her presence doth banish their presumption without taking away their freedom; and it is not to be comprehended how she can give them so much awe, using them with so much familiarity, unless it be because she has so much grandeur in her carriage and all her ways. Some wonder she should delight in such sort of pastimes; but whoever will take the pains to look a little nearer will find, that they are not the delight of her heart, and that those she uses, are but so many several ways of dispelling those afflicting thoughts, which the present state of her fortune crowds upon her.

"There is no private gentleman's house more orderly and regular than her's; and as her pension is very inconsiderable to make her subsist, with that honour she does, she must needs be admirably skilled in economy; and her acts of liberality and magnificence shew that her good management proceeds from extraordinary strength of reason. She neither much admires nor despises anything She never shewed the least disgust against the country nor anything that is in it. She loves the recreations and ceremonies that are in use, as much as if she had been born and bred there. Others would assist at them with marks of complaisance, constraint, and distraction, which would easily distinguish them from the rest of the company; but she comes to them with that familiarity, with that presence and freedom of mind, so unconstrained, so constant, and so agreeable, that a stranger who should chance to see her there, without knowing who she was, would esteem Savoy most happy in the product of so charming a person.

"She avoids speaking of her own greatness and riches with the same care and industry as others seek out occasions to make people sensible of theirs. It depends not on her way of living amongst them, but that the people of that country that see her, may think themselves as great as she; and may think Chambery as noble and as pleasant to live in as Rome or Paris; and her conversation there as agreeable as ever she enjoyed elsewhere. Never did great lady take less care to make her inferiors see the difference that is betwixt her and them; and if they do not forget it, she is the more beholding to their discretion and respect; for she takes little pains to put them in mind of it. One goeth always beyond the idea or opinion she has of herself, even in the most serious applications that are made to her, and she as often takes just and due commendations for gross flattery, as other women take apparent and hypocritical adulations for true and deserved praises.

"It is a great sign that her moderation is sincere, because it is never overstrained, and being urged, will acknowledge truly whatsoever is good or fair in her. She is nothing more unjust than in not allowing what she has of admirable and excellent to be more than passable and ordinary. Though by sad experience she found that there is but very little truth or honesty in the world, and that she has just cause to think ill of all mankind; yet such is her natural goodness that she never applies this her bad opinion to any one in particular; she first excepts from the general rule all those in whom she perceives any appearance of virtue; and is still much surprised when she has reason to believe that they did not deserve that exception.

"When she is obliged to say something she thinks may displease, in order to sweeten and take away the sharpness of the sense, she speaks it so as if she had let it fall by chance; but no one will think he wrongs her, to believe that she says nothing but what she

would say. It is more natural to her to be secret, than to other women not to be so; she is equally skilled both in well speaking and in holding her tongue; though it be a great truth that those who know how to speak well, know not how to hold their tongues; and those that can be silent, can seldom speak very well.

"A gentleman of very good parts and understanding that hath seen her and known her a great while, assured me that she is very much altered from what she has been formerly, insomuch that you would hardly know her again; but it is very hard to conceive that she should be so changed, without allowing that she must always have had a prodigious stock of the choicest, the rarest, and most lasting natural beauty that ever woman had; and if her misfortunes have contributed anything to her merit, never bad cause produced so good an effect.

A GOOD PRINCE.

LORD Bacon, in the exordium of his Advancement of Learning, has expressed so much astonishment at the talents of King James the First, considering that he was not only a king, but a king born," that the panegyric has been suspected to be a "bold irony." We are inclined to think otherwise, when we reflect that Bacon was a born courtier, as well as a philosopher, and that even his philosophy, especially in a man of his turn of mind, might have found subtle reasons for venerating a being who was in possession of a good portion of the power of this earth, Be this as it may, it is pretty generally felt on all hands, without being a party matter, that, considering the flatteries and other perils that beset a royal education, it is very fortunate for the world when sovereigns turn out well; and therefore, as we profess ourselves, in this Journal, and indeed everywhere else, to be of no party but that of mankind, especially of those who mean well, and shew that they mean it, in whatever ranks of life they are to be found, we shall make no apology to any well-meaners for introducing the following account of a prince who has made himself immortal by his treatment of great poets, and who really appears to have no less deserved his immortality by his treatment of all his fellowcreatures. The account is an avowed panegyric; but from all we have read of the Duke of Weimar, it is really a panegyric from the heart, and such as was echoed by all his countrymen.

To the Illustrious Memory of his Royal Highness the Most Noble Prince and Lord, Karl August, Grand Duke of Sachsen-Weimar Eisenach.

When a great and glorious life is closed, it becomes at once our sacred duty and consolation to make its high significancy and its beneficent effects distinctly present to our minds. Thankfully to mark how God's grace bestowed them, and with pious care to engrave such a picture of the departed on our souls as may abide there for ever.

How much more when it was the life of our prince; the father of his land and ours; a life that, from its earliest dawn, lightened upon us like a genial sun, sending forth light and warmth in all directions through long years of activity, diffusing blessings, far beyond the boundaries of his own country;--when it was the life of a prince who conceived as justly as he conscientiously fulfilled the duties of his high calling; -at once intrepid and indefatigable, mild and wise ;who did good to countless multitudes;-of whom it is impossible to decide whether he was greater as a man or as a ruler.

A short and simple statement of his actions will suffice to recal the career of one whose life was action, and whose fairest monument has long been raised in all hearts.

Sprung from illustrious ancestors, greeted with double joy as the hope of an almost extinct line, the infant ruler was left by the early death of his father, to the care of his incomparable mother. He was trained by the illustrious men she selected-Hermann, Wieland, and Count Görz, to personal sacrifice, to unprejudiced exertion of the judgment, and to love for art and science. Early formed to all the higher and fairer virtues of humanity, in his fourteenth year he won from the great Frederic the declaration, that he had never seen a young man of his age who inspired such hopes.' With the fullest confidence could the regent-mother, Amalie, deliver up to him the reins of government on the day on which he completed his eighteenth year.

A few weeks afterwards his union with Princess Luise of Hessen Darmstadt took place;-a union of truly equal souls, so rich in noble fruits, in thousandfold blessings on the land; so ennobled by interchange thoughts, by devotion in times of need and of peril, by affectionate attachment and kindness, that none ever better deserved the rare privilege of remaining,